Stef Ann Holm

by Lucy gets Her Life Back

  In short order, friends and acquaintances she’d made in Red Duck came over to sample. Sue hung around and enjoyed the roasted portabello mushroom melts with Gruyère.

  “Delicious, Lucy. Dave would love these.”

  Lucy and Sue had talked about her cooking for them, but Sue was proficient in the kitchen and liked to do the cooking herself. Of course Lucy knew that just because she had friends, that didn’t necessarily mean they would hire her.

  “I’ll give you the recipe.” Lucy cracked the top of a bottled water. “Just don’t tell anyone. Especially not Raul Nunez.”

  Sue laughed. They’d joked plenty about Raul in the past, how he’d slipped just a little on the personal chef monopoly. Lucy wasn’t going to give up. This was her home now. Free enterprise.

  The afternoon wore on, and Lucy and Sue visited. Dave came by a few times, tasted items, then went back to the group of men playing football on the beach, Drew among them. Drew stood out a head above the others, tall and muscular, wearing a white tank top and khaki shorts. Barefoot, tan and chiseled, he made tackles and outran several of the beefier guys.

  Lucy couldn’t help watching him for long moments. If she had any sense, she would have kept her gaze moving right along. But when it came to Drew, she rarely took her own advice.

  Busy with his friends, he didn’t come to her table, and she hated the fact that this disappointed her. He’d already hired her and had eaten her cooking, but she had hoped he would at least stop by to say hi.

  Clyde Cooper dropped by for a sample once, then twice, and by the fifth time, Lucy got suspicious.

  Being discreet, she followed him along the edge of trees to a picnic area not in use. Hiding behind a spruce, she saw Raul Nunez at the redwood table—five empty paper plates in front of him. The off-duty deputy left, and Lucy waited a few seconds before walking quietly forward.

  Raul was examining her crustless quiche bites, taking the side of a fork and flaking the egg and vegetables. He brought a taste to his mouth, smacked his lips, then shrugged.

  Leaning forward, and talking loudly into his ear, she said, “It’s the wasabi paste.” No harm in revealing just that small detail; he’d never get the other ingredients right.

  The plate and fork flew into the air, and Raul let out a scream like a woman, hand over his heart. Quiche dumped into his lap, a mess of egg and red peppers on the coarse black hair of his legs. “C’hew gave me a freakin’ heart attack!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she innocently replied.

  He jerked his head toward her, a scowl on his swarthy face. “I don’ tink you’re that sorry.”

  “So, do you like the quiche? It’s different, isn’t it?”

  “No comment.”

  Lucy had to laugh. “It’s the best.”

  “The Raul does quiche, too.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “C’hew don’ want to know how much better than yours it is. I use a different cheez. Richer. More full-bodied.”

  Lucy simply sighed with indifference. Inside, she seethed at the gall of the man.

  Raul could make her so mad. His arrogance was as big as the whole damn dam.

  “Well, you come back over and help yourself to whatever else I have left. But it’s been going fast.” She waved at him. “I’m all out of brochures and I have two consults next week.”

  He glared.

  “Happy Fourth of July,” she added, while walking away.

  There was a confidence in her stride, and the smell of success tasted every bit as good as a piece of fine milk chocolate. This was the first time she’d taken the upper hand with Raul and beaten him at his own weasel game, and it felt delicious!

  Not long after her triumph, the campfires were lit and dusk began its slow descent. The sky was awash with pink as ribbons of clouds reflected the sunset.

  Dotted along the sand, flames flickered and sunless air took on a slight chill. Children ran with sparklers, and Lucy noticed her boys were with the older kids, starting to set off the bigger fireworks.

  Rubbing her bare arms to warm up didn’t provide immediate relief so she snagged her car key and went to get her sweater from the Passat. She made her way up the dirt trail to the parking lot, which was now deserted. Everyone was at the shore, ready for the big show. Sounds of laughter drifted to her ears. The pops and explosions of fireworks filled the night.

  For the first time since coming here, she felt really good about her decision. She knew she wasn’t home free yet. Jason was doing well, but he could be influenced by the wrong crowd. Her business was picking up, but not thriving. Yet she’d made some friends and had started to fit into this life. These were all important achievements.

  She didn’t like the narrow-minded gossiping, but she supposed that could happen anywhere. Within the small perimeter of Red Duck’s city limits, she just happened to notice it more.

  “Hey, Lucy. P. J. Guffy said you put on a good spread,” Drew called out, and she turned toward his voice. “That’s saying a lot for a guy who puts Bugles on his bar as beer snacks.”

  In spite of herself, Lucy laughed at the silly comparison. “I’ve never been told I was better than beer snacks.”

  “Sugar, I’m sure you’re better than just about anything.” The murmur of his voice washed through her, making more shivers.

  She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to do this—let him get her heart skipping beats. He did so without even trying, and she sensed he knew that.

  Needing space between them, she took a step back, resting her butt against her car. She hadn’t had the chance to talk to him alone in what felt like forever.

  That thought had her pulse skittering.

  She could get her heart into a lot of trouble if she fell for this man. Drew did things on his own terms. He made it known he was available, but only when he felt like doing the chasing. She wasn’t expert enough to gauge his moods or read him all that well. But she had gathered this much: he wasn’t the type to date because of loneliness. He kept busy, led a full life. Didn’t need a wife, but he liked being in the company of a pretty woman.

  In spite of her boys and her growing business, she hated admitting she was lonely. The nights were the hardest. Lying in bed all by herself, missing the security of a man’s arms around her. Snuggling in close beneath warm sheets. The feel of a wide hand on her behind, cupping her next to him. The length of a man settled between her legs, desire burning between them. That ability to have sex whenever she wanted, because the man beside her was committed to her…was in love with her.

  Lucy flushed. She looked into those hazel eyes of Drew’s and willed herself not to want to kiss him right now.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said into the night. Leaning forward, he pressed his hips to hers, pinning her to the car. “I think about you.”

  She couldn’t find her voice. The moment felt surreal. She thought about him, too. But her thoughts were usually scattered and disjointed. Mostly, she was talking herself out of him.

  She started to say something, tried to think of some snappy response, anything to make her come across as unaffected by his words. It wasn’t good to show a man he could have her without hardly trying—at least that’s what she’d read in one of those self-help books after Gary’s affair.

  “Well, I think—”

  But any comment she would have made was cut off as Drew’s mouth settled over hers.

  Inhaling deeply, she could actually feel the heat radiate from him and seep through her clothes. This was real. All those times she’d imagined him kissing her were nothing compared to having him here.

  She softly groaned against his lips, opening her mouth and welcoming his tongue. If she hadn’t been up against her car, her knees would have given out. Sensations ignited her body, and she came alive in ways she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Her hair brushed the curve of her neck, and she wanted him to bury his face there, to kiss her skin, then go lower to the swell of her breasts.

  She felt he
r nipples harden, straining in the lace cups of her bra. Those big, suntanned hands of his slid ever so slowly down her bare shoulders, her arms, then caressed her breasts. The firm pads of his thumbs rubbed her nipples, making small circular motions.

  Her hands explored the strength and contours of his back and the thinly ribbed white cotton stretched taut against his frame. She seriously thought about yanking his shirt off.

  Lucy shook, her fingers aching to release the button from his shorts and…she could feel the bulge pressed against her. She wanted to run her hands over his thighs, feel him bunch the fabric of her top and lay the flat of his palm on her skin.

  Slip a hand down her shorts and put his finger…

  She stood on tiptoes, eyes closed, and kept her lips on his. In his arms, she forgot all reason, didn’t think about consequences. It was dangerous, but also exciting.

  Right now, all she could feel was the burning heat from Drew’s body, the burning need to have him inside her.

  She felt the rough khaki of his shorts rub against the bare skin on her thighs, a light friction that caused a groan to work up her throat. His right hand slipped behind her to bring her closer. His hard hand felt sinfully good kneading her butt, and she didn’t care that he was working on the hooks of her bra with his other hand. She sucked in her breath, let out a gasp when her breasts came free and he rolled a nipple between this thumb and finger.

  She had to touch him. Everywhere. His neck, back, shoulders, waist and thighs. Then her palm settled on the fly of his shorts, exploring and learning.

  Drew’s hands fitted into her underarms as he lifted her up on the trunk of the car, spread her thighs and settled in between them. She hooked her legs around him, keeping him close as she lay back on the window glass. Her sweater had come off at some point. There was no recollection of it even being on.

  Breathing hard, she had to close her eyes a moment and get her bearings.

  This was crazy insane. They were in a parking lot. Anyone could walk up and see, even if the faded light from the restrooms gave off little illumination. The fact was, they were out in public.

  But she didn’t care.

  He went to lift her top off, to fully expose her to the night air. The sound of laughter came to them; someone was walking up the hill to the parking lot.

  Yes…she did care!

  “I can’t.” They were the hardest words she’d ever had to say, or so it felt at this moment.

  She sat up, putting herself back together. She pulled up the straps of her bra, redid the hooks. Her panties were wet from her arousal, and embarrassment flooded her.

  Pushing him away, or rather pushing herself off the trunk of the car, she tried to stand on steady legs. Not an easy task. She faltered, and Drew was there at her side to put an arm around her waist.

  “Don’t touch me.” She couldn’t think clearly when he was so close. He stepped away. “I don’t mean never again. I just mean, not right this second. I have to…” She smoothed her top down, found her sweater and slid her arms into it, even though she wasn’t cold anymore.

  “Lucy,” Drew began, then he saw the kids coming into the lot.

  “Hey, Coach!” Brownie ran ahead. “We’re getting Ryan’s Wiffle ball and stuffing it with beehive-bombs.”

  Ryan snorted with excitement. “We’re going to light it and I’m hitting a high hard one over the lake.”

  “Yeah!” Nutter confirmed. “We’re going to watch it blow up. Wanna come see?”

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” Drew said, casually shifting his stance. Lucy’s gaze dropped, and she saw that Drew wasn’t easily forgetting where his hands had just been. Neither was she.

  It was a good thing the area was dark or else things would have been a lot more awkward than they already were.

  “Where’s Matthew and Jason?” Lucy inquired lightly, trying to sound nonchalant when her heartbeat still raced.

  A hasty answer was supplied by Ryan. “Matt’s getting the beehives lined up and Jason’s with Mackenzie.”

  “Where with Mackenzie?” Drew turned to the boys.

  “Just sitting in some chairs by the water,” Nutter replied. “He isn’t hanging out with us. He wants to be with her.”

  “Score!” Ryan hollered from the depths of his parent’s minivan. “Dude, I have two of them!” His fists were raised into the air, a Wiffle ball in each hand.

  The boys ran in a pack back down to the beach.

  Lucy crossed her arms over her chest, a shield to ward off the impulse to press herself to Drew once more.

  Instead of doing something she’d regret, she said in a light tone, “Jason and Mackenzie have spent most of the day together. Maybe you’ll have to give me her father’s phone number so I can feel him out about the idea of his daughter with my son.” She gave a soft laugh.

  Only Drew didn’t see any humor in what she said.

  His expression closed off and his body grew taut. It seemed like a clash of emotions fought for dominance on his face. She couldn’t read his mind, but wished she could. Whatever his thoughts, they were troubling.

  “Drew, what is it?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  His voice was dark when he said, “She’s mine.”

  Not fully grasping the meaning of his words, she questioned him with her gaze.

  Drew looked her over, as if trying to decide what to say, how to say it. Lucy sensed he was struggling, but finally he made a decision. His next words were strong, and with them came a clarity that all of a sudden made perfect sense.

  “Mackenzie is my daughter,” he said.

  Twenty-One

  Lucy didn’t respond in what felt like forever, and for a second, Drew regretted telling her the truth.

  He’d been thinking about it for a while, ever since he saw Mackenzie and Jason were interested in each other. Call it a hunch, but he’d trusted Lucy the first time he’d met her. With her boys at Opal’s that day, it was evident she had a good heart, and was a grounded person. In the two months he’d known her, he’d seen her acting fair, being honest and always determined. He couldn’t think of anything he didn’t like about her.

  “But she said her father was a truck driver,” Lucy finally said.

  “I’m her real father. Bobby Wilder was someone her mother married when I denied getting her pregnant.” The words were hard for him to speak. He knew good and well they made him sound like a jerk. And he had been.

  “You denied it?”

  Drew took Lucy by the hand, walked her to the cliff where a picnic bench overlooked the lake. “Sit down. It’s a long story.”

  She did, slowly lowering herself onto the bench, hands folded in her lap.

  The July night was still and cloudless, and the stars were hazy from gunpowder smoke lingering in the sky. They’d yet to set off the big aerials paid for by city funds. Everyone was still busy setting off their legal fireworks bought at the local stands.

  Turning toward him and meeting his eyes, she waited.

  Drew fought to form the words. Besides Caroline and Lynette, only Jacquie knew most of the whole story. But when he’d told her, he’d left pieces out, glossed over some details that, at the time, were too painful for him to talk about.

  Being with Mackenzie, having her here, trying to reconnect with her, he had been reexamining all his choices, going back as far as childhood and high school. He realized now that the pattern set up for him as a kid had influenced the decisions he’d made as an adult. It didn’t let him off the hook for all the stunts he’d pulled, but it explained things he hadn’t fully understood about himself.

  “I was a hero jock in high school and not smart enough to do anything else.” He shrugged, painting a portrait of a ballplayer who hadn’t taken his books very seriously. “Why let school interfere with my education?” He laughed, trying to see humor. “I barely passed my classes, but I got a diploma. I went straight from Alhambra High into the bush leagues. I had a natural talent and had played most of my childhood. T-B
all. Little League. About the only thing my dad ever encouraged me to do was hit baseballs.”

  Drew rested his forearms on his thighs and knitted his fingers together. He let his mind go, and it was as if he could see his past in front of him. He saw himself as a little kid in the front yard of their rambler with its single car garage, his dad pitching a plastic baseball for him to hit with a plastic bat.

  “My dad wasn’t good at anything. He changed jobs a lot, was never content with one thing. It drove my mother nuts—literally. I don’t think they ever loved each other. One day she just left. It hit me pretty hard. But I got over it.” Pausing in reflection, Drew said aloud, “You know, out of all the people in Mackenzie’s life, I probably know best how she feels. My mom left me and I had to cope without her. Just like my daughter’s had to cope without me. Weird. But she doesn’t know that about me. I haven’t told her.”