Speak From The Heart: a small town romance

by L. B. Dunbar

As I walk up to the table, I hear Emily reading once again to my daughter. I find her voice rather soothing when she goes into reading mode. From the bright colors of the pages, I can see the book is a version of The Little Mermaid. It’s a tale about a girl, a mermaid, who gives up her voice to a witch with the hope she will meet the man of her dreams.

  More fairy-tale bullshit.

  Suddenly, Emily stops, and she turns her focus on Katie. Her fingers stroke down the side of Katie’s cheek, and my heart thumps at the affectionate touch. Emily’s fingers cup Katie’s chin and then slip down her neck. Pausing there, she says to my daughter, “Did an evil witch steal your voice, Katie bug?”

  Oh hell no.

  “That’s enough,” I snap, causing both of them to jump. Katie’s eyes widen at me. I try not to raise my voice, given the few times I have in the past it has frightened her, and she slips into a deer-in-headlights mode. She doesn’t blink. She only stares forward as if her eyes are trapped. She’s looking at nothing.

  Shit, shit, shit. This is all Emily’s fault.

  “Did she cast a spell on you?” Emily continues, ignoring me as she speaks to my daughter whose innocent blue eyes face me but aren’t seeing me.

  That’s it. I reach for the book and swipe it off the table, closing the hardcover with a sharp snap. I glare at Emily, giving her dagger eyes and stabby thoughts and anything that might maim her. I’m so pissed off she’s pushing this issue and she’s pushing my daughter.

  Forget the unforgettable kiss downstairs. It’s forgotten. Over. I never want to see this woman again.

  “Mr. Carter, is everything okay over here?” an older feminine voice says to me, but I’m lost in my hardly contained rage.

  “Yes, we’re fine,” I growl as I look down at my daughter. Katie has turned her attention back to Emily. Not to me. Not to her father. To a stranger.

  Katie curls her fingers around her throat and nods once.

  My brows pinch to the point my entire face creases.

  “Someone stole your voice?” Emily questions softly, keeping her eyes on Katie’s.

  I hate this woman who looks from my child to me.

  “What is she saying, Jess?” Her eyes are soft while the words are hard.

  I have no idea, I want to scream.

  But I hear Emily loud and clear.

  Without another word to her, I swipe up the sign language book which has miraculously made its way up the staircase and onto this table. I don’t look at Emily as I tell Katie it’s time to leave.

  This time I need to be the one walking away from a woman, and I can’t seem to get away fast enough.

  Rule 7

  Rain has its own language.

  [Emily]

  “It was the strangest thing,” I say to Grace that night, trying to explain what happened with Katie in the library. “It’s as if she admitted something happened.” Like a spell was put on her, which is almost too unbelievable to say aloud.

  “Something definitely happened,” Grace states. “I’m no detective, but I think the mother said something to her. Threatened her somehow.”

  Grace and I both remain quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts, and I realize how much I miss my sister. It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen her, and now, she’s having another baby. I need to get to Georgia. If anything, my time with Nana has taught me not to let time slip away.

  “How old was she when she stopped talking?” Grace interrupts my musings.

  I check my memory, trying to recall if Jess said specifically. “Somewhere close to four.”

  “I’d definitely find the mother guilty,” Grace states in her best judge voice even though she never earned that law degree like she’d wanted.

  “Do you think he’ll follow through with the sign language?” I ask.

  “I think you’ve made a strong impression on him.” She’s teasing, but she doesn’t understand the impression he’s left on me. The imprint of his lips still tingles on mine. The flavor of cinnamon sits on my tongue. I can’t forget the way he felt against me—hard and hot and eager.

  “He kissed me.”

  “He what?” Grace shrieks followed by laughter.

  “We were fighting over the book, playing tug-of-war with it, and the next thing I know, his lips were on me.” With delicious lips, commanding and rugged, he took out his frustration on me, and I was more than willing to accept it.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” I sigh, not knowing how else to explain what happened or why. My head falls back on the outdoor couch cushion, and I stare up at the ceiling fan. Crickets chirp softly behind me.

  “He likes you.”

  “He does not,” I say, sounding once again like a whiny teenager as my head snaps forward. “He was frustrated.”

  Grace snorts. “I’ll say. I bet you have him all tied up inside. He didn’t expect you, and now every time he turns around, there you are.”

  “Me?” I gasp. “He’s everywhere I go.”

  “Right? Who purposely went to the library?” I shouldn’t have told Grace about my run. Or how I found myself at Sound Advice, claiming I wanted an update on Nana’s radio. Or how Tom let it slip Jess and Katie were at the library. Or how my feet just sort of took me there.

  I shake my head although my sister can’t see me. “I have to go.”

  Grace chuckles again before giving me her love and disconnecting the line.

  + + +

  The next day, I’m walking home from the grocery store when the sky opens and rain pours. I was already ambitious in thinking I could walk a mile to the Bear’s Den for exercise and then carry my supplies back to Nana’s. As I struggle with the four bags, two in each hand, a pickup truck pulls up before me and stops. The hazards blink, and I recognize the vehicle.

  Jess.

  He slips out of the driver side and rushes to me, reaching for the bags.

  “What are you doing out in this?” he yells over the hammering rain.

  “Oh, I just thought it’d be fun to get caught in a downpour with groceries and a mile still to go.”

  He smirks at my sarcasm, and for the millionth time, I wonder what he would look like if he truly smiled. He’d probably stop traffic.

  Without asking me to get in, he takes giant steps to the passenger side and tosses my bags into his truck. He holds the door for me, and I slide onto the seat, the rainwater on my bare legs causing me to stick against the leather. Shirt soaked and legs dripping, I swipe at my thighs as Jess jumps in the driver’s side. He pauses a minute and checks his rearview mirror. His hair is plastered to his head, the ponytail holding the strands mostly in place, but a straggler escapes. It’s sexy as all get-out, and it isn’t lost on me that I’m a hot mess again. Yesterday, I was sweat-laden from a run when I arrived at the library, and today, I’m rain-soaked. His gaze drifts to me, and he notes the moisture all over my thighs. Reaching behind his seat, he pulls forward a sweatshirt.

  Sound Advice is printed across the front of the heather gray material.

  “Here. Put this on.”

  I’m soaked through and through, and I’ll only dampen the sweatshirt, but I follow his command, needing a little warmth. It’s still late July, but the rush of the rain has chilled me.

  “Thank you,” I offer as Jess pulls back onto the road. The drive to Nana’s will be quick, and I have so much I want to ask, but I don’t bother. He’s made it clear I should stay out of his business, and he’s right. I don’t need to be inserting myself into his life or his daughter’s. He’s her father. He knows best.

  Even if I disagree with all of it.

  Eventually, he clears his throat.

  “So, yesterday . . .”

  His voice fades so I add, “. . . when we kissed.”

  He twists his head, glancing at me quickly and then returning his gaze to the windshield. “I wasn’t thinking of that, but—”

  “Never mind then.” I look away from him, pretending not to notice his profile. The strong edge of his chin. The roll
of his throat. The brightness of his eyes.

  “I meant Katie and the sign language.”

  “Of course,” I mutter, not sour but agreeing. Of course he means his daughter.

  “I . . . I think you might be right.”

  I shift in my seat, twisting my body to face his. “Excuse me?”

  “The sign language. You might be correct. She needs a method of communication.”

  I stare at him a long moment, then a smile breaks out across my lips. “Wow. That was hard for you, wasn’t it?”

  He tips his head, side-eyeing me again and then returning his gaze to the road. “What do you mean?”

  “I get the impression admitting I might have been right might have physically hurt you.”

  The corner of his mouth curls. “It didn’t hurt. Much.” Is he teasing me? Was that . . . a joke? As I continue to watch his face, watch him fight the smile at his lips, I notice a dimple.

  Dear God, don’t be a dimple because it will be my downfall.

  He straightens his mouth almost as quickly as it curls. “I don’t want Katie to think she’s stupid. And I don’t want her thinking she’s done something wrong. I’m always telling her nothing is wrong with her, reassuring her she’s done nothing bad, although I have no idea what I’m reassuring her about.” Frustration fills his voice.

  “I think it’s all in how you present it to her,” I say, swiping at my cool skin. His sweatshirt is warm, but I still shiver. He notices and surprises me when he flips on the heat.

  “My sister is a teacher. She said I should talk to someone before Katie enters kindergarten this fall, but they’re on break until mid-August.” His eyes shift to me once more. “And as Katie seems to have taken to you, and you made the suggestion—not to mention, you are kind of pushy—I wondered if you’d help.”

  “Me?” I gasp, my hand coming to my chest. “Why me?”

  He doesn’t answer as if his explanation already tells me everything.

  “I don’t know anything about sign language,” he says, and I watch him as he turns the wheel and drives us down Main Street.

  “You can learn,” I say.

  “So can you.”

  I’m at an impasse with him. He’s so freaking stubborn.

  “But you’re the one who needs to know it.” You’re her father.

  He nods in agreement as if he’s read my additional thoughts.

  “I thought you were worried about her getting attached because I’m not staying,” I add. I don’t exactly know where that comes from, but it’s an honest concern. He didn’t want me near his daughter, didn’t want her more connected to me, and now suddenly, he’s asking me to spend time with her. I don’t get it.

  He shrugs. “Maybe this will be a bigger lesson for her. She’ll see she can trust someone, a woman she doesn’t know, who will eventually disappear, and it doesn’t mean it was a bad experience.”

  Disappear? Does he think I’ll vanish? I turn back toward the windshield, processing.

  “I see.” My voice falls quiet, and I squint at the heavy rain beating against the window. “I guess . . . I mean, of course. I’d love to help. Let me just work around Nana, okay?”

  He nods like a bobble-head. “Totally understand. How is that going?”

  I shrug, not really prepared to share what’s happening with my grandmother.

  We pull into the drive, and he sets the truck in park. I begin to gather the bags so I can make a mad dash inside and out of the rain.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  I want to brush him off, to tell him it’s not necessary, but I remember I have something for him.

  “If you don’t mind, that would be great. And I found a few things in the garage I wanted to show you.”

  To my surprise, he shuts off the ignition, grabs all four bags, and slides out his side of the truck. We race to Nana’s front porch and I burst into laughter at being soaked all over again. He stares at me as if I’m looney and then reaches for the screen door. I’m surprised once more by his gentlemanly actions, but don’t mention it.

  He follows my lead, greeting Nana briefly as we pass her on the couch.

  “Jess found me drowning in the rain. I’m just going to put away these groceries and then take him to the garage.”

  “Okay, dear. Have fun.” The comment is off, but I dismiss it.

  Quickly, I set the milk and eggs in the fridge and the dry goods in the cupboard. Then I motion for Jess to follow me. We exit through the back porch, and I call out, “Ready?” before I break into a run and head for the garage. There’s no point to even try to dodge the raindrops. My hair is plastered to my head and the sweatshirt sags on me, making me look as if I’m wearing a very short dress. The top of Jess’s tee is soaked, and the bottom of his jeans are as well. His hair remains in place, minus the strands falling forward near his cheek.

  “You’re soaked,” he says, having no idea the effect of his words in his rugged voice has on me. He also has no idea how wet I am in a place he can’t see. My heart races, but so does the pulse between my thighs. I like this man when I shouldn’t. I’m attracted to him when I shouldn’t be. He’s everything I shouldn’t, yet I so want to should . . .

  “So, what did you want to show me?”

  I spin toward the boxes of wires and such I’ve collected. “I have no idea if any of this will help Nana’s radio or be of use for any other job, but I found these out here. You can have them. If you want.”

  With his eyes focused on me, he blinks, startled by my offer. It’s not really a big deal. It’s just boxes of junk, but he’s staring at me as if I’ve offered him a golden ticket or a free pass to something.

  “That’s . . . yeah, thanks. I’ll take them.” His hand swipes over his hair and then curls around the ponytail at his neck, holding it a moment as he eyes the boxes. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask. You and Gabe Carpenter seemed cozy at the Tavern.”

  “We go way back because of his parents being Nana’s neighbor.”

  “You sure about that?” An eyebrow arches and the move surprises me. He’s teasing once again, and his lips fight a smile.

  “Would you be jealous?” I tease back. Are we standing closer? I think we’re closer. His chest heaves, and he reaches for a piece of hair stuck to the side of my face. He brushes it back behind my ear, pausing only a second before releasing it, but not before his eyes scan my forehead, drag down my nose, and pause on my lips.

  “Nah. I’d never be jealous of him.” Bitterness edges his tone. He dislikes Gabe.

  “Why? What’s he done to you?”

  “He stole my wife.”

  My eyes pop wider. “He what?”

  “Gabe helped Debbie leave me.”

  “Shit. I had no idea.” I take a breath. “But no, I’m not involved with him.” I don’t know why I explain myself. His fingers return to the hair at the side of my cheek, brushing back strands that haven’t moved, curling his fingers around my ear again.

  “That’s good because I’d be sorry I kissed you if you were involved with him.”

  I snort. “You’re already sorry you kissed me,” I clarify for him.

  “I’m not sorry,” he says, his voice dipping to just above a whisper, and I swallow. We are definitely standing closer to one another. My breasts brush against his chest, my nipples erect and possibly showing through the wet weight of his sweatshirt.

  “You’re not?” I choke out, and he shakes his head slowly side to side. “What about that girl at the Tavern?” Yeah, I remember the trussed-up, dark-haired raven.

  “Sami?” he questions. “She’s no one.”

  Well, I certainly feel sorry for her then.

  “Poor woman. Does she know that’s how you feel?” My words turn bitter on behalf of a sisterhood with the woman who doesn’t know she’s not worth anything to him. I know the feeling.

  “How’s this getting all turned around on me?”

  “Because someday, that woman’s going to want things from you, and all you’
ve done is lead her on. Someday, she’s going to have feelings for you and find you don’t feel the same. And someday, she’s going to want a someday where the future is planned, and she’s . . . she’s the one you didn’t pick.”

  Someday turns into the one day you find out you aren’t enough.

  I’m all worked up, and I don’t know why I’m defending her when it feels like I’m actually speaking about me.

  I push at his shoulders, making him unsteady with the effort. His eyes widen in surprise, and I bend down to grab a box and lift it, shoving it at his abdomen. He continues to stare, stunned by my behavior.

  Here’s to someday, I want to scream, but I don’t. I reach for the second box, then walk to the garage entrance. It’s still pouring, but I stalk to his truck, fumble as I open the driver’s door since it’s the closest, and slip the box across the seat. Jess follows me, and I step back, prepared to walk away.

  So away.

  He sets his box on the seat and turns on me, his back to the open truck door.

  “What just happened in there?” he yells over the rain.

  “I get it, okay? I’m not good enough. Not for you. Not for your daughter.” Even though he just asked for my help, he doesn’t really want me. I’m too far into my rant, so I add one more thing. “And don’t apologize for kissing me. It wasn’t that great.”

  “Not good enough?” He blinks through the rain covering his face. “Woman, you’re the one too good for us. You’re going to leave. Go back to your big city job and some pricy condo, and I’m going to be left explaining to Katie where you went.”

  I glare at him, and his eyes land on mine.

  “And as for not great, then how about this?” His hands slip to my jaw once again, and he tugs me to him, his mouth crashing against mine like the thunder clapping overhead. It’s teeth and tongue and lightning strikes as I lean against him while he presses me into the side of his truck. Water streams over us, and all I care about are his lips on mine. I clutch at his wet T-shirt as he holds my face in his palms. His mouth moves, directing mine to follow. Take him. Give to him. Our tongues meet and lash, then draw back and reconnect. It’s a war of wills and desire for connection. Too soon, he slows and pulls away.