Chapter Eight

Charity sat on the front porch, sipping her peppermint tea. Felicity was all about the peppermint tea being great for nausea and indigestion. Charity was more than happy to give it a try, since she had serious “indigestion”—an assumption Felicity had come up with that Charity saw no reason to correct. For the time being, anyway. From her seat on the porch swing, she could see the large inflatable being set up at the end of the street. Tonight was the annual Welcome Summer Nights for their neighborhood—Old Town. Cake walks, dunking booths, face painting, karaoke, and a whole slew of other booths and activities the whole family could enjoy.

In true Otto family fashion, her mother had signed them each up for volunteer hours.

Honor helped with face painting.

Nick worked the karaoke machine.

Felicity had been baking most of the day but, knowing Felicity, she’d flit from booth to booth helping out.

Grams was the lucky one. She’d complained of a stiff knee and gotten off easy—sitting at Jack’s bedside.

Charity was supposed to man the fishing booth. It was a thrilling activity. Each fishing rod had a magnet attached. If you got lucky, you’d catch a duck with a number on its belly and win a prize. News flash, all the ducks had numbers—so the odds were definitely in the fisherman’s or fisherwoman’s favor.

The festivities had kicked off when the fire truck showed up to drive around the neighborhood, sirens blaring. The kids loved it. The dogs of the neighborhood? Not so much.

“You ready?” Felicity asked, her trusty wagon piled high with baked goods for the cake walk.

“Am I ever.” She finished off her tea and stood. “I can’t believe they’re still doing this.”

“Small towns love their traditions.” Felicity smiled. “How’s your stomach?”

Charity nodded. “Fine. Much better. I think it’s allergies or something. All the pollen or ragweed, you know?”

Felicity was staring at her in open disbelief.

“Well, something,” she went on. There were really only two ways to successfully lie. Option A, keep it as close to the truth as possible. Which, in her situation, was pretty impossible. Or Option B, keep it minimal. The more details, the easier to slip up. Ragweed? Allergies? Really? “Fine, I snuck in and ate a bunch of cookies.”

Felicity grinned. “You always were a cookie monster.”

Charity helped her lift the wagon down the steps to the sidewalk. They walked, arm in arm, down the street to the designated cake-walk area. Numbered sheets of bright cardstock paper had been laminated and duct taped to the street in a circle. The table was covered with plastic bunting, the same bright colors as the numbers on the ground. An iPod docking station sat on the table, to start and stop the music each turn.

Easy, timeless, and familiar… It had been years since she’d been to Summer Nights, years since she’d been home, but these were the times when her memories came rushing back, vivid and strong.

“This was Zach’s favorite.” Charity smiled, helping her sister arrange the yummy-looking treats on the table. “Mom would get so mad at him for winning everything.”

“Because she made most of it.” Her sister laughed. “To her, she was taking treats from other kids. To him, he won it fair and square.”

They both adored their brother, from his quick laughter and warm smile, to his love of mischief and hypercompetitive nature. No matter how much they might drive each other crazy—and they did—they would always, always have each other’s backs.

Charity stared up into the wide summer sky. The sun was halfway down, casting enough shadows for the crickets to start their evening serenade. In so many ways, everything was the same. In others, it was completely different.

“I miss him,” Felicity said, sliding an arm around her waist. “Sometimes, I wake up needing to know where he is, right then and there. It eats away at me until I can’t think straight.”

Charity nodded. It was easier for her. It wasn’t that she tried to forget her brother, but travel, away from the places full of memories of him, made it easier to hold that sort of panic at bay. Most of the time. “I know. But we know Zach. He’s tough. He’ll be fine.” He had to be. Their family had been through enough, dammit.

“What are we staring at?” Diana asked, breathless. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Charity smiled. “The pretty sky.”

“Oh.” Diana glanced up, but she didn’t look impressed.

“You and your dad here?” Felicity turned, glancing in the direction Diana had come from.

“Yeah. We are totally crashing your neighborhood party,” Diana whispered. “We’re not supposed to be here, since, you know, we don’t actually live in this neighborhood.”

“Who knew Graham was such a rebel?” she teased, nudging Filly.

“My dad?” Diana shook her head and laughed. “Please. What can I do to help?”

The next fifteen minutes were a blur. Honor and another girl were across the way, their face-painting booth strung with lights, a couple of mirrors, and pictures of past years’ face-painting handiwork. They were excited; she could see it from here. Hadn’t she been when she was their age?

Once Nick had the karaoke machine set up and the speakers tuned, he and Diana offered to fill the pool she’d use for the rubber-ducky fishing. Which would have been fine if the two of them hadn’t gotten a little too carried away and ended up spraying each other—and her. Soaking wet. Considering the Texas heat, she didn’t mind too much. Until she got blasted in the face.

“Nickie,” she groaned.

“Sorry, Aunt Charity,” Nick said. “Gotta go.”

The blare of the fire truck sounded about the time she was wiping the water from her eyes.

“Here.” Braden Martinez, in his full sheriff uniform, was offering her a bandanna. As usual, his expression revealed nothing.

She plucked her sopping wet shirt away from her stomach and wrung the fabric out. She glanced down at her T-shirt, relieved it was gray and not white. That, by Pecan Valley standards, would have been downright scandalous. “I don’t suppose you have a towel tucked into one of your pockets?” she asked, taking the bandanna.

“In my other pants,” he said.

She froze, stepping closer. Had he really said that? “Was that a joke, Sheriff Martinez?” she whispered.

The corner of his mouth cocked up for less than a second. It was progress. He still wasn’t big on making eye contact, but he’d smiled—sort of. What she didn’t understand was why? The Braden Martinez she’d hung around with was full of jokes and smiles, more easygoing than poker-faced. She understood the job required a certain amount of decorum, but this much?

“You used to smile more.” All the time. She’d always been able to make him smile. And laugh. He’d laughed, too, once upon a time. “And, if I recall correctly, you had a great smile.”

Where is your smile now, Sheriff?

He was staring down at the puddle she was standing in. “Your shoes are wet.”

“And squishing.” She wriggled her toes, studying him. He’d changed so much. As big and manly as he was, there was something restrained—almost stifled—about him. “But I’ll survive. The shoes, however—well, I might not be able to save them.” Her ancient pair of canvas tennis shoes had served her well.

His gaze darted to her face like he was on the verge of saying something.

Maybe she could draw him out? “How’s your dad?”

His gaze narrowed as he turned to assess the street. “Fine.”

Not the best topic. Fine. She tried again. “And your head? Glad to see that whole bleeding thing stopped,” she added. “Anything broken?”

“No.” His gaze returned. “My head isn’t broken.”

“That’s a relief.” Hands on hips, she smiled at him.

And, right there, she saw the beginning of what promised to be an honest-to-goodness smile—

“Charity Ann.” Her mother stopped in front of her booth, squashing any hope of smiles or conversation. “Why aren’t the ducks in the pool? Why is there water dripping off the canopy?” She sighed. “And, for goodness’ sake, why are you standing in a puddle?”

“I’ll lend a hand, Mrs. Otto.” Braden touched the brim of his hat, stooped to open the large clear plastic tub full of ducks, and started placing them in the water.

“Thank you, Sheriff Martinez.” Her mother was all smiles for Braden.

“It’s fine, Mom.” She waved, then joined Braden, plopping each rubber duck into the pool. Once it was crowded with multicolored ducks and the fishing rods were out and ready to go, she held a rod to Braden. “You want to go fishing, Sheriff Braden? You never know; you might win a prize.”

He stared at the rod, then her. “Never had much luck with that.” With a stiff nod, he walked on down the street, leaving Charity to ponder what, exactly, he’d meant.

…

Honor was finishing a full tiger face on a squirming five-year-old when Owen made an appearance. She knew the minute he arrived because Emily, the girl who was face painting with her, freaked out. Completely. Because that’s what girls did when the Owen Nelson was around. Something about his freakishly big muscles, dazzling smile, and all that sent girls into a tailspin.

She sighed, refusing to acknowledge his presence and focusing all of her attention on her work.

“There.” She held up the hand mirror. “Good?”

The little boy had no interest in looking at his reflection. He nodded, jumped out of his chair, and ran across the street to Aunt Charity’s booth. Not that Honor could blame the kid. Aunt Charity had cool prizes.

“I heard him say thank you.” Owen nodded. “And something about how talented you are. And that no one else can paint tiger faces like you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”

There was the smile. “Hi.”

She nodded, wishing his smile didn’t render her momentarily speechless.

“Hi, Owen.” Emily waved, her voice all nervous and pitchy and awkward.

“Hey, Emily.” He turned that smile on Emily.

Which was mean because Emily already looked like she was going to fall off her stool. Now, with the knock-the-air-from-your-lungs smile, it was only a matter of time before she fainted—face-first—onto the asphalt at their feet.

“We have a line,” Honor snapped, earning a soft gasp from Emily.

“I’ve been waiting in it.” His smile never wavered. “I’m next.”

She’d thought the toddler who wouldn’t stop screaming was going to be the hardest of the night. Now she knew better. This was. Definitely. Honor held her breath as he sat in her chair and waited. “What do you want?”

“My face painted.” He was grinning now.

She sat on her stool and leveled what she hoped was a good, solid glare his way. Had her stool always been this close to the chair? She was practically in his lap. “What do you want painted on your face?”

“Whatever you want.” His gaze fell to her lips.

She fought the urge to stick her tongue out. Really? Why was he doing this? He didn’t have to. Her family was too preoccupied to notice what he was or wasn’t doing. He could drag Emily into the bushes and make out with her and no one would be the wiser. Except for her. She would be. And she wouldn’t like it. At all.

Oh my God, what is wrong with me?

“What’s wrong?” His voice was soft. “You look pissed off.”

“Nothing.” She stirred her brush with more force than necessary, sloshing water onto the table. Nothing at all. She wasn’t upset about him having a fantasy make-out session with Emily. Not in the least. Because that would be ridiculous. “Seriously, Owen, what am I painting?”

“Whatever you’re best at.” He turned to wink at the toddler in line. “I trust you.”

Honor was momentarily distracted by the sharp angle of his jaw and thick column of his neck. He smelled incredible. He had a mole high on his cheek and the thickest lashes—

He was staring back at her now, unflinching. So much so, it was hard to breathe.

Too close. Way, way too close.

“Owen.” She cleared her throat.

“Honor.” He tilted his head, those hazel eyes flashing.

“Fine.” He wanted to tease her. To make her…squirm? She’d do exactly what he said. She was best at butterflies. And Owen Nelson deserved the best and brightest butterfly ever. She was tempted to do a full face, but that would keep him in her chair, up close and far too personal, for longer than she was prepared to handle.

“Let’s do this.”

In order to paint a person’s face, she had to lean in. Sometimes, on an adult, she’d stand to get a better angle. Owen was tall, so she was standing. But that put things in awkward places. Every time she leaned in, he took a sharp little breath. She hadn’t touched him, wouldn’t touch him, but something was definitely bothering him because he was sitting, eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of her chair.

The butterfly was beautiful.

With long, black antennae, massive wings in brilliant rainbow hues, and—because it was a girl butterfly—she had to have rosy cheeks and long eyelashes. It was so pretty, she decided to add a flower on the side of his nose. And, just to make it perfect, sprinkled the whole thing with iridescent glitter.

“Um, Honor.” Emily was horrified.

Looking at it now, on his gorgeous face, she was a little horrified, too. She’d gone too far. It was too late to wipe it off. Everyone had seen it.

“Done?” he asked, his eyes popping open.

She stared down at him. “I guess so.” But she didn’t offer him the mirror. In fact, she hid it behind her back and stepped away. “I should probably apologize.”

His brows shot up. “Does it look bad?”

“It’s pretty,” one of the little girls in line reassured him.

“Pretty, huh?” He stepped forward. “Let me see, Honor.”

She shook her head, stepping back.

He was an athlete. She was not. He was fast. She was not. And she was ridiculously ticklish—something he discovered immediately. It took five minutes for him to free the mirror. In those five minutes she was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her face. Until he looked at his reflection, then she winced, ready to run. What was wrong with her? Why had she done this to him? “Owen…”

“Honor.” He lowered the mirror. “How did you know butterflies are my favorite?” He reached around her, no space or air or relief between them, to place the mirror on the table. She couldn’t breathe without breathing him in. So she did. Big, deep breaths that flooded her lungs with Owen. His hands settled on her upper arms, and he smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

Speechless. Absolutely. She nodded. It’s not fair.

He pressed the lightest kiss right in the middle of her forehead, waved at Emily, and disappeared down the street.

“You two are together?” Emily asked, in shock. “Like together, together?”

She answered without the slightest hesitation. “We are. Owen Nelson is my boyfriend.” She was grinning like an idiot for the rest of the night.

…

Graham watched Hank Otto and his wife dance to the smooth tunes of Patsy Cline. The older man moved in perfect time with the rhythm of the music spilling out of the karaoke machine. The booths, tables, and all remnants of the evening’s festivities had been cleared away, but the music played on. And a small crowd of lingering volunteers and residents was making the most of it.

“Graham?” Felicity joined him, her wagon loaded with decorations and leftover baked goods. “Still here?”

“I seem to have misplaced my daughter.” Not that he was worried. The last time he’d seen Diana, she was with Nick and Honor. “Figured I could help clean up a little, anyway.”

“That’s very nice of you.”

“It was very nice of you to invite us.” He shook his head as Herb Otto spun his wife—with flare.

“They do this every year. I think it’s their favorite part.”

“I’m impressed,” he said, nodding at her parents. “Hank is light on his feet.”

“He loves to dance. Says it’s a good excuse to keep my mom in his arms.” She shook her head. “You know how Mom is, all over the place, all the time.”

He nodded. He did know. Mimi Otto liked to be involved—at the very center of things, if possible. Sometimes that was a good thing, while other times, not so much. Tonight, he’d learned how worried she was about her daughters, and how she wondered, since he was a doctor, if he had any advice.

Not that she needed or wanted actual advice from him. He figured that out pretty quick. Mimi’s worries were an excuse to showcase her daughters, hoping to gain his interest in one or the other. And while he was flattered that she thought he was good enough for either of them, it didn’t make her maneuverings any less irritating.

“They make it look easy, don’t they?” Felicity asked.

He wasn’t sure if she meant dancing or marriage or living life, but he had to give it to them—Mimi and Herb Otto seemed to have it figured out. “They do.”

“Felicity,” her father called out to them, waving them over. “Put on your dancing shoes.”

“Dad,” she answered, waving off his suggestion.

“You dance?” he asked.

“No, not really.” She shrugged. “But…”

“Do you want to?” He held his hand out. “I’ll warn you now, it’s been a long time.”

“Ditto, Dr. Murphy. Let’s have some fun breaking each other’s toes.” She took his hand and headed toward the designated dancing spot—a wide illuminated circle beneath the corner streetlamp.

The Ottos weren’t the only ones dancing, and few of them had the finesse of Herb Otto. But hours of cardio and weights did nothing for grace or coordination, and next to the Ottos, Graham felt clunky and awkward as he botched spinning Felicity into his arms.

“We can just sway,” Felicity offered when they bounced off each other, smiling broadly.

“That’s swaying. We are dancing.” He studied Herb a little longer and tried again, resting one hand at the base of Felicity’s spine and holding her hand with the other. “Like this?”

Felicity was watching her parents, too. “I think so.”

They weren’t very good, but they were determined. When he spun her away, then pulled her in, she tripped on his foot and slammed into his chest. He caught her, laughing and breathless and having more fun than he’d had in a hell of a long time.

“That move was called ‘falling with finesse,’” Felicity said between giggles.

“Well done.” He winked, righting her onto her feet before trying it all over again.

When the music stopped, the sound of applause startled them. They had an audience. Honor, Honor’s boyfriend, Diana, Nick, and Charity all sat on the lawn, sharing popcorn and sipping soda.

“Make your arm more rigid, Graham,” Charity offered, holding out her arm. “Like this, not so loosey-goosey.”

“Loosey-goosey?” Diana giggled. “But I see what you mean.”

“Mom, he needs to lead.” Nick leaned across Diana for a handful of popcorn. “The dude always leads.”

“I thought they did great,” Owen, the boyfriend, said.

“I like him,” Graham murmured, his attention fixing on the large teenager wrapped around Honor. “Smart kid.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “The one with the butterfly painted on his face?”

Felicity laughed.

“Dad, kind of, I don’t know, stand between her legs—not right in front of her,” Diana said around a mouthful of popcorn. “Your steps aren’t syncing up.”

“Here I thought we weren’t half bad,” Felicity said, still slightly breathless—and startlingly beautiful—in his arms.

Now was not the time to notice that. To notice her. Or that he liked the feel of her in his arms. Not now. When their kids were watching and criticizing. “Don’t listen to them.” He smiled.

“No,” Mimi Otto said. “You really should. Diana’s right.” She hauled Herb closer. “See. It really is about how strongly you lead. You follow, Filly.”

Felicity shot him a look. “I’m so sorry,” she said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

“For what?”

“All the opinionated people in my life.” She sighed. “Nothing like trying to have some fun and hearing, basically, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Were you having fun?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then we weren’t doing it wrong.” He winked.

“Well, except, you sort of are,” Nick said.

Charity clapped her hands. “Try again. We believe in you.”

“Some of us believe in you.” Nick said. “Some of us are just laughing at you.”

“Nickie.” Honor pushed her brother over.

Maybe he should be bothered by all the criticism, but he wasn’t. They were all here, together, doing something. Granted, it was criticizing the shit out of his dancing, but he could live with that if this peace could last. “No pressure.” Graham sighed. “You game?”

“Is there a choice?” she asked.

“Of course there’s a choice.” Herb Otto chuckled, an apologetic smile on his face as his gaze met Graham’s.

“No,” Nick called out. “Come on.”

“One more try,” Diana added.

“I say you guys go straight for the tango.” Charity laughed. “I’ll find you a rose to hold in your teeth, Filly.”

“Charity Ann,” Mimi Otto snapped.

All five of their audience dissolved into laughter. “I told you,” Charity whispered, earning more laughter.

“My sister lives to make my mother crazy,” Felicity whispered, laughter in her voice.

Graham couldn’t help but chuckle then.

“You look so happy, Mom,” Honor said. “You, too, Dr. Murphy. It’s nice to see you laugh.”

If Graham had been looking for a reason to keep Felicity in his hold, that was it. Honor was right. Laughter was good—therapeutic, even. “Why not?”

“You’re a glutton for punishment.” But she was smiling up at him.

“Find a good song, Nickie.” Honor pushed her brother up. “Something easy to dance to.”

“Are you sure about this?” Felicity whispered, soft enough that he had to stoop to hear her. “This could turn into some all-night dance-lesson torture.”

Nat King Cole’s soothing voice flooded the dark street. “When I Fall in Love.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Besides, it’s too good a song not to dance to.” He ignored everything everyone said, holding her closer, gently, moving with her, not the beat. She was right there with him, step for step. Spinning, turning, trusting him to guide her.

Honor was right. It had been a long time since he’d felt this happy. Too long. How could he hold on to this feeling once the song came to an end?