Chapter Eleven

Tonight had been perfect and a big mistake.

Dave stretched out beside Livie, and they lay together companionable and drowsy, her head pillowed on his arm.

A brilliant shooting star zipped across the sky.

Livie gasped. “Oh! Did you see that? The sky’s so amazing here.”

“Quick, make a wish,” he blurted, swamped by the memory of childish belief. I wish I may, I wish I might…

He shoved his wishes away.

Happiness rang in her laugh. What had she wished? He sifted his fingers through her hair, tucking tousled strands behind her soft ear. The memory poured over him of Livie rising wet and nude from the lake like some shy, erotic water creature. She was so beautiful. JoAnn had once described Livie as a mix of Audrey Hepburn and Sophia Loren. He pondered the stacks of classic movies he’d watched while trapped in bed recuperating. Yes, perhaps, but for him she was simply, perfectly Livie.

She sighed.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just a touch of the vacation’s-almost-over blues. No matter how good going home will be, ending vacation is…difficult.”

“Yeah.” He stroked his hand along her arms. She had that right.

“This has been my best vacation in years. Thank you.”

“Good. You’re welcome.” He kissed her shoulder. If only he could sleep the night with Livie. As she’d drifted to sleep the other night, he’d been so tempted to stay with her until morning, but that blatant act might’ve embarrassed her if the others had caught them together in her tent. Right?

Excuses, excuses. Why don’t you just shut up, hold her close, and sleep. You need to sleep.

No, she needed to sleep in her own cot before he did or said anything they’d regret. Sleeping together would change things between them more than they’d already changed tonight.

Of course, Livie washed in starlight filled his mind, her slim strong thighs and sweet rear and how deep she’d clasped him within her heat.

His heart squeezed and his body rushed with that same primeval fight or flight response that jolted a body at a wildfire flare-up. This had gotten out of hand. He’d talked too much. Shared too much. Wanted her too much. She wasn’t using him to get over R.J. He wasn’t using her to revive his sex life. This thing with Livie wasn’t simple mutual attraction, satisfaction, or get-them-back-on-their-sexual-feet-again sex.

No, this wasn’t simple at all.

He didn’t want to know how vulnerable and courageous she was. He didn’t want this smug smart-ass male pride from knowing he’d given her pleasures no one else had.

Livie brushed her lips over his mouth, giving him her soft, perfect smile.

He kissed her, torn between the gnawing sensations of binding and tearing. Tomorrow would be a bitch.

Tomorrow, Lloyd and JoAnn would take her to the marina, she would drive her rental car to a Vegas hotel, and the next day she’d fly home to Florida and her new life.

You could follow her there and steal one more day together.

No. He needed to get his head together and find a new career. He needed to stop dreaming he felt whole and strong in her arms and that this little idyll with her had a chance in the real world. Ignoring facts and hanging onto her to take the peace and rest he found in her would be easy, but he had nothing to offer her in return. He was a firefighter who couldn’t fight the fires, a runner who couldn’t run, and a musician who’d lost the music in his soul.

Dave swept his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, greedily taking a slow fierce kiss that would have to keep him forever.

****

The next morning, a shadow cast over Olivia’s heart, far darker than the regret of vacation’s end.

While Dave joked around with the guys at the breakfast table and during the cheerful chaos dismantling the camps, his smile never reached his shadowed eyes.

All too soon, the packing was complete.

Ryan and Sam jumped on Dave, staggering him with their boisterous goodbyes. He ruffled their hair, hugged them, and scooped them up, a boy under each arm, sending them into pealing giggles.

“Okay, Patti, which bag do you want ’em packed in?”

He scooped Daisy into his arms next, freeing JoAnn to load her last odds and ends. Daisy babbled happily to him, and for the first time this morning the underlying tension eased from his face.

Lloyd tossed a bag into his boat. “I swear we didn’t have this much coming here. Dave, you grab Livie’s stuff, and you two ride to the marina together. We’ll see you there.”

Dave’s brief hesitation kicked Olivia’s cold sinking sensation into a headlong, painful crash.

With a nod to Lloyd, he gave Olivia a fixed smile. “Hop in and we’ll get your things.”

The leaving happened far too fast. Her small pile was added to Dave’s boat. One last walk around to make sure only their footprints remained. One last round of hugs with everyone.

Done.

“Ready?” Dave coiled the mooring line.

“Yes.” She tucked away her camera. The vacant campsite was too lonely to record.

Dave put the boat into reverse, and they were homeward bound. The camp, cove, and hills fell away behind them. Dave’s focus was locked ahead, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, his face set.

This trip, he hit the throttle and raced over the lake.

At the marina, he tied up at the dock, and they wordlessly unloaded. After starting her rental car to run the air conditioning, three easy trips each across the blazing parking lot completed the packing of her car.

“You’re all set.” He turned away.

Her heart lurched. “Can’t I help you pull the boat?”

“No, I got it.” He frowned and rearranged the bags in the trunk. “Done it so often I could pull it in my sleep.”

“Dave…” She caught his arm, needing to touch him, ease him, force him to face her. “Let me help.”

He turned sharply.

Olivia grazed her fingers over his cheek, the rasp of his dark beard, and she pulled his sunglasses away.

Their eyes locked. Challenge filled his steely expression, but to back off or come on?

For a wrenching moment, he stood immobile, then dragged her close and crushed his mouth onto hers in a furious, searing kiss. He raked his fingers over her scalp, trapping her in the dangerous, driving, drugging kiss, frightening her even as she wanted more. Alarm licked and leaped.

This is what you get for playing with fire.

She clamped her hands on his hips. Coherent thought vanished under sensation: heat of mouth and tongue, gasps and rushing breaths, the sweet controlling pressure of his fingers against her head, the painful scrape of his beard, his tension under her hands, the prick of tears against her shut eyelids, the straining arch of her back, the ridge of his erection grinding against her belly. She whimpered as hope and fear fought.

He pried his bruising grip loose and shoved unsteadily away.

She fought for breath. She had to ask. “Dave, come to Vegas. Stay the night with me.”

A long chill silence hung between them before he sighed heavily. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why can’t we see where this goes?” There, she’d put the deliberately avoided topic in the open.

“Because it’s not going anywhere.” He shut the trunk.

The hot fist gripping her heart clenched. He could kiss her like that—then say that? “Why?”

“Because it just isn’t. It can’t. You’re going home to Florida, and I’m headed to California.”

“That’s it?” Her breath seized, paralyzed in disbelief.

“That’s all there can be. I can’t give you what you need. You deserve a guy who can settle down, who wants a family. You’ll be a great mom.” He caressed her cheek and swallowed hard, as if cutting off other words he meant to add. He quirked a half-smile and slipped his sunglasses from her hand. “Have a good life, Florida.”

Dave turned and limped off toward his boat.

Olivia slumped against the rental car door, the sunbaked metal burning through her shorts, breathless and sick from shock, as if he’d punched her instead of his quiet goodbye.

Don’t you ever learn? You’ve thrown your heart to a man who doesn’t give a shit, again. Abandoned, again.

But Dave did care. That kiss meant something.

Hah, right. Well, at least this one didn’t leave you stranded.

The same old pain hurt in such a new way. She wanted to chase after him and shake him.

No. Olivia dropped into the driver’s seat, snapped on her seatbelt, and shifted the car into drive. She blinked hard and refused the tears. She was done crying over men.

To hell with Mr. Knight.

****

Thirteen hours after leaving the marina, Dave made the turn into his dark lane and parked alongside his trailer. Record time and pure luck he hadn’t picked up a ticket or two on the way.

Too tired to bother with lights, he dropped the cane by the door, stumbled into his bedroom, stripped, and fell into his bed. After two weeks of camping, the crisp, cool sheets and a spacious mattress felt strange.

He’d broken his rules, mishandled everything, but in the end he’d managed to do the right thing for Livie by letting her go. Only, telling himself that for the thousandth time failed to ease the sick turn in his gut, and her hurt eyes haunted him. Livie had let him forget the grief and anger and how fucked up he was for that blessed bubble of time.

Yeah, good job. You just turned your back on the best thing in your life.

He slugged the pillow. He’d made her no promises. She’d known what she was doing. He’d made everything clear. They were over.

Dave woke at noon, surprised to have slept so late. He trudged through the routine unpacking, stowing the fishing equipment, cleaning and readying the boat for storage. The boat done, he returned to his place. The Campbells across the lane waved, and he tossed a wave back but ducked inside before the retired couple could reel him into conversation.

His voicemail messages held three versions of “Thanks, but check back next year” replies to his job hunt. He’d check emails and boards later.

After adjusting the AC, he popped a beer, and threw himself on the sofa, stretching out his leg. “It’s good to be home.”

Silence.

Yeah, right.

Being home was good, damn it! He liked his home. The comfortable fifth-wheel trailer was as roomy as an apartment and easy to maintain when he’d been away more than home. A garage would be nice, but a storage unit worked fine, and the trailer made moving easy when he needed a change of scene.

Of course, the trailer had lost him the argument with Nate’s folks over finishing his recovery with them when he’d been released from rehab. Nate just towed the damned trailer to his folks’ driveway, and Dave had been stuck until he could drive again. On the upside, he’d eaten well during his stay.

His flat screen TV, stereo equipment, and books filled the cabinets above the small electric fireplace, along with his music notebooks for his neglected composing. His guitars and keyboard filled the dining table slide-out. The opposite slide-out held two recliners. His collection of photos by Nate and others and three small paintings by Kay livened up the beige walls.

A comfortable place, neat, clean, and ready for company. Women liked comfortable and clean, and the trailer amused the ones he’d brought here. Would Livie—

No. He shoved irritably to his feet. Time for a shower.

The two stair steps to his bathroom and bedroom had been a challenge months ago. Another slide-out made room for the queen-sized bed covered in the deep green and brown plaid bedspread. Two of his favorite photos hung in this room: the bear that had wanted the trout he and Christopher had caught and a cool shot of him jumping, his chute bright against the blue sky. The built-in dresser and closet unit held his second television and the stacks of DVDs that had helped keep his sanity over the tedious bed-bound days. In the far corner, the folded walker and crutches gathered dust.

He gripped the doorframe against the chilling surge of nausea.

His career was over.

He unclenched his fists, stripped off his clothes, and threw them in the hamper. He ran the shower, ignoring the damned jacked-up toilet setup he’d never disassembled and the safety bars Lloyd had bolted to the shower stall. He ignored the scarred, fucked-up body that had made the shit necessary, stepped under the thin steaming spray, washed briskly, and shaved.

After dressing in a button-down shirt and jeans, he grabbed the cane and shut the door on his silent home.

The Dos Arboles bar was as loud and busy as his trailer was quiet and empty. Standing room only tonight, but Bruno waved him over and gave him his corner seat. “How the hell are you? Have a good vacation at the river?”

“Great time.” Dave fixed a smile on his face and accepted the offered seat, and stashed his cane in the corner. “Friends, fishing, and fast boats. Can’t beat it.”

Trent the manager waved and brought him a beer. “Welcome back. Angela quit yesterday. You interested in taking her hours starting tomorrow?”

What else did he have to do? “Sure.”

Bruno, Trent, and the others sucked him into catching up on ball games and gossip and provided the distraction he needed until several beers, a burger, and hours later Bruno and he’d gotten into conversation with two women lawyers celebrating a birthday. Sherri and Suzette were blonde, built, smart, and good conversationalists. Suzette had eyes for Bruno, leaving Dave for Sherri.

Bruno suggested a table, the ladies agreed, and Dave went along with the plan. Hey, he’d gone a whole hour without thinking of Livie. Sort of. He hitched himself off the stool. His ass was numb and his leg its usual uncooperative self. He steadied himself against the bar and grabbed his cane.

Only to turn and catch the pity and the fading interest in Sherri’s blue eyes.

He would have split right then, but given the choice of the empty trailer or Sherri’s empty interest, Sherri was the lesser evil. He ignored the twist of pain, grinned, and for Bruno’s sake, pretended everything was cool.

Dave arrived home alone. Leaving off the lights, he tossed his keys and Sherri’s card on the kitchen counter. Her look of pity reformed in memory. He frowned and dropped the card in the wastebasket.

After stripping for bed, he washed up and pondered his nagging aches versus the prescription bottles. He settled for two aspirin.

The air conditioner kicked on, but the usual subdued drone and rushing air scraped on his nerves tonight as he stretched out in bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

However much the decision burned, he’d done the right thing for Livie by getting out of her life.

He shut his eyes.

His feet flew over the endurance course, smooth and steady despite the grueling pace and the heavy backpack. Damn, he loved running. These springtime woods were the best. Crisp air cooled his sweat.

There must have been heavy rains last night. Narrow gullies and ravines carved across the rough trail, exposing stones, breaking his stride, forcing him to jump to clear the ever-deeper chasms. At the next gully he leapt…

And fell and fell in tumbling freefall through the open void of sky. His main tangled, the cutaway failed—

Impact slammed him into images raining like ash: orange smoke rolling in the air stinking of fuel and blood, the mangled wreck nose down into the lake, the helicopter rotors’ beating wind. Sweat-streaked blackened faces rippled into anonymous surgical masks and glasses, and the intense light lowered, burning all into white—

“No!” Dave lurched out of the dream into sitting straight in his bed, drenched in clammy sweat.

Shit. Nightmares were back.

****

Home. Olivia swung open the bar’s heavy glass door and walked into the cool air-conditioned relief a minute before midnight. A rush of happiness and exhaustion swept her along with the chill air and she shivered. “Hi, Uncle Jake, I’m home.”

A long day, but thankfully smooth traveling. Her plane had touched down early in West Palm Beach, her bags arrived at baggage claim promptly, and the car service met her as arranged.

“Hey, baby girl, look at you! You look like a million bucks. A good vacation then?” Uncle Jake trotted out from behind the bar and swept her into a hug. Weariness shadowed his face.

A chill rushed her spine. He’d promised to take things easy. She shouldn’t have left him for two weeks.

Use your common sense. It’s late. Naturally, he’s tired. Jean, Bettie, and Teo always look after him. He might be their boss, but they’re also good friends. If anything was wrong, they’d act.

She smiled brightly for him and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “The best.”

He narrowed his eyes, his bristling white brows drawing together. “You’ve lost weight.”

She hadn’t, but until she was as plump as a puppy, he’d worry and complain. “It was a very healthy vacation. Lots of fresh fish, swimming, skiing, and fishing. No lasagna or garlic bread. No cannoli or Key Lime pie.”

Chuckles rolled from him. “Sit down and eat something. Bettie, get Olivia a nice big plate of grouper fingers, coleslaw, and garlic bread.”

“A small plate. I have to take my bags upstairs.”

“Eat first.” He nudged her to a barstool and returned behind the bar to make her a vodka and tonic. As always, he waited for her to take a sip, smiled, and leaned against the counter. “The computer is doing strange things, Olivia. It won’t print.”

“I’ll take a look tomorrow. I warned you, the computer’s old. We need a new one.”

“That one and me, we’re like old friends.”

“You learned to use that one. You can learn to use a new one.” She’d done all she could to keep this one limping along.

“I know, I know. But…”

“It’s time to let go, Uncle Jake.”

They both burst into laughter at the same time.

You, too, Olivia. Just let go. Dave was honest with you. Now you be honest with yourself.

“So tell me about the trip. Tell me about your friends.”

She pulled her camera from her purse. “I have great pictures for you this time.”

He scrolled through the pictures while she shared an edited version of her trip. She kept her voice upbeat and avoided choking up at the pictures of Dave.

Olivia’s food arrived, Teo hugged her with an exuberant welcome home, and customers kept her uncle busy behind the bar.

Taking the first bite of luscious garlic bread, she sighed. Home. Some tension drained away.

Ten months ago, she’d fled here in impulsive desperation, looking to borrow the empty apartment. Uncle Jake had wrapped her in his arms, and her tears and troubles had poured out: R.J.’s infidelity, Dave’s plane crash, her inability to handle Mama and Daddy’s smothering care. He’d steered her into the office, stuffed tissues in her hands, and patted her back until her torrent ended. Then he’d poured her a stiff drink, had her bags carted over to his house, and stuffed her full of his home cooking.

In the following days, he busied her with waitressing and transforming the gutted apartment into her own home. She took on his bookkeeping, and he began teaching her the business and his recipes. Working in the bar and kitchen had helped her far better than any therapy.

On his next lull in customers, Uncle Jake scrolled through her photos again. He stopped on the picture of her sitting in Dave’s lap. The pose concealed his scars, and they looked relaxed, happy, and whole.

“This is the firefighter fellow, right?”

She sipped at her drink. “Yes, that’s Dave.”

“Looks like a buddy I had in ’Nam.” He turned off the camera. “I’m glad you had a good time, and I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too, Uncle Jake.”

This was home. This was her future.

For the next week, attempting to reclaim her workload from Uncle Jake, nagging him to rest, and being stuffed with his favorite comfort foods every time she turned around left her little time to mope. Uncle Jake’s color and energy level worried her, but when she questioned him, he waved her off.

“Everything’s copasetic. I’m taking my meds, and the docs said everything’s as good as expected. At my age, the body’s going down the tubes despite the good docs. That’s life, baby girl. You need to stop worrying over me, get out, and live a little.”

Being busy was the cure, she told herself. She’d chosen to break the rules.

You make your bed, you sleep in it. Time to move on.

Her firm mindset held until the day she received Nate’s email and photos. Like an addict, she opened them and saved them to her computer. At the one of Dave holding Ryan and Sam in his lap, she broke, weeping in a crumpled ball.

Your own fault, not Dave’s. Delete the folder and email, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. He never promised you anything but a good time. You wanted to taste the break-the-rules life.

Maybe having her first cut-loose fling with someone she knew was the mistake…No, JoAnn was right; deep down she was a one-man woman. Her cut-loose fling had been a headlong fall.

Live and learn. Stop whining. You’re better than you were before.

True. Her experiences with Dave had helped her defeat so many doubts life with R.J. had burdened her with, and she could look forward to a new relationship someday with confidence.

The next morning she shared the new pictures with Uncle Jake. Because she looked happy in the pictures, he was happy, and keeping Uncle Jake happy was all that mattered at the moment, so she reserved her tears for the small hours of night.

She’d survived R.J.’s betrayals. She could certainly survive Dave’s honesty.

She focused her energies into learning to run the bar, cooking alongside Uncle Jake, and learning his recipes. She researched for, bought, and set up a new computer and printer for the office. She waitressed and worked behind the bar. She swam every day in Uncle Jake’s pool and fought the memories of swimming with Dave.

She won her ongoing argument with Uncle Jake and ordered new barstools. Yes, the old 1950s-era barstools had held up, but women liked a cushier seat and a footrest. She also installed purse hooks under the lip of the bar every few seats.

Therese the Grouch was the first customer to use the new seats and purse hook. She raved happily to Uncle Jake and left a big tip. Old Henry said his creaky bones were delighted, his broad smile crinkling his leathery face into a mass of wrinkles. Uncle Jake popped a split of champagne and told her she was brilliant.

She socialized with friends and avoided their well-meaning date hookups. She told Kay, JoAnn, and Patti everything was great. She told Mama and Daddy she was happy.

Who’d ever have guessed she’d become so good at lying?