Mandi swallowed hard, unprepared for the disappointment that lodged in her throat as she read the new message from Lane. She wouldn’t renege on her commitment to Brittney, but she had to admit another night in Lane’s arms held far more appeal than hitting the bars with Brit.
With reluctance, she texted him back, biting her lip as she suggested Saturday instead. Was that the right move, or would it seem desperate? Would it be better to let him suggest it? Too late. She slipped the phone into her pocket, hoping he’d respond before the Friday night frenzy got under way at Jimmy’s. Why had he waited until the last minute to contact her, anyway? Was she Plan B?
That niggling question jabbed at Mandi all evening, and several times she caught herself peering across the street to the Residence Inn parking lot for a glimpse of Lane’s car. His response to her text had been brief and uninformative. “Tomorrow’s great. I’ll call you,” was all it said. She couldn’t help wondering what form of amusement he’d found for the night. The thought of some other woman enjoying the pleasures of his company kept her on edge, and by the time she swung her car into Brit’s parking lot at almost twelve-thirty, she wanted to be just about anywhere else.
But she pasted on a smile as Brit climbed into the car. No way would she ruin the evening by stewing over a guy. After all, a man is what had ruined Brittney’s last weekend.
Thirty minutes later, Pink’s latest song blasted out of the speakers onto the jam-packed dance floor as Mandi pushed Brit toward a high-top table, drinks in hands. Didn’t take long to get noticed.
Brit set her beer down and almost immediately was whisked away. Content to stay at the table, Mandi declined several offers to dance. Instead, she sipped her beer and took in the scene. Brit swayed into her dance partner, laughter on her face. She was enjoying herself. Must’ve danced with ten different guys so far. Brit wasn’t a flirt, but she did enjoy attention. She was so naive. Never occurred to her to pick and choose. That’s probably what accounted for her guy troubles. She trusted too easily. That, and the fact that she had the ability to look both sweet and sexy at the same time. Guys fell all over that.
And what did Lane Whitmore fall for? What did he see in her? Was there the slightest chance his mind was on her the way hers was on him? Thinking about their dancing date last weekend, her breath caught in her throat as she remembered Lane yanking her against him, the way he grinned at her. She should’ve asked Lane to join them tonight. Then she wouldn’t be sitting there conjuring up all kinds of visions of what he was doing. Why didn’t she think of that? Brittney wouldn’t have minded.
But, of course, that would’ve meant telling Brit about Lane. And that would be like posting an announcement up on the bulletin board at work. She didn’t need the drama and the questions. And more questions when he was gone. Mandi took a long drink, hoping to clear that line of thinking from her brain. Or at least muffle it a bit.
“Did somebody fart?” Brit asked, bellying up to their table after a lengthy absence.
Mandi’s head snapped around. “What?”
“You’re sitting here with your face all puckered up like you smelled a dead rat or something.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” Brit nudged her. “So what gives? Some guy you got your eye on ask somebody else to dance?”
Mandi rolled her eyes, and tried to look bored. “I don’t have my eye on any guy here.”
“Why the hell not?” Brit asked, waving her arm. “It’s a regular candy café out there.”
Oh, she’d looked. Some. The fact was, not one of the guys she’d seen so far was nearly as interesting as Lane Whitmore at first glance. She scowled into her glass.
“Hahaha,” Brit laughed. “You’re doing it again.”
Mandi flapped a hand to shoo her friend away. “Would you go dance, please?”
“Oooo, and pissy, too,” Brit said in a high-pitched voice. She hunkered down. “This has got to be about a man. Who is he?”
“You’ve had too much to drink. Go dance it off.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t been drinking. I’ve been dancing my ass off. You should get out there, too. Unless there’s some man you’re waiting for, that is.”
Mandi refused to take the bait. “Forget it. I’m not leaving my drink sitting here. We can’t both leave the table.”
A dark-haired man sidled up beside Brit. “Either of you ladies care to dance?” he asked, his eyes shifting from Mandi to Brit.
“My friend here would love–” Brit opened her mouth at the same time Mandi shook her head.
“Thank you,” Mandi said, sending the toe of her shoe into Brit’s calf. “But I’m going to finish my beer. You two go ahead.” She knew Brit wouldn’t allow a two-fold rejection. Sure enough, Brit smiled and tagged behind her new partner to the dance floor.
Mandi’s glance followed Brit, then pulled to the side when a man near the bar caught her attention. Hard eyes seemed to zero-in on her, and then Brit. Her pulse quickened. Something about that stare unsettled her. Was he checking out the dance floor, or specifically watching Brit? Mandi wondered if– Her glass hit the table with a thud. Oh, God. Could that be him? What was his name? Derek? She pushed off from the table to get a better view, but the man turned away as a group of people jostled in front of Mandi. By the time they cleared out, so had he. She racked her brain to remember what Brit had said about the guy.
Mandi looked at her watch. One-forty-five. Surely Brit had gotten her fix. When the song ended, and Brit motioned toward the restroom, Mandi grabbed both their purses and hurried toward Brittney. Call her paranoid, but she wasn’t letting her friend out of her sight.
“You ready to go?” Mandi asked, her voice sounding breathless.
Brit threw her a long-suffering look. “I guess that means you are?”
Mandi heaved a sigh, her head beginning to throb along with the beat of the music. “I’m sorry, Brit, but I’m kind of tired.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I guess we should’ve brought two cars.”
Mandi cringed inside, thankful they hadn’t. She’d make sure Brit got home safely. On high-alert, Mandi’s glance darted around the room as they made their way through the crowd. No one jumped out at them or hassled them, and Mandi shook off her fear. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Could be her subconscious playing tricks on her, making up an excuse to leave. After all, Brit would’ve seen the guy. He certainly wasn’t being discreet.
Suddenly she was glad Lane hadn’t called first. If she’d already had plans with him, Brit might’ve gone out alone. That sobering thought went a long way toward resolving her annoyance. Not that she had the right to be annoyed. Or needed to justify not being with Lane Whitmore. Or should be spending one more minute dwelling on the man.
**
Lane grasped the minister’s gnarled hand at the end of the tour through the community garden that sat inside the walls of the old stone church.
“Thank you for your time, Pastor Robbins.”
“My pleasure, young man. Best of luck with your work. I know the good people of Northtown will appreciate whatever you can do for them.”
The thin reverend slowly pulled the gate closed behind him. “Don’t much care for gates, myself,” he said. “But this one. . . this is for the rabbits and the dogs. If we let them in, there wouldn’t be anything left for the people.” A gentle smile crinkled his weathered face, and he held up a finger. “The people, they can come any time.”
Lane nodded, and took another glance around. Several men and women were working in the garden, including a young mother pulling weeds with a baby strapped to her back. He had to give them credit for effort. The grounds of the church were worn and overgrown, but still, it seemed like an oasis amid the concrete and bare dirt of Northtown.
He followed the minister, thinking the guy had to be a saint. He’d spent the last twenty years of his career in Northtown. When Lane had asked how many times the church had been robbed or vandalized, the pastor had evaded the question, instead rattling off the number of weddings and services and funerals the church had provided over the years. The man’s eyes had damned near twinkled.
Rev. Robbins lifted his hand in a last wave to Lane then disappeared into the building, his easy-going gait and demeanor in sharp contrast to the hard steel bars that covered the church’s lower windows. What a shame the magnificent arched windows needed those bars – that a place designed to welcome people in had to keep people out.
Lane jogged to his car. He’d known all along that redevelopment would be different from planning new subdivisions and strip centers, more difficult, but he hadn’t been prepared for the emotion that came to play in interaction with the existing community. He had to admit, despite all of its problems, Northtown was home to some interesting individuals.
He checked his watch, anxious to meet up with the most intriguing resident of all. Midnight would be a long time coming.
Resigned to that, he paid for the Chinese carryout and headed back to his car, his mind still on Mandi. Her work schedule seriously restricted the amount of time she could spend with someone. Seemed as though that’s the way she liked it – kept her too busy to get close to someone, too busy to spend time with her parents, to have any kind of social life. Didn’t make sense to him.
He hoped she’d had a good time with her friend last night. Well, not too good of a time, he corrected himself, switching on the television and digging into the assorted white boxes from China Dynasty.
When midnight finally arrived, he debated crossing the street instead of waiting for her at the hotel, but then remembered how adamant she’d been about no one knowing where she was going. Feeling a little ridiculous at the secrecy, but not wanting to betray her trust, he leaned against his car, and waited.
“Hi,” Mandi said, her voice soft, as she climbed out of her car. She searched his face in the dim light. Would they pick up where they left off last weekend?
He stepped toward her, flashing his familiar grin.
“Hey, there,” Lane said, moving in and planting a kiss on her cheek. He twirled a lock of her hair. “Nice to see you,” he whispered in her ear. “Did you have fun last night?” he asked as they stepped up the walkway.
Mandi hesitated. Surely he wouldn’t go right to last night if he’d been partying with someone else.
“It was okay,” she said. She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What’d you do?”
He ushered her inside the suite. “Hung out and had a couple of beers with some guys at the city.” He slid a hand around her waist. “Just passing time, waiting for tonight to get here.”
Mandi’s heart thumped. Same as her. She smiled, and raised her face for his kiss. Like match to kindling, sparks ignited. Her hands wound to the back of his neck, and she pressed against him, letting the heat of his touch engulf her. The urgency in his hands and kiss assured her he hadn’t liked the waiting. And the plan for tonight needed no further discussion.
**
Mandi woke early, her punctual internal clock unable to distinguish between a workday and a weekend. She kept still, listening to the sound of Lane’s even breathing. Figured. No snoring from him – just an easy relaxed rhythm. A little wave of guilt washed over her. What was she doing, using this incredibly nice guy this way?
He wasn’t complaining, but still, she couldn’t help thinking he deserved more – deserved someone who could love him, have a future with him. Any woman would be lucky to have Lane Whitmore. What in the world was he doing there with her?
Lane rolled over and tossed an arm across her middle. Then he nestled close behind her, nuzzling her neck. “Morning.”
Content to shelve those other thoughts, she gave him her attention, running a hand over his arm. “Morning,” she murmured.
He hitched up on his elbow, and looked over her shoulder, his fingers toying with her hair, which seemed to have developed into a habit. “What should we do today? It’s supposed to be really nice out for middle of March.”
Mandi stiffened, his words hitting her like ice water. Mid March. It came every year. And still took her breath away. The time of year her world had imploded with stunning force. Twice.
“You did it again.” Lane said, rolling her toward him.
“Did what?”
“Disappeared.”
“What do you mean?” Mandi swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. Was she that transparent?
His loud sigh shouted exasperation, and he rose higher, his eyes bearing down on her.
“Do you not even realize you do it? All of a sudden your eyes go blank like you’re looking way out in the distance, and your whole face tightens up. It’s like you just check out.”
“Sorry,” she whispered. “What you said reminded me of something else, that’s all.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they offered no real information, and would only invite more questions.
“Uh-huh,” he said. Waiting. Giving her that look that said he was holding out for more.
When she didn’t respond, he laced his fingers through hers. “Look, I’m not going to pry it out of you. But how am I going to get to know you if you won’t tell me what you’re keeping bottled up inside? What’s keeping you from smiling, being happy.”
The real question, of course, was did she want him to get to know her? That way. Her daughter would never be a topic for casual conversation. The hurt went too deep. She couldn’t control the zoning out. When something triggered the memory, it took her back. Brought the pain back.
“It’s hard to talk about,” she told him, her voice thickening with tears. Talking didn’t help. It was like picking at a scab, making a sore bleed and hurt all over again. He’d given her the choice, but still, when she glanced up at him, the expectation in his expression was unmistakable. But so was the sincerity, and it compelled her to give him a brief version. “A few years ago my three-year-old daughter died, and I haven’t felt like smiling much ever since.”
Lane drew in a sharp breath. “Holy Christ. I’m sorry. You had a three-year-old daughter? What happened?”
Mandi clenched her jaw, steeling herself against the pain. “She was mauled by a dog.” She sat up, drawing the sheet around her.
Lane rested his hands gently on her shoulders. “Oh, my God. That’s awful.”
She swiped at the tears running down her face. “It was awful. We were outside. I was talking to Aaron. Aaron’s her dad. And all of a sudden, this fucking dog came out of nowhere. It was on her in a second.” Her breath caught on a sob, and her stomach clenched as the horrific scenes of her little girl in the jaws of that hideous beast flashed through her mind. “It just– It got hold of her and wouldn’t let go.”
Lane pulled her close. “Oh, baby. And you saw it? Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“It . . . it happened so fast. But I can still hear her screams. She only said one word.” Mandi bobbed her head into Lane’s chest. “She screamed Mommy, expected me to do something.”
Mandi cried against him, great sobs wrenching her body as the pain seared through her. “I tried. I hit him and kicked at him, but there was–” Her voice broke, and she fought for air. “There was nothing I could do.”
Silent minutes ticked by as Lane caressed her back and shoulders. Mandi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the memories, the images that would forever torture her.
Lane ran a hand over the ugly scar on Mandi’s arm. “The dog?”
She nodded. “He turned on me for a second, but by then it was too late.”
When Lane’s lips moved against her hair, the words were whisper soft and full of compassion. “What was your daughter’s name?”
Mandi’s hands tightened on his arms. It wasn’t the question she was expecting. Sniffling, she pulled back to look at him. “Paige. Her name was Paige.”
Lane shook his head. “I bet she was adorable.”
Mandi nodded. “She was so cute. And funny. I used to spend hours playing with her, or watching her play. She was a girlie-girl. Loved pink. Loved to dress up and wear bows in her hair.” On impulse, she tossed back the sheet and padded across the room to her purse. She pulled out her wallet and removed the photos of Paige that she carried with her. She held them out for Lane to see.
He patted the bed beside him, and she climbed back in, watching him as he inspected each photo, sadness etched in his expression. “She’s beautiful,” he said. “What a terrible tragedy.”
Mandi tapped one of the pictures, the one of Paige in a simple sundress twirling at the playground, her chubby cheeks flushed, happiness lighting her face. “This is my favorite.”
Lane touched her daughter’s image. “I can see why.”
She stared at the picture. All that light had disappeared in a matter of seconds and left her world dull and lifeless. Mandi held her breath, and waited for more questions. How much would he want to know? Or did he wish he’d never asked?
He leaned over and put the photos on the table, then reached for Mandi, and gently lowered her to the pillow, his lips light on her forehead, her shoulder, and finally, her lips. “I’m glad you told me,” he whispered.
She had no idea a man could be so tender, especially one as firm and muscular as Lane Whitmore. As her eyelids fluttered shut, she slid her arm around his middle, and melted into him, letting the slow warmth seep through her.
A long time later, Lane murmured in her ear. “Do you have plans for the day? Do you actually have the day off?”
Mandi shifted, surprised to find Lane’s arm still draped around her. A sliver of sunshine pierced the room through a crack between the curtain panels. They’d obviously fallen back to sleep, and he’d held her the whole time. “Yeah, but I have a lot to do.” She heaved a sigh, wondering what time it was. Probably time to get up. “I should do some errands and study. Sundays are my only day off.” She also needed to get back to her research on the surrogacy process. But most of all, she needed to get out of there and think. Put some distance between herself and Lane Whitmore.
Lane pulled up. “Yeah. You said you’re taking a class. What are you studying?”
Mandi saw the curiosity in Lane’s eyes, and couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t remember ever talking to a man, even her husband, this much while lying in bed naked.
He nudged her. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m taking Sociology right now. Just an online class. Hoping to get a real degree someday.”
“In what?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe counseling or social work.”
“Huh. Sounds cool.” He sat up and stretched. “How ’bout we go get some food?”
She nodded, not surprised that the conversation-in-bed had run its course.
Mandi spent a few moments in the bathroom, her thoughts on Lane. She leaned against the counter, and pushed her hair back from her face, staring into the mirror. She didn’t look any different, but she felt different. Exposed, as if a couple of buttons had popped loose, baring her skin to an audience of piercing eyes.
She’d never told a man or casual acquaintance about her daughter. Had never let herself fall apart like that. At least not in a very long time. She slipped her jeans on, muttering to herself. What on earth had possessed her to spill her guts like that? To show him the pictures of Paige? Mandi’s heart lurched, and she closed her eyes a moment, remembering Lane’s pained expression as he looked at the photos of her precious little girl.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed the wet towel over a hook on the back of the door. Lane had found out quite a lot about her this morning. And she’d confirmed what she already suspected about him – he was kind and thoughtful and pretty damned wonderful.
Lane was slow to get moving. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, processing what Mandi had told him. His eyes flickered to the photos still on the bedside table. Such a tragedy. No wonder she never smiled. He did some quick math. A teenage pregnancy. He’d bet money that had something to do with the tension between her and her parents. Wow. To go through all of that and then lose the child three years later. What the hell?
How did a person recover from that? By having casual sex? Shutting off from the world? Staying too busy to build any relationships? Mandi was doing all of those things. But he suspected none of it really made a difference. The hurt went too deep. And for a mother, there’d be heavy guilt. All the what-ifs of that day would weigh on her thin shoulders. Time, he supposed, was the only answer.