“You all right?” Renee-Marie asked Connie the next day, twenty minutes before going on air. They were in the broadcast booth, each holding steaming mugs of Lemon Zinger tea. From out on the street came the annoying chomp of a road crew’s jackhammers. Constance hoped with the soundproof door closed, the noise would lessen. “You look like you spent the night wrestling a gator and the gator won.”
“Be sure and add psychic to your résumé, seeing how you pegged how I feel.”
After a sip of tea, Renee-Marie asked, “Was it a big gator or little?”
“Big.”
“Ahh…” she said with a nod. “The Military Man?”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Constance said. “Right again.”
Renee-Marie shook her head. “I hate what Felix is making you do, but on the flip side, just think how exciting it would be for you to have the top-rated show in the state!”
Embracing her friend in a warm hug, wishing she could ease herself into a steaming tub to erase kinks left by Garret’s amazing kisses, Constance sighed. “I always thought that was what I wanted, but at what price?”
“Only you can decide that,” Renee-Marie said with a sympathetic cluck.
A knock sounded on the open door.
The instant Constance looked up, it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. Garret’s presence was all-consuming, larger than life. During their kiss, she’d felt, if only for a moment, in peril of once more drowning in his spell. It would be so easy to fall for him again. He might’ve grown up in Mule Shoe, just like her, but he wasn’t from her world—not really. He had goals and dreams and talents that had gotten him far away from here. Just as he’d left for basic training, he’d leave this time just as soon as his leg healed. Even worse, after their most recent exchange of words, it was obvious he still carried a boatload of animosity where their history was concerned.
In her heart of hearts, Constance knew she’d never cheated on Garret—not even when she’d married Nathan. Garret had been the only man for her—ever. Which only made the distance between them that much harder to bear.
And that much more crucial to maintain.
“Renee-Marie,” Garret said, “think we could have a moment alone?”
“Depends,” the fiery Cajun said. “What do you have to say? Miss Manners is upset enough.”
“I’m fine,” Constance said, touched by her friend’s protective streak. “Really. But, thanks.”
Renee-Marie patted her back, shot her cohost a scathing glare, then left, shutting the door behind her.
“I have nothing to say to you.” Constance approached her chair, straightening her notes in preparation for the afternoon’s broadcast.
“I have plenty to say to you.”
“Yeah, well, you might want to hurry, seeing how we’re on air in ten minutes.”
“Look at me,” he said, snagging her by her upper arm, tugging her close.
“I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to be anywhere near you. Were it not for my boss, I wouldn’t be with you now.”
“Dammit, woman, I’m trying to explain, but you do something to me I can’t—” Raking his fingers through his hair, he said, “Never mind. Let’s just do the show.”
“HORACE,” RENEE-MARIE said two hours later, “from Ponca City’s on line four.”
“Thank you, Horace,” Constance said, refusing to make eye contact with her cohost, “for joining us. As a gentle reminder, today’s topic is Finger Foods—Delicious Treats or Etiquette Traps?”
“I vote traps,” Horace said with conviction. “I was on a first date with my wife at a steak place when she starts eating fries with her fork. Well, I’d already dug in with my fingers when she gives me this look. The rest of the night she was uptight. Took me five years of dating before she’d finally marry me.”
“Man,” Garret said, “I feel your pain on that. And so you think just eating those stupid fries with a fork would’ve fast-tracked you to wedded bliss?”
“Nah…” Horace laughed. “Finger foods weren’t my only bad habit. I left the toilet seat up, belched at the table and accidentally ran out of gas at Lover’s Bluff.”
“So?” Constance asked, “for love, did you straighten up and get a better grasp on rudimentary etiquette?”
The caller laughed again, this time so hard he snorted. “Heck no. She just finally gave in to the realization that she could love me or leave me, but there sure wasn’t hope of fixin’ me. We’ve been together fifty-five years come June.”
“Congratulations, man,” Garret said. “I’m glad your story had a happy ending.”
“Wait just a minute,” Constance interjected. “How is it good that Horace’s poor wife had to abandon her standards?”
“She got a great man, didn’t she? If you love someone, shouldn’t you be willing to overlook a few flaws?”
“Like you were last night?” The instant the words left her mouth, Constance knew she’d messed up. Not only did the phone lines light up, but Garret’s expression settled into a mask of fury.
“You really want to go there?” he asked, his voice lethally low.
Renee-Marie momentarily defused the public portion of the altercation by piping in with, “Here’s the latest from Big Hal’s Tires, where coffee and conversation are always free.” To Constance she said via the booth’s private intercom, “I bought you five minutes. What you two do with them is your business.” She turned her back to them, burying her head in her new copy of People.
“Sorry,” Constance gushed. “I never meant to say that on air. It just slipped out.”
“Connie, we seriously can’t go on like this.”
“I know. I feel awful.”
“About what?” he asked, staring uncomfortably deep into her eyes. “What you did with Nathan? That you got caught? Or—”
“Everything,” she said, doubling over in her chair, kneading throbbing temples. “I’m sorry about everything, okay? But mostly, that I ever let you go.”
“What?” Wheeling his chair closer, he eased his fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What in Sam Hill’s that mean? You let me go?”
“I don’t know what I mean,” she said, covering her face with her hands. “Let’s forget I ever said it, okay?”
“No, it’s seriously not okay. You can’t just throw something like that out there, then—”
“Great show, guys!” Felix tossed open the door so hard it banged against the opposing wall. “You two are spinning airwaves into gold. And I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there’s been so much buzz about you two, WKOK out of Oklahoma City is considering picking up the show.”
“It’s not for sale,” Garret said. “Now if you don’t mind, please step out…or I’ll throw you out.”
“WE NEED TO TALK,” Garret shouted after the show, chasing Connie through the station’s blistering lot. Out front, the jackhammers were doing their thing. Heat undulated in shimmering waves off the blacktop. Garret paused, raising the hem of his white golf shirt to wipe his brow.
“I have to get home to meet Lindsay’s bus.”
“In over an hour.”
“I have housework to do.”
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll talk at the house.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Woman, what don’t you get about the fact that I’m doing you the favor? Why are you always giving me such grief?”
He’d finally reached her car, where she’d already climbed inside. She put the key in the ignition, but got nothing from the engine but a ruh, ruh, ruh.
“Why?” she railed, fisting the wheel.
“Pop the hood and I’ll give you a jump.”
Constance did as he’d asked and within a few minutes, her car had started and she was on her way home, Garret tailing her—according to him, in case her car quit again.
She made it home safely, and while her car seemed fine, she was having a devil of a time trying not to hyperventilate.
Pulling alongside the house, she creaked open her car door, then stepped into blazing sun, dry heat and a stiff breeze that did nothing for her allergies or mood.
She sneezed.
Garret pulled his mother’s Caddie into her gravel drive, only stirring more dust.
Next time she sneezed, he was right beside her. “Bless you.”
“Thanks.” She tilted her face to the sun and scooped her hair into a makeshift bun, wishing she’d worn it up in the first place.
The breeze cooled her sweaty nape, if only for an instant, providing the illusion of comfort.
Personally, she thought her hair felt and looked better up, which was why she’d worn it down—not wanting to appear to have expended the slightest effort on her appearance.
Oh, that makes a lot of sense, her conscience interjected, seeing how only a few days earlier, Garret had remarked how he preferred she wear her hair down.
“Lindsay gets home around four, right?”
Dropping her hair, which she’d lifted to cool her sweaty nape, Constance sighed, then nodded.
“Good. I want this off the conversational table before she gets here.”
Hot dread of another argument bothered her far more than unseasonably warm weather. “We’ve been over everything. You’re not attracted to me. I’m not attracted to you. You’ve been kind enough to stick by me for the sake of my job, and yet I’ve been an inconsiderate wench. Blah, blah, blah. Doesn’t that sum it up?” Not waiting for his answer, she mounted the back porch steps. Easing the key into the door, she stepped into the mercifully cool, dark kitchen.
Her uninvited guest barged past her, nearly knocking her over to lean on a chair. Eyeing her fridge, he asked, “Got beer?”
“No.”
“Hard stuff?”
After slamming the back door, she faced him, hands on her hips.
“Should I take that as a no?”
“I can barely afford electric, so why would I waste money on booze other than to use it for cooking?”
“Didn’t you get the memo?” he asked, helping himself to a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water, then taking a couple deep swigs. “If you drink enough, the lights go on without electric.” He winked. “SEAL humor.”
She groaned. Not from his awful joke, but the sight of him. Standing on one leg, the man still managed to exude power. Dark hair now rakishly overgrown, sweat damp at the temples. Even darker eyes closed, savoring the water as if it were nectar.
“H-how long are you planning to stay?” she asked.
“Well…” He peered out the kitchen sink window. “Right after we talk, I thought I might fix that broken front porch shutter.”
“Not necessary.”
“Call it basic human decency.”
“You limp when you walk. How are you going to get up on a ladder?”
“I have skills.”
Grabbing her own water, she forced herself to ask, “Seeing how most of our discussions seem to take a while, whatever topic’s burning your tongue, you might want to get started.”
“Okay… It seems I have a problem—or maybe we both have a problem.” He shrugged. “At the moment, I can’t really tell.”
“I’ll bite. What does this problem entail?”
“It’s complex. Multifaceted. Demands a three-sided attack.”
“Oh?” There he was again, making her heart race with just that hooded look forewarning a kiss—or, at least it used to. Now, she wasn’t sure what it preceded, just that usually, she was the one reeling from the aftereffects.
“One…” he said, hobbling closer. “Two…” he slipped his hand under the fall of her hair, tugging her against him.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like three?” She shivered as sweat evaporated from her neck, only to be warmed by his fingers’ brush. Though her lips tingled in anticipation of another kiss, she knew how detrimental that lip-lock would be to the secrets she’d sworn to forever keep.
“Oh,” he said, kissing her upper lip with a breathy laugh, “I think you’ll like it just fine.”
“Promise?” It was a silly question. Even more silly was the notion she cared. But as he touched his lips to hers with the slightest hint of pressure, only deepening the kiss when she’d encouraged him with a moan, she found she cared very much. Knees weak, stomach knotted with tentative delight, she found herself wanting more—no, make that all—of Garret.
“Well?” he asked, leaning back with a cocky grin. “Did I make good on that promise?”
Despite herself, she lurched a step forward, clinging to him, pressing her cheek against his chest, oddly reassured to find his heart pounding as heavily as hers. “You asked last night if I knew the word sorry, and I do, Garret. You’ll never know how sorry I am that I ever put Nathan between us. You have to know I never meant to hurt you.”
Backing her up, framing her face with his hands, he asked, “Then why did you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Hi, Mom! Hi, Garret!” Lindsay shouted on her way through the back door. As usual, she was breathless from running and her cheeks were flushed.
Constance backed up, out of Garret’s hold, but apparently, she hadn’t been fast enough. “Lindsay? What’re you doing home early?”
“Euw,” her daughter said. “Emily’s mom was at school, helping get ready for Pizza Bingo Night, so she took me and Em home so we wouldn’t have to ride the bus.” After making another face that looked as if she’d just eaten a night crawler, she asked, “You guys dating?”
“Would that be a bad thing?” Garret asked.
“I thought you were dating Miss Calloway?”
“We went out for coffee. And, keep this on the down low, but I’m pretty sure she has a thing for your gym teacher and was using me to make him jealous.”
“Really?” Lindsay asked, eyebrows raised. “I’ve gotta call Emily and Julie.”
“Hey,” Constance hollered while Lindsay made a mad dash for the living room phone. “What did Garret just say about not blabbing this private info about your teacher?”
“But…”
“Lindsay…”
“Oh, all right.” She grabbed honey mustard pretzels and a boxed apple juice from the pantry, then said, “If you need me, I’ll be doing my homework with my rabbits.”
“Love you,” Constance called after her.
“Uh-huh.” Lindsay let the screen door slam behind her with all the moody flair of a budding preteen.
“Guess she told you,” Garret said, smile playing about his lips.
“Yep, I feel suitably dissed.”
“I don’t mean to get back into your business where she’s concerned, but is it hard raising her alone?”
“I do okay,” Constance said, leaving him to forage in the freezer more to escape his intense stare than because she was in any particular hurry to start dinner. “Actually, it’s only been the past year or so since I’ve had any discipline problems from her—and then, it was only sass. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Garret pulled out a chair at the table and eased onto it. “What happens when she hits her terrible teens? Got a battle plan?”
Aha—drumsticks. She thumped the frozen mass onto the counter where it sounded more like bricks than dinner.
“Connie? Got a plan?”
Hands back on her hips, she sighed. “No, Mr. Expert Parent, I have no plan—unless winging it counts.”
“Ouch. I just asked a simple question.”
“And I gave you a simple answer.” After popping the drumsticks in the microwave, then setting the defrost cycle, she leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Fried chicken.”
“Am I invited?”
Moaning, covering her face with her hands, she said, “Why would you even want to be invited?”
His naughty-boy grin licked the same spot in her belly as his kisses. “You still owe me a straight answer about Nathan. If I stay, I figure I can get that, plus a good meal.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s at a church meeting, then riding with a friend to some candle outlet to buy candles for church. Told me at breakfast I’d have to get my own dinner.”
“GET IT?” GARRET ASKED Lindsay an hour later about the homework math problems she’d been stuck on. She’d spread her books and papers across the living room coffee table, and sat cross-legged on the floor, while he perched on the sofa’s edge with his bum leg cocked at a crazy angle. Though his doc assured him it was healing fine, when it ached like this, Garret couldn’t help but worry. As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate without dealing with whether or not he’d ever again be physically strong enough to handle his job.
Amazing smells floated from the kitchen, along with Connie’s off-key humming. Whereas just knowing she was five yards away normally churned his guts, tonight, her presence—and Lindsay’s—felt oddly comforting.
“I think I understand,” Lindsay said with a nod. “But I’m afraid by the time I get to school tomorrow, I’ll get it all messed up in my head.”
“Just think of it in terms of pizza slices and it works every time.”
“Yeah, but—” she scrunched her button nose “—what if it’s one of those where the numbers are bigger than the pizza?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, fighting the craziest urge to give an affectionate tug on her nearest pigtail. “Just draw out bigger pizzas till you get the hang of it.”
“Okay. Thanks. Can I go play hide-and-seek with Sarah and her brother?”
“You’d have to ask your mom on that.”
“Mommmm!”
Garret winced. Who knew such a small body housed such a huge banshee wail?
Once Lindsay had run off to be with her friends, knowing she had to be home in an hour, Garret was back in the kitchen, shoulder against the wall beside the fridge, watching his former girl work her magic. “I remember,” he said with a chuckle, “when you couldn’t even bake Christmas cookies without burning them or overworking the dough.” He shook his head in amazement at the appetizing spread taking form. “Look at you now.”
“I’m pushing thirty,” she said, wiping her hands on a frilly white apron. Was it wrong to want to see her wearing it sans the jeans and T-shirt she’d changed into? “Isn’t it about time I learned to cook?”
“Well, sure, but from the sounds of it, you haven’t yet learned to sing, so…”
“Creep!” She tossed a dishrag at him, which he easily caught.
“Connie,” he said, turning serious. “Back there with Lindsay, I kept getting the feeling I’ve known her forever. Kind of the way I feel around you but different. Protective. And when we ran over her lines for the play the other day, I found myself resenting my job because odds are, I won’t be here to see her perform.”
“I’m no expert,” Constance said, fully aware she was meandering down a conversational path littered with land mines. “But it seems to me you’re just transferring what remains of your feelings for me onto her.”
No way could it be genetics giving you that bond.
“Yeah,” he said, hobbling to the table to take a seat. “You’re probably right. Before meeting Lindsay, I never thought all that much about kids, after spending time with her, they seem fun.”
“It’s not all fun,” she offered, thrilled he’d put more distance between them. “Those early years were tough. And when you have to ask fifteen times to get the trash taken out, that gets old.”
“Sure. Still, I’m just saying, maybe one of these days I should at least think about settling down. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Puh-lease,” she said, turning the meat, wincing when hot oil splattered her forearm. “You’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Do I?” he asked from her side, lifting her wound to his lips, kissing away the sting.
“Of course you do.” Disconcerted to say the least, she yanked back her arm. “Once you return to Virginia, you’ll go on a few more missions, doing whatever it is you do. Then, one night, while you’re out carousing at some bar, you’ll—”
“Carousing?”
“Isn’t that what you G.I. Joe types do after hours?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “But the body can’t take it like it used to.”
Really? Because judging from where she stood, his body was fine! Licking her lips, she said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you, Connie?” He took one wrist captive, then the other, kissing them in turn. “Really sorry? Or is that just lip service, the way you talk about being sorry about what went down with Nathan?”
“How do you do that?” she said, flustered by the sudden roar of her pulse.
“What?”
“That mental wrestling move where one minute, we’re standing peacefully in the center of the ring, then whomp, you’ve kicked my feet out from under me, and you’ve got me conversationally pinned.”
“That what I did?”
“You know full well that’s what you did, or you wouldn’t be wearing that satisfied smirk.” She tried wrenching free, but failed. Oh, he might look helpless and weak with his limp, but the man’s arms were velvet traps. Even in his current condition, she had no doubt he could easily take out an entire platoon, so why should she for one minute think she’d be safe beside him?
“So now I smirk, too?”
“You’re maddening.”
“You’re beautiful.” Just like that, he’d pinned her again, kissing her, sweeping his hands in long, lovely arcs up her back. Creating an atmospheric time capsule winging her back to the past, fogging her brain and resolve to steer clear of him till she found herself actually clinging to him. She’d spent hours kissing him, teasing him, flirting with him when they’d been kids. She could easily do it again now. But what then? What if all of this kissing was a smoke screen cleverly devised to get to the truth about Lindsay’s paternity? God only knew what mercenary mind games Garret had been trained in.
“Daaammmn,” he softly said, drawing back. With the pad of his thumb, he brushed her swollen lips. “Hey? What’s with the basset hound expression?”
“I’m good,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “So is your kissing. Just leads me down the path of what might’ve been.”
“Yeah…” Resting his forehead against hers, he laughed. “I know what you mean. Been there myself more than a few times since we’ve hooked back up.”
“Is that what we’ve done, Garret?”
“Damned if I know. When you kiss me like that, making those little moaning noises, I’m pretty much a goner.”
“Really?” she asked. “Or are you just saying that?” Just trying to make me believe you care, when all the while, you’re setting me up for a nasty, revenge-themed fall?
“If you think I’m playing games with you, you’re wrong. I don’t know what went down between you and Nathan—I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me—but in the here and now, wanting you so bad, I’m finding all that really matters is getting back into your good graces.” He kissed her again. Kissed her with a soft, sweet completeness she’d thought forever lost. “And not repeating past mistakes.”
Did he even know what he was saying? Heat and unbearable, shimmering hope sang through her until she was actually trembling from the force of giddy relief. Of course, he wasn’t here to steal Lindsay. That was her ugly past rearing its suspicious head.
Trouble was, considering the magnitude of the secret she held tight, she wasn’t any more worthy of him now than she’d been back then.