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SAWYER DROVE THEM TO the garage in silence. Tension rolled off Carmen like heat from a sun-baked sidewalk. She sat still, folded back into the truck seat as if she hoped she would sink right into the leather.
“Carmen, did something happen at the hotel?”
Carmen shook her head, turning to smile at him. Sawyer knew her well enough already to see she forced it. “No, I’m fine. Just tired. I think the last few days caught up with me. I couldn’t face sleeping in that room again.”
“Want anything before we go back to my place?” Sawyer asked. He wanted to know what was bothering her, to help her, but he could not bring himself to pry. Not yet. He hoped she would start talking, he wanted to make her feel better. He didn’t for a second believe it was only exhaustion.
“Maybe a drink?” She gave him a weak smile and turned back to the window.
“There’s some beer or a dusty bottle of wine at the house? Mystery vintage left from a Christmas party long past.”
This time her smile nearly reached her eyes. “Sounds like an adventure. I’m in.”
Should he take her hand? Nerves stopped him. He settled on watching her in long sideway glances whenever the road spared his attention.
They were almost to his place when she heaved a deep breath and turned to him. “Thank you for coming. I couldn’t do another night in that place,” she said again.
“I’m not sure what you mean; it’s so lovely. Real rustic sort of charm.”
She shook her head in a way Sawyer understood to mean, “you are an idiot,” but her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
“I’m glad you’re out too,” he amended, regretting his sarcasm, but only slightly. Carmen seemed to relax somewhat with his joking. “That place had a real funky smell.”
She nodded. Her breath shuddered as if she forgot how to breathe. “So, how’s my old girl doing?”
The question was a clear segue into a new conversation, and Sawyer jumped aboard gladly. “I got an email today. The part shipped.”
Carmen wrinkled her nose. “Today is Thursday?”
“It is. All day long.”
Carmen grimaced. “Learn that one from your dad?”
“Nah, my uncle, Cliff. My dad doesn’t joke.
“I hope you don’t need your couch this weekend.”
Sawyer tried to ignore the way his heart leaped at the idea of having her all to himself for three days. “Definitely not. I have a milk crate I can sit on to watch the news.”
Carmen smiled. “Like, on TV? I thought everyone used apps for that now.”
Sawyer scowled and stuck out his bottom jaw. “I don’t believe in apps, lassie.”
“How old are you?” She sniggered and a brief spurt of satisfaction released in Sawyer’s gut at the sound.
“Eighty-Five. Look good, don’t I?” He flexed the bicep of the arm closest to her.
“How do you check your email if you don’t use apps, Grandpa?” she retorted.
“On my laptop,” Sawyer said, smugly. “I even got rid of my dial-up internet a few months ago.”
“Hmph, touché. Oh, that reminds me”—Carmen bent and rifled through her purse—“there was a text from my sister.” She twisted in her seat to reach further down. “Shit.”
Sawyer blinked at her in surprise. He’d never heard her swear before and had chalked up the absence of obscenities to her spending time with children all day. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t find my phone.”
“Did you put it in your duffel bag?”
“Maybe,” she conceded, but her brows creased in worry.
“Once we’re inside, you can have a look, and if it is not there, I’ll call the hotel.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, Sawyer’s living room had turned into a sea of Carmen’s things, but no cell phone had surfaced.
“So, let me get this straight . . .” Sawyer peered at her across the mountain of clothing. “You brought these contraptions . . .” He dangled a pair of gold heels from his finger. “And a copy of Physics for Dummies, but you didn’t bring any jeans?
He only wanted to make her laugh and to bring back the Carmen from that afternoon. She did not laugh. Blood pooled in her cheeks and turned the bruise a vile yellow-green. She snatched the heels from him and shoved them into the duffel bag. “I left in a hurry. I didn’t think. I just packed.”
They sat in stilted silence as the ticking of the clock marked the passing of seconds.
Sawyer fiddled with a drawstring that led . . . somewhere. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Yes.” Carmen met his eyes, though it was obviously a struggle to do so. “I would love a glass of the infamous mystery wine.” She pushed herself off the floor and stood, stretching. Sawyer tried not to stare at the sliver of bare stomach that peeked out when her shirt hiked up.
“I’m just going to use your bathroom.” She gestured at her hair. “I left the hotel in a bit of a rush.”
Sawyer attempted not to dwell on his desire to know why she had been in a rush. Wandering to the kitchen, he stood on the tips of his toes and retrieved the wine from the top of the cabinet. When cleared of dust, the label revealed the wine to be a Foch from a local winery. He pulled the cork and left the bottle to breathe while he dug the phone book from a kitchen drawer. He hoped Carmen did not see him using it. She would mock him for sure. He found the number for the hotel and punched it into his phone.
“Good evening, Sleepy Time Inn,” the raspy phone answered.
“Evening. My friend checked out of room number twenty-eight about an hour ago, and we think she left her cell phone somewhere.”
“All right, let me check,” the receptionist said with a sigh that belayed the fact that it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Sawyer sniffed tentatively at the wine while he waited. He was pretty sure red wine was the one that needed to breathe. He had no idea for how long.
“Hello?” the voice came back on the line.
“Hi. Did you find the phone?”
“We did. Housekeeping grabbed it from the room and brought it down, but her husband stopped them and said he would take it to her.”
Sawyer’s stomach twisted. “Husband?” he echoed.
“Yes. He knew her ID numbers, middle name, and such. They checked.” The voice took on a defensive edge.
“Uh, thanks. Have a good night.” Sawyer shut the phone with a snap.
“Was that the hotel?”
He eased around to stare at Carmen as she came into the room. She had brushed her hair and it fell in coiling ropes down to her waist. Her shapeless excuse of a sweatshirt was gone, and the black of her bra was a shadow beneath her blue tank top. Even amid the explosions of unease, his body tensed in anticipation of her nearness.
“Yeah.” He set the phone down carefully on the counter and sucked a steadying breath. “Are you married?” he blurted.
She jerked at the question. “What the hell? No!”
“The hotel said your phone was there, but your husband grabbed it for you.”
Carmen’s eyes slid shut. The muscles in her jaw bulged as she clenched her teeth. “Unbelievable.”
“You can’t be married. I kissed you! I—” He faltered. The shock and anger surprised him. It flooded his pores on a tide of blood and made his fingers shake. “I won’t be that person, Carmen.”
“Fucking Billy,” Carmen whispered. She closed her eyes for a moment, her nostrils flaring, then took a step forward, a hand stretched out as if she wanted to touch him. “I’m not married,” she said, her voice strained but calm. “This isn’t what it seems like. Billy is—”
“Why would the hotel lie?” Sawyer interrupted, pacing around the island. He was being irrational. He heard the stupidity of the words leaving his mouth but was helpless to stop them. Emotions clawed at his throat, tightening it as memories boiled behind his eyes. Celine tear-streaked and pale as she shattered their lives with a few simple words. Not again. Not again.
Twin spots of colour blazed on Carmen’s white face. Her eyes narrowed. Sawyer noticed distractedly they looked greener when she was angry. “So, you assume I’m lying?” she whispered. She couldn’t have sounded more ferocious if she’d yelled the question in his face.
“I know how women are!” Sawyer barked. Carmen’s head snapped back as if someone had struck her. Tears turned her eyes nearly emerald. She froze, staring across the kitchen at him for a long moment without blinking. She was gorgeous and fierce, but for a second, Sawyer saw the pain flare and burn. The fragile heart that hid inside her.
She opened her mouth, shook her head, then closed it, reopened it. “Well, I’ll tell you what you are, Sawyer Stevenson. You’re an asshole.” She choked on the words, and Sawyer’s heart clenched as a wave of shame washed over him.
Two swear words in five minutes. Good thing she had his shitty influence to blame. Carmen turned and went into the living room. Sawyer ground his clenched fists against his forehead. Anger warred with guilt until he wanted to combust.
“You are an asshole,” he growled to himself as he stalked down the hall to his room.