A Summer to Remember (22 page)

Then, over the weekend, she'd caught Marti staring at a decade-old picture of Dillon on some rodeo website. Her grin had been big and calculating.
You like Mr. Smith?

Did she like Dillon Smith? She actually did, considering how little she knew of him. Or maybe she should say considering how much she knew of him. She'd found some of those stories, too, about the accident and the trial. She'd never known anyone who'd gone to prison before, but now she understood that bleak, bitter look he wore so well. One bad decision, and he'd lost the two people he loved most. How did a person move on after that?

And nobody here in town knew. Not his twin brother, his sister-in-law, his other brother, his parents. Marti was the only one he'd trusted enough to tell.

Sure, it was only because she worked for a lawyer, but it still meant something to her.

Cadence didn't bring up Dillon again on the drive to the restaurant, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten him. In the parking lot, ignoring the running board and sliding to the ground from the passenger seat, she grinned. “Look, Aunt Marti. Mr. Smith's just getting here, too, and he's alone. You should go say hello.”

Dillon was indeed getting out of his old truck. He smoothed his hand over his dark hair, then put on his cowboy hat. It was silver, the crown wrapped with a silver and coral hatband that appealed to her love of fine silverwork.

When she turned back to Cadence, the girl had already joined the Matheson-Logan family as they unloaded from their van.
Go talk to him,
Cadence had encouraged him, probably ninety percent sure she would do no such thing. For that reason, when Marti finally moved, it was toward Dillon, not the restaurant.

His hands were in his back pockets, his head tilted to the ground as he walked, lost in another world. About four feet away, she stopped and waited for him to notice her. He did, starting with her feet and the silly frilly shoes Cadence had chosen for her. His gaze moved slowly to her calves and to the tops of her knees, then slid and slid and slid before reaching the hem of her new dress.

The evening was cooling off everywhere except right where Marti stood. By the time Dillon's gaze finally found her face, she was warm, her breath a little fluttery, and marveling at the difference a yard less of fabric could make.

“Marti,” he said in his hoarse, hard-drinking, hard-smoking, and hard-living voice. It perfectly suited his looks: dark hair, dark eyes, strong jaw, creases etched around his mouth and eyes. He fit the iconic image of a cowboy that she'd grown up with: lanky and languid, tight jeans, hard body, brooding gaze. Pure sex in boots.

Judging by the smoky interest in his eyes, he was thinking the feminine equivalent of her: pure sex in silly frilly shoes.

And Lord help her, she liked it.

Bouncing one-year-old John on her lap while his mama, Ilena, went to the bathroom, Fia felt one of those strange maternal yearnings. They were rare—the last was probably when John was born—but that didn't make them any less bittersweet. When she felt a gaze locked on her and looked up to see Elliot watching from the bar, the bitter part faded and the sweet part got even sweeter. He would make a great dad, a great husband.

But could she be a good mom, a good wife? Would her body let her?

She was torn between not wanting to consider it—disappointment was such a bitch—and wanting to believe in better days coming, one that included a diagnosis and treatment.

“What time is your appointment tomorrow?” Jessy asked, leaning close so no one else could hear.

“Ten thirty. I appreciate your taking me.”

“Nah, it's good for me to see someone I can intimidate from time to time. The cows and the horses don't even give me a second glance anymore, and the dogs only associate me with food.”

“Don't the brothers quake in their boots when you're going ninety miles an hour with your hair on fire?”

“They know the warning signs. There's suddenly a mare needs checking or a cow needs doctoring.” Jessy tossed her head. Though she'd always worn short, sleek hair styles, now it was about the same length as Elliot's. Better for wearing her very own Resistol, she said the first night she'd shown up in the hat.

“Major change in Marti tonight. What's up with that?”

“I know, the guys can't keep their eyes off her. Well, except Dillon, who's tried real hard to look at anything but her.” Jessy dipped a chip in salsa, even though she'd pushed the basket away three times already.

“Is something going on with them?” The idea surprised Fia. She would have figured Marti to choose a buttoned-down lawyer or banker or CEO—someone with more suits in his closet than she had in hers. That was the kind of man her father had been, the kind her brothers were, the kind her mother was always marrying or getting engaged to. But a cowboy…

“She waited for him in the parking lot tonight, and they walked in together. They talked by the fountain for a few minutes, then he went to the bar and she came in here and they've pretty much ignored each other since.” Jessy leaned closer. “Therese says Abby says that Cadence says they had lunch together last week. At. Her. House.”

“Wow. I'm surprised.” Not that Dillon wasn't a fine-looking man. He was a tougher, leaner version of Dalton, and that dark air about him upped his interest level significantly. What kind of woman could resist a dark, mysterious guy?

Well, Fia could. She liked light, happy, even, on good terms with the world and everyone in it. Optimism with a dash of hope and a whole lot of faith. But angst, especially wrapped in damn good packaging, was tempting to every woman she knew, even if just for the fantasy of it.

Fia's own fantasy was across the room, drinking a beer, stealing looks from time to time. He fit in with the guys as if he'd known them forever. It was a talent, that belonging, one that she'd always wanted. Even now, though she felt with every pore in her body that she was exactly where she belonged, she couldn't imagine ever feeling the same way about other people, other places. She couldn't make temporary homes, then move on, the way Elliot could.

The way he still might.

Frowning, she gave her head a shake. She'd had a great time this evening—the Tuesday Night Margarita Club was what got her from Wednesday through Monday nights—and she didn't want to let insecurities, doubts, or mistakes put a damper on it. She wouldn't let them.

Shortly after Ilena returned to the table and reclaimed John, the other kids came to say good night: tiny blond Abby; Jacob, a heartbreaker in the making; Mariah, quite possibly the most adorable child in Tallgrass; and Marti's niece, Cadence. She was tall, coltish, and resembled her pretty aunt, and when she said good night, her gaze scanned the table, politely including everyone in her farewell, before she followed the others and Keegan.

“You didn't tell her to do her homework,” Patricia remarked.

“I don't need to. She just does it. She does everything without being prompted,” Marti replied. “You know, I was worried about how much she was going to change things—”

“Really,” Bennie said dryly. “Your total freak-out the weeks before she came didn't give us a clue.”

Marti stuck out her tongue. “But she's a good kid. Quiet, responsible, polite. She's adapted way better to the situation than I would have.”

Therese nodded. “She's far more poised than I was at her age.”

“Far more poised than I am at my age,” Bennie said, bringing laughter from around the table.

“So…let's talk about the dress.” That came from Carly, sitting one seat down from Fia, nursing a glass of water and keeping the small bowls of salsa at arm's length. If Fia ever did get pregnant, at least she would be accustomed to the bouts of nausea that were bothering Carly.

Though everyone had known the subject was coming sooner or later, Marti almost pulled off her bewildered look. “What about it?”

“In all the time we've known you—”

Lucy interrupted. “And that's like eight or nine years for me.”

“You've never owned a dress like that,” Carly finished. “Do we know him? Is he someone from work? A client? A lawyer?”

Jessy snickered, and so did Therese, and Fia barely kept her silence. It was good for them to grill someone else, since she'd gotten her share of it last week about Elliot. She hadn't minded a second of it, either. If there was one thing the margarita girls were good at, it was providing support. If there was anything they were better at, it was getting information. They talked, they laughed, they loved, they interrogated.

With a nonchalance that no one bought, Marti said, “It's just a pretty dress. It was a gift from Cadence, and I wanted to wear it. For her.” Quickly, she took a long drink of iced tea. As if that would silence anyone.

“And the fact that it makes you look smokin' hot is just an added benefit,” Jessy finished for her. “And there are a lot of guys here to see you looking smokin' hot, and we just wonder if it's meant for one guy in particular.”

At that moment, Marti's gaze was drawn away from them and across the room. Everyone else looked, too, at Dillon standing beside the guys' table, his profile to them. After a moment of silence, Ilena sighed. “You know, I've always thought the Lord was having a very good day when He created our guys, but when He was working on those Smith boys, His day must have been exceptional.”

Fia looked back at Marti, still gazing at Dillon. There was interest, appreciation, curiosity, and something that looked a whole lot like affection. How had Marti and Jessy's brother-in-law developed a burgeoning friendship without anyone else being aware of it?

The same way we all did.
Relationships weren't built in public, in groups, surrounded by friends. There could be no intimacy without privacy. Some of them chose to hide their feelings longer than others. Bennie had had to overcome anger and resentment; Lucy had needed time to move out of the best-buds groove that she and Joe were stuck in.

In fact, to date, Fia was the only one who'd brought a man into the group right up front. It had been a risk, but she'd been born a risk-taker. She'd just gotten some of it worn out of her over the past year and a half.

But you can't keep a warrior girl down.

Especially not as long as Elliot was in her life.

Or even if he wasn't, but he was a damn good incentive to find her spirit and be bold again.

Elliot and Fia were the first to leave the restaurant, followed soon by the Sweets, Lucy and Joe Cadore, and Justin Stephens, the soldier kid from the Warrior Transition Unit, the only one besides Dillon who wasn't romantically involved with any of Jessy's friends. Dillon slumped on his stool, boots hooked over the rung, and considered whether he should do the same. He'd been up before dawn, had a long day, and could always use an extra hour of sleep.

But he was always up before dawn, his days were always long, and sleep never came easily just because he had the time.

Besides, Marti was still at the back table as the remaining women shuffled around, gathering stuff, drawing out their good-byes the way they usually did. They saw each other at least once a week, often more; they talked on the phone regularly, but it was always hard for them to leave.

Maybe because they knew too well that life didn't guarantee a next time.

The stool to his right scraped as Dalton pushed it back. “I'm gonna go drag Jessy out. I'm too old for these late nights.”

The others snorted. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, and they didn't keep particularly early hours. Dane Clark was finishing up his degree at OSU, and barring emergencies, Jared Conners didn't have to be in his pediatrics office until eight.

“I'll pay ten bucks to see you make Jessy go if she doesn't want to,” Clark said.

“Aw, she's not much bigger than my hand. I could just throw her over my shoulder.”

“That old saying ‘
Big things come in small packages
' became an old saying because it's so damn true,” Conners pointed out. “Ilena's no bigger than Jessy, but she's got the personality and stubbornness of an eight-hundred-pound gorilla.”

“Besides, Jessy fights like a girl, and she wins.” Dillon admired his sister-in-law's spirit. She reminded him of his best times with Tina, the fun they'd had, the love they'd shared, the family they'd made.

He didn't need anything to remind him of the bad times. There was always that hole where she and Lilah used to be.

“Yeah, she does have a tendency to kick.” Dalton picked up his hat and briefly met Dillon's gaze. “You staying awhile?”

He shouldn't. He should follow Dalton and Jessy home, drive on past their house to the cabin, let Oliver out for a run, then crawl into bed. But he'd never been one to do what he should. “I'll head out soon.”

Dalton nodded and walked through the arched doorway to the ladies' table. Contrary to his teasing, Jessy was willing to leave. Though she claimed morning always came too damn soon, she'd changed her schedule to match Dalton's earlier rising and bedtime.

Within minutes, Clark and his wife were gone, with Connors and his family right behind them. The few women left said quick good-byes and headed toward the door. At the fountain, Marti separated from them to go into the bathroom. They left without her at her urging, and when she came out a moment later, she turned to the bar instead of the exit. He watched her approach, the subconscious sway of her hips, the heels she wore making her legs look a mile long.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” After a moment, he nodded toward the empty stools. “Want to sit?”

“Wearing these shoes? Of course.” Gracefully she slid onto the stool Dalton had vacated, crossed her legs, then tugged subtly at the hem of her dress. He would have thought a woman like her would be used to wearing revealing clothing, though now that he considered it, the dress did seem much more Jessy's style than Marti's.