All the Way (24 page)

Jack’s glare was glacial, accompanied by a frosty smile. “And I won’t tell anyone you’re a waste of a life. C’mon, Johnny. We’ve got business to take care of. This is our last rodeo. Let’s make it count.”

They both slid into the car.

Jack started up the engine and raced out of the lot, onto the freeway and out of sight of the local police. Someone from the fair must’ve seen the argument. Guns flashing and fists flailing had that effect, he imagined.

It would be nothing compared to the effect on Layla of seeing her brother getting hauled off to jail. Jack only had to get to him first.

The rest would be smooth sailing. Jack would have Layla back in his arms. Three more days, the deal would go down, and she’d be his for life.

If Desanto got in his way again, Jack would just have to remove him.

Permanently.

*

Layla had overestimated her physical resilience—to corndogs and fries, the carnival rides, and Jack’s reappearance.

The combination ate away at her stomach, her nerves, and fueled her mounting fear until she felt like she was going to be sick. She knew why Blake had swerved through traffic the entire way, driving the motorcycle at a relentless pace. They had to lose Jack. But the ride had taken its toll.

She thanked every saint she could think of when Blake veered off the highway into the first rest stop, a miserable ninety miles later. Her misery intensified when they passed rows of trucks fueling up at the gas station. Fumes seeped into her helmet and lingered there. Bile rose in her throat.

When they pulled into a parking space, she tore off her helmet. Layla pitched forward as Blake extracted himself from the seat. She held her roiling stomach.

He propped his helmet on the tank. Turning to her, his brows drew together in immediate concern.

Throat lumpy and tight from trying to hold back her sobs, her sick feeling, and her fear, she murmured, “Blake, I don’t feel well.”

Quickly he lifted her off the motorcycle’s leather seat. She
made it to the tall weeds behind the tourist information building before the contents of her stomach rolled up and demanded immediate relief.

Blake held her hair back. When he wiped the sweat from her forehead his fingers felt cool, comforting, offering exactly what she needed. He left for a minute and returned with bottled water. She took a few swigs.

Gathering her damp hair away from her temples, he asked,
“Better now?”

A nod preceded one last upheaval, which reduced to a dry heave. She grimaced at the whole sordid mess. “This is so gross.”

“Baby, it happens.”

“Usually without witnesses.”

He shrugged, smoothing a broad hand down her back. “This is nothing. My brother’s hangovers were way worse than this when he went on a binge, before he finally got sober. Trust me. I’ve seen it all.”

“You’re good at taking care of people,” she whispered.

His eyes softened. “I want to take care of you.”

Her lashes swept up and
she held his
heartfelt gaze.
So much feeling…so much…

The wetness she tried to stifle seeped into her eyes, rimming her lashes. “I’m sorry about this. About everything, Blake.”

A few weeds nestled beside her, where she crouched against the cinder blocks of the building’s foundation, and she pulled the one that drooped closest into her lap. She caressed the plant’s soft, vulnerable purple tuft as she spoke. “I never meant for this to happen. I’m sure when you agreed to take me, you never imagined I’d be so much trouble. This trip has been hell for you.”

“Layla.”

Her gaze remained fixed on the flower cradled in her palm.

“Look at me,” Blake coaxed softly.

She let go of the plant and it sprang back up. She lifted her gaze to his.

“I’ve wanted a second chance with you, and I would’ve continued wanting it for the rest of my life, if it hadn’t been for this trip.”

She poured her heart into her words. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Blake.”

“That,” he said, tracing the shape of her face with his index finger, “makes it all worth it.”

He reached out, gathering her to him. Layla let herself be held. She pressed her cheek against his chest and rested in the cradle of his arms. The feeling of safety soaked through her, soothing the knots in her muscles and settling the tension in her stomach.

A quiet sense of peace drifted through her veins. A feeling she wanted desperately to get used to, the one feeling she’d had and lost with Kenny, and had never found since. Until she’d found Blake. She nestled tighter against him and he held her close. The nearness wasn’t close enough. She wanted to feel all of him, wanted him inside her, in an act that would weave together their physical bodies and their emotional chemistry into a single braid of intimacy.

She knew they had awhile to go yet before they stopped for the night. But as Blake helped her up and led her back toward the bike, the trembling started again, her shoulders hiked up to her ears, and her insides pitched.

Blake completed his phone call to Officer Munson, and from what Layla could gather the fairgoers must’ve seen the fight and made the call. Unfortunately, Jack had taken off before the local police arrived. Which meant they were all on the same stretch of road again. No telling what Jack’s wounded pride would make him capable of doing.

Her stomach knotted into a sickening clump of dread. “Blake,” she said with a dry throat, “I can’t keep going. I’m really sorry.”

He caught her trembling fingers. He ended the call and tipped her face up for him to investigate. “Still feeling sick, huh?”

“Very.” She winced as another wave of nausea spread hot and cold flashes throughout her body.

Scraping a hand through his hair, he sighed. “There is a place nearby where we could stay…”

Relief poured out of her in a rushed exhale. “That would be great.”

“But, Layla, it’s not what I had planned.”

“That’s okay. I just need to lay down for awhile.”

He looked away. “It’s the place I always stay when I’m passing through on my way to Sturgis.”

“If they know you, then maybe we’ll get a good room, even if it’s not what we’d planned.”

He scratched his neck, where a tide of red had washed up. “Layla, you see, it’s…there’s a…” Forcing out a sigh, he admitted, “There’s this woman.”

Everything inside her froze. “Oh.”

“But it’s not what you think. We’re friends who…go way back.”

She swallowed and extended her trust in a way she wouldn’t have done with any other man. “If you’re just great friends
now
, then I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Exactly.” He beamed.

“Okay. Then we’ll go there. Is that all right with you?”

“Baby, whatever you need, I’m all right with.”

Thirty minutes later, a tight band of tension still compressing her skull, Layla sat up straighter. Blake slowed the bike and took an exit ramp. Soon after, he steered the motorcycle onto what looked like an old carriage road, tree-lined, with a strip of grass running down the center. The trees thinned and gave way to a sprawling green vista that spread for miles, and in the middle of this lush landscape stood a grand old house. Stone-slab trails wove in and out of various gardens overflowing with flowers and color. A huge oak tree anchored the west corner, spreading its shade over half the house.
Layla’s breath deepened with awe.

The place was gorgeous. Inviting, too, she discovered when they slung their belongings over their shoulders. Before they reached the last step on the wrap-around porch the door flew open.

A middle-aged woman’s face beamed at them within a frame of white-blonde curls, her plump cheeks flushed with delight. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted out the door with her. The scent and the atmosphere soothed Layla’s taut nerves. The older woman smiled broadly at Blake. “Get a load of you, handsome! Glad to see you, Mr. Desanto.”

“Hi, Dottie. It’s good to be back.”

She nodded, her curls bouncing. “It’s grand to have you staying with us again this year.”

Blake smiled. “Dottie, you’re a ray of sunshine, as usual.”

“Don’t waste your flattery on me, young man.” She grinned and sent a small wink to Layla. “Who is your lovely companion?”

“This is Layla,” he said, holding out an arm in introduction.
“Layla, this is Dottie Mae Cartwright, our host and the best cook on the planet.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Layla said
as she stretched out her hand.

Dottie ignored her hand and enfolded her in a big, tender hug. Layla clung to the woman perhaps a moment longer than necessary. She had never been embraced by such an
affectionate, motherly touch. To Layla’s surprise the combination pricked the backs of her eyes. She loved the place already.

Releasing
her with a gentle pat, Dottie beckoned them. “Come in, come in. Make yourselves at home.”

Layla caught the meticulously carved wooden sign posted outside the door. A rate sheet, and below that a small, welcoming list of house rules. The letters and numbers were painted a gentle yellow against the blue background, cheerful as a blue daisy. The title read,
Dottie Mae’s Bed and Breakfast
.
This was so sweet of Blake. He’d brought her to the perfect, relaxing spot where she could regroup and regain her inner balance after Jack
had knocked her world off balance.

Then a young woman spotted them in the foyer. She
leaped from the second step of a grand central staircase—and landed in Blake’s arms.

Every muscle in Layla’s body
went limp. So did her jaw. She closed her mouth before she embarrassed herself.

With a trim waist, voluptuous curves and a perfect smile, the woman looked like sunshine and rainbows and everything Layla was not. Even her honey brown hair curled just right at her shoulders. To add insult to injury, Layla decided.

“How are you, Carolyn?” Blake asked, easing her out of his arms.

Carolyn’s hands cupped his face. “I’m great. You look
good
. As usual.”

Blake cleared his throat and gestured behind him. “Carolyn, this is Layla.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised to find him with a companion. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you standing there. Blake and I are…well, we…he is a dear friend of mine.”

“I gathered,” Layla said. Did that come out sounding bitter? When Blake talked about that
friend
of his,
Layla hadn’t
pictured this lovely creature who seemed to glow with inner radiance. A house full of lovable women.
Layla felt like disappearing into the wall. However, as a guest in this house, she needed to scrounge up some manners, even though every knot of tension unwound and dropped into a miserable heap somewhere near her toes. “What a lovely home you have.”

“Thank you.” Her smile returned, almost blinding. “Other than sharing it with the dozen or so people who roll through week after week, I love it here. It’s quite a place.”

Chipper and perky, with a sunny sense of humor.
Terrific.

“That’s…nice,”
Layla managed. Jeez that sounded lame, but it was the best Layla could do, considering everything she had worked for with Blake began to dim in comparison to what he could have with Rainbow Brite here. What he
had
had with her. What he
still
had with her?

A silent groan echoed through her chest, which felt suspiciously empty all of a sudden. Her kneecaps felt like they were filled with Jell-O. “I…think I need to find a bed and collapse into it.”

“Sure thing. Right this way.”

“Layla wasn’t feeling well,” Blake went on to explain.
“That’s why we had to stop here. Wasn’t in the original plans,” he stressed.

A sensitive frown gathered between Carolyn’s eyebrows. She nodded. “I see. Same room or separate rooms?” she asked when they reached the top of the oak staircase.

“Same,” said Layla.

“Separate,” said Blake.

The woman glanced at
the two of them, as Layla exchanged a look with Blake. He said, “Just for now, baby. You need some peace and quiet.
A big, soft bed all to yourself.”

“How thoughtful,” she said dully.

“I want you well for the rest of our trip. You will thank me for this. Sink into one of these mattresses and you won’t ever want to get up.”

Sleep was not what Layla had in mind when she pictured her and Blake sinking onto a mattress. “Sounds tempting,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise.

“You two can figure out the details.” Carolyn opened rooms one and two. Brass beds with fluffy white eyelet spreads stood as the centerpiece to each space. Sunlight warmed the clean-scented hardwood floors softened by handmade throw rugs. A rocking chair sat in the corner of each, looking out onto the yard through a bank of half-open windows. Sheer curtains drifted in the breeze.

“Heaven,” Layla said with a pleasurable sound of gratitude.

Blake chuckled. “I told you.” He nodded to Carolyn, who closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. “Get some sleep, baby.
I’ll come and get you around dinner.
Can’t let you miss out on Dottie’s lemonade, homemade fried chicken, and fresh-from-the-oven peach cobbler.”

“Sounds good,” she mumbled as she landed on the bed, her voice muffled by the pillows and ruffles making a pouf around her. Exhaustion clamped her body, draining the last remnants of her energy and plunging her into dreamless darkness.

An indeterminable time later, Layla blinked awake and sighed. Even though the sun’s rays had deepened to the ripe orange of sunset, she felt like she’d slept through the night. Lord, she’d needed this. Even if the bliss came attached to the unpleasant surprise of meeting one of Blake’s former lovers.

A twinge of loneliness pinched her chest.

She didn’t have many of those—former lovers. She’d kept to herself for so many years, going on few dates, rarely accepting offers or making them. She had baggage. The kind that would never go away,
and she wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. She loved Robby dearly. Still, her life had always been steeped in responsibility, an existence that most men weren’t interested in acquiring. That had left her plenty of time to work, go to school, and be there for her little brother. But sometimes, in an unguarded moment, Layla had experienced bone-deep longing for freedom and love and a few stolen hours of completely selfish enjoyment.

Feminine laughter tinkled like chimes on the breeze. Layla frowned, reflecting.

Once, long ago, her laughter had sounded that carefree and blissfully happy. The sound of innocence protected from life’s bitter tragedies. A sound she wondered if she would ever reclaim. She knew who that sparkling laugh belonged to, and reaching toward the window, she moved aside the sheer drape with the back of her hand.

Carolyn and Blake sat on the backyard patio together, sipping iced tea on a loveseat swing as the sky took on a rosy hue. His arm draped over the seatback easily, like they were honestly old friends. It was not the white-hot heat and untamed desire she and Blake felt together. No, it was more calm and serene between him and Carolyn. Comfortable.
Dependable.
The very things for which Layla had come to depend on Blake.

Blake proved as much when he arrived at the foot of her bed twenty minutes later, carrying a tray of chicken soup, the steam wafting up toward his face. The broth filled her room with the delicious smells of poultry, salt and steamed carrots.

He smiled down at her. “You look so cozy I almost want to skip dinner and crawl in there with you.”

She stretched and tossed him a sleepy grin.
“Then why don’t you?”

“And miss Dottie’s homemade everything? Are you kidding? That would be sacrilege.”

Blake moved to deposit the tray on her sheet-covered lap, but she gently directed it to the bedside table. She couldn’t make food stay in her stomach until she heard the full truth of his past with the woman in whose house they were staying.

“Blake, you and Carolyn still seem…close.”

“Sure.” He nodded. “You come across a handful of great people in life. She’s one of them. We’ll probably always be friends.”

“What happened? Why didn’t it work out between you?”

“Dottie really wanted us to give it a shot.” He shrugged. “But Carolyn wanted to stay here, help Dottie run the place, and I had my life in Cleveland. Besides, can you really picture me in all this peace and quiet and serenity? I’d be bored out of my mind.” He winked at her.

Layla offered a half-smile. “The old Chinese curse—may you live in interesting times. Just consider me your own personal curse.”

“You do keep life interesting, baby.” A sparkle lit his eyes.

Layla cleared her throat. “So you and Carolyn just broke it off?”

“Um.” He scratched his neck. “Well, we…it became sort of a ‘passing through’ kind of thing.”

Layla wet her lips. “How long have you been coming to Sturgis?”

“Ten years.”

She swallowed hard, forced herself to look him in the eye. She somehow summoned the nerve for her next question. “How long have you been ‘passing through’?”

A pause. “Ten years.”

A horrible emotion clawed and scraped through her veins. Jealousy infected her blood, prickled over her skin, and gave her cold flashes of dread.

Is this where he’d been last year?

Had he sought refuge in Carolyn’s arms, in her bed, to get away from the stormy tumult of Layla’s condemnation over his betrayal—the week their relationship crashed and burned a year ago?

More questions rose up inside her, adding layer upon layer of raw hurt.

Had Blake even spared a thought to Layla’s crushed feelings and shattered heart? Or had he been ready to move on to sunshine and rainbows, to lose himself in Carolyn’s carefree embrace, escaping the dark accusations Layla had rained down on him?

Immediately the plush, white softness of the room became a torture chamber, her trust a pincushion as pain and jealousy stabbed deep. Her mind spun images of Blake in bed with Carolyn and Layla’s steel heart suddenly turned to glass and cracked into pieces.

“Layla, what’s wrong? What is it?”

She turned away, dropping to the mattress on her stomach to hide the shudder that gripped her chest. “You were here last year.” Her fist closed around a handful of sheets, clutching them to her breast. Her hand clenched so tight she pressed jagged wrinkles into the pristine cotton. “You were here with her, weren’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded genuinely baffled.

“You left me. And came here. I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m getting at.”

“Okay. Hold it right there.” Uncharacteristic severity chafed his tone. “You think that I…that we…? No—no, Layla, that’s not what happened.”

“Why not? You might as well have moved on. We were as good as over.”

He inhaled sharply. “Not to me we weren’t.”

“How would I have known? You were miles away, out here in paradise. While I was sweltering in a pit of hell thinking about what happened, trying to understand why you’d left.”

“I may have left, but I never let you go, Layla.”

“No, you did one better. You left me
first so that there was nothing
to
let go.”

“Please look at me.” His entreaty tugged at her to respond.

She refused. Angry at her startling jealousy, she wondered what that meant for the pieces of her heart clinging together with desperate resilience.

“Layla. Don’t you dare go silent on me. We’ve been through enough on this trip and stuck it out together. I at least deserve your respect, to hear you voice your feelings.”

Silence pushed at the egg-shell white walls.

Blake burst.

Sheets whipped up from the bed like plumes of white smoke, then slithered down at the foot of the bed. He moved with inhuman speed. All she felt was the whirling sensation of being spun around, the barest touch of male hands that easily hauled her into position under him. His palms pressed to the mattress on either side of her head.

Nowhere to look but up.
Into his face.
And his penetrating, inescapable gaze.

Blake’s voice came out thin as a whip. “I asked you to look at me.”

She blinked wide eyes. Her silence now became compliance. Complete submission that both challenged and thrilled her.

His breath wafted over her face, deliciously scented, hot with steam when he spoke. “Nothing happened between me and Carolyn last year when I passed through.”

Layla stiffened, then relaxed enough to nod.

The gesture didn’t relax Blake, however. He stormed on. “Believe it or not, I don’t sit around, plotting ways to hurt you—or leave you.”

Her breath caught at the intensity sparking in his eyes. The gleam hypnotized her into understanding. He meant what he said.

“Layla, I don’t have any guarantees. I can’t promise I’ll do everything perfect. But I would
never
betray you.”

At this, Layla found her voice. “I never asked for promises. Only proof.”

“Proof requires exacting standards. Our past doesn’t exactly scream perfection—for either of us.”

Her lips tightened around a retort. He was right. They’d both contributed an equal amount of missteps and mistakes, like two people feeling their way around in the dark.

“Last year I left because I thought space would bring clarity. It did, for me. I realized how much I can’t stand Johnson. And how I can’t be without you.”

His words pounded her defenses. In search of relief, she watched his lips as he spoke, their shape chiseled at the edges yet softened by sensual curves.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you outside the fair, before Jack showed up. When he first came between us, he’d slipped into cracks that were already there. But there’s precious little we can do about the past now.”

“The past isn’t something that can be erased, but it can be overcome.”

He nodded tightly. “Unless you turn your back on me. Where is the halfway point between everything and nothing, Layla? Why am I always the one who makes the first step across that bridge?”

She gasped. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” he asked grimly.

Resentment burned at the backs of her eyes. “I’ve reached out to you. I took your hand so many times,
wanting to depend on what you offered. Until you snatched it away last year. You came to this place instead, where all the freedom you could ever want awaited you.”