Just Give In… (16 page)

“You mean, did I tell her that I know you in the Biblical sense?” she said, some of her anger creeping into her voice.

He nodded. “That’s the one.”

“No.”

“Smart.”

“Gillian assumed things, though. However, in order to preserve your reputation, I denied it and told her that you were the perfect gentleman.”

“I am the perfect gentleman.”

“Who likes the sex.”

“All men like the sex.”

“Anyway, you’re off the hook,” she told him casually, because she didn’t want him to invite her to stay out of a sense of responsibility or a guilty conscience. She wanted him to invite her to stay because he wanted her until he ached.

“What hook?”

Brooke smiled at him, as if it was the best sort of news. “Gillian and Austen are springing for a room at the Inn. Now I have a place to stay. I don’t have to impose on you anymore.”

M
OST TIMES
, Jason believed that the trips into town were too far and too long, but this time, the trip to Mrs. Kenley’s house wasn’t far or long enough.

He locked his hands on the wheel, shifted the gear into Park and concentrated on the one hundred and fifty pounds of metal in the bed of the truck instead of the forty kilotons of nuclear fission that just exploded in his gut.

Brooke looked at him, expected a response or, more precisely, an invitation, but Jason wasn’t that guy and he escaped the suffocating cab, hopping up into the truck bed, focusing on what needed to be done.

Apparently it was a no-brainer for Brooke to believe that he wasn’t that guy, she was already standing at the foot of the bed, laying the two-by-fours in place, waiting for him to slide the washing machine down the makeshift ramp. When had she gotten so efficient, when had she figured it all out? Uncomfortable with the idea that Brooke didn’t need him anymore, Jason tugged at the bill of his cap, but the cap, the patch over his eye, not even the big fireball of the westerly sun wasn’t enough to block her from his sight.

She met his eyes, and he could see so much there. All her dreams, all her pain, and there was a voice in his head that said,
Take her home, keep her forever.
But then she smiled at him, sad, smart and forgiving, and the voice in his head shut up.

“You need to train Dog to do this, Captain,” she teased, smartly moving past the tension. “Otherwise he’ll get fat and lazy.”

Jason laughed, a hollow, rusty sound, and Mrs. Kenley waved from her front porch. Together, he and Brooke moved the washing machine up the porch and into the old laundry room on the back of the house.

“I appreciate the work, Captain. You always do such nice work.” The woman laid a familiar hand on her machine and Jason understood. People bonded with their machines because machines were dependable and infallible. A machine could never disappoint.

Then she beamed at Brooke because people were always smiling at Brooke.

“I don’t think we’ve met, honey. You’re not Sonya unless you shrank about half a foot and dyed your hair.” The old woman peered closer. “You’re not Sonya, are you?”

Brooke chuckled, pushed at her hair and Jason could imagine the silk in his hands, until he jammed them in his pockets and he couldn’t remember anything at all.

“No, I’m Brooke Hart. Yes, one of those Harts and, no, I don’t have a criminal record.”

“I like this one,” Mrs. Kenley said to Jason. “You should keep her.”

“This one? I thought I was the only one.” Brooke looked at him again, half teasing, mostly not, and his gaze shifted away.

“Should I make her jealous, Jason, or tell her the truth?”

No, he didn’t want anyone to tell Brooke the truth. That was what he loved about her, that ability to not want to know the truth. Jason picked up the boards and the rollers and made for the door.

“Stump Tinkham said his afternoon soaps were breaking up, and he thought the antenna on the roof had gone wonky. I didn’t say anything to him because you’re always so busy, so I’m not going to say anything to you, either.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Kenley. I won’t stop by his house.”

On the way home, Brooke was quiet until the big black gates yawned open to welcome him home. “You make these repair trips into town often?”

He managed a smile. “Nah. Not at all.”

T
HEIR LAST DINNER TOGETHER
was a quiet affair. More quiet than usual.

After Dog cleaned up, Brooke waited for the Captain to bury his head in some board or transistor or engine, but instead he brought out a large cardboard box.

“There are some things that you’ll need, and some things I thought I would replace.”

He deposited the package on the coffee table in front of her and took the chair opposite, waiting for her to open it.

Charlene Hart didn’t believe in presents or surprises, at least not the good kind, so Brooke prepared herself to be disappointed. With shaky fingers, Brooke lifted the lid and then her breath caught.

Not disappointed here.

On top was a forest-green cashmere sweater. Not so practical in the Texas sun, but the wool was softer than anything she’d ever touched before. “It’s lovely,” she told him, lifting it out and holding it against her.

“Since I ruined the first one—”

Quickly she cut him off.

“This one is a lot nicer.” She didn’t know what a green cashmere sweater meant and she didn’t want to think it meant anything, but the heart was a very hopeful thing. “Captain…”

Quickly he cut her off. “Go on. There’s more,” he said, and she focused her attention on the box. He was right, there was more.

A red sundress, complete with a matching red necklace. A new pair of shearling boots. Three pairs of jeans, a pencil skirt in charcoal gray and coordinating blouse in taupe. She’d never owned a pencil skirt before, and this one looked classy and sophisticated, and she thought she was going to love it. After that, her fingers dug through the box a little faster. Next was an old-fashioned cotton nightgown, with tiny flowers and delicate lace on the front.

It wasn’t elegant and sophisticated. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned. She met his eyes, dazed by the treasures in front of her. “This is too much.”

“No. I ruined a lot of things for you. You’re going to need all this. There’s more.”

More? Not sure what more entailed, she dug into the tissue paper, wondering if more meant a house key, a card, or a permanent toothbrush on the sink.

Instead, she pulled out a mobile phone and an envelope of cash. More truly sucked.

“You need a phone and the money’s to get you started. Consider it an advance on your salary.”

Salary. Oh, yes, that other thing she hadn’t wanted to tell him. “Gillian found me a job at the court house. Filing.”

“Filing is good. You’ll be a good filer.” He looked at her, not sad at all, because in the end, the Captain was a practical person and Gillian had provided a practical solution, but Brooke was tired of being practical and strategic. Strategic thinking hadn’t yielded the thing she wanted most of all.

“Captain,” she started then his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t breathe. His hands tangled in her hair, not practical, not sensible. No, this was perfect. The sort of impossible perfection that is so perfect that it hurts. Tears stung at her eyes, and the Captain lifted his head and swore. Gently, he wiped the moisture away, as if he didn’t want to hurt her, but the tenderness was like a nail to her heart.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, as if a green cashmere sweater was a poor replacement for his heart, because it was. “I’ll take the couch.” Small words, painful words, and then he was pulling away. Her last night and he was robbing her of that, as well.

Brooke put a hand to his arm, asking for the last time. “Please?”

J
ASON FISTED HIS HAND
in her hair and locked his mouth to hers. He closed his eyes, closed out the house, the world, ignoring everything but this. But her.

Strong hands dug into his shoulders, his neck. Not the timid hands that she’d used before. She stroked his hair, his scar, and the gentle touch hurt more than the IED ever had.

Needing to stop the pain, he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to bed. There was no moon, no stars. Here a man could hide himself in peace. With unsteady hands he undressed her, so careful not to rip, not to tear, not to ruin anything else. Brooke didn’t know how fragile she was, but Jason did. He buried his face in the tangled silk of her hair, memorizing the feel of it against his cheek. His mouth whispered against her neck, lips moving with words he would never say. Blindly he found the sensitive spot beneath her right ear, felt her shiver in his arms, and he pulled her closer, wanting to make love to her in the way she deserved, but then her knee was sliding between his legs, rubbing his greedy cock and tortured balls, and he nearly…

No. Tonight was all about her.

“Captain,” she whispered to him and he wished that he was. He wished that he was everything that she saw.

In the dark he filled her, completed her, adored her, and sometime before the dawn, when the night sky was done with black, she slipped from his bed and dressed.

T
HE SKY WAS GRAY
, a tired, drizzling rain falling on the ground. Brooke stood on the front porch, her hands locked to the wooden railing until she made herself release it.

She had a new life waiting for her. The one she’d always wanted. A home. A family. Not perfect, but very, very real. Belonging. It felt good to belong. Comfortable, peaceful, safe.

Once she picked up the bag and box of her belongings, her feet descended the steps. One, two, three, four. The front walk was clear now, a tidy brick pathway that had been obscured from sight. She’d cleared a path to his doorway because…

No.
The drops of rain fell in loud plops on the bricks, on her face, but the cool dampness suited her mood.

The entire yard was a lot neater now. Five sheds, newly painted and organized. A clipboard containing each inventory hung from a nail on the inside wall. He wouldn’t lose things again. Yellow wildflowers poked up here and there among the grass. The Captain would call them weeds…

Her lips twitched into a sad semblance of a smile and this time when she scanned the yard, she noticed a sheet of plywood leaning against the side of the house. The rain would ruin the wood and make it unusable. She knew that now, and she grasped the rough edges, intending to move it out of the rain. It was a big one, six-by-six, she thought to herself, because she knew that now, too.

As she pulled, the wood revealed what had been hidden behind it.

Her fingers tightened on the plywood sheet because her knees had gone wobbly. There was the tub. Glistening ivory, with curly-cue legs and an elegant back. The rusted spots had been sand-blasted away, the fresh enamel was a smooth, pearly white. Now that the tub was exposed to the elements, the rain slid down the sides like a foolish girl’s tears.

While she stood there, the rain picked up, turning into a stinging lash that whipped at her face, hitting the tub metal hard, but she couldn’t move.

No one had ever done something like this for her…the Captain.

One sob escaped her throat, only one because she had a new life waiting for her. A home. A job. A family.

A family. The Captain wasn’t her family. He didn’t want that.

No, this part of her life was done. With remarkably steady hands, she took the plywood and put it neatly back in place, and there was nothing left to prevent her from leaving. Brooke took one purposeful step with a new and improved mood and found the second step easier than the first. The lines and the curves of the path guided her, and then the steps came faster, because she knew she needed to do this fast, put him behind her before she stomped her self-respect into the mud.

The rain was falling in solid sheets now, her vision blurred completely, but she knew the way out. She had practiced this walk in her head, but she hadn’t expected that her heart would weigh her down.

One last time she turned, and through the blur she could see the Captain on the porch, watching her go. Ruddy stubble lined his jaw, but there was no reason for him to shave now. His bare chest was riddled with puckered, silvery scars, long healed, long hardened. A pair of unfastened jeans clung to strong, capable thighs. But his bare feet weren’t moving. His hands weren’t beckoning her to stay because the Captain was strategic. One naked eye watched her, as stormy gray as the sky, and because Brooke’s scars were fresh and raw, she stood frozen, waiting for the impossible.

The Captain stood tall, immovable. Brooked lifted her face to the rain.

This time she was smarter and stronger, and she wasn’t so eager to fail. Outside those monstrous black gates was a life.
A future.
After keying in the combination, she waited impatiently for the gates to open and then loaded her things in the car. Before she drove away, she checked the mirror, safety first after all, and she could see the Captain still standing, locked away behind his black gates. She flipped on the windshield wipers, the rhythmic swish-swish like a knife slicing through her heart.

After the house disappeared from view, Brooke stopped the car at the side of the road. She cried and sobbed and swore, and by the time the rain had eased, she’d dried her eyes, repaired her makeup and was off to start her new life, leaving her heart and her tears behind her.

B
ROOKE SPENT MOST
of Tuesday in the courthouse, learning the ins and outs of Sheriff Wanamaker’s organizational system, of which there were none. Eventually, she shooed Gillian away, explaining that she needed to find her own method. Gillian seemed to understand. Promptly at five o’clock, Gillian appeared.

“You’re ready for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was the meeting with the lawyer. Gillian’s face was drawn into a Mother Teresa look of concern and compassion, but Brooke wasn’t fooled. This was about Austen, the man she planned to marry. “I tried to call Austen yesterday, but he was tied up at the Capitol.”

“He’ll be at the old house in the morning. Meet him there.”

Brooke looked into Gillian’s eyes and knew this was it. No more stalling, no more avoidance. She could do this. The Captain believed in her, and it was time that Brooke did, as well.

“I’ll be there.”

“If you don’t tell him, I will.”

Brooke smiled. “You won’t have to. I swear.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, she drove to the old house, and found her brother there, pulling down the last remains of the house and piling it in a long roll-off container. In the few short weeks since she’d lived in Tin Cup, she’d seen a different world than the one Charlene Hart had ever given her. Here, people did whatever needed to be done, fixed what was broken, and didn’t whine about the process. Practical and simple. Brooke approved.

As she approached him, he was throwing in the last boards, and she jammed her hands in her jean pockets, waiting until Austen was done. “Thank you for what you’re doing. For transferring over a part of the estate. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“It’s the right thing to do. Legally, you’re entitled. Before I sign the papers for the transfer, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to get some things out in the open.”

“Go ahead.”

“I heard you were in charge of the ground-breaking ceremony for the train station?”

He winced. “That’s something of an overstatement. I wrote a press release, and got JC here to speak. “

“Who’s JC? What do you do for him?”

“Her.”

“Oh.”

He almost smiled. “Yeah. We get that a lot. She’s running for governor next year, and I do her public relations, mainly. A lot of organizing events for the Masons and the PTA. A lot of writing, involving words like
leadership, growth
and
vision.
You want a bumper sticker?”

Brooke shot a sad glance at the Impala. “That wreck of a car might cost her the election.”

He walked over, raised the hood and inspected the engine. “She’s not too bad. A little body work. I could do a bit of tinkering under the hood. You’d be surprised with the difference. This car could be a thing of beauty with the proper amount of TLC.”

“You’re offering to fix it?” she asked.

He considered her for a moment. “Yeah. I could.”

The generous offer was making it harder to confess her actual financial situation. “I might have misstated some things, and you might not like it.”

“Don’t know until you spit it out,” he told her, pulling out a rag and wiping the grease from his hands.

“She wasn’t very nice.”

“Who?”

“Our mother.”

“Sorry, sis. I wouldn’t know.”

She heard the sarcasm in his voice, and she spoke quickly before she lost her courage. “I photoshopped all those pictures on the wall in New York. The house wasn’t even mine.”

This time she had his full attention. “Go on.”

“She liked to drink.”

“No wonder she married Frank. It explains a lot.” He laughed, but his eyes were shrewd. “Bet that really tweaked the preacher man, didn’t it?”

Brooke stared at the ground. “I never had a preacher for a stepfather. I never had a stepfather.”

“That was a lie, too? And the fiancé? Peter?”

“An acting student. I picked him up in a bar and paid him six hundred for the night.”

For a long while Austen was quiet, and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t nearly as mad as she had expected it would be. “Why didn’t you just tell the truth?”

She looked at her car, looked out on the horizon, then looked at her brother with a sad smile. “I thought if I told you and Tyler that I was homeless, you two would get weird about it, but you both were weird about it anyway.”

“We’re not the family kind.”

“I am.”

“Sorry, sis.”

She didn’t believe his words. A man who was building a house for his bride? That was family. “I like Gillian. She’s the family kind.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to leave town? I can pack up my car and be on my way.” Hopefully the car would make it.

“Is that what you want?”

She met his eyes. “No.”

He waved a hand as if he didn’t care. “Then don’t.”

“Are you ever going to stop being weird around me?”

Her brother shrugged.

“I need to belong somewhere,” she said, by way of an explanation.

“And this is the place? There are a lot more glamorous locales.”

“The people are nice.”

“Except for Boolie Suggs at the
Tin Cup Gazette.
Don’t cross her.”

“Is that why the article said that Tyler was at the state pen?”

“Boolie likes to make things up. Now that I think of it, you might want to apply there. You two would really get along.”

The words stung, and Brooke swallowed hard. “I should go.” As she walked toward the car, Austen caught up with her.

“Brooke. Wait. I’m sorry. I figure once the wedding is over and this place is built, I won’t be as irritable. Stay if you want, although to tell you the truth, if I didn’t have something to keep me here, I’d be long gone. For the life of me, I just can’t figure out why you’d want to stay here.” He was staring at her ruefully. “Building a house in this little helltown isn’t the smartest move I’ve made, but I’m here, too, which you could consider says something about both our smarts. I guess Tyler struck the motherlode when it comes to Hart brains.”

“I bet you’re really smart.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because Gillian is smart and I don’t think she’d be marrying you otherwise.”

He reached out and tweaked her nose, and no one had ever tweaked her nose before. It was a very brotherly thing to do and she found herself smiling. “Very perceptive, little sister. Maybe you inherited some brains, too. You’re coming to the wedding?”

“My future sister-in-law would kill me if I didn’t.”

Austen laughed. “She’s registered at Tallyrand’s. I asked her, what’s wrong with registering at Victoria’s Secret, but no.”

All the wariness was gone from her brother’s eyes, and it occurred to Brooke that she should have told the truth a long time ago. The Captain was very smart that way. Sometimes the truth wasn’t so bad after all. “I think I’m going to like you.”

“Buy her a black teddy for the wedding shower and I’ll forgive you anything. And listen, before we talk to the lawyer, you should know something. There’s some serious money on the table if we lease the mineral rights on the property. They’re doing some seismic tests next week. It’s not, oh-praise-jeezus-I’ll-never-work-again money, but it’ll keep you comfortable for a while.”

Her brother had no idea how long Brooke could exist on very little funds. One man’s comfortable is another woman’s champagne dreams. “I like comfortable,” she told him easily, as if her insides weren’t screaming for joy. “You’re going to the lawyer’s?” she asked.

“Is it time?”

She held out her arm to her brother and smiled. “It’s time.”

T
HE LAWYER’S OFFICE
was just as stuffy as Austen remembered, a dark, two-room place with a monstrous wooden desk, three leather chairs and four diplomas hanging from the wall. Six months ago he’d been here, walking away the not-so-proud owner of one half of the Hart house, appraised value of $837, one half of the Hart land, appraised at $7000 and one half of the mineral rights, value unknown. Little did he realize how such a small financial transaction could turn into an emotional goldmine.

Because of that one short trip back home, he’d found a new job and, best of all, found Gillian again. Today he was here to make things right for his sister. To pay her for her fair share of the inheritance and to sign over to her a third of the mineral rights.