Lover's Lane (10 page)

14

AS SOON AS THE WORDS WERE OUT OF HER MOUTH, CARLY wanted to crawl under the carpet. She couldn’t believe she was actually flirting and had no idea where her burst of bravado had come from.

She couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to take up the whole sofa as he sat sprawled with his legs out, ankles crossed, resting his empty coffee mug on his stomach. His thick, dark hair was mussed just enough for her to want to run her fingers through it. His clear blue eyes were alive, alert. And they never left her.

She’d been nervous as a cat when he first made it apparent that he wanted to stay a while. She’d offered him coffee, listened while—bless his heart—he did all the talking, as if he somehow knew how hard this was for her.

It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to being around men, she waited on them day in and day out at the diner, but having one in her living room was entirely different. She caught herself watching the way he moved his hands, the way he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and rolled his head on his shoulders.

As the minutes passed, she’d grown more at ease. When she thought about how he had invited Chris to go along with them and then gently carried him into the house, a feeling of tranquility crept over her, one that she hadn’t dared let herself enjoy in a long, long time.

That surprising warmth stirred a long-slumbering hunger, a need she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge. She remembered Joe’s words of advice.

You’ve got to let someone in sometime.

Time eased away as she sat in silence, cradling her empty coffee mug between her hands, surreptitiously watching Jake move, listening to the deep timbre of his voice. It was as satisfying as sneaking a bite of chocolate.

His masculinity filled the room, gently wrapped itself around her. What would it be like to make physical contact? To kiss him? To have him touch her hand, her hair? To feel like a woman more than a mom for a few stolen moments?

With a start, she suddenly realized Jake had set down his coffee cup. He was ready to leave.

Any other time she would have been relieved that she would no longer have to be on guard, watching every word. Now, part of her ached with disappointment.

Jake could tell that she was tired, so he stretched and glanced at his watch. “Thanks for having dinner with me.”

When Carly unfolded her long, slender legs, he realized that without her shoes she seemed even more vulnerable. The way she was smiling at him was doing things to his composure.

“Thank
you
. It was sweet of you to ask Christopher along. He had a wonderful time.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“Thanks. I like to think so. I want to keep him that way.”

She led him to the front door, tried to open it for him.

“This sticks,” she explained as she began tugging on the doorknob. “It warped last year when we had all that rain, and it hasn’t been right since. There’s a little bit of technique to getting it op . . .”

The door gave before she expected, throwing her off balance. When she landed against his chest, his arms automatically closed around her. He heard her swift intake of breath, felt her freeze. Neither of them budged, not until he put his hands on her upper arms and moved her away.

“Sorry about that.” She turned to smile up at him.

“Anytime.”

He stood in the open doorway, awkward, an imposter trying like hell to convince himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, that he had not crossed any lines.

Having seen her face-to-face and glimpsed an inside view of the life she had made for herself and her son, knowing Rick Saunders’ child was happy and well adjusted, Jake found himself reluctant to tell anyone at all that he’d found her, even Kat.

It was almost as if by guarding her secret, he could keep Carly all to himself. Given time, if he could win her trust, perhaps he could help her and Rick’s son, find out why she’d changed her name, why she’d run from the Saunders.

Hell, it was a long shot, but since he knew both parties, he might even be able to bring about a reconciliation between her and Anna Saunders, but that would only happen if and when Carly trusted him enough to hear the truth.

Kat would be chewing him a new one right now if she could see him like this, or worse yet, read the pipe dreams in his mind.

“Are you still leaving town tomorrow?” Carly was blushing, holding on to the edge of the offending door as he pushed open the screen.

“I decided to head back Monday morning instead.”

“But then you’ll be back . . . because of the house.”

He thought of the ramshackle Craftsman waiting on the hillside, and an unfamiliar tug of anticipation hit him. It had been a while since he’d had anything but work to look forward to. He’d be kidding himself if he didn’t acknowledge that he wanted to see Carly again, too.

“I’ll definitely be back. I’ve got some clients down south to deal with first. Some loose ends to wrap up.”

“It’s good you own your own business.”

He glanced away. “Yeah.” Definitely the truth, partially anyway.

Had she stepped closer? He wasn’t sure, but he caught a whiff of the heady floral fragrance of her hair. It lingered, tempted. He wanted to touch her again, but didn’t. Wanted to stay, but couldn’t.

So he said, “I was hoping that . . . if you have some time tomorrow, that you might come see the house. If I do lease it I’ll need some advice on color before I start painting.” He could already envision her there, standing on the porch overlooking the sea.

“That would be great. I’d love to, but . . .”

“Chris, too, of course.”

“We’ll come, but only if you let me bring a picnic lunch.”

“It’s a deal.”

The awkward silence returned. Neither of them wanting to say good-bye.

Jake tried to break the spell. “Well, it’s late. I’d better get going.”

Shouts of “Bunco!” and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor next door drew their attention. Carly shook her head and giggled.

“My neighbor, Mrs. Schwartz, is having Bunco night with the girls.”

Jake stared over at the plaster burro and cart statuette highlighted in the glow of the amber porch light next door. Carly crossed her arms and rubbed them against the chill damp air.

Above her, the butterfly mobile gently swayed in the breeze off the ocean. The night air was moist and heavy, tinged with the sharp sting of salt. Beyond the perimeters of the cinder block wall around Seaside Village, the surf pounded against the rocky coastline and short strip of private beach.

Jake looked back, saw her framed in the doorway. The glow of lamplight from within cast her in silhouette. Backlit, her blonde hair shone like a halo, long and full around her shoulders.

In that split second of time, in one heartbeat, he found himself wishing she was someone else. Anyone else. He wished to God she was simply a woman with no past, a stranger he had met on an innocent stroll through town. He wished he was what he claimed to be—a consultant who had needed some R and R away from his ordinary world.

“Good-bye . . . Carly.” His heart nearly stopped. He’d almost called her Caroline. He turned and cleared the first step.

“Jake?” The sound of his name, coming so unexpectedly and perhaps a bit desperately, stopped him cold. She quickly stepped through the door, joined him in the darkness.

He lingered at the edge of the porch, willing something to happen, afraid something might.

Maybe he was overestimating the situation, reading his own desire into the moment as Carly hesitated just above him. His position on the lower step put them eye to eye.

“Good night, Jake.” She spoke so softly he barely heard her.

It wasn’t until he felt her hand against the side of his neck that he even realized she had reached for him. Her fingers teased the curls above the nape of his neck with a touch as light as the gentle night breeze off the water.

With the slightest tug she invited him to kiss her. Their lips met, brushed as lightly as the waxed paper butterflies skimmed one another. His hand went to her hip, rested there as naturally as if it belonged, as if it had been waiting forever just to touch her.

As quickly as it began, the kiss ended. It had been short, yet achingly sweet. As innocent as a youth’s first kiss. But he wasn’t a fumbling, virginal teen. He knew
exactly
what he’d be missing tonight.

Her hand slipped from his neck, her fingers might have trailed down the front of his sweater, he was too shaken to know for sure. She stepped back, clasped her hands together.

“Thanks again for a lovely evening, Jake. Good night.”

He didn’t even remember to say good-bye again as he moved in a fog to the car, hit the alarm release on his key ring. Slipping into the front seat, he closed the door and tightened his hands on the top of the steering wheel.

He rested his forehead on the backs of his hands and sat there with his eyes closed for a few seconds and heard Rick Saunders’ words ringing in his head—as clearly as if Rick were sitting in the passenger’s seat.

Hey, Montgomery! I’m getting married. Will you be my
best man?

By the time Jake started the engine and the beam from his headlights lit up her front porch, Carly was gone.

15

CARLY CLOSED THE FRONT DOOR IN A DAZE, TURNED OFF the lights and moved through the darkness to her studio in the enclosed back porch. She heard Jake’s car start, listened to the sound of the motor fade as he headed back up the hill toward town.

Rubbing her arms against the chilly dampness, she looked out at the night. Above the high wall of the surrounding bluff, stars shone like glittering teardrops.

She had shocked Jake Montgomery when she kissed him good night. She’d seen the confusion in his eyes. His expression had made it perfectly clear that the kiss wasn’t expected.

What he didn’t know was that the spontaneous gesture had startled her as much as it had him.

Even now she had no explanation for why she’d kissed him, except that he had been so sweet all evening, asking Chris along, treating him like a grown-up, not once patronizing him. Then when they’d returned home and she’d been shy and tongue-tied, Jake had opened up, put her at ease as he talked about his family. In her vocabulary, family had always been synonymous with disaster, hurt, and loss.

When he told her that he had been eight years old when his father died, she’d had an urge to put her arms around him and tell him that she knew, she
truly
did know how much his life must have changed afterward.

But although his father, like hers, had died when Jake was young, essentially Jake’s life had remained stable. Jake had a mother who deeply cared for him, and not only that, he spoke lovingly of his stepfather and stepsister. In fact, he had never once referred to her as anything other than “my sister Julie.”

Over and over Carly was reminded of how different their childhood experiences had been. Jake’s world growing up would have been as foreign to her as life in some far-off country. He’d been raised in a world of family, the likes of which she had only read about or seen on TV. The kind she hoped she was creating for Chris.

Wilt had once told her that real families were nothing like the ones she constantly watched on reruns of old black-and-white sitcoms. He’d assured her those kinds of families didn’t exist anymore, that they never really had.

Neither did the updated versions—parents and kids merged by second marriages, step-moms and step-dads and a mixed bag of step-siblings who stood around exchanging witty banter and getting along with each other.

It was all a crock, according to Wilt.

But for Jake, at least, the concept of family meant something. After his father died, he still had a mother who had kept him from falling into a bottomless void of loneliness, not to mention the tangled web of social services and foster homes.

Listening to him earlier, she’d been reminded of all she had missed.

Lingering in the darkness of the studio, worn-out doubts and insecurities plagued her. How could she possibly pass on the concept of something as foreign as family love, loyalty, and commitment to Christopher when she never experienced them firsthand?

“When’s Mommy coming home?”

She was five. Skinny legs, knobby knees and elbows,
blond braids, wearing a baggy sundress. She left her bike on
the sizzling sidewalk and walked into the house in Albuquerque to get a drink of water.

The sun was blistering hot, the air as dry as brittle bone.

“Daddy? When’s Mommy coming home?”

“She’s not.” That’s all he said about it the day her mom
walked out on them. “She’s gone and she’s not coming
back, so don’t ask me again, you hear?”

He was lying on the couch in front of the television, just like
always, as if nothing terrible or unthinkable had happened to
change their lives forever. The coffee table was littered with
empty beer cans, an overflowing ashtray, crumpled cigarette
cartons, and prescription pill bottles.

It was Wednesday, but it didn’t matter to Bobbie Nolan
what day it was. He never went to work the way other dads
did. He got checks from something called disability for as
long as Carly could remember. Mommy made most of the
money, at least that’s what she always said whenever her
parents argued after Mommy got home late from dancing at
the Kitty Kat Club.

The day her mom left, Carly stood on a kitchen chair to
get her own glass of water. Then she walked into Mommy
and Daddy’s room to see if her mother’s things were still
there, hoping maybe he was wrong, that he was just being
fuzzy-headed—that’s what Mom called it—the way he got
sometimes. But the minute she walked over to her mom’s
dresser, she knew he was telling the truth.

All the makeup was gone. So was the silver-handled
brush Mommy used for her blush, the one Carly didn’t have
permission to touch. There was no slippery silk nightie
wadded up on the unmade bed, no high heels scattered
around on the floor.

Carly held the water glass tight to her chest and sat down
on the closet floor and pressed her back up against the wall
to keep her heart from beating its way out.

She cried for what seemed like days in the dark on the
closet floor, cried until Daddy came and took her for a ride.

Secretly she hoped they would go by the club to look for
Mommy, but they only drove down to the liquor store.

He was worried about running out of beer.

An ache Carly didn’t dare acknowledge drove her out of the studio, so she wandered down the narrow hall to look in on Christopher.

She drew his covers up. Needing to touch him, she let the palm of her hand linger on the mound of his shoulder beneath the comforter.

In her own room, she paused in front of the mirror, able to make out only a dim outline of her head and shoulders. She touched her lips with her fingertips.

It was still hard to believe she had actually kissed Jake Montgomery a few moments ago. She still felt the warmth of his mouth. Still tasted him. She closed her eyes.

Had
she really kissed him out of gratitude, or from some deeper need, some longing for intimate connection?

Had she seemed desperate? A single mom looking for a meal ticket?

She had no idea how to go about establishing a new relationship. No idea of how to make one last. She’d never had a chance to find out.

God, it had been so long. When she first left Borrego, fear of discovery was never far from her mind. Time had slipped away as she moved from place to place, at first scared of her own shadow and yet forced to focus on building a stable life for Christopher. She hadn’t met any man who truly interested her—not enough to take a chance on.

Not until the moment Jake Montgomery had walked into the gallery.

She pulled her sweater over her head, tossed it on the chair near the bed, fighting to convince herself she shouldn’t make more of tonight than what it had been—an evening out with a really nice guy.

There was nothing wrong with giving him a very innocent good-night kiss.

But it was hard to convince herself of that when, for her, it had been much, much more.

It had been a big step toward connecting again, one that very well might be the first on a road to somewhere she’d never been before. Somewhere she’d only dreamed of going.

Only time would tell.