Now You See Me (15 page)

“You, uh, you do that well.”

She had the feeling he wasn’t talking about her cleaning ability.

“Now we have to let it dry.” She set the wipe back on the napkin she’d spread out as her work area, but didn’t let go of his finger. He was her anchor. As long as she had hold of him, she’d be fine.

“I ran into your mother-in-law on my way here.”

She clenched his finger hard enough to make him wince. At least now she understood the desperation in his face when he first appeared at the door.

“Sorry. I take it she talked to you?”

“Talked
at
me is more like it.”

She forced out a long and slow breath. “How bad was it?”

“Not all bad. She had some valid points.” He touched her cheek. “She’s worried about you.”

“She’s mostly worried that I’ll run off and take the kids away from her. Or do something to disgrace Glenn’s memory.”

“I think she really does care what happens.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what makes it so hard.” She shook her head and checked her watch. “Okay. That’s long enough. Ready?”

He looked like he had another question, but he gave a swift nod. “Go for it, Dracula.”

She tightened her grip on his finger, blew out a chestful of tension and positioned the lancet.

“Sorry about this.” With a quick and decisive thrust, she pushed the point through the skin. He barely flinched. But she couldn’t help noticing the way his free hand balled into a quick, white-knuckled fist.

When he spoke, he sounded as casual as ever. “Are you always this good with blood?”

“I’m a mom, remember? Boo-boos are my specialty.”

She applied pressure and collected the berry-red drops as instructed. He was right—it hadn’t been as complicated as it seemed. Still, she felt the stiffness drain from her shoulders as she pressed the cotton swab to the wound, then applied a bandage.

“Dang.” She scanned the directions in mock dismay.

“What?”

“They forgot the most important part.”

Quickly, she pressed her lips to the bandage, letting them linger far longer than was probably wise. But even through the sterile covering, he felt too warm, too enticing, for her to maintain her facade of brisk efficiency.

“You know, Lyddie, you make it damned hard for a man to stick to his honorable intentions.”

She raised her head and took him in: the fullness of his mouth, the heat in his eyes, the way he leaned closer as though he couldn’t stay away. It had been a long time since she’d felt this power. Damn, but she’d missed it.

“Good,” she said softly. “Because I think there are times when honor is highly overrated.”

Some indiscernible emotion—pain? confusion?—flitted across his face. Then he reached for her cheek with one finger, gently turning her back toward the instruction sheet.

“Better seal it up.”

Right. Thank heaven he knew this drill. She was so giddy with lust and nerves that she needed all the help she could get.

She put the test in the preprinted envelope, removed the sticker with the tracking number and stuck it in the notebook she’d pulled from her purse.

“Okay.” She handed him another test set from the kit. “My turn.”

“You?”

“Of course. Why do you think I told you to get two tests?”

“I thought you were worried about messing one up. Lyddie, you told me your history. You don’t need to do this.”

“Yes, I do. For all you know, I could have jumped every tourist with a Y chromosome. All you have is my word that there’s been nobody else.” She offered her hand. “You deserve certainty as much as I do.”

With those words, J.T. knew that his fate was sealed. Who was he kidding to think he could spend two weeks making love to Lydia and then walk away? She wasn’t the kind of woman a man left willingly. She was the kind that made men rearrange plans and rethink everything they’d ever believed about themselves.

A smart man would walk away now while he could still get away unscathed.

But even though he knew he was letting himself in for a hell of an ordeal down the road, he wasn’t strong enough to turn away from the promise in Lyddie’s touch. Nor could he slap her down after she’d pulled together the guts to get this started.

He almost rolled his eyes at his own delusions. Like the only reason he was doing this was to make her happy. One glance at the way her polo shirt dipped into the hollow between her breasts and he was reminded of exactly why he was willing to take this chance.

He took the hand she continued to hold out to him. “I promise to be gentle.”

“That’s okay.” Once again she looked him straight in the eye. “Gentleness is also vastly overrated.”

Nope. No way he could walk away now, even if he wanted to. And he most certainly did not.

He swabbed her finger. As when she was cleaning him, he could feel her texture through the wipe, the softness of the finger pad, the slight callus at one side. He stroked the roughened spot again.

“This part gets used a lot?” His voice sounded huskier than usual, even to him. Not that he could be one hundred percent certain, what with the blood roaring in his ears and all.

“Writing orders. Pushing the handle on the coffee machines. Signing homework.”

All the bits of her regular life. The life, as Ruth had reminded him, that she would have to resume when he tore himself away and went back to Tucson.

“Time to dry.” He tossed the wipe on the paper towel, tugged her finger upright and blew a soft, steady stream of air across the moist surface. The momentary widening of her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.

“By the way,” she said, far too casually for him to believe, “Jillian was in today. Taking great delight in telling me my paperwork had gone missing and the planning board wouldn’t be able to review the sale this month.”

“Surprised?” He blew again, short puffs, and felt the shiver radiate from her finger and up her arm.

“Not in the least.”

“Pissed off?”

“A little.” Her laugh was breathy enough to make him consider messing up his own paperwork, just so he would have to stick around past mid-August. “Then I think, Lyddie, you hypocrite. You can’t complain about people putting you on a pedestal and then get mad when someone treats you... Um...okay, that’s probably dry by now.”

“One more second.” He blew a long, slow breath across her finger, then up her palm, lowering his head until he was but a whisper above her skin as he hovered over her wrist and moved toward the crook of her elbow. He might have to resist her lips for a couple more days, but he would take his pleasure where he could. And filling himself with Lyddie’s warm vanilla scent was most certainly a pleasure.

Especially when he glanced up to see her with her eyes closed and a look of pure rapture on her face.

I did that.

The rest of her world could make her look worried or happy or concerned or angry, but he was the only one giving her this bliss, this fulfillment. And damn, it felt good.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss against her mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted. But from the sheer delight in her eyes when they flew open, he knew it was exactly what she had needed.

He grinned down at her. “Ready?”

She nodded. He’d lay money that her agreement had nothing to do with the test.

He allowed himself one more moment surrounded by her, then backed off and steadied himself. Time to focus.

“Hang on.” He picked up the lancet, pulled it from the protective wrapper and poised it above her finger. She inhaled sharply. He glanced up, surprised, and saw her grimace.

“You okay?”

“I hate finger sticks. Had three kids without drugs, but these... Ugh.”

Hated them, but insisted on going through with it.

“I wish you’d told me earlier.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered pretending to be brave when you stuck me.”

She laughed, and he moved into position once again. He tightened his grip, positioned the lancet. He hadn’t been lying: he’d done this before, more than once. But he could never remember being quite so apprehensive.

“On the count of three,” he said, hoping to steady himself. His lunch danced in his stomach. He blinked to clear the haze clouding his vision.

“One...”

What the hell was wrong with him? He was a scientist, for God’s sake. Why was he suddenly getting squeamish about a simple finger stick?

“Two...” she whispered. Her voice sounded tight. The moment he glanced up at her, he knew he’d made a mistake. Her eyes were screwed shut. Her face was turned away from him. Worst of all, her free hand was clamped over her mouth, no doubt to muffle the squeal of pain she was obviously anticipating. Pain she didn’t need to go through but was willing to endure...for him.

And in that moment, he knew he couldn’t do it. It would take a gun to his head—no, to
hers
—to make him willingly inflict pain on her. There was no way in hell he could stab Lydia Brewster, hurt her or make her suffer.

Because somewhere in the past weeks, he’d fallen in love with her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
E
HAD
NO
IDEA
how long he sat there, gripping Lyddie’s finger as if it were the only thing keeping him from hitting the floor. The part of his brain that could still function realized that it was pretty ironic—being saved by the woman who made him fall in the first place.

She shifted on the stool, tilted her head toward him.

“J.T.?”

He croaked out an odd strangled sort of sound. Her eyes widened with something that resembled horror. She dropped his hand and lunged across the table to grab a huge stainless steel bowl that she shoved into his arms.

He blinked as if coming out of a drug-induced stupor. “What’s this?”

“A bowl. You know, to catch—unless you think you can make it to the bathroom. It’s just over—”

“No.” He shook his head, set the bowl on the table. It wobbled in perfect time with his stomach. “No, I’m fine, I don’t—I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? You looked pretty green for a minute there.”

He laughed, a short, decidedly unmerry bark, and swept his face with his hand. “Yeah, I imagine I did.”

“What’s wrong?” She wrinkled her nose as if trying to sort things through. “Oh, my God, are you afraid of blood? Is that it?”

“I... No...uh, I mean, yeah.” He wasn’t above grabbing for whatever help she could give him. Anything was better than the truth. “It doesn’t bother me most of the time, but I, uh, did some work in the garden after lunch. With the heat and all, I guess it’s getting to me.” He gave her a rather desperate grin. “I know the shop is closed, but could I get some water?”

“Sure, of course.”

As she pushed herself off the stool and bustled about behind him, he stared blankly out the window, searching for guidance in the river running just beyond the door.

How had this happened? He barely knew her. But even as he thought that, he realized it wasn’t true. He knew the important parts. She was brave and caring and concerned for others, and she’d been willing to give him a chance when no one else had.

Maybe that was it. Maybe this wasn’t love. Maybe it was gratitude mixed with a healthy dose of lust.

Then she sat down across from him again, bringing cheese and juice and a light hand to his arm, and all his swirling confusion calmed. This was the truth.

He was a goner.

“Thanks.” He nibbled the wedge of sharp cheddar, buying time.

“How are you doing?” She placed a cool palm against his forehead and frowned. “You do feel a bit warm.”

“That’s your fault,” he said, delighting in the faint blush that rose in her cheeks, the way she looked down, unable to meet his eyes for the briefest second.

When she lifted her head again, though, he saw nothing but determination. “Uh—you might want to look away.” And before he could swallow enough to lodge a protest, she took one sharp breath and poked her own finger.

“Lyddie,” he breathed when he finished swallowing. “Damn, honey, you didn’t have to do that.”

She scrunched her nose as she squeezed blood onto the test circle. “Not a problem. We need to save your strength, you know.” Again, pink rose in her cheeks.

“I’m not usually such a wuss.”
Only when I figure out I’m in love with a woman I’ll have to leave in a few—

Damn. It was all he could do to keep from choking yet again.

A month. Five weeks if he were lucky. Barring a miracle, that was all he had with her. Five weeks to fill himself with this woman who’d crept into his heart when he wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t enough. He could never have enough of her.

He watched her from behind, drinking her in as she packed up the test: the way her ponytail dipped straight to her nape, the curve of her neck above her shoulder, the planes of her shoulder blade beneath her shirt. Knowing that in just a few days she would be his was enough to make him dizzy—for real, this time.

“There. All set.” She turned to face him, smiling in a way that lifted his heart even as it broke within him. And in that moment, he knew what he had to do.

He had five weeks to make Lyddie fall in love with him. Five short weeks to convince her that he was as necessary to her life as she was to his.

But he had a feeling that making her fall in love would be easy compared to convincing her to leave Comeback Cove.

* * *

T
HREE
NIGHTS
LATER
, Lyddie sat down with her children and Ruth, served up spaghetti and wondered what kind of mother spent her last meal with her family wondering how she could slip away to call for the results of her potential lover’s HIV test.

The answer, obviously, was a very lustful one.

Ruth spooned dressing over her salad and said, “Tish, I ran into Miss Lockhart from school today. She said she’ll have first grade again next year, so it looks like she’ll be your teacher.”

Tish’s fork clattered dully against the polished oak table. “May I be excused? I lost my attepipe.”

Ben snorted. “It’s ‘appetite,’ drama queen.”

“Ben, leave your sister alone.” Lyddie shared a worried glance with Ruth—the first time the woman had looked her in the eye since the night of J.T.—then reached for Tish’s hand. “What is it, sweets? Miss Lockhart is supposed to be very good.”

“She makes me feel funny.”

Lyddie remembered Tish saying something about that before, then blowing it off. “How?”

Tish stuck out her bottom lip, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at her spaghetti. Lyddie sighed. So much for sneaking away.

“Patricia Grace,” Ruth said in the tone that always made Lyddie want to shake her, “you know there’s only one section of each grade in school. It’s not like you can switch to another teacher. Whatever is bothering you, you have to get over it.”

Lyddie counted to three in her head—the highest she could manage before the need to speak spilled over. “Tish, come on. If there’s a real problem we’ll find a way to work around it—” she stared pointedly at Ruth for a moment “—but we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us. So fess up. What’s the problem?”

Two fat tears plopped into Tish’s spaghetti.

“Ah, geez.” Ben tossed his fork onto his plate. “Tell the truth, DQ. It’s because of Dad, right?”

“What?” Lyddie was sure she hadn’t heard correctly. Ruth opened her mouth to say something, then bit her lip and watched the children.

Tish’s braids bobbed up and down as she slowly nodded agreement.

Lyddie turned to Ben. “What’s the trouble?”

“Well, whenever I see Miss Lockhart, she always talks about Dad, about what a great guy he was. That kind of thing.” His casual shrug was offset by the pinkness beneath his freckles. “I think she liked him, you know?”

Lyddie sagged against the carved wooden chair and tried to make sense of what she’d just heard. “Ben, buddy, I know this is uncomfortable, but could you be more specific?”

Ruth stood up. “Lydia, could you help me with dessert, please?”

Oh, geez.
This was going to be interesting.

Ben rolled his eyes. Lyddie gave Tish a quick hug before following Ruth.

She found Ruth frowning viciously at the pan of Rice Krispie squares she was slicing. Lyddie gave an involuntary shudder. She was mighty glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of that glare.

On the other hand, she was getting pretty tired of being treated like a pariah in her own home. It might be worth a few minutes of discomfort if it meant she and Ruth could get past this.

“So, Anna Lockhart.” She decided to deal with Tish’s dilemma first and proceed accordingly. “What’s the story?”

“I didn’t want the children to think poorly of their teacher. But Anna was always sweet on Glenn, back in school. He was a couple of years ahead of her and she used to worship the ground he walked on. I know she always hoped he would come back to her someday.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but it was twenty-some years ago. Don’t you think she should be over it by now?”

Ruth stabbed the squares. Lyddie gave her a second, then drew a deep breath and went on.

“Ruth. If a grown woman is still mooning over her high school love—enough that it causes discomfort to his children—don’t you think that’s a problem?”

Another direct hit to the pan.

“You know, Glenn never mentioned Anna to me. Was this a reciprocal thing, or all in her mind? Because if he was never even interested in her, but she’s created something, I’m really worried about my child—”

“They went out a few times.”

Well, at least it was an answer.

“It couldn’t have been very serious if nobody ever mentioned it to me before.”

“There are some who think it’s more admirable to stay quiet about certain things. Not flaunt their affairs in front of others.”

That did it. Lyddie marched to the counter and grabbed the pan, noting that Ruth had carved the squares into pieces so tiny that they were practically individual crisps. “Look, could we cut the crap and get down to the real issue? You don’t care about Anna and what might or might not have happened with her and Glenn. This is about me and J.T.”

Twin spots of dull red appeared on Ruth’s cheeks as she stared out the window.

“I’m sorry you don’t like him,” Lyddie continued. “I’m sorry you don’t approve. But this is my life. I still love Glenn and I’ll miss him until I die, but I’m not going to spend the rest of my life as some kind of martyr.”

Ruth took a deep breath and clasped her hands in front of her. “Why him?” she said, very quietly.

There were half a dozen easy answers, but only one that mattered. “Because he makes me feel alive again.”

Ruth stifled a sob. “He’s no good. He’s dangerous, Lydia, he’ll hurt you like he’s hurt everyone else in this town. He’ll lie to you and leave you and—”

“Yes, he’ll leave me.” And God, how she already dreaded that final farewell. “But he’s not any of those other things. Maybe he was, back when he was a kid. But people change. They grow. You might not have noticed, but he’s bent over backward to make this sale possible. If not for him offering to hold the mortgage, I would have to move River Joe’s, pack up and leave the building where you first met Buddy. Would you want that?”

“No. No, of course not. But that doesn’t mean you have to get involved with him, or pay him with your body like a...”

“Like a common tramp?” The words came out low and hard, but since Ruth was suggesting nothing more than what Lyddie herself had said to Zoë, she couldn’t cast stones. “I was faithful to Glenn the whole time we were together. I never even fantasized about another man, except maybe George Clooney once in a while. But I’ve been alone for four years.”

“You don’t have to tell me how long it’s been.”

“I know, Ruth. And I know you lost even more than I did, and I don’t know how you managed to keep going. But we did, both of us.” She touched the faded blue cardigan Ruth wore around the house, no matter what the season. “We kept going, but I feel like somewhere along the line, I stalled out. I’m frozen in some place I don’t want to be. You, the town, everybody has this picture of who and what I should be, and I just... I’m afraid that if I don’t do something now, while I have the chance, that it will be too late.”

“Would that be so bad? Your life here isn’t that terrible.”

“No, it’s not. I have the kids, and you, and a business I enjoy in a place that I really do love.” She wrapped her arms around herself and moved away from the window. “But I don’t like what I see happening. To me, to Glenn’s memory. People keep forgetting that he was human. Think. Do you believe it’s normal for an old-maid school teacher to obsess this way?”

“Anna isn’t obsessed.”

“Maybe not, but if she’s making my kid uncomfortable, I don’t think she’s exactly normal.”

“There’s nothing abnormal about remembering someone. About respecting what they did.”

“If that was all it was, it would be fine. But damn, Ruth, it’s going too far. Glenn was a good man. So was Buddy. But we’re in danger of forgetting how real they were, of turning them into cartoon heroes. Is that what you want for them?”

When Ruth merely tightened her lips, Lyddie plowed ahead, uncertain if she was making things better or worse. “I don’t want that. I want my kids to know everything about their father, the good and the bad, all the things that made me love him, from the way he sang them to sleep to the way he could never remember to put the bread back in the fridge after he made a sandwich. I want to give them that, and let them know how much he meant to me, and make sure they never ever forget him.” With a long breath, she added, “But I’m still here. I want a life, too. Nothing will be helped if I act like I died when he did.”

At last Ruth turned to her, anguish clear on her face. “I can’t lose those children. You and the children are all I have.”

It would do no good to point out that this was J.T.’s other major attraction: that there was no time to build emotional ties, no worries about falling in love and upsetting everyone’s lives. All she could do was simply say, “I know. And I have no intention of taking them away from you. I’m doing everything I can to keep things the same, to make sure—”

But Ruth shook her head, her mouth working as she strove to hold back tears. “Don’t you see, Lydia? It’s not up to you. It’s him. That Delaney boy could make the angels themselves turn away from the light. If he makes up his mind that he wants you, then you’ll have no say. You’ll be gone before you even know what he’s done.” Her face crumpled as the tears finally fell. “And I’ll be left with nothing.”

With that, she fled into the hall, no doubt headed for her bedroom. Lyddie stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded at last by the solitude she’d yearned for earlier.

Solitude. But no peace.

* * *

I
F
THERE
HAD
EVER
been a slower day in the history of humanity than Tuesday, July 16, J.T. didn’t want to know it.

It would have been easier if he could have forgotten what lay ahead. But every action, every sentence, seemed to take him back to Lyddie. From the first sip of his morning coffee to the moment he hustled through the dairy aisle at the supermarket, aiming for some half-and-half but coming to a dead standstill in front of the pudding display, she surrounded him.