Who You Least Expect (5 page)

“I just had to come by. Daddy was in the yard and I said to myself, ‘Mayree, you should go see Blake.’ The house is real pretty from the outside,” she said as she pushed the cart down Thorne Street.

“Thank you. I’ve been meaning to have you guys over and come out and see you but—”

“That’s okay, honey. We know you’re busy.”

The words could have been placating, an attempt to humor her, but Blakely knew her mother meant them. She really thought Blakely had been so busy for the last half year that she hadn’t had a chance to visit them or have them visit her. She’d let herself believe that she felt as low as she possibly could, but each second with her mother proved she was wrong.

Her mother moved on to different subjects, telling her about all of her exciting projects and what she hoped they had at the swap meet. By the time they arrived, she practically throbbed with excitement, the conversation falling away as the woman’s entire focus shifted to the meet. As if possessed, she shifted and sorted through the various stalls, grabbing whatever caught her eye. Blakely could discern no logic behind her mother’s purchases and wouldn’t even begin to try to understand what she would use the items for, or where she would put them for that matter. The futility of trying to apply logic and reason when her mother was like this was something she remembered too well. So as she had since she was a child, she stayed out of the way and tried not to get between her mother and her shopping.

Within a half hour, the cart had reached capacity, and slightly beyond, well before they’d visited even half the stalls.

“We should have driven. I can get more stuff in the van,” her mother said, some of her enthusiasm waning.

“It’s okay, Mama. We can drop this off and come back if you want,” Blakely said.

“But all of the good stuff and the best bargains will be gone,” her mother replied, the disappointment in her voice bordering on a pout.

“I’m sure it won’t,” Blakely said evenly, grateful that her voice didn’t reveal her annoyance or distaste. Her mother genuinely believed that there was “good” stuff here to be found, that she might miss something of value. As much as she should know better by now, her mind still boggled.

She grabbed the cart’s handle and pushed. The cart barely moved, but the contents wobbled precariously.

“Need a hand?”

The deep, manly voice that could only belong to one person sent a shiver of awareness through her, one that was totally inappropriate while in the company of her mother, but one that she felt nonetheless.

She turned her head sharply, the millisecond that she saw him more than enough for her to register the tight T-shirt that covered his broad chest, his sculpted biceps, and the cocky smirk that should have pushed her away but that instead made her want to kiss him. She turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to combat the second shiver.

“No,” she said shortly, eyes trained on the cart. She’d said the words but knew that the statement was not true; she needed a hand and she very much wanted to spend time with him, but not like this.

“Really. I’m happy to,” he said, stepping beside her and placing his hand against hers.

The warmth of his hand was hot enough that she pulled away instantly, not wanting to let herself feel too much, let herself get so comfortable that she lost sight of the situation. He gazed at her and smiled and then wrapped his strong hands around the cart and pushed. She moved aside and watched him glide the laden cart with ease.

“A friend of yours, Blakely?” her mother asked, looking up at Cody and then walking behind him.

“Not yet, ma’am, but I’m hoping to change that,” he said over his shoulder smoothly.

“How lovely. And your name, young man?” she asked as she strode quickly to catch up with him and gazed at him with undisguised interest.

He turned and flashed that devastating smile at her mother.

“Sommers, ma’am. Cody Sommers.”

“Pleased to meet you, Cody. And thank you for helping us. Do you know where Blakely lives?”

The question seemed harmless enough, but Blake couldn’t miss the deeper, unspoken meaning in the words, and she doubted he did either.

His smile flickered. “Why don’t you give me directions?”

Blakely almost laughed out loud when Cody glanced back at her and gave her a wink.

“Down Maple and make a left on Thorne,” her mother said, looking pleased at his response.

“You live on Thorne, Blakely? I live two streets over,” he said, continuing the little ruse of innocence. He was damn convincing too, which only made her want to laugh even more.

“Shouldn’t you live on base?” she asked after a moment.

“I don’t have to, and I wanted a change of scenery.”

“You’re in the military?” her mother asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Navy.”

“Oh, my husband Harmon was in the Navy for seven years before we got married. And where are you from originally?”

“Minnesota,” he said.

“A long way from home. How do you like it down South?”

“It’s a little warmer than I’m used to, but it has its benefits,” he said, tossing another quick wink at Blakely.

“I’m sure it does,” her mother said, tossing a knowing smirk of her own.

Blakely was agog. That she was walking through town with her mother after attending a swap meet was one thing, but that Cody Sommers, handsome Navy SEAL, was accompanying them was something else. And that said Navy SEAL and her mother were playing twenty questions took the whole scenario from bizarre to unbelievable. Her shock and the undeniable amusement of watching Cody and her mother chat like old friends kept her silent and surprisingly relaxed.

But far too soon, they were turning onto Thorne and nearing her house, and the tension and nerves that had slacked as they’d walked were ratcheting back up.

“We’ll take it from here, Cody. Thank you,” she said quickly, moving as fast as her legs would take her to stand beside him and placing her hand on the cart.

He glanced down at her, and she could see in his blue eyes he wanted to protest. But he relented and stopped, releasing the cart. Question flickered in his gaze, but Blakely stayed firm and watched him expectantly. She didn’t want to push him away, but she had to bring this visit to a close. After a few moments, he relented.

“See you around, Ms. Bishop,” he said, the words light but filled with promise. Then he turned to her mother. “And it was nice to meet you, ma’am.”

As he retreated, Blakely kept her focus on the cart and managed to push it into the driveway and around her car without toppling the haphazardly stacked items.

“He seems nice. And very handsome,” her mother said.

Blakely murmured noncommittally, refusing to engage her mother on the topic.

“Let’s get this stuff in the van, and then we can go back if you want,” she said.

That statement had its intended effect, and as her mother raked her gaze covetously over her new purchases, Blake could practically see the wheels in her mother’s mind spinning with plans for her newfound treasures.

“That’s okay, honey. I want to get this stuff home.”

In a flash, her mother set off, rearranging the items in the van and somehow, in a feat that seemed to defy physics, getting her new purchases, the cart, and finally herself inside as well.

“Drive safe,” she said as she waved her mother off, staring after her as she drove down the street.

As the van receded, Blakely calmed, her heartbeat slowing and the dizzying mix of nerves and tension from her mother and excitement at seeing Cody leaving her wrung out. She entered the house and discarded her clothes, wrapping them in a trash bag just to be on the safe side and then heading for another shower.

••••

Cody still wasn’t quite sure what had compelled him to go to a swap meet. His sisters would have loved it, but there was no reason for him, a single man in his late twenties, to be there unaccompanied. Of course, it wasn’t like he had a ton of other options, so he’d found himself headed to the meet, which had been heavily advertised.

And he’d been damn happy that he had. Blakely had appeared as if she’d been conjured from his dreams, and he’d felt that same thrill that always gripped him when he saw her. She’d been beautiful, and his cock had stirred with excitement. So had his mind, the anticipation of Blake’s intellectual appeal keeping pace with her physical appeal.

She’d been happy to see him too. He’d been able to tell, even though she’d been more wired than usual, tense, and even a little afraid, something he’d never associated with her before. He’d been certain that her companion, an older woman he instantly identified as her mother, was the cause. Something he tucked away to examine later. But in that moment, he’d been focused on spending time with her and so Cody had found himself pushing that ridiculously full cart, chatting with Blakely’s mother and loving every second of it.

Even now, hours later, he could still see the slightly bewildered expression on Blake’s face, feel that awareness that had arced between them, present even though she’d been muted. But still, those few minutes had only confirmed what he’d already known: it was only a matter of time. He was going to get to know Blakely Bishop much better, very, very soon.

Chapter Five

The next morning, Blakely awoke with a sense of purpose. Her mother’s visit had been surprising and nerve-racking, but it had also filled her with a deep sadness at the way she’d treated her parents. They had issues, but that didn’t mean that she could ignore the people who’d raised her, keep them cordoned off so as to limit the damage they’d inflict. And it wasn’t all bad, not really. In some ways, their steadfast refusal to bow to the will of others, the way in which they put the pursuit of their own happiness above everything and everyone, was admirable. Plus, there was something to be said about being comfortable in one’s own skin, in being comfortable with one’s life. She wasn’t perfect, they weren’t perfect, but they were family and she’d come back home to be closer to them and to start fresh. And she couldn’t do either if she couldn’t face reality and accept it.

The little pep talk sounded lovely in her head, but it in no way relieved the tension that had her so wired she thought she might snap, nor the headache that had begun throbbing at her temples the very instant she’d contemplated going to the house. It also hadn’t made her move any faster and so it was two hours later, after she’d dawdled and stalled as much as she could, before she finally emerged from the house and began her trek.

Her destination was outside of town, and as she drove, she let herself experience the town. It was different than she remembered, somehow simultaneously bigger and smaller than she’d recalled. Maple Street, the town’s main thoroughfare, a place that had seemed so busy and big when she was younger now seemed almost quaint, the shops and restaurants nothing like those she’d gotten used to in bigger cities.

Yet, as she left the confines of the town proper, she was surprised to find that many of the large wooded tracts of land had given way to development, large, fancy houses replacing the acres and acres of trees and wild land. And though Verna’s neighborhood contained very nice homes, these were of a different sort, huge brick palaces that would have fit in anywhere she’d lived. It had been inevitable that the growth of Charlotte would spread here and to surrounding areas, but she couldn’t help but be a little saddened. Whatever her issues with the town and its people, the beauty of Thornehill had never been in question, and it was sad to lose some of it.

She continued on, moving farther and farther from town into the still-rural area that had been her first home. Up on the left, she saw her destination so she slowed to a stop and parked on the side of the road. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror but quickly looked away. This was no time for introspection. She needed to do this, start to put the past behind her so that she could move on, and sitting in the car staring at her own eyes as she wondered if her parents would be able to read them, be able to know the thoughts and fears that had kept her away for so long, that kept her away even now when she was so close, wouldn’t get her any closer to that goal.

With a deep sigh, she opened the driver-side door and got out, figuring she was as ready as she would ever be. She walked to the passenger side and after a quick peek to confirm that the silence of the early afternoon did not hide prying eyes, she propped her foot on the backseat. She’d discarded her preferred slacks and heels and silk blouses, and today she wore blue jeans with hiking boots and a long-sleeved shirt and had wrapped her hair and covered it with a cap.

Carefully, she made two full circles around her leg with the duct tape, securing her pants to her boot, and then repeated the process with the other leg and then her arms, fumbling a bit when she had to use her left hand to tape her right. In less than ten minutes, she was ready, or at least as physically ready as she could be. It seemed beyond comprehension that there might be a time when returning to her childhood home was something she’d be ready for emotionally no matter what she told herself.

After hiding her purse in the trunk and double-checking the car-door locks, she gripped her bottled water and began to walk down the dusty dirt road. Spring was in full bloom, and the hot afternoon sun beat down on her, making her wish that she could have eschewed the heavy clothing. That wasn’t an option though, as she’d learned the hard way more than once, so she brushed the beads of sweat from her brow and continued the journey.