Читать книгу Her Best Man - Crystal Green - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Allaire watched the emotions play across D.J.’s face. His cheeks, leaner and hungrier than when he was young, tensed as he clenched his jaw. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

This didn’t feel right, his shutting her out.

“I think I get what you’re saying about your relationship with Dax,” she said. “No one wants to be stranded to fend for themselves emotionally. It wasn’t fair that they cut you out of their inner circle after your mom died, but I’m sure they didn’t realize what was happening.”

“You’re right.”

His tone was weary, and she didn’t sense bitterness as much as acknowledgment. And when he sighed, then walked away, she wondered just what else D.J. had been hiding from her all these years. Had she really known her best friend that well?

Maybe she should’ve made it a point to find out why D.J. and Dax had always seemed civilly distant with each other, even if they’d hung out with the same group. She’d just assumed that, even with the subtle tension between them, they still had a bond, like siblings were supposed to. In her experience, she’d enjoyed a close, if sometimes strained, relationship with her own much older sister and, true to naive form, Allaire had assumed that was how it was for most families.

But after marrying Dax, she couldn’t remember ever hearing the brothers talk on the phone or seeing them exchange an e-mail—not until their dad died, anyway. And even then their communication had been brief and to the point.

A couple of times, she’d asked Dax to elaborate, but he’d told her that he and D.J. were men, and how many men spent hours on the phone gabbing to each other? With a heavy feeling, she hadn’t pursued the subject. Her marriage was already weak at that point, and this was the least of their issues.

However, now wasn’t the time for pursuing the truth with D.J., either, so she caught up with him, bumping against his arm as a tacit way of saying she understood that he wanted to drop the subject.

The second she felt the hard muscle, even through his coat and her suit, Allaire’s skin came alive. Heat zinged through her chest, downward, zapping neglected areas and settling there.

She crossed her arms, wishing the sensations would go away. Wishing they would stay.

Soon, the two of them came to the gym, which was already chained shut. Even so, she seized the chance to look through a window, just as she had at the cafeteria when she’d been searching for anything to avoid the confusion D.J. was conjuring inside of her.

He came up behind her. She could feel the warmth of him, feel his breath stroking the back of her exposed neck.

“Old Mr. Ozzel,” she said, referring to the elderly custodian who was dust-mopping the gym’s shiny wooden floor. “Remember him?”

D.J.’s laugh softly chopped through Allaire. Her nape tingled, prickling the rest of her skin to goose bumps.

What was happening here?

“How could I forget him?” D.J. asked. “That night when you and I were leaving late because of a journalism deadline? Ozzel thought we were up to no good, wandering the halls with a mind to vandalize, so he hid himself and then yelled that we needed to scram or he’d ‘git us.’”

Allaire laughed, even though, at the time, she’d been scared of getting in trouble. Such a good girl. “We didn’t know it was Mr. Ozzel at first, so I ran, and you came after me because I was escalating the situation. He was fast on your tail, waving his mop. But he wouldn’t have caught us if you hadn’t come to your senses and turned around to make peace with him.” She laughed. “You were so well mannered, D.J., even in the face of catastrophe.”

She remembered it all now. D.J. the peacemaker, the levelheaded nice guy who smoothed out each and every hairy situation.

Except, obviously, his own home life….

“I tell you,” she said, her old affection for him feeling new again, “Mr. Ozzel became your number-one fan that night when you handled everything so…how did he say?”

“So like a wise sorcerer who’s out to calm a fire-breathing dragon. Ozzel was way into his fantasy novels.”

“That remains the same.” She smiled, still facing away from D.J. It gave her the courage to voice what she said next. “I think Mr. Ozzel wanted to marry you off to his daughter because you were such a catch. A lot of the girls thought so, too. Just how is it that you managed to avoid being roped in by someone in Atlanta, D.J.?”

She heard his breathing hitch, and heat lined her belly.

Turning her head slightly, still not looking at him, she fished some more. “You did date there.”

Shame on her for asking, but she wanted to know. Needed to know for some indefinable reason.

He cleared his throat, sending a cascade down her body.

“You first, nosey,” he said.

“All right.” No biggie. “I haven’t had much interest in ‘playing the game,’ as Tori might say, since the divorce.”

At his silence, she continued. “I know, I know, I need to start, but…I’m not enthused about trying. Not right now.”

He waited, as if anticipating that she would go on. But there was nothing to add. Zip. Bo-o-o-oring.

At that moment, Mr. Ozzel saw her peering through the window, and he raised a hand from the handle of his dust mop and waved.

She returned the gesture. “And you, Romeo?”

In spite of her flippancy, his voice lowered. “I dated all right. But there was never…anyone.”

“Anyone?” Clam up, Allaire. It’s not really any of your business.

“What can I say?” He laughed, but it sounded almost too jovial. “No one could ever measure up to you, Allaire.”

Her heartbeat yanked and tangled, blood stopping in its flow, leaving her light-headed. But was it because she hadn’t wanted D.J. to say something so blunt?

Or because she had?

When he laughed again, less forcefully this time, she turned all the way around, coming face-to-chest with him. She raised her chin to look up at her old friend, just to see if he was truly joking around.

Time suspended in suddenly thickened air. A flash of something—what?—filled his dark gaze, and his lips parted as if to speak.

Allaire found herself holding her breath, eyes widening. Instinct told her that he was about to turn her world on its ear, and she didn’t know if she could withstand the change. Not after she’d failed so miserably in her first marriage, not after she’d disappointed herself—and her family—so spectacularly.

Besides, this was D.J. D.J.—the one guy who would never threaten her heart.

As if reading her, D.J. pressed his lips together, then averted his gaze as he backed away, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

Breathless, Allaire couldn’t move for a moment. What had that been about?

Did she even want to know?

She didn’t think so. More than anything, she wanted a friend again. She’d missed his companionship so much, and now she had the opportunity to reclaim it.

He headed back to her classroom, shoulders stiff. Luckily, two of Allaire’s colleagues strolled past, breaking the tension with cheerful good-nights and see-you-tomorrows.

By the time they got back to her room, D.J. had loosened up. She almost would’ve guessed nothing had transpired back at the gym doors but for the way her heart was still jammed in her throat.

At the threshold of her closed door, he sent her a very D.J.-like grin: soothing, sweet. The type of smile moms and dads all over the heartland loved to see on the faces of a neighborhood boy.

Heck, she’d been creating monsters out of shadows, hadn’t she? D.J. hadn’t meant anything back by the gym. He’d truly been joking around.

“In the end,” he said, jerking his chin toward her door, “I really can’t leave without at least seeing what you’ve been up to. You ready to show off?”

Suddenly shy, she meandered past him to unlock the door. Warmth flooded her yet again.

Okay, that really needed to stop.

“You asked for it.” She pushed open the door. “Enter at your own risk.”

She gauged his reaction, hoping for approval, as always. But with D.J., it was as if she were taking him to a favorite viewpoint on a mountain or reading him a poem that had touched her. Although her classroom was public, it was also a private treasure: a place where she and her students transferred all their dreams into art.

She realized how much D.J.’s opinion meant to her. How much it’d always meant, even though she hadn’t been exposed to it for so long.

He entered, silently taking in the ordered insanity of halfway-finished tile murals, collages, paintings, drawings and sculptures. Through him, she smelled the oils and plaster, felt the cool of the air and the shiver of a creative haven.

“Damn,” was all he said.

But, somehow, it meant everything. The extent of his “damn” showed in the glow of his gaze, in the way he planted his hands on his hips as if he were surveying an impressive skyline.

“It’s nothing much.” She wandered to her desk and shuffled through a neat pile of papers, just so she wouldn’t have to show him how much his reaction affected her. “The kids work hard.”

D.J. had walked over to a painting near the shuttered window: a canvas half-shrouded, leaving only a peak of blue-gray uncovered. As he lifted off the sheet, Allaire sucked in a lungful of oxygen.

He’d found it—the project she’d been laboring over since school had started.

It was an educated guess—a whimsical take—on what nighttime Paris might look like from the balcony of a modest hotel. It was a substitute for her never having traveled there, a representation of the ambitions she’d let fly into the wind after high school.

“Allaire,” D.J. said softly, and she knew exactly what he was seeing because she’d described her hopes to him so many times.

Sadness, happiness, something tightened her throat and dampened her eyes, yet she didn’t allow herself to cry. Nothing was so bad it could make her do that.

“That’s how I’ve been letting off steam,” she said carefully. “That and my freelance dinner-theater stuff.”

“This…” D.J. kept staring at the painting, even if it was only the beginning of a final image. “You’ve matured. I always knew you had talent—everyone knew—but, damn, Allaire, what’re you doing teaching in a high school?”

Ouch.

D.J. glanced at her, an apology in his gaze. “I didn’t mean it that way. Teaching’s noble. I was only trying to compliment you.”

The honesty in his tone unsettled her. She didn’t know why, but she’d never been able to deal with praise. It was much easier to believe the negative and strive to improve after that.

The curse of a people pleaser, she thought.

Her next words came out more as a dodge to hearing additional compliments than anything. “Dax said that teaching was a better idea than taking time off to study art. I mean, he told me I was good, sure, but I don’t think he ever paid enough attention to my work to really see it….”

At the mention of his brother’s name, D.J. had straightened, covering her painting back up.

Great. She’d had to go and open her big mouth. Why did Dax always seem to wedge himself into their conversations? D.J. obviously didn’t want to talk about him, but there she was, bringing him up again.

Maybe, subconsciously, she’d even done it on purpose.

D.J. glanced at the ground, then at her. She could tell that there were no hard feelings, thank goodness. Wonderful, dependable D.J.

“I wish you’d reconsider doing that mural for me,” he said. “And I’m not only offering because of the old-friend network. You’d add some beauty and substance to my place, Allaire. I mean it.”

Maybe it was out of guilt for mentioning Dax, or maybe it was because she sensed D.J. genuinely did appreciate her talents. But Allaire found herself giving the idea a second thought.

A new start on a new project, she thought. But there had to be rules.

“Would I be working…alone?” she asked.

D.J. narrowed his eyes. “If you’re worried about provincial gossip that might surface because you’re around me, then no. I’ll make sure there’s always quiet work going on around you.”

“Quiet.” She laughed. “I’m kind of used to being surrounded by students. They work by my side unless they need guidance.”

She couldn’t help it. Fresh ideas were already flooding her head. Maybe this mural could even be her best effort yet. Then again, that’s what she always thought before starting a new work.

“Great.” D.J. rubbed his hands together. “So, as the featured artist, you’d need to clear room on your calendar for the grand Rib Shack opening. You’d be my special guest.”

Thoughts of what he’d said earlier about never finding anyone as good as her rushed back. It led Allaire to a gut feeling that D.J. could be asking her to the opening as his date, so she nipped that in the bud. Or maybe she was just that neurotic. Probably.

“Just tell me when to show up and I’ll be there for my buddy’s big night,” she said brightly.

When his smile fell, Allaire scolded herself. Had she gone too far in her effort to make things clear?

But, in the next moment, he was back to being casual, nice D.J.—the guy with the comforting grin.

“To a buddy’s big night then,” he said, as her heart slumped in relief.

Or maybe it had slumped in…

Jeez, she didn’t even know anymore.

A week later, ten days prior to opening night, the Rib Shack was almost set to go.

They’d moved into an area where the resort had already planned to house a restaurant, so the kitchen was just about in working order. As well, the dining room’s family-style tables and picnic benches were due for delivery soon. D.J. had even secured a staff, thanks to the guidance of Grant Clifton, and some of them were in back, experimenting with cooking gadgets and listening to the expertise of current employees brought over from already existing Rib Shacks. D.J. had known he could depend on Grant for anything, especially since his high school pal had played a major part in bringing this restaurant to Thunder Canyon.

Now, D.J. stood at the long bar lining the left side of the room across from where the mural would lord it over the diners. He was tinkering with the frame of one of the sepia ranch photos that would decorate the rough-pine walls. Yet, even though he was at work, he couldn’t help glancing at Allaire every few seconds as she immersed herself in her art.

It was something to behold, although D.J. knew the poetry of her motion wouldn’t speak to everyone. Certainly her beauty—even hidden beneath roomy overalls and a gray thermal shirt—would enthrall most. But the mere sight of Allaire tilting her head as she considered where to use a certain color was pure magic to D.J. Maybe it was because he could sense the deep thoughts going into every brushstroke… or maybe it was because he’d never been able to keep his eyes off of her anyway.

Damn it, with each of her visits, he couldn’t help but to admit the truth: he’d never stopped loving her.

So, what was he going to do about it? Stand back, just as he’d done when they were younger? Was that the best choice when all he wanted to do was make her happy?

She was over Dax—he was becoming surer of that each day. From chatting with his friends while taking care to hide his true feelings, D.J. had discerned that Dax and Allaire’s marriage had gradually waned. Actually, the boys said that the only reason the couple had stayed together for as long as they had was that neither person had wanted to give up. D.J. could understand this coming from both Allaire, a woman ultrasensitive to what others thought, and his brother. D.J. knew competitive Dax was stubborn, and a divorce would mean he hadn’t won.

Or maybe there was more to it—if only D.J. were to hear Dax’s side, he wouldn’t have to listen to what others were saying about him.

But neither brother had contacted the other, and that spoke louder than any chatter.

Done with the frame, D.J. went back into the kitchen, where he gave himself a break from being around Allaire. Seeing her was enough to recall Open-School Night, when she’d reminded him that they were just buddies after he’d asked her to the Shack’s grand opening. That was one of the reasons he had never gotten up enough guts to ask her out pre-Dax, and the reminder hadn’t exactly been encouraging.

Needing a distraction, D.J. whipped up a batch of ribs for dinner as the new line cooks gathered round.

Eventually he emerged from the back, finding Allaire on her knees, texturing a horse’s hoof. The mural surrounded her with like images: cowboys, miners, even The Hitching Post—the town’s old, so-called brothel-turned-bar-and-grill. The ironic parallel to the state of today’s Thunder Canyon didn’t escape D.J.; upon his return, it’d been a shock to see how commercial everything had become. Then again, a gold strike and a multimillion-dollar resort could do that to a place.

A few minutes later, when Allaire paused in her task, D.J. shuffled around, not wanting to sneak up on her. She jumped anyway, hand to her heart as she turned around and laughed.

“I get so caught up,” she said.

“It looks perfect.”

He bent to a knee, handing her a plate filled with ribs, coleslaw, home-fried potatoes and a slab of corn bread.

Allaire ran to the washroom to clean up. In the meantime, D.J. settled himself on the floor since there wasn’t any furniture yet. The aroma of his sauce, slathered over the meat, made his mouth water; he hadn’t eaten since an early lunch meeting with Grant.

However, when Allaire returned and made herself cozy on the plastic covering the carpet, D.J. saw that she picked right over the ribs and preferred the coleslaw. Hmmm. People generally went face-first into his main course.

She noticed his reaction and smiled. “Hate to break it you, but I’m a vegetarian.”

He almost choked on his meal. “Since when?”

Allaire raised her gaze in thought. It was cute enough to make him forget everything and scoop her right against him.

But…he knew better. He’d been trained well.

“I believe it’s been a little over a month now.” Allaire made a sorry-about-that expression and nibbled on the slaw. “This is great, though.”

“A month? Allaire, when we used to go to that drive-in burger joint off Main Street, weren’t you the girl who wolfed down the Monster Special?”

“At Digger’s?” Now she looked dreamy, as if recalling the taste of those meals they’d grabbed on the weekends. “That was me, all right.” Then she seemed to remember her resolve. “But those days are over. I read Fast Food Nation. Do you know what goes into mass-produced beef?”

“Whoa, whoa.” D.J. held up his sauce-coated hand. “I deal directly with private ranchers who have standards. That’s why I serve modest food that’s just upscale enough for the Thunder Canyon Resort.”

He sent her a cocky grin.

“Oh, you’re so cool.” She took a bite of the corn bread, then closed her eyes and dramatically fell to her side. “The bread. The bread. I’m in heaven.”

At pleasing her, D.J.’s chest swelled. However, his body swelled in another region altogether as she lay on the floor, smiling as if he’d just satisfied her deepest craving.

He calmed himself. Right. Dream on.

“Feel free to catch a wink or two while you’re at it,” he said.

“Maybe I will. Working these hours has been getting to me, but you know what? I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

He knew it—art was Allaire’s escape. And, from what he’d pieced together about her divorce, he realized she yearned for the freedom to fly away, even mentally.

From the floor, she grinned at him again, and he couldn’t help doing the same. Yet then he realized he probably had a face full of sauce, and the moment dissolved as he reached for a packet of moistened towelettes and used one.

When he was done, Allaire pushed herself to a sitting position. “You missed a spot.”

She took another towelette and moved toward him, close enough for him to breathe in her soft perfume, the lotion she used on her skin.

God…

With care, she ran the cloth under his bottom lip, and D.J.’s eyes fluttered shut in primal response. His chest throbbed, the cadence echoing low in his belly as he imagined Allaire in their house, at their dinner table taking care of him.

It should’ve been that way, D.J. thought. He should’ve been the one who’d courted her. He should’ve been the one asking Dax to be his best man, because by then, with Allaire at D.J.’s side, it would’ve been so much easier to find peace with his brother.

But in the next heartbeat, D.J.’s eyes had opened, and what he saw was the reality.

Allaire was watching him with wide eyes. He could see her questions, the fear that D.J. would once more step over the line of their friendship. He’d done it last week, too, at Open-School Night, when he’d told her that there’d never been anyone else like her in his life.

Yeah, he’d spun that into a joke—one he doubted Allaire bought—but it’d been the truth. And, for the first time ever, being honest about his feelings had been liberating…until he realized that Allaire probably didn’t want to hear what he had to offer.

He would always be her pal.

As if to prove that, she patted his face lightly and went back to her seat.

“Want to know something?” she said.

He would’ve expected the world to come down around his ears after such a strained moment, but Allaire was wearing that devilish grin and he couldn’t give in to the stress.

D.J. took the bait, even though she was only changing the subject again. “Shoot.”

She got to her knees, canting toward the mural. “Don’t hate me, but I’ve been doing more than just rendering cowboys here.”

“Do tell.”

She pointed to a darkened spot that served to transition a gold pan into a shimmering waterfall.

His gaze focused on an ethereal symbol amid the painted transition.

“Tell me that’s not the Eiffel Tower,” he said, leaning closer.

Allaire made a touchdown sign with her arms. “Yes! I wanted to put my personality into this. Eventually, you’re going to be able to pick out my fantasy trip to Europe in the mural—iconic images like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the Swiss Alps. But you’ll have to look closely.”

D.J. loved the thought of having a part of her in his restaurant. It was like a gift.

She must’ve taken his silence for disapproval, because immediately she seemed worried.

“Is that all right?” she asked.

He latched his gaze to hers, connecting, settling into what was more of a home than he’d ever had. “You shouldn’t wonder about my opinion,” he said. “I’ll always appreciate your work.”

And you, he tacitly added. I’ll always appreciate anything you see fit to give me.

Her gaze brightened, as blue and vivid as the mural’s waterfall, and D.J. told himself it was enough.

At least for now.