Читать книгу Can't Hardly Breathe - Gena Showalter - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

FOR THREE DAYS, Dorothea sported blue nails—for sadness—as she struggled to rebuild her decimated self-esteem with healthy living. She jogged an extra five miles every evening, the increase in oxygen making her feel stronger. Even smarter! She avoided sugar with the same indomitable willpower she used to tune out her sister’s insults, improving her mood. And last but not least, she worked from sunup to sundown, taking pride in a job well done.

Why should she care whether or not Daniel Porter desired her? He was shallow, and she had depth. She had shucked off her fears and gone after what she’d wanted, while he had clung to old habits. No regrets!

To be honest, she was glad he’d turned her down. She’d never had a one-night stand, had only suspected she would despise running into Daniel after they’d hooked up. Now she knew beyond a doubt.

They hadn’t kissed or touched, but he’d seen her naked, and that was plenty bad enough.

After she finished cleaning her last room of the day, she strode to her own, ready to gather her gear and run another five miles. No, she would run an extra ten miles tonight. The more she sweat, the more toxins she would expel and the better she would feel.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Daniel in front of her door and froze. He was here. Why the heck was he here?

The horror of her imagination had failed to do this first sighting justice.

“Open up,” he said, not yet realizing she stood behind him. “We need to talk.”

Talk? Face-to-face? Now?

No. Not now, not ever. He looked too good. Good enough to devour. His dark hair stuck out in sexy spikes, and the thick stubble on his jaw suggested he hadn’t shaved since their last interaction. A leather band covered each of his wrists, and his black tee hugged his muscular biceps, the cotton stretched to the max. Ripped jeans and steel-toed boots only added to his appeal.

Meanwhile, she wore scrubs stained from a hard day’s work. There wasn’t a drop of makeup on her face, and several wayward curls had escaped the messy bun on the crown of her head.

Oh, what the heck. An encounter had to happen sooner or later. They lived in the same small town, for goodness’ sake. Why not get his apology over with? And that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To apologize for his boorish behavior. So she looked her worst. So what? She would be checking a worry off her ever-growing list.

Brave and strong, she took a step forward.

Her knees almost buckled as the look of horror he’d donned when she’d dropped her raincoat constantly refreshed in her mind.

Nope. Can’t do this.

Heart karate-kicking her ribs, she tiptoed down the steps. At the bottom, she leaped into a full-blown sprint, racing down the hall and through the lobby, the outdated decor making her cringe. The peeling wallpaper boasted strawberry vines that had faded just enough to look like dangling testicles. Anything wooden had nicks. Only the chandeliers were new, the gorgeous ruby and emerald crystals shaped to resemble wild strawberries. A Christmas gift from Jessie Kay West for hosting a last-minute party.

Holly sat behind the reception desk and called her name. Dorothea skidded to a stop, willing to risk anything—even a confrontation with Daniel—to help her sister.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just wanted you to know I’m taking tomorrow off,” Holly said.

The good times never stopped. “Mrs. Hathaway has a doctor appointment in the morning, so I need you here.” Tomorrow was parent-teacher conference day at Strawberry Valley High. For once, her sister could work an entire day, allowing Dorothea to attend in their mother’s place. “Without you, I’ll have to close the inn.”

“How cute.” Holly popped a bubble as she stared down at her phone, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “You thought I was asking for permission.”

“This is a family business, Halls. We—”

“Aren’t a family. We’re strangers.”

Only five words, but they utterly shredded Dorothea. She whispered, “I want to be more. I’m striving to be more.”

“Well, you can quit that like you quit Strawberry Valley, college and your marriage. As soon as I graduate, I’m gone, and I’m not ever coming back.”

Dorothea swallowed a cry of despair, a countdown clock appearing in the back of her mind. Three months. She had three months to win her sister...or she would lose her forever.

“I love you, Holly. I’ll always love you.”

Her sister swiveled the chair in the opposite direction. Message received. The conversation had officially ended.

“However you feel about me,” she persisted, a lump growing in her throat, “you still have to work tomorrow.”

Silence. Thick, oppressive silence.

Disheartened, Dorothea strode outside. The bell over the door tinkled, and cool air embraced her. She’d go...somewhere. She was New Dorothea, after all, and she would do something other than wallow.

She made her way to the parking lot across the street. Her car keys—

Were still in her room. Crap! She switched direction, heading for the town square. What she’d do when she got there, she had no idea. Every shop had already closed for the night.

The scent of wild strawberries wafted from the fields that surrounded the entire town, resurrecting what should have been happy memories. As a child, she’d run through those fields, laughing merrily, untouched by troubles as her dad gave chase.

He’d loved her then.

At least, she’d thought he loved her. If he had felt the smallest bit of affection for her, he would have stayed in contact after he’d divorced Carol.

For a long time, Dorothea had blamed herself for his abandonment. She’d wondered if her appearance or weight had disappointed him. But then, she used to blame herself for Jazz’s infidelity, too. If only she’d worked harder to bring in more money, fixed her hair a different way, lost more weight, tried harder in bed, cooked better, offered more stimulating conversation, something, anything, she would have been enough.

But the fault didn’t rest on her shoulders. Even though she was the one constant in all her failed relationships.

Fighting a wave of depression, she focused on the hodgepodge charm of her surroundings. Four-bulb lampposts illuminated historic buildings intermixed with modern ones. While the inn possessed the elegance of an antebellum structure, the local grocery store was housed in a metal warehouse with a tin roof. Across the street, a row of box-shaped homes contained a hardware store, a “gourmet” café, an antiques store and a dry cleaner. The theater had a copper awning, and gargoyles perched along a balcony.

A whitewashed bungalow was home to Rhinestone Cowgirl, the town’s premier jewelry store. Around the corner was Lintz Auto Shop. Just down the street was Strawberry Valley Community Church, a white stone chapel with massive stained-glass windows.

Out of habit, her gaze lifted to the sky. No stars in sight, the bright pinpricks of lights obscured by cirrostratus clouds. A whitish veil with a smooth sheetlike appearance.

“Dorothea!”

A car idled beside her, she realized, Lyndie Scott behind the wheel.

Warm relief washed through her. “Hey, you. What are you doing out so late?”

The strawberry blonde was as beautiful as ever with wide amber eyes and flawless porcelain skin, but...she looked sad. She always looked sad, even when smiling. At the age of twenty-one, Lyndie had married the police chief of Blueberry Hill. By twenty-three, she had become a widow.

Dorothea had only seen pictures of her friend with Chief Carrington; their relationship had taken place during her years away. She hoped they had loved each other deeply, madly, the way Dorothea had always yearned to be loved, but she suspected the couple had had their fair share of problems. Otherwise Lyndie would have kept her married name? Maybe?

“I actually came by the inn a few hours ago.” Lyndie gazed at her with concern. “Are you all right? Your sister said you didn’t want to be disturbed because you had a case of—” she glanced over her shoulder and whispered “—raging diarrhea.”

Dorothea nearly choked on her tongue. “Holly lied.” What else had the girl told the townspeople? Chronic flatulence? Hemorrhoids and anal fissures? “I promise I’m perfectly healthy.”

Lyndie pressed her lips together only to burst into laughter. “I’m sorry! I am. But oh, wow, your sister is a character.”

“Yeah, a character in a horror novel.” Though Dorothea had done a lousy job of keeping up with her dear friends while living in the city—she’d worked too much and foolishly poured all her free time into Jazz—the two had called and texted her often. Tidbits here and there about what they were up to, or inside jokes about their high school days. For instance, the time they created the ten commitments for any relationship, even though they were invisible to boys.

A boy shalt not:

Lie to anyone, ever, not even to flatter;

Cheat with so much as a look;

Steal even when desperate;

Harm others in any way;

Make excuses for bad behavior.

He shalt:

Compliment when merited;

Help when needed;

Treat others with kindness, always;

Consult you when making big decisions;

Do his best, not just what’s good enough.

Looking back, she comprehended Lyndie and Ryanne had seen through Jazz’s charisma to the slimeball within. By reminding her oh, so subtly of the list, they’d hoped she would see the truth.

She had, only far too late.

“Ryanne has the night off,” Lyndie said, “and she’s fixin’ me breakfast for dinner. Of course, by ‘me’ I mean ‘us.’ You’re coming, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

A fun, spontaneous night with friends? “You don’t have to drag me kicking and screaming. I’m in!” She climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

They drove to the Scratching Post a few miles outside of town, once owned and operated by Ryanne’s fourth stepdad, Earl.

Her mother—Selma Martinez-Wade-Lewis-Scott-Hernandez-Montgomery—had married Earl after divorcing Lyndie’s father for reasons neither girl had ever discussed with Dorothea. In fact, both girls tended to act cagey whenever the subject came up, so she’d stopped asking questions. Eventually she’d stopped feeling hurt by the secrecy, too.

Whatever had happened, the two had obviously been hurt deeply. Dorothea flattened her palm over her tattoo. Some hurts worsened when they were discussed, never able to heal.

Ryanne lived directly above the bar. She’d moved in a couple years ago to take care of Earl, who’d later died of cancer.

What seemed to be millions of cars littered the parking lot. Inside the smoky, two-story warehouse, crowds of people stretched wall-to-wall. A few months ago, Ryanne had begun selling a house-made fruit cocktail moonshine; now patrons came to the Scratching Post in droves.

Directly behind the counter, a narrow hallway led to offices as well as a secret stairwell guarded by a weathered door and some kind of weird-looking digital lock. Lyndie punched in the code known to very few people, and together they climbed to the top, where they found another lock. This time, Lyndie knocked.

When you lived above a bar, you had to take precautions.

“Come in,” Ryanne called from inside.

Lyndie punched in a second code and entered the apartment, Dorothea at her heels. The sound of clanging pots and pans drew them across the great room and into a spacious, industrial kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, everything chrome or stainless steel.

The scent of maple and bacon saturated the air, and her mouth watered. Her stomach growled.

The gorgeous Ryanne bustled from stove to sink. She had long, dark hair, even darker eyes and flawless golden-brown skin. In a pink tank top and skinny jeans, her hourglass figure was on perfect display.

A cloud of steam rose from the pan, painting her in a dreamy haze as she looked up and smiled in welcome. “Good girl, Lyndie. You managed to corral us a wild filly.”

Me? Wild?

“Yes, ma’am, I surely did.” Lyndie patted herself on the back. “I didn’t even have to hog-tie her.”

Dorothea loved seeing the reserved redhead come out of her shell. “I’m not that bad,” she said, only to sigh. “Okay, I’m worse. Sorry.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. We understand.” Lyndie gave one of Dorothea’s fallen curls a tug. “Your heart is still in the process of mending.”

She offered a half smile, which was all she could currently manage. Lyndie and Ryanne knew the bare bones about her past: she’d gotten married and divorced after Jazz cheated on her. The pair had no idea she’d discovered the affair only because Jazz’s girlfriend had wanted Dorothea out of the picture. They had no idea she’d walked in on the couple mid-act and had run out of the apartment in horror—only to fall down a flight of stairs.

And lose her baby.

A knot tangled in her throat. Don’t think about the baby.

Too late. The memories had been banging on the door of her mind, waiting for a chance to overtake her. She’d been five months pregnant, but because of a wonky cycle and a few extra pounds, she had only just found out.

Falling down the stairs had caused her to deliver her precious baby prematurely. Though the little girl was already dead, she’d had to give her a name. She’d chosen Rose. Rose Holly Connors.

Rose...dead...beyond hope.

A pang in her chest. Dorothea flattened a hand over the tattoo on her breast. She would forever carry her baby close to her heart.

If Rose had survived, she might be walking by now. Pang. If she’d gone to term, she might be crawling. PANG.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lyndie asked her.

“Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.” Fighting tears, Dorothea shut herself inside the small enclosure. After splashing cold water on her face, she breathed in and out with purpose until her heart rate calmed and the pangs subsided.

By the time she rejoined her friends, she had her wayward thoughts back under lock and key.

Lyndie smiled at her before settling on a chair behind the counter. “You and me, Dorothea, we’re the first two members of the very exclusive Broken Hearts Club. Ryanne, honey, you need to pick a man, marry him, then have your heart broken by losing him. Then you can join us.”

Ryanne munched on a crunchy piece of bacon. “Sounds like a perfectly sane reason to begin and end a marriage. Consider me on board.”

Dorothea sat next to Lyndie and raised her hand, as if she were a student eager to give an answer. “Oh! Oh! I get to be your maid of honor, and I get first pick at the groomsmen.”

Her dark eyes sparkled. “Sorry, chica, but me and my imaginary guy are eloping. There’s no way I’m doing the white dress and flowers thing.” She shuddered with distaste. “I’m saving my money to travel the world and—Wait a sec. Did you say you want to do a groomsman?”

“Ohhh. Good catch.” Lyndie bumped Dorothea’s shoulder. “Spill!”

“Okay, okay, but first...” She extended her hand to shake. “Let me introduce you to New Dorothea. I’m fun, spontaneous and wild, and I plan to hook me a man-fish. A really hot one!” Daniel had turned her down, yes, but there were other man-fish in the Testosterone Sea. “My first requirement is easy. He has to live in the city.”

No one else in Strawberry Valley would see her naked. That way, she could walk the streets with her head held high rather than cringing in embarrassment.

“Hook you a—” Ryanne burst out laughing, and Lyndie grinned.

The sight of her friends’ amusement warmed Dorothea. As much as she’d missed the town, she’d missed this. No, she’d missed this more. Since her return, she’d mostly stayed cooped up inside the inn, too afraid to live, blaming her shattered relationship with Holly and her failure with Jazz. No more!

“You got anyone in particular in mind?” Ryanne asked.

Her cheeks flamed with heat. “Not yet.” Next time, she would pick a sure thing. For a relationship, not just sex. She would prove to Holly—and herself!—that men could stick around for the long haul.

Lyndie leaned over to snag a piece of bacon. “How can we help?”

“I don’t know. Point out the good ones, I guess?” So far, her bait had only hooked a shark.

“Whoa.” Ryanne spread her arms. “You’re saying good guys aren’t just a myth, like assassin werewolves and millionaire vampires?”

Lyndie snorted. This time, Dorothea was the one to laugh. Ryanne had always loved video games involving fantastical nocturnal creatures.

“Good can be a mask for evil,” Lyndie said when Dorothea sobered. “If you find an honorable man—hello, oxymoron—never let go.”

“I won’t have to worry about hanging on to him,” Dorothea replied. “Because he’ll be too busy clinging to me!”

Ryanne wiggled her brows before pouring a glass of orange juice. “I bet there will be plenty of hotties at the spring festival next month. You guys going? Way I hear it, Daniel Porter’s company is overseeing security, and Jase Hollister, Beck Ockley and Lincoln West are bringing friends to run the kissing booth.”

Beck Ockley, the husband of Harlow Glass.

He’s so rich, her mom once said, he buys a new boat whenever he gets the old one wet. Too bad he’s as dumb as a box of rocks. Only a fool would choose to spend the rest of his life with a woman like Harlow.

Carol refused to believe Harlow had changed. “Maybe,” Dorothea finally said. Not to see Daniel in action, of course, but to check out that kissing booth. “Scratch that. Yes.” She nodded. “I’m going, and you guys are, too.”

Lyndie’s nod held a scootch less enthusiasm. “Fine. I’ll be your incompetent wingwoman.”

“Bet I’ll be more incompetent than you.” Ryanne grabbed a carton of milk and a stick of butter from the fridge and asked Dorothea, “How do you want your eggs?”

Mimicking a meme she’d read earlier, she said, “In a cake, please.” She’d run five miles this morning, and she had internal wounds in need of soothing. Why not indulge her sweet tooth for once?

Ryanne snickered. “I have a chocolate ice-cream cake in the freezer.”

“You’ve got a chocolate ice-cream cake on the premises?” Lyndie jumped to her feet and basically shoved Ryanne out of the way mid-race to the freezer. “Gimme!”

Ryanne gathered three spoons. “I’ve never seen this chocolate-addicted side of you, Scott.”

“I usually only unleash her in private. But the fact that I’m willing to share with you should make you feel special.”

As soon as Lyndie placed the dessert on the counter, Dorothea crumbled the maple-glazed bacon over the top.

“Hey! What—” Lyndie began at the same time Ryanne said, “You can’t—”

“Trust me,” Dorothea interjected. “You’re about to weep with rapture. Bacon makes everything better, even cake.”

They dug in and moaned with bliss, Dorothea a little more heartily than the others. The salty-sugary treat went straight to her head in a dizzying, delicious rush.

“Who knew pigs in cream would rock so hard?” Ryanne said.

“I did.” Control nowhere to be found, Dorothea shoveled in another bite. “This is heaven on Earth.”

“Agreed.” The familiar voice startled—and horrified—her.

Heart thundering in her chest, she jumped to her feet. “Daniel.” Daniel Porter. Here. “I don’t understand.”

A glaring Ryanne extended her spoon as if it were a weapon. “How did you get in?”

“I knocked. You didn’t answer, but I heard voices and knew you were back here.” He shrugged, unabashed. “Your lock is a joke, by the way.”

“You actually dismantled—” Dorothea shook her head. “But why?”

He ignored her, saying to Ryanne, “I’ve already called the man who will replace the outdated lock with something even I can’t bypass. He’s tall, blond and has blue eyes. His name is Jude. Please don’t hurt him with your deadly spoon.”

“I don’t care what he looks like, or what his name is. If he shows up, he’ll be trespassing, just like you, and he’ll get locked up. I’m calling the...cops,” Ryanne finished lamely, shooting Lyndie an apologetic look.

Lyndie stared down at her wringing hands, her cheeks now chalk white. Fear radiated from her.

Fear? Just how bad had things been with Chief Carrington?

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” Daniel’s intense, amber gaze finally locked on Dorothea. “But first I’d like to speak with you.”

The air in her lungs turned to steam and evaporated; she began to wheeze, the urge to both fight and flee screwing with her head. “No, thank you? I mean, no. I’m having a girls’ night.” Translation: leave! Please.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “One way or another, I’m picking up where our last conversation ended. You sure you want to have an audience for that?”

He wouldn’t dare!

Who was she kidding? He would probably dare in a heartbeat.

“You guys had a conversation?” Ryanne lowered her spoon and arched a brow at Dorothea. “I’d love to hear the main topic...or were you guys too busy grunting to use actual words?”

Lyndie’s eyes widened like saucers. “Is he the raging diarrhea you were having?”

Kill me. Kill me now. Could this night get any worse?

She’d known a meeting had to happen sooner or later. Postponing it had been a mistake. If she allowed Daniel to say his piece now, she could say goodbye. Forever.

“Fine. If you’ll follow me...” Chin high, the rest of her trembling, she strode past him.

Heat pulsed from him as he followed her. Goose bumps broke out over her skin.

Once she reached the front door, hopefully out of the others’ hearing range, she faced him. Crap! He was so close she could have tripped over his shadow.

Bones threatening to melt, she moved two steps back. “How did you find me?”

“How did you know I was looking for you?” he countered. “Did you, perhaps, see me at your door and run?”

“I... Well...” She licked her lips. His hooded gaze followed the motion of her tongue, and the heat he was throwing off cranked up about a thousand degrees. In the next instant, he was looking at her as no man ever had. Not even her ex-husband. As if she were a mystery he had to solve. A dessert he wanted to eat. A treasure he expected to claim.

Her hands fisted. Someone needed to tell him a look like that made promises he couldn’t keep. And dang it, she hated that look almost as much as she loved it. It meant nothing to him but everything to her.

“Dorothea,” he prompted, “did you run away from me?”

Lying would lead to complications. How could she be expected to keep falsehoods straight when she could barely remember her name in this man’s presence? Still, there was no way she would admit to her cowardice.

“What I did or didn’t do doesn’t matter.” As she spoke, she waved her hands through the air to punctuate each word. A bad habit she’d fought most of her life, whenever her emotions got the better of her. “Tell me why you’re here.”

He closed what little distance separated them, and she backed up another step, then another, determined to remain at arm’s length. It wasn’t long before she smacked into a wall, and crap, he just kept coming until they were only a whisper apart.

A dark, dangerous whisper...

Her tremors redoubled as she breathed him in. He smelled like her favorite mix of essential oils: sandalwood, lavender and vanilla. And there was a good reason for that. She made soap as a special gift for the inn’s guests. A mistake, she realized now. She wanted to breathe him in forever.

“I’m here for you.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Out came his tongue, licking away a smear of chocolate. “I want to take you back to the inn and give you that orgasm you asked for—plus a couple more.”

What! He’s here to pleasure me?

“I didn’t... I mean...” Wet heat branded her core. “You’re too late? Stop tasting me?” Questions? Really?

“Mmm. You sure you want me to stop?” His voice deepened to a sensual purr. “Let me assuage my curiosity and find out if you’re this sweet all over. Let me see the exquisite body that haunts my dreams.”

The—exquisite—body in question experienced a thousand different reactions at once, namely tingling skin, hardening nipples and a quivering belly. Ohhhh! Her blood began to sizzle in her veins.

Daniel Porter had not just implied he wanted to go down on her...right? She was mistaken?

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she said.

“Tell me you still want one night with me.” He kissed her knuckles, leaving a white-hot ember behind. “This time my answer will be yes.”