Читать книгу The Homecoming Queen Gets Her Man - Shirley Jump - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Forgetting. It wasn’t something Jack Barlow did easily.

When he was a kid, his grandmother used to tease him about his incredible memory. Looking back, he didn’t think that he had such a great memory as much as a penchant for paying attention to details. That had served him well when he worked in his father’s garage and needed to reassemble an engine, and when he’d been on patrol in Afghanistan. In those cases, lives depended upon noticing the smallest things out of place. Still, there were days when he cursed his mind and wished the days would become a blur, the details a blank.

A car door slammed somewhere outside the garage. Jack flinched, oriented his attention in the direction of the sound, adrenaline rushing through his body. To anyone else, it was just a car door, but Jack’s brain jogged left instead of right, and in that second, he saw the bright light of the explosion detonating, heard the roaring thunder blasting into the Humvee, then the spray of metal arcing out and away from the impact. Through the floorboards, the passenger seat, up and into—

Eli.

Jack squinted his eyes shut, but it didn’t erase the sounds of Eli’s agonizing screams, didn’t wipe away the sight of his blood on the truck, on Jack, on everything. Didn’t make him forget watching Eli’s big brown eyes fading from light to glass. Jack shut his eyes, but still all he saw was the moment when he’d turned the truck east instead of west, and the shrapnel intended for Jack hit his best friend instead.

Goddamn.

Jack took in a breath, another, but still his heart jackhammered in his chest, and his lungs constricted. Sweat plastered his shirt, washing him hot, then cold. The wave began to hit him hard, fast, like a riptide, dragging him under, back to that dark place again.

Blowing out a breath, he unclenched his fists and opened his eyes. He stared up at the underside of the Monte Carlo. The snake lines of the exhaust, the long rectangle of the oil pan. Inhaled the scent of grease, felt the hard, cold concrete beneath his palms. Listened to the sounds of passing traffic. Reality.

Finally, Jack pushed himself out from under the car and into the cool, dim expanse of the garage. He rubbed the tired out of his eyes, worked to uncoil the tension that came from snatching a few minutes of sleep every hour. But still the memories stayed, a panther in the shadows.

Ever since he’d come home from the war, Jack had done the only thing he could—worked until he couldn’t stay awake. He divided his days between his father’s garage and Ray’s cottage, because it was only when he was immersed in a disabled engine or surrounded by a stack of unchopped wood that he could pull his mind away.

Away from the past. Away from the mistakes he had made. Away from his own guilt.

And now, away from Meri. He hadn’t expected to see her—not today, not ever—and the encounter had left him a little disconcerted, unnerved. Meri represented everything he wanted to put behind him, everything he wanted to forget—

And couldn’t.

How the hell was he supposed to tell her the truth? Tell her that he was the one who should have protected Eli, who should have made damned sure Eli, with his perpetual smile, was the one who came home? How could Jack ever look in Meri’s eyes and admit the truth?

That it was Jack’s fault Eli had died. Jack’s, and no one else’s.

He threw the wrench in his hands at the workbench. It pinged off the wooden leg and boomeranged into his shin. Jack let out a long string of curses, but it didn’t ease one damned bit of the pain.

“Whew. I’m impressed. I usually only hear language like that when the Yankees lose.”

Jack turned, grabbing a rag to wipe off the worst of the grease on his hands, and to give him another second to collect himself, push that panther back into the shadows a little more. His brother Luke stood just inside the garage, looking as though he’d just come from the beach, or a vacation, or both. His brown hair had that lightened tint that came from too much time in the sun, and Jack suspected his brother’s khaki shorts had more sand in the pockets than dollars. Unlike their eldest brother, Mac, who worked so much the brothers had nicknamed him Batman because of how rarely he showed up at family events. “You here to help me change out that transmission?”

Luke laughed. “Work? That’s against my religion.”

Jack leaned against the tool chest and tossed the rag on a nearby bench. “Funny, I don’t remember laziness being a lesson in Sunday school.”

“That’s because you and Mac were too busy trying to compete for teacher’s pet.” Luke reached into the small fridge by the door, pulled out two sodas and tossed one to Jack.

Jack popped the top and took a long swallow of the icy drink. “And you were too busy trying to ditch.”

Luke grinned. “Something I have perfected as an adult.”

Jack snorted agreement. He swiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and propped a foot against the front bumper of the ’87 Monte Carlo. The car had more miles on it than Methuselah had kids, but longtime customer Willie Maddox refused to junk the Great White Whale. The car was big and loud but classic and sporty, and Willie babied his ride like Evangeline Millstone babied her overdressed, overindulged Chihuahua. Hence the new transmission in the Great White Whale, and a decent payday for the garage. Ever since their dad’s knee replacement surgery, Jack had been shouldering the garage—and that meant shouldering the responsibility for his father’s income. Another week or so and Bobby Barlow would be back in the garage.

“What do you say you knock off early and we head down to Cooter’s for a couple beers?”

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, Luke.”

“All the more reason to celebrate.” Luke tipped his soda in Jack’s direction. “Come on, you workaholic. The world isn’t going to fall apart if you close down the shop a couple hours early. Besides, I hear Meri Prescott is back in town. All the more reason to grab a beer with me.”

Jack scowled. “What does Meri being back in town have to do with anything?”

“You telling me you aren’t interested?” He arched a brow. “Or horny?”

“Jesus, Luke, let it go.” Jack tossed the empty soda into the trash, grabbed the wrench and slid back under the Monte Carlo. He tightened a bolt and waited for the sounds of his brother leaving. Instead, a pair of familiar sneakers appeared in his peripheral vision.

“You still gonna stick to the I’m not interested in her line?”

“We dated a million years ago.” Eight, his mind corrected. “Of course I’m not interested.”

Yeah, right. Given the way he’d reacted to seeing her yesterday, and how many times his mind had wandered to thoughts of her, not interested was far from the truth. Either way, it didn’t matter.

Because getting involved with Meri would mean telling her what had happened to her cousin on that battlefield, and that was one thing Jack couldn’t do. Hell, he could barely handle the truth himself. Diving into that deep, dark corner of his mind would pull him down into the abyss, and right now he was barely clinging to the edge.

“Just leave me the hell alone, Luke. I have work to do.” There were days when he was glad neither Luke nor Mac had taken to working in the garage. Start talking alternators, and his brothers found other things to do.

It took a while, but eventually Luke’s feet moved out of Jack’s line of vision, then out of the garage. Quiet descended over the darkened world beneath the Monte Carlo and Jack told himself it brought him peace.

Seems he was just as good at lying as he was at forgetting.

* * *

Meri parked in the lot outside of Betty’s Bakery, a kissing cousin to George’s Deli—a husband-and-wife restaurant venture that had been a staple in downtown Stone Gap for as long as Meri could remember. Every time she saw the bakery and deli, she thought of her cousin Eli, who had worked summers and weekends here with his parents, and who never failed to bring home treats after his shift. Out of all the people Meri had known in the world, Eli had been the most gracious, most giving and most loving. There wasn’t a person in Stone Gap who hadn’t thought of him as halfway to a saint. When he’d died, it was as if something good and bright had left the world, leaving a sad dimness behind. Here, Meri could still feel Eli’s presence. That was nice.

Meri’s aunt Betty—her mother’s younger and sassier sister—and uncle George Delacorte loved creating food, loved sharing food with their customers, friends and families, but didn’t love working side by side, so when their first food venture, a small restaurant they ran together, failed, they moved into two locations as a way to keep the peace in their marriage. Betty provided the baked goods for George’s sandwiches, and he kept her stocked with disposable flatware and paper plates. It was, Betty often said, a marriage made in Fleischmann’s Yeast.

Aunt Betty and Uncle George had always been jovial people, a trait that Eli had had in abundance. The loss of their only son had dimmed their spirits, but not their giving to the community, Meri saw. Each of the shops sported an American flag, proudly waving in the wind. The front window of the deli held a service star, the blue star changed to a gold one, to represent a fallen soldier.

Meri’s heart clenched. She got out of the car and went into Betty’s first. The scent of fresh-baked bread and muffins greeted her at the door. Her stomach growled in what her mother would call a most unladylike manner. God, everything smelled so good, so decadent. For a second, the automatic response of I can’t have that dinged in her head. How many years had she resisted desserts and second helpings and carbohydrates?

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Betty came bustling around the counter, her arms outstretched, her generous hourglass frame outlined with a bright pink apron. “Meri! You are a sight for sore eyes!”

“Oh, Aunt Betty, you, too.” Meri returned Betty’s boisterous hug, enveloped by the scents of cinnamon and vanilla and homecoming. She had spent many an afternoon at this bakery, watching Betty make everything from doughnuts to rye bread, soaking up the scents of decadent foods along with her aunt’s offbeat wisdom. She glanced around the homey space. “I still half expect Eli to walk through the door every time I come here.”

“Me, too, sweetheart. Lord, I miss that boy.” Aunt Betty shook her head and her eyes welled. Her gaze lingered on a drawing tacked to the wall, a hand sketch of an indigo bunting, a bright blue bird that Eli had always said was a sign of good things to come. For as long as Meri had known him, her cousin had sketched the wildlife in Stone Gap. The two of them had taken many hikes over the years, she with her camera, he with a sketch pad. Aunt Betty looked at the drawing for a long time, her fingers fluttering over her lips. “He was my heart, don’t you know? A mother should never have to bury her son.”

Meri nodded, her throat too thick for words. The indigo bunting just stared back from its pencil perch.

Aunt Betty swiped at her eyes and worked a smile to her face. “Well, no more of that. I can just hear Eli now. ‘Mama, save your crying for another day. The sun is out, and that’s reason enough to smile.’”

“I swear, I never saw him depressed a day in his life.”

Aunt Betty’s smile wobbled. “He brought everyone who knew him a lot of joy. I’m sure he’s got every angel in heaven laughing as we speak.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a second. Probably pranking the Holy Ghost, too.”

That made Aunt Betty laugh. “True, so true.” She drew back and eyed Meri. “How are you doing, honey pie?”

The concern made tears well in Meri’s eyes. Her aunt understood her so well, a thousand times better than Anna Lee ever had. “I’m doing fine. Especially now that I’m back in town.”

“To stay?”

Meri shook her head. “To visit. Eventually I’ll need to get back to my photography job.” Assuming, that was, that she could ever get over her fears to do her job. She’d hoped that coming here, where the world seemed put to rights, would give her back the magic she had lost.

“I saw some of your photographs in a magazine, and Eli used to send them to me over the computer all the time. Such amazing talent you have, Meri.” Aunt Betty beamed.

“Eli shared them with you?”

“Of course. He was proud as punch that his cousin was taking the world by storm in the big city. Thought you were the next Ansel Adams. Can’t say I disagreed.”

Meri reached out and drew her aunt into a tight, warm hug. “Thank you, Aunt Betty. That means a lot, coming from you.”

The unspoken message—Anna Lee would have to be on her deathbed to say such a thing. There were many days when Meri wondered how her life would have been different had she been born into Aunt Betty and Uncle George’s house instead of Anna Lee’s castle on Cherrystone.

As if reading Meri’s mind, Aunt Betty shifted the conversation to Anna Lee. “Word has it that you’re staying out at Ray’s, in the guest cottage. Your mother is positively mortified. She feels like you’re, and I quote, ‘besmirching the family’s good name’ by refusing her hospitality.”

“I didn’t refuse. I made another choice.”

Betty cupped Meri’s face with her generous palms. Unlike her mother, Betty didn’t flinch away from Meri’s scar, and in fact, barely seemed to give it notice. “A good choice. Don’t let my sister push you around. Lord knows she’s been trying to do that since the day you were born. I swear, if she could have, she’d have told the doctor how to arrange the maternity ward and what temperature to warm the formula.”

Meri gave Betty another hug, then drew back. “Thanks, Aunt Betty.”

“Anytime.” Betty swung back behind the counter and readied a white box. “Let me guess. You’re here for Ray’s daily muffin supply?”

“Yup. Then heading to Uncle George’s to pick up Grandpa’s favorite sandwich for dinner. I tried to talk him into some salmon with a side of spinach, but he was having none of that. Said the only thing that makes him feel better is Uncle George’s sandwiches for supper and your muffins in the morning.”

“Ray’s a smart man. But not smart enough to know I make those muffins with whole wheat flour and add some flaxseed to the sandwich bread.” Betty loaded a quartet of muffins into the box, closed the lid, then tied it with thin red string. “And what are you getting for you?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” The response came like a Pavlovian reflex.

“Yes, you should. And you can. And don’t tell me about calories or fat grams or any of that nonsense. Food is meant to be enjoyed, not ignored. And besides, you deserve it. Why, I bet you already dealt with your mother today.”

Meri nodded. “It was as much fun as I expected.”

“Then all the more reason to indulge. Talking to Anna Lee will drive you to either sugar or pharmaceuticals. My vote is for sugar.” Betty placed a chocolate cupcake covered with fluffy pink frosting in front of Meri. “Cupcakes are like good men. Taste them, savor them and never, ever ignore them or someone else will eat them right up.” She nudged the cupcake closer. “So, come on now, quick as a bunny, take a bite.”

Meri picked up the dessert, inhaling the rich notes of the chocolate and the sweet confection of the raspberry frosting. She hesitated, then blew out a breath and sank her teeth into the side. Frosting curved on her lip, chocolate cake crumbs dusted her chin, but the bite in her mouth melted like heaven against her palate. She zeroed in for a second bite, then paused when the shop door’s bell rang.

And Jack walked into the bakery.

She turned part of the way toward him, the cupcake cradled in one hand, the frosting on her lip. He caught her eye, and something warm and dark extended between them, a whisper of a memory that bloomed in her mind.

Jack, tempting her with a cupcake, the day before a pageant. Telling her the contraband treat would be worth every bite. She’d refused, shaking her head, her body quivering with desire for him, for the chocolate, for everything that she had denied herself for years. Then he’d swiped a dollop of frosting off the top, placed it against her lips, and she’d opened her mouth to taste it, to taste him. Jack’s gaze had captured hers, and in that next instant, the cupcake was forgotten, and she was tasting his mouth, his body, him.

He’d been the one to end it that day, pulling away from her, telling her she was right, that she had a pageant to prepare for, and she needed to focus on that. Even then, a week before they’d broken up, he’d been drawing the line in the sand between them.

Aunt Betty greeted him, and Jack said hello back, but his attention stayed on Meri.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

His gaze flicked to Betty, then away, and a shade dropped over his features. She could see him shutting the door, clear as day. Typical Jack—shut her out to whatever was going on inside his head.

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” Jack said, instead of answering her question.

She bristled. “I just got here, Jack. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

“Good.”

The single word surprised her, undid the ready fight in her head. “Why do you say that?”

“Because Ray won’t admit he needs a mother hen, but he does. And you’re the perfect person to tell him what to do.”

“Are you saying I’m bossy?”

A half smile curved across his face. “Darlin’, you’ve always been bossy.”

Something about the way he said darlin’ sent heat fissuring through her and made her think of the hot summer nights they’d spent together as teenagers, when temptation was their constant companion.

“I see you still love cupcakes,” Jack said, taking another step closer to her.

Heat pooled in her gut. God, how she wanted to just look into his blue eyes and fall all over again. But she already knew where this led, already knew how he truly felt about her.

She put the cupcake on the counter and swept the frosting from her lips with the back of her hand. Who was she kidding? This wasn’t a chance to rewrite the past or show Jack she had changed. No, she wasn’t here for that. As even Jack had said, her main goal was restoring Grandpa Ray to health. Besides, whatever she might have felt for Jack Barlow when she was a silly teenage girl had evaporated that day in the garage, as fast as rain on hot tar. “I don’t think I ever loved them,” she said. “I just thought I did.”