Читать книгу Three Little Words - Сьюзен Мэллери - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
ISABEL TURNED HER CART down an aisle and knew a lack of inspiration would be a problem later. If she didn’t figure out what she wanted for dinner, she would be starving in a couple of hours. Ordering a pizza at eight-thirty, then eating the whole thing was very bad for her hips and thighs. Remembering that the women in her family eased toward pear-shaped as they aged, she headed for the produce section and virtuously chose a bag of salad. Great. She had salad and red wine and a very small container of ice cream. Disparate elements that did not a dinner make.
She started purposefully toward the meat section, not sure what she would do when she got there. As she turned the corner, she nearly ran into another shopper.
“Sorry,” she said automatically, only to find herself staring into a pair of dark eyes. “Ford.”
He smiled. It was the same slow, sexy smile he’d used before. The one that made it hard for her to catch her breath. Telling herself that he tossed that smile around like empty peanut shells at a ball game didn’t make her chest any less tight. Which was so very strange. She’d never been one to quiver in the presence of a man.
“Hey,” he said. He raised his basket. “Food shopping.”
“Me, too.” She glanced at the package of steaks and the six-pack of beer. “That’s your idea of dinner?”
“You have ice cream and red wine.”
“I have salad,” she said with a sniff. “That makes me virtuous.”
“It makes you a rabbit. And hungry.” The smile turned to a grin. “I saw a grill on your patio the other day. Why don’t we pool our resources?”
A tempting offer. “You want the wine and the ice cream.”
“True, but I’ll eat the salad, just to be polite.”
“Such a guy. Do you know how to use the grill? It’s big and seems complicated.”
One eyebrow rose. “I was born knowing how. It’s in my DNA.”
“Which seems like a waste of genetic material.”
Somehow they were walking. She didn’t remember making a decision about accepting his offer, but there they were, in line to pay. Five minutes later they were in the parking lot and heading to their cars.
They got to his first.
“Seriously?” she asked, staring at the black Jeep.
“It’s a classic.”
She pointed to the gold paint on the side. “It has flames. Jeeps have a long history of faithful service. Why would you torture yours like that?”
“You don’t like it? Why not? The flames are cool.”
“No. Consuelo’s car is cool. Yours is kind of embarrassing.”
“I bought it right after your sister dumped me for my best friend. I wasn’t myself.”
“That was fourteen years ago. Why haven’t you sold it?”
“I never drive it and it’s in great condition. When I decided to move back, Ethan got it ready for me.”
“Being seen near it must have humiliated him,” she teased, knowing Ford’s brother would have been happy to help. “Doesn’t Angel drive a Harley?”
Ford frowned at the mention of his business partner. “How do you know that?”
“It’s hard to miss a guy like him in black leather and driving a motorcycle in Fool’s Gold.”
“You drive a Prius,” he said. “You don’t get to make judgments.”
“You mean because I drive a safe, sensible, environmentally friendly car?”
“Logic,” he muttered. “Just like a woman.”
He helped her load her groceries, which consisted of a single bag. Something she could have handled herself. Still, it was kind of nice to have a man do that for her. Eric had supported her desire for equality, letting her lug her half of the groceries when they went shopping. Which was perfectly fair, she reminded herself. If not especially romantic.
Ford followed her home. She couldn’t escape his hideously painted Jeep in her rearview mirror. Even a broken heart was no excuse to mutilate such a hardworking vehicle.
She pulled into the driveway. He parked next to her and climbed out. “I’ll go put the beer in my refrigerator,” he said. “Then be down to start the steaks.”
“Works for me.”
She went into her house and set everything on the counter in the kitchen. The sun had dipped to the other side of the house, leaving this part mostly in shadow. She flipped on overhead lights. The oak cabinets were only a few years old and the yellow tile she remembered from her childhood had been replaced with granite.
She thought briefly about dashing into her bathroom and fluffing her appearance. After a long day at the store, she was sure she had mascara under her eyes and very flat hair. Plus, her dress was plain. Not only had she worked in New York, where wearing black was practically the law, she now had a job in a bridal gown store. It was important to look professional while never, ever outshining the bride. She had a wardrobe of simple, stylish black dresses—the “office appropriate” kind, not the LBD kind.
Not that she was looking to slip into an evening gown or anything, but still. She settled on kicking off her heels and rolling up the long sleeves of her dress. That was plenty. She was only having dinner with her neighbor. There was no reason to spruce. Besides, until a couple of days ago, his last memory of her was of a fourteen-year-old girl, chasing him down the street while sobbing and begging him not to go. After that, nearly anything would be an improvement.
She unpacked her bag and slipped the ice cream into the freezer. Setting the outdoor table took all of three minutes. She was about to tackle the salad when he returned.
“I have three messages from my mother,” he grumbled as he walked to the counter and pulled open a drawer. He dug through an assortment of can openers, measuring spoons and spatulas until he found the wine opener. Next he pulled two wineglasses from an upper cupboard shelf. “She wants to talk about the applicants.”
Isabel was more interested in how he knew his way around her kitchen. Did the man case the place while she was gone? Was he—
Maeve, she thought. He’d dated her sister for three years and had spent hours here every week. He’d often stayed for dinner and helped her sister set the table. While the kitchen had been updated, the layout was the same. Flatware was still in the top drawer by the sink, and glasses were above the dishwasher.
“Future-wife applicants?” she asked.
“That would be them.”
“Have you bothered to meet any of the women? They might be lovely.”
He gave her a look that implied the corkscrew had more intelligence than her.
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not interested in anyone who would fill out an application.”
“You’re very critical and your mother is just trying to help.”
“Are you in on this?” he demanded. “Is there a plan to torture me?”
“No. Any torture is just a happy by-product.”
“Funny. Very funny. I don’t remember you having this much attitude fourteen years ago. I liked you better then.” He poured the red wine she’d bought and passed her a glass.
“You didn’t know me then,” she reminded him. “I was your girlfriend’s little sister. You barely spoke to me.”
“We had a special relationship that didn’t require conventional communication.”
She laughed. “You’re so full of crap.”
His dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “And you’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He touched his glass to hers. “To me being idiotic enough to come home.”
“You’ll settle in and your mother will calm down.”
“I hope so. I know she’s excited about having me back, but this is ridiculous.”
Isabel thought about the time after Ford left—when she knew her heart was going to break. “You almost never came back to town. Was that because of Maeve?”
He leaned against the counter. “At first,” he admitted. “Mostly I stayed away because being around my family was too complicated. They wanted to get involved in everything—especially my mom. I became a SEAL my third year and that was intense. I couldn’t talk about what I did or tell them where I was going. I took the easy way out and avoided the situation.”
He sipped the wine. “Maeve wasn’t wrong to break up with me. When it happened I would have told you I’d miss her forever. But within a few weeks, I realized she was right. We were kids, playing at being in love. I guess she has the real thing with Leonard.”
Isabel tried to read emotion into his words. She couldn’t tell if he really didn’t mind that his ex-girlfriend had married the guy who’d come between them or not.
“They’ve been married twelve years now,” she said.
“The kids are more impressive. What’s she up to now?”
“Four with another on the way.”
He swore. “That many? I didn’t know Leonard had it in him.”
“Me, either. He’s an accountant now. He started his own company and has several impressive clients. He’s doing well.”
“With a family that big, he’d better be. How do you feel about being an aunt that many times over?”
“It can be overwhelming,” she said, which was mostly accurate. In truth, she’d been living in New York for the past six years and hadn’t been around her family all that much. She doubted Maeve’s youngest could pick her out of a lineup. She and her sister didn’t talk much, either. They’d both been busy and they didn’t have all that much in common.
Guilt poked at her, making her think she should call her sister and arrange a visit.
“You okay?” Ford asked, studying her.
“Fine. You’re not the only one with family issues.”
“Probably, but I’m the only one with a mother who set up a booth at a Fool’s Gold festival with the sole purpose of finding me and my brother wives.”
She laughed. “That you are.”
* * *
THEY PULLED TOGETHER dinner pretty quickly. In addition to the steaks, Ford had provided two russet potatoes. Isabel popped them in the microwave, then made the salad. She carried both their glasses of wine outside while he heated the grill and put on the steaks.
“You can use the grill anytime you want,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
Ford flipped the steaks, then closed the lid. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.”
“Meat good?” she asked.
He grinned. “Meat and fire. And beer.” He reached for his glass. “Or wine.”
She studied him, taking in the broad shoulders and easy smile. She searched for some hint he was still dealing with his time in the military, that he’d been scarred by all he’d seen, but there was no indication at all. If he had ghosts, they were the kind only he saw.
“Did you like being a SEAL?” she asked.
“Yeah. I liked being on a team. I also liked that we never knew what was going to happen next.”
“Certainty and variety. Two key components to happiness.”
He raised his eyebrows.
She shrugged. “I have a marketing degree, but I also have a minor in psychology. People like a sense of security. It’s hard to have fun if you’re starving or homeless. But we also like variety. Positive change engages the brain.”
“Pretty and smart. Impressive.”
She told herself he was a natural-born flirt and if she believed anything he said, she was an idiot. But that didn’t stop the tingles.
“Why did you retire?” she asked.
“The last five years I was on a joint task force. Important work, but more stressful.”
“Dangerous?”
He grinned. “Danger is my middle name.”
She smiled. “I’m sure that’s not true, and I can easily get confirmation from one of your sisters.”
“Damn small town.” He sipped his wine. “The work was intense and I was moved around a lot. The team changed. After a while it started to get to me. Justice called about CDS and I said yes.”
“Were you worried about coming home?”
“I was worried about my mother.” He grimaced. “With good reason.”
Because it would be easier if he didn’t have family or didn’t get along with his. It was hard to tell a parent no when she was as loving and supportive as Denise.
“You should send her on a cruise around the world,” she suggested. “It worked for me.”
“If only she’d go.” His dark gaze settled on her face. “What about you? You’re back because you’re divorced?”
“Uh-huh. The paperwork is final, so I’m a free woman.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Eric and I didn’t contest anything. We owned an apartment together. He bought me out, so I have that money to help start my business.”
“The one you’re starting when Paper Moon sells?”
“Right. So it’s all good.”
“No hard feelings?” he asked.
She’d told the almost-true version of the story so many times, the words came out automatically. “No. Eric’s a great guy, but we grew apart. We’re better as friends.”
He turned and checked the steaks, then flipped them again and closed the lid.
“It all sounds civilized,” he said. “Better than hating each other at the end.”
That would have required more energy than either of them had for the relationship, she thought sadly.
“I admire how you handled the situation,” Ford said.
Praise she didn’t deserve. She opened her mouth to say it was nothing, but what came out instead was “I thought everything was fine. I thought we had a great marriage. We were best friends with each other. We went to restaurants and gallery openings and estate sales on weekends. He supported my dreams and I supported his.”
Their sex life had been nonexistent, but as sex wasn’t important to her, she hadn’t minded. In a way it had been freeing to simply be herself with a man.
“I liked spending time with him,” she continued. “It was easy.” She paused. “But it wasn’t love.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Ford said quietly.
She looked at him, then away before putting her wine down on the outdoor table. She was holding the glass so tightly she was afraid she was going to break it.
“He fell in love with someone else,” she admitted, still remembering the shock when he’d told her. He’d sat her down, taken her hands in his and admitted he’d fallen in love.
“He was so excited. So happy. There was an energy I’d never seen before. I think that shocked me more than the infidelity. The enthusiasm. He’d never acted that way about me.”
“He was gay.”
She snapped her attention back to Ford and struggled to keep her mouth from falling open. “How did you know?”
“No straight guy goes to estate sales.”
She managed a strangled laugh. “Of course they do, but you’re right. He’d fallen in love with another man. He said it had never happened before, but I didn’t know if I could believe him.”
How could he not have known? How could he have lied to her for all those years? She’d been forced to grapple with the end of her marriage and worry about her health. If Eric had cheated with one person, who was to say there hadn’t been others?
All the tests had come back fine and she was able to relax about sexually transmitted diseases, but then she’d still had the end of her marriage to get through.
“I missed him,” she admitted. “We were friends and then he was gone. I had to figure out what to do next. Sonia and I had always talked about opening a store together and suddenly we were making real plans. I came here to help out my folks, earn some money and deal with everything.”
She drew in a breath. “I never saw it coming. That’s what I wrestle with. I had no clue. I mean we rarely had sex, but I figured everyone was different. He wasn’t that interested and I was good with that. Only, what if it was me?”
“If he’s gay, then it’s not you. It’s every woman.”
He watched her with friendly concern. If there was judgment, he was keeping it hidden, which she appreciated.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “He wasn’t honest with you or himself. You had no part of that.”
“I guess.”
He lightly touched her under the chin, forcing her to raise her head and meet his steady gaze. “There’s no ‘I guess’ on this.”
“What if I turned him gay?”
Ford smiled. “You didn’t.”
“You can’t know that. Maybe I was so horrible in bed he had to go be with a guy.”
“I don’t think it works that way. Isn’t sexual preference biological? Sorry to disappoint, but you don’t have that much power.”
He was being so kind, she thought. Gentle and sweet. The unexpected support made her want to lean into him. “I feel stupid. Like I should have known.”
“You trusted him, Isabel. You believed in him and he used you.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is.” The smile returned. “I’m always right.”
“Oh, please.” She felt herself start to smile back at him.
“Better,” he said, then leaned forward and lightly touched his mouth to hers.
The kiss was brief. More comfort than seduction. Even so, she felt a distinct jolt deep in her belly. She told herself it was a combination of wine—even though she’d barely had a sip—and embarrassment. No one knew the truth about Eric. She’d been too humiliated to share what had really happened. Now she wondered why she’d been so reluctant to trust the people who loved her.
“Thank you,” she said when he straightened. “For listening and not laughing.”
“Your story wasn’t funny.”
“I was thinking more of being laughed at rather than with.”
“Not my style,” he told her.
What was his style? Who was this man who drove a ridiculous vehicle and claimed to be God’s gift to women, yet offered comfort and knew the exact right thing to say?
Before she could ask, he turned away and checked on the steaks. “They’re about done,” he said.
“I’ll get the potatoes and salad.”
She walked into the house and drew in a breath. She felt better for having told the truth. As if the secret of why her marriage had ended had been weighing on her.
What she hadn’t said, what she wondered if Ford or anyone else would guess, was that the sadness she felt was for the loss of a friend. Not of a husband or a lover. She didn’t feel as if she’d ended things with her one true love. Which meant the marriage had been a fake from the beginning and somehow she’d never noticed.
* * *
FORD LEANED BACK in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. “Two more accounts,” he said, nodding at the folders on the desk.
Consuelo pushed his boots off the desk. “You’re smug. I hate smug.”
“I’m good at my job,” he corrected, then drank his coffee.
Angel’s expression turned pained. “You get the glory because you’re in sales. We’re all working just as hard.”
“Do you hear anything?” Ford asked Justice. “I’m getting a buzzing sound in my ear.”
Justice turned from his laptop and opened the folders. He glanced at the printed copies of emails, along with the signed contracts.
The workload at CDS was divided equally. Justice, who had pulled the business together, coordinated all their activities and kept everything running smoothly. Consuelo was in charge of classes and training. Angel put together custom programs for their security clients and the corporate customers, while Ford was in charge of sales.
“Don’t make trouble,” Justice said mildly as he reviewed the documents. He was tall and broad shouldered, and the only one of them wearing a suit. Ford, Angel and Consuelo had on cargo pants and T-shirts, which in Consuelo’s case was really a tank top. The influence of their military training. The clothes provided for easy movement in any situation.
“Nice,” Justice said, looking up. He turned to Angel. “I’ll touch base with the companies to find out the details of what they’re looking for. Then you can start designing the programs.”
Angel looked disgusted. “How are you doing that? You have new clients nearly every week and we’ve only been open a month.”
“Jealous? I’m good at what I do.”
“Don’t make me separate you two,” Consuelo said.
“I’ve got style, bro,” Ford said, ignoring her. “Real style.”
There were three parts to the CDS business plan. The first types of client were ones already in the security business. CDS provided advanced training for senior operatives and basic training for new hires. Most companies found it cheaper to outsource instruction.
The second source of income came from corporate clients looking for a unique team-building experience. Using the town as a selling point, Ford presented the idea of a simple series of survival exercises to grow trust in a group. Most of the corporate clients picked weeks of festivals for their dates, bringing in the employees on Monday and flying in family members to join them on Thursday. At the end, there would be a group hug and a round of “Kumbaya.” Or some crap like that.
The final source of income was from classes held for locals. Self-defense and basic exercise. It was good for the town, good for CDS, and that was all he cared about.
“You don’t have style,” Angel grumbled. “Look at that thing you drive.”
“It’s a classic.”
“It’s an embarrassment to Jeeps everywhere. The company should come take it away from you.”
His friend’s comment made him think about what Isabel had said. Which made him think about last night and the feel of his mouth on hers.
Nice. More than nice. He’d been aware of wanting to pull her close and do a lot more than kiss. Sometime while he’d been gone, his ex-girlfriend’s little sister had grown up. Now she was funny, sexy and completely off-limits. Isabel was troubled and he didn’t do troubled. She was also the commitment type, which, again, was not him. But a guy could sure dream.
“If we could get back to business,” Justice said. He went through the rest of the schedule. “Angel’s getting more work than he can handle.”
“Thanks to me.” Ford grinned. “Damn, I’m good.”
Consuelo rolled her eyes.
“Don’t ask him to help me,” Angel demanded. “Don’t even think about it.”
“You can’t design all the curriculum yourself,” Justice reminded him. “Not at the beginning when it’s all new. We’ll all help.”
“But I’ll be the most help,” Ford said.
Angel lunged for him. They tumbled to the floor, wrestling and punching each other.
Neither of them was trying very hard. If either of them put in any effort, there would be a fairly serious injury...or seven. Justice had already lectured them on not doing anything to increase their health insurance premiums.
“Are we done?” Consuelo asked.
“Apparently,” Justice said and turned back to his computer.
Angel rolled Ford a couple of times and tried to get an arm around his neck. Ford twisted and got away, only to have his friend pull him back to the mat. Consuelo grabbed her coffee and stepped over them.
At the door, she paused and looked back. “The Maá-zib Festival is coming up. The highlight is a man getting his heart cut out. I’m volunteering both of you for the sacrifice. Don’t worry about thanking me.”
