Читать книгу The Woman For Dusty Conrad - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 9

Jolie fingered through the fresh greens in the produce corner of Old Jake’s General Store, passing her own favorite of collard and going for the dandelion that Dusty always liked so much. Curling her fingers into her palm, she pulled back her hand altogether, then pushed the cart toward the tomatoes.

The past half hour had been spent doing exactly the same thing. She’d reach for an item, then something would catch her eye and she’d automatically reroute to finger a choice Dusty would favor. The items in her cart totaled four. Laundry detergent, flour, sugar and milk. Generic items that didn’t have any connection to Dusty.

Well, okay, maybe she preferred that specific brand of detergent because she loved the way it smelled on Dusty’s clothes where they rested against his skin. But no one but her need know that.

In the three hours since Dusty had left the house after kissing her, she’d tried to sleep, but failed. Scrubbed the kitchen floor to exhaust herself, and still was wide awake. Then she resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to get the rest she needed after twenty-four hours at the firehouse. It was a good thing she’d stolen a couple of hours’ rest between calls late last night or else she’d be dead on her feet right about now.

Not that her current emotional state was any improvement. She picked through the tomatoes, then chose a bunch of green lettuce. Even now her nerve endings seemed to tingle, jolted awake by Dusty’s skillful kiss and refusing to lie still. Her muscles were tense, her lips still felt swollen…and her body cried out for more than the brief, fevered contact. Not even running errands had been successful in banishing the unwanted feelings. But it had added a decidedly sharper edge to them and her reaction.

When she’d set off in her Jeep, she’d conveniently forgotten the smallness of the town and the open curiosity of the townsfolk. No matter how well-meaning they were, they were downright nosy now that word of Dusty’s return had gotten around. She’d kept busy enough at the station that she hadn’t heard much from her fellow firefighters. But Madge at the post office had been another matter. Then there’d been Gene at the combination dry cleaners-launderette. On top of that, Roger at the gas station had rested a hand against the rooftop of her Jeep and grinned down at her while the pump automatically filled the tank and asked why she didn’t look more cheerful, what with Dusty being back and all.

“Jolie? Jolie Calbert Conrad, is that you?”

Jolie tightened her hands on the cart handle, filled with the incredible urge to run. She wouldn’t have stopped at the general store at all except that she was out of the essentials and had to. She’d known before going in that the central town gossiping center, second only to Eddie’s pub, was a minefield of astronomic proportions. In fact, she was surprised she’d gotten through a half hour of shopping without someone approaching her.

Carefully fastening a smile onto her tired features, she turned toward Elva Mollenkopf. “Hi, Elva. Doing some shopping?”

Yes, the question was mundane, but sometimes when you stated the obvious, the other person dove into a monologue on what they were buying and why.

Not Elva. Her almost predatory smile made Jolie want to set the cart wheels spinning, then jump on the foot rest and let it carry her away.

“Is it true?” Elva asked.

Jolie blinked. “Is what true?”

“Is Dusty really back…and staying at the house?”

Jolie swallowed hard against the cotton batting in her throat. She debated saying something along the lines of “It’s not what you think,” or even toyed with the idea of saying “It’s none of your business,” but she gauged that neither would go over real well with the woman who was twenty years her senior.

“It’s true,” someone said, but Jolie was pretty sure it wasn’t her. She turned her head to see Angela Johansen approaching from behind. Of course, her last name had once been Paglio, back in grade and high school when Jolie had shared more than a few classes with her. They’d always been friends, though not the type of call-every-day, tell-all-your-secrets-to kind of friends.

They had, however, always been there to back each other up.

“Hi, Jolie,” Angie said with a warm, knowing smile. “How are you, Elva?” she said a little coolly. “It’s good to see you again. I don’t think our paths have crossed since…well, God, since the Fourth of July celebration when you had that mishap with Joe Johnson’s dogs. How is your leg, anyway?”

Jolie’s gaze settled on the little blond-haired girl in the seat of Angela’s cart. Angela’s daughter with her husband Jeff should be all of five about now. Eleanor’s chubby fingers were working to free a hard candy from its wrapper, her face contorted in concentration. Jolie’s heart automatically contracted, the way it did whenever she came across a child of the age hers might have been. Had she and Dusty had kids.

Saying something to Elva that Jolie didn’t quite catch, Angela linked her arm with Jolie’s and determinedly turned her, leading her and her cart away from Elva.

Angela leaned closed to her. “I still think she’s a vampire,” she whispered.

Jolie laughed quietly, sneaking a glance over her shoulder to find Elva staring after them in dumbfounded silence. “God, I forgot about that. How old were we when that rumor circulated through school?”

“Eight, maybe? But that doesn’t matter. While I no longer think Elva goes around sucking people’s blood, I do think she feeds on others’ hardships.” She grimaced. “Always at the ready to sink her teeth into any festering wounds.”

Jolie smiled at little Eleanor, her words aimed for Angela. “Maybe it’s the only way she can make it through the day. You know, compare her life to others’ and be glad that she doesn’t have the problems that we do.”

Ellie’s wide blue eyes were firmly on her mother. “Mommy, what’s a vampire?”

Angela laughed and chucked the little girl under her dimpled chin. “Never you mind, sweet pea. Do you want some Cocoa Puffs?”

Jolie appreciated Angela’s deft handling of the awkward question, wondering if she could have handled a similar situation so well with her own kids. If she had kids.

Angela stopped her cart and placed a box of the sugary cereal into her full cart much to Ellie’s delight. She searched the area around them. “I think the coast is clear.”

Jolie smiled her thanks at her friend. Not just for saving her from a humiliating incident with Elva…but for not asking about Dusty herself. As Angela walked away, she reminded herself to call her later in the week so they could have some coffee together or something. It had been some time since they’d played catch-up.

Of course, Angela was nowhere to be found when Kathy, the cashier, Justin, the manager, then Ruth, whose chickens she had rescued yesterday, all assailed her with questions. Kathy was well-meaning, Justin was looking for tawdry details; while Ruth offered up some advice on how to guarantee Dusty wouldn’t leave again. Advice involving chicken fat and feathers that made Jolie shudder.

Finally, she sat behind the wheel of her Jeep, the door tightly closed and locked, her breathing sounding much too ragged in the empty SUV.

It wasn’t that the questions got to her. It was more that they were far too similar to the questions swirling in her own mind. Clamoring for answers that only one person could give her. Answers she was beginning to fear she’d never get.

She switched on the ignition and waited for the heater to warm the interior of the SUV.

Where her nerves had been a mess after Dusty had kissed her mere hours before, now they visually shook with the tension further created by her outing. When he’d left, the world as she knew it had ended. It had taken her a long time just to be able to get up in the morning, face her friends and co-workers, function like more than a robot, her heart bearing scars she didn’t dare show anyone.

Then just like that Dusty was back and those wounds had been opened up afresh…and the townsfolk had more questions now than they had before.

Sometimes it seemed that all her life she’d been the oddity. The little girl whose parents had died in a fire and whose grandfather wasn’t fit to raise her. She’d promised herself when she’d come of age that she’d never do anything again to garner such open attention.

And in all honesty, she hadn’t this time, either. Dusty had.

She pushed her hair back from her face with shaking hands. Movement from the corner of her eyes vied for her attention and she glanced up from the dash to find Elva bearing down on her full speed, the wheels of her shopping cart wobbling ominously. Throwing the Jeep into reverse, Jolie squealed from the general store parking lot, nearly taking Elva’s cart out in the process.

She honestly didn’t know what more she could do, merely knew the desire to do something. Even though she’d tried to confront Dusty this morning. Asked him why he’d left. But he had skillfully avoided answering her.

What was there left to do?

“You can give him what he wants,” she whispered.

The words seemed to echo in her ears. Her chest tightened to the point of pain.

What Dusty wanted was for her to sign the divorce papers.

She bit down so hard on her bottom lip she feared she’d drawn blood. In front of her, a low-slung sedan was going no more than ten miles an hour, the plates from a neighboring county. She forced herself to let up on the gas and follow at a safe distance, though the temptation to gun the engine and pass the out-of-towner was strong.

The downtown shops were all so very familiar. But rather than finding comfort in seeing Mrs. O’Malley tending to her autumn garden outside her bed-and-breakfast, and Penelope Moon hanging a sign advertising clearance prices on Halloween goodies, she saw threats looming everywhere. Mrs. O’Malley would tell her she’d been a fool. Penelope would probably say something along the lines of destiny had its own way of working things out and that she should just go with the flow, and would she like some aromatherapy candles to help see her through?

Jolie rubbed her throbbing temple as the car in front of her pulled to a stop. She halted as well, scanning the brick front of Eddie’s pub. The day was warm enough that Eddie had the front door open, letting the early afternoon sun slant in and illuminate the first few stools. Her stomach dropped to the floorboard as she spotted Dusty sitting next to John Sparks and a couple of guys from the station.

The car in front of her finally moved, but she stayed completely still.

Almost as if sensing her presence, Dusty glanced up and through the door, his grin still firmly in place as his gaze collided with hers. His smile froze, then disappeared.

Give him what he wants, an inner voice taunted.

All she had to do was go back to the house. Sign the papers still lying on the kitchen table. Then hand them to him when he came back to the house.

Then again, she could just bring them down here and hand them to him along with his things. Or pin them to the front door and leave his stuff on the front porch.

John Sparks was questioning Dusty and he looked away, freeing her from his gaze.

Jolie’s heart felt as if it might race right out of her chest as she carefully placed her foot on the gas. She knew in that instant that she had to do it. She had to give Dusty what he wanted. And she had to give it to him now.

Long strides took Dusty down the sidewalk of Main Street, his thoughts on everything but his surroundings. Until he turned the corner and the old house he’d grown up in loomed a block away. His heartbeat accelerated. His step slowed. His chest grew so tight it was difficult to breathe.

This was the only place he’d ever known as home. Every time he blinked, a different memory flashed through his mind, projections of images marked indelibly on his soul. The sprawling front lawn brought to mind Erick. How they would argue over whose turn it was to get the old mower out of the garage. Tussle in leaves that even now covered the lush green expanse. Toss a baseball back and forth, each lob growing a little harder, going a little farther, until his younger brother would purposely try to hit him with the ball.

But at the end of the day, just after dinner, before either of them were off to do whatever they had to do that night, he and Erick never failed to call a truce and meet as if by silent agreement on the front porch steps. They’d talk about everything. Or nothing at all. He’d always sat with his fingers clasped between his knees. Erick leaning back on his hands, staring off into some unforeseen future path that was mapped out for him in the sky.

Back then it seemed as if the day might never end. As if they’d had all the time in the world to tease each other about girlfriends. Debate which sports team was the better, the Detroit Tigers or the Cleveland Indians. Or just sit in quiet companionship while their mother did the dinner dishes and their father either read the paper at the kitchen table or was off at the firehouse.

Dusty reached those same steps and slowly sat down, considering the view he’d seen a thousand times. Majestic oaks were at the height of color, setting the street on fire with their oranges and yellows, their crisp smell drifting on the air, prompting him to take a deep breath. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly unique about the view itself. No. He presumed that he and his brother had chosen this spot as their own because it was neutral territory. Not his room. Not Erick’s room. Not their parents’ room.

Of course eventually the entire house ended up his. Yet sometimes it seemed as though this spot alone was truly his. His and Erick’s.

He looked down to find his hands clasped between his knees. If only he’d been able to save Erick, this spot would still be theirs.

“Are you going to marry her?” Erick’s voice seemed to drift to him on the cool autumn air, from some long-ago, forgotten time.

Up until that point, the “m” word hadn’t even entered Dusty’s mind. He and Erick had both been working at the station by that point. And with their staggered shifts, it was rare that they were both off at the same time. But they had been that day. Before their parents sold him the house and moved off to Arizona. Dusty had been dating Jolie for barely a year by then. Erick had been dating Darby. And his brother’s question had nearly knocked him over.

Dusty snapped upright, much as he had that day.

“No,” he’d said then, the idea so outrageous he couldn’t even imagine seriously considering it. Marriage was something people his parents’ age did, not him. He was a fireman. Still lived at home.

“I don’t know,” he’d said moments later, the concept beginning to take root as he thought about the girl next door with the brown curly hair and big blue eyes who had transformed into all woman seemingly overnight. He couldn’t even remember now why he hadn’t asked her out before he had. But he suspected his motivations hadn’t come totally from out of left field, and that Jolie had had a bit of a hand in his asking.

“Yes…I think I will.” His slow answer had come after Erick hadn’t responded, and then the concept had not only grown roots, the rightness had struck him, flowing through his veins as thickly as his own blood. Just as it had that day he’d met Jolie, when he’d picked her mail up from where she’d dropped it, her heather-blue eyes soft and sexy and all too inviting.

Dusty swallowed hard. He wondered what his brother would think of what was happening between him and Jolie now. He glanced toward that spot in the sky that Erick had always stared at, that unseen road that he wondered if he’d ever be able to view himself. A path Erick might be on even now.

Silently, he asked, “Erick, where are you? If ever I could have used your advice, it’s now.”