CHAPTER EIGHT
ROMAN WAS STALLING, and he wasn’t even going to pretend that he wasn’t. In part, he wanted to be in town near the school in case something went wrong and Tate called. The ranch was only a short drive away, but there was something comforting about being able to see the school building as he went from one errand to another.
First, to the bookstore, then the diner for some coffee to go, then the grocery store to pick up some of Tate’s favorite snacks. All of that had left his incision aching a bit. That’s why he’d decided to sit in his truck and watch for the other reason he was stalling.
Mila.
More specifically, Mila and Dylan.
Main Street really was the catbird seat, and Roman had caught the tail end of what appeared to be a conversation with Mila, Garrett and Dylan. Garrett had headed to his truck after that, and Mila had taken Dylan into the bookstore.
Taken.
As in she’d grabbed hold of Dylan’s arm and led him there.
Apparently, this was a change of venue for their date. Too bad his catbird seat didn’t allow him to see in the bookstore windows or have eavesdropping equipment. Plain and simple, he didn’t trust Dylan, and if Sophie was right and Mila truly was ready to jump into bed with someone—anyone—then Dylan would almost certainly be glad to accommodate her.
Why that riled Roman, he didn’t know, but he continued to watch. However, since he didn’t want anyone to think he was just watching, he called his office and put out some fires there. Rodeos went on all year, but the spring was an especially busy time. Roman could delegate some of the work, could do some from his laptop or phone, but there was no substitute for getting in a vendor’s face when there’d been a screw-up.
That was one of the advantages to being a badass. Vendors listened when he got in their faces.
The bookstore door opened, and he saw Dylan come out. Roman hadn’t timed it, but it seemed a tad short for a date. Even one where they were only supposed to have coffee. Maybe that meant Mila had called it off. Or Dylan could have done something to upset her.
In case it was the latter, Roman decided to walk past the store so he could look in on her. He wouldn’t go in again. Considering he’d only been in her store one other time, it would look suspicious if he made two visits in one day.
He got out of his truck, but before he even made it to the sidewalk, he saw Dr. Woodliff coming toward him. Since the doc was on his to-do list, Roman welcomed the chance meeting.
“I saw you sitting out there, watching the bookstore,” the doctor greeted him. “Thought I’d come out and say hello.”
So, not a chance meeting, after all. Roman frowned and would have to rethink his whole catbird seat theory. It was clearly too visible of a spot for spying.
“How’s your incision?” he asked Roman.
“Healing. How’s my son?” Roman hadn’t intended to be so blunt with that question, but Tate wasn’t giving him any hints about how the sessions had gone.
“Healing,” the doctor repeated.
Dr. Woodliff’s gaze drifted toward the school, and he got an aha look in his eyes. Roman didn’t figure the guy was a gossip, but now he might at least rethink Roman’s bookstore gawking. “I don’t think Tate will have any problems. The teachers are all good. Most of the kids, too.”
Most. But not all. If Tate ran into one of those not-good kids, then he could get bullied. Hell. The bullying could get pretty ugly if word spread about his suicide attempt. Roman reconsidered checking on Mila. Maybe he should go park outside the school instead. Perhaps even take a stroll through the building. Of course, if Tate saw him, he’d be mortified.
“Any luck reaching Tate’s mom for some family therapy sessions?” the doctor asked.
Roman had to shake his head. “But I have two private investigators working on it. Chief McKinnon, too. They’ll find her.”
Finding Valerie wasn’t the problem, though. It was whether or not she would come. And if she did, what she would say or do once she was here.
The doctor gave him a pat on the arm, said he would see him at their next appointment and walked off. Leaving Roman with a decision to make. Risking Tate’s wrath by looking in on him or risking Mila’s wrath by looking in on her.
Roman decided to do both.
Badasses didn’t mind a little wrath every now and then.
He started with Mila because she was closer and because she’d be opening the store soon. In fact, she was late doing that. It was already a quarter past ten, and she still had the closed sign in the window. That caused him to walk a little faster. Roman looked in the window, didn’t see her, so he tried the door.
Locked.
From the glass panels on the door, he had a perfect line of sight to her office. Not there, either. Maybe she was in the storage room. But then he looked down and spotted her.
On the floor, crying.
In that moment he wanted to track down Dylan and beat the crap out of him, and while he still might do that, Roman knocked on the door.
“Let me in,” he insisted.
Mila shook her head, turning her face from him, but it was too late. He’d already seen those tears and wanted to know what the hell Dylan had done to put them there.
He kept knocking, and Mila must have realized he wasn’t going away because she finally reached up and unlocked it. She also turned away again, but Roman just closed the door and stepped in front of her.
“What happened?” he snapped.
She didn’t jump to answer that. “Do you remember my father?”
In the grand scheme of things, Roman hadn’t expected that to be the topic of conversation. Probably because he was still in an ass-whipping mood and had a specific ass in mind to whip—Dylan’s.
“I do remember him, some. I was about seven or so when he died. He used to buy me a Coke whenever he’d see me at the grocery store.” No one else had done that, probably because of the Grangers’ money. Everyone else figured that Roman could afford his own Cokes. And he could have, but it was a nice gesture. “And he’d tell corny jokes.”
“Yes,” Mila agreed, her voice a whisper. “What do you call a sleepwalking nun?”
Roman remembered that one because it was one her father liked to repeat. “A Roaming Catholic.” He nearly smiled at the memory, but because of her tears, this was not a smiling kind of situation.
“I loved him,” Mila went on, “and when he didn’t come home that night, I thought I’d died, too. Nothing was the same after that. Nothing.”
Crap. This was probably the anniversary of his death or maybe his birthday. Though it wasn’t easy to do, Roman sat down on the floor next to her and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. If you want, I can go with you to the cemetery,” he offered. “Or I can sit with you. Just let me know what to do.”
She lifted her left hand then, and he saw the paper she was holding. Actually, she’d crushed it in her grip.
“It’s from my mother,” she said, handing it to him.
Roman still wasn’t piecing this together, but he soon did when he started reading the letter.
Dear Mila,
This is going to be a hard letter to read, so sit down. Take a drink if you have one nearby. When you’re done reading, just remember that I’m still your mother. I always will be, no matter how much you hate me for keeping this from you. I’m sorry for that.
Well, that sure as hell wasn’t a good start, especially since Vita didn’t seem to be the type to dole out apologies.
Frankie wasn’t your daddy. Yes, I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s the truth. I got pregnant with you and went to stay with my cousin in Houston so I could have family with me when you were born. That’s when I met Frankie. You were just a baby, and he loved you right from the start. We got married, and I came back to Wrangler’s Creek with both of you.
“I’m not who I thought I was,” Mila said. “I’m not Mila Banchini.”
“Yeah, you are. This doesn’t mean anything.” He hit the paper with the back of his hand. But it did mean something.
Mila’s life had just turned on a dime.
Something that Roman knew a little about.
“Read the rest,” she insisted.
Roman wasn’t sure he wanted to know what those last couple of sentences said, but he did it, anyway.
Your daddy, the one who put you in me, is from here in Wrangler’s Creek. Please don’t ask me who he is because it would mess up his life if he was to know about you. That’s why I never told you, Mila. He has a good life here and wouldn’t want folks to know about his goings-on with me. Forgive me if you can.
Love, Mother
Well, there it was. A bombshell on paper. Roman didn’t know exactly how he would feel if Belle sprang something like this on him. Considering his father had been an asshole, it might be a relief. But Mila had loved her father, and he’d been a good man.
“He’s here in town,” Mila went on. “And my mother won’t be back from this trip until the end of the summer. She doesn’t have a cell phone and didn’t give me a number for any of the relatives she’s visiting. I have to go all that time without knowing, and maybe I won’t know even then. She doesn’t plan on telling me.”
Not from the sound of it, but if he had Vita in front of him, he might be able to convince her to spill it. Then again, she might just give him chicken shit or put a curse on him.
“Why would Vita be telling me all of this now?” Mila blinked back tears. “And why do it in a letter? Why not just tell me in person?”
Roman could only guess at that. “Maybe she was scared. Maybe she didn’t want to see you upset when you learned the truth.”
Though it was cowardly of her to do it this way.
“And as for the timing,” he went on, “she could have read tea leaves or looked into a crystal ball that told her she should do this now.” That would have sounded like BS if it’d been anyone but Vita.
“Who do you think he is?” Mila asked.
Roman tried to go through the possibilities. The man would be in his fifties at least, maybe a lot older. And it would be someone who’d been here at least thirty-two years. Someone who still had a “life” here, which probably meant another family. He could think of at least a half dozen men who fit that, including the two ministers and Dr. Sanchez. Roman couldn’t see any of those men having an affair with Vita.
Actually, that applied to all men. Vita just didn’t seem the type of woman a man would risk knocking up. Though Roman was thankful someone had. Or else Mila wouldn’t be sitting next to him.
“I’ll put together a list of possibilities,” Mila said. “Later, though.”
Yeah, definitely later. Once she got past some of the hurt and feelings of betrayal over her mother lying to her.
There was a knock at the door, the sound echoing through the room. Neither Mila nor he answered. Didn’t move a muscle. They just sat there with her in his arms.
Ellie Stoddermeyer, the dispatcher who worked at the police station, pressed her pinched face against the glass, looking inside. Thank God she didn’t look down because she was one of the biggest gossips in town and would have told everyone about Roman and Mila being on the floor together.
After mumbling something about “some people being late,” Ellie walked away.
“I can put a sign on the door,” he offered since obviously the Closed one hadn’t stopped Ellie from knocking. Of course, it hadn’t stopped him, either. “Maybe a sign that says something about you being closed for inventory. And what about Janeen? Will she be coming in?”
“I texted her and told her to take the day off,” Mila explained. “And don’t put out a sign. If someone sees you doing that, they’ll think something’s going on between us.”
Something was. He was comforting an old friend, but Mila was right. She wasn’t going to want any new gossip, especially since it would almost certainly take her a while to wrap her mind around this.
“Do you have any booze in this place?” he asked. Because that was a good suggestion on Vita’s part.
“It’s still morning,” she said. Then shrugged. “I have some in my desk drawer.”
She got to her feet, lowering the blinds on the front windows and door. Of course, if anyone had seen Roman go in there, they would think Mila and he were about to have a round of sex only minutes after seeing Dylan, but Roman would just have to try to diffuse the gossip somehow. No way was he leaving Mila alone right now.
He got up, as well, not easily, and when Mila heard him grunting and struggling she came back to help him. That meant her looping her arm around him and pulling him close. It meant body-to-body contact, which was a dangerous thing right now with all the energy zinging in the room.
He followed her to her office but didn’t sit. He was afraid if he got in the chair, he might not be able to get out of it.
She sat, though, behind her desk and took out a bottle of Irish cream liqueur and a glass. “I can’t drink stuff that tastes like battery acid so this is all I have.” She used the glass for his drink, poured hers into a cup that still had coffee in it.
Roman didn’t normally drink anything other than whiskey or beer, but he’d make an exception in this case. Plus, it was a little like having a breakfast pastry.
“When I first saw you crying, I thought Dylan was responsible,” he admitted.
She nodded, gulped down what was in the cup and poured another one. This time, it was just the booze, not watered down by coffee. “I figured you had. But no, Dylan was fine. Polite, even.”
Roman frowned. For such mild words, he didn’t like that they tightened his stomach. But that could be the drink. “He didn’t try to work his magic on you?” He made sure magic had the same tone as toenail fungus.
“No. I’m still a virgin.” She made that sound a little like toenail fungus, too. “Yes, I know it’s archaic in this day and age. And yes, I do know I can have sex without it being a commitment.”
Roman mentally tested out a few ways to respond to that, and he decided silence was the way to go.
“Sometimes, I want that,” she continued. “Sex,” Mila corrected. “Not the commitment. Sometimes, I just don’t want to be me.” She paused. Laughed. But it wasn’t a funny ha-ha laugh. It was hollow and sad. “Turns out I’m not the person I thought I was, since I’m not Frankie Banchini’s daughter. So I guess I got what I wanted.”
He eased down on the desk, moved the bottle slightly out of her reach. If she was getting drunk, her eye-hand coordination might go first, and she might not be able to pour another drink. Roman knew from experience that a drink or two could help a rotten situation, but six or seven drinks just made you shit-faced and more susceptible to doing something stupid.
Since they were talking about sex and were alone in her office, it wasn’t a good idea to toy with doing anything stupid.
“You’re still you,” he repeated, but Roman doubted she heard him. Or if she did, it didn’t sink in. The pain and shock were too close to the surface now, but maybe she’d remember this later.
And believe it.
“Think of all the good things,” he went on. “You have your own business. Your own house. And, other than keeping a spare key in a potted plant, you make smart choices.”
Like not falling for Dylan.
But he didn’t mention that.
Instead, Roman tried again to help her put things in perspective. “Until you got that letter, you were happy. You’ll be happy again. You’ll see.”
She gave another of those laughs, and it sounded a little drunk. Or maybe that was a sugar high. “Right, happy.” More of that fungal tone. “Those fantasy dates you’ve been wondering about?” she went on. “I go on them because someone’s not trying to get in my pants. They haven’t made me happy in a while now.”
“Someone getting in your pants is the only way you’ll lose your virginity.”
He frowned again. Had he just said that? Yep, apparently he had. He was moving into the stupid zone. It didn’t help when Mila stood because with him sitting on her desk and looming over her—yes, he was looming now—it put them practically eye-to-eye.
Mouth-to-mouth, as well.
Then hand-to-hand when she slid hers over his.
She smelled like dessert, felt like silk and looked like Christmas. Not a good combination.
“I don’t want it to be a conquest.” No trace of that drunk laughter now. She wasn’t dodging his gaze, either. She was looking right at him. “Like—‘yay, I did it. I went where no man has gone before.’ Why are guys like that, anyway?”
“Not all are. Personally, I avoid virgins. Sorry,” he added.
He definitely didn’t say present company included. Because here he was. Not moving. And thinking about something he shouldn’t be thinking about.
Like the condom he carried in his wallet.
Or the hard-on he was getting.
If there was a highway to hell, then he was on it right now. Along with coming close to messing up things big-time with Mila. Like that letter she’d just gotten, a kiss would change everything.
Sex would change everything times a thousand.
“You know those cans people use for pranks?” he asked. “The ones with the fake snake inside that jump out when you open the lid?”
Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting him to say that. Roman saw the surprise in her eyes. He couldn’t miss it because she was still only a couple of inches away. He also didn’t miss the glance she made at his crotch. Maybe Mila thought he was talking about his hard-on jumping out at her.
“Well, it’s very difficult to put that snake back in once it’s out of the can,” Roman assured her.
When he’d first thought of the metaphor in his head, it’d made a lot more sense than it did when he said it aloud. And it hadn’t been sexual in his head, either. Of course, pretty much anything he said or did right now would have some sexual overtones to it.
“What if I don’t want to put it back?” she asked.
This was one of those defining moments in a man’s life. The badass in him wanted to answer that by showing her. But the other part of him that wasn’t badass knew this was a bad idea.
One that would feel very, very good, though.
Somehow, even with that understanding of all those verys, Roman had to decline.
He stood, risked brushing a kiss on her cheek and started toward the door. “I’ll call Sophie and have her come stay with you.”
“No, don’t. She’s in Austin this morning on business, and I don’t want her to have to drive back. Plus, I really do want to be alone right now. In fact, I’d prefer you not mention this to Sophie or anyone else. Not until I get a handle on it. Okay?”
Roman turned, studied her to make sure she wasn’t about to fall apart. Mila certainly looked stronger than she had a couple of seconds ago.
Hotter, too.
He groaned because he needed to get out of there fast.
She didn’t follow him. Good thing because it was hard to walk with an erection and with his side still literally in stitches.
“Will you ever change your mind about this?” she asked when he made it to the front door.
Absolutely. In fact, he might change it before he could even get outside. But that wasn’t what Mila needed to hear right now, whether she thought it was or not.
“I’ll get back to you on that,” he settled for saying, and Roman left before he let his hard-on do the talking for him.