Chapter Twenty
Friday, April 14 seven-thirty p.m.
Peach planted her shoulder in the middle of Tom’s back and pushed. Getting the man out of his laboratory was like getting a cop out of a donut shop. Getting a kid out of a candy store. Getting blood out of, well, anything. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I’m not. I’m working. I just got the acetylene torch in. I need to run some experiments.” He spun to the right, but she cut him off. “Why won’t you let me be?” The question had the bite of vinegar.
“You can play with your toys tomorrow. They sent me to get you. I’m beginning to think I was set up. First this morning and now this. Are you always as asshole when you work? You figured it out. Now relax a little.”
“It’s not enough. I have to know exactly how he brought the crane down. Will you stop pushing me!”
“OCD much?” She stopped pushing but closed the door to his office and stood firmly in front of it. Sure, he had her in terms of pounds, but she had training and experience. She’d make sure he wasn’t going to hide for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, her superpowers didn’t extend to him not being a jerk. “Out the door, mister. There’s a party waiting for you whether you like it or not.”
She could see his brain working. He telegraphed his thoughts. Upstairs? Out the door? Getting past her?
“Don’t waste your time. Come on.” She opened the door to the courtyard and held it, certain she could chase him down if he decided to bolt. Actually, she kinda hoped he did. Another wrestling match with him sounded just fine. She stretched her arms, her back. It paid to stretch before physical exertion.
“Fine. If you all are going to gang up on me, I guess I have no choice. For an hour. That’s it.” He waved a finger in her face as he drew the line in the sand.
It was another beautiful night. Even with the lights from the house, a million stars could be seen beyond. She stopped. “Do you see your favorites tonight?”
He stood beside her and let out a long sigh. “Yes. There she is.” He pointed over her shoulder, giving her an excuse to turn into him.
“What’s she up to tonight?”
“I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me her secrets.”
She looked at his face, so serious, so handsome, so…unhappy. “She’d probably make a trade. Her secrets for yours.”
“I don’t—”
“Everyone does.” Sensing he wasn’t ready, she changed the subject by looking to the dark windows above them. She wrinkled her nose. “I really liked that room.”
He let out the breath he held and tried. “I thought you like mine better, right?”
She wanted to see him smile. “The amenities are nice but small.”
“Nice? Small?” He pulled her close and tickled her. She fought but not too hard. When he was laughing with her, she made her escape. Breathless, she bounded across the courtyard, in through the door, and landed in a sea of men.
Three men lounging near the bar came to attention at her entrance. Butch worked the bar, filling glasses with beer and liquor. Jeb bent over the card table, setting it with chips and drink coasters. Her face heated, remembering how the felt brushed her skin as Tom laid her on it.
“Peach,” Jeb said. “This fine gentleman is Doc.”
An old man with a full head of white hair and whiskers that would give Santa Claus a run for his money came across the room. He moved easily, a bounce in every step and a smile that was an invitation to relax. “That’s an insult, Jebediah, callin’ me a gentleman. Please to meet you, ma’am.”
She leaned in to shake his hand. “Nice to meet—Aaugh!”
“Gotcha.” Tom laughed as he pulled Peach’s back against his front. Her heart pounded a hundred miles an hour as he tucked her into his side.
“Hey, boys, Doc,” Carolina said joyfully as she entered the room, her hands filled with a tray of snacks. “This is my brother Nate.”
“We met at the wedding,” Doc said. “At the bar.”
“I remember,” Nate said. “Good to see ya again.”
Poppy came into the room, dressed for a night of entertainment. His pants and shirt were his favorites, brought from his home, but the jacket was new. She had never seen him in tweed.
“Poppy, this is Doc. This is my grandfather, Pedro Morales.”
More pleasantries were exchanged and more beer opened. “Good thing we ain’t playin’ at your house, Doc,” Butch said. “No way we’d fit around that table of yours.”
“I owe you one. Calling like you did. Those old ladies are enough to drive a good man bad,” Doc said.
“Oh, Doc,” Carolina chided. “I’m sure they aren’t that bad.”
“The hell they aren’t.” Doc shuffled the deck of cards. “Every single one of them tries to corner me to get free advice on spots and growths and aches and pains. I retired to get away from all of that. Now it comes to my house.”
“You should be grateful any woman wants to talk to an old goat like you. Now stop your bellyaching and deal the cards.” Jeb tossed his ante into the center.
“Carolina, aren’t you playing tonight?” Doc asked.
“My money’s playing. I staked the best player at the table.”
“Thank you,” Jeb and Nate in unison and then glared at each other.
Peach chuckled at the fun. She remembered this from her earliest days at the poker table. She had loved the rhythm and fun of the banter long before she was old enough to understand it. “She’s talking about me, geniuses.”
Both men looked up at Carolina, a little confused and a little hurt.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s business.” Carolina pulled a bar stool to the corner behind Jeb, then pulled another one over for Poppy.
Peach played the first hands slow, feeling out the competition as the banter and chatter kept the play lively. She started with the people she knew.
Katie played her own cards smartly but didn’t bother to try to play her opponents. Peach thought back to when she first met her. She didn’t waste energy on what others were doing. Even when she should.
Jeb played from a position of strength and decisiveness. He did a good job intimidating the others into playing by his rules. He tended to play by gut, not by odds.
Butch was the wild card among them. He didn’t seem to play by any rules, but he was lucky as a four-leaf clover. She saw him take two pots, flipping three of a kind on the river card.
Nate played the odds straight up. He bet big when he had big cards, little when he had little cards.
Doc took his time making decisions. He had the best poker face, playing all hands at the same speed, with the same interest.
Tom was the closest thing to the total package. He knew the odds and how to play them, and he knew the tells of the others. He was aggressive but not stupid. And he gave away nothing.
It cost Peach half of the money Carolina staked her to scout the competition. “I’m out this hand,” she said. “Anyone want a beer?”
Carolina joined her behind the bar. “This is fun.”
“You aren’t worried you made a bad investment?”
“Because you’re down a few bucks? Please. Plus I have an extra fifty in my bra if you need it.” Carolina winked and took two of the bottles back to the table.
Peach opened a cold beer and tipped it back. She licked her lips and smiled. It was time to get to work.
Doc stood as he threw down his last hand. “You brought in a wringer,” he said to Jeb.
“I’m down to my last twenty,” Jeb said. “It’s Tom’s fault. He’s the one who wanted to play.” It wasn’t ten o’clock, and half the table was done. Butch sat on the couch, flipping through channels. Katie lay next to him, her head on his lap. Nate played video games with Poppy, who was damn good at Deer Hunter for a blind man.
Peach shuffled the cards. “Play now. Whine later.”
Jeb tossed his ante in when the front door bell rang. “Who the hell can that be? And how did they get through the gate?”
“The gate was open when I pulled in,” Doc said.
“Butch,” Jeb growled.
“We were having company. It would have been rude to keep the gate closed.” Butch lifted Katie’s head gently and got to his feet. “I’ll see who it is.”
“Who’s in?” Peach said, waiting for the chips to come in.
Tom cocked his head, sizing her up. “Something tells me your luck’s about to change.” He tossed the chips her way.
“When you’re as good as I am, all you need is…Anderson.”
Anderson Bingham shoved past Butch and pulled Peach out of her chair. “Look at you. More beautiful than I remembered.” His cashmere-coated arms held her tight against his body.
“Anderson?” she repeated. “You’re here?”
“Finally.” Anderson took a small step back and bent so that his hazel eyes were level with hers. He smiled a little, just a curl on the one side of his mouth, and drew his fingers down the length of her hair. “It wasn’t easy to find you. But I did it.” There was satisfaction in his voice, the thrill and pride of accomplishing something even he didn’t believe he could. Anderson looked around, suddenly aware of the collection of shocked faces surrounding them. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Privately?”
She nodded without talking, without blinking. Her universe was imploding. The house suddenly didn’t have enough air to breathe, didn’t have enough space to move. She needed the open. She walked in a daze to the front porch, not looking back. Two rockers were angled toward each other at one end of the porch, and she managed to get to one before her legs gave out. She looked up and, yep, he was really there. The man of her nightmares…and fantasies. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Anderson dropped into the empty chair and took her hands in his. “I needed to talk to you. I’ve needed to talk to you for months.”
She shook her head. “We said everything we needed to say—”
“You did. I didn’t. You need to hear me out.”
She shook her head again in denial that this was happening. So many times since that night, she had fantasized about Anderson realizing he was a complete douche and begging for her forgiveness. In those dreams, she made him suffer and sweat, but she always, always took him back.
It was Anderson’s turn to shake his head. “This is about you and me. You were right about me being my mother’s pet and not having the guts to stand up to her. It was never about you, though. What happened was about me and my character. It took a pretty hard knock for me to see the truth.”
She stood, breaking the contact with him. Every neuron in her body was firing, every nerve ending pulsing. Her flight-or-fight instinct was kicking in. She had run from him once. It looked like this time she was going to fight. She stilled her hands and lifted her chin. “You’ve come all this way to apologize. I won’t lie and say I’m not surprised. I didn’t think that I mattered enough to you.”
Anderson stepped close enough that she felt the heat of his body. The smile on his face was gentle, as was his touch when he ran his fingers down her cheek. “You matter. You are the only one that matters. I hate that it took a kick in the teeth—you leaving—to get me to see that.”
She clenched her jaw, ordered the heart beating out of control to remember what he did, how he made her feel. “I left three weeks ago.”
Anderson lifted her hand and kissed the white-clenched knuckles. “I didn’t know. I thought you were still at the apartment, working freelance. You didn’t have to quit, you know.”
She snapped her hand back. “Of course I had to quit. Sometimes, you don’t live in the real world.” She let out a deep sigh and then shook her head. “I don’t want to fight. I really don’t.”
Anderson’s face lit up. “Good. Because neither do I.”
“Then I guess you can go.”
“I came here to do something, and I’m not leaving until it’s done.” Anderson dropped to his knee. “Esmeralda Morales. I always knew that you were an intelligent, strong woman with an incredible body. I thought there was only sex between us, but when you left, I realized that you are the color in my world. Save me from a beige life. Be my wife?”
From that cashmere pocket came a ring that put the moon to shame. It was four carats in a modern setting of sleek platinum that was radiant in the artificial porch light. Anderson took her hand and slid the ring into place.
“A perfect fit,” he said in a whisper.
She stopped breathing. As soon as he had dropped to his knee, her lungs stopped working, her heart seized up, and her brain took a hiatus. “This is…”
“Amazing. I know.” Anderson stood and brushed her hair off her face. “You are going to make a beautiful bride.”
Something with sense kicked in, and she started back pedaling. Anderson was quickly on his feet, taking hold of her arms to keep her in place. He bent his head and kissed her soft lips.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t right, Anderson,” she said, looking at the stone on her finger.
“Of course it is.” When Peach shook her head, Anderson wrapped an arm around her back, pulled her to him, and kissed her long and hard. It was a kiss to remind her of everything they had together. Of what marrying him would bring—money, prestige, travel and, of course, sex.
She had once thought she wanted that, but now…now was different. Now she wanted to sip hot chocolate and count the stars, to laugh through dinner, to have make-up sex on the poker table. The window at the other end of the porch was filled with faces, beautiful, nosey faces, but none of them were Tom’s. She wanted to talk to him. To find out if he wanted her the way she wanted him. “This is too fast,” she said, pulling the ring from her finger. “I’m not the same person I was four months ago.”
“And I’m not the same man. Whoever we are now, we still work.” Anderson pulled her against his body and kissed her again. “I have a room in Nashville. Come with me, and we’ll talk.”
“Alone. I need to be alone.”
Anderson tipped her chin until she was looking at him. He brushed her lips with his and then invaded her mouth. Claiming her. “I’ll be back. Tomorrow.” Then he took the ring, slid it back on her finger and kissed it before walking into the night.
Friday, April 14 ten-thirty p.m.
Tom stood behind the bar, looking out the small window, down the length of the porch to where Peach sat with the intruder. She looked at him like a love-starved puppy. Her eyes were too big. He blindly grabbed a bottle out of the rack with one hand and a heavy rocks glass with the other. He unscrewed the top, poured, and swallowed. The scotch hit his stomach hard, matching the blow the rest of his body was getting. His breath caught when she popped to her feet, walking away from the bastard, shaking her head. “That’s right, honey. You tell him to hit the road.” He threw back another two fingers.
A low growl filled the air when the bastard put hands on Peach. He looked around for Taylor, but the dog was cleaning up crumbs under the poker table. It was him; he was the animal growling. He poured and drained another.
Then the bastard dropped to one knee.
“Son of a bitch!” He spun and sent the glass flying into the brick of the fireplace. The crystal exploded and rained down like diamonds onto the carpet. He took the bottle and stalked out of the room, determined to find someplace on these goddamn three hundred acres he could be alone. From behind him, his name was called. He answered with his middle finger.
Katie’s voice came next. Her jarring words told him she was trying to follow him. He stopped at the garage because, empty as he was, he remembered he loved her. “Go back in the house.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to be alone.”
“You need to talk to Peach.”
“Goddamn it! What is with you people and talking?” He turned in a slow circle, hands to his head, scotch down his neck. He ripped the bottle away and put where it could do some good. He swallowed hard, feeling the burn. Embracing it. “Go back to Butch,” he said, his voice low, calm. “Let him take care of you and the baby.”
In the barn, he found what he was looking for. Nothing and nobody. He squinted, trying to see something in the pitch dark. A small light glowed on the workbench, acted as a beacon. Soon he had the light of a battery-operated lantern to see by. The floor ahead of him illuminated as he made his way to the back and onto the stacked bales of hay. He suckled from the bottle, waiting for the spirits to carry him away.
“I never was a fan of scotch.” The woman’s voice was as smooth as the nectar in the bottle.
He should have known she would come. She made an appearance at every worst moment in his life. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She leaned against the straw, a gorgeous blonde in a short red dress. Amber eyes bathed in black eye shadow looked directly into his soul. “I’m here for you,” she said. “I’m always here for you.”
“I don’t need you, Stella.” He snarled, showing the white of his teeth, and pushed her away. Her kind of evil touched but couldn’t be touched. His hand passed through her, leaving him scrambling for balance.
“Of course you do, baby. You always have.” She uncrossed and re-crossed the bare legs that were finished in blood-red stilettos.
“What do you want?” She always wanted the same thing. A pound of his flesh.
“You know what I am.” Her voice was husky and called to his sluggish body.
“My worse nightmare.”
Her blood-red lips curved up. “In the flesh, so to speak. I’m the one woman who resisted the charms of Thomas Riley.” She rolled her chin toward the window to the porch. “Well, the first woman. That still makes me your favorite nightmare.”
“I hate you,” Tom said without bite.
“Oh, baby,” she pouted. “Don’t be like that. You know I didn’t mean to grind your heart into sausage. We were just having fun. I had no idea you were a virgin—”
“I wasn’t a virgin,” he snapped.
She shrugged. “Maybe not physically but emotionally. After all this time, you can’t be mad at me.” She began gesturing grandly. “I made you into what you are today. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be a potbellied, brow-beaten, pussy-whipped bastard with two point four kids and a mortgage you couldn’t afford. Bye-bye, PhD. Bye-bye, Riley Engineers and Architects. Bye-bye, sex life.”
“Riley Architects and Engineers. Get it right.” He sucked down the last inch of scotch.
“Whatever.” Abruptly, her tone changed. Her face went tight. “I was worried about you. This one nearly caught you with your pants down.” She looked at the bottle. “You need a fresh one. Then we’ll make sense of everything.”
Peach stayed on the porch after Anderson left, the gate closing behind him. The ring in her pocket weighed heavily on her. She’d tried to give it back, but Anderson was so damn sure that with a little time, she’d get over being mad at him. She snorted, as if that would ever happen—except she wasn’t mad. He had given her a gift, something more precious than diamonds. He gave her back her confidence to love.
She replayed that moment and didn’t cringe at the cutting words. Instead, she cheered herself on, wishing she hadn’t shown restraint and just thrown the wine. She had fit herself into a mold that wasn’t made for her. Of course, it hadn’t worked. She’d been lucky she found out before the “I dos.” If Anderson had asked her four months ago, she would have said yes, signing up for a lifetime of conforming. At least up until the divorce.
Her thoughts of Anderson softened. He had found her just to get her back. It was the stuff of romances…just not hers. She hoped he found the right woman and that he found love.
The way she did.
Her stomach cartwheeled at the thought. The excuses to be together were gone. Decision time: make the commitment or break up. She was going to throw herself on the sword and tell Tom that she loved him. It didn’t matter that they had only known each other a short time.
She. Loved. Him.
She had no idea what his response would be. That scared her when little else did. There were moments in the last few days where she thought she saw something more in his gaze. The last time they made love, only hours ago, they had made love. She couldn’t have imagined it. But then other moments, he was so distant. There was only one way to know what was going on in his brilliant head.
She ran back into the playroom before her nerves won out. Only Butch was there, cleaning up. “Where’s Tom?” He stood slowly, sizing her up. A sloth couldn’t move any slower. “Seriously, Butch. Where is Tom?”
“You gonna marry him?” He rolled up the open bags of chips.
“Yeah, if he’s willing.” Her mouth got ahead of her brain, but now that she said it, she knew it was right.
“Surprised you didn’t leave with him.” He raked in the scattered poker chips. “Came all this way just to sweep you off your feet.”
Now the sloth was talking jibberish. “Why would I leave with Anderson when I love Tom?”
Butch froze, then slowly turned, a cheesy grin on his face. “You love Tom?”
She waved her hand in front of his face. “How much have you had to drink? You just asked me if I was gonna marry him.”
“You’re gonna marry Tom?” He got a goofy smile on his face. “Does he know that?”
She took the poker chips and slapped them into their box. “Butch, I think your brain stopped working. Tell your wife you love her and go to bed. First, do you know where Tom is?” She enunciated the last words distinctly.
The door to the courtyard opened, and Tom staggered in. Straw in his hair, shirt half tucked him, he was the most beautiful mess she’d ever seen. Butch left them, closing the door behind him.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped toward him. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Well, looked what the cat dragged in,” Stella said in Tom’s ear. “The slut finished off her first guy, and she’s coming around for seconds. You’re not going to let her play us this way, are you?”
He pushed her away, but she didn’t move. Damn illusions. He looked at Peach, another damn illusion. She’d left with her fucking fiancé. Whiskey. That’s what he needed.
Peach stood next to the poker table, as beautiful as any nightmare could be. “You’ve been drinking. A lot.”
He slammed the bottle down, but the table disappeared, and the bottle hit his foot. It hurt from a mile away. Peach’s form elongated, twisted, and then reformed. A tear fell as he squinted at the face of a …“Ssslut.”
“You tell her,” Stella said, propping Tom up from behind. “This gravy train is over.”
“Over!” He swayed on his feet, running into the table that reappeared. “Get off my train. Get out of my house.”
Peach held out a hand as big as a frying pan. “We need to talk.”
He squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears.
One of his hands was pulled away. “I love you.”
Stella whispered in his ear. “She’s lying. Why would she ever love you? She has the tall, rich bastard. She just used you to fill the time.”
“Liar! You used me,” he screamed.
“I didn’t,” she shouted back.
“I was never anything but a tool to get him to marry you,” he said with lips that wouldn’t cooperate. “And you were nothing to me but a good fucking screw.”
Peach shoved past him, putting her shoulder to his body. The world tipped, he landed on the poker table, then even that abandoned him, and he dropped to the floor. He landed in a knot; his arms were going north and south, his legs east and west. His head was under a table and, when his eyes focused, she was gone.
Stella crawled over him, her long hair brushing his chest. “That’s the way to take charge. I’m proud of you, baby.”
“Why can’t you go away, too?”
Her shellacked lips pouted. “Then where would you be? Let’s get you up to bed.”