Chapter Fifteen
Travis groaned happily as he took another forkful of the pasta primavera she’d whipped up, courtesy of Giada from the Food Network. He pointed to the dish and nodded in appreciation. His obvious delight in her cooking pleased her.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“This might be the best pasta dish I’ve ever had that doesn’t include meat,” he said.
Cara laughed. “Thank you for that caveat on your praise.”
He pretended to peer into the serving bowl on the table on her back porch. “Well, I hunted around and found no chicken.”
“Now I really can’t wait to feed you my famous risotto with snap peas or the fettuccine with figs and goat cheese,” she joked.
“Funny. I didn’t hear tri-tip steak in those dishes.”
“Nor will you.”
“You used to eat burgers, though? Didn’t you?”
“I did. But I’m not a huge meat eater now.” She took another bite of the pasta, followed by a sip of her chardonnay to chase it. Tonight was a great evening. Hot sex against the wall, a good meal under the setting sun and a warm breeze, and her dog lying peacefully in the grass several feet away from the table. Add in the fact that Henry was resting quietly, too, rather than begging for scraps, and she was sure this night might enter the record books as the most perfect evening ever for Cara Bailey.
“Why’s that?”
She gestured to the two dogs, who’d become buddies. Henry’s back legs were splayed out behind him, giving him a Super Dog look. “I work with animals for a living. I’d rather not rely on them for nutrition, too. Besides, I get everything I need from veggies and noodles and so on.”
He eyed her up and down, deliberately appraising her. “So that’s where your figure comes from. Body courtesy of carrots and broccoli.”
“And don’t forget the other benefit—more carrots means I don’t feel guilty about eating cookies. I can’t wait to dive into the batch you brought. I just hope they’re as good as the dog biscuits Henry gave me,” she said with a wink.
He held up a beer bottle to toast. “Here’s hoping I can keep pace with my dog.”
She finished another bite of the veggies then set down her fork. “Seriously though, Travis. I appreciate all of this—the cookies, the flowers, and fixing my car.” As she recounted the kind gestures, her heart beat a quick and happy rhythm that seemed to come out of nowhere. She nearly brought her hand to her chest to settle it down, because why on earth would it be all fluttery like that?
He gestured to the food on the table. “And I really appreciate the extra effort you’ve gone to with Henry, and with this amazing meal,” he said, keeping up with the compliments, too. “I’ve just now decided it’s as good as any pasta dish, even with meat.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just trying to ply me with praise to get in my pants again,” she said, because it was better to keep the focus on the out-of-this-world connection they shared between their bodies, rather than on the easy way they had of talking, of laughing, of leaning on each other. A wisp of worry crawled up her spine, reminding her to be careful, not to linger on those other things.
“Then let’s finish dinner, because once with you is never enough for me,” he said in a voice both sexy and tender. Her heart dared to soar, and she wanted to smack the damn thing with a fly swatter for reacting simply to his tone. These stupid feelings that had the audacity to surface needed to be quelled immediately.
She peered at the dogs, still lounging in the grass, choosing to focus on them. “Tell me, how did you pick the name Henry? It’s not a common name for a dog.”
There. Better. Dogs were neutral ground. Travis took a swallow of his beer and leaned back in his chair. “Henry,” he said, stroking his chin, his eyes getting a faraway look. “It’s kind of a funny story.”
“Tell me,” she said, clasping her hands under her chin.
“Henry was my firehouse mentor. He worked with my dad. He was basically my father’s closest friend in the battalion. Battled many a fire together. He was there the night my dad died,” Travis said, taking a deep breath as he spoke.
A lump rose in her throat. She scooted closer, resting a hand on his arm.
“Henry didn’t try to be a surrogate father or anything,” Travis continued, “which was probably good. Because I’m kind of stubborn, as you may have noticed,” he said, stopping to flash a quick smile.
She nodded and smiled, too, then let him continue.
“And I probably wouldn’t have taken well to that. But he looked out for me when my dad was gone. I was ten, and he made sure I didn’t lose my way after that, you know? I think all the guys knew that Megan and I were kind of these lone kids for a bit, and while I looked after her, Henry could sense that I needed someone when my mom was struggling. So he’d bring me by the firehouse, and he’d check in, and as I grew older, he was the one who taught me the basics of fighting fires.”
She squeezed his arm. “I love that you had someone there for you. Who could be that person you needed.”
Travis nodded and swallowed hard. Maybe he was holding back painful memories. It had to be painful, losing a parent. He was a tough guy, who didn’t show too many emotions, so even the barest sliver revealed tugged at her.
“I did need someone. Henry was definitely that guy. He meant a lot to me. He was the one who taught me how to play cards, too,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “He really did have a big impact on you.” She took a beat, then asked, “Is he still around?”
“He’s retired. Moved to San Diego. I hear from him now and then. He’s enjoying the sun and the surf and his woman. He and his wife have been married for forty years.”
“Same as my parents,” she said.
“What about you? Anything special to Violet’s name?” he said, tipping his chin to her black and white border collie. Violet’s head tilted to the side, and she raised an ear when she heard herself being discussed.
“You’re a good girl,” Cara said to her best friend. She turned her attention back to Travis. “I wish I had a great story like that. And truth be told, I once thought about naming her after my birth mom.”
“You did?”
“I was twelve when I thought that. That was when I had my”—she stopped to sketch air quotes—“birth mom phase.”
“What’s a birth mom phase?” he asked with a laugh.
“Oh, it’s just that time when I asked more questions and all. My parents were great. They answered everything they could, though their info was pretty limited. My birth mom was from Nevada, she was sixteen when she had me, and that’s all I knew. But I had this fantasy that I’d find out her name, and we’d have picnics and go shopping, and I’d name a dog after her at some point, since we always had dogs growing up.”
“Did you ever? Find out her name? Don’t tell me it was Violet because that would be too wild a coincidence for us to have both done something kind of similar,” he said, gesturing from her to him and then to their dogs.
She smiled and shook her head, a bit of a wistful sigh escaping her lips. “I just picked Violet because it’s my favorite color and it’s a pretty name. And as for the phase, well, like all good phases, I grew out of it.”
“Did you ever find your birth mom? Did you want to?”
She shook her head. “No. Even though it was a closed adoption, there are processes in place now and I could probably track her down, but I decided I didn’t have to. There’s nothing I really need to know. I’m just glad the fates aligned when I was born and my parents were the ones who got to have me,” she said, shooting him a smile.
“Me, too,” he said softly, and then took her hand off his arm and threaded his fingers through hers. Squeezing her gently. Tugging her close. If she thought her heart was dancing earlier, that was nothing compared to the way it swayed toward him as he said, “Because that means you wound up in my hometown.”
Oh dear lord. Her heart soared off like a kite.
Then he kissed her. It wasn’t the heated, crazed kiss in the doorway. It was sweeter, softer, gentler. It was an evening kiss as the sun dropped below the horizon, and it spoke of the two of them, and how they were coming together in more ways than she’d intended.
That was the big problem.
She was getting in over her head. Having a two-week tryst with Travis Jansen might not have been her brightest idea. As the night rolled on, and he helped clean the dishes, and kissed the back of her neck, and handed her a chocolate chip cookie that he’d baked for her, she knew her heart was far too involved. When the clock ran out in another week, she was sure to leave this fling with a big old wound in that organ in her chest.
Because it was so much more than a fling.
…
Maybe there was something in the water. He’d need to get a water testing kit. Conduct an inspection. See if there were chemicals that were making his brain play tricks on him.
Because as Travis drove home, he could distinctly recall having instructed his brain to focus solely on the sex. And the sex had been spectacular, so he’d really like some answers as to where the hell his damn heart had hid his calm, cool, rational mind for the evening. He’d like to know why the hell he’d shared that stuff with her about Henry. He had some questions for himself, too, as to why he’d acted all domestic, not to mention intimate in a way that went well beyond the physical, and why on earth he’d let those words about how glad he was that she lived here tumble free.
But the reality was this—he was glad she was here. She made him happy.
That was the big problem.
He had no idea what to do with a woman who made him feel…something.
Not a single fucking clue.
He turned into his driveway and slammed his car into park. He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and blew out a long, frustrated sigh.
Something wet was on his face. Something slobbery and long. Travis looked up to find Henry licking his cheek. He laughed and pulled the little guy in for a quick hug.
“Let’s take you for a walk. Clear our heads,” Travis said, and the two of them hopped out of the car. Henry was already leashed up, so they headed down his street, their path illuminated by streetlamps that glowed faintly, casting sickles of pale yellow light on the sidewalk. Every crunch of his boots on the sidewalk echoed; every click of Henry’s nails sounded. They were man and dog alone in the inky black night, blanketed by the quiet of their small town—the very town he’d said he was so damn glad Cara had arrived in many years ago. He shook his head. What had gotten into him?
Henry stopped to sniff some flowers edging a neighbor’s lawn, and Travis quickly tugged his leash so the dog wouldn’t be tempted to water them. Instead, Henry found a fire hydrant around the corner where he left his mark.
They walked on through the night, block after block, quiet sleepy section of town through quiet sleepy section of town, until they’d wandered smack-dab into the town square. Travis scratched his head and uttered a huh.
He hadn’t planned on coming here, but somehow this was where his feet had taken him—to his friend who’d been a lot like him. The Panting Dog was closed for the night, but when Travis peered inside, he spotted Becker behind the bar, cleaning up. Megan must be feeling better, and that thought brought a smile to his face. Henry parked himself in a sit and whimpered loudly. Travis imagined the dog was asking, What are we doing?
“That’s a good question, buddy. What are we doing?”
Travis didn’t have any answers, so he rapped on the glass.
Becker looked up, nodded, and came out from behind the bar to unlock the door.
“How’s Megan?”
“She’s better. Sound asleep now, so I came back to finish up some work. You need a beer? Cause you look like you need a beer.”
A smile flickered briefly on his face. “Is it that obvious?”
Becker clapped him on the back. “It’s nearly one in the morning, and you don’t live that close to my bar. It is that obvious. Just don’t tell the health inspector I let a dog in,” Becker said as he locked the door behind them.
“Henry keeps all my secrets,” Travis said as he pulled up a stool and sat down, the dog sitting at his feet.
Becker poured a beer from the tap and slid it across the counter. Travis knocked back a long swallow, savoring the taste. The two men didn’t say much, but there wasn’t much to say. Travis was living in a foreign land, with his two feet in the middle of a swamp of uncertainty.
“So,” Becker began, taking his time with his words, it seemed. “How was your night with Cara?”
There was no ribbing in his tone this time. The man wasn’t giving him a hard time like he’d done at his house earlier that evening. This question was as straightforward as they came.
“It was good,” Travis answered, because that was the full truth. His time with Cara was incredibly good.
“And is it good or bad that your night was so good?” Becker asked, as he wiped a rag across the counter.
Travis took another drink, enjoying the fizz of the pale ale. “That, my friend, is the question.”
His buddy shot him a small smile. “I take it the answer is hard to come by?”
“It is.”
Becker tucked the rag under the sink then rested his palms on the counter. “You’ll figure it out soon enough, and when you do, I trust it’ll be worth it.”
Worth it.
But what was so worthwhile about feeling this way? About operating without any compass to rely on? He wasn’t so sure if he even wanted to dig more to find out. The kind of excavation required was too daunting.
He set down the glass, trying to center himself, to find some roots back to the things he knew—the cards, the firehouse, his friendships.
“Want to play a round of poker?” he asked. Because cards always made sense, even when everything else blinked in and out of focus.
Becker shook his head. “Can’t. After I close up, I need to get home to Megan. Another time.”
Another time.
The way things were changing around him, “other times” were becoming fewer and farther between.