Rekindled Dreams (13 page)

Vena’s glassy gaze focused on him, and her mouth broke into a silly grin. “Here issa man of the hour.” She flourished an arm toward him. “Finnian bwoke me outa my jail cell. I’m here t’night tanks t’ him.” She launched herself off the table and into his arms. “You my hewo, Finn.”

At the crush of her body against his, he staggered, and then caught her in a hug. Turned out the embrace was needed to keep her upright.
Double hell.
Shifting her weight, he tightened his hold around her waist and made her appear to be standing at his side.

The cacophony of voices stilled, and he took advantage of the silence. “We’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Thank you, ladies, for the wonderful food.” As he edged toward the door, his
made his gaze connect with each of the Gray Ladies. “Does everyone have a ride home?” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vena’s eyes blinking rapidly as she surveyed the room.

Gracious smile in place, he opened the front door wide and waited.

Whispering among themselves, the women stood and gathered their handbags and sweaters.

As soon as a nearby armchair emptied, he settled Vena into it and whispered in her ear, “Not another drop of lemonade. I mean it.” As the women filed out, he spoke a personal thank you to each one.

A clatter sounded from the kitchen.

After a quick look around, he called out, “Don’t worry about the dishes,
Tootie. I’ll get them in the morning.”

She poked her head through the swinging door. “Are you sure,
Finnian? There are more than I expected. Won’t take but a jiffy for Ruth and me to wash them.”

“No problem. That’s what dishwashers are for.”

Tootie walked into the room and picked up her purse from a stuffed wingchair. “Will she…” Her head nodded in the direction of the living room. “…will our Elfie be all right?”

“After a good night’s sleep.” He hated to be the bad guy, but needed to come to Vena’s defense. “You might have warned her about the extra ingredient in your lemonade. And she drank it on an empty stomach.”

“Sorry.” Tootie blushed. “The girls so enjoy my special lemonade at our gatherings, and I thought Elfie might be upset about being arrested. I only meant for her to relax a little bit.” She cast a pitying look toward Vena, sprawled across the armchair, arms draping over the armrests and her head lolling against the back cushion. She clucked her tongue. “I didn’t stop to think how the booze might affect her. Poor lamb. Or maybe it was the stress of being in jail.”

Finn bit back a smile. Probably, the ninety proof kick of
Tootie’s homemade concoction had done in Vena.

Ruth stepped through the kitchen door. “The dishwasher’s loaded. I’ll pick up the serving dishes tomorrow.” She stared at the chair where Vena reclined, then turned a commanding stare on Finn. “I’m still not happy with this living situation. Obviously, there’s nothing to worry about tonight. Never known
Tootie’s lemonade to affect anyone so fast. Get her to drink a glass of water before she goes to bed.” Her eyes narrowed, and she shook a finger. “And have aspirin ready when she wakes tomorrow. She’ll need it.”

Finn saluted, tamping down the feeling of being scolded. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for your help, Ms. Maguire.”

“No need to thank me.” Ruth straightened and adjusted her purse strap in the crook of her elbow. “You’re due our gratitude for bailing her out of jail. C’mon, Tootie. Let’s say goodnight.”

As they walked past him, a shiver of déjà vu floated over Finn. Had only two days passed since he’d watched these two gray-haired ladies depart from his porch?

A groan came from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to see a swaying, upright Vena bracing herself on the backs of two very flimsy folding chairs.

Squinting, she viewed the room. “Where’d
ever’one go?”

“Home. It’s late.”

“Pardy poopers.” With a shaky hand, she brushed at the hair on her forehead. “Surez hot in ‘ere.”

Finn shut the door and walked closer. The urge to protect her ran through him. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Then, I’m taking you upstairs and getting you into bed.”

As Vena sashayed toward him, her face broke into a goofy grin. “Really, Finn? Inna bed?”

Seeing her expression and watching the unsteadiness of her walk set off an alarm. He hadn’t dealt with many women who’d overindulged. Would Vena be silly and giggle, sad and tearful, or soft and sexy? Not knowing made his blood pump hard. He jammed his hands in his front pockets to disguise his arousal.

In an instant, she stood in front of him, smiling. Then, she ran her hands up his chest and around his neck, pressing her breasts against him. “Oh, Finn. You’re t’sweet.”

On reflex, his arms wrapped around her slight back, and he widened his stance to better nestle her close. She felt great in his arms and lust hit, lengthening his erection. His hands wandered the length of her back. Their bodies pressed tight, from chest to thigh and the top of her head tucked right under his chin. Aware of her unbalanced state, he resisted grinding his groin against her belly. Her fragrance, a mixture of flowers and lemon, drifted into an emptiness he hadn’t known he had.

Her finger ran a lazy swirling pattern over his chest, and she giggled. “Wha’ took you s’long?”

The fog in his brain cleared. “What do you mean, ‘so long’?”

“Wha’ made you ‘cide?” She leaned back and gazed from under droopy eyelids.

A coquettish move he remembered from their role playing. He groaned against the temptation she presented. At some point in tonight’s rescue, he’d realized his feelings had deepened to being more-than-just-friends.

But now was not the right time to explore the nuances—not when she’d been drinking. He reached behind his neck and tried to unlock her clasped fingers. “Vena, let go so I can get you that glass of water.”

“
Wha’ glassa water?” Her hold on his neck tightened. “Ya know, I dinna thank ya for the help wif Brady. You’re magnificen’.” She closed her eyes and stood on tiptoe to brush her lips against his.

He steeled himself to accept the innocent peck he expected, and then continue with his plan of tucking her into her own bed. At the first touch of her sweet lips, his resolve weakened. This Vena, maybe emboldened by the liquor, was sultry and exciting. Blood pounded in his ears, and he slid his hands the length of her arms to caress her shoulders.

With a throaty sigh, she pulled back and opened her eyes. “I always wonnered ‘bout tha’.”

Her hazel eyes contained a dreamy expression, dazed and unfocused. “You did?” Was his hesitation due to not understanding her words, or an unwillingness to accept their meaning?

She sighed and nestled her cheek against his chest. “Sucha good kisser.”

Without thinking past the physical sensation, Finn crooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face
upward. Her hesitant kiss had sparked a flame, and he needed to know if the fire was real. As he lowered his head, he saw her expression change from dreamy to surprised. He ran his thumb along her jaw, from her chin to just under her ear until his fingers slid around her neck and tangled in her soft hair.

His lips touched hers, testing and tasting, gentle at first then with more pressure. Her mouth tasted sweet and tart, residue of the citrusy potion that caused this condition. In an instant, his heartbeat pounded through his veins, pulsing desire into his gut. He reached his free hand around her back to draw her close, cupping her shapely ass.

He wanted to touch every inch he could. Part of him couldn’t believe this spark burned for a woman he’d known practically all his life—someone he’d always considered just his sister’s friend. Nothing could deny the tightening in the pit of his stomach and the fullness behind his jeans’ zipper. What surprised him most was a catch in his chest that flooded him with warmth. Something he’d never experienced with a woman.

Vena moved a little in the circle of his arms, and a small moan escaped her throat.

The hard tips of her breasts scraped his chest, and her sweet sound encouraged. He wanted to deepen the kiss, he needed to taste all of her, to feel her sweet tongue tangle with his. Slowly, his tongue slid along the seal of her lips, pressing for entrance. Ah, she was playing coy and making him wait. The anticipation built and heated his blood even more. His hips ground against her belly, sending jolts up and down his rigid shaft. When he felt Vena twitch in his arms, his fingers cupped the back of her head, holding her in place.

With a jerk, her head pushed hard against his grasp, and she turned her face to the side. “Sorry, Finn but...” Her breaths rasped, and her arms fell away from his neck. One arm went to her forehead, the other grabbed her stomach.

Something was wrong. He held her at arm’s length and stared. “Vena, what is it?”

“Oh, God.” Wide-eyed, s
he gasped. “I’m gonna be sick.”

WHAT WAS THAT HORRIBLE
taste? Vena dug her head deeper into the pillow. The dull ache at her temples increased to a steady pounding. A hangover. So, yesterday wasn’t a bad dream. She groaned, reviewing the murky events of the previous evening.

“Good, you’re awake.” Finn’s voice rumbled from the doorway.

“Go away.” Her tongue felt coated with fuzz, and her voice came out as scratchy as an old vinyl record. A vague memory flashed of being cradled in Finn’s strong arms and the blur of his features as his handsome face lowered to hers. God, had she really come on to him?

At the point their lips touched, the scene in her mind exploded into brilliant lights, bursting like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Even now, she felt the ringing in her ears and the tingles up and down her spine as her body responded to his fantastic kiss.

And then, she’d puked. Vena’s eyes popped open and sought out Finn.

He stood just inside her bedroom door, arms crossed over his muscular chest, watching her with a wry grin.

“Oh, Finn. I’m so sorry for last night.”

He shook his head. “No apologies. How are you feeling?”

“Horrible.” She covered her face with both hands. “I must look like death warmed over. Just throw a blanket over me and leave me here to die.”

The bed creaked as he sat at her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “So dramatic. Sure you weren’t in those high school plays?”

Here she had Finn, the man of her dreams, in her room, on her bed even, and she couldn’t drum up one single romantic feeling.

“Seriously, Vena, I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

The concern in his quiet voice tightened her chest. As she struggled to sit up, she felt twisted fabric pull at her hips and glanced at what she wore. A faded University of Chicago T-shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing a bra strap. She wiggled her hips enough to know she still wore her bikini panties. “Who undressed me last night?” At the thought of Finn’s hands brushing her body, her skin tingled and her nipples tightened. Instead of meeting his gaze, she studied the flower pattern of the bed quilt, fingers picking at the frayed yarn ties.

The possibility of
Tootie or Ruth staying late to clean up was non-existent. She distinctly remembered throwing herself at him when they were alone. His answer was so long in coming, she glanced up, and was surprised to see a flush covering his face.

“You were in no shape to clean yourself. I carried you upstairs and threw an old shirt of mine over your underthings. I didn’t want to go through your stuff in the dresser.” He straightened and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your clothes are soaking in the laundry tub downstairs. Does this happen every time you drink?”

“How was I supposed to know the lemonade was spiked?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and eased her back against the headboard, his mouth set in a straight line. “That’s my fault. If I’d stopped to think about who convened the group, I would have tasted it first.” He shook his head and chuckled. “
Tootie’s famous concoction.”

“Aunt
Tootie? I don’t believe you.”

He chuckled. “The Gray Ladies prefer to label
Tootie’s brew as just a ‘taste’ in their lemonade. But most people aren’t as affected as you were.”

“Well, I can’t help that. You knew I was upset and nervous, and I’d only eaten
Tootie’s sugar cookies since lunch…”

A frown tightened his expression. “But I saw you with a plate in your hand. Didn’t you eat when we got back?”

“A bite or two, but everyone wanted to hear my story. After getting interrupted so many times, I just set it aside.” She turned and leaned closer, shaking a finger in his direction. “You left me at the mercy of those ladies.”

“What do you mean?” His blue eyes widened. “At the start of your story, I hung around and listened and you weren’t
stut— uh, you didn’t sound nervous. I figured you were doing fine, so I went in search of a beer. You could have sent out a distress call.”

My hero—more concerned about his stomach than my peace of mind.
Remembering last night’s scene, she realized she hadn’t panicked when the ladies scooted closer and wanted to hear everything. She’d looked around at the curious faces—some she’d known all her life—and she’d answered each woman’s question individually, not thinking about the others who were listening.

Knowing Finn was nearby had helped. Although, what had she been thinking when she’d wrapped herself around him? What was his impression of her performance as a drunken hussy?

“Finn, I apologize for my actions. I’m sorry for…” Okay, honesty here. How could she be sorry about the kisses? “Actually, I’m not sorry.”

“Elfie, what are you saying?” His tone was husky.

Vena lifted her chin and gazed directly at him, held spellbound by his ice-blue eyes. Her heart beat faster, and she yearned to be swept away in the sensations of last night’s kiss. She wished for the comfort and closeness she’d felt tucked in his embrace.

But she couldn’t tell him that. From what he’d said earlier, she figured he still had feelings for
Elthia. That’s why he got confused over the costumes and acting in the school plays together.

“I’m apologizing for kissing you last night. I must not be doing a good job. The lemonade—”

A grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “The kiss was nice.”

“What?” Her throat went dry.

“I enjoyed the kiss, or kisses. Can’t say I’ve experienced a woman puking afterward.” He winked. “That part I could have done without.”

The bed creaked, and her weight shifted back to the middle as he rose and walked to the doorway. He squatted and reached for something in the hallway, and then turned, carrying a loaded breakfast tray. He set it across her legs. “No hair-of-the-dog drink, but I hope you can eat this.” The tray held a sunflower print tea cozy and a covered plate. A single daisy lay on a beige linen napkin.

With her fingertip, Vena stroked a snowy white petal and swallowed against the scratchiness at the back of her throat. He was being so sweet, and she’d acted perfectly awful last night.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She blinked hard and forced a smile.

His dark brows furrowed. “Did I forget something?”

“No, this looks great.”

With one hand, he removed the plate cover. “Here’s toast, no butter. Your stomach doesn’t need any grease.” Reaching for the teacup, he hesitated. “Do you take sugar in your tea? I could run down and get some.”

“No, I don’t need it. Thanks for all this.”

“Well, eat. Sorry, the toast is a little dark. I like it that way.”

“So do I,” she lied and nibbled at the edge of the burned toast, waiting to see how her stomach reacted to charcoal. The bite settled and, confident with that success, she sipped at the tea. Strong and slightly bitter. How many bags had he used? Pulling her grimace into a smile, she set down the cup and turned. “Everything’s great, Finn. Thanks again. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“You sure everything’s okay?” His intent gaze searched her face. “Your stomach feeling fine?”

“Oh, yes. This food hit the spot.”

“What about your head? Ms. Maguire insisted I offer you aspirin.”

“Now that you mention it, taking a couple would help.”

“Be right back.” He strode from the room and down the hall, whistling as he walked.

She heard him rummaging in the cupboard at the end of the hall. Quickly, she broke the second piece of toast in half and left it on the plate. She tucked the other piece under the quilt on the far side of the bed. Plugging her nose, she swallowed the tea in three gulps and grabbed the napkin to wipe the dribbles off her chin.

When Finn entered the room, he held one hand behind his back and the other outstretched with two white tablets. “Here’s the aspirin. I’ll pour you more tea.”

Vena suppressed a groan.
I should have anticipated that.

His glance took in the empty plate. “Nothing wrong with your appetite. Maybe you can handle this.”

His words struck an uneasy chord, and she stopped in the act of sipping. “Hando what?” An aspirin stuck to her tongue, the dissolving grains coating her teeth.

“I’ll wait until you’ve taken the medicine.” He shifted his weig
ht from one foot to the other. His right hand remained behind his back.

She swallowed the pills, almost gagging on the bitter combination of too-strong tea and dissolving aspirin. “I can handle what?”

“Sure you’re doing okay?”

Why was he stalling? “
Finnian, tell me.”

“Well, it’s more of a thing to show, than to tell.” He brought his hand from behind his back and extended a thin newspaper, folded in thirds.

“What’s this?”
What can the local newspaper have to do with me?

“Just look.” He shifted again, like a novice dancer counting out the beats.

“Stand still, you’re making me seasick.” She flipped over the paper and gasped. Centered on the front page was a photo of her. On a table with her fist in the air and her mouth wide open. Her hair was a mess, and her eyelids half covered her eyes—she seemed intoxicated. Peering closer, she recognized several of the ladies from the previous night.

“I don’t understand. When? How?” Her limp hands fell to the bed. “Who?”

“My guess is when I went to the kitchen for a beer.” Finn started pacing. “Ernestine Jacobs is a stringer for the
Mountain Gazette
. Her grandson Bruce runs the newspaper, and Ma said he lets her submit photos and articles. I figured it was just to keep her out of the office.”

“Finn, the point…”

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up. “Usually, she snaps pictures of the 4-H’s largest watermelon or Ruth’s prize roses. You know, harmless stuff. I honestly didn’t know she had her camera last night.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Sorry, Vena.”

Vena’s mind reeled. Her photo was on the front page. She’d brought even more attention to the fact she and Finn were staying at The Shamrocks, together. How would this look for his campaign? “This is horrible, Finn.” Her fingers tightened on the paper. “Ever since that first morning, I’ve given you nothing but trouble.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. Life has just been…busier than I’d expected.”

A bit of her anxiety melted. “How kind you are.”

“Well, are you going?”

And people thought she was hard to understand. “Going where?”

His pacing started again. “Read the caption.”

Dread grabbed her stomach, threatening to turn it inside out. The paper crackled as she lifted it close enough to focus.

Former hometown girl Vena Fenton (above) vows to “fight police brutality” following her release on bail. Arrested for disturbing the peace, resisting arrest, and assaulting a peace officer, Fenton called supporters to join her today at two o’clock at the police station.

Her shoulders shook, and the letters swam in and out of focus. How ludicrous. Nobody back in California would believe this.

Finn put his hand on her head and patted it. “Don’t cry again, Elfie.”

His pats jarred her headache, and she pulled to the side. “I’m not crying.” She threw back her head and let out a huge laugh. “This is a joke, right?”

“I don’t think so.” His mouth pressed into a straight line.

“Don’t you see how ridiculous this is?” She stared at his sober face, but his expression didn’t change. “Who could hold me accountable for what I did or said last night?”

“Be serious, Vena.” He moved his hand and stood facing her, hands on hips. “This is a small town where not much happens. Right now, people are reading that article and rearranging their schedules to be there at two o’clock. They’ll want to see what you’re going to do and say. After all, you are the weirdo from California who walks through town carrying cardboard dates, has conversations with herself, wears strange clothes, and tells little boys about trash cans that guard back gates.”

Her jaw dropped and she winced. “You heard about that?”

“Remember…small town. Everyone’s heard.” He threw his arms wide in a sweeping gesture. “This afternoon, you’re the headlining entertainment. What’s your plan?”

Her ears echoed with a buzzing and her brain went numb. “
Ohmigod, Finn, you have to hide me. Tell everyone I’m sick. Tell them I’ve left town.” She covered her face with her hands and scrunched down in the bed. “I can’t do this.”

His hand rested on her shoulder. “Where’s the Fenton spunk?”

“Gone…I used it all last night.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. Avoiding this situation won’t make it go away. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

He sounded tired, and her heart stretched out to him. She worried about the problems her presence had caused and hoped he hadn’t lost sleep over her antics. “Finn…your political backers—what will they say?” Although she hated the idea of him taking political office, she had no right to interfere. Once he proclaimed himself a candidate, he’d be on the other side of a wide chasm. And she would be left behind—mute about her yearnings for him, irrevocably separated by her fear of the spotlight. “Have you decided to join the senate race?”