“Where’s the confessional?” she asked. “And shouldn’t there be more candles?”
“Unh-uh.” Trey shook his head. “That’s a Catholic thing. Same goes for holy water.”
“Oh.” Now she felt stupid for asking.
“But you can confess to me,” Trey said with a light nudge. “Ready to tell me why you wanted to come in here so badly?”
Bobbi reached forward and plucked a hymnal from the shelf attached to the back of the next pew. Absently, she flipped through, pretending to scan the song selection.
“C’mon,” he encouraged.
She had to consider his request awhile, because honestly, she didn’t know the answer. Maybe it had something to do with her dysfunctional home, gazing out the window at other kids dressed in their Sunday best—even if it was only jeans and a faded polo shirt—while she sat alone in front of the television with nothing but a box of Cheerios to keep her company. Or maybe she’d reached a point in her life where she’d started to question her beliefs. Didn’t that happen to everyone in their twenties?
“Okay,” she decided. “But you confess to me first. What’s going on with your parents?”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“Whatever.” She smoothed one finger over the hymnal’s gold embossing. “You open up easier than a flower at sunrise.”
“Not for everyone.” He took the volume from her hand and set it beside him. “I haven’t even told Luke about this.”
Shifting on the bench, she met his gaze. “Why not?”
“My mom’s always hated Luke, and she’s made no secret about it. She blames him for the discharge.” He shrugged. “So it’s not like he’s gonna care that my dad’s putting her through the wringer.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. If he’s a good friend, he’ll care about her for your sake.” Of course, she didn’t know her own brother well enough to judge his capacity as a friend, which didn’t say much about her capacity as a sister. “What’s your dad doing?”
“The short answer? Dumping my mom after she stayed with his cheating ass for thirty years.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re not kiddin’. He’d always messed around—I overheard one of their fights when I was in junior high—but just a bunch of flings when he was stationed away from home. Never a long-term mistress or anything like that. Till now.”
“Let me guess—he’s replacing your mom with a newer model?” Bobbi remembered a conversation she’d had with Trey a couple of weeks ago, when he’d said all his girlfriends had cheated. Add his father’s infidelity to the mix, and it was no wonder he believed monogamy was unnatural.
“Yeah, he wants to marry some thirty-year-old he met last winter. But my mom won’t let him go. She’s dragging out the divorce, probably hoping he’ll change his mind before it’s final. I keep trying to convince her to start fresh, but she won’t listen, just keeps calling every single morning to bitch about what an asshole my dad is. As if I don’t already know.”
“She shouldn’t be putting you in the middle.”
“Yeah, but she’s too embarrassed to talk about this stuff with her friends, so if it makes her feel better to dump it on me, I can take it…most days.” He flashed half a grin. “Lately, I’ve been letting her vent on my answering machine.”
Bobbi broke her own rule, reaching up to pat Trey’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He trapped her hand with his own, then brought it to rest against his muscular thigh while he toyed with her fingers. “It’s for the best, even if Mom can’t see that right now. Life’s too short to waste one minute on a bastard like the Colonel.” He pulled a deep breath through his nose and exhaled in a huff. “But enough of my dirty laundry. It’s your turn.”
“Already?”
“Spill the deets, Bo Peep.”
Leaning back against the solid wood, Bobbi relaxed her fingers and didn’t object when Trey laced his in-between. His grasp was too warm and comforting to resist, and besides, it didn’t get much more chaste than hand-holding inside a church sanctuary. She was totally safe…as safe as any woman could be in Trey’s hypnotic presence.
So, why
had
she insisted on exploring the church? “Curiosity aside, I think it had something to do with this little girl who lived in my old apartment building. Her name was Nina.”
“A kid?” Trey asked, not following her logic. “Did she try to convert you, or something?”
“No. Just listen.”
“Sorry.” He nodded for her to continue.
“I’d knock on her door all the time to ask if she could come over, but her mom always had some excuse to say no, and she never invited me in.” Looking back, Bobbi couldn’t blame Nina’s mother. What kind of parent let her kids roam the halls of a slum or hang out in a druggie’s apartment? “Anyway, it was just Nina and her mom—her dad wasn’t in the picture—but every Sunday, her grandpa picked them up in his blue minivan, and they’d all go to church together. They were broke, everyone in that complex was, but they still looked nice in their Sunday clothes. Nina had these glossy, white gloves and a tiny Bible the size of half a sandwich. She’d hold her mom’s hand, and they always looked so happy together.”
“Unlike you and your mother.”
“Exactly. So I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I associated church with happy families, and I wanted to see what I’d been missing.” Bobbi’s chest felt heavy, and she released a breath. “You know, Nina’s mom never let us play together, not even one time.”
“Well, that wasn’t very Christian of her.” Trey wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, placing a kiss atop her head. She pressed her cheek to the side of his stone chest and gave herself permission to savor the hug, just for a moment. Closing her eyes, she squeezed their linked fingers together and inhaled him—warm and woodsy and masculine. His body shook with stifled laughter, his voice husky. “I’ll play with you any time you want, and you don’t need my mama’s permission.”
A wide smile spread across her mouth as she pushed him away, freed her hand, and regained a few cool inches of distance. “No, thanks. You don’t play fair.”
“This is true.”
Bobbi chafed her palms against her upper arms, feeling suddenly chilled after leaving Trey’s heated embrace. The man was like a furnace. Figuring they should leave soon, she swept one last gaze over the pulpit, imagining the pastor gripping its edges, delivering a message of hope or comfort.
“You know,” she said, “it’s so peaceful in here. I wonder what the services are like.”
A deep, tight voice from behind answered, “Long and boring.”
Gasping loudly, Bobbi jerked around to find Luke glaring at Trey in a way that raised the hair on the back of her neck. She brought a hand over her pounding heart and wondered how long he’d been standing there. “What’s your problem? Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“I didn’t sneak. I opened the door and walked right in.” Luke spoke to her, but never took his eyes off Trey, who maintained a cool expression despite the tension expanding his already broad chest. The two locked eyes in charged silence, communicating something she wasn’t privy to. “You were too distracted to hear me,” Luke said darkly. Then he turned his cold stare on her. “Bea’s lookin’ for you. Says ‘it’s time,’ whatever that means.”
“Oh!” Instantly forgetting Luke, she grabbed Trey’s forearm. “Let’s go. Hurry!”
Without giving either man time to ask why, she pushed past them and darted outside. When Trey caught up, she clutched his wrist and towed him over to Colton, who’d moved beneath the white tent to hear Judge Bea’s speech, already in progress. All the attendees had gathered around, Dixie cups in hand, held in rapt attention as Bea spun a tale of meeting Pru for the first time when he’d rear-ended her car at a stoplight.
Bobbi had cut it close—seriously close—but at least Ron had followed instructions and kept the camera trained on Colt’s face. Signaling for Ron to get Trey in the shot too, she stepped back and studied Pru’s beaming countenance, her blue eyes alight in the darkness, wrinkles playing across her cheekbones as she smiled at her beau. That was the face of a woman in love—and one who knew a proposal was underway. Apparently, her soon-to-be fiancé wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.
“So, anyhoo,” Bea said with a dismissive wave, “it might’a taken a few decades, but she finally warmed up to me, and we became friends. And when my Martha passed…” Softly, he gazed at Pru and cleared the thickness from his throat. “Well, Prudence wouldn’t let me fold up ’n’ wallow in bed all day. She kicked my bony ass—” raising bushy, white brows, he turned and apologized to the pastor “—uh, hauled me outta bed, forced me back into the world of the livin’, and gave me a reason to wake up every mornin’ after that.” Holding his chair in support, he lowered to one knee as the crowd gasped in delight and broke out in excited whispers. “Prudence, I dunno how many more years the Good Lord’s gonna give me, but I wanna spend ’em all with you. Will you marry this crazy old man?”
Pru didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes,” holding out her oversized right hand for Bea’s ring as her late husband’s band remained on the left. Bobbi felt a tiny prickling of envy for the couple. What were the odds of finding true love twice in a lifetime, like they’d done?
In that moment, she couldn’t deny wanting what Pru and Bea had. What her dads had too—someone to watch her with warm eyes and a soft smile from the other side of the room, someone who thought her flaws were sweet and quirky instead of annoying. She wanted a man to look at her the way Luke gazed at June, so thick with worship it forced her to avert her eyes every time. Too bad all the good guys were taken. Or gay. Releasing a quiet sigh, she searched for June and Luke in the crowd.
June grinned through streaming tears as her husband held her tightly from behind, resting his chin atop her head. That tiny prickling of envy surged inside Bobbi’s breast, and she had to shift her glance to Trey and Colton. It appeared they understood her pain. Both had shoved their hands into their pockets, toeing the dirt with their boot tips, clearly conflicted and questioning their life choices, though neither man would ever admit to it.
Colt was the first to break the silence in their sad little group. “Well, I’m happy for the poor, old bastard.” He gave a begrudging shrug. “If he wants to spend his golden years tied down like that, I’m not gonna talk him out of it.”
Nodding in agreement, Trey added, “Bet he doesn’t realize this’ll cut back on his fishin’ time. He’ll have to get permission from the ball-n-chain now.”
“Right,” Colt said. “Tag along to Bible study and shit like that.”
“Better him than me.”
“You said it, man. I’m not throwin’ away my freedom for any woman.”
“Never works out anyway.”
Bobbi held her tongue, but she couldn’t help thinking the gentlemen didst protest too much. After casting one final, longing gaze at Sultry County’s newest betrothed, she turned to Ron, ready to shut down filming for the night. To her surprise, he’d fixed his lens directly on her.
She rushed over to him and held up one hand to block the shot. “What’re you doing?”
“You should’ve seen the look on your face,” Ron said from behind his camera. Switching off, he lowered the equipment to the ground before massaging his shoulder. “If raw emotion’s what you’re going for, then—”
“I didn’t hire you to film me.”
“Hey.” He flashed his palm. “I saw an awesome shot, and I took it. No biggie. Just cut what you don’t want to use, but at least have a look before you decide.”
The decision was already made. Bobbi knew what Ron had captured on film, and she had no interest in seeing her own loneliness and regret reflected back in crisp, digital display. She told him to find Weezus to transfer the film data, then paid him and sent him on his way, swearing never again to trust a freelancer. If she wanted something done right, she’d have to do it herself.
Story of her whole friggin’ life.
It was the Fourth of July and hotter than Satan’s ball sack. A relentless sun ruled the sky, ravaging parade-goers with its nuclear rays and wilting even the most energetic children into their lawn chairs, where they waved pint-sized American flags with all the enthusiasm of the undead. Trey lifted one shoulder to wipe a bead of sweat from his cheek, but two instantly formed in its place, convincing him to give up the fight. So much for the mild summer they’d enjoyed for the past month. And though you couldn’t tell from the clear, blue sky, another storm system was rolling in, causing Trey’s femur to flare like brushfire.
The unnaturally red hotdog he’d just bought would probably tear up his chest when heartburn kicked in, but he crammed half of it into his mouth anyway. Tart mustard crossed his tongue, followed by the salty, smoky flavor of one hundred percent pure beef byproducts. He closed his eyes to savor it—the taste of summer in the good ol’ US of A. Could a guy even get a hotdog in Dubai? He honestly didn’t know.
Oppressive heat, earsplitting bottle rockets, greasy food, and warm beer. Trey slouched. He was going to miss all this.
Clutching his thigh, he lowered carefully and settled on the curb, stretching his legs into the street five feet from the marching band, who’d been playing “Louie, Louie” on a continuous loop for fifteen minutes. A pair of long, tanned legs strode into view to his right, attached to white flip-flops, and even though Trey knew every inch of those gams, he traced their smooth curves with his gaze, starting with Bobbi’s slender ankles and ending at her succulent thighs. Sweet Jesus, he was going to miss those too.
She crouched beside him, using a stick to lift a half-shriveled earthworm from the sidewalk to the shaded grass. Despite the pain in Trey’s bones clamoring for attention, a smile lifted the edges of his mouth. He’d never seen anyone attempt to rescue a creepy-crawly before. “You’re just prolonging the inevitable.” That worm was a goner.
“We’ll see.” She opened his cooler and reached inside, then cupped a palm full of melted ice and sprinkled it over the creature’s parched carcass. Wiping her damp hand on her denim shorty-shorts, she joined him on the curb. “They’re resilient.”
“Like someone else I know.” A woman who’d overcome a childhood filled with neglect, but hadn’t allowed it to harden her—she had a warm heart and a touch that made his blood simmer. He’d sure like to lay her in the grass and drizzle ice water over her body, and it must’ve shown on his face, because she held up one finger in warning.
“Don’t look at me like that. I want you to look at Sarah like that.”
“Who’s Sarah?”
Scoffing, she recoiled as if horrified. “The girl you liked from speed-dating!”
“Oh, the one with the cute little nose? I didn’t say I liked her. I said she wasn’t too bad.”
“Well, she’s right over there,” Bobbi said as she pointed across the street to a spot he couldn’t see through the crowd, “waiting for you, and I want results this time.”
He shot her a questioning glance, squeezing his aching thigh between his thumb and forefinger.
“Colton’s giving me all kinds of great material,” she explained, “but I’m getting nothing from you.” Tiny lines wrinkled her forehead, and she bit out the next words quickly. “Just do me a favor, and get to first base tonight.” Dropping her gaze, she added, “On camera, or it doesn’t count.”
Something about her request pissed him off. Maybe it was the casual way she’d demanded he kiss another woman when the lips he wanted to feel against his own were the pink pair currently pouting in front of him. “That’s really what you want?”
She danced around his question. “It’s like you’re not even trying.”
Right, because he wasn’t. The only woman in Sultry Springs who raised Trey’s flag these days was the one person he couldn’t have.
Luke had sensed it. After busting Trey in the sanctuary with his arm around Bobbi, Luke had pulled him aside and delivered a stern warning.
Back
off. There’re hundreds of hot chicks in the county, and you can have any one you want. Just not my sister
. But the problem was Trey didn’t want anyone else. Asking him to pursue Sarah was like giving a kid a taste of German chocolate and then forcing him to feast on Brussels sprouts. He’d tasted Bobbi’s sweetness, and it’d left him wanting more.
He observed her closely when he conceded, “Fine. And since I haven’t been trying, I’ll make up for it tonight. I’ll show you a kiss so hot it’ll melt your camera.”
Her jaw clenched tight enough to crack her face in half like an egg, and she gave a silent nod. It was all Trey needed to know she wanted him too. A warm sense of satisfaction settled deep in his gut and kicked up its heels. He had no intention of leading Sarah on with a meaningless kiss, but Bo didn’t need to know that. Let her stew awhile.
An awkward minute passed before she pointed to his thigh. “What’s wrong? I notice you favor that leg sometimes.”
“Fell off a roof a couple of years ago and broke it.” Among other things, like his ribs, spleen, and pride. “It only bothers me when the pressure changes.”
“My God, it’s a wonder you survived.”
Trey pulled a frosty Bud from his cooler and held it against his thigh. He rolled it back and forth over his tensed muscles, replaying the memory of that day and laughing despite the pain. “You could say I was distracted at the time.”
“What happened?”
“Your sister-in-law was hitting on me.”
“
What?
” Every muscle in Bobbi’s torso seemed to lock, forcing her ramrod straight on the curb. Her head whipped around, and red tendrils of hair slapped her blushing cheeks. “As in June?”
“Yep.
Joooonbug
was servin’ hours for a misdemeanor—got busted skinny-dipping with your brother. Anyway, she was cleaning out old Mr. Jenkins’s gutters, and I was up there laying shingles. If I remember correctly,” which he did, “she wanted to come over to my place and mix up some drinks.” He waggled his brows. “To ply me with booze and get lucky.”
Bobbi’s pretty mouth gaped so widely Trey noticed she still had her wisdom teeth. “I can’t believe she wanted
you
.” In a flash, she touched his bicep. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, the way she looks at my brother—”
“You’re right, Bo Peep.” Trey barely had time to pat her hand before she pulled away. “It wasn’t me she wanted. That’s why I shot her down.” Then he’d lost his balance and fallen twenty feet to the hard, unforgiving ground below. It was a miracle he’d walked away with so few injuries. Of course, he hadn’t literally walked away—more like ridden via ambulance to Sultry Memorial.
“Oh, I am
so
calling her out on that at supper tonight. I can’t wait to see the look on my brother’s face.”
“Might not wanna do that.” Trey glanced at his jeans, now damp from the beer can. Figuring an ice-cold Bud would probably do him more good from the inside, he popped the top and took a deep pull, then wiped his mouth against the back of his hand. “Luke’s pretty touchy when it comes to me and the women in his life. He’s already riding my ass about getting too close to you.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, eventually declaring, “It’s none of his business.”
“He means well.” Besides, common decency said you didn’t fool around with a buddy’s wife, mom, sister, or ex. Trey’d violated the Bro Code, and he already felt lousy enough without Luke piling on the guilt. “Just leave him be.”
“Fine, but can you take something for it?” She nodded at his leg.
Trey had a feeling she wasn’t referring to BC Powder. “I can, but I won’t.”
“Too macho for pain meds?”
“More like too paranoid.” After the accident, Trey’d spent two weeks in the hospital pumped full of opiates, feeling all warm and bubbly until the haze wore off. He knew the power of those drugs, and nothing should make a man feel that good unless it had a pair of breasts attached to it. “I’ve seen too many guys get hooked.” Tough guys too, like the old, gritty Veterans of Foreign Wars marching in misaligned formation right in front of him. Life had dealt Trey his fair share of shit, but at least his pain was manageable, unlike some members of his old unit who’d had the misfortune of driving over an IED in Iraq a few years earlier.
From his peripheral vision, he noticed Bobbi watching him instead of the parade. She flicked a few glances between him and the vets and asked, “Does it bother you that you can’t march with them?”
Of course it did, every damn year, like an annual reminder of his shame. “No.”
“Has anyone ever thanked you for your service?”
What a strange question. He set his hotdog and beer atop his cooler and met her gaze. “Sure.” Once, when he’d traveled in uniform from New York to Germany, a flight attendant had taken him into the plane’s kitchenette and thanked him with her mouth, quite generously too. But he kept the details of that story to himself. “That was a long time ago, and I was only in the army a couple—”
“Thank you.”
“Jesus, Bo, don’t do that.” He didn’t want her pity. Gritting his teeth, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt to blot the sweat from his face. “There’s more than enough sunshine out today. I don’t need it blown up my ass.”
She scooted so close, the tips of her soft breasts brushed his arm. “I think what you meant to say was
you’re welcome
.” Then, pressing even harder against him, she curled one hand around the back of his neck and kissed him on the cheek, those soft lips brushing the sensitive skin close to his ear and heating his body in a way that had nothing to do with the fierce July sun. Trey hadn’t seen it coming, and before he had a chance to fill his lungs with her luscious scent of sweet cinnamon or wrap an arm around her slender waist, she pulled away.
Bringing two fingers against his cheek, he tried to hold on to the sensation while turning to face her. “Wanna thank me again? Maybe in French this time?”
She laughed and pushed to standing. “Save it for Sarah. I’m heading over there to prep her and talk to the crew. Meet me in—” she glanced at her bare wrist “—like fifteen minutes?”
Sarah. At the mention of her name, Trey let out a disappointed breath. Under any other circumstances, he’d jump at the chance to score with the pretty blond, but not now. Now it felt like work. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, and you have to like it. Or fake it really well.” Hands on her hips, she scanned him from head to toe. “And wear that straw cowboy hat I saw in your truck last week. It’s hot.”
“It’s all right. I’m used to working outside.”
One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted in a seductive smirk. “That’s not what I meant.” She turned and jogged across the street, just ahead of the Shriners, and Trey shamelessly ogled the rhythmic jiggle of her thighs. God bless America. Watching her sensuous movements had made his pants too snug in the front, so he shifted his gaze—and his junk—to the left and mentally recited the Cubs’ starting lineup.
Deciding to wear that battered, old cowboy hat more often, he crammed the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and gathered his cooler and half-empty beer. He checked on Bobbi’s worm, happy to see it burrowing into the rich soil, and then he headed across the vacant courthouse parking lot to his Chevy.
He’d just set the cooler in his truck bed when his cell phone vibrated against his left butt cheek. He plucked it from his back pocket and checked the screen.
Dad
calling
. The temptation to let it go to voice mail was strong, but Trey couldn’t remember the last time his father had initiated a phone call. In the end, curiosity and perhaps a childish need for acceptance won out.
“Hello.” Trey kept his voice flat, devoid of all expectations, since this probably wasn’t a friendly “Happy Independence Day” kind of call.
The Colonel got right to the point. “Talk to your mother lately?”
A rush of guilt washed over Trey. He’d let all Mom’s calls go to voice mail for the last three days. “No, why? Did something happen? Is she okay?”
“Of course she’s okay. That woman’s got titanium balls.”
“Let’s hope so, ’cause you’ve been kickin’ her in the babymaker for years.”
Dad’s voice turned hard enough to crack a diamond. “Don’t pretend to know the first thing about my marriage. One of these days, you’re gonna push too hard and find out a few things—” he cut off and inhaled loudly through his nose. “Christ. Just mind your own damn business.”
“What do you want, Colonel?”
The sarcastic use of the other man’s title didn’t appear to faze him. “I need you to talk some sense into her. She’s being unreasonable.”
“Hmm.” Trey pretended to consider this request. “I think I’ll follow your first order and mind my own damn business.” Before his father had a chance to beat him to it, Trey disconnected.
He chugged the rest of his beer and tossed the empty can into his truck bed, then opened his cooler and downed two more. After retrieving the straw cowboy hat Bobbi loved so much, he pulled it low over his eyes and set out to meet the two women waiting for him: one he didn’t want, and one he couldn’t have.
***
Sarah Divine-Darling—yes, that was her real name, Bobbi checked the birth records—was so disgustingly perfect that Bobbi wondered if cartoon mice dressed the perky dance instructor each morning before transforming into stallions to tow her pumpkin-festooned carriage. Smelling of freshly plucked lavender, Sarah blinked lush, lash-fringed eyes even bluer than Trey’s, if such a thing were possible, and at five feet eight inches tall, not an ounce of visible fat existed on her lithe body. She had the thinnest thighs Bobbi had ever seen, and when she glanced at Sarah’s delicate feet, she half expected to see them encased in glass slippers. Wouldn’t you know it—nude Manolo Blahnik sling-backs paired fabulously with a vintage skirt. Add “great taste in shoes” to Miss Darling’s list of virtues.
Despite the acid burning a trail into her throat, Bobbi couldn’t hate the girl—she was too freaking nice. Kindergarten teacher nice. Like she spent her free time delivering Meals on Wheels to oozing lepers.
This would be the recipient of Trey’s kiss. His hot-enough-to-melt-the-camera kiss. The moment their lips met, an invisible symphony of violins would surely erupt into a romantic chorus as butterflies flittered about their heads to sanction the union for time and all eternity.