The Sweet Spot (32 page)

That wouldn’t do. Not with Ben waiting. He lightened the kiss, loving her ladylike
groan. He set her back on her feet.

God, it was good to be home.

She flushed, and her hands fluttered to her hair. “Jeez, Jimmy, you make me forget
everything.” She smoothed her hands over her clothes, straightening.

“You need to be mussed up a little.” He shot her a grin
as he reached for her purse, hanging on the back of the chair, and handed it over.
“Why don’t I take you and your dad to town? I’ll buy you that meat loaf special down
at the diner I’ve been promising you.”

“I’d like that.”

He puffed up as proud as the day she’d accepted his invitation to the senior prom.
“Well, then, let’s go get Ben.” He reached for his hat on the counter and settled
it on his head. “Then we’ll head downtown and set the town tongues to waggin’.” Orange
rays of the setting sun washed the yard of the Double D in amber when he pulled up
the drive. He spied Junior and Ben, standing at the corral fence, jawing. When he’d
parked, Char reached for the door handle. “I’ll get him, Char. You stay warm. I’ll
be right back.” He left the truck running and stepped out into the chill.

The men watched his approach. Ben’s face lit up. “You’re back, JB. It’s about time!
Did you win you a buckle this time?”

He winced. Char had explained sundowners’ syndrome to him, but it still hurt every
time. Well, he’d be close from now on; he wasn’t missing any more time with Ben. “I
didn’t, Ben, but it sure feels good to be finally home.” He took the old man’s gnarled
hand and shook it.

Junior’s beady eyes studied him. “Is that so?” He glanced to the truck, then back.
“Well then. Looks like you mighta figured out how to be a big man after all.” He reached
for JB’s hand, to shake it. “Welcome home, JB.”

Char sat tucked into “their” booth beside Jimmy at the diner. Her dad perched on the
vinyl seat across the table, talking a mile a minute. Trying to ignore the presence
of
his muscular thigh in her personal space, she smoothed her hair behind her ear and
looked at the menu. Might as well have been hieroglyphics. She felt as though she’d
been washed and put through a second rinse cycle.
Heck of a day.
Deep inside, heavy emotional exhaustion lurked, waiting to pull her to the oblivion
of sleep. At the same time, an overlay of anticipation skittered over her taut wire
nerves.

Was there such a thing as emotional whiplash? She glanced on the wall, to the sepia
photo of Main Street in the early 1900s that had hung there as long as she could remember.
Here she sat, once again, with Jimmy. She glanced to him. The pain of the past year
and a half had weathered further the hard planes of his face, yet the essence of the
brash teenager still lingered beneath—if you knew where to look.

She looked at the empty seat beside her dad, to the space once filled by her mother
and Benje. Those holes would always gape, but for the first time, Char felt that maybe
she’d found a way to coexist with them.

Mom, I consign my baby to your care for now. Kiss him for me. Tell him how much his
mom loves him, will you?

She turned her head to the wall and brushed at the tear with a scratchy paper napkin.

Jimmy sat listening to her dad, perusing the menu. But somehow he noticed. He gently
took her hand in his, and when her dad came up for air, he turned to her. “Are you
all right, Little Bit?”

Jimmy had always had a gift. When he looked at you, he focused all his attention.
He was really there. You knew you were special, and for that moment, you were the
only person in the room. Back in high school, that gift had drawn girls to him like
a season’s end sale at the Posy Shop.

“I’m okay, Jimmy.” As she said it, she realized it was true. She squeezed his large
callused hand.

As he held her gaze, his eyes turned soft and smoky. Her thermostat clicked and the
furnace in her chest fired up, spreading heat. Not like it wasn’t already hot in here,
what with every eye in the place trained on them. She fanned herself with her menu.

“You want to share the meat loaf plate with me, Charla Rae?”

“Sounds good,” she said, grateful not to have to make a decision.

When the Olsen’s girl sashayed up, JB ordered for all of them. Char sat back, appreciating
a holiday from being in charge.

“What will y’all want for dessert?” the waitress asked. “Harve says it’s on the house.”
Char glanced to the serving window behind the counter. Harvey Meister waved a spatula
at her, huge grin on his face. She waved, then turned back, face flaming. “Thanks,
but I couldn’t.” Her stomach was full of jumping beans already, and she hadn’t eaten
dinner yet.

Somehow she got through the meal, but between curious friends stopping by and Jimmy’s
hand resting warm on the inside of her thigh, she heaved a sigh when it was over.

One good thing. Eating at the diner with Jimmy was as effective as placing a full-page
ad in the
Hill Country Community Press
; everyone in town would know they were back together by morning.

An hour later, Char stepped into the hall and pulled her dad’s door closed. The excitement
of the day seemed to have left him exhausted too. He was asleep almost before he went
horizontal.

She hesitated, hand on the knob, knowing that one way or another, her world would
change in the next few hours. She tucked her hair behind her ears, took a deep breath.
She put one foot in front of the other down the shadowed hall to the light spilling
from the kitchen.

Jimmy stood with his canvas jacket still on, turning his hat in his hand. Was he nervous
too? Those danged party-animal butterflies were at it again—she didn’t remember being
this afraid the first time. “Jimmy, we promised to be open with each other from now
on. So—” She wet her lips and forced her gaze to his stoic expression.

“Will you stay, Jimmy?” When he opened his mouth to answer, she rushed on. “Not because
you feel responsible. I’ll be just fine if you say no. But if you stay, I want it
to be because you want
me
. All of me. You know I’m a work in progress.” She tilted her head. “But I’ve discovered
that I can take the hard truth. You don’t have to feel obligated any longer.”

“Jesus, Charla.
Obligated?
” He tossed his hat onto the dining room table where it landed with a hollow
thump
.

“You’re smart, you’re self-sufficient, and you’re cute.” He reached for her. “But
you sure talk a lot.” His head dipped, and his kiss sizzled down to her toes. He retreated
sooner than she would have. “I thought that I wanted you twenty years ago, Charla
Rae, but I didn’t.”

When she’d have looked away, he hooked a finger under her chin to bring her attention
back. “What I felt for
that sweet little country girl is nothing compared to what I feel for the woman in
front of me.” She saw the Jimmy she loved in his lopsided grin. “Hell yes, I want
you, Charla Rae Denny. Always have. Always will.”

JB paced the bedroom, barefoot, while Charla got ready for bed behind the closed bathroom
door. His glance shifted around the room. Nothing had changed. Well, everything had,
really, but the room itself hadn’t. His side of the bed was unwrinkled, pristine.
His fingers itched to mess it up, to prove he was back. His attention fell to a hardcover
book, spotlighted in a pool of lamplight on the nightstand.

Healing Wisdom: Easing a Path through Grief

Settling on the edge of the bed, he flipped it open to a bookmarked page.

Every evening I turn my worries over to God. He’s going to be up all night anyway.

—
Mary C. Crowley

“Amen to that, Mary.” He snapped the book closed. His toes tapped a drumroll on the
wood floor. What the heck was she doing in there?

I’m
not
going to bed in makeup. If I haven’t frightened him away yet, he can take it.
She pinched her cheeks to add some color to the butt-white skin and tried not to
look too closely in the mirror.
Maybe that’s why God makes your vision fail as you get older. It’s kinder.

She stood before the mirror, buttoning blue flannel pajamas with shaking fingers.
Fluffy white cartoon sheep
bounced across the material on her chest.
Oh, nice. You’re a forty-year-old woman, taking a man to your bed for the first time
in forever, and this is the best you can do? How sad is that? It’s going to put a
damper on the mood if he’s laughing his head off.

It would almost be better to walk out naked. She reached for the top button before
she remembered. He’s used to a twenty-year-old! Her hand dropped. Better flannel sheep
than floppy boobs and a poochy belly. He sure hadn’t traded up in the body department.

Her panicked gaze darted the room, searching for an alternative.
My robe!
She reached for it. Yellow terry cloth, it covered her from neck to ankle. She looked
closer. In spite of numerous Shout applications, the sleeves were stained gray and
snagged strings dangled everywhere; it looked like a shedding bison. A yellow shedding
bison.

She groaned.

A soft tap at the door made her jump. “Charla? You okay in there?”

She shot a look to the ceiling.
You got me into this. I hope you’re amused.
She pulled open the door…

And forgot all about what she was wearing. He stood before her shirtless, skin glowing
in the light of the table lamp. She’d always loved Jimmy’s chest. Whipcord working
muscles under pale skin dusted with dark hair. She followed the line down, to where
it disappeared beneath his flashy belt buckle. Her swallow clicked loud in the hushed
room.

Flushing, she raised her eyes. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands
through it, ruffling the curls. The hungry look in his eye told her he hadn’t even
noticed what she wore. He brushed a feather-light kiss
against her lips, then held out his hand. When she put her shaking one in it, he turned
and led her to the side of the bed. Her sheets were turned down neatly, but his side
of the bed was torn up, the blankets and sheets in a jumbled mess. At the pressure
of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the edge.

He sank onto one knee in front of her, his dark eyes watching. He touched her as if
she were precious. And just for this little while, she wanted to believe it. He dropped
his head into her lap, his arms bracketing her thighs.

Startled, her hand went to his hair, smoothing it. “What is it, Jimmy?”

He didn’t answer at first. She watched his back rise with his deep breaths. When he
lifted his head, the light softened the hard planes of his face. He frowned up at
her.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Charla. But I swear to you—on my son’s grave—if
you take me back, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” His tortured
eyes searched hers, waiting for an answer.

Hurting for him, she raised her hands to his face. “I have at least as much to answer
for as you, Jimmy. I’ve stayed angry for a long time: at you, at God, but mostly at
myself. We’re going to both have to find a way to put it behind us.” She smiled through
her tears.

“Because living isn’t about the blame, Jimmy. It’s about forgiveness.”

She pulled him closer, until he knelt nestled between her thighs. She tilted her head
and gently touched her lips to his, to seal the unspoken vow.

Jimmy’s arms came around her, and he tilted his head further and drew her into the
kiss, moaning when her mouth opened beneath his. He crushed her to him, his
movements frenzied, as if he were afraid he’d lose her. His breath sped up and labored.
Char realized somehow her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist, and she was
clinging just as tightly.

When he backed up, she tightened her legs. “It’s okay, baby. I just want to see you.”
He unbuttoned the top button of the ridiculous pajamas with shaking fingers. Then
the next.

She had a moment of panic, imagining him doing the same with his girlfriend. When
he looked into her eyes, all she saw was a humble reverence.

Oh, Lord, thank you for my Jimmy.

She liked the sound in her mind so much she said it out loud. “Mine.” It tasted celebratory
on her tongue, like a sparkling, biting sip of champagne. She threw her head back
as Jimmy smoothed the flannel from her shoulders.

Then there were only sensations: the sound of their labored breathing, the smell of
his cologne, and its taste on her tongue when she licked his chest. Freeze-frame stills:
the white, high arch of her foot, gliding over his calf. Her fingers, disappearing
into his hair. They flashed by almost before she could acknowledge them. The pale
slope of her breast, the vulnerable skin in the hollow of his neck, the small star-shape
scar on his shoulder. Electricity gathered low in her belly, sizzling and arcing,
building, until it burst through her in a bolt of lightning. She came apart in his
hands at the same moment he came apart in hers.

Tears ran from the corners of her eyes to the pillow, mingling with his. They weren’t
born of sadness or regret but from the joy of letting go.

Later, Char lay cradled in Jimmy’s arms. Her hand strayed to his thigh now and again,
to remind herself this
was real. Head on his bicep, rear snugged against him, she felt his chest rumble against
her back as his deep voice wove a cocoon of peace.

“Ben and I are picking up Travis tomorrow and taking him to buy a decent pair of boots.
I think by this time next year, he’s going to be winning events. He says he wants
to hit the circuit when he’s done with high school, but I’m trying to get him to consider
Austin Community for two years, at least.”

“Hmmmm.” She purred.

Fingers stole up the back of her neck into her hair. He absently fisted it in his
hand, and at that familiar tug, her world settled.

Jimmy was home.

She drifted off, listening to his deep voice in the dark.