Lilacs for Laura Page 13

  Warmth filled him, but not from the blanket. Seeing Laura every day, working on the cottage side-by-side, and eating dinner together each night had strengthened their bond. He was convinced they were meant to be together. Her eyes, her voice, and her touch assured him she felt it too. Stretching his sore muscles, he tossed off the blanket. He wandered to the antique refrigerator and pulled out ham and cheese for a sandwich. With a glass of milk, it was breakfast.

  At 11:30. Make that brunch. Grandma’s table and chairs had been given to Rachel. Laura received the antique hutch filled with fancy dishes which remained in the kitchen. It didn’t provide a place to eat. Grabbing a paper plate and Styrofoam cup of milk, he headed outside to sit on the steps. The summer sun warmed his face and bare chest. The flower gardens surrounding the house attracted butterflies—and bees. Bees buzzed around those tall purple flowers on either side of the doorstep while he ate. Annoyed with swatting at them, he didn’t notice Laura until she spoke.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” she called across the yard.

  She looked like sunshine, wearing a yellow tank top and denim shorts. With her blond hair in a loose knot on her head, her tanned shoulders glowed in the sun.

  “Hi there.” His mood immediately improved, and he scooted over to make room for her on the step. She sat close. Unable to resist, he planted a kiss on her shoulder.

  “Taking it easy?” She giggled and eyed his bare chest.

  He washed down some bread with a sip of milk. “Pretty much, but I need to mow the grass.” He held up his last bite. “Want a sandwich?”

  “Nope. Mama’s serving Sunday dinner at one. New neighbors are invited, if you’re hungry by then.”

  Rolling his eyes up to look at her, he asked, “How long have you known me? I’m always hungry. And Chad swears by your mama’s cooking.” He hesitated before asking, “Will the whole family be there?” He didn’t look forward to seeing Jake again.

  She picked at a chip of paint on the worn steps. Tears brimmed her eyes. For crying out loud—he was an idiot! “I’m so sorry.” He touched her arm, feeling like a heel. “I know it’ll be hard without your grandma.”

  She nodded. “Chad never misses Sunday dinner, if that’s who you meant.”

  “That’s good.” Relieved, he let her think that. He rubbed her arm, hoping to soothe her.

  “Rachel and the girls always come.” Laura’s eyes hardened. “And usually Jake. He’s always up for a free meal.” She yanked a hunk of paint from the wooden step.

  So much for soothing her. But since she brought it up...“Laura,” he said tenderly, “I’ve noticed something odd between you and Jake. Has he threatened you in some way?”

  “What do you mean?” Defensiveness edged her voice.

  “What happened in the church garden?” he asked gently.

  “I fell in the flowers and he pulled me out.” Her words came out clipped, too fast, and something unreadable flickered in her eyes before her gaze darted away. “Why are you asking me this?” she demanded angrily.

  “I’m sorry.” He was surprised at how guarded she became. Jake, the Snake, was helping out? He didn’t buy it. More suspicious than ever, he realized his timing was wrong. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just concerned.” This wasn’t the time or the place. But when?

  Pain stabbed his backside. “Yeeeeooow!” he leapt up and grabbed his rear. He jumped and danced through the yard, howling, and slapping at his butt. Writhing and squealing, he struggled to unbutton his pants.

  Wide eyed, Laura held a hand over her mouth. He raced inside to yank off his jeans and stomp on the bee still buzzing around inside.

  In the bathroom, he gingerly pulled down his black boxers and inspected several red welts on his buttocks. He splashed cold water on the stings, because that’s all he had in the house, and patted them dry. His sore muscles ached worse from the jostling, making him even madder. Storming out of the bathroom, he grabbed a T-shirt from the tiny closet. He pulled it on and tucked it into the gap at the back of his jeans before heading for the door.

  Laura sat chipping paint off the wooden steps, stifling a smile as bees swarmed all around her. “Are you okay?” she asked tentatively.

  “Oh, yeah, now you care,” he said sarcastically. “No, I’m not okay. Not only do I ache all over, but I won’t be able to sit for awhile, either.” He pushed open the screen and walked quickly past her and away from the bees.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, I might as well get the grass cut.”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll paint these steps,” she said. It sounded like a peace offering.

  “You go right ahead. I’m staying away from there. Why did your grandma plant that stuff by the door, anyway?”

  “It’s lavender. It smells good when you brush by. No one would appreciate it out in the back forty.”

  “I would. The bees would be out in the back forty too.”

  She smiled, but he wasn’t amused.

  “Do you have an old paint shirt I could wear?”

  He thought a moment. “Yeah, look in the closet. Any of those uniform shirts with ‘Brett’ on the chest would be fine.”

  With a nod, she went in the house.

  Just thinking of those shirts made him angry all over again. He stomped toward the shed in the side yard and pulled out the mower. After setting the choke, he yanked the cord. Fresh pain tore through his aching shoulder. He stalked the yard in neat rows. His white-knuckled grip on the vibrating handle became painful. He flexed his fingers.

  Unable to defuse his anger, he was haunted by Jake. Something in his eyes that day at the church wasn’t right. He acted phony, and why had he been in the garden with Laura in the first place? She’d acted weird at the funeral too. It seemed different than normal grief. She barely spoke, even to her family. When she wandered outside, he gave her time alone, allowed her some space, and next thing he knew, she was covered with mud. The whole thing was odd. But when he pushed Laura to talk, she got insulted and backed further away.

  He mowed, careful to get near the trees without damaging the bark. Too bad he couldn’t get close to Laura without hurting her. And it always came back to Jake.

  Lilacs For Laura

  Lilacs For Laura

  Chapter 12—Blood on My Hands

  At the new jobsite, Brett nailed up a stud wall in the big, air-conditioned shop. Better than the Taj Mahal, Max Carter’s shop was the garage of his dreams. He’d love to work here.

  Even before the remodel, bright light flooded every corner, air hoses and trouble lights hung at intervals from the ceiling, and a waist-high strip of two-twenty outlets lined each wall.

  The shop buzzed with mechanics. They moved from tool boxes to racecars, or had their heads buried in engine compartments. Others stood beneath a car high on a lift. Everyone had a partner and they didn’t appear to be overworked.

  A cushy office, clean rest rooms, and a lunchroom complete with refrigerator and microwave made the place homey.

  The remodeling project included sound-proofing the machine shop, sectioning-off work stations for engine assembly and welding, expanding the parts room with organized bins and shelves, and dividing the large office to add a fancy conference room. The back wall would be redesigned to accommodate a large overhead door as if they were planning an addition.

  A car pulled up and a male voice talked to Chad outside. As Brett ventured out to grab another two-by-six, a striking stranger glanced up. His sandy, windblown hair shook into place as he nodded to Brett before focusing back on Chad.

  Like a modernized scene from Miami Vice, the Don Johnson look-alike leaned against a white Porsche convertible glinting in the sun. Tanned, muscular arms crossed over his sleeveless aqua shirt. He wore white cotton pants and deck shoes with no socks.

  “Okay, the big door will open to the field in back,” Chad said with puzzlement and turned to Brett. “Hey, man, this is Max Carter. Max, meet Brett Mitchell, my number one man.”

  Smile
lines accentuated Max’s deep tan and boasted a day’s worth of golden stubble.

  “Hello, Max. Nice to meet you.” Brett wiped a dirty hand on his jeans and extended it.

  “Hi, Brett.” Max uncrossed his bare ankles to stand tall and proud, yet his eyes were friendly. He shook Brett’s hand with gusto. “So are you the brains of the operation?”

  “No, just the brawn.” Brett laughed, turning to hoist an eight-foot plank onto his shoulder. With a hoot, Chad slapped him on the back and resumed his conversation with Max.

  Something enticed Brett about this guy—the carefree ease of having money, the danger of risk taking, the confidence. Even wearing white, Max never hesitated to shake his grimy hand.

  “Are you planning an addition?” Chad asked.

  Brett’s ears perked up.

  “Maybe someday,” Max answered. “Trying to look ahead, but for now it’s just a pass through.”

  What did it matter? Max built engines. He didn’t need a chassis engineer, now or ever. After finishing the discussion, he shook Chad’s hand and slid into his Porsche. The engine roared and squealing tires left the smell of burnt rubber on hot asphalt.

  Disappointment washed over Brett. He liked that guy a lot.

  ****

  Later that week, Laura chopped vegetables for a salad while Brett took a shower. She cooked him dinner every night, just like they were married. He’d become part of the family like she knew he would. And he’d talked about trying to get a local job so he wouldn’t have to leave. Her plan was working perfectly.

  She enjoyed preparing his dinner and being at the cottage with him, even if it did make her miss Grandma. It helped that the house looked different with fresh paint, new carpeting, and Brett’s furniture.

  Besides, being with him made her feel safe. It was clear he didn’t trust Jake. She needed an ally while her family remained clueless. Rachel’s safety depended on Laura’s silence, but Brett’s alertness to Jake’s danger comforted her.

  A shiver ran through her as she remembered the threats. She steeled herself with determination. While she yearned for loving security, she couldn’t be vulnerable. Trusting Brett to protect her would force her to become dependent on him. But she refused to end up like Rachel. She had to be strong and handle this herself.

  With fresh resolve, she slid the salad bowl into the refrigerator and took out two steaks. Glancing at the empty yard and driveway before opening the door, she went outside to fire up Brett’s new grill. Paranoid, maybe? But if Jake would attack her in the church gardens, why not in the back yard?

  Thankfully, she hadn’t seen him since Grandma’s funeral. He hadn’t stopped at the flower shop, hadn’t even shown up for Sunday dinner.

  A creepy feeling chilled her to the core. Jake wouldn’t give up that easily. Was he biding his time?

  She slapped two rib-eyes onto the grates and slathered them with A-1. Her gut told her the next time would be even worse.

  She shook off the fear and patted the pepper spray in her pocket. Again, she considered talking to the police. Would they arrest Jake for attempted rape?

  Burning grease flared and Laura adjusted the flame. As long as he was married to Rachel, his arrest would only cause misery and expense for her. The small town rumor mill would put the family under the microscope. Myrtle Winthrop would contend that Laura was asking for trouble by cavorting with Jake. With his reputation, embellishing the lies would be easy and believable. And Rachel would bear the brunt of the pain.

  Laura banged the grill closed. Rachel had hired a lawyer. Soon she’d be divorced and Jake would be out of their lives. No way he’d get custody rights with his arrest record. Laura only had to stay away from him a little longer. She’d encourage Rachel to push it through quickly. And get a restraining order.

  She could bide her time too. She stuck close to home and stayed on alert. If he was waiting for her to let her guard down, he was sadly mistaken.

  Headed back inside, she walked past the trashcan and spotted a corner of Brett’s blue blanket stuck out of a cardboard box. Surely he’d tossed that out by mistake. She shook it off and carried it into the kitchen.

  Brett stood at the china hutch, freshly showered and wearing only shorts. Dark curls dripped onto his neck and broad, tanned shoulders. His bare back tapered to denim shorts riding enticingly low, revealing smooth white skin below his tan line.

  His shoulder blades flexed as he pulled out her grandma’s blue and white china. He turned to the new wooden table and looked up with that dimpled smile, but it quickly disappeared.

  “Look what I found in the trash.” She held up the blanket.

  “Get that filthy thing out of here.” His jaw clenched.

  “I’ll wash it and it’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want it.” Anger brewed in his eyes.

  “But it’s old and soft. Doesn’t it remind you of your childhood?” Why would a blanket make him so angry?

  “I don’t want to remember my childhood!” he yelled. “Get rid of it!”

  Laura stared in horror. It was worse than she’d thought.

  He sat stiffly on a chair. “Please, toss it outside.”

  She shoved the blanket out the screen door and let it bang shut. “I’m sorry,” she apologized softly. She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “I just don’t understand.”

  “I know.” He paused a long moment. “Too many times I hid beneath that stupid blanket while my father ranted in a drunken fit. Dishes crashed to the floor, chairs slammed against walls, and I just hid, leaving my mother to fend for herself.”

  Laura gasped. “I thought he didn’t hit her?”

  A deep sigh escaped him. “He didn’t.”

  “What about you?” She held her breath.

  “I’ve seen the belt a few times.” His voice lifted with sarcasm. “But as I got older, he let my mom punish me. I think he was afraid he’d lose control.” He motioned to his multi-colored eye. “This is the first time he slugged me.”

  “Will your mom be okay?” Apprehension gripped her.

  “He won’t hit her. It’s me he resents. She’s safer with me out of the house.” He gave her a sardonic smile. “And so are the dishes.”

  “Why does he resent you?” She couldn’t fathom a father resenting his only son.

  “He came up rough. In me, he sees a younger, stronger version of himself. I have an education and the guts to do something with it. Any success of mine reminds him of his own lost potential.” He paused, as if trying to understand.

  Compassion played in his features. “He’s mellowed with age. Doesn’t trash the house like he used to. But to this day, my mother uses plastic plates and cups.”

  “I see.” Her heart went out to him, and to his mother.

  “And to this day, I hate blue blankets.”

  She reached across the table to grasp his hand. The depth of his pain made her hurt for the precious little boy he’d been, and the wonderful man he’d become. She wanted to take away that pain.

  “I’ll never hide my head again,” he vowed. “Not from my father or anyone else.”

  She leaned over to kiss away the hurt. Her lips touched the lines across his forehead, smoothing them away. He lifted his mouth to hers, took her comfort. He pulled her into his lap. As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt safe. She wanted this security, this love, more than anything.

  His hands ran up her back, sending tingles through her. His face flushed, and his sapphire eyes darkened. She pressed against him and shuddered. Ragged breaths escaped his swollen mouth. He cupped her face with both hands and licked his luscious lips in anticipation of her kiss.

  “Laura, I love you.” The words seemed to spill from his heart. The surprise in his expression mirrored her feelings.

  Her heart stopped. He loves me! Her thoughts muddled, her vision blurred, as she searched his eyes. Blue irises blended in beautiful harmony with the black centers. She blinked, and everything came into sharp focus.

  “I love you,
Brett.” The words escaped of their own volition, yet she meant them from the depth of her soul.

  Hot, moist lips met hers with sudden force. Her mind exploded in a rush of exhilaration.

  He loves me! Passion set her skin on fire. Did she smell smoke? Suddenly she remembered. “The steaks!”

  Brett ate the burnt meat without comment, smirking as he sawed through it. His loving gaze stirred her emotions. His proclamation of love exhilarated her. He’d bore his soul to her, shared his pain. When his father gave him a black eye, he’d come to her. He cried as he told the sad story. It warmed her heart how he trusted her in his most vulnerable moments.

  Because he loved her. And she knew, without a doubt, she loved him too. The depth of his hurt tugged at her heart.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “What? For burning my dinner?” He grinned and waved a hand.

  “Well, for that too, but that’s not what I meant.” Leaning toward him, she didn’t laugh. Her raw emotions were far too weighty. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Don’t be.” His expression grew serious. “I’ve learned to stand up for myself, even if it means getting a black eye. I’ll protect what’s mine.” He squeezed her hand and caught her eye. “And that includes you.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “If anyone lays a hand on you, I’ll flatten him,” he said with steel determination.

  The blood drained from her face. It was clear he insinuated Jake, and she was afraid to know what he suspected.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not looking for a fight.”

  “I hope not.” Jake would retaliate, and Rachel would pay the price. She leaned back in her chair, distancing herself physically and emotionally. She pressed down the anxiety.

  Until now, Brett had definitely taken her mind off Jake. He made her forget what was at stake, for Rachel and for herself. She forgot to protect her heart, and he had tugged it right from her chest. His proclamation of love was nearly her undoing.