A Will and a Way (18 page)

“I have no place for you to stay,” she said stiffly. “And I have no money for you.”

“So it’s true?” he asked, incredulous. “That horse’s ass squandered it all?”

Betty laughed and shook her head, once again amazed by the triumph of legend over fact. “I have no earthly idea why everyone thought there was some kind of family fortune to squander. Your daddy sold insurance. I worked in his office. Yes, we were comfortable, but we were never rich.” This time, she was the one who scoffed. “At least, not by the standards of anyone outside Percy.”

“But Granddad—”

“Liked to chase women and bet the ponies. Unfortunately, they both cost him a lot of money.”

“Grandmother Caroline—”

“Had a higher opinion of herself than Blanche DuBois, but you know the Talbotts didn’t have the proverbial pot. That’s why she had to stoop to marrying slick Stanley Stallings. ”

“The house, the cars,” Donnie said, shifting forward in his seat and jabbing a finger into the tabletop to emphasize his points.

“Ah, yes, we were living the dream, weren’t we? Debt up to our eyeballs and a kid with an overblown sense of entitlement.” She allowed herself one short, bitter laugh. “Why, you might even say we were the poster children for good old American family life.”

Feet planted on the high moral ground, she took another sip of the aromatic dark roast. “You were quite the spoiled little prince, weren’t you? Five and a half years at Ole Miss. Those Jeeps you kept rolling didn’t come cheap, you know.”

She tilted her head and studied him closely. She didn’t like what she saw.

“I’d think living in a third world nation would have cured you, but I guess you’re more like your daddy than either of us ever imagined.” She tapped her nails against the side of the mug. “You couldn’t possibly have made it that long. Tell me, where have you been really? You look beach-y. Maybe Florida? Did you run away to Hollywood? Try to make it as a big star?” She gasped and widened her eyes. “Wait! Poker. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You were the best player in your fraternity. Wasn’t that what you told your Granddad?”

Donnie shot from his chair. “You know what? Dad was right. You are a cold bitch.”

Looking her ungrateful child dead in the eyes, she dredged up one of the last insults he’d hurled at her before he pulled his disappearing act. “Tell me, is that better or worse than being a bourgeoisie Barbie doll?”

He ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair. “Look, I just need a little money.”

“You’ll have to look for it elsewhere,” she said flatly. “I’ve given the last dime and my last damn about any Asher man.”

“But you’re not too good to be giving it up to your boss, are you?”

The words felt like a slap, but not because she was ashamed. More that she was embarrassed that she even considered giving up the pleasure she’d been enjoying with Will for the sake of playing it safe. Caution couldn’t hold a candle to passion, and up until the moment she let her inner ninny take over, she’d been having a fabulous time.

Disgusted with herself and annoyed by the arrogant young man she’d spawned, she set the mug carefully on the table and stood. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Donnie Boy,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke the old nickname. She met her only child’s scornful eyes and graced him with the serene smile that won her the Homecoming Queen crown her mama wanted her to have so badly. “I’m so good the man can’t get enough.”

Gathering her purse, she hesitated when she spotted the whorl of flame-kissed hair at his crown. How many times had she tried to tame that crazy cowlick? Why did she ever want to? That wayward tuft of hair was possibly the most appealing part of her son. Giving in to impulse, she smoothed it with the tips of her fingers, then stirred it up with a playful little flick.

She waved toward the counter then hurried from the shop, desperate to make her getaway before the tears began to flow. Her heels clicked against pavement. Her purse slammed into her hip with each stride. She made it to the corner as the first intrepid drops spilled over her lashes.

“Mom!”

She stopped on a dime. She couldn’t help it. Every molecule of her being was programmed to answer his call.

“Mom.”

His voice was softer. She heard footsteps and knew he was closing the distance between them. At least physically. But she couldn’t make herself turn back. She didn’t want to. Her life was all about moving forward now. He was a grown man. He didn’t need her. He only wanted what he could take from her. He didn’t know or care that this was her turn. Never in a million years would he understand that she needed to be the one to do the taking.

But Will understood.

From the moment they’d met, he’d known exactly what she needed, and he’d given her the freedom to take it. He’d allowed her to seize everything she wanted without judgment or constraint. He let her take even the things she thought she shouldn’t want. Without a single string. No quid pro quo expected, though he made it clear it was certainly appreciated.

And she’d tried to run away.

Maybe she and Donnie weren’t so different after all.

Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face the man she’d loved since before he was born. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother checking them. Perhaps it was about time she let her only child see her for the woman she was now that she’d shed the titles that never quite fit. Mrs. Donald Asher, chairwoman of the committee for this and the commission on that, and ribbon-cutting First Lady. She wasn’t the Southern Living version of Martha Stewart her mother had tried to mold her into, nor was she the naive fool who pretended she didn’t know her husband was screwing every woman in town.

She was just Betty. Sometimes she didn’t feel like fixing her hair or wearing mascara. She never dreamed she’d consider concatenating columns of numbers on spreadsheets an accomplishment, or feel the triumph in squeezing another hundred pages out of a container of toner, but she did. She liked eating cold pizza for breakfast—carbs be damned—and drinking a second, and sometimes a third glass of wine.

And, sometimes, between glasses two and three, she wholeheartedly understood the allure of a man willing to risk his eternal soul for the love of a woman. She wanted to believe in fate. But even if she couldn’t have the forever kind of love one finds in romance novels, she at least deserved to have her kid love her as unconditionally as she loved him. That was the one part of the old Betty she’d carry with her until the day she died. The only difference was, New Betty wouldn’t settle for scraps. From anyone.

“I love you,” she said, her voice hoarse but resolute. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

“What are you doing?”

It made her heart ache to see him so shaken and confused, but the flash of boyish bewilderment quickly hardened.

“I don’t get this,” he said.

“There’s nothing to get.” She brushed cooling tears from her cheeks, then manufactured a weak smile. “Go live your life,
Don
. Figure out what you want and do what you need to do to get it.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say to me?”

His incredulity was knife-edged and sliced deep, but she kept her spine straight and stiff, refusing to bend under the weight of his disdain.

Instead, she gave him a sad smile. “Good luck?”

“Good luck?” he repeated, his eyes as big as saucers. “You’re my mother.”

He spoke the words as if she were a particularly dull-witted child. It was the same tone he’d learned from his father. He simply didn’t know it no longer worked on her.

“I’m sorry, did I need to kiss a boo-boo and make something all better for you?”

For the first time, he actually looked flummoxed. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” She gave her head a pitying shake. “Well, let’s see. Since the last time I folded your underpants, my only son took off for parts unknown without so much as a ‘See ya later, Mom,’ and I found out my husband had been fucking every two-bit skank south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

Donnie failed to react, and a ball of ice formed in the pit of her stomach.

“But apparently that was only a surprise to me. No one batted an eyelash when I polled the Junior League ladies.” She blinked as the film version of her life finally flickered into focus. “To hell with Dermot Mulroney and his friggin’ wedding, I had my own Dennis Quaid.
That
was my Julia Roberts moment!”

He took a step back. “What?”

“How was I supposed to know your daddy’d been giving them something to talk about for decades? Backstabbing heifers,” she added, just because it felt good to let all the ugly she’d been holding inside her out at last. “I’m sure he managed to bang a few of them, too, but those women weren’t really his style, were they?”

“Mom—”

“No, he liked ’em lowborn like Tanya Sue Sherman. He couldn’t keel over while he was sticking it to Marianna Preston or even Laurel Hawthorn. No, he had to die while he was screwin’ that piece of bleached blond trailer trash—”

“Mama!”

Betty snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth clacked. Donnie hadn’t called her anything but ‘Mom’ or ‘Mother’ since he’d slipped his hand from hers and hustled off to the first day of second grade without a backwards glance.

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much bitterness she had bottled up inside her. A man in a dark blue business suit jostled her as he passed, but she didn’t give an inch. Fury burned in her cheeks and roiled in her belly, but she refused to be ashamed of her outburst. She was justified, and the world would have to deal with it.

Donnie stared at her, slack-jawed and pale beneath his tan. Still, she stood her ground. Why should she be the one to look away? She’d done nothing wrong and everything right. All her life she’d done her level best to be the perfect daughter, wife, and mother. Look where that landed her. The worst of it was admitting to herself that she’d never felt as comfortable in any of those roles.

But here she was, airing her dirty linen on a litter-strewn street corner in a strange city, and rocking it, if she did say so herself. For the first time in forever, she felt free. Natural. Right.

As a matter of fact, the only time she’d felt better was when she woke up that morning wearing nothing but Will’s tangled sheet and a satisfied smile.

Maybe Will had this life thing nailed all along. Perhaps it was time she let go of the shoulds, stopped fretting over coulds, and started in on living some woulds. She would march right back to that office and reclaim both her job and her lover. Because she wanted them. Her mother might have wanted her to be the flower of delicate southern femininity—and Lord knows she tried—but she was tougher than that. She was woman enough to handle anything any man wanted to throw her way. Even one who cut as wide a swath through the female population as Will Tarrant.

Perhaps she should just say ‘screw it’ and offer herself up to that fickle bitch, Fate. Will seemed to have a surprising amount of trust in her whims. And while choosing to be with a fickle guy driven by whim was almost guaranteed to hurt her, it didn’t really matter. If there was one thing she’d learned from her miserable wreck of a marriage and travesty of a family, it was that hearts never really broke, they only bruised.

The thought was just rebellious enough to tickle her. She laughed, and Donnie’s blank expression collapsed into a frown of perplexed worry. Mrs. Westlake gave her head a dismayed shake as she carted an armload of her husband’s shirts into the dry cleaners. A man wearing three layers of windbreakers, cargo shorts, and mismatched tennis shoes scuttled past, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. A lifetime of walking the straight and narrow, and in one week’s time she had taken a lover, started guzzling Australian wine by the bottle, and was out-crazying the crazies.

It might have taken nearly half her life, but at last she’d discovered her hidden talents. And all that talent seemed to have been inspired by one man. One dangerous man armed with devilish smiles and tender touches. One who said he’d still be there when she got back.

Dialing her laughter back to a semi-giddy smile, she took a quick step forward and planted a kiss on Donnie’s cheek. “I’ve got no money to give you and a second-hand sofa for a guest room, but if you need a place to crash this weekend so you can figure out your next move, you can stay with me.”

He hesitated only a moment then nodded mutely. Pulling away, she ran her hand over that semi-tamed cowlick again, then gave his cheek a little pat.

“I have to finish some things up at work. I’ll meet you back here at five.”

When she turned to walk away this time, she shed no tears. Instead, she turned the corner and added a little extra sass to her step. She needed all the swagger she could muster. She had to take back what she wanted without letting Will think he’d somehow won the upper hand.

She burst into the office, out of breath and flushed with determination. “Will?”

A thud from the back room told her he’d heard her call. She took two steps then turned back to lock the outer door. Hooking a left to head through the kitchen to his office, she ran smack into a solid wall of man.

* * * *

“Oof!” Will staggered a bit but caught an arm around Betty’s waist and hauled her hard against him. He pushed down the surge of joy that rose in him the second he heard her voice, clenching his jaw tight, wanting to hang onto a little of his anger. He deserved to be ticked.

Betty braced her hands on his arms and tipped her head back to look up at him. “I can’t see you this weekend.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me at all.”

She gave his biceps a squeeze then began to stroke them. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I can’t help it. I’m just a hard hat kind of guy, remember?”

“Pfft.” She gave him a shove, but he refused to budge. “You forget, I’ve seen your credentials, Mr. Tarrant.”

“More than seen ’em,” he said with a leer.

“Not those credentials.” She slid a hand down to cover his fly, and he bit back the not-so-manly moan that threatened to burst free. The tip of one fingernail teased the outline of his erection, and he gave up all pretense of playing it cool.