Any Man of Mine (15 page)

I couldn't help but stare. James would put his own money on the line so Chip could realize a dream?

“That's quite a risk for you, son,” my father put in as he came into the room. He must have found a final resting place for the salad spoons. He lowered his head toward Jace, who sighed and got up from my father's chair. “Are you sure you want to take it?”
he asked as he settled in and folded his arms across his chest.

“I trust Chip and Neil. I think they would do well.”

Neil's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Chip jumped to his feet and cheered, then turned to James. “You sure, dude? I mean, it's a lot of cash. You win a lottery or something?”

James shook his head. “No. My parents had an insurance policy and I spun my share into my contracting business. When I sold it, my money had made me more money. I want to settle down and get it working for me again. I figured helping you guys start up a mechanic's shop would be a start.”

I couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude as I saw the stunned looks on my brothers' faces. Owning their own shop was something they had dreamed of ever since they started working for Ernie Smith, a man who could give Casey a few lessons on how to be a miserable boss. Even more, the boys knew full well the difference between the shop rates and what they were getting paid, but in a town the size of Preston, other employment opportunities in their chosen field were hard to come by. Neither of them wanted to work in an oilfield.

Now, thanks to James, they had a chance to realize a faint dream.

Jace pulled out a pad of paper, my father provided a pen and on the now cleared coffee table of the living room, they drew up a rough business plan. The mood in the room was one of celebration.

So I kept my own news about my potential job to myself. It was no secret that I'd been looking, but the boys were of the opinion that if they pretended it wasn't going to happen, it wouldn't.

Soon, I decided. They needed to be prepared, but it might be better to wait until it was a done deal and I had a firm job offer in my hands.

Sherry shifted in my arms and I tried to get comfortable, but James noticed me fiddling around. He put his hands on his knees and shoved himself to his feet. “I'd love to sit and make more plans with you guys, but I should get my niece to bed.”

I gave him a grateful look and carefully shifted to get up. Letting sleeping babies lie was a good maxim here.

James gave me his hand and I reluctantly took it, letting him pull me to my feet.

I wasn't going to look at the avid audience that was my brothers. I knew for them this little family moment was like icing on the cake for them. First the mechanic shop looked to be a reality and now their sister was holding hands with the man they tapped to be their future brother-in-law.

Don't count your chickens, I thought, pulling my hand a little too quickly out of James's.

James and I were quiet on the short walk back to the house. I could have given Sherry to him, but I was reluctant to let go of her and, I reasoned to myself, I didn't want to jostle her unnecessarily.

Her arms flung out when I laid her in the crib, but
then she snuffled, and her fingers relaxed, curling back against her palm. I covered her with a blanket and then quietly walked out of the room.

James stood in the living room, his back to me. He spun around and as I carefully closed the door, he came closer, coming to a stop bare inches away.

“Obviously she settled okay. I don't hear her crying,” he said quietly.

“She's fine. I hope she sleeps the rest of the night for you.” I glanced up at him, then away. I knew I should be going, but some unseen force had me rooted to the spot.

“By the way, thanks for supper,” I said.

“You didn't eat much.”

“Wasn't that hungry.”

“Too much salt, right?”

“That and a few other things.” I flashed him an apologetic smile. “I guess I should have said that more diplomatically.”

“No. No. Honesty is good.” He shifted his weight, which brought him even closer to me. “I like that about you.”

“Blame it on living with four guys who've never met a cellophane bag they can't poke a hole in to get what they need.” I thought a joke might lighten the atmosphere, which was shifting toward potential relationship stuff. Like it had the other night.

But he didn't even smile. He didn't say anything. My cue to leave. The longer I stayed here the more my brothers would speculate. But my feet seemed
to have developed some type of palsy and stayed where they were.

I lived in a crowded house, was busy all day with other people, I had good friends, a strong relationship with the Lord, but it was a gentle yearning for a relationship, a basic girl/guy loneliness I didn't want to analyze that kept me rooted to the spot.

James's face was a foot away from mine and when he lifted his arm and placed his hand on the frame of the door behind me, the foot became mere inches. I swallowed, but kept myself statue still. I wasn't going to make the first move. In fact I wasn't going to make any move. In a few weeks I was going to be away from Preston and living in the city and…

Then James lowered his head as his eyes drifted shut. I kept mine open to anchor myself in reality as his lips met mine. He pulled back a hair's breadth and his breath feathered over my cheek. I swallowed as my heart started up. Time wheeled slowly, slowly.

The practical part of me resisted. But the other, lonely, yearning, romantic part that was attracted to James, wouldn't.

Gradually, I closed the distance between us, let my hand drift up his chest, over his neck and tangle in his hair at the nape of his neck.

I knew I had to stop. So why couldn't I? Was I so shallow that all James had to do was come close and I was kissing him?

“What's happening here, Dani?” James whis
pered, his use of my nickname sending little flutters of intimacy chasing down my spine.

I swallowed as I slowly let my hand drift down his shoulder. I straightened his collar, smoothed down the front of his shirt, reluctant to let go of this fragile contact. “I don't know,” I whispered.

He brushed his lips over the top of my head, lowered his hand to my face and cupped my chin, lifting my face to look at him.

“You're an amazing person, you know. I knew that from the first time I saw you.” His voice was pitched low and soft, and his words wrapped me in warm comfort.

Until they penetrated to the analytical part of my brain. And I remembered how we first “met.” I concentrated on the fold of his collar in an attempt to distract myself from his gentle smile and the glow of his eyes.

“I need to know something, James,” I said, smoothing the collar down. “When you took me out the first time, you were talking about Schubert and poetry.”

James nodded, moving in again. I put my hand on his warm chest, trying to ignore the steady thump of his heart. “Was that real or fake?”

James drew back, looking puzzled. “What do you mean?”

I was going to stay casual about it. Be a woman of the world. But the James of that “date,” the James of the “Jigs” and the James that I was getting to know were getting inextricably intertwined. I didn't know which one was real and which one was put on.

“The whole bet thing you had going with my brothers when you were…Jigs. Your alter ego. The bet that you could fool me and take me out. When did that stop and…” I was about to add “and this begin,” but I didn't want to put a voice to what we had just shared. It was so fragile and uncertain and I wasn't sure myself where to put it alongside the bet my brothers had made with him or where it fit with plans that were slowly coming to realization.

“What?” There was no way James could fake the frown that creased his brow and for a moment I wondered if I should carry on. But I had begun this and knew that I needed to finish it. The longer I spent with James, the more confused I became.

“I heard my brothers saying that they had made a bet with you. That you wouldn't be able to get me to go out with you. When you were…Jigs. Your alter ego.”

James pulled away, scratching his cheek with his forefinger. “There was never any bet, Danielle.”

I
stared at him. “What do you mean, no bet? There was a bet. I heard Neil and Chip say so.”

James's frown grew hard and for a moment I wished I hadn't even brought it up. “What do you mean there
was
a bet?”

“The day I met you at the garage where they work I heard the guys say that they bet I would come around. Chip said he would take that.”

James held his hand up as if to stop me. “They may have said bet and you may have heard it, but I never took them up on it. I treated it as a joke, but I wasn't part of it.”

Part of me heard and acknowledged this, but the part that still hurt carried on. “What about showing up at the restaurant the next day. You had shaved and were wearing decent clothes. You were James and you were different….”

James gave me a feeble smile. “Not completely different.”

“And what about the Schubert and the poetry? Was that part of it?”

He stepped back holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, that was laying it on a bit thick.”

My heart fell. “So it
was
part of the bet.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, there was no bet.” James stood with his hands on his hips. “The day I saw you after I met you for the first time, I had a meeting with a guy about leasing this building and I saw you, and said hi and you were friendly, which was a real switch from the last time I saw you, and by the time I realized you didn't recognize me, well…” He lifted his shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I didn't think there was anything wrong in capitalizing on it.”

I jumped on the last thing he said. “Capitalizing on it?”

“Well, yeah.” He gave me his now patented crooked grin and took a step closer. “I could tell you liked me and I liked you.” He shrugged. “I figured it was my chance.”

“Chance?”

“For a social worker who uses the word ‘hence' you sure seem to have lost your grip of the English language.”

“So even though the set-up wasn't about a bet, you were still playing me. Laughing at me. Treating me like a joke. Not much different than a bet, I would say.”

“The only joke is the way you're reacting to this.” He gave me a crooked grin, which was, I guessed, supposed to make me smile. Instead it only increased my anger. “You should feel flattered that I cared enough to research some dead composer and pretend I knew what I was talking about,” he continued.

“Flattered?” I glared at him. “That you wanted to deliberately fool me into thinking you were someone you weren't?”

“Not deliberately. I was utilizing an advantage. And from what your brothers told me about you, I needed every ‘in' I could get.”

“In? What do you mean, ‘in'?”

“Your brothers told me that you were a hard sell. That you were tough and independent but that you liked poetry and music and other things like that. I have never met anyone like you before and from the moment I saw your picture in the garage where your brothers worked, I knew I wanted to meet you. Then I saw you in the grocery store and then at Neil and Chip's garage and you brushed me off like a fly.”

“I brushed you off because you had bloodshot eyes and wouldn't help me with the tire.” I glared at him as something else registered. “Tough and independent?”

“I had welder's flash.”

“What?”

“The bloodshot eyes. I got those from welding. And your own brothers told me you were tough. That's why I didn't do anything when you came into
the shop with that flat tire and then, later, when that Stinson guy was threatening you.”

“I wouldn't have minded some help then.”

“Tough and independent, remember?”

“I'm not that tough. You make me sound like I should be spitting out nails, which I don't. Steve Stinson scares me and there you were spouting off about Schubert and poetry,” I said, trying to sort through what I was hearing. “You've got some convoluted idea of what a woman wants,” I said, my anger spilling out now.

“Actually, from the sounds of things I have no idea at all what a woman wants. Which, by the way, makes me
exactly
like most guys
and
men on this planet.”

“Well, I should know because I live with four of them and work for one of them and it shouldn't surprise anyone why I want to leave.”

By this time we were standing almost nose-to-nose, glaring at each other, angry words swirling around us like a noxious cloud.

How had we gone from tender kiss to Armageddon?

James held my eyes, his own narrowing. “You're still leaving?”

“The sooner I get out of here, the better.” But somehow the words didn't have the conviction they once had.

Did I really still want to move away? I hadn't heard anything from Dan Crittenden or Les Steglund. They would call. I still had a plan. Something would come up. Eventually.

But James…

I shook my head to dispel the doubts, the questions. This shouldn't be happening now. Surely I wasn't such a ninny that a few kisses from someone that my brothers tried to set me up with and had pushed on me at every opportunity would make me change my entire plan for my life.

What you feel is a result of more than a few kisses.

Okay, I was really getting tired of this voice in my head. She had to go.

What do you mean? She is me! I'm just as much a part of this discussion as you are.

Was arguing with myself the first sign of ill mental health? Or was paying attention to the voice?

“Yes. I'm going.” I repeated the words, trying to silence my “other” voice.

“To some fancy job in the city where men are men and wear suits and order grande non-fat lattes, no foam with room from a barista at some coffee bar who acts like knowing how to do this makes him all suave when really, it's still just coffee.”

“And this is a bad thing?” I had to think of Les and the coffee we'd had together.

“No, but I don't think this is your thing.”

“You know, this is exactly the attitude I've been fighting for years. My brothers and my father and my mother all seem to know exactly what I want, but somehow, they all miss the mark, as you just found out.” I clenched my hands into fists, drawing out memories to shore my thoughts. “All my life every
thing was about the guys and guy stuff. Never once was what I wanted taken into consideration. We went to rodeos, hockey tournaments and tractor pulls. All because that was what the guys wanted. No one ever asked me what I wanted. Now I find out they assumed I was exactly like my mother, which I'm not. At all. I'm not tough. I cried every time I had to watch
Where the Red Fern Grows,
my dad's favorite movie, and I like to have a man take care of me even though my own job seems to put me in guy vicinity every day. And now, I want to move to the city and work at a civilized job. I want to be able to order a stupid cappuccino and not get a blank look. I want to go to plays and I want to finally, for the first time in my life, dress up in a velvet dress, put on full makeup and go to the
Nutcracker Suite
at Christmas instead of sitting in a chilly hockey arena cheering on a bunch of brawling brutes, who will end up at the bar celebrating their win or commiserating with each other over their loss.”

James didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. All he did was touch my cheek ever so lightly, as if he understood. “You can still do that from here. Because no matter what you say I doubt that working in a highrise doing clean, tidy work that only benefits a select few will make you feel as fulfilled as your current job does.”

I stared at him. “And what do you know about my current job?”

James moved his head closer, but I didn't budge.
I was not going to be intimidated. “I know that you work too hard, that your boss is a jerk, that you should tell him where to get off and that I think it's easier for you to run away to the city than it is to face some of the things that you should be facing right here, right now.”

“I face them every day. It's all about changing the things I can and that whole serenity prayer thing. I want a safe, stable and tame life.”

“Do you really? When I saw you racing across the field on that horse of yours, I didn't see a safe, tame girl. I saw someone who enjoyed pushing boundaries. I think you like a wild and uncertain world. You just need to learn to control it instead of running away.”

A memory slowly surfaced. My brothers pushing me to get back on a horse that had just bucked me off. I was crying and afraid and angry with them, but we were miles from nowhere and the only way to get back was either to walk, or ride. So, with tears running down my cheeks, I got back on the horse. For the first mile I was trembling and jumped each time the horse did. Finally, I was so worn out and angry, I started making the horse trot. By the time we got home, I was angry with my brothers, but, at the same time, exhilarated that I had overcome this fear.

James touched my face, trying to draw out a confession. “I know that your job is challenging and hard and dirty and nasty and that if you didn't do it, then maybe someone else would, but most social
workers like you, who really care about their clients, are a gift. I know that you have a gift from God to care about people and to help them and that you're good at your job.”

I looked at him as his words washed over me in a wave of leashed anger and frustration, yet something lay deeper than his words. Some emotion that I hardly dared acknowledge, because that would mean backing out, proving my brothers right. Proving James right.

He pulled in a long slow breath, as if to slow himself down. “Now that we've traded soliloquies, I need to tell you that I don't think you'll be happier with that job, Dani. I think you'll miss the very things that make you frustrated with your work now. You'll miss the challenges. The need to do something that makes a difference. Much as you say you don't seek it, I think you'll miss living on the edge.”

I looked at James, holding his gaze that was now intently fixed on me. “I won't miss my boss.”

“Then change that.” His hand moved up, tangling itself in my hair, anchoring my head to his hand. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't want to move away.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore, only that being here, so close to James, was like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

“I can't change him. I can't get rid of him. So how I can stay…not liking my boss…not liking where my life is now.” I was stuttering, but I didn't know how to tell him how frightened his words were making me.

“You're not as powerless as you think, Dani. You can do something about your circumstances.”

“Like what?” My former frustration returned, the same feeling of being locked into a place I wasn't happy or content, a place I could see no way around but escape. “Arrange for a mysterious accident? Besides breaking the Sixth Commandment, it's illegal.”

James slipped his hand through my hair, loosening his grip on me for a moment. “Look at what happened with your brothers this evening. Did you ever think you would see the day that they did the dishes?”

“They didn't do it on their own,” I protested, struggling to keep my mind focused while his finger moving gently over my neck threatened to distract me. His face, inches from mine, tangled my emotions until I didn't know exactly what I wanted anymore.

“Exactly,” James said, his deep voice growing quieter. More intimate. “You told them what they needed to do. You pushed them. Guys need that whether we want to admit it or not. And thanks to you I'm finding my way back to the Lord.”

I was growing bewildered and, to tell the truth, a bit scared. I had a plan. It was sound. To abandon it now, to try something else, to stay here created a low-level panic in me. I had to think.

“I care about you, Danielle,” he said quietly. “And I care that you're not happy right now. I've been there and I know what it feels like, but I've learned
to make changes where I can and adjust where I can't.”

“Right. And that's what I'm doing,” I said, breathless now. “Adjusting where I can't. By getting another job.”

“I don't think that's going to make a difference.” James brushed his lips gently over my cheek again. “If you can't be happy here, I don't know if you can be happy there.” He kissed me lightly then pulled back. “And I want you to be happy here. Very badly.”

I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of his handsome face shadowed by whiskers, his hazel eyes speckled with gold.

He was confusing me with his seductive voice, his gentle hand, his appealing presence. When he bent and kissed me again, I knew I couldn't stay here. Not like this.

It took more willpower than I thought I possessed, but I pushed myself away from the wall, away from James. “Thanks for the pep talk,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “I'll keep it in mind as I'm packing up.”

Though I knew the expression, “his face fell” and had read it numerous times in books and articles, I didn't truly experience it until now. And in that slow drift of James's expression from encouragement to frustration, I had to fight the urge to recant my glib words. I couldn't explain to myself why I didn't want him disappointed in me. I knew I didn't like how he was looking at me now.

But I couldn't back out now. Though I didn't
have the job yet, I felt as if my life was gaining momentum in the direction I had been pushing toward for many, many years. I had prayed about this and now Mrs. Woytowich was coming to clean my house and watch Dad. Things were coming into place. I couldn't stop this now. Not for some guy who was good-looking and fun and intelligent and a Christian…

I spun around and walked out of the house before I could be drawn away from my plan. My own plan. Not anyone else's.

 

The knock on the door sent my heart up into my chest.