Betting on You (5 page)

After dinner, they played another ten frames—Lark winning again, a fact she was sure to rub in as Mason drove her home—and then, suddenly, the date was over and Lark was walking back up the path to her parent’s house. Alone.

Mason didn’t even
try
to walk her to the door. Which was a little…disappointing.

“Not disappointing,” Lark mumbled beneath her breath as she waved good-bye to Mason, and watched his car pulled away from the curb. “It’s good. Exactly what I wanted.”

It was. Which left no explanation for why she felt like a balloon with all the air leaking out, or why she hurried to her old room without ducking into the den to say good night to Aria. No explanation for why she curled into bed feeling sad and alone in a way she hadn’t in a long, long time.

There was just no explanation. None at all.

Chapter Four

“Well if it ain’t the big man himself.” Uncle Parker squinted up at Mason from the shade of his sagging front porch. “In the flesh.”

“I just got back in town.” Mason stood at the bottom of the porch steps, not inclined to get any closer to his uncle unless he absolutely had to. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to get some catfish for lunch.”

“I already ate,” Parker said, not moving from his chair. “Is that all you want?”

So much for a warm welcome.

Mason gritted his teeth. “Well, I figured I’d pick up the boat while I was here.”

Parker grunted. He looked a little older than he had when Mason had left, and certainly older than his forty-six years. He’d lost weight and his sunbaked skin hung looser on his sharp face, but otherwise, Parker looked exactly the same. Same thinning black hair perpetually in need of a cut, same thin lips and lanky frame, same expression of sour amusement when he looked at his only nephew.

Mason wasn’t surprised that Parker wasn’t going to bother getting up to welcome home the family he hadn’t seen in years. Parker hadn’t bothered getting off his ass to attend his nephew’s graduation, either. Not a single one of them, not even his graduation from Summerville High, and that was only five miles down the road. No, Mason hadn’t expected time to make his uncle’s heart grow fonder.

He wasn’t even sure Parker had a heart.

“Don’t know why you’d need the boat,” Parker said after a moment. “Didn’t think a fancy doctor like you would have time for fishing.”

“I don’t start work until the middle of June. I took some time off after my residency.”

“Ain’t that nice.” Parker grunted. “Some time off from all that soft work. Going to take some of your faggot friends out on the lake to celebrate?”

“I’m going to take Lark fishing later this afternoon,” Mason said, refusing to give Parker the reaction he was looking for.

Parker was obviously pissed that Mason had proven him wrong. Parker had been telling Mason he would never make it as a doctor for as long as Mason could remember. It must really burn his uncle’s ass knowing his nephew finally had that M.D. after his name.

“You still seeing that March girl?” Parker worked his jaw back and forth, the way he did when he was chewing on something to see if it tasted like the truth. If it didn’t, it was grounds to unleash the poison always on the tip of his tongue.

“That’s my business,” Mason said.

“Your business,” Parker repeated, flat blue eyes going narrow and mean. “I heard that girl cried for a year after you left. You sure pulled the wool over her eyes, didn’t you, boy? She thought you were a real decent little bastard.” He chuckled. “Turns out you’re just a bastard.”

Mason sighed. “I didn’t come here to fight.” Fighting with Parker never accomplished anything. “I just came to see if you wanted lunch and to make sure the boat was in good shape before I took it out on the lake.”

Parker grunted. Shrugged. “It’s in the barn. Was fine the last time I took it out.”

“Thanks.”

“Should have just taken it. We both know you didn’t want to buy me no lunch.”

“I didn’t want to give you an excuse to come after me with your shotgun, either,” Mason snapped, backing away.

“I’m sure Lark March’s daddy would like someone to take a shot at you. He know you’re messing around with his little girl again?” Parker asked, clearly not ready to let his favorite verbal punching bag go just yet.

Parker had never struck Mason—not like stepdad number four or seven—but sometimes Mason thought his words were worse. A bruise healed and stepdad number four, at least, had always been apologetic the day after a beating, once he sobered up and realized he had been pounding on a kid half his size.

Parker never felt remorse, and always knew where to strike where it hurt the most. His uncle was mean and bitter and had a chip on his shoulder the size of Georgia about the lousy lot life had dealt him, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I bet he doesn’t,” Parker continued when Mason didn’t answer. “If he did, he’d run you out of town so quick you’d mess those nice pants of yours. Bob always knew trash like you wasn’t good enough for one of his classy little bitches. Only a matter of time before that girl figures it out, too.”

“I’m going to get the boat,” Mason said through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to shout that Lark wasn’t a bitch, and
no one
got to call her that, especially a hateful waste of flesh like Parker.

“Good.” Parker’s mouth pulled into a hard frown. “Take it, and don’t bring it back. I don’t want your shit taking up space in my barn anymore. You bring it back here and I’m selling it for whatever I can get.”

Mason turned his back on Parker without another word, knowing if he stayed to look into the man’s face another moment he’d lose all the ground he’d gained in the past four years of therapy and give the asshole the fight he so obviously wanted.

“Good seeing you, Mason,” Parker called after him. “Glad all your dreams came true.”

The way he said it turned everything into a joke—all the years of study, all the sleepless nights during Mason’s residency, everything he’d learned and everything he’d fought for, and the past four years living in a rat hole of an apartment with three other guys, eating macaroni and cheese and taking handy man jobs during his rare holidays to save enough money for a car and a down payment on a condo in Atlanta.

It was a joke, all of it, and coming back for Lark was the biggest joke of all.

She was too good for him when they were younger, and she was too good for him now. It was like Parker said: Mason was still trash, trash with an M.D. and a better haircut, but trash nevertheless. Lark was from one of the most established families in Summerville, from a long line of people who cared about each other and stood up for each other and were classy and intelligent and kind and believed in good things happening to good people. For Mason to think that he could ever truly be a part of that—especially after what he’d done to Lark— was laughable.

No,
he thought as stomped into the shadowy barn and picked his way through the mess of projects his uncle was never going to finish.

It wasn’t laughable, and Mason wasn’t a joke. He was on the verge of having everything he’d ever wanted, and he wasn’t going to let Parker poison him with doubt. He was going to take Lark out and have a wonderful afternoon, and afterwards he’d find somewhere to keep his boat.

One of his basketball buddies from high school, or his old friend, Nash, might be interested in having it around. He would either find someone to give it to, or he’d sell the damned thing himself. He wasn’t bringing it back here for Parker to make a thin dime on. He wasn’t coming back here again, period.

Mason paused with his hands on the edge of the tarp that covered the boat, the realization hitting him hard.

He didn’t have to come back here. Not ever again. He was…free.

He supposed he’d been free for a long time—since high school, he had only lived with Parker during the summers and hadn’t seen his uncle at all in the past four years—but some part of him had still felt tied to Parker. He was the only family Mason had left.

Mason hadn’t seen his mom since the day she skipped town, the summer before his junior year of high school. She used to call every few months, but by the time Mason graduated from college, the calls had stopped. Last he’d heard from her, she was retiring to Mexico with husband number ten, and planned to call with her new number when she got settled.

The call never came.

If Mason cut himself off from Parker, he would truly be a man without a clan.

There had been a time when the thought would have scared him, or at least felt very wrong. Parker hadn’t had to take him in. He could have left Mason to fend for himself, especially after high school, when his nephew was legally an adult. If Parker hadn’t let him shack up with him at the farm during the summers, Mason never would have been able to save enough money to pay for his apartment and expenses during the school year. He would have had to go to school part time, and it would have taken years longer for him to get his M.D.

He’d always felt like he owed Parker, at least a card every Christmas and birthday, and lunch every now and then.

But now…

Well, it was obvious Parker cared even less for Mason than he used to. Mason had succeeded where Parker had promised he would fail and made a liar and a fool of the man who had done his best to convince his nephew there was no point in hoping for a better life. And Parker clearly didn’t like being reminded of it. Any pretense of family feeling between them was gone. It was time for Mason to move on, to move forward, toward a better life. With Lark.

He was going to win her back, and prove Parker wrong about that the way he’d proven him wrong about everything else.

Mason hitched the little fishing boat to the back of his car and pulled down the gravel driveway to his uncle’s farm without a glance back in the rearview. It was too dusty to see much, and he was done looking back.

Chapter Five

Date Two

When Mason showed up at three on the dot, Lark was already waiting outside on her parents’ front porch. Mason was so glad to see her that he was out of the car and striding up the walkway before he realized she wasn’t dressed for an afternoon on the lake.

In fact, she wasn’t dressed at all.

“What’s up?” Mason glanced down, taking in her oversized gray t-shirt and thin pink pajama pants.

“I’m not feeling well.” Lark sniffed, rubbing her nose with the tissue wadded in her fist. “I woke up sick as a dog.”

“What are your symptoms?” he asked. “Any fever?”

“Yeah.” Lark sniffed again. “Fever and runny nose and I’m achy all over. Must be a spring virus or something. I don’t know, but I’m definitely not up for fishing today.”

Mason shrugged. “Okay. Why don’t we just hang out and watch a movie or something? I can make you chicken soup with extra noodles.”

“No. I don’t want to make you sick.”

“I won’t get sick. I’ve spent the past four years swimming in germs at the hospital. I don’t get sick anymore. Or almost never.” Mason smiled. “Besides, I’d risk a virus to spend the afternoon with you.”

“That’s sweet, but I think I should go back to bed.” Lark tucked her chin, causing her hair to spill around her face, hiding her expression. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I could use the rest.”

“All right,” Mason said, ignoring the stab of disappointment in his chest.

He had been looking forward to seeing Lark again since the moment she closed the car door behind her last night. After their awful first interaction at the wedding, their first date had gone better than he could have hoped. He had woken up this morning feeling certain he was well on his way to winning a second chance, and that date two was going to be even better than date one.

Now, he was going to spend the afternoon alone.

But Lark couldn’t help being sick….

Hmmm. Lark…sick….

Mason’s brow furrowed. Lark was
never
sick. With the exception of allergies in the fall and a nasty case of food poisoning from a bad batch of raw oysters at a Mardis Gras party in Atlanta about a year after they started dating, Mason had never seen Lark sick.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Lark sniffed as she stood and reached for the door.

Mason stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, letting his fingers brush along the back of her neck.

No fever. Just as he had suspected.

She shivered and glanced at him over her shoulder. “What was that for?”

“Checking your temperature.”

“With your fingers?”

“You’re right. Can’t tell for sure with fingers.” Mason brushed Lark’s hair to one side, baring her neck before leaning down and pressing his lips to the exposed skin.

Lark sucked in a swift breath as Mason’s feathered out from between his parted lips. God, her skin was as soft as he remembered, soft and warm, smelling pleasantly of shampoo and spiced apple lotion and something mysterious that was Lark’s smell, the most addictive scent in the world.

He’d woken up dreaming about that smell a dozen times in the past four years. Now, here he was, with his lips on Lark’s bare skin and the smell of her filling up his head until it spun, and he couldn’t resist pressing another kiss to her throat.