Bittersweet Surrender (8 page)

“You're welcome.” He grinned. “We still have time to jog before dinner. Go change your clothes. Magnolia will have dinner when we get back.”

Carly's gaze pinned him in place. “You have talked with Magnolia about this?”

“Yep. She's going to help us both.”

“Did you two take out an insurance policy on me? What?”

He shrugged. “I said I wanted to lose weight, and I'm serious about it. Magnolia is a good person to have around when you want to lose weight. Her passion for health spills onto everyone and everything around her. Not to mention her cooking would keep anyone from overeating.”

“I don't even want to talk about that. Did you bring your sweats?” Carly asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“All right. I'll go get dressed and meet you back down here.”

“Sounds good. I have a few things to do in the office.”

Her weak legs carried her halfheartedly up the stairs, knowing full well that she was going to treat them unkindly over the next hour. By the time she reached the top step, Jake's handsome face had all but faded from her memory. Unfortunately, so had her beautifully decorated home—which, as she viewed it now, was totally unrecognizable.

Her living quarters had vomited furniture. Everywhere.

Magnolia sat on the end of her sofa, which had replaced Carly's nearest the television. She looked up and waved—obviously, even
she
realized Carly might miss her in all the clutter. “What do you think?” Her eyes were bright and perky, and her hand flapped with glee.

“I think it's . . . cozy.”

Magnolia chuckled and stumbled her way over to Carly. “I know it looks a bit jumbled right now, but we'll figure it out. We can make this place look good.”

“It looked good before.”

“It will look more lived-in now.” Magnolia's eyes sparkled like a little kid on an adventure.

Words clattered against the backs of Carly's teeth and it took everything in her not to set them free.

“Scott told me you were going jogging. I'll have vegetable enchiladas ready for you when you return,” Magnolia said as though they had no choice in the matter. Which, of course, they didn't.

“Thank you. I'm going to put on my sweats now,” Carly said, then headed for her bedroom. “What if I were a cook?” She asked no one in particular as she yanked her sweats from the drawer in her room. Pinkie stared at her, head cocked to one side, but said nary a word.

Smart dog.

“She's taken over my kitchen.” Carly looked at Pinkie. “Do you believe that?”

She didn't.

“Maybe I would like to cook in my own kitchen.” Carly's sweats protested as she wiggled them up over her thighs. “Okay, so maybe I don't cook, but it's nice to know the kitchen is there for me if I'm hit with sudden inspiration to whip up something.”

Pinkie looked doubtful.

“It could happen.”

Pinkie held her ground.

“Who asked you?”

By the time Carly had her sweats on, she was out of breath. Running a brush through her tangled hair did nothing for her mood. And hello? Wasn't it bad enough to be cutting down on calories? Must she eat vegetables too?

Since Scott had to do something in the office, she decided to take a minute to send Jake an e-mail. It was just the thing she needed to calm her down. Opening her mail, she saw his name in her in-box. Her heart skipped.

Hey, Squirt. How's it going? I've had a tough day with Katelyn. She is fighting me on the move back to Spring Creek. Kids today just don't listen. I'm ready to come home. Maybe you can help me knock some sense into this daughter of mine. I've got to go for now. Can't wait to see you. Love J

Carly had that leaving-the-bathroom-with-toilet-paper-dragging-behind-her kind of feeling. As though something was wrong but she couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Scott's here.”

“I'll be right down.”

Carly's fingers flew across the keys.

Sorry you're having problems with Katelyn. I'm sure everything will be fine once you settle in here. I'm looking forward to seeing you too. I'll write more after dinner. Love, Carly

They had been signing their letters with “love” from the start. It was more of a signing-off thing than a romantic gesture. People just signed letters that way. Didn't really mean anything. At least not yet.

She wondered if Jake could ever love someone he called “Squirt.” She had her doubts.

Closing her bedroom door, she stepped into the living room and greeted Scott. “We'll be back soon, Magnolia,” she said, one foot already on the stairway.

“No hurry. The enchiladas will stay warm in the oven.”

Carly leaned in to Scott. “Next thing I know she'll be drying herbs in my kitchen.”

He smiled and grabbed her arm, leading her down the stairs, most likely before she could change her mind.

After she snagged bottled waters from the fridge down in the spa, they burst through the front door and a heavy gulp of air gave her just the fuel she needed. “Do you believe that woman? Did you see my home? Trashed. Trashed, I tell you. Furniture everywhere the eye can see. I'm keeping Pinkie locked in my bedroom. If she trots out to the living room, I'll never find her again.”

“Don't you think you're exaggerating a little?”

“Did you not see that place?”

“I saw.”

“Then you should know I'm not exaggerating.”

“Ivy told me her mother was a bit of a pack rat,” Scott said.

“No rat I know would put up with her.”

After a few minutes of jogging, Carly was beat. “Listen, could we walk tonight? I just don't have the strength.”

“Okay, but if you want to lose weight, we have to keep it brisk.”

“My shins are burning. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“That means we're at a good pace. Keep it going.” Before Carly could respond, he jumped ahead. “Heard from Lover Boy today?”

“Lover Boy? That's a new one.”

“Isn't that what he is?”

“I wouldn't characterize him as that.”

Scott gave her a sideways glance. “Oh?”

“Well, we're friends and we're writing, but I don't know where it will take us.” She knew where she hoped it would take them, but who knew what would happen?

“But you feel confident you're ready to date again, right?”

His question startled her. “Well, yeah. I wouldn't be writing him if I didn't think that.”

“I just wondered. Writing is safer than actually dating, so I didn't know if it was something like that. You know, where you're comfortable writing, but don't really want to date.”

She hadn't thought of that. But this was Jake Mitchell they were talking about. She had wanted to date him forever. “Is that the voice of experience?” Carly asked.

“I've written a few women since Ivy . . .”

“Really?” Carly was totally shocked to the core. “Who?”

“Just a couple of women I met in a chat room.”

“You're kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” Carly took a drink from her bottled water, allowing enough time to create the illusion that she wasn't prying when she jumped in with more questions. “So what happened?”

He laughed. “Like I didn't know that was coming.”

She shrugged.

“Nothing happened. I wrote to them but couldn't bring myself to take it to the next step.”

“But you have someone now, right?” she pursued.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” He picked up the pace and she had to run faster to keep up with him.

“Why won't you tell me?”

“There's nothing to tell. You're the one who's fabricated another woman in my life.”

“What? You mean there is no one?”

He shook his head.

“Well, that just totally stinks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Her head whipped toward him but he just laughed and kept running.

“Come on. We have to work off that chocolate you most likely have been snitching behind my back.”

Like she said, the man scared her.

After tossing and turning in her covers,
Carly glanced over at the clock and saw that it was five after two in the morning. She never should have snuck that last piece of pizza before she went to bed.

Careful not to wake up Pinkie, who was sleeping at the foot of her bed, Carly lifted off the comforter, eased into her slippers and robe, then headed down to the spa. Usually it freaked her out to go down there in the middle of the night, but she couldn't remember when her first appointment was in the morning. If she had the time to spare, she just might come into work late. Owning her own place had its perks.

The wooden stairs groaned beneath her weight, which just made her mad. “I'm working out, okay? What more do you want from me?”

Her whisper had a definite snap to it, and she wondered about her mental state that she was talking to a bunch of boards. Maybe she shouldn't consider the reconstructive surgery. That would add pounds, wouldn't it? Wait. Pounds in the right places could make all the difference.

The truth was she felt desperate to have the surgery before Jake got there, but that wasn't possible. She didn't have nearly enough money saved yet. Some days she wondered if she would ever look like a woman again. A mastectomy had taken more than her breast. It had also taken her husband.

A sound cracked through the silence.

Edging into her office, Carly stopped to listen. A banging of some sort, though it was hard to tell since her heart was pounding hard enough to throw her into an Indian war dance. She tried to swallow, but that reflex thing wasn't working for her.

Silence.

“Maybe it was just my imagination,” she whispered.

More thumping. Her heart flip-flopped while her mutinous feet carried her toward the sound. Closer, closer, until she wound up near the basement stairwell.

The pounding stopped.

Well, the pounding was coming from downstairs, not her heart. It was beating. Hard. And fast. Definitely fast.

The wood creaked on the basement steps, causing the air in her lungs to back up.

She headed for the utility room, nearly slipping on her socks as she dashed across the hardwood floor. Easing the door closed behind her, her eyes darted about the room for some sort of weapon. With no time to think about it, she yanked the iron from its cradle on the wall and clutched it near her chest. If the intruder wanted a fight, she was ready.

She heard the basement door creak open. Her heart bolted up to her head and pounded against her skull. Perspiration drenched the back of her neck.

The intruder's footsteps edged closer to the utility room. Putting her ear against the door, Carly listened closely, heart thumping in her ears, adrenaline surging through her at the speed of light. She heard the sound of the doorknob twisting and looked down. Just as she took a step backward, the door swung open and thumped her hard against the floor, sending her and the iron sprawling.

A loud crackling noise scattered against the floor, and Carly prayed if those were bones breaking, they didn't belong to her. With a groan, she looked over to see the iron had splayed a couple of broken pieces across the floor. The cord was in a tangle near her feet, but her bones were still intact, so that was good. Moving her neck just right, Carly got a full view of the frightening intruder.

She wished she hadn't.

There stood Magnolia, gray hair fanned across her shoulders, her face so slicked up with grease Carly wanted her nowhere near anything flammable.

“Couldn't you sleep, dear?” Magnolia asked.

“Magnolia—” She started to ask Magnolia what she was doing, but Carly couldn't get past the shine. “What's on your face?”

The old woman reached for her cheeks as though she couldn't remember. She chuckled. “Oh, this is my facial cream. Olive oil.”

“Olive oil? You wear olive oil on your face?”

“Oh yes. Didn't you know? It's one of the best kept secrets of the stars.”

“I can see why,” Carly grumbled.

“What, dear?”

“I said, ‘Oh my.'”

Magnolia reached down to help Carly stand up. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”
No thanks to you.
Carly brushed herself off. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing down here?”

Guilt flashed over Magnolia's face like a neon sign. She swallowed and looked down, scraping the floor with her toe. “I was practicing,” she whispered.