Legacy (22 page)

At the sound of her blown out breath, Wes turned to her.

“You ok, C?”

She looked away from the house and back at him. She was a lot more okay with him by her side than if she’d come by herself.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Always.”

Wes reached for her hand, and she gladly squeezed his in return. An essence of the night before came back to her. Wes holding her against him. There wasn’t much that she could remember, but that feeling she did. That feeling of safety and care. The feeling of being exactly where she wanted to be.

“You’re pretty wonderful,” she blurted. “Do you know that?”

Wes’s eyes lit up and their corners creased with his smile. If she painted his irises now, they’d be gold.

“I don’t know about that,” he shrugged off her compliment, but she could tell it pleased him, and she warmed at the thought. “I just want you to be okay.”

Corinne squeezed his hand again.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she said, feeling confident about it for the first time. “If Mrs. Betsie doesn’t start crying, I won’t start crying.”

Wes kept his smile, but she saw the hint of sadness that touched his eyes, too. To move them on from it, she opened her car door.

“C’mon.”

They went through the wooden gate into what Michael had called The Secret Garden. In the years after Michael and Claire moved out, Mrs. Betsie and Mr. Dan had cultivated every square inch of their corner lot. Raised bed gardens, beehives, and even a small chicken coop made their home a mini farm in the middle of the city.

Before Corinne and Wes had time to admire the corn stalks and blueberry bushes, the porch door opened, and Mrs. Betsie stepped out, drying her hands on her apron.

“Look, Dan, they’re here!” she called over her shoulder.

The love in her eyes completely conquered Corinne’s resolve, and her lashes were wet before she found herself in the woman’s soft embrace.

“It’s
so good
to see you, honey,” she cooed in her ear, emotion only just catching in her voice. “It’s been too long!”

Corinne buried her face into Mrs. Betsie’s neck and let the sob break from her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Betsie,” she wept. “I should have come sooner.”

She pulled back and tried to dry her eyes, but Mrs. Betsie stepped in and employed her apron on both of their faces, making her laugh.

“You’re here now,” she said, wiping her glasses dry and setting them back on her nose. “That’s all that matters...Wes, angel, come here!”

Corinne bit her lip against any more tears as she watched Wes bear hug Mrs. Betsie. When he let her go with damp eyes and a clenched jaw, Corinne found herself almost overcome with the urge to hold him.

She allowed herself to lay a hand on his back when Mrs. Betsie released him to lead them inside. When Wes looked down at her, their eyes locked, and something charged passed between them. Something pretty damn potent.

Corinne found herself hesitant to look away.

“Claire and Elton are running late. Abby decided to cut Thomas’s hair herself, so they had to stop at Super Cuts to get it evened out,” Mrs. Betsie chattered.

Wes broke the gaze first to respond to Michael’s mother, and Corinne was glad that he did. She wasn’t at all sure that she could form a coherent sentence. Wes’s behavior all morning now made sense to her. His serious scrutiny when they’d talked, his look of disappointment, his quiet demeanor in the car. Something vital had changed between them last night. Wes had been the first to know it, and he was waiting for her to catch up.

She bit her lip and felt her stomach clench. The definitely needed to talk more later.

Chapter 26

A
s much as Wes loved the Roushes, he couldn’t wait for the afternoon to be over so he could take Corinne back home and pick up where they’d left off.

He didn’t really have a plan, but he was ready to lay everything on the table. Neither one of them needed to pretend anymore. Why deny what they felt for each other? By her own admission, she had feelings for him, but she didn’t think she had enough to offer. There might have been more that upset her—more that held her back—but they could work through it together.

Wes wanted the chance to explain that he’d never want her to feel like she had to let Michael go in her heart to be enough for him. Even if he’d once thought that he could never measure up to Michael Roush, Wes’s newfound gratitude for his friend somehow erased that hangup. Michael knew what it meant to love Corinne, and he’d tapped Wes for the job, a job he could have given to another loved one. Another man. But he hadn’t. Wes couldn’t help but feel now that Michael had judged that he was worthy—or at least would be worthy in time.

That time had come.

Wes was ready to begin. He didn’t aim to carry Corinne home over his shoulder and throw her down on his bed—although the thought sent his blood thrumming through his veins like a raging river. He would take it slow. Court her. Make her comfortable with the idea of seeing them as more than roommates. More than friends. And then, yes, she would be in his bed.

These were the thoughts that coursed through his mind as Claire and Elton’s kids played on the carpet at his feet, two-year-old Thomas sporting his own fresh faux-hawk after his four-year-old sister Abby had done a number on his mushroom cap.

“Don’t tell Claire,” Elton said, leaning over to Wes while they half-watched France humiliate Honduras in the World Cup. “But I’m kinda glad Abby went after him with those scissors. That bowl-cut looked too girly.”

Wes hadn’t seen the little man in a few months, but, of course, he thought high-and-tight was the best way to go.

“You won’t get an argument from me,” Wes agreed, running a hand over his own hawk.

Elton looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen where Corinne, Claire, and Mrs. Betsie were putting the finishing touches on lunch. Mrs. Betsie had sent Mr. Dan outside to pick a few tomatoes for the salad.

“How’s Corinne doing?” Elton asked, his voice hushed.

Wes nodded.

“She’s good,” he said, meaning it. “She’s come a long way.”

“Betsie told Claire that she’s working again,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, at a gallery downtown,” Wes confirmed, proudly. “And she’s started painting again, too.”

Elton smacked him on the shoulder.

“Dan and Betsie say that you are the one to thank for that. They were pretty worried about her,” he said. “Way to go, man. I know that it’s not always smooth sailing with Corinne.”

The rush of pride he’d let himself feel took a step back. Elton was a decent guy, but Wes wasn’t about to listen to someone bad-mouth Corinne.

“Smooth sailing is for pussies. Corinne’s awesome,” Wes leveled, laying down the law. “Michael knew it, and I know it.”

Elton’s eyes bugged, but a smile lit his face.

“Whoa, man. I didn’t mean any offense. Of course, she’s awesome,” he offered, quickly. But he must have read the possessive look in Wes’s eyes because his smile ratcheted up even more. “Good for you, Wes.”

Mr. Dan came back in, bearing a bowl of tomatoes, and Mrs. Betsie called to them from the kitchen.

“Boys? Could you please set the table? Dinner’s almost ready.”

Sunday dinner at the Roush’s, as usual, was a feast. Steamed and buttered corn, tomato and cucumber salad—all fresh from the garden—French bread and, Wes’s absolute favorite—fried chicken. The Roushes always ate family style, passing the serving platters and bowls around the table, and when Corinne took the plate of chicken and only served herself one wing before passing it to him, Wes placed two thighs on his own plate and added another wing to hers. She raised a brow at him when he did this, and he raised one right back.

“Eat up, Granger,” he mumbled under his breath. “House rules.” If she thought he didn’t remember that she’d only eaten a half piece of toast that morning, she was wrong.

When he passed the platter across the table to Claire, he saw that Michael’s sister had caught the exchange and was eyeing him curiously.

“So, Corinne, when does your gallery open?” Claire asked.

Corinne laughed gently.

“Well, it’s not
my
gallery. It’s Ann Kergan’s—she’s an amazing jewelry artist. It’ll open on the night of July 5th,” she explained. “Tsunami’s is catering. You should all come.” Corinne gave them a smile and passed Wes the basket of French bread, taking, he noted appreciatively, a generous piece for herself.

Wes took a bite of chicken—crispy, salty, and mouth-watering.

“Mmmmmm,” he moaned.

Next to him, Corinne stifled a giggle.

“Can we hope to see some of your work displayed?” Mr. Dan asked from the head of the table.

Wes saw Corinne’s blush, and he reached for her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

“Actually, there will be two or three pieces of mine on display near some of Ann’s work, but it’ll be behind the register,” she explained, shrugging. “Just a signature of sorts.”

“But it’s a step,” Mr. Dan said, warmly, smiling down at Corinne. “I’m very proud of you…Michael would be, too.”

It was the first time anyone at the table had actually said his name, and Corinne’s hand clamped down on his own so tightly he thought his heart might burst for her. He squeezed back, promising to stay by her, to be the one she could hold onto.

“Thank you, Mr. Dan,” she managed, but Wes could hear the struggle in her voice to keep from crying.

Mr. Dan cleared his throat, and it was evident that everyone was struggling to swallow. Elton, thank God, came to the rescue.

“When’s your next race, Wes?” he asked.

Wes actually felt Corinne relax beside him, relieved to no longer be the subject of attention. He gladly took up the mantle, ready to talk triathlons for the rest of the meal if she needed.

“I have a Half Ironman in New Roads next month,” Wes said.

Elton gave a low whistle.

“In this heat? You could be in for a brutal event.”

Wes didn’t miss the concerned look Corinne gave him at this, but he launched into the stats about temperature, elevation for the bike ride, the location of the route. Elton and the others asked him questions, and then Claire and Mrs. Betsie talked about a trip the family had taken to False River in New Roads years before.

In the middle of their reminiscence, a phone in Thomas’s diaper bag chimed, and Claire reached behind her and grabbed it blindly. She checked the screen and slid it to her husband.

“Yours,” she said.

Elton read the message and scowled.

“Crap. I have to go into the office.”

“
Again?”
Claire whined.

“I’m on call, Claire,” Elton defended, pushing himself from the table and clearing his place.

“At least you had time to finish your dinner,” Mrs. Betsie said, always the peacemaker.

“Anything less would be a crime, Mrs. Betsie,” Wes said, smiling at her. “That meal rocked.”

Michael’s mom’s face lit up, just as he hoped it would.

“Thank you, dear.”

Elton returned from the kitchen and thanked his mother-in-law. The diaper bag chimed again, and he reached in, looking exasperated.

“Yours,” he said, handing Claire the phone.

Claire read the message, and her eyes immediately shot to Corinne and then to him. She didn’t look happy.

What the hell?

“Pop-pop, can we go show Corinne and Wes the new chicks?” Abby asked her grandfather.

“Sure, kitten, as soon as we help Granny clean up the kitchen,” Mr. Dan promised, rising from the table.

“You boys go on,” Mrs. Betsie said. “The girls and I have got this.”

Wes loved Mrs. Betsie, but she was traditional to a fault, and he wasn’t about to shirk chores while Corinne did them.

“I’ll help in here first,” he said, stacking Corinne’s almost empty plate on top of his own.

“But I want to see the chicks
now,
” Abby whined.

Wes waited for someone to tell the child to be patient. Corinne spoke up instead.

“Go out with them, Wes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Abby took this as the sign that everything was going her way.

“Yay! Chicks! Chicks! Chicks!” she chanted as she ran to the back door.

Wes arched a brow at Corinne.

“Thanks a lot,” he murmured under his breath.

Outside, Wes and Mr. Dan followed Abby toward the mobile chicken coop where buff and black hens lazed in the shade of two pecan trees, their chicks clustered around them. At Abby’s approach, all of the birds started a slow scurry toward the coop, a miniature red barn on a flat-bed trailer.

“Slow down, Abby. You’ll scare ‘em off,” Mr. Dan called.

The two men watched the four-year-old halt in her tracks before taking slow-motion steps toward the confused birds.

“There’s somebody who goes after what she wants,” Mr. Dan said, keeping his eyes on the child.

Wes nodded, wondering how long Corinne would be stuck inside.

“By the looks of it,” Mr. Dan continued. “You might know something about that.”

Wes’s eyes jerked to Mr. Dan’s. The man turned to him and smiled.

“What, sir?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, son. You know exactly what I mean,” he said, smirking now. “Two young people, both heartbroken, living together under the same roof. It’s the best thing that could happen to both of you.”

Wes felt his collar heat.

“Mr. Dan, I—”

“Michael would understand,” he said, gently. “And Betsie and I would be delighted.”

Wes swallowed.

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Mr. Dan,” Wes said, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” the older man conceded. “But I see the way you look at her, and I just want you to know that we love you both. Nothing will bring Michael back, but that doesn’t mean that something good can’t come out of all of this pain.”

He laid a hand on Wes’s shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. His own father had never touched him with anything close. Acceptance? Tenderness?

Hell, no.

“Michael was so lucky to have you and Mrs. Betsie,” Wes said, forcing the words past the knot in his throat.

Mr. Dan looked him in the eye, unashamed to speak frankly to him.

“You have us, too, Wes.”

Damn.
Wes thought the knot just might win. He turned his gaze to Abby, who’d managed to catch a chick at last and was cradling it to her with reverent affection.

“Not too tight, Abigail,” Mr. Dan said.

They watched the child set the chick onto the grass and scramble after another one.

“I’m going to look in on Corinne. We need to be going soon,” Wes said.

Wes headed back toward the house, ready to take Corinne home. He opened the door to raised voices, and what he heard hit him like a kick in the balls.

“I am
not
in love with him!” Corinne’s voice, jagged with distress, stopped him in his tracks. “I
can’t
love him!”

“Oh, really?” Claire said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Then why did I just get a text from Mimi Andrus saying she saw the two of you
kissing
outside City Bar last night?”

Oh, shit!

He heard Corinne gasp, but he couldn’t make himself move.

“Well? Is it true?” Claire demanded.

“I-I’m not sure…” Corinne stammered, sounding horrified.

“What do you mean, you’re not sure? Are you fuck-buddies?”

“No! I wouldn’t do that!” Corinne insisted.

Wes hated Claire’s ugly words, the accusation in her voice, but what paralyzed him was Corinne’s tone. She sounded disgusted at the very thought of being with him.