Saving Sara (Redemption #1) (7 page)

“Thanks. I haven’t done pyrography for years, but I’ve just ordered some new materials and was planning to tinker.”

“You should.” He met her gaze, felt that jolt again, the same one he’d experienced in the garden. “Have you ever shown your work professionally?”

Her eyes widened. “Like an exhibition, you mean?”

“Yeah. I’ve been to a fair share of gallery openings in New York and your stuff is much better than anything I’ve seen there.”

A tentative smile played about her lips and it made something twang in his chest. He’d hazard a guess she didn’t smile often these days—he knew the feeling—and it transformed her from pretty
to stunning.

“After a compliment like that, I should either offer you a coffee in gratitude or pour you a whiskey in the hope I’ll hear more lies like that.”

He found himself smiling back at her, the muscles in his face almost creaking at the foreign movement. “A coffee would be great.”

He followed her into the kitchen, a huge room that also housed a dining table, a sideboard and giant chest of drawers. Various pieces of wood and a tool that looked like a soldering iron covered the table.

“This your stuff?”

At the sink filling a kettle with water, she glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You did all those pieces in here?” It didn’t look like much of a workspace.

The light from her earlier smile faded. “No. There’s a shed at the back of the property. I loved working down there.”

“And now?”

“I prefer to work here.” Her tone curt, she busied herself with spooning coffee into cups and he knew there was more to the story.

But he had no right to delve, not when it might precipitate another crying bout.

He picked up the soldering iron and turned it over. Tools
fascinated
him, always had, hence his interest in mechanics. “So you burn pictures into the wood using this?”

She nodded, the tension of a moment ago fading. “
Traditionally
defined, pyrography is the art of writing with fire.”

She crossed the kitchen and plucked the tool out of his hands. “See this tip? It’s electrically heated to scorch designs into the wood or leather, the mediums I work with.”

Intrigued by how animated her expression was when discussing her art, he wanted to keep her talking.

“How did you get started?”

“I loved art at school.” She wrinkled her nose and gave an unladylike snort that he found cute. “Had a huge crush on my teacher, so it was the only class I paid any attention in.” She flipped the tool over, weighing it in her palm. “One day he started talking about some cultures, like the Egyptians and a few African tribes, and how they practiced pyrography. I’ve been fascinated by it ever since.”

She laid down the tool and blinked, as if reawakening from a memory. “But like anyone who led a nomadic life and got dragged around the country and brought up without much money, I ignored my artistic side, did a finance degree at college and became a
financial
analyst.”

She didn’t sound bitter but he saw the way she glanced at the paraphernalia on the table. Wistful, with a hint of hope.

Anything that could make her hopeful after what she’d been through, he was all for.

“You’re taking a sabbatical?”

She shook her head. “I quit. Gran left me this place and I’ve got enough saved to have a year off work. After that . . .” She shrugged. “Who knows? I’ll find a job around here.”

“Or you could concentrate on your art.”

She stared at him like he’d suggested she pose naked for art rather than do it. “I couldn’t make a living out of that.”

“Why not? Other artists do.”

She pulled a face. “But they’re good—”

“So are you, sweetheart, trust me.”

The endearment slipped out and he held his breath, expecting her to renege on her offer of coffee pronto. Instead, she chose to ignore it, and finished making the coffee.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Neither,” he said, content to watch her move about the kitchen. There was nothing overtly sexy about her outfit: fitted red tank top, knee-length navy shorts, and beaded flip-flops. But the way the clothes clung to her body, highlighting her trim waist yet curvy hips and breasts, made him wonder why he’d sworn off women until he got his head together.

“Let’s take these outside,” she said, glancing over her shoulder in time to see him staring at her legs.

Great.

He hoped his rueful grin conveyed he wasn’t a perv as much as a red-blooded male appreciating a pretty woman.

Her brows knitted together, as if she were perplexed that he’d find her attractive, and she waited until he opened the back door before stepping through.

Cilla might have warned him off Sara, and he might not want to date while he was still screwed up over the crash, but for a brief moment, when she’d noticed his appreciation of her assets and acknowledged it with confusion rather than a backhander, he wondered if getting to know Sara better could be an option after all.

13.

A
fter living with Jake and Olly for five days, Cilla needed a break. Not that she didn’t love the company, but after living on her own for so long, it was tough having her personal space invaded.

She was used to early nights, waking at dawn, then puttering at her own pace. She liked the solitude, having her house sorted a
nd every
thing in its place. She’d forgotten how kids made a me
ss an
d didn’t always follow the same routine she did.

As a child, Tam had, because Cilla made her. She hadn’t wanted Tam getting underfoot with Vernon and potentially drawing his wrath, so she’d made her follow a strict routine. Tam had rebelled initially, like any sane kid would, but after a vicious tongue-lashing from her father when she’d accidentally knocked over one of his beer bottles, Tam had fallen into line.

She’d been five at the time, only a year younger than Olly, and the thought of what her child had grown up with—the regimented routines, the forced quiet, all because she hadn’t wanted to annoy Vernon . . . damn, was it any wonder Tam didn’t want to have much to do with her these days?

No child should be made to feel like they’re an intrusion in their own home. But fear had been a powerful motivator for Cilla back then and she would’ve done anything—and had—to protect Tam from Vernon.

She knew that’s why she’d allowed Jake and Olly to stay. Saw it as a second chance. For both of them. From what she’d seen, Jake was right; Olly needed a female figure in his life and the way she’d bonded with the child so quickly made her feel useful in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

As for Jake, she liked having him around. Liked his dry sense of humor, his ability to detect moods, his valuing quiet in the evenings when she wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good romance novel.

But after almost a week of living under each other’s noses, it was time for a break and Cilla headed to her other favorite place in Redemption besides home: the hospital.

Some people hated hospitals; feared them with a passion that bordered on phobia. She liked the antiseptic smell, the orderliness, the notion that people were being healed and helped. For her, death was an inescapable fact of life, sickness something she hoped to avoid but wouldn’t fear. She’d already spent half her life living in fear and she was done with that the moment she received news of Vernon’s suicide.

She visited the hospital on a weekly basis. Read to the old people. Played games with the kids. Organized fundraisers for new equipment. It made her feel valued in a way she never had before. Today, she’d promised to play rummy with Sergio, an adorable eight-year-old battling leukemia. His parents were struggling, raising four kids eight and under, and the medical bills were adding to their stress.

She’d already mentioned organizing a mini-fair to raise funds to help with Sergio’s bills and they’d been ecstatic. In the meantime, she had a date with one cute kid.

Waving at the nurses as she headed for Sergio’s room, she didn’t notice Bryce until she almost trod on his toes as he rounded a
corner
.

“You’re in a hurry,” he said, his hands shooting out to grab her
upper arms, his deep voice sending a ripple of awareness through her.

Damn the man and his too-good looks, his too-husky voice and his too-sexy bedroom eyes.

“I’m visiting someone,” she said, stepping out of his grasp.

“If it’s a patient, you can slow down. Odds are they’ll be in their bed waiting for you.” His eyes twinkled with mischief and she had no idea if there was an innuendo behind his comment or not.

He took a step closer and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Ready to have dinner with me yet?”

“No,” she blurted, resisting the urge to shove him away. This close, she could see the laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, the faint stubble covering his jaw, and could smell that fresh aftershave that gave the impression he’d just stepped out of the shower.

“You’ll have to give in sometime, you know.” He straightened and Cilla inwardly cursed the unexpected craving to have him close again. “It’s inevitable.”

She rolled her eyes, unwilling to admit she was enjoying their banter as much as he was, if his bemused smile was any indication.

“Why don’t you go flirt with someone your own age?”

“Is that what you think we’re doing?
Flirting
?” His smile broadened. The way he said
flirting
, he made it sound like they were doing something far naughtier.

The thought alone had heat surging to her cheeks.

“And here I was, thinking we’re just old friends getting reacquainted.” He lowered his voice. “By the way, you’re gorgeous when you blush.”

Which of course, only served to make Cilla blush harder.

The man was incorrigible and she needed to put him in his place before this went any further.

“We were never friends. You were my daughter’s friend.” She sco
wled, hands on
hips. “As for getting reacquainted, we weren’t acquainted in the first place. And the only old thing in this
equation
is
me
.”

She finished on an outraged huff that made him laugh.

“Are you done?”

She compressed her lips into a mutinous line in response.

“Did it ever occur to you that the only reason I hung out at your house with Tam was to see you?”

Her jaw dropped, shock rendering her speechless when she wanted to give him a tongue-lashing for being so ridiculous.

“I’m not ashamed to admit now that I was a horny seventeen-year-old who had a crush on his friend’s very hot mom,” he said, eyeballing her with frank admiration while she struggled to absorb the astounding news. “And now, twenty-five years later, I discover you’re just as beautiful. And single. So what’s a guy to do?”

“Do?” It came out a screech and she lowered her voice when a passing nurse tittered. “I’ll tell you what you can do.”

She jabbed a finger at his chest, not surprised it felt as hard as it looked. “You can quit badgering me and go find some nice
young
girl to take to dinner.”

“Age is irrelevant to me,” he said, with a shrug.

“It’s not to me, considering I’m sixty.” She jabbed him again for good measure. “And sexagenarians don’t date guys in their forties, no matter how handsome they are.”

“You think I’m handsome?” That infuriating grin was back, devastatingly charming. “And you’re mentioning sex before we’ve even had dinner.”

“God, you’re annoying,” she said, pushing past him and diving into Sergio’s room, trying to ignore Bryce’s taunting chuckles behind her.

The curtain was drawn around Sergio’s bed and she was glad for the reprieve, so she could press her cool palms against her hot cheeks.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted, let alone enjoyed it so much. As for Bryce’s declaration, she couldn’t fathom it. Back then, she’d been a frazzled thirty-five-year-old, dealing with a hormonal teenager who had never made a secret of the fact she was counting down the months until she left for college. Vernon’s moroseness had continued to spiral out of control as he alternated between verbally abusing her and dosing up on pills to anaesthetize his demons. And Cilla had been working as a paralegal secretary, trying to make ends meet and pretend like she had the best life in the world, when in fact her home life was in tatters.

She remembered Bryce trying to talk to her back then, the usual polite small talk, and she’d never picked up any vibes. Then again, he’d been a teen and probably used to hiding his feelings, as most teens did.

He’d had a crush on her. Hot damn.

The curtain pulled back and a nurse stepped out, saw her, and beckoned her forward. “Hey Cilla. Your young man’s been waiting for you.”

“Cilla, you came,” Sergio said, sitting up straighter in bed, his brown eyes fixed on her like she was his lifeline.

Hospital boredom was the pits—she’d fractured her leg after falling in her garden three years ago, so she understood the yearning for visitors.

“Of course I came. We’ve got a rummy tournament to play.”

“You better teach me right then,” Sergio said, rubbing his bald head, an endearing habit. “I’m no good at card games.”

The nurse smiled and slipped out of the room and Cilla pulled a chair up to the bed.

“You’ll be the best by the time we’ve finished.” She took a pack of cards from her bag, slipped them out of the packet and started shuffling. “Besides, I’m tired of you beating me at checkers.”

He grinned, his missing front tooth adding to his adorability. “You were bad.”

“Is that bad in a good way? Like how kids say something’s wicked when it’s good?”

He giggled. “You’re funny.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she said, giving his tummy a light tickle, well aware he bruised easily and not wanting to add to his pain. “Now, let me explain the rules.”

However, Cilla never got around to the rules: Bryce
sauntered
into the room. He now wore a white coat and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck, adding to his attractiveness, damn t
he man.

“Hey, Sergio. I see you have a visitor.” Bryce held up his hand for Sergio to high-five it.

“This is Cilla,” Sergio said. “She’s cool.”

“I think so too.” Bryce grinned when Cilla shot him a death glare. “We’re old friends.”

“Really?” Sergio’s curious gaze swung between her and Bryce. “Did you go to school together?”

Cilla snorted. Maybe she should chat to Sergio’s parents about an eye test.

“No,” Bryce said, amusement lacing his tone. “But we’ve known each other a long time.” He perched on the side of Sergio’s bed. “Haven’t seen each other for years though and I’m trying to make a time so we can catch up.”

The ratbag. He was trying to use a child in coercing her to go out with him?

“You should have lunch,” Sergio said, pronouncing it like the most natural thing in the world when the thought of dining with Bryce at any time of day or night let loose an entire species of butterfly in her gut.

“Good idea, pal.” Bryce stroked his chin, pretending to think. “But I work all day.”

“Then go out to dinner,” Sergio said, looking immensely proud of himself for coming up with a solution.

“That sounds doable.” Bryce glanced at her with a faux
innocence
that would have made her laugh, if only she hadn’t wanted to slap him silly.

“You should go, Cilla.” Sergio tugged on her sleeve. “Doc
Madden
is your friend and you should have dinner with him. He’s nice and you’re nice. Dinner would be fun.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I don’t like maybe,” Sergio said, with surprising vehemence. “I hear that stupid word all the time. Maybe I’ll get out of here by the end of summer vacation. Maybe I’ll get a new room when I get home. Maybe my new medicine will fix me.” He mimicked his mom’s tone. “Maybe is dumb.”

This time when Bryce met her gaze, he looked suitably chastised. So he should, roping Sergio into his underhanded plot to get her to agree. Which she now basically had to, if she didn’t want to upset Sergio.

“Cilla, you need to pinkie-promise Doc Madden that you’ll have dinner with him,” Sergio said, his solemn expression tugging at her heartstrings. “Now.”

With a resigned sigh, Cilla held up her little finger and glared at Bryce when he intertwined it with his.

“Yay.” Sergio clapped. “You two will have dinner and tell me what you ate.” His eyes brightened. “If you go to that cool burger place on Main Street, do you think you could bring me some fries? And a banana split? And one of those giant brownies?”

“I’m not sure where we’re going yet, pal, but you know that stuff isn’t good for you at the moment,” Bryce said.

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, because
maybe
I’ll vomit.”

Cilla knew Sergio enjoyed her plain butter cookies and they didn’t disagree with his stomach, which was fragile from the chemo drugs. “How about I bring in some of those cookies you like instead?”

“You’re the best,” Sergio said, his grin infectious.

“I agree,” Bryce said, and when their gazes locked, it was her stomach that roiled and tumbled and flipped.

She was going to have dinner with Bryce Madden.

She wasn’t just crazy.

She was certifiably insane.