Tempt Me Tonight (17 page)

Although cutting and baling hay didn’t really require a crowd, so it was more a matter of Trish’s going along for the ride, putting on a sweatshirt and sitting behind her father on the tractor like she had as a little girl. She watched the big blades mow it all down, then the tractor passed back over it all a second time with the old hay rake attached. Changing equipment again, they drove the fields once more, sucking up the loose hay in the baling machine to see it emerge a few moments later in neat rectangular cubes that sprinkled the field. She’d found herself peering out over it all, soaking in the sights and scents of her youth on a day that felt more like November than August.

On Wednesday, the weather was a lot closer to normal—not blistering hot, but the cold front had moved on and the air grew warm again. She used the day to do everything she’d planned on doing Tuesday, getting out bright and early.

Heading to the diner, she parked herself in the back office to make some phone calls. She succeeded in getting Marjorie and Jeremiah’s appeal scheduled in small-claims court a week from Thursday. Then she contacted a few local realtors to sing the praises of the diner and let them know it was “undergoing renovations.” After that, she measured the windows for curtains, then hit the road, ready to shop for supplies.

Although she hadn’t mentioned her “sprucing up” project to her mom and dad, not wanting them to think there was anything wrong with the way they’d left the place. And there wasn’t—this was just a combination time-filler and sales booster.

Her first stop, at The Home Depot, was actually fun. All her life the diner walls had been painted off-white, and she decided it was time for something cheerier. She picked a number of fun colors, buying only small cans of each, in case they all clashed too horribly with the aqua booths. But on her way out she learned from a sales clerk that you could spray-paint vinyl, which she thought might be another way to bring in a new look.

From there, she headed out of Eden, knowing she’d have more selection on curtains in Columbus. She also stopped at a restaurant supplies wholesaler where her mom and dad had always done business. There, she stumbled upon a bunch of cute even if mismatched café tables and chairs that the guy was willing to bundle together cheap.

Since it would mean a
whole
new look for the diner that went way beyond fresh colors on the wall—which seemed a bit drastic, especially without her parents’ blessing—she told him she’d think about it. But the idea appealed more and more as she made the return journey to Eden.

Turning into the driveway late that afternoon, she came in to find her dad lying in his reclining chair, clearly in pain, with a bottle of ibuprofen at his side. “What happened?” she asked.

“Back went out,” he said on a soft groan. “First thing this morning when I was putting out some new salt licks for the herd.”

Trish grimaced. She thought of her father as an infinitely stout, strong man, so it was difficult to see him hurting.

“Wouldn’t matter so much except for that,” he added, lifting a finger toward the TV.

Trish looked up to see a big weather map of the eastern half of the United States. A rotund weatherman was talking about a sizable hurricane currently pummeling the lower East Coast. For God’s sake, when had
that
started? Trish gave her head a light shake—only more proof that her brain wasn’t functioning like normal if she didn’t even know about major news events.

“She’s already started to dissipate after coming ashore this morning,” the weatherman said of the hurricane, “but here in the Midwest, we’re gonna see some torrential rains as early as tomorrow evening.”

Trish and her dad both let out audible sighs. “The hay,” she said, dejected. Normally, it was best to leave hay out to dry a few days before loading it into the barn, but if it wasn’t brought in before the storm, it would rot completely.

Never a dull moment, it seemed. And here she’d thought Eden was boring.

She studied her dad’s worried expression, also noting the heating pad peeking out from behind his lower back. Little did he know that the hay was only
one
small worry—he hadn’t yet figured out that the sale of the diner was a much bigger one.

And one
more
thing Trish
hadn’t
come home to do was load hay bales into the barn—but she couldn’t see any other solution. “I’ll get up early tomorrow and start getting the hay in,” she volunteered.

He frowned, deepening the lines in his face. “Honey, you can’t. It’s too much for one person.”

Maybe so, but one person was all they had. Given that her mother had developed arthritis in her shoulders and hands over the past few years, everyday tasks were more than enough for her. And Trish knew without asking that all the other local farmers were in the same boat and would be lucky to get their
own
hay in. “
You
do it by yourself, every cutting, every year,” she pointed out.

“But I can usually take breaks, spend all the time I want on it,” he reminded her. “This is different. We got a lotta hay needs to get in the barn before that storm hits.”

Trish’s stomach churned. She had no idea how much she could conceivably move by herself in less than a day, but she hid her worries. “Well, I’ll at least try. And at least it’s baled.”

“Maybe I’ll feel better by morning,” he said, but she didn’t think that was going to happen, which meant he had no choice but to accept her offer.

And really, it was the least she could do. As she’d realized a few days ago, she hardly ever came home, and she
never
helped out with the farm. So this would be her chance to contribute at least a
little
something.

A couple of hours later, Trish had napped and showered and now sat watching more TV with her dad before heading over to Debbie and Kenny’s for dinner. She wasn’t usually a napping kind of girl, but she hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night upon returning to her old bedroom. She’d stayed there a number of times since leaving home, but
this
time, only
this
time, something about the room—still decked out in the daisy theme of her girlhood—reminded her of Joe.

They’d made out in that bed more than once. It had been a big deal because it had been the only place they could really lie down together. The first time she’d let him take her top off had been there, in the same bed, atop the same yellow daisy-covered quilt, on a day when her parents had gone to sell cattle at the stockyards and hadn’t been due back until late. Crazy how fond the memory was. And how intense.

Now more than one man had kissed her breasts. Hell, Joe himself had kissed them just the other night—another memory that made her shiver while she sat pretending to be utterly absorbed in watching someone on
Wheel of Fortune
buy a vowel. Yet there was just something warm and fuzzy and passionate about recalling the first time, that first intimacy. Joe hadn’t been tentative. He’d kissed her nipples like he was kissing her mouth—tongue and full lips and a slow, leisurely rhythm that had nearly made her come undone.

“I forgot to tell you, Debbie called while you were in the shower,” her mother relayed, drying her hands on a dish towel as she entered the room. “She said Kenny’s overtime will put him home around eight, but you can come earlier if you like.”

Trish looked up. “Maybe I’ll go on over.”

“She also said…” Her mother stopped, eyeing her peculiarly, and Trish thought—
dear God, what else did my bigmouth best friend say?

“What?” Trish asked.

Her mother shook her head. “You know Debbie—she was rambling a bit. But something about wanting to know if Joe came to see you the other night after what happened?”

Oh, boy. The fun just never ended around here, did it? One great thing about living in the city—the place wasn’t a fishbowl where everyone was aware of your every freaking move. One of these days, Trish
was
going to kill Debbie, once and for all.

Trish’s dad jerked his gaze from the TV to her. “Joe Ramsey? You’ve seen Joe Ramsey?” Despite the
pure trouble
declaration, her dad had tolerated Joe when they’d been a couple—but she knew he’d never forgiven Joe, either, for how things had ended. And Trish had had a big argument with him over it all on the day she’d left for college. While she’d been trying to deal with her freshly broken heart, her father had yelled about how right he’d been and how if she’d only listened she’d have been so much better off. Even now, her father still took his vehicles to Stan Mobley’s garage instead of Joe’s even though, according to Debbie, everyone knew Joe’s place was a lot more dependable.

“That would be the Joe in question,” Trish replied tightly. “And yes, we bumped into each other when I was out with Debbie Friday night.” She conveniently left out the sex they’d had on
Saturday
and
Sunday
nights and hoped her lingerie and corset dress were well enough tucked away in her bedroom to keep anyone from stumbling onto them. She knew she was a thirty-two-year-old woman, but she also knew that held no sway with her father.

There was no denying he looked upset, deep creases growing between his eyes. “Is there anything going on I should know about?”

Besides a couple of wild sexual encounters?
She swallowed nervously, feeling as if she were seventeen and about to be caught in a lie. “Not really. We just…caught up a bit on each other’s lives.”
Then got naked. And I walked out on him. And then we got naked again—from the waist down, anyway. And had a big fight afterward.

“I didn’t know you’d seen him.”

She gave her head a short shake. “It wasn’t important enough to mention.”
Unless you consider ravenous sex important. Or the fact that I momentarily feared I was still in love with him and haven’t been able to quit thinking about him since.

Her father looked uncertain, but finally just nodded and she assumed that meant—for the first time ever—her lies had actually worked. She attributed her success to the pretenses involved in constantly defending guilty people.

“Well,” she announced, rising to grab her purse from the table next to the front door, “I’m headed to Debbie’s.”
To commit premeditated murder.
“I might be late.”

“Trish,” her dad said, his voice slow, thoughtful, “I’m sure you’re a smart enough girl to know Joe’s still the same kinda trouble he was years ago. He’s made something of himself, sure, but he’s got a reputation. I’d hope you wouldn’t let him smooth-talk his way back into your life, ’cause as far as I’m concerned, you still can’t trust him.”

In one way, the words grated, making her want to grind her teeth. She already knew good and well how her dad felt on the topic, and she resented that he was still shoving it down her throat all these years later.

But in another way, she couldn’t be
too
angry—because she agreed.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” she promised. “I know all of that”.
And I don’t trust him, either. Because I trusted him with my whole heart once and look what that got me.

“Okay,” Trish said as she stood tossing a salad at Debbie’s kitchen counter, “tonight, dinner with you guys. Tomorrow, I put up hay. Then on Friday I get back to work in the diner.”

Debbie stared at her, blank-faced. “I thought this trip was supposed to be sort of like a vacation.”

“Wrong
. Vacations include drinks with little umbrellas in them and a nice tan.”

Debbie shrugged. “Wear a bathing suit in the hay tomorrow and you’ll be halfway there. And hey, sometimes vacations include
sex,
and you’ve certainly gotten some of that.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say
woo-woo.

Trish only cast her driest look in return. “Thank you ever so much, by the by, for mentioning ‘what happened with Joe’ to my
mother,
for God’s sake.”

Deb winced as she mashed a big pot of potatoes the old-fashioned way. “Yeah, that kind of just popped out. Sorry.” Then her eyes grew hopeful. “But you never did tell me if he came to see you after he talked to Kenny.”

Trish let her brow knit. She
really
didn’t want to talk about this, and God knew it was smarter not to tell chatterbox Debbie every detail. Although she was surprised the news hadn’t made its way here via Kenny already, so what the hell. “Yeah, he came,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “And we did it on the dresser in my motel room. Happy?”

As usual when given such news, Debbie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Holy crap, Trish. On the
dresser?
”

She spread her hands before her, helpless. “It’s not like I said, ‘Hey, let’s try out the dresser.’ It’s just where we were when things happened.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you
think
I mean? Did you make up? Are you seeing him again? Where do things stand?”

Trish put her hands up in a “stop” motion. “Whoa there, girlfriend. No, I’m not seeing him again. Because…well…” She sighed. Felt that little stab of sadness all over again and tried to push it back.
Just spit it out.
“Over the course of having sex with him twice, I figured something out. I don’t like it, but it’s true. And it’s that I just haven’t ever really forgiven him for breaking my heart—and I don’t think I can. So I told him that was the end of things.”

“And then you drove past his garage.”

Trish blinked. For crying out loud. “How do you know that?”

Debbie tilted her head in sympathy, having momentarily abandoned the mashed potatoes. “He saw you. It came up when Kenny asked him about you.”

Trish closed her eyes, trying to absorb the horror. “Okay, first of all, just shoot me. Just put me out of my misery, will you please? I
cannot
believe he saw me.” Coming home to Eden really
was
like being thrust back to age seventeen—in more ways than one. “And second—he told Kenny he saw me, but he
didn’t
tell Kenny we did it on the dresser?”

Debbie sighed, thinking it through. “Well, maybe he did, but sometimes Kenny doesn’t tell me stuff because some people think I don’t keep secrets very well.”