Tempt Me Tonight (39 page)

Beverly wrote it down in a shaky scrawl, calling it to Floyd around the lump in her throat. Then she lifted her gaze back to the man before her.

Is it really him? Are you sure?

Yes, no doubt.

“I…think I know you,” she said, trying her damnedest not to sound nervous. “Is your name Charley? With an e-y?”

He smiled uncertainly, clearly not recognizing her. “Yeah. But I’m not from around here.” Then he pointed vaguely eastward. “I was just visiting my uncle over in Versailles on my way home to Terre Haute. Just got back from Iraq and decided to drive home from Ft. Benning, see some folks along the way.”

She smiled, remembering how he’d been heading off to the Marines that night fourteen years ago. “But you passed through here once before,” she reminded him. “A long time ago. You stopped at the Dairy Queen. And asked for extra whipped cream on your sundae.”

Charley studied her a minute, and then the light of recognition slowly dawned in his eyes, even as he lowered his chin in disbelief. “No way. Are you…Did we…?”

She drew in her breath, trying to look more sheepish than she actually felt. “Yes. And yes.”

He spoke quietly, a soft grin unfurling. “Well, I’ll be damned. What a coincidence.”

Sort of, she thought. He’d traveled the world, but she’d barely moved an inch the whole time he’d been gone. She could see the DQ out the window across the highway.

“Um…Beverly. Am I right?”

She smiled, glad—even if a little surprised—he remembered.

She nodded and said, “It’s…nice to see you,” not sure where to go from here.

Just then, Carissa called out from the corner, filling the awkward moment. “Mom, I need help with my algebra when you have time.”

As if she knew anything about algebra. “All right, honey. I’ll be over shortly.”

But when she turned back to Charley, his gaze was stuck on Carissa, even though her daughter looked back down now, scribbling in a notebook. And Beverly’s whole body froze up. Because he saw it, too. That unmistakable resemblance. So obvious that a person would have to be blind to miss it. “That’s your daughter?”

Bev worked hard to meet his eyes as she nodded briefly.

He stared at Carissa a moment more before speaking. “Uh…how old is she?”

Her chest contracted as she answered. “Thirteen.”

Charley’s jaw dropped slightly as he let out a long, whooshing sigh, his eyebrows knitting. And Bev’s stomach hurt—like a bag of rocks was tumbling around inside it.

“Am I crazy,” Charley said, “or…” He blinked, stopped, seemed at a loss.

“You’re not crazy,” Bev let out on a heavy breath. She feared she might faint. Carissa was in the same room with her father and didn’t even know it. He was really
here
—suddenly, out of nowhere.

“My God,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she told him quickly. “I had no idea how to find you. I didn’t even know your last name. And…hell, I didn’t even know you well enough to know if you’d even want…”

The poor man looked shell-shocked. And maybe he had no interest in a child; maybe this was the worst possible news he could get. Either way, it had to be a blow.

“Hey,” she said softly, reaching to touch his hand where it rested near his coffee cup. “If you want to pretend you never came in here…it’s okay. We’re fine, Carissa and me.”

“Carissa?” he asked, hearing her name for the first time.

Bev nodded.

“Are you…married?” He swallowed visibly. “Does she have someone…someone she thinks is her dad?”

“No, I’m not married.” But the rest was, of course, complicated. “And, well, there’s a guy who…spends time with her, and is sort of a father figure, but…she’s never asked who her dad is.”

Charley peered long and hard into Beverly’s eyes. The jukebox still played, and bacon sizzled behind her, but she was aware of nothing but him. When he said no more, she spoke quietly. “It’s okay. Really. If you want to leave.” She’d never said harder words.

But Charley sat before her, still looking just as dumbfounded, even as he began shaking his head. “That’s just it. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I could walk out that door and not look back.”

Beverly nearly collapsed with joy, but held strong and managed to say, “She’s a great kid.”
And you’re a good man.

“Order up, Bev!” Floyd called, and she flinched, and both she and Charley laughed nervously.

And she knew this was going to be tricky, and huge—suddenly introducing Carissa to a father. And she realized that she didn’t know him at all, not really. But she had the same feeling she’d had that night fourteen years ago—that he was a man she
wanted
to know, and now a man she wanted her daughter to know.

And she wouldn’t do anything to ruin this. She wouldn’t be clingy. Or act crazy. Or even make a move toward him. Even if, that quick, she had a feeling Charley could truly make her happy. If anything good happened between him and her—well, it would have to happen naturally, because
he
wanted it to, because no way would she risk messing this up for Carissa.

And somehow, suddenly knowing Carissa would have her real dad in her life made her feel so strong, so stable, that at least for now, that alone was enough.

Concentrate, man.

Joe bent over the engine of a 1999
BMW
740i, putting a crank case vent valve in the back of the intake manifold—a task that took all his attention. So it was bad he was thinking about Trish instead.

He kept replaying last night in his head. He’d been trying his damnedest to be gentle with Beverly when he’d heard a door slam outside just before a car went squealing out of his driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. No doubt who it was.

He’d called her cell, her mom, Debbie. He’d had no luck reaching her, though, so once Beverly was buttoned back up and on her way, he’d gone out driving, looking for Trish’s car. He’d tried her cell again, too—but soon it had gotten too late to do any more, so he’d spent a sleepless night wondering exactly what she’d seen and exactly how awful it had looked.

Now it was Monday afternoon and she still hadn’t contacted him. After work, he was
going
to find her—he’d start at the diner, then go out to her parents’ place. Shit. His stomach churned. He hated—
hated
—the idea that he’d hurt her again, even if it wasn’t his fault. But he also wasn’t crazy about the idea that she’d jumped to conclusions and clearly
still
had so little faith in him.

He was tightening the valve when, somewhere on the periphery of his vision, a car pulled in the lot, right up to the bay where he was working. He was still trying to concentrate, but lifted his gaze—to see Debbie walking toward him. She looked…grim.

He abandoned the valve and stood up straight, his back going rigid. “What?” he said. He lowered his wrench to a shop towel on the fender, then stepped toward her.

“She’s gone,” Debbie said quietly.

Jesus. Joe’s chest tightened, and damn it, a lump rose to his throat. He pushed it back so he could talk. “Just gone?”

“She got a call this morning from someone at her firm. She made partner. So she had to drop everything and go back.”

He let out a breath, pissed and hurt. “Including me.”

“She wrote you a letter.” Debbie reached in her purse and fished out a flowery piece of stationery Trish’s mom probably used for corresponding with old friends.

“A letter,” he repeated, numb, and thinking it sounded too damn familiar. Not to mention feeble, considering all they’d shared.

Debbie sighed. “She said she didn’t have time to explain it all in person.”

Yeah, right. Joe took the letter and read.

Dear Joe,

I ’m sorry to leave like this. Don’t hate me. I just found out I made partner and it’s a big deal, so I have to go back to Indy right away.

About last night, I saw you with Bev, and yeah, I ran. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t doing anything wrong, but the problem is—I just can’t live like that. I can’t live in a fishbowl with you and Beverly and all these people who know what you once did to me. I can’t take the drama people like her foist into life. I can’t live with even one moment of doubt, like I felt looking in your window last night. I knew almost as soon as it happened that it wasn’t your fault, but that almost didn’t make any difference. I couldn’t stand seeing her with you like that. I couldn’t stand the few seconds of shock, of wondering what the hell was going on.

I know our breakup was a long time ago, ancient history. I know you were just a kid, I understand why it happened, I get all that. But it’s still there, it still occurred. It makes what happened last night an entirely different event than if it had never taken place.

And so, I guess what I really can’t live with is…wondering, fearing…that someday, somehow, I ’ll discover all over again that I really don’t know you, that you’re capable of things I never believed. And I can’t live with wondering when that will be.

This isn’t your fault, I promise. It’s me. Last night hurt. And it felt like old times. I worked long and hard to quit feeling that pain when we were younger and I can’t go down that path again.

The last couple of weeks with you has been truly amazing. But I have to get back to my real life now.

Forgive me. And be happy.

Trish

Joe’s stomach dropped. He understood that he’d shattered her sense of security fourteen years ago. But Jesus Christ—what more was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to redeem himself? He’d thought the time they’d spent together had changed things, but apparently it hadn’t.

And now
she
was the one asking
him
for forgiveness?

Ironic, since this pretty much meant she still
hadn’t
forgiven him for the past, no matter what she said. At the very least, she still didn’t trust him.

Amazing, huh? So amazing that she’d just dumped him without even blinking.

He almost couldn’t breathe. He’d been so close, so close to having what he really wanted deep down inside. Trish. Just Trish. And now she’d just fucking disappeared from his life without so much as a kiss good-bye.

“She put the diner on the market today before she left,” Debbie told him.

“Good,” he said, angry.

Debbie spoke quietly. “I had thought, hoped, maybe she’d keep it, you know?”

“If she doesn’t want to be here, I’m glad she’s gone.”

“Joe,”
Debbie gasped as if he’d said something awful.

And the truth was—the only chance he’d ever had to feel a real, deep connection with a woman had just walked out of his life. But he refused to let himself wallow in that, even for a minute—he was too mad. “I gave her everything I had to give, Deb. It wasn’t enough. End of story.”

With that, he headed back to the
BMW
. He didn’t mean to turn his back on Debbie, but hell—he couldn’t talk anymore. He needed to be alone. He needed to get back to work, concentrate on something solid, something that made sense, like the engine of this car.

“Take care of yourself, Joe,” Debbie said softly behind him. “We’ll call you in a couple days.”

He only grunted his reply around the damn lump in his throat. He focused on the intake manifold but couldn’t really see it, hard as he tried.

He’d done nothing wrong here. His last crime against Trish had been fourteen years ago, and if she intended to make him pay for a lifetime, well…hell, maybe she was right to go. If she couldn’t trust him, couldn’t believe how much he loved her, maybe he was better off alone. In fact, he wished she’d never come back to Eden, never shown up at the bar that night.

Gary Allan’s “Best I Ever Had,” sounded over the speakers and echoed through the garage as Joe gave up on the
BMW
and walked into his office, letting the door slam behind him. He plopped down behind his desk and ran his hands through his hair, then closed his eyes against the pain behind them. If he was so glad she was gone, why did it hurt like hell?

Redemption:
a procedure in a Chapter 7 case whereby a debtor removes a secured creditor’s lien on collateral by paying the creditor the value of the property;
or
atonement for guilt; deliverance; rescue.

Joe sat on the front porch drinking a beer, hanging out with Elvis, who lay plopped at his side. He scratched behind the dog’s ear. “I was fine enough without her. Wasn’t I?”

He’d always
thought
he was. A shame she’d had to come back and remind him just how good things could be.

“But hey,” he said, glancing down to the dog, “what do I need with a woman who doesn’t trust me? That’s the good part of not having one at all—you don’t have to worry about crap like that. You just live your life, go your own way. Eat when you want. Sleep when you want. Nobody doubting you or arguing with you. Keeps life simpler.”

Of course, the words didn’t make him feel any better. But he had to snap out of this, get back to normal. He had a life to live, a business to run. An almost-daughter to look out for.

When a car slowed down, then pulled in the driveway, he looked up to see it was Beverly’s. She got out, wearing her Waffle House uniform as usual. He hoped she’d keep it on this time. And as he restrained himself from saying,
What the hell are you doing here?
he also hoped she didn’t feel free to just stop by anytime she liked now. “What’s up?” he asked. Didn’t smile.

“I’m sorry for coming here, Joe,” she said, sounding contrite. “But I need to talk to you. About something important.”

He pushed to his feet. “What’s going on?”

“You may want to sit down.”

Damn. She really sounded serious, much more than when she’d pulled that stunt the other night. He lowered himself back to the porch.

When Beverly took a seat on a step just below him, she looked worried, and he narrowed his gaze on her, silently telling her to start talking.