Tinseltown (22 page)

“I like the sound of that. Now will you please kiss me?”

His grin blossomed into the trademark smile she loved so much. “Absolutely.”

Deb was excited to continue their story exactly where it had first begun.

And finally, she could say they got the ending right.

About the Author

STEPHANIE TAYLOR is a freelance editor, author and business owner. She spends her time making other authors’ dreams come true at Astraea Press as Editor in Chief and Owner. Stephanie opened Astraea Press because of the lack of non-erotic book publishers and has finally found a home for her books.

Stephanie has a doctorate in multi-tasking and can actually walk a tight rope while balancing a dinner plate on her head and typing her next novel with the other. She lives in Alabama with her three children and her wonderful husband of eleven years.

Also from Stephanie Taylor

Chapter One

Stacey opened the window to her grandfather's room to let out the stale air. After the years he'd spent smoking, the house still smelled pungent after a rainy day. She rested her head against the screen and inhaled the sweetness of the moist earth after a summer storm. Thunder still rumbled in the distance, giving the illusion of the sun chasing away the storm.

Stacey smiled and pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Are you okay, Papa?" she asked, straightening his covers and fluffing the sides of his pillow. He grunted and gave her a weak smile.

"I'm fine. Just tired, pun’kin," he rasped.

"Do you need some water? Is your throat dry?" Stacey reached for his cup, but his shaking hand stopped her.

"I'm fine. Go read or something, I'll call if I need you."

Stacey placed his hands back at his sides, and his eyes drifted close. At only sixty-five, his body was being ravaged by cancer, and the doctors had offered little hope. Combined with the fact he'd refused chemo treatment after learning it would only prolong the inevitable. Stacey had begged, pleaded with him to do something, but as a war veteran and Purple Heart recipient, he'd lived through plenty of pain.

She didn't blame him, but her heart hurt when she thought about the man who had raised her not being there anymore. Gazing into his aged face, she gave a wistful smile. His thin lips were pale and drawn. The white hair on his head had never seen a day of gray. The fragile frame of his rib cage rose and fell softly, his breath much more shallow than last week.

Hospice would be here for their daily visit soon enough. Stacey left him and went into the living room to tidy up.

A knock at the door startled her, and she looked out the window. With a smile, she opened it and said, "Hi, Joey!" Adjusting her glasses on her nose, she stepped aside. It wasn't often her neighbor’s son came for a visit, and it set her heart to racing every time.

With a nod of his head, his lazy, confident gaze trailed over her as he stepped inside. "How are you, Stace?"

He wasn't the first one to shorten her name, but something about his southern drawl and the way his mouth quirked on the end of it caused her bones to feel like mush.

"I… I'm good, how are you? What brings you by?" She closed the door and turned to watch him cross the small living room.

"Mom said your granddad was getting sicker. Wanted to check on you and see how you're doing." He kept his back to her, and finally stopped at the edge of the couch.

"Me? Don't you mean Papa?" Stacey shook off the tenderness tugging at her heart, and her awkward, too-loud laugh filled the room.

"No," he said, finally turning to meet her gaze. "How are you, really?"

"I already said I'm fine." She tilted her head to the side, trying to read his strangely blank expression.

"I don't believe you." His cocked eyebrow irked her and she huffed. He might be one of the most confident men she knew, but he wasn’t fooling her.

Stacey frowned. "Why not?"

"You're only twenty, honey. You've got to be exhausted here with no one to help you. You've got dark circles under your eyes, and you still haven't gotten the stem on your glasses fixed. Duct tape won't hold forever."

Stacey felt the heat in her cheeks, and she absently touched her glasses. She knew she wasn't anything to look at, and it was kind for a man like Joey to even notice she looked worse than normal. "I'll get them fixed eventually. I'm not worried about myself right now. I just want to keep Papa as comfortable as possible. There'll be plenty of time for me after…"

In an instant, Joey was in front of her, taking her shoulders in his strong hands and squeezing. "Stacey, I'm worried about you."

"Because I haven't fixed my glasses?"

"Because you never smile anymore."

"I smile plenty, Joey McCrary." For her sanity, she moved away from his heat and those intense brown eyes that seemed to care. "Why don't you go back across the street and be with your parents? Take it from me, you should enjoy what time you have left with them."

"I want to help you," he said softly, as if she'd never spoken.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and gave him her best smile. "I don't need your help. Papa only has a little time left, and I won't let you come in here and take it away from me." Tears welled in her eyes until Joey was a blurred image. She felt his tender arms come around her and she accepted his embrace for only a moment. Being so close to him elicited selfish feelings, and she'd just read a passage in her Bible about that earlier today. Papa came first.

"Stacey?" she heard her frail grandfather call out.

She pushed away from Joey and he took a step back, but as she walked away, he grabbed her hand, causing her progress to stop.

"He needs me," she protested.

"Let me. I'm not a stranger to him, Stace. I mowed his yard every summer for six years. Sometimes a man needs another man for support. Having to bare everything to you is probably embarrassing to him."

Stacey swallowed thickly. She'd never thought of it in those terms. Leave it to Joey, childhood friend, to give it to her straight.

Once again, tears welled.

Tenderly, Joey tucked a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. "I'm not saying it to upset you, Stace. Just sit down and let me handle things, just for a little while."

"Why?" The word escaped before she could stop it. She suddenly felt foolish for questioning his good, albeit stubborn, heart.

His eyes grew soft and she recognized the look of pity. She hated that look but she couldn't stop it. In the small town they lived in, everyone knew practically everyone. Pity was part of it.

Poor little Stacey Ingram, gave up her education for her grandfather. Poor Stacey, such a kind soul to help him out. She'd forgotten how to live, poor thing.

Narrowing her eyes, she lifted her chin a notch, silently daring him to say anything even resembling pity.

“Why?” she asked again through gritted teeth.

Joey lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "Because you're my friend."

****

Joseph McCrary wanted a lot more than friendship with Stacey, but now wasn't the time. Right now, all she needed was his help. And all he needed was to see her smile again.

He was home for a while now since he'd graduated from college last week with a bachelor's in engineering. He'd planned to spend the summer interviewing for jobs and living up his last carefree summer before becoming an official adult with a nine-to-five job.

Until his parents had told him about Mr. Ingram and the cancer. His first thought had been to ask about Stacey, but his parents knew him well, and it didn't even pass his lips before they told him about how she dropped out of high school her senior year two years ago and wouldn’t even speak to anyone about going back.

Over the years, he'd look to Stacey as a solid rock in his crazy world. He lived fast and free and didn't think much about the consequences. He enjoyed easy women and no commitment.

They'd grown up across the street from each other, building the cliché mud pies and swimming in the local watering hole. But she'd always been the awkward girl with knobby knees, thick glasses and frizzy blonde hair.

But something changed around the time he went to college. She'd been sixteen at the time and started filling out those baggy shirts she always wore, and her hair was less frizzy and more… tousled. Sort of like what he envisioned her looking like after a good roll in the hay.

But Stacey Ingram wasn't built that way. She was a forever kind of gal, one he'd normally steer clear of, but after the conversation with his parents about how out of touch with society she was, Joey had realized the perfect escape for her.

Him.

With a hopeful smile tugging at his lips, he entered Mr. Ingram's room and took a good look at the man who used to be his employer.

"Hey Mr. Ingram, how ya feelin'?" He spoke loud enough for the man to hear him and extended his hand.

He obviously recognized him immediately by the way his face lit up with an ashen smile. Joey took his hand and pumped, ignoring the weakness of the other man's grip.

"I'm glad you're here, son, I need to go to the bathroom. Can you help an old man get there?"

"That's why I'm here, sir. I wanted to let Stacey get some rest."

His words gave Mr. Ingram pause. His eyes glistened suspiciously. "Why thank you. Everyone seems to fuss over me but no one thinks about her. I'm just a man who's at the end of a well-lived life. Hers is just beginning."

"I'm home from college now, and I'll be over here as much as I can to help out," he assured the man, his heartstrings tugging. Joey pushed the feeling aside to help him out of bed.

Once he was settled again, Joey strolled back in to the living room and found Stacey sitting on the edge of the couch, tissue in hand, glasses lying duct-tape side up on the coffee table. She didn't notice his entrance, and he watched for a moment. She wasn't the kind of gal to show her emotions much, and it was like getting a glimpse inside of her soul.

Her face crumpled, and she buried it in the tissue, quietly sniffing and swiping at her nose and eyes. For a moment, Joey felt the tears welling in his own eyes for her sorrow. She was such a beautiful girl — woman now — and his arms physically ached to hold her. Friends hugged each other, right?

Silently crossing the room, he sat next to her and gathered her into his arms, loving the feel of her softness against him. Her stiff body was an indicator she didn't welcome his touch, but he was determined. If there was one thing she should know about him by now, it was that he got what he wanted. And he wanted her.

Turning her face up to meet his, he wiped away her tears with his thumb and kissed her forehead. "Stace," he whispered, the lump in his throat vicious and choking.

"Thank you," she said without a trace of emotion in her voice. She tried to move away from him, but he tightened his hold.

"When was the last time you let someone hold you when you cried? Or tell you it was going to be okay?"

She swallowed and averted her eyes. "Before Mama and Daddy died."

Joey inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He remembered that night. The police cars, the sirens, and the flashing lights had called attention to the house he now sat in. He'd even heard Stacey's childhood cries through the closed window. She'd suffered so much, and yet she was so much stronger than anyone he'd ever known before. Maybe because of the things she'd endured over the years or despite them, he wasn't sure.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, touching her cheek.

Her eyes were wide and full of something akin to desire. It was a universal look for all women, but on her, it was special, knowing he caused it. He wasn’t sure if forever was on the menu or if it was all just temporary, but he wanted to give her a glimmer of hope. Somehow make her see she still had a life to live.

"You're full of crap," she shot back with a half-smile and again tried to pull away.

"You think I'm kidding?" he asked, surprised she'd voice her insecurities.

"I know you are. Let go of me, Joey. I don't know what's wrong with you, but you need to go. I have to fix supper for Papa."