Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (38 page)

She felt a rise of panic as her father drove them up the mountain—but tamped it down. Boone wasn’t going to leave town the way her parents always had. She’d get to him soon enough. In fact, she wouldn’t let another day go by.

But what about Janelle and all the other women who wanted him? Tonight on the football field, he’d never been more loveable.

He was a real catch, and Cissie couldn’t take it for granted that he loved her back. He might
like
her a whole lot—enough to find her so attractive that he’d bedded her on several occasions, much to her extreme delight—but was that love?

Mrs. Hattlebury’s and Mrs. Donovan’s admonitions came back:
Don’t give it away, Cissie
.

She’d done just that.

“Too late,” she murmured as they approached the house.

“What was that, dear?” asked Nana.

Cissie leaned close. “Do you believe in the old adage ‘Don’t give away the milk for free’?”

Nana chuckled. “
No.
When you have a hunk like Boone hovering, who’d want to resist him? You stand tall, darling. He’s a lucky man, and I’m sure he knows it.”

Cissie decided that he did know it. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her when she’d passed him that trophy. She was going to let go of all her insecurities and trust that he’d come through.

“He’s my real-life hero, Nana,” she whispered again, a hitch in her voice. “He’s brave, and kind. He’s smart and sexy, and wonderful, better than any hero on paper—”

“Yes, he is.” Nana stuck her arm through hers and squeezed. “You’ve made a grand choice, my dear.”

At the house, the mood was somber, but the good company couldn’t help but lift everyone’s spirits eventually. Mrs. Hattlebury brought over a couple frozen homemade lasagnas and started heating them. Sally read Hank Davis the
Where’s Waldo?
book. Several town council members, some theater people, and various townsfolk, including Starla, came over and commiserated with them.

By suppertime, there were not only two lasagnas but three buckets of chicken, two trays of macaroni and cheese, three pies, and a pineapple upside-down cake. Bad news traveled around Kettle Knob fast.

So did good news.

“It was a great game, and Boone’s speech was awesome,” could be heard over and over among the crowd still gathering in the den, the kitchen, and at the fire pit outside.

Cissie walked into a group of theater people right as the star of the current play said, “So Ella wasn’t his lover, after all. Just his reading tutor.”

“That’s definitely what he was telling us tonight,” a secondary actor said.

“In so many words.” A backstage person giggled.

And then everyone seemed to remember Cissie’s relationship to the story.

Starla, who wasn’t in the play at all, tossed Cissie an apologetic smile. “You’re not seeing him anymore, right, hon? I mean, if you ever were. It was just a kiss on the side of a pickup truck. Every Southern woman I know has had one of those.”

Cissie reddened. “Right.”

“So?” asked the star of the play, not giving up. “What’s your status with him?”

It was no one’s business. But they were all leaning close to hear, and everyone had been so supportive about the fire. These people were her
friends
. And she’d decided to trust Boone’s intentions.

“I really like him,” Cissie said quietly, then folded her arms over her chest. “I mean … I
love
him.”

There was a collective gasp.

“I haven’t told him yet, but I plan to. Tonight.” She smiled and shrugged. “If you’ll excuse me? I need to check on a few things in the kitchen.”

“Um, sure,” Starla said. “You do what you have to do.”

There were a few other awkward remarks as the circle broke open. Cissie forced herself to walk off slowly, her shoulders back.

“Damn,” she heard one of the actors say, “Cissie and Boone sure know how to work a moment.”

She smiled to herself. If Boone wasn’t going to hide, then she wasn’t going to, either.

*   *   *

Boone arrived at the library too late to see Cissie. But he had a brief talk with Scotty from his truck.

“Kettle Knob is too nice a town for anyone here to commit arson,” Boone said. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”

“Maybe,” Scotty said. “Maybe not. Where you headed?”

“Cissie’s.”

“You sure you should?”

“Why not?”

“Lots of people up there right now. They’ll be talking about the fire but about you, too.”

“I can handle it.” Boone’s parents had already called. But he hadn’t picked up. He wanted to feel good about his decision to speak to the crowd after the football game, and he suspected that they’d bring him down.

The chief shook his head. “I missed your speech, but I heard about it.”

“And?”

“I’m pissed you never told me about the reading thing. I thought I was your friend. A
good
friend.”

Boone looked him square in the eye. “Sorry. I thought telling you or anyone else would change things.”

“That was stupid.” Scotty punched Boone’s arm.

“I guess so.” Boone punched him back.

And that easily, all was right in Man World again.

“So what’s going on with you and Cissie?” Scotty asked.

“A lot. And it’s all good.”

Scotty grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while. Linda and I are rooting for you. Can I confess something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I was hoping you two would use that jail cell to get close. You know? It was obvious to me you were meant to be.”

“You are one kinky son of a bitch.”

Scotty laughed, and they shared a lightning fast bro hug above his holster and gun.

Boone’s phone rang on the way up the steep mountain road to Cissie’s. It was his sister, Debbie’s, number in Raleigh. That meant only one thing. His parents had called her, and now she was calling him to tell him he messed up.

This call he picked up. “Hey, Debs.”

“I’m not calling to yell at you.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Mom and Dad called, and they’re worried what the fallout could be.”

“Well, the fallout on the field was pretty damned awesome. Didn’t they notice?”

“Who knows? They tend to care too much what their business cronies think. And they’re parents—I think they’ll always worry about us.”

“Whatever happens will be easier than hiding it anymore. I can handle it.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll tell Mom and Dad to step back.”

“Thanks.”

“And Boone?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I was never any help to you. Mom and Dad were so into downplaying it, I was reluctant to get involved.”

He felt a pain in his chest loosen just a little. “Thanks, Deb.”

“There’s another reason they may have had a hard time acknowledging what was going on.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m almost positive Mom’s dyslexic.”

Boone’s world just turned sideways. Good thing his headlights were picking out every curve in the road. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. Haven’t you ever noticed that Dad always orders for her at restaurants?”

“I thought that was them being old-fashioned.”

“Have you ever seen her reading a newspaper? Or a magazine? Or a book?”

“No. She’s always loved TV. Soap operas. And
The Price Is Right
.”

“See? Even our Christmas cards—they get the printed kind so they never have to sign their names. Daddy prints out address labels, too.”

“A lot of people do that,” he said.

“I know. But there are so many little instances where Mom finds a way to shy away from reading or writing.”

“Even if she is dyslexic, would she admit it?”

“I doubt it. Maybe she feels guilty she passed it on. It runs in families, you know.”

“I never thought of that. So all that regret I sensed from them…” He prepared himself to tell Debbie what was really in his heart. She was his sister. “Maybe,” he ventured, “they weren’t wishing I was Richard so much as they were just upset that Mom and I—”

It was hard for him to go on.

“Oh, Boone.” She sounded so sad for him. “They never wished you were Richard. Ever.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been easy to think that.”

“Believe me, I’m a parent now, and each one of our kids is his or her own special treasure.”

“That they are, those little rascals.” Boone grinned, thinking of his two nephews and two nieces, all under age twelve.

“There’s never a thought given to swapping out or wanting do-overs, even when I’m exhausted or one of them is getting on my last nerve. I’m grateful, Boone, that we have them at all. Mom and Dad feel the same way about you.”

“Thanks. I wish I’d talked to you a long time ago.”

“Guess what—they’re headed to your house. Since you didn’t answer the phone.”

“Dang.”

Deb chuckled. “They really need to get a life of their own.”

“Tell me about it. I need to take back my keys. They act like it’s their house. And I’ve always given them leeway. I felt bad, you know, that Grandpa skipped over Dad and gave the house to me. Hell, maybe you wanted it, too.”

“Dad doesn’t need it—with all his properties? And I’m thrilled I didn’t get it. Because then I might not have had the gumption to leave Kettle Knob. Do you wish you had?”

“No,” he said, and meant it. “I love it here. I’m surprised I’m saying that, after all the regrets I’ve had. But this is where I belong.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. We should talk more often.”

“I agree.”

Before they hung up, they arranged to see each other in Charlotte for lunch the next week.

A minute later, Boone went straight past the red reflectors that marked the entrance to Cissie’s driveway. He’d go back. But he had something to do first. His mother and father were literally opening his front door as he pulled up.

He rolled down his window, fast. “Hey!” he called to them.

They turned around.

He turned off his headlights and jumped out of his truck. “Here I am. Did you need me for something?”

“Yeah,” said Frank, standing in a puddle of light cast from a sconce near the door, with his fists curled. “We need you to answer your phone.”

Becky Lee, meanwhile, in her upscale clothes and perfect makeup and hair, looked sleek and confident.

But was she really?

Boone walked up on the porch. Sat in a rocker. “I’m sometimes too busy to answer my phone, Dad. Hey, Mom. Why don’t you sit down?” He indicated a rocker.

“Well, all right, son.” She took a seat somewhat reluctantly.

“You, too, Dad.”

“It’s cold out here.” Frank was a stubborn old coot sometimes.

“You’re bundled up from the game,” Boone said. “You’ll be all right. And we’re not going inside.”

“Why not?” Frank sat and sighed.

Boone patted his father’s knee, just once. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Meanwhile, you must want to talk about that speech I gave.”

“We sure do.” His father glowered.

“Honey, we’re worried for you.” Becky Lee laced her fingers together.

“You need to stop. Won’t that be nice for you, Mom? To be able to relax about me? So far—you saw the reaction on the field—everything’s been positive.”

She sighed. “I’d like to think it will stay that way and that you can handle your own business.”

“Of course I can. Can I ask you both something? About my childhood?”

“Go right ahead.” She started rocking.

Frank was still sulking, his big arms folded over his chest.

“Why didn’t you read to me when I was little?”

There was a long silence Boone refused to break.

“I was always working,” his father said. “And your mother stayed busy with her volunteering. And cooking.”

“Someone read to me,” Boone said. “I can barely recall it, but I liked it. It was a guy. Somebody warm, somebody safe. I remember being happy. If it wasn’t you, Dad, was it Grandpa Faber?”

His father shook his head, met his mother’s eyes.

“It was Richard,” she said in a trembly voice.

“Damn,” Boone whispered.

Richard … the brother he thought he’d never known.

While he tried to process that, Frank took his wife’s hand.

“I can’t believe you remember, son.” Becky Lee smiled wistfully. “You were barely three when he died.”

“You’d have your thumb in your mouth.” Frank gave a short laugh and started rocking. “You’d sit in Richard’s lap while he read you
Thomas the Tank Engine
books.”

“I’m glad you have a memory of him to hold on to,” Becky Lee said.

“Me, too,” Boone said quietly. He and Richard had been brothers.
Together
. It was a special moment for him, and he could tell his parents enjoyed it, too, by the way they smiled at each other and kept rocking.

“Mom,” Boone said after a little bit, “is there anything else you want to tell me about those days? Because I can handle it. I promise.”

They both stopped rocking. Becky Lee sat there uncertainly. Frank’s lower lip jutted out.

Boone took the plunge. “I always thought you wanted to switch me with Richard—because you were so upset about my reading problem.”

“No,” his mother cried. “We never wanted to do that.”

“Of course not,” his father said.

To hear them say it out loud—well, it felt good. Really good. Yet he was sad, too. For the first time, thinking about what his sister had said on the phone, Boone felt what it truly must be like for his parents. Richard should have been in the empty rocking chair on the other side of Frank.

“I wish you could have had both your boys here today,” Boone said quietly.

His dad nodded. “We do, too.”

“Yes, indeed,” his mother murmured.

There was no competition between Boone and his late brother. There was only Richard’s absence—and their memories of him. Distant as those recollections were, they were important. They helped shape who the Braddocks were now.

They sat, looked out at the dark, slumbering mountains, some dotted with lights.

“I didn’t read to you, Boone,” said his mother into the silence, “because I have trouble with it myself.”

“Do you, Mom?” Boone asked casually, although it was a huge admission on her part.