You're Still the One (27 page)

“Consider the source,” he said. “Also, how many times did Rudolph marry?”

“Are you saying you never found the right woman?”

Might as well tell the truth. “Actually, I did find the right person. Once. I just didn’t think she returned my feelings.”

Jane kept her gaze focused on the ground, her expression thoughtful. “That’s too bad.”

Did she truly not understand who he was talking about? “I guess I always assumed that when my mind was made up, the moment would arrive and the words would just come,” he confessed. “Spontaneously.”

She laughed. “Well, who knows? It could still happen—you’re only thirty-one.”

“Is that all? This project I’m working on with a company in Los Angeles is making me feel more like eighty-one.”

“Stressful art work?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m an artist at all,” he admitted. “It’s not what I expected when I was in college and imagined working on my own in a basement somewhere. This business snag today is over licensing a video game. A video game—creative, maybe, but not the masterwork I was expecting to pour out my lifeblood for. And it
is
a business. A big part of my life is dealing with the nuts and bolts—tax questions, and benefits. Even though I have great support staff, most days leave me feeling as if I should have taken business courses, and accounting. And plumbing—McG Studios is in an old warehouse building.”

“It still sounds pretty fun,” she said.

“It is. Even on a bad day, I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Then you’re a success.”

They sat sipping and listening to the sounds of the guitar strumming in the distance. “So to get back to topic A,” he said. “If we never broke up, doesn’t that mean we’ve technically been together all these years?”

“You’d better hope not. It sounds as if you’ve been cheating on me quite a bit.”

He stretched out his legs. “As if you haven’t been stepping out yourself.” When she opened her mouth to deny it, he decided to jog her memory. “Stu Lunsford?”

She eyed him sharply. “How did you find out about Stu?”

“I have my stooges.”

The memory of his mother, who’d always kept him apprised of the goings-on about town, sent a jolt of sadness through him. He wouldn’t have that anymore. Once he sold her house and left town this time, he wouldn’t have much of a connection left to Mesquite Creek. Or Jane.

“Stu’s very nice,” she said, a little defensively. “He’s a pharmacist now. Our moms set us up.”

“And you were how old?”

She ducked her head. “Twenty-eight. He’s very interesting, but when he wanted to go to a gun show for our second date, I broke it off. Something about the combination of pharmaceuticals and firearms made me uncomfortable.”

“No regrets about the one that got away, then?”

“No, not with Stu.”

As soon as the words were out, her eyes widened. Roy’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, but before he could react in any other way, someone came around the corner. Roy suppressed a groan. It was Carl. The man smiled—an expression that dimmed slightly when he noticed Roy.

“I was beginning to wonder if I would ever run into you,” he said to Jane.

What did that mean? Roy looked over at Carl and tried not to let his consternation show. He’d never considered the vet as a rival, even after he had interrupted them at Jane’s apartment. Carl was a good fifteen years older, for one thing. But he supposed that age difference didn’t mean much now.

“I’m actually glad to see you here, Roy,” Carl said, catching him off guard.

“You are?”

“Do you know anything about design?”

Jane laughed. “That’s sort of his life, Carl.”

Carl’s red brows drew together. “Yeah, the dancing food and stuff. But I’ve been wondering about lettering. See, I’m trying to figure out a new sign for the clinic . . .”

With dismay, Roy watched Jane toss her half-finished can away and slap her hands together. “I’m going back to the Jam.”

Carl looked over at her, clearly dismayed. Roy felt the same way. “Really? We could—”

“No,” she insisted. “You two talk shop awhile. I want to track down Erin. I’ll leave the refreshments with you.”

Roy’s instinct was to run after Jane. Then again, this was the second time he’d bumped into Carl and Jane together. That had to mean something. Maybe it would be useful to know what the man’s intentions were. And to keep him out of Jane’s path.

When she was gone, he turned back to the other man. “Have a beer?”

 

 

Jane hurried away, discombobulated by her encounter with Roy. The conversation had seemed half flirtation, half elegy to their dead romance. And asking him about his love life—how nosy and masochistic was that?

Masochistic, because she found herself fighting jealousy against these women that he’d mentioned he’d been seeing. Which was crazy.

Leave it to Roy to unsettle her this way. As a teenager, she’d prided herself for having her feet firmly planted on the ground. Then Roy had come along. The fun times—driving to Mexico and back on the spur of the moment, bungee jumping, skinny-dipping, staying up all night just to watch the sunrise—had all been at Roy’s instigation.

Maybe that had always been part of Roy’s allure. All through school she’d kept her head down, doing what she was told, studying hard, knowing she was destined to be one of the soldier ants of the world. And then Roy had suddenly made her feel as if she had a spark of something special inside her, as if she might actually have possessed a hint of Juliet. Someone who had “taught the torches to burn bright.”

But of course he’d probably made a lot of women feel that way. He was a man who made pretzels dance.

She bumped into Marcy again near the blackberry-lemonade stand.

“Where did you disappear to?” Marcy asked. “You’ve missed the Chamber of Commerce Barbershop Quartet and the awarding of the blue ribbon for blackberry preserves.”

“Mona Breyer,” Jane guessed. Mona always won.

“Well, yeah,” Marcy said. “But you still missed it.”

Shane approached them. “Hi, y’all,” he said, although he was looking only at Marcy. “I’d ask you to dance, but there hasn’t been anything played that has a beat to it. Creek Fire is slated to play after the Methodist Sunday School Choir, though. Maybe then . . . ?”

Marcy’s mouth set in a fierce line. “If Keith hasn’t shown up by then, I’ll be at home drowning my sorrows in a tub of Haagen-Dazs.”

“Oh,” Shane said. “Well, I guess . . . See ya Monday, then.”

Marcy nodded. “Sure.”

When he was out of earshot, Jane said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What?”

“The way you blew off Shane just now.”

Marcy looked confused. “He was just talking.”

“He was trying to ask you for a dance.”

“Four hours into the future? What kind of guy does that? We’re not living in a Jane Austen movie.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, everybody knows I’m as good as engaged to Keith.”

“Everybody except Keith.” Jane prepared herself for Marcy to start yelling at her.

Instead, Marcy listened to the choir for a minute before turning back to Jane. “Are you saying that the reason Keith hasn’t proposed is because he doesn’t want to get married?”

Jane shrugged. “I don’t know. What does Keith say?”

“He’s never mentioned it.”

“Have you?”

Marcy goggled at her. “Of course not.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because a guy likes to pop the question, right?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re an adult, not a damsel in a fairy tale. Just talk to him. Maybe he never wants to get married. Wouldn’t that be good information to have? Or maybe he just needs to know that’s what you want, too. Either way, you’re better off speaking your mind.”

Marcy looked dazed. “You’re right. I’ve been acting as if Keith were Prince Charming.” She lifted and dropped her arms. “Why? The man needs to be nagged into doing everything from asking for a raise to clipping his toenails. Why have I been expecting him to show the initiative in proposing? For that matter, maybe
I
should propose to him.”

Her determination brought out Jane’s inner ditherer. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far . . .”

“I do,” Marcy said, cutting her off. “In fact, I’m going to hunt him down right now and ask him.”

She pivoted and practically sprinted away. Jane watched her, torn. Part of her wanted to call her back.

But at least she’d struck a blow for plain speaking. For rationality over romanticism. And maybe in ten years Kaylie wouldn’t be writing crazy interviews for the newspaper about how Jane didn’t know what happened to the one big romance she’d had in her life.

That night, an explosion of barking rousted Jane out of a nearly sound sleep. From the full-throated cries the dogs were unleashing at the door, she expected an intruder to come bursting through any second. She jammed her feet into scuffs, shushed the animals, and attempted to clear her head of sleep.

Then a spray of something hit the window in the living room. The dogs went nuts.

Jane grabbed her robe and sprinted into the next room to make sure the window was locked. Mesquite Creek prided itself on being the kind of place where you could still keep your windows open at night, although it was warm enough already that Jane had been using the air conditioner.

She pulled back a curtain to peek out just as another blast of rock hit the glass. Her bleat of surprise sent the cats racing to their safety spots. Jane squinted through the pane and spied someone pacing down below.

Roy.

She ran to the door, nearly tripping over Squeak. Once again she shushed the dogs before opening the door and stepping onto the landing. She peered down at Roy’s barely visible form in the darkness.

He raised an arm dramatically. “Hark, what—”

“What are you doing?” she said, cutting off the theatrics. “It’s after one!”

“I know—the night is young, and the town is dead. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to do since I saw this balcony the other day.”

“It’s not a balcony, it’s a staircase landing, and you can’t—”

But he could. He disappeared and she leaned over the railing, watching him trying to get purchase on the morning-glory trellis attached to the pole supporting the landing. “The stairs are so much easier,” she told him.

“That’s the trouble with you, Jane. No sense of—
ouch!
” Gasped curses floated up from below.

“What happened?” she said, squinting down at him.

“Splinter.”

“Would you please jump down?”

“Nope. I’ve come this far . . .” Grunting, he kept climbing until they were face-to-face. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Made it.”

And then something cracked, and he was gliding away from her—as was the entire top of the trellis. He reached out to grab the railing, missed, and clasped her arm instead. For a horrifying moment, she worried she was going to be yanked down with him. Instead, she dug in her heels, trying to ignore the cacophony of dogs and shrieking parakeet in the apartment behind her, and tugged as hard as she could, pulling him and the trellis back to the landing.

When he was close enough, Roy let go of her hands and clutched at the railing for dear life. She helped haul him over, and they collapsed against the door, which hadn’t latched properly and fell open unexpectedly. In the next moment, they tumbled in a heap on the floor of her apartment, laughing hysterically.

“That was really stupid,” Roy said, catching his breath.

“Yes.” She kicked the door closed. “And really not good for Luther’s nerves.” She would probably have a one-hundred-percent-bald bird by morning.

“
Luther’s
nerves?” he asked. “What about mine? I need a drink.”

“I’m guessing you’ve already had a few.” She stood.

“I mean, something to drink like water. I had three beers with the good doctor.”

“Which doctor?”

“Carl,” he said.

“You two were together this whole time?” She had waited around the Jam for them for a while but had finally given up and sought out Erin at the salon. They’d gone out for dinner and then returned to the gathering to listen to one of the later bands. But Roy had never shown up again. She’d just assumed he’d gone home to work on the project he’d been talking about.

“We went to the clinic so he could show me his sign idea,” Roy explained. “By the time we got back downtown, you must have already left.” He smiled, all innocence. Which made her suspicious. “Carl’s a really nice guy.”

She got up off the floor, opened the fridge, and grabbed the iced tea pitcher. What wasn’t he telling her? Plus, he was wearing different clothes than he had been this afternoon. Also . . .

She studied his head. “What’s in your hair?”

He looked up, his eyes almost crossing.

“You’ve got light green streaks in your hair,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “Oh. Probably from when I was doing touch-up work around the house.”

“And what were you and Carl up to that took so long?”

“We talked about all sorts of things.” He gave her a significant look. “Including you.”

She took a long swig of tea, forgetting that she’d poured it for Roy. She got another glass down for him.

“You know what conclusion I’ve drawn about the good doctor?” Roy asked, stretching out and scratching Buddy behind the ears.

“You made a psychological assessment?”

“No—just gut reaction. I like him.”

She went to hand him the glass, but he was surrounded by dogs who looked as if they might nose it right out of his hand. “You’ll never be able to drink in peace while you’re on the floor.”

He lifted his hand to her, and she pulled him up. He came to standing about an inch from her, so close that she could feel body heat coming off of him. She stepped a safer distance away and held out the glass.

“Of course you like Carl,” she said. “He’s a nice guy—always has been. Why do you think I came back to help out?”

He shrugged. “When Mom told me you’d moved back here after vet school, I just assumed that you wanted to be close to your family, to what was familiar.”

“Because I was unadventurous, or lacked imagination to do anything else,” she translated.

“I never said that.”

“I came back because when I talked to Carl he was so distraught, and he wanted to take a few months off to grieve for Maggie. And after that . . . well, so far I’ve just never found a good reason to leave.”

“He’s not grieving for Maggie now,” Roy said.

“No, I think he’s finally coming out of it. I’m glad.”

Roy moved closer to her again. “I guess what I’m saying is that I can see why you’d like him.” He swallowed. “Why you might love him, even.”

The words took a few moments to absorb. “I could see how some woman might love him,” she corrected. “But I don’t.”

“I know from talking to him that you two aren’t involved. But I don’t want to step in and ruin anything that might be brewing.”

She laughed. “Nothing is brewing, believe me.”

His eyes clouded, troubled. “I don’t know . . .”

What on earth had Carl said to him? Before she could voice the question, another oddity struck her full force. “Wait a second . . . what do you mean by stepping in?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“By your antics on the trellis? All I gleaned from that is that your Romeo days are probably behind you.”

“Why do you think I’m in Mesquite Creek, Jane?”

She tried to ignore the huskiness in his voice. “To sell your mother’s house.”

“I could go back to Seattle and let Lou and Aunt Ona handle it. I stayed because I saw you and realized I didn’t want to leave without trying again. Because after the house is gone . . .”

He might not be back.

“All these years you would breeze in and out of town during your visits and you barely acknowledged me,” she said, surprised by the anger that bubbled up.

“I know. I felt stung when you decided to choose vet school here over me.”

“It was what I’d been working for all through school. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“You could have gone to school on the West Coast.”

“And you could have stayed—just waited two or three years for me to finish,” she said.

“Years!” He shut his mouth and shook his head. “Okay. We’re back in the old argument.”

“Exactly.”

He took her hands in his. “But things are different now for both of us. We’re both who we wanted to become. My pride was hurt when I left, but maybe it was good for me. And you were always in the back of my mind as the ideal, Jane. I swear. No one else has measured up.”

Even now, when every atom felt electrified as she stared into those gorgeous blues, a corner of her mind shouted at her to be sensible, not to make a misstep.

And then he was pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and she sank against him, ignoring her inner good girl shrieking warnings. When Roy’s lips touched hers, it felt so right. He’d always been a great kisser, and now she remembered why. Men since had been too aggressive, or their technique too slurpy. Roy’s mouth fit perfectly against hers; his tongue felt natural, not like a probe. They had taught each other to kiss, and their bodies hadn’t forgotten. Whatever was between them felt instinctive now, almost primal.

Her hands roamed up his chest, twining around his nape. Where in the old days there had been more hair, there was now just a soft bristle of close-cut fuzz. She stroked it and he groaned, pulling her closer, hands roaming down her hips so that she could feel him pressing against her belly. A sharp yearning hit her, and she could feel them moving toward the Herculon couch, a place that knew them well.

Someone knocked at the door.

The dogs barked and Roy pulled back with a ragged curse. She swallowed, trying to still her heartbeat, to clear her thoughts.

“Were you expecting anyone?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

She shook her head. Could her mother have seen Roy and decided to come over and break up whatever was going on? It was so like her to jump to conclusions—

Another knock sounded. Of course, this time her mother’s conclusion would have been completely accurate.

She stumbled to the door, retying her robe and praying she looked somewhat composed. Prepared to face her mother, she was completely caught off guard to find Jared standing on her doorstep in his police uniform, one hand on his weapon.

He looked surprised, too—which was strange, since he had to know who lived here. Then she realized he wasn’t looking at her, but beyond her, at Roy. He stepped inside the apartment. “We had a call from one of your neighbors about a possible intruder . . . said there was a lot of barking.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Cora Philpott? She’s always complaining about the dogs. I don’t know how she can hear them when they’re inside.”

“She also said she saw some suspicious activity outside the apartment.”

“That was probably me,” Roy said, smiling.

Jared laughed. “Trying to make a big entrance?”

“Sort of. Though I swear I wasn’t going to break in.”

The policeman shrugged. “Well, don’t worry about it. If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have come rushing over.”

Jane frowned. “He’s been here twenty minutes. You couldn’t have been rushing too quickly.”

“It’s Jam weekend. We get lots of calls.” Jared put his hands on his hips. “Not to mention, I spent part of the evening with my sister, trying to deal with the fallout from all the trouble
you
started.”

Jane flinched. “Is something wrong with Marcy?”

“Wrong? She’s a wreck! Said you told her she ought to propose to Keith, which she did. Where did you come up with such a cockamamy idea? Scared the guy so much that he dumped her outright.”

Jane’s jaw dropped. “Dumped her?”

“Told her that since she was so antsy about getting married, he didn’t want to lead her on. Said he didn’t know she had expectations.”

“Oh no,” Jane said.

“Poor thing spent the whole night crying herself sick. You know how many times I’ve seen my little sister cry, besides funerals? Zero. If I weren’t an officer of the law, I’d kill him.”

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible for her.”

“If you’d just left well enough alone, Keith might have come around eventually. Guys don’t like to be cornered, you know?”

“I only meant for her to talk to him . . .”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

Footsteps clattered up the stairs, and in the next second her mother appeared in her short-sleeved terry cloth bathrobe. “What’s wrong? What happened to my trellis?”

“There was a little accident,” Jane said.

“An accident?” Her father, who’d come in on the heels of her mom, stood in his old plaid robe. He looked a little stooped, as he always did in the apartment, as if he feared his head would scrape the ceiling.

Roy stepped forward. “It was my fault,” he confessed. “I unintentionally damaged the trellis.”

Her mother blinked. “How?”

“By climbing on it.”

Her mother’s cheeks flooded with red, but it was her father who spoke. “Are you drunk?”

Jane tried to ease the tension with a chuckle. It was so ridiculous. She felt as if she was in high school again and had been caught out after curfew. “We were just horsing around.”

“Why were the police called?” her father asked.

Jared assured them, “Mrs. Philpott said it looked like breaking and entering, but it was just Roy.”

This only agitated her mother more. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What do you—”

“Now, we can all talk about this tomorrow,” Jane’s father said, putting his hands on his wife’s shoulders to try to calm her. Jane could have hugged him. “For now, there’s probably no harm done that some staples and a little Gorilla Glue won’t set right.”

“Sure.” Jared shot a quick glare at Jane. “Well, except for poor Marcy. You can’t Gorilla Glue that right again.”

He turned and left.

Jane smiled weakly. “I gave someone at work a little bad advice,” she explained to her folks.

They nodded. Then they transferred their gazes from her to Roy.

Neither of them budged.

For Pete’s sake. Did they really intend to stand there all night and protect their little girl’s virtue?

Evidently.

Roy finally took the hint. “I should be going. Guess I’ve caused enough problems for one night.”

“Yes,” Brenda said.