A Gift for All Seasons (12 page)

“More like...your motives.”

“I don’t pity you, if that’s what you mean. And if that
is
what you mean I’ve half a mind to take the offer off the table.” When he pressed his lips together, she heard herself say, even as her heart was pounding to beat the band. “I know what happened. Your mother told me.”

On a sigh, Patrick shut his eyes. Opened them again. “She shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“Well, she did. So deal.” When he glanced away, she said, “Are you
afraid
to ask me out?”

His laugh was rough. “No. Just using common sense.”

Which she took to mean the same thing. Honestly, the man was just asking for that skillet.

“Well I am,” she said. “And I don’t care who knows it.”

“Oh, yeah?” He almost smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice sounding braver than I am.” Even if not a lot of practice at...other things. Although something told her— That mouth. Oh, my—she’d be a quick study. “But inside? A bundle of nerves.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, “That why you didn’t ask
me
out?”

“No, I didn’t ask you because, for one thing, I’m an old-fashioned girl—” that got a snigger “—and for another,
you
need to do this.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” April stood, tugging down over her hips the sweater she’d changed into for dinner. “But you know what? You’re right. If you don’t think you’re ready, or that our going out would be a waste of your time or energy, or whatever excuse you’re buying into, then I’m done. Because arguing with a brick wall is a waste of
my
time and energy—”

He practically surged to his feet, shifting Lili in his arms so her head flopped onto his shoulder, her mouth sagging open—oh, Lord, death by cute—and April braced herself for the explosion. Or the Dramatic Exit. His laugh, though—she hadn’t expected that.

“Tomorrow night. Seven. I’ll pick you up. Lock the door behind me.”

And off he strode, God-only-knew-what going through his head and leaving April far too wobbly kneed to move. Finally she did, though, holding on to things as she made her way to the door to flip the dead bolt. Then she slid to the floor, palm flattened against her chest, as the word “ramifications” exploded in her brain.

* * *

“You’re kidding?” April’s eyes glinted mischievously at Patrick from across the white-clothed table in the quiet little restaurant in Salisbury. Although they’d agreed to keep things casual, she’d put up her hair, was sporting a little more makeup than he remembered her wearing before. Just enough to make her mouth look softer, her eyes even bigger. “Your family really doesn’t know we’re doing this?”

“You’ve met my family,” he said, tilting his beer glass to his lips. “Would you tell them?”

“Good point.”

Obviously nothing would come of this, he thought over the pinch of guilt. But sometimes it was easier to play along until the other party realized pursuing a dumb idea doesn’t make it less dumb. So he’d been a little taken aback, frankly, at how easily they’d chatted on the ride here, thanks to April peppering him with questions about his family. About Lili. Stuff he could talk about without thinking too hard.

Of course, nobody’d told him to bring her here, to a place with tablecloths and candlelight and picture-free menus written in some fancy print. He could’ve taken her to Emerson’s, like she’d suggested. Could’ve honked for her in front of the inn, let her climb up into the truck on her own instead of going around and helping her in. Could’ve responded to her questions with monosyllabic grunts. He wasn’t a prick, but still. There were all sorts of ways to put a woman off the scent.

Speaking of scents, her perfume...

Damn.

April messed with her fork, made a fist, tucked both hands underneath the table. “So who’s taking care of Lilianna?”

“Grad student who lives downstairs from us. She and Lili are nuts about each other.” Although Lili had still pouted when he’d left, her lower lip quivering when he’d given her a wave as he walked out the door.

“Not to worry,” April said, “my cousins don’t know, either.” She took a tiny sip of her white wine, eyeing the glass when she set it back down like she didn’t quite trust it.

“The wine okay?”

“Um, sure. I guess.” A smile flickered. “I don’t really drink much, as a rule.”

“Not even in college?”

“Never went to college. No time. Or money.” She shrugged. “I worked all the way through high school as well. Had to.”

There she went again, stating a fact but somehow without playing the sympathy card. Just letting him know that things hadn’t been that great, no biggie. Then she reached up to tug loose a strand of hair slightly tangled in the drapey neck of her soft blue sweater, twisting it around her finger for a moment before catching herself, like she had with the fork earlier. It was both weirdly appealing and damned unsettling, how she’d seesaw between being bodacious one minute and like a kitten exploring the big wide world for the first time the next. And, no, that was not protectiveness surging in his gut—

“Hey.”

Her gaze touched his.

“You nervous?”

“Heck, yeah,” she said on a little laugh. “It’s been...” Her lips scrunched together as she reached for the fork again, carefully lining it up with the edge of her napkin. “I never really dated much.” One side of her mouth canted. “Either.”

“Before your husband, you mean?”

“No. Ever.”

“Here you go,” the cheerful, tattooed waitress said, setting a shrimp cocktail in front of April, oysters on the half shell for him. “Need anything else, hon?”

“No, thanks,” Patrick said, almost abruptly, leaning toward April as soon as she left. “You and your husband never dated?”

Fine, so sue him—he was curious. Or maybe it was the perfume fumes.

She shook her head, not looking at him as she stabbed her first shrimp. Over and over. “Clayton and I...” She cleared her throat, then pushed out another breathy laugh before finally dispatching the poor mangled shrimp. “And this is where you can tell I’m real inexperienced at this, since I have no idea what’s considered proper first-date conversation.”

And feeling bad for her was not part of the plan. At all. No, the plan was that he’d be polite, sure, but boring. Attentive, but not too attentive. “How about we make up our own rules? Say whatever we feel needs saying.”

“Works for me.” She shoved another shrimp into her mouth, licking off a smear of sauce on her lower lip. “Long as you don’t leave me stranded.”

“Nah,” Patrick said after a moment. “I’ll make sure to call your cousin after I’ve disappeared to the men’s room.”

She laughed then, and it made him feel good.

So good it made him mad, which he supposed didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Then again, life in general didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

“So. Clayton and I—”

The crash made him yell, duck, bolt to his feet in the space of a second, his heart about to tear through his chest. Dizzy, disoriented, he gripped the top of the booth, his fragmented brain desperately trying to kick in, make a decision.

“Patrick!”

His heart still throbbing, he whipped around, grabbed April’s arm. “You okay?”

Confusion flittered across her features before she smiled. “I’m fine,” she said softly, rubbing his upper arm with her free hand. “And so are you. Somebody dropped some dishes in the kitchen. That’s all.”

With a violent shudder, he returned to the here and now enough to feel the sweat between his shoulder blades, the oysters threatening to rebel in his stomach. Swallowing hard, he slid back into the booth. “Everybody’s looking at me—”

“Tough,” she said, sitting back down, as well, and way,
way
in the back of his brain, he wanted to laugh. Hell, he was shaking so bad he must look like he had the DTs. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face, then grabbed his water glass, got it to his mouth, gulped half of it down.

“Dishes,” he repeated stupidly.

“Yep. Dishes. My guess is somebody’s backside is in a major sling right now. Hey...look at me.” When he finally met that calm, steady gaze, she said, very quietly, “You wanna stay or go?”

“I...I don’t know. Go, I think. I’m sorry...”

“Hush,” she said, signaling to the waitress. “These things happen. And you put that away—”

“I am
not
letting you pay,” he said, grateful to see his hand had more or less stopped shaking when he dug his credit card out of his wallet. That his signature was clear enough—as clear as it ever was, anyway, he had the world’s worst handwriting—when he signed the slip a few minutes later. And he was especially thankful when they walked outside, to feel the damp, chilly breeze slap what was left of the attack to kingdom come.

“You okay to drive?” she asked when they reached his truck in the parking lot. “Or do you want me to?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Dammit, April! I’m fine, okay!” Except he wasn’t, was he? And in all likelihood, never would be. Not completely. Frustrated, furious, he wheeled on her. “Or are you afraid I’m gonna lose it if I pop a tire, or a car backfires behind us? Get us both killed?”

Again with the fearless gaze. “How often does it happen?” she asked, so gently it hurt.

Patrick propped a wrist on the truck’s roof, ignoring the Siren call of the cigarettes he’d quit two years before. “Not like it used to. When I first...got out.” Granted, it’d been months, more than a year, actually, since he’d had an episode, but he sure wasn’t “cured,” was he? “Still an issue, though.” His mouth pulled into a tight, humorless smile. “Obviously.”

“So let me ask you this—do you worry when you have Lili with you?”

Fear iced his spine. “I force myself not to think about it.”

Shivering, April stuffed her hands in the pockets of her long coat. “Then either force yourself not to think about it now, or let me drive. Your call. But make up your mind because in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s freezing out here.”

He helped her into the truck, then stamped around to his side and got in. With a surreptitious check to make sure his hands were steady before ramming the key into the ignition, he backed out.

Yeah, he’d wanted her to see this was headed nowhere. But not like this.

Damn
it, not like this.

* * *

Not surprisingly, nobody said much for some time after they started back to the inn. Even though April was grateful that Patrick’s anger and embarrassment had both dissipated by the time they got in the truck, she doubted he was in the mood for idle chatter.

And she certainly didn’t think this was the time to resume their interrupted conversation about her marriage. Not that she’d intended to blurt out everything, especially since her cousins both seemed convinced the V-word tended to make men break out in hives. And/or run like hell. Something about not being able to handle the pressure.

It all seemed very silly to April. Because what was the big hairy deal? Really. For pity’s sake, she read. She knew things. You either were, or you weren’t. Big whoop. Although she did have to agree it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to bring up on a first date.

Or, in this case, probably their only date.

As it was, she’d already strongly suspected Patrick had only cowed to the pressure to ask her out in order to get everyone—including her—off his back. So, you know, the next time some family member or other brought up the subject, he could say, “Actually, we did go out, it didn’t take, so can we move on?” Oh, he’d been perfectly lovely all evening. Prior to his freak-out, that is. But perhaps a trifle
too
lovely for someone who’d given her a pretty good glimpse of the beast he kept chained inside him.

Now she knew why he kept the chains on. Or tried to, at least.

She stole a glance at that rock-solid jaw as he drove, the ravaged skin looking far worse in the truck’s shadowy interior. When she’d teased him that he smelled better than she did, he’d sheepishly admitted it was the moisturizer he had to use every day. That he’d found out the hard way there was no such thing as completely unscented. Poor guy. And wouldn’t he have a cow if he could read her mind right now? But he was clearly doing everything in his power to gain dominion over this, this
thing
constantly lurking in his thoughts, his experience, determined to gobble up all the progress he’d made.

“Sorry,” Patrick said, startling her. “Guess I’m not used to having somebody ride with me who actually expects me to talk.”

“It’s okay, I was kind of lost in thought myself.”

“About?”

“You.”

His hand flexed on the wheel. “Not sure that’s worth using up brain cells for.”

“You want me to smack you with this bag, or what? And you might want to think carefully how you answer. I don’t travel light.”

She thought he almost smiled. “And
you
might want to have that violent streak checked out before you do any real damage.”

April laughed. “As if. Although there was this time, when my cousins and I were kids...” She paused, grinning, reliving the incident like it’d happened yesterday, feeling the sun beat on her mostly bare back, her nostrils tingling with the tang of Banana Boat sunscreen...

“We were always smacking at each other—we still do—although just goofing around, you know? Nobody ever got hurt. But one day we were sunbathing out on the dock behind the house, and I think Blythe was all hormonal or whatever and Mel said something she took issue with. I don’t even remember how I got dragged into it, but suddenly we were all three going at each other like chickens in a barnyard, completely forgetting how close we were to the edge of the dock. Blythe was bigger than Mel and me, of course, and she swung at Mel, who stumbled into me and grabbed Blythe...and over we all went into the water. Good times.”

Finally
Patrick laughed. “You gals are close, I take it?”

“We are, yeah. Like sisters more than cousins, since we’re all only children. Got up each other’s noses like sisters, too. But we were only together during the summers. And even that ended by the time we were in high school.”