A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (12 page)

Valerie picked up the drinking glass on her nightstand. “I guess I could use some more water.”

“Oh, I’ll get it.” Lorraine snatched the glass from Valerie’s hand and scurried off to the kitchen.

“Thanks, Lorraine,” Valerie called after her, then turned to Mom. “So I take it things are going well with you and Keith.”

“So far, so good.” Mom scooted forward a bit. “You know, speaking of Keith, is he gone? I didn’t hear the front door close.”

“Yes, I heard it.”

“Oh, good. I was just thinking . . . You know I was very fond of Greg, and I know you didn’t want your marriage to end, and I didn’t, either.”

“No, I didn’t. He was here today, by the way.”

Mom’s eyes widened and she retracted her head a notch. “Greg?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Apparently he just heard about my accident and wanted to see how I was doing.”

“Really? Hmm.” Mom’s gaze dropped and she slipped into silence.

“So what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“What? Oh, uh, good heavens. I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.”

“You started out saying you were fond of Greg.”

“Oh, yes, now I remember. I think maybe you should accept the fact that your marriage is over, or at least I thought it was over, but if he showed up here today . . .”

Valerie knew Mom could go around in circles like this for hours. She tried to be patient with her, but redirecting her usually worked better. “Let’s pretend he didn’t show up here today. What were you going to say?”

“Well, I was just going to say maybe you should date Keith.”

Before Valerie could confirm she’d heard Mom right, Lorraine sailed into the room and said, “Oh, yes! That’s an excellent idea.”

Valerie looked from Lorraine to Mom and back to Lorraine, who placed the water on the nightstand and retook her seat on the bed. They both eyed her expectantly, but what could she say? More importantly, what should she
not
say? “I . . .”

Mom reached over and patted Valerie’s hand. “Now I know how fussy you are about ethics, and that’s very admirable. But let’s face it, a lot of bosses get involved with their employees.”

“And they say most romances begin in the workplace.” Lorraine nodded sagely.

“Don’t you think he’s a little young for me?”

“Oh, heavens no.” Mom swatted away the suggestion. “Cougars are in these days!”

How on earth did Mom know about cougars?

“And they say these May-December romances can be very healthy,” Lorraine said, “as long as both people are mature enough.”

Where did Lorraine come up with this stuff? Did being in her forties make Valerie a “December” already? And who was “they,” anyway? She suspected some matchmaking had taken place on the drive over.

“But we’re talking about Keith here,” Valerie said. “He could have his pick of younger women.”

“Then why isn’t he dating anyone?” Mom asked.

“How do you know he’s not dating anyone?”

“I asked.” Mom straightened her posture. “I wanted to know if he had a family that might interfere with his ability to do his job, and he said he was single and completely unattached.”

Valerie snorted. “It’s a good thing
you’re
not his employer, because it’s illegal to ask questions like that. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken the law lately.”

Mom scowled. “Stop changing the subject. So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About dating Keith.” Lorraine sounded impatient.

What a couple of old busybodies!
“I’ll give it some thought.” In fact, she’d be giving it lots of thought.

“Oh, good.” Lorraine clapped her hands together.

Mom smiled her mother-knows-best smile. “I think it’s worth serious consideration. A fellow like Keith doesn’t come along every day.”

Unless he’s treating you at home every day
. Valerie sucked in both of her lips to restrain a grin.

Valerie felt someone gently shaking her out of a deep afternoon nap.

“Oh, Pam.” Valerie pushed herself up, rearranged her pillows against the headboard and sank back into the cushiony warmth. “I forgot you were coming over.”

“No, you didn’t.” Pam pulled up the chair, sat, and sighed loudly. “I wasn’t planning to come today.”

Valerie studied Pam’s dour expression. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me something really unpleasant.”

Pam had both hands bunched into fists on her lap. “There’s no way to soften this, so I’m just going to say it. Jack Stenberg apparently had a huge amount invested in some Chinese company that went south, and now he’s pulling money out of his other investments to pay back the loans he got for the Chinese thing. And . . .”

“Triple-H is one of those investments.”

“Right.”

“Oh,
fuck
.” Valerie let her head fall back and hit the headboard. Their one angel investor! “Is he backing out completely?”

Pam’s frown deepened. “’Fraid so.”

Valerie fought the urge to pick up her water glass and hurl it at the wall. Instead, she screeched a lengthy groan. “How can he
do
this to us?”

“There was that clause in the contract that said he could pull out at any time for any reason.”

Valerie gently pounded her forehead with a closed fist. Why had they ever agreed to such a risky contract?
Stupid! But it’s spilled milk now.
She drew a deep breath. Her leg throbbed for some reason, and now her head did, too. She snatched up her bottle of pain relievers, wrenched it open, shook out two, and washed them down. “All right, now what? What did Eric say?”

Pam shook her head. “For a financial adviser, he doesn’t seem to have much advice.”

“He didn’t suggest anything?”

“He said he’ll work on it, but he didn’t sound very optimistic.”

“But we had such a strong launch! All that publicity, national media, even . . . My God, how much more could they want?”

Pam shrugged and swiveled her head helplessly. “I don’t know, Val. It blows my mind, too.”

A heaviness descended in Valerie’s chest. “Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. God knows you’ve done the best you could.”

“So have you. I just hate the thought of giving up now.”

Valerie’s jaw clenched. “Oh, we’re not giving up. Triple-H is one baby I’m not going to lose.”

Chapter 10

Keith admired the bright pink clouds hanging low over the eastern horizon as he jogged along Lake Michigan. He enjoyed running at sunrise, before the July heat could wilt the resolve of even the most dedicated athlete.

He could have slept in, since he had the weekend off. But a nagging edginess had awakened him at the usual time. The whole situation with Valerie had thrown him for a loop. He believed her assurances that he wouldn’t lose his job. But what if he lost his heart? That risk definitely loomed in this case. Still, the charge he got from being with her—especially touching her—made it seem worthwhile.

No, something else gnawed at his subconscious, creating a familiar yet unwelcome feeling. He liked the new job, but something about it didn’t meet his expectations. Perhaps he’d been unrealistic about how things would change once he had the physical therapy degree. What did he expect, nirvana? Sure it paid more, and he had greater autonomy and less stress. But it was still a job. God, did it all come down to simply that? Just another job?

The seagulls cackled overhead, and he wished he could experience the soaring freedom of flying. Bringing his gaze back down to earth, he couldn’t help noticing the bouncing curves of a brunette jogging toward him. Wait, was that—

“Keith!” She stopped in front of him, breathing heavily enough to give her ample bosom a nice ride.

“Jasmine. Hi.” He rummaged through his brain like a madman, trying to recall how he had left things with her. They hadn’t dated that long, but there had been something about her . . .

“How have you been?”

“Oh, all right. Working, running, the usual.”

Jasmine put her slender fingers on her hips. “I haven’t seen you since that party at Miranda’s.”

Oh, yeah
. The memory flashed front and center. Jasmine had mingled like an evangelist, but there was nothing divine about her mission: To get as many women as possible to host pedicure parties in their homes. She had started her own company called Tinseltoes, which taught women how to give each other pedicures and then sold them exorbitantly priced nail products. As someone who had devoted his life to healing, he had difficulty understanding how she could potentially alienate all of the women she encountered by pressuring them into buying something as superficial as painted toenails.

“How is Miranda?” he asked, the old subject switcheroo.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her since then, either.”

Surprise, surprise. “How’ve you been?”

“Quite good, actually.” She brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “My business is booming. Of course, I always knew it would. Everyone loves pedicures.”

Thank God there were so many ugly feet out there, he wanted to say. But he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth. “That’s great. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to finish up my run and get to work.”

“Oh, sure. Well, it was good to see you again.”

“You, too.”

“Give me a call sometime, okay?”

“Sure. Take care.”

She fluttered the fingers of her right hand as he resumed running.

How easily he told such lies. He didn’t like it, but being blatantly honest seemed even more cruel. He hated navigating the dicey world of dating women over thirty. Either they were desperate not to hit 40 having never been married, or they were divorced for reasons that eventually became apparent. They all seemed to have some kind of baggage. He’d dated his share of twenty-somethings, too, but he found their immaturity irritating, and that generally outweighed any physical attributes.

He swung his gaze back to the eastern sky, where the pink had transformed into a blend of grays and blues. He reviewed the roster of women he’d dated since his divorce. Crystal, spunky and a good sport, but intellectually, she’d been about as transparent as her name. Dana had the kind of legs rock bands sing about, and he loved her down-home Southern cooking. But once the meals and sex were over, they had struggled to find something to talk about. April looked like a model—in fact, she had done some modeling—but he got the impression she had not been a model student, and he sometimes wondered if she’d ever been a student at all.

The realization hit him like a cold slap: They were all space cadets. Well, perhaps not that bad. But honestly, they’d all been on the shallow side. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to him before? And what did that imply? Had he intentionally been dating airheads to feel superior? Or because they wouldn’t be any great loss when things ended?

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. He knew he couldn’t get serious with any woman who didn’t have a respectable level of intelligence. So the answer was obvious: He’d been avoiding a committed relationship. Up to that point, he’d thought his desire for independence had kept him single, unlike the many divorced or widowed men who quickly remarried because they couldn’t stand being alone. But the truth chafed him now like steel wool. Fear had kept him single. That was
his
baggage.

He couldn’t blame his anxiety for trying to protect him. Losing Lina was like being gutted. But he’d always prided himself on being a risk-taker. If he wanted a satisfying relationship, he had to take a chance.

Normally, an older woman would seem like a safe bet. But Valerie Palka? “Normal” didn’t apply with her. Like a brilliant sunrise, she was extraordinary. And, like any kind of gamble, she was not a sure thing.

Helen joined Charlie on his avocado-green couch and took his hands in hers. “Please stop apologizing for the pot roast. It was fine. Honestly.”

He withdrew one hand and scratched his forehead. “I still can’t believe I forgot to plug the damn thing in.”

“Just be grateful for the microwave.” She reached for her cup of coffee and saucer. “I made that same mistake years ago when I first got my Crockpot, and we had to toss the whole roast.”

“Really?” He chuckled. “Maybe we should have done the same thing.” He rubbed his jaw. “My dentures are killing me.”

She hadn’t minded the tough meat nearly as much as the crunchy potatoes. But the thrill of having a man cook for her outweighed any mechanical blunder. As far as she could recall, Stanley had never cooked for her. Not once. “Maybe you should stick to spaghetti.”

He raised his bushy eyebrows. “What makes you think I know how to cook that?”

They both laughed, and he picked up his coffee, which he downed in a single gulp. When he settled back into his seat, he stretched his arm along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.

Praying she could keep her nerves in check, she sipped her coffee. Then it struck her: caffeine! Probably the last thing she needed at that point. She placed her cup and saucer back on the coffee table, then pointed to the shelves of antique model cars on the opposite wall. “So tell me about all the cars.”

“Oh, just a hobby of mine.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I used to love putting those things together. But ever since I lost my driver’s license, I just . . . don’t have much interest anymore.”

She nodded. “You know what I miss most? Pumping my own gas.” He gave her a look of disbelief. “I know, it sounds crazy. But I was so proud when I learned how to do that. Stanley couldn’t believe it.”

“Was that your husband’s name? Stanley?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t talk about him much.”

“Don’t I?” She adjusted one of her perfectly coifed curls. She talked
to
Stanley so much at home that it seemed odd to hear someone say that. “I suppose it seems rather strange to talk about him when I’m with you.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, he was a big part of your life. Just like my Arlene.” His eyebrows slid together. “Uh oh. I hope I haven’t been talking about her too much.”

“Oh, not at all. I can only think of a couple of times you’ve mentioned her.”

“Hmm.” He nodded and his gaze wandered off. “Fifty-four years we were together.” His eyes focused back on Helen. “You know, I was thinking the other day . . .”

She leaned toward him. “Yes?”

He brought his arm down from the back of the couch and sat up a little straighter. “Well, before I say this, you have to promise me you’ll tell me if I say anything that’s out of line. All right?”

If his goal had been to pique her interest, he’d certainly succeeded. “All right.”

He hesitated for a moment. “I was thinking how much I miss really touching someone. And I don’t mean hugs or handshakes; I get lots of hugs from my kids and grandkids. I’m talking about the kind of touching where you hold each other and kiss each other, and . . . Am I starting to sound like a dirty old man here?”

“Not at all.” She tenderly laid a hand on his forearm to emphasize the sincerity of her words. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

“The only time it’s socially acceptable for two people to touch like that is when they’re married, and then when your spouse is suddenly gone, you feel so . . . disconnected from humanity.”

Oh, yes
. She knew just what he meant. She raised a hand to his cheek and touched the network of broken capillaries that gave him a ruddy glow. “I understand completely.”

He took hold of the hand on his cheek. “I know I’m being very forward, but I wonder if you would consider the possibility that we could, maybe, hold each other like that.”

She had already considered it—many, many times. Still, the reality of the moment made her heartbeat seem audible. She took a deep, jittery breath. “I think I’d like that.”

He slowly gathered her into his arms, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Ouch!” he said, and they both recoiled.

“What’s wrong?”

He rubbed the shoulder she had leaned on. “Oh, it’s just my damn bursitis. Could you, maybe, move over to my other side?”

“Oh, of course.” Helen stood and climbed over Charlie’s legs as he slid over to make room for her. She settled in the warm spot he had vacated and they resumed the embrace. She couldn’t resist stretching her arm around his cozy potbelly.

“That’s better,” he said. “Are you comfortable?”

“Oh, yes.” She snuggled in a bit more, breathing in his spicy aftershave. “It does feel wonderful.”

He laid his cheek on top of her head and sighed. “It sure does.”

She fretted for a second about her hair, then dismissed that concern, since the only other person who would see her that night was the cab driver. Her mind traveled naturally to the other things she had fantasized about doing with Charlie, such as kissing and perhaps even . . . no, it couldn’t quite go there. She wanted it to, but Stanley was the only man she had ever been with. What if Stanley had done things wrong, and she didn’t know any better? What if Charlie expected something entirely different? Still, it somehow didn’t seem right that she would go to her grave having had sex with only one man in her entire life.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

Not for a million dollars!
“They’re worth much more than that.”

“Is that so?”

She lifted her head, and they faced each other. “If you tried to kiss me, I just might let you.”

His pupils dilated, but whether that was due to excitement or fear, she couldn’t tell. He lowered his mouth to hers, and the swirl of his mustache tickled her nose. How on earth could she
not
have laughed?

“What’s so funny?”

She truly regretted her lack of self-control when she saw the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but your mustache tickles.”

“Oh.” His face relaxed. “Shall I shave it off?”

“Heavens, no.” She brought his head back down to hers. “I’ll just have to get used to it.”

She focused on his lips the second time around and happily discovered his technique generated much more stimulation than Stanley’s ever had.

When they finally broke for air, much to her relief, since she was getting a crick in her neck, he said, “We might be more comfortable lying down.”

Her muscles froze. “Here?”

“No, I meant . . . in the bed. Oh, never mind. I know I’m being too forward now. Here, let’s just go back to cuddling.”

She raised a hand to his chest to stop him. “Actually, I think you’re right. We would be more comfortable in the bed.”

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

Trying to keep her smile from quivering, she said, “No. But I’m willing to try it.”

He took hold of her hand. “I promise you, we can stop at any time if you’re not comfortable.”

She nodded. She trusted him. How wonderful it felt to have that kind of faith in another human being.

They pushed themselves up off the couch and walked to the bedroom holding hands. When they got there, he turned on the light.

She immediately turned it off. “I’m much more comfortable
without
the light.”

“Yeah, I suppose I am, too.” He led the way as they walked to the bed.

She heard a muffled thud.

“Ow!” He doubled over.

“What happened?”

“I hit my shin on the bed frame.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe we should leave the light on.”

“Here.” He turned on the bedside lamp. “I’ll go turn the hall light on, and we can leave the door open just a crack. Okay?”

“Okay.” She could live with that. But when he came back in and turned the lamp off, neither of them seemed to know what to do next.

“Let’s just sit down for a minute.” He sat on the edge of the bed and gently guided her down next to him.

“Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve . . . I’ve never . . . well, Stanley was the only one.”

Silence. Then, “Oh.”

She couldn’t read his expression in the dim light. “Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not.” He slid an arm around her. “Now if you wanted to become the madam of a whorehouse, then yes, I’d say it’s a problem.”

“Oh, Charlie.” She lightly backhanded his thigh.