Blame it on Texas (7 page)

She pulled the peach-colored T-shirt over her head and slipped into the gray pair of yoga pants she had picked up along with all the baking supplies. Hopefully she had sequestered herself long enough that Ritt had gone to bed. There would be no sneaking into his room, into his bed to tease him. Truth was, her little charade was a sweet torture to her as well. Nope, that plan had definitely backfired. She grabbed her clothes from the bathroom floor and tiptoed down the hall. The flicker of the television met her before she turned the corner back into the living room.

Ritt slouched on the sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table, a beer in one hand. Shelby stopped in her tracks, the sight of him taking her breath away. It was too domestic, too familiar, him lounging on the couch, T-shirt riding up to reveal a tantalizing peek of rock-hard abs. Clyde’s chin propped on one denim-clad thigh.

That teenaged girl hidden inside her wanted to nudge the dog aside and curl up next to her husband. If only there was some way to turn back time, go back to when everything was right between them, those early spring months before graduation, before it all fell to pieces.

“I’m done in the bathroom.”

He gave a quick nod then raised the beer bottle to his lips, never once taking his eyes from ESPN.

She couldn’t stop her feet. They carried her to the couch. Then her traitorous knees bent and before she knew what she had done, she was sitting a hair’s breadth from him. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, just continued to watch the scores as they rolled across the bottom. Braves, Royals, Rangers, Cardinals. He should have played for one of those, maybe even be playing for them still.

“Why didn’t you play baseball after I left?”

He stopped, beer halfway to his lips, then shrugged. “That time was over, Shel.”

She shook her head. “How could that be? Baseball was everything to you.”

Something she didn’t recognize flashed through his dark eyes, then as quickly as it came, it was gone. “I had to give up my scholarship.”

“You could have been a free agent.”

“Not in August. The professional season was winding down.”

“But what about the next year? You could have gone pro then, right?”

“A year without playing? No one would pick me up then.” His voice had turned flat, hiding whatever he was feeling inside. Regret swamped around her. She had left, gone away to California so he could get the life he deserved. But it didn’t happen that way. What good had her leaving done? None, none at all. She had lost him and the baby, he had lost her and baseball. So much pain tucked away, hidden from view, but now brought to the surface.

She wanted to lean into him, press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, the way she used to do when they found themselves like this, her bored and needing him, him watching scores and getting his “man time” on.

But those times she had done that, gave him that little kiss, entwined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, his attention on the TV had quickly shifted and she found herself flat on her back, underneath his warm weight, all pretense of interest in baseball scores flying away on the West Texas wind.

She scooched down the couch and laid her head on the throw pillow farthest away from him. The sound was turned all the way down on the television and the voiceless men on the screen chatted and smiled as they flashed highlight reels and injury reports.

“Are you ready to go to bed?”

His innocent words sent a heat searing through her.

She adjusted the pillow and settled a little deeper into the couch cushions lest she crawl right into his lap.

“No, I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat. “I mean, I can go in the other room if this is bothering you.”

“Nuh-uh.” She pushed her feet down, unable to stop them as they went in search of his heat. It was a timeless position for them. In those early days of their marriage, she’d be worn out from the pregnancy, needing more rest than usual, feet cold despite the Texas summer heat.

You have to stop thinking about him, about all those sweet days.

She jumped when she felt his warm touch on her arch. Before she knew what happened he had pulled her feet into his lap, lightly massaging each toe, the curve of her arch, the hills and valleys of her ankle.

The touch was familiar and ancient, part of another time, another Shelby, another Ritt.

They let themselves into the house quietly, stifling giggles with kisses. It was three in the afternoon. Miracle of miracles he didn’t have baseball practice. His mom would still be at the bank, his father at the plant, and with any luck, Kyle would be at the library. They’d have the whole house to themselves.

It wasn’t often that they had this sort of luxury. Usually they were stealing kisses behind the dugout.

“Kyle?” Ritt smacked her hand away as she ran it up under the bottom of his Randall High Cougars T-shirt. “Stop that.” He growled, but his laugh and quick kiss took the sting out of his words. “Kyle?” A little louder.

“All clear?” she asked, sneaking her fingers under the hem of his shirt once again. She couldn’t help herself. She loved to touch him, warm skin, taut muscles.

“All clear.” He swung her up and closer to him.

In one smooth move, she wrapped her legs around him and buried her face in the warm sweet curve of his neck.

She inhaled in anticipation. She loved the way he smelled, like laundry soap and leather.

“Shelby?” The sound of her name on his lips brought her back to the present, back to her very real husband and his very real touch. Except now his fingers had slid under the leg of her yoga pants and had stilled against her skin.

His other hand reached out and he laced fingers with hers, gently tugging her up and closer. Before she could breathe either a protest or an encouragement, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Past and present merged into one as he kissed her. Slowly at first, little nips and touches, then deeper until her head began to spin from the wonder of it all.

The feel of his lips on hers was as natural as breathing. Why had she been fighting this? What was the point when being held in his arms felt so good…so right? And it was so much easier to melt into his embrace and not worry so much.

She wrapped her arms around him, sighing as he lifted his mouth from hers.

Then his warmth was gone and she found herself sitting on the couch alone.

“Ritt?”

He shook his head. “Goodnight, Shelby.”

She watched him go, doing her best to pull herself together. She had fallen prey to her own game, to the close proximity to the one man who knew how to get to her better than anyone else.

A bitter laugh escaped her. She had almost lost sight of what was important, almost let the past get the most of her. But there was only now, her wanting a divorce. Him, not willing to give it to her. And she’d do well to remember it.

Chapter Five

Ritt let himself into his house the following afternoon, the smell of sweet cake wafting about him. It was a welcoming smell almost as alluring as the soft floral scent his wife preferred these days.

He shook his head. Last night, them, the movie; it was almost too much. It had taken everything he had to kiss her and then walk away, but he had to have her wanting him, wanting to be with him, wanting to make everything between them work once again.

That was the plan. Yep, he finally admitted it to himself. He wanted his wife back. Probably always had.

Oh she wanted him, physically. He could see the light of desire in her eyes, hear the quickening of her breath whenever he touched her, but he wanted more. He wanted her love.

Craziest. Thing. Ever.

“Shelby?” he called.

“In here.”

He made his way into the kitchen, expecting to find a chaos similar to the night she’d made them dinner. Instead, everything was neat and orderly. Cakes stacked and looking delicious.

“And you didn’t even use a cake mix?”

“Bite your tongue.”

Ritt watched as she spread the last of the creamy frosting onto the third cake. She was about to pitch the butter knife into the sink full of soapy water when he plucked it from her fingers.

“You can’t waste perfectly good icing that way.” He licked the icing from the flat edge, surveying the cakes scattered across his mother’s sideboard. “This is fantastic.”

She smiled her thanks. “If I always licked the spoon, I’d be as big as a house.”

“You never had to worry about your weight before,” he said, wondering if she had already submerged the icing bowl into the sink full of soapy water.

She shrugged. “Things change.”

Didn’t he know it.

“Craig and Delilah should be here any minute.” As she said the words, the couple turned into the driveway.

Shelby untied the apron from around her waist and pulled it over her head.

He was still reeling from the fact that she couldn’t cook a simple casserole but she could bake a scrumptious-looking cake. But the real test was still to come.

“Shelby.” Delilah beelined for her friend, wrapping her in a tight hug. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”

“I’m happy to.”

Delilah released her and nodded toward Ritt. “I meant what I said about paying you double.”

“No way.” Shelby shook her head. “This is my gift to you.”

Tears welled in Delilah’s eyes.

Ritt looked to Craig.

He shrugged.

Women.

“Hey,” Shelby said, pulling Delilah in for a hug.

Delilah swiped at her tears. “I’m sorry. This has been so stressful. One thing after another. The bridesmaids’ dresses were the wrong color and the tux place lost all the measurements, now the cake.”

“But it’s all corrected now, right?” Shelby asked.

Delilah sniffed with a nod.

“Then there’s nothing to cry about.”

“Amen,” Craig mouthed.

Ritt had the feeling that his friends had been fighting. If he had to guess, it was over something stupid about the wedding. See? Weddings were nothing but trouble. The two people most likely to survive the statistics were arguing over paper napkins and ribbon color.

Delilah gave her a watery smile. “You’re right, of course. Level-headed Shelby.”

Ritt rolled his eyes. Level-headed Shelby who cut him off at the knees every chance she got. Who wouldn’t talk about the problems between them. Who wanted to divorce him and leave him in the dust once again.

“Now, come try the cakes.”

She cut the three of them a piece of each cake. “These are my best sellers: raspberry-filled, lemon zest and Italian cream.”

Ritt took a big bite of the first piece and resisted the urge to groan out loud. It melted the moment it hit his tongue, beyond delicious, a little slice of heaven in his mouth.

“You made this?” Craig asked, his mouth stuffed full of cake.

Shelby nodded. “Now I know it’s all the rage, but I don’t like to work with fondant. It doesn’t have the same taste as frosting. But if that’s what you want…”

Delilah shook her head and took another bite of the cake. “I want what’s here.”

“I’ll add icing flowers and dots, maybe some ribbon and then fresh flowers to match your colors.”

Ritt was surprised at how professional she sounded. He shouldn’t have been. Shelby had made good for herself. He should be proud, not amazed.

“Which one is your favorite?”

“All,” Craig said emphatically. “We want one of each.”

Delilah nodded. “And we’ll pay triple.”

“Would you stop with that? I’m not charging you a dime.”

“Did you try this one?” Craig lifted a forkful of the raspberry-filled to Delilah’s lips. Their eyes locked as she obligingly ate the cake off his fork.

Ritt shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate moment.

“Delicious,” Delilah murmured. She licked her lips as Craig watched her, his gaze never leaving her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Craig said.

“Me too.” She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him like there was no tomorrow.

Ritt ran a hand across the back of his neck. Shelby looked everywhere but at the happy couple. He wondered if other people had felt the same way when he and Shelby had been so close. He felt like a peeping Tom in his own house.

He cleared his throat.

After what seemed like half an hour, but truly could have only been a few seconds, Craig lifted his head. “No more arguing. The wedding is going to happen whether the dresses are midnight or navy.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

So.” Shelby rubbed her hands together. “I’ll start the cakes tomorrow morning. And they’ll be ready for your wedding Saturday afternoon.”

Craig and Delilah nodded.

“I’ll need access to the church and the name of the florist who’s doing the flowers.”