Blissed (Misfit Brides #1) (16 page)

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said.

Nat wanted to know. She shouldn’t have wanted to know, but she hadn’t caught a whisper of him all week, and he was being flirty and relaxed and friendly despite what he
had
to have heard. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know.

She risked a glance at Lindsey. Her older sister was giving Natalie a speculative look she generally reserved for nights of playing “Does This Couple Stand a Chance?”

Lindsey liked to claim she could see when a couple was a bad match. She had an uncanny success rate of predicting splits, but she rarely put effort into playing matchmaker. She claimed it didn’t work that way.

That she was still looking back and forth between CJ and Natalie wasn’t good.

Not good at all
.

It meant she hadn’t spotted whatever she needed to spot in order to guarantee
this
couple
didn’t
stand a chance.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

Natalie shoved her mortification back into that little box in her mind where she’d stored half of the last five years of her life, then put on her game face and looked up at CJ. His shoulders were extra broad in his green muscle shirt tonight; his biceps nicely showcased in his sleeves; his short hair still long and unkempt enough to give a girl dirty thoughts. “Thank you,” she choked out.

His gaze locked on hers. Her throat went dry at the spark of a challenge lurking in the quirk of his lips.

As if he were challenging her to say it one more time—that he wrecked her marriage—to his face.

“For the drink.” Natalie’s face threatened to erupt in flames again, but she’d be damned before she’d let him see her sweat.

Again.

Not that she didn’t deserve to sweat.

“Can we get some nachos please?” Lindsey said.

CJ held Natalie’s gaze an eternity longer than he needed to. “Already on their way.”

“Not bad for a new guy,” Lindsey said.

“Got orders to take good care of you.” He still hadn’t looked away from Natalie, and she felt more heat rising, except this time it was nowhere near her face.

It was much, much further south.

“You ladies enjoy your drinks. Food will be out in a few.”

He walked away, and Natalie buried her face in her hands.

“Don’t tell my mom I said that thing about rum and the poetry, okay?” Kimmie said.

Lindsey sank back into her side of the booth. “Honey, we’re not telling anyone
anything
that just happened here.”

And thank the holy heavens that neither of them asked Natalie to explain it either.

CJ
WAS UNLOADING a tray of glasses from the under-the-bar dishwasher when Lindsey strolled back through the front door and headed straight for him. She wore the look of a woman who took his participation in her latest harebrained scheme as a foregone conclusion.

Hell.

Yeah,
hell
. That’s exactly what this shift had turned into the moment she’d walked in his door.

And it had nothing to do with her, and nothing to do with Kimmie.

It had everything to do with her loudmouthed, sharp-lipped, wounded-eyed sister.

Lindsey swung her hips onto the stool closest to him and gave him a smile he’d seen a thousand too many times from his sisters. That smile never ended well.

“Could you do me a favor?” she said.

No right answer for that question, and he’d bet she knew it. “Depends on the favor.”

She plopped a wallet on the bar and gave him a look of innocence that, fortunately, didn’t come close to touching his sister Cinna’s. Otherwise he might’ve fallen for it. “I found this in the parking lot and was hoping you’d know how to return it to its rightful owner.”

It was a girly canvas number, pink with a strained black zipper, bulging as if its owner cleaned it out only after it burst while she was juggling groceries and a hungry, whiny four-year-old after a long day of work. Which he was able to picture less because he’d had
that
much experience with women, and more because he’d seen Natalie wrestle cash out of it fifteen minutes ago after refusing to hear that their bill was on the house.

Jeremy’s orders, seconded by Huck, who had apparently used Lindsey’s services once or twice. Maybe more, after he wised up and started getting prenups.

“How’d you get that?” CJ asked.

“Found it in the parking lot,” she repeated.

“You know whose that is.”

“I don’t peek in wallets.” She flashed him a smile that was remarkably friendly. “Hazard of being a lawyer. Nobody trusts us. But a bartender—everyone trusts you.”

Her straight face was impressive.

“Not everyone,” he said.

“If that’s how you feel, you should consider giving
everyone
a second chance to learn to trust you. They might surprise you.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

That earned him a full-on grin. “Appreciate the help.” She swung herself down from her stool. “I’d return it myself, but I have to be at work early tomorrow. Long drive home still.”

“What’s your game?” he called after her.

“I hear you’re a fairly smart guy when you’re not trying to kill yourself jumping out of airplanes. You’ll figure it out.” 

It wasn’t until after she’d sashayed herself out the door that he picked up the wallet.

And noticed the gift certificate with Bob and Fiona’s name on it. She’d paid for three months of maid service. His in-laws would appreciate this as much as they’d appreciated his work around their house the last week.

Son of a bitch. She could teach his sisters a thing or two.

“What’s she want?” Huck asked.

CJ pocketed the gift certificate, then held up Natalie’s wallet. “Found this in the parking lot.”

Huck tilted his head, making his left eye bulgier than his right. “That her sister’s?”

“Looks like.” CJ pried it open carefully as he could and worked out a credit card that was clearly stamped with Natalie’s name. He slipped it back inside and zipped the wallet. “Yep.”

“Heh.” The grin on the old man’s face wasn’t endearing. He slapped CJ on the back. “Thought she had that look about her.”

“What look?”

“Son, the lady just anti-eyed you.”

Thirty years of living with sisters, and CJ had no clue what Huck was talking about. “English?”

“She don’t disapprove of you with that wallet’s owner. Ain’t saying she approves, but her not disapproving means something round here.”

This whole town was nuts. “I’m honored.”

“Should be. Usually she sticks to breaking ’em up. She goes to the effort of putting you together, she’s feeling extra good about something. Wouldn’t do that if she didn’t like you.”

“Or hate me.” That made more sense. He thrust the wallet at Huck. “How about you take care of this.”

But Huck shook his head and backed up. “Don’t go listening to everything you hear. Nat made a mistake. Didn’t burn down a bunch of houses, didn’t drown a bunch of kittens, didn’t sell drugs to any middle schoolers. Just made a mistake with who she married, ’cept unlike the rest of us commoners in Bliss, she gets to pay for it over on The Aisle every day. Got some respect for that.”

CJ caught himself off guard when he realized he’d bit his tongue to keep from letting a
Me too
, slip out.

Despite her crazy-ass homewrecker accusation, he did have some respect for Natalie. She looked as though she hadn’t slept since last Christmas, she was pretty high up there on at least two big shit lists—her father’s and Marilyn Elias’s—and yet, from what he’d heard, she kept pushing through.

Making things work. Keeping her family’s business going. Helping other small businesses around town.

All while being a single parent.

“Might have a point,” CJ said. “Doesn’t mean her sister isn’t wasting her time.”

Huck chuckled again. “You say you got eleven sisters of your own?”

“Yep.”

“Then I reckon you already know your opinion on the subject don’t add up to a hill of beans.”

Wasn’t that the unfortunate truth.

“N
OAH! TIME TO GO!”

Natalie tossed two bowls into the dishwasher. Milk splattered everywhere. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from thinking that nice four-letter word she desperately wanted to think, but she didn’t have the money to put in Noah’s college fund today.

She’d used up more than she had already, cussing all night over CJ and the QG when she should’ve been sleeping.

At least she’d made progress on Gabby’s dress.

“Noah,” she called up the stairs again. “Are your teeth brushed yet?”

Her answer was a little voice shrieking the Stones’ “Satisfaction.”

She went upstairs and peeked in the bathroom.

Noah stood on a stool at the sink, his dark hair matted in record-setting bedhead, his orange pullover clashing with his red track pants. His eyes were closed, nose scrunched and his head tilted back while he bellowed the song off-key with all his little might.

Dam—darn kid was adorable.

“C’mon, Pavarotti.” She ruffled his hair. “You’ll miss second breakfast at Mrs. Tanner’s.”

He stopped mid-word. One eye scrunched open. “Is it pancake day?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, but if you don’t hurry and it
is
pancake day, you’ll miss it.”

It was amazing how one shoulder shrug could make him look so grown up and so small all at the same time. And he usually
loved
pancake day.

So long as he didn’t start throwing fits over staying with Mrs. Tanner, Nat could survive his not loving pancake day. Mrs. Tanner was a godsend. She’d watched Noah since the floodwaters receded. After Mom died, she’d been the normalcy he had desperately needed.

“Mrs. Tanner says growing dinosaurs need fruit and protein,” Noah said. “Did you know she can make bread from
flour
, Mom? When I grow up, she’s going to teach me how.”

So Mrs. Tanner made Natalie feel inadequate when it came to mealtime. But she got Noah two square meals a day, so that counted for something. “Great. Finish brushing. Time to go.”

Noah went back to his singing.

Nat shook her head. She had the janitorial committee meeting this morning at the Rose and Dove. Plus, it had been raining since she got home from Suckers—the Queen General proving a point about being displeased with Natalie, no doubt—and unlike last week’s weather, this time the rain had brought temperatures that had dropped near freezing.

That poor sunflower field wouldn’t survive—the plants should be sprouting soon—and she had no idea what she’d suggest to Bonnie and Earl as a backup plan.

Or how she’d go about making that suggestion.

“C’mon, Noah. The roads aren’t pretty today.”

“You should get them a dress, Mom. That would help.”

Leave it to a four-year-old to put life in perspective. She pivoted so he wouldn’t see her laugh. “One minute, Noah.” God, she loved that kid.

She went downstairs and finished the dishes, mopped up her mess, and grabbed her leather parka and Noah’s blue ski jacket. He finally moseyed down too. She hustled his arms into his sleeves and herded him out the door.

He came to a complete stop. “Mama—
snow!
”

She clamped down on her first reaction—to tell him to keep moving, they’d be late, he’d miss breakfast—and took a moment to stop and stare in wonder herself.

Snow
.

In freaking
April
.

The sunflower field was doomed.

Last year’s brown grass stood above the meager accumulation. What was there would melt before noon. But they probably wouldn’t see the white stuff again until December or January, and by then, they’d be gone from Bliss.

Possibly in an apartment.

Without a yard.

How could a little boy make snow angels or build snow forts or snowmen in an apartment complex parking lot?

Natalie’s heart clenched. “C’mon, kiddo. Careful.” She nudged him. He dragged his feet down the stairs, then turned toward her car, longingly brushing his hands over the snow-dusted evergreen bushes beneath the windows. 

Natalie let him get four steps in front of her. She hesitated, remembering his terrified screams in the fountain, but then he paused.

Looked over his shoulder with a guarded hope.

She grinned at him, then leaned over, balancing on her heeled boots, scraped together a handful of snow, and lobbed it at him.

“Hey!” His shriek melted into a giggle. He dropped to his knees and raked at the ground until he had a half-formed snowball that he threw to get back at her.

She dodged it easily, but when she bent to scoop another pitiful snowball, Noah launched himself at her and dumped a puny handful into her hair. She snatched him in a hug, knocked herself off-balance, and they both fell laughing to the ground.

She checked her skirt to make sure her panties weren’t showing, but she didn’t care that her knee-high suede boots would probably never recover, or that she’d just ripped a hole in her tights.

These moments were rare and precious and they’d be gone too fast.

“I’m gonna get you, Mommy!”

“Not if I get you first!”

Noah’s breath hung in puffs like little clouds of happiness. His cheeks were rosy and his giggles and shrieks echoed through the neighborhood. Natalie struggled to keep up with him. She eventually settled for laughing on the ground while he dumped snow in her hair. “I got you, Mommy! I got you!”

She snagged him and pulled him down. Wet coldness seeped through her skirt, but she had a warm little boy squirming and giggling in her lap. “Now I got
you
,” she said. She’d just found his perfect tickle spot when a shiver went down her neck and shoulders.

CJ stood ten feet away on the sidewalk, dressed in jogging shorts, a long-sleeve T-shirt and a ball cap. And just like the other day, he wore an inscrutable expression. Lips flat, eyes clear but scrunched, the same rosiness in his cheeks that Noah was sporting.

Judging her for being an immature, irresponsible mother, undoubtedly.