Hold on My Heart (20 page)

“You really, really scared me when you fell, Dad.”

He looked away and fussed with his covers.

“It was just a clumsy accident. You can’t plan your future worrying about something like that.”

“I know, but it got me thinking about what’s really important. Chicago was great, and I had fun there, but part of that was because I loved my job, and now that’s gone. And the other part was because of Seth, and he’s not there anymore either. I’m not sure what I’d be going back to, because the things I care about now, and the people I love, are here in Monroe.”

Her father smiled, and moisture sparkled in his eyes as he reached over to squeeze her hand. “There’s no place like home, is there, Dorothy?”

“Nope, I guess not. Plus I love that there is parking, like, everywhere. I sure never found that in Chicago.”

She squeezed his hand back. “Now I just have to find a real job. No offense, but being your handygirl doesn’t pay very well.”

“Ah, but there are other perks. Like maybe a man you’ve got your eye on?” He arched a brow and twirled an imaginary mustache.

This was not a road she wanted to travel with her father, especially given his propensity for sharing tidbits about bizarre mating rituals. The last thing she needed was her dad asking Tom if he was familiar with bonobo monkeys.

“Yes, there is a man, Dad. I’m completely in love with him. His name is Teddy Roosevelt Garner.”

“Ah, yes. Teddy sure is a cute little bugger, isn’t he? There’s nothing quite as wonderful as holding a baby. Especially your own. I was a master diaper changer, you know.” He beamed with accomplishment. “Even
your mother said she could never change a diaper so fast or so efficiently as I could.”

Libby smiled. “You haven’t figured that out yet, huh?” She leaned back in the pleather chair.

“Figured out what?”

“That Mom only said you were the best and fastest so that you’d do it and then she wouldn’t have to.”

His face fell. “No, she didn’t.”

Libby patted his hand back. “Yes, she did, Daddy. Where do you think my devious streak came from?”

“And that is how you make my famous peach pie,” said Nana as she pulled her golden-crusted masterpiece from the oven.

It smelled divine and might taste delicious enough to justify spending two hours shut up in the Hamilton family kitchen with Nana and Marti. With their help, Libby had finally mastered a pie.

“Now,” said Nana. “I want you to take this pie to that nice Mr. Murphy and tell him I said thank you for taking care of Peter when he fell. And for giving me a ride home. I did enjoy bouncing in his truck.”

“Seems like there’s a lot of that going around lately.” Marti snorted with laughter, and Libby flicked her. She never should have told her sister what happened with Tom, but they were at that stupid bridal shop for hours yesterday afternoon, and somehow Marti had gotten it out of her.

“Ouch! Geez, don’t take it out on me just because you can’t close the deal,” Marti said.

Libby flicked her again. “Shut up, Marti.”

“Girls, stop roughhousing. Libby has a pie to deliver,” Nana scolded. “And I’m not quite sure what you two are talking about, but I have a pretty good idea. I’m not that old.” She handed the pie to Libby. “Trust me. This will work. How do you think I got your grandfather’s attention?”

Libby pretended she didn’t want to take that pie over to Tom’s house. She pretended they were being ridiculous. But the truth was, Nana’s idea was brilliant. Maybe it wouldn’t close any deals, but at least it gave Libby an excuse to drop by Tom’s place and see him. Not in a crazy-girl stalker way, but more as a friendly social call. With pie.

She sent him a text before she left her house.
RU
HOME
? I
HAVE SOMETHING TO DROP OFF FROM
N
ANA
.

There. That sounded innocent enough.

So did his one-word response.
Y
EP
.

She stewed about that for a minute, and very nearly asked Marti’s opinion, but if he didn’t want to see her, he would’ve ignored the text or said he wasn’t home.

She drove to his place, breathing in the aroma of peach pie and trying to admire the beautiful fall colors, deep red and gold in the setting sunlight, but her palms were damp and everything inside felt slightly wobbly.

She pulled in and parked behind his old blue truck and smiled. She liked that truck. It was kind of faded and dinged up, but it had a lot of character. Very much like Tom Murphy. Same for the outside of the white farmhouse, with its unadorned porch and empty landscape beds. Lots of potential but none of it realized.

When he opened the door, though, Tom didn’t look faded or dinged up at all. He just looked good, wearing a shirt she’d seen a dozen times, the gray one that said
COLLEGE
in block letters across his chest.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She held up the foil-wrapped pie. “This is from Nana. She said thanks for the ride home. And thanks for helping with my dad. Well, she said, ‘Thanks for helping with my son,’ but you know what I mean. And my mom said to tell you thanks again, too.”

She suddenly felt a little foolish. Maybe she’d just drop off this pie and leave. He was going to let her ramble. She could see it in his posture as he leaned against the doorframe making himself comfortable. She lifted the pie higher. “Here. Take it.”

He smiled, his eyes warm. He pushed the door open wider. “Come on in.”

The inside of Tom’s house was quaint, but plain, as if he hadn’t quite moved in. Nothing hung on the walls; nothing was modern. She was expecting artsy craftsmanship, like the stuff he’d done at the ice-cream parlor, but there was little here that seemed like him. She stepped inside into a small, clean kitchen that overlooked a tiny family room. A hallway next to the refrigerator led off to the rest of the house.

She set the pie on a beige laminate counter.

He leaned over and pulled up the foil, the muscles flexing in his arm. “This is still warm.”

“Fresh from Nana’s oven. Well, not Nana’s oven. My mom’s oven, actually.” Rambling again. He seemed happy enough to see her, but her heart gave a little hop, skip, and a jump when he pulled two forks from a drawer.

“How’s your dad?” he asked.

“Pretty good. Anxious to be home. Driving the nurses crazy with random trivia.”

Two forks?

Tom chuckled. “I’ll bet he is. I’ll give him a call in a couple of days to talk about our next steps for the ice-cream parlor.”

The air pressure around her seemed to double. “He wants you to finish it. I already asked him. You’ll do it, won’t you?” He
had
to stick with it. If Tom gave up on this project, and on her, Libby might seriously consider joining a convent. Which was going to be a real challenge because she wasn’t Catholic.

“Of course I’ll finish it. I always get the job done, remember?” His voice was quiet as he leaned against the counter. “Are you going to help me?”

He looked at her expectantly, his expression almost flirty. Tom Murphy really should come with some directions, or at least a compass so she could tell which direction his emotions were heading.

“Do you
want
me to help you?” It seemed like maybe they were talking about more than the ice-cream parlor.

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate with his answer, and her stomach gave a little flippity-flop toward optimism.

“Okay, then. I will,” she said.

He walked toward her, holding up the forks. “Good. Are you going to stick around and help me eat some of this pie?”

Now it seemed like they were talking about more than pie. Nana was very wise. “Do you
want
me to eat some pie?”

Setting down the forks, he stepped around behind her and tugged the jacket from her shoulders. He slid it down her arms and hooked it over a chair. His breath was warm on her ear. “Yes. Pie’s no fun to eat alone.”

She turned to face him, trying to gauge his expression. “No, I guess it isn’t. But eating it alone is… less complicated.”

He leaned closer. He looked at her mouth, his gaze so heavy it was nearly a kiss. Then his deep brown eyes came back to hers. “Liberty Belle
Hamilton, my life got more complicated the very first time you smiled at me.”

Her lungs joined her stomach in a jig of optimism. It felt good, but it was hard to breathe.

His hands came up and cupped her face, his thumbs lingering at the corner of her lips. “I find myself wanting to make promises to you, but I can’t. I can’t guarantee what comes tomorrow.”

She reached out then, clutching the material of his shirt. “No one can. And anyway, I don’t need a guarantee. I just need you to kiss me.”

There it was, that look of possibility in his eyes, a certainty of purpose, and Libby flooded with desire.

Tom leaned closer still and nuzzled his lips near her mouth. “Okay, but if we start this, I’m not stopping. No matter who goes into labor or who falls down the stairs.”

All of her breath escaped in a single burst. “Good. Me neither.”

He kissed her then, hard, with no preamble, his lips firm and insistent. His tongue delved into her mouth, and she welcomed it. She’d been waiting for this kiss for days and days. Maybe even all her life, because never in her past had she been kissed like this before.

Tom pulled her tight, and pressed her back against the edge of the counter, pinning her with the width of his body and the force of his desire. He was hunger and pleasure and turmoil sealed in one kiss. His mouth was delicious, full of texture and heat. She ran her hands up his back, aching to peel that shirt away and touch every part of him.

He caught her lip in his teeth, and her knees buckled. He wasn’t being gentle, and she didn’t want him to be. This was the Tom she’d imagined, all primal and uncontrolled, ruled by reckless passion.

She pushed up the hem of his shirt. “Too… many… clothes,” she uttered between breathless kisses.

He pulled it off in a single motion, tossing it behind him to the floor. In the moonlight, he’d looked mysterious and sexy. In the bright light of the kitchen… he was still mysterious and sexy.

“God, look at you.” She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. His skin was smooth and warm and quivered beneath her touch.

“Let’s look at you,” he whispered back.

He pulled at the first button of her shirt, and it popped through the opening as if it had been waiting for his touch. He nudged the fabric with
one finger and leaned down to kiss her skin at the gap. She sighed with the certainty of delicious things unfolding and ran a hand over his hair.

Then another button, and another kiss. Lower and lower until, at last, her shirt dangled open, the cool air a delicious contrast to his warm lips and her sizzling skin. He bent low and kissed her belly button, circling his tongue around it. She stepped back from the tickle of it, but he wrapped his arms around her, under her bottom, and picked her up.

She was floating, with Tom her only anchor to the ground. She bit his earlobe as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, and he let out a low rumble deep in his throat.

The room was small and uncluttered, just a big bed, nightstands, and a dresser. The evening light came through the windows, casting shadow fragments across a faded quilt.

He loosened his hold, and her body slid down his, her skin taut with anticipation. He was so solid, everywhere. She wanted to surround herself with him, and surround him in return.

Tom looked down at her, lips parted, breath erratic. “Are you absolutely positive? Because I’m just about at the tipping point here.”

“Absolutely positive.”

She had been ready for this since the first time she’d heard him laugh. She just hadn’t known it. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a foil packet. “Marti made me bring this. Just in case.”

A smile spread across his face like water flowing. “You brought a condom?”

“I brought two. Presumptuous, I know, but Marti insisted.” She pulled out the second one and tossed them on the bed.

Laughter bubbled up between them.

“Remind me later to tell her thanks.”

“How about you thank me right now?”

Desire chased away the laughter on his face as he pushed Libby’s open shirt down her arms. It landed on the hardwood, buttons clicking. His fingers tangled into her hair, tugging, tipping her head back. A happy moan escaped as he lavished her throat with kisses.

Libby tugged at the waistband of his jeans. “Still too many clothes.”

Tom picked her up again and slid with a bent knee over the bed, tipping until they fell together across the foot. He landed on top, pressing the air from her lungs in a pop, and pulled her wrists above her head. She couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t care.

Tom smiled with the patience of a Sunday afternoon driver. “Libby, I haven’t done this in a while. I’m not going to hurry.”

His words sent her heart tumbling over itself with sublime expectation. She was dazzled.

“Sorry. Carry on,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I intend to.” He kissed her again, a tiny shallow kiss, teasing her with nips and nuzzles across her jaw, until at last his own breath deepened and he kissed her deeply, with slow sweeps of his tongue. He pressed his body down, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, denim meeting denim, friction increasing.