Surrender To Sultry (3 page)

The hardest part of maintaining their ruse was pretending that they hadn’t emailed
twice a week for the last ten years before discovering Skype. Or that Daddy’s “missionary
trips” weren’t really visits to Minnesota. That instead, she’d run away from her rigid
Baptist daddy because she’d hated their life together. Nothing could be farther from
the truth.

“I saw June at the drug store,” she said, “and I almost called her by her married
name.” Leah wasn’t supposed to know that her childhood friend had married Luke Gallagher,
or that they’d finally gotten pregnant after a year of trying. She hated lying to
the whole town like this. It was just a matter of time before she slipped up.

“Have you called Rachel yet?” Daddy asked.

A heavy sigh puffed Leah’s cheeks, and she sank onto her haunches, resting her chin
on Daddy’s knee. “No. I’m waiting for the right time.”

“The right time, huh?”

He didn’t need to say more; they both knew what he was thinking. There
was
no right time to apologize to the BFF she’d abandoned without so much as a good-bye,
especially when that best friend was bound to ask questions. Which meant more lies.

“First we need to get our stories straight,” she said. “I’m sure people are already
talking. Won’t take them long to compare notes.”

“I say we keep it simple.” Shrugging one shoulder, Daddy suggested, “I’ll tell folks
that word got back to me about what you and Colton had done, we had a nasty blow-out—said
some things we regret—and you left.”

“Sounds good,” Leah said a few octaves too high.

She couldn’t believe it, but the mere mention of “what she and Colton had done” brought
a flush to her cheeks. Without warning, she felt the ghost of his hot breath stirring
against her throat, the graze of his teeth scraping her shoulder. Seductive whispers
caressed her ear, bringing chills to the surface of her skin.
I’ll stop whenever you want, Angel, just say the word.
She remembered vividly that while she’d wanted to say the word, she hadn’t asked
Colt to stop. He’d bewitched her with those wicked fingers and his dedicated tongue,
and the only command that had left her lips was
more
.

A heavy warmth settled low in her belly at the flashback, reminding her of how long
it had been since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch. But that wasn’t something she wanted
to contemplate with her daddy in the room. She cleared her throat and hoped he couldn’t
see her blushing.

“Colton pulled me over,” she said. “About an hour ago.”

Daddy gripped the faded corduroy armrests. “Everything go okay?”

“Mmm-hmm. He didn’t say much. I think he was surprised to see me.”

“I’ll bet,” he said, letting go a relieved chuckle. “I’m not surprised he nabbed you.
That Caddy’s about as inconspicuous as a porcupine in a balloon shop. He write you
a ticket?”

“No, but he drove off with my license and Benny’s papers.”

“Huh.” Clearly, it didn’t make sense to him either. “That boy always was an odd duck.”

More like something that
rhymed
with duck.

“Hey,” she said, turning the subject away from ducks and scoundrels, “I was thinking
of buying June’s old car to use while I’m in town.” June had been hanging flyers when
Leah’d run into her at the drugstore. The old purple hatchback for sale wouldn’t win
any beauty contests, but the price was right.

“What about the Escalade?”

Leah was grateful to her boss for the loaner, especially considering she didn’t have
a credit card and thus couldn’t rent a car, but it was too nerve-wracking driving
something that cost more than a double-wide.

“I’m scared I’ll ding it,” she said. “Besides, now that I’ve got a real license, I
can title June’s car under your address.” For the first time in her twenty-seven years,
she would own a vehicle. The idea made her smile. Better late than never.

“Whatever you want, Pumpkin. Sure was nice of Benny, though.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “He’s been real good to me.”
Like
a
second
father.
She kept that last bit to herself, not wanting to hurt Daddy’s feelings. “The least
I can do is keep his pride and joy nice and shiny.”

Daddy made a noise of agreement, but his averted gaze and slackened smile warned her
a change was coming in their innocent small talk. And sweet Lord, he didn’t disappoint.

“I bet his real pride and joy is that boy of his. A doctor, right?”

Leah’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to talk about Ari.

“Have you, uh…” Daddy began awkwardly, then paused to swallow. “Have you two worked
things out? Last we talked, you thought he might change his mind about—”

“No.” Leah lifted her chin and pushed to standing. There was nothing to work out.
Ari wanted something she couldn’t give, so he’d broken their engagement. It was as
simple—and as painful—as that. She hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “I’d better
get started on breakfast. It’s already late.”

“Sorry, hon. His loss.” Daddy caught her hand before she could get away. He gave a
playful tug, trying to lighten her now sour mood. “If you’re cookin’, I’ll have a
bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.”

Leah laughed without humor. “Well, that’s not what you’re gonna get.” Not on her watch,
anyway. “You’ll have oatmeal.”

“Aw, come on, Pumpk—”

She silenced him with a flash of her palm. “There’s what we want, and there’s what’s
good for us. The two are almost never the same.” Boy, had she learned that lesson
the hard way. “It won’t be so bad. I’ll add some cinnamon and vanilla.”

“And chocolate chips?”

“Nope.”

“Syrup?”

“Unh-uh.”

“Brown sugar?”

“No deal.”

“Need I remind you that I’m the head of this house?” Daddy asked.

“You know what they say, Daddy.” Leah strode into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder,
“You’re the head, but I’m the neck. I’ll turn you whichever way I want.”

But despite her tough words, Leah pulled a tub of raw honey from the pantry when she
gathered her ingredients. In her heart, she understood how it felt to choke down life’s
bitter lumps, and she couldn’t deny her daddy a little sweetness.

She grabbed a pot and stood before the old stove, its electric burners scrubbed to
a dull black and revealing gleaming silver bowls beneath. Daddy’s kitchen was cleaner
than she’d expected.
Too
clean. No traces of dried tomato sauce or smudges of grease existed anywhere except
the inside of a white microwave oven that stood in odd contrast to the original harvest
gold appliances. That’s how she knew Daddy didn’t cook for himself. A well-used kitchen
was never this spotless. If she had to guess, she’d say he subsisted on Hungry-Man
dinners and takeout. To test her theory, Leah took three steps toward the fridge and
tugged open the freezer door. A waft of cool air greeted her, along with two dozen
boxes of Salisbury Surprise, Mexican Fiesta, and Pub Favorites.

Mmm-hmm. Just as she thought.

Shaking her head, she returned to the stove, where she combined two parts skim milk
with one part rolled oats. She added a teaspoon of cinnamon and vanilla, and before
long, the mixture had come to a rolling simmer. Moist steam swirled up from the pot,
smelling of bland, watery grain, and eliciting a frown in response. Leah would never
admit it to Daddy, but she didn’t like oatmeal either. In fact, she detested it.

She hated everything about oatmeal—the dull flavor, mushy texture, the way it lingered
in her stomach like mashed lead. What she
really
craved was an ooey-gooey chocolate éclair with an extra-thick layer of fudge icing.
Richman’s grocery made them fresh, right down the street, and she still remembered
the culinary ecstasy of sinking her teeth into one. Her toes almost curled when she
imagined the way that sweet custard would burst across her tongue when she’d take
a big, sinful bite.

Oh, heavens. Was she drooling? Sadly, yes.

She wiped a hand across her lips and returned her attention to the oats before they
stuck to the bottom of the pot. Like she’d told Daddy, what she wanted and what she
needed were two different things.

Or at least she’d always thought so. These days, she was beginning to wonder.

For the last ten years, she’d forgone happiness in the interest of doing what was
right, hoping the Lord would reward her sacrifices. Even her relationship with Ari
had started that way. They’d been friends at first, and she hadn’t wanted anything
more. But when the spark behind his eyes had told her he felt differently, she couldn’t
turn him down, not after his father had taken her in and given her a new life. Besides,
Ari was a genuinely wonderful person, so she ignored the way his thin lips had never
fit against her own, or that his embrace didn’t set her insides on fire. She didn’t
need lust, just the love of a good man, and Ari had offered her that. Loving him back
should have been safe…but look how that’d turned out.

Was God trying to tell her she wasn’t forgiven? That even when she settled for less
than her ideal, she still wasn’t worthy of a family? Or was it just bad luck? She
didn’t know, but darn it, that chocolate éclair sounded mighty good right now. Her
eyes darted toward the living room, where the theme song to
Monday
Morning
Ministry
played on the television. If she was quiet, she could sneak down to Richman’s and
be back before Daddy even knew she was gone. The oatmeal needed a few minutes to thicken
anyway. Wasn’t she entitled to a little splurge? Heck, maybe Daddy too. A few bites
wouldn’t hurt him.

Yes!
she decided with a nod, turning off the stove with one hand and plucking her purse
from the countertop with the other. A spoonful of sugar, and all that. Creeping on
her tiptoes, she crossed the kitchen and slipped on her shoes, then fished her Escalade
keys from the wall hook beside the back door. She’d just reached for the doorknob
when three loud knocks sounded from the other side. She flinched back, clapping a
hand over her heart and dropping her keys in the process.

“Who is it, Pumpkin?” Daddy called from the front room.

“Crumbs,” Leah whispered to herself. So much for her sneaky donut run. “I don’t know.”

She pushed aside the curtain to identify their visitor and came face-to-face with
a pair of turquoise eyes shaded by a tan Stetson. A flutter tickled Leah’s chest,
spreading to her stomach when Colton’s full lips curved into a sexy, crooked grin
and he tipped back his hat with one finger. She dropped the curtain, but the image
of Colt’s stunning face hovered in the air like a specter. He’d always been a gorgeous
boy, but time had hardened his features—sharpening the angle of his jaw, strengthening
his forehead, and drawing out his Cherokee heritage until he’d transformed from gorgeous
into downright decadent. She hated that he still had the power to give her butterflies,
but he did all the same.

She composed herself and opened the door.

“Hey,” he drawled, slow and deep, leaning against the doorjamb with one booted foot
crossed over the other. He folded his muscled arms as if he’d come here to shoot the
breeze with an old friend.

But they weren’t friends, and she made that clear with a tight nod.

He glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen. “Somethin’ smells good.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Gonna invite me in?”

“Nope.”

He patted his shirt pocket. “But I’ve got your registration.”

“Good.” She extended one hand, palm up. “Then give it here.”

Whatever he wanted from this ridiculous visit, it must’ve occurred to him he wasn’t
going to get it, because his coy smile faded and he removed his hat, then raked a
hand through his shoulder-length black hair.

“I, uh,” he began, “don’t have your license, though. Left it in my office.” He gestured
to the sheriff’s cruiser parked on the curb. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll
go get it real quick?”

Leah shook her head at the stone-cold, sneaky son of a motherless dog. She’d dip herself
in honey and roll in a nest of fire ants before spending one minute alone with him.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Colton Bea.”

“It’ll only take a few—”

“Never mind,” she interrupted. “Just keep it.” She closed the door and locked the
deadbolt with extra force, so he’d hear it and get the message.

To his credit, Colt didn’t linger more than a few seconds. His heavy boots clopped
slowly down the wooden steps, and soon she detected the sound of his car starting
and motoring off into the distance.

“Who was it?” Daddy called again.

Leah kicked off her shoes, tossed her purse onto the counter, and padded to the stove,
where she dished up two bowls of nice, safe oatmeal—a breakfast that, while bland,
had never hurt anyone. She wasn’t in the mood for éclairs anymore.

Joining Daddy in the living room, she shrugged and told him, “Nobody.”

The next morning brought a flurry of visitors, as nearly half of Daddy’s congregation
circulated through the living room to wish him well. Most of his guests came bearing
gifts of tater-tot casseroles, fruit pies, creamed soups, and cookie bar mixes sealed
in Mason jars. While Leah knew their hearts were in the right place, it was the occasional
crossword puzzle and handheld video game she really appreciated. Those were the kinds
of distractions Daddy needed—to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied so he didn’t
munch himself into another stay at Sultry Memorial.

To her relief, she and Daddy worked well as a team, fielding questions about her ten-year
absence with a generic, “We had a falling out, but we’re mighty grateful the Lord
brought us together again.” If anyone pushed for details, Leah told them she didn’t
want to dwell on the past, and that generally shut them up. And when Miss Pru asked
if Leah was single, all talk of family rifts abruptly shifted to matchmaking. No less
annoying, but at least it took the pressure off.

After lunch, June and Luke Gallagher stopped by to transfer the title to June’s old
car. A cold front had moved in, so Leah grabbed her cardigan before following the
couple down the street, where they’d parked behind half a dozen of Daddy’s friends.

Poor June had adopted that third trimester waddle, pushing out her distended belly
while supporting her lower back with both hands. Despite the chill, her face was dewy
with perspiration, her ankles so swollen she’d been forced to wear flip-flops. But
bless her heart, she didn’t complain once. June’s rounded cheeks exuded the radiance
of a woman who’d finally earned everything she wanted out of life: a devoted husband
who couldn’t go thirty seconds without touching her and a healthy baby girl on the
way.

It warmed Leah’s heart to see them together. June and Luke had graduated a few years
ahead of her, but she remembered the way June had always gazed at Luke…and the way
he’d gazed back when he thought nobody was looking. Leah had hated to miss their wedding.
She’d missed a lot of nuptials over the years…like Rachel’s.
And
the
divorce
that
came
shortly
afterward
, she thought with a prickle of guilt.

“Well,” Luke said, stopping in front of a purple spray-painted hatchback, “here’s
old Bruiser.” He gave the hood a hearty smack. “Not much to look at, but he’s tougher
than a two-dollar steak. I don’t think he’ll die on you, but if he does, I’m sure
whoever wins the pool will split the pot with you.”

“People are betting on how long it runs?” Leah craned her neck and glanced at the
mismatched hubcaps—one silver, one black—which drew her attention to a baseball-sized
rusted hole near the gas tank.

“Yup.” Luke’s eyes darted to a sarcastic
wash
me
message traced on the front fender. He erased it with the side of his fist. “Last
I heard, it’s up to five hundred.”

“Oh, god.” June bit her lip, covering her face in shame. “I feel awful asking anything
for this heap.” She splayed both hands in front of her and begged, “Just let me give
it to you.”

“No, no, no.” Leah dug into her back pocket to retrieve her cash, then thrust the
wad at June. “I can’t.”

“Pleeeeeeease?”

“No, really.” Leah appreciated the offer, but she couldn’t handle freebies. Instead
of enjoying gifts, she always felt obliged to repay them with kindness, which probably
explained why she’d said
yes
to a first date with Ari five years ago. “Thanks, but it’d make me feel—”

“Believe me,” Luke said, gripping his hips, “I get it. Nobody likes taking charity,
least of all me.” He accepted her money, but counted out a couple hundred dollars
and handed it back. “How’s that? Now neither of us has to feel like shit.”

“Language!” June chided with a light slap.

Leah laughed and shook Luke’s hand. “It’s a deal.”

While the two of them pocketed their money, June cradled her swollen belly between
both palms, stroking it and making gentle shushing noises as if Luke’s curse had injured
the child nestled within. A contrite Luke knelt at his wife’s puffy feet and lifted
her shirt so he could whisper apologies through her navel.

“Daddy’s sorry, Sweet Pea,” he crooned while June lovingly swept the hair from his
forehead. “I’ll go easy on the swears from now on. Promise.”

At first, it was positively the most adorable thing Leah had ever seen. But then she
began to feel a tug of envy in her stomach, a dropping sensation like she’d missed
the last step at the bottom of the porch. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d
pressed one hand to her own abdomen, directly over her hysterectomy scar. Her chest
knotted, pulling tighter as she watched Luke nuzzle his wife’s belly. Leah would never
share this moment with a man, never place his palm on her tummy to feel their baby’s
tender kicks. Never. And she wanted it so badly she ached.

June must have seen the longing in Leah’s face and mistaken it for embarrassment,
because she tugged her shirt down and backed away from her husband, leaving him on
his knees making kissy noises into empty air.

“Sorry,” June said. “It took a long time for us, and we’re still kind of slap-happy.”

“Don’t apologize.” Leah swallowed her self-pity and found a smile. June and Luke were
good people, and they deserved this joy. “I think it’s sweet.”

Luke stood and dug through his pockets until he found the hatchback keys, then handed
them over. “Sickeningly sweet, probably.” He laid the title on the hood and fished
for a pen. “I used to roll my eyes at couples like us.”

“Me too,” June said, offering Luke a Bic from her purse.

Leah shrugged. “I like seeing people happy. It gives me—”
hope—
“warm fuzzies.” Nodding at June’s baby bulge, she asked, “When’re you due?”

“End of January.”

Holy
bones, two and a half more months?
Leah fought to keep the shock from parting her lips. By June’s size, she’d guessed
the baby would arrive in a few weeks, tops. “Well, you look great.” Every pregnant
woman needed to hear that once in a while, even if it was a little white lie. Or a
clanker of a lie.

“Aw, thanks.” June laced her fingers together, resting them atop her belly while she
studied Leah in silence for a moment. “Hey,” she said, tipping her head in appraisal,
“Grammy told me you’re not married. Do you have anyone special back home? ’Cause if
you’re not—”

“
Junebug
,” Luke warned. He glanced up from his paperwork to shoot her one of those scolding
looks married couples gave each other.

“What?” June asked innocently.

“You know what.”

They proceeded to communicate through a silent dance of raised brows, narrowed eyes,
jerking heads, and slashing hand gestures. Clearly, they’d discussed this issue before
arriving, and Leah wondered which eligible bachelor June had in mind for her. Not
that it mattered, because she did have someone special back home. Just not the way
June had meant it.

“I’m not here to date,” Leah said. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

“See?” Luke said to his wife while handing Leah the title. “She’s not interested.”

“He’s
your
friend,” June hissed. “I’m just trying to help.”

“
Friend
is putting it loosely. Real loosely. It’s not like we’re—”

“Whatever,” June cut him off and turned to Leah. “Just promise you’ll keep something
in mind.” When Leah nodded, June left her with a cryptic, “People really can change.”

“
Jooooonbug
,” Luke warned again.

With a roll of her eyes, June relented. As she climbed into Luke’s dusty, black F-250,
she asked Leah, “You’re coming to Trey’s potluck, right?”

“Who’s Trey?”

“My brother-in-law,” Luke answered. “He and my sister have been living in Dubai the
past couple years, and we’re throwing ’em a homecoming.”

“Oh, Bobbi got hitched?” Leah asked, pretending not to know that Luke’s little sister
had married his best friend. “I think we were in the same preschool class.”

“Yep.” After closing his wife’s door, Luke strode around to the other side and opened
his own. “Friday night at the church fellowship hall. Six o’clock. Don’t worry about
bringing anything. We’ve got it covered.” With a wave, he started the truck and drove
away.

Once he’d disappeared from view, Leah took a minute to study her new ride.

“Well, Bruiser,” she said, patting the side-view mirror, “you’re no looker, but that’s
okay. I’ll bet you’re pretty on the inside, and that’s what matters.”

Pocketing her title, she strolled toward the driveway with a light breeze tossing
her hair and the faint scent of burning leaves filling her nose. She pulled a deep
breath into her lungs and savored it—the sweet, crisp smell of Texas in autumn. Lord,
she’d missed that smell. Right now in Minnesota, the air was so frosty it would have
stung the inside of her nose, and no sweater was thick enough to combat those brutal
Northern winters. Her hands had been perpetually cold for the last decade, like she’d
caught a chill in her soul.

As if in consolation, the November sun broke free of the clouds and caressed the apples
of Leah’s cheeks. She lifted her face to the heavens, and by the time she reached
her front porch, she didn’t want to go inside.

Tucking both hands into her sweater pockets, she stood on tiptoe to peer through the
front windows. Daddy still had plenty of company, so she decided to linger a while.
She took a seat on the bottom step and crossed her legs at the ankles, letting her
dark jeans soak up the sun’s warmth. With a contented sigh, she leaned back on her
elbows and glanced at the yard.

The really overgrown yard.

For the first time since returning home, she noticed that crabgrass had choked out
the lush fescue lawn she remembered—the one that’d felt like a carpet of cool satin
beneath her feet. The flowerbeds were in even worse shape. Leah couldn’t tell what
kind of weed had replaced her cheery mums, but their tall, prickly stems and poofy
white tips reminded her of cotton’s evil stepsister. Her old dog, Samson, was buried
there, and his grave seemed desecrated by the overgrowth.

When Leah studied her neighbors’ modest-but-immaculate homes, then glanced over her
shoulder at the flaking paint and loose shutters on the brick ranch behind her, it
became apparent that Daddy had let more than just himself go.

Maybe she
should
find him a wife. Or three.

While she sat there wondering how to rehabilitate her father’s heart
and
his home in one short month, more trouble rolled in, this time on a cherry-red 1978
Harley-Davidson.

Leah recognized the distinct sound of its high-performance engine long before it pulled
into view, its low roar tearing at her eardrums, rumbling the air until she felt it
in her teeth. She’d know that hog anywhere, and more important, the pig riding it.
Colt had put her on the back of that bike a time or two, though it hadn’t been fully
restored then, more like a rude, crude tornado of bolts. Still, at seventeen she’d
thought it was sexy as hell, pardon her language.

But she’d matured since then. Danger didn’t get her revved up anymore. She’d collect
her license and registration, then send the good sheriff on his merry way. She stood
and took a defensive stance—feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms folded—to steel
herself against another butterfly attack.

Colt parked beneath the shade of an old oak tree across the street and cut the engine.
With a booted heel, he kicked the stand and leaned the bike gingerly to the side before
swinging one leg over the seat. He started to remove his helmet, but something caught
his eye, and he paused to buff a smudge of dirt from the body with a clean rag he’d
pulled from his back pocket. Leah snickered to herself, half expecting Colt to ask
the bike,
Your
place
or
mine, honey?

He shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the handlebars while Leah shifted
her weight to one hip, wishing he’d hurry up already. But then he reached up to pull
off his helmet, and the hem of his T-shirt rose a few inches—just enough to reveal
a sprinkling of inky-black hair that covered his hard, flat abdomen and trailed off
beneath the waistband of his Levi’s.

Oh, mercy.

A wave of desire slammed Leah with so much force, she actually swayed on her feet.
And just when she’d regained her footing, Colt shook back his loose hair and locked
those aqua eyes on her, making her mouth go dry. This was bad. Very bad. Not to mention
pathetic. He hadn’t even touched her, and already her blood had rushed to all the
right places. She had to get rid of him.

“Got my license?” she shouted.

Instead of answering right away, he took his sweet time, waiting until he’d crossed
the street and joined her at the foot of the porch steps to say, “Unh-uh.” He swept
a leisurely gaze over her body, heating her in every single spot it landed. “It’s
still in my office. If you want it, you’re gonna have to come get it.”

Not in this lifetime. “Then why’re you here?”

“To talk.”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Yeah, we do.” He shoved both hands in his pockets, drawing her attention to parts
of him she shouldn’t want. She dropped her gaze to her shoes. “I need to apologize,
Leah.”

Her heart gave a tiny leap. It was the first time he’d spoken her name in that buttery
drawl, and she wished it didn’t sound so delicious on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said in a rush. “It’s ancient history.”

“Not for me.” Something in his tone darkened, and she peeked up to find him staring
into the grass. “Not at all.”

Leah gnawed on her bottom lip. She didn’t like the way he’d gone all somber, as if
he really was sorry. She didn’t want him to be sorry. His contrition pulled the already
painful knot in her chest even tighter. In order to regain some power, or at least
the illusion of it, she skirted around him and climbed the porch steps until she met
his height, then turned and demanded, “Why are you really here?”