Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (21 page)

chapter sixteen

The next morning, Sally rose early. Pain washed over her again at the memory of last night. With Trent, sex had sometimes been triggered by anger, but the act had always ended with their bond restored, reminding them love ran deeper and stronger than their temporary frustrations. Last night with Jim was outside her prior experience. He’d turned his back on her at the end as if they were strangers.

But… not really.
It hadn’t been impersonal. Far from it. Jim’s rage had been directed at her, his possession an act of dominance. Now that her hormones had settled she was furious with herself, and with him. She pictured barging into Tyler’s bedroom, yanking Jim up off the floor and throwing him bodily out of her house. It felt good, even though she’d never actually subject Tyler to that kind of drama. No. Neither Tyler nor Jim would see her lose control. Cold, emotionless politeness. That was the plan.
And I’ll kick his sexy—delete that—sorry ass out as soon as his damn protection is no longer required.

She went to the kitchen and assembled the ingredients for Tyler’s f
avorite breakfast. All Jim deserved was cold cereal—or nothing at all—but Tyler would be disappointed if she didn’t make French toast. It was their tradition for the first day of a holiday break, and
he
hadn’t done anything wrong.

She pulled out a non-stick frying pan and layered it with bacon. The burner beneath caught and the bacon began to sizzle. She set it at med
ium and grabbed eggs and a bowl.

To think there’d been a time when she’d thought Jim was too nice for his own good. With a sure hand she cracked the shell of the first egg, splitting it clean in two with one swift rap against the rim of the bowl.
He sure had me fooled.
Rap. Rap. A second egg and a third joined the first in the bowl. Her face burned at the recollection of her response to him last night. Her certainty that they belonged together had only been a comfortable rationalization.

Snatching up a steel whisk, she whipped the eggs to
a froth.

She twisted the cap off a gallon of milk, splashing some into the bowl with the eggs and replaced the cap, practically throwing the bottle back onto the refrigerator shelf. The unit shuddered as she slammed its door shut.

It was fear that had kept her from following him last night and throwing him out. And it was fear that would let him stay this morning. It shamed her to be afraid, but she’d take no risks with Tyler here. She forked the bacon over to cook the other side and whipped the milk and eggs together into a fine frenzy. It was a toss-up whether she was angrier with him or with herself. He thought she’d slept with Smith. He wouldn’t listen when she told him different. And he’d been spying on her.
‘Watching for the stalker’—yeah, right.

Setting the bacon on paper towels to drain, she took an eight-inch stack of dried bread and sliced through it in one swift stroke. Dipping the bread triangles in the egg-milk mixture, she put them in the bacon grease to brown. Once she had those locks changed, Jim would be out of here. And she wouldn’t be asking him to come back.

“Morning, Mom.” Tyler came over, still warm and sleep-tousled, to give her a hug. “Oh, good, French toast! Can I have syrup on mine instead of cinnamon?”

Sally hugged him back, hard, blinking away the sting of tears. He was the only male she needed. “Of course we’re having French toast—I know it’s your favorite. And, yes, you can have syrup. Get it out, and the o
range juice and milk. Clean dishes are in the dishwasher.”

As Tyler set the table, she piled the French toast on a platter and dusted half of it lightly with a mix of cinnamon and sugar, leaving the rest plain. Two slices of bacon went on each of the three plates Tyler had laid out. As they were sitting down to begin, Jim came out of the guest bath and down the hallway.

“Morning, Dr. Donovan. We’re having French toast, because it’s my favorite. Do you like it?”

Jim smiled at the boy. “I do. I like it so much that I might eat yours and mine both.”

“Oh, no you won’t.” Laughing, Tyler wrapped his arms protectively around his plate.

‘Morning, Sally.” Jim’s voice was cool. “Thanks for the breakfast. It smells delicious.”

Her voice was no warmer. “You’re welcome. We appreciate you staying last night.”
And I’ll appreciate it even more when the locks are changed and you leave.
Where was the locksmith anyway? He’d promised to be here by eight.

As if in answer to her thought, the doorbell rang. Sally jumped up to open the door, aware that Jim rose also and followed a few steps behind her.
Like someone’s going to grab me in broad daylight. It’s his fault I feel so nervous
.

She opened the door to the locksmith, who set down his toolbox and got straight to work on her front door.

Two hours later he packed up his tools, Sally wrote him a check, and he was gone. She huffed out a satisfied breath.
Time to get rid of Jim.

Stepping onto the back porch, she called to Jim and Tyler, who had taken care of the shelter chores after breakfast and were relaxing now,
throwing a football back and forth. “Tyler, come in and wash your hands. We need to go food shopping.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“You heard your mother, Tyler.”

Tyler tramped past her, with Jim following. She waited until she heard water running in the bathroom sink,
then turned to Jim in dismissal. “Thank you for staying until the locks were fixed. We’ll be fine now.” She tensed slightly, anticipating his arguments, gathering her resources.

“You’re welcome.” He walked through the house and opened the front door. Hesitating a fraction, he turned toward her with a slight frown. “Take care, Sally.” Then he slid into his truck and drove away.

Sally stared after him.

Great. Just walk off and leave us.
So much for all your talk about protection and support.

With hands on hips, she watched the truck vanish from sight, then turned to the house blinking away the heat in her eyes.
I don’t need him.

“Tyler, let’s go.”

Sally walked back into the kitchen and carefully locked and dead-bolted the door. Then, as Tyler trooped past her, she did the same to the front door and turned toward the car with the corners of her mouth pulled down.
Grocery shopping. Yippee.

Jim steered his truck toward town, less than half-a-mind on his dri
ving. His anger had turned cold, and he couldn’t decide which was worse: what Sally had done with Smith or the way he’d responded to it last night. He kept seeing the hurt and shock—the pleading—on her face just before he’d pulled her to him and assaulted her. What was the matter with him, anyway? He’d acted like an animal.

The four-by-four tore past trees and fence-line scrub, well beyond the posted limit. The thought of Sally and Smith ate away at his brain
and his control. Smith had ruined everything for him. Jim hit the brakes, swung the truck around a sharp curve in the road and picked up speed again. Why did he take it out on Sally? Now the memory of loving her, that first time, was overwritten with last night’s ugliness.

Well, there was no way to take back what he’d done. He wrenched the truck around turn after turn on the winding country road, fish-tailing now and again, using the steering wheel as an outlet for the te
nsion coiled in his muscles. He took the back route to the clinic, avoiding the town roads as much as possible. It was going to take more than fighting the jouncing pickup to satisfy the violence in his soul.

Damn Smith. I should have told him to stay away from her flat out instead of playing polite.

Jim twisted the truck into his parking space at the clinic. That was one mistake he could correct. And he would. Right now. He and Daniel Smith were going to go over a few home truths.
Because he’d lied to Sally last night. And to himself.

He was still the world’s biggest sap.

Jim strode into the clinic, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. Smith’s Hummer sat outside, but apparently no one else was here. He headed for the younger vet’s office, trumpeting like an enraged stallion—“Smith! Where are you?”—and shoved open the door.

Smith stood behind his desk, eyes narrowed and brows drawn t
ogether. “What the hell is your problem, Donovan?”

“You. You’re my problem.” He crossed the room in two strong strides. “Stay away from Sally Johnston. She’s mine.” Jim stood across the desk from Smith: eyes on Smith’s chest, hands open, knees slightly flexed.

Smith looked him up and down, then sat, leaning back to put his feet up on the desk. “If you’re looking for a fight, you came to the wrong place.”

Jim narrowed his gaze, and his hands began to curl. “Does she mean so little to you that you’re not even going to bother to give me an arg
ument? She was just another one night stand, is that it?”

Smith glanced at the fisted hands. The eyes he lifted to Jim’s face were mere slits below knotted brows. “Are you implying that I took a
dvantage of her?”

“I’m not
implying
anything. I’m saying you had sex with her, and I’m telling you you’re not going to do it again.”

Something flickered in Smith’s eyes, causing Jim’s body to respond with a surge of adrenalin. “Donovan, tempted as I am to shove your i
gnorant comments down your throat, Sally wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Jim planted his hands on Smith’s desk and leaned forward. His voice was deadly quiet. “Get out. Now. Pack your stuff and go. I’d sooner work myself to death than have you as a partner, so I’m breaking our contract. You want to sue me, go for it, but get out.”

Smith didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere, yet. You’re just pissed because you’re too thick-headed to figure out what to do with Sally. She’s hot and smart and she wants you, and you’re throwing it all away. You’re an idiot, Donovan.” Deliberately, Smith lowered his feet to the floor and leaned forward, leaving his hands relaxed on the arms of his chair. “Sue you? I’m grateful. I don’t want an idiot for a partner. You’ve jumped up on your high horse because I made a move on a woman you were too stupid to go after. Colossally stupid, as it turns out, because she’s gotten so little encouragement from you that she thought she wanted me. When it came down to it, she realized different.”

Jim stared at Smith’s face. “Are you telling me you didn’t—
”

Smith leaned back, propping one ankle on a knee. “You are a bon
ehead. I was never even in the running. Do you think I’d pass on someone like her if I had an invitation?”

Jim put a hand to his forehead. “But you took her out. You went i
nside. You were there over two hours.”

Smith stood, his eyes narrowed. “Sit down, Donovan. You’re looking wobbly.”

Jim sat and stared at the floor.

Smith’s voice sounded amused. “You were watching her house? You really are pathetic!”

Jim looked up, scowling. “She’s got a stalker after her—he’s been getting more aggressive. I knew she’d be out with you. I was watching the house, hoping maybe I’d see him, not trying to spy on her.”

Smith forehead creased. “Is she scared?”

“What do you think? Yes, she’s scared. I’ve been staying with her—the guy’s a nut case. It isn’t safe for her to be alone.”

Now Smith frowned, and his eyes were troubled.

Jim glared at him. “What?”

“I walked off and left her alone Saturday night. She never said a word. Did she know you were there?”

“Hell, no. There was no reason to tell her.”

The two men stared at one another for a moment. Smith broke the silence.

“Donovan, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Jim thought of what he’d said to Sally the night before…of what he’d done. He shook his head. “Man, you don’t know the half of it.”

Sally’s front doorbell rang. She looked at Tyler, sitting on the couch manipulating the game remote as he negotiated the obstacle course displayed on the television screen. She went to the set and turned the volume all the way up. He didn’t seem to notice. Then she closed the door between the entryway and the living room.

As she’d expected, it was Jim. He’d been calling her cell phone all a
fternoon. She hadn’t answered once. Finally, she’d simply turned the phone off. Now he stood on her doorstep ringing the bell. As she stepped toward the door she saw him looking at her through the three tiny windows stair-stepped across the top half. He waited for her to throw back the bolt. Instead, she put her face close to the glass and spoke through the door. “Go away!”

He didn’t move. “Sally, open the door. It’s not safe for you to be alone.”

“It’s safer than letting you in.” She saw him wince as the shaft drove home.

“I won’t touch you. I promise. Let me in. We have to talk.” He looked like he was in pain.

Good. He deserved to be in pain. There was no way he was coming near her ever again. She was done with men, done with sex. Look at all the trouble it caused. “Go away. We don’t need you here.”