Chapter Fifteen
THE SCENT OF SAUTéING vegetables brought her to her senses. Reluctantly, she pulled back. “The onions and peppers will burn.” She faced the stove without looking at him.
The onions and peppers were fine, though she wasn’t. She poured the whisked eggs into the skillet, her body still feeling the warmth of his arms.
“You’ve gone through a lot. You don’t have to tell me anything. But I’m here to listen whenever you want to talk. Even ten or twenty years from now. Or fifty for that matter. You know where to find me.” He flipped over bacon that thankfully didn’t burn, either.
It seemed the only things burning here were the tips of her ears.
The few seconds of the embrace and the promise of his words made it easier to talk, to tell things she’d only told Pat. Or maybe it was the simple fact that someone cared.
She moved the concoction in the skillet with a spatula while he put the filter and coffee into the coffeepot and started it. In seconds, the wonderful aroma of brewing coffee reached her nostrils. “There’s something hopeful about making breakfast. It’s like the promise of a new day, new possibilities.” After Adam’s death, she’d stopped believing in new possibilities and stopped eating breakfast, only having a granola bar on the go sometimes.
“Beautifully said.” Laredo made her believe in new possibilities again, even if they were about to disappear like coffee fumes. “May I have your permission to use that for a song?”
She chuckled. “I’d be flattered.” One of her favorite things about cooking breakfast was all the scents awakening her senses. Only now, Laredo was also awakening her senses—ones she didn’t even know existed.
She caught herself leaning in his direction. “Let’s get the bacon on the plate.” She layered paper towels on a platter.
He moved the slices atop that. “We make a good team.”
She beamed at him again. “We do.”
Just like in previous days, they moved around the kitchen in an easy tandem. She could easily imagine a simple life like that, and longing hollowed her insides.
She suppressed a sigh. It was an impossible dream, and she knew it all too well. It would also be so easy to imagine that this making a meal together could happen again, maybe even be a mundane, everyday occurrence. No, never mundane. It sounded like bliss.
But once she left the ranch today, she’d be gone forever, and her heart constricted painfully.
They’d started setting the table when she stilled. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. My grandfather was a good man. Kind and good-natured and a joy to be around when he was sober. I remember it barely, but Grandma always said so. They loved each other very much.” She sighed. “The problem wasn’t that Grandpa didn’t love Grandma. The problem was that he couldn’t stop drinking.”
His gaze softened, and his hand reached hers over the plates. His touch sent delicious tingles along her skin and made her memories more bearable. “That must’ve been so difficult for you.” He paused but didn’t remove his hand, and she was grateful for it. “Did your mother... or father...?”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to.
“They were my maternal grandparents, and no, Mom never had any inclination for drinking. Neither did my father.” Apparently, those kinds of genes skipped a generation, but again, she didn’t mention that.
She moved back to the kitchen for the napkins and toast. That sadly meant losing his touch. Strangely enough, she still felt it even when his hand wasn’t on hers any longer. There was a phenomenon called phantom pain, but was there such a thing as a phantom touch?
“I’m sorry about your grandpa and grandma.” He sounded like he meant it.
“Thank you. I appreciate you listening.” Only she couldn’t tell him that she didn’t just mourn her past.
With much more sorrow, she mourned her future.
The one where she might have a relationship with alcohol again.
The one where she’d never have a relationship with Laredo.
While they finished making breakfast, he started singing a tune, maybe out of habit or maybe to lift her spirits, most likely both. She didn’t notice how she’d joined him in the country song she knew and loved. He had such an amazing voice that she had to force herself to move instead of stopping what she was doing, closing her eyes, and listening.
He finished singing as they brought coffee mugs to the table.
“I know you’ve heard this from many people, but I love your singing.”
“That’s because you make my heart sing.” He coughed as if he’d said too much. Pink blotches spread over his neck.
Her heart nearly stopped beating. Was that just a flowery compliment? Beautiful words like the ones in the songs he’d written? Or did he have feelings for her? The intensity with which she wanted it to be the latter scared her.
She should tell him who she really was. Tell him about her addiction. That would be the right and honest thing to do to stop him from falling for her. She turned away.
Yes, she was a coward. She couldn’t bear to see him look at her differently. Not yet.
Just a few more days of the illusion, of his kind attention. Then she’d rip out her heart and say goodbye. But not yet.
“You have a beautiful voice, too. But then, you’re beautiful in everything .” He moved a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her gasp and sending her heartbeat into overdrive. Their gazes met and held again, and he drew her in so quickly and effortlessly.
“Your face.” He brushed his fingertips against her cheek, making her lean into his caress.
“Your hair.” He touched her mousy hair that she’d always considered ordinary.
“Your eyes.” He kissed them the moment she closed them.
Unable to pull away from him any longer, she wrapped her arms around his neck blindly without opening her eyes.
“Your heart and your soul.” His hot whisper caressed her skin, causing pleasing undercurrents to swirl beneath it.
She didn’t think it was possible to touch someone’s soul, but she felt like he just had. As for her heart, it trembled as if he already had it in the palm of his hand. She was like a different person now, a new person she discovered or a new person he’d discovered for her and shown her she existed. She’d never felt like this, never known anything like this.
Initiating a kiss was way out of character for her. Yet when Adam had started pulling away from her, blaming the workload, she’d tried to kiss him a few times. He’d barely responded.
The fear of rejection brewed inside her like coffee this morning. But the desire for Laredo’s kiss overwhelmed it.
“Diana...” he whispered. Her name sounded like a question, a request, and maybe even, if it wasn’t wishful thinking, a passionate promise.
She’d never heard her name said like that. “Yes.” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it.
As much as she should take it back, she didn’t. Instead, she angled her face and drew him close. His lips brushed against hers, tentatively and carefully as if unsure whether she’d be okay with it.
She responded without thinking, without persuading herself she should pull back. She couldn’t tell him how she felt, so she’d show him. And she deepened the connection between them by deepening the kiss. Now she knew what the expression “butterflies in the stomach” meant because that’s precisely what she felt.
With sweet abandonment, she drank in his lips, drank in his kiss, drank in the hope he gave her with the thirst of a traveler lost in the desert finding water. Euphoria lightened her every cell, and she ached to keep it in, not let it escape. Maybe not the best choice of words again, but his kiss was so intoxicating, she was drunk on it.
Then the doorbell chimed. It took a few seconds for the meaning to filter through her mental fog.
Someone was at the door! She jumped back. Her emotions were out of whack. Everything in her life seemed out of whack now. And the only thing that felt oh-so right—affection for Laredo—was forbidden.
“I... I’ll open the door.” He seemed to be in the same daze she was.
But unlike her, he could talk and move. She just nodded because she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Soon cowboy boots stomped onto the hardwood floor. Meanwhile, she did her best to get her bearings and clear her head from the aftereffects of a kiss that never should’ve happened. Yet, as it filled her with so much yearning and pleasure, she had difficulty regretting it.
“Good morning!” Darius pushed back his Stetson, then lifted a brown bag. “We brought pastries.”
“Do I smell coffee and bacon and onions?” Kai sniffed the air.
“You can smell that from miles away.” Laredo sounded a bit grouchy. Then he made an effort at a smile. “Diana made an excellent omelet, and there’s enough for everyone.”
Finally, she could speak. “There’s also plenty of coffee. Please join us.” Well, it was rather a squeak, but it was progress.
“Don’t mind if we do. Thank you. We’ll be glad to do dishes and clean up as compensation.” Then Kai laughed. “But if you mean just one carafe of coffee, I might have to put on another one later. You have no idea how much these men drink .” He patted Darius on the back and pointed at Laredo.
She must’ve flinched because Kai quickly added, “I meant drink coffee, of course.”
“Of course.” Her voice was as dry as toast, much drier than she’d intended. That earned her a curious glance from Darius.
She looked away. Good thing she was leaving soon because one of the brothers—or maybe their wise mother—would guess her secret sooner or later. She’d surely slip up and give herself away.
After breakfast, she drove herself and Laredo to the dock. She checked the rearview mirror several times. Armed with rifles, Kai and Darius followed in their trucks to ensure they weren’t tailed and, if they were, to create a quick and efficient distraction. So far, there didn’t seem to be a tail.
Every time she glanced at Laredo, she caught his gaze and his smile. Each time, heat flared in her cheeks, and fire scorched her belly.
When he sang a cheerful tune in that velvety voice of his, butterflies fluttered their wings in her stomach again. She didn’t have it in her to tell him they shouldn’t have kissed and it couldn’t happen again.
As much as she wanted to, she didn’t join in his song, and her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. There would be no duet between them. The fresh scent of his aftershave was more distinctive in his truck, and he was so close but might as well be the proverbial ocean away.
If she’d led him on, she didn’t mean to. But then, she might’ve led herself on, as well.
The gorgeous view of the embankment and the sparkling ocean waves seemed to wash her consciousness in things she didn’t want to admit before.
Throughout the years, she’d told herself so many things she now knew weren’t true. Maybe she’d known even then, too.
Her grandfather would stop drinking....
Her parents loved her more than they loved their jobs....
Her father would someday appreciate her for what she was and not for what he wanted her to become....
Her husband hadn’t stopped loving her....
One more glass wouldn’t do much harm....
But if it did, it was worth it to feel whole, not broken, even if for a little while....
Now another fib joined the list. That she could hope for something with Laredo.
“We’re almost there,” she whispered. Yet so far away from what she wanted. She drew a deep breath. He needed to know. The kiss meant their relationship progressed, and it was unfair for him not to know. “I’m a recovering alcoholic.” There, she said it. She waited for derision and contempt.
Instead, his gaze softened. “What can I do to help you?”
The compassion in his voice wasn’t what she expected. She blinked and did her best to concentrate on the road. “I... I don’t know. I can’t use my grief as an excuse for my drinking problem. It started during my marriage, only I persuaded myself it wasn’t a problem. I... I was always awkward at parties, and I felt Adam was embarrassed by me. Once he brought me wine, and I didn’t want to drink it, considering my family’s history. But after a few glasses, I felt... carefree. Bubbly. Happy, even. Smiling and socializing became much easier, then. Adam later said everyone liked me. For the first time, his voice showed his pride in me. The next time he brought me wine at a party, I didn’t protest.”
“That was wrong of him.” Laredo’s voice tightened. “I mean, of course, he should be proud of you. But not encourage you to drink.”
“He kept a fully stocked bar at home, said his father did the same. He started pouring wine for me at family dinners, saying he didn’t want to drink alone.” A lump formed in her throat, and she looked at the ocean sparkling beyond the embankment. Only now, it reminded her of the sparkle of wine in a glass. The lump in her throat grew. “When I mentioned my grandfather, Adam said I wasn’t my grandfather. He said one glass was good for stress, and we both had a lot of the latter in our professions.”
“He shouldn’t have done that.” Laredo’s voice sharpened now.
“I can’t blame him.” She rubbed her eyes, making sure the truck didn’t go out of its lane like she’d done with alcohol. “I was the one who drank. And a few times after a difficult day at work when a patient died, I took off the edge with wine as we had plenty of it at home. It made me feel much better. Adam called it self-medication. Sometimes he’d give me a glass before we’d go to the party so I’d arrive there happy and smiling. But I knew I had to be sober and work an important job in the morning, so I was careful how much I drank and only drank when I knew I’d have a full night’s sleep before I had to go anywhere. After he died, I took a two-week bereavement leave. Then one day a loud knock on the door woke me. It was my best friend. Apparently, I wasn’t answering her calls, and she was about to break a window. She made me realize several bottles were gone. I panicked and called my mother.” A lump in her throat grew, preventing her from talking.
He didn’t say anything for a while, until finally, “I hope she helped you.”
“She said she was ashamed of me.” A new wave of pain sluiced through Diana. “She had a right to be.”
“No, she didn’t!”
“My best friend stayed with me for weeks, making sure I sobered up and stayed that way. I returned to my work. Two months later, long past when Pat left, I relapsed. The same cycle repeated. The third time, my parents put me in rehab. In another state, so their friends wouldn’t know what kind of daughter they had. After rehab, my best friend stayed with me for weeks again. I’ve been sober ever since, but the craving is always there. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have a constant fear of relapsing.”
At least, her grandfather had an excuse when he’d started drinking. He didn’t fully realize how it might end.
She did.