Chapter 8 #2
On the way home, she kept staring in the rearview mirror, scarcely able to believe that the person looking back at her was the same one who had left her house this morning. This person looked sophisticated and ready to take on the world.
A smile curved her lips as she released the tension from her shoulders.
She was damned if she was going to feel guilty about doing something for herself for once.
She had nothing to be sorry for. She gave to the poor and needy on a regular basis.
She had been a good girl growing up, always staying just clear of the line, never crossing it.
She had been obedient, always going where people, mostly her parents, pointed. Never once objecting.
Her righteous thoughts screeched to a halt when she turned into her driveway and saw the familiar vehicle. The idea of turning back out occurred to her and was dismissed instantly.
Part of the new Kara was not running away from anything or anyone.
Taking a deep breath, she alighted and waited until William did the same. She saw when he noticed the changes. Blank shock had him going still, his eyes wide as he stared at her.
"William." Ignoring his expression, she opened the back to retrieve some of the many packages. "Would you mind helping me with these?"
He moved then, slowly, circling the vehicle, until he was standing next to her. "I went to your place of work, and they said you left with your boss hours ago. I also tried your phone. What the devil have you done to yourself?"
"I improved the old me."
His frown was disapproving. Major surprise. "What was wrong with the old you?"
"Too boring." She thrust some packages into his hands and reached in for more.
"How much did you spend?"
Her perfectly arched brows lifted. "That's none of your business. It's my money." She sailed past him, leaving him to follow behind.
There were several packages in front of the door as well. Turning off the alarm, she made several trips back and forth until everything was piled on the living room floor.
It was only then she turned toward her unwelcome visitor. "How may I help you?"
"Are you wearing makeup?"
Sighing softly, Kara sat and took off her boots. His eyes were drawn to her feet, mouth tightening at the explosion of color on her toes.
"What's gotten into you?" He came to sit across from her, his face rigid. "I came here expecting an explanation for the way you behaved at the restaurant, only to see all of this." He swept an arm, encompassing the packages and herself. "Your mother and I are concerned about you-"
"There's no need. Now, if that's all, I really need to get these things upstairs and sort them out. And I need a glass of wine."
"Someone's influencing you. That's the only explanation I can find for this kind of behavior. I offered you a ring, and you threw it back at me. I'm willing to overlook what happened, and we can try to make this work." He started to reach for her, dropping his hands when she stepped back.
"We've been together too long for you to want to throw away something significant. I was hoping you would come to your senses by now and-"
"And what?" She plopped her hands on her hips, eyes militant. "Walk meekly to the altar to say, 'I do'? You have one thing right. I've come to my senses and for the first time in my life, I'm doing things my way."
He simply stared at her in genuine bewilderment. "Kara, this is not you."
"And thank God for that." Whirling, she marched out of the room and went to open the front door. "Please leave and you can tell my mother that I'm perfectly fine."
He followed but stood there. "You're going to regret this," he predicted. "When you finally come to your senses and realize the life we could have had, I won't be around waiting for you. In case you haven't noticed, there are women wanting to be with me, and I chose you."
The way he said it made it sound as if he was the star on top of the Christmas tree. Kara realized he genuinely thought he was a catch.
"Then I suggest you choose one of them. I'm no longer available." Standing aside, she waited until he had marched stiffly outside before slamming the door and locking it behind him.
Leaning against it, she pressed her hand to her quivering stomach and took several deep breaths.
Going into the kitchen, she went straight to the wine cooler and plucked out a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse. She figured she had earned the indulgence. Going back into the living room, she grabbed some of the packages and trooped upstairs.
It took several trips for her to get everything. When the last bag was collected and her bedroom looked like a shopping area gone mad, she sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace and sipped the wine.
Ignoring the glaring doubts inside her head, she stretched her legs out and relaxed. She wasn't going to allow guilt to consume her. Finishing the wine, she pushed herself off the sofa and set about putting away her stuff.
*****
The fight was unexpected and just what he needed. The group of men were from out of town and full of biting remarks about the interior of the bar, the state of the walls and just about everything.
The leader's name was Pete, and he was the first to remark on Slim's face, pointing out sarcastically that the scar running diagonally from his left cheek to his chin was an improvement to his looks.
That wouldn't have made a dent in Slim's usually sturdy and inflexible demeanor, but the man had made the comment that Slim's mother must be a saint or stupid to love a face like his.
At that, the entire room froze.
Eyes were turned toward the table where the strangers had settled, and the tension in the smoky room was as thick as the smoke hanging in the air. Tables were pushed back in anticipation. The three men got unsteadily to their feet, either foolish or having a death wish.
The leader, Pete, swung the first punch, which though wild, landed on Slim's left cheek, right where the scar was.
Zane had the bad luck to be sitting one table away. Even though he had no intention of getting involved, he was very soon caught up in the fray.
Hissing out a breath as someone landed a fist that glanced off the side of his head, he struck out automatically, his fist connecting with what felt like an iron jaw. Pain exploded and shimmered through his entire arm, making him as mad as hell.
By the time the men were bleeding piles on the floor, there were chairs and tables broken and several of the crew sporting bruises.
He was wiping the blood from his lips and wondering when the hell someone had landed that lucky punch when Paul Grant, aka 'Big Thunder,' came sauntering up.
"How the hell are you not injured?" Zane growled.
"I was smart enough to stay out of it." The man was huge, topping six five, and had tattoos snaking all over his neck, chest, and arms. His bald pate shone in the light flickering overhead. "You look like crap."
"Thanks," Zane muttered. "What the hell happened here?"
"The leader." Big Thunder pointed a scarred boot at the man trying to stagger to his feet. "He got dumped by his wife just a few hours ago. They had been drinking since that time. Anyway, it's time for you to disappear. The cops are on their way."
"Christ!" Zane passed a hand over his head and discovered there were shards of glass tangled in the strands. "Thanks."
"Any time. Take the back road. They're coming from the opposite direction."
Zane nodded and didn't need to ask how he knew where the cops were coming from. Big Thunder had his sources at the precinct and knew pretty much when a raid was about to take place. And he was right. It wouldn't do for him to get caught up in this mess.
*****
Kara sat on the side of the bed and stared at the job she had done.
It had taken all of three hours to square away everything.
One thing she had no intention of letting go of was her habit of being tidy.
She could not go to sleep knowing that there was a mess on her floor.
She was exhausted, but at least her bedroom was put to rights.
The clothes were hanging from their padded hangers, and her underwear, the delicate silk and lace, was tucked away in drawers she had cleaned out just to store them. She had to admit that she and Abigail had gone a little overboard there.
It occurred to her that there might be no one to admire how they looked on her.
It hit her then that she had gone from being involved to being single.
But had she really been involved? she mused wryly.
Yes, she had gone out with William, and it had been taken for granted that one day they would end up marrying each other.
But they had never been physically involved.
It depressed her that she had spent two odd years in a relationship that showed no future. What was worse, she had settled. She knew he wasn't in love with her and she wasn't in love with him, and allowed her mother and others to dictate her path.
Would she have gone through with the wedding? If she hadn't had that epiphany, would she have allowed herself to be led right to that church and to the altar to commit herself to a man she had not even liked?
The idea scared her right down to the bones. If she hadn't decided that enough was enough and found the courage deep down to walk away, would she have gone all the way to marriage? Wasn't that where it was headed? Pushing off the bed, she started pacing, a frown touching her brow.
Then her mood lightened. The point was that she had taken a step back before it was too late, and that was what counted. Never again would she settle for anything less than utter and complete love. And it was time to change her status. She was tired of being a twenty-eight-year-old virgin.