The Prodigal Valentine. Karen TempletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
weren’t for Tony’s getting out there and beating the bushes. And he loves his kids. Even if he does seem to think it’s mainly ’Nita’s job to keep them alive. Still…” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure which is worse—having our parents watch the slow, painful death of their kids’ marriage, or getting blindsided by a possible divorce announcement.”
Mercy scooped out the ice cream, carefully dropping it into the first glass of root beer. “Can I ask you something?” she asked softly.
“Like my saying ‘no’ would stop you.”
“True,” she said, a smile making a brief appearance. Another scoop of ice cream tumbled into the second glass. “Given everything you said yesterday…” Her gaze veered to his. “Why’d you come over tonight? Assuming you didn’t know the kids were here, I mean.”
She had him there. “I’m not sure. It just seemed like the thing to do.”
Again, she dipped the scoop into the carton. A glob caught on her knuckle when she drew it out; she licked it off and said, “Should I leave it at that?”
“I’d be immensely grateful if you would.”
A low laugh rumbled from her throat. “Oh, admit it—” Her eyes sparkling with laughter, she leaned close and whispered, “I’m the flame and you’re nothin’ but a big old horny moth.”
He met her gaze steadily, fearlessly. “You’re dripping.”
She flinched. “What?”
“The ice cream. It’s dripping.”
Swearing under her breath, she finished off the last float, then asked him to call Jacob.
A few minutes later, they woke a very drowsy Mattie to welcome in the New Year, after which Ben scooped the boneless little girl off the sofa and carried her to the twin-bedded room next to Mercy’s. A dead weight against his chest, she smelled of popcorn, chocolate, girly shampoo and Mercy’s perfume.
Mercy peeled back the covers so Ben could lay her down; she grabbed that disreputable stuffed kitty and curled onto her side, mumbling, “Love you, Uncle Ben,” and almost instantly drifted back to sleep. With a squeaked meow, Homer hopped onto the bed, forming a tight, furry knot at the small of her back.
Ben straightened, his throat constricting as he watched Mercy draw the covers up over those defenseless little shoulders, reveling in a sense of belonging he’d deliberately ignored for far too long in the name of the “bigger” picture.
Jake begged to stay up a little longer to finish his game. “Fifteen minutes,” Mercy said at her bedroom door, then continued to the living room, where she collapsed on the sofa, her toes curled on the edge of the trunk, her eyes closed.
“I should go,” Ben said. “Let you get to sleep.”
“We never got to the Baileys,” she mumbled, her eyes still shut, then yawned.
“Maybe we should save it for another time.”
Slowly—reluctantly—her eyes opened. “Another time?”
“You know what I mean.”
She laughed. “Not only do I not know what you mean, I seriously doubt you do, either. No, it’s okay,” she said, vaguely waving one hand. “No explanation necessary.” Her forehead crimped. “Bet you hadn’t banked on walking into the middle of a domestic crisis.”
“Can’t say that I did. But—” he shrugged “—that’s just part of being a family, right?”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Her eyes lowered to her knee; she stretched forward to pick off a piece of popcorn stuck to the glittery fabric, then looked back up at him. “Actually, I’m glad you came over. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk to somebody about all this stuff until there was somebody to talk to. Somebody not totally crazy, anyway. Okay, a different brand of crazy, maybe,” she said when he chuckled. Again, she leaned back, her expression speculative. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Even if we don’t…you know.”
“Yeah,” she said drowsily. “Because it was always more than that with you, too.”
Over the sudden buzzing inside his skull, Ben quickly leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “It’s good to be here,” he whispered, then let himself out.
And it was good to be back, he thought later, as he lay in the far-too-small twin bed in his old room, scratching a snoring rat-dog’s upturned belly. Even though, if it had been sanctuary he’d sought, the joke was on him. Between leftover issues from the past and a heap of fresh ones from the present, he hadn’t exactly walked back into a fifties sitcom.
Nor would he have ever believed how quickly a couple of kisses, and a conversation or two could bring the past rear-ending into the present. But apparently he’d carried Mercy’s scent and feel and offbeat sense of humor with him, inside him, all these years like an old photograph. And worn and faded and cracked though it might be, all it took was a single glance to turn memories back into reality.
To turn “What if?” into “What now?”
Chapter Four
The week following New Year’s passed uneventfully enough, Mercy supposed. Decorations came down and got put away, and life returned to its usual post-holiday stuttering, sluggish semblance of normalcy. Mercy sometimes saw Ben coming out of his parents’ house, and they’d wave and say “How’s it going?” and the other one would say, “Fine, you?” but that was pretty much the extent of their interaction.
All things considered, probably a good thing, she mused as she leaned heavily against one of the shop’s glass counters, her head braced in one palm, morosely leafing through a display catalog. Since Ben—despite his showing up on her doorstep on New Year’s Eve in a cloud of super-saturated testosterone—still clearly wasn’t interested in starting something nobody had any intention of finishing. Nor, apparently, in a friends-with-benefits scenario.
She slapped to the next page. So why, exactly, was she morose again?
Other than the fact that it had been far too long since she’d gotten naked with anybody, that is. Or that, now that she’d done the kissy-face thing with Ben, Ben was the only “anybody” she cared to get naked with.
Sometimes, life was just plain cruel.
The bell over the door jingled. Mercy glanced up as a young mother with two very small boys in tow pushed her way inside. “Timmy, stay with me,” the mother said to the older boy, an adorable curly-headed blond, then smiled her thanks when their part-timer, Trish, helped the mother settle her youngest into a collapsible stroller before leading them back to the baby and toddler section.
“So what do you think?” said Cass, one of Mercy’s partners, leaning her tall, Eddie Bauer-ified frame against the case. Cotton sweater, cord skirt, shades of beige. Her feathery blond hair swept over her shoulders when she pointed to one of the photos. “Those heart-shaped balloons would look great tied in bunches in the centers of the displays, wouldn’t they? We could give them away to the kids when they came in.”
“Valentine’s Day sucks,” Mercy muttered, slapping down the next page.
“Hey. You’ve been grumpy all week. What gives?”
“PMS?” Mercy said without looking up.
“Nope, your chocolate binge was two weeks ago. Try again.”
“Yeesh, you keeping track of my cycles now or what? So I’m just in a weird, rotten mood, okay? And sure, the balloons are fine.” She flipped another page, keeping half an eye out for the little blond dude, who’d wandered back out to the front and was now holding a low, intense conversation with a panda bear in the stuffed animal display.
“And how about,” Cass said, “a bunch of large foil hearts on the wall behind