A Love to Call Her Own (27 page)

I have a tendency to act on impulse,
she'd told him that night in the gazebo behind the courthouse. It was natural that at times he wanted from her a thoughtful answer, just as there would be times when she would be pleased with a totally impulsive response from him.

After a moment, she pulled his hand away. “For as long as I can remember, I've had issues. When your own parents don't love you, you get some warped ideas. And Aaron's death…Feeling like I didn't deserve to live and—and things. I think I have all the family stuff way behind me, then out of nowhere, I get this yearning for the relationship we never had. Carly says I beat myself up too much, so I'm focusing on not focusing on all the messes I've made, but—”

Chuckling, Dalton interrupted, “Impulsive answers have their place sometimes.”

She fixed her gaze on his face, and automatically her mouth turned up in a smile. “Seeing you makes me happy. Spending time with you, hanging out with my girls, working at the animal shelter, taking care of Oliver and the other animals, knowing that I can make someone's day better just by being in it, even if it is a stray dog…”

Her chest tightened as she realized she'd told the gospel truth. All those things did make her happy—not just content, not just helped her through the day, but filled her with happiness. Like Carly had told her, she was blessed.

Laying her palm against his cheek, she murmured, “Yes, I'm happy. Let me tell you what else would make me happy right now.”

Wiggling her butt against his lap, she whispered the words into his ear, going into enough detail to steal the breath from his lungs and to make his heart stutter as the swelling of his erection commandeered blood flow that should have gone to his brain.

He pushed to his feet, his hands cradling her butt, and he reached the door in a couple long strides. Jessy opened the screen, then called for Oz. The dog streaked through the shadows, leapt onto the porch and inside the house, panting and heading for his water dish. His master was also panting but headed straight up the stairs to the bedroom. They slipped out of their clothes, shoved aside the mussed covers, and with a string of unused condoms trailing across the sheet, they proceeded to make each other very happy, indeed.

A
fter work Tuesday, Jessy opted to drive her car to The Three Amigos for dinner. Sure, the girls would tease, but it had been a long couple days…and a busy couple nights. She smiled at the memories as she climbed out of her car in the parking lot outside the restaurant and sighed contentedly.

It was hard to believe she'd been afraid of sober sex. Hell, it was the best thing ever invented. Of course, the man she was sober with made a huge freaking difference.

As she approached the patio, Marti gave her a brows-raised stare. “You drove. I can't remember you ever driving. Can you, Lucy?”

“Nope,” Lucy agreed, and Fia added, “Me, either.”

“I walked to work this morning, I walked seven dogs—long walks—and then I walked home. Even my toenails are tired. Hey,
Mamacita
.” She sank into the chair next to Ilena, then bent toward her belly. “John, aren't you ready to make an appearance in this world? Your mama needs to be able to see her feet so she knows when her shoes don't match, but right now, you're kinda in the way.”

“My shoes don't match?” Ilena wailed. She twisted to the left, then the right. “Oh, my gosh, my shoes don't match! I wore these to work!”

“Relax, doll. One's navy blue, and the other's red-and-white stripes.” Bennie popped a chip in her mouth. “You're being patriotic. Besides, you know how the kids wear mismatched socks. Maybe you'll start a trend of mismatched shoes.”

“I'll tell you, I'm ready to get this little guy born. My house is a mess. If I drop something, it just stays where it landed because I can't bend that far. I haven't made my bed in a month, and I shave my legs blind because I'm not going into the delivery room with hairy legs. It's a wonder I haven't bled to death yet.”

“Poor baby,” Lucy said, and Therese and Fia joined in. “Poor, poor baby.”

After the laughter faded, Jessy said, “I'll come over tomorrow after work and pick up everything you've dropped. I'll even change your sheets and make your bed and make sure all your shoes are lined up together in matching pairs.” When everyone's gaze turned her way, she scowled. “Hey, I clean house.”

“We know,” Therese said. “But only because you hate clutter more than you hate housework.”

Jessy gestured to Ilena's belly. “Special circumstances.”

“Do you clean the cowboy's house?” A sly grin lit Bennie's face.

“I help with the dishes and make the—” As their expressions turned to smug delight, she narrowed her gaze again. “You guys were talking about me before I got here, weren't you?”

“We were just placing bets on how big you'd be smiling.”

She'd better be smiling real big when we see her again, cowboy,
Bennie had called out when they'd left the church Saturday.

She could ignore them, if they were in a being-ignored sort of mood, which they never were. She could inform them that her sex life was private, but that would make them laugh too hard.
Nothing
in their world was totally private. It was one of the things she loved about them.

Instead, she smiled. Bigger. Wider. When her mouth stretched as far as it could, she used her fingers to force it farther.

The dolls sighed, some of them melodramatically. “Was it wonderful?” Marti asked wistfully.

She opened her mouth to respond with equal melodrama, but the words that came out were quiet, simple truth. “It was incredible.”

Fia fanned herself with a menu. “That does it, girls. We have got to get ourselves some boyfriends. We're too young to be giving up sex.”

“You work around hard bodies at the gym all day,” Marti pointed out. “Haven't you seen at least one you're attracted to?”

Fia shook her head. “A gorgeous body isn't everything.”

“No, but it's a start.” Bennie punctuated the words with her own menu fan.

“I—” Lucy glanced around the group and flushed. “I've met someone. You guys have met him, too. Ben Noble, Patricia's son.”

Self-consciously she ran her finger along the rim of her glass—iced tea, Jessy realized. There wasn't a margarita on the table. The fact that her girls had given up their trademark drinks in support of her efforts at sobriety made her choke up, and her vision went blurry.

Must be pollen in the air.

All the little voices in her head snorted.

“We went to dinner at Luca's on Saturday night,” Lucy went on, “and this Saturday we're going to the Drillers game.”

There were
oohs
and
ahs
, then Ilena asked, “Do you like baseball?”

“No…but…I like Ben.” The last came out in a soft voice loaded with insecurities.

Jessy knew Lucy well enough to know the taunts the little voices in
her
head were throwing at her:
He's gorgeous. You're plain. He's a doctor. You're a secretary to a doctor. He makes a boatload of money. You get by. He's got a great body. You're fat. Guys like him don't fall for women like you.
She wanted to wrap her arms around Lucy and assure her that guys like Ben
did
fall for women like her. What else would explain why Dalton had fallen for Jessy?

Though she didn't know what would come of it, if it was a short-term thing or if he had something more in mind. She was afraid to admit even to herself that she wanted
more
. It made Realist Jessy snipe even louder than usual.
You were a horrible wife to Aaron. What makes you think you deserve another chance? Sandra never would have planned to divorce Dalton when she finally got home. Only a selfish bitch would.

“You okay?”

Startled, Jessy glanced around and saw that their food had been delivered. Therese's hand was resting lightly on her arm, her expression solemn. “Yeah. I was just…”

Something surged through her, made her stomach tumble, sent quivers along her nerves. She wanted to silence Realist Jessy—to strangle her, truthfully—but she needed help from her sisters. Quickly, before she could come to her senses, before the trembling inside her spread to the outside, she blurted out, “Can I tell you guys something?”

Everyone exchanged looks, then Ilena said, as if it was obvious, “Honey, you can tell us
any
thing.”

“Will you still love me?” Jessy managed a weak smile, hoping it covered the fear bubbling through her. Without her margarita sisters, how would she survive?

“Of course we will.” The answer came in a chorus from around the table before an expectant silence fell over them.

Her palms were sweaty, and her heart rate was pounding somewhere in the range between orgasm and imminent death. She wished she could say
Never mind
, or better yet, take back the questions. Wasn't it better to simply wonder if she was an awful person than to have it confirmed by the people who knew her best?

No, it wasn't. She had issues. While she didn't put them out there for all the world to see, like Lucy, she did keep them front and center in her mind. The opinions of people she loved and respected might help her put them to rest once and for all.

She forced a breath into her tight lungs and fixed her gaze on the flip menu on the table, showing a tall frozen margarita. One of those would help this go easier. Five would make it a breeze.

Swallowing hard to settle that sudden craving, she began haltingly, “I know every one of you loved your husbands dearly and you were devastated when they died. I loved Aaron, and I was heartbroken, too, but…I wasn't…I didn't…” She took another breath to ease the raspiness in her voice, to blurt out the words in a rush she couldn't stop. “I wasn't as happy in my marriage as you guys were. In fact, I—I intended to file for divorce after Aaron came home.”

There. She'd said it. The churning gut calmed. The tremors stopped. Good or bad, she'd done it. Now she would find out if she deserved these friends, Dalton, love, marriage—anything at all—or if she truly was the huge self-centered disappointment her parents had believed.

After a moment of stunned stillness, Leah Black rose from her chair at the far end of the table, circled around one side, and bent to hug Jessy. “Thank you,” she said, her voice heavy with relief.

“For what?” Jessy asked.

“Making me feel not so alone.” Leah hugged her again before returning to her chair. “When I first started coming here, you guys gave me so much strength and encouragement. But the more I got to know you, the more I realized that you all
adored
your husbands. You had been so happy.”

She pressed her lips together, her eyes shadowed with sadness and shame. Jessy could recognize shame from a hundred yards away and blindfolded. “Marco and I—our marriage was so far from perfect. It barely even qualified as good on occasions. We fought a lot, and there were times, especially after the war started, that I thought about divorcing him. I didn't want to argue. I didn't want to live alone month after month. I wanted to have kids and have a husband here to help raise them every single day. Don't get me wrong. I loved him. I'll always love him. But…”

She shrugged as if she couldn't find the right words, and Jessy filled them in. “It wasn't the way he wanted and needed and deserved to be loved.”

Leah nodded. “I just feel so…unworthy of you guys. Of everything. Marco expected to come back to life as usual, and I wanted to shake up that life until he couldn't even recognize it.”

This time it was Jessy nodding. She so understood.

Therese, the only founding member of the club present—damn, Jessy missed Carly—stretched hands out to each of them, her fingers warm, her grip comforting. “Do any of you remember filling out a form when you joined the club that asked you to rate how happy your marriage was, how much you loved your husband, or where you saw yourself and him in five years?”

Everyone shook their heads, of course. There'd been no such form.

“Because none of that mattered. We'd all gone through the same experiences. We'd all lost someone who was a huge part of our lives. We all needed the same support.” Therese paused. “Don't ever feel embarrassed because your marriage wasn't perfect. No marriage is. Look at mine—finding out years after he died that Paul had been unfaithful, that he'd had a daughter with a stranger while we'd put off having our own kids…But if not for Mariah, I never would have met Keegan, and that would be a much greater loss than my illusion of my perfect marriage. Good things come out of bad times, ladies. We're proof of it.”

Her vision a little blurry—damn that pollen—Jessy looked around the table, letting her gaze settle for an instant on each woman. She searched for but found no disapproval or disappointment, no judgmental looks. All she saw were the same things welling inside her. Acceptance. Affection. Love.

Her smile wobbled. “So you're not going to banish Leah and me to a table for two in the corner?”

“Of course not,” several voices chimed together. Then Ilena said, “Well, someday we probably will, but it will be for your outrageous behavior at that moment, not anything that happened before that day.” With an angelic grin, she added, “Hell, someday we'll probably be bailing you out of jail, Jess, and Fia and Marti will be right beside you shouting,
‘Hot damn, let's do it again!'
”

The tension easing from her body with an ear-to-ear grin, Jessy relaxed in her chair and drained half of her iced tea in one gulp. She very well might need bailing out of jail sometime—she'd partied a little too over-the-top a few times before and slept it off behind bars—but without booze, she rarely got that lively.

But in the event she managed, it was comforting all the way down into her soul that she would have friends with her and friends to rescue her.

Good things come out of bad times.

Amen to that.

For the second time in four days, the dusty RV rumbled along Dalton's driveway. He sat on the porch, Oz stretched out at his feet, and watched its progress and the clouds of dust trailing behind it. They needed a good rain. It was no wonder everything in his house except his bed and the kitchen table had a layer of dust on it. No point in cleaning it up inside until it settled some outside. At least, that was his excuse.

On Saturday night, when his mother had said she would talk to him later, he had assumed she would call once they got home. The conversation was one he would rather have on the phone. Her reaction had confused him and hurt Jessy, and he was liable to be more emotional about it in person than on the phone. But when her call had come a few hours ago, it had only been to let him know that they were stopping by again tonight. She wanted to talk face to face.

Great.

His dad drove past Dalton's pickup and parked near the barn, where trees cast a shadow over the RV. David was first out, offering Ramona a hand down. Both looking grim, they came to the porch and traded cautious greetings. Soon as that was over, David said, “I'm gonna go check out the Belties. One of our friends at home is interested in acquiring a couple.”

He disappeared too quickly to hear Ramona mutter, “Coward.”

She took a seat on the porch swing but kept both feet flat on the floor. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a mix of browns, silvers, and grays, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered. But then, how long had it been since he'd taken a really good look at anything?

“Noah was happy to see us,” she said after a moment. “Actually, happier to see the food I left in his freezer. You'd think one of my boys would have learned to cook
something
. Nita, next door, her grandson is a chef at some fancy hotel, and her husband would much rather fix dinner than wash dishes.”

“Neither of us has starved yet.” Dalton's tone was dry but not stiff, not ticked off.

“Of course not. It's just part of being independent. Men today cook.”