A Promise at Bluebell Hill (24 page)

She ended up working a half hour later than she'd meant to, and the sun had already dropped behind the mountains as she drove the few blocks home. When she arrived, she hurried up the walk, glancing at all the cars lining the street. Since the president's arrival, everyone in Valentine Valley had to park in their driveways because the side streets were full of tourists parallel parking.

Inside the house, it seemed strangely quiet, but as she moved into the kitchen, she could hear the sound of her sister's voice on the back deck. She slid wide the sliding glass doors and made her entrance.

“I'm sorry, I know I'm late but—­” Her voice faded as she frowned. The men were nowhere in sight.

Her mom stood at the grill, where hot dogs and hamburgers were sizzling, and Missy was laying out macaroni salad and a veggie tray on the picnic table. Shadows darkened the back lawn, although white columbines marked the landscaped gardens.

“Hi, baby girl,” Janet called, smiling at her over her shoulder.

She seemed relaxed and happy, and Monica couldn't resist answering with a tired grin. “Hey, Mom, I thought I'd find you guys already eating.”

“No, the men had stuff to do in the garage,” Missy said, shaking her head as she unloaded condiments from a tray.

“That old Mustang.” Janet's voice sounded good-­natured rather than resentful.

Monica widened her eyes at Missy, who only shrugged.

They heard deep voices coming through the kitchen window.

“Wash your hands before you come out,” Janet called. “Dinner's ready!”

Monica was standing near the grill, holding a platter for her mom to pile the grilled meat, when the back door slid open again. She glanced over her shoulder, smiling—­and saw Travis coming out between Dom and their dad, his short auburn hair more chestnut than red in the twilight.

She knew her mouth dropped open, and she saw Missy do a double take at her expression. Janet just hummed and acted like she hadn't exploded a bomb over her daughter's head.

“Travis was right,” her dad said, clapping him on the back. “The rattle under the hood was because I left the wing nut on top of the filter cover. Who knew Secret Ser­vice agents had time to work on cars?”

“Not so much lately,” Travis answered, grabbing the beer he'd obviously left on a side table and taking a swig. “Which is why I'm okay on an old Mustang, rather than a newer car.”

And then he smiled at Monica, a broad, happy, almost intimate smile, as if everyone here knew what they'd recently begun to mean to each other and they were just fine with it.

Not her, of course—­her stomach was tight with nerves and sudden tension. Why had he accepted her mom's invitation?

Oh, she knew why, she realized, even as he came toward her across the deck, all handsome in a buttoned-­down checked shirt and jeans. He wanted to make things up to her, to prove he wasn't the jerk he'd come across as.

But it was pretty jerky of him not to warn her he'd been invited. But then again, her sneaky mom might have told him Monica knew. And then to her surprise, he kissed her cheek, and she barely withheld a gasp of astonishment.

“Can I get you something to drink, Monica?” he asked, as if he was so comfortable with her family he could speak for them.

How long had he been here waiting for her?

“Uh, I . . .” And then the words simply died.

Dom smirked good-­naturedly, and Missy was obviously trying hard not to laugh at her.

“I've already poured her an iced tea,” Missy said. “Come on and sit down, Travis.”

“I—­I need to change,” Monica said, heading for the door. “I'll be right back. Just start without me.”

“You look fine,” Ben called. “Let's eat.”

“Well, I should at least wash my hands,” she said with exasperation, then fled inside.

Missy followed her, and they both ducked into the kitchen and peered out the window to the deck.

“What the hell is happening?” Monica demanded in a furious whisper.

“I thought Mom was just being polite, inviting the guy you've hung out with, but the look on your face . . . so you didn't know a thing?”

Monica shook her head, then washed her hands absently at the sink, listening to the laughter float through the backyard.

“He's a really nice guy,” Missy said lamely. “And he knows about cars.”

“I didn't know that,” Monica grumbled. “So he and Dad were okay when they met?”

“Dom introduced them like Travis was some kind of national hero.”

“Well, he sort of is,” Monica admitted, sneaking another glance out the window. “He helped save the last president in Afghanistan—­not that he'll talk about it.”

“Oh,” Missy said with interest. “Even I didn't hear about that.”

Travis was sitting at the glass-­top patio table, gesturing with his hands as he regaled her parents and Dom with a story. He looked so relaxed, so at ease, so . . . at home. The tiny flame of hope she'd been nurturing suddenly blazed a little higher. He said he didn't want to end their relationship, and now here he was, schmoozing with her family. Could she actually believe him?

“We should get out there,” Missy urged halfheartedly.

“One more question. What did Mom or Dom tell Dad about Travis and me?”

“They both said you and Travis had hit it off, and he didn't deny it. Dad seemed fine with it, national hero and all.”

Monica took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

“And you thought you couldn't because . . .”

Monica spoke low and urgent and too fast. “Because maybe I'm falling in love with him, and there's no maybe about the fact that he behaved badly although he claims a good excuse, and he apologized, and—­”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Missy put up both hands. “So I don't have to ask him to leave to defend your honor?”

Monica chuckled, forcing her shoulders to relax. “I guess not.”

“Girls!” Ben called. “We're starving!”

Missy put her arm around Monica's shoulder and led her to the door. “Then let's just see how it goes, okay? Color me intrigued.”

Monica gave Travis a perfunctory smile as she sat down in the chair beside him. While she'd been gone, her dad had lit torches around the deck, and the flickering light caused shadows on their animated faces. It was surreal and strange all at once.

“So tomorrow's the big day,” Ben said, as he loaded his burger with tomatoes and lettuce.

Monica stiffened and exchanged a frown with Janet.

“You know, the Double Ds' event?” he continued, looking at Missy's stunned expression. “Come on, Travis already knows something's happening.”

“Sure,” Travis said, “but the Double Ds? Isn't that . . .” He trailed off awkwardly.

“A woman's bra size?” Dom said dryly as he scooped macaroni salad on his plate. “You bet. But then the widows seem to have a thing for bras.”

“It stands for Dig Defenders,” Monica said archly. “And no, I didn't come up with it.”

“Like I said, the widows.” Dom leaned toward Travis and spoke conspiratorially. “Do you know what a bra tree is?”

Travis swallowed the carrot he'd been chomping. “Those crazy trees beneath a chair lift, where ­people drop stuff on them?”

“Not just stuff—­bras,” Dom said patiently. “The widows got it into their heads to use a bra tree last year to demonstrate on behalf of Whitney's Leather and Lace—­”

“Against the porn charges,” Travis interrupted.

Janet grinned. “You're up on your Valentine Valley history already.”

“Anyway,” Dom continued, “they tossed their bras into the tree right in front of town hall.” He glanced at Monica. “And they weren't the only ones . . .”

“Whitney needed my support,” Monica said firmly.

Travis's smile grew wide, and she felt her face heat. Why couldn't he be all solemn and stoic right
now
?

And why did she have to really like this hidden side of him, the side only she'd been able to see—­or so she thought. Apparently, he'd included her family in the inner circle, and she felt . . . touched.

“Just like the widows need our support now,” Janet added.

“How about if we eat rather than talk about this?” Monica asked brightly.

She thought for sure Travis would want to continue the conversation, but he bit into his hamburger and chewed with relish.

“Delicious, Mrs. Shaw,” he said after he'd swallowed.

“It's just a hamburger,” Missy teased. “I don't know about you, but when I'm on the road, I eat too many of them.”

“But not home-­cooked,” Travis pointed out. He studied his hamburger as if he were about to fill out a judging form. “And isn't there cheese cooked
inside
this burger? That makes it.”

Janet beamed.

“You know, Monica once had this boyfriend,” Dom began.

“Hey!” Monica knew exactly where he was going. “We don't need to go there.”

“I don't mind,” Travis said earnestly. “We need to support family history, after all. What about Monica's boyfriend?”

She kicked sideways under the table, but missed his foot. “You cannot be curious about the men I used to date.”

“Sure I am.”

Her dad looked between them with happy interest, as if they were putting on a show. Monica hadn't seen him look so relaxed in . . . well, in a long time, she realized. Then she looked at her mom, and wondered if this little drama was distracting them both, making them realize how important family was—­

Not that Travis was family, she hastily assured herself. But she was all flushed again, and looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and he was looking at her . . .

“Your boyfriend?” Travis urged with way too much interest.

Dom grinned. “He was a chef who specialized in—­get this—­hamburgers.”

“
Gourmet
burgers,” Monica said, nose in the air. “And he was a nice guy—­friendly, outgoing, artistic.”

“Seems like you're describing yourself,” Travis said smoothly. “Didn't dating someone just like you get a little boring?”

Dom laughed aloud. “He
was
boring.”

“Hey!” Monica shot back.

“Surely there were other guys over the years,” Travis said, leaning back as he sipped his beer.

“You make it sound like millennia have passed during my adulthood. There haven't been all that many guys. And why are you all that interested?”

His smile was light and endearing. “Because I'm interested in you.”

Dom snorted, her parents smiled at each other, and Travis captured her with those blue eyes. God, he was up front and obvious. She wanted to be offended, especially since she still wasn't sure she forgave him.

“If you're interested in my sister,” Dom said, “then let me tell you about the string of men she's left in her wake.”

“Dominic!” Monica said sharply.

“It's okay,” Travis said. “I don't need to hear it. I imagine all those idiots are kicking themselves about now anyway.”

Dom winced, then smiled at Monica as he told Travis, “You're ruining the fun, you know.”

“No, I just understand how they feel.”

“Another burger, Travis?” Janet asked gently, as if he'd just complimented Monica with romance instead of a buried apology.

Travis held out his plate. As they all ate, the conversation lightly skimmed the presidential wedding, but no one asked too many questions, as if it was silently understood that Travis was off duty. He had opinions about things as varied as politics and sports when asked, but he didn't dominate a conversation. Monica felt like he let her family shine, like he was simply, honestly, enjoying himself. It took all of her control to keep from looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

Later, when her family proposed a Trivial Pursuit challenge, he joined right in on her mother's team, full of military and geography knowledge. It was hard for her to even concentrate, the way he openly laughed and seemed so at ease and normal.

Like he was hers.

By the end of the evening, she was starting to wonder how disappointed her family would be if things
didn't
work out with Travis.

When it was time for him to leave, they stood in the front hall alone while her family remained in the kitchen.

Travis gestured toward the back of the house with his head. “You're very lucky. I really like them all.”

“Thanks. But you have to be used to families—­you have more siblings than I do. And in-­laws, too. I think that's why you were good with mine.”

“You thought I was good?” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Well, I'm not about to lie,” she said huskily. “You must get along with your family really well.”

“I do. I don't see them enough, lately only at Christmas and once in the summer, but it's like no time has passed. Your family . . . they made me feel comfortable, not like an outsider. It's rare I feel that way, except back home.”

And then he stared at her for so long, she became mildly uncomfortable.

“What's wrong?” she demanded.

“I'm just thinking of you with other guys. Dom seemed to imply there was a huge list.”

“Hardly. Only two lasted more than six months.”

“You must want me to shut up about it. After all, I have an ex-­wife.”

“Was she your only serious relationship?”

He nodded. “When I was in the Marines, I was too conscious of the risks of my job.”

“And you were protecting any potential woman from getting hurt by whatever happened to you,” she said softly.

“Maybe.” He reached and tugged a curl above her ear. “There are some who would say I worry too much. So what happened with those two guys?”

They weren't you.
But she didn't say those words aloud, only gave an embarrassed shrug, and said, “I think I was waiting for it to feel right.”