C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (34 page)

They drew up short. “Margaret Stone, may I introduce Eddie C Samuels. Charles, this is Mrs. Stone, the counselor.”

“Margaret.” He went right for the familiar, reaching for her hands and taking one of them gently between his own. “I don’t believe you were here this afternoon when we rehearsed, but I think you’re in for a homecoming dance to remember.”

Margaret seemed at a loss for words, a first as far as Jemma knew. C’s first-strike had taken the vocabulary right out of her.

“I, ah, I heard it went well.” She gazed up at him with the same expression Carolyn had had two weeks ago. Jemma shot him a sideways glance. What pheromones did he exude?

C released the counselor’s hand. “Jemma and I were just going to check in with the deejay. I don’t suppose you’ve seen T?”

“I, ah, I think he’s over at the stadium.”
Were Margaret’s eyes crossing?
Jemma blinked to be sure. “The, ah, the deejay’s over there.” She waved vaguely in his direction.

“Thank you. We’ll check in later.” C took Jemma’s arm and propelled her in the opposite direction from Margaret.

“How did you do that? How did you get that ol’ girl to look at you like she was sixteen and you were about to give her her first kiss?”

He laughed softly. “Samuels magic. One look—” he snapped his fingers “—and they’re goners. Except you. For you it took more than a look.”

“Am I to be pleased?”

“Well, it does put you among the very special few.”

Jemma wandered away while C and the deejay went over what they’d discussed that afternoon. She unfolded a chair from against the gym wall and sat down, observed the few adults mingling, the kids of the dance committee coming in and rechecking the last minute details. Music started, something heavy in drums, something pulsing with a rhythm C had wanted because she watched his foot tap, his shoulders and hips sway. She doubted he even knew he was doing it. She was pleased to watch him, to see him be at ease. He was in his element, back where he could be in charge, be the expert.

She was glad she hadn’t shared the conversation she and Fletch had had that morning, glad that she’d kept it to herself, added it to the pile of things to forget once she was in C’s arms again tonight. The tote she’d left in the back of his rental was a little more complete than it had been last night. Having once made up her mind to enjoy this time with him, she’d spent the major part of the afternoon contemplating the diverging paths in her particular wood. One, tomorrow she would offer to buy Norm’s place and if Charles happened to come with it, so much the better. Two, Fletch notwithstanding, she didn’t expect marriage but certainly wouldn’t turn it down. There were big blank spaces in her life, and Eddie C was proving to be the key that filled them.

She knew she could fulfill him, too, penetrate into his blank places until they no longer existed. As unlikely as it seemed, they’d met their respective matches.

Her mother, her business, her life in Jinks, Texas, be damned! Jemma would follow the man now coming toward her anywhere.

***

Jemma beamed up at him and the energy that C felt from the increasing musical rhythms heightened with the warmth of her smile. Surely there was a back room he could take her to—a coach’s office, the band director’s? Once the door closed behind them, it wouldn’t take long. Two pairs of slacks to unzip, one set of panties to drop—
sheesh!
—he couldn’t dance with the homecoming court if he didn’t get rid of this hard-on! He squatted on the floor beside her, took her fingers in his hand, kissed them and didn’t care who saw.

“I’ve got an emergency case of the hots, lady. Help me out?”

She laughed at him and spoke in a soft voice that caressed his ears and only made his bad situation worse. “The john’s down the hall. Doubt you’ll be the first male in there in that condition.”

“I told you we should have skipped supper and gone to Norm’s.”

“And then you wouldn’t have had this
little
problem?”

“One, it’s not little, and two, it just wouldn’t have been so urgent.”

“Think cold thoughts.” She pulled her hands from his. “Shall I get you some punch? They’ve just brought out the ice ring.”

“You know,” he said as he stood and straightened, stretched, “I think women have a perverse streak that men just can’t touch.” He held out his hand to her. “C’mon, let’s dance. Game must be over, kids are trickling in and I’ve got to move or bust.”

He spun his hand in the air, a signal he and the deejay had worked out to assure a BCA cut. He twirled Jemma around and set out to prove that the rhythm extended to his feet as well as his hands and heart.

She’d been holding out on him, not that he’d asked if she could dance, not that in the long run it mattered. But she relaxed into his style, followed his lead as easily on the dance floor as she did in bed.

There was no sitting around waiting to be first to dance. As the kids arrived, the party started immediately. C caught sight of Fletch as he trailed in behind T and Lyla. Now there was an explosion he was proud to say he helped start: Fletch had gone ballistic when he’d heard the evening’s plans. How dare they appear somewhere without a contract? They’d better not lift one little finger at so much as a guitar… It had taken T and Lyla twenty minutes to calm him down. C had just sat at the kitchen table and finished off the afternoon’s cookies. Sometimes, life was good.

Now he saw Lyla shake her head at the obvious question: no, she wouldn’t dance. But all was right with C’s world, so he decided to be generous, walked an out-of-breath Jemma to the deejay, suggested another song, one that Lyla couldn’t refuse his brother.

“You actually have a sweet streak.” Jemma moved her cheek against his as he held her for the slow tune. He wanted his hands to roam down her back to her hips, encase them and pull them against him, but there was no sense in setting a bad example. Not that the under-eighteen crowd hadn’t already thought of it, if the few he could see were any clue.

“Thought she might like to dance to it. Simple courtesy. I’m not sweet.” But she kissed his neck, just a peck, and he was glad “For You, Love” was spinning. T winked at him as they danced by.

Content. At this very moment, he was content with himself, with his life. How boring would he have thought it two weeks ago? Here he was on the menu like the Christmas turkey, all set to spin a gaggle of teenage girls around and into the arms of their waiting escorts when he’d rather be spinning a certain woman into the middle of his bed. But this was making her happy and for once he wanted to make someone else happier than he wanted to make himself.

Could this possibly be what T had meant by being freed by Lyla’s love?

The dance ended and was followed immediately by rap rhythms.

“Don’t even think about me dancing to that!” Jemma held up a finger. “It’s way beyond my expertise!”

“Truth be known, mine, too.” He looked around the crowd. “There’s T and Fletch over at the punch. Thirsty?”

She nodded and they wended their way through the crowd. “Have you seen Mandy?” Jemma asked as they reached the refreshment table.

Lyla sipped from the waxed paper cup. “Yeah, and she was looking for you. Making sure you got here.”

“We’re reversing roles. She’s thinking she’s the more mature, the one with more experience right now.”

“Better hope not,” C whispered to her. “I’d hate to think—” she deliberately stepped on his toe.

“There she is.” Jemma raised her eyebrows and nodded in the general direction of the center of the gym floor.

Mandy’s escort belonged to the rhythmically-challenged, and C had to smile at the girl’s antics as she tried to bring him up to speed. She bounced and shook her head and tried to make him move his arms like she wanted him to. She tossed her hair and put her hands on her hips in an act of mock-disgust. She pointed her finger at him and said something that made him burst into a smile.

And made C’s heart stop. That wasn’t just Mandy out on the dance floor, explaining and cajoling and about to prove her point to a young man. That was Jemma.

Jemma’s image.

Jemma’s child.

He caught his breath, remembered last night’s conversation. Certainly she knew what had happened to her daughter, was able to keep up with her, knew she had her nose. Jemma had lied to him. Again.

And no one knew? No one but the inner-circle players? He looked from Jemma to Mandy and back again. Their relationship was quite literally written all over their faces, their bodies. The girl’s coloring was different, and maybe that was how in a town with so few secrets, they’d managed to get by with one for a lifetime.

This was an issue that wouldn’t wait to be resolved until they got to Norm’s at one or two in the morning. This was an issue for the here, the now. C took Jemma abruptly by the arm and wordlessly steered her to the hall.

Chapter Thirty

“C
harles, you’re hurting my arm!” Jemma tried to dig in her heels and move no more once they were in the hall, but he had a death-grip above her elbow and his momentum was such that they weren’t stopping until he was ready to. There was a chain wall for security just up ahead, but Jemma was doubtful even that would stop him. At least, there were no loiterers in the hall. The excitement brought on by the rock music kingdom’s first-line duo was keeping everyone in the gym.

He stopped at the chain, muttered a curse, increased his grip and dragged her into the adjacent girls’ room.

“Are you nuts?” she asked. He let go of her and opened each of the stall doors until he was satisfied they were alone. He pushed her back against the main door and held her there, an outstretched arm on either side of her head and a knee poised to dive between her legs. “Charles, this isn’t funny. And if you think I’m having sex with you—”

“Shut up, Jemma. And this is far, far from sex.”

She quieted, bit her lip. His face was red, the blue eyes that had warmed to her in the last week now icy cold again. There was no depth to them, no shadow. Images slid off.

“Okay. What is this?” She took a deep breath. She knew this temper of his existed, had seen glimpses of it, heard tales. She didn’t like being on the receiving end, but better now than later. If she survived until later. The muscles in his arms were bunched and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight him off, no matter what he had in mind.

“You lied to me.”

“Pardon?”

“Lied, Jemma. You lied. Again.”

“Weren’t we just having pleasant conversation with your family? Just dancing? What was a lie there?”

“Not then. Last night. You lied last night.” He was catching his breath and the red was receding from his face. He was still angry, she could tell that, but he was gaining control of himself.

“About what?”

“Don’t you mean who?” He straightened and let his arms slide down the wall, hang at his sides. He leaned against the wall that hid the view of the girls’ room from the hall when the door was open.

“I’m not following you, Charles.”

“Mandy. She’s your daughter, the child you gave up. Gave up to your brother. That was the man who kissed her forehead and swore to raise her like his own.”

The breath left Jemma. How had a stranger been able to figure out what friends had not? She fell back on a lifetime of training. Mandy’s security was worth more than anything else.

Anyone else.

“No, you’re wrong. She’s James Thomas’s child. Doree’s child.”

“On paper, Jemma. Only on paper. She’s your clone.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he were bottling up the emotions and anger. “Don’t insult what I can see.”

She shook her head, tried to make light of it. “You’re mistaken. The family resemblance is legendary. It just passes generation to generation. You should see the picture of my grandmother and me when I’m five. It’s frightening really. Like the Y-chromosome doesn’t exist for us!”

“No, Jemma. No.” He pinched his lips together. “Don’t do this. Don’t lie. I mean, I understand up until this point. I don’t like it you lied, but I understand. You’re protecting her. That’s all you’ve ever done and that’s what mothers do. Real mothers. They protect their children from harm, from hurtful words, from malicious gossips. But I mean her no harm, no hurt. Just tell me she’s yours and it goes no farther than me.”

Voices broke through to them. People were coming down the hall to the restroom. There was nowhere or way to hide.

Jemma turned just as the footsteps paused on the other side. She flung open the door and dove out into the small group of girls. She startled them and C’s coming right after her totally disrupted their conversation. They gasped and shrieked, but she had no time now to think of her needs, her reputation. She couldn’t stay here.

She went to find Lyla and a ride home.

***

C knocked on the driver’s window of the aged Ford Bronco and then leaned his back against the door. The vehicle had seen better days and it was his guess it had been handed down through more than a few teenage boys in the family. Now the windows were fogged and the voices that came from inside it were more giggle than anything else. Mandy and her inept dancing partner were doing a little post-party necking in front of Grandma Jessie’s house. He wasn’t exactly the purity police, but by God, there were priorities and Miss Homecoming Duchess getting laid in the front seat wasn’t one of them.

He knocked again and checked his watch. One in the morning. He had just lived the longest two hours in his life. He thought they’d never get the Court introduced and spun away, their one duet Fletch had agreed to, performed. His mouth had been set in a concrete-smile the entire time. The glare Lyla gave him upon her return only served to further set his teeth on edge. Had Jemma told her the truth? No, he knew she hadn’t. She hadn’t had to tell Lyla anything. His sister-in-law figured he was as close to scum of the earth as it came.

The window rolled down about an inch as the Bronco’s occupants assessed who it was that was disturbing them. Then it rolled down completely. “Eddie C?” The male voice was a bit unsure.