Dates And Other Nuts (13 page)

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Authors: Lori Copeland

BOOK: Dates And Other Nuts
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When Craig switched off the bedside lamp, she pretended to be asleep. The soft rustle of sheets when he got into bed grated on her raw nerves. After he'd finally settled himself, the quiet was so loud she could hear her own heartbeat.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
His voice was disturbingly male in the darkness and her nerves tightened another notch. She pretended not to hear him. She wouldn't divulge her thoughts at this moment for a million dollars.
“Come on, you're not asleep. Remember? I know you never drop right off to sleep.”
She resisted the desire to roll over. If she just ignored him...
He said nothing for a minute or two.
“Feels strange, doesn't it?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, then realized he'd caught her.
They lay in the darkness, listening to the silence. She'd never felt quite so alone.
This, Grams, is what you keep telling me about. This kind of empty no-one-loves-me alone. No wonder you keep nagging at me to find someone.
“Ever thought about us?”
His question startled her. He was reading her mind! She nearly groaned aloud with embarrassment.
“You and me?” she asked as if she'd never given it a thought.
“You and met.” His voice sounded deeply masculine... all sexy and alluring. “Ever wonder why we haven't-”
She waited for him to complete the sentence.
“Ever what?”
“Ever been like this before?”
She swallowed, wishing she could think of something clever or seductive to say. Doris Day always could. “Like what?”
“In a bedroom together.”
Closing her eyes, she said softly, “We're just friends.”
“You can't like a person and make love to them at the same time?”
Temple knew they were close to opening a Pandora's box that would set free all kinds of repercussions. Repercussions she wasn't sure she could handle without getting hurt, or hurting someone else.
“What we have in the...living room...is special.”
“Yes, it is.” He paused, then said softly, “But why wouldn't what we might have...in the bedroom...be as special?”
“Because ‘that' could very well ruin ‘this'.”
“I disagree.”
“I've seen it happen to other friends too many times.”
“I have the feeling it could be very nice between us.”
His voice was warm, husky, inviting. Nice? It could be heaven. She was as certain of that as her own name. But did they dare? Did
she
dare? Unable to lie still, she sat up and plunged her fingers into the tangle of her hair.
“Okay,” he continued when she didn't say anything. “Think about this. Why can't two consenting adults enjoy each other's company?”
“Go to sleep,” she said as she lay down again. She wanted more than superficial sex, especially with him.
The bed creaked when he turned over. He lay on his side in the near darkness and she could feel him looking at her.
Antsy, she turned over, then onto her back again.
“What's wrong?”
“I'm cold.” Now that she wasn't having lustful thoughts about Craig, she'd noticed the temperature.
“Get another blanket.”
“There isn't one. I looked.”
Goose bumps dimpled her skin and she forced herself to breathe. Every ounce of her wanted him. Dammit!
His bare shoulders gleamed in the pale light and she could see the outline of his long body. She suddenly couldn't think of anything except how good it had felt when he'd drawn her against him in the elevator and how she had this insane urge to be held by him again. Hypocritical? You got it. Out of her mind? Clearly.
“Well, I guess that means you'll have to move over here so I can keep you warm.”
The silence lengthened. The four feet between the beds seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon, and just as deep. She could hear the cold rain outside hitting the window and it made her even colder.
“Coming over?” he said. “I don't bite—unless I'm asked to.” His voice and his words teased her.
“I hardly think so, not after what we've just been discussing.”
A grin colored his voice. “Friends can't keep each other warm?”
Oh, he'd keep her warm all right. Red-hot. She wouldn't go over there if someone offered her the winning ticket in a lottery.
“You don't trust me?”
She couldn't trust herself. “I'll be fine in a few minutes.”
“Suit yourself.”
Time dragged on. Rain pelted the window. Twice she thought she heard sleet. Pulling the thin sheet and blanket closer around her, her teeth chattered.
A long time later, his voice came to her again in the darkness.
“I heard a story once about a man lost in a snowstorm. He shot a cow, gutted it and crawled inside the carcass to keep warm.”
“Can't sleep, either?” she said.
“No, I'm cold, too.”
“The cow story is interesting. Pointless, but interesting.” She still wasn't moving to his bed.
Feet like ice cubes, she tried to force sleep. When sleet began pelting the window again, she surrendered.
Crawling out of bed, she dragged the blanket and sheet with her as she slid into bed with him.
“Scoot over,” she whispered, nudging him. He scooted over without opening his eyes.
She stretched out carefully beside him, a full three inches between them, but his arms drifted around her and drew her close. Her back against his chest, his legs fitting against her, she pushed aside the idea that she was making a big mistake. Snuggling deeper against him, she savored his heavenly warmth. This was okay. Just for tonight it was okay.
“You certainly took long enough,” he murmured, his breath warm against the side of her neck.
“It isn't capitulation,” she mumbled back, “only an admission that I'm freezing and where the hell is a cow when you need one.”
Holding each other close, they eventually dropped off to sleep.
Toward dawn, Craig opened his eyes, painfully aware of Temple's body cuddled next to his. She was snuggled against him, her hand resting on his chest, her knee lapped over his thigh. Her breath was soft and warm against his shoulder, like the touch of a feather. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of wildflowers. Suddenly, he had a sense of rightness. Temple lying next to him, warm and tantalizing.
Turning his head slightly, he let the sight of her silky auburn hair tangled across the pillow sink into him. He'd dreamed of this, fantasized about it. In his dream, however, there had been no pain shooting from wrist to shoulder. She was lying on his arm, cutting off circulation.
Easing up on the pillow, he carefully tried to free his arm. Sighing, she moved closer, her arm looping around his neck, her fingertips caressing him briefly. “Mmm,” she murmured.
Oh, Lord.
“Sit up a little,” he whispered, wincing as needles stung the inside of his arm.
“Mmm?” She shifted, following his warmth, turning half onto her back.
“Sit up...”
“Mmm...” She licked her lips, the tip of her tongue inviting.
They were within a breath of each other.
“Temple—”
Her soft breath feathered against his face.
It was too much.
Moving ever so slightly, he touched his lips to hers, lingering, tasting. With a soft sound, her mouth opened beneath his, kissing him back, soft, warm, clinging.
They'd never kissed before. Not like this. He'd never kissed anyone like this. Oh, he'd thought of it, but even in his dreams it hadn't been this sweet.
Easing her back against the pillow, he closed his eyes and coaxed her lips apart. Her mouth opened beneath his like an exotic flower. He took comfort that his circulation was working perfectly now. Working very well, in fact. The ache in his groin was a living, growing entity.
She moved against him and a flash of heat rushed through him. The kiss deepened, her hand resting on the nape of his neck, and the heat became a searing ache. Her purr of pleasure fueled his passion. This...this was what had kept him awake all night. Thinking of this, wondering if reality could possibly live up to the dream. It did.
Pressing her into the pillow, his fingers struggled with the buttons of the pajama top, but the tangle of sheets and blanket impeded his progress.
Impatient, he ripped aside the blankets, his mouth devouring hers now. She clung to him, her hands moving over him, molding his shoulders, sliding over his chest. His pulse pounded in his veins when her nails lightly scored his skin.
But suddenly, as quickly as she had come to him, she retreated.
Sighing softly, she rolled over and snuggled more deeply into the bed. Stunned, his breath caught in his throat, his nerves screaming, she settled into the even breathing of deep sleep.
Rolling onto his back, he jammed his fingers through his hair and clasped his hands to his head as he stared at the ceiling. His nerves were screaming, his need insistent. Damn, but he wanted her.
What now?
He studied her sleeping face, cataloging every shadow, every angle. Would she ever realize...
Lately, he'd begun to hope she'd noticed things changing between them, but if she had, she'd hidden it well. Until tonight. She'd been as on edge as he, and he knew why. The problem was, what to do about it.
Temple turned over again. The too-large pajama top gaped open, exposing the first curve of a luscious breast. He couldn't resist the temptation to let his fingertips drift across that curve. Her lips parted invitingly. It was too much.
Easing onto his side, he pulled her beneath him. His arms resting on either side of her tousled head, his mouth brushed across hers, again lingering, tasting. When she responded, moving beneath him, reaching for him, he knew she might still be half-asleep, but she knew exactly what she was doing.
She responded wickedly, whispering his name, “Craig... Craig,” as her fingers released the snap on his pajamas. The groan her touch evoked was smothered by more lingering kisses.
She had to be awake.
Pajamas tops and bottom hit the floor, caught in a tangle of blankets and sheets in a flurry of need. Impatient murmurs punctuated low assent as hands and mouths searched bare skin. Everything he'd been denying for months flooded through him. She fit against his body perfectly. She responded to him like half of himself, anticipating, initiating. Driving him crazy. It was too late to think. Far too late to turn back.
Tomorrow he'd worry about friendship.
Passion seized him, and all rational thought fled.
10
I
T WAS EAST FIVE when Craig stirred. Sitting up, he squinted at the illuminated dial on the clock. When he saw the time, he reached for the phone. The tower advised him the fog wouldn't be lifting until late morning.
Rolling over, he drew Temple to him before falling back to sleep. This was good. Very good.
It was late when they woke again.
“What time is it?”
“Um, nine,” he said.
She stretched lazily, feeling warm and good. “Let's not get up yet.”
“Roger.”
They lay there together, half-asleep, talking softly. It felt right, comfortable.
Craig liked having her beside him in bed. She looked like a little girl in the morning—eyes drowsy, hair tousled, lips pink and inviting. Too damn inviting.
Temple gave no indication that she remembered last night. Though he wanted to share with her how good it had felt to hold her, to make love with her, it seemed she wasn't ready to do that. It had to be the pilot thing. She'd always been so adamant about not having romantic relationships with pilots.
Well, he'd let her think about how last night changed things and see what developed. If their relationship changed from friendship to something more, it was up to her—at least for now. But he'd only wait so long.
Around ten, they went downstairs to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Over pancakes and sausages, the conversation was so normal Craig began to wonder if he had dreamed the encounter, but each time their gazes met and hers skipped away, the tightening in his groin told him he hadn't imagined anything. Take it easy, he reminded himself. Go slow and see what happens.
“So, what's on your docket when we get back?” he said lightly as he finished his pancakes and speared his last sausage.
“I'm off for a few days. I think I'll go visit Grams.”
“When will you be back?”
“Maybe never.” She sighed. “But most likely Friday.” She ate the last of her pancakes, grinning. “I know. You'll miss me unbearably, and live for the moment I return. You're envious of Neal and Maryann and you want a marriage just like theirs.”
Not one word about the night before. Nothing.
He lifted his coffee cup in a mock salute, careful not to let his frustration show. “Hurry back.”
 
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Temple made the three-hour drive to Summersville, arriving late in the afternoon. It was Wednesday and, knowing Grams would be at the church, she decided to go there first.
The choir was practicing as Temple slipped into a back pew. The stained glass lining the windows filled her with a sense of peace, though she felt anything but peaceful.
The twelve choir members were intent on their music, their voices following the rise and fall of Eleanor Liddy's hands. Elevated on a small platform, Grams sang along with the choir, her strong alto blending harmoniously with the others.
As the organ music faded, Eleanor turned and spotted her granddaughter. Her face lit up. “Tootie!”
Hands extended, Grams made her way down the aisle, a radiant smile creasing her weathered face. “What a wonderful surprise.”
“Hello, Grams.” Tears of love stung Temple's eyes as she hugged her grandmother.
“Alta, Bertha, Virginia, come meet my granddaughter,” Eleanor called to her friends in the choir loft.
The small group disbanded and three elderly ladies about Grams's age, each with the same shade of gray-purple hair, made their way out toward her.
“We've heard so much about you, dear,” one greeted.
“My, yes. Eleanor says you lead such an exciting life!” the other chirped. “You're a flight attendant?”
“I am.” Temple smiled warmly, grasping frail, believing hands in both of hers.
“Oh, my, how exciting,” they said enthusiastically. “Handsome, exciting men all around you!'
“Oh, my, yes!” Temple exclaimed, then thought, if you only knew.
On the drive to Grams's cottage, Temple reacquainted herself with the sights. Summersville, with its two-story homes with large wraparound porches and blooming flower boxes reminded Temple of Mayberry, USA. What had to be the last dime store in the nation, Fenney's Five-and-Dime, was still open for business on the corner of the square. A bird-covered statue of some forgotten general stood in the center of town. Sixty-year-old elms and maples lined narrow streets that had once carried Model T cars—some roads still had cobbled surfaces. Nine churches, three city parks with pavilions where the city celebrated a variety of July the Fourth celebrations. Middle America. The heartbeat of a nation. Her own heartbeat.
Each time she came home, it felt good. Peaceful. Or was it simply that Grams living here made it feel that way? The big, two-story house where Temple had been raised had been torn down and a public parking lot erected. Several years earlier, Grams had decided the house was too big for one person, so she'd sold it and bought a small, ivy-covered cottage closer to church.
Temple sat at the familiar round claw-footed table in her grandmother's kitchen and ate chocolate chip cookies—the same recipe Temple had been making for Craig for ten years.
Craig.
Suddenly losing her appetite, she laid the cookie aside, and reached for the glass of milk Grams had set in front of her.
“Now then,” Grams said as she settled herself. “Want to tell me what's bothering you?”
“Nothing's bothering me. I just wanted to see you.”
“I'm always delighted to see you,” the older woman said. “It's always much too long between visits. Now, stop stalling and tell me what brings you all the way down here without the excuse of a holiday?”
Grams had always been able to see right through her.
Sighing, Temple broke off a piece of cookie. “You know me too well.”
“I love you.” She patted Temple's hand. “You always find peace here, don't you, Tootie?”
“Sometimes I wish things were like they were fifty years ago. Plain. Fundamental,” Temple said.
Grams laughed. “Life wasn't easier when I was young, just different. The judge and I had our problems. Men, women, sex. When to do it, when not to do it. The proper time, the right man. No less weightier issues now than they were then.”
“I—” Temple didn't know what to say.
“Tootie, darling, your grandfather was my first love, my only love. But it didn't mean we had no problems,” Grams said gently. “Your parents had their own set of troubles—your mother especially, after your father... didn't come back. Women have had problems with relationships with men from the beginning of time. And I'd say, by that worried look in your eyes, you're knee-deep in man trouble. Now, tell me what's brought you all the way to Summersville in the middle of the week.”
“Oh, Grams, I think I made a big mistake,” Temple said sadly.
“Well, mistakes can be corrected.”
“I don't know if this one can be.”
“Well, tell me about this mistake you made, and we'll see how monumental it is.”
“A man, a pilot—we've been friends for years—”
“Craig Stevens.”
“How did you know?”
“You talk about him in every letter. Go on for several pages at a time, if I recall.” Leaning back, Eleanor smiled. “I haven't seen him in years, but as I recall, he was a knockout, even in his youth.”
“Grams!”
“What? I may be old, but I can still dream, can't I?”
“Craig and I are the best of friends. He's like...part of me.” It was difficult to admit, but it was true. “Our best times are when we're together. We always have something to talk about. We share the same interests. It's just...a very comfortable friendship.”
“Doesn't sound like the worst thing that could happen to a woman.”
Temple toyed with her glass, trying to form the proper words. After a few moments, she said, “A couple of nights ago, we got fogged in during one of our flights.”
Grams nodded, her eyes bright with comprehension.
Recognizing her assumption, Temple groaned. “I haven't finished.”
“You don't need to.”
“I'm in love with him, Grams,” she admitted miserably. Saying it aloud let the words sink into her heart, a place she'd carefully protected—until two nights ago.
“Oh,” Grams reached for another cookie. “And this is the monumental problem?”
Temple buried her fingers in her hair, massaging her temples with the heels of her hands. “I don't want to be in love with him. I want things to stay the way they arewere,” she amended.
Grams's eyes softened with understanding. “Why, Tootie, when you love him?”
“I don't want to risk our friendship by muddying the waters with...other things.” Sex, she might have said but didn't. Wonderful, glorious, uninhibited, hot sex. “He's too important to me.”
“How does Craig feel about the matter?”
“I don't know. We haven't discussed it.”
Grams lowered her cup. “You haven't discussed it?”
“It just happened, Grams...and I was a coward. The next morning, I avoided the subject. Pretended I didn't... remember.”
Grams's eyebrows arched. “Did wonders for his ego, I'm sure.” She smiled reassuringly. “It does appear you have a dilemma.”
Temple sighed. “What am I going to do? Craig's not only my best friend, he was once engaged to one of my closest friends. The relationship didn't work, but Nancy's still carrying a torch for him.”
“If Craig's relationship with Nancy didn't work out, why should Nancy's feelings be of immediate concern to you?”
“You know me, Grams,” Temple said. “I feel guilty petting somebody else's dog. How can I face Nancy knowing that I'm in love with Craig and she is too.”
“My,” Grams said. “The plot thickens.”
“Does it ever. Like glue.”
They talked straight through dinner, and then long into the evening. It wasn't that Temple had so much to say but that suddenly she had so much to learn from her grandmother. She'd always thought of Grams and cookies and hot tea. Now, all of a sudden, she discovered that Eleanor had a wealth of insights about relationships.
Later that evening, Temple lay in bed in her old room under the eaves, but she didn't sleep well that night. Nor the next. Dreams laced with erotic memories of Craig kept her awake. Friday morning found her hollow-headed and fuzzy.
“Didn't sleep well again?”
Grams, dressed in her nubby robe, her hair in curlers, bustled around the kitchen making French toast.
“Not really—Grams, it's so early. You didn't have to get up and see me off.” It wasn't yet 4:00 a.m.
“Nonsense. I wanted to. Feeling better about Craig?”
“Worse,” Temple admitted. He was right. Sometimes things didn't fit—right man, wrong time.
“Well, at least you're starting to be honest with yourself,” Grams said as she turned the bacon. “In the Dark Ages, when I was a young woman trying to decide what I wanted from life, I made a few mistakes. Nothing very life-changing, but nevertheless things that made me stop and think. Maybe that's why you were fogged in with Craig the other night—to make you both think.” She glanced up, smiling. “Two or three pieces of bacon, dear?”
After breakfast, Temple started back to Dallas for her eight o'clock flight. Nothing had been resolved, but she felt a little better. And she felt closer to Grams than ever before.
Arriving at the terminal a few minutes early, Temple parked the truck in her best lane-shark manner. Craig was nowhere in sight this morning.
Good. One less problem to start the day off.
Entering the building, she headed straight for the lunch counter, where Flo was just getting ready to sit down.
“Wow.” Flo looked her over with a knowing eye. “Bad week?”
“Bad life. Slept badly. Headache,” she lied, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Coffee emergency.”
Ginny poured two cups as Flo sat down, lighting a cigarette. “Heard you were fogged in with Stevens the other night. Anything interesting happen?”
Temple eyed Flo over the rim of her mug. “What makes you think there would be?”
“Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that he doesn't look any better than you?”
Temple froze, realizing Flo was looking into the mirror hanging behind the lunch counter.
Half turning, Temple caught sight of Craig from the corner of her eye. “He's wearing sunglasses. How can you tell what he looks like?”

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