Heartbreak, Tennessee (19 page)

Dean smiled along with
her, and Amber realized he heard a compliment in her words. A man with as many
fans as Dean had probably came to expect admiration after a while.

“What I’m saying is, I
think I can change. I think I can work on the ol’ wine and roses routine. Quiet
dinners, walks in the park, all that stuff. Hell, how hard can it be? Let’s
give it another shot, what do you say?”

Dean had managed to
slide over and hook an arm around her, squeezing her to him, tucking her head
under his chin. He began stroking her forearm lightly, but the touch felt almost
painful to her heightened senses. She wriggled her way free as gently as she
could and turned to face Dean, her knees forming a barrier between them.

“I—I don’t know
what to say, Dean. I’m touched that you have given me—given
us
—so much thought. You...have so
much to offer the right woman.”

“
You’re
the right woman, Amber,” Dean cut in. “Don’t you see that?”

Amber shook her head
sadly. “What I see is you throwing yourself into trying to fix something that
never really worked in the first place. There’s more to true love than just the
number of times a man sends a woman flowers. If I had to think that you were
reminding yourself every time you said “I love you”, it wouldn’t mean nearly as
much. If you stayed home with me but I knew that deep down you wished you were
out with your friends...well, I don’t want a life like that. And...Dean? I
think if you look long and hard, you’ll realize that you don’t, either.”

“I
have
thought about this,” Dean retorted,
frustration evident in his voice. “More than you know. I want to be with you. I’ve
got it all planned out. After you come home, we’ll—”

He jumped up and dug
in the pocket of his tight jeans. “This didn’t go exactly as I had planned,” he
said, kneeling down in front of her, to Amber’s horror. “But when we get home,
I’d like you to start planning the biggest wedding Nashville’s seen in years. Amber,
please say you’ll marry me.”

With a flourish he
presented a small black velvet box, tipping up the lid to reveal a diamond
large enough to ice skate on.

Mac ground a pebble
into the ground with the toe of his boot. It was late. How late, he couldn’t be
sure, but the cicadas had quit their droning, the moon was low in the sky, and
Heather and Randy were curled nose to nose next to him on the back porch,
snoring gently.

Inside, the lights
were turned off, but music trailed out on the slight breeze. Against his better
judgment, Mac had put on the Alabama album they’d listened to until they both
knew ever word by heart. He might as well have been pouring salt into an open
wound when he popped it in the player and went to sit out under the night sky,
after Amber left.

“The closer you get,”
Mac sang softly. “The further I fall...” He’d sung that song to Amber then,
many times. But he’d never felt it as deeply as he did tonight. It seemed that
every time he was with Amber, even as he tried to push her away, she made an
even bigger place in his heart. A place into which no other woman would ever
fit.

Mac took a long draw
on his beer, then set it down carefully next to him. Something his father had
said during those last days, when Mac sat next to him watching helplessly as he
slowly died in the hospital, was hovering near the edge of his mind. It hadn’t
made any sense at the time, and Mac had filed it away with the other memories
of his father.

It was one of the few
times Pete had ever said anything about women. “Some women,” Pete rasped, his
voice a whispered shell of its former self, “are like poison. You know they’re
bad for you. You know they’ll bring you nothing but heartache. And you just can’t
stay away from ‘em.

“Son, you hear what I’m
telling you?” Mac squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly he could see it as
clearly as if ten years hadn’t passed. His father, thin and waxy-skinned, lying
in a nest of starched hospital linens, his eyes slitted in pain. But using all
his energy to reach a shaking hand out to Mac, continuing when Mac wrapped his
own strong hand around the cold, weak one. “McBaine men have no luck with
women,” he’d wheezed. “Keep your distance, son. You get a taste of the wrong
one and your life ain’t ever yours again.”

He’d died soon after
that.

Mac’s mother looked
elegant in mourning, even if she’d had the house on the market, and booked her
flight to Florida, even before the first rain flattened down the dirt on her
husband’s grave.

Could his father have
really given his life to her, spoken so passionately about her? Mac shook his
head slowly. He didn’t get it.

But then, who really
understood what went on between a man and a woman? He had told no one the way
he felt about Amber. Wasn’t even sure there were words for it.

Poison? Maybe. But if
that were the case, it was too late for him. There was no known antidote for
the longing Amber’s absence left him with.

She’d asked him for
nothing short of forever, and he’d hesitated. Why? Certainly his heart was
screaming yes, his body aching for her touch.

He’d hesitated because
he’d seen the way she shrunk from the men on the street that first night in
front of Buzzy’s.

Because he’d heard the
pain in her voice when she recalled the way her mother and she had been treated
by the people of Heartbreak.

Because he’d seen the
changes that the city had wrought on her, and because he wasn’t at all certain
he had the right to ask her to change back.

So she couldn’t bear
to come back. Not for good. All right. It was true that Heartbreak had served
her up a generous serving of misery. And Amber had triumphed in the end,
leaving the town he loved far behind her, shaking its dust forever from her
shoes.

But so what? So she
lived elsewhere—she was still free, wasn’t she? She hadn’t married, hadn’t
truly settled down.

And if he’d been
poisoned, so had she. He knew it with a clarity sudden and complete. Amber was
no more whole than he was.

All it would take was
for one of them to speak the right words, to figure out a way for them to be
together.

Well, they had water
in Nashville, didn’t they? Hell, a river ran right through the damn place, and
there was a huge lake not five miles out of town. And water, to a boy who
learned how to take the wheel of a boat practically before he learned to walk,
meant boats.

No reason why Junior
couldn’t run the place here for him while he opened up McBaine Boats of
Nashville. No reason in the world.

Especially if he was
doing it with Amber at his side.

Daring to imagine a
future with her suddenly made everything seem possible. Leaving Heartbreak was
a small price to pay if it meant he could have Amber. Mac’s pulse quickened as
he slowly got to his feet, a smile coming to his lips.

It would be a few more
hours until the sun crested the distant hills and another new day broke over
Heartbreak. Like every other summer day, porches would be swept, papers would
be delivered, coffee would brew. A sleepy Doc Pulaski would open up the barber
shop, Lucille would crank up the griddle at the Sunset diner, and they’d be
washing the engines out in the bright sun down at the fire station.

This day would be
different, though. Because today Mac was going to win Amber DeWitt’s heart for
good.

Amber ran the comb
through her hair for the hundredth time. She’d slept nearly seven hours after
Dean finally left, and the sun was making its way up the sky, beginning to bake
her room even through the drawn sheers. She’d taken another shower, mostly to
try to force herself awake.

Nine o’clock. The
Sawyers were no doubt sleeping in after their amorous evening. Dean was
probably more than halfway back to Nashville by now.

Heavens, he was the
most stubborn man she had ever met. Amber had been horrified when he launched
into his proposal. She’d wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

How could they be on
such different wavelengths that he thought even for a second she might say yes?
Amber gave the comb a final, frustrated yank and tossed it on the dresser. She
shuffled through the clothes in the flimsy closet, idly wondering what the
members of the Heartbreak city council wore to their meetings, and settled on a
fitted white T and ankle-length black linen skirt.

Slipping into black sandals,
she reflected that Dean would probably be none too pleased to see her adapting
to the more casual way of life of a small town. In Nashville she wore nylons
and heels, even in the summer. Jackets topped her outfits, and she shaped her
hair each morning with care, and a liberal dose of hair spray.

Today, though, she
didn’t have the energy. Her hair would have to dry in the humid air, despite
the curls that inevitably would form. And a slick of lipstick and quick brush
of mascara would have to do.

Besides, it hardly
mattered how she looked. She wouldn’t be seeing anyone she needed to impress
today. After last night, she was certain Mac wouldn’t be at the city council
meeting. He’d find someone to stand in for him.

Someone who, along
with the entire council, would no doubt voice plenty of vigorous objections to
Sheryn’s World. Sighing, Amber settled into the uncomfortable upholstered chair
and lifted the top sheet of the stack of papers, determined to make sense of
them this time.

But her thoughts kept
drifting. First to Mac, the way he’d touched her just hours before, the look on
his face when she pulled away.

And then to Dean. How
her gentle refusal hadn’t made a dent, and she’d had to resort to firmer and
firmer negatives before practically pushing him out the door. Even then, he
seemed convinced she’d change her mind.

In fact, he’d even
wanted her to wear the ring until she returned to Nashville.
”It’ll help
you decide,” he’d said.

“But Dean, I’ve told
you, I already
have
decided.”

“No, you haven’t, not
really. You need time to consider. Amber, think of everything we could share
together. Think of how hard we’ve both worked to get where we are. Don’t we
deserve to enjoy it—together?”

But that was just it. Amber
couldn’t stop thinking about how hard she’d worked, the sacrifices she’d made
to become the woman she was. Successful. Strong. Well-packaged.

And empty. Inside, she
was empty. The closet full of beautiful clothes, the exquisite hotel rooms and
four star meals never satisfied the ache inside.

And making a union
with Dean, she knew, would never solve the problem.

A sharp rap on the
door caught her attention. Taking a deep breath, she stood and tried to focus
on the day’s challenges that lay ahead, vowing not to let Gray down.

But it wasn’t Gray.

Mac had practiced what
he would say to Amber on the drive into town. But when she opened the door and
stared at him with wide, liquid eyes and pale mouth parted in surprise, he
forgot everything he was going to say.

She’d left her hair
natural, and it had dried into the mass of unruly waves he remembered so well. A
single lock corkscrewed over her left eyebrow. She’d forgone makeup, and dozens
of tiny freckles dotted her skin, which was dewy in the moist, hot air.

And she was
wearing...oh, Lord, that tight white shirt left little undefined. The neckline
scooped down low, dangerously close to the swell of her breasts.

And when she turned
her back on him and stalked across the room, the slit up her skirt gave a view
of legs that went on for miles before disappearing in a slim swatch of black
fabric.

He’d seen this woman
naked, Mac reminded himself. But seeing her like this still took his breath
away.

“Amber.” Mac spoke her
name with force, a command, and then immediately didn’t like the way it came
out. He cleared his throat, and tried again.

“Amber, I’m pretty
sure I have a lot of apologizing to do.”

“No, you don’t,” she
answered quickly, her voice dull. “I asked you a question, and you answered it
honestly. That was all you could do.”

“But that’s just it. I
didn’t answer it.”

“You said enough.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t
tell you that when you asked where we were heading, I was dying to tell you I
wanted you with me, by my side, today and always.”

“But—”

“I only hesitated
because it seemed wrong for me to ask you to stay here, when you obviously can’t
wait to get away, to get back to Nashville.”

Her back was still turned
to him, and he saw it go rigid now, the muscles tensing under the white fabric.

“That’s not entirely
true,” she said softly, so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

“I want to be with
you, Amber,” he said. “We can work out all the details later. We’ll find a way.”

No answer, but Amber
turned slightly, glanced at him sideways, long lashes obscuring the expression
in her eyes. But he could read her thoughts in her body language: her fear, her
reluctance to trust him echoed in the arms held tight to her body.