Justified (14 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Let's get Oreos,” Ruthie said.

“Only if JohnScott has milk at his house.” I was strolling through the United grocery store with Ruthie later that day, snatching items for a cookout at JohnScott's double-wide, while the coach and the preacher got soft drinks from the next aisle over. Ansel had offered the four of us free steaks if we would drive the four-wheelers to his back pasture to check the pump on the stock tank. But JohnScott could get steaks anytime he wanted, so Ansel didn't fool me with his thinly disguised ploy.

Besides, it didn't take four people to check a water pump.

But we'd had a great time riding around the pasture all afternoon, and I didn't mind sharing an ATV with my arms wrapped around JohnScott's waist. He didn't seem to mind either.

“We could get ice cream, too,” Ruthie said. “And crumble Oreos on top. Or make sundaes.”

“Velma probably has an ice-cream maker. How about homemade cookies and cream?”

“Do you have a recipe?”

“No, but I can look it up on my phone.”

“Not in here, you can't,” Ruthie said. “The Wi-Fi in the United is terrible. I think it's the metal roof or something.”

The store intercom squeaked, and the manager's voice came through loud and clear. “Ruthie Turner … I hear you.”

She tilted her head back and called over the shelf, “You sound like God when you do that, Gene.”

Dodd came around the corner carrying a couple of two-liter drinks, which he placed in our shopping cart. “JohnScott went after potatoes.” He swept his hand down Ruthie's spine. “Giving your manager a hard time again?”

“He deserves it.”

“I'm craving homemade ice cream.” I pushed the cart toward the front of the store but jerked to a stop when I almost ran into Sophie Snodgrass.

“Fawn, look at you.” She chewed her gum noisily. “Haven't you had that baby yet?”

I slipped my bottom lip between my teeth before answering. “Not for a while now.”

“Well, darlin', you still look good. I bet you haven't gained fifteen pounds.” She parked her cart and leaned her elbows on the handles as though settling down for an extended conversation. “Land sakes, with my first baby, I gained over sixty.” She giggled. “Not sure I ever lost all that fluff, but you sure don't have that problem. If anything, you're underweight.” She lifted her chin to Dodd and Ruthie. “Wedding plans coming along all right?”

“Everything's falling into place.” Ruthie pulled Dodd down the aisle. “We'll go find the ice-cream ingredients, Fawn. Meet you at the register in a few.”

I could have kicked her for leaving me, but just then, JohnScott rounded the corner behind the hairdresser. His steps faltered, but just as she turned, he strode toward me and put a bag of potatoes in the cart.

“Why …
Coach Pickett
.” Her jaw fell open comically, and she looked back and forth between us as though she were seeing an apparition. “You've … got yourself some potatoes, there, don't ya?”

“Yep. Cooking steaks on the grill, so I've got to have baked potatoes.”

“Sure enough, you do.” Sophie grinned, nodded, then spun her cart around. “Good game last night, Coach. See you later, Fawn.”

I wondered if she paid for her groceries or merely abandoned her cart so she could get to her Suburban and start calling her friends.

“I think we just went public,” JohnScott said. “In a pretty big way.”

Doubt immediately rankled my confidence, but when smile lines spread across JohnScott's cheeks, I couldn't help but smile back. Going public would undoubtedly have negative effects on both our lives. But for the moment, it felt really good.

 

An hour later, I sat with Ruthie at an umbrella-covered table on the back deck of the double-wide while JohnScott sizzled steaks over charcoal and Dodd tended a screeching ice-cream freezer.

“So, I guess this is a double date?” Ruthie looked at me over the rim of her glass as she sipped her Dr Pepper.

I glanced at JohnScott and shrugged.

Ruthie squinted at him and yelled over the din of the motor. “Is this a double date or what?”

He walked closer to us. “Well, little cousin, I wasn't sure until I saw Sophie, but now I've decided it might as well be.”

“True.” Ruthie sipped her drink again. “A double date … Fawn, this is sort of creepy, but Momma once told me she and your mother double-dated back in high school. I don't know who the two guys were, though.”

“I can't picture Susan and Aunt Lynda doing anything together,” JohnScott said.

“One of the guys was probably my dad, but—” I swallowed my words.

JohnScott whistled, then slowly backed away from us. “I think I'll go back over there where I can't hear you.”

Just then, the ice-cream freezer stopped.

“You're stuck now,” Ruthie deadpanned.

“Am I missing a juicy conversation?” Dodd stepped across the deck.

“The girls are discussing how Fawn's dad dated both their mothers in high school.”

He frowned. “Man, I've heard that one. Anything new?”

“No, but there will be by Monday morning,” JohnScott said.

“Sophie?”

“Not to mention Luis Vega bagged our groceries.” JohnScott's cell phone chirped in the pocket of his cargo shorts, and he answered it as he forked the steaks onto a platter.

A few minutes later, he pocketed his phone and set the steaks in the middle of the table. “That was Dad. My quarterback's grand­father gave him a call a little while ago.”

I frowned. “He called your dad with football business?”

“Uh-oh …” Ruthie crooned the word like a door chime.

“He's worried I'm distracted and won't be able to focus on the remaining games of the season.”

“You only went public an hour ago.” Ruthie leaned her head back. “The fun begins.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Even as thoughts of JohnScott filled me with nervous energy, apprehension about his quarterback's grandfather zapped my strength, leaving me exhausted. Late Monday afternoon, I dropped by the United for groceries and ended up talking to Ruthie for way too long. When I finally trudged home, Rowdy was waiting for me on the front porch.

I scratched behind his ears, leaving comb marks in the black-and-gray fur, and then I lowered myself carefully to sit next to him on the steps. “How did you get out here, old man? You're supposed to be in the house where it's cool.”

He rolled to his side.

“I feel the same way.” Leaning an elbow on the porch, I arched my back slightly, attempting to ease the achiness. “Another week or so, Rowdy. Then my back won't hurt anymore.”

The dog whined softly as though speculating which of us was more pathetic.

Five more minutes.
Then I'd lumber into the house, trade my jeans and T-shirt for soft pajamas, and point all the vents of the air conditioner straight at the recliner. Even though temperatures had started falling at night, the afternoons and evenings were still warm as blazes.

Rowdy rested his head on my arm, silently begging to be scratched again.

“You know what?” I put my face close to his and whispered, “I like JohnScott.”

The tufts of hair above the dog's eyes lifted, and his silver eyes seemed concerned.

“I know it's not ideal, but it could work.”

He whimpered, echoing a doubt in my heart, but I rubbed his neck absentmindedly while I prayed.
God, JohnScott's a good man, and I think I could be happy with him. Just please let him be what the baby and I need.

The dog's ears twitched, and then he lifted his head and woofed softly.

Three seconds later, the sound of an approaching vehicle invigorated my tired muscles. Hoping JohnScott was dropping by after practice, I pulled myself up and leaned against the porch rail, but when a black F-150 sped around the curve, I sighed. Behind me, it sounded like Rowdy did the same.

Tyler pulled to a stop and climbed out of the truck with his hair falling rakishly over his eyes. That look once would have sent shivers down my spine, but my attraction for him had withered away like a buttercup at the end of the season.

“I thought you'd never get home, babe. Where have you been?” He reached into the bed of the truck and retrieved a large box.

His words jumbled in my head, but the comfort of the recliner still called to me, and I hoped he would leave soon. I motioned to the box he carried. “What's this?”

He spun the box around with a flourish, holding it up for my inspection. “Figured you'd need one.”

“An infant car seat.” My spirits fell. “Thank you, Tyler.”

His eyes flashed for an instant, but then he lowered his chin like a kindergarten teacher softening his discipline. “You sound funny, but that's all right. You're welcome.”

Rowdy padded around him, sniffed his leather sandals, then perched on the step between us.

“If I sound funny, it's because I'm wondering if there are strings attached.”

Tyler's jaw moved a fraction to the side before he grinned broadly. “No, Fawn. No strings attached. I just wanted to do something for my son, if that's all right with you.”

I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “Of course it's all right. I'm just tired and stressed.”

He held the box toward me. “I got the most expensive one.”

I knew he didn't mean to brag—he always bought the most expensive things—so I softened my tone. “It's the one I wanted. It has a base.”

“A base?”

“It stays in the car, but you can also use a seat belt. Like that.” I pointed to the picture.

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

I sighed. “I've been reading. You can't imagine what it takes to be a good parent.”

He rested the box on his hip, and I wondered if he was listening.

“Marry me, Fawn.” His body language still said alpha male, but his voice held a desperate quality that seemed out of character.

I pulled the car seat roughly from under his arm. “No strings, remember?”

“Right. No strings.”

“I do appreciate the car seat, though.”

He laughed, but not his usual chuckle of controlled masculinity. Instead, a high-pitched giggle slipped between his teeth, sending a shiver across my shoulder blades. “You should take a look in your house, babe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come and see. You're going to love it.” He leaped up the porch, opened the door, and stood to the side.

Rowdy pushed against my legs, seeming to herd me away from Tyler, but I snapped my fingers to get him to cooperate. Just inside the door, I froze.

Boxes covered the loveseat and stood piled in the corner, their labels revealing a bassinet, a swing, a walker. Shopping bags lay on every horizontal surface, including the floor, and a large see-through bag near the kitchen doorway held a coordinating crib set.

I was speechless.

Tyler nudged me farther into the room, then shut the door. “I probably went a little overboard, but the salesgirl said this stuff will come in handy.”

My breathing became shallow. “How did you—”

“I unloaded it all before you got home. You know, you really should get your locks fixed.”

“Tyler …”

“I never knew a kid needed so much junk.” He took the car seat from me and set it on the floor near a stroller box. Then he lifted a smaller one. “Look at this thing. He sits in it and plays with all these little toys.”

I shook my head. “This is too much. A car seat is one thing.”

“Ty needs it.”

“Ty?” My feet stumbled toward a huge box leaning against the window. A full-size crib that could convert to a toddler bed, dark-stained wood, beautiful. I'd seen it in a magazine at the United. “I can't accept all this.”

He reached for a box, not acknowledging I had spoken. “I know you'll like this white bassinet thing. I can set it up for you real quick.”

“No, don't open it.”

His actions and speech increased in speed. “You're going to need it as soon as Ty is born. That and the car seat.” He quickly slit the tape with what I thought was a pocketknife, but as he shoved it back in his pocket, I recognized it as a loose razor blade.

“Why are you calling him Ty?”

“If the kid's not going to have my last name, he might as well have my first. Check out those bags of tiny, little clothes. And shoes. I've never seen shoes so small.”

I stepped back. Tyler's uncontrolled zeal took up too much space in the room, and I felt out of control and sick to my stomach. He pulled parts from the box, still talking, talking, talking, and dread pressed against me with the inescapable force of gravity.

“Tyler, stop.” I inhaled to slow the energy in the room. “I can't,
cannot
, take this.”

His smile vanished, his chatter stilled, and he cocked his head at what seemed an unnatural angle. “Can't or won't?” He spoke softly, but his words were laced with a threat.

Rowdy barked once and pressed against my legs, and I considered following the dog's advice and running away. But that was absurd. “You said there wouldn't be any strings, but this must have cost you hundreds of dollars. I would feel I owed you.”

“More like thousands.” He sorted through hardware, comparing bolts and brackets to a diagram on the instruction sheet. “I'm determined to get this thing set up before I leave.”

The possibility of him staying long enough to assemble the bassinet made me want to cry. “Don't worry about putting that together. JohnScott can—”

“You shouldn't keep bothering the coach.” His words were clipped. “That man's only doing his Christian duty, caring for the widows and orphans—not that you exactly fall into either category—but he's bound to get tired of coming all the way up here every day.”

“He doesn't come every day.”

“Well, he practically does.” He let the hardware fall to the floor, and then he shoved the box with his foot.

Tears seeped to the corners of my eyes but remained safely hidden. “You obviously don't have a very high opinion of JohnScott.”

“I'm sure
Coach Pickett
means well, but give me a break. He's out of his league where you're concerned. Look around you.” He pointed a stiff finger at a stack of boxes. “This is what Ty needs from you.” His eyes held mine for three long seconds, and then he snickered. “Has JohnScott Pickett brought you anything for our son?”

My gaze fell to Rowdy. JohnScott had brought me the dog, but he had brought me so much more than that.

“I didn't think so.” Tyler lifted his chin and sauntered to the door. “It's only a matter of time.”

“Until what?”

“Until the coach pitches you on your butt.” His gaze dropped to my stomach before he crooned, “He's not the type to settle for damaged goods.”