Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1) (16 page)

He nodded, his chest heaving. He
stepped back. “Yes,” he agreed. His tongue moistened his lips. “Good idea.”

Kate ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I don’t know
—”

“Me either.”

They nodded, eyeing each other as if the other might try to finish what neither wanted to leave off.

“Liam will probably be up soon.”

He nodded again, let out a cleansing breath. “I, ah, should go turn off the water now.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other, the air thick with the smell of desire.

“I’ll need to leave the room to do that,” he said.

Kate scurried to the side so he could open the door. “Right. Of course.”

Jim shimmied by her. They avoided eye contact.

“I should start breakfast,” she said, righting her robe and heading for the kitchen.

“Good idea,” he said, clearing his throat and heading for the basement.

In the kitchen, Kate clutched the edge of the sink, her legs like noodles.

What was she thinking?

She was a sensible woman. A rational woman. A—dare she say it?—
practical
woman.

Practical, sensible, rational women did not go making hot and heavy with virtual strangers just because they were sexy and wet in their bathrooms.

Of course she knew that. She knew that! It wasn’t as if her subconscious needed to tell her. She was perfectly aware that giving in to her desperate housewife alter-ego would have ramifications. She was a sensible woman. Sensible women knew these things.

Kate
knew these things.

J
IM LEANED AGAINST THE BASEMENT wall and sucked in long, cleansing lungfuls of air. He wet his lips again, lips that still held the taste of the woman who even now was probably pouring cereal into a bowl like it was any old day of the week.

Instead of the day Jim Pearson had lost his mind.

Okay, so maybe that was exaggerating, but how to explain the scene that had just played out—in his grandparents’ bathroom no less? He’d never be able to step foot in that room again without thinking about it. Without thinking about
her.

Thinking. Yes. Good idea.

He should
think
instead of follow the front of his pants everywhere like some pornographic divining rod. She was a widow… with a
kid
, for Christ’s sake!

He had to stop swearing. He was going to hell. For swearing and lusting after a widow with a kid, he was going to hell.

Jim began to pace, his leather work boots scuffing the old floor.

If he could only think what triggered the, ah, incident, he might be able to prevent it from happening again.

Why the hell would I want to do that?

Good question. No, not a good question! Of course he wanted to prevent it! They hardly knew each other! She was in mourning, or on the rebound, or... well, whatever vulnerable state one is in after a loss like that.

But vulnerable didn’t seem to describe Kate at all. Passionate. Gorgeous. Uninhibited. Sexy as no woman had a right to be looking all tumbled and warm first thing in the morning.
That
was Kate.

An image of her, panting, flushed, pushing him against the door, her lips soft and urgent against his, flashed to mind.

“I’m going to hell,” he muttered, ducking to avoid the joists overhead. “This can’t be healthy either. This kind of...
reaction
to a woman. Can’t be good.”

As if in agreement, his erection surged against his fly.

“Shut up,” he mumbled to his crotch. “You’re half my problem.”

Jesus
. He was talking to his dick. This
was
a bad porno movie. Except...

He didn’t feel sleazy at all. He felt...

Confused. That’s what that feeling was. The stale, damp basement air was just making it hard to think this through. Kate was obviously missing male company and he’d been too long—okay a few months—without female companionship. It was only natural they’d jump each other at the first opportunity. Right?

Right. So, if he just kept his distance, she’d realize the same thing, that this was a one-time mistake, and all would be well.

They’d simply avoid each other.

Yes. Avoidance. Always a winning strategy.

Kate would move to the next stage of her, ah, grief and he’d forget it ever happened.

He’d simply wait for the tent in his pants to disappear and he could start his avoidance plan in earnest.

June 17
Don’t you love surprises? I’m not talking about dog poo or stomach bugs. I’m talking about the good ones. Like one last chocolate when you thought the box was empty. A happy ending when all seems lost. Or, especially, discovering something—or someone—wonderful, when you least expect it...

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
____________________

H
E ARRIVED THE NEXT MORNING.

Kate signed for the FedEx and carried the small square box into the cottage. It was heavier than she thought it would be.

She set Randy on the mantel and stared at him.

“When can we open it?” Liam demanded at her side.

“It’s not for opening. This is a special box that stays just as it is.”

Until I figure out what the hell to do with it.

Nana, of course, was no help whatsoever.

“I don’t see why you didn’t just bury him,” she said later that day as they stood staring at the FedEx box on the mantel. “That’s what you’re supposed to do with dead people.”

Kate closed her eyes. “He was claustrophobic, Nana. He hated small spaces. I couldn’t do that to him.”

They stared at the box.

“Seems to me it’s not all that roomy in there either.”

“I know that,” Kate said. Nana looked at her expectantly. “I just need some time to figure out what to do with them, that’s all.”

“You could make him into soap.”

“
Nana!”

“Oh, lighten up. I’m kidding. But don’t let this fester. You need to take care of this and move on. Randy is a part of the past for you. You can’t let him keep popping up like this. It’s not good for you.”

Kate felt light-headed. If Nana only knew how wrong she was.

“What am I supposed to do? He hasn’t spoken to his dad in years. And since his mom died... It’s up to me now.” She laid a hand on her forehead. It felt clammy. “I’ll think of a place to scatter them, okay? I just don’t know right now where that should be.”  Kate looked around the tired old living room. She stared at the gold rocker with the colonial-print fabric. If it had any bright ideas, it wasn’t sharing.

“Well,” said Nana, “I’d love to stand around and brainstorm some more, but I’ve got to run. My friend Lydia’s got some silly idea of holding a benefit sale at her consignment shop in a few weeks, and she’s swamped with donations. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.”

“Sounds good. Going to town, I mean. I need to buy some paint. And if you could watch Liam for a bit, there’s something I have
to do.”

“What?”

Kate blew out a cleansing breath and grabbed her purse. “Get a haircut.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
____________________

I
T WAS
F
RIDAY POKER NIGHT AGAIN, and as much fun as the quilt show had been, June Hastings was glad to be home. She stepped onto Lydia’s screened porch, set her gin and tonic on the table and selected a riotously floral seat cushion to perch on. What Lydia lacked in ability to grow actual flowers, she made up for in her choice of upholstery fabrics. But that didn’t matter. They had some grandchildren to discuss. June plopped her box of family photos onto the table in front of her and turned to Ruth Pearson. “How was the barbecue last week?”

Ruth pursed her lips and reached for the veggie platter. “Good. I think. It was hard to tell.”

Claire sniffed, dropping a glob of dip onto the front of her late husband’s bowling shirt. “Probably not meant to be, then.”

Lydia pushed open the screen door. “What’s not meant to be?”

“June and Ruth’s grandkids. They’re not setting off sparks.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ruth said. “I think there’s definite interest, but they’re both skittish.”

“Kate’s always been shy,” June concurred then her eyes narrowed. “Lydia,
what
is in your drink?”

“A marshmallow. Claire ate all my cherries again. Besides I thought it might be fun to experiment with something new.” She began to deal the cards, her silver bangles sing-songing on her wrist. “Maybe they just need a nudge,” she suggested.

Ruth sipped her cocktail and nodded. “I thought of that, but the problem is, and don’t take this the wrong way, June, there isn’t a lot of opportunity for romance with the little one around.”

June picked up her cards and fanned them thoughtfully. “I know. She uses him like a shield. Just an excuse not to get back in the swing of things. She’s hardly stepped foot out of that cottage since she arrived last week. Puttering around.
Weeding...”
She pursed her lips and rearranged her cards. “It’s not healthy, if you ask me. Grown-ups need grown-up time.”

“That’s for sure,” Claire said, sorting through her photos to decide what she’d ante up with. “If the grown-ups aren’t…
enjoying themselves
,” she said with a meaningful look, “the kids suffer, too. Then no one’s happy.  We all figured that out pretty quick, didn’t we?”

Lydia gasped softly and June cast Claire a quelling look.

“What?” Claire asked. “
Oh.
  Lydia, I’m sorry...”

Lydia waved her marshmallow breezily in the air. “It’s okay.
Stu and I sure enjoyed our grown-up time, if you know what I mean. If we
could
have had kids... well, we would have ended up with more than we could handle!” With that she popped the marshmallow through her bright pink lips and bravely chewed.

Ruth glared at Claire. “Very tactful. Can we play now?”

Lydia blinked back a tear. “I bid one fourteen-foot Christmas tree,” she said, tossing a Christmas picture into the center of the table.

“A Christmas tree? It’s nearly July!” Claire said. At June’s look, she shrugged and reached for the veggie platter again.

June pulled a photo from her own box and added to the pot. “Okay. I’m in with one perfect purple crocus on a frosty April morning taken with my new digital camera.” She shook her head. “The thing is, she’s stuck. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t swear. I’m worried that by the time she remembers what it’s like to feel young and carefree, what it’s like to be a woman, it’ll be too late.”

Lydia sighed and stared at June’s crocus. “My
Stu always made me feel like a woman.”

June took a sip from her drink.  “I’m thinking of setting her up on a date. Something casual. Without Liam. What do you think?”

Ruth nodded distractedly over her cards. “Good idea. I’ll help. By the way, nice crocus, but I’m raising the stakes now. Lydia, I see your giant Christmas tree with my award-winning jack-o-lantern display and raise you one cherubic grandson with his first fish.”

Lydia smiled and dug through the fabric-covered shoebox she held on her lap. “Very nice fish, Ruth, I grant you that, and I’ve always loved that picture of little Jim at the fishing derby, but... I raise you again with one incredibly handsome, nicely tanned, bare-chested man,
in his underwear
.” Lydia reverently laid the photo on the table, a soft, happy sigh escaping from her fluorescent lips.

Claire scowled. “Lydia, that’s from a magazine! You can’t use him!”

“And why not? I’d love to talk about him. Isn’t he juicy? Look at that six pack...”

June frowned. “
Juicy?
Nobody uses that anymore. Come to think of it, I don’t think they ever did.”

Ruth picked up the male model in question and brought it closer for inspection. “If Lydia wants to talk about the new Calvin Klein model, I don’t see why we should object.”

“I wasn’t objecting,” June was quick to point out, peering over Ruth’s arm at the picture, “Claire was.”

“Oh, never mind,” Lydia relented. “I just like to spice things up sometimes.” She retrieved her magazine clipping and pulled an edge-weary photograph from the box. “Here’s
Stu and me at the Grand Canyon.
Again...”

June 20
I’m well aware that running in circles does not get me far. Don’t judge me. At least I’m moving forward.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
____________________

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kate tucked Liam into bed for his nap, the air in the bedroom heavy and still as a distant clap of thunder rolled down the valley over the lake.