My Favorite Mistake (13 page)

Before the thug could finish his sentence, Redford’s hand had snaked out to grab the man by the neck, his thumb pressed into the man’s Adam’s apple. The guy emitted feeble,

hissing sounds as his two cronies backed away. My heart beat wildly.

“Now I’m going to ask you again,” Redford said mildly, neither his voice nor his body betraying the least amount of strain. “Watch your step. Okay, friend?” He released the

troublemaker with a slight shove backward. The man grabbed his throat, gasping for air and hacking uncontrol ably before disappearing into the crowd.

Oblivious to the admiring stares directed his way, Redford glanced toward the approaching train. “Is this one ours?”

“Um, yes.” My eyes were stil wide as the train slowed and stopped.

“You okay?”

“Redford,” I said as I crowded onto the train. “That man—thank you for standing up for me, but…”

He stepped in behind me and reached up to grab a strap, effectively encircling me with his body. He raised an eyebrow. “But?”

I sighed, resisting the urge to sink against his big body. “But you have to be careful in Manhattan. What if that guy had had a knife, or a gun? Which he probably did, by the way.”

Redford seemed unfazed. “He’s just a petty punk, Denise. Besides, I’ve been shot at lots of times.”

When the train took off, my heart was stil clicking in amazement and—I must admit—pride. And God help me, Redford’s calm command of the situation ignited a sensual fire in

me. Here was a man who would sacrifice his life for a noble cause…or for
me.

You gotta love a man like that.

Not that I
loved
Redford. I was being hypothetical.

The train lurched forward, slamming me into Redford’s chest. He steadied me with his free hand, emitting a little laugh. I looked around for a pole to grab on to, but the nearest one was fil ed with hands.

“Hook a finger through my belt loop,” he offered.

I didn’t
want
to look at his belt loop area, but after that invitation, how could I not? I lowered my gaze along the opening in his coat to take in his belt loops—and lower stil , where I hadn’t dared to look before. The substantial bulge I remembered was stil there. (Redford, as a man’s tailor would say, dressed “left.”) Ignoring the stab of desire that hit me unexpectedly, I glibly hooked my pinkie through a belt loop and looked elsewhere. “Thanks.”

“No, thank
you,
” he said, his eyes dancing.

The ensuing flush kept me warm until we arrived at Battery Park. We made our way along the waterfront to purchase ferry tickets, then bought a cup of strong coffee and

watched a woman juggle frying pans until the ferry arrived. Crowds were light because the weather was brisk. But it was a beautiful, clear, sunny day. As the ferry took off across the water, I felt as if I were in a romantic movie, standing at the rail next to a big, handsome guy, the wind blowing in my face. It would have been perfect if we had been in love. Those pesky regrets threatened to break through my careful resolve.

As we passed southern Manhattan, I pointed to the skyline and tried to explain where the twin towers had once stood. “Almost twice as tal as any building you see there.”

He stared hard. “I can envision it from al the pictures I’ve seen.” Then he pivoted his head to look at me. “You love living in the city, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Could you ever see yourself living anywhere else?”

I squirmed, remembering that once I’d naively thought I could live in Kentucky on a horse farm. I tried to make light of his question. “Wel , my parents are always hinting that I move closer to them in Florida, but I’ve resisted.”

“They’re stil in Fort Myers?”

I nodded, surprised that he remembered. “Are your parents stil in good health?”

He smiled wide. “Oh, yeah. My mom is as sassy as ever, my dad just happy to have me back in the business. He’s pushing me to expand the stables in a big way.”

“I thought you were retired,” I teased.

He laughed. “DeMoss men don’t retire…we die in a ful sweat.”

I had seen Redford in a ful sweat, and it
was
to die for. “A-aren’t your siblings stil involved in the business?”

“Both my brothers and both my sisters, and they’re good. So good that I don’t feel very useful most of the time.”

His brothers were older, I remembered, his sisters younger. “Which one has the little girls?” I asked, although I felt as if I was prying.

“My brothers are both single,” he said. “One of my sisters is married now—Sarah. She’s the one with the little girls—Janie and Maggie.”

I resisted the urge to ask more questions about his family. I didn’t need to know. With a start, I wondered how much—if anything—they knew about me. “Do they know why

you’re up here?”

He nodded, but said nothing, which made me even more uncomfortable. Had Redford, like me, neglected to mention to his family that he’d gotten married in a quickie ceremony in Vegas? And if he had mentioned it, what must they think of me? My behavior must have seemed even more unwholesome to people who undoubtedly held very traditional

values—not unlike my folks. My face burned.

“Oh, wow,” he breathed as the Statue of Liberty came into ful view.

I turned to take in the view I never tired of, no matter how many visiting friends and relatives I brought on this trip. Newly renovated, Lady Liberty was spectacular in the morning sun—her copper robe in green and blue patinas that shimmered in the light, giving the il usion of moving cloth.

“Did you bring a camera?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I have a photographic memory.” He swung his head toward me and gave me one of those intense looks. “I remember
every
thing.”

My tongue adhered to the roof of my mouth. How was it possible to get turned on through a thousand layers of clothing? I maintained a frozen smile while we docked and

disembarked. We bought tickets for the “insider’s view,” and were assigned to a park ranger for our guided tour. I hadn’t visited the monument since it had been refurbished—the lighting had been enhanced and a new video system instal ed. But most of the time, I looked at Redford.

He listened intently as the guide explained the Statue’s symbolism, history, construction, and restoration. He even asked a couple of questions. I marveled at how content I was doing something so mundane with Redford, but his sincere interest in smal details made the outing more interesting to me, too.

The tour culminated in a walk out onto the statue’s narrow observation deck, sixteen stories up, around the calf of Lady Liberty. From there we had a breathtaking view of New

York City and the Harbor. I had a breathtaking view of Redford, too. The wind tousling his hat-flattened hair, his profile sharp and strong, his shoulders mountainous. The sheer strength that emanated from him was…inspiring. He looked over at me and winked, and I glanced away lest he think I was staring at him.

But the moment left me with a bad feeling in my stomach, as if I could be…might be…fal ing under his spel again. But that, I knew in my heart of hearts, would be the ruin of me.

The one thing that kept me from turning around to run was the knowledge that Redford wouldn’t entice me to cheat on Barry. As long as I kept my head, I’d be fine.

I repeated the mantra to myself al afternoon as we traipsed from one tourist destination to another. We ate hot dogs on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum, and Redford

bought souvenirs for his nieces. We strol ed through Central Park, and talked about current events and music. He asked about my job, and where I lived. The mood was light and

conversational until we visited Ground Zero.

I had been to the World Trade Center site many times, but not recently…and not with anyone who seemed as connected to the site as Redford. He removed his hat as we

stared over the sixteen-acre crater, bustling with construction activity in the distance, but almost silent where we stood with others who came to pay their respects. The heavy gratelike fence that surrounded the site might have been impersonal, except that portions of the fence had been turned into makeshift memorials—pictures, flowers, stuffed animals, and other items commemorating loved ones. The temperature seemed even colder here, the wind more bitter, wailing mournful y around us.

We didn’t speak. As I watched emotions play over Redford’s face, my chest and throat grew tight. When he reached down to clasp my gloved hand, I didn’t mind—it seemed

like a moment to be touching another person. When we left the site, he stil clasped my hand, and it struck me that anyone passing by would have mistaken us for a couple. And since I was engaged to another man, that didn’t seem quite right.

I broke our handclasp to glance at my watch. “I guess I’d better be heading home to change. If you can find your way back to the hotel, I can cut through here to my apartment.”

He nodded. “I’d like to walk to your place to pick you up, if that would be okay.”

He looked so…accommodating, it would be rude to say no, I decided. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was going to show him my bedroom or anything crazy like that.

“Sure.” We made plans to meet in an hour and I gave him directions to my building. I felt his gaze on me as I walked away, but told myself he was only concerned about my

safety, which was why he’d offered to come by.

Of course I worried al the way home. What would he think of my place? And did I real y want to be able to remember Redford standing in my living room?

By the time I arrived at my apartment, I was sweating under my bulky clothes. I booted up my computer and shed the layers, then sat down to check my auction. WANTSAMAN

was winning with a bid of—
gulp
—$1375! I bit my lip, feeling a little guilty for stringing along SYLVIESMOM. Then I remembered the way the woman had tried to tear the dress off my back and frowned. She’d live.

The phone rang and I raced for it, hoping it was Barry. “Hel o?”

“It’s Kenzie. So you’re final y coming to see me, huh?”

One side of my mouth slid back. “Only if you’re in a better mood.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry about the other day, but this thing with your ex is real y weird—I’m worried about you.”

I bit my lip. “Why?”

“Because, when you came back from Vegas, it was like you’d joined a cult or something. And I’m afraid you’re stil hung up on this guy. I’m kind of glad he’s married.”

“I’m not stil hung up on him, and he’s not married.”

“Oh. Dear. Now I’m real y worried.”

“Don’t be, Kenzie. I’m fine, real y.”

“Sam says Redford is a nice guy…kind of rugged?” she said, her voice questioning.

“I…guess so.”

“Wel , I’l be interested to meet him, but I’m more excited that you’re coming up. I’ve already cleared out the guest room to make room for the nursery—I can’t wait to tel you my ideas.”

“That’s nice. But do you think you and Sam can behave yourselves long enough to have company?”

Kenzie laughed. “We don’t have sex twenty-four hours a day, Denise.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“My hormones are so crazy I haven’t felt like having sex for two days now.”

“Okay, that’s approaching too much information. I’l see you tomorrow.”

“Wil you have your cel with you?”

“Yeah, I’l cal when we get close.”

We said goodbye and I hung up, Kenzie’s words stil playing in my mind.
“When you came back from Vegas, it was like you’d joined a cult.”
I frowned. What a strange analogy, but in some way fitting for what I had experienced with Redford in that short time span in Vegas. I had lost myself, turned my mind and body over to him. And I had been so heartbroken after the annulment that months had passed before I could draw a painless breath.

I pushed the disturbing thoughts from my mind while I straightened my apartment. Then I took a shower, tel ing myself that my raised vital signs did not mean that I was anticipating Redford’s arrival.

I was in a quandary about what to wear. Chances were, Redford would be wearing jeans or chinos and maybe a dress shirt. I didn’t want to appear too dressy, but I wanted to

look nice. Not for Redford, but for…anyone.

Yes, I wanted to look nice not for Redford, but for perfect strangers.

I settled on a plain V-neck black dress and strappy sandals, with my standard low ponytail and simple jewelry.

I paused to study my engagement ring, and guilt consumed me. On impulse, I picked up the phone and dialed Barry’s cel phone. To my surprise, he answered. It was a sign, I

decided.

“Hi,” I said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Just trying to wade through a month’s worth of Nielsen ratings.”

I pictured him on the other end rubbing his eyes. Working like a dog, while I entertained my ex. “I talked to my mom yesterday and told her about the engagement. She’s thril ed.

Dad, too.”

“That’s great,” he said. “I haven’t told my folks yet, haven’t had a chance to cal and have a conversation.”

I closed my eyes. “I miss you.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Are you doing something fun tonight?”

“Um, maybe,” I said, fingering my ring. “You?”

He laughed. “Hardly.” His phone made a clicking noise. “I’m sorry, Denise, I need to get this. Can I cal you tomorrow?”

I would be on the road with Redford tomorrow. “I…might be out.”

“Okay, then I’l catch up with you Monday.”

Then I’d tel him about the tickets to Vegas. “Sure. Bye…Barry.”

“Bye.”

I hung up the phone, fighting an unreasonable spike of frustration with Barry because he hadn’t taken the time to reassure me that he adored me and that we were good

together. When I glanced at my sparkling diamond again, though, I felt horrible. The ring spoke volumes. Hadn’t he taken the time to get to know me over two years? Hadn’t he gotten to know my parents and my friends? Hadn’t he taken an interest in my career and hooked me up to do business with his
boss,
no less? And hadn’t he gone to the trouble of buying me a fabulous ring and proposing in public? And while he wasn’t a dynamo in bed, he was at least
there
in body and spirit. Redford had been living a couple of hours away for over a year and hadn’t bothered to look me up.