Say You'll Never Love Me (21 page)

JARED LET LAUREN PICK
the restaurant and wouldn’t you know she’d choose one three blocks from Raynie’s house. But that wouldn’t spoil his evening. He had a beautiful, willing woman sitting across from him, and by damn he planned to take advantage of it.

She tossed her head, soft curls bounced, then settled against tanned skin. She wore the same style blouse as Raynie had for their first lunch date.

He zeroed in on the cutouts. “What kind of top do you call that?”

“Cold shoulder.”

“I like it. Sexy.”

“Thank you.”

Her lips puckered around the last word and his crotch twitched. Still two hours before sunset, he needed to pace himself. He stared out the window where across the street a neon sign blinked Scoops, Shakes, and Sundaes. Bright umbrellas swayed in the breeze. On the outermost corner sat a woman with a young girl. The child licked a chocolate ice cream cone while the lady messed with her cell phone. The pair could pass for Raynie and Silbie had it not been for the colored hair. Purple streaked the child’s and the adult’s sported all the primary colors.

His chest tightened. Holy crap. It was them. What the hell had she done? Dyed Silbie’s hair to match her dance dress? Was she insane?

RAYNIE TEXTED BACK
and forth with Quinn making arrangements for the weekend. Silbie’s hatred for bananas had been a surprise. She’d not been too crazy about the meatloaf either but made a deal to eat six bites in return for one scoop of chocolate. On the other hand, Mr. Remmus proposed marriage, so she considered her efforts a success.

She put her phone down. “Are you about done?”

“Yes ma’am, but can I go slide?”

Raynie scanned the crowded play area. Kids climbed on jungle bars, and through plastic tunnels. “Sure.” She followed Silbie and found a seat with a clear view. Over at Bijou Bistro, black-and-white striped awnings ruffled in the wind and caught her attention. She should sign up for French cooking. It couldn’t be more deadly than southern cuisine with all its gravy and fried food. Her eyes drifted. The couples appeared so happy. Laughing, talking. What a crock. At least fifty percent of them were probably having affairs.

Eyeing each pair, she judged them. The young blond and older man. Rich guy. Mistress. Two studs drinking wine. Gay. Sexy redhead. Raynie lost her breath.
Jared.
She spun around putting her back to the eatery. “Silbie! We need to go.”

“Just a little longer. Please.”

“No. I’m not feeling well. We’ve got to leave right now.”

Silbie ran to her, and Raynie clasped her hand. Once in the car, she swiped at her cheeks.

“What’s wrong Aunt Raynie? Are you crying?”

“No. I got something in my eye. Buckle your seat belt.” She pulled herself together. Stupid to be upset. Jared wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to her. Never had been.

Jared pushed the comforter aside and swung his feet to the floor. What was happening to him? Last night, he’d had a beautiful, willing chick ready to hop in the sack, and he’d ended the date with a simple goodnight kiss. Seeing Raynie unnerved him, and he couldn’t take Lauren to bed. Just as well. She was only a substitute for the woman he really wanted, and that would have been unfair to her.

He was a jerk—and an idiot. He’d tried everything he could think of to convince Raynie happily-ever-after existed. Well, no more. He was done thinking about her and hoping against hope she’d change her mind.

RAYNIE HIT THE SEND
button for the seventh reading, then strolled to the kitchen for a coffee refill. The more she did this job, the more she felt like a fake. So many people wanting a prediction for everlasting love and there was no such thing. The best anyone could hope for was temporarily-ever-after. Yeah, she’d had two of those.

She poured then stared into the backyard. Shasta daisies were budding. Soon they’d be in full bloom. At least she and Silbie would have time to pick a bouquet or two before they left.

Out front, the mowing crew pulled to the curb and Chef Sean parked in the drive. This was the last southern cooking lesson, and she decided to book another class. It was easier to think about chicken dishes than dimples.

The image of Jared with the redhead came in vivid color. She should be happy for him, because the way the woman shook her head and laughed, told Raynie it wasn’t a counseling session. Good for him. He’d already moved on.

If she remembered correctly, Jared’s brother married a redhead. Sloan men must have a weakness for gingers. Raynie chuckled to herself. She could be included in that group. At the moment, she had a few red stripes. Ready to tackle the job of perfecting Texas’ ultimate comfort food, chicken fried steak, she forced the notion away and went to open the door.

By the time the lesson ended, she’d learned the secret to the coronary waiting to happen. Dredge in flour, dip in an egg-milk combination, and dredge again. The process provided a thick, crisp crust while keeping the meat inside moist and tender. Sean used the same procedure for the okra, and those little morsels, she discovered, were as addictive as potato chips. Once you popped one in your mouth, you couldn’t stop.

Garlic mashed potatoes, gravy, and pecan pie rounded out the menu. At the end of each class, a great sense of pride washed over her. She’d never known cooking could be so rewarding or she’d be any good at it. But this weekend, she planned to impress Dak and Quinn.

Sean placed his hand on her shoulder. “Well, Betty Crocker, today ends our time together, and you’ve been one of my best students.”

“Thanks. I’ve enjoyed it. So much, I want another session if you have the time.”

“For you? Sure, but unless you want to tackle more than basic dishes, you don’t need an instructor.”

“I want something more advanced, like French cooking or how to make sushi.”

“How about a week of both? Say—starting next Tuesday?”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, see you then, Ma Chérie.”

As Sean left, Raynie took a moment to eye the mowing guy. Last week when he’d come inside to collect his pay she’d gotten a good look at his face. He couldn’t be over twenty-two. Not wearing a shirt, his brown skin glistened in the sun. Any other time, the eagle tattoo on his back would be a real turn on, but not today. Having tossed and turned most of the night thinking about the padre, she’d gone numb in the hormone department. Even a half-naked, inked man didn’t interest her.

With the house quiet again, Medusa and Mordecai came from their hiding spots. Both kitties twined around her feet. She picked them up and hugged them close. A steady hum vibrated like little motors. Celeste would love the cats and how happy they made Silbie.

A tear trickled down Raynie’s cheek. She missed her sister. She put the cats on the floor, grabbed her purse, and walked into the garage.

In less than thirty minutes, she wound around the curves leading into Hillcrest Memorial Park. Recently, she avoided the place. She didn’t want her niece to forget her parents but frequent visits to the cemetery kept the loss fresh. Since she’d stayed away, Silbie’s night screams had all but stopped.

Raynie brought the car to a halt under an oak tree. A carpet of dark green grass stretched out in front of her. A grid of brass vases holding every color and variety of flower, marked each flat stone. As she got out, across the grounds, a tent flapped in the wind, as workers set up chairs beneath it.

She checked her watch. Almost one. She’d be out of there before the next service. She rounded a group of crepe myrtles and Celeste’s grave came into view. Breath caught in the back of Raynie’s throat. A man stood at the resting place. She stopped short and studied him. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. His starched denim shirt tucked neatly into jeans, and cowboy boots looked to be some type of snakeskin. In his hands, he held a hat.

When she called, he jerked his head toward her. He appeared to be about forty. Brown eyes. Chiseled features. Masculinity rolling off him like August heat on asphalt.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Before he could speak, Raynie’s knees weakened. Cowboy was about as opposite as a guy could be from Evan. “Oh my God. You’re him. Aren’t you?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re Celeste’s lover.”

He settled his hat and tried to walk away, but Raynie blocked him. “Please stay. I have questions and for peace of mind, I need answers.”

He worked his jaw. She thought he might push past her, but instead, he gazed at her with eyes so sad, she wanted to cry.

“What do you want to know?”

She sucked extra air into her lungs. “Everything.”

He nodded, and she understood why Celeste found him attractive. She’d been a sucker for the strong silent type and although Raynie considered Evan sullen, she never pegged him as strong or silent.

She stuck out her hand. “I’m . . .”

“I know. You’re Raynie. I’m Clint Sawyer.”

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk. Why don’t you follow me home?”

A hundred questions ran through her mind as she drove. Clint wasn’t using Celeste for sex. He’d truly cared about her, or he wouldn’t be visiting her grave. Was he at the funeral? She didn’t remember seeing him, but that day had been a blur, so he could have been there and she not noticed.

She swung the Lexus into the drive, and he pulled in behind her. Once inside the house, he turned in a circle, taking it all in.

“The place looks like Celeste. Family photos. Frilly throw pillows. The bird collection.” He walked to the bookshelf and picked up a ceramic robin, then ran his hand across the smooth feathers. “The day I gave her this, she cried. I teased her. Told her it was just a cheap do-dad, but she held it to her chest like it was made of gold.”

Raynie smiled at his word choice. What kind of guy said do-dad? The pain in his voice was palpable. He’d loved Celeste. Still did. A twinge of jealousy stabbed Raynie’s heart.

Then he pulled himself from the moment and faced her. “Ask away.”

“You want something to drink?”

“No. I’m good.” He smiled. “Damn, you look like her.”

“That’s what everyone says.” She motioned to the sofa, and he took a spot on the end. Raynie slid into the chair across from him. “How did you meet?”

“I brought a load of pumpkins for the school’s fall festival.”

“So while you were unloading passion overcame you?”

He laughed. “She told me you were quirky. It wasn’t like that. We talked. She gave me her card. I couldn’t get her off my mind and I thought the attraction was mutual. Knew she was married. Didn’t care. Called anyway.”

“So the affair started in October?”

“A year ago October. Silbie was in kindergarten.”

Raynie pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh. I guess it was more than a fling.”

“A lot more. Because of Evan’s affairs, she didn’t love him anymore. They went through the motions for Silbie’s sake.”

“But they were seeing a marriage counselor.”

“Not to save it. To reach an amicable decision about Silbie. Evan wanted to take everything from Celeste, including full custody.”