Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson
The Heartbreaker (4 page)
Beth? You must be talking about Alana. Beth hates violence.
“It wasn't Alana. She's on a trip right now. And Mike couldn't have rounded up some other woman to kiss that fast. Nope, Beth was the biter, Mike was the bitee.”
Mike and Beth? Are you telling me that Theory C is correct, after all?
“That's where I'm putting my money.”
Alana's not going to like this.
“I know, dammit. I hafta get out of this hospital bed so I can run interference.”
But if you get out of the hospital bed, Mike will think he's not needed and take off for the Amazon again
.
.
“You're right. But if somebody doesn't keep an eye on those kids, they'll screw things up again. We already have an injury.”
If I know you, you'll think of something.
“I'll tell you this much, Pete. I'd think better if I had a real cigar instead of this damn rubber one.”
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BETH CLOSED UP the studio at ten minutes before noon. Business hadn't been very good so far that day, but then summers were traditionally slow, and she usually ended up in debt. Selling the cutters was designed to fix the seasonal slump problem, among others. If sales took off, her income wouldn't depend on her selling stained glass. She could eliminate the exhausting production of small sun-catchers that satisfied the tourist trade and concentrate on big installations that challenged her creativity.
She walked through a narrow side street to the public parking lot where she kept her truck. Ernie's shop was located in Warren, a small community adjacent to Bisbee, and it was too far to walk. As kids she, Mike and Alana had ridden there on their bikes many times, but Beth hadn't been on a bike in years.
A bike ride might have been more comfortable, she thought as she unlocked the truck. A hot morning after the night's downpour had left Bisbee steaming, and the cab was like an oven, even after she rolled down the windows and opened the vents. Although the truck's air conditioner had died the previous summer, she hadn't gotten it fixed because she was pumping all her spare money into the cutter project.
By the time she arrived at Tremayne's metal shop, she felt as if she'd just spent fifteen minutes in a sauna. Rummaging in the glove compartment, she found a scrunchy and enough hairpins to secure her damp, unruly hair on top of her head.
Mike had driven his dad's old truck to the shop, Beth noticed. She opened the front door and stepped into the air-conditioned interior with a sigh of relief. Mike wasn't out in the customer area. She called his name as she rounded the counter and headed into the rear of the building.
She found him sitting at his dad's bench, his back to her. Something about the set of his shoulders told her to go slow. “Mike, it's me.”
He didn't turn around. “I've never been in this place when he wasn't here.”
“Oh, Mike.” Instinct overrode caution as she went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. He shuddered beneath her touch, and she knew his grief was very close to the surface. “I know,” she murmured. “I'd never been in the studio without Dad being there, either. It's a shock, the first time.”
“I've been such a fool, Beth. I thought he'd go on forever.”
She massaged his shoulders gently. Touching him felt so sinfully right. “He's made it through this crisis,” she said. “He's got a lot of years left, Mike. He's tough.”
“I know he's tough, but I've lost that fantasy that he'll always be there. This has forced me to face something I haven't wanted to think about. Someday he'll be gone...and he's all I've got.”
“All? What about the time you've spent in Brazil? Surely you've made friends who are important to you.”
“A few.” He allowed his head to fall forward as he absorbed the massage. “I'm even an honorary member of a tribe.”
“The ones that live like children, with no worries?”
“Yeah. They're terrific people, and I care what happens to them, but I don't really belong there. I'm still a vagabond in Brazil, a rolling stone that gathers no moss, and all that crap.”
“Isn't that what you wanted?”
He sighed. “It's what I thought I wanted. But when I heard from Dad's doctor, when I really understood how close he came to dying, everything shifted. My whole perspective changed.”
She continued to knead his shoulders. “Hey, don't go off the deep end. You always wanted a life of adventure. I hope you're not letting this throw you so much that you're considering a career as a machinist in Bisbee. That just wouldn't be you.”
“I'm not so sure about that”
She felt a moment of panic. Mike was the keeper of the flame. As long as he sought adventure, then she could dream of one day doing the same. But if he gave up, what chance did she have? “This is an emotional time for you. Believe me, I know how it feels. You want to crawl into the nearest cave and surround yourself with all the things that make you feel safe. But eventually you start to heal, and safety isn't as important anymore. Don't tie yourself down to something that will become a straitjacket later, Mike.”
“You're making a lot of sense. But then, you always did.”
She decided a distraction might be just what he needed right now. She gave him a final squeeze and released her hold. “Ready to discuss the cutter design?”
“Sure.” He stood and came over to the demonstration light table Ernie had set up. “I figured out this must be it.”
“Your dad thought we should have a cutter set up and operational, so either one of us could demonstrate it.”
“So demonstrate.”
“Better than that, I'll let you use it. It'll probably help while you're working on the cutters, if you know exactly what they're supposed to do.” She glanced around the tidy shop. “I think he kept some glass somewhere.”
“Yeah, I saw it. Just a minute.” Mike walked over to a cabinet and came back with a notebook-size piece of cobalt glass. “Will this do?”
“Perfect. We'll need some sort of pattern.” She grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and drew a heart. Instantly she regretted her choice of shapes, but Mike had already come up beside her, and making a big deal about the design would be worse than just using it. She positioned the heart outline on the light table, switched on the lamp underneath and put the blue glass over the drawing. Then she adjusted the jointed metal arm clamped to the table so the cutting wheel was over the glass.
“Go ahead and try it.” She stepped back and motioned him toward the table. “You're going to be amazed at how easy a two-handed wheel makes the, whole process.”
“Okay, what do I do?”
“Grip the handles like this.” After months of demonstrating the cutter, she automatically reached around him and covered his hands with hers. Belatedly she realized how cozy the position was, and how unsettling. “Now position the wheel where you want to start your cut,” she continued, “and apply pressure as you guide it around the lines.”
“How much pressure?”
She tried to keep her breasts from brushing his back but it was nearly impossible. She forced herself to concentrate on the cutter and pretend she was demonstrating it for a strangerâbetter yet, an elderly lady with false teeth and arch supports. “Listen for a scratching sound. That means you're scoring the glass. You've done this before. You'll know when it's working.” His hands beneath hers weren't the hands of an elderly lady. Instead she felt strong tendons and the sensuous tickle of hair against her palms. The tangy scent of his aftershave filled her with images of snuggling against him and lifting her mouth for his kiss. This had been a very bad idea.
She gritted her teeth and watched the wheel bite into the cobalt glass. “That's it. Now, steer around the curve. Good. I'm letting go, now.” She backed away with a barely audible sigh of relief and put a hand over her pounding heart. “Keep that same pressure as you finish the outline. There. Excellent.”
He released the cutter handles and picked up the glass. It broke away cleanly on the score lines into a perfect heart shape. “Amazing. I can see what Dad's talking about. You could manage this with no training at all. Even kids could do it.”
Gradually her pulse regained its normal rhythm. “My father came up with the idea after he struggled through teaching a class at a retirement home using the old-style cutter. But he...died before he and Ernie could market it.” She still couldn't say that without a sharp stab of regret.
Mike turned to face her, his expression tender. “That's the other reason my dad wants this to be a success, isn't it? As a tribute to Pete.”
“That'sâ” She paused to clear her throat. “That's one of the reasons I want it to be a success, too.”
“He was a great guy,” Mike said softly.
She couldn't stop the flood of pain. “Then why didn't you come home when he died, Mike? He was like a father to you!”
He flinched as if she'd slapped him. Then he took a deep breath. “Within an hour of the time I heard about your dad, I had an airline ticket in my hand. But then, while I was sitting at the gate I thought about it and finally figured you and Alana had enough to deal with, without having me around. I called Dad back, and he said he was holding up okay, so in the interests of keeping the peace, I tore up the ticket. If it's any consolation, I wish I hadn't. I shouldn't have left my father alone at a time like that, no matter what the consequences to you and Alana.”
She was stunned. “You put aside your own grief because you thought we wouldn't want to see you?”
“My grief wasn't important. But I should have been here for my dad.”
“How can you say your grief wasn't important?”
He shrugged. “I'm a guy. I'm supposed to be tough about those things, right?”
“And were you tough?”
He looked away. The jaguar tooth around his neck quivered as he swallowed a lump of emotion.
Pain squeezed her heart as she pictured him leaving the airline terminal and going back to some impersonal room where he'd undoubtedly wept alone for the man who'd helped raise him. “Oh, Mike.” She slipped her arms around him and laid her cheek on his chest. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured, holding him gently.
With a long sigh he wrapped her in his arms and rested his cheek on her hair. “I've missed you, Beth.”
“I've missed you, too.” Holding him was heaven, but no matter how much she wanted to comfort him, she dared not stay too long. Slowly she extricated herself, stepping away as she broached the one subject that might save her from doing the unthinkable. “Alana called this morning.”
He regarded her intently. “Did you tell her I was here?”
Her courage flagged and she looked away from that piercing gaze. “Uh, no, I didn't.”
“Why not?”
“She's...she's in the middle of an important trip. Her business is just getting off the ground, and if she left that family in the middle of their vacation, there'd be hell to pay.”
“And you think she would leave them if she heard I was here?”
“I don't know. She might.”
Mike captured her chin and forced her to look at him. “Is that the only reason you didn't tell her?”
Her pulse quickened. His knowing gaze saw far too much. “Mike, please.”
His hand gentled and slid along her jawline. “You said you missed me. What was it about me that you missed?”
She should move away. Letting him touch her this way, considering how low her resistance was already, would have predictable results. Yet she seemed to have grown roots. “You...were like the brother I never had.”
He reached up with his other hand and began taking the pins from her hair. “And that's how you think of me? Like a brother?”
“Of course.”
“Were you treating me like a brother when you demonstrated the cutter just now? Was I the only one going crazy when you touched me?”
“Iâ” She swallowed as he freed her hair and tossed the scrunchy and hairpins onto the light table. “Mike, stop...”
He combed her hair with his fingers as he gazed deep into her eyes. “I don't think you'd tremble like this if a brother decided to take your hair down.”
“I have to go.” Yet she couldn't move.
“You can leave in a minute.” He slipped one hand behind her head, cradling it. “Right after I kiss you.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “Mikeâ”
“Two things,” he said, hovering nearer. “One, don't bite me. Two, I am not your brother.” Then his mouth settled over hers.
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