Twisted in Tulips (8 page)

“I know they added to their guest list, but I didn’t think it was that much.” Jenny rolled her chair to the drawer for the file where she kept the order invoices. “Have you left your office at all today?”

“No. You could say I’m in avoidance mode.” Terrified her mother had staked the building out, Misty had resorted to hiding. She was going to have to return the calls soon, but she wasn’t in the mood. Not that she was ever in the mood.

“Well, whatever you’re avoiding can’t be bad enough that you’ve locked yourself in your office without food all day.” Jenny handed the file over. Censure pinched her eyes. “You should have spoken up and I’d have gotten you something.”

“I haven’t been in my office all day.” The talk of food had her stomach rumbling and Jenny arching a brow.

“Hiding in your flower freezer and staging room is the same thing. You look tired.”

“Thank you for the flattery.”

The front door opened. A delivery boy wearing a shirt from Carlito’s Pizza Pies walked in with a heavy bag used to keep the pizza hot. She loved Carlito’s and the way they used large chunks of super fresh meats and veggies on their pizzas, but rarely took the time to go. Her hips weren’t very forgiving when it came to Carlito’s.

“I have a delivery for Misty Morgan.”

“I didn’t order anything.”
Shut up and take the food, woman!
Her rumbling stomach bellowed.

The young man looked at her with a soft smile. “Misty Morgan. Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings. The man at the front desk said this is the place.”

“That’s me, but I didn’t order anything.” Hunger swept over her with dizziness. She grabbed the edge of Jenny’s desk.

“How much do we owe you?” Jenny reached for her purse.

“It’s pre-paid.”

The boy pulled the box from the bag and placed it on the desktop. The aroma of fresh-baked crust, melted cheese and grease floated up. Misty’s stomach rumbled again. Her head throbbed with the increasing pain of a hunger headache. She didn’t care who’d ordered it. If she didn’t eat she was going to pass out.

Jenny tipped the delivery boy and thanked him before sliding the pizza toward Misty. She moved over and grabbed the extra chair at the reception desk and pushed it toward Misty. “Sit. Eat.”

Unable to argue with her body’s demands Misty obeyed. She flipped the lid up. The scent of the pizza rushed her. It had been made four ways: fully loaded, all meat, all veggie, cheese only. A plastic bag with an envelope inside was taped to the box lid.

She pulled out a slice of pizza with everything on it and took a big bite. The cheese burned the roof of her mouth, but she was too hungry to care. Too hungry to take time to breathe in cool air in an attempt to soothe the burn.

Jenny shook her head and reached for the bag. She pulled a letter from the envelope and began reading. “‘I wasn’t sure what you liked, but surely one of these will do the trick. You work too hard and ignore your personal needs.’”

Jenny raised a brow and kept reading. “‘Hopefully the pizza will help and the enclosed gift will encourage you to take some time for you. And maybe they will make up for any trouble I caused with your mother this afternoon. I fear I didn’t make a good impression, but I believe I understand you a little better now. P.S. Your mother says if you don’t call her she’ll show up on your front porch.’”

Jace.
He’d sent her food.

“This is so sweet.” Jenny purred as she pulled out another envelope and opened it. “Holy shit,” she squeaked.

“What?” The question came out as a muffle. Misty had just stuffed a large chunk of crust into her mouth, polishing off the first slice.

“A five-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Bonnie’s.” Jenny waved the paper in the air. “You aren’t dating anyone. Who would send you this?”

She shrugged and reached for another slice. All meat this time. Her stomach was settling down, sighing with each bite.

“Don’t mess up that certificate.” She could have a good time with that money at Bonnie’s, but why had Jace sent it? And how had he known her favorite pizza place and place to shop? Most men would have sent a bouquet of flowers to a woman if he thought he needed to apologize…but a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate? What had he said to her mother?

“Come on, Misty.” Jenny read the certificate again and sighed. “I would love to get something like this. You know who it’s from.”

“Play nice and maybe I’ll get you one for your birthday.”

“Don’t tease like that. And don’t think I don’t realize you’re avoiding my question.”

“Wouldn’t think you missed it for a second.” She took another bite. “But I’m not telling you who this is from.”

“I bet it’s Jace from building security. He couldn’t take his eyes off you the last time he was in here. And the way he nearly growled when he pulled you into your office. Yum.” Jenny’s voice hit an octave somewhere in the stratosphere when she sang
yum.
Before waiting for an answer, she leaned over and took a long whiff. “Will you at least share a slice of pizza? It smells, and looks, divine.”

“It is heavenly.” Misty didn’t acknowledge Jenny’s guess as she grabbed the certificate and set it on the desk when she was more tempted to shove it in her bra to hold it and the sentiment it carried close. She didn’t want to wrinkle it though.

Had Jace really almost growled? Was he really so captivated he couldn’t take his eyes off her? The idea was thrilling.

“I don’t care how your clients sing your praises. You’re a cruel woman, Misty Morgan.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “If you’re going to pout, I guess you can have a slice.”

Jenny wasted no time grabbing it. At least while she was eating she wasn’t questioning Misty about the gift giver.

Jace.

He was the last man she’d expect a grand gesture of any kind from. She certainly would never have expected him to do something like tracking down some of her favorite things to make a point. With one move he was pampering her and taking care of her. But who had he gotten the information from? Lori would have said something. Or would she?

She hadn’t seen sweetness from him outside the bedroom, but damn if it wasn’t a major turn on.

It was her turn to surprise him.

Chapter Nine

A week had passed without a word from Misty. She hadn’t been to work. She hadn’t been at her apartment. She hadn’t stopped by the bar. She’d left without a word and though he had no claims on her it irritated him.

Jace had considered asking Lori or Trevor about her. He’d almost said something to Jenny the morning they’d come in at the same time. Each time the questions had slipped toward freedom he’d shoved them down. The proverbial ball was in her court, and if she didn’t deal with it soon he’d know she was like everyone else. Not at all what he’d begun to see her as, but rather a runner. Incapable of sticking with him.

He’d reached out with a message she had to understand. Sure, he’d given her a hard time about her clothing choices. He’d questioned the company she kept. He’d taken her to his home without her agreement. He’d been an ass at times. She had plenty of reasons to turn away, but damn it, he’d have wagered his good arm she was different.

Feeling pissy—a word Clint used to use—Jace dropped to the sofa and rubbed his aching stub. Knowing the pain was in his head, that he couldn’t hurt in an arm he didn’t have, that the agony grew worse when he became overtired or agitated, didn’t change things. He was in a bad mood, which made his missing arm hurt, which increased his bad mood.

Damn woman.

Someone knocked on his door. He didn’t care.

Misty had hooked him in a moment of vulnerability and reeled him in with no effort. Her soft peach scent, her warmth, her fun spirit, her willingness to sacrifice herself for someone else’s happiness.

He’d met the military couple she’d helped when they came into the bar one night. The man would never walk again, but neither would he wonder about the loyalty of his friends or his woman. His woman said she’d have never had the courage to meet her new husband, to reject his rejection, without Misty’s encouragement.

How had Jace been too blind to see Misty’s value? To see her importance?

“Jace Nichols.” A baritone battered the door with a solid knock. “Delivery.”

Jace looked at his scarred stump. The prosthetic was in the bathroom. By the time he put it on and got dressed the delivery person would’ve left. Even if he was wrong, he wasn’t interested in whatever it was.

“Lieutenant Jace Nichols,” the voice called as he pounded again. “You can’t hide from me. Besides, I’ve seen you naked, and I’ve seen your missing arm.”

Once he’d left the military only his doctors had seen his arm. His doctor wasn’t at his door. The only other people who could make the stated claims were the men he’d served with, but even they hadn’t seen his arm. Except Clint.

Shrapnel-sharp memories flooded his mind and swelled until his skull felt too small. Sweat popped out above his lip, along his hairline, at his spine base.

Clint
.

He’d walked into the hospital room while Jace’s arm had been uncovered. After one look at the bruised and angry red stump, he’d turned and walked away. He’d never come back.

“Open the door, Jace.”

Clint
.

Recognition shot into him. All the time that had passed with only scattered email communications with the unit, none from Clint… Now the man was outside?

Pressure pushed against Jace’s ribs and throat. Breathing became a battle. Thought became obliterated. Something in his mind must’ve maintained functionality because he found himself facing the door, his hand reaching for the knob.

“I never knew you to be a coward who’d hide behind a locked door,” Clint taunted.

Jace flipped the lock, opened the door. “You’ll never see that day either.”

Clint grinned and pulled him into a gripping hug that ended with a slap on the back. The tension that had built oozed out of Jace. “Well you took long enough to prove me wrong.”

“I was busy.” Clint looked as fit as he had the day they’d finished boot camp. They’d met at a recruiting weekend, signed up, trained, served and almost died together.

“Busy sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.” He tucked his stump behind his back, remembering the horror that had stamped his buddy’s face last time. Hiding himself from people had become second nature, because if Clint hadn’t been able to look at him, how would anyone else?

“Not anymore anyway.” Clint backed Jace inside and shut the door. “It’s Friday night. I have leave. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

He’d have refused anyone else on principle. Clint wasn’t anyone, but still Jace didn’t immediately agree. “Why are you here? Why’d you stay away?”

“Guilt.” Plain and simple, with no pretense or bullshit evasions, Clint shrugged. “I’d just cost my best friend his arm and career. I couldn’t see you without thinking of that.”

The emotion-filled pressure cooker in Jace’s throat grew tighter and tighter. His sinus cavity burned with restrained tears ready to pour free. He hated to cry.

“I needed you.” His voice cracked. “I needed to know you cared no matter what.” Tears leaked free.

Clint shifted his feet. Left. Right. Left. Right. “I cared. Too much about the wrong shit, but I cared. I care.”

Needing to get himself reined back in, Jace headed to the bathroom for the prosthetic and to get dressed. He swiped at the tears when he was out of sight. “What brought you back?” He spoke loudly enough to be heard in the other room, but the place was small enough he didn’t have to raise his voice much.

“I saw the stupidity of my actions.” An admission that would’ve cost Clint as much as Jace saying he’d needed his friend.

Suddenly aware of a new sensation, Jace paused with his arm in hand and stared at his stump. It tingled like electrodes had been stuck all over and turned on high. The pain he’d grown accustomed to still lingered, always present on some level, yet the tingling seemed to drive it back a little.

Were the therapists right? Was a lot of the pain emotion driven? Was it feeling different because Clint had returned? Whatever the cause, he wasn’t going to question it. He would question Clint, though.

He positioned the prosthetic on its peg and twisted it on while he called out. “Specifically what stupidity? And how?”

Pulling his shirt on, he walked back into the living area where Clint stood silently.

“You wanna be my therapist, Jace?”

“Hell no.” The two-armed Jace may have let it go, but the one-armed Jace who’d lived with the ghost of pain and the burn of rejection wanted the difficult answers. He deserved them. “But I’d like to know why after all this time without a word you march in here like it’s old times.”

“I was made to see the error of my withdrawal.” He looked at Jace but didn’t meet his gaze.

“By who?”

“A woman.” Clint shifted on his feet, but his gaze held firm this time. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you about her. I heard there’s a great little bar in the area.” Clint wiggled his brows and smiled. “With a bartender who’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Sam’s?”