When You Are Mine (4 page)

Kerris looked at the couple again. She’d noticed the way Sofie looked at Walsh, as if at any moment the sun would set on him.

“Have they known each other long?”

“Only since birth.” Jo skipped a pebble across the river’s surface. “If arranged marriages still happened, you’d be looking at one. Not formally, of course, but everyone knows that’s where Walsh’ll end up.”

Kerris watched Sofie and Walsh splash water on each other at the edge of the river.

“Sofie’s father is Uncle Martin’s right-hand man. They’ve always been in the same schools. Hung in the same circles. And she’s always loved him.”

“And how does he feel?” Kerris wished she could retract the nosy question.

“Walsh may date other girls, sleep with other girls even, but everyone knows the deal. He may play the field, but Sofie’s home base. That’s where he’ll settle down.”

Kerris felt more than saw the speculative glance Jo flitted between her and the couple.

“A guy like Walsh has the world in the palm of his hand. He needs a woman who knows what to do with it. That’s Sofie. They aren’t people who can marry just anybody.”

Not just anybody, and certainly not a nobody. Remember that, little girl
, Kerris told herself. He’s out of your league. He’s gorgeous. He’s been groomed to charm birds from trees. He flies all over the world, rescuing orphans just like you.

There were a million reasons she had responded to Walsh Bennett the way she had. And a million reasons she should avoid him. She would spend the whole summer making sure she didn’t forget that.

O
ver the next month, Kerris and Meredith put their shoulders to the plow readying Déjà Vu for its end-of-summer grand opening. In the mornings, they cleaned houses for Maid 4 U. They needed a comfortable financial cushion as insurance for the thrift store’s potential slow start. Meredith had a nice little nest egg, and Kerris refused to touch the money she had won as Scholar of the Year.

They cleaned houses all morning, squeezed in a hurried lunch, and then resumed cleaning in the afternoons. From there, they would comb the city and surrounding areas for unique finds to stock the shop with the beautiful, unusual, affordable pieces they wanted to build their reputation on. They spent most evenings sanding floors, painting and wallpapering, staining, decorating—whatever it took to transform the space into what they dreamed it could be.

It was a bruising pace, but Kerris knew it was worth it, and in another month, they could have it all done. They didn’t deny themselves little breaks here and there. When one of them received an invitation to a party, or a picnic, or even a game of volleyball, they gave themselves permission to take guilt-free advantage of it. These slices of leisure kept Kerris sane. Most of those times were spent with Cam and his friends, who were determined to enjoy the gorgeous weather and one another’s company.

They were halcyon days filled with horseshoes, baseball games, outdoor concerts, and the river. That summer Kerris fell in love. In love with the water, sometimes placid and tranquil, other times rushing so violently that the banks alongside seemed barely able to contain it. In love with the lullaby of moving water whispering its promises to her as she drifted off to sleep under a canopy of trees. Cam’s cottage was just over the hill, so the river became the centerpiece of that summer, her oasis from the commitments she balanced to make this new chapter of her life unfold.

It was the first day of July, and she and Meredith were close to being done with the space. Their goal was to finish by the Fourth of July. Meredith, however, had a prospect she couldn’t ignore.

“His name is Sam Watanabe. He’s five eight.” Meredith grabbed her purse and prepared to leave for the date. “Finally, I found a first-generation, Japanese-American man who’s actually tall enough for me.
And
he’s a biochemist.
And
he’s cute. Even my parents should approve.”

“I would never ask you to pass up destiny.” Kerris laid out her sarcasm along with a tarp for painting.

“I’m actually excited. I think Sam and I could hit it off.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it.” Kerris adjusted the edges of the tarp, glancing at Meredith over her shoulder. “And you look really pretty, by the way.”

“I’m not sure I can return the compliment.” Meredith examined Kerris’s cutoff jeans, white wifebeater and work boots. Kerris’s hair was caught up in a messy ponytail atop her head, dark tendrils escaping around her face and neck. “Will you get to freshen up at all before Cam comes with dinner?”

“It’ll have to do.” Kerris grimaced, glancing down at her paint-spattered hands. “He’s been slammed, too, with this crazy deadline at the office, so maybe he won’t look much better.”

“He needs to be painting. His talent is wasted with graphic design.”

“I know. It’s in his plans.” Kerris blew at a tendril of hair drooping over her eyes. “In the meantime, he’s got bills to pay like the rest of us.”

“I’m sure Kristeene Bennett would help, right?”

“If Cam would let her, yeah.” Kerris glanced at her watch. “You better get outta here if you don’t want to be late for your date with destiny.”

“Thanks again for the pass tonight.” Meredith backed her way toward the door.

“Just name your firstborn Watanabe after me!” Kerris flung the request after her friend dashing down the front porch steps.

Still laughing, Kerris slipped in her earphones. Her pop playlist got her through half a wall before her stomach growled like a stray dog. Her phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Cam.

“Hey.” She sidestepped two buckets of paint. “You on your way?”

“About that.” He colored his sigh with frustration. “This project is kicking my ass. I don’t think I’ll make it over.”

Kerris swallowed disappointment, wishing it were a Big Mac. Her stomach growled more aggressively, echoing its displeasure.

“That’s okay. I’ll be fine. I think I have an apple left from lunch or something.”

“Actually, Walsh said he could drop something off here for me on his way home, and I asked him to pick something up for you, too.”

“No!” The word erupted from her mouth more violently than she had intended. “I mean, he doesn’t have to. Call him and tell him not to do that. I don’t want him going out of his way.”

“It’s not out of his way. It’s
on
his way. Besides, he’s already on his way over.”

“Oh, how sweet.” Kerris gnawed on her bottom lip and fiddled with the pencil securing her washed-two-days-ago hair.

“Okay, babe.” She could hear Cam’s attention already drifting back to his project. “Gotta get this done tonight. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She tugged at the frayed bottoms of her cutoffs, glancing at her paint-stained wifebeater.

Walsh was on his way. She had tried to avoid being alone with him for the last month. They saw each other at least once a week at the children’s ward for craft hour. Was it coincidence that he was usually there visiting Iyani? It probably just worked out that way, but she found herself secretly, guiltily looking forward to that hour.

Simply put, she had never met anyone like him. Self-assured, but not arrogant. Humble, but not wimpy. Appreciated the finer things, but didn’t seem to need them. Compassionate. Generous. Driven. She wanted to stop, but the list went on.

Walsh could have anyone. She and Cam were made for each other; they could heal each other and build together. The future and family they’d never thought they’d have, they could have with each other. She was more and more sure that at the end of the summer, when Cam asked again, she would agree to marry him.

But there were moments, when she was drifting asleep by the river, when things were quiet and the day was done. In those moments, her vigilance sagged and the armor encasing her mind slipped. She’d think of Walsh and undo all her self-preservation.

She would eventually build up an immunity to the sheer magnetism of the man. If she didn’t smother this insensible attraction, how could she move forward with the future she craved, the one where her children waited? And who better than Cam to share that future?

A tap on her shoulder startled her, cannoning her several inches off the ground. She whirled around to see Walsh towering over her, a large brown bag in hand.

“You scared me to death,” she said, louder than normal because she still had in her earphones.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I called your name a couple of times, but…”

“No problem.”

Kerris swallowed around the tumbleweed pushing its way up her throat and brushed suddenly damp palms over her ragged shorts. She needed to get him out the door as soon as possible. “I told Cam you didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“It was fine.” His smile seemed more casual than what was in his eyes. “Your spot’s not far from Cam’s, and my mom was determined to feed him. Each Monday she cooks soul food.”

“Soul food, huh?”

“Walsh Foods was founded on Southern cooking. Mom can make every one of those frozen meals right in her kitchen from scratch.”

Kerris often forgot about the prepared foods business that had made the Walsh Foundation possible.

She sniffed appreciatively in spite of herself.

“I guess I could eat a little something.”

“Big of you.” His response had soaked in sarcasm overnight.

“Sorry.” She had to laugh at herself, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders. “I really am starving, and would love to inhale whatever is in that bag smelling so good.”

He looked around for a place to set the food, eyes widening at the gleaming hardwood floors, newly spackled ceiling, and freshly painted walls.

“This looks incredible, Kerris.”

“Oh, you should have seen it before.” She reached in her pocket to grab her phone. “Look at these early pictures. See how far our little fixer-upper has come.”

“Wow, you weren’t joking about what you two could do.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” She knew she was bragging, but couldn’t resist. “Come see the furniture and display racks upstairs.”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him deeper into the shop, tugging him into the small bathroom. Instead of wallpaper or paint, a mural covered the walls, depicting the river that cut through the city of Rivermont. It included the covered bridge, the historic houses and cottages along its bank, leisurely fishermen with their rods extended, and even canoes meandering down the placid stretch of water.

“This is gorgeous. Did you do this?” Walsh traced a finger along the river on the wall.

“No, Cam did.”

“I forget sometimes how gifted he is.” Walsh looked down at their still-clasped hands.

“Oh! Come on. I’m starving.” She jerked her hand free and darted from the room like a skittish colt.

Walsh followed at a more leisurely pace, trying not to notice the elegant muscles in Kerris’s calves and thighs, clearly displayed by her cutoffs. Or the toned line of her arms and shoulders. He’d been concentrating on
not
seeing Kerris all summer, without much success. Tonight, he didn’t have the will, and there was no way he could resist.

“Actually, I haven’t eaten, either.”

He kept his voice soft and even, free of the rebellious desire he usually subdued. He should head home and eat with his family. Instead, he let the silent request to share her meal dangle in the quiet of the room around them.

“Oh,” Kerris said into the awkward moment he had created. “Would you…well would you, like to stay and eat?”

“What a gracious offer.” He chuckled with self-derision. Was he so desperate that he would stay when she so obviously didn’t want him to?

“Sorry. No, of course you can stay,” she rushed to say. “There’s a kitchen just through here.”

They sat at the small card table in the kitchen, lit by summer’s late-setting sun, a wary silence insulating them. Walsh raised his head when Kerris scraped her fork across the plates their cook, Mrs. Quinton, had packed. She barreled through her food, head bent, shoveling forkfuls of macaroni and cheese and collard greens into her mouth. Walsh carefully placed his fork down on the table, raising his brows at the swift repetition of the fork to her mouth, broken occasionally by a quick bite into a drumstick.

His lips twitched, wondering if she felt the tension as thick between them as he did, making her eager to put an end to their impromptu meal. She’d pay for it later with indigestion, considering how fast she was eating.

“So nice to meet a girl with an appetite.” He watched her eyes go round and her mouth drop open then snap closed. A delicate rose tinged the honey of her cheeks.

“Sorry.” She dropped her fork with a clang, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “Guess I was hungry.”

“Hmmm.” He added a smile to the monosyllable, popping open a Diet Coke. “You guess? I only ate one of those
four
drumsticks.”

“Rude! You never point out something like that to a lady.” She sat back with feigned indignation. “Just for that, I might burp.”

He laughed out loud, locking eyes with her as he took a gulp of his soft drink.

“A girl who’s not afraid to eat
or
burp. No wonder Cam’s so whipped.”

She became perfectly still under his consideration.

“Cam’s not whipped.” She gave a little smile that told him she kind of knew Cam definitely was whipped.

“Any girl who can captivate Cam, a true player, fascinates me.”

“There’s nothing…interesting about me.” She leaned her chin into the palm of her hand. “I’m just a girl.”

“Tell me about this girl.”

“What do you want to know?” She lifted those crazy-long lashes to squarely face him.

Everything. Anything.

“I know you were in foster care. How many homes?”

“Five total.” She barely moved her lips to let the words out, signaling that this was a topic she usually guarded closely. “The last one I was in from age ten to eighteen, though. The Murphys.”

“They never considered adopting you?”

“No, they didn’t want kids of their own.” She origamied the napkin between her fingers.

“Why’d they keep you all those years then?”

“I guess I was extra cash.” She fixed her eyes on the wall behind him.

“I’m sorry.” He made sure he didn’t leak any pity in his voice. “Were they good people? Did they treat you well?”

“They didn’t abuse me, if that’s what you mean. They just didn’t love me.” Her lips thinned and tightened around the admission. “I’m not even sure they loved each other. The only thing I can say with confidence is that they loved church.”

“Religious fanatics?”

“Not fanatics. They just had definite rules I had to follow.” Her laugh was too tight to leave any room for real humor.

“Like what?” He watched her features settle into the hardness of cement, so at odds with its usual soft lines.

“Like not dating, not listening to secular music, not wearing makeup, not drinking, not cursing. Going to church three times a week—”

“Whoa!” He sliced into her litany, holding up a hand to stem the flow of rules that had governed her life for eight years. “What
could
you do?”

She tilted her head to the side, seemingly giving it serious consideration.

“I made jewelry. Read a lot. I spent a lot of time alone.”

“Lonely or alone?”

“Maybe both.” He wanted the thoughts her eyes shrouded. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before continuing. “It was okay. I’ve always enjoyed my own company.”

He couldn’t blame her. Her company intoxicated him, hitting his bloodstream like a four-hundred-dollar bottle of vodka. Every sip of her felt like a reckless indulgence. She was a decadence he could ill afford but—God help him—couldn’t resist.