Right Before His Eyes (7 page)

There was so much between them. If only he could get her to realize it.

When they separated, he took a second to stroke her cheek with his thumb, but he knew he had to get it all out before she started asking questions or he got distracted by the heat pumping through his veins.

He took a deep breath and rushed ahead. “I want us to be together every moment we can, and while I'm gone I don't want you, well, getting lonely and deciding some engineer from PDQ Racing is pretty cute, and he wants to invite you to dinner or a movie or—” He stopped, not wanting to think about any other
or
situation.

“You're asking me to go steady?”

The old-fashioned term had hope and relief washing over him. Leave it to Sheila to cut to the heart of things.

“Definitely.”

Her gaze searched his. “You're really great, and I love being with you, but I'm not sure we—”

“Gil, my darling, what are you up to?”

At the sound of the Southern feminine drawl, Gil turned slowly toward the doorway. There stood a familiar, dark-haired figure wearing a deep green suit with white fur trim around the collar.

Fake, no doubt. She was a staunch animal-rights supporter.

“Mama, what are you doing here?”

V
ICTORIA
C
HANCELLOR
S
IZEMORE
was a force of nature.

Trim, fit and beautiful at sixtysomething—though that was a guess, given Gil's age. She looked a decade or two below that.

Though she'd been nothing less than gracious during the introductions, she refused her son's offer for a seat at the table and instead chose to wander around the room. Sheila didn't see how this confident woman could be nervous, so she decided Victoria was stalling.

“How did you know where I was?” Gil asked her.

“Marley told me you'd been spending a lot of time here. And when I arrived, a helpful man named Al told me I could find you in the storage room.” She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Odd place for a date, isn't it?”

Sheila had no idea if this question was aimed at her or Gil, but she had no intention of answering regardless. For reasons she couldn't explain, her heart was pounding. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage.

With a sleek, dark cat on the loose nearby.

Gil's cautious gaze tracked his mother around the room. He, too, seemed to feel the tension and had decided this unexpected appearance wasn't a positive sign. “Not really.”

“How nice. Sheila, I understand you're from Florida.”

She did? How?

“How did you know that?” Gil asked before Sheila could.

Victoria looked startled for a second. “Marley must have told me. You are, though, right?” she added, looking at Sheila.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Lakeland?”

Something hard curled in Sheila's stomach. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Born Sheila Elaine Trueblood, December 2, 1981?”

Gil rose slowly from his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know you're always welcome to visit me, Mama, but I don't see any reason you need to interrogate my girlfriend. What's this about?”

Victoria's head snapped back as if she'd been struck. “Girlfriend?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, glaring at her.

“If you'd listen to me every once in a while, I wouldn't have to be. But a mother has to do everything in her power to protect her son.” She reached into the glossy handbag dangling from her shoulder and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Your girl—” She stopped, clearing her throat. “Your lady friend has a record.”

Watching the paper pass from mother to son, Sheila's heart stopped.

All the times she'd thought about telling Gil her secrets flashed in front of her like a movie on fast-forward. All the intimate moments, the laughter, the teasing and flirting froze into a single frame, then began to burn, smoke curling around the edges until nothing was left but ashes.

“A record of what?” Gil asked, flipping open the paper.

Sheila jolted to her feet and wrapped her hand around his wrist. “Gil, please.”

“You've got a cute little place here, sweetie,” Victoria said, condescension dripping with every word. “But Gil could set you up in a five-star resort.” Her lips pulled back in a sneer. “Or you wouldn't even have to work at all. I'm sure a generous man like my son would be happy to buy you anything you wanted, take you wherever you wanted to go.”

“Like your husband did for you?” Sheila snapped, and felt some satisfaction when the other woman's eyes widened with both annoyance and acknowledgment.

Sheila knew she was in the wrong with Gil, and he had a right to be angry with her, but this woman wasn't going to make her feel inferior. No matter what she meant to the man she loved.

Man she loved.

Oh, no.
No, no, no. She couldn't have been that rash, that stupid.

Yet the truth was there, as real as the evidence of her betrayal rested in his hand. She'd fallen completely, hopelessly in love with Gil.

Her gaze flew to his, but it was too late. He'd already read the paper—surely a record of her arrest and conviction for fraud.

As shock and hurt rushed into his startling blue eyes, she could hear the judge's gavel echo through the room as if her sentence had just been handed down that moment instead of five years ago.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have told you.” She tried to link his hand with hers, but he jerked away and
stepped back. “Gil, please. I was going to tell you. I just…” She shook her head, knowing he'd never believe her, never trust her again. “I didn't know how.”

“How?” he asked, his voice strained with the pain of betrayal. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“It says the state prosecuted on behalf of the Golden Age Retirement Association. You defrauded elderly people?”

It hadn't been her idea, and she hadn't known what was going on until it was too late to escape. Until she'd been too scared and too demoralized to get away from the man who'd led her down that horrible, lawless road, but at the end of it all, she'd been responsible for her own actions.

“Yes,” she admitted in resignation.

Gil looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. And maybe he hadn't. Not really. “I'm sorry,” she repeated, forcing herself to take a step toward him. “That part of my life is over, and I couldn't tell you. I couldn't bear the idea of you looking at me the way you are now.”

When he backed away, she stopped moving. “I can't—”

In a flash, his mother was by his side. “It's okay, baby. I'm here.”

Everything inside Sheila clenched in bitter regret. Time stopped as Gil whirled away and left the room, his mother at his heels.

Sheila turned toward the table, bracing her hands on its surface. The mockery of the champagne, chocolate and strawberries was too much to bear.

With a sweep of her hand, she knocked everything to the floor, where it shattered like her heart.

 

T
HE REST OF THE WEEK
passed in a blur.

Sheila worked, pretended to smile at customers, went home and pretended to sleep, then came back the next day and started over.

She felt like a person whose insides had been carved out and only a hollow shell remained. She refused to talk to her friends about the breakup with Gil. She brushed aside Rue's words of concern and understanding.

To make matters worse, Mellie's apartment had been broken into. Though she hadn't been hurt, she was jumpier than ever. Whatever secrets haunted her, she wasn't sharing—a theme Sheila understood all too well.

Sheila could only hope both of them would find a way to trust each other eventually. At least Mellie had Bart to watch over her.

And thoughts like those sharpened her pain until even breathing was difficult.

When she nearly burst into tears during Sunday's race at Phoenix, she told everybody she was sick and went home. She stayed home on Monday, ignoring her ringing phone, but knew she had to pull herself together and go back on Tuesday.

If any of the Tarts found out about her “illness,” they'd marshal the troops in an instant, and she'd have half a dozen women fawning over her, claiming everything would work out or, worse, volunteering to talk to Gil.

She'd be forced to tell them the secret of her past, then they'd hate her, too.

No, she'd have to get hold of herself and find a way to keep moving forward. As she always did. What other choice did she have?

During her first few days in prison, she was sure
she'd never survive her two-year sentence. But she had. She'd gotten counseling, learned the peace and power of martial arts and been released after thirteen months.

Starting over, she'd learned that hard, honest work paid off, and now she was a successful businesswoman.

She could do it again.

She'd been halfway in love with Gil from afar for months, and it wasn't as though he'd ever come back in the diner. Eventually, the hurt would fade. Someday she'd look back on her ten days with him and be grateful she'd been blessed to spend any time with him at all.

Convincing herself of all these eventualities was going reasonably well until she cut a piece of peach pie, remembered her and Gil's discussion about it versus apple, and she had to retreat into the back room to gather her defenses again.

“What did you do to Gil?”

Startled, Sheila turned to see Rafael O'Bryan in the doorway. “I—” She blinked back tears.

Not now. Hang on.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, inching around him. “I have to get back to work.”

“Hell. What did he do to you?”

Sheila didn't need a mirror to see her pale face and bloodshot eyes. “Nothing. Please, Rafael. Drop it. It's over.” She managed a harsh laugh. “As anybody would have expected.”

Rafael scowled. “He was happy with you. Now he's miserable. I'm trying to win a championship here.”

The single-minded attitude made her smile genuinely for the first time in days. “I know, and I'm sorry. Gil wants to win as much as you do. He won't let this get in his way.”

“Maybe so.” He glanced at her again. “I'm sorry things didn't work out.”

“Me, too. How about some pie?”

Rafael preferred the peach, just as Gil had, and Sheila managed to serve it without a single tear. She even talked past the lump in her throat.

She was going to be just fine. She'd been through tougher times than this.

Of course that little delusion was shattered when Rue, Emma-Lee, Susie, Patsy, Grace, Sophia and Mia all burst through the door of the diner at eight o'clock.

“What are you guys doing here?” Sheila asked, goggling at the lot of them.

“It's Tuesday,” Rue said matter-of-factly.

“I know, but…” She glanced at the huge group. “All of you?”

Patsy snagged her arm and led her toward the break room. “Cara would have come, but she got called to the hospital.”

“But…”

Her weak protest was ignored. She was pushed into a chair at the table.

“Okay, let's have details,” Rue said, her eyes flashing with determination. “There's no getting away from us. Louise told us about your mystery illness, and Emma-Lee has had to put up with Gil the Impossible for nearly five days.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Sheila said, then pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

“It's over.”

“Not until
we
say it is,” Rue insisted.

Until they— “You're crazy,” Sheila said, shaking her head. But she was also the most loyal of friends. When
she'd first arrived in town, Rue had been the one to welcome her, to fill her in on everything and everyone. She'd touted the glories of the diner to all her customers. She'd organized the Tarts and boosted them all through every trial and triumph any of them had experienced.

Sheila shrugged. “Fine. It's not pretty, though.”

Rue laid her hand on her shoulder. “It never is.”

“I brought wine,” Patsy said, holding up a bottle of Chardonnay. Gracefully, she poured out glasses for those who wanted it.

Mia held up another bottle. “But I brought whiskey.”

She poured a couple of fingers into a heavy crystal glass, adding ice and a splash of water. With clear expectation, she set the drink before Sheila.

Seemingly as one, the group leaned in to hear the story. Anticipation charged the air. Even the clanging silverware and usual customer noise faded in the background.

Sheila sipped her drink to wet her throat, but the taste only reminded her of Gil. By lying she'd lost him forever and tainted all the wonderful moments they'd shared. She couldn't let the same thing happen between her and the Tarts.

She looked up, where her closest friends sat before her. “I'm an ex-con.”

With a gasp, Patsy reached for the whiskey.

“W
HAT THE DEVIL'S WRONG
with you, Gil Sizemore?”

Sitting behind his desk with a mountain of paperwork scattered in front of him, Gil glared at his sister. “Go away. I have work to do.”

She planted her hands on his desk and leaned over, glaring right back. “Think we could bottle that charm and sell it?”

“I don't see how.”

“Me, either.” Looking satisfied, she straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “You've got to do something about Sheila.”

Over the weekend, after the first dozen people had asked him about Sheila and he'd bitten their heads off, nobody had dared speak her name in his presence. Hearing it now only made the ache in his heart surge with renewed strength. “No, I don't. And you were a lot easier to boss around before you started fooling around with one of my drivers.”

“Yet another reason to be grateful for Linc. Does this fraud conviction make you love Sheila less?”

Love. What a joke. How could he love a woman he'd never known? He'd loved a mirage. “How do you know about that?”

“After lecturing me for an hour about how I shouldn't be marrying Linc, Mother told me. She seemed pretty
gleeful about telling actually.” She examined her fingernails, clearly pretending unconcern. “Any idea why?”

“No.”

“She wants you to marry Lexie Anderson.”

That out-of-the-blue assertion got his full attention. “What?”

“Lexie Anderson.” Marley made a curvy gesture with her hands. “Blonde, soft-spoken, lived down the street from us for eighteen years.”

“I know
who
she is. But why would Mama think I'd be interested in her, much less want to marry her?”

“I'm not sure your needs are high on her list. I think it's more about merging our families.”

Gil shook his head. He knew he'd alternated between living in a fog and riding hard on his anger over the past few days, but he was pretty sure he hadn't traveled back in time. “It's still the twenty-first century, right?”

“Last time I checked.”

He turned his attention to the neglected paperwork on his desk. “Then who I marry is entirely up to me.”

He'd never get through it all. It took him twice as long to get through any task, since he had to pause every few minutes and deliberately shove aside memories of the days he'd shared with Sheila. Then he had to stop longing for the future he'd seen them sharing.

“You might want to tell her that,” Marley said.

Sighing, Gil leaned back in his chair. “Sheila?”

“Mama.”

He jumped to his feet. “I'm not marrying anybody, okay? The woman I lo—” He caught hold of his runaway emotions and forced the pain to the pit of his stomach. “The woman I was spending time with lied to me, deceived me in the most personal way.”

“Maybe she was embarrassed,” Marley returned, her eyes blazing. “You didn't want me telling her stories about your childhood. Maybe she didn't feel comfortable sharing this with you.”

“I knew she was holding something back.”

“Of course she was! You dated her a whole week, so she's supposed to share every detail of her life with you? This may come as a complete shock to you, brother dear, but not everybody lives their life at 180-miles-per-hour.”

His own temper was approaching boil. “She was supposed to trust me.”

“Why?”

“Because I…”

“Because you wanted her to?”

“Because I cared about her!”

“Did you?” Marley countered, her voice quiet after his shout. “Don't you still? You honestly think Sheila is a liar and a cheat?”

Gil hunched his shoulders. He was starting to feel like a real jerk. “She admitted she was.”

“Was. Maybe. Everybody makes mistakes. I set Linc's car on fire! And I'll bet this race shop that there's more to the story than she's told you. Something happened to her, something bad. Sheila doesn't have a hurtful bone in her body. She's tough on herself, but she's a caretaker to everybody else.

“Think, Gil. If she'd told you herself would you have reacted this way? Isn't it the delivery and not the message that has you so angry?”

“It's both.”

“But does this conviction make you love her less?”

No.

Whatever she'd done, his love for her was the most potent, driving truth in his life. Maybe, just as he'd feared her finding another excuse to not be with him, she'd feared telling him about her past.

Maybe she worried, not about the archaic idea of social status or what people in town might say about them, but about him learning the truth of what she'd been through and that he'd judge her. Reject her.

Her father had never given her the chance to be born, much less gotten to know her. Was Gil going to repeat that mistake?

“I'm an idiot,” he said with a sigh.

Marley flopped into a chair, propping her feet on his desk. “Often, but since we're bonded by blood, I try not to judge too harshly.”

“What am I going to do?”

“I'd run over there with roses, champagne and some variety of chocolate.”

Gil shook his head. “I tried that.”

“How about running over there with an apology and your hat in your hands?”

“I don't wear a hat.”

“So find one.” She cleared her throat. “And if you could apologize for me, that would be great. I didn't mean to blab to Mama about you guys, but she was ragging me about marrying Linc, and I—”

A knock on the door interrupted her explanation.

“Are you ready for dinner?” his mother asked as she strolled into the office. She glanced at Marley, her gaze tinged with disapproval. “You can come, too, darling. But you might want to change. We're going to Morton's.”

“Not so fast,” Gil said, pinning his mother with a glare. “We need to talk first.”

She laughed nervously. “Whatever about?”

“I appreciate your concern for me, but you were wrong to show up and confront Sheila that way.”

His mother lifted her chin. “I did you a favor, baby. That woman isn't right for you. You couldn't possibly have been serious about her.”

“I love her, so, yeah, I'd say that's pretty serious.”

“But you can't,” she insisted, rushing toward him. “First, you abandon your businesses to start a race team, then you won't accept any of my attempts to find you a suitable wife and now you're—”

“Suitable wife?” By a bare thread, Gil held on to the respect he'd been taught to show his parents. “I know you appreciate tradition, Mama, but come on.

“And I'm not changing my mind about the race teams. I'm more excited about coming to work than I ever have been. And I'm not giving up on Sheila.”

“But the Andersons and I want an alliance between our families.”

“Then you and Dad better get busy finding a way to have another kid, because I'm taken.”

His mother struggled mutely, the disappointment and annoyance obvious on her face. “It's a mother's duty to look out for her children.”

Gil walked around his desk, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I appreciate your concern. But I can handle my own love life.”

Actually, from her perspective, after finding out the woman he was dating had been in prison, she
had
tried to protect him. Maybe she'd been a bit selfish
and dramatic in the process, but her actions had been about love.

She didn't know Sheila, didn't know how sweet and generous and driven she was, and he'd be sure to correct that oversight very soon. “Can we have dinner another time? I have something important to do.”

Clearly pleased all was forgiven, she smiled. “Of course, baby.”

“The favorite, as always,” Marley commented.

A determined gleam in her eyes, Victoria spun toward her daughter. “You and I should have dinner.”

After giving Gil a furious glance, Marley headed toward the door. “No way. Linc and I are happily engaged.”

Mama followed her. “But, honey, you don't really want to spend your life with a race-car driver, do you? The Andersons have a son, you know.”

“Phillip?” Marley said, her voice rising as she strode into the hall, Mama close on her heels. “He's
eighteen.
”

Gil smiled as he watched them go. His sister would no doubt make him pay in a big way for turning Mama onto her—even though she was the one who'd blabbed about his relationship with Sheila in the first place. Still, he'd better think of a way to suck up ASAP.

Before he could decide if flowers or a dinner gift card would be more appropriate, Rafael appeared in the doorway.

“It's like the frontstretch at Daytona around here,” Gil muttered.

“You've got to do something about Sheila,” his driver said, his expression fairly close to the fierce one he adopted while driving.

“No kidding. Any ideas?”

 

S
HEILA LEANED INTO
R
UE'S
tight hug.

So maybe accepting help and understanding wasn't the worst thing in the world. Maybe there were people whose trust was returned tenfold. Maybe she could find the strength to fight for something besides independence.

“You just need to go to him and explain,” Patsy said, rubbing Sheila's knee.

“Can I give him a good jab before that explanation?” Rue wanted to know.

“No,” Shelia said. “I lied to him.”

Everybody ignored her.

“Really.” Emma-Lee looked disgusted. “How could Gil possibly believe Sheila was a real criminal?”

“I
was
a real criminal,” Sheila felt bound to point out.

“But there were extenuating circumstances,” Patsy said. “Your ex was a user and complete jerk.” The comforting strokes against her knee increased. “He abused you.”

“Okay, sure.” Sheila straightened. “But Pity Fest is over.” She let her gaze sweep the women around her, so loyal and true. A lump of a different kind formed in her throat. “Getting arrested saved me in a way. Who knows how long I would have stayed with him if we hadn't been parted by force? As weird as it sounds, prison gave me discipline and structure.”

“And we're here to give you love and affection,” Rue said.

Sheila clutched her hand. “You guys are the best. I'm going to be fine.”

“But you're going to talk to Gil,” Emma-Lee prodded.

“I'll try,” Sheila promised, though she wasn't sure anything she said would make a difference. Still, the Tarts were right. She owed it to herself to fight for happiness. Whatever she'd done in the past, she'd paid for, and she deserved a future free from judgment and betrayal.

Rue nudged Emma-Lee. “This is about Sheila, not peace and quiet at Double S.”

“Peace and quiet? What's that?” Exhaustion was evident in Emma-Lee's eyes. “We're in the racing business. I don't see how—”

“Mind if I interrupt?”

At the familiar deep voice, everything inside Sheila froze. Then her heart lurched, crashing against her ribs, as if it recognized its mate and wanted nothing more than to bond with its other half.

Swallowing hard, she managed to shift her gaze toward the man in the doorway.

Oh, wow.

Was he always that beautiful? Had his eyes always shined with that glorious light?

She didn't want to hurt anymore. She didn't want him to walk away from her again. He was everything, and surrender to him wasn't a sacrifice, it was the path to happiness.

But before she could move, Rue leaped to her feet. “You can just back up, Gil Sizemore. Sheila's been abused long enough.”

“Abused? What are you—” He stopped, his eyes going blank briefly before he fisted his hands at his sides. “Something happened to her, something bad,” he whispered.

“You bet it did,” Rue said, advancing on him. “And
unless you're here with flowers, apologies and serious declarations, you can just turn right back around.”

Gil held up a single red rose. “I've got all that.”

Tears burst behind Sheila's eyes. Her friends had defended her, the love of her life was standing mere feet away. How odd was it that life could turn around in a moment? How miraculous that a woman of her humble beginnings should be so blessed?

Patsy kissed her cheek, then urged everyone out the door—even Rue, who seemed determined to find a protest, though it was obvious Gil hadn't come to argue.

Sheila found herself facing him, and everything inside her calmed. There was so much to talk about, so much to figure out, but she knew they'd find a way. The trust and hope that had been broken in her life over and over was healed.

Gil was all she wanted and needed.

Without a word, she ran toward him, hooking her arms around his neck and holding him tight. “I love you.”

“I loved you first.” Laughing, he kissed her cheeks, her forehead and chin, then her lips, each caress more tender than the last. “And always.”

She let his warmth overtake her. Nothing could have prepared her for a bond like theirs, but she knew she'd always treasure him.

Leaning back, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I had a lot of advice and plans that involved huge bouquets, chocolate, banners hooked to airplanes and even exotic trips to the beach, but in the end, I only have me.”

“You'll do.” As her heart rejuvenated, pumping full of new life, she glided her fingers across his cheek. “I
should explain—about the conviction, what I've done in my past.”

“I don't care. I love you.”

“But it matters, and I trust you. You need to hear it all—from me, not court records.”

“Is there an abridged version?”

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you again. And soon.”

Of course she gave him the quick version. They had all the time in the world for details.