Just Give In… (18 page)

“I would never charge her the full price for the delivery. Miss Gillian is very nice.”

“Of course not. I can see how much her family means to you, and you’ve got such a sweet, kind-hearted face…” Brooke hugged the teddy bear to her chest and smiled.

“Let me get the wholesaler on the phone. Dan is the manager and he likes me. They shipped me a lot of limp roses last month, and he offered to give me a break on another delivery. It’s time I took him up on that offer.”

Brooke nodded politely. “I’ll wait.”

Yes, whenever there was a crisis afoot, people could work miracles. She’d have to remember that in the future.

While Luna disappeared, Brooke picked through the cards on display, eyeing the brightly colored planters, and sighing at the rose bouquet in the window. The roses were plastic, since real flowers would never last, but even plastic flowers were better than none.

Behind the glass counter, there was a trio of plants and flowers sitting in a box, waiting to be delivered, and Brooke decided that nobody would care if she poked through them to see who was getting what. Out of the corner of her eye she checked to make sure that the coast was clear and bent to look at the arrangements. Henry Hinkle was sending a bouquet of daisies to his wife for their anniversary. Brooke smiled and made a note to herself to stop by the grocery later and wish them well.

Apparently the librarian was in the hospital—Brooke would have to ask Gillian about that—although it probably wasn’t serious because the pot of delicate flowers was topped with smiley-faced balloons, and who sent balloons if it was serious? No, serious was the somber little plant in the corner with the maroon satin bow. The wooden container was square and plain. Square and plain meant serious. One Valentine’s Day, Brooke was temping at a florist’s, mainly to get bus fare out of Cleveland, and she knew a little. No, the little plant didn’t bode well for someone.

Carefully she opened the card.

Jason? The Captain?

No….

Suddenly not caring so much about balloons and blooms, Brooke grabbed the delivery sheet and checked the last name to see if there was more than one Jason in Tin Cup, Texas, population two thousand one hundred and forty-seven. Jason Kincaid.

Oh, God.

Brooke peeked into the back of the shop, but Luna was still on the phone.

The lilacs would have to wait.

J
ASON OPENED THE DOOR
and found Brooke on his doorstep, sympathy in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he answered, not inviting her in because he didn’t need sympathy.

“Can I come in?”

“No. I’m not very good company.”

“You were never good company.” Then Ms. Brooke Hart, who only got pushy at the worst possible times, brushed past him to make her way inside.

Once there, she scanned the room, noting the stack of dishes in the sink, Dog unplugged in the corner, and the half finished bottle of Jack Daniels sitting next to a computer terminal. He didn’t want her to see this, didn’t want her to see him like this, but he wasn’t completely blind, and unfortunately, neither was she.

Tired and hung over, he rubbed at his face, the stubble like a wire brush scratching his hands. He frowned, trying to remember when he’d last shaved.

Brooke came to stand in front of him, put a hand on his arm. “Captain.”

“I was a Staff Sergeant. Not a captain.”

Instead of arguing, she took his arm and led him out to the porch, the midmorning sun bright in his eyes.

“You look like hell,” she stated, no sympathy in her voice at all. With more force than he deserved, she pushed him down on the polished red leather bench seat.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said, wishing for sunglasses, anything to block out the light, because his head felt as if it had been detonated—never a good sign.

“Do you have a headache?” she yelled, speaking louder than necessary.

“I’m not deaf.”

“Do you need aspirin?” she bellowed into his ear.

He started to tell her to go away, but although Jason might be knuckle-headed about some things, he’d never been a liar. “Yes.”

“Do you have aspirin?” she asked in a more humane voice now that she had broken his will.

“In the cabinet,” he answered, and once again Brooke was leaving. When she returned, she held out two pills and a glass of water.

Not wanting to look too eager, Jason swallowed the pills and the water. Brooke sat next to him on the swing and waited quietly for the hammering in his head to stop.

Fifteen minutes had passed when Brooke reached for his hand, taking advantage of his weakened state. He let her.

Slowly the explosions in his head began to ease and the sun rose higher, losing its laser sights on him.

“Thank you,” he told her.

“You could have called me.”

No, he couldn’t. Calling her implied that he needed her. Calling her implied that he had lain awake with a hole in his gut. No, calling her was out.

Cowardly avoiding that conversation, Jason stayed silent.

“Tell me about him,” she asked.

“Not much to tell,” he answered, because he didn’t know how to talk about that, either.

“I never knew my father, and I’m not complaining because I think it’s a good thing I never met Frank Hart, but I like the idea of a father. Tell me about yours.”

Her quiet words made him feel like an ass. On the life scale of bad things to happen to people, Brooke outranked him, but very few people would ever guess that. It was a humbling experience to be outmanned by a girl.

To make her happy he began to talk. He told her about the furniture that his father had built, the set of pirate-ship bunkbeds that he’d given Jason on his seventh birthday. Jason told her about his first car, a 1947 army jeep that he and his father had rebuilt. There were so many things to tell her, and the words tumbled out. About the three-bedroom house in Maryland, and the arguments he’d had when Sara hogged the bathroom. He told her about the model rockets he’d built with his father, specifically the Little John missile, the most powerful rocket ever engineered for hobby purposes, especially with the retrofitted nitrous-oxide boosters. Everything had been great until it scared the neighbor’s cat and Mrs. Chapman threatened to call the police. Jason’s father promised to patch the cracks in her dilapidated sidewalk if she wouldn’t.

For a long time he talked and Brooke listened, soaking up his life like a sponge. It was late in the afternoon, when the sun was shimmering on the grass and the air was starting to cool, that his voice grew rusty from use.

“When’s the funeral?” she asked.

“Day after tomorrow. They delayed it until the weekend so that David could fly in from California.”

“You’re not going, are you?”

He didn’t like the way she said it, like there was something wrong with his decision.

“What’s the point of a funeral? People are dead, they’re dead.”

“Did you ever think your family might need you?”

“No.”

“You’re making some very poor decisions that you’re going to regret for the rest of your life. You’re too smart to be so stupid.” Then she slipped her hand from his and stood. “I have to go. Gillian needs lilacs and the florist is going to close soon. You should fly to Maryland, Captain.”

She’d never looked at him like that before, clear-eyed, not missing a thing.

Then she turned and left him again, and he noticed that she didn’t hesitate this time and it hurt. Wanting to make her turn around, he called after her.

“I’m a Staff Sergeant, not a captain.”

Brooke didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him. Instead she lifted her hand in an unladylike gesture that was beneath her.

It was nothing less than he deserved.

H
IS BROTHER GREETED HIM
on the doorstep, looking older, the coppery-brown hair thinned near the top. “I’m glad you came.”

“It’s family,” Jason told him. “It’s what you do.”

Then his brother clasped him on the shoulder. “Sara’s not taking this very well,” he said, and Jason heard the crack in his voice because George had always been the soft one.

Jason nodded once, and George pulled him into a hug, and when Jason smelled the ghost of his father’s aftershave, his eyes filled with tears, and silently the two brothers stood in the doorway and wept.

T
HE GROUND BREAKING
for the train station was the third Thursday in October, and Jason hadn’t meant to go, but he ended up doing his grocery shopping that day, and maybe he’d dressed a little nicer than usual to go grocery shopping, but he thought that as a citizen of the community, it made sense to show some civic pride.

The land had already been cleared, red construction flags tagging the perimeter. Off to the left side, two rows of chairs were set aside for dignitaries, and the Tin Cup High School band was playing Dr. Who.

Idly he scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces until he found Brooke’s. She was standing next to her brother, in the chic-chic skirt and blouse that he’d bought for her, and she looked exactly like he knew she would. The crowd was filled with overalls and jeans, but Brooke stood apart from the others, poised and polished, her dark hair twisted up in a bun. Finally she had come into her own, dumped the little-lost-Brooke look, because it was obvious even to a one-eyed man that she’d found her home at last.

The old mayor hobbled out first, rambling about cattle drives and whorehouses until Gillian interrupted his speech and brought JC Travis up to the stage. It was a smart move for the woman who had rescued the town, kicking off her campaign for governor here. She spoke of the future she envisioned, how they needed to look forward and be ready for a new town, a new state, a new world. Her words were full of inspiration and hope, and the crowd stayed stone-cold silent, lapping it up, because a small town needed to believe in itself. Then she and the mayor picked up their shovels and dug into the dirt. As actual work went, it didn’t amount to much, but all around Jason, people whistled and cheered.

It was then that Brooke noticed him. She nodded warily and he nodded back, waiting for her to come to his side. Ten long minutes passed before he figured out that she wasn’t going to come to him, and he told himself he should ditch the whole thing and go home. Then she met his eyes and his head started swimming, and he found himself walking over—just to say hello and to see how she was. It was a matter of civic pride.

“How are you?” she asked, poised and untouchable, even her freckles were hidden underneath her makeup, and Jason felt an irrational urge to wipe it all away.

But, no.

“I’m good,” he answered, completely rational. “I went to the funeral,” he added, surprised that he was telling her, but pleased with her smile.

“I’m glad.”

“You were right,” he added, because he owed her that.

“I know.”

“How’s things with your brother?”

She smiled up at Jason, looking not so untouchable, and he jammed his hands into his pockets. “He’s a goofball. I didn’t know that.”

“A lot of men are. Don’t hold it against him.”

She giggled, an unrestrained gurgle of laughter and he realized how much he missed that sound.

“Are you still at the Inn?”

“For now. At the end of the year, I’m renting a room from Doc Emerson.”

Jason frowned because she belonged in a real house, a real home. “The Doc’s got a bad track record on maintenance. I overhauled his AC unit two years ago, and it was a wreck. You should have your own home.”

“I’m saving up for my own place. Something small, and close to Austen and Gillian’s new place. With room for a garden. I’ve always wanted a garden. And now I have a nest egg. I’ve never had a nest egg before. And maybe I’ll have a bigger nest egg, we’re not sure.”

She was talking fast and when she caught on to what she was doing, he saw the flush on her face. Something sharp and painful squeezed in his chest because even in pencil skirt and heels, she was still the woman he loved.

“Why are you not sure?”

“We’re leasing the mineral rights on the property, and the signing check is awfully sweet, but Austen negotiated an extra deal. He said the oil companies are all a bunch of sharks, and you have to be careful. So if the seismic tests go well, and it looks like we have oil underground, they’ll kick in a bonus.”

Once again something sharp and painful squeezed in his chest because she was going to get her nest egg. She was going to get her house. Her garden. Her life. And that was his signal to leave. Jason managed a tight smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a good feeling about that. I bet you get everything you want.”

T
WO WEEKS LATER
, Brooke’s life had settled into a regular routine. Her days were spent at the courthouse, at night she went over to help Gillian with the wedding preparations, and then finally, when exhaustion set in, she would drive to the Inn and fall into bed, hoping for a long, peaceful sleep.

The sleep was long in coming, and sometimes it was peaceful with the most marvelous dreams where the Captain was dreaming next to her. On those mornings, she woke up with a smile on her face—until she realized she was alone. It was at that moment that she plastered a smile on her face, opened the curtains, took a hot shower and told herself that everything would be fine.

When she walked into the courthouse, Mindy and Gillian were waiting for her. Mindy had her car keys in hand, sunglasses on her head, and Gillian was holding up
People
magazine and waving an envelope.

“I’m pleased to report that no longer will they say that your check is in the mail. Mr. Hadley dropped this off a half hour ago.”

“What is this?”

“Bonus check. Gotta love the oil business.”

Slowly Brooke pulled the check out of the envelope and gazed in awe, counting and recounting the zeroes in case there had been a mistake. No mistake.

“Come on. We’re headed to the Canyon Lake spa for a little R&R. We deserve it. And as you can now afford it, and as my almost-sister, you get to come along and listen to me fret. They serve wine with the mud baths, so that’ll dull the sound of my whining. I promise.”

“I have to work,” Brooke began, because she had heard of these things called spas, but she’d never seen one, been at one, and… She glanced down at the check in her hands.

“Darling, one thing you have got to learn if you want to fit in here—and you do want to fit in, don’t you?”

Mindy bobbed her head. “Of course she does.”

Gillian took Brooke’s arm and began leading her out the door. “You have to learn to relax and have fun, let down your hair a little.”

“Speaking of hair, can I get a cut? Junior’s started pulling mine, and that kid has got some power in his grip. Takes after his daddy, I think.”

Gillian looked at Brooke, pushed her sunglasses low on her nose. “What do you say?”

Once again Brooke looked at the check. This was real. “Oh, my God. I’m in.”

B
ROOKE HAD NEVER BEEN
wrapped in mud before. She’d never worn cucumbers on her eyes. She’d never had her hair blown out and, most of all, she’d never looked so gorgeous…and the Captain would never see.

They were riding in Mindy’s car, hitting the interstate and heading for home. Mindy and Gillian were in the front seat chattering about the wedding until Gillian noticed that Brooke wasn’t saying much at all. “For a woman who’s just been manicured and fluffed, you’re looking mighty sad. If you’re going to be sad, I have failed in my duty as a positive influence.”

Mindy snickered. “You are no one’s positive influence, Gillian. You just like to think that.”

“Hush up, former BFF. Don’t disillusion the girl before she’s gotten a chance to love my good side.”

“It’s been a lot of fun,” Brooke said, because it had been fun, until it hadn’t.

“Then why are we not smiling?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s just got a case of the sads, Gillian. Let her be.”

“Is that all?” Gillian asked, lifting her sunglasses and studying Brooke’s face.

Brooke nodded, but Gillian didn’t seem convinced. “Things will get better. I promise. Make some new friends. Hey, you show up at Smitty’s looking like that and it’ll start a riot.”

“That would be nice,” Brooke told her, with absolutely no enthusiasm.

“You’ve got some hurts that need healing?”