The Debutante's Second Chance. Liz Flaherty
was elaborately casual. “She’s a nurse who was married to a doctor who died of a heart attack.”
Something in his eyes alerted Micah that once again, Eli was fudging. “She’s a nice woman.”
Eli got up, brushing potato chip crumbs from his shirt. “She’s okay. I need to go. I’m umpiring at Wendy’s softball game. Now there’s a job that ought to get me a father-of-the-year award.”
“More likely to get you lynched,” said Micah, laughing and completely failing to notice his friend’s sudden speculative expression.
Which is how he found himself in a half-squat behind home plate yelling “Stee-rike one!” while demure young ladies in baseball caps and ponytails kicked dust at him.
She’d been so involved with the shape of his mouth and how well it fit over hers that Landy hadn’t taken the shape of Micah’s backside into account. When he assumed the position of home plate umpire at the game in which Jessie’s and Eli’s daughters were playing, she had a chance to correct the omission.
The view was admirable.
“Breathe. You’re turning blue,” Jessie mumbled. She sighed. “He does look fine, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” Landy looked sideways at her friend, seeing the wistful expression on her face. “You know, Jess,” she said carefully, “I don’t have any claims on him. We just went out once, is all.”
Jessie gave her a blank look. “What in the name of Noah’s ark are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Landy grinned at her, unable to quash the ripple of gladness Jessie’s reply created. “You’ve been around Eli too long. You’re starting to talk like him. Is there anything you’d like me to know?”
“Oh, please.” The look this time was wilting. “I loved, married and lost one workaholic. I don’t think I care to go through it again. Eli and I are just friends, thank you very much, and we will remain that. Except for when we’re being enemies, that is.”
The subject of their conversation came up the bleachers and sat between them, casting a longing gaze at Landy’s popcorn that made her lift her shoulders in resignation and hand him the bag. “Garbage gut.”
“You need to talk to Micah,” he said, taking Jessie’s soft drink and lifting it to his lips. “He’s suspicious of me coming to your house, and I can’t lie to him.”
“He’s a reporter,” said Landy. “We can’t tell him. How can you suggest such a thing?”
“He’s my friend,” he reminded her, his gaze level on hers. “I trust him, and it’s time you trusted somebody.”
“I’ve been there and done that,” she said, her voice feeling jagged in her throat. “I do trust him, to a certain extent, but not about Safe Harbor Railroad. It’s too important to too many people.”
“I’m not forgetting,” he said, “but maybe it’s time you did. Some things, at least.” Eli stopped, his eyes narrowing as he watched the field. “He just called Wendy out. Doesn’t friendship mean anything in this world?”
Jessie looked toward the sky, a cloudless blue expanse. “It’ll be a terrible waste of good weather if no one cooks out tonight.”
“I will,” said Landy immediately. “I’m probably the only one whose grill is clean anyway.” She prepared to leave. “Will you invite Micah for me? And his father and Nancy, too, if they’d like to come.”
She was standing beside the grill in her backyard when Micah came down the River Walk. She wore a towel on her head and a robe and had a cordless phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she poked at the grill.
When he came close, she looked up and flashed him a smile, but something like guilt crossed her eyes. Something furtive that made him feel like a snoop and an interloper. He frowned, not liking the sensation, and walked past her to put the beer and soft drinks he carried into the cooler that sat on the end of the picnic table.
A moment later, she said, “Hey, Micah,” and he turned. She was putting the phone in the pocket of her robe. “How are you at starting fires?” she asked.
They were at least five feet apart, but the tension arced between them so obviously that he almost expected to see sparks. This hadn’t been the kind of fire she meant, but it was there nonetheless.
“Well,” he said, “I never was a Boy Scout.”
She looked so wonderful standing there. No makeup covered the dark shadows under her eyes or filled in the little brackets that pain had dug around her mouth, but her smile lit her face. It made her look younger, as did the anxiety behind it.
He wanted to kiss her again, and the drooping shawl collar of her robe showed the shadowed beginnings of her breasts, making him want to do more than kiss her. He even took a step in her direction, then stopped, suddenly realizing that her tension wasn’t the same as his.
Anxiety. He’d already thought the word, but its meaning hadn’t come through then. It did now. Her tension was sexual, as his was, but it didn’t feel good, as his did. His was anticipatory; hers was filled with dread.
Oh, God. Oh, dear sweet God. She was afraid of him.
He cleared his throat. “Your hair looks fetching that way, and I like your outfit,” he said, his voice sounding gravelly, “but if you want to finish getting ready, I’ll see what I can do with the fire.”
“Thank you,” she said, and turned and fled.
“I acted like a freaking idiot,” she told Jessie, tossing salad with a violence that had iceberg lettuce littering the counter, the floor and Jessie’s arm when she stood too close.
Jessie didn’t crack a smile. “That’s no act. Stand up straight.”
“I can’t.”
Worry crossed her friend’s features, and Landy was sorry she’d answered so abruptly. “It just hurts some today, is all,” she assured her.
“Right.” Jessie reached into the cupboard over her head and found the kitchen bottle of pain relievers. “Are you taking these a lot?” she asked, running a glass of water and handing it to Landy.
“More than I’d like,” Landy admitted, “but not a dangerous amount.” She swallowed the pills. “What am I going to do, Jess? He’s so attractive, and I get goose bumps just being in the same room with him, but if he touches me—I mean really touches me, I’m going to freeze up. I know it.” She tossed salad with frustrated abandon. “Why does the actual act mean so much to men?”
“Not just to men.” Jessie washed vegetables, her expression pensive. “The ‘act,’ as you call it, is wonderful. I’m so sorry you never had the opportunity to know how wonderful. And,” she added, shaking a carrot at Landy so that droplets of water sprayed them both, “you never will if you don’t work on this fear.”
“Work on it,” Landy repeated. “As in what? Writing a report? Driving everyone nuts by talking ad nauseum about my hang-ups? Asking Micah to be an experiment?”
Jessie glared at her. “Maybe,” she said. Still scowling, she demanded, “Where’s the damn vegetable tray?”
“I have it,” said a meek voice from behind them, and they both swung on Eli.
“How long have you been listening?” Landy asked.
He adopted an injured air. “Not long enough, evidently. I didn’t hear one thing that was interesting. Holy sh—shmoly, Landy, what have you been doing with that salad? It’s all the way from one end of the kitchen to the other.”
“Take it,” she ordered, plunking the salad bowl into Eli’s still-open