Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon. Sandra Steffen
He raised his knees, which felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds apiece, and heard, more than saw, the big yellow cat plop to the couch and then to the floor, yowling at having his sleep interrupted. Within seconds the cat was curled into a ball, his eyes closed once again.
“Daisy snores,” Savannah said seriously.
Eyeing the overweight cat, Nick thought it was aptly named. It was obviously more potted plant than pet.
“You sleep funny.”
Nick sat up in a flash and grabbed Savannah by the waist, tickling her until she begged him to stop. When her shrieks died down, she reached a hand to his jaw. “And you need to shave.”
Pressing his face into her hand and rubbing like sandpaper, he said, “When did you get so bossy? And I thought you were six, not sixty.”
Savannah wrinkled her nose and giggled again. “That’s what Mommy says.”
“Where is your mommy?”
“I’m right here, Nick.”
Brittany stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Nick rose to his feet just as Crystal traipsed by in a ratty bathrobe and slippers. “What’s the matter?” the blonde asked. “Wasn’t your bed comfortable?”
She disappeared into the kitchen about the same time Mertyl appeared at the top of the stairs. In a feeble, frail little voice, she said, “I haven’t slept so well in years, but I must have a touch of the flu. Brittany, dear, where do you keep the aspirin?”
“They’re in a childproof bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
“If you need help opening it,” Crystal called from the next room, “have Savannah help you.”
“You don’t have to yell, dear.”
Nick settled his hands to his hips and studied the old woman. If Mertyl Gentry had the flu, he would be a good candidate for the priesthood.
Savannah skipped into the kitchen, and suddenly Brittany didn’t appear to know where to look. Settling her gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his left shoulder, she said, “Savannah wanted to wake you, but I thought you needed your sleep. I’ve enrolled her in Miss Opal’s Sunday school class. It begins in half an hour.”
Nick rubbed the bleariness from his eyes. Last night he and Brittany had known a moment of passion, followed by a stretch of companionship, which had ended with a tense moment, during which she’d thrown up enough barriers to keep him firmly at bay. He’d spent a great deal of the night thinking about all three of those things, but his mind kept returning to the moment of passion.
He wanted to talk to her about their imminent divorce. Now he wondered if she was trying to make a statement with her black skirt and white sweater. Nothing had ever been black-and-white between them. Ever.
“You look nice,” he said quietly.
Brittany squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She knew what Nick was doing. It just so happened that she knew what she had to do, too. She would simply get back on even footing where he was concerned. She would be hospitable, friendly, ex-wifely. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say before falling asleep last night and again this morning while she’d been getting dressed for church.
Her plans hadn’t included training her eyes on Nick’s bare feet and slowly working her way higher.
When they’d been married, he’d slept in the nude. This morning he wore black sweat pants that clung in places ex-wives had no business looking. His wrinkled T-shirt had probably been black a hundred washings ago. It was stretched taut over his chest and shoulders, fitting him like a second skin. His jaw was dark with whisker stubble, his lips parted slightly.
“Guess I’d better hop in the shower, huh?” he asked.
His eyes delved into hers, leaving little doubt that the only place he was thinking about hopping into was bed. With her.
Savannah and Crystal were talking, their voices a low murmur in the next room. It reminded Brittany that she had to put a stop to this. She couldn’t harbor these fantasies every time he came to visit Savannah. And she wouldn’t. “Nick.”
“Hmm?” He took a step closer. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I decided to bunk down on the couch. I have no idea how anybody can call the country quiet. Honking horns and sirens are nothing compared to all the sighing of the wind, the rattling of the shutters and the creaking and groaning and shifting of this old house.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
He held up one hand. “Hey, I’m explaining, not complaining. Guess I’d better go see about that shower. And I’d better unpack my razor. Savannah thinks I’ll look better after I shave.”
That proved to Brittany that little girls and grown women had entirely different opinions about what constituted a good-looking man. Nick had disappeared up the stairs before Brittany had realized he’d done it again. He’d taken her mind off what she was supposed to tell him and made her think about things she wasn’t supposed to think about anymore.
She massaged her forehead, wondering if Mertyl had found the aspirin. She wasn’t prone to headaches, but she felt one the size of Mount Rushmore coming on.
Raising her chin, she stared at the place Nick had slept. On second thought, she didn’t need aspirin. All she needed was a brisk attitude and a firm resolve.
Brisk and firm, Brittany reminded herself, hurrying Savannah into her coat twenty minutes later. Brisk and firm.
Her decision to leave Nick six months ago hadn’t been made lightly. If he had beaten her or chased other women or been an ax murderer, leaving might have been easier. As it was, it had been the single most difficult thing she’d ever done. She and Nick were both to blame, she supposed, and they both had reasons for the things they’d done. She had Savannah to think about, her daughter’s happiness and well-being much more important than the loneliness that had a way of slipping past Brittany’s defenses when she least expected.
She should have anticipated the drowsy, hazy thoughts she was having, now that she’d seen Nick again. More than anything, she should have expected this yearning to see him smile—when she knew darn well that Nick Colter rarely smiled. Forewarned should have been forearmed, and might have been if he had arrived when he’d said he would. She supposed she should have expected that, too.
OK, he’d caught her off guard. But she’d recovered.
She didn’t know why he was fiddling with the lock on the front door, and she didn’t see any reason to ask. From now on she was going to keep a handle on her resolve. Brisk and firm.
“Hurry, Daddy,” Savannah said. “Get your coat.”
Nick’s salute earned a giggle from Savannah and a brittle smile from Brittany. Nick didn’t say a word as he retrieved his bomber jacket from the back of the sofa and followed them out the door, but he’d seen drill sergeants with less-intimidating posture than Brittany’s.
They took her car, Savannah keeping up a steady stream of prattle all the way. The church sat on the corner of First and Church Streets. Like every other building in town, it could have used a coat of paint. Maybe that was part of its charm. Stained-glass windows gleamed in the morning sunshine, that same sun glinting off a white steeple high on the roof.
A group of women who were huddled on the steps looked up as he, Brittany and Savannah approached. “Morning, Miss Opal,” Savannah called.
“Good morning,” a short lady with a double chin called. Pressing a hand to her forehead, she lowered her voice. “Some of the other children have already arrived. Why don’t you go in and say hello?”
The moment Savannah disappeared through the double doors, another woman, this one tall and wearing a pinched expression, said, “I don’t know whether you’re