Sympathy Pains (2 page)

“Help yourself,” he heard her answer, then settled down near the phone to make his call. A few moments later, the phone at his home began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Dad, it's me, Justin.”

“Justin! Thank God you called. Your mother and I have been worried sick. Are you all right? Where are you?”

“Yes, Dad, I'm fine. I knew you'd be worried. I got as far as Amarillo before they closed the roads. I'm in for the night and as soon as they get
the snowplows out tomorrow, I'll be heading on home.”

“That's just fine. You stay until it's safe to drive.” Then he added, “I figured the motels would be full of stranded travelers. You're lucky you found one.”

He glanced around the room, eyeing the cheery flames in the gas-heating stove.

“Yeah, Dad, you're right. I am pretty lucky. Tell the hands to put out extra hay for the cattle and make sure they have my horse in the barn.”

“Already done.”

Justin grinned. “Sounds like you have everything under control. Tell Mother I said hello and I'll see you tomorrow.”

He hung up just as Marilee came back into the room, and it was just as well he was through with his call, because he wasn't so sure he would have been able to talk. Somewhere between the front door and now, Marilee the waitress had turned into a walking, talking centerfold. That appalling bun was now a cascade of chocolate-brown hair, hanging long and loose past her shoulders in abundant waves. She had on a pair of old moccasins and some Levi's that had been washed so many times, they clung to her hips as if they'd been knit to fit. The ancient Texas A&M sweat-shirt
she was wearing should have disguised the fullness of her breasts but did not.

“Did your call go through?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Good thing you called now. If this storm doesn't let up, we're going to wind up in the dark.”

Justin nodded, but he was already wondering what would happen if the house did go dark.

“Are you hungry?” Marilee asked.

He nodded again.

She arched an eyebrow, telling herself that his noncommittal state surely had nothing to do with his brainpower. She'd talked to him plenty of times before and he'd never seemed slow or dull-witted. Maybe he was just cold.

“The bathroom is down the hall...first door on your left. When you're ready, come on into the kitchen. There's fresh coffee brewing and the remote for the TV is over there on the shelf below the set. Knock yourself out, okay?”

He nodded again and then finally found his voice enough to squeak out an answer. “Okay.”

He watched her walk out of the room and knew that he'd just accepted and moved into a higher level of faith. Only God could have made something as structurally perfect as Marilee.

A few minutes later he wandered into the kitchen and then stopped in his tracks. The radio was on and turned down low, but he could still hear enough of the music to know that the slight but constant sway of her lower body was moving to the rhythm. He closed his eyes and then shook his head, making himself focus on something besides her hips. The aroma of the coffee she'd promised settled somewhere between his brain and his lust, reminding him of why he'd come in.

“That coffee does smell good,” he said.

Marilee turned, a half-peeled potato in one hand, a paring knife in the other. She pointed the potato toward a cabinet.

“Cups are in there,” she said. “Help yourself.”

Justin poured the coffee and then stepped aside as she began to wash the vegetables she'd been peeling.

“I'd be glad to help,” he said.

“Can you cook?” she asked.

He took a sip of the coffee and then grinned. “Uh...I can pour milk over cereal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Typical male. Offers to do something he knows good and well he can't
do to insure himself against having to do anything at all.”

He laughed. “You have a pretty poor opinion of men.”

She thought of her father. “So far I haven't met any that would give me a reason to change it, either.” Then she grinned. “Except maybe for Calvin. He's a good boss. Best I've ever had.”

Justin leaned against the counter, drinking the coffee as he watched her work. With little wasted motion, she chopped and stirred, sliced and steamed, and the scents of down-home cooking filled the tiny little room. As he watched, it occurred to him that, although he'd seen her plenty off and on during the last six months, he didn't know a thing about her but her first name.

“Marilee?”

“Hmmm?”

The fact that she hadn't bothered even to look up struck him somewhere between amused and piqued. He wasn't used to being ignored, especially by pretty women.

“It has occurred to me that I do not know your last name, and since you have been kind enough to offer me shelter from the storm...”

She paused in her stirring, and he thought he saw her flinch, as if bracing herself for something,
but when she looked up and smiled, he decided he'd been imagining things.

“Cash. My last name is Cash, and before you ask, no, I'm not related to Johnny.”

“Had a lot of that, have you?”

“More than you can imagine.”

He refilled his coffee cup and then moved to the kitchen table to get out of her way. Pulling a chair from the table, he turned it around backward and then straddled it as if he was mounting a horse, leaning his forearms on the chair's back.

“Did you grow up here in Amarillo?” he asked.

Again he thought he saw a hesitation before she answered.

“No. I grew up in East Texas. I fried up some ham slices. Would you prefer cream, or red-eye gravy?”

She'd changed the subject. He let it slide.

“Since you're asking, honey, then I'd say cream.”

She strode to the refrigerator and took out a gallon of milk. He watched her as she dropped a large dollop of flour into the skillet where she'd cooked the ham, then started to stir.

“That's a gift, you know.”

“What's a gift?” Marilee muttered as she
poured some of the milk into the roux she'd just made and then resumed her stirring.

“Making good gravy.”

She looked at him and then grinned.

“How do you know it's going to be good?”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his forearms and fixing her with a devilish, green stare. “I may not know how to cook, but I think I know a good cook when I see one.”

She smiled briefly, then turned back to her task, unwilling to admit, even to herself, how inordinately pleased she was with his comment. A few minutes later the last dish was prepared. When she handed him some plates and cutlery, he took them readily and began setting the table, realizing that he was suddenly starving.

Marilee carried the food to the table, and as she did, it hit her that in the years since she'd lived in Amarillo, he was the first guest she'd ever had to dinner.

“Please sit,” she said.

“After you, honey. My mother didn't teach me how to cook, but she did knock a few manners into my head.”

Looking at his smile had been deadly. She was lost, no matter what life had taught her about good-looking men who lived without promises.
She sat, trying to ignore the heat of his hands against her back as he scooted her chair toward the table.

“I can't believe you cooked all of this in such a short time,” Justin said, admiring the ham steaks, mashed potatoes and gravy and the small bowl of green peas.

Pleased with his praise, Marilee smiled as she passed him the ham. After that, the meal went smoothly. They talked as they ate, like old friends with a lot of catching up to do.

About halfway through the meal, it occurred to Justin that he'd never been so at ease or had this much fun with a woman and not been in bed. Not in his entire life. The women he dated were all about what he could do for them and how much he was willing to spend on them.

“Want some more coffee?” Marilee asked as she got up to refill her cup.

“Please,” Justin said, holding out his cup as she lifted the carafe from the coffeemaker. As she began to pour, he looked up and grinned. “You know something, Marilee? You're real good at pouring coffee. Ever think about becoming a waitress?”

She laughed as she spun around, replacing the carafe without wasted motion.

“Do you think?” she said, and then returned to her seat. “It's weird, you know...how people come to the jobs they have. It's not like I grew up wanting to be a waitress.”

Justin had just finished the last of his food. Curious, he pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table.

“What did you want to be...when you were a kid, I mean?”

Marilee thought about the chaos of her childhood and then shrugged.

“I just wanted to grow up and get out,” she said. “Obviously I didn't think my choices through very well, did I?”

Suddenly Justin wished he hadn't asked. He didn't want her to think he looked down on her choice of occupation.

“I didn't mean anything by that,” he said quickly. “I was just curious, that's all.”

She nodded, then made herself smile. “I know. No offense taken. What did you want to be?”

“Anything but an only child.”

The conversation had taken a serious tone that neither had expected, but the ease with which they confided was comfortable.

“Pressure?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I figured as much. Knew a girl back in high school who had everything money could buy...except the freedom to make her own choices. Her mother and father had run her life as competently as they ran their real-estate business. Then one day I guess she had enough. She ran away with the town bad boy. I never did think she really loved him. Always had the feeling she'd done it out of spite.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Justin said.

“So...are there any revolts in your past, or have you been a good boy?”

Justin shrugged. “A few revolts, but nothing drastic, and I have to admit I like what I do.”

“Which is?”

“Run my ranch, raise my cattle and ride my horse.”

“So that hat and those boots you wear aren't all for show after all. You not only talk the talk, you really walk the walk.”

He grinned. “You are a sassy thing, aren't you?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I just call 'em like I see 'em.” Then she stood abruptly and began clearing the dishes. To her surprise, he began to help, carrying plates and bowls to the counter as
she began to put away the leftover food. Within minutes the dishes were done and the table was clean.

Marilee reached in front of Justin's chest to hang up the dish towel and felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Although her heartbeat skittered once, she didn't let on.

Dusting her hands against her pants, she turned and found him staring at her.

“What?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“I don't know yet,” he said cryptically, and then frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets as if he'd suddenly said more than he should.

The lights flickered briefly and then everything went dark.

“Well, poop,” Marilee muttered. “Don't move. I'll get some candles.”

Justin grinned.
Poop?
He chuckled softly.

“Nothing is funny,” he heard her say.

“I'm not laughing.”

He heard a soft snort of disbelief and then another word, much stronger, that sounded nothing like
poop.

“I heard that, too,” he said.

“Don't suppose it's the first time you've ever heard it.”

“No.”

“Good. Then I won't have to sleep with the guilt of your moral downfall on my conscience tonight.”

He laughed aloud. There was no getting around the fact that Marilee Cash was fun.

Suddenly a match was struck and the first bit of light began to burn at the end of a big, red candle.

“I was saving it for Christmas,” she muttered as she carried it to the kitchen table, and then she rummaged in a drawer for others.

Soon the kitchen was bathed in the soft, warm glow of candles that she'd set about the room.

“I don't know about you, but it's too early to go to bed, and watching television is out. So...how about playing a game?”

He grinned. Game? “I think the last game I played was Spin the Bottle.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the table.

“Sit. I'll be right back.”

She picked up a flashlight and walked out of the room. Outside, he could hear the wind whistling beneath the eaves of the little house, yet he
felt a sense of safety and comfort, the likes of which he'd never known. Before he could decipher the feeling, she was back.

“Monopoly,” she said, and then slammed the game box in the middle of the table and lifted the lid.

C
andlelight flickered, casting shadows on Marilee's face as she grabbed the dice and rolled.

“Four!” she crowed. “I got a four!”

“You also have every danged piece of property but Boardwalk,” Justin muttered as he watched her count off the spaces.

“I won! I won!” she shrieked, and jumped up from her chair, her arms over her head in a jubilant gesture as she danced a little jig.

Justin grinned. He didn't like losing at anything, but the unabashed joy on her face was too great to ignore.

“Yeah, so you did.”

Marilee turned, her delight still evident as she then leaned forward, palms down on the middle of the table.

“I wiped you out,” she said.

Justin found himself looking up at her lips, only inches away from his face, and acted on an impulse that had been with him all night. Within seconds he was on his feet. With the table between them and their fingertips touching, he slanted his mouth across her lips and kissed her hard and fast—before she could move.