Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings) (9 page)

“Oh, I want you. That’s not the issue,” Keith said, snaking an arm around her waist and turning her, until her back hit the side of his car. Bertie slapped both hands against the soft cotton of his blue Nike tennis sweater, feeling the hard surface of his chest against her fingers. Keith pressed into her, slipping his leg between hers. His fingers trailed up her sides until he brushed the sides of her neck. He spread them wide, threading them through her hair. “I can’t have you…beneath me…with me inside you…filling you,” he said in a low, rough whisper. His lips hovered above hers. He was so close she could smell the hint of coffee laced with peppermint on his breath. He dropped his forehead to hers and closed his eyes with a groan. He looked as tortured as she felt.

“This is bad,” Bertie stammered on a sigh. But it felt so good. “You…we—”

He raised his head and she became mesmerized by his heavy-lidded gaze as she leaned into his smoldering yumminess. His lips covered hers, silencing her words and her mind. His fingers massaged her scalp, tilting her head up for better access. She opened her mouth to him. The inside of his was hot and slick and welcoming. Bertie trembled as his tongue touched hers. Her arms twined around his neck and she clung to him. Instead of being smart and pushing him away, she rubbed against him and deepened the kiss.

But she wanted more than a kiss. She wanted it all. For once. For once, she wanted to throw responsibility and good conscience out the window and go with her feelings. With
this
guy. Someone who was all wrong for her. Keith rocked his hips into her and Bertie groaned in the back of her throat. He wrapped one arm around her waist while the other cradled the back of her head, locking her in place. Bertie didn’t know where she started and he ended. She molded herself against him like thick, warm honey.

As she was about to sink into the kiss that beat all kisses and stay there for days, a pick-up truck careened down the street with music blaring and some kid yelled, “Get a room!”

Keith jumped back as if he’d stepped in a pit of poisonous snakes. “Goddammit.” He raked his fingers through his hair as if he might pull it out. “This is why you need to send Gary over. Unless you want to have sex against my car while the citizens of Mayberry stroll by.” His glare blasted her as harshly as his words.

Fudge. What had she done? Bertie’s shaky hands pressed against the cotton T-shirt covering her belly, trying to stop the swarm of bees inside. The fire that burned only moments before, scorching her insides, died as if it at been doused with a bucket of cold water.

She stopped trembling enough to speak. “Look, I may be guilty of kissing you back, but I don’t deserve your anger or all the blame. We’re both guilty—”

“Bertie? You still here? I thought you and Keith left fifteen minutes ago,” Francesca called from the French doors facing the front lawn. Bertie froze. Could this day get any worse?

“Shit,” Keith mumbled. Without looking back, he rounded the front of his car and yanked the door open. Bertie stumbled forward on wobbly knees as Keith cranked the engine and backed out of the driveway.

“On my way. We were…uh…discussing the…bedroom. I mean living room,” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to gather her wits about her. “Bye now.” Bertie waved as she headed for the carriage house. Aunt Franny waved back, wearing a satisfied smile on her lips.

***

Keith snatched the bottle of water and vinegar Bertie had left behind and started spraying the walls of his daughter’s bedroom with the noxious liquid. He had changed into a pair of ratty jeans, old sneakers, and a worn T-shirt. He’d already run his five miles and spent a half hour with his weights. He was tired and his muscles ached, but he still needed a mechanical activity and stripping decaying old wallpaper was the perfect fit. He would strip every wall in the house until his body was weak with exhaustion and his mind blank. He needed to forget Bertie’s full breasts caressing his chest, the taste of her full, sweet lips. And the echoes of her groans when he’d rubbed his rock-hard cock against her. Bertie equaled drama. High drama. She couldn’t help it. It was the way she was wired and she thrived on it. Just like fierce competition was his drug of choice. Drama and all the trappings that went along with it fed Bertie’s soul. Keith recognized the signs. He’d been married to it for three years. Yep. He would strip paper until every wall was bald and then he’d start ripping out all the carpet and dragging it to the dumpster. That should kill his libido and any remaining desire he had for Bertie with her sea-green eyes; long, curly lashes; and her silky, thick hair. That and maybe a case of Mount Gay. Damn. He was screwed.

Keith reached for his cell and sent Maddie another text with silly smiley faces about when he was coming to pick her up and how he couldn’t wait, informing her he’d call that night for their usual daily chat. Then he shoved earbuds in his ears, punched his iPod on, and attacked the wall with the scoring tool to the tune of “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones.

***

Bertie found Gary at the Milners’, arranging furniture in the living room. The old, musty smell had been replaced by fresh paint and new wood. “You need to get over to Keith’s and finish stripping the walls. Call Dan about removing the carpet and schedule Enrique to start on the wood floors,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she moved a set of antique nesting tables closer to the sofa. “I’ll finish up here.” Silence filled the room and Bertie knew Gary gawked at her as if she had sprouted elf ears.

She had to pretend that everything was okay. How could she reveal to Gary that she’d jumped Mr. Perfect’s fine frame without any regard to their business…again. She had thrown all professionalism out the window because he kissed like a sugar-coated dream and she wanted those kisses like an alcoholic craved the next drink. Bertie angled a French armchair in the corner of the room near the bookcases.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Gary asked in a calm voice. Bertie hated that voice. It meant that Gary already knew, but he would wait until the cows came home for Bertie to confess. But being a dried-up prune in the love market didn’t give her license to jump the best-looking thing to hit Harmony in forever. Especially since that best-looking thing happened to be her client and ultimately her ticket out. Even though she’d ended up turning down the entry-level job offer in Atlanta, Bill Murphy had intimated the door might be open in case she changed her mind. Her dream of leaving town could still become a reality once she finished these projects.

“Not really. I need you over at Morgan’s house, and I’ll finish up here. It’s only for a few weeks.” Bertie sneaked a quick glance at Gary as she picked up a Swiffer duster from the box of supplies and started wiping down surfaces.

He shook his head. “Whatever.” He gathered up some packing materials and shoved them in an empty cardboard box. “You’ll tell me soon enough because your guilty conscience will get the best of you.” Bertie ducked her head and dusted with a renewed vengeance.

Gary finished taking out the packing garbage while she kept busy wiping down the bookshelves and tabletops. When he returned, they exchanged to-do lists on each project and checked their time lines.

“His daughter is coming home in a few weeks. I’m going to need to focus on her bedroom, and you’ll need to handle the kitchen renovation,” she said, handing him plans for Keith’s house.

“And who will be handling Keith’s bedroom?” Gary asked as he shoved the plans in his briefcase.

“Um, I guess we both will.” Bertie turned and started pulling custom-made throw pillows out of their protective plastic bags and arranging them on the sofas.

“Something tells me I won’t be doing his bedroom or doing him…but you will.”

Bertie froze over one of the pillows, in mid-designer–karate-chop mode. She’d be a crazy walnut to go anywhere near Keith again. Any more physical encounters with Mr. Love Machine would make her hard-earned self-esteem plummet to an all-time low. Even worse than senior year when she had caught Liza humping Bertie’s prom date behind the trophy display in the gym.

“Hey, be careful,” Gary squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be at Mr. Fine Tush’s if you need me.”

Bertie jumped when she heard Gary’s heels thud across the wood floor in the foyer. “Wait,” she called, rushing for the door. Gary paused. “Find out if we can take some of the old carpet. Two of the rooms upstairs looked decent and clean.”

“Sure. What for?”

“I’m going to donate it to Dwelling Place.”

Keith rolled out of Harmony in his packed Cayenne to pick up Maddie from boarding school in Virginia for spring break. It was a four-hour drive and he’d allowed plenty of extra time. He needed it. He’d loaded up his tennis gear, planning to stop on the way and hit with a pro in Raleigh.

Unlike the past few weeks, where his timing had sucked, he’d pulled out of his driveway in the nick of time. Crystal Walker, one of the many young women who appeared at his door daily, rounded the corner riding her beach bike—young as in not a day over eighteen. Keith knew this because the first time she’d showed up, she held a photo album decorated with yellow smiley faces and light-blue feathers. She’d chronicled her entire life by way of snapshots, while chomping on a wad of pink bubble gum.

Keith came to a full stop at the crosswalk on Main. He waited for the group called N-Purrfect-Harmony to cross with spades, shovels, and potted plants, preparing to beautify the town square for some upcoming town fair. He chuckled at their silly floppy hats and matching Crocs.

After Crystal, he’d had visits from Harmony’s famous twins, Opal and Emma Ardbuckle. Keith guessed their age to be somewhere in the forties—spinsters, their term,
not
his. Opal knitted him a stocking cap out of brown wool, and Emma brought him a six-pack of homemade beer. Out of her tub if he heard correctly.

The pressure to run away had never felt more urgent than it had this morning. These constant visits did nothing to calm his fears about his future. In fact, they accomplished just the opposite.

The last few weeks, in between future-bride encounters, he had stripped every wall bare, ripped out most of the carpet, and continued to work out and bang balls as if he were still on the ATP tour, all in hopes of falling in bed at night and sleeping like a corpse. Instead, he tossed and turned, dreaming about lush breasts, full lips, and mahogany-colored hair. All belonging to a green-eyed Bertie, who he’d barely seen since that public, scalding-hot kiss. On one hand, Keith missed Miami like he missed competing on the tennis circuit, but on the other hand, if he’d kissed someone like that standing on Ocean Drive, it would’ve gone viral in a matter of seconds, with all the gawking tourists carrying camera phones and itching to catch a celebrity doing the dirty deed.

Kissing Bertie again had been a big mistake. No more dumb acts and behaving like an ass in front of her. She didn’t deserve his anger or his rampant sexual drive. She couldn’t help it if she reminded him of his hot wife, who thrived on causing public scenes and embraced drama almost more than she partied and dropped her panties. Keith gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep his guilty thoughts at bay. Adriana had been young and beautiful. She’d had a fiery Latin temper that matched her lusty sexual appetite. She was every man’s dream until she became Keith’s living nightmare. But now he needed to get out of town, before he gave into another stupid craving that looked, smelled, and tasted a lot like Bertie Anderson.

The parking lot at the Dog looked full from the breakfast crowd. And Keith could’ve sworn he spied Bertie’s beat-up, blue Honda CR-V parked near the entrance. He stepped on the gas. They’d been avoiding each other like the pox since the kiss. They communicated through Gary, which suited Keith fine.

Several miles down the road, he slowed the car as he neared the entrance to the Jaycee Park, which served Harmony and the neighboring towns. He frowned at what Harmony offered in the way of tennis for kids who couldn’t afford the country club. He counted eight hard tennis courts, a baseball field, and a couple of basketball courts. He pulled into the asphalt lot and parked near the low, run-down community building. Keith sat for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He surveyed the surrounding property. A large field with overgrown grass and weeds abutted the property—enough room for expansion if they owned the land. Keith climbed out of his car and walked over to the tennis courts, peering through the chain-link fence with torn windscreens. Two pros fed balls to a spring-break clinic for a group of ten or twelve-year-olds. Cracks the size of craters ran through the surfaces of the courts. And most of the center straps were missing, making the nets too high.

“If it isn’t Mr. Big Shot. So, you decided to pay us a visit.” Keith started at the sound of Dottie Duncan’s booming voice. He hadn’t heard her approach. He glanced down into her overly made-up face and platinum-blond hair pulled back into a stiff ponytail with a big yellow sunflower perched on top.

“Just checking out the facility.”

“It’s about time. Now you can see how run down the place is. This would be a good project for you and give you something to do besides chase all the young gals in Harmony.” Dottie pursed her hot-pink–lipstick coated lips.

Keith narrowed his eyes, hoping to warn her off with his famous game-face glare. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not chasing anyone.”

Dottie smacked her gooped-up lips. “Don’t get your knickers all up in a bind. I know what Franny Balogh told you.” Dottie tugged on her tight orange T-shirt with Toot-N-Tell in navy stretched across her massive chest. “Get married in three months…to a nice girl.”

Keith kept his gaze locked on the kids on the courts and not on the annoying woman standing next to him. “Then you should also know that I’m not pursuing any of the young ladies of Harmony. They show up on their own with no encouragement from me.”

“I figured you for someone with some brains. Didn’t you attend Princeton?”

He shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Yeah. For someone so smart, how did I end up in Harmony?” He hoped she wouldn’t answer.

Dottie rustled through a large silver handbag and pulled out a pack of gum. She held it out. “Gum?”

“No, thanks.”

She popped two pieces onto her palm. “I was gonna say, for someone so smart how come you don’t know a good thing when you see one?” She dropped the gum in her mouth and chewed.

“A good thing, huh? Are you referring to eighteen-year-old Crystal or the Ardbuckle twins?”

Dottie chewed as she rustled for something else inside her bag. “Neither one. Bless their hearts. They aren’t right for you.” She pulled a crinkled pamphlet out and shoved it at Keith’s gut. “Take this and read it over. Then come to the meeting. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Keith took the pamphlet that read “Rejuvenate the Jaycee” and gave Dottie a puzzled look.

“Read it and then we’ll talk.” She stomped away in blue cowboy boots and a ruffled denim skirt, her generous hips swaying.

“Hey! You never told me who was a good thing,” he called out.

Dottie hesitated and then glanced back over her shoulder. “Who makes you so crazy that you can’t stop thinking about her?”

Only one person fit that description.
Bertie
. Keith’s face must’ve registered surprise before he could mask it, because Dottie Duncan gave him a sly smile.

“You ain’t no dummy after all,” she chuckled and then put an extra boom in her hips as she sauntered away.

***

Bertie stirred a dollop of whipped cream into her hot coffee—her one guilty pleasure in the mornings when she ate breakfast at the Dog. Lucy Doolan, one of her oldest friends, sat across from her in the booth. Lucy’s riotous curls no longer existed, having been tamed into submission with a hot iron. And her natural dirty blond color sported streaky highlights. Only her tilty gray eyes had remained the same since grade school, observing way more than they should. The mouth-watering smells of fresh bacon and hot biscuits filled the Dog as the early morning crowd settled down to a hearty, Southern breakfast.

“You planning on staying a few days?” Bertie sipped her creamy coffee.

Lucy’s fingers, with green-painted nails, wrapped around her glass of Mountain Dew. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I have a couple temp jobs I don’t want to pass up.”

Lucy worked in Atlanta in marketing and social media. But right now, she was in between jobs and working for a temp agency. “Aw, I wish you could stay longer. I miss you.”

Lucy’s eyes turned flinty. She’d left sophomore year in high school to live with her grandparents and never returned to her home in Harmony.

Bertie pulled an exaggerated pout. “You may not believe this, but I really envy you.”

Lucy grunted as she sliced into her western omelet with extra cheese and a side of hash browns.

“So, you want to hear my good news?” Bertie smiled as she speared a piece of fruit and shoved it in her mouth.

“That’s why I’m here. Well, that and this great omelet,” Lucy said with a twinkle in her eye.

Bertie leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “I can make a huge difference with Dwelling Place.”

Lucy’s brows rose. “Really? How?”

Bertie grinned. “I’ve made a deal with the devil.”

“The devil? Ooo, give me details.”

“Hey, girls. Sharing dirty little secrets?” Liza Palmer stood next to their booth with a coffeepot in her hand and a smug expression on her face. “More coffee?”

Bertie gritted her back teeth. “No, thanks.” Liza kept popping up like a painful boil that needed to be lanced.

“I take a break in five. Mind if I join you?” Liza refilled Bertie’s cup, ruining the balance of whipped cream and coffee that Bertie had achieved.

“Yes.” Bertie frowned at her ruined cup of coffee.

“No.” Lucy spoke at the same time.

“Perfect.” Liza’s gaze darted from Bertie to Lucy. “Let me get rid of this pot, and I’ll join you in a sec. Don’t spill anything juicy until I get back.” She gave a sly wink and then sauntered off in her skinny jeans. She wore the electric-blue waitress T-shirt like a second skin. Bertie had always envied her long legs, slim hips, and fat-free body. Bertie could never pull off wearing flashy turquoise cowboy boots like Liza without looking like a stumpy rodeo clown.

“What’s her deal? Wasn’t she practicing law in Chicago?” Lucy asked.

“Who knows? She drove back into town and doesn’t seem to be leaving.” Bertie played with her spoon. “I could kill Cal for hiring her. It’s not like she needs the money. I’m sure she’s here to irritate the heck out of me.”

“Cal always needs good help. You can’t continue to fill in all the time. You have a business to run.”

Disgust slammed into Bertie as Liza chatted up some truckers at the counter, throwing her head back and laughing like she’d heard the funniest joke ever. If it had three legs, Liza found a way to flirt with it and make it fall under her spell.

After Bertie’s mother had died, Liza started coming around the house, dropping off brownies and bringing over her favorite romance novels for Bertie to read. Bertie had thought Liza really cared, because for once Liza had been really nice to her. Bertie had only been fourteen at the time and even though she and Liza were in the same grade, Liza seemed so much older. More mature. She’d even listened to Bertie express her fears one afternoon about living without a mom and then offered to help Bertie with her makeup, showing her a trick with cold cucumber slices and tea bags to reduce the swelling around her eyes from too much crying. They had giggled and laughed that afternoon like typical teenage girls.

The very next day, Bertie had rushed home from theater practice and found Liza in the kitchen, glued to the front of Cal, kissing him. Devastated and hurt, Bertie’d been used by a master manipulator who’d stop at nothing to get her way—even befriending a lonely, heartsick classmate. From that day forward, she had never trusted Liza.

“You think she’s still after Cal?” Lucy drank her Mountain Dew, tracking Liza behind the bar.

“If it breathes and can get it up, then yep.” Bertie pushed her half-eaten plate of fruit away. “She’s up to something. I haven’t figured out what yet.”

Lucy’s quiet chuckle could hardly be heard over the increasingly noisy breakfast crowd. “Bertie, sometimes you tend to blow things out of proportion. Maybe she’s only visiting and reconnecting with old friends.”

Or new friends. Liza had been by Keith’s several times, according to Gary. Not that she gave a fat Fig Newton. She did not concern herself with the comings and goings of Mr. Hard Body. No, sir. She had a house to finish. A job to complete. She would treat Keith like any other client and be as professional as possible. No more lip-locking or molding herself to him like Play-Doh. Bertie didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. Well, she did know. Keith’s tongue had gotten into her, but she didn’t know why she allowed it. Okay, well, maybe she did. The last time her tonsils had tangoed was six months ago. No, that couldn’t be right.
Hot
glue
guns.
Her womanly parts started to shrivel inside her body. It hadn’t been six months—it was much worse. She hadn’t swapped spit or any other bodily fluids in over a year.

Her latest horizontal contact with a male had been her short and lackluster fling with Dave the architect from Raleigh. They’d met one day at a licensing workshop. The affair had lasted a good three months before Dave had a moral hiccup and decided he needed to stop cheating on his
wife
. Furious didn’t begin to describe how Bertie felt with herself and Dave the slimeball. Humiliated, Bertie buried herself in work and hadn’t come up for air in over a year—her punishment for falling before getting all the facts. Bertie had many faults, but being a home-wrecker was not one of them.

Lucy nibbled on a buttered muffin. “So, tell me how you’re going to help Dwelling Place?”

Bertie dragged her mind out of the slums of extramarital affairs and back to the present. She pulled a folder from her bag and slid it across the table to Lucy. She needed to talk fast before Liza returned. “I’ve pledged one hundred thousand dollars to Dwelling Place.”

“What?” Lucy opened the folder and there sat Bertie’s pledge card to Dwelling Place and a check for her first installment for ten thousand dollars. “How? You gambling? Turning tricks?”

Bertie laughed at Lucy’s scandalized face. “Nope. It’s all been legally obtained. I’m getting a huge bonus if I finish Keith Morgan’s house in less than three months, and I’m giving the bulk of it to DP.” Bertie tapped the top of the check with her finger. “That’s my first installment. I’ll give more in another month.”