Heartwood (36 page)

“Joe, he purposely waited until you left. He’d been watching us for months. He was the one at the laser tag maze who fondled me. And I think he was watching me when I was out the night of the bachelorette party, too. He was going to get to me sooner or later. It was only a matter of time. If I’d listened to you in the first place and stayed out of Elaine’s fight with him, he’d have never come here.” She shot back, crossing her arms and looking off into the other room.

We paused in our verbal volley. I considered what she’d been carrying around and I assume she was doing the same.

“It seems to me you did the right thing helping his ex-wife.” Dr. Greene offered. We both whipped our heads in his direction and he shrugged. “You know better than anyone that Draven had no business playing any part in a child’s life.”

I watched the sudden flash behind her agonized eyes. She nodded, but her expression had a hardness I’d never seen on her.

He left a short time later after eliciting promises that we’d both make weekly appointments together and separately. He told me I needed to start going back to the shop, if only for a few hours a week. I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise, but I said I’d try.

I was debating about how I’d trick myself into going back to the shop later that night. Molly and I were both firmly ensconced in our own sides of the king sized bed, and I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. What seemed like hours passed, and after failing to fall asleep, I glanced at the clock. It was midnight.

Christmas.

A year ago to the day she’d agreed to be my wife. In the lonely dark of our bedroom, it seemed more like a decade had passed. I rolled onto my back and sighed. All I wanted was Molly. To hold her, talk with her, taste her. I missed her almost as much as I had when he’d taken her from me.

Though I knew I was torturing myself, I stole a glance over at her. Her crystal blue eyes were open and they rested on the painting on the wall. It was the one she’d talked me into bringing home...the one she said would always make her think of our honeymoon.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” I murmured, hoping it wouldn’t startle her.

She rolled in my direction, and it was obvious that she was surprised I was awake. Our eyes locked in silent conversation. A thousand words seemed to pass between us, and the yearning I felt for her had never been more intense.

“I thought I lost you...” I felt my throat closing up as the warring emotions of my memories and my longing overwhelmed me.

Cautiously, she moved closer, and I shifted so she could rest her head in the crook of my arm. She sighed deeply, her hand caressing my bare chest.

“I thought I lost you, too.” She murmured, her nails trailing lightly over my flesh.

Feeling bold and desperate, I brazenly pulled her tighter against me. I ached to kiss her, to touch her, to get carried away the way we used to. I wanted to show her I was receptive, but I’d never push her knowing what she’d experienced. Molly was going to have to take the lead.

As if reading my mind, when her fingers trailed down my stomach and glided lightly over the waistband of my boxers. I sucked in a breath, and my body responded to her immediately. She pressed herself against my side and I could feel her hardened nipples through the thin material of her nightgown. She slipped her hand into my boxers, and intense ripples of pleasure accompanied her light touch. A throaty moan escaped me, and she tilted her face up to mine. She brushed her lips across mine, and after several long, agonizing moments her mouth closed on mine. Our kiss was gentle, curious, and exploratory. There was nervous energy behind it, like we’d never kissed before, yet her taste was so deliciously familiar. When she pulled her lips away, I was crushed.

“Joe?” Her voice was timid and she surprised me when she placed a wet kiss on my neck and another on my chest.

“Yeah, baby?” I gasped, her firmer grip making it nearly impossible for me to think.

“I just want to feel good again.” She whispered.

I gently rolled her onto her back, kissing her as if my life depended on it. In many ways it did. Because I needed her like I needed oxygen. I’m sure Dr. Greene would have called this statement unhealthy...but it didn’t make it any less true.

Her voice was raspy when she spoke again. “Can you help me feel good again?”

Placing her hand on top of mine, she moved it downward until it was on her hem of her nightgown. She guided it up the soft skin of her thigh and under her nightgown until I could feel the heat between her legs. She arched her body up toward me, and I knew she wanted what I wanted. I brushed her dark bangs aside and as I kissed her I recognized the glassy look of lust in her beautiful eyes. “I’ll do my damnedest, baby girl.”

And I did.

“HOW’S IT GOING back here?” I called over the clanging of pots and pans and the rhythmic sounds of chopping. The kitchen staff all looked up at the sound of my voice, but no one stopped what they were doing.

“We’re surviving!” Sanchez hollered in response, and I nearly hit the ceiling. For a guy who spent his first six months working for me barely speaking above a whisper, he sure had a set on lungs on him.

“What can I help with?” I narrowed my eyes and peeked around the three people working in between us. I spared a glance at the prep counter, which was covered in chopped veggies for salads. Remembering how Joe and I had christened that counter, I felt my cheeks pinken.

“You’re supposed to be out there celebrating.” He shot back, not looking up from his impressive knife work.

“So are you.” I put my hands on my hips so he knew I wasn’t playing.

“We had a rush. I just can’t leave these guys hanging.” His gentle tone made me grin, and I tossed on an apron over my new skirt and blouse. Of all the advice my daddy had ever given me, the only piece he’d been wrong about was hiring an ex-con. Sanchez was a gifted chef...a natural...and it wouldn’t be long before he’d leave me behind in the dust. It was a damn good thing he had a loyal streak, because I found him indispensable.

“Well, then tell me what you need. I’m not eating cake until you’re at the table with me.” I insisted, and he rolled his dark eyes skyward.

“Another batch of your potato salad.” He finally replied, slicing up a full rack of ribs ten times faster than I ever could. “It’s a hot item tonight.”

I smiled to myself as I slipped on two oven mitts and lifted the boiled potatoes off of the stove top. Though I loved preparing Daddy’s signature dishes and all the memories that came along with them, it was satisfying to hear that customers were enjoying the new items I’d added to the menu.

Mollybelle’s opening had been a smashing success. The Chronicle salivated at the story more than my cooking, and my restaurant’s write-up was a much bigger deal than it deserved to be. The reporter chose to paint Mollybelle’s as some giant victory. The defiled damsel pulls herself up by her own apron strings. The rehash of my abduction sold lots of papers, and my restaurant, which they heralded as ‘a scrumptious revival of a past Austin institution’, was just the juicy jalapeno on top of the sundae. Had I not been a local businesswoman, I’m sure the story of my ordeal might have faded into obscurity. Unfortunately, between the restaurants I was involved in and the fantastical details of my tale, the public seemed spellbound.

Luckily, Sanch and I could back up all the hype with our kick ass combination of Daddy’s bestselling recipes and my new spin on a few classics. We were a month out from our ribbon cutting ceremony, and word of mouth still had us packed every night. Folks begged us to open for lunch, and Stacy was helping me hire more staff to accommodate the demand. Though a lot of guests still referred to the place as ‘Hildebrandt’s 2’, we were building a reputation as a force to be reckoned with in a city overflowing with quality barbecue. I wasn’t complaining; comparing me to my dad was the highest form of flattery.

Knowing we had people waiting on the two of us, I worked as quickly as I could to peel and chop the potatoes, mixing in ricotta cheese, apple cider vinegar and red onions, I added my secret blend of spices and presented it to one of the staff.

“Now what?” I called, awaiting his instructions. I owned the place and made the menu decisions, but once we set foot on this side of the swinging doors, Dirty S. was in charge.

“Go on, Little Mama. Get back out to the party.”

I tilted my head, pouting a little. “Are you coming?”

“Give me ten minutes. Check on my wife, would ya?” His prideful smile made me grin and I nodded.

Stacy was halfway through her pregnancy with their first child, and she still went a million miles a minute. She’d completely streamlined the baked goods business, which she’d named after my lemon truffle, The Sour Puss. It made money without a lot of maintenance, and functioned with minimal supervision. This allowed her to help me open Mollybelle’s. I insisted on paying Sanchez a handsome salary as my head chef, so Stacy was doubly invested in our success. She insisted on training the hostesses herself, and she refused to step back until I had what she deemed ‘a suitable manager’.

Sanchez worried that she was doing too much, but I assured him that Stacy was just fine until she said otherwise. Unlike me, Stacy was only having one baby. They’d just found out she was a girl and they’d picked the name Isabella Pilar. They were already calling her Izzy for short. I was overjoyed for them, and thrilled to give all the clothes Eva had outgrown to someone I considered family.

As I searched for Stacy, I couldn’t help but admire the fruits of Joe’s labor. He truly had a gift for blending form and function, and could have easily made a career out of interior design. He’d kept most of the great elements of Hildebrandt’s, but put a contemporary spin on the booths. His change in the lay out made the space more user friendly and added plenty of cool ambiance.

We’d managed to keep one special element from Daddy’s days. When I told Mom I was finally opening the place, she told me she had a present for me. She’d kept Dad’s original neon sign. Mason dug it out of her attic and restored it, skillfully bringing it back to its incredible vintage glory. It now hung over the bar large as life, casting a red glow to the entire bar area. It was no wonder that people were confused about what we were called. But I loved it, and I liked to think he would have loved it too.