His Ordinary Life (6 page)

He’d never survive two nights of this. Del stepped beneath a spray of water so cold it took his breath. The simmering desire it didn’t touch. He pushed his wet hair back and tried not to think about Barbara showering at the same time. He failed, his mind invaded by pictures and sensations dredged from old memories. Once upon a time, early morning shared showers had provided privacy before the demands of their days got in the way.

The memories would be his undoing. Everywhere he turned, something in the house rose to taunt him with the time he’d had everything and how stupidly he’d let it slip away.
But you could get it back.
The sneaky little voice nudged him again.

Yeah. Sure. Whatever emotion Barbara had felt for him before had been closer to need than love. That she didn’t plan to let herself need him now was painfully obvious. He’d had to practically beg to stay in the house, and her palpable reluctance stung. She didn’t want him here.

She didn’t want him, period.

He shut off the water and stepped out on a fluffy purple rug sporting appliquéd butterflies. Barbara had redone this room while he’d been gone, too. He dried off with a hot pink towel, wondering if Lyssa or Anna had chosen the décor. Somehow, he didn’t see Blake helping to pick out pastel butterflies.

After folding the towel over the chrome bar, he pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and a white undershirt. Hell, in this house, even his shirt carried memories. How often had Barbara stolen one of his undershirts to use as a makeshift nightgown? How often had he removed those same shirts, baring her curves to his hands and mouth?

Cold showers were a joke. Arms braced on the counter, head lowered, he concentrated on stifling the unfulfilled desire. Amortization schedules. The cost of new tires for his car. Batting averages for last year’s Braves.

When he had himself together again, he stepped into the hall. Blake’s door stood open; the girls’ door closed. He rapped a knuckle against Blake’s doorjamb. “Good night, son.”

Lying on the bed, earphones over his ears, Blake met his gaze for a second then looked away. Del suppressed a frustrated sigh. Somehow, he’d find a way to get through.

Another rap on the girls’ door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Daddy,” Lyssa called, her voice exuberant.

“Good night,” Anna echoed.

He found the living room empty. A pillow and a folded blanket rested on the end of the couch. Barbara’s bedroom door remained closed. He made a quick circuit through the house, checking locks on the doors and windows. Finally, he settled on the other end of the couch and picked up the remote, flipping to the twenty-four-hour news channel. Just a night like any other in his life now.

Except he was surrounded by everything he wanted and couldn’t have.

Barbara awoke, her senses in a state of unnatural alertness. She’d fallen asleep with the light on, a set of ungraded papers scattered across the foot of the bed. With a glance at the bedside clock, she sat up, listening for whatever had wakened her.

The hallway floorboards creaked.

Blake.
Surely he wouldn’t. Anger flooded her and she stood, shoving her feet into her pink slippers. She flung her door open and stalked through the dark living room. Oh, having Del in the house really worked. The very next night and Blake was sneaking out again.

Red light danced in the hallway, thanks to Blake’s lava lamp. A dark figure hovered by his bedroom door. “What do you think you’re doing?” Barbara slapped the light switch and flooded the hall with brightness.

Del recoiled, squinting. He lifted a finger to his lips and reached to turn the light off again. “Not so loud.”

Her heart pounded with reaction and lingering anger, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, my Lord. You scared me. What are you
doing
?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Del gestured toward Blake’s room. “I was checking on him. He was talking in his sleep.”

A note of indulgent affection had invaded his voice and a reluctant smile tugged at Barbara’s lips. Even as a young child, Blake had talked in his sleep, wild imaginative sentences that he never remembered the next morning. “Is he all right?”

“Fine.”

She moved to the door to see for herself. Blake lay sprawled on his stomach, covers in disarray. She stepped back, keeping her gaze on their son and not on the strong calves and thighs exposed by Del’s shorts, visible even in the dim red glow. She smoothed her bangs from her face.

“We’ve done this before,” Del said, so close she could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “Remember? When he was a baby.”

“I would wake up and you’d be standing over him, watching him.”

His sigh caressed her temple. “Kathleen Palmer’s baby had just died of SIDS. I was afraid he’d stop breathing.”

With his warmth and their memories wrapping around her, she found his gaze intent on her face. He glanced down, smiling. “Nice slippers.”

She curled her toes with their painted nails. “The girls gave them to me.”

He rested a hand against the doorjamb, still peering down at her, his eyes suddenly alight. She knew that look. She’d seen it often enough, on those nights when she’d found him standing over the crib and pulled him back to bed. Other nights when he’d come home late and checked in on the children before he did anything else. That look turned her stomach upside down and started a dull pulsing between her thighs. She resisted the urge to press her legs together.

She edged backward. “Well, I’m going back to bed.”

His eyes flared and he stepped forward. “Barb, wait.”

“It’s late. We should—” She put out her hands to stop him. The warmth of his chest seared her palms.

He gripped her arms lightly, thumbs rubbing over her bare shoulders. She couldn’t pull her gaze from those dark, burning eyes, couldn’t get away from the wanting threatening to engulf her. They were alone in the deepest hours of the night and she wanted nothing more than to pull him off to bed just once more.

He moved one hand up over her shoulder, long fingers caressing the hollow at the base of her throat. He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Her lips parted.

Del lowered his head.

Del hooked a finger under her camisole strap, resting halfway down her arm. He lifted it back into place, his fiery gaze never leaving hers.

“Go back to bed,” he rasped.

She stared at him a moment then fled, her pulse an erratic thud in her ears. In her room with the door closed, she gathered the research papers and laid them on the nightstand with shaky hands. Beneath the covers with the lights off, she stared at the ceiling, aware of every movement beyond the room. In the dark, their—
her
—bed seemed larger and emptier than normal.

Her body ached for him, a deep pang made worse by the memories and fantasies flickering through her mind, a montage of past kisses and what could have happened tonight if she’d leaned forward instead of stepping away. She’d always loved his kisses, the heat of his mouth, the mingled breath, the tangle of tongues.

“Stop it.” She muttered the shaky command and rolled over, burying her head and a frustrated moan under her pillow. It didn’t block the sound of couch springs squeaking under his weight. The television clicked on, a news channel playing quietly. He was awake on the other side of that door.

Oh, good heavens, she’d never get any sleep.

The alarm buzzed, a steady stream of annoyance. Barbara emerged from under the comforter to shut it off and stare at the digital numerals. 7:15.

7:15?

“No!” She’d slept through the alarm. Irritation making her nerves jerk, she pushed the covers away and leapt from the bed. This was all Del’s fault. If he hadn’t tried to kiss her…

No way could she get herself and the kids together and out the door on time now. She shoved her feet into her slippers, hoping the kids had gotten up when their alarms went off. Most mornings, she had to wake Anna and Blake repeated times. Please let Lyssa have taken on that chore this morning. Please. She needed
something
to go right.

When she swung open her bedroom door, the aroma of fresh coffee washed over her. Trying to remember if she’d set up the automatic coffee maker the night before, she hurried down the hall to the kids’ rooms. She stopped short, glancing between both bedrooms. All three beds were made, although Blake’s comforter tilted at a crazy angle. The bathroom door stood open, the mirror steamed over, Anna’s toothbrush lying on the vanity. The scent of kiwi-strawberry shampoo and Blake’s sport deodorant hovered in the air.

Frowning, she walked to the kitchen and found it empty. Three empty cereal bowls stood in a neat stack in the sink. The back door burst open and Lyssa bounded in, dressed for school, dark hair flying. “Morning, Mama.” She plopped a kiss on Barbara’s cheek. “Forgot my cheerleading stuff.”

Eyeing the heavy purple eyeliner her daughter wore, Barbara stopped her before she could leave the room. “You also forgot the no eyeliner rule.”

Lyssa rolled her eyes. “But, Mama—”

“No buts. Wash it off. Where is everyone? And why didn’t you wake me up?”

“We thought you were already up, getting dressed, I guess.” Lyssa shrugged. “Daddy’s gonna drive us to school.”

“Wonderful.” Did he have to take over everything? She gave Lyssa a gentle push toward the hall. “Get your stuff. And don’t forget the eyeliner.”

“Morning,” Del said, and Barbara turned to find him standing at the back door. Clad in jeans and a crisp white Oxford shirt, he looked rested and relaxed as he stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Lyssa says you’re driving them to school?”

Wariness invaded his eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“Why didn’t you make her take the eyeliner off?”

Confusion joined the caution. “I didn’t notice it.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me solve a problem, not create new ones. She knows she’s not supposed to wear it until next year, and if you don’t enforce that rule when she’s with you, it’s useless.”

He stiffened and she cringed at her own waspish tone.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cooling. “I didn’t notice, but you can bet I will next time.”

Shame pricked at her, but she didn’t apologize. Lyssa slipped back into the room, eyeliner gone and her cheerleading gear bag slung over her shoulder. Teeth tugging at her bottom lip, she glanced between them.

Barbara forced a smile and reached out to touch her arm. “Get in the car. You don’t want to be late.”

“Bye, Mama.” Still looking unsure, Lyssa brushed her cheek against Barbara’s and rushed outside, leaving Barbara alone with Del.

A “thank you” for driving the kids stuck in her throat, along with a knot of tears. She didn’t want to be this way with him, but it seemed the only way she could hang on.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Barb, about last night…”

Her stomach plummeted. She didn’t want to hear this, to talk about that almost-kiss. “It doesn’t—”

“I owe you an apology. I was completely out of line.” A lopsided grin deepened his dimple, then disappeared as quickly as it came. “Chalk it up to proximity and an overdose of memory lane. I promise it won’t happen again.”

Pure feminine fury flooded her at his easy dismissal of the very thing that had kept her up for hours after. She forced a laugh and smoothed her hair from her face. “Well, that’s a relief, although I must admit I wondered if the practice you’ve gotten the last few weeks improved your technique any.”

His eyes flared and his lips thinned. He reached for the door with a white-knuckled grip. “I’ll pick the kids up, too. Have a great day, Barb.”

She expected him to slam the door. Instead, it closed behind him with a soft, deadly click. She crossed to lock it and waited for his rented SUV to rumble out of the drive. Hands clenched so hard her nails bit her palms, she escaped to the shower and gave in to shuddering sobs.

Improved his technique, hell.

Del thumped his palm against the steering wheel and swore, glad he’d dropped the kids off hours ago. His temper simmered hotter and hotter, Barbara’s taunt reverberating in his head, and Blake didn’t need any lessons in not controlling anger. He’d lain awake half the night, fixated on her oh-so-kissable mouth, and she’d rested so well she’d even slept through the alarm.

“I wondered if the practice you’ve gotten the last few weeks improved your technique any,” he mimicked aloud, clenching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles ached. “What practice?”

What did she think, that he’d gone off to Atlanta and turned into a damned stud, the kind of guy who’d hop into bed with any bar bunny? Hell.

He still thought of her as his wife, of himself as her husband, and to her he was nothing more than a source of irritation, the guy who’d ruined everything. He clutched the wheel tighter and slowed to make a left turn. And what was wrong with his technique anyway? She’d never complained, had always leaned into his touch, often pulling his mouth back to hers for one more kiss.

Unless she had something to compare him to now. The image of Brian Rawlings leaning over her, hand on her shoulder, slammed into his mind, the acid of jealousy burning him.

A familiar dirt road turnoff snagged his attention and he slowed. A humorless chuckle escaped him. While he’d been wrestling his ire, his mind had led him back where everything had started. The woods towered on the small hill, spreading over the rise and down to the river. At a standstill in the middle of the rural road, he draped his wrists over the wheel and stared.

When he’d taken Barbara there, that August before she was supposed to leave for college, the trees had been lush and green, the evening air heavy and humid with a coming rain. He’d needed
something
that long ago day, to face the memories dead on, to find absolution maybe. Barbara had seemed to understand, not speaking, his hand clasped in both of hers as they picked their way through the thick underbrush.

He hadn’t been able to go the whole way, ears buzzing, vision clouding as remembered horror rushed in on him.

“Del, you don’t have to do this,” she’d whispered against his ear, drawing him away. “Let’s go.”

He’d allowed her to lead him back to the pickup. Rain had started to fall when they reached the truck, drumming down on the cab, and he’d buried his face against her shoulder, giving himself over to the soothing magic in her soft touch, losing himself in her. Damn, he’d cost her so much.

His eyes burned and he cleared his throat, looking away. Dwelling on this crap wouldn’t change anything. He needed to suck it up and move on. Barbara obviously had. It was his turn.

Not looking back, he pressed the accelerator hard and drove on.