What a Man's Gotta Do (9 page)

His eyes blazed. “Don't. I didn't tell you because I wanted your sympathy.”

“I didn't think you had,” she shot back. “That doesn't mean I'm not going to be angry. Why on earth didn't one of your relatives turn you over to Social Services if taking care of you was such a hardship?”

Eddie shrugged. “Who knows? Dumb southern pride, maybe. Or else it took less effort to ignore me than it did to see if maybe there was some other solution. Besides, there were a
lot
of relatives.”

“Then how did you end up here? Michigan's a long way from Texas.”

For the first time in several minutes, his expression softened. “Molly Middleton was my mother's third cousin. She and Mama had been pretty close, though, even though Molly was a couple years older. But she fell in love young, too, with a soldier stationed at Fort Bliss who hailed from these parts. They got married when she wasn't but eighteen, and they ended up back here after his tour was up. After my mother left El Paso, though, they lost touch, so she knew nothing about me, or even that Mama had died. So it wasn't until I was nearly out of school before somebody happened to mention it to her in a Christmas card. She wrote to me right away, asked if I'd like to come up here to finish school. And since that was the first time any of my kin had shown the slightest enthusiasm for having me come live with them, I figured I may as well go.”

Mala frowned. Something wasn't jibing. “Then why didn't you stay long enough to graduate?”

He reached for his coffee, taking a long sip before answering. Then he shrugged, looking down at the dog. “Oh, I don't know. Chalk it up to turning eighteen and realizin' I was no longer anybody's burden.”

“But you weren't a burden to Molly and Jervis.”

“In my mind, I was.”

“So why didn't you leave before?”

A slight smile touched his lips, even as she saw him tense, just a little, as if the conversation had taken a turn he hadn't planned on. “You've got a real thing for making sure all the pieces fit, don't you?”

“I'm an accountant, Eddie. I can't even stand a messy sock drawer.”

He chuckled a little at that, then shrugged, looking elsewhere. “I don't really have an answer for that. Why I didn't go off on my own before. God knows, nobody would've cared if I had. I suppose…” He squinted, as if trying to find just the right words. “I suppose it was just time, you know? I mean, it's not like I was much good in school, anyway, or figured on going on to college, so I decided there really wasn't much reason to hang around. Molly and Jervis did their best to talk me out of it, of course, but they were wasting their breath. And after so many years of living with folks who didn't want me around, living on my own was heaven.”

“And is it still heaven, living by yourself?”

His gaze was steady. “It's…safe.”

“Because you've convinced yourself that you're unloveable?”

Mala nearly slapped her hand over her mouth. Geez Louise, she was becoming more like her mother every minute, just spewing out whatever happened to be passing through her brain. Eddie, however, didn't seem nearly as taken aback as she was. Although one eyebrow did work its way north. “No. Because I'm no good at living with anyone else.”

“You don't know that.”

“I've been married, Mala. In my early twenties, right out of
the service. A gal I'd met while I was stationed at Camp Pendleton. It lasted three months.”

The very flatness of his words twisted her heart. “And that makes you a failure?”

“No, it makes me a realist. Years of conditioning to stay out of the way, to not do anything that would get me booted someplace else, is damn poor preparation for sharing a home, let alone a life.”

“And you're telling me this because?”

His smile was sad. “Why do you think?”

Their gazes wrestled with each other for several seconds until Mala bolted from her chair and over to the sink where she rammed on the water to wash the few plates from their meal. A dozen unfinished thoughts buzzed in her head like a crossed party line: If he felt he had to warn her off, why the hell was he here to begin with? And as much as she ached for what had happened to him, she found it hard to believe that somebody like Eddie would buy into his own hard-luck story.

And why,
why
did she care so much?

She heard the chair scrape across the floor, Eddie's booted footsteps approach.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” he said quietly.

“I'm not upset.”

“Like hell. You scrub those plates any harder, you're gonna take the flowers right off.”

She could practically feel his heat, he was standing so close. Close enough to touch her, if he'd wanted to. Obviously he didn't. For which Mala was both profoundly grateful and sharply disappointed, which is about when she got clobbered with the realization that if she'd been suckered into taking in a dog she didn't even want, what chance did she have against a man she
did?

“Mala. I'm just trying to be honest here.”

About what?
she wanted to scream. Clearly, not about why he'd left Spruce Lake twenty years ago. And why was he warning her off, which she assumed was his definition of being “honest,” when they'd already established that nothing was
going to happen? Except, unless she was mistaken, something sure as hell
was
happening.

Wasn't it?

Frustrated and more confused than ever, Mala slammed down the faucet handle, staring at the water swirling down the drain while she tried to come up with some reason for her acting, well, nuts. Some reason other than the real one, which was that Eddie King was seriously getting to her, heart, soul and libido.

And what was she supposed to do with
that?

Swiping a piece of hair off her face with the back of her wrist, she looked out into the blackness through her window and managed to separate a single thread of the truth from the tangled mass in her brain. “I'm just frustrated,” she finally said.

“About what?”

“About how awful it must have been for you, being treated the way you were after your mother died. And I think—my God, what if that happened to one of my babies? I mean, I know I'm being totally irrational, because my family would be there for my kids. But just the thought that, if something happened to me, nobody would love my children….” She grabbed a dish towel, violently dried her hands. “The thought that
any
child would be unwanted makes me ill.”

It wasn't the truth. Not all of it, anyway. But for the moment, it would have to do.

 

It wasn't that Eddie didn't believe her. In fact, for a split second, he thought about what it might be like, having someone care about him half as much as this woman cared about her family. Not that that would change anything, or who he was, but all those old, mothballed yearnings from so many years ago suddenly clawed to the front of his brain, where there was no ignoring them.

He still wasn't real sure what had possessed him to tell her all that stuff. Hell, for somebody not given to talking much, he'd sure made up for it tonight. But he was just as glad he had, because now he knew exactly how dangerous it would be
to follow through on his body's inclinations. The word “dispassionate” was not in the lady's vocabulary. Granted, it was her energy and enthusiasm for life that had attracted him all those years ago, still attracted him now. However, being attracted to something doesn't mean it's any good for you.

But if she thought he couldn't see how she'd sidestepped the truth just as neatly as he had earlier, when her question about why he'd left town before graduation had blindsided him, she had another one coming.

He knew better than to touch her. He really did. But that little hissy fit had sent that strand of hair right back into her eyes, and before he even knew what he was doing, he'd smoothed it off her face, making his heart nearly pound out of his chest for his trouble.

Her gaze snapped to his, sending a bittersweet yearning glimmering through him. Her lips parted—in surprise, he supposed—and he decided there was no harm in looking at her mouth, just for a minute. Except then he found himself wanting to say something dumb. Like,
“Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Two words—
mixed signals.
”

He blew out a breath. “I was afraid of that.” Then he said, “Did you know I used to work in the diner, when we were in school?”

“I…” Her brows dipped. “You did?”

“Yeah. In fact, it was old Al Jackson who first taught me to cook. In any case, I used to watch you from the back, when you'd come in with your girlfriends. You always sat in the corner booth, always ordered a large fries and a Cherry Coke.”

Her eyes seemed glued to his. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Damned if I know. No, no…that's not true. See, Al did more than just teach me how to cook. Took him a while, but he eventually got it through my thick head that I was more than just somebody's castoff. And maybe I'm way outta line, here, but something tells me you feel the same way.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open on a soft gasp, but she remained silent, which Eddie figured was a noteworthy occasion.

“But you're right,” Eddie went on while he had the chance. “I shouldn't've stayed tonight. I shouldn't be wanting to touch you the way I want to touch you, because I know nothing good can come of it, especially for you. So when I walk out of here tonight, that'll be the last time the two of us'll be alone if I can help it. But I just thought you should know, Miss Mala, that you fascinated the very devil out of me back then.”

Her pupils had gone dark as pitch; her breathing, shallow. “And now?”

He smiled. “I'm not seventeen anymore.”

“I see,” she said quietly, and he heard, in those few words, the bitterness of failure.

He knuckled her chin, lifting her face so their gazes tangled. “No, you don't. And now who's sending mixed signals?” he said, only to feel his heart cramp when her eyes filled with tears. “Darlin', listen to me—my guess is you're hurting because of what your husband did to you and the kids, so you're real gun-shy right now—”

“It goes deeper than that—”

“—but eventually that hurt's gonna heal up,” he said, plowing through her objections before she convinced him of something he didn't want to be convinced about, “and then some smart man's gonna come along who sees what I see—a helluva gal with more love to give than she knows what to do with.” He dropped his hand, sliding it into his pocket. “And you don't need me around, confusing the issue with sex. Which is all it could be between us, honey.”

After a long moment, she lifted one hand to his face, skimming her fingertips down his cheek. He steeled himself against the crackle of desire her touch set off, but he didn't have near as much luck against the look in her eyes.

“I don't mean to be sending out mixed signals, either,” she said quietly. “I know our getting involved is a complication neither of us needs. Or wants. But all I have to say is, twenty years ago, I used to drive myself nuts fantasizing about how
you kissed. And if you walk out that door tonight without giving me a chance to find out, I may have to hurt you.”

And before Eddie had half a chance to protest—not that he would have, but he might not have minded at least a second or two to think about things—she grabbed his sweater and lifted her chin and, well, it would've been downright rude not to give the lady what she wanted.

D
amn, she was good at this, he thought as her luscious mouth molded to his just right and her body melted into his even better. And she was just as soft as he'd expected, softer, and so giving and honest and fired up, it was everything he could do not to ease her down onto the floor right there and then. That first kiss led to two, then three, each one deeper and hotter and more persuasive. He got so hard, it almost hurt. But oh, it was a sweet ache, wanting her this bad.

Somehow, though for the life of him he didn't know how, just enough blood stayed in his brain to keep him from making a total ass of himself, as well as to keep his hands from straying where he damn well knew they shouldn't. Not tonight. Not with her. Except then she said, “Touch me,” and he froze, just for a second, until he could force the words, “I thought you just wanted a kiss,” out of his mouth and into hers. And she said “I lied,” and he had to pull back, because he knew the moment he made contact with any of the several places on her body that were calling so loudly to him, he was a goner.

“No,” he said, breathing hard and shaking his head, realizing he was the closest he'd come to crying in probably
twenty-five years. Everything throbbed. His head, his heart, his…everything. But just as he clamped his hands on her shoulders, trying to think of some way to convince her that he wasn't rejecting her, she startled him by bursting into laughter.

“Some bad boy you are,” she said over her giggles.

He frowned, there being too little blood in his head to make sense of her words. Then he noticed how her lips were swollen and how her breasts—those breasts that could have been his, had it not been for…something; oh, yeah, his conscience—were rising and falling
so
temptingly such a short distance away.

“What?” he said, stupidly.

She seemed to ponder things for a moment, then looped her arms around his neck and snuggled up to him, which wasn't doing a damned thing for his blood distribution problem. “When we were in school,” she said, and Eddie forced himself to concentrate on her words, “that's what all the girls said, you know. That you'd be the type to take whatever you could get from a girl, then never even look at her the next day.”

He frowned. “Why would y'all think that?”

She shrugged. “Because we led dull, boring little lives? And you were the closest any of us were going to get to something even remotely dangerous. Except…”

“Except…?”

“Except something told me, even then, you weren't really dangerous. At least, not in the way they thought.”

He frowned harder. “Then you obviously have no idea how difficult it was for me to stop tonight.”

“Uh, yeah, I do, actually. Which only proves my point.”

“So, what are you saying? That you just gave me some kind of test?”

Out popped the dimples. “What do you think? And since the kissing seemed to be going so well…” She ended the sentence with a shrug, then patted his face with one hand. “But you're right. It wouldn't have been a good idea. At least, that's what I intend to keep telling myself until I actually believe it.”

A minute later, he was standing outside, in the cold, dreary night, thinking that chivalry was highly overrated.

 

To be honest, Eddie had thought real hard about moving out, after that night and that kiss and Mala's softness and her comments afterward and his body's reaction to all of the above.

The lady was lonely and vulnerable and obviously…needy. And while Eddie wasn't lonely—he didn't think, anyway—or vulnerable—ever—he was finding himself a bit on the…needy side himself these days. To ease those needs in all that fragrant, giving softness was a temptation he wasn't all that sure he could withstand for long. Because it was one thing, keeping things on an even keel when he knew Mala wasn't interested, quite another thing entirely when it hit him just how easy it would be to fall in…into bed with her.

However, what with one thing and another and having to spend even more time at the restaurant since Galen was nearing the end of her pregnancy, he didn't get around to looking for another place. And besides, he didn't think it was exactly right, leaving Mala without a tenant so close to Christmas and all. So he stayed put. And occasionally, a thought sauntered through about maybe going to a bar or someplace and finding someone to help relieve all these pesky needs. Except after twenty or thirty seconds' deliberation, he always came to the same conclusion, which was that such things didn't hold the allure they once did. Not that they ever really had, if you wanna know the truth.

So he found other activities to occupy the little free time he had. He drove around some, to Battle Creek and places like that, when the weather wasn't piss-awful, or went into Detroit, or went to the movies at the mall. Since he didn't have a TV, he read a lot. While that didn't exactly do much for those needs—which by the third week in December had become a near constant ache—at least his brain was getting a decent workout, and that had to count for something.

A lot of folks would probably say he didn't have much of a life, but the life he did have suited him fine. Or at least, it had up until about a month ago. Now, however, Eddie found himself feeling restless and agitated, like he had an itch so deep inside he couldn't even tell where it was, let alone get at it. He
thought maybe spending so much time in this hick town was getting to him, so he made up his mind that his next job would be in another big city. Maybe Chicago or Phoenix or Vegas, someplace he hadn't been before.

In any case, between his avoiding Mala, and her and the kids avoiding him, they didn't see much of each other to speak of. Yet he was acutely aware of their comings and goings, their routine and when that routine got shaken up. He knew when they went to school, and because he was off on Mondays, he knew when they got home and that Mala always met them at the bus. There were days when Lucas's near constant whining nearly drove him up the wall, but there were times when he could hear both kids' laughter, too, and he had to admit, he liked that.

A lot.

And he could see them from his window—you know, when he just happened to be passing by and they just happened to be outside—cavorting in the snow with the pup. Who Mala never did quite get around to finding another home for. And who was turning into one of the oddest looking dogs he'd ever seen. Like an electrified hot dog. Grateful, they'd named him, because he'd come to them on Thanksgiving. The kids were crazy about him, though, so Eddie felt good about bringing the mutt to Mala that night. He thought maybe he heard her laugh more these days, too, but that might've just been his imagination.

No, no…there was that time in the grocery store, maybe a couple weeks back. He'd just run in to pick up a loaf of bread and some cold cuts, and over “Jingle Bell Rock” on the loudspeaker system, he heard giggling over in the next aisle. So he'd poked his head around to see Mala and her two, all by themselves way down at the other end in the cereal section. There she was in her car coat and one of those long skirts she wore, dancing and singing right along with the music, holding Lucas's hands and making him dance right along with her, even though he kept collapsing in laughter. Carrie was in the buggy, trying to yell, “Mama! Stop! Somebody'll see us!” except she kept laughing so hard herself, she could barely get the words
out. Suddenly, some old prune-faced lady wheeled her buggy into the aisle, her eyes popping wide open like she'd just happened onto a freak show. Naturally, Mala squelched her performance, but the kids only laughed all the harder at their mother's attempt to keep a straight face.

Eddie had left before they caught sight of him, but the memory had stuck with him for the rest of the evening, making him smile whenever he thought about that gal doing the two-step with her little boy, right smack in the middle of the supermarket. And if the scene had provoked an ache of a different sort, well, there was no point in ruminating about that too hard.

So. Several weeks had passed in this way, with Eddie keeping his distance and all, until one Monday about two weeks before Christmas, when for some reason he glanced up from the political thriller he'd been reading and realized it was nearly time for the kids to come home from school. But Mala's car wasn't in the driveway—and wasn't it just like her to name the damn thing Whitey Ford?—which meant she wasn't home to meet the bus. And something nagged at him that maybe he should go check that everything was okay.

Then he told himself it was none of his business, that Mala would've made whatever arrangements were necessary with her mother or whoever. So he went back to reading, for about all of thirty seconds, only to throw the book down in disgust, yank on his boots and jacket, and head out the door.

The cold air bit at Eddie's ears and cheeks as he hiked his jacket collar up around his neck, chewing himself out for not bothering to grab a scarf or gloves. It hadn't snowed in about a week, but the temperatures hadn't made it above freezing once since then, and the weak late afternoon sun didn't do diddly to warm things up any. His boots slipped now and again as he trudged down the street—he only happened to know where the stop was because he'd driven by a couple times when the bus was there. If somebody else was there to pick them up, he'd see whoever it was long before he actually got to the stop, so he could just turn right around and go back home, no harm done.

He was maybe a block away when the big yellow bus
groaned up to the corner; he didn't recognize anybody in the cluster of heavily-clothed adults who cared enough about their kids to pick them up. Shoot, Eddie couldn't recall anybody ever giving a damn whether he even got
on
the school bus, let alone whether he got off it. Out of the blue, he remembered how once, when he couldn't've been more than seven, he'd gotten off at the wrong stop and wandered around for what seemed like hours until he finally found his way back to his cousin's house, only to find out that nobody'd even missed him.

He used to wonder why other kids would
wish
to be invisible.

The doors screeched open, disgorged maybe a half-dozen occupants, including Carrie and Lucas. Everybody else got paired up with their respective grown-ups, but sure enough, when all the bodies were sorted out, Mala's two were alone. One of the parents bent down, apparently asking them if they needed any help.

“It's okay—I've got 'em,” Eddie called out.

And thus the die was cast.

Carrie jerked around first, suspicion narrowing those blue eyes. Eddie thought about Mala's fears that the kids might get too attached and almost laughed. At the moment, Carrie was regarding him with about the same enthusiasm she might a plateful of boogers. She looked like a grape—purple pants, purple sneakers, purple fuzzy coat with the hood up, a froth of orange curls competing with the white fake fur trim. A backpack hung limply from one hand; some papers or something from the other.

“Where's Mama?”

I ate her,
Eddie was tempted to say, but somehow, he didn't figure the kid was into dark humor. “I don't know,” he answered honestly, noticing that Lucas's miniature Lions jacket was unzipped underneath a quivering lower lip. “But when I saw she wasn't home, I thought maybe I should meet the bus. Hey, buddy,” he said to Lucas. “It's colder'n all get-out out here. How come your jacket's open?”

Carrie frowned, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder. “She always calls Grandma if she can't be here—”

“Carrie wouldn't zip it for me.”

“I
can't
zip your jacket, stupid,” she said, although Eddie could hear just a twinge of guilt in there somewhere. “The zipper's stuck.”

“It is, huh?” Eddie said. Lucas nodded, wide-eyed behind the glasses. “Well, c'mere—let's have a look…” He squatted down in front of the little boy, fought with the zipper for a second or two, then did up the jacket, his insides going all funny at the breathy little “Thanks” he got in reply.

“Anyways, you didn't have to come,” he heard behind him as he stood up again. “I mean, it's not like we don't know how to get home by ourselves. It's only three blocks, geez. My friend Rachel's house is farther than that. And I know where the key's hidden an' everything.”

Eddie was about to say something to Miss Know-It-All when Lucas startled the bejeezus out of him by slipping his mittened hand into his.

“So you didn't have to come,” Carrie repeated as they all started walking back toward the house, but her bravado was kinda limp around the edges, Eddie thought. Hugging her papers to her chest as she carefully negotiated an ice-crusted sidewalk where nobody had bothered to shovel, she asked, “What d'you think might've happened to her?”

“Now, I'm sure your mama's just fine,” he said, even though he really shouldn't have been offering reassurances about things when he didn't have the facts. He realized Lucas had tilted his head to peer up at Eddie from underneath the cuff of his heavy knit cap, worry and trust commingling in the kid's big blue eyes. “I'm sure of it,” he said, and Lucas nodded.

“I'll call Grandma and ask her to come stay with us,” Carrie announced, and Eddie wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

They walked the three blocks in what Eddie had a definite feeling was uncharacteristic silence, broken only by Lucas's softly telling him that he wrote his numbers all the way to twenty-seven that day, and that the teacher had given him a sticker that said Way to Go! on it. He seemed very proud of
both of those things, so Eddie figured he should acknowledge the accomplishment in some way.

“That's really cool, buddy. Bet nobody else in your class can do that.”

With his free hand, the child dragged a padded mitten across his reddened, slightly runny nose. “Actually, Tara Jacobson can write up to a hunnerd,” he rasped. “But this was the first time
I
got past twelve.”