Where She Belongs (5 page)

They were soon settled across from each other in a wooden booth with barely padded seats. After placing their orders, Brett leaned back. “What do your parents think about your restoration project?”

Shelby shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I haven't told them.”

“Why not?”

“They're in Mozambique.” She'd have to tell them soon, though. At least, before she actually moved. “It's too much to explain in an email.”

“Mozambique? What are they doing there?”

“They're missionaries.”

“Did you live there too?”

Shelby nodded. “For a few years. Until I came back for college.”

“I admire people who can give up so much to do something like that. I don't think I could.”

“It isn't so hard when you love what you're doing. When you have a purpose.”

“Did you love it?” The gentleness in his voice touched a tender spot in Shelby's heart. Perhaps he would understand, like she thought Gary had, how difficult her teen years had been. She'd never really fit in with the other kids overseas. Then when she came back to the States, she didn't fit in here, either.

“The whole time I was there, I looked forward to the day I could leave. But when that day came”—Shelby shrugged her shoulders—“I wanted to stay.” She gave a small laugh. “I guess that doesn't make much sense.”

“I don't think we ever appreciate what we have until it's gone. Especially when we're kids.”

“Were you like that?”

“I didn't handle it well when my parents divorced. I doubt you want to hear about that.”

“Of course I do. That is, if you want to tell me.”

“I thought we were a happy family, that there was something special about us. But it turned out that Dad was sleeping around. Mom retaliated by doing the same.” He said it lightheartedly, but sadness tinged his words. “They tried reconciling, but by then it was too late.”

“Are you close to them?”

“There was an accident. They died.”

“I'm sorry.” She resisted the urge to reach for his hand, to offer any other condolences. Words could be so empty.

“So am I.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“A younger sister.” His lips parted in a teasing smile. “And I have Richard.”

“You're related to Richard?”

“No, it just seems that way. He's my mentor. He helped me when I was restructuring my business. And with a few other projects.”

The waitress appeared with their BBQ baskets. The somber mood lifted as they made small talk while enjoying their sandwiches and fries.

“I don't want you to take this the wrong way,” Brett said, dipping his last fry in a pool of BBQ sauce. “Maybe I shouldn't say it.”

“Now you have to.”

“This is like a time warp.” He gestured at the red plastic baskets and Mason jar glasses. “We could be high school kids on our first date.”

“But this isn't supposed to be a date. Just a late lunch.”

“It's not too late to call it our first date.”

“I . . . I can't.”

“You miss your husband.”

“Yes.”

“I doubt he'd want you to spend the rest of your life in mourning.”

“You might be surprised.” Immediately she wanted to take back the words. The expression in Brett's eyes flashed from surprise to curiosity to what appeared to be a conscious decision to politely ignore what she'd said. She silently thanked him.

“You're scared. I understand that. But you can't stay cooped up in that big old house forever. Give dating a chance. With me.”

Averting her gaze, she focused on the salt granules dotting the wax paper nestled in the basket.

“I know it isn't easy.” He gave an exaggerated sigh, snaring her attention as dejection clouded his fine features. “I can't tell you how many women I've dated trying to find the right one.”

Catching the mirth in his eyes, Shelby tried to match his teasing mood. “What woman wouldn't want to marry a handsome, successful, well-to-do businessman?”

“Not a one, or I wouldn't still be single.”

Shelby gasped at his good-natured conceit, and they both laughed.

“Will you be at the house tomorrow?” he asked.

“Plan to be.”

“How about we have a no-date supper tomorrow? Though not here.”

“Not a date?”

“Not a date.”

She wanted to ask him why, but her mouth refused to form the word. Why would a sophisticated man like him be interested in someone like her? A missionary kid, a stay-at-home mom?

“Is that a yes?” Brett asked.

The question echoed in Shelby's mind, reviving a memory as Brett's blue eyes morphed to AJ's deep brown ones.
Is that a yes?
AJ had asked the same question, with the same tone, when she hesitated over his offer to gravel her driveway.

“Are you all right?”

“For a moment you reminded me of someone.”

“Who?”

“Nobody important.” She dismissed the strange resemblance. AJ Sullivan had none of Brett Somers's charm or magnetism. The men were polar opposites in every way.

“So . . . ?” Brett's brilliant blue eyes shone with the confidence of a man used to getting what he wanted.

“Yes.” Goose bumps chilled Shelby's arms. “It's a yes.”

S
helby massaged her aching neck and surveyed the parlor. After several hours spent taping, edging, and rolling, fresh primer covered the walls. One room down, too many more left to do.

But she remained determined to do as much of the work herself as possible. Though she had earmarked a decent amount for the house's restoration, the remaining principal from Gary's life insurance needed to provide a sufficient income for several years. She didn't want to think about finding a job until the girls were older.

Picking up her cell phone, she frowned. Almost four thirty, and no word from Brett. They'd exchanged numbers before going their separate ways the day before. She tapped the screen till his name popped up, and her thumb hovered over the call button. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and willed the temptation to pass. She might be a modern woman, but calling him was not an option.

A photo of Elizabeth and Tabby appeared as she returned to the main screen. Her adorable little girls, dressed in their Easter finery and smiling at the camera, were the reason she was here. Not Brett Somers.

She shoved the phone onto the mantel.

Raising her arms one at a time, she stretched the kinks from her back. Even the soles of her feet ached from standing on the
ladder rungs in her paint-spattered sports socks. Tomorrow she'd wear sneakers.

A knock sounded on the windowpane, and a man's smiling face appeared through the new glass. Red hair stuck out beneath a John Deere ball cap, and freckles sprinkled his complexion. He waved, and Shelby's momentary tension subsided as she hurried to the porch.

“Jason Owens.”

“The one and only.” He grabbed her in a bear hug and swung her around. Shelby squealed and laughed.

“I'm so glad to see you.” She gripped his arms, steadying herself after the dizzying swing. “It's been too long.”

“We were fourteen the last time we saw each other.” His face reddened slightly, then he gleamed as a petite brunette appeared by his side. “This is my wife, Cassie.” He gave the woman a sideways hug. “Cassie, Shelby Lassiter.”

“It's Shelby Kincaid now.” She extended a hand, and Cassie responded with a warm smile.

“Welcome home, Shelby. Jason has told me so much about you, I almost feel like we're old friends.”

Jason laughed. “Only about a few of our adventures.”

“More like misadventures. Your hubby and I had a knack for getting into trouble.”

“It's great to have you back.” Jason rested his hand on the new porch railing and rubbed the wood grain with his fingers. “To see the old house coming to life again somehow sets things right.”

Cassie gave him a good-natured jab. “And you say I'm the fanciful one.”

“I mean it. This place has been empty long enough.”

“Too long.” Shelby released a contented sigh. “But school ends in a couple of weeks, and we're moving the very next day.”

“You and your daughters?” Cassie asked. “Are they here?”

“My in-laws are staying with them.”

“One of them is in first grade, right?”

“Yes. Elizabeth is six, and Tabitha is three.”

“We have a first grader too. A boy, Austin.” Cassie's brown eyes sparkled with an almost childlike glee. “Do you mind if we take a look inside? Jason dropped by last week when Nate was here, but I've never been.”

“Just wanted to give Nate a helping hand,” Jason said. “I put up the drywall in the dining room.”

“Did you really?” Shelby led the way into the house. “That was kind of you.”

“Glad to do it.”

Cassie glanced into the parlor. “You're doing the painting?”

“As much as I can.”

“Would you like some help?”

Jolted by the offer, Shelby stammered. “I don't like asking.”

“You didn't ask, I offered.”

“I won't say no.”

“Great.” Cassie smiled engagingly. “We're just down the road, you know. And I'd like us to be friends.”

Shelby glanced at Jason, and he gave an encouraging smile. Just like when they were kids, he'd understood her unspoken question. Back then, he'd been part of her dreams of the future. Dreams she'd taken for granted would come true.

And so had he. That's why he'd chiseled their initials into the engagement tree.

S. L. + J. O.

The carving broke Lassiter family tradition—only formally engaged couples were supposed to add their initials to the weeping willow back by Glade Creek. Maybe that's why everything went so wrong.

Shelby shook away the ridiculous thought. Things started going wrong before Jason flaunted the Lassiter rules. And he'd meant it as a promise, that someday her topsy-turvy world would be righted again.

But then Shelby had been dragged overseas, and she'd let his letters go unanswered. Eventually, he'd stopped writing.

Jason's smile told her all was forgiven. Their paths had separated and now were coming together again. In friendship.

“I'd like that too.” Shelby returned Cassie's smile. “Very much.”

They wandered through the other rooms, chatting about Shelby's plans and updating her on other local families she had known as a girl. After Jason and Cassie left, she sealed the brushes and rollers in plastic bags, then closed up the paint can. A hot shower would have to wait till she got back to the B and B, but she couldn't risk getting paint on the seat of the rental car. She washed up in the bathroom, thankful Nate had gotten the water running, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. On her way out of the house, she retrieved her phone.

Still no call from Brett.

Brett swiveled in his desk chair and gazed through the glass wall at the Columbus skyline. He rotated his cell phone between his fingers, then tapped it on the chair arm.

Rotate, tap. Rotate, tap.

Almost five. Next on his agenda, a workout at the gym. Then meeting the guys at Gallagher's for wings and the best selection of beers in the region. As usual, they'd swap stories about their weekend exploits. He imagined telling them about his impromptu BBQ date with a widowed mom. They'd never believe him.

Truth was, though, he'd enjoyed the afternoon more than he expected. Shelby's transparency, her lack of sophistication, were a refreshing change from the dolled-up plastics he too often encountered.

Shelby may have been hesitant to accept his offer of dinner tonight, but she wanted to see him again. If he knew women—and he did—she'd spent the day with her phone nearby, ready to snatch it up at the first ring.

He glanced at the time: 4:58. Right now, no matter what else she was doing, Shelby Kincaid's thoughts were consumed with him. He'd bet money on it. Exactly as planned.

Guilt fluttered his conscience, but he swatted it away.

A knock sounded on his door, and he swiveled to face his receptionist. Tracie's long bare legs emerged from a tight teal skirt, and a matching jacket skimmed her curves. Earlier in the day, the top two buttons on her snowy white blouse had been open, providing Brett an enticing view whenever he towered over her desk.

Now the third was undone.

Brett allowed his eyes to linger on the deep V formed by her neckline.

Her manner of dress might not be the epitome of corporate professionalism, but it was for moments like this he had hired her. And all the gorgeous leggy blondes preceding her. The primary role of any receptionist at Somers, Inc., though none of them seemed to realize it, was to beguile his colleagues with their teasing necklines and heady perfume.

Brett's team of virtual assistants handled the firm's important business.

“I'm about to leave.” Tracie posed in the doorway. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“Did you order those flowers?”

“I did.”

“They'll be delivered today?”

“Any minute now. Just as you instructed.” Her voice lacked its usual warmth.

“Is something wrong?”

“I was only thinking that it was a lot of money to spend on a bouquet. Your, um, friend, should be impressed.”

“I'm sure she will be.” After all, that was the point. Shelby needed to be kept off-balance, ignored then romanced, her thoughts directed to one object—him. It was only a matter of time before she'd be head over heels and eager to please. One quick signature,
and he'd control the land. Then neither she nor AJ could stop his plans.

“You look absolutely wicked when you smile like that.” Tracie's perfectly manicured fingers fiddled with her fourth button.

So his latest Gal Friday, threatened by an extravagant bouquet, was making her move. He leaned back and idly calculated how many buttons remained beneath the jacket. “I didn't realize I was smiling.”

“It's your ‘take no prisoners' smile.”

“Does it frighten you?”

“Should it?” Her sultry voice softened the challenge.

He stood and walked around the desk. “How long have you been working here?”

“About ten weeks.”

Longer than the average. Most of his receptionists didn't take that long to attempt trading in a paycheck for a credit card with his name on it. Usually he played along, though he had an unfair advantage. He knew, as the blondes did not, that the first kiss started a countdown clock. In two months, three at the most, she'd be without his credit card, without a paycheck. And while she cried with her girlfriends, he'd be laughing with the guys over another disappointed Mrs. Somers wannabe.

He considered waiting another day or two, curious to see her next ploy. But in the end, it didn't really matter.

Sliding his gaze appreciatively to the pointy tips of her black heels and up again to her beckoning eyes, he held out his hand. She sashayed toward him, and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

Unlucky Tracie.

The countdown had begun.