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“But, Felix, I—”
He sobered. “Look, you know how I hate being the heavy, but remember that talk we had the other day?”
“A-about my ratings?” Her gaze plummeted to her scuffed brown boots.
“Yeah. How they’re the lowest in this station’s history—and that’s saying something, considering some of the junk we’ve had on the air.”
“But, Felix, I told you just as soon as folks realize how important caring about others’ feelings and incorporating manners into their everyday lives is, that—”
“Manners schmanners,” he said with a glint of his right gold canine. “All I care about are advertising dollars. Get this guy back on by the time I’m back from my trip, or your show’s in the can.”
Felix blustered off while Renee-Marie wandered in. They’d only been friends for a little under a year—the time Constance had been doing the show. Before that, Constance had worked more than a dozen small jobs that never seemed enough to pay the black hole of bills that came along with being a single mom.
She’d always dreamed of going to college, maybe earning a degree in history or literature to match her love of all things eighteenth and nineteenth century, back when everything seemed more…civilized. She’d fantasized about using that degree to work in a big city museum. Or the ultimate dream—penning a historic novel.
But then her and Garret’s relationship had moved to the next level, and suddenly being with him in every way a man and woman could—even though technically they’d still been teenagers—had meant more than future career aspirations. Her love for Garret had been like a living, breathing entity all its own. He’d made her feel cherished and safe and beautiful and interesting and above all, loved.
She’d have done anything for him—anything. Meaning, when she’d discovered she was pregnant a week before graduation, she’d loved him enough to let him go. To want him to follow his own dream of getting out of Mule Shoe, out from under his deceased father’s lengthy shadow.
“Felix doesn’t really mean it,” Renee-Marie said, wrapping Constance in a warm hug. “About firing you if you don’t track down that caller. You know how he is. Meaner than a crawdad with somebody dunking his tail in boilin’ butter. This’ll all blow over.”
Constance wished she could be so sure.
One thing was for certain, if the caller was Garret, he’d be easy enough to find. His mother lived only ten miles from Constance. All she’d need do was head that way, then politely inquire whether or not her son was in town.
On the one hand, if the caller was him, and if by some miracle Constance got him to agree to make a few guest appearances, then what? Yes, her much-needed job would be safe, but what about her most closely held secret?
“You going to be all right?” Renee-Marie asked.
“Maybe,” Constance said. Assuming Felix knocked off his foolish insistence on her old beau joining her show.
GARRET UNDERWOOD switched off the kitchen radio, wincing when the sudden movement stung deep within his bum left leg. Two months earlier, he’d busted it jumping from a helicopter onto a ship’s deck in choppy seas. Diagnosis? Comminuted fracture of his proximal femur. Docs fixed him with a steel rod, meaning no cast but plenty of pain. Recovery time? A good three or more months, which—taking into account time already served—left a minimum of three weeks to go.
He was now up to his neck in physical therapy. Plenty of weight-bearing exercises that left him aching, but if that’s what it took to get back on the job, so be it. His doc had yet to make a final decision as to whether or not he’d even still be fit to return to duty. He said he was waiting to see final X-rays to give his ultimate okay. Garret didn’t need pictures to tell him he’d be fine. He had to be. For if he no longer had his work, where did that leave him?
Lord knew he couldn’t spend the next fifty or so years stuck back in Mule Shoe.
He looked up to see his mother smiling. She calmly asked, “Mind telling me what that was all about?”
“What?”
She’d passed the morning in her garden, picking the first of that season’s green beans, zucchinis, cukes and tomatoes. She’d started her crop early in her greenhouse, placing her well ahead of everyone else’s garden game. At sixty, wearing jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, Audrey Underwood looked a damn sight younger than he felt.
Tapping the portable radio she’d unhooked from the waistband of her jeans, she said, “I heard the whole thing. You do know Miss Manners is her, don’t you? Your Constance? The station has a billboard of her out by the cattle auction.”
“Yeah,” Garret said, trying not to glare, but not quite succeeding. “I know it’s her.” How many other people in the county had heard him make a complete jackass of himself? “But even if you did hear me, what makes you think I was talking about her?”
“Oh,” she said, setting her basket loaded with greens on the white tile counter beside the sink. The homey sight of her bountiful harvest completed the already disgustingly pleasant space. Yellow-flowered wallpaper set the tone for white cabinets and a worn brick floor. The flood of sunshine streaming through every paned window on the south wall didn’t do much for his mood, either. Where was a stinkin’ cloud when a guy needed one? “Maybe I don’t believe you’re over her because even after all this time, you still won’t say her name.”
Laughing, shaking his head while wobbling to his feet, he said, “Give me one good reason I should? That girl’s a snake.”
“That girl’s a woman now.”
He snorted. “A woman who ran off and married my best friend, then had his kid.”
“They’re divorced. Have been for quite some time.”
“And I’d care why?” he asked from in front of the picture window overlooking blue sky and rolling green pasture where a half dozen Herefords stood chewing their cud. Twenty or so stubby oaks dotted the landscape that otherwise consisted of nothing much but alfalfa and ragweed reaching as far as the overgrown fencerow serving as the boundary between his mom’s property and the Griggs’s. Though his dad had been gone for nearly twelve years, Garret remembered like it was yesterday when the two of them used to walk that fence, checking for breaks, mostly just swapping guy stories.
Though his dad, Ben, had been an attorney by trade and only a part-time farmer, he’d loved the land. He’d made sure that financially, Garret’s mother could live in the rambling two-story white Victorian plopped on the edge of five hundred acres of pasture and forest for as long as she liked or was able.
“Honey,” she said, stepping up behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Let it go. Let her go.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
She shot him The Look. The one he’d always hated, because no matter how many missions he’d fought, or how many hellholes he’d barely made it out of, it was a look that instantly reduced him to a scraped-knee kid all of about eight. “How do pork chops sound for dinner? Mashed potatoes. Maybe sugar peas and a peach cobbler with plenty of ice cream?”
“Don’t do that,” he said, swinging about to watch as she hustled back to the sink to wash vegetables.
“Do what?” she oh so innocently sang over her shoulder.
It was no family secret the woman had been after him to settle down and give her grandkids for the past five years. But if she was for one second by way of reverse psychology suggesting he look up Constance, she could forget it. He’d been trained in all manner of mental warfare and he wasn’t about to succumb. “Never mind,” he grumbled. “Need help?”
She winked. “Only if you’re offering to get me a few dozen grandkids.”
MONDAY AFTERNOON after the longest, dullest weekend ever—but wait, he’d already barely survived that the weekend before—Garret sat in an entirely too girly white wicker rocker on the front porch of his mother’s house, trying to remember the last time he’d had fun.
For mid-April, the heat was fierce. Hot sun made even the usually blaring cicadas too weary to sing. Having been based on the East Coast for so long, he’d forgotten what Oklahoma heat was like—and this wasn’t anywhere near the prime of it.
He swigged bottled water, wishing it was beer, but his mom had strict rules about not drinking before five, and seeing how he was already in piss-poor shape, it probably wasn’t that hot of an idea to screw up his liver in addition to his leg.
Lord, how he wanted out of Mule Shoe and back to his own place in Virginia. Not that he was in the studio condo all that much, but it was the point of the matter. He needed his own space.
Far from memories being back here evoked.
Hard to believe that after all this time, after all he’d been through, all that old angst over Constance was still there. Simmering just beneath the surface.
Sitting here in the sweltering sun, if he closed his eyes and held his breath, he’d be back to their first time.
A sun-drenched May afternoon when he’d picked her up in Big Red—his old Chevy truck—for a day at the swimming hole on the backside of the Underwood land. The pond had a rock bottom and was spring-fed, meaning the water was clear and cool. Stubby oaks and maples and a few odd cedars provided dappled shade, save for the one grassy bank his dad had cleared for his mom years earlier where he’d planned on building her a gazebo. He’d died before making it happen, but at that moment, seeing how perfect the spot was for Constance to settle her oil-slicked bikini-clad bod on top of her towel, Garret was damn glad there wasn’t a gazebo mucking up the view.
Lord, Connie had been beautiful. Legs so long that every time he’d seen her in her cheerleading uniform, he’d been glad for the protection of his own football uniform’s cup.
The afternoon started out casual enough as they shared chips and Twinkies and talked in the blazing sun. Not before and not since had he ever felt more comfortable opening himself up to a woman. She’d had this way of looking at him—staring right into his soul. Made him spill secrets that in retrospect had been better off left inside. But he’d been a kid. Stupid in love. Stupid in the way she’d made him feel like the star of her life. As if being with her, he could do and be all things. With every part of his being, he’d secretly fantasized that one day, Connie would be his wife.
Later, they’d swum and laughed and took turns dunking each other. But then, he wasn’t even sure how, maybe because of the way water drops sparkled in her dark hair, he’d kissed her.
They’d been going out since just before Halloween, so it wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed her before. Hell, most Saturday nights they’d round second base, sometimes even third, but something about this day was different. Never had they been so absolutely alone with nothing bearing witness but the blue, blue sky and a few chattering squirrels.
Maybe he’d kissed her with such urgency because it would be a long time before he saw her again.
In his heart, where it mattered, she’d always be his. For the time being, though, he’d known parting ways was for the best.
He’d already signed his enlistment papers, seeing how for as long as he could remember, he’d wanted to join the SEALs’s legendary ranks. She’d be heading off for Norman—to the University of Oklahoma, where she’d be taking godforsaken history courses that’d put him in a coma. Truthfully, other than burning lust for each other, they didn’t have a thing in common. She was book smart. He was a jock, obsessed with getting in tough enough physical and mental shape to make it through BUD/S training.
With all that in mind, mixed with a good dose of apprehension and excitement for his future, too young and stupid to have put on the brakes for nobility’s sake, Garret had kissed her more. Then, with a big romantic whoosh, hefted her out of the water and into his arms, carrying her back to their towels and the sun.
Hot as it was, it didn’t take two seconds for them to dry and for the realization to kick in that, come mid-June when he shipped out for boot camp, it’d be a good, long while before he saw Connie again. At the thought, emotion swelled his chest, making it so tight, he hurt.
For the longest time, they just stared at each other, and then they were kissing again and he was fumbling to untie her bikini top needing her so bad he could hardly think. Every time she moaned against him, she made him want her more, so when she arched up to meet him, they were both struggling to yank off their still-damp swim bottoms.
Sweet lord, she’d been hot and slick and welcoming. The first few seconds had been awkward, but then she’d pulled him back for another kiss, and the rest was history.
A sweaty, crazy erotic joining that by all rational accounts of first times shouldn’t have been that great, but to his way of thinking, was just about as close to heaven as he’d ever get on this earth.
After their first time, for those precious last few weeks before graduation, they’d discovered practice really did make perfect.
Now, see? he thought, rolling the sweating water bottle along his forehead. Memories like that were no good. He’d loved her, had hoped to marry her when he’d returned from training. To have caught her kissing his best friend stung—bad. He had no need for her, either in or out of bed.
As for Nathan, he hadn’t spoken two words to the guy in the past ten years.
Garret eyed a rising dust cloud caused by a small sedan flying down the dirt road running in front of his mother’s house. A faint breeze carried the dust storm right up onto the front porch, leaving him coughing and feeling none too kindly toward whoever the too-fast, inconsiderate schmuck was who’d just now turned into his mom’s driveway.
Taking another swig of water, he watched through narrowed eyes as the dust settled, but sun glinting off the windshield made it impossible to see the driver. Whoever it was turned off the engine, took a second, then opened the door with a screech loud enough to startle a fence-sitting crow into cawing flight.
The driver rose, giving him a view of sleek, dark hair attached to a creamy-complexioned face partially obstructed by oversize black sunglasses. Dressed in a severely cut black pantsuit, she took her time tiptoeing—no, prancing—across the gravel drive. Didn’t want to scratch those three-inch heels?
The closer the woman came, the more his stomach fisted.
No. No freakin’ way.
Hidden as he’d been by sweet-smelling lilac bushes, Garret guessed he must’ve been as big a shock to Constance as she was to him. Only no, that couldn’t be, seeing how she was invading his turf.
“Garret,” she said, holding out her slim, lily-white hand for him to shake.
Trying hard to be adult about the situation, Garret nodded from where he sat, then crossed his arms. With the image of her sun-bronzed naked body still burning behind his eyes, the only thing he could think to say was a slow-drawled, “See you’ve been keepin’ out of the sun.”
Chapter Two
“Is…is that why you’re in town?” Constance asked, ignoring the man’s ridiculous question while withdrawing her hand. She gestured toward his left leg, which, judging by the odd angle at which he held it, he seemed to favor.
Never had she been so glad for the protective cover of sunglasses so he wouldn’t see her gaping at the man he’d become. Garret had always been a big boy, but now…
Her mouth went dry, trying so very hard to forget their last few days—and nights—together.
Now…Garret Underwood was all man.
Even slouching as he was in one of his mom’s feminine wicker chairs, there was no hiding the sinewy strength lurking beneath the too-tight sleeves of his camo-green T-shirt. His chest and shoulders were broad, his chiseled facial features and molasses eyes stone cold. Even his dark, spiky, short hair looked foreboding, as though any warmth he might’ve once had toward her was long gone and never coming back.
His only answer to her question about his leg was “Yep.”
“How long have you been back?” she asked, forging ahead not because she wanted to, but because her boss had given her no choice. As a single mom, she had responsibilities that went far beyond what she wanted to do. In making sure Lindsay was always comfortable and happy, Constance had mastered the sometimes tough art of doing what she had to. Period. Yes, talking to Garret was awkward, but it had to be done. Which was why she was now sucking it up and trying to make the best of what he had apparently decided to make an untenable situation.
“Too long.”
Maintaining a polite front, she said, “It was, um, lovely talking with you the other afternoon. Assuming that was you who called my show?”
“You know damned well it was me, and how ’bout we skip the small talk and get straight to business.” He straightened with catlike ease that belied his apparent injury. “Why are you here?”
“Nice to see you, too,” she said, glancing away from him to the far-off garden where his mother staked tomatoes. A bee hummed nearby, close enough for Constance to hear, but not give her an excuse to run.
He just stared.
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “If that’s how you want it. Truth is, this is the last place I want to be, but that big mouth of yours has me over a barrel.”
Wishing he’d had the foresight to grab his sunglasses before heading out to the porch, Garret winced. As much as he despised the cheating wench, he still wanted her with a biting clarity he hadn’t felt since…
Well, since the last time he’d seen her ten years ago.
“And…” he said, coaxing her to continue with his hands, wanting more than ever to be a million miles from this town, but most especially, this woman.
“And—” she notched her proud chin higher “—as much as it pains me to say it, I need you.” Head bowed, she slipped off her jumbo glasses, allowing him a sight he doubted she wanted him to see. Her big blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, as if she’d spent the night crying. Why?
“The only way I can keep my job is if you agree to guest star on my show. Apparently—” she cleared her throat “—the fine folks of Mule Shoe prefer you over me.”
Judging by her defeated posture, she believed what she’d just said.
What? He hadn’t for a second thought her tears had been about him, had he?
“Seems to me,” he said, telling himself he didn’t care if her show was tanking, “what folks like isn’t so much me, but conflict. Something they don’t get a lot of when it comes to your show’s usual fare.”
“So you’re an expert?” she said, bristling.
“Mom’s your biggest fan. In the time I’ve sat around here healing, I’ve heard enough of your show to realize you’re a more effective sleep aid than a case of NyQuil.”
Scowling, shaking her head, she said, “Apparently, the years we’ve been apart haven’t been kind. They’ve turned you into a jerk.”
Bracing his hands on the rocker’s arms, Garret sprang to his feet, too late remembering he just happened to be short one leg, leaving him wobbling. Reaching for support in the form of soft curves.
Must’ve been instinct that had her reaching out to help, because judging by her forked tongue, she didn’t hold him in high regard. Tsk-tsking, he shook his head. “You must not be too ferocious, otherwise, you’d have let me fall.”
After swiftly releasing him, then delivering one last glare, she turned, marching across the porch and down the stairs.
When she’d reached the brick sidewalk, he called, “After what you did—sleeping with my best friend, having his kid—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I help you, Connie.”
Her sexy derriere still to him, she froze.
“You and Nathan…”
