Holding Strong
Page 93
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“Yeah, I will.” He released her to put his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “And we can discuss the birthday party for my dad.”
When Cherry heard Cannon, Leese and Gage returning, she nodded. “I’ll stay.” Going on tiptoe, she gave Denver a quick kiss and started to hurry away.
He caught her hand, drew her back for a longer, more satisfying kiss, then steered her in the opposite direction from where she’d been headed. “There’s a room at the end of the hall where you can change. The door locks. And Cherry?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
* * *
FOR AS LONG as she could, Pamela stood under the overhang of the rec center waiting for the rain to let up. Over and over she debated with herself; should she go back in and try reasoning with him further? Should she perhaps try to trap his little country bumpkin girlfriend to see if that avenue would provide an in?
That Denver had rejected her yet again left a cold ache in her stomach. What did he want? For her to crawl on her hands and knees?
One stupid mistake, and he’d never let her live it down. Lyle forgave her. Was Denver so much better than his father?
Or just more stubborn?
Okay, so Lyle didn’t know the whole truth. If he did, he might feel differently. But she wanted to tell him. She wanted to confess. She was a better person now, if only Denver would let her prove it—to him, to Lyle.
To herself.
But before she could indulge a cleansing of her conscience, she needed father and son to reunite. If that didn’t happen first, if she had to confess her sins to Lyle while father and son remained estranged, neither would forgive her.
In fact, Lyle might end up hating her as much as Denver did, and then she’d lose it all.
It hadn’t helped that Denver looked even better now. He was so incredibly gorgeous, so massively built and powerful and self-possessed. The years of maturity, with his dedication to his sport, only made him more appealing.
No one could blame a woman for looking—except for Denver.
And probably Lyle.
Oh God, what to do?
She covered her face with her hands, but she was not a whiner, not a person to wallow in indecision. She’d give him a day, two at the most, to get back to her, and if he didn’t, she’d go after him again.
Opening her umbrella, she dashed for her car—and ran headlong into a body. Her hand loosened on the umbrella, and wind stole it away.
Though she normally refrained from cursing, a shocked “Damn” slipped through her lips. She stumbled back two steps and became instantly soaked.
Hands grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Through the awful downpour she saw a smiling and appreciative male face.
Lifting a jacket over her head like a canopy, he shielded her while leaving himself exposed. “Sorry, honey, are you okay?”
Staying out of the rain necessitated a very close proximity to him. “What?” He smelled of smoke, had a rugged, dangerous look about him. The same confidence that Denver carried, but with an edge. “Who are you?”
“Friend of Denver’s.”
“A fighter?”
He grinned. “I’ve been known to scrap a time or two.”
What did that mean? She wasn’t sure if she trusted him. She wanted to. It’d be a step forward to make nice with one of Denver’s friends. But—
“Saw you inside a bit ago. Couldn’t believe you were leaving in this storm.”
“Oh.” Knowing he wasn’t a total stranger helped her to relax. She peered about at the dark skies and sheets of rain. “It was time for me to go.” Not that she ever should have come here in the first place. She’d hoped that introducing her association to Denver would gain her some leverage.
Instead his friends had politely cut her cold—all except this man.
As if they weren’t standing out in horrendously nasty weather, he looked her over. “So you’re with Denver, too, huh? Not surprised, really. The lucky SOB always did get the hottest girls. But you’re a lot classier than Cherry Peyton, ya know?”
“Oh. Oh, no.” She smiled, pleased by the observation and finally understanding why he remained friendly. Knowing she had to be fair, she explained, “I’m Denver’s stepmother,” and then she waited for his open rejection.
A low whistle and an even lower, “No fucking way,” should have offended her. Instead, after Denver’s awful treatment and how his friends had shunned her, the reaction sent pleasure radiating through her.
When Cherry heard Cannon, Leese and Gage returning, she nodded. “I’ll stay.” Going on tiptoe, she gave Denver a quick kiss and started to hurry away.
He caught her hand, drew her back for a longer, more satisfying kiss, then steered her in the opposite direction from where she’d been headed. “There’s a room at the end of the hall where you can change. The door locks. And Cherry?”
She paused. “Yes?”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
* * *
FOR AS LONG as she could, Pamela stood under the overhang of the rec center waiting for the rain to let up. Over and over she debated with herself; should she go back in and try reasoning with him further? Should she perhaps try to trap his little country bumpkin girlfriend to see if that avenue would provide an in?
That Denver had rejected her yet again left a cold ache in her stomach. What did he want? For her to crawl on her hands and knees?
One stupid mistake, and he’d never let her live it down. Lyle forgave her. Was Denver so much better than his father?
Or just more stubborn?
Okay, so Lyle didn’t know the whole truth. If he did, he might feel differently. But she wanted to tell him. She wanted to confess. She was a better person now, if only Denver would let her prove it—to him, to Lyle.
To herself.
But before she could indulge a cleansing of her conscience, she needed father and son to reunite. If that didn’t happen first, if she had to confess her sins to Lyle while father and son remained estranged, neither would forgive her.
In fact, Lyle might end up hating her as much as Denver did, and then she’d lose it all.
It hadn’t helped that Denver looked even better now. He was so incredibly gorgeous, so massively built and powerful and self-possessed. The years of maturity, with his dedication to his sport, only made him more appealing.
No one could blame a woman for looking—except for Denver.
And probably Lyle.
Oh God, what to do?
She covered her face with her hands, but she was not a whiner, not a person to wallow in indecision. She’d give him a day, two at the most, to get back to her, and if he didn’t, she’d go after him again.
Opening her umbrella, she dashed for her car—and ran headlong into a body. Her hand loosened on the umbrella, and wind stole it away.
Though she normally refrained from cursing, a shocked “Damn” slipped through her lips. She stumbled back two steps and became instantly soaked.
Hands grabbed her upper arms to steady her. Through the awful downpour she saw a smiling and appreciative male face.
Lifting a jacket over her head like a canopy, he shielded her while leaving himself exposed. “Sorry, honey, are you okay?”
Staying out of the rain necessitated a very close proximity to him. “What?” He smelled of smoke, had a rugged, dangerous look about him. The same confidence that Denver carried, but with an edge. “Who are you?”
“Friend of Denver’s.”
“A fighter?”
He grinned. “I’ve been known to scrap a time or two.”
What did that mean? She wasn’t sure if she trusted him. She wanted to. It’d be a step forward to make nice with one of Denver’s friends. But—
“Saw you inside a bit ago. Couldn’t believe you were leaving in this storm.”
“Oh.” Knowing he wasn’t a total stranger helped her to relax. She peered about at the dark skies and sheets of rain. “It was time for me to go.” Not that she ever should have come here in the first place. She’d hoped that introducing her association to Denver would gain her some leverage.
Instead his friends had politely cut her cold—all except this man.
As if they weren’t standing out in horrendously nasty weather, he looked her over. “So you’re with Denver, too, huh? Not surprised, really. The lucky SOB always did get the hottest girls. But you’re a lot classier than Cherry Peyton, ya know?”
“Oh. Oh, no.” She smiled, pleased by the observation and finally understanding why he remained friendly. Knowing she had to be fair, she explained, “I’m Denver’s stepmother,” and then she waited for his open rejection.
A low whistle and an even lower, “No fucking way,” should have offended her. Instead, after Denver’s awful treatment and how his friends had shunned her, the reaction sent pleasure radiating through her.
