Paradise Valley
Page 30

“That’s okay, Jack—” Rick began.
“Not a problem, Rick,” Jack said. He was back quickly; the house was small—just five rooms and a bath. He met Rick’s eyes and said, “I’ll pass on your regrets and get a batch of barbecue, bring it down. You rest.”
In a brief attack of humility for being such a giant asshole all day while Jack tried his best, Rick said, “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate that. A lot.”
“Sure,” Jack said, clearly still miffed at him, disappointed in him.
Rick got over the guilt right away. Jack, maybe most of all, would be better off if Rick just wasn’t around to bring disaster after disaster into his life.
He got the prosthesis back on. He had a quiet meal with his grandma, she took her insulin and he popped a pain pill, and it was barely eight o’clock when she was nodding off in the chair and he sent her to bed. Then he dimmed all the lights so if anyone passed the house they would think he was asleep.
Rick was aware that there were lots of people at Jack’s bar, just down the street. In fact, he could hear engines and voices even though the front door was closed. It brought back memories of all the good times there, the times he’d come home on leave, the visits from Jack’s boys who all treated him like a little brother. He went back further in his mind to when he worked there, all through high school. It was like a second home—hanging out with Preacher and Jack, bussing tables, loading stock, going to Eureka for supply runs.
That job was his life for a while. Jack always made sure Rick’s school sports and homework came first, fit his work at the bar around those things, like a dad would do. And when Lizzie got pregnant, Jack and Preach did everything they could to give him work while freeing him up to take good care of his girl, the mother of his baby. Here he’d gotten himself in this giant mess and they were totally there for him, holding him up, keeping him sane.
It brought tears to his eyes, thinking about those days. Some of them, like when the baby was stillborn, were the worst days of his life. But remembering that day—Jack and Preach, Mel delivering the baby when she herself was pregnant and due any minute, Lizzie somehow getting through it and still loving him…. How was it possible he could remember such a terrible day with such fondness?
His grandmother almost always left the front porch light on at night, but Rick turned it off. He just sat on the couch in the darkened living room and thought back to all those times, sorry but simultaneously relieved he wasn’t down at the bar being welcomed home by the town.
In spite of himself, he felt bad about it. He knew Preacher would have put out his favorites and women from town would have brought their own special dishes to add to the party. He knew they meant well. He just didn’t think he could stand the scrutiny.
At ten o’clock, Rick knew the party was long since over; farmers and ranchers didn’t stay out late. Livestock and crops got them up real early. When he heard a light tapping at the front door, he thought it would be Jack, mother-henning again, checking on him. Maybe the guy wanted to tuck him in.
He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with Liz.
Ten
Rick’s very first thought was, how can she be even more beautiful? Her eyes bluer and hair thicker, silkier, making his hands ache to run through the strands. She didn’t look like a girl anymore; Liz could pass for twenty-one, easy. She was a knockout with a body that cost him sleep. His very next thought came right out of his mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I got the message, Rick. You’re not going to take my calls, not going to call me back, not going to get in touch even when you’re right across the street from my aunt Connie’s store, where I work every single weekend.” She shrugged. “So, I’m here to see you. To talk to you. To find out exactly what your problem is.”
He laughed a little cruelly. “Well… Let’s see,” he said, scratching his chin. “What could it be?”
“Stop it, Rick. Eventually you’re going to be honest with me. The leg doesn’t have anything to do with us. I don’t care about a goddamn leg and you know it.”
He just stared into her eyes. This was a whole new Liz from the one he’d left. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—she’d been on her way to becoming this Liz for a couple of years at least. He’d put her through an awful lot and instead of crumbling into a mushy pile of little-girl tears, she’d gotten tough. Confident. Her back was straight and her eyes glittered. “Let’s put this off a while, all right?” he said. “Not tonight.”
“No,” she replied. “We’ve put it off long enough.” She touched her diamond pendant. “I’m the girl you promised to marry. You’ve been mean and horrible and I understand you’re going through terrible stuff, but that doesn’t give you the right to turn your back on me. I’m not going to let you do that to me. I’ve been through stuff, too. The way it was with us, we helped each other.”
“No one’s gonna be able to help me with this,” he said, and he started to close the door on her.
But her hand was against the door, keeping it from closing. “Let’s go for a short ride.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “My grandma’s in bed.”
“Yeah? Leave a note. Write, ‘Went for a ride with Liz.’ She isn’t going to ground you.”
He actually chuckled. He remembered his Liz as a soft, sweet, vulnerable girl. The one he made cry at the hospital in Germany; the girl he had to be strong for. “I don’t want to have this conversation tonight,” was all he said.
“You’re going to,” she said. “We can do it right here, right now, maybe wake up your gram, or we can sit in my car and do it in private.”
“Look, Liz, I’m real tired and I’m in some pain here. And I don’t want to—”
“Okay then,” she said, walking into the house. She sat down on his grandmother’s sofa. “Here, then.”
He took a breath and shook his head. He limped over to the kitchen counter, pulled a piece of paper off the notepad and scribbled a note to his grandmother. Then he limped toward the door, grabbing his coat off the rack.
“You want crutches or something?” she asked him.
“No. This isn’t going to take too long.” And he limped out the front door. Once he looked down at the three porch steps, he stopped. He grabbed the railing and hoped he wouldn’t end up facedown on the walk—working that knee was still a crapshoot. Liz stayed behind him, giving him time. If she’d grabbed his arm to help him, he would have brushed her away, but she was smart and just waited till he made it.
And then, to his surprise, she left him to open his own car door. When she was settled behind the wheel, he was surprised when she started the car and put it in gear. “I thought we were just going to sit in your car,” he said.
“We are,” she said as she pulled away from the curb, “but we’re going somewhere you can’t chase me off or walk away from me.”
“Well, just pull down the block. I’m not real fast, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“What I’ve noticed is that what’s wrong has nothing to do with your leg,” she said. “You have definite problems, all right.” She glanced over at him. “Okay, lay it on me, Ricky. Go ahead. Get it off your chest.”
“I think you better stop the car first. Really, let’s not go too far from home, okay? I meant it—I’m tired and my leg hurts.”
“We’re not going far,” she said. “While I’m driving, do me a favor, Ricky. Try to remember me. I’m the girl who’s always on your side no matter what. Huh? I’m the girl who would do anything for you. I’m the one who stuck by you a hundred percent when you said the Marine Corps was what you needed to get your head straight.”
“You probably shouldn’t have,” he said quietly.
“Whatever,” she said, waving a hand. “I did. I still am, even though you act like I’m dead or something.”
He just stared straight ahead, not commenting, wondering how he was going to do this. One thing he had accepted—no matter how he handled it, he was going to hurt her bad. But in the end, she’d get over it and be better off. Problem was, she smelled so good and even though she was acting real tough, he knew that underneath all that strength was a softness so lush and deep, he could lose himself for a while, and it was getting to him. Maybe if she hadn’t had the starring role in so many of his dreams, he could have forgotten.
He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. If he did this right, it would be over tonight. Then they could move on from what had been one disaster after another since the day they met.
Liz turned off the road and drove right down to the river. She parked, killed the lights and the car engine, and turned in her seat to face him. And waited.
“Liz, I don’t think we should be together anymore.” He gazed into his lap rather than at her. He waited for her reaction and when there was none, he looked at her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because, Liz, us together is one bad break after another and I’m pretty sure every one of them was my fault. It’s not fair to you.”
“Oh,” she said, “so you’re doing this for me?”
“I know you don’t want that. I know you don’t. Don’t you think that makes it even worse? That no matter how much I screw up your life, you’ll hang in there with me? I want you to stay away from me, Liz. Get on with your life, find a guy who won’t mess you up every time you turn around. All right? Let me off the hook here, Liz! Let me go so I don’t have one more thing to feel guilty about! You hear me?”
She just looked at him. There wasn’t even a big moon and yet he could see her blue eyes sparkling like stars. She gave her head a gentle shake. “You’re going to get past this,” she said. “I know you’re hurt and mad, but it’s going to pass, Rick. And when it does, you won’t want me to be gone.”
“I’m telling you—”
She put her small hand against his cheek and just gently shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, you won’t.”
He glazed over. His hand covered hers while he looked into her eyes, took in that small, soft, pink mouth, inhaled her scent, imagined… And then before he knew what was happening, he grabbed fistfuls of her thick, long hair and pulled her mouth onto his, eating her mouth, devouring her, moaning in the back of his throat while he invaded her with his tongue and allowed hers into his mouth. That taste—it was the taste he remembered, dreamt of. And he couldn’t stop. He snapped. His hands went from her hair to her back, to her breasts, down to her butt, around to the front, grabbing her in that vee that joined her legs. “Jesus, this can’t happen,” he whispered against her mouth even as he was pulling apart her jacket and lifting her sweater. “Can’t,” he said, unhooking her bra and filling his hand and then his mouth with her breast.
Liz shifted her weight, making it easier for him to touch her, kiss her. While he roughly suckled, she kissed his temple, his ear, ran her fingers through his hair, buried her lips in his neck, inhaling him, tasting him, murmuring to him that she needed him, loved him, wanted him. This wasn’t the way it usually was between them—he was desperate and fast now, not sweet and slow. She didn’t care—he was touching her again and what that meant to her was that he didn’t really want them apart. Maybe he thought it would be smart or wise for them to break up, but it wasn’t right.
His hands grabbed the snap on her jeans, ripped it open, ran down the zipper and then slid down down down. A deep growl rumbled in his throat and he was back on her mouth. “Oh God, that’s good,” he muttered. “Good, so good….”