Melting into You Page 8

  When she returned in her requisite oversized T-shirt and jeans, Alec and her aunt were gone. His voice echoed from the foyer. He was on the phone, his eyes closed and emitting a few “uh-huhs” as he rubbed a hand across his shoulder. “Yep. I’ll be there.”

  His gaze followed her quickstep down the stairs and he disconnected, his hand already on the door handle.

  “Headed out?” she asked even though the answer was obvious.

  “I have to meet with my foreman on a job up in Jasper.” He clipped the words out, aloof and bordering on chilly. “Thanks for last night.”

  Where was the man who’d given her a soulful kiss? Or confessed she’d haunted his dreams? Or admitted he was lonely? Maybe that man didn’t remember—or exist—in the light of day.

  From the top of the porch steps, she watched him slide into his truck and drive off. The knot of anxiety about her possible pregnancy took up too much space in her chest.

  How would her aunt treat her after she found out? How would the rest of the town treat her? It might be the twenty-first century, but it was still Falcon, Alabama, and she was a Hancock. Gossip would spread like kudzu in summer.

  Back in the kitchen, her aunt was spreading honey onto a toasted piece of bread and set it on a piece of good china next to her coffee mug. Her aunt had grown up in the house and had a vested interest in keeping the grand dame from crumbling into rubble.

  “You should have inherited this place, Aunt Esmerelda.” Lilliana took a bite of her toast, the honey adding to her bittersweet mood.

  “I’d have turned it into a shrine to my childhood. No, with your artist’s eyes, you’re turning it into something modern yet with a nod toward her past. It couldn’t have landed in better hands, sweetheart.” She patted Lilliana’s arm, the skin of her hand wrinkled and soft. When she leaned in to buss Lilliana’s cheek before leaving, the scent of her face lotion invoked nostalgic memories of summers long past.

  Lilliana hugged her. The bones across her shoulders seemed thinner and more delicate than Lilliana remembered. She had been more like a grandmother than a great-aunt. She had been the one to discipline Lilliana and bake her cookies during her summers in Falcon. It was Esmerelda she’d turned to for advice when she received her acceptance to art school in New York, Esmerelda who had encouraged her to go. Lilliana gave her one last squeeze before retreating to the table to take up her coffee mug.

  Her aunt smoothed her bottle-red hair and chuffed, but a smile played around her mouth. “You come on down to the library this week, you hear?”

  After Lilliana saw her away, she lost herself in her work—a portrait of Edwin Culpepper. The commissioned piece would bring in much needed cash.

  Even though she’d left New York, she’d maintained ties with several galleries and kept in touch with friends from school. They funneled work her direction when they could. She was cheaper, and honestly, better than most portrait artists. The work had paid off her student loans and kept her plans for the B&B afloat.

  When she worked, brush strokes measured the passing of time. Colors blended, textures popped, fine facial features took shape. She wanted anyone who saw one of her portraits from a distance to be drawn closer, unsure if it was a painting or photograph.

  She stepped back and assessed. Only then did her hunger register. She’d worked through lunch. Three o’clock. The football team would be hitting the field any minute for practice. A normal man would have called Robbie Dalton, told him what had happened, and gone home to recuperate, but she had a niggling feeling Alec would suck up the pain.

  She grabbed a Coke and a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. Trekking through the woods behind Hancock House, she emerged on Main Street, across from the practice field.

  She jogged over to the aluminum bleachers. Now that they were halfway through the season, the crowd had thinned to a few die-hard retirees and a handful of mothers. With Robbie Dalton and Logan Wilde off the market, the number of bleacher babes had dwindled.

  Sure enough, Alec was on the far sideline in a black long-sleeve workout shirt and shorts talking with Hunter. She sat on the bottom bench. The sun-warmed metal felt good, a welcome contrast to the biting snap of the breeze. Any vestiges of summer’s heat were a memory.

  Knowing what Alec had hidden under that too-concealing shirt made her squirm. As if sensing her undressing him in her head, he swiveled around. She froze like a doe caught in the headlights. Heat burned up the back of her neck, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes off him.

  He turned away first, directing Hunter and two of his wide receivers to practice a fade route. He barked orders and pointed, making them repeat the play. Once they were occupied, he approached, his gait stiff, his hurt arm curled gingerly around his waist.

  Like he’d lassoed her, she rose and stepped to the fence to meet him. Pain etched his face, deepened the crinkles at his eyes, and pulled his mouth into a frown. Her words came in a rush. “My God, Alec. What can I do?”

  He swallowed, his throat working. “I need a favor.”

  “Anything.” The word came out more earnest than she’d intended.

  “Hunter needs a place to crash tonight. I don’t want his brother to guess where he is. I know you aren’t a fully operational B&B yet, but could you put him up?”

  “What’s going on?

  “He won’t get specific, but things are bad at his house.” They both looked toward Hunter who dropped back and threw a perfect curl route. He rubbed at his sore shoulder. “I’m not sure what to do.”

  “You’re both staying with me.”

  “I’m—”

  “No, you’re not fine. Don’t give me crap on this, Alec. Otherwise, you’ll force me to find your house and break the door in. And here”—she grabbed the Coke and the pills from the bleachers and shook two into his hand—“take these.”

  He huffed, sounding annoyed, but popped the pills in his mouth and took a swig from the can.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled and looked over his shoulder.

  She grabbed his forearm. “I’ll cook us something for dinner, so don’t dawdle after practice.”

  The tension in his body seemed to abate with his long exhale. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Sometimes you need to accept help, you stubborn man.” She threw his words back at him with a smile. He angled toward her, the ghost of an answering smile on his face.

  A couple of feet separated them, and she tilted her head back the same time he leaned in, leaving their faces close. He tucked a piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. His fingers stayed to trace the outer rim, brushing down her neck like the lightest of a butterfly’s wings. “All right. Thanks again.”

  Even though he’d barely touched her, flames licked up her body, igniting the fire that stayed banked around him, never extinguished. “‘Thanks’ may be premature. I’m not a world-renowned chef like Logan.”

  This time when he backed away, she let him go. It might have been her imagination or hopeful thinking, but he seemed to be moving easier on the field.

  She fingered the swath of hair he’d tucked away. Dinner. If she was going to cook, she would need to hit the Piggly Wiggly for groceries. She spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans.

  While she waited, she poured a glass of wine but stopped with the rim on her bottom lip. Alcohol was a big no-no for pregnant women, right? She poured the wine down the drain and lay down on the couch, the nerves in her stomach amplified. How quickly she forgot the scope of her problems.

  * * *

  Alec parked in front of the Galloway house, feeling torn about his decision to butt into Hunter’s life outside of football. The two cars hadn’t moved from the night before. As he pushed his truck door open, Hunter came crashing out of the house, the screenless frame of the outer door banging hard. Bone-man before was yelling epitaphs and insults from the porch. Hunter didn’t react but kept his head down, moving forward. He carried h
is school backpack and a royal blue sleeping bag.

  Anger burned away Alec’s indecision. He slipped out of the truck and called over the truck bed. “Hey . . . Bone-man, wasn’t it?”

  Bone-man stopped. “What’re you doing back here?”

  “Hunter has a team dinner tonight.”

  Bone-man’s eyes darted between Hunter and Alec. Hunter didn’t wait for him to say anything more, but swung into the passenger side of Alec’s truck and slammed the door. Bone-man pointed a finger in Alec’s direction. “He needs to be home later. Got that?”

  “Sure thing.” Alec’s definition of “later” would be vastly different that Bone-man’s.

  Alec didn’t waste any time getting them out of Mill Town. Hunter kept his face turned to the side window, his huge hands curled over his still-knobby knees, fingernails bit to the quick. Alec chewed at the inside of his mouth, not sure what to say. “Do I need to call your mama?”

  “I’m not four years old.”

  “Does she know what’s going on?”

  Hunter’s foot bounced, tension building like a stretched rubber band. He shook his head and mumbled, “She don’t know nothing.”

  Alec pulled onto the circular drive of Lilliana’s house. The house seemed to bask in the orange light of the setting sun. Hunter craned his neck, his eyes huge, taking it in. “You’re shitting me, Coach.”

  Alec turned the truck off. “Watch your tongue around Lilliana. Miss Hancock, to you.”

  “She your girl or what?”

  “She’s my—” His throat tightened. What was she? Not his girlfriend or a one-time fuck. She might be the mother of his child. The thought sent nerves skittering through him. Weakly, he said, “She’s my . . . friend.”

  The tiniest of smiles lightened Hunter’s face. “All right, Coach, whatever you say.”

  Alec rang the doorbell and checked his watch, gripping his duffle tighter. Five thirty. The door swept open and mouth-watering aromas drifted out. He shot back in time, to the feeling of stepping into his house after football practice in high school. Hancock House smelled like a home.

  Lilliana waved them in, an oven mitt on her hand and a smile on her face. “Come on in, guys.”

  She was barefoot, wearing tight jeans and a curve-hiding, man-sized flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows, the tails tied around her waist. Her hair was pulled into a swinging ponytail with a few tendrils falling around her face. He couldn’t discern any makeup, but her cheeks were tinged pink. She looked wholesome and gorgeous.

  Hunter’s wide eyes darted around the two-story entry as if expecting an ambush. The setting sun reflected off the crystal chandelier, casting tiny rainbows on the walls, and light splintered through the stained glass in the front door, adding a mosaic of color to the floor.

  Lilliana gestured to the staircase. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

  Hunter had a death-grip on the strap of his backpack and clutched the dirt-streaked sleeping bag to his chest like a security blanket. In contrast to a body that had not fully matured into manhood, his deep, buttery voice echoed in the entry. “Stick me on the floor somewhere. I brought my sleeping bag.”

  Lilliana crossed her arms and popped a hip. “What? My beds aren’t good enough for you?”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” Hunter tossed a panicked glance toward Alec.

  “Seriously, you’ll be doing me favor.” She went up the stairs sideways so she could keep talking to them as they trailed her. “I’ve put a notebook and pen on the bedside table, and I want you to tell me what I can improve in each of your rooms. Is the bed too soft, too firm? The towels too small? Not absorbent enough? Is the soap too girly smelling? You’ll be my test subjects.”

  Hunter nodded with nervous enthusiasm. “I can totally make some notes.”

  “Fabulous. Now, here’s your room, Hunter.” Lilliana pointed to a bedroom on the right side of the stairwell. “I should warn you the bathroom is a nauseating pink. The plumbing works fine, but don’t use the outlet by the sink. Dinner will be out of the oven in ten. Come on back down after you get settled.”

  Hunter practically tiptoed across the threshold. Lilliana led Alec to the opposite end of the hallway, toward her room. His heart picked up to a lope. When she gestured to a room directly across the hall from her bedroom, disappointment shot through his chest. Had he seriously expected to be invited back into her bed?

  All day, his mind had drifted to waking in the middle of the night with her breasts pressed against his bare back and her hand draped over his waist as though it was the most natural thing on earth. He’d had sex with a handful of women since his fall from grace, but never slept over. That would imply a relationship. Now that she’d reminded him what a soft, desirable woman felt like cuddled against him, he wanted more. But not just any woman. He wanted more of her.

  Like every other room she’d gotten her hands on, his guest room was elegant yet welcoming. The blues were dark, a masculine match to the dark stain of the furniture. A painting of a meadow of flowers drew him closer. It had the feel of a snapshot in time, the warmth of the sun and the breeze almost palpable. No signature graced the corner.

  He glanced over his shoulder to see her standing in the doorway. “Is this one of yours?”

  “Yep. It’s nothing special.” She looked anywhere but at the picture. Where had her confidence gone?

  “It’s beautiful.” His voice rang too emphatically through the room, and she finally met his eyes.

  Awareness arced between them and held them both still. Her mouth softened and her tongue darted along her bottom lip. Pressure built in his chest until he couldn’t stand it. He dropped his gaze to the floor, tracing the grooves of the wood planks with his eyes. Logical lines to offset the tangle of emotions.

  “I’ll see you downstairs.” Her soft voice was already in retreat.

  He sighed and tossed his duffle on the bed. It’s not as if he had anything to unpack. A few toiletries and a change of clothes taken from his locker at school. He took his time, hoping Hunter would beat him downstairs, but when he stepped into the kitchen, Lilliana was alone and humming while she mashed the potatoes by hand.

  Any lingering awkwardness dissipated under her welcoming smile. He propped a hip on the counter. “Thanks for making Hunter feel useful. He’s prideful.”

  Her eyebrows quirked up along with her lips. “Yeah? I’m familiar with the type.”

  She was making fun of him, but instead of a sharp retort, he found himself smiling back. “You’re one to talk.”

  She slipped on flowered oven mitts and pulled out a pan. “There’s whiskey on the buffet in the parlor if you want.”

  “I’ll pass on the whiskey, but I wouldn’t turn down some ibuprofen.”

  She opened a cabinet and handed him a bottle. “I hope you like meatloaf. It’s one of the only things I can reliably make.”

  “I thought all Southern girls learned to cook at their mother’s hip.”

  She whisked cream into the potatoes. “Not anymore. We caught up with the rest of the country. My parents got divorced when I was three, and Mom moved us to Nashville. She worked in a law office as a paralegal. We had lots of take-out and frozen dinners.”

  “I didn’t realize . . . I figured you grew up here. You and Logan and Darcy seem tight.”

  “Daddy brought me back to Falcon for summers and a few holidays. I stayed with Aunt Esmeralda and spent lots of time at the library. Daddy was charming and funny, but—” She chuffed a laugh. “He loved me, but he didn’t get that a six-year-old needs supervision and three meals a day.” Underneath the humor in her voice was a resonating sadness.

  His parents weren’t divorced, but he understood loneliness. Before he could say anything, Hunter shuffled into the kitchen, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his slouchy jeans. He had changed his shirt and the scent of male body spray was strong. Lilliana favored him with a smile that made her sloe-eyes sparkle. Alec wished she was directing that smile at him.

  �
�You mind setting the table, Hunter?” She picked up a handful of silverware.

  Hunter shot a look toward Alec, but he only raised his eyebrows and tipped his chin toward Lilliana. The silverware jangled during the handoff, and Hunter retreated to the table where three placemats and glasses of iced tea awaited. While Hunter fumbled with the utensils, Lilliana carried all the food to the table.

  Hunter’s voice was hesitant, and he moved the fork from the left side to the right. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Give us one of each, no worries.” Lilliana waved him to the seat on the right and took the head of the table for herself. Alec took the third place, sitting gingerly. His ribs were better, but any quick movement sent sharp pains shooting through his shoulder. He’d been lucky his non-throwing arm had been the one banged up. They passed the food around and Alec loaded his plate. Maybe it had been a while since he’d had a good home-cooked meal, but it smelled and looked amazing.

  He speared his green beans. A foot tapped his calf, and he glanced up, his fork halfway to his mouth. Hunter stared like the meatloaf was manna, his hands resting on either side of the plate. Lilliana gave Alec a headshake, and he dropped his fork back to his plate.

  “Would you say grace, Hunter?” she asked.

  The boy stumbled over the beginning of a prayer, but his words smoothed toward the end as if reciting a long-ago learned poem.

  Lilliana kept the conversation light throughout dinner, the perfect hostess. Alec contributed the minimum amount possible, and Hunter mostly communicated in grunts as he cleaned his plate and refilled it twice.

  After Hunter excused himself to finish homework, Alec cleared the table while Lilliana loaded the dishwasher. With the water muffling her voice, she asked, “Did you find out anything more?”

  “Not really, but last night, before his brother tackled me, I found him under some trees at the end of their street. He was studying by flashlight, and a sleeping bag was half-tucked away.”