His life was seriously fucked. Tate was gone. She’d bailed when he’d been on the phone and he’d been dumbfounded to find she’d blown town. He’d sure heard it from his little sister, who’d seen fit to leave three snotty messages on his voice mail. Val suggested that he get his shit together before he made a bigger ass of himself than he already had. For Val to utter such crude words and ban him from her home indefinitely, well, her being pissed was putting it mildly.
Women, he thought. Who needs them? His life had been great before Tate had waltzed into it with her sweetness, her sunshine smile, her surprisingly wicked ways.
He took another determined swig, embracing the alcohol’s burning sting. He was free. Free to get wild, free to romance the hell out of any woman that crossed his path. Why, he could go out and… He rubbed his forehead. And do what?
Nothing. Wasn’t that Tate’s entire point? Part of the reason she’d left? That he never did a damn thing besides work?
He scowled. When had that become a bad thing?
When it had become the only thing?
His life had revolved around jobsites, machinery and deadlines for as long as he could remember. He loved the freedom even when he admitted he didn’t take advantage of it.
Not once? Not ever?
That thought brought a fleeting moment of clarity.
Hey. What was the point of being his own boss if he adhered to a schedule that’d chased even the toughest young bucks from his employ?
Why hadn’t he made more time for life?
More importantly, why hadn’t he made more time for her?
Tate had made time for him. The million sweet ways she showed him she cared about him spun round in his brain until he felt dizzy from the implications, not the booze. How could such a little slip of a thing have wreaked so much havoc on his life?
Nathan slammed the whiskey bottle on the table. Goddammit, he was a gutless bastard. With all his pathetic attempts at romance, he hadn’t learned enough to tell Tate how he’d felt.
Why hadn’t he told her he loved her?
Tate had given him a priceless gift; she’d shown him the side of himself filled with passion. With fun. A man with the capacity to love to the point of pain. He’d felt safe with her. Happy. She’d wrapped love and acceptance around his heart like a cocoon.
And what had he given her in return? Besides orgasms that made her scream and award-winning landscaping that insured she’d leave?
His bleary-eyed gaze took in his meager furnishings and the cold impersonality of his home. Damned lonely place he lived in. No wonder he couldn’t stand being here.
Yep. He’d finally proven himself landscaping god to his peers and the world at large. He had the city contract, he had the qualifications. Hell, he even had a big fat check. Seemed he had everything he’d ever wanted.
Except he didn’t have Tate.
Why did he feel like he had nothing?
Nathan chugged another hit of liquid fire. The churning in his gut and the pain in his head were the only signs he hadn’t gone completely numb.
Maybe he should go after her. Demand she come back. He could change. He wanted to change. Wasn’t that what he’d tried to get across to her this morning? He needed to think of a plan. Luckily the whiskey seemed to clear things up a whole bunch.
His cell phone rang. He ignored it. Then it started ringing again.
Stumbling out the back door, he threw the ringing object against the concrete patio. Then he crushed the chunk that hadn’t exploded upon impact under his boot heel. Feeling decidedly calmer, he staggered back inside and knocked back another drink.
Male pride reared its ugly head with each additional shot.
Nathan’s thought processes began to blur. Pride, not love, was what got him into this mess. He’d damn well use it to get himself back out.
Even muddled by alcohol, he knew he deserved every second of his misery. And miserable didn’t begin to describe the horrors lurking in his soul and the paralyzing fear that he’d never see her again. He refused to bellow his rage; he’d seethe silently in misery. He’d finish the bottle of whiskey until he passed out, so he wouldn’t feel like part of him had died.
But the bottle was already empty.
So is your life.
For the first time in years, Nathan LeBeau laid his head on the table and wept.
One month later…
Nathan hadn’t even stepped foot off the welcome mat in Val’s grand hallway when he demanded, “Where is she?”
“Sleeping.” Val plunked herself directly in front of him. She used her free hand like a school crossing guard to ward him off. “And don’t think you’re gonna go charging in there like some renegade bear and wake Tate up. She’s exhausted.”
“Running will do that to you,” he said through clenched teeth. He could not believe that Tate was here, less than a hundred feet away and he still couldn’t get to her. Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t talk to her. Couldn’t touch her.
Val poked him in the chest. “Back off. How did you find out she was in town?”
Nathan’s jaw tightened further, and he glanced away.
“Oh no you don’t, buster. I know that look. You’re hiding something. Either spill it right now, or I’ll shove your sorry butt right back out the door.”
“Yeah?” He knew his belligerent tone wasn’t helping matters any, but he didn’t care. “You and what army?”
“Have it your way.” She shrugged. “My house, my rules. If you don’t follow my rules, you don’t get to see her.”
He threatened, and then pleaded—all to no avail. Val wouldn’t budge. She tormented him with that cocky half smile that had driven him nuts his whole life. She had the upper hand, and she knew he knew it.
Time to change tactics.
“You think you’re so clever,” he sneered. “I’ll bet even you don’t know why she’s back in town.”
That comment offended know-everything Val, which he’d expected. “I certainly do. There’s some problem with a potential buyer—” She clapped a hand over her mouth before she used it to whap him on the arm. “That was sneaky.”
His little sister had no idea of the sneaky lengths he’d gone to get Tate back in his life. He inhaled, willing himself to remain calm, hoping his whole world wasn’t about to crumble around him like a cave-in at the jobsite. “Here’s the truth. I contacted the Realtor. Fed her a bogus story about meeting the owner in person before I put a bid on the house.”
“Nathan Francis LeBeau!” Val gasped, clutching the baby in her arms to her heart. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because I’m desperate! I’ll buy the damn house if it means that much to her. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her for three weeks.” Angrily, he thrust his hand through his hair. “She won’t talk to me, you won’t talk to me. This is a fucking nightmare.”
She scowled at his language. “How did you find her?”
“Some new secretary in her office let it slip that Tate had quit without giving notice. Evidently that caused quite a clusterfu—” Val cleared her throat and Nathan amended, “an uproar. They wouldn’t give me any more information. I kept calling her parents’ house and getting no answer. Then I realized I’d written down the wrong damn number.”
He kneaded the back of his neck to stave off the impending headache. “When I finally got the right phone number, they forwarded the call to her brother Ryan. He acted like I was some psycho stalker. I had to give him my name, address, social security number, phone number and military history so he could run a check before he’d even talk to me. I just got off the phone with him and he informed me she’d come back to Spearfish. Then about ten minutes later, the Realtor called and left your phone number as Tate’s contact information.” He glared at his sister. “Jesus, Val. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”
“She asked me not to.”
“For God’s sake, I’m your brother!”
“Yeah? And that’s the reason I didn’t track you d
own and kill you last month.” Val gave him a disdainful once-over. “At this point I don’t know who I’m angrier with. You or myself.”
“Not at her, though?”
“No. It is not her fault that you are such a flaming idiot.” Val smoothed the fuzz on Maddie’s tiny head. “I never would’ve introduced you to her if I’d known you weren’t being up front with me. Romance? Instead of no-strings-attached sex? Gee, Nathan, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
“See?” He resisted his usual urge to cuff her lightly on the arm, since she was holding the baby. “If I’d told you from the start I wanted a romance, you would’ve made fun of me until my dying day.”
Val had the grace to look abashed. “But you lied to me.”
“Lied? No. Stretched the painful truth maybe.” He stared at the dust covering his work boots. “When you told me about Tate and her lack of sexual experience, I figured it was a perfect opportunity to try to become the kind of romantic man all women want. Maybe if I could be that, I could have a real relationship not based on sex.”
“I am sorry.” Val peered at him intently. “You do realize that there is no cut-and-dried formula for romance?”
Nathan kicked at a Cheerio imbedded in the rug. “Even if I had found one, I sure couldn’t make it work.”
“And it doesn’t change anything with Tate.”
He met her sympathetic gaze. “It changes everything, Val. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
The weight of his confession hung in the air-conditioned room. Val measured him coolly. “Why would she want to spend her life with you?”
That startled him. “What?”
“You heard me. Take a long, hard look at yourself.”
“Even you don’t think I’m good enough for her?” Another idea clicked, and his anger rose. “That’s why you suggested me as her temporary stud—”
“Knock off the wounded-male act.” She rocked the baby with that innate, fluid mother’s grace, but her eyes remained heavy. “Dang it, Nathan, you work too hard. If you love Tate, don’t doom her to a life of waiting for you to come home. Before you tell her you want to spend the rest of your life with her, you’d better decide how much of that life you’re willing to give her.”
Nathan bristled at Val’s pull-no-punches tone. “What is up with you? Like I’m the only man on the planet with a job. Richard works hard.”
“True. But work isn’t what matters most to him. I matter. Our family matters. If he has to give up a big case so he can come home for our family dinner, he will—without me begging or nagging him. He does it because he wants to. Trust me, Richard could be a partner right now, his name could be on the letterhead.” Val’s chin wobbled. “If Tate is willing to make changes, you should too.”
“Changes? What changes?”
“Let me finish.” She repositioned the baby, angling forward so he got the full impact of her whispered words. “She spent the last five years trying to get ahead in the rat race, and only in the last few weeks has she been convinced to leave it.” Val’s gaze turned sharp. “On the other hand, if you’re unwilling to meet her halfway, I’d sign off on you too. Been tempted to do the same a time or two myself.”
Nathan was stunned. He had changed in the last month. More than Val realized, since she’d kept him out of her life. He’d enrolled Duke in obedience class. Cut his hours and interviewed potential employees and hired a supervisor for his utility business. He’d even made it to Jim’s weekly support group and discovered he wasn’t alone in dealing with racism and prejudice. He still had a helluva lot to learn about balance, but he was willing to try. However, his sister wasn’t the one he had to convince that he’d changed.
“Well,” he ventured quietly, “I’ll admit you know us both better than you should. You may think you understand her, but I guarantee I know Tate in ways you don’t. If she wants to tell me to go to hell, then she can damn well say it to my face.”
He tried to step around Val, but she blocked him. “What part of ‘go away’ don’t you understand? Tate is sleeping.”
“Val,” he implored. “I’m dying here. I need to see her.”
Her voice softened to a croon as she tickled the baby’s tiny chin. “I know. If Tate wants to contact you, then she will.”
“Can I just come in? Spend some time with the kids? I miss them.” He saw a flash of pink chiffon as Chelsea zipped into the family room. “I swear I won’t bother Tate,” he lied.
Curls like mean little corkscrews escaped Val’s tight bun as she shook her head. “I think it’d be best if you left.”
Nathan slumped his shoulders against the wall, even when he wanted to punch his fist through the Sheetrock from sheer frustration. “Will you at least tell her I was here?”
She nodded, striding nonchalantly toward the sound of a blood-curdling shriek followed by a loud crash.
As soon as her back was turned, he considered making a break for the stairs. He could easily outrun her, even without Val holding a baby in her arms. While he debated, Val stuck her head back around the corner.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, giving him the evil mom eye as an added threat.
Damn her instincts. Dejected, depressed and doubtful, Nathan walked out the door, without a clue as to where to go.
A sharp finger poked Tate, jolting her awake from a deep sleep. Disoriented, she rolled over and faced the culprit.
Chelsea Westfield stood by the nightstand, face somber, expression grim.
“Hey, Chels,” she said groggily. “What’s up?”
“How come you’re being so mean to Uncle Nathan?”
Out of the mouth of babes. Tate eased back against the headboard, choosing her words carefully. “What makes you think I’m being mean to him?”
Chelsea’s elfin chin jutted out, causing her plastic crown to slide off the back of her head. “Because he was here. And Mommy wouldn’t even let him in. He wanted to see you, not us. How come?”
Tate’s heart skipped a beat. Nathan had been here? When? Before she could pump Chelsea for more information, the young girl added, “And then he left because Mommy made him. That’s mean.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Like I’d tell you.” Chelsea clutched the unicorn and flounced from the room in her princess costume, leaving Tate with an acute sense of unease.
She dressed quickly and slipped out of the guestroom.
Val’s house had returned to its normal pristine state, but chaos still reigned. The loud argument in the bedroom down the hall was only marginally less annoying than the cartoons blaring from the television in the family room. Maddie screamed from the nursery.
She sought the one place at the Westfield residence that offered solitude.
Tate pushed back the heavy pine branches surrounding the stone bench and stopped.
Nathan sat on her bench. Close enough to touch. Close enough that she saw the dirt stains on his shirt and the pain in his eyes. Her heart rate tripled, and it took every ounce of restraint not to leap into his arms.
Not that his muscular arms were outstretched in anticipation. In fact, he looked a little wary.
Tate swallowed, but her voice still cracked from her too-dry throat. “Nathan?”
Several long seconds passed. “So. You aren’t an apparition.”
“You accused me of being a wood sprite the first time we met.”
He grunted.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting.” He lifted the beer bottle dangling from his fingers up to his lips and drank. “Thinking mostly.”
She searched his face, noting the shadows under his eyes and the hard set to his unshaven jaw. Her stomach roiled. “About?”
He sighed, staring down at his well-worn boots.
“It’s too nice a night for such a profound sigh.”
Nathan glanced at her sharply. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything,” she said softly. “Mind if I sit d
own? Or is this particular hiding spot taken?”
“Suit yourself.”
Tate perched on the corner of the bench, careful not to touch him, though she wanted to. Lord, did she ache to feel his mouth on hers. She just wanted to hold him close and never let him go. “Thinking about anything in particular?”
“Lots of things.”