Harley Brennan, Running Back Page 14

  She cringed. Is he going to give me that lecture? Hank’s done with me, so there’s no need.

  “Hi, Pastor,” she called, waving back.

  “Join me.” He patted the rocker next to him. Trapped, she ambled up the stone path to the house of worship. “Take a load off.”

  She eased down into the chair, gazing away from him.

  “How have you been? I missed you last Sunday. Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, okay, then.”

  “A lot on my mind.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s okay. I’m here if and when you do.”

  Surprised by the fact that he didn’t lecture her, she hadn’t expected his concern. His respectful attitude caught her off guard. She didn’t remember when she had needed to talk more than right now. But could she say the things she needed to say to get the guidance she needed? Or maybe it wasn’t advice she sought, but simply a sympathetic ear. She opted for that.

  “Well, let me see. It all started at the church picnic.”

  “The picnic?” The pastor raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes. And a conversation with Sadie.”

  He laughed. “Go ahead. Now I know to expect anything.”

  “It has to do with where Hank’s parking his car. Sort of…”

  * * * *

  Verna lit two hurricane lamps out on her back deck. Steaks sizzled on the grill, the red wine was breathing, and the table was set. After leaving the pastor, she’d soaked for a while in the tub. Then, she’d made a decision. Hank was due for dinner, and the stage was set.

  Nerves prickled, making her clumsy and absent-minded. One minute, she’d head to the kitchen, only to forget what she was there to retrieve. She checked her watch. As the second hand hit the twelve, she heard the familiar hum of Hank’s SUV then the closing of a car door. The ding-dong of her bell followed.

  With a quick tug at some stray hairs, she moved to let him in. He stood, handsome as ever, dressed in a khaki sports jacket, new jeans, and a light blue shirt, open at the neck. The blue emphasized the bright color of his eyes. He held a large bouquet of apricot roses, her favorite.

  “These are for you.” He thrust the blooms at her and shifted his weight.

  “Reminds me of our first date,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “How’d you guess? Just what I was thinking.”

  She took the flowers and marched to the kitchen to put them in water. He followed.

  “Drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Sangria now, red wine with dinner?’

  “Works for me.”

  She led him outside to a pitcher and filled two glasses.

  Hank raised his in a toast. “To the most beautiful woman in all of Connecticut.”

  She sensed a blush coloring her cheeks, but raised hers in agreement. “Sit,” she said.

  They eased down in wicker chairs, facing the generous backyard. She turned toward him, and they both spoke at once. Then stopped. She held up her hand. “Me first.”

  He nodded.

  “I suppose you heard what a fool I made of myself last night.”

  “I didn’t hear it like that at—.”

  “Stop! I admit it. I’m not proud of what happened, but I’m not going to lie about it either.”

  He took her hand. “Now me.”

  She nodded.

  “Before the picnic, we were happy. At least, I thought we were. I was. You never gave any sign of being unhappy. I may be dense sometimes, but I think I would’ve known. Then, we went to the picnic, and suddenly, you were miserable and done with me, and I don’t know what I did or didn’t do. What happened? Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

  Verna looked at him. He appeared so stricken, utterly miserable. Her heart swelled at the look of love, combined with lost puppy dog, on his face. She brushed a few strands of hair off his forehead then she came clean about Sadie.

  “Do you want to get married?” he asked, putting down his glass.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I wanted to find a man who wanted to get married.”

  “I’ve proposed to you at least twice.”

  “Then, you said you weren’t right for marriage.”

  “I know. What a dumbass thing to say. So, I’m not easy to live with—doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get married again.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe it does.”

  He joined her chuckle.

  “The point is that I let some idiotic, old lady shake my faith in you, in us. I let what someone else thinks rule my life. I’ve never been like that. I made a mistake,” she confessed.

  “If you’re embarrassed we’re sleeping together and not married, then let’s get married.”

  “Not the most romantic proposal ever made.”

  “Tell me what you want, Verna. These last few days not knowing when I’d see you again have made me crazy. I love you and want to marry you. I have from the start. But you have to want to also.”

  “I’m not sure. One day, I do. The next day, I’m worried about finances, and I think we should go on the way we are. I don’t know, Hank. I was happy the way we were, but now that I’m aware someone is watching where your car is parked and for how long, I’m uncomfortable.”

  “You feel self-conscious?”

  “Right.”

  “Like someone’s watching you?”

  “I do. Because they are.”

  “I had a long talk with Buddy,” Hank said.

  “Buddy?”

  “Yeah. He came storming into my house after your date.”

  Verna felt color rise to her face. “Please, don’t remind me. What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know what I’d done to drive you away.” Hank laughed. “I told him when he figured that out, he should let me know.”

  She laughed with him.

  “He was worried. He wants us to stay together.”

  “That’s good to know.” She blew out a breath.

  “So, I’ve been thinking. Maybe I have a solution.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You do?”

  “Yep. Maybe. See what you think.” He took something out of his pocket and went down on one knee. “I had to vacuum the dust off this thing.”

  “Dust?”

  “Yep. I bought it for you so long ago. The first time I proposed.”

  “You did?”

  “You don’t think a man my age proposes to a woman without an engagement ring in his back pocket, do you?” He flipped open the small box, revealing a beautiful, square cut, diamond ring.

  She gasped. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

  “Here’s the deal. I love you and want to marry you. But the date for the wedding is totally up to you. If you say ‘next week,’ fine. If you say ‘five years from now,’ also fine. So, will you marry me, some time, some day, Verna Carruthers?”

  Sincerity shone through his eyes. Words couldn’t stop her giggles.

  “Is this funny?”

  “This is the perfect solution. I should have come to you in the first place.”

  “That’s right. If we’re engaged, those nosy old ladies will have to look for scandal somewhere else.”

  “Hank Montgomery, I think I love you.”

  “So, will you? My knee’s killing me.”

  “Yes, I will.” She held out her hand, and he slipped the shiny ring on her finger.

  He pushed up, stretched, and then kissed her. “Damn, woman. You had me worried.”

  She was in his arms in a heartbeat. “I love you, Hank. I want to be with you always.”

  “Makes two of us.” He kissed her long and lazy.

  The sound of the steaks caught her attention.

  “Let’s eat. I’m starved,” she said, breaking from him. Verna tended to the meat while Hank put out the side dishes.

  They sat down to eat.

  “Now, who’s going to mo
ve in with whom?” Hank asked, slicing off a piece of meat.

  Verna’s eyes widened. “Live together?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Harley dropped off Vanessa at The Cottage, a small, designer dress shop in downtown Monroe, while he went to a get-together about football camp. Griff and his father ran the meeting, explaining what would be required of each of the players. Camp would meet for four hours, nine to one, and box lunches would be provided by the deli restaurant in town. Then, the kids would be sent home to practice what they learned.

  Coach pitched in for a van service to pick the boys up and drop them off each day. Lyle Barker let them use the stadium. They had twenty boys, junior high and high school age. Hank warned the men to clean up their language. That got a big laugh from the footballers.

  Camp was set to begin on Monday and run for two weeks.

  Harley popped into the store to pick up Vanessa when he was done. “Hi, baby,” he said, planting a quick kiss on the brunette’s lips. “Let’s have lunch at the deli. Great corned beef.”

  Vanessa beamed at him. “Whatever you want, darling.” Her friendly tone made him suspicious.

  As soon as the woman in charge came out of the back room, her arms weighed down by bulging shopping bags, he got the drift. Vanessa had done quite a bit of buying, and Harley was expected to pay. After all, he was her fiancé, her future husband. He sighed and fished his wallet out of his back pocket.

  The woman put the bill down on the counter. Harley picked it up and almost keeled over. He owed ten thousand dollars.

  “What the hell did you buy?” He turned to his fiancée.

  “Just a few things. I needed something new for that interview with Greg Carson and a casual outfit for the plane, and—”

  “Plane? What plane?” He plucked out his American Express.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brennan. Always happy to have the wives and girlfriends of the Kings here,” the owner said, before she disappeared into the back room again.

  “I’ll bet,” he muttered. “Ten grand. I hope something was solid gold. Now, about that plane?” He picked up the bags and waited for the return of his card.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’ve got two interviews and three auditions set up for July and August.”

  “You’ll be on the West Coast for two months?”

  “I really need to get a place out there, don’t you think? You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

  “Sweetheart, training camp runs for most of July. The season starts in August. I’ll be here.”

  “Crap!” Her face darkened. For a moment, he almost thought she was disappointed. “I was hoping we could shop for a house out there. Or at least an apartment.”

  “Not happening. I’m already on the hook for two places. That’s plenty.”

  “But you’re a multi-millionaire, aren’t you? What’s one more?”

  He laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m careful with my money. I could be injured and out of a job tomorrow. And this shopping spree—hell, it almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “You’re only thirty-three, Harley. Too young for a heart attack and too young to be out of football, right?”

  “Wrong. A bad injury could sideline me for a long time, cause me to lose my contract. If you’re unable to play when your contract is due, the team might not renew. Then, my income becomes zero. I either look for a new job or live off my savings. So, this ten-thousand-dollar spree is the first and the last, if you’re going to be Mrs. Harley Brennan.”

  The woman returned and waited a respectful distance until their conversation stopped. Vanessa glared at him, but didn’t answer. She huffed out the door. Harley hauled the packages, smiled at the owner, and headed for the car.

  He put the new clothes in the trunk then steered her toward the deli. Once inside, he was grateful she could find a salad on the menu. They ate in an uneasy truce. The looks from her eyes seesawed from flaming anger to chilling ice. He didn’t much care for her freezing him out, or expecting to spend his money at will, without asking. Hell, they weren’t even married yet and already she’d put a dent in his bank account.

  The corned beef didn’t taste as good with the bitterness of their fight still on his tongue. He ate quickly, as did she. They left without speaking. Harley slid behind the wheel. Vanessa slammed the car door hard, drawing his attention.

  Anger bubbled up in his chest. He drove them back to his house in silence, thinking about what he’d say when they arrived.

  The house was decorated in a modern style, most of the furniture in white with lots of glass. Wood pieces and pillows in shades of turquoise, the team color, and gold warmed the look, making it inviting.

  Vanessa stomped toward the bedroom. Harley was right behind. He tossed the bags on the bed, grabbed her arm, and spun her to face him. In her heels, she was at least five eight, almost eye level with the running back, who stood at six feet.

  “Look! You can’t spend money like that without clearing it with me.”

  “Cheapskate!”

  The urge to slap her insolent face rose up in him. He turned away, tamping down his physical response. Instead, he punched a pillow on the bed.

  “Don’t ever call me that. My father is a tightwad. I’m not. I’m careful with my money.”

  “Don’t give me some sob story. How much do you make a year? Two million?”

  “Ten million.”

  “Hah! And you’re worried about a measly ten thousand?” She turned her back to him.

  Again, he grabbed her upper arm and twirled her around. “The truth is, I’ve had a couple of bad concussions. My career could be over in a heartbeat.”

  “You mean, die on the field?”

  “No, no. But I could easily get injured bad enough so I can’t continue to play. I’ve got enough saved to get by on for some time. But not if I’m dropping ten grand on shopping trips.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought… Ten million… Seems like a lot.”

  “Yeah? After taxes and all the other crap I have to pay for—the house, the apartment, car—you’d be surprised.”

  “So, you’re poor?” Her eyes widened.

  “Not by any means. No way. I just don’t throw money away.”

  “Oh.” Her lips slumped into a frown.

  He took her in his arms. “Hey, you can spend, but in smaller amounts. No apartment in L.A., but I’ll give you a hotel allowance for the two months of, say, hmm, fifteen grand. Do you think that’ll cover it?”

  “I’ll make do,” she sniffed.

  He bent to kiss her neck. Her perfume might have cost the most of any on the market, but he found the scent too heavy, choking him a bit. He raised his hand to her breast. She moved closer.

  “Let’s make up. Take it off, baby,” he whispered into her hair.

  “Okay.” She pushed back from him to undress, taking her time to hang up each garment.

  While Harley appreciated she’d take good care of the expensive duds he’d just bought her, he was impatient. He needed to get off. And quell the little voice in the back of his head that wondered if he had just paid fifteen grand to have sex with his fiancée.

  * * * *

  Harley drove Vanessa to Kennedy airport. She chatted on and on about the people she’d be meeting and the possibilities for a movie role or a modeling gig. She was animated, pretty, her face flush with the promise of happiness. Her makeup was perfect, her clothes studiously casual for the trip. Of course, he bought her a first class ticket, checked her three, large suitcases, carried her stowaway bag, and escorted her to the security line.

  After looking around, she gave him a passionate kiss. Harley noticed a flash before he closed his eyes. Was this passion real? Would she miss him? Or was it all about the publicity? He didn’t know anymore. Confusion whirled in his brain. Trying to sort out the two or three different Vanessas he knew made him dizzy. Trust should be the name of the game, but you had to know what was truly happening first.

  Harley was glad she’d be gone for two months. He
needed time alone to think about their relationship. Always off-kilter, tipping this way or that, he’d been hit by hurricane Vanessa, one minute sweet, the next haughty or angry or snotty or selfish or kissing him. Only peace and quiet could help him sort out his personal life. Was he moving toward a satisfying marriage? If so, he sure wasn’t taking the direct route.

  As he drove out of the airport parking lot, he straightened his shoulders and smiled as if a burden had been lifted. Harley had always focused all his time and energy on football. He couldn’t wait to be at the stadium, working out with the guys. He’d missed that. Vanessa always had something for him to do when he mentioned the gym. Now, he was out of shape. He’d resolved to redouble his efforts.

  Nights at The Beast continued, now that Vanessa was thousands of miles away. He checked in at seven, ordered a Carla Special and a burger, and settled his butt on a barstool.

  “Where’s your keeper?” Trunk Mahoney asked, sliding onto the seat next to him.

  “California.”

  “Good. She’s a piece of work. How did you end up with her?”

  “She’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad? Doesn’t sound like a great match. But, hey, my first marriage wasn’t exactly perfect, either.”

  “I’m not aiming for a first marriage. This will be my one and only.”

  “Maybe she’s not the right girl? Don’t get me wrong. She’s hot, beautiful. But she doesn’t like us, and we’re your team.”

  “She’ll get used to you.”

  “These guys? Doubt it.”

  “Come. Five bucks says I beat your sorry ass,” Harley said, pushing to his feet and grabbing a handful of darts.

  “You’re on.”

  The two men moved to the side where the new dartboard hung on the wall. It wasn’t long before they were joined by Buddy Carruthers and Bullhorn Brodsky. Bull and Buddy had a couple of beers while Trunk and Harley stayed sober.

  After the game, Trunk drove Buddy and Bull home. It was ten, and the bar was empty. Harley ordered a piece of cheesecake and a cup of coffee.

  Carla joined him. “Aren’t you usually home in bed by now?” she asked.