More Than She Expected Page 10

  And yet, she gently squeezed his hand—instead of going with her first instinct, which was to smack the doofus until he screamed like a girl—and said, “This isn’t really about me, is it—?”

  Tyler’s phone buzzed. He let go of her hand to dig it out of his pocket, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the text message.

  “It’s... There’s a problem at the, um, warehouse, I need to go.”

  “Oh! Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Probably not, but...” Still frowning, he glanced at her belly for a moment. “I shouldn’t be too long. Call me if you need anything, okay? Otherwise I’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning, we’ll go get the paint. That work for you?”

  “Uh, sure, nine’s good—”

  “Then we’re all set. Boomer! Let’s go, buddy...”

  And he was gone.

  Half confused, half pissed, Laurel slammed leftovers back into containers, cramming them into her fridge before tromping to her deck. Her arms tightly crossed over The Bump, she stared out into her dark yard. Thoughts and feelings roared inside her head like a tornado, the inner noise almost drowning out the muffled thrum of distant highway traffic, the sporadic chirping of a nearby cricket. The gentle gurgling of the lion’s head fountain.

  Because she didn’t get it, she really didn’t. Okay, what she didn’t get, was Tyler. Why he’d appointed himself her guardian, why he cared. Especially since he’d made it perfectly plain that caring would only, ever, go so far. And since things of that nature weren’t looking too good from her side, either—

  Squeezing shut her eyes, Laurel hauled in an all-the-way-to-her-toes breath, then exhaled the aggravation and stress, a trick Gran had taught her years ago. Along with the Count Your Blessings game, which used to make Laurel roll her eyes until she finally realized Gran knew what she was talking about. So she mentally rattled off her current list: a job she loved, a ten-year-mortgage, a healthy baby growing inside her. A grandmother she adored, who didn’t let her get away with squat. And, yes, Tyler. Who, besides having the coolest dog ever and not being bad on the eyes, brought her food. And fountains. And, fine, friendship. A little wonky though that friendship might be.

  So. A lot to be grateful for. And yet...

  Was it asking too much of the universe to let her have, just once, a reasonably normal relationship?

  She lifted her gaze to the milky sky, but the universe wasn’t answering.

  * * *

  Starla was next door to hysterical by the time Tyler arrived, wild-haired in a billowing nightgown as she stood on her porch with that ugly-ass cat of hers—who wasn’t looking any too happy, either—clutched to her chest.

  “I have no idea how it got in!” she cried before he even shut his car door. “I’m sitting there, watching a DVD, and suddenly this, this thing swooped between me and the TV and I nearly had a heart attack. Thought it was a bird until I heard that...that noise they make.”

  She shuddered, making the cat squirm. And growl. Tyler knew better than to try petting the damn thing, even when it wasn’t stressed out. Just as well, though, Starla hadn’t let him go after the bat, even if his rabies shots were up-to-date.

  “Where is it now?” he asked, pulling on a pair of heavy work gloves as he approached.

  “In the house. Somewhere.”

  Great.

  “Got a coffee can? Something I can catch it in if I need to?”

  “The one in the fridge is nearly empty, dump out what’s left on a plate or something.”

  Tyler cautiously opened the front door, the small living room pulsing from the flickering wide-screen TV in the far corner. Otherwise, it was totally dark. And dead still. No swooping. He wasn’t a novice at this bat-riddance thing—one had invaded the Colonel’s house when he was a kid, and again in his own place a year or so ago—but it wasn’t his favorite sport, either. Tricky little devils, bats were. Although at least it was good to know they were rarely rabid. The little ones, anyway. If this was one of those jumbo jet dudes, Starla would just have to move.

  “Okay, I’m leaving the door open to give it a chance to find its way out.” At Starla’s gasp, Tyler chuckled. “It’s not gonna attack you, I swear. Or get in your hair. So chill.”

  “Could... Can I wait in your truck?”

  “Sure, it’s open.”

  He waited until two tons of metal and glass stood between her and mayhem, then went back inside, turning on a few more lights on his way to the kitchen. Wherever the thing was, it was probably more confused than Starla was scared. And hungry, wondering where all the bugs were.

  The can emptied, Tyler thoroughly checked the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Same with the two bedrooms, then the bathroom. Far as he knew, Mr. or Ms. Bat was still in the living room.

  Somewhere.

  But as he was pondering how one might call a bat, the thing zipped past him to land on the striped valance over the picture window. “Gotcha,” Tyler muttered, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table and plopping the can over the little sucker. The magazine securely covering the opening, he carted can and bat way out to the street and removed the magazine. The thing pinged around in the can for a second, then flapped off into the Jersey night. A moment later Starla—still clutching the cat—zipped from the car and up her steps to slam shut her door.

  The cat, who’d clearly had enough, rrrwwed and wriggled free, thudding onto the porch floor before stalking off, tail twitching, to collapse a few feet away to recover from her ordeal. Starla collapsed as well, into a wicker chair, her hand pressed to her chest.

  “Thank you so much. If you hadn’t come over...well. I’m not sure what I would’ve done. Slept out here, I suppose.”

  “Right. Because the only bat in Jersey was in your house.”

  She let out a soft laugh. “Good point.” The cat, apparently already recovered, jumped right back in her mistress’s lap. “You want something to drink?”

  “No. Thank you. It’s late—”

  “Of course, you’re right— Oh! I hope I didn’t wake you—?”

  “You didn’t, it’s okay. And you know you can call me anytime.”

  Starla stroked the cat for several seconds before saying again, on a heavy sigh, “Well. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tyler said, the words all twisted up inside him, like they always were. Because he knew that second thanks had nothing to do with him getting a bat out of her house and everything with trying to figure out who they were to each other.

  His duty done, he walked back to his car and climbed inside, giving her a little wave as he backed out, drove off. Except—and here was the weird thing—that’s not what he’d wanted to do. What he’d wanted, was to say “sure” to that drink, then sit and talk to this slightly crazy woman about all the crazy stuff going on inside his own head...about Laurel, who seemed to have the crazy stuff figured out a helluva lot better than he did.

  And he didn’t know what to do about that. Her.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to do about anything.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror to see Starla still on her porch, like maybe she was watching him—it was hard to tell from this far away, in the dark—and his chest got all tight with things he didn’t know how to say, questions he still couldn’t figure out how to ask. Aside from the biggie, which she still refused to answer. Except, now more than ever, being around Laurel...it made him want to fix stuff. Not sidestep it, or run from it, or pretend this thing he called a life was anything more than a bunch of BS, but figure out how to make things better. How to be better. The woman was a freaking inspiration, is what, the way she refused to feel sorry for herself. And he’d look at her and something like...like hope flickered to life, that maybe—

  An image of her pregnant belly slammed into his brain.

  Tyler shoved out a frustrated breath. Be
cause wanting something, and thinking you have any business wanting it, were two entirely different things.

  So tomorrow he’d pick Laurel up, and they’d go to the store, and he’d paint this baby’s room, like he’d promised. But beyond that...well. He’d learned a long, long time ago the folly of trusting maybe.

  And this time was no different.

  * * *

  By the time Tyler arrived the next morning, Laurel had more or less made peace with the universe. Not that she and the cosmos didn’t still have some heavy-duty issues to work out—she was still waiting for it to get back to her on the normal relationship thing—but for now she was just grateful that somebody other than her was going to paint this kid’s room. And if that somebody happened to have most excellent abs and a truly fine backside, all the better. Because her motto was, if the universe gives you eye candy, snack away.

  Especially if the eye candy was apparently going to pretend last night’s weirdness had never happened.

  “So...you’re good to go?” he said. With an oddly subdued grin, Laurel thought. “No more funny business with...” He nodded toward her bump.

  “Not even a twinge.” She patted her tummy. “He even let me sleep last night. Only got up to pee once.”

  “O-kay, let’s get going, then,” Tyler said, adding, “Let’s take my truck, the air-conditioning in yours sucks.”

  “You’ve never been in my car, how would you—? Oh. Gran.”

  “Yep.”

  Honest to Pete. At this rate he was going to know when she’d had her first period. However, since it was true, the air-conditioning in her car was pitiful, she followed him to his driveway, where he opened the passenger side door, then helped—okay, hoisted—her up and inside. Although at least he had the courtesy not to grunt. He did, however, suggest they stop for breakfast.

  “Because I’m down to Cheerios, and that ain’t gonna cut it if I’m going to be painting all day.”

  Settled into the seat, Laurel looked into those twinkly green eyes, shadowed under the brim of his ball cap, and was instantly besieged by a veritable horde of naughty thoughts. Also, hunger. Of the stomach kind.

  “I am so in,” she said, banishing the naughty thoughts to Outer Mongolia. “That pancake place out on the highway?”

  “Done,” he said, shutting her door and walking around to get in behind the wheel. She had to admit, she kinda liked being up this high. Not to mention letting somebody else drive.

  “My treat, by the way,” she said after they’d pulled out of the driveway.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Hey. You’re painting my child’s room. You gave me a fountain. You keep bringing me food. The least I can do is buy you breakfast.”

  A slight grin tugged at his beautiful, beautiful mouth. A beautiful, beautiful mouth on a beautiful, beautiful man. Not boy.

  Hormones, take note.

  “You clearly have no idea how hungry I am,” he said, and Laurel shut her eyes for a moment, thinking, Do not go there. Do not go anywhere. Do not—

  Then she opened them and said, “And I bet I can match you pancake for pancake. With an omelet and bacon on the side.”

  The grin widened. “So all those stories about pregnant women eating like lumberjacks are true?”

  “God, yes. In fact, the first thing that tipped me off that I wasn’t just ‘late’ was one night when I ordered a pizza, thinking I’d have leftovers for lunch the next day. Ate the whole thing at one sitting. And not some lame, one-topping thing, either. A supreme, thank you. Large. And an entire bag of popcorn an hour later.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. It was awesome. The belches afterward, especially. I felt like a freaking frat boy.” When he shook his head, she smiled at him. “What?”

  “You are too much. And I mean that as a compliment. You’re like...a guy.”

  “I’m...flattered?”

  Even though he chuckled, he also blushed, which she found highly amusing. He flexed his hand around the steering wheel. “I’ve...never met a woman like you. Hell, anybody like you.”

  “Perhaps you should reconsider where you’ve been looking,” she said, only to immediately think What the hell? Like she’d opened her mouth, but her grandmother’s words had fallen out. “Sorry, that was out of line—”

  “No, it wasn’t. Well, yeah, maybe it was. Except...you’re right. Not that I was fully aware of that until two seconds ago, but...yeah. Wow,” he said softly, like a whole new world had opened up inside his head.

  And since she was already in for a penny... “Got any idea why?”

  A long pause preceded, “Maybe because I wasn’t sure what to do with what I might find in the right place?”

  Laurel’s laugh came out all weird-sounding. “And I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”

  “S’okay. Since I’m not sure I could explain it. But, yeah. Or, no, I guess. I’ve never had a serious girlfriend. Never wanted one. So I had to be careful who I dated, that they weren’t expecting forever, either.”

  She glanced over, caught the frown. Wondered if he had any idea how...flat he sounded. She hesitated, then said, “But you’ve got guy friends, right? Somebody to hang out with, watch the game, whatever.”

  “I’ve got my brothers.”

  “Not the same thing.”

  “True. But...what you said, about your girlfriends all getting married? Same here. Except, well. The guys. And the few who aren’t...” His shoulders bumped. “I’d rather be alone, frankly. I mean, I like to have fun, sure, but...it’s like their brains shorted out ten years ago. That’s the place you meant, right?” he said, nodding toward the enormous sign ahead on their right.

  “Um, yeah. That’s it.”

  Tyler pulled into a parking space; since her center of gravity was already in another solar system, Laurel waited for Tyler to help her out. But in the tight space between the two parked cars, although he offered his hand for her to grasp, she stumbled anyway, so his other hand went to her waist...and then he didn’t let go right away—

  “You okay?” he said, his breath in her hair as she slightly staggered, then righted herself, The Bump knocking against his stomach.

  “Of course,” she said, meeting his gaze. And this time, his eyes weren’t twinkling. This time, she saw...more. Confusion, maybe. Lust, definitely, which almost made her laugh out loud, considering she felt about as sexy as a bag of potatoes.

  Mostly, though, she saw yearning. For what, she wasn’t sure. And neither was he, she imagined. But that longing...it not only touched her heart, but came awfully close to breaking it—

  “Hey, lovebirds!” said some paunchy dude on the sidewalk. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get to my car sometime today?”

  “Sure, no problem,” Tyler said, setting Laurel aside to slam shut the open door, then hustling her toward the restaurant before Irked Dude ruptured something. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or hugely annoyed.

  Once inside, however, where they had to wait in the jammed lobby for a free table, she got over herself enough to realize hunger—and, okay, a still-bruised heart—had momentarily made her hallucinate, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. The longing, yes—that, she hadn’t imagined. But not a longing for her. Big difference.

  But you know what? Tyler had already proven himself a good friend. Someone she could rely on. Could trust. And right now, a friend is what she needed, more than anything.

  And if she kept telling herself that, she might almost believe it.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d had no idea, Tyler was sure, how close he’d come to kissing her, back there in the parking lot. The way the sun’d been shining in her hair, making it look so glossy and smell so damn good...the way he’d felt practically sucked into those blue eyes...
/>
  Holy crap.

  So thank God that guy had come along, blasting the moment outta the water. It’d been bad enough, Tyler saying all that “a woman like you” stuff. Because what the hell, right? Especially considering that talking-to he’d given himself the night before. Seriously, it was like something had chewed up the cable between his brain and his mouth.

  He pounded the lid back on the paint can, the plastic drop cloth scrunching underfoot as he carefully set the can in the corner by the closet. At least breakfast had been...uneventful. Watching Laurel pack it away, though... He smiled again, remembering. She was just so herself, he guessed was the best way to describe it. Like she really didn’t give a rat’s ass what anybody else thought about her. Or her choices.

  Funny how at first he’d thought she was antisocial or something, because he’d seen her so rarely after she’d moved in. Now he realized nothing could be further from the truth. Actually, she was probably one of the most open people he’d ever met.

  In fact, he thought more about their conversation in the restaurant, how they’d switched from subject to subject, never running out of things to talk about. How she had no trouble expressing her opinions, but not in that judgmental way most people did, where they assumed you thought the same way they did. Or should. Not Laurel. Oh, she’d poke around inside his head, asking him why he’d come to the conclusions he had, but then she actually listened to his answers. Like she respected him. What he thought.

  What was weird, though, was how that openness made him feel both good and uneasy at the same time. Granted, after a lifetime of people keeping secrets from him, of dating girls who only let him see what they wanted him to see—he frowned at the far wall, making sure he hadn’t missed any spots—in many ways it was a relief, being around somebody who wasn’t into guessing games. That, he liked. A lot. But she also made him feel slightly off balance. Not intentionally or anything, and it wasn’t that he minded being challenged, being forced to use his brain instead of his charm or BS or whatever. But the more they talked, the more obvious it became that there was no way in hell he’d ever catch up to her.