Lip Service

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER GETTING his prosthesis reattached, Mitch got into the truck and drove back toward the house. He stopped a half mile or so from the buildings that made up the heart of the ranch. He wasn’t ready to face Fidela again. Or anyone.

When he’d awakened on the naval hospital ship and realized what had happened, all he could think was that it was time to go home. That after nearly nine years, he was ready to go back where he belonged. But now that he was here he realized it wasn’t home anymore. Everything had changed…including him.

He turned off the engine and leaned back in the seat. He hurt all over, but the worst throbbing came from the part of his leg that didn’t exist anymore. He’d been told that would happen and given pages of instructions on how to deal with the pain. Everything from massaging his stump to some stupid-assed hand-rubbing energy woo-woo crap he hadn’t bothered reading. He was strong—he would will the pain away. Eventually. Until then he would deal.

The sun had moved in the sky and long shadows crept along the land. Time was passing, although not fast enough to suit him. He wanted it to be a year from now, or five, so he wouldn’t have to be adjusting to everything. He wanted that behind him.

Without him wanting it to, his body clenched as if remembering what it felt like to be inside Skye. She’d taken him with a passion he’d never been able to completely forget. She hadn’t cared about his missing leg or the years they’d been apart. She’d wanted what he had always been able to give her—what they’d given each other. Then he’d hurt her because she’d deserved it.

Pain had flashed in her eyes and he didn’t regret causing it. He could only hope it kept her up nights, that she couldn’t breathe for feeling it. He wanted her to have nothing but regret. That might be the first step in evening out the score.

But all the revenge in the world didn’t take away the wanting. Even now, not thirty minutes later, he ached for her. Ached to be inside of her, touching her, tasting her. The kissing had been good, but hadn’t lasted long enough. He wanted to savor all of her, to lick her between her legs until she screamed and he nearly lost control himself.

He told himself it wouldn’t be like that anymore, but he knew he was lying. Whatever happened between them, the fire still burned. It was—

Something moved in the shadows.

He sat up and leaned forward, trying to figure out the shape and speed. A coyote, he thought, disgusted. Scavengers.

Instinctively he reached behind the truck seat, but he hadn’t thought to bring a shotgun. Then he saw where the coyote was headed and realized it didn’t matter.

The skinny predator moved with a confidence that spoke of experience or extreme hunger. It slipped through a break in the fencing. The hated chickens squawked and tried to get away, but they weren’t nearly as fast as the coyote and they were trapped by the fencing. The coyote used that to his advantage. He grabbed one, snapped its neck with a quick, violent shake and retreated, dinner hanging limply from his jaws.

Mitch started the truck’s engine and headed back to the house. As he pulled up in front, he saw Arturo standing on the porch, shotgun in hand.

“Did you see what he did?” the older man demanded. “I checked that fence line yesterday but it must have gotten damaged this morning. Damn coyotes are always prowling, always looking for a weak spot. I wish I’d gotten here sooner. I would have shot him.”

Mitch hadn’t seen Arturo in nearly nine years but, except for a few gray hairs, his manager hadn’t changed much. He was still tall and barrel-chested, with a permanent squint as if the sun was always in his eyes. As a kid Mitch had loved watching old Westerns on TV. He’d thought Arturo was the Latin version of John Wayne—big, brave and able to beat the bad guys, despite any odds.

“It’s good to see you, old man,” Mitch said.

Arturo dropped the gun onto the bench by the front door and grabbed Mitch by the upper arms. “I’m glad you’re back. We missed you. Every night Fidela prayed for your safe return.”

“She told me.”

“She worried. We both worried.”

There was love in the old man’s eyes. He had been there for Mitch far more than his own father had ever been. Arturo had taught him all he knew about life.

Carefully, aware of his balance, he hugged the other man. Arturo squeezed him tightly, then slapped him on the back.

“You look good. How do you feel?”

“About what you’d expect.”

“Fidela is going to fatten you up. Be prepared to eat. You know how she gets.”

“Tell me we’re not having chicken,” Mitch grumbled, hating the birds.

“We have plenty, even with the one that got away.”

“The coyotes can take them all.”

Arturo stepped back. “Why would you say that? They’re your chickens.”

“I don’t want ’em. We run beef here. We always have. When did you sell out? Chickens? And organic beef? What’s next? Do we all go around saving the spotted owl and hugging trees?”

Arturo frowned, then folded his arms across his big chest. “I told you what I wanted to do seven years ago. I explained everything and said to let me know if you didn’t want me to go ahead with the changes.”

Which was probably true. “I didn’t read any of the reports,” Mitch admitted, wishing there was a casual way he could sit down and take the weight off his stump. It felt like it was on fire.

“What about the bank statements?” Arturo asked, sounding more curious than pissed.

“Once in a while.” He’d seen enough to know there was plenty of money. The ranch had grown even more profitable in the time he’d been away.

“The cattle industry is changing,” Arturo said. “Consumers want things different these days. They worry that their beef isn’t safe. They don’t want the antibiotics. They want clean poultry that isn’t raised in cages. This way we avoid all those problems. Certified, organic beef means…”

Arturo kept talking but Mitch wasn’t listening. A hundred years of tradition over in a heartbeat. Nothing was the way he thought it should be. Nothing was right.

He headed for the door. Every step sent pain shooting up his thigh to his hip. His back throbbed.

“You need to know about this,” Arturo told him.

“You handle it.”

“You’re the boss. This is all for you, Mitch. That’s why I did it. For you.”

Mitch turned slowly. He was sure the old man meant it. That his intentions had been good. “I don’t want it,” Mitch said slowly. “Any of it. Not the chickens or the organic beef. I want things back the way they were.”

What he meant was himself. He knew that. Arturo would know it, too. Nothing about his statement was subtle.

He stepped into the house and stumbled when his prosthesis caught on the threshold. Arturo grabbed him to keep him from going down.

Mitch shook off the help and walked as steadily as he could back to the room Fidela had converted into a bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door, then sat on the bed.

His toes twitched, his ankle moved, his calf tensed. He could feel it. All of it. It was real, as was the pain…and the loss.

Nothing was as it was supposed to be. Everything was screwed up and broken. Even him. Especially him.

SKYE FINISHED rubbing down her horse, then walked back toward the house. For once, the sight of Glory’s Gate rising tall and proud against the blue Texas sky didn’t lighten her mood. She was battling too many emotions, most of them bad, to appreciate architecture or stately columns. Not when she was torn between the tingles still jolting her body. And shame.

Once in the mudroom, she pulled off her boots and socks and slipped into a pair of sandals. A quick check of the clock told her that casual sex on the ground hadn’t put her too far behind schedule.

There was a party that night. A couple hundred of Jed Titan’s closest friends would stop by for cocktails between six and eight. A dozen or so of the mighty who attended had been graced with an invitation for dinner, but the meal wasn’t her problem. He would take them out for that.

Before then she had to make sure everything was in place. That the party would be perfect. Nothing less was allowed. Titans did things well or they didn’t do them at all.

She walked into her downstairs office, the one she used to coordinate the social events that made Glory’s Gate sparkle five or six times a month. White dry-erase board covered two of the walls. A grid had been painted in place, allowing her to write in the details for each event. She could look at four different parties at the same time.

Her desk was simple—a long, low surface with a computer and plenty of storage trays for files. She had a Rolodex with the name of every florist, caterer, musician and party planner in a two-hundred-mile radius.

In the closet were hard copies of the details of all the parties she’d given in this house. With an average of five a month over eight years, she was in need of more storage. Because those files contained more than just menus. They listed guests, drinks, decorations, musical selections, the caterer and staff along with any notable particulars—press clippings and even social connections that had been made.

The same information was on her computer and could be sorted by any variation. Two years ago the new White House social secretary had come for a two-day visit and taken continuous notes as Skye explained her process.

It wasn’t rocket science, Skye thought as she sank into her chair and turned on her computer. It wasn’t even more than mildly interesting. It was just what she did. Skye Titan—master party planner.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured aloud, knowing that her day job was important. If Jed had remarried, his wife would have taken over, but as he hadn’t, it made sense that one of his daughters would step into the breach. Neither Lexi nor Izzy were the least bit interested and there was the tiny fact that Skye had attended Swiss finishing school for nearly two years.

None of this really mattered, she thought, but at least it was a distraction. Because if she didn’t think about napkin colors and garnishes she might think about Mitch again.

She knew he’d wanted to hurt her and she even knew why. He’d won that round. So what? She would survive. Eventually the harsh words wouldn’t burn so deeply. As for the sex, she would consider that nothing more than a welcome-home present. Slightly more personal than flowers.

She teetered on the knife’s edge of emotion. On one side lay cynical humor, on the other, an emotional breakdown. She did her best to fall into sarcastically funny because tears wouldn’t solve anything.

Oh, but she’d missed him. She knew he wouldn’t believe that and if he did, he wouldn’t care. After all, she’d been the one to walk away from him to marry a man she didn’t love. She’d been the one to break both their hearts.

“Enough,” she said aloud, and pushed to her feet. A quick glance at the clock told her the catering staff should be arriving any second. She returned to the kitchen in time to see three vans pull up.

She welcomed them and chatted with Diane, the catering manager. They’d handled dozens of parties for her and knew what to do. Ten minutes later she climbed the stairs to get ready.

With each step, she felt an ache inside—a physical reminder of what she and Mitch had done.

Sex in the dirt? In the middle of the afternoon? That wasn’t her. She was careful and reserved. She was very aware of her position as the head of a charitable foundation and a single mother. She hadn’t been on a date since before she’d married Ray. Certainly not since his death. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to…

Except she had allowed. She’d done more than that. She’d taken and given and lost herself in a wave of pleasure she hadn’t experienced in nearly nine years. The fire had always burned with Mitch and it still smoldered inside.

“What on earth was I thinking?” she asked herself as she reached the landing. There wasn’t an answer, probably because she hadn’t been thinking.

She walked into her bedroom to find Izzy stretched out on the bed, again watching her TV.

“If you don’t like your bedroom, we can find you another one,” Skye told her.

Izzy sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with my room. I wanted to talk to you before the party.”

“The party you’re not coming to?”

Izzy grinned. “Not even for money. Come on, Skye. Jed’s parties are boring. He expects me to behave.”

“Not an area in which you excel.”

“Exactly.”

Izzy bounced to her feet.

Skye studied her sister. Izzy was the wild child—physically free, emotionally flighty. She feared nothing except getting tied down. Since barely finishing high school, she’d held jobs ranging from ski instructor to underwater welder, the latter being her current position on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.

“I met T.J. last night,” Izzy said.

Skye kicked off her sandals. “After you and I talked about what happened?” She groaned. Izzy was very protective and not exactly rational in her approach. “Tell me you didn’t do something that’s going to humiliate me.”

“Would I do that?”

“Not on purpose.”

“I was totally well mannered. You would have been impressed.”

“Doubtful,” Skye murmured, wondering what part of this conversation was going to make her cringe. “What happened?”

“We talked. He’s good-looking. You didn’t mention that.”

“I guess. Not my type. Not yours, either. He’s borderline normal. You know how you hate that.”

Izzy crossed to the mirror above the dresser and studied her reflection. “Is he from around here? I get the feeling I’ve seen him before.”

“Yes. He’s a couple of years older than Lexi. We all went to the same high school.”

“Interesting.” Izzy turned to face Skye. “Local rich boy wants to be richer. Jed Titan can help with that. It’s an old story, but one I never get tired of hearing. He came on to me.”

Skye carefully unzipped her jeans, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. In Izzy’s world, every guy came on to her.

“You might want to swing by the kitchen after the party,” she said as she headed for the bathroom. “We’re having those mini pizza appetizers you like. I’m sure there will be leftovers.”

Izzy followed her. “He came on to me, Skye. Seriously. He wants me.”

Skye told herself she was too mature to roll her eyes, however much she really wanted to. “Okay. Thanks for the share.”

“I’m telling you for your own good. Your sense of duty means you won’t blow this guy off on general principle. He’s a jerk. Be careful.”

Skye’s afternoon had been a roller coaster of emotion. The thrill of seeing Mitch again, the pleasure of making love with him, the humiliation of his dismissal. She was tired, confused, ashamed and sick of feeling that everything was her fault.

“Be careful?” she repeated. “Why? Oh, let me guess. Because while T.J. is desperate to have you because you’re so amazing, the only reason he could possibly be interested in me is because Jed is offering him money.”

Izzy took a step back. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s all very clear. I’m no one. A nonsexual being. A man would have to be bribed or desperate to want to get into my bed.”

Had Mitch been desperate? Or just angry?

“That’s not what I meant,” Izzy said loudly, “and you know it. Look, I was mad because he dismissed you and I went to call him on it. We got to talking and he was interested. That’s all.”

Skye’s temper grew. “You went to defend me and ended up getting a date? Gee, thanks. Your support is overwhelming.”

“It’s not like you ever date,” Izzy snapped. “You’re not exactly experienced with guys like him. I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Obviously not. Fine. Date him. Play the game. Do what Daddy says. It’s what you’re good at.”

Izzy stalked from the bathroom. Seconds later, the bedroom door slammed.

Skye looked around for something to throw, but she didn’t keep anything breakable in the bathroom. Not with a child in the house. She was too sensible for that.

Izzy might be too self-absorbed to understand anyone else’s point of view, but she’d gotten one thing right. Skye did do what Daddy said. She was the good mother, the good sister, the good daughter. The good girl. Although if she had sex in the dirt with Mitch a second time, she just might be on her way to blowing her reputation.

And that would be okay with her.

“WHAT AN INTERESTING musical choice,” the congressman’s wife said, staring at the four college kids Skye had hired for the evening. “That kind of music is…”

“Hip-hop,” Skye told her. “I read about the group. They’re attending Texas A&M and supplementing their scholarships by performing. I went to hear them last month and was impressed.”

She’d dropped into a frat party to hear them, but the congressman’s wife wouldn’t want to know that. Three different guys had hit on Skye in the twenty minutes she’d been in the house. The fact that they were barely out of high school and completely drunk had pretty much diluted any possible compliment.

“Interesting,” the other woman said.

Skye was pretty sure she actually meant something more along the lines of “horrifying” but was too polite to say that. Skye didn’t care. She liked the guys and their music. She could go the rest of her life without hearing another tasteful quartet.

She excused herself to circulate. There were two hundred people to greet and make feel welcome. The evening seemed more stressful than usual, probably because of her fight with Izzy. She hated arguing with either of her sisters. With their mother gone and Jed being, well, Jed, they only had one another to depend on.

They would talk later, she promised herself. Make things right.

“So far, so good,” Jed said as he moved past her.

Skye shook her head. She knew what her father implied—that things were fine now, but the evening wasn’t over. There could still be a disaster.

“Have you noticed that every party I’ve given has been perfect?” she muttered.

“I’m not sure talking to yourself gives a good first impression.”

Skye turned toward the speaker and saw T.J. next to her. “Maybe not, but it ensures I have plenty of personal space. How are you? If you’re looking for Izzy, this isn’t her thing. Or is talking to me going to work, too?”

T.J. winced. “So you did hear.”

“News travels fast. Titanville is a small town.”

“And the doors at Glory’s Gate need to be thicker.” He put his hand on her back and guided her to a corner. “I’m sorry. I doubt me saying that makes a difference, but I really am. I was making a point with your father.”

He sounded sincere, which meant exactly nothing. “The point being?”

“That when he says jump, I’m not going to ask how high. You’re beautiful, Skye. I hope you believe me because I’m telling the truth. You’re lovely and intriguing and if I had let Jed know I was the least bit interested in you, he’d have all the power. I can’t give that away.”

Words she could understand. But could she trust them? Or him? “Not to worry, T.J. We’re fine.”

One eyebrow lifted. “But you’re dismissing me?”

“I’m letting you off the hook.”

“We could have dinner together instead. Or have I blown it with you? The fact that your father’s pushing us to be together isn’t my fault.”

She smiled. “I know that. Not dating you because my father would like it is the same as dating someone he wouldn’t like just to annoy him.”

“Now I’m confused.”

“I don’t know you well enough to have an opinion of you.”

“Let’s change that.”

His eyes were deep blue and he wore his custom suit with style and ease. He should have been everything she ever wanted.

“Did you come on to Izzy?” she asked.

His gaze never wavered. “We talked last night. Mostly about how she wanted to kick my ass for what I’d said. Did I mention I was sorry?”

“More than once. But you also didn’t answer the question. Did you come on to my sister?”

“It’s a trick question. If I say yes, I’m a jerk. If I say no, you’ll think I don’t like her.”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re the one I’m asking out, Skye. Say yes.”

He didn’t make her heart beat faster, but that wasn’t a bad thing. It meant he would probably never break it.

“Please?” he murmured.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Dinner would be nice.”

MITCH PULLED the sock over his stump, only to wince as the soft fabric came into contact with the raw and bleeding flesh. He’d been doing too much, too soon, and he was paying the price. His therapist had warned him about pacing himself, not that Mitch had listened.

Ignoring the pain shooting through his leg, he eased it into the prosthesis, then tentatively pushed into a standing position. While it hurt, the soreness was bearable. As the alternative was crutches and an empty pant leg, he told himself he was fine.

He left the makeshift bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but knew if he didn’t make an appearance, Fidela would come looking for him. He’d escaped her last night by turning out the lights in his room, guessing she would think he was asleep. But that wasn’t going to work for long. Fidela was stubborn and wily. He would rather face her directly. Besides, she was a whole lot easier than the dark.

When it was dark, the past returned, haunting him like a ghost. He remembered what it had been like to be in love with Skye. How happy they’d been. He remembered his pain and disbelief when she’d told him it was over.

In the dark, he remembered the explosion and how Pete had saved him, dragging him, not even slowing when he’d gotten shot himself. Pete had recovered in a couple of weeks and was already back in Afghanistan. Mitch knew the loss of his leg was just one of those things and the sooner he got over it, the sooner the dark would lose its power.

He stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen. Fidela stood at the counter, mixing something in a bowl.

“Morning,” he said, then frowned when he saw a young girl sitting at the table. “Who are you?”

She had red hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her spoon dropped into her cereal as she sprang to her feet and beamed at him.

“You’re here! You’re really here. Fiddle said you were coming home and I’ve been waiting forever.” She moved close and reached out a hand, touching his arm as if to make sure he was real. “I’ve been hoping and praying. Fiddle and I prayed for you every day. And I talked about you in school and we sent cards to the soldiers. Did you get mine? I put your name on the envelope. It was pink. I know that’s a girl color, but it’s pretty. And you’re a hero and I thought you’d like something pretty and Fiddle said you’d come home and you’re here!”

“Who the…” He caught himself. “Who are you?”

She grinned. “I’m Erin. Fiddle and Arturo missed you so much. Arturo didn’t say anything, but I could tell. He was sad in his eyes. And Fiddle talked about you all the time, so it’s like I knew you and then I missed you, too. Are you hungry? Fiddle’s making pancakes. I really wanted some, but I waited for you because you’re back and it’s polite. So do you want pancakes?”

Fidela wiped her hands on a towel. “Good morning,” she said, moving behind the girl and putting her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “This is Erin.”

“I told him that,” the girl said happily as she smiled at him.

“Skye’s daughter.”

He got it then—the red hair, the shape of her eyes, although Skye’s were green, not blue. He saw the similarities in the set of her shoulders.

Here it was—living proof of Skye’s betrayal. Her child with another man.

The anger that lived inside of him flared again, making him want to raise his fist to the heavens. But then what? Did he plan to call God out? And if he did, what made him think God gave a damn?

“Why are you here?” he snapped.

Fidela glared at him. “Erin comes over most days. She keeps me company.”

Some of the brightness faded from the girl’s smile. “I wanted to see you,” she said, sounding less sure of herself. “I wanted to meet you.”

Skye’s daughter. The child they were supposed to have together. She’d promised to marry him and then had walked away because her father had told her to. She’d chosen Jed’s old friend as a husband, rather than him, and Erin was the result.

“I’m going to make pancakes now,” Fidela told the girl. “Why don’t you get the plates.”

“Okay.” Erin looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then turned away.

Fidela was at his side in a heartbeat and dug her fingers into his arm. “She is a little girl,” she whispered. “She believes that you’re someone special. Do you understand me? She didn’t do anything wrong. You have no reason to be angry with her.”

He would have ignored the words, except Fidela was right. Erin wasn’t to blame for her mother’s actions and he hadn’t fallen far enough into hell to take out his rage on an innocent child. Not yet, anyway.

He nodded once.

Fidela tightened her grip.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

She released him and returned to the stove where she picked up a pot of coffee. Mitch limped to the table. Erin stood there, looking uncertain. He forced himself to smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Erin,” he said, feeling stupid but determined to make an effort.

Her smile returned. “Do you want me to get you a mug? I know where they are.”

“Sure.” He eased into the seat. “Thanks.”

She brought back a blue mug and set it in front of him. Fidela poured his coffee.

“I’ll get started on the pancakes,” she said.

Erin sat across from him. “Are you happy to be home? I would get really sad if I had to go away. Were you sad? Do you have lots of friends where you were? I have friends and I have horses, too. I ride.”

“Erin rides over nearly every day all by herself. Very impressive for a little girl.”

Erin laughed. “Fiddle, I’m not little. I’m growing like a weed.” She smiled at him. “That’s what Mom says. Are your friends going to come visit you? Did you fly on a big plane to get home? I was on a plane once. I wasn’t scared at all. Mom says I’m fearless. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s good, right?”

She kept on talking, apparently not needing anyone to participate. She had an energy he admired. These days it took everything he had just to stay standing. As long as he didn’t think about Skye, he could handle Erin sitting across from him, looking at him as if he’d just made her day.

“Fiddle says you’re getting more medals. She says you’ve saved our country.”

He glanced at the older woman. “I had help,” he said dryly.

“But you’re very brave. You’re a hero.”

He frowned. “I’m not a hero.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “But you are. Everyone knows that.”

He started to argue, then shrugged. Let the kid think what she wanted. Life would teach her hard lessons soon enough.

Fidela slid a plate of pancakes in front of each of them.

Erin picked up her fork. “I told Mom there would be pancakes, but she didn’t want to get up. She said she was tired.”

He wondered if Skye hadn’t slept well. Had she been haunted, as he had? Had she relived their time together? Had his harsh words wounded her?

He ignored any stirrings of guilt, telling himself she deserved what she got.

The pancakes were better than he remembered. He’d finished three when Erin asked, “Can you ride a horse without your leg? I hope you can because then we could go riding together. Does it hurt? You have a new leg, right? Fiddle told me about it. Can I see?”

Mitch froze, not sure what to say. No one outside the hospital and rehab center had been so open in discussing the amputation. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated Erin’s attitude or if he wanted her to shut up.

Fidela walked over and touched Erin’s shoulder. “Maybe less questions on the first day.”

Erin sighed. “I talk too much. Everyone tells me that. Sometimes I don’t want to talk about stuff, either.”

“We can talk about it later,” Mitch said, surprising himself.

Erin brightened. “Okay. And it’s my birthday soon. I’m having a party. You can come. You don’t even have to bring a present. There’s cake. You like cake, don’t you?”

A kid’s birthday party? “I, ah—”

“It’s at my house, which is right next door. You can find it easy.” She looked hopeful.

He found himself not wanting to hurt her feelings, but there was no way he wanted to go. “Erin, I—”

“I’m going to be eight and that’s a big deal. Mom keeps telling me that. Eight means I’m getting big and everything.”

She might have kept talking, but he wasn’t sure. The words became a hum that buzzed in the back of his mind.

Eight? Erin was turning eight?

The math was easy. Beyond easy. He knew the exact date of the last time he and Skye had made love. He knew when and where and how they’d held on to each other. They’d been planning on getting married. Laughter had shared space with the moans and cries. There had been so much anticipation.

He looked at Erin, studying the shape of her mouth, the way she held her head. He saw it in her fingers and her movements.

The pancakes he’d eaten sat in his stomach like a rock. He felt both sick and stunned. Reality stared back at him in the form of a nearly eight-year-old girl.

Erin was his. Skye’d had his child and hadn’t bothered to tell him.