Always Mine Page 5

Will blinked at him. “You never watch college football.”

  “It’s a new habit.” A new habit that was better than watching his wife and much better than talking to her. No, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Izzy. At the moment, he didn’t much want to talk to anyone. He took a big bite of the salami-and-cheese sandwich Emily handed to him on a paper plate. “Put it back on, Will.”

  With a shrug, his friend complied, but he muted the sound. Owen frowned, but what could he do? He supposed he could take fifteen or so minutes of innocuous conversation.

  “So are you all moved into Will’s?” Izzy asked Emily.

  She nodded and started chattering about painting a bathroom. Owen tuned out, then realized that his best friend was staring at him again. “What now?” He grabbed up a napkin and wiped his chin. “Mustard?”

  “I’m just waiting for the ‘I told you so.’” Will glanced over at the two women, who were immersed in their own conversation.

  “Huh?”

  Will chewed a bite of his own sandwich. “The last time we really talked was on the night of the fire.”

  The night that was only that smoky memory to Owen, and hadn’t he established that he liked it that way? “Busy time,” he mumbled.

  “We were studying for the haz-mat course we’re enrolled in. I was bemoaning my married state and wondered aloud how two such smart guys as ourselves could have gotten hitched in Vegas. You know, that big mistake of ours.”

  “Huh,” Owen grunted. He remembered also vowing that he was going to track down Izzy after that very shift ended. Goes to show he should have been more careful about what he wished for. He should have been specific that tracking her down didn’t include taking her into his home.

  Okay, fine, he’d agreed to letting her stay here. But he hadn’t realized how pretty she would look in the morning, and how sexy she’d look at noon and how good she’d smell at night, straight from the shower. And he hadn’t considered how talkative she would be, too. She was a librarian, for God’s sake! He expected more of her nose in a book and less of her nose in his life.

  She’d casually asked him a couple of questions about the fire. The name Jerry Palmer had passed her lips a time or two.

  He didn’t want to talk about the fire or Jerry.

  “You asked me,” Will said, breaking into his thoughts, “if I was so sure that what we’d done in Vegas was a mistake.”

  “Of course it was a mistake,” Owen blurted out. Then he realized the women had gone quiet and that both of them were looking at him. Great. He’d just insulted his best friend and his best friend’s wife. Not to mention the woman he’d married, too.

  “I mean…I mean…” He shoved his plate off his lap. Hell. “No offense meant, okay?”

  Will calmly took another bite of his sandwich. “Best damn mistake of my whole life.” Reaching over, he ruffled the ends of Emily’s hair. She beamed back sexy sunshine that softened her husband’s face.

  Izzy was the one sending him a dirty look. Her usually warm brown eyes were cooling, and that plump bottom lip of hers was pushed out in disapproval. “I’m sure the newlyweds appreciate your best wishes.”

  He swallowed his groan. “Look—”

  Emily hopped up, interrupting his apology. “I brought chocolate chip cookies, too. C’mon, Iz, help me get them.” She dragged her friend up by the elbow.

  As the women left the room, taking the remains of the sandwiches and plates, Will grinned at Owen. “That’s right. She said chocolate chip cookies. My wife bakes.”

  Wife. “But…but…” Regardless of what he’d expressed on the night of the fire, could this really be his best friend’s happy ending? “Are you absolutely sure you want to be a married man?”

  That, after all, had been the opposite of what Will wanted for himself as they’d headed for Vegas going on six weeks ago. Finally freed of the responsibilities of raising five younger siblings, Will had professed to be ready to take up the reins of a wild bachelorhood.

  Will propped his feet on the nearby ottoman. “I want to be married to Emily.”

  And she was already living with Will, just as Izzy was living with Owen. Didn’t Will find all the female companionship distracting? The soft patter of their footsteps, the heady smell of their perfume, the way they looked in jeans, or a robe or even a towel turban? But then, Will got to work out his distraction between the sheets, while Owen had to ignore his by watching college football on TV or pretending to take another dozenth nap.

  “You okay, Owen?”

  “Huh,” he grunted again, and grabbed up the remote to thumb up the sound on his set. More little insects scrambled across the green screen. Go…whichever team was losing. He was identifying with the underdog these days, big time.

  “How’re things with you and Izzy?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Remember, he didn’t want to talk about anything! Why else did Will think he had the volume up loud enough to hear the announcers drone on about their glory days throwing the pigskin around? Good God, was there no one more self-involved than a sports announcer with a pretty face and a half-dozen seasons in the NFL?

  “What about the night of the fire? The night that Jerry died and we were hurt?” Will asked.

  We were hurt. Oh, crap. Yeah, there was someone more self-involved than those bull-necked bobble-heads on TV. And that would be him. Will had been injured that night, too—he’d gone through his own harrowing experience. “Are you okay?”

  “Twisted ankle, already all healed up. Nothing close to what you’re dealing with.” He looked at his feet, propped on the ottoman, then he looked back over at Owen. “The worst part was when I was trapped under that metal awning. I had a few bad moments wondering if I was going to be crushed under the metal or cooked like stew over a camp stove. Put a few things in perspective for me. My brothers and sisters. Emily.”

  “Yeah,” Owen replied. He had bad moments, too, recalling that hazy night. What had he done wrong? How had he let Jerry down? Surely there was something…

  “Tell me, Will,” he said gruffly. He couldn’t retreat to the land of silence any longer. There was no way he could duck the thoughts in his head. “Tell me about that night.”

  Will frowned. “You remember.”

  “I can’t…” Owen rubbed a hand over his hair, wishing he could still put off the truth forever. “I don’t have the details straight. But I must have made an error in judgment.”

  “No.” Will’s adamant voice came clearly through the bedroom doorway, halting Izzy in her trip back to the bedroom with Emily and the cookies. “It wasn’t you, Owen. You didn’t do anything wrong. That damn fire was responsible for Jerry’s death.”

  Izzy’s heart flopped in her chest. Oh, no. Oh, God. This is what she’d been worrying about. She shifted closer to hear better, then felt her friend yank her back by the arm. “Downstairs and to the kitchen for us,” she whispered.

  “But…” But then she let her words subside. Owen would have clammed up if she and Emily returned, and it was important that he get out whatever he was bottling up inside him. His emotions definitely needed a release.

  And she could use the respite from her own. A little chat with her best friend should be the soothing balm she needed.

  The two women retreated to the kitchen, and Izzy set down the tray on the counter. “Shall I make some tea?” she asked her friend.

  Emily smiled. “Really? You? Tea? Quite the domestic goddess you’ve turned out to be.”

  “You should see what I can do with those little coffeemakers that come in hotel rooms. Three-course meals—though all with the distinctive seasoning of Sanka.”

  “Ew.” Emily leaned against the countertop as Izzy bustled around the kitchen. “So, what’s new besides your new stint as ‘Isabella Cavaletti, Home Nurse?’”

  Izzy gave a little shrug. “Not much. I heard that my Zia Sophia passed away.”

  “Oh, Iz…”

  She shrugged again. “She was ninety-seven when she
died. I lived with her in third grade—so, twenty years ago? Funny lady. She made a mean ziti and never rose before noon.”

  Emily frowned. “Never rose before noon? Who got you up for school? Made your breakfast?”

  “The saintly three of me, myself and I.” She caught the look of sympathy in Emily’s gaze. “Girlfriend, it wasn’t Dickens. There were clean, folded clothes in the drawers and Pop-Tarts in the kitchen cupboard.”

  “Still…”

  “A mean ziti can overcome many nutritional challenges.” The kettle was starting to whistle, so Izzy hurried to the stovetop.

  “Do you need some time away from Owen to attend the funeral? I’m sure Owen’s brother would help out, since his parents and sister are on that cruise. If not, Will or I—”

  “Oh, no.” Izzy waved off the offer. “Zia was laid to rest about four months ago. I only heard because I made a call to one of my cousins last week. I was concerned because my mother’s number hasn’t been working.”

  “Izzy.” Emily took a breath, seeming to get a hold of herself. “All right, the homicidal urge over the way your family forgets about you is passing. Wait—did you say your mother’s number wasn’t working? Is she all right?”

  “Yes. She’s on a trip, packing for a trip, unpacking for a trip, planning her next trip. One of those.” Her parents had led tours throughout Europe for the past thirty years. “She got a new phone and a new number for reasons not quite clear to me in the fifteen seconds we had to talk before her flight was called.”

  “And your father?”

  “He was reading a newspaper, but apparently gave a pinkie-wave when he heard it was me on the phone.”

  Emily heaved a sigh. “They’re not—”

  “Anything different than they’ve ever been. It’s when you start expecting more that you get disappointed by people.”

  “Some people won’t disappoint you, Iz. Some people will be there always and—”

  Izzy shut her up with a brief, hard hug. “Sure. Like Will is there for you, Emily.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Is there some other family thing you should be telling me about?”

  “No! You already know all about my family ‘things.’” And the last thing that would relax her was a rehash of her relatives. “So, spill all about marital bliss.”

  “You’re married, too, Izzy.”

  “And I’m going to have to do something about that, I realize. Did you get very far in finding out what it takes to annul—” She broke off at the odd expression crossing her friend’s face. “Let’s not talk annulments then. Let’s talk happy husbands and winsome wives.”

  “‘Winsome’?” The word made Emily grimace. “What the heck are you talking about, Isabella?”

  “I don’t know.” She laughed. “I know nothing about how this coupledom thing is supposed to work.”

  “Is that how you see you and Owen? Are you a couple now?”

  “No. That wedding thing was impulsive, spontaneous, and we place the blame entirely on you and Will.”

  “Hey, we didn’t force that ring on your finger.”

  Izzy smiled a little at the memory of Owen beside her, the flash of his smile and that wild—and absurdly right—feeling she’d had as he slid the narrow band down her left ring finger. Common sense hadn’t kicked in until the next morning, when he’d caught her in the lobby, trying to sneak out of the hotel. She’d been in the checkout line, tugging on that matrimonial symbol. “Did you know window cleaner is the best method to remove a ring?”

  “I’ll put that in my reference librarian files,” Emily said, rubbing her thumb over her own wedding band. “Though I’m planning to keep this one on forever.”

  “I believe it.”

  Emily frowned a little. “Owen didn’t seem to.”

  “It’s just that he’s in a cantankerous frame of mind,” Izzy answered. “He’s been pretty much set on moody since the day we walked in here.”

  “Will thinks he’s upset about Jerry.”

  “Me, too,” Izzy admitted. “And maybe beyond the grief that you would expect. But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Chicken soup sans Sanka flavoring?”

  “That’s the best I have to offer so far.” Though her mind drifted to those kisses they’d shared since she’d moved in. Granted, they’d been more for show than for seduction, but the sparks had been there all the same. Their Las Vegas experience had been similar. An instant, fiery attraction that at the time had seemed serendipitous and delightful. The sensation of his arms around hers had been just like the books said, a “coming home” sort of feeling that even someone who’d never had a real home could recognize.

  On the dance floor, she’d fit her cheek in that hollow where his shoulder met his chest and she’d be as comfortable as if he were her pillow, but also tingly and twitchy at the same time. Her skin had shivered at his slightest touch, and when he kissed that sensitive corner of her jaw, her knees had gone soft.

  “Izzy. Izzy!”

  She blinked, coming down to earth as Emily sharply called her name. “What? What?”

  “Our heroes are calling for dessert,” she said. “Where were you?”

  “Oh.” She put the teapot on the tray, added mugs, made room for a cold jug of water and two glasses. “Here and there. You know me. The proverbial rolling stone.”

  They climbed the stairs, but reaching the landing, Izzy transferred the tray to her friend. “I forgot napkins. Take this in and I’ll be back in a jiff.”

  It was slightly more than that because she had to find a new package and then practically gnaw her way into the shrink-wrapped plastic to get to the rainbow of folded paper. She clutched a handful as she approached the doorway of the large master suite.

  The sight there made her pause. Emily sat in Will’s lap, just as she’d sat on Owen’s a few nights before. Will’s arm was curled about his wife’s waist in a gesture that was protective and possessive. They both wore playful expressions and were feeding each other cookies as if they were pieces of wedding cake.

  The tenderness of the moment had Izzy’s heart flip flopping uncomfortably in her chest again, as if someone were turning a pancake. She’d grown up in a number of households during her childhood, and though most were those of aging female relatives, a time or two she’d been in a home led by a married couple. The husband-and-wife teams had always fascinated her. They were Italian households, so there were often a lot of loud voices and chaos in the kitchen, but the few times she’d witnessed a moment like this between a man and a woman it had skewered her heart.

  Because she didn’t know how to make that happen for herself. When she’d seen it, she’d tried memorizing the moves and deciphering the dynamics, but she’d been aware that her background was too full of Zia Sophias and solo Pop-Tart breakfasts to comprehend the ins and outs of the couple thing.

  Still, it was pretty to look at.

  Her gaze drifted toward Owen. He was apparently immune to the sweet domestic drama playing out just a few feet away from him. His attention was focused on the football game on the screen, and he didn’t look as if his discussion with Will—I must have made an error in judgment—had offered him any ease. His expression was stony and when he shifted on the bed, he winced.

  Her heart rocked again and she had to force herself to stride into the room, wearing a smile. “Hey,” she said. “It’s time for your pain relievers, Owen.”

  He didn’t look away from the game. “I don’t need anything.” His voice was surly.

  “Except a mood transplant, maybe,” she murmured, dropping the napkins by the lovebirds and heading for the bedside table where the big bottle of ibuprofen sat.

  “I heard that,” he said, still not looking at her.

  “Oops.” She made a big play of putting her hand over her mouth. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

  His mouth twitched, then his eyes shifted her way. Their startling blue slammed into her, and it was she who rocked this time, her who
le body, rolling back on her heels as she saw the spark of amusement catching fire in his gaze. “Okay, I’m being inhospitable, as well as cranky, and you’re an angel to put up with me.”

  She took in a careful breath to give herself time to camouflage the way that reluctant, self-deprecating humor affected her. It was as good as a spin on a Las Vegas dance floor. Her head felt just as dizzy.

  For the next half hour, he applied himself to being a more genial host. He turned off the TV, he accepted a couple of pain tablets and three cookies, he complimented Emily and poked at Will. That was like Las Vegas, too, the way the two couples meshed with such ease.

  Izzy truly relaxed for the first time since moving into Owen’s house.

  All four of them were smiling as Will and Emily bid Owen goodbye. Izzy followed them down the flights of stairs, all the way outside to Will’s truck.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Emily said, whipping around. “I brought you something.”

  “A present?” Izzy grinned. “For me?”

  Emily’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “Well, not exactly a present, but maybe things you’ll be just as happy to see.”

  “Huh?”

  Will was already scooping a cardboard box out of the bed of the truck. Emily leaned in to grab another and place it on top. “I’ll put them in the living room,” Will said, starting off again.

  Izzy watched him with resignation. “Are those what I think they are?”

  “Hey,” Emily said. “You should be happy to get the clothes. I hope they’ll be suitable for this climate, but they should be fashionable, since you just shipped them to me to hang on to right before we went to Vegas. The other box is full of books, I think. I’ve had it for a few years.”

  “Right,” Izzy said. “Thanks.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” What could she say? She couldn’t complain. There were more than half a dozen friends all over the country who never refused her request to store some stuff for her. And she probably could use the clothes.

  “Iz?”

  “I’m good. Thanks,” she said with false brightness. “You’ve done me a huge favor!”