A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(51)
Author: Brenda Novak

She already had. Josh winced at the insult to his masculinity and nearly told her that he would’ve been able to perform just fine had her mind been anywhere in the room. If she hadn’t given the impression that she looked at sex as servicing her man, as relationship maintenance that seemed no more meaningful to her than having the oil changed in her car. Who would find that arousing? He didn’t want her to look at lovemaking as some kind of favor. He wanted the absolute honesty he’d experienced with Rebecca. In the few minutes they’d been together, they hadn’t been able to remove their clothes fast enough, touch enough, kiss enough…

He shoved his hands in his pockets because he didn’t know where else to put them. “Thanks for your understanding,” he said so she’d leave. No need to debate the issue. In the first place, he wasn’t convinced his lukewarm response was really her fault. She’d come over to give him what she thought he wanted. She deserved some credit for that. In the second place, Mary wasn’t used to criticism. She probably wouldn’t understand his complaints even if he tried to explain them.

Regardless, the past ten minutes had taught him one thing, and he definitely wasn’t happy about it. Mary wasn’t his problem; Rebecca was. And he wasn’t going to be right in the head until he found some way to get her out of his system.

BOOKER LEANED BACK to accept the beer he’d ordered as Rebecca cast a wary glance around the Honky Tonk. Not much excitement tonight—only two couples swaying on the dance floor to a rather tired Luther Van Dross ballad and maybe half a dozen men at the bar. But it was Friday and early yet. The tempo would pick up as the evening progressed. At a minimum, Billy Joe and Bobby would come for their usual game of darts. They visited the bar as regularly as the hired help.

She shouldn’t have come.

“Why’d I let you drag me here?” she demanded, wearing sunglasses despite the dim lighting.

“It’s been almost two weeks, Rebecca. You can’t hide forever.”

Rebecca would’ve argued that she wasn’t hiding from anything. Except she knew she’d never convince Booker. Buddy had broken off their engagement for good just two days after Josh had called him, nearly two weeks ago. On impulse, she’d taken some time off work and scarcely gotten out of bed since then—except to go outside and smoke. Her attempt to quit had failed at precisely the moment her hope of marriage to Buddy disappeared.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, reaching for the pack of cigarettes she’d dropped onto the table when they first arrived.

She knew Booker thought she should quit, because she really wanted to quit. But he made no attempt to stop her.

“So how’s this gonna be good for me?” she asked as she lit up. “Are you going to psychoanalyze me or something?”

He lit his own cigarette. “I thought it couldn’t hurt to listen to a little music, play some pool.”

She took a sip of the margarita the waitress had delivered with Booker’s beer. “I don’t feel like playing pool.”

“What do you feel like doing?”

“Nothing.”

“That would explain why you haven’t been working.”

Rebecca looked around the bar, hoping for a distraction. She didn’t really want to talk about the past two weeks. The argument she’d had with Buddy was still too fresh in her mind. He’d said his mother was coming to visit him. She’d said she wanted to meet her. He’d told her now wasn’t the time. She’d felt hurt and rejected and accused him of stalling. He’d said there wasn’t any point in “rocking the boat” since they weren’t even getting married anytime soon. And things had escalated from there.

“I’m going back to work on Tuesday, if it makes you feel any better,” she said.

“That’s good.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Katie’s been worried about you.”

Although Rebecca doubted he’d ever admit it, Booker was probably more worried than anyone, except perhaps Delaney, who’d called incessantly. “If you say so.”

“When did you tell everyone at the salon about Buddy?” he asked.

“I dropped by the day after it happened. I had to. I needed Katie and Erma to cover my appointments. And someone had to train Ashleigh, the new girl,” she said, making circles in the condensation from her glass. “Besides, I figured the sooner I let the truth out, the better. Everyone will have their laugh, then I’ll face them all on Tuesday.”

Someone started the jukebox and an old rock song by AC/DC vibrated through the room. “No one’s laughing,” Booker said.

Rebecca didn’t answer.

“Have you told your father?”

Giving up on drawing circles, she scowled at her wet finger, wiped it on her jeans and nodded.

“And?”

“He was too upset about Josh’s truck to give the lack of a wedding a second thought.” She assumed a deep, booming voice. “‘For hell’s sake, I’m the mayor around here, Becky. What did you think you were doing? You could’ve gone to jail, dammit. When are you gonna grow up and realize you can’t get away with making an ass of yourself at every opportunity?”’ She shrugged as carelessly as she could manage. “You know the litany.”

“Litany?”

She laughed. “Never mind.”

“Doyle lives in a world of absolutes,” Booker said, surprising her by commenting further on the subject. “He doesn’t understand you.”

“He doesn’t want to understand me,” she replied. “In any case, he’s right, I guess. What I did to Josh’s truck was pretty bad.”

“It was an accident.”

“We shouldn’t have gone out there in the first place.”

Booker squinted at her through the smoke of his cigarette. “If Buddy means so much to you, why don’t you call him back? You could ask him for a second chance.”

Rebecca shook her head adamantly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How do you know?”

She stubbed out her cigarette. “Because of what I did to Josh’s truck.”

Booker had been about to take another drink of beer, but now he set his mug on the table. “How does he know about Josh’s truck?”

Rebecca sipped her own drink. “Word spreads fast in this town.”

“Buddy doesn’t live in this town.”