A Home of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #4)(44)
Author: Brenda Novak

“I can’t leave it here.”

“Why not?”

“People will think I’m sleeping around, that…that…Well, they’d never believe I went home with you, but they’ll think I went home with someone.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And considering what they already think, that matters to you?”

“Of course it matters.”

“Why? In the past you reveled in your bad reputation.”

“I only let people think what they want to think,” she grumbled. “The fact that there’s no real basis for their beliefs makes them look like idiots.”

He started the car, backed out and turned onto Main Street. “So you’re laughing at us?”

“Laughing?” she said incredulously. “I haven’t been laughing at all.”

The seriousness of her answer somehow changed the mood in the Escalade and gave Lucky the impression that she might be giving away too much. “I’ll finish this conversation when I’m sober.”

“Is that why you waited?”

“For what?”

“You held on to your virginity until you were twenty-four just so you could snicker behind everyone’s back?”

She’d hung on to her virginity for so long to prove to herself that she wasn’t anything like her mother. But she couldn’t explain that to Mike. It was a complex issue she wasn’t sure she understood herself. She’d just needed to wait.

For the right man, a voice in her head whispered.

She tried to block it out. “Maybe,” she said. Propping her chin on her fist, she stared out the window as the businesses flew by, all closed and dark now.

“And is that why you came to my room that night at my place? To show me what an idiot I’ve been?”

She scowled. “No.”

“Then why?”

The alcohol she’d had earlier was starting to do its job again now that she was getting warm. Despite the incident with Smalley, a peaceful serenity stole through her body. She was tired; she wanted to sleep. But the best part of this euphoric state was that she didn’t have to think about Garth Holbrook, Dave Small and his “boys,” the Caldwells, or even the approach of Christmas.

“Lucky?”

“What?” she murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Tell me why you came to my room the night of the storm.”

She felt her eyes close and once again remembered seeing him kiss Lindsey Carpenter in the barn. That memory was like a favorite dog-eared book—she never tired of it. And now she had her own chapter in that book, which was infinitely more enjoyable than any fantasy could ever be….

“Why’d you come to my room?” he prodded gently, his voice coaxing, curious.

Finally, she turned to him and let a nostalgic smile curve her lips. “Because I’d dreamed of making love with you for years,” she said wistfully. “It wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else.”

Surprise lit his face.

God, had she said that out loud?

“I didn’t mean it,” she said quickly, alarm chasing away the contentment filling her only moments earlier. “Quit harassing me. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve always hated you, and your family, and everyone in this town. I…I’m leaving soon and that night doesn’t matter. I just waited, okay? I don’t know why. So don’t think otherwise.”

A frown settled on his face, but he did nothing to reveal his thoughts, and when he pulled into her drive, she couldn’t scramble out of his SUV fast enough.

“Wait a second,” he said.

“What?”

“You didn’t tell Dave about the journal, did you?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Lucky?”

“No.” Not technically, she added silently.

“Good. Give me your keys. In the morning I’ll have Fernando help me retrieve your car.”

She dug in her purse and handed him the keys, then ran for the house.

MIKE WANTED TO FOLLOW Lucky inside. Only Gabe’s voice, telling him he’d divide the town if he ever allowed himself to get involved with her, kept him behind the wheel and eventually motivated him to turn around and head home. Gabe was right. His family mattered.

But Lucky was starting to matter, too. At least to him. So much so that he hadn’t thought twice about leaving his guests behind for Gabe to bring home. Or about the extra trouble of getting Lucky’s car from the Honky Tonk come morning. When he’d found her lying on the dirty floor in that dim hallway, he’d thought she was hurt. He’d seen her talking to Dave Small earlier and wondered if she’d told him about the journal. His heart had begun to jackhammer against his ribs, and his throat had constricted until he could hardly swallow. He’d felt a surge of relief when he realized she was only drunk. But he couldn’t leave her to her own devices. He was afraid she’d get behind the wheel and possibly kill herself, or let the handsome cowboy she’d been dancing with take her home.

He felt another trickle of jealousy.

He should never have helped her during the storm; he should never have gone to the motel or bought her a silly Christmas tree. Somehow she’d claimed a piece of his heart, and damned if he knew how to get it back.

I’d dreamed of making love with you for years….

Something quick and powerful had passed between them when she’d made that admission. She’d looked up as if she was shocked she’d let the words escape, and he’d seen a soul-deep hunger in her eyes. Before he could react, the shield of belligerence and indifference Lucky used to keep others at a distance had snapped back into place and she’d begun to vehemently deny what she’d already stated so clearly. But Mike was beginning to understand. The harshness of her words—her whole belligerent attitude, really—concealed a vulnerability she didn’t want him or anyone else to know she possessed.

She wasn’t what his family believed. But he knew they’d already made up their minds about her and would never be willing to see her any differently. Hell, they’d probably hate her even if he could prove she was a saint.

With a sigh, he pulled up in front of his house and cut the engine.

He felt a growing suspicion that Lucky was a deep, loyal, generous woman. He was becoming more convinced of that every day. But this time, being right wasn’t going to matter.

LUCKY WOKE with a headache, a reluctance to remember last night, and a sickening surprise on her front porch. Someone had stuck a crudely made sign that said, Go Away Bitch, in a dog pile and placed it just outside her front door. She was sure one of the Smalls had left it, but the negative sentiments they expressed seemed to hit her harder than usual. Maybe that was because it was only three days before Christmas, a time supposedly dedicated to loving and giving. And she knew the Smalls weren’t the only ones who wished her gone. No one wanted her here, not even Mike.