rest of her life. This sure as hell wasn’t the full circle David had hoped to complete when he’d returned last year to the town in which he’d grown up.
Having now taught in that same environment, he better understood his father’s decision to move them away from the rural area to one more urban, one where David wouldn’t stand out as either a prodigy or the troublemaker he’d become. Once in El Paso, he’d easily blended into the crowd; he’d run up against kids a hell of a lot smarter as well as a hell of a lot meaner. The experience had put Tatem into perspective.
Yet he’d never gotten over Avery Rice.
And here he stood, wondering what he was going to do now that it looked like she didn’t return his feelings. Move out of her house for one thing, he grumbled, hands stuffed in his pockets as he kicked at dry clods of dirt that went poof when he did.
He knew Yvette Lapp had a garage apartment for rent, except Yvette worked at Avery’s bakery and renting from her instead of Suzannah wouldn’t be a whole lot better. Since he obviously wouldn’t be showing Avery the West Coast this summer, moving while he had the time wouldn’t be a bad idea. Yeah. That’s what he’d do this next week. See about finding a place.
Packing wouldn’t take him much time at all since he’d never done more than a cursory move-in. He’d certainly never settled in, as if he’d been waiting to do so until he knew how things would go down between him and Avery. Judging by the past few days, they’d pretty much gone down like crap, he admitted, just as he heard the rumble of a diesel engine.
He looked up in time to watch Avery pull her big black Dodge Ram to a stop, and was hit with the incongruity of this woman driving this truck. Yes, it made perfect West Texas sense, but it was the only thought that came to mind that he could manage. Everything else was a blur.
When she cut the engine, he thought his heart had stopped as well. He couldn’t feel a single beat. And then he could feel nothing else, the pounding ringing in his ears as she climbed down from the monster, slammed the door and headed his way as if she’d known exactly where she’d find him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when she stopped only a few feet away.
“I could ask you the same question,” she said, her hands shoved into the pockets of her denim shorts.
He shrugged. He wasn’t going to let her get to him. Not today. Not after last night. “Visiting old haunts. You know, remembering the good ol’ days.”
“You do seem to be getting the hang of small-town life again.”
“What do you mean?”
“You left your front door unlocked. I came back to bring you breakfast in bed.” She inclined her head, gesturing toward her truck. The smile on her face was as soft and gentle as any he’d ever seen. “I have coffee and hot croissants.”
He swallowed hard as he looked away, glancing toward the football field where he’d chased after her and made such a fool of himself. He was done with that. His days of being a fool were over. “Why are you here, Avery?”
“Oh, David. I came here for you. To be with you. To love with you.” Her voice broke and, as he turned toward her, her eyes grew wet. He watched as her throat seemed to choke off her ability to breathe. “You’ve been a part of my life for so long. Even the years that I didn’t see you…you were still there. In my heart. I just never knew why.”
“And now you do?” he asked, his tone rough, harsh, as if he were bracing himself for a blow.
She delivered it softly. “I love you, David. The boy you used to be got under my skin. But the man you are now has shown me the beauty of being alive. I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me.”
God. Now he was the one unable to draw a single breath. He opened his arms, and then she was there, holding him, loving him. And he said the only words his heart allowed him to say.
“Forever, Avery. Forever.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7140-5
MOTHER, PLEASE!
Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
WHAT A GIRL WANTS
Copyright © 2004 by Brenda Novak
THE ROAD HOME
Copyright © 2004 by Jill Shalvis
UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS
Copyright © 2004 by Mica Stone
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