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“Just try,” Penny said. “That’s all we ask.”
“Try hard,” Monica said more firmly.
Nita pitched a fit that afternoon when Blue announced she was taking off, but Blue didn’t give in and, around four o’clock, amid threats of calling the police, she left for the farm in the Roadster. Since her last visit, the pastures had been mowed and the surrounding fence had been repaired. She parked by the barn, next to Jack’s SUV. The warm wind plucked at her ponytail as she crossed the yard.
Riley dashed out. The Silly Putty smile stretched across her face made her look like a different child from the sad little girl Blue had found sleeping on the porch just over a week ago. “Guess what, Blue?” she squealed. “We’re not going home tomorrow! Dad says we get to stay a couple more days because of working on the porch.”
“Oh, Riley! That’s great. I’m so glad.”
Riley pulled her toward the front door. “April wants you to go in this way so she can show everything off. And guess what else? April gave Puffy some cheese, and Puffy got stinky farts, but Dean kept blaming it on me, and I didn’t do it.”
“Yeah, right.” Blue grinned. “Blame it on the dog.”
“No, really. I don’t even like cheese.”
Blue laughed and hugged her.
April and Puffy met them at the front door. Inside, the foyer glowed in the late afternoon sun with fresh eggshell paint. A carpet runner patterned with earth-toned swirls ran down the hallway. April gestured toward the splashy abstract Blue had spotted in a Knoxville gallery. “See how great the painting looks? You were right about mixing contemporary art with the antiques.”
The chest beneath had a wood and brass tray that already held Dean’s wallet and a set of keys, along with a framed early childhood photo of him wearing shorts and a football helmet so big it rested on his collarbones. Next to the chest, a curly iron coatrack waited for one of his jackets, and a rustic twig basket held a pair of sneakers and a football. A sturdy mahogany chair with a carved back offered a convenient place to change into running shoes or glance through the mail. “You’ve designed everything around him. Has he noticed how personalized this is?”
“I doubt it.”
Blue took in an oval wall mirror with a carved wooden frame. “All you need is a shelf for his moisturizer and eyelash curler.”
“Behave. Have you noticed that he hardly ever looks at himself?”
“I’ve noticed. I just haven’t chosen to let him know I’ve noticed.”
Blue loved the rest of the house, especially the living room, which had been transformed with pale, buttery paint and a big Oriental rug. The vintage landscapes Blue had discovered in the back of an antique shop looked great with the bold, contemporary canvas April had hung over the fireplace. The worn leather club chairs April had found were in place, along with a carved walnut armoire to hold stereo equipment, and an oversize coffee table with drawers for remote controls and game film. More photos sat on top, some taken of him with childhood friends, others from his teen and college years. Somehow Blue didn’t think the pictures were his idea.
Dean unconsciously adjusted his hammering to the music of the Black Eyed Peas coming from the kitchen. He and Jack had been working on the porch most of the day. The exterior walls were up, and tomorrow they’d start on the roof. He glanced toward the kitchen window. Blue had nodded at him when she’d arrived, but she hadn’t come out to say hello, and he hadn’t gone in. He was pissed with himself for losing it with her last night on the stairs, but at least he had her on his turf now, and nothing beat a home field advantage. Blue loved the farm, and if she was too stubborn to move back, he could at least remind her of what she was missing. One way or another, he was determined to get what he wanted—the affair they both deserved.
Inside, someone turned up the music. April and Riley were supposed to be helping with dinner, but April didn’t like to cook, and he could see her dragging Riley away from peeling potatoes to dance. He watched Blue set aside a mixing bowl and join them. She hopped around like a tree fairy, arms waving, her ponytail bobbing. If she’d been alone, he might have gone in to dance with her, but not with April and Jack hanging around.
“I thought you and Blue broke up.” Jack’s voice momentarily startled him. Other than a request to pass over a tool or hold a board in place, they hadn’t spoken all afternoon.
“Not exactly.” Dean drove another nail home. He’d been exercising his shoulder, and it was finally loosening up. “We’re at a transition point, that’s all.”
“Transition to what?”
“We’re figuring that out.”
“Bullshit.” Jack swiped his face with his sleeve. “You’re not serious about her. She’s just a diversion to you.”
Blue had been saying the same thing practically since the day they’d met, and Dean had to admit there was some truth in it. If he’d seen her on the street or in a club, he’d never have noticed her, but only because she wouldn’t have come on to him. With so many beautiful women trying to catch his attention, how was he supposed to notice the ones who didn’t?
“Be careful with her,” Jack went on. “She acts tough, but those eyes give her away.”
Dean swiped his forehead with his T-shirt sleeve. “Don’t confuse reality with your song lyrics, Jack. Blue knows exactly what the score is.”
Jack shrugged. “I guess you know her better than I do.”
That was the last thing they said to each other until Dean went inside to take a shower.
As Jack watched Dean disappear, he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Although he’d only intended to stay at the farm for a week, he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. April had her method of atonement, and he had his—building this porch with Dean. Growing up, Jack had spent summers working with his dad, and now he and Dean were doing the same. Not that Dean gave a damn about any kind of father-son ritual, but Jack did.
He liked the way the porch was shaping up. Everything was solid. His old man would have been proud.
