Starla started toward him. “Hey, fuck y—”
“Whoa, whoa, be nice!” Julie yelled over Starla’s retort, sticking her arm out in her way.
“Tell that motherfucker to be nice.”
“Both of you be nice. Doug! Don’t say that.”
“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Julie said as soothingly as she could. Starla could barely hear her for the rushing in her ears. “Come on, Star.”
Soon. Someday soon, it was going to come down to Julie choosing between a roommate who pulled her weight and a brother who let his putrefy on the couch. God help Julie if she chose her brother, because she wouldn’t be able to afford to live here without Starla’s contribution.
Sighing, Starla turned away and somehow managed to find her purse through her lingering rage. She didn’t know where she was going for the next three hours, but it had to be away from here. Except…shit, the cookies. Chucking her bag back on the counter, she turned and snatched the oven door open. Looked good to her. Fresh and fragrant. She might even have one herself. If Doug touched them, she’d take his fucking hand off. In fact, she should really piss him off and give one to Julie. But no, she didn’t deserve one either, always taking his side.
She hadn’t wanted to go to Jared’s house pissed off at the world, but it looked as if that was where the day was heading. As she cooled and packed the cookies, she tried to calm herself by imagining the family she was about to spend the evening with—probably getting ready for church right now, two pretty little girls and their handsome dad all dressed up. The very picture of wholesomeness, singing hymns and shit. She didn’t fit in with that, even for one evening. This had been such a bad idea, and the closer the clock ticked to seven, the more sure of it she became. At six thirty, she grabbed the groceries and the plastic container of cookies and headed for the door. Julie, who had settled in with her brother to watch a movie, shouted good luck to her.
Was she ever going to fucking need it. But she’d reached one important decision, if only to prove everyone else wrong: she was not succumbing to the curse of the blue eyes. She was not sleeping with Jared Stanton. Ever.
Chapter Five
“Dad, she’s looking at me.”
“You looked at me first.”
“Did not!”
Jared glanced in the rearview mirror and snickered. “Mimi, don’t ever look at your sister again for as long as you live.”
Ashley and Mia giggled. “Really, Dad?” Mia said with that sardonic little attitude she’d been developing lately.
“Really.”
Mia sighed. “I’m hungry. I want pizza.”
“Remember, I told you my friend is coming over to make us dinner.” He supposed that was still the plan. He hoped so. Strange how much he was looking forward to the idea of seeing Starla again. He flicked the blinker to turn onto the dirt road that would take them home, the road where he’d picked her up.
“Oh yeah. Why can’t she just bring pizza?”
“I don’t know what she’s bringing.”
“I want pizza too,” Ashley chimed in.
“I’m sure you’ll like whatever she makes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Starla.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Ashley drew the word out to a comical length, and Jared laughed.
“No. Just a friend.”
“How come we don’t know her?”
“She’s a new friend.”
That seemed to satisfy them. For the next couple of minutes, anyway, they sang along with the song on the radio. Then Mia said, “Is she Mom’s friend?”
Not hardly. He and Shelly had probably had the most amicable divorce in the history of broken marriages, and they remained committed to presenting a unified front to parenting the girls. But Starla would probably scare the shit out of his ex-wife. No doubt the girls were going to go straight home and tell their mom about Dad’s new “friend.”
“I don’t think Mom knows her,” he said carefully.
“Can I call Mom?” Ashley asked. She was the one most likely to get homesick for their mother’s house. Mia was the exact opposite—always wanting to call him when she was with Shelly, seemingly most content when she was near the animals at his place.
“Maybe after dinner, okay?” Jared watched Ashley’s expression in the mirror for any sign of an impending outburst or deluge of tears.
“Okay,” she said simply.
“Good girl.”
He really was a lucky guy, and he knew it—even if it was hard to remember at times. Usually those times were when his house was echoingly empty between the girls’ visits and all he was left with were memories. But Shelly was great about deviating from the visitation schedule whenever he asked. He saw his daughters way more than some of his friends were able to see their kids after a divorce.
There was the thought of one day, though, that loomed in the back of his mind, and he tried not to give it much consideration now since there didn’t seem to be much danger in its imminent arrival: the day Shelly began seriously dating some other guy she wanted to bring around Jared’s girls.
He didn’t think he would be okay with that. When it came to Ashley and Mia, he didn’t entrust their care to anyone except immediate family. Anyone. He didn’t expect Shelly to stay single forever, of course, but it was going to be hard. He dreaded it. Likewise, he was reluctant to bring other women around his girls, lest they get attached as they had to Macy. Starla, though, was a fluke. She’d caught him by surprise and he’d let her in. But it was all right. He’d let this onetime thing happen and that would be that. No harm could come from one night, could it? And no sense dwelling on things that hadn’t even happened yet.
Lost in his thoughts, he turned under the big arched JS sign that heralded his driveway, crossed the cattle guard, and began the long, slow drive toward home. The girls, completely forgetting they were having a guest, began pleading to ride their horses (“No, we’re having company”), go for a swim (“No, the water is still too cold and we’re having company”), and go for a ride on his new Gator (“No, we’re having company”). He had to bite his tongue to keep from slipping a “no-no word” in that last one. Ever since Ashley had exclaimed, “What the hell!” in front of his mother a while back, he’d tried to watch his language around them. His mom had only laughed about it, but still.
When he went around the final turn and his house came into view, a little black car already sat in his driveway. He grinned and glanced at the clock as he pulled up beside her; it was 6:47. Punctual. Even early. While he’d figured she would forget the whole thing, or that maybe her boast about her “mad culinary skills” was simply that: a boast.
“She’s here!”
“Is that her?” Ash’s and Mia’s exclamations layered over each other.
“Should be. Hop out and introduce yourselves.” And for God’s sake, don’t scare her off.
Starla’s shimmering blonde head popped out of her car as he climbed down from the truck. The girls hopped down one after the other from the passenger side. For reasons known only to seven-year-old sisters, they had to get out on the same side of the truck no matter which it was. Before he could even get a greeting out, the two of them had run around to Starla’s side of the car and were flinging a barrage of statements and questions at her. Lord. He hurried around and almost laughed out loud. The girl was backed up against her car door as if a couple of Dobermans were threatening her. Another minute and she might have been scrabbling for the handle and flinging herself back inside.
“Heel!” he called jokingly, and Starla looked over at him in relief, laughing.
“They aren’t bashful, are they?” she said, eyebrows nearly in her hairline.
“Not at all.”
“You look pretty!” Mia cried. “How did you get your hair pink like that?”
“I want pink hair!”
“Daddy, can I have pink hair?”
“The day it grows out that color,” he said, “you can have pink hair.” But Mia’s assessment had been spot-on. Starla was beautiful, wearing a flowing aqua top with white cropped pants and blingy sandals. Her blonde-and-pink-and-turquoise hair hung in big loose spirals over her shoulders. The long, billowy sleeves of her top hid her tattoos, but he could see one peeking from under the cuff of her pants. Once the girls spied it, he would really have his hands full.
The girls hadn’t liked his answer in regard to pink hair. Mia crossed her arms with a huff, bottom lip jutting out in her exaggerated pout. Ashley looked ready to wail. Recovering her composure quickly—she wasn’t bashful either, he knew—Starla knelt down with his daughters. “You’re beautiful just the way you are. I made my hair this color, but I’m a grown-up.”
“I can’t wait to be a grown-up,” Mia said.
“Enjoy being a kid for as long as you can,” Starla told her. “Trust me on that. Have fun all the time.”
“School isn’t fun.”
“It can be. Don’t you like playing with your friends?”