After she hung up she slipped in a CD that had come in the mail weeks ago. No message. No return address. The opening notes of a piano filled the Jeep, followed by Bonnie Raitt’s beautifully plaintive voice full of love and tenderness and painful acceptance in “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” The plaintive cry of someone who loves but isn’t loved back.
David’s way of saying that he was moving on. Back to saving the world while he waited for a trial far in his future. Only she seemed to be stuck.
Yardley suddenly understood that song from another perspective. Once she’d thought that her legacy would be to never know real love. It felt strange to be on the other side. She hadn’t loved David. Not enough to give up everything that defined who she was, what she was, what she had achieved. She wasn’t shocked when he told her that he was going back into witness protection indefinitely, maybe for years. His mission to take down illegal pharmaceuticals hadn’t altered. But it was no way to begin a life together. David’s words. Even so, there’d been something in his eyes that told her he wanted her to make him a liar, and come with him.
Yardley sighed. She hadn’t asked for that chance. Her feelings toward David weren’t what she’d thought they were months before. Or maybe they were. They’d just been exposed for what they were: great affection, nothing more.
Kye was the reason for this revelation. He had given her something to compare her feelings for David with. Her feelings for Kye, a dozen years old and dusty with age, were the real thing. Love. Clear and bright and undiminished. Her fault if she’d figured that out too late.
Kye had left without offering her a chance to go with him.
She hadn’t seen him since the morning he’d come to the hospital to tell her that he’d found Oleg, and stayed with her K-9 through his initial surgery.
Yardley sucked in a quick breath. She’d seen in his eyes a distance that hadn’t been there before. He’d backed away from her touch. Wouldn’t even let her hug him in thanks. He’d mumbled something about “Four days of insanity over,” and back-walked out of her life.
At the end of the song, she ejected the CD, rolled down the window, and, after a brief check to make certain no one was right behind her, sent it sailing out the window. Whatever the last year—certainly those four days—had been about, it wasn’t over for her.
Maybe because Kye walking away didn’t feel like closure. Even now, thoughts of him still woke her in the wee hours, demanding her attention when she was too weak to keep them at bay.
She tightened her mouth and glanced at her image in the rearview. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
*
“To strong women, handsome men, and lousy timing.” Georgie held up her third tequila shot.
“Salud.” Yardley clinked glasses with her, and they both threw back their heads and drank.
“Oh my.” Georgie blinked and fanned herself, her skin bright red in reaction to the alcohol. “I don’t think I can keep up with you, Yard. My eyes are refusing to focus.”
“In that case, it’s lucky I have a room here tonight.”
Yardley and Georgie were almost through a flight of tequila shots and shooters, ranging from a blanco to reposado and finally anejo. Each shot glass was rimmed with salt and came with a shooter. The first had been the traditional Mexican sangrita of orange juice, grenadine, and chili pepper. The second shooter contained a spicy green concoction of pineapple, cilantro, mint, and jalape?o. The third, sitting before them, contained tomato juice with Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce.
Sometimes the only remedy for heartache was girl time and booze. Lots and lots of booze.
Georgie signaled to the hotel bartender, who had been watching the pair in admiration.
The women, dressed casually in tailored shirts, jeans, and heels, had drawn the eye of everyone who spotted them. It seemed impossible to ignore the pair of redheads at the bar. The contrast between Georgie’s curly paprika hair floating about her shoulders and Yardley’s spill of Cherry Coke hair parted simply in the middle invited comment.
The bartender came over with a grin. “The men at the table beyond the end of the bar would like to buy you ladies a refill.”
Yardley reached out and cupped the back of his hand. “Tell them no thanks. Our Navy SEAL husbands are waiting for us upstairs.”
The bartender looked down at her hand. “You aren’t wearing a ring.”
Yardley smiled. “That’s not where I wear it.”
His brows rose but she was already looking away, reaching for her sangrita chaser.
Georgie smothered her laughter in her palm as he moved away. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Must be the tequila,” Yardley agreed. She was feeling a little reckless. But not desperate. “Want to tell me why I’m really here?”
“Only if you want to skip dinner.”
Something in her tone made Yardley suddenly very sure she wouldn’t now be able to swallow that thick juicy steak she’d been contemplating. She looked up at the bartender and shook her head as he poured. “Check.”
She waited until they were on the elevator alone before she turned to Georgie, a scowl on her face. “What have you done?”