She launched into the song, but he didn’t join her.
“Why aren’t you singing?” she asked, pausing. “Come on. One, two—”
“Natalie. Please just close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“Oh, you’re such a fuss budget sometimes,” she said. “Let’s have some fun. I feel great.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.
The lassitude coursing through her only grew more powerful. She placed her hand on his knee and stroked the hard muscles there. Blake would come around.
He loved her. He’d do anything for her—even if it meant singing her silly song.
Chapter 15
Blake’s worst nightmare was happening. When Natalie drank too much, she either passed out or starred in The Natalie Show. It was famous among her siblings and friends. She became a flirty entertainer, completely uninhibited. Tonight he was going to get a show, it seemed. How could Jordan have forgotten that? His friend was dead meat.
She continued to belt out “You Are My Sunshine,” giving him a pounding headache. Braving the crowded bar to help Andy find a date had been bad enough. But he’d seen the plea in Natalie’s gaze, not to mention the fear in Andy’s, and it had felt natural to help. While he wasn’t a widower, he remembered the first night he’d tried to move on with his life after Natalie left. It had been a catastrophic failure, the kind he still dreamed about, and not in a good way.
He’d hoped to soften Andy’s experience. The woman Blake had spotted from across the room hadn’t wanted to be at the bar with her two girl friends, and since Andy wasn’t a bar kind of guy either, he figured they might be a good match. The two of them had hit it off after some initial awkwardness, and Valerie had agreed to meet him for coffee. Score one for Hale. He hoped it went well.
When he reached Natalie’s house, he cut the engine. Her piercing alto rendition faded.
“Where are we?” she asked. “Are we on vacation?”
Terrific. She was already showing signs of confusion. “We’re at your place, babe.”
He lurched out of the car, wanting to run for it. If she didn’t even remember where she lived, he was really in for it.
One of Natalie’s favorite classic movies was The Philadelphia Story, so he’d watched it with her one movie night. Near the end of the film, he’d realized something—Natalie turned into the character played by Katharine Hepburn when she drank. Tracy Lord might not climb up on a restaurant bar and conduct her own Coyote Ugly number like he’d seen Natalie do, but she did act outside the norm and fail to remember everything when she woke up the next morning. Exactly like Natalie.
“What do you mean my place?” she asked in a slurred yet sassy voice when he opened her door.
He braced himself and helped her out of her seatbelt. Touchdown appeared beside the car with a happy bark. “You live here now.”
Her hands pressed to his shoulders. “You’re playing a practical joke on me, aren’t you? Why would I live here? I love our home.”
He knew that, and it was the only reason he’d stayed there, contending with the daily torture of living in a place stacked ceiling-high with memories of her. He reached out to help her down from the car, and it was a good thing he did. She was unsteady on her feet.
“You’re going to have to carry me,” she told him, batting her eyelashes at him in the moonlight. “Like Prince Charming.”
While Natalie could be unnervingly practical in day-do-day life, her romantic side opened up when she drank. It didn’t happen often, so each memory was treasured. He remembered the vacation they’d gone on after his one and only Super Bowl win. She’d jumped into his arms and asked him to sweep her off her feet.
He’d always loved that side of her, so seeing it now hurt. Bad.
He grabbed her purse, picked her up, and carried her to the house. She toyed with the ends of his hair, running her fingernails down the back of his neck from time to time, knowing it drove him wild. Somehow wearing a football helmet for so many hours had made his neck more sensitive to touch.
At the door, he tried the doorknob, and was relieved to find it unlocked. Managing her and unlocking the door was more than he could juggle. Touchdown led the way inside, his tail wagging like he was delighted to see Blake carrying Mommy again. At least someone was happy.
The pounding in his head worsened as he set her down. “Come on, Nat. Let’s get you into bed.”
She wove a bit and faced him. “I’ll get ready, if you get ready.”
Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. Pure torture. He stopped them from touching him. He was going to be either canonized or knighted after tonight. He decided to try a different strategy. Maybe if she expended enough energy she’d fall asleep. It worked with Touchdown.