Bungalow Nights(35)

Though the contact had been brief, Vance was sure the spokelike lines bracketing the outside corners of his father’s eyes were deeper now. He looked thinner, too, the wear in the leather belt around his 501 jeans testifying that he’d cinched it to the next hole. “You should get Fitz and Baxter to do more of the work. I ran into Uncle Roy and he said Bax didn’t even show today.”

“It’s my ranch,” his father replied, his voice tight. “My decision.”

“That’s right.” Vance worked hard to hold back any flicker of reaction. “It’s always been up to you.”

Then he turned to the truck, his chest feeling as if it was wrapped by a belt fastened even more tightly than his father’s. Breathe, he told himself. Be calm.

“You’ve hurt your mother,” his father called out.

Old news, Vance thought, suddenly as weary as the other man claimed to be. “I’m sorry for it,” he said. “When I go back, I’ll try to send a few more emails.”

“Emails.” His father made a sound of disgust. “Is nothing serious with you?”

Vance hung on to his calm with everything he had, even as he spun to face his father again. “War is pretty serious. I take it that way.”

The older man’s mouth set in a harsh line of disapproval. “You’re determined to go back, then?”

Vance hesitated. Under the circumstances, he could request a medical discharge, dispensing with the remainder of his service obligation. But then what? Right now it was a question he didn’t have an answer for. “I’m going back.”

“What about your girl?”

What about her? he almost asked. Layla had no place in his future. “It’ll give her a chance to dump me,” he said, pissed at how bitter he sounded. “There’s a precedent for that, as we both know.”

His father winced, then his voice took on an almost conciliatory tone. “Vance, your brother...”

“No.” Just like that, the calm was gone, a spike of rising anger in its place. And all the bitterness he’d kept at bay flooded him, his fingers curling into fists. He couldn’t listen to his dad defend Fucking Perfect Fitz. Not now.

Not ever. God, Vance thought, he never should have returned here for Picnic Day.

His father appeared pained. “Look—”

“I don’t want to talk about Fitz.” Vance’s chest was tightening again, but now the pressure was all from the inside. His temper was lava-hot and ready to blow. “Or about that.”

“But you landed on your feet, son, like you always do. You’re with Layla.”

Layla. Thinking of her did nothing to reduce that suffocating heat building inside him. Just admit to it, he urged himself, because you’ve always been a lousy liar. Tell him she’s nothing to you. Clear up this stupid charade. “Layla is—”

“I hope you’re about to say something really nice,” the woman herself put in, emerging from the gloom into the circle of light surrounding the cupcake truck.

Surprised by her sudden appearance, Vance stared at her. All day, even when he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor, he’d avoided really looking at her. Now here she was, in a little dress the color of fertile earth and decorated with swirls of gold and bronze. Her shoulders were bare, her long legs revealed from an inch above the knee down to her gold-strapped sandals. Her skin gleamed with a light tan. You have to know how pretty you are, he’d told her when they’d arrived.

“So damn pretty,” he murmured now.

She smiled at him. “That will do.” Then she turned to his father. “Your wife said you might enjoy an avocado cupcake. We ran out earlier in the evening, but I managed to set aside a couple for you.”

Before his father had a chance to answer, she ducked into the truck, and then was out again, a square of pink cardboard in hand. “I hope you like them,” she said with another smile.

William Smith looked down at the box, then up at Layla. Vance almost laughed. Clearly he wasn’t the only Smith whom she could disarm. “I...uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Vance’s father hesitated, glanced at Vance. “I should get back. Help your mother.” He stepped toward the shadows, then turned around. “Son...” Words seemed to fail him.

“Yeah?”

“If I—” He stopped, started again. “If I don’t see you before you...return, stay safe.”

Vance gave a curt nod.

His dad now turned to Layla with a ghost of a smile. “And you, young lady. Word of caution. Be careful with this one.”

Hearing it as an insult, Vance bristled. “That’s right. My father never could bring himself to trust me not to do the wrong thing.”

The other man shot him a look, his own temper clearly kindling. “You never gave me much—”

“I trust him,” Layla said, her voice emphatic. “You should know why.”

His father blinked. “What?”

Vance stared at her. What? “Don’t—”

“He was wounded trying to save my father’s life,” Layla said. “You should know that. Your son’s a hero.”

“I...” The older man glanced between Vance and Layla.

“But before that, my dad wrote me letters. He was a colonel, and he told me about the men under his command. ‘There’s something special about his hands.’ He wrote that to me about Vance. ‘Or maybe it’s his heart that makes the difference,’ my father said. ‘He’s saved soldiers I thought would never survive.’”

Jesus. More emotion roiled in Vance’s belly. Saved. That was all gone now, wasn’t it? He’d lost his f*cking battlefield luck like he’d lost so much else. The ranch, his family, the fiancée he’d been sure would meet with their approval. A right move, for once. His body vibrated with the tension of holding back the urge to punch the daylights out of something. He’d take off running, he would, if he thought he had a hope of escaping the mess that was inside him.

His father was staring at Layla now, clearly nonplussed. “Well. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said.

With a quick glance at Vance, he grabbed the tied-off bag of garbage. “Good night.”

She smiled up at him, guileless. “Goodbye. I won’t forget meeting you, Mr. Smith.”

And at that—a kind word regarding Layla’s dad, but nothing nearly as nice for his son—Vance’s father left. Left them alone.

Left Vance with the war that was raging inside him. Left Layla, who looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

In seething silence, Vance climbed into the food truck. She followed suit. In the driver’s seat he sat for a moment, the fingers of his right hand tight on the steering wheel as he tried to separate the tangle of feelings coursing through him.

A skirmish with his father. Fitz and Blythe. Layla in his arms, slow dancing to “Love Gone Wrong.”

He’s saved soldiers I thought would never survive.

Glancing down at his “healing” hands, he tightened his fingers on the wheel. “When we get back to the beach house,” he told Layla, his voice thick, “you stay clear.” He was ready to blow, past the point where he could extinguish flames.

“Why?”

He didn’t dare look at her. They might not make it as far as Crescent Cove if he did. “I’m on the edge of control. You get too close and it’s going to be the green flash, baby. Our very own unique natural phenomenon.”

She sucked in a quick breath.

“Yeah,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “We’ll both burn.”

* * *

VANCE DROVE AWAY FROM the ranch without waiting for Layla’s response. His muscles were tense, his mind whirling, a maelstrom kicked up by the day. His companion stayed silent, but that didn’t mean she was quiet. In the darkness the sound of her breathing brushed down his spine like a touch. She squirmed in her seat, moving restlessly and, Jesus, he swore he could detect the soft swish of smooth flesh on smooth flesh when she crossed her legs.

It made him sweat.

Instead of driving the truck to the parking lot of Captain Crow’s, he took it straight to No. 9, bumping along the crushed-shell track, then braking in the driveway. He jumped out and on fast feet headed around the side of the house toward the surf line, churning up the soft sand.

He didn’t stop when he reached the hard-packed stuff. Nor when the first wave washed over the toes of his running shoes. Ignoring the icy wetness, he kept wading forward, drenching his calves, his knees, his thighs.

“Are you crazy?” a voice yelled from the beach.

He ignored Layla, going deep enough to baptize his private parts. His feet were steady on the bottom of the ocean, tonight’s surf rolling in without any real force.