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“That’s none of our business,” Eve said. She offered Chip an apologetic smile while attempting to pull her sister toward the side door and the garage.

  “It’s our mother, so it’s our business,” Dawn argued. “She and Chip have been spending a lot of time together lately. We deserve to know what’s going on, especially if we leave him in the house while CJ is upstairs sleeping.”

  “Your mom was too tired to drive when she left the hospital,” Chip calmly explained. “So I drove her home in her car.”

  “And now you’re leaving?” Dawn suggested.

  Chip noted the hopefulness in her query.

  “I’m going to hang around a little longer, make sure your mom doesn’t need anything,” he said. “Then I’ll walk back to the hospital to get my car or have a friend drive it here.”

  “You have a car?” Dawn asked. “Since when?”

  “Come on, Dawn,” Eve insisted. “We’ll be late!”

  “Since always,” Chip responded.

  “Why don’t you ever drive?” Dawn persisted.

  “I like to walk. It’s good exercise for my leg.”

  “Your bionic leg?”

  “That’s enough, Dawn,” Eve snapped, sounding every bit like her mother.

  “It sure felt like it cost six million to fix my leg,” Chip said. “And yeah, I mean the one I messed up when I was in the service.”

  Dawn grunted.

  “Have I done something to offend you, kiddo?” Chip asked. “Tell me what it is so I can apologize, or earn my way off your shit list.”

  Eyeing Chip suspiciously, Dawn joined Eve at the side door. “We gotta go,” she grumbled. “We can’t be late for class.” She took her parka from its peg near the door and went into the garage.

  Chip heard the hum of the garage door rising on its tracks.

  “I’m sorry, Chip,” Eve said. “She’s not usually so cantankerous.”

  “Yes, she is.” Chip chuckled.

  Eve laughed, too. “She’s just worried about Gian. In her own mean, rude way.”

  Chip nodded, although he partially disagreed. “I think she’s worried about your mom.”

  Eve glanced away. “Hospitals are hard for Mama. Missouri Medical Center especially.” She took her leather car coat from a peg. Chip went to her, to help her put it on. “Thank you.”

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay here for a while. Until CJ wakes up, or—”

  “That could take a while.” Eve chuckled. “He was on his Xbox until a few hours ago.”

  Standing so close to her, Chip noticed the circles under her eyes and the heaviness of her eyelids. Family and friends at the hospital weren’t the only ones who’d had a long, troubled night worrying about Gian. Chip gave Eve’s shoulders a familial squeeze. “You take it easy today, kid. And check in on your mom.”

  “I will.” Prompted by Dawn’s blare of the car horn, Eve stepped into the garage. She turned back to Chip and said, “Thank you. For always being there for us.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Chip said. He stood in the doorway and watched Eve climb into the passenger side of the small SUV the twins shared. Her door had barely closed before Dawn peeled out of the tidy gray and white garage, leaving tracks of rubber on the spotless floor.

  * * *

  “Where is everybody?”

  Chip looked to see CJ standing in the archway between the family room and the living room. Twelve years old and short for his age, CJ still fit the footed, spaceship pajamas Chip had given him on his tenth birthday. The boy fiddled with his zipper pull, his expression anxious as he awaited Chip’s answer.

  Chip turned off the flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace opposite the sofa. He set the remote control on the coffee table in front of him, then stood to face CJ. “Why don’t you come over here and we’ll talk,” Chip said.

  “Is Gian dead?” CJ asked, his voice eerily devoid of emotion. “Is that why Mama and Eve and Dawn aren’t here?”

  “No, kid, no way.” Chip went to him and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Gian was hurt pretty bad, but the doctors are fixing him real good. He’s gonna be all right.”

  CJ stared at Chip, his gaze unwavering.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, kid,” Chip assured him. “Gian is gonna be fine.”

  CJ chewed a corner of his lower lip, a mannerism Chip recognized. It was something CJ did whenever he felt like crying. Chip planted a hand between the boy’s shoulder blades. “Your mom had a long night, so she’s upstairs resting,” he said, although he didn’t know that for sure. “Your sisters had to teach some class this morning. What do you say the two of us make a big breakfast and take it downstairs and eat it while we play that new Xbox game of yours?”

  “I’m not that hungry,” CJ replied quietly.

  “You’ll be plenty hungry once you get a whiff of the bacon, eggs and pancakes I’m gonna whip up.” Chip ushered him into the kitchen.

  CJ took a seat on a tall wooden stool at the breakfast counter. The sun warmed the cheery breakfast nook, but did little to brighten CJ’s melancholy.

  “People are tough,” Chip told him as he collected a carton of eggs, milk, butter and an enormous package of bacon from the refrigerator. “The human body can take a lot of abuse and recover from it with time and proper care.”

  “My dad never recovered,” CJ said dully. “Dawn said he was in the hospital for a real long time.”

  Chip set down the flour and sugar he’d taken from Zae’s baking cabinet and went to CJ. “Gian’s the big daddy to all of us,” he said. Fatigue, combined with the gravity of Gian’s condition, threatened to overwhelm Chip. He noisily cleared his throat before he could continue. “I don’t know what we’d have done if we’d lost him. But I know this: no matter what happens, there are a lot of people who love you and who’ll be here to take care of you.”

  “Like you?”

  Chip affectionately scrubbed a hand over the top of CJ’s head. “You got that right.”

  “Like when you ran the Father-Son sack race with me last Field Day at school?”

  “More like when I let you vomit on me when you got sick from eating too much cake at the Sheng Li anniversary party,” Chip countered.

  CJ laughed. The merriness of the sound instantly elevated Chip’s spirits. “That was so funny!” CJ rolled off the stool, holding his middle. “You should have seen your face!” He widened his eyes and dropped his lower jaw, mimicking Chip’s expression from that moment. “I blew chunks all over your pants and your shoes.”

  “You can upchuck on me anytime, kid.” Chip chuckled. He returned to the ingredients lined up on the counter. “Would you grab a big mixing bowl for me? I don’t remember where your mom keeps them.”

  CJ brought him the bowl, then helped Chip scoop, measure, grease and pour. CJ’s first pancake tore in half when he attempted to flip it. “Shoot,” he muttered. “I ruined that one.”

  “I’ll eat that one,” Chip offered. He took the spatula from CJ. “The key to a good pancake flip is patience,” he advised, standing behind CJ. “You gotta wait until little bubbles start to form on the edges of the pancake. Then it’s ready to turn.”

  CJ, his mouth pursed in concentration, slid the spatula under a pancake. With a quick turn of his wrist, he expertly flipped it.

  Chip cheered. “See? If I can do it, I knew you could, too.”

  “I didn’t know that about the bubbles.” CJ smiled proudly.

  “We’ll save the best ones for your mom,” Chip said. “I need to check on the bacon.” He returned to the griddle, where a dozen strips of thick-sliced, hickory-smoked bacon sputtered and quivered.

  Chewing the corner of his mouth, CJ softly asked, “You’re gonna stay until mom comes down?”

  “No matter how long it takes,” Chip replied.

  CJ’s shoulders relaxed and he swiped at his eyes. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure, kiddo.” Chip gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow. “I hope your ma’s got real maple
syrup in her cupboard. Those good-lookin’ flapjacks deserve nothing but the best.”

  Chapter One

  Chip rolled over and swung his feet to the floor. His full-size mattress sat directly on the floor, so his knees were only a short distance from his ears. He yawned and stretched, clasping his hands high above his head.

  “Chip,” came a soft, feminine voice. A pale hand with blood-red fingernails followed it, gently tugging at his right shoulder. “Lie back down. It’s early.”

  His hands on his knees, Chip hoisted himself onto his feet with a quick glance at his alarm clock, which sat on the floor at the head of his bed. “It’s almost noon,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

  “That’s early for us, baby.” Chip’s bedmate sat up on her knees. A tousle of long blond hair spilled over her shoulder to cloak one small, pale bare breast. So distinct were her tan lines, for an instant Chip thought she was wearing a see-through bikini.

  “I’ve got a wedding to go to today,” Chip told her through a hearty yawn. He scratched his left buttock as he shuffled toward the bathroom. “Heather, I’m the best man, so I gotta get to the church on time to help my buddy out.”

  “I didn’t know you had plans today,” Heather pouted. “You never tell me anything.”

  Hands loosely on his hips, Chip stood at the toilet and let the force of his stream do his aiming for him. “I don’t usually have much to tell.”

  “Who are you taking?”

  Chip started the water in the basin and lathered his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  The blonde appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed over her petite bosom. “I said,” she started, “who are you taking to the wedding?”

  “Nobody.” Chip kicked aside the two damp towels from the night before and stood closer to the chipped bathtub, giving his visitor more room to enter the tiny lavatory. “I’ve got too many best man things to do to keep a date happy.”

  “You hand the groom the ring and you make a toast at the reception.” Heather scowled. “Don’t make excuses. If you invited someone else, you can tell me. I won’t be mad.”

  Chip directed a short plug of blue gel toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He’d been involved with enough women to know that when one of them said, “I won’t be mad,” she meant the exact opposite. “I also have to dance with the maid of honor.” Chip flashed a foamy smile, hoping his dimples would drive thoughts of the wedding right out of her head.

  But no such luck. “Who’s the maid of honor?”

  Chip continued brushing his teeth. “You don’t know her.”

  “How do you know who I know?” She sat heavily on the toilet. She snatched a length of toilet tissue from the roll and cut an icy glare at Chip.

  He sped up his brushing process. Everything about her radiated fury, from the rigid set of her shoulders to the downward slash of her mouth. Even her peeing sounds angry, Chip marveled, spitting a glob of toothpaste foam into the basin. He rinsed his mouth, wiped it with the back of his forearm and exited the bathroom. After a quick flush and a cursory wash of her hands, Heather was on his heels.

  “What’s her name?” she demanded.

  “C’mon, darlin’.” Chip turned from the doubled twin bed sheet he used in place of a closet door. “What’s all this about?”

  “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now—”

  “Three months.”

  “Four months, and I think it’s time we got to know more about each other.”

  Taking her by her waist, Chip pulled her against him. “I know that you like double whipped cream on your strawberry daiquiris.” He traced her collarbone with the tip of his middle finger. “Your best friend’s name is Ashley, and—”

  “I have three friends named Ashley,” she said sulkily. “That doesn’t count.”

  “You’ve got a dog named Glitter.”

  “What kind of dog is she?” Heather challenged.

  Chip blinked. Heather’s dog looked like every other rat dog that girls like her carried around in quilted handbags and dressed in monogrammed sweaters. “She’s a Chihuahua,” he said smoothly, naming the only toy breed he knew.

  Heather smiled. “I guess you do pay attention to me,” she cooed, draping her arms over his shoulders to flatten her breasts against his chest. “I think we should move to the next step in our relationship.”

  Chip stiffened. “What step is that?”

  “I think we should be exclusive.”

  “I’m not seeing anybody else,” he assured her.

  Heather’s eyebrows moved a bit closer together. “Really?”

  “I spend practically every weekend with you, and I’m at work ‘til ten just about every night, ever since my boss opened his second studio. When would I have time to see anybody else?”

  Heather pulled away from him and returned to his bed. She sat with her legs daintily tucked under her, and Chip thought she looked as pretty as a model in a vodka ad. “I don’t get you, Chip.”

  He stole a peek at his clock. He was due at the church in just under an hour. “Can we talk about this later?” he asked, certain that her statement was the preamble to the kind of discussion he’d had with each of his last three girlfriends.

  “No, I need to talk about this now.”

  His shoulders sank. “Well, do you mind if I get ready while we do it?”

  “Be my guest.” Staring at nothing, she chewed the nail of her right thumb for a moment before she said, “Why don’t you kiss me?”

  Chuckling, Chip took his dress blues from his closet. Their clear plastic dry cleaner’s bag fluttered as he carried the heavy garments to the one chair in the room. He draped the bag over the high wooden back, then dug his shoes out of the closet.

  Heather eyed the dry cleaner’s bag. “You’re in the military?”

  “Was.” Chip opened the top drawer of his dresser and retrieved a shoe-polishing kit. “Served for ten years.”

  “Is that what happened to your leg?”

  Chip slapped his right leg. “I went into the Marines a flesh-and-blood boy and came out a flesh, blood and titanium man.” Sitting on the chair, he opened the polishing kit and started shining one black shoe. “Ten years ago, a sniper’s bullet shattered my femur. Surgeons put the pieces back together with two dozen titanium screws and plates. I spent two years rehabilitating it. It was brutal, but it was worth it. Today my leg is almost as strong and flexible as it was before.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  He shrugged, his gaze on his shoe, his right hand expertly flicking the brush over the steel toe. “It never came up.”

  “I’m tired of waiting for you to give yourself to me.”

  Chip chuckled again and stared at her. “If my count is right, I gave myself to you four or five times last night.”

  “Six,” Heather corrected, “but I’m not talking about that.”

  “Well, what the hell are you talkin’ about, darlin’? I honestly don’t have the first clue.”

  “You never talk about your friends or your family,” Heather said.

  Chip closed his eyes, inwardly grimacing at the sound of tears in Heather’s voice.

  “You talk about work, something I already know all about because I met you at the dojo!” Heather struck away her tears, which came more suddenly than Chip thought they would.

  “What do you want from me?” Chip asked gently as possible. “I thought things were going pretty good.”

  “I want you to kiss me.”

  Chip set his shoe and polishing equipment on the floor and went to the mattress. On his hands and knees, he leaned over Heather to kiss her, but she shrank out of reach.

  “I want you to kiss me and mean it.” Her lower lip trembled, tears shining in her blue eyes. “I want to feel you in your kiss the way I feel you when we’re making love.”

  “You want more tongue?”

  Heather pushed him and he landed on the floor with a hard thump. She kneeled on the bed, her fists balle
d in frustration. “I want more you!”

  Chip took her feelings seriously, but he couldn’t stop himself from watching the way her breasts jiggled with the force of her rant.

  “When you kiss me, you aren’t there,” she explained. “Your lips touch mine, but your heart isn’t in it. I know it isn’t.”

  “I don’t know what to say, darlin’.”

  “Stop calling me ‘darling!’ You might as well call me pal, or bud, or man. There’s nothing special about it other than your adorable Tennessee accent. There’s nothing special about me to you, is there?”

  Chip opened his mouth to assure her that she was indeed special, but, looking at her, she could have been any of the women he’d been with in the past six months. Blonde hair with or without dark roots, tanned skin so dark she could pass for a native of Fiji or Samoa, weight proportionate to height—Heather’s background in gymnastics set her apart from his previous paramours, but he couldn’t honestly tell her that she was more special to him than the women he’d shared his bed with before her. And like them, Heather was in the midst of kicking him to the curb.

  He only wished she’d hurry it up, so he could get himself together for the wedding.

  “So that talk about us being exclusive, it was just a test?” Chip asked.

  “It was a thought. And since you didn’t show much enthusiasm, I guess I know how you really feel about me.” She stepped around the discarded clothes, towels, magazines, books and other clutter covering his bedroom floor and gathered her clothes. “It’s been fun, Chip, it really has.” She tugged on a flimsy, see-through bra. She stepped into matching panties and yanked them up to her hips. “But I want to be more than some stud’s fun. Call me when you decide you want a grown-up relationship.”

  Still sitting on the floor where he’d landed, Chip watched her storm out of the bedroom. He listened to her mutter in his living/dining room, the clomp of her high heels signaling her impending departure. The slam of the door punctuated the end of the morning’s episode.

  Chip slowly got to his feet and returned to polishing his shoes. He tried to muster regret and disappointment, but neither would come. Thinking of Heather’s abrupt absence, he closed his eyes and tried to feel sadness. He held up his shoes to gauge the shine and saw his own face mirrored in the blackness. No sadness pulled his features out of shape. If anything, he looked relieved.