Linda Varner - New Year's Wife

Don frowned. “County fairs?”

“I do a little stunt flying for a friend who manages an air acrobatics show. We follow the fairs.” He grinned. “You should see me in my getup. Charles Lindbergh all the way.”

When Don arched an eyebrow, Tyler shrugged. “There’s good money in it.”

“Yeah, well, it’d have to be better than just ‘good’ before you’d catch me doing nosedives over a gawking crowd.” Shaking his head in obvious bemusement, Don picked up one last paper plate, which he tossed into his bag. He then perused the room. “Guess that does it. Let me get rid of these bags, and then I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep.”

“Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here? I mean, I can find a motel downtown if it’s any trouble at all.”

“Dad was so thrilled to have you that he’s sleeping in one of the spare rooms so you can have the good bed.” Don waved away the protest Tyler opened his mouth to make. “Trust me, you’ll pay for the comfort. By the time you leave here Dad’s going to know every detail of every adventure you’ve had for the past eight years and then some. He’s nosier than an old woman.”

“My ex would clobber you if she heard a sexist remark like that,” Tyler murmured with a laugh.

Don’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know you got married,” he murmured, just as Julie exited the kitchen into the living room.

Very aware of her presence, Tyler shrugged. “I used the term loosely. Actually, we just lived together for a while.”

“What happened?” Julie asked, crossing the room to set yet another bulging trash bag at her brother’s feet.

Tyler gave her a long look. “She started talking weddings,” he replied. “We had an agreement, a no-strings setup that worked well, then all at once—” he shook his head, as always mystified by female logic that turned pros into cons. “I’ll never figure out what the hell I did to make her think I was ready to tie the knot.”

“Of course you won’t,” Julie interjected rather sharply. “Men and women aren’t on the same wave-length.”

“What are you talking about?” Tyler asked, a thoughtless question that earned him a what-did-I-tell-you smile from Julie and a wry laugh from Don.

“I’m talking about sexual differences,” she replied, rocking back on the heels of her black leather scrunch boots, “and I don’t mean the obvious physical ones.”

“I kind of like the obvious physical ones,” Don interjected, ducking when Julie swatted at him.

“What I’m saying is that women place different meanings on certain things than men do.” When Don and Tyler exchanged a baffled glance, Julie sighed. “For example, take your basic, everyday kiss.”

Tyler tensed.

“Why do you kiss a woman, Don?” Julie asked.

Her brother grinned. “Several reasons, but mainly because it’s a good way to get close enough to explore those obvious physical differences you mentioned.”

Julie nodded. “Exactly. To you—and most other men—” she looked pointedly at Tyler “—kisses are nothing more than a lead-in to sex, which, as we all know, is the ultimate male goal.”

“And what are kisses to you, er, to women, if I may ask?” Tyler frowned slightly as he waited for her reply.

“A woman considers physical intimacy to be a stepping stone to the ultimate female goal, which is commitment.”

Tyler winced at her use of the C word—a word thrown at him before, a word he’d come to dread.

Julie, obviously not missing his reaction, lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. “That’s why we take it so personally when someone we consider a possible mate kisses and runs. Now if you two will excuse me, I’m going to bed.” That said, she sashayed past the men, leaving in her wake an icy chill that made Tyler shiver.

When they were alone again, Don shook his head. “Don’t mind her, Ty. She’s always been like that-poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, analyzing everyone’s motives, handing out free advice.” He flashed a grin of mock exasperation. “It drives me nuts some-times, but what can I do? I’m stuck with her.”

Well, I’m not, Tyler thought, renewing his determination to have his say and bring their conflict to closure. Come tomorrow—er, today—they’d talk. He’d finally clear the air once and for all and get on with his life, unhampered by the guilt of old sins and the hard feelings of foolish misunderstandings.

Tyler woke with a start and lay in confusion, heart pounding, unsure of where he was. Something had wakened him…a sound that didn’t belong in his apartment.

He frowned into the dark and only gradually recalled the where and why of his current situation. A quick glance round the room confirmed it: Idaho. Julie’s house. Tyler glanced at his travel alarm, groaning when he saw the time, 4:30 a.m. He’d slept barely an hour and felt like hell.

What on earth had shattered his dreams? he wondered even as he heard the sound again. Crying. A child’s crying. One of brother Sid’s crew, no doubt. Perhaps the early bird.

But no, he decided moments later, frowning again. Something was wrong. This cry was one of pain.

At that moment, someone pounded on his door. “Dad? Are you awake?”

In a flash, Tyler stood beside the bed, tugging sweats over the briefs that were all he’d worn to bed since the house was kept so warm. He reached his door just as it opened.

“Dad, I-” Julie gasped. “You! Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there’d been a switch in rooms.” She clutched a pajama-clad toddler against her chest—a boy, Tyler guessed—and jounced him as she spoke. “Where’s Dad sleeping?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Tyler admitted. “Is this Sid’s stepson?”

“This is Sid’s baby, Josh. He fell out of bed and now he’s bleeding from somewhere, but won’t let me look to find out where.”

Tyler fumbled for the overhead light switch for what seemed an eternity before he found it. He then reached out to catch Julie’s elbow and lead her into his room.

“Sit on the bed,” he said, a command Julie obeyed with obvious reluctance. Josh sobbed softly, a sound that wrenched Tyler’s heart and reduced the child’s aunt to near tears, from the look of it.

Tyler dropped to one knee by the bed and touched the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, Josh, whasamatter?”

Without releasing his stranglehold on his aunt Julie, the toddler turned his head just enough to identify the speaker. His eyes, huge and dark, brimmed over with tears. Tyler instantly spotted the blood—on the boy’s face and on his aunt’s filmy pink nightgown—oozing from a jagged cut on the underside of his chin.

“It’s coming from a cut—see?—just under his chin, there. We’re going to have to wash it off so we can see how bad it is.”

“There should be a cloth in the bathroom,” Julie replied, pointing to the door that led to the bath just off Tyler’s room.

Tyler made short work of finding the cloth and wetting it with warm water. A quick search of the medicine cabinet produced Band-Aids, which he hoped were all he’d need. By the time he returned to the bed, Julie had managed to seat Josh in her lap so that Tyler could see his chin.

She reached for the cloth and Tyler gave it to her. The instant she tried to dab Josh’s chin he began to struggle and scream again.

“Let me,” Tyler said, taking the cloth back. “Josh. Hey buddy. Look-a here.”

Josh, still crying, but clearly curious about Tyler, did as requested.

“That’s great. Now be a big boy and let me wash you up, okay?”

To Julie’s obvious astonishment, Josh again did as asked, struggling only when Tyler touched the actual cut to asses its severity.

“It’s not deep,” Tyler was finally able to announce. “Just a scratch, really. No stitches required.” While he talked, he bandaged, then he used the cloth to clean Josh’s hands, Julie’s hands and finally her neck—tender ministrations endured without complaint from child or aunt. Gallantly he kept his gaze above the tips of her breasts, dark shadows under the sheer fabric of her gown. “There, all done. Feeling better?”

The question was directed to Josh, but Julie answered it. “Much, thanks. You’re very good at this. Got any little ones of your own?”

“No, thank God,” Tyler replied, a candid, but thoughtless, reply that earned him a censorious frown from Julie.

At once she placed a noisy kiss on her nephew’s head and hugged him hard—sure indication she valued rug rats much more than Tyler did. She then caught her breath, obviously just realizing that the gown she wore covered everything but hid nothing. Julie raised her gaze to meet Tyler’s, her face and neck flushed from forehead to cleavage.

“I’ve got to leave now…”

Though sorely tempted to argue, Tyler didn’t. Instead, he stood back and let her rise. Holding Josh to her chest as before—this time to hide breasts Tyler had once caressed—Julie backed toward the door. Only when she reached it did she spin around, and then just to dash out. She was quick, but not so quick Tyler didn’t get a glimpse of skimpy black panties, nearly bare bottom and long, shapely legs.

At once his body responded to the sight. With a groan he fell facedown on the bed, overcome with memories of the taste, smell and feel of her. Was this, then, the power she held over him? Sheer sexual thrill? It was a familiar spell, to be sure. One not experienced since the first time they met, eight years ago, but one well remembered all the same. The difference was their ages. She’d been a child then, a hot-to-trot teenager whose kiss had not revealed her innocence, but set him on fire. How did she kiss now that she was grown up and experienced in the ways of love? Tyler dared not try to imagine. If the kiss of a teen could haunt him for eight years, what would the kiss of a woman do?

Tyler groaned again, softly, but from the heart, then crawled back under the covers. Surprisingly he slept, but his dreams were crazy and erotic—the dreams of a man beguiled.

“More bacon?”

“Yes, please.”

Standing just outside the kitchen swing door, Tyler listened to the sounds of a family at breakfast. Several emotions washed over him at once, not the least of which was discomfort that surely resulted from the fact that he was the only child of a single parent. Acutely aware of his past experiences with—and subsequent aversion to—large, noisy families, Tyler actually turned to slip back upstairs when the door swung out and hit him in the backside.

“Oomph!” he exclaimed as a small boy charged past him.

“Come on in, Tyler,” called John Newman from the kitchen. “There’s plenty to eat and a place to sit now that Tim’s headed to the den. The Tournament of Roses Parade is on, you know, and he doesn’t intend to miss it.”

Squaring his shoulders, Tyler pushed through the door into the kitchen filled with family members. Only Kit could not be accounted for. Tyler assumed she was already at work.

John gave him a big smile. “Have a seat. Have a seat.”

Tyler skirted the table slowly en route to the proffered chair, nodding an awkward greeting to all who ate and stopping at Josh’s high chair to lean down and peer at his bandaged chin. It looked great, he thought, an opinion reaffirmed when Julie spoke.

“He’s fine today. Thanks again for helping out.”

“No problem,” Tyler murmured as he brushed bread crumbs and bits of egg off the chair just vacated by Tim, then sat.

“I want you to know that I don’t always do that,” Julie said.