months she’d begun to accept that some sex in the back of his truck wasn’t adding up to a future. She almost laughed at herself now to realize—
Hell, Bev, it only took you a freaking year and a half to figure it out.
All she really wanted in life was to be loved and to provide a good home for her daughter, and she wasn’t sure she’d succeeded with either yet. God, Carissa was thirteen. Beverly didn’t have much longer before her girl would be grown and gone and probably filled with unhappy memories of the shabby little apartment they rented over Sophie’s Hair and Nails, and how many hours she spent alone or with her grandpa because her downtrodden mother worked weekends and sometimes nights, too.
Bev let out a sigh. Why couldn’t
Joe
just fall in love with her? She could make him happy, she knew it. And she knew he wanted to be more of a father to Carissa than he was being—just because the DNA hadn’t been quite
right,
quite
his.
He was a good man, good enough to care for a girl who didn’t carry his genes just because the timing had been close. And he was a hell of a
sexy
man, too. He’d been a cute-as-hell boy, but the
man
he’d grown into—damn, she could almost come just thinking about him.
“Christ,” she muttered. Talk about slow to realize something. She’d been pining and hungering and lusting for Joe her entire adult life, always hoping for some miraculous shift in his feelings. Each and every time she saw him, she hoped for it, she waited for it, trying to believe in the power of positive thinking. And she occasionally earned a gorgeous smile that, for a second, made her think,
Yes, yes, finally, he’s beginning to soften, to care, not just for Carissa, but for me, too
—yet it never lasted, was never real.
And now Trish Henderson was back in town? And Joe had seen her, maybe had sex with her? She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. She’d always thought Trish was too prissy for Joe—she remembered the night she and Joe had done it in her dad’s ancient Impala, handy because it had a huge backseat, when she’d convinced him he shouldn’t keep waiting for a girl who must not love him since she was leaving, and who would probably never really come back no matter what she’d promised. She’d thought he was better off without someone who felt the need to look beyond him for fulfillment.
Bev had spent all these years knowing that no matter who Joe slept with, Trish was the only girl who’d ever really meant something to him—and maybe that should have depressed her, but it’d had just the opposite effect instead. Because as long as Trish was gone, off somewhere a world away living some entirely different life, there had remained that little bit of hope that he would finally decide to settle down, and that he’d make Beverly the one.
Only now that Trish was back—hell, Bev had no idea what this even meant. Was Trish here to stay? Or just to tease and torment Joe some more? Either way, it meant the chances of Joe ever loving
her,
making a family with her and Carissa, were even slimmer than before.
Hell. What was a woman to do when her only hope was stolen?
Just then another toot of an air horn drew her gaze from where it had dropped to a bin of dirty plates below her. A red eighteen-wheeler with flames burning along the fenders angled its way into the truck parking area situated alongside the regular lot. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as Alan Jackson began to sing “Where I Come From” on the jukebox.
Out of habit, Bev smoothed back her hair and hefted up her bra a little. Butch wasn’t going to marry her—or even love her—but she still wanted him to like what he saw. And who knew, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he
would
fall for her. He’d come back, hadn’t he? He’d gotten up the road and decided to turn that big rig around just for a few minutes with her.
When the door opened, he wore a gray tee with the sleeves cut out—and maybe he’d lost a couple
Hell, Bev, it only took you a freaking year and a half to figure it out.
All she really wanted in life was to be loved and to provide a good home for her daughter, and she wasn’t sure she’d succeeded with either yet. God, Carissa was thirteen. Beverly didn’t have much longer before her girl would be grown and gone and probably filled with unhappy memories of the shabby little apartment they rented over Sophie’s Hair and Nails, and how many hours she spent alone or with her grandpa because her downtrodden mother worked weekends and sometimes nights, too.
Bev let out a sigh. Why couldn’t
Joe
just fall in love with her? She could make him happy, she knew it. And she knew he wanted to be more of a father to Carissa than he was being—just because the DNA hadn’t been quite
right,
quite
his.
He was a good man, good enough to care for a girl who didn’t carry his genes just because the timing had been close. And he was a hell of a
sexy
man, too. He’d been a cute-as-hell boy, but the
man
he’d grown into—damn, she could almost come just thinking about him.
“Christ,” she muttered. Talk about slow to realize something. She’d been pining and hungering and lusting for Joe her entire adult life, always hoping for some miraculous shift in his feelings. Each and every time she saw him, she hoped for it, she waited for it, trying to believe in the power of positive thinking. And she occasionally earned a gorgeous smile that, for a second, made her think,
Yes, yes, finally, he’s beginning to soften, to care, not just for Carissa, but for me, too
—yet it never lasted, was never real.
And now Trish Henderson was back in town? And Joe had seen her, maybe had sex with her? She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. She’d always thought Trish was too prissy for Joe—she remembered the night she and Joe had done it in her dad’s ancient Impala, handy because it had a huge backseat, when she’d convinced him he shouldn’t keep waiting for a girl who must not love him since she was leaving, and who would probably never really come back no matter what she’d promised. She’d thought he was better off without someone who felt the need to look beyond him for fulfillment.
Bev had spent all these years knowing that no matter who Joe slept with, Trish was the only girl who’d ever really meant something to him—and maybe that should have depressed her, but it’d had just the opposite effect instead. Because as long as Trish was gone, off somewhere a world away living some entirely different life, there had remained that little bit of hope that he would finally decide to settle down, and that he’d make Beverly the one.
Only now that Trish was back—hell, Bev had no idea what this even meant. Was Trish here to stay? Or just to tease and torment Joe some more? Either way, it meant the chances of Joe ever loving
her,
making a family with her and Carissa, were even slimmer than before.
Hell. What was a woman to do when her only hope was stolen?
Just then another toot of an air horn drew her gaze from where it had dropped to a bin of dirty plates below her. A red eighteen-wheeler with flames burning along the fenders angled its way into the truck parking area situated alongside the regular lot. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch as Alan Jackson began to sing “Where I Come From” on the jukebox.
Out of habit, Bev smoothed back her hair and hefted up her bra a little. Butch wasn’t going to marry her—or even love her—but she still wanted him to like what he saw. And who knew, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he
would
fall for her. He’d come back, hadn’t he? He’d gotten up the road and decided to turn that big rig around just for a few minutes with her.
When the door opened, he wore a gray tee with the sleeves cut out—and maybe he’d lost a couple
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