Rosemary's Double Delight by Heather Rainier Page A

tugged on his shirt sleeve. He finally hugged her and said, “You know, we’d have kicked his butt right then if you hadn’t said what you did. I wish you wouldn’t have been ashamed of us.”
    She’d really hurt him, and she hated the way that felt. Speaking from her heart, she said, “I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m sorry I hurt you. You’re my best friends, and I’m lost without you.”
    Stepping back, Evan looked at her, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and said, “Of course I forgive you, Rosie Posie. I can’t stay mad at you.” He grinned and added, “But you’re gonna have to get a handle on that mouth if you still want us to marry you.”
    When he said that, they all fell laughing on the ground making puking, gagging noises.

    73

Chapter Seven
    Wes held the door for Rosemary as they left The Dancing Pony.
    Evan’s big pickup truck was pulled over to the curb, waiting for them.
    Her palms went damp, and she frowned, not ready to face him yet.
    As she stopped on the sidewalk, Wes asked, “Is your car here?”
    Rosemary shook her head. “No, I rode with Kathleen and Bernadette.”
    “Come on, baby. It’ll be fine,” Wes encouraged her quietly. He opened the truck door and helped her climb in. There was country music playing in the background, and the dome-light came on, revealing Evan’s stoic countenance.
    That was something Rosemary always had difficulty with. Evan was hard to read because he tended to hide his feelings, unless they happened to explode like today. Wes’s emotions showed in his eyes, but Evan had a mask he could throw on in a heartbeat. He wore it now.
    Wes pulled the door closed, and they headed toward the house.
    The darkened interior of the truck was quiet except for the radio. Wes held her hand on the seat between them, stroking her palm soothingly with his fingertips. They rode in silence.
    Rosemary’s nerves were stretched to their limit by the time they pulled up to the house. Evan shut off the engine, climbed out, and held out his hand to help her from the truck. Normally, she’d have climbed out on the passenger side with Wes, but Evan was making the effort, so she wordlessly went to him. Maybe that would communicate something to him, encourage him to doff the mask he was still wearing, but he simply helped her then released her to walk 74

    over to the porch on her own. Her shoulders slumped a little, and she braced herself for whatever would come from this conversation.
    The house was cool compared to the high temperature outside, even though the hour was late. Wes turned lights on in the kitchen and living room. Evan sat down at the kitchen table, and she joined him.
    She sat with her clammy, icy hands clenched together in her lap once Wes joined them. He took one of her hands in his.
    “Baby, your hands are like ice,” Wes murmured and rubbed it between his warm, callused ones. She still had no idea what to say that would make a difference. She was utterly stumped and looked at Evan and Wes, her eyes brimming with tears. It shouldn’t be this hard.
    Chin wobbling, she finally spoke. “Maybe it would be best, if we…let each other go. Left each other alone. We keep hurting each other, Evan, and we hurt Wes in the process. My mouth keeps getting me in trouble with you. It—it shouldn’t be this ha– ard .” Along with the sob that escaped, a dull ache began in her chest. “I guess I can’t make you happy. I upset you and hurt you, and you hurt me, and maybe we’re not good for—for each other. I can’t live like this.” She paused her babbling, unable to catch her breath through the hitching sobs in her chest, and looked into Evan’s eyes in time to catch the crumbling of his mask.

     
    * * * *

     
    Evan was ready for their little firecracker to come out fighting.
    It’s what he’d expected the moment she’d climbed in the truck. Her silence on the drive home was unusual. She was always one to take the bull by the horns. What he wasn’t