Read Online Taking the Bull by the Horns by MJ Fredrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: MJ Fredrick
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didn't leave now, she wouldn't. And boy, wouldn't that cause all kinds of problems.
"I hate leaving,” she murmured, afraid to look at him. “What time are you heading out tomorrow?"
"Early."
A lump formed in her throat. “So I won't see you again."
"I'll be back in three weeks."
She made herself turn to him then. “I don't need promises.” But God, she wanted them.
"Lavender.” He rolled to his feet, pulled on his jeans without his jockeys, and reached for her.
She let him pull her close, tucked her head under his chin. “I'm not kidding myself about what this is. I know there's not a future."
"But it doesn't have to already be the past, either. I'll be back in three weeks. I'll want to see you."
She eased back and placed her fingers over his lips. She'd heard it all before. “No promises, Taylor, okay? Thank you.” She pulled out of his arms, hating how empty she felt without him wrapped around her. “This is the most fun I've had in ages. The whole weekend, not just tonight. Thank you.” And before she could start bawling, she hurried out the door.
She wondered how debauched she looked when she came in the front door of the house. Just when she was about to reassure herself that her grandmother wouldn't see her ‘til the morning—well, later in the morning—she heard raised voices coming from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Aguilar?” she asked, rounding the corner.
And stopped short to see a strange woman facing off with Gertrude.
Okay, not strange, just unexpected.
"Mother? What are you doing here?"
Eleanor Prouty turned to look at her daughter, her expression softening from the mutinous look she'd given her mother. “Lavender! Have you been out?"
Out, and she smelled like Taylor. Oops. She didn't duck fast enough and Eleanor enveloped her in her arms. Lavender did not return the embrace, and Eleanor withdrew, nostrils flared just enough to tell Lavender she smelled Taylor on her.
Refusing to be ashamed of her behavior, Lavender crossed the room to the refrigerator with a glance at her grandmother. Gertrude was pale, her face set stubbornly, her eyes trained on her daughter. Wishing for a beer, instead Lavender pulled out a pitcher of water and poured herself a glass with shaking hands before turning back to face her mother.
"What are you doing here?” she repeated.
"I didn't think I needed an invitation to my own home."
"This hasn't been your home for awhile. And why come in the middle of the night? How long has it been?"
She didn't have to ask. She knew to the day—four years, three months, a week and four days. She just wondered if Eleanor was aware.
"Too long.” Eleanor tried for a soothing tone but it had no effect on Lavender.
"Are you hiding from someone? Or just running away again?"
Eleanor's expression hardened into a replica of Gertrude's. “You are just like your grandmother."
Lavender bit back the desire to say she wouldn't be if Eleanor hadn't abandoned her to care for Gertrude all these years, but that would only hurt her grandmother, and she couldn't do that, no matter how she hurt.
She took inventory of her mother. Eleanor looked worn out, her long hair graying from roots to ears, exhaustion dragging at her face. She'd gained weight, so the gypsy skirt she wore stretched over her hips, and her battered sandals displayed equally battered feet. What had her mother been doing the past four years? Did she really want to know, or did that give her mother too much power?
"I just came to see the two of you, see how you were doing."
"We're fine. Does that mean you'll leave now?"
"Why do you hate me so much?"
"I don't hate you. I don't feel anything for you. You are nothing to me.” Liar, liar, liar. She didn't hate her mother, that was true. But seeing her raised all kinds of hope, hope she hadn't let herself experience in four years. And in two years before that. And five years before that. She took a deep breath. “How long are you staying this time?"
"As long as you'll
"I hate leaving,” she murmured, afraid to look at him. “What time are you heading out tomorrow?"
"Early."
A lump formed in her throat. “So I won't see you again."
"I'll be back in three weeks."
She made herself turn to him then. “I don't need promises.” But God, she wanted them.
"Lavender.” He rolled to his feet, pulled on his jeans without his jockeys, and reached for her.
She let him pull her close, tucked her head under his chin. “I'm not kidding myself about what this is. I know there's not a future."
"But it doesn't have to already be the past, either. I'll be back in three weeks. I'll want to see you."
She eased back and placed her fingers over his lips. She'd heard it all before. “No promises, Taylor, okay? Thank you.” She pulled out of his arms, hating how empty she felt without him wrapped around her. “This is the most fun I've had in ages. The whole weekend, not just tonight. Thank you.” And before she could start bawling, she hurried out the door.
She wondered how debauched she looked when she came in the front door of the house. Just when she was about to reassure herself that her grandmother wouldn't see her ‘til the morning—well, later in the morning—she heard raised voices coming from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Aguilar?” she asked, rounding the corner.
And stopped short to see a strange woman facing off with Gertrude.
Okay, not strange, just unexpected.
"Mother? What are you doing here?"
Eleanor Prouty turned to look at her daughter, her expression softening from the mutinous look she'd given her mother. “Lavender! Have you been out?"
Out, and she smelled like Taylor. Oops. She didn't duck fast enough and Eleanor enveloped her in her arms. Lavender did not return the embrace, and Eleanor withdrew, nostrils flared just enough to tell Lavender she smelled Taylor on her.
Refusing to be ashamed of her behavior, Lavender crossed the room to the refrigerator with a glance at her grandmother. Gertrude was pale, her face set stubbornly, her eyes trained on her daughter. Wishing for a beer, instead Lavender pulled out a pitcher of water and poured herself a glass with shaking hands before turning back to face her mother.
"What are you doing here?” she repeated.
"I didn't think I needed an invitation to my own home."
"This hasn't been your home for awhile. And why come in the middle of the night? How long has it been?"
She didn't have to ask. She knew to the day—four years, three months, a week and four days. She just wondered if Eleanor was aware.
"Too long.” Eleanor tried for a soothing tone but it had no effect on Lavender.
"Are you hiding from someone? Or just running away again?"
Eleanor's expression hardened into a replica of Gertrude's. “You are just like your grandmother."
Lavender bit back the desire to say she wouldn't be if Eleanor hadn't abandoned her to care for Gertrude all these years, but that would only hurt her grandmother, and she couldn't do that, no matter how she hurt.
She took inventory of her mother. Eleanor looked worn out, her long hair graying from roots to ears, exhaustion dragging at her face. She'd gained weight, so the gypsy skirt she wore stretched over her hips, and her battered sandals displayed equally battered feet. What had her mother been doing the past four years? Did she really want to know, or did that give her mother too much power?
"I just came to see the two of you, see how you were doing."
"We're fine. Does that mean you'll leave now?"
"Why do you hate me so much?"
"I don't hate you. I don't feel anything for you. You are nothing to me.” Liar, liar, liar. She didn't hate her mother, that was true. But seeing her raised all kinds of hope, hope she hadn't let herself experience in four years. And in two years before that. And five years before that. She took a deep breath. “How long are you staying this time?"
"As long as you'll
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