she’d just one-upped him, but as soon as she was out of sight, her shoulders sagged. She’d practically bullied him into staying. The same way she’d bullied him into letting her take him to the bus station.
Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? He didn’t want her help.
Well, that was too bad, because he was getting it.
She needed to do something to get her mind off what had just happened, and what was going to happen again later tonight.
And inevitably, what was going to happen in the morning. His regret, his— No. She wasn’t going to think about that. There were potatoes that needed peeling and oil that needed heating for the fried chicken.
“Hey, Bets. Is that Jack’s car in the driveway? Am I setting another place for dinner?” Caleb asked as he barreled through the door.
He was still in his policeman’s uniform. It made him look taller, more imposing. As if he needed it. He was already a big guy, but there was something about the uniform that made his jaw look harder, his eyes brighter, and his black hair shinier. When Betsy was little, she always thought he looked like Christopher Reeve. Except he had brown eyes instead of blue.
“You better take off your gun before you sit down to the table.” She looked pointedly at his duty belt. “You know Mama doesn’t like to have it in the house. Let alone at the dinner table.” She took down the cast-iron skillet her mama used for the fried chicken and started making the preparations.
“Didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes. Jack is having dinner with us tonight.”
“How did you swing that?” Caleb smirked.
“The promise of sexual favors.” It wasn’t a lie, if she boiled it down to the basics, and she liked to rattle him.
“You’re not funny, Betsy.” He scowled.
“Why do you always think I’m kidding?”
“I don’t want to know.” Caleb shook his head in denial.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Before I thought better of it.” Caleb peered down at the oil over her shoulder. “Did you add a little salt to the oil? Because—”
Betsy was quick to interrupt him. “Mom’s frying the chicken.”
The Great Chicken Debate had raged in the Lewis household for years. While Betsy was the baker, Caleb was an expert when it came to main dishes. Before the army, he’d considered going to the same school Betsy attended in New York.
“Well, I just think that she should—”
“Caleb,” India said from the doorway. “You know you never win this. Your job every Sunday is to be the dish boy. Deal with it.” Her blond ponytail swung as she nodded her head to accentuate her point.
“I’d think you’d be on my side, India. You love my fried chicken.” Caleb eyed her.
“At your house when we’re watching the Chiefs with a cold beer. This is your mother’s thing. I fancy keeping my head where it’s attached to my neck, thanks.” India nodded sagely.
“I don’t know how you stand him,” Betsy teased her.
“Me, either.” She shrugged.
“You’re no picnic yourself, George.” Caleb grabbed a beer out of the fridge.
“I am a paragon of virtue,” India retorted.
“Whoever told you that was lying like a rug.” Jack wandered into the kitchen.
“Shut up, McConnell. I’ve got a pair of cuffs and I’m not afraid to use them.” India indicated to her duty belt with a grin.
Jack arched an eyebrow. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“You always were the bad influence,” India tossed back, and grabbed two beers out of the fridge. She handed one to Jack.
“You just didn’t like it that Caleb and I would hide from you in the tree house. Your mom didn’t want you climbing trees, so that was the only place we were safe.”
Betsy watched the easy flow between them. Yes, things had changed. The three of them had gone away to war, and two of them had come home with pieces missing.
But she knew that India’s pain was Caleb’s, too. If she was wounded, it twisted something in him, as well. Caleb and Jack were as close as brothers, but his bond with India was something different.
Something Betsy always thought was more like love. Not a familial love, or even a brother in arms, but deep, abiding happily-ever-after kind of love. Betsy had mentioned it to Caleb once and he told her it was just because she always wanted India to be her sister.
“I seem to remember that time with the firecracker bomb you were not safe at all. In fact, you both screamed like little girls.”
“We were ten.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “And you blew out the floor of the tree house.”
“Hey, man, that’s okay. Let her have that. That’s the only time she ever got the better of us.” Caleb grinned and stiffened as he prepared himself for the impact of her fist into his arm.
“Did you forget that you have to go home with me tonight? I know where you sleep.”
It was Betsy’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
India blushed, something she didn’t usually do. “His place is being sprayed. The neighbors have roaches, so he’s bug-bombing just in case.”
Betsy didn’t mention the obvious: that he had a room here he could stay in, if need be.
Jack wouldn’t leave it alone, though. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Betsy fled the scene.
She suddenly understood what Jack meant about sitting around wanting things he couldn’t have. All of the easy banter in the kitchen, just like when they were kids. It had been a scene much like this one where she’d planned out their lives. India and Caleb, Betsy and Jack. They lived in Kansas City, far enough away from the small town to have a city life, but still close enough to their parents. Instead of going into the navy, Jack had taken a football scholarship to KU and was drafted to play for the Chiefs. Betsy and Caleb were partners in a successful restaurant, but India, she was still a cop. There was no life Betsy could imagine where India wasn’t chasing down the bad guys and giving them what they had coming.
And they spent all their time together. Every night dinner was together at the restaurant.
Betsy knew those dreams were naive and childish, but they’d been born in simpler times. A more innocent time.
* * *
JACK WATCHED BETSY FLEE and gave her all of three minutes before he went looking for her. If he wasn’t allowed to hide, neither was she. He knew that’s what she was doing. He could
