Dream House

by Jean Brashear

  Fury at himself took over then. Ruthlessly, he flipped her and entered her in one thrust, then set a hard pace. Charlotte was dead and he was alive, however often he’d wished different. His mother was hurt and his life was a sham and—

  Jezebel was crying.

  He flinched. Pulled away.

  “No.” She stared at him with so many expressions skating over her face that he couldn’t interpret. Fierce determination. Hunger. Sorrow and, damn her, pity.

  “Don’t you feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare,” he growled.

  Her expression was stricken. “It’s not—”

  He kissed her to shut her up. All playfulness vanished, and the two joined battle, only Micah couldn’t figure out if he was fighting her or himself.

  Jezebel’s back arched, those long, muscular legs locked him to her, and his twice-damned body betrayed him.

  When his brain cleared, his head lay on her bosom as her hand stroked over his hair. For once, his mind was quiet and still. For a breathless, forbidden moment, he allowed himself to simply be.

  How long since he’d known even a moment’s peace? One stray beam of sunshine and hope. Of…connection.

  It felt so good. Too good.

  He couldn’t see her expression without moving, and he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to chance it, anyway. He didn’t know whether to apologize or say thank you, to run like hell or stay and make it up to her.

  Before he could figure it out, her body began to slacken into slumber. When her breathing settled into a slow, easy rhythm, he peeled himself from her.

  And saw tears dried into silver tracks over skin like white velvet.

  But her mouth was curved in a smile.

  Micah lay back for a minute and tried to decide if he was the most pathetic loser or sorriest bastard he’d ever known.

  Ah, Charlotte. What did you ever find to love in me? He spoke, as he often did, to the woman whose memory proved elusive when he needed it most. He couldn’t remember how her voice sounded anymore, and he was losing his hold on too much else.

  He had to summon the strength to paint her portrait before he lost her altogether.

  Micah removed himself from Jezebel’s bed as quietly as possible. On silent feet, he gathered his clothes and left without looking back.

  Those extra condoms wouldn’t be required tonight.

  Jezebel awoke when the door clicked shut.

  Heavenly days. Delicious echoes of his lovemaking still shivered through her body. Micah Smith was a complicated mixture of raw physical power and staggering finesse. Hard, ropy muscles, long, virtuoso fingers and a sixth sense for a woman’s sweet spots.

  All of that mingled with enough shadows and pain to break your heart.

  She sighed and rolled over, gathering his pillow to her as she had wanted to cuddle him. Shield him.

  Boy, you sure can pick ’em, can’t you?

  But Micah Smith wasn’t a child she could nurture or a stray like Rufus or Oscar that she could simply sweep up and incorporate into her life. She had her hands full, in any case, with Skeeter and the bar.

  And Micah didn’t want to be tended; he’d made that perfectly clear.

  Even if his body had responded differently at the end there. She didn’t think he was aware of how tightly he’d clung to her, but he’d raised a riot of feelings. Her body tingling from his, her heart twisting in sorrow, she’d also felt the bite of shame that he’d deemed her so pathetic, he’d grant her mercy sex.

  She shoved the pillow to the floor; Oscar yowled and scampered away. Instantly, Jezebel rolled and held out her hand. “I’m sorry. Come here,” she entreated. With the slow disdain only a cat can muster, Oscar avoided her.

  “You and Micah have a lot in common.” Just then, Rufus nudged her hip with his cold, wet nose. She turned to him in gratitude. “And you’re too much like me, aren’t you, boy? Always hungry for affection.” She sighed and shook her head. “Well, that man is a fool’s errand, no matter how much he needs love.”

  No one had ever stuck by her in all her life; still, she’d never been able, in a small, secret part of her, to quit wishing for that special someone. Even to flirt with the notion now was emotional suicide, however, particularly given what she understood of Micah and his past.

  She glanced at the cat, a cool distance apart, occupied in grooming himself, so sure of his place in the world and caring not a fig for anyone else’s desires.

  She pressed a kiss to Rufus’s head. “We could both learn a lesson from the Emperor here.”

  Rufus swiped his tongue over her cheek and nudged closer.

  Jezebel chuckled and cast the night away like broom-swept dust. “I know, I know. We’re both too old to change, aren’t we? Good thing that man is leaving town soon. We’ll just hope he doesn’t come back into the bar before he goes.”

  Then she sobered. How would he feel about her offer to buy his cottage now?

  Borrowing trouble, Jez. Nothing you can do about it tonight. With a shake of her head, she rose.

  And felt an unmistakable wetness trailing down her thighs—

  Left by a broken condom.

  Chapter Five

  Oh, no. No. What if I’m—

  Jezebel sank onto one of her two mismatched kitchen chairs and tried to pinch off the word, but it wouldn’t be forestalled.

  Pregnant. She couldn’t be, that was all. The odds were high against it, and she should be relieved. She had no business with a baby, not without a husband, however much she longed for a child. Single parenthood might be fine for some people, but not for someone with her background. What did she know about mothering? She’d been left on her own for days at a time until the child welfare people finally removed her from the junkie aunt who’d taken her in to collect child welfare payments, and no one after that had wanted her.

  But a baby… Regardless of the lousy timing, she couldn’t help going gooey inside at the thought.

  Jezebel cherished the few remnants of memory of her brief life with a whole family. She had been surrounded by love once, and she wished that for any child she might bear. One parent could give it, sure, but the small Jezebel had treasured her mother’s gentleness and her father’s strength; both had contributed to the sense of haven a little girl had assumed was normal.

  However badly she craved to be a mother someday, she desired just as much for any child of hers to have that wealth. The loss was forever an ache inside her.

  “Good grief.” She shoved out of her chair. “It only happened a few hours ago, and I’m acting as if a baby is a done deal.” She busied herself making coffee and starting breakfast.

  Micah Smith would have to be some kind of stud to knock her up the first time they’d made love—

  Had sex, she corrected herself.

  But she could still feel his hair beneath her fingers, thick and sable-dark, as he laid his head over her heart for those few moments when he’d let down the mile-high walls.

  That poor man. He didn’t appreciate her pity, and he was anything but weak, yet she couldn’t help wanting to heal him.

  Rufus ambled up and leaned against her leg in that funny way of his, as though he needed to be propped up. She cooed to him as she scratched his wide head, then dropped to her heels to extend the same favor to Oscar. She glanced around herself at the tiny, cramped space she inhabited and tried to envision where she’d put a crib.

  “Stop it.” She jerked to standing. “This is crazy. You’re not pregnant.”

  But a powerful inner sense said different. She had no idea how early she could take a pregnancy test, yet some instinct chimed that one wasn’t necessary.

  “Don’t borrow trouble,” she ordered herself aloud to reinforce the message.

  She could shout it, however; the tactic wasn’t working. Now, more than ever, she wanted the cottage. Had to have the cottage. She would not bring up a child behind a bar.

  Jezebel bent over the counter and dropped her head into her hands. How much more complicated could thi
s get? If it was true, she would have to tell Micah at some point, but how on earth would he take it?

  Not well, she’d bet her life on that.

  Would he insist on marrying her to provide—

  “No.” She straightened. Slapped her palms on the cracked tile to knock some sense into herself. “The condom only tore hours ago, and already you’re getting married.” She began to pace. To seek an answer to what to do, since inaction was never her first choice. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life—dropping out of school, living on the streets, hooking up with lousy men—but she was beginning to correct them, and every step forward was the result of planning. The road out of the quagmire of her past had not been straight or smooth, but she had the money for a down payment because she’d thought ahead.

  Maybe she wasn’t pregnant. A part of her sighed and settled its shoulders in relief, though another piece of her mourned.

  But if she was, then she had to plot very careful steps through the minefield that was Micah Smith. The first one was to check with Levi to determine if her offer had been conveyed and if so, what Micah’s answer was. Whether she was pregnant or not, she still wanted that house, and somehow it seemed fitting that a child of his would grow up there. Not for a second did she consider an alternative to keeping any baby that might have resulted from last night.

  And just in case, she poured out the coffee into the sink and began a cup of tea.

  As she busied her hands, her mind ranged over what to do next. The small grocery in Three Pines wasn’t open yet, and besides, she didn’t dare buy a pregnancy test there. The news would be all over town before she pocketed her change.

  At any rate, surely it was too soon to have answers to that question, but she could get another one resolved in the next hour or so when Levi’s office hours began. Meanwhile, she couldn’t stay here any longer; she’d wear the floor out pacing.

  She could visit her cottage, however. Watch the sun rise.

  And dream.

  Dawn crept over the edge of the earth as Lily made her way to the first of her mother’s three greenhouses that comprised the soul of Blossom Central. She longed to drive to the hospital and witness for herself what the nurse had conveyed: that her mother was resting comfortably, her condition was stable and no, she still had not awakened.

  But Micah was there, the woman told her. Had been most of the night. So Mama wasn’t alone.

  And she’d skin Lily if a single one of her plants died.

  They’re like babies, Marian Smith had always said. Completely dependent on us for everything—food, water and light. We have to give them the same devotion, Lily Belle. My babies are grown, and yours are still a ways off, so there’s no good excuse for not tending these well, at least until your Prince Charming has come.

  Lily had worked beside her mother since she was small. Not forced effort—well, teenage tantrums excepted—but a labor of love that ran in her own blood, as well. From her earliest memories, Lily had relished having her hands in the dirt. She had a nose a winemaker would envy for its ability to divine the delicate chemistry in a sample of soil, what it lacked and what might be wrong. Roll it between finger and thumb, crumble it in her palm, then sniff and be on the mark every time…even her mother’s wizardry could not compete with Lily’s innate gift.

  When she was younger, Lily imagined taking over the business and carrying on the tradition. There was only one cloud on the horizon.

  Prince Charming didn’t live in Three Pines and wasn’t likely to visit.

  As she watered and pinched, tamped soil gently over a stray root and rotated trays, Lily inhaled the peace that was as much a part of this rich, moist air as the tang of pine needles beneath her feet and spice of geraniums on her fingertips. And told herself that she was young yet and had plenty of years left.

  But if anything happened to Mama—

  No. Mama would be fine.

  If anything did, though, the full weight of her mother’s dream would press heavily on her shoulders.

  And not for the first time, Lily wondered what she would be missing in the world outside Three Pines.

  “Good mornin’.”

  Lily jolted. She hadn’t heard the door open. “Hello, Calvin.”

  “You’re up early. How’s your mama?”

  “Stable, they tell me.” Deliberately, she didn’t look up but kept working.

  He halted beside her and lifted the spray nozzle from her hand, twisting it to the mist needed for the ferns hanging overhead. “I can finish here, chère. Bet you’d like to go visit her.”

  Tough, muscular Cal Robicheaux, sandy haired with wicked brown eyes, had the annoying habits of thinking he could read her mind and forgetting who gave the orders around here. Since he’d entered their lives three months ago as temporary help who seemed disinclined to leave, he’d taken on more and more responsibilities her mother had gladly handed over. Always respectful of Mama’s opinions and tastes, he didn’t accord Lily the same courtesy.

  Mama thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. Lily thought he was a pain in the—well, ladies didn’t talk that way. And despite her frequently grimy fingernails and dirt-smeared jeans, Lily Belle Smith had been raised to be a Southern lady. She got back at him by calling him Calvin, a name he detested.

  “Give me that.” She held out a hand. “I finished the seedling house, but you can do the natives,” she offered grudgingly, referring to the greenhouse where they cultivated only native species, kept apart from the others to prevent accidental cross-breeding.

  “Wake up, sunshine. While you were in here dreamin’, I already took care of them—and watered all the trees.” He refused to relinquish the nozzle, but his voice softened. “You got plenty of reason to be preoccupied, chère. I went by the hospital on my way, and I’m aware that your mama ain’t awake yet. I bet you didn’t eat breakfast, either, did you?”

  She grabbed a second hose. “Who are you? My—” At that, her voice faltered. She turned away quickly.

  He stopped her with a hand on one arm. “You got to be worried sick, sugar, but starvin’ yourself don’t do anybody a bit of good.” He abandoned his hold on her. “I brought you a couple of Lorena’s cinnamon rolls. Might not be the best nutrition, but they’ll go down easy. You head on inside, get yourself cleaned up and eat. I’ll finish here and drive you over when you’re done.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she challenged. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me.”

  “Maybe not, but your mama gave me a chance when most people wouldn’t, and I mean to do right by her.” A half smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Even if it includes dealing with her bossy daughter.”

  “I am not—”

  He held up a hand. “I’m not arguing with you this mornin’, chère. You’d like nothin’ better as a way to forget your worries, but your mama needs you, so just run along and do what you know is right.”

  “What’s right is for me to watch over her nursery. She’d expect that.”

  “She’d also expect that she hired people to help, and they should be doing exactly that. I’ll handle things today and however long I’m needed. You—” he pointed to the waterlogged trays beside her “—are too distracted.”

  Her eyes rounded in horror, then filled with tears.

  He touched her shoulder. “They’re mature enough that one day won’t kill them. Now, go on inside, and I’ll be there directly.”

  For a second, the temptation to lean against him nearly overcame her. Just in time, she shrugged him off and headed for the door. As she clasped the handle, she turned. “I can get myself to the hospital.” Then she unbent. “But thank you for watching over things here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. There’s really nothing I can do to help her, but—”

  “You never know, chère.” He shook his head, then turned to his work. “You never know. Get on now.”

  For once, she had no ready retort waiting.

  “Micah?”

  The touch on hi
s arm jolted Micah awake. “Wha—”

  His sister’s blue-gray eyes were soft and sad. “I thought you left to get some sleep. Why did you return?” She glanced over at their mother’s bed. “The nurses said nothing had changed. Is there something they’re not telling me?”

  “No. I just—” He scrubbed at his face, not nearly ready to talk about his activities during the night. He’d driven here after he’d left Jezebel. He dropped his elbows onto his thighs and let his head hang, clearing his throat. “I wanted to be with her.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I haven’t been around when she needed me.”

  Lily stroked his hair. “She understood why you left.” Then she smiled. “She’s thrilled about your success.”

  Micah shrugged. “So people keep saying.” He rose to pace. “I hate being here, Lily. What kind of jerk does that make me? Everything I loved was once in this town, and now I can’t wait to leave.” He saw her face crumple and realized what he’d said. “I’m sorry, Lily B. Of course there are still people I love here—you and Mom and Levi. And Noah not that far. It’s only that—” He stared out the window. “Everywhere I look, I see Charlotte. And being in a hospital again—”

  “Mama wouldn’t want you to be this miserable, Micah.”

  He whirled. “She kept me alive all those months.” He ground his teeth. “She never gave up on me. If you expect me to walk out on her simply because it’s hard to be here—”

  “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”

  “What?” Images of onion rings and a hamburger led to inescapable images of Jezebel laid out on that same table as he’d bared her lush curves—

  Micah swore beneath his breath. Put his hands on his hips and squeezed his eyes to wring out the sight of her. Jezebel was an aberration, the night one he rued in the daylight. How in the hell, when his mother was lying here, helpless and alone and maybe dying, could he have—

  “Micah?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  Lily recoiled. “I only asked if you wanted to get some breakfast.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “No.” Then he noted the hurt on her face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should eat something.”