Dream House

by Jean Brashear

  He recoiled. “It was a mistake.”

  The return barb nailed its mark with devastating aim. A night that she couldn’t forget, he called only a mistake.

  The child she prayed she wasn’t carrying…was a mistake.

  No. “You’re wrong.”

  His head jerked upward. His eyes could have melted steel. He didn’t want to remember the tenderness; she understood that now. Didn’t want any part of kindness, wished for nothing at all from her, really.

  But she craved something from him, so she forced herself to breathe deeply and try once more. “Micah,” she began. “I realize that it’s painful for you to be here—”

  “You understand nothing. Someone like you couldn’t begin to—”

  She drew herself up. “Shut up. Stop treating me like dirt because you feel guilty that you got your rocks off last night.” No, no, no—get a grip. She exhaled. Fought for calm. “I’m sorry. That was unkind.”

  “Just go.” He turned his back.

  “I’ll leave, out of respect for how much you loved her, but you ponder something after I’m gone.” His head was in motion, already shaking her off, but she refused to let him deter her. “Ask yourself this, Micah Smith—what would Charlotte do? If she couldn’t stand being here because it hurt too much without you, would she let all the love in this place go to waste? Because I love it, whether or not you believe I’m worthy, and I’d do my best to care for what you and Charlotte built.”

  He rounded on her. “You didn’t know Charlotte,” he growled, “and you don’t know me.” He jabbed one finger toward her car. “And you’re on my property.”

  She remained when she longed to run, though tears blinded her eyes.

  Then, when she felt she’d proved her point, she made her way out of what could have been paradise.

  Once she was gone, Micah sagged to the porch steps, drained by the fury that never seemed to fully leave him.

  What would Charlotte do?

  That cut deep.

  None of your business, bimbo.

  But even as he thought it, he wondered at himself. Charlotte would never tear around like a rampaging bull; that was for sure. She would not aim to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.

  But she hurt me. She left me. The insidious voice taunted him, the same demon that had sucked the marrow out of him in those lost months after her death.

  He forced himself to his feet to escape its lure. To fight another spiral down into that pit of despair.

  Then face it. Her house. Your house. Home.

  He shook his head violently. This wasn’t his home, not anymore.

  So why can’t you sell it?

  Because—

  He couldn’t explain it. His feelings about this place were a vicious tangle of love and hate and lost hope. He couldn’t separate the pain from the love. Couldn’t be here and not remember—

  Micah, take a break. Come swing with me. His eyes moved inexorably toward the porch swing he’d built and hung for her, just where she could sit and watch the sun set. Laughing eyes and welcoming arms. Let’s snuggle.

  And he had, so many times. He’d awaken to find her bundled up in her grandmother’s wedding-ring quilt on a brisk morning, gaze fastened on a mockingbird singing to greet the day. Or with a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade waiting for him, its rounded sides beaded with moisture against a sweltering summer afternoon.

  Or sitting in his lap in the moonlight, drowsy and replete with sweet passion.

  Another image speared into his brain at that moment: a woman as different from Charlotte as blazing sun is from cool starlight. Abundant curves and no-holds-barred sex, her eyes daring him to leap from a cliff and discover just how wild the ride could be, until he’d lost his mind right along with her.

  Just the thought of it had lust curling in his gut.

  Micah slammed his palm against a post. Here, in Charlotte’s domain, the mere idea of another woman was unconscionable. He’d never been unfaithful to her, never even considered it. If their lovemaking had had to be more careful and had required him to rein himself in, such was a price he had paid gladly.

  Don’t be so careful with me, Micah. I won’t break.

  But she’d been wrong, no matter how much she’d wished otherwise. She hadn’t been the one forced to walk the floor at night, trying to decide if this spell would worsen or fade, who had to calculate when they could weather the crisis and when it was too dangerous not to haul her back to the hospital where too many hours of her life had passed.

  He’d do it all again, gladly, in exchange for that oasis she’d supplied, that place where his restless spirit had found such peace. Not many people got to live with an angel, and few deserved it less than Micah Smith.

  If she couldn’t stand being here because it hurt too much without you, would she let all the love in this place go to waste?

  No. She wouldn’t. But Charlotte was the angel, not him.

  He glanced around and noticed, for the first time, the true price of his neglect. Being here was making him crazy; until his mother’s fate was known, though, he couldn’t leave, however badly he craved to.

  First things first. Noah would be ready for his car, and Micah owed an apology to his siblings. However deeply mixed were his feelings about selling, that was no excuse for jumping down Levi’s throat.

  Micah scanned his surroundings and made a silent promise to return. His gaze paused on the flowerbed Jezebel had been weeding, mud on her long, graceful fingers and on the back of the curve-hugging jeans.

  His body, damn him, still responded to her. Would say yes again in a heartbeat, if offered.

  Except the house stood between them now.

  He wanted out of Three Pines desperately. He couldn’t wait to get back to New York.

  For the moment, though, that wasn’t an option, so he’d go to the hospital to check on his mother, then make the rounds of his siblings and eat crow.

  And pray that the day of his departure wasn’t far off.

  Cal was knee-deep in pine mulch when Lily returned, working alongside sixteen-year-old Kenny Davis to fill the bags that bore Mama’s signature label—scarlet rosebuds surrounding the script Blossom Central. It was dusty work, so he wore a bandanna over his nose.

  “I told you to use a mask.”

  He glanced up but kept shoveling. “I like this better.”

  “You’re just too vain to wear one.”

  He lowered the bandanna, leaned on the shovel and winked at Kenny. “What did I tell you? The woman can’t resist me.”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “You’ve sucked too much dust up your nostrils. It’s clogged your brains.”

  Instead of an answering insult, he squinted at her, then handed the shovel to Kenny. “Take five, kid.”

  Kenny grinned. “It’s more fun watching you two.”

  Cal ruffled his hair. “You’ll get other chances, I’m sure. Scram.”

  Kenny complied, emerging from the pile with his usual gawkiness.

  “Wait,” Lily said. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I told him to ditch.”

  “You what?” She whirled on Cal. “Calvin, you have no right—”

  Kenny started laughing. “It’s okay, Lily. We have a teacher in-service day.”

  “Spoilsport,” Cal said. “Beat it. But be back in ten minutes. We got fifty bags to fill yet.”

  “Slave driver.” Kenny waved as he walked away.

  “You’re a terrible influence on that impressionable boy,” she complained. Kenny had a serious case of hero worship.

  “Ever’body oughta have an example not to follow.” He stopped before her, his eyes too assessing. “What’s wrong, chère? Your mama okay?”

  She shrugged. “No worse, but no better.”

  “Thought she might like to have her own flowers around her. Maybe the scent of them might bring her back, if for nothin’ more than to chew my ass out for cuttin’ her precious blooms.”

  Lily had to smile. “She wil
l, too. I’ll go arrange them.”

  He ducked his head. “Already did.”

  She blinked. “You? Created a bouquet?”

  “What’s the big deal? You cut some stems, stick ’em in a vase.”

  “Which blooms?” Lily was already charging toward the workroom. “Calvin, the Nichols wedding is next weekend. If you’ve raided the flowers Mama has been coddling for months and get Gladys Nichols riled, I swear I’ll—”

  His shout of laughter brought her up short.

  “It’s not funny. I can’t leave you for a minute, can I?” She spun on her heel, ready to rip into him.

  He intercepted the finger she was about to jab at him. “But you’re not sad anymore, are you, chère?” He released her and stepped back. “I’d rather see you spitting mad. Your mama needs you to fight, not cry over her. She’s tough, and she’s gonna come out of this just fine, you watch. Now, some of us got to work around here.” He parted ways at the workroom door.

  Just before he moved out of hearing, she spoke up. “So did you pick Mama’s blossoms or not?”

  He paused. “I’ll leave that up to you, sugar. But you gotta admit, it’s a good idea.” He saluted and left.

  “Good idea, my foot.” But she was smiling as she reached for the door handle.

  “Lily. Ms. Smith.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Went very still. “Ms. Hart.” She’d never decided quite what she thought of the woman, despite her mother’s rapport with her. Now, on the heels of Micah’s reaction and the shocking news that he’d been with Jezebel last night, Lily found herself speechless.

  Furious, actually. How dare this woman set her sights on Lily’s grieving brother? Whatever resignation Lily had felt about Jezebel wanting the cottage evaporated into pure steam. “Can I help you?” she said without welcome.

  Jezebel towered over Lily, but at the moment, she seemed smaller. Uncertain. “I—” She glanced around as if seeking help. She wore a perfectly ordinary white T-shirt tucked into worn jeans, yet Lily couldn’t help peering down at herself, dressed nearly the same but without any of the flair. She had about as many curves as Kenny, while Jezebel in a gunny sack would still be a raving beauty and stop male hearts wherever she went.

  Which made it even more reprehensible that Jezebel had used the stun force of her body to hijack Micah into goodness knows what foolishness.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” Lily snapped.

  Jezebel recoiled. “I’m sorry. Of course you’d be busy with your mother gone. I stopped by the hospital to check on her just now. I’d like to get her some flowers.”

  “Why?”

  The woman seemed startled. “Your mother has always been so nice to me. I care about her.” Her eyes glistened. “You must be worried sick. If there’s anything I can—”

  “I think you’ve done enough.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play the innocent. What happened—you decide to ensure the sale by seducing my brother?”

  Jezebel’s reaction could not have been more telling.

  “Oh, no.” Lily felt sick. “You did. You honestly took advantage of a man who’s heartsick over the only woman he’ll ever love, just so you could buy the house he built for her.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Lily advanced on her. “You make me want to puke. Of all the lowdown, lousy things to do. My mother may be fooled by you, but I’m not. It figures that a stripper would come up with a tactic like that. You and your No Profanity jar and your meals for the lonely—you’re a fraud, aren’t you? Men can’t see past that overblown figure of yours, but that won’t work on me, I assure you.” All the horror of her impotence to bring her mother back to them coalesced into the certainty that here was something she could do: shield her brother from this conniving seductress. “Go away and don’t return. We don’t need your money, and my mother only felt sorry for you. And if you ever come near my brother again, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

  “Lily.” Cal’s voice from behind her, sharp with command. “Stop.”

  She yanked her attention from Jezebel and pounced on him. “Don’t you tell me what to do. You’re no better than she is. As a matter of fact, you’d fit together just right—an ex-con and a not-so-ex-stripper. Why don’t the two of you just get out of my sight and go—”

  Cal gripped her arms and shook her gently. “She’s gone, Lily. Quit this. She’s not who you’re mad at.”

  She slammed a clenched hand into his chest. “Don’t you tell me what I’m feeling. And if you insist on taking her side, then you can just pick up your check, you hear me?” She struggled to get away from him, to no avail.

  “I’m not going anywhere but to drive you to the hospital.”

  Lily froze, terrified to look at him and see what he meant. “Oh, no. What’s wrong with Mama?”

  But when she did, he was smiling. “She did somethin’ real, real right.” He touched one finger to her chin. “Your mama decided to wake up, chère.”

  “Oh, Cal.” Lily burst into tears.

  “Forgot to call me Calvin.” He turned her and led her to the car. “You’re definitely too shook up to drive.”

  Chapter Seven

  Micah had wheeled into the nursery parking lot just in time to witness his sister struggling in the grip of a man he’d never met. He bolted from the car. “Take your hands off her.” Behind him, he barely registered the sound of Noah’s cell phone ringing.

  Lily wheeled in his direction and registered his intent. “Micah, no—”

  She was too late. His fist caught the guy’s jaw with a satisfying crack. The impact sang up Micah’s arm; the man was nearly his height and solid muscle.

  His opponent braced for combat, and Micah welcomed the release of a good fight.

  “No!” Lily leaped at Micah and clung to his right arm.

  He attempted to shake her off.

  “Micah, listen, you hard-headed baboon. He’s not hurting me.”

  “You were fighting to get away.”

  “Calvin was only trying to make me see reason.”

  The man she called Calvin stood ready, but his mouth quirked in a grin. “Don’t know why I bother, chère,” he drawled.

  “Shut up,” Lily said, and turned to Micah. “If I let go, will you listen to me for a second? There’s something more important than Calvin to discuss.”

  “Sugar, you wound me.”

  Micah narrowed his gaze at the stream of endearments. “What’s he to you?”

  Lily tossed her head. “Nothing.”

  Calvin slapped a hand to his chest. “Now, that’s just low.” But his eyes danced.

  Micah relaxed, couldn’t help a chuckle. “And here I was hoping for a fight.” He held out a hand. “Calvin, I’m Micah Smith.”

  “Call me Cal. Robicheaux. Only Lily Belle here insists on irritatin’ me with the full name.”

  “She takes irritation to an art form.”

  “Tell me about it.” They clasped hands and grinned.

  “Men. You’re all idiots.” Lily stepped between them and grabbed Micah’s arms. “But forget that. Micah, Mama’s awake.”

  “What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Didn’t I hear Noah’s cell ringing?”

  Micah opened his mouth to deny it, and closed it just as quickly. “Probably. I thought he was hurting you so—”

  Lily pressed her hands to his cheeks. “My hero.” She smirked at Cal. “Don’t mess with me, Calvin. I have big brothers at my beck and call.”

  Micah hooked an arm around her neck and gave her a nougie. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, pest. Let’s split.” He glanced back at Cal. “You riding with us?”

  The look the man bestowed on Lily told Micah that there was more at work here than simple irritation, but Cal only shrugged. “No, you go ahead. I’ll watch over things here. Give Miz Marian my best.”

  Jezebel passed the hospital on her way to the nursing home and pondered stopping off there first. Just as quickly, she re
jected the idea, still stinging from the reactions of Micah and Lily. Levi might be more welcoming, but he was probably at his clinic, and she only knew Noah by sight. Maybe the best thing she could do for a woman she admired was to steer a wide berth around Marian’s children.

  She pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home and was gratified to see Skeeter sitting under the portico, relishing the glory of a sweet spring day. He waved, and she paused a minute to gather herself and shake off the morning’s unpleasantness.

  With a deep breath, she emerged from the car and retrieved the brownies she’d baked. She pasted on the smile that Skeeter deserved and headed up the sidewalk.

  “Hi there, handsome.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “What brings you outside?” The nursing staff was as worried as she was that Skeeter kept to his room so often. “Trolling for the ladies?” she teased.

  “Hmmph.” But he favored her with a wink. “Waitin’ for my getaway car, more like. Women ’round here about to drive a man crazy with all their flutterin’ and fussin’.”

  How she wished she could provide that getaway vehicle, but she had nowhere to take him. Even if he were completely healed, he couldn’t live alone and might never be able to do so again. The quarters behind the bar were too cramped, and he’d refused to consider letting her sleep on the couch as she’d offered previously.

  Now Micah Smith had flatly rejected her offer to buy the place she had her heart set on making into a home for this man who was the only paternal figure she’d had in many years.

  She’d figure out something; she always did. And Skeeter could use cheering, not sharing her gloom. “It must be terrible having all the ladies vying for your favor. Most men wouldn’t be complaining.”

  “Neither would I if they weren’t a bunch of ninnies,” he groused.

  “What about Mary Faith?”

  Skeeter went a most intriguing shade of pink. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  She snickered. “Liar.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You Casanova, you.”

  “Here now, young lady, I don’t have to take your guff. Set your impertinent fanny down and tell me how things are going at the bar.”