The Way Home

by Jean Brashear

  But, in an unusual moment of piercing insight, he recognized how much she wanted to be argued out of her stance.

  He could soothe her with sex, but that was her tactic. For the first time in his life, James had no illusions, was not safely blind, cradled in the lovely picture his parents had painted.

  To grant them due credit, they were honestly happy—with each other, their lives, the future they anticipated. He admired that. Had thought he wanted that.

  Until Bella blew through his life like a blue norther, and rendered his world unfathomable without her.

  Honesty was his only angle. “I’m a stick in the mud. You’re a butterfly. I won’t deny either.” He felt ridiculous, kneeling buck naked before her, but intuition told him that they had to slough off both their protective shields. He grasped her hands between his, though in another time, they’d be laughing themselves silly at this Victorian pose.

  “Even a butterfly gets tired of floating sometimes.” Before she could protest that she wasn’t tired or she didn’t need rescuing, he bared his own soul. “And an old brown stick should have color in its life, or it’s just dying wood.”

  Moisture shimmered in her gaze. “Oh, James…”

  Despite his resolve, he wasn’t confident enough to rest his case yet. “I’ll go wherever you wish. However far away. You’ll wither here, I understand that. I have no desire to change you, not ever. I love exactly who you are.”

  She was weeping silently now, helplessly, his proud, defiant Bella. “I can’t let you give all this up. They adore you, James. That’s too big a sacrifice. And I don’t want to hurt them.”

  “We’ll work it out, love. All of it. Say yes.” He’d abandoned all pride then. “Please. All I need in the world is you.”

  HE’D BEEN SO CERTAIN of himself, the invincibility of their love, James pondered now. His parents, stunned and grieving, had nonetheless cared for him enough to offer them their blessing. To give Bella a fairy-tale wedding, standing in for the family she’d never had.

  They’d ridden off into the sunset, like a couple of celluloid lovers, with about that much depth of understanding of what they faced. There is no certainty like that of young lovers, mesmerized by bountiful sex and full to the brim of all they’ll accomplish due to their superior understanding of the world their forebears bobbled.

  I don’t think I can live this way anymore. Something inside me is dying.

  He’d gone back on every last word of it, he realized now. Caged the butterfly who’d had the poor judgment to land on him. He wondered if she’d been so knee-deep in their children and their busy lives that she’d lost sight, too, of how far they’d strayed.

  Not that she hadn’t agreed with the decisions they’d made. But looking back through the prism of who they’d become and what they’d lost, he began to see how much of their direction she must have concurred with simply because family was everything to her.

  He’d betrayed who she was long before he’d broken the vow of fidelity with one moment of carelessness, one terrible, foolish step down the wrong road.

  But how did you apologize to a woman who remembered none of it—who she’d been, who he’d been, what he’d encouraged her to become?

  He clicked off the television and threw his legs over the side of the mattress, burying his face in his hands. Where did he start, making this up to her, all of it? Did any of that butterfly remain?

  He remembered her dirt-stained jeans, the bloom on her face in those initial, carefree minutes before she’d entered the café. The fingers that had once touched him with so much love, shorn of ornamentation now, even the ring he longed to put on her again.

  He felt in his pocket for it. He’d discovered it after she’d left and been scared to death by its presence, as though she’d already bid him adieu.

  He’d have to earn that right, and the place to begin was by finding out who Bella was now, who she wanted to be. Listening hard and paying attention without the veil of his own desires and needs.

  He picked up the phone and ordered a second rental car, paying a premium for the SUV to be delivered first thing in the morning, so Cele and Cam would also have transportation.

  Because he couldn’t sleep this far away from her, he would drive back to Lucky Draw, and he would park as close as possible to where she lay.

  And he would keep watch. For his Sleeping Beauty, whom every cell in him craved to awaken with a kiss.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAMES WOKE UP shivering and cursed himself for not thinking to bring a blanket. He sat up in the backseat of the rental car, where he’d retreated when he couldn’t keep his eyes open another second.

  The backseat was no more comfortable than the front. He rolled his neck to work out the kinks and turned to the right—

  And nearly jolted out of his skin.

  An old woman stood there, glaring at him. She was barely taller than Cele, bundled into a coat he couldn’t help envying, warm and thick, bright red wool.

  “You go,” she ordered. “Or I will call the police.” Her frown far outstripped her size.

  “There are no police.” Had there been, perhaps Bella would have been restored to him sooner.

  “We have a sheriff.”

  “Whose office is forty-five miles as the crow flies. I’ve talked to him.”

  Then her eyes widened. “You are him.” The word was not a compliment. “The one who claims he is her husband.”

  He was sick of talking through the glass. He pulled the door handle and pushed gently to move her back.

  She didn’t budge willingly, but she did go.

  He rose to his full height. Later, he might find this amusing, that he felt the need to intimidate someone a good foot shorter. “I am her husband.”

  A disbelieving sniff. “Dr. Sam is unhappy with you.”

  “Well, I’m pretty unhappy with Dr. Sam myself. He has no authority over Bella or me.”

  “He saved her life.”

  Point to Dr. Sam. Blast it. “And I’m grateful for that, I am—but I’m ready to take her home now. To familiar things. People she knows. The home she loves.” If only he hadn’t witnessed how terrified she’d been by what should have been most familiar, namely him and the kids.

  “She is comfortable here. We have cared for her very well.”

  He noted the pride, the concern, and had to bow to it. “You have,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful.” Innate manners took over. “I’m James Parker.” He extended his hand.

  She observed the gesture as if deliberating over consorting with the enemy. Finally, grudgingly, she accepted it. “I am Luisa Ruggino.”

  “You’re the one who called her bella. That’s my name for her.”

  She nodded gravely. “She is a beauty.”

  “Inside and out,” he agreed. “We’ve been scared to death over her disappearance.”

  Her expression softened. “She has worried much about her memory. A weaker woman would have been undone.”

  “Bella has always possessed great inner strength.”

  A glint of reluctant approval. “She did not sit around pitying herself, though she was badly frightened. She fell apart only once.”

  “I wish I’d been here for her,” he said honestly. Fervently. Sensing that this woman could be obstacle or asset, he made himself vulnerable to her scorn. “I don’t know what to do for her. My instinct is to carry her off. Whisk her home.”

  She studied him with penetrating dark eyes. “She was not one to be ordered about,” she guessed.

  That provoked a smile. “Never.”

  “Let me look at your hands,” she commanded.

  Surprised but not about to risk the delicate truce, he complied.

  She studied his palms, first the right, then the left and back again. “A tiny break in your love line.” Her gaze lifted. “Some trouble between you.”

  Inwardly, he quailed, but he brazened it out. “Does any marriage completely escape problems? Bella and I have been together for thirty-s
ix years.”

  She liked that, he could tell. She released his hands. “My Romeo and I had fifty-four too-short years. I miss him every day.” She cast a sly glance. “That does not mean I was not tempted to brain him with a skillet now and again.”

  James chuckled. “Bella’s never taken a pan to me, but she can definitely fly off the handle. The woman’s got a temper, and a hard head to go with it.”

  “While you are an angel, ever agreeable.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “But I’m more inclined to stew, not flare.”

  “A marriage made in heaven.” She grinned.

  “Maybe not, but one that’s forever.” Please let that be true.

  “For better or worse,” the old woman said.

  “In sickness and in health,” he concurred.

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I will not be party to breaking up a marriage, however fond I am of Dr. Sam, but Bella must have time. She is very frightened.”

  “I won’t hurt her.” That much was true. He would never again harm her, for one second. If he could have her back, he would be certain not to lose sight of the precious gift she was. “So what do I do? I’m not going back until she can go with me.” He surveyed his surroundings. “But I’m not much on idleness. Do you have work I could do for you?”

  “I already have Bella for that. She is a very fine cook.”

  “That she is. And you should see her gardens at home, and the paintings she does. She sews and plays guitar—”

  “She has begun making gardens for Dr. Sam. I suspect she does not endure idleness well, either.”

  He seized on a notion. “Maybe I could help. I have a strong back. Or—” Here he frowned. “Perhaps that’s too close?” He despised the uncertainty he felt. “No.” He made up his mind. “I’m going to try it. I won’t push, but she needs to become accustomed to me again. Or get to know me, maybe I should say.” He’d been talking to himself as much as Luisa, but now he faced her. “That’s it, isn’t it? I have to woo my wife.”

  “I believe you may.” She tapped his arm. “But before you begin demonstrating your muscles, you should have a good breakfast. Come with me. I will feed you.”

  He grinned. Then hesitated. “Will the good doctor be there?”

  “Not this morning. He goes down the mountain to see patients on Tuesdays.”

  “Not that I’m afraid of him or the competition, you understand.” How immature that sounded, a boast. A bluff. “I just don’t want to make Bella uncomfortable.”

  “This will not be a smooth road, James Parker.” Her glance was sympathetic. “But I find that the only way to reach your goal is simply to get started.”

  “I agree.” He held out one arm. “Allow me to escort you, madam.”

  He caught the tiny smile that flirted about her lips.

  JANE ROLLED AWAY as the sun speared her eyes. She squeezed them shut and sought the shelter of slumber again.

  Then she realized how late it must be, if sunshine had hit her bed. The bulbs. There was a full day’s work ahead. She sat up too hastily and had to steady herself.

  She inhaled and stretched. Just as suddenly, her arms fell to her sides.

  The day before rushed in. She waited for the panic, but instead, what she could remember were the faces. The hope, abruptly extinguished.

  She paused and rubbed one temple. Where did they go from here? Oh, she knew what Sam would say: Take your time. There’s no hurry. All that matters is your health.

  But Sam was wrong. Cam, so earnest and sweet, had tugged at her heart. We need you back, Mom. Home isn’t home without you.

  How desperately she wished that evoked even the faintest recall, just one glimpse, shutter-snap quick, that would show her where she’d lived for so long.

  When had he lost his first tooth? How had Cele fared in the beginning? Bella must have learned mothering on her—how had she done? She was terrified to hear, lest she’d been a terrible parent, yet the two of them seemed healthy and bright, clearly devoted to James.

  To her, as well, however little she felt the same. And wasn’t that the worst thing a parent could do, to not feel some visceral connection to her children? Was it because they were adopted? Would things be different if she could spot shared features? Oh, she hoped not. Hadn’t they suffered enough, losing the first set of parents?

  She had to confront the daughter who viewed her with such disappointment. So much yearning.

  And James. He was inexplicably terrifying to her—not a child but a full-grown man, obviously accustomed to exerting his power. Smart and not cruel but altogether too…male. He made her restless beneath her skin. On a simple physical level, he was very attractive to her, but she couldn’t accept any of his advances, even if he offered them, for fear of all else she’d become entangled in.

  He wasn’t simply a potential lover. He was her husband. He held the keys to her home, to her future. If she couldn’t remember a career, how could she support herself should he decide he didn’t love this new person? But how could she allow herself to be his charity case—or Sam’s, for that matter?

  Desperate to get out of her thoughts, she walked to the window, twisted open the blinds to check out the morning.

  Oh, no. There he was, James. Spading up dirt in the flower bed she’d intended to leave for spring. She nearly said something, but he wouldn’t hear her through the glass, anyway.

  Then, abruptly, he turned.

  Something rippled through her, deeper than conscious thought. Closer than bone.

  Eyes locked, minutes passed. Aeons. Some part of her registered the broad shoulders, the long legs encased in jeans. His hair, brushed with silver at the temples, gleamed golden in the morning light. His pupils were a stormy blue.

  She retreated from the window and fled to the shower.

  SHE VENTURED OUTSIDE at last, arms close to her sides, fingers gripping the seams of her jeans. What had she worn in her other life? She had a moment of nerves, wishing to be more presentable, though she wasn’t sure why this man’s judgment mattered.

  Then she forced herself straight. What she was, who she would be, they would all discover together, it seemed.

  “Mornin’.” His low drawl was so different from Sam’s clipped tones. She enjoyed the music of it.

  “Hello.” She smiled past her jitters. “I’m, um, I don’t usually sleep this late.”

  “I know,” he said. “You always liked to be in your garden early. ‘Produce is best picked before the sun hits it, slugabed.’ I liked keeping you tucked in beside me as long as I could, but—” He grinned, and she felt a small shiver at the gleam in his eyes. “I was the beneficiary of that drive, so who was I to disagree?”

  She strained to remember it. Deflated when she couldn’t. “What was my garden like?”

  “I should have brought pictures, but I wasn’t thinking of anything except how quickly I could get to you.” He frowned. “That makes you uncomfortable to hear.”

  “No, no…” She paused. “Yes, a little. I just regret that I don’t—” She halted again.

  “Don’t feel anything for me?” When she bit her lip, he hastened on. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s…painful, but it’s real. We begin from here and move on.”

  She cocked her head. “You’re a pragmatist.”

  “I thought so, but lately, I’m wondering if I understood anything at all.”

  “I’m sorry. Is that my fault?”

  “No. God, no. You’re not to blame for anything.” His forehead wrinkled, but he didn’t elaborate.

  She needed movement. Action. This was getting too uncomfortable. Stifling. She glanced around her, mentally rearranging what she’d envisioned in order to accommodate what he’d done.

  She wasn’t going to ask him to start over in the garden, too.

  “You’ve got that ‘this wasn’t what I’d planned’ expression.” But he was grinning. “I knew better than to just dig in.” He chuckled. “Literally. But I was…antsy. We did have that in commo
n, that neither of us could sit still worth a flip.” He backed away, held the shovel out to his side. “Say the word, master gardener, and I’ll pack all this soil right back down.”

  He was amazingly good-natured at the prospect. “I had in mind to plant bulbs over there, so that I wouldn’t have to dig up so much.” She smiled back at him. “This will be better. The plants will probably thank you. That ground is as hard as cement.”

  “You’re telling me.” He rubbed his back.

  “Have you hurt yourself? Here, let me—”

  His laughter brought her up short. “I was only teasing. This is a better workout than the gym. The air is clean and crisp, and I’ve lost count of how many different types of birdsong I’ve heard. Anyway, I can handle the dummy end of a shovel fine. Just point me in whatever direction you desire.” He swept an imaginary hat from his head and bowed.

  She found herself truly smiling for the first time in days. Perhaps they could suit. This was a nice man she’d married.

  He smiled at her. For the moment, it was enough.

  Then her stomach growled, quite loudly.

  “Someone missed breakfast,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He frowned. “You’re still healing. You should eat. Anyway, anyone who’d miss one of Luisa’s breakfasts is crazy.”

  “Luisa fed you?”

  “She took pity on me when she found me early this morning.”

  “Where?”

  Color flared in his cheeks. “Sleeping in the car.”

  “Why? I never dreamed—” She realized she had no idea where they’d stay. Lucky Draw had no motel. “Where are the children?”

  “Back in Rifle, at the motel.”

  She frowned. “You left them there?”

  “Honey, they’re grown. They don’t live with us anymore—at least, Cele doesn’t. And Cam’s only around now and again, less so all the time.” A shadow passed over his features.

  “You miss them.”

  “Yeah. So do you. Did,” he corrected.

  She averted her gaze. “I can’t figure—” her voice was barely a whisper “—how a mother could forget her children.” She looked back. “The man she loved.” She drew in a deep breath. “We did love each other?”