“Huh?”
“The flags.”
Atop every silo an American flag flapped in the breeze. “Oh. My dad is big on the red, white and blue—was even before I joined the army—but those flags are there because he owns those silos.”
“Of course he does. This is his farm.”
“Yeah, but, silos cost almost as much as they weigh. It’s tradition that when a farmer pays off his debt on one, he tops it with an American flag or paints the icon on the side. A matter of pride, I guess. So everyone who drives by knows how well that farm is doing.”
Jane eyed the three towering structures. “They’re doing very well, then.”
“My dad and my brother are farmer’s farmers.”
Bobby heard the pride in his voice. Jane must have, too. She shot him an approving glance, before returning her gaze to the horizon.
Moments later Bobby turned onto the winding lane that led from the main road to the stone farmhouse and the bright white outbuildings.
The instant the tires hit gravel, the farm dogs came running. While most farmers employed canines with herding tendencies such as sheepdogs and collies, or mutts, because they were tough, smart and free, on the farm of John Luchetti purebred Dalmatians ran with the cows, pigs, cats and chickens.
The last time Bobby had been home there’d been only two— Bull and Bear—named for the favorite sports teams of the Luchettis, as well as the majority of Illinois.
However, Bear was a hound, in more ways than one, and his brief affair with a neighboring French poodle had produced doodles. Way too many, judging from the size of the pack.
Bobby stopped the car. Dalmatians and doodles ran around the vehicle as if he’d parked at the center of the Indy 500 track. Bear and Bull jumped in three-foot leaps of joy next to Bobby’s window. Lucky pressed her nose to the glass and sighed.
“Wanna play, girl?” Jane asked.
“Is she fixed?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“Fixed as in…” Bobby made a cutting motion with his fingers. “Fixed.”
“Spayed?” Jane snorted. “Right. In Mexico?”
“Bear has issues.”
“I take it Bear is one of those dancing Dalmatians?” At his nod, she continued, “What kind of issues?”
“Can’t keep it in his pants. Hence the doodles.” He waved at the herd of shaggy, spotted dogs.
“And the other?”
“Bull? He’s never shown any interest in girl dogs. We think he’s brain damaged.”
Jane giggled. The sound turned to a choked garble, and she stared through the windshield wide-eyed.
Concerned the bad guys had beaten them here, Bobby reached beneath the seat for his weapon, even as he followed the direction of her gaze.
His mother stood on the porch.
JANE HAD NEVER MET the mother of anyone she was sleeping with before. She wasn’t sure what to do.
Blurting out “He’s spectacular” was probably the quickest way to another black eye.
“Bobby? Bobby?”
Mrs. Luchetti bolted off the porch and ran to the car. Dogs leaped out of her way without even being told to move. Either they were all scared to death of her or…
They were all scared to death of her.
She yanked open the driver’s-side door. Bobby stepped directly into her embrace.
“Bobby,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Shh.”
She held on to him tightly for several moments. Jane knew she should probably look away, but the pure love, the relief, the sense of family was too fascinating, and too foreign, to resist.
Suddenly Mrs. Luchetti’s eyes snapped open, catching Jane mid-stare. She wanted to sit up straight and spill every secret in her head.
“Where’ve you been?” Mrs. Luchetti asked.
Jane nearly answered, but before she could, Bobby did. “Another assignment. Several, in fact.”
“Is she an assignment?”
“She’s Jane. Dr. Jane Harker. And yes, she is.”
Jane fought not to wince. His mother was still staring at her as if she would like to screw off the top of Jane’s head and peer inside.
How could he call her an assignment? Then again, what should he call her?
She’d been telling herself not to build any forever-fantasy around Bobby. She didn’t want that; neither did he. So his referring to her as an assignment shouldn’t hurt.
Shouldn’t, but did.
“No one can know she’s here for a few days. Okay, Mom?”
Mrs. Luchetti stepped back and put her hands on her ample hips. Her long, white braid swayed. “You came home because you’re hiding?”
“Not exactly.”
“Let me put it this way, would you have been home today if not for her?”
Jane was starting to flinch every time the woman said her.
Bobby glanced from his mother to Jane, then back again. Finally he lifted and lowered his hands, then gave a simple, one-word answer.
“No.”
Mrs. Luchetti’s sigh was both disappointed and annoyed. Jane braced herself for…what? She wasn’t quite sure. Then Lucky squeezed her way through the space between the back and front seat. Jane made a grab, but it was too late.
Lucky hit the ground and was surrounded by spotted dogs. The hair on the back of her neck lifted; she grumbled but she didn’t growl.
“What is that?” Bobby’s mom asked.
“Jane’s dog. We need to keep her away from Bear.”
At that moment Bear caught sight of Lucky, yelped and ran for the barn with his tail between his legs.
“Doesn’t seem to be a problem,” Mrs. Luchetti murmured. “Besides, we got him fixed half a dozen doodles ago.”
“I didn’t think Dean would ever go for that.”
“He didn’t have much choice.” Mrs. Luchetti reached out and put her hand against Bobby’s stubbly jaw. “It’s good to see your face.”
She tapped him once, lightly, with her fingers, and Jane got the impression that all was forgiven.
The woman leaned into the car. “I apologize for being rude, Doctor. My son hasn’t been home in years.”
“So I hear.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“Mom!”
Jane ignored Bobby and answered. “I think it’s criminal.”
Bobby stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers as he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue behind his mother’s head.
“Your face is going to stay that way,” Mrs. Luchetti snapped.
He immediately stopped as if he’d been spanked. Jane snickered.
“How do you do that?” he demanded.
Mrs. Luchetti winked at Jane. “Come on inside, Doctor.”
“Jane.”
“Jane. I’m Eleanor.”
Jane climbed out of the car. Lucky took off with the doodles, leaving Jane to feel as if her toddler had finally started playing well with others.
“What the hell!”
A bellow erupted from the rear of the barn. All of the dogs tore back toward the car.
Jane glanced at Bobby and Eleanor. They both muttered, “Dean.”
A man came around the side of the building. He didn’t walk so much as stomp. Puffs of dust swelled from the ground and swirled across his muck-encrusted work boots.
He was slightly taller than Bobby, leaner, too—more sinew than bulk. His hair was the same shade of dark brown. When he glanced up, Jane was captured by familiar bright blue eyes in a face darkened by a lifetime outdoors. She considered him quite nice-looking, until he opened his mouth.
“Why is there a new dog?” he demanded. “If you can call that a dog.”
Jane’s lips pursed, and she stepped forward to defend her girl—who appeared to have hidden under the house with the rest of the mutts. No one scared her dog—no one.
She swallowed the words, however, when Dean stopped dead at the sight of Bobby. Joy f
litted across his face for just an instant before he scowled.
“About time,” he said. “Wondered if you were ever going to be bothered to visit the poor hicks you left behind.”
Eleanor shook her head and went inside. Bobby didn’t seem insulted. Instead, he strode forward and clapped both hands on Dean’s shoulders.
“Damn glad to see you, too.”
Dean snorted. But a smile ghosted across his face before he soft-punched Bobby in the gut.
How had such a handsome man gotten such a sour disposition? Wasn’t that always the way? Either that or all the good ones were gay.
“Have you talked to Colin?” Dean asked.
Bobby dropped his arms. Tension radiated from him. He turned sideways, away from Dean, but Jane still couldn’t see his expression.
“This is Jane,” he said.
Dean glanced at her, then back at Bobby. His knowing look made her want to kick him in the shin. Childish, but then so was he.
“Aha.”
“Shut up,” Bobby said. “She’s going to stay for a few days.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to stay, too.”
“Aren’t we the lucky ones?”
Bobby ignored him, which Jane was starting to understand was the preferred method of dealing with this crabby family member.
“You think you can keep your trap shut, and everyone else’s too?” Bobby asked. “We need to lie low.”
Dean’s gaze flicked back to Jane again. “Trouble?”
“Times ten.”
“Then consider my lip, and everyone else’s in the vicinity, zipped.”
“Daddy!”
A boy of about six or seven barreled out of the barn. With bright blue eyes, freckles and untamed light brown hair, he brought to mind Tom Sawyer, an image heightened by his stained overalls and torn shirt. He tripped over his huge feet and landed in a heap in front of Dean.
The man reached down and hoisted the kid upright. “You okay, Tim?”
The hand he ran over the child’s messy hair was big and rough, but the touch was gentle, as were the words.
Tim stared up at Dean with such utter trust and love, Jane gave the man a second look. In his eyes she saw the same expression, and her initial dislike fled. No one could be that bad if they loved a child that much.
Every doodle scrambled out from under the porch and tried to knock Tim down again. Lucky came out, too, and joined the fun.
“Who’s the new one?” Tim asked between giggles.
“Don’t get attached, kid. It’s only here for a few days.”
It? Jane’s annoyance returned.
“But she’s so sweet!”
The little boy had gone down on his knees and was busy getting Lucky love all over his face. Jane winced, but Dean didn’t seem to care. The child no doubt wallowed in a lot worse things than dog spit.
“Who’s that guy?” Tim shut one eye and squinted with the other. “He looks kinda like you.”
“Except I’m more handsome.” Bobby punched Dean in the arm.
“Ow! Watch it, G.I. Joe. Some of us aren’t muscle heads.”
“G.I. Joe!” Tim leaped to his feet and threw his arms around Bobby’s knees. “You’re Uncle Bobby! We thought you was dead. At least twice. Gramma cried.”
A flicker of sadness passed over Bobby’s face.
“Tim,” Dean warned.
“She did. And Grampa said, ‘Ellie, he’ll come back.’ And here you are. Grampa’s always right.”
“Or so he says,” Dean muttered.
Tim lifted his arms in the air. “Pick me up.”
“You’re kind of big for that, aren’t you?” Bobby asked.
“You’re huge. Can’t you do it?”
“Sure.” He lifted Tim into his arms, then tossed him toward the sky.
“Hey!” Jane exclaimed. “That can’t be safe.”
“With Tim,” Dean said dryly, “that’s about as safe as he gets.”
Lucky danced around their feet, barking. When the doodles began to chase one another’s tails, and things started to get really out of hand, Jane whistled.
Obediently, Lucky trotted out of the fray. Bobby set Tim down, and the boy followed the dog, albeit erratically. Way too much tossing for one little brain.
“Hi.”
He peered up at her, showing off adorable gaps where a few teeth should be. Jane was suddenly possessed by the urge to produce five or six just like him.
“I’m Tim Luchetti. I used to be The Timinator, ’cept Dean, that’s my daddy, said I needed a shorter first name and a better last one. Since I didn’t have a last one and my name used to be Rat, before it was Timinator, that wasn’t too hard.”
He spoke as fast as he walked, and he danced around as if he had to pee during the entire conversation. Jane suddenly understood what Dean meant when he said flying through the air with Bobby was safe in comparison. She had a sneaking suspicion Tim had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder— ADHD—and her assessment of Dean rose another notch.
“I’m Jane.” She held out her hand.
“Dr. Harker,” Dean interjected.
“Jane’s fine.”
“How ’bout you be Dr. Jane,” Tim said. “I like that.”
His hand slipped into hers. Instead of shaking it, he held on tight and dragged her toward the house.
“Come and see my football. It’s soft, ’cause Gramma says I throw too hard. Do you like football?”
Jane glanced over her shoulder at the brothers, but they had their heads together in what appeared to be a deep and serious conversation.
“Sure.” She turned to Tim. “I like football.”
He squinted at her from beneath bangs that were half an inch too long. “Can you catch? My aunt Kim said she could, but she can’t. The ball hit her in the nose, and that’s how I ended up with the soft one. Did you get hit in the nose?”
Jane remembered her fading bruises. No one else had mentioned them. Probably because bruises around here were as plentiful as…cows.
“Not exactly,” she said, unwilling to explain drug dealers, kidnapping and murder to a child.
“Someone smacked you around,” he said sagely. “That used to happen to me a lot.”
Jane frowned. “Where?”
“I can’t remember. Before here. No one ever hits me here.”
“I would think not!”
Tim contemplated her with a far-too-serious expression for a child of his years. “Next time anyone tries to smack you, you gotta get small, hide, duck. Then find someone who’ll protect you.”
Jane glanced at Bobby again. He saw her looking and smiled.
“I did,” she whispered, then followed Tim into the house.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“WHAT’S WITH THE DOCTOR and the longing looks?” Dean asked.
Bobby started. He’d been staring after Jane, remembering the last time they’d—
“Huh?” he asked.
“Man, for the smartest one of us all, you sure are dumb.”
“I’m not the smartest. That’s Kim.”
“The princess lawyer. She is so annoying.”
Dean and Kim had always been at odds. However, when Dean’s best friend had gotten Kim pregnant not once, but twice—albeit fourteen years apart— Dean had beaten the crap out of Brian Riley. Some things were a matter of principle.
Since then, Kim and Dean had called a truce of sorts. Although, Bobby doubted they’d ever be able to quit ripping on each other at every opportunity. Habits born in the cradle died hard.
“I’m sure it’ll be handy to have a lawyer in the family,” Bobby said.
“I guess.”
They’d have to use a cattle prod to get Dean to admit needing Kim for anything.
“You gonna add a doctor to the mix?”
“Huh?”
The word seemed to be Bobby’s sole response to a lot of questions lately.
“The doctor. Is she gonna be Mrs. Luchetti number…” Dean co
unted on his fingers. “Five?”
“No.” Bobby frowned. “I went to Quintana Roo to rescue her, then we escaped and then— Well, it’s complicated.”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t sleeping with her. I’m not that stupid.”
Bobby kept silent. He wasn’t going to comment. Especially to Dean.
“Are you still in love with Marlie?”
Bobby flinched. “How can I be? She’s Colin’s wife. She’s already on kid number two.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t love her,” Dean said quietly.
“I barely knew her.”
And the more time he spent in Jane’s company, the more time he spent in her bed, the less and less he thought about the woman he’d once planned to marry. But was that good or bad?
“Mom’s worried.”
“I’m home now.”
“She’s worried that you and Colin having this fight over a woman is going to break up the family.”
“There wasn’t any fight.”
“You punched him in the mouth.”
Bobby made a derisive sound. “That wasn’t a fight, that was…”
“Fun?” Dean suggested.
Bobby shrugged. Punching Colin hadn’t made him feel any better.
“Tattletale,” he muttered.
“Colin didn’t tell. Marlie did.”
Bobby winced again. She had to think he was a beast, coming to their house and smacking her husband in the mouth.
“That’s over now,” he said.
“Mom thinks you’ll run back to some foreign country where you’ll disappear for another few years.”
Dean stepped closer and gave Bobby a shoulder in the chest. Bobby took a step back. “And if you do that to her, I will personally dig through the sand of a whole shitty country to kick your ass.”
“I thought you were giving up swearing.”
“I’m trying.” Dean got out of Bobby’s face. “It’s a lot harder than I thought.”
The porch door slammed, and they both turned to discover their father striding across the yard.
John Luchetti appeared well. Though he’d had a heart attack a few years ago and been forced to cut back on the farm work he loved, as well as red meat, beer and cigarettes, he’d found other things to do. Like traveling with his wife, taking care of his grandchildren and sneaking red meat, beer and cigarettes.
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