Charlotte's Homecoming

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He raised his brows. “Sometimes. I did run for political office and beat the crap out of Tom Hicks.”

  Her smile widened. “So you did.”

  “Gray has a way of winning without displays of male dominance,” Moira said. “That makes him unusual.”

  “And sneaky,” Charlotte remarked. “He murmurs soft words, and the next thing you know you’ve agreed to do something you had no intention at all of doing.”

  Moira chuckled in delight. “Yes!”

  Gray glowered at both women. “You mean, I’m polite and reasonable.”

  “You disguise yourself as polite and reasonable.” Charlotte looked pleased to have annoyed him. “Really, you’re pushy.”

  Moira was all but falling off her stool now, she was laughing so hard.

  Gray eventually dragged Charlotte away, but not until she and Moira had bonded enough to disconcert him. Damn it, maybe they were more alike than he’d thought.

  He felt guilty leaving Moira to work. God knows, she was already doing far more than her share since he’d taken office. Now, these past weeks since Charlotte had walked into his life, he was accomplishing even less. Moira claimed not to mind; her income had climbed substantially now that she was handling the majority of the jobs, and they’d talked before he ran for mayor about the resultant stresses.

  None of that kept him from feeling guilty.

  As he drove by the first of two buildings downtown for which he’d drawn the plans, Gray was discomfited to discover that he was nervous about Charlotte’s reaction. She’d clung to his hand in the hospital. She’d responded to his kisses. Otherwise, he didn’t know what she thought about him. One of the ways he defined himself was by his work.

  But when he pointed out the new Bank of America, she leaned forward and stared, craning her neck to keep looking after the car had passed it.

  When she straightened in her seat, she turned to scrutinize him. “I noticed it the first time I came into town. It looks like it might have been here since the 1920s. For a second, I thought, ‘Wait, was that here and I’ve just forgotten it?’ But then it’s somehow modern, too, and a little bit surprising. How did you do that?”

  In partial answer, he pointed out what was wrong with the relatively new bank building just down the block that made it so jarring on the old-fashioned main street where many of the stores still had the false fronts of a classic Western town.

  The library was the other building he took pride in, and again Charlotte bathed him in praise. He felt ridiculous for needing her admiration, and embarrassingly grateful she was giving it so generously.

  He took her by a couple of houses he’d designed, too, before driving to the small riverside park. There, mothers were pushing kids on the swings or running to keep the merry-go-round spinning. Older kids splashed in the river. No teenagers, thank God, were edging out onto the railroad bridge.

  Charlotte and he sat on a park bench above the gravel beach. He set down the cooler that held their lunch and opened it.

  He scanned the river, his gaze pausing on a pair of toddlers splashing in a two-inch pool, older kids shrieking and hitting a beach ball back and forth.

  “I hope the water was higher when you jumped,” he said.

  Charlotte had put on dark glasses when they got out of the car, hiding her blue eyes. Her gaze followed his. “I’m sure it was. That pool under the bridge doesn’t look very deep right now.”

  “It’s not. I haven’t been for a swim in a while, but I’ve never noticed that boulder sticking above the water.” He pointed to a spot in the shadow of the bridge.

  “I don’t remember it, either, and Faith and I used to spend hours and hours here every summer. She said there was something of a drought this winter, so I suppose there wasn’t much snowmelt.”

  He nodded, and told her about problems people with shallow wells were already having. Those on city water were okay, but were being encouraged to conserve.

  “You know,” he said, handing her a sandwich and a bottle of water, “you’ve never told me much about what you do for a living. What kind of software were you working on?”

  She unwrapped the sandwich and lifted the focaccia bread to inspect its innards.

  “Turkey and pepper-jack cheese,” Gray said. “And some kind of chipotle sauce. Spicy.”

  The sandwiches were stuffed with vegetables, too. “Yum,” she said, and took a bite.

  Gray enjoyed watching her. Sitting here in the sun on a day cooler than any in the past month, she appeared remarkably relaxed, one leg curled under her so she could half-face him. A breeze ruffled her hair, revealing pale gold roots. He played with the image of her blond like her sister. Funny how sure he was that he still wouldn’t have any trouble telling them apart. Today she wore the airy skirt she’d had on the first time he saw her, and probably the same top, too, although now her bare arms and legs were golden instead of white. He was pretty sure the flip-flops were the same, too. She had pretty feet, narrow and high-arched, with toenails freshly painted bright coral.

  He liked the idea that she’d painted her toenails for his benefit.

  Once she’d swallowed, Charlotte said, “Most of my work has been on computer security. The eternal problem. We come up with a solution, hackers find a way around it. Do you know anything about information cards?”

  “Actually, yes. I’ve learned more than I wanted to know when the city upgraded its computers and software this spring. Apparently there had been problems in the past with employees who told their browsers to remember their passwords.”

  She nodded. “So the next person who sat down at that desk logged on with someone else’s name and password, and then you can never tell who did what. Right. Well, we were coming up with new version of the information card that we hoped would be more widely accepted. One of the big benefits would have been making online transactions more secure. It would exchange encrypted data with the bank to authorize the transaction without the purchaser entering a credit card or bank number.”

  “‘Would have been’?”

  “OpTech—that’s who I worked for—is flirting with bankruptcy. At least half the programmers lost their jobs. We were in a neck-and-neck race with another software company to get a better product on the market, and I’m going to guess they’ll win.”

  “Was it a surprise?” he asked. “Getting laid off?”

  She made a face. “Yes. We were so close. I thought any cutbacks would be in another division. I would have started job-hunting if I’d had any idea.”

  “Would you have been able to get time off to help out here at home if you hadn’t been out of a job?” Would I have ever met you? he wondered.

  “I don’t know.” Charlotte gazed out at the river, but not as if she actually saw it. “I didn’t really want to come home.”

  Gray made no effort to fill the silence. Instead, he ate his sandwich, waiting her out, feeling the struggle in her.

  “No, of course I would have come,” she finally said, her voice filled with new tension. “Dad’s accident was bad enough, but then when Faith told me about Rory…” She shuddered. “Imagine if she’d been alone.”

  The barn would have burned down, no question. Or worse—given the summer-long heatwave and lack of rain, the flames might have leaped to outbuildings, or crawled over dry grass to the house.

  And sure as hell, if the conflagration hadn’t driven Faith and her father from the farm, she’d have been hurt instead of Charlotte the night Rory broke in. Worse, Gray thought, because she wouldn’t have known how to fight back. Had she ever fought back when she was married to the son of a bitch? Gray doubted it. No, Faith had been willing to wield the baseball bat in defense of someone else she loved, but not herself.

  After a minute, he said, “You know Faith bought a handgun.”

  “Boggles the mind,” Charlotte murmured. “Yes, I know. She went to the range to practice this morning. She’s determined.”

  “Wheeler saw her there this morning. Says she decimated
a target while he was watching. Apparently she’s damn good for a beginner.”

  “Faith.” Still incredulous, she shook her head.

  “This town’s not the only thing that can change.”

  “People do. I know that.” And, clearly, she wasn’t happy about it. Her consternation might have amused him if so much hadn’t been riding on her willingness to acknowledge that maybe her own desires had metamorphosed, too. “It’s not always good, you know,” Charlotte grumbled. “Look what happened to Rory. And Dad. He’s not the same man he was.”

  “Isn’t he?” Gray asked gently. “A hell of a lot has altered around him. Twenty years ago, if you’d asked him what his life would be like today, I’m betting he’d have told you he’d still be farming the way he always did, he and your mom would be celebrating their…what? Thirtieth anniversary? And his girls would be happily settled in life. Is he really a different man, or the same one reacting to the crap life’s thrown at him?”

  She was silent for a long time, her face partially averted. “I don’t know,” she said at last, sounding as if her throat were a little clogged. “He’s just so sad.”

  Gray wadded up his sandwich wrapper and slid closer to her on the bench, laying his arm around her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Even more quietly, she said, “I am.”

  “Yeah.” The desolation in her voice wrenched something in his chest. “I know you are.” He wrapped his other arm around her, too.

  Instead of resisting, she turned and leaned into him, her face pressed to his chest.

  He just held her, that painful burning inside telling him he’d do damn near anything to ease Charlotte’s distress. To make her happy.

  This woman and no other.

  How the hell had that happened, when she’d given him so little encouragement?

  He fought the compulsion to tell her he was in love with her. She wasn’t ready to hear those words, and Gray knew she wouldn’t be receptive.

  What he didn’t understand was why she was so resistant to the idea of falling in love.

  Or was it that she didn’t want to fall in love with him in particular?

  Eventually she gave a small sniffle and straightened away from him. He let one arm drop, but kept the other loosely draped around her. He squeezed her upper arm.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” The smile she offered him had a twist to it. “I’ve spent so little time at home, you know. And now that I’m here, I feel like a stranger in a strange land.”

  Gray didn’t think that was it at all. In fact, his best guess was that she felt just the opposite—she was too involved, too invested. Charlotte Russell, he believed, was shocked to find out how much she cared about her home and family, and what she’d be willing to sacrifice to keep them safe.

  But he didn’t argue, because she’d have snapped right back at him. She thrived on argument. Soaked it up like fertilizer spread on the fields.

  Shit, in fact, he thought with a certain wryness.

  No, he wasn’t ready to let her don her prickly armor again. He’d refused to take advantage of her vulnerability after she was hurt, but today was different.

  “Why have you been so determined to stay away from home?” he asked.

  Her body went rigid. He wasn’t surprised when, after a careful moment, she rose to her feet so that his hand had to drop away.

  “It’s…complicated,” she said.

  Gray leaned back against the park bench and studied her. “Too complicated to explain?”

  Her hesitation was just long enough for him to suspect she wasn’t going to answer at all, or would lie if she did.

  But after a minute she said, “I just can’t talk about it. I pretty much despise myself these days, and if you don’t mind I’d rather not have you becoming the drum major for my parade.”

  What the hell…?

  “Did you kill someone?”

  “No.” She looked at him without expression, any turbulence in her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses. “I’d better be getting back. I told Faith I’d only be gone a couple of hours.”

  Gray nodded. “We’re only shelving this, you know. I can be patient, but I’m a stubborn man.”

  Her mouth curved, although he didn’t know how amused she actually was. “Gee, you think?”

  He gathered up the remains of their lunch and they walked back to the car, side by side but not touching. Conversation was sparse during the drive, too. He pulled up in front of the barn, feeling something close to despair. Was Charlotte going to say goodbye and mean it?

  This time, he set the emergency brake but didn’t turn off the ignition. Charlotte unfastened her seat belt, but then didn’t move for a minute, as if she were gathering herself.

  “Would you like to come to dinner?” she asked, the words hurried. “Probably not tonight, we’ll be having leftovers. But maybe tomorrow? Of course, we eat with our plates on our laps to keep Dad company in the living room, but…”

  Relief hammered him. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like that. Tomorrow works.”

  “Oh.” Charlotte swallowed and turned her head. “I’m sorry to be so difficult. I’ve been kind of a mess lately.”

  “Not a surprise, considering you lost your job, came close to losing your father and have been fighting tooth and nail to keep your sister safe and the farm going.”

  “Well… I suppose not.” Her smile was only semisuccessful. “I actually had a lovely time today, until…”

  “We got too serious.”

  “I keep dumping on you.” Quickly, taking him by surprise, she leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.

  Gray turned his head, caught the back of her head and made the kiss serious, too. It didn’t last long, but had his heart feeling like a Frisbee at the highest point in its arc.

  When he let her go, he saw that she was as shaken as he felt.

  “Tomorrow,” he said roughly.

  She nodded, got out of the car, and said, “Goodbye,” before slamming the door and hurrying into the barn, her skirt swirling around her long slender legs.

  Gray didn’t put the car in gear for a long time.

  She had kissed him. She’d asked him to dinner. It was the first time Charlotte had reached out to him, and that gave him hope.

  And damn, he thought, hope hurt almost as much as falling in love.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GRAY CAME TO DINNER, and was an agreeable guest who spent as much time entertaining and charming Faith and Dad as he did Charlotte. Not that she ever relaxed, even for a minute. Even when he was answering a question Faith had asked, or telling a story for Dad’s benefit, he had a way of glancing at Charlotte, just letting his gaze rest on her for a moment, that had darn near the same effect on her his kisses did. There was heat in his eyes when he looked at her, coupled with something speculative that alarmed her almost as much.

  Later that week, he came by and brought lunch, catching Charlotte alone. Faith had talked over dinner about how she had to spend time getting her classroom ready and attending an in-service training day. Apparently Gray had an excellent memory.

  He happened to arrive when she was waiting on several customers simultaneously. He seemed content to lend a hand, chatting with a young couple checking out the antiques, even ringing up a couple of purchases on the old-fashioned cash register. The two of them barely managed to snatch bites of the quesadillas he’d brought and exchange a few words. Although, damn it, she knew he was watching her.

  When she realized he was leaving, Charlotte said, “Excuse me for a moment” to the woman debating which hand-painted sign she wanted, and hurried to catch up with him before he reached his car.

  “Gray.”

  He turned, brows raised. “You didn’t have to rush out here. I know you’re busy.”

  “I just wanted to, um, thank you.”

  Gray took two steps so that he stood right in front of her. So close she could feel his body heat. Then he took her face in both hands, tipped it up and
kissed her. A brush of his lips, a slide of his tongue, a graze of teeth. “I just like seeing you,” he whispered, and let her go.

  She was still standing there when he backed the Prius out, although she thought it was a miracle her legs were supporting her.

  Charlotte made herself turn away, not keep gaping like a lovesick teenager until his car was out of sight.

  Oh, God. What was she going to do about Gray Van Dusen?

  Today, two days later, he showed up again, this time with burgers and fries from Tastee’s.

  “I brought condiments on the side since I don’t know what you like,” he announced, raining packets of mustard and ketchup on the countertop beside the drinks and the white paper bags holding the burgers and fries.

  There was only one shopper this time, a middle-aged woman who was outside browsing the perennials. She’d told Charlotte earlier that she enjoyed taking her time deciding what she wanted for a new flower bed she had in mind.

  Gray leaned one hip against the counter as he took his burger out of the bag, lifted the bun off and squeezed mustard in a spiral atop the lettuce, onions and tomato.

  “You’ll get that on your tie,” Charlotte warned, watching as the mustard oozed out when he picked up the burger.

  He glanced down. “Yeah. Damn. I need a bib.” Unselfconsciously, he tucked the corner of a paper napkin inside his shirt and patted it over his chest.

  “Cute,” Charlotte told him, before popping a couple of fries in her mouth.

  He must have had meetings this morning, or would this afternoon, because he wore dark slacks, dress shoes, a white shirt and a conservative red-and-gray striped tie. Darn it, she was spending entirely too much time imagining him wearing nothing at all.

  Which would mean she wasn’t wearing any clothes, either. And then he would be touching her, and she’d be touching him. Feeling the leap of his heart under her hand. Finding out whether he had much chest hair, whether his body was as fit as she suspected.

  Whether he would like what he saw when he looked at her.