Wade

by Jennifer Blake

  “Everybody here?” Wade asked.

  “The clan has gathered, man, woman and child.”

  “Kane?”

  “Taking care of logistics. He and Regina are in charge of food, water, ammo, baby diapers. The important stuff.”

  “Roan?”

  “Lining up law enforcement all over the state to keep a lookout for the creeps.”

  “Clay and Adam did make it?”

  “And your mom. Clay’s in charge of water transport and escape routes, and has enough boats gathered down at the dock to move an army. Adam is watching the lake access to the house. Your mom is cooking. Thank goodness.”

  Luke’s voice carried cheerful unconcern, but Chloe wasn’t fooled. He might appear nonchalant, but he was also deadly serious.

  “The rest?” Wade asked.

  “Taking orders like good little soldiers while waiting for the captain to put in an appearance at last. That would be you, cuz.”

  Luke winked at Chloe as she caught his eye. His grin was so contagious that she couldn’t help smiling back at him. Wade, catching that brief exchange, did not appear amused.

  “Sure it is,” he said with irony.

  “Your house. And you’re the one with the commando training.”

  “DSS.”

  “Same thing.”

  Wade didn’t argue, but said instead, “You didn’t mention April. She got back from her book tour okay?”

  “Yesterday, thank you God,” Luke answered with a hint of fervor in his voice. “She’s on deadline, though, so holed up in one of the upstairs bedrooms and doing her damnedest to write a love scene in the middle of bedlam. I do my humble best to provide inspiration now and then, but it ain’t easy with fifty or sixty people milling around.”

  “I’m sure you manage.”

  Luke raised a brow at Wade’s sardonic tone. “You need lessons, sonny boy, you know where to come.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “What I thought.”

  “Surely there’s not really fifty or sixty people at the house?”

  “Minimum, came out of the woodwork when they heard somebody tried to cut out your liver.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Wade protested.

  “Glad to hear it. But the clan is madder than hell that some nutcase wants to wipe us out.”

  “Besides which, they can’t stand to miss a fight.”

  “That too.”

  The glib words were a cover for more deeply felt emotions, Chloe thought. They were there anyway, in the warm camaraderie between the two men and the look in their eyes.

  “Right.” Luke straightened and stepped back with a mock salute. “Carry on. I’ll see you all later up at the house.”

  “Take care,” Wade said. “I mean it.”

  “You got it. Don’t eat all the bread pudding, especially the one with the rum raisins and whiskey sauce.”

  Wade lifted a hand. Nat put the car into gear and drove on. When Chloe looked back, there was no sign of Luke. He’d faded back into the woods as silently and completely as if he’d never been there.

  Seconds later, they rounded a curve, and the house appeared in front of them. It was big, though not as large as Nottoway. Rambling, with odd angles and decorations, including a widow’s walk, and a conglomeration of styles from French West Indies to neoclassical, it made up in character what it lacked in grandeur. It couldn’t be looking its best, since its windows were boarded up with plywood and the small entry court was barricaded with sandbags. The front lawn had been turned into a parking lot for every kind of truck and SUV ever manufactured, as well as a couple of truck campers and even a motor home—and every one, it seemed, flew the Stars and Stripes. Sentries were posted behind the entablature of the roof, and guards could be glimpsed in a line around the perimeter of the woods that encroached from all sides, and also along the lakeshore. Wade’s home was, for all intents and purposes, an armed camp.

  Yet children were playing ball in a clear area toward the rear, next to a peculiar mound of earth that might have been Wade’s old fort. Nearby, a group of women peeled potatoes around a picnic table set up next to a pair of gas burners on metal stands. A couple of older men watched over the enormous cook pots on the stands, while others played dominoes on a card table that was kept level by a brick under one leg. Clothes flapped on a makeshift line stretched between two trees, fanning the pack of hunting dogs that lolled beneath them. If there was fear and panic anywhere among the group, it was well hidden.

  As Nat rolled to a halt at the side of the house, the dogs rose with a great baying and began to lope toward the car. A teenager playing pitch with a younger girl turned and yelled at the dogs, calling them off. They dropped their tails and ruffs, but came on, circling the car.

  “Don’t worry about the hounds,” Wade said as he got out, then opened the door for Chloe. “They belong to Roan, and are harmless mutts unless he gives the order to hunt.”

  “I’m not worried.” She rubbed the silky-feeling heads of the half dozen or so that pushed and shoved around her the instant she put feet on the ground. It was easier to concentrate on the dogs than face the curious stares of the other Benedicts who turned in their direction.

  Wade glanced at her with a measuring look, then motioned the boy and his teammate forward. “Chloe, Nat, meet Jake. He’s Roan’s son. And this gorgeous shortstop with him is Lainey, Janna’s daughter. Janna is married to Clay, has been since this time last year.”

  Chloe smiled at the pair, wondering at the same time if Wade actually realized that starting with the younger members made it easier or if that was an accident. The boy showed every sign of being a true Benedict when he grew up, which was to say, handsome, confident, and with a habit of looking people in the eye. The girl seemed shyer, but was pretty in a fragile way and had a sunny, uncomplicated smile. This was the child who had received a kidney transplant, Chloe thought. She appeared to be adjusting well.

  “Pop Benedict,” Wade said with a wave in the direction of an older man who ambled up to the car, “Roan’s dad, so Jake’s granddad, of course.”

  She offered her hand while mentally cataloging names. At least the surnames were the same, for the moment anyway.

  “Welcome, Chloe, glad to have you. I remember you as a kid, in the pictures your dad used to show. We used to fish together, he and I.” The older man glanced at Wade. “You want Roan, he’s in the house, checking with his office and Lord knows who all, seems to have a phone permanently attached to his ear and his son and heir glued to his shoulder. Clay’s around somewhere. I know because I caught him and Janna in the pantry when I looked in for a broom a little while ago. Said they were checking on bread-and-butter pickles for the fish fry, but that’s a likely story.”

  “Mama’s chopping onions for gumbo now, Uncle Wade,” Lainey piped up. “But she’s not crying.”

  Pop cleared his throat. “Yeah. Guess maybe Regina and Tory are with her. As for the rest of the crew, who knows?”

  “Fish fry, huh? Sounds good.” Wade ruffled Lainey’s hair in an affectionate gesture. “Go easy on Jake, little bit. He’s not used to playing with pros like you.” The glance he sent Jake over the girl’s head carried a message.

  That the boy understood was plain from the serious expression that descended over his face and his quick nod. “We’ll both go easy,” he said. “I’m starving from just smelling all the good things to eat, without working up more of an appetite.”

  Wade’s smile held approval before he turned toward the back door of the house. Chloe, moving with him, considered the scene she’d just witnessed. Lainey’s tender ego had been stoked and her pride spared while insuring that Jake remembered her limitations. Jake had been reminded of his responsibility to take care of those younger and weaker than he was, and also rewarded for his ready acceptance of the task and approved for his tact. It was how consideration for others was taught, she thought, no lectures, no demands, just example and oblique instruction that was a lesson in itself.
That it worked was obvious from Wade’s level of manners. That it could be learned from etiquette books was doubtful.

  The question was, just how far did such consideration go? Would Wade make love to a woman in whom he had little interest simply because he was too much of a gentleman to refuse? And if he did so at her invitation, did that make anything that happened afterward her own fault?

  They entered the house by way of a living room that combined English country house comfort with antique parlor furnishings. It was empty, however, and the murmur of voices indicated that everyone was gathered in a room to the left. This turned out to be the kitchen, an open area with windows tall enough to flood it with light when they were not boarded up, and done in blue and white with a collection of flow-blue porcelain arranged in the space between the wall cabinets and ceiling. Fixtures were of stainless steel and sized for a restaurant, including the walk-in refrigerator. Counter space was generous, more than enough to accommodate the five women who worked there.

  Conversation that had been so animated died away to nothing as the women turned from what they were doing. They appeared like a team, facing Chloe as a solid front. Each one exceptionally attractive in her own way, they had a gloss of natural, effortless sophistication that was more than a little intimidating.

  These women, his brothers’ and cousins’ wives, were the standard to which Wade must compare any woman who came into his life. There was no way on earth that she could ever measure up. Not that she wanted or needed to do that, of course, but it didn’t make her feel good, all the same.

  Then Wade’s mother turned from where she stirred something in a huge pot on the monster of a range, waving her wooden spatula in greeting. Her smile and recognition seemed twice as warm, twice as welcome. The rich, homey smells of chopped onion that hung in the moist air along with those of diced celery and green peppers, browning flour and caramelizing sugar seemed to belong to her alone.

  One of the wives, tall and with a long, braided rope of blond hair hanging over her shoulder and the rounded shape of midterm pregnancy, reached to wipe her hands on a kitchen towel before moving toward them. Wade opened his arms and enclosed her in a quick hug. Then holding her casually in the circle of one arm, he introduced her as his brother Clay’s wife, Janna.

  Her greeting was pleasant enough but a degree of reserve lingered in her eyes. She didn’t release Wade, but gingerly brushed her fingertips over the bandage he still wore under his shirt. “You sure you’re okay? Clay said the gash you picked up over there was a nasty one.”

  “Not that bad. I’ll live, promise.” Affection made his eyes a darker green as he gazed down at her a second. “How’s Clay junior doing?”

  “He’s great,” Janna said with a wry grimace, “and I will be, too, in about three and a half months. So is this Chloe?”

  “And Nat Hedley that you may have heard me mention,” Wade agreed, then looked up to point out the others along with a bit of information to place them.

  Chloe dutifully noted that the rather fey beauty with her hair like a cloud around her shoulders was Adam’s psychic bride, the redhead with softly freckled skin next to her was Regina, married to Kane, and that Tory of the shining brown hair and patina of moneyed perfection should be paired with the sheriff. All of them spoke, all of them smiled, and yet it was plain that they weren’t precisely happy to meet her. It wasn’t surprising, perhaps, considering the turmoil she’d brought into their lives, but Chloe felt the sting of it.

  An awkward pause settled over them all. Wade’s mother opened her mouth to speak. Then Clay appeared in the doorway that opened off the kitchen into a long hall.

  “Unhand my wife, sir,” he said in mock anger as he strolled toward where Wade stood with Janna, “or suffer the consequences.” Then his frown disappeared, replaced by a grin. “Never mind, I’ll just hug Chloe as a substitute.”

  He did just that, sweeping her into a quick, brotherly embrace that was over before she had a chance to be flustered.

  “You’re the one who’ll suffer,” Janna told him as she disengaged herself from Wade and went to her husband. “I may have to maim you severely.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Clay said, catching his wife in a close yet careful embrace. “I do love an aggressive woman.”

  “You’ll think aggressive after this kid makes his appearance.” Rich color spread across Janna’s cheekbones and she avoided looking at anyone else, reserving her gaze for her husband.

  “Promises, promises.”

  Embarrassment at such a public display of affection warred with fascination inside Chloe. No one else seemed surprised, much less shocked. Tory and Regina rolled their eyes at each other while Wade’s mother looked on with indulgent humor.

  Wade shook his head at his brother with a wry grin, then sobered as he asked of no one in particular, “So whose idea was it to turn this into a family reunion?”

  “Mine,” his mother answered. “You have a problem with it?”

  “Everybody’s scattered all over, so hard to protect. It will take time to get them to safety if something goes down.”

  “That’s why Luke and the others are on guard duty. At least we’re all together, and the kids won’t have to be scared out of their wits by extreme safeguards unless it’s necessary.”

  “There’s a plan,” Clay said. “Even if you weren’t here to direct it.”

  Janna spoke up, perhaps to smooth over what might have sounded like a reproach. “Everybody knows the drill for taking emergency cover. The kids think it’s a game.”

  Wade gave a slow nod, though he didn’t look convinced.

  “When you’ve settled in, then come take a look at my new pickup, a dually club cab that I traded for in place of my shot-up SUV,” Clay said. “I’ll clue you in while you drool.”

  “Nat, here, has a couple of new developments to explain at the same time.”

  Chloe, hearing the grim note in Wade’s rejoinder, suspected he was talking about the fact that Ahmad had been allowed into the country and brought someone with him who might, eventually, supply information on his movements. How that would be greeted, she didn’t even want to think.

  “In the meantime, we have people to feed,” Wade’s mother said as she returned to her pot on the stove. “Why don’t you show Chloe to her room, son. And Clay, honey, that batch of fish over there is mealed and ready, and the grease ought to be hot enough by now. You can take the pan out to whoever is doing the cooking.”

  “Pop’s in charge there.”

  “Good. At least he won’t be cuddling in corners.”

  “Not unless he can get you alone,” her younger son returned with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  “That’ll be the day.”

  “Or night.”

  “Out,” his mother said dangerously, waving her spoon toward the door.

  “This way,” Wade told Chloe, steering her back in the direction they had come, “before we get caught in the cross fire.”

  Traversing the living room again, they left what seemed to be the oldest section of the house and entered the right-hand wing that had a late Victorian appearance. More polished wood paneling and less plaster were in evidence here, and the furniture had the dark, Gothic influence and antimacassars of that era. The staircase that twisted its way upward from one side of a different living area was of aged golden oak, with a stained-glass window over the landing and a heavy railing polished by generations of use. The muted glow of a converted gaslight fixture with milky globes lighted their way, reflecting also in the stained glass that was dark from the plywood behind it.

  “Do you and your brothers all live here together?” Chloe asked as Wade waved her upward then mounted the runner-covered treads behind her.

  “Only Clay and Janna are here permanently. They claim the antebellum section on the far side of the kitchen. Adam and Lara have a place of their own in New Orleans, and I’m in and out, mostly out. The place is like three houses in one because families used to be a lot bigger an
d additions were made as they expanded. We inherited the old pile jointly and no one wants to sell. Adam has dibs on the center part of the house, then, being the oldest, and this wing is supposed to be mine.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever live here full-time?”

  “Who knows?”

  It wasn’t much of an answer, though Chloe wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Or even why she’d asked.

  They reached the top of the stairs. A long upper hall stretched before them, carpeted in burgundy wool with a design of gold scrolls and cabbage roses. Wade opened the door of a bedroom on the left and flicked on the light to reveal a large, high-ceilinged room done in chintz and organdy, and with a heavy oak bed and matching marble-topped washstand set with a pitcher and bowl.

  “Bathroom’s through there, and more modern than it looks,” he said, indicating a white-painted door. “I’ll bring up your things from the car in a few minutes. My room is just down the hall. Feel free to take whatever you might need from the closet. Come back down when you’re ready, or not at all if you’d rather rest.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” His voice was so neutral and polite that it seemed best to follow suit. He was telling her, she thought, that she was a guest, not family. Also that he didn’t expect her to share his room or his bed. “I understand.”

  He watched her a long moment, as if debating whether to say more. Then he gave a short nod and turned to go.

  “Wade?”

  He stopped with his hand on the door, looking back over his shoulder. Wariness sat on his features as he waited for her to go on.

  “I really am sorry…for all the trouble, the danger and everything. I didn’t quite realize how big your family is or how it would seem to them, until I saw them. I shouldn’t have come here. I wish…”

  “We’ve already been over this,” he said, his voice even.

  “Yes, but none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for me.”

  “None of it would be happening if people were reasonable, if they could manage to live without looking for someone to blame for where and how they were born or needing someone to hate in order to feel better about themselves. You’ve harmed no one, threatened no one. Let me say it again. You are not to blame.”