The First Kiss

by Grace Burrowes

  “I’m fine, probably jet-lagged, and ready for a quiet evening with family. It’s odd, to have family. Real family.”

  Yes, odd. “Odd good, or odd peculiar?”

  “Odd wonderful,” Hannah said. “Probably like the difference between playing one of those big pieces where the piano sits in front of the orchestra with the other instruments, and trying the same piece solo. The work was meant to be played with an ensemble, but you can’t tell that until you hear the difference.”

  “A concerto. Interesting analogy.”

  “Mom!” Grace came racing across the kitchen, sliding up to her mother on stocking feet. “Twy and me wrote a story on Uncle James’s computer, and I drew the pictures, and we’re going to send it to Dad and Uncle Mac.”

  Hannah knelt and hugged her daughter. “Does this story have unicorns in it?”

  “’Course it does. And ducks and turtles and cows.”

  “Maybe you’ll give me a preview in the car?”

  After a few parting flurries of promises between the girls, and a thank-you to Vera, mother and daughter moved off, leaving a ringing silence behind.

  “You had a fun day,” Vera said to Twyla. They’d all had a fun day.

  “Grace has a little kid’s imagination,” Twyla said. “But she’s fun, and I liked the carpet picnic you made for us for lunch.”

  PBJs, carrot sticks—in the event any unicorns crashed the party—and cookies with milk.

  “Pretty soon, the weather will be warm enough to take the Falcon out and do a real picnic.” Vera slid an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and Twyla leaned against her mother’s hip.

  “May I bring Grace and Merle?” Twyla asked.

  “Sometimes. I’d still like to have my little girl all to myself sometimes too.”

  Or maybe all to herself and James?

  Twyla’s smile was bashful, leaving Vera to realize that in recent days, she’d almost lost track of her daughter.

  “How ’bout you set the table, Twy, and I’ll put the bread in the oven, and we can look at the calendar to see when our first outing will be?”

  “’Kay.” Twyla skipped away, going to the silverware drawer. She’d taken no time at all to orient herself to James’s home, and for that Vera was grateful.

  Vera punched down the loaf rising on the counter’s built-in cutting board, the feel of the dough a pleasure in her hands. Everything had been a pleasure today, despite all the upheaval in her life.

  She shaped the loaf and tucked it into a buttered pan, a question wafting through her rosy mood as she opened the oven door: Was it a good thing that she was already listening for the sound of James’s SUV coming up the drive, or a very good thing?

  * * *

  James parked and shut off the engine, then sat for a moment with the window cracked, listening for the sound of piano music drifting from his house, and hearing none.

  Well, damn. Vera had said she’d play for him later, and he could look forward to that. To that too. Having somebody—two somebodies—to come home to was different. Different, wonderful, and disorienting.

  He paused in the kitchen doorway, watching while Twyla set out place mats and napkins, and Vera mashed the hell out of a batch of potatoes. She was using James’s antique potato masher, not the mixer, and making quite a racket.

  “Is that fresh bread I smell?” he asked.

  “James!” Twyla dropped her place mat and pelted over to hug him around the waist. He lifted her to his hip and extended an arm to Vera, who crossed the kitchen more slowly.

  “Hello, ladies.” He limited himself to giving Vera’s shoulders a one-armed squeeze. “I’m relieved to see the house is still standing, but I suspect it had a few narrow escapes. What’s for dinner?”

  He set Twyla down and bussed Vera’s cheek, though Twy was already chattering about picnics and unicorns.

  “I saw that,” Twyla said, smirking at her napkins. So James kissed her cheek too, then blew a raspberry on her neck.

  Dinner was delicious, a tad noisy, and thoroughly enjoyable, even though Vera was subdued. Still, James was relieved to see Vera shepherd Twy up to bed a couple of hours later. He fussed around with his email, deleted yet another version of his social phone list, and checked the time every five minutes.

  When he looked up, Vera was leaning in the doorway of his study, watching him with an expression that looked almost sad.

  “How was your day, Mrs. Waltham?” James asked. “Twyla hardly let you get a word in edgewise at dinner.”

  Vera sidled into the room like she didn’t know quite what to do with herself, so James shifted to the sofa and patted the place beside him.

  “I spent most of the day playing the piano,” she said, settling in and tucking up one foot. “I haven’t done that for a while.”

  Her mood was difficult to decipher, but James wasn’t about to keep his hands to himself.

  “I missed you today, Vera.” He underscored the sentiment by putting his arm around her and nudging her head to his shoulder.

  “You took care of your errand in West Virginia?”

  “I did, and it was as successful as I’d hoped it would be.” He hardly wanted to dwell on business, though, so he asked again about her day, and kept up a subtle cross-examination until Vera drew her knees up and curled in to his side.

  “Trent asked me to come in to see him tomorrow,” she said, pressing her face into his shoulder. “He has the police report.”

  Well, shit. “Did he give you any details?”

  “He was on his way to court, so no. I’m to meet him at eleven.”

  “I’ll take Twy to school so you can get your practicing done first.”

  She raised her head to peer at him, and then leaned up and gave him a soft kiss on the mouth.

  “Thank you, James. Thank you for making us welcome. Thank you for being who you are.”

  “Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

  She got to her feet and stretched, then extended a hand down to him, drew him to his feet, and kept his hand in hers.

  “Being here in your house…”

  “Yes?”

  “I realize how lonely I’ve been, James. I think Twy was lonely too, but I’m also anxious to get home. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Mixed feelings never did. “Howard said he can probably have the place done by Wednesday. You know I’ll bunk in with you if you ask it, Vera.”

  She nodded, but when she didn’t say anything more, James scooped her up against his chest and carried her toward the stairs. She let him help her undress, let him brush out her hair, let him spoon himself around her.

  And before she drifted off to sleep, she let him love her gently and thoroughly, until she was clinging to him and whispering his name over and over in the darkness.

  Chapter 15

  “They’re not Donal’s prints,” Trent said. “I wish I could tell you something different, Vera, but the evidence techs know what they’re doing, and they didn’t find these prints on file anywhere.”

  “I was sure they were his,” Vera said. “I’d reached the point that I was almost sorry they were his, and now this? You’re telling me a stranger was in my house, leaving threats on my computer? Impersonating Donal’s voice on my phone?”

  Trent had seen a lot of upset women, and he was looking at a very upset woman now. Oh, Vera was keeping a lid on her nerves—a veteran concert soloist wouldn’t give way to hysterics, after all—but her knuckles were white as they gripped her purse, and her expression was tense.

  “Not necessarily a stranger, but not somebody with an arrest record either. And, Vera?”

  She pulled a wilting leaf off Trent’s rhododendron and tucked it into the soil. “More bad news?”

  “You know the restraining order has expired?”

  She paused, another yellowing leaf in her
grasp. “Blessed St. Jude.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Patron saint of lost causes.”

  She’d been wandering around Trent’s office, picking up law books, leafing through them, setting them down, her purse still hanging from her shoulder. Mac had the same habit of touching everything in sight, as did James. She ripped off the second leaf, tossed it into the pot, and dropped onto Trent’s sofa.

  “What do I do now, Trent? I’m the victim of some stalker, but if I turned every disgruntled student or unkind critic in to the cops, the list would be endless.”

  Trent took the place beside her, though she was giving off a stay-out-of-my-space vibe. “You have more security in place now?” he asked.

  “They’ll finish up by tomorrow, and James assures me it’s a state-of-the-art system.”

  Good move, James. “And you document all the emails and nasty messages and break-ins. I’m not sure there’s more you can do, besides go about your life and send the signal that whoever is doing this hasn’t intimidated you one bit.”

  How Trent hated having nothing else to offer her.

  Vera gazed at her hands, which might look like any other mom’s hands, though Trent knew how talented they were.

  “I have a daughter, Trent. Whoever is doing this has intimidated the hell out of me and made me angrier than I’ve ever been.”

  “I know.” If anybody had threatened Merle, Grace, or Hannah… Trent put that thought far to the side. “James is keeping a close eye on you. That has to be some reassurance.”

  Reassurance to Vera’s lawyer, not necessarily to James’s brother.

  “I am not James’s responsibility,” Vera said, rising. “You are telling me there’s essentially nothing you can do.”

  She was bright woman—a bright, upset woman—and she was right.

  “Mac has put out some feelers, and if it’s any comfort, the established criminal element, such as it is in Damson County, isn’t admitting to any familiarity with Donal or his schemes.”

  Mac had damned near gone cruising the open-air drug markets, trolling for information.

  “Do we have an established criminal community here?” Vera went back to pacing the room, tactilely inventorying the portables.

  Trent opted for honesty over diplomacy. “Wherever you have easy access to major cities by interstate, you have drug trafficking, and that pretty much guarantees ongoing criminal activity. And, Vera, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I spoke with Aaron Glover again yesterday. He thinks Donal is up to something legal, something that will force you to honor the dates you haven’t canceled.”

  Vera picked up a small glass figure of Justice, complete with blindfold, scales, and sword. “What can Donal possibly do?”

  “I don’t know. I suffered through a year of contract law back in law school, but it’s really and truly not my area, beyond separation agreements. Until Donal files something, we can assume he’s blowing smoke for the sake of aggravating you.”

  Vera set Justice down on the windowsill, where it could catch the morning sun and cast a prism at Trent’s feet.

  “I hate to interrogate the children,” she said, turning Justice so it faced out the window. “Darren will probably come see Twy this weekend.”

  “He’s almost an adult, Vera. You don’t have to tie him to the rack. Simply ask him if there’s anything he wants you to know. Children usually pick up a lot more than we give them credit for.”

  “Spoken like a dad.”

  A dad who noticed that the tip of Justice’s sword had become chipped. “How’s the playing going?”

  Trent asked the question to change the topic, but also because Hannah had raved about Vera’s ability. Trent had some of Vera’s CDs, though he’d never heard Vera perform live. James had.

  Lucky bastard.

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Trent,” Vera said. “During the times in my life when everything went to hell, my playing only got better. My life is in transition, and all the practicing I’m doing is bearing fruit, though not the fruit I’d anticipated.”

  Vera had never struck Trent as a flighty musician, but he suspected she could wax as loquacious as the next artist about her craft, and he had lunch with a certain lovely wife in ten minutes. He got to his feet and took Vera’s coat off the rack near his door.

  “A surprise gift then. Do you have any more questions about the police report?” He’d given her a copy and Mac a copy, but the document itself was useless.

  “No, thank you. I’ll keep the alarms turned on when I’m sleeping or not at home, and maybe even put the house on the market.”

  Did James know that? Should Trent tell James that? “Shall I walk you to your car, Vera?”

  “James and I are having lunch, our first meal without an eight-year-old chaperone, as it turns out.”

  Good move, James. “You know where his office is?”

  “I do. Thanks, Trent, and I’ll keep you posted regarding any crime sprees.”

  He parted from her, frustrated that he couldn’t do much about her problems. He half hoped Donal did try some contractual maneuvering, because the business lawsuit hadn’t been brought that James Knightley couldn’t try the hell out of.

  * * *

  Vera hadn’t expected Trent to have good news, but neither had she expected him to be absolutely useless when it came to stopping the harassment and mischief. Trent wasn’t a criminal lawyer, but Mac was, and the retainer agreement she’d signed months ago specified that members of the firm consulted among themselves when a case called for it.

  She made her way to the suite of offices reserved for business law. James had told her he was interviewing prospective new associates this morning, so she wasn’t surprised his door was closed.

  “We sent the last interviewee packing half an hour ago,” the secretary said, coming around her desk. “He’s probably in there working on his short game. The golf courses will soon be open for business, and James takes his recreation seriously. Yo, boss!” She rapped on the door twice with her knuckles then pushed it right open, but stopped abruptly.

  The tableau Vera saw over the secretary’s shoulder was becoming familiar: James, his expression unreadable, had his arms around Hannah, whose face was pressed to his shoulder. When Hannah turned and stepped back, Vera would have sworn the woman had been crying.

  At least they’d had their clothes on.

  Vera wasn’t convinced the embrace was innocent, but neither could she conclude anything incriminating. Hannah’s expression was luminously happy, for all her cheeks were streaked with tears.

  While James looked more pleased than guilty, if a little sheepish.

  “My lunch date arrives,” James said, holding out a hand to Vera even as Hannah peeled herself off her brother-in-law. “Hannah, we’ll talk more later, but I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “I can’t,” Hannah said. “Not yet. Maybe when the thirty days are up, not now. But, James—thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She looked like she’d hug him again, but James draped his arm over Vera’s shoulders.

  “I think your spouse is pacing the carpet in anticipation of lunch with you,” Vera said, and she honestly, truly did not mean it to sound catty, and must have succeeded, because Hannah’s smile became even brighter as she sighed, squared her shoulders, and left without another word.

  “We’re working on a tough case,” James said. “She is one stubborn woman.”

  “You say that like you admire her for it.”

  “I do.” James pulled Vera closer with an arm around her shoulders. “You should know by now I enjoy stubborn, determined, unstoppable women. Now get me out of here before I close that door and my couch loses its virginity.”

  Vera debated for about two seconds before letting the matter with Hannah drop. James might fall in love with his brother’s
wife, but he would not trespass, of that Vera was almost certain.

  * * *

  James left the office promptly at five and did not stop at either Trent’s or Mac’s offices on the way out. Tomorrow, Vera and Twy would move back to Vera’s house, and tonight was the last night James had to enjoy their company. When he turned up his driveway though, by the last of the light, he saw several of Hiram’s heifers loose in the front yard.

  He let them graze, hoping they’d find their way back to their herd before too much longer.

  Or maybe they wouldn’t, and James frankly did not care. He wasn’t about to spend the next hour playing border collie to a dozen wayward Holsteins, when his womenfolk—

  He paused just shy of slamming the door to the SUV closed.

  His. Womenfolk.

  Two quaint concepts—that the females under his roof were womenfolk, and that they were his to look after and be looked after by. Up at the house, the kitchen lights were on for a change. Most weeknights, he’d head down to the basement, work out, then check email before he went into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. He’d eat standing up, alone, or take “dinner” to the study to munch on while he went back to the computer.

  He’d come to prefer those nights to evenings when he spent several hours flattering and teasing and flirting before falling into bed with whichever woman had dialed him up.

  What in the hell had all that been about?

  Rather than ponder his past, he walked up to the house, letting himself in through the kitchen door.

  A burned smell was the first clue his kingdom was not at peace, and the way Vera was banging pots and pans around on the stove was the second. The mutinous glare Twyla shot him was the third.

  “Hello, ladies. Are we not speaking to each other?” James was used to dealing with tense situations, but this was not simply a logistical puzzle or case study.

  “Unless Twyla has an apology to share, I don’t need to hear what she has to say.” Vera spared James a brief, disgruntled glance and went back to stirring her cauldron.

  “What about you, Twyla?” James inquired pleasantly. “Have your cannon at the ready?”