That was Becca Reynolds, always the Good Samaritan, the advocate for truth, justice and the American way; always sticking her nose in to fix other people’s problems. Did she ever think that maybe nobody wanted her to fix their problems? With all her do-goodliness, you’d think her dad was a preacher, not the owner of the local junkyard—a man known for his Saturday night rowdiness rather than his Sunday morning devotion.
Cole closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. The vibration buzzed his teeth together and made little knives stab all over his brain. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, trying to rub away the pain that danced at the back of his eyeballs. The only thing that was going to make this day worthwhile was seeing Darcy. She had just been in a bad mood last night—he woke her up, after all. Things would be back to normal today.
He put his feet up on the seat, raising his knees. With his arms folded over his knees and his head resting on his forearms, he’d nearly drifted off to sleep when the bus jerked to a stop. He looked up to see the school parking lot still half-empty. That was the one good thing about coming on the bus, he was there before most of his friends. It had become sort of a contest to see who could cut it the closest without being sent to the principal for being tardy. He’d gotten his schedule so precise, he could usually manage to be the very last one in the door of Mrs. Baker’s chemistry room before the bell rang. The fact that Mrs. Baker was anal when it came to rules made it all the more challenging. She’d only gotten him once this year.
He looked out the rear window of the bus until he was sure everyone else, particularly Becca Reynolds, was off the bus. Then he picked up his bag and headed to the front of the bus. Before he stepped out onto the curb, he took a fast look to make sure none of his friends were anywhere around. Once he saw the coast was clear, he got off and put distance between himself and the bus as quickly as he could.
“Hey, Lejeune!”
Shit. He spun around to see Rory Johnston hanging out of the passenger side window of Steve Watters’s stopped Ford Probe. Since there was a hole in Watters’s muffler, everyone within a hundred yards had turned to watch. This would be no drive-by shot, they were going to get him good.
“Did I just see you get off the school bus?” Rory’s expression held mocking hilarity.
Cole ignored him and walked toward the building.
“Dude! Really—the bus!”
Finally Cole heard the car rumble on. Like Watters had room to talk; until last month, the guy had been riding a bicycle. And Johnston didn’t even have his license. Jerks.
He’d almost made it to the front doors when he saw her; Darcy with Travis Benson, a slimeball Cole had hated since first grade. Travis made a career out of stepping on other people. And there Darcy was, leaning into his arm, laughing and flipping her hair over her shoulder. It was clear they’d both just gotten out of Travis’s new Mitsubishi.
A boulder landed in Cole’s gut. Fighting his urge to disappear, he stood his ground, legs braced for a fight.
When Darcy saw him, her step faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Then she raised her chin slightly and looked right at him.
As they got closer, Cole said, “Really, Darce, you’re dumping me for this guy?”
The couple stopped as if someone had hit a switch, shutting off their power. But it was clear by the glitter in Travis’s eye that the current was still flowing. “What she does is none of your business.”
Cole gripped the handle of his duffel tighter. “I wasn’t talking to you, butthead.” He looked at Darcy. “Why don’t you tell this ass to get lost so we can talk?”
Travis inched closer, but Darcy put her shoulder against him. “We don’t have anything to talk about. I told you how I felt last night.” She took Travis’s hand and pulled him around Cole.
Cole didn’t turn, but stalked off, away from the school, unsure where he was headed. He couldn’t be here anymore.
Chapter 6
Analise had fed the bird and was on her tiptoes watering the hanging baskets when someone said, “Good morning.”
“Oh!” She jerked and water dribbled from the watering can onto the floor. Luke was standing in the doorway. “Hello.”
He came into the shop. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
As he stood there in a shaft of morning sunlight, dressed in jeans and a snug-fitting white T-shirt, his eyes a brilliant blue, he was more than startling. The energy of the sun seemed to amplify his strength, cast shadows into the shallow dips between his muscles. He emitted the same dangerous combination of power and beauty that had initially attracted her to Calvin. That fact froze her with fear. Hadn’t she learned anything?
As she stood there, stupidly staring at him, he went behind the counter and pulled out the same roll of paper towel they’d used yesterday to dry off the rain. Then he returned and knelt at her feet, mopping up the spill.
He stood and tipped the dripping spout upright. “I’ll get this dried up a lot faster if you stop pouring more on my head.”
“Oh . . . gosh . . .” She flashed warm and turned away, setting the can on the table of the café set where they’d had coffee yesterday morning. Could it only have been a matter of hours since Luke had walked into her life? So much had happened, so many feelings had peaked and valleyed since then. It seemed much longer.
He didn’t mock her flustered state. Instead he asked, “How’s Cole this morning?”
“Not great. Olivia made him go to school.” Her stomach tightened at the thought.
“You sound like you disapprove.” He said it smoothly but with puzzlement.
“He was sick! She even made him ride the damn bus.”
“Make him think twice before he pulls a stunt like that again, I imagine.” There was no spitefulness in his voice, just a statement of fact.
“He won’t do it again.” She realized how naively defensive she sounded.
Luke stepped a little closer and looked down at her. “Really? You sound sure.”
She swallowed and made herself meet his gaze. “I am. I know him.” She coupled her tone with a defiant lift of the chin. “You don’t. He’s upset. Losing Calvin—”
“Was almost six months ago. He could use that for an excuse in September, not now.” He inched forward and looked into her uplifted face. “And what’s to say he won’t be ‘upset’ again? Is this how you think he should handle being upset?”
“I don’t suppose that’s your concern.” Her jaw tensed. She felt like she’d fallen back on childish playground defenses, but couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t Luke’s concern.
They stood there for a long moment, frustrated irritation hanging in the air between them.
Luke finally blinked and stepped slightly away. “No. I don’t suppose it is.” He ran a hand through his hair.
Analise hated herself for noticing it was longer than most military men’s. It was oddly appealing, as if it put distance between him and the army.
He blew out a long breath and said, “Not my concern at all.” The hard edge had left his eyes, something troubling replaced it. Regret?
She grabbed on to her manners. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He raised a hand and shook his head. “No. You’re right.” He glanced toward the house and shifted his weight. “I’ll just get my clothes.”
“Sure.” She started toward the door.
He followed, stopping beside his car. “The sweats are in here.” He opened the door and pulled them out. “Sorry I didn’t have any way to launder them.”
She took them and waved his apology away.
When they entered the kitchen, Analise saw the Jeep keys on the table where she’d left them and inwardly cringed. She’d just tried to pick a fight with this guy, now she had to ask him for a favor.
“I hate to ask,” she said, “but as you leave, could you drive me out to pick up Cole’s Jeep? It’s only about five miles from here. Liv had to go into town. Cole’s really protective of that car; it used to be Calvi
n’s.”
“So protective that he was going to drive it on these narrow, winding roads after a six-pack?”
Her remorse over her bad manners whiplashed around to irritation. She drew in a breath to argue with him, but he raised his hand.
“Sorry,” he said. “Again, not my business. Can’t keep my mouth shut this morning.” He extended his arm, indicating the door. “Let’s go get the Jeep.”
Luke drove slowly as Analise directed him along country roads that became progressively narrower and less well maintained. Her instructions were the only sound besides the thud of potholes and vibration of the tires on the washboard gravel road. As there were few turns, Luke had plenty of time for thought.
He was sorry he’d ruined the morning by being confrontational. When he’d left his motel, he’d resolved to maintain his distance, say a pleasant good-bye and be on his way. He’d convinced himself that he could be of no help in healing the wounds he’d inadvertently inflicted here. And nothing he could do or say would relieve his responsibility for the situation. But he’d been unable to keep his thoughts about Cole to himself. Calvin may have been a hell-raiser—but he shouldered responsibility for his actions. Maybe that was all that tempered him, kept him from being dangerous. With Calvin gone, what if no one taught Cole the difference?
“There,” Analise said, startling him with the abrupt command. “Turn left there, into that lane.” She pointed to a couple of crumbling square brick pillars that looked as if they once supported a pair of wide swinging gates.
Slowing the car, Luke was about to ask, What lane? when he saw dual tire tracks through the tall weeds.
He turned. The car crept through overgrowth that made a quiet screech as it scraped along the sides. When Luke glanced at Analise, he saw she had goosebumps on her arms.
She said, “Liv and I come out here once a year to trim the brush back. Looks like we’d better do it soon, or no one will be able to get through here.”
“How did the deputy even find Cole back in here?”
“He checks on the old place for Olivia pretty often. Must have been luck that brought him out here yesterday.”
Luke didn’t respond, but concentrated on following the narrow tracks as they wound around a couple of tight turns. If he was a kid trying not to get caught doing something he shouldn’t, this would be just the place.
He had the odd sensation he was actually driving backward in time—to when this land was untamed. “Where are we?”
“This is the original Magnolia Mile, the Lejeune plantation. Established,” she said as if a tour guide, “in 1832. Behind all of this wild growth are a few of the old magnolias that lined this mile-long drive.”
Her tone became more personal when she added, “Cole’s dad owned it. It’s in a trust for Cole now.”
“Humm,” Luke mumbled. Cole’s ancestors had been landed gentry—planters. Luke’s had been dirt-poor farmers who worked other people’s land for a share of the harvest profits. His own father was the first to own his own business. Although still near the bottom of the social ladder in Glens Crossing, Benny Boudreau had taken quite a step up. “What happened to Cole’s father?” he asked as they inched their way deeper into the woods.
“About eight years ago, right after I came to Grover, Layton went in for a checkup and the doctor told him he had high cholesterol; said if he didn’t get it down with diet and exercise, he was going to prescribe medication. Olivia hates drugs, so she put him on what Layton called a ‘rabbit diet’ and talked him into running three times a week.
“The second week while he was running, he was hit by a dump truck. Killed him instantly.”
“Jesus.” Deputy Dave wasn’t exaggerating when he said this family had shouldered more than their fair share of tragedy. He looked at Analise, but she was staring out the passenger window, her head turning as if to keep something in sight as they passed. “Something wrong?” he asked.
After a moment, she turned and looked at him. “No. Nothing.” Facing front once more, she shouted, “Look out!”
Jerking his gaze back to the road, Luke slammed on the brakes just as a buck deer the size of a moose leapt into their path. They couldn’t have missed it by more than six inches.
“That was Jocko,” Analise said. “I know he’s always around here, I should have been paying more attention. Sorry.”
“Jocko? Another pet?”
She laughed and the sound of it wiped everything else from Luke’s mind. “Not exactly. But every hunter around here knows if he takes Jocko down, Olivia will make sure he never aims a rifle again. With a rack the size of his, he’s a prime target. Liv says he’s lived so long because he’s smart. I think it’s because of her threats.”
“I can’t imagine a serious hunter passing up a—what is he, a ten-point?”
“Twelve.”
Luke whistled.
“Now you know the kind of weight Liv carries around here.”
“Guess I’ll be watching myself from here on out. She doesn’t know about my little run-in with Skippy, does she?”
Analise gave him a wicked grin and a sidelong look. “Not yet.”
“I’m shocked. You don’t seem like the type of girl to tattle.”
“Only if provoked.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, then. Don’t want Olivia coming after me with a pitchfork.” As they laughed together, Luke realized just how long it had been since he’d laughed—really laughed, not the polite manufactured sound he’d been forcing at the appropriate moments over the past months. It felt good.
He’d read once that laughter releases something that actually changes a person’s body chemistry. As he sat next to this woman, blending his laughter with hers, he could believe it. He felt something inside him shift, lighten and carry away a bit of the heaviness that he’d been lugging around in his chest.
Then the house came into view—or, more correctly, what was left of the house—and his laughter stopped. It wasn’t replaced by sadness; something more like reverence filled him. What struck him first was the house’s massive size. Although one full wing had virtually fallen in on itself, it was among the largest houses he’d ever seen. It was difficult to tell anything about the architecture for all of the vegetation that had sprung up at the foundation and wrapped itself around the structure. Thick, ropy vines wound around glassless windows and through holes in the roof.
He stopped behind Cole’s Jeep under a giant gnarled tree.
“Thanks for the ride,” Analise said, but it was nothing more than background noise. His gaze remained on the old house as he got out of the car.
When Analise joined him in front of the moss-covered front steps, he said, “There’s something about a place with this much history inside. It must have really been something in its day.”
“Why are you whispering?” she leaned close and asked in a near-whisper herself.
He hadn’t realized that he was. He tore his gaze away from the house and rested it solemnly on her. “It just seems wrong to make too much noise here, like disturbing a final resting place.”
She looked at him for a long moment with surprise in her eyes. “That’s just what Liv calls it. ‘The Lejeune family’s final resting place.’ It’s like all of the hopes and dreams of the people who started this plantation are wrapped inside those crumbling walls. Cole’s the last of the Lejeunes.”
Looking back at the house, Luke said, “Quite a mixed blessing, a legacy like this. Do you think he’ll want to rebuild someday?”
She tilted her head slightly, as if thinking it over. “I really don’t know. He does always end up coming out here when he’s troubled. I don’t know if it’s because it’s so isolated, or because he feels something for the place. We’ve never really discussed the future of this land—he’s only sixteen.”
“Didn’t you know what you wanted when you were sixteen?” he asked softly, seeking another glimpse inside the woman she was.
She chuckled and shook her head. “When I wa
s sixteen, I wanted to go to New York City and become an artist, live like a bohemian.” She fixed her gaze on him. “Did you know?”
“Sure.”
After giving him a moment in which he let the word dangle like bait, she prompted, “Well, what was it?”
“What every sixteen-year-old boy wants: to get a sixteen-year-old girl in the back seat of my car.” He winked at her.
“One giant mass of raging hormones, were you?”
He shrugged. “We can’t help it. It’s programmed in the male genes. Survival of the species and all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I have a teenage daughter.”
Turning to face her fully, he fought the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. He’d taken so much away from her. Would she ever have that daughter?
She became very still and finally turned to him. “You look so sad. What are you thinking?”
He pressed his lips together, debating whether or not to be honest about what was going through his mind.
She laid a hand on his forearm. “It can’t be that bad. Tell me.”
Exhaling a long breath, he decided. “I was just thinking about how much you’ve lost. Your husband. The future you should have had . . . children.” He gave in to the impulse to touch her, resting his fingertips on her cheek. It was an action motivated by sympathy, he told himself. But he questioned his own intent when she leaned slightly into his touch and he felt a sudden rush of intimacy. He dropped his hand back to his side. The feel of her remained on his fingertips. Suddenly he was aware of the scent of her shampoo; the sun warmed the top of her head, intensifying the fragrance.
He took a little step away from her.
“I’m happy with my life. It’s not what I imagined, but I have Liv and Cole. I love my work. My life could have turned out a whole lot worse had Calvin not stepped into it when he did.”
“If you hadn’t met him, where would you be right now?” he asked, finding himself closing the space between them once again.
She gave a wan and distant smile. “Oh, I would have been the good girl and followed the path Grandmother set for me. I’d be married to a senator or congressman, have two immaculately groomed but boring children—preferably one of each sex—a Volvo, a chair in a major charity organization, a solidly booked social calendar and perpetual migraines.”
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