"How old is he?" Chelsea asked, following her gaze.
"Seven. Just seven." Jasmine looked at the bigger, sturdier boy and asked, "How about Bubba?"
"His name is actually Ethan, you know. I fought the nickname from day one, but you just can't win against a town full of macho cowboy uncles. He's almost six."
Jasmine blinked. "Six? But he's so big!" She shook her head in disbelief. She would have pegged the child as at least eight or nine. "He must take after Garrett in size," she mused aloud. There must be some reason why he seemed so much bigger and more solid than her own precious son.
Chelsea said, "He's adopted, so that can't be it. I tend to think it's just all this fresh air and sunshine. Quinn's the best place in the world to raise children." She smiled warmly. "Your Baxter is just gonna love it here."
"We aren't gonna be here that long," Jasmine said, and then she wished she could take the words back, because she saw Chelsea's puzzled reaction. If this house were truly her inheritance, why wouldn't she be planning to live in it?
It probably sounded suspect to this woman. But then again, it was really none of her business.
Luke leaned against an elm tree in the backyard, where he had a clear view of the kids out front messing with the pony. "Look at the poor, scrawny little fella," he said. "He wants to ride Bubba's pony so bad he can hardly stand it, but his anal, overprotective mother is too afraid he'll get a bruise or a scratch to let him."
He turned his gaze to Garrett. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"
"Uh, that."
"What?"
"What you just said. About Jasmine."
Luke shook his head slowly. "She's a nut."
"She's a woman, and she's on her own with that boy, and she's running scared," Garrett said, hunkering down and resting his elbows across his knees.
Luke lifted his brows. "You got that feeling, too, huh?"
"It's pretty obvious she's in some kind of trouble."
"Yeah." He drew a breath, not liking the tight, anxious feeling in his chest.
"Now, I know you haven't been a part of the family for all that long, but I thought you'd picked up on enough to know better than to act the way you are toward a woman in trouble, Luke."
Luke frowned. "What do you mean? I let her spend the night. I gave her my own bed. And I made her breakfast, for crying out loud."
"And this morning you're ready to boot her out."
"She's trying to take my house away from me!"
"Maybe she's got a legitimate claim," Garrett said, his tone deep and calm. "But that's not why you want her out, and I think you know it."
Luke sighed, averted his eyes, then peeked down at Garrett again. "I don't think spending the weekend under the same roof with her is the smartest thing for me to do, is all."
"Why not?" Garrett asked.
"Why not? Hell, Garrett, have you taken a good look at that woman?"
Garrett pursed his lips. "So, you kind of like her."
"No. I don't. I don't like her at all. And I don't want to. She's not the kind of woman I want to get involved with, not in any way, shape or form. Besides, she's lying. I can tell."
"How?"
"She won't show me any ID, Garrett. We don't even know she is Jenny Lee Walker."
Garrett sighed. "Well, now, it wouldn't be too bright to come all the way out here and try to claim the place if she couldn't prove she was who she says she is, would it, Luke? Why would she he about something that's so simple to check out?"
Luke lifted his brows. "Simple to check out?"
"Sure. We just check with the Illinois DMV, trace her plate number, get a copy of her driver's license down here and take a gander at the photo. What could be easier?"
Pursing his lips, Luke said, "Do it."
"Do it?"
"Please? I've got a feeling about her, Garrett. She's trouble with a capital T. Run the plates, too, while you're at it."
Garrett shrugged. "Fine, I'll do it. Have to wait till Monday, though. The DMV won't be open on the weekend. Come Monday, I'll put in a call and they'll fax me the photo. Okay?"
He sighed. "Okay."
"Meanwhile, you need to straighten up and be a Brand. You got a woman and a kid in trouble, with nowhere to go. You keep her here. Put her up until we settle this thing. And try being nice to her."
"Is that an order?"
Garrett smiled. "Considering I'm the closest thing to a big brother you got, cousin, yep, consider it an order. But, uh … be careful."
Luke straightened away from the tree. "Careful? Why? Do you think she's dangerous?"
"Hoo-yeah," Garrett said. "But not the way you think. See, there's this genetic defect that seems to run through the males in the Brand clan. Women who are trouble with a capital T—we tend to fall head over heels for 'em."
"What, are you kidding me?"
"Nope." He shook his head. "And seeing as how you're scared to death to be left alone with her—even while swearing up and down she's not the kind of woman you want to be involved with—well, that tells me one thing, cuz."
"Oh yeah? What?"
Garrett got upright, adjusted his hat. "You're probably already doomed." He slapped Luke on the shoulder with a sympathetic shake of his head and started back around to the house.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Garrett!"
But his big cousin was already vanishing from sight.
"I need to go into town for a few things. Do you want to ride along?"
She sensed the man was trying to make conversation, trying to be polite. But she also knew he wasn't doing it because he wanted to. His cousin must have told him to be nice to her. After he'd come back from his chat with the big guy, he'd told her she could stay here with him "until things were settled." Which, she assumed, meant until he could boot her out with the law firmly behind him.
At least he hadn't tried to get her into bed yet. Which was somehow both reassuring and insulting at the same time. Maybe he didn't like women.
Or maybe he just didn't like her.
"I want to, Mom!" Baxter said. "Can't we, please?"
She frowned, not wanting her son out in public—but then again, she reasoned, no one had shown up at the door with a gun yet. And if Leo or Petronella or any of their goons had been able to figure out where she'd gone, they would have. She had no doubt of that. So that probably meant she and Baxter were safe here. For the moment, at least.
"Please, Mom?"
She shrugged. "I do need to pick up a few things. All right, I guess so."
She glanced down at her attire. She'd put on a pair of the jeans Chelsea Brand had brought over and a white cotton button-down shirt. Her hair was still in a ponytail, her feet in her open-toed spiky-heeled boots and her face downright naked of makeup. "I'd better see what I can do about the way I look first."
"You're right," Luke said.
She looked up fast, ready to shoot back. "What?"
"You need some decent walking shoes, or sneakers, or something," he said. "Course, I can't help with that, being that everything I have is a hefty size eleven. But I do have a good rugged set of fingernail clippers if you want to use them."
She swung her gaze to his, her jaw gaping. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Holding up a hand, palm out, she studied her nails. They were gorgeous. Long and curving and airbrushed. "What's wrong with my nails?"
"Well, nothing—if you're a cougar. What are you plannin' to do with those things, shred cabbage?" He sent Baxter a grin and a wink, and Baxter laughed out loud, holding his belly.
"I suppose you could carve your initials in the elm tree out back, if you wanted," Luke went on.
"Or maybe in your forehead," she countered.
But it was tough to hold on to her anger when her son was laughing so hard. His little cheeks were turning red now, and his glasses had slid down his nose. "Oh, so you think it's funny, do you?" she said to her son. "I thought you liked my nails?"
He grinned so hard his dimples
had dimples. "I think they're pretty, Mom." Giggle, chortle, chuckle. "Really."
"Yeah, sure you do." She scowled at him. "So am I allowed to go put on some makeup, or is that going to start another laugh riot down here?"
"You're pretty enough without it, Mom," Baxter said. "Isn't she, Luke?"
Luke looked like the kid had just kicked him in the belly. He stuttered, he stammered, he got red faced. "Well … I … er … um … just … uh…"
"I'll be down in ten minutes," she said, not even waiting for his verdict on her prettiness, or lack thereof. "You guys wait, or else."
"Okay," Baxter called, smiling all over. "But don't put on too much, okay, Mom?"
Luke was still stammering.
She met her time limit with two minutes to spare, heading back downstairs with her hair now loose and thoroughly brushed, and wearing minimal makeup—just enough to make her feel human.
"Okay, I'm ready," she said.
Luke was fidgeting near the doorway. He'd been looking outside at something and only turned to face her when she spoke. Then he offered a crooked smile. "You really do look just fine without all the goop on your face," he said.
Jasmine frowned. "Was that supposed to be an apology or a compliment?"
He shrugged, turning his attention back outside. She followed his gaze to see Baxter running through the tall summer grasses and wildflowers outside. "I figured it would be okay as long as I kept an eye on him," Luke said.
She lifted her brows. "He has allergies. He'll probably be up all night coughing. I'll have to pick up some antihistamine while we're out."
Luke started to say something nasty. She could tell by the look on his face and the quick beginning of a word that broke off so fast it came out sounding like a primal grunt. He bit his lip, drew a breath.
"What?" she asked, almost challenged.
"Nothing. I, um … I was going to say if you're short on cash, I could loan you enough to get you by for a while."
She blinked in surprise, then shook her head. "That cousin of yours really does have some influence with you, doesn't he?"
"Why do you say so?"
She shrugged. "Because I know perfectly well you'd sooner see me tarred and feathered and branded with a scarlet S for Stripper than holed up here in your precious house with you for a few days. And yet here you are, chivalrously offering me a loan."
He narrowed his eyes on her. "Look, I was just trying to be nice."
"Try being honest, instead. It's so much more satisfying."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. I'll be honest. I think you're lying through your teeth about who you are, and I think you're running like hell from something or someone, and you're scared half out of your wits. And so's that boy out there. And maybe that's why you're hovering over the poor kid so close you're damn near smothering him, but I don't think so. From the looks of him, you've been doing that for a long time now. So maybe whatever happened to send you running out of Chicago has only turned it up a notch or two. But either way, the kid's the one suffering for it, and you need to ease up on him."
She glared at him. "You dare to criticize my parenting skills!"
"That's right. I do."
"What do you know?" she all but shouted. "You've never been a parent!"
"No, but I've been a kid!"
"To hell with you. You don't know anything. That boy out there is my entire life. He's everything to me. Do you have any idea what it's like to love something that much? So much that if you lost it you'd just stop being? You'd just curl up and dry up and vanish? Do you have any idea how scary that is? I'd do anything for my son. And I have!"
He went quiet for a moment, staring at her as the high color in his face eased down a notch. Then he said, "Like … the dancing?"
She lowered her eyes. "I'm not ashamed of what I do. Dancing is art. The female body is beautiful. Women have been performing erotic dance for over five thousand years."
He raised his eyebrows. "But not for drunken perverts, for the most part."
"Thanks. Jerk."
He shrugged. "I meant … it can't be fun."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it." She was being sarcastic, but she didn't expect him to pick up on that.
"Come on, gimme a break, will you? I meant, it's a hell of a sacrifice to do what you do for a living. You must love him a lot."
"I thought we'd already established that."
He sighed, rolled his eyes. "You ready to go, or what?"
She sent him a scowl and pushed past him out the door. Her feet tapped across the wood floor of the front porch, and she glanced out toward where Baxter had been playing.
He wasn't there.
"Bax?" She tapped down the steps. "Hon, where are you?"
"Up here, Mom! Look at me!"
She followed his voice and spotted him as the screen door banged closed and Luke stepped up beside her. Baxter was hanging upside down from a tree limb about fifteen feet in the air. To her, it looked more like a thousand feet, but her logical mind said fifteen. Even so, her blood ran icy cold. "Don't move!" she cried. "Don't you move, Baxter!" She ran down the steps and out toward the tree with Luke on her heels.
He said, "Will you stop panicking? You're scaring him."
"I'm scaring him?" She got to the tree trunk. Her shoes were long gone. She'd kicked them off on the way, and now she grabbed a low limb and pulled herself easily up onto it.
"Hey, wait a minute! What do you think you're— Jasmine!"
She wished he would shut up. "Stay still, Baxter," she called. "Mama's coming, baby. Just don't move."
She monkey-climbed her way up higher and higher. Her son was talking calmly, carrying on what sounded for all the world like a normal conversation with Luke, while she climbed like a wild woman. Finally, finally, she reached the limb where Baxter had been hanging. Only he wasn't there.
Her heart hammered so hard she thought it was coming through her chest, and she shot a glance toward the ground, half expecting to see his broken body lying there. Instead, she heard laughter and saw her son being held in the big arms of Luke Brand. Luke was grinning like a loon and ruffling Baxter's hair, and Bax was laughing out loud up at him.
Luke looked up. "Hey, he's okay. You can come down now."
She blew her hair out of her face. "How did you get down there so fast, Baxter?"
He smiled. "I just jumped. Luke catched me."
"You jumped?" She glared at Luke. "He jumped?"
"Well, don't look at me, it wasn't my idea." He set Bax on his feet, brushed the twigs out of his hair, then looked up at her again. "Well, are you coming or what? I swear, it takes more work to get you two going on a simple shopping trip than one man can bear to handle."
Muttering under her breath, she started back along the limb. Only one of her footholds didn't hold so well. She heard the sharp crack of the small limb and, though she grabbed hold of another, her hands slipped over the smooth bark and she was plummeting earthward almost before she knew it.
She didn't even have time to shriek.
And then she was in those big arms, just as her son had been moments before. And Luke was looking down at her, his eyes surprised, then amused. His chest was supporting her, his arms under her shoulders and legs, holding her against him. So every time he breathed, she felt herself rise and fall with it. And his face was so close she could see the light shadow of stubble peeking out of his skin.
"You can put me down now."
"I can?" The words were muttered and not a real question. Then he caught himself, blinked and said, "Oh, right, sure," and set her on her feet.
Baxter was sitting there staring from one of them to the other. And Jasmine suddenly felt a rush of guilt rising up in her chest. She didn't know why. She hadn't done anything, and it wasn't as if she had any intention of changing that. But logical or not, the guilt was there, and in force. She'd nearly kissed this man, or maybe he had nearly kissed her. She couldn't be sure which, but there had defin
itely been a kiss lingering in the air between them, waiting to be claimed. She'd nearly kissed a man in front of her son. Her Baxter. As if he weren't even there. As if he didn't matter.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Okay, Luke thought. So she was like a she-bear guarding a cub when it came to that boy of hers. Jasmine had clambered up the tree so all-fired fast that Luke hadn't even had time to offer to do it for her. Much less to suggest that might not be the safest course of action she could take. He had never seen anything like it. She hadn't even paused to think it over, just leaped onto the first branch she could reach and scuttled up so easily it would have made a mama chimp jealous of her skill. Damn.
She loved the kid. Luke had already deduced that much. Hell, he knew she loved the kid. But in case there had been any room for doubt—in case he'd been thinking her overprotectiveness had some other cause, like anal-retentive disorder or something—he now knew better. She might be a lot of things, but chief among them was one: she was a devoted mother. And that was something he couldn't help but admire.
In all his life, as a kid like Baxter, with a mom like Jasmine, he had never ever once doubted that his mother loved him. That she would step in front of a speeding train for him without batting an eye. Even though she'd kept him from a lot of things—like close friends, extended family, a peer group—even though she'd smothered him to the point where he'd nearly grown up to be an isolated, cutoff loner of a man—he'd loved his mother. When he'd lost her, for a while he'd been lost himself. If he hadn't come here, found this big warm family…
Well, hell, it didn't pay much to think on what might have been.
Jasmine rode beside Baxter and Luke in the pickup that had been parked in back, out of sight, bouncing in her seat with every pothole they hit. She looked a bit more "Quinn" than she had when she'd first arrived. She'd gone lighter on the makeup by about a pound and a half, he guessed. And the hair wasn't quite so big now. Still full and fluffy, and soft as a dark silk cloud, but not as over the top as before. And the jeans and T-shirt looked good. Damn, they looked good, and he wasn't quite sure why. They weren't tight, but slightly loose. She just was one of those women he figured would look good in anything, including a feed sack. However, those ridiculous talons of hers, with their gem-stones winking, were still in place. And those shoes! God, where did she shop, at some dominatrix supply store? The heels were like vampire stakes, sharpened up for business. How did a person walk in those things?
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