THE HOMECOMING

by Maggie Shayne

  She blinked. He thought her stance eased just a little. She breathed, but it was a broken, stuttering breath. "Why do you believe in me, Luke? You don't know anything about me except that I'm an unwed mother, a former stripper, a bar, a total screwup…" Her body was shaking now, too, in time with her breaths, and her eyes were brimming.

  He moved closer, slowly, put his hands on her shoulders. "You wanna know what I know about you? Hmm?"

  She lifted her wet eyes to his.

  "You're the most devoted mother I've ever seen. You'd step in front of a speeding truck for Baxter, if it came to that. And I think maybe you have, a time or two. You're an incredibly talented dancer. You move like the wind, and watching you makes me get all choked up somehow. You're terrified, scared right to death of something right now, and you're afraid to trust me—probably because I'm a man and you've never yet met a man who did you anything but wrong. And everything you've done—no matter what it might have been or how bad it might seem—you did to protect Baxter. And that includes lying to me about who you are."

  She lowered her head. "You don't need the kind of trouble I'm in, Luke. You don't want it, trust me."

  He hooked a finger under her chin. Then he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. He tasted the same sweetness he'd tasted on her lips before. A little gloss, a little color, a little cocoa and the salt of her tears this time, too. But he tasted more of her this time, because she let him. She didn't go stiff, and she didn't pull away. She stood still and let him explore her mouth, and she moved hers beneath it. He didn't embrace her, he just kissed her. She didn't fall against his chest. She just stood there, trembling.

  And finally he lifted his head away. He said, "I need to be completely honest with you, Jasmine. I'm scared. I'm scared to death of wanting you as much as I do—because it isn't like any kind of one-night-stand wanting I've ever felt before. It's something more. My father was a bastard who could no more stay with one woman than fly to the moon. He was no kind of father to me at all, and I grew up my whole life with my mother telling me I was just like him. For a long time I believed it. Until I came out here, found this bunch of cowboys who turned out to be family, and saw that I wasn't just my father's blood. I was theirs, as well. And maybe I could be the kind of man my father never was. And maybe I could have the kind of life I never had. A solid home. A real family.

  "But that's just a maybe. I don't know for sure. I don't know if I can be what I plainly see you and Baxter need more than you need air. I don't know."

  She frowned at him. "I didn't ask—"

  "I do know that I can help you. Me and my family, we can help you get through this mess. And I know that I want you to stay and let us do that. After that … hell, Jasmine, we're just gonna have to wait and see."

  She stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What did I ever say or do to make you think I was expecting you to take care of me or to become some kind of father figure to Baxter? Huh? Did I once suggest that I wanted to be some kind of small-town farm wife? Do I look to you like I belong out here in the middle of nowhere, chasing chickens with a broom? Do I? And as far as my sharing my son with you—with anyone—"

  He was stunned. "I didn't mean … I was only trying…"

  "You are so full of yourself, you know that? You are so freaking full of yourself. What, do you think I'm whiling away my hours fantasizing about you marrying me or something? You're insane!"

  "Look, I insulted you, and I hurt you, and that wasn't what I meant to do. I was just trying to explain why I'm not on my knees groveling at your feet like any sane, rational man would be doing by now."

  "It wouldn't matter if you were, Luke Brand. I grew up with a mother who cared more about whatever low-life man she was sleeping with at the moment than about her only child. I grew up waking to no breakfast, to empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays, and my mother hungover in bed with a stranger. I grew up to her brushing me off, sending me to my room, shooing me away so she could have her fun, and I vowed—I vowed—that I would never let any man come between my baby and me. He is the only person I need in my life. And I love him so much that I don't have any love left over to give to anyone else. So you can just take your stupid ideas and—"

  "I'm sorry. Jasmine, please, I'm sorry. I did this wrong, and you're upset anyway, and this is way too soon for any of this, and we got way off the subject."

  She sniffed and kept her face averted. He thought maybe some of those tears had spilled over, but she wouldn't let him see, and he didn't want to force it. "You're right, we did get off the subject, didn't we? You wanted me to tell you whether or not I murdered my best friend in the entire universe. The answer is no. I didn't kill Rosebud."

  "Rosebud? Jenny Lee Walker was Rosebud?"

  She rushed right on, not hearing him or not wanting to. "I'm just as guilty as if I did, though. It's my fault she's dead. The man who killed her was looking for me. She got in the way. Now, will you just leave me the hell alone?" She started for the stairs.

  He said, "No."

  She stopped, went stiff, but didn't face him. "What?"

  "I said no. I'm not gonna leave you alone. You've been alone way too long already. You can be as mad at me as you want to, Jasmine, but I'm not gonna leave you alone, and my family's not gonna leave you alone. We're gonna be here, all of us, from now on. And I'll tell you right now, if you go running off in the dead of night, I'm coming after you. I'm gonna make things okay for you and Baxter again somehow. But I'm definitely not gonna leave you alone. Not for a minute."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

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  The bedroom right next to Baxter's had a light on, glowing warm through the open door. She peeked inside when she passed and saw that the bed was all made up with a pretty comforter and fluffy pillows. There was a vase full of flowers, and a small clock on the bedside stand. She stood there for a minute, just looking. When had anyone had the time to … and who would bother…? Was this supposed to be for her? There was a small frame on that stand, too, with a snapshot inside. Glancing back down the stairs, she could only see Luke's back as he sat on the sofa, leaning on his knees and staring into the fire. Pensive. Silent. Lonely, she thought.

  She turned back to the bedroom again, and this time, stepped inside. An oval mirror that looked like an antique hung on one wall. A small dresser with four drawers, also very old looking, and with a knob missing, was just beneath it, wearing a lace dresser scarf. She moved closer to the little stand beside the bed, bent to pick up the framed snapshot for a closer look. It was Polaroid photo someone must have taken just today—of Baxter sitting proudly atop that pony of Bubba's. Her lips trembled, and Jasmine bit down to keep them still. Her finger touched the glass over the photo, tracing the brightest smile she'd ever seen her son wear as tears welled in her eyes. God, he loved it here. He was happier here than she had ever seen him. It had only been a couple of days, and already he had better color than he'd had before. His appetite was better. He was spending more time outdoors than he ever had, and loving every minute of it. Truth to tell, if she could stay, raise her son here in this child-friendly place, she would. But she couldn't. She just couldn't, because Leo and Petronella would catch up. She knew their kind. They were nothing like the Brand men. They didn't have a shred of honor or decency or care for anything besides themselves and the thickness of their wallets. And they would keep coming until they found her. The dream of settling down in a nice town like this, of taking a job giving dance classes for little girls, of raising her son where he could be happy and secure, would never be.

  Unless…

  She licked her lips as an idea formed in her mind. Maybe there was a way she could make those things happen. Maybe Wes Brand was right … that it was time for her to turn around and face the danger. To stand up and fight.

  Luke sat up for hours, staring at the flames and wondering what he was feeling for Jasmine. If it was simple desire, then why did it twist him up in knots this way? And if it was more, then
why was he so unsure? He'd undressed, tried to sleep, but the questions just wouldn't let him. What he felt for the boy, well, that was a different matter entirely. He loved the kid—almost fiercely. His heart swelled in his chest every time Bax looked up at him with those big intelligent eyes or shoved his glasses up on his nose with his forefinger. He wanted to fix everything that was wrong in the little guy's life and make sure nothing ever frightened him again. He wanted to watch those eyes tight up when he brought home a puppy—or a pony. Or, hell, both. Why not?

  He thought those feelings were a pretty good indication that he could stick with Baxter for the long haul. It was pretty obvious that he could never walk away from the kid, and it was even more obvious that it would rip Luke's heart out if Jasmine took Bax and walked away from him.

  But what about Jasmine? What about her?

  And as if thinking of her had conjured her somehow, he caught a whiff of her scent, so subtle it was barely there, but he never missed it when she was near. He heard the gentle brush of her feet on the stairs and sat up slowly, turning to look her way. It had been hours since she'd gone up to bed. And yet she didn't look as if she'd even undressed. She still wore the clothes she had earlier. Jeans that fit too good for a man's peace of mind, and a white button-down shirt that wouldn't have been sexy on anyone else.

  "Can't sleep?" he asked her.

  She swung her head toward him fast enough to let him know he'd startled her. "Uh, no. But I thought you'd have been out cold by now."

  He shook his head. "Can't seem to shut my mind off."

  Sighing, she shoved her hands in her jeans pockets and came toward him. "Bax and I have rained chaos down on your peaceful life out here, I guess."

  "Hey, do I look like I mind?" He swung his legs off the couch, put his feet on the floor. Then, as her pretty eyes skimmed down him, he became acutely aware of his attire. A pair of boxers. Nothing else. Of course the blanket was still draped over his lap, but his knobby knees and hairy legs and bare feet were hers for the looking. Not to mention everything from the waist up. And she looked plenty. Then she looked at his face again, and she smiled.

  "Are you blushing, Luke?"

  He averted his gaze. "Just feeling a little exposed, is all." He tried to move the blanket to cover more of him.

  "Hell, I've been seen by more eyes and in less clothes."

  "Yeah, but I'll bet you looked a lot better." He was embarrassed right to his rapidly heating ears, and she, damn her, was coming closer. Her stockinged feet moved nearer, and she sat right down on the couch beside him.

  She said, "Oh, I don't know. You aren't so bad, you know."

  "No?" He managed to lift his head and meet her eyes. And he saw the teasing light in them.

  "No. Well, except for those knobby knees."

  He smiled with her. She had a way of putting him at ease, when she wanted to. "Knobby knees are one of the genetic traits the male members of the Brand clan try to keep secret."

  "Guess I just found something to hold over you forever, then."

  "Only if you plan to stick around that long."

  Her smile died so suddenly that it was as if he'd slapped it away. And he was damned if he knew what insane urge had made him say the words he had. He must be losing his mind. But they were out there. There was no taking them back now.

  Her voice very soft, she said, "The bedroom … is beautiful. Did you do that, Luke?"

  "Yeah. Well, you know, I had some help from Chelsea and Jessi. We took turns slipping away during the day to add things. None of it's new or anything."

  She said, "New or not, that's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

  He shrugged. "I just thought you ought to have some space of your own."

  She nodded at the couch. "While you camp out on the sofa like a guest in your own home."

  "There are lots more rooms upstairs. I'll fix one up for me when I get around to it."

  She leaned back on his couch, pulled her legs up underneath her. "It's good here. Bax loves it here. And I think he's starting to love you, too."

  "Don't think for a minute that it isn't mutual, Jasmine."

  That made her smile. "You've done so much for us. You and your family. I can't believe I'm about to ask for even more." Her head lowered as she said the words, her hair falling like a curtain around her face.

  He reached out, pushed her hair aside, gently tucking it behind her ear. "Don't be sorry. Especially not if you're finally gonna let me help you out of this mess you're in."

  Lifting her head slowly, she smiled at him. "I didn't think they made men like you anymore. All ready to charge in and save the day. You're like something out of a story, you know that? But no, Luke, what I'm asking of you is a hell of a lot more than that."

  "What, then?"

  She drew a breath, a deep one, and lifted her chin. "I want you to take care of my son if … if anything happens to me."

  Luke's brows came down hard. "Honey, nothing's gonna happen to you. Hey, come on, is that why you've been awake all night? You've been lying up there thinking about … about…"

  "About dying. Because that's what will happen if they find me—when they find me. And it's driving me insane worrying about what's going to happen to my son if I'm not here to take care of him anymore."

  He took both her shoulders and looked her firmly in the eye. "You aren't going to die. For crying out loud, Jasmine, you can't be thinking like this."

  "Well, I am, and I will be until you tell me you'll take care of him."

  He searched her face, wondering how she could survive any of this with such a grim attitude. "I can't believe there's any doubt in your mind that I would. Yes, Jasmine. I'd take care of Baxter if anything happened to you. I'd take care of him like he was my own. I promise you that. I'll swear it on the blood of every Brand who ever lived, if it'll make you feel better."

  "It wouldn't be easy, you know. They might still come after him."

  "I'm aware of that. Didn't you hear what I said? 'Like he was my own,' Jasmine."

  Her lips trembled, and her eyes welled. Her breath seemed to stutter out of her, and she seemed to go limp as she sank against him. Luke put his arms around her, held her gently, felt her shoulders tremble beneath his hands. "Thank you," she whispered. "You can't know how much it means to me, what you just said. Thank you, Luke."

  "Hell, Jasmine, don't cry. Please? You gotta stop thinking this way. Don't you know how safe you are here, with me? Hmm?"

  She lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him.

  "They'd have to go through me to get to you or Bax. And they'd better go through hard, because if there's a breath left in me, I'll spend it to keep you safe."

  She blinked, as if shocked right to the core by his words. And he was damned if he knew where they were coming from. They just spewed out without warning or planning, or even bothering to ask his brain for consent.

  She was stunned. Frankly, so was he. If a year ago someone had told him he would be saying things like this to woman, he would have laughed in their face.

  He didn't know how to shut himself up, or how he could possibly finish those words. But then he didn't have to, because she was kissing him. Her mouth closed over his. She suckled his lips and licked his tongue, and tears were streaming down her face the whole time. He kissed her back, just as eagerly. He held her hard, while her hands pushed his blanket away as if it were some unbearable annoyance. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers buried in her hair as he held her to him and tasted her, exploring her mouth the way he'd been wanting to do. This was what he'd dreamed of doing for hour after long, lonely hour. God, he didn't even know how badly he'd been wanting her until now. He was on fire just from this kiss.

  She pushed him backward on the couch, and she bent over him, dragging her warm mouth away from his, and over his neck, to his chest. She used her tongue, even her teeth, to make him squirm and ache and burn. Every part of him was trembling. Every inch of him alive and aware and in h
orrible fiery need.

  Then suddenly she got up, her hand clasping his, she tugged him to his feet. He rose. His boxer shorts bearing a tent pole, he followed her. She said, "I don't want us to wake Bax," and she led him through the dining room and kitchen, and out the back door. He closed it behind him, following her as if he were in some kind of hypnotic trance. She walked a little ways from the house, her bare feet in the dew-wet grass. He shivered in the cold. Then she let go of his hand and moved away from him.

  And then, under the stars, in the moonlight, she began to dance.

  So sensual, the way she moved, that it took his breath away, and he thought he would explode from desire. When she slid her hands up her thighs over her hips and around to the button of her jeans, popped it free and slid the zipper down, Luke lost the feeling in his legs. He landed in the wet grass on his backside, and the shorts were wet, and he was shivering and burning up at the same time. She wriggled the jeans slowly, slowly down over her hips and her legs, but the shirt fell, too, covering the delectable tanned skin a split second after she revealed it to him. Teasing glimpses were all he was given of the curve of her hips and the tops of her thighs. The rest of her legs, though, were given to him fully and slowly. She kicked the jeans off, and he reached for her, but she danced just out of reach. She went to work on the panties next, again giving him fleeting glimpses as she worked them slowly down. Her rounded buttocks were revealed at inch at a time, no more. The little crease where backside met thigh. God, he wanted to kiss her there.

  Finally her fingers nimbly released the buttons of the pristine white button-down shirt. One by one. Top to bottom. She turned her back to him and slid the shirt off her shoulders, lower and lower, revealing the curve of her back. Then she turned fast as she lowered it all the way and pulled the loose shirt around in front of her. A flash of her backside made his heart palpitate. And now she danced in front of him, holding that shirt over her beautiful body.