She tipped her head up, looked at his face. "But I wanted to give him that. The home, the picket fence…"
"You will. You will. You'll see. You're almost there already. There's this one last problem we need to get past, and then you'll see it all fall into place. Jasmine, don't you think maybe this all happened for a reason? Don't you think maybe you were led to Quinn because it was where you and Baxter belong?"
She lowered her eyes. "I don't know. Your cousin Wes was saying something very similar. Maybe it's true."
"It's true." He closed his eyes. "It's true. The job, Ben and Penny deciding to hire a dance teacher just when you arrived … it's all fallen into place as if it were meant to be, Jasmine."
She nodded. "Maybe."
"What are you afraid of?" he asked her.
She closed her eyes. "That it's all a dream. Just like the dreams I had as a little girl. They're golden bubbles that shimmer and gleam and float in front of your eyes, and they seem so real. So beautiful. So perfect. But the moment you reach out to touch them, they burst, and there's nothing left. Not even the illusion. It hurts when that happens, Luke. I don't want to hurt like that again. And I don't want Baxter to ever hurt like that."
He held her closer, leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Then don't look at the bubble. Look past the dream, Jasmine, look at what's real. Quinn is real. The Brands are real, and they adore you and Baxter. The job offer from Ben and Penny, that's real. You can make a fresh start in Quinn. That's real. That's not an illusion. So reach for that. And don't worry about the rest. Not now."
She lifted her eyes to his, her hands at the back of his head, and she said, "And what about you … and me?"
He closed his eyes slowly, bit his lip. "I'm your friend, because that's what you need me to be right now."
"I don't think I've ever had a man who was a friend before."
"You do now."
She thought he must be lying. Because she was all but naked, and he was holding her tight in his arms right now, and he was all but naked, too, and it wasn't difficult to tell that he wanted her. All the evidence was there. He leaned down and kissed her lips, long and slowly, and so tenderly she trembled inside. She knew he wanted to make love to her. And she didn't mind. He'd done so much for her already. And she liked making love to him. The last time had been like nothing she'd ever known.
But when he lifted his head, he rolled further onto his back, cradling her to his chest. His hand stroked her hair, and he said, "Go to sleep, sweet Jasmine. I'm not gonna let any more bad dreams come near you tonight. You're safe now."
He was so warm around her. So firm beneath her. She closed her eyes as his hand stroked her hair over and over again. "I don't need any man to keep me safe," she whispered. "Never have. Never will." And then she snuggled closer.
* * *
Chapter 14
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It was heaven and hell all rolled into one warm, beautiful female form in his arms that night. He didn't sleep. He just held her. Looked at her. And he knew, as he'd never known before, that he would do whatever it took to get through to her, to reach her. She had built a brick wall around her heart. He had to tear it down brick by brick. He had to get to her. Letting her go was no longer an option he cared to consider.
She began to stir when the morning sun slanted in through the window blinds, making yellow slashes of light across her face. She opened her eyes, blinked him into focus and then looked confused. He smiled at her, kissed her forehead, then rolled out of bed and walked around the room picking up his clothes. "I'm gonna get one of the guys over here to keep an eye on you while I shower," he said. "Okay?"
She nodded confusedly and, holding the blankets to her chest, tugged her own clothes off the foot of the bed and pulled them to her. "You didn't … I mean, you slept with me all night, and we didn't…"
"No," he said. "We didn't."
Tilting her head to one side, she said, "Why?"
Luke grinned at her. "Not because I wouldn't have liked to, believe me." But then he let the smile fade and went to sit on the edge of the bed. He stroked her hair, masses of it tangling around his fingers like coiled silk. "God, you've got the most incredible hair, you know that?" He drew a handful close to his face, inhaled its fragrance. Still fresh from her shower last night. But then he let it fall and looked her in the eyes. "I want to make sure you know that I feel something for you. Something that has nothing to do with sex. I'd feel it even if I knew you were never, ever going to let me make love to you again. And I also want you to know that when we did make love—it meant something to me. I don't want us to do it again until it means something to you, too."
She frowned very hard at him. "Means something…? What are you saying?"
"Well, I can't be sure, because I've never been through this before. But as near as I can figure, I'm in love with you, Jasmine."
She didn't react with a breathless sigh or a wavering smile. She didn't fall into his arms or cry or plaster his face with kisses. Instead, her eyes widened. She looked scared to death. "You … you love me? But … you can't."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can." He drew a breath, examining her face, realizing he'd shaken her up with that declaration. "Look, I'm not expecting anything from you. This doesn't mean you have to say or do anything at all. Hell, I know you didn't need to hear this right now. To tell you the truth, I didn't intend to tell you until all this other stuff was behind us. But something made me go and let on anyway."
Jasmine blinked slowly. Then she ducked underneath the covers and wriggled around under there, and when she came out again, her bra was in place, and her arms were in the sleeves of the white button-down shirt. He loved that she hid from him to dress. It was such a contradiction. He'd seen her undressed. She'd stripped for strangers, and now she ducked under the covers to get dressed. It was a quirk. And it told him she valued him more than she did those strangers. And that meant something to him. Besides, he loved her quirks.
When she emerged, that confused, puzzled frown was still on her face. She slipped out the other side of the bed, stood up with her back to him and slowly buttoned the shirt. "I don't get it," she said. "I don't have any real claim to your house. You know that now, right? It's going to auction next Saturday, just as planned and there won't be anything stopping you from buying it." She finished buttoning the shirt and reached for the jeans, then turned her back to him again and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them over her legs. "I don't have anything, you know. No money. Nothing of value. And I've got a kid, for crying out loud." She stood up, pulled the jeans over her hips and then snapped them, zipped them, faced him again. "I just don't get what's in this for you. Why would you want to fall in love with someone like me?"
He probably should have been insulted. But he knew she quite simply had no frame of reference for what he was trying to say to her. He put his own jeans on but didn't bother yet with the shirt. "I don't think people generally get a choice in the matter. You fall in love with someone for who they are, not what they have or what's in it for you. But maybe you can't really understand that until it happens to you. I mean, up until you came crashing into my life, I thought I was going to get to decide when, why, how and who I would love. But it doesn't happen that way, Jasmine."
She lowered her head, totally confused, by the looks of her. He said, "Will you stay put while I go next door and get one of the guys?"
"I'm not gonna run away, Luke. You don't have to make one of your cousins guard me while you shower."
He smiled. "That's good to know."
"What do you think we should do next?" she asked.
Luke turned, and he couldn't help but feel it was good sign, her asking his opinion on this battle she'd been so determined to fight on her own up to now. "I think we should take your tapes to the police, turn this whole mess over to them and go back to Texas where we belong."
She shook her head slowly. "I don't trust the police. Petronella's one of them."
"Then we'll have Garrett co
ntact the FBI. Hand the tapes over to them."
"That's a little better."
"Then that's what we'll do." He reached out, ran a finger down her cheek. He loved touching her. "But until we're safely back home again, I'd still feel better if you weren't left alone too long."
She sighed, but nodded. "Fine. Go get the troops, then."
Luke went to the door, opened it, and looked up and down the walk outside. The place was pretty silent this early in the morning. Nothing much stirred besides the light misty fog that had crept in overnight. He stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him, and walked the few feet to the next door down, tapped on it. "Ben? Garrett?"
He heard the door to Jasmine's room open and glanced back down the sidewalk to see her there. She leaned out the door, her hair catching the breeze and dancing on it. "We should get coffee, Luke. Do you think the diner is open yet?"
Something moved in Luke's peripheral vision. A dark form swathed in the mists of the parking lot. Garrett opened the door and spoke, but Luke was turning away now, as that dark shape took the form of a man, and one arm rose slowly and pointed toward Jasmine. She couldn't see the man. There was no time to warn her.
Luke lunged as the distant arm came level. He threw himself between Jasmine and the gunman, and he never heard the bullets that hammered into his chest. But he felt them. They pounded and burned and tore, knocking him to the pavement as powerfully as if he'd been hit by a wrecking ball. Jasmine screamed. Garrett swore. The rest was a blur. What had been unfolding in slow motion suddenly jumped to fast forward. Jasmine fell to her knees at his side, leaning over him, crying. Her hands touched his chest and came away bloody. Her tears rained warm on his face. He didn't know where Garrett had gone. Ben was there, too, gently guiding Jasmine's hands back to Luke's chest, pressing them down on the wounds, instructing her to keep the pressure on. Luke didn't see the others. He heard footfalls in the parking lot, squealing tires. Everything had a distant, hollow sound to it—as if he were hearing it from the far end of a deep cave.
It occurred to him that there wasn't any pain now. That probably didn't bode well. Damn, he had things to do yet—for Jasmine, and for Baxter.
He forced his arm to move, lifted it, closed his hand on Ben's collar. "You're … my … witness."
"Don't try to talk, Luke. Take it easy, now. Help's on the way."
"God, what happened? What happened?" Jasmine was asking, choking on tears. "He's been shot. God, he's been shot."
"Ben…" Luke forced the words out, every one requiring tremendous effort. "Take the money. Buy the Walker place. For Jasmine."
"I understand, I got it, Luke, but please, stop talking now. I'm trying to keep you around long enough to see to all that yourself, so hush up."
Luke let his hand fall to the ground. He never felt it hit. He turned his gaze in search of Jasmine, whispered her name.
"I'm right here," she told him. And she moved so he could see her more clearly, but she still kept her hands pressed hard to his chest. "I'm right here, Luke."
He locked his eyes on her, held them there and knew she was unharmed. None of the bullets had reached her. Thank God, he thought. Thank God. "Go home," he told her. "Go home to Baxter." And then everything went dark. Her tears were the last thing he saw.
"Luke? Luke, come on? Don't fade on me now, come on! Luke?" Her entire body shook with tremors that seemed to come from down deep in her core. She leaned over Luke, her hands pressing hard to stop the blood pumping from his chest. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but his chest was slick with blood, and no matter how hard she pressed, it continued to seep out of him.
She understood what had happened. Luke had seen someone taking aim at her, out there in the misty parking lot somewhere. And he'd thrown himself into the line of fire. Like some kind of silver-screen hero. As if she were worth saving. He lay there on the concrete, blood all around him, under him, soaking through her jeans where she knelt beside him. Sirens wailed now, and all she could do was kneel beside Luke, her hands striving to keep the precious blood from flowing from his body. Her stomach heaved and clenched, and she felt dizzy. She had to battle the need to whirl away from him and throw up. He lay there, pale and still, his eyes closed now. Maybe he was dying. She didn't know. Maybe he was already dead. She couldn't stop trembling, sobbing. She hadn't felt this kind of panic hit her since that horrible day when she'd seen a man firing a gun at her own little boy. This sickening, gut-wrenching fear was the same. Except then, even as she'd sped away, she'd been able to see that Baxter was unharmed. This time, it was different. This time, the person she was so concerned for had holes torn through his body and blood streaming from the wounds.
"We got him!" someone called, and Ben looked up from what he was doing.
"Wes! Get over here and help me. We're gonna lose him if we can't stop this bleeding."
In a split second Wes Brand was kneeling opposite Ben. Jasmine had been paying little attention to what Ben was doing, but now she watched as his brother joined him. The two men moved their hands over Luke's body again and again. Wes muttered something in a low voice in a language that wasn't familiar to her. Comanche, she guessed. Jasmine wondered what earthly good they thought they were doing, but then the blood oozing from beneath her hands slowed. Her throat went dry. She thought she might be imagining things, but it slowed more. Maybe it only meant … no, no, Luke was still breathing. She lifted her gaze to the two brothers—their eyes were closed, their hands still moving. "Keep it up," she whispered. "Whatever you're doing, it's working. Keep it up."
The men didn't acknowledge her words. But she knew they heard. The blood flow eased more, and then it stopped—or she was pretty sure it stopped. She didn't dare take her hands away to check, but she couldn't see it flowing anymore, couldn't feel it pulsing against her hands, which were gloved now by the slick, glossy fluid.
Sirens screamed nearer. Men in white came with a gurney and cases full of supplies, and she was forced to move away from Luke. So were Wes and Ben. She got to her feet, staggering backward a few steps. For the first time she looked around her.
Dozens of people had gathered, forming a loose circle around the spot where Luke lay. Some were still in their nightclothes. They stared at her, shaking their heads, making sympathetic sounds as she scanned their faces. Dizziness, sickness, regret swamped her. Her world tilted, and her knees gave out. But a pair of arms closed around her waist before she could hit the pavement.
Wes held her easily upright. "Come on, let's get you someplace where you can sit."
"I have to go with Luke," she said. She lifted her gaze, blinking, not seeing anything clearly. Then Ben seemed to appear from nowhere a few feet away, clearing the crowd with a wave of his arms like Moses parting the Red Sea. Wes scooped her up and carried her back into the motel room. Elliot appeared to open the door, so Wes could set her inside. Then Elliot handed her a bottle of water—she had no clue where he'd gotten it. But she sipped gratefully.
"Get her cleaned up and bring her on to the hospital," Elliot said. "I'll ride with Luke."
"No, I should go…" She tried to get to her feet, but her legs buckled.
"We'll be two minutes behind the ambulance, if that. I promise," Wes said. He nodded to Elliot, who ran out the door, back to the ambulance. A second later she heard its siren howl as it sped away.
Ben came out of the bathroom with an ice bucket full of water and a washcloth. He dipped her hands into the water and gently washed them. She tried not to look at the water as it changed to the color of Luke's blood. Ben took it away, dumped it, brought back more. Then he peeled off her white blouse, ruined now, while Wes brought a fresh shirt for her. It was Luke's shirt, she realized as they put it on her, dressing her as if she were a helpless child. She lowered her head to cry, but paused when she saw the police cars outside.
Near the nose of the first car, Garrett was talking to several police officers, who held a handcuffed tough between them. The guy was stocky, dark and thoroughly battered. Hi
s face looked as if someone had used it for a punching bag. "Is that the man?" she asked. "Is he the one who shot Luke?"
"Yeah," Ben said. "Garrett, Elliot and Wes chased him down."
"He tossed the gun as he ran," Wes said. "Had a silencer on it, which is why we didn't hear the shots. Is that the guy who's been after you and Baxter all this time?"
She shook her head slowly. "No."
She lowered her head. Ben raised it again. He was back with a fresh washcloth, and he wiped her face now. She tried not to think about what was on it. He washed her neck, buttoned up Luke's shirt for her. "There. Almost as good as new. You have a fresh pair of jeans in here?"
She nodded vaguely. "Yeah. I can … I can do the rest."
Jasmine got to her feet, only to have Ben's arm instantly link with hers to help her to the bathroom. Inside, she peeled of her blood-soaked jeans, then sat on the edge of the bathtub and cranked on the water, washing her legs as it ran. She had to close her eyes. God, she couldn't bear much more. Poor Luke.
Getting to her feet, she dried off, pulled on the fresh jeans and turned toward the mirror.
The woman who looked back at her was a stranger. Jasmine wasn't even sure she recognized her. This was not the loner who trusted no one and thought of men as a baby step up the evolutionary ladder from dogs. This was not the street-tough city girl who could coldly strip for money and never let it get to her. This was not the woman who didn't believe in love.
She didn't know who the hell this woman in the mirror was. And that scared her.
There was a tap on the door. "You okay in there, hon?"
Ben's voice, deep with concern. She turned and opened the door. "I'm ready."
Flanked by Ben and Wes, she moved out of the motel room. The minute she was in sight, two of the cops outside came toward her. Garrett was with them. The suspect, the shooter, was at the second police car with a third cop, some fifty feet away.
THE HOMECOMING Page 17