“For you, sugar, anything.” The waitress moved away, soon returning with the requested item.
“You know,” Erica mused, “staring at that work of art makes me wish I’d learned how to cook. I live off microwave dinners, and any time I have a craving for a sweet, there’s a bakery down the street from where I live. Still, it must be nice to be able to just whip up something whenever you feel like it.”
Ryan doused his pancake stack in a river of semisweet dark syrup and cut off a big bite with his fork. He soaked it in the sweet liquid pool and, wearing a teasing smile, offered it Erica’s way. “Want a sample before I demolish this?”
His manner was friendly, as if she were his kid sister, nothing more. Yet to Erica the gesture seemed almost intimate, as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend and not merely strangers sharing a bus seat. Heat warmed her cheeks, and she wished she hadn’t spoken.
“No, that’s okay.”
“You sure? I hate to eat all this in front of you.” A chocolate dribble slipped from the pancake and hit the table. Another drip looked well on its way to following it.
Deciding it would be better to just take that one bite than make a bigger mess, or draw any unwanted attention their way, Erica leaned on her elbows toward him and snipped the bite off the fork with her teeth. Despite her caution, she felt the syrup coat the skin outside her mouth. Embarrassed, she hastily licked the chocolate away from the corners, then settled back in her seat and blotted her mouth with a napkin, afterward wiping up the spill on the table. Ryan hadn’t moved a muscle, only stared at her. His fork, now empty, was still extended.
“Thanks,” she managed. “It’s good.”
Her words seemed to snap him out of whatever trance held him bound, and he dove into his dessert as though he hadn’t just eaten a three-course meal. They made small talk about food, the café, and the area, but Erica sensed a peculiar tension now lingering in the air. Ryan paid to have his thermos refilled with hot coffee for the trip, and then, to Erica’s dismay, plucked up both bills from the table before she could reach for her purse.
“Ryan, I said—”
“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze gentle. “Let me do this for Wes’s little sister. As a welcome to Preston Corners?”
“We’re not there yet,” she countered dryly. His answering smile disarmed her and made her forget the reason she didn’t want him to pay for her meal.
After they both took a quick restroom break, Erica pulled the faux fur collar of her wool coat around her ears. Ryan did the same with his jacket, and they braved the bitter cold wind on their hurried trek back to the bus. The disgruntled driver gave them a nod as they boarded but offered nothing by way of communication.
“I’m beginning to think he’s a mountain hermit moonlighting as a bus driver,” Erica whispered.
Ryan chuckled but didn’t answer.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Erica said once they’d settled in their seats. She noticed many chairs throughout the bus were empty, including the row next to theirs, and the rows ahead of them and behind. She and Ryan were sequestered in their own private world, made even more private with the now dim lighting. As though reading her mind, he clicked on the small light overhead.
He turned in his seat until he faced her better. His knees almost brushed hers. Crossing the arm nearest her over his waist, he propped the back of his head against the plastic window shade. “About me, huh? Okay…I grew up the only male sibling in a house of five females, all who went through varying degrees of emotional traumas. At different times, of course. Dad was the smart one; he practically lived in his study.”
“And I’m sure you were always calm, never once raising your voice or getting emotional?” Erica gave him a mock reproving stare, trying to hold on to the light mood that revisited them. Still, she couldn’t help feel envious that he’d had a true home and what she detected as a good relationship with his family, despite his teasing words.
“Nope, never,” he said with a straight face. “I was a perfect saint.”
“Yeah, right. I’d love to hear your sisters’ versions.”
“You may just get the chance. Most of them still live in Preston Corners.”
His reply made her feel awkward, as though he might think she was asking for an invitation to get to know him better. Flustered, she reached for her handbag, unzipped it, and fumbled inside for what she wanted. She pulled out a brush, her makeup bag, and a crumpled wad of lipstick-stained tissues.
“Looking for something?” Ryan asked, clearly amused.
Her fingertips located a thin box. “Be nice, or I might not share.” She opened the cardboard flap and tipped a white square into her palm then handed the box to him. “Want one?”
“I’m not sure.” Ryan eyed the offering as if it were poison pellets. “What is it?”
“Cyanide gum,” she quipped.
“In that case, I’ll take one. I haven’t had my quota for the day.” He popped a square into his mouth with a grin, and she rolled her eyes.
“Actually, it’s a gum you chew in place of brushing your teeth.”
“Does it work?”
“I don’t know, but it better. I almost missed the bus from standing in line to buy it. ‘But for white teeth and fresh breath, I’ll do anything.’ ” She mimicked a commercial she’d heard for the gum and gave him a toothpaste ad smile while fluttering her lashes.
The late hour must be getting to her. Or nervousness. Or insanity. Or all three. Aware she was acting ridiculous, she self-consciously tucked her hair behind one ear.
Ryan’s grin faded, and the expression in his eyes softened. “You know what, Erica? I think Wes is going to love you.”
Unable to sleep, Ryan studied Erica’s closed eyes. He remembered how they’d widened at his last words, an hour ago, about Wes loving her. As if fearful that he actually might.
Conversation between them grew stilted after that. Erica went in search of a pillow and blanket, claiming she was tired. Once she’d taken her seat, also bringing back with her a pillow and blanket for him, she turned slightly away with a soft “G’night, Ryan.”
Had Erica misinterpreted his words and thought he was making a pass? A better question might be why he felt so comfortable with her, as if he’d known her all his life. Was it because she was Wes’s kid sister, and he saw some of his buddy in her?
Looking down at her slightly plump form and the dark crescent of lashes resting against her rosy cheek, Ryan rejected that idea. Except for the fact that they had similar eye color and both had straight hair, she looked little like Wes. And her lips were bowed, not thin. Slightly parted as they were now, they looked entirely too kissable. The second time he’d thought about kissing her. The first time was at the café when she’d eaten the pancake bite and he’d experienced a strong urge to kiss the chocolate from her mouth. That had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have offered her a sample, though his intention had only been friendly.
He wrenched his gaze from her face and looked over the darkened bus, listening to snores rumbling through the area, the driver’s the loudest. Sleet tapped the windows. Ryan shouldn’t have drunk so much coffee, either—another item to add to his list of “shouldn’t have dones”—or at least a wise choice would have been to have his thermos filled with decaf.
Hearing a soft whimper, he looked at Erica. A vee had formed between her brows, as if a dream troubled her. She whispered something he couldn’t understand. He brought his ear closer to her lips, hoping she’d say it again.
“Mama, don’t let them take me…”
At the faint gasp of words that bubbled out, something powerful clenched his gut. Before he could question his actions, Ryan shifted his pillow and lifted the armrest. He wrapped a protective arm around Erica’s shoulders, gently moving her so that her pillow rested against his side. Then, reaching above, he turned out the light.
Daylight streamed through the window, beckoning Erica awake. She rested against something solid and warm. Opening her ey
es, she saw that her pillow was a blue patterned sweater. A blue patterned sweater that moved up and down with each breath of its owner, and something equally solid and warm looped around her upper back.
Gasping, she straightened and looked into Ryan’s amused eyes.
“Good morning,” he said. “We should be nearing Preston Corners soon.”
Her face going hot, Erica pulled away, and he moved his arm from around her. Slowly he pumped it up and down, as if lifting a ten-pound weight, and massaged his elbow, obviously trying to remove the stiffness. To cover her embarrassment, Erica plucked her pillow from the floor and smoothed her tangled hair with her fingers. She couldn’t believe she’d ended up cuddled against his side. By the sun’s position in the sky, she’d slept for a while. She vaguely remembered waking up for a few blurry moments around dawn, when the motel passengers boarded and the bus started back up, but she’d drifted off to sleep again. Had she lain against Ryan the entire night?
Carmen gave her a knowing smile, flustering Erica all the more. Ryan’s words hit her then.
“Did you say we’re nearing Preston Corners?”
“In less than an hour, I expect, though we’re traveling slower than normal because of the weather. We passed Little Rock not long ago.” He smiled. “Welcome to Arkansas.”
She swallowed, her gaze going to the window and the hilly terrain with its masses of snow-flocked pine and hardwood trees flying past. Much different than the flatlands of central Texas. Like a whole new world. Had it been a mistake to follow her heart on a whim? Had she acted rashly once again—something Margaret often accused her of doing?
“Anything wrong?” Ryan asked.
She shook her head no, then nodded yes. “What if he doesn’t like me?” she murmured. “What if I’m nothing like he remembers?”
“If my calculations are accurate, you were four and Wes was nine at the time. Besides, what’s not to like? I’ve enjoyed having you as a seatmate, Erica. You’re a lot of fun to be with. I’ve known Wes a long time, and like I told you last night, I’m sure he’ll love you.”
This time Ryan’s encouraging words didn’t rattle her. Last night, when he’d said them, she imagined they were coming straight from Ryan’s heart and hadn’t been about Wes at all. A foolish thought. Why she was drawn to this man on such short acquaintance, she had no idea.
Her gaze went to the winter scenery flashing by the window. Soon a good chunk of her history would be settled forever. Yet now, Erica wasn’t sure she was ready to face it.
Chapter 3
A t the bus depot, Ryan looked for Wes’s blue truck and frowned. “I can’t understand why he’s not here yet. He would’ve called the bus company to find out the new arrival time.”
Erica’s gaze flitted to the pavement, around the nearly empty parking lot, then back to him. She seemed agitated. “I didn’t expect him to come. I sort of…came without telling him.”
“He didn’t know you were coming?” Ryan asked, incredulous. “The bus originally wasn’t scheduled to arrive until three-thirty this morning. What were you planning to do when you got here?”
“I thought I’d just hang around the depot until a decent time, then look him up in the phone book.” She shrugged self-consciously. “Look, I jumped into this without thinking ahead, a foolish habit of mine. If you could just tell me where he lives, I’ll phone for a taxi.”
Ryan shook his head in amused exasperation. “No taxi. You can ride with me. My car’s parked in that lot over there. The transmission was acting up, which was one reason I didn’t want to risk driving it all the way to Dallas. But it should make it to Wes’s house all right.”
Uncertainty crossed her features, and Ryan thought he knew the reason. To go with him would pair them alone together for the first time. She only had his word that he was Wes’s friend.
“Tell you what. I’ll give Wes a call, tell him you’re here, and he can verify that I’m not the big bad wolf out to accost pretty girls wearing red coats.” He grinned at his Red Riding Hood joke.
She rolled her eyes but nodded for him to go ahead.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Wes wasn’t home, but Stacey was. After filling her in, Ryan handed the phone to Erica, who took it with a trembling hand.
“Hello? Yes, I’m Erica,” she said in a squeaky voice. She listened awhile, glanced at Ryan, and nodded. “I met him on the bus.” A flicker of a smile played with her lips, and she looked away. “No, but he did tell me that he wasn’t a wolf…. Really…” She drawled, then giggled and shot another look Ryan’s way.
Just what was Stacey telling her?
“Thanks. I will. I’m looking forward to meeting you, too. You and Wes both. Bye.” She handed the cell phone back to him. “She seems nice.”
“Yeah, she’s great. What’d she say about me?”
She appeared amused. “Just that I’m safe in taking you up on your offer for a ride.”
“Is that all she said?”
“All you need to know.” Grinning like a kid with a juicy secret, Erica grabbed her suitcase and overnight bag and moved toward his car.
With a wry smile, Ryan turned off his phone, shut it, and picked up his own suitcase. He was glad she’d relaxed but wished it hadn’t been at his expense. Knowing Stacey as he did, he had a feeling a lot more was said about him.
An hour later, Erica willed herself not to start pacing again. Stacey was a regular fireball—and as sweet as they came. After Erica’s arrival, she gave Erica a warm hug, then hurried back to the kitchen to finish preparing Wes’s lunch. He’d be home from his job at his construction firm any minute. The older kids were at school, so Erica hadn’t had a chance to meet them yet, and baby Lance was taking his nap. Ryan thumbed through some books in a walnut built-in bookcase, having stated that he wanted to see Wes’s face when his buddy caught sight of Erica. She didn’t mind. She preferred having Ryan there. His presence calmed her, at the same time stimulating her in a way she didn’t understand. For the past eight years she’d dated on and off but had never found Mr. Right. Had she met him on a bus?
The sound of wheels crunching up the rocky drive alerted her. Erica clutched the armrests in a death grip, her gaze fastened to the front door. She didn’t breathe as boots clomped up the porch and the door swung open, revealing a husky, dark-haired man with a beard.
“Ryan!” he greeted. “I didn’t know you were back in town. How was the convention?”
“As conventions go, all right, I suppose. I got back today. And I brought someone with me.” Ryan looked at Erica where she sat in a far corner of the room. The newcomer followed suit.
“Hello,” he said, his expression curious as he rubbed his whiskered jaw. “So, you’re a friend of Ryan’s?”
Erica only sat and stared, as if she’d been cast in cement. Yet inside, her emotions exploded like sticks of dynamite.
Ryan put his hand to the newcomer’s shoulder. “Wes, surely you recognize your baby sister?” he said quietly.
For a moment Wes only stood there. Then his eyes widened, and he dropped the rolled-up newspaper he held. It fell to the glossy hardwood floor. “Erica?” His voice deepened to a low rumble.
Unable to stand, she managed the briefest of nods. He took a few uncertain steps her way, sudden moisture glistening in his eyes, the same cinnamon color as hers with the same flecks of dark red. “I’m your brother,” he said, kneeling on one leg before her. “I’m Wes.”
The earnestness on his rugged face, the longing for acceptance answered Erica’s own deep need. “I know,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
They reached for each other at the same time. Softly crying and laughing, brother and sister held to one another tightly, and the wound that came about when they were torn apart as children began slowly to mend.
After dinner, the family and Ryan sat in the living area around a blazing fire. The tenseness of the unknown had eased, and Erica now felt relaxed.
“If she’s Daddy’s sister,” round-eye
d Peggy asked, “what does that make her to me?”
“Our aunt, stupid,” Peggy’s nine-year-old brother replied. “Same as Aunt Paula.”
“I’m not stupid! Just because you’re a year older doesn’t mean you know everything, Billy Beardsley!” She stuck out her tongue at him.
“Kids,” Stacey warned, “if you two don’t stop this bickering, you’re going to bed. And there’s no name-calling in this house, either.” Her green gaze pierced her son, who was a miniature of her in looks and coloring, whereas Peggy favored her father and had the same cinnamon-colored eyes. Eight-month-old Lance looked up from a nearby playpen, his hair surprisingly blond and his eyes light brown.
Stacey’s gaze sailed to the clock above the mantel, and her brows rose. “Oops, my mistake. It’s already past bedtime.”
“Aw, Mom,” Billy complained, “can’t we stay home from school tomorrow, since Aunt Erica came to visit?”
“You’ll have plenty of chances to spend time with her. Now, tell everyone good night, and then it’s off to bed with both of you.”
Two sets of grumbles met her demand, but one stern look from Stacey silenced them. After depositing hugs and kisses to both men, Peggy whispered something in her father’s ear. His eyes glistened and he nodded.
Shyly, the girl approached Erica. “Can I hug you good night, too—I mean since you’re my new aunt and all?”
Pain shot through the bridge of Erica’s nose at the sudden onslaught of tears. “Of course you can.”
Peggy tentatively slipped her arms around Erica but moved away before Erica could reciprocate, as if a sudden case of bashfulness had hit. Billy held out his hand. “I’m too old for all that mushy stuff. Night.”
Holding back a laugh, Erica managed as serious a face as Billy’s and shook his hand. “Night.”
Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection Page 22