UPON THE STORM

by Justine Davis

  "Trace—"

  "If you don't like this place we can go somewhere else. I won't be making the kind of money I was, but I haven't spent much lately, it's all been invested. We'll do fine. I—"

  "Trace!" She cut off the tumbling flow of words. "What are you talking about?"

  He took a long, deep breath. "Marry me. Please?"

  Christy paled; she had never expected this. "I—" She broke off, shaking her head.

  "Don't, Christy! We can do it, we can work it all out! It was my work, wasn't it? The hassle, the reporters, the whole celebrity bit? That's gone now, or it will be as soon as the fuss dies down. And I don't regret it. Really. I found out I enjoyed what I was doing behind the scenes at Hurricane as much as I did acting. More, a lot of the time."

  "But—"

  "And you know how I feel about the rest. I don't care what or who or why about your parents, Christy. It doesn't matter a damn to me, only you do. I love you."

  He saw her doubt and tightened his grip on her hand until it was almost painful, willing her to hear him and believe.

  "Don't Christy. I won't let you lump me in with all those others, the ones who left you. You left me, remember? I'll never leave you. Damn it, I love you! You've got to believe that! Don't ask how or why. I can't answer that. It just happened. All you have to do is believe me."

  She shivered, her hand shaking in his, her eyes wide and dark as she stared at him.

  "And that's the hardest thing in the world for you to do, isn't it, love?"

  Christy saw the shimmer in his eyes again, but he didn't wipe at them this time. His jaw tightened, and he blinked rapidly, but he made no effort to hide what he was feeling. His brutal openness made her shiver again in the face of his emotional courage.

  "You … love me?" Her voice was tiny, as fragile as a newborn bird teetering on the brink of the nest. Would she take the chance and soar, or plummet back into that dark, safe shell she'd built around herself? Trace held his breath and prayed.

  "Me?" she repeated in wonder. He'd said it before, but he knew she was only now thinking of it as anything other than just words.

  "I love you," he repeated. "I know there are things we need to work out, but there's nothing—" He saw doubt flare again in her eyes and repeated the word fiercely "—nothing we can't handle, if we do it together. Marry me, Christy. I'm not worth a damn without you. I—"

  A loud, reverberating thump cut him off. They both jumped, turning to stare in the direction of the stairs.

  * * *

  Eleven

  « ^ »

  The thump that had cut him off was repeated, then came yet again, followed by a voice booming up the stairs. "Hey, lazybones, what the hell's going on around here? I heard some crazy— Oof!" Another thump, louder, more solid, with an accompanying vibration they felt all the way from the hallway. "Uh-oh." A moment of silence, and Trace groaned and rolled his eyes.

  "Tony," he muttered. "I forgot he was coming."

  "Er," the voice called awkwardly, "I guess I'll be downstairs." The thumps, clearly going in the opposite direction this time, began again and then faded away.

  Trace turned back to find a furiously blushing Christy scrambling out of the bed. "Christy, wait—"

  "You'd better go see your brother."

  "I will, when you come down with me."

  "I have to dress, brush my hair—"

  He strode over to a closet door and grabbed the thick blue velour robe that had been hanging there. He came back and wrapped it around her, then ran his fingers through the fine silk of her hair, tousling it thoroughly.

  "There. Dressed and wearing my favorite hairstyle."

  Her blush deepened. "I can't go down like this!"

  "Why? Tony knows you're here. He's crazy to meet you. He said he can't wait to thank you."

  Christy shifted uncomfortably. "I just gave you the idea. You provided the money."

  "He didn't mean that," Trace said quietly. "He said he wanted to thank you for giving him his brother back."

  Trace reached out to belt the robe around her, then to roll up the sleeves. The garment that fit him swam on her, trailing over her hands and baring a great deal of silken skin at the neck; and he stepped back and eyed it critically. "Maybe you'd better wear something else."

  "I might suggest the same to you," she said in self-defense, running her eye with no small amount of pleasure over his naked body.

  "It's only my brother," he said with a wicked grin. "He's seen it all before. Doesn't have the slightest effect on him."

  "Fine." She unbelted the robe and let it slide to the floor. "Then we go as a set."

  His grin faded as he looked at her, standing in a stream of sunlight coming through the skylight, the glow pouring over her slender, naked body like transparent, liquid gold. His body surged instantly in response, and Christy couldn't stop her eyes from sliding down to the thatch of sandy curls that surrounded suddenly aroused male flesh.

  "You, on the other hand," he said huskily, "have one hell of an effect on me."

  Involuntarily she took a step toward him. The ridged muscles of his belly tightened in anticipation, and his arms came up to reach for her. Then a noise from downstairs brought them back to earth, both of them still gasping from the speed with which the wildfire had caught.

  "You'd better get dressed," he said tightly, turning to reach for a pair of jeans that hung over the back of a chair.

  "Yes," she said, not moving, her eyes fastened hungrily on the taut curve of his buttocks, the curve that still bore marks from her eager fingers.

  "Christy," he said warningly, and her eyes flew to his face. "If you think I'm going to be able to get into a pair of jeans with you standing there like my wildest dream come true, looking at me like … like that, you're crazy. The zipper'll never stand it. Go get dressed."

  Cheeks flaming once more, Christy scooped up the robe and wrapped it around her before she scampered down the hall.

  When she came out clad simply in white jeans and a red T-shirt, he was waiting, leaning against the table across from her door. A little flustered at finding he'd waited for her, she hastily finished tucking in the T-shirt she'd just pulled on. A gleam of silver behind him caught her eye, and she saw her purse and the shoe she had dropped last night.

  "Thank you for picking these up," she said, wondering if she was ever going to stop blushing.

  "I didn't." She stopped, glancing from the floor to the table, then back to his face. "I would guess Tony did. That's probably what he tripped over."

  "Oh!" No, she was never going to stop blushing.

  "Don't feel bad. That's probably the only thing that kept him from walking right in on us."

  "Does he usually … walk right in?"

  "He's never had a reason not to in this house."

  She bit her lip; there was no missing his meaning.

  "It can work, Christy, if you give it a chance. Don't let old hurts get in the way."

  "There are … things you don't know—"

  "There are things you don't know, too. They don't matter. I won't let them. We can do it, Christy. Keep thinking that." He took her arm and led her toward the stairs.

  After an hour downstairs with Tony Dalton, she almost began to believe it. Trace's younger brother was as tall as he was and had the same quick grin, but there the resemblance ended. Where Trace's hair was that odd combination of brown and blond, Tony was all brown, with brows and lashes that were slightly darker. The leanness that gave the older Dalton his easy grace was an almost gangly lankiness in the younger one; Tony looked almost thin next to Trace's muscular solidness. And his eyes were a soft, cinnamon brown, unlike the volatile blue to green of his brother's.

  But whatever the differences in appearance between the two, there was no mistaking the closeness between them, and no mistaking the warmth with which Tony Dalton embraced her the moment she came downstairs, not even waiting for his brother to speak, and indeed thanking her for returning to him the brother he love
d.

  "Wouldn't you like an introduction before you hug her to death?" Trace asked mildly, eyeing his brother with a raised eyebrow.

  "Why? She wouldn't be here if she was anybody other than Christy."

  That open, straightforward admission made the tiny bit of hope glowing inside her expand another notch. Trace had carefully laid out the fuel over the past two weeks, and last night had been the match to the tinder. The fire had caught and blazed, but instead of burning itself out in the cool light of morning, that tiny ember of hope had glowed on stubbornly.

  Could they do it? Could they really beat the odds? Of course, he didn't really know what he was dealing with, but he was so very determined… Determined enough to stand the blow she had yet to deliver?

  She sat back and listened to the two brothers talk, encouraging them because she loved to hear the stories they told about each other. Their "remember whens" became a rousing game of "I can top that," and soon all three were roaring with laughter.

  Even Christy, at Tony's quiet urging, managed to dig up a few funny stories, including one about a brown bear who had majestically patrolled his Alaskan territory wearing a very unmajestic cooking pot on one foot.

  "He'd raided a camp, and the pot got stuck when he tried to get the food out. He got it off after a couple of days. A good thing, too. He could have starved, because he sure couldn't sneak up on anything with that thing clanking at every step."

  That got Tony started on a few animal stories of his own, and it warmed Christy more than she would have believed possible to know that she'd had some small part in enabling this young man Trace loved so much to do what he had obviously been born to do.

  Trace was positive Tony had planned it when, as he came back into the room with the lunch they'd all thrown together, his little brother turned to Christy and asked airily, "So, when are you two getting married?"

  Christy nearly jumped a foot, and Trace froze in the doorway, scarcely daring to breathe as he waited to see what she would say.

  "I … we…" She stammered to a halt, then grabbed for one of the sandwiches on the tray Tony had just set down. "We're talking about it."

  Trace nearly dropped the glasses he was holding as he sagged against the doorjamb. She hadn't said no. She'd had the perfect chance to deny it, to say they were just friends, or any of the other banalities people used, and she hadn't done it. She had left that door open, and hope flared in his heart even as it weakened his knees.

  When he could move he rejoined them, his eyes flashing a look at his brother that held both anger for his tactless question and gratitude for his timing. Tony gave him an angelic smile that said he'd known exactly what he was doing.

  When Trace decided to pay him back by asking about what was apparently an active and healthy love life, Tony looked uncomfortable for the first time.

  "I've been thinking," he said, "maybe it's time I settled down, you know, quit playing the field so much."

  "You? The terror of Corpus Christi's female population?"

  "Look who's talking! You used to cut a swathe or two amongst the local ladies, as I recall."

  "The operative phrase there is 'used to.'" Trace's eyes flicked to Christy, and the warmth in them called up an echoing warmth inside her that was unlike anything she'd ever known. Not the heat of passion, but a soft, enveloping warmth, the warmth of a budding, growing security in his love, and the sense of family that had somehow expanded to include her, a feeling she had never known.

  "Well, maybe you've got the right idea," Tony said, shifting in his seat as an unexpected flush rose in his face.

  "Oh?" Trace raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is this the same guy who just last summer was saying he was going to party his brains out at least until he was thirty?"

  "That was before."

  "Before what?"

  Tony sighed, then looked up at his brother. "How do you feel about being an uncle, big brother?"

  Trace's glass crashed down on the coffee table, ice and soda sloshing over the sides. "What?"

  "Heather's pregnant."

  "Heather? Which month was she?"

  "The last three."

  Trace stared at his little brother, feeling suddenly old and weary. No, not his little brother anymore. Without thinking first, he asked, "Are you sure it's yours?"

  He heard Christy make a little sound, but he was more astonished by Tony's reaction; he got the distinct impression that his brother was about to flatten him. After a moment it passed, and the younger man sat back in his chair.

  "She's not like that. And we were going to get married anyway. I love her. Don't judge everybody by that bimbo who tried to nail you, Trace."

  Trace let out a breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just a little … wary, I guess."

  Tony saw Christy watching them, her eyes huge and troubled. "It was a long time ago," he explained kindly. "Some little si—schemer tried to foist her kid off as Trace's. Luckily he had the smarts to demand a blood test, so she backed down. Still made a big splash in the headlines, though."

  Trace shifted uncomfortably at the unpleasant memory, but froze when he caught a glimpse of Christy's suddenly ashen face. "It wasn't mine," he said quickly. "I'd only been with her once and never saw her again. Until she showed up with a six-month-old kid and this story."

  "Coincidentally right after Air West took off," Tony said dryly.

  "I knew it wasn't mine," Trace repeated, a little anxious at her continued pallor. "I mean, it was only once, and longer ago than it would have had to have been, I think."

  "You … think?" They were the first words she'd spoken, and the tight, strained tone of her voice did nothing to ease Trace's growing concern.

  "Well, yeah." He flushed. "I didn't … keep track." He didn't understand why she was so upset. She knew he'd been a hellion in those days, he'd told her that, and she'd said it didn't matter, not now. "It wasn't my kid, Christy. Honest it wasn't. And it was years ago."

  "I believe you."

  "Then what's wrong?"

  "I … don't feel too well. I think I'd like to lie down for a while."

  Trace scrambled to his feet, then knelt beside her apprehensively. "What is it? Do you need a doctor?"

  "No. Just some rest. And quiet."

  Trace helped her upstairs, worried because she moved so stiffly, so rigidly, and because this had come on so quickly. And more worried when she insisted on using the room she'd stayed in until last night.

  "It's … darker. I'll rest easier."

  "Do you think you'll feel better later?" he asked as she stretched out on the bed. She knew he was thinking of the plans Tony had made to take them, along with Eric, out to dinner. "Just go along without me. Give the boys a night out. Maybe you can talk Tony out of becoming a family man, a fate worse than death, I'm sure."

  Trace's brow furrowed. What was that supposed to mean? He reached over to touch her forehead, wondering if she was more ill than she'd let on. She twisted away from him, and he drew back, stung. "Christy?"

  "I'm sorry. Just go, please. I'd feel worse if you stayed home because of me. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

  Reluctantly he agreed, but an hour into the evening he knew he'd made a big mistake. He liked Eric a great deal, and he loved his brother, but there was only one place he wanted to be right now. He made it through another hour before they took pity on him and laughingly called it a night.

  "Besides," Eric said with a laugh, "going out with you is too hard on my ego. All those women panting after you, and now that you've quit it's even worse. They all want to know what tragedy has befallen you and kiss it and make it better. Of course, I wouldn't mind it so much if I had a woman like Christy to go home to."

  "Not a chance." Trace laughed. "She's one of a kind."

  "Just my luck," Eric sighed dramatically. "Of course, I'd settle for any of those little sweeties over there gaping at you if they'd look at me the way Christy looks at you."

  "What do you mean?" Trace looked startled.

  "Giv
e me a break, Dalton. She looks at you like you're an oasis and she's been in the desert for months."

  "Or," Tony said blithely, "to be exact, big brother, she looks at you exactly the same way you look at her."

  Trace rolled his eyes heavenward at their ribbing, but his grin spoiled the image, and they all laughed as they piled into Eric's car.

  "So tell me, my friend," Eric said, nodding toward a trio of particularly blatant giggling females who had followed them outside and now stood staring, stopping just short of pointing at them, "when are you going to put them all out of their misery and take yourself off the market?"

  "As soon as I can get her to say yes," Trace answered bluntly, wishing he had driven; he would have risked the speeding ticket.

  "Good for you," Eric cheered. "She's quite a woman, my friend."

  "That," Trace said briefly, "is an understatement."

  The house was dark when they arrived, and Trace felt his stomach knot anxiously. Had it been more than just a minor, temporary indisposition? Was she truly ill? He nearly dropped the keys in his haste, the feeling of guilt for leaving her that he'd been harboring all evening ballooning to monstrous proportions now.

  Finally Eric grabbed the keys from him and opened the door, looking at him with an expression of tolerant amusement. Trace saw it and growled at him, "Just wait, ol' buddy. Your turn's coming someday, and I'm going to laugh my head off."

  "Sure." The laugh of a securely single male echoed in the entry hall, and Trace scowled as he left Eric and Tony there to go upstairs.

  He stopped quietly outside her door, listening. There was no sound, so he eased the door open gently, hoping he wouldn't wake her if she was still sleeping. He stood staring for a moment even after his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The room was empty. What the…?

  A smile crossed his face as the answer came to him. He left the blue-and-white room and walked quickly but quietly down the hall to their room. His smile became a grin when he realized how naturally he thought of it that way, as theirs. After last night it would never be anything else in his mind.

  The drapes were still open, and the moon hovered over the skylight, flooding the room once more with that ethereal light. His body tightened at the memory of it bathing her slender, naked form as she lay, at long, long last, in his bed. That she had come here to wait for him made his heart leap in his chest; she was going to give them a chance.