Homecoming

by Rochelle Alers

  Large books and catalogues with differing architectual styles, home furnishings, and antiques were stacked on a table in his sitting room, and he had yet to glance at them. There was no pressure for him to complete the guest house because his cousin Michael Kirkland had informed his relatives that he and his wife Jolene had offered to open their Georgetown home for this year’s Thanksgiving gathering.

  Jolene Kirkland had called him at the clinic, informing him she was pregnant again, and her second child’s due date was Christmas Day. Michael and Jolene’s daughter would celebrate her first birthday next week. He had already mailed off a gift for Teresa April Kirkland. Not only was the black-haired, green-eyed delicate little girl his second cousin, but also his goddaughter. He was son, brother, uncle, and with the birth of Teresa Kirkland, had become a godfather for the second time.

  He’d delivered Teresa along with nearly a dozen other second and third cousins. He’d become the family obstetrician, and his brother-in-law Aaron Spencer the family pediatrician. The dizzying rush of delivering a healthy child was something Tyler never wanted to get used to. Holding a trembling mucus-and-blood-covered infant while waiting to hear the first cry, filling its tiny lungs with precious oxygen, was equivalent to a rush associated with free fall. It was heart-stopping, breathtaking, and exhilarating.

  Now that he’d become responsible for the health clinic, he realized interacting one-on-one with patients had taken precedence over medical research. He had wanted to become like his brother-in-law once he decided to focus on medical research. Aaron had the perfected a balance of seeing patients and heading a Brazilian-based research institute at the São Tomé Instituto de Médico Pesquisa. But that was before Tyler settled in Hillsboro.

  He liked the daily interaction with his patients, the small-town ambience of the region where he’d built a home and planned to spend the rest of his life, and he was beginning to like Dana Nichols—much more than he wanted to. He hadn’t openly pursued or come onto her because he’d assumed the responsibility of treating her burn. But their pseudo-doctor-patient relationship would end within minutes, and he planned for another to begin—one where they would meet each other on equal footing as man and woman.

  Stepping out onto the porch, Tyler was able to appreciate the inviting beauty of the space in the bright daylight. The round table, attractively draped in a white chintz tablecloth dotted with varying shades of green leaves, and surrounded by the white and pasticho-green wicker chairs, would be equally suited for sharing breakfast, lunch, or dinner. A wicker desk set under a window held several books and magazines. A thick cushion covered with the same chintz fabric as the tablecloth rested on the seat of a straight-back wicker chair. He thought of the conservatory at the rear of his own home. As soon as the furniture and plants for the space were delivered, he planned to spend most of his time there. Meanwhile, he wanted to spend all of his free time with Dana on her porch.

  Pulling out a chair at the table, he seated Dana, and then sat down on her left. Opening his case, he put on a pair of latex gloves, withdrew a pair of bandage scissors, and removed the gauze bandage from her hand. Cradling her hand, he examined it. It looked smaller and even more delicate resting on his much larger one. There was no sign of blistering or redness.

  Smiling, he glanced at her enchanting profile. “It looks very good.” His thumb grazed the skin on the back of her hand. “Does that hurt?”

  Dana shook her head. “It’s just a little sensitive to the touch.”

  “Remember to put the ointment on it several times a day to keep the skin from drying out.”

  She smiled. “It can remain uncovered?” There was obvious apprehension in her query.

  He applied a light layer of Silvadene to her hand, removed his gloves, and dropped them into the case. “Yes. It should heal completely with any scarring.”

  Dana stared at Tyler staring at her from under her lashes, sensing an immediate change in him. He seemed to be waiting—for what, she did not know. “How much do I owe you, Dr. Cole?”

  He came closer without actually moving, his chest rising and falling in a deep even breathing. “A date.”

  Dana’s breathing halted, and then started up again. The pulse in her throat beat an erratic rhythm. “A date?” she repeated, her sultry voice lowering an octave.

  He leaned closer, and his moist breath swept over her mouth as his heated gaze lingered on her parted lips. “Yes, Dana, a date. I’d like you to share dinner with me at a restaurant of my choice. However, if you’re committed to another man, then I’ll withdraw my request.”

  Dana’s defenses began to subside as she stared at the hopeful expression on Tyler’s face. Despite the confidence he exuded, there was also a vulnerability he was unable to conceal. Had he also experienced a failed relationship? Had a woman he loved left him or vice versa?

  Don’t do it, an inner voice whispered. Every fiber in her body warned her not to accept his invitation for a dinner date, warned her to tell Tyler Cole that she did not and could not see him again, but knew she had to get past Galvin’s deception. Besides, Tyler only wanted to take her out to eat, not enter into a relationship.

  “When?” she asked, ignoring the shiver of apprehension snaking up her spine.

  His mercurial black eyes lovingly caressed her beautiful face. “Are you committed to someone, Dana?” He had to know because he’d never come onto another man’s wife or girlfriend.

  Her expression was impassive. “No, Tyler, I’m not committed to anyone.” And she wasn’t, hadn’t been even when she had been involved with Galvin.

  Tyler smiled, the dimples in his chiseled cheeks winking attractively at her. “How about tomorrow night?” She nodded, lifting an eyebrow. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

  “Seven-thirty is fine.” A slight frown furrowed her smooth forehead at the same time she dropped her gaze. “Why are you asking me out when there are hundreds of other women in Hillsboro who I’m certain would love to share dinner with you?”

  He gave her a long, penetrating look. “Because it’s you I want to share dinner with me, Dana Nichols, and not some other woman. Does that answer your question?”

  She glanced up at him, the pupils in her golden eyes darkening with a rising awareness of who Tyler Cole was and what he represented. He was X-rated and dangerous—dangerous to her emotional well-being, dangerous to the wall she’d erected around herself—because she couldn’t afford to be distracted by romantic notions once she set out to clear her family’s name, and dangerous because of her distrust of men. A calmness she hadn’t known she possessed settled in her chest, and she knew in an instant that she had turned a corner in her life. She could go out with a man and remain completely detached.

  “I’m only going to commit to one date with you.” The words were spoken with a quiet determination she was certain he understood implicitly.

  She fixed her gaze on the shape of his mouth, visually admiring its firm upper and fuller lower lip. She felt as if his black eyes could look inside her, seeing what she sought valiantly to protect: her heart. Her initial attraction to Tyler was strong, much stronger that it had been with Galvin, and in the end Galvin had validated what she’d come to acknowledge as a child—every man she loved eventually left her. Six years ago she’d sworn she would never permit herself to become involved with another man, commit to a future with him, or bear his child.

  Tyler nodded. “If that’s the case, then we’ll begin with one.” His voice was soft, filled with quiet assurance. And it was in that instant that Tyler Cole revealed much of who he was.

  He’d grown up privileged, getting most of whatever he’d wanted. He’d decided on a career in medicine, and given his intelligence and family resources, there was never a doubt he would not fulfill his goal to become a doctor. He did not have to concern himself about applying for student loans to pay tuition or purchase books. The money had been available for anything and everything he needed.

  At tw
enty-five, he had come into a five-million-dollar trust fund. ColeDiz International, Ltd., a privately held family-owned conglomerate, operated coffee and banana plantations in Belize, Mexico, Jamaica, and Puerto Rico. They also owned vacation and private properties throughout the Caribbean.

  Several months before his thirty-fifth birthday, his grandfather, Samuel Claridge Cole, died, and the distribution of the Cole patriarch’s wealth afforded him more than five times that amount. He paid for all or any of his purchases with a single signature on the bottom of a check. An aunt managed his portfolio, sending him quarterly statements, which he usually glanced at before filing away with several other financial documents.

  Tyler had decided to go into research because of remarkable breakthroughs in modern medicine. It had never been his goal to become a surgeon, performing operations to advance his reputation or earning thousands of dollars from each surgical procedure.

  Since living and working in Hillsboro, meeting and interacting with Dana Nichols, Tyler knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. And at that moment he wanted Dana. He wanted her with the same passion he’d experienced when he realized he wanted to become a doctor.

  “One it is,” she confirmed.

  Her consent gave him the opening he needed as he touched his mouth to hers, savoring the soft sweetness of her lips. She moaned softly as he deepened the kiss. Her left hand came up, her fingertips grazing the stubble of an emerging beard on his cheek. Fighting the dynamic virility he exuded, she failed profoundly, losing herself in the passionate kiss.

  It had been too long since she’d been kissed, too long since she gloried in the natural masculine scent of a man’s body mingling with his sensual fragrance of aftershave and cologne. Too long since she’d felt the flames of desire feather over her body, igniting a fire in the center of her being. Pulling back, she dropped her hand but not her gaze.

  Tyler smiled at her, his expression mirroring supreme masculine satisfaction. “Are you ready for lunch?”

  She returned his smile, her body throbbing with banked desire. “Yes.”

  Dana was ready to share a meal with Tyler, but more than that, she was ready for him now that he’d revealed how he felt about her. One thing she knew, and that was that she wasn’t immune to his charm, but at thirty-three she’d come to know herself quite well. She was focused, controlled, and determined. She had proven that when she’d gone undercover at the girls’ group home. There had been a few times when she’d thought her actual identity had been compromised; however, quick thinking and an even quicker tongue had extricated her from what would’ve become a life-threatening situation.

  Tyler withdrew two large plastic containers from the shopping bag. Both were filled with a Caesar salad with strips of grilled chicken. Smaller plastic cups with the accompanying dressing followed. He emptied the bag when he placed a large bottle of Perrier on the table along with another container of assorted melon slices.

  Dana pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. “I have to get plates, silverware, and glasses.”

  Tyler rose with her. “I’ll help you.”

  Together they retreated to the kitchen, each lost in their private thoughts and unaware of the invisible thread binding them tightly together.

  Seven

  Tyler had consumed half of his salad when the cell phone attached to the waistband of his slacks chimed softly. He picked up the tiny instrument, pressed a button, recognizing the number and knowing his lunch date with Dana had just ended.

  “Dr. Cole,” he said softly, identifying himself. He listened intently to the professional-sounding voice. One of his patients had gone into labor; the attending doctor was concerned because the baby’s head still had not entered the birth canal. “Make certain she’s comfortable, and let her know I’m on my way.” Ending the call, he stood up. “I’m sorry, Dana, but I have to leave.”

  She smiled up at him. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  Bending slightly, he wound his fingers through her unbound hair, while brushing his mouth over hers. “I’ll be back later,” he crooned against her moist parted lips. Tasting her mouth sent a back draft of incendiary heat roaring through his groin.

  Dana held his gaze, admiring the smoothness of his dark skin, the silken black eyebrows arching over a pair of large penetrating eyes, and the delicate line of his thin nose and firm masculine mouth.

  “There’s no need for you to come back.”

  “But I want to come back.” What Tyler wanted to tell Dana was that he needed to come back, needed to see her, again and again, until he uncovered why she and not some other woman had touched something so deep within his psyche that he feared losing control of his emotions. He wanted to know why he’d waited forty-one years to meet a woman who unknowingly elicited a pull that exceeded his obsession with medicine.

  Dana forced herself to look away. Staring into the deep dark depths of Tyler’s fathomless obsidian gaze was perilous. Just a look, a single glance from him, sent her hormones out of kilter. She’d tried ignoring the heaviness settling in her breasts, tightening her nipples until they were hard as pebbles, and the sudden rush of wetness between her legs. It had been so long since she’d lain with a man that she had almost forgotten the pleasurable sensations that always left her with an amazing sense of completeness.

  “Please go, Tyler, and take care of your patient.”

  He hesitated, seemingly committing everything about her face to memory, then turned on his heels and walked back into the house. Dana sat motionless, staring at the profusion of vibrant purple flowers spilling over the clay pot of a hanging fuchsia.

  Tyler rushing off to see a patient reminded her of her father. Had Alicia strayed because Harry hadn’t given her the attention she craved? Had Harry’s patients become more important than his wife and child?

  Dana remembered her mother’s frustration because Harry hadn’t been there for his daughter’s milestones: her first piano recital, sixth-birthday party, and when she’d gone to Jackson to compete in the statewide spelling bee.

  Why had everyone in Hillsboro blamed Alicia and not Harry for her infidelity? Had anyone, other than Dana, overheard Alicia accuse Harry of “carrying on” with several of his female patients?

  Closing her eyes, she tried recalling the virulent accusations whenever her parents verbally attacked each other. There was the name-calling, the threats, and the constant bickering that had never failed to set her nerves on edge. Alicia and Harry’s arguments had escalated until she could not remember when they hadn’t fought.

  She sat sipping the chilled Perrier until she heard the telephone. Pushing to her feet, she rushed to the kitchen to answer the call before the answering machine activated itself.

  Picking up the receiver, she greeted the caller with a friendly hello, sobering when she heard Eugene Payton’s voice. “Yes, Mr. Payton. Thank you. Good-bye.” She hung up, her hand trembling.

  The call had lasted less than twenty seconds. Eugene Payton had set up an appointment to see her Monday morning. And at that time, the contents of Georgia Rose Sutton’s last will and testament would be revealed to her.

  With the reading of the will, the past would meet the present, while at the same time impacting on her future. Exhaling, Dana closed her eyes; there was no doubt Monday’s events would stay with her for a long time; she was certain the conditions of he grandmother’s will would change her and her life forever. Not to mention that she’d committed to date a man socially for the first time in six years—a man she’d found herself attracted to despite her resolve not to fall under his sensual spell.

  Dana opened her eyes, mentally dismissing the image of Tyler. Now that she had use of both hands, she would begin the task of sorting through her grandmother’s possessions to see what she would keep, give away, or discard.

  Turning on her heels, she returned to the porch. First, she would clear the table, and then change out of her dress into something more suitable for cleaning. She’d planned to begin with the upsta
irs closets.

  Dana had showered, moisturized her body with a perfumed lotion, and pulled a cotton sundress over her head as the doorbell chimed throughout the house. Quickening her step, she made it down the staircase to the front door.

  It had taken her more than two hours to go through one closet, the first of four, excluding two others where her grandmother had stored stacks of tissue-wrapped tablecloths and heirloom linens. There was a time when Georgia had supported herself as a skilled seamstress, making everything from her own clothes to household accessories.

  A brilliant smile lit up her eyes when she saw a face from her childhood. Lily Mitchell-Clark had grown up to become an extremely attractive woman. She was tall, slender, and her naturally curly hair was stylishly cut, framing a rounded face from which sparkled large dark laughing eyes. Dana’s gaze shifted from Lily’s smiling face to the small child in her arms. The tiny rosebud mouth was open and relaxed in sleep.

  Unlatching the door, Dana pushed it open. Curving an arm around Lily’s shoulders, Dana pressed her cheek to Lily’s. “Please come in and rest yourself.”

  Lily stepped into the entryway, her smile still in place. “How would you like to hold your namesake?”

  Dana went completely still, her arms falling limply at her sides, her gaze fusing with Lily’s amused one. It had been more than two decades, but it was apparent that her best friend hadn’t forgotten her.

  “You named your baby after me?”

  “I call her Dana even though her name is Danella.”

  “Give her to me, please.” Dana held out her arms as Lily laid the delicately formed baby girl in her embrace. “How old is she?”

  “Fourteen months.”

  Danella Clark was a beautiful child, inheriting her mother’s hair and features and her father’s burnished-gold coloring. Lowering her head, Dana pressed a kiss to the silken curls covering a perfectly rounded pate.