Homecoming

by Rochelle Alers

  Dana returned Tyler’s kiss with a hunger that belied her outward calm. His kiss was gentle, as gentle and soothing as his comforting hands and voice. She longed to part her lips and trace his mouth with her tongue, but as soon as the notion entered her head, she jerked back as if burned.

  She was on fire—her face, mouth, chest, and every place below her waist. The pulse in her throat fluttered uncontrollably, and she was certain Tyler would be able to count the beats without touching her.

  “Please pour me a glass of beer.” She needed something cold, anything to cool down the inferno sweeping throughout her fevered body. Tyler picked up the pitcher of beer, filled a mug, and handed it to her.

  She took a swallow of the cold brew, grimacing slightly as she placed the glass on the scarred table. She’d acquired a taste for beer, but found Three J’s beer too bitter for her palate.

  Tyler noted her expression, smiling. He was pleased Dana had lowered the barriers so he could convince her that his intentions were honorable. He would be a liar if he denied he didn’t want to sleep with her; however, that was no longer important or a priority now that she’d agreed to see him whenever their schedules permitted.

  He knew he was drawn to Dana because she had an air of self-confidence and a sense of who she was, which meant she was a woman who was certain to meet him as an equal.

  He sat down again, pulling his chair closer to hers. Picking up her mug, he took a long swallow of the beer, which went down cold and smooth. He put down the mug and filled a glass with soda, handing it to Dana.

  Smiling broadly, he touched his mug to her glass. “Here’s to your homecoming.”

  Dana glanced up as a waiter approached their table, balancing a tray on one shoulder. She refused to register the significance of Tyler’s toast. If she’d glanced at his face at that moment, she would’ve noticed the look of implacable determination in his expression.

  It was a look those who knew Tyler Simmons Cole well would recognize. A look Dana Nichols would come to know well in the days, weeks, and months to come.

  Ten

  Dana returned home exhausted and exhilarated. She’d eaten until she couldn’t move, and then danced with Tyler for the next two hours. She’d asked to drive his car on the return trip, and he’d willingly complied. He’d sat beside her, eyes closed as she expertly shifted the gears in the racy BMW. The easily handling and the agility of the roadster made it a joy to drive.

  Standing in the entryway, she smiled at Tyler. He stood motionless, staring down at her. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said.

  Pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts, he angled his head. “I should be the one thanking you for celebrating with me.”

  “Do you mind if I asked for a rain check for tomorrow night? I don’t think I can take two consecutive nights of dinner and dancing.”

  “We don’t have to go out.”

  “What’s the alternative?” she asked.

  “I can pick you up after I close the clinic, and we can hang out together at my place. I’ll cook something simple and then we can relax.”

  Dana drank in the sensuality that made Tyler Cole who he was: tall, dark, handsome, and confident. He was so at ease with his rightful place in the world that it frightened her a bit. She knew she was Dana Nichols, but was uncertain about her future. She was a journalist, and a very good one, but did not know whether five years from now she would be content to remain with a small weekly. Her experience had helped her periodical win a Pulitzer, but that was the Chronicle’s achievement. What about hers? What did she want for herself? Her future?

  She had never questioned herself before meeting Tyler. What was it about him that evoked an air of uncertainty? Was it Tyler or was it Hillsboro?

  “I’d prefer that, thank you,” she said.

  Bending over, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll pick you up around four.”

  He wanted to give himself enough time to see his last patient, then preview the charts for the patients with scheduled appointments for the coming week. And with the birth of the first baby in the study, he would begin entering the child’s data into a database set up by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. He was certain there would be knowing smiles once he listed the baby’s name because the mother had elected to give her son the middle name of Tyler. He wondered how many more Tylers there would be before the five-year study ended.

  Dana nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dana’s sultry voice had dropped an octave, making Tyler realize he didn’t want to go home. He wanted to stay with her, spend the night in her perfumed embrace. Dancing with her, holding her close to his body had offered a temporary respite for his sexual frustrations. He’d gloried in the soft curves of her lush body, committing the feel and smell of her skin to memory. She was slender, but not skinny. The fullness of her breasts, the distinct indentation of her waist, and the curve of her rounded hips were blatantly female.

  He backed out of the entryway, smiling. “Good night, Dana.”

  She wiggled the fingers of her left hand. “Good night, Tyler.”

  He was there and then he was gone, the sound of his car’s engine fading into the quiet night.

  Dana closed and locked the door. Biting down on her lower lip, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She felt like Cinderella meeting her prince for the first time. Spending time with Tyler, dancing and talking about inconsequential events, was something she’d missed in her dealings with the opposite sex. She had dated a few men other than Galvin, but most times she couldn’t wait for the night to end so she could go home alone and crawl into bed with a book.

  She hadn’t realized how much she liked to dance until she found herself in Tyler’s arms. He’d confessed that he didn’t get out much, but she doubted that because he was familiar with most of the latest dance steps. She’d sat out while he gyrated with the other patrons, executing the steps to the cha-cha version of the electric slide. Her face was burning when he returned to their table because she’d tried imagining him completely naked, dancing for her, while regretting her demand that he not ask her to sleep with him.

  She opened her eyes, staring at the door. Did she want to share Tyler Cole’s bed?

  “Yes,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering wildly.

  She wanted him—more than she had ever wanted any man. He was a stranger, yet she still wanted him.

  Turning, she left her tiny purse and keys on the table, then made her way to the staircase and her bedroom. The heat in the house was stifling but not unbearable. It had taken Dana less than a week to become acclimated to the Southern heat.

  Walking into her bedroom, she stripped off her clothes, leaving them on the wooden bench at the foot of her bed. She went into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and then returned to the bedroom and fell across the bed. The rotating blades of the ceiling fan cooled her body. However, it failed to cool her thoughts as she dreamed of Tyler Cole throughout the night.

  Dana awoke at dawn, her body moist, breathing labored, chest rising and falling heavily, and moaning softly from the aftermath of an erotic dream that had left the area between her thighs wet and pulsing.

  Rolling over on her chest, she lay, waiting for her traitorous body to return to a normal state. It was another ten minutes before she left her bed, temporarily dismissing the pleasurable feelings brought on by the dream.

  It’s because I haven’t had sex in a long time, she mused as she stood under the cool spray of a shower. “Who are you kidding, Dana?” she said aloud, reaching for a tube of shampoo from the shower caddy.

  She did not want to lie, especially to herself. The return of sexual desire was attributed to one man—Tyler Cole.

  Not wanting to sleep with Tyler had nothing to do with not being attracted to him. It was simply that when she left Hillsboro, she did not want any regrets. She wanted to walk away without looking back. It was safer that way.

  She shampooed her hair, adding an i
nstant conditioner, then lathered her body with a scented body wash. Lingering under the cooling water, she rinsed her hair and body before stepping out of the tub. Wrapping a towel around her head, she let the moisture on her body nearly evaporate before spraying on Chanel No. 5 sheer-moisture mist. The distinctive fragrance had been her mother’s favorite, and every Christmas Georgia had sent her an ample supply of soap, crème cologne, perfume, body powder, and the moisture mist to last her for a year.

  Deciding it was too hot to sit under a dryer or blow-dry her hair, Dana decided to let it air-dry. Then she would put it up in a ponytail or a twist. She’d noticed a full-service beauty salon when she’d gone downtown, and planned to call Hot Chocolate for an appointment for a manicure, pedicure, facial, and trim.

  She pulled on a pair of bikini panties, an oversized T-shirt, and a pair of old shorts, deciding to tackle another closet before it got too hot to do anything more than sit on the back porch.

  The telephone rang and Tyler reached for the receiver as he read the last entry in the first chart stacked on his desk. “Health Clinic, Dr. Cole speaking.”

  “Lighten up, brother. You don’t have to sound so formal. Save that Dr. Cole business for your patients.”

  A warm smiled tilted the corners of Tyler’s mouth upward, and he closed the chart. “Someone of us have to work for a living, slacker.”

  “Stuff it, Ty. Some of us have to work because we weren’t born with diamond-encrusted platinum spoons in our mouths.”

  “Did you call me to harass me, Wade?”

  “I called you to remind you that we’re all getting together at my place on Sag Harbor over the Labor Day weekend.”

  Opening a desk drawer, Tyler pulled out a planner, turning to the month of September. He’d blocked out the first weekend with a question mark. He and three of his best friends from medical school usually got together once a year for a brief reunion.

  “I thought we were going to meet at Keith’s cabin.”

  “That was before Denise decided she wanted to redecorate. Tell me something, Ty. How do you redecorate a cabin so far back in the Massachusetts woods that she and Keith get lost every time they go there?”

  “Now, I know you’re not asking me to explain Keith’s wife.”

  “Speaking of wives—”

  “No, Wade,” Tyler said, interrupting him, “I’m not married.”

  “Damn, Ty,” Wade groaned, “I heard Southern women are hot.”

  Ignoring his friend’s comment about Southern women, Tyler thought about Dana. She may have been Southern-born, but she hadn’t lived in Mississippi for more than two decades. He thought of her as sexy and sensual rather than hot.

  “The only thing that’s hot down here is the weather. We haven’t had a drop of rain in eight weeks.”

  “That’s serious, but you’re making me look bad, brother.”

  Tyler’s expression changed, becoming somber. “Why?”

  “I have a bet with Keith and Al that you’d be either engaged or married before the end of the year.”

  “How much did you wager?”

  “A thousand.”

  “If you have a thousand dollars to throw away, then you should give it to a worthwhile charity.”

  “Does this mean you’re not going to tie the knot?”

  “It means you should stop gambling and mind your business, Dr. Wade Robinson.”

  A hearty laugh came through the wire. “Are you holding out on me, Dr. Cole?”

  “Good-bye, Wade.”

  “Don’t hang up, Tyler. Are you coming?”

  The furrows in Tyler’s forehead disappeared. “Of course I’m coming.”

  “Tammy wants to know if you’re coming alone, because if you are, then she’d like to hook you up with her cousin.”

  “Tell Tammy thank you for thinking of me, but I can find my own company for the weekend.”

  “I promised her I’d ask.”

  “And you did.”

  “Everyone’s either coming in late Thursday or early Friday.”

  Tyler stared at the blocked-out dates on the planner. “I’ll probably get there Friday.”

  “I’ll look for you then.”

  “Thanks for the invite. You guys are welcomed to come to Mississippi next year.”

  “Bring pictures of your place when you come.”

  Tyler exchanged pleasantries with his friend for another three minutes before ringing off. It had become an annual event for the four of them to get together for either the Fourth of July or Labor Day holiday weekends.

  It had begun with four medical school students, then four doctors. After a few years the group increased to include fiancées, and finally wives and children. Tyler had been the last holdout. He did not have a wife or children, but he never thought of his single status as a liability. He merely ignored his friends’ wives’ references to “hooking” him up with their single female friends or relatives.

  And he wasn’t amenable to blind dates, because he preferred making his own choice when dating. Reopening the chart, he stared at his notations with unseeing eyes, wondering how Dana would react if he invited her to go to New York with him for the holiday weekend.

  He sighed audibly, and his expression softened. There was one way to find out, and that was to ask her, but he decided to wait until they were better acquainted.

  Remembering his promise to help her, he picked up the telephone receiver, dialing the area code for Washington, D.C. His call was answered on the second ring, a familiar deep male voice offering a warm greeting.

  Tyler’s smile widened. “Hola, primo.”

  “What’s up, Tyler?” Michael Kirkland returned in the same language.

  “Not much, cousin. How’s the family?” Tyler asked, continuing in Spanish. He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak the language very often, and feared he’d lose his facility if he didn’t practice it.

  His Cuban-born grandmother had taught him and his sisters the language, which had proved invaluable whenever he treated Spanish-speaking patients as an intern and resident.

  “Everyone’s great. Teresa began walking on her own yesterday, so Jolene and I spent most of the morning moving things out of her reach. She’s also trying to talk. I must admit fatherhood is better than I’d ever imagined it would be.”

  Tyler smiled. “So, you like being a daddy?”

  “I love it. I can’t wait for the next one.”

  “How’s Jolene?”

  “Other than a little fatigue, she’d feels and looks wonderful. Right now she and Teresa are taking a nap.”

  “She told me you guys decided to expand your house.”

  “We’re adding three more bedrooms and a guest cottage that can sleep at least four. The last time Emily and Sara came to visit, their children were sharing beds, so I thought a little expansion was in order.”

  Michael’s sister Emily Delgado was now the mother of three. She had two sons, Alejandro and Mateo, and a daughter, Esperanza. Sara Lassiter, Emily’s sister-in-law also, had three children—a son, Isaiah, and twin daughters Nona and Eve.

  “Did you and Jolene plan this pregnancy so you could have a Christmas delivery?” Tyler teased.

  “That’s what abuela said when we told her. She said if the baby’s born on her birthday, then we should name it after her.”

  Marguerite Josefina Diaz-Cole would celebrate her birthday December 27, and in six months the entire Cole clan would gather in West Palm Beach, Florida, to honor their matriarch and commemorate her 102nd year of life.

  “What if you have a son? I don’t think he would appreciate being called Marguerite,” Tyler teased.

  “I don’t think that would be a wise decision if Jolene and I hope to raise an emotionally stable boy.”

  “Do you want to know the sex this time?” Michael and Jolene had elected not to know the sex of their first child until Tyler delivered a beautiful little girl who looked enough like Michael’s sister Emily to be her daughter.

  “I know I
do. I’d asked Jolene, but she hasn’t told me what she wants one way or the other. You know we’d like you to deliver this one, too.”

  “I’d be honored, but you’re going to have to make arrangements with a hospital in West Palm.”

  “No problem.”

  Picking up a pen, Tyler made circular notations on a pad. “I need your help, Michael.”

  His cousin had given up a military career to teach at a Virginia military institution. Michael, like his father before him, had attended West Point, and subsequently joined the Pentagon’s Defense Intelligence Agency. Joshua Kirkland had retired as a colonel and Michael a captain. However, Michael had added a law degree to his impeccable military credentials, which qualified him to teach military law.

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “The name and telephone number of a private investigator. I want someone to look into a twenty-two-year-old murder case.”

  There was a noticeable pause before Michael’s baritone voice came through the wire again. “I don’t know a PI, but I do know someone who might be able to help you out. His name is Merrick Grayslake. He used to work for the Company.”

  “The Company?”

  “CIA,” Michael explained.

  Tyler forced a laugh. “I don’t think I’m going to need someone trained in covert activities.”

  “What you need is the best when it comes to scrutinizing facts and data, and Gray was and is still one of the best I know.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, primo. Give him my home number and tell him to call me. Let him know money is no object.”

  It was Michael’s turn to laugh. “If I tell him you’re my first cousin, then he’ll inflate the fee so much that you’ll be forced to file for bankruptcy.”

  “I repeat, money is no object.”

  “Back it up, primo. Does this have anything to do with a woman?”

  “Why would you say that, Michael?”

  “Because I’ve never known you to be such a spendthrift. I don’t know whether you’re aware of it, but there’s a family joke about the rituals you go through before you settle on your annual charitable donations.”