Pulling Home (That Second Chance)

by Campisi, Mary

  “I’m sure he thinks of her every time he sees one,” she said, admiring the pastor’s devotion to his dead wife.

  Grant shut off the car and turned to her. “I’m sure he does.” His fingers grazed her cheek. “They loved each other very much.”

  She caught his hand. “You’re a wonderful person but—”

  “Shhh. I know it’s too soon, but I feel a connection with you and I haven’t felt this since Jennifer.” When she tried to speak, he stopped her again. “Don’t say anything right now. I’m just stating my intent.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “But I think it only fair to warn you I don’t like to lose and I usually don’t.”

  Oh, Grant, you have no idea what you’re getting into. Audra remained silent as they made their way to Pastor Richot’s door. Before Grant could reach for the knob, the door flung open and Leslie stood before them, dressed in a white tank top and jean skirt—tanned, shimmering, and voluptuous. “Hey, big brother. Hi Audra. It’s about time you two got here. The pumpkin pie’s half gone and you missed Dad. His diverticulitis is acting up. I guess I shouldn’t have put raspberries in the salad.”

  “He needs to get that checked out,” Grant said following Audra into the foyer.

  “I’m making an appointment next week, whether he likes it or not.” She grinned at Audra. “The Richot men are very stubborn.”

  Audra nodded as her gaze moved to the family portraits clinging to the walls, another harsh reminder of sensible mothers and fathers and siblings. She tried not to notice the fine needlepoint blessings framed on either side of the entryway, no doubt the loving handiwork of Isabelle Richot.

  “We’re in the family room. Right this way.” Leslie sashayed past her, emanating amber musk and sensuality. “Baby, look who’s here.”

  Baby sat on the far end of the sofa, looking handsome and much too desirable. Of course, he could look that way in a sack.

  Jack Wheyton nodded, his lips flat, his expression blank. “Audra. Grant.”

  “Hi Jack. I didn’t know you were here.” Grant placed a hand around Audra’s shoulder. “We were out and thought we’d swing by and see Dad.”

  Jack’s jaw twitched. “Really.”

  Audra didn’t miss the deceptive calm in his voice. He might appear unaffected by the announcement but she knew him well enough to know he didn’t like what he saw. And for some insane reason, she sensed Grant knew it too.

  They stayed long enough to gulp down a piece of Leslie’s pumpkin pie and half a cup of coffee. When Grant pulled into the Wheyton’s drive an hour later, Audra had heartburn and a pounding headache. She practically jumped out of the car, jumbling sentences as she thanked him and pleaded exhaustion at the same time.

  She didn’t take a full breath until she’d checked on Kara and closed her bedroom door. Correction—Jack’s bedroom door. Damn you, Jack Wheyton! Why can’t you leave me alone! She snatched the bottle of sleeping pills from the dresser and popped one in her mouth. As she set the bottle down, she caught sight of Jack’s high school football picture staring back at her. Even then, he’d been irresistible. She flipped the picture face down and turned off the light. Then she stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed, naked, drained, and praying the pill would send her into a dreamless sleep.

  Hours, or perhaps minutes later, a whisper of a touch moved over her lower back, trailed along her spine, to her hips, her leg, her foot. She sighed and settled further into the bed, relishing the dream. The voice came next. Low. Soft. Irresistible. Why did he have to be in this exquisite dream?

  “Audra?” Only one man said her name with such possessive sensuality.

  “No,” she whispered. “Not you. Anybody but you.”

  “Look at me.” His fingers slid down her belly to her sex. “It’s always been me,” he murmured, his mouth wet on her neck.

  “No.” Even as she denied him, she turned on her back and eased her legs open. It was a dream that felt so real. “Jack,” she moaned.

  “God help me, you’re in my blood.”

  She gave herself up to the eroticism of the dream, opening her legs wide. “Fill me, Jack. Please.”

  When his tongue plunged deep inside her sex, Audra’s eyes flew open and she realized through the foggy haze of pleasure and the sleeping pill that this was no dream. Jack was between her legs, pleasuring her with that delicious tongue. For the briefest of seconds, she considered yanking his hair until he stopped. But oh, the pleasure was so intense, so sublime. She jerked her hips to meet his mouth...so incredibly wonderful. She moaned...too wonderful to stop. His hands cupped her buttocks as he teased and stroked with that deliciously wonderful tongue, sending thousands of shivers through her until she knew she’d die from the pleasure of it. Then he stopped.

  “Jack?” She dug her heels in the sheets, desperate for him to finish.

  “Is this what you want him to do to you?” he whispered into the darkness. When she didn’t answer, he released her hips and pushed away from the bed.

  “Jack?” He’d come to tease her, to prove he could. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew her legs together. He really was a bastard. When the bed creaked she opened her eyes to find him moving over her, his breath hot on her skin. He nudged her legs apart and mounted her in one forceful thrust. The heat started then, a desperate need, arcing and racing as he pumped into her, hard and fast, and deep, pulling a climax from Audra that eclipsed her heart and tore at her soul.

  “He can’t give you that,” Jack gasped into her ear as he grabbed her buttocks and exploded with a stifled groan against her neck.

  ***

  Jack paused at the bedroom door, listening to Audra’s breathing fill the quiet night. A few hours ago, that same breath had covered him with passion, morphed into gasps and stifled shrieks of pleasure. They’d made love twice, the second time a leisurely perusal of flesh to flesh...heat to heat. Something was happening between them that had nothing to do with sex, and it scared the hell out of him. For the second time in his life, this woman had him free falling without a safety net. Soon, he guessed they’d have to talk about it.

  He reached the bottom step and started toward the back door when he heard his mother’s voice. “Jack? Is that you?”

  He froze. “Mom? What are you doing up?”

  She rose from the couch and made her way toward him in the faint glow cast by the stove light. “I couldn’t sleep and thought a cup of tea might help.” She eyed his untucked shirt and messy hair.

  “I was on my way home from Pastor Richot’s and wanted to check on Kara.” A half truth. He had been on his way home but Kara wasn’t the one he’d been checking on.

  “I thought”—she paused, her gray eyes filling with tears—“is there a concern?”

  He was not going to create a worry for his mother just to camouflage his midnight rendezvous. “She seems fine. She was sleeping.”

  She smiled and reached up to smooth his hair. “Looks like you were sleeping, too.”

  “I did doze off.” Two bouts of sex could do that.

  “Well, you must have needed it.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Would you like a glass of milk and some chocolate chip oatmeal cookies? I made them tonight.”

  “Sounds great.” Jack flipped on the kitchen light, pulled out a chair and sat down. Within minutes, he’d scarfed four cookies and two glasses of milk. “Nobody bakes like you do, Mom.”

  “Because nobody knows what a kitchen is these days. It’s either take-out, microwave, or reservations. The art of cooking and baking has fallen by the wayside of a society filled with toothpick women walking around measuring every carbohydrate and calorie.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her ample middle. “It’s truly going to be the downfall of America.”

  Jack snatched another cookie and popped it in his mouth. “As long as cooks like you are around, people will still enjoy eating.”

  “Well, that’s because I prepare food the way it’s meant to be prepared. People think if you cook with
low fat sour cream you can eat twice as many cookies. I say have one cookie made the right way.” She paused from her 1950’s domestic soapbox and said in a low voice, “I’m trying to teach Kara to measure and use the mixer. You know the mother never showed her.”

  The mother. “Mom, don’t be so hard on her, okay?”

  She raised a brow. “Oh. Excuse me, but have you forgotten this is the woman who dragged your brother across the country without even a good-bye?”

  “Christian was a big boy, Mom. He wouldn’t have gone unless he wanted to and we should just accept that.” That’s what I’m going to have to do—somehow.

  “Why are you talking like that, as though you’re on her side?”

  Jack shifted in his chair and clasped his mother’s hands. “Why do we have to be on sides? Why can’t we be on the same side? She lost her husband, you lost your son, I lost my brother. No matter how we mix it, we all lost. Why do we have to make it any worse than it already is?”

  She shrugged. “I need to go see Pastor Richot again. I’ve been to see that man so many times there’s a path beaten straight to his doorway. He helps me deal with my anger.”

  “All the anger in the world won’t bring Christian back. It will only keep Kara and her mother away. Is that what you want?” He didn’t want that. Not anymore.

  “I don’t suppose I can pick and choose, now can I?”

  “You know the answer to that,” he said gently.

  His mother sniffed. “She doesn’t like us, Jack. I see it written all over her face.”

  “Maybe we can give her another chance. Who knows? It could make all the difference in the world.”

  Chapter 21

  “You’ll be reading about the soap opera writer’s mother who overdosed on valium and vodka.”—Audra Wheyton

  The dreaded call came at 11:45 a.m. EST.

  “Audra. Thank God you answered.” Peter’s usually strong voice shook through the phone line.

  “Peter? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s out, darling. The whole bloody mess is out.”

  I always knew this day would come. She forced the next words, “Tell me.”

  “Howard called five minutes ago. You’re in this morning’s Los Angeles Times. Second page. ‘Mystery Soap Writer Identified’. Want me to read it to you?”

  Audra fell onto the bed. “No. I’m sure I’ll have several opportunities to see my name splashed in print. How did this happen?”

  “Howard has no idea. Or says he doesn’t. He claims it had to be one of the office staff rummaging through his mail, maybe checking phone bills, who the hell knows.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m not. What was the last thing Howard told you before you headed back to Holly Springs? Get the work in or he couldn’t guarantee identity protection. You’ve missed four deadlines. He’s royally annoyed and maybe he’s decided to cut bait since he’s already got his story.”

  “But he knew about Kara’s surgery. We’re talking brain surgery here not an ingrown toenail.”

  “Howard’s a number’s guy. Give him what he wants and he’ll move the world for you. Give him a hard time and he’ll cut you loose. I’ve seen it happen before. I just didn’t think he’d do it to you.”

  Audra rubbed her left temple, trying to stave off the migraine creeping along the fringes of her skull. “I’ve got to call him.”

  “No, let me handle him for now. I’ll tell him you’re very upset and are seriously considering dumping the show. That will drive him nuts, especially if he can’t get a hold of you. Then we’ll see how things pan out and if we can get to the bottom of the leak.”

  “I really don’t want to deal with him right now. Thank you.”

  “I’d do anything for you and Kara, you know that, but I can’t control what’s going to happen on your end. The paparazzi will find you in the next twenty-four hours if they haven’t already and then all hell will break loose. Jack isn’t a real understanding guy from what I remember. The sooner you come clean with him, the better.”

  “How clean are we talking?”

  “Clean enough so you can get back here without him wringing your neck.”

  Audra spent the next twenty-two minutes composing her story and then went in search of Joe and Alice. The sooner she got this over with, the better. She found Joe and Kara in the living room playing checkers. Before she could speak, Alice appeared, wiping her hands on her apron and asked, “Anyone hungry for lunch? I’ve got leftover tuna noodle casserole or meatball subs.”

  Joe patted his belly. “I’ll have a little of both.”

  Kara giggled. “Grandpa, those two are gross together.”

  “They all go in the same place, don’t they?” He winked at her. “Tell your grandma what you want.”

  “Okay, grandma, I’ll have both, too.”

  “That’s my girl,” Joe said.

  “Audra”—Alice turned toward the stairs—“would you like something?”

  “No thank you, I’m not very hungry. Could I talk to you and Joe for a minute?” Just say it and be done. They’re not the ones to worry about.

  “Of course.” Alice made her way into the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, it’s just, I have a bit of a confession to make.”

  Joe coughed and crossed his arms over his chest. Alice clenched her hands in her lap and waited. Kara sat back on her heels and giggled. “You mean a confession like going to the priest?”

  “Not exactly. This one is kind of a secret people didn’t know about, but now they will.”

  “What kind of secret?” Joe asked, his voice turning gruffer than usual.

  Audra paced between Joe’s recliner and Alice. “I know you’ve always thought I wrote advertisements for a medical supply company but that’s not exactly true.”

  “Hmmmph. What kind of magazine are you writing for, or isn’t it proper to say in mixed company?”

  “Joe!” Alice shot him a cold look.

  “Actually, I don’t write for a magazine at all.” She cleared her throat. “I’m a writer for On Eden Street.”

  Joe stared at her. Alice’s mouth fell open. Kara clapped her hands. “Grandpa, that’s our show!”

  “What kind of writer?” Joe Wheyton asked, clearly skeptical of Audra’s latest confession.

  “I’m the head writer which means I come up with the storylines and work with the other writers to develop them.”

  “How come I never heard of this before? There’s not one mention of your name, either Valentine or Wheyton, on the credits and I’ve watched them plenty of times.”

  “That’s because I wanted to remain anonymous.” She glanced at Alice, begging her to understand. “I didn’t want people prying into my private life, bothering Christian or Kara”—she paused and spilled the truth—“or coming back here and questioning everyone. Tabloids are brutal and I didn’t want to be on the cover of one.”

  Alice considered this a moment and nodded. “Very logical. And a thoughtful way to protect your family.”

  Joe remained unconvinced. “You’re telling me you wrote everything that happened on that show?”

  “I did.”

  “For how long?”

  “The last thirteen months.”

  “And you know what’s going to happen tomorrow and next week?”

  Audra offered him a hesitant smile. “I know what’s going to happen next year. Or at least I did.”

  “Hot damn,” Joe said, slapping his hand against his knee. “I had the answers under my own roof all this time and here Kara and me were guessing on what was going to happen next.”

  Kara hugged her grandpa’s knee. “Now we just have to ask my mom and she’ll tell us.”

  “Why are you telling us this now?” Alice asked. “Clearly, you wanted to keep this a secret.”

  “Someone leaked my real identity and by tonight my name will be splashed all over the entertainment news and most likely the t
abloids. They love tragedy so I’m sure they’ll mention Christian and maybe even Kara. I’m going to fight this but sometimes the more you fight, the more they think you have something to hide.”

  Joe swore under his breath and said, “Tell ‘em to go stick it.”

  “They may show up here asking questions.”

  “We won’t tell them anything,” Joe vowed.

  “I appreciate that but the Valentine name isn’t exactly lily white. People love to gossip. Someone will give them everything they ask and I just want you to be prepared.”

  “Thank you, Audra,” Alice said.

  Joe nodded. “You going to be around this afternoon? I might like a play-by-play, if you don’t mind.”

  Christian would have been proud of his parents. They offered boundless sympathy and understanding amidst tuna noodle casserole and meatball subs, which Audra ended up eating after all.

  When On Eden Street began at 3:00 p.m., Audra did indeed provide Joe Wheyton his play-by-play inside scoop, offering foreshadowing and tidbits on actors to watch, pivotal scenes, and on a more personal level, contract disputes, marriages, divorces, and overall Hollywood gossip.

  Jack arrived late that afternoon wearing scrubs and carrying a bouquet of violets for Kara with a card reading, I love to see you smile. Audra blushed, knowing the flowers and the note were intended for her. His silver gaze swept her face, settling on her lips in a way that made them tingle. “Jack? Can I talk to you?” It could all go smoothly if he didn’t ask too many questions.

  A hint of a smile crept over those beautiful lips. “Sure. Let’s go outside.”

  Alice patted Audra’s hand as she passed. Joe gave her a nod. The Wheytons knew their oldest son could be difficult, but maybe that was all about to change.

  “I like your shirt,” he said when they’d settled themselves on the swing in the backyard. “Purple looks good on you.”