The Comforts of Home

by Jodi Thomas

  When he raised one finger and slid it down the V of her blouse, she jerked slightly and closed her eyes. “I said hello,” he whispered in a low voice as he kissed his way from her ear to her mouth while his hands slid beneath her shirttail and cupped her hips.

  She sighed and backed a step away.

  He moved close again, barely touching her as he freed the first few buttons of her blouse. “I don’t care if you talk to me, darlin’. I know what you want.”

  She backed away again, her breath coming quickly. Each movement shifted the cotton top just enough that he saw she wore no bra.

  “And you know what I want.” He wasn’t holding her, just touching.

  She stepped away again, her eyes wide.

  He let a foot remain between them as he slowly pushed his hand between the starched white cotton of her blouse and brushed his fingers around her breast.

  She shut her eyes and gulped deep breaths as he finished unbuttoning her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders.

  “You are so beautiful, Claire,” he whispered as his hand gently moved over her.

  She backed to the door and he closed the distance between them as he pressed his body over the length of hers. He held her head in his hands as he kissed her full out for several minutes before breaking the kiss so that he could stare into her eyes.

  She wasn’t a woman many people touched, and he knew no man had touched her but him in a long time. “You planning on talking to me tonight, Claire?”

  “No,” she answered, trying to turn her head away.

  “Fine,” he said, then pulled her mouth to his again. “We’ll have to find another way to communicate.” He kissed her until he felt her give up any resistance.

  When he broke the kiss, she leaned her head back against his arm, her mouth still slightly open. He swore the woman melted into his skin every time she came close, but the first few moments were always a sparring match before she surrendered to what they both wanted.

  “Are you glad to see me?” he whispered as he bit lightly against her bottom lip. When she didn’t answer, he moved his hand over her middle, then up, taking his time exploring her flesh. His hands grew bolder. He smiled, loving the little sounds she made, purring to his touch.

  “Yes,” she whispered finally. “Yes.”

  He picked her up and carried her to bed. As she stretched atop the sheets, he pulled the drapes, turning the room and his life into shadows.

  All the things he’d planned to say vanished as he spread out beside her. He didn’t just need her, he was addicted to her. The time for words was over. Tomorrow after they’d made love until they were exhausted, then slept until noon, he’d order breakfast and they’d talk while they ate.

  Then, he knew they’d make love one more time. He’d roll over and act like he was asleep while she showered, dressed, and left. She’d know he was awake just as he’d know she knew, but they’d learned months ago that neither one knew how to say good-bye.

  Chapter 9

  TYLER WRIGHT SAT IN THE WINTER’S INN BED-AND-Breakfast pretending to eat. Three days had passed since he’d picked up his Kate at the Amarillo airport and she’d slept in his arms. Three days and they’d yet to talk about anything important. Why was she sad? Would she be interested in marrying him? Nothing.

  In fact, they’d barely been alone with each other. At the bed-and-breakfast, Martha Q was always around. She seemed to think Kate came to town just to visit with her. Tyler had long ago decided that Martha Q had probably talked at least half her husbands to death. She’d been married so many times folks played a drinking game in the local bar of trying to name the men in order. Tyler had heard it was more popular than naming the seven dwarves.

  Martha Q’s latest crazy plan was to start a once-a-week meeting of a “lonely hearts club” that came, for a price, with instructions for how to find and catch a man. Martha Q saw herself as an expert in this field. She’d talked one of the Mathesons, an almost-lawyer by the name of Rick, into helping any of the women, pro bono, of course, if they should need any advice on handling their money or land before going into a new marriage. Martha Q even said Rick would help with ending the present, unhappy union if they needed him.

  Tyler thought the whole idea sounded one inch short of insane, but on a scale with her other ideas it was about par.

  Mrs. Biggs, the cook at Winter’s Inn, wasn’t much better at allowing him time alone with Kate. She’d spent an hour yesterday teaching Kate to make Italian bread. They’d made so much they decided to make lasagna to go with it and invite over everyone Kate knew.

  Tyler felt like he was being selfish, not wanting to share Kate’s time. Yesterday, when he had to leave to work, he’d hurried back to find she’d gone to lunch with the sheriff, Alexandra McAllen-Matheson. When Kate returned late in the afternoon, Tyler asked what the two women had talked about, but Kate had simply said, “An old police matter.”

  Talking to everyone in town about everything seemed more important than talking to him. Tyler felt forgotten, and mad at himself for being selfish of her time. He knew she was fitting in and loving it.

  When Alexandra and her husband, Hank Matheson, came over for the lasagna, Tyler was happy to see his best friend, but part of him wanted to stand on a chair and yell that it was time for everyone to go home so he could be alone with Kate. After all, he was the reason she had come to Harmony this week.

  He worried he was neglecting work too, which was rare. Tyler had managed to get Ida Louise buried, but he still hadn’t checked out the car parked at the back of the cemetery. It had disappeared Friday, and then Calvin told him it was back this morning. Tyler liked everything in his life in order, and even a car parked out of place bothered that order. But this week the car was only one of many things that didn’t settle right.

  Having a funeral where no family bothered to attend always upset him. Then he had Willamina to deal with, or more accurately, not to deal with. His housekeeper, who’d worked for the Wright family most of his life, had left him a letter saying she was taking her vacation days, eighty-three to be exact, and then going into retirement. When he tried to contact her, Willamina’s sister, Dottie, told him she’d gone on a cruise. He’d be more likely to believe that the two old women in their seventies got in a fight and Dottie killed her. Willamina usually left town to visit her children on her days off and, to his knowledge, never took her sister along or ever went anywhere else.

  Now he was worried about Willamina and what it would be like to cook his own meals, do his own laundry, clean his own kitchen. He could easily survive the weekends alone or even a week now and then, but eighty-three days?

  He decided the only thing to do was forget about it until Kate left. Willamina had threatened to quit every time he asked her to make liver and onions. Surely she hadn’t gotten mad when he interrupted her soap opera on Wednesday? Or maybe he’d left everything out on the counter when he made Kate a sandwich? At Willamina’s age, it wasn’t likely that she ran off with a man, so everything would probably be back to normal in a few weeks. Nothing really ever changed in his life.

  “You worried about something?” Kate interrupted his thoughts when she noticed that everyone, except him, had moved to the living room with their coffee and dessert.

  “No, just thinking.”

  She laughed, that laugh he loved. “Well, stop thinking and give a hand with the dishes.”

  He did, thinking about how he might be washing dishes at home soon. Maybe he should buy paper plates and cups to weather Willamina’s absence. Who knows, maybe the woman had planned her escape for years. For all he knew she was dancing on some island right now with nothing on but a grass skirt.

  Finally, everyone left and the dishes were done. Martha Q climbed the stairs to her bed and Mrs. Biggs went to her room beyond the kitchen.

  Tyler knew it was late, but he poured two glasses of wine and sat down on the couch. He tried to hide his disappointment when Kate joined him and took the chair to his right. He smiled a
nd passed her one of the glasses.

  “That was a wonderful meal,” he said for the fourth time.

  “Friends made it so,” she said, then took a sip. “I never get to cook like that when I’m working. Never in a place long enough to settle in and buy the groceries.”

  “But you have friends?”

  She shook her head. “Not like I do here. They see me as this dumpy middle-aged woman who’s an expert on arson fires. If we do share a meal, it’s usually to talk about a case.” She ran a hand through her short graying hair, and it all fell softly back into place as if perfectly trained.

  “You’re not dumpy,” he said, thinking she made him feel tall. “And you’re not middle-aged. You’re still young, Kate, barely out of your thirties.”

  She shook her head, then smiled. “That’s why I love being here with you. You make me feel like who I am inside and not just what I do.”

  He didn’t know how to direct the conversation to where he wanted to go, so he just jumped in. “Kate, I liked holding you while you slept.”

  The parlor lights were too low to tell if she blushed. He didn’t know if he should say more, so he waited.

  Finally, after she took another drink, she lifted her chin slightly and whispered, “I’m sorry about the way I came in. I’d been sleeping on planes and in airports for three days. I was exhausted and hadn’t had time to shove all I saw at the last site out of my head. I called you to come get me when I laid over an hour in New York because I knew I didn’t have the strength left to drive.” She stared at her glass, then added, “I should have taken the time to sleep a few days before . . .”

  “No,” he said. “You did the right thing. You came here.”

  “Well, thanks for picking me up.”

  “Any time,” he said, wishing he’d said Every time.

  She leaned over and patted his knee. “It’s late. I’d better turn in.”

  “Walk me to the porch steps,” he said as he stood.

  He bundled in his coat and she wrapped a shawl that Martha Q kept by the door around her shoulders. They walked out, hand in hand, onto the porch. The air was damp and crisp. A low wind crackled in the bare branches surrounding the inn. For Tyler the place was beautiful and lonely at the same time. The old house stood in the middle of town but had the feel of being alone. He’d felt like that most of his life.

  “Good night,” he said as he raised his arms.

  She moved into them and for a long while they just hugged.

  When she pulled away, he tried to keep his voice casual as he said, “You can come over to my house for a nap any time, Kate.”

  “And you’ll make me soup and ham sandwiches?”

  “I don’t have to. We didn’t eat the other ones. They’re still in the fridge.”

  She made a face and he kissed her on the nose. Something he was sure no one ever did to the major.

  She smiled and rushed inside, saying she was freezing.

  On his way home he stopped by the cemetery. He rarely asked anyone to lock the cemetery at dusk for him, and even though he knew Calvin or one of the groundsmen would have, he liked to be the one who made the final check. It was his responsibility. It had been since his father handed him the keys to his first car.

  The old Ford Mustang was parked by the back gate again. In the dark he couldn’t even tell the color. Dark blue? Black? Tyler decided it was far too cold to walk across the cemetery to check it out tonight, and the back road was too muddy to risk getting stuck.

  He’d come back tomorrow morning before he took Kate back to Amarillo to catch her flight. She didn’t go to work until Monday, but she’d explained that she needed a day to unpack. He didn’t much like the idea that unpacking ranked above spending an extra day with him, but he told himself he understood.

  Chapter 10

  MIDNIGHT

  REAGAN TRUMAN’S CELL PHONE CLAMORED IN THE DARKNESS. It took several rings for her to find it.

  “Hello,” she mumbled, hoping she didn’t wake her uncle in the next room.

  “Rea, this is Noah.”

  “It’s late, Noah.” She pulled the string on an old Tiffany-style lamp that was probably five times her age. Something was wrong; not even Noah called this late.

  “I know, Rea, but I need to talk to you.”

  She shoved her hair out of her face and tried to force sleep away. “All right, what’s up?”

  “I’m in the hospital, Rea. I was hurt tonight in Memphis.”

  “How bad?” She laughed nervously. She’d almost asked if he was still alive.

  There was a long pause on the line. “I don’t know. Bad. Broken arm, two ribs, but it’s my back that has me worried.” He didn’t speak for a moment. When he began again, he sounded more like a frightened boy than a man of twenty. “I’m hurt bad enough to maybe kick me off the circuit. When I hit the dirt, I was out cold. They said I kept yelling your name in the ambulance, but I don’t remember. All I remember is the pain.”

  “Noah, what can I do? Do you want me to go over to your folks’ house? I think they’re in town. I could call your sister, Alex.”

  “No, I don’t want them to worry. I know Mom. She’ll freak out and Dad will start lecturing me like I’m still a kid. I don’t want them to know anything until I know how serious it is. They’re not telling me much yet.” He paused, and she knew he was fighting to keep his voice calm. “Rea, I got to face this before I ask them to. If it’s nothing, they don’t even need to know. If it’s crippling, I got to have a plan.”

  She understood. Noah had always been their positive, sunny child. The McAllens had already lost one son eight years ago. She’d seen the panic in their eyes once when Noah had been admitted to the hospital after an accident. She understood why he’d want to save them pain. “What can I do?”

  He was silent for a moment, and then he said simply, “Come get me. No matter how bad it is, I want you near when I find out.”

  She slid out of bed and paced to the window. He was asking her to leave her uncle. Noah was alone in a place without friends or family. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “Call me tomorrow.”

  Rea fought back tears. She felt she couldn’t go and she couldn’t stay.

  The light came on across the hallway in the parlor that had become her uncle’s room since his last heart attack.

  Reagan scrubbed her cheek with her palm before checking on him.

  Jeremiah pulled himself up in bed and looked like he was waiting for a report when she walked in. The harsh frown he always greeted everyone with hadn’t frightened her since the day she met him. “Well, girl, something’s upset you. Might as well talk about it. I’m as awake as I’ll ever be.”

  “I got a call from Noah. He was hurt at the rodeo tonight.” She didn’t bother with details. Her uncle saw life as clean cut, without emotion.

  “If he called, I’m guessing he’s not dead. If he called you, I’m thinking he doesn’t want his folks to know.”

  “He wants me to bring him home here to recover, but it’s a long way to Memphis. I’d have to leave you.”

  Jeremiah raised one eyebrow and studied her a moment before snorting and saying, “Go get that boy and bring him here to heal. Hell, the place is turning into a hospital anyway.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts about it. You care about him, don’t you?

  “Yes, but I care about you.”

  The old man smiled. “I know you do, but before long I’ll be part of your past. That boy, he’s part of your future.”

  Reagan lowered her head onto the covers of his bed and cried.

  The old man placed his hand on her hair and patted lightly. “You’re the best thing that ever came along in my life, kid, and you’ll probably be the best thing in his, but you should know that I plan to be around for a while to remind him.”

  Reagan raised her head. “But . . . we’re just friends.” He smiled as if he knew a secret and patted her head one more time before he pulled away. “I know, girl. Now p
ack your bags and go get your friend. Foster and Cindy will be here to watch over me.”

  Reagan kissed his cheek as he tried, not too hard, to wave her away.

  Chapter 11

  HARMONY FIRE STATION

  DALLAS LOGAN SAW IT AS HER CIVIC DUTY TO ATTEND every public function in Harmony even if no one else seemed to want her there. In Ronelle’s mother’s opinion, the town would go to hell in a hatbox if she, and her daughter, weren’t present.

  Ronelle had no more luck persuading her mother to stay home or go alone than she did at correcting the mixed metaphor. As far as Dallas was concerned, if her daughter wasn’t at the post office working, she should be by her side.

  So, Saturday morning, they were off to the meeting at the fire station. Of course, Dallas drove; she saw no reason for Ronelle to even learn. After all, Ronelle was young; she could walk anywhere she needed to go—the post office, the store, or the diner. As long as Dallas held the keys, she held the power, and they both knew it.

  The paper stated that the talk would center on how the county was going to afford another fire truck. No one seemed to have an answer, but that wouldn’t stop them from hashing it over in great detail.

  Ronelle hated town meetings. She never said a word. In fact, she usually took her crossword puzzle books and timed herself to see how many she could get done in an hour.

  They arrived later than her mother would have liked. Dallas didn’t get to talk to anyone because the meeting was being called to order. They also had to take a seat near the back, and nothing bothered Dallas Logan more than not being seen.