Jasmine lifted her brows. "Did it?"
He shook his head. "I was still fighting it into my teens. And suffering from too little sleep all the while in between." He shrugged. "Course, having that bright light on all night isn't the solution either. But I was thinking, we could maybe pick him up a night-light tomorrow. I mean—if it's okay with you. You're his mom, after all."
She nodded slowly. "Fine by me." Then she sighed. "I'd never make him sleep in the dark if he was afraid. It's just...he's never been afraid before."
Luke nodded, and she felt his eyes probing her closely. "Seems like something happened to make him afraid."
She looked up sharply. What had Baxter told him?
"And you're afraid, too," he said. "At first I thought you were just overprotective, and you are, to a point. But it's not just that."
"I'm not overprotective."
"Yeah, you are. I know. I had a mother just like you."
She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. "Don't get defensive, Jasmine. You're a fine mother to that boy. Any fool could see that. I'm not arguing it. I got off the subject."
"The subject being?" she asked.
"What the hell happened in Chicago? I mean, damn, woman, I knew there was something dogging you. I thought it was a man, a bad relationship, a custody battle, something like that. But now..."
She went stiff. So Baxter had told him something after all.
"Jasmine, Baxter's troubles here are a damn sight bigger than fear of the dark or a scraped-up knee, and we both know it."
She licked her lips, averting her eyes. She should go up to bed. She should walk away. "What makes you think so?"
He sighed in exasperation, lifting his palms.
"Come on, Jasmine, will you quit with this? Baxter says someone tried to shoot him and you!"
"He just had a nightmare."
"No wonder. Sounds like you've been living one lately."
"Look, I can't talk about this."
He said nothing for so long she had to lift her eyes and meet his steady gaze. Finally he just sighed. "Sooner or later you're going to have to trust someone, Jasmine. If someone's after you, I can help. And I will. But I can't if you don't tell me what's going on."
He waited. Jasmine stared at the floor, gnawed her lip and almost considered telling him the truth. But no, she couldn't do that, for so many reasons. First and foremost, because it would mean admitting she had no legal right to be staying in his house. She didn't really think he would toss her out if he knew that, but he could. And besides, one of the men after her was a cop. This man's cousin, Garrett, was a cop, too. How could she be sure they would believe her over that murdering bastard in Chicago? Sure, they might take her word for things at first—but when it came to her word against that of a police officer, that might change.
She squirmed inwardly. It was so ingrained in her not to trust, not to accept help from outsiders, not to let anyone in. And yet she'd never wanted to, felt driven to do just that, the way she did now. With this man. This family. But beyond all that lay one simple, dark truth that made the rest moot. Telling Luke and the Brands would add them to the list of targets to be silenced.
She didn't want to rain that kind of disaster down on this family. She'd stirred up enough of a whirlwind in their lives already.
Luke was still looking at her, still waiting. She lifted her gaze to his.
He saw her answer in her eyes, because he sighed and said, "Sooner or later, Jasmine, you're gonna trust me enough to open up to me." He offered her a small smile, one meant to be comforting, she was sure. "But for now...maybe you could just let me taste that special warm milk you make like no one else in the known universe?"
Her tense muscles uncoiled slowly, and if the breath rushed out of her in relief, well, she couldn't help that. She held up the glass, and he took it, sipped it, smacked his lips and wore a milk mustache. "Mmm. Bax was right."
"It's just milk and honey, with a little touch of chamomile."
He drank some more, then handed her the glass. "Finish it up, hon. You're gonna have trouble sleeping, too, after all this."
Hon. She didn't think anyone had called her that since Rosebud. It made her throat get tight and her eyes burn. He saw it, damn him. And though she sipped the milk to cover her pain, he didn't stop seeing it. She could feel him seeing it. When she set the glass down, he smiled, and reached up to brush her upper lip with his thumb. And then his eyes got darker, somehow. And he leaned closer and kissed her. It was soft, light, gentle. And when he lifted his head away, he licked his lips, tasting that milk and honey, she knew, because she'd tasted it on him, as well.
"I've been thinking about kissing you ever since I walked in and saw you dancing today."
Her brows bent until they touched. "Why?"
"Why?" He shook his head. "Because it was beautiful. You were...I've never known anyone who could move like that. It was like...music. Yeah. If music could move, that's what it would look like."
She blinked. She didn't think she'd ever been given such a sincere compliment before. "You thought all I could do was bump and grind?"
He checked her face quickly, as if looking to make sure she wasn't getting defensive on him. She couldn't blame him for that. She tended to get defensive where her work was concerned. She smiled a little. "It's okay. Most people don't expect strippers to have a hell of a lot of talent. But I was classically trained. It's just not a very efficient way to earn a living, is all. I had a child to feed."
He shook his head. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"I know." She looked at him, studied his blue eyes. "But for some asinine reason, I want to. I've never felt ashamed of dancing for a living, Luke. Expressing emotions through dance, even emotions like passion or lust, is an art. Exotic dancing has a long history. Even a sacred one. I mean, the first striptease was The Dance of the Seven Veils, you know. And it was first performed by a goddess. It's not the dancers who should feel shame for what they do. Not if they do it well. It's the men who watch them. I mean, they have a choice, too. They can react with a stirring of desire, with appreciation and admiration and pleasure. Or they can shout obscenities and try to cop a feel at every opportunity. Either way, it doesn't change the quality of the dance."
He tipped his head to one side, then averted his eyes. "I never thought of it that way."
"No. Most men don't." She looked at him, then looked again. His face was redder than before. His neck, too. "It's embarrassing you, talking about this, isn't it?"
He lifted his gaze. "No. That's not the word I would use."
She looked closer. He looked away. "Maybe you should go on up to bed," he suggested, his voice a little raspy.
Frowning, still not able to read him, she said, "Oh. Well, okay." She got to her feet Then she turned to look at him. "Thanks," she said. "For being so good to Baxter tonight."
His face eased a bit, and he smiled. "How could I not be? The kid's a charmer."
"He is, isn't he?"
Luke nodded, but his eyes slid from hers to her lips, and then he lowered them to the floor again. "Good night, Jasmine," he said, and he said it like a dismissal.
She shrugged, not getting him. She could almost think he wanted her...except if he did, he would have tried something more than just the innocent little kisses he'd stolen. He would have been all over her by now if that were the case. Or...the men she'd known up to now would have, anyway.
Then again, she reminded herself, Luke was nothing like the men she'd known up to now. She didn't know what to make of a man like him. How to read him. "Good night, Luke."
She felt his eyes on her all the way up the stairs, though. And when she turned at the top to look down at him, she saw him staring hard and met his eyes and swore there was desire there. He held her gaze for a long moment, and then he finally turned away.
Jasmine went into the bedroom and climbed carefully under the covers to snuggle up with her little boy. She held her son
and vowed to keep his nightmares away.
When Jasmine went to bed, she left her bag on the table. Luke picked it up, struggling to resist the urge to go through it for some clue as to what she was hiding. He managed, though. He carried it to the hook on the wall and hung it up. It swung heavily, and when it hit the wall there was a clunk. A metallic clunk. One that made his breath hitch in his chest and drew his gaze back to the handbag.
Frowning, he told himself that wasn't what it sounded like, and that the shape now visible in the bottom of the bag wasn't what it looked like, and that the weight in the bag wasn't what it felt like. But he stopped resisting, and he took the bag down off the peg and reached inside to make sure.
A cold metal handgun lay in the bottom. His hand bumped against it, then closed around it, and he pulled it out. "Ah, hell." He checked it, saw that it was unloaded. At least she wasn't totally insane. Glancing guiltily toward the stairs, and feeling justified now, he carried the bag to the sofa with him and, sitting down, began pulling out its contents, item by item.
His Jasmine had two identities, it seemed. She had one driver's license with her own pretty face on it. The name it listed was Jasmine Delaney Jones. And she had a second driver's license, this one with another woman's face on it. Her name, it said, was Jenny Lee Walker.
He closed his eyes. Damn. Just how much trouble was Jasmine in?
His stomach clenched again, as it had when her words earlier had his mind conjuring images of her dancing just for him. And that made him wonder how much trouble he was in.
* * *
BAXTER CAME DOWN FOR BREAKFAST just as Luke finished pouring orange juice and set the glass down on the table. The boy looked at the cereal bowl and the assortment of boxes on the table, then sent Luke a quizzical glance. "But it's Sunday."
"Oh, yeah, that's right," Luke said. He refilled his coffee cup and took a seat opposite the boy. "And you usually have a big Sunday breakfast, don't you?"
Smiling, Baxter nodded.
"Well, to be honest, I always liked a big Sunday breakfast, too. But I learned pretty quick that it's a big mistake to fill up on Sunday morning around here."
Baxter tipped his head sideways. "Why?"
"Because every Sunday afternoon, the whole family heads over to the ranch for a giant barbeque."
"They do?"
"Sure they do. So I tend to eat light on Sunday mornings, just to save room for all the goodies in the afternoon. There's usually pie and ice cream for dessert I always make sure I leave room for that."
"Wow." Baxter chose a box of cereal, poured, then paused and glanced at Luke. "Is it just for real Brands, or can ‘on'ry ones go, too?"
Reaching across the table, Luke ruffled the kid's hair. "Honorary ones are our favorites."
Baxter grinned wider and added milk to his cereal.
Luke felt eyes on him and looked up. Jasmine stood in the archway, and he had no idea how long she'd been there or how much she'd heard. She'd obviously been up for a while, though. Her hair was done. No ponytail necessary. It had been washed and spritzed and blow-dried so that its curls fell in bunches over her shoulders. Her makeup was done, too. Not to the same extremes as that first time he'd seen her. But more than the light touch of yesterday. Any flaws in her skin were hidden, and her high cheekbones were accentuated; her eyes were lined and shadowed, and her lashes were thickened. And her lips...her lips were shiny and moist and pink, and he thought they looked tastier than anything his cousins might have to offer this afternoon.
"Can I talk to you for a second, Luke?"
He realized he'd been staring at her, taking stock of every difference in her this morning and wondering why a woman as beautiful as she was would be so merciless as to try to make herself even more irresistible. She wore a pair of snug-fitting jeans she must have picked up in town on their shopping trip, and a ribbed tank top that showed off her figure and her tan.
Nodding, he got to his feet. "Be right back, pal," he said to Baxter, and then he joined Jasmine in the archway. She led him into the living room, then turned to face him. "What are you doing, telling him he's an honorary Brand? Inviting him to family gatherings? What are you thinking?''
Her eyes were pained, her voice a harsh whisper.
"I...I just thought it would be fun for him, is all. He can play with Bubba and maybe ride a pony and—"
"He is not riding on any pony."
"Aw, come on, Jasmine. I wouldn't let him get hurt. You know that."
She stared into his eyes for so long he thought he could see her heartbeat and then she finally turned away, sighing. "Dammit Luke, why do you have to be so damned good to him? Making him breakfast. Taking him for ice cream. Treating him like family."
"What's so wrong with those things, Jasmine?"
She lifted her head fast. "You're teaching him that it's okay to depend on other people. You're making him lose his edge, Luke."
"Are we talking about Baxter now...or you?" Luke asked.
"You're making him love you," she whispered.
"So I'll ask you again, are we talking about Baxter... or—"
"It's gonna break his heart when we have to leave," she said, interrupting him before he could finish the sentence. And yet he thought the question still applied.
Luke put a hand on her shoulder. Her silky, soft skin against his calluses. The friction made his stomach clench. "Who says you have to leave?"
Her eyes widened before she turned away. "I do. Life does. We can't stay, Luke."
He frowned, turning her to face him. "What do you mean, you can't stay? You're challenging me for the house, aren't you? What are you gonna do, sell it and move on?"
She stared at him hard and finally lowered her head. "I'm not challenging you for the house. I just needed someplace safe for a few days, until I could figure out what to do." She lifted her gaze to his again. "I'm sorry I made you think you might lose the place. You're not going to. We couldn't stay here, even if we wanted to."
"Why not?"
She started to turn away, but he held both shoulders now, and he wouldn't let her. "Why not, Jasmine?" he asked again.
"Because sooner or later our past is going to catch up with us, and when it does, we have to move on."
"You can't run forever," he said.
"You just watch me." Again she turned away from him. This time he let her. He stood there, wondering what the hell to do, how to get her to open up to him...knowing damn well that if he kept pushing, she would bolt. Finally he sighed and said, "At least come to the ranch with me today. At least let Baxter enjoy himself for a little while. He'll have so much fun at the Texas Brand. And you can be there to watch him every second."
He saw her lower her head, shake it slowly. "You're as good at wheedling as he is, you know that?"
Luke shrugged. "So will you come?"
"Yeah. We'll come." She turned and waggled a finger at him. "But no pony rides."
"Yes, ma'am."
* * *
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, LUKE SAT astride one of Wes's prize Appaloosas, with Baxter cradled in the saddle in front of him. Jasmine looked on, gnawing her lip and regretting that she'd ever let the two of them talk her into this insanity, praying Bax wouldn't fall and get trampled underneath those giant hooves. Of course, Luke had a firm hold on him. And Baxter was laughing and smiling as if he'd never had so much fun in his life.
"Luke's great with him, isn't he?" Chelsea asked.
They were sitting across from one another at one of the picnic tables on the big front lawn, sipping coffee. Jasmine was surrounded by more women than she was used to seeing in one place. Women usually didn't like her too much. She'd always assumed that was because they saw her as a threat. These women, however, seemed as if that were the least of their worries. And to Jasmine's surprise, not one of their men had given her so much as a leering look when his wife's back was turned. Not one.
She didn't think they made men like these guys anymore. She was through doubting they were genuine, though.
Jessi, the Brand sister with the pixie short red hair, perched on the railing. Taylor, the stunning dark-skinned Comanche married to Wes Brand, sat sideways on the top step with her back against the railing and her belly looking like a beach ball in her lap. Esmeralda, the sloe-eyed, slightly otherworldly wife of Elliot, with her thick Spanish accent, was in a wicker rocker with her belly every bit as swollen. They were a fertile bunch, these Brands, Jasmine mused. Penny sat on a blanket in the grass and watched Jessi's gorgeous toddler, Maria-Michelle, play gently with her own infant, Zachary.
Jasmine listened to their conversation. They talked about their kids and their pets—Penny's family of bulldogs raced around with the kids like kids themselves, while Bubba's aging hound dog, Blue, observed with amused indulgence. They laughed and joked, and exchanged lighthearted gossip. One of the Loomis boys was getting married. The local bar was adding a dining room. Maria-Michelle had the sniffles.
The place spread out like some fairy-tale land peopled with characters straight out of a fantasy. Devoted husbands and loyal wives, happy families.
Horses and cattle and puppies racing to and fro. Big red barns and wide, rolling fields so green they hurt your eyes to look too long, underneath the biggest, bluest sky in all the world. For God's sake, there was even a tire swing in a tree out there in the distance! And a swimming hole "down back" she'd heard mentioned when the sun started beaming down hotter than before.
If someone had described this place, this scene, this family, to her before, she wouldn't have believed them. She would have called them a liar. She would have told them they'd been watching too much television. Damn, Rosebud would have loved this.
Of course, this family was sheltered here in this rural place. So far away from the touch of anything evil or dangerous. They wouldn't know what to do if they faced the kind of trouble haunting Jasmine and Baxter. They wouldn't have a clue.
Chelsea was getting up, waving now. "Come on, kids. Come get changed and we'll take you out to the pond to cool off, okay?"
Texas Homecoming Page 10