A Family Man

by Mindy Neff

  “No.” Her gaze skittered away. “I don’t recall—”

  “Yes, you do,” he interrupted softly. He saw her green eyes close, saw the fine trembling of her fisted hands. “There’s no way two people could do what we did in that motel room and forget about it. At least not in this lifetime. Why’d you run away?”

  She shook her head, holding her hands out as if to ward off a blow. “Get away from me,” she whispered, her eyes flitting up and down the street. “I told you, I’ve never seen you before.” She looked around as if the glass-front buildings and concrete sidewalks had ears.

  She made an attempt to shoot by him, but Chase caught her arm. “Wait. At least give me your name.” He’d be damned if he’d let her slip away a second time. At least not without knowing her name. Four years was a long time to be tortured by fantasies.

  “Just…just leave me alone.”

  The fear and genuine distress in her widened eyes and trembling mouth made Chase rein hard on his control. “Just a name, sugar. You owe me that much.”

  A spark of defiance overshadowed the fear. He noted it and admired it. This woman had fire. God, did she have fire.

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  He saw the faint pink of her cheeks and realized his words had sounded crude, so he switched tactics. “You’re right. Never mind. It’d probably be just as easy to ask around, this being a small town and all. ’Course the fine folks of Alexander, Louisiana’d probably start speculating, and then they’d want to know why I wanted to know, and then I’d have to come up with something to tell them, and you know how nasty these gossip mills can be, and—”

  “Josie.”

  Ah, sometimes an alternate course was all it took. He smiled. “Josie, what?”

  “Alexander.”

  That wiped the smile right off his face. His stomach lurched and rolled, a sensation very similar to the one he experienced when flying wingovers in his crop duster. All thoughts of teasing her into good humor fled.

  “One of the Alexanders?” he asked, praying she’d deny it so he wouldn’t feel as if he’d committed a mortal sin. “Like the town?”

  For some reason that particular question got her back up. Her shoulders straightened and her spine went rigid, as if an unseen hand had just jerked an invisible string attached to the top of her head. She was fairly tall, about five-eight, he’d guess, and most of that height was in her legs. He had a hard time keeping his mind on the questions at hand and off those long, lean legs. Just the memory of what they felt like wrapped around him caused his brain to stall.

  “I don’t think there are any other kind around these parts,” she said.

  “What I meant, sugar, is do you come by that name by birth or by marriage?”

  She looked as if he’d just slapped her. It was an almost tangible hurt. He had no idea why, but it made him feel like a jerk.

  “Marriage.”

  Chase let out a long breath, but relief was not to be granted. God Almighty, he’d never slept with a married woman in his life. “Well, now, that presents a whole new set of problems and questions. Your place or mine?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “As it turns out, we’ve got a little business to discuss.”

  “I can’t imagine any business you and I would have to discuss,” she whispered fiercely. “The past is history. Just leave it alone.”

  “So you do remember me,” he challenged.

  “I didn’t say—”

  Just then, a woman—whose hair Chase could have sworn was blue—poked her head out the door of the beauty shop and drawled, “Josie Mae, ya’ll want to come on inside where it’s cool? I can pour you kids a nice cold glass of Coca-Cola. Lordy, it’s a hot one today. And sticky.”

  “No, thank you, Miss Vira,” she called.

  “Are you sure, hon? It’d be no trouble.”

  “No, ma’am. I need to get on home.”

  Her startling green eyes were wide, her smile forced. Josie Alexander was hiding something and fairly itching to get away from him. Hell, wasn’t that just like his luck. This whole damned town was full of secrets. Most of them revolving smack dab around his own.

  He’d moved in a week ago, intending to steer clear of anyone with the last name of Alexander—at least until his financial position in the community was so firmly entrenched that he could snub his nose at their brand of small town prejudice.

  It appeared he’d already broken his own code. Four years ago. On a rainy night. In a low budget motel.

  With Josie Mae Alexander.

  The lady with blue hair was still watching them with avid fascination. He figured he might as well go introduce himself to the local beauty shop owner. It was a guaranteed way to make sure his name was passed along with record speed. Sometimes small town gossip had its merits. Within about fifteen minutes, speculation would be rife. He just hoped that speculation reached the right ears.

  “Afternoon, ma’am. Name’s Chase Fowler.” Though he’d relayed the information to the beauty shop owner, he was more interested in the impact it had on Josie Alexander. He noted that he’d caught her off guard. He also noted that she’d made the connection. Good.

  “You’re new around these parts, aren’t you?” Vira asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just bought the old Alexander place up the road a piece. Gonna put that airstrip to good use with my dusters.”

  “Why, I declare. You and Josie Mae are neighbors. Did you know that, Josie Mae?” Vira called, just as Josie was about to slip away.

  “Why, no, Miss Vira, I sure didn’t.” She gave another forced smile and edged away. “I’ve really got to run now. Ya’ll take care.”

  This time Chase didn’t bother to stop her departure. Escape was more like it, he decided as he watched the sway of her slim hips beneath her modest shorts. The slap of her sandals against the hot pavement were a dead giveaway to both her agitation and her hurry.

  “We’ll meet again, Mrs. Alexander,” he warned silently.

  Josie sat on the porch, gripping an ice-cold glass of lemonade. Her heart alternately raced and throbbed, making her feel sick to her stomach. Dusk wasn’t far off. It should have been a peaceful time of day, when the sun no longer beat down like flames from hell, but any hope of serenity had been shattered that afternoon.

  Chase Fowler.

  The one man who could blow her carefully built world sky-high.

  Fate, she thought. She’d accepted it four years ago, welcomed it with both terror and anticipation. She chafed against it now.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and rolled the icy glass across her forehead. Rainbirds chugged in a soothing rhythm across the yard, leaving beads of water clinging to the blades of grass. This familiar sound should have relaxed her, but the events of the afternoon prevented the calm she sought.

  Sooner or later Chase would show up. She knew that as surely as she knew the boll weevils would eat at the cotton. She had something that belonged to him, and it was a great deal more than just the property assessment paper the attorneys had forgotten to forward. She’d told them it was no problem. Since the new owner lived so close, she’d just drop it off herself.

  That had been before she’d known who Chase Fowler was.

  Oh, God, what now? The sins of her past were about to come back and condemn her. Avoiding him would buy her time, time to think, to plan. But she couldn’t hide forever.

  She couldn’t hide her son.

  Barefoot, she stepped off the porch and shut off the Rainbirds, then went to the side yard where another sprinkler made slow, back and forth passes over the yard. Tugging the hose, she positioned the stream of water, making sure it reached the bed of impatiens and lilies she’d lovingly planted along the edge of the house.

  She glanced over at J.T., who was engrossed in making what she supposed were truck noises as he pushed his toy fire engine around in the dirt.

  “J.T.,” she called, cursing silently when her voice wobbled. “Want to go with Mama around back and chec
k on the cows?”

  The toddler popped up. “Moo cows,” he squealed, pumping his little arms and legs as he hurried to reach her side. Lord, how she loved this baby. Scooping him up, she held him close and pressed her lips against his soft cheek. Unaccountably, tears welled in her eyes and her throat began to ache. The emotions steamrolling through her at that moment were almost more than she could contain.

  J.T. began to wriggle, so she set him down. Before his feet had even touched the ground, his attention was snared by a butterfly resting on a dandelion. He leapt, startling the beautiful insect into flight, then shrieked in the carefree glee so typical of a child and gave chase.

  Any other time, Josie would have laughed at his antics. But not today. If she allowed herself to laugh, the hysteria she was trying so desperately to hold at bay might escape.

  As they made their way toward the south pasture, J.T. skipped along beside her, oblivious to the turmoil clawing like a beast at her insides.

  It wore her out just watching him, his energy, his blessed, carefree innocence. Every once in a while he’d trip over his own feet or a stubborn weed. He’d fall flat on his face like a sack of flour. Each time it happened, Josie’s immediate reaction was to rush to his side and coddle. But J.T. had a determined, independent streak that wouldn’t quit. He’d just giggle, pop back up and continue on at full speed, leaving Josie’s heartbeat in a continual flux of stop and start.

  The worrying was both natural and universal, though her best friend, Mary Alice, had chided her on more than one occasion that she was just a tad overprotective. Josie didn’t agree. Her first and foremost mission as a mother was to protect her baby at all costs. She’d always thought of him as her miracle child. A precious gift she cherished more than her own life.

  She’d do anything to keep him safe.

  Anything.

  Checking to make sure J.T. stayed clear of the thorny blackberry bush, Josie flipped the garden hose over the edge of the trough. Using the top half of a weathered bleach bottle, she skimmed green slime off the water’s surface and tossed it over the sagging fence.

  As she waited for the water level in the trough to rise, she breathed deep, hoping the tranquil sounds and smells of the farm would lull her, ease the clenching fear and uncertainty that weighed on her chest like a hot, heavy rock. The crickets were singing in the grass, harmonizing with the cicadas. Their evening song changed in tempo a bare instant before J.T.’s little voice rang out.

  “Airplane!”

  Josie looked past the barn, across the expanse of cotton as a bright yellow, single-engine plane swooped in low for a landing.

  The whine of the engine was a familiar sound she’d been hearing since childhood. Tonight, it created within her a wealth of anxiety.

  Her time of reckoning was almost at hand.

  When she’d sold the adjacent property with its abandoned airstrip, she’d thought it would herald the beginning of her freedom. With the money from the sale, she’d been able to pay off the rest of the past due medical bills.

  The whole transaction had taken place by phone and mail through the attorney over in Monroe. She’d known the buyer’s name, but not his face.

  A face from her past.

  A stranger she’d known in the most intimate way for only a few brief hours.

  Chase Fowler.

  Oh, God. She’d told herself that destiny had put him in her path that night four years ago, a night when desperation had ruled her thoughts and actions. Now, she had to face the very real fear that the destiny she’d clung to so fiercely might very well turn what happened on that rainy night into a custody battle.

  Chase knocked on the door of the farmhouse, but got no answer. A dust-coated Bronco was parked in the carport. He hoped to God it wasn’t her husband’s. He told himself he had a legitimate reason for being here—he was just saving her a trip to deliver the land document that had inadvertently been left out of the escrow package.

  And if he believed that, he was lying through his teeth.

  When he knocked again without any response, he turned—and came to a dead stop.

  Josie stood by the corner of the house, her attention divided between him and something around the corner. As it had that afternoon, the sight of her poleaxed him. God, she was beautiful. Firm, tanned legs stretched from beneath denim shorts. Her long, dark hair was caught up off her neck in deference to the heat, several stray tendrils clinging to the perspiration on her nape.

  “Evenin’, Miz Alexander,” he drawled in a good-ol’-boy accent, surprised at how nervous he felt now that he was actually here, facing her again. “Small world, huh?”

  He saw her chin lift, saw her sweet green eyes dart away, as if she were hiding something just around the corner of the house.

  “Evidently.”

  “Who’d have thought we’d be neighbors? Makes me wonder if you’d have sold that property if you’d known the buyer.”

  “I knew.”

  “Hmm. I don’t recall exchanging names.” He vividly recalled her whispered plea of “no words.”

  “Mr. Fowler—”

  “Chase,” he interrupted. “With the history between us, seems a mite silly to call me Mister.”

  Her chin raised with her inhaled breath. “I needed the money that airstrip brought, you obviously needed the land. We both got what we wanted, so why don’t we leave it at that? I make it a point not to dwell on the past or what-ifs…Mr. Fowler.”

  “Mama! Mama!”

  The sound of the child’s voice jolted Chase like the blast of a shotgun, making him realize just how futile this visit was. How his attraction for this woman would have to be ignored. She said she’d gotten her name through marriage, but he’d held out a slim, morbid hope that she was divorced.

  The little kid narrowed that possibility considerably.

  Chase would never stoop to becoming a home wrecker. He had firsthand experience of what that could do to a kid, to a family. It went against the moral code he prided himself on.

  He understood his own shock, his disappointment. What he didn’t get was the obvious nervousness and the hint of genuine fear that Josie Alexander was trying so hard to hide. And failing miserably.

  He looked beyond her to the little boy he could now see dawdling by the azalea bush, trying his best to pounce on a reluctant frog. The dark haired tot looked up, obviously realized they had company, and came barreling around the side of the house, throwing himself against the front of Josie’s legs with the kind of trust only a child clings to.

  She cupped the back of the little boy’s head, looking as if she wanted to snatch him up and run screaming in the opposite direction.

  The picture didn’t fit.

  The feeling that something wasn’t right, that she was hiding something, began to grow stronger in Chase, taking shape like a newly planted bush of cotton after a gentle rain.

  The child finally lifted his head from where he’d tucked it in the crease of his mother’s legs and shyly glanced at Chase.

  Sheer speechlessness jolted him.

  His jaw clenched and his muscles tightened as he stared at the little boy. Shape, color and size, the eyes confronting him from the miniature face were a mirror image of his own.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” His gaze traveled back to Josie’s face—a face he’d dreamed about often. She looked about as shell-shocked as he felt, reminding him a bit of a rabbit who was frozen in the deadly, hypnotic path of a cobra. Well, damn it, he had a right to strike. He didn’t make a habit of strewing offspring around the four corners of Louisiana, and unless he had a twin roaming the state, there was a very real possibility that this was his child.

  Chapter Two

  J.T., in his limited years, didn’t sense the emotional storm brewing between the two adults. “Hi!” he chirped. Although the greeting was outgoing, he still kept a prudent hold on Josie’s leg.

  Chase knelt down eye level with the little boy, searching the miniature blue eyes. His entire world felt off-k
ilter. Could this be his son?

  “Hello there, sport.”

  “I’m not Sport! I’m J.T.!”

  “J.T., hmm? Can you say your whole name?”

  “Yep. Mama teached it to me.” He puffed out his stocky little chest. “James Troy Aw-wig-zn’dr. Right, Mama?” He looked up at Josie for approval.

  “That’s right, sweetie.”

  Encouraged, J.T. seemed intent on showing off. “And I’m dis many,” he said, proudly holding up three stubby fingers.

  “Three whole years?” Chase said. “You’re quite a little man.”

  “Yep.”

  Josie’s heart pounded so hard she began to feel dizzy. She needed control. Needed to throw him off the scent he seemed so determined to track. Stop the disastrous snowball before their lives ended up more entwined than she could ever allow.

  “We named him after his great-grandfather,” she inserted, reminding him that there was another man to be considered. She was, after all, Mrs. Alexander.

  “Grandfather,” Chase corrected.

  “Excuse me?”

  A slow grin creased his cheeks, yet his blue eyes, eyes so like her son’s, held an edge of caution. “My dad’s name is James.”

  Josie felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole or been caught in a time warp. Life just didn’t hold this many coincidences.

  “I meant Bobby’s grandfather,” she mumbled.

  He raised a brow, but she could see a subtle tension around his full mouth. “Bobby, hmm? That’d be the husband. I knocked when I came up, but nobody answered. Suppose this conversation should be discussed between the three of us?”

  Josie shook her head, unsure of how to head him off. Sooner or later he’d find out about Bobby. All he had to do was ask around town.

  “Look, I really don’t want to mess up your life here, or your marriage, but I’ve got a lot of questions.” His vivid blue eyes nearly seared her with their intense gaze. Quietly he said, “I think I have a right to some answers.”

  Answers were one thing she didn’t want to give Chase Fowler. She was more than afraid of his questions. Did he notice how much J.T. resembled him, and realize the boy was his son?