by Mindy Neff
“I guess I don’t put a great deal of store in what other folks think.” He traced the rosebud design on her sheets.
“You should. This town is small, Chase. I’m still not sure about your reasons for settling here, but if you want to blend in with any kind of harmony, you probably ought to consider the acceptance that good behavior earns.”
“Why?” His hip brushed against her, nearly upending her off the edge of the mattress as he scooted up in the bed. “Because good old daddy holds the key to the city?”
“Yes.” She shifted to give him a little more room. “I mean, no. Leroy is—”
“My father. He’s not some god, Josie, and the world’s not going to come to a halt when people find out that we’re an item and that J.T. is my son.”
Josie sucked in her breath. “Chase.” She had to fight for the right words. This is exactly what she’d been afraid would happen. “Just because we…I mean, I wanted this, and I’m not denying what happened here, but there are other people to consider. The risk—”
“You already took the risk, sugar.” This time when he called her sugar, it didn’t sound like an endearment. “The result of that risk—my son—gives me some say in the matter.”
“Chase, you promised.”
“No, I didn’t.” He swung his legs over the bed and reached for his jeans. “Did you think you could sleep with me and not expect me to start dreaming? About my position in your life? In J.T.’s?” He jerked his jeans over his legs. “You’re so all-fired worried about that exalted Alexander name, about appearances and other people’s feelings. Well, what about mine? My daddy refused to acknowledge me. I suffered plenty over that when I was a kid, but I had a damned good role model in my stepfather to get me over the rough spots, to teach me about life and what you make of it. I want the chance to pass on those teachings to my own son.”
She hadn’t meant to hurt him, yet his words clearly indicated that she had. But she didn’t know how or where to turn for the right answers. There were no such things as crystal balls to tell the future, to show her what the best course was for her son. J.T. was her responsibility and hers alone.
His beard-stubbled jaw tightened when she remained silent. The sultry air in the room simmered with drawn out, excruciating tension as their gazes locked in unspoken battle, each unable to give what the other needed.
“You wanted to know about that night. I slept with you because you were one foxy-lookin’ lady. You asked and I obliged.”
Josie felt his words like a mortal blow. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she would not give in to the weakness.
Zipping the fly of his jeans, he stared pointedly at his shirt—which she still wore. In light of his present mood, Josie felt raw and exposed. Even after what they’d shared between the rumpled sheets of her bed, she couldn’t bring herself to unbutton the shirt and expose herself to him. Nor could she give him what he wanted.
Unconditional recognition that he was J.T.’s father.
“I think I’ll take a rain check on that ice cream.” He reached out as if to touch her, then pulled back. “I gotta get out of here before I say something else I’m likely to regret.”
The slam of the front door reverberated clear through to the bedroom. Josie dropped her head in her hands. J.T.’s well-being rested in the choices she made. He had to be her first priority. She couldn’t allow herself to take something for herself if there was a remote possibility that her son would be the one to suffer the price.
In a narrow bunk bed across town, J.T. snuggled under the covers and hugged his rabbit close. On the way home from the fair, Cory and Shane had slept, but when J.T. heard Bud say something about Chase, he couldn’t help peeking out under his eyelashes to listen. Bud told Mary Alice that J.T. looked a whole lot like Chase. J.T. liked that idea, but he guessed that Mary Alice didn’t cuz she’d told Bud to hush on up. It got J.T. to thinkin’, though. He knew what it meant when Mama told him he was cute, like when she was always combin’ on his hair, then telling him to look how good she’d done it. And he liked Chase.
He thought about that for a minute as he looked around the unfamiliar room. The toy soldiers on the shelf looked a little scary and he thought he might cry—or maybe he needed to go potty. He squirmed under the covers and pulled them higher, then decided he probably wasn’t scared after all. Cory and Shane had a daddy who was big and strong and nice. Chase was big and strong and nice, too.
J.T. thought about that one some more. He thought it would be neat if Chase could come and live at his house—just in case he and Mama got scared sometimes. Chase could bring his planes with him, too.
The idea gave him a funny tickle in his stomach. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Maybe he’d ask Mama if it was okay. Or maybe he’d ask God. Yes, that’s what he’d do because he really, really wanted Chase to live with him and Mama, just like Bud lived with Cory and Shane.
Mouse, the lady who teached at Sunday School, said if you really, really wanted something, all you had to do was say your prayers and God might give you wishes. He’d been going to wish for a tractor like the one Shane’s daddy got for him, but he didn’t want to take the chance that he could only have one thing. Chase would be lots better than the little tractor that he and Cory and Shane were always fighting over.
Taking his arms out from under the covers, he folded his hands together just the way Mouse had showed him to do, then squeezed his eyes shut real tight. He had to make sure he didn’t make any goofs, cuz this was real important.
Chapter Eight
Chase had lost the coin toss, which meant Bubba got to dust with the turbine today. “Lucky dog,” he muttered. Not that there was anything wrong with the 301. It was a good old bug bomber. But he’d gotten spoiled by the ease of flying the turbine.
Banking right, using both hands on the stick to turn, he approached Josie’s cotton field from the rear, swooping in low over the barn. Bushy cotton plants rippled past in a blur of green and brown, about five feet beneath his landing gear. He’d already flown a quarter of the row when he realized he hadn’t activated the poison.
Chase swore. The steady drone of the crop duster’s engine failed to muffle his thoughts. It had been two days since the Fourth of July celebration, two days of reliving the images of Josie, the erotic feel of her body, the arousing memory of the hitch in her voice as she’d called his name in the heat of passion. He’d automatically assumed certain things based on that total surrender, like the possibility of building a future with her and his son.
But she’d resisted.
He’d been madder than fire when he’d left her house. Two miles down the road, though, anger had given way to confusion, a confusion that still simmered through his veins. He didn’t know how to compete with her adamant protectiveness over the good Alexander name.
A name that should have been his, but wasn’t.
He glanced out the cockpit, his distracted gaze following the lines of an old wooden fence that separated Josie’s garden from the cotton fields. The fence was in a sad state of disrepair, falling down in places, curving as if erected by a drunk. He’d have to see about having it replaced, he mused, though he had a pretty good idea Josie would pitch a fit about it. She had an independent streak a mile wide. For some confounded reason, she viewed any help he tried to give her as a takeover plot.
Women, he thought. They were hard ones to figure.
He was about to pull up and wing over for another pass—this time using the chemicals like he’d been paid to do—when he spotted Josie and J.T. The little boy jumped up and down, waving his chubby arms in excitement. Josie stood as still as a scarecrow in a corn crop, one hand raised to shade the sun from her eyes.
The magnetic pull between them was as strong as ever, snagging his attention and his gaze like the hypnotic sway of a cobra. Couldn’t she see that there was something special between them? Somehow, he had to figure out a way to overcome her resistance.
He saw Josie’s arm come dow
n, saw her take a step as if to run to him. The urgency of that movement had his head jerking forward and his heart slamming against his ribs.
“God Almighty! Pull up, pull up!” His shouted words bounced back at him from the sweltering, Plexiglas canopy.
Straight ahead, on the other side of the asphalt road, was a dense wall of pecan trees.
Time stood still as instinct took over. He jerked hard on the stick and slammed the throttle to full power, putting the single engine plane into a steep climb. The muscles in his hands and arms strained. Sweat dripped from beneath his crash helmet, slipping down his forehead, stinging his eyes, as he willed the plane to perform.
His jaw clenched in dread. “Come on, baby. Just a few more inches.” Power lines rushed up to meet him, appearing in his field of vision like steel ribbons stretched across a cloudless sky. There wasn’t time for panic or thought.
He was going to hit those lines.
He felt the initial resistance as the prop cut through the wire, heard an ominous snap as the taut cable whipped around and racked against the fuselage like an exploding stick of dynamite.
Chase fought to keep the nose up as the plane slewed to the left. His airspeed dropped, a loss he could ill afford at this altitude.
Jerking back on the stick, he shoved the throttle with all his might. Just an ounce more power. That’s all he needed. He felt the plane torque and automatically applied right rudder with knees that trembled like mad.
The pecan trees were almost upon him. If he didn’t gain back his momentum he’d slam right into them.
The cockpit felt like a tomb, with only seconds between him and destruction. He couldn’t crash this airplane in front of Josie and his son.
“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t fail me now.” His heart pounded so hard it hurt his chest. Seconds felt like hours. Green foliage approached at an alarming speed, taunting him with visions of hell as blue sky, just above, beckoned the slim path to heaven.
Straining, praying, cursing, Chase gripped the stick and held on. The air tractor’s engine screamed under the force of such punishment, its body shuddering. At the last second, an updraft boosted him as if by unseen wings of an angel. With precious inches to spare, the abused plane barely staggered over the top of the branches.
Chase released a pent-up breath. That had been too damned close, he thought, as he regained normal airspeed and headed back to the airport. One of the main things he preached to his pilots was the importance of doing a recon before flying a field. He hadn’t done that today. He’d been in a hurry and his mind was cluttered with personal thoughts. He’d shot the three cardinal rules of crop dusting all to hell. Had he been on the ball, he would have gotten his entry and exits down pat. Instead, he’d flown in a trance, his attention on Josie instead of the job at hand.
He was darned lucky it hadn’t been worse, but his duster had suffered. Judging by the vibration he could feel, the propeller was nicked pretty good. The black rubber marks and deep crease he could see in his right wing were going to cost a bundle to fix. Not to mention the cost of repairing that power line and the fast talking he’d have to do with the insurance people.
One way or another, things were going to have to be settled between him and Josie. He couldn’t afford this kind of turmoil. It could easily cost him his life.
Still in the grip of terror, Josie watched the yellow crop duster circle back around and make its slow approach to the airport. It wasn’t until the cupped wheels had touched the airstrip that she allowed herself to breathe freely.
J.T. squirmed in her arms. She’d snatched the little boy up and shielded his view as the horrible drama had unfolded before her. She didn’t think her heart would ever be the same.
“Want down, Mama.”
Josie set J.T. on the ground, then reached up and rubbed her throbbing temples.
“Chase gonna come back, Mama?” J.T. skipped over to the dilapidated fence and poked his face through the square opening.
Yes, he would be back, Josie thought. And therein lay another problem. She’d allowed her emotions to be touched by Chase. A foolish, foolish thing to do.
Morning came way too soon as far as Josie was concerned. She’d been up half the night cutting out patterns and she was still behind. The sound of knuckles rapping against wood brought her out of her sewing room. “J.T., don’t answer that door, honey. Let Mama get it.”
He was such a friendly little boy, she was having a hard time teaching him that he just couldn’t trust all strangers.
With J.T. clinging to her leg, she opened the door and found Chase on the porch, a pouch full of tools clutched in his hands.
“Hi,” he said, drinking in the sight of her with his eyes, both awkward and repentant. She stared at him, remembering how he’d left in a huff after they’d made love.
“Hi,” she returned, feeling just as awkward, vulnerable, embarrassed over the way her body responded to his mere presence. There were so many unspoken words between them. Words she kept locked in her throat. She remembered his brush with the power lines yesterday, remembered how she’d wanted to run to him, beg him not to take such chances with his life. To tell him that she couldn’t survive losing two men in one lifetime.
But she couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t have the right.
“Whatja got?” J.T. asked, easing out from behind her legs to inspect the tool pouch Chase held.
Chase dragged his gaze away from Josie and dropped to a crouch in front of the little boy. “I figured on nailing up that fence out by the barn that’s about to fall down.”
“Can I help?” J.T. asked.
Chase looked up at Josie. He saw the immediate protest spring to her green eyes. Damn it, he’d known she was going to give him grief over this. “If it’s okay with your mama, I could sure use an extra pair of hands.”
“Please, Mama!” J.T. danced around, managing to end up with his toes out the front door, even though Josie still had a restraining hand on his small shoulder.
“Chase, this isn’t necessary. You don’t need to be fixing stuff around here. I can just as easily hire someone to come out.”
“Why should you do that when I’m here?” He knew she wouldn’t hire any help. Her budget wouldn’t allow it. “Besides, I noticed the cows are getting through a section out back and coming into the yard.”
“Yep.” J.T. chimed in. “And da cows comed up and munched on Mama’s flowers, and she taked a broom to da big cow and fussed and…shoo-ed him! Go away, cows!” J.T. hopped up and down with his excited retelling of the story.
Chase grinned at the energetic child. “Well, now, we can’t have those ol’ heifers eating up the pretty flowers, can we?”
“Nope.” J.T. eased farther out onto the porch and plucked a hammer from Chase’s tool pouch.
“Hold on there, sport. That one’s a little big for you. I’ve got something even better in the truck. Just your size.” He looked back at Josie. “What do you say, Mama?”
She shook her head. Resignation. Not refusal. He’d put her in a tight spot. It was hard for her to accept anybody’s help. And it was hard for her to let go of her child, to share him.
“We had a deal, sugar,” he reminded quietly. “Take me up on my offer. It’ll give you some time to yourself.”
“Some offer.” Josie snorted. The man was like a bulldozer, taking over her life. And her son’s. Both Chase and J.T. were staring up at her with equal expressions of hope in their identical blue eyes. She couldn’t hold out against that pleading. “I guess it’ll be okay. For a little while.”
Chase grinned and hooked his arm behind J.T.’s dancing legs, lifting him as he stood.
Josie’s heart nearly stopped at the sight the pair made. So alike. So special. J.T.’s little hand patted at Chase’s shoulder. Josie almost changed her mind, almost snatched her son back. Up until now, that small gesture had been reserved for her. The gentle little pats were a sign of J.T.’s trust, his way of saying “I love you.”
J.T. be
came impatient. “Let’s go!”
“Okay, sport. Let’s get to work.”
Chase turned and started down the porch steps. Josie stretched out her hand, then closed her fingers into a fist. For God’s sake, he wasn’t taking J.T. away for good. They were just going out by the barn.
“Chase!” she called. “Don’t let him out of your sight. And don’t let him play with anything sharp. And—”
“I’ll watch him, Josie.” The look he bestowed on J.T. was so filled with fatherly pride and awe that Josie nearly clutched at her heart for fear that it would bound right out of her chest.
She closed her mouth and nodded, feeling bereft all of a sudden. She could hear J.T.’s excited chatter as Chase rummaged through the truck, producing miniature plastic tools and strapping a toy tool pouch around J.T.’s small waist.
He’d given this some thought, she realized. He’d held out hope. Oh, Lord, how could she continue to foster that hope? The future was so unsteady. So unpredictable.
She’d been praying for a few hours of blessed silence, of time to herself, time to catch up on her back orders. But she got precious little accomplished. Her sewing machine sat idle as she went from window to window, following Chase’s progress with her eyes, watching as he nailed up the fence, cleared weeds that threatened to grow taller than the trees, and repaired the water line that fed the trough out back.
And throughout the day, she desperately fought the catch in her heart at the sight of her son eating up every second of his presence, sometimes riding on Chase’s shoulders, other times slipping his small hand in Chase’s larger one, simply sitting side by side, their identical dark heads bent together in silly laughter or solemn conversations.
She swallowed repeatedly on the tears that crept up on her. Was she making the right choice for her son? He needed a fatherly influence in his life. But Chase wanted more. He wanted open recognition.
She couldn’t agree to that. Not now. Maybe not ever.