Tallchief: The Homecoming

by Cait London

  Liam rubbed his neck and remembered Michelle soft beneath him, then later after the loving, grinning up at him as he foraged through his closet. Without the city suit and high heels, and in his clothing, she seemed little more than a girl—someone’s sweetheart.

  His sweetheart he corrected sharply, pushing away the images of another man kissing her…because her body had told him that she hadn’t made love for a long time. Neither had he, and he’d been slightly rough, regretting it. He’d needed her too much, needing that hot, sweet flow of her body, her eager, hungry mouth upon his skin. Even now, hours later, he treasured her soft, sweet, drowsy sigh that had slid against his neck.

  She’d worried about his past, asked questions he’d tossed away long ago. Now he tossed away the nagging doubt that there was more. J.T. and his life in Amen Flats was too good now to mar by the past.

  From his station’s gas pumps, Liam studied the activity at Michelle’s house. Birk, the owner of a construction company, was already on top of the roof—wooden shingles flying onto the ground. The Tallchiefs could have been Liam’s brothers, their coloring and build a match to his. But he’d never had a brother, and he didn’t understand the lighthearted ease that flew between them. Elspeth clearly ruled them, and Fiona could pounce on one “underdog” cause or another without the slightest hesitation, bringing the family’s groans. J.T. clearly adored them all. But Liam preferred to keep on the edges, where he was safe, never revealing too much of himself.

  He frowned at the shouted orders, male voices carrying in the distance. It didn’t sit easily, other men taking care of a woman he had loved well through the night and morning. Then, even though it was only noon on a busy Saturday, Liam reached for the Open sign on the station door, and flipped it to Closed. He picked up the telephone to call Emily, who wanted to eat and sleep and keep J.T., but who also needed college money. “I’m leaving the key to the station at the side door. If you know of anyone who wants to pump gas until six tonight, it’s hourly wages…. Yes, it’s fine if J.T. stays with Elspeth until you pick him up. When you’re ready, bring him home tomorrow, or I’ll have a hard time reclaiming him. I’ll come back tonight to close up.”

  This was what he wanted for J.T., Liam thought as he drove his pickup to Michelle’s house—the family closeness that would hold against trouble.

  He arrived just in time to see Michelle being passed out of the house, from brother to brother and on down the steps. She was shouting, threatening them all. She still wore the clothes he’d put on her, and that filled him with a dizzying pleasure—that she had kept him close.

  The continuing drizzle muffled Michelle’s outrage. “All I want to do is to start refinishing furniture and put a few nails in the wall, just to see how it all works. I didn’t mean to turn on the water while the pipe wasn’t attached. I didn’t know the ladder inside wasn’t to be moved and I stranded Calum in the rafters. And who would know you can’t paint drywall when they’re not nailed to the walls?” she demanded as Calum tossed her to Birk. Liam was waiting at the end of the line, catching her as Duncan lightly tossed her into his arms.

  Lying in his arms, Michelle crossed her arms and glared up at him. “Tell them that I am an—rather, I was—a top executive and I know how to set up a concept and work with it until the product is finished.”

  He adored her, Liam thought hazily as she scowled at him. She’d fight for what she thought was right, and during the night she’d pitted herself against him, gathering him deeper when he would have let her rest. A sensual woman who ignited at his touch, she filled his arms just right. He wondered then if he would ever tire of looking at her, of studying her moods. “You’re pouting,” he noted, enjoying the feel of her body in his keeping once more.

  “Of course, I’m not pouting. I’m considering my options. They won’t let me help.”

  Liam searched through stacks of replies, and pleasure ran through him when he managed a successful one, “They’re saving the really hard stuff for you. The executive decision making. Anyone can do what they’re doing—roofing, new lumber, plumbing, that sort of thing.”

  “You think so?” she asked dubiously, studying the men moving efficiently through their tasks. Nick passed by, shouldering lumber easily, and grinned as he took in the picture of Liam holding a steaming Michelle. A carpenter herself, Lacey had stopped by to oversee Birk and the family that had claimed her as a child. Fiona had brought by housewarming gifts of potted plants from her florist shop. The scent of new lumber mixed with those of Elspeth’s stew and freshly baked bread, Talia’s lemon cake and Sybil’s apple pie.

  Though the children were at home with their mothers now, the aura of a family filled the cottage. Liam went light-headed. Was that music in his head or happiness? Or was it coming from the sheriff’s car, the Italian tenors’ opera as the lawman stopped to chat? Michelle’s elbow jab prodded him to answer her question. “Oh, there’s no doubt that you’re in charge. Your time will come. You’re really the one in charge here. Ask Birk. He runs a construction crew. Hey, Birk! Michelle wants to know who is in charge here.”

  A man with a fiery wife who had run her own remodeling business and who had remodeled the old bordello they lived in, Birk was quick to grin and reply, “Michelle is the boss. We’re just doing the basics—the no-think stuff. Hey, stop kissing her and get up here. I need a man on the other end of this job, and don’t let her move the ladder again.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t stay for this, Liam,” Michelle said the next afternoon. She turned away from the expensive gray car gliding up her gravel road to the man who had carried her to his home long after midnight.

  With the Tallchiefs’ help the previous evening and this morning, the unfinished cottage was sturdy and dry, with a fire in the new woodstove. The windows had yet to be replaced, the plastic catching the cold winter breeze coming down from the mountains. The porch was sturdy, if not completed, and the pot bubbling on the woodstove would have to serve for meals and hot water. But with the new water lines functioning, she had running water and a bathroom—and not counting the extra lumber and sawhorses taking up space. The cottage had changed overnight and now at three o’clock in the afternoon, it was warm and snug, if not finished. She couldn’t wait to choose the linoleum for the kitchen and bathroom floors, to paint the walls, and once the wooden flooring was set and varnished, she would begin carefully furnishing the cottage. She wanted to search out treasures, restore them, one by one, instead of hiring a decorator as she’d done before.

  It had been an odd feeling, last night, having a man care for her, pick her up and carry her home and soap her down in the shower. Used to tending herself, she’d resented his grim care as he’d stuck her head beneath the spray, shampooing the sawdust and grime away. She’d grumbled and swatted and in the end dozed as he slid his T-shirt over her head and brushed her hair with a child’s Mighty Lou Super Brush. She was already sleeping by the time he came to bed, drawing her close and warm and safe.

  In the late afternoon she could still taste Liam’s hungry morning kiss, awakening her with his desire. Her body still tingled and ached slightly from his, but she’d strained for release, matching him in her passion. Then they’d come back here, to work with the Tallchiefs until noon. Now, tired and alone with Liam, she’d wanted to enjoy holding him, to feel that solid muscle and heat wrap around her—

  The approaching car marked the end of what would later seem like a dream—

  “You’d better go now,” she said, bracing herself for the two people who would tear apart her brief happiness. She expected no less from them. The rivulets of rain on the plastic and the shrouding drizzle of autumn added to her sense of disaster.

  “Stop muttering,” Liam said pleasantly as he smoothed the putty over the nails on the drywall.

  She studied his back, the spread of his legs and his work boots locked against the rough, dry flooring and knew that he wasn’t leaving until he was ready. The slow drift of his steely gaze out to the car, then back to h
er, leaped upon her already-taut nerves. “Liam, you don’t understand. This is private.”

  His eyes darkened into the color of storm clouds charged with lightning. “I won’t bother you. But if you think you can sleep with me, then kick me out of your life when you want, like making appointments, think again. Which way is it?”

  “You’re being difficult. I can take care of myself,” she said finally, frantic to have him away from the scene that would become bloody very easily. Her parents usually went for her throat, and this time—so soon after making love with Liam and discovering just a glimpse of happiness—she would slash back.

  “Take it or leave it,” he said too softly. Take me or leave me trailed along his words, unsaid.

  “We’ve just started, Liam. It’s not like we’re deep into a romance. Or that you have any claim on me or my life.” She was desperate now, to protect him, to send him away before her parents slashed at him. She knew little how to protect a man’s pride, and the rather harsh way he’d offered his help had startled her. With her parents approaching and Liam refusing to budge, a clash was certain. She could fight better alone, without safeguarding his pride and that was her parents’ favorite target….

  “Don’t I have a claim?” he asked smoothly, reminding her of the heat between them, her need of him. She tried not to flush as she opened the door to the well-dressed, too-perfect couple that were her parents.

  “Mother. Father. This is Liam Tallchief. Please come in.” She shot a look at Liam, hoping he’d take the hint. She opened the door wider for him to exit. “I’ll talk to you later, Liam.”

  “That won’t do,” he said too easily, putting aside the trowel and the drywall compound. He closed the new, unpainted door easily, despite her effort to keep it open. “I’m staying.”

  “Mr. Tallchief,” her father said too coolly, in a tone that raised the hair on the back of her neck. She recognized the familiar tone.

  “You’re not actually going to live in this rustic little town? In this?” her mother asked disdainfully, slowly itemizing the house and then Liam, inch by inch, down his plaster-and sawdust-covered clothing to his worn work boots. “Charming.” Eloise Franklin’s cultured tones dripped in ice. “My daughter as a grimy workman, all that money on her education and meeting the right kind of people wasted.”

  Her father picked up the verbal knife and began wielding it. “After all we’ve done for you. You’re wasting yourself here, Michelle. Only an idiot would quit the position you had at Dover’s. If you knew what I went through to get you hired in any position with that idiot Ted—”

  “You what?” She hadn’t realized her father’s connections ran to Ted Dover. She’d thought she’d gotten her position on merit, intelligence and creativity. But then Bruce Franklin never failed to strip away pride when he made his point. Stunned, Michelle began to tremble. “I worked my way into that position. You had nothing to do with it.”

  “Didn’t I?” Her father’s smirk never lied; he knew he had the upper hand and that he’d jerked her pride from under her. Bruce Franklin could prove his point, if questioned. He always took copious notes of calls—dates and times and conversations. “We’re old friends. I asked him not to say anything because you’re on this latest, independent tangent, and the divorce was an evident mistake. I’ve already talked with Oliver. He’s ready to make amends and let us all get on with life in the way I’ve planned.”

  Franklin’s cold-blue eyes narrowed at Liam. “Surely this isn’t a husband-replacement for the man that Oliver is—socially acceptable in our circles. Surely he’s entertainment until you’ve finished with whatever—”

  Michelle tensed as Liam’s arm circled her, bringing her close to him. She elbowed him, wanting him to step away, to protect him. Liam’s grim look down at her told her that he’d been in worse situations and he wasn’t leaving her.

  “Go away…please. I can handle this,” she whispered, desperate to have him out of battle’s way.

  “No,” he said, as if nothing could move him from her side.

  “I’m used to this,” she whispered again, trying to push him away. She hadn’t had time to tell him—and now her unshared secret could destroy them.

  “That’s sad, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m staying put.”

  Her mother gasped and paled. Her father blinked as if descending into another galaxy. Then Liam checked the woodstove, banking the small flame for the night, and stuffed Michelle into his borrowed coat, as if she were a child. He smoothed her hair over the coat before picking her up. “She’s tired. Call her tomorrow. The phone works. You’d better leave now.”

  But her father was a seasoned fighter, clearly set to battle an encroaching male. Bruce Franklin knew how to set the pegs to destroy trust. “Is this the man you’ve been investigating? The one with a brother who can’t be located?”

  The question slashed through the scent of new wood and new happiness. Michelle held her breath; she hadn’t had time to tell Liam. She’d wanted the right moment, and in all the flurry, in the tempest between them, she’d forgotten how angry she’d been when he’d packed her off the mountain and told her to stay away from him.

  A shrewd man, her father would have tracked her activities before she’d quit her job; Bruce Franklin’s business tentacles were twisted and crept into corners she hadn’t suspected. No doubt he knew every contact on her prized list. She thought she’d gotten that job on her own merit, on the contact list she’d built by hard work.

  But her own slashed pride was nothing compared to the trust she’d broken, the pain flashing in Liam’s thunderous eyes before he concealed it.

  Liam’s arms tightened around her, and a muscle tightened along his jaw and cheek, shifting beneath the dark stubble. Still holding her, his surprise flashed too quickly for her parents to see. Liam was a man who knew how to hide his emotions, but she knew that her father’s hit had been effective. “Cut the trust,” Bruce Franklin had always said. “And everything will unwind nicely to your advantage. Always take advantage. Never let emotions rule you.”

  Had she really lived like that? Acted like that? Without compassion, like a robot?

  “Liam, I—” But the damage was done; she’d broken his trust, and, hardened by the past, Liam Tallchief wouldn’t likely forgive her.

  Michelle watched her parents stiffly bundle into their car; with tears burning her eyes, she wondered if she’d lost everyone who mattered in her lie, including Liam.

  After her parents had gone, slamming the door behind them, Liam placed her on her feet, and ran his hand through his hair. “I should have known. They’re right, aren’t they? I’m entertainment—the mechanic and the rich lady out for fun. What’s this about a brother?”

  She’d wanted to tell him more gently, to explain that her habits were meticulous because of the careful way she’d learned to fence with her parents. But she wanted the truth between them now. “You have a brother—Adam. I tried to locate him. He’s three years older and—”

  “You’re right. You are good at what you do, in more ways than one,” Liam said too quietly. She reached out to him, and he snared her wrist, pushing it away. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t encourage J.T. from now on. Don’t hurt him.”

  Her blood seemed to drain onto the unfinished floor, leaving her body cold. “I was angry with you for packing me off that mountain like so much unwanted baggage. I wanted to tell you, but—”

  “You had plenty of time, lady. It’s been two long nights and two days.” Then Liam walked out of the door and drove his pickup away into the rain.

  Moments later, Liam glanced at the bright-red pickup shooting like a bullet toward his home. He had a brother, and he hadn’t known all these years—Adam.

  The second fact hit Liam: he had opened himself to a woman who didn’t trust him. From his living room window, he watched Michelle tear off his coat and, carrying it and a briefcase, tramped up his sidewalk. Her hair flew around her, almost glowing in the dreary day. He jerked
open the door just as she began to shove, and she hurled into his arms, struggling free. Torn by emotions, he pushed her away.

  She’d been crying and it was his fault. That thought crushed his anger and bred his guilt. He’d hurt her; he was worse than her heartless parents. He should have stayed, listened to her explain—He jammed his hands in his back pockets to keep from gathering her close.

  She flung the coat at him, and it dropped aside, unheeded. She shoved the briefcase against his chest, and he held it, uncertain of what to say.

  “You’re just so emotional. I was waiting for the right time to tell you. Fine, be mad. Hole up here like a wounded old bear. Cover the hole of your cave door. I don’t care. But here is the information I found. It’s valid and it’s yours. I’ll refer any new messages concerning Adam Tallchief to you, unopened. I was mad when you bundled me back to the Tallchiefs and told me to stay away. I did this research immediately after I got back to my office. My father just speeded up the impact, thanks to his need to crush everyone around him.”

  The sarcastic bitterness in her tone reminded Liam that her father had stripped her pride—Michelle had been deeply wounded, tears not far from her when she’d learned that Bruce Franklin had set up her life. Liam placed the briefcase with information of his brother aside; he would look at it later. Michelle’s wounds were new and raw, and she needed him—