by Alison Kent
He loved her.
The thought shuddered through him, gripped him hard, squeezed until he had to struggle to draw a breath. Yeah. Loving her didn’t give him either of those rights. But loving her made him want to do anything he could to stop her from hurting. The fact that she was the only one who was able to do that . . .
He shook his head and tabled the thought. The elevator had arrived, and he’d just realized, just admitted, just accepted that he loved Indiana Keller.
What in the world was he supposed to do now?
Wiping his hands on a rag, he turned toward the door, his hands stopping, his feet stopping, his heart nearly stopping when his father stepped out. The only words he could think to say were, “What’s wrong?”
The older man looked him up and down. “Other than you needing a haircut, nothing that I know of.”
Indiana’s voice came back to him: What’s going on with your hair? “This coming from a man wearing a ponytail?”
“Susan misses you,” his father said, setting the dog he held tucked under his arm on the floor.
The miniature poodle, who looked more like a terrier, ran circles around Oliver’s feet, then sat and looked up, her stubby tail wagging through the dust on the floor. He opened his arms and she jumped, landing against his chest, and it was hard not to smile when her tongue went to work against his cheek.
“All right, all right,” he said, putting her down and wiping his face on his shoulder. “Did you bring her food and her leash, or just the dog?”
“It’s all in the car. Didn’t want to haul it up if you told Susan to take a hike.”
He would never say such a thing to the dog, and his father knew it. “She can stay. It’ll be nice to have the company.”
“And a reason to breathe some fresh air a couple of times a day?”
Oliver indicated the open windows. “I breathe it all day long.”
“A reason to take a shower, then.”
“And how often have you been so wrapped in a sculpture that you skip a shower or two?”
“Smells like you’ve skipped at least a dozen.”
Huh. He didn’t realize things had gotten so bad. Good thing Indiana hadn’t stopped by. Not that he’d given her a reason to . . .
“How long are you planning to hide out here?” His father’s question came from halfway across the loft. “Your mother’s worried.”
Oliver shook off thoughts of Indiana. Or he tried. But the ones that replaced them were no better. He’d been here now for six months, painting, thinking, coming to grips with the years he truly had spent hiding. He’d gone home at least once every week. Or he had until Easter.
When Indiana had told him six months should be plenty of time to know what he wanted.
“I’m not hiding out. I’m working.”
“On bees?”
Yeah. About that. He walked to where his father was standing, and took in the canvases stacked against the loft’s brick walls.
“They’re not all bees.”
“They all look like bees. Yellow, black. That says bees to me.”
He’d used more colors than yellow and black, and the orange that he’d had Luna weave into the scarf. She’d told him she didn’t do special orders. He’d told her it was for Indiana, and offered to pay her enough for three. She wouldn’t take money save for the one, and she made him tell her about what Indiana made him see.
All he could think to tell her was about the property on Three Wishes Road and the morning he and Indiana had first talked. How excited she’d been about becoming the caretaker for Hiram Glass’s bees. Or maybe it was her excitement over owning the acreage and expanding IJK Gardens into Hope Springs. He didn’t know what parts of the morning were memories, and what parts impressions.
He did know she’d been wearing her cowboy boots and a sundress, and he’d thought what a strange combination. He couldn’t imagine any woman he knew being comfortable in what he’d come to accept as Indiana’s uniform. The boots, anyway. The weather determined whether she wore dresses or T-shirts and jeans.
Neither could he imagine any woman he knew being comfortable getting her hands dirty—literally—while coaxing a harvest from the ground. And she’d seemed just as at ease, or at least as efficient, dealing with his emotional grime. No one had ever done that for him before. No one had ever been there for him before. Not in the way Indiana had. There was no one else. Only her. Just her.
He turned to his father. “I’m hiding. And I’m painting bees. What do I do now?”
Orville stared at his oldest son, his only son, his gray eyes knowing, his smile knowing, too. “That one’s easy. You tell her that you love her. But not until you take a bath.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mid-May found Indiana in her favorite place: up to her elbows in potting soil. The peaty, rich smell always calmed her, as did the feel of the dirt on her skin, nourishing, comforting, grounding. She’d been thinking that Kaylie was right: Tennessee deserved to know about Oliver hiring an investigator. It was explaining why he would do so that was going to be tough.
Dakota had been gone for more than a decade. She, his sister, the reason he’d gone to prison, the reason he’d had to abandon all his plans for his life, had only decided seven months ago to look for him. Oliver hadn’t needed that much time; he’d put his man on the case within days of hearing about her search. Neither man had found success, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was . . . how could she explain to Tennessee what she couldn’t explain to herself: Oliver’s involvement? Unless Oliver returned the feelings she was having so much trouble with. Especially after the way they’d left things at Easter . . . Why hadn’t he come to see her? Why hadn’t she called him? What is wrong with us?
It was then that her phone rang, and for once she welcomed the intrusion. “Tennessee?”
“Kaylie’s in labor.”
“Now? At home? At the hospital?”
“It started last night. We’re at the hospital now.”
“She’s okay?”
“She’s close. If you want to be here for the main event—”
“I’m on my way.”
Fifteen minutes later, clean and dressed, her hair mostly damp, she grabbed for her wallet and keys and phone, her gaze caught by the bumblebee necklace lying on the top of her dresser. She closed her eyes, willing away the mixture of emotions and thoughts of Oliver that she was struggling to reconcile. All that mattered was that he was Kaylie’s friend. No, all that mattered was that Indiana wanted him to know. To hear his voice. To possibly see him.
“Indiana?” he said when he answered her call.
“I thought you might want to know that Kaylie’s having her baby. Tennessee just called. Well, he called fifteen minutes ago, but I was up to my elbows in potting soil and had to clean up. Anyway,” she said, wondering why she thought Oliver would care about the dirt under her nails, “I’m headed for the hospital. If you want me to call you later—”
“Would you like me to come and wait with you?”
Her pulse jumped, even though he wasn’t coming for her. “Yes. I’d love that. Thank you.”
“Then I’ll see you soon,” he said.
Her pulse jumped again, her stomach flipping, too, though she was probably reading too much into his offer. Unless she wasn’t. Unless he was as anxious to see her as she him. Unless they’d both been waiting for an excuse to pick up where they’d left off, or to try again, or just go back to the beginning and start over.
Oliver’s accusations at Easter . . . He was right. She had let her obsession with finding Dakota consume her. Oh, it didn’t feel that way, but logic and reason told her the truth. All she had to do was look at the time she spent worrying.
She couldn’t do it anymore. She just couldn’t. She’d put things in motion with the investigator, and she had to accep
t that what would be would be.
The drive to the hospital from Three Wishes Road was short, as was every drive in Hope Springs, and Indiana arrived moments ahead of Luna, waving for her to hurry and join her as Angelo parked the car.
“Can you believe it?” Luna asked, grabbing Indiana’s hand. “It seems like just yesterday she told us she was expecting.”
“Thanksgiving was”—she quickly counted on her fingers—“six months ago. But, yeah. You’re right. Like the blink of an eye.” Except Christmas had come and gone, the new year, too. Valentine’s Day, Easter. Soon it would be Memorial Day. She had to stop fretting about time passing. About missing Dakota. About missing Oliver most of all.
Minutes later, Angelo joined them in the waiting room outside labor and delivery. “Can we go in? Are we too late? Have you talked to Ten?”
“I don’t know about going in,” Indiana said. “I haven’t seen Ten yet. I’m not even sure how to let him know we’re here.” She turned then, looking for someone to ask, but Oliver was walking down the hall toward her, and that was that. The buzz of the hospital faded.
How had she let him walk away? How had she survived this last month without seeing him?
How was it possible to have missed him this much when she wasn’t even sure they were friends?
He reached her quickly; his steps were long and purposeful, his jeans worn, the tails of the button-down shirt he wore flapping and tattered. And his hair. He still hadn’t cut his hair. It fell into his eyes, over his eyes, and he pushed it back over his head with both hands, clearing his beautiful face.
He was so, so beautiful. So beautiful. She’d never known a man could be described with that word, but it fit Oliver Gatlin in ways nothing else would. His brows were drawn together in a concentrated frown, his lips pressed similarly tight. But his hips rolled as he walked, loose and confident as his steps brought him close.
“Any news?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.
She shook her head, and then she stepped into his body, wrapping her arms around him because it had been too long, and she needed him, and having him here was like the rest of her life coming home. She caught back a sob, and he tightened his hold. She let him, even knowing he had no idea what was going on in her mind.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”
She was so close to telling him she loved him. Oh, the time and the place was horribly wrong, except it really wasn’t. It was perfect. A new life coming into the world . . . How could such a joyous event not put her own life into perspective? A life she wanted to share with Oliver.
Though whatever declarations she wanted to make would have to wait, because her phone buzzed at that moment with a text from Tennessee. She read it, turned to Luna and Angelo. “They’re taking her into delivery. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
It was two hours later when Tennessee appeared at the waiting room door and ushered them into Kaylie’s room. Oliver walked in behind Indiana, and she held their joined hands in the small of her back as she approached the bed in the center of the room. She glanced up at her brother; the expression on his face, the dampness reddening his eyes, stole Indiana’s breath.
Standing next to Kaylie’s bed, Tennessee braced a forearm on the raised mattress, and with his free hand reached down to touch his daughter’s cheek. Georgia May Keller. Seven pounds, ten ounces, nineteen and a quarter inches long. Her skin was flawless, her hair sparse but an obvious golden sort of red like her mother’s.
Indiana leaned back into Oliver where he stood behind her, so solid, so strong. So understanding of what she needed from him. Never in her life would she have imagined herself this much in love. Thinking of the possibility that Oliver might feel for her what Tennessee obviously felt for his wife . . . She brought up a hand, pressed her fingers to the base of her throat, measuring the rhythm of her pulse.
Two soft knocks on the door had all heads turning. The handle moved. The door opened. Light from the hallway spilled into the room, and the man who’d knocked followed. He closed the door. He came closer. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders in a gesture so familiar, Indiana had to fight the dizziness threatening to take her to the floor.
Then she had to fight all the bodies in the way to get to him. She slammed into him, wrapped her arms around him, sobbed into his T-shirt, and sputtered his name. “Dakota!”
The room got crazy after that with gasps of joy and disbelief and excitement. Tennessee joined her, his arms going around her and their brother both, the three of them rocking and shaking, their hug filled with laughter and hard-beating hearts and joyful sobs and words that made no sense but were nonetheless understood.
“Where did you come from?” Indiana asked once the sibling huddle had disbanded. “How did you get here? I mean, how did you even know to come here tonight?”
He hooked an elbow around her neck and walked with her toward the bed. “Later, little sister. Right now I’d like to meet my sister-in-law. And my niece.”
Tennessee made the introductions, a good thing, since Indiana wasn’t sure she had it in her to say anything else without breaking down. If not for Dakota’s arm keeping her standing, well, she wouldn’t be. She was certain. Her legs were shaking. Her stomach was tumbling. Her palms were sweating so ridiculously she’d dampened her skirt trying to keep them dry.
He’d come out of nowhere. After all these years, he’d walked into her life as if he’d never been away. Except it wasn’t that simple. It had to have been costly getting him here. It had to have taken many hours and many miles and many, many phone calls to track him down. She had such a monstrous debt to pay, and she met Oliver’s gaze as the thought went through her mind, because monstrous and debt left her little doubt his man had been the one to come through.
Oliver stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze on the baby, not on Dakota and not on her. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his hair falling like a curtain on either side of his face. He reached up and raked it back, rubbing at his whiskered jaw, then smearing his thumb beneath one eye.
And then, as if he was as overwhelmed as she was, he moved toward the door. When Dakota let her go to pick up tiny Georgia May, Indiana joined Oliver. She couldn’t let him leave the room without thanking him, and she reached out a hand, placing it in the center of his chest. She felt the beat of his heart, then flexed her fingers and pulled away.
It was hard to find her voice to ask, “Are you okay?”
He nodded toward the bed. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? And so tiny. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a newborn who’s only hours old.”
“It’s pretty amazing.” She stepped to his side so she could see the knot of people speaking quietly, the smiles, the tears, Kaylie’s glorious exhaustion that left her doing little but watching. But most of all her gaze was for her brothers. All three of the most important men in her life were here. Could this day be any better? “I’m so glad Dakota got to see her. I can’t even believe that he’s here. When he walked through the door, I thought I might faint.”
He reached for her shoulder, squeezed it, then leaned to drop a kiss to her temple. “I’m going to go, let you be with your family.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, grabbing for his hand, torn between her family and her future.
“Yeah. I do,” he said, nodding toward the other visitors, adding, “We all do,” as Indiana glanced toward the bed.
“I’ll see you soon, sweetie,” Luna was saying, cupping her hand over Kaylie’s forehead to brush back her hair. “You take care of this gorgeous little bundle, and see that this man here,” she added, glancing up at Tennessee, “takes care of you.”
“That’s not even a worry,” the proud father said, shaking Angelo’s hand before the couple headed for the door. Oliver stepped into the hallway with them as
they left, lifting his hand as the door closed between them.
She wanted to catch him and say good-bye. She wanted to introduce him to her brother. But she had every piece of her family here with her, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not when the very thing she’d been hoping for had finally come to pass. Her brother was home. Her family, complete with the newest little Keller, was reunited.
So why did it feel as if the most important part was still missing?
Oliver squeezed Indy’s shoulders, leaned to drop a kiss to her temple, then walked to the door to close it behind Luna and Angelo, stepping into the hallway as he did. The Keller family deserved this reunion and didn’t need outsiders intruding. Not that he was necessarily an outsider. He just wasn’t part of the family in the same way Kaylie was, though perhaps one day. Maybe even one day soon.
He had to admit surprise at having reached this point, not with one of the women his mother had pushed on him, but with one who he imagined would prefer a day spent digging in the dirt to a night spent mingling at a Gatlin fund-raising soiree. He wondered how Indiana would fit in with the rest of the attendees, and imagined her standing out—not because she didn’t belong, but because she wouldn’t care.
Then again, she’d most likely fit in with no problem. She was like that, sociable and gregarious in ways he wasn’t sure he’d known another woman to be. Honest ways. Authentic ways. Nothing about Indiana Keller was for show, and he was pretty sure he’d fallen in love with her because of her genuine nature even more than the cowboy boots she wore with everything, and that would make his mother insane.
His poor mother. He loved her dearly, and knew having to let Oscar go had devastated her. It had devastated him, a sibling, not a parent. His mother’s interference in his life over the years had been in a large part her way of holding tight to the only son she could interact with, projecting her dreams for Oscar onto him without considering he and his brother were not the same person. They never had been. And even had Oscar survived the accident and grown into his full potential, they never would have been.