Coming Home to You (16 page)

She nodded, but he could almost hear her brain working, weighing his explanation against what she knew. He could tell his answer bothered her. Or
maybe, he thought with alarm, there was something else she hadn’t mentioned.

“We’re talking about him again,” he said. “Somehow the conversation always gets back to my brother, regardless of what subject we start out with. Now how do you suppose that happens?”

“I’m sorry. When I’m working on a book, I tend to let it take over my thoughts.”

“Maybe you need a diversion.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What kind of diversion did you have in mind?”

“Fishing.”

“Oh,” she said, visibly relaxing.

Quickly, while her guard was down, he closed the few inches between them and covered her mouth with his, taking advantage of her surprise to slip his tongue inside her slightly parted lips. She stiffened, but he refused to let her pull away, and gradually her lips softened under his, opening wider. Damn, she tasted good. Why hadn’t he done this an hour ago?

He used pressure on her lower back to bring her body into contact with his, reveling in the feel of her soft breasts against his chest, her stomach pressed against his own. Arousal, warm and potent, wound its way from his head to his belly.

For several minutes his mouth continued its expert assault while his hand moved lazily over her hip and back. When he grew bolder, moving his hand between them to touch her breast, she dragged her mouth from his and gasped for air. “This is
not
fishing.”

“No, but it’s a lot more fun.”

He bent and put his mouth over her nipple, teasing it through the cotton of her shirt until it was rigid and
she began to moan and squirm. Her hand went to the back of his head and held him in place. “We can’t do this,” she whispered.

“We already are.”

He kissed her again, rolling her onto her back where his hands could have better access to the places he longed to touch. Her own hands began to move, tormenting him as they skimmed his back and buttocks, working their way under his shirt to touch his bare skin.

He quickly pulled the shirt over his head and discarded it so she could touch him more easily. When he unhooked the clasp on her bra, she didn’t protest.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking off her shirt and bra to look at her. Her lips were red and swollen with his kisses, her nipples hard with arousal. The hunger in her eyes—hunger for him—was blatant.

He put his hand between her legs, stroking her while he watched the play of emotions on her face: the surprise turning to passion, the passion to white-hot fire that threatened to burn her alive. But it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to touch her without the barrier of her clothes. He wanted to put his mouth there and drive her mad until she climaxed a hundred times and screamed his name with every one.

He slipped his hand under the elastic waistband of her shorts and inside her underwear. The curls between her legs were the gateway to a tantalizing array of surfaces and temperatures, and he wasted no time in exploring everything. She writhed beneath his hand as he stroked the swollen nub, and she arched into him in a gesture of supplication.

“Oh, James…”

His heart stopped and his hand stilled.

“What did you call me?”

She opened her eyes and blinked in confusion. “What?”

“He’s not the one making love to you. I am. Can’t you forget him for five seconds?”

For a moment nothing registered on her face, and then the realization of what she’d said hit her. Horror distorted her perfect features. “I wasn’t…I swear I wasn’t thinking about anyone but you.”

He sat up and reached for his shirt, tugging it on in anger. The passion he’d felt had died instantly with the whispered name.

“Bret, I’m sorry.” She tried to touch him, but he pulled away.

“Put on your clothes,” he snapped.

“Bret—”

“Put on your clothes! I don’t want to hear any explanations.”

She hurriedly dressed, then drew on her shoes.

“Go to the house,” he ordered.

“Are you coming?”

“No! I’m too angry to be with you right now.”

Her bottom lip trembled and tears slid silently down her cheeks. But she said nothing else. She stood, walked to where he’d earlier thrown her notebook and picked it up.

“Yeah, don’t forget that,” he said, his voice cracking with pain. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on getting one more detail about my brother for your book.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then apparently
thought better of it. Turning, she started toward the house with Sallie close on her heels. When she was crossing the yard, he thought he heard her sob but he wasn’t sure. And he didn’t care. She’d wounded him in a way she could never begin to understand.

For a long time he stayed by the pond, until his anger left him and he thought he could talk to Kate without screaming. Night had fallen and the mosquitoes were threatening to eat him alive, so he walked slowly back to the house. As he entered, he heard no sound. Only a pale light came from the living room.

He hobbled to the doorway. Kate was on the couch in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the television screen. The volume had been turned off, and she appeared to be so entranced by the picture that she didn’t know he was there. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

He came forward to where he could see the TV, but he knew already what he’d find. The face of James Hayes stared back at him.

“Damn,” he said with disgust, finally drawing her attention. “Now I understand why you don’t want me. You want
him
. You’re in love with a dead man.”

B
RET HAD LITERALLY RIPPED
the tape out of the VCR and thrown it across the room. He stood before her now with his face twisted in anger. It hurt her to know she’d caused it.

“Bret,” she said calmly, more calmly than she felt. She stood and put her hand on his arm. “You’re angry and I can’t—”

“You’re damn straight I’m angry! How do you expect me to feel?”

He pulled away, backing up. Had her touch become offensive to him? She couldn’t stand to think that. Down by the pond she’d wanted to make love to him, show him she cared for him. She wanted to touch him now. To hold him. To soothe him. To let him know he was every bit as important to her as James had been.

“Bret, please. You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, Kate? You tell me. Explain to me why you moan his name when I touch you. Explain to me why you’re sitting here in the dark crying over a man who’s dead and never coming back.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. Until that moment she hadn’t realized they were even there. “I admired him. I’ve told you before. He was special.”

“Yeah, he was special,” Bret said sarcastically. “He drank and screwed his way across the country and pumped himself so full of drugs that half the time he didn’t even know what was going on.”

The words hurt her. But then, he knew that, didn’t he? That was why he’d thrown them at her.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Don’t what? Remind you that he wasn’t worthy of this
admiration
you feel for him?”

“Don’t make up lies to hurt me.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You’ve created this huge fantasy about him and now you believe it’s the truth. Do you know what you are? I’ve just realized it. You’re the ultimate groupie. Only, you’re worse than all those women who used to hang around the
motels hoping to go to bed with him. They, at least, gave him up when he died, but you’re still obsessed with him. And you’re using this book as a way of keeping your obsession alive. It has nothing to do with trying to restore his reputation.”

She tried to close her heart against the verbal blow, but it still struck and gravely wounded her. Without a word she walked to the kitchen, shut down her computer and packed everything in her briefcase. She had so much she wanted to say to him, but it wouldn’t do any good.

He was determined to make something dirty and sick out of her feelings for James.

“Go on. Run away, rather than face the truth,” he said from the doorway.

“I think we’ve said it all.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Well, I am. Completely. I’ll be returning to Chicago in the morning.”

“What about your promise?”

“I see no reason to stay here.”

His jaw moved back and forth as he ground his teeth. “No, I guess not.”

“I’ll mail you a copy of the final manuscript when it’s done.”

“Don’t bother. It’s fiction and there’s nothing in it I want to read.” He turned and limped down the hall to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Kate picked up her briefcase and went out the front door, but she only made it as far as the steps before she broke down. She collapsed, put her face in her hands and wept. How had she made such a mess of things?

She couldn’t blame him for being angry. If he’d called out Lauren’s name during their lovemaking, she’d have been just as hurt and angry. James’s name had come out of nowhere.

A wet tongue with the feel of sandpaper touched her knee and made her raise her head. Surprised, Kate lifted her arm, and Sallie wriggled next to her, covering her tear-streaked face with licks.

Kate put her arm around her and hugged her close. “Oh, great. Now that I’m leaving, you’ve decided to like me.” She rubbed her hand across the dog’s back one last time. “Take good care of him, girl. Love him for me.” Standing, she retrieved her briefcase and walked to her car. She started the engine and, with a final glance at the darkened house, drove away.

Chicago

S
HE’D BEEN STARING
at the computer screen for almost two hours and hadn’t written a single decent sentence.

Highlighting the last paragraph, Kate hit “delete” and zapped it into oblivion, thinking that was where the entire chapter needed to go, if only she had the guts to send it there.

Outside, the rain had started again, and she watched the water stream in rivulets down her office window, finding it much more interesting than work. Everything seemed more interesting than writing today—opening the mail, fielding requests for interviews, answering letters from readers.

The whole day had been a bust as far as writing went, like the rest of this week and the week before. She was having trouble reconciling her research with what Bret had told her, and the more she struggled with it, the harder it became to write. If
she
didn’t understand the inconsistencies, how could she hope to present James’s story in a way that readers would understand?

She used the pencil beside the keyboard to put another
x
on the desk calendar. Six weeks. Bret hadn’t tried to get in touch with her once.

He’d accused her of being in love with his brother, but the idea was ludicrous, especially since it was Bret who occupied her thoughts all day.

Going to Alabama had been a huge mistake. Starting to fall for him had been an even bigger one, and now she was paying dearly for her foolishness. She couldn’t work. She had trouble sleeping. Her dreams were a tumble of images of both brothers that seem to swirl and intertwine.

It was almost as if… No, the idea was insane, physically impossible. Forensic reports don’t lie.

She got up and walked to the window, unable to sit still. Her office was thirty-three stories high, and on a gray and rainy day like today, she was literally in the clouds. Her only view was the drab uninteresting building across the street.

Looking at the steel and glass, she thought immediately of Pine Acres and how the hay in the pastures moved in the wind. The trees would be clothed in their autumn colors and the children would be preparing for Halloween, a few days away. She thought of Henry. Was he old enough to enjoy dressing up to go trick-or-treating? Would Bret take him? In the short time she’d been with the little boy, she’d come to care about him deeply.

A knock sounded and the door opened. “Here are all the clippings we’ve got on Lauren’s death,” Marcus said, bustling in without waiting to be invited. “I’ve included the autopsy report, the disposition of her property and the interviews with her sister. What else do you need?”

“Nothing right now, thanks,” she said without turning around, hoping he’d leave. No such luck.

“How’s that chapter coming?”

“Okay.”

He walked up beside her and stared out. “Nasty day.” When she didn’t say anything, he said, “You’re still coming over to Dad’s tonight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Kate, it’s ages since we’ve all been together. Dinner won’t be the same if you’re not there.”

“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. Spending time with her rowdy brothers and their families wasn’t exactly what she needed right now.

He sighed with impatience. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Something is. You’ve been like a zombie ever since you got back from that trip south. You come in every morning with dark circles under your eyes, so I know you aren’t sleeping. And you spend the day looking out the window when you’re supposed to be working. What happened to you in Alabama?”

“Nothing happened. I’m simply finding it a little difficult to get focused, that’s all.”

“That’s strange, considering how obsessed you’ve been with finishing this book.”

Obsessed. There was that word again.

“I’m not
obsessed
. Just because I’m conscientious about my work and I want to give a fair account of the life of a man I respected, that doesn’t make me obsessed. And I’m damn tired of people telling me I am!”

Marcus raised one blond eyebrow, obviously shocked by her outburst. “Okay, okay, don’t get all bent out of shape. You’re being conscientious. Fine.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m a little tired today.”

“Come to Dad’s tonight. I think you need to get away from this book for a while.”

“I’ll try, but I won’t promise.”

Marcus started for the door. “I’ve got to take Cindy to the pediatrician this afternoon, so I’ll be out of the office. Oh, and I finally found that information on drug allergies you asked for. Bret doesn’t have any, but as a child James almost died from a reaction. I’ll type up my notes in the morning.”

“Wait!” Kate’s heart had plunged to her knees, but she tried to present a calm exterior. “A reaction to what?” she asked evenly.

“Penicillin.”

T
HE CAR STOPPED
at the curb and Kate got in.

“Get down in the seat,” the burly man said.

“Afraid someone will recognize me?”

“Don’t want anybody seein’ me riding ’round with a white woman.”

Kate stifled a laugh and slid farther down. Midnight had come and gone, and it was unlikely another cop would see them at this hour, but Flapjack enjoyed playing the game. And discretion
was
called for. Her old buddy could get into serious trouble if anyone found out what he was about to do.

She hated asking for the favor. During her stint as an investigative reporter, she’d solicited his help and not worried about it. Cops and reporters swapped information under the table all the time while pretending
publicly not to like each other. But this was different. She wasn’t a reporter anymore; she was a private citizen.

He checked the side mirror and pulled out into the street. They would keep moving while they talked to avoid arousing suspicion from any patrol cars that happened to be in the area. And when they were finished, he’d drop her back at her car.

“Give it to me,” he said.

She pulled a plastic bag containing a computer disk from her jacket. “My prints are on here, too, but those are the only two sets—his and mine.
Don’t
run them. I don’t want them in the system. Compare them to what you already have on file for him, and give me your expert opinion.”

“You’ve got it.”

“And Flapjack, I need this as quick as I can get it.”

“You always do.”

“If there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask, but somebody’s been nosing around my research, and I want to make sure it’s not him,” she lied.

“You sweet on this guy?”

“Yeah, I’m sweet on him.”

He snickered. “Katie Kat’s got her a man.”

“Don’t give me grief, okay? Just look at the prints.”

“Is this the same dude you had me run DMV records on a few months ago and request files?”

“Yes.”

They arrived back at her car. Flapjack pulled over to the curb in front of it. “I’ll talk to you when I’ve had a look.”

“I’ll be at my condo until I hear from you. I’d rather keep Marcus out of this.”

“Whatever you say.”

Kate got in her car and drove home for the long wait. She didn’t go to work the next day, telling her brother she had a virus and didn’t want to give it to him. When the call from Flapjack finally came, she picked up the phone on the first ring.

“You can relax, Scoop,” he said. “Your boyfriend’s in the clear. Those prints on the disk? Not his.”

Oh, God!

Kate thanked him, apologized for putting him to the trouble for nothing and pretended calm as she made arrangements to get back her disk. She even laughed, unsure how she managed it with the knot in her throat and her body shaking uncontrollably.

When she put down the phone, the first wave of nausea hit her, and she hung her head between her knees to try to get back control.

Not his
. Yet the prints in the police file definitely belonged to Bret Hayes.

She took rapid breaths, drawing in air to keep herself conscious.

Not his
. If the prints on the disk didn’t match those on file…

The bile surged upward. She slapped a hand over her mouth and stumbled to the bathroom, almost making it before she threw up.

T
HE WIND HAD RISEN
steadily all afternoon and now wailed in a ghostly symphony through the cracks in Bret’s barn. This was going to be one of those nights
when a man wanted to turn in early and press himself against the warm body of a woman. But the only woman he wanted was a thousand miles away. And in love with a dead man.

He stood in the barn doorway staring out, his hands in the pockets of his goose-down jacket, watching the sky with growing uneasiness. The light was fading, but the threatening clouds that had been gathering in the east for the past couple of hours were still visible above the shadowed landscape. Snow clouds, rain clouds, he couldn’t tell which. But they bothered him.

He never worried about snow until late January or February, and it was only the last week of October. Most years it never snowed at all. But rain, now that was a different kind of problem. A horse was pretty sure-footed and reasonably smart, but ice on the ground could turn it into a brainless lump of uncoordination.

Everything of value he had was tied up in his horses. He couldn’t afford to lose an animal because of something stupid like a broken leg. And the way his luck had been running lately, if they got rain tonight and it turned to ice, there’d be
some
kind of accident.

The weather report said a low of twenty-two degrees and no rain, but he wasn’t taking any chances. With Aubrey and Willie’s help he’d gone through his severe-weather checklist. They’d given all the animals an extra ration of sweet feed to help them generate more body heat, and opened the gates so the mares and colts could move out of the wind and into the shelter of the trees that fringed the grass on the hill beyond the barn.

Inside the unheated barn, they’d put blankets on the studs and set out the portable kerosene heaters in the alley between the stalls. They’d wrapped the water pipes so there was little chance they’d freeze. But still, an uneasiness had settled in Bret’s bones like the cold. Something was going to happen and it was going to be something he wasn’t prepared for. He felt it.

Aubrey came up beside him and scanned the sky. “Well, it don’t look good.”

“I might start using that as my motto,” Bret said with dead seriousness.

“Thinkin’ of puttin’ it on a business card, are you?”

He almost smiled. “Maybe.”

“You should paint it on a sign down at the road. Make sure folks know what a hard-luck guy you are. Maybe have you some flyers printed up and passed around town.”

That did it. Bret’s lips twitched against his will.

They’d known each other long enough that Aubrey could get away with poking fun at him and his dark moods. And he’d been in a dark one lately, the darkest he could remember in a long while, or so Aubrey kept reminding him. He could pinpoint when it started by the
x
s he’d drawn on the calendar in the office, one for every day of the six weeks since Kate had gone back to Chicago.

He didn’t know why he bothered to count the days. She was never coming back. He hadn’t heard a word from her. No apologies. No attempt to explain her feelings. But why should she when her feelings were obvious? She was in love with a rock star. And there
was no room in her heart for a simple country man, a horse-breeder.

“You want me and Willie to hang around a spell, see what the weather’s gonna do?” Aubrey asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“No need. I can handle whatever happens.”

“We don’t mind.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, but this storm will probably blow over, and even if it doesn’t there’s not much else we can do right now. And something tells me, the way you two have been whistling all day, you have plans tonight.”

Aubrey grinned and confessed, “Promised to take a couple of fine-lookin’ ladies dancin’.”

Bret suppressed a chuckle at the image of a bowlegged Aubrey whirling some woman around the dance floor, and shy Willie even talking to a woman, much less dancing with one.

Aubrey leaned out the door and spit tobacco juice in an arc toward the corral. “Why don’t you come along? Don’t imagine we’d have too much trouble rustlin’ up a female who’d mind starin’ into that face of yours for one night.”

Bret shook his head and gave the answer he gave every time Aubrey asked him to join them in their constant attempts to woo women. “Thanks, but some other time.”

Aubrey didn’t persist, having learned by now it wouldn’t do any good.

They stood awhile in the gathering darkness, watching the mares slowly make their way across the pasture and up the hill, with the friskier colts and fillies trotting among them. The scene was part of a
larger picture Bret had often thought about back in those days when his life had begun to fall apart. He’d dreamed of waking up here every morning to a slower simpler existence, horses grazing peacefully on the hill. The dream had kept him going.

He’d believed that getting back to the land now and then and doing a hard day’s work with his hands would right what was wrong with his life, and it almost had. But the price he’d paid—his brother’s life—had been too great. And lately he’d begun to realize that heaven looked a lot like hell when there was no one to share it with you.

“You should call that little gal and tell her how you feel about her,” Aubrey said, accurately reading his thoughts. “Ain’t healthy for a man to brood over a woman like you’ve been broodin’ over that one and not do somethin’ about it.”

Bret shifted and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re being your usual hard-headed self.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

Aubrey spit again and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Yeah, I reckon I do, seein’ as how you’re not gonna listen to me, anyway.”

“Go on, then. I wouldn’t want those
fine-lookin’ ladies
mad at me because I made you late.”

When he’d gone, Bret made a second check of all the faucets to make sure they were dripping in a steady stream, then settled in at the desk in the small room he used as an office. Bookkeeping wasn’t his
specialty, but he’d learned it to avoid having to turn his books over to a stranger.