Homecoming (5 page)

Pulling over a matching chair, Tyler sat down facing him. He glared at Charles, increasing his uneasiness. “I’m here because I need to discuss something with you. And I don’t intend to talk about this ever again, because the next time you see me it will be a courtroom.”

Vertical lines appeared between a pair of vivid blue eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” He’d recovered some of his cheekiness.

“Your wife, Mr. Connelly. She came to the clinic this morning for her scheduled monthly checkup. This is the second time I’ve noticed bruises on her arms. She also has vaginal trauma. In other words, you’ve been physically abusing your wife. You are
raping
her!” He spat out the word.

A rush of blood darkened Chuck’s face. He exhaled, his nostrils flaring. “She won’t let me touch her.”

“Then don’t touch her,” Tyler retorted.

Chuck leaned forward. “A man has needs. And that’s what a wife is for.”

Tyler struggled to control his temper.
“Real
men don’t rape their wives.”

A vein bulged in Chuck’s forehead. “A husband can’t rape his own wife.”

“That’s not what I’ve documented in your wife’s medical chart. It’s not only Miranda’s health that’s being compromised, but you’ve put her baby at risk.” His large, penetrating dark eyes narrowed slightly. “If she comes to the clinic next month with one bruise—even a single smudge, then I’m going to file a report with the sheriff to have you arrested for assault and endangering the viability of the unborn.”

Chuck jumped up, his chair crashing to the floor,
but Tyler was quicker as his right hand shot out, grabbing the man’s throat.

Charles Connelly realized he had underestimated the soft-spoken doctor as he felt the power in the fist holding him fast. Why hadn’t he noticed Dr. Cole stood a full head taller than he was? That his arms were corded with natural muscle that had not come from pumping iron. Surely the doctor would follow through on his threat to have him arrested. He’d worked hard to get to where he was as a plant foreman; he had married his high school sweetheart, and now looked forward to fathering a son who would carry on his name.

“Swing at me, Connelly,” Tyler taunted as he tightened his grip. “Hit
me
and you’ll find out what pain truly is, because right now I feel the
need
to punish you for taking a woman against her will.”

Charles Connelly may have been a swaggering sexist, but he was not a fool. He’d wanted a son ever since Mandy told him she was pregnant with their first child. He wanted to be the kind of father his own father never was or could be. His father was as mean as a junkyard dog with a sore paw whenever he drank. And he had been cruel and unfeeling to his wife and children when sober.

No, Charles did not want to spend time in jail, away from his wife and children. He didn’t want his son to grow up knowing that his father wasn’t there to witness his birth because he’d been imprisoned for hurting his mother.

Gasping, he tried escaping his captor. “I’m sorry, Dr. Cole,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t mean to hurt Mandy. I love her.”

Tyler let go of his throat. His eyebrows were down together in an angry scowl. “Please sit down again, Mr. Connelly. We have to talk about your wife and her
physical condition.” Chuck picked up the chair, sat down, and stared at his hands sandwiched between his knees.

It took less than ten minutes for Dr. Tyler Cole to explain to Charles Connelly what to expect during his wife’s confinement. He also extracted a promise from his patient’s husband that he would come to the clinic with Miranda for her next visit. He walked out of the office at the Calico Bottling Company, leaving Chuck staring at a pair of broad shoulders under a blue-gray silk shirt.

“I’m losing it,” Tyler whispered to himself after he’d retrieved his vehicle from the visitors’ parking lot. He’d never touched another human being, except to comfort and heal. He sat, staring out the windshield, unable to believe how he’d acted so unprofessionally. It was the first time he’d let his emotions override his training.

He turned the key in the ignition, then ran his left hand over his face, trying to fathom why he’d threatened to hit Charles Connelly. And he doubted whether the short, muscular man would’ve permitted him to beat him without attempting to defend himself. Tyler shuddered to think of what could’ve transpired, imagining the
Hillsboro Herald’s
headlines: LOCAL DOC DUKES IT OUT WITH PATIENT’S HUBBY.

He’d studied and worked too hard to jeopardize his reputation with a scandal. Perhaps, he thought, he’d stayed in research too long, missing so much of the give-and-take of a doctor-patient relationship.

Perhaps, just perhaps, his mother had been right when she’d said he’d become too involved in his work. The last time he’d visited with Parris Cole, they’d sat for hours talking about what he truly wanted for himself;
she’d asked how he wanted to be remembered after he no longer practiced medicine, and he’d been mute, unable to answer her query.

And now he had to ask himself the same question. What would he have if he didn’t have a medical career? He had more money than he could spend in his lifetime, and stood to inherit five times that amount whenever his parents passed away.

He had the money, the family name, and nothing else. He was a Cole—a member of the wealthiest African-American family in the United States—but that did not change the fact there was no special woman in his life, no children to carry on his name or his genes. Even his marriage-shy younger sister had committed to her longtime live-in boyfriend, and now looked forward to starting her own family.

At this time in his life he didn’t want a wife, even though there was one woman in Hillsboro that did intrigue him: Dana Nichols. A woman he wanted and needed to know more about.

Tyler smiled. His mother would be shocked if she knew his thoughts, because for the first time in his life Tyler Simmons Cole felt the pull of a woman—a stranger with a lush mouth and hypnotic golden eyes.

Four

A stately grandfather clock in the corner of the living room chimed the half hour. It was seven-thirty. Dana had turned off all of the lights in the house to offset the buildup of heat, lit several candles, and switched on overhead fans on the porch, in the living and dining rooms, and in the kitchen. A pair of oil candles in hurricane chimneys on the fireplace mantel provided enough light for her to study a quartet of photographs.

There was one of her grandparents on their wedding day. Another wedding picture with a similar pose with Harry and Alicia Nichols was positioned next to it. The third one was of Harry, Alicia, and their newborn daughter. Their smiles mirrored a happier time in their young lives.

Dana peered at the last photo—a black and white one of her mother, seeing her own face staring back at her as she examined the image of an adolescent Alicia Sutton behind the glass of a decorative silver-plated frame. The picture had been taken the day of her mother’s high school graduation.

She wondered what had Alicia been thinking the moment the shutter captured her image. Her head was angled for optimum sensuality, a half smile curving her pouting mouth. The smile matched half-lowered eyelids
that screamed blatant seduction. There was no doubt a man had taken her mother’s picture.

Alicia’s expression was one Dana remembered whenever her mother sought a special favor from Harry Nichols. All Alicia had to do was lower her voice, rub her body against Harry’s like a graceful cat, and the soft-spoken family doctor melted like a pat of butter on a heated griddle. Dana had been too young at the time to understand the dynamics of staged seduction, but she hadn’t been too young to know that whenever Alicia acted this way, Dr. Harry Nichols could never deny his wife anything she’d asked for.

Although Dana had come back to Hillsboro to clear her family’s name, she loathed having to reopen her father’s murder trial. Her grandmother had not permitted her to discuss the murder investigation, or visit the courtroom during her father’s trial. Georgia also had ignored her pleas to visit Harry in jail while he’d awaited trial.

The presiding judge had denied Harry’s attorney’s request for bail, declaring he was a possible flight risk. Bailed denied, Harry languished in jail for more than three months before he took his own life, an hour before he was to be transported to a state prison for a term of life in prison without the possibility of parole.

Dana had come to dislike her father for his selfishness as much as she’d loved him for his gentleness. The day she celebrated her eleventh birthday, Dr. Harry Nichols had changed his daughter’s life forever. She’d lost her mother, her father, and been wrested from all that was familiar. Georgia had hastily packed a bag, purchased two tickets, boarded a train, and brought Dana to live with a relative in upstate New York.

It had taken a long time, but after years of therapy, Dana had finally forgiven her father for making her
an orphan. On the other hand, every man she met still became Harry—someone she couldn’t trust, because she always believed he would desert her when she needed him most.

The doorbell rang, shattering her reverie. The only other sound in the house was the dulcet voice of Billie Holiday singing her jazz classic “Strange Fruit.” Dana had sent Georgia the five-set CD anthology, “Ken Burns Jazz—The Story of America’s Music,” for Christmas because she knew how much her grandmother loved jazz.

Walking down a narrow hall, she acrossed the living room, she made her way through an entryway to the front door. The late Georgia Sutton had been proud of her house. The two-story structure was immaculate and tastefully furnished. It contained three bedrooms, a large modern kitchen, living and dining rooms, and a spacious screened-in back porch.

Georgia had always paid someone to cut the grass in the front and rear of her property after her husband died, but personally maintained her flower and vegetable gardens. Dana remembered eating fruits and vegetables from her grandmother’s garden all year long.

The outer door stood open to catch any breeze for the house, and was protected from intruders by a locked screen door. Standing on the other side of the screen was Tyler Cole. He’d exchanged his silk shirt, khakis, and loafers for a stark-white T-shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of jogging shoes.

Seeing him again sent Dana’s pulse racing along her nerve endings. She stared mutely, shocks of surprise and awareness tearing through her scantily clad body.

Tyler held up a small black leather case. “I brought the salve for your hand.”

Dana unlatched the door, pushing it open to permit
him entry. The heat of his body intensified the fragrance of his cologne, the perfect complement to his body’s natural masculine scent.

Tyler felt his stomach muscles contract. He hadn’t expected to see so much of Dana’s silken flesh displayed, a pair of white shorts riding low on her slim hips and the matching skimpy tank top bearing her flat midriff. Turning, he stared at the perfection of her legs: firm thighs, curvy calves, and slender ankles. However, it was her high firm breasts under the top that captured his rapt attention. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he forced his gaze not to linger on the outline of the prominent nipples showing through the cotton fabric. His stare was bold, blatant, and when she turned to face him, Tyler was certain she could see the smoldering flame in his eyes.

Dana’s heart pounded an erratic rhythm as she felt the heat from Tyler’s gaze on her face. They stood less than a foot apart, their chests rising and falling in unison, and for the first in a long time she felt a strange shiver of desire settle in her center.

It had been six years since she’d been in a relationship with a man. She’d thought herself in love for the first time in her life; her perfect world had been shattered when Galvin Seely ended their affair abruptly, telling her he was moving to California to reunite with an old girlfriend. The unresolved issue of her inability to trust a man had again reared its ugly head, and she’d sworn she would never put her faith in another man as long as she lived.

At that moment she wanted Tyler gone. She did not want to feel what she was feeling. Clearing her throat and pretending not to be affected by his devastating virility, she smiled, holding out her uninjured hand.

“I’ll take the salve now, thank you.”

Tyler lifted an eyebrow and, if possible, his eyes darkened. “Let me look at your hand first.”

Her arm dropped to her side. “It’s okay.”

Reaching out, he cupped her elbow. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay after I examine it.”

He wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Did he know what he was doing to her? That he turned her on just by looking at her? She didn’t want to be attracted to a man, especially Dr. Tyler Cole, because she did not need or want any distractions. It would take her months to go over and analyze newspaper articles, as well as the court transcripts of her father’s trial. Then there would be interviews with her father’s attorney, the jurors, the prosecutors, the fire marshal, the coroner, and the technicians who’d gone over the crime scene. She even planned to study the report documenting her father’s suicide. Even though the case was more than twenty years old, she prayed some of people involved in the investigation and subsequent trial would still be alive.

Instead of asking Tyler to leave, she said, “We can sit out on the back porch.” She led the way across the living room and to the back of the house, his hand still cupping her elbow. She wanted to scream at him not to touch her, but didn’t, suffering his closeness.

Tyler followed Dana to the screened-in porch, admiring the profusion of flowering and potted plants. White and pistachio green wicker tables and chairs were covered with plush green-and-white chintz cushions and tablecloths, inviting one to come and stay a while.

And he wanted to stay for a long time. He wanted to stay long enough to discover exactly what it was about Dana Nichols that had him thinking about her when he least expected.

He’d found her beautiful, but so were a few other
women with whom he’d been involved; however, there was something about Dana—something intangible that drew him to her to the point he was helpless to resist the pull of her lush mouth, golden eyes, and sultry voice.

“We can sit here.”

Her voice pulled him from his reverie. “After you,” he said, pulling out one of the chairs at a round glass-topped table. He seated Dana and then shifted a matching chair, sitting down on her left.

Shivering despite the oppressive heat that seemed to linger long after the sun set, Dana forced herself not to look away from Tyler’s perfect symmetrical features. There was nothing about his face to denote that he was anything other than male, but his classically handsome features had a blatant sensuality she’d never encountered before.

She placed her left hand on the table as Tyler unzipped the black bag, withdrawing a pair of bandage scissors. Quickly, expertly, he removed the gauze, staring intently at the back of her hand.

“How does it look?”

His head came up and he smiled at her. “Good.”

“Can you leave the gauze off?”

He shook his head. “No. It should be covered for another day.”

“It handicaps me.”

“How?”

“I can’t eat or dress myself properly. How am I going to effectively comb my hair or brush my teeth?”

He went completely still. “You haven’t eaten anything since this morning?”

“How can I cook with only one hand?”

Tyler glared at her, frowning. “How do you expect to survive if you don’t eat? I’m going to dress your hand, then I’m going to take you out to dinner.”

“I’m not going out with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t go out dressed like this.”

His frown vanished, a slow grin taking its place. He lifted his curving eyebrows. “I happen to like what you’re wearing. If you want, I can help you change your clothes,” he added as her delicate jaw dropped.

Dana was relieved that lengthening shadows hid the flush in her cheeks, and she was angry with herself for being embarrassed. “Thanks, but no, thanks.”

“This is no time for you to be modest, Dana. I’ve seen so many female bodies over the years that I’ve lost count.”

At that moment, she did not care that he was a doctor, because she was unable to separate the man from his profession.

Tyler opened a tube of Silvadene, gently applying the salve to the tender flesh on the back of Dana’s hand. Then he withdrew a roll of nonstick gauze and wound it around her hand and fingers. Only her fingertips were visible. It had taken him less than five minutes to complete his ministrations.

“If you don’t want to go out, then you can come home with me. I’ll cook something for you.” She opened her mouth to refuse him, but he held up his hand. “Enough, Dana.” His voice was soft and firm at the same time. “Go put some shoes on. I’ll wait for you outside.”

He left the tube of Silvadene on the table, repacked the case, rose to his feet, and walked away, leaving Dana to glare at his broad shoulders under the white T-shirt.

She sat, arms crossed under her breasts as fury nearly choked her. She was not one of his nurses that he could intimidate just by glaring at her. If he’d asked her politely, she would comply with his request because
she was hungry. However, she did not take orders from any man!

And as if her stomach could read her thoughts, it rumbled loudly. Dana had barely eaten her breakfast, and she’d drunk water most of the day, because she hadn’t been able to move the fingers on her left hand to manipulate them enough to even open a can of tuna. The day she’d arrived in Hillsboro, she’d cleaned out her grandmother’s refrigerator of leftovers, planning to restock it once she settled in. Well, she had settled in and she was temporarily handicapped. It had taken her more than twenty minutes to change her clothes. Her stomach rumbled again, and she knew she was just being stubborn. She stood up at the same time Tyler reappeared.

“I’m coming,” she snapped angrily.

“I just came back to see if you needed my help.” His voice was soft and comforting.

Her defiance dissipated quickly. Since she’d met Tyler Cole earlier that morning, all he had done was help her. She was hungry. and he’d offered to feed her. And she knew if she didn’t put some food into her stomach, in another hour she would wind up with a pounding headache.

Tilting her chin, she smiled up at him through her lashes, unaware of the seductiveness of the gesture. “Will you do something for me?”

His gaze lingered on her parted lips. “What?”

“Please turn off stereo and put out the candles while I get my shoes.”

“Sure.”

She followed Tyler back into the house, mounting the staircase to the second floor while he retreated to the living room. Walking into her bedroom, she stared down at her toes. They were covered with a light film
of dust. She couldn’t go out with dirty feet, even if no one saw her other than Tyler.

Making her way to the bathroom, she sat on the side of the tub and turned on the faucet, letting warm water wash over her feet. Reaching for a towel on a nearby bar, she blotted away the water, using her right hand.

Tyler was leaning against the bumper of his truck when she finally closed the outer door, locking it behind her. Four young girls were in the middle of the street, jumping Double Dutch as several others waited their turn. A smile touched her lips. When she was younger, she’d also played in the street, jumping Double Dutch and playing various other games that had been passed down through generations. All of her friends had been black girls, while the girls now jumping rope were black, white, and Mexican-American. At one time Hillsboro had had an all-black population. But that had changed along with everything else. A car manufacturing plant had set up production in Hillsboro two years before, bringing newcomers to the region while adding longtime residents for their workforce. Hillsboro was now representative of the many ethnic and racial groups in most towns and cities in America.

Tyler opened the passenger-side door for Dana, his hands going around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly onto the leather seat. Winking at her, he closed the door, rounded the black BMW X5, and took his seat behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition and cool air flowed from the vents, washing over her moist face.