Lawman's Redemption (19 page)

“Have you tried to find him?”

“A time or two. Not seriously. He left me a note the night he took off—one line.
Damn you.
He ran away from me as much as from our parents. The least I can do is respect that.”

Hallie stared at him in dismay. “Brady, he didn't mean that! He was a
child!
”

“We were never children.”

His tone was so even and casual, but the words and the truth behind them sent a shiver through her. She responded by snuggling even closer, as if he could protect her. But all she needed protection from was his memories. Everything he'd gone through made her sick at heart.

And yet he'd survived—not without scars, both inside and out, but he was a kind, honorable, respected and admired man. He didn't have many friends, but Neely and Reese loved him. Lexy loved him. And Hallie….

Deliberately she redirected her thoughts from too-dangerous-on-a-lazy-morning territory. “Tell me you have at least one good memory from your childhood.”

He took a moment to think about it. “My grandmother—my mother's mother—lived down the road from us in a little white farmhouse with dark green shutters, a porch across the front and a swing on the porch, and she smelled of fresh-baked bread and roses. Every time I went over there, we'd sit on the porch swing and she would hold me in her lap and tell me stories, feed me cookies and make me feel safe…. She died when I was five.”

And thirty years later he'd bought his own little white farmhouse with dark green shutters, a front porch and a swing.

And last night those bastards had destroyed it.

She was trying to think of something else to ask when a knock sounded at the door. “Are you guys ever gonna get up so we can eat?” Lexy called.

Predictably, Brady turned crimson. “Aw, hell, I meant to be back in the guest room before she woke up.”

Hallie slid out of his arms and located her chemise on the night table. Funny. She didn't remember putting it there. She certainly didn't remember folding it. “She's fourteen,” she said as she tugged the garment over her head, “and she probably knows more about sex than you and I did when we were twenty—and we were both married. She wouldn't have been fooled.”

She turned to get his clothes, but there was no sign of them. No T-shirt carelessly tossed aside, no jeans left in a pile on the rug, no boxers tossed heaven knows where.

“I've got Brady's clothes,” Lexy called. “What do you want me to do with them?”

Opening the door, Hallie gave the girl a bright smile. “Your dad cooks and cleans and you do laundry? You guys are a prize.”

“I only do laundry when all my clothes go up in smoke.” Lexy handed over a messily folded stack of clothes. “It's lunchtime, and we missed breakfast.”

“We'll be right out.”

Hallie closed the door, then set the clothes on the dresser. Brady was lying on his back, the cover pulled up to somewhere around his nose, but it couldn't hide the color in his cheeks.

“She came in here while we were asleep,” he said with a scowl.

“Yes, she did, and she washed all the smoky smells out of the only clothes you own, so show some gratitude, grumpy.”

“Why don't you come over here and make me?”

She sashayed to the bed and climbed right up into his lap. “I know some tricks that will turn Mr. Grumpy into Mr. Happy like that—” she snapped her fingers “—but not until I get a shower and some food.” He'd just slid his hand under her gown to cup her bottom when she wriggled away and off the bed.

“Give me ten minutes, then we'll fix your cast so you can shower, too.”

Brady watched her leave the room before he slowly sat up. He wrapped the quilt around him, then reached for his jeans to get one of the pain pills the ER doc had given him. The pockets
were empty, of course, so he put the jeans on, left the bedroom and followed the tinny sound of music escaping headphones through the kitchen and into the dining room. Lexy sat at the table, headphones covering her ears, a journal closed in front of her and an assortment of items on the table.

He pulled out the chair across from her. There was the paper packet of pills, his keys, his badge and wallet, along with seventy-eight cents. The only other things he'd stuck in his pockets were the photographs, and they were in Lexy's hands.

“Hey.” When he got no response, he reached across the table and waved his fingers in front of her.

She looked up, offered a tight smile, then pushed the headphones down around her neck. “Hey. How's your hand?”

“Better. You want to turn that down?”

Sliding her hand into the backpack that hung on the next chair, she shut off the music, then unhooked the headphones. “I, uh…I found these in your pocket.” She thrust one photo toward him.

“Who is that? It looks like you, but not.”

He glanced at the familiar face, taken Logan's sophomore year in school. Funny. His brother was thirty-three now—if he was even alive—but Brady still thought of him as a fifteen-year-old kid. He couldn't imagine how Logan the man would look.

Maybe like him, but not.

“That's my brother, Logan.”

Lexy's eyes widened, and he realized the bar that usually extended through her brow was gone. Lost in the fire, he hoped. “You have a brother? I have an uncle? That's so cool! Where is he? Can I meet him? Does he know about me?”

“I haven't seen him since right after that picture was taken. He ran away from home and never came back.”

“Oh. Well, that's still cool I have an uncle. Uncle Logan.” She grinned, then tossed out another picture. “Who's that?”

“My grandmother. Your great-grandmother.”

“Huh. I didn't think either of your parents came from mothers. Bet she's dead, 'cause she's pretty old in this picture, and it's an old picture.”

“Yeah, she's been dead a long time.”

“Was she Jim's mother or Rita's?”

“Rita's. But she wasn't like Rita at all. You would have liked her, and she would have loved you.”

“Really.” Lexy looked intrigued by the idea for a moment or two as she shuffled through the remaining photos. Finally she laid one on the table between them and waited.

Brady smiled faintly. If he closed his eyes and let himself remember, he would still be able to smell the scents he'd quickly come to associate with Lexy—baby powder, baby shampoo, burped-up apple juice and that sweet, innocent, indefinable
something
that had filled him with such…love.

Until Sandra had taken it away.

“That's you and me.”

“I know,” she murmured.

“You were ten weeks old.”

“You looked like a baby yourself without the mustache.”

“That's why I grew it.”

She moved to sit in the chair at the head of the table, so she could see the photo, too. “You looked—” She drew a breath, then rushed the words. “You looked like you liked me.”

“Nah, I didn't like you,” he said, putting on a careless tone. Then he looked at her. “You were my daughter, my baby. And I…” They weren't difficult words—just sounds that could mean everything or nothing at all. People said them all the time, and no one needed to hear them more than Lexy…except possibly him.

“I—I loved you.” His face grew hot again, but she didn't seem to notice.

“Then why did you leave me? Why did you forget all about me?”

“I didn't forget you. You were a baby, Lexy. I couldn't take you with me.” As far as he'd known, he'd had no right to take her. No right ever to see her again.

“Then why didn't you stay in town? Why didn't you stick close by so I could see you?”

“I couldn't. Between your mother and my—my parents, I couldn't stay.”

She sat back in her chair. “So it was Sandra's fault. Of course.”

“No, it wasn't—” How many lies did he want to tell her? He was already playing father to her, when odds were even that he wasn't. If he was, Sandra had cheated him of fourteen years with her. Either way, she'd denied Lexy a father. All the problems and hurts were Sandra's doing. Did he really want to lie to defend her?

Before he'd reached a decision, Hallie's voice drifted through the air. “Brady, I'm out of the bathroom. If you want to take a shower, I'll help you cover your cast.”

“Okay.” He gathered the photos together, then left them on the table as he stood up. Pausing beside Lexy, he laid his hand on her shoulder. “I didn't want to leave you, Lex, and I never forgot you. You got caught in the fallout when things went bad between your mother and me, and I regret that more than I can say.”

She nodded, then forced a smile. “Hey, I'm here now. That's what counts, right?”

“Now, and whenever you want in the future.” He awkwardly hugged her, then headed off for his shower, to be followed, he hoped, by lunch. He needed all the energy he could get. They had a lot to do that afternoon—shopping, Hallie had reminded him with unholy glee—then tonight, bed. Just the two of them. Again.

He met Hallie in the bathroom, where she gestured for him to sit on a wooden stool. The air was steamy and smelled of flowers and citrus, and the same fragrances clung to Hallie, who wore nothing more than a bath towel knotted between her breasts with a smaller towel holding her wet hair on top of her head.

“I've had plenty of broken bones,” he remarked as she secured a plastic bag over his cast, “but I don't remember them being such a nuisance before.”

“How many is ‘plenty'?”

He shrugged. “I told you my father liked to use his fists to discipline us—to the tune of five broken ribs, three arms, one collarbone, a dozen or so fingers and one skull fracture.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a time it seemed she'd stopped breathing. He slid his good arm around her waist and pulled her to stand between his knees. “It's all right.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly. “You're a hell of a man, Brady.”

No…but he was a survivor. And that was something.

After a moment, she stepped back. “You're ready for your shower. If you need anything, just yell. And—” her eyes took on a wicked gleam “—I'd be happy to shave you if you decide you don't like the desperado look. Frankly, though, I find it one heck of a turn-on.” With that, she turned and strolled from the room.

Brady was grinning as he turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, then stepped under its spray. He didn't reach for the razor hanging there, though.

After a remark like that, he might never shave again.

 

The next few days passed uneventfully—though the nights…my, oh my. Hallie couldn't remember the last time her nights had been so amazing that she'd wanted to hurry through the day to get to them. She and Brady made love, which was incredible, but even more special, they talked late into the night, with shadows surrounding them and only the thin light from the moon seeping into the room. She told him things about her marriages that she'd never been able to share with her sisters for fear they would think she was an even bigger idiot than they'd known. He found a few more good memories from his childhood, mostly having to do with Logan, and they talked about Lexy and her future.

But not
their
future.

Probably because they didn't have one—at least, not together.

He went back to work on Thursday, claiming he was ready and that the rain falling since dawn, though desperately needed, would give the department extra calls. Lexy had teased that it was to escape all the shopping. In one and a half days, they'd replaced her wardrobe as well as much of his, and he'd bought new uniforms and picked up a new pistol. Too bad he hadn't had that pistol one of the times his mother had picked up a belt, Hallie thought. The idea of someone putting the fear of God into the woman gave her a great deal of satisfaction.

“You know, this isn't bad,” Lexy announced.

Hallie didn't look up from the cookbook she was flipping through while making a grocery list. “What isn't, sweetie?”

“
This.
You, me, Brady, living here. Like a real family.”

Then Hallie did look. “You and Brady
are
a real family.”

“And you. We want you to be part of it, too.”

Maybe she did, but Hallie wasn't so sure about Brady. Oh, she knew he cared for her…but that was a long way from what she wanted. And he'd made it clear from the beginning that he had less than no interest in anything permanent. Of course, people could change their minds, and sometimes when he looked at her in a certain way, or when he revealed some intimately painful memory to her, she was sure he had. But other times…He was so careful not to talk about permanence, commitment or love.

Truth was, she didn't know if he'd changed at all or if thinking so was merely wishful on her part. Maybe he was simply taking advantage of what she offered so freely—nursemaid, baby-sitter, landlady and lover, all in one. Maybe she should have held out for something concrete in return.

But she
had
something—a family. Maybe not real, maybe only temporary, but the stuff her dreams were made of.

“Are you in love with my dad?”

“Do you think I would tell you if I were?” She hadn't even admitted it to herself yet. As long as she didn't put a name to what she was feeling, it would be easier to recover from if it ended in failure. An affair ending badly could be painful, but it had nothing on a loved-him-and-lost-him broken heart.

Or so she told herself.

Lexy gave her a sly look. “No matter what Sandra says, I bet he'd be a good husband. And then you could be my stepmother, and when I come back for Thanksgiving, you'd be here, too.”

“Well, you'll see me anyway,” Hallie said, striving to sound cheerful. “Neely's invited all of us to come for Thanksgiving.”