by Kaylea Cross
“Recently that’s only because of Rayne.” The pang hit her so hard her eyes stung. “He’s been so wonderful with me through this whole thing.”
“I should hope so. I can’t imagine how it feels, having a violent man following you around.”
Christa shuddered. “It’s turned my whole life upside down. But the worst part is not knowing...when he’ll come after me again. I don’t feel really safe anywhere.”
“Just as well Rayne brought you down here then, away from all that.”
She blew out a breath and gave a weak laugh, the urge to cry subsiding. “Got any of those naked baby pictures you were telling me about?”
“Albums and albums of them,” Emily said happily, and went to dig them out.
Christa enjoyed getting to know Rayne and his family through the visual history captured on the pages. One picture of Luke with Rayne perched on his broad shoulders, fishing rods in hand, reminded her of what Rayne had told her about the last fishing trip they were supposed to have taken. She tried to flip the page and distract Emily in case it triggered that same memory, but it was too late.
“This was the day before he left.” Her face was pale, her eyes haunted. “I’d forgotten I even took it.” She stared at it as if trying to make sense of it all.
Christa waited. She was ready for tears, yelling, whatever. Anything would be better than the lost expression on the older woman’s face.
“Anyway,” Emily continued, turning the page, “this is Rayne and me with Luke’s mom in Montreal. He was born up there while we were at his grandpa’s funeral, you know.”
Luke was conspicuously absent, and she didn’t think it was because he was away on a mission. Obviously, Emily had packed up her son and taken him to be with Luke’s family. Empathy welled inside her. How could anyone pick themselves up and carry on when the love of their life walked away? She bit her lip, refusing to get teary again, although her eyes were stinging.
Emily’s expression melted. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Really.” She pulled Christa into an embrace, patted her back with a little laugh. “I appreciate the sympathy, I do, but don’t you dare cry. If you cry, then I’ll cry too and Rayne will come home to a flood.”
She forced a watery smile as she pulled back. “Sorry. I think I’m overtired.”
“Well then, that’s enough nostalgia for one evening. Why don’t you go up and tuck yourself in? There’s nothing like sleeping in an antique bed for curing jetlag.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She rose and cleared the coffee table. “Would you tell Rayne I said to give him a kiss goodnight?”
“‘Course. Sleep well, honey.”
“Thanks, you too.” She rinsed the dishes before heading upstairs. She brushed her teeth and washed her face in the guest bathroom that featured a claw-footed tub and a pedestal sink, then climbed into the old four-poster and pulled the down comforter over her with a sigh. The rustle of palmetto branches breezed through the open window, interspersed by the occasional swish of traffic along the street below. Even at this hour the air was muggy, the cotton sheets sticking to her skin, the unfamiliar music of cicadas drifting in from the garden.
As she stared up at the silk canopy it was easy to imagine the house ringing with laughter at Christmastime, Rayne as a little boy, his eyes lit with the magic of it all. Easy to imagine Luke and Emily on the porch swing together after they’d put their son to bed, basking in the simple pleasure of each other’s company.
She lay there in the darkness, aching for Emily and Luke and wondering what the future had in store for her and Rayne. She hoped their story would have a happy ending.
****
Emily sat curled in the chair next to the fireplace, the photo album on her lap. She stared down at the last picture she’d taken of Luke, bleeding inside. All these years she’d wondered what she could have done to convince him to stay. The awful day he’d left had changed her life forever, would always be burned into her memory. Her fingers trailed over the faint scar under the angle of her jaw, below her earlobe.
She lifted a hand to her face, realized she was crying and berating herself for opening old wounds, wiped away the tears. Part of her still felt broken inside, even after twenty-three years without him. To this day she’d kept her dark secret, having told Rayne only that she and his dad couldn’t live together anymore. She hadn’t wanted to further damage Rayne’s image of his father, plus she’d known it would kill Luke if their son were ever to be afraid of him. So for all these years she’d kept silent, but now she questioned her decision.
“Mom?”
Rayne’s voice snapped her back to the present and she found him standing in the doorway, concern furrowing his handsome face. He resembled Luke so much, it sometimes hurt to look at him.
“Hi, sweetheart.” She tried her best to put on a happy face. “How was your night?”
He took a seat on the couch. “It was great to see the guys again. You okay?” He glanced down at the photo album. “Took a walk down memory lane, did we?”
Emily set it on the table, once again closing the door on the past. “Christa was disappointed there were only a few naked baby pictures.”
He sank back into the cushions. “What do you think of her?”
“I’m already in love with her.” She took his hand in hers. “She seems like an absolute sweetheart, and I’m so happy for you.”
He grinned and squeezed her chilled fingers. “I knew you’d like her.”
“She’s exactly what you need.” Exactly the sort of woman she’d always hoped her son would choose. Maybe she’d done a decent job with him after all.
He rubbed a hand on his jean-clad thighs before standing. “Is she asleep already?” His eyes tracked to the staircase.
“About an hour ago now. She was exhausted so I sent her up to bed. She said to give you a kiss goodnight.”
He scratched his neck, stood there.
Emily arched a brow. “You look like something’s on your mind. Is it about the little boy?”
“That’s on my mind too, but no.” He paused in front of the fireplace.
“Did your father call you?”
He tensed. “No, and before you ask, I didn’t call him either.”
Her stomach knotted, as it always did whenever they skirted this subject. “I did. To tell him what happened.” She ignored the spark of resentment in his eyes. “He had a right to know, Rayne. No matter what happened he’s still your father, and if anyone knows what you’re going through, he does.”
“Mom, I don’t want to—”
“I told him you might be going down to visit him.”
“You what?” Anger tightened his face. “That’s about the last thing I want to do.”
She ached at his suffering, much as he tried to hide it. “Honey, I was only trying to help. He’s been where you are, so I thought if you could talk to him...” That they might be able to finally clear things up between them. Bond a bit.
The silence stretched taut, the muscles in his jaw tensed. “All right,” he said at length, “I’ll call him. But I’m not making any promises.”
Relief surged through her. “I understand.”
“Anyway, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about and I don’t want to put it off anymore. It’s kind of important.”
A flutter of nerves started in her belly. “Right now?”
“Yeah, if that’s all right. In the library?”
Her eyebrows shot up beneath her bangs. The last time she’d had a discussion in the library it had been right before Luke had hauled Rayne away to join the Marines. “Sure,” she forced out, and followed him. He closed the mahogany pocket door behind them, then stood there.
Emily watched him with growing trepidation. “You’ve got a terminal disease and you only have six months to live,” she guessed.
He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and huffed out a laugh. “Nothing that dramatic,” he assured her, then dropped his hand to his side with a sigh. “
I think you’d better sit down, Mom.”
She’d known this conversation would happen one day, but it didn’t make the sick feeling any easier to bear. Time to pay the piper.
Emily dropped into a ladder-backed chair like a sack of cement and cocked an eyebrow at her son, drumming her fingers on the wooden arm. This had better be good.
****
Twenty awkward minutes later his mother shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the mahogany paneled library. He’d always loved this room, its smells of leather furniture and old books reminding him of his father. When he’d come home between missions and training ops he’d spent hours in here while Rayne laid on the floor coloring or playing with his action figures. He’d keep looking over at his dad seated in the tufted armchair behind the antique desk with a book and a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, content to be in the same room with him.
Now he sat in that same chair across from the fireplace, its mantel crowded with photos of him and his parents. A carriage clock ticked next to them.
It wasn’t quite midnight, an hour earlier than that in Baton Rouge. His dad would still be awake, a nighthawk who often stayed up until three in the morning. If he went to bed at all, that is. Whether because of years dealing with sleep deprivation in covert ops, or because of nightmares, Rayne couldn’t say.
He stared at the desk phone, contemplating what to say, wondering whether this would be yet another exercise in futility. The hell with it. He dialed the number.
His dad answered on the second ring. “Em?”
“No, it’s...me.”
Silence filled the line. “Your mother told me you nearly bought it the other day. How you feeling?”
He rubbed a hand over his cramping stomach. Talking to his old man always did this to him. “Not bad. My arm still hurts like a bitch.”
“Yeah, bullets will do that to you. You going for physical therapy yet?”
“Not until I get back. They wanted me to heal up a bit before I started.”
“They get you help after the debriefing at least?”
He shifted in his chair. “Yeah, they made me talk to a shrink about it.”
His dad grunted. “I bet that did a hell of a lot.”
“Whatever. It’s protocol.” He was balancing on an emotional tightrope, this whole conversation potentially a bad idea.
“You got your girl down there with you?”
Relieved at the change of subject, his shoulders loosened a bit. “She’s a real keeper. Mom’s crazy about her already.”
“Now there’s a surprise.” Luke gave a dry chuckle. “I’d like to meet the lady who brought my son to his knees.”
There it was, the proverbial olive branch, tentatively offered. He knew how difficult it must have been for his father to reach out, and he wasn’t such a jerk that he’d throw it back in his face. Besides, if he planned to make a life with Christa, he owed it to her to at least try and put the demons of his childhood abandonment to rest.
“Yeah, she’d like that, I’ve told her all about you.”
His dad let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I’ll bet you have.”
Later, when he climbed the stairs and peeked in on her, she was fast asleep, curled on her side, breathing slow and steady. The sight of her so peaceful squeezed his heart. The mattress dipped as he sat on its edge and she awoke in a rush.
“Hey,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. In ten lifetimes he’d never get tired of the warm, sleek feel of her. “Have a good time with your pals?”
“Not as much as I used to. I missed you.”
“Liar.” A smile tinged her voice.
“It’s true. I spent most of the night either telling the guys about you or thinking about you.” He lay down beside her. “Shhh,” he said when she stiffened. “I just want to hold you for a while.”
“But your mom—”
“Is downstairs.” Imagine him as a grown man having to sneak in to his girlfriend’s room like a horny teenager. He wrapped himself around her, sighing in contentment. “I talked to my dad tonight.”
“You did? How’d it go?” Her whisper was a little strained as he nuzzled the tender spot under her earlobe, her pulse hammering under his lips. After a moment more, she tipped her head back with a sigh to allow him better access.
He smiled against her smooth skin, loving the way her breath shortened when he nuzzled her. “Better than I expected. I told him we’d maybe drive down there for a few days. Okay with you?” His hand moved to give his arm a more comfortable position, deliberately brushing her breast.
She gasped and pressed harder into his hand. “Sure. I’d love to meet him.” Careful of his arm and ribs, she rolled on top of him and pressed a kiss against his lips. He pulled back and frowned at her.
“You been crying?”
“What?”
“Your eyelashes are wet.”
She rolled back beside him to prop her head on one hand. “All these years later your mom still misses your dad. It made me sad.”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty fucked-up situation, huh?”
“Sad,” she corrected.
He trailed his fingers over her cheek. “I would never do that to you, darlin’.”
He sensed, rather than saw, her brows rise.
“If we ever got married,” he clarified, part of him still cringing at the vulnerability. For him, the mere mention of marriage was a huge step, and saying it aloud made him feel exposed. “Once I made that commitment, I’d be in it for the long haul.”
The frown creasing her forehead made him fidget. His damn face was getting hot.
“I’m just saying I’d never walk out on you like he did her.”
Her answering smile was so full of love he ached inside. She made him want to be a better man. “I already knew that, but I love you more for telling me. And I’m proud of you for calling him. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“Hell of a lot easier than keeping my hands off you right now.”
Between the debriefings, doctors appointments and flight to Charleston, they’d barely had time to breathe let alone make love. Even when they’d finally crawled into bed together at night, he’d been too damn sore to do anything more than hold her. But he was feeling more than up to it now. The thought tied his guts in knots. He wouldn’t push her right now though, since she was nervous enough already. Having her lie there with one ear cocked for the sound of his mother approaching wasn’t real conducive to the mood he wanted for them. Maybe he should put her in the car and drive to the nearest hotel...
She snickered, easing the pressure in his chest. “You know what they say, good things come to those who wait.” Lying pressed against him, he could practically feel the unfulfilled need humming inside her.
He swallowed, forcing himself to stop imagining pulling the nightgown off her and sliding deep inside her while she moaned and squeezed around him. God. It made him crazy to know how much she wanted him and not be able to have her. “Yeah. Good thing you’re worth it.” Truth was, he hated sleeping without her beside him. At least with her there, it was a little easier to forget the look in Daniel’s eyes as he’d stared at him from across that filthy shack.
Pushing it all away with a deep sigh, he tucked her close and held her until she fell asleep, savoring the welcome sense of rightness.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m just saying that if the Confederates took the first shot, then technically it can’t be called the war of northern aggression,” Christa argued.
Rayne feigned horror and pulled her close, clapping a hand over her mouth and glancing around. “Shhh! That’s blasphemy down here.”
She yanked his hand away and gave him a mock glare, trying not to laugh. They stood in Battery Park, where in April, 1861, the cannons had opened up on Fort Sumter. Michael would be proud of her. “Can you believe people went up to the rooftops and watched the firing back and forth across the harbor?” With a sweep of her arm she indicated the row of stately antebellum hou
ses lining the street opposite the boardwalk. “Can you imagine standing up there watching your city firing on a federal garrison?”
The late afternoon sun angled overhead, bathing everything in brushstrokes of molten gold. They strolled around the historic district, past the Rainbow Row pastel houses and the palmettos ruffling in the salty breeze rising off Charleston harbor as sparkles scattered across the water. Passing a wrought iron gate, she peeked into a courtyard where the trickling of a weathered marble fountain called to her. The sweetness of roses filled the humid air, almost dizzying in their fragrance. Paradise.
“The gardens down here are so amazing,” she said, admiring the old-fashioned rose winding over the porch. “I should have brought my fancy camera with me, so I could use some of this in my next project. People are big on old-fashioned landscaping, you know. I wish I could—ulp—”
He jerked her backward with one hand on her upper arm and pressed her against the cotton shirt pulled taut between his shoulder blades, shielding her there, his eyes riveted across the street.
Her heart stuttered as she tried peer past him. “What?”
He remained immobile, his muscles tensed. “Wait.”
She gulped, fingers curling into his shirt.
Several agonizing moments later he steered her from behind him. “Sorry. False alarm.”
She gaped at him. “You thought you saw him, didn’t you?” He scanned the street again, didn’t answer. “You think he could have followed me here?” Chasing her to the other side of the continent wasn’t totally beyond feasible for an obsessed stalker.
“I didn’t say that.”
Her heart thumped. He hadn’t said anything, which spoke for itself.
“Don’t worry, okay? It wasn’t him and I overreacted. But just to play it safe, I’ll call it in to Nate.”
