In the Midnight Hour

by Kimberly Raye

  “You’re coming to dinner at my house next week.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Make time.”

  “Jenny, finals are in a few weeks. I’ve got this Guidry project. My diploma’s on the line.”

  “Okay, but first thing after graduation, you’re coming to my house for dinner and I plan on having at least three eligible friends of Matt’s there, and you will have a lurid one-night stand with one of them if I have to set it up and oversee the damned thing myself.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Speaking of moms, I’ve got a crate of strawberries overflowing in my trunk. Your mom dropped them by yesterday after I happened to mention I’d be seeing you today. Said she bought too many at the produce store and thought I might like them.”

  “But she knows you hate strawberries.”

  “And she knows you love them.”

  For the first time in a long time, Ronnie let herself remember something other than her father’s bitter words. She thought of homemade strawberry pies, her father’s favorite, and how she and her mother had baked several for every conceivable special occasion. The annual church bazaar. The Fourth of July. Her father’s birthday. How watching her father enjoy the first bite, had always filled her with a strange sense of pride.

  “Earth to Ronnie,” Jenny said, waving a forkful of lasagna. “I vote you give your mom a break and call her.”

  “I always do. Last month when you brought me the canned cucumbers. The month before when you brought the peaches. The month before that when you brought pears. I call and say thanks, she says to make sure I eat right, then my dad asks who she’s talking to. She says, ‘Your daughter, Hank.’ He asks, ‘What daughter?’ And that’s the end of the phone call.” Ronnie sighed and Jenny patted her hand.

  “He misses you, Ronnie. I don’t care what he says. He’s hurting.”

  “He’s mad, and unless I crawl home ready to be what he wants me to be, he’ll never forgive me.”

  “As stubborn as your father is, I’d say you’re right. But forever’s an awful long time and I know he still loves you. They both do.”

  “I know that.” Her mom’s produce efforts, her father’s belated pause before he said the dreaded words “What daughter?” They did still love her. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, honey. Love makes the world go ’round.”

  If only. But love wasn’t enough to make her father eat his words, or her mother openly defy her husband to stay in touch with her only daughter personally, rather than using the vegetable excuse.

  Love was … just love. Nice, but not powerful in the least. Not to overcome any and all odds. Not like people romanticized in songs and books and movies. In real life, love complicated rather than changed things, because the more you loved, the more you hurt.

  “Speaking of which,” Jenny said, grinning, and Ronnie knew she was about to get the monthly lecture on her nonexistent love life. “When are you going to give up the books for a few hours, find yourself a hunk, and have some wild, hot sex?”

  “That’s not love, it’s lust.”

  “The next best thing. Hey,” Jenny’s face brightened. “You know what you need?”

  “Money?”

  “Try again.”

  “A great diet?”

  “Strike two.”

  “Some peace and quiet so I can study?”

  “Boring.” Jenny made a face. “What you need is the Smile.”

  “I have a smile.”

  “Not a smile. The Smile. A surefire guarantee to a date. The next time you meet a cute guy, make eye contact and open your mouth like this.” Jenny demonstrated. “When I’m in the mood, I give Matt the Smile.”

  “And that turns him on?”

  “At least three guaranteed times.”

  “Three? But you’ve only got two …” She smiled. “You’re pregnant.”

  “Four months. Can you believe I thought I was just eating too many cupcakes?” Jenny beamed. “The Smile never fails.”

  They hugged and Jenny spent the rest of lunch talking about her plans for the new baby.

  “What do you think of Millicent for a girl or James for a boy?”

  “They’re both nice.”

  “I don’t know. Matt’s great-aunt is named Millicent and if I name the baby that, then my mom is liable to get upset that I didn’t pick a name from my side of the family, but my only aunt’s name is Gertrude and I’m not naming my daughter that.…”

  Ronnie had listened to the name hunt for each of Jenny’s first two and she’d always felt relieved not to have to make such a decision. She’d already made her choice. A career rather than baby.

  But as she sat there, staring at the smile on Jenny’s face, hearing the wistfulness in her voice, she actually started to wonder what she was missing.

  Geez, not only were her hormones kicking up a ruckus, but her motherly instincts were stirring to life. She could practically hear her dad saying, “I told you, Veronica. If you had only listened. Obeyed. I told you.…”

  Someone Upstairs was definitely out to get her.

  “Where are you going, Norman Nathaniel Terribone?”

  “To Buddy’s. It’s poker night,” he told the blonde standing in the bedroom doorway, watching him lace up his tennis shoes.

  “But you played cards last night and the night before.”

  “I’m on a winning streak, babe.” He yanked on a new T-shirt and snatched up his car keys.

  “But I miss you.” Her soft voice echoed in his ears and he halted in the doorway. “You’re out every night, damn near all night. I’m getting lonely.”

  “I know,” he said, sweeping a fingertip along the curve of her face. She was so soft and sexy and damned irresistible.

  But that didn’t seem to matter to Mac.

  It would. Soon Mac would be standing up and taking notice of pretty Norma Renee and everything would be all right.

  “I was hoping we could spend some time together.” She rubbed up against him.

  His breath caught and his attention centered on Mac lying so complacently against his thigh. Nothing. Not even a twinge, and Norma Renee was not only the love of his life, but a grade-A female.

  “I was going to take a shower. You could join me. I’ll wash your back,” she gave him a sultry smile, “and your front.”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight, babe. I can’t call it quits with the boys now. Stakes are high. I’m this close to winning the pot.” He gave her a lingering kiss and ignored the guilt that niggled his gut.

  A guy had to do what a guy had to do even if it did involve lying to his intended. Besides, Norman was doing this for the both of them, to bring them closer, to give Mac some damned incentive and Norma the husband she deserved. A good provider and a good lover. Working for his father at the restaurant, Norman had the first one licked. It was the second one he had to work on.

  He headed outside, mentally counting deep breaths, just the way the doc had taught him. It was all about relaxing. Being stress-free.

  But how could he be stress-free when the sight of Norma Renee taking her pleasure without him was eating him up inside?

  He needed satisfaction, needed to work out his aggression in some physical way. That’s what the doc had told him, and that’s what he intended to do. He was this close.

  Outside the house he shared with his sweet Norma Renee, he climbed into his T-Bird and started the engine. As usual, she purred like a newly stroked kitten. Norman pulled out his notebook from the glove compartment and his ax from beneath the seat. Tools of the trade.

  He flipped on the radio, smiled as the King crooned “Love Me Tender,” and headed for the Dupré Library. It was just about time for Veronica Parrish to get off work.

  The minute Ronnie arrived home after her shift at the library, she had barely enough time to store her strawberries in the fridge before Suzanne knocked on her door. Jenny’s wonderful news and all the talk about love and family had
chipped away at Ronnie’s defenses and she actually welcomed the twin terrors.

  They really were adorable.

  And so loving.

  A tangle of arms smothered her in a fierce hug before she found herself freed as the kids turned their attention to her computer.

  “Now, kids, don’t touch that,” Ronnie called out as they raced across the room, fascinated by the colorful screen and her spreadsheet.… Oh, God, her spreadsheet.

  Eager fingers flew across her keyboard, her screen bleeped, then went dead, and Ronnie’s heart stopped beating, which pretty much set the mood for the rest of the evening.

  “Now, children. Leave Aunt Ronnie’s stuff alone.” Suzanne turned back to Ronnie. “Don’t worry. They’ll be out like lights in no time.”

  Right. Over the course of the next few hours, the twins had enough energy to turn sane, practical Ronnie into a screaming, hair-pulling woman who resorted to bribery to get the little angels to close their eyes.

  “Ice cream,” she vowed. “We’ll go out for ice cream next Saturday if you just close your eyes for five minutes.”

  “With rainbow sprinkles?” Brandy asked, peeking from one eye.

  “Yes.”

  “But I want chocolate sprinkles,” Randy chimed in.

  “You’ll get chocolate and Brandy will get rainbow.”

  “How come she gets rainbow and I have to have chocolate?”

  “I thought you wanted chocolate.”

  “I want chocolate,” Brandy chimed in. “And rainbow.”

  “So do I.”

  “Then you’ll both have rainbow and chocolate and Aunt Ronnie will have a lobotomy.”

  “What’s a ’bonomy?” Brandy asked.

  “Can I have one?” Randy begged.

  “Sure you can,” Ronnie muttered under her breath. “And Aunt Ronnie would be more than happy to give it to you.” The bribes turned to threats, the threats to pleading, until Ronnie was simply too exhausted to think, much less form a coherent, convincing argument on why the twins should stop torturing her and please, please go to sleep. She closed her own eyes and tried to tune out the twins fighting over which cartoon character was the prettiest—Snow White or Pocahontas.

  Ronnie was vaguely aware of the voices fading, the heavy weight of two small bodies as they collapsed onto her lap and vied for a comfortable position. Then quiet settled in. Blessed quiet …

  It wasn’t until the clock struck two a.m. that her eyelids fluttered open.

  Through a sleepy daze, she saw Val sitting on the edge of the bed, a strange light in his eyes, a half-smile curving his sensuous lips. “You’ve got the touch.”

  She yawned. “The touch?” Her eyelids drifted partially closed, sleep lulling her back.

  “A way with children. My father always said that you can tell how good a mother a woman will be by how she touches a child, any child. Soft but firm. You’re going to make a good mother someday.”

  “Normally I’d say maybe, someday far, far into the future. But after tonight, I’m seriously considering having everything sewn up.”

  “Don’t you like children?”

  The question pricked at her conscience and she let out a deep sigh. “I like them all right, but later. Much later,” she added as she glanced down and saw the fingerprints smudging her T-shirt.

  “Why not now?”

  “I intend to build a dynamite career first, and that takes time and effort and dedication if you intend to be successful, and I do.”

  “You would rather work than have a child?” At his incredulous expression, she frowned.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Because—”

  “—I’m a woman,” she cut in, “and women are supposed to be content being barefoot and pregnant, cooking and cleaning. Women can do other things besides have children.”

  “Of course they can. Women are smart, beautiful, talented, and they have the ability to give mankind the greatest, most wondrous treasure of all. Why would they want to do anything else?”

  “Because …” She seemed at a sudden loss for words. When he put it that way … “Because I just don’t. I’m young and have more to offer the world.” She glanced at the tangle of arms and legs across her lap. “Spitting up, sticky hands, and dirty diapers—no, thank you. I’ll settle for running my own firm, worrying over employees and returns instead of kids and runny noses.”

  That’s what she said, but Val didn’t miss the way her hand absently stroked the little girl’s golden hair, or the way her other hand curled around the little boy’s arm protectively.

  “Children are a blessing.” He walked to the French doors and stared out at the surrounding landscape.

  “You really think that, don’t you?” The question, filled with surprise, carried to him on the soft breeze and he smiled.

  “Not always, chérie. When I was young, I thought like most boys. Children were a far off responsibility that I hadn’t the time or energy to deal with. I was much too busy getting into trouble. It is true what they say about never appreciating what you have until it is gone. I’d never wanted a child until I could not father one.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “My parents weren’t all that the carriage accident took from me. I was with them during the accident and I was hurt. One of the carriage rods pierced me in a very delicate area.”

  “I saw the scar.”

  He cut her a glance.

  “When you were resting yesterday morning. I saw the scar.”

  “I healed, but I would never be whole again, that’s what the doctor said. He told my gran that I would never be able to father a child because the rod damaged something inside me. It severed the wires, so to speak. I didn’t believe him. I felt excitement, I still had an erection. How could I not be able to father a child? I was fourteen, and determined to prove him wrong. After all, I was the man of the house now. The only hope for the Tremaine name.” His head dropped as he stared at the floor. “And I wanted a child. I wanted to be a loving father like my father had been, to continue his legacy. At first, I waited, determined to find the woman of my dreams the way my father had. Then all would be right.” He shook his head. “I never found any one woman I felt that strongly about, and so I set my sights on simply fathering a child. I would then marry the woman who managed to conceive, and all would be right.” He shook his head. “But nothing was ever right.”

  “So you’ve never been in love?”

  “Non. Et tu?”

  “Too busy.”

  “Perhaps you should slow down a bit.”

  “Slow down and get left behind. I’ve got bills to pay, studying to do, a diploma to earn. I don’t have time for love. Most of all, I don’t have the desire.”

  He turned and flashed her a grin. “You’re wrong on that count, chérie. You have a great deal of desire.”

  Too much, Val thought, noting her flushed cheeks, the way her lips parted on a soft gasp at his words. She brimmed with desire and it was all he could do to keep from crossing the distance to her, hauling her into his arms, and tasting just how much.

  He shook away the sudden regret and forced his gaze back to the open French doors.

  “I went to Heaven’s Gate today.” When he cut her a sharp glance, she shrugged. “I didn’t find out anything interesting, but there’s a local historian there who promised to keep an eye open. After I met with him, I drove out to the plantation.

  “It’s a beautiful stretch of land.” Her voice softened. “I saw the river, the apple trees. I saw you, Val. It was the strangest thing. I closed my eyes, and there you were. In my head.”

  In my heart.

  He could have sworn he heard the words. He would have, were it not for the emotion roiling inside him. The want. The need. Enough to make him imagine the damndest things.

  “What happens when I find out the truth for you?” she asked after a long moment.

  He didn’t turn. He didn’t trust himself to look at her as she was now, s
o soft and rumpled from sleep, the children in her arms. A picture that would haunt him for the eternity to come. “I cross over into peace. Once I have the answer I seek, at the exact hour of my death, three a.m., I will make the journey to the other side. As I should have so long ago.”

  Silence fell around them then, disrupted only by the pounding of his own heart. Although she didn’t ask any more of him, he felt her gaze burning into his back, questioning him, beckoning him.

  Distance, he told himself. Emotional distance and he could do this. He could tutor her and not make love to her, no matter how she did that little frowning thing with her eyebrows all wrinkled up, begging for his hands to soothe the expression away, or how her lips protruded in a slight pout, or how the fire flared in her eyes when she tossed a pillow at him.

  The thing was, Val suddenly wasn’t as worried about the making love part as he was about the falling in love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Shouldn’t we be doing something a bit more … physical?” Ronnie asked the next night. “I mean, we mastered kissing so I thought we’d move on to touching. A little hand-holding. Something.”

  “That’s why you’re the student and I’m the teacher,” Val pointed out. “How can you touch and be touched if you don’t even know your heart’s true desire?” It sounded like a good argument, and heaven knew he needed one right now.

  She was right. After the kiss they should have progressed to physical contact, to touching above the waist, then below, then …

  He stiffened and frowned. “You have to be in tune to your body.”

  “I’m already in tune to my body. How can I not be when there’s so much of it?”

  “That’s the sort of thinking that will stunt your progress. It’s not about the way you look—”

  “—but the way you think. I know, I know.” She glanced down. “But tell that to my hips.”

  He’d like nothing better.

  He shook the thought away, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “I want you to dig down, deep inside yourself, and discover what you truly yearn for.” He gathered his control. Deep was not a word to be thinking of with a ripe beauty—this particular beauty—at his fingertips. “Think of your wildest fantasy.”