A Home of Her Own

by Brenda Novak

“Did she say why she was there?”

  “She told him she was looking at Christmas lights.”

  As far as Mike knew, Lucky had no connection to the Smalls. He couldn’t help wondering why she’d been there, but he didn’t want to add fuel to the suspicion in Josh’s face. “So?” he said, pretending to shrug off the information. “Maybe she likes Christmas lights.”

  “It’s freezing outside,” Josh replied. “Why would anyone, let alone a young woman, sit in her car all afternoon and watch one house? That’s not a lot of lights, Mike.”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” Mike said, trying to act as disconnected from the subject matter as possible.

  Josh didn’t fall for it. Cocking one eyebrow, he said, “Fernando told me he helped you carry a Christmas tree into her place a couple of hours ago. Considering that, I thought you might see her before I do.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MIKE LEANED against the porch rail, waiting for Lucky to come to the door. He could have called her. He probably should have called her instead of traipsing over to her house. But she wasn’t the most receptive person in the world, and he wanted to see her face when he asked her about the Smalls.

  “Can I come in?” he said when she opened the door.

  Dressed in a pair of low-riding jeans and a black, form-fitting sweater, she hesitated but finally swung the door wide and stepped back.

  The scent of her perfume as he moved past her evoked images of her silky skin beneath his lips. His muscles contracted as he tried to resist his body’s instinctive reaction.

  “Would you like to sit down?” she asked.

  The house was spotless. It smelled of furniture polish and Lysol, but except for a new area rug and the Christmas tree he’d brought, which still didn’t have a light or a bulb on it, the front room was bare.

  “Where?”

  She frowned as if she hadn’t expected him to accept the courtesy but waved him back into the kitchen area.

  “Why haven’t you decorated your tree?” he asked. “According to my mother, women really like that sort of thing.”

  “Is that why you brought it over?” she replied, obviously baiting him.

  Mike walked to the windows, which looked out over the land he loved. “Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I’ll return the favor.”

  Their eyes met, and Mike couldn’t help thinking how difficult it was to erect barriers they’d already broken down. He didn’t quite trust her, hated that she seemed to pull him away from all the people he knew and loved, and yet…

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “I’m curious about why you were at the Smalls today.”

  “How’d you know I was there?”

  “Jon mentioned it to Josh.”

  She grimaced. “Word spreads fast.”

  “This is Dundee, remember?”

  “How could I forget? Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  He knew better than to agree. Drinking and relaxing would lead exactly where he wanted it to lead. But what they’d done so far had complicated his life enough already. Maybe, to a certain extent, he could excuse himself for that night at his place and then at the motel. Lucky had dropped into his life out of nowhere, and the attraction he felt toward her had taken him by surprise. But now that he’d had a chance to realize what he was doing, he had no excuse for making the situation worse. “No, thanks.”

  She sat on the couch behind him and hugged her legs to her chest. “So, what about the tree?”

  He turned to face her, his gaze immediately falling to her lips. Maybe he couldn’t touch her again, but looking didn’t hurt. “You haven’t told me what I want to know.”

  “Can’t a woman drive through a neighborhood to admire the Christmas lights?”

  “Jon said you were out there all afternoon.”

  “It was only an hour or two.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to see someone.”

  The jealousy that trickled through Mike surprised him. He wasn’t the jealous type. “Not Jon.”

  She laughed. “No.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Did you buy the tree?”

  He moved closer, to sit on the arm of the couch. “What if I did?”

  “I’d want to know why.”

  “Because you didn’t have one, I guess.”

  “So?”

  “I didn’t like it that you didn’t have one.”

  Their eyes met and locked, and a provocative smile slowly curved her lips. “If I wasn’t Red’s daughter, would you want to spend time with me, Mike?”

  “Yes.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened when he answered so quickly; he’d shocked her a little.

  “And it would help if you were about ten years older, too,” he added.

  “My age bothers you?”

  “I’m too old to…spend time with you,” he finished, borrowing her words.

  “Who says? We’re both adults.”

  He was glad, at this point, that he’d refused the wine. “Who did you want to see at the Smalls?”

  “Dave.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since I left.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I was just wondering how he’s doing, what kind of person he is.” She propped her chin on her knees. “Do you like Dave?”

  Mike generally kept his feelings about other people to himself. “I don’t have much to do with him.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “Okay, I don’t particularly like him. Do you?”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lip, then took the conversation in a whole new direction. “Have you ever been in love, Mike?”

  He coughed in surprise. “What does that have to do with Dave?”

  “Nothing.”

  She didn’t apologize for the question or retract it, and Mike found himself considering the women he’d dated and sometimes slept with. Had he been in love, or had he simply cared for them? “I don’t think so.”

  “Not even with Lindsey Carpenter?”

  “Maybe with Lindsey Carpenter, but it didn’t last, and I don’t remember feeling too bad when she broke things off.”

  “I always thought you loved her.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you’d have to love her to kiss her that way.”

  “You saw me kiss Lindsey?”

  “When I was sixteen.”

  “Are you saying you used to spy on me?”

  She chuckled. “Not exclusively. I just loved going over to your place, being with the horses, hearing the cowboys talk back and forth.” She hesitated, then said more softly, “Knowing you were close by.”

  Her admission evoked a protectiveness he knew he was better off not feeling. “Why did you want to see Dave?” he asked, heading back to safer ground.

  She let go of her legs and grabbed a throw pillow instead. “Can I trust you not to tell anyone?”

  A funny feeling washed over Mike, something that warned him not to commit himself. He was already far too sympathetic to her, didn’t need anything else to soften his heart. But he didn’t feel any particular loyalty to the Smalls, so he figured he wasn’t taking much of a risk. Besides, she’d kept the secret of their rendezvous at the motel. He could certainly keep a secret for her. “Sure.”

  She gave up on the throw pillow and reached up to twist her long hair into a knot. “He slept with my mother twenty-five years ago.”

  He tried not to notice how her breasts lifted as she moved, and concentrated instead on the relief going through him. This news didn’t really surprise him. A lot of people had slept with Red. Maybe Dave tried to present himself as a paragon of virtue, but Mike knew he generally did whatever he could get away with. “Why is his contact with your mother of more interest than anyone else’s?”

  “Because he could be my father.”

  That took a moment to sink in. Her fath
er? Mike had always just accepted that Lucky had no father. He’d never dreamed that it could be someone well-known, someone who was married at the time she was conceived. But it made sense now that he thought about it. Red had slept with a good number of men, and they weren’t all single. Take his grandfather, for example.

  Finally, he gave a low whistle. “Have you told him?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  She got up and poured herself a glass of wine. “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t decided. I only found out a few months ago.”

  “That’s why you came back here,” he said as understanding dawned.

  “See? I tried to tell you I didn’t come back just to torture you and your family.”

  “Is that why you’re telling me about Dave, to put me at ease?”

  “Were you nervous?”

  He wasn’t nervous. He just hated being in the middle. And, in some ways, her real motivation made him even more uncomfortable. Digging up the secrets of the past was never a very safe occupation. And yet he had a tough time begrudging her that information, when it was only natural she’d want to know. “Not exactly. How’d you learn about Dave?”

  “My mother kept a journal.”

  Mike remembered the black book Lucky had tucked under her coat when he’d taken her into town during the storm and suddenly understood what it was and why she’d considered it important enough to retrieve. But what she’d said had him seriously concerned, for Lucky and for Dave. “You need to be careful, Lucky. I wouldn’t tell anyone. Dave’s too ambitious.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “He has a lot of family here.”

  “So do you. And I’ve managed to get by in spite of all of them.”

  “Dealing with my family doesn’t qualify you to take on the world.”

  “Tell me something,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “If you could have anything you want for Christmas, what would it be? A new stallion?”

  He couldn’t answer that without revealing too much. The only thing he seemed to want this Christmas was another night with her. “I don’t know. What about you?”

  “I’m happy with my tree.”

  He grinned—and loved the smile she gave him in return.

  “Will you help me decorate it?”

  Mike told himself he’d be a fool to stay any longer. He probably shouldn’t have come here in the first place. But helping her with the tree seemed so innocuous. What was another hour or two?

  LUCKY DIDN’T HAVE a stereo, so Mike went home to get a boom box. He said the people in the office had been listening to Christmas music for weeks and proved it by bringing over several holiday CDs, which he put on while they worked. He cursed when a strand of lights he’d weaved through the topmost branches wouldn’t turn on, which meant he’d have to take them all off, but when Lucky laughed at him, he started laughing, too.

  “And this’s supposed to be fun?” he grumbled.

  Lucky was having fun. Mike had acted pretty cautious and self-contained at first, but as the minutes passed and they talked about everything from the ranch and his horses to the annual rodeo, he seemed to relax.

  “You want the silver balls to go on the tree, too?” he asked.

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him they didn’t match. “Sure,” she said and they loaded the tree with everything in the box. The angel that went on top had a beautiful porcelain face and slowly moved, waving two little lights in her tiny hands.

  When they sat on the floor together an hour later, admiring their efforts, she glanced over at him. “Are you hungry?”

  He checked his watch. She sensed that he was growing wary again and expected him to say something about going home, but he surprised her. “What do you have to eat?”

  “I could make a quick pasta.”

  “Sure,” he said, “why not?” He followed her to the kitchen, where he stood near the island, talking to her while she cooked.

  When it was ready, she lit a couple of candles for the table and sat across from him. He refused a glass of wine, for the second time, but ate two platefuls of pasta. While they ate, Lucky told him about some of the places she’d visited and some of the people she’d met. The conversation remained fairly light until she stood up to carry their dishes to the sink.

  “Why didn’t you tell my father about us that day in the hardware store, Lucky?” he asked.

  She piled the plates on the counter. “Why would I?”

  “Because it’d prove that you’re not what folks think.”

  “What do folks think?”

  “That you’re exactly like your mother.”

  “How will telling them I’ve slept with you change that?” she asked.

  “I know you were a virgin.”

  “So? You could always deny it.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Silence stretched between them, and the scenes from the motel—the memories she’d been trying to ignore all evening—grew more vivid in Lucky’s mind. Earlier, he’d called that night “unforgettable.” She wondered if he was remembering it now. “People around here have known you, looked up to you, all your life,” she said. “They’d be shocked and…and disappointed to learn about the motel.”

  “Maybe. But I wouldn’t lie about it. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I won’t use you to build my own credibility.” She started running hot water in the sink. “You’re crazy to even suggest it. What if I were to take you up on the idea?”

  “You won’t,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’d have done it by now.”

  Their eyes met, and Lucky felt a tremor of excitement and desire pass through her. She’d never purposely do anything that might compromise him, regardless of his family, the past, her own situation. But she didn’t say so. She felt far too vulnerable and exposed already—and feared he was beginning to suspect how deeply she cared. “Thanks for your help with the tree,” she said to cover her weakness for him.

  Taking her cue, he stood up and collected his hat.

  Lucky wanted him to stay. She suspected he wanted the same thing. But she also knew because of how careful he’d been this evening that he’d already chosen his family. She’d never expected him to choose differently. She even admired his loyalty.

  “Dinner was excellent,” he said.

  She dried her hands so she could show him out. “You earned it.”

  When they reached the front door, she turned on the porch light so he could see, but he flipped it off again. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her lightly on the lips before he left.

  Apparently he’d decided to allow himself one more concession.

  DURING THE NEXT TWO DAYS, Lucky did her Christmas shopping in Boise and overnighted the Lego sets she’d bought for her three nephews, the softball glove and slider she’d bought for her oldest niece and the Barbies she’d bought for Trisha, Sean’s five-year-old daughter. Mr. Sharp made noticeable progress on the house, too. Lucky told herself everything was going well. But that wasn’t completely true. She hadn’t heard from Mike since they’d decorated her tree. And she was finding it difficult to get close to any of the men who might be her father, so difficult that she’d started toying with the idea of calling Garth Holbrook at his office. From what she could tell, he seemed like a decent man. If they could have a private conversation, she’d ask him if he’d be willing to take a paternity test.

  Lucky went through every approach she could imagine before actually picking up the phone.

  The worst he can say is no, she reminded herself. “No” wouldn’t make a big impact on her life. She’d never had a father before; “no” simply meant nothing would change. If he refused, or his DNA sample didn’t match, she’d approach Dave Small. If Dave refused or his sample didn’t match, she’d put more effort into tracking down Eugene Thompson. It was a straightforward process of elimination, right?

  Still
, her heart seemed to rattle around in her chest while she dialed and waited for Holbrook’s secretary to pick up.

  Finally she heard a melodic voice say, “Senator Holbrook’s office.”

  Lucky could barely squeeze enough air into her lungs to speak. “Is the senator in?”

  “He is, but he’s on another call. Can I take a message?”

  Squeezing the phone in a death grip, Lucky hesitated. “Could I hold, please?”

  “Certainly. Your name?”

  “Lucky Caldwell.”

  “May I tell Senator Holbrook what your call is regarding?”

  “It’s…a private matter.”

  The other woman’s pause indicated that she wasn’t pleased with her response. “Does the senator know you?” she asked cautiously.

  No. She and Garth Holbrook had never exchanged the most basic of greetings, which would only make this woman that much more reluctant to pass on her message. And if Garth recognized her name and connected her to her mother, he might not accept the call even if he got the message. “Just tell him it’s important.”

  “One moment.”

  Lucky paced in agitation as two minutes turned into three and three into four. When she’d been holding for nearly ten minutes, she began to think she’d been forgotten, but his secretary came back on the line right before she gave up.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Caldwell, Senator Holbrook told me to tell you he’s late for a luncheon appointment and will have to call you later.”

  She was getting the brush-off; she was sure of it. Disappointment brought Lucky’s agitated movements to a halt, and she sank onto the couch. “Fine, no problem,” she said. But when she hung up she doubted she’d ever hear from Senator Garth Holbrook.

  PARKED IN THE UNDERGROUND LOT beneath the building where his office was located, Garth Holbrook sat in his black Lincoln Navigator and stared down at the message he’d crumpled in his palm. After twenty-five years—just when he’d begun to believe he could forget—Red’s daughter had contacted him. Why? What could she possibly want?

  “Private,” he muttered, reading his secretary’s rolling script.

  Lucky knew about him and her mother. She had to know. What other private matter did they have to discuss? Why else would she call him out of the blue when they’d never so much as spoken? From what he’d heard about her, she was a gold digger of the first order, like her mother had turned out to be. She was probably going to make him pay dearly for her silence in order to save his career. But he wasn’t worried about his career. Not as much as he was worried about his family.