THE HOMECOMING

by Maggie Shayne

  "It's pretty here, isn't it?" he said. "Prettiest place I think I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of places."

  "It's pretty here," she agreed. "Can't argue with that."

  "This place—it's part of what made me decide to stop running, put down some roots."

  "I suppose it's as good a place as any to settle down."

  "Nope," he said. "Better."

  She lifted her brows. "Look, if you're trying to sell me on that job offer of Penny's—"

  "Jasmine, I know something's wrong." He stopped the swing, sat up straighter and turned partway around to face her. "I know you're scared, but you've got to stop running sometime. Somewhere. Sooner or later, you have to turn around and fight this thing, whatever it is, or it'll dog you to the end of your days."

  She averted her eyes. He was far more perceptive than she wanted him to be. "What makes you think I'm running from anything?"

  He looked at her, his expression telling her not to even bother with the denial. "Sooner or later," he said again, "you gotta stand and fight. For Baxter's sake, if not your own."

  She shook her head hard. "It's for Baxter's sake I have to keep running."

  He paused a beat, maybe digesting that. Then he said, "Tell me what it is."

  "I can't."

  Pursing his lips, he nodded. "Okay, you can't. It doesn't matter what it is, anyway, because eventually it'll catch up to you. Here … here is where you have the best shot at beating it. Better than any other place where you might run out of time. Here, Jasmine. You can win here."

  Lifting her gaze slowly, she searched his eyes. "What makes here so much different than anywhere else?"

  He pinned her with a piercing stare. "I'm here."

  She wished with everything in her that she could believe him. But she couldn't. She couldn't risk Baxter's life on the word of a man who was little more than a stranger to her. Sooner or later Petronella would track her down, and she needed to make sure she and Bax were gone before that happened. God, if he caught up to her here, Luke and his entire family would be at risk. That thought gave her pause. Since when did she worry about outsiders? It had been her and Baxter and, until recently, Rosebud, against the world.

  And yet a part of her was beginning to care about these people. And a part of her longed to stay in a place like this. To take the job Ben and Penny had offered, teaching dance to children. God, it would be so much better than what she'd been doing for a living up to now. And living in a town like this one—with people like these, who, honest to God, seemed to care about others more than they did about themselves—would be heaven. For her, and especially for Baxter. Already Baxter's cheeks had a healthier glow to them than they'd ever had before. And he'd laughed out loud more in the time they'd spent here than he normally did in a whole week.

  God, it would be perfect here. If only it could be.

  She stared back at Luke, unable to look away from that penetrating stare, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her. His mouth pressed to hers, his arms slid gently around her. It wasn't the sloppy, groping sort of kiss men occasionally forced on her when they caught her alone in the parking lot after a show. This was different. Fleeting and tender. His hands gently cupped the back of her head, as his lips tasted hers lightly, softly. Her breath sighed out slowly, and her body softened. And then he let her go.

  She sat there reeling, wondering what the hell that meant or what he wanted or what she was supposed to do now.

  But then a gut-wrenching scream shattered the night's song, chasing all those questions from her mind as she came to her feet in a single heartbeat. "Baxter!" she cried.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  "It's okay, baby. Hush, now, it's okay. Shh."

  Her voice was like the wind, its soothing, healing song so gentle that it didn't matter what she said. It was the way she said it as she held little Baxter close to her, rocking him back and forth.

  His nightmare had been a bad one. Luke could see that plainly in the boy's paler-than-normal face and sweat-damp hair. He'd rushed into the room on Jasmine's heels when the child had cried out, flicked on the light instantly, instinctively. Now he felt useless, standing there, watching Jasmine magically drive the fear away from her little boy with her embrace and her soft, calming voice. "It was only a dream, Bax. Only a dream. It wasn't real. Mama's right here. I won't let anything hurt you. You know that."

  The child clung to her, trembling still, but nodding against her shoulder. Her hands moved over his small back in soothing circles, patting now and then but mostly rubbing. Where did mothers learn that? Luke wondered. Was there some kind of instruction manual that came with kids, or what? The woman was a master.

  Sniffling, Baxter sat away from her a little, rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand. "Can I have some warm milk?"

  "You can have anything you want, baby."

  Finally seeing something he could do, Luke came to attention. "I'll get it."

  Jasmine turned as if she'd forgotten he was there. "No, I have to do it."

  Luke lifted his brows. Baxter sniffled and said, "No one else knows how to do it the way Mom does."

  "Oh. All right, then."

  Jasmine looked at him as she got to her feet, and he could see the worry in her eyes. The tension. And no wonder. His own heart was only just beginning to return to a normal rate. As she passed him, she reached up, closed her small hand on his arm. "Would you stay with Bax while I get that milk?"

  He glanced down at her, touching him like that. He wasn't sure she'd even thought about it first. He wasn't sure if it meant anything, or if it was just a reflexive action. For the first time since hearing the boy's scream, he let himself review what had happened just prior to it. That kiss on the porch swing, under the stars. What the hell had that been about? He hadn't meant to kiss her. Hadn't planned to kiss her. It just sort of … happened. And he didn't know what it meant to him, much less what she might be making of it in her mind. Did that touch have anything to do with the kiss? And if so, what?

  Her hand was still on his arm. Experimentally he covered her hand with his own. "I'll be right here. Don't worry, Bax will be fine till you get back."

  Lifting her gaze to his, she seemed a bit startled but more comforted. "You want me to bring you some warm milk, too?"

  He shook his head left, then right. It was going to take a lot more than warm milk to help him get to sleep tonight, he thought vaguely. A hell of a lot more. For some reason he had a foolish image in his head—one of him sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching over the two of them while they slept. As if that would do any good. He couldn't very well keep their nightmares away.

  He reached up in spite of himself and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Yell if you need any help with that milk."

  She nodded and left the room.

  Luke sighed as he watched her go. He really didn't want to be drawn to her the way he was. He'd tried to tell Garrett having her here with him wasn't a good idea. Damn his oversize meddling cowboy cousin, anyway. What the hell was he going to do with a woman like her? He'd barely survived the first overprotective woman in his life, why on earth would he want to take up with another one?

  She was totally opposite from the kind of woman he thought he might want to settle down with someday. And besides, that someday was still a long way off. This whole "sell the truck, buy the ranch, put down roots" experiment was barely underway. He had no idea if he could be a settling-down kind of man. Suppose it turned out his mother had been right all along? Suppose he'd inherited his father's wanderlust? What then? This woman needed more than that. Hell, Baxter needed more than that. He didn't think he had enough love in him to heal the wounds he saw in these two wayfarers.

  "Luke?"

  He turned to look at Bax in the big bed, looking small and alone. "Yeah, pal?"

  "I'm scared, Luke."

  A tiny arrow slid right into his heart, and Luke went to the bed and sat down on the side. "It's okay to
be scared. Just so you know you're not alone. I'm here, and your mom, too."

  "But what if they find us?"

  Luke drew his brows together. "What if who find you? Are you talking about your dream, Bax? 'Cause, you know, dreams aren't real."

  "This one was. I dreamed of those men, back in Chicago. The big one, he had a gun. And he shot that other man with it, and I saw! And then he tried to shoot me, and when Mommy made him stop, he tried to shoot her." He lowered his head, great big tears rolling down his face. "And I think he got Aunt Rosebud. That's why she had to go live with the angels."

  He curled into Luke's arms, wrapped his small ones around Luke's neck and rested his face on his chest, while Luke sat there stunned right to his bones. "I'm so afraid those men will find us. What if they hurt Mom the way they hurt Aunt Rosebud? What if I lose her, too?"

  "Hey. You look at me, pal." Luke drew Baxter's chin up and stared right into his eyes. "I promise you, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. Or your mom. You got that? Any bad guy tries to get near the two of you, he's gonna have to go through me and my whole family first. Now, you've only met a few of us. Bubba and Garrett and Chelsea, Ben and Penny and Zach. But there's a bunch more. There's Wes, Taylor, Adam, Kirsten, Elliot, Esmeralda, Lash and Jessi—oh, there's a pile of us Brands around here."

  "There are?" The boy looked up, wide-eyed, trusting but doubtful.

  "Wait … I have a picture," Luke said. "We took one of the whole clan at the big family picnic a month ago."

  Luke got up, only to his surprise, the little fellow clung like a burr—arms and legs wrapped tight. He carried Bax with him to the dresser, opened a drawer and reached in for the photo album he kept there. He was startled to feel soft, lacy, silky things brushing over his hands. Jasmine, it seemed, had commandeered some drawer space. And though his throat went dry as a bone, he ignored them and located the album.

  Then he sat down on the bed with the boy on his lap and flipped pages until he found the photo. The eight-by-ten took up the entire page. "There now, see that?" Seventeen adults and three children were in that photo. The entire surviving Brand clan. Well, the legitimate branch of it, anyway. The Oklahoma wing of the family hadn't been present. "Most of the folks in this picture are within shouting distance, you know. This one here is Marcus. He's my half brother. And that cute one, there in the front, that's Sara, my half sister. You know I only met them a couple months ago?"

  "Really?"

  "Mmm-hmm. They live close by, down near El Paso. It's not far. And let me tell you what they told me when I first found all these relatives of mine. 'Luke,' they said. 'When one member of this family gets into trouble, every single Brand in Texas drops whatever they're doing and hightails it to them to help them out. Doesn't matter where they are, or what the trouble is. That's just the way this family works.'"

  Baxter stared up at him, big brown eyes starting to look sleepy. "But I'm not part of the family."

  "Well, heck, Baxter, you're livin' with me, aren't you?"

  "Yeah…"

  "Well, that makes you part of the family in my book. Besides, that's the other thing about this family. If they like you, they tend to want to make you an honorary Brand."

  "They do?"

  "Oh, heck yeah. So you might as well consider yourself in. I doubt they'd listen even if you tried to tell 'em you didn't want to be. 'Specially Bubba. He's been itching for a cousin big enough for him to hang out with."

  Baxter smiled wider than Luke had ever seen him, hugged Luke tight and then crawled under the covers, taking the photo album with him. He curled up with it clasped to his chest and closed his eyes. "Thanks, Luke," he said. "I never had a real family before—'cept for Mom and Aunt Rosebud. I think I like having one this big."

  His throat so dry he could scarcely speak, Luke rasped, "Me too."

  Jasmine stood in the doorway, the milk with a touch of honey and a bit of strong chamomile tea mixed in, warmed to just the right temperature, in her hands. The scene in the bedroom looked like the artwork from some sentimental Father's Day card. Luke sat on the edge of the bed, and Baxter lay in it, but he'd curled around Luke like a cat. And as he lay there sound asleep, Luke's oversize hand ran slowly over Baxter's dark blond hair, again and again.

  The sight of her son with a man in such an affectionate way was totally foreign to Jasmine. And totally unexpected. She didn't think she liked it very much. A dark wave of something that felt a little bit like petty jealousy sloshed against her heart. She chased it away and told herself that was foolish, that her main concern had to be Baxter. And that for him to get attached to this cowboy, who could only be a temporary guest in their lives, would be a big mistake. Come to think of it, that might be a good thing for her to remember herself. She could easily get hurt. More importantly, Bax could get hurt.

  From the looks of things, so might Luke. He was not, she finally admitted to herself, acting a part. He was genuine.

  Jasmine sighed, lowering her gaze. "I think he's out cold, Luke," she whispered.

  He turned toward her, then sent her a lopsided smile that told her she was too late to save him. Her Baxter had worked himself into the big guy's heart already. Carefully Luke eased himself off the bed and out of Baxter's clutches. Once on his feet, he bent to tuck the blankets around Baxter, and when he came toward the door, Jasmine reached for the light switch.

  Luke's hand covered hers, closed around it and pulled it gently away. "Why don't you leave it on for him?"

  She frowned but left the light on. They stepped into the hall together, and Luke pulled the door closed, but not all the way closed. Then he tiptoed along the hall to the stairs and down them. Only when they were in the living room did he speak at something approaching a normal volume. Taking a seat on the sofa, he said, "When I was a kid, I was scared to death of the dark. My mom thought it would make me weak to leave the light on for me. So she would just shut it off, close the door up tight and leave me there alone. Said it would cure me."

  Jasmine lifted her brows. "Did it?"

  He shook his head. "I was still fighting it into my teens. And suffering from too little sleep all the while in between." He shrugged. "Course, having that bright light on all night isn't the solution either. But I was thinking, we could maybe pick him up a night-light tomorrow. I mean—if it's okay with you. You're his mom, after all."

  She nodded slowly. "Fine by me." Then she sighed. "I'd never make him sleep in the dark if he was afraid. It's just … he's never been afraid before."

  Luke nodded, and she felt his eyes probing her closely. "Seems like something happened to make him afraid."

  She looked up sharply. What had Baxter told him?

  "And you're afraid, too," he said. "At first I thought you were just overprotective, and you are, to a point. But it's not just that."

  "I'm not overprotective."

  "Yeah, you are. I know. I had a mother just like you."

  She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. "Don't get defensive, Jasmine. You're a fine mother to that boy. Any fool could see that. I'm not arguing it. I got off the subject."

  "The subject being?" she asked.

  "What the hell happened in Chicago? I mean, damn, woman, I knew there was something dogging you. I thought it was a man, a bad relationship, a custody battle, something like that. But now…"

  She went stiff. So Baxter had told him something after all.

  "Jasmine, Baxter's troubles here are a damn sight bigger than fear of the dark or a scraped-up knee, and we both know it."

  She licked her lips, averting her eyes. She should go up to bed. She should walk away. "What makes you think so?"

  He sighed in exasperation, lifting his palms.

  "Come on, Jasmine, will you quit with this? Baxter says someone tried to shoot him and you!"

  "He just had a nightmare."

  "No wonder. Sounds like you've been living one lately."

  "Look, I can't talk about this."

  He said nothing f
or so long she had to lift her eyes and meet his steady gaze. Finally he just sighed. "Sooner or later you're going to have to trust someone, Jasmine. If someone's after you, I can help. And I will. But I can't if you don't tell me what's going on."

  He waited. Jasmine stared at the floor, gnawed her lip and almost considered telling him the truth. But no, she couldn't do that, for so many reasons. First and foremost, because it would mean admitting she had no legal right to be staying in this house. She didn't really think he would toss her out if he knew that, but he could. And besides, one of the men after her was a cop. This man's cousin, Garrett, was a cop, too. How could she be sure they would believe her over that murdering bastard in Chicago? Sure, they might take her word for things at first—but when it came to her word against that of a police officer, that might change.

  She squirmed inwardly. It was so ingrained in her not to trust, not to accept help from outsiders, not to let anyone in. And yet she'd never wanted to, felt driven to do just that, the way she did now. With this man. This family. But beyond all that lay one simple, dark truth that made the rest moot. Telling Luke and the Brands would add them to the list of targets to be silenced.

  She didn't want to rain that kind of disaster down on this family. She'd stirred up enough of a whirlwind in their lives already.

  Luke was still looking at her, still waiting. She lifted her gaze to his.

  He saw her answer in her eyes, because he sighed and said, "Sooner or later, Jasmine, you're gonna trust me enough to open up to me." He offered her a small smile, one meant to be comforting, she was sure. "But for now … maybe you could just let me taste that special warm milk you make like no one else in the known universe?"

  Her tense muscles uncoiled slowly, and if the breath rushed out of her in relief, well, she couldn't help that. She held up the glass, and he took it, sipped it, smacked his lips and wore a milk mustache. "Mmm. Bax was right."