Long Way Home

by HelenKay Dimon

  She heard shuffling and a zipper. Her eyes popped open as she stared at the clock.

  Rolling onto her back, she searched for him in the shadows and noticed that the nightlight in the connected bathroom lit that area of the room with a soft glow.

  He stood with his bare back to her, stripped down to his boxer briefs and looking far too hot. She tried to hold on to her anger and found that by calling up their earlier conversation that wasn’t a problem.

  “It’s only nine thirty.” No way was he heading to bed at that time. He was the stay-up-and-watch-bad-movies type.

  He didn’t need many hours of rest, so he tended to prowl around the house at night. The habit used to bother her. Now she found comfort in knowing he was around and checking on everything.

  He froze for a second, then continued shutting the dresser drawer. “You’re in bed.”

  Not that his response answered anything. “But why are you turning in now?”

  Probably wanted to lecture her on her untrustworthiness. If so, she was throwing his pillow in the hallway and kicking him out with it. She didn’t care who paid the mortgage. She had her limits.

  He turned around with his hands balanced on the dresser behind him. “I’m in here because you’re here.”

  Okay, that sounded sweet. She didn’t have a defense to sweet right now. “And I was in the kitchen earlier and in the yard today.”

  “You left the house tonight.”

  It sounded like he was accusing her of running. She decided not to engage. She needed more sleep for a battle of logic. For a battle of any type with him. The man’s boneheadedness could suck the life out of her.

  Still . . . “You pissed me off,” she said.

  “Obviously.”

  He really needed to work on his communications skills. Lying there with the comforter pulled up to her chin and an entire room between them, she knew he still didn’t get it. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”

  “Do you want one?”

  Sounded like he’d hit a new low level of cluelessness. “I want you to want to make one.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What?”

  She ran through the comment in her head. Not her best sentence. “Yeah, admittedly, I could have said that better.”

  “At least we agree on something.”

  With sleep. She needed sleep. “Blame the hormones and you die.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. “You made that clear earlier. I learned from that mistake.”

  There was a loud noise from downstairs. Nothing to worry about. Sounded like someone turned on the television without lowering the volume. Leah had warned her that was an issue with the old set inherited from the Hanover grandmother, as were the house’s thin walls and the way noises echoed up and down the staircase. The welcoming tour of the house had Grace on high alert to keep the bedroom door closed or depend on whispering.

  Grace saw Callen staring at the closed door. “You don’t have to get into bed now. I know you like to be downstairs with Declan and—”

  “I’d rather be with you than Declan.” Callen turned to face her again.

  Something in his tone or in his death grip on the dresser had her thinking he was fighting off a healthy case of lust. “We’re not having sex.”

  “For the record, I’d rather be here even when we don’t have sex.” He hadn’t even hesitated. Just launched right into his comment.

  Okay, that was sexy. The second she thought it the alarm bells started ringing in her head. Call it an early warning system, but the combination of the bed, the heated look in his eyes and her need could have them rolling in the sheets in no time. Then he would think they were fine and all was forgiven, and it wasn’t.

  “Why do I worry I’m being played?” She didn’t know what was happening other than the comforter was starting to feel too warm for the cool night.

  He walked to the edge of the bed. And stopped. His knees touched the mattress, but he didn’t make a move to sit down or get closer. “It’s hard for me to trust.”

  That could be his life motto. “Oh, really?”

  “It’s also hard for me to pivot.”

  And that’s where he lost her. “Meaning?”

  She sat up and leaned her back against the headboard. With her arms wrapped around her knees and her body tucked under the covers, she probably looked like a big blob. She didn’t care, since the duvet provided protection.

  “I get something in my head and it sticks,” he said in a voice that was low but steady.

  “Like you thinking I’m a lying bitch.” It wasn’t a fair title but she felt it every time he looked at her and kept the conversation to a light, insignificant topic instead of diving into what they really needed to discuss—their lives up until now and where they would go from here.

  He shook his head. “I never called you that.”

  “Not out loud.”

  “Not ever, with words or in my head.” He sounded weary and all out of fight.

  The change in mood should have put her on edge. Instead, she fell into it. She liked this calmer Callen. Their passion excited her, but she longed for those old days, right before their relationship imploded, when they spent some time lounging on the couch, her in his arms, and relaxed.

  “Are you being nicer because I’m pregnant?” She let her bare feet slide along the bottom sheet until her legs rested flat on the bed. “I’m not saying I won’t use that excuse to get my way. I’m just wondering.”

  “I’m trying to tell you I was wrong not to listen when you tried to explain. Wrong to just leave.”

  He was talking about back then and admitting to running. Her head started to spin and she had to grab the covers tighter to her chest to keep upright. “Okay, fill me in. What changed between this afternoon and now?”

  “I watched you drive away. It sucked.” He sat on the very edge of the bed, at the point farthest away from her and out of touching range. “Then I tried to imagine how you felt finding out you were pregnant all on your own.”

  Those days ran together, each one worse than the one before. She’d been lucky because she worked from home, for herself. But she had to move a few deadlines while she got the sickness under control. Until she got pregnant, she never threw up, and having a steady run of vomiting had her curling up in bed as often as possible. Then there was the loneliness and the thundering in her head that told her she’d messed up and put herself there.

  But those days were gone. She couldn’t get them back or fix them. All they could do was move on.

  “It’s over.” She said it and she meant it. She was tired of looking at the past and wondering how she could have handled this or that better. They had a future to plan.

  He picked at the bottom seam on the comforter before looking up at her again. “I’m sorry.”

  She tried to remember if he’d ever said that before. “Does this mean you believe me about the FBI? About Walker?”

  “I think you care about him, though I don’t know why.” Callen shook his head and disbelief flooded his voice. “The guy is a dick.”

  In so many ways they were mirror images of each other. “He says the same thing about you.”

  “Not a surprise.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Look, I get how being worried makes you do strange things, things you never thought you would.” Callen didn’t give details, but the words sounded as if he were talking about her. “And I get that you didn’t feed him information. But I’m betting he tried to get it out of you.”

  She eased up her stranglehold on the covers and let them fall to her chest. “He stopped talking to me while we were dating.”

  Callen’s eyes widened in a subtle demand for a clear answer. “Because you wouldn’t feed him information?”

  “Okay, yes.”

  “A dick.” Callen s
tarted to crawl up the bed, to inch closer.

  She didn’t fight it because a part of her had hoped they would end up here, talking a few things out. It was inevitable when she climbed into this bed. “You guys are more alike than you know.”

  Callen stopped moving. “Not the most complimentary comment since I just called him a dick.”

  “His mother was in and out of hospitals and died when he was young. He had an absentee father and a crappy foster family. Thank goodness you were spared the last part.”

  Staying on top of the covers, Callen stretched out beside her on his side. “I’m not sure that upbringing justifies the bullying way he acts.”

  “It doesn’t.” She held up a corner of the comforter. “Get into bed.”

  “Still no sex?”

  She didn’t say no to him because she wasn’t sure she meant no. “That will teach you to exhaust me by ticking me off.”

  “Another lesson learned.”

  He slipped underneath the covers and curled his body into hers. One second she was lounging, the next she was on her side with his warm body wrapped around hers.

  Her hand touched the arm banded around her waist. She sank in, loving the feel of her back against his solid front. A soft breath blew into her hair. The erection pressing against her didn’t bother her because she knew he would never touch her without consent.

  After a few minutes of not moving, she backed against him and he caught her hips to hold her still. Gave a sexy little groan, too.

  Surrounded by him, she settled in. His body beat back the coolness of the room. Every inch of his body touched hers and, she loved that. She had just started to drift when she heard his voice.

  “The mother thing is more like Walker’s than you know.” Callen kissed her shoulder after he made the comment.

  Grace opened her eyes but didn’t move. She wanted him to keep going. If he needed to be in this position or in the darkness to say it, that was fine with her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Kim Hanover isn’t my birth mother. Not that I knew that until a few weeks ago—but she was Charlie’s second wife. One of five that I know about, but the first was my mother.”

  The news crashed into Grace and she fought to keep from jerking. She wanted to turn around and see his face, but he held her so tight, as if by easing up he might lose her.

  She kept skimming her fingers over his arm around her waist, trying to give him any comfort she could. “Where is she now?”

  “She died. Apparently had some significant mental health issues. Or at least that’s what Charlie told mom to get her to take me in and explain why wife number one was gone and get her to take me on. I don’t know the full truth. Probably never will, thanks to Charlie’s games. He played with identities and had a stash of credit cards and paperwork for every name, but you likely know all about his intricate scams and how hard it was for anyone to track him.”

  Grace’s heart ached. For Callen and for the women who brought him into the world and raised him. “So Kim adopted you?”

  “No, Charlie wouldn’t let her.” Callen blew a harsh breath into her hair. “She hid the truth. Only ’fessed up because there was this woman hanging around town who had information and then Leah found some documents about my birth.”

  One more hit. Callen took them all the time, and even as an adult they seemed to keep coming. Lousy father, weird mother situation, becoming a father unexpectedly. He was right. His luck did suck.

  As Grace lay there in the darkness the pieces came together. So much deception. No wonder he had trust issues. And she’d inadvertently rushed in and added to them.

  She wanted to hug the little boy he’d been and beg the man he was to forgive her.

  Instead she went with a calm discussion; one that didn’t give any hint as to the anxiety and pain rolling through her. “What did your mom say when you talked with her?”

  “We haven’t talked much.”

  This time Grace did turn. She fell to her back and looked up at him where he hovered over her. “Callen, don’t shut her out.”

  “It’s hard to forgive her for carrying the lie so long.”

  Grace had to wonder if he was talking about her or his mom. Sounded like they both came up with excuses to keep him in the dark. “I barely know her and I know she did it to protect you.”

  “I’m thirty-four.”

  Grace trailed her fingers over his cheek. “She loves you.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up when Callen touched her hand and kissed the center of her palm. He’d leaned in and he now rested partially on top of her. She could feel his body press into her. Not sexually. It struck her as being more for comfort.

  “You can see where I’m sensitive about the women in my life hiding things from me.”

  “Never again.” Grace took his cheeks in both hands and willed him to believe. “Really, Callen. Never.”

  “Okay.” He managed to pack a lot of doubt in that one word.

  “You think I’m giving you a line.”

  He hand pressed his hand over the back of one of hers. “I feel battered and bruised, Grace. I’m not going to pretend that’s not the case.”

  “Then let me help you feel better.” Her hand tunneled under the covers to his thigh. He still wore the briefs, but nothing else.

  He pulled back, and his gaze searched her face. “I thought you were tired.”

  “Oh, I plan to lie here and let you do most of the work.”

  For the first time since he came in he looked relieved, and the expression quickly turned to something else when his hand slipped up her T-shirt and settled on her breast. “Really?”

  “You are really good with that mouth.” She put a hand over his and dragged it down to where she wanted it.

  “I’m at your service.” He sounded gruff and anything but worried and angry now.

  “Be forewarned. It’s going to take a lot to please me.”

  But he was already placing a trail of kisses over her collarbone. When she lifted her arms, the tee came off. And then his body slipped down hers, creating a heated friction, and he peeled off her panties.

  A second later she forgot all about sleeping.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The woman wanted pancakes, so they went out for pancakes. Who was he to deny a pregnant lady? Not that Callen could say no to much of anything where Grace was concerned these days.

  They’d reached a tentative peace after yesterday’s blowup. He’d crawled into bed and told Grace about his mom not because he thought he had to win her over, but because he wanted to share. And because Leah and Declan’s comments hit home. Callen wasn’t ready to lose Grace. Couldn’t do it again.

  Now that he saw what providing a little information did for her mood, he was tempted to unload more. Of course, even with her strength, she might have a breaking point. How much could a woman hear about the man she slept with, even one she professed to love, before it got to be too much?

  She folded her menu and laid it on the table. “Blueberry.”

  The smile and pink cheeks . . . Damn, she looked good. She was this bundle of energy, so alive. Excitement thrummed around her.

  He had no idea if it was the sex or the food, and he didn’t care. Whatever gave her that happy glow was fine with him. If it meant more sex, even better.

  They had to get through breakfast first. “You’ve changed your mind three times.”

  She winced as she opened the menu again. “The regular are tempting. Then there’s buttermilk.”

  At this rate they’d be eating them for dinner before she decided. He flattened a hand over hers and shut the menu again. “Leah said you eat here all the time, so you’ll probably be able to try more than one.”

  “Is that still going to be true?”

  He watched her play with her silverware and wondered what was going on in th
at head. “I have no idea what that question means.”

  “I thought maybe we’d eat some meals at the house.” She traced her finger over a drip down the side of her water glass. “Or is the plan to go back to ignoring me?”

  Looked like there were still some doubts floating around. He understood. He hadn’t exactly been the king of the clear message where she was concerned. “Did it seem like I was ignoring you last night?’

  She flashed him a naughty smile. “As to that, a pregnant woman needs more sleep.”

  “Sorry.” He couldn’t make that sound genuine.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No.”

  She glanced over his shoulder. It was the fourth time in about ten seconds. Something happening behind him had her attention. In this town, he was almost afraid to turn around. Could be anything or anyone, but since she didn’t look worried, he guessed he was safe enough.

  He was about to signal for the waitress. The poor woman had come to the table twice and been sent away during the great pancake debate.

  “Is Oregon an open-carry state?”

  He dropped his hand as soon as he lifted it. “What?”

  “That guy has a gun.” Grace nodded in the direction of a man getting out of a booth wearing a coat and showing no visible signs of a weapon. “I didn’t think to check before I headed out here but I’m guessing you can carry firearms in public here.”

  That was a scary thought in light of Marc Baron’s growing insanity.

  Callen studied the supposed gun-carrying guy as he walked past and headed for the door. He looked like every other fifty-something guy in the county. Jeans and a coat, dark hair with a face that blended in. There was nothing . . . but then his coat flapped open for one second and Callen caught sight of what looked like the end of a gun by his waist.

  “How did you see that?” He figured it had something to do with all those years of FBI training. Probably paid off to be able to notice things like that.

  “My daddy taught me.” She drummed her fingers on the top of the plastic menu and somehow seemed oblivious to the thwapping sound she made. “Follow me around the room.”