by Isla Bennet
Chase couldn’t have been much older than Peyton, but he looked worn, haggard … as if ready to leap into oblivion but still too fearful to take the final step. With a frown he handed over the darts and wordlessly followed Peyton to his SUV.
Peyton managed to get him a bare-bones room at Blue Longhorn in the warehouse district. Whenever Chase finished sleeping off his liquor and took full advantage of the water and coffee the manager had brought to the room after receiving a hundred-dollar incentive, he could walk to the Bull’s-Eye Tavern and get his truck.
“What do you get out of all this?” Chase asked, his voice slurred and his frown still in place as Peyton prepared to leave the motel. “Helping me?”
“Dinah’s a good woman, and she wants to see her son. I’m just making sure you get to her in one piece. Another thing, Jordan.” His voice sharpened then. “My daughter lives at Battle Creek, and if you’re going to show up there, don’t do it drunk off your ass. Whatever problems you’ve got, they have nothing to do with her. Leave her and Valerie out of it.”
Peyton left, slamming the door in his wake, hoping to hell his words resonated with Chase and that the man would come back to the people who loved him.
EPISODE SEVEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WOULD SHE STILL be a coward if no one saw her turn around and run?
Valerie tried not to listen to the voice inside her that had been screeching Danger! Danger! since she’d agreed to hand-deliver the invitation that was now tucked into her purse. Dinah had sealed and stamped them all, pleased with her handiwork: a stack of Thanksgiving invitations with handmade turkey or cornucopia cutout designs on the front. She had spent the better part of a week working on them, and had recruited Lucy and a group of her school friends to assist over the weekend.
Now Valerie stood on the Turners’ portico waiting for the butler to answer the door, regretting coming here at all, much less showing up dressed in a skirt, satin blouse and push-up bra. Just because she’d been filthy with tangled hair and smelly clothes the last time Peyton had seen her didn’t mean she had to leap to the opposite extreme and glam it up.
The moment she decided to turn around, go back to the ranch and change, Jasper hauled open the door. “Valerie. You look different.”
She reached into her purse and was this close to thrusting the invitation at Jasper and running off. Then she remembered her promise to deliver it directly to Peyton. “Hi, Jasper. Is Peyton here?”
“Upstairs. Come in.” Jasper offered a gentlemanly bow. There were layers to him she still didn’t know about, but she did know he could be considerate. And loyal—to his own sense of duty.
After discovering her pregnancy, he’d agreed not to tell anyone about it as long as she could support herself. By working at the library until she’d earned enough money to start taking a college class here and there, she’d kept up her end of the agreement, and he’d held on to her secret even when she quietly returned to town with two-year-old twins and a rundown inherited ranch to claim. But when her daughters had developed meningitis, and she had called Jasper out of sheer fear and panic, he’d told Nathaniel everything.
Keeping her secret at that point hadn’t mattered to him, and he’d never apologized for it.
Valerie tilted her head at the sound of a mower revving up close by. There was a van parked out front, but it had been easy to overlook in the row of luxury vehicles parked along the curb. “Landscaper?”
Jasper worked his jaw as the mower suddenly quieted. “She’s something like that.” Gone was the southern charm in his voice. It was replaced with southern irritation. “Mister Turner’s pleased with her work.”
“And you’re not?”
“My complaint’s not with Miss Fortune’s work. It’s with her muddy footprints and chattiness and constant smiling.”
“In that case, it makes sense that you two would butt heads. You know, Jasper, you with your extreme cleanliness and un-chattiness and mysteriousness. Peyton told me you call her a Tasmanian devil.”
Jasper smoothed the front of his dark vest. “I’m not the problem. She is. The woman’s a mosquito.”
The sound of stomping footsteps interrupted Jasper’s tirade. A petite blonde in coveralls, work boots and gloves appeared in the grand foyer, looking ridiculously out of place in the spotless grandeur of the house.
“Jasper, I found the cufflink you were looking for,” she said brightly, holding out one gloved hand. She offered Valerie a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Hope.”
“Valerie.”
“You found it? Where?” He strode to her and examined the cufflink himself.
“It was in the grass and almost got caught up in the mower.”
“Uh … ah, thank you, Miss Fortune.”
“No problem.” Hope turned, then pivoted and leaned close to Jasper. “By the way, I much prefer ‘Tasmanian devil.’”
Jasper silently watched her walk away, then stared at the cufflink in his palm. “I should apologize to her.”
“Maybe when she’s not operating dangerous machinery,” Valerie suggested, heading for the staircase.
Boisterous conversation spilled into the hall from Nathaniel’s study and remnants of fruits and breads and coffee littered the serving cart left beside the door. Not wanting to get trapped in the traffic of people coming in and out of the room, Valerie hurried to Peyton’s bedroom at the opposite wing. She knocked twice but got no answer.
Jasper had said Peyton was up here, hadn’t he?
Valerie twisted the knob and walked into foreign territory. She’d been in this room before, but now it felt like some new, strange place. She suddenly flinched, startled to find Peyton’s old plastic skeleton still standing guard. Moving closer to the bed, she could see a tanned arm and leg poking out from underneath an avalanche of covers.
It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be asleep, since it was practically afternoon. Maybe he’d worked a late shift at the hospital. Or maybe he’d had a late night for other reasons.
Her throat dry, she peered more closely at the bed and confirmed there was only one body lying in it. Not that she cared either way.
But you do care. Too much.
“Hey—” she poked his arm “—wake up.”
The lump under the covers groaned and stirred, then Peyton’s hand reached out and clasped hers. A moment later he tensed, released her and bolted upright in the bed. “Valerie?”
“Hi.”
He threw the covers aside and stood, revealing that he wore a pair of dark briefs and nothing else.
Her gaze roamed over him, taking in the details: mussed hair, toned muscles, defined hipbones … bulge in the crotch of his briefs. And there, on his thigh, was a raised, angry scar.
“Want a better look?” He hooked his thumbs into the briefs’ waistband, as if making to remove them.
“What happened?” she demanded, ignoring his sarcasm.
Peyton rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t. Okay? Just tell me what happened.”
“Knifed in the thigh. That’s all.” He turned and started moving toward the bathroom. “I’m not talking to you like this.”
Valerie could match his stubbornness measure for measure. “I’m not leaving then.”
He swaggered into the bathroom; moments later she heard the sounds of a toilet flushing and water running. He appeared in the doorway with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Still here?”
“I said I’m not leaving.” She emphasized her point by sitting at the foot of the bed.
Peyton said nothing more as he brushed and rinsed, then stalked into the bedroom to grab a pair of crumpled jeans from the floor and yank them on. “You look good in my bed, Val.”
“Seriously, that’s not why I’m here.” She walked to the opposite side of the room. “So what’s with the scar? Did you miss the patient when you were operating?”
The look he gave her was grim. “I was mugged and stabbed whil
e I was on a mission. It happened a long time ago and as you can see, I’m fine. Luckily, all my necessary parts function.”
She cringed mentally at the words necessary parts and met his eyes. “I don’t believe in luck.”
He ventured closer. “What do you believe?”
“That you have some ridiculous death wish.”
“I’m a doctor, not a stuntman.”
Frustrated, she shoved his shoulder. “Quit brushing off what I say. You’re a doctor who works in the most dangerous places. You’re Anthony Turner’s boy, the rebel—the guy who rode around on a motorcycle at crazy speeds and got into trouble left and right. You never give a damn what happens to you, and you never consider the people who might care.”
“You actually care, Valerie?” His eyes were shuttered, the words a low rumble.
“Force of habit.”
“Why’s that?”
“We—because we’re friends.” At his harsh look, she continued, “Isn’t that what you want? Us to be buddies again?”
“You want to be friends with the guy who hauled ass out of this town thirteen years ago. That’s not me. I’m different, Valerie. I’m not that man, and too much has gone down for me to want to be. And if you don’t realize that, you’re making a mistake.” He brought his lips toward hers, almost touching her. “Get to know me.”
It might as well have been an erotic proposition. Instantly her body reacted—a warm wave passed over her skin, her mouth watered, her thigh muscles clenched. “Peyton …”
“I want to learn you.” This time he did touch her, tracing the scar next to her eye with the tip of his finger before molding both hands to her buttocks and urging her forward.
Instantly she felt his heat … and the need to have his hands right where they were, but with her skirt off. Something in the way he squeezed her flesh and parted her legs with one of his told her he was more than ready to fulfill that need.
Don’t stop. Don’t break the connection.
But he did stop, letting her go as swiftly as he’d grabbed her. “Go home. Think about what I said.”
Valerie’s limbs felt leaden, as if her body wanted to stay. She noticed a flyer on the desk, did a double-take and went over to pick it up. “You’ve been to Big Bros’ Cages recently?”
“Yeah, I drove Dinah and Lucy out there to take a few swings. Dinah’s a lot of things, but she’s no athlete.”
Her spine stiffened of its own volition. “Lucy was there?”
An expression of understanding fluttered over his face. “I didn’t tell her about us, about the parking lot, about your old car.”
Thank God. It was enough that merely driving past the place threw her into heated memories that weren’t easy to douse. “I appreciate that.” She turned to put down the flyer and noticed him watching her.
No, watching her backside.
“What …?” It dawned then. He was staring as if trying to identify something—or the lack of something. “You won’t see panty lines, Peyton.”
Unashamed, he lifted the corner of his mouth in a pseudo-smirk. “I didn’t feel any panty lines when I had my hands on you. By the way, I didn’t go rifling through your clothes. One of your slingshots—”
“It was a thong and you know it.”
“Mmm. And a sexy one, too. It was left behind in the dryer, and I happened to find it while I was taking care of a load of laundry. Harmless.”
But that glint of interest in his eyes was anything but harmless.
“Valerie.”
“Now what?”
“Do you just sneak into men’s bedrooms for no reason?” There was a hint of humor in the question. “Why’d you come in here?”
Jeez. The invitation.
“To give you this.” Taking great care not to let her hands shake, she retrieved the envelope from her purse and set it on the desk. “It’s an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at the ranch. Dinah put a lot into the design, so if you could just call her and let her know either way, that’d be great. You probably have other plans.”
“I don’t. In fact, I thought I’d pick up a couple extra shifts at the hospital, since Grandpa will be in California and Jasper’ll be spending the day with his people in Louisiana. But since we’re doing the whole invite thing …” He moved forward and she backed into the door with a thump, which made him grin. “I’m inviting you to Grandpa’s Christmas party. Formal attire. Bring Lucy and Dinah. The Merrimans, too.”
It was happening. Their lives were intertwining. Their families were going to mesh. If she declined, Lucy would be disappointed to miss out on her great-grandfather’s party. “We’ll see.”
“The details will be in the invitation,” he said as she turned to leave. “It’s coming by mail. But say the word and I’ll deliver it directly to your bedroom.”
Valerie paused in the hall, caught off guard by the banter. Then he winked, and she quickly shut the door.
THE SMELL OF coconuts lingered after she left. Peyton yanked open the curtains and opened the window to clear the room not just of her fragrance, but also of the temptation that hung in the air.
If he’d had any doubts about how Valerie could affect him, they were washed away the second he opened his eyes and saw her standing in his room. Even through the fog of sleep he’d been hit with a dose of primal need.
He swiped the envelope from the desk and opened it to reveal an elaborate invitation with a plump turkey on the front. Inside was a handwritten note from Dinah.
Holidays should be spent with family and friends. This year I’m thankful for reunions. What about you?
“You’re too transparent, Miss Dinah,” he said, slightly amused, as he put down the card and grabbed a tee shirt from the bureau.
But wait. He’d invited Valerie and her family to his grandfather’s Christmas party—but several days ago when Nathaniel had brought it up, Peyton had uninvited himself. He hadn’t wanted to commit himself to an evening of wining and dining with fashion snobs, distant relatives and acquaintances who fawned all over his grandfather but had no interest in him.
Others would be there, too—Jasper’s friends, people from Memorial and neighbors whom Peyton wouldn’t mind seeing. But holidays in general, especially Christmas, didn’t make him think of family in a deep-down joyful sense. His mother had been happy to use Christmas as an excuse to work on him, to get money out of him. Instead of holidays being about togetherness and goodwill, they’d been about opportunity. He offhandedly wondered whether that was still the case.
In the heat of the moment, he’d invited Valerie because he wanted a reason to have her on his turf. Now, the idea of her dressed up and mingling with people outside of the ranch gave him a taste of optimism. Maybe he could invite his friend Malcolm, and even Faye, whose dry humor he was starting to miss.
But first he needed to get himself put back on the guest list.
Shirt in hand, he jogged from his wing of the house to his grandfather’s study. “Grandpa,” he said, after rapping at the door and being called inside. He halted to see Rose still in the study, burdened with a stack of files.
He hastened to put his shirt on, forcing a smile that probably looked painful. “’Morning, Rose. I—uh, sorry, I didn’t know you were here.” He noticed the chairs stacked in the room’s farthest corner and realized he’d narrowly escaped interrupting a meeting half-naked.
“Good morning.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “Working for a menswear company, I’m almost immune to the sight of a shirtless man, Doctor Turner. Modesty is refreshing though.”
Nathaniel chuckled, not looking away from his computer screen. “Deliver those documents to my attorney, Rose, and take the rest of the morning off.”
“Thank you. I’ll be back at one. The video conference with the VP of marketing is at two.”
“Fine.”
Peyton waited until Rose left before he spoke. “About the Christmas party.”
“You already made it clear, son. You’re not coming.”
“That’s the thing,” Peyton said, clearing his throat and wishing a snifter of brandy could appear in front of him—a shot of liquid courage. “I’d like to.”
Nathaniel’s eyes slowly settled on his grandson. “Sit down.”
Bolts of fabric and boxes filled with swatches were strewn about the room. Peyton cleared the club chair of a box containing silk lining material and sat.
“Come to the party?” Nathaniel asked. “Why’d you change your mind?”
“I invited Valerie. And Lucy and their family.”
“When?”
“This morning, when Val was here. She dropped off an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at Battle Creek, and I … I don’t know … I just asked her.”
“Where’s the invitation?”
“Still in my room. I’ll get it to you later.”
“Valerie was in your bedroom.” This wasn’t phrased as a question. “What is this, Peyton? What are you trying to do here?”
“Nothing happened, Grandpa.”
“Nothing happened? Of course something happened. You went too far with her years ago and now you’re doing it again.” Nathaniel steepled his fingers. “Someone at the hospital mentioned Chief Lindsey offered you a permanent position.”
Peyton shot forward. “Whose business is it what I discuss with Chief?”
“Are you at least channeling your influence to the right goals?”
“Channeling my influence? What the hell are you talking about?” And, as if someone had dropped a ball of light into a dark pit, he could see clearly now. “I thought you pulled me back to Night Sky to railroad Valerie into letting Lucy get involved with the business. But that was too simple. You knew, Grandpa, that if I came back here I’d want to spend time at the hospital—and you were so damn sure that I’d do whatever it took to get everyone on board for your plans.”
Intrigue sparkled in the old man’s stone-colored eyes. “Have you gotten through to Valerie?”
“Gotten through? I think you mean influenced, and I’ve already told her that I’m not here to do your dirty work. That goes for the neuroscience proposal, too. I don’t want to be dragged into the middle of this, Grandpa, because it’s not as simple as building a facility. The location’s downtown, and people’s businesses would literally have to be bulldozed to make this happen. I know you, so I know you’re not going to stop at a neuroscience building. Think about what’ll happen to this town if Night Sky gets into a pissing match with Meridien over medical facilities. Meridien has triple the population—”
