by Isla Bennet
“This is Lady Antebellum.”
Valerie, who’d claimed a spot at the foot of the bed with the cat named Bowie in her lap, tipped her mouth up at the corner. But her eyes were still shielded—alarmed, even.
Peyton half heard the music as one song faded to another. His whole life had been building up to a crescendo, and this was it: comforting his child back to sleep with Valerie right there, close enough to reach out and touch.
Could he leave this behind? Even when Malcolm had given him the information about next month’s mission, he hadn’t been hit with quite the same rush of adrenaline that he’d felt before. Yet, being forced to make an all-or-nothing choice between family in Night Sky and a career that could lead him to any country on any given day made him feel pressured and uneasy.
Valerie and Lucy smelled like clean laundry, like fresh cotton in a country breeze. They were rumpled from sleep, and Lucy was sighing here and there, worn out from her crying episode. An hour ago this house had been in pandemonium, but now it was calm.
He’d done that? Had he actually made this situation better just by being here?
Valerie touched his foot, mouthing, “Asleep.” She pointed to Lucy, who had slumped to the side and rested her head at an awkward angle against his shoulder.
Together, he and Valerie put away the iPod, laid their daughter beneath her covers, turned out the lights and left the bedroom with Bowie soundlessly following them.
“You said Lucy’s been quiet lately,” Peyton said, after they wound up in the family room, sitting on the floor with their backs against the sofa and a bowl of popcorn between them. “Has she been getting chased by nightmares, too?”
“Yes, but … what’re you thinking?” As she shifted to curl her legs beneath her, she brushed against him.
His nerves centered on that spot of contact. Focus, man. “What if she’s not happy, Valerie? Look at her room—it’s a shrine to fashion.”
“Seriously? You’re going to plead Nathaniel’s case to me now?”
“During the cattle drive she told me something to the effect of she doesn’t fit in. I don’t think my grandfather should strong-arm you into anything—”
“Then drop it. She said she’s been watching horror movies.”
“Which you don’t believe any more than I do.”
Valerie’s delicate brows drew together. “It’s like she’s six years old all over again.”
“Meaning?”
“For about a year after Anna died, off and on Lucy would have these terrible dreams and she’d camp out in a bathtub with her pillow and blanket. No fooling, that’s what she would do.” She sighed. “Well, tonight there was no pillow and blanket in the tub, but it brought me back to those days.”
“What if she’s still grieving? She hasn’t once visited Anna’s grave—”
“Have you visited Estella’s since you’ve been back?” Valerie shot back, and knowing she had him, continued. “Everyone’s got a theory about her. Still grieving. Too social. Not social enough. She’s an out-of-control badass just like her father.”
Not for the first time Peyton regretted things he’d done, because he’d never considered that he’d have a child who would inherit his reputation, failures and stigma. Still, he could stop his daughter from repeating his mistakes. Could, and would. He needed to figure out how.
Valerie slumped on the floor, now curled up with her hair fanned out around her head. “I gave Lucy all the love and strength she needed to get over Anna.”
And that’s final. Valerie didn’t say it, but didn’t need to. In that moment her candor shut down and her protective shroud went up.
She nudged his leg with her bare foot. “So Lucy’s asleep and it’s the wee hours of the morning, and you’re not racing for the door.”
“I’m in no hurry to go,” he replied, swiping a handful of popcorn.
Valerie sat up and slowly, very deliberately, straddled his thighs. “We have to do something about this,” she said, taking hold of the hem of his shirt.
He wordlessly raised his arms and let her tug his shirt off. Her gaze caressed him as she turned it right-side-out. And then she shifted on his lap and he hardened beneath her.
“Sorry.” He could think of nothing else to say to the fact that with a single look she could charm his body to full arousal.
“I’m not complaining.” Valerie illicitly scooted herself even closer, grinding against the ridge in his pants. “So, won’t Nathaniel or Jasper notice you’re missing?”
“Grandpa’s a deep sleeper. And Jasper’s … yeah, he’s getting too much good fortune these days to notice which end is up.”
Valerie gasped. “You know, don’t you? ‘Good fortune’?”
She knew about Jasper and Hope’s nightly adventures? “How …”
“Walked in on a moment I wish I hadn’t seen. You?”
“I’m not a deep sleeper.” He grinned. “But, hey, I’m happy for the man. God knows he’s needed someone to rumple him up a little.”
“Are you really happy for Jasper? Are you really this guy who drives across town in the middle of the night with his shirt inside out to calm his kid out of a nightmare? Are you really a guy who won’t settle—” she moved again and he couldn’t help but groan at how good she felt on his lap “—for sex?”
“I can’t settle when it comes to you.”
“Right. All or nothing.”
Peyton gripped her thighs to keep her still, but she gave a defiant look and resisted with a deliberate little wiggle. Then his hands were sliding up into her shorts and gripping her backside. Saying nothing, he guided her back and forth, tugged the reins of his self-restraint tight as she started to bounce and buck. “All, Val. I want it all.”
When he felt her come apart on his lap, he almost gave in to his own release. But with gritted teeth and iron-strong control he held back, and held on to Valerie as she burrowed her face to his neck and teased his throat with muffled moans and quick, shaky breaths.
When she finally raised her head, a pink flush darkened her skin and there were tears glittering in her eyes. “Val, you’re crying.”
“It’s nothing.” She handed him the shirt and resumed her spot on the floor.
Stop doing that. Stop hedging. Stop hiding. Show me that I can trust you and that I can finally quit running. “Talk to me.”
“I felt so good, so free just now. But reality … all the stress and worry and fear … it all came charging back into my mind.”
“Okay. Stress, worry, fear. Give it to me.”
“What?”
He rose to his knees, took her arms and pulled her into a sitting position so that they could be face-to-face. “When I say I care about you, it means you can share that stuff with me and trust me to help you out.”
Valerie’s face was naked with desperation. “I messed up. Around the time of the girls’ field trip, some students at the college had planned a pretty wild party in San Antonio. I chose that party, because I was beaten from working the ranch and from handling two kids.”
Peyton could feel the guilt in her words, and knew exactly where this was headed. All this time she’d been blaming herself for a tragedy. “No, Valerie.”
“It was my fault.”
“No.” When he opened his arms, she went willingly, sinking against him. “Valerie, it was meningitis. Five people contracted it, and nobody saw it coming. I did my research, read hospital logs, news reports—all of it. It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to believe that.”
“A mother should always protect her kids. I sent mine away.”
“It wasn’t like that. You’re honest with a good, loving heart. It’s why I’ve never been able to shake you. There’s no way in hell you’d let anyone you cared about fall into a trap.”
For a moment she stiffened in his arms. “But you’ve got to shake me, Peyton. You shouldn’t get attached to me, the way Lucy’s attached to you.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Damn him, he already was.
“Because you need freedom outside of Night Sky, but this is where I belong. And how will you react the next time you’re hurt? The next time Marin … Never mind.”
“Valerie, this is you and me here. No one else.”
“I don’t know what you want, and you don’t know what I want.”
“Then I’ll be in town for as long as it takes to figure that out.” The words were true, rough like grit on his tongue. What he wanted was to try to rebuild his family, to find redemption. He wanted a second chance he wasn’t too convinced he even deserved. “Don’t close the book on us, okay?”
“Just—” she edged away, collecting herself “—let me think about it.”
That was fair, and he left it at that. Driving away from the ranch at the break of sunrise, he was also left to think about what his life would be like if she decided not to be with him after all.
What he pictured looked a lot like hell.
EPISODE NINE
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THIS WAS THE world’s crappiest birthday. Marin Beck had picked Lucy up at the beginning of lunch period for a jaunt to a shady-looking quickie mart over the bridge. They’d worked out a system in which Lucy would sneak to the rutted road behind the school building where her grandmother would be waiting, and would creep back onto the premises before the recess bell sounded. At first it was fun to chill with Marin. She told wicked stories about New York, let Lucy ride with her feet out the window, and took her to an alley mechanic who sold beaded jewelry from a van and to a record joint that smelled like pot but sold awesome LPs. But on days like today she hated being with her. Today Marin wanted beer and cigarettes and tried to get Lucy to hide the items in her backpack. Scared of getting caught stealing, Lucy had paid with her lunch money, and when she’d asked whether anyone cared that she was only thirteen, the guy behind the counter, tattooed with greasy hair and ear gauges, had said he didn’t give a shit and had sent her out of the mart without giving her change.
Now they were at Marin’s apartment complex that had bicycle parts in the yard, peeling paint and busted windows covered in duct tape.
Marin had forgotten that Lucy didn’t want to come here anymore—not after last week when she’d overheard suspicious moaning and banging against the wall that separated her grandmother’s apartment from her neighbor’s.
Marin forgot a lot of things—like the fact that today was Lucy’s birthday, and that she’d sworn to go to the pawn shop and buy back Peyton’s pen and the antique French statue that had belonged to his grandmother.
She’d forgotten that she promised she would make everything right.
Lucy set her backpack and hobo on the Formica counter in the apartment, cringing when she saw a cockroach scramble past. “I can’t stay the whole hour today, Marin.”
Marin snorted, and the booze smell on her breath wafted into the air as she popped the top on a beer. “Got somewhere better to be?”
“Can’t be late for class, that’s all. Math test.”
Ever since she’d stopped hanging out with Sarah, who was starting to ask too many questions about what Lucy was up to, and had conceded that Owen was into Minnie Hawthorne, school in general reminded her of the purgatory she’d read about in one of her mom’s books.
This place was also like a little ring of hell.
Marin flopped onto the futon in the living room/kitchen/bedroom. “You didn’t bring me a gift, Lucy Jordan.” She studied her critically. “Lucy Turner sounds better. I’d get that changed straightaway if I were you. You’ll get a lot farther that way.”
“My name’s okay. And I bought your beer and cigarettes, didn’t I?” And it’s my birthday, not yours!
Marin stretched out on the futon. “Bud and Junie want me at the diner for a day shift tomorrow, so I can’t swing by the school. Let’s meet up this weekend.”
“But how?”
“Find a way.”
After school, Lucy got off the bus expecting to see her dad’s Lincoln at the ranch. Instead she saw the sweetest-looking motorcycle ever.
“Happy thirteenth, Lucy.” Peyton strode up the front walk decked out in a leather jacket with a helmet tucked under one arm and a gift bag in his hand. He was like an older James Dean. “How was that math test?”
“You remembered?” A nanosecond too late she realized she was crying—again. One tear here, then another there. Why was it so easy to cry these days? It was like she had PMS times ten, or like all the tears she hadn’t shed over the years had built up and were now overflowing.
“Whoa, whoa,” Peyton said softly, setting down the helmet and bag. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she lied, scrubbing her hands over her eyes. “Uh … it’s just like that old song. ‘It’s my party and I’ll cry …’” Except she wasn’t having a party. She’d told her great-grandfather to call the whole thing off.
“I get it.” But his stony expression said he wasn’t buying it.
Lucy took in the motorcycle’s smooth design and polished metal. “Didn’t Gramps say you had this when you were a teenager? It looks new.”
“It’s not the same one,” he said, picking up the helmet, and then handing her the gift bag. “I traded it in for one with a passenger seat.”
“For who?” Lucy opened the gift bag to find a black-and-hot-pink helmet inside. “Me?”
“C’mon. Daylight’s going and there’s someone we need to see.” Peyton got on the motorcycle and revved it to life. Lucy dumped her stuff in the mudroom and then put on the helmet and climbed on behind him.
“Is this kosher with Mom?” she asked, not wanting to get in trouble for making yet another bad choice, and especially not wanting Valerie to be upset with Peyton. Lately they seemed to be getting along—in a weird, secretly-hot-for-each-other kind of way. Her mom had borrowed a collection of John Donne poems from the library and Lucy had caught her dad staring at Valerie like she was a thousand-dollar slice of cheesecake.
“Val trusts me to keep you safe. Do you?”
“Yeah,” she said, tightening her grip around his waist. “I trust you.”
Peyton set the motorcycle in motion and they were off. Flying past the ranch and farther down the open road toward town felt like freedom.
The ride was over quickly, and when she realized they were at the cemetery, she wanted to turn right back around—until she noticed her mom’s pickup in the lot. “Mom,” she said as Valerie hopped out of the truck and rushed to the motorcycle, “what’s going on?”
“Peyton and I had planned to visit Anna, but he suggested we include you.” Even though Valerie was talking to Lucy, she was sending Peyton an obvious I-knew-this-was-a-bad-idea look.
“It’s Anna’s birthday, too,” Peyton said evenly, getting off the motorcycle. “Maybe she wants to see her sister.”
That’s what I want, too.
He held out a hand and Lucy took it, and the three of them walked to Anna’s marker. Once there she unhooked Anna’s old hairclip from her hair and clawed into the ground until she dug a hole deep enough to bury it.
Anna and she had been born together, and had gotten sick together. But the good sister was gone and Lucy was still here, making mistakes left and right.
“I miss you,” she said as she covered the clip with dirt. “If you were here, I’d probably screw up only half as much as I do.”
“What’s that mean?” Valerie asked.
“You loved Anna like crazy, because she was good. People called you two peas in a pod. You even had the same eyes. If she was still around, we’d, I don’t know, balance each other out.”
“Hey.” Valerie wrapped her in a hug, and for a second Lucy nuzzled her face against her mom’s shoulder, storing in her memory bank the super-soft feel of the old flannel shirt that had been washed only a million times. For just that too-short second she let herself believe she deserved all that warmth and security. “I love you like crazy, too. Because you’re my kid.”
“So do I.”
Lucy turned to her
dad. “Really?”
“Really.” Peyton ruffled her hair, and since it was already windblown and out of control without the hairclip to hold it in place, she didn’t care. “So if you and I are both prone to making mistakes, or screwing up, as you call it … and if we both have the same eyes … what does that make us?”
“Puh-leeze. We’re not peas in a pod. You’ve saved lives all over the world. That’s über cool. You don’t even do it just to be some hero. You’re like Steve Rogers or something.”
“Captain America.”
She nodded. “I’m not like that.”
Peyton scanned the cemetery, as if searching for something, then said with an unsure frown, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that I’m not a hero?”
Valerie said in a low tone, “Peyton, you don’t have to do this …” And she reached for his hand.
“That’s the thing, Val. I do.” He started walking, fast, still holding Valerie’s hand, and Lucy jogged to keep up with them. When they stopped in front of an elaborate marble gravestone, he hesitated before touching the structure. “No one told you about this, Lucy?”
“No,” she replied, reading the name carved elegantly into it. Estella Lee Turner. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was probably built the year you were born.”
“Why so late?”
“The first stone was destroyed—busted into pieces—” his eyebrows pulled in close and the breath he took sounded unsteady “—by me.”
He’d desecrated his grandmother’s gravestone? Baffled, she looked from him to her mom to the gravestone and couldn’t associate him with that brand of meanness. “How come?”
“I couldn’t hold it together—the anger and hurt and … hell … the fear. Grandma was always on my side, no matter what. She’d understood that I needed a friend like Valerie. Grandma couldn’t stand Marin, but she never told me to cut her out.” Peyton traced the E in the word Estella. “The year I left Night Sky was the first time I’d seen my mother since Grandma’s death. She took money from me, skipped town, and I was really alone.”
