"Only around you, sweetheart." She located the other one, slid her feet into them, then gave him a bright, tight smile. "Let's go say hello to your sister."
* * *
"Well, this is a big change," Rebecca announced after Jayne had said hello, then escaped inside to get dressed. "Not a surprise, mind you. After you brought her to the farm last week and everyone saw the way you two looked at each other, it was no longer a question of if but when. Frankly you got to the when quicker than I expected."
Tyler leaned against the deck rail but didn't say anything. He didn't want to encourage her to continue talking about his personal life.
Not that she needed encouragement. "Have you told her…?"
"About what?"
She shrugged. "About us. About Mom and…"
"Yeah."
That earned him some surprise. He'd never told anyone voluntarily—not even Angela. She'd heard the gossip in town and confronted him, and he'd only confirmed it. "Wow. What about Angela?"
His fingers clenched the railing tighter as he made a conscious effort to keep the tension out of his voice. "She knows some of it."
"How it ended?"
"No." Guilt nagged at him. He should have told her everything before going to bed with her; it was only fair. But if she'd known everything, she wouldn't have let him touch her. She wouldn't have kissed him. Wouldn't have looked at him as if he meant something to her. "I couldn't … we're just … we're not…"
Rebecca left the chair to stand beside him, laying her hand over his. "You don't have to tell her, Tyler. It was an aberration. A one-time thing. It's never going to happen again."
He wanted to believe that—wanted to point to the five years he'd spent alone as proof. But he'd been alone. That didn't prove anything except that when he didn't have anyone in his life, he couldn't do anything to hurt them.
"She has a right to know," he said quietly.
"Why?"
He scowled down at her. "Because it could happen again. Because I could—"
"No, you couldn't. It's in the past. It doesn't matter anymore."
Neither of them could even bring themselves to put his actions five years ago into words, and she wanted to believe it didn't matter anymore? It. How it ended. What he'd done. What happened. It was a part of him, a sin he had to do penance for forever, and it carried too much importance in Rebecca's life, as well, but they were both too afraid to say it.
He had hit Angela.
Had lifted his hand in anger against a woman, just as Del had so often done.
He had turned out just like his father.
"Can you imagine in your worst nightmare ever hitting Jayne?" Rebecca demanded.
"No. But I couldn't have imagined hitting Angela, either." It had been the furthest thing from his mind. They'd been fighting, as they so often had. She was yelling and he'd yelled back and suddenly he'd acted on instinct. He hadn't thought, hadn't planned, hadn't considered it. He'd just done it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because he was Del's son—the angry one, the one most like him—maybe it had been natural. No, it hadn't happened again since then, but his life had been anything but natural since then.
"You've punished yourself enough for it," Rebecca said. "It was one instant of anger, and you've paid for five years. If anyone deserves a good life, it's you. Don't let what happened with Angela ruin what you've got with Jayne."
"What I've got… She thinks I'm some kind of good guy. She lets me spend time with her kid, for God's sake. And she doesn't have a clue. She was horrified when I told her about…" He shrugged rather than name his father. "She thought he deserved a more painful death. She doesn't even know how much like him I am."
"You're nothing like him! He was a mean, selfish, violent drunk who got off on hurting people who were weaker and more vulnerable. You've never deliberately hurt anyone in your life!"
Her convenient memory lapse made his smile thin and bitter. It was the fights he'd gotten into, blackening more eyes and bloodying more noses than anyone else in the history of Sweetwater schools, that had led to Daniel taking him in hand. "You think Angela accidentally ran into my hand with her face?"
Rebecca couldn't come up with a suitable response to that because she knew there had been nothing accidental about it.
"I look like him, Rebecca. I sound like him. I have his temper. I have his blood. Everyone agrees I'm just like him."
Once more she couldn't argue, so she hugged him instead. "It was one time," she said fiercely against his chest.
"But that's how it starts, isn't it? One time, and I was sorry as hell. I would have begged her on my knees to forgive me if she hadn't left. And if she had forgiven me, the next time I wouldn't have been quite so sorry, and before long it would have been all her fault." He didn't need to feel her shiver to remember that she'd already put the blame on Angela.
"You can't give up your life because of that one moment."
"If it's a choice between that and hurting someone else…"
"You don't think Jayne's going to be hurt when you break up with her? You don't think Lucy's little heart will be broken?"
"Better to break her heart than something else."
She held him a moment longer, then stepped back and wiped at her eyes. "Just remember one thing before you go breaking hearts, Tyler. Emotional hurts can be a whole lot more damaging than physical ones. You and I are living proof of that."
Returning to the chair where she'd waited, she picked up a paper bag from the floor. "I brought breakfast for you and came to tell you that I'm on my way to Knoxville. I'll be back in time for the family thing tomorrow."
He took the bag with a quiet thanks.
Halfway to the steps she turned back. "You're right about one thing, Bubba. Jayne does think you're a very good guy. Maybe if you thought as much of her, you'd give her a chance." Spinning around, she crossed the deck in a few strides, took the steps two at a time, then disappeared around the corner of the house.
Give Jayne a chance. What kind of woman, knowing his family history, knowing his own history, would give him a chance? All the experts had predicted that he was the one most likely to turn out like his father. The court had ordered him into therapy; he'd seen a psychologist on a weekly basis from the time he was fourteen until he was twenty-one. He'd been warned, watched, treated, analyzed and watched some more. And none of their precautions had prevented exactly what they'd feared most from happening.
As Angela had said afterward with a malicious smile, Blood will tell.
He didn't have many options. He could tell Jayne the truth and see the affection and the respect disappear from her eyes. He could watch fear and revulsion replace the liking and he would lose something he could never get back.
Or he could just end it with her—Hey, it's been fun, you've been convenient, but I've had enough. Let her think he'd used her the way her ex had. Let her hate him for being a callous bastard.
As long as she didn't hate him for truly being his father's son.
But what if he told her the truth and the affection and respect didn't disappear? She did give him credit for being a better man than he was. What if she, like Rebecca, viewed it as an aberration? What if she was still willing to let him come around her and Lucy? What if she still let him touch her?
The little voice that sounded so much like his father stopped the hope cold. And what if it does happen again?
He had tried so damn hard to prove all those experts wrong—to show everyone that he was nothing like Del. That he'd inherited nothing more than the shade of his hair, his eyes, his skin from him. That he despised the man more than any of them ever could. He had been one of Del's victims. The very last thing in the world he'd wanted was to create his own victim.
But he had, and it had been so easy. He hadn't even had to think about it. He'd just done it. And in that moment afterward, before the shock set in, before the reality sank in, he'd thought—
"Where's Rebecca?"
St
arting, he turned to find Jayne approaching. She'd gone home to change clothes and pull her hair back in a ponytail. She looked beautiful and sweet and sexy as hell.
She looked like the best part of his life.
How the hell was he going to find the strength to let her go?
"She, uh, was on her way somewhere. We'll see her tomorrow at the farm."
She stopped in front of him, her brow wrinkled into a frown, then reached out to touch him as if she had the right. As if she felt the need. "Are you okay?"
He gazed at her fingers resting lightly on his wrist. Slender, nails trimmed neatly, painted pale pink. Small contact, but it chased the chill from his skin and made his breath come easier.
He would find the strength, but not just yet. If anyone deserves a good life, it's you, Rebecca had said. She was wrong. If he deserved it, he would grab it with both hands and never let go, but surely he deserved more time. More friendship. More sex. More Jayne. More.
Just a little.
And then he would do what he had to do.
From somewhere he summoned a smile as he caught her hand and drew her over to a pair of Adirondack chairs. "Yeah. I'm better than okay. Ready for breakfast?"
* * *
It was amazing how quickly things could progress. Little more than a week ago, Jayne had been elated by her first real kiss with Tyler. Now, for all practical purposes, he was living with them. He went to his house only to shower and change after work, then he joined them for quiet evenings with Lucy and quieter nights with Jayne before slipping out the next morning to get ready for work while Lucy still slept. Cameron and Diaz had moved in, as well, their food in the new pantry, their dishes in a corner of the dining room. They kept Jayne and Lucy company while Tyler was working and slept next to Lucy's bed at night.
There wasn't anything permanent about it. He hadn't moved any of his clothing or toiletries from his house. It wasn't even something they'd talked about. After the first few nights that she'd asked him to stay, it had just become habit.
A habit she loved.
With a man she was well on the way to loving.
It was Saturday morning, and she was supposed to be catching up on e-mail while Tyler and Lucy covered her little room with orange paint. She was having trouble concentrating, though, when they were having so much more fun down the hall. Tyler's voice was a low rumble, his words indistinct, but clearly he was showing his usual patience and respect to Lucy's ten thousand questions. Why did you paint around the edges first? Why did you put tape all over? Why do you make a W with the brush?
Greg would have snapped at her after the third question, thrown down the roller and stormed off. No, Greg never would have picked up the roller. That was too much like work, and if there was one thing he avoided, it was work. Along with responsibility. Dependability. Acting like a grown-up.
Tyler embodied those things. He was the kind of man Greg had promised to become, and she'd been foolish enough to believe him. But now she had that man for real. Had the sweet kind of family life she'd always wanted.
For the time being. Whether Tyler would want to make it permanent was anyone's guess. If he didn't…
It wouldn't be the first time she'd been disappointed. But it would be the worst.
She answered a few notes from readers—it seemed so pretentious to call them fans—then scanned the digests from a few of the writers' loops she subscribed to before Lucy's giggles drew her attention down the hall again. Unable to resist, she signed off, then went to stand in the bedroom door.
Lucy, wearing her oldest shorts and T-shirt along with a too-big ball cap to protect her hair, was liberally smeared with orange paint—her own doing, Jayne was sure. While Greg didn't like work in general and messy work in particular, Lucy delighted in it. In fact, those two lines painted across each pudgy cheek couldn't possibly be anything but deliberate.
"Hey, Mom. How's it look?" She extended both arms, roller included, to encompass the room. Paint dripped in a thin line onto the dropcloth that covered everything in the room.
"It's … orange." And bright enough to hurt their eyes once the afternoon sun hit the west-facing window. "Are you sure you're not going to go blind in here?"
"Oh, Mom."
"Watch the roller, Lucky." Tyler, also wearing paint-spattered clothes, had finished painting three of the walls while Lucy, apparently, had talked and rolled Ws everywhere she could reach on the fourth wall. He looked remarkably neat for having spent an hour in a room with her daughter and a paint roller. "It's not bad once your eyes adjust."
"No, it's not bad," she agreed. "It's just really … orange."
"When she gets tired of it, we can repaint."
"I'll never get tired. I love it!" Lucy insisted, doing a little twirl for emphasis. "I bet I've got the only orange bedroom in the world!"
"I'll bet she doesn't," Tyler murmured. "Did she mention she wants black sheets?"
"I'm not surprised. I'll have to think about that." Jayne hesitated, then brushed a strand of his hair back. "When you're done here, you want to go into town and get something to eat?"
"Okay. Why don't you start cleaning her up and let me finish that last wall?"
"All right." Raising her voice, she said, "Luce, let's hose you down and get ready for lunch."
With a roll of her eyes, Lucy obeyed. Once she'd reached the door, Jayne checked the soles of her shoes, found wet paint on both and pulled them off, then gave her a push toward the bathroom. "I'll be right there. Don't touch anything."
As Lucy skipped off, Jayne turned back to Tyler. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Letting her help. Not getting onto her for being a mess."
He shrugged. "She can't learn if she doesn't try."
He acted as if it was nothing any other man wouldn't have done, but she knew better. Greg wasn't the only father of her acquaintance who didn't have the patience to deal with an exuberant, inquisitive child.
"You know—" she tugged the hem of his T-shirt sleeve to dry a drop of paint on his arm "—I like an awful lot about Tennessee, but, far and away, Tyler, you've been the best part of moving here." Rising onto her toes, she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then went to the bathroom.
By the time Lucy was bathed, dried and dressed, Tyler had painted the fourth wall, closed the paint can and rinsed the rollers. He went home to change clothes, then returned in his truck, idling out front while Jayne locked up. She'd taken advantage of his absence to change, as well, putting on a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. When she reached the pickup, she turned so he could see the back of the shirt. It was black, with a hot pink stick figure of a woman and the words Romance—Read it!
He read the text under the drawing with a grin. "Angryromancegrrl?"
"You bet. Because of all those obnoxious people who say obnoxious things about our books." She buckled her seat belt, then gazed out the window as he pulled away. Her house still needed a coat of paint, and the yard could use another go-round with the mower, but the place was looking pretty good. She was slowly making headway with the backyard, and it was about time, Tyler's grandmother had told her the Sunday before, to start planting flowers. With all that had been done, and all that still needed doing, it looked like home. It felt like home.
Then she glanced across the cab to Tyler. He felt like home, too.
For once, none of his family or friends were in the diner besides Rebecca, and she didn't notice them come in. She was sitting at a table for two near the bathrooms, talking with another woman and looking unusually somber.
Lucy climbed onto a bench in a booth, and Jayne and Tyler sat across from her. The waitress, Carla, brought glasses of water and menus and gave her and Tyler a speculative look that ended in a sly smile. "You need to look at the menus?"
"Nope. I'll have a hamburger and fries and a sticky bun," Lucy spoke up.
"Sorry, pumpkin." Carla scraped a bit of orange paint from Lucy's fine hair. "We're out of sticky buns this morning."
"Well,
poop. But I'll still take the hamburger and fries."
"Me, too," Jayne decided. "With iced tea for me and milk for her."
"Chocolate milk."
"Of course chocolate," Carla said with a wink. "That's the only way to drink it. What about you, Tyler?"
"I'll have the same."
After she left with the menus, Jayne gestured toward the back. "Who is that with Rebecca?"
He glanced in their direction. "I don't know." No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, the woman looked over her shoulder at them, and he stiffened. "Oh. That's…" He looked down at the tabletop and mumbled the rest. "Someone we used to know."
The woman's hair was red, though artificially so. The blue of her eyes was artificial, as well, her skin fair, her features delicate. It was difficult to nail down her age. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, Jayne guessed. She was slender, not too tall and pretty in a very confident sort of way.
And just the sight of her had made every muscle in Tyler's body go taut.
She couldn't be … please don't let her be Angela. What were the odds of his old girlfriend showing up right after he'd found a new one? Minimal. But who else in his past would have that kind of effect on him?
"She's coming this way," Jayne said quietly. Rebecca had gone into the kitchen, and the redhead was making a beeline for them.
Tyler's tension level ratcheted even higher. By the time the woman stopped at their table, the stress was practically humming through him. "Hello, Tyler. It's been a long time."
How long? Jayne wanted to demand. And if the woman said five years, she'd probably grind her teeth to dust in an effort to keep her mouth shut.
After a moment, he pulled his gaze up, but he didn't smile. "Hey."
"How have you been?"
"Fine."
The woman included Jayne in her smile. "The only man I've ever known who could condense five years into one word."
Jayne's stomach knotted. This wasn't quite how she'd envisioned Angela. She had pictured someone very pretty, feminine, not too bright and spoiled—the kind of woman that men tripped over each other to do things for. The redhead looked intelligent and seemed quite capable of doing things for herself, less likely to trade on her looks because she had so much more to offer.
SOMEBODY'S HERO Page 18
