He settled Lucy in the center seat, fastening the belt around her as she sank to the side to lean against Jayne. He was buckled in his own seat and maneuvering the track in a tight turn when Jayne spoke. "Your mother's a sweetheart."
"Hmm."
"Someone should have killed your father the very first time he laid a hand on her. If he wasn't stopped then, it was practically guaranteed it would happen again."
Despite the warm air coming through the windows, a chill spread through Tyler. He wanted to protest that just because a man screwed up once didn't mean he would screw up again.
But wasn't that exactly what he was afraid of?
From the day the story of Del's death had gotten out, everyone had waited for him to prove he was his father's son. It had taken nine years, but he'd done it. Would it happen again? Rebecca swore it wouldn't. Dr. Gennaro thought it was highly unlikely. But his opinion was the only one that mattered. He was the one who had to maintain control, who had to live with the consequences, and he honestly didn't know.
He needed someone to gaze into his future, from that day until the moment of his death, to see that he would never lose control again. He needed a promise, a one hundred percent guarantee.
But nobody could give him that.
Which meant he had to continue living as he had since Angela—alone. If there was no one in his life, he couldn't hurt anyone.
"I'm sorry." Jayne gently touched his forearm. "I shouldn't have brought that up."
He forced something of a smile. "At least there's no question where you stand on the matter." In her book, a man got one chance, no more.
And he'd blown his five years before he'd even met her.
"I'm not shy about stating my opinion on anything." Her smile was full and warm and sexy. "Want to hear what I think of you?"
No. Because she was wrong. Too generous. She didn't know everything she needed to know to form an accurate opinion.
He was saved from answering by the appearance of a vehicle coming toward them. It was a bright red SUV, and Zachary Adams was behind the wheel. He slowed to a stop and so did Tyler, exchanging greetings and small talk. By the time they both drove on, Tyler hoped she'd forgotten her question.
She hadn't, but she was willing to let it slide. "Maybe I'll just show you instead when we get home."
Little words to send such a big response through him.
Some fifteen minutes later he parked behind her Tahoe, carried Lucy inside and laid her on their bed—on Jayne's bed, he corrected—since her room still smelled of paint, then went to the kitchen. She'd already put away the leftovers and was folding the paper bag into thirds.
"Do you mind if I go over to the workshop for a while?"
"You don't have to ask my permission, Tyler. You can just say, 'I'm going to the shop.'"
He made a dismissive gesture and waited.
"Go ahead. Have fun. What time do you want to have dinner?"
"I'm not really hungry. You guys go ahead and eat without me."
It would be the first time in nearly two weeks that he hadn't shared a meal with them, besides his workday lunches. Apparently realizing that, she studied him a long time, then smiled. It wasn't her brightest or happiest or steadiest smile, but it was a try. "Okay. You, uh…" The smile slipped away, replaced by uncertainty. "You'll be back before bedtime, won't you?"
He shouldn't give a definite answer. Maybe, depending on how late I work. Probably. Let's see. But instead he said, "Of course," and he meant it. He'd spent most of his life doing and being what other people needed, but for at least one more night he was going to do what he needed.
He would deal with tomorrow when it came.
Looking relieved—and making him feel like a bastard—she squeezed his hand. "I'll see you then." She brushed a kiss to his jaw, then slipped past him to lead the way into the living room. As he walked out the door, she was settling in at her desk, the computer booting up in front of her.
He spent the next three hours in the shop, working on a wall-hung display case for small collectibles. Since the only person he knew who collected small things was Great-aunt Hilda, he supposed it would be her wall it eventually hung on. It was a simple piece, not easy to ruin with inattentiveness, and if he did make a mistake, well, it wasn't as if he had hours of work in it.
He measured, cut, sanded and routed by rote and he thought of Jayne and Lucy, of his mother, Rebecca and Dr. Gennaro, of his brothers and his father. He thought about the way his life had been a month ago and wondered how hard it would be to go back to that.
It hadn't been so tough the first time. Everything had been so fresh—the shock that he'd hit Angela, the fury that he shared with his father the one thing he hated most about him, the disappointment that his best hadn't been good enough and the hopelessness…
He had never known such hopelessness.
Until now.
When he found himself standing motionlessly and staring into the distance for the tenth time, he decided to call it a night. He cleaned his work space, shook the sawdust from his T-shirt and washed up, then shut off the lights and stepped outside to lock the door. A pole light illuminated the area around the barn, and another light on the deck shone on the furniture and grill there. Everything was quiet and still. After the chaos of the first half of his life, he'd learned to value quiet and solitude.
Somehow he had to forget that quiet and solitude could be far more satisfying with three than alone.
He walked down the driveway, passing from light into shadow before reaching the openness of the road, where the moonlight shone. His porch light was a faint yellow glow to his left, and ahead on the right the light from Jayne's living room spilled out the windows and open door like a beacon. His stride lengthened and his pace increased. He crossed the yard, took the steps two at a time, then came to an abrupt stop on the porch.
"Hey, babe." Jayne was lying in the hammock, wearing the Smart women read romance T-shirt that she slept in most nights. He'd bet her long legs were bare, but would have to look under the sheet to see for sure. Her hair was down, her face washed free of makeup, and she looked beautiful. "Want to join me?"
She scooted over and offered a portion of the sheet, but he shook his head as he carefully stretched out beside her. His body temperature had just gone up enough to make him hot inside his own skin.
Turning onto her side, she rested her head on his shoulder, then brushed a bit of dust from his jaw. "You want to tell me what's wrong?"
He swallowed hard and her fingers bobbed with the action. "Nothing's wrong."
"You know, you don't have to spend every free minute with us. You're still entitled to time on your own. I'm a big girl. I can entertain myself for hours at a time."
He bent his free arm to pillow his head and gazed up at the sky. He couldn't insist again that nothing was wrong. He'd already lied to her once; he wouldn't repeat it. Instead he changed the subject. "Do the men in your books like to talk about things? Is that some sort of female fantasy?"
Though his tone was snide—something he really hadn't intended—she didn't take offense. "I guess it is. Small problems left unresolved grow into big ones, when all that's usually needed to resolve them is an honest conversation."
Then he blew the subject change. "You think we have small problems?"
Her gaze was so steady and intent that he could have felt it in pitch-black darkness. "I think you do."
"Oh, jeez, there's a news flash. I told you about my father beating my mother and me, about her killing him and the court ordering me into therapy. And you think I have some small problems. Damn."
Her gaze didn't waver, and she didn't show even the slightest urge to give him a well-deserved smack for that response. Instead her fingers rubbed gently over his skin. "Tyler, I know you'd dealt with more trauma by the time you were fifteen than most people face in a lifetime and I know it's left its mark. But it doesn't change who you are. It doesn't change the way I feel about you. I lo—"
He
grasped a handful of her shirt, lifted her on top of him and kissed her hard. He didn't want to hear those words from her—not tonight, not ever again. Hearing them made him want to believe, and he knew better. He hadn't believed in fairy tales when he was a kid, and it was too late to start now.
For an instant she remained stiff against him. Then, with a husky groan, she kissed him back—with heat, hunger, passion. In the small part of his brain capable of rational thought, he suspected she believed his kiss was meant to convey with actions what he couldn't put into words—that he loved her, too—and the knowledge stirred the guilt inside him. But he didn't push her away, didn't stop kissing, touching, caressing her until they were both naked enough for a quick, hot, hard orgasm.
Finally she collapsed on top of him, their breathing ragged, their skin wet with sweat. Her panties were somewhere on the floor. His shirt was bunched halfway up his chest, and his jeans were halfway down his legs. He jerked the shirt off, then kicked off his jeans. As they hit the floor, the open living room windows registered somewhere in the fog that was his brain. "Where's Lucy?" With her room smelling strongly of paint fumes the night before, she'd slept on the sofa. If she was there again…
Stretching like a satisfied cat, Jayne rubbed against him and his breath caught in his chest. "Bit late to ask, isn't it?" Her voice was throaty and affected him as surely as a touch, making his taut muscles tremble. "She's in her room. I turned the fan around backward in the window so it sucks the smell out." Ducking her head, she dragged her tongue across his nipple, and his entire body reacted, twitching, quivering.
Rising onto her knees, she peeled her shirt over her head and dropped it. Her skin took on a golden glow in the soft light. He studied her a moment, from head to—well, knees—then touched her. Silky hair, silken skin. Long, elegant throat. Nice breasts, full, the nipples rosy and taut. Narrow waist. Sweetly flared hips. Soft curls. Strong, long thighs.
Just looking made him hard again. Touching made him hurt, but it was a good pain, a welcome pain. He'd had too little of it in his life and faced even less in the future, but for now it was enough.
And that was more than he had any right to hope for.
* * *
Jayne gave up trying to sleep sometime around dawn and slipped from the bed, pulling on a robe and fuzzy slippers. Tyler lay on his stomach, covers pulled to his waist, arm flung out across her side of the bed. It had been a comforting touch through a restless night—one she doubted he would have offered if he'd been awake.
He'd distracted her the night before, she acknowledged as she nuked a cup of water for instant coffee. She'd wanted just a hint of what was going wrong between them, because no matter how he denied it, something was wrong, and she desperately wanted it to be fixable. She desperately wanted them to work, to last forever.
Maybe the answer was simple: he wasn't as involved in the relationship as she was. The possibility made her lungs tighten and her stomach hurt. Other problems—too much us time, feeling suffocated, being put off by some annoying habit—could be dealt with. But if he didn't feel as strongly as she did, if the "real thing" to her had merely been a short-term affair to him … what could she do? She couldn't make him love her. She could only deal with it.
Unlocking the front door, she went out onto the porch. Cameron and Diaz darted after her and loped into the woods, disappearing into the thin morning light. They were easy to please—a little affection, a lot of food and the freedom to run wild for a portion of each day, and they were happy.
Sounded a lot like Greg.
The air was damp, just cool enough to make her velour robe comfortable. To the west, the sky was still dark, but soft light was creeping over Laurel Mountain in the east. Except for an occasional bark from the dogs or a nearer chirrup from some unknown creature, everything was silent. Peaceful.
Except her.
Forcing her worries from her mind, she focused on the sunrise. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen it, had actually taken the time to watch it, admire it, feel humbled by it. Probably when Lucy was a baby, waking at odd hours more for the company, Jayne had always believed, than for the bottle she usually got.
Back then, Jayne's life had been close to perfect. She'd had a beautiful child whom she loved more than life itself. Greg had still been in his trying-to-make-it-work phase and she'd still been in her pretending-it-was-going-to-work phase.
She wouldn't kid herself with Tyler. Every fear inside her insisted he was looking for a way out. She wished she was strong enough to make it easy for him. Any one of her heroines would kick him to the curb and make him do some serious groveling when he came to his senses, but she wasn't one of her heroines. She felt pretty damn weak.
The screen door creaked a moment before Tyler sat down beside her. The scant time was enough to take a cleansing breath and clear her expression. She smiled faintly and said a quiet, "Good morning."
"You're up early." As she watched, he tugged on his socks, shoved one foot into a boot and laced it, then did the same with the other. Then he rested his forearms on his knees and gazed off toward the east.
"I couldn't remember the last time I saw the sun rise."
"Happens every morning about this time."
"What a coincidence. I'm usually asleep every morning about this time."
He didn't ask why she couldn't sleep that morning. Afraid she might answer? Instead, he stared off into the distance as if watching the sky turn delicate shades of rose and gold required every bit of his attention.
"When Lucy was little, sometimes we would watch the sun set, and when it disappeared from sight, she would stand up and applaud," she remarked. "Once she asked me to rewind it so she could see it again."
He didn't even crack a smile. "Too bad life doesn't come with a rewind button—and a redo button."
"Yeah." She stifled the urge to ask him just how far back he would go if he could or what he would do differently. Let them shiver through their first night in their new home without heat? Rein in that unwelcome neighborly gene? Refuse any contact with them?
Maybe the do-over he wanted involved Angela or maybe it went even farther back. She couldn't begin to guess.
A single ray of bright sunlight pierced the sky as he heaved a sigh. "Guess I'd better get ready for work." He leaned across to kiss her, but she impulsively turned her face away so his lips brushed her cheek. The act startled her as much as him. He sort of hovered there a moment before finally straightening, then pushing to his feet.
Regretting the impulse, she set her coffee aside and stood, too, hands crammed into the deep pockets of her robe. "Sorry," she said with a wobbly smile. "I haven't brushed my teeth yet. Morning breath and coffee…" She wrinkled her nose as she fell silent.
He gave a halfhearted smile, as if he believed her. "I'll see you this evening."
"Be careful."
"Yeah."
With her stomach tying itself into a tight knot, she watched him walk a few feet before suddenly speaking again. "I love you, Tyler."
He stopped short, turned and just looked at her for a moment. His dark eyes grew shadowy and his mouth settled in a grim line. "Please stop saying that."
So it hadn't been a dream Saturday. She had said it. And he had deliberately stopped her from saying it again the night before. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to know it.
It wasn't fair. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with someone who didn't love her back. She wasn't supposed to want so much when he apparently wanted so damn little. They were supposed to be on the same page, wanting the same things, sharing the same dreams. He wasn't supposed to be destroying those dreams on a beautiful Monday morning.
Her fingers knotted inside the pockets, but she tried to keep the tension from her face. "Not saying it won't make it any less true."
"What will?" he demanded.
Her breath caught and the blood drained from her face. "The way you're behaving right now might be a good start."
He started to walk off, t
hen swung around and came back toward her. "The way I'm behaving? Things aren't working out the way you wanted, and it's my fault? I didn't ask you to fall in love with me. I didn't want you to. All I wanted was to spend some time with someone, have a little fun. I never said a damn thing to make you think it was anything more than that."
Someone. Not her in particular. Anyone would have done. She just happened to have been convenient. "Have a little fun, a little sex," she said sarcastically.
His face flushed guiltily. "You started it, sweetheart."
It was the first time he'd called her by anything but her name, and he did it in such a snide tone that she wanted to shake him. Worse, she couldn't deny his words. All he'd done was kiss her a few times. She was the one who'd brought sex into the picture when she'd stood in his kitchen that Friday night and boldly told him she wanted to share her bed with him.
It had seemed so simple then. She'd wanted him. He'd wanted her. What could go wrong?
Obviously a lot.
"So…" She drew a breath to steady her voice. "Let me see if I've got it straight. This was just supposed to be a—a fling, an affair. You get a few meals that you don't have to cook yourself, spend a few hours where you don't have to entertain yourself, have sex so you don't have to—" His gaze narrowed, shades darker and degrees colder, and she finished with a jerky shrug. "And when you get tired or bored or you've had enough, you walk away. It's over. How was I supposed to know this? What were the signs I was supposed to pick up on so I'd know it wasn't real? Where were the rules for this game you forgot to tell me we were playing?"
The flush spread to the tips of his ears as he offered his own shrug. "Come on, Jayne. Do you really need everything spelled out for you? You're a grown woman. You've been walked away from before."
Tears burned her eyes, but she stubbornly forced them back. "You never said—"
"That I was interested in anything long-term." A chill swept over him, making him look as distant and frigid as a winter-shrouded mountain peak. "How could I be? You're a pretty woman, Jayne … but you're not Angela."
SOMEBODY'S HERO Page 21
