by Lisa Bingham
Sliding out of the car, she stood with her arm shading her eyes, wondering if he could see her in the distance. As the flashing lights of the bus shifted from red to yellow, she heard the quick honk of his horn.
In that instant, as she offered a broad wave, she experienced a brief jolt of uncertainty.
What was she doing here? Was she leaping from the arms of one man into those of another? Hadn’t she learned yet that you couldn’t know a person’s true character in the space of a few days or weeks?
Even as the thought appeared, she purposely shoved it away. Jace wasn’t Phillip—and she wasn’t looking for marriage. Maybe this … fling … would fizzle out as quickly as it had raged to life. It didn’t matter. She would enjoy it while she could. But if there was one thing she’d learned from her marriage to Phillip, it was that she didn’t ever want to live her life hiding the truth. If she and Jace were going to enjoy a relationship, they were going to do it in the open. She wasn’t ashamed of the time they’d spent together and she refused to live as if she were. So that meant that she needed to have a heart-to-heart with her daughters. Since she had some money in her pocket and the prospect of more paychecks to come, she decided that for the first time in years, she and her daughters were going to splurge. She would take them out to dinner in Logan—nothing too expensive, pizza or burgers. Then …
She’d been thinking it was time to switch phone carriers. She and Phillip were divorced. According to their agreement, any arrangements he might want to make to see the children had to be made through her lawyer. So there was no reason to endure his constant efforts to force her to respond. Instead, she would change her phone, her number …
And she would add a second phone to her plan. She wanted Kari to have the ability to contact her, anytime, anyplace, so that her daughter would have the freedom to spend time with her new friends. Lily, on the other hand, needed new pants and shoes. The fresh air of Utah seemed to be agreeing with her, and she’d had a growth spurt. Maybe she would like a pair of boots like Barry’s. As for Bronte … she was feeling the urge to write poetry again. All she needed was a notebook and her children’s smiles.
Once their shopping was done, they could go see Annie and still get home at a reasonable time for a school night. Through it all, Bronte would talk to them, really talk to them. If there was a question they wanted answered, she would tell them the truth, no matter what. Hopefully, by the end of the evening, she could gently make it clear that they wouldn’t be returning to Boston anytime soon. Even more important, Jace would become a regular visitor at their home.
The bus rumbled to a stop, its red lights flashing. Bronte’s eyes skipped to the white truck that had rolled to a halt behind it. Her gaze tangled with Jace’s through the windshield—and he must have interpreted the thoughts that raced through her brain. Because even as she experienced a flashing montage of memories—the way he touched her, tasted her, filled her with his heat—he offered her a slow smile filled with his own remembered pleasure.
Then, her girls stepped off the bus and her attention was diverted. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel the brand of his gaze as he drove past and looked at her one last time.
*
IT was nearly eight o’clock that night when Jace was roused from mindlessly gazing at the television set. It was Barry’s turn to pick the program, so they were watching Star Trek: Into Darkness. Again. Sometimes Jace felt like he could recite the script from memory. Normally, Jace would find something to do in another room. But Barry had been restless and out of sorts all evening, and Jace was trying to head off a meltdown before he could get his brother into bed.
The doorbell rang and Jace waited for a minute, since Barry usually insisted on racing to get it first. But clearly, he was in a sci-fi coma, so Jace pushed himself to his feet.
“What do you say I go get that?” he muttered to himself.
He wasn’t exactly dressed for company. After returning from Logan, he and Barry had spent another couple of hours feeding cattle. So once they’d come inside, Jace had showered and dressed for comfort in sweats and a T-shirt. He grimaced when he caught his reflection in the entry. He quickly tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers, without much success.
Hopefully, whoever it was wouldn’t be staying for long.
But as he opened the door, Jace immediately regretted the thought when he found Bronte silhouetted against the headlights of her van.
Jace immediately flipped on the porch light.
“Bronte. Is something wrong?”
She stood with her hands shoved into her pockets for warmth against the nighttime chill.
“No. But I wondered if I could talk to you a minute.”
He offered her a slow grin.
“Sure. Come on in.” He held the screen for her and she ducked inside. “Where are the girls?”
“In the van, so I’ll have to hurry.”
She stepped farther into the entry and he followed, only partially closing the door. He didn’t want her kids to freak out, but he also didn’t want to waste the moment. As soon as they were shielded from view, he drew Bronte into his arms.
She must have shared his feelings, because she immediately melted into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and lifting on tiptoe so that she could hold him close.
“You’ve got me worried,” he murmured against her, his eyes closing as he absorbed the familiar scents of vanilla and chocolate that clung to her clothing as well as the faintly floral hint that must be the remnants of her shampoo.
“Everything’s fine—great, in fact.” She drew back enough to smile up at him. “They’ll be releasing Annie from the hospital this weekend.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Yeah, I think so, too. I talked it over with Annie, and she thought she’d be up to a gathering Saturday afternoon. I was worried she might be too tired, but she insisted that she wants to see everyone. So I thought we could have an open house, with sandwiches and cookies. You know, some finger food. People can stop in to visit and leave again depending on their schedules. She would especially like to see you and all of your brothers.”
“I’m sure they’d love to come.”
“Good.” Bronte seemed to choose her words before offering him a crooked smile. “I also had a chat with my girls tonight and … we wondered—as a kind of thank-you for everything you’ve done for us—if you and Barry would … come for dinner Friday evening.”
Jace wondered if the “we” she spoke of reflected the girls’ true sentiments or merely Bronte’s wishful thinking.
“Barry and I would love to come.” Jace’s eyes narrowed as he carefully searched her features. “But won’t that cause more problems?”
She eased back in his arms. Her lip caught between her teeth in a way that was becoming completely endearing. It was her tell, conveying to Jace that she was feeling her way through a situation fraught with complications.
“That’s just it. I don’t want to sneak around, Jace. I don’t want to have a relationship with anyone if it can’t be open and aboveboard.”
The words were so unlike what he’d been expecting, that Jace felt as if he’d been thrown into a runaway elevator. He couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe.
No. God, no. She couldn’t be dumping him. Not yet.
“So you, uh …” He had to swallow hard when his voice emerged husky and inarticulate. “You don’t want to see each other after Friday?”
Her shocked expression reassured him even more than words could have done. “What? No! Of course, I want to see you.” She placed a hand on his chest, right over his still-thumping heart. “That’s just it. I want to see more of you. I want us to be free to explore whatever is happening between us. But Barry’s right. We have to go about it the proper way. My girls have to understand how much I’ve grown to care for you. Even more, they need to see what a loving, healthy relationship looks like. Maybe then, they’ll understand why I had to divorce their father.”
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Jace stared down at Bronte, wondering if she knew what a good person she was—what a good mother. Even more, he wondered if she knew how much she’d revealed to him. Clearly, Bronte wasn’t regarding their time together as a “casual fling.” Until now, when he felt corners of his heart begin to unfurl and relax, he hadn’t realized how much he’d dreaded that Bronte would be like the other women he’d dated in the past—willing to accept a little fun and some casual sex, but opposed to anything deeper.
Abruptly, Jace realized that he wanted more from Bronte—he wanted everything that she was willing to give him. As astonishing and as inconceivable as it seemed, Jace found his feelings for her growing exponentially each day. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of finding in a woman. She was beautiful, loving, and kind. She was accepting of his brother and understanding of Jace’s work schedule. But his emotions went beyond that—beyond a good time and great sex. With her, he felt at peace. When she was gone, he counted every minute until he could see her again.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked.
She sighed. “The girls and I had a long discussion tonight. Or rather, I talked, they listened, and then they sulked. But …” She smoothed away a lock of hair that hung over his brow, then ran the backs of her fingers over his temple and down to the line of his jaw.
“I’d like to date you, Jace Taggart. I’d like to have you drop by my house whenever you want, and I hope you’d be willing to have me do the same.”
Spots of color had appeared in her cheeks—as if suggesting that they spend time together was something too forward. The thought made him smile. There was something so sweet and proper and a little bit old-fashioned about this woman. Yet, as soon as they were alone, she became thoroughly modern, wanton, and sexy as hell.
“So you’re asking me to go steady with you?”
Her eyes rolled, and he laughed. So that was where Kari had learned the gesture.
Sensing his amusement, she sidled closer, one hand slipping between them to cup him through his sweats. “If that’s what they’re calling it these days.”
He didn’t even think of the fact that Barry was in the next room—or that her daughters waited in the car. Swooping down, he captured her lips, kissing her with the hunger that had been brewing all day. For the past hour, zoned out on the couch, with Captain Kirk and Spock yammering in the background, he’d relived every minute of their lovemaking from the kiss on the steps of the back porch, to pinning her against the wall, to christening the bearskin rug. But as arousing as the memories were, they were nothing compared to having the real woman in his arms.
All too soon, she broke free, whispering regretfully, “Sorry. It’s a school night and …”
He kissed her softly, once, twice. “I know. I’ve got to get Barry in bed, too.”
She groaned softly, moving backward toward the door, but pulling him with her as she went.
“Can we meet tomorrow afternoon then? I’ll call as soon as I’m back from visiting Annie.”
“Mmm,” he affirmed against her lips as he kissed her again.
She swore and wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening the caress, then pulled back. “I gotta go.”
“ ’Kay.”
He waited, knowing she was making up her mind about something.
“Maybe tonight … we could text?”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
“Good.” After one last kiss, she wrenched free and pushed open the screen. At the last minute, though, she poked her head back in and said, “Because I’ve never had text sex before.”
Then she was gone, the screen slamming behind her.
Text sex? Did she mean sexting?
Jace stood stunned, her words seeming to ricochet in his skull like a fading echo. But then, as he heard the crunch of her tires on the gravel outside, he broke into a grin and shook his head in disbelief. Just when he thought that he had every aspect of Bronte’s personality nailed down, she would throw out a curve ball in the way of a ribald comment—or she’d strip off her shirt or grip him by the balls.
And damned if it wasn’t sexy as hell.
*
P.D. padded through the cabin, searching for Elam. She could have sworn that she’d heard him heading down to the kitchen. But when she flipped on the lights, it was empty.
“Elam?”
“Out here.”
She retraced her steps through the house to the main living room where a wall of windows looked out over the valley and the twinkling distant lights of town. Sliding the door open, she stepped outside, rubbing her arms when the evening’s chill raised gooseflesh.
“I’m beginning to believe you’re a stalker,” she said as she approached the deck railing where Elam leaned on his elbows, watching something below. “You’ve been out here almost every night. What is it you hope to see?”
Elam straightened, drawing her into his arms, her back against his chest. “I don’t know.”
She rubbed his forearms. “Still worried about Jace?”
“Mmm,” he offered noncommittally.
P.D. glanced over her shoulder, then took another harder look at Elam. He was concerned, yes, but there was also a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
Rather than answering, he pointed toward the big house.
Squinting into the darkness, she frowned. “Is that Bronte’s van?”
“Mmm hmm?”
“How long has she been there?”
“Now who’s the stalker?”
P.D. elbowed him in the gut and Elam made a sound that was half laugh, half grunt. Relenting, he said, “Only a few minutes.”
“Shoot. I’ve been hoping that the two of them would hit it off.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt they’re … ‘hitting it off.’”
His tone was so ripe with meaning that she peered at him again, her brows lifting. “Care to explain?”
“Can’t. Bro code.”
P.D. snorted.
“Let’s say your lunch almost went to waste this afternoon. Until Bodey and I found it untouched and abandoned on the porch.”
Interesting.
“How long do you suppose the lunch was … abandoned?”
“We found it around three.”
“She left Vern’s about one thirty.”
Elam offered her a knowing grin. “Apparently, they had some business that necessitated the use of Jace’s office for a while.”
This time, it was P.D.’s lips that spread in a slow smile. Then she looked down at the disappearing lights. “Wonder why she didn’t stay longer.”
“She’s got kids.”
“He’s got Barry.”
“It’ll require some creative juggling of schedules for them to find some time alone together, but I think they’ll manage.” His arms tightened around her waist. “Speaking of which …” Elam said slowly, “… any chance you can take a couple of hours off tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to take you to lunch.”
“Mmm. That sounds great.”
She turned, resting her head on his shoulder. “In the meantime … Is there any chance you could stop spying on Jace for a while and take me to bed?”
Elam scooped her into his arms, and she squeaked in surprise, her hands whipping around his neck. But she didn’t complain. Every time he held her like this, she felt dainty and light as a feather. So she soaked up Elam’s efforts to spoil her.
But as he turned toward the house, his attention strayed to the valley below.
“Would you look at that?” he mused.
“What?”
She looked down at the Big House, not seeing what had caused Elam’s rapt attention or the flood of relief that softened his features.
He stood in silence for several minutes, staring down at his childhood home, then finally said, “The attic light is on.”
SIXTEEN
JACE flippe
d the switch and watched as a warm glow illuminated the bedroom he’d used as a boy. The garret took up nearly the entire length of the Big House. Although the sharp slope of the eaves made the spaces around the edges all but unusable, the center was long and broad and open. In the day, natural light spilled through the windows of the dormers and gleamed off the hardwood floors. It had been the perfect spot for a kid who didn’t completely fit into the rough and tumble, bronco-busting, cow-roping Taggart mold. Not that Jace hadn’t done his fair share of those things as well.
His gaze skipped to the rows of shelves built beneath the sloping walls. Besides the thrillers and tattered westerns, there were dozens of trophies for football and baseball, high school roping and cow cutting. But what set Jace apart from the rest of the Taggart males were the sketchbooks and portfolio cases, lumps of half-finished clay figures and welded animals he’d fashioned from bits of scrap iron, nuts, and bolts.
For long minutes, Jace stood where he was, absorbing who he used to be. There had been a time when he couldn’t function unless he’d indulged in a few hours of art every day. The desire to create had been as strong as the need for food and water. He’d been driven to make something of himself. Big things. Murals and bronze statues and marble reliefs. He’d wanted to graduate from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, study in Paris and Milan. He’d wanted gallery showings in New York, Miami, and L.A.
But his father hadn’t understood the obsession that bloomed inside Jace. He was a practical man who couldn’t fathom why Jace would throw away a “good education” in the basics—math, business, and science—for a dead-end career like art.
What are you going to do the rest of your life? Sell caricatures at the fair? You can’t make a living doing that.
So Jace hadn’t even applied to SAIC. He’d walked around with the application burning a hole in his pocket for a year, sure that his father wouldn’t approve—and even if, by some miracle, he had agreed—knowing that he’d balk at the tuition.
But Jace had soon discovered that the regrets he suffered for not even broaching the subject were worse than any talk with his father might have been. So he’d set his sights on a prestigious art college back east. But when Jace approached his father about the possibility of helping him with the tuition, Boyd Taggart had clenched his jaw and proposed a deal. Two years. Jace would give him two years of work on the ranch and college at Utah State. During that time, Jace would do everything he could to learn the ranching business from the inside out. Then, if his father was happy with Jace’s progress, he’d pay for two years of tuition to the art college and Jace could pay the rest.
