by Lisa Bingham
Jace chuckled again and started the engine. Clearly, nothing escaped his little brother’s attention. “True enough, Barry. True enough.”
*
WHEN Bronte heard the truck, she stepped onto the rear porch, her heart seeming to stumble over itself in excitement and nervousness.
Good grief. She was a grown-up, a mother.
But even as the thoughts flew through her head, her brain quickly countered with: You’re a woman, too.
Inviting the Taggarts to the open house hadn’t been a problem. But asking Jace to come for a more intimate meal had required diplomacy worthy of a Middle Eastern peace delegation. Surprisingly, Lily hadn’t seemed to care much one way or the other. But then, it was hard to tell when she wasn’t talking a whole lot. Kari, on the other hand, had sighed and grumbled until Bronte had finally been forced to pull the mom card. Which meant that Jace was included, but one child had threatened to spend most of the night in her room while the other was up in the tree house. Again.
What was she doing wrong?
But when the truck doors opened and Jace stepped out, her discouragement was diluted with a wave of anticipation. What was it about this man, that his mere presence gave her strength … and more? As he walked toward her wearing his “going to town” hat, crisp white shirt, jacket, jeans, and shiny tooled boots, she felt a purely feminine shot of desire plundering through her veins.
Her knees were slightly weak as she went down the steps to meet him halfway. When he produced a bunch of white daisies and baby’s breath, she could have melted into a big puddle of girlish pleasure that would have put Kari’s raging crush for Tyson to shame.
“Thank you,” she breathed, so delighted by the offering that her eyes pricked with unexpected tears. She buried her face in the blooms to hide the reaction, not wanting to appear like a silly fool. But when she looked up to find Jace watching her, she was struck by the mix of sheepish pleasure and boyishness that peeked out from the mature, Western Male persona.
“These are for Kari,” Barry announced loudly as he came up behind Jace and held out a box in Bronte’s direction. Beneath the very large bow was a pair of neon yellow earbuds with plastic grips shaped like corn cobs. “I picked ’em out. Jace said when you come to a lady’s house for dinner, you bring a present.”
“Your brother is a very wise man, Barry. Women love flowers. I’m sure Kari will love her new earbuds as well.”
“Emily has a present, too, but it’s my present. Jace didn’t help me.”
“Oh. Then it must be really special.”
He held up a jar with holes punched in the top and what looked like dried twigs inside. “See? It will match her room.”
Bronte looked at Jace in confusion, but kept a smile on her face. “I’m sure she’ll love it because it came from you, Barry.”
He nodded. “Where’s Emily?”
“In the tree house,” Bronte said, pointing. When he ran out of earshot, she murmured under her breath, “She’s always in the tree house. Sometimes I wonder if she goes there to keep her distance from me.”
Jace moved closer, his hand surreptitiously settling in the small of her back. That touch alone had the power to unleash a host of tantalizing memories.
“I don’t think so. Barry said she’s not that upset about the divorce. She’s worried about summer coming.”
“Summer?” Bronte was more confused than ever. “What does that mean?”
Jace shrugged. “I don’t know, but if you give him long enough, he’ll figure out what’s going on. He seems to be pretty good at that.”
Bronte felt a prickling of unease. “Oh, no,” she breathed, shooting a glance at Jace, then back at Barry who was tucking the jar into his shirt so that his hands would be free when he negotiated the ladder. “He didn’t find out about us in the shower—”
“No, thank heavens. But he admitted why he’s been mad at the prospect of our seeing one another. He was afraid that if we went from ‘friends’ to ‘holding-hands friends’ to ‘kissing friends,’ I would move away to a new house like Elam.”
Bronte’s mouth opened in a silent “oh.” She couldn’t help whispering, “Poor thing.”
Jace pulled her more tightly against him. “I reassured him that I wouldn’t be going anywhere.”
He paused, causing her to look away from Barry’s climb. Instantly, her gaze tangled with the warmth of his.
“I let him know that I wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not without him.”
There was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes—and it struck her like a bolt of lightning. He wasn’t telling her. He was asking her. He wanted to know if having Barry around would be a deal-breaker.
She felt a flash of anger for all of the women who had ever made Jace believe that having Barry as part of the bargain was a drawback rather than a blessing.
Knowing that she couldn’t keep from touching him another minute, even if her children were watching, she slid her arm around his waist. “Look at that,” she whispered, gesturing to the boy who pulled himself onto the wide planks of the tree house. “Who wouldn’t want a kid like that around every day?”
Message received.
Jace’s arm tightened around her waist and she felt the kiss that he placed on the top of her head.
“I hope Lily doesn’t hurt his feelings when he presents her with a jar of sticks,” Bronte said.
“It’s not a jar of sticks. It’s a butterfly.”
“What?”
“There’s a chrysalis hanging from one of those branches. He’s been watching it like a mama hen since he found it last fall.”
“He’s giving it away?”
“He said Lily needed it more. To match her room.”
Bronte’s hand flew to her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. Not now that Barry had removed the jar from his shirt again. He sank onto the planks next to Lily who sat with her arms wrapped around her knees.
“Here, Emily. This is for you.”
Bronte held her breath, waiting to see what happened. Lily looked up, but other than that, she didn’t move.
He set the jar down and pointed to it. “See here? That’s what Jace calls a chrisamus. But I call it a caterpillar house. See, before Halloween, I found a caterpillar. It was kinda creepy looking and all wriggly like a worm. But it was hanging off this branch and he was making a little sleeping bag for the winter. So’s Jace helped me bring it home and put it in the jar.”
Obviously entranced, Lily relaxed her grip on her knees and leaned closer to look.
“One of these days real soon, it’s gonna break open the chrisamus—an’ you know what? It’s not going to be a caterpillar anymore. Some kinda magic happens in that chrisamus thing. When it comes out, it’s a butterfly!”
Bronte watched as Lily looked up, her eyes wide. “We can see it happen?”
“We can’t watch it turn to a butterfly ’cause that goes on inside. But we can see it get loose and then it will try to fly.” Barry squinted, studying the chrysalis. “But Jace says it wouldn’t be happy in the jar. When it comes out, we gotta set it free and let it fly away.”
Lily seemed slightly disappointed, but Barry hurried to reassure her.
“It’s okay, ’cause I know the perfect place to let it loose. Up in the mountains where we keep some of our cows, there’s a place where there’s lots of grass and these red flowers. I think Jace said they were puppies—like they have in The Wizard of Oz show that comes on TV. But these puppies don’t make you fall asleep and the butterflies really like ’em. I like to ride up there on my horse with Jace, an’ when I do, I lie down really still in the grass until they land on me. Then they rub their magic on me an’ I feel all brand-new, like the butterflies.”
Bronte released her breath when, wonder of wonders, Lily spoke.
“Really? Can I go?”
“Yup. I bet I can get Jace to take us there when it’s time.” Both of them were now bent down, their faces close to the glass. “We got to be careful with it ’til then
. We don’t want to stop the magic inside.”
“Maybe we’d better take the chrisamus inside,” Lily whispered.
“I think that would be a good idea. ’Sides, it needs to see its new room.”
Barry stood and tucked the jar back into his shirt, carefully fastening the buttons again so that the precious cargo wouldn’t slip free.
“You go first. Then, I’ll come down.”
Lily scrambled to her feet, scampering down the ladder with lightning speed. Barry quickly followed. Once on the ground, he unfastened his shirt and handed the jar to Lily. Then, with Lily asking him a million questions at once—“Where should I put the jar? Do I have to feed it?”—they hurried past Bronte and Jace into the house.
Just like that, Lily’s dark mood seemed to dissipate as the sound of her laughter echoed from deep in the house.
Bronte unconsciously gripped Jace’s hand. How? How was Barry able to break through her daughter’s misery when everyone else failed?
Jace lifted their laced fingers to his lips, kissing her softly on the knuckles.
“He’s like that. He can drive you crazy sometimes when he peppers you with questions or stubbornly refuses to do something that you really need him to do. But when you’re sure you’re going to lose your cool … he does something wonderful.”
Bronte turned to him then, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just like every other kid.”
“Yeah. Just like every other kid.”
Then, unable to stand another minute of waiting, Bronte lifted on tiptoes, pressing her lips against Jace’s.
“Where are we going with this?” she whispered when they parted again.
Jace rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to go it alone anymore,” he answered.
“Me either.”
As soon as the words were said, a weight seemed to lift from her chest. Nothing had been solved—her life wasn’t miraculously made less complicated. But by putting her nebulous feelings into words, it did make everything … easier, somehow. Because this—this man and the storm of emotions he inspired in her—felt right. For once in her life, she wasn’t going to analyze it. She wasn’t going to weigh her options and study every angle, every possibility. She was going to rely on her heart to guide her.
So maybe, just maybe, the magic from Barry’s butterfly was already beginning to take effect.
*
AS Bronte turned the van into the lane that led to her grandmother’s house, she heard a visible gasp from the backseat, where Annie sat with her cast-covered leg extended into the center aisle and her wrist propped on a pillow.
“Oh, Bronte,” she whispered, her voice tremulous with surprise and emotion.
Bronte smiled. In the month since Bronte had first driven up this lane, weary from her cross-country flight, the lilac bushes had exploded with blooms and the heady fragrance poured through the open windows. One of Jace’s ranch hands had maneuvered a swather down the lane, mowing down the weeds, while another had filled the potholes with fresh gravel. Then, as a finishing touch, P.D. and the girls had fastened yellow helium balloons to each of the fence posts.
“Welcome home, Grandma.”
Bronte kept one eye on the rearview mirror as she rounded the bend and the house came into view. In the bright May sun, it gleamed with its fresh coat of paint, and the flowerbeds were dotted with starts of perennials and pansies. The new porch held chairs and a small table that P.D. and Bronte had found at a local hardware store, and the railings were festooned with more yellow balloons.
As soon as the car appeared, the small gathering of people surged forward in greeting. Besides Bronte’s children, the entire Taggart family was there, as well as their hired men. There were several neighbors, Helen and Syd Henderson, and a group of women who were members of Annie’s quilting club. In the shade beneath the trees, tables and chairs borrowed from the local church had been decorated with bright tablecloths and more yellow balloons, with a larger buffet table located in the middle.
“Bronte, you’ve gone to so much trouble,” Annie scolded. But there was no censure to the remark, merely a sense of wonder.
“Everyone pitched in, Grandma. I think the whole town was really worried about you. Helping to get things ready for your return gave us something to do other than worry.”
Annie’s eyes sparkled with tears, but her smile was one of pure joy.
She was saved from making a response when Bronte stopped the car. Almost immediately, Bodey Taggart was there, sliding open the door.
“There’s my girl!” he said with a grin.
To Bronte’s surprise, Annie giggled like a teenager and spots of color appeared on her cheeks.
“You’re a scamp, Bodey Taggart.”
He climbed into the van and effortlessly scooped Annie into his arms. By the time he’d made it to the door, Jace was waiting with the wheelchair that he’d retrieved from the trunk. Annie was quickly transferred to Jace’s arms and from there to the chair. Then, as Bronte hurried to circle the van, he pushed Annie toward the waiting crowd.
Within minutes, the gathering took on the air of a party. Annie was quickly surrounded by well-wishers who offered her small gifts, filled her plate with tempting bites of food, and replenished her cup of punch.
Bronte kept a careful eye on her grandmother, not wanting to tire Annie on her first day home. But she needn’t have worried. Annie’s friends were equally concerned. When Annie seemed to flag, they helped her inside, settled her into the overstuffed recliner, and covered her with a lap quilt. For a time, the festive mood shifted as neighbors took the opportunity to congratulate Elam and P.D. on their engagement. But then, one by one, the visitors began to leave.
Soon, all that remained were P.D., the Taggart men, and Syd and Helen. As Bronte and P.D. collected serving dishes and utensils to be washed, Helen and Syd gathered up the Dutch ovens, and the Taggarts started to disassemble the borrowed tables and chairs and load them onto the back of Bodey’s truck.
As they all worked together, chatting and laughing softly, Bronte realized that in coming to Bliss, she hadn’t simply found a haven in her grandmother’s home, she’d added the support of good friends as well. These people cared about her family. They’d not only rallied around Annie when she’d needed help, but they made it clear that they truly cared about her and her girls.
In many ways, that acceptance made her feel as if she were emerging from a long, isolated winter into the warmth of spring.
Her eyes skipped to Jace. She still marveled at how quickly she’d grown to care for this man. Even now, with as many times—and ways—that they’d made love, she couldn’t get enough of him. It wasn’t only the sex. It was the way he made her feel—strong and beautiful and valued. She loved the way he followed her with his eyes, or his lips twitched into a smile whenever he caught sight of her. For the first time she could remember, she was completely comfortable being herself around another person. He inspired a sense of safety, physically and emotionally. Deep down, she knew there was nothing she could do or say that would change the way he cared for her.
She wasn’t so foolish to think that either of them were perfect, that if they continued on with this relationship that there wouldn’t be tiffs and quarrels. But even then, she felt secure, sensing that the two of them could have a rip-roaring argument, but nothing would shatter the foundation of mutual respect that they’d already begun to build between them.
That was something she’d never had with Phillip. From the beginning, she’d known she could never push her own views in a disagreement. She’d learned early on to bite her tongue and feign appeasement in order to avoid the repercussions that would surely follow.
She looked up from the balloons she’d been gathering to find Jace watching her and she shot him a quick smile. After last night’s dinner, her children seemed to have decided that ignoring any intimacy between Jace and their mother was the best tack, and she was glad for that. She felt more relaxed having ever
ything out in the open. Even better, Jace had been able to subtly announce their relationship to the rest of the gathering with an arm around her back or by lacing their fingers together at the dinner table.
The crunch of gravel and a low rumble signaled that a late arrival was heading up the lane. P.D. straightened from where she was sweeping cups into a garbage bag to shade her eyes.
“Looks like someone’s come late to the party,” she murmured.
Bronte turned to look. “Oh, dear. I wonder if we should head them off and have them come back tomorrow. I think Annie’s hit the end of her endurance for the day.”
P.D. scowled. “I don’t recognize the car right off. Elam? Do you know who that could be?”
Elam walked up to slide his arms around her waist. “No. Sorry.”
The car drew to a stop a few yards away from the scattered Taggart vehicles, but the angle of the sun hitting the windshield made it impossible to see the driver until he opened the door and stepped out.
At first, Bronte didn’t recognize the man. But even before her eyes were able to send the information to her brain, a frisson of warning ran up her arms, over her shoulders, and lifted the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. Then came the recognition that had her instantly alert, every muscle in her body poised for action as she scrambled to remember the last whereabouts of her children.
Kari … where … where?
Kitchen.
Lily … dear heaven …
Tree house.
Close enough that she would probably hear everything.
Inwardly, she prayed that the girls would remain where they were, hidden, out of reach during the confrontation that was about to come.
Bronte felt rather than saw Jace ease toward her. Without a word of explanation, he apparently sensed the threat.
“Is that Phillip?” he asked lowly, moving into place behind her shoulder.
NINETEEN
BRONTE nodded—or at least she thought she did. Her body seemed frozen and unable to respond.
