Homecoming

by Rochelle Alers

  “Union soldiers burned Greenville to the ground. The citizens rebuilt the town, only to suffer a yellow fever epidemic in 1877. It was nearly destroyed by a disastrous flood in 1890, and then again in 1927. Levees finally solved the flooding problem after that.”

  “I don’t think anyone would complain if we had a week of rain right about now.”

  Dana smiled at Tyler when he gave her a quick glance. “You’re probably right.”

  He returned his attention to the road. “What made you decide to become a journalist?”

  “It wasn’t my first career choice.” Her voice was low, calm as she told Tyler how she’d always wanted to become a nurse, how she’d been fascinated by her father’s ability to assist in the healing of a patient. “I loved the antiseptic smell of hospitals and the efficient chaos of an emergency room.”

  “It’s not too late for you to make a career change.”

  She shook her head. “At thirty-three I’m a little old to think about going to nursing school.”

  “That way of thinking is passé. I know men and women who waited until their forties to apply to medical school. It’s a long and tough grind for someone in their twenties, but I discovered older students were much more mature and focused than their younger counterparts.”

  “How many older students were in medical school with you?”

  “Two.”

  “Two out of a class of what?”

  “Three hundred forty-eight.”

  “That’s less than one per cent, Tyler.”

  “That’s true. But both were women, African-American, single mothers, and both graduated in the top ten percent of the class.”

  Dana covered her mouth with her hand to stop the bubble of laughter spilling from her lips. The sound was infectious, and seconds later Tyler’s deep rumbling laughter joined hers.

  “Power to my sisters,” she said, still laughing.

  “Amen,” Tyler intoned softly. “How did you get into journalism?”

  “Mass communications was my minor as an undergrad.”

  “What was your major?”

  “Criminal Justice. I’d become fixated with law because of my father’s trial. My grandmother, in her need to protect me from my parents’ murder/suicide, over-compensated by not allowing me to visit my father in jail, or going to court for his trial. She even forbade me to read the Hillsboro Herald, which put out special daily editions for the duration of the trial. I’d immersed myself in the study of criminology like a first-year law student, staying up nights going over cases, researching interrogation techniques and evidence gathering. My college social life was practically nonexistent. If I wasn’t in my room studying, then I could be found in the library.

  “One day I fainted while walking to class, and spent two days in a local hospital, undergoing a battery of tests. The reason for my collapse was sleep deprivation and malnutrition. My advisor came to see me, suggesting I seek out a therapist after I’d begun crying and couldn’t stop. I took her advice, stayed in counseling for two years, and learned how to cope with losing my parents.”

  Signaling, Tyler turned off onto a county road, following signs advertising a restaurant that served the best seafood in the state. He’d listened to Dana as she disclosed her anguish and frustration, wanting to stop and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear, that he would protect her. But he hadn’t because he knew instinctively she would reject his overt display of empathy.

  A slow smile softened his features, because now he knew why he’d been drawn to Dana Nichols. Not only was she beautiful and intelligent, but also decisive, independent, and feisty. Qualities he admired in a woman—qualities found in the women in his family.

  His fingers tightened around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. The word family jumped at him again. What was it about Dana that evoked a longing to make her a part of his life, his family? She’d already laid down the ground rules: She would remain in Hillsboro for only four months—hardly enough time for him to get to know her or she him, and there was to be no physical involvement. That wouldn’t have proved a hardship if he hadn’t been celibate. He was able to keep his erotic thoughts at bay during his waking hours, but it was at night when he went to bed alone that his traitorous thoughts played havoc with his body. Tossing and turning restlessly, he’d lay awake for hours, trying to mentally will his rigid flesh to a flaccid state. He tried concentrating on anything but Dana, but the sound of her voice and the vision of her golden eyes returned with vivid clarity, until he finally left his bed to sit in the breakfast room and drink black coffee.

  He stole a glance at Dana’s delicate profile, silently cursing her. She’d become hazardous to his health because he couldn’t sleep, had resumed his marathon coffee-drinking sessions, and for the first time in a very long time, he considered taking care of his own sexual needs rather than release his passions in a woman’s scented body.

  “You say therapy helped you cope with your fixation with your parents’ tragic demise, yet you’re going to spend four months researching their murder/suicide.”

  Biting down on her lower lip, Dana felt a throbbing pulse against the ridge of her teeth. She knew researching Harry’s murder trial would reopen all wounds. But she was no longer a child, vulnerable and emotionally defenseless. Her grandmother had done what she thought was best to protect her, not knowing the exile would prove more damaging than supportive.

  “I need closure, Tyler. My parents are dead. The great-aunt who’d become my guardian died during my junior year in college, and I just buried my grandmother earlier this week. I’m the last of the Hillsboro Suttons and the Nicholses, and once I leave Mississippi I don’t want to look back.”

  Tyler wanted to tell Dana that she did not have to constantly remind him that her stay in Hillsboro would be a short one—that she would probably leave at the end of October or the beginning of November. Four months. He had only four months to execute his own plan in which he would convince her to stay in Hillsboro—forever.

  Downshifting, he maneuvered off the paved road onto a rutted one leading up a steep hill. Looking around her, Dana noticed the towering pine trees growing closely together nearly blotted out what was left of the fading sun. Twilight had fallen.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to stop so we can get something to eat.”

  She shrugged a bare scented shoulder, settling back to peer at the changing landscape through the windshield. Everything was still green in this part of Mississippi. It was as if the area hadn’t been affected by the lingering drought. But she knew that even if the trees were still green, the ground was bone-dry. One carelessly discarded lighted match or one strike of lightning was certain to turn the woods into a raging inferno.

  Dana heard the sounds of music, blaring car horns, and raucous laughter before she saw the enormous structure constructed of thick, massive logs. Standing in a cleared area was the largest log cabin she’d ever seen. It more closely resembled a longhouse than a cabin. Blinking colorful neon lights glaringly identified the establishment as Three J’s.

  A lot set aside for parking was filled with pickups, sport utility vehicles, and several farm vehicles. Men and women were getting out of trucks and tractors, dressed in suits, jeans, T-shirts, skimpy tank tops, shorts, and dusty footwear.

  Tyler pulled into a space next to a tractor and parked. He came around the low-slung car, holding the passenger-side door open for Dana. Extending his left hand, he waited for her to place her hand in his. He noticed the indecision in her gaze, which vanished as she placed her hand on his outstretched palm. Tightening his grip, he pulled her to her feet, curved an arm around her narrow waist, and led her to the door to Three J’s. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust from coming out of the encroaching darkness into the muted lights inside the eating establishment. He felt Dana stiffen, and he pulled her closer to his side.

  Dana went completely still, her gaze widening as she took in the sights an
d sounds inside the restaurant. An enormous colorful jukebox was the space’s focal point. Specially made, it covered about thirty feet of one wall, and was filled with hundreds of compact discs. The interior was dimly it, as if everyone who’d ventured through its doors came to hide from the outside world. Strategically hung light fixtures with three globes were reminiscent of those identifying pawnshops.

  Tyler saw the direction of Dana’s stunned gaze. Lowering his head, he said softly, “It holds three thousand CDs.” He’d answered her unspoken question. “Three J’s stands for Jesse’s Juke Joint, and as a family-owned business, they’re known for serving the best seafood in the state. They even have their own catfish farm out back,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Tilting her chin put her mouth dangerously close to his. “I thought you said we were going for a drive in the country, then stop to take in a few sights.”

  He smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened attractively. “You’ll get to see sights here that you probably won’t see anywhere else in the state,” he said cryptically.

  Dana had to admit Tyler was right about unusual things to see. They sat a table for two in a dimly lit corner as the humongous jukebox blared out blues, rock and roll, hip-hop, and R&B tunes covering nearly seventy years of music. The blues was the sound of the Mississippi Delta, the South Side of Chicago, and a million juke joints all over the country.

  The music was as eclectic as Three J’s patrons. Well-dressed businessmen, farmers, truckers, and office workers crowded tables, drinking pitchers of beer and devouring mounds of steaming crawfish, steamed crabs, and crispy strips of fried catfish with an accompanying Dijon mustard sauce with a hint of horseradish hot enough to wake up one’s untried taste buds. The restaurant’s specialties included a shrimp cocktail made with sweet Gulf jumbo shrimp, soft-shell crab sandwiches on sourdough bread with a spicy mayonnaise, sweet-and-sour cole slaw, spicy collard greens, hot buttered biscuits and corn bread, fried chicken, and baked country ham and sweet-potato fries.

  A quartet of pool tables was set up in one corner, several dart boards in another, and half-a-dozen video games in a third. Eight flat-screen televisions crowded every available wall space, all of them tuned to different channels with the sound muted. And whenever the mood hit, couples would get up and dance to whatever was playing on the jukebox.

  A middle-aged couple danced to Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing,” moving sensuously to the classic R&B tune. The woman wound her arms around her partner’s neck, her hips grinding heavily against his without moving her feet.

  “Ya’ll know ya’ll too old for that foolishness,” a woman with a raspy voice called out. “Take that ole nasty stuff home, Vilma. Don’t ya’ll know there’s decent people up in here?”

  Vilma raised her head from her partner’s shoulder, rolled her eyes, while sucking her teeth loudly. “You just mad ’cause you don’t git none, that’s all. If you’d took care of your man like I do mine, then you wouldn’t be running off at the mouth about somethin’ being nasty.”

  Everyone laughed at Vilma’s comeback, Dana laughing with the others. She found herself humming along with John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom,” Bobby Blue Bland’s “Turn On Your Love Light,” Muddy Waters’s “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man,” and B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.”

  Tyler nodded his head in time to the music, singing softly under his breath, “I got twenty-nine ways to make it to my baby’s door. If she need me bad, I can find about two or three more.”

  “How do you know all these songs?” she asked Tyler after Willie Dixon’s “Twenty-nine Ways” ended.

  Lowering his gaze, he smiled the sensual smile she’d come to look for. “I try to come here every Friday night. It’s funky and unconventional, and the best way I know to unwind at the end of a work week.”

  He came to Three J’s because he could be Tyler and not Dr. Cole. He was just another customer who came to eat and listen to music. There were occasions when he got up to dance with a woman, but most times he preferred sitting alone, watching everyone enjoy themselves. He liked their policy of leaving menus along with what was known as a Three J’s purchase order on the table. All a customer had to do was check off his selections, leave it on the table, and a server would come by and pick it up. Pitchers of wine, beer, or soda were compliments of the house.

  The distinctive voice of Etta James crooning “At Last” flowed from the speakers, and Tyler stood up, extending his hand to Dana. “Dance with me, please.”

  Rising to her feet, she permitted him to lead her out to an area set aside for dancing, moving into his strong embrace. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead on his shoulder, melting into his unyielding strength.

  Tyler was a good dancer, and she followed his lead easily. Her arms curved around his waist as she moved closer, reveling in the sense of protectiveness she found in her dance partner’s embrace. She’d permitted Galvin to make love to her, hold her close throughout the night, yet he never was able to make her feel totally protected. It was as if he withheld a part of himself to conceal his own vulnerability.

  But it was different with Tyler. Wrapped in his embrace, cradled gently to his heart, made her feel safe, as if she had nothing to fear—seen or unseen. It was as if he was in total control of himself and his world around him, and she would have nothing to fear if she opened up and allowed him to become a part of her existence.

  Hadn’t she told herself that she was prepared to smile, flirt, and do everything short of using her body or bribing someone to get what she wanted to unravel the events beginning with her mother’s murder? And hadn’t Tyler offered to help her secure the best private investigator in the state? But distrust, suspicion, and false pride had kept her from accepting his assistance.

  Without warning, a sense of strength came to her as any misgivings she harbored dissipated. She’d lived with pain and loss for two thirds of her life, which kept her from living and loving freely.

  Galvin’s deception had wounded her even though she knew he’d attributed his decision to a desire to go back to a former girlfriend. He’d asked the one thing from her she hadn’t been able to give: a declaration of love. She’d felt in her heart that she’d loved Galvin, yet had been unable to verbally express her love.

  “Tyler?”

  Resting his chin on the top of Dana’s head, he exhaled a long sigh of contentment. He’d felt a bottomless peace holding her in his embrace, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm.

  “Yes, darling?” He went completely still, missing a step. Recovering quickly, he spun Dana around and round. The passionate endearment had just slipped out of its own volition.

  “What is it, Dana?” His tone was neutral, lacking emotion.

  She stared up at him, trying to make out his expression. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  There was a pulse beat of silence before he spoke again. “What about?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m going to accept your offer to help me find a private investigator.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, nodding. “Have you changed your mind about anything else?”

  Dana knew he wanted her to stay longer than four months, but she couldn’t. She was fortunate the Chronicle’s publisher had approved her leave, knowing he had only agreed because she usually worked a four-day workweek during the summer months.

  “Not yet.”

  There was a gentle softness in her voice that swept over Tyler like a rush of cool air over his face on a hot, sultry day. Swinging her around again in an intricate dance step, he pulled her closer and breathed into her ear.

  “I should warn you that I’m a patient man, Dana. A very patient man, who’s willing to do whatever it takes, within reason of course, to make you change your mind.”

  There was something about Tyler that drew Dana to him, but on the other hand he had a maddening hint of arrogance that made her wary. And there was no doubt he was spoiled, used to getting his way.

  “Are you an only child?” she asked.<
br />
  The song ended and he led her back to their table. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “If you’re not an only child, then you must be the only son.”

  He seated her, lingering over her head. Their server had picked up their order. “Now, who’s the one answering a question with a question?”

  Waiting until he was seated across from her, Dana gave him a direct stare. “You’re spoiled, Tyler Cole. You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

  “No.” His expression was stoic.

  She wrinkled her nose, charming him with the gesture. “Yes, you are,” she crooned.

  Reaching across the small table, he ran a forefinger down the length of her short nose. “You’re wrong about that, Dana, because I can’t get my way with you.”

  “I’m probably the first woman who has ever turned you down.”

  He sobered, his gaze caressing her face before it shifted lower to her chest. Slowly, boldly, and seductively he looked her over, stoking and bringing to life a banked fire that Dana had long forgotten existed. And as she studied the lean dark-skinned face of the man who made her feel desire with only a glance, she chided herself for challenging him. Had she gone too far?

  “No, Dana.” Tyler’s quiet voice floated across the space separating them. “You’re not the first woman to reject me. But you are the first woman I’ve met that I want to get to know—really know.”

  “That’s impossible.” Her voice was a hushed whisper.

  “Why?”

  “I’m only going to be here four months.”

  He leaned closer. “That’s enough time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  She blinked once. “Okay, Tyler, you’re on,” she said, accepting his challenge.

  Lowering his lids, he smiled, a sweep of thick black lashes touching a pair of high cheekbones. “We go all the way, Dana.”

  “All the way,” she repeated seconds before he rose from his chair, hunkered down, and covered her mouth covered with his, sealing their pledge, while leaving her mouth burning with a fire that refused to go out.