Coming Home

by Shirlee Busbee

  She studied the greenhouses for several minutes. What in the world was she going to do with them? She could have them dismantled, but she resisted that idea. She'd always had a green thumb, although living in New York hadn't given her much chance to use it or prove it, and she decided that maybe, when things settled down, she'd see just how green that thumb of hers was. Maybe start a flower business. Hmm, she'd think about that.

  Preoccupied, she walked toward the Jeep. She had just opened the door when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Her heart did a funny little jig at the sight of an increasingly familiar big red truck coming around the turn. Jeb Delaney. Oh, great. Absolutely the last person she wanted to see.

  An unfriendly expression on her face, all of her defenses up, she waited for him to get out of the truck, one foot tapping impatiently on the gravel.

  Jeb wasn't thrilled to be here either if the look on his face was anything to go by. He'd put off coming out here this morning as long as he could, and he'd been halfway hoping that Roxanne wouldn't be at home. No such luck.

  He'd brought Boss and Dawg with him and well-mannered dogs that they were, the moment he opened the cab door, both of them scrambled right over andleaped down to the ground. Smothering a curse, in his sternest voice, Jeb ordered them back into the truck. They both looked at him, wagged their tails, and then trotted over to check out Roxanne.

  The frustrated expression on his face made her smile, that and the friendly greeting from the two dogs. Boss checked her out thoroughly before giving her a careless lick on her hand, while Dawg sat at her feet and wiggled all over, one black paw resting on her knee, indicating that a pat on the head would be greatly appreciated. Bending over, Roxanne did just that and got a slobbery kiss on the face for her efforts.

  Laughing up at Jeb, she said, “Police dogs, are they?”

  Something tightened in his chest when she glanced up at him. She wore no makeup this morning and her skin was glowing, her hair waving around her shoulders. She was very, very appealing, he thought uneasily, in blue jeans and red gingham shirt as she laughed at him and ruffled Dawg's ears. Her eyes were dancing and that fabulous mouth of hers … Jeb swallowed. She looked good. Too good. And he was a damned fool. This was Roxanne, remember? The infamous, half-naked model who posed so provocatively in countless magazines. Darling of the jet set. Used to living the good life—changing her men like she changed her sheets. The topic of every tabloid in the nation. His mouth tightened. How could he forget? Or that he was just some country yahoo, a two-time loser, who thought pizza-to-go was living high. He scowled, disgusted with himself.

  Aware of his gaze and feeling shy, she buried her head in Dawg's fur and asked lightly, “So, are they police dogs or not?”

  Jerked back to the present, and glad to be, Jeb shook his head. “Nope, not these two. What they are is a pair of ungrateful mugs who think their mission in life is to eat me out of house and home.”

  She asked their names and for a few minutes they talked about the dogs, watching the pair of them as they raced around to sniff and dig at various spots that appealed to them.

  “I always wanted a dog,” Roxanne admitted, “but living in New York and all the traveling I did didn't make it possible.”

  “Well, I wasn't looking to be a dog owner when these two showed up. I don't know, for some reason—I just couldn't turn them away.” That sculpted jaw of his hardened. “If I hadn't taken them, I knew that they'd starve or get killed or end up in the pound and be put down.”

  Roxanne glanced at him, liking this side of him. She'd never figured him for a soft touch, but to have adopted two such unlikely creatures as Boss and Dawg showed that he might be human after all. OK, almost human, reminding herself that it was in her best interests to keep thinking of Jeb Delaney as a big jerk. Much, much safer.

  Nodding toward the stuffed Jeep, he asked, “Moving?”

  “Yes. You know construction is going to start on Monday. It wouldn't be practical for me to try to live in the place with all the work that is going to be going on.”

  “Practical,” Jeb murmured, “now that's a word I wouldn't normally associate with you.”

  His words stung and her eyes narrowed. “I know that we decided to be 'not friends' yesterday, but don't tell me you drove all the way out here just to insult me.”

  He held up his hands. “Hey, I'm actually here on a friendly mission.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, I am.” He took off his black Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't slept much last night, thinking about yesterday and all they hadn't discussed—diseases, babies … He'd woken up determined to speak with her, but he wasn't enthusiastic about it. In fact, he'd rather leap from a plane into a forest fire than talk about it. Still he had to do the right thing. He took a deep breath.

  “About yesterday …”

  “I thought we decided that yesterday didn't happen,” she said sharply, her eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, embarrassment and shame roiling through her.

  His mouth tightened. “I know. But there's a few things that we do need to talk about before we forget about it.”

  She glanced at him, her expression wary. “Like what?”

  Bluntly he said, “Diseases and babies.”

  Startled, she looked at him. “Oh,” she said, feeling embarrassed for different reasons. “You're right,” she admitted, “we should talk about those things.” She hesitated, not comfortable with blurting out to him that her period had just started. Mortified by the entire situation, especially yesterday's madness, her cheeks burning, she muttered, “About babies— you have nothing to worry about—I won't get pregnant. And as for the other"—her chin lifted and there was a challenging glitter in those lovely eyes—“I'm not as promiscuous as you'd like to believe. You don't have to worry about catching anything from me.”

  “Good. Good,” he replied awkwardly, wishing he were ten thousand miles away. As she gazed at him expectantly, one slim brow arched, he added, “Uh, urn, and you don't need to worry about anything from me.”

  “Well, good,” she said briskly. “Since that's out of the way, can we forget about yesterday now?” “Sure, sure, whatever you want.”

  The sound of a vehicle grinding up the hill made them both look in that direction. The dogs heard the sound too and enthusiastically began to bark, running over to the blue pickup as it pulled up next to Roxanne's Jeep.

  Jeb had recognized the truck immediately and he growled, “What the hell is he doing here?”

  Her spine stiffened. “Since when is it any of your business?”

  Oblivious to the man staring down at the leaping dogs, Jeb grabbed her arm. “Listen, Milo Scott is no good—he's not someone you should be hanging around with.”

  She glared at him and said, “I've known Milo since we were in school together. I know he's supposed to be a bad boy, but trust me, he's a cupcake compared to some men I've met.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” he drawled, her words reminding him again of how different their lives were, “you would know all about bad boys, wouldn't you?”

  It was amazing, she thought with a pang, how easily they slipped into their old confrontational mode. She smiled icily. “Indeed, I would—after all, the tabloids are always right, aren't they?”

  “How the hell would I know?” he snapped, furious and not knowing why. “I don't read the damn things.” “Oh, no. Then how come you know so much about all the bad boys in my life?”

  He stifled the urge to shake her. “OK, I was out of line. But not about Scott. You may have known him in high school, but that was a long time ago. He runs with a nasty crew these days.”

  “So what? And if you're talking about dope—for get 1. about it—he was selling it back then.” Flippantly she added, “I even used to buy some from him.”

  His grip on her arm tightened. “I don't give a damn what you did back then, this is now and I'm telling you that Scott is someone you should avoid. Tell him to get lost.”


  She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “And who,” she grated, “gave you the right to decide who I see and who I don't see?”

  He'd gone about this all wrong, he could see that now. If he'd kept his mouth shut, even acted friendly to Scott, Roxanne probably would have sent him on his way. But no, what did he do? He told her, almost ordered her, to have nothing to do with the guy. He scowled. A surefire method to have her greeting the creep with open arms. Damn! He was dumb sometimes.

  And sure enough, when Milo Scott finally decided that the dogs were greeting him and not thinking about eating him and risked getting out of the truck, what did Roxanne do? After throwing him a challenging look, she turned on her heels and just walked right up to Milo, gave him a big hug, a kiss on the cheek, and exclaimed, “Milo! It's great to see you.”

  Disgusted with himself, Jeb whistled to the dogs. To his astonishment, for once they obeyed. Loading them into his truck, he climbed in behind them. Rolling down the window, he said, “Guess I'll be on my way.”

  “You do that,” Roxanne murmured, her eyes glittering. “Milo and I have tons to catch up on.” She smiled warmly at Milo. “Don't we?”

  Milo put an arm around her shoulder. “Sure do,” he said with a smirk in Jeb's direction. “Roxy and me will be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “Is that so?” Jeb asked in a dry tone.

  “Yeah,” Milo drawled. “I'm the cement contractor on the house.” He grinned at Roxanne. “We' 11 be spending lots of time together out here.”

  Chapter

  6

  Jeb's truck was hardly out of sight before Roxanne slapped Milo's arm off her shoulder. “Knock it off,” she said irritably. “We're not that good of friends.”

  Milo cocked a sandy-colored brow. “Hey, you were the one that came over all friendly-like.”

  “My mistake.” She flashed him a hard look. “Despite what just happened, don't get any ideas—anything between us is strictly business.”

  “No problem.” He nodded in the direction Jeb's truck had disappeared. “So what is it with you and macho-man.”

  “None of your business.”

  “Hey, I only asked.”

  “Well, don't ask anymore.” She frowned. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

  It wasn't that she didn't trust Milo Scott exactly … Despite her act in front of Jeb, she didn't care for Milo all that much. Never had. Not even in high school. There had always been something furtive, creepyabout him and the years hadn't changed that aspect of him, she thought as she studied him. He was considered an attractive man with even features and a head full of wavy sandy-blond hair, but she'd never found him particularly appealing. Something about those flat dark blue eyes and his thin-lipped mouth gave her the whim-whams. Almost six feet and slimly built, he still exuded a wiry strength that she remembered from high school. Milo had been two years ahead of her and as a giggly freshman she had looked up to the school's star quarterback. In a small town like St. Galen's, Milo had been a very big fish, but even then there'd been rumors of dope-dealing and word among the kids had been that if you were looking for a score, go see Milo Scott. She hadn't smoked a toke in over a decade, and as for any other drug, she'd passed them by—she'd seen too many lives and careers ruined by drugs. And Jeb hadn't told her anything new—she'd come back to the valley enough times to know that Milo Scott was still selling dope and had expanded his, ah, area of expertise.

  “So,” she asked again when Milo remained silent, “what are you doing out here?”

  He shrugged. “Just thought I'd take another look before Monday.”

  She frowned again. It would be several days yet before Milo's company could start pouring cement and she didn't really see the need for him to be out here today. If he wanted to waste his time, it didn't matter to her. “OK, I'll walk you through it.”

  He hesitated and she got the distinct impression that he'd rather have been alone. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you know Dirk Aston?” she asked abruptly.

  If he was startled at the change of topic, he gave no sign. Just shrugged again and said, “Sure. Everybody knew Dirk.” He nodded in the direction of the A-frame. “I helped him build the place.” He smiled, showing very nice, very even white teeth, but Roxanne noticed that the smile didn't reach his eyes. “Dirk and I were good buds. We did some business together.”

  “Drug business?”

  “Maybe.” He glanced at her, those flat blue eyes watchful. “You working for the sheriff's office these days? Doing a little investigating for Jeb?”

  Roxanne snorted. “Get real. I was just curious. You know St. Galen's—there are so many rumors going around, I just thought I'd get things clarified … from someone who might know the true story.”

  Milo looked off. “Well, about half the stories are true. Dirk did grow a little pot up here, but he wasn't one of the big growers. He grew a little for himself and sold a little to buy himself a few, er, necessities of life.” He shook his head. “Sure was a shame him getting offed like that in Oakland. But that was poor stupid Dirk—too damn dumb to know he should have stayed in Oak Valley and kept his nose clean.”

  The contempt in his voice was obvious and his comment about Dirk keeping his nose clean made her wonder if he knew more about Dirk's death than he was letting on. She considered pumping him somemore, but something about his expression told her he'd said all he was going to say on the subject.

  “So you're a cement contractor these days,” she said by way of changing the topic.

  He grinned. “Yep. Sure am. Do lots of work all over the county. Got myself a couple of different businesses. You know, keep the cash flowing.”

  And how much of that cash, Roxanne wondered, was actually generated by those companies. Again it wasn't a subject she was going to pursue. None of her business.

  “Well, good for you,” she said. “It's always nice to see someone become successful.”

  “Hey, babe. I'm successful, but nothing like you—you're Roxanne.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I was Roxanne. Those days are over. I'm home to stay. I may still do a few special jobs just to keep my hand in, but as of the first of September, I'm retired.”

  His jaw dropped. “You're shitting me, right? You've giving up all that fame and money to come back to St. Galen's? Are you nuts?”

  Laughing, she linked her arm in his and said, “No, I think for the first time in a long time, I'm thinking straight. Now come on—I've got a copy of the plans in the Jeep. Let me grab them and then we can do that inspection of yours.”

  Once she had unearthed the architectural drawings, side by side they walked around the house, Roxanne pointing out the changes that would take place. For someone whose sole purpose for coming out was to inspect the place, Milo didn't seem to be all that interested. She knew he'd already seen and studied the plans—after all, he'd made a bid on the job, and won it for that matter, but his disinterest bothered her. While she was talking, she noticed that his gaze drifted away in the direction of the outbuildings, the garage, the dilapidated pump house, and the falling-down woodshed.

  Again she considered calling him on it, but figured he'd just give her some song-and-dance, so she let it go. But he was wasting her time and rolling up the drawings, she said, “I think that's it, don't you?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He glanced at her. “Don Bean's doing the tractor work, isn't he? Leveling and digging the foundation?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he is. He starts bright and early Monday morning. It'll probably be at least a week or two before your part of the job will start.”

  “That's OK. My crew will be ready.” He took in another encompassing gaze around. “Well, guess I'll be on my way. Nice seeing you again.”

  Roxanne watched him drive away with a frown between her brows. What, she wondered as she slid behind the wheel of the Jeep, was that all about? He'd barely looked at the house site and he'd agreed way too quickly when she'd called it quits. She bit her lip. If she knew Milo, and she rather thought s
he did, she'd lay odds he was just waiting for her to leave and then he'd come back and check out what was really on his mind. She'd always considered him a slippery bastard.

  It bothered her, the possibility of his sneaking around the place, but there was nothing she could do about it, unless she was going to stay in the cabin twenty-four hours a day. She shook her head. Nope. She wasn't that interested in the games that Milo Scott played. She took one last look at the A-frame and then turned on the ignition.

  The Ballinger family mansion was located off Adobe Lane in the middle of the valley. Driving down the mile-long driveway lined with wide-spreading century old oak trees, she could imagine for just a minute that she was in Louisiana. Gray-green moss even hung from the heavy limbs of the trees, but it wasn't as luxurious or ghostly as found in the South. The sight of the three-storied house with its ten magnificent Doric columns marching across the front and the pair of circular freestanding staircases always made Roxanne's heart leap. Today was no different. It didn't matter that she'd grown up in the house, didn't matter that she was as familiar with it as one could be, it still gave her a thrill to see it.

  Wide, shady verandas on the first and second stories surrounded the house on all sides and its style was such that it would have looked perfectly at home perched along a grand vista overlooking the Mississippi River. York Ballinger, the first Ballinger in the valley, had commissioned the house to be built in the late 1860s.

  Roxanne had always wondered why York, a Yankee L from Boston, who had fought for the Union during the Civil War, had chosen such an obviously southern-styled home. Maybe he'd fallen in love with the gracious southern mansions he'd helped sack and burn? She shook her head. Nah. Probably something to do with the feud with the Grangers. Probably thought it was the style of house old Jeb Granger would have built so York had wanted to beat him to it. She nodded. Yeah. That sounded like the Ballinger/Granger feud.