“That sounds like the winner to me. Okay, thanks, Brooke.” Since their initial conversation, she had insisted he call her by her first name.
For the next few hours, Noah waited, barely able to concentrate on his work. When he returned from court and Judy blocked his way to his desk, saying, “A Brooke Sullivan is on your line,” he all but lifted her to move her out of his way and get to the phone.
“Yes, Brooke,” he said, unable to keep the anxiety and hope out of his voice.
“Well, she didn’t send it back with me.”
“You mean she accepted it?”
“I’m hoping that’s what she’s doing.”
“Well, what did she say?” His voice sounded so tight and foreign to him that he had to check himself. He couldn’t remember when he was more eager to hear something positive.
“She stared at it a good while and finally said it looked very lifelike. Then she asked if she sent this back, would you keep ordering things? I told her that was probable.”
“How did she react to that?”
“She was quiet for a moment and then she thanked me for bringing it.”
Noah didn’t try to hide his relief. “Thank you, Brooke. I sincerely appreciate all that you did.”
“I just hope something good comes from this. My opinion of you has changed—if that makes any difference.”
“It means a great deal.”
But now what? Noah thought after he hung up.
* * *
She just didn’t know what to do.
On Tuesday afternoon that dilemma preyed on Rylie’s mind. Her first impulse yesterday had been to return Noah’s gift to Brooke again, but she knew Gage’s wife was right—he would only send something else, and she didn’t want him wasting his money on her. Okay, so she was somewhat flattered that he had done everything he had so far, but there was no future in it. They were apples and oranges—more accurately Dom Pérignon and diet soda. By closing time, she asked her uncle for a favor.
“Do you suppose they were wrong about your new truck not being in until later this week?” On Saturday, they’d had fun shopping the dealerships in the area and then having dinner to celebrate Roy’s deciding on one. But the silver extended-cab Chevy wouldn’t be delivered from its current location at the Port of Houston until tomorrow or even Friday.
“I’ve dealt with them before. The interior package that I wanted was hard to find without special ordering, so, yeah. I’m not expecting a call until then. Why?”
Knowing he was too sharp not to read into what she was going to say, she said, gently, “May I drive you home and borrow the truck for an hour?”
Roy—and everyone else—had already picked up on Noah’s latest gift, and that she’d kept it. Therefore, his narrow-eyed stare was less intimidating than it might have been.
“What are you going to do?” he demanded.
“Go talk to him.”
“I don’t like that idea.”
“Well, it needs to be done.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, you won’t. I’m twenty-five, not fifteen. Either you’ll lend me the truck or I’ll figure out something else.” She hadn’t yet gotten her license changed, as planned. Regardless of everyone’s good intentions to get her there, Monday had been crazy and Tuesday’s scheduling turned out to be not much better. At least now she wasn’t worried about being bothered by the police.
“Staying put is the idea I like best,” Roy grumbled.
Rylie tried gentle persuasion. “I just want to make sure he understands that I only accepted his gesture because I wanted him to stop.”
“That can’t be said over the phone?”
“Important things should be done in person, Uncle Roy.”
In the end, her uncle relented, only to insist on waiting in the RV for her to return. He would be comfortable watching MG as he kept up with the latest baseball playoff game on TV. Rylie had reminded him that there was beer and the rest of the pizza from lunch in the fridge, and had driven off.
Now, what if Noah was out for the evening? she wondered while en route to Haven Land.
When she pulled into the estate with the grand stone entrance where the electronic gates were open, she almost lost her courage. She’d passed the place a few times now on her way to Rusk, and the acreage was every bit as stunning as the stately white-pillared mansion. A modernized Tara, she thought, eyeing the sunroom on the left side overlooking a pool every bit as large as the one in the city park.
Her confidence turned into full-fledged nerves when she spotted Noah in front talking to a shorter and darker man whom she quickly recognized as Ramon. As she drew closer, she saw a series of mounds near the driveway, which was probably what had Noah concerned.
As she came around the circular drive, Ramon’s eyes widened with surprise. Then, with a wave of his Western hat—he was clearly on yard duty at the moment—he hurried off toward the barn with the spray canister he had been toting.
As Rylie parked and approached Noah, she tucked her hands into the back of her slim jeans and asked as though they’d just talked minutes ago, “Showing Ramon what a fire-ant mound looks like?”
The mild sarcasm was a subtle reminder of his tone with her during their first meetings. Noah’s self-deprecating smile indicated that he remembered only too well.
“As usual, he’s four or five steps ahead of me. I was only worried that Mother would come out in her chair to admire her roses and accidentally roll into the ant nests before she realized they were there. I should have known that he’d already been mixing the poison. Thankfully, he’s patient with me.” Noah’s tone then grew far more tender and husky. “It’s so good to see you. Words are inadequate.”
Rylie studied him in the late-afternoon light. He looked less browbeaten than Brooke had suggested, but there were undeniable shadows under his eyes and he was a bit paler than the last time she saw him—undoubtedly losing himself in his work more than ever. She wished she could take some satisfaction out of that, but she’d never been that kind of person. It was time to just say what she meant and get this behind them.
“I didn’t come here looking for compliments. I came to thank you for the gestures, but to ask you to quit. That’s why I accepted your last gift. You need to know that I’ve put what happened behind me, so you can, too. Stop, I mean.”
Still wearing the white dress shirt and gray pants from the suit he’d obviously been wearing at work today, Noah looked as underdressed as was probably possible for someone like him. Nevertheless, he retained the power to make her pulse do crazy things. In comparison, she was in a turquoise T-shirt and jeans, but at least she’d ditched the maroon lab jacket, and the four-legged critters had been easy on her clothes today. Given the compliments she’d received now and again, the turquoise seemed to do nice things with her hair and eyes.
Noah looked stymied by her directive. “Stop...? I don’t know that I can.”
Was he kidding? He was the assistant D.A. of Cherokee County, probably the next D.A. He’d been groomed to convince, coerce, chide, mock, herald and warn off in nuances a mockingbird would envy. Where was the difficulty for an orator in canceling an ongoing flower-shop order?
With curiosity getting the best of her, she asked, “Why not?”
“I’m on a mission. What’s more, just because you’re generously putting this—what I did—behind you, that doesn’t mean you’ve really forgiven me. That’s what I need to be convinced of.”
“You’re forgiven, okay? It’s done.”
Shifting his hands on his hips, he shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
His stance might look bold, but his words weren’t arrogant. They were simply, quietly spoken. “What difference does it make to you anyway?” she replied, feeling a little desperate now. Her resistance was crumbling un
der the power of this somber, intense Noah.
As soon as she uttered those words, she wished she could take them back, because he started to walk toward her. The expression in his gorgeous-but-compelling brown eyes had Rylie backing away, completely forgetting the truck behind her, until she bumped into sunset-warmed metal. From bra line to hips, she felt the heat; however, that was tepid compared with what his look stirred inside her.
When Noah was toe-to-toe with her, he framed her face with his hands. “Only this,” he whispered against her mouth.
For a man with so much brooding going on within those intelligent eyes, his hands and lips were incredibly tentative and gentle, inviting and appealing. His touch seduced, as well, as he caressed her skin, exploring her cheekbones, her jawline. He treated her as though she was made of the fibers of a sweet dream, and all the while his lips moved over hers with the ardor of a man who was willing her to hear the words trapped in his mind.
At first, Rylie gripped his wrists, only to freeze on the impulse to push him away. But, his kisses were already too potent. She could no more resist what he was offering, and asking of her, than she could remember why she should remember the need to protect her emotional welfare. She could only absorb.
His tender appeal almost brought tears to her eyes. By the time he paused to catch his breath, or steady some wave of emotion within him, she felt as though she’d been through a tumultuous, but brief summer storm, as well. So when he simply rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes, she swallowed against the ache in her throat.
“It’s a relief to discover you can be reasoned with,” she said between shallow breaths.
His attempt at laughter brought a soft caress of air against her lips. “I can’t believe you let me touch you, let alone kiss you. This goes way beyond my fantasy.”
“If fantasizing is what you’re doing, you could have dressed me better.”
“You’re delectable. But what I’m really trying to see is what’s in your heart.”
Rylie remained bewildered—in an amazing way. “I don’t understand you,” she admitted.
“You will.” His voice held the velvet vibrato of promise. “The way I behaved, have been behaving—I was lost in anger, and emotionally AWOL. This is me, Rylie. This is me.”
He kissed her again, a deeper kiss this time, which had her releasing her hold on his wrists, only to slide her hands up his chest and wrap her arms around his neck. Here...on his family’s driveway, under God’s sky. She couldn’t write poetry, she rarely read it, except when she downloaded lyrics for a song she loved and wanted to learn. She knew it existed all around her in nature—at birth, and death—but this was the first time she’d tasted it and ached to imbibe it.
For a precious space of time, life’s pain and unfairness lost its hold on them. Rylie’s entire being basked in the aura of being totally present and in tune with the universe. She realized that she’d just been blessed—she was not going through this life without knowing something like this existed.
When Noah finally ended the kiss to gently, quietly wrap her in his arms and hold her against his pounding heart, Rylie could only whisper, “Noah...this is surreal.”
“Yes.”
“And pretty crazy.”
“Crazy was fighting this. Denying what I was feeling.”
“I have just enough sense not to share what I’m feeling right now. As it is, I’m not sure I remember how to get home.”
That confession earned her a pleased look from Noah as he tightened his embrace in a quick, urgent hug. “That’s probably the best thing anyone has ever said to me. And you can’t go home yet. Come inside and say hello to Mother.”
His invitation yanked her back to reality faster than a sudden downpour could have, and she abruptly slid sideways to escape his embrace. Go inside? After practically begging him to make love to her? “Oh, no! I’d be too embarrassed.”
Before she could take another step backward, Noah took hold of her hand. “Listen—that’s Bubbles barking. She’s spotted you—probably from the sunroom window.” He gestured to the left side of the house that was width and length floor-to-ceiling windows. “Mother’s in there painting, so it won’t be long before she drives her chair to see what the fuss is all about. Actually, I’ll bet she’s already watching us.” He caressed the soft inside skin of her wrist with his thumb. “Rylie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. She’s on your side.”
If true, that was a relief. Rylie had enjoyed the few times they’d conversed on the phone.
“You’ll see,” Noah said when she looked at him for verification. “She’s been thoroughly disgusted with my behavior.” His gaze searched her face and lingered on her right eye. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you,” he added, his voice husky. “Does it help at all if I swear that it doesn’t show?”
“The doctors said that, and some nurses. Most of the time, I figure people are just being nice.”
“You can believe me—and in what’s between us, as well. This isn’t going to only be about sex.”
Her humor stirred back to life. “There’s going to be sex?”
He burst into laughter. “After kissing me back the way you did, there damned well better be.” As quickly as the moment grew lighthearted, he got serious again. “I’ve never reacted to anyone the way I have to you. You’ve knocked me a galaxy away from my constellation of preconceptions, never mind my comfort zone.”
As he started to draw her up the sidewalk, Rylie wasn’t sure all of what she’d heard was a compliment. “So handsome, brilliant you feels something for little, insignificant me, huh?”
Halfway up the sidewalk, Noah paused, visibly startled. “That can’t be how you see yourself. Little, maybe, but you have the heart of a giant. Life threw you a hell of a curveball—that happens to plenty of people—but what did you do? Instead of embracing the support you know would be there from your family, you exuded a superhuman effort not to worry or burden them. In the meantime, you’ve built a new career and paid off a small mountain of debt.... You call yourself insignificant? There are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies who would like to tap into your perseverance and discipline.” Noah shook his head. “My God, woman, you’re amazing.”
Before she could respond, he resumed his eager escort toward the house. Rylie was still basking in the delight of his words when they passed the threshold into the mansion, only to have to deal with a new assault on her senses.
“Mercy. I didn’t think that it could be even more stunning inside.”
The foyer was a rectangular space of light, which was interesting since there were no visible windows except for the two that framed the front door. But the buttercup-yellow walls and the ivory chairs and tables set around the room created an atmosphere of merriment and welcome. In the center of all that was a round white marble table on which sat a flower arrangement that Rylie suspected was every bit as tall as she was, concocted of seasonal flowers, branches and dried seed pods from plants she didn’t believe grew on this continent.
“Where’s the light coming from?” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but the stateliness of the place seemed to demand the respect.
“A skylight we put in at the top of the stairs. Mother didn’t like the big chandelier over the arrangement competing with the flowers.”
“That explains it,” Rylie said with a nod as she continued taking it all in. “My parents would writhe in envy if they knew I was in a place like this. They would know with one glance what the stairs are made of and what era the chairs are from.”
Noah cast her an apologetic look. “You said something about their work—no, your brother’s. I’m sorry that I don’t remember who does what.”
“Dustin renovates seriously old and historic homes on the East Coast. In California, my parents are the people whom people like you call when something breaks and you n
eed to either repair or replace it—or you’re looking for something that’s one of a kind. They reclaim old things and store them for when a decorator, contractor, renowned builder or even an independent rehab aficionado needs them, which is what I would be if I ever bought myself a place.”
“I would think that takes a good eye—and tons of patience. It would drive me crazy to see a doorknob sitting on a store shelf for two years just collecting dust.”
“Frankly, me, too. In that case, you also have craftsmen working for you, as my folks do. You can turn something like that doorknob into a birdhouse foot grip. Or if you need impromptu storage or hanging space in an apartment, you fasten the knob to a rustic board or shutter, and it becomes a hanger for a jacket, or robe...maybe the house and car keys.”
“Mother is going to love pulling stories out of you.” Placing a hand at the small of her back, he directed her to the left, where they entered an equally lovely room about four times larger than the large entryway, resplendent with darker woods, tall majestic hutches, perhaps a mile of bookcases, a piano and a very large flat-screen TV built into one of the cases. The upholstered furnishings in here were a mix of leather and velvet, pewter and burgundy.
Rylie didn’t get a chance to comment on any of it because Bubbles came charging out of the sunroom yapping happily. As Rylie scooped up the canine version of a greeting card, Noah sighed.
“Hello, you cutie,” Rylie said, cuddling the young dog. “Good to see you, too. I see that foot isn’t giving you any more trouble.”
As the dog licked at her chin, Noah led Rylie into the sunroom, where Audra Prescott was sitting at her easel, paintbrush in hand. Her excited expression told Rylie that Noah had been right. She’d looked to see why Bubbles was acting up and had realized it was her.
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