The Blackstone Legacy

by Rochelle Alers

  She kept her expression and touch neutral as she relieved him of his shorts, underwear and covered his left leg and foot with the plastic cast sheath, tightening the Velcro band around his thigh. Jeremy hobbled on crutches to the circular shower and sat down on a stool under a ten-inch showerhead that was centrally positioned overhead. She handed him a plastic bottle filled with liquid soap, a cloth, and removed an auxiliary hand shower from the wall.

  She picked up the crutches. “Do you want me to turn on the water?” The faucets were within arm’s reach.

  Jeremy shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

  Tricia met his impassive gaze. “Call me when you’re finished.” Not waiting for his reply, she walked out of the bathroom.

  She stood next to the hospital bed and sucked in a lungful of air. It had taken every ounce of her will-power not to glance below his waist. She had concentrated on the bruises dotting his body instead.

  She had told herself that she was a nurse and as one she had seen countless nude men in various stages of arousal during her nursing school training. Some thought they could shock her whenever they summoned her to their beds to look at what they’d considered their masculine prowess, but what they did not know was that none of them would ever affect her the way her first lover had done. It wasn’t until after she’d married Dwight that she realized she was a one-man woman. That man was Jeremiah Baruch Blackstone. And she had not wanted to look at her first lover to see whether he still turned her on, because she knew she wasn’t as immune to him as she wanted to be.

  And if the truth be told, she still wanted him in her bed. She had never stopped wanting him in her bed.

  As directed, Jeremy called out to Tricia that he had finished his shower. She reentered the bathroom, and the lingering steam settled around her, dampening her face and hair. His stare was fixed on her grim expression as she dried his wet body with a thirsty terry cloth towel. She removed the plastic covering from his leg, checking for moisture seepage. Twenty minutes later he sat at a table on the porch, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his left foot propped up on a low stool.

  He watched Tricia like a hawk as she set a table with china and silver. She had only put out one serving. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Her head came up. “I’ll eat later.”

  “I’d like you to eat now.”

  Tricia held his gaze. “If you want me to eat with you, why not ask me to…politely.”

  A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I want you to take all of your meals with me.”

  Tricia had forgotten that Jeremy never ate alone after his mother’s untimely death. Even though the farm had a resident chef, Julia Blackstone had always cooked dinner. That had been her time to bond with her husband and sons.

  She nodded. “I’ll get another place setting.”

  He sat motionless, staring out at the lushness of the property surrounding his house. Massive oak trees with sweeping branches provided a canopy of shade for the manicured lawn that resembled an undulating green carpet.

  A knowing smile softened his mouth and crinkled the skin around his eyes. Blackstone Farms was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the primordial jungles of South America.

  He closed his eyes and thought about the men on his team, men who had lived together for so long they knew the others’ thoughts, men who, over the course of several years, had become as close as brothers. The six of them had trained together in Quantico, Virginia, honing their physical and mental skills. He’d become an expert in firearms, fitness and defensive tactics, as well as defensive driving training. His olive coloring and fluency in Spanish and additional intelligence training courses made him a natural candidate for undercover missions in Latin America.

  He opened his eyes, reached up with his uninjured hand and ran his fingers through his short damp hair. He had been debriefed by his superiors and informed that the probability of his returning to undercover work was questionable. The orthopedist’s prognosis stated that although he would walk again without too much difficulty, the damage to his ankle would never withstand the rigors of duty in the field.

  All thoughts of his future with the Drug Enforcement Administration vanished as Tricia reappeared.

  “I called the dining hall and put in a request for grits and eggs.”

  Jeremy’s smile was dazzling. “What about bacon or sausage?”

  A flash of humor crossed her face. “You really must be feeling good because there’s nothing wrong with your appetite.”

  “I’d have to be dead not to eat.”

  She went completely still, her gaze fusing with his. “Please, Jeremy. Don’t talk about dying.” She didn’t think she would ever forget the image of the tiny white coffin with their child being lowered into a grave.

  He sobered quickly. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he’d mentioned the word. He reflected again on the three members of his team who would never see their loved ones again. The jungle had claimed all of them.

  The telephone rang, interrupting both their gloomy musings. Tricia straightened. “I’ll answer it.” Turning, she went back into the house and picked up the receiver to the phone on a side table in the entryway.

  “Hello.”

  “Good morning, Tricia.”

  She recognized the distinctive drawling voice. “Good morning, Sheldon.”

  “How’s Jeremy today?”

  “He’s sitting on the porch. I’m waiting for breakfast to be delivered.”

  “Good. I’m glad he’s out of bed. Let him know that Ryan just called with the news that Kelly had a little girl. Mother and baby are doing well.”

  She bit down on her lower lip, remembering her own joy the instant she saw her daughter for the first time. “Congratulations, Sheldon.”

  “Thank you. Please let Jeremy know that Sean and I will be over later this morning.”

  “Okay.” She hung up the phone, waiting until she was in control of her emotions, then returned to the porch.

  One of the young men who worked in the dining hall had arrived and emptied a large wicker basket filled with serving dishes, a carafe of coffee and a pitcher of chilled orange juice onto the cloth-covered table on the porch.

  “Thank you, Bobby,” Tricia said, her soft voice breaking the silence.

  Robert Thomas smiled at Tricia, blushing to the roots of his flaming red hair. “You’re welcome, Miss Tricia. I’ll pick up the dishes when I come back with lunch.”

  Jeremy noticed the direction of the adolescent’s gaze. It was fixed on Tricia’s neckline. He’d told her about that doggone dress. Every time she inhaled or bent over the sight of her breasts made the flesh between his legs stir.

  “Are you finished, Bobby?” His voice snapped like the crack of a whip.

  His head swiveling like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist, Bobby stared at Jeremy. “Yes, sir.”

  “If that’s the case, then beat it!”

  Tricia opened her mouth to censure Jeremy for his rudeness, but the retort died on her tongue as she reminded herself that Jeremy was an owner of Blackstone Farms and Bobby an employee. She did not want to undermine Jeremy’s authority in front of his workers.

  Bobby managed to look embarrassed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Blackstone.” Picking up the wicker basket, he made his way off the porch and raced to the SUV he had parked in the driveway.

  Pulling out a chair, Tricia sat across the table from Jeremy. She uncovered a serving dish with fluffy scrambled eggs, another with steaming creamy grits and a third with a rash of bacon, spicy beef sausage links and strips of baked ham. She reached for his plate, filled it with grits and eggs and placed it in front of him.

  “I didn’t know bullying was a requisite for becoming a special agent with the DEA.”

  Jeremy’s grip on his fork tightened. “What are you talking about?”

  A slight frown marred her smooth forehead. “You didn’t have to talk to Bobby like that.” Bobby had been a toddler when she left the farm to attend colleg
e.

  “It was either send him on his way or have him salivating over your cleavage.”

  Tricia placed a hand over her chest. “Do you have a problem with my dress?”

  “It’s not the dress, but what’s in your dress.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Or should I say what is spilling out of your dress.”

  She lowered her hand, deciding to ignore his ribald comment and served herself. “That was your father on the phone,” she said, smoothly changing the topic. “Kelly had a girl, and both mother and baby are doing well.”

  Jeremy clenched his right fist. “Boo-yaw!”

  Tricia felt his enthusiasm. “Congratulations, Uncle Jeremy.”

  He stared at her, his eyes brimming with tenderness. “Thank you, Tricia.”

  Her lower lip trembled as her mind fluttered in anxiety. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on the food on her plate, hoping to bring her fragile emotions under control because she had involuntarily reacted to Jeremy’s gentle look.

  She had told herself it wasn’t going to work, and now she was certain. All Jeremy had to do was look at her with a gentle yearning and she was lost—lost in her own yearning that pulled her in and refused to let her go.

  There was a time when he had become her knight in shining armor, protecting her from the taunts of the other farm children. He had taught her how to love herself and in turn she had fallen in love with him.

  Tricia watched Jeremy as he attempted to feed himself. His right hand trembled noticeably and a muscle in his jaw twitched. She put down her fork. “Would you like something to take the edge off?”

  Jeremy’s head came up slowly. The blinding headache had returned. “I don’t know.”

  “What don’t you know?”

  “I’m losing track of time. Whenever I wake up I don’t know what day it is or whether it’s day or night.”

  “Time should be the least of your concerns, Jeremy. You’re not going anywhere for a while.” She touched the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “As soon as you’re finished eating, I’ll bring you your medication.”

  He nodded, then chided himself for the action. Each time he moved his head it felt as if it was going to explode.

  Tricia aided Jeremy as he made his way over to a chintz-covered chaise at the opposite end of the porch. He lay motionless as she raised his injured foot to a pillow. She took his vitals and gave him the pill. Sitting on a matching rocker, she waited until his lids closed and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, indicating he had fallen asleep.

  She sat, studying his face in repose, noting the lean jaw, aquiline nose and firm chin—features their daughter had inherited. Juliet had been a feminine version of her father with the exception of her mouth. Her mouth had been Tricia’s.

  She pushed off the rocker and began clearing the table. She washed the dishes, then carefully dried the china and silver and put them away. She returned to the porch, book in hand and sat down on the rocker.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle shattered the stillness of the morning. Glancing up, she saw Sheldon’s pickup truck maneuvering into the driveway. Tricia was on her feet, watching as Sheldon helped his grandson out of the truck. Sean Blackstone raced up the steps of the porch, his dark-gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “I have a sister, Miss Tricia!” His high-pitched voice startled several birds perched on the branches of a nearby oak tree. They fluttered and chattered noisily before settling back under the cool canopy of leaves.

  She stared down at the young boy, smiling. There was no doubt that he was Ryan’s son. Tricia ruffled his black curly hair. “Congratulations on becoming a big brother.”

  “Daddy said I can’t see my baby sister until she comes home with Mommy.” Sean’s gaze shifted, resting on his uncle on the chaise. “What happened to Uncle Jeremy, Miss Tricia? Why is his leg wrapped up like that?”

  Tricia stared at Sheldon who now stood on the porch. It was obvious Sean hadn’t been told about his uncle’s injuries.

  Resting a large hand on his grandson’s shoulder, Sheldon let out his breath in an audible sigh. “Your uncle Jeremy had an accident. He fell and hurt his leg.”

  Sean’s head came up and he stared at Sheldon. “Like a horse?”

  Sheldon nodded. “Yes, like a horse.”

  “Grandpa, did he hurt his face when he fell down?”

  “Yes, Sean. He also hurt his face when he fell,” Sheldon said in a quiet voice. “Why don’t you go for a walk with Miss Tricia while I sit with Uncle Jeremy?”

  Tricia reached for Sean’s hand. “Come with me. I’m going to see my grandfather.” She knew Sheldon wanted to be alone with Jeremy, even though he was sedated.

  “Take my truck, Tricia,” Sheldon called out as he sat on the rocker she had just vacated. Everyone who lived or worked at the horse farm always left the keys in the ignition of their vehicles.

  Tricia helped Sean into the pickup and belted him in before she sat behind the wheel and started the engine. It had been a while since she had driven a standard vehicle. She, like most of the children living at Blackstone Farms, had learned to drive a tractor as soon as their legs were long enough to reach the pedals.

  She arrived at Gus’s house and found his pickup missing. Turning to Sean, she smiled at him. “How would you like to help me cut some flowers to make a bouquet for your mother and little sister to welcome them home?”

  Sean flashed a wide grin. “Yes, Miss Tricia.”

  Fifty minutes later Tricia drove back to Jeremy’s house with a basket filled with pink and white roses, a vase and spools of pink ribbon in varying shades. Her grandmother had taught her the intricacies of floral arranging. Tricia had also changed out of her dress and into a pair of black capris and a white camp shirt.

  She stared at Jeremy. He was still asleep. “How was he?” she asked Sheldon in a quiet voice.

  Sheldon cupped her elbow arm and led her away from where Sean sat next to his uncle. “He was talking in his sleep, Tricia.”

  Her heart stopped, then started up again. “What did he say?”

  A knowing gaze pinned her to the spot. “He kept mumbling, ‘I’m sorry, Tricia.’” A frown creased Sheldon’s forehead. “What happened between you and my son?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sheldon decided to be candid. “Were you the reason he joined the Marines instead of coming home?”

  She met his accusing gaze without flinching. “I don’t know why Jeremy joined the Marines. But, if you want answers as to what went on between me and Jeremy, then you’re going to have to ask him.”

  Sheldon released Tricia’s arm. He had many unanswered questions about Jeremy and Tricia’s past relationship and he was determined to get some answers. He’d lost his son once, but he had no intention of losing him again.

  He inclined his head. “Thank you again for taking care of Jeremy. We’ll talk about you and Jeremy later.”

  She nodded, and, turning on his heel, Sheldon went to Sean and took his hand. Together they walked back to the truck.

  Tricia stood watching uneasily until the departing vehicle disappeared from view.

  Chapter Four

  Tricia moved closer to Jeremy and held his uninjured hand as he sat on an examining table, while the nurse cut through the plaster cast on his ankle. The whirring sound of the drill set her teeth on edge. The plaster cast would be replaced with one made of fiberglass, but only after the removal of the surgical staples and an X-ray.

  She noted the tense set of his jaw. “Are you all right?” she whispered close to his ear.

  He turned his head, met her gaze and nodded. Their mouths were mere inches apart. His breath swept over her cheek. “Thank you for being here.” Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth over hers with the softness of a breeze. There was no intimacy in the kiss, but that did not stop Tricia from reacting to the slight pressure. Unable to move, she felt her pulse race uncontrollably.

  She wanted to tell Jeremy that she di
d not want to be here—with him—because with each sunrise it was becoming increasingly more difficult to sleep under his roof, to wake up and see him and not be affected by the sensual memories of what had been between them.

  Jeremy stared at the rapidly beating pulse in Tricia’s throat. He had only touched his lips to hers, when he’d wanted to do so much more. He wanted to ravish her mouth. He felt like a starving man craving food or a man dying of thirst needing water. He wanted to kiss her so badly.

  He and Tricia could not go backward, yet despite her duplicity and infidelity he still wanted her. It no longer mattered that she had married or slept with other men. In spite of the anguish tormenting him for fourteen years he still wanted her in his bed.

  He drew in a sharp breath with the removal of the first staple. A second one followed, then a third. He lost count of the biting sensation after fifteen. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against her shoulder. When the last staple was removed, he was helped into a wheelchair and pushed into another room where a technician X-rayed his hand and foot.

  Tricia opened the passenger-side door, holding Jeremy’s crutches. Moving slowly, he swung his legs around until his feet touched the macadam. She handed him the crutches and he pulled himself into a standing position.

  It took him five minutes to make his way from the car to his bed, every step torture. He sat down heavily on the side of the bed and fell back on the mattress.

  Tricia stood over him, hands on her hips. “I’m going to give you a pill.”

  Jeremy rested an arm over his forehead. “No, Tricia. I don’t want it.”

  Reaching out, she placed her hand alongside his cheek. “Yes, Jeremy.”

  He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “Just let me rest for a little while.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He smiled, the expression resembling a grimace. “Yes.”

  She eased her hand from his loose grip, removed his running shoe and the shapeless boot with Velcro fasteners from his injured foot, then raised his legs to the bed.