by Mindy Neff
“Didn’t matter. I remember one time when a couple of skunks took up residence under the car. I about had a fit and told him to get the gun and get rid of those creatures. Bless his heart, he made an heroic effort…and shot out every blame tire on the Jeep in the process.” She laughed at the memory and shook her head. “No, hunting definitely wasn’t Bobby’s thing. He’d just as soon celebrate nature as to use it for sport, or even for food.”
“I imagine that was a hard pill for Leroy to swallow.”
Josie frowned, at both the statement and the switch in topics. She’d almost forgotten that Leroy was Chase’s father also. Then an awful thought struck her.
“Chase, are you here for revenge?” Sweet heaven, if that was his goal, he had the perfect weapon. Leroy’s pride and joy.
Leroy’s grandson.
She waited with a sense of dread as he seemed to mull over his answer.
Chase propped an elbow on his knee. Through the spidery Spanish moss dripping off the oak tree, he could barely see the single emergency light from his airstrip winking in the distance like a beacon.
“Revenge is something you plan, sugar. When I bought the place next door, I had no idea you were here. If you recall, I didn’t even know your name.” If he had, he’d have come a hell of a lot sooner.
“Yes, but you knew Leroy’s, didn’t you?”
“Obviously. It was on the escrow papers.”
“No, I meant you knew he was your father.”
“I try not to think about him in that capacity, Josie. James Fowler is my father.” Her questions sparked thoughts he tried not to analyze too thoroughly. He hadn’t consciously labeled his agenda as revenge, but perhaps it was. He’d chosen this town because of its suitability for his business. He intended to make the Fowler name bigger and better than any other in this town—Alexander included—but that was just a point of pride with him. The injured child in him wanted to puff out his chest and say, “See there, I’m pretty great after all.”
Finding Josie here, learning he had a brother who had died and a son he might never have known about, screwed things up a little more in his mind.
Through her words, Josie had painted a picture of his brother, a guy he’d probably have liked a lot. A guy she’d loved enough to have a baby for. He tried to be charitable, to understand her motives. And deep down, he did. Still, something bugged him, nagged at him.
He glanced down at the little boy whose dark head so like his own was resting against Josie’s breast, asleep. In this child’s life, Chase was a stranger, an outsider looking in. A pattern that had shaped his own early years. It hit him then, what was really bothering him.
Once again, the Alexanders had something that was rightfully his.
The realization jolted him like a gear-up landing.
He wanted his son to have his name, the Fowler name, the name he associated with pride and unconditional love.
And he wanted Josie Alexander.
She didn’t seem inclined to question him further about his motives or lack thereof, which was fine with him. He’d just as soon change the subject anyway. Talking, even thinking about Leroy set him off-balance.
“Looks like somebody finally gave up the ghost.” Softly, he touched J.T.’s cheek, surprised to find his hand was shaking. Odd. He was known for his steady hands. But it gave him a punch in the stomach to think that this kid was his, a feeling very much like stepping out of a cockpit and missing a step, finding nothing but a thin, uncertain void beneath him.
“Yes.”
“Want me to take him in for you?”
He saw her hesitation, and the protective way her arms closed around the boy as she stood. “I can manage, thanks.”
Chase stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t ready for the evening to end, but Josie’s body language told him he didn’t have much choice. Still, he gave it a shot. “I guess you’re not going to invite me in?”
“No,” she said quietly.
He could tell her thoughts ran parallel to his. If she let him in, he would kiss her. And it would be damned hard to stop at just one kiss. He could almost feel the shape of her breast in his palm, the silky smoothness of her flesh. J.T. between them was like a safeguard. But once she laid the boy down…
Chase closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. When he opened them again, he saw that both anticipation and resistance were evident in Josie’s green eyes, in the slight, moist part of her lips. As if to hide herself from him, she bent her head, letting the curtain of her thick, long hair shield her expression from view.
Soon, he promised himself. “So, what’ll you do with the rest of the evening?”
“Sew.”
He raised his brow, inviting her to elaborate. He knew he was stalling, like a kid on a first date who suddenly found himself tongue-tied. “What are you sewing?”
“Lingerie.”
“Come again?” He hadn’t intended the double meaning, but his words hit him that way nonetheless. He grinned and waited to see if she’d take the bait.
She struggled with it, but she didn’t bite. “You heard me.”
“Nightgowns and stuff?”
“And stuff.”
Chase felt his skin heat. It didn’t take much to arouse erotic images around Josie Alexander. He allowed his gaze to cruise over her denim shorts and T-shirt. “And do you wear this…stuff?” He had to clear his throat.
“Every day. It wouldn’t be a very good business practice if I didn’t wear my own product.”
Chase’s mind flashed on a distant memory, of exotic peach silk and sheer lace, held in place by tiny ribbons tied in a bow. He’d taken his time with those fragile fastenings, reveling at the way her smooth, flat stomach had sucked in at the mere trace of his fingertips, how her breath had hitched and her nipples pebbled as he’d drawn that scrap of silk between her legs, tugging, arousing, then soothing.
Her undergarments alone had been enough to create a visual orgasm. The woman inside those slinky panties had been pure fantasy—a fantasy he was dying to relive.
He saw her chest rise and fall, saw her eyes skitter away for an instant before swinging back, locking on his, as though she didn’t want to look at him but was helplessly drawn.
“You remember how it was, don’t you, sugar?”
“Yes.”
Although her answer was a reluctant whisper, he admired her honesty. “Let me come in with you.”
She shook her head.
“Why not?” If he couldn’t take her in his arms, he thought he might explode.
“I just…we can’t.” She turned and opened the screen door. “Good night, Chase.”
“Josie?”
She hesitated, shifting J.T. higher on her shoulder.
“It won’t go away, you know.” He saw her shoulders stiffen. “There’s more between us than that boy you’re holding in your arms. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to admit that to yourself.”
She looked back at him for a brief instant. “I might admit it to myself, Chase. I’m just not sure I can admit it to the world.”
Chapter Six
Sunday mornings were social, festive…and reserved almost exclusively for the First Baptist Church. Unless a person was absolutely bedridden, attendance was a matter of protocol rather than conscious choice. It was a place to see and be seen, with a healthy dose of spiritual guidance thrown in for good measure.
Josie was running late and had entertained ideas of skipping the service, but dismissed that notion soon enough, knowing that to do so would have the whole town either stopping by or calling to check on her health.
Small towns could be a blessing or a curse.
After dropping J.T. off at the nursery, she slipped in the side door. The noise level in the small church was anything but reverent as folks visited or exchanged bits of gossip that had probably run the town circuit three times over.
The smells of aged wood, lemon oil and fragrant flowers assailed her as she stood for a
moment and surveyed the crowd. The Alexanders always sat in the third pew on the right. Eleanor and Russ Halliday, Josie’s parents, occupied the fourth on the left. Tradition. Or arrogance, depending on one’s point of view. Josie hated having to choose which family to sit with, and berated herself for her tardiness.
In true cowardly spirit, she headed for the back of the church and slipped in next to Mary Alice and Bud Temple.
“Well, I don’t believe it,” Mary Alice whispered. “You into living dangerously this mornin’ or what?”
“I could ask you the same,” Josie countered. “Ya’ll keep sitting this close to the back door, Brother Mac’s liable to single you out in front of the whole congregation and make you come up front.”
Mary Alice giggled. “Naw. He’ll just figure Bud’s on call and might have to get out in a hurry.”
“Shame on you, Mary Alice. Lying in the Lord’s house. Besides, who in their right mind would disturb the peace on a Sunday morning? You know good and well the whole town’s in here.”
“They are now.” Mary Alice lifted her blond eyebrows and gave a bare nod of her head. The din in the small church suffered an instant of deafening silence, like a night creature disturbs the harmonizing chorus of insects.
Chase Fowler scooted into the space next to Josie at the end of the pew, crowding her against Mary Alice, who very politely moved over a few inches…but not nearly enough.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” Josie mumbled. Her mind had gone blessedly blank, her hands trembled, her stomach felt as if she’d just crested the tallest hill of a roller coaster, and Mary Alice didn’t help this utter confusion one whit when she discretely nudged Josie with her elbow in one of those my-oh-my type gestures. Josie made a valiant effort to ignore both her friend and the virile man who’d caused such a stir by simply entering the church and sitting down beside her.
It was a useless effort.
At least as far as ignoring Chase went.
The superb fit of his lightweight charcoal suit and the clean smell of soap mixed with a hint of woodsy cologne were devastating to her senses. Their thighs were pressed together in the crowded confines of the pew, his body heat radiating right through the fuchsia silk of her summer dress.
Why in the world had she worn such a flamboyant color? Josie wondered. She felt like the main event at a peep show, with an entire church congregation as avid spectators.
Under the guise of shifting in their seats, yawning or scratching their heads, people angled to get a better look at the new man in town—and the woman he’d chosen to sit with. Josie could feel speculation from just about every parishioner and she began to squirm.
With the armrest digging into his side, Chase tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard bench seat. He knew he’d crowded Josie by sitting here, but he had no intention of moving. The press of her body against his was a position he’d like to maneuver her into more often.
He was still simmering with anger over her admission that there was something between them but that she didn’t want to make it public. That declaration had spurred him into showing up at church this morning—something he’d avoided doing in the month or so he’d been in Alexander. A small part of him wanted to push the issue.
He noted her unease in the fine trembling where their shoulders and thighs touched. It wasn’t all nerves. Part of it was sexual. He was experienced enough to discern that much. The realization gave him a small sense of satisfaction.
He glanced down at the silent woman beside him. God, she was gorgeous. Though deceptively loose, her bright silk dress sculpted every curve and line of her body. Soft, rich folds of material floated over her knees and halfway down her calves. A pity, he thought. She had fabulous legs, long and slender. The type of legs best shown off in a miniskirt…or high-cut satin panties.
Just looking at her made him hot, and he shifted in the limited space of his seat. He couldn’t imagine a more inappropriate place for a man to have an arousal than church.
Especially when he’d already drawn a shameless amount of attention by simply walking in the door.
And placed that attention squarely on Josie, he realized.
In the near public setting he could almost feel the guilt radiating out of her. He imagined her wondering if the whole town knew her secret, their secret.
Heck of an imagination, he chided himself.
Still, it made him feel like even more of an outsider.
That shouldn’t be. He had a right to be part of this town. More right than folks knew. And wouldn’t that just blow the lid sky-high and create a scandal that would keep them rocking for years.
Since Josie seemed to be doing her best to ignore him, Chase’s gaze roamed the crowd and landed on Leroy. The old man sat rock-stiff in his wheelchair. So, the mighty king had taken a fall, Chase thought.
He wondered just what would happen if he stood up and told this crowd that he was Leroy’s firstborn. The kid who wasn’t good enough. The one set aside. Yeah, well he was here now. He’d been buying parcels of land in this town for quite a few years, anonymously. Soon enough he would own the town—not dear old daddy.
Next to Leroy sat the oh-so-proper Inez Alexander. A cold, haughty bitch whose face would probably crack if she ever smiled. Chase flashed on an image of his own mom, a gentle woman whose serene beauty and giving nature had touched many. A person’s mind couldn’t stretch far enough to compare Inez Alexander and Sara Fowler.
His gaze settled back on Leroy. You missed out, buddy. And your loss was James Fowler’s gain.
Chase felt a gentle nudge against his arm. “You’re staring,” Josie whispered.
“Curious,” he mouthed, just as quietly. “Can’t blame me for wondering about good ol’ daddy.”
“Chase, you’re in a church.”
He tore his gaze away from the man in the wheelchair. Looking down at Josie’s disapproving expression, he felt the corners of his lips pull upward. “Thanks for the news flash. For a minute there I thought we were at the picture show.”
“I’m sure the Lord doesn’t appreciate sarcasm in His house.”
Chase wanted to laugh out loud. Her prim tone was at odds with the reluctant amusement in her green eyes. For a moment their gazes locked. Shared amusement changed to shared passion—flashes of memories of all that was behind them, the emotions between them now, and the uncertain future still to come.
Josie glanced away first. Oh, boy, Sunny’s Diner would be abuzz tomorrow. She could picture it now, over Cherry Cokes and Marlboros, the talk of the town would be Josie Alexander making eyes with Chase Fowler. She wanted to find a hole and sink into it, but Brother Mac called for everyone to begin worship with a song.
Great, Josie thought. There were only two hymnals in front of them. Bud snatched up one, which he shared with Mary Alice. Josie had little choice but to share hers with Chase.
She stood, her hands clumsy as she turned to the proper page. “Relax,” Chase said close to her ear. “Can’t do too much harm to our reputations seeing as we’re in church.”
“Easy for you to say,” she whispered back. “You haven’t lived here all your life.”
He inclined his head just so and Josie could have bitten off her tongue. Though he might have a devil-may-care attitude, she knew he had deep feelings. The signs were there in the quickly masked emotions of his blue eyes. Chase Fowler was sensitive about his parentage.
Led by the minister, the congregation began to sing. Josie wanted to belt out the words with the rest of the congregation, but restrained herself. She couldn’t carry a tune in any fashion, joyous or otherwise. Her mother had been quick to point that out whenever Josie happened to forget.
Sandwiched between Mary Alice’s strong soprano and Chase’s rich baritone, Josie grew restless and a little intimidated. She felt the brush of Chase’s coat sleeve against her bare arm.
“I see your lips moving, sugar, but I don’t hear any sound,” he whispered.
Hi
s warm breath stirred the hair at her temple, causing shivers to race up her spine. She almost lost her hold on the hymnal. “I don’t sing.”
His hand covered hers, steadying the book. A devilish twinkle shone from his eyes as he gazed down at her. “Everybody sings in church.”
Josie’s heart pounded against her ribs. “Not if you sound like a sick cow out in old man Tremble’s pasture, you don’t. Now hush up and sing.”
Josie hoped to heaven the song had drowned out his chuckle. “Not until you do,” he challenged.
She shook her head, unnerved by the feel of his palm covering the back of her hand against the spine of the book. She kept her eyes trained on the hymnal and continued to move her lips without sound, determined to appear as inconspicuous as possible. A difficult accomplishment with Chase Fowler standing next to her, tall and proud, a slight smile on his face…and absolutely silent.
At last the singing ended. In her haste to be seated, Josie plopped down and found herself halfway on Chase’s lap. Without warning, a distant memory flashed in her mind—a brightly lit motel room, the feel of bare, masculine thighs under her legs, a pair of strong arms holding her in place across his lap as clever lips cruised erotically across her breasts, her shoulders….
“Oh, Lord,” Josie groaned, drawing both Mary Alice and Bud’s attention. Only Chase’s large hand at her waist kept Josie from leaping back up. With a raised brow, he eased her into a more decorous position befitting a church setting.
“You’re thinking about what happened the last time I had you on my lap, aren’t you?” His words were barely audible, for Josie’s ears only.
She tried not to react…and failed. That she had so little control around this man—even in church—made her miserable. Guilt, embarrassment and forbidden desires nearly choked her. She had an urge to run, somewhere far away, away from her memories, away from her own wants, the wants she was sure were about to destroy her otherwise orderly life.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”
His blue eyes turned serious and probing. A look that seemed to hold for an eternity in actuality only lasted a second. Then he nodded and directed his attention forward. To an observer, he looked like a man whose sole purpose at that moment was spiritual guidance.
