by Addison Fox
Damn the man, didn’t he understand her need for space? How was it he kept pushing, even when she was at her very worst, pushing him away? Pasting on a smile she didn’t feel, Reese fell back on her manners and the “good girl” that was ingrained in her personality. “I wasn’t worried. Besides, there’s not much to touch.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You might not have a lot, but what you have you take care of. There’s something to be said for that.”
She flipped on the hallway lights, continuing on toward her kitchen. Since he was clearly following her in, she kept up the inane conversation. “I’m a hopeless perfectionist. If I’m given something, I appreciate it. If I buy something, I take care of it. A personal curse but I long stopped trying to explain it or fight it.”
“Nothing wrong with taking care of what you have. It shows character.”
She came to a stop at the counter and turned, amazed once again to see how his large form just seemed to fill up the space. He was a presence—a real, tangible presence—and it still stunned her to realize all that they’d shared. And would still share in the form of their child. Even with that knowledge, she couldn’t help poking at his words. “Piling my perfectly folded dish towels in a drawer I vacuum out every month shows character?”
“Sure it does.”
“Liar.”
“There are worse things in the world to be than neat. And there’s not a force on earth that will stop me from folding my corners with military precision, if it makes you feel any better.”
Only it didn’t make her feel any better.
While the conversation was light and innocuous, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else hovering beneath. Talking to a hot man in her kitchen about her neatly folded dish towels and his precisely folded bedsheets was hardly entertaining conversation. Yet, she sensed his interest and, beneath his limited words, something else.
“Like a serial killer?”
“Excuse me?” Hoyt’s eyes grew wide, that vivid green going a hard, dark emerald.
“Oh, I think you heard me. My father was meticulous, too. He was careful and focused and paid attention to his tasks. For many years, it was keeping a neat shed and a sparkling garage and hunting lodge. Then he decided to expand and found he could still be neat and sparkling and freaking meticulous when he tortured and killed four people. That we know of,” she added for good measure.
“What’s this about?”
“Here you are praising me for my neat home, acting like we’re comrades in arms, and somehow I can sense there’s something hovering there that’s not about a neat house or clean cabinets at all.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of an orderly home gives you some sense of control and ownership in a world that provides little.”
“Thanks for the psych profile, Dr. Reynolds.”
“What’s this about?”
She had no earthly idea what it was about. All she knew was that, after an evening where she’d felt welcome and included, it was suddenly, desperately important to make sure Hoyt Reynolds understood all the ways her life was a mess and that she did a damn fine job handling it all. Just like she’d handle having a baby and raising their child.
She was fine.
Capable.
And more than able to handle whatever life tossed at her all by herself.
“You tell me,” she shot back.
“It sure as hell isn’t about dish towels.”
Before she could reply or argue or protest or continue on this ridiculous hill she’d decided to die on, he was there, in her space and pulling her close. One moment she was bound and determined to stand alone, battling whatever came her way, and the next she was in Hoyt’s arms, being devoured by his mouth and his hands and...him.
He walked her back a few steps, so her back pressed against the counter, lifting her once they were close enough and seating her on the cool marble. She felt the cold through the light capris she wore and it did nothing to diminish the wall of heat that consumed her.
This was what she’d been missing. For two long months, she’d dreamt of their night together. But no matter how vivid or heated her traitorous memories, nothing compared to this. The broad shoulders she gripped tight beneath her fingers, an anchor she could hold as she rode the deep devouring kisses. The large, well-muscled form that pressed against hers, hard and solid to her curves and the increasing softness as her body made room for their child. And that firm, lush mouth, normally so stoic in life yet animated and determined as he kissed her.
He recognized her life was ordered and controlled, but he made her want to forget every bit of it. Because nothing about her feelings and reaction and need for Hoyt Reynolds made sense. In fact, these feelings were the perfect definition of out of control and she had no idea what to do about it.
Or him.
Or the fervent need to be with him again.
With sudden force, her hands that curled around his shoulders pressed, palm first, against the rounded curve of hard muscle to push him back. Away. And out of temptation’s reach.
“What’s wrong?”
“This. All of it.” The words spilled from her lips in a torrent, misery quickly taking their place as she acknowledged to herself how she’d rather hang on tight and welcome him into her bed. But they’d already done that and it hadn’t fixed anything. In fact, it had only added complicated layers they were only beginning to understand.
“We can’t do this, Hoyt.”
He opened his mouth as if to respond before closing it, his only answer a terse nod.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner and for bringing me home. I enjoyed spending time with your family.”
The polite sentiments dripped from her lips, still swollen and stung from his kisses. Determined, she kept on, falling back on the polite platitudes and congenial air she’d perfected so many years ago. “Their ready acceptance and excitement over the baby, I appreciate it more than you can know. Especially to know my child will always have a safe place. It matters.”
“You have one, too, Reese.” He seemed to hesitate, warring with himself before he lifted a hand and ran the back of his index finger over her cheek. “You always have a safe place with us, too.”
Now it was her turn to nod.
And wait for the tears to fall after the rumble of his truck had faded into the night.
* * *
Despite a nearly sleepless night, interspersed with limited stretches of sleep that were dominated by vivid carnal dreams of Hoyt that gave no sense of rest, Reese dragged herself out of bed the next morning. It had been far too long since she’d seen her mother and it was time to fix that.
And time to tell her about the baby.
It felt wrong, somehow, that Hoyt’s family knew of her pregnancy and her own mother didn’t.
Dressing carefully, she did her makeup—light enough to matter and not heavy enough to draw a mother’s notice—and laughed to herself as she imagined the conversations she might have with her own daughter. Assuming, of course, the baby was a girl.
Would they argue over hair and makeup? Probably.
Nail length and color? Likely.
Hopes and dreams and goals? Reese was determined the answer to that would be never, whether her child was a boy or a girl. She wanted those conversations to be full of nothing but love and support and respect for her child’s decisions. Perhaps it was a dream—their relationship would have its ups and downs like any other—but it was one she wanted to hold on to.
The drive was familiar and quick, and as Reese got out of the car with the small bouquet she’d picked up in town, she fortified herself with the underlying reality that the news she shared was happy. Even if it would be hard as hell to look her mother in the eye and tell her she was having a baby with a man she barely knew.
Willing any hint of the negative away—even i
f it were only in her own mind—she gathered up the pink roses and headed for the door. Although she knew without a doubt that she was welcome, she gave a light knock before pushing open the door.
“Mom!” Silence greeted her, but Reese moved in closer and hollered again. “Mom!”
A thready response floated toward her from the back of the house. “In the family room.”
Reese headed for the rec room that dominated the back of her parents’ house, glancing at the layer of dust on the small curio cabinet that had stood in that hallway longer than she’d been alive. The carpet had needed replacing for at least five years. Now, it wasn’t simply threadbare but layered with a fine film of dirt, the carpet fibers crushed and flat.
She took both in and resisted the shot of remorse at how long it had been since she’d been there. At least a month, or was it more like six weeks? Reese fought down the lingering sense of shame that she’d stayed away so long and closed the last few feet to the family room. “Hey, Mom.”
“Reese.”
Serena Grantham smiled from the rocking chair she sat in, the emotion not reaching her eyes. “What brings you over here today?”
“I wanted to talk to you, Mom.” Reese thought about all the words she’d practiced on the way over, and mentally fortified herself with the thought that she could do this. “I have some things to tell you. Some news to share.”
“You do? Something about work?”
Serena’s gaze had brightened a bit at the announcement of some news, but other than that slight glimmer, her grief seemed so firmly etched in place that there was no room for any other emotion to break through. Lines carved her face, grooving her despair and sadness in clear unfettered marks.
While Reese didn’t want to be discouraged by the question, she couldn’t quite hold back the small shot of disappointment that the only news in her life her mother could possibly come up with had something to do with work. “No. Not exactly.”
Her mother gestured her forward, pointing at the empty couch. The TV droned in the background, a talk show in full swing. The set wasn’t quite loud enough to hear, yet not quite low enough to be missed. “Well come on, then, sweetie. I want to hear all about it.”
Reese took the offered seat, glancing around the room as she sat down. Her mother had often spoken of the years before she married and had children. She’d been a smoker in high school and college and even in the early days of her marriage. But once she’d had Jamie, she stopped cold turkey. She claimed that it’d been the hardest but easiest thing she’d ever done because she’d done it for her child and Reese had always believed her.
There’d been a time, shortly after Jamie’s death, when Reese had seen a fresh pack of cigarettes buried in the kitchen drawer, unopened. It’d taken her several days, but she finally worked up the courage to ask her mother about them. Serena had looked at the pack, sadness in her eyes, and talked of how she longed for a hit. And how quickly the demon of addiction had come back when times were so utterly horrible.
Yet, she’d held out and that pack had stayed right where it was, unopened, in the drawer for years. But then one day, about three years ago, Reese hadn’t seen them when she’d gone hunting for a stamp. She’d asked her mother and Serena had whispered that it was time to let go. That she had made a commitment to herself when she quit smoking before having children, and she wasn’t going to give in to her addiction simply because Jamie had died. It would be a betrayal of him and of her vow to stay healthy for her children.
So it was less with surprise, and more with sadness, that Reese noticed the full ashtray that now sat next to her mother’s chair, brimming with ash and filtered tips; it was clear that the loss of Russ Grantham had finally taken its toll. That whatever vow her mother had made to herself had long since vanished.
“What’s your news?” her mother asked.
“I know this is going to be a bit of a surprise but, well—” Reese hesitated, taking a deep breath for a final shot of courage “—I’m having a baby.”
“You’re what?” The question hovered in the air between them, the tone not one of censure and certainly not excitement. “How? I mean, I know we haven’t seen each other for a while, but I wasn’t aware you were dating anyone.”
“Well, I’m not exactly.”
“It certainly sounds like you’re seeing someone,” her mother pointed out. “Who is the father?”
“Hoyt Reynolds. He and I had an evening together earlier in the summer. And well, things just sort of happened.”
“Reynolds?”
Reese wasn’t sure what stung more: her mother’s seeming lack of excitement at the news of the baby, or the way she had zeroed in on Hoyt’s last name. Reynolds. Owners of Reynolds Station, the site of one of her father’s crimes.
Worse, the crime that had begun his downfall.
“We’ve known each other forever,” Reese said carefully. “We grew up together.”
“Sure. You and everyone else in town.”
“He’s an attractive man, Mom. I’m sure you can see that. We had a connection and as two single adults, we acted on that. He’s a good man.”
“Right. A good man. Such a good man he got you pregnant.”
“It wasn’t like I wasn’t an active participant.”
Her mother reached for the soft pack, crumpling it when she realized it was empty of cigarettes. Tossing the pack back on the end table, her mother’s gaze swung back toward her, pinning her in place. “What is this, Reesie? You come in here telling me you’re having a baby. With a Reynolds boy of all people.”
The Reynolds boy? What were they—a couple of fifteen-year-olds who’d been caught necking in the park after curfew?
“I’m not exactly a child. I’ll be thirty by the time it’s born. I thought you’d be happy about a baby.”
“What’s there to be happy about? You’re having a baby with a man who is at the root of our family’s downfall.”
“I thought that sat squarely on Dad’s shoulders.”
“Excuse me?”
Reese knew the moment she’d overstepped, yet she couldn’t hold back. “Dad made his own situation. That has nothing to do with Hoyt Reynolds or anyone else.”
“Your father broke, and the Reynolds family, along with that Annabelle Granger, are the reason he’s gone. He bore up under the weight of Jamie’s death, doing what was right, anyway, as a leader of the police department. All those years spent following the law and locking up criminals who always got out in the end, who always got a future when all his son got was a cold grave. And what did he get for it?”
“Caught, Mom. He got caught.” Which was right and just, she added silently, not quite ready to poke what had obviously been a slumbering bear.
Was this what her mother had been harboring for the past four months? Sitting here, day in and day out, twisting the truth of her father’s crimes into some sort of moral exercise over right and wrong? Or worse, painting Russ Grantham as some sort of avenging angel and excusing his decision to kill criminals?
Reese struggled to process it all and while some part of her knew she needed to stay and battle it out, forcing her mother to see reason, another part of her was far too hurt about Serena’s reaction to the news of becoming a grandmother. In the end, it was the hurt that won out.
“I’d better be going.”
“I don’t think—” Her mother stopped, her gaze settling back onto the TV. “Maybe that’s for the best.”
“I guess it is.”
Reese followed the well-worn tread of footprints in the threadbare carpet, refusing to look back as she left the room. Her mother might be harboring a lifetime of disappointment, but she’d finally given Serena Grantham something to be happy about and it had been tossed in her face like some dirty secret.
Her child wasn’t shameful, nor was the decision to sleep with Hoyt Reynolds. And if the
one person who was supposed to support her couldn’t see that, there really wasn’t anything else to say.
* * *
Hoyt walked in the front door of Midnight Pass High School and wondered how it was possible a place he’d barely thought of for more than ten years could feel so immediately familiar.
Why was he even here?
Yes, he’d spent a sleepless night, the feel of Reese in his arms and on his lips haunting him like a physical presence. And yes, he understood pursuing that desire that always seemed to hover on a low throttle between them could come to nothing good. Even if they felt so damn right together.
And even if they’d made something very good in the form of a child.
That thought—and the image of holding his son or daughter in his arms by the time spring rolled around—stopped Hoyt short. A child. Fatherhood. An unbreakable bond for the rest of his life with Reese Grantham.
Moving on, determined to shake off the conflicting and somewhat overwhelming emotions, Hoyt dragged off his hat and headed down the hall. Unresolved yearning aside, he wanted to see that she was okay. And he also wanted to do a bit more digging on the science teacher’s spider.
He’d spoken to Belle and gained her promise to come over and check things out, but knew it would have to be a lower priority in her long list of duties. She had mentioned that MPHS kept a regular rotation of security on staff and he’d decided to come talk to them about any possible video they might have captured over the past few days.
While an active security presence was new since he’d been in high school, Hoyt suspected there were reasons. The drug problem that refused to abate—any number of substances readily available on the path from South America, through Mexico and on into the US—needed tight controls and steady vigilance. Sadly, that extended to high school kids.
Jamie Grantham’s hadn’t been the first—or last—death from drugs in the Pass and teenagers could be, unfortunately, easy marks.
He took a quick right into the school office, where he was greeted by the same dragon-faced Mrs. Larson who’d stood guard over the front desk during the years he attended MPHS. He had it on good authority she’d been there even longer, watching over Tate’s class, Ace’s class and, if rumor were correct, all the way back to the founding fathers of Midnight Pass.
