A Mother's Love (19 page)

At the sound of her voice, Hope turned and grinned at her mother. “Hi, Mom. Jace likes to dance.”

Her words were barely slurred, Christa thought, marveling all over again at her progress.

“You both looked great.”

“M'feet still don't work right.” Frustration filtered through the glow and Christa shook her head.

“That will come, baby. You know it will. Look how far you've come! A few months ago you couldn't stand at all, and now you're dancing!”

Hope didn't look convinced until Jace planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead. “You're the best partner I've had in longer than I can remember.”

“My mom's a good dancer, too,” Hope said.

Jace slanted a look toward Christa. “Is that right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ellen piped up. “Christa always used to love to dance. You should have seen her waltz around by herself during Saturday-night Lawrence Welk reruns on PBS. She was better than any of the dancers on there.”

“Thanks for sharing that, Mom,” Christa muttered as Jace laughed.

“I'm sorry I missed that.”

“Me, too,” Hope said.

Though she grinned at her mother, Christa could see her legs tremble, her muscles still weak. Jace must have sensed it, too. He guided her to her favorite easy chair and helped her transfer into it.

When she was settled, he shoved his hands in his pockets. He seemed extraordinarily masculine surrounded by three females.

“I'll get out of your way,” he said, though he didn't look at all as if he wanted to go.

Christa debated with herself for only a moment. She had missed him, she suddenly realized.

“You don't have to.” She spoke quickly, before she changed her mind. “Why don't you stay? It's my night to cook and I'm grilling chicken.”

She saw her mother look up from her quilting frame, her eyes wide with surprise at the invitation.

“Yes, do, Jace,” Ellen urged with a sudden smile.

“Stay.” Hope added her voice to the chorus. “Mom's grilled chicken is yum.”

Given how much time he spent here when she wasn't home, she might have expected him to jump at the invitation. Instead reluctance flickered in the dark blue depths of his eyes.

She was certain he would refuse, but finally he smiled. “A man would have to be crazy to refuse a chance to share a meal with three such lovely ladies. I'm definitely not crazy. All right.”

“Yay!” Hope exclaimed.

“I'll stay on one condition,” he continued with a wide smile that made her toes tingle. “You have to let me help.”

“Of course.” Christa forced a smile, though those nerves were jumping around her insides like an entire cast of Lawrence Welk dancers.

What had she done? An entire evening with Jace McCandless and all these glittering feelings bursting through her.

She had to be crazy.

J
ACE LEANED AGAINST
Ellen's deck railing, noting a bit of a wobble. He made a mental note to brace it the next time he was out here.

If there
was
a next time.

He grimaced. He had been trying not to think about it all day, but he knew his time here was limited. The night before, he'd received the latest in an increasingly urgent series of phone calls from his business manager. Tom had been hounding him for three weeks to get off his butt and return to Houston so they could wrap up last-minute details of several business endeavors that were hitting critical mass.

He'd done his best to ignore the man, but he knew he couldn't do it much longer—nor was he at all certain he wanted to.

Maybe a little distance from the Sullivan women would be good for him, would help him scramble back to safer ground.

All of them—Ellen, Hope, Christa—were becoming too tightly wrapped around his heart, and it scared the hell out of him.

He didn't let people inside his life like this. He just didn't.

It wasn't as though he was some kind of hermit. He had friends he cared about—plenty of them—but always from a much safer emotional distance.

Yeah, he knew it was probably another of those grim lessons he'd learned from his mother and the particular hell of spending his formative years with a junkie. But sometimes the patterns of the past were just too damn ingrained not to keep repeating.

Through the window he could see Ellen and Hope watching television. Ellen smoothed a hand over her granddaughter's hair, and something tightened inside him.

He let out a breath, wishing fiercely for a little Jack Daniel's to block all these terrifying emotions. But he hadn't had anything to drink since that evening two weeks earlier when he had kissed Christa. In many ways, that night had been a wake-up call, when he fully realized how very much he hated what he was becoming.

For the first time since the hotel fire he was thinking clearly. He was still haunted by that night and by the cries of those he couldn't get to in time after the flames became too intense, but he finally allowed himself to be comforted by thoughts of the dozen people he
had
been able to save.

He sighed, gazing out at the pretty little valley. As grateful as he was for the change in perspective, that didn't change the essential fact that he would soon have to leave this place and especially this family.

The screen door squeaked open and Christa came out holding a platter. She was so lovely she took his breath away.

He was fairly sure he had known more beautiful women in his life, but he couldn't remember any of them affecting him the way this one did, with her huge green eyes and her soft smile.

He had missed her these last two weeks. He didn't even like thinking about how much. It had been painfully tough to
force himself to schedule his visits with Hope and Ellen here at the house for times when he knew Christa would be at work.

“Are the coals ready?” she asked.

He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out gruff. “Uh, yeah. They should be just right.”

“Good. I'm starving.” She flashed a smile at him.

He watched her bustle around the grill—she checked the coals and moved them around with her tongs, adjusted the rack just so, then finally transferred the chicken breasts to the grill. In only a moment, savory smells emanated across the deck.

He might have expected her to keep her distance. Instead, after she had the chicken grilling, she joined him at the deck railing. Her shoulder just brushed his as they both leaned on it, looking out at Sage Flats and the surrounding area.

“This has to be the prettiest view in the whole valley,” he said after a moment.

“I've always thought so.”

“Must have been great growing up here.”

He didn't miss the way her shoulders suddenly seemed more tense. “Must it?”

He shot her a swift glance. “Look around! It's every kid's dream. Room to explore, horses to ride, that beautiful view out your window. What's not to love?”

She was silent for a long time. “I hated it,” she finally murmured. “I couldn't wait to leave.”

Before his grandmother rescued him, Jace would have given every single one of his precious few belongings to spend his childhood someplace like this, somewhere he could be safe and warm and loved. He couldn't quite grasp the concept that anyone would throw this away.

“How could you possibly hate it?”

She shrugged. “Lots of reasons. Hick towns and big dreams don't always mesh. I was stupid and thought the real world started just outside the Sage Flats town boundaries. Plus, my mom and I fought all the time. That didn't help anything.”

He stared, unable to imagine Ellen fighting with
anyone.
To him, she had always been kind and serene, and he had never once seen her lose patience with her granddaughter, no matter the provocation.

Christa gazed through the window at her mother, still sitting by Hope's side on the couch. Hope rested her head on her grandmother's shoulder, and the older woman seemed perfectly content to let her stay there, though he guessed it couldn't be comfortable.

“Sorry. I'm still trying to process that,” he finally said. “What on earth would you have to fight about with Ellen, just about the sweetest person I've ever met?”

If he hadn't been standing so close to Christa, he might have missed the sorrow that flickered in her eyes, then was gone just as quickly.

“Lots of things. My clothes, my hair, my attitude. I couldn't stand her rules or, worse, her expectations. Mostly I was just a stupid, selfish girl who couldn't believe her mother knew anything about the world.”

“Sounds like a typical teenager.”

“Maybe.” She paused and that sorrow and regret flickered again. “Should I tell you the worst thing I've ever done?”

He didn't know why she seemed in the mood for confession—or why he had this urgent need to pull her into his arms and whisper in her ear that everything would be all right.

This tenderness scared the hell out of him, so he covered his reaction with glibness. Anything to wipe that sadness from her features.

“Okay,” he drawled, “but I've heard and seen some pretty rotten stuff in my worthless life. I've
done
some pretty rotten stuff. This better be good.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, a brief smile playing at her mouth, but it slipped away quickly and she let out a long, sighing breath. “It's not good. It was cruel and heartless. That's all it was. Now that my own daughter is only a few years younger than I was when I left, I can see clearly just how cruel it was.”

She turned around and looked through the window into her family room, at her mother and her daughter sitting together on the couch. “I told you about the worthless cowboy I ran off with. I didn't tell you that I left in so much anger that I didn't bother to contact my parents for a year. No postcard, no letter, no phone call. Nothing. They didn't know where I was or that Kip had dumped me or that I was pregnant or anything. They didn't have any idea whether I was alive or dead. I think I was just so ashamed of the mistakes I had made I was afraid to face them. But, whatever the reason, I put them through hell. No parent deserves that. It's so hard to come back from something like that and establish a healthy relationship.”

“But you and Ellen seem to have done just that.”

She seemed surprised by his comment, then she smiled again, a little more genuinely this time. “It's taken a lot of work. I finally gathered all my nerve and called the day Hope was born to tell them they had a new granddaughter. Do you know, my dad closed the store for the first time I remember and they both caught the next flight down to
Austin. Just like that, they were willing to forgive everything. I understand that kind of love much better now that I have my own child.”

The echo of an old ache spasmed through him, but he pushed it away.

“What about you?” she asked. “You said you've done horrible things. What's the worst thing you ever did to your parents?”

Does being born count?
It sounded so melodramatic he knew he could never say it aloud without sounding like an idiot. Instead he shrugged. “I didn't know my dad at all. Like your cowboy, he took off before I was born. And my mom wasn't…healthy most of my life.”

Whitewashing the stark truth the way he'd done Ellen's fence posts didn't seem right, not when Christa had just confessed her darkest regret.

“She was a drug addict,” he said quietly, words he didn't think he had ever willingly told anyone else in his life.

“Oh, Jace.”

This is the reason he didn't tell anyone, that mixture of pity and compassion in her eyes. He wasn't good at being on the receiving end of sympathy and he didn't quite know what to do with it.

“We moved around a lot. California, Georgia, New Mexico. I think I figured once that we'd spent time in just about every state in the union except Utah.”

He didn't add that he'd often wondered if that explained why the clean, quiet pace here appealed to him so much, why he had been quick to buy property near Hank and Junemarie even though he didn't spend much time in Sage Flats.

“My grandmother was finally able to track me down
when I was eight and kept me with her in Nevada. For the most part, anyway. Nancy—my mother—tried to clean up her act a few times and came back for me, but the good intentions never quite stuck. She died when I was twelve and Junemarie got full custody.”

“What a blessing you had your grandmother,” Christa murmured, her hand covering his on the railing in a comforting kind of gesture.

It warmed him, both her touch and her words. He had often thought the same thing—that without Junemarie's steady influence he probably would have traveled the same road as his mother, a desperate, lost soul always looking for the next fix.

The day he'd realized broncobusting had become like a drug to him—that he was coming to need the exhilaration and the adrenaline and, yeah, even the adulation of the fans—was the day he'd decided it was time to think about retiring.

Another reason he'd stopped drinking—because he'd been coming to need that oblivion too much.

Christa's small hand still covered his on the railing and the connection between them seemed to pulse with life.

He was falling for her.

Falling hard.

The idea intrigued him just as much as it scared the hell out of him. He'd never been in love before. Never even come close. He'd been attracted to other women, of course, but he'd never known this fragile emotion fluttering through his insides.

He wanted desperately to kiss her again. She was so close, so soft, so very, very appealing….

And she had firmly asked him not to a couple of weeks ago.

He let out a breath. But hadn't he told her he would probably try again? Anyway, she wasn't exactly keeping distance between them. She was right next to him—and
she
was the one who had initiated contact. She was practically holding his hand, for pete's sake.

One more kiss, he promised himself. That's all. He would be leaving any day now and this was probably his last chance.

Her gaze met his and he was certain he saw a warm and enticing welcome there. He saw her pupils widen, saw a fragile pulse beating at the curve of her throat and he leaned forward.

Just before his mouth would have brushed hers, she jerked away.

“I've got to turn the chicken,” she managed, though her voice came out breathy and strangled.

“Right. The chicken.” He let out a long breath. Probably better this way. He would already miss her entirely too much when he left Sage Flats.

 

T
HIS HAD TO STOP
.

After dinner, Christa sat at Ellen's quilting frame with her mother, practicing the most basic of stitches—all she dared—while Jace helped Hope work on walking.

It was entirely too domestic a scene, probably the reason for this restlessness she couldn't quite shake.

No. She knew the reason. Because some part of her ached to recapture those moments on the deck when he had nearly kissed her—to rewind and replay and see what might have happened if she hadn't panicked and rushed away.

Impossible. What was the matter with her? She knew what would have happened. He would have kissed her, she
would have responded…and she would have fallen even deeper for him.

The whole situation was fraught with emotional pitfalls. She had recognized it from the very beginning, but she was too foolish to put a stop to it.

She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but he had become so tightly stitched into the fabric of their lives that she had no idea how they would yank him out when he left Sage Flats.

And he would. She knew it, could feel his departure looming nearer. Hope would be devastated when he left—and hadn't her daughter been through enough pain?

Christa would be devastated, too.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, beneath the level of the quilting frame, hoping Ellen didn't notice.

Oh, what a mess. She was falling in love with him—his gentleness with Hope, his caring for Ellen, the laughter he had brought into their lives.

She had the oddest feeling they had all been lying dormant for five months, just waiting for him to blow into their lives and shake things up.

“Everything all right?” Ellen asked.

She met her gaze, hoping her perceptive mother couldn't see the wild tumult of emotion in her eyes. “Of course,” she lied. “Everything's fine.”

“Hope is doing great, isn't she? Jace has been so good for her.”

She turned her attention to the pair in the middle of the floor and her hands froze on the quilt top. Jace had let go of Hope's hands and she was taking a few shuffling steps on her own.