Coming Home (25 page)

Frowning, Roxanne followed the footprints that Jeb pointed out. Both sets were large, obviously male, and as he said, they only seemed to have been in the great room, the dried mud on the wood floor and carpet signs of their passing.

She looked around. Beyond a crooked picture on the wall, nothing seemed out of the ordinary; on the surface the house appeared as it had when she had left less than twenty-four hours ago. A quick search of the rest of the house confirmed Jeb's assumption that the only room the intruders had entered was the great room. Standing in the middle of that room several minutes later, feeling vulnerable and uneasy, Roxanne wrapped her arms around her waist. “This is creepy,” she said. “I just don't understand it. There hasn't been any more trouble or break-ins for months. Why now?”

“Well, first of all, they didn't 'break in'—or at least, there's no sign of it. Looks as if they had a key to the front door … or you made a mistake and left it unlocked.”

“I did not,” she said sharply, “make a mistake. I know this is Oak Valley and all that and that some people still leave their houses unlocked, but not me. I lived in New York too long. I know the door was locked when I left.”

“Anyone else have a key? Your folks?”

“No. Besides, they wouldn't just come inside my house without my permission.”

Jeb looked skeptical. “Maybe you've forgotten someone. Construction hasn't been completed that long ago. Maybe a tile guy or painter had a key.”

Roxanne shook her head. “No. The front door was one of the last items installed. And once it was installed, I made certain that I had all the keys. I didn't loan them to anyone either.” Earnestly, she added, “Believe me, no one came inside the house when I wasn't here. A couple guys even got a little irked when they had to wait for me to get here to let them in.”

Jeb studied her face for a moment. He walked back to the front door and stared at it, the smooth brass surface of the lock plate showing no signs of tampering and the door itself sporting not so much as a scratch.

Walking back to stand in front of her, he sighed.

“Well, since there seems to be no simple answer, you've got to ask yourself, who else has a key to your house and how did they get it?”

Chapter
12

R
oxanne
ran nervous fingers through her mane of black hair. “Oh, that's just great. Not only do I have trespassers and housebreakers, but somehow they've managed to get a key to my house.”

“That's simple enough to fix,” Jeb said. “First thing tomorrow morning you call a locksmith and have the locks changed. That'll eliminate one problem.”

Roxanne's face brightened for a moment, then fell. “Yeah, but it won't tell us who they were or what they were after,” she said gloomily. “Besides which, it'll probably take him a week to get here and get the work done.”

Jeb smiled. “Haven't you learned yet that you can't have everything just when you want it, Princess?”

“I'm beginning to but I can't say that I like the process.” She slid a look in his direction. “Well, thank you for seeing me home. I appreciate it—particularly in view of the housebreaking.”

“Ah, I'm supposed to go my way now like a good boy, is that it? Well sorry, but it's no go. We have things to discuss, remember?”

Roxanne sighed. She wasn't in the mood to fight, she wanted to unpack, take a shower, and sit down with a cup of hot chocolate and enjoy the view out of her windows … and consider the implications of the housebreaking incident. What she definitely did not want to do was embark on an emotional, and probably embarrassing, discussion with Jeb. She eyed him, the thrust of his chin, and the way his thumbs were shoved into the front pockets of his black jeans, making it clear that Jeb wasn't about to leave until he got what he was after.

Giving in, she said, “OK, but I'm going to unpack and shower and change clothes first. Why don't you go home, do the same, and come back in forty-five minutes or so? I'm sure you have things to do at your place, like checking on Dawg and Boss?” She smiled sweetly. “I'm sure that they missed you.”

He studied her face, his expression suspicious.

“You won't hightail it out of here the minute I drive away?” She shook her head. His eyes narrowed. “You're not going to try to lock me out, are you?”

She laughed. “No. I promise to be here.”

He thought about it a moment. “OK if I bring Boss and Dawg with me when I come back?”

“Sure. I might even ask to borrow them for a few nights until the lock gets changed.”

Something moved in the back of his eyes. “Oh, that won't be necessary,” he drawled, strolling up to her and cupping her chin. “I intend to see that you have your very own private security system on the premises until the lock gets changed.”

“Uh, that's not necessary,” she replied uneasily, having a good idea what he meant. “The dogs will do me just fine.”

He stepped nearer, his gaze locked on her mouth as he reached out and his thumb moved softly over her full lower lip. He seemed hypnotized by the movement of his thumb, his lips taking on a sensual curve that did nothing for Roxanne's peace of mind. As the seconds passed her breathing became difficult, the heat of Jeb's body flowing warmly against hers and the touch of his thumb on her lip was driving her nuts, arousing sensations she could do well without.

She took a step away from him, relieved when he let his hand drop. “I think you'd better go,” she said huskily.

Jeb jerked, as if he had suddenly come awake. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I think I'd better.”

He strode away from her, but stopped at the door and looked back. “Don't,” he said quietly, “try any tricks. We're going to have that discussion. I'd just as soon have it privately, but if you force the issue …”

The threat was unspoken but Roxanne had no doubt that if she was foolish enough to try to run, that Jeb would track her down and that it wouldn't matter where he found her—he'd have his damned discussion. Her fingers closed into a fist, but she said, “I'll be here.”

“Good.”

Even though he infuriated and annoyed her, Jeb's departure made the house suddenly seem awfully big and empty. Angry with herself for feeling that way, Roxanne gave herself a shake and stalked over to the wood stove. Poking around in the ashes, she was pleased to find a few coals still burning. The house was chilly and she set about stoking up the fire. Several minutes later, watching the leaping flames behind the glass door of the wood stove, she decided that the fire was doing nicely and she could leave it. She picked up her suitcase and walked to her bedroom.

The bedroom door had a lock on it and she didn't hesitate to use it. Her suitcase unpacked, she got into the shower trying not to think of a certain Neanderthal with an overdeveloped sense of his own appeal. Where did he get off demanding that they have a “discussio?” about a subject she had pushed to the back of her head? Oh, hell, she thought glumly as she washed her hair, maybe once they discussed it, hashed it to death, they'd be able to go on the way they had for years. Except she knew in her heart that her feelings for Jeb Delaney had changed. She might call him names. She might act furious with him, but a part of her knew that it was exactly that: an act.

She wasn't a novice when it came to the games that the sexes played with each other, but she had to admit that she had entered new territory, unknown territory when it came to Jeb. And it terrified her.

Over the years, she'd had a couple of long-term relationships. There'd been a guy when she'd been in her early twenties that she'd lived with for three or four years before the romance had ended. Their breakup hadn't been explosive, they'd just discovered that the spark that had brought them together had died and they drifted apart. A few years after that, there'd been another man who had shared her life, the actor, Shane Michaels. They actually got around to discussing marriage, but his trips back and forth to Hollywood and her trips to location shoots, as well as his, had put a strain on their relationship. They'd been together for five years and Shane was pushing for marriage and children. But marriage she thought of as the final commitment, and it wasn't something that she'd been ready for so she'd held back, coming up with excuses and postponements, and eventually the relationship ended … badly. There had been a few other lovers along the way, but after the breakup with Shane, she'd taken a vow, no more live-ins. Her mouth twisted. Yeah, but what about what's his name, ole married tight-buns? Did three weeks count?

Her thoughts moody, she stepped out of the shower and after drying and wrapping her wet hair in a towel spread perfumed lotion over her body. A spritz or two of the same scent in cologne, Red, and she was ready for clothes. Slipping into a loose-fitting burgundy velour pantsuit, she tackled her hair, quickly fashioning a French braid out of the wet strands. She looked at herself in the mirror, frowning at her fresh scrubbed face. Makeup? No. Jeb might be coming back, but it wasn't going to be
that
sort of evening. She was shocked to feel a pang of disappointment. Dammit! What in the hell was wrong with her?

Grumbling, she wandered out of the bedroom and eventually, after checking on the fire and flicking on a few lamps, made her way into the kitchen. Glancing at the clock in the shape of a rooster that hung over one of the kitchen doorways, she frowned. It was approaching 2:00 P.M. and the rumblings in her stomach let her know that it had been several hours since she'd eaten at Sloan and Shelly's. She poked around in the refrigerator, but didn't see anything that took her fancy. Sighing, she shut the door and checked her cabinets. The cupboards were full, but nothing appealed to her. Probably, she thought with a grimace, because I know that Jeb is coming back and that the conversation isn't going to be fun. Anything but.

She poured herself a glass of nonfat milk and sipping it strolled back to the great room. Standing at the French doors, she stared down at the valley below her. It was weird. All around her, the landscape was white and dusted with snow, a winter wonderland, and yet a scant five hundred feet below her, the snowline stopped. At that point a steady progression of green-needled firs, pines, and shiny-leafed madrones intermixed with the stark, naked limbs of the oaks led to the valley floor. Untouched by snow, the various rooftops of the houses in town in colors of blue, green, and beige looked almost like a patchwork quilt and the fallow fields lay brown and rust-colored in the winter sunlight.

Roxanne sighed again. She supposed she was suffering from the usual letdown after a party. The house seemed quiet, lonely almost after all the laughter and conversation at Sloan and Shelly's place.

She prowled around the great room, double-checking her belongings, wondering who had broken in and why. Nothing seemed to be missing, but she frowned as she straightened a couple of pictures. Now why would someone move her pictures? Surely they hadn't been looking for a safe behind one of them? She shook her head. Odd. She followed the muddy footprints back and forth, studying them, trying to make sense of them. Jeb was right, whoever had broken in—her mouth twisted, OK, whoever had managed to get a hold of a copy of her key and opened the front door—didn't appear to have left the great room. Unless they'd taken off their boots? But that didn't make sense either. Why leave muddy footprints in the great room and nowhere else? Unless, she thought with a chill, they didn't want her to know that they'd been through the entire house?

Creeped-out and restless, she wandered around, wishing that Jeb would get back—and angry because she felt that way. All right. Maybe she wasn't the brave, independent woman she thought she was—as long as no one else knew that, it was OK. And right now fighting with Jeb seemed a much pleasanter way to spend the afternoon—besides, she admitted, smiling, she was looking forward to seeing Dawg and Boss again. To kill time, she cleaned up the muddy tracks and checked out the phone book, looking up the names of locksmiths. There wasn't a large selection and she'd bet that precious few of them would be eager to travel to Oak Valley to change one measly lock. She stopped, frowning. But suppose it wasn't just the front door key? Suppose they had copies of all of her house keys? That tears it, she thought grimly. There is no way I'm going to sleep easy wondering if someone is going to slip in my back door—or any other door. Tomorrow morning, I'm buying all new locks and getting them installed. The hell with waiting for a locksmith.

Before she actually began to pace, she heard the sound of a vehicle climbing up the road and a few minutes later the slamming of a door and Jeb's voice.

“Goddammit,” he yelled. “Boss! Dawg! Get back here. Right now?”

Roxanne popped her head out the front door and grinned. Boss and Dawg, in typical dog fashion, were paying no attention to their owner; heads down, wagging tails up, they were busy sniffing and checking all the new and exciting smells. She glanced at Jeb as he paused and stood in the middle of the pathway. Except for a red shirt, he was all in black—jeans, leather jacket, and boots, his black cowboy hat pulled low over his face—and he held a brown paper grocery bag in one ann. There was an expression of resigned affection on his face as he watched the antics of the dogs. He was such a strong man, some would say a tough man, and yet it was obvious that he could be a gentle and caring man. How many men, she thought, suppressing a giggle, would open their hearts and homes to a pair of butt-ugly dogs like Boss and Dawg? No doubt about it, Jeb Delaney had unexplored depths to him. Her heart leaped as two things struck her: one, she wanted to be the woman who explored those depths, and two, how absolutely
right
he looked standing out there on her walkway. Almost as if he belonged, as if he were coming home … to her. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, trying to ignore the rush of tenderness, the storm of fierce emotion that flooded through her. Jeb Delaney touched something deep inside of her, a part of herself she had always kept inviolate and she was frightened by the new feelings rushing through her body. Oh, lust was there, no denying it, but something else … some deeper, more powerful emotion struggled to break free. It was exciting and unnerving, scary and delightful at the same time, and she knew that she'd never,
ever
felt this way before. …