Homecoming (17 page)

Sixteen

Tyler, even though surrounded by family members eating, drinking, and laughing, felt alone, isolated. He’d arrived in West Palm Beach with Michael, Jolene, and Teresa early Friday morning to brilliant Florida sunshine and warm ocean breezes. They were picked up at the airport by his uncle and aunt, Joshua and Vanessa Kirkland. Half an hour later, he was reunited with aunts, uncles, and a countless number of cousins who’d had been gathering at the Cole family estate all week.

His younger sister, Arianna Kadir, was stunningly beautiful. She was almost an exact image of their mother. She’d inherited Parris’s height, coloring, and eye color. Her eyes were a clear brown with a hint of dark green. Her athletic body was still firm, and although Arianna no longer swam competitively, she still managed to swim laps at a pool at a spa on the outskirts of Paris.

Curving an arm around her ripening waist, Tyler pressed a kiss to her short, professionally coiffed curling hair. “Do you think your husband will adjust to living in the States?”

Arianna smiled up at her brother through the lenses of her sunglasses. “Silah loves it here. Especially Florida.”

“If that’s the case, then why did it take you so long to come back?”

“Silah wanted to establish his own couture house.”

“But he could’ve done that here,” Tyler argued. “You guys have enough money to set up a couple of couture houses if you want.”

“That’s the problem, Tyler.”

“What? Money?”

“The problem is it’s my money, not Silah’s. He refuses to touch my money. We argued so much about his stubbornness that I threatened to leave him a few times. He says that if he can’t make it on his own, then he would give it up.”

“That’s foolish, Arianna.”

“It’s not so foolish when you consider his culture is very different from ours. It took a long time for me accept Silah for who he is. That’s why I waited so long to marry him.”

A label on a garment designed by Moroccan-born, French-speaking Silah Kadir had become as sought after as one from the house of Chanel. His free-flowing colorful designs claimed a definite North African influence.

“What did he say about Mom and Dad giving you guys the house in Ft. Lauderdale?”

Arianna laughed. “Surprisingly enough, he was very accepting because they told him it was a wedding gift.” She sobered quickly. “Speaking of weddings, Daddy was royally pissed when I got married without telling him. I think it all stemmed from Regina waiting until after she delivered Clay to marry Aaron. Daddy cursed a blue streak about his daughters not being traditional brides.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Regina and Aaron. I believe it’s because Dad had to wait ten years before he was able to marry Mom.”

Martin Cole had met Parris Simmons when he’d saved her life from her ex-husband, who’d tried to drown her in a murder/suicide attempt. Parris lived with Martin for several months while she recuperated from a broken jaw. During this time she’d found herself pregnant, and would’ve married him if not for a threat against her life and that of the child in her womb. They were separated for ten years, and Martin wasn’t aware he’d fathered a child until he was reunited with the woman who unknowingly had become his everything. And it wasn’t until after they’d married and were expecting a second child that Parris’s blackmailer was revealed.

“I know it was because of what Grandpa had tried to do to our mother,” Tyler continued. “His emotional break with reality after he’d fathered a child outside of his own marriage had him fixated him with guilt that tortured him to his grave.”

Joshua Kirkland, their father’s half brother, was the result of Samuel Cole’s illicit affair with a young woman who’d worked for him. The enmity between Joshua and his father continued for nearly forty years, until Samuel was felled by a debilitating stroke, which had left him with partial paralysis and slurred speech.

“Enough about the past,” Arianna said, waving a hand. “What about you? How’s your house coming along?”

Leading his sister out of one of the four gardens on the Cole estate, Tyler told her about his home, its furnishings, and the gardens their sister had designed for him. As they neared the area where tables, chairs, and umbrellas were set up to accommodate five generations, Arianna was hugged and kissed by her many relatives who had come to welcome her back to Florida, back to her home.

Tyler waved to his Uncle Joshua, who cradled his
latest grandchild to his chest. Hands thrust in the pockets of his slacks, Tyler nodded and greeted several youngsters he’d assisted in bringing into the world. Most did not stand still long enough to talk to anyone older than sixteen years of age. They chased one another over the lush lawn, heading for the swimming pool.

“Tyler?”

Stopping at the sound of a familiar husky female voice, he turned and smiled at his mother. Reaching for her hands, he kissed her fingers. “How do you manage to stay so beautiful?”

At seventy-four, Parris Cole was incredibly beautiful. Tall, with a straight trim body, she epitomized grace and elegance. Her short chemically relaxed hair was completely gray, a shocking contrast to her smooth golden-brown skin. The tiny lines fanning out around her mysterious brown eyes added character to her delicate features.

Parris laughed, the sensual sound floating up and lingering in the warm air. “You’re definitely your father’s child.”

Tyler continued to smile, his dimples winking attractively. “Is that a bad thing?”

Parris stared at her son, pride radiating from her eyes. “No, son, that’s not a bad thing. In fact, I’m very proud of you. I’m proud of all of my children. But …” Her words trailed off when she didn’t complete her statement.

Angling his head, Tyler stared down at his mother. “But what, Mom?”

Pulling her hands from his loose grip, Parris wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m worried about you.”

Tyler went completely still in her embrace. “Why me?”

“You appeared lost, confused. Let me finish,” she insisted when he opened his mouth to refute her. “I know you have the house you want and the opportunity to work directly with pregnant women, but I sense even that’s not enough. You’ve come back to Florida to welcome your sister home, and I’ve stood by watching you float in and out of conversations, not stopping long enough to say more than a few words to anyone.

“Even Regina mentioned you seem different, aloof. If you want to tell me I’m being a meddling old woman, then you can. But as your mother, I know what I see and I don’t like what I see.”

Tyler had to ask himself if he was that transparent. Could his mother see that despite his declaration of love to Dana he was afraid—afraid he would lose her when she left Hillsboro? The realization had come to him that she could possibly leave Hillsboro in less than four months and he wouldn’t be able to follow her because of his commitment to the research study.

“I’ve fallen in love.”

Parris’s smile was radiant. “That’s wonderful, Tyler.”

“It is and it isn’t.” Taking his mother’s hand, he led her away from the crowd. “I’ve fallen in love with a woman who may leave Hillsboro in less than four months. The problem is that I can’t follow her. I haven’t even completed my first year in the study.”

“Does she know you love her?”

“I told her the other day.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me I was crazy.”

Parris lifted an eyebrow. “At least she didn’t tell you to get lost.”

“Even if she did that wouldn’t matter. I’m not going to lose her, Mother.”

Closing her eyes, Parris nodded. Her son looked and sounded so much like his father at forty that she
thought she’d stepped back in time. With Martin it had been the gubernatorial election, and with Tyler it was a woman.

Martin Cole had lost the election, and she prayed it would not be the same for her son. It was the first time Tyler had confessed to loving a woman, and she refused to think of Tyler losing a part of himself if he were to lose the woman who’d captured his heart.

Dana climbed into bed, pulling a sheet over her body. Her meticulous perusal of the microfiche coverage of her mother’s murder and her father’s subsequent trial had yielded a wealth of information.

She’d spent the week taking notes and making copies of the articles, while every once in a while she focused on other articles about Hillsboro during that time. The Davis family had a simple and folksy style of reporting, giving the weekly a definite hometown flavor. Most of the ads were from local businesses, boasting sales and promising special discounts to their longtime customers.

Her tiny notebook listed the names of jurors and their alternates, the prosecutor and assistant D.A., and the witnesses who’d testified on behalf of the State of Mississippi. There was only one witness for the defense—an elderly woman who had given her age as eighty-seven. She’d been called as a character witness for Dr. Harry Nichols. Dana crossed her name off the list when she saw it mentioned in the obituary column six weeks following the conclusion of the trial.

She’d been so caught up with the newspapers articles that she did not think of Tyler until she lay in bed at night, his passionate declaration of love sweeping over her with the force of a raging storm and eliciting a longing that kept her from a restful night’s sleep.

Dana lay the darkened room, asking herself if she loved Tyler, could she love him enough to remain in Hillsboro? He’d made it so easy for her to love him, but the fact remained she still had to learn to trust him.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, angled for a more comfortable position, and within minutes she had fallen asleep. Cool air filtered through the screens on the window, bringing with it the scent of pine and blooming flowers. The drought was over with the advent of daily afternoon thunderstorms. Patches of grass sprouted, brooks and streams filled up, and farmers pleaded with bank loan officers for more money for a second early summer planting, with the hope they would have something to harvest in the fall.

Dana heard the ringing, but ignored it. It continued, and at first she thought it was the telephone. Her eyes opened. It couldn’t be the telephone because the answering machine was activated to pick up a call after the fourth ring. There were three telephones in the house: one in the bedroom where her grandmother had slept, the second in the kitchen, and another in the living room.

The incessant ringing continued until she realized it was the doorbell. Peering at the luminous dials on the clock radio, she groaned. It was two-ten. She couldn’t imagine who would come visiting at that hour.

Sitting up, she reached for the silky cover-up at the foot of the bed. “Hold on, I’m coming,” she mumbled, making her way her way down the staircase.

Her bare feet made soft slip-slapping sounds on the bare wood floor. Peering through the security eye, she saw the distorted image of Tyler Cole’s face looking back at her.

Unlocking the door, she flung it open. He stood on the other side of the screen door, arms crossed over his chest. The lights on either side of the entrance illuminated his impassive expression. He was casually dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a pale-blue linen shirt he’d left open at the throat.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was just above a whisper.

“Didn’t I tell you that I was coming for you?”

Her eyes widened. “Didn’t I tell you that you’re crazy?”

His arms came down, and he braced a hand over his head against the door frame. “Open the door, Dana.” The command was quiet and lethal.

There was something in Tyler’s eyes that made her uneasy. Something made him seem dangerous. She shook her head.

A slight smile softened his mouth. “Either you open the door, or I’m going to wake up your neighbors. I’m certain Miss Janie is already up and peering through her curtains as we speak.”

Dana felt her pulse racing uncontrollably as she reached for the latch on the screen door. She’d barely opened it when she was lifted off her feet, her arms going around Tyler’s neck to keep her balance.

His head came down, his mouth branding hers with a burning possession that shook her from head to toe. He took a step, pressing her back to the open door. Passion pumped the blood through her heart, chest, and head like the rushing waters from a broken dam.

Holding Dana with one arm, Tyler closed the door, locked it, and headed for the staircase, taking two steps at a time, the heaviness in his groin threatening to erupt at any moment. He’d spent the time during his flight from Florida to Mississippi fantasizing about making love to her until he’d found it almost impossible
to sit still. He’d wanted to come to her earlier and take her to his home, but his flight had been delayed taking off because of severe thunderstorms in the Palm Beach area.

He prayed he would remain in control long enough to take her with the tenderness she deserved. He had waited a long time—been celibate a very long time, and he knew the wait would be worth it because he’d waited to fall in love with a woman who made his heart beat a little too quickly, made him want to spend the rest of his life in her perfumed arms, and made him want to experience the joy of fatherhood for the very first time in his life.

Dana had called him crazy, and he was because he’d contemplated deliberately getting her pregnant to make her stay, but dismissed that notion as soon as it entered his head. He wanted an open and honest relationship with her, and her statement that she couldn’t trust men was always first and foremost in his mind. She would never trust him if he didn’t protect her physically and emotionally. Walking into her bedroom, he placed her gently on the bed, his body following. The sounds of their breathing reverberated in the muted silence.

Dana lay under Tyler, her body aching for his touch. The outline of his hardened flesh burned her through the sheer fabric of her cover-up and nightgown. He had warned her he was coming for her, yet she hadn’t believed him until she saw him standing at her door. She moaned softly as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder. The weight of his large body gave her a strange sense of comfort.