Lonestar Homecoming (5 page)

“I want bubble bath,” Jordan announced. She squirmed to be let down, and when her father deposited her on the tile, she went to the vanity and began to rummage through it. “There's no bubble bath.” Her brows drew together, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Mommy always put bubble bath in our water.”

“We'll get some tomorrow. I don't have any bubble bath, but I've got some vanilla-scented lotion in my purse. It will make you smell nice and pretty. I'll get it in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Jordan began to strip off her clothes.

“I'll borrow some pajamas for Hope while you bathe the kids,” Gracie said, backing out of the bathroom with Hope by the hand. She listened to Michael tell the children how to wash while she went to Jordan's bedroom. The man had a lot to learn about children. He couldn't treat them like soldiers.

All the clothes were neatly folded in the dresser, and she lifted out a pair of pajamas for Jordan. A picture caught her eye, and she picked it up.A young woman with brown hair and eyes held Jordan and Evan on her lap.Their mother, Kate? Jordan had her eyes and hair color.The three of them sat on a swing on a brick patio surrounded by flowers and vines. Hadn't Michael said they'd lived in San Antonio? Bluebird would be an adjustment for the children.

Gracie stepped to the next room and found pajamas for Evan. She got the lotion from her purse and handed everything through the door to Michael. While they waited, she and Hope explored the other rooms of the upstairs. Every plain, beige bedroom held utilitarian furniture. Gracie longed to do something with Jordan's room, make it more girlish and sweet.

The bathroom door squeaked, and Michael stepped into the hallway with both kids in his arms. Their hair was still wet, and damp patches showed on his white T-shirt and dress slacks. “I can't guarantee I washed everything, but they're cleaner than they were.”

“Jordan's room is right beside yours, and Evan's is beside that. Let me show you.”

He glanced around. “Place is kind of plain,” he said.

“But it's clean. And there's lots of room.”

“Are your rooms okay?” he asked.

She laced her fingers together. “Yes, they're fine. I made the beds. I hope that's all right.”

“Of course it is. I want you and Hope to be comfortable. Is there a lock on the door?” His smile was gentle.

“No, but I can put a chair under the knob for tonight.”

He chuckled, a warm sound that soothed the goose bumps on Gracie's arms. “I'll put Hope to bed,” she said, taking her daughter's hand.

“I want to talk a minute. Can you come down to the living room when you're done?”

Uh-oh. She massaged the tired muscles in her neck and nodded. Hope was nearly asleep before Gracie pulled the sheet up and placed a kiss on her daughter's cheek. Her knees shook as she stepped into the hallway and went down the steps.Was he having second thoughts? She wouldn't blame him if he was.

She found him in the living room. Standing in the doorway with her hands clasped in front of her, she waited for the ax to fall.

“Sit down.”Michael said, perching on the sofa armrest. “I'd like to learn more of your philosophy on child rearing.”

She cautiously sank onto the worn cushion of an armchair. “I'll care for your kids like they're my own.” She winced at the desperation in her voice.A calm, confident tone would have been better.

“I'm sure you will.” His blue eyes studied her face. “I want the kids taught some discipline.Are you up to that job?”

“Kids need love
and
discipline,” she said. “I'll follow your wishes, of course.”

“Kate always let them run wild,” he said in a heavy voice. “I expect we'll have our hands full correcting that.”

“They've just lost their mother. They're going to need a lot of cuddling and reassurance.”

He frowned. “Are you the type to give in to every demand?”

“Of course not! But I hope to help you find the right balance.”

His frown deepened. “When I tell them to do something, I expect obedience.”

A wave of heat enveloped her face, and she dropped her gaze. “Of course,” she said. “I'll do all I can to mold them into well-behaved children. They're very sweet.”

“And willful,” he said.

She studied the flowers on the carpet until she had the courage to lock eyes with him. “They aren't small soldiers, you know.They're children.”

“Children who need to be taught how to behave.”

“At eight, Jordan is just discovering how to handle structured rules and learning about self-discipline. At six, Evan has been dependent on his mother. A mother who's been ripped away. He's likely going to be fearful and uncertain about the future. Both children will be dealing with serious issues.”

He hunched his shoulders. “All kids have trauma of some kind.”

“This is the worst kind.”

“You sound like you've studied child development.”

“I have.” She didn't shrink under his stare. “Please, just be gentle with them.They need your love right now more than anything.”

“Of course I love them.”

“Don't be afraid to show it.They're good kids.”

“They're unruly,” he said.

She nodded. “Give them time to grieve.We'll steer them the right way.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are we going to be on the same page, Gracie?”

“Maybe we'll bring some good balance between us,” she said, forcing a laugh.

He grinned then. “I'm glad we met. I think the kids will love you.”

She held his gaze. “I'll never forget what you've done for me, Michael. Never.”

He colored and broke the bond of their locked stare. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“No,” she said softly. “No, they wouldn't.You were our guardian angel today.”

“I've never been accused of being an angel,” he said, smiling.

“This is coming home for you, isn't it?” She glanced around the room. “When did you last live here?”

“I grew up in Bluebird but haven't lived here since college. Kate and I went to Alpine to school, then I joined the army. She followed me from base to base except when I was sent out of the country.” He grimaced. “Which was too much to her liking. She divorced me.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was sorry she died though. She was a good mother.”

She heard the pain in his voice. “It's hard on the kids.”

“Yeah, I hate that.” His eyes took in his surroundings. “Kind of grim here. But it will do for now.” He rubbed his head. “I sure miss Caesar.”

“Caesar?”

“My dog. He and I worked together for three years. I had to leave him behind in Iraq.”

“You've had a lot of changes lately.”

He shifted where he sat.“How are you—really?You obviously ran away from your wedding. Is there anything I can do?”

His tone washed over her with the soothing sensation of blue waves. His sympathy clogged her nose with tears. She hadn't cried, not yet. It was a luxury she hadn't afforded herself. There hadn't been time. Her eyes filled too. Her throat closed, and she struggled to keep the tears from falling. She despised women who used tears to manipulate a man, and she wasn't going to be one of them.

She sprang to her feet. “If there's nothing else, can I go to bed?”

He rose. “Of course. I'm sorry about your problems, Gracie.”

“Thanks,” she said through her thick throat.

“I'll check your references tomorrow.” He nodded toward a garbage sack by her chair. “Rick brought some clothes over. Things will look better in the morning.”

“I'll be all right.” She grabbed the bag, then rushed from the room and ran up the stairs.

Her eyes burned as tears poured from them, but at least he could not see them. She grabbed a pair of pajamas and stepped into the bathroom she shared with Hope, then ran water hot enough to scald her. As she slid into the hot water, she choked off sobs. Crying never solved anything.

She scrubbed the contamination of her old life from her skin until it was pink and stinging. She and Hope had a chance for a new life here. She couldn't blow it. If ever she needed wisdom, it was now.The lessons of her past mistakes should show her a new path, and she intended to take it and be smarter.

When she was dressed in the soft cotton pajamas, she grabbed her purse from the floor and went to the connecting bedroom. She took out her cell phone and charger and plugged it in. Almost immediately it beeped, telling her that she had a message.The bed squeaked when she sat on the edge with the phone to her ear and her hands shaking.

Cid's voice shocked her. “Gracie, where are you? Are you all right? Call me.”

She dropped the phone. He was alive! She put her hand to her mouth. Maybe she'd run too soon. But no. Getting away from him had shown her how completely she'd deluded herself about her reasons for marrying him. Security wasn't enough to base a relationship on. The marriage would have been a huge mistake. And she doubted Cid could protect her from those men, even if he wasn't involved— though she suspected he was.

She listened to the message again and tried to ignore the urgency in Cid's voice, a voice that had always made her see orange clouds. She'd thought that meant excitement.

Gracie jabbed the key to delete the message. Her pulse yammered in her chest, and nausea roiled in her stomach. She was safe here. Of course she was. If she could, she'd toss the cell phone so he couldn't contact her again. But if she did, her father would never call. Not that she was likely to hear from him, but her hope refused to die.

4

G
RACIE'S EYES BURNED LIKE SHE'D LIVED THROUGH A SANDSTORM, BUT IT
was lack of sleep that plagued her. She'd propped a chair under the doorknob in her room and in Hope's, but the early morning light washed away her fears.

In the kitchen, she tugged at the fabric of her borrowed jeans, but it glommed right back onto her skin. It wasn't that they were the wrong size, but she rarely wore anything that accentuated her figure. She would have worn the new ones she bought, but she'd worn them yesterday over her filthy body and wanted to wash them first.

“You look pretty,Mommy,” Hope said. She slurped down the rest of the milk from her cereal and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Michael's eyes flickered. “You need some different jeans? You're tugging on them.”

Gracie rinsed her hands at the sink to delay her answer. If she told him the truth, it would appear she wanted an advance for more clothes. Or a handout. “I'm just not used to stretch jeans,” she said.

She went to the table and began to clear it of the dirty dishes. Cartoons blared from the TV in the living room where Jordan and Evan were.

When Hope scampered off to join the other kids, he leaned forward. “Sit down and tell me about your past jobs. I need to call your references.”

She pulled out a chair and sat down, then poured cereal and milk into her bowl. “Not much to tell. I've done several things since I've been out on my own—maid service, waitressing. When Hope came along, I wanted to be with her, so I found a job in a day care.”

“You said you hadn't done that for two years.”

She nodded. “When the director decided to redecorate, I had some ideas, so she turned me loose. Parents loved it, and I got my first job decorating bedrooms. Before I knew it, I had the beginnings of a business.”

“Home decorating?”

“And home staging. It's been hard making ends meet, but it was work I loved. And I thought I was building a new life.”

“You didn't have any training?”

“Only what I read in books and magazines.”

“Wow.” He gestured toward the dingy cabinets. “This house is a dump. I hate the thought of my kids living here.”

“It's got potential.”

“What would you do with it?” he asked.

“What's your favorite music?” she asked.

His brows raised. “What's music got to do with it?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. This was always the worst part of explaining how she worked. “I find a client's tastes in music help me figure out what they'll like.”

“Explain that.”

Usually a client took her claim at face value. She'd rarely delved into the full story. “I have something called synesthesia. Have you ever heard of it? The word means ‘joined sensation.'”

He shook his head, but he took on a more alert expression. “Is it a disability?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I consider it an asset. It's another layer of senses. Studies show many babies and children have the ability to taste or see sounds.”

“You're kidding! What does sound taste like?”

She decided not to get into specifics. “It might be how some metaphors came into being. Such as the night being like black velvet. The simile combines sight and touch.”

“So what do you see and taste?”

“All of us are different. I see shapes and colors when I hear music. And I sometimes taste sounds.”
And voices
, she could have added, but she didn't want to go there. “So hearing your favorite music helps me picture a design that would be pleasing to you.”

“My favorite music artist is Alan Jackson.”

“Do you have a CD in the house? I haven't actually listened to any of his music.”

“I have it on my iPod.” He fished a small Shuffle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “It's all Jackson.”

She hated seeing music for the first time with someone watching. If only she'd figured out a way to get the information without telling him. She held the earbuds close to her ears and played the first song. “Gone Country” blared into her ears. Flashes of color exploded in her vision.Terracotta and periwinkle flowers erupted on a gray-green background. Lowering the earbuds, she handed the iPod back to Michael.