Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (13 page)

But now, gazing at Jace, she was struck by an astounding epiphany. Perhaps, the lack of desire she’d felt and the rarity of her climaxes hadn’t been entirely her fault.

A portion of her thoughts must have been reflected in her expression, because a crease appeared between Jace’s brows.

“What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth to try to explain, but even as she tried to formulate the words, she realized it didn’t really matter what had happened in the past. This was
now.
This was Jace.

A smile spread slowly across her features. “Nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing.” But quick on the heels of that thought came the blinding realization that
she
might have reached the pinnacle of pleasure, but Jace . . .

Jace laughed softly, clearly interpreting her thoughts. He stroked her cheek, her jaw, bringing her down for a butterfly-soft kiss. “Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed myself immensely.”

“But—”

“Next time,” he promised. Then he pulled her back against the crook of his shoulder.

She lay there, her palm resting against his chest, absorbing the pounding of his heart as it eased back into a more normal rate. Her own body was following suit, tensions she hadn’t even known she’d possessed draining from her muscles like heavy sand from an hourglass, until she felt weightless and lighter than air.

Jace traced idle circles on her back, each stroke still having the ability to raise gooseflesh. “How’s Lily?”

Bronte sighed against him. “I don’t know. For once, I can’t reach her. Sometimes, she seems fine—like when she plays with Barry. Then at other times, she seems so . . . sad. Then, I feel like the worst mother in the world.”

“She’ll come around,” Jace said. “Divorce isn’t easy on kids—and maybe she’s too young to understand anything more than her daddy isn’t coming home to see her anytime soon.”

“Logically, I know all that. Logically, I know that my kids need time to get used to the idea that their father won’t be a daily part of their lives. I understand that it may be even longer before they’ll accept that I might start seeing someone else.” She shied away from admitting the entire truth. Bronte wished that he could be that man, that they could openly explore the attraction between them instead of relying on a few odd moments together.

“How about if I stay away for a few days—and make sure that everyone else in the community does the same? That would give you and your kids some alone time.”

She lifted her head to protest, knowing that her encounters with Jace gave her much-needed strength. Somehow, whenever he was near, she was able to tap into her own inner resolve, she was able to focus on what she wanted most out of the future—and she was able to find the courage to begin working toward those goals.

But when she met his gaze, she saw in their depths a wealth of understanding, and knew that he was right.

Unable to speak, she merely nodded and sank against him again. “Not too long, okay?”

She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s a deal.”

*   *   *

THE
house was dark and silent when Jace let himself into the kitchen. He kicked off his boots at the door, hung his jacket and hat on a hook, then opened the refrigerator. As he
stared into the barren confines, he realized that no one had bothered to shop in over a week and the selection was becoming pretty sparse. There was a jar of pickles, a half-empty bottle of ketchup, a bag of carrots—which Barry wouldn’t eat anymore, since he’d started on his bacon cycle—and a container of ranch sauce. The last remaining gallon of milk, which had been full when Jace had left, now had a few scant tablespoons left in the bottom—which usually pissed Jace off since he knew Bodey was responsible. His brother should either leave enough for someone else to get a drink, or finish the whole thing off and throw the jug away.

But somehow, that familiar pet peeve didn’t have enough power to put a damper on his good mood. Not when Jace could still catch a whiff of Bronte’s familiar floral perfume on his shirt or close his eyes and remember how she’d felt in his arms.

She’d surprised the hell out of him tonight. He’d known from their first embrace that she was warm and responsive. But tonight . . .

Hell, it was as if she’d caught fire in his arms. She’d met him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. He’d never been with a woman who was so responsive, so passionate. Her body had reacted to each caress as if she’d been waiting years for him. When she’d come against him . . .

He’d nearly lost control himself.

The soft beep of the refrigerator’s alarm brought him back to awareness. Too late, he realized that he was still staring at the empty shelves. Closing the door, he ignored the hollow feeling in his stomach, realizing that it had little to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten since the Dutch oven feast at Annie’s. He’d been more concerned with getting his work done and Barry in bed so that he could meet Bronte in time to see the shooting stars.

How had she managed to get under his skin so quickly and so completely? Every logical bone in his body warned him of the inadvisability of a relationship of any kind between them. She’d barely filed the last of her divorce papers, for hell’s sake. While he . . .

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He was torn between responsibilities that threatened to crush him and the secret need to flee. How could he offer a woman any sort of commitment or relationship when he couldn’t even come to terms with who he was anymore? Most of the time, he felt like the world’s biggest liar. Outwardly, he wore the façade of an organized and dedicated businessman. Inwardly, he was a seething mass of discontent.

Sighing, he pushed through the kitchen into the family room, carefully weaving his way through the miniature ranch toys scattered over the floor.

Even his plans to take a break once the snow returned were in question. He’d thought that if he took a vacation, revisited some of his old stomping grounds in Europe, that he could get rid of the itchy need for change. He could glut himself on the art and culture to be found there. Then, by spring, he could return with a better perspective.

But the thought of leaving for that long, knowing that Bronte would be here . . .

Hell.
He didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise and stay away for a few days, let alone—

“I don’t want to live with you anymore, Jace.”

Jace started, wrenched from his thoughts to find that Barry sat hunched at the top of the staircase. Even in the dark, Jace could feel his brother glaring at him.

Crap.

Jace flipped on the light. Noting his brother’s expression of defiance, he took the steps one by one, using the same care he would display if he were approaching a ticking bomb.

“What’s wrong, Barry?”

His brother was still dressed in his Spider-Man pajamas. But at some point since Jace had tucked him into bed, he’d donned his jacket, his cowboy hat, and a pair of boots. In his lap, he gripped a backpack stuffed so tightly that it wouldn’t close at the top. Judging by the tip of a blanket and the toys poking out of the top, his preparations were probably light on underwear and heavy on entertainment.

“You went to see the dinosaur lady, didn’t you?”

“Bronte?”

Barry nodded, his movements jerky.

Jace had learned a long time ago that it was a bad idea to lie to Barry. Inevitably, it would come back to bite Jace in the butt. So he sank onto the tread below his brother and said, “Yeah, Barry. I saw Bronte tonight.”

Barry’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Why, Jace? Why would you make Lily mad at me again?”

Jace sighed. “Lily was asleep, Barry. She didn’t even know—”

“You told me it was bad to break a rule, even if no one knew you did it.”

Shit.

Jace rubbed at the ache that was beginning to drill through his skull, right between his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

“Bronte is my friend, Barry. She needs someone to talk to—like Lily talks to you.”

“But if you make her mad again, Lily might not talk to me,” Barry said earnestly.

Jace tried to touch Barry’s arm in reassurance, but Barry reared away from him, so he tried again. “She’s not going to be mad at you, Barry.”

“But she is! You’re going to make things worse. So I don’t want to live here anymore. I want to go live with P.D. and Elam cuz they won’t sneak out at night to break their promises!”

He stood up, ready to lunge past, but Jace jumped to his feet and caught him around the waist.

“No, Barry, no!”

Barry fought to wriggle free and it took all of Jace’s upper-body strength to keep them both from toppling down the stairs.

“Barry. Barry!” Jace’s voice was tight and husky as he finally understood the extent of Barry’s distress. He’d known that Barry had found a friend in Lily, but until tonight, he hadn’t fully comprehended how much Barry had begun to rely on that friendship.

Too late, Jace realized that Barry had experienced his
own brand of loneliness. The kids his age were kind and accepting, but they were eager to leave adolescence behind. The younger children in the area found Barry’s size intimidating. But Lily had accepted Barry for who he was, a boy with a heart of gold. She didn’t care if he was older or taller or even that he was a boy.

Unable to help himself, Jace pulled his brother tightly into his arms. At first Barry resisted him, still visibly upset. But Jace held on until the fight drained out of him. Finally, Barry dropped the backpack to wind his arms around Jace’s waist and grip him close. Huge sobs welled from his body, threatening to shake him asunder.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I’m so, so sorry,” Jace murmured as his brother cried. “I didn’t think far enough ahead. I didn’t consider how Lily would feel if she found out I’d been talking with Bronte tonight.”

“You have to, Jace. You have to think!”

Out of the mouths of babes.

Barry sobbed, then added sadly, “That’s why I have to go to live at Elam’s.”

An ache settled in the center of Jace’s chest. Even though he’d toyed with the idea of having Barry spend more time with Elam, the thought of such a thing becoming a reality hurt more than he’d anticipated.

Hugging Barry even tighter, Jace said slowly, “The decision is yours, Barry. This isn’t a prison, it’s our home. Yours, Bodey’s, mine—and even Elam’s. He might not sleep here, but it’s still his home. If you want to live with Elam, you know he and P.D. would love to have you.”

Jace drew back, the ache engulfing his chest so much that he found it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“But I’d miss you, Barry. More than you’d ever know. If you’d be willing to wait until tomorrow morning, we can try to think of a way to help Lily feel better. Then, maybe when she’s not so sad, she won’t mind so much that Bronte is my friend, too.”

Barry seemed to consider that for long, endless minutes. He finally nodded.

“Come on.” Jace hooked the straps of the backpack with one hand and let the other rest on Barry’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Neither of them bothered to turn on the overhead lamp once they reached Barry’s room. A nightlight glowed from one wall and the ceiling was dotted with plastic constellations and planets that glowed in the dark. For a fleeting instant, Jace thought of Bronte lying in his arms under the sky, watching shooting stars plummet to earth. But then, he turned his attention to helping Barry out of his boots and jacket. Barry bounced onto the mattress and set his hat on top of the stuffed panda that slept in the spot next to him in the larger double bed that had been installed in Barry’s room at Christmas time.

Jace pulled the covers up to his brother’s armpits, then ruffled his hair affectionately. “Sweet dreams, buddy. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so you can sleep in to make up for staying up so late.”

Barry’s eyelids were already flagging. “ ’Kay. Then can I go see Lily?”

“We’ll call Bronte first thing.”

His brother’s head rolled in the pillow, seeking a more comfortable spot, and Jace took that as his cue to leave. He was poised at the door when Barry called sleepily from the bed.

“Jace?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Do you think I’ll ever find a friend who wants to hold my hand like Bronte likes to hold yours?”

Ah, shit.
The question was so innocent, yet it had the ability to stab Jace through his heart with its poignancy.

“I don’t know, Barry,” Jace said, when he finally trusted himself enough to speak. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Jace waited for a response, but soon realized that Barry had fallen asleep.

Slipping into the hall, he eased the door closed, leaving a gap so that he could hear if Barry called out to him. Then, he padded down the hall, feeling very old and world-weary.

His goal was the bedroom, a hot shower, then sleep. But without consciously being aware of it, he found himself pausing in front of the stairs leading up to the attic.

It had been a little more than ten years ago when he’d thought that he had his life all figured out. He’d gathered up a couple of changes of clothing, what few belongings he thought were vital, and the wages that he’d saved up from working for his father. Then, retrieving the passport he’d obtained without his parents’ knowledge, he’d slammed out of the house, swearing he wouldn’t return until he’d shown his father what he could do on his own.

It had been the best thing he’d ever done.

And the worst.

Since coming home, Jace had tried to forget those few stolen years. He’d tried to conform and become the man his father had wanted him to be—and for the most part, he’d been successful. But he was discovering that by pretending that those years—those dreams, that person—no longer existed, he’d only made things worse in the long run.

He raked his fingers through his hair, then laced them together behind his head. For several minutes, he stared at the attic steps. Interestingly enough, for the first time in years, he didn’t experience the old familiar tug of shame and regret. Instead, he felt the first stirrings of . . .

Anticipation.