Texas Redeemed (21 page)

Chase threw a dart with lethal force, but his aim was off
and he missed his mark. Nearly missed the board, in fact.

A shit-faced drunk man and darts weren’t a good
combination.

“Where are you staying, Chase? I’ll drive you.”

“Go to hell.” There went another dart, lodging into the
edge of the board. “Just ’cause you slept with my cousin doesn’t make you my
keeper. Who’re you to tell me what to do?”

He had a point there. Chase wasn’t his responsibility.
Night Sky was a close-knit town if he’d ever seen one, and in general valued
community more than some, but who was to say that anyone would intervene for
Chase’s benefit and ensure that he didn’t get into a senseless fight or behind
the wheel of a car? In either scenario he could potentially wind up in jail or
in a ditch.

Along the way there had been people who’d been Peyton’s
“keepers,” even when he’d fought their efforts: his grandmother; Chief Hyatt,
who’d given him another shot to get it right; his friend and colleague, Malcolm
… and Valerie. Always Valerie. He was one fortunate,
and thankful, bastard. Paying it forward was necessary out of respect to Dinah,
who was clearly a mother who loved her children. That was something Peyton
admired.

“Sometimes, in the end, a family that gives a damn is all
a man’s going to have left.” Peyton held out his hand for the rest of the
darts. “And he’s lucky if he even ends up with that.”

Chase couldn’t have been much older than Peyton, but he
looked worn, haggard … as if ready to leap into oblivion but still too fearful
to take the final step. With a frown he handed over the darts and wordlessly
followed Peyton to his SUV.

Peyton managed to get him a bare-bones room at Blue
Longhorn in the warehouse district. Whenever Chase finished sleeping off his
liquor and took full advantage of the water and coffee the manager had brought
to the room after receiving a hundred-dollar incentive, he could walk to the Bull’s-Eye
Tavern and get his truck.

“What do you get out of all this?” Chase asked, his voice
slurred and his frown still in place as Peyton prepared to leave the motel.
“Helping me?”

“Dinah’s a good woman, and she wants to see her son. I’m
just making sure you get to her in one piece. Another thing,
Jordan.” His voice sharpened then. “My daughter lives at Battle Creek,
and if you’re going to show up there, don’t do it drunk off your ass. Whatever
problems you’ve got, they have nothing to do with her. Leave her and Valerie
out of it.”

 Peyton left,
slamming the door in his wake, hoping to hell his words resonated with Chase
and that the man would come back to the people who loved him.

W
OULD
SHE STILL
be a coward if no one saw her turn around and run?

Valerie tried not to listen to the voice inside her that
had been screeching
Danger! Danger!
since she’d agreed to hand-deliver the invitation that was
now tucked into her purse. Dinah had sealed and stamped them all, pleased with
her handiwork: a stack of Thanksgiving invitations with handmade turkey or
cornucopia cutout designs on the front. She had spent the better part of a week
working on them, and had recruited Lucy and a group of her school friends to
assist over the weekend.

Now Valerie stood on the Turners’ portico waiting for the
butler to answer the door, regretting coming here at all, much less showing up
dressed in a skirt, satin blouse and push-up bra. Just because she’d been
filthy with tangled hair and smelly clothes the last time Peyton had seen her
didn’t mean she had to leap to the opposite extreme and glam it up.

The moment she decided to turn around, go back to the
ranch and change, Jasper hauled open the door.
“Valerie. You look different.”

She reached into her purse and was
this close
to thrusting the invitation at Jasper and running off.
Then she remembered her promise to deliver it directly to Peyton. “Hi, Jasper. Is Peyton here?”

“Upstairs. Come in.” Jasper offered a gentlemanly bow.
There were layers to him she still didn’t know about, but she did know he could
be considerate. And loyal—to his own sense of duty.

After discovering her pregnancy, he’d agreed not to tell
anyone about it as long as she could support herself. By working at the library
until she’d earned enough money to start taking a college class here and there,
she’d kept up her end of the agreement, and he’d held on to her secret even
when she quietly returned to town with two-year-old twins and a rundown
inherited ranch to claim. But when her daughters had developed meningitis, and
she had called Jasper out of sheer fear and panic, he’d told Nathaniel
everything.

Keeping her secret at that point hadn’t mattered to him,
and he’d never apologized for it.

Valerie tilted her head at the sound of a mower revving
up close by. There was a van parked out front, but it had been easy to overlook
in the row of luxury vehicles parked along the curb. “Landscaper?”

Jasper worked his jaw as the mower suddenly quieted.
“She’s something like that.” Gone was the southern charm in his voice. It was
replaced with southern irritation. “Mister Turner’s pleased with her work.”

“And you’re not?”

“My complaint’s
not with Miss Fortune’s work. It’s with her muddy footprints and chattiness and
constant smiling.”

“In that case, it makes sense that you two would butt
heads. You know, Jasper, you with your extreme cleanliness and un-chattiness
and mysteriousness. Peyton told me you call her a Tasmanian devil.”

Jasper smoothed the front of his dark vest. “I’m not the
problem. She is. The woman’s a mosquito.”

The sound of stomping footsteps interrupted Jasper’s
tirade. A petite blonde in coveralls, work boots and gloves appeared in the
grand foyer, looking ridiculously out of place in the spotless grandeur of the
house.

“Jasper, I found the cufflink you were looking for,” she
said brightly, holding out one gloved hand. She offered Valerie a friendly
smile. “Hi, I’m Hope.”

“Valerie.”

“You found it? Where?” He strode
to her and examined the cufflink himself.

“It was in the grass and almost got caught up in the
mower.”

“Uh … ah, thank you, Miss Fortune.”

“No problem.” Hope turned, then pivoted and leaned close
to Jasper. “By the way, I
much
prefer
‘Tasmanian devil.’”

Jasper silently watched her walk away, then
stared at the cufflink in his palm. “I should apologize to her.”

“Maybe when she’s not operating dangerous machinery,”
Valerie suggested, heading for the staircase.

Boisterous conversation spilled into the hall from
Nathaniel’s study and remnants of fruits and breads and coffee littered the
serving cart left beside the door. Not wanting to get trapped in the traffic of
people coming in and out of the room, Valerie hurried to Peyton’s bedroom at
the opposite wing. She knocked twice but got no answer.

Jasper had said Peyton was up here, hadn’t he?

Valerie twisted the knob and walked into foreign
territory. She’d been in this room before, but now it felt like some new,
strange place. She suddenly flinched, startled to find Peyton’s old plastic
skeleton still standing guard. Moving closer to the bed, she could see a tanned
arm and leg poking out from underneath an avalanche of covers.

It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be asleep, since
it was practically afternoon. Maybe he’d worked a late shift at the hospital.
Or maybe he’d had a late night for other reasons.

Her throat dry, she peered more closely at the bed and
confirmed there was only one body lying in it. Not that she cared either way.

But you do care. Too much.

“Hey—” she poked his arm “—wake up.”

The lump under the covers groaned and stirred, then
Peyton’s hand reached out and clasped hers. A moment later he tensed, released
her and bolted upright in the bed. “Valerie?”

“Hi.”

He threw the covers aside and stood, revealing that he
wore a pair of dark briefs and nothing else.

Her gaze roamed over him, taking in the details: mussed
hair, toned muscles, defined hipbones … bulge in the crotch of his briefs. And
there, on his thigh, was a raised, angry scar.

“Want a better look?” He hooked his thumbs into the
briefs’ waistband, as if making to remove them.

“What happened?” she demanded, ignoring his sarcasm.

Peyton rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “It’s
nothing.”

“Don’t. Okay? Just tell me what happened.”

“Knifed in the thigh. That’s
all.” He turned and started moving toward the bathroom. “I’m not talking to you
like this.”

Valerie could match his stubbornness measure for measure.
“I’m not leaving then.”

He swaggered into the bathroom; moments later she heard the
sounds of a toilet flushing and water running. He appeared in the doorway with
a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Still here?”

“I said I’m not leaving.” She emphasized her point by
sitting at the foot of the bed.

Peyton said nothing more as he brushed and rinsed, then
stalked into the bedroom to grab a pair of crumpled jeans from the floor and
yank them on. “You look good in my bed, Val.”

“Seriously, that’s not why I’m here.” She walked to the
opposite side of the room. “So what’s with the scar? Did you miss the patient
when you were operating?”

The look he gave her was grim. “I was mugged and stabbed
while I was on a mission. It happened a long time ago and as you can see, I’m
fine. Luckily, all my necessary parts function.”

She cringed mentally at the words
necessary parts
and met his eyes
.
“I don’t believe in luck.”

He ventured closer. “What do you believe?”

“That you have some ridiculous death wish.”

“I’m a doctor, not a stuntman.”

Frustrated, she shoved his shoulder. “Quit brushing off
what I say. You’re a doctor who works in the most dangerous places. You’re
Anthony Turner’s boy, the rebel—the guy who rode around on a motorcycle at
crazy speeds and got into trouble left and right. You never give a damn what
happens to you, and you never consider the people who might care.”

“You actually care, Valerie?” His eyes were shuttered,
the words a low rumble.

“Force of habit.”

“Why’s that?”

“We—because we’re friends.” At
his harsh look, she continued, “Isn’t that what you want? Us
to be buddies again?”

“You want to be friends with the guy who hauled ass out
of this town thirteen years ago. That’s not me. I’m different, Valerie. I’m not
that man, and too much has gone down for me to want to be. And if you don’t
realize that, you’re making a mistake.” He brought his lips toward hers, almost
touching her. “Get to know me.”

It might as well have been an erotic proposition.
Instantly her body reacted—a warm wave passed over her skin, her mouth watered,
her thigh muscles clenched. “Peyton …”

“I want to learn you.” This time he did touch her,
tracing the scar next to her eye with the tip of his finger before molding both
hands to her buttocks and urging her forward.

Instantly she felt his heat … and the need to have his
hands right where they were, but with her skirt off. Something in the way he
squeezed her flesh and parted her legs with one of his told her he was more
than ready to fulfill that need.

Don’t stop. Don’t
break the connection.

But he did stop, letting her go as swiftly as he’d
grabbed her. “Go home. Think about what I said.”

Valerie’s limbs felt leaden, as if her body wanted to
stay. She noticed a flyer on the desk, did a
double-take and went over to pick it up. “You’ve been to Big Bros’ Cages
recently?”

“Yeah, I drove Dinah and Lucy out there to take a few
swings. Dinah’s a lot of things, but she’s no athlete.”

Her spine stiffened of its own volition. “
Lucy
was there?”

An expression of understanding fluttered over his face.
“I didn’t tell her about us, about the parking lot, about your old car.”

Thank God.
It
was enough that merely driving past the place threw her into heated memories
that weren’t easy to douse. “I appreciate that.” She turned to put down the
flyer and noticed him watching her.

No, watching her backside.

“What …?” It dawned then. He was staring as if trying to
identify something—or the lack of something. “You won’t see panty lines,
Peyton.”

Unashamed, he lifted the corner of his mouth in a
pseudo-smirk. “I didn’t
feel
any
panty lines when I had my hands on you. By the way, I didn’t go rifling through
your clothes. One of your slingshots—”

“It was a thong and you know it.”

“Mmm. And a sexy one, too. It was left behind in the dryer, and I
happened to find it while I was taking care of a load of laundry. Harmless.”

But that glint of interest in his eyes was anything but
harmless.

“Valerie.”

“Now what?”

“Do you just sneak into men’s bedrooms for no reason?”
There was a hint of humor in the question. “Why’d you come in here?”

Jeez. The invitation.

“To give you this.” Taking great
care not to let her hands shake, she retrieved the envelope from her purse and
set it on the desk. “It’s an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at the ranch.
Dinah put a lot into the design, so if you could just call her and let her know
either way, that’d be great. You probably have other plans.”

“I don’t. In fact, I thought I’d pick up a couple extra
shifts at the hospital, since Grandpa will be in California and Jasper’ll be spending the day with his people in Louisiana.
But since we’re doing the whole invite thing …” He moved forward and she backed
into the door with a thump, which made him grin. “I’m inviting you to Grandpa’s
Christmas party. Formal attire. Bring Lucy and Dinah. The Merrimans, too.”

It was happening. Their lives were intertwining. Their
families were going to mesh. If she declined, Lucy would be disappointed to
miss out on her great-grandfather’s party. “We’ll see.”

“The details will be in the invitation,” he said as she
turned to leave. “It’s coming by mail. But say the word and I’ll deliver it
directly to your bedroom.”

Valerie paused in the hall, caught off guard by the
banter. Then he winked, and she quickly shut the door.

T
HE
SMELL OF
coconuts lingered after she
left. Peyton yanked open the curtains and opened the window to clear the room
not just of her fragrance, but also of the temptation that hung in the air.

If he’d had any doubts about how Valerie could affect him,
they were washed away the second he opened his eyes and saw her standing in his
room. Even through the fog of sleep he’d been hit with a dose of primal need.

He swiped the envelope from the desk and opened it to
reveal an elaborate invitation with a plump turkey on the front. Inside was a
handwritten note from Dinah.

Holidays should be
spent with family and friends. This year I’m thankful for reunions. What about
you?

“You’re too transparent, Miss Dinah,” he said, slightly
amused, as he put down the card and grabbed a tee shirt from the bureau.

But wait. He’d invited Valerie and her family to his
grandfather’s Christmas party—but several days ago when Nathaniel had brought
it up, Peyton had uninvited himself. He hadn’t wanted to commit himself to an evening
of wining and dining with fashion snobs, distant relatives and acquaintances who fawned all over his grandfather but had no interest in
him.