Texas Redeemed (24 page)

Now, on the night he’d spent too much of his time looking
forward to as it was, the Jordans
and Merrimans were nowhere to be seen. No one had
even considered at least dropping off Lucy, who he knew had been bubbling over
with anticipation for weeks.

He paced the length of his grandfather’s portico again,
struggling to keep his hands at his sides instead of crossed standoffishly over
his chest. Though his grandfather hadn’t said anything, Peyton owed it to the
man to be cordial tonight.

Would leaving be considered cordial? There were likely
plenty of places to waste the night, considering damn near half of Texas alone
seemed to be either parked along the street or had been dropped off at the gate
by private drivers.

No, he decided after some thought. Even he couldn’t be
that much of an ass, to walk out on his grandfather’s party. Just because
Valerie had backed out on him didn’t mean he should turn around and do the same
to Nathaniel.

Hired ushers strolled the
grounds, escorting guests from the privacy gate to the house. Peyton would have
preferred to lurk unnoticed in the shadows of the portico, but the entire
mansion was aglow with elaborate holiday lights.

Inside, the house was already crammed with people dressed
in tuxedos and gowns, suits and cocktail dresses. Festive music from the live
band poured through the double doors into the street. Children’s laughter rang
in the air.

But not his child’s.

Didn’t he deserve an explanation—a warning? How difficult
could it have been for anyone from Battle Creek to pick up a phone and tell him
there had been a change of plans?

God, he felt like a fool.

“Turner, my man.”

Peyton squinted out into the twilight to see his friend
Malcolm Pettis emerge from the throng of guests entering through the gate. He
should’ve been relieved to see a familiar face in the crowd, but the offense of
being stood up was still raw. “Malcolm, hey.” He met
him on the portico with a handshake and a clap on the
back. “Good that you made it.”

When invited, Malcolm had been doubtful that he could
clear his commitments at Johns Hopkins in order to leave town a day earlier to
visit Texas on his way to Utah to spend Christmas with his family. Their
colleague Faye had already arrived, on the arm of yet another new boyfriend,
this one a lobsterman.

“All this—” Malcolm swept a glance over the expanse of
the property, awe written all over his ebony face “—is yours? Unbelievable.”

“It’s not mine,” Peyton clarified. “This belongs to my
grandfather. It’s his world. I’m just living in it.” And for how long, he
didn’t know. Somehow he injected a sliver of humor into his voice, willed his
shoulders to relax as he led his friend into the house to meet his grandfather
and Jasper, his cousin Nora and her family, who’d flown in from Los Angeles
last night, and his high school science teacher who’d first realized his
potential and had encouraged him to study medicine.

Almost a half hour later, after letting Nathaniel rope
him into a photo-op with relatives he hadn’t seen in over a decade, he stood at
the bar set up in the ballroom with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He took in
the almost untouchable splendor and was pensive for the place this had used to
be for him when he’d been a young boy: a big room with a shiny hardwood floor
that was perfect for playing with his toy trucks and race cars with his
grandmother.

He smiled a little at the memory of Estella in cashmere
and pearls, crawling around the ballroom floor making “Zoom! Zoom!” sounds with
him.

Music and conversation slid back into his awareness, and
the memory was gone again. So was his taste for the whiskey. He handed it off
to a passing waiter and noticed Malcolm chatting intimately with a woman. If
there was any man who could strut into a new town, into a room full of
strangers, and instantly make contact with a gorgeous woman, it was Malcolm
Pettis.

“Cheers,” he muttered, turning around to be confronted
with the bar and its offerings. He considered switching from whiskey to vodka,
then passed completely. What good would it do to temporarily numb his senses?

Malcolm appeared at his elbow and asked the bartender for
a cosmopolitan.

“Don’t tell me you drink those,” Peyton said.

“It’s for her.” Malcolm hitched his chin in the direction
of the woman he’d been speaking with. “Before I forget.
I’m heading out tomorrow, and wanted to make sure you got word on my next
mission.”

The fine hairs on the back of Peyton’s neck stood on end.
“A mission? Where? When do you head out?”

“Bangladesh. In February. I
signed up for two months, but you never know.”

Peyton nodded, and in this crowded, beautiful house,
dressed in an impeccable tuxedo that made him look more like his father than
himself, he felt stung with a sense of longing … envy. “I want to know more.”

“All right, of course.” Malcolm slapped his shoulder
good-naturedly. “Call you when I get back to Maryland after the holidays. Sound
good?”

Better than he knew.

His friend left the bar to deliver the cosmopolitan and
probably an original twist to an old pickup line, and Peyton remained where he
was. Excitement and guilt were at war in his gut. Since finding out about his
children, he’d put up a hell of a fight to be in Lucy’s life—and Valerie’s.
Accepting a new mission would take him away from them.

February. Nothing would happen
until then. That gave him time to sort things out with his family, or at least
find out if they
could
be sorted out.

“Doctor Turner, you look handsome.”

Peyton hadn’t intended to be rude, but he spent an
entirely too-long moment staring with narrowed eyes at the blonde temptress in
front of him.

The woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other,
making the sequins on her jolly red mini-dress shimmer under the ballroom
light. “Are you all right?”

“Do I know you?”

“It’s me—Hope Fortune.” A season-appropriate jingle-bell laugh followed, and he knew it was her. He almost
blurted “Wow!” but thankfully had the common sense to shut up. Still, he
couldn’t get over how well his grandfather’s landscaper, the “Tasmanian devil,”
cleaned up. “Lovely party, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Will there be dancing at a
fancy shindig like this?”

He dared to glance again at the short length of her
dress. “Yeah,” he said again, cautiously, so close to advising her against it.
The woman looked barely contained in that sequined thing.

“Can’t wait. Have fun!” Then she
turned and was swallowed up in the crush.

Peyton ambled toward the foyer and almost bumped into
someone when he heard a familiar voice say, “Sorry we’re crazy late.”

Lucy stood in front of him, flanked by a small group. But
he couldn’t see them. All he could see was his daughter, or a refined young
woman who sounded a lot like his daughter. Her hair was done up in a
complicated style, and she wore a strapless dress with a silver crushed velvet
bodice and a skirt made of layers and layers of gauzy, frilly black fabric.
Tulle, they called it. And she was wearing makeup, something soft around the
eyes that brought out the blue-gray of her irises.

This girl was the same one he’d first met dressed in
hospital scrubs and crying on her mother’s shoulder.

His daughter. His
Lucy.

“You’re beautiful.” And all of a sudden he was wondering
how many non-relation teenage boys were at this party.

“Really?” She ducked her head,
but there was a smile on her lips. “Oh, this is my BFF, Sarah, and her parents.
Gramps said I could invite them.”

He remembered all too well the girl with the broken arm
and how her mother had shielded his daughter from him at the hospital months
ago. But because tonight wasn’t about grudges, he greeted the family politely
and added, “The ladybug couldn’t make it?”

Sarah, whose arm was now free of its cast, said, “Megan’s
with a sitter.”

Though he’d planned to have a private minute with Lucy,
he doubted he would now that she’d arrived with her school friend. So he
reluctantly plucked the slim velvet box from the inside of his jacket and
handed it over. “Merry, uh, early Christmas.”

“Are you serious …?” Eyes wide, she opened the box and
gasped at the diamond tennis bracelet inside. Then a look of nervousness or
regret or shame dimmed the glow of excitement on her face. “I shouldn’t have
this.”

“You should,” he said firmly, removing the bracelet from
the box and fastening it to her wrist. “It’s just a Christmas present from a
father to his daughter.”

“Thank you.” This time Lucy initiated a fist bump.
“Totally honest—I love it.”

I love you.
“Glad to hear it.”

After showing off the bracelet to her friend, she said,
“Can Sarah and I hang out now? I got to ride with the Carews,
but Mom and the others should be here in a few minutes.” At his blatantly
skeptical look, she said, “I’m telling the truth.”

Peyton nodded and Lucy grabbed her friend’s wrist,
tugging her into the house and leaving the other girl’s parents to mingle on
their own.

In literally a few short minutes, Jack and Cordelia arrived, followed by Dinah and Valerie. He was
outside when Valerie pulled her Chrysler into the spot along the circular drive
that had been left reserved for her.

Peyton watched from afar as she stepped out of the
car—and all the blood in his body seemed to localize in one hazardous zone
below his belly. Did she have legs like that when he’d known her growing up? Slender, graceful, long enough to wrap perfectly around his hips.

In the cool Texas night, he was sweating bullets.

As she rounded the car and accepted a foil-covered tray
from Dinah, the barely-there layers of that damning dress floated flirtatiously
in the soft breeze.

Then the pair entered the house, completely unaware of
him.

He wanted to have the right to walk into the house and
pull Valerie into a dance. He didn’t have any moves, never cared to learn more
than a waltz, but if he could have her body fitted against his and just sway in
a rhythm with her, it was all he needed.

Peyton went inside and sought her out.

V
ALERIE
HAD SPECIFIC
instructions to set Dinah’s
apple crumb cake in the Turners’ kitchen. On the way she got sidetracked by the
jaw-dropping Christmas tree, by the live band playing a toe-tapping rendition
of “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” by compliments and overly polite
greetings from people with curiosity and less than good cheer in their eyes.

Yes, I’m the baby mama,
she considered announcing loud and clear, just to
get it out of the way. As she passed the living room, she spotted Lucy and her
friend Sarah standing together and giggling over glasses of ginger ale. If they
could get through this night without Lucy being insulted, then she would be
grateful for that.

Nathaniel stopped her with a jovial hug, mindful of his
cocktail and her precious cargo. “Apple crumb. This is the stuff of legends.
Set it in the kitchen, will you, darlin’?”

Darlin
’?
Nathaniel wasn’t a hugger and had
never
called her “darlin’.” She glanced
at his glass, and suspected he’d had too many merry cocktails.

“I will.” And on her way she discreetly took a tour of
the entire main floor, glancing to her left and right for Peyton, but didn’t
see him. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed and she stopped in her tracks, then headed to the ballroom where most of the guests were
now converging.

A hard, heavy bass beat reverberated throughout the
entire poinsettia-and-garland-filled room, it seemed. The band members were at
rest, their instruments silent, and this pulsing sound came from some hidden
system with speakers wired throughout.

After the first few lyrics, she recognized Jay-Z’s voice
over the speakers. Then she recognized her daughter and her friend in the
middle of the ballroom dancing in fast, raised-armed, booty-shaking
movements—in elegant formalwear.

“What good’s a holiday if you can’t have fun?”

Valerie looked over her shoulder at Nathaniel, who
grunted a hoarse chuckle at the sight of the girls dancing and urging others to
join them. “You switched from holiday tunes to hip hop just to please Lucy.”

“This party was getting too damn stuffy.”

“Maybe you’re just an old softie, is all.”
Valerie smiled, touched to know that despite Nathaniel’s stance that Peyton and
Valerie’s intimate past should never have happened, Lucy’s great-grandfather
did love her.

As others joined Lucy and Sarah—first a horde of
children, then a scatter of adults—Valerie went into the kitchen.

And one look toward the butler’s pantry made her regret
agreeing to cart around Dinah’s apple crumb cake.

Pressed flush to the open pantry door was a petite blonde
woman in a sparkling red dress that appeared too short to begin with. Moving
against the man locked to her, she’d caused the hem to rise to the point of
indecency.