A Family Homecoming (2 page)

Sara, Danielle noted, kept close to her and far from the silent man who followed at their heels. Looking over her shoulder, she encountered dark-blue eyes that had once turned her insides to jelly. An electrical current ran through her at the visual contact. She
wasn't sure what it meant. The moment seemed surreal.

The bitter gall of subdued anger rose to choke her. It centered on the silent man behind her. She had needed him desperately and he hadn't come. With the memory came the silent, painful tears she never allowed herself to shed in front of her daughter.

“Did you get my letter?” she blurted, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. Sara scooted behind her and watched Kyle with a distrustful gaze.

He visibly stiffened. “Yes.”

“Well?”

“We'll talk about it later. We have…other problems to deal with at the present.”

He glanced pointedly at Sara, then back to her. So he knew about the kidnapping, she realized as he spotted the mudroom and went to hang his hat and coat in there.

Turning back to the kitchen, he silently perused her. She saw his gaze take in the thick socks she wore around the house, the jeans that fit her loosely after the ordeal of the past month, the flannel shirt that had once been his, an old T-shirt with an unreadable message.

She was aware she wore no makeup, that her hair, always unruly, was slipping from the rubber band at the base of her neck. She felt vulnerable, as if all her insecurities were laid out bare before the world. She didn't want him to see. He was a stranger, not the man she'd once trusted with all her heart. She'd lost that man, and she didn't even know how or why….

Aware of Sara watching them in her solemn way,
Danielle bit back the torrent of questions and strived for normalcy.

“We're about to have supper. Do you want to join us?” she asked.

Her innate politeness, taught at the knee of her loving parents, forced her to be courteous, but she didn't want to share anything with this man, this stranger back from the dead or wherever he'd been.

“Yes.”

“Well, have a seat.” She gestured vaguely.

He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down with a weary sigh. “It's been a hell of…a heck of a trip.”

“Two years.” Her voice shook…with rage, with loneliness, with accusation. “You shouldn't have come. You didn't have to.”

“You sent for me.”

She denied it with a quick shake of her head.

His eyes narrowed. She watched him, tension in every nerve as if she might have to fight or run at any moment. His cheeks were dark with five-o'clock shadow and leaner than her image of him.

He was all muscle and bone and sinew. As sleek as an otter, every movement fluid and controlled. She remembered the way he could hold back until she was satisfied—

She cringed as if she'd touched a hot stove. She wanted to do something physical, like throw him out with her bare hands, to flail at him until all the pent-up feelings were drained and she was free of them. She wanted answers—why he'd deserted them, and why he'd come back.

But not now, not in front of Sara, who still trem
bled behind her, frightened of the man who had once been her favorite person.

Sara's father. Her husband. She wanted to cry.

“Dinner smells good,” he said. “It's been a long time—” He broke off abruptly.

“Yes.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. She cleared it and spoke more firmly. “Yes, we'll eat. Then talk.” She lifted Sara into her arms. “It's okay. This is…this is your daddy. Don't you remember him?”

The blue eyes darted to the man, back to her. Slowly Sara shook her head.

“She's frightened of strangers,” she said to Kyle, leveling the blame at him with her gaze.

“I had to go,” he said. “For you and Sara—”

“For us?” she interrupted in blatant disbelief. “For us you disappeared for two years? No visits, no calls, not even a note to tell us you were alive? This was for us?”

Sara hid her face against Danielle's shoulder. Danielle clamped her lips together, stopping the flood of questions and accusations.

“The case had reached a crisis point,” Kyle said, his tone level and matter-of-fact compared to her emotional outburst, “Luke and the director agreed with my assessment that it was too dangerous for me to go home. You and Sara could have been at risk. I couldn't chance it.”

“You and Luke and the director,” she repeated with an effort to appear as calm as he did. “What choice was I given in the matter? When were my wishes and needs considered? Sara and I were whisked out of Denver in the dead of night without
one word from you. Not one. So much for being a family, for discussing the future, for sharing decisions. So much for loving and honoring and cherishing.”

A flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes…Sara's eyes…then was gone. Guilt, regret, sadness? She turned away, angry and upset. He should feel guilty.

After placing Sara on the stool at the end of the counter, Danielle went to the stove. She dished up three bowls of stew, poured three glasses of milk and placed a wooden bowl of crackers on the table.

It seemed strange, setting dinner for three when for days, then weeks, then months, it had only been the two of them. She glanced at the dark-faced stranger at the table. For a second, she was more afraid of the man in her kitchen than the two men who threatened their lives.

 

Kyle inhaled deeply as Danielle set the stew in front of him. The aroma was intoxicating—the rich, meaty smell of the stew, the lemony trace of cleanser and wax used on the furniture, the scent that was unique to his wife—a blend of her cologne and powder and shampoo and her sweet womanly essence.

Home. But not welcome.

The knowledge dwelled in the bottomless pit that had taken over his soul. He studied Danielle's face, noting her carefully averted gaze, as she finished serving the meal and took her place at the opposite end of the table. Their daughter ate at the counter, still perched on the stool.

Silence fell over the room. An uneasy one. The
quiet that had first attracted him to Danielle was now a shield against him. She had withdrawn, enclosed herself in a cocoon of mute hostility that excluded him. He hadn't expected anything different after reading her letter.

But a man can dream. If only…

He buried the regret. Feelings didn't count in this case. He wasn't leaving until he found the guys who had kidnapped his daughter and now threatened his family. Then he would leave. If Dani said he must.

A tiny unexpected light flared in his heart. He extinguished it with an impatience new to him. She didn't want him here now. She wouldn't want him to stay.

“How long are you staying?” she asked, shaking him out of his introspection.

“However long it takes,” he said.

Her frown indicated this wasn't an acceptable answer.

“I'm on R and R for two months.” He figured he'd have the bad guys locked up by then. If not, he would stay longer. That was one thing she didn't have a choice about.

“Rest and recuperation,” she interpreted. “Did you finish the case you were on?”

He nodded. Two years ago, he'd been assigned to a jury-tampering case that had quickly expanded into gangland violence involving extortion, gambling, racketeering, drugs, you name it. Upon seeing one of the gang's own family—the man's wife and kids—soon after they'd been blown to bits because of a disagreement with the gang boss, he had notified Luke, his contact at the regional FBI office, to get
Danielle and Sara out of town, just in case the crime lord should find out who he was and decide to do the same to his family. The deeper he'd gotten into their evil world, the more dangerous he had realized it would be for his family if he was exposed.

Her mouth tightened. “I can see you're not going to regale me with details.”

Too late he realized he should have explained what had happened. But blabbing on about his cases wasn't part of his credo. It increased the chances of spilling too much to the wrong person at some unguarded moment. He had made it a habit not to discuss details at all. Life was simpler and safer…that way.

“The case is finished. Right now, I'm worried about you and Sara.”

At the sound of her name, his daughter looked at him. Her eyes, so like his own, held fear and wariness. That distrustful gaze stabbed at something deep and primitive inside him.

A memory came to him. Sara, eyes sparkling, dashing into his arms as soon as he came home from a week-long chase after an escaped felon. The sweet baby scent of her—talc and lotion and grape lollipop.

A fist closed around his heart and squeezed hard. He had missed a lot of his little girl's life.

Danielle gave a little snort of ironic laughter. He looked a question her way.

“Yeah, it's a good thing we were here in Whitehorn where bad things never happen. When Luke said we had to go, I chose this area because my family once vacationed here. I thought it was safe.”

He hadn't heard cynicism from her before. It bothered him that she had changed from his memories of
her. She had been a friendly, unassuming woman when he'd met her. There had been a quietness about her. He had fallen into the enticing peace of her inner goodness and never wanted to come out.

Dani.
Her name echoed through him, his talisman against the darker forces in his life.

He wanted to be buried inside her, exploring her passion, loving her gentle yet feisty ways, her flashes of humor. He needed her, the woman who had looked at him as if her world were contained in his arms.

The sense of loss hit depths that he had carefully avoided stirring for two years.

 

Danielle, unable to stand the long, empty silence during the meal, rose as soon as she finished. She excused Sara, who returned to a video she'd been watching in the family room, and took her dishes to the sink.

“Do you want more?” she asked, compelled to be polite to the blue-eyed stranger who had watched her with an unrelenting gaze the entire meal, his thoughts totally concealed behind the handsome planes of his face.

“Uh, no. Thanks.” He brought his bowl and glass over.

She was at once aware of his warmth when he stopped beside her. He was over six feet tall and she felt his latent power as a threat to her peace of mind.

Why should she feel threatened by her own husband? Because he was a stranger. Because she didn't know what he thought about her request for a divorce. Because life was now filled with uncertainties on all
fronts, and she didn't know how to deal with one, much less all of them at once.

Impatient with the jittery state of her nerves, she washed the few dishes, put them in the drainer and turned back to the room, moving a step away from Kyle.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a cold dampness seep into her thick wool socks.

“The snow,” he said, following her gaze to the wet tracks left by his hiking boots. There was a puddle of melting snow under the table, too. “I'm sorry.”

“It doesn't matter. I'll get the mop—”

“It's my mess. I'll clean it up.”

Without direction from her, he went to the mudroom and retrieved the mop stored there. He removed his boots and left them in the small room, then mopped up the puddles on the kitchen floor. He checked the family room and living room, cleaning up melted snow in there before returning the mop to its place.

“There,” he said upon finishing. He glanced at her as if to see if she was pleased with his efforts.

It tore right down into her heart. Kyle's mother had died when he was young. His father was a stern, demanding man who had rarely praised him. She had found her husband endearing because he liked for her to notice when he did something especially nice for her.

She put a hand to her head, dizzy with sudden longing and wishing she could turn back the clock to the days when she had trusted him with her heart, when he had said he loved her…and then had shown her.

His gaze locked with hers. Questions thickened the air between them. And something more elemental.

She sensed the hidden hunger in him, could feel it ripple over her skin like a warm touch or a sigh. He was a man of driving passions, she had learned during their six years of marriage. Four years, she corrected. The last two didn't count.

Their courtship had been of the whirlwind variety. She, a quiet efficient librarian, had married a man she'd known only three weeks. Foolish people did foolish things.

Grimacing at the memory, she hurriedly gathered the rest of the dishes. Sara's stew was only half eaten. Neither she nor her child ate very much these days. Kyle had polished off every bit of the large serving she'd given him. For a second, she resented his ability to ignore problems when it came to satisfying his appetite.

She was probably being unfair. After all, he'd had no part in their recent terror. Frowning, she carried the remaining dishes to the sink. “So what did Luke tell you about us, about the kidnapping?”

She didn't lower her voice. Dr. Carey had thought it best to speak calmly about the event in front of Sara in hopes it would get her to open up about her ordeal. Other than being cold and frightened, the child hadn't been physically harmed, thank God.

“Not a lot. I want to hear about it from you. Every detail you remember. Also Sara.”

“She doesn't speak. She hasn't since the kidnapping. Not once.” It was another complication, one among many.

His head snapped around. He glanced toward the
family room where their child silently watched a video, then back at her. Danielle recognized the bleak pain that appeared in his eyes. It was a feeling she had learned to live with.

“Tell me about the men who took her,” he said.

She was startled at his tone, harsh and businesslike. “Did the FBI assign you to the case?”

Another flicker of emotion dashed through his eyes. “You might say that.”