A Family Homecoming (3 page)

Which was no answer at all. “Then you'll be staying until it's resolved?”

“Do you think I would leave you and Sara to face this alone?” he asked on a soft note.

A chill went up her arms. She'd heard him use that tone when he'd discussed a case with Luke by phone once. In it, she heard determination and grit and an absolute refusal to be distracted from ferreting out the truth.

“I don't know,” she admitted.

A scowl darkened his face.

“How would I?” she defended herself. “You haven't been around in two years. You made us move away from the place we knew. You weren't here when we needed you—” Her throat closed and she couldn't continue. She held on and refused to give in to the despair. Who cared about a woman's tears?

“I know.” His shoulder moved restlessly under the blue shirt that matched his eyes. “It will be different now.”

Danielle swallowed a retort. Once she had accepted every word he told her as gospel truth. Once she hadn't minded his trips away from home. She had known he had important work to do that involved
saving lives and righting wrongs. But those excuses no longer worked for her.

“You've changed,” he said as if reading her mind.

“Two years is a long time.” She headed for the family room. “It's time for Sara's bath. Tomorrow is a school day.”

“It's a blizzard out there. You won't be able to drive to school,” Kyle told her.

“The elementary school is only two blocks from here. We can walk. Besides, I have four-wheel drive on the car,” she added defensively, feeling criticized.

“Did you get a new car?”

“Yes. From my savings.”

With that parting shot, she left the room. In the bathroom, she started filling the tub while Sara went to their room and removed her clothing. The child brought back several bathtub toys and dumped them in the swirling water, then handed Danielle a book.

Danielle sat on the lid of the toilet to read while Sara acted out the story with her rubber bear and dog and doll family. “There once was a little girl with lovely golden curls and big blue eyes, just like you and Jenny,” Danielle began the story. She paused when Kyle came to the door.

He gestured to indicate she should continue.

Sara shook her head. She pointed at the door and shook her head again.

“She doesn't want you in here,” Danielle explained. “Men make her nervous nowadays.”

“And I'm a stranger to her,” he murmured.

She saw pain flicker through his eyes, an oddly desolate, lonely ache. She looked away. She didn't
want to feel anything for him, not sympathy or need or desire, not anything. It was much too late.

He left without another word.

An hour later, Danielle returned to the kitchen. Kyle sat at the table. She saw he had made a pot of coffee.

She poured a cup and took her usual seat. Fatigue dragged at her heels. “There's a guest room upstairs. It isn't heated, though.”

“Anything will do.”

She pressed her fingers against her temples where a headache pounded with each heartbeat. “The attic bedroom will be freezing. The sofa in the family room makes into a queen-size bed. That might be better. I only heat part of the house in the winter,” she added as if he had made some remark about her thrifty ways.

“The sofa will be fine.”

His voice dropped to a deeper, huskier tone as he spoke. She remembered past homecomings, times when she had rushed into his arms, filled with the incredible excitement of his nearness, the demanding hunger riding high in both of them. They had been like kids in their eagerness to rush to the bedroom after Sara was safely tucked into bed.

“I share a room with Sara in the winter,” she added for no reason. “I moved her bed in my room.”

“There's no place for me in your bedroom,” he interpreted. He gave a half smile. “I get the message, Danielle. I read it in your letter.”

She was shaken by the incredible bleakness of his tone. “I just meant…I don't want any misunderstandings between us. At the end of your R and R, you'll leave.”

He didn't answer, only stared at her until she looked away. She decided she'd been mistaken about the emotion.

“I'll show you where the sheets and blankets are.” She rushed down the hallway to the linen closet and wondered who or what she was running from.

K
yle woke instantly, alert and still. He heard the noise again. The coffeemaker burped, then began a rhythmic gurgling as it heated up. The radio came on. He relaxed.

The announcer detailed the day's weather. “Cloudy in the morning, perhaps some sun breaking through in the afternoon. Snow flurries again tonight. All roads are open at present. Schools will keep to a regular schedule until further notice.”

Listening to his wife's quiet movements as she prepared breakfast, he faced the facts of his life. He was thirty-eight years old and he had blown the one perfect thing in his life. He would have to learn to live with that.

Some foolish part of him had hoped that Dani and Sara would rush to him last night and welcome him
home. He pushed the thought down into the dark pool along with all his grief.

His own fault. Choices. Everyone made choices. Maybe his had been the wrong one….

He rose and pulled jeans and the blue shirt over his thermals, then padded down the hall to the bathroom. There was only one. He had discovered this after Dani and Sara had gone to bed.

He'd searched the whole house last night until he knew it like the back of his hand. In case of a nasty surprise by the kidnappers, he wanted to know every nook and cranny.

He had also chosen a room for himself across the hall from his wife and daughter. In the attic bedroom, he'd found a usable bed frame that he could move downstairs. The attic had been freezing, as Danielle had noted.

The old house could use a thick layer of insulation. And new windows, he added as the wind shook the panes and puffs of frigid air circulated around him. The foundation and framing were sturdy, but the place needed a major overhaul. It would cost a mint to hire the work done.

He had worked his way through college as a carpenter and was pretty good with his hands. But this wasn't his house. It wouldn't be his home. Danielle was right. He had left his family, no matter the reasons, and they no longer trusted him. He had no place in this house.

After a quick shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to shave.

Sensing a presence, he looked at the door. It was ajar and a small face peered at him through the crack.
He smiled and pushed the door open with his toe. “Sara. How's it going with you this morning?”

She ran off as if he had growled at her.

The fist squeezed his heart again. If he'd been at home the past two years, would his kid be afraid of him even after her ordeal? He knew the answer was no.

From deep inside, the pool of emotion he hadn't realized existed until he'd gotten that letter from Danielle shifted and churned bleakly. He finished shaving and went to the room where he'd stored his luggage.

Five minutes later he entered the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said softly.

His wife spun about, fear on her face, determination in the set of her mouth. He watched her take in everything about the situation—him, the distance between them, the threat of danger. She was as edgy as a startled cat.

“Relax,” he advised and pushed a smile on his face with an effort. “Okay if I have a cup of coffee?”

Danielle gestured with her left hand toward the pot. “Help yourself.”

Her right hand, behind her and hidden by an old flannel shirt that he recognized as another of his, dropped to her side. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff.

“I'm making oatmeal,” she said, turning back to the stove. “Do you want some?”

“Please.”

She nodded without looking at him and busied herself toasting English muffins and stirring a pot. A longing to go over and bury his face against the side
of her neck, to breathe her fragrance into his starved body, speared right through him, churning up the dark pool. Regret rose to the surface. He would never have that right again.

“Sara, breakfast,” she called.

He took a drink of coffee, studying his wife as she stood at the stove. The hot need that flooded his body took him by surprise. He fought the urge and conquered it. Control was important. It was all he'd had going for him many times in his life. It would get him through the present.

He had already accepted that his return wasn't going to result in conjugal bliss, so he'd thought he had the hunger under wraps. His libido was showing him otherwise. He carried the cup to the table and took a seat. His jeans were tight and uncomfortable.

“So, Sara, are you in third grade yet?” he asked his daughter when she entered and perched on her stool in thick pajamas that covered her from neck to toes.

She looked startled. Her glance darted toward her mother, but Danielle was busy elsewhere. Sara shook her head, slowly at first, then more firmly.

“Well, you're in first grade then,” he teased.

This time she was a bit more self-assertive. She shook her head immediately.

“Oh, of course, you're still in Tiny Tots.” He nodded as if remembering. “I used to drop you off at Miss Engles's on the days Mommy had to open the library early. We would have doughnuts for breakfast at the diner and keep it a secret because Mommy thought we should eat cereal.”

“Sara is in kindergarten,” Danielle interjected, bringing their bowls to the table. She frowned at him.

“Kindergarten?” he said as if amazed. “That old? You must be…” He pretended to search for an answer.

Finally Sara held up one hand, palm outward, fingers and thumb splayed. Relief eased the soreness inside. His daughter had responded to him.

“Five. That's right.” He smiled in approval.

Sara stared at him with an unwavering gaze and no answering smile. Danielle served them without a word. She wasn't going to make this easy for him.

“Eat up,” she said. “It's almost time to go.”

She was speaking to Sara. He felt the chill of her rejection to his bones.
Please let me know your thoughts on the divorce as soon as possible,
her letter had read.

Always the polite librarian. But she was also his secret delight—his enchanting, passionate lover, the calm center of his being, all the good things in life.

The ache intensified. Maybe he should have handled things differently, but it had been easier to close off that side of his life than think about missing her and Sara. For their safety, he'd been willing to pay the price. He hadn't realized at the time it would include his soul.

 

Danielle forced her hands to move, to do the usual morning chores, to act normal when everything about her seemed so totally alien.

She'd spent a restless night—that was nothing new—but a new element had been added. She had listened to the sounds of Kyle prowling the house and
wondered what he was thinking…feeling…if he was remembering…

Had he missed her at all during those two years? If he asked, she could tell about missing him and about the loneliness of being abandoned and wondering why. Why? she wondered again now. Because of the danger? He'd told her of that possibility before they were married. She'd accepted it and determined to live with it. He'd worked on other dangerous cases. There were other ways to protect agents' families without leaving them. She would have done anything to keep their family together. All he'd had to do was ask.

Shutting off the useless thoughts, she buried herself in the trivia of day-to-day living. “Shoes,” she told Sara after the child was dressed in plaid flannel pants and a red turtleneck. “Hurry.”

She put on her insulated boots and heavy coat after helping Sarah with her hat and mittens. They were ready to go. Kyle was at the door, dressed in the parka and black hat he'd worn last night.

“I'll take you in the truck,” he said.

His tone indicated he was in no mood to argue. Giving him a hard look to let him know she would go because she thought it best, not because she was obeying his orders, she followed him to his pickup. She didn't want him doing things for them. She didn't want to learn to need him and then be deserted all over again.

Before she could do more than open the pickup door, he was there, scooping Sara up and depositing her on the seat, then his strong hands were at her
waist and she found herself lifted as effortlessly as a doll and put firmly on the passenger seat.

“I could have gotten in by myself,” she rebuked after he'd gotten in, put the truck in gear and backed carefully out of the drive. He gave her a glance and said nothing.

Her neighbor's son had plowed the drive before she'd gotten up that morning and the county road department had already done the street, so they arrived without mishap at the school. Danielle wasn't surprised when Kyle went in with her and checked the room out.

“Introduce me to the teacher,” he requested.

Resentment flared in her, but she did as he ordered. Lynn was one of her best friends as well as Sara's teacher. “Lynn, this is Sara's father, Kyle Mitchell. Lynn Taylor, I mean, Garrison.”

Laughing, Lynn stepped forward. “I was recently married,” she explained, holding out her hand.

As Danielle watched the lovely blonde smile and talk to Kyle, a funny feeling came over her. Not that she was jealous. Kyle meant nothing to her. But she couldn't help remembering that once he'd brought her such joy.

However, she obviously meant nothing to him. A two-year absence without a letter or phone call proved that. She had accepted it, grieved over it and gotten on with life.

But she still felt funny watching him talk to her friend, even one recently wed and obviously in love with her very new husband. For a birthday present, she had given Lynn a makeover at the Whitehorn
Beauty Salon. The results had been startling as Lynn's natural beauty had surfaced.

Danielle, stifling the odd feelings, helped Sara with her coat and spoke to Jenny and her mother, Jessica. The girls ran to their table and took their seats, Jenny talking a mile a minute while Sara nodded or shook her head. Danielle's heart ached. She hoped their friendship lasted their whole lives—

“Sterling says there are no clues,” Jessica told her and sighed resignedly. “We're afraid to let Jenny out of our sight for a minute.”

“I know what you mean,” Danielle commiserated.

“The Kincaid fortune,” Jessica murmured, speaking of the legacy that had been left to her daughter when Wayne Kincaid and Clint Calloway, Jenny's half brothers, had given up their share of the Kincaid legacy. Both men had decided to put the estate in trust for Jenny. Neither man wanted anything their father, Jeremiah, had left them. Now Jessica understood why. “I agree with Wayne. The Kincaid name is nothing but a curse.” After all, Jenny's life was in danger simply because those kidnappers knew what she had to inherit.

Wayne Kincaid had unexpectedly returned to Whitehorn after years of being away. Everyone had thought he had been killed in Vietnam, so the story went, but he returned under an assumed name to check out the town and the Kincaid ranch.

He had helped nab some men who were trying to destroy the ranch so they could buy it for a song, then, his identity exposed, he'd stayed on. He had married Carey Hall, the pediatrician who took care of Sara and Jenny. The couple had just been blessed with
their first child together at Christmas, and seven-year-old Sophie, Carey's daughter from her first marriage, was delighted to have a baby brother.

“I didn't know your husband had returned,” Jessica continued, looking over Danielle's shoulder.

“Yes, for a while. A couple of months,” she added so that no one, including herself, would think it was a permanent arrangement.

Jessica cast her a quizzical glance but didn't ask any questions. Danielle was grateful.

She glanced across the room. The teacher was explaining the security in place for the girls to Kyle. Rafe Rawlings, who had recently been promoted to the town sheriff, had taken on the case himself and would be within a few feet of them at all times while they were at school. Lynn pointed out the window to a man dressed as a custodian.

“Sterling said Shane McBride was coming out to do a security check on your house this morning,” Jessica continued after a thoughtful moment.

“Oh, good,” Danielle said distractedly. Shane was the deputy sheriff and was working with Rafe on the case.

She felt she knew and had dealt with every law enforcement officer in the county during the past month. All except the one she'd needed so desperately—her husband.

Kyle strode toward her. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes.” She introduced him to Jessica. “Sterling McCallum is a special investigator with the sheriff's office—”

“I know who he is.” Taking her arm, Kyle nodded to Jessica and ushered them out of the building.

On the way home, Danielle went over several opening statements in her mind and discarded them all. “Don't manhandle me in front of my friends,” she finally said.

He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Only when we're alone? Okay, I can handle that.”

She clenched her hand inside her mitten. “Don't touch me at all. And don't give me orders.”

He turned in the drive and parked. Leaning against the door, he observed her for a long moment. “You ordered me out of the library the first time we met. It was time to close, but I wasn't finished researching old issues of the newspaper for information.”

She stared out the window, wisps of memory floating around in her mind. It had been a day much like this one—cold and cloudy and threatening snow. She had ended up helping him, then walking across the street for coffee, which turned into a late meal, then he'd walked her to her car and driven behind her until she was safely in her small cozy house. He'd been waiting when the library opened the next morning. Her heart had quickened. When they'd married, he had moved from his sparse apartment to her two-bedroom cottage. Those had been the happy days, the star-crossed sun-kissed days.

“There's no point in remembering.” She climbed out, slammed the pickup door and went into the house, her heart heavy with a mass of confused feelings.