The Comforts of Home (14 page)

When he got to the lecture hal it was already packed.

Denver pul ed his Stetson low and watched the crowd.

She’d told him once that she sometimes traveled to the Dal as area for talks or meetings with potential buyers, but only rarely did she spend the night. If she wasn’t planning to meet him, she usual y drove home.

Denver didn’t like the thought of her driving half the night, but he couldn’t say much. Claire wasn’t the kind of woman to take suggestions, much less orders.

When Claire and four others walked on stage, the audience settled. Each member of the panel said a few words, and then the questioning began. Denver stood in the shadows and watched her. He paid little attention to what was being said while his eyes drank her in like a man dying of thirst; his ears didn’t work at al . He memorized everything about her but couldn’t quote one word she said.

Every time she stood, he slowly undressed her in his mind.

Tonight she wore a wine-red pantsuit almost the color of her hair. To the world she must have looked very proper, almost distant, untouchable, but he saw far more. He knew the way she felt beneath the very proper suit. Warm, almost as if she had a slight fever, and soft in al the right places.

The talk ended, and people filed by to ask questions or to gush over how much they liked her work. The room was almost empty when he saw her recognize him in the back.

Her back straightened slightly and he didn’t miss the anger flaring in her eyes a second before she turned away.

When he moved to shake her hand, she didn’t greet him, but only whispered, “Why are you here?”

“I thought I’d walk you to your car,” he answered as he gripped her hand hard, not al owing her to move away. “I’l be waiting just outside the door.”

She shook her head, but he only smiled. He knew Claire. She’d argue with him and herself, but she’d step right into his arms.

He walked outside and waited just beyond the steps.

The night was chil y, not cold, but he barely noticed.

Ten minutes later she walked out alone. Tal and beautiful. When she didn’t move, he took the steps two at a time until he was almost within reach. Then, slowly, as if he thought she might bolt if he moved too fast, he raised his hand and waited.

“Come on, darlin’. I’l walk you to your car.” She didn’t take his hand, but she walked down the stairs and along the sidewalk toward the parking lot. The sidewalk was shadowed by evergreens on either side and silent in the evening air. Somewhere deep in the campus a clock tower chimed the hour.

Halfway to the parking lot, he suddenly circled her waist and pul ed her into the darkness.

She didn’t make a sound, but she tried to wiggle away from him and when her hands shoved at his chest they were bal ed into fists as if she were about to fight.

Cupping the back of her head, he brought her lips to his and kissed her hard. Like he knew she would, she slowly melted against him and her mouth opened.

His hand moved along her body, petting her gently as her arms circled around his neck and drew him closer.

When he broke the kiss, he felt her warm breath against his throat.

“Do we have to go through this every time, Claire? Can’t you just come to me?”

“I . . . I . . .” she whispered, brushing her mouth against his.

Denver forgot the question and kissed her again. This time with tenderness, silently showing her the love he felt but couldn’t say.

A couple walked by; their giggles brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t make love to her here. Breaking away from her, he took her hand and walked her to a bench.

“I can’t stay the night.”

He didn’t ask why. He could guess. Claire had a daughter to take care of, family responsibilities, and a hundred other reasons. He didn’t care which one pul ed her away from him this time . . . every time.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’,” he whispered as he pul ed her against his side.

“You saw me three days ago.”

“I know, but I’ve never been good at rationing passion where you’re concerned.”

She nodded as if she understood.

“I’l be home in a few days. Promise you’l come to my house. I don’t care if you come late and leave early, I want to be with you. I want you to see what I’ve done to the place.” He almost added
for you
, but didn’t dare. She wanted—no, craved—passion from him, nothing more. No gifts. No promises.

“I’l try,” she whispered.

He knew trying to push her wouldn’t work. He kissed her gently on the cheek. “If you come, I’l make love to you in every room of my house and then we’l start al over again.” He added, close to her ear, “There’s no one else there, Claire. You won’t have to bring a change of clothes. We’l hang up what you wear in when you get there, and you can put it back on when you leave. In between we’l have wine in front of the fireplace and eat breakfast in bed.” She laughed then, something Claire Matheson rarely did.

As they stood and walked toward her car, she whispered, “I’l come as soon as I can.” She laughed again.

“And I plan to see every room.”

“I’l be at the farm waiting.”

FEBRUARY 25

TWO DAYS AFTER HE HAD BREAKFAST WITH

HANK MATHESON, Tyler Wright did al his paperwork at the funeral home and left for the hospital. A part of him hoped the woman had already gone. He didn’t remember much about her, except that she was tal and thin, dressed like a teenager, and had seen him at his worst.

When he walked into Autumn Smith’s room, he remembered the half bushel of dirty-blond hair as wel . The woman was curled up in the hospital bed sound asleep. He took the time to study her. There was something hard about her face, almost as if she’d been pretty once, real y pretty, and then life had beaten her down, changed her. There were worry lines along her forehead, but no laugh lines around her mouth or eyes.

He guessed she’d had a hard time, and he hadn’t made it any easier for her. Her cheeks were damp. She’d cried herself to sleep. The nurse told him when he asked about her that the doctor had said she could go home tomorrow.

Tyler knew without asking that she had no home to go to. He looked around the room. She’d been in the hospital four days, yet there were no flowers in the room, not one card on the shelf. Not one get-wel drawing by a child or one bal oon wishing her a quick recovery.

When he looked back her blue eyes were staring at him. “Who are you?” she said, in a voice sounding dry and scratchy.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said, moving closer to offer his hand.

“How about getting out of my room, Sorry,” she said, coming ful y awake like a wild animal.

“I’m sor . . .” he almost said again. “I’m Tyler Wright.”

“You’re the man who almost got me arrested.” She looked at the bruise on his face. “From the looks of you, I must have won the fight.”

He smiled. “You did. I landed on icy rocks and hit myself in the head with my flashlight. You, on the other hand, landed on something soft. Me.”

She didn’t look like she trusted him, but at least she had stopped snarling at him. Tyler considered that progress. “I wanted to drop by and see how you are and to tel you I’m sorry for any trouble I caused you.”

“They impounded my car, thanks to you.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “Tel them to give it back and we’l cal it even. I’m ready to get on my way. It’s my car. I made every payment even if it is registered in a dead man’s name.”

“Oh,” Tyler said. He didn’t like hearing about problems he could do nothing about. This young woman should be talking to Jerry Springer, not him.

“Forget it,” she snapped. “Not your worry. You’re just the cemetery patrol, right?”

He ignored the insult. “Is there something you need that I could bring you? I’d be happy to help any way I can.” Tyler didn’t know if he meant what he said, but it felt like the right thing to say.

She stared at him a minute and said, “Any chance you could get my stuff out of the Mustang? If I can’t have the car, I’d like my clothes and books.”

“I could try. I know the sheriff and it seems like a reasonable request.”

She shrugged and leaned her head back onto the pil ow. “Whatever,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

“So long, Mr. Wright. Don’t let the door hit you in the butt on the way out.”

Tyler straightened. He wanted to tel her that people never talked to him that way, but he figured she wouldn’t care. Glancing into the open closet as he walked out, he saw no warm robe. No slippers. Only a folded hospital gown and a cheap comb. A pair of muddy tennis shoes. A sweatshirt with what looked like dried blood on it lay across muddy jeans on the closet floor.

He could see why she would want her things. He didn’t know much about women, but he knew, poor or rich, they al wanted their things around them. Walking out to the lobby, Tyler tried to decide how involved he wanted to get in the business of someone who obviously wasn’t expecting much. She sure didn’t seem to like him.

Tyler figured he must attract women who didn’t like him much. Wil amina had left without a word, Kate seemed to have lost his e-mail address, and now Miss Autumn Smith didn’t want anything to do with him. If a female serial kil er ever passed through town, she’d probably stop at the funeral home first.

With a shrug he turned into the gift shop. “Morning, Mrs.

Lovelady,” he said to the sweet little lady who’d been volunteering at the hospital for thirty or more years.

“Morning, Mr. Wright, and how are you this beautiful day?”

Tyler glanced out the window. Rain had been threatening to fal al morning, and the wind whipped between buildings, almost knocking folks down, but to Mrs.

Lovelady, the days were always lovely.

“I need your help, please,” he began. Immediately he saw excitement in her smiling face. “I’d like to send a few things to a woman who is stranded here because of an accident. I don’t think she has any family, or at least none who know she’s here. She doesn’t know me, but I think she could use some cheering up, so just tel her the gift is from a friend.”

Mrs. Lovelady got her pad. “Were you thinking flowers?

We have some nice potted plants.”

He shook his head. “She’s leaving tomorrow; she’d have nowhere to put them, or bal oons for that matter.” Mrs. Lovelady tapped her pen against her bottom lip. “A card or a book, maybe a stuffed animal.”

“No. I think something useful would be better.”

“We have a nice set of bath soap and lotions. Every woman can use those.” She led him toward a display of personal items. “Does she have a robe?”

Tyler frowned. “I don’t think she even has a toothbrush.

Could you just make up a basket of everything she might need on these shelves?”

Mrs. Lovelady looked thoughtful. “If I add our best fluffy robe and gown, with slippers to match, it’l be a big basket.

You’d be wise to just buy the suitcase to put it al in. It’s a little expensive, but it would do her far more good than a basket.”

Tyler reached into his pocket for his money clip. He peeled off two hundred-dol ar bil s. “Wil this cover it?” The lady shook her head. “For another hundred I’l throw in a nice jogging suit. And of course, the bow and card for free.”

“What a deal,” he said as he handed her three Franklins. “Send it up to room three eleven, Autumn Smith.”

“Oh, the woman who was sleeping behind the cemetery.”

Tyler should have been surprised that Mrs. Lovelady knew hospital gossip, but he wasn’t.

“I’l toss in some chocolate where there’s room. When I was pregnant I always liked chocolate.”

“She’s pregnant?”

Mrs. Lovelady nodded. “Dr. Spencer was here al night the night they brought her in. I heard one of the nurses say the poor thing almost lost the baby.”

Tyler walked out of the hospital and ran to his car. He might have had nothing to do with Autumn Smith getting pregnant, but he definitely had some part, no matter how smal , in her almost losing the baby. He felt terrible.

AUTUMN SMITH WATCHED THE STRANGE LITTLE

CHUBBY man running to his car. He’d been al dressed up in a suit like some kind of lawyer. Maybe she was in more trouble than she thought. She swore. That wasn’t possible.

The Mustang might stil have her father’s name on the title, but he’d been dead five years, so he wasn’t likely to have claimed it as stolen. She’d been sixteen when she’d picked it out al shiny and new. He’d had to sign for it, but she’d made every payment. He’d said he’d change the title when it was paid for, but before she could make the last payment, he died and no one thought of the paperwork on her car. He died on her eighteenth birthday, leaving his little farm to a common-law wife Autumn had never gotten along with.