A Mother's Homecoming (15 page)

Pam bit her lip. “She doesn't know, does she? That I'm here?”

He shook his head. “I thought it best not to tell her. It's not like I consider you some shameful secret. I just …”

“You did the right thing.” This could be confusing for a girl. Heck, it was confusing for Pam.

It's not rocket science. He's a very attractive man you care a lot about, and you're two consenting adults enjoying a romantic evening.
Beyond that … Well, she wasn't sure, but the policy of taking one day at a time had been serving her well so far.

They talked more about Faith and the foods she liked. “It's hard for me to believe that the young woman who now requests chicken alfredo or shrimp pomodoro as her birthday dinner is the same one who used to consider hot dogs sliced up in macaroni the most sought-after meal in the world,” Nick said fondly.

Pam grinned. “What's not to believe—they're practically all three the same dishes. Protein, pasta, a little sauce.”

“Yeah. I'm sure fine Italian restaurants will start serving mac and weenies any day now.”

They also discussed Pam's aunt and uncle. She talked about how amazing it was to almost feel as if she had functional parents for the first time in her life. But she stopped short of confiding that they'd once entertained the idea of challenging Mae for custody. That seemed too heavy a topic for the fun, flirty meal they were sharing.

“That was wonderful,” Pam said, rolling her shoulders. If her neck and arms didn't ache, the last hour and a half would have qualified as heavenly.

Nick tilted his head. “Glad you enjoyed the food,
but do you realize you keep rubbing your neck and grimacing?”

“Have I?” she asked sheepishly.
Nuts.
What was the point of Dawn making her look beautiful if Pam was going to ruin it by making contorted faces all night? “I took some ibuprofen before I came over, but I guess it hasn't really kicked in.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Even as he asked, he was scanning her, presumably for wounds, although she didn't think her sore muscles were visible.

“Don't laugh, but I was excited about tonight—” “You weren't the only one,” he assured her. “And I was trying to keep myself really busy. You know, to make it get here faster, like going to sleep early on Christmas Eve. I may have overdone it.” Her efforts had paid off at the house, which was starting to really resemble something people would pay money to live in, but she hadn't exactly kept her body in top physical shape over the past decade.

Nick brightened. “I think I can help.” “I don't think I can take another ibuprofen yet.” “No, what I had in mind is way better than painkillers. You trust me, right?”

More than anyone I've ever known.
“Sure.” He had hopped off the stool and was carrying their plates to the sink. “What you need is a trip to the Shepard Spa.”

“Sounds promising. You guys have a hot tub I don't know about?”

“Nope. I just need a few minutes to get things set up.” He took her by the hand. “Here, you come with me.” They went in to a small den, which had a much smaller television set than the main living room. He
pointed the remote at it. “Can you find something to watch?”

“I guess.” As if she were going to concentrate on a few minutes of TV? She'd be too curious about what he was doing.

“Ten minutes, max,” he promised. “You stay put.” Then he shut the door and was gone.

Pam wiggled her bare toes in happy anticipation.

He opened the door again a few minutes later. “All set.”

They returned to the living room, and Pam saw that he'd been busy. The only illumination in the room was assorted candles burning on the fireplace mantel and the coffee table. Instrumental music played softly in the background. And he'd scooted back some of the smaller pieces of furniture to make a clearing in the floor. A pallet of sheets and blankets awaited, with one pristine white bedsheet still neatly folded on top.

“You've had massages before, right?” Nick asked. “I'll just duck out of the room while you undress, only as far as you're comfortable, cover up with the sheet and let me know when you're ready.”

She turned to him with a smirk. “I'll give you this, Nicholas Shepard, your ploys to get me out of my clothes have gotten classier.”

“You ain't seen nothing yet. It gets better,” he promised. “I just have to go in the kitchen for one final thing. Call me when you're ready.”

“Okay.” Watching him walk away, she experienced one small moment of shyness. This man had known every inch of her body when she was in peak physical condition.

Then again, he'd seen firsthand what she'd looked
like pregnant and that hadn't dimmed his ardor for her. She slipped her dress over her head then paused, considering. Should she leave on the rest? Just remove her bra?

Deciding to go for it, she quickly peeled off all of her clothes before she could change her mind, folding the lacy undergarments inside her dress. Then she laid down on her stomach and stretched the extra sheet over her. “Okay!”
Ready as I'll ever be.

When Nick came back, he was barefoot and had removed his button-down shirt, leaving him in pants and a white T-shirt. “I don't have any body oil,” he said as he sat next to her, “but I think you'll like this.”

He held his hand several inches above her back, and something cool and feathery hit her skin.

“What is that?” she murmured. It felt like powdered silk as he began to trace it over her in light circles.

“Corn starch.”

She'd never realized how soft it was. “Mmm. Nice.”

She closed her eyes. There was a perfect balance between the strength in Nick's strong hands and the gentleness of his touch as he ran his fingers over her skin. He gradually applied more and more pressure until her knotted muscles were pliant and warm.

He also, very gradually, started to make larger circles as he traveled up and down her back, dipping below the base of her spine, toward the curve of her butt, then making his way back up, kneading his thumbs and the heels of his palms against her. When he reached the tops of her shoulders, he let his hands skim down over her sides, toward her chest. But just when she thought he would take it further, that the body-melting massage
would morph into something else, he'd start the slow journey to the center of her back again.

She felt incredible—pampered, lavished—but her body was also starting to hum with anticipation, wanting more. He bent down to kiss her on the back of the neck, and she made a low, approving noise.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” he murmured, as if the massage had somehow been as good for him as it had for her. “I could touch you all night.”

She lifted up on one elbow to smile at him. “There's an idea.” Then she rolled the rest of the way over, letting the sheet fall where it may without modesty.

Nick froze, seemingly not even breathing as he drank in the sight of her. She gave him a moment, then reached for him, pulling him down to kiss her.

“You have wonderful hands,” she whispered. Grinning against his lips, she trailed her own hand down over his erection. “You have wonderful everything.”

“I don't want to rush you,” he teased as she tugged his shirt over his head. “Maybe we should slow down. I'm not sure we've thought about this long enough.”

She shoved at his shoulder, and he obligingly fell to his back.

“I've been thinking about this all week,” she said, dotting kisses over his chest while her hand strayed lower. “That's probably long enough.”

He smiled up at her. “Then you're not worried about losing control anymore?”

“Actually—” she lifted his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, and then placed it on her breast “—I was kind of hoping we both would.”

He was in clear agreement, but no discernible hurry. He let her finish undressing him, groaning as she frequently stopped along the way to relearn his body.
There was a deceptively languorous quality to their caresses that didn't quite match the avid, alert way he watched her or the throb of arousal building inside her. She straddled him, leaning down so that he could suckle her. But before long, they shifted position, their motions fluid and intuitively synchronized.

She planned to be back on top later, but for now, it was bliss to have him over her, poised to enter her. She was slick and ready for him but still fluttery with nerves—it had been a long time since she'd done this. It had been a lifetime since she'd done it with the right man.

He slid into her in one smooth thrust that stole her breath. It didn't hurt, but it definitely took a moment of adjustment for her out-of-practice body. Then pleasure and instinct took over, her body rising and falling to meet his. Somewhere in the middle of it, they did roll over again, and she found herself controlling the tempo, squeezing her muscles around him, not a sore spot on her entire body. She felt
so
good, gloriously alive and exhilarated and free.

Nick reached between their bodies, stroking his thumb over her and heightening the climax that had already begun to spiral through her. She called out his name, heard him answer with a wordless shout as he drove into her. He clasped her to him in a fierce hug, their combined ragged breathing drowning out the music that had been playing earlier. Or maybe the CD had simply stopped.

“Wow.” She blew out a breath, puffing her damp bangs away from her face. It was a lot hotter in Nick's house than it had been when she first arrived. “Best date ever.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Doesn't have to be over
yet. We have the house to ourselves until tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow.
Their time together would pass too quickly, but for now, she planned to make the most of it.

“You know how last week I pointed out that you were singing all the time without even realizing it?” Dawn asked. “This morning you've been singing
and
dancing.”

“Well, why shouldn't I be happy?” Pam asked, wiggling in a little side-to-side shake. “It's a beautiful September day, the house renovations have far exceeded my expectations, I get to work with all of you wonderful women—you're particularly lovely today, Nancy!”

The woman shot Pam an unamused look but refrained, probably due to their customers, from shooting the finger. Then Nancy's scowl deepened. “Oh, spare me. Here comes lover boy.”

Dawn grinned, nudging Pam in the elbow with her ribs. “Guess you two can't get enough of each other, huh?”

The ladies met Nick with innocent we-weren't-all-just-talking-about-you smiles when he came through the door.

He walked up to the reception desk, where Pam was doing computer work, and Dawn flitted off to “see if that load of laundry is dry yet.”

“Welcome to C-3,” Pam chirped.

He grinned at her. “I'd like to make an appointment. Preferably with you, for lunch.”

She laughed. “Your daughter would have a fit if she knew you were here. Didn't you give her some speech about not stalking me while I was at work?”

“Aren't you familiar with the expression ‘Do as I say, not as I do'?”

“Is that the fancy version of ‘Because I said so'? Lunch sounds good in theory,” she said, glancing at the open spreadsheet on the computer screen, “but I don't think today's going to work. I'm right in the middle of something I need to finish. Besides, I leave today at two and wasn't really planning on a lunch break. Aunt Julia has a project she needs my help on.”

Julia had been lamenting that while her jewelry-making had taken off better than expected, her clientele was mostly women of a certain age. She was trying to vary her style enough to attract a younger market.

“I sit in my vendor stall at community festivals and watch these teenagers run around,”
she'd mused.
“And it got me to thinking—some of them have a bigger budget for mad money than their mothers! Allowances, babysitting funds and no monthly bills.”

Pam had come up with a few ideas for a funkier “line” of jewelry, including earrings made from guitar picks.

Which reminded her. “Have you and Faith ever revisited the guitar discussion?” she asked Nick.

“A little,” he said. “If she's serious about it, I may get her a guitar for Christmas. She wants to learn enough about sheet music that she can do notations for some of the songs she's written.”

Pam took a deep breath. “Well, I'm not offering lessons—I'm too rusty for one thing, and it takes more
than just talent to be able to teach someone else how to develop that talent. But how would you feel about letting me borrow Faith for a couple of afternoons? She's in the right demographic to give Julia and me her opinion on jewelry designs. In return for her help, I'll show her some basics on the guitar. The house is finally in good enough shape that she wouldn't require a hard hat and an emergency contact card.”

“Sounds like a win-win for everyone,” he said. “I think she'd love that. In fact, maybe I'll swing by the school and have lunch with her. As long as I don't try to be funny in front of her friends, she seems to like seeing me periodically.”

“So you'll talk to her about my idea?” Pam knew it would mean a lot to Julia to meet her great-niece, even if it were only under the guise of getting a twelve-year-old's perspective.

“I'll ask her, but I guarantee the answer is going to be an enthusiastic yes. The only real question is, how soon do you want to get started?”

E
VEN FROM THE SIDEWALK
out in front of the little house, Nick could hear the feminine laughter inside. Pam's uninhibited laugh, Faith's slightly higher giggle, making her sound like the adorable little girl she'd been not so long ago, and was that even a restrained chuckle from Julia? They sounded as if they were having so much fun that he almost hated to knock on the door.

As it turned out, he had to knock repeatedly before they finally heard him. Pam opened the door, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed with humor.

“Come on in.”

He would, but he was temporarily too dumbstruck to move. “You did all this?” he asked, staring past her.

She followed his gaze, taking in the finished living room walls, the gleaming new light fixture overhead and the recently hung shelf—on top of which sat a framed picture of Ed and Julia, a small flowering plant and a radio. “Not by myself. I told you, I've had help.”

She ticked off names on her fingers. “Uncle Ed stopped by whenever he could, sometimes bringing a guy or two from the warehouse. Aunt Julia showed up one day with two volunteers from her sewing circle. Beth and Dawn have both been out here to pitch in at various times, and some of the people at AA meetings who are newly sober and still restless have discovered that showing up here around ten o'clock at night gives them something constructive to do and keeps them out of bars.”

Nick frowned over the idea of her opening the door to people she didn't know well after ten o'clock, but admitted, “The place has never looked better.”

“I'll give you the complete tour when it's done.” She ushered him inside.

“Hey, Dad.” Faith and Julia appeared at the edge of the living room. His daughter was smiling yet looked disappointed at the same time. “Do we have to leave already? Pam never even pulled out the guitar!”

“Sorry about that,” Pam said as she smoothed the girl's hair. “Next time, I promise. You can come back tomorrow if it's all right with your father. I guess we just got too caught up with everything else.”

“Evening, Julia.” Nick smiled at Pam's aunt, glad that the two women had finally formed a strong family bond. Pam deserved to have that in her life. He never lost sight of the fact that he'd been blessed in that respect, even
on days when his mother or sister exasperated the hell out of him.

Julia inclined her head. “Nick, always nice to see you. Thanks for letting us borrow your beautiful daughter for the afternoon. She's been quite a help.”

Faith lifted her chin, adopting a self-important expression. “I'm in jewelry design now. Maybe someday I'll have my own accessory line.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What happened to NASA?”

“Oh, Father.” She rolled her eyes. “I plan to do both. Duh.”

Pam tried to smother a laugh, and he glanced toward her, meeting her gaze, recognizing the same pride in her expression that welled within him.
Our daughter, the jewelry-designing aeronautics engineer.
He was the luckiest damn man alive.

Faith scooped up her backpack from where it sat on the floor next to the couch. “So I'll see you both again tomorrow?”

“It will have to be later because I work until five tomorrow,” Pam said, “but it's okay with me if it's okay with your dad. You have to get your homework done first, though.”

“Deal!” She spun around, pinning Nick with wide, beseeching eyes. “It's okay with you, right, Dad?”

“Sure. You guys seemed like you were having a good time.”

Faith's eyes twinkled, a merry gold today. “Pam was telling us about this one time when you were fourteen and wanted to go to the mall and get your ear pierced because you thought it would make you cool, but Grandma Gwendolyn said absolutely not, and you asked Pam to try to pierce it for you.”

Nick groaned. “Pamela Jo! You're supposed to tell her only the stories about how well I listened to my parents and how dedicated I was to my academic career.”

Pam grinned at him. “I see. I'll try to come up with one of those stories for next time. But off the top of my head, I can't seem to recall …”

“Come along, Faith,” he said with mock severity. “We have to be going now.”

His daughter whistled Beethoven all the way to the car, which made him think that Aunt Julia had been the one who got to pick the background music for their jewelry-making session.

“So, good afternoon?” Nick asked as they both got buckled.

“Stupendous day! You will not even believe what happened at school after you visited me, Daddy.” His daughter was positively vibrating with giddy excitement. “Right after you left!”

Nick had been relieved that she'd been pleased by his unannounced presence at lunch. He thought that even her world-weary friend Morgan had looked a bit wistful. Maybe Morgan wasn't such a rotten kid; her family had been ripped apart by an ugly divorce, which probably amplified her attitude.

“What happened?” he asked dutifully.

“He asked me! Bryce actually asked me!”

“Should I know this Bryce?” Nick hoped he didn't sound as panicked as he felt.
Bryce who? Asked her what? I'll kill him.
Apparently all fathers possessed a dormant homicidal gene that didn't make itself known until some boy asked their daughter for something. Please, God, let it have been to borrow her pencil.

“Bryce Watkins. I've liked him ever since he was my lab partner when we had to dissect earthworms.”

Ah, young love.

“And he asked me to the autumn social! He actually asked me.”

“That's wonderful, honey. You seem pretty jazzed up about this.”

“Yeah, you have no idea how hard it was not to spill the beans this afternoon! I wanted to tell Pam,” she said. “But I wanted to tell you first.”

Nick's throat tightened at the gesture. He knew it must have required monumental effort for a twelve-year-old girl not to share the news of a big crush asking her on a date.
Date?
The enormity of the event hit him. Her first date. He had a sharp pain in his abdomen that probably signaled an ulcer.

“I can't wait to tell Pam,” Faith enthused. “You think she can help me pick out a dress? No offense, but I bet she's better at it than you.”

“None taken. You can ask her about it when you see her tomorrow.”

Faith babbled happily for the rest of the ride home, and Nick did his best to follow her patter, but his mind was on autopilot. He found himself thinking about Pam. His daughter wasn't the only one with a big crush.

Crush, hell. I'm in love with her.

He doubted now that he'd ever truly stopped loving her, not completely. He'd been very angry with her for a very long time, interspersed with periods where he'd managed to shove his feelings down and not think about her. It was like he'd had emotional frostbite. When it came to his romantic relationships, he'd had a certain unshakable numbness. Seeing her again had thawed him out in a way that wasn't always pleasant. He'd had
more temperamental outbursts in Pam's first two weeks back in Mimosa than during his entire marriage to Jenna.

But there was no escaping the truth—he wanted the same thing now that he'd wanted at sixteen, to have a family and a forever with Pamela Jo Wilson. Was it his imagination, or did Faith want that, too? She could have suggested a shopping trip with her aunt Leigh or even Morgan and her mother, but she wanted to spend that with Pam instead.

Shockingly, he thought that Pam would actually agree to go dress shopping. She'd probably even be cheerful about the prospect, which made her a completely different woman than the one who'd backed away from him a month ago with panic-stricken eyes when he'd asked her to have a milk shake with her daughter. She'd changed during her time in Mimosa. As far as he could tell, all for the better.

The big question was, had she changed her mind about staying?

H
ER AUNT LEFT
after dinner, and now Pam was all alone in the house again. Normally around this time, she would sit outside for a few minutes and listen to night fall around her. It had become something of a meditative ritual. However, rain had started sprinkling shortly after Nick and Faith left and it was now pouring.

Pam found herself drifting from one room to the next, compiling a mental checklist. The plumber was due on Friday; the fresh coat of paint on the bedroom walls looked great, but she had to hang all of the new trim around doors and floor; she'd received a call that her order of glass was in and would be delivered
tomorrow—several window panes had to be replaced. Granted, the external landscaping was … well, nonexistent, and the hole in the kitchen where a dishwasher should be bothered her, but the house was becoming downright cozy. It had meant a lot to have Faith here today and feel proud of the work she'd done, not ashamed that this house was her past.

Recalling her promise to Faith, Pam dragged her feet to the closet where she'd stored the guitar case as soon as she'd taken up residence. Pam withdrew the case, which was heavier than she remembered, and carried it to the couch. Inside was the guitar that had represented so many of her dreams, almost none of which had materialized. At one time, she'd looked at this guitar and seen her entire future. Now it was the wood and string embodiment of a million mistakes.

Just looking at it made her thirsty.

It's a guitar. No more, no less.
She'd faced down an enraged mother on more than one occasion, often wondering if this would be the time Mae actually lost it enough to wallop her. She'd faced her own addiction and hadn't let changing locations become an excuse for dropping the program. Surely she could face a single acoustic guitar.

Play it again, Pam.

Lips twitching in a sardonic smile, she strummed a couple of notes from “As Time Goes By,” but it wasn't a song she knew well. The guitar deserved better. After a moment, she started “Amazing Grace,” stopped, then started again, singing along this time. She progressed to faster country songs and classic rock, attempting some Skynyrd and Boston numbers, frustrated at how much she got wrong. It felt like she was trying to play with someone else's fingers.