Coming Home (34 page)

“Computers?” Roxanne repeated blankly.

Her mother laughed *again. “Yes, computers. I understand that M.J. grabbed Ilka at the store one day when Pagan was there and they all got to fooling around on the Internet. Ilka is hooked—now she wants a computer of her own and for Pagan to tutor her. I think they may stay at Ross's place tonight before heading back tomorrow. Ilka said to expect her when I saw her. Such a refreshing change—and you can take some of the credit for that.”

Roxanne made a face at the phone. “Maybe. I think all Ilka needed was just a little push.”

“Well, how about you give your baby brother a push? Did you meet his latest Barbie doll?”

“Er, no, I haven't. Did he bring her to St. Galen's? That sounds serious.”

“No, thank God. I guess I have that to be thankful for. We met his latest little bimbo over the weekend when we drove to Santa Rosa to visit some friends. This latest one is stunning, I'll give you that, but if she has two brain cells to rub together in that gorgeous blond head of hers, I'll be surprised.” Helen sighed. “I like to tell myself that Ross is too smart to actually marry one of these women. In fact, for a long time, I just thought it was a stage he was going through, but he's not a kid anymore and he still seems fascinated by these women whose bust size is larger than their IQ. I'm terrified that he's going to show up at the door one day and say, ‘Look who I married, Susie Brain-dead.—

Roxanne choked on a laugh. “Come on, Mom, Ross has got more sense than that. He's just, uh, having fun.”

“And that reminds me … when are you going to stop having fun and start thinking about marriage and children?”

Roxanne grimaced at the phone. “Uh, urn, gee, I gotta go right now, Mom—someone's at the front door. Love ya. Bye.”

Hanging up from her mother, Roxanne stared down at the phone as if it might bite her. Oh, great! Just what she needed—her mother quizzing her about her love life. She gave herself a shake and sinking down onto the sofa in the great room, stared off into space.

Her thoughts were scrambled for a while, but eventually they cleared and she began to think about what her mother had said about Ilka. It was good that Ilka was taking an interest in something new, but Roxanne didn't know that surfmg the Internet was necessarily the best new hobby for someone who was already inclined to solitude. Then she shrugged. She'd see how it went before she started meddling—at the moment, the way she was handling her own affairs didn't instill within her a great deal of confidence that she knew the answer to everything. If she didn't know what she was going to do in her life, how the devil could she go around telling someone else what to do with
their
life? Her lips quirked. Well, hell, when had she ever let a little thing like that stop her?

She'd enjoyed the visit with Shelly. She genuinely liked her sister-in-law and hoped that when Ross left behind his Barbie doll toys and finally settled down that he'd choose someone who fit into the family as well as Shelly did—even if she was a “hated” Granger. Thinking of the long-standing enmity between Granger and Ballinger, she shook her head. What a crock! Probably the only ones who thought that way these days were her father's generation. Listening to tales around the campfire about the wicked Grangers and the evil things they did to the angelic Ballingers might make for an interesting evening, but Roxanne suspected that in the light of day, the stories were only half right: no one ever mentioned the equally wicked and nefarious deeds the Ballingers executed against the Grangers.

She was restless for the rest of the day, the conversations with Shelly and her mother never far from her thoughts, though she tried hard to shove them out of her mind. Since the weather was not conducive to wandering around outside, she headed for the kitchen. After putting on a pot of coffee and putting a Gipsy Kings CD on the player at full blast, she dragged out a cookbook she'd bought in New Orleans once and a few minutes later was busily trying her hand at making chocolate eclairs. It didn't seem too hard although there were several different steps. The whipped cream filling was a snap and even the dark chocolate frosting for the top wasn't difficult. The pastry part of the eclair wasn't difficult either but it was messy, she decided, as she delicately pushed the spoonfuls of goopy dough into an oblong shape. Shutting the oven door on the pastry, she crossed her fingers. The dough bore little resemblance to the plump eclairs she pictured in her mind, but she'd followed the recipe so they
should
turn out OK. Not a whiz in the kitchen—as she used to say with a wicked smile, her talents lay in a different direction—Roxanne had great faith in cookbooks.

Taking a sip of coffee now and then, halfway dancing to the primitive beat of the Gipsy Kings, she puttered around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess. When the bell rang signaling that the pastries were done, she took a deep breath and peeked.

A squeak of pleasure came out. “Ooh, you little darlings! Aren't you just beautiful,” she exclaimed as she opened the oven door and took out a dozen or so perfectly risen and delicately browned pastry puffs.

Pleased and proud of herself, she set them on the rack to cool.

Dawg and Boss were at her feet and she gave them a stern look. “Touch one and you're dead.”

“Now that's a greeting I don't expect very many men want to come home to at night,” said Jeb from the doorway of the kitchen.

Roxanne jumped and spun around to face him. Her heart leaped as it always did at the unexpected sight of him. The kitchen suddenly became small, Jeb's big frame filling the doorway, making everything shrink around him as he stood there, that half smile she'd grown to love on his lips.

She laughed and rushed to him. “That wasn't for you,” she said as his arms closed around her. Her hands cupped his face and her lips brushed his.
“This,”
she breathed against his mouth, “is for you.”

Bodies locked together, they kissed deeply, passion humming between them. When Jeb finally lifted his head several moments later his eyes were glazed and his brain mush. With an effort he focused on Roxanne's flushed features. “Now that,” he finally managed, “is a welcome home a man would walk through fire to get.”

“I should hope so,” Roxanne said saucily as she turned away and went back to admiring her pastries, turning the racks of pastries this way and that. “It isn't every man that I turn up the wattage for.”

Jeb walked up behind her. His hand resting possessively on the back of her neck, he bent and bit her eargently. “I'd like to think that I'm the
only
guy you kiss like that.”

Roxanne's hands stilled, her heart skittering around in her breast like a rabbit chased by a very large, very hungry fox. Now how did she reply to that statement? she wondered, breathless. Turn around, fling her arms around him, and exclaim, “Oh, you are, you are!” or give him a smart-mouth remark? Funny thing, she seemed fresh out of smart remarks.

The silence spun out and she was increasingly aware that Jeb was waiting for a reply. She swallowed. She loved him. Loved him as she had never loved anyone before in her life and it scared her to death. She knew Jeb enjoyed screwing her blind and seemed to equally enjoy her company. Did that add up to love? This was all uncharted territory for her. Conquests had always come easy for her and it had never mattered a great deal whether the man of the moment was “in love” with her or not. If he professed to be, well, that was very nice, but as long as they had taken pleasure in each other's bodies and company, that had been enough for Roxanne … then. But this was now and it mattered more than anything ever had that Jeb loved her. Loved her as deeply, as fiercely, as she did him.

Roxanne took a deep breath. OK. She was a mode? woman, right? And being a modern woman meant that she didn't have to wait for a man to ask her out anymore—she was perfectly free to do her own asking. Right? Yeah. Of course. And being a modern woman meant that she could make all the moves first, could even admit her love first—she didn't have to be an old-fashioned wilting-lily pining for the man to declare himself before she did. She could just say it. I love you. Right? Uh, well, no. To her dismay she discovered that she wasn't quite as modern as she'd always thought. The idea of telling Jeb that she was wildly, passionately in love with him, without knowing the depth of his feeling for her, was the most terrifying thing she had ever contemplated doing. She made a face. What a wimp, she was. She was letting the sisterhood down. Setting modern womanhood back thirty years. She shrugged. Screw the sisterhood, this was her life and she desperately wanted to know what Jeb really felt for her. He
liked
her, she knew that … but did he love her? Love her enough for them to make a life together?

When Roxanne remained silent, Jeb sighed and, turning away, asked, “So how was your day? Anything interesting happen while I was away fighting the minions of evil and injustice?”

Relief flooded through her … and the tiniest regret that she hadn't taken the opening. “Uh, no,” she said, pushing the racks of pastries away for further cooling. “Talked to my mom—Dad and Ilka have had the flu—apparently it's going around the valley. Pagan and Rica went computer shopping in Santa Rosa. Oh, and Shelly came by for lunch.” Her voice faltered as she recognized the canyon opening beneath her feet. She bit her lip. Telling Jeb that Shelly knew about them was another topic she'd just as soon avoid right now. You yellow-bellied coward, she thought contemptuously.

Jeb snagged a beer from the refrigerator and sat down at the kitchen table, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He caught the pause in her voice and shot her a sharp look. “And?”

“Um, nothing. She just came by and we had a nice visit. Those fertility tests she and Sloan took in January came back just fine. She's fretting though that she still hasn't conceived.”

“And?”

She turned and glanced warily at him. “And? What? I've told you everything.”

He contemplated her. She looked tasty enough to eat as she stood there at the kitchen counter and his body was still sizzling from that welcome home kiss. In the months they'd been together he'd become a pretty good judge of Roxanne's moods and right now she was as nervous as a hen eyeing a chopping block. He'd been a cop too long not to know when someone was lying to him. Most times, they were simple, unimportant lies. But sometimes, they were important lies and something told him that he needed to know what Roxanne was trying to hide from him.

“More to the conversation than that,” he murmured. “You're twitching and squirming like a worm on a hook. What else did you two darlings discuss?”

Roxanne glared at him and put her hands on her hips. “If you must know,” she snapped, “she found out about us.”

“Really?” he asked, lifting a brow. So
that's
what had her all in a twitter. Now this was very,
very
interesting. And so goddamn important, he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest and lay its silly self right at her feet. His face revealing nothing, he inquired further. “And what exactly did she find out about us? Something I should know? Something you want to share?”

“She saw Dawg and Boss and recognized them and one thing led to another and I told her. …” Roxanne swallowed, looking very young and uncertain. “I, um, told her that we were sort of living together.”

“Sort of?” Jeb asked, taking a long swallow of his beer. Ah hell, Princess, he thought moodily, there's nothing “sort of’ about it—at least for me there isn't. And if I thought for one second that you weren't going to run off to New York or some other damned foreign place like that one of these days and take my heart with you, I'd make damn sure you understood that I'm not “sort of living with you. That I don't “sort of” live with anyone. Especially not you.

“Well, it is, sort of, isn't it? You still keep all your clothes and stuff across the valley. I mean it's not like you moved in or anything.”

He looked at her, something in his eyes making her heart race and her breath catch. Then his gaze dropped and the moment was gone. “Yep, guess you're right. We are sort of living together.”

Unhappily Roxanne stared at him. A perfect opportunity to take their relationship to the next step hadbeen handed right to him and he neatly sidestepped it. Maybe he
didn't
want to move in with her; maybe an enjoyable romp was all she meant to him. A little angry, she glared at him and muttered, “She's going to tell Sloan. It won't be a secret forever.”

He took another swallow of his beer. “You ask her to keep it a secret?”

Roxanne flushed, her cheeks burning bright pink. “Uh, well, yeah, I did. I didn't know how you'd feel about it.”

He glanced at her, that disturbing look in his black eyes again. “Question is, how do you feel about it?”

Of all the unfair tactics, Roxanne thought, outraged. She'd thrown the ball in his court and damned if he hadn't just tossed it right back at her. She narrowed her gaze. It was almost as if he were toying with her, trying to trick her into revealing her feelings first. Well, damn him!

“It doesn't matter to
me
who knows about us,” she said snippily and went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. “It's bound to get out sooner or later. You know the valley.” She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “And, remember, I'm used to having my private affairs splashed all over the place.”

He nodded. “Yep. Forgot about that.”

She could have slapped him. Those lovely eyes of hers sparking like firecrackers, she demanded, “Will it bother you? People knowing about us?”

Jeb laughed, reached out a long arm, and pulled her onto his lap. “Now what do you think?” He nuzzled her neck. “Have my name linked with the prettiest woman around? What's to mind?”

It was a very unsatisfactory answer. Bewildered and angry, Roxanne shot up from his lap. “Well, good,” she snapped, “I'm glad we have this settled.”

But it wasn't good and Roxanne was in an irritated mood for the rest of the evening. She couldn't figure him out any more than she could figure out her own reluctance to lay her cards on the table and find out what was going on between them. She knew her feelings. Her heart. But when it came to Jeb, she hadn't a clue. He was playing his cards too damn close to his chest. That he felt something besides lust for her, she didn't doubt, but there were times she sensed that part of him was closed off from her. Not often, but now and then. It was almost, she thought miserably, as if he was deliberately keeping her at a distance … as if he was just fine with things the way they were and that he had no intention of seeing what lay beyond their initial attraction to each other. It terrified her to think that she might be in this all by herself. All the gossip about his other women flitted through her head. Was that what she was? Just another woman in a long line?