Homecoming (10 page)

Tyler stared at her, his expression now mirroring surprise and shock. He’d never met a woman like Dana Nichols. Whereas most women wanted a commitment from a man, she didn’t. And because he wanted to date her, he would agree to her demands. Moreover, she’d challenged him, and he’d never had a woman challenge him.

He only had four months to convince her to stay in Hillsboro, and he planned to use anything and everything at his disposal to get her to change her mind.

A slow smile deepened the slashes in his cheeks. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Dana’s delicate jaw went slack as her mouth dropped open. She’d issued demands most men would’ve laughed at or rejected outright, yet Tyler had readily accepted them.

“Really?”

A chuckle rumbled in his broad chest. “Yes, really.” Curving an arm around her waist, he opened the passenger-side door for her. “Let’s get back in the car before we come down with heatstroke.”

She slipped onto the leather seat, pulling the seat belt over her chest. She felt an unexpected warmth flow through her and it had nothing to do with the weather. She did not know how she knew it, but not only was Tyler Cole visually perfect, he was also extraordinary.

She’d come back to Hillsboro for a particular purpose, and nowhere in her plan did it include succumbing to a handsome doctor’s sensual presence.

Nine

Tyler drove, enjoying the soft sound of music coming from the powerful speakers and the presence of the woman sitting beside him. After their roadside altercation, they hadn’t exchanged a word. It was as if everything that needed to be said had been.

Dana had agreed to go out with him, but not without requirements. He’d readily agree not to engage in head games because he’d always found the exercise detrimental to any relationship. And he’d always been open and frank with any woman with whom he’d been involved. All of them knew outright not expect a declaration of marriage because of his nomadic lifestyle.

But all of that had changed since he’d come to Hillsboro. He had built a home, put down roots, and since coming face-to-face with Dana Nichols, he had unconsciously reassessed whether he wanted to spend the rest of his life alone.

He’d convinced himself that he had it all when deep down inside he knew he didn’t. He had material wealth, had met and exceeded his professional expectations, but when he went home it was to loneliness. He kept up with his favorite sports teams, had a gourmet kitchen to concoct exotic dishes, and had set up a library filled with books and an intensive music collection. Occasionally a long-distance telephone call to a family member sometimes rounded out his day.

He’d ordered a Steinway piano, and had contracted to have an Olympic-size pool and basketball court installed on his property—items he now thought of as toys—toys to keep him amused when he wasn’t working.

He’d thought his world perfect until he met Dana Nichols. A single glance at her beautiful face, the slight touch of her mouth against his, and the sound of her sultry voice calling his name had proven him wrong.

How ironic, he thought. He had come to Hillsboro to put down roots, while Dana had returned to her place of birth for a short stay.

It was also ironic that he’d agreed to a non-sexual relationship with her when his initial response to her had been wholly physical.

Shrugging a shoulder, he dismissed his musings, humming under his breath to a song on the compact disc. He turned onto MS 1—the Great River Road. The sluggish brown Mississippi River wound its way southward as he headed north. A sign indicating the number of miles to Greenville came into view.

“’The Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis and ends on Catfish Row in Vicksburg.’ That’s a quote from Greenville journalist David Cohn,” Dana said in a drawling Southern cadence.

“This region has some fascinating history,” Tyler observed.

“That’s because of the Mississippi River. It has created the rich soil that made cotton production so profitable and Greenville a vital port used by the massive Delta plantations to ship their bales to market. But all of that changed during the Civil War battle for Vicksburg.

“Union soldiers burned Greenville to the ground. The citizens rebuilt the town, only to suffer a yellow fever epidemic in 1877. It was nearly destroyed by a
disastrous flood in 1890, and then again in 1927. Levees finally solved the flooding problem after that.”

“I don’t think anyone would complain if we had a week of rain right about now.”

Dana smiled at Tyler when he gave her a quick glance. “You’re probably right.”

He returned his attention to the road. “What made you decide to become a journalist?”

“It wasn’t my first career choice.” Her voice was low, calm as she told Tyler how she’d always wanted to become a nurse, how she’d been fascinated by her father’s ability to assist in the healing of a patient. “I loved the antiseptic smell of hospitals and the efficient chaos of an emergency room.”

“It’s not too late for you to make a career change.”

She shook her head. “At thirty-three I’m a little old to think about going to nursing school.”

“That way of thinking is passé. I know men and women who waited until their forties to apply to medical school. It’s a long and tough grind for someone in their twenties, but I discovered older students were much more mature and focused than their younger counterparts.”

“How many older students were in medical school with you?”

“Two.”

“Two out of a class of what?”

“Three hundred forty-eight.”

“That’s less than one per cent, Tyler.”

“That’s true. But both were women, African-American, single mothers, and both graduated in the top ten percent of the class.”

Dana covered her mouth with her hand to stop the bubble of laughter spilling from her lips. The sound was infectious, and seconds later Tyler’s deep rumbling laughter joined hers.

“Power to my sisters,” she said, still laughing.

“Amen,” Tyler intoned softly. “How did you get into journalism?”

“Mass communications was my minor as an undergrad.”

“What was your major?”

“Criminal Justice. I’d become fixated with law because of my father’s trial. My grandmother, in her need to protect me from my parents’ murder/suicide, over-compensated by not allowing me to visit my father in jail, or going to court for his trial. She even forbade me to read the
Hillsboro Herald
, which put out special daily editions for the duration of the trial. I’d immersed myself in the study of criminology like a first-year law student, staying up nights going over cases, researching interrogation techniques and evidence gathering. My college social life was practically nonexistent. If I wasn’t in my room studying, then I could be found in the library.

“One day I fainted while walking to class, and spent two days in a local hospital, undergoing a battery of tests. The reason for my collapse was sleep deprivation and malnutrition. My advisor came to see me, suggesting I seek out a therapist after I’d begun crying and couldn’t stop. I took her advice, stayed in counseling for two years, and learned how to cope with losing my parents.”

Signaling, Tyler turned off onto a county road, following signs advertising a restaurant that served the best seafood in the state. He’d listened to Dana as she disclosed her anguish and frustration, wanting to stop and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear, that he would protect her. But he hadn’t because he knew instinctively she would reject his overt display of empathy.

A slow smile softened his features, because now he
knew why he’d been drawn to Dana Nichols. Not only was she beautiful and intelligent, but also decisive, independent, and feisty. Qualities he admired in a woman—qualities found in the women in his family.

His fingers tightened around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. The word
family
jumped at him again. What was it about Dana that evoked a longing to make her a part of his life, his family? She’d already laid down the ground rules: She would remain in Hillsboro for only four months—hardly enough time for him to get to know her or she him, and there was to be no physical involvement. That wouldn’t have proved a hardship if he hadn’t been celibate. He was able to keep his erotic thoughts at bay during his waking hours, but it was at night when he went to bed alone that his traitorous thoughts played havoc with his body. Tossing and turning restlessly, he’d lay awake for hours, trying to mentally will his rigid flesh to a flaccid state. He tried concentrating on anything but Dana, but the sound of her voice and the vision of her golden eyes returned with vivid clarity, until he finally left his bed to sit in the breakfast room and drink black coffee.

He stole a glance at Dana’s delicate profile, silently cursing her. She’d become hazardous to his health because he couldn’t sleep, had resumed his marathon coffee-drinking sessions, and for the first time in a very long time, he considered taking care of his own sexual needs rather than release his passions in a woman’s scented body.

“You say therapy helped you cope with your fixation with your parents’ tragic demise, yet you’re going to spend four months researching their murder/suicide.”

Biting down on her lower lip, Dana felt a throbbing pulse against the ridge of her teeth. She knew researching Harry’s murder trial would reopen all wounds. But she was no longer a child, vulnerable and emotionally
defenseless. Her grandmother had done what she thought was best to protect her, not knowing the exile would prove more damaging than supportive.

“I need closure, Tyler. My parents are dead. The great-aunt who’d become my guardian died during my junior year in college, and I just buried my grandmother earlier this week. I’m the last of the Hillsboro Suttons and the Nicholses, and once I leave Mississippi I don’t want to look back.”

Tyler wanted to tell Dana that she did not have to constantly remind him that her stay in Hillsboro would be a short one—that she would probably leave at the end of October or the beginning of November.
Four months
. He had only four months to execute his own plan in which he would convince her to stay in Hillsboro—forever.

Downshifting, he maneuvered off the paved road onto a rutted one leading up a steep hill. Looking around her, Dana noticed the towering pine trees growing closely together nearly blotted out what was left of the fading sun. Twilight had fallen.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to stop so we can get something to eat.”

She shrugged a bare scented shoulder, settling back to peer at the changing landscape through the windshield. Everything was still green in this part of Mississippi. It was as if the area hadn’t been affected by the lingering drought. But she knew that even if the trees were still green, the ground was bone-dry. One carelessly discarded lighted match or one strike of lightning was certain to turn the woods into a raging inferno.

Dana heard the sounds of music, blaring car horns, and raucous laughter before she saw the enormous structure constructed of thick, massive logs. Standing in a cleared area was the largest log cabin she’d ever
seen. It more closely resembled a longhouse than a cabin. Blinking colorful neon lights glaringly identified the establishment as Three J’s.

A lot set aside for parking was filled with pickups, sport utility vehicles, and several farm vehicles. Men and women were getting out of trucks and tractors, dressed in suits, jeans, T-shirts, skimpy tank tops, shorts, and dusty footwear.

Tyler pulled into a space next to a tractor and parked. He came around the low-slung car, holding the passenger-side door open for Dana. Extending his left hand, he waited for her to place her hand in his. He noticed the indecision in her gaze, which vanished as she placed her hand on his outstretched palm. Tightening his grip, he pulled her to her feet, curved an arm around her narrow waist, and led her to the door to Three J’s. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust from coming out of the encroaching darkness into the muted lights inside the eating establishment. He felt Dana stiffen, and he pulled her closer to his side.

Dana went completely still, her gaze widening as she took in the sights and sounds inside the restaurant. An enormous colorful jukebox was the space’s focal point. Specially made, it covered about thirty feet of one wall, and was filled with hundreds of compact discs. The interior was dimly it, as if everyone who’d ventured through its doors came to hide from the outside world. Strategically hung light fixtures with three globes were reminiscent of those identifying pawnshops.

Tyler saw the direction of Dana’s stunned gaze. Lowering his head, he said softly, “It holds three thousand CDs.” He’d answered her unspoken question. “Three J’s stands for Jesse’s Juke Joint, and as a family-owned business, they’re known for serving the best seafood
in the state. They even have their own catfish farm out back,” he whispered close to her ear.

Tilting her chin put her mouth dangerously close to his. “I thought you said we were going for a drive in the country, then stop to take in a few sights.”

He smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened attractively. “You’ll get to see sights here that you probably won’t see anywhere else in the state,” he said cryptically.

Dana had to admit Tyler was right about unusual things to see. They sat a table for two in a dimly lit corner as the humongous jukebox blared out blues, rock and roll, hip-hop, and R&B tunes covering nearly seventy years of music. The blues was the sound of the Mississippi Delta, the South Side of Chicago, and a million juke joints all over the country.

The music was as eclectic as Three J’s patrons. Well-dressed businessmen, farmers, truckers, and office workers crowded tables, drinking pitchers of beer and devouring mounds of steaming crawfish, steamed crabs, and crispy strips of fried catfish with an accompanying Dijon mustard sauce with a hint of horseradish hot enough to wake up one’s untried taste buds. The restaurant’s specialties included a shrimp cocktail made with sweet Gulf jumbo shrimp, soft-shell crab sandwiches on sourdough bread with a spicy mayonnaise, sweet-and-sour cole slaw, spicy collard greens, hot buttered biscuits and corn bread, fried chicken, and baked country ham and sweet-potato fries.

A quartet of pool tables was set up in one corner, several dart boards in another, and half-a-dozen video games in a third. Eight flat-screen televisions crowded every available wall space, all of them tuned to different channels with the sound muted. And whenever the
mood hit, couples would get up and dance to whatever was playing on the jukebox.

A middle-aged couple danced to Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing,” moving sensuously to the classic R&B tune. The woman wound her arms around her partner’s neck, her hips grinding heavily against his without moving her feet.

“Ya’ll know ya’ll too old for that foolishness,” a woman with a raspy voice called out. “Take that ole nasty stuff home, Vilma. Don’t ya’ll know there’s decent people up in here?”

Vilma raised her head from her partner’s shoulder, rolled her eyes, while sucking her teeth loudly. “You just mad ’cause you don’t git none, that’s all. If you’d took care of your man like I do mine, then you wouldn’t be running off at the mouth about somethin’ being nasty.”

Everyone laughed at Vilma’s comeback, Dana laughing with the others. She found herself humming along with John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom,” Bobby Blue Bland’s “Turn On Your Love Light,” Muddy Waters’s “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man,” and B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.”