Homecoming (6 page)

Leaning over, Tyler pulled Dana’s seat belt over her chest, his fingers grazing her breasts. He heard the soft exhalation of air escape her parted lips at the same time he swallowed back a groan.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.

Dana nodded, turning her head and staring out the window. She did not look at Tyler again until he turned down a narrow, paved, unlit road, coming to a stop in front of a three-car garage behind a magnificent Greek-Revival structure.

The two-story plantation-style structure rose from the earth like a two-tiered wedding cake on a forest-green tablecloth. Though most of the land in and around Hillsboro was brown and dry from the continuing drought, Tyler’s property was like an oasis in the desert. The magnificent house had been built on a section of land realtors and developers considered prime property. Tyler’s house was only two miles west of where she’d lived with her parents.

Most of the Delta’s topography was flat and monotonous, with the exception of prime locations. These sites were usually higher in elevation, offering panoramas overlooking the Mississippi River, and there had been times when Dana could detect the distinctive scent of the muddy river before a change in the weather. It had become her barometer.

Strategically placed floodlights illuminated the path leading up to the house, and sensor lights brightened and dimmed whenever an object entered or left the range of sensitive beams.

“Don’t move,” Tyler said in a quiet voice. “I’ll help you down.”

Dana sat motionless, trying to still the runaway pounding of her heart. Sitting in Tyler’s truck two miles from where she’d spent the first ten years of her life, while staring at a structure that closely resembled the house that had become home to several generations of her family caused a momentary rush of uneasiness.

You’re home
, a silent voice whispered in her head.
And for the first time since she stepped off the plane at the Greenville Municipal Airport, she felt as if she had truly come home.

But, she wondered, could she live permanently in Hillsboro when she’d made a life for herself in Carrollton? She’d set up an apartment that had become her sanctuary, and had a promising career as an investigative reporter for a small but celebrated publication.

The only object linking her with her past was her grandmother’s house and its contents. And it wouldn’t be until after Eugene Payton disclosed the contents of Georgia’s will that she would know what she would be able to do or not do with the property.

The passenger-side door opened, and Tyler reached in and unsnapped her seat belt, this time taking care not to touch her chest. Seconds later she found herself in his arms, his fingers tightening around her waist as he held her effortlessly, her feet dangling several inches off the ground. Her arms circled his neck as she attempted to maintain her balance. This time her chest touched his, her breasts pressed against the solid wall of his chest.

Her head, level with Tyler’s, eased forward until she felt the whisper of his moist breath sweep over her mouth. “Please, put me down,” she said.

Dana did not recognize her own voice as a riot of apprehension swept away the aloofness she had always been able maintain with most men. Only because she’d allowed it had Galvin been able to slip under the protective barrier she’d set up to keep all men out of her bed and her life. She’d waited until she was twenty-four to offer him her virginity, when the pull of desire and passion had been too great to ignore.

Tyler stared at Dana, gorging on her beauty. “Not yet.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tightened
his hold on her body. He hadn’t known her twenty-four hours, yet he wanted her—in his life and in his bed!

Dana smothered a groan. She was certain Tyler could feel her breasts swelling against him at the same time her sensitive nipples hardened like tiny pebbles. Passion pounded the blood through her chest and head, roaring like a waterfall.

Helpless to resist his blatant virility, she eased her head down to his shoulder as she closed her eyes and breathed in his essence. She did not know why, but being held by Tyler communicated a sense of protectiveness. It was the first time in twenty years that a man made her feel completely protected. Tightening her hold on his neck, smiling, she breathed a kiss under his ear.

“Isn’t it unethical for a doctor to compromise his patient, Dr. Cole?”

Tyler laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his wide, deep chest. “Who said anything about you being my patient?”

“I’d assumed I was your patient because you did make a house call.”

“You assumed wrong, Miss Nichols. If I’d come to your house as your doctor, then it would not have been your hand I would’ve looked at.”

Her head came up and she stared directly at Tyler. It was difficult to see his expression in the encroaching darkness. The setting sun had turned the sky orange-red as lengthening shadows heralded the advent of nightfall.

“What’s your specialty?”

“Gynecology and obstetrics.” Dana’s mouth formed a perfect O, and Tyler dissolved in a paroxysm of laughter. He loosened his grip, but did not release her as she slid down the length of his body, leaving a swathe of heat racing from chest to groin.

Dana’s eyes widened as she felt the hardening of Tyler’s flesh pressing against her thigh. They did not move or speak as the silence between them loomed like a heavy fog.

She held her breath for several seconds, and then let it out slowly. If Tyler Cole was playing a game, then she wanted no part of it, because she had to keep reminding herself why she’d come back to Hillsboro. And it was not to become involved with a man.

A smile trembled over her lips. “I think you’d better feed me before I faint on you.”

Tyler blinked as if he’d just come out of a trance. “Come.”

Turning, he led her around the garages to the house, blatantly aware that she would become the first woman, other than his mother and sister, to come under his roof.

Five

Tyler unlocked the front door, walked into the entryway, stood to one side, and watched Dana seemingly float into the space. It was the first time he’d noticed her graceful, fluid body language.

Tilting her head, she glanced up at the chandelier illuminating the entryway like a rising sun. Waning daylight shimmered off the glass over the arched transom with weblike tracery surrounding the sapphire-blue paneled door. The door’s rich hue and brass hardware gave the entrance a traditional tone that offset the Chippendale furnishings. A mahogany credenza, flanked by matching chairs, and a wall mirror facing a curving staircase invoked elegant sophistication rather than extravagance.

Tasteful and elegant—the two words hinted what little she’d seen of Dr. Tyler Cole’s property. The two words could also be attributed to Tyler, but Dana knew she could add a third adjective—sexy.

Closing the door, Tyler reached for Dana’s uninjured hand, cradling it gently, leading her past empty spaces that would become a formal living and dining room, to an oversized kitchen with an adjoining breakfast room, at the far end of the house. The ceiling in the kitchen and breakfast room, reaching one and a half stories, was constructed with skylights that brought the outside in; the eerie glow of an emerging half-moon
lit up the space like a spotlight. He turned a dimmer switch, creating a festival of light from recessed fixtures under cabinets and strategically placed wall scones that resembled gaslights from another century. The eclectic mix of modern, Victorian Revival, Art Deco, and a new American style was not only attention-grabbing, but also visually satisfying.

“Your home is beautiful, Tyler.” Dana took a deep breath. Everything smelled new.

“Thank you. It’s only partially furnished. I’m still awaiting the arrival of furniture for more than half the rooms.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Two weeks.”

She smiled up at him. “This section of Hillsboro was vacant land when I lived here.”

Tyler regarded her intently. “The builder broke ground and laid the foundation last October. I would come by every other day to watch the progress, and it wasn’t until February that it began to resemble the architect’s rendering.” His home was a classic depiction of a few of the old mansions in the region.

“Come sit,” he said, leading her to the breakfast room and seating her on a chair with a pale woven fabric that was a stark contrast to a decorative wrought-iron frame reminiscent of the grillwork seen in the French Quarter in New Orleans.

He hunkered down, his head level with hers. “Do you have an allergy to shellfish?”

Dana resisted the urge to trace the outline of his expressive eyebrows. They were arched over his eyes like the drawings she’d done as a child of a bird’s outstretched wings. She noted that the slight stubble on Tyler’s chin and jaw made his face appear not only darker, but also rakish. He’d called himself the Black Knight, and that he was.

“No.” The single word floated from her lips as a whisper.

He smiled, the minute lines deepening around his penetrating eyes. “If that’s the case, then I’ll prepare a dish of farfalle with arugula pesto and shrimp. The pieces will be small enough for you to pick up with a fork even if you have to use your right hand.” Straightening, he winked down at her. “I’ll be right back after I wash my hands.”

“May I watch you cook?”

“Of course.” He pulled back her chair, and she stood up. He gave her a sidelong glance. “Can you cook?”

Wrinkling her pert nose, she said, “A little.”

Dana had told him a half-truth. She could cook and very, very well. The great-aunt who had raised her had worked as a cook at an elegant country inn that also doubled as a bed-and-breakfast. Once her aunt felt Dana was old enough to work at a stove, she would take her with her on weekends. Aunt Fanny taught her to make bread and sweetbreads from scratch, before she graduated to decorating cakes and roasting prime cuts of meats to a succulent tenderness.

Dana excelled in the preparation of sauces and gravies, changing the taste and consistency of traditional ones whenever she experimented with different herbs and spices. Her specialty had become presentation. If it wasn’t eye-appealing, then she did not serve it.

Yes, I cook very well, she longed to tell Tyler. And if she’d had the opportunity to prepare a meal for him in the ultramodern stainless steel and ebony kitchen, she probably would shock him with her culinary expertise.

She was certain one reason Galvin had dated her for two years was because he couldn’t get enough of her cooking. There were occasions when she’d demanded
he take her out to a restaurant or she would stop seeing him. But he’d turned the tables on her because, in the end, he’d ended their relationship. What had surprised Dana most was that she hadn’t dwelt on his deception. He’d validated what she had already known: She could not trust a man.

The other reason was their compatibility in bed. She hadn’t known she was capable of intense passion until she shared her bed and body with Galvin, and she wanted to rationalize that her attraction to Tyler Cole was because she’d missed not only the passion, but also the personal intimacy, between a man and a woman.

Dana sat on a high stool at a cooking island, drinking a glass of orange juice, while she watched Tyler put fresh argali, toasted pine nuts, garlic, freshly grated parmigiana-reggiano cheese, and measured amounts of extra-virgin olive oil into a food processor, while a pot filled with bowtie-shaped pasta cooked on the stove. A platter of large grilled shrimp, covered with several paper towels, sat on a nearby butcher-block table. The warmed arugula pesto and shrimp would be added to the al dente farfalle, and topped with more grated cheese.

She was grateful she hadn’t boasted about her cooking prowess because there was no doubt Tyler was more than familiar with the inner workings of a kitchen. A variety of pots and pans hung from overhead hooks. A specialized unit for storing and cooling wine stood alongside a walk-in freezer. A state-of-the-art refrigerator/freezer, a built-in dishwasher, a compactor, a microwave oven, a dual-level oven, and double stainless-steel sinks at the cooking island provided
maximum convenience for him to cook for two or twenty-two.

Tyler poured the pesto into a saucepan, adjusting the flame so it could simmer. The tantalizing aroma of grilled shrimp and garlic wafted in the climate-controlled air. Lifting an eyebrow, he smiled as Dana slipped off the stool to stand beside him.

“Will you share a glass of wine with me?” he asked. She nodded, returning his smile. “What would you like?” She stared at him through her lashes, her moist lips slightly parted.

Don’t look at me like that!
he wanted to scream at her. Her seductive glance made him hot; it turned him on so much he was helpless to control the quiet storm brewing in his groin. He had to get away from her, even if it was only for a few minutes, or embarrass himself.

The Delta was experiencing a drought and Dr. Tyler Cole was also experiencing a drought—a sexual drought. It had been months since he’d slept with a woman, and since relocating to Hillsboro he hadn’t looked at or lusted after any woman—not until now.

He’d celebrated his forty-first birthday May twelfth, joining those who claimed middle-age status, and he wondered whether he truly wanted to spend the rest of his life alone. Did he want his DNA to end with him, or continue for another generation?

Meeting Dana Nichols had him off balance; just her presence had him thinking about his priorities. Interacting with her helped him to recognize something he’d denied for years—he was lonely.

“White, please,” she said.

Tyler walked to where he’d stored his wine, took out a chilled bottle of Chardonnay, placing it on the table in the breakfast room. Working quickly, he set the table with china, silver, and a pair crystal wine glasses and
water goblets. Returning to the cooking island, he checked on the pesto and pasta.

Ten minutes later, he and Dana sat down to eat, while the distinctive voice of Sade filled the space after he’d turned on a stereo unit built into one of the overhead cabinets.

Dana felt awkward, but she managed to feed herself. Several times a farfalle or a shrimp slipped from her fork, eliciting an encouraging smile from her dining partner. The entrée was delicious.

“Who taught you to cook?” she asked.

Tyler took a sip of wine. “My father. All of the males in my family are mandated to go through what we call culinary survival training. We were raised not to depend on a woman if we wanted to eat.”

She raised the goblet filled with sparkling water and a slice of lemon, saluting him. “It appears you’ve graduated summa cum laude.”

He smiled, the gesture as intimate as a kiss. “Thank you, milady.”

They continued to eat and drink, both content to listen to the distinctive haunting words of “Sweetest Taboo.”

Putting aside his fork and resting his elbows on the table, Tyler laced his fingers together, staring at Dana as she slowly and methodically speared a shrimp and brought the fork to her mouth.

“Have you come back to Hillsboro to stay?” he asked.

She placed her fork next to her plate, and then touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “Stay how?” Her voice was calmer than she actually felt.

His lids lowered as he studied her impassive expression. “Live here permanently.”

She shook her head. Several wisps of hair had escaped the twist she’d pinned up earlier that morning,
gold-streaked strands brushing a bared shoulder with the motion. “I don’t know, Tyler. I’ve taken a four-month leave from my job to settle my grandmother’s estate. After I can take care all of the legal matters, I’m going back to New York.”

What she didn’t say was that settling her grandmother’s estate would become a simple task when compared to her investigating her parents’ murder/suicide.

Four months
, Tyler mused. Was that enough time to get to know Dana well enough to reevaluate his own future? Did he want her to become a part of his life and his future? The questions attacked him while he refused to acknowledge that Dana could possibly have a boyfriend or fiancé waiting for her back in New York.

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

She gave him a direct stare. “I’m a journalist.”

“Newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“The
Carrollton Chronicle
. It has a very small circulation.”

“How small?” Tyler asked.

“About twelve hundred subscribers.”

“That’s equal to Hillsboro’s
Herald
.”

Dana was more than familiar with her hometown weekly, remembering how most of the adults had waited for Thursday evening to read the headlines, then devour each word from the front page to the last. The publisher of the
Herald
had continued a century-old tradition of publishing a periodical with a distinct hometown flavor. The black-owned newspaper had been as essential to Hillsboro for reporting the local news as
The New York Times
was to New York City, major U.S. cities, and world capitals.

“Is it still owned by the Davis family?”

Tyler shook his head. “No. Someone named Ryan
Vance is the current publisher and editor in chief. The word is that he bought it from the Davises last month. It was said the current generation of Davises saw no future in newspaper publishing and put the
Herald
up for sale.”

Dana stared down at the slice of lemon floating in the glass of water. So many things had changed in Hillsboro during her exile, and she wondered for the first time how difficult would it be for her to glean the information she needed about what had become Hillsboro’s most celebrated murder.

Tracing the rim of the goblet with a forefinger, she looked up. Tyler sat motionless, staring across the table at her. “Why did you move to Hillsboro?” she asked. It was the same question she’d put to him before the waitress at Smithy’s burned her hand.

“I was recruited by the federal government for a research study.”

Tyler related the statistics on infant-mortality rates in Hillsboro in relation to the national average. She listened intently as he gave her an overview of the number of research projects he’d been involved with since becoming a doctor.

“I made a visit to Hillsboro before I decided to head the project, to see the facility where I’d be working, and was horrified with the conditions. Most of the medical equipment was antiquated, and the physical condition of the facility was definitely not conducive for adequate medical treatment. I told the surgeon general I would assume responsibility for the study, but only if the Department of Health and Human Services doubled their original appropriation to cover the cost of renovating the site and purchasing updated equipment. It took four months of haggling before they agreed.

“I increased the staff to include a nutritionist, X-ray
technician, and a part-time social worker. Renovations were completed in January, bringing the site up to code, and the Hillsboro’s Women’s Health Clinic can boast that it has some of the most sophisticated, state-of-the art medical equipment in the state of Mississippi.”

Dana was impressed with his obvious confidence. There was no doubt his experience in medical research had earned the attention of the U.S. surgeon general.

“What’s the time frame for your study?”

“Five years.”

“What are you going to do once it ends?”

Tyler paused, his eyes caressing the sensual beauty of the delicate woman sharing his space. “I plan to stay in Hillsboro.”

“And do what?”

Angling his head, he lowered his lashes, smiling. “I’ll become a small-town family doctor.”

He had planned his future carefully. The detached guest house adjacent to the three-car garage would become his office. He wouldn’t have built a home in Hillsboro if he hadn’t planned on putting down roots in the Delta.

It had taken more than twenty years, but he now had a place he called home.

I’ll become a small-town doctor
. His statement set off an alarm in Dana’s head. She was sitting under the roof of a man, a doctor to whom she’d felt an intense attraction. Had it been the same with her mother? Had Alicia seen Harry and decided she wanted the small-town doctor?