Out Of Her League (32 page)

They were both still uneasy about leaving her alone, but he seemed especially scared about leaving her with his mother. “I'm sure. Your mom and I are getting along great. Just imagine the dirt I'm going to have on you when you come back.”

“I can hardly wait.” He stooped to kiss her. “Won't be too late.”

Christa went into the kitchen and put on the kettle, then served up two helpings of the leftover peach cobbler, pouring cream over the top. She made a pot of Earl Grey tea and took it into the living room, where Emily was finishing up a phone call.

She patted the sofa beside her and hung up with a sigh. “My friend, Alex. He tends to worry about me when he's not here.”

“Where is he now?” She set everything on the coffee table.

“In Portugal, on business. Truth be told, I kind of like it when he's away. He smothers me sometimes.” She flashed a guilty grimace and reached for a teacup bearing delicate violets. “These were my great grandmother's. I've always thought tea tasted best in these cups. There's something about the history of them.”

“A teaset like this would have cost a fortune, even in those days.” She sipped and savored. “That's how I always imagined Charleston would be. Like these teacups. History and tradition everywhere. Wide verandahs with rocking chairs and courtyards filled with gorgeous gardens. People sitting on porch swings sipping afternoon tea.”

Emily smiled. “You have a bit of a poetic nature, don't you?”

“A bit. My mother always despaired of the fact that I wasn't the most practical kid in the world.”

“Well, I for one think the world could use a few more poetic souls. And I have to tell you I couldn't be more thrilled that my son has picked a girl like you.” She shifted on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. “I was starting to think he'd never fall in love, that I'd done something wrong when I'd raised him. God knows his daddy never carried on like he did.”

“Rayne doesn't really talk much about him, even though it's obvious he still admires him.”

Emily set her teacup in its saucer. “It's been hard for him. He spent a few weeks each summer with his dad while he was growing up, when Luke was Stateside, but that's really all they've seen of each other since Rayne was eight.”

“Rayne told me he just up and left one day.” She chewed her lip. Had she been too bold?

“Pretty much,” Emily admitted, reaching up to touch the skin below her ear, fingers moving unconsciously.

“I'm sorry,” Christa said sincerely. “I didn't mean to make you sad. I just want to know everything about Rayne's life before I met him.”

Emily patted her knee. “Don't apologize. It was a long time ago, and most of my memories of Luke are good ones. He was the absolute love of my life.”

Christa sensed he was still the love of her life, but kept that opinion to herself.

“He was a wonderful father. You should have seen him in the delivery room. The man was a rock, never left my side for the whole twenty-two hours. And when we brought Rayne home I thought I'd die from sleep deprivation, so Luke took over at night. He never complained, not once, even though he was getting less sleep than I was.” Her eyes looked faraway.

“Was he home much?” She imagined Rayne as a boy in his bedroom playing G.I. Joe, pretending they were his dad's SEAL team. The thought made her a little sad.

“Not as often as we'd have liked, but I knew what I was getting myself into when I married him.”

“So how did you deal with him going away on missions when you knew he might not... ”

Emily raised her brows. “Might not come back alive?”

“Exactly. I got my first— and hopefully last— taste of that the other day, and I'm not sure I can watch him go off to work every shift without losing my mind.”

“Honey, I know how you feel. For some reason the men in this family can't be happy sitting behind a desk all day. So when they put themselves in harm's way for a living, we don't really have a choice but to support them and hope for the best.” Emily took her hand, squeezed it tight. “You're very strong. From what my son's told me, you've handled everything life has thrown at you and made the best of it.”

“Only because of Rayne.” The pang hit her so hard her eyes stung. “He's been so wonderful with me through this whole thing.”

“I'm glad. I can't imagine how it feels, having a stranger following you around.”

She shuddered. “It's turned my whole life upside down. But the worst part is not knowing... when he'll come after me again. I don't feel safe anywhere.”

“Just as well Rayne brought you down here then, away from it.”

She blew out a breath and gave a weak laugh, the urge to cry subsiding. “Got any of those naked baby pictures you were telling me about?”

“Albums and albums of them,” Emily said happily, and went to dig them out.

Christa enjoyed getting to know Rayne and his family through the visual history captured on the pages. One picture of Luke with Rayne perched on his broad shoulders, fishing rods in hand, reminded her of what Rayne had told her about the last fishing trip they were supposed to have taken. She tried to flip the page and distract Emily, but it was too late.

“This was the day before he left.” Her face was pale, her eyes haunted. “I'd forgotten I even took it.” She stared at it as if trying to make sense of it all.

Christa waited. She was ready for tears, yelling, whatever. Anything would be better than the lost expression on the older woman's face.

“Anyway,” Emily continued, turning the page, “this is Rayne and me with Luke's mom in Montreal. He was born up there while we were at his grandpa's funeral, you know.”

Luke was conspicuously absent, and she didn't think it was because he was away on a mission. Obviously, Emily had packed up her son and taken him to be with Luke's family. Empathy welled inside her. How could anyone pick themselves up and carry on when the love of their life walked away? She bit her lip, refusing to get teary again, although her eyes were blurring.

Emily's expression melted. “Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Really.” She pulled Christa into an embrace, patting her back. “I appreciate the sympathy, I do, but don't you dare cry. If you cry, then I'll cry too and Rayne will come home to a flood.”

She forced a watery smile. “Sorry. I think I'm overtired.”

“Well then, that's enough nostalgia for one evening. Why don't you go up and tuck yourself in? There's nothing like sleeping in an antique bed for curing jetlag.”

“I'll take your word for it.” She rose and cleared the coffee table. “Would you tell Rayne I said to give him a kiss goodnight?”

“'Course. Sleep well, dear.”

“I'm sure I will.” She rinsed the dishes before heading upstairs, brushed her teeth and washed her face in the guest bathroom that featured a claw-footed tub and a pedestal sink, then climbed into the old four-poster and pulled the down comforter over her with a sigh. The rustle of palmetto branches breezed through the open window, interspersed by the occasional swish of traffic along the street below. Even at this hour the air was muggy, the cotton sheets sticking to her skin, the unfamiliar music of cicadas drifting in from the garden. As she stared up at the silk canopy it was easy to imagine the house ringing with laughter at Christmastime, Rayne's boyhood eyes lit with the magic. Easy to imagine Luke and Emily on the porch swing together after they'd put their son to bed, basking in the simple pleasure of each other's presence. She lay there in the darkness, aching for Rayne's parents and wondering what the future had in store. Weren't there ever any happy endings?

Emily sat curled in the chair next to the fireplace, the photo album on her lap. She stared down at the last picture she'd taken of Luke, bleeding inside. All these years she'd wondered what she could have done to convince him to stay. The awful day he'd left had changed her life forever, would always be burned into her memory. Her fingers trailed over the faint scar under the angle of her jaw below her earlobe.

She lifted a hand to her face, realized she was crying and berating herself for opening old wounds, wiped away the tears. Part of her still felt broken inside, even after twenty-three years without him. To this day she'd kept her dark secret, having told Rayne only that she and his dad couldn't live together anymore. She hadn't wanted to further damage Rayne's image of his father, plus she'd known it would kill Luke if their son were ever to be afraid of him. So for all these years she'd kept silent, but now she questioned the wisdom of it.

“Mom?” Rayne's voice snapped her back to the present and she found him standing in the doorway, concern furrowing his handsome face. He looked so much like his daddy it hurt.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She tried her best to put on a happy face. “How was your night?”

He sat on the couch beside her chair. “It was great to see the guys again. You okay?” He glanced down at the photo album. “Took a walk down memory lane, did we?”

Emily set it on the table, once again closing the door on the past. “Christa was disappointed there were only a few naked baby pictures.”

He sank into the cushions. “What do you think of her?”

“I'm already in love with her.” She took his hand in hers. “She seems like an absolute sweetheart, and I'm so happy for you.”

He grinned and squeezed her chilled fingers. “I knew you'd like her.”

“She's strong and independent, and she's kind. Exactly what you need.” Exactly what she'd always wished her son would choose. Maybe she'd done a decent job with him after all.

He rubbed a hand on his jean-clad thighs before standing. “Is she asleep already?” His eyes tracked to the staircase.

“About an hour ago now. She was exhausted, so I sent her up to bed. She said to give you a kiss goodnight.”

He scratched his neck.

“You look like something's on your mind. Is it about the little boy?”

“That's on my mind, but no.” He paused in front of the fireplace.

“Did your father call you?”

He tensed. “No, and before you ask, I didn't call him either.”

Her stomach knotted, as it always did whenever they skirted this subject. “I did. To tell him what happened.” She ignored the spark of resentment in his eyes. “He had a right to know, Rayne. No matter what happened he's still your father, and if anyone knows what you're going through, he does.”

“Mom, I don't want to— ”

“I told him you might be going down to visit him.”

“You what?” Anger tightened his face. “That's about the last thing I want to do.”

She ached at his suffering, much as he tried to hide it. “Honey, I was only trying to help. He's been where you are, so I thought if you could talk to him... ” That they might be able to finally clear things up between them. Bond a bit.

The silence stretched taut, muscles working in his jaw. “All right,” he said at length, “I'll call him. But I'm not making any promises.”

Relief surged through her. “I understand.”

“Anyway, there's something I've wanted to talk to you about and I don't want to put it off anymore. It's kind of important.”

A flutter of nerves started in her belly. “Right now?”

“Yeah, if that's all right. In the library?”

Her eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. The last time she'd had a discussion in the library it had been right before Luke had hauled Rayne away to join the Marines. “Sure,” she forced out, and followed him. He closed the mahogany pocket door, then stood there.

Emily watched him with growing trepidation. “You've got a terminal disease and you only have six months to live,” she guessed.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Nothing that dramatic,” he assured her, then dropped his hands to his sides with a sigh. “I think you'd better sit down, Mom.”

Time to pay the piper
. She'd known this conversation would happen one day, but it didn't make the sick feeling any easier to bear.

Emily dropped into a ladder-backed chair like a sack of cement and cocked an eyebrow at her son, drumming her fingers on the wooden arm. This had better be good.

Twenty awkward minutes later his mother shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the mahogany paneled library. He'd always loved this room, with its mustiness of leather furniture and old books reminding him of his father. When he'd come home between missions and training ops he'd spent hours in here, Rayne lying on the floor coloring or playing with his action figures. He'd keep looking over at his dad seated in the tufted armchair behind the antique desk with a book and a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, content to be in the same room with him.

Now he sat in that same chair across the room from the fireplace, its mantel crowded with photos of him and his parents. A carriage clock ticked next to them.

It wasn't quite midnight, an hour earlier than that in Baton Rouge. His dad would still be awake, a nighthawk who often stayed up until two in the morning. If he went to bed at all, that is. Because of years dealing with sleep deprivation in covert ops, or because of nightmares, Rayne couldn't say.

He stared at the phone, contemplating what to say, wondering whether this would be yet another exercise in futility. The hell with it. He dialed the number.

His dad answered on the second ring. “Em?”

“No, it's... me.”

Silence filled the line. “Son, your mother told me you nearly bought it the other day. How you feeling?”

He rubbed his hand over his cramping stomach. Talking to his old man always did this to him. “Not bad. My arm still hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah, bullets will do that to you. You going for physical therapy yet?”

“Not until I get back. They wanted me to heal up a bit before I started.”

“They get you help after the debriefing at least?”

He shifted in his chair. “Yeah, they made me talk to a shrink about it.”

His dad grunted. “I bet that did a hell of a lot.”

“Whatever. It's protocol.” He was balancing on an emotional tightrope, this whole conversation had been a bad idea.

“You got your girl down there with you?”

Relieved at the change of subject, his shoulders loosened a bit. “She's a real keeper. Mom's crazy about her already.”