The Blackstone Legacy (16 page)

“No,” she said after a pregnant pause.

“Why not?”

“Because I have a life in Baltimore.”

He raised his head and his gray gaze searched her face, looking for a remnant of the girl he had grown up with—the one who'd captured his heart with her vulnerability, the one he'd protected from the other children who repeated gossip they'd heard from their parents about her mother.

He flashed a wry smile. “Is there someone waiting for you in Baltimore?”

Tricia thought of one of the doctors in the group where she worked. She and Wade had dated casually over the past two months, although he'd expressed a desire for it to become more than casual.

Easing out of his loose embrace, Tricia shook her head. “No,” she answered truthfully.

“Then there is a distinct possibility that you could come back to Blackstone Farms to work?”

“And do what?”

“Blackstone Farms Day School will officially operate as a private school this September. Kelly has interviewed and hired teachers for prekindergarten through sixth grade. All of the farm children will attend the school along with additional children from several neighboring farms. I believe there is still an opening for a school nurse.”

A lump settled in Tricia's throat, making swallowing difficult. What Jeremy was offering was a perfect solution for her. She could be close to her grandfather and still pursue her career. It had taken Gus more than a decade to apologize in his own way without actually saying he was sorry, but he finally had.

If her grandfather hadn't interfered, she would've married Jeremy and Gus would have had a beautiful great-grandchild to spoil or bounce on his knee. But Tricia was a realist and she knew she could not go back in time to right past wrongs. She'd made a new life for herself and there was no place in her life for Jeremy. She could not trust him not to desert her again.

If she had to take care of her grandfather, once he was no longer able to care for himself, then she would take him to Baltimore with her. The row house she'd purchased in the fashionable suburban
community had three bedrooms—more than enough room for her and Gus.

“I'm certain becoming a school nurse would be a new and wonderful experience for me, but I like where I live and I love what I do.”

Angling his head again, Jeremy stared up at her through half-closed eyes. She liked where she lived and loved her career, while he felt as if he were swimming through a haze of doubt and uncertainty. His injuries and the possibility that he might never be medically cleared to participate in future undercover missions made Jeremy consider his future.

He had wasted too many years running away when he should've stayed and confronted Tricia about Russell Smith. He'd realized that the afternoon he lay in bed in a Richmond hotel, staring at the clock, aware that she was on a jet flying to New York.

He had come back over the years to see his father, brother, nephew and sister-in-law, but he also had come back to see Tricia—to ask her why.

“Are you ready for your shower?”

Tricia's soft voice broke into his thoughts. “I will be, after you answer one question for me.”

“What's that?”

“Why did you ever sleep with Russell Smith?”

T
ricia blinked once, as if coming out of a trance, not certain whether she had heard Jeremy correctly. Had he asked her if she had slept with Russell Smith? It had been years since she had given the man a passing thought, and that was to tell her grandfather she did not want Russell's graduation gift. She'd told Gus to return it sight unseen.

“Do you actually expect me to answer that?” she retorted with cold sarcasm.

Jeremy nodded. “I'd like you to.”

She stared wordlessly at him for several seconds. “This is not about what you'd like, Jeremy.” Tricia was surprised her voice was so calm when her heart
was pounding an erratic rhythm. “If you'd asked me that question fourteen years ago I would've given you an answer. But there has been too much time between us. I've changed, while it's apparent you haven't. I'm your nurse, not your girlfriend. As long as you remember that, we will get along famously.”

Jeremy's luminous eyes widened as he glared at her. “You weren't my girlfriend, Tricia. You were my fiancée. I'd offered to give you a ring, but it was you who wanted to wait until after we'd graduated from college. If you had been wearing my ring, then that would've kept the other boys from following you around.”

“The only one who followed me was you, Jeremy. And it wasn't until I stood still long enough that you caught me.”

His black lashes concealed his gaze from hers as he stared at the thick plaster cast protecting his shattered ankle. “Did you regret it?”

“No.” His head came up and she met his direct stare. “I didn't regret it, because at that time I was ready to give up my virginity. And, why not to the boss's son?”

If Tricia had sought to wound Jeremy as much as he had her, then she knew she succeeded when she saw his expression. His black eyebrows were drawn together in an agonized expression.

Jeremy swallowed back curses—raw, ugly,
violent, crude ones he hadn't spewed in years—curses that used to bring tears to his mother's eyes and a threat to wash his mouth out with soap. He had continued to swear until her threats became a reality. Despite detesting the taste of lye soap he had still cursed, but tried never to do it in her presence.

Tricia did not have to tell him if she'd slept with Russell, because her response validated Russell's claim:
She doesn't mind sharing her goodies with the hired help as long as she can hold on to the boss's son.

He wasn't angry with Tricia but himself, because he had opened a wound he had permitted to heal, a wound with a noticeable scar. Now he was bleeding again. No, he told himself. What he'd had with Tricia was over, never to be resurrected.

With his jaw clenched, he captured and held Tricia's dark, slanting eyes. “You're right about our roles as nurse and patient. I'll make certain never to forget that as long as you're here. Now, if you don't mind I'm ready to take my shower.”

The short, curling hair on the nape of Tricia's neck stood up. It wasn't what Jeremy had said but how he'd said it that held a silken thread of warning.

Nodding, she relieved him of the T-shirt. Her mouth went dry as she stared at a broad chest covered with thick black hair. Jeremy's upper body was magnificent: defined pectorals, massive biceps and
flat abs. Despite his broken ankle, he was in peak condition.

She kept her expression and touch neutral as she relieved him of his shorts, underwear and covered his left leg and foot with the plastic cast sheath, tightening the Velcro band around his thigh. Jeremy hobbled on crutches to the circular shower and sat down on a stool under a ten-inch showerhead that was centrally positioned overhead. She handed him a plastic bottle filled with liquid soap, a cloth, and removed an auxiliary hand shower from the wall.

She picked up the crutches. “Do you want me to turn on the water?” The faucets were within arm's reach.

Jeremy shook his head. “No, thank you. I'll manage.”

Tricia met his impassive gaze. “Call me when you're finished.” Not waiting for his reply, she walked out of the bathroom.

She stood next to the hospital bed and sucked in a lungful of air. It had taken every ounce of her will-power not to glance below his waist. She had concentrated on the bruises dotting his body instead.

She had told herself that she was a nurse and as one she had seen countless nude men in various stages of arousal during her nursing school training. Some thought they could shock her whenever they summoned her to their beds to look at what
they'd considered their masculine prowess, but what they did not know was that none of them would ever affect her the way her first lover had done. It wasn't until after she'd married Dwight that she realized she was a one-man woman. That man was Jeremiah Baruch Blackstone. And she had not wanted to look at her first lover to see whether he still turned her on, because she knew she wasn't as immune to him as she wanted to be.

And if the truth be told, she still wanted him in her bed. She had never stopped wanting him in her bed.

 

As directed, Jeremy called out to Tricia that he had finished his shower. She reentered the bathroom, and the lingering steam settled around her, dampening her face and hair. His stare was fixed on her grim expression as she dried his wet body with a thirsty terry cloth towel. She removed the plastic covering from his leg, checking for moisture seepage. Twenty minutes later he sat at a table on the porch, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his left foot propped up on a low stool.

He watched Tricia like a hawk as she set a table with china and silver. She had only put out one serving. “Aren't you going to eat?”

Her head came up. “I'll eat later.”

“I'd like you to eat
now.
”

Tricia held his gaze. “If you want me to eat with you, why not ask me to…politely.”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I want you to take
all
of your meals with me.”

Tricia had forgotten that Jeremy never ate alone after his mother's untimely death. Even though the farm had a resident chef, Julia Blackstone had always cooked dinner. That had been her time to bond with her husband and sons.

She nodded. “I'll get another place setting.”

He sat motionless, staring out at the lushness of the property surrounding his house. Massive oak trees with sweeping branches provided a canopy of shade for the manicured lawn that resembled an undulating green carpet.

A knowing smile softened his mouth and crinkled the skin around his eyes. Blackstone Farms was beautiful, almost as beautiful as the primordial jungles of South America.

He closed his eyes and thought about the men on his team, men who had lived together for so long they knew the others' thoughts, men who, over the course of several years, had become as close as brothers. The six of them had trained together in Quantico, Virginia, honing their physical and mental skills. He'd become an expert in firearms, fitness and defensive tactics, as well as defensive driving training. His olive coloring and fluency in Spanish and
additional intelligence training courses made him a natural candidate for undercover missions in Latin America.

He opened his eyes, reached up with his uninjured hand and ran his fingers through his short damp hair. He had been debriefed by his superiors and informed that the probability of his returning to undercover work was questionable. The orthopedist's prognosis stated that although he would walk again without too much difficulty, the damage to his ankle would never withstand the rigors of duty in the field.

All thoughts of his future with the Drug Enforcement Administration vanished as Tricia reappeared.

“I called the dining hall and put in a request for grits and eggs.”

Jeremy's smile was dazzling. “What about bacon or sausage?”

A flash of humor crossed her face. “You really must be feeling good because there's nothing wrong with your appetite.”

“I'd have to be dead not to eat.”

She went completely still, her gaze fusing with his. “Please, Jeremy. Don't talk about dying.” She didn't think she would ever forget the image of the tiny white coffin with their child being lowered into a grave.

He sobered quickly. “I'm sorry.” He didn't know why he'd mentioned the word. He reflected again on
the three members of his team who would never see their loved ones again. The jungle had claimed all of them.

The telephone rang, interrupting both their gloomy musings. Tricia straightened. “I'll answer it.” Turning, she went back into the house and picked up the receiver to the phone on a side table in the entryway.

“Hello.”

“Good morning, Tricia.”

She recognized the distinctive drawling voice. “Good morning, Sheldon.”

“How's Jeremy today?”

“He's sitting on the porch. I'm waiting for breakfast to be delivered.”

“Good. I'm glad he's out of bed. Let him know that Ryan just called with the news that Kelly had a little girl. Mother and baby are doing well.”

She bit down on her lower lip, remembering her own joy the instant she saw her daughter for the first time. “Congratulations, Sheldon.”

“Thank you. Please let Jeremy know that Sean and I will be over later this morning.”

“Okay.” She hung up the phone, waiting until she was in control of her emotions, then returned to the porch.

One of the young men who worked in the dining hall had arrived and emptied a large wicker basket
filled with serving dishes, a carafe of coffee and a pitcher of chilled orange juice onto the cloth-covered table on the porch.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Tricia said, her soft voice breaking the silence.

Robert Thomas smiled at Tricia, blushing to the roots of his flaming red hair. “You're welcome, Miss Tricia. I'll pick up the dishes when I come back with lunch.”

Jeremy noticed the direction of the adolescent's gaze. It was fixed on Tricia's neckline. He'd told her about that doggone dress. Every time she inhaled or bent over the sight of her breasts made the flesh between his legs stir.

“Are you finished, Bobby?” His voice snapped like the crack of a whip.

His head swiveling like Linda Blair's in
The Exorcist,
Bobby stared at Jeremy. “Yes, sir.”

“If that's the case, then beat it!”

Tricia opened her mouth to censure Jeremy for his rudeness, but the retort died on her tongue as she reminded herself that Jeremy was an owner of Blackstone Farms and Bobby an employee. She did not want to undermine Jeremy's authority in front of his workers.

Bobby managed to look embarrassed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Blackstone.” Picking up the wicker basket, he
made his way off the porch and raced to the SUV he had parked in the driveway.

Pulling out a chair, Tricia sat across the table from Jeremy. She uncovered a serving dish with fluffy scrambled eggs, another with steaming creamy grits and a third with a rash of bacon, spicy beef sausage links and strips of baked ham. She reached for his plate, filled it with grits and eggs and placed it in front of him.

“I didn't know bullying was a requisite for becoming a special agent with the DEA.”

Jeremy's grip on his fork tightened. “What are you talking about?”

A slight frown marred her smooth forehead. “You didn't have to talk to Bobby like that.” Bobby had been a toddler when she left the farm to attend college.

“It was either send him on his way or have him salivating over your cleavage.”

Tricia placed a hand over her chest. “Do you have a problem with my dress?”

“It's not the dress, but what's in your dress.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Or should I say what is spilling out of your dress.”

She lowered her hand, deciding to ignore his ribald comment and served herself. “That was your father on the phone,” she said, smoothly changing the
topic. “Kelly had a girl, and both mother and baby are doing well.”

Jeremy clenched his right fist. “Boo-yaw!”

Tricia felt his enthusiasm. “Congratulations, Uncle Jeremy.”

He stared at her, his eyes brimming with tenderness. “Thank you, Tricia.”

Her lower lip trembled as her mind fluttered in anxiety. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on the food on her plate, hoping to bring her fragile emotions under control because she had involuntarily reacted to Jeremy's gentle look.

She had told herself it wasn't going to work, and now she was certain. All Jeremy had to do was look at her with a gentle yearning and she was lost—lost in her own yearning that pulled her in and refused to let her go.

There was a time when he had become her knight in shining armor, protecting her from the taunts of the other farm children. He had taught her how to love herself and in turn she had fallen in love with him.

 

Tricia watched Jeremy as he attempted to feed himself. His right hand trembled noticeably and a muscle in his jaw twitched. She put down her fork. “Would you like something to take the edge off?”

Jeremy's head came up slowly. The blinding headache had returned. “I don't know.”

“What don't you know?”

“I'm losing track of time. Whenever I wake up I don't know what day it is or whether it's day or night.”

“Time should be the least of your concerns, Jeremy. You're not going anywhere for a while.” She touched the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “As soon as you're finished eating, I'll bring you your medication.”

He nodded, then chided himself for the action. Each time he moved his head it felt as if it was going to explode.

Tricia aided Jeremy as he made his way over to a chintz-covered chaise at the opposite end of the porch. He lay motionless as she raised his injured foot to a pillow. She took his vitals and gave him the pill. Sitting on a matching rocker, she waited until his lids closed and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, indicating he had fallen asleep.