The Way Home (4 page)

Which meant he was staying. Which hadn’t necessarily been part of his plan when he’d arrived, because, as he’d told her, he didn’t really have a plan—  except to take his cues from her.

And those cues so far were pretty mixed. It wasn’t only wariness. There was that underlying anger he’d sensed, maybe even a little fear, in her. Definitely resistance. Yet her eyes had told a different story from her body language. Enough to give him hope. She was glad he’d come back. She just didn’t want to admit it.

He glanced in his rearview mirror as the store faded from sight. The last time he’d left the lake and the store, the snow had been flying, and he’d had the shakes from an adrenaline crash following a siege on a wolf pack of hired assassins. As soon as he’d gotten his act together and had been debriefed by the federal alphabet agencies and thanked by the new secretary of State herself, he’d had every intention of calling the pretty little widow with the beckoning brown eyes.

Jess Albert had saved lives that night. She’d taken a long,
hard look at him and his brother, Mike, and a very desperate Joe Green and his wife, Stephanie, when they’d shown up in the dark, stomped snow all over her floor, and asked for the impossible. Blind trust.

She’d led them to a back room, spun the combination to a gun safe, and opened it up to four strangers. Inside, a pair of AR-15 rifles sat alongside several hunting rifles, shotguns, and handguns.

“They were my husband’s,” she’d said, crossed her arms over her breasts, then stood back and invited them to take whatever they wanted.

There had been a critical word in her statement.

Were?

She’d hesitated. “IED. Afghanistan. J.R. was spec ops, too,” she’d added with a tight smile. “And yes, I can spot one of you guys a mile away.”

Some might think she’d exhibited a kind of trust normally reserved for fools or dreamers that night. She’d made it pretty clear, however, that she was neither.

He swiped a hand over his lower jaw as he steered his rental—a black Jeep Cherokee—down the bumpy asphalt. Complicated. This was every bit as complicated as he’d thought it would be.

Yet here he was. Determined to take it slow, feel his way along, and see if there was anything more than wishful thinking on his part where the vulnerable and oh so tempting Widow Albert was concerned. If it turned out to be wishful thinking, he’d take it on the chin, cut his losses, say good-bye, and get on back to his life. Maybe he’d even take his brother, Mike, up on his offer to join a top-secret spec-ops team and go back to fighting the war on terrorism.

But if she was interested . . . well . . . if she was interested, he had a feeling he might be in this for the long haul because even with everything that had happened since he’d last seen her, he’d never been able to get Jess Albert’s all-American-girl face and dark brown eyes out of his head. Those eyes had haunted him and told volumes about her. About how brave she was, how alone she was, and how determined she was to keep all of her feelings tucked away. Only she hadn’t been successful. He’d seen interest in those eyes. And no matter how many times and how many ways he’d tried to convince himself he didn’t want the complication of getting involved with a woman who most likely still mourned the death of another man, what he’d seen had compelled him. He’d intended to call.

Then his whole life had changed.

“Do you have a clue what you’re doing, Brown?” he muttered, as second and third thoughts about his harebrained idea to fly up here nipped him in the ass.

“Not lately, no,” he admitted aloud, and wondered when he’d started talking to himself.

About the time he’d left the store, very much aware of Jess’s softly curling hair and strong tan limbs as she stood in the open doorway, a shoulder propped against the jamb, arms crossed beneath her breasts, watching him pull away with a troubled furrow between her eyes. Eyes that said he had the power to hurt her, which probably made him a selfish bastard, because he really didn’t know where this was going.

He only knew that she’d been there. In the back of his mind, tucked in a corner reserved for unfinished business. Business that would have stayed unfinished if life wasn’t full of so many curves.

He hoped this didn’t end up as one of those “sounded like a good idea at the time” experiences he’d live to regret. Or that she would.

Losing Maya was something he regretted. Hell, losing her had pretty much knocked him down. But he kept thinking about Jess. Of how she’d soldiered on.

In all honesty, he wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain when he’d decided to come back here if the reason was to heal or that he’d simply never forgotten her. He needed to find out. And he needed to be honest with Jess about that.

He needed to be honest about Maya, too. He’d loved her, and he wasn’t looking to replace her. He was looking to move on. Jess Albert was a good place to start. She was a special woman. And he’d grown weary of grieving. He figured she had, too. And if not, hey, he’d been due for a change of scenery.

And boy, howdy, had he gotten it. The Crossroads General Store, with its three gas pumps, time-worn exterior, and cute-as-a-button proprietor, was a far cry from Key West. It looked a lot different in daylight from when he’d first seen it through the low beams of a rented pickup in the dead of winter on the hunt for a pack of predators hell-bent on killing some people he cared about. At least, he cared about them now. Now that he’d gotten to know them through his brother, Mike.

The terrain was as far from palm trees and sand as you could get. Dense pine and birch forest crowded within ten feet of the road’s shoulder in spots as he followed Jess’s directions, which he’d plugged into the onboard navigation system. Huge boulders and rock outcroppings popped up in the middle of a rare open meadow. He passed a couple of driveways that he assumed led to houses tucked back in the woods, a tidy log restaurant and bait shop—with an eye-roll-inducing marquee
sign inviting travelers to “Eat here and get worms”—a small country church, a very rural fire department, a marina, and Albert’s Guide Service.

He wondered if that Albert was related to Jess’s husband. The nav system dinged softly then, followed by the dulcet tones of a computerized woman’s voice. “Turn right onto Gamma Road in two-tenths of a mile.”

He drew a deep breath and flipped on his turn signal, although this deep into the forest, there wasn’t another vehicle in his line of sight.

“Turn right.”

Turn right toward what might be a new chapter in your life
 . . .

It was time.

L
iving on Lake Kabetogama was
like living in a fishbowl. There were no secrets. Kabby was a small, tightly knit community of shopkeepers, innkeepers, carpenters, and loggers mixed in with the summer residents and a steady rotation of tourists, many of whom were repeat resort customers summer after summer. Everyone looked out for everyone else—to excess sometimes—and word of a change in the norm moved faster than Kayla’s fingers across the keypad on her iPhone.

There were several restaurants on the lake within ten miles of the store where they could go for dinner but nowhere close where Jess wouldn’t run into someone she knew—from the owners to the waitresses to the regulars. So when Ty picked her up promptly at six and asked where she’d like to eat, she hadn’t hesitated.

“Would you mind terribly making the twenty-minute trip back to the Falls?” Since International Falls had the only airport within eighty miles, she’d figured he’d rented his Jeep
there. “We can swing over to Rainey Lake. There’s a pretty good restaurant right on the water.” In this land of ten thousand lakes, there was always a restaurant on another lake within driving distance.

“And a pretty good chance no one will find out you’re on a dinner date?”

He got points for being intuitive. “It would be nice to think so, but that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid.”

“Kayla?”

She smiled. “The girl has a network that would make Ma Bell green with envy.”

“Am I causing trouble for you?”

Oh, she’d have to contend with dozens of “drop-ins” within a day or so, people stopping by the store on the pretense of needing a loaf of bread or a case of soda or any number of excuses, but in truth, they’d all be angling for information. Nothing she couldn’t deflect.

J.R.’s brother, Brad, however, would be a different story. Brad had been wonderful since J.R. died. Helpful, supportive, and kind. But she knew exactly what his reaction would be when he heard about Tyler Brown. He’d be resentful. Angry, even. He’d loved his brother. He cared about her, but he would consider her interest in any man a betrayal—even after three years. More than once, she’d heard him say, “Mallards mate for life. If the drake dies, the hen never pairs up again.” Brad believed the adage applied to human marriage, too.

“No trouble,” she lied, and put Brad out of her mind. She’d deal with him when the time came . . . which, if Kayla’s grapevine was humming, would probably be sometime tomorrow morning.

Tonight was about what happened tonight. Now that she had acclimated herself to the truth—Tyler Brown had come
a long way to see her—there were things she wanted to set straight both in her mind and in his. Starting with the dressing down she’d given herself as she’d showered and gotten ready. Having dinner and polite conversation with this man was fine. But she was a pragmatic person. She knew that was as far as it was ever going to go—dinner and conversation—regardless of what he might be thinking. Regardless of how flattering it was. Once he thought about it, he’d realize it, too.

She’d reaffirmed that as they made the drive, and now, with her head on straight, she looked across their table near the window with Rainy Lake shimmering in a wide, glistening swath across the northland, glad she’d picked this place. Even though many people she knew frequented the Thunderbird restaurant, they usually reserved their dinners there for the weekends or during the off season. So she figured they had about a ninety-percent shot at anonymity on a Wednesday evening at the height of the tourist season.

“You look very pretty,” Ty said, breaking into her thoughts.

She didn’t know about pretty, but she did know it pleased her a little too much that he’d said she was. She’d turned up a soft white cotton knit top with a deep U neckline and little capped sleeves that was almost new and fit her like a glove, then tucked the shirt into a summer print skirt she’d bought for one of the Bradley boys’ weddings two summers ago. The skirt hit her mid-thigh, and between it and a pair of woven sandals with wedge heels, her legs looked long and toned.

She hadn’t given a thought to removing the wedding ring that felt like it had always been a part of her. In fact, it felt like a protective barrier of sorts tonight. A reminder of many things. She’d seen Ty’s gaze stray to her left hand when she’d gotten into the Jeep, wondered what he’d been thinking and
embarrassed by her hands, which were work-rough, with short, no-nonsense nails. Nothing she could do about that, but she’d been glad for Kayla’s jasmine and musk lotion. It had taken a couple of applications to smooth out her hands and moisturize her arms and legs to a dew-soft glow.

There wasn’t a lot she could do with her hair, but for once, the curls fell softly around her face and were actually kind of flattering. Or maybe it was the eyeliner she’d lightly smudged on her lids and the bit of blush she’d brushed on her cheeks. It had been so long since she’d made herself up and dressed for a man—even though it was not
that
kind of a date—and she actually felt a little foolish for making the effort tonight.

It hadn’t stopped her, though. She’d traded her standby gold studs for a pair of dangly copper earrings sculpted into the shape of feathers. Her necklace matched. The local artisan who had made the set had called the necklace a cleavage piece, and as Jess felt it warm against her skin, she felt a tiny stirring of arousal that self-consciousness quickly undercut.

Maybe she shouldn’t have worn it, because not only had she noticed Ty’s gaze on her left hand, but once or twice, it had also drifted to the feather between her breasts before he’d quickly looked away again.

And whoa, he was watching her face now, she realized, about the same time that she realized she’d been so busy second-guessing the effort she’d taken to look nice that she hadn’t responded to his compliment.

She met his eyes across the table and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You look pretty, too.”

“Thanks. I think.”

They both smiled at that, and she worked hard at stalling a blush. His dark hair wasn’t overly long, but the tips had been
wet when he’d arrived, which had conjured an immediate and vivid picture of him naked under a steamy spray—along with a jarring olfactory memory of how wonderful a man smelled fresh from a shower.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about and miss sex. And yes, nights when the bed felt so empty and she ached with loneliness, she’d call on a memory or a fantasy and make the occasional solo flight, and oh, boy, she needed to steer clear of that arena right now.