What the Heart Wants (13 page)

He turned to her, his dark eyes smiling. “Okay, Sacagawea, how the hell do I get to my old house from here?”

The night had gone totally dark by the time they pulled into the driveway.

He knew this house by heart. He'd hated it when he lived here, but for some reason, he hadn't sold it when he got rid of Beat Down after Growler died. Maybe because it was his last link with Bosque Bend and Laurel Harlow. Or maybe because he needed a sense of his own origin, his life path. This was his home.

He paused at the door.
Home
—an interesting concept. Somewhere deep inside, he still thought of this little house, where the worst of his life had been lived, as his home. His brow wrinkled. Perhaps everyone yearns for that kind of underpinning, to know one's origins. Was that what Lolly was trying to find in her search for her mother? Was she looking for an extended family, a heritage? Not that he knew anything about Marguerite in regard to her family. She never talked about anything personal. Even in bed, their relationship was instructor-student.

He turned his key in the lock. “I decided to keep it for income after Growler died. Hired a crew to update everything and replace the porch steps, then got the drive paved and the lawn sodded. Of course, the Bosque River still runs thirty yards behind the house, but some people see that as a plus.”

Laurel nodded. Sixteen years ago, she'd walked right in a door that opened at a push. What if the house had been locked up that Saturday morning? Would they still be here together right now? How much had that fateful day determined their current relationship?

Jase flicked the switch beside the door. Laurel blinked as a sudden flood of light ricocheted off the stark white walls. The air in the house was fresh and the temperature comfortably cool, which meant not only had the place been cleaned up and repainted, but central air had been installed somewhere along the line as well.

He turned toward the front bedroom. “I'll just be a few minutes. Have to grab my gear.”

So, he'd automatically taken his old room.

Not sure what to do while Jase gathered his clothes, Laurel went exploring. The dining area, an ell to the right off the small living room, connected to the left with a tiny, modernized kitchen more up-to-date than the one at Kinkaid House, then led to the back bedroom, which contained a double bed stripped down to its mattress. The hall took her past the bathroom, where Jase was busy packing his toiletries into a leather bag. She moved on to his room, taking a seat on the single bed.

With a clarity etched on her brain for all eternity, she could picture every item that had been in this room sixteen years ago—the football posters and sexy pinups on the wall, the tall bureau with the small mirror above it, the beer cans littering the floor, the tuna tin overflowing with cigarette butts.

Jase came in and took a suitcase from the closet, “Maxie packed everything but the kitchen sink,” he commented as he pulled a vinyl garment bag off the wooden rod. “She even stuck in my old boots. They'll come in handy when I'm walking property lines.”

Laurel studied his face as he gathered his luggage. He looked different in the brightly lit nighttime room, almost like a stranger. She remembered that she'd had the same apprehension when she'd walked into this room sixteen years ago. Suddenly nervous, she said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Do you still smoke?”

She hadn't smelled any tobacco on his breath, and she'd certainly been close enough to tell, but for some reason, she wanted him to say something, as if to confirm his identity.

He wedged his Dopp kit into an outer pocket of the suitcase and zipped the bag shut. “No, not for years. Too expensive a habit for a young father, and one I didn't want my daughter to pick up.” He set his gear next to the door. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” In a strange, unnamable mood, she changed position, languorously stretching out on the bed and leaning back on her elbows, her knees bent, her head flung back. There was a hot running fever in her that had to be appeased, a molten river of desire.

Jase looked over at her, and his eyes narrowed as he remembered the last time she had seen him smoke and the last time she had been in this room. He walked over to the bed slowly, purposefully.

“I don't usually drink much either,” he said in a deeper voice, anticipating her next question and sitting down beside her on the bed. “Now or then.”

He sat beside her and leaned over to drop little half kisses on her forehead and nose and cheeks. “But, I can't say the same thing about sex,” he added in a hoarse whisper. “That's a bad habit I haven't been able to break.”

She looped her arms around his neck to pull him down to her mouth and kiss him, moving her lips to his mouth and cheeks, tracing his ears with her darting tongue. Her hands slid under his shirt for access to his warm, solid flesh, and she fumbled at his slacks, which he hadn't bothered to belt.

God, she is dynamite, this sleepy-eyed Southern honey!
The back of his mind cycled back to that other time when they had been together in this room, when he had wanted her because she was clean and decent and because he loved her more than anybody else in this world. Now it was her turn to take the lead.

She managed to unbutton the tab of the pants to get them unzipped, but was stymied by his body weight when she tried to move them off him.

“Let me take care of that,” he muttered, rising and turning enough to slide his slacks and briefs off at once.

She fumbled with her own jeans but was too disoriented to figure out how to unfasten them. Jase pushed aside her hands and opened her jeans himself, then pushed them down to her knees.

She was on him like a fury. Her eyes were closed, her color was high, and her moist, searching mouth was half-open. God, she was hungry! He rolled her beneath him, entering hard and fast. She thrashed and moved her head back and forth, arching up against him for deeper penetration.

This was going to be quick. He was already up to warp speed.

Her fingernails clawed his back, and his brain cut out on him. This was it!

She hit first, cutting loose with a long, quivery cry as she bucked up against him.

He arched back in response and groaned as his tension reached its zenith, then released him into shudders of unbearable ecstasy.

They lay in the narrow bed afterward, cuddling and talking. “I want us to sleep here tonight,” Jase said, holding her against him. “In my house, in my bed. This is where it all began.”

The next morning Laurel awoke to the world of reality. With Jase's luggage in the back of the Escort, they returned to Kinkaid House. After dropping his suitcase and garment bag off in the bedroom across the hall, they showered—separately—changed clothes, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of what Laurel now considered to be her specialty, French toast.

She added a little nutmeg to the recipe to spice it up, then congratulated herself on her cleverness. There was nothing to this cooking business. People made too big a fuss about something that was basically pretty simple.

The first thing on her agenda for the day was a trip to the Waco airport for Jase to pick up his car. Before they left, she placed a carefully packed Meissen clock in the Escort's backseat.

“I'll drop it off at the repair shop on the way back,” she explained. “It's not keeping the right time.”

But after letting Jase off at the airport parking lot, she sped over to her favorite Waco pawnshop and scored three hundred dollars. It could have brought ten times that if she had left it with an antique dealer on consignment, but she needed the cash immediately. Back in Bosque Bend, she deposited the check in First National and heaved a sigh of relief.

Jase was surprised to see that he'd beaten Laurel back to the house, and even more surprised to see Sarah coming across the street toward him as he was getting out of the car.

He walked down the drive to meet her. “You're taking your life in your hands, crossing Austin Avenue like that.”

She glanced back at the street and shrugged. “It's not really that bad, if you're careful. I've been doing it since I was a kid. There are always lulls.” Pausing for a moment, she looked at him as if trying to decide what to say. “You're Jase Redlander, aren't you?”

He nodded, suddenly wary. Bosque Bend could be quick on the trigger. Was he going to get run out of town again? He'd couldn't help but take a quick glance toward Laurel's house. At least this time they'd have cause.

“I'm Sarah Edelman.” She extended her hand. “I used to be Laurel's best friend, but we've sort of lost contact lately.” She held on to the handshake, her dark eyes dancing as she smiled up at him in shrewd assessment. “Lord, you're a hunk. I remember back in high school, when Laurel had such a terrible crush on you. She thought you hung the moon.”

Jase grinned. What else could he do when a pretty woman complimented him? “I felt the same way about her. I still do.”

Sarah's playfulness faded and she dropped his hand. “I just wondered…How's she doing. I mean, is she okay?”

Jase was baffled at the strange turn of the conversation. Did Sarah think he'd killed her old friend and stowed the body in the attic? “She's just fine. Uh—would you like to come inside and wait for her? I'm expecting her any minute.”

“No, no, that's okay. My mother would wonder where I'd gotten off to.” She flashed a quick, meaningless smile. “You know, she'd think I'd ditched the boys on her and run off to join a circus or something.”

There was a message unspoken that he didn't understand. “Do you want me to have Laurel call you when she gets home?”

“
No
!” Sarah caught a quick breath and stepped back in denial. “I mean, I'd better be getting back now. Uh—nice to see you again.” She raised her hand in a brisk farewell, walked quickly to the curb, and made her way across the street without looking back.

J
ase watched to be sure Sarah made it across the street.

What the hell was that all about?

He shrugged. Oh well, he had other things to tend to, and first on his list was the dishwasher. He walked to the den and picked up the phone, offering an extra twenty if the repairman got to the house within fifteen minutes.

The guy made it in ten.

Laurel paused for a second after entering her driveway. She'd given Jase a key in case he got back first, but she hadn't expected him to have company. There, in the parking area in front of the garage, angled beside Jase's Cadillac, sat an appliance company van.

She entered through the kitchen door. What now?

God help her. Jase, Mr. Cool, was leaning against a kitchen counter, his long legs crossed at the ankles, as he carried on a conversation about the Baylor Bears' upcoming season with a uniformed repairman who was down on the floor doing something to the innards of her dishwasher.

A twinge of anger zinged through her. Now she'd have to pay for something else she couldn't afford.

Jase came over to her, encircled her waist with one arm, and kissed her cheek in greeting. “I didn't think you'd let me put in central air, honey, but I'm going to insist on this thing being fixed.”

Slipping out of his embrace, she affected an air of indifference. “I've been meaning to have it taken care of, but it just didn't seem worthwhile with me being the only one in the house.”

Moving to the pantry, she began to prepare sandwiches for their lunch, which gave her an excuse to stay in the kitchen and keep an eye on developments.

How much would the work cost? Could she ask to be billed?

But when the repairman started to present her with an invoice, Jase hauled out his wallet, peeled off a couple of large bills, and handed them over. It was a relief, but it also made her uncomfortable.

Guests don't pay for food, and they don't pay for dishwasher repairs either.

After lunch, they retired to the den. Jase had some calls he needed to make, and she wanted to read a little—not that she could concentrate on Georgette Heyer's historical with all the talk of CPDs, LOIs, and Phase I Reports going on. None of the terms meant a thing to her, but Jase's way of handling things was an eye-opener.

The business side of him was
all
business. His voice became clipped, his face hardened into granite, and he brooked no nonsense. Want and hardship had forged him. He'd gone through fire and come out steel.

Maybe she should have been repulsed, but actually this hard-as-nails aspect fascinated her. If Daddy had possessed even half of Jase's business acumen, she wouldn't be pawning clocks on the sly. Laurel winced in sudden sorrow—Daddy had had more weaknesses than letting money flow through his fingers like water.

The phone rang again, but with the opening bars of “Five Foot Two.” Jase's voice changed, becoming more humanoid.

“Hi, sweetheart. Good to hear from you.”

Laurel smiled. He'd switched into father mode.

“You want how much money for
what
?…Lolly, don't you think the one you have is good enough? It's not as if you'll be playing tennis at school this fall. You've already committed to the volleyball team…My permission?…Okay, give me the guy's name and where I send it…”

Jase was gesturing at her now, making a wiggling motion with his hand. Laurel stared at him, trying to understand. Did he want her to write something down? There was a tablet in the desk. She stood up and rolled back the top.

He turned away from the mobile for a second.

“My pen, Laurel!” he hissed. “I left it in the kitchen when we were making the grocery list! I need my pen!”

“Gotcha.” She raced down the hall, picked up his Mont Blanc, and was back within seconds, grabbing a notepad on the way.

Jase seized the pad and uncapped his pen. “Thanks, babe. I was about to write on my palm.”

Still holding his phone to his ear, he scribbled an address on the pad. “Uhm-hmm…uhm-hmm…well, okay, but I want to see some follow-through…okay…yeah, uh, okay, I'll tell Laurel you said that…I love you too, sweetheart. 'Bye now. Take care of Aunt Maxie for me.”

He ended the call, looked at Laurel, and breathed deep. “I never know what she'll be into next.”

“The tennis camp?”

He smiled in paternal resignation. “Lolly's usual idea of an emergency. Her instructor mentioned a particular racket he liked, and she wanted permission to go out and buy it immediately—two hundred and fifty dollars on the hoof, and she's just been playing for three days.”

“Was that all? The conversation sounded a little odd toward the end.” She'd heard her name mentioned.

Jase came around and captured her waist from the back. “That was because she caught on that I'm still at your house.”

“Was she upset?” Lolly was no dummy. She knew what it meant that her father was staying at her house, and teenagers could be real prigs as far as the sexual behavior of their parents was concerned.

Jase kissed the back of Laurel's neck and smoothed his hands down her hips. “She wants you to come back to North Plano with me.”

“She doesn't still think I'm her mother, does she?”

“No, you pretty much cleared that up, but she's got a crush on you—just like I do.”

Laurel smiled and snuggled her buttocks against him, but before they could get anything going, the phone rang again. Jase released her and morphed back into Mr. Tycoon.

Half an hour later, he glanced at his watch and announced he needed to visit the bank before it closed. “I assume First Bosque Bend National is still downtown?”

She nodded. “It'll be there forever.”

“I need to talk to a banker, someone who knows the local scene.” He stood up. “Gotta go grab a sports jacket and head over there.”

Laurel bit her lip. “Dave is a vice president at First. He moved up when Consolidated bought it. His new wife's father is a big stockholder.”

Jase's nostrils flared. “This is about business and growth potential, not about old times.”

And not
, she prayed,
about me
.

Or Daddy.

His head buzzing with speculation, Jase swung into traffic and headed to town, which translated to six blocks farther down Austin Avenue.

Laurel had seemed worried about him running into her ex. Was she afraid Dave would say something derogatory about her? Maybe tell Jase why they'd divorced?

Why
had
the marriage gone bad? Laurel wasn't the type to play around—but neither was Dave. More likely, the money had run out. In fact, maybe Dave had somehow caused the money to run out. Maybe he'd spent all of Laurel's inheritance, then ditched her. But that didn't make sense—Dave was an opportunist, not a high roller.

The light in front of him turned red and Jase braked to an easy stop. Looking around, he noticed that a medical facility was being constructed on the big corner lot where the farmers' market used to be. Yeah, Bosque Bend was definitely on the move.

A redheaded child in the car next to him caught his eye, reminding him of Sarah Bridges's visit earlier in the day, just before Laurel got back to the house.

No, not Sarah
Bridges
anymore—Sarah
Edelman.
It was hard to imagine her settled down and with children. She'd always been a real live wire.

He mulled over their strange conversation. Why had Sarah acted so oddly, asking about Laurel's welfare, yet not wanting him to tell Laurel? Did it have anything to do with that constant shadow that seemed to be lurking behind Laurel's calm gray gaze? With that odd reticence whenever he brought up her father's name? What was the big secret? He'd told Laurel everything there was to know about himself—his father, Lolly, Marguerite—yet she didn't trust him enough to tell him what was bugging her. What was so horrible that she had to hide it from him?

He snorted. Goddamn. Given his background, there wasn't anything he couldn't accept. Had she killed someone? Robbed a bank? He exhaled on a slight laugh.

Nope.
Given the obvious state of her finances, that one was out.

The pickup behind him honked, and Jase realized the light had changed. Stepping on the accelerator, he cleared the intersection and settled into a sedate thirty miles per hour.

His mind focused on the business at hand as he neared First National. He hoped he'd be able to deal with Dave in a straightforward way. They'd never had much of a relationship off the field, but he'd always seemed genial enough—sort of low-key, actually.

He circled the block to scope out the lay of the land, parking in a suddenly available space right out front. First National was no longer the only show in town, he knew, but it was the biggest, and thus the one best suited to his purposes. He remained in the car a few minutes longer, studying the scene. Apparently the hookup with Consolidated had been beneficial. First National's marble-columned facade had expanded to take in what used to be a hardware store next door, and, from what he could tell, the building's two upper floors now housed bank offices instead of law firms and insurance agencies.

He grabbed his white Stetson from the seat beside him. Did he dare invade the sanctum sanctorum of Bosque Bend enterprise? Times change, and memories fade, he reminded himself. Besides, money talks, and that's one thing he had plenty of. He caressed the soft leather upholstery of his top-of-the-line Cadillac as he slid out of the car and affected an easy, confident stride as he walked up the steps into the bank.

Never let 'em see you sweat.

The lobby was a far cry from the dark, cramped stronghold where he used to cash checks from his lawn-mowing customers. Sunshine poured in through a skylight in the center of the room, and loan applicants now awaited their turns in the comfort of deep-cushioned couches instead of a row of penitent, straight-backed wooden chairs. Old Mrs. Maguire, who used to reign supreme over the information desk and would watch him like a hawk when he walked through the revolving door, had been replaced by a thirtyish blonde who looked at his business card and told him how to get to the appropriate office.

“Welcome to Bosque Bend,” she added in a throaty tone that reminded him of Marguerite. “If you'd like to see what the town has to offer, I'm free for the evening.”

“I think my wife has other plans,” he responded, smiling broadly. It was his standard line to warn off women on the make. He'd do his own choosing.

The bank officers were housed in the bowels of the building, the old section down a dark hall. Jase half wondered if there was a dungeon waiting for him at the end of it. But no, the hall opened into an airy room presided over by a middle-aged woman who smiled and told him that Mr. Carson had signed out for the day, but Mr. Freiberg, vice president in charge of investments, would be happy to see him.

Craig Freiberg turned out to be an eager up-and-comer with a brand-spanking-new MBA. Jase, who'd squeezed in a couple of years of business classes after he'd gotten his GED, liked MBAs. He hired a lot of them.

“My wife and I are both from Houston, but we didn't want our kids to grow up in a big city,” Craig explained, handing Jase his card. “So when I got the offer here at First, we jumped on it.”

Jase pretended to relax back into his chair, but his mind was working at the speed of light. Craig seemed a lot sharper than ol' Dave had ever been, which meant, although there was no chance of playing detective about Laurel's failed marriage, he had lucked out businesswise.

He handed over one of his own cards to introduce himself.

Craig's eyes opened wide as he read it. “Jason Redlander. I've heard of you.”

Jase nodded and started to relax for real. He liked the positive name recognition. It made up for his first sixteen years of the opposite.

Craig leaned forward, the very picture of an eager puppy. “What can First National do for you?”

“You can orient me to what's going on locally. I'm interested in undeveloped properties, initially for parking lots. My company has investments up and down the I-35 corridor, and from what I've seen, Bosque Bend's good to go.”

Smiling like Foxy Loxy, Craig folded his hands on his desk. “No problem. You made the right choice coming here. Bosque Bend used to be your typical moribund Texas small town, but within the past ten years, it's had a change in attitude and decided to let the rest of the world in. The population has doubled, and we have lots of new businesses—Walmart, Office Depot, Home Depot, Starbucks, G&G Chicken, you name it. A couple of small manufacturers have set up shop here too, and we've got a big hotel chain coming in. Sometimes we have problems with the Old Guard, but the mayor and city council are very proactive. They've even swung a couple of big government grants for beautification and flood control. Drive down by the river and you'll see what I mean.” Craig gestured in invitation. “I've seen pictures of what the area used to look like, and you wouldn't believe the change.”

“You mean the Shallows?” Jase nodded in agreement. “I can believe it. I grew up around here.”

Craig's face lit up with interest. “You're visiting relatives?”

“Staying with an old friend.”

Craig reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a beige postcard-sized pasteboard. “Well, if you're going to be here for a few of days, let me give you this.” He signed the card with a grand flourish and handed it over to Jase. “It's is a guest pass for two to the Bosque Club, good for an evening out on the bank. You'll enjoy it—and might run into some people you used to know.”

Jase looked at him in surprise. “The Bosque Club? It's still in existence?”

When he was growing up, the 1880s limestone block building on Crocket Avenue had acted as the second home for the high-and-mighty families of the town, with Reverend Ed frequently serving as president. Laurel probably knew every brick of the building by its first name.