What the Heart Wants (2 page)

Laurel froze.

“Mama and Daddy are dead.” She kept her voice steady as she placed the photo on the little table again. “I'm living here alone now, and I'm between jobs, so I spend most of my time at the house.”

Jase's mouth opened and closed. She'd caught him by surprise. Apparently he hadn't kept up with the goings-on in his old home town. Who could blame him? He'd been all but ridden out on a rail.

“I'm sorry about that. I'd meant to come back here sometime to visit with your dad. Reverend Ed's support meant a lot to me. He's the only one who believed in me through that whole mess, you know. I guess I thought he was eternal.”

Laurel shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever.” And Daddy, her wonderful Daddy, had died in spirit long before his body finally gave out. She studied the philodendron in the wicker stand beside her guest. How long had it been since she'd watered the local vegetation? And why on earth had she focused on the stupid plant? Because she didn't want to think about Daddy.

Jase exhaled softly. “I thought maybe you were here visiting your parents, but you and Dave are living in this house now? Aunt Maxie said you two—”

“Dave Carson and I were divorced three years ago,” she interrupted. “And we didn't have any children. I've been teaching music for the past six years at Lynnwood Elementary, a new school over on the east side of the river, but my contract wasn't renewed. I'm trying to sell the house so I can get a fresh start somewhere else.”

He leaned forward to lay his big hand gently on hers. His voice was soft and comforting.

“I'm sorry for that too. It's hard to start over in a new place.”

Her eyelids quivered. What was this man doing to her? She refused to let herself dissolve into tears just because Jase Redlander had gotten her libido going, then offered her sympathy when no one else had.

Withdrawing her hand, she directed the subject back to Jase's truant daughter. “What makes you think Lolly will come here?”

“Her history class did a unit on personal roots last semester, and she's been after me ever since, wanting to know about my family.” He paused as if trying to decide what to say. “And her mother's.”

His eyes avoided her questioning glance and wandered around the room.

Laurel held her breath. Had he noticed the Greek statues were gone? Daddy would have called it false pride, but she didn't want anyone to realize she was pawning jewelry and selling off family heirlooms to buy her bread and butter. Having the
FOR SALE
sign in front of the house was different—the more people who knew she was planning to leave Bosque Bend, the better. Maybe then they'd get off her back.

She glanced at the baby grand in the corner next to Daddy's office. There was no way to take anything that large with her when she moved. She'd tried to sell it—discreetly, of course—but it turned out that old pianos were a drag on the market. Her hands flexed. The Steinway was so out of tune that she could hardly bear to play it anymore, but how could anyone not love a piano?

Jase began again. “I cleaned up my father's memory as much as possible for Girl Child, but had to do some pretty fast talking when it came to her mother. I tried to keep things vague, but she added two and two and came up with five.”

“Five?”

“She left a note. She's come to Bosque Bend to find you. She—she thinks you're her mother.”

Laurel's eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. What? Had she heard him right?

“Me? Why? Your wife—”

His gaze held steady. “I'm not married and never have been. Lolly's mother abandoned her at birth.”

Laurel felt like she was treading water. “You're a—a single father?”

He nodded.

She reached for a lifeline. “But…usually the mother takes the baby.”

“She wasn't the maternal type.”

The tide was rising. “But I still don't understand. Why me? Why does your daughter think
I'm
her mother?”

Jase dropped his gaze and moved his hand as if trying to back off from the question.

“I…well…it just happened. It wasn't deliberate. I think she misinterpreted some of the stories Maxie told her from when we used to live here.” He cleared his throat. “You remember Maxie, don't you? Maxine Hokinson, Swede Hokinson's daughter, my mother's oldest sister? She's the one who subbed at your friend Sarah Bridges's house that summer their regular housekeeper got swarmed by Africanized bees. Anyway, you don't need to get involved—just call me if Lolly shows up on your doorstep, and I'll come fetch her.”

“All right.” What else could she say? She was way out of her depth.

He glanced at his watch. “I've got to go now. It's getting late, and I don't want to be gone from the old house too long, in case Lolly shows up there.”

Laurel stood up to walk him out. “I'm sure you'll find her soon.”

She was sure of no such thing, but at least she hoped so. A fifteen-year-old could land herself in a lot of trouble in an unfamiliar town, no matter how small.
The Retriever
had reported that a group of rowdy teenagers had been gathering in the parking lot of old Bosque Bend High School every night this summer and disturbing residents nearby. Art Sawyer had accompanied the story with a blistering editorial about underage drinking and promised more to come as the investigation continued.

Lord only knows how Art always got the inside scoop. Probably because his wife was a Hruska and her cousin's nephew was the new chief of police. That's how things worked in Bosque Bend. The old families, the ones that had been anchored there for generations, all knew each other, and—good, bad, or indifferent—the news got around.

Laurel unlocked the big front door, then held the screen open with one hand while offering the other to Jase in farewell. He enveloped it in his own for a single warm second and smiled at her—that dazzling, absolutely devastating smile that people saw so rarely, the smile that had sealed her to him for all eternity when she was just fifteen.

“Thank you, Laurel. You're kinder to me than I deserve.”

Her heart thumped so loudly that he should have been able to hear it. She watched as he crossed the lawn to the long driveway on the south side of the house, waved once, and opened the door of his car—a big black Cadillac, just like Daddy used to drive.

Accustomed to Dallas's big-city traffic, Jase made his way through Bosque Bend's rush hour without even noticing it.

Where the hell was Lolly? Girl Child was quite a handful, but she'd never pulled a stunt like this before. A shiver shot through him as he glanced at the rapidly setting sun.

Relax, Jase.
Everything's going to be all right. Lolly's a smart kid. She can take care of herself. In fact, she's probably sitting on the front porch of the old house right now, waiting for you to come pick her up. Where else could she be? You needn't have bothered Laurel by barging in on her like that.

He changed lanes, moving to the left.

Laurel…instead of working himself into a panic about Lolly, he'd think about Reverend Ed's daughter, like he always did when his life started going down the crapper. She was the only girl he'd ever loved, and remembering her kindness—her goodness—gave him peace and strength.

But this time, picturing Laurel Harlow in his mind's eye made him feel even worse. His fingers tightened on the leather-covered steering wheel. Sixteen years to learn better, and he'd still made a complete ass out of himself when he tried to talk to her—but he'd never imagined she'd be orphaned and divorced, all alone in that big, cavernous house.

His mouth twisted. He should have figured out something was going on when Information told him the Harlow number was unlisted. That was quite a change from the old days, when half the boys in Bosque Bend were on the horn to Reverend Ed—or at least the “at-risk” half.

But how could anyone be stupid enough to let Laurel Harlow get away? Driving into town earlier this afternoon, he'd thought that ol' Dave was one man who went to bed happy each night. As a teenager, Laurel had been sexy as hell—tall, with a full-breasted woman's body, soft gray eyes fringed with long black lashes, her lips sweet and tender—the princess of Bosque Bend. Now, in full womanhood, she was in her glory.

He stomped on his brake as a traffic signal that hadn't been there sixteen years ago went from amber to red in front of him. Time to switch on his headlights. The last of the radiant sunset had finally sunk below the horizon.

He'd better get a move on. His old neighborhood had always held a particularly prominent position on the Bosque Bend police blotter, and he didn't want Lolly out there alone after dark.

The signal turned green. He hit the accelerator and shot forward.

Crap! He'd missed his turn.

No wonder. The old Alamo Drive-in on the corner of Crocket Avenue had finally been torn down, and in its place was a Walmart, complete with a large, white marquee advertising a post–July Fourth sale in patriotic red-and-blue letters.

Which meant that Overton's Department Store, which had reigned supreme on the city square since before he was born, finally had some competition. Jase smiled grimly. At least Overton's blatant racism ended when Reverend Ed threatened Dolph Overton, this generation's CEO, with a congregational boycott. You didn't fuck around with the pastor of the biggest church in town.

Exiting at the next street, he circled back, driving through the crowded parking lot. A constant stream of customers entered the store through the sliding door on the right, slowing him down to a crawl. Another wellspring exited from the slider on the left, the adults carrying bags of merchandise and pushing grocery baskets while the children bounced red, white, and blue balloons on strings. He maneuvered carefully around a little boy dashing about in the near dark with a blue balloon tied to his wrist, U-turned, and eased out onto Crocket again.

How much time had he lost? The streetlights were glimmering now. Night was falling fast.

L
aurel stayed outside on her porch to watch the last of the dying sun dodge behind the English half-timber directly across the street. The early evening had dissolved into a humid, uncomfortable twilight, but she felt reborn. She'd been in a haze for six weeks, ever since she'd been laid off, but the scent of honeysuckle was on the breeze, Jase Redlander was back in town, and she was alive again.

Losing her job had been the ultimate shock after almost three years of shocks. First there was the business about Daddy, then the inevitable repudiation by their friends and neighbors, then the divorce. Through it all, Laurel continued driving across town every day to teach her music classes at Lynnwood Elementary. In fact, she had to—with Daddy unemployed, she was the family breadwinner.

She'd always enjoyed teaching, but as Mama's health declined, her students became even more important to her. No longer was she a twinkle-toed fairy who danced through life with her feet scarcely touching the ground, no longer a two-dimensional representation of her saintly father and well-bred mother, but someone who brought the joy of music into children's lives.

She sang with them, taught them rhythm instruments and recorders, explained elements of music theory, planned performances, stayed after school to teach basic piano to those who were interested. And all the time, she loved them, even the ones who didn't love her—especially the ones who didn't love her, because now she understood that they were the ones who needed her love the most.

So how in the world had she, a favorite of students and parents alike, ended up being laid off?

“The school board has chosen not to offer you another contract, Laurel,” her principal had told her. “I'll give you a good reference, but I've been told there aren't any other positions open for music teachers in Bosque Bend at this time.”

In other words, the Lynnwood residents, newbies to Bosque Bend, may have liked her, but the old guard wanted to sweep her under the rug. Betty Arnold knew the score. And Laurel did too—the good reference was a bribe so she wouldn't get the state teachers union involved.

“So sorry, my dear.” Mrs. Arnold gave her a fake smile. “Have you considered relocating?”

Yes, darn it, she was relocating, and she hoped never to set eyes on this misbegotten little town ever again!

Now, Laurel, you're not being fair.

The truth was that Bosque Bend had given her an incredibly idyllic childhood. As the daughter of the most respected man in town and the heiress to the Kinkaid fortune, she'd been everyone's darling. Teachers had praised her scholarship and character, the city council passed a resolution every year wishing her a happy birthday, she was elected president of every school organization she belonged to, she had an escort to any function she chose to attend, and all the kids wanted to be her friend.

But now she was the town pariah.

The yard lights across the street switched on, stunning the cicadas into silence and illuminating the Bridgeses' front lawn with the sharp brightness and harsh shadows of a nighttime carnival. Laurel tensed and clutched at a porch post as a tall woman, her hair catching fire under the artificial light, walked out the front door with a preteen boy. She had a ball in one hand and a leather mitt in the other.

This must be the week that Sarah visited her mother. If it were three years ago, she'd have crossed the street the second that red Mercedes SUV pulled into the driveway. But not now.

Dear God, she missed Sarah. Sarah Bridges. Well, Sarah Bridges
Edelman
now—her best friend since they were seven years old.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flicker of a light being turned on in the fourth-floor turret of the stucco Spanish-style castle next door to the Bridges. Everyone in town knew what that meant—Pendleton Swaim was hard at work on the second installment of his thinly veiled fictionalized account of the history of Bosque Bend, or, as he called it,
Garner's Crossing
. The first book had all the old-timers threatening to shoot him because of what he'd written about their great-grand-daddies—especially Coy Menefee, who told everyone he met that he was carrying concealed, which pretty much eliminated the element of surprise.

Sarah's son let out a yell as he caught a high ball.

Laurel smiled.
Good boy!
That was her godson, Eric. He had a real arm on him, and with a coach like Sarah, he'd be an all-star.

She inhaled sharply and tried to duck behind a porch post as the Pflugers' beautifully restored Bentley Flying Spur turned into their driveway next door, their headlights momentarily sweeping across her.

But what did it matter if Sarah spotted her? After three years of ignoring her, there was no way her old friend was going to acknowledge her now. Laurel edged forward to get a better view as mother and son threw the ball back and forth with smacking force.

Sarah, tall and long-limbed, had been a natural athlete from elementary on. She was a cheerleader in middle school and high school, played on the softball team, and ran cross-country. Laurel did the cheerleader thing in middle school too, but decided to concentrate on academics in high school. Academics and, of course, music. For Mama and Daddy, it began one Sunday after church when, just four years old, she'd gone to the piano and sounded out “Amazing Grace.” But for her, the music had begun much earlier, maybe when she was born, maybe at the first moment her DNA was strung together.

The front door opened as Mrs. Bridges and Sarah's middle son, Luke, came out and sat on the front step to watch Sarah and Eric practice. Mrs. Bridges's aging Great Dane lay at her mistress's feet.

Laurel moved to the edge of the porch to get a better look at the toddler Mrs. Bridges was carrying in her arms.

Sarah's youngest was a firetop, just like his mother.

Luke and his grandmother yelled and hooted as Eric missed an easy lob. Nothing daunted, he ran into the darkness of the Overtons' house next door to find the ball in the deep grass, Sarah fast behind him.

Balancing her grandson on her hip, Mrs. Bridges stood up from the porch step to watch. Her short hair, more auburn now than the bright red it had been years ago, looked almost black under the night lights, but it was, as usual, perfectly styled. In fact, Laurel had never seen Sarah's mother when she hadn't been perfectly turned out. Tonight she had on jeans, mocs, and a loose peasant blouse. On anyone else, the outfit would look casual. On her, it looked haute couture. Maybe it was the bangle bracelets and hoop earrings. Maybe it was Marilyn Bridges.

Laurel had regarded Mrs. Bridges as her second mother, and she knew Sarah's house as well as she knew her own. Of course, it had been more fun across the street. Mama and Gramma, who were always hanging around when Sarah visited, preferred that she and Sarah play indoors, usually with dolls or at quiet board games, but Marilyn Bridges encouraged them to go outside and bounce on the trampoline, splash in the big backyard pool, or wave green-and-gold pompoms and shriek out Baylor football cheers.

Mrs. Bridges readjusted her grip on her grandson and raised a hand to her mouth like a megaphone. “You'll never see it in the dark! Get another one or wait till tomorrow!”

Eric reached down and lifted up the missing ball. “Found it!”

Luke cheered and Mrs. Bridges applauded from the porch steps.

After high school, Sarah went off to the University of Texas to play softball for the Longhorns while Laurel traveled just down the road to Baylor to major in music and pick up a teaching degree, but they'd stayed in touch. Sarah, who'd apparently slept with every straight guy at UT, discovered her birth control had failed her the semester before she graduated, and asked Laurel to be maid of honor at her hurry-up wedding. Four years later, Sarah, pregnant with her second son, was the honor attendant when Laurel, the world's oldest virgin, married Dave Carson.

The little redhead whimpered and began moving restlessly in his grandmother's lap. After a few minutes, Mrs. Bridges stood up and took him and Luke inside.

Sarah looked toward the door and removed her mitt, but Eric thumped the ball into his glove a couple more times. “Aw, Mom, stay out with me. We don't have to go in now.”

Sarah shook her head. “Sorry, hon, but you know how cranky Baby gets at this time in the evening. It's not fair to palm him off on your grandmother.”

She started toward the house, then suddenly turned around as if she'd just had an idea.

“Okay, Eric, just one more.” She edged backward toward the house, which made Eric take a position nearer the street to face her.

“Think high!” She lifted her arm and hurled it forward.

Eric leapt up, but the ball sailed far above his head.

Laurel lost its arc in the darkness, then was surprised to hear something land with a plop scarcely five yards in front of her.

In a flash, Sarah, dodging a minivan that came to a screeching halt to accommodate her, ran across all four lanes of Austin Ave. She bent down to pick up the ball, gave Laurel a quick smile, breathed out a quick “Hi!” then raced back across the street and motioned to her son. “Come on, hon. Time to go in.”

After hanging back for a resentful second, Eric trudged after his mother, closing the door behind him. The yard lights went out.

Laurel blinked into the darkness. What was that all about? Was Sarah losing her touch—or had she deliberately overthrown the ball as an excuse to cross the street and reestablish contact?

Jase drove slowly down the road, searching for his old home.

He knew twilight was a great equalizer, but the neighborhood sure looked a lot better than it had ten years ago when he'd come back to town after Growler fell into the Bosque River after a night of heavy drinking and drowned. In fact, it looked downright respectable—without a single junk pile, broken-down car, or scavenging dog pack in sight.

Thank God that Lolly would never know the squalor he'd grown up in. “Poor but honest” was the picture he'd always painted of his childhood—he'd told her very little about his father, sugarcoated his childhood, and said squat about why he'd left town.

His high beam cut across the front of the house as he turned into the drive, but no forlorn-looking teenager was sitting on the front steps.

His mouth went dry and his chest tightened.

What if…

No, he refused to go down that road. He was Lolly's father. He'd know if something had happened to her…wouldn't he?

He ran his eyes over the shadowed porch again.

Goddamn—where was she? If she wasn't at Kinkaid House, she
had
to be here.

He backed the Cadillac into the driveway—if there was an emergency, he needed to be able to haul ass. Easing himself out of the car, he leaned against the side of it for a long moment, gazing into the sky and trying to be logical while his heart raced like the Indianapolis 500.

Maybe she'd found a way to get into the house. Girl Child had been an expert at picking locks ever since she was two, when she'd shrieked “Me do it!” and unbuckled her own car-seat belt, which, of course, meant he had to spend half the night on the Internet, searching for a tamperproof seat belt. But, truth be told, he was proud of her willfulness, even encouraged it. As far as he was concerned, it was a survival trait.

But there was a big difference between a willful toddler unlocking her seat belt and a willful fifteen-year-old taking off down I-35 on her own.

And, oh God, I love her so much.

He shoved off the car and walked up onto the porch, took a one last quick look around the porch, unlocked the door, and flipped on the lights.

“Lolly?”

His voice echoed in the empty house.

Maybe she hadn't heard him.

“Lolly!”

No answer.

He made a swift search of every room, opening every closet, then checked out back.

Nada.

A chill crept over him. He walked into his old room at the front of the house, raised the blind on the lone window, and looked up at the evening star—the wishing star, as Aunt Maxie called it—and willed his daughter to miraculously appear.

Laurel turned off the TV and started up the stairs to prepare for bed. The sixth step produced a groan straight out of Transylvania. She glanced behind herself.

Get a grip, Laurel Elizabeth.

The sound of old wood creaking under stress had been part of her life since she was born, along with occasional noxious smells emanating from the walls, and lightweight curtains floating in sudden, inexplicable drafts.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang for the second time that evening.

Jase turned away from the window and picked up his mobile. Maybe Lolly had shown up at home and Maxie hadn't had a chance to call him yet.

He punched in her number. “Anything on your end?”

“Nothing. Have you checked with Pastor Harlow? Has he seen Lolly?”

“Reverend Ed's passed away. His wife too.”

There was a quick gasp on the other end of the line. “Recently?'

Jase frowned. Why didn't Maxie know that Laurel's parents had died? The Harlows' obituaries should have been in the
Retriever
, which Maxie had maintained a subscription to ever since they left Bosque Bend. Not that Jase ever read the rag himself. No need to be reminded of the town that had tossed him out like rotting garbage.

“He died a while ago, but Mrs. Harlow went just last year. Laurel is living in Kinkaid House all alone now. She and Dave Carson are divorced.”

“Divorced?” Another gasp. “Laurel Harlow? I wouldn't have expected that either.”

“Yeah.”

Maxie's voice softened. “I'm sorry, Jase.”

She understood. Reverend Ed's daughter was the princess of Bosque Bend, the golden girl, the one for whom everything worked out, the one who lived happily ever after, giving hope to people like Jase and her that their lives would eventually turn out right too.