What the Heart Wants (8 page)

And tonight, resplendent in a blue linen skirt and matching short jacket, she was determined to do him proud. As soon as she'd heard the plans for the evening, she'd insisted he drive her to Mister Jacques's Fashion Boutique to pick up an outfit equal to the occasion. Born and bred in Bosque Bend, she regarded an invitation to dine at Kinkaid House as a command performance.

“I remember when Laurel's mother, Dovie Kinkaid, was married,” she murmured, shifting the roses in her lap and releasing another wave of fragrance. “It was the talk of the town. She was in her midthirties, Lorena and Dabney's only remaining child, and everyone thought she was going to end up an old maid until Edward Harlow came on the scene. At first all of us were scandalized. After all, she was an heiress and five years older than he was, but, in the end, it didn't matter. They were in love, and she had more than enough money for both of them. Besides, he was such a good man.”

Jase nodded in agreement.

“Dovie was forty when Laurel was born—top crop. You know, the last harvest before the winter freeze sets in.” Maxie adjusted the roses again. “She was older than the other mothers, of course—quite reserved and terribly old-fashioned, but a really nice lady.”

“I never met her.” It had always been Laurel who answered the door, Laurel who walked him down the hall and sat with him in the big front room, visiting with him until Reverend Ed came to fetch him. At first Laurel did most of the taking, and all he could do was mumble back, because he didn't know what to say to someone like her, who smelled like sweet honey and smiled like she was glad to see him.

He remembered how her eyes had glowed with excitement as she talked about a trip to Disney World she'd taken that summer, and, the whole time, he was seeing her as a fantasy fairy princess in spangles and stardust. But if Laurel was a princess, then he was a frog, a big lunkhead from the wrong side of the tracks. She was the perfect daughter of a perfect family, while he was the byproduct of a loudmouthed bully and a woman Growler had knocked up in passing and married at the point of her father's shotgun. And not all the roses in the world could make up for that.

Setting his jaw, he pulled into the gravel driveway beside the house. At least he had good timing. It was exactly ten minutes after six, allowably late—much better, one of his former lady friends had assured him, than being exactly on time.

He parked a couple of yards in front of the porte cochere, but before getting out of the car, he took a second to look up at the house, at its square turrets and ornate trim. But what were all those damn air conditioners doing sticking out of the windows? His eyebrows drew together. They'd probably been there sixteen years ago, but he'd overlooked them then because the other houses on the block hadn't been converted to central air yet. Now Kinkaid House was the Lone Ranger. Why? It was easy enough to get an old house sealed for AC, if you had the money—and Kinkaids always had money.

He helped Maxie out of the car, took the roses from her, and glanced around the yard.
Shit
. The place was downright seedy, and it used to be a showplace. With the blazing sunset behind him yesterday evening, he hadn't noticed that the azaleas had gone scraggly, the hedges needed trimming, and the lawn was browning out in the middle. Probably lack of good help. Everyone knew the Reverend Ed employed a full-time cook-housekeeper, a full-time gardener-handyman, and a part-time maid—an old house like this required a lot of upkeep.

He spotted a Realtor's sign at the corner of the yard. That was another thing he'd missed seeing yesterday. So, Laurel was serious about selling.

He took Maxie's arm to help her across the uneven ground. They stepped up onto the porch and he pushed the doorbell.

L
aurel fixed a gracious smile on her face and walked at measured pace to open the door. A secret delight sang in her veins. For the second day in a row, she'd see Jase Redlander.

He looked just right—nice, but not too formal. The sand-colored slacks and charcoal jacket fit like they'd been tailored for him, which they probably had. She swallowed hard as she noticed that his tieless white shirt, open at the neck, revealed a hint of the dark masculine shadow that had so shocked and fascinated her as a teenager.

Down, girl. He's your guest, not the main course.

Jase stood on the porch and stared at her for an awkward moment, then abruptly thrust a sheaf of roses at her. “For you.”

Lifting the bouquet up to her face, she inhaled deeply before extending her hand to him. “They're beautiful. Please come in.”

He stepped across the threshold and reached back to close the door behind himself, but a small woman in blue edged in beside him.

“Miss Harlow, I'm Maxine Hokinson,” she said, holding out her hand.

Laurel quickly changed the roses to her left arm so she could take Jase's aunt's hand. “How nice to see you again, Miss Hokinson, but please call me Laurel.”

“And I'm Maxie.”

She'd forgotten how tiny Maxine Hokinson was, maybe five feet at the most—short and scrawny—but her bright blue eyes sparkled with energy. This was a woman who could move mountains, and Lolly bore a striking resemblance to her—watch out, world!

The dining room door opened and Lolly, wrapped in Mama's frilly white apron, came down the hall toward them. “Dinner is served,” she announced in a mock-unctuous voice.

“Lolly!” Maxie rushed forward to embrace her niece. “We were so worried about you!”

Lolly threw her arms around her. “I'm sorry, Aunt Maxie. Truly I am. I didn't mean to upset you.” She reached out her hand to her father. “I'm sorry, Dad, but this was something I had to do.”

He joined in the family embrace, but his voice was gruff. “Well, now that you've done it, young lady, we can take you home.”

Lolly pulled away from him, her eyes blazing.

Laurel caught her breath. This must be the “yelling” Lolly had complained about. Jase's comment was tactless, but typically male. Couldn't Lolly tell the effort it took for her father to control his emotions, how relieved he was that she was safe?
Time to intervene
. She moved forward with a big smile and held the rose bouquet out to Lolly.

“Honey, I know you and your dad have a lot to discuss, but would you mind taking these lovely flowers to the kitchen and putting them in water for me? The vases are in the upper cupboard next to the pantry.”

Recognizing an out when it was offered, Lolly grabbed at the bouquet. “Sure thing, Laurel. It'll just take a sec. I have to get the rolls out anyway.” She gave her father a dark look and fled down the hall.

“We'll be at the table,” Laurel called after her. Then, just as Mama used to, she led the parade into the dining room. Jase held her chair and Maxie's before taking his seat directly across from her. Maxie was to her left, and Lolly, after setting the rolls on the table and the roses on the buffet, took the remaining chair.

Looking around the table, Laurel was pleased to note that Lolly had done an exemplary job of arranging the serving dishes. Apparently Maxie's caterers had made a lasting impression on her.

She unfolded her napkin. Daddy always offered up a short grace before a meal, but since she usually ate standing up at the kitchen counter nowadays, she'd gotten lax. Tonight, however, as she placed her napkin in her lap and lifted a fork to signal the meal had begun, a panic raced through her, and she sent up her own desperate supplication.

Please, God, let the food be edible.

Then, with what she hoped was a confident smile on her face, she sampled her fare and relaxed back into her chair. Piggly Wiggly had fulfilled its promise. The candied carrots tasted just like the ones Mrs. January used to make as a special treat, the roast beef lived up to its aroma and was as tender as the package promised, the French-cut green beans were delicious, and the mashed potatoes were smooth and buttery—although it would be hard to mess up mashed potatoes.

Lolly put down her fork, raised her glass, and smiled in a way that made Laurel nervous.
What now?

“Let's drink to Laurel,” she announced. “She spent all afternoon preparing this delicious meal for us. Made everything from scratch.”

Jase and Maxie clinked their glasses together with Lolly's.

Laurel had no choice but to say “thank you,” though she couldn't help but wonder if toasts made with water were legitimate. Wine, of course, had been out of the question. It might be de rigueur at sophisticated dinner parties now that the county had gone wet, but all she was aiming at was adequacy. Besides, if anyone had seen her studying labels in Piggly Wiggly's wine-beer-mixers aisle, it would have been all around town that the preacher's daughter was drowning her sorrows in drink.

Directing the conversation toward her guests, she asked Jase about his career and hung on to his every word as he briefly outlined his climb up the ladder from parking attendant to lot manager, from employee to employer to investor. Laurel couldn't be anything but impressed. Jase had worked hard. He was so different from Dave, who'd ducked out of work every opportunity he could to try out a new putter or play a couple of rounds of golf with his buddies.

“The turning point was when Jase bought his second lot,” Maxie interjected. “I could retire then and stay at home with Lolly. We thought that was important.”

Lolly grinned at her great-aunt. “I don't know why. I had everything under control.” She turned to Laurel to explain. “We were living in a condo then, and the service people all knew me.”

Jase laughed. “You mean you had them all wound around your little finger. You were a spoiled brat.”

She gave him a look of mock innocence. “So?”

Laurel enjoyed watching the interplay between father and daughter. All was well in Redlander country—at least for the time being. Fifteen was a mercurial age, as she well remembered.

Jase could have kicked himself. He'd made a total ass of himself, as usual, when Laurel Harlow was concerned.

That white pants thing she was wearing clung in all the right places, which meant his dick immediately expressed interest, which also meant he hadn't heard a word that came out of her mouth when she opened the door. Her lips were moving, so she must have been saying something, but the blood roaring in his ears drowned her out. Must have flooded his brain too, because he completely forgot about Maxie.

Damn. When he'd taken her hand, he'd wanted to hold it forever. What would she have done if he'd brought it to his lips and touched her palm with the tip of his tongue?

Sixteen years ago, Laurel had said she loved him, but what does a fifteen-year-old know about love? It shook him to realize that Lolly was now exactly the same age as Laurel had been then. If any boy tried to do to Lolly what he'd tried to do to Laurel, he'd beat him within an inch of his life. And Laurel had never told her father, which made Jase feel twice as guilty. Reverend Ed had been his lone supporter, and look how he'd repaid him—by rutting after his virgin daughter as though she were the same kind of slut as Marguerite.

He'd known the gig was up at midmorning when Mr. Nyquist announced over the intercom that a substitute would be taking over Ms. Shelton's classes for the rest of the semester. The kids sitting around him glanced at him, smirked, and gave each other knowing looks, which meant the word had gotten around.

He'd sat through the rest of the period class with a glazed smile on his face—then headed for the parking lot. His school days were over.

Friday evening, Bert Nyquist appeared.

He'd been out front, working on his truck, when the school district car drove up.

Growler hoisted his longneck in greeting and gestured his visitor toward the rusty lawn chair. “Come to see me about something, Bert?”

Nyquist remained standing. “Mr. Redlander, I am here representing the Bosque Bend School Board. Your son has sexually assaulted one of his teachers, but she will not press charges if you make arrangements for Jason to leave town immediately.”

Jase's heart stopped beating for a moment, then went into overdrive.
Make me leave town? Could they do that?

Growler grunted, glugged his beer, and heaved himself to his feet—all six feet, six inches, three hundred pounds of him. His arms hung loose from his shoulders, ready for action.

“I already heard about it at the tavern, Bert, an' the way I see it, it's all a part of growin' up, an' that old cow was lucky to have had a young bull like my Jase servicin' her for as long as he did.” He took a step forward, and his voice deepened past its trademark rasp into an even lower, more menacing tone. “Now, get off my property before I dunk you in the Bosque!”

Nyquist raised his hands, palms out, as if fending Growler off. “Now…now, Mr. Redlander…let's not get carried away!”

Growler took another step forward, and the floorboards creaked as his weight shifted. Nyquist turned tail and scurried down the steps to his car.

Later that evening, Growler, pumped with adrenaline from the confrontation he thought he'd won, took Jase off to Beat Down, slapped him on the back, and called him a chip off the old block. “Been porkin' that cute little number down at the high school the kids talk about,” he'd bragged to the Friday night crowd.

Every man jack in the place wanted to buy Jase a drink, and he'd been so miserable that he'd taken them up on it. He'd had occasional beers since he'd been in elementary school—even when the water was cut off, the beer kept flowing—but that night he went overboard. A turbulent stomach had awakened him soon after he went to bed, and he'd made it to the bathroom just in time.

The next morning, Laurel appeared.

Jase finished off his serving of roast and looked around the room. It was large and well-lit, with French windows behind him opening onto a small terrace under the porte cochere. He'd never been in this room before. In fact, the only parts of the house he'd ever seen were the hall, front room, and Reverend Ed's study. He'd never even had the nerve to ask to use the bathroom.

The whole situation was surreal—that he, Jason Redlander, his aunt, and his child, were guests in Kinkaid House, actually eating dinner here.

He played with his carrots—because he sure as hell wasn't going to eat them—and studied the portrait of Laurel on the wall behind her. The artist had captured not only her likeness, but also her nature: Posed in a pinkish dress and sitting in a rose arbor, which must be somewhere on the property, she was serenity itself, a lady, as she had always been and still was. Laurel had grown up with tradition and taste and elegance. He, on the other hand—well, everyone knew how he'd grown up. Sure, he'd fought his way to the top of the dung heap, but she'd been born on a plane far above him.

He forced himself to take a polite bite of carrots, then put down his fork. Next came dessert—cheesecake—which, strangely enough, tasted exactly like Sara Lee. Then Laurel moved everyone to the comfortable den for coffee and conversation. Laurel and Maxie took the couch, leaving the big recliner to him.

He half closed his eyes and studied Laurel as she talked with Maxie.

As Laurel leaned forward to look at picture of Sir Frederick, Maxie's long-haired dachshund, her blouse fell open, revealing shadowed cleavage. He took an audible breath and she looked up to meet his eyes, blushed, then licked her upper lip nervously.

The air conditioner was grinding away, but the room suddenly seemed too hot for comfort.

It was sixteen years ago, but he still remembered the warm weight of those pink-crested adolescent breasts in his hands.

He'd been groggy with sleep, when he heard someone call out his name. At first he'd thought she was his father finally coming in or maybe Aunt Maxie stopping by to check on him. Then Laurel had said something he was too sleepy to understand, and started to cry. He'd tried to give her brotherly comfort, patting her and making soothing noises, all the time aware that he had a boner the size of the Texas Panhandle.

“I love you so. Please kiss me, Jase,” she'd whispered, her eyes bright with tears, her soft breath fanning across his bare chest.

It was the request of a child, he'd thought, a child concerned about the welfare of a good friend, because he was sure everyone in Bosque Bend knew by then that he was in a shitload of trouble.

He aimed for her cheek, but somehow her lips were under his and her full breasts flattened against him. She was Reverend Ed's daughter, but she was also young, soft, and female, and he was not only male, but totally aroused as well. His body demanded action. He moved his mouth over hers slowly, lingeringly, as Marguerite had taught him, all the time trying to control the wildfire that was raging through him.

He'd tried to maintain the pure, Knight-of-the-Round-Table sort of love he thought he felt toward her, all the time knowing he was fighting a losing battle. He'd been awakened by a seasoned voluptuary to far more sexual awareness than any sixteen-year-old could control, no matter how good his intentions. He also had more sexual skills than other sixteen-year-olds, even the sexually active ones, because Marguerite was a very good teacher.

But somehow, with Laurel, it was all new and wonderful. For the first time, he was making love to a girl he really cared about, not performing like a trained seal for Marguerite. Laurel's skin was tender and firm, her mouth sweet and generous. He kissed her warm young breasts, tipped with dusky pink rosettes, so different from Marguerite's large orangish nipples.