Cindy Gerard - The Way Home

OK. So this was really happening. But it shouldn’t be. And she needed to make that clear.

“Ty. This is… well… I’m not… I don’t…” She stopped, suddenly incapable of finishing a thought, let alone a sentence, because anything that came out would sound presumptive or cowardly. She looked toward the door, willing someone to step inside. Someone who needed fuel. Or was lost. Or wanted a lottery ticket or a fishing license. Anyone who could save her from having to face the inevitable.

For God’s sake, grow a pair, Jess.

“Jess.”

The softness of his voice finally brought her gaze back to his.

“Relax, OK? No pressure here. I know my showing up like this is way out of the blue. I know I caught you off guard. But I wanted to see you. I hoped maybe… I don’t know. I thought we had a connection that night.”

She swallowed hard, and suddenly, her heart pounded with an anger she hadn’t known she’d been harboring.

“You mean that night more than a year ago, when I gave you guns and you went out and made a pretty good stab at getting yourself killed?”

The legend surrounding “that night” was more fact than fiction and had been fodder for stories around the lake ever since. In certain “good ole boy” circles, where regulars like Boots and his cronies gathered in a restaurant booth or around a potbellied stove with their mugs of strong coffee or bottles of Scotch, the tale of the “shoot-out at the Nelson cabin,” where Tyler Brown and two other former spec-ops soldiers and the daughter of the secretary of State had ended up in a life-and-death face-off with a team of hired assassins, had been told, retold, embellished, and revered. When all the facts had come out, it had been pretty clear that he had almost gotten killed. And that he’d been a hero.

Well, she’d been married to a hero. Look how that worked out.

Why, today of all days, did this hero have to show up?

He wasn’t smiling when she met his eyes this time—probably because her voice had risen before she’d been able to check it. He slowly nodded. “Yeah. That night. I’m sorry. I know what happened was upsetting.”

Apt word, upsetting.

He let it settle for a moment. “You saved our lives. Letting us have those guns… it was a brave thing you did. Trusting us. Trusting strangers.”

“Some have different words for what I did.” Her brother-in-law, Brad, in particular had a lot of words… words like stupid, insane, reckless.

“You trusted me then. I hoped you might trust me again, this time with nothing nearly as scary.”

Oh, but this was scary.

“I’ve thought about you, Jess. I’ve thought about coming back to see you for a long time now.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out, Then why didn’t you? Why have eighteen months gone by without so much as an e-mail? He’d asked for her phone number and her e-mail address. She’d thought he would call. Who was she kidding? She’d been certain he’d call. The way he’d looked at her. The way his eyes had spoken to her.

Even knowing he was the last kind of man she ever wanted in her life again, it had hurt when he hadn’t contacted her. And she’d felt foolish for thinking about him too much. The way she felt foolish now.

“I hoped maybe you might want to see me, too,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Can we start with something that simple?”

As if there was anything simple about this.

Tell him to leave. Just say it and end this.

But he’d come so far. Made such an effort.

“Yeah,” she heard herself saying, despite the warnings banging around in her head. God help me. “I guess we could start with that.”

He looked so relieved that some of her own tension eased out on a tight smile. “So we’re clear, though, you’re still paying for those minnows and the tackle.”

He laughed and dug into the hip pocket of his jeans for his wallet. “Fair enough.”

Before she could think it through or second-guess herself, she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Shelley. Hi. Yeah. It’s Jess. Hey, I’ve got a fisherman here in need of a place to stay.” She glanced up at him, at his watchful eyes, then quickly looked away when she felt her cheeks redden. “Got any vacant cabins?”

Shelley and Darrin Lutz were her friends and the owners of Whispering Pines Resort—and yes, they had an available cabin.

“Thanks. I’ll send him your way, then. Name is Brown. Tyler Brown.”

She couldn’t quite meet his eyes after she hung up. And she already hoped she wouldn’t live to regret making that phone call, because here was the deal. Ty Brown showing up out of the blue this way might represent a life-changing moment for her. A moment she didn’t want, a moment she actually feared but hadn’t realized she needed until she’d heard his voice in her store and the sound of it had made her knees go weak.

He handed over his credit card as the door burst open to the ring of the bell. A gaggle of sunburned and giddy teenage girls tumbled inside, smelling of suntan lotion, laughing and joking, and headed straight for her wireless Internet station.

“What time do you get off?” he asked, low enough not to be overheard.

Here, at least, was a small reprieve. “You forget. I own the place. I live here.” Her apartment was above the store. “I’m here until lights out.”

Since taking over the store, she had never regretted that she worked long hours, day in, day out, during the summer. It kept her busy. And she needed to be busy. She needed to be dog-tired exhausted each night when she went to bed to have any chance of outdistancing the thoughts that kept her awake most nights since J.R. died.

J.R., who would have celebrated a birthday today.

She had a moment of deep, aching regret that until this instant had never been coupled with guilt. But suddenly, she did feel guilty. For being alive. For feeling alive in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. And she felt guilty because for the first time in three and a half years, she realized she wanted to look forward to something instead of always looking back.

“Figure something out,” he said, tempting her toward that future. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

YOU’RE SURE YOU CAN HANDLE things until I get back?” Jess walked back into the store after watching Ty’s taillights disappear down the road. She already had second thoughts about letting him talk her into dinner and leaving Kayla in charge of the store.

“You have to eat,” Ty had pointed out when Jess had insisted she couldn’t leave until closing time at nine P.M. “Besides, you’re the boss. Don’t you have someone who can cover for you for a couple of hours?”

She might have been able to stage a stronger argument if Kayla hadn’t bopped through the door about that time—all five feet and one inch of her, a college freshman who looked about thirteen instead of nineteen, with her bouncing brown ponytail, short-shorts, and halter top, and telling Jess, “Go. I can handle the dinner hour and close up for you. And if it gets too busy, I’ll call Blake or Lane. Those two always want extra hours. Hailey, too. She’s saving for an iPad. Cripes, boss. We’ve got you covered. Now, take a break. It’s been forever since you took any time off.”

That had pretty much ended the discussion, except for the part where Ty had said he’d be back to pick her up around six.

“So who’s the hot guy?” Kayla asked.

It would get out sooner or later, so she might as well tell it straight. While tourists came and went from the store in droves, men who asked her to dinner didn’t. At least, they never asked her more than once, because she always gently told them no. Still, in the small lake community, word would spread like wildfire. This would be her only chance to temper that fire before it took on a life of its own.