Home At Last

Chapter Three

“This shouldn’t take long,” J.D. told Kirsten, relieved that she was still sitting where he’d left her. For the past hour she’d been distracted, and he had the impression her stamina was fading fast. “They’re bringing the car up. Meanwhile, let’s get you some lunch.”

She reacted with the same edginess she’d shown when he suggested she sit down near the car-rental counter. “I don’t need lunch.”

But she hadn’t eaten anything this morning, and he’d seen the crack of light under her door all night long. “Yeah, you do,” he said, glancing around the concourse and gesturing at a bright red hamburger stand across the way. “And unless you want to dig into the boys’ peanuts…. Come on.”

“J.D.,” she protested, rising from her seat with the swift, fluid grace he’d always admired, “you don’t need to worry about me. We’re here to find the kids, and it’s only half an hour to Brad’s house.”

All the more reason to restore her energy before they began the search for leads. “Right, but you still need to eat.”

Kirsten fixed him with an impatient gaze. “Not now, all right? Not when we could be on the road.”

On the road…

Without warning, he felt himself spinning into a whirlpool of memory. The two of them on the road…it was a vivid image, one he’d tried to erase, but had never managed to forget. They’d spent such soaring, glowing time together, those afternoons in Tubac, that even now he could still feel the sensation of her arms around his waist while he drove home as slowly as he dared.

She’d never complained about the length of the trip, which had amazed and then delighted him. That Kirsten Taylor could enjoy his company with such genuine ease, could laugh at references no one else would have understood, could save up stories from work to share with him…it was the kind of pleasurable intimacy he’d thought existed only in daydreams, but the summer after graduation it blessed him every afternoon.

She was so different from anyone else he’d known, because she never so much as hinted that his appeal lay in the thrill of forbidden fruit. He was used to that, had seen that flirtatious defiance from all but the girls who recognized him as their own kind, but with Kirsten he had the feeling that what she liked about him was…himself. Exactly the way he was. And with her, J.D. knew, he was more of what he wanted to be. Stronger. Gentler. More alive, more aware—oh, yeah, definitely more aware.

He wouldn’t let himself pursue that awareness except in fantasy, and she never hinted about extending an afternoon into a night. Yet as much as he admired her innocence, J.D. couldn’t help suspecting—after the kiss they’d shared—that a single spark would send her into radiant flames.

Still, the spark wasn’t going to come from him.

He’d made that vow eight years ago, J.D. remembered now, and he wasn’t going to break it again. Kirsten didn’t need him as part of her life now any more than she’d needed him then.

And he’d damn well better remember that…because if he let himself love her again, he couldn’t leave her a second time.

Not even for the rush of satisfaction, of stimulation he knew was waiting in Chicago. Which was a stupid way to think, because that was where he’d directed all his energies. In Chicago he’d be doing work he could take pride in, fighting the battles he was meant for.

Winning victories that didn’t fit the kind of man Kirsten needed.

“Tell you what,” J.D. said, forcing his attention back to the situation at hand. What she needed right now was someone to look out for her, and buying her a hamburger was about all he could do. “It’ll take ten minutes for them to bring the car around. In ten minutes we can get you taken care of—”

“J.D., I take care of myself. And—”

“You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“—My children,” she concluded. Then, as his interruption echoed between them, her face crumpled. “I know,” she whispered.

Too late he realized how she must have interpreted his remark. “Hey,” he protested, “I didn’t mean you’re doing a bad job with your kids.” Anyone who spent ten minutes with this woman, even without having heard Brad describe her passion for motherhood, would realize how much she treasured her children.

But Kirsten didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe she just didn’t believe him. “I should have phoned them every day. Here I was thinking they needed time with their dad—and they do, especially the boys—only now I’ve lost them!”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault.” He was the one who’d failed to warn her about Brad’s bar talk, but telling her about that betrayal right now wouldn’t help matters any. “You didn’t know he was gonna do a one-eighty like that,” J.D. said instead, resisting the temptation to rest his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t blame yourself.”

She twisted her fingers together, then looked at an on-coming crowd of travelers as if hoping to spot her children among them. “I have to get them back.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for,” he assured her. And it was time he started taking better care of her than he’d managed so far. Which meant he’d better move away from her right now, before she could see any hint of the hunger inside him, and make sure she got some lunch. “Look, you keep an eye out for the car-rental guy…. I’m gonna get you something to eat.”

“You’re not taking care of me while my kids—” she began, and he cut her off.

“Yeah, I am. So just let me do it, okay?” Maybe she didn’t think she needed anyone buying her a hamburger, but he didn’t want to stand here and argue about it. Whatever Kirsten needed, whatever he could offer her, he was damn sure going to provide.

The way he’d done eight years ago, even though it had just about killed him.

The way he would continue doing for as long as it took to find her kids.

But, God, he hoped it wouldn’t take long.

She didn’t need him taking care of her, Kirsten reminded herself, watching J.D. stride across the concourse to the hamburger outlet. She could take care of herself, along with her children—

“You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Which was why, right now, she wished she could huddle up in some quiet corner and cry herself numb. She couldn’t do that, though. She had to stick with her best shot at retrieving Lindsay and Adam and Eric, regardless of the potential risks. And if that meant letting J.D. Ryder run things, well…

He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, she admitted, watching his subtly commanding stance as he addressed the counter clerk. He probably made every frantic taxpayer he worked with eat regular meals, although it seemed out of character for a man who had always appeared indifferent to such routines. Still, as long as he didn’t go beyond ordering unwanted food, she could put up with his assumption of control.

The way she’d put up with Brad’s. And with her parents’ before that.

For so much longer than she should have…

Kirsten clenched her fists in her pockets and turned her gaze in the opposite direction. A hamburger was one thing. It would be silly to make a scene over a hamburger. But if J.D. Ryder attempted anything else that might slow down their search, she’d have to take charge. Tell him he was off the job. Get some other private detective.

Someone who would listen better than this man did. Who wouldn’t waste time trying to take care of her. Someone who wouldn’t keep her awake all night, torn between worry over her children and memories that refused to stay in the strongbox where she’d confined them for the past eight years.

Memories she didn’t need, didn’t want…any more than she wanted J.D. Ryder taking control of her carefully ordered life.

Memories of that long-ago summer together, when every afternoon had been filled with anticipation and wonder. Fascination. A growing certainty that the two of them belonged together more fully, more intensely than she had ever belonged with Brad.

She had been right in resisting Brad’s repeated invitations to show her what “real” fun could be, Kirsten knew that summer when each day shone with the anticipation of seeing J.D., with the glow of riding home together after work, talking to him, feeling the play of muscles in his body as he skillfully guided his bike around curves in the always-too-short road. Because what she’d felt for Brad Laurence had never come close to what she felt for J.D. Ryder…with whom she would gladly share the kind of intimacy she’d never shared before.

If only he would ask.

But he was shy about inviting her home with him, which Kirsten found endearing. She didn’t care about his father’s reputation, that they lived in what Brad had described as “kind of a dump,” that J.D.’s never-discussed background was so different from her own. What she cared about was his way of making her feel special. Listening to her as if she was more than just a perfect porcelain doll, as if her opinion genuinely mattered to him. As if she genuinely mattered to him.

He mattered to her, too, more than she’d ever thought possible. Which was why she kept his name out of her conversations with Debbie, with her parents, with customers at the Snack-n-Go. With all the people who didn’t know him, who didn’t realize how much she treasured his company, who would have been worried, amused or—even more hurtful—faintly contemptuous about the surface differences between Kirsten Taylor and J.D. Ryder.

Those differences, she suspected, were why it took him so long to repeat his suggestion of getting together during some free weekend after the college-wardrobe shopping trip with her mother. And why, for their first excursion a few Saturdays later, he deliberately selected a nearby petroglyph park where there would be plenty of tourists underfoot. Almost as if he respected her too much to suggest someplace more private, more intimate. As if he knew what might happen…

The thunderstorm changed everything.

She didn’t like thunder, had never liked it. So, nestling close to J.D. when they took shelter in one of the caves was natural enough. So was the heat that jolted through them both the minute he gathered her into his arms and held her as if he’d never let go. So was the realization that finally, finally, they could share the kind of closeness she’d been imagining.

Or so she had thought, until J.D. tore himself away….

“We can’t do this,” he muttered hoarsely, still holding her as he lifted his mouth from hers. “Kirs, we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” she whispered, pulling him back toward her. She couldn’t let him go, not now. Not ever. Not when she could still feel the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing her own, when she could still hear his ragged breathing matching hers. “You can show me how…how… I mean…”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to shut out the vision of the rock walls and dirt floor, but her heart lifted at the realization that he wasn’t letting her go. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, and the only thing keeping him from resuming their kiss was—

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice sounded strained, as if he was clinging desperately to the edge of reason, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders as he slid his hands down to her hips. But his body spoke more truly than his voice, and that fierce warmth was all she needed now.

“You won’t,” Kirsten insisted, lacing her fingers through his hair. J.D. Ryder could never hurt her, not even on a gravel floor. Not when his very touch made her feel so much softer, so much more free than she had ever felt in her life.

“But, the first time…”

When he faltered, she realized with a rush of joy that he knew she’d been waiting for him. Only for him. For right here. Right now.

“The first time,” she told him softly, watching his face as she spoke, “should be with someone who loves you.”

And there, in his eyes, she saw the light of agreement. “Ah, Kirsten,” he murmured, pulling her closer to him and sending another shiver of pleasure through her body. Yet there was still an edge of hesitation in his embrace, and when he abruptly let her go and took a step back, she heard it in his voice as well. “But I can’t give you what you’re made for. I mean, you deserve…. You deserve—”

She knew exactly what she deserved, exactly whom she was made for, and he was standing unbearably far from her. “You,” she pleaded.

J.D. closed his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze with a mixture of desperation and promise. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, and opened his arms.

Even though she’d heard stories from more experienced friends, she hadn’t known quite what to expect when they moved beyond the heat of kissing. But she knew that with J.D. it would be wonderful…and it was. In spite of the rocky ground, in spite of the lightning outside, in spite of the first flash of pain—through which he held her gently, murmuring husky reassurance—J.D. was wonderful. And with him, so was she.

She belonged with him, Kirsten thought blissfully as they drifted back toward reality in the fading light of late afternoon. The way he held her, with such fierce passion and exquisite tenderness and almost reverent awe, was proof of that. She and J.D. belonged together, and from now on they would share the kind of closeness she had never envisioned, never wanted with anyone else.

“I love you,” she whispered, and felt his arms tighten around her.

“You deserve so much better….”

Better than this place, maybe, but the bare dirt floor wasn’t all that cold. Besides, he had spread his shirt underneath her in a gesture of protection that warmed her heart.

“There isn’t any better,” she assured him, closing her eyes again as she wriggled more securely into his embrace. “Because, J.D., we belong together.”

She was still trying to remember his response when she was startled by the present-day J.D. arriving at her side with a paper-wrapped hamburger and a drink.

“Okay, here you go.”

The contrast was so abrupt that she felt as if she’d been yanked through eight years and a thousand miles in only half a second. “Oh,” she faltered, realizing her hands must be visibly shaky as she reached for the cup he held before her. “Thanks. I was, uh…”

J.D. gave her a strange look, evidently seeing how flustered she was. “You need some sleep,” he said.

That was a much less embarrassing explanation than lovesick memories of a man who’d never wanted her for more than an afternoon, but she wasn’t about to let him send her off for a nap someplace. “I need,” Kirsten said sharply, “to find my children.”

“Right,” he agreed, which gave her a measure of relief that at least he didn’t intend to postpone the search any longer. “Soon as the car—ah. That’s us.”

She followed his gaze to the rental desk, where someone was approaching them with a key, and shoved the unwanted lunch into her oversize purse. If J.D. expected her to eat before they left the airport, she wasn’t about to cooperate.

But he seemed satisfied with her eating on the way to Mercer Island, where they drove to Brad’s showplace home and began their search for leads…J.D. in the study and herself upstairs. The house had been left meticulously tidy by the cleaning lady, but when Kirsten found Lindsay’s sweatshirt atop the laundry hamper, she realized the soft garment still carried a tinge of her daughter’s scent.

This, she realized with a dizzying rush of sensation as she clutched the newly precious sweatshirt to her chest, was what mattered most. Her children. Lindsay, Adam, Eric—the family she had always dreamed of, who deserved all the comfort and happiness she could give them.

A life where her children would always feel safe and special and loved…that was what mattered. And if giving them that security meant denying any anger at their father, it was still a small price to pay. Because, more than anything, her children deserved a family filled with love.

Next time she found herself sliding into memories of that summer with J.D. Ryder, all she’d have to do was remember that he had never shared such a dream. Not eight years ago, and not today.

Which was probably a good thing for someone who made his living fighting drug lords. She was glad there were people willing to take on such jobs, but those weren’t the safely comfortable people she wanted in her life, or her children’s lives. No, what she wanted for her children was the kind of familiar, loving security she and Brad Laurence had grown up with.

No matter how much she’d loved J.D., no matter how much it had hurt when he didn’t want her, she needed to remember what was important for her daughter and sons. Who—especially as the boys grew older—needed all the fatherly attention they could get.

Inhaling the sweetly familiar scent of Lindsay’s sweatshirt, she took it with her to the twins’ room. There, where the folded quilts smelled ever so faintly of rough-and-tumble little boys, the same haunting sensation racked her again…and when J.D. came upstairs she was huddled on the corner of Eric’s bed, burying her face in the patchwork pillows.

“Hey,” he said from the doorway. “Kirsten, it’s okay. We’ll find them—”

Crying wouldn’t help the process any, she knew, but she was all too close to tears. “I want them back!” she pleaded. “My kids are…J.D., they’re my life.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he said abruptly, “I know that. But, Kirs, look at this. Right here. I found exactly what we need to get them back.”

Good thing that announcement had distracted her, J.D. thought with a throb of relief, spreading the RV rental contract on the bright-colored bedspread before her. If she’d burst into tears, the way she’d looked ready to do when he walked in and found her clutching those pillows, he didn’t want to think what might’ve happened next.

Or rather, he wanted to think about it all too much.

But holding Kirsten in his arms after all these years was a bad idea. An idea he wasn’t about to pursue. Everything had turned out okay last time—she’d wound up with a husband who could give her kids she adored—but one lucky break was no reason to go looking for trouble now.

Not when the first time had hurt worse than any beating he’d ever taken.

“An RV?” Kirsten asked, glancing at him in bewilderment. “Brad’s driving them someplace?”

It made sense. If Brad wanted to spend more time with the only family he had left, there was no better way of doing it than on the road. “Looks like,” J.D. said, taking back the contract and forcing himself to think like the professional she had every right to expect. “There were some ticket vouchers for the Ashland Shakespeare Festival tomorrow, so that’ll make it easy. I’ll call this guy I know in Portland, ask about a BOLO—”

“A what?”

He’d slipped into police jargon without even realizing it, which was probably a good sign. He could keep his hands off her, keep his thoughts off her, as long as he stayed in an investigative frame of mind. “Be On the LookOut. We’ve got the vehicle description, license plate, everything it takes for a—”

“You mean,” Kirsten interrupted, “they’d get stopped by a policeman?”

“Well, Max’d be doing this unofficially—I’ve worked with him before. But if Brad gives him any trouble, tries to take off with the kids, he can handle it.”

For some reason, she was looking doubtful. “J.D., wait a minute. I don’t want my children seeing their father get arrested….”

She sounded so disturbed by the notion that he found himself wondering what she expected. A police lineup? Handcuffs and mug shots? “That’s not gonna happen,” he assured her, “as long as Brad lets Max take the kids.”

Kirsten stood up, still clutching the pillow she’d been holding. “But they’d wind up at a police station?” she demanded. “With criminals all over the place?”

“They’re not gonna put children in with criminals!” It was obvious this woman had never been in a police station, but the reassurance didn’t seem to help. “Anyway, you and I won’t be that far behind. It’s just that Max is four hours closer to Ashland.”

Kirsten scrunched the pillow and dropped it on the bed, then turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “But we know right where they’re going,” she said, “and they can’t be going very fast. So why can’t we just catch up with them ourselves?”

They probably could, only it made more sense to enlist all the help they could get. Even the simplest of jobs could fall apart if you didn’t plan some backup. “Kirsten, look, I know you’re worried, but you don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” she exploded, startling him with the passion in her voice. “You don’t know my children! You’re thinking like a detective, and that’s fine because that’s what you are, but you’re not their mother—I mean their father—” Then she broke off, looking suddenly horrified. As if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

“Thank God for that, right?” J.D. interrupted lightly, hoping to return the color to her face. He’d never realized she knew how strongly he felt about avoiding parenthood—not that someone from a family like his could feel any other way—but she was obviously concerned about hurting his feelings. Which was typical of Kirsten, who already was scrambling to apologize.

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