Laurie Campbell - Home At Last

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—”