The West Wind Blows
Danica Marshall stood at her kitchen window sipping her evening
tea and stared at the bonfire in the neighbor's yard. The Robinson boy's
muffled shouts snapped like the twigs on the blaze as they tossed wood on the
fire and skipped gleefully around the flames. Cruel boys.
Because of them, Boone had come home early from Trick or Treating,
rushed to his room without eating dinner and cried himself to sleep. They told
him he was a ghoul. They told him the other ghouls would come out to get him
tonight. They told him why.
Because he had no father.
Danica poured out the last of her tea into the sink and rinsed the
cup. She'd always hated this town at Halloween. It reminded her too much of
Boone's father and that last, unbelievable night they'd spent together. That
night so full of promise and impossible passion. The night she wished a
thousand times had never happened.
She never should have come back here.
She grabbed a kitchen mitt and went over to the oven to check the
pie. Cracking the door, the warm scent of cinnamon and apples teased her
nostrils. She hoped the smell would coax Boone out of his room, even if it
wasn't her baking skills that produced the delicious odor. It was Mrs. Nash,
her other neighbor, who'd brought the pie over earlier. So far, she'd been the
friendliest person in town, since Danica had investigated her insurance claim
and won a settlement for her.
Danica was just pulling the pie out of the oven and setting it on
the table when the doorbell rang. If that was one of the Robinson boys, she'd
give him a talking to for a Halloween treat.
She crossed the living room, opened the front door, and gasped. It
wasn't one of the Robinson boys. Hardly. She'd heard he'd come back, had seen
him in town a week ago. But she'd managed to avoid him.
Now he stood in her doorway shuffling his six-foot-four frame, his
shoulders as broad, his hair as sandy, his complexion as rugged, his entire
presence just as forbiddingly tempting, as the last time she saw him.
"What . . . what are you doing here, Lance?" she managed
to get out.
Half his mouth curved in that lazy smile that used to make her
knees go weak. "That's a fine greeting after six years."
"There shouldn't be any greeting at all between us." She
made a move to close the door in his face, but he leaned against it.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"Why should I?"
He lifted a broad shoulder. "Common courtesy? Small town
manners?"
With a grunt, she turned away and let him come in. "What do
you want?"
He took two long steps inside and looked around the room. "I
remember how 'friendly' you can be when you're riled, Danica." He was
dressed in a checkered shirt that showed off the muscles he still had and a
pair of tight jeans. He had a cowboy hat in his hand. "Nice place."
If he wanted small talk, might as well confirm the rumors. "I
heard you finally bought a ranch in the next state."
"I did."
She folded her arms and glared at him in defiance. "So what
are you doing here?"
Lance had practiced a speech, but those canned words seemed hollow and
phony right now. He barely knew what to say to this woman standing before him.
After all these years, she was still so damn beautiful. Even more lovely than
he remembered her.
With her dark blond hair falling to her shoulders, her
sweetheart-shaped chin set in anger, her dark eyes flashing with emotion, just
like they did when they were teenagers, she made his pulse rush. Now just as
easily as she had then.
In her plain blue blouse and tan slacks that hugged the curves of
her body, she flooded his mind with a thousand old memories. Hell, she did that
all the time, even though he hadn't laid eyes on her for six years. He'd never
been able to forget Danica Marshall. Never been able to get her out of his
heart.
"Don't tell me you're just passing through town," she
mocked.
He fingered the hat in his hand, wishing he could make this easier
for her. "No. I won't say that."
They'd had a stormy, on-again-off-again love affair in high
school. The year after he graduated, it had reached the feverish pitch that
made him decide to leave this town once and for all. He'd told himself he had
no regrets. He'd convinced himself there'd be no consequences. They had always
been careful. Except for the one night they hadn't been.
Rumors usually spread like brushfire in Texas, but he supposed
he'd gone too far away to hear them. When they finally reached him, he'd been
devastated. He didn't know whether he was more angry at himself or at Danica
for never reaching out to him. She could have found him if she'd wanted to. It
made him wonder if the rumor was a lie. It ate away at him until he determined
to learn the facts, even if it meant leaving his beloved ranch. Now that he was
here, he could see the truth in her eyes.
He took a step toward her and sniffed the air. "Something smells
delicious."
Danica narrowed her eyes at him, amazed at his audacity. "Are
you going to tell me it's inhospitable not to feed a stranger who drops
by?"
He grinned again and nodded. "I was about to."
She could think of a hundred arguments to that, but she felt
drained. If she fed him, maybe he'd leave. She dropped her arms and led him
toward the kitchen. "Come in and have a piece of pie." She grabbed a
knife and saucer, began to slice a wedge. If he were smart, he wouldn't talk
about the past when she had a weapon in her hand.
He took a seat at the table, falling into the chair in that lazy
way of his. "Have you acquired baking skills?" he asked with a grin.
He left off since we were together.
She fetched a fork from a drawer and shoved the plate before him.
"No. It's my neighbor's Mrs. Nash. I'm too busy to bake."
He laughed softly, evoking a memory as pungent as the smell of
cinnamon that filled the room. "You haven't changed. Never domestic,
always feisty." He took a bite of the pie. "My compliments to your
neighbor." He frowned. "Do you have some coffee to go with
this?"
She exhaled in exasperation. "Just tea. Made with a
bag." She reached for a cup, dropped a bag in, and filled it from the pot
on the stove. She set it down on the table, wanting to slam it, but too proud
to risk burning her hand from the hot water. With this man, you always got
burned.
He dunked the bag without looking at her. "I hear you're a
private investigator now."
She shrugged. "I mostly do insurance claims. It's not much,
but it pays the bills."
He ran a finger around the lip of his cup, just the way he used to
around her lips. She shivered.
"I . . . I've missed you Dani."
She squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly lost in a world of feeling.
The past came back to her in a rush, with all its frenzied pain. She remembered
bursting into teenaged tears when her father forbade her to see that Carson
boy again. She remembered screaming at her mother when she told her those
Carsons were no good trash. She remembered the day Lance told her he was
leaving this town, where no one understood him, for good. If she couldn't go
with him, that was her choice. She remembered telling him her parents had been
right.
"Why did you come here, Lance?" she demanded quietly,
six years of buried emotion suddenly constricting her throat.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes almost watery. "I want to
hire you to find my son."
She sucked in her breath, denial beating in her brain. "You
have a son?"
His eyes told her he knew she was lying. "I'm not sure I do.
I've only heard rumors."
Her head swam. She'd never allowed herself to dream of this
scenario. Never let herself dare to play it out in her mind. And now it was
happening. Lance was here. Right here. She should throw him out. Tell him she
never wanted to see him again.
But she didn't.
She didn't know what made her do it. Maybe it was the emptiness of
the season. Or the Robinson boys' cruelty. Or her son's tears.
Or the long, lonely years since Lance had been gone.
"That's an easy case to solve." She took Lance's big,
rugged hand and led him to her little boy's bedroom.
He was still asleep, breathing quietly, his blond hair spilled
over the pillow. All pain gone for now.
"There," she whispered. "Case closed."
Lance was silent. Then he smiled a slow, fatherly smile. Even in
the dim light she could she his eyes glow with that genuine warmth that bubbled
up from his heart. "Danica, I had no idea."
"No, you wouldn't."
He reached for her, turned her toward him, his face now a rock.
"I came here to make it up to you. I still want you, if you'll have
me."
Her mouth opened in shock. He wanted her? Lance Carson wanted her?
After all these years? She couldn't believe it. She couldn't speak. She
couldn't move.
He didn't let her answer. He drew her close and brushed her lips against
hers in a kiss so gentle, so bittersweet, it brought tears to her eyes.
He's going to break your heart, a voice from the past whispered in
her head. Stay away from that boy. He'd already broken it. He'd already
given her more pain than she thought he could ever live though. But she had
lived through it. And now he was here. Right here. Kissing her. Saying that he
wanted her. Was it true?
Maybe, just maybe . . . she should give him a chance.
Question: What does Danica have baking in the oven and where did it come from?