Coming Home (7 page)

He parked in front of the house, watching the look of amazement on Nicole's face as she pulled the car up next to him. He grinned as she stepped out.

"Looks different, hmm?"

"That's an understatement," Nicole said.

She remembered a squat, sprawling building, painted a hideous shade of pink with a Spanish style red tile roof. Someone had made major changes, adding a second floor to the center, lending the structure some proportion, and painting the entire home a more pleasing shade of cream.

"It’s really nice," she commented as she got out of the car and joined Wyatt next to the truck.

"It was an ugly old place, wasn't it? I couldn't stand it. My grandmother apparently chose the original shade of pink before I was born, and after she died my grandfather never had the heart to re-paint it. Plus, whenever he felt like spreading out a little, he'd add a few rooms, but always out, never up."

They walked up the front steps to the long porch stretching across the width of the house. A few rockers sat totally still without even a hint of breeze to set them in motion.

"And, of course, there was no other 'feminine' touch for the place. My Uncle Clay and his wife split up years ago, and who knows where she is. My mother, well, you know about her."

"How is she?"

"Fine. Happy. Still living like royalty with her English lord. Her life turned out all right, in spite of...everything."

Nicole listened closely for the hint of bitterness Wyatt had always felt toward his mother, but couldn't hear it. She wondered if he'd come to terms with her abandonment, but didn't have the nerve to ask him.

She had wondered many times over the years why his own rough childhood, his issues with his parents—never experiencing love, never feeling important—hadn’t made him more interested in claiming his role as a father. Of course, on the flip side of the coin, maybe that’s why he had backed away the minute he’d found out she was pregnant. Fear, feeling incapable of real love, unworthy of commitment…all of those things might have been enough to send him into a state of panic when his grandfather had contacted him and let him know Nicole was pregnant that long-ago summer. That explanation was somehow easier to accept than the idea that he’d just been a rotten, horny bastard who’d gotten what his cousin Brady hadn’t been able to, then walked away forever.

Of course, there was always the third possibility: that he really
believed
what he’d said when his grandfather had reached him. He’d claimed Nicole was a tramp who couldn’t possibly know for sure who the father of her baby was.

She had thought she’d die with the pain of hearing that. Hadn’t wanted to believe it, had screamed and raged at her parents that he would never have said such a thing.

But he didn’t come. He never came.

So maybe he
had
believed it. Maybe to this day he had never truly accepted the fact that he’d been the one who got her pregnant that summer. And maybe she could change that.

Seeing him this week—the way he had been so worried about her father, how well-respected he was by his employees, how much he loved his animals—she had to acknowledge that he’d grown up to be a very responsible, considerate, warm-hearted man. So it made absolutely no sense for him to keep ignoring the person who should have meant more to him than anyone in his life.

Not talking about it yet, remember?

No, not yet. They’d managed to achieve a good working relationship. Maybe someday soon they’d finally sit down and straighten out the personal one.

Hearing loud, excited barks, Nicole shook off the dark thoughts and glanced toward the side of the house to see a golden retriever bounding toward them. "Oh, my gosh, you still have Winston? I can't believe it!"

She squatted down, holding her arms open for the dog. The animal ignored her and ran right into Wyatt, nearly knocking him down. The dog jumped up on his master's chest and licked at his chin.

"No, not Winston," Wyatt said with a sad smile. "He died about five years ago. He was the best dog ever." Wyatt chuckled as the lab continued the affectionate kissing. "This is Winnie, she's Winston's granddaughter."

"She's a beauty."

"And just as sweet as her grandfather," he said with pride.

The dog seemed to sense Nicole's admiration, because she suddenly turned her attention away from Wyatt. Winnie trotted over to Nicole and nuzzled at her hand. "Look at her face, she looks like she's actually smiling," Nicole said with delight.

After petting the friendly dog for a few moments, Nicole stood to follow Wyatt into the house. Inside the foyer, her eyes were drawn upward, to the high open ceilings stretching up through the second story. "You added height, but did you add any rooms?" she asked with a laugh.

"Oh yes," he said gesturing up to the doors leading off the u-shaped hallway. "Private ones. I always hated feeling like I lived in a men-only commune. Now the upstairs is my part of the house, Brady's got most of the downstairs. Here, in the center, is community property for those not-rare-enough occasions when we have to be together."

Nicole nodded and followed Wyatt across the bricked foyer toward the kitchen.

"What do you want to drink?" he asked.

"Just a huge glass of ice water would be great," she replied as they walked through a door into what Nicole remembered was the kitchen. As they entered, a young woman turned from where she'd been chopping vegetables and said, "I'll get it, sir."

Nicole assumed this was Simone, Maria's niece. Maria hadn't exaggerated the girl's appearance. She was exceptionally pretty, with huge dark eyes and a mass of thick brown hair straining out of its clips. She was young, probably not even twenty, and offered Nicole a shy smile as she filled her a glass of water.

"Thank you," Nicole murmured when the girl handed her the glass. "You're Simone, aren't you?"

"Yes," the younger woman nodded. "And you are Doctor Ross’s daughter from up north."

"That's right."

"I'm very pleased to meet you. Your father has been very good to my Aunt Maria."

"She's been good for him, too," Nicole replied.

"Can I get you something else, Mister Wyatt?"

Wyatt had already filled a large glass of water for himself and shook his head abruptly, "No, thank you Simone."

He leaned his head back and drank the water quickly, the muscular cords in his neck standing out against his tanned, sweaty skin. His tee shirt was damp and stuck to him, molding against his hard body. Nicole could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and his throat moved with every swallow. A trickle of sweat slid from just behind his right ear, down his neck and disappeared into the cotton collar of his shirt. If she weren't mistaken, Nicole could swear she remembered kissing a trail along that exact path once.

Cursing under her breath, Nicole picked up her own glass and sipped at it, forcing herself to pull her eyes off him. She immediately noticed that Simone was studying him intently, too. The girl watched his every movement, her shy face a study of admiration. When he lowered his glass, Simone quickly looked away, but not before Nicole caught a glimpse of the pink blush staining her cheeks.

Damn. It was just as she’d feared. Wyatt was more of a danger to any young woman than his blond, lothario cousin ever could be. Where Brady's charm made a woman feel flattered, Wyatt's raw male sensuality made her feel desire. Simone wasn't immune to it. And if Nicole were honest about it, she wasn’t immune either. That was evidence by the way her gaze returned to him yet again.

How could she still want him? She couldn't deny it. Ever since she'd been back in Florida, back near Wyatt, her body had been on sensory overload with the look of him, his touch, his smell. Every single time they were together, even when she was furious with him, she remembered that long hot summer, making love on the beach, in the barn, anywhere they could be alone. It had been the most erotic, sensuous time of her life.

The one and only time she’d been in love.

Yes, she’d sometimes hated him over the years, but mostly when she’d thought of Wyatt Clayton, she’d just been filled with sadness. Not for herself…for him. Because he’d made the wrong choice all those years ago, thrown away something that probably would have made him very happy. He’d been totally alone.

Maybe it was because of that sympathy—not to mention the fact that she’d been trying to convince herself to abide by her own rule and consider him a stranger—that he was getting under her skin again, working his way back into her emotions as if he’d never broken her heart.

Nicole realized she'd been caught staring when Wyatt narrowed his eyes slightly. At some point he'd lowered his glass and turned toward her, possibly even asking her something. She hadn't heard, hadn't noticed. All she'd been able to think about was that glistening path on the side of his neck and how much she wanted to follow it with her tongue.

Standing quickly, she said, "I've got to get out of here."

"Why?" he asked, a small smile playing around his moist lips.

The question was simple, yet loaded with challenge. He knew why she was suddenly so uncomfortable. Wyatt had always known his effect on women. He'd never tried to conceal it with false modesty. Such utter, complete confidence was another thing that made him so irresistible.

"I need to take a shower," she stammered. "I mean, I need to get home and shower before I go to the hospital to see Dad."

Nicole quickly walked out of the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't follow. Wyatt had always been able to read her emotions much too easily. Still, she told herself, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn't noticed her blatant staring.

"Nicole?"

She stopped at the front door, her hand on the knob, then looked over her shoulder to where Wyatt stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Yes?"

"Make sure your shower's a nice cold one."

She felt hot blood rush to her face.

"I mean, you're not used to these sultry Florida days anymore. A long cold shower should help cool you off."

He flashed that flirtatious, crooked grin of his. Grimacing, Nicole hurried out of the house without another word.

There was no phone jack in her old bedroom in Dad's house, so when the strident ring woke her at one a.m., Nicole had to hurry to answer it. Maria had her own phone line in her downstairs room, and probably wouldn't hear the ringing from the kitchen. Saying a quick prayer that it wasn't the hospital calling with bad news about her father, Nicole stumbled into the hall and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring.

"Nicole, I need you."

A sense of relief flashed through her when she heard Wyatt on the other end of the line. "What's wrong?"

"It's Winnie. Looks like she tangled with some kind of animal...she's pretty torn up."

Nicole sucked in a breath, hearing in Wyatt's anguished voice and long pause that whatever had happened, it was serious.

"Will you come? There's an emergency clinic in Ocala, but I don't want to drive her all the way up there. I know you specialize in large animals...."

Not hesitating, she replied, "Of course I'll come.”

When Nicole reached the Four C, she noticed the porch light was on, and the front door open. She parked, grabbed her father's medical bag and hurried up the outside steps. Not even knocking, Nicole entered the house and followed the sound of a soft voice toward the kitchen.

"Oh, baby, you'll be all right. I'm so sorry, Winnie, I know it hurts. Please just hang on."

Entering the kitchen, Nicole realized two things. First, Wyatt was utterly terrified, and second, he had reason to be.

The golden retriever looked more like a red Irish setter, she was covered with so much blood. So was her owner.

Wyatt sat on a chair next to the kitchen table, and had the large dog cradled in his lap. He was murmuring soft words into the frightened animal's ear as he gently pressed a bath towel, once white but now a bright crimson, against the dog's stomach. Nicole saw the glazed look of pain in Winnie's eyes, and the answering sorrow in her owner's.

"What happened?" Nicole asked as she entered the kitchen. Wyatt immediately glanced up and she saw relief cross his face. He looked like he expected a miracle. She hoped she would be able to give it to him.

"I don't know. She was running around out back, just like most evenings, but when I whistled for her, she didn't come. I heard her crying on the front porch just a little while ago, after I'd gone to bed, and found her like this right outside. She made her way home looking for help."

Wyatt continued to ever so gently rub his cheek against the dog's soft head, calming her.

"It would be best if we put her on the table," Nicole said. "Do you have a sheet or something to protect it?"

"To hell with that," Wyatt said as he gently lifted the dog higher and slid her on top of the huge, immaculately clean surface.

Nicole set the medical bag down on a chair, and retrieved some disinfectant. She quickly washed her hands in the sink, and then ordered Wyatt to do the same thing. After they'd finished, they returned to the wounded dog.