Homecoming (7 page)

Stirring uneasily in the chair, she moved to stand, and Tyler came to his feet, rounding the table and pulling out her chair. “I think I’d better be getting home. Thank you for everything. I owe you,” she added softly.

And you will pay, Dana Nichols
, Tyler mused. And he
would make certain she would enjoy what he had in store for her.

Curving an arm around her waist, he pulled her close to his side. “I’ll come by tomorrow and look at your hand again.”

She nodded, praying she would be able to wash and dress herself without too much difficulty. “I can’t wait to get this dressing off.”

Tyler led Dana to his truck, and ten minutes later escorted her through her front door. They stood in the entryway staring at each other. A lamp on a drop-leaf provided enough light to see Tyler’s impassive expression. When he didn’t smile, he looked like an entirely different person. There was an air of seriousness about him that silently communicated that Dr. Tyler Cole was a very private person. She also felt he could be dangerous when crossed.

“You should name your home,” she said in a quiet tone. “All grand houses in Mississippi have names like St. Charles, Black Acre, or The Oaks.”

Tyler wanted to tell her that antebellum plantations were also identified by their names—magnificent mansions and thousands of acres of cotton, sugar cane, rice, or tobacco built, planted, and maintained by his enslaved ancestors. He was a Southerner living in the South, but what he did not want was to be reminded of the South’s infamous, sinful past wherein fortunes were made on the backs of those kidnapped, raped, and tortured because their captors deemed them chattel.

He shook his head. “I’d rather not. To do so would remind me of a period in our history when we were in bondage.”

She nodded slowly. “I understand.”

And Dana did understand. Her home had been called Raven’s Crest because her father had inherited
the house and its title from
his
father, who in turned had inherited it from
his
father. The original structure had belonged to a slaveholder. The former owner, one of the last surviving widows of a Confederate officer in the region, had sold Raven’s Crest to Dr. Silas Nichols to pay off back taxes and creditors. The elderly woman had taken the money Silas had given her and moved with an unmarried daughter to Louisiana.

Taking a step, Tyler leaned over and kissed Dana’s cheek. “Good night.”

She shivered despite the lingering heat. She knew her house would feel like a sauna when compared to Tyler’s climate-controlled one. “Good night.”

Waiting until she’d closed and locked the door behind her, he walked back to his truck and drove back his own empty house.

And for the first time since relocating to Hillsboro, Dr. Tyler Simmons Cole did not want to go to bed—alone.

Six

Dana woke up feeling as if she’d just closed her eyes. After Tyler drove her back home, she’d sat out on the porch on a swing rocker, staring out into the darkened countryside. The heat, the smell of the parched earth, the intermittent croaking of frogs, and the incessant chirping of crickets had lulled her into a hypnotic trance as she recalled the happier times she’d shared with her parents and widowed grandmother.

She hadn’t remembered her grandfather, who’d been killed in an accident the year she turned two. Daniel Sutton, who had worked for the railroad as a track worker, lost his life after a coupling between two freight cars broke loose, crushing him to death. The railroad compensated Georgia Sutton for her husband’s death, but grieving the loss of her first and only love, she vowed she would never remarry or take up with another man. Waiting a year, the socially acceptable time limit for mourning the loss of a spouse, men began calling on what most considered a handsome widow woman. Dana remembered her grandmother glaring at the men standing on her doorstep, before sending them away with a curt reply that she did not want to be bothered.

Dana had also recalled the Sunday dinners with her grandmother. After church services concluded, Alicia and Georgia would retreat to the kitchen, where they’d
prepare enough food to last until the next Sunday dinner. It was only during the winter months that the two women cooked every day. Turning on the stove and ovens had helped to filter warmth throughout the house.

She could count the times Alicia cooked in her own kitchen: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. She only used the kitchen at Raven’s Crest for major family holidays.

Dana had sat up thinking about her family because she did not want to think about Tyler Cole. Seeing him was visually shocking, and interacting with him had short-circuited her nervous system. He was a man who was certain to become an enticing distraction. And she did not need any distractions—especially from someone who looked like him.

She’d finally left the porch to go to bed, and as soon as her head touched her pillow she’d begun dreaming—dreaming about a tall man with sun-browned olive skin, large penetrating black eyes, and a voice soft and sensual enough to send shivers up and down her spine every time he opened his mouth to speak.

If you’re talking about a wife and children, I have none
. His statement was branded in her mind. He was a bachelor, yet he had built a home with enough space for a large family. He may not have had a wife, but that did not mean there wasn’t a woman to whom Tyler had pledged his life and his future. It was after three when Dana finally fell asleep, shutting out the haunting image of the man who unknowingly had snared her in a web of desire.

Bright sunlight poured through the sheers at the tall windows. It was going to be another day without rain. Rolling over, she sat up, her bare feet dangling over the side of a four-poster mahogany bed standing more than a foot off the floor. Her toes touched a
matching stool as she climbed down. The bare wood floor was warm under the soles of her feet.

It was imperative she go to the supermarket to stock the refrigerator and pantry. But first she had to find a plastic covering for her gauze-covered hand before showering.

It took more than an hour for Dana to brush her teeth, shower, and dress herself.

Wearing a loose-fitting light blue, flowered-sprigged Laura Ashley dress and a pair of pale-blue leather mules, she descended the staircase. The telephone rang as she walked into the kitchen. Quickening her pace, she picked up the receiver to a wall phone before the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Hello, long-lost friend.”

Vertical lines formed between Dana’s eyes. She did not recognize the female voice.

“Dana?” The woman’s voice came through the earpiece after a prolonged silence.

“I’m sorry, but you seem to have the advantage. I don’t recognize your voice.”

“Remember when we pricked our fingers and became blood sisters?”

“Lily Mitchell!” Dana’s smile was dazzling. Lily had been her very best friend. They’d been practically inseparable.

“You got the first name right. I’ve been Lily Clark for several years now.”

“Don’t tell me you married Billy.” Lily had had a crush on Billy Clark since the fourth grade.

“I sure did. I just got back from a week-long anniversary cruise, and the first thing I hear from Billy’s mother is that you’d come back to Hillsboro.”

Dana was certain every tongue in Hillsboro was wagging
about her return. “I came back to bury my grandmother and settle her estate.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother, Dana.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to be home later?”

Dana glanced up at the clock over the sink. It was eight-forty-five. “How much later?” she asked Lily.

“Around five or six.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll come by. I have something to show you.”

Dana smiled even though Lily could not see her. Out of all of the girls in their group, Lily had been the prankster.

“I’ll be here,” Dana said.

She ended the call, a warm smile softening her features. Reuniting with her childhood friend evoked a time when she’d believed she lived in a perfect world. But the disintegration of her fairy-tale existence coincided with the breakup of her parents’ marriage.

Their constant bickering had had her fleeing to her room for sanctuary. It was there she’d covered her head with a pillow, or hidden in a closet, to shut out the sound of their arguing. She hadn’t wanted her mother and father to separate or divorce; however, there were several occasions when she wished they’d had. Anything was better than them screaming at each other while hurling accusations like falling meteorites.

She had witnessed friends and classmates whose parents had split up, always believing that if parents really thought of the pain it would cause their children, they would try to work out the differences in order to save their marriage.

And it wasn’t until Dana was older that she realized her parents’ marriage couldn’t be saved. Alicia Sutton-Nichols was an adulteress, and she hadn’t bothered to hide her infidelity from her husband whenever she returned
home without washing away the evidence of her indiscretions.

Knowing her mother had slept around was always a deciding factor for her whenever she was faced with the decision of whether she would have an intimate relationship with a man. She’d always agonized whether she’d inherited Alicia’s proclivity for promiscuity. However, she’d been faithful to Galvin, belaying the fear that she would not be able to maintain a monogamous union.

After she and Galvin parted, Dana purposely rejected any man who expressed an interest in her, while embarking on a pattern of eating dinner at restaurants, going to the movies, and attending social gatherings without an escort.

During the summer months of June, July, and August, she always decreased the number of hours she worked at the newspaper because she wanted to spend extra time with Georgia Sutton. They usually shared long weekends visiting the Canadian provinces of Ontario and Quebec. They’d hold hands and talk about anything and everything—except Hillsboro. It was if that topic had become taboo. Now, she’d ended a twenty-two-year exile to return to Hillsboro and a house filled with memories of another time in her family’s past, and what made her return even more poignant was that this would become the first Hillsboro summer she would not have her grandmother to confide in.

Pushing the memories of her family’s past to the farthest recesses of her mind, she slipped the car key off a magnetic hook affixed to the door of the refrigerator. A smile softened her mouth when she remembered the vow she and Lily had made one afternoon on the Mitchells’ front porch: Lily would grow up and marry William Clark, while Dana would become Mrs.
Ross Wilson, Jr. Billy and Ross were three years their senior, which made them older, exciting, and somewhat dangerous to the prepubescent girls.

She was still smiling when she walked out of the kitchen, locked up the house, started up the car, backed out of the driveway, heading in the direction of the downtown business district.

Tyler maneuvered into the driveway, parking behind Dana’s Chevy, refusing to acknowledge he was acting like a lovesick fool. He wasn’t in love with Dana Nichols, didn’t know her, but he had admitted to himself that he was drawn to her in a way he had never been attracted to another woman—not even the first woman who’d shared his bed.

Whereas he’d always been two to three years ahead of his peers intellectually, the reverse was the case when it came to sex. While most of his friends had experienced their first sexual encounter when still in high school, he’d waited until his first year in college. His on-again, off-again affair with a fellow college student taught him what self-control meant. Once he’d discovered his libido was stronger than he’d ever expected it to be, he’d learned to control his sex drive with meditation. It usually worked for him—until now.

There was something about Dana Nichols: her eyes, voice, smile, the way she stared up at him, and her slender compact body that meditating could not neutralize. He’d taken two icy-cold showers, but to no avail. If he hadn’t been so disturbed by his instant attraction to Dana, he would’ve thought he was going through a premature midlife crisis. Although forty-one, he found himself more randy than he’d been as an adolescent.

Turning off the engine, he reached over and picked
up the small leather case and a large white shopping bag off the passenger-side seat. Opening the door to his vehicle, he stepped out into the smothering heat. A few clouds dotted a blistering white sky. Meteorologists were watching the weather carefully, because there were sightings of several twisters in Arkansas, Tennessee, and Oklahoma. The bone-dry Delta region needed rain, not tornados.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Cole. I hope Dana’s not feeling poorly.”

Tyler turned, nodding to the elderly woman standing on the steps of the neighboring house with a broom in one hand as he made his way to Dana’s front door.

“Good afternoon, Miss Janie.” He offered her a friendly smile.

He had no intention of replying to Miss Janie’s query about Dana’s health. She’d probably heard about the accident at Smithy’s within minutes of its occurrence. And it was apparent the elderly woman had come out of her house when she saw him drive up, curious why he would be making a visit to her recently deceased neighbor’s house in the middle of the afternoon. He had lived in Hillsboro long enough to know that Janie Stewart was an incurable gossip.

“Let me know if she needs my help,” the older woman continued as Tyler rang the bell.

“I will, Miss Janie.”

Within minutes of his ringing the bell, Dana came to the door. She looked different today. Her hair was loose, parted off-center, the blunt-cut ends grazing her shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the shimmering gold strands threaded through the light brown ones. At first he thought she’d artificially lightened her hair, but upon closer inspection he realized the gold highlights were natural. The pale-blue dress with tiny purple flowers
was flattering to her body, and he wondered how long it had taken her to dress and style her hair.

Smiling at her stunned expression, he said, “I’ve come to examine your hand and share lunch.” He held up the large white shopping bag.

Dana stood on the other side of the screen door, staring numbly at Tyler. She hadn’t expected to see him in the middle of the afternoon. She was glad he’d come because she was frustrated by her temporary handicap. Before entering Publix, she’d stopped at a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through window and ordered a greasy, sodium-filled concoction that impersonated a breakfast fajita. She’d opted for orange juice to relieve her dry throat instead of a container of coffee. Since the accident at Smithy’s, she’d avoided hot beverages.

“Please open the door, Dana, before Miss Janie begins the second round of her inquisition,” Tyler whispered softly.

Unlatching the door, she pushed it open. “What are you doing here so early?”

Waiting until she’d closed and locked the door behind him, Tyler stared at her upturned face, his expression impassive. “Can’t I even get a ‘good afternoon,’ Miss Nichols?”

Pinpoints of heat dotted her cheeks. She’d forgotten her manners. She flashed a demure smile. “Good afternoon, Dr. Cole.”

He nodded, smiling. “Good afternoon, Miss Dana. To answer your question as to why I’m here so early—the clinic closes at two on Fridays.”

Dana lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t want you to neglect your patients just to come and see me.”

Tyler wanted to tell her he’d never put a woman before his patients—that patients were more important
than any personal assignation. “Have you forgotten I think of you as one of my patients?” he said instead.

Dana smiled again, the expression lighting up her face and her eyes. “You make house calls and feed your patients. I’m really impressed.”

He bowed slightly from the waist. “Thank you. Playing the small-town doctor is a new experience for me. I want you to let me know when I’m not getting it right.”

But everything about Tyler is so right
, she mused. From the top of his graying curly hair to the soles of his expensively shod feet, from his soft sensual deep voice to his gentle bedside manner, Dr. Tyler Cole was perfect.

“I’m certain you’ll do just fine,” she said. “Come, we can sit out on the back porch. It’s the coolest place in the house right now.” Every ceiling fan in the house was working tirelessly to dispel the buildup of heat.

Tyler followed Dana through the living room, his gaze sweeping around the space and cataloguing its contents. The interior of Georgia Sutton’s house was larger than it had appeared from the outside—its furnishings harkening back to another era. He wanted to linger and examine the stately towering grandfather clock softly chiming the half hour.

Owning a home for the first time had surprisingly elicited a new interest in home furnishings. His mother, with his approval, had selected and ordered all of the furnishings for the main house, but had left him with the responsibility of deciding what he wanted for the three-suite guest house.