One corner of his mouth lifted. “I fell asleep on the beach just before sunrise.”
“That doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Darla said.
“It wasn’t,” he admitted. “I’m out of practice for sleeping on the ground.”
“Good thing you can sleep on the plane,” Alana teased.
“You look like you need a nap, too,” he said, one eyebrow lifted.
There were enough seats on the plane for all four of them to claim a row and curl up, but the thought of spending her last moments with Lucas asleep made her throat tighten. “I might do that,” she said, and pushed the rest of her breakfast to the side.
She wasn’t ready to leave.
It’s just San Diego,
she told herself.
It’s warm and sunny and you’ve had a break from both of your jobs. You’ve spent all night in Lucas’s arms. You have beautiful memories of a romantic wedding in a picturesque setting. It’s the perfect way to end things.
Lucas strolled through the lobby, his duffle in hand, and grabbed a cup of coffee for the drive to the airport. Adam and Marissa dashed up the pier and into the lobby just in time to say good-bye.
Marissa hugged Alana tightly. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said.
“It was my pleasure,” she said. “Stay in touch.”
“We will.”
Darla said good-bye to her son and daughter-in-law in a firm voice, despite her trembling chin. “See you soon, Mom,” Adam said.
The ride to the airport was a little solemn. “Marissa looked beautiful,” Alana said to Darla.
“Happiness does that to a woman,” Darla said softly, looking out the window. She turned to Alana and smiled. “Thank you.”
They were in the air just minutes after boarding Nate’s jet. Alana took one of the window seats and purposely didn’t look at Lucas as he boarded. She wouldn’t give him longing glances. He might be tired, too. He had a job to do in Walkers Ford when he got home. And she couldn’t change the rules of the game on him. She’d made it very clear she wanted nothing more than casual.
He settled into the seat next to hers. “You should sleep,” he said. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow. I don’t want you driving tired.”
“You should sleep, too,” she replied.
“Three hours is good for me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kept you up most of the night.”
“Yes, you should have,” she whispered.
His hand slid over hers, then turned it palm-up so he could lace his fingers with hers. Without any concern at all for Darla or Nate, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, soaking her memory with the sensation of his muscled shoulder and the scent of his skin.
• • •
ALANA AWOKE WHEN
the wheels touched down. Momentarily disoriented, she inhaled shakily as she peered out the window and tried to remember where she was. The sight of the rolling green prairie made her smile. Home.
She was home.
Nate leaned across the aisle. “Why don’t you ride to Chicago with me? No point in driving across Minnesota and Wisconsin if you don’t have to,” he said. “You can hire an exec relo service to pack up your stuff and transport your car. You’d have it in a week, maybe less.”
Not home. Walkers Ford.
Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Lucas. “Um, I hadn’t even thought about it. I’m not quite done packing. I haven’t said good-bye to . . . anyone. Thank you, though.”
Nate nodded. “Fair enough.”
Their bags were stored in the cabin, so the pilot kept the engines running while Nate escorted them off the plane. “See you soon,” he said as he gave Alana a casual kiss on the cheek. “Nice to meet you. Next climbing trip, you’re in.”
“Deal,” Lucas said as he shook Nate’s hand.
They loaded up the truck and headed back into town. When they pulled into Darla’s driveway, Alana gave the older woman a hug, then climbed back into the truck. She’d forgotten to turn her phone back on at the airfield, so she did now and waited for the infuriatingly slow network to download the influx of messages, mostly from Freddie, and texts, again, mostly from Freddie. She had a voicemail, too, which surprised her. Very few people in her life actually called her, let alone left a message. She tapped on the message and waited for the playback.
“Ms. Wentworth, it’s Mayor Turner. Good news. The council approved the proposal you put together for us. We’ve got some citizens concerned about the police department funding, not Lucas, mind you, but never mind that. I’m asking you to stay a couple of weeks and get the ball rolling.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Mrs. Battle has agreed to help you with everything. Just give her a call when you get this message. Okay. Bye now.”
She stared at the phone for a second, trying to sort through her emotions. She always left unfinished business behind her. That was her job, to do research and put together proposals. She almost never pitched the proposal, let alone implemented it. But underneath the shock lay something more primitive she couldn’t deny.
She didn’t want to leave Walkers Ford with this project unfinished. This was her baby, her library, her renovation, for people who loved their library and appreciated her work.
“Everything okay?” Lucas asked when he got back in the truck.
Freddie would
kill
her. Kill her stone dead, and leave her body for her equally furious mother to dismember and pick over. The Senator likely wouldn’t notice. No surprise there.
“Mayor Turner just sandbagged me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “The council voted to go ahead with the renovation.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“They want me to stay for a couple of weeks and help draft the request for bids.”
• • •
SHE’D BE AROUND
for a couple more weeks? Lucas’s heart leaped in his chest, but he kept his face even. “Okay.”
“I can’t, of course,” she said.
His stomach dropped six inches. “Right.”
“Freddie will kill me. We’ve got New Delhi and London and the Senator’s banquet coming up, plus her wedding, which promises to be either an epic battle between her and Mother or the single biggest social event of the decade on two continents, or maybe both. Oh my God. There’s seven hours difference between Chicago and London. I’m going to be making calls at three in the morning for weeks. I can’t stay.”
He gave himself the duration of time it took to back out of Darla Collins’s driveway to feel disappointed. That was all he could handle. Five seconds. He gave himself another two seconds to shift into drive and to call himself an idiot. Which he was, for thinking Alana Wentworth,
the
Freddie Wentworth’s sister and closest confidant, the younger daughter of
those
Wentworths, would choose to stick around for the renovation of the Walkers Ford Public Library.
Seven seconds to feel something was the longest he’d felt anything in years. San Diego was an exception. He’d felt furious, jealous, happy, and relaxed, when he wasn’t perpetually aroused. Alana in tight jeans and a tight leather jacket, or Alana in a pretty blue sheath, barefoot on the beach, Alana in a thin cotton nightgown a thousand times sexier than satin and lace because he loved the feel of a body under cotton.
She wasn’t going to stay for the library, and she wasn’t going to stay for him. She’d wanted to go home different. He was sending her home different.
“I want to stay.”
He cut her a glance as they turned onto his street. “You do.”
“I do,” she said. “God. I can’t, but I do. I mean, anyone else can put together a request for bids. It’s not what I do. And someone has to talk Cody into doing that mural. Now, before he loses interest, or worse. Whatever happens with the renovation, the mural is the key to the library. Mrs. Battle might be able to convince him to do it.”
Lucas couldn’t help himself. He laughed.
“Okay, probably not. I’m not sure
I
can talk Cody into doing the mural, but he’s going to do it. He’s good with the kids, too, so maybe he could draw something and let them paint it, or guide them through something. And the furniture, someone has to—”
She visibly stopped herself. “I can’t stay.”
“But you want to.” He wasn’t pleading, or so he told himself. He was just playing devil’s advocate, a role that came easily to him.
“Someone else is better suited for this,” she said.
“How do you know you’re not good at implementing things?”
“I’m just not. I do research, outline proposals. Freddie or someone else polishes them and presents them, then someone
else
implements them.”
“That’s enough for you?”
She blinked. “Of course. I’m part of something of strategic value on a global scale.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” he said.
A little huff of laughter. “If I’m honest, sometimes I don’t know what it means, either.”
“You’re already working for them while you’re here. You can get up at three a.m. and call England from here.”
She flicked him a glance. “You’re not ready to see me go? You were going to tear out the kitchen.”
He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t really feel. “I’ll still tear out the kitchen.”
“I’ll be in your way.”
“You bet your sweet ass you’ll be in my way,” he said as he pulled into his driveway, “because you’ll be helping.”
She laughed, and swung those long legs out of the truck. He got out and braced for impact from Duke, who shot out of the screened-in porch to writhe and twist around Lucas’s legs. He crouched down and got a snout in his face for his trouble. “Miss me, boy? Did you miss me? That’s a good boy. You’re a good dog,” he said, sending up a flurry of fur as he scratched Duke’s neck.
He looked over his shoulder to find Alana watching them. She had her phone to her ear, and the call must have connected because she crossed the driveway and bent over to examine the roses. “It’s me. Look—oh, India’s hot this time of year, I know—yes, yes, oh, that’s good. What else do you need? E-mail me the list. Oh. I was out of town and I didn’t check my phone much. Yes, no, I’m home now, I can check on it—no, I’m not in Chicago. I meant I’m home in Walkers Ford. . . . It’s kind of home.”
Lucas hoisted Alana’s suitcase from the truck bed, then crossed the driveway to set it inside the kitchen door.
“Look, Freddie, I’m going to stay here another couple of weeks. The city council approved the renovation project, and they want me to stay on and get the process under way. The mayor promises he’s close to hiring someone.”
Freddie’s unhappy shriek pierced Lucas’s eardrum five feet away.
“I’m not—Freddie—please, listen to me,” she said. “I’m handling most of my job from here. I can—Mother wants what? That’s ridiculous. It’s a dinner, not a state funeral. I’ll call her later.”
Freddie’s voice escalated again, but Alana cut her off. “I am—I can still—I am
not playing at Library Director!
I am the acting library director here, and this is my responsibility.”
Silence on the other end of the line. Perhaps Alana’s indignant tone got through to her sister. Lucas couldn’t make out the next words, but the tone was apologetic. “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s inconvenient for everyone, but I need to stay just a little bit longer. It’s last minute, but isn’t that how things always go?”
A question.
“I’ll be back for the Senator’s party. I won’t miss that.” She looked across the driveway at Lucas. “I need to go, Freddie. Love to Toby.”
“She sounds like a handful,” Lucas said.
“She’s Freddie Wentworth. She’s a racehorse on crack, my sister, and my best friend,” Alana said matter-of-factly as she slid her phone into her jeans pocket. “She says I’m playing at being library director.”
“We don’t think you’re playing,” Lucas replied. “We can’t afford for people to play at their jobs around here. We don’t have a depth chart. People serve on the school board and the city council and as church deacons and crossing guards and the library board because we need them. Everyone matters here.”
He climbed the steps to the screened-in porch and opened the door. Duke stood by the plastic mat holding his food and water dishes. The food dish was empty, which was odd. Duke didn’t scarf down his food the moment Lucas scooped it out for him. The dog grazed on kibble throughout the day, often finishing the previous day’s meal just before Lucas dumped the day’s portion into the stainless steel bowl.
The water dish was bone-dry. He’d been gone the better part of three days.
Lucas looked at Duke a little more closely, no problem given that the dog was standing over his dish, tail wagging expectantly. His bright blue eyes were cloudy and dim, the first sign of dehydration. Lucas lifted the lid on the plastic tote he used to protect the dog food from marauding squirrels and raccoons. The scoop sat in exactly the same place he’d left it when he fed Duke the morning he left.
He cursed, low and hard and vicious.
“What’s wrong?” Alana asked from the driveway.
Still cursing under his breath, he picked up Duke’s water dish and held it under the outdoor faucet. The dog stuck his snout between the dish and the water splashing into the bowl, lapping up water, spraying Lucas’s shirt with icy cold liquid. “I’m sorry, boy,” he said.
The dog braced, gave a tremendous sneeze, then shook droplets from his snout and ears. Lucas set the bowl down, then turned to the food tub.
“What’s wrong?” Alana asked more quietly.
“I asked Tanya to take care of Duke for me while I was gone.” He dumped a scoop full of food into the bowl and watched Duke tear into it, switching between eating and drinking. “She didn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Slow down there,” he said, stroking Duke between the ears. “Slow down. It’s okay. I’m back.”
At the sound of Lucas’s voice, the dog leaned against his legs, easing into the scratch. When he stopped, Duke went back to the food dish, but this time with a little less zeal.
“Maybe she’s sick.”
Lucas huffed bitterly. “Drunk, you mean. Or high. Or both.” He dug his keys out of his jeans pocket.
“I’m coming with you.”
He glared at her across the truck’s hood. “Why? You think I’ll hold back because you’re around?”