His Touch

He didn’t feel he was ready. But when Thurmon put the squeeze on him, he hadn’t had much choice. At least it gave him the opportunity to see his son, an opportunity he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

“Damn,” Brant muttered, lurching upright.

While he’d been deep in thought, Elliot had driven up and was getting out of his Mustang. For a second paralysis seemed to hold Brant in his seat. His eyes feasted on the one human who was part of himself. Pride rose in him. Even from this distance, he could see what a good-looking young man Elliot had become. Tall and strapping, just like he’d been at that age, with the same profile. His hair, however, was light brown, like his mother’s.

Forcing himself to move, Brant jumped out of his vehicle and crossed the street. “Elliot, wait up.”

His son whirled and stared at him wide-eyed; then his dark eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. Brant’s heart faltered as he thought Elliot was going to turn his back on him.

“Hello, son,” Brant forced himself to say before his own nerve failed.

“Hi,” Elliot muttered, shifting his gaze.

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” Brant said, hearing the awkwardness in his voice and hating it.

Elliot shrugged. “Whatever.”

Brant strove for a decent breath. This was going to be even harder than he’d anticipated—for both of them. He was sweating like he’d been chopping logs at the cabin, and it wasn’t even hot.

“You know I’m going to be close by for a while.”

“Yeah, right.”

Brant refused to be defeated. “I thought maybe we might get together soon, maybe go out to dinner.”

“Whatever,” Elliot said again, finally looking at him.

The pain and confusion mirrored in his son’s eyes almost brought Brant to his knees. What if he couldn’t fix their broken relationship? What if the gulf was too wide to breach? No. He wouldn’t think like that. He would make things work. Whatever it took.

Now that he’d seen his son, no way was he leaving, even if Jessica Kincaid fired his ass tomorrow.

“Look, Elliot, I want a chance to make things right between us.”

Elliot’s eyes flared. “Why?”

“Because you’re my son.” And because I love you. But for some reason those words stuck in Brant’s throat. “I want us to get to know one another. I want to find out what you’re up to, where you plan to go to school.” He broke off. “Stuff like that.”

Elliot’s mouth took a bitter turn. “Don’t you think it’s a little late?”

Brant ignored his sarcasm and kept his voice calm. “No, I don’t.”

“You never cared before.”

“I always cared, Elliot,” he said with patience. “It’s just that—” Brant broke off, refusing to make any more excuses for the way he’d treated his son.

“Look, you’re right on target with your contempt of me. I’ll admit that. And I know saying I’m sorry won’t do the trick. Instead, I want to show you.” He paused, trying to gauge Elliot’s reaction, only he couldn’t. His features were as blank as a stone wall. “So what do you say?” Brant pressed. “You have any free time?”

“I’ll call you,” Elliot said, pawing at the ground with the toe of his left running shoe.

That wasn’t the answer Brant wanted, so his initial response was to say no, to set a time and place right then. Beg, if necessary. But he held his tongue. If he pushed, he sensed Elliot would push back. Get further away. At least Elliot hadn’t told him to get lost. And while that was a mere crumb, he was grateful for it.

“Calling me will work,” Brant said at last, blowing out his pent-up breath. “That’ll work just fine.”

Elliot nodded, shoving both hands down in the pockets of his jeans and not responding.

“You have my cell number, right?” Brant asked. He felt foolish, but he was loathe to end the conversation. Just being near his son gave him a new lease on life.

“Elliot?”

Brant froze. Marsha. He hadn’t even known she was home, but then, he hadn’t cared. When he’d darted up the driveway, he’d had tunnel vision. Everything else had fled his mind. Now, looking up and seeing his ex-wife standing outside the front door brought reality home with a bitter jolt.

She hadn’t changed much in the years since their divorce, except that her hair was more frosted, probably to cover up the fact that she was getting older and grayer. Perhaps she’d put on a bit more weight as well. Yet she was still attractive in an ordinary sort of way. She was short and curvy, with a reserved manner.

Her main goal in life had been to marry and have a home and children. She had resented his job from the get-go, mainly because he’d been away from home so much. Back then, he’d blamed her for that, throwing it back in her face how much she liked to spend the money he made.

So many mistakes. But losing her was not one of them, except that it had affected Elliot and their relationship. Still, he didn’t have anyone to blame for that but himself, certainly not Marsha, although she had done everything in her power to keep that wedge between them.

His downfall had been letting her get away with it. No longer. He was ready to fight.

“Hello, Marsha,” he said into the growing, hostile silence.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her eyes pinging from him to Elliot, concern knitting her brows.

Elliot, in turn, kept looking down, as though he wished he were anywhere but there or that he could simply disappear. Brant didn’t blame him. His son had been caught in the middle his entire life.

That was also about to stop.

“I came to see Elliot.” Since you obviously haven’t bothered to give him my messages. Like so many other words, they remained unspoken.

“I can see that,” she retorted.

“We’re planning a time to get together for dinner.”

“I didn’t say that,” Elliot countered with defiance in his tone.

Brant clamped down on his emotions. “Well, I’m hopeful that will be the case.”

“Elliot, come on inside,” Marsha said. “I’m sure you have some homework.”

For a minute his son looked as if he wanted to argue, which was another crumb Brant snatched. But then Elliot muttered something under his breath, strode up the steps and slammed the door behind him.

“Thanks, Marsha. I really appreciate that.”

“No one gave you permission to come here.”

“Dammit, I don’t need permission to see my son, certainly not from you.”

“Ah, so now you’ve decided to become the model parent,” she spat, her tone as nasty as her features.

“That’s right. I made that promise to myself. I also promised I wasn’t going to have a verbal slinging match with you about Elliot.”

“What about Elliot?” she flared back.

“What about him?”

“He has no say-so in this. Right now, he’s a happy, normal young man who has a father. And it’s not you.” Marsha paused, as though giving him time to digest that thought. “It’s Preston. He’s taken your place in Elliot’s life.”

Those harsh words cut like she’d taken a knife and slashed his heart to pieces. Yet Brant never so much as flinched. “No matter what has happened in the past, Elliot is my son. And no matter how much you wish that weren’t true, it is.”

“I’ll continue to fight you.”

“That’s your prerogative. But I’m not giving up unless it comes from Elliot. You can hate me all you want, but I’m asking you not to let your hate spill over to our son.”

“Stay away from here, Brant.”

“For god’s sake, Marsha, you’re being unreasonable. Why not let Elliot make some choices on his own? He’s certainly old enough.”

“Because I don’t trust you not to hurt him again,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “He’s suffered enough at your hands.”

“I swear to you, that won’t happen,” Brant said in a soft tone. “And while I might have done some unpardonable things in your eyes, I’ve never lied to you.”

“Somehow I take little comfort in that.”

“Can’t we just please reach a truce, for Elliot’s sake?”

“I’m making no promises, Brant, either way. I’ll talk to Preston.”

Brant clamped down on his lip so hard to stop his retort that he tasted blood. “You do that, but it’s not going to change things. Meanwhile, leave the boy alone. Use me as a whipping boy all you want, but don’t stand Elliot beside me. He deserves better.”

“And you can go to hell.”

“Thank you very much, but I’ve been there for some years now.”

For once Marsha didn’t seem to have a comeback. Instead, she let out a deep sigh, then said bitterly, “I doubt I’ll have much to say about it, anyway. As much as I hate to admit it, Elliot’s as stubborn as you when he makes up his mind.”

“Then let him make it up.” Brant stopped short of pleading.

“I told you, I’m making no promises.” With that she turned and flounced back into the house.

Brant remained rooted to the spot, feeling much like he had the day he’d gotten shot in the gut. Numb all over. That was when he noticed Elliot standing at the window, peering out, his face pinched in sadness.

Pain, as lethal as the strongest narcotic, shot through Brant’s system, almost sending him to his knees. Dejected, he turned and walked back to his vehicle.

Nine

The situation had worsened. Jessica didn’t think she would ever adjust to having another man in the house, especially a stranger. She kept telling herself something was terribly askew when one had to have a bodyguard.

The reality of that was appalling. Determined to reroute her thoughts, she opened the French doors onto the small balcony and stepped outside. Evening was settling in, and the temperature was quite pleasant. Soon, however, the heat from the brutal blast of summer would hit Texas with a vengeance, the Dallas area in particular, with very little rain to ease the pain.

Still, she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. This lovely, high-profile city was home, the place where she lived and worked, the most important thing in her life, the reason she climbed out of bed each morning. Since she had lost Porter, she’d had to refocus, though not a lot. Without children, it was logical and easy to focus on their careers—his more than hers, as she was the backbone behind him, or so he’d told her many times.

The pain of losing Porter had subsided, thank goodness. Time had taken care of that. Now she could think of him with fond, sweet memories that were to be cherished at moments like these, when she was down-and-out. A bird sang merrily in a nearby oak tree that draped over her small deck. The oak’s thick foliage served as an umbrella against the sun during the heat of the day.

Jessica heard a sound and leaned over the railing slightly, peering down. Immediately, her heart almost stopped beating. Someone was there. She leaned farther, but whoever it was had gone.

Brant? Had he been outside? Or had her imagination been playing tricks on her? Instead of thinking about him, she forced herself to peruse the vibrant annuals, their colors bursting from the various pots spaced around the area. But her thoughts refused to cooperate. Then she heard that sound again.

With her heart thumping at an even faster rate, Jessica moved slightly, then peered down once again. Brant in the flesh. Her breath caught, and every nerve in her body jumped to high alert.

He stood unmoving with his hand shoved into his pocket, staring into the twilight. Instead of the slacks he’d worn today, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Not sloppy, but definitely comfortable.

Jessica swallowed hard, feeling her heartbeat move from her chest to her throat, where it seemed to pound without mercy. She was behaving like an idiot, like someone totally out of control. She fought to remove her gaze. Nothing doing. It was like her eyes had been welded to him, embracing everything about him, from his tanned muscled arms to his powerful thighs. It hit her suddenly what the problem was: he was simply too male to suit her.

A dose of trouble wrapped in a sexy package.

She wondered how he perceived her, especially when those eyes seemed to touch every part of her body when he looked at her.

Jessica shivered.

That was when he turned and looked up. In the remaining light, their gazes met and held. Her cheeks blazed, and her mouth went dry. Words she would ordinarily have no problem speaking jammed in her throat.

This would never do.

“Nice evening,” he commented, then raked his long fingers through his dark hair.

His voice had just enough harsh strength in it to further assault her senses. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he really meant it. It wasn’t important. It wouldn’t be wise to enter into a light, bantering conversation with him. Ever. That in itself would be asking for trouble. Strictly business. The less she knew about him, the better off she would be. He, on the contrary, seemed to think everything about her life should be an open book.

But this mess she’d gotten herself into for whatever reason wasn’t his fault. She had to remember that and not take her mounting frustrations out on him.

She didn’t know much about him. But she knew enough to realize he didn’t take orders nearly as well as he gave them.

“It’s lovely,” she finally forced herself to say, though she barely got the words past her dry lips.

He didn’t respond for a second, but he didn’t stop looking at her, either. “Hopefully we’ll nail the bastard and I’ll be out of here ASAP.”

Jessica flushed at his uncanny ability to read her mind. “I hope so, too,” she responded, not about to apologize for anything, including her attitude.

“Try and get some sleep,” he said, following another moment of strained silence.

“Do you need anything?” She hadn’t planned on continuing the conversation, but a myriad of hidden emotions seemed to be driving her to say meaningless, irrational things.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to concern yourself about me.”

Something in his tone further irritated her. “I’m not,” she said coldly. “It’s just that you are in my home.”

His lips turned into a smirk of sorts. “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

Her flush deepened. “Good night.”

She didn’t know what his response was to her abrupt words or departure. Moreover, she didn’t care. If that conversation was anything to judge by, this was going to be a worse ordeal than she’d first imagined.

Only after she was back in the sanctuary of her room did Jessica breathe a clear breath. As Brant had said, she could hope it wouldn’t take long to find the pervert, then both of them would be out of their misery.

Although she wasn’t sleepy in the least, Jessica slipped out of her clothes. That was when her stomach rumbled and she realized she was hungry. She supposed she could wander downstairs and grab a quick snack. Or not. She might cross paths with Brant again.

So what if she did?

If not tonight, then certainly in the morning and all during the day, she reminded herself, slipping into a caftan. Still, she didn’t move toward the door. Instead, she grabbed a folder out of her briefcase and headed for her desk, where she turned on the computer.

Her first instinct was to check her e-mail, but, as usual these days, she hesitated, choosing to finish her work first. If she had a frightening or degrading message, it would upset her and detour her concentration.

If only the phone would cooperate. As if compelled by the same magnet that had drawn her to Brant, her gaze sought the beige instrument. In the process her eyes caught on Porter’s picture, which sat beside it. For a moment a wave a despair washed through her.

How dear and gentle he had been, and how she missed him, despite the fact that passion had never really figured in their relationship. Even though she’d shared his bed, he had never stirred the embers of her emotions. Oftentimes she’d wondered if she was capable of feeling such stirrings. Having been reared to distrust men, she’d been a virgin when she’d married Porter.

Because of that, her husband had treated her like a fragile piece of porcelain in bed. Out of the bedroom, however, he’d treated her like an equal, which had become the strength and underpinnings of their solid marriage. It had been through him that she had overcome so much pain, making her strong-willed and resilient, strengths she knew would get her through this latest ordeal.

Yet when she’d told her mother she was getting married and to whom, Opal Cannon had been outraged.

“Have you lost your mind?” she’d asked, a frown adding unflattering years to her otherwise unlined face.

Jessica had stiffened. “That’s a hurtful thing to say.”

“I don’t care,” Opal declared with a sweep of her pudgy hand. “I thought I’d done a better job of rearing you than that.”

“Oh, Mother,” Jessica said, her tone brimming with sadness. “I wish you could let go of the past. What Daddy did has almost ruined your life.”

“And you’re about to do the same thing.”

Jessica shook her head adamantly. “Not all men are like Daddy. Contrary to what you think, some have sticking power.”

Opal’s frown deepened. “And you think Porter does?”

“Without question.”

“What about that son of his?”

Jessica stiffened. “What about him?”

“If you think he’s going to put you before that kid, think again. You’ll always be second.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Even if he hated his own flesh and blood, you’re still making a big mistake. Why, he’s old enough to be your father, for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s all right.”

“Is that what you’re looking for, huh? Someone to take his place?”

“Of course not. How can you say that?”

“Because that’s what it looks like from the outside. You’re a successful attorney with a bright future in front of you, with the sky as the limit.”

“Marrying Porter’s not going to change that.”

“That’s what you think,” Opal countered scornfully. “Before you know it, you’ll be dancing to his tune.” She paused, her breathing becoming more labored by the second. “What about your desire to go into politics?”

“He’ll support me.”

“Dream on, honey.” Opal’s tone was tainted with bitterness. “He has political aspirations of his own, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jessica crossed her arms over her chest as if seeking protection from the sharp blows of her mother’s criticism. “That he does, and I’ll support him one hundred percent. If need be, mine can wait.”

Opal threw up her hands. “For all the headway I’m making, I might as well be talking to a brick wall. You’re as obstinate as that sorry daddy of yours.”

Jessica winced visibly. It seemed her mother took delight in taking her own hurt and anger out on her just because she’d been close to her father and had even been willing to forgive and forget, if only Farrell had made the effort to make amends before his death. Of course, he hadn’t, which made the pain of his rejection that much harder to bear. But she had managed. Unlike her mother, she’d moved on and grieved over the loss of her dad, silently, in the darkest corner of her heart.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. However, I’m not asking your permission to marry Porter.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Your blessings, actually.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give them.”

That cut to the core. “What happens when Joan decides to get married? Will she be subjected to the same lecture?”

“No because she won’t make that mistake. She has better sense.”

“Sure, Mother,” Jessica responded, making an effort to hide her smile and her disdain. Her younger sister had had numerous boyfriends, a fact that she’d hidden from their mother. One day, though, Joan would meet Mr. Right and marry him. Jessica would be curious to see her mother’s reaction to her favorite child’s rebellion.

“You go ahead and take the leap,” Opal said into the silence. “But mark my words, you’ll be sorry.”

Needless to say, she and her sister both had defied Opal, and both marriages had been successful. Joan, fortunately, was still married, with three children whom Opal doted on. As for herself, she had never been able to completely forgive or forget her mother’s hurtful words or hostile attitude.

Suddenly the phone rang. The caller ID identified her mother’s number. Was that mental telepathy or what? She hadn’t heard from Opal Cannon in over a month, something that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Since her mother had remarried—a shock in itself, considering her attitude toward men—and moved to Florida, she and Opal had drifted further apart.

“Jessica?”

“I’m here, Mother.”

“I was just thinking about you,” Opal said in the hesitant tone that was usual when she spoke to her elder daughter. “So I decided to call.”

“I was thinking about you, too, actually.”

“Oh.”

Jessica heard the surprise in Opal’s voice and felt the old sting of guilt. Her mother had tried throughout the years to patch things up between them, but it never quite worked. Jessica had decided long ago that the blame rested equally between them, which lessened her penchant for beating up on herself.

“Are you and Chris all right?” Chris was Opal’s husband, a good man and a good provider, for which Jessica was thankful. Long after her father had deserted them, leaving her mother to support two young children on a teacher’s salary, Opal’s resentment had continued to fester. She had sworn she hated men and would never have another.

She’d vowed to make it on her own. That endeavor had been difficult, especially financially. Yet Opal had done remarkably well. It was in the emotional arena that she had failed.

“We’re fine,” Opal acknowledged into the silence. “How ’bout you?”

“All right,” she lied. “Busy as usual. I’m about to jump-start my bid for reelection.”

“That’s a plus. But are you sure everything’s all right? I read where you’re embroiled in a controversy, something to do with the police force, if I recall.”

Jessica smothered a sigh. “Your recall is on target. The investigation is still ongoing, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, you were always the strong one in the family.”

Jessica thought she heard a note of envy in her mother’s voice, but maybe she was mistaken. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Her mother’s opinion, good or bad, had ceased to sway her one way or the other.

Sad but true.

“When are you coming to Florida?”

“Oh, Mother, I have no idea.” She wanted to invite Opal to visit her, but right now was not a good time. Her mother’s presence would only complicate things, not help.

“Is there perhaps another man in your life?”

Brant Harding’s face suddenly came to mind. Horrified, Jessica gripped the receiver until she had no feeling left in her hand. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t hurt, you know,” Opal said in a slightly offended tone. “Porter was more of a father than a husband. Now that I’ve married Chris, I know what it’s like to have a real man and a real marriage.”

“As I’ve said before,” Jessica told her in a tight voice, “I’m happy for you. But I’m not interested in remarrying—now or ever.”

“Whatever.” Opal’s tone was resigned. “Joan and the kids send their love.”

“Give them mine, too. Look, as soon as things settle here, I’ll try to get to Florida.”

“We’d all love that.” Opal’s voice had perked up considerably. “We’ll talk again soon. Meanwhile, you take care.”

“You, too.”

Once the receiver was back in place, it hit home one more time that no “I love yous” had been exchanged. An even sadder fact.

She was grateful for the sudden noise that pulled her out of her reverie. Realizing it was her stomach rebelling once again, Jessica decided to raid the kitchen or she could forget about sleeping. Besides, she figured by now he was in his room asleep.

Wrong.

The instant she entered the kitchen, she pulled up short, her eyes widening.

Brant.

Her pulse rate soared. He was kneeling, his back to her, rummaging through the cabinets. That in itself was no big deal. Like her, he was apparently hungry. The big deal was the way he was dressed.