Rochelle Alers - Home To Wickham Falls

Sawyer clamped his jaw tightly. He did not tell Rachel that he had set up custodial bank accounts in her sons’ names because he did not want her ex to slack off on his less-than-adequate child support payments. And he doubted whether he would ever have to pinch pennies. The four-story loft building had been his only big-ticket purchase. It was across the street from Enigma4For4; he occupied the two top floors and leased the two lower floors to an art gallery and an architectural design firm.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer saw Rachel staring at him. “What’s the matter?”

“Are you dating anyone?”

He shook his head.

“What happened to that girl you saw for more than a couple of months?”

A derisive sneer twisted his mouth. “We broke up six months ago.”

“What happened?”

Sawyer’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “She wanted a baby and I told her I’m not ready to become a father.”

“When do you think you’re going to be ready? At forty? Or maybe fifty?”

“Very funny, Rachel.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. You’re thirty-three, and it seems as if you’re becoming more and more antimarriage. Do you even like women, other than to sleep with them?”

“I can assure you, little sister, that I like women a lot. Just not the ones who try to force me to do something I’m not ready to do.”

“So, you’re telling me if you met a woman you really like you’d marry her, like, yesterday?” She snapped her fingers.

“I’d have to do more than like her because I’d never marry a woman I didn’t love.”

“Are you saying there is the possibility that one of these days you’ll make me an auntie?” Rachel asked, smiling.

He returned her smile. “Maybe.”

“What aren’t you telling me, big brother?”

Sawyer sobered and concentrated on the road. He wanted to tell Rachel there was nothing to tell. He wasn’t dating anyone and he wondered whether he’d become too comfortable with his own company or just more discriminating.

“It’s going to be a while before I consider becoming a father.”

“How long is a while? And why wouldn’t you want to have children?”

A noticeable muscle twitched in Sawyer’s jaw when he clenched his teeth. “I didn’t say I don’t want children, it’s just that I don’t want to raise my kids like Dad.”

Rachel exhaled an audible breath. “Didn’t you say Dad is who he is and you are who you are? And that means you could never be like him.” She paused. “You should know he hasn’t been the same since you left The Falls.”

“And that means what?”

“That he’s mellowed. And when he barks at Mom she comes right back at him.”

Sawyer flashed a wide grin. “Wonders never cease. I figured after a while she’d get tired of being his doormat.”

“There are times when she’s like a junkyard dog barking at him and refusing to back down. She told me once she turned fifty-five she wasn’t taking it anymore.”

Although he avoided verbal confrontation, Sawyer would give anything to witness his mother standing up to her husband. “It looks as if you have company,” he said, as a late-model gray Ford Escape maneuvered into the driveway behind his father’s decades-old red pickup.

“That’s Jessica. She was the boys’ second grade teacher. She’s probably here to drop off the books I asked her to bring for their summer reading. Now that they’re going into middle school I don’t want them to lag behind.”

Sawyer pulled in alongside the SUV and shut off the engine. “I thought they were good students.”

“They’re above grade level in every subject but language arts. I preach until I’m blue in the face that they have to stop playing those darn computer games and read more.”

“That’s easy enough to fix. Use your parental controls,” Sawyer suggested. “I’ll...” His words trailed off when his nephews’ former teacher got out of her car and came around to the passenger-side door.

He was unable to pull his gaze away from the slender legs in sheer navy-blue stockings and matching silk-covered stilettos. His gaze moved up to a body-hugging sleeveless black dress ending at her knees, banded at the neckline and around a slightly flaring hem in the same shade as her footwear. Rachel was out of the rental and exchanging hugs with the young woman.

The brilliant afternoon sun glinted off Jessica’s black pixie-cut hairstyle, and when she turned to look at him Sawyer felt as if he had been punched in the gut. During his time in the military he’d seen countless beautiful women from every race and ethnic group, yet there was something about the woman smiling at him that made him feel like a gauche adolescent when he could not pull his gaze away from the perfection of the round brown face with large dark eyes, an enchanting button-like nose and generously curved lips outlined in a glossy red-orange lipstick. Her features were reminiscent of a delicate doll’s, and there was something about her face that reminded him of a darker version of Salma Hayek. His movements were robotic as he stepped out of the vehicle, unaware he had been holding his breath until he felt the constriction in his chest.

Looping an arm through Jessica’s, Rachel met Sawyer’s eyes. “Sawyer, I’d like you to meet Jessica Calhoun.”

Jessica’s smile grew wider as she extended her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Rachel talks about you all the time.”

Sawyer took the proffered hand. Everything about her was sensual, including her perfume, along with her sultry voice. “I hope the talk has been more good than bad.”

There was beat, then Jessica said, “She adores you.”

His gaze swung to Rachel who appeared embarrassed as evidenced by the blush suffusing her cheeks. “And I adore her.”

“May I have my hand back please?” Jessica whispered, smiling.

Sawyer had forgotten he was still holding on to her hand. “Sorry about that,”

“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

He inclined his head because he didn’t have a comeback. If his father had not had a heart attack Sawyer doubted he would have ever returned to Wickham Falls as long as Henry Middleton was alive.

Jessica turned, opened her SUV’s passenger-side door, scooped up the canvas bag resting on the seat and handed it to Rachel. “These are the books for Dylan and Colin. Sawyer, if you don’t mind, could you please get the picnic hamper from the cargo area?”

“No problem.” He walked to the rear of the vehicle and, grasping the handles on the covered wicker hamper, lifted it easily. “Where do you want this?”

“You can take it into the house.”

“What did you bring?” Rachel asked Jessica.

“I decided to make a few dishes for your mother. With your dad in the hospital I figured she’s not going to have a lot of time cooking for the family.”

Rachel glared at Jessica. “You didn’t have to do that,” she chided sotto voce.

A slight frown settled between Jessica’s eyes. “Please, Rachel. Don’t start. I told your mother about it. If I can’t help out friends in a family crisis then I’m not much of a friend. I only came by to drop off the books and the food. I have to head out now or I’ll be late for the retirement dinner. Nice meeting you, Sawyer,” she called out as he headed for the house.

Sawyer stopped, turned and flashed a warm smile at the same time he hoisted the hamper to a shoulder. “Nice meeting you, too.” He was still standing in the same spot when Jessica drove away.

“Be careful, brother. You were staring at Jessica like a deer caught in the headlights,” Rachel teased.

“That’s because she’s stunning,” he replied, walking toward the house, Rachel following.