CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

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"I WON'T be there for Thanksgiving. I plan to stay here in Green Hills until after the holiday."

Travis heard the words come out of his mouth, shaking his head. For a man who had once sworn never to set foot in his home town again, he couldn't believe he had' been here three weeks. Pete and Candice had issued a standing invitation to visit any time he wanted.

And the crazy part? Travis knew he would be back.

"A lot has happened since the last time we saw each other," Spencer Kraig chuckled. "I'm glad you called and caught me up."

Spencer was the best sounding board Travis knew. Instinctively, the Cyclones' third baseman knew when to simply listen, or when a friend needed his advice. At the moment, Travis needed the latter.

"Green Hills used to be my home. A place I belonged. Where I felt safe. Welcome. I haven't felt that way since Dad died."

"Hometowns have a powerful pull. As do first loves."

Spencer was engaged to Blue O'Hara. The love of his life—his first love. They found each other again. A true happily ever after. After a whole bunch of heartache. Travis and Delaney's situation wasn't the same.

"Del and I were friends. Married in name only. I wasn't her first love. She wasn't mine."

"From what you've told me, I think you're wrong," Spencer said. Three thousand miles away and he still saw things clearer than Travis could. "You loved each other, whether romantic or not. The years apart didn't change anything. Except now Delaney is a grown woman. You've both grown."

Spencer was right. As usual. Even if Travis had been in love with Delaney—the way a man loves a woman—he hadn't been ready for her. And she certainly hadn't been ready for him.

They had lived apart. Experienced different things. Had friends and lovers. All the while, the connection between them had never broken. Somehow, they found their way back. To Green Hills. And to each other.

"I've come to terms with my hometown. But Seattle is the only place I can see myself long term."

"What about Delaney? Can you see yourself with her—long term?"

"Yes." Travis didn't hesitate. He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. "I think she feels the same."

"But…?"

"Something is holding her back." And frustrating the hell out of him. "We talk about everything. Non-stop. But she won't let me even mention the future. For some reason, she thinks I'll change my mind."

"Okay."

"Excuse me? I called you because you always have an answer. I need more than okay."

"Ask yourself one question. You've waited this long. Is Delaney worth a little more time? What could turn out to be a truckload of patience?"

Again, Travis didn't need to think.

"For Delaney? Anything."

"Good answer, my friend. I've been there. Take my word. Slow or fast. Tomorrow or a year down the road. A woman—the right woman—is always worth the wait."

 

THE HEADY FRAGRANCES of Thanksgiving filled the house. Travis paused in the hall to breathe in. Turkey. Homemade dinner rolls. Mashed potatoes. And pie. Pete—of all his accomplishments, baker was the most surprising—concocted three different kinds. Pumpkin had Travis' name all over it.

He'd always been a fan of the food—even when he felt he had little to be thankful for.

This year, everywhere Travis looked, the blessings overflowed. If he were the suspicious type—the kind of person who thought too much of a good thing was just asking for trouble—he might worry that things were going too well.

Munch Brill was in prison—charged with Alan Forsythe's murder. Despite Brill's continued assertion that he'd go free, all signs pointed toward a conviction.

Cletus Brill—sober as a judge since making his statement—stood by his story. When faced with the facts of what he'd done, brother Myron caved. He admitted tricking Cletus into flipping the breaker switch in full knowledge the act would electrocute Travis' father. Unwilling to go down alone, he quickly pointed his finger at his uncle. Munch was the mastermind—right down to the method.

The final nail in the coffin came from an unexpected source. Eddie Hayes. He told the police that he heard what Munch said to Travis and Delaney that night in the bar. Word for word, he repeated his boss' confession to the police.

Tonya Hernandez was certain that Munch would be convicted. If he didn't plead guilty first to keep the death penalty at bay. Thirty years to life instead? Travis would never be happy. However, he felt justice had been served.

The sound of music made Travis stop in his tracks, a smile spreading across his face. As he walked past the kitchen toward the back of the house, he was taken back to the first time notes from a piano drew him—almost against his will—to a meeting that would change his life forever.

The door stood open. Travis leaned against the jamb and marveled at the woman he saw. Unlike that fateful evening eleven years earlier, she didn't try to hide her talent. Instead of slumped over the keys, her shoulders were pulled back, posture straight but relaxed. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, not wound into a tight knot.

And her eyes—those startlingly purple eyes—weren't hidden behind a pair of ugly, useless glasses. Bright. Clear. At the moment, a little dreamy as her fingers caressed the keys. From a myriad of choices, she somehow put the right sounds together to make a melody that touched something inside Travis the first time he heard her play.

He rubbed his chest—the spot just above his heart. Some things never change.

"Are you going to stand and stare at me all day?" Delaney asked without missing a beat.

"I can think of worse ways to spend my time."

Delaney slid to the side of the bench, making room. Travis joined her, his kiss lingering on her soft, fragrant cheek.

"One of yours," he asked.

"Something I'm fiddling with. I can't quite get the ending right."

"Sounded good to me."

Travis had always assumed Delaney would major in music. Psychology made sense—she'd found her calling. But he was glad she still played. And composed.

"I received an interesting email this morning."

"Good for you. Most of my emails are nothing but crap. Male enhancement cream? I don't think so."

Chuckling, Delaney ended the song with a small flourish.

"I can attest to the fact that you don't need any help in the enhancement department."

"Aw shucks. You'll make me blush." Travis fanned his face as if trying to cool the color as it rose in his cheeks. However, the twinkle in his eyes told a different story.

"You aren't the blushing type."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Please," Delaney scoffed. "Your face is too pretty, and your ego is too big."

Travis loved bantering with Delaney. Sharp as a tack with exactly his brand of humor, she easily—enthusiastically—matched him quip for quip. However, she had something else in mind. As he opened his mouth, she stopped his response, her lips covering his. Travis pulled her close. Kissing beat out banter any day of the week and twice on Sundays.

"Thank you," Delaney sighed, kissing him again.

"Tell me what I did so I remember to do it again. You give the best rewards."

"The email I mentioned? Seems Alma's Heart received a huge donation yesterday afternoon."

"Oh, that."

The shelter for abused women and children would carry the name of Delaney's mother. A tribute to the woman who ultimately saved her daughter but couldn't save herself. Travis wanted his gift to be anonymous. He should have known Delaney would find out.

"The check I sent to pay you back. You signed over the entire amount. And arranged to donate a sizable amount every year."

Travis shrugged. "Since you weren't supposed to pay me back, the money was never mine."

"And the yearly donation?"

"I believe in you." He touched Delaney's face. The look in her eyes made his heartbeat stutter. "And the cause you chose to champion. A little money thrown into the pot is the very least I can do."

"Hardly little."

"Depends on your point of view. Which reminds me." Travis' eyes narrowed. "I meant to ask, but with everything that happened, I forgot. Where did you get the money to pay me back? Professionally, I know you've established a successful, growing practice. But you haven't had time to save that kind of cash."

Delaney shot him a look—one telling him she wished he hadn't asked.

"Some of the money I saved," she said. Standing, she moved to look out the window where Candice pitched a ball to her daughter. The sight of Emma, expression determined as she choked up on a bat almost as big as she was, made Delaney smile. Football was the traditional Thanksgiving sport. Not baseball.

Travis' influence had touched them all.

"Emma has quite a swing."

"You've been coaching her."

"I like to nurture young talent." Travis slid his arm around her waist. "About the check, Del? The money I sent was for you to spend."

"I did. At first." Delaney had been grateful. However, as soon as she could, she found a job. Added to her scholarship, within four years, she had' been able to support herself.

"I asked you to stop sending money—through your lawyer," she added, eyebrows raised. "He must have told you."

"He had a standing order. Send the checks once a week, without fail. No argument."

"If you'd called. Or written. Anything, I would've argued." Delaney could remember the times she'd longed to hear from Travis. And how she'd started to resent those damn weekly checks. "I thought about tearing them up. Until I realized somebody would've noticed the money was still in your account."

Delaney's solution had been simple. She saved the money so one day, she could return every dime.

"Like pulling teeth," Travis muttered. He led her across the room to a light-gray sofa. Sitting, he tugged her down beside him. "What about those first four years? I know the amount was sizable. Where did you get the money, Del?"

"Watch the tone there, buddy. I didn't stand on a street corner."

"Lovely, sexy Delaney," Travis smiled—all charm and twinkling eyes—as his lips caressed the palm of her hand. "If you ever decided to sell your body, you could charge the moon, and the price wouldn't be high enough."

"Ah. You are so sweet." Delaney sighed. "And so full of crap."

Travis chuckled. He'd never known a woman like her. "We can both shovel the shit when we want."

"Okay. You want the truth?" She took a deep breath. "I wrote a jingle."

"Say again?"

"A jingle. A catchy song, specifically written to sell a product."

"I know what a jingle is, smartass."

"How was I supposed to know," Delaney reasoned. "You seemed a bit confused by the concept."

"The concept is clear as glass. Your participation in the process threw me off a bit. Care to explain?"

"A friend clued me into a contest. Write a jingle. Make a few bucks." Delaney made the whole thing sound like an everyday occurrence. "What did I have to lose? In about an hour, I had the tune, a few silly words. I forgot the whole thing until I received a phone call. I'd won. End of story."

The woman could talk for hours—and he loved to listen. He couldn't figure out why she was suddenly so reticent.

"Throw me an epilogue. Would I know the jingle?"

"Maybe."

"Are you embarrassed? What's the product?" Travis searched his brain. "Tampons? Feminine twat deodorant?"

Delaney snorted—half laugh, half cough. "I can't believe you used the word twat. If you ever had the impulse to blush, now would be the time."

The expression on Delaney's face was priceless. Travis felt his lips twitch

"Wrong word? I'm open to a better choice. Pussy? Or—"

"Puppy Bites," Delaney shouted. "The jingle was for Puppy Bites."

Travis let out a low whistle. Whether they used the product or not, everybody knew the Puppy Bites jingle. Every time he turned on the television or radio, the commercial was on.

"How rich are you, Del?" Travis only half-teased. Advertising was big business. The endorsement deals he'd cut made him a small fortune. "Richer than me?"

"Hardly. I'm comfortable. So, rest easy. I want your body, not your money."

"Good to know." Travis pulled his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you what you want," he said as he unbuttoned his jeans.

Delaney took a moment as if weighing her options. Finally, she smiled.

"Okay, stud. But close the curtains unless you want Emma to get a gander at your male bits and pieces."

Travis did as Delaney asked, dropping his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. Her eyes turned a deep, appreciative amethyst. Grinning, he spread his arms.

"For your eyes only."