Home At Last. Laurie Campbell
his response when she was startled by the present-day J.D. arriving at her side with a paper-wrapped hamburger and a drink.
“Okay, here you go.”
The contrast was so abrupt that she felt as if she’d been yanked through eight years and a thousand miles in only half a second. “Oh,” she faltered, realizing her hands must be visibly shaky as she reached for the cup he held before her. “Thanks. I was, uh…”
J.D. gave her a strange look, evidently seeing how flustered she was. “You need some sleep,” he said.
That was a much less embarrassing explanation than lovesick memories of a man who’d never wanted her for more than an afternoon, but she wasn’t about to let him send her off for a nap someplace. “I need,” Kirsten said sharply, “to find my children.”
“Right,” he agreed, which gave her a measure of relief that at least he didn’t intend to postpone the search any longer. “Soon as the car—ah. That’s us.”
She followed his gaze to the rental desk, where someone was approaching them with a key, and shoved the unwanted lunch into her oversize purse. If J.D. expected her to eat before they left the airport, she wasn’t about to cooperate.
But he seemed satisfied with her eating on the way to Mercer Island, where they drove to Brad’s showplace home and began their search for leads…J.D. in the study and herself upstairs. The house had been left meticulously tidy by the cleaning lady, but when Kirsten found Lindsay’s sweatshirt atop the laundry hamper, she realized the soft garment still carried a tinge of her daughter’s scent.
This, she realized with a dizzying rush of sensation as she clutched the newly precious sweatshirt to her chest, was what mattered most. Her children. Lindsay, Adam, Eric—the family she had always dreamed of, who deserved all the comfort and happiness she could give them.
A life where her children would always feel safe and special and loved…that was what mattered. And if giving them that security meant denying any anger at their father, it was still a small price to pay. Because, more than anything, her children deserved a family filled with love.
Next time she found herself sliding into memories of that summer with J.D. Ryder, all she’d have to do was remember that he had never shared such a dream. Not eight years ago, and not today.
Which was probably a good thing for someone who made his living fighting drug lords. She was glad there were people willing to take on such jobs, but those weren’t the safely comfortable people she wanted in her life, or her children’s lives. No, what she wanted for her children was the kind of familiar, loving security she and Brad Laurence had grown up with.
No matter how much she’d loved J.D., no matter how much it had hurt when he didn’t want her, she needed to remember what was important for her daughter and sons. Who—especially as the boys grew older—needed all the fatherly attention they could get.
Inhaling the sweetly familiar scent of Lindsay’s sweatshirt, she took it with her to the twins’ room. There, where the folded quilts smelled ever so faintly of rough-and-tumble little boys, the same haunting sensation racked her again…and when J.D. came upstairs she was huddled on the corner of Eric’s bed, burying her face in the patchwork pillows.
“Hey,” he said from the doorway. “Kirsten, it’s okay. We’ll find them—”
Crying wouldn’t help the process any, she knew, but she was all too close to tears. “I want them back!” she pleaded. “My kids are…J.D., they’re my life.”
There was a moment of silence, and then he said abruptly, “I know that. But, Kirs, look at this. Right here. I found exactly what we need to get them back.”
Good thing that announcement had distracted her, J.D. thought with a throb of relief, spreading the RV rental contract on the bright-colored bedspread before her. If she’d burst into tears, the way she’d looked ready to do when he walked in and found her clutching those pillows, he didn’t want to think what might’ve happened next.
Or rather, he wanted to think about it all too much.
But holding Kirsten in his arms after all these years was a bad idea. An idea he wasn’t about to pursue. Everything had turned out okay last time—she’d wound up with a husband who could give her kids she adored—but one lucky break was no reason to go looking for trouble now.
Not when the first time had hurt worse than any beating he’d ever taken.
“An RV?” Kirsten asked, glancing at him in bewilderment. “Brad’s driving them someplace?”
It made sense. If Brad wanted to spend more time with the only family he had left, there was no better way of doing it than on the road. “Looks like,” J.D. said, taking back the contract and forcing himself to think like the professional she had every right to expect. “There were some ticket vouchers for the Ashland Shakespeare Festival tomorrow, so that’ll make it easy. I’ll call this guy I know in Portland, ask about a BOLO—”
“A what?”
He’d slipped into police jargon without even realizing it, which was probably a good sign. He could keep his hands off her, keep his thoughts off her, as long as he stayed in an investigative frame of mind. “Be On the LookOut. We’ve got the vehicle description, license plate, everything it takes for a—”
“You mean,” Kirsten interrupted, “they’d get stopped by a policeman?”
“Well, Max’d be doing this unofficially—I’ve worked with him before. But if Brad gives him any trouble, tries to take off with the kids, he can handle it.”
For some reason, she was looking doubtful. “J.D., wait a minute. I don’t want my children seeing their father get arrested….”
She sounded so disturbed by the notion that he found himself wondering what she expected. A police lineup? Handcuffs and mug shots? “That’s not gonna happen,” he assured her, “as long as Brad lets Max take the kids.”
Kirsten stood up, still clutching the pillow she’d been holding. “But they’d wind up at a police station?” she demanded. “With criminals all over the place?”
“They’re not gonna put children in with criminals!” It was obvious this woman had never been in a police station, but the reassurance didn’t seem to help. “Anyway, you and I won’t be that far behind. It’s just that Max is four hours closer to Ashland.”
Kirsten scrunched the pillow and dropped it on the bed, then turned to face him, her hands on her hips. “But we know right where they’re going,” she said, “and they can’t be going very fast. So why can’t we just catch up with them ourselves?”
They probably could, only it made more sense to enlist all the help they could get. Even the simplest of jobs could fall apart if you didn’t plan some backup. “Kirsten, look, I know you’re worried, but you don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand!” she exploded, startling him with the passion in her voice. “You don’t know my children! You’re thinking like a detective, and that’s fine because that’s what you are, but you’re not their mother—I mean their father—” Then she broke off, looking suddenly horrified. As if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.
“Thank God for that, right?” J.D. interrupted lightly, hoping to return the color to her face. He’d never realized she knew how strongly he felt about avoiding parenthood—not that someone from a family like his could feel any other way—but she was obviously concerned about hurting his feelings. Which was typical of Kirsten, who already was scrambling to apologize.
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