The Secret Son's Homecoming. Helen Lacey
you know. Maybe not in such dramatic fashion. Or at such a...” His words trailed off for a moment. “Let’s call it a pivotal moment.”
Because your hand was up my skirt.
Like a camera speeding in reverse, Connie was suddenly back in his hotel room, feeling every touch, every kiss, every breath. And remembering how much she’d wanted him, how perfect his broad shoulders felt beneath her hands, how insanely erotic his kisses were. And then she remembered the rest—the fear clawing up her back, the feeling of suffocation, the sense that she was out of control...and that her body was someone else’s and not her own to command.
“I shouldn’t have gone to your room,” she said quietly. “You were right to be annoyed.”
“No, Connie,” he said, his voice just as quiet. “I wasn’t. It was your right to say no.”
“Thank you.”
“I am curious, though,” he said softly. “Did I do something to offend you? Was I too—”
“No,” she said quickly, eager to end the conversation. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I think I just panicked and—”
“You have nothing to fear from me, Connie,” he said, cutting her off. “Then or now.”
Heat burned her eyes. Because she knew that whatever else he was, Jonah Rickard was trustworthy and honorable. “I know that.” She looked around and blinked, forcing the heat away and realized they were nowhere near her street. “Um...where are we going?”
“If you don’t mind, I thought we could make a short detour,” he said casually and turned into a wide, leafy street.
“A detour?” she echoed, panic skirting along the edges of her spine for a moment. She dismissed the idea quickly. Jonah was not a threat. “To where?”
He pulled up outside a low-set, brick home with shuttered windows and a wide porch. “My mother’s.”
Connie had met Kathleen Rickard several times. Not quite fifty, she was a petite, attractive woman with pale hair and green eyes and was quite lovely. She hooked a thumb sideways. “This is your mom’s house?”
He nodded. “We can leave if you prefer.”
She saw the curtains move. “I think she knows we’re here.”
“So, we’ll go inside?”
Connie nodded warily. “I guess so.”
A minute later they were on the porch and the front door opened. Kathleen greeted her son with a warm embrace that was filled with love and devotion, and Connie experienced a sharp pang of envy. It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t loved her—she was sure they had, and still did, in their own way. But they were never very good at being parents. Kathleen, however, looked as though she would move heaven and earth to protect her only son. And in a way, she had. She’d left Cedar River when she’d gotten pregnant and made a new life for herself and her baby.
“Sweetie,” Kathleen said and touched Jonah’s face. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Mom,” he said with a groan and shook his head. “Don’t call me sweetie, okay?”
Kathleen laughed. “I’ll try not to. And Connie, it’s lovely to see you again. Jonah didn’t tell me he was bringing a...friend with him today.”
Heat crawled up her neck. “I’m just tagging along,” she explained. “I was working for a few hours today and my car is in the shop, so I needed a lift home from the hotel. I hope it’s okay that I’m here?”
“Of course,” Kathleen said, ushering them inside and down the hallway. “I’m delighted.”
The house was modest but tastefully decorated, and when they reached the living area, Connie noticed that one corner was filled with canvases and artist’s tools, including an assortment of easels and several small tables crammed with paints and charcoals.
“You’re an artist?” she asked.
Kathleen shrugged lightly. “I dabble. Though I’m not really very good. It’s more of a hobby than anything else.”
Connie noticed one of the largest easels was covered in a paint-splattered sheet. “Is that a secret project?”
Kathleen grinned. “More of a practice piece. I’m branching out into portraits. You know, you have lovely bone structure,” she commented and nodded and looked at her son. “She’d make a great model. Don’t you think, sweetie?”
“Mom,” Jonah chastised. “Enough with the sweetie thing.”
Connie wasn’t sure if he was genuinely embarrassed, but Kathleen took it in stride. They were clearly very close and a tight unit.
“Okay, I promise,” his mother said and shrugged. “Now, go and be useful and bring me some firewood,” she said and pointed to the empty crate near the hearth. “It’s going to get cold this week, and I’d like to be ready for the turn in the weather. It’s out by the back door.”
He lingered for a moment before leaving the room, his loose-limbed stride becoming so familiar to Connie that she suspected she could pick him out in a crowd at a hundred yards.
“So,” Kathleen said once he was out of sight. “Tell me, Connie...how long have you been dating my son?”
* * *
By the time he had the second hunk of firewood in his arms, Jonah figured that bringing Connie to his mother’s home was up there with some of the stupidest things he’d ever done. Because he knew from the look in his mom’s eyes that she was imagining all kinds of things—most of them focused on Connie being the first girl he’d brought home in nearly five years. Of course, like any mother, she had the matchmaking bug. And she wanted grandchildren...she’d made that clear on countless occasions. And yeah, maybe one day he’d find someone and raise a family. Maybe. One thing was for sure—he’d do a damned better job being a father than J.D. ever had.
By the time he returned to the living room, Connie was alone.
“Did you get the third degree?” he asked and dumped the firewood.
“Yes,” she replied. “It took several minutes of fast talking to convince her that I am not your girlfriend.”
He grinned. “That’s better than I expected. But in her defense, I don’t make a habit of bringing girls home to meet my mother.”
Something flashed in her eyes—something that had everything to do with the attraction that pulsed undeniably between them.
“So, why did you bring me?” she asked, brows up.
Jonah managed a shrug. “I don’t really know.”
She smiled. “I figured you’d be the kind of man who knows exactly what he’s doing at every moment. Or at least, that’s what you want people to think.”
Jonah’s mouth curled at the edges. “That sounds like more criticism.”
“It’s an observation,” she said, still smiling. “I see you, Jonah. I see what’s underneath your arrogance and resentment. You’re actually a lot nicer than you make out.”
Jonah grimaced. “Nah... I’m not.”
She chuckled. “It’s not a flaw, you know. Or a weakness.”
“It just feels like one, right?” he offered and shrugged a little. “Anyway, I’m sorry if my mom gave you the third degree.”
“She thinks you’re afraid of commitment.”
“Wary,” he corrected. “There’s a difference. I guess she’s in the kitchen making tea?”
She nodded. “She loves you a lot.”
“I know,”