Thunder Canyon Homecoming (9 page)

“Is that why you came here—to remember her?” he asked gently.

She gathered up their dessert plates and carried them to the counter. She heard the scrape of his chair legs against the tile floor as he pushed away from the table.

“I came here—” she hesitated, still not sure how much to reveal. She needed to confide in someone and she wanted that someone to be Corey, but she really didn't know him well enough to even guess how he might respond. “I came here because it was what she wanted.”

“But why did you stay? I mean, a quick visit would have honored her wishes.”

She washed and dried her hands before turning back to him. “I stayed partly because I don't yet have the answers I'm looking for and partly because I fell in love with the town the first minute I stepped into the Hitching Post.”

“Love can happen like that,” he agreed, settling his hands on her hips and pulling her closer. “Hitting you like a ton of bricks when you least expect it.”

Corey could tell that Erin didn't know how to interpret his statement never mind respond to it, and he mentally cursed himself for not censoring his words. While he'd realized that the feelings he had for her were stronger and deeper than he'd expected, he shouldn't have assumed that she would feel the same way.

“I guess you're right,” she said, looking at the button at his throat rather than at him. “Although I've never really experienced anything like that before.”

Which wasn't an admission that she was experiencing anything like that now, but it also wasn't a rejection of his feelings.

“I know we haven't known each other very long—”

“Not even two weeks,” she interjected hastily.

“You think I'm rushing things?”

“I think—” she sighed. “I don't know what I think. I have feelings for you—feelings I didn't expect to have. But—”

He could be satisfied with that, at least for now. And not wanting to hear whatever limitations or conditions she was probably going to put on her feelings, he silenced her words with his lips.

Her mouth softened beneath his, her lips parted.

He loved kissing her. She was so warm and passionate, so incredibly responsive. His tongue danced with hers, and his blood surged in his veins. She sighed and shifted closer.

His fingers made quick work of the buttons down the front of her shirt, then his hands slipped inside, cupping soft, round breasts encased in delicate lace. His thumbs stroked over her nipples, and they responded immediately to his touch. He circled the rigid points, felt her tremble.

His lips eased away from hers to trail kisses across her jaw. He touched his tongue to the rapidly beating pulse point at her throat, and she moaned. His mouth moved down her throat, toward the hollow between her breasts, and she shuddered.

He unhooked the clip at the front of her bra and filled his hands with her breasts. Her skin was so soft, so lush, so irresistible. He lowered his mouth to take one turgid peak between his lips. He swirled his tongue around the nipple, then suckled hard. She gasped. Her fingers sifted through his hair, holding him against her, silently urging him to continue.

He was more than happy to comply. He took his time, savoring the flavor of her flesh, learning what she liked by listening to her moans and sighs. As his mouth pleasured her breasts, his hands moved lower. He unfastened the button of her pants, slid down the zipper and dipped inside. Her panties were lace, like her bra, and he could feel her heat and wetness as he stroked her through the fabric. She moaned and arched into his palm, shuddering when he stroked her again.

Then, suddenly, her hands were on his chest, and she was pushing him away.

“No. We have to stop. I can't do this.” Though her words were unequivocal, he heard the anguish in her voice and knew that she hadn't really wanted to push him away.

But Corey didn't have any trouble understanding “no” and, although he might regret that the war between desire and conscience had been won by her conscience, he couldn't
deny that it had. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans so that he wouldn't be tempted to touch her again, not until he had his own raging desires under control.

He caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes before she dropped her gaze, and he felt like a complete louse. “I'm sorry,” he said, and winced at the inadequacy of the words.

Erin shook her head, her fingers trembling as she refastened the buttons on her shirt. “No,
I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to let things go so far. I'm not the type—”

He touched a finger to her lips, halting the flow of words. “You don't have anything to apologize for. I was rushing you,” he admitted. “I can't seem to help myself. I want you, Erin. Every time I see you, I want you more.”

“I want you, too, Corey, but I'm not ready for this.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, frustrated beyond belief but unwilling to push her. He needed her to want him as much as he wanted her, and until then, he would try to be patient. “Then we'll wait until you are,” he said simply.

“That might take some time,” she warned him. “There's a lot going on in my life right now, personal issues that I'm trying to figure out, that I need to figure out, before I can even think about getting involved.”

“We're already involved,” he said again.

She sighed. “Only because you're stubborn and persuasive and far too charming for your own good.”

He smiled at that. “And you admitted that you have feelings for me, so I'll be satisfied with that for now.”

“I do have feelings for you,” she acknowledged. “But I'm not sure what to do about them.”

“Why do you have to do anything about them? Why can't we just enjoy being together?”

“Because I know you want more than I've given, and I'm not sure I'm ready to give any more.”

“Because of Grant?” The question sprang out of his mouth without any forethought, and he immediately regretted the words. He hadn't realized how much he'd been thinking about her relationship with his friend until now, how much he'd worried about her apparent preoccupation with the man who was her boss.

He gauged her expression carefully, watching for a reaction. He hoped that she would be shocked by his question and immediately deny having any feelings for the other man. And he would believe her because he wanted to move for ward with their relationship without the unease that prick led at the back of his neck whenever he saw her with Grant.

She sucked in a breath, obviously surprised by the question—or maybe just surprised that he'd voiced it aloud. When she spoke, her response was both weak and unconvincing and made frustration and anger churn in his gut.

“Wh-what does Grant have to do with any of this?”

“Why don't you tell me?”

“Grant is my boss.”

“And my friend.”

She only nodded.

“And he's married,” Corey reminded her, in case she'd conveniently forgotten that fact.

“I've met his wife,” she said. “On several occasions.”

“They grew up together, here in Thunder Canyon. Their fathers were best friends.”

She nodded again. “I've heard the story—about Grant and Stephanie finding their fathers' bodies after the two men were killed by rustlers.”

He didn't detect anything but sorrow in her tone, and he wondered if he could be wrong about her feelings for Grant. He wanted to believe he was wrong, but her response to his mention of the other man's name wasn't something he could
disregard. She'd been startled—almost acted guilty—and he couldn't shake the instinct that there was more going on than she was willing to admit.

But he knew Grant. He knew how devoted his friend was to Stephanie. And he didn't believe for a minute that the resort manager would ever cheat on his pregnant wife, so the idea that he was having an affair with Erin was patently ridiculous. Not to mention that she could hardly be tearing up the sheets with her boss when she'd spent most of her free time over the past two weeks with Corey.

But his brother's warnings continued to nag at the back of his mind.
You don't know her very well… she seems to ask a lot of questions without revealing any information about herself… look before you leap this time.

Corey knew it was too late for that. He had already fallen for Erin. He only hoped that he hadn't fallen for a woman who was in love with another man.

 

After Corey had gone, Erin continued to think about the questions he'd asked. She didn't know why he'd brought Grant into the conversation; she could only assume that he'd picked up on her interest in her boss and misinterpreted it. She wanted to tell Corey the truth, and she wanted to stop tiptoeing around Grant, pretending that she wasn't carrying a huge secret.

Okay, at this point it was still more of a suspicion than a secret—nothing had been proven. And she didn't know what steps to take next, who to talk to, to confirm her suspicions.

Surprisingly, it was a conversation with her mother later that night that gave her an idea.

“The last time I saw Aunt Erma, she reminded me that she used to live in Thunder Canyon.”

“That's how you happened to be born there,” Betty reminded her.

“Well, I thought that since I'm here now, I might try to find some of her old friends.”

“Erma only lived there a few years while she was married to Irwin, her third husband. When he passed away, she moved on.”

“But she mentioned a friend who was a nurse, and I got the impression they may have kept in touch.”

“Delores Beckett,” Betty said.

“You know her?” Erin asked, surprised by her mother's immediate response.

“Of course. She was the nurse in delivery when you were born.”

E
rin's breath caught. “Aunt Erma didn't tell me that.”

“She might not have remembered. It was almost twenty-six years ago,” her mother reminded her.

But Erin knew that Erma had remembered, and she understood now why her aunt had mentioned the nurse's name.

If Delores Beckett—she scribbled the name down on the message pad beside the phone so she wouldn't forget it again—had been working when Betty Castro had given birth, then she would know what had happened in the maternity ward that day and if there was any chance that two babies had been mixed up.

“Speaking of which,” Betty continued, oblivious to the thoughts swirling in her daughter's head, “your dad and I decided that, if you can't come home for Thanksgiving, we're going to have to come to you.”

“Really?” Jack had sounded so doubtful when Erin is
sued the invitation that she hadn't let herself hope they might accept it. Because as much as she was trying to figure out the mystery Aunt Erma had dumped in her lap, she knew that Betty and Jack would always be her parents, and she missed them so much. “You're going to come here?”

“Do you think we'd pass on the opportunity to spend the holiday with our baby girl?”

Erin felt the sting of tears. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You mentioned that it's a busy time at the resort,” Betty reminded her. “Does that mean we should make a reservation somewhere else?”

“You don't have to make a reservation anywhere—I have plenty of room here at the condo.”

She'd rented a basement apartment when she'd first moved out of the Big Sky Motel and she'd been happy in the unit and with the elderly woman who had rented it to her. But after only a few weeks, Erin had been informed by her landlady that her daughter was divorcing her husband and moving home with her two children, so she needed the space for them.

Thankfully, it was right around the same time that Erin had started temping at the resort, and when she'd mentioned to her boss that she was looking for a new apartment, Grant had suggested one of the condos on site. She'd hesitated, knowing that she didn't need as much space as a condo would provide and certain that she couldn't afford such luxurious accommodations. But the economic downturn had lowered the rents and as a resort employee, Erin was entitled to a further reduction.

The condo was completely furnished and the kitchen was fully equipped, which, for a woman who had arrived in town with two suitcases and a few boxes in her trunk, was essential. It had two fireplaces—one in the main floor living room and one in the master bedroom. And whenever
she thought about returning to San Diego, she felt a strange tug in the vicinity of her heart.

But it was more than not wanting to move out of the condo—it was that she didn't want to leave Thunder Canyon. There was just something about the town that made her feel as if she'd finally found a place where she belonged.

“Are you sure?” her mother asked now. “We don't want to put you out.”

“The condo has three bedrooms and I only sleep in one.”

“In that case, we'll be happy to stay with you,” Betty said.

“I'm so glad you're coming,” Erin said, her throat tight. “I really miss you guys.”

“We miss you, too.”

She heard the emotion in her mother's response, and when she finally said goodbye and hung up the phone, she wondered—not for the first time—what she was doing in Thunder Canyon. So what if Betty Castro hadn't given birth to her? She and Jack had raised Erin as their daughter, they'd instilled in her the same values and morals as they'd given to their two sons and they'd loved her. Maybe she hadn't always felt as if she belonged, but she'd never had reason to doubt their affection for her.

And now she was digging into the past, and for what? Was uncovering the truth behind Erma's last words really worth tearing all of their lives apart?

Erin was afraid the answer to that question might turn out to be “no.” But as she looked down at the name she'd scrawled on her message pad, she knew she couldn't let it go.

 

There were only two Becketts in the Thunder Canyon telephone directory. Neither one of them was a “D.”

Erin called the number listed for “R & L Beckett” first. After the fifth ring, she waited, expecting her call to connect to an answering machine. But it rang a sixth time, then a seventh. Who, in this day and age, didn't have an answering machine or voice mail?

Aunt Erma, she remembered. Her parents had given her an answering machine one year for Christmas, but Erma had never even taken it out of the box. If she wasn't home, they could call back, she always said. It wasn't hard to believe that a friend of Erma's might have a similar attitude.

She was just about to hang up when the phone was finally picked up on the other end.

“Hello?” It was a man's voice, deep and strong and breathless, as if he'd had to run to answer the call.

“Mr. Beckett?”

“Yes, this is Reginald Beckett,” he said cautiously.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm trying to locate a Delores Beckett and I was wondering if she might be a relative of yours.”

“No, there isn't anyone in my family by that name.”

And that quickly, the hope that had only started to build was knocked down again. She apologized to Mr. Beckett again for bothering him and went to the next listing. This time, her call was picked up on the third ring.

“Yes, hello?” the woman who answered said impatiently.

“I'm looking for Delores Beckett,” Erin said.

“Who is this? Why are you looking for Delores?”

“My aunt was a friend of hers, and she suggested that I look up Delores when I was in Thunder Canyon.”

“What made you think she would be here?” the woman asked.

“It's not that I thought she would so much as I was hoping that you might be able to help me find her.”

“I'm sorry. I can't do that.”

She wasn't sure how to interpret that response. The woman who had been on the other end of the line—who never did identify herself—hadn't actually denied knowing Delores or where to find her.

As Erin listened to the dial tone buzzing in her ear, she noted the address beside the number and thought that maybe she would stop by to chat with Ms. T. Beckett in person.

 

Hollyhock Lane was located in a newer survey where all of the streets had picturesque-sounding names and postage stamp-sized lots. Number thirty-four was the center unit of a townhouse complex. Erin had driven past the stone-and-brick two-story on her way home from work the day before, but there had been no vehicle in the driveway and no indication that anyone was at home.

On Tuesday she ended up working late so the sun was already down by the time she left the resort. Considering that T. Beckett had been less than warm on the phone, she had no intention of approaching the woman's door in the dark.

But because she finished early on Wednesday if she was scheduled to work on Saturday morning, as she was this week, she was back on Hollyhock Lane by three o'clock that afternoon. She pulled up across the street, trying to get up the nerve to leave her vehicle and approach the door, when a little red Toyota pulled into the driveway.

Well, at least she knew someone was home.

But when the driver got out of her car, Erin realized there was no way she could be Delores Beckett. The woman was
barely older than Erin herself. And then she opened the back door and a child—a little girl probably not more than three or four years old—climbed out. They went around to the trunk, and the mother lifted out several grocery bags, handing the lightest one to her daughter before juggling the rest of them along with her purse and keys as they made their way to the door.

With a resigned sigh, Erin pulled away from the curb and drove home.

Maybe Delores Beckett had left town just as Erma had done, moving away to make a new start somewhere else.

But if that was the case, where was Erin supposed to start looking for her?

 

As Erin was getting ready to leave work the next day, she overheard Grant mention to the afternoon desk manager that he would be at DJ's if there were any problems. She'd been distracted all day, trying to figure out a way to approach him. She had no intention of blurting out that she thought he might be her brother—she just wanted to have a conversation and possibly learn something more about his mother or his sister.

So when she'd finished assigning rooms for the last reservation that had come in through the website, she picked up her purse and headed to DJ's.

She watched the hostess lead Grant to the far side of the room. Her heart was pounding and her hands felt clammy, so she ducked into the restroom, needing a moment to shore up her courage. It was silly, she knew, to be so nervous when she talked to the man every day at work. But those were always work-related discussions and inevitably brief.

She washed her hands, ran a brush through her hair, dabbed on some lip gloss. Then she drew in another breath,
pressed a hand to her still-pounding heart and prepared to go talk to the man who might be her brother.

Though she hadn't spoken the words aloud, they seemed to bounce off of the tiled walls and echo in her head.

…might be her brother…her brother…brother…

She nearly jolted when the door opened and another patron entered. Deciding that she'd stalled long enough, she exited into the foyer, hesitating in the entranceway that separated the restrooms from the main part of the restaurant to peek through the brass potted plants that flanked the arch.

She spotted Grant easily. He was sitting so that his profile was to her at a small booth with a curved leather seating area, a half-finished pint of beer on the glossy wooden table in front of him.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, drew in a deep breath and started toward his table. As she stepped out from behind the plants, she saw him rise to his feet.

She faltered. Had she dallied too long? Was he leaving already?

But he stayed standing where he was, his gaze focused across the room, smiling. And then Stephanie stepped into view. She crossed to her husband and leaned up to kiss him. His arm came around her, pulling her closer, prolonging the kiss.

And Erin knew that her moment had come and gone. It had been one thing to approach Grant when he was alone, and it was quite another to interrupt a private moment with his wife.

She turned away, tears of regret and frustration blurring her eyes and almost walked right into someone.

“Excuse me,” she said softly. She stepped aside without looking up, then gasped when she felt a hand on her arm.

“What is going on with you?” Corey demanded.

She tugged her arm out of his grasp. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean that I want to know why you're lurking in doorways, spying on another man…and his wife.”

She didn't know how he knew she'd been watching Grant—unless he'd been watching her. But she didn't think challenging him on that point would do anything to erase the fury she read in his dark eyes. “It's not what you think,” she said instead.

“Then what is it?”

She owed him an explanation, but she could hardly tell him what she hadn't been able to tell Grant, so she didn't say anything.

Corey shook his head. “I don't know which one of us is more screwed up—you, for lusting after your boss, or me, for wanting you anyway.”

The accusation that she was lusting after Grant was so outrageous—and more than a little disturbing, considering what she suspected about her relationship to the man—that she chose to ignore rather than respond to it.

“I told you there was too much going on in my life to get involved in a personal relationship right now,” she reminded him.

“You didn't tell me that what was going on was an infatuation with a married man.”

She bit her tongue as another customer approached. When the door to the men's room had closed behind him, she finally said, “I'm not infatuated with Grant.”

“Then why are you stalking him?”

His voice had risen, and she looked around, all too aware of their public surroundings. So far, no one seemed to be paying any attention to them, but the last thing she wanted
was to draw attention to herself—at least not anymore than she already had.

“I'm not stalking him,” she kept her voice quiet but firm. “And I'm not going to continue this ridiculous argument with you here.”

She turned and walked away, choosing not the most direct route to the exit but the one that would ensure she didn't have to walk past Grant and Stephanie's table.

Corey followed her, and when they were outside of the restaurant, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Okay,” he said. “If you don't want to continue this argument here, where do you want to continue it?”

“I don't want to continue it at all,” she said, and brushed past him.

Corey's fingers closed around her wrist. “We're going to continue it because I want some damn answers about what's going on with you.”

She tried to yank her hand out of his grasp, but his hold only tightened. “I don't know if this is how you treat women in Texas, but I don't appreciate being manhandled.”

“You didn't object to my hands being on you the other day,” he reminded her. “Or were you pretending that it was Grant who was touching you?”

“No,” she denied, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“So what is it, Erin?”

She swallowed, suddenly aware of the dangerous glint in his eye, the banked heat in their depths. “If you want to continue this conversation, we can go to my place.”

“Fine. We'll take my truck.”

“I have my own—”

“We'll take mine,” he insisted.

Erin knew she should be annoyed with him, both with his high-handed attitude and his demands for answers. But
as he led the way to his truck, she felt her annoyance fading. Looking at the situation from his perspective—seeing what he'd seen, thinking of her continued evasions—she could understand why he'd have questions.