Home to Walnut Ridge (14 page)

He stared at her, a shudder rippling
over him as his imagination drifted away from the image of the
young man, and in its place, a deep and quite unexpected affection
for the woman standing before him. She said nothing, her face still
filled with wonder at the story they’d just shared. As if they’d
both been there, witnessing the entire scene.

Her smile began to fade as she
searched his eyes, no doubt distracted by his silence.

Kiss
her . . .
a voice seemed to
whisper in his ear. He wondered where such a notion came from, and
then he heard it again.

Kiss her!

And so he did.

He leaned down ever so slightly, his
eyes still locked on hers. “Tracey . . . ?” Had he
actually breathed her name? Or merely imagined it?

She hesitated only a moment. Then,
“Yes?”

He swallowed, tamping down his own
hesitation. “I think I’m going to kiss you.” He hadn’t meant
for it to sound so matter-of-fact, but there it was.

Her eyes glistened in the moonlight as
her face warmed with a smile. “I was hoping you would.”

As his lips touched hers, something
inside him shifted. Changed. Melted. Giving way to something he
hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Her arms slipped slowly around
his waist, the familiar sound of their crinkling leather making him
smile as their kiss lingered. He gathered her into his embrace,
loving the warmth of her in his arms and admitting to himself he’d
wanted to do this since last night on the back porch at Walnut
Ridge. That he was actually holding her now beneath the stars and
losing himself as she kissed him back . . . it all
seemed too good to be true. And then that voice inside his
head‌—‌the same one that had prompted him to kiss her—convinced him
to stop all the analyzing and enjoy the moment.

And so he did.

Chapter 12

As the first rays of the morning sun
crept into her room, Tracey rolled over on her back and pulled the
comforter up to her chin. With her eyes still closed, she
remembered Noah’s first kiss last night on the bluff. Then the
second and third . . . and somewhere along the way,
she lost count. She smiled at the memory, still surprised how
suddenly it happened, and the way her heart had skipped a beat when
he wrapped her in his arms.

They’d stayed on the bluff talking
until the autumn night’s chill chased them home. She’d wrapped her
arms around him all the way home, different somehow from the ride
out there. Back at Walnut Ridge, she wasn’t ready to say goodnight.
Nor was he. They made hot chai lattes and sat by the fire in the
den. There they talked for hours about the silliest things. His
love of Jimmy Stewart movies. Her favorite indulgence‌—‌getting
lost in historical novels until the wee hours of the morning. His
utter disgust for sushi. Her instinctive gagging reflex at the
sight and smell of Brussels sprouts, cabbage, and sauerkraut. His
appreciation for a more relaxed life away from the big city. Her
fondness for the old house and the chance to come home
again.

When he asked what caused her to walk
away from her job in Washington, she was evasive. She didn’t want
thoughts of Morgan to spoil their perfect evening, but somehow it
all came spilling out. She’d noticed the tiny muscle on Noah’s jaw
twitching when she told him about that last night at the White
House reception.

“
You should report him,
you know,” he had said. “There are laws about these
things.”

“
No, I could never
do that, Noah. I couldn’t do that to Amanda.
Never.”

Moments had passed. The
old clock on the mantel slowly ticked as the fire beneath it
crackled. Finally, he leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “I
suppose it would be devastating‌—‌for her
and
for you. But it’s not right. He
was taking advantage of you. He doesn’t deserve to stay in
office.”

“
I know, but it’s over
now. I’m home.”

“
You haven’t heard from
him since you left?”

“
Oh, I’ve heard from him.
Last time I checked, he’d left thirty-seven voicemails and
twenty-six text messages. I never answered, and I quit listening
after my first night home.”

“
Thirty-seven voicemails?
Twenty-six text messages? Tracey, that’s a form of stalking. He’s a
U.S. Senator‌—‌doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

“
Can we please change the
subject?”

He took her hand. “I’m sorry. Yes, by
all means. Let’s change the subject.”

She pulled his hand free and lifted
his arm around her shoulders, snuggling against him. They sat
together silently for several moments. As his breathing steadied,
she wondered if he was falling asleep. She turned to face him,
pleased to find him gazing at her. “Can I ask you
something?”

“
Sure.”

“
After I met you the other
day, I asked Alex about you.”

“
Must have been a brief
and boring little chat.”

“
Not really.”

“
And what did Alex tell
you?”

Tracey swallowed hard. “She told me
you’d lost your wife.”

Something in his countenance changed.
She saw it in his eyes. He seemed to be holding his breath, and
right away, she wished she’d never asked. When he said nothing, she
did. “I’m sorry, Noah. Forget I asked.”

“
No,” he said, quietly
looking away, his eyes now fixed on the fire. “No,
I . . . it’s just that . . .” He
pulled his arm from behind her and took both her hands in both of
his. He slowly looked up at her, searching her eyes. “I’ve had a
really nice time with you tonight, Tracey. And I really like
you‌—‌I do.”

He paused, briefly looking down at
their hands as if searching for the right words. Her heart pounded,
so afraid of what he might say next.

“
I would really like to
spend more evenings like this one with you. I’d like to see where
that might go. But for now . . . “ He blinked,
moisture filling his eyes. “For now, I’d like to ask you if we
could have that talk for another time.” He closed his eyes, his
expression pained. “If that’s okay with you.”

When he opened his eyes again, she
pulled her hands free, then cupped his face with them. Unable to
find the words, she’d simply nodded, then gently kissed him.
“That’s perfectly fine with me.”

He’d held her quietly, then led her to
the front door where he put on his jacket and with a final kiss,
said goodnight.

Now, with last night’s memory fresh in
her mind, Tracey sat up and wondered at the whole incident. Would
they have that chance to see where their relationship might lead?
Or had she blown it, asking something so personal, so
soon?

As her thoughts ran wild, her cell
phone vibrated.

Morgan. Again.

She threw back the covers and stepped
into her slippers. “Senator, I have just one thing to say to you on
this bright and beautiful morning‌—‌phhhbbbt!”

The old flannel-lined
jacket felt good as Tracey made her way down to the barn. Ten
minutes earlier she’d found a note by the coffee pot:
Got an early start this morning. I’m down at the
barn so grab a cup and come join me!
‌—‍
Alex

The oversized mug warmed her hands on
this clear, brisk morning. She let herself drink in the sights and
sounds and smells as she walked along the well-trodden path to the
barn. Walnut Ridge had always been her balm, her refuge. The rustle
of leaves beneath her feet reminded her how much she wasn’t missing
Washington and the stress that always kept her in knots day and
night. She pushed those thoughts away, not wishing to ruin such a
beautiful day.

It’s so good to be
home.

“
It’s about time, Sleeping
Beauty,” Alex teased as she set aside her paint brush. “Nice of you
to join me this morning.”

Tracey hugged her with her free arm.
“Just because I’m not up before the chickens doesn’t mean I’m a
slacker. Look‍—‍” she said, lifting her wristwatch face up. “Five
minutes after seven. Not too shabby.”

Alex placed a noisy kiss on her cheek
and turned back to her paints. “Yeah, especially since you didn’t
get to bed ’til after two.”

“
Yeah? And how exactly do
you know that?”

Alex whipped around with a broad smile
on her face. “Well, kiddo, it’s not like Noah just tiptoed down the
drive when he left.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“His Harley has a distinct rumble when it starts.”

“
Ah. Well, I guess there’s
no keeping secrets from you. But why do I feel like I’m in high
school again, and you’re spying on me and one of my
boyfriends?”

Alex laughed then squatted down on the
floor beside the coffee table she was working on. “Nah, I left that
to Mom and Dad. I was too busy reading my books.”

Tracey set her coffee cup on an
upturned barrel. “Yeah, like Mom ever cared about what we did or
didn’t do. Y’know, I was thinking about her the other night before
I went to sleep. And it dawned on me; she was probably going
through menopause when all that happened.”

Alex dipped her brush in the pale
mustard-yellow paint and started brushing quick, efficient strokes
on the coffee table. “I had the same thought a while back. Let’s
face it. Mom hit menopause and decided to fly to the moon. Or
Hollywood, I guess. They’re basically the same.”

“
Poor Daddy.”

“
Oh, Trace, stop with the
poor Daddy stuff. He’s fine.”

“
You honestly think so? I
keep wondering if he’s really as okay as he wants us to believe.
Maybe beneath that ponytail, earring, and his proclaimed love for
Stella, there’s actually a broken heart that still beats for Mom.
Maybe he’s just hoping if he gives her enough time, she’ll come
back to him.”

Alex glared at her. “I totally
disagree. In fact, I’ve never seen him happier. Especially now that
you’re home. His little princess has returned to the
castle.”

Tracey grabbed a paint brush, dipped
it in Alex’s paint, and dashed the tip of her sister’s nose with
it.

“
Well, aren’t
you
the clown this
morning?” Alex twisted around, attempting to return the favor just
as Tracey jerked her head away. A long yellow streak reached from
her nose to her ear. “Ah! Perfect! I always knew mustard was in
your color wheel, and now we have proof!”

Tracey shrieked, her laughter bouncing
against the rafters of the old barn.

“
Settle down, girl. Don’t
make me paint you from head to toe.”

“
Ha! As if you could.”
Tracey grabbed a rag and peeked into the antique mirror they’d hung
on the wall. Still snickering, she gently wiped the paint from her
face.

“
Okay, enough with the
horse play. Get to work.”

“
You’re not the boss of
me.”

“
Am too.”

“
Are not.”

“
Am too.” Alex raised a
hand in surrender. “Okay, okay! I give up.”

“
Good. Because I’ve got
work to do, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t keep distracting
me.”

“
Ah, my little
seeester
, it’s so good
to have you home.”

“
Yeah, yeah. Hey, did you
see the finish I put on my little step stool?”

“
Yes, and it’s perfect.
Your first official baby. Congratulations!”

“
Thank you, thank you.”
Tracey bowed, then held up the small stool admiring her work. The
unusual bowed legs on the short white stepping stool had been a
challenge. She assumed it had been left out in the rain at some
point, all warped and beat up. It was the first thing she’d picked
up at the estate sale, and for a dollar, she couldn’t refuse
it.

With Alex’s help, she’d
cleaned it, giving the strange little legs extra attention. Tracey
used a coat of a near-black shade of gray called
Typewriter
on the legs.
Then, using a true rich red shade called
Tricycle,
she painted the top of the
stool to give it an interesting contrast. Once it had thoroughly
dried, she distressed it, exposing some of the dark undercoat. The
look had amazed her.