Jon glanced down at his in-dash GPS. According to the arrival time, he was about ten minutes away from the Bouchet house. The rural towns looked run down to some, but he’d lived in the northeast long enough to know that it was this sort of rustic hideaway that was coveted by people that wanted to get away from the glamour of the city.
Houses that probably ranged in the hundreds of thousands blended with middle and lower income homes. The roads wound around to show sprawling vistas, achingly simple landscapes and working farms dotted with grazing horses, cows and goats. He pushed his Chevelle into the red zone, hard pressed to keep within the speed limit. The hill he was climbing would be killer in the winter, but the early summer only left wildflowers and beauty.
A few turnoffs that could loosely be called roads later, a wide, wraparound porch came into view. Sunny yellow shutters against white siding gleamed in the early morning light. Black trim outlined the door, windows and top of the porch rails, but it was the explosion of colors from beds of flowers that turned the traditional house into a home. To his untutored eye it looked like a mishmash of flowers popping up everywhere, but he’d bet his next advance that the whole garden was meticulously planned.
It reminded of his Grams place back in Pennsylvania. She’d spend hours playing in her weeds, as she’d called it. He pulled into the circular drive hoping the two hours he’d forced himself to wait at a local diner was enough to keep him out of the rudely early column. He’d driven on the overnight, unable to go back to his house and sleep or face the wrath of Richie.
He needed to see her, period. Driving all night was a small price to pay. It wasn’t like sleep had been a friend of his in months anyway. Gravel crunched under his boots as the late June sun sparkled off her little Honda parked under an overhang along the side of the house.
God, she was really there. He hadn’t called ahead, and he wasn’t sure Nic would have either. Popping his knuckles, he shook out his stiff fingers before gripping the glossy black rail.
A huge wreath decorated the same gleaming black of the door. More flowers sprang from antique pots, a weather worn watering can and a Radio Flyer wagon beside the door. His hand shook a little when he reached for the doorbell. The bell and barking dogs followed by a thump and yip had him curling his fingers into his hand. As an afterthought he quickly tucked the arm of his sunglasses into his shirt.
“All right, All right!”
He heard the voice, then a pair of friendly brown eyes and thick, wide paws pounced on the skinny window. Another smaller dog inched under the big chocolate lab, its lolling tongue coated the glass.
“Sadie down! Get back, Barney.” Another pair of brown eyes peered through the window, this one of the human variety. Her dark brows snapped together, before she inched back, then came back to the window again, this time her eyes were wide with surprise.
Jon tried a smile, but the most he could manage to do was twist his lips into a semblance of a bend. God, what was he doing?
The door swung open. The woman had to be Nic’s mother. She was almost an exact replica of Nic only a bit more…plush. The dogs spilled out around the woman’s legs and crashed into his. He widened his feet for stability. “Hi, ma’am, I’m looking for Tessa Donovan.” He tried to talk above the din, but it was a lost cause.
“Sit!” The commanding tone was impressive. Hell, he almost had a seat, himself. Both dogs plopped onto their butts beside him, flanking either side. Each dog vibrating to jump and lick and hopefully not bite, but they obeyed.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced, but—“
“When she said famous, she wasn’t kidding.”
Jon snapped his mouth shut, confusion evening out to a near head slap. He was as far from his famous persona as one could get lately—even with the promos only two days ago—but to this woman…well, it had to be a little shocking. He held out his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Bouchet, I’m Jon.”
“You certainly are,” she clasped his hand and dragged him inside. She shooed the dogs out. “Go on, go play,” and closed the door. “I’m sorry. My Mom would kick my butt for being so rude. Welcome to my home.” She turned her head. “Thomas, come out here!”
“Who the hell are you calling, Thomas, woman! What’d I do now?”
Jon swallowed as a towering linebacker of a man came around the corner. A closely cropped, snow white beard framed a darkly tanned face with shrewd blue eyes. A simple cotton t-shirt stretched across a barrel chest and set of shoulders that could probably plow a field alone. “Hello, Mr. Bouchet.”
A frosty white brow winged up into his hairline, then beetled down into a frown. “You’re the one making my Tessa cry.”
“Tom!” Mary admonished, pushing her husband out the way and dragging him further into their house. “Go put some coffee on for our guest.” The kitchen and dining room were one large open space.
“He’s no guest of mine. He can make his own damn coffee.” Tom growled, stomping off to the kitchen even with his gruff words.
“He’s a little protective of Tessa.”
Jon swallowed thickly. “Don’t go to any trouble, please.” He’d had enough coffee that he wondered if it wasn’t running through his veins. He was surprised that Tessa hadn’t explained who he was to her, well…her family for all intents and purposes. Did she see him as temporary the whole time?
Or did she feel like she couldn’t talk about them even to her family? Had he done that to her? Made her feel like even talking to family would be a betrayal? Or even worse, not worth the mention?
Mary shuffled him out onto the back porch with its wide pergola and plush chaise seating. “You go sit down, I’ll be right back.”
The backyard was even more impressive than the front with the wild gardens and worn arbor twisted with some sort of vine in full bloom. Even at nine in the morning, the sun blasted down on the brook along the back of the house, bouncing the light back at him. He shoved his sunglasses back on his face, tipping back on his heels.
It was truly beautiful; he could see why Tessa had escaped here. He looked over his shoulder at the windows and fluttering lace curtains overlooking the incredible view. Was she watching him? Was she sleeping? Stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, he tried to settle his jangling nerves.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jon smiled down at the woman, cupping his hands around her fluttering hands. “Treat me like one of your kids, Mrs. Bouchet. I’m not special just because I sing for a living.”
Mary stared up at him for a long moment, then poured him a mug of coffee, still not saying a word. He accepted the mug, taking a sip without thinking and moaned. Mary’s coffee was better than the stuff he got in the city. He gulped down half the cup before he could stop himself.
Tom came onto the porch, his anger breathing off of him like a living thing. A quick look flashed between the married couple and he harrumphed before heading down the stairs to the stables in the back. “I’m sorry about my husband, he’s usually much better behaved.”
Jon waved it off, setting his coffee on the table. “He’s got good reason to dislike me on sight.”
“Tom doesn’t know the whole story, in fact…I don’t think any of us do besides you and Tessa.”
“If I tried to explain it, I’d sound like a narcissistic bas—“
She laughed. “I appreciate your manners, Mr. Bon Jovi, but you can say bastard.”
“Jon,” he corrected. “Well, my Pops taught me not to speak like that in front of a lady.”
Mary’s laughter trilled through the air, bringing the dogs barking around the back of the house. The scrabbled up the stairs for a quick ruffle of ears and the both of them headed out to the stream. Obviously he didn’t rate now that they were out doors. “Sounds like I’d probably like your father. Do you think Tessa would?”
His lips quirked up at the corner. She was sneaky, he’d give her that. “God, I hope so. She only got to talk to him for three seconds before all hell broke loose.”
“Families are hard to gel together. It takes time, effort and patience.”
He snorted. “Too bad I have my mother’s patience.”
She sat down at the oval table and waved him over. “Come sit. We need to have a talk, Jon.”
He looked up at the windows again, sighed and sat down. Normally he’d be all about visiting with—for all intents and purposes—Tessa’s mother, but right now all he wanted to do was see her. Talk to her…touch her. Anything. He was starving for her.
“She’s not here.”
His gaze swung to Mary’s. He pushed his shades up on his head, his fingers digging into the rough cut texture of the wooden table. “What?”
“I see you looking up there for her, hoping she’ll come down.”
“But I saw her car.”
Mary smiled sadly. “She took her old truck from the garage. She needed a sense of past, of something that was familiar and comforting.”
The disappointment was overwhelming. What the hell was it going to take to find this woman? “When will she be back?”
“Could be tomorrow, could be August.”
Jon slumped back in his seat, digging into the corner of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. God, no. She couldn’t be gone. Not again. Cool hands covered his, pulling it back down until she could fold her own around his. “Can you do something for me?”
He stared into the warm, dark eyes of Mary Bouchet. He itched to drag his shades back down over his eyes. It seemed like she was looking dead into the center of his brain with those mom eyes. Hell, he probably didn’t need to tell her anything—she could read everything with that look. He gritted his teeth and swallowed back the need to close off. To bury all the pain that was so close to the surface. Another failure. “What?” he asked hoarsely.
“Tell me your side of the story.”
He shook his head. “The only one that matters is hers.”
Her fingers flexed around his, until he wrapped his own around hers in reaction. “The day anyone is that selfless is the day you get your stupid sign. Tell me your side.”
He felt his lips twitch into a half smile. Putting people off with well placed words was a talent he’d picked up early on in his career. It figured that this woman would be immune to that kind of thing. “I know where Nic gets her no nonsense personality.”
“If a daughter could be a best friend, Nichole would be mine,” she said simply. “Now, tell Mary all about it. From the beginning.”
“About us? From the beginning?” He felt his face flush.
Mary laughed. The giggle was as light and airy as a girl’s. “No, not the courting stuff. I’m sure you’re as lusty as they come in that right.”
Jon cleared his throat, aware that his skin was about ten shades into the red. “If it was just lust, then it would have been over a long time ago. I certainly wouldn’t be here hashing out my love life to a stranger.”
“Now, now...no need to get all grouchy. I’m talking about the baby. If you can talk about it. Tessa’s been less than forthcoming and we’re trying really hard to understand what happened.”
He sighed, swearing under his breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. B—“
“Mary.”
He smiled sadly. “Mary,” he allowed. “I’ve been trying to figure out what happened myself. You know about all the medical stuff from Nic, I imagine.”
She nodded. “Ectopic pregnancy with a lot of complications.”
Jon nodded. “Right. I’ve tried to talk to her about the baby, about what it meant for us, if we wanted to talk about family, but she shuts me down every time. I wanted to have a memorial for the baby, but…” he trailed off. The near violent reaction to the baby tag he’d done for himself was a good indicator that she wasn’t interested in talking about that.
“But she wasn’t ready for that. In fact, she probably won’t even talk about the baby, right?”
“Won’t even say the word,” he said quietly.
“Oh, Tessa,” she said wearily. “She’s grieving finally, I can tell you that. She’s looking for a place to put the grief and anger. I don’t think I’m betraying a confidence saying that she wanted to get away from the reality of life without you.” She stood up and took his hand, walking them down toward the brook. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked along the mossy edge of the rocks.
His gut clenched. “I left to let her sort things out. I couldn’t figure out any other way to help her.” It seemed that each minute around her was only causing her more pain. Maybe he should have held on tighter, shouted at her louder, told her that the distance was killing him. Anything but the silence and the nothing of her absence.
“She wanted it to be here,” she said absently then sighed as if realizing she wasn’t making any sense. “She came here looking for answers, for a place to grieve. This has been her home since her folks died just after college. For longer than that, I think. You did know about that, right?”
Jon nodded. “She didn’t give me the specifics—never really wanted to talk about family actually, but I knew they were gone.”
“Not surprising.” She tugged him toward the stone bench under a tree. “Her parents weren’t what we’ll call demonstrative. Tessa was starved for love, heck she didn’t even know how hungry she was for it until we overwhelmed the poor girl. But she took to it.” She pointed to the ducks at the water’s edge. “Just like those little guys take to water. She had a few boyfriends over the years of course, but she just never seemed to find a true interest in anyone until you.”
“I can’t believe that.”
She smiled up at him. “It’s true. She was all for building her career and buying her little house and bookstore. Nothing meant as much as getting Chapters off the ground. Then she came here for Christmas and told me about this man.” She nudged him. “You and your family issues, but she was so hopeful…if a little careful in that hope. I’ve never seen her like that.”
He remembered how off balance she’d been when she came home from Christmas. How she’d nearly crawled inside herself rather than talk to him about how scared she was. He’d been so sure he’d said enough, showed her enough. “I screwed up...a lot.”
“How so?”
He smiled down at her, knowing the woman was giving him enough rope to hang himself twice. “I’ve only been in love with one woman my whole life.” He shrugged. “Well before Tessa that is. I met my wife in high school. It might have taken a few years to get it right, but she was the only one I’d ever loved. But my life, the lifestyle, the crazy hours…whatever it was in the end that did us in…Dorothea wanted out.”
“Did you want out?”
He sat back on the stone seat, stretched his legs out and winced at the mud caked boots. Damn, they were his favorite pair. “I was comfortable. Dot and I had a good life and while the fire was gone, we’d always been such good friends that it just seemed like a natural progression.”
“Do you always sit back and let others make your decisions for you?”
He sat up. “No!”
Mary grinned. “Something told me that would be your answer. So why’d you let your wife do the breaking up?”
“It was good enough at the time.”
“Not a very good way to live.”
Jon sighed. “When you live the crazy life I’ve lived, normal feels weird. I just thought it was the whole growing old thing.” And if he’d found more reasons to stay away from home, it had been on a subconscious level. He didn’t like change. When it came to certain things, he was as constant as the sunrise.
Mary’s look was skeptical, but she kept whatever thoughts running through that brain of hers, to herself. “And then you met Tessa.”
“And then I met Tessa.” He leaned back again. “How do you fall in love in a week? That’s what I asked myself a few times…but I did. It was immediate and unplanned.” Unplanned wasn’t the word for it. She was a complication he’d never dreamed could happen to him again. He didn’t know the first thing about melding his new life and his old one together.
Christ—no wonder Tessa’d left him. He was a complete ass. He should have been screaming it from the rooftops how much he loved her. Certainly screaming it to his family…to others besides Richie. Instead he held her so close, kept her for himself because it had been so long since he’d had anything just for him.
“You got awful quiet.”
“You should hear the conversation in my head.”
She laughed. “Was it a good one?”
“I don’t like being called stupid, even when I’m the one saying it.”
“Ahh…that kind of conversation. You know, one thing you both have to know is that you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t love each other so much. As painful as this has been, you have to know that much.”
He scratched his fingers over the face full of scruff he was sporting. “I write songs about love conquering all, but let me tell you something, Mary. I screwed up every line when it comes to Tessa. The chorus, the bridge, the verses…it’s a complete mess.”
“Nice analogy, but you got one thing right. You found her and you got her to love you—no mean feat, let me tell you. Now you just have to get the words right.”
“What I really have to get right is the sharing part. Sharing her with my family, with the crazy parts of my life. I don’t know how I’m going to get that part right.”
She gripped his shoulder. “The fact that you see what you need to do is half the battle.” She stood up. “All right, let me feed you and maybe you can convince me to tell you where our timeshare is. You guys have a lot of talking to do.”
