on the pickets, waiting for them to emerge from the car.
When they did, Chastity smiled, a slow, warm smile—a smile a lot like Buck’s, though not nearly so dangerous. “Welcome to the Sierra Star,” she said in a voice as calm and friendly as her smile. “Good to have you home, Buck.”
“Hey, Ma.” Buck strode around the front of the SUV and fell in behind B.J. and Lupe. When he cleared the gate, he grabbed his mother in his big arms and hugged her, hard. “Good to be home,” he said, lifting her right off the walk and rocking back and forth.
She let out a cry of surprise. “Buck, you put me down this instant!”
Now, there was a weird moment: watching Buck hugging his mother. Yes, B.J. had seen the pictures. She’d known that a mother—and those three brothers—existed. But still…
Odd. Very odd.
Maybe it was just that she was used to a certain idea of him, as a guy all on his own, unattached in every way that mattered.
Once the hugging was over with and he’d set his mother back on the ground, Buck threw an arm around her and they started up the walk together. By then, Lupe had already mounted the steps and stood waiting by the front door.
B.J. hung back, pondering the whole Buck-has-a-mother thing—until he sent her a glance over his shoulder. “B.J. You coming?” She shook herself and followed them to the front door.
Inside, the foyer boasted a pressed-tin ceiling and classic beadboard paneling painted a nice, fresh-looking white. Cheerful rag rugs covered the scuffed hardwood floors. The drawing room off the entrance contained lots of chintz and plaid furniture, an excess of fat pillows and mismatched antiques.
The effect was far from luxurious. Still, B.J. found it kind of comforting. Homey and welcoming. Already the sun had fallen behind the mountains, leaving it kind of gray outside and dim within, but Chastity had turned the lamps on and a cheery fire burned in the stone fireplace.
Buck made the introductions.
“B.J. How nice to finally meet you,” Chastity said, leaving B.J. to wonder just how much Buck’s mother knew about their disaster of a love affair six years before.
“Uh. Great to meet you, too.” She forced a friendly smile. “We should bring in our things….”
So they all headed back outside again. B.J. and Chastity each grabbed a couple of suitcases and trudged back to the house, leaving Buck and Lupe behind to sort out the rest.
“This way…” Chastity led B.J. upstairs to her room, which contained a queen-sized bed, nightstand and dresser and had enough room for a small sitting area. A tall armoire hid the TV. Not far from the head of the bed, French doors led out to a balcony and a gorgeous view: the rushing river behind the house and the evergreen-clad mountains rising skyward to the west.
B.J.—work, as always, foremost in her mind—cast a doubtful glance at the spindly-legged desk in the corner. “Internet access?” she asked hopefully. She didn’t see anything resembling a data port. Maybe wireless?
“Not in the room,” Chastity confessed. “But if you want to use my computer, you’re welcome to. I have the Internet. Don’t do much with it, I admit. I don’t have time to sit around and wait for those pages to come on the screen. Takes forever and a day—I’m a busy woman, you know.” She added the last briskly, with pride.
B.J. got the picture. Not pretty. “You mean you have…dial-up?” She tried not to shudder. Chastity looked at her vacantly. B.J. tried again. “You dial in to hook up?”
“Yes, I think that’s it.”
So much for zipping off her long, helpful e-mails to Giles. She’d call him. Later.
An ugly thought occurred to her. “What about cell phones? Do they work around here?”
“Now and then.” The twin lines between Chastity’s brows—lines that cried out for a little Botox—deepened even further. “Well, the truth is, not that often. The canyon walls block the signals.” She gestured toward the window and the rim of tree-covered mountains across the river. “People around here who just have to have cell phones take them up there. Reception’s pretty good once you get out of the canyon.”
B.J. considered the concept: climb a mountain, make a call. “You know what? Maybe not.”
Chastity shrugged. “But we do have regular phones.” She pointed at the land line on the dinky desk. It was big and bone-colored, an early push-button model. “They work just fine.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Come on, then. I’ll show you your bathroom.”
The bath was down the hall. But at least it was all hers—Chastity told her so. B.J. reminded herself to be grateful for small favors. It had a sink, a toilet and a claw-footed tub with a tall, added-on shower head and a flowered curtain that could be drawn all the way around.
And most important, she wouldn’t have to share it with Lupe—or worse, with Buck.
Buck and the photographer came up with the second load of suitcases and equipment. Chastity showed them their rooms. Buck got one next to B.J.’s. Now, why wasn’t she surprised?
“Make yourself comfortable,” Buck suggested, dark eyes much too knowing. “And then I’ll show you around town.”
“Wonderful,” said B.J., meaning it wasn’t, but what could she do? “Give me ten minutes.”
He cast a doubtful glance at her open-toed leopard print Manolos. “Got any decent walking shoes?”
“I can walk anywhere in these,” she replied, just to be difficult. Then she relented. “Okay, okay. I’ll change into something more clunky and hideous.”
“Do that.”
He went into his room. She stared at the door he’d shut behind him and thought a series of evil thoughts. Eventually, when glaring at his door failed to make it burst into flames, she gave up and went into her own room.
First things first: time to unpack.
B.J. loved living large. Though she was perfectly capable of traveling light if the situation demanded it, she preferred lots of options when it came to what to wear. For this trip, she’d brought four full-sized suitcases and a couple of smaller ones for her vanity items.
No worries, though. She was extremely efficient. She could pack half her closet in no time—and unpack it again in less than that. Swiftly, she put things away in the drawers and filled the narrow closet. She even trotted down the hall and put her grooming products away in her bathroom.
With two minutes to spare, B.J. pulled on some jeans and a pair of low-heeled knee-high Michael Kors suede boots—not hideous in the least, actually. But a girl has to score her points where she can. There was a tap at the door. B.J. scowled. Buck, no doubt. Ready to give her the guided tour. Oh, the joy. She grabbed her shearling jacket and answered the knock.
And there he was, wearing jeans and boots and a flannel shirt, looking scrumptiously rugged and far too smug. “Ready?”
She
