if they’d been scrubbed clean. It was easy to see this was a block that took pride in their neighborhood.
He followed as Bristol walked ahead of him. Several live plants lined the steps to her front door. Had he told her how nice she looked tonight in that long, flowing black gown with a split on the side? The male in him couldn’t help but appreciate how those curves filled out the gown. She was a beautiful woman and he could understand Culpepper’s interest. What man wouldn’t be interested?
She took the key out of her purse and looked at him. Had she sensed he’d been staring at her backside? “Nice neighborhood,” he said, in case she had.
“Yes, it is.” She paused. “I will have to tell Ms. Charlotte who you are, as well. She will be shocked.”
He nodded. “She also assumes we’re married?”
“Yes. The only person who knows the truth is my best friend in Paris. Dionne.”
Laramie didn’t say anything as she unlocked the door and opened it. Then she stepped aside. “No, after you,” he told her. “I’m used to bringing up the rear.”
She nodded and entered her home. He followed, closing the door behind him. Her place had a cozy air. It felt small and intimate compared to the monstrosity of a house his parents owned, where he’d grown up as a child.
He stood in a foyer with stairs on one side and a living room on the other. The lit fireplace reminded him of how cold it was outside. The heat in here felt good. She had decorated for the holidays. A Christmas tree sat in front of the windows and he couldn’t help noticing that several of the ornaments were the ones he had bought for her in Paris. It made him feel good to know she had kept them.
“Nice place,” he said, glancing over at Bristol as he removed his Stetson and placed it on a nearby hat rack.
“Thanks.”
“I thought I heard voices. You’re home.”
An older woman came down the stairs and he figured her to be Ms. Charlotte. She smiled when she saw them. Then suddenly, the smile seemed to freeze on her face and she stopped walking to stare at him.
“Sorry I’m late, Ms. Charlotte. How was Laramie tonight?”
The older woman answered Bristol, without taking her eyes off him. “He was fine as usual.”
It was then that Bristol said, “Ms. Charlotte, I’d like to introduce—”
“I know who he is,” the older woman said, still staring at him.
The woman’s words gave Laramie pause. “How can you know?” he asked, lifting a brow.
“Your son looks just like you.”
His son looked like him? “Does he?” he heard himself asking.
“Yes, your spitting image,” the older woman said.
“That’s one of the first things I noticed after he was born,” Bristol added.
The woman finally continued down the stairs. When she reached the bottom step, she said, “I know you’re not a ghost, so I can only assume you weren’t dead as Bristol thought.”
Laramie stared into the older woman’s eyes. He admired their sharpness. He had a feeling you couldn’t hide much from those eyes. “No, I wasn’t dead, although the government thought I was. I was missing in action for almost a year before being recused.”
For some reason he felt he should provide her an explanation. She nodded and her lips creased into a smile. “I’m glad you came back alive. You’re going to love that little boy up there. He’s a sweetheart.”
Bristol groaned. “You shouldn’t say things that aren’t true, Ms. Charlotte. You and I both know he’s just gotten the hang of the terrible twos.”
“Like I’ve always said, boys will be boys. I should know after raising four of my own.” She then glanced at her watch. “Time for me to leave. I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she said, heading for the door.
She glanced back at them, specifically at Laramie, and said, “I’m glad you’re here.” The older woman then opened the door and closed it behind her.
Laramie saw Bristol was focused on the painting that hung over her fireplace. He’d seen it before. In Paris. In her bedroom. It had hung directly over her bed. She’d told him it was one she’d painted with someone. He’d been amazed how the beauty of the Point Arena Lighthouse had been captured so magnificently on canvas. The painting was so vivid it seemed that the waves from the Pacific were hitting the shoreline. He recalled visiting the actual lighthouse years ago with his parents.
“Bristol?”
She switched her gaze to him. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
She stood beside a lamp and the light illuminated her. He was thinking then what he’d thought when he’d first seen her. She was beautiful. In the bright light, he could study her. See more. Her dark hair was swept up and away from her face in a way that seemed to make her features even more striking. Especially with those earrings in her ears...
It was then that he remembered. He’d given her the earrings as a gift. It seemed the Christmas ornaments weren’t the only thing she’d kept.
“You’re ready to see him?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “He’s asleep, so whatever you do, try not to wake him. Laramie can be a handful when awakened from his sleep. He doesn’t like that very much.”
“I won’t wake him.”
“Okay. Then follow me please.”
She headed up the stairs and he followed, feeling his stomach knot with every step. This was crazy. He’d faced bitter enemies without flinching. Yet knowing that at the end of these steps was a child he’d helped to create had nervous tension flowing through him.
The moment they reached the landing she turned to him. “This way. His bedroom is next to mine so I can hear him at night.”
He nodded, inhaling her scent. It was soft, subtle—jasmine. He recalled that was her favorite fragrance and for those three days they’d spent together it had become his.
He hung back when she opened the door and entered the bedroom. She turned on a small lamp. His gaze raked the room. It had bright yellow walls and a mural of zoo animals gathered around an image of someone reading a book.
Then there was the toy box in the corner. He smiled, remembering how he would pull all his toys out of the box at the beginning of the day as a boy, only to have to put them back at the end. His parents always had a full-time housekeeper and undoubtedly, she’d figured the more she taught him to do in his playroom, the less she would have to do.
He watched Bristol move toward the bed. From the doorway he could see the small sleeping form beneath the blanket. A mop of dark curly hair peeped out and he instantly recalled the pictures he’d seen of himself as a child with the same
