Free The Way Home by Jean Brashear Page A

make love to her for hours—
    A small, strangled sound from Cele brought him up short.
    And he saw what he should have noticed first thing.
    Bella wasn’t smiling.
    She was scared. Of them. The family she had once adored.
    He glanced at the man beside her.
    The man shook his head, pity in his eyes.
     
    T HE THREE PEOPLE were staring at her so hard that Jane skidded to a stop. Were they her family? The way they zeroed in on her, the tiny blonde with tears on her cheeks, the lanky boy with his heart in his eyes…
    Nothing. Not a thing seemed familiar about any of them.
    A man stood behind them, tall and strong and handsome, his blue gaze locked on hers as the smile on his face faded.
    “I—” She glanced at Sam and knew it was true.
    He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
    She shook her head. “No, it isn’t.” Looked back at them. “I—I’m sorry.” Her voice was a croak, her throat tight with disappointment. “I should—” she switched from one to the next, wishing for something, anything “—I really wanted—”
    They were gazing at her with such hope, so much longing. She couldn’t breathe. Had to get away before—
    “Forgive me,” she managed to say. She tore her gaze from them, began backing toward the door.
    “Jane,” Sam said. “It’s okay.”
    But panic had her and wouldn’t let go. “It’s not. I—I thought—” She whirled and ran.
    Behind her, she heard voices, pleading. Arguing. She hurried around to the back, desperate to be alone, to think, to breathe.
    “Bella.” Not Sam now, she understood. Him. Her…husband.
    She didn’t turn around. “Why do you call me that?”
    “Bella? It’s my name for you. Your full name is Isabella Rosaline Parker. Your maiden name was Grant. But from the beginning, I called you Bella.”
    She recalled that second of hesitation when Luisa had first used the term bella. This man must be telling the truth, but—
    “I don’t…know your name.” A bitter laugh was startled from her. Furiously, she swiped at the tears. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. It’s James. James Cameron Parker.” So kind, his voice, but layered with more. Disappointment. Determination. Some other current she couldn’t really name.
    She heard his footsteps and cringed. Faced him.
    Pain shadowed his features. She’d married this handsome, well-dressed man? She frowned down at her clothes.
    He smiled, a beautiful one. “I’ve seen you like this a thousand times.”
    “Like…this?”
    He nodded. “You had the most beautiful gardens in town, and you did all the work yourself.”
    But one word had caught her. “Had?”
    He hesitated. “You’ve been…busy lately.”
    There was a lot of misery in that statement. The weight of questions she needed to ask and fears she was afraid to voice crowded her chest.
    Sometimes important people from the past can do more harm than good, Sam had warned her.
    “Why?” Then she shook her head. “No, forget that.” She struggled for one deep breath. “The children. They’re…ours?”
    “Yes. Cele is twenty-three. Cameron is nineteen.”
    “Sam told me I hadn’t borne a child.”
    His eyes went dark. “You had miscarriages.”
    Plural. She’d lost more than one baby. Her mind went to that dark head.
    “So we adopted them. Cele was nearly two. Cam was an infant.”
    “The memory,” she murmured. “A baby.”
    “You’re remembering things?”
    She lifted one shoulder. “Only that one, except for an image of some blue flower—”
    “Plumbago. One of your favorites.”
    Her hand fluttered. “There’s so much.” Her throat was tight, her head spinning. “I—I don’t know where to start.” Her heart was flopping inside her chest, and her vision was darkening.
    “Hey—” Suddenly, he was there, this James, this man she didn’t know. He scooped her up as though she weighed nothing, but she was frightened of the awful feeling in her head and her chest.
    “Bella, breathe, baby. Come on, easy