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Licking her dry lips, she had to ask the question. "What about Tamra? Does she have the code? Isn't this still her house too?"
"No. She doesn't have the code and its only her house … half her house … in name only. She never wanted to live up here. She hated everything about this place. I think the two years or so we lived up here, she really only spent about five nights total in this house."
"Where would she stay?"
"With her family in town. Or, who knows who she spent her time with."
She couldn't look away from the sadness in his eyes. "Didn't you care?"
He swallowed. "I did at first. But it became clear very soon after we moved in that she was over our marriage and our family."
Family? They had a family. Why that seared her soul, she didn't know. "What does that mean, family?"
He faced her full on, his eyes searching hers and sadness creeped in before a tinge of pride entered. "We have a son, Falcon."
"Oh my God." She whispered as her hand covered her mouth. She shouldn't be surprised, look at him. Most people in their forties had a family, except her. She couldn't bring herself to have children with Waylon. Didn't want them in that environment. Then, as the years passed, she tried to forget about not being a mom. When she'd get down, she'd visit Jolie and hug her littles and pretend she was a mom for just a little while.
His strong fingers tilted her head up. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."
Swallowing the massive lump in her throat, she inhaled deeply. "It's … um … of course, you'd have a family. I just didn't realize."
Setting the freshly rinsed cloth next to her on the counter, he walked to the fireplace and pulled the photo of him when he was younger from the mantle. "This is Falcon, my son."
Falcon. Not Ford. She would never have guessed. They were identical. At least their faces. Handing her the photo, she looked closer and could see Falcon had a scar that separated the eyebrow above his left eye. Glancing up into Ford's face, it wasn't there.
"He's the spitting image of you."
His chuckle said it all. "You have no idea."
"How old is he?"
"He's twenty-five now. Stationed in Afghanistan just outside of Kandahar."
She couldn't look away from the young man staring back at her, the obligatory scowl that all military personnel wore in their pictures. "Thank him for his service, please."
"You can thank him yourself when he comes home." He said it quickly, and her heart tumbled at the idea that she might be here when Falcon returned home. And if she were honest, that sounded really nice. No, great. That sounded great, actually.
His tender smile as he stared at the picture of Falcon crushed her heart. She'd never known what it felt like to grow a child in her womb that had been made from love. Over the years there were times when she broke down from the weight of it. Sitting here now, in the presence of a man she was growing feelings for, it hurt more than ever once again.
His arm muscles bulged and stretched as he set the framed picture in its place on the mantle. Then he turned to her, and her heartbeat sped up once again.
"I believe you wanted to have a talk."
Yeah, she needed to talk to erase these feelings that her heart was breaking.
"Yeah. Um, I just felt I should tell you about Waylon."
He opened the first aid kit and pulled some antibiotic ointment from it and fresh gauze squares.
"Why the change of heart?" His jaw clenched then relaxed, and he kept his eyes on her feet and his task.
"When I was out in the garage, I realized that if I don't tell you everything, you're at a disadvantage to just how serious this all is, and ..."
Squeezing ointment onto his finger, he smeared it over her cuts and her heart hammered at his gentleness. He stayed quiet, and she imagined he was afraid to say anything that might make her stop sharing.
"Waylon stole drugs from Marcus, and that's why he's wanted right now. And by ‘wanted,’ I think it’s not in a good way."
Securing the gauze to the bottom of her feet by wrapping medical tape around the top of each foot and around, he stood and looked into her eyes.
