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Going Home Again

(From the Joy From the Heart collection)

    (Pamela Griffin) - Determined to discover her roots, Erica McClendon boards a bus bound for the small town of Preston Corners and meets seatmate Ryan Sturges. Together, with the help of her family, the two solve the childhood mystery that has haunted Erica most of her life. Is romance in the offing?

__________________________________

                                                                One

"Wait! Please!" Erica McClendon waved her arm and hurried through the
icy-cold drizzle to the closing door of the commercial bus. The driver
raised his brow as she clomped up the steep metal stairs and produced her
ticket.
"Almost missed the bus, lady," he grumbled.
As if she didn't know. It had been sheer lunacy to run to the gift shop
nearby while waiting for the bus to depart. Holding both her shoulder bag
and carry-on close to her side, Erica eyed the seats on either side of
the aisle.
Most at the front and middle were full, as she'd expected. Toward the
back she spotted several rows free, but she didn't think her shaky legs
would carry her that far. The mixed relief and anxiety she felt to have
made it--and to actually be embarking on her dream, the dream she'd held
onto since that phone call a week before Christmas--threatened to take
what little strength she possessed and bring her to her knees in the
narrow aisle.
Six rows down she spotted an empty seat on the left and moved toward it.
"May I?" she asked the elderly woman by the window, wondering why no one
had claimed the coveted spot. From experience, she'd learned places close
to the door were usually the first to go.
"That seat is taken, but you can sit here, if you'd like." The deep
masculine voice came from Erica's right. "The passenger that was sitting
here just got off."
She turned. Gentle brown eyes smiled at her. He sat by the window and
started to move a couple of magazines and a leather briefcase off the
aisle seat next to him.
Erica hesitated, uncertain she wanted to be in such close proximity to
this appealing stranger. He must be uncomfortable with his long, trim
build folded into that small space. His blue jeans-clad knees hit the
back of the seat in front of him. And he wasn't slouching.
"I promise, I don't bite." His sober expression didn't match his light
words.
Embarrassed to feel all eyes on her--even the driver's, who looked at her
in his long mirror over the wheel--Erica sank to the upholstered chair.
As the bus rumbled out of the parking lot, she wished she had removed her
coat first. To stand up now would be awkward. Yet, judging from the
warmth, the bus heater must be on full blast. Deciding she didn't want to
bake, even in such cold weather, she shrugged her right shoulder out of
the coat sleeve. Twisting from side to side, she tried to rid herself of
the rest of the long wool garment. A large hand gently touched her
shoulder.
"Allow me." Brown Eyes took her lapel and helped her remove her left arm
from the sleeve, afterward pulling the coat from under her while she
braced her hands on the chair arms and lifted her body. "Are you sure you
want to take this off? You're shaking all over."
Which has nothing to do with the cold weather, Erica silently added. She
relaxed onto her seat, trying to dismiss the warm tingles trickling
through her at his touch. Get a grip, Erica, you're twenty-nine, not
nineteen.
"Thank you, I'm fine," she mumbled without looking at her seatmate as he
laid the coat on her lap. She leaned forward slightly, lifted her long
dark hair away from her back so it wouldn't pull, and brought the thick
swathe to rest over one shoulder. With jerky movements she straightened
her red cable knit sweater, pulling the hem further down over her jeans,
and settled back for the long ride.
"Nasty weather to be out," she said, then mentally struck her forehead,
realizing how stupid that sounded.
"Yeah. But at least we're not getting sleet and snow like they are about
fifty miles northeast of here. I wouldn't want to travel in that." A
pause. "So what brings you out on a night like this?"
Erica bit her lip. How to answer that! An aching need to see someone who
cared about her? The desire to find the joy she so desperately
sought--and had searched for since she was a child? The innate curiosity
to see if too much time and distance wouldn't hamper the reunion she
looked forward to . . .and feared?
All of this was true, but she dismissed each possible answer and looked
at him. His eyes were a darker brown than hers and sent a flash of warmth
wafting through her. "I bought my ticket ten days ago to get a lower
price. Since it's non-refundable, I didn't want to lose out. I couldn't
go during the holidays, so I'm treating myself to my Christmas present
now. You?"
"Going home. Had a business conference in Dallas, and I don't like plane
travel--especially on a day like today." He held out one strong hand.
"Ryan Sturges. And you are?"
She hesitated, taken aback by his open friendliness, then took the hand
and offered a returning smile. "Erica McClendon."
"Nice to meet you, Erica McClendon."
Their conversation was interrupted as the lady who had the other aisle
seat returned--a very pregnant young woman with a tot wrapped in a baby
sling around her. The child looked as if it couldn't have been more than
a year old. The woman looked exhausted.
"Here, let me help," Erica offered while she reached for the strap of the
bulky diaper bag, which was sliding off the woman's arm.
"Gracias." The woman smiled at Erica though it didn't quite reach her
dark eyes. She wriggled her way into the confined space, one hand over
the child lying against her protruding belly, the other clutching the
chair back as she dropped to her seat.
"You certainly have your hands full," Erica said sympathetically. "How
old is your baby? And when are you due?"
"No hablo Inglés." Brow creased, the woman shook her head with an
apologetic look.
"Oh." Erica's smile grew faint. She knew no Spanish.
Ryan leaned across Erica and began to speak in what sounded like fluent
Spanish. Indeed, the words poured from his lips as if he'd been born to
them. The woman's face cleared and brightened, and she nodded with a big
smile, offering a stream of words in reply. Her little one began to
whimper, and she grabbed a bottle out of the diaper bag and turned her
attention to the child.
"The baby is ten and a half months, and Carmen is due in three weeks,"
Ryan explained to Erica. "On Valentine's Day, though she hopes little
Pablo comes sooner than that."
She cast him an incredulous stare. "With a name like Ryan and the auburn
hair to match--you speak Spanish?"
He gave her another one of his lopsided grins. "Actually several
languages, though I'm not fluent in all of them. My mom is a French
teacher, I took Spanish in high school, and I had a good friend in
college whose family transferred to the U.S. from Germany. I also know
some sign language. My aunt signs at her church."
"What? No Gaelic?" Erica answered, feeling her own lips turn upward in a
teasing grin.
He chuckled--a pleasant sound that sent a rumbly-sort-of-quaky feeling
straight to the pit of her stomach. "No, no Gaelic. I'm part French, too,
and other things besides." He settled back in his seat. "So tell me,
Erica, where are you headed?"
She liked the way he said the syllables of her name--soft, not harsh like
she often heard it. "A small town you've probably never heard of. From
what I understand, if you blink you'll pass it by."
"One of those, huh? I'm from a town like that, myself. Population 542--I
take that back. Mandy Jacobs had a baby last week. Make that 543."
Erica laughed. "I've always thought small town life so charming.
Close-knit families, friendly neighbors, everyone knowing everyone else .
. ."
"And everyone else's business," Ryan filled in wryly. "So what's the name
of this small town?"
"Preston Corners."
He gave her an incredulous look. "You're kidding! That's where I'm from."
Erica's eyes widened. "Really?" A flicker of something akin to nervous
energy lit inside her. "Tell me, do you know Lance Beardsley?"
"Do I! My nemesis and best buddy all through high school. We played
sports together."
Her heartbeat quickened. "What's he like?"
"What's he like?" Ryan repeated the question, as if he didn't understand
it. "Well, I don't know . . . he can be a regular card at times, a real
ham when it comes to the spotlight. Other times he can be stone-dead
serious."
Erica moistened her bottom lip, mentally storing the information. "And
what's he look like now? Tall? Short? Heavy? Thin? Does he have light
hair or . . . or is it dark?" She fumbled with the last when Ryan's brows
bunched, and she realized how strange her questions must sound.
"I never paid close attention. His hair is dark, and he's a couple of
inches shorter than I am, I know. Huskier, too." He fixed her with a
sober stare, one that reminded Erica of a parent dealing with a wayward
child. "He's married, you know. Has a great wife--Stacey--and two kids.
Married his high school sweetheart, as a matter of fact. They dote on
each other."
"Two kids?" Erica knew about the wife, but not the kids. Lance hadn't
mentioned them during their brief phone conversation. A firewood peddler
had come knocking on her door, cutting the call short. "And what does he
do for a living? Does he have other interests besides sports?"
"Why do you want to know so much about him?" Ryan's tone was suspicious.
Her gaze skittered to her lap. "I haven't seen him in awhile; I'm just
curious is all."
"Curious, huh . . . So, tell me, what are you to Lance? An old girl
friend he met on family vacations years ago? A pen pal? A friend of the
family?"
Erica tried to swallow the lump that had risen to her throat. He seemed
the loyal sort, one who would speak out to protect a friend. And he'd
know soon enough anyway . . .
She looked at him. "I'm his sister."
"His sister?" Ryan's disapproving expression changed to shock then grew
wary. "Lance doesn't have a sister. We've been buddies for over fifteen
years, so I should know. He only has a younger brother named Michael."
Erica let out a long, soft breath. "I didn't know he had a sister
either--not until the week before Christmas anyway. Actually he has two
of them. Me and . . ." she paused and furrowed her brow, searching for
the name. " . . . Lindsey. Yeah, that's it. Lindsey."

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