Return to You

mother Sally
walked over to him. "The only crime is how good you look, Ma," he
said as he gathered her in his arms and lifted her in a big
hug.
    It'd been a couple years since she'd come
down to see him. He pulled back to look at her, surprised at how
good she did look. She was glowing and looked younger than he
remembered. She was even dressed differently. She wore a long
patchwork skirt and a gypsy-type peasant blouse.
    "You're stunning," he said, meaning every
word. He kissed her on each cheek, holding her hands in his
own.
    She harrumphed, blushing lightly. "If you
think a few compliments are going to make up for all this time,
you're in for a reality check."
    He laughed. Oh, yeah, this was his mother.
"Ma, I missed you."
    "I missed you too, Michael." She pulled him
close, cupped his face, and kissed him. And then she pulled back
and socked him in the arm. Hard.
    "Hey." He rubbed his bicep. Man, she had a
mean right hook. "What was that about?"
    She propped her hands on her hips. "Eleven
years have gone by, Michael. This is the first time you've come
back since you left and you couldn't call me to give me more
notice?"
    "I wasn't sure when I'd arrive."
    "And you're probably leaving just as
suddenly."
    "Actually, I wanted to see if it'd be okay
if I stayed with you for a while."
    A smile lit her eyes. "Of course it is. You
can have your old room. How long can you stay? A week?"
    He cleared his throat. "I have some business
in town and I'll probably be staying longer than that."
    "Longer?"
    He nodded.
    "How much longer?"
    He shrugged. "Maybe a couple months."
    She slugged him again.
    " Ow ." He covered his arm. "What was
that for?"
    "For taking me for granted." She crossed her
arms and glared at him. "Did you think you could just waltz back
here and I'd take you back in a blink of an eye?"
    This conversation sounded eerily
familiar.
    She continued. "I have a life too. Did you
ever think you'd be cramping my style?"
    Cramping her style? He frowned. "I didn't
mean to take you for granted. I can find someplace else to
stay."
    "Idiot. You'll stay at home." She kissed his
cheek, but her eyes narrowed as she sat in the chair he pulled out
for her. "Why are you coming back for so long? What about
work?"
    "I'm shooting a movie in Marin."
    "Oh." She perked up as though it was a
pleasant surprise.
    "We're shooting it at Pembroke Farms."
    " Oh ." His mom grimaced. "And Olivia is
okay with that?"
    "She doesn't really have a choice." Parker
made sure neither of them did. "She owns a lingerie shop down the
street now."
    "Yes, I know." At his surprised look, she
shrugged. "Why did you think I wanted you to meet me here? I
planned to stop by Romantic Notions after. I have a hot date and I
wanted to pick up something new."
    " Ma ." He grimaced at the
visual.
    His mom was still laughing when the blonde
delivered their drinks. She chatted with them for a moment before
giving them their privacy.
    Maggie waited until they were alone and then
pointed a stubby finger at him. "You stay away from that girl."
    "My own son doesn't have the sense of a
pigeon. You weren't here to see how you hurt her. That girl doesn't
need you messing with her life, not now that she's doing so well."
She eyed him suspiciously as she stirred honey into her tea. "Why
did you pick the farm to shoot your movie? Aren't there other
farms? Other towns? I thought you said you were never stepping foot
here again."
    The fierceness of her warning shocked him.
He picked up the coffee mug and blew on it to cool it down. "What?
No concern about your own son?"
    "I wasn't, but Parker wanted it shot
here."
    "Everett Parker." Maggie practically spat
his name out. "Good thing he isn't here too. Olivia will have
enough to deal with having you here, much less her father."
    "Guess again."
    "Damnation."
    He smiled dryly. He couldn't have put it
better himself.

Chapter Four
     
     
    Olivia turned onto the dirt road that led to
Pembroke Farm, sighing in relief as soon as her home came into
view.
    It'd been a grueling day, and she had
Michael to thank for it. Like a bad song he stuck in her head, and
she hated it.
    Her grip tightened on the steering
wheel.
    She turned left at the fork in the road and
eased her car up the pitted driveway. "Poor baby," she murmured,
patting the dash. Her Alfa Romeo wasn't the optimal car for pitted
dirt roads, but she loved it and couldn't bear to trade it in for a
four-wheel drive. At least the silver color masked the dirt that
kicked up from the