скачать книгу бесплатно
“Jessy.” The paper came down and he regarded her impatiently. “You want a table? Fine. Call Robinson’s. Tell them to send something out and have them put it on my account.”
He had an account at the furniture store? She bit her lip, resisting an impish urge to ask him why, if that was the case, the house was emptier than a pauper’s wallet. While the old Shane would have come back with a smart remark of his own, she was pretty sure the new one would stiffen up like a starched sheet hung out in a hot breeze, and she wasn’t quite done with him yet.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Would it also be all right to get one of those rocker-recliners so I’d have someplace to read to Chloe?”
“Get whatever you want,” he said flatly.
“Okay. Great. I’ll do that.”
“Good.” As quickly as that, the paper went back up.
Thoughtfully she set the bowl down on the counter, got the margarine out of the fridge and the syrup out of the cupboard. She poured the latter into a measuring cup, then checked the light on the waffle iron, which indicated it wasn’t quite ready. Picking up her coffee mug, she once more faced the breakfast bar, “Shane?”
“What?”
“There’s something else I’d like to ask.” She smothered a smile as she heard him sigh a second before he lowered the paper again.
One straight black eyebrow slashed up in question. “What is it now?”
“How would you feel about painting Chloe’s room?”
He frowned. “What’s the matter with it the way it is now?”
“It’s just so...bland. I’d like to add some color, maybe do a wallpaper border, just...brighten things up. Make it more suitable for a small child.”
For a moment he looked as if he were going to balk. Just as quickly, however, his face smoothed out, returning to its usual indifferent mask. “Fine. Pick out the paint and I’ll get somebody in to do it.”
“Don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’ll take care of it. I like to paint.”
He shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Great. I’ll do it Saturday then—if you’re free to watch Chloe?”
His expression grew even more shuttered. “Sure.” He started to go back to the paper, then reconsidered. “Is there anything else?”
“Well... As a matter of fact...”
“What?”
“Would you like some breakfast?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Oh. Okay.”
With a rustle of newspaper, he returned to the day’s headlines.
Jessy didn’t say a word. On the contrary, she turned serenely around, set down her mug, flipped up the top of the waffle iron and poured in a puddle of batter. She replaced the top, picked up the syrup and put it in the microwave to warm.
In seconds the kitchen was filled with tantalizing aromas.
She pretended not to notice, just as she continued to ignore Shane. Instead she set a place for herself at the counter, poured herself a glass of milk and placed it, the margarine and the now-warm syrup within reach. Then she retrieved her waffle, put it on a plate and sat down. Settling her napkin in her lap, she picked up her knife and carefully buttered the warm, golden circle.
Two stools down, Shane had gone very still.
She reached for the syrup and slowly drizzled it across the waffle’s steaming surface. Then she cut off a bite-size piece and popped it into her mouth, unable to completely mask a soft sigh of pleasure at its sweet, buttery taste.
Very slowly, the paper came down. “You didn’t tell me you were fixing waffles,” Shane said brusquely.
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t think I had a waffle iron.”
“You don’t. You were a little shy on cookware, so I brought over some of my things.”
He gave her a long, indecipherable look, then deliberately laid down the paper, pushed back the stool and stood. “I’ve got to go,” he said curtly. He stalked out of the room.
“Have a nice day,” Jessy called after him. She calmly ate another bite, thinking it was too bad he was so pressed for time.
Waffles were his favorites.
Three
When Shane walked in the door after work Friday night, Jessy was curled up on the family room couch, reading a magazine.
She sat upright as he came into the room. Pushing her glossy mane of golden brown hair off her face, she sent him her usual friendly smile. “Hi.”
He tossed his keys onto the counter and loosened his tie with a jerk. “Hi, yourself.”
He realized he sounded surly, but he didn’t particularly care. The whole damn day had been horrible. He’d overslept and missed his morning run. The rain that had threatened for two days had commenced at exactly the same time he’d had a tire blow out on the freeway. When he finally arrived at the office, damp, disheveled and late for an important meeting, he’d learned that Grace, his secretary for the past three years, had fallen in the shower and broken both arms. Topping things off, a shipment meant for Minnesota had gone to Missouri, one of his major suppliers was having financial problems and the truckers’ union was making noise about a possible strike.
Now here he was, home at last Or at least, he thought it was his home, he amended, taking a swift look around. In the time since he’d left that morning, it appeared he’d acquired an oversize rocker-recliner, several occasional tables, a pair of table lamps and a richly patterned Persian rug for his family room, plus a sleek dinette set that now occupied a space next to the windows.
Following his gaze, Jessy said mildly, “The furniture came.”
“Yeah. I noticed.” He was in no mood for small talk. It was after eight, he had indigestion from the too-spicy pizza he’d eaten for dinner and he was dead-dog tired. All he wanted was to be left alone, to have a little quiet time to get his head together before the whole damn thing started all over again in the morning. Not that he expected her to care.
“You’re home late.” She drew up her legs and looped her arms around them.
“Yeah.” He’d gone by the hospital to take Grace some flowers and wound up spending more than an hour assuring her she didn’t have to worry about her job, the hospital bill, or anything else. “I guess I should have called.”
“No problem,” she said easily. “Have you had dinner?”
“Yeah.” He picked up the mail and began to sort through it.
She was silent a moment. “Tough day?”
“You could say that.”
“I’m sorry. It must be the rain. Chloe had a bad one, too, poor little thing. It wore her out. She was out like a light by seven-thirty.”
He set down the mail, which except for an invitation to one of his best customer’s wedding was mostly flyers and bills, and turned to face her. “Well, I’m not far behind her. I’m going to go for a short run, then turn in, okay?”
It wasn’t a question so much as a declaration of his need for space, but she nodded anyway, her eyes very blue in her tranquil face. “Fine by me. I’m going to finish this article and then watch a movie. Enjoy your run.” That said, she curled up, propped her head on one hand and went back to her magazine.
Shane remained where he was for a second, feeling off-kilter and not liking it. Turning on his heel, he started out of the room, only to grind to a halt halfway across the floor. Exasperated with himself, he slowly retraced his steps. “Listen,” he said without preamble, certain that the next few minutes were going to be about as pleasant as the rest of his day. “I almost forgot. I have to fly to Dallas tomorrow. One of my suppliers is having some cash flow problems. Can you handle things with Chloe?”
Jessy looked up, studied his face for all of two seconds and said, “Sure. Don’t worry about it.” She resumed reading.
He stared at her finely drawn profile. That was it? No muss, no fuss, no major upset? “Okay then,” he said, feeling inexplicably irritated.
She nodded but didn’t look up, and after a moment he turned and left the room, his annoyance growing with every step. He stopped briefly to look in on Chloe—the kid was flat on her back and snoring noisily—then changed out of his suit and into some sweats, and went for his run.
It was still light out, so he started out on the wide, well-maintained path that circled the lake. Later, he’d take one of the many offshoots and come back along the road to the house, but for now the wide vista of silvery water suited his mood.
For the first mile or two he tried not to think. He concentrated instead on the even ebb and flow of his breathing, the cool slide of the rain against his skin, the firm feel of the running path beneath his sneakered feet.
At some point, however, he began to brood about his exchange with Jessy. What was her problem, anyway? Why did she have to be so damn accommodating? It wasn’t normal—not for a female. She was so rational, so reasonable, so calm and sensible. She acted just like a guy.
Only she wasn’t a guy, he reminded himself impatiently. She was Jessy, the motherless little buddy he’d practically adopted back in high school. And for all her lack of pretension, her penchant for dressing in T-shirts and shorts, for going without makeup and wearing her hair simply, there had always been a kindness about her, a sensitivity to other people’s feelings, that was markedly feminine. So, too, was the way she’d always looked up to him, treating him as if he were some sort of paragon or, better yet, her own personal knight in shining armor who could do no wrong.
Shane grimaced. Now, that was a laugh. A real man wouldn’t care that the child he loved wasn’t truly his. He’d be able to get past his wife’s betrayal, to get on with his life instead of merely going through the motions—
He clamped down on his thoughts, his stomach twisting with the familiar self-disgust. He’d been over this ground so often he knew every futile twist and turn, every useless bump and bend. No matter how often he considered it, or how much he wished things were different, that he could be different, it changed nothing.
Nor did it help to address the situation with Jessy. As much as he hated to admit it, all the time he’d been telling himself she’d be good for Chloe, part of him had nevertheless been dreading the moment when she finally saw him for the sorry son of a bitch he really was.
Yet so far—despite his less-than-admirable demeanor—she’ d been nothing but warm and understanding. And she’d saved him a monumental hassle tonight when she’d agreed to stay with Chloe while he went to Dallas. Without her, he’d be back at the house calling childcare agencies, not out in the fresh air running off the day’s worries.
He considered the rest of the week. He had to concede that because of her he’d been able to come and go as he liked, instead of juggling sitters. And she was certainly easier to deal with than his mother, who had recently started nagging him about the way he was neglecting her granddaughter. Best of all, it seemed that he could trust Jess not to demand more than he was able to give.
He reluctantly conceded he ought to be grateful for her presence. But had he shown even the slightest appreciation? Hell no. Instead, ever since she’d moved in, he’d been expecting her to act like Marissa. He’d been waiting for her to demand his attention, to complain that he was never home, to sulk or pout or cry.
But she hadn’t—for which he was damn grateful.
He sighed. Under the circumstances, he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to act a little more civil. He could still keep his distance. It didn’t mean he had to spend any time with her or let down his guard.
For some reason, the decision lifted his spirits. He picked up his pace, pounding out the next few hundred yards, then slowed as he approached the house. By the time he’d showered and thrown on a T-shirt and jeans, he felt nominally better.
It wasn’t until he came down the hall to put his dirty clothes in the utility room that he heard the opening theme from Star Wars. Surprised, he stopped in the doorway, sure he must be mistaken until he glanced across the room and saw the opening credits unrolling on the TV screen. He was swept by a wave of nostalgia; the George Lucas saga had been his absolute favorite as a teenager.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he admitted he was hooked. He edged into the room and watched for a while longer, then set down his laundry, walked over and finally sat gingerly down in his new recliner. He felt Jessy glance over at him briefly, but she didn’t say anything.
During a lull in the action, he cleared his throat. “Jess?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for staying with Chloe this weekend.”
It was a moment before she spoke. “No problem. You want some popcorn?”
“Sure.”
As she passed him the bowl and he realized that was the end of it, something inside of him that had been wound tight began to uncoil just a little.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said suddenly. “Bailey called. He said he’d give you a call in the office next week.”
“Yeah?” Although not as close as they’d once been, he and Jessy’s brother still talked periodically. In addition to their friendship, Bailey had an endorsement contract with TopLine, thanks to his status as one of the NFL’s premier quarterbacks. As usual for this time of year, he was at summer camp with the rest of the Florida Falcons. “How’s he holding up?”
Jessy’s teeth flashed briefly in the dim light. “He sounded beat. He says the younger players have been giving him a pretty hard time. I think he finally means it about this being his last season.”
“Maybe.” Shane put up the recliner’s foot rest and leaned back. “Although what he’s going to do afterward...” His voice trailed off as his gaze met Jessy’s. There was no need to say more, since they both knew how tied to football Bailey’s identity was—and how difficult it was going to be for him when he finally gave it up.
“He’ll be all right,” Jessy said firmly. Her face suddenly lit with a quick, impish grin. “Everyone has to grow up sometime. Even Bailey.”
To his surprise, Shane started to smile back, then abruptly caught himself. He forced himself to speak coolly. “Yeah, I suppose.” After all, he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression; he might be glad for her help with Chloe, appreciative of her easy-going manner, even impressed with her insight when it came to Bailey, but that was it.
Just as he was no longer the person she remembered, their youthful camaraderie was also over, and the sooner she accepted that, the better off they’d both be.
Yet even as he turned his attention to the movie and forced himself to concentrate on a galaxy far, far away, he couldn’t stop the errant thought that if he had to have somebody around, he could have done a whole lot worse than Jessy Ross.
“Dada!”
Shane lifted his suitcase out of the Explorer’s trunk. Setting it on the driveway next to his briefcase, he twisted around at the sound of Chloe’s voice, surprised to see her emerge from the jogging path that led to the lake. She raced forward, her chubby little legs churning, and launched herself at him.
Short of letting her crash to the ground, he had no choice but to sweep her up and into his arms. Yet he’d no more lifted her up than he found he had a whole new problem as she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck in a stranglehold. “Hey, Chlo, take it easy,” he said, his voice muffled against her silky head.
Her response was to press a noisy kiss to his ear. He tensed, uncomfortable with the display of affection, only to have his attention diverted as a familiar feminine voice said wryly, “I think she missed you.”
He looked up and found Jessy standing at the edge of the pathway. For some reason, the sight of her gently amused face seemed to lessen the strain of the moment. “Yeah, I guess.”
She resumed walking, her long legs eating up the handful of yards between them as she crossed the narrow strip of lawn. Dressed in a pair of white shorts and a cocoa-colored tank top that brought out the gold tones in her hair and skin, she looked strong and healthy and vibrant. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.”
“How did it go?”
He shrugged. “Okay.” He gave Chloe a cursory pat, then reached up and unsuccessfully tried to unpeel her arms from his neck. Swallowing a sigh, he settled on shifting her sideways, awkwardly holding her in the curve of one arm so he could reach down and grab his suitcase with the other.
When he straightened, he found Jessy watching him, her expression thoughtful. Catching him by surprise, she leaned close and laid her hand gently on Chloe’s back. “Hey, sweetie. Why don’t you show Daddy what you have?”
For a few seconds the toddler didn’t react Then, to his relief, she suddenly raised her head and let loose of his neck. Leaning back, she unexpectedly held up a water-filled plastic bag she had clutched in one small hand. “Isa goadpish, Dada,” she said.
He glanced from the bag, where a skinny little orange fish was doing its best to navigate the swirling, Chloeinduced currents, to her earnest little face and back again. “Nice.”
