That Mccloud Woman

“Hi!” she called brightly as she turned and headed toward him. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jack frowned, tugging the bill of his cap low over his forehead as if to hide the truth of where his eyes had strayed. “No problem.”

She stooped to give the cat that greeted her a loving pat. “I see you met Captain Jinx.”

Jack’s frown deepened as he watched the flea-bitten, stump-tailed cat arch beneath her hand, purring its contentment. “Yeah.”

She straightened, lifting her gaze to his, a teasing smile curving her lips when she saw the look of disgust on his face. “You don’t like cats?”

He lifted a shoulder. “They’re okay.”

She laughed softly as she shifted the sack of groceries to her hip, then looked back down at the cat. “He’s not really mine. He just appeared one day and stayed.”

“Did you feed him?”

Alayna glanced up, her forehead wrinkling at the unexpected question. “Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I did. Why do you ask?”

He lifted a shoulder again. “That would be enough to convince him to stay.”

Alayna stared at Jack a moment, caught once again by the sadness in his eyes, the emptiness there, wondering what had robbed them of their life, their sparkle. She wondered, too, if she fed Jack, as she had the cat, would he stay long enough to finish her remodeling job?

At the outrageousness of the thought, she shifted the sack of groceries in her arms. “What would you like to see first? The cabin where you’ll be staying, or the house?”

Jack glanced over his shoulder toward the house. He didn’t care one way or the other about his own accommodations. But the house and its distinct architecture had intrigued him from the moment he’d first caught sight of it. “The house, if you don’t mind.”

“The house, it is.” Alayna led the way, with Jack following. When they reached the kitchen door, she juggled sack and purse, and he quickly stretched an arm in front of her, caught the screen door handle and pulled it open. “Thank you,” she said, offering him a grateful smile as she passed by him.

Feeling the warmth of her smile and catching a whiff of the flowery scent that trailed her, Jack stared after her a second, watching the subtle movement of her hips beneath the sacklike dress, and the rhythmic sway of her hair across her shoulders and back. He wondered what the texture of her hair would feel like between his fingers, what she’d taste like when aroused. When he realized where his thoughts were taking him, he frowned and quickly stepped inside, letting the door close quietly behind him.

In the kitchen, Alayna set the bag of groceries on the counter, then began to dig out the items that needed refrigeration. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, crossing to the refrigerator. “I made lemonade this morning, or I might be able to scare up a beer. Frank might have left one or two behind.”

Jack looked around the kitchen, admiring the old glass-front cabinetry. “Lemonade’s fine,” he murmured absently. He crossed to the breakfast nook, tucked into a bay window, and ran his hand across the faded wallpaper, letting his fingers tell him the wall’s history.

Alayna watched him as she pulled the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator. “Frank didn’t do much in there,” she offered. “My first priorities were the kitchen, my bedroom and bath.” She took two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice.

“There’s beaded paneling beneath this paper.”

In the midst of pouring lemonade, Alayna glanced Jack’s way and saw that he had pulled a knife from his pocket and was carefully scraping at the paper near the window frame. “What?” she asked, wondering what he was doing.

He folded the knife and stuck it back in his pocket. “Wood,” he explained, plucking with a fingernail at the paper he’d loosened. Then added, “Two-inch tongue and groove.” He gave his head a regretful shake. “Somebody papered over solid wood walls.”

Intrigued, Alayna caught up their drinks and crossed to him. She offered him a glass, which Jack took, then she leaned to peer closely at the spot of wood he’d uncovered. “Is that bad?” she asked in concern.

The heat and intimacy of her body pressed against his had Jack sidestepping away from her, giving her room and himself the opportunity to breathe a little easier. “Not necessarily bad. Just stupid.”

Alayna choked back a laugh upon hearing her ancestors referred to as “stupid.” The McClouds were a proud bunch, and probably wouldn’t think kindly of a man who questioned their intelligence. She took a sip of her lemonade. “So what do you propose we do about it?”

Jack turned his head to look at her, surprised by the “we” in her statement, but decided to take it as a sign that she trusted his opinion. “It’s your house. But if it was left up to me, I’d rip that paper off and let the wood breathe. It’d be a pretty sight, I can promise you that.”

Alayna looked at him, surprised by the level of emotion in his voice, his passion for something as innocuous as a wall of wood. “Will it cost much?”

He lifted a shoulder, which seemed to be his favored means of communicating with her. “Elbow grease, mainly. ’Course you never know what problems you might find when you start uncovering things.”

Alayna turned to look at the wall again, trying to imagine it without the faded paper, and wondering, too, what other things she would discover that Jack felt passionate about... and she would find out. There was still life inside him. The emotion he’d just displayed over her breakfast room wall proved that. “Okay,” she said, with a decisive nod at the faded paper, then turned to smile at him. “Let’s do it.”

“Now?”

Alayna laughed at the shocked look on his face, her blue eyes twinkling merrily. “No, not now, as in right this minute.” She turned to look at the wall again, her smile softening. “But I think you’re right. That wood needs to breathe.”

That she would accept his advice so readily both surprised and relieved Jack. He knew from experience that homeowners could be a pain in the butt to work with, having ideas and opinions on how repairs should be made that could drive a remodeler straight up the wall. He just hoped that when he stripped off that paper, he didn’t discover that it had been hung to cover up some problem, like termite or water damage. While he was thinking this, he felt a featherlight touch on his arm, then it was gone and Alayna was turning away, saying, “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Jack followed her, unconsciously rubbing a hand at the tingling sensation she’d left on his arm.

“The fireplace in the living room was sealed off years ago,” she explained as she led the way to the front of the house. “I’d planned to open it and make it functional again.” She paused in the archway that opened to the large living room. Jack stopped beside her, stealing a glance her way, and saw that she had her arms hugged up beneath her breasts in an oddly protective way. “But I’m afraid,” she said with a disappointed sigh, “that this is one of the luxuries I’m going to have to forego in order to stay on budget.”

Jack turned his head to follow her gaze... and the craftsman in him all but drooled at the sight before him. A huge limestone fireplace dominated the opposite wall, its white stone front stretching a good twelve feet from floor to ceiling. Embedded in the stone above the fireplace’s dark opening was a hand-hewn cedar mantel, polished with care and age. Jack’s heart swelled at the amount of time and skill that had gone into the overall design, but it quickly took a nosedive when his gaze hit on the gas space heater wedged in the firebox where logs should be resting, waiting for the flare of a match.

Leaving Alayna standing in the doorway, he crossed the room and knelt down before the hearth. He leaned over, bracing his hands on the uneven stone, and looked up, craning his neck so that he could see up the flue. Sure enough, weathered boards sealed off the chimney. He poked at the boards almost wistfully, thinking of the waste...and, too, of the disappointment he’d heard in Alayna’s voice when she’d told him she was going to have to forego re-opening the fireplace in order to stay on budget. He straightened, dusting soot from his hands. “I can open her back up,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“ ’Course I’ll check out the chimney and flue to make sure that everything’s in working order first. But I won’t charge you any extra for my time.”

“Oh, no!” she cried, hurrying across the room. “I can’t allow you to do the work for free.”

Jack frowned as he looked down at her, seeing nothing but a deep, blue pool of compassion in her eyes. The idea that she would think of his needs, and not her own, baffled him. In his opinion, and based on his personal experience, the gentler sex was, as a rule, selfish and demanding. Was this woman real? he asked himself. When he felt himself being sucked deeper and deeper into her gaze, drawn by the compassion he saw in her eyes, he backed away from her.

“Not much work involved,” he insisted briskly. “Somebody along the line probably just got tired of cutting wood and sealed off the fireplace, choosing instead to use gas to heat the room.” He gave an impatient gesture with his hand. “Let’s see the rest of it.”

Thankfully she let the subject drop. With nothing but a curious glance in his direction, she led the way to the stairway.

“The master bedroom is downstairs,” she explained over her shoulder, “but Frank finished all the remodeling there before he left. You’ll need to focus on the rooms upstairs.” The soles of her sandals scraped lightly on the oak-planked stairs as she climbed higher, drawing Jack’s gaze to her feet.

He stood at the bottom step, his eyes sliding up over her ankles and to the gentle curve of her calf. A warmth crawled up his neck and down to his groin as her elevated position on the stairway above him revealed more and more of her bare legs to him.

And he silently prayed she was wearing panties.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he discovered she wasn’t. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman in the biblical sense, and he didn’t know if he had the willpower needed to resist the sight of so much tempting flesh. He swallowed hard, paralyzed as much by the feelings of lust building as he was by the sight before him. He tried to remember the last woman who had stirred thoughts like these, but quickly gave up. It had been way too long.

“Upstairs,” she said, lifting a hand from the rail to gesture above her, “are four more bedrooms.” On the landing, she turned to look back at Jack and stopped when she saw that he was still standing in the hallway below. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice husky, staring at her and trying his damnedest not to think about those panties. The idea that he’d even think about a woman’s panties was a relatively new one, and a definite improvement over his thoughts for the last several months. This woman was pushing buttons and getting a response to hankerings he was sure he’d lost long ago.

Could this be the end of his wanderings?

He cleared his throat, and started up the stairs. “Yeah,” he said with more enthusiasm, thinking he might have just landed himself in heaven—or hell, depending on how the situation turned out. “I’m right behind you.”

Alayna waited until he’d caught up with her, then opened a door on her left. “I don’t plan to do anything too major in here,” she explained. “Just freshen things up a bit. Paint. Drapes. Maybe add shelving for toys and such.”

Jack’s head snapped around at the mention of toys. “You have kids?”

At the question, the smile that seemed her constant companion melted right off her face. She glanced away from him and to the far window with its view of the pond. “No,” she replied with what almost sounded like embarrassment. Then she forced her chin up and a confident smile to her lips as she turned her gaze back to his. “At least, none of my own.”

Jack felt the blood drain right out of him at the hope he saw in her eyes. And just when he was beginning to feel a little interest, a little heat in the old furnace, she had to go and mention kids. A damn shame, too, he thought sadly, admiring the sway of her hips as she walked away from him and across the room. She was a beautiful woman. Sexy. Friendly.

And convenient.

He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. But he wasn’t getting involved with a woman who wanted kids. Not Jack Cordell. No how, no way.

Two

While Jack was bemoaning his bad luck with women, a horn blasted outside and Alayna hurried to the window and peered down below. One look and she cried, “Oh, no!” then whirled and ran past him.

Wondering what she’d seen that had put that horrified look on her face, Jack crossed to the window and looked down. A yellow school bus was parked out front, its caution lights blinking.

Jack’s stomach clenched at the sight of the small faces pressed against the windows.

As he watched, unable to move, the bus’s doors folded back and a book bag came sailing through the door. A small boy appeared next, one shoulder hunched up defensively against the bus driver who was shoving him down the steps in front of him.

Every muscle in Jack’s body tensed, poised for flight.

He had to get out of there.

But before he could make good his escape, Alayna appeared on the front lawn below him, the skirt of her baggy dress whipping around her legs as she raced toward the bus. Jack shifted his gaze back to the little boy. He couldn’t hear what the bus driver was saying to the kid, and didn’t want to hear. He wanted out in the worst sort of way. Out of this house. Out of this town.

He just plain wanted out.

You have my word I’ll see the job done.

Jack groaned, leaning to plant his hands against the window’s sill and his forehead against its glass as his words came back to haunt him. He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d given his word. And Jack Cordell never backed down once he’d given his word.

He opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh and saw that a little girl had joined the trio on the drive. She was standing off to the side, her chin dipped to her chest, a threadbare-one-eyed teddy bear hugged tight to her chest, her thumb sunk deeply into her mouth. The boy was kicking and swinging at the driver, and Alayna was trying her best to wedge herself between the two.

When the bus driver gave Alayna a shove, roughly knocking her out of his way, Jack straightened, curling his hands into tight fists. Whether he wanted to be in this house, or not, was no longer important. He couldn’t stand by and watch a man rough up a woman.

He stormed from the room, down the stairs and out onto the lawn. Alayna was already back on her feet and was preparing to jump back in the fray.

“Let the kid go.”

The order was delivered with just enough volume and with enough punch behind it to make the boy quit his thrashing, the bus driver to quit his shouting and the little girl to drop her thumb from her mouth. All four—Alayna included—turned to stare at Jack, slack-jawed.

Jack moved closer. “I said, let the kid go.”

The bus driver squared his shoulders. “And who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”

“Who I am isn’t important. What I’m telling you is. Let the kid go.”

“He cussed me.”

“I said, let the boy go.”

The bus driver eyed Jack a moment as if measuring his chances if it came to a fight, then scowled. He gave the boy a shove, knocking him up against Jack’s leg. The boy fell to his knees but immediately scrambled back to his feet, curling his hands into fists. Jack put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, firmly holding him in place.

With a sneer at the kid, the driver turned on Alayna. “I’m telling you for the last time,” he said, shaking a threatening finger in her face. “That smart-mouthed kid ain’t ridin’ my bus no more. I don’t have to put up with that kind of sass, ’specially not from a snot-nosed, motherless brat.” With that, he wheeled around and stomped back up the steps of his bus. The door snapped back into place, then, with a grinding of gears, the bus pulled away.

Jack tightened his hand on the boy’s shoulder and spun him around to face him. “Did you cuss him?”

The kid glared up at Jack, meeting his gaze belligerently. “Yeah. I called him an old fart, ’cause he is one.”

“Go to your room.” Jack wasn’t sure where the order came from, or even why he was involving himself in a situation that was definitely none of his business. But he had, and though he’d come to the kid’s defense, he knew the boy was in the wrong and needed a good reprimanding.

The boy swelled up as if he wanted to argue Jack’s right to tell him what to do, but Alayna quickly intervened. “Go on upstairs, Billy, and put your school things away. And take Molly with you. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Though Jack could tell the boy didn’t want to obey the order, to his credit, he followed Alayna’s instructions. “Come on, Molly,” he muttered, stooping to scrape his book bag from the ground. “Something stinks out here,” he added, shooting a dark look Jack’s way.

Molly sidestepped her way past Jack, her eyes wide and watchful as she stared up at him. When she’d made it safely past him, she tucked her teddy bear tighter against her chest and ran to catch up with Billy. On the porch, she bent and scooped up the cat, then, with a last nervous glance at Jack, she slipped inside the door.

Alayna watched her charges disappear into the house. “I’m sorry,” she said, then turned to look at Jack. She sighed when she saw his disapproving scowl. “I’m afraid my children didn’t make a very good first impression, did they?”

One thick eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Those two are your kids?”

“Technically, no. They are my foster children.”

His scowl returned.

Alayna wrinkled her nose as she continued to peer up at him. “I guess you don’t care for children any more than you care for cats, huh?”

“Not particularly. And that boy there,” he said with a jerk of his chin toward the house, “needs to have the seat of his pants warmed. He’s got a mouth on him.”

Alayna nodded her agreement, though already dreading the confrontation. “Yes. I’ll talk to Billy.”

Jack grunted, indicating his doubt on the effectiveness of having a talk with a kid like Billy.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Alayna asked uncertainly. “You’ll stay and do the remodeling?”

Jack glanced toward his truck, the temptation to climb back in it and drive away so strong he had to brace his knees to keep from giving in to it. “I gave my word,” he said, setting his jaw. “I’ll see the job done.”

Jack awakened early, as was his habit, to find the sky beyond his window washed with the pinks and lavenders signifying dawn’s arrival. The bed he slept on was an old one, but comfortable, and a definite improvement over the bedroll he’d been sleeping on for the last couple of months, spread out over the bed of his truck. He rolled to his side, tucking an arm beneath his head, and stared out the window, praying that the events of the day before had never happened, that he’d wake up any minute and realize it was all a bad dream.

But he wasn’t asleep, and this was no bad dream that he’d wake from. The view of the Pond House through the cabin’s window was proof enough of that.

The Pond House. A fitting—if simplistic—name for the house, since the structure had been built beside a pond. Yet, the name was a poetic one, too, reflective of the setting and the natural materials that had been used in its construction. White limestone, rough cedar, combined with a lot of glass to take advantage of the views. It was a beautiful place, well constructed, though still in need of repair. There was a peacefulness about the place and its setting that seemed to tug at him.

Peaceful. That word again. He frowned, thinking how the day before he’d thought the same thing about the town of Driftwood when he’d been staring at its main street through the café’s window. Now here he was planted right smack-dab in the middle of it all—the town, the house, the pastoral setting—and he sure as hell didn’t feel very peaceful. Not when he considered the kids who inhabited the house...or the woman who cared for them.

He glanced at the bedside table and at the bottle of whiskey sitting on top of it. His friend. His companion. His catharsis for a pain that just wouldn’t go away.

He frowned and reached for the bottle, curling his fingers around its neck. Amber liquid sloshed against its side as he leaned over and shoved the bottle underneath the bed and out of his sight. The whiskey had failed to work its magical charm for him this time. His dreams during the night, though different from his past ones, were no less disturbing. They had been filled with an angel-faced woman with eyes so deep a blue a man could drown in them, and a gentle touch that made his skin heat and his heart yearn for things that could never be.

With a groan, he rolled to his side again, and stared out the window. As if his thoughts had drawn her, the back door of the Pond House opened and the woman who had filled his dreams stepped out onto the flagstone patio.

Alayna.

She wore a long, cotton robe, the same shade of blue as her eyes. It billowed around her legs in the early-morning breeze like a cloud in a summer sky. Barefoot and with her blond hair still mussed with sleep, she looked young and innocent...and good enough to eat. While he watched, she hugged her arms up under her breasts, tipped her face up to the sky and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. A soft, sensual smile curved her lips as she filled her lungs with the fresh, early-morning air. Even from his distance, Jack could see the rise of her breasts over her folded arms, and his groin tightened in response.

Damn, but she was pretty, and as sexy as any woman he’d ever seen. He shifted, easing the unexpected ache that jumped to life between his legs. Unable to look away from her, he continued to watch as she walked around the patio, pausing to fluff a floral pillow on a chair, then stooping to pull a weed from a terra-cotta pot filled with pink geraniums and trailing ivy. With her movements, the robe parted, revealing a brief peek at tanned legs, and when she stooped, the top gaped, baring an even more enticing view of the valley between her breasts.

Eve couldn’t have waved that apple under Adam’s nose with a greater effect.

Jack felt the desire mounting and rolled to his back and away from the tempting sight, his eyes wide, his breath coming fast and hard. He fisted his hands in the tangle of bed linens, forced his gaze to remain on the ceiling and made himself draw in three deep breaths.

Kids, he reminded himself. The woman had kids. And Jack Cordell wanted no part of them. The woman or her brood.

Alayna stuck her head out the kitchen door and offered Jack a sunny smile. “Good morning! You’re up early.”

Seeing that she still wore the same blue robe he’d seen her in earlier, Jack frowned and glanced away, setting his toolbox on the flagstone patio. “Didn’t see any sense in wasting time getting started.”

“Have you had breakfast?” She laughed before he could answer, flapping a dismissing hand at him. “Of course you haven’t,” she said, shaking her head at the foolishness of her question. “You wouldn’t have had a chance to stock the cabin with food, yet.” She waved her hand again, this time gesturing for him to come inside. “I was just whipping up a batch of pancakes. There’s plenty for two.”

Without waiting for an answer, she slipped back into the kitchen, letting the door close softly behind her.

Jack stared through the mesh screen at the shadowed form moving beyond it, his empty stomach warring with good sense, his mind worrying with the fear of facing those kids again. In the end, his stomach won out.

His feet heavy with dread, he opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of coffee greeted him first, followed quickly by the scent of bacon frying. Then his gaze rested on Alayna, standing before the stove, looking much the same as she had earlier that morning when he’d seen her on the patio—her feet still bare, her hair still tousled from sleep.