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She didn’t see any point in pretending she hadn’t been staring at the scars. His body was her business, right now.
“No need for a warning,” she said calmly. “I don’t think the scars present any special concern. They are clearly fully healed. Are they sensitive?”
“No.” He raised himself on his elbows and rubbed his thumbs across his eyelids, as if to scrape away the sleepiness. “I’m sorry I passed out. I was up all night with the baby, and I guess it caught up with me the minute I lay down.”
The baby?
The word surprised her. He didn’t look...
He didn’t look what? Like a father? How absurd was that? There was no “father” look. But then she realized that, on some subconscious level, she’d already observed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring.
Equally absurd. Her subconscious shouldn’t be registering such things in the first place, and, in the second place, wedding rings weren’t required in the baby-making process.
“No problem,” she assured him as placidly as she could. “You wouldn’t be the first client I’ve had who slept through a massage.” She warmed some lotion in her hands. “Though usually they do wait until I’ve begun, at least.”
As he chuckled, she touched gently between his shoulder blades. He automatically dropped down, as if he knew the drill well.
“Might make it tricky to rate your technique, though,” he said, his voice muffled by the cushion of the face support. He seemed about to speak, but the word dissolved into a contented “mmm” as she began to massage the lotion into his skin.
From then on, he didn’t utter a sound. She didn’t worry that his silence meant a lack of appreciation, or that he’d fallen asleep. He was her favorite kind of client, the kind who understood that the body spoke for itself.
When a tight muscle began to relax under her fingers, she didn’t need a murmur of bliss to tell her about it. And when she encountered a knot of pain, she didn’t need a wince to alert her. She read the ridges, valleys, ribbons and rocks of his body as if he were a story written in braille. Any decent massage therapist could do the same.
The irregular embossing of the scars was harder to read. They weren’t sexual in nature, she felt sure of that. The gouges had been too deep, caused by true violence, whether intentional or accidental. And they had been painful.
She thought she might, with time, be able to break down some of the collagen build-up and reduce the scars, but that wasn’t her mission today. She’d been asked to demonstrate a Swedish massage, the kind that felt great and left the client purring.
Besides, Jude might not have any interest in having his scars worked on. He didn’t seem to be a bit self-conscious about them. She could tell when she hit a client’s sensitive spot, either physically or emotionally. Some vibration under the skin, through the nerves and muscles, changed slightly, hitting a new note like a string on a guitar. His vibration didn’t alter an iota when her fingers skimmed along the scars.
She found plenty of tender spots. The external abdominal obliques, especially, were too tight. His job... He probably didn’t stretch enough after a tough day. And warmth pooled in the small of his back...sometimes that meant there was a gait problem, though she hadn’t noticed one while he walked.
The time vanished, as it often did. She always set a timer to buzz in her pocket as she needed to switch through the phases of the massage, because she knew she’d lose track of the hour if she didn’t. Today, though, she must have failed to do it. She worked on his back, then on the front, alternating long strokes and detail work on the pressure points.
She was lost—she couldn’t have said how long—in exploring the pressure points on the face and scalp when a light rap sounded on the door.
“So sorry, guys.” Chelsea’s throaty voice was soft as she cracked the door open. Tess recognized it instantly. Chelsea, the spa’s director, had put her through an extensive telephone interview before this working massage. No point bringing in Tess at all, unless she passed that initial phase.
Jude rose onto his elbows, stretching his neck slowly. “Time’s up already?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Chelsea waved two fingers at Tess. “I wouldn’t disturb you, except that we’ve got the Ardens out there, and they’re not the patient type.”
“No, of course.” Tess was annoyed with herself for letting the session run long. She liked to end with a short head massage, which seemed to make the transition to real life smoother. She began wiping her hands on a clean towel. “We were just about finished, anyhow.”
Chelsea nodded and ducked out. Jude sat up, keeping the sheet around his hips, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.
“Nice,” he said with feeling. He tested his shoulders, stretching out his obliques. “Oh, yeah. Very nice. Maybe the best I’ve ever had.” He grinned. “And that’s saying something, because I get a lot of massages.”
She smiled, but something in her eyes must have registered surprise, because he laughed. “I’m the official guinea pig around here. Ro always says she wants to check out new hires, but in reality she’s too busy. So...” He yawned and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it. Somehow the disheveled look suited him. “As I said, tough work, but someone has to do it.”
“Thanks,” she said, glancing away. Did that mean there was a high turnover of therapists at the ranch? She couldn’t ask, of course. “I’m glad you feel relaxed.”
She gathered her supplies and hurried toward the door. Behind her, she heard the soft whisper as the sheet fell to the floor.
Out by the front counter, the serenity had been jangled a bit. Rowena had returned, and was helping Mrs. Fillmore set up her next appointment. If the woman’s massage had relaxed her, she didn’t show it. She leaned over Rowena’s appointment book, as if challenging something, and reiterated in a brittle voice that she would accept Ashley and only Ashley.
In the waiting room, a long-limbed couple straight from the pages of Beautiful People Magazine were tapping manicured fingers against thousand-dollar boots and giving off restless vibes.
In that moment, Tess could easily imagine why there was high turnover of therapists at Bell River Ranch. It had positioned itself at the high end, and the clients were the entitled type, demanding and finicky. In Tess’s experience, these well-heeled clients often could be iffy, looking for any excuse to avoid tipping. Difficult clients, high turnover, possibly disappointing income...
That was three strikes....
But it didn’t matter. As she returned the lotions to the elegant chrome shelves, and listened to Rowena wryly but deftly handling Mrs. Fillmore, Tess realized the truth. She wanted to be a part of Bell River, even if only temporarily. Even if her true relationship were never revealed.
If she got the chance, nothing would prevent her from taking this job.
CHAPTER TWO
JUDE SWALLOWED HIS last delicious mouthful of Marianne Donovan’s prime rib, dropped a ketchup-bottle cap onto the café table with a flourish, then tilted his chair on its back legs, though Marianne, who owned the café, would kill him if she saw him.
“And there you go—that’s nine in a row. You might as well go home, grandpa. It’s not your night.”
Old Grayson Harper snorted, glaring at the tic-tac-toe grid they’d made out of straws and the ketchup caps from every bottle on the adjoining tables. He knew Jude had beaten him, but was, as usual, refusing to admit defeat gracefully.
He lifted his piercing blue eyes and tried to impale Jude with them. “You’re cheating, you young skunk, and if I could prove it, I’d have you arrested.”
Jude smiled, then yawned loudly. He hadn’t slept again last night and didn’t have the energy for the customary verbal sparring that Harper loved so much.
“Yeah,” he said, scratching at his chin. He’d forgotten to shave this morning, though he’d showered twice, right before and right after the baby barfed on his shirt. “I’m cheating at tic-tac-toe. Hey, look. Dallas is sitting right over there. Tell him.”
“I ought to.”
“Sheriff!” He called loudly enough to be heard where Dallas and his deputy were sitting, though it elicited a scowl from Esther Fillmore, who sat with Alton, her mousy husband, in the corner booth. “I’m a tic-tac-toe desperado. I’d like to turn myself in.”
“Shut up, Jude.” Dallas rolled his eyes. He’d known Jude too well and too long to pay any attention, so he went back to his own steak dinner. “No one cares.”
Jude chuckled, and winked at Esther to annoy her. He brought his chair back onto all fours, finished his tea, then wiped his mouth one last time.
“I’ve gotta head home,” he said with a sigh. It had started to snow, and he’d rather just lean his head against the café’s green wall and take a nap. “Half the time, Molly forgets to eat unless I stand over her.”
Harper’s gaze softened. “She’s no better?”
Jude shrugged and reached for his coat. He didn’t gossip much about his little sister’s depression, but everyone knew it was a problem. “Physically, yeah, I think she’s improving. But emotionally...”
“Hey, don’t you even think about leaving before I fix up some chicken soup for Molly.” Marianne appeared at the edge of their table, her red curls piled up in a big, adorable mess on her head and topped with a sprig of holly and a couple of silver bells. With Christmas a couple of days away, the Kelly green of the restaurant needed only a few red ribbons to be fully decorated.
“Besides,” Marianne said, grinning as she made her bells ring, “I want to hear about the new hire at the spa. I heard from Barton that the wheels are coming off over there. Word is Chelsea ran off to get married, and Devon’s leaving, and Ashley can’t take over as the director because she’s getting her master’s, so Ro might offer the position to the new gal, who thought she was just applying for a part-time job and is staying at the motel over at the west end. He said Ro said you said she’s good, and she’s going mostly on your word alone.” She rested her hip against the table. “So, come on. Tell me everything about her.”
Jude held up his palms, trying not to laugh. He said Ro said you said...
“Mari, there is clearly nothing about Silverdell or its inhabitants that anyone could tell you. I’m not actually one of the family out there, you know. I hadn’t even heard Chelsea was leaving.”
“The heck you’re not family. Give me a break.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Forget about Chelsea. I want to know about the new one...Jess? That her name?”
“Tess.”
“Right, Tess. So? What’s she like? Is she pretty? Is she nice? Is she going to fit in?”
“How would I know that?”
“Oh, don’t be such a male.” Marianne clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. “Barton didn’t even lay eyes on her. But you should know. She gave you a massage, right?”
“Right.”
“Well? You couldn’t tell anything about her?”
He exchanged a resigned glance with Harper, who looked sympathetic but shook his head, as if to say Jude was on his own. Harper was already pulling out his wallet.
Jude turned his gaze to Marianne. “I could tell she was a good massage therapist,” he said slowly. “But I get the feeling that’s not what you’re asking.”
Marianne drummed her Christmas pencil against her order pad. “Oh, just forget it. I’ll call Ro later. But don’t you move an inch until I bring that soup, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jude resisted the urge to salute.
Harper seized his chance and jumped up in Marianne’s wake, dropping a ten on the table and making his way to the checkout station to pay his bill. Jude didn’t blame him. No one ought to get dominated in tic-tac-toe and interrogated by Marianne Donovan in the same night.
Not that Marianne was your typical small-town gossip. Actually, she didn’t have a nasty bone in her body. She just had an insatiable curiosity and a deep love for their little town. Maybe it was some kind of thwarted affection or something, though Jude wasn’t big on psychoanalysis. Still, she’d been left a tragically young widow last winter, and had no kids.
Whatever the reason, she represented everything Jude loved about Silverdell. And the opposite of everything he hated about Los Angeles.
As the door opened, the four beginning notes of “Danny Boy” rang out. On the first day, at the first meal served at the grand opening, when the door chimes sounded, the customers had spontaneously joined together to finish the line by singing out, “The pipes, the pipes are calling!”
It had been the birth of a beloved tradition. Mari had tried in vain to break the habit, which could really be annoying during the dinner rush. She’d even threatened to disable the entry alert. But the truth was, everyone loved the instant camaraderie those few notes created, and no one could imagine Donovan’s Dream without it.
She’d considered changing the tune to “Jingle Bells” during the holidays, but the customers had threatened a boycott, so she left it alone.
Many customers didn’t even look up as they sang, it had become so automatic. But for some reason Jude did glance toward the door, as the gust of snowy wind blew in. Tess Spencer stood there, looking bewildered by the musical greeting.
A few curious glances stayed on her—but Silverdell had enough new tourist spots these days that strangers weren’t the oddity they once were. Most people went back to their conversations and their dinner.
Jude was one of the few who kept staring, surprised at how different Tess looked from the woman who had massaged him two days ago. Then, she’d been working hard to downplay any sexuality, as a good massage therapist would, naturally. Hair scraped back, no makeup, loose-fitting clothes. His main impression had been that she was petite—shortish, thin and vaguely fragile. He knew that a massage didn’t have to be bruising to be effective, but even so he’d noted how delicate she seemed and wondered whether she was up to the job.
She had been. She was a darn good therapist. And that was what he’d noticed.
But now...
She wasn’t dressed up or anything, but apparently as soon as she stopped repressing her femininity it busted out all over. She wore only lipstick, but the pink of it drew attention to the perfect, slightly pouting bow of her mouth. Her shining brown hair fell over her delicate shoulders in lush waves that curled just above her elbows. As she shrugged off a nice blue wool coat, her jeans and sweater hugged curves that were designed to make a man’s palms itch.
She still hesitated in the doorway, as she scanned the room for an empty table. She didn’t look nervous, just patient...and yet, inexplicably, Jude had a sudden impression of her as terribly alone.
Impulsively, he waved at her and called her over. He did need to get home. But at least he could say hi, maybe introduce her to a couple of people. And she could have his table.
To his surprise, she flushed when she saw him. But, after a slight hesitation, she moved toward him, her coat over her arm.
“Hi,” she said. “Nice to see you. Don’t let me... I mean, don’t let me interrupt your dinner.”
“You’re not,” he said. “I just finished. Besides, I was hoping we’d run into each other. I wanted to tell you how much better my back is feeling.”
She smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She hugged her coat awkwardly and looked around once more, as if hoping an empty table would magically appear. Instead, her gaze stopped as she recognized Esther Fillmore. Jude saw the older woman give Tess the evil eye, apparently for being new in town. Alton shook his head subtly, as if trying to calm his wife. But Alton was no match for the crotchety old broad, and she didn’t even blink.
“Don’t mind Esther,” Jude said, quietly conspiratorial. “Her face always looks like she sucked a lemon. I first saw that expression when I was seven and sneaked a soda into the library.”
Tess glanced at him, as if uncertain whether she ought to laugh. “She’s Silverdell’s librarian?”
“Yep. But don’t worry. Silverdell has a bookstore, too. Fanny Bronson owns it, and she’s much easier to get along with.”
“Then I guess I’ll be buying my books while I’m here.” Tess smiled, finally. “If I get the job, that is.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you do,” he said. He didn’t want to raise her hopes, but judging from what Mari had said, it seemed a shoo-in. And he had this ridiculous sense that she needed cheering.
“Really? Have you heard something?”
“No. But word is you got a wildly enthusiastic recommendation for your working massage.”
She flushed again. “Thank you. That was very nice of you. But really, I mustn’t keep you. I thought I’d get dinner, but obviously they’re packed. Maybe I’ll grab something and take it back to my hotel.”
“No. Stay.” Jude heard the words come out before he could stop them. “Donovan’s has great food, and it would be a shame not to eat it warm from the oven. It would be half frozen if you tried to take it across town in this weather. I could—”
At the last minute, he pulled himself from the brink. What was he thinking? He couldn’t keep Tess company, no matter how “alone” he imagined her to be.
He had obligations at home. Molly always got depressed come sundown, especially if she’d been alone with the baby all day. Or if Garth had called, trying to get her to come home. When it snowed she was even worse. Like a form of cabin fever, Jude sometimes thought, though the doctor had a fancier term: postpartum depression.
But it didn’t leave much room for Jude to have a life, did it? And right now, when he was standing at the most important fork in the road he’d ever faced...
A shimmer of frustration passed through him—followed immediately by a wave of disgust with himself for being so selfish. Molly hadn’t timed her illness, or her marital problems, to annoy him. She couldn’t help that Garth was an abusive bum, or that her post-baby chemistry had gone out of whack.
“Here’s the soup!” Marianne bustled out of the kitchen. She didn’t see Tess at first, concentrating on wrestling a large biodegradable to-go bowl into a paper bag. “If this doesn’t perk Molly up, nothing will.”
She extended the bag. But as she looked up and noticed that he wasn’t alone, her eyes widened.
“Hi, there,” she said warmly, her gaze sweeping over Tess like a computer scan, missing nothing. “Welcome to Donovan’s! I’m sorry...shall I get this table cleared off, or are you here to pick up Jude?”
Tess hesitated, obviously still undecided about whether she’d stay, but the alternative, that she’d come to pick Jude up, was equally untrue.
Jude took the soup and stood. “Mari, this is Tess Spencer. I told her she could have my table, but she said she might order takeout.”
“Oh, no! On a night like this?” As she spoke, Marianne flicked one quick look toward Jude that asked the important question—the Tess?—and received her answer in a fraction of a second. Satisfied, she reached for a bright green menu and handed it to Tess. Then she deftly began piling dishes and debris onto a tray.
“I do hope I can talk you into staying. We have some wonderful comfort food, perfect for a cold December night.”
