Between Love and Duty

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Funny that should bother him, when he’d been convinced for so long that he didn’t like her. And when he so rarely gave a damn what other people thought of him.

  So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why was he aroused only because he was thinking about her?

  Duncan swore out loud, something he didn’t remember ever doing when he was supposed to be settling down to sleep.

  He hadn’t lost sleep over a woman since he was a teenager, not unless she was an embezzler, a drunk driver who’d killed a kid or maybe an aggressive defense attorney. He did have a type for sexual involvement, and it had nothing to do with hair color or bra size. Duncan liked women who were undemanding, who were happy with a nice evening out and a satisfying hour or so in bed.

  Ludicrously enough, he realized he was smiling at the idea of a “nice” evening out with Jane. The only thing that kept their encounters close to civil was the fact that they were chaperoned by Tito and his father. Most of the time, he and Jane managed to have an argument, anyway.

  What kept him restless was a bone-deep certainty that taking Jane to bed would be a whole lot more than “satisfying,” pallid as that sounded, and with a little luck it would last longer than an hour or so, too. It would be the difference between eating to fill the stomach and having a gourmet dinner with extraordinary flavors—tart, sweet and everything in-between. It would be breathtaking, unforgettable…

  And it wasn’t happening.

  He knew without asking that she wasn’t a woman who had meaningless sex, and he didn’t have the emotional makeup to have any other kind.

  An insidious thought crept into his head. Did she have sex at all? Given her upbringing? Or had she gone the other way around, left home and gone crazy making up for everything she’d missed?

  As passionate as she was in some ways, as self-aware, he couldn’t imagine that she hadn’t explored her sexual side. He was willing to bet, though, that her current life was as barren of romance and sex as his. Running a small business didn’t allow a lot of spare time to start with, and he’d seen her consult her calendar to schedule these outings with Tito and Hector. There were daily appointments scribbled in. Unless she had someone waiting at home....

  No. Duncan refused to believe that. She didn’t wear a ring, and she’d have mentioned her husband or partner’s name in passing. She wouldn’t have flirted with him—and that’s what they were doing some of the time, however much they might both pretend it wasn’t. She wouldn’t shiver when he laid a hand on her, flush when his gaze settled on her mouth. No. Whatever else Jane Brooks was, he believed her to be a woman of integrity.

  And that was the most troubling thought of all, for a man who hadn’t really trusted anyone since his mother abandoned her family when they needed her most.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” He flung back the covers and reached for the lamp switch. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d read. Watch some late-night television. Do anything but lie here getting worked up about a bullheaded woman who happened to push his sexual buttons.

  He looked at the couple of books sitting on the bedside table and felt no interest in either. Going downstairs to find something more likely to grab his attention, he thought, You could quit. Admit that the kid doesn’t have many alternatives and his father may be the best one. Jane would no doubt be relieved. He wouldn’t have to see her anymore. This strange longing that she’d awakened in him would subside and soon be forgotten. The visits would go more smoothly without him around to make Hector bristle.

  But Duncan knew he wouldn’t do any such thing. He couldn’t let go of his deep suspicion of Hector, a man who’d given in to his temper when he should have been thinking about how much his kids needed him. And while Duncan didn’t love Tito—Jane’s suggestion was ridiculous—he did feel a sense of responsibility for him. He’d made a commitment of a sort, and he lived up to his commitments.

  He grabbed a book from his unread pile almost at random and headed again to bed, taken aback by the relief he felt.

  Of course he had to keep spending time with Jane.

  For Tito’s sake.

  But a moment later he grimaced. He didn’t let other people get away with that kind of dishonesty, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting himself get away with it. Not when he knew the truth.

  He wanted to keep seeing Jane. He wanted Jane, period.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I GOT ANOTHER A ON MY MATH test this week,” Tito said.

  Duncan laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good going! You don’t need help, then?”

  Tito held himself proudly. “No. The fractions, they’re easy now.”

  Duncan had suggested a walk this evening rather than their usual sports. He’d intended to suggest they go to his house later and crack the books, but apparently that wouldn’t be necessary. Tito’s grades in English and Government needed to be addressed, too, but helping with those subjects was a little harder. Mostly, Duncan thought, what the boy needed was to develop his language skills. They could do that by talking.

  So he’d driven them out of town to a stretch where they could walk along the flattop of the dike that confined the Skagit River. It was running high and turgid. Snow had lain low in the Cascade Mountain foothills until this couple of weeks of sunny, unexpectedly warm weather. Snowmelt had pushed some of the region’s rivers into flood stage. They’d been relatively lucky with the Skagit, which hadn’t breached any dikes.

  “Papa says he’ll take me fishing,” Tito said after they had walked in silence for a distance. “Do you fish?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Never had the time or inclination. Maybe not the patience, either.”

  Tito grinned. “I think I can be patient.”

  “I think you can, too.” Duncan thought of the dedication the twelve-year-old had given to improving his basketball skills. Practicing night after night, instead of running around with friends. That demonstrated both determination and patience.

  “Your papa didn’t take you fishing?” Tito asked diffidently.

  “No.” Duncan hadn’t told him that his father had also served time in prison. Perhaps he should; it might help Tito understand that he didn’t have to follow in his own father’s footsteps. But this didn’t seem like the moment. “He…was away a lot when I was growing up. My mother drove me to baseball practices, Boy Scouts.” Things he’d taken for granted while still angrily certain his parents had both let him down, he thought, cringing at the contrast with Jane’s sad childhood.

  “Your papa… He taught you nothing?” Tito sounded disbelieving.

  “He taught me to play the bagpipe.” Dad had had all three boys playing at one point. Duncan couldn’t help grinning. They’d made the most god-awful noise imaginable.

  The boy’s face crinkled in puzzlement. “Bagpipe?”

  Duncan explained some of the history of this strangest of musical instruments. Tito listened with polite incredulity. Amused, Duncan admitted that some people cringed and covered their ears at the wail of a bagpipe. Music wasn’t the word they’d use to describe the sound that emerged.

  “MacLachlan is a Scottish name,” he said. “My father’s father—my grandfather—immigrated to the United States, like your father did. My dad was born here, but he spoke with an accent. Not as strong as his father’s, but there.” Funny, he hadn’t remembered that lilt for a long time. It was a part of what had made his father so charming, so instantly likable. “The bagpipes weren’t originally Scottish. A type of bagpipe is mentioned in the Old Testament. It’s likely the ancient Greeks had them. I saw a picture from a medieval manuscript showing men playing the bagpipes in the twelth or thirteenth century. People forget now that they weren’t always Scottish, though.” Tito listened with enough interest that Duncan continued, telling him about the Battle of Culloden, in 1748, when the pipes stirred the Scottish troops to arms. They had been banned by the English, considered dangerously inciteful. “When we get to the house, I’ll show you some pictures.”

&nbs
p; “Do you have your own bagpipe?”

  “Yeah, someplace. I probably have my father’s, too.” Duncan didn’t think he’d taken them, the one time he showed up after getting out of prison. That meeting had been short and disagreeable. Dad had deluded himself that he’d be greeted with open arms, despite not having heard from any of his sons in all those years. He’d aged extraordinarily; Duncan remembered mostly feeling so angry his vision had blurred. But there had been a sickness inside him, too, as he’d fought the need to beg, How could you have done this to us? “My brother Niall still plays. Have you heard of the Highland Games? There’s a bagpipe competition,” Duncan said.

  So far as he knew, Conall had never played after Dad went to prison that last time. But Niall had stuck doggedly to it despite Duncan’s dislike of what the bagpipes represented. He’d expected his brothers to reject their father and memories of him, good and bad. Duncan had seen Niall’s determination to play as defiance. He still didn’t know whether it really was, why Niall had needed to hold on to their roots in a way Duncan didn’t. Duncan had seen his younger brother marching in a parade wearing the Clan MacLachlan tartan and playing music so haunting it raised prickles on Duncan’s nape. He’d felt something strange. Regret, maybe.

  “If you’re interested,” he continued, “maybe he’d play for you sometime.”

  Tito nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ve never heard of this bagpipe. I didn’t know you could make music from a bag.”

  Duncan only laughed. “Nothing that ever came out of one when I played could be called music.”

  They must have walked two miles along the dike, meeting a few other hikers or joggers, several with their dogs. Tito looked wistfully at the dogs and said that he wished he could have one. Papa said maybe, when they had a house.

  “You getting to know him?” Duncan asked, careful to sound casual.

  Tito shot him a look that Duncan could only call wary. He shrugged and mumbled, “Sure.”

  “Are you glad Jane and I are there, or do you wish we weren’t?”

  Head bent, the boy seemed to be concentrating on his feet. His “I don’t know” was a mumble, too.

  Duncan had hoped he’d talk frankly about his feelings, his worries about his father. Maybe that was asking too much.

  “Do you like Jane?”

  The head came up, but Tito gave another jerky shrug of those narrow shoulders. “She’s okay.”

  “She’s fierce in defense of what she believes.”

  Tito’s forehead furrowed.

  Duncan tried to explain what he meant.

  “Una guerrera,” Tito suggested. Looking to see if Duncan understood the Spanish, he said, “That is like…a soldier?”

  “A warrior.” Duncan smiled. “Yes, I see her that way.”

  “It’s true that when she was mad at you and Papa, she fought.” After a moment, sounding sad, he said, “I wish Lupe could be like that.”

  “With three children and no husband, she may be too tired to be a warrior. Or perhaps making enough money, cooking, taking care of her children and you, too, means that she is one in her own way. You know, nobody would have blamed her if she had said she couldn’t take you in.”

  He watched Tito think that over and finally nod.

  “Sí. I hate Raul,” the boy said furiously. “He always has excuses. He doesn’t even give Lupe the money he’s supposed to.”

  “You’re right to be angry,” Duncan said after a minute. “For your sister’s sake.” He glanced at Tito’s averted face. “This Raul, does he see his children?”

  “Sometimes he comes by and gives her a little money, then pretends to be glad to see them. I wish he never came.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Duncan made a mental note to do a little research on Raul. If he was earning money, by God he should be paying what he owed to the mother of his children. Duncan might be able to do something about that. Ease Lupe’s burden a little.

  “Look!” Tito said suddenly. “An eagle.”

  Sure enough, a bald eagle swooped low over the river, snatched at the water and rose in triumph with a wriggling fish in his talons. Tito watched in awe. “Did you see how fast he was?”

  Duncan chuckled. “‘He’ might be a ‘she’ you know.”

  Face suddenly merry, Tito exclaimed, “Una guerrera!”

  The laugh deepened in Duncan’s chest. “Sí. Like our Jane.” More quietly he added, “Or Lupe, bringing home food to her young.”

  He was glad to see Tito looking thoughtful.

  THIS WAS THE NORTHWEST, so it was no great shock when sun gave way to rain. Not gentle spring showers, but unrelenting rain, timed to flatten the daffodils that bloomed not only in yards but in vast fields. The Skagit River delta was famed for growing bulbs, mostly daffodils and tulips. The Tulip Festival brought tourists and dollars to the region. Unfortunately, spring weather in the Puget Sound area was fickle. Everyone was hoping the current wet front moving through would pass on its way before the more fragile tulips began to open.

  Hector had decided, since outdoor activities were impossible given the weather, that this evening they would go out for burgers and then to a movie. Jane was less than thrilled by the choice of an action movie, and even less happy about the idea of seeing it brushing shoulders with Duncan.

  One small blessing was that no more unpleasant messages had been delivered that week. Could it be because she’d given her recommendation to the judge regarding the three-way battle for custody of the two elementary-age kids? In a way, she was out of it now. Too late for threats to influence her decision.

  Except, neither message had exactly constituted a threat, she reminded herself. Sticks and stones.

  Ruefully, she reflected on how many times she’d used the childish words to reassure herself recently.

  What annoyed her was the level of tension she couldn’t seem to squelch. She never arrived to open her store without bracing herself when she approached the back door. Every day, the moment the mail arrived, she quickly thumbed through it instead of tossing the pile casually aside the way she usually did. Relief would rush through her as she thought, Not today. She’d taken to hurriedly looking outside the front door, too, well before 10:00 a.m. when she opened, in case the next message was more publicly delivered.

  She should be reassured by the week-long silence, but she wasn’t.

  Tonight, despite having worn a raincoat, Jane got wet getting from her car into Lupe’s apartment building, and then out again. It hadn’t seemed worth opening and closing an umbrella for such a quick dash, but she found she was shivering by the time she was in her car.

  “Ugh. I’m ready for summer,” she muttered.

  Tito shook his head, spraying water like a wet dog.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He grinned. “Lupe says if we don’t like rain, we should move somewhere else.”

  “Well, Lupe’s right, but I have a successful business here, so moving isn’t that easy.”

  Tito and she beat everyone else to McDonald’s. Hector, dripping, was five minutes behind them. Hector and Tito had reached the front of the line and were ordering before Duncan showed up. He hadn’t made it home to change, Jane saw. He wore one of his well-cut suits, this one a dark charcoal, with a white shirt and dress shoes. She half expected to see that he’d made it in unscathed by mere weather, but no; rain glistened on his dark hair and spotted the elegant fabric of his suit coat.

  He got into line behind her and eyed the overhead menu board without enthusiasm. “Couldn’t we at least do fish and chips?” he said in a low, plaintive voice.

  She laughed at him.

  “Pizza or burgers,” he muttered. “Pizza or burgers.”

  “I haven’t had a hamburger for ages,” she told him, feeling more cheerful than she had all day. “Or fries. I love French fries.”

  He grimaced at her order, but gave a similar one. He offered to pay for both, but she politely declined and took care of her own meal. This was so not a date.

  As
always, Tito looked embarrassed when Duncan greeted him. Hector offered a curt nod. They took their food on trays, stopped to get drinks, then chose a booth in the busy restaurant that was sandwiched between two already-full booths. Jane couldn’t honestly blame them. It would be hard to relax with the duenna and her dark shadow hovering.

  By the time Duncan’s number was called, the two of them had to sit some distance away. He looked resigned rather than irked, however. With a groan, he set down his tray and slid into the booth. “God, what a day.”

  “And here I figured crooks would stay home, cozy and dry. Rather like my customers did,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “The crooks may have stayed home, but I’m sorry to tell you the average citizen didn’t. When he got behind the wheel of the car, he didn’t slow down, either.”