Blueprints

by Barbara Delinsky

  * * *

  He was true to his word here, too. While she alternately explored a lean-to that held firewood and old farm tools, wandered to the edge of the woods to listen to the yiiiip-yip-yip of a coyote, and returned to sit backward at the picnic table and watch Dean work, he decanted wine, made a salad, and warmed French bread on the upper shelf of a grill while the trout cooked below.

  She offered to help, but he refused, even when it came to serving the food. And she was tired enough, greedy enough for care, caught up enough in a time and place that was far from reality, to let him do whatever his little heart desired.

  That included cleaning up afterward, although, given the lack of a kitchen sink, the sum of the task was stuffing paper goods and plastic wineglasses in a trash bag. The air had cooled by then, and it was dark, the crescent moon a hazy smile that left the job of lighting to the lanterns’ pale glow. When she heard the coyotes again, she limited her wandering to an outcropping of rocks that she had earlier skirted. Easily climbing them now, she sat facing the woods and listened. The coyotes called again, though from a distance. From an even greater distance came the drone of an airplane. Looking up, she spotted its lights against a wavering backdrop of stars. A rustle came from the woods and, farther off, the trickle of a brook that, if Dean’s home inspector was correct, had overflowed its banks and flooded the house during more than one spring storm.

  Thinking to shout a reminder to Dean that he would need a good drainage system and sump pumps, she turned to face the house. The lanterns softened its edges, but with a turret still higher than she was, it loomed dark against a darker sky. She chafed her arms, as much against the cooling air as the gloom. Spooky was putting it mildly, and that was before a large figure blotted out the lanterns and approached.

  Climbing the rock, Dean settled behind her with his legs flanking hers and his hands on his thighs, arms brushing hers. She tried to transfer fear of ghosts to fear of a hungry male. But she couldn’t fear Dean. Not with the way he was taking care of her, now shielding her from coyotes that were probably no threat, but who knew? Certainly not with the way he smelled of wood smoke or the warmth he brought. With so much of her life in flux, Dean was solid and physical and there. The real world was not.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked quietly.

  Like the moment, her reply was hushed. “Of the house? I think it’s a big job, but it’s yours, and if you want to do it, you should. I also think that what I think doesn’t matter, since you’ve already committed to it. And,” she added, layering her hands on his with a squeeze, then leaving them there because her fingers were cold and his were not, “I’m guessing you approached Jamie before you ever put money down.”

  He chuckled. “I did. She roughed out some sketches for me to work from.” He turned his hands to surround hers. “Cold?”

  “Good now. She didn’t tell me.”

  “I told her not to. I didn’t want you riled up. I figured I’d wait until I addressed some of your issues.”

  She angled sideways to look at him. “It shouldn’t matter what I think.”

  He pushed her hair back with his chin. “It does.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I trust your judgment.”

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “It’s very true.”

  His thumbs had been moving on her hands, sharing warmth as his eyes did now. Such a small movement, but oddly intimate, and Caroline didn’t fight it. With the rest of her life treading water on the other side of town, she was here, with trout in her stomach, wine in her blood, and a growing curiosity.

  She had barely faced forward when he circled her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught.

  “So?” he asked.

  “So?” she managed. He was definitely aroused, and while the ramifications of that were clear, her curiosity kept growing.

  “Do I have your approval?”

  “For what?” She couldn’t think straight. His forearms were inches—inches—from the underside of her breasts.

  “Buying this place?”

  “You have it,” she whispered and forced herself to breathe into sound. “Grudgingly. I still wouldn’t want to be alone here in the dark.”

  “No.” He put his mouth to her ear. “I heard voices at three this morning.”

  She squeezed his thighs in punishment. “You’re making that up.”

  “I am not.”

  “Why were you here at three in the morning?”

  “I’ve been sleeping here.”

  Bracing her hands, she looked back in surprise. “On what?”

  “A bed.”

  “Where?”

  “Uh, the bedroom?” he suggested, amused.

  She hadn’t gone upstairs this day. Last time had been bad enough. Now, though, the idea of a bed in an otherworldly room lent itself to certain imagery.

  He smiled. “Makes you think, doesn’t it.” Taking her head, he faced it forward and drew her back again. This time, his hands went to her shoulders, massaging in circles.

  “What were the voices?” she asked, feeling those fingers dip under the edge of her blouse.

  “I assume they were ghosts.” With another round, then another, his fingers went deeper.

  “And that doesn’t make you nervous?”

  His mouth touched her ear. “When was the last time you heard of a ghost doing anything violent?”

  Caroline had no answer for that, and when his fingers grazed the top of her breasts and she arched to meet them, she had no answers at all—not for why this was happening now and with Dean, or for why her body craved things that two weeks ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of, certainly not for who had just moaned like that.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on sensation. A distant corner of her mind knew what he was doing. It was called foreplay, and it was exquisitely arousing. The anticipation of having Dean’s hands—Dean’s hands—on her breasts was stoking a startling heat.

  “Tell me what you like,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “I can’t,” she wailed with barely a breath.

  “I want it to be right.”

  “What you’re doing is right.”

  “What about this?” When he went all the way to her nipple, she cried out. He snatched his hand away. Laughing, she caught it and, feeling like a wild thing, pressed it to her while she scrambled not-so-gracefully around to straddle his lap.

  “Now do it,” she breathed against his mouth, and while she looped her arms around his neck, he explored her breasts, her belly, even the notch between her legs. And she touched him, touched that erection, which was all the more impressive in her hands. The fact that she wasn’t embarrassed was as stunning as everything else. She didn’t know this creature she had suddenly become, which was as liberating a fact as the distance from home, the wine, the dark, and Dean’s obvious need.

  But the creature was real. The fire inside her was real. No nineteen-year-old virgin, she knew exactly what she wanted, and with that realization, something snapped. Suddenly, she had no patience. She needed more, needed it all.

  “I want you in a bed,” Dean gasped and in seconds managed to get them down from the rock. Holding her fast to his side, he crossed the grass in rapid strides and half-ran into the house and up the stairs. Ghosts? Caroline couldn’t begin to think of ghosts with the way he was touching her, removing clothes, laying her on the bed and following her down. He took care to make sure she was ready, but she didn’t need his fingers there to tell her. She felt the wetness. And she wasn’t embarrassed. This was what being a woman was about. Besides, she needed him too much to be embarrassed. The creature she was—the one he had created—was hungry for everything she had pretty much forgotten.

  Later, she would remember, time and again, that single first moment when he was fully inside. For now, it was about climbing hotter and higher until he brought her to orgasm, then let himself follow.

  For a time, there in the dark of a bedroom that she would later lea
rn had rotted walls, moldy rafters, and no furniture other than a king mattress on its frame, the only sounds were of shortened breath and stunned laughs.

  “Who knew?” Dean finally asked against her hair. His voice was hoarse. “A wild woman. Where’s she been all this time?”

  Burrowing close, an arm across his chest, Caroline smiled. “Minding her own business. Well, at least, some woman was. I have no idea where this one came from. Actually, I do. You taunted her into existence.”

  “Taunted?”

  “A look here, a touch there. It took you long enough to get to the main event.”

  “And whose fault was that? You didn’t say a freaking word,” he protested. “Did you invite me over and open the door wearing something skimpy and black? Did you promise not to sue for sexual harassment? Did you say you wanted this?”

  “I said your kiss was too short.”

  “Yes. You did.”

  “Did you plan on this happening tonight?”

  “No. I only wanted to get you away. You’ve been down.”

  “Some woman was down. This one’s feeling pretty good.”

  “So,” he asked cautiously, “what do you think?”

  “About?”

  He pinched her hip. “This. Do you still think sex is overrated?”

  Tipping her head back, she met his gaze. “You’re good. I have to say that.”

  “Good is not great.”

  “Tonight you were great.”

  “Well, that’s a qualified endorsement.”

  “Once is once. Things are always great the first time.”

  “I’m up for a second.”

  “Now? You aren’t.” The wild woman slid a hand down his belly and, at the same time that she wondered how she could be touching Dean this way, discovered that he was. Up for a second. “Oh my.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “No. My thighs are screaming. I’d give anything for a bath.”

  “No bath here. No hot water here.”

  “I have both at my house. Take me home.”

  “Only if I can stay the night.”

  Caroline couldn’t say no. By the time they were back in her Victorian, by the time he had showered and she had kicked him out of the bathroom so that she could soak alone, by the time lotion was soothing whisker burns on her breasts and the cats were ousted from the bed so that she could slip in with him—naked, because he was, and because it was still dark, and because a part of the wild woman had survived the return trip on the Harley and was still feeling bold—she wanted to sleep skin to skin. He was a quiet sleeper, breathing just shy of a snore, and he liked contact, maneuvering so that a part of him always touched her. Though she was used to sleeping alone and liked her space, much of which was now taken by his larger-than-hers body, the connection was novel enough to be pleasant.

  With the summer solstice around the corner, though, dawn woke her early. She was instantly aware of Dean—could hear and smell him even before she opened her eyes—but was still startled to see his dark head on her pillow, his large body tangled in her fuchsia sheets. She might have lingered watching him, had she not needed a semblance of normalcy.

  Ignoring the protest of hips, thighs, and private spots that had been stretched to the max, she slipped quietly from the sheets and wrapped herself in the towel she had dropped by the bed the night before. She tiptoed to the dresser for a tank top and shorts and, taking care to coddle a few notoriously creaky treads, went downstairs to dress. Once she had fed the cats, checked the Gut It! website, and taken a shawl from the kitchen hook, she carried her tea to the porch.

  The air was cool, the sun bright, the tea fragrant. Sipping it slowly, she let memories of the night drift back. None were bad. Some startled her—namely, her own hunger and forwardness. But she didn’t regret what she had done. Dean had satisfied her—actually, had done way more than that. She felt good. She felt feminine. Even despite that little bit of stiffness, she felt energized.

  She thought about calling Annie. So much to tell.

  But no. She wasn’t ready to tell Annie what she had done, and as for what she felt, she was barely beginning to break it down. She had been someone else last night. Where that fit into the Who Am I? debate, she didn’t know. And yet, in spite of that, in this early Thursday morning moment, she felt strong. She might have even felt complete, if things had been right between Jamie and her.

  If she talked with anyone, it had to be Jamie.

  Suddenly, doing just that seemed urgent.

  eighteen

  Jamie might have woken Thursday morning with her stomach in knots if she had actually slept, but what she had done the evening before wouldn’t let her. After leaving Chip’s, she had driven slowly home. Determined to contain the terror she felt by acting in a deliberate and responsible way, she took her time getting Tad ready for bed, methodically read and reread him his good-night story, stroked his hair until he was deeply asleep, and all the while, she took slow breaths aimed at calming her nerves.

  Leaving his room, though, she felt no different from how she had felt leaving Chip’s. A truth had emerged that couldn’t be ignored. Nor would it wait.

  In the kitchen, she picked up her phone and called Brad. “Can you come over?” she asked softly.

  “Now? I’m still at the office. There’s a ton more to do here.”

  Much as she respected the work Brad did, time was passing. Her conscience couldn’t have him choosing the office when doing the right thing meant acting now. “This is important, Brad. I’d come to you if I had a sitter, but I don’t.”

  Her words were blunt, her tone no-nonsense. After a moment’s silence, he sighed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Forty-two minutes later, he pulled up at the condo. The time wasn’t quite long enough to say he was making a statement, though it was plenty long enough for her to suffer. There were no second thoughts. She had to do this. But with each passing minute, her sense of dread rose. The last thing she had ever wanted was to hurt Brad. Now, she didn’t see how she could avoid it.

  In hindsight, she would think about the lack of a kiss when he arrived and wonder if he sensed what was coming. He wasn’t angry to have been drawn from work so much as wary. He slipped his hands in his pockets, seeming determined to be cool.

  She thought of gesturing him in, having him sit, maybe pouring him a glass of the Pinot he liked. But that seemed inappropriate. This wasn’t a social visit. He seemed to sense that when she took up a position just inside the door. There was neither a glance beyond to see the state of her condo nor a glance toward the stairs to indicate an awareness of Tad. He stood with his glasses in place, his shirt collar open, and his eyes on her as he waited for her to speak.

  For a final moment, she held her breath, knowing that once she did this, there was no going back. In that moment, she felt a last tug of conflicting emotions—loyalty and hurt, compassion and resentment, even love and dislike. Had he broken the tension with warmth of any kind, she might have reconsidered. But his aloofness validated her decision.

  Carefully, she removed her diamond ring and held it out. “This isn’t working. I think we both know that.”

  He stared at the ring, then at her face. His own was as composed as when he was with clients, but she had to believe he was feeling something inside.

  “I do love you,” she hurried on in an effort to soothe, “but we want different things now. You need a woman who wants those things, too.”

  He frowned, but remained silent, and right now that was fine. Jamie knew what to say. She had enumerated all the arguments in those forty-two minutes he had taken to arrive.

  “I suppose it’s good to find out before we’re married,” she said. “I mean, maybe there are other things we see differently, things we’ve just disregarded because in so many ways we’re right for each other. But this is a big snag, Brad. I’d say it hit like lightning, except that would be crude, given how Dad and Jess died.” She considered. “Only it did.”

&nbs
p; He didn’t smile, didn’t nod, didn’t speak. So she said, “Remember the Logans? Theirs was one of the first jobs I did for MacAfee Homes. They spent a fortune on a teardown and wanted a rebuild that was as big as the footprint would allow. I had just given them completed designs when he had a heart attack, and suddenly they needed a lifestyle change and wanted something more modest. Those original plans weren’t good anymore. They had to be totally redrawn. That’s kind of how I feel about us. The situation has changed. I’m not the same person I was when we got engaged.”

  “I am,” he said, as if the problem were all her fault.

  “Yes.” She would take the blame if it made him feel better. “You are. But you don’t like the person I am now.”

  “I didn’t say that, Jamie, but there’s the issue of honesty.” His gray eyes were cutting. “You could have told me you were Tad’s guardian.”

  “When? Tell me. I mean, I didn’t deliberately keep it from you. I honestly never thought to announce it, because I never dreamed anything would come of it. You and I were barely dating when Tad was born, so was I going to warn you before we got more involved, like it was a disease? When Dad and Jess asked me, I was honored. I figured I’d eventually have kids of my own, and what was one more. I assumed that any man I wanted to marry wouldn’t have a problem with it. I just didn’t think about it again.”

  “It’s the timing.”

  “I had no control over that.”

  “You could have told me right after the accident,” he charged.

  “You mean, like when the police were here?”

  “The first I learned of it was when you were telling Maureen.”

  “Should I have been thinking about it before that? Should I have assumed Dad and Jess were both dead?” In a frustrated breath, she said, “Good God, Brad. Even if I’d told you six months ago, would you seriously have rejected me as wife material, just like that? Please. You would have thought the chances of Tad coming to me were as remote as I did.” Her voice rose on a wave of anger. “Tad is an amazing little boy who is smart and cute and friendly and warm. He would make an incredible big brother for our kids.” Brad’s stony look gave her pause. “Ahhh. But he isn’t yours. Is that it? Well, what if I hadn’t been able to conceive? What if I had some problem—what if you had some problem? Are you saying that we wouldn’t adopt a child? That you would not take in a child needing a good home and love him like your own if he doesn’t have your blood? You never told me that.”