How could she know that he saw his own silence as the most important gift he could give her? That he hadn’t dumped all his troubles on her because he hadn’t wanted to burden her?
He had done this for her. He hadn’t wanted her to rescue him. He hadn’t wanted her to suffer under the weight of his problems or decisions.
Wasn’t that what a man did for the woman he loved? He gave her whatever he could, even if the only thing he could give her was peace of mind? Sure, he would have loved Jo’s help. He had given up any hope of that by keeping silent. But that, too, had been a gift. He had given up something he valued to give her something much more valuable.
That was what you did when you loved somebody. You didn’t think about your own needs. You thought about theirs.
Why couldn’t she see that and understand?
He would have preferred to bathe in self-congratulations, but something about his own logic nagged at him. The whole problem felt familiar. Of course he’d been through this situation ten years ago, sacrificing his own needs to keep Jo from throwing away her future.
But the feeling that this was something more still nagged at him.
He pulled into his parking spot and turned off the engine, but he didn’t get out of the pickup.
Jo had kept something important from him, as well. Both times. Ten years ago she had seemed pleased to end their engagement. He could swear he was right about that. But she hadn’t said why. Not then, and not today, although she had started to explain before she stopped herself.
And yesterday, just yesterday, she hadn’t told him she’d been fired.
What was it she’d said out on the road? That she had been trying to figure out how to tell him, because she wanted him to truly understand? Like she was trying to protect him from something, but what?
Like she, too, was trying to give him a gift.
Then he knew why this entire scenario felt so familiar.
“Unbelievable.” He folded his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head on them, but not before he’d slammed his forehead against them three times. “What were we thinking?”
He sat bolt upright. The snow was falling harder, but even though it meant the roads would soon be dangerous, he wasn’t sorry. Jo wouldn’t be making good time on her trip to the Buffalo airport. She wasn’t used to snow, and she drove as slowly as a teenager with a learner’s permit to avoid going off the road. In the days they’d spent together he’d teased her about her lack of courage.
Even though there were miles between them now, he could still catch her.
He turned the key in the ignition and set off again to do just that.
* * *
“SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, HERE I come,” Jo said as her SUV slid on a slick spot on the road and for a moment the wheels lost their grip.
She was saying goodbye to snow. Saying goodbye to shopping at stores with few choices and fewer business hours. Saying goodbye to zipping herself into countless layers just to get the mail. Saying goodbye to a lack of job opportunities and a need to create her own job. Saying goodbye to Brody’s old house with its drafty rooms in desperate need of paint and enthusiasm. Saying goodbye to Hollymeade and the Miller family.
Saying goodbye to Brody.
She swallowed hard, but tears filled her eyes anyway. What was it he’d implied? That she had been part of all his decisions? Well, right, that was easy to say, but what signs had she seen? He had never let her in. He had kept her out of every important development in his life. He had never told her how deeply in debt he was, for starters.
And why not? As she slowed the car to a crawl, she explored the question like a sore tooth. Of course there was ego involved. What man wanted to admit he was in that kind of trouble? But Brody never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. So maybe that wasn’t all of it.
Maybe he hadn’t shared his situation because he didn’t think she mattered enough. That was the explanation that hurt most. But to be fair, she couldn’t buy that one completely, either. Because she had seen the way he looked at her when he didn’t think she was watching. Like a hungry man staring in a restaurant window. And not because he’d always been in the mood to jump into bed. The expression had been desire, yes, but a different kind.
The desire to connect? To share?
She shook her head. She had a great imagination for somebody whose job had rarely required it.
“You’re a sucker, Jovitienne Miller,” she said, rubbing one eye, then the other, with her palm before her hand dropped back to the steering wheel.
Of course she had to be fair, because, well, that’s who she was. She hadn’t leveled with Brody, either. Now, of course, there was no reason to. The chance had passed. But even if she had been able to tell him, he probably wouldn’t have seen her hesitation as the gift it was. He probably wouldn’t have understood that she had been trying to find a way to make him see the truth, that her silence had been the right thing for him, if not for her.
And why did that sound familiar? Brody had said that he’d kept everything from her for her, for both of them. And she knew that everything she had done had been for him.
Because she loved the guy.
And what did a woman who loved a man do?
She cut off her beautiful hair to buy him a watch chain for the watch he had pawned to buy her a comb for her hair.
In the end neither of them had anything of value, except their love.
Ten feet down the road she tapped the brakes until she was only crawling; then carefully, teeth gritted, she made a wide turn, wheels slipping as she went. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she was going back the way she had just come, in the direction of Kanowa Lake.
She couldn’t believe it. She and Brody had been as foolish as the young couple in The Gift of the Magi, but unlike them, at the end of their fight they hadn’t held on to what was most dear. They had given each other the gift of silence, and what a terrible price they had paid.
She just hoped it wasn’t too late to change things.
* * *
AT FIRST BRODY couldn’t believe the car coming his way was Jo’s. Snow was falling thick and fast now, but the little SUV that looked so much like her rental was making excellent time. That meant it couldn’t be Jo.
But it was. In a moment he saw her face behind the slapping of her windshield wipers. She slowed as he drew closer, and in a moment they had both stopped, ten yards from each other.
He opened his door and hopped down. Her door opened, and she got out. But this time she didn’t use her door as a shield. This time she started toward him, slipping once but staying upright, as he loped awkwardly in her direction.
There was no hesitation. He threw his arms around her and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I found out my father was dying just days before I broke the engagement,” he said, into her hair. “I knew it was going to be a terrible thing, a slow and awful way to die, and I knew you would stand right beside me the whole time, because that’s the person you are. I couldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry. I made a terrible mistake.”
“Right before you came to tell me, I had a pregnancy scare.” She looked up at him. “I thought I was having your baby, and I was so frightened. When it turned out not to be true I was so relieved. I realized I wasn’t ready to be a mother, but I thought you wanted children right away. And the whole thing scared me to death.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “We were kids. We weren’t ready for kids. But we would have figured that out together.”
“I wasn’t glad you broke the engagement. I was just glad I didn’t have to tell you what I’d gone through, that you would never have to know.”
“I’m in terrible debt, Jo. The doctors thought experimental surgery might help Dad, but our insurance wouldn’t pay for it. We mortgaged every
thing, even sold off some land. In the end it didn’t help, and we haven’t been able to dig ourselves out.”
“I know. I was on your computer today. I was going to surprise you with a great new business plan, do all the work for you, for us. I saw.”
“That’s how you found out about Fontanello’s offer?”
“I saw the email. I didn’t start out intending to snoop, but I just got deeper and deeper. I—”
He kissed her. “A new business plan for us?”
“When I found out my boss had fired me I was so happy, Brody. It was the kick I needed. I’d begun thinking about going out on my own anyway, about helping small businesses like yours move up to the next level. I thought it would be fun, and I knew I could make it a success. I have contacts everywhere. I’m not bragging, but everybody who matters knows how good I am. I just couldn’t figure out how to make you believe me. I was afraid you’d think I was settling for less when I could have more. I was trying to figure out how to make you see.”
“See?”
“I want to be here, in Kanowa Lake, with you. I want to invest in the vineyards, get the business side off the ground, help you fix up the house and have your kids.”
“That’s a tall order.” But he was grinning now, while his eyes shone. “It’s not going to be easy, Jo, you know that? Even with an influx of cash, we’ll still have a million miles to go uphill. It might be easier if we sell and start over together in Napa.”
“Do you want to move to Napa?”
“This is my home.”
“But I’m freezing out here, and it’s not snowing in Napa.”
“Do you care?”
“As long as we’re together?” She wound her arms around his neck. “I don’t care about anything except you, Brody. I love this place. My happiest memories are here. I say, let it snow!”
“Let it snow, then,” he said.
“Just promise you’ll keep me warm?”
“That will be the easiest part,” he said, right before he kissed her.
* * * * *
You Better Watch Out
Janice Kay Johnson
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
“THESE ARE SPECTACULAR.” The owner of the art gallery in the Pioneer Square area of Seattle surveyed the newly unpacked ceramic pieces with a keen eye. It was a moment before she added with discernible surprise, “Your work is changing.”
Letting anyone else see her art always stirred a mix of feelings, but today Ella Torrence was torn between pride and more anxiety than usual. Her nervous glance took in the half-dozen ceramic pieces she had brought for display and sale.
“I don’t want to get stale.” As good an explanation as any for the new direction in an artistic process that remained a mystery to her. What she did know was that the evolution of her style had accelerated in the past six months. She even knew what had triggered the change: the call from her cousin Jo asking her to help finish piecing the wedding quilt for another of her cousins.
The call had made her part of her mother’s family again, something she’d never anticipated. Never thought she deserved.
At the reminder of the quilt, her gaze flicked toward the plate-glass front windows. She wished she could see her car from here. She’d considered herself lucky to find a parking place only a block away from the gallery, but hated to have the Subaru out of her sight today. The precious quilt top, packaged and ready to go in the mail, currently sat on the floor of the passenger side. Ella had finished her part—a wide, appliquéd and embroidered border—and her next stop was the post office, where she would mail the quilt top to Rachel in Australia.
Looking again at her ceramic art, she was startled anew by how sinuous and sensual and feminine her pieces had become. This past year she’d left behind wheel and slab work for coil techniques, which allowed her to create elongated, graceful, impossibly narrow necks on the plump, shapely bottles, if that was the right word for something so nonfunctional. Just lately, the patterns she’d created by etching, glazing and even screen printing seemed to subtly draw on traditional textiles. Her eye rested on the most rounded— pregnant?—piece, on which an elusive pastel design, taken from a traditional quilt pattern, stretched like skin over the swell and became nearly transparent.
This turn in her artistic evolution unnerved Ella. She didn’t think of herself as very feminine. She lived most often in glaze-and-clay-stained jeans or overalls, faded T-shirts and sweatshirts, and brightly colored—if battered—canvas Converse tennis shoes. Today, she had dressed up to present a professional image for the gallery owner’s benefit. And maybe, too, for the momentous trip to the post office.
“You do like these?” she asked, then tried to hide her cringe. Beg for reassurance, why don’t you?
Rebecca Stirling ran a finger over the curve of the very piece Ella had eyed most nervously. “Are you kidding? I’m coveting. I may have to buy this one myself. Honestly, I’ll be shocked if these aren’t gone within a couple of weeks, max. You do have more to replace them?”
Ella smiled to hide her doubt. “Yes, of course. Listen, I’ve got to run,” she said. “I only paid for a half hour of parking.” A few words about pricing, and she was out the door.
Even in early afternoon, traffic was stop-and-go on First Avenue, becoming yet more snarled when a parking place opened up and a driver had to maneuver to squeeze into it. The sidewalks were busy, too, with shoppers coming in and out of galleries and boutiques. The occasional homeless person—mostly men—clogged the sidewalk further, begging for spare change.
At the corner, Ella had to wait for the light to change, then dodged a cyclist illegally using the sidewalk.
Relieved to finally cross, she looked to where she’d left her aging red Subaru station wagon, only to notice that it seemed to be poking out into traffic.
She hadn’t parked that badly, Ella thought indignantly. Had it been rear-ended and pushed forward into the single southbound lane? That might have happened if she’d left the wheels turned out. Oh, God—how much damage...?
At that moment, to her shock, the Subaru moved, pulling out into a gap in the line of traffic and starting forward. Already running, she frantically scanned the line of parked cars in case—please God—there was another red Subaru there, and it wasn’t hers that she was watching drive away.
No, no, no...!
Tearing along the crowded sidewalk, she was blind to anything but her car, braking for a red light at the next corner. She could catch it...
She plowed into something—somebody—and went sprawling painfully onto the pavement.
* * *
BRETT HOLLISTER was having a crappy day. Topping off a crappy week and even a crappy month.
That morning, the jury had come back with a verdict for his client of “Guilty on all charges, Your Honor.” The guy was a sleazebag, no question, but Brett had been sure he’d introduced enough doubt to get him off. He’d have sworn the jurors looked sympathetic during his closing argument.
Except maybe the middle-aged woman on the end, the one with the crimped mouth. He grimaced. And the former army major—Brett had reluctantly let him on to the jury because you had to choose your battles.
Edward Dunning, a senior partner in the firm, had reamed him out over lunch: “Why didn’t you request an investigator’s report at that juncture?”
“It’s not my job to prove the client’s innocence,” Brett argued. “We gave the jury enough to chew on, and I didn’t want to confuse them.”
/> Dunning’s expression didn’t soften. His eyes were glacial. “You were wrong, weren’t you?”
“Nobody wins 100 percent of the time.”
“You came damn close when you actually cared about your job.” The partner scrawled his signature on the credit card slip, pocketed his wallet and stood. “Your work is becoming increasingly shoddy, Hollister. Be aware. You’re on thin ice with us.” He took in Brett’s shell-shocked expression, nodded and walked out.
Torn between anger and nausea, Brett followed more slowly. He wanted to protest that the judgment was unfair, but you didn’t argue too hard with your boss if you knew what was good for you. You sure as hell didn’t tell him your client deserved to serve a very long stretch behind bars.
Shocked at his own thought, he stopped in the middle of the restaurant. For God’s sake, he was a defense attorney. Guilt or innocence wasn’t the point; constitutional rights were.
Winning was.
Finally reaching the door, Brett asked himself whether he’d done his best on the case. He wanted to think so, but... He winced away from the memory of the party he’d attended last week when maybe he shouldn’t have taken the time off.
In a cascade effect, he remembered all the people he had disappointed lately. Julia, his most recent lover, who six weeks or so ago had cut him loose, calling him “undependable.” His father, voice both sharp with anger and heavy with disappointment, when he’d called three weeks ago to find out why Brett had missed his mother’s sixty-fifth birthday party the previous night.
The foreman’s sonorous voice from this morning played in a continuous loop in his head as he walked out of the restaurant.
Guilty on all charges.
He paused to take his keys from his pocket. Becoming aware that someone was running down the sidewalk toward him, he turned. Too late. The woman slammed into him, bounced and went down.
Even at a glance, it was obvious that she was no drunk. Thick, corn-silk hair spilled from some arrangement at her nape. She wore a formfitting, royal-blue knit dress over leggings and knee-high boots. No purse that he could see. He had the fleeting impression of a body that was slim, strong, lithe and sexy.
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