by Jan Hudson
She was sure that she’d gotten over most of her anxiety, but obviously a lot of old baggage remained inside her, hanging around to give her grief if she strayed too far from safety. Therapy had been helpful but time often was the best healer.
Obviously, she wasn’t ready to trust Jackson yet. A relationship with him was still too threatening.
Back at her apartment, Jackson insisted on coming inside while she took her medication. There was nothing to do but continue her charade.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave… she thought as she unlocked her door.
Jackson picked up the envelope that Streak had mangled earlier. “I forgot to tell you,” he said, “that we’re invited to the governor’s mansion for a reception. This is the invitation. It’s in three weeks.”
“What’s the occasion?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen alcove.
“Meeting the president and the first lady.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. It’s for real. Wanna go rub elbows with the movers and shakers?”
Her first inclination was to say no, but who refused an invitation like that? “I’d love to meet the president and the first lady.” She picked up the medicine bottle on the counter and turned to Jackson. “I don’t think I need this after all, I’m feeling much better now.”
“Then we need to stay inside. No pill, no bookstore.”
She took the blasted pill.
Seven
“I love this place,” Olivia said as they walked into the large bookstore. She took a deep breath and savored the distinctive scent of pristine pages and new bindings. “Don’t you love the way it smells?”
“Sure do,” Jackson said. “Want a cup?”
She glanced at him and frowned. “Pardon?”
“Want a cup of coffee?”
When she caught the subtle aroma of coffee from the bar to the side of the huge area, she understood his question. “Not now. I was talking about the way the bookstore smells, better even than libraries. Libraries smell like history and tradition, and bookstores like this one smell like new beginnings. I love the scent of books, new or old.”
“I guess I never paid much attention. Are you looking for anything special?”
She shook her head. “I thought I would check out the new arrivals, then browse the bargain tables. How about you? Interested in anything particular? We’ve never talked much about our favorite authors. Who’s yours?”
“Oh, uh, I have several,” he said. “What about you?”
She smiled. “Me, too. My list is endless. For fun I like to read mysteries or romantic comedies. What about you? What are some of your favorite books?”
“Well, let’s see. Uh…uh, I like mysteries, too. And Westerns. I like Westerns a lot.”
“Don’t tell me. I’ll bet you like Louis L’Amour.” She grinned.
“He’s not bad. Let’s see, uh, I liked Lonesome Dove.”
“McMurtry’s great, isn’t he? You know, I think he has a new book out. Want to check? You need to start filling up all those bookshelves in your den. Why don’t we split up, and I’ll meet you at the coffee bar in half an hour or so.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Jackson waited until Olivia disappeared behind the stacks before he hurried to the information desk in the center of the store. What on earth had possessed him to come to this place with her? He must have been nuts. He’d sooner walk barefoot through a field of grass burrs than to set foot in a bookstore—or a library. Being around all these books made him edgy. He shook his head. Of all people, he would have to fall head over heels with a book lover. Go figure.
At the information table, he eased over to a kid with a badge on his chest and said quietly, “Say, I need some help.”
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” His words seemed to reverberate through the store.
“Shhhh. Keep it down.” Jackson glanced around to see if he could spot Olivia. He couldn’t. “I want to buy some books, and I need help,” he said softly. “I want a lot of books—in a hurry.”
“What kind do you want?” the young guy whispered.
Jackson glanced over his should again, then said, “I want everything you’ve got by L’Amour and McMurtry, all the latest bestsellers, ten or twelve of your best new mysteries, and, oh, some romantic comedies.”
Jackson had to hand it to the kid. His eyebrows barely moved. “Yes, sir. The bestsellers, do you want fiction or nonfiction?”
“Both.”
“Hardback or paperback?”
“Hardback. And there’s an extra fifty in it for you if you can help me gather them up in twenty minutes and keep quiet about helping me.”
“Let’s take a buggy.”
The kid grabbed a cart and took off toward the back of the store like a prairie fire with a tailwind. Jackson took off after him. They stopped at a large display.
“These are the latest bestsellers,” the kid said out of the side of his mouth. “Want one of each?”
“Yeah.”
The kid grabbed one from each pile, dumped them in the cart, then took a hard right and went up two aisles. “McMurtry,” he whispered. He pulled several books and added them to the rest. “Let’s get L’Amour, then we’ll tackle the mysteries.”
They hurried down the center aisle, the kid steering the buggy like a speed demon. They stopped at another shelf, and his helper frowned.
“Something wrong?” Jackson asked.
“Well, most of our L’Amour are paperbacks. That and tapes.”
“Tapes?”
“Yeah, you know, like cassette tapes for when you’re driving your car. We have a couple of his big collections on tape.”
“Tapes?” Jackson grinned. “Well, what do you know. Tell you what, I’ll take whatever you’ve got, hardbacks, paperbacks and all the tapes. Have you got McMurtry on tape too?”
“Oh, yeah. Grisham, too.”
“Who’s Grisham?”
The kid picked up a book from the buggy and flipped it over to the author picture. “Him.”
“Oh, that Grisham,” he said, not recognizing the man from a walleyed calf. “I want tapes of every book here.”
“Not all of them are available on tape.”
“I want the ones that are,” Jackson said.
“We’re gonna have to hurry if we want to beat the deadline and get tapes, too.”
“I’ll give you an extra five minutes and an extra fifty bucks.”
“You’re on.” The kid burned rubber on the buggy.
They had a close call once—almost ran smack into Olivia—but Jackson managed to grab the kid and duck behind a display of calendars before she saw them.
Jackson had to hand it to the clerk, he was as fast as a dust devil. In half an hour the cart was jam-packed with merchandise. He slipped the boy a hundred and wheeled his stuff to the checkout stand.
The cashier eyed the loaded buggy, then smiled. “You must really like to read,” she said.
“If you only knew,” Jackson said, stacking the volumes on the counter.
After he paid for his purchases, he took the three shopping bags full of books and tapes and went to the coffee bar. He was on his second cup when Olivia appeared.
“Sorry,” she said. “I lost track of the time. I do that when I get around books.”
“No problem. Want a cup of coffee?”
“I think I’ll have an iced cappuccino instead.”
“You got it, sugar.” He rose and went to the counter.
When he returned with her cappuccino, she was peering into one of his shopping bags that was sitting on the floor.
“You bought all these?”
“Yep. You said my shelves needed filling. I figured this was a start.”
She picked up a book on top and frowned. “Why on earth did you buy a book on menopause?”
Jackson damned near dropped the cup. “It’s, uh, for Mrs. Lopez.”
She looked at him strangely. “Do you t
hink she reads English well enough to comprehend this?”
“Oh, sure. You’d be surprised at how she reads.”
Olivia shrugged and picked up another book. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, wonderful! One of my favorite authors. Now I know where I can borrow the new Grafton book.”
“Take it now, if you want.”
“Oh, no. I’ll borrow it when you’ve finished. Have you read all the other books in the series?”
He squirmed and took a sip from his cup. Damned if he didn’t feel sweat pop out. “One or two. It’s been a while. He’s pretty good. Want another cappuccino?”
She looked at him funny. “I’ve barely touched this one. Tell me, which of Grafton’s is your favorite?”
“I don’t recall the title. Like I said, it’s been a while. Given any thought to where we might have dinner tonight?”
“Not a bit. But I have given some thought to tomorrow night. You’re invited to dinner at my place. I’ll even bake a cake for the occasion.”
“The occasion?”
She chuckled. “Your birthday. That is, unless you have something else planned.”
“Not a thing.” He grinned. “Are you really going to bake me a cake?”
“I am. What’s your favorite?”
“Coconut.”
Olivia must have had rocks in her head. She couldn’t believe that she actually promised to make a coconut cake for Jackson. She’d never baked one in her life.
It showed.
One hunk of the top layer started to slide. She grabbed it and stuck in another half dozen toothpicks to hold it steady. Thank heavens the frosting filled in most of the cracks. She patted it where the cake showed through, then licked the gooey white from her fingers and stepped back.
That wasn’t too bad. She opened the package of coconut flakes and began to sprinkle them over the sides and top. The top went fine, but there was a logistical problem in getting the coconut to stick to the sides. When she tried tipping the cake, another crevice opened across the top, and she feared for a moment that the whole thing would slide onto the floor. She considered every means that she could think of, including using her blow-dryer to blow it on. In the end, she just slapped on wads of flakes as best she could.
She stepped back and surveyed her work again. It looked worse than a New York street two days after a snowfall.
She sighed. Well, it would have to do. Thank heavens the rest of the meal was simple. She’d shot her budget on pork tenderloin, which was baking in the oven with its plum glaze, as well as Greek salad and roasted new potatoes. She’d bought the Greek salad and new potatoes at the deli. Tessa had given her the recipe for the tenderloin.
The table was set, the candles in place, the gift wrapped and waiting beside his place. She just had time for a quick shower before the birthday boy arrived.
Jackson’s head was pounding. He’d taken more aspirin than he thought was sensible, and still his temples throbbed and his eyes ached. He’d tried his damnedest to read that Grafton book last night—and didn’t he feel like a fool when he discovered that Grafton was a woman? He’d tried hard, but he just couldn’t. He’d finally given up in frustration and stayed up a good part of the night listening to the tape. Thank God the kid at the bookstore had put him on to those tapes. He would have been lost without them.
To top it off, Sunday afternoon was the time that he spent a marathon session with Tami going over all the cases for hearings on Monday morning. He had a legal assistant and another reader at the office, but the worst of it he did with Tami at home. This job, at least all the reading required, was a bitch.
Lord, he hated books. He hated newspapers and magazines and case reports and the backs of cereal boxes. He hated every damned thing in the world that was printed or written or carved in stone—hated it with a passion formed by thirty-odd years of frustration and humiliation and self-disgust. How could he go on pretending to Olivia that what was so wasn’t so?
He held his face up to the shower head and turned on the cold water full force, trying to chase away his usual Sunday headache.
Why in the world was he putting himself through such torture? He was a damned fool, that’s why.
Then Olivia’s face flashed through his mind—her sweet, beautiful, laughing face. No, it was all for Olivia. He’d endure anything for her, do anything to make her happy and see her smile. He didn’t know if he could keep up this charade, but he was blamed well going to try.
She was worth it.
She was worth anything he had to do. Thank God for Tami. He wouldn’t have a prayer without her. Stephanie was a big help, too. And Jennifer. Maybe he could pay the girls to put in a couple of extra evenings during the week. That might work.
As he sat with Olivia at her little table, Jackson knew for sure that he was the luckiest man alive. She’d served him a fine meal—though he wouldn’t have minded a bologna sandwich if they could have shared it. A little bouquet of flowers was in the middle of the table, flanked by candles that she lit before they sat down to eat.
Olivia looked beautiful. Her hair was pinned up, and she wore a kind of loose silky top and pants in fire-engine red that shifted with every move she made, teasing over her curves just enough to drive a man crazy. He had a devil of a time eating that good food. He just wanted to watch her. And touch her. And make love to her until next April. The lady was dynamite.
“That was great,” he said, putting down his napkin. “You’re a fantastic cook. I’m pleasantly surprised. A beautiful woman who can cook.”
She laughed that throaty little laugh that he loved. “Actually I’m not much of a cook, and you’d better withhold judgment until after the cake.”
“You really baked me a cake?”
“I really did. It won’t win a bake off, but I hope it’s edible.”
She rose and disappeared into the alcove for a few moments. She returned carrying a white cake with a single tall candle lit in the middle. As she set the plate on the table she smiled and began to sing “Happy Birthday” in a slow, breathless style that reminded him of clips he’d seen of Marilyn Monroe singing to President Kennedy. Damned near drove him wild.
“Happy birthday, Mr…. Commissioner, happy—”
Unable to keep his hands off her another minute, he pulled her down into his lap and kissed away the last words of the song.
She tasted of wine and plum sauce and wildfire. He groaned and probed deeper with his tongue, stroked her breast through the silk and groaned again.
“Lord, I want you,” he whispered as he nuzzled her ear.
“But…the cake.”
“The cake can wait. Let me make love to you, darlin’.”
She tried to say something else, but he kissed away her protests, holding her tight, thrusting his tongue deep. He was about to explode.
“Jackson, no.” She pushed him away and struggled to her feet. “I…I don’t want this. I’m not ready.”
Her cheeks glowed with high color; her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. She licked her lips.
“Darlin’, I’m not much a one to call a lady a liar, but it seems to me that you’re about as ready as I am. And let me tell you, I’m ready.”
Lacing her fingers together tightly, she took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a tease, but I…it’s…it’s, uh, a bad time for me.”
“Bad—” Then he realized what she was talking about. He nodded. “I see.” He unlaced her clamped fingers, which had gone ice-cold, and kissed each hand. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. How about that cake?”
She turned and looked at her creation. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?”
“Darlin’, it’s the prettiest birthday cake I’ve ever had—because you made it for me. Let’s cut it.”
“You have to make a wish and blow out the candle first.”
He laughed. “That’s a no-brainer.” He took a deep breath and blew.
She cut big slabs and handed him a plate. “Careful of the toothpicks. I used nearly a whol
e box keeping that sucker together. Want some coffee?”
“That would be great. I’ll get it.” He started to rise, but she motioned him down.
“Stay seated. It’s your birthday.” She handed him a blue-striped package tied with a bandana bow. “Happy Birthday.”
“Oh, honey, you didn’t have to get me a present.”
“Of course I did. I hope you like it. Open it while I get the coffee.”
It looked so pretty that he hated to tear off the paper, but, kid-like, he ripped into it.
A book.
He was holding it in his hands staring at the picture of the kite on the front when she returned with the cups.
Her eyes lit up. “It’s a book on the history of kites. Do you like it?”
He swallowed, then smiled. “I love it. What a great present.”
She beamed. “I’m glad you like it. How’s the cake?”
He carved a bite with his fork, pulled out a couple of toothpicks, then tasted it. “It’s damned good.”
Looking skeptical, she said, “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” And to prove it, he ate two pieces and took the rest of it home with him.
Actually, despite its looks, the cake was damned good. He ate another piece before he went to bed. Sitting at the kitchen bar, alone in his big house, he decided that the evening with Olivia had been one of the best birthdays he’d had in recent years. Only one thing could have made it better—to have spent the rest of the night with her.
He wanted her here with him now. He wanted to lay the world at her feet, give her everything her heart desired, make love to her until she moaned with pleasure and said the words he wanted to hear. He wanted—
