by Joan Hohl
“That’s what I just said.” Emily looked smug. “I wouldn’t let her hug me.”
“All right, Emily,” Julia scolded in a mild tone. “Emma, go get changed…then hug your father.”
Jon grinned. “Listen to your mother, kid.” Turning her, he administered a light tap to her rear. “Get going.”
Muttering something about cruelty to children, and being unfair, Emma stomped to the door, turning inside to slant a wide grin at her family.
“And don’t throw your wet clothes on the floor,” Julia called after her before she could shut the door. “Toss them into the hamper.”
The door slammed shut with a bang.
“Emma,” Jon yelled. “Come back here and shut the door quietly.”
On the verge of yelling the same thing, Julia closed her mouth.
Emily yanked the door open, had the audacity to again grin at her parents and sister, then very carefully, quietly shut it once more.
Emily laughed once more.
Julia and Jon shared a spontaneous tender smile. Suddenly breathless, Julia felt a funny, warm sensation spread throughout her entire system.
How long had it been since they had shared such a moment of accord, gentle understanding? A sense of elation combined with an edgy nervousness stirred within her.
Jon was watching her expectantly, as if waiting for—for what? Julia asked herself, growing more edgy. Unable to come up with an answer, she turned and walked to the door.
“Oh, good grief,” she said in an exaggerated tone. “I stepped out for a second to watch the storm, and completely forgot dinner in the oven.” She paused in the doorway, and not turning around, tacked on, “You have time for a shower before dinner, Jon.”
Escape.
Julia went still a moment as she bent to open the oven door. Escape? Escape from what? she thought, turning her face away from the rush of heat as she pulled the door open. That was an odd expression to flash into her mind. Surely she didn’t think she had to escape from Jon?
Did she?
Frowning in confusion at her strange reaction, Julia grabbed two oven mitts and started to reach into the oven to remove the large oval roast pan.
“Here. I’ll do that,” Jon said from directly behind her, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Julia.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said, bending next to her and taking the mitts from her hands. “Stand back while I slide the pan out.” He reached into the oven, took hold of the pan’s handles, and sniffed deeply. “Smells good. Yankee pot roast…I hope?” He flashed a quick grin at her.
Julia felt a melting sensation inside. Darn the man, he did have a charming smile. Drawing a slow, hopefully cooling breath, Julia returned his grin with a bit of a shaky smile.
“Yes, pot roast.” Feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, Julia moved back, around him, ostensibly to get the long-handled cooking spoon on the countertop. In truth, she felt the need to put some distance between them.
Ridiculous, she chastised herself, feeling equally foolish for her reaction to a simple grin from him…after nearly twenty years of marriage.
“Back up, so I can baste the meat,” Julia said, amazed at the calm sounding tone she had managed. Lifting the pan’s lid, she allowed the steam to billow before spooning the dark liquid over the roast and the vegetables surrounding it. Exchanging the spoon for a fork, she stuck a piece of carrot, testing the tenderness.
“Is it soup yet?” Jon murmured close to her ear, sending a wave of warmth through her.
“Not quite,” she lied, as the fork had easily pierced the carrot, and wishing he’d move, put a little space between them. “You do have time for a shower.”
“Okay, I can take a hint,” Jon said, softly laughing to take any implied sting from his remark. “You want me the hell out of the kitchen, and out of your road.”
Emily’s laughter wafted to them from the dining room, where she was busy setting the table, without even being asked to do so. Wonder of wonders!
“No comments from you, young lady,” Jon ordered in a mock growl, striding to the hall stairway.
“Hey!” Emily protested. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Well…don’t,” Jon called from halfway up the stairs, his happy-sounding laughter a long-missing and much appreciated sound.
Humming to herself, Julia lowered the oven heat to warm and slid the roast pan back inside. Suddenly, the smile faded from her lips, the silent hum died a painful death in her throat, and the sense of contentment fled at the advance of the thought that slithered like the snake of Eden into her mind, rattling her composure, leaving suspicion in its wake.
What had occurred to make him so happy? Or was it who had happened?
Julia detested the doubt spawned by the suspicion. Was she becoming paranoid, or were there reasons for her mistrust of his apparently newfound easygoing manner?
Was she at fault for the strain in their relationship, the tension in their marriage?
Julia pondered the possibility as she automatically went about finishing the meal. She removed a dish of applesauce from the fridge, lightly sprinkled cinnamon on top, and handed the plate to Emily to set on the table.
She had been wrong from the very beginning to resent Jon for refusing to operate on Emily, she conceded. But, in her own defense, it had been a traumatic time. She had been frightened near witless by Emily’s fall, the need for surgery.
Opening the bread drawer, Julia took out a long, narrow loaf of French bread and slid it into the oven next to the roast pan to warm.
Her fear and anxiety had expanded into inner panic when Dr. Michaelson told her that even with the surgery, there was still a chance Emily would be paralyzed for life. It was then she had begged, pleaded almost hysterically with Jon to perform the surgery himself. And he had stood firm in his refusal.
The storm still raged outside. A loud crack of lightning, followed by a boom of thunder directly overhead startled Julia out of her introspection. She shivered against a chill unrelated to the air-conditioning.
“Mom…” Emily’s voice from the dining room archway was hesitant. “Are you okay?”
She quickly turned the beginnings of a sigh into a laugh, albeit a shaky one. “Yes, of course.” Julia manufactured a smile for her obviously concerned daughter. “That was a dandy, wasn’t it?” She widened the grin; it hurt her jaw. “I nearly jumped out of my skin.”
The pain in her jaw was worth the effort. Emily laughed and nodded her head.
“Hey, did you guys hear that one?” Emma said, strolling into the kitchen all clean and perky.
“Could anyone miss it?” Jon walked into the room after Emma.
Julia’s stomach tightened. Calling on her thinning reserves, she brightly announced, “Dinner’s ready.” Turning, she pulled on the oven mitts, lowered the oven door and slid the bread from the rack. Straightening, she yanked off the mitts, and handed them to Jon. “Will you remove the pan while I slice the bread?” She didn’t wait for a reply, but continued, “Emily, you can get the salad from the fridge and put it on the table. Emma, you can fill the water glasses.”
They moved like a well-trained team, an orchestrated action for which Julia could not take credit. Jon had instilled the discipline into his daughters the same way he had trained his surgical team, gently, quietly, but firmly.
Julia was the only one he hadn’t attempted to train. Jon knew better. Julia had her own sense of discipline. She had been taught good manners at home, and learned responsibility while in training for the radiology department.
Besides, it was her kitchen, and she hadn’t hesitated to make that crystal-clear to Jon from the beginning, and the girls in turn as they grew older. Naturally, any one of them could make use of Julia’s kitchen, but they had better leave it as spotless as they had found it.
The meal was delicious, as Julia had known it would be. She was a good cook, taught by an even better cook, her mother. She accepted her family’s compliments with graciousness and pleasure. She had J
on to thank for her daughters’ quickly voiced appreciation for every meal she prepared. He had not only had a hand in instilling good manners, he never failed to be the first to offer his praise.
When he was home for a meal.
The thought burned through Julia’s mind. Jon was seldom home for a meal, at least not on time. Oh, he always called her to let her know he’d be late, and why, but that didn’t change the fact he was seldom home. Yet, today, he had arrived not only on time for dinner, but early enough to shower first.
Why?
The whys were always the pin, bursting her hope balloon. Of course, he always had an explanation ready, yet…
Dammit! Julia hated feeling suspicious about Jon, his motives, his every action. She was so immersed in her thoughts she didn’t notice Emily serving the dessert.
“Fresh strawberries with real whipped cream!” Emma crowed, jolting Julia out of her musings. “Don’t even tell me you picked them out of the back garden.”
“Okay, I won’t,” Julia said, a funny twist invading her stomach when he gave her a shared-parental smile. Her return smile was a bit tentative. “But I did,” she continued, sliding her gaze away from Jon, back to Emma. “The first of the season. And I must confess to tasting one or two while I washed them….” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “They’re delicious, sweeter than the shipped ones we’ll be getting later.”
“And real whipped cream, not the fat-free topping we usually have,” Jon observed, raising his dark eyebrows. “Is this a special occasion?”
“Yes,” Julia said, a teasing light in her eyes as she glanced at her daughters.
Obviously reading the look in her mother’s eyes, and expecting a punch line, Emily looked droll as her sister played straight man.
“Really,” Emma said. “What occasion?”
“Why,” Julia answered, straight-faced, “it’s the first home-grown strawberries of the season, of course.”
“Oh, Mom,” Emma groused, grinning.
Emily laughed out loud.
“She got you, Em,” Jon teased, smiling as he stood up. “I’ll bring the coffee.”
It was the most relaxing, satisfying meal they had shared as a family in a long time, Julia later decided as she sipped at her steaming coffee.
The girls had gone outside after clearing away the dessert dishes. Quiet—to Julia’s thinking a smothering quiet—pervaded the dining room.
“Got anything on for tonight?”
Jon’s question jolted Julia. She blinked, was on the point of saying no, when her memory came to life. “Yes,” she answered, repressing a sigh, wondering why he had asked. “I have a meeting with the equestrian mothers’ group at seven.” Glancing up from her cup, she saw a brief flash of annoyance flicker over his face. Curious about that quick expression, she had to ask, “Why?”
To her disappointment, he shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. As if, after the years of tension between them, she was no longer important.
“Three of the new interns who finished duty at five asked me if I wanted to sit in on their poker game tonight.” His attempt at a rueful smile fell on its face. “I told them it depended on your plans.” He shrugged again, unconvincingly. “So, if you’re going out, I might as well join them, play a couple of hours.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you don’t mind?”
If she didn’t mind. Like he cared, Julia thought, stretching her lips into a semblance of a smile. “No, of course I don’t mind,” she lied, thinking she was getting much too used to lying. But, damn, he could have called her from his office, told her he would be free for the evening. She’d have gladly skipped the meeting. It wasn’t as if the meeting couldn’t be held without her.
Jon frowned…almost as if her answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “What about Emma?”
Ah, she should have known, she reasoned, chiding herself. It had nothing to do with his not wanting to hear her answer. It was concern about having to stay home with his daughter, as if he had ever done much child minding. Julia had to fight making a rude noise, such as snorting…or swearing.
“Emma’s going to the meeting with Emily and me.” As she always does, she added to herself. Rising, she carried her still warm, half-empty cup to the kitchen and dumped it into the sink. “You go play and relax. Enjoy yourself.”
“Okay, I will.” Jon’s voice had a tight edge of sheer male defiance.
A strange feeling ripped through Julia, robbing her breath, chilling her to the bone. Was he truly going to play cards…or games of another nature?
Jealousy, Julia identified the emotion churning inside. Pure green-eyed jealousy.
Dammit! Brooke couldn’t have Jonathan! He was her husband. He belonged to her. He may well be dallying with the younger woman. But Brooke couldn’t have him.
Julia gritted her teeth. It had been so long now since their lovemaking had been anything other than routine, simply going through the motions.
She sighed. It used to be so wonderful between them. They had come close to the way it used to be for a while at dinner. The easy banter around the table, teasing the girls, the usual family byplay.
Julia closed her eyes against the sting of memory. Their intimate moments had run the gamut from hot and fierce, to slow and easy. Gentle. Hard. Sweet. Wild.
The very idea that Jon might be sharing those same intimate moments with her, laughing with her, teasing, murmuring the same enticing words he’d whispered to…
“Mom, are you almost ready?” Emily called from the living room. “It’s nearly time to leave.”
“In a few minutes,” Julia called back, somehow controlling her voice against revealing the pain searing her chest, grateful for the interruption to her hurtful thoughts.
Leaving the kitchen, Julia ran up the stairs to her and Jon’s bedroom, and into their bathroom. Purpose hardened inside her as she pulled off her clothes and stepped into the shower stall. Settling for a quick wash, she was toweling herself off five minutes later. Eight minutes after leaving the shower, she was dressed, had applied a light coat of makeup, fixed her hair, and squirted a dash of perfume in the direction of her neck pulse.
By the time Julia ran back down the stairs, she had talked herself into being primed and ready for a battle.
She had to make things right between her and Jon again. Julia didn’t know quite how to go about resolving the issues between them. But she had to think of a way.
CHAPTER 10
Jon sat at the table, staring at the five cards in his hand, while not really seeing them.
A tidy sum of money, change and bills, lay on the table in front of him. Another pile lay in the center of the table. He was only barely conscious of both mounds of cash. A half-empty bottle of beer sat warming at his elbow. Jon couldn’t recall drinking or tasting a swallow of the brew. He hadn’t touched the bowls of nuts, pretzels and chips set on a folding table near his left elbow.
His thoughts weren’t centered on the game, hadn’t been since the three interns and he had sat down at the table. His mind was elsewhere.
Jon had no thirst for beer or hunger for food. He was fully aware, at times painfully aware, of what he thirsted for. He needed the deep, satisfying taste of—
“What the hell, Jon?” asked Roger, the young intern at whose table the four of them had gathered. “You fall asleep with your eyes open?”
Jon blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been staring at your cards forever,” Roger said, frowning. “Are you going to call the bet or fold your hand?”
Feeling like a complete idiot, Jon focused on his hand and cursed to himself. He was holding a full house, kings over sevens. “I’m sorry, I was a bit distracted.” Damn, he thought, that excuse sounded pretty lame, even to him. “What was the last bet?”
Roger rolled his eyes as the other two men groaned. “The bet was two bucks. Josh and I have met it. Bob dropped. Are you in or out?”
“I’m in.” Jon pushed two bills onto the mound. “What do you have?”
> “Three jacks,” replied Roger.
“Straight.” Josh sighed as he folded his cards.
Jon laid his hand out. “Full house, kings over sevens. Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, sliding the pile of bills onto the pile in front of him.
Josh wore a look of amazement. “I can’t decide if you’re flat-out unconscious…or just damn lucky.”
Jon grinned. “Great in the O.R., too.”
“So we’ve heard,” Rob said, his expression baffled. “In fact, I’ve heard you’re the best.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jon said, modestly, only to ruin the effect by adding, “I am pretty good, though.”
All three men laughed.
Bob collected the cards and shoved them across the table at Josh. “Your deal.”
Jon glanced from one to the other. “You guys sure you want to keep playing? I’ve taken you for a nice chunk of your hard-earned money.”
“You sure have.” Roger shrugged. “I guess it proves the adage, lucky in love, lucky at cards.”
Jon raised his eyebrows, concealing the jolt of shock he’d felt from Roger’s remark. Had he picked up something, some gossip? Surely Brooke hadn’t said anything? He had been alone with her only twice. He had taken her for drinks after office hours. Two times. That was all. And he had kissed her. And yes, dammit, he had wanted to do more. But what he felt for her was only about physical attraction. And nothing else had happened.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jon somehow managed to keep his tone even, mildly curious.
Roger laughed.
Jon cringed inside.
“You’ve got to be kidding, doc,” Roger said, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You gotta know you’re married to one of the prettiest, nicest and most admired women around.” He grinned. “And, at the risk of having to duck a punch from you, I’d go so far as to add, one of the hottest-looking.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the other two men, both of whom slid back their chairs, out of Jon’s reach.
Jon had to laugh at the other men’s caution and the irony of Roger’s statement. “So that’s what the word on the street, or in this case, the word in the hospital corridors is. Julia is pretty, nice and hot.”
