She gnawed her lip, then met his gaze honestly. “I’m not sure.”
His shoulders relaxed just a bit. He seemed to be weighing and discarding a series of answers. “I thought we agreed that I’d think about renting the place to you. That involves waiting. You. Wait. I…think.”
“I got that, but—” She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “I was trying to do you a favor and talk myself out of it.”
“You were, huh?” With every exchange, she could see the despair in him lifting.
“And did it work?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I still love it.” He visibly withdrew; she hastened to reassure him. “It’s okay, Gamble. I know you don’t want me here, and I totally understand why you’d keep this beautiful place to yourself. Anyway, it’s not as if this is the first time I’ve ever been denied something I wished for. Just part of life. So if you’d see fit to let me walk around it one more time, I promise I won’t ever bother you—”
He held up a hand. She ceased her chatter. Watched him engage in an inner debate.
Finally, he shut the truck door. “Would you like to go inside?”
Her heart did a quick tumble. She bit her lip. “No.”
He frowned. “No?”
“Oh, of course I do. More than anything. But it wouldn’t be fair.”
“To whom?”
She met his gaze. “Either of us. I have no desire to be taunted with what I can’t have, and you don’t want me trespassing in your special place.” She shrugged. “I don’t blame you, Gamble, honestly I don’t. If I’d ever loved anyone like you loved her, I’d be tempted to keep this cottage a shrine forever.”
“But you wouldn’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“You’d open it up as a home for wayward girls and lost old men and stray puppies. Even if you couldn’t live there, you’d find a way to share it with the downtrodden.”
She regarded him with caution. “I don’t need anyone’s pity, if that’s the reason you’re offering.”
His glance was a laser slice of warning. “Neither do I.” He started toward the house. “Last chance, Jezebel. Come along or forget it.”
She hesitated, torn between longing and warning.
He paused at the front door and held it open, his stance challenging.
“Why are you doing this, Gamble?”
As she approached, she noted that his eyes were bleak. “Beats the hell out of me.” He gestured her to precede him.
Jezebel took the first step and prayed for disappointment.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN SHE GOT INSIDE, however, Jezebel was alone. She started to turn and ask him why, but realized she could not.
She and Gamble had been physically as close as two people ever could—but they were strangers, for all that. Some questions were too intimate for even friends to ask. She’d bluffed her way this far, but her nerve wasn’t sufficient to dare more.
And, truth be told, she was relieved to be able to explore this house alone.
Then her heart sank. From the first glance, she understood that no matter how much time he granted her, she would wish for more.
This was it…the house of her dreams.
As she wandered from room to room, she found herself torn between laughing and crying. You could literally feel the devotion that bolstered every board, exuded from each stroke of paint. The imprint of grief lingered, yes, but she was wrapped, above all, in a silken cocoon of tenderness and warmth and… there was only the one word for it: love. Of a kind she’d only ever imagined.
She chided herself not to tarry, but she would have gladly stayed forever if she hadn’t known that outside waited a man for whom every second she forced him to remain was torment.
By the time she walked back onto the front porch, she was in tears. Desperately, she sought to stem them.
“Don’t.” Misery knotted with anger.
She started to speak. Couldn’t. Ducked her head and hurried past him to her car.
Just before she reached it, heavy footsteps thundered behind her. He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
She didn’t try to escape him but didn’t look at him, either.
“Damn it, why are you crying? Better not be for me.”
At that, she whirled. “A stone would weep in that place.”
He reared back as if stung. “What’s wrong with it? Not good enough for you after all?”
“No.” She sniffed. Brushed at her eyes. “I’d sell my soul to live there. I’d do nearly anything to give Skeeter that chance, but—”
“But what?”
She met his gaze. “It’s beautiful, Gamble. More than. I almost wish you hadn’t let me go inside.” She lifted her palms. “But I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. It’s every dream I never dared to have.”
“And?”
“No one deserves that place but you. I can feel you, both of you, in every room. How you must have loved her.” Tears spurted again. “And how obviously she felt cherished by you.”
He recoiled as if she’d struck him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I understand how painful it must be to be without her—”
“You understand nothing.” Bone-deep sorrow reverberated in his voice. To remain in Three Pines must be hellish, all the more so because he couldn’t be sure how long he must stay.
“So tell me,” she said.
He stilled. Peered out for only an instant from the fortress he’d built around him, before retreating again. “No,” he said quietly. “That’s a story I will tell only once, to one woman.”
“All right.” Clearly, she wasn’t that special person. The anguish in his gaze kept the worst of her hurt at bay. “But the invitation’s open.”
“I’m not one of your charity cases.”
“No. You’re not. And I can’t give you what you want most, but there’s something I can do, if you’ll let me. I make a good friend, Gamble.” She extended her hand. “Goodbye. Thank you for letting me inside. I can only imagine how hard that was for you to do.”
For a minute, she thought he was going to refuse the gesture. At last, his hand rose to clasp hers.
And despite herself, she shivered at his touch. What a complex man he was, strong and yet so vulnerable, obviously capable of great love and dying without it. Unable to bend enough to ask for help.
And a brilliant painter, from the one example she’d seen above the fireplace.
That he might also be the father of a child even now growing inside her body was a complication she couldn’t contemplate right now. No matter how desperately she wished to be a mother, Gamble would be better off if she was mistaken. He had too much to deal with already.
“So,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “See you around, I guess.”
He watched her but didn’t speak.
She got in her car and slowly drove away.
* * *
GAMBLE LISTENED to the engine in the wreck of a car that was running rough as she departed. He flexed the fingers of the hand she’d clasped, and quickly shut them.
I make a good friend.
She was a hell of a lover, too.
But neither mattered.
Or mattered too much.
Who was the last friend he’d had, besides his family? He couldn’t recall. Charlotte had been his closest companion since they were kids. His brothers had filled any need for male company. In New York, he’d kept to himself, mostly. He was there to work. To discover if he could create a life worth living without—
Enough.
This time, he realized with a shock, the voice was not his mother’s or Charlotte’s.
The voice of reason…was his.
Reluctantly, he faced the cottage. For the first time, the figure on the porch was not Charlotte.
It was, damn her hide, Jezebel Hart. Face glowing, tears and wonder shining in her eyes.
“No—” he groaned. Squeezed his lids shut. Shook
his head to dislodge her.
It’s every dream I never dared have.
“No!” he shouted. “It’s not your dream. It’s Charlotte’s. It’s—” Mine.
Mine.
He opened his eyes again, his chest too tight to breathe. And viewed the cottage, just for an instant, through Jezebel’s eyes.
Not scarred with agony, not tarnished by guilt but freed from either, a sturdy and graceful haven once blessed by laughter.
And sanctified by love.
No one deserves that place but you.
“You’re wrong, Jezebel. No one has earned it less,” he murmured, but within him, shame stirred. He had buried the best of him here and turned a place of beauty into a crypt. As with the fairy tale, the brambles were beginning to creep in and would soon bury it alive.
He was lauded for his ability to render beauty with a brush, to transform women into enchantresses, yet his single finest creation was dying before his eyes.
For the sake of the love that once lived here, it was time to bring the cottage back to life.
* * *
JEZEBEL WAS GRATEFUL they were so busy tonight; it left her little time to think. To grieve over the loss of the cottage.
To worry about what to do for Skeeter.
“Jezebel, we need an impartial judge over here,” Chappy hollered from the far end of the bar.
“For what?” She juggled a full tray, served a round and cleared the table of the last. Her feet hurt, her back ached and her left elbow felt the strain of the load.
“Me and Larry think a man will be quicker to get cut off if he forgets Valentine’s Day than a woman’s birthday. Zell and Louie here say just the opposite, but neither one of them has been within a country mile of a woman’s bed since God was a pup.”
“I’ve been married for forty-seven years,” Zell reminded them.
“My point exactly.” Chappy grinned.
“And you’ve been married, what is it, three times?” Louie asked.
“Got more experience, don’t I?” Chappy asked. “Been with more women.”
“Rejected by more, that’s for sure,” Louie said. “Definitely been cut off more often.”
“Heard tell Clarissa had in mind to cut something else off besides bed sport, something real personal,” Larry added.
“Damn.”
“Hell.”
All of them winced.
“Get the jar, Darrell,” Jezebel said.
“Now, Jezebel, a man can’t be held accountable for swearing when his privates are threatened.”
“We’re all accountable, on earth or in the hereafter. Pay up.”
“Harpy,” Louie muttered. “St. Peter will be a breeze after you.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “How you do flatter.”
Laughter echoed around the room.
She heard the door open and prepared to greet the new arrival.
Levi Smith smiled at her. She smiled back.
Until Gamble came in right behind him.
The woman in her had to simply pause and appreciate the sight of the brothers Smith. A girl’s heart could stop cold at the sheer amount of maleness entering the premises.
Gamble was scanning the room, so she had a second to compose herself.
A second wasn’t long enough.
When his eyes locked on hers, she realized that she was the object of his search. For one unguarded instant, it was obvious that he was uneasy about how she’d treat him, what she might reveal by her reaction after the soul-baring experience of the morning. Time slowed. She was a moth trapped inside a bell jar, sealed off from the world.
Then it hit her that the entire room had grown quiet. And a scowling Darrell was rounding the bar toward Gamble.
She burst the crystal prison. “Levi, how are you? Gamble.” She nodded, her smile fast and brilliant. “How’s your mom this evening?”
“A little better, I think,” Levi answered, glancing between Darrell and Gamble with questions in his expression.
Gamble said nothing, but he wasn’t shying from the mountain of man headed his way.
“Here’s a booth.” She hastened to clear it. “Have a seat, and I’ll take your order.”
“A beer for me,” Levi said, but made no move to sit, obviously ready to defend his brother.
Still Gamble remained silent.
“Darrell, can I see you for a minute?”
When he didn’t reply, she sighed. “Men.” She stepped in front of him. “Levi will have a beer, Darrell. What would you like, Gamble?” she asked over her shoulder.
“A piece of Darrell is fine.”
She wheeled on him. “Sit. Both of you.” To Darrell, she pointed to the bar. “You. Back to work.”
All three of them might as well have been deaf. Around them a buzz arose.
So she dropped a glass on the floor. The crash startled everyone. “What the hell,” Darrell yelped.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention.” She kept her tone saccharine sweet. “Chappy, will you please open the door and fan it? We seem to have an epidemic of testosterone poisoning. Louie, you phone Shirley to pick up her husband, who appears to have the most serious case. Tell her not to bring the kids. It might be catching.”
“That’s just cold,” Chappy said.
“No call to be insulting,” Louie grumbled.
“When I start insulting, you’ll know it. Now I’m going to get the broom. On the way back, I hope to find everyone enjoying themselves immensely.” She gazed around the room. “Am I getting through?”
Many words were mumbled, but none was audible as first one man, then another, shuffled off to resume pool games and poker hands. She heard a chuckle behind her and turned to note Levi grinning while a disgruntled Gamble dropped into one side of the booth. “Like a hand with that broom?” Levi asked.
“You—” she pointed “—might have potential.”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea,” said the reigning heartthrob of Three Pines.
Jezebel laughed.
“And you—” she spoke to Darrell “—owe the jar a dollar.”
Darrell muttered and cast scathing glances at Gamble all the way back to the bar.
Before he could get a bill out of his wallet, however, she took one of her own and slipped it into the hole in the top. When he lifted his eyebrows, she explained. “Not fair to make you pay when I’m the one who dropped the glass and startled you.” She touched his hand. “But I don’t need protecting from Gamble.”
“I’ll still kick his ass if he hurts you.”
He stuck in a dollar anyway, then walked off to draw Levi’s beer.
Jezebel sighed and headed for the broom.
* * *
LEVI HUNG AROUND for two beers and a game of pool, then left, citing early surgery.
Gamble stayed behind and nursed his second beer. Around him, the tabletop was littered with napkins on which he’d sketched the denizens of this bar.
Louie arguing with Chappy.
Darrell polishing a glass, eyes cocked to the side to glare warning at Gamble.
Jezebel bent over, wiping a table.
With a loaded tray, laughing.
Jezebel again, leaning against the bar, arms out-stretched in lazy welcome, her braid unwound, waves of black hair cascading over—
“Surely that beer could stand to be replaced,” she said.
He shoved that napkin beneath the others. Scrambled to stack all of them, but the flimsy papers scattered, some floating to the floor.
“I’ll get it—”
“Don’t—”
They crouched down at the same time and knocked heads.
“Ow.” She emerged with a fistful of napkins in one hand, rubbing her forehead with the other. “You okay?” She gave a nervous laugh.
“Yeah. Let me have those.”
“No sweat. I get paid to clean. Well, not exactly paid, but…” Her voice died off as she spotted the remaining drawings. “What’s this?” D
elight bubbled. “Look at Louie. That’s exactly him. And Chappy.” She glanced down at the ones clutched in her hands. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Here—” She laid them on the table and began to smooth them.
Gamble slapped his hand on top of them.
But it was too late. She studied this batch in total silence. There was no way she could miss that the vast majority were of her.
Including the one, just out of his reach, where she wore nothing he’d ever seen her in. The filmy gown, draping off one shoulder, emerald green in his mind, to bring out her eyes. A barefoot Gypsy, a barbarian’s plunder of bronze jewelry at throat and ears, her generous mouth an unpainted rose. A hint of nipples and dark triangle beneath the fabric clinging to her Junoesque curves. Yet for all the drawing’s eroticism, it was, at heart, romantic.
“I seem…soft,” she said. “But I’m not. I can’t afford to be,” she murmured. “You’ve made me beautiful.”
Finally, he spoke. “You are.”
“No. Sure, I’ve got—” She gestured dismissal at her curves. “This. I can’t complain—it’s provided me work when I didn’t have the education to be more, but men always assume—” She broke off, her cheeks stained a hectic red. “I’ll get you that beer.” Reluctantly, she relinquished her hold on the napkin but trailed her fingers over it before she stepped back.
“Would you like to have it?” He surprised himself by asking. “Take them all.” Even though he’d like to keep that one himself. “I can always draw more.”
“My own Gamble Smith collection? People pay you for your work.”
He smiled, touched by her hesitation. “It’s hardly polished. And I’m not famous.”
“You will be, if these and the painting I saw today are any indication.” She stiffened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
He was surprised that her mention only engendered a small ache. “I’m, uh, going to begin cleaning the grounds of the cottage tomorrow afternoon when I finish helping Lily and visit Mom.”
A long, awkward pause ensued.
“I’m still not sure, Jezebel. What to do with the place, I mean.” He exhaled. “I’m sorry. That doesn’t help you.”
“It’s okay. I…understand. I’ll manage.”
He was certain she would, but that wasn’t the point.
“I should get your beer.”
Sweet Mercy Page 11
