Sweet Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  Her gaze sparked. “So you’ll still—” She pressed her lips together. The same reluctance appeared to exist within her.

  He swallowed hard. The path out of his dark place was enveloped in brambles. He wasn’t sure he had what it would take to emerge.

  But he had to start somewhere.

  “Yes.” He focused on her like a lodestar.

  Her expression relaxed some. “I’ll be there all afternoon, then.” She rose to sitting and grasped the covers. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No.” He pushed gently on her shoulder until she lay back again. He heard the huskiness in his voice. “Let me remember you like this.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips, and tore himself away before he wound up right back in there with her.

  He was nearly to the bedroom door when he paused. Gripped the jamb. “Thank you,” he said.

  And didn’t look back as he left.

  * * *

  THANK YOU. The words echoed long after as Jezebel found herself unable to sleep, energized by the night. She leaped from the bed, noted the bright sunlight pouring through the two small front windows and absorbed the sight of her folded clothes from last night on a table by the door.

  And couldn’t resist a little happy-dance that had Rufus barking and Oscar hissing in annoyance.

  To feel this much joy over one simple night was absurd.

  Except it hadn’t been simple. It had been… amazing. Stunning. Rock-my-world hot.

  Ooh, how every last inch of her was replete with a staggering satiation, sinfully rich, gloriously…juicy. She was almost ready to come out of her skin at the mere notion of all they’d done together in the dark.

  Or the moonlight. She hugged herself and grinned.

  The hood of a pickup. That only happened in steamy novels.

  “Nope,” she told Rufus, holding his front paws as he stood and tried to dance with her, slobbering his adoration. “It happened right here in Three Pines, boy. To me—” She released his paws and jabbed a thumb toward her chest.

  And laughed deliriously while Rufus barked.

  She put water on to boil and headed for the bathroom, detouring long enough to soothe Oscar’s pout. She began the shower, then opened the medicine cabinet to grab toothpaste—

  And spotted the pregnancy test kit.

  Her spirits plummeted.

  She dropped her toothbrush in the sink and folded to the floor opposite.

  Today was the day, the first one she could expect an answer. She buried her head in her arms.

  She didn’t have to take the test; she could simply wait and see if her period started. She was fairly regular; it would only be two or three days before she’d have an inkling.

  The appeal of the reprieve was altogether too inviting. She would have more time to find out what might develop between her and Gamble without the burden of such an immense—and emotional—complication.

  Coward.

  Her mouth quirked. She was every bit that, she admitted.

  But she was also worried about Gamble. He had hazarded a crucial step across a very fragile bridge this morning. She’d felt the tension of grief pulling at him even as he dared to venture into a new future.

  If she was pregnant, that news would send him tumbling into the treacherous ravine of his past.

  But she might not be, and then the way would be clear—

  For what? He’s leaving. And you told him you understood that. There’s no place in that life for you.

  She did understand. And she was fully prepared to cope with both his leaving and any legacy of that first night. She would even tell him about the baby—

  When he was ready.

  Right now, he was not. He’d laughed. Giggled, for Pete’s sake. How could she rob him of the chance to extend his venture into the light? That flame would be extinguished, maybe forever, if she even hinted at a suspicion of a pregnancy, and she understood herself well enough to be certain that she could never keep a secret of such magnitude for long.

  A few days wouldn’t hurt anyone, and she was too scared of forcing him back into that dark place if what she suspected was true.

  The best way to shield him was not to know herself.

  So Jezebel rose, grabbed the test kit and stashed it in the under-sink cabinet, and attempted to do the same with the seed in her mind.

  Gamble Smith needed laughter and fun worse than anyone she’d ever met. She couldn’t have his love, and she might not have his presence long.

  But they could enjoy stolen days together, as many as fate allowed them.

  She pulled aside the shower curtain and made ready to grab whatever hours she could wrest from fate’s greedy fingers.

  * * *

  GAMBLE APPROACHED the cottage and his palms were slick with sweat, yes, but his chest didn’t feel quite so tight as before. He’d made a decision, and he would stick by it, even if there was still a ball of ice in his stomach.

  His rational mind told him it was time to move on. A part of him even yearned to be freed from the quicksand of remorse, but he’d lost faith that he deserved any joy.

  He still had no idea how to put behind him the way he and Charlotte had parted, but Jezebel had been right when she’d accused him of dishonoring what he and Charlotte had created by letting it slide into ruin.

  You may not be able to see the end of the road, but you can see the next step. When it’s all you’ve got, that’s what you do—take that next step, then another. How often had his mother said that?

  His mother had more courage in her little finger than he possessed in his whole body, based on how he’d conducted himself thus far.

  His road ahead was murky, but he could manage this one try. He drove through the gate and looked around for Jezebel. Noted that she had the flowerbeds in front of the porch already cleared of weeds previously choking the azaleas, loaded with buds ready to burst into bloom. She’d obviously been hard at work, all the more impressive for how little sleep he’d allowed her last night.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of a dog’s furious barking—

  And a woman’s scream.

  He shut off the engine and charged to the rear of the cottage like a madman.

  Skidded to a halt at the sight before him.

  And couldn’t help but chuckle.

  Jezebel was shrieking—but her shouts were of laughter, belly-deep. She’d managed to acquire streaks of dirt over most of her clothing and nearly every patch of skin, and she was attempting to wash them off with water from the hose.

  But her dog, huge and golden, was bounding toward the stream of water and snapping at it as if it posed a serious danger to his mistress, getting himself drenched in the process…and shaking off all the excess on her.

  Once again she’d surprised him. Most women would have been upset and scolding the dog while doing whatever was necessary to dodge getting themselves dirty.

  But not Jezebel. Her hair was dripping wet and her hat had been flung to the ground nearby, its brim crumpled by both her feet and the dog’s as she danced around him, squirting the water as he barked and frolicked with her.

  She glanced up and spotted Gamble. The stream from the hose followed the path of her gaze.

  Soaking his shirt in the process.

  “Oops.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry. Rufus and I were just—”

  Spurred by an extraordinary impulse he couldn’t explain, Gamble leaped toward her and wrested the hose from her grip. “Sorry, huh? I just changed my shirt.”

  He aimed the spray right at her.

  Jezebel shrieked again as he hit her smack in the chest.

  Rufus barked and raced to tackle the liquid monster. Gamble pointed the hose over his head in a teasing arc, and while he was distracted, Jezebel charged—

  Slipped on the soaking-wet grass—

  And took Gamble down with her.

  He lost control of the hose, left whipping around like a demented snake. As soon as it settled, Rufus charged it.

  Jezebel lay in the mud b
eneath Gamble, giggling hysterically. She was filthy, but her eyes sparkled with merriment.

  And some of the ice inside his chest melted. Reflected joy flooded him.

  Yes, she was a stunner, built for long nights and wet dreams, too gorgeous to be true. But what he felt most strongly at that moment was not the luscious body under his or the beautiful face beneath the grime.

  It was hope, even more seductive. Light and cheer and promise that day might dawn for him again.

  Jezebel fell silent, and the sound of the water and the dog faded. For a second, Gamble remembered what it was like to live in sunshine and faith. The sheer and immense pleasure of that moment had him leaning to kiss her in gratitude for the bounty of it.

  He reveled in the little hum of delight that issued from her throat as she returned a curiously innocent kiss, more friendship than desire, optimism rather than a search for succor and respite.

  Very soon, though, hunger surfaced. Before it could take over, Gamble ended the kiss, for once unwilling to settle for the purely physical.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and he tensed, unable to explain himself or his reaction.

  She rubbed one hand over his back in a comforting gesture, as though she understood. Then her gaze dropped to his chest, and her smile spread.

  He glanced down and saw telltale brown streaks on his clean white T-shirt.

  “Oops,” she said again, with no remorse evident.

  Before he could summon a response, Rufus slurped at his cheek.

  “Rufus!” she warned.

  Gamble rolled off her, relieved by the interruption. “Not through playing, boy?”

  The dog’s eyes cut to the hose, still pouring water on the ground, then back to Gamble. His tail wagged.

  Memories of childhood fun had Gamble lunging for the dog, play-growling and roughhousing with him. Rufus barked with joy and tumbled into Gamble’s chest.

  The game was on.

  Finally, he and Rufus gave out at about the same time, and Gamble flopped to his back in the light shade of a dogwood, the dog panting heavily at his side.

  Gamble looked up through the spring-green leaves into the blue sky above and welcomed the pleasant feeling of exhaustion. The day was warm, his skin was cool from water and breeze and his mind was, for once, easy.

  Soon he would speak to Jezebel, offer to help her clean up. Figure out how to feel about that kiss.

  But right now, just for a second, he would close his eyes, content to simply…be.

  * * *

  JEZEBEL HAD STUDIED them while sitting in a puddle, water soaking into her jeans. All too aware of just what a wreck she was and what would be required before she could get ready to go to work tonight. She had no spare clothes with her, no towel to place on the seat of her car.

  But the sound of Gamble’s laughter, as free as a boy’s, rendered her unable to do anything but remain where she was, for fear of interrupting him.

  So this was what the old Gamble Smith had been like before tragedy had cast a shadow over him. With a wry smile, she settled back to watch a man who desperately needed to laugh wrestling with a slobbering, happy dog.

  And at that moment, Jezebel Hart, for the first time in her life, fell in love.

  It didn’t seem to matter just now that they had no future, that he would leave and she would stay. That she might be hiding a secret.

  That her heart would break, and he would never have a clue.

  One kiss that could have been exchanged by young teens had managed to penetrate where the most expert lovemaking had not. One instant in which a laughing man and a barking dog and a puddle of mud had conspired to open up a wary heart that for many years had protected itself mightily.

  So what was she supposed to do with all the feelings rocketing around inside her now?

  She was venturing so far outside herself it was terrifying. Heartache waited, she knew, the pound of flesh demanded in exchange for an outrageous joy.

  Screw it. She mentally donated a dollar to her jar as she accepted that she would hurt and hurt badly in the not-too-distant future. Gamble Smith wasn’t remotely ready to return the ridiculous amount of emotion she was experiencing. To even flirt with the notion was insane.

  She’d walked into this, fooling herself that she wouldn’t get attached. She’d been proven wrong, but that was her problem, not his. As both Gamble and Rufus slid into slumber beneath the shade of a tree, Jezebel reminded herself that she was a big girl, and she’d survived everything else life had thrown at her.

  She would manage this, too. Somehow.

  She remained still until she was certain both of them were deeply asleep. Then she rose slowly and tiptoed to the faucet, turned off the water and carefully picked her way to the rear of the house. She would dearly love to take a shower, but she felt the need to proceed with caution about making herself at home in the house that was still more Charlotte’s than hers. For the time being, she would do what she could with the hose in the front yard.

  The disarray inside her, however, would require more than a simple application of water.

  * * *

  GAMBLE STARTLED AWAKE when the big head landed on his chest.

  Adoring brown doggy eyes stared into his. A long tail slapped against his leg. Gamble stretched, and the dog bolted to instant attention, ready to play again.

  Gamble sat up slowly, unable to recall the last time he’d slept so deeply. He noted the sun slipping near the treetops to the west and stood. “Jezebel?”

  Beside him, Rufus perked his ears. Whined softly.

  “Where is she, boy?” He scratched the dog’s head, his own mind muzzy. Surely she wouldn’t have left Rufus with him. “Let’s find her.” Wet cloth clung to him in the lengthening shadows, and he shivered. He started for the back door, then glanced at the mud caking his boots. He’d check the front yard for her car first.

  As they rounded the side of the house, he rolled his neck and shook his head in an attempt to fully awaken, but his limbs seemed to be moving through molasses. He yawned until his jaw cracked.

  He could sleep for a week.

  Then he smiled, oddly refreshed, nonetheless. When he arrived, her car was still there, the front doors both open. Gamble frowned and made his way over.

  Rufus charged past him with an excited yelp, and Gamble barely managed to grab his collar in time. “No!” he ordered, as quietly as he could. “Get back.”

  Jezebel reposed on an old scratchy blanket tossed over the seat. She was apparently asleep, but still Gamble’s heart beat a little fast until he could ascertain a regular rise and fall in her chest.

  Once he was sure, he gave himself a minute to simply observe. She must have washed herself off, along with her clothes, but not in the shower, he could tell. He spotted another hose lying in the grass. Her socks and outer shirt drying on a bush.

  He had a perfectly good shower, washer and dryer inside; why hadn’t she used them?

  Even he could figure that out, when his first reaction was to flinch at the notion.

  Because, you jerk, you’ve made it quite obvious that this house is a shrine to Charlotte.

  Jezebel was far too sensitive to the moods of others and respectful of their privacy to encroach.

  Gamble leaned one hand against the car’s roof while petting Rufus to keep him at bay. Studied the woman before him, her frame loose in slumber, black ringlets as shiny as a crow’s wing spread over the ancient blanket in disarray.

  Heaven help me, you’re beautiful. Bountiful in more than her figure. Kind and caring and generous.

  And playful. A free spirit, as a sudden memory of her dancing through watery arcs, rainbows in the air and a gamboling dog at her feet, could attest.

  Something about her lightened his heart in a way that was difficult for him to accept as his due, precisely because he wanted to so much.

  “Hi.” Her voice was thick and gut-tighteningly sexy.

  He jerked his gaze to hers, her smile instant and genuine.

  �
�Hi. You can’t be comfortable there.”

  She stretched that voluptuous body, and Gamble’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. She smothered a yawn as she answered, “I doubt the ground was all that soft, either.”

  He skimmed his glance over her clothes. “You could have showered inside.”

  She ducked her chin. “It was okay.”

  “Would you like to come in? The plumbing works, I swear, and I could loan you a T-shirt or something.”

  “I should head back. I have to open the bar soon, anyway.”

  He surprised himself by asking, “Could Darrell do it?” Her expression was equally startled. “So you could have a night off?”

  “A night off?” she repeated as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

  He hesitated. Take that next step. “Yeah. You know, like…a social life.”

  “What—” She cleared her throat. “What would I do?”

  The words wouldn’t come. He and Jezebel stared at each other.

  Then he saw her begin to close in. Her gaze dropped.

  Try again, he told himself. “You could…” He swallowed hard, then rushed ahead. “Have dinner with me.”

  Her head jerked upward. “With…you?”

  He might as well be thirteen, so awkward he felt.

  But at thirteen, he’d already given his heart to—

  No. Not now.

  Oh, God, he thought. This is too hard.

  “Just as friends, you mean.”

  She’d handed him the perfect opening. Yeah, he started to say—

  “No.” He’d startled her again. “Or maybe so. Hell, I don’t—”

  She placed one hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled, though it was a little uncertain. “I’d like to have dinner with you. Wednesday is a slow night, usually. I’ll call Darrell and ask.”

  “If you tell him why, he’ll say no.”

  She winked. “Then I guess I’d better not explain.”

  And there she was again, that woman who understood fun.

  “If you don’t want to shower here, then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She flicked a glance past him to the cottage, and something skimmed over her features too quickly to catch. “I’ll take Rufus home and clean up.” She cast him a saucy grin. “I imagine that even though Three Pines is a little short on fine dining, I’d do well to show up in more than a clean T-shirt.”