by Pat Warren
But did she now? She asked herself, shifting to sit more comfortably on the stump. What really did she have to return to in Chicago? A nice apartment, but here, she could dig into her capital enough to buy a house and have no rent to pay. The furniture and clothes she’d accumulated—all good, solid pieces—she could have shipped. Friends. Yes, she had a few she’d miss, but not that many.
A working single woman in a metropolitan city tended to spend a lot of time at her job if she wanted to get ahead, which left little time to socialize. Many of her co-workers were married and raising families in the suburbs, people she’d had little in common with. She knew only one other person in her building, Lottie Dorchester, the divorced woman in the next apartment. They looked after one another’s plants and collected each other’s mail when one or the other was out of town. But they’d never socialized.
Would she miss the job, the work, since there was a good deal of creativity involved? Yes, probably. But then again, she’d have time to spend on a project she’d longed to do for years and never found the time for. An illustrated children’s book. In her head, she had many of the details worked out.
And now she had a live model to sketch into her proposed book. Rachel smiled whenever she thought of Alyssa. She was such a happy baby, a good baby. On her tummy, she’d lift her head and look around. Last night, Rachel had spread a pink baby blanket on the carpet in front of the fire and put Alyssa down. She’d bobbed her little head around and even rolled over onto her back, surprising herself. She’d squealed with delight at her own feat. Rachel and Jack had sat watching, smiling at her antics.
Yet today, Rachel felt uneasy. Jack and Sloan were bound to find Alyssa’s father one day soon. If he wasn’t involved in Christina’s death, he’d undoubtedly want his daughter back. If he was and would have to go to prison, he’d need someone to raise her. The part that bothered Rachel was not knowing if any moment someone would snatch Alyssa away. Of course, as her aunt, she’d have some rights, but it wasn’t the same as raising her.
Rachel closed her sketchbook, hugged it to her and stared off into a blue, cloudless sky. And what of Jack? She’d never guessed he could be so domestic. The other night, he’d driven them all over town so she could show Alyssa the Christmas lights on shop windows and decorated homes. Jack had been so patient, stopping here and there, uncomplaining.
But she wasn’t fooling herself, not really. He’d never once asked to hold Alyssa, and she hadn’t pushed the issue. She remembered what he’d said about steering clear of marriage and fatherhood. She respected that even as she realized more each day what a good husband and parent he’d make. However, it wasn’t her call and she certainly wouldn’t do anything to try to change his mind. Not anything overt, anyhow.
But she could dream, could hope, could pray. She who had never been enough for a father’s unconditional love nor a brother’s devotion or enough to keep Richard interested could make a silent wish that this time, things would be different.
Suddenly, feeling the cold, Rachel decided she’d sketched long enough for one day. As she got up to go inside, she heard the Lincoln approaching on the other side of the cabin. Her heart did a little extra thump as it always did knowing she’d see Jack again. Yet she didn’t know whether to hope he’d learned the father’s identity or not.
Hurrying inside, she checked to see that Alyssa was still asleep before going out front. Her eyes grew wide at what she saw. Jack was standing by the trunk of the Lincoln, which had a big fir tree sticking halfway out.
“What is that?” she asked, stepping off the front porch.
“Our Christmas tree,” Jack answered, bending to untie the heavy twine that had anchored the tree. Straightening, he smiled as Rachel walked over. “Can’t have Christmas without a tree,” he stated emphatically, pleased by the look of pleasure on her face. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks really big.” She turned to him. “And we have no decorations or a stand or lights.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He pointed toward the back seat.
Rachel opened one door and gasped out loud. “Oh, my!” There had to be a dozen boxes piled inside.
He came to her, cupping his hands and blowing warm air on them. Buying a tree had been an impulse he couldn’t ignore, not after the night they’d driven around viewing the lights and he’d seen the almost childish wonder on Rachel’s face. He hadn’t had many happy holidays himself, but that was because his father had left and his mother hadn’t been able to cope. But with Rachel, she had both parents right there, yet had had to rely on a neighbor for a little Christmas joy.
Not this year, not if he had anything to say about it. It was the least he could do because she’d given him a lot of pleasure.
“It’s Alyssa’s first Christmas. She has to have a tree.”
Eyes suspiciously moist, Rachel nodded. “Did you remember to get a stand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saw that her cheeks were red. “You look cold. Have you been outside?”
“I was doing some sketching in the back.” She glanced from the trunk to the boxes. “Which should we take in first?”
Jack pulled her into a bear hug, then placed his hands on her cool cheeks, framing her face. “Are you happy?”
Rachel blinked and a tear escaped before she could stop it. “Yes, very happy. Thank you.” Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his and, as always her heart fluttered at the contact.
“Mmm,” Jack moaned into her mouth as his lips caressed hers. Even through both heavy jackets, he felt her heart, or was it his? Arms encircling her, he deepened the kiss because it had been some four hours since he’d last kissed her. It shocked him that he kept count.
Finally he let go and smiled into her face. “You deserve more happy moments. They agree with you.”
She could think of nothing to say to that so she stepped back and began searching among the boxes for the tree stand.
“Did your family put up a tree every year?” Jack asked Rachel as he stooped by the plug to test a string of lights.
“Oh, sure.” Rachel opened boxes of ornaments and laid them out on the coffee table, marveling at the lovely assortment Jack had purchased. “My mother had a decorator tree delivered from Bozeman. It was an artificial one, of course. Real ones were too messy. It was white with little red balls for ornaments and little red bows spaced just so at precise intervals. And it had gold roping looped around. There was a beautiful handmade rug spread around the base of the tree, but we weren’t allowed to put gifts there. It would have spoiled the effect.”
Jack heard the bitterness beneath her words and felt much as he had years ago when he’d tried to give his sister some good Christmas memories. “We couldn’t afford a tree, not with my meager earnings. We barely could afford food and clothes. But we had some old decorations from back when my dad had been around and still working. So Gina used to take the somewhat ratty red roping and wind it around the lampshades. And she’d hold the chair while I stood on it and hung the ornaments from string stuck to the ceiling with tape.”
Sitting beside the canvas bouncy chair she’d picked up for Alyssa, which the little girl loved, Rachel felt her heart break for the two young children who had such sad holidays. “What about your mother? Didn’t she take part?”
He shrugged as he stood and began stringing lights on the tree, now ensconced in its stand, the top reaching almost to the ceiling of the living room. “She tried, I guess. My memories of her during my early teens are as if I’m looking through smoke. She was there, only she wasn’t. She used to sit and stare out the window a lot with this vacant look on her face, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I think it was her way of escaping the terrible reality she was suddenly facing. And, of course, she blamed our father for leaving.”
“That must have been awful for you and Gina.” At least, the Montgomery house had been full of people, socially prominent people her mother had invited from her clubs and political men and their wives Dad had in
vited. Of course, Rachel hadn’t really known any of them, but there’d been noise and laughter and lots of food.
“It wasn’t so bad because Gina and I were together. She was great. Even when she was really young, six or seven, she memorized all the words to the Christmas songs and we’d turn on the radio and sing along. She’d draw Mom and me little notes, first crayon pictures, later with poems she’d make up. I still have some of them in an old trunk.” He frowned as he came around from behind the tree, needing another string of lights. “You know, I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Rachel put a small rattle into Alyssa’s hand, fastening her tiny fingers around it before rising. Jack was reaching for the last string of lights when she went to him and hugged him from behind. “You’re very special, you know that?”
He turned in her arms and gave her an embarrassed smile. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He gathered her close. “It’s sort of ironic, I think, that neither of us had very many happy Christmases yet in very different ways. I used to wish for pots of money so I could get Mom back to where she used to be, and so I could make Gina happy. Your family had money yet you, and I’ll bet Christina, too, weren’t happy. Goes to show you, money’s not the answer.”
No, loving someone, being part of a real family, is, Rachel wanted to say. Instead, she kissed him ever so gently.
It was after eleven by the time the tree was completely trimmed, dinner was eaten and Alyssa was asleep in her crib. The fire was dying in the hearth but that was okay. Tonight, they sat on the couch staring at the tree, half its lights blinking pleasantly.
“That’s such a lovely angel,” Rachel said. “You really outdid yourself.” Snuggled in his arms she reached to kiss him. “Thank you for making this the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“It’s the best for me, too.” Living alone in his Los Angeles high-rise, he’d never bothered buying decorations. Often as not, on Christmas Day, he’d gone into the office to catch up on paperwork, knowing the phones wouldn’t bother him, turning down invitations that came his way. If the loneliness really got to him, he’d call Gina, who was often celebrating at a friend’s house, and talk awhile until it passed.
Rachel yawned and stretched. “It’s this country air. Makes me sleepy.” She had a thought and decided to act on it. “You know one of the reasons I settled on this house instead of the others is that big claw-footed tub in the bathroom. I think I’ll go in and take a long hot bubble bath.” Turning, she sent him a challenging look. “Want to join me?”
Jack’s eyebrows raised. “A bubble bath? They’ll take away my macho man badge.”
Laughing, Rachel got up. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass and turn in. Take your time.”
Later, relaxing in the tub amidst fragrant bubbles, Rachel gazed at the floor-length pale pink satin gown hanging on the back of the bathroom door and smiled. Packing in Chicago, she’d impulsively thrown it in her bag at the last minute, and was now glad she had.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t try to persuade Jack to remain with her. But she’d make darn sure he took away some memories that would make him miss her like hell.
Eight
A storm was brewing outside, the heavy restless clouds having drifted in stealthily all afternoon and early evening. They’d started dumping their load of snow on Whitehorn an hour ago and now, as Rachel leaned back in the tub, she heard the wind begin to moan outside the old cabin. A real test of how well the rental was insulated, Rachel thought, hoping her friend, Ruth France, had steered her right when she’d said the place was snug as a bug.
Lazily, she picked up the fragrant, soapy bath sponge and stroked it over her shoulders. She could feel the hot water doing its thing, her muscles relaxing and the tension leaving her. In Chicago, especially in winter, she’d soaked in her tub nearly every night, considering her bath a great stress reliever. She’d pinned up her hair and now lay back, letting her mind drift.
The old timbers creaked and groaned, but the curtains over the small bathroom window didn’t move, so apparently the wind wasn’t getting in. Rachel hoped the unexpected sounds wouldn’t wake Alyssa. She couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls and door, but she knew Jack would look in on the baby if she started fussing.
Some minutes later, the water had cooled and rather than add more hot, Rachel stepped out, anxious for the next act to begin. If she stayed too long, Jack would be asleep and though it might be fun to waken him, she wanted him alert and eager. Drying off with a thick towel, she smiled in anticipation.
The scented lotion was next, and she applied it liberally all over her body. The winter winds drained all the moisture from her skin, so this was a nightly ritual, too. Next she brushed her teeth, then put moisturizer on her face, smoothing it on languidly. Finally, she slipped on the gown and watched the soft material fall all the way to her ankles. It was sleeveless, the neckline forming a vee with lace folds criss-crossing over her breasts. Lastly she brushed her hair until it fell in shiny waves to her shoulders.
Ready, she told herself as she slipped her feet into pink slippers and took in a nervous breath. She wouldn’t put on her robe for it would definitely spoil the effect. She knew that in the short time they’d been together, Jack had never fallen asleep early, often reading a book in bed until she joined him.
Moving quietly, she opened the connecting door into the master bedroom and stopped in her tracks, stunned.
The room was aglow with a dozen candles of varying sizes and lengths—on the dresser, the two nightstands, a small table by the window—flickering their soft light and filling the room with their seductive scent. The big four-poster had been turned down, the spread laid carefully on the cedar chest at the foot. The pillows were fluffed and the feather bed in its pale yellow duvet was turned back invitingly. Soft music played from the small radio on the table. On one nightstand stood a bottle of wine and two glasses.
And standing alongside the bed was Jack, still fully dressed except for shoes, holding a sprig of violets in one hand.
“Oh, wow,” Rachel whispered, overwhelmed. “You’ve been busy.”
Slowly Jack walked to her. “I remember how much you like candles and romance.” He held out the tiny bouquet. “I wanted to get you a rose, but I couldn’t find a store that had any in December. I hope you like violets.”
“What I like is you,” she said, taking one step to close the gap between them. “Thank you for all this.”
“Remember, you can’t tell anyone. I’ve got this macho, hard-boiled, ex-detective image to protect.” His lips twitched as he smiled down at her.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” She smiled into his eyes, those gorgeous gold-flecked green eyes. “Looks like a seduction in the making. And here I was going to come out and ravish you.”
“We can have a mutual ravishing.” He led her over to the wine, poured, then handed her a glass before picking up his own. “To happy days,” he said, clinking his glass to hers.
Rachel sipped, enjoying the cool, tart wine as it slid down her throat. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the violets. “I think I like all this,” she confessed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been spoiled like this before. Or romanced.”
He’d thought as much, had seen the candles in the window of a shop and decided to surprise her. He gazed at her lovely face, thinking she was a woman made for romance. “There’s more.” He eased her into his arms, his eyes caressing her face. “You’re very beautiful, Rachel. I find myself wondering why no man has made you his all these years after Richard.”
“I never met a man I wanted enough to become his,” she said. Until now. Until you.
Carefully, Jack took their wineglasses and set them down, then put her violets next to the bottle. Moving close, he kissed her, letting his mouth tease hers as he eased her onto the big bed, then followed her down. He let his fingers rediscover the softness of her cheeks, tracing the area around her eyes, smoothing away the sadness th
at lingered there. He followed that journey with his lips, placing soft feather kisses. The wind outside whipped against the windows but he only heard Rachel sigh his name as her arms reached up to welcome him.
They’d both found great satisfaction in their previous bouts of wild lovemaking, but now Jack wanted to show her there was far more than frantic desire. He wanted to show her that there could be a healing pleasure that would satisfy the body and restore the soul. And he hoped it would work on both of them.
He understood how vulnerable she’d been feeling for weeks ever since returning to Montana, her father’s open hostility, her brother’s indifference, her sister’s brutal murder all taking a toll on her nerves and emotions.
So he took her hands and coaxed them to rid him of his clothes, subtly telling her that he would allow himself to be exposed and vulnerable to her. He lay back as she undressed him, her fingers at first hesitant at his belt buckle, then more bold, wordlessly communicating her pleasure at his allowing her to explore him at her leisure.
Jack felt his skin quiver as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it onto his jeans already on the floor. Slowly she ran her hands over his chest, burrowing into the hair there, then along his rib cage. Her fingers trailed to his thighs next, her nails scraping along sensitive flesh, and he moaned out loud as his body reacted. He saw a small smile of feminine satisfaction on her face as she skimmed off his briefs and threw them aside.
Her eyes locked with his as she went up on her knees on the bed and seductively ran her hands along her sides, slip-sliding on the soft shimmering satin. She reached out and pulled him up to her so they were inches apart, both kneeling, their breathing ragged and shallow with anticipation.
