"He's interested in you," Peter said, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.
She shrugged. She hadn't dated Mitch seriously for the same reason she dated few men more than once. She couldn't risk that sort of bond in her life right now, couldn't risk the kind of pain it was sure to bring.
"So what's your type if it isn't Mitch?"
"I don't have a type." Crossly, she noted that her heart was racing again, and that all it had taken was a look from Peter's eyes.
"Tall, short, blonde, or dark?"
"My type is men who don't ask questions they have no business asking."
"Everything about you is my business."
"What do you mean?"
"For the moment you've got my baby. I want to know who you are."
"The same holds true for me." She looked at him appraisingly. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Although, surely if he did, he wouldn't have kissed her.
"What makes you think I'm not married?"
The beating of her heart seemed to stop with a thump. Impossible to imagine him forever joined to another woman, one, who if Peter won, would become the mother of her child.
What sort of woman would she be? Dark like Peter or blonde in striking contrast? Would she be petite and in need of protection, or tall and slimly elegant? And would her voice echo Peter's flawlessly enunciated Boston accent?
Then Jann felt relief as the realization hit her. "If you were married you would have said so. If you were married you wouldn't have kissed me."
"Plenty of married men kiss other women," he replied, in a voice so bitter it cut the air between them.
"Not you," she said, with a certainty that stunned.
"What makes you think so?"
She shook her head, unwilling to speak her thoughts out loud, that when this man married it would be a union that would last forever.
"You still haven't said if you have a girlfriend or not." She needed to turn the conversation away from talk of wedded bliss.
"Applying for the position?" he asked, a grin streaking his lips.
"Never!" The very notion rendered her dizzy. "But answer my question."
"No girlfriend at the moment."
He looked the sort of man who wouldn't be alone long, who had only to click his fingers to render the female of the species weak. But he was not the sort of man she could ever allow herself to fall in love with.
"Why this sudden interest in my love life?" he asked.
"I'm just trying to figure out who you are."
"Have you come to any conclusions?"
"Some."
"Tell me," he ordered, touching her arm. Then he wished he hadn't asked her. It shouldn't matter what this woman thought. He couldn't let it matter.
"Claire told me you were away traveling a lot of the time," Jann replied, not answering his question at all.
"Off and on," he said. Two could play the evasive game. "What about you? Do you like to travel?"
"I would love to give it a try, but I've never been any place but here."
"Where would you like to go?" He tried not to notice the way her face lit up, with a glow independent of the flickering candle on their table.
"Anywhere," she breathed.
"Miami?" he asked. "The French Riviera?" That's where his mother had gone, before she'd become enmeshed in the counter culture sweeping America, before telling Peter's father that their marriage vows were old-fashioned and that she was a free spirit.
"No," Jann answered definitely. "I want to go somewhere more interesting, somewhere out of the way."
Her eyes were glowing now, also, in a way he'd never seen.
"Like South America or Africa," she continued dreamily. Then she looked at him curiously. "Have you been there?"
"Yes." He fought to banish the sudden image of her striding through an African village, of being surrounded at a riverside by a splashing group of black-eyed children. "You'd love it," he said.
"Like you do?"
"Yes."
"If travel means so much to you, then why do you want Alex? How will a baby fit into your life?"
"I'll make him fit."
She laughed. "It's been my experience," she said, trying to form the words between hiccups of mirth, "that babies make you fit them, not the other way around." Then her expression sobered. "What's a bachelor like you going to do with a baby?"
"Don't worry about how I'll do it. Just trust that I will."
"I don't trust you, any more than Claire did."
"Then you'll have to learn." Hurt spiraled through him at the mention of his sister, how she'd never know now just how much he had loved her, and how their connection as children would never extend to adulthood.
"I don't have to learn anything," Jann replied stubbornly.
"I'd like to take Alexander out tomorrow," Peter said, changing the subject.
"That's not a good idea."
"What do you mean?"
"He's getting too used to you."
"He trusts me, you mean." Sharp pleasure went through him at the thought, was dulled only in the knowledge the woman opposite didn't feel it too.
"Used to you," she repeated, her lower lip trembling as though she feared his words were true. "I don't want him getting used to someone who will soon disappear."
"I wouldn't worry about that."
For a long moment she looked at him then said with a sigh, "I guess he can go. But not without me."
"I wouldn't dream of taking him without you." Peter felt strangely lighthearted. Was it due to the notion of sharing the day with Claire's child, or the fact that Jann would be there as well? It had to be the first, for the second was impossible.
"Where will we go?" she asked.
"I was thinking perhaps a picnic."
"A picnic!"
"You know, cold chicken, chocolate cake, a bottle of wine."
"I know what a picnic is."
"Then say yes. It'll be fun."
"Fun?"
The expression on her face told him he was suggesting the unattainable, that nothing had been fun since he'd put in his claim for Alex. Perhaps she didn't feel what he felt when they were together, and if that was the case, then he should feel relieved.
He couldn't risk caring for a woman like Jann, a woman who lived on a boat and took pictures for a living. She might claim she loved Alex now, but how would she feel in six months when the child was bigger, more demanding?
When he got in the way of her independent life?
As he and Claire had got in the way of their mother's new life. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He had to take Claire's baby. Anything else was unthinkable.
"When will we go?" Jann asked.
"I'll pick you both up at ten."
"I'm busy in the morning. Better make it the afternoon."
She was wearing her stubborn look again.
"And I don't need anyone to pick me up," she went on firmly. "Alex and I will come for you."
"You have no car," he objected.
"I have access to one when I need it," she replied airily. "We'll pick you up at noon."
Chapter 8
"Please, Capt'n," Jann wheedled. "You know you promised I could borrow your van if I ever needed it."
Capt'n's gray brows beetled fiercely at her. "That was before you stripped out second gear, girl."
"John Miller!" Ruby exclaimed. "Just listen to yourself blaming Jann for that gear." She snorted in disgust. "You know very well you stripped it yourself. You were so busy cursing out the driver in front of you, you paid no attention to your own business." She turned to Jann. "His teeth were grinding together so fiercely it was impossible to tell which noise was louder, the one coming from his mouth or the one from the transmission!"
Jann stifled a giggle by planting a kiss onto Alex's hair.
"Damn it, Ruby," Capt'n protested, "I thought we agreed to forget about that."
"Lend Jann the car and we might," Ruby placed her hands on her hips and stared at him sternly.
"Har
umph." Capt'n turned his back on her and slapped a streak of brown stain across Windward's wooden deck. "The keys are hanging inside the door," he added gruffly.
"Thanks, Capt'n," Jann said, plopping a swift peck also on his weathered cheek.
"Now, girl..." He rubbed his cheek, trying, without success, to erase the smile lifting his lips. "Just be careful with it," he blustered.
"Aye, aye, Capt'n," Jann said, shifting Alex to her other arm and saluting smartly. She took the keys from Ruby's outstretched hand and pressed a kiss onto her cheek. "Thanks, Ruby," she whispered.
* * *
The doorman was too well trained to even blink when the Capt'n's van sputtered up between the marble pillars of the hotel entrance. But before the doorman could reach the door, Peter had wrenched it open.
"You have got to be joking," he said.
"Joking?" Jann opened her eyes wide. "About what?"
"This death trap you call a vehicle."
"This is a vintage Volkswagen." She lovingly stroked the vehicle's steering wheel. "It was at Woodstock."
"Attending a rock concert decades in the past does not speak well for reliability," Peter contested grimly.
"Volkswagens are like wine," Jann countered. "They improve with age."
"Or turn to vinegar and this bucket of bolts appears to be doing the latter. I won't allow my nephew to ride in a car that's about to break down."
"So how did you get around in New Guinea," she asked. "From the documentaries I've seen on television the mode of transport there appeared to be pick-up trucks." She leaned toward him and smiled. "With the most people possible jammed in the back."
"That was then. This is now."
But she could see his lips were twitching. Stifling her own grin, she twisted the knob on the glove compartment, and reached inside.
"Would this help you feel more comfortable?" She pulled out a gold medal and dangled it in front of his face.
Slowly, Peter reached for it. "First," he read aloud, "in the First Annual Cross Oahu Race." Disbelief flickered across his face. "You expect me to be impressed by speed?"
"Isn't that the standard most men go by?"
"Not this man," Peter muttered, peering into the back where Alex cooed peacefully at him from behind the plastic steering wheel attached to his car seat.
"John worked for an entire year on this car," Jann went on. "The engine runs like a dream. Not a sputter, not a knock, nothing that shouldn't be there is there. He's an engineer for God's sake."
"That doesn't mean he's a mechanic!"
"He's more of a mechanic than you or I!"
Peter glared at her, then the earlier twitching of his lips turned into a laugh. "All right," he capitulated, climbing into the front beside her, "we'll risk your chariot."
* * *
The food, at least, looked wonderful, Jann decided, glad she had insisted on providing the picnic. Peter had paid for the dinner the night before, squelching her protest that they split the cost. At least now she would no longer be beholden to this man who could control her fate.
She pulled out some ripe bananas from the bottom of her shopping bag and laid them on a spot not already taken up. She'd bought too much, she decided with a sigh. A common occurrence whenever she went to the market.
The fresh fruit and vegetables always called to her like sirens called sailors, and proved irresistible in their glistening coats. She'd bought a pineapple as well as the bananas, and mangoes, too, from old Sarah's fruit stand, and still-warm baguettes from Francoise's stall.
The French woman had looked at her curiously when Jann purchased a triangle of the stall's best brie and thin slivers of Canadian smoked salmon. She'd even asked what the occasion was. But Jann had simply smiled and said she, Alex and a friend were taking a picnic to the Polynesian Cultural Center.
It might be too much, but it was a picnic fit for a king, Jann decided, well contented with the spread. Even a rich man from Boston would find no cause for complaint. Although to be fair, after the initial protest against Jann's van, Peter had been a good sport. When the Volkswagen stalled at a stop light, he'd merely looked at her with an I-told-you-so grin and slipped out quietly to check under the hood.
"Needs a tune-up, maybe," Jann had muttered as they'd peered into the engine together, and later, after Peter had fiddled with this belt and that clamp, she had held her breath as she turned the key in the ignition. His tinkering worked. Without a single hesitation the engine turned over and idled smoothly.
She had exaggerated a little about the vehicle's capabilities. She hadn't told Peter there had been only three entries in the race, or that it had begun as a joke between old friends. Two other retirees had bought claptrap old wrecks about the same time as John and they'd laughingly challenged each other to a race.
One year later, when the cars were fixed up, the Cross Oahu race was born. To the amazement of all, John had come in first, a fact of which he was inordinately proud, and about which Ruby teased him unmercifully.
Jann glanced at Peter watching a Cultural Center performer crack open a coconut on the tip of a stake. Only he wasn't looking at the demonstration. He was concentrating instead on the baby in his arms.
"Lunch is ready," she called, restraining her impulse to dash forward and snatch her baby away. Claire's brother was becoming so comfortable with Alex, and Alex was comfortable too. Like the perfect father and son. A family. Jann's pulse thudded against her temple. They were a family without her.
"Everything looks wonderful," Peter said, turning at her call and approaching the picnic table. He reached out his hand and snagged a skewer of pineapple from the fruit platter.
"You sound surprised."
"Not at all."
Something in his tone warmed her, and the warmth was frightening, too, making her long to run towards him and at the same time run away. "I need Alex's car seat," she said breathlessly. "I'll just go get it."
"What do we need it for?"
"Alex can sit in it while we eat."
"I'll hold him."
"No."
His brows lifted inquiringly. "Then I'll get the car seat for you."
"No," she said again, managing with effort to keep her voice level. She turned and moved in the direction of the car park, needing to be away from him for a few moments to keep her thoughts at bay.
He caught up to her and placed his hand on her arm, slowing her, stopping her. Her turmoil increased.
"We'll all go," he said firmly.
She nodded reluctantly, and together they walked out through the Cultural Center's gates.
"So," he began, as they wove between the parked cars, "are you having fun yet?"
"How can I have fun?" She was too aware of him as usual and overwhelmed by his presence.
"Why can't you?"
"Because nothing has changed. No matter how normally we try to behave, how many dinners we have out, picnics we conjure up, or trips to the zoo, we're still in the same place." The pulse hammering her temples increased to a pounding. "We both still want the same thing but both of us can't have what we want."
"That's true," he admitted slowly, "but I was hoping you were beginning to see that Alex will be happy with me."
She didn't want to even look at Alex, couldn't bear to see more evidence that what Peter said was true, couldn't bear either the thought of Alex leaving. When had she become so attached to this child? The first moment she saw him, she realized with despair.
"In other words," she said starkly, "you win and I lose."
"I wouldn't put it like that."
"There's no other way to put it." She turned away, desperate to hide the moisture gathering in her eyes, not wanting to look weak when she needed to be strong. Swiftly, she moved the last few steps to the van.
"Wait!" Peter cried, catching up with her as she jerked open the door. Juggling Alex in his arms, he pulled her around so that all she could see now was his face. "It's time to face facts," Peter said brusquely, but the eyes staring into her
s were gentle.
"What facts?"
"It's time to give Alexander up."
"Why?" she demanded, resisting the urge to snatch her baby from him. "So you can catch the plane tomorrow and take Alex with you? No more time wasted. Everything tidy and as it should be." She glared at him over Alex's head. "That's not going to happen."
"I want this to be easier for you."
"You just want it easier for yourself."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Then leave my baby be."
"I can't," he said. "Surely you can see that."
She could see it and that's what made it all so difficult. If Claire's brother loved his nephew even half as much as she, he would never give up his quest.
"I'll have to stay here until you change your mind," he said, handing Alex to her then reaching past her to lift Alex's car seat from the van. With his movement, he was close to her, could feel her breath upon his neck. He clenched his jaw, determined to resist the call her body made to his.
"Have you considered Alex in all of this?" She stepped away from him as she spoke, as if she, too, felt the call.
The loss of her nearness was both a sorrow and a relief. "Alex is the only one I am considering," he said gruffly. Now that Claire was dead, he couldn't allow himself to think of anyone else, couldn't continue to be attracted to this woman who had been Claire's friend.
"A baby needs a mother."
Her voice was so low it almost disappeared, as the life died in her eyes when he spoke of taking Alex. He tried to harden his heart, tried not to care. For Alexander's sake and for his own.
"Mothers aren't always what they appear," he said tightly.
"What do you mean?" She drew herself up, her hair around her head now a bristling halo of indignation.
It seemed suddenly as if there was a wall between them, that if he reached for her the wall would be palpable to the touch. Was it an aura he was seeing? Was he starting to think as she thought now? If he stayed in her company much longer, would he, too, believe in crystals and the power of the spirit.
As his mother had believed. Or so she had said.
Old age hippie, new age free spirit. Not a speck of difference between them as far as he could see. Though in his opinion, his mother had come too late to the movement, wasn't really interested in the hope and innocence of that era, wanted nothing to do with the peace and justice issues. She wanted only the freedom to indulge in her own desires.
A Woman's Heart Page 8
