by Jeanne Allan
Luke laid down his silverware and gave JJ. a dark look. “You know damned well I’m no hero. Ev and I regularly practice against each other so we don’t completely lose our skills. I’m faster than him because he’s got a bum leg. Now can we drop the subject before you ruin my dinner?”
J.J. changed the subject to Luke’s days growing up in the military. He soon had her laughing at tales of life on army bases from Hawaii to the East Coast to Europe. “Not that I remember Hawaii,” he admitted. “We moved from there before I was two. Those are stories my mom tells on me. How about you? I’ll bet you moved a lot as your family grew.”
“Wrong. My dad bought his grandparents’ house in Des Moines, Iowa. A huge, rambling, run-down Second Empire Victorian. Dad had grand plans for fixing it up in his spare time.” JJ. made a face. “As if a doctor with five kids has spare time. Family vacations consisted of short visits to relatives. My dad’s parents lived a few blocks away, and Grandma and Grandpa Daniels lived in Ames. We had cousins all over the state of Iowa.”
“Sounds like fun.”
J.J. smiled. “The grass is always greener. I longed to travel. The highlight of my youth was a trip to Kansas City. The only things well traveled about me are my ancestors. I was born and raised in Iowa, traveled some in Kansas and Nebraska and now live in Colorado. I’ve never seen an ocean.”
“You’ll have to get Alexander to take you to Europe. Maybe you can go for your honeymoon. Or to Hawaii. When will our divorce be final?”
J.J. cut the remaining pot roast on her plate into tiny, precise pieces. “Once we file a petition with the courts for dissolution of our marriage, a date may be set for the final hearing. Since I’m an attorney, things are a little more complicated than usual, even though we have no children and neither of us are contesting the divorce. The court will probably want you to have an attorney representing your interests. The minimum cooling-off period is ninety days, but we’ll be very lucky if we can get the final hearing set in under 120 days.”
“You could be dancing the hula in Waikiki by late summer. Or have you already decided where you’re going on a honeymoon?”
“No.”
“Mom told me I was conceived on an isolated beach on the island of Kauai. Maybe I ought to-ask her where so you can start the next generation of Alexanders there.”
J.J. drew in a sharp breath. “Carrie is the next generation of Alexanders.”
“I’m talking about your children.”
Mashing her carrots, J.J. stirred them into her potatoes. When Burton’s wife, Caroline, became ill, the doctor forbid her to get pregnant again. Burton thought his wife had enough to deal with, so he’d taken steps to ensure he’d father no more children. He’d suggested adoption to JJ., but she knew his heart wasn’t in it. None of which was Luke’s business. J.J. fell back on the one benefit she’d convinced herself offset a childless future. “I don’t plan to have children. They drain one’s time and energy. I want to concentrate on my career.”
“I see,” Luke said contemptuously. “Children would definitely be an encumbrance to an up and coming attorney.” He paused. “You’re right about one thing. We have absolutely nothing in common. I want a family. And I want a wife who wants one, too.”
Clenching her fists in her lap so tightly her fingernails bit into her palms, J.J. said, “I’ve never made any pretense about what I want from life. It could never be a wife like your mother. When we met, if you thought otherwise and that’s why you married me, I’m sorry.”
“At least the sex was good,” Luke said crudely.
J.J. precisely stacked her dirty dishes. “Yes.” She stood. “I found an apple pie in the freezer. Would you like a piece?”
“No.” Luke shoved back from the table. “I’m through.”
Through with dinner. Through with their sham of a marriage. Through with J.J. He didn’t love her. He loved his picture of the ideal wife. So much for her plans to seduce Luke tonight.
“I’ll phone Burton,” she said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. He can drive up and take me home.” She’d accomplished what Luke had hoped for. He could no longer stand the sight of her.
Using her spoon, J.J. extinguished the candles around the room. And wished it were as easy to extinguish the pain that shattered her heart into a million pieces.
“Gosh, J.J., I didn’t even know you were married until Daddy told me,” Carrie said as they drove away from Luke’s ranch. “A secret marriage is too cool and soooo romantic.”
J.J. could think of a lot of things to call her marriage, but romantic wasn’t one of them. An opinion obviously shared by her soon-to-be ex-husband who had not returned to the house after feeding the cattle this morning. J.J. had rejected Burton’s suggestion they wait for Luke before leaving.
The last thing she wanted was Burton’s daughter viewing J.J.’s disastrous first marriage as the world’s greatest love story. She turned to the young girl in the back seat. “Did you know a romance used to be defined as a story of a knight’s heroic adventures?” When Carrie shook her head, J.J. said, “Once when I went to visit your mom after she’d lost her hair from chemotherapy, she was modeling wigs for you and your dad and making jokes and laughing. She was very brave for you and your dad because she loved you so much. That’s my idea of romantic.”
Carrie rapidly blinked her eyes. “You think my mom was a hero?” She added in a little voice, “Me, too.”
Burton cleared his throat. “Carrie and I were up before the chickens this morning having breakfast. I thought we’d lunch in Winter Park, but maybe we can pick up some doughnuts here to stave off starvation.”
Knowing Burton’s love of pie, J.J. suggested Susan Curtis’s diner and prayed she wouldn’t find Luke there.
Susan sat behind the empty counter reading a book. “Morning.” Setting a mug in front of J.J., Susan filled it with coffee, then looked over J.J.’s shoulder. “Where’s Luke?”
“Working,” J.J. said. “I brought some friends in for pie. Burton Alexander and his daughter, Carrie. Burton, Carrie, this is Susan Curtis. I can recommend Susan’s apple pie.”
Burton read the menu of pies on the blackboard. “Banana cream for me. I haven’t had it in ages. And decaf coffee.”
“Sorry. Only two pieces of banana cream left. J.J. gets one, and the other’s spoken for.” Susan put a slice of pie in front of J.J. “Thanks for being in Birdie’s corner. When it comes to a husband abusing his wife, too many people look the other way.”
Totally at a loss for words, caused as much by Susan’s actions as by what she’d said, J.J. settled for a shrug.
“The insurance office down the street is going to be vacant next month. Ted’s closing up, said he’s taking his old bones to Arizona. I can tell him when he comes in to hold it until you look at it, J.J.” Susan added, “I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to, but you won’t need a fancy law office around here.”
J.J. took such a large swallow of coffee she scalded her mouth. “Water,” she gasped. She drank the cooling liquid while Susan waited on Burton and Carrie.
“So, Burt—I assume you go by Burt?”
“No, I answer to Burton,” he said pleasantly.
Susan raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a city boy.”
“No, a city man.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Susan leaned her elbows on the counter. “I suppose you’re rich.”
He threw her a challenging look. “I could buy and sell you.”
J.J. choked on another swallow of coffee, scarcely able to believe what was happening before her very eyes. Burton and Susan managed to load every word, every look, every gesture between them with sexual overtones. JJ. couldn’t remember ever before seeing Burton come on to a woman other than Caroline.
Susan refilled J.J.’s water glass without taking her eyes off Burton. “Married?”
Burton carved a bite of apple pie with his fork. “My wife died of cancer two years ago.”
Susan briefly touched the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry.” She turned to Carrie. “More milk?”
They were halfway to Winter Park before Burton mentioned Susan. “Nice lady. It would be interesting to know her story.”
“A drunk driver killed her husband and two little boys five years back. Three years ago she moved to North Park.”
“She seemed to think you were staying with Remington.”
“She thought wrong.”
CHAPTER TEN
BURTON stood at the window, watching the busy Friday night traffic outside J.J.’s town house. “I know I sent you up there, but I never expected this. I wish I could be sure you’re not resigning because you’re concerned about my feelings.”
J.J. moved to his side and lightly squeezed his arm. “You’re one of my dearest friends, which is why I won’t marry you, but my decision to leave the firm has nothing to do with you.”
“You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Why throw it away on a whim?”
“It’s not a whim. I hardly know how to explain it, but when Ad Parker menaced me...” JJ. barely repressed a shudder. “It was broad daylight, in the middle of town, people around, yet I felt so helpless and vulnerable. For the first time, I understood what life must be like for people such as Birdie who are victimized by those bigger or stronger than they are.”
“You can’t save all the Birdies of the world.”
“I may not even be able to save Birdie. I connected her with a domestic abuse center here in Denver, but she is going to have to make some hard choices about her future. Parker violated his restraining order and is facing charges from attacking me, but he could get off with a slap on the wrist. We both know the courts can’t guarantee Parker will never hurt Birdie again.”
“She could even return to her husband. Victims of domestic abuse frequently do.”
“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that a lot of people need someone on their side with the skills to fight for them. Maybe I can’t do much to help, but I have to try.”
“You help people at our law firm.”
“The kind of clients who come to your firm can always find help. The people I want to help need a lawyer who doesn’t intimidate them or own a desk that cost more than their house.”
“Where do you plan to practice?”
“Maybe in Denver. Maybe I’ll check around for a small town looking for an attorney. I haven’t decided yet.”
Burton turned to study the painting hanging on the wall. “I’d understand it easier if you were staying married to Remington and moving into that office Susan mentioned.”
“Don’t make me think all the gender sensitivity training I’ve lavished on you has been wasted,” JJ. teased. “Women can make decisions based on something besides a man.”
“You said you love him.” He gestured at the wall.
J.J. followed his gaze to the painting of Luke and Durango she’d splurged on. Unwisely. Hazel eyes already haunted her dreams. “Love takes two,” she said flatly.
The package, delivered Saturday by a local service, came from the art gallery whose opening had brought Luke back into her life. A tear in the brown wrapping revealed the pioneer woman’s blue bonnet. JJ. ripped away the rest of the paper.
Burton must have seen her admiring the watercolor and bought it for her as a belated birthday present. A dismaying second possibility occurred to JJ. Or for a wedding gift. He’d undoubtedly forgotten about the painting in the emotional uproar of JJ. refusing to marry him combined with her resigning from the law firm. Naturally she’d return it.
A small white envelope taped to the back of the painting caught J.J.’s eye. Removing the envelope, she propped the watercolor on her fireplace mantel and sat on the sofa, her gaze locked on the painting, her earlier pleasure in the watercolor rekindled. So much hope, strength and courage shone from the woman’s face.
JJ. opened the envelope, extracted a white card and read the few words written on it. She blinked and read them again. “To O’Brien from Luke Remington.” It wasn’t Luke’s handwriting. Someone at the gallery had written it.
J.J. studied the card as if she could ferret out its hidden meaning. Luke’s sending the painting made no sense. A man didn’t give an expensive gift to the woman he planned to divorce.
All at once the significance of the gift struck her. She looked at the watercolor again. Only this time through Luke’s eyes. Luke wouldn’t see the strength. He’d see what he wanted to see—a woman who’d followed her husband unquestioningly into the wilderness. He’d sent the painting as an insulting reminder of the kind of wife he wanted. The kind JJ. could never be. Anger, borne of hurt, boiled inside her.
J.J. crushed the card and hurled it across the room toward the fireplace. The crumpled paper bounced off the closed glass fireplace doors. Burning the card wouldn’t erase the taunt. She couldn’t bring herself to destroy the painting. She’d return it to Luke.
Personally.
The closer to Luke’s ranch she came, the more heated grew the battle JJ. waged between anger and pain. She’d loved him, trusted him, and he’d repaid her with an ugly gesture akin to thumbing his nose at her deepest feelings. If she didn’t like the watercolor too much to destroy it, she’d smash it over an arrogant, single-minded, pigheaded, self-righteous, condescending, chauvinistic head.
Driving too fast, she almost missed the turn to the ranch. Her car’s tires spun on the snow-packed road, sending the car skidding toward the ditch. Warding off disaster at the last possible moment, J.J. slowed to enter the ranch yard.
Near the barn, an older woman hefted hay bales onto the sled. Ethel must have returned. The tractor engine clattered into operation. Sunlight reflecting off the tractor’s windshield hid the driver—Jeff or Dale going out for the afternoon feeding. Stepping from the car, J.J. slammed the door. Luke must be in the barn. Before she could head in that direction, out of the corner of her eye she caught movement at his bedroom window.
Snatching the painting, J.J. charged into the house and up the stairs. She skidded to a halt as a tall, gorgeous brunette emerged from the bathroom. The woman’s damp, wavy hair hung down to the top of the brown bath towel wrapped loosely around her body. “Who are you?” J.J. blurted out. She had expected Luke to find another woman. She hadn’t expected him to find one so soon. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.
The brunette arched a well-shaped brow. “Who are you?”
“I’m Luke’s wife.”
The woman’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not what I expected,” she said in a low, husky voice edged with animosity.
J.J. preferred not to think about how Luke had described her to this woman. The watercolor pulled heavily on her arm, reminding her of the purpose of her visit. She pivoted on her heel, heading for Luke’s bedroom. Ripping off the wrapping paper, J.J. leaned the painting against the middle of the bed’s headboard.
The brunette surveyed the watercolor before casually pushing it to one side, making room for her to recline on the bed. The towel rode up, exposing the tops of long, lovely legs. “What’s with the artwork?”
“I’m returning it,” J.J. said curtly. She hated the woman. And knew the brunette had never in her life worn a business suit.
“Why? Is it Luke’s?” The woman curled Luke’s name around her tongue as if it were a decadent chocolate truffle.
“Ask Luke why. If I were you, I’d do it before I crawled between the sheets with him.” As if the woman hadn’t already crawled there.
“Honey, you’re not me.”
Someone ought to choke the fake Southern drawl out of the woman. J.J. bared her teeth in a malicious smile. “A fact Luke will regret each and every time he makes love to you.”
The brunette gave J.J. a startled look, then started giggling. At JJ.’s outraged look, the giggles turned to laughter.
J.J. wheeled. Gales of hilarity followed her from the room, down the stairs and out the front door. Fighting back tears, J.J. ran for her car.
“O’Brien!” Luke’s clarion
yell came from the barn.
JJ. didn’t break stride. Whipping around the tractor lumbering across the ranch yard, she raced toward her car. The stupid door wouldn’t open. She pulled and yanked and beat on the handle until it dawned on her she’d automatically locked it when she got out, forgetting she wasn’t in the city. Fumbling with her key, J.J. opened the door and scrambled in behind the steering wheel. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed Luke running toward her. She couldn’t face him. Not when he had a woman in his bedroom. The car balked at starting, but finally the engine caught. J.J. took another quick peek in the mirror. Luke was still too far away to reach her.
Remembering her earlier skid on the icy snow, she gave the car as much gas as she dared and carefully made her way toward the gate. Half her mind on her driving, the other half trying to convince herself she didn’t care if Luke slept with most of the beautiful women in Colorado, J.J. failed to see the tractor bearing down on her until the roar of the huge machine forcibly alerted her to its presence.
A man she’d never seen gestured from the tractor for her to pull over. Shaking her head, J.J. steered straight ahead. At the Stirling gate, the sharp turn onto the road forced her to reduce speed, and the tractor closed the distance between them. Slowly, almost gently, mimicking Durango moving a cow, the tractor driver hazed J.J.’s car into a bank of snow.
Stuck solid, the car refused to budge. J.J. turned it off, wrenched open the door and stormed back to the tractor as its engine died away. Ignoring the cold snow invading her shoes, she shouted up to the driver. “What are you, some kind of raving maniac? Get my car out of there right now, you stupid jerk.”
The man looked down his nose at her. “Don’t you scream at me like that, young lady. I’m General—”
