by Loree Lough
“You wouldn’t kill me to get Liam,” he said, and seeing the mischievous grin that lifted one corner of her mouth, added, “would you?”
Narrowing her eyes, Jaina wiggled her brows. Smiling gently, she reached across the table and touched her index fingertip to his forehead. “That’s for me to know,” she said, her thumb cocking a pretend gun, “and you to find out.”
“Wow,” he said, laughing. “I can’t remember when I’ve last heard that ‘me to know’ line. Not since third grade, I’ll bet.”
“‘You make me feel so young,’” she sang, forefingers waving in the air.
His smile diminished a little in response to her singing. It had lasted a second, perhaps less, but it had been enough to make him want to hear more. He could almost picture her, microphone in hand, eyes closed, standing in the spotlight and crooning a ballad. “So tell me,” he asked, nonchalantly picking up the letter, “how’s my little man today?”
“Terrific. Did I tell you he’s learned to stand?”
“That must be a sight,” he said, sliding Kirstie’s note from its envelope.
She scooted her chair back. “He uses the coffee table for balance, gets into a standing position, like this.” Jaina stood beside the table, oblivious to the curious glances of nearby diners, spread her feet shoulder-width apart and assumed the position. “His arms go up and down like he’s going to take off, then he leans forward, bobbles back and forth, side to side, and plop!” Air whooshed from the cushion as she landed on the seat of her chair. “Good thing his bottom is well padded!”
Jaina lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “I declare, you just gotta love him!”
Unfolding Kirstie’s letter, he wondered what it would feel like to have her saying that about him. “What do you think…should I read this before or after we eat?”
“Maybe it’d be best if you waited.” She inclined her head, studying his face for a moment. “You don’t seem like the type who has a weak stomach, but…”
He returned the letter to its envelope. “As my old granny used to say, I’m as strong as an ox.”
Jaina clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Is she still with you?”
Connor shook his head, then took a sugar packet from the tray on the table and folded all four corners down. “No. She died when I was about twelve.”
“Any grandparents left at all?”
He unfolded the corners. “Nope.” And meeting her eyes, he asked, “You?”
“I’m afraid it’s just my parents and me.”
He folded the corners in the opposite direction. “No siblings?”
“Mom has a heart condition. She didn’t find out until she was in labor with me. From what I hear, the delivery nearly killed her. The doctors told her if she got pregnant again, that’d be the end of her.” Jaina took a deep breath, staring out the window for a moment. “So she had her tubes tied, and that was that.”
He shook his head. “That’s too bad. Would your parents have wanted any more kids?”
Jaina met his eyes. “Dad wanted four, she wanted six. The thing was, they’d have needed ten kids in order for both of them to get their way.”
She smiled, but it never quite made it to her eyes, he noticed. Something dark and sad glittered in the brown orbs, something akin to bitterness.
“Yeah, it would have been nice to have brothers and sisters,” Jaina admitted. “But my mother’s alive, and so far she’s healthy.” She swirled the clear plastic straw around in her tea, setting the ice cubes to tinkling against the glass. “I used to think I’d like four or five myself.”
Her long lashes, dusting her cheeks as she stared into her drink, reminded him of the woolly caterpillars that appear in the fall, signaling winter’s approach. “Used to?”
Jaina stared into the whirlpool she’d created in the tumbler. A spark—anger? regret?—glittered hard and cold in her usually warm eyes. “Things happen, you know? If you don’t go with them, they’ll knock you flat.”
And you know something about that, don’t you? It took all the strength he could muster not to leap from his chair and wrap her in a big protective hug. His heart ached for her, for all she’d suffered and survived, because good people like Jaina shouldn’t have to endure such hardship.
“So, are you folks ready to order?” The waitress stood beside the table, looking from Connor to Jaina, order pad in one hand, ballpoint poised in the other.
Connor’s eyes never left Jaina’s. “Two crab cake platters. Broiled, not fried. And onion rings instead of French fries.”
“Need refills on your tea?”
He continued staring into Jaina’s face. “Sure.”
“Back in a jiff,” she said, and left them again.
Something told Connor to fold his hands on the table, the way his fifth-grade teacher had taught him, to keep him from fiddling with his pen or the corners of his textbook. But he didn’t listen to the warning. Instead, he reached out and grasped Jaina’s hand, then gave it a gentle squeeze. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do because he couldn’t very well admit that he’d found out what she’d lived through and admired her for it. Maybe someday…but not yet.
He half expected her to withdraw her hand and tuck it out of sight in her lap. Jaina surprised him by placing her free hand atop his, effectively sandwiching his hands between her own. Smiling sweetly, she gave his knuckles an affectionate little pat, and he read it as a silent thanks for his understanding.
Her fingers felt smooth, cool, soothing, against his skin. He wanted to rest the fingertips of his other hand on her delicate wrist, walk them up her slender arm and pull her close, closer, until he could press a kiss to those smiling lips.
As if she could read his mind, her lips spread into a wide grin. “You’re good, Buchanan. I’ll give you that much.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Good? Good at what?”
She arched a brow and tilted her head, before shooting a taunting glance his way. “Distractions are probably very influential with members of a jury, but they’re not quite so effective with the unsequestered.”
One corner of his mustached mouth rose. “I don’t get it.”
The warm light in her brown eyes cooled. “Romancing me isn’t the answer. I love him, and if I have to, I’ll fight for him.”
He’d been so lost in the moment, he hadn’t caught her meaning until now. Then, as understanding dawned, he tightened his grip slightly and asked softly, “What makes you think I’m romancing you?”
Jaina’s heart thundered suddenly in response to his question. The challenge in his words was matched only by the impact of his intense gaze. She withdrew her hands, hid them in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That was out of line.”
Connor crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She tried but couldn’t make sense of the peculiar expression that had hardened his features. She watched him pick up the envelope, then pretend to be engrossed in the postmark.
“So, Kirstie’s still in Milwaukee, I see.”
Unable to speak, Jaina only nodded. She’d grown accustomed to keeping an arm’s length from men. Pulling away had become a knee-jerk reaction. Clothing hid her scars, but she was aware of them always, and could feel them even through bulky sweaters. If she let a man hold her hand, he might think it was all right to pull her into a casual hug. What if, as his fingers rested on the small of her back and his thumbs pressed against her stomach, he felt the scars? Jaina didn’t know what she’d do if she read disgust—or worse, revulsion—on his face.
Keeping a safe emotional distance served another purpose. People tended not to look too closely at folks they didn’t care about; if she let a man into her heart, he might just see everything else.
But she hadn’t withdrawn from Connor’s touch. Hadn’t wanted to, and that surprised her. It was something she’d give some careful thought to at home later, when she was alone….
“Here ya
go,” the waitress sang out, depositing their plates in front of them. “Ketchup? Mustard?”
“None for me,” Connor said. “Jaina?”
“No thanks.” Jaina smiled up at the woman.
“Okay, well, just flag me if you want to see the dessert menu.”
Their eyes locked as they replied in perfect harmony, “Just coffee, please.”
The waitress gave them her best “the customer is always right” smile and walked away.
They made small talk as they dined, discussing everything from the weather to the high cost of living in Howard County, Maryland. Connor finished eating first, and the way he laid his knife and fork on his plate reminded her of the ceremony made famous by naval academy cadets. They’d stand facing one another, sabers crossed high as a newly married fellow student and his bride walked beneath the shimmering steel archway. Marriage? What was she doing thinking about marriage?
They were on their second cup of coffee before Connor picked up the envelope again. “Well,” he breathed, “here goes. Shall I read it aloud?”
She shook her head. “I’ve read it a dozen times already. I’ll just take this opportunity to find the ladies’ room.”
A gentleman to the hilt, he half stood as she rose from her chair. “Don’t be long,” he said, nodding toward the letter. “I might need you to hold my hand.”
He wasn’t kidding. She could see genuine apprehension in his blue eyes. “You know,” she said, sitting down again, “I think I’ll just take advantage of Miss Manners’s newest rule and reapply my lipstick right here at the table.” She slid a compact from her purse, popped open the lid and glanced into its small oval mirror. “Well, what do you think of that?” She snapped it shut again. “I don’t need a touch-up after all.”
The look of relief on his face sent her heart into over-drive. Jaina didn’t know how to react to that, either, and hid her surprise by pretending to sip coffee from the thick earthenware mug.
She sat back and watched him scan the neatly penned lines of Kirstie’s letter. For some time now, she’d been questioning her feelings for him. Did she think of him nearly every hour of the day—and quite a few hours of the night—because he might take Liam away from her? Or was the baby’s delighted reaction to him the reason Connor seemed to be constantly on her mind? Were the memories of his compassionate reaction to her dizzy spell in his office what prompted the soft sighs and the quickened heartbeat that accompanied thoughts of him, or had remembering the way he’d clowned for the baby caused the response?
How do you feel about him?
She’d posed the question at least a thousand times in the weeks since Kirstie left Liam at The Chili Pot. If he truly was everything he appeared to be—warm, thoughtful, caring of his nephew—she could love him. But if he was the kind of man who could take Liam from her…
Chin resting in her palm, she’d been staring out the window, only half-seeing the people who sauntered past the restaurant. The sound of rustling paper roused her from her reverie, and she glanced up in time to see Connor struggling to stuff the letter back into its envelope.
Was that a tear in his eye? And was she mistaken or had his lower lip trembled?
Yes, the content of his niece’s letter had obviously moved him deeply. His valiant effort to hide his emotions moved her. Dozens of times, her mother had said, “A man wears pride like a badge of courage.” Jaina averted her gaze so that when he looked her way, he wouldn’t know she’d seen his moment of vulnerability. He’d likely view it as a moment of weakness; she’d seen it as proof of his capacity to love.
Love.
It explained everything, including the question she’d asked herself a thousand times.
And created a list of new questions yet to be asked.
Chapter Seven
Connor walked Jaina to her car, relieved her of the keys, and unlocked it. After climbing inside, he revved the motor and turned the air conditioner to full blast. “Keep me company for a few minutes while it cools down in there,” he said, slamming the door.
Because she’d hoped there would be a reason to extend their time together, she didn’t bother to remind him that her car’s air conditioner had been on the blink. She felt safe and protected in his company. Strange, since he was the one person who could do her the most harm. She leaned back on the sedan’s fender and glanced up. “Looks like rain. I sure hope the weather does whatever it’s going to do tonight. I’d hate to see the Fourth of July festivities get washed out.”
“Me, too. I’ve never had a red, white and blue breakfast.”
Laughing, she said, “Mother Nature can control the parade and the fireworks, but she can’t dictate what I’ll do in my very own kitchen!”
“Seven at the latest? Rain or shine?”
Crossing her arms in front of her, Jaina gave an assertive nod. “Yep.”
Connor shrugged out of his suit coat, hooked the collar on a forefinger and slung it over his shoulder. “I didn’t figure you for a four-door kind of girl,” he said, patting her car’s roof.
“What sort of girl did you figure me for?”
“I dunno. I guess I saw you in something sporty and low-slung, with a convertible top. Or maybe one of those four-wheel-drive things.”
Almost from the day she got her learner’s permit, she’d wanted a shiny red four-wheel-drive vehicle. “And why’s that?”
He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. “Because you seem too easygoing, too down-to-earth for a sedate sedan.”
Connor draped the jacket over his forearm and began unbuttoning one shirt cuff. The coat nearly slid to the pavement several times before Jaina intervened. “Funny you should mention that,” she said nonchalantly, neatly folding the sleeve back once, twice, then smoothing it. “I’ve always wanted a Jeep. Or one of those goofy-looking things the army guys drive.”
“A Hummer?”
“Right!” She unbuttoned his other cuff. “The only thing I like better than off-roading is horseback riding…mainly because it’s quieter.”
“Horseback riding, eh?”
“If I do say so myself, I was quite the little equestrian when I was a girl.”
“Did you compete?”
She breathed an indignant huff. “You mean, you didn’t see the trophy on the mantel in my living room?”
“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “I must have missed it.”
“I don’t see how.” She finished rolling the second sleeve. “It’s three feet high.” She patted the cuff. “All set!”
The tawny mustache tilted above a rakish smile. “Thanks. You’re a natural-born caretaker, aren’t you?”
Jaina didn’t know if it was the weather or his compliment that sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. She tore her gaze from his blue-eyed admiration, pretended to be interested in the sidewalk sale in front of a shop up the street. “I wonder if they still have that sideboard?” she said. “I’ve been drooling over it for ages. It’d be perfect for my front hall. Every now and then I check to see if the price has dropped.”
His grin broadened. “Let’s check it out.” He reached into the car, turned off the motor, then he gestured for her to lead the way.
Jaina had never liked walking in front of anyone because it only called attention to her limp. She would have said Connor hadn’t noticed it, but he’d asked if she’d sprained her ankle that day as she left his office. Either he didn’t mind it, or he was one fine actor!
They walked side by side in companionable silence until they reached the storefront, where Jaina continued her charade of being interested in the items on display. “I have a set of these,” she said, pointing to the spire-shaped salt and pepper shakers. “They don’t hold much, but they look so pretty when the table’s all set for dinner.”
“They’d look great in your house.”
“My apartment, you mean.”
“No. I mean your house. The one in all your paintings.”
Her flush deepened. “Good grief. You notice
d them?” She hid her face behind her hands. “It was a birthday surprise. Mom hung them all up one day while I was at the market.” Jaina came out of hiding to add, “It’s embarrassing as can be, but what could I say after she’d gone to all that trouble?”
“Embarrassing? I think they’re very good.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please.” And then, “Funny how therapeutic something like painting can be when…” A hard little laugh punctuated her unfinished sentence. “I’d never picked up a paintbrush before…” She shook her head, then started again. “Before I knew it, I was surrounded by paintings. Big ones, small ones, rectangles and squares and ovals…” She laughed softly. “I used to watch that guy on PBS. You know the one…with the bushy red hair?”
“‘And a happy little tree lives right here,’” Connor said in a perfect imitation of the television artist.
“That’s the one!” She giggled. Sighed. “I’d stand there watching him, trying my best to duplicate whatever he was working on that day.” She shook her head and gave a wry little smile. “Strange the way that house popped up in everything I did.”
“Not so strange. It’s your dream house, isn’t it?”
One hand flew to her throat. How did he know that? And then it dawned on her. “My mother talks too much sometimes.”
“Funny thing,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “how much that house looks like mine.”
“You have a dream house, too?” she blurted.
“I don’t know how dreamy it is, but it’s where I live.”
Jaina gasped. “You live…you live in a house like the one in my paintings?”
Connor nodded. “Wanna see it?”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“Well…well,” she stammered, “for starters, I thought you had to attend some kind of hearing this afternoon.”
He glanced at his watch. Frowned. “I’ve got exactly twenty minutes to get back to the office, pick up the files and head over to the courthouse.”
“Well, then,” she said, smiling, “you’d better get a move on.”
