His expression was one of amazement as he stood in the doorway and glanced around the kitchen. She’d been up cleaning the room since well before dawn. After five hours of tossing and turning, she’d needed something to do. The hardwood floors were swept clean, the butcher-block counters and iron sink spotless.
“Mornin’,” he said.
It was a cautious greeting. Good, she thought. After the way he’d kissed her, then left her standing alone last night, he’d better be cautious. She hated the fact that even now her knees were weak and her hands were trembling. “Morning.”
He moved slowly into the room, obviously testing the waters. “Is that bacon or sausage I smell?”
She shut the oven door, but kept the pot holder in her hand so she’d have something to hold on to. “Both.”
Both? Dylan couldn’t believe it. How angry could Jessica be with him if she’d prepared such a lavish breakfast? If anything, he’d expected a cool nod as she handed him his walking papers.
Could he have misread her response to him last night? he wondered. She’d clung to him, as eager for him as he was for her. All night he kept hearing that soft little moan of hers. Needless to say, it had been a hard night.
He watched her calmly pour a cup of steaming coffee into a mug. Maybe the kiss hadn’t meant anything to her, after all, he thought with more irritation than he understood. Hell, if she could dismiss it so easily, then so could he. It was nothing. A simple kiss. No big deal.
Okay, so fine. It certainly made life easier. He was glad that Jessica was a woman who didn’t overreact. Now he could enjoy his breakfast and forget about last night. Good.
“Sugar?”
He glanced at her. “Excuse me?”
“You want sugar or cream?” she asked.
“Oh.” He shook his head. “No. Just black, thanks.”
She set the coffee on the table and gestured for him to sit. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, but several strands had pulled loose and circled her flour-smudged heart-shaped face. The white chef’s apron she wore over her jeans and blue plaid shirt looked as if she’d been cooking for a week.
Unbidden, desire flared, and he quickly shoved it back down. It wasn’t as if she was wearing silk or lace, for God’s sake, but he still couldn’t remember when a woman had ever looked sexier.
“You got this old stove working by yourself?” he asked, forcing his mind in another direction.
Jessica turned back to the stove. “After I cleaned out the chimney flue and found some firewood.”
She must have been up hours ago to have accomplished all she had and fixed breakfast, also. He felt a pang of guilt for forcing her into cooking, but tamped down the feeling when his stomach growled. After all, a man had to eat. And the incredible aromas of bacon, fresh-baked biscuits and coffee had his mouth watering already.
He noticed she had only one place set. “You aren’t eating?”
She took the biscuits out of the oven and set them on the table, then lifted a cast-iron frying pan off the stove and moved beside him. “I don’t normally eat breakfast. Eggs?”
He smiled broadly. “Thanks.”
She scooped up a ladleful and slapped it on his plate.
His smile froze as he stared at the unrecognizable yellow and gray lumps.
“They started off fried,” she said, “went to scrambled and ended up foozled.”
His smile began to fade. “Foozled?”
“Foozled. You know, whatever.”
He watched as she dropped something dark brown and round beside the eggs. It hit the plate like a rock. In fact, Dylan thought, it looked like a rock. What he thought might be bacon came next, but there were too many small black pieces to be sure.
“I haven’t quite gotten used to the temperature control,” she said casually. “But for my first attempt, I think it’s pretty good.”
Pretty good? She wasn’t serious. She couldn’t be. She waved a hand at him. “Go on,” she said, “don’t be shy.”
He decided to start with a biscuit. They looked safe, anyway. He reached for one. It was hot and steaming as he took a bite.
And nearly broke a tooth.
“I burned the first two batches,” she said. “I guess the third time’s a charm.”
He managed to gnaw off a small bite. It had all the charm and chewability of a fence post. “Something wrong?” she asked sweetly as he attempted to chew.
He shook his head and reached for his coffee. The hot liquid might soak the hard chunk in his mouth enough so he could swallow. He took a sip, then froze.
Mistake. Big mistake.
Mouth full, unable to speak, he narrowed his eyes and stared at Jessica. She stared back innocently.
Enough was enough.
Jessica saw the fury building in Dylan’s eyes, but she was having too much fun to care. Cheeks puffed out, he slammed both hands on the table and stood. She moved out of the way when he walked to the counter. She bit the side of her mouth to keep from laughing when he spit the coffee and biscuit into the sink.
“Really, Dylan.” She folded her arms. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
He reached for a cup in the cupboard and poured water into it from a carafe of water sitting on the counter. He rinsed his mouth and spit again, grounds filling the sink.
“My survival depended on it,” he returned sharply, spitting several more times.
“It was a little strong, I admit, but you’re exaggerating.”
“I’ve seen tar pits that weren’t as thick as what I just drank.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and grimaced.
She was loving every minute of this. Dylan, however, was growing angrier by the minute. “I’ll get better, I’m sure. A little practice is all I need.”
“Not on me, you don’t. You’ve done enough experimenting for one day.” He stalked over to her, his gaze leveled dangerously on her. “Or maybe this is payback for last night, Jessica,” he said deeply.
Her heart began to thud heavily against her ribs. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down from his steady gaze. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” He leaned close and she caught the scent of him, a mixture of soap and man. Her chest felt tight. Her skin felt tight.
“Maybe that kiss rattled you more than you want to admit,” he said, “so you decided to poison me.”
Dylan’s eyes darkened and he moved closer still. She held her breath, angry with herself because she wanted him to touch her as much as she wanted him to pull away.
He stopped within inches of her, then reached around her, grabbed a biscuit and threw it to Hannibal. The dog picked it up, tossed it around in his jaws a few times, then dropped it back on the floor with a clunk.
She lifted a brow. “Don’t say one word, Dylan. Not one.”
He smiled slowly and moved toward the doorway. “The only thing I can say about those biscuits is that I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get hit with one.”
“Dylan.”
He stopped and turned.
The first biscuit caught him square in the chest, the second glanced off his arm. Eyes glinting, he started back toward her, but Hannibal intervened with a warning bark. Jessica smiled smugly.
Stomach growling, Dylan clenched his fists, then turned and left, wondering if that bag of chocolate-chip cookies he’d bought in town was still in his duffel bag.
* * *
By the end of that same day, Makeshift’s transformation had begun.
The crew had arrived shortly after the biscuit-throwing incident, and after a brief orientation, Dylan assigned the men their tasks. As Jessica had insisted, Dylan started work on the church first. Six of the eight men ripped down boards and carted trash to a central pile beside the barn, while the other two followed Dylan back to the hotel to work on the wiring. Jessica kept busy salvaging a good portion of what the men were tossing out, determined that not one original nail or screw be thrown away.
Dylan had reappeared at the noon bre
ak, but when she offered to make him a sandwich, he frowned and waved her off, telling her he had to go into town for supplies and wouldn’t be back until much later in the day, after he had dinner in town, he added dryly. She felt a twinge of guilt, but was too tired and too busy to discuss the issue. Be that way, she said silently as she watched him drive away in her pickup. She had more things on her mind right now than a hot-tempered cantankerous male.
But now that the crew had all left and the sun had begun its slow descent, Jessica sank into the back church pews that had been salvaged and found she couldn’t do anything but think about that hot-tempered cantankerous male and wonder when he’d return.
Closing her eyes, she settled back on the hard oak seat and sighed. Hannibal curled beside her and sighed, too. After a long busy day investigating all the strangers, the dog was as exhausted as his mistress.
Jessica was used to being alone in Makeshift. She’d never wanted anyone else here. So why, then, did she feel such a strange sense of loneliness, and how could she suddenly be anxious for someone to be here with her?
And it wasn’t just anyone, she acknowledged reluctantly. It was Dylan.
It was crazy. She barely knew the man. And what she knew of him should make her not want to know him, at least not beyond anything of a professional nature. Settling down wasn’t in the man’s profile.
She thought of the kiss they’d shared and couldn’t stop the shiver that passed through her. No one had ever kissed her like that before, or at least she’d never responded to anyone like that before, not even to Bob, her one and only love affair after she’d graduated from college. He’d been another counselor at the Dallas-based youth center where she worked. It hadn’t taken Jessica long to realize that Bob had more problems than the kids, only he wasn’t looking for help; he was looking for a live-in maid.
Sort of like Dylan, she thought with a frown.
She couldn’t stop smiling as she remembered the expression on his face when she’d served him that horrible breakfast. She’d felt almost sorry for him. Almost.
Eyes still closed, she forced Dylan from her mind and focused on the church. Makeshift was the most important thing to her. Bringing her dream to life was all that mattered.
She ran her fingers over the smooth worn wood of the pew, wondering how many people had sat right here where she was. Her ancestors, all the townspeople, what it must have looked like on a Sunday morning...
She could almost hear the steady clang-clang of the church bell, a choir singing “Amazing Grace,” greetings exchanged between the patrons and the whine of a child as his mother tugged his ear to sit still. The loving exchange between a couple about to be married...
“One week, my love. In this very church we’ll say our vows and you’ll be my wife forever.”
“And you my husband. Forever.”
Jessica smiled as she watched the man and woman in her daydream steal a kiss. They were so clear in her mind, as were the sights and sounds.
And the smells. A delicious aroma wafted through her senses, so real it made her stomach growl and her mouth water. So real she breathed in deeply to capture the heavenly scent of—
Hamburgers.
Her eyes flew open. Dylan stood beside her, his gaze intent as he watched her. He carried a brown paper bag in his hand.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she said curtly, irritated that he’d managed to sneak up on her like that. She glanced at Hannibal and frowned. Her watchdog was turning into a “come-on-in-and-don’t-mind-me” dog. At the smell of food, though, the animal lifted his head and sniffed the air. “I’m just trying to imagine what it was like to live here more than a hundred years ago.”
“Why don’t you just ask your ghosts?”
She lifted a brow. “Is that sarcasm I hear in your voice?”
“Me? Sarcastic?” He grinned and sat down next to her.
Food had obviously improved his mood, Jessica noted, and felt relieved he wasn’t still angry about the breakfast. She was also glad he placed the paper bag on the seat between them. She needed whatever barrier she could find between herself and Dylan. The smells from the bag, however, were driving her nearly as crazy as the man.
“For your information,” she said with a lift of her chin, “the ghosts here are real.”
The bag crackled as Dylan rummaged through it. He pulled out a paper-wrapped hamburger and handed it to her.
She shook her head stubbornly. “I was planning a stew. I found a recipe in an old cookbook.”
He pressed the hamburger in her hand. “Toss it in the trash with those biscuits.”
Hunger overrode her pride. She took a bite and sighed with pleasure as she settled back and glanced at the bag. “Please tell me you have fries in there.”
“Catsup, too.”
She dug in the bag and popped a fry into her mouth. “You are too good to be true, Dylan Grant.”
He looked away from her, and his glance assessed the work done that day. The crew had removed the debris and the worst of the burned pews; the boarded-up windows were open, but had no glass. There was an airy, reverent feeling inside the church, and Jessica felt herself relaxing. Dylan broke off a piece of his hamburger and tossed it to Hannibal, then he, too, settled back to eat. “Tell me about your ghosts.”
“They aren’t my ghosts.” She rarely talked about them. No one believed her, so what was the point? Her family humored her on the subject, as she knew Dylan was doing now. Still, it made no difference to her what Dylan did or didn’t believe.
“Have you seen them?” he asked.
He handed her a packet of catsup, and the amusement she saw in his eyes made her spine stiffen. “I hear them,” she said. “Sometimes just a word or two, other times more.”
There was more, Jessica thought. A great deal more. But she’d never shared that with anyone, and she certainly didn’t intend to start with Dylan of all people. He wouldn’t believe it. Sometimes she wasn’t sure even she believed it.
Dylan didn’t believe a word of what Jessica was saying of course, but he certainly enjoyed listening to her. And the expression on her face and the way her blue eyes shone as she talked about her spirits captivated him. He wouldn’t care if she wanted to talk about quilt making. “So you’ve never seen them,” he said. “You just hear them.”
“That’s right.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “Didn’t you say you knew their names?”
“Meggie and Lucas. Meggie was the schoolmarm, and Lucas owned the saloon.”
“Meggie and Lucas,” he repeated. “Nice names.” The shadows deepened and a cool breeze flowed over them. Dylan watched one loose strand of hair curl around Jessica’s cheek. Instinctively he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. “Were they lovers?”
Lovers. The word hovered between them. His touch was no more than the brush of his finger on her cheek, yet desire flared with an intensity that startled him. Her lips were close. Close and tempting.
Jessica had gone still at his touch. “Does it matter?”
He smiled. “Probably to them it did.”
The air grew heavy and thick, as if a storm was coming. The cool breeze turned to a warm wind.
Jessica leaned closer, her expression intense. “Dylan, didn’t you ever feel something, something you couldn’t see and yet the feeling was too strong to deny it existed? Something you knew to be true, despite all reason and logic?”
He was feeling it now. With her. A need beyond all reason. A desire beyond logic. A flood of sensation that had nothing to do with ghosts or spirits, unless he counted spirits of the flesh.
The need to touch her overwhelmed him, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to move away from her before he did something foolish again. It had been a mistake to kiss her last night. He knew what she tasted like now, how her body felt pressed against his.
He wanted desperately to kiss her again. Now. To drag her against him right here. He felt a sudden rush of a
nger. At himself, at the situation. He was supposed to keep an eye on Jessica, dammit, not seduce her.
“There’s nothing more than what we see, Jessica,” he said quietly. “And sometimes even that’s a lie.”
He stood, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be working on the blueprints for the next few nights. Unless it’s important, I’d rather you didn’t disturb me.”
She looked at him, her gaze suddenly cool. “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you, Dylan.”
It was all he could do not to laugh. If she had any idea just exactly how much she did disturb him, the laugh would be hers alone. Jaw tight, he walked away on feet that felt like lead.
* * *
“It’s truly happening, Lucas,” Meggie whispered, careful not to let Jessica hear. “After one hundred and twenty years our church is going to be restored.”
Lucas watched Meggie as she stood smiling at the altar rail, her eyes bright as she surveyed the work done that day. She’d been on the original building committee, and the church was as precious to her as if it were her own child.
Lucas turned away. Even after all this time, he still felt anger whenever he came here—rage that he couldn’t stop the fire, that he hadn’t saved Meggie.
She moved beside him and lifted her sad gaze to his. “You never should have come into the church that night, Lucas,” she said quietly, understanding what he was feeling. “We didn’t both have to die.”
He turned sharply to her, lifting his hands in a futile gesture to touch her. “My life ended the moment I knew you were trapped in here,” he said hoarsely. “I never would have left you alone.”
Meggie lifted her fingers to her lips, then pressed her hand close to his mouth. “My only regret is that I never became your wife.”
“You are my wife,” Lucas insisted. “In my heart and in my soul.”
She shook her head. “The vows were not exchanged here in God’s church.”
Frustration filled Lucas. It was impossible to discuss it with Meggie. He’d never been able to convince her that the betrothal made no difference to him. Following the fire, the town moved services into the town hall. Meggie’s beloved church had never been rebuilt.
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