by Debbie Mason
“Don’t do this, not now.” Grace dropped her face in her hands. “I don’t know how to make this right. We have enough to deal with without him feeling like I went against his wishes.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Jill’s voice lost its sarcastic edge. “I told him he agreed to you keeping the bakery before he re-upped.”
Grace jolted upright. “You did what?”
Her sister-in-law shrugged. “You said so yourself, you have enough to deal with without this coming between you.” Jill glanced out the window over the sink. “I don’t want to give him a reason to…” Her voice trailed off.
“You don’t want to give him a reason to what?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Jill. You lied to him. What am I supposed to say when he gets his memory back?”
“We’ll deal with it then. Right now, you have to focus on making him remember what you had together. You still love him, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. How can you even ask me that?” Jack had been her one and only love, and it was hard to have Jill question Grace’s feelings for him. Nothing had happened between her and Sawyer. Grace didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Not about Sawyer at least. But she did feel guilty she’d been ready to move on, to let Jack go, and now she felt guilty about the lie Jill had told him. Only Grace wasn’t sure she could tell him the truth. At least not until he saw for himself how well the bakery was doing.
“I’m sorry. I know you love him.” Jill glanced at her watch. “I’m going to head out. You guys need some time alone together.”
“I thought you’d stay for dinner at least.” It was ridiculous how nervous Grace was to be alone with her husband.
“I’m tired, and I have an early shift in the morning.” Jill sniffed. “Smells good, though. Save me some leftovers.”
Grace checked the temperature on the roast before heading into the living room after her sister-in-law. Jill kissed her nephew good-bye, and Grace followed her to the door. With her hand on the knob, Jill turned and drew Grace into a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch. You’re my best friend, and I love you. It just hurt to think… Never mind, he’s home now.” She pulled back, swiping at her eyes. “I can’t believe it. He’s really home.”
“I know. And his son bit him.” Grace half laughed, half sobbed. “What am I going to do, Jill? He doesn’t remember us.” Grace hadn’t been able to tell anyone how much that hurt. It made her feel forgettable, as if he hadn’t really loved her, at least not enough to remember her.
For years after her sister Faith’s death, her parents had forgotten about Grace, too. They’d been grieving, she understood that, but underneath their grief had been blame. She’d wondered if subconsciously Jack blamed her for Charlie’s death. Thanks once again to her father, Jack came home two weeks early when Grace, exhausted from dealing with a colicky baby while trying to run the bakery, had ended up in the hospital. It was then that his best friend and crew chief was killed.
“One day at a time, remember?”
That’s what they used to say to each other. It was how they’d gotten through those first horrible months and the equally horrible ones that followed.
The door opened as they gave each other one last hug. Jack, wearing a gray T-shirt and sweatpants, looked from Jill to Grace. “What’s wrong?”
“Just happy you’re home.” Jill hugged him, then lifted her head from his chest. “Ewh, you’re all sweaty.”
“Yeah, I need a shower.” He drew away from her and lifted the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the beads of perspiration from his forehead. Grace’s gaze dropped to the deeply tanned washboard stomach he revealed. She hooked a finger in her strand of pearls. Oh my. Before he caught her ogling his body, she dragged her eyes back to his face. Blue eyes locked on to hers as he lowered the T-shirt. Jill snorted a laugh and patted his arm. “I’ll leave you two alone. Three,” she corrected at the sound of toppling blocks.
“I thought you’d stick around for a while.” There was a hint of desperation in Jack’s voice as he glanced from Grace to the living room.
Oh, great. Her reaction to that brief flash of naked abs probably had him worried she was going to jump him as soon as Jill left. Or maybe he was worried about which limb their son would gnaw on next. Then Grace reminded herself that he didn’t think of Jack Junior as his son, and that was more hurtful than what he might think of her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jill,” she said as she walked toward the living room.
Attempting to ignore their quiet conversation in the hall, Grace knelt beside her son. “Do you want to help mommy get dinner ready?” She forced a bright smile and piled the blocks in the bin.
Jack Junior nodded, and Grace nattered on about peeling carrots and potatoes while organizing the blocks into neat rows. “How does that—” she went to ask her son when she noticed Jack leaning against the white plaster pillar, watching her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Sounds like you guys are going to be busy for a while. Mind if I take a shower?”
Unconsciously her gaze flitted over his incredibly masculine, broad-shouldered frame. She’d memorized every glorious inch of him, knew where every freckle was, knew how to touch him to drive him wild with passion, knew how to make him laugh. “Grace?”
Heat suffused her cheeks at the memories, and she cleared her throat. “Not at all. There’s clean towels on the bed for you. Everything else is where you left…” She grimaced and pushed the bin aside. “You probably don’t remember where anything is. I’ll show—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll find what I need.” He came to crouch beside them. His gaze roamed her face, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I know this is as tough on you as it is me. I’m sorry if my reaction earlier made it harder. It’ll take me some time to get used to the changes, that’s all.” He handed her a block as if it was a peace offering.
Her son, who’d been quietly sizing up the big stranger beside him, grabbed the block and held it to his chest. “Mine.”
“Jack Junior,” Grace said with an exasperated sigh, then apologized. “He’s a little possessive of his things right now.”
Jack shrugged and held her gaze. “So am I. I never did like to share. Still don’t.”
Chapter Five
Jack flattened his palms on the beige tiled wall, letting the hot water sluice over his body while the day played through his mind. He kept circling back to images of his wife. In the space of a few of hours, he’d already hurt her. He felt bad about it. He’d have to try harder to guard his reactions, to watch what he said around her. He shouldn’t have referred to their son as hers. And he probably shouldn’t have made the comment about his not liking to share, either. But it was true.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fought over a girl with Sawyer. They’d been doing so since grade school. Neither of them had a type back then. Female about covered it. But as they got older, Sawyer had gravitated toward the sweet, reserved, intelligent ones while Jack went for the uninhibited rule breakers. The possessive knot in Jack’s gut twisted tighter. He was good at reading people. It’d been how he knew to trust Aasif, the man who’d helped them escape their captors three weeks ago.
Now Jack’s gut told him his best friend was in love with his wife.
Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, he squeezed a glob into his palm. The scent of wildflowers permeated the steamy enclosure. Grace. He closed his eyes, and the image from the meadow flashed behind his lids again. Only this time it was clearer, he could feel her in his arms, hear her warm, rich laughter, see the love in her golden eyes. She kissed him. It was a no-holds-barred kiss—passionate and uninhibited. He realized then the images were more dream than memory.
He wasn’t surprised he was fantasizing about her. It’d been a long time since he’d had a woman in his bed, and his wife was beautiful. A cool and contained beauty, who he imagined w
ould be as reserved in the bedroom as she was outside of it. There was no way she’d kiss with the wild abandon of the woman in his fantasy.
He swore as the water turned cold. The image in his head disappeared along with his body’s reaction to it. Good thing, he decided, as he quickly washed before turning off the shower. He stepped from the glass enclosure and wrapped a towel around his waist. Tugging a smaller one from the towel rack, he rubbed his hair dry while walking into the bedroom.
There was a light tap on the door. “Jack?” Grace peeked her head into the room. She blinked, and her cheeks pinked. “Umm, sorry.” She held up the cordless phone, covering the receiver with her hand. “It’s my father. He insists on speaking to you,” she said with an apologetic smile.
He’d left a message for the general to call him. He’d wanted to check on Aasif. To make sure Garrison followed through with his promise to protect the man and his family from retaliation.
“No problem,” Jack said. If his wife’s reaction to catching him in a towel was anything to go by, she was a prude. He’d been right. She had nothing in common with the woman he’d been fantasizing about. Once again he found himself wondering what it was about Grace that he’d fallen in love with.
“Don’t let him keep you on for long. Dinner is almost ready, and I made your favorite.” She smiled at him. “Roast beef.”
He hated roast beef. His grandmother had served it every Sunday. It’d been as tough to swallow as her two-hour sermons. He forced a smile. “Great. I’ll be out in a minute.”
At the disheartened look on her face, his chest tightened. Obviously the last seventeen months had exhausted his talent for hiding his true feelings.
“You don’t like roast beef anymore, do you?” she said, handing him the phone. She made it sound as though not only did he not like roast beef, he didn’t like her. If he was going to hurt her every time he opened his mouth, maybe he should leave.
He took the phone and nudged her chin up with his knuckle. “If you knew what I’ve been eating for the last seventeen months, you wouldn’t ask that. Two minutes. I promise.”
She smiled, revealing an adorable dimple in her cheek. Jack was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. The dimple made her seem more approachable, sweet. “General, thanks for getting back to me,” he said, his gaze following her from the room.
* * *
Jack leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table. “That was amazing. I think I’ve finally figured out why I married you.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He’d been thinking it, but to say it…
Her smile faltered. He reached for her hand. “Grace, that’s not what I meant to say.”
He didn’t remember enjoying a meal or the company as much. Grace kept the conversation light and amusing. She had him laughing out loud with her stories about Gage’s wife and Nell McBride, and it’d been a long time since he’d laughed that hard.
“It’s all right,” she said in a painfully polite tone of voice. Pushing back from the table, she came to her feet. Her movements were controlled and graceful as she started to clear the table.
He stood up and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. It didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
Jack Junior looked up from his high chair and frowned. “Mommy, sad?”
Smart kid. Jack tried to think of something to say that would take away the defeated look that stole the light from her eyes.
“No. Mommy’s happy, baby.” She smiled.
His son eyeballed him. Picking up a Yorkshire pudding covered in gravy, he fired it at Jack’s head. Jack caught it, gravy splattering down the arm of his white shirt.
Grace’s eyes widened on a horrified gasp. “Jackson Flaherty.”
“Relax. I had it coming.” Jack smiled. “He’s got a pretty good arm for a two-year-old.”
“I do not find this the least bit amusing, Jackson Flaherty.”
“Are you talking to me or him?”
“Y-you,” she sputtered.
He could see, like when he entered the bakery earlier, no matter how hard she tried to keep it together, she was close to losing it. He carefully took the plate from her hands. “You’ve had a tough day. Why don’t you go and put your feet up? Jack Junior and I will take care of the cleanup.”
She laughed. Not the warm, rich laughter of earlier. She sounded half hysterical. “I’ve had a tough day? You’ve come home to a woman and son you don’t know from Adam. A woman you don’t like and a son who doesn’t like you, and you think I’ve had a tough day. And… and you hate the bakery and this apartment, and roast beef isn’t your favorite anymore.” She finished on a hiccupped sob.
He put the plate on the counter and drew her into his arms. “I love your roast beef. And I like you and my son just fine. It’s a lot for all of us to take in, Grace. It’s not going to be easy, not right away.” He framed her face with his hands and eased back to look down at her. The tip of her nose was pink, her beautiful eyes tear-filled. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I was trying to make light of the situation. It was stupid.”
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m being overly sensitive. I—”
Jack Junior tossed his red plastic plate and cup onto the floor. “Me down.”
She pulled away from Jack and went to their son. “Why don’t you go and sit in the living room and watch TV? The apple pie won’t be ready for another forty minutes. I’ll get him ready for bed,” she said, lifting the toddler out of his high chair.
Jack agreed, but as soon as she left the kitchen, he got started on the cleanup. The sounds of laughter and splashing coming from the bathroom down the hall made him smile. He was tempted to join them, but didn’t think his son or wife would appreciate his company. He’d screwed up. He thought about staying with his sister. But he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to get to know his son. And there was something about Grace that drew him to her.
The dishwasher was loaded, and he was drying the last of the pots when Grace returned with their son in her arms. The little boy’s hair was damp and curly, and he had on a pair of powder-blue pajamas with trains on them. “You didn’t have to do the dishes.”
A couple of honey-blonde strands fell over her flushed cheek, and splotches of water marked the front of her yellow sundress. Her feet were bare. “I didn’t mind.” Jack smiled. “I think my job was easier than yours.”
She looked down at herself and gave a rueful laugh. “Next time you get bath duty.”
“I’d like that, but I’m not sure how he’d feel about it.”
“You’d like daddy to give you a bath, wouldn’t you, baby?” Jack Junior buried his face in her neck. “I read to him before bed. I thought maybe you’d like to join us.”
“Sure,” Jack said, his voice inexplicably rough. The timer dinged as he dried his hands on the tea towel.
“I have to take the pie out,” Grace said, handing him the little boy.
He was relieved when his son didn’t put up a fuss. It felt like a minivictory of sorts. The little boy was a warm, comforting weight in his arms. His damp curls brushed against Jack’s chin as he played with the buttons on Jack’s shirt. He smelled like baby powder.
Jack struggled to contain the emotion welling up in his eyes. Grace stood watching them, a tender expression on her face. She turned away and set the pie on the counter. Giving him, he imagined, a moment to get himself together.
He cleared his throat. “He’s pretty cute when he’s not biting me or throwing something at me.”
She gave him a dimpled smile. He really liked that smile. “You can bring him into our… your room, and I’ll get the books.”
As he walked to the bedroom, he realized he hadn’t given much thought to their sleeping arrangements. He’d assumed that they’d be sleeping together. But given the situation, it made sense that they wouldn’t be. At least earlier today it would’ve made sense. Now he wasn’t so sure.
With his free hand, he pulled back the white duvet and crisp whi
te sheets. The little boy released a delighted squeal and dove from Jack’s arms onto the mattress. He grinned. “Okay, you stay right there.”
His son bounced on the bed while Jack changed into a clean T-shirt. He was debating whether to climb in when Grace entered the room. “Can you turn on the bedside lamp? Thanks,” she said when he did as she asked. She shut off the main switch, and the taupe-colored walls were cast in a soft, diffused light.
She seemed shy when she crawled into the bed beside their son, and Jack climbed in the other side. “Read Love You,” his son said.
Grace sighed. “Okay.” She pulled a book from the bottom of the pile on the bedside table.
“You don’t like that one?” Jack asked, glancing at the title: Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch.
“Yes, but you have to promise you won’t laugh if I cry.”
“Be serious. A kids’ book makes you cry?”
“All right, tough guy. You read it.” She handed him the book.
Halfway through, he handed it back to her. “I promise. I won’t laugh.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she propped the pillows behind her.
Sliding an arm around her narrow shoulders, he drew her closer and tucked his son more comfortably between them. “Better?” he asked.
She nodded, hesitating for a moment before she rested her head against his chest. Her voice caught as she started to read, but this time he knew the story wasn’t responsible for the emotion. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the soft scent of wildflowers as he did. “We’re going to be okay.”
“I hope so.”
* * *
“I guess I didn’t do such a good job loading the dishwasher.”
Grace gave a startled yelp and nearly dropped the plate she held. She looked up to see Jack coming into the kitchen with an amused expression on his face. “You just about gave me a heart attack,” she said.
