She put her hand to his cheek and gazed into his eyes. “That’s sweet.” And then she kissed him, quickly and passionately, before she pulled away, her heart in her throat.
She loved this man with all of her heart.
And she wasn’t carrying his child.
Sadness blanketed her body, a shallow sliver of sorrow of what wasn’t to be.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re okay, Jess?” Zane studied her movements as she approached his bed. He lifted his sheets and welcomed her. He wanted her with him tonight, sex or no sex. She was special to him, and he didn’t want to press her if she needed more rest.
After he returned to the house today, he couldn’t wait to see her. His gift was burning a hole in his pocket, so he’d waited for her on her bed. When she’d stepped out of the bathroom and he’d looked at her, he’d seen a haunted expression on her face, and she’d been overly quiet. He worried over her health, but he sensed it was something more than her having an upset stomach. She’d looked sad, and a transparent sheen of despair seemed to cover her eyes.
She’d liked the gift—he could tell that much—and that brightened her mood, but her eyes never really returned to the Jess sparkle he was used to. She’d kept the bracelet on during the day, and there were moments when he’d catch her touching the links, tracing her fingertips over the charms tenderly. After what she’d been through this year, if the gift told her she was appreciated, she was worthy of beautiful things and she was desirable as a woman, then mission accomplished. Zane wanted her to feel all of those things. He’d wanted her to know what she had come to mean to him.
“I’m feeling better tonight,” she said. She climbed in and scooted close to him. His arms tightened around her automatically, and he rolled so that her back was up against his chest.
Like it or not, Mae Holcomb put him in charge of her daughter. His first responsibility was to see to her health. Precious little else mattered. He’d failed where Janie was concerned, and he certainly wasn’t going to let something happen to Jess while she was here with him. Not on his watch.
“Glad to hear it.”
She still looked weary, as if a burden weighed her down. Was she deliberating about staying with him for the rest of the summer? Right now, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair and having her body cuddled up against him, he couldn’t imagine her leaving in two days, but he wouldn’t pressure her. She needed to come to the conclusion that they were good together, on her own. He’d done everything he could do, short of begging, to convince her to stay, but ultimately it was her decision.
Pushing silken strands away from her face, he kissed her earlobe. “If you need to sleep, I can just hold you tonight, babe. Or...”
She turned around in his arms, her features softening and her eyes tender and liquid. “Or,” she said. “Definitely or.”
Zane made slow, easy love to her, and she fell in sync with his body movements. He savored every inch of her with gentle strokes and touches. And she did the same to him. He loved the feel of her hands on him, exploring, probing and possessing him in small doses. Little by little, hour by hour, minute by minute, Jess was filling his life.
He cared about her. Worried when she was sick. Praised her accomplishments. Was impressed by her feisty spirit. Wanted to see her happy.
She mattered to him.
And after the explosion that burst before his eyes in warm colors, Jessica’s sighs of contentment, completion and satisfaction settled peacefully in his heart. He never remembered being so in tune with another person before. Except with Janie.
A wave of guilt blindsided him. Up until now, he’d been able to separate the two, but was he disparaging his deceased wife’s memory by finding comfort and some joy with her sister? Was he hurting Jessica and dishonoring his wife?
Zane carefully removed himself from a sleeping Jess and padded away from the bed. Words he hadn’t found before came rushing forth, pounding inside his head. He had a song to finish, and the lyrics blasted in his ears now. The song that had haunted him for months would finally see the light of day.
* * *
Jessica just put on the finishing touches on her makeup, a hint of pale-green eye shadow and toner under her eyes to conceal the dark shadows from the ungodly remnants of whatever bug she’d had. Her appetite was coming back, thankfully, and she put on a lemon-yellow sundress decorated with tiny white daisies to make her feel human again. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dress did the trick. She had a dash of color in her face now, and wearing something fun perked up her spirits.
As she walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Lopez was just setting out her morning meal.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat. She could definitely handle hard-boiled eggs, toast and a cup of tea. “You always know exactly what I want to eat. How do you do that?”
“I am like a little mouse, observing, watching. I can see you are feeling better, but the stomach needs time to rest. Today, you eat a little. Tomorrow, a little bit more. If you want something more, you just need to tell me.”
“No, no. This is perfect. Exactly what I feel like having. It’s...late.”
“Sí. You’ve been waking late.”
“The bug I had wore me out.”
Minutes later, just as she was finishing up her last bite of toast and sip of tea, a knock on the deck door brought her head up.
Mrs. Lopez was there before Jessica pushed her chair out to rise. “Hello, Mr. McKay,” she said politely, her olive face blossoming. Even Zane’s housekeeper was starstruck. Dylan McKay had the same effect on all women, young and old, happily married or not.
“Hello, Mrs. Lopez. I took a walk down the beach to see if Zane could spare a few minutes for me this morning.”
“He is not here.”
“But I am.” Jessica walked over to the door. “Dylan, hi! Is there something I can help you with?”
Dylan had a briefcase tucked under his arm, yet dressed in plaid board shorts and a teal-blue muscle shirt, he looked like a walking advertisement for sunscreen or surfboards. Hardly businessman attire, but that was Dylan.
“Hey, Jess.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Lopez,” she said, and the woman backed away.
“What’s up?”
He brushed past her and stepped into the kitchen. “Looking beautiful as always,” Dylan said. It wasn’t a line with Dylan. He had a genuine appreciation for women, and he seemed to love to compliment them.
“You’re looking fit yourself,” she said. “Still running?”
He scrunched up his face. “Yeah. It’s getting old.”
“Why don’t you break it up? Do five miles in the morning, five miles at night?”
His brows rose. “Wow, smart and beautiful. Does Zane know what a treasure you are?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” She grinned.
“Well, I like your idea, Little Miss Smarty Pants. I might just try breaking up the run and see how it goes.”
Mrs. Lopez stood by the oven with a coffee pot in hand, reminding Jess of her manners.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Water? Juice? Anything?” How comfortable she felt in the role of hostess to Zane’s friends. It was something she didn’t want to end.
“No, thanks. I’m good right now. Actually, I brought a revised script for Zane to look over. The screenwriter made some adjustments that I think really enhance the story. I’ve highlighted the parts that would affect Zane. Would you like to see them?”
“Of course!” It sounded better than watching her nails dry, and she was still on the clock as far as work went, even if it was Saturday. “I’d love to. Why don’t you come into the office?”
He followed her, and as she entered the office, she went to the wood shutters first, opening them and allowing eastern light to enter t
he room. “Have a seat.”
“Wow, looks like Zane’s doing some writing.”
Dylan was eyeing Zane’s desk littered with sheet music crumpled into tight balls. Ready to clear away the mess, she noticed the waste basket was full to the brim with the same. Mrs. Lopez worked her way through the rooms every morning. It was evident she hadn’t made it to this room yet. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
“That’s good, right? As far as I know, he hasn’t written a song for years.”
Since Janie’s death.
“I suppose so.”
Dylan sat down on the sofa and opened his portfolio. “Do you know where he keeps the original script I gave him? We can compare the two. I’m eager to see if you think the changes work as well as I do.”
“Sure. I think Zane locked it up in his desk for safekeeping. Just give me a second to get the key.”
“No problem. I’m a patient man.”
She doubted that. She moved quickly to retrieve the key from a set Zane kept in his bedroom dresser drawer. She came back to find Dylan with head down, making notes on the script. “Okay, here we go.”
She unlocked the bottom drawer, and sure enough, there was the script. She made a grab for it and did a rapid double take at the folder that lay beneath it. In black lettering and handwritten by Zane, the title was spelled out. “Janie’s Song. Final.”
Zane never mentioned he was writing a song about Janie.
All that sheet music? She had to guess that Zane had been working on this recently. As recently as last night, maybe? She’d woken in the middle of the night and opened her eyes to an empty pillow beside her. She’d heard distant strumming and figured Zane was practicing his guitar again. She thought nothing of it and had fallen right back to sleep. But now, as she glanced at all the rejected papers strewn across his desk and bubbling up from his trash, she knew it had to be true.
It was and always had been all about Janie.
How could she be jealous of her dead sister?
Tears welled in her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach again.
She handed Dylan the first version of the script and went back to the drawer to lock it up. Instead, her profound sense of curiosity had her giving Dylan her back. She opened the manila folder and slipped out the first page of new, unwrinkled sheet music.
She shouldn’t be prying. It wasn’t her business. Yet she had to know. It was killing her not to know. Her hands trembling, she scanned the lyrics. “I will always love you, Janie girl.” She’d forgotten he used to call her that. His Janie Girl. “Without you here, my road is bleak, my path unclear. My heart is yours without a doubt...”
Dylan cleared his throat. The innocent sound reminded her she wasn’t alone. She slapped the folder shut. She’d seen enough. She didn’t need to see more. What good would it do to torture herself? She was already torn up inside.
She locked the drawer before Dylan grew suspicious and turned to give him a smile. His head was still buried in the script. Then she heard the familiar sound of boots clicking down the hallway.
“Jess?”
She didn’t answer. Dylan gave her a look and then called out. “We’re in here, Zane. Your office.”
Zane popped his head inside the doorway before entering. He shot Jess a questioning stare. She averted her eyes. She couldn’t look at him right now, and he was probably wondering why she hadn’t answered him. Was Zane jealous of Dylan? Did he think something was going on behind his back? It would serve him right, but that was a small consolation for her.
“Hey, Dylan. What’s up?” Zane asked.
She had to get her mental bearings. She needed out of this room, pronto.
Dylan rose to shake his hand. “Hi, buddy. I came by looking for you with a new and improved version of the script. Jess invited me inside, and I was just about to go over it with her to get her opinion.”
“Looks like you two don’t need me now,” she said. “Dylan, you can go over it with Zane. I just remembered I’ve got some urgent phone calls to make. See you, later.”
“Sure. Later,” Dylan said, distracted. He turned to his friend. “Zane, is this a good time?”
She dashed away before Zane could get any words out to the contrary. But his completely baffled expression rattled her already tightly strung nerves.
* * *
Jessica refused to shed a tear. She refused to cave to her riotous emotions. What good would it do? She’d wasted a lifetime of tears on Steven. Her well was dry. But her heart physically hurt, the kind of pain that no tears or aspirin or alcohol could cure. She marched into her room, closed the door and walked over to her bed. Plopping down, she stared out the window to majestic blue skies glazed with marshmallow tufted clouds.
She liked California. Everything was beautiful here. The people were easy, friendly and carefree. The near-tropical summer consisted of windswept days and warm, balmy nights.
But suddenly, and for the first time since coming here, she missed home. She missed her small apartment and tiny balcony where she grew cactus in a vertical garden and the jasmine flourished over the rail grating. She missed her little kitchen, her bedroom of lavender blooms and country white lace.
She missed her mama.
And her friends.
She didn’t see a future with Zane. As much as it broke her heart to think it, Zane wasn’t available to her emotionally. He was hung up on her sister and losing her and their baby had scarred him for life.
“You can’t get blood from a stone,” she muttered. It was one of her mama’s ageless comments on life. It was right up there with another Holcomb favorite: You can take a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.
Ain’t that the truth?
Jessica rose and eased out of her sundress. She opened the vast walk-in closet that doubled for a black hole and selected a pair of running shoes, shorts and a top. She redressed quickly and lifted her long locks into a ponytail. Giving herself a glimpse in the mirror, she saw someone she didn’t recognize. She’d become a California girl like the ones the Beach Boys sang about: the blonde, tanned, skimpy shorts-wearing chicks who adorned the shores of the Pacific coastline.
Jess wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t sure about anything right now.
She headed down the staircase and heard male voices. There was no way to avoid Dylan and Zane since she had to walk past the office to get out the back door. She stuck her head inside the room. “Hey, guys. I’m going for a run.”
Zane glanced up, but she couldn’t look him in the eye, and it dawned on her in that very second, that the sick feeling invading her belly was betrayal...the lyrics of a song hurting her more than perhaps being left at the altar by the wrong man. “We’re almost through here. If you wait a sec...”
“I’ll join you, too,” Dylan was saying.
“Uh, no thanks. I think I’ll go this one alone. You guys finish up your work. I’ll see you later.”
She turned, but not before she saw Zane’s eyes narrow to a squint, trying to figure her out.
She cringed as she walked away. She’d been borderline rude, but she couldn’t help it. She needed some time alone, away from the house and the influences that could very well blindside her again. She hurried out the door and raced down the steps. She headed to where the tide teased the sand under the glorious Moonlight Beach sunshine and began to jog.
She ran at a pace that would keep her feet moving for the longest amount of time. She dodged and weaved around Frisbee-tossing teenagers, small swimsuit-clad kids digging tunnels in the wet sand and boogie boarders crashing against the shore. Sea breezes kept her cool as she dug in, jogging farther and farther away. She headed to a cove, a thin parcel of land surrounded by odd-shaped rock clusters called Moon Point that extended into the sea, forming a crescent.
The rocks looked climbable, and s
he was in the mood for a challenge.
Up she went, gripping the sharp edge of one rock and then finding her footing on another. Winds blew stronger here, but she held on and worked her way up. She’d heard the view from Moon Point was the best. On a clear day you could see the Santa Monica Pier. Once she got the hang of it, she was pretty good at climbing, and best of all, she was alone. She had no competition for viewing rights. She reached the top in fewer than five minutes and planted her butt on a flat part of a rock.
A hand salute kept the sun from her eyes, and she looked out at the vast ocean view. It was amazing and peaceful up here. Quiet, as if she had the entire ocean to herself.
She could stay up here all day.
* * *
Waves rocked the Point, and the sea spray sprinkled her body. The drops felt cool and refreshing, but also woke her to the time. She’d been up on the Point for three hours. She’d hardly noticed the others who’d decided to join her. They’d come and gone, but she’d stayed.
She climbed down from the rock, a deceivingly much harder proposition than going up, and she walked along the shore that was slowly and surely becoming deserted by summer school buses and mothers eager to get on the road before traffic hit. She reached the strip of beach in front of Zane’s house half an hour later, and her heart somersaulted when she spotted him on the deck.
He stood with feet spread wide as if he’d been there a long time. His beige linen shirt flapped in the breeze, and his eyes, those beautiful, deep, dark eyes, locked directly on her. There was no need to wave. They’d made their connection. She stifled a whimper and headed toward him.
He started to move toward her, climbing down the steps to the sand, a loving smile absent on his lips. This was not going to be an easy conversation. For either of them.
“Where in hell did you go?” he asked.
She blinked. He’d never spoken to her in that tone. “I took a run.”
“You were gone for almost four freaking hours, Jess.”
“Well, I’m back now.”
Her Forbidden Cowboy Page 16
