by Brenda Novak
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is there something I can get you?”
A few seconds passed before she answered. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
In the morning? What about now? He paused, wondering what to do. Considering how she must feel about him, he figured she could be seriously ill and still not let him help her. “Do you want me to get Gram?”
Another long pause. “No. Please don’t bother anyone. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
Adam smiled to himself. She had kept him awake, but not in the way she thought. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway. Would you please unlock the door so I can see you’re as fine as you say you are?”
“No.” This time her response came quickly and the toilet flushed right afterward. To cover the sound of her retching?
“Jenna? Are you throwing up?”
No answer. He rattled the knob. “Jenna, open this door, or I’m going to wake the whole damn house.”
“Just a minute.”
He heard the tap water turn on and off. After another lengthy silence, she opened the door and flipped the light off at the same time.
“I’m fine, see?”
Blinded by the instant flood of light and then the sudden darkness, Adam couldn’t see anything. He thought he glimpsed a tired and unusually pale face, but her voice sounded better.
“What was wrong in there? Have you started throwing up when you get upset?”
Forced cheer edged her words. “No. Why would I be upset?”
Because your ex-husband just threatened to kill you. Adam nearly blurted it out before he caught himself. He had no right to barge into her personal affairs. No right to hear as much as he had. But damned if he didn’t want to help Jenna in some way, if only to make up for hurting her so long ago.
He changed tactics. “I was about to go down and make myself some tea, thought it might help me sleep. Would you like a cup?”
“No. I’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’d better go back to bed.”
That’s what you said two hours ago, but it doesn’t look like you’ve gotten much sleep.
“Sure.” He moved aside, catching a trace of her perfume as she slipped past. He didn’t recognize it as one of the more expensive brands he’d smelled on some of the women he’d dated, but it was perfect for her: spicy, warm, rather exotic.
“Jenna?”
She turned back when she reached her door.
“I was sorry to hear about you and Dennis.”
She stepped into her room and he wondered if she was going to answer him.
“Divorce is never pretty,” she said at last. Then, with a decisive click, she closed the door.
JENNA BROKE OUT in a cold sweat as Adam’s steps receded. She couldn’t even move. She stood in the middle of the floor, hugging her body, rocking back and forth.
She’d felt nauseated, she’d thrown up, she’d felt better—just the same as last night. But that cycle was exactly what worried her. The flu struck for at least a day. With food poisoning, you threw up until your system cleansed itself. Her nausea hit about the same time each night and always occurred on an empty stomach.
Just like it had when she was pregnant with Ryan.
Dropping her head into her hands, Jenna began to knead her temples. Oh, God, please, I can’t be pregnant.
After Ryan, she and Dennis had tried and tried to have another baby. When she hadn’t conceived after four years, they visited a doctor, who told them Dennis’s sperm count was too low. They were given the name of a fertility specialist, whom they’d never called, partly because Dennis seemed to lose interest—he had his boy and was satisfied—and partly because he’d started drinking.
Jenna took a deep breath and managed to stumble back to her bed. Climbing under the covers, she shivered and wondered if she’d ever be warm again. Just when Dennis and the divorce were almost behind her, she could be pregnant.
A new baby. A huge responsibility. Dennis’s child.
A sob escaped her as she tried again to count the days since her last period, but she couldn’t remember exactly. Dennis had forced himself on her almost three months after the divorce was final. She’d submitted because she hadn’t wanted to wake Ryan with another of their fights, and after sharing her bed with Dennis for thirteen and a half years, she hadn’t thought one more time would make a difference.
But if she was pregnant, it made a huge difference.
She thought of Adam asking her if she threw up when she was upset, and tried to calm down. He’d unwittingly offered her an alternative explanation. Stress did strange things to the body, causing headaches, stomach ailments, insomnia, all kinds of things.
Besides, her symptoms could result from fear. What she needed was to buy a pregnancy test at the grocery store and find out for sure. If it turned out negative, she could relax.
If it turned out positive…
Jenna closed her eyes. Sleep, she ordered herself. Ryan was depending on her and so were the Durhams.
But who could she depend on?
Adam. His name leaped into her mind, and for one sweet instant she let herself pretend. Then reality doused her like an icy ocean wave.
“I can only depend on myself,” she whispered to the moonlit ceiling, and settled herself sternly between the cold smooth sheets.
CHAPTER THREE
JENNA STOOD in the kitchen, staring out the large bay window that overlooked the side yard. If she leaned close enough to the wall, she could see Adam and Ryan stacking wood along the back fence. She’d been watching them for several minutes already, as she drank her morning coffee. After the disruption during the night, she hadn’t made Ryan get up for school. He got good grades and she figured one day off wouldn’t matter much.
“They making any progress?” Mrs. Durham came into the room and opened the refrigerator to survey its contents. She held a pad, on which she wrote various groceries they needed to purchase, but she paused to glance at Jenna.
“I think they’ve spent more time squirting each other with their water bottles. Can you hear Ryan squealing?” Jenna smiled; Ryan and Adam had been running around the yard, wielding their water bottles like pistols. Periodically they took aim and fired, only to have the other duck behind the house or shed. By the time their bottles were empty, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.
She felt relief—and pleasure—at seeing Ryan laugh again. He needed to do more of it. He was a sober responsible boy, a wonderful child, but Jenna sometimes worried that her problems with Dennis had made their son older than his years. To see his carefree spirit revived lifted her own somber mood, and she knew she had Adam to thank. Ryan wouldn’t be having such a grand time if he was out in the yard alone.
“Adam never could set his mind to a task and simply do it. He made everything into a game, remember?” his grandmother said.
Jenna looked away from the scene beyond the window to focus on Mrs. Durham. “I remember. But he’s not the same person now. I mean, he’s just the opposite, isn’t he? So intense…”
Mrs. Durham finished her inventory and shut the fridge. “He’s certainly driven. I don’t know what happened to him. When he was young we couldn’t keep him in school. The principal was always calling to say he’d cut class again. Once he graduated and started college, that all changed.”
Looking back at Adam, Jenna took a sip of her coffee. “I guess he decided it was time to grow up.” Grow up and leave me…
“I’m not so sure he wasn’t better off before,” Mrs. Durham muttered. “Anyway, I’m going to the store now. Anything I can pick up for you, dear?”
Jenna’s thoughts instantly reverted to the gnawing worry that had claimed her attention for most of the morning. She needed a pregnancy-test kit, but she wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Durham to get her one. She’d have to go to the store at some point herself.
“We could use some more turkey for Ryan’s lunches, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crossing to the counter where she’d set her purse, Jenn
a pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet, but Mrs. Durham refused to take it.
“Lunch meat is part of your room and board, you know that.”
“But you pay me a good salary besides. I can’t help worrying that I’m not pulling my weight around here—enough weight for me and Ryan, that is. You and Mr. Durham always encourage me to finish my glasswork, even at the expense of my duties.”
“Nonsense. You handle all the PR, work with our vendors, take care of the bookings. We couldn’t get by without you. All I do is a little bit of shopping and the cooking on Mr. Robertson’s days off. But your stained glass is going to make you rich someday, mark my words. Louis Comfort Tiffany could do no better.” Mrs. Durham nodded toward the window, where Jenna could see Adam and Ryan bent over some new object of interest. “You don’t have to worry about doing anything extra for Ryan’s keep, anyway. It’s been too long since we had a boy in the house.”
Their boy. Adam.
“How do I look?” Mrs. Durham grabbed her own industrial-size bag. “Is the back of my hair okay?”
“You just need it ratted a bit right here.” Jenna used the comb Mrs. Durham fished out of her purse to lift the flat spot at the back of her head, just as she did every morning of the week except Thursdays, the day she went to the hairdresser. “That’s better,” Jenna said, handing back the comb.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Durham retrieved a tube of bright red lipstick from her bag and liberally applied it. Then she ran a finger along each painted eyebrow, patted her nose with powder and snapped her compact shut before slipping it back into her purse. “I should be back in an hour or so.”
Jenna followed her to the door in the wake of the gardenia fragrance that trailed behind her. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. I spoke to a young girl earlier on the telephone who wants to interview for the waitress position. I told her she could come any time this morning, so you’d better stay, just in case. Now that Gayle’s moved away, she won’t be able to fill in again, and I don’t like it all falling on you. See what you think of this girl, if she shows up.”
“Okay.”
Jenna watched Mrs. Durham back her beige Cadillac down the driveway, then walked to the sink with her cup. She’d interviewed three people for the position and thought she’d found a good candidate, but it didn’t hurt to talk to a few more. Only the Durhams, Pamela, the maid, and Mr. Robertson, the cook, worked with her at the Victoriana. Jenna wanted to be certain that the person she hired fit in.
“Can we get a drink?”
Adam’s voice startled her. She turned to see his arms and face glistening with sweat despite the cooler weather. His T-shirt and faded blue jeans clung damply to his body.
Jenna could smell the slight tang of his sweat as he brushed past her to claim a glass from the cupboard. She tried to forget the times she’d tasted the salt on his skin after they’d been swimming in the ocean or running or…
Ryan followed Adam in, carrying a jar with a huge spider inside. “Look, Mom! Isn’t this cool?”
Stifling her initial revulsion, Jenna forced a smile. “It’s great. What kind of spider is it?”
“Adam’s not sure. It looks like a tarantula, but it’s not. See the babies crawling on its back?”
This time Jenna couldn’t quell a shiver as Ryan shoved the jar right up to her face. Inside, she could see hundreds of tiny spiders squirming on their mother’s back. “Don’t you think you should let it go?” she asked.
“I’m not going to hurt it. I just want to keep it as a pet.”
“I think it would rather be free.”
Ryan rolled his eyes at Adam. “My mom’s trying to turn me into a sissy.”
“Going soft in her old age, is she? She didn’t feel too soft last night. She nearly ruined some equipment I consider very valuable.” Adam rubbed his neck where she’d chopped him and grinned.
Glad he hadn’t put a hand to his other injury, as well, Jenna resisted the urge to smile back at him. They’d been angry with each other for fifteen years. She might be soft on children, animals, even insects, but he was a full-grown man, and she wasn’t about to go soft on him. Soft got you hurt, especially if it involved his “equipment.”
“Could be poisonous,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the jar with the spider, where, fortunately, Ryan’s attention remained.
“It can’t bite me when it’s in a jar, Mom. You’re just afraid it’ll die or something, and you don’t like to see anything get hurt.”
“Just rattle a few pans in the middle of the night and send it through the kitchen window. She’ll smash it quickly enough,” Adam said, and downed his glass of water.
Jenna narrowed her eyes. “You look pretty healthy to me.”
He cocked one dark eyebrow at her. “You haven’t seen my bruise.”
“And I’ll thank you not to show it to me.” Jenna’s quick response drew Ryan’s interest.
“What bruise?” he asked.
Adam gave Jenna a slow smile, letting her stew.
“It’s right here—on my neck.”
He tugged his T-shirt down until Jenna saw more chest than she wanted to. She glanced away, but Ryan said, “I don’t see anything.”
“Just give it a few days,” Adam told him.
“Or give me one more clear shot,” Jenna muttered under her breath.
Adam hooted with laughter, but she ignored him. To Ryan, she said, “You can keep the spider for a day or two, then turn it loose in the woodpile.”
The doorbell sounded, and Jenna felt a profound sense of relief. She hated being in the same room with Adam. He kept her off balance, scowling at her one minute and teasing her the next.
At the same time she had to admit that his presence at the Victoriana excited her like nothing had in a long time.
“That must be my applicant.” She dropped a kiss on her son’s sweaty brow. “Are you all finished with the wood?”
“Yeah, but Pop wants Adam to weed the garden. There’s only pumpkins and squash left, but I said I’d help, too.”
Jenna blinked in surprise. Pop? What had happened to “Mr. Durham”? “I’m glad you’re making yourself useful,” she said. “I’d better get the door.”
The girl on the front step was young, maybe eighteen. She seemed eager enough to work, but tattoos on her arms and neck and extensive body piercing didn’t create the best impression. The Durhams were conservative, and their business was intended to re-create the aura of Victorian days. This girl’s appearance was hardly consistent with that.
Still, Jenna asked her a few questions, just to be sure she wasn’t making a mistake. As they stood in the hall talking, Adam and Ryan came past them to head outside.
The girl’s eyes rounded and her gaze stayed on Adam until the door shut behind him. Then she stared blankly at Jenna. “What? What did you ask?”
Jenna repeated the standard question about prior experience, but while she waited for an answer, her eyes strayed to her own reflection in the cheval mirror across the room. If they hadn’t known each other before, would Adam find her as attractive as this young woman had just found him? Could she catch his eye? Make it follow her across a room?
For the past five years she’d felt invisible to Dennis, and throughout her marriage she hadn’t bothered to notice any other men who might have given her some indication of her attractiveness. She’d been too busy trying to make her world right. Adam had said she looked good, but she’d been in her robe, with her hair a mess. He couldn’t have meant it.
“Mrs. Livingston?”
It was Jenna’s turn to be jerked back to the conversation. “Yes?”
“I was wondering how many days a week you need someone.”
“The restaurant is only open for dinner Thursday through Saturday, and Sunday for brunch. Boyd Robertson is our cook. He comes from a military background and runs a pretty tight ship, so we’ve always called him by his last name. He’s lived in Mendocino as long as I can remember, and his culina
ry talents pull in a lot of locals in addition to our guests. If we get busy, Mrs. Durham, one of the owners, helps cook, and I help waitress.”
“So how many hours would that be?”
“About twenty a week.”
The girl glanced through the front window, and Jenna wondered if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam, who had disappeared around the side. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be enough. I really need something full-time.”
“You might try some of the restaurants in Fort Bragg if you can’t find a position around here,” Jenna told her.
“Thanks.” With a fleeting smile, the girl left, and Jenna decided to hire the applicant who was pushing fifty years old. The last thing she needed was a waitress who followed Adam around with stars in her eyes—not that another woman’s admiration of him bothered her, she told herself.
ADAM WHISTLED as he helped his grandfather weed, wondering why he felt so carefree this morning. An avalanche of letters and legal documents awaited him at the office, and though he hadn’t checked his voice mail, he knew it was loaded with messages. He’d told his grandparents he had some extra time this week, but in his world there was no such thing. Still, here he was, pulling out weeds with Pop as if at least thirty people didn’t need to get in touch with him.
It must be the change of pace, he decided. His work was grueling, all-encompassing, a hundred-hour-a-week investment. Mendocino represented home and family and was, in its comfortable way, refreshing.
Adam stood up and drew a deep breath of the salty air gusting in from the sea. He saw Jenna through the window, talking to the heavyset Mr. Robertson, the Durhams’ cook. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, but she looked better at thirty-two. Her body hoarded no unwanted pounds. Karate, or some other type of exercise, had kept her muscles toned, and her eyes, which had always been her loveliest feature, hadn’t changed.
Except, perhaps, for the expression in them. Now a wiser Jenna gazed back at him, instead of the romantic girl who used to love him. He wondered what her life with Dennis had been like and when their marriage had turned bad.
