by Brenda Novak
The boy didn’t respond.
“Some people make bad decisions, and those decisions make others suffer. We can’t always control what other people do, even when we’re big.”
He nodded slightly.
“Not all men are like your dad, you know that, Ryan?”
“I know. You’re not like him. I can tell you’re not.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Adam continued to stroke Ryan’s hair until the boy’s tears disappeared and his breathing evened. He expected Jenna to interrupt them at any moment, but she stayed where she was, a silent bystander. When he glanced down to see Ryan’s lids drooping over his eyes, he spoke softly to her.
“Go ahead and get some sleep. I think he’s okay now. I’ll tuck him in bed in a few minutes.”
“You could probably put him there now if you want,” she said, setting the glass of water she’d brought from the kitchen on the side table.
Adam shook his head. “I like this. I’ll carry him up in a bit.”
She paused for a moment and Adam thought she was going to say something. Then he heard her light tread on the stairs.
JENNA WATCHED as Adam passed her bed carrying her son to the room off her own, a room that used to be a small nursery for whomever had lived in the house when it was first built. She’d been waiting for them, wondering how long Adam would continue to hold Ryan, and was surprised when nearly twenty minutes went by.
Through the open door, she heard Ryan mumble a good-night, then pictured Adam pulling the covers up to her son’s chin. In another moment he reappeared in the moonlight that streamed through the window, and with a lingering glance in her direction headed back into the hall.
Swallowing hard, Jenna summoned the courage to speak to him. “Thank you.”
He turned back. “You don’t have to thank me. I can see what a great kid Ryan is, Jenna.”
“I know. You’ve been good to him, and I’m grateful. Ryan needs a healthy role model. But I wasn’t thanking you for that. Knowing Ryan is its own reward.”
“Then what?”
“For…before. For making me feel so…alive again.”
Facing her, he propped himself against the doorjamb. “You want to explain that?”
She leaned up on one elbow. “When you held me…when you kissed me—” Jenna felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment but wanted to get the words out “—I haven’t felt anything like that for a long time. I grew to hate it when Dennis touched me, and I think I was letting him make me old before my time.”
“And now?”
“Now I know I have a lot of life to live. That I can still want a man. And even though I’m not ready to involve myself in any emotional entanglements right now, I know I’ll be able to love again someday.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime? Wait for Mr. Right?”
She thought she detected a note of bitterness in his voice. “No, Mr. Right will have to take care of himself for a while. I’m going to stop telling myself that I don’t have enough talent to make a business out of my stained-glass work, and I’m going to go for my dream.”
She saw white even teeth as he smiled. “I did that?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at her for a few moments. “Then maybe you could find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“For…?”
“You know what for. Leaving you.”
“That was fifteen years ago.”
“That’s what your head says. It’s your heart I’m trying to convince.”
Jenna stared across the distance, wanting to tell him she held nothing against him. But she knew it wasn’t the truth. She couldn’t let go of the past because it was the only thing that protected her from falling a second time. “How about a stained-glass window for your office?”
He chuckled and pushed off the wall to stand up straight. “A consolation prize, huh? Well, I won’t complain so long as I can take my pick.”
“Be my guest.” At the moment Jenna was so thrilled with seeing a better future for herself and Ryan, with feeling the stirrings of confidence again, that she wouldn’t have cared if Adam took everything in her studio.
He turned to go. “Good night, Jenna.”
Smacking her pillow to get it just right, Jenna snuggled under the covers. “Sweet dreams.”
“They will be,” he said. “You’re not the only one who enjoyed what happened downstairs.”
The door closed behind him, and Jenna smiled to herself. Things were about to change for the better.
THE WIND RUSHED through his open window as Adam tore along the narrow two-lane highway back to San Francisco. He was cold, but he wanted to be; it cleared his head and kept him from nodding off. He was going to be tired in the morning, but he hadn’t wanted to postpone his return any longer. Besides, seeing Jenna and not touching her would only prolong the torture.
After putting Ryan to bed, he’d gone straight to his own room to pack. Then he’d hauled his leather duffel bag down to his car and let himself into Jenna’s studio for the window she’d promised him, returning only to leave his grandparents and Ryan a quick note. He and Jenna had already said their goodbyes. And Ryan? Well, he figured Jenna would explain…and he’d see the boy next weekend. The Durhams might not approve of his sudden departure, but he hoped his note would suffice. It explained what had happened with Dennis, and asked them to keep an eye out for Jenna in case Dennis got out of jail right away.
Glancing back, he shifted Jenna’s window to better protect it from being damaged and wondered again about what she had told him as he was leaving her room. She’d said she hadn’t felt desire for a man in a long time, that Dennis hadn’t been able to reach her. But what about the father of her baby? She must have been pretty worked up to go for a one-night stand. Jenna had never been easy; she wasn’t now, he thought with a rueful smile.
“Uncle,” he muttered, driving with one hand slung over the wheel while he ran the other through his hair. He’d lost the best sex he could imagine over a simple word.
Well, maybe it wasn’t so simple. He turned the radio up and thumped the wheel to the beat. He understood what Jenna was telling him. She wouldn’t let him get close to her again in case he left the way he had before. And he wasn’t sure he could promise her that next time would be different. He loved his work. He loved the city. He still didn’t want to run the Victoriana and feared the guilt would eventually trap him into doing just that, if he ever moved back. But when he was with Jenna, he wanted her, too. It was a stalemate.
He gunned the Mercedes, loving the way it hugged the turns, accelerated at the slightest touch of the pedal, stopped on a dime. Maybe he’d be able to forget Jenna now that he was safely away from Mendocino.
He turned his thoughts to Whitehead and Mike and the problems that awaited him at the office. Heaven knew he already had enough to occupy his time, without her.
JENNA SIPPED some herbal tea and watched Ryan pick at his breakfast. He’d been pouting all morning, ever since he’d raced to Adam’s room to find him gone.
“He didn’t even say goodbye,” her son repeated for the third time.
They were sitting in the restaurant portion of the downstairs, near the sideboard that held the remains of the Victoriana’s Sunday buffet. Jenna and the Durhams usually ate in the kitchen, but on weekends, they joined their guests. In the backyard Jenna could see Mr. Durham bending over a sprinkler head, but it looked like it was about to rain, so she supposed he’d come in soon. Mrs. Durham had just left for church. “You knew he had to go home sometime, honey,” she said, setting her cup in its saucer. “He has a job in San Francisco.”
“But he didn’t tell me he was leaving. Is he still coming back next weekend?”
Jenna sighed. It was only ten o’clock, but she’d been up since six to oversee breakfast for their guests and any local patrons. Despite her newfound optimism, the lack of sleep was starting to wear her down. Fortunately she’d had a twenty-four-hour reprieve from the nausea. “I can
’t say for sure. I know that he likes you as much as you like him and that he’ll come if he can, okay?”
Ryan nibbled on a piece of toast. “Yeah, he’ll come,” he announced, suddenly confident.
Tempted to caution her son not to raise his hopes too high, Jenna opened her mouth, but the slamming of the side door turned her attention to Mr. Durham. “Is it raining?” she asked.
“Just started.”
“Can I get you some coffee?”
He hung his yellow rain slicker on the coatrack. “I’ll take a cup. All the guests gone?”
“We have some late risers in the Ocean View room.” She stood and went to the sideboard, where muffins, bacon and scrambled eggs were starting to grow cold and poured him a cup of coffee from a white thermos.
“In the winter breakfast only runs till ten, even on Sundays.”
Smiling to herself at Mr. Durham’s gruff manner, Jenna brought the coffee back to the table. “They passed on breakfast. I was just about to gather everything up. They might check out after noon, but it doesn’t matter if they’re a little late. Pamela’s cleaning the other rooms already, and we only have one reservation for tonight.”
He nodded. “It’s been slow. Is Mr. Robertson finished, then?”
The stout cook came through the door just in time to answer the question himself. “The kitchen’s nearly clean, but I still have a pan out. Can I make you some eggs?”
Mr. Durham shook his head. “Coffee’s enough.”
“Jenna, you still hungry?”
“No, thanks. I think Pamela will want her usual toast, though. I’ll make it if you’re too busy.”
“I’ll have it waiting for her. No trouble.” He surveyed the room as though verifying that breakfast had gone smoothly, then returned to the kitchen. Mr. Durham took his coffee cup and started to follow, but Ryan called after him. “Mr. Durham?”
Adam’s grandfather turned and put a work-roughened hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It was Pop a few days ago. And what’s that frown all about, young man?”
“Adam left,” Jenna said.
“So Adam’s got us all moonin’ over him, eh?” Mr. Durham’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave Jenna a knowing wink. “He always had a way of making himself the center of the universe. If he knew what was good for him, he’d stay right here where he belongs, but I suppose he’ll be back. He comes every now and then.”
Ryan propped his chin on his hand. “Did he say goodbye to you?”
Mr. Durham laughed. “He left a note for us, same as you.”
“A note?” The possibility that Adam hadn’t simply disappeared without a parting word seemed to revive the boy’s spirits. He dropped his fork and scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t see a note. Where is it?”
“Gram set it on your bed while you were taking your bath.”
Jenna looked sternly at her son. “If you’d made your bed like you’re supposed to, you’d have found it right away.” She winced, realizing how much she sounded like the stereotypical mother.
Ryan didn’t seem to hear her, anyway. He dashed up the stairs at the same time the bell above the front door jingled. Expecting someone interested in renting a room or checking out the inn, Jenna rounded the corner to see Laura Wakefield setting a dripping umbrella in the stand by the door. The smell of salt air and moist dark earth accompanied her.
“Laura! What a nice surprise!” Jenna crossed the room and gave her old friend a hug. “I thought you had the flu. What brings you out in the rain? You make me feel guilty. I should be visiting you with chicken soup, and here you are.”
Laura smiled. “I’m better now. Besides, I heard something that would have gotten me up off my deathbed—” she waggled a finger at Jenna “—something I thought you would’ve told me yourself.”
“About me?” Jenna gazed into Laura’s face, wondering how she’d already heard that Dennis had been picked up by the police, when the sparkle in her friend’s eye let her know it was something else entirely.
“Oh, you heard Adam was back.”
Laura’s highly arched brows rose in unison. “Don’t say it so casually, Jen. There has to be more to the story than, ‘Oh yeah.’ You guys were the hottest thing back in high school.”
To avoid having Laura spout something she’d rather Mr. Durham or Mr. Robertson not hear, Jenna dragged her through the hall to the back door, which wasn’t difficult. Laura weighed less than a hundred pounds and felt more like a cardboard tilt-up than a solid human being. “Come on,” Jenna said. “Let’s go to my studio.”
When they reached the old gardening shed, Jenna turned on the light to compensate for the lack of sun, closed the door and waved Laura onto a stool. “I guess I should have offered you breakfast or a cup of coffee first…”
“I’m only hungry for the juicy details. With my sorry love life, I’m hoping to live vicariously through you. Why didn’t you tell me Adam was here when we talked on the phone?”
“I didn’t want you to think I cared about him.”
“You knew I’d see right through you, you mean! Of course you care. I ran into Adam in town when he was here a couple of years ago, and I have to tell you, those tight buns of his would make any woman drool.”
Jenna smiled in agreement, picturing the straight back that went with those buns, and the long muscular legs. “No one looks better in a pair of jeans.”
“What I want to know is, does he look as good out of them?” Laura pushed her Ralph Lauren glasses up on her nose. Despite her angular features and bony limbs, she was attractive in a clean fresh sort of way. She had shoulder-length brown hair with red highlights, gold-flecked eyes and a wide expressive mouth.
“He does,” Jenna admitted, feeling wonderfully wicked at the memory of him dressing in front of her. “Actually he looks even better.”
“Oh, my gosh, you guys did the deed again!” Laura jumped off her stool. “What was it like after all these years? Is he the same?”
Jenna put up a hand to slow her friend. “We did not do the deed. I don’t want to get involved with anyone right now. I saw him getting dressed—by accident. And he kissed me once. That’s all.”
Crossing her arms over her flat chest, Laura frowned and settled back on her seat. “That’s disappointing, Jen. Just a kiss? You didn’t give him anything else?”
With a shrug Jenna let her gaze wander to the stained-glass pieces hanging from the ceiling or resting on easels. She trusted Laura like a sister, but she still wasn’t willing to admit that her attraction to Adam was as strong as ever. Right now her plans didn’t include any man. She was going to pour all her energy—all the energy this pregnancy would allow—into her craft. “I gave him one of my windows. Does that count?”
Laura made a noise resembling a snort. “Some of us don’t know how to make the best of the opportunities that come our way. You guys were meant to be. Even I could see that.”
Jenna was going to tell her friend about the latest developments with Dennis when something she should have noticed the moment she stepped into the studio distracted her.
Laura snapped her fingers in front of Jenna’s face. “What are you thinking about, Jen? You’re not with me anymore.”
Jenna frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, nothing’s missing. I told him he could take his pick of things out here, but…Wait!” Hopping to her feet, she hurried to the back cupboards where she kept the flannel-wrapped piece she called The Cove.
It was gone.
Turning back to Laura, she let the smile that tempted her lips go wide and turn into a laugh. “Damn! He took my favorite.”
“What?”
“My favorite window. He remembers it!”
Laura was beginning to lose patience. “He remembers what?”
“That it’s our beach. I bet he knew all along.”
CHAPTER NINE
THOUGH THE OFFICES in the expensive high-rise on Montgomery Street were officially closed on Sundays, Adam recognized several cars in the parking garage
as those belonging to other attorneys in the firm. Fortunately, he didn’t see Mike’s blue BMW. After the days he’d spent in Jenna’s unsettling company, he was in no mood to deal with his partner. He would have avoided the office until tomorrow, except that he needed today to sort through what had piled up in his absence—without the distraction of ringing telephones, staff meetings, court dates or client demands.
Briefly he’d stopped off at home to eat and rest. Then he’d showered and shaved and donned something more comfortable than the suit he normally wore to work and headed off again. But he still felt a little rough around the edges. His eyes were bloodshot and gritty; his head ached.
Juggling the stained-glass window, he reached into the pocket of his khakis for the key card that would let him into the building. Behind him car exhaust hovered over the busy street, a horn sounded, and someone cursed a pedestrian.
Adam smiled. San Francisco. City by the bay. It was good to be home.
He stepped into a lobby of elegant beige marble, which echoed like a vault when the door closed behind him. The squeak of his rubber-soled shoes accompanied him to a bank of elevators along the far wall, where gleaming silver doors whooshed open almost as soon as he pressed the button.
On the sixteenth floor, Adam used another key to open the tall heavy door to his firm’s offices. Decorated in mauve, gray and black, the reception area was furnished with black leather chairs arranged near glass tables. Modern prints lined the walls. The desk that sat in the center of the room, polished to a high gloss, was empty, waiting for the receptionist who answered phones during the week.
Knowing he’d find most of his messages on his voice mail, he gave his slot behind the receptionist’s desk only a cursory check and found a small envelope addressed simply “Adam.” He stuck it in the flap of his briefcase and made his way through the maze of corridors, past the cubicles where the paralegals and other support staff worked.
When he reached his expansive corner office, he stood at the threshold, eyeing the towers of files, law books and thick stapled documents piled on the walnut desk he had purchased from an antique dealer more than a year ago. He shouldn’t have taken more than a day off. He’d probably have to spend all night catching up.
