Wendy had given in, and even seemed to enjoy the excitement of pregnancy. She’d spent what seemed a small fortune at the time on maternity clothes and on decorating the baby’s bedroom. But she decided not to nurse, which disappointed him, and she wanted to put Melissa in a morning day care by the time she was six weeks old.
“You could drop her off on your way to work and I could get some sleep,” she’d said, her smile coaxing. “Then I could pick her up and she and I could have a lovely day together, and I’d feel like a human being when you came home from work.”
Actually, Melissa had napped in the afternoon, and Wendy had still been frazzled when he got home, eager for him to change their baby daughter’s diaper or give her a bath or a bottle or tuck her in.
Ryan frowned out the windshield of his pickup as traffic slowed on the freeway north of Southcenter Shopping Center and the exit for the airport.
Of course Wendy had loved Melissa. But her love, he had sometimes thought, was like a child’s for a doll. She’d coo and kiss and get down and play like another toddler, and then abruptly lose interest and announce in a brittle voice that, “I have to get out of here for a while or I’ll go crazy!” She’d snatch up her keys. “I’m just going to the mall. You can babysit.”
She’d loved Tyler in turn, but even less patiently. Ryan’s feelings for her had eroded when she went out with girlfriends and was late picking up the kids at day care, screamed at Tyler because he wouldn’t go down for a nap and pouted when Ryan balked at hiring babysitters every Friday and Saturday night.
She’d been right, he concluded finally. She wasn’t ready to be a mother. Maybe she should have waited. Maybe she should never have had children. But when the divorce came, she wouldn’t admit she was overwhelmed by them.
“I’m their mother!” she announced fiercely. “Of course they’ll live with me. You work, you’re never home.” A more than slight exaggeration, but he let it slide. After all, she was staying in the house and he had rented an apartment not half a mile from his family. He could keep an eye on them. Run over if either of the kids called. They spent every weekend with him, so Wendy didn’t have to worry about affording babysitters. He took Melissa to T-ball games and Tyler to soccer, biked around Green Lake with them, knew their friends.
He hadn’t considered one thing. Wendy wasn’t going out alone. She was dating. And with stunning speed, she announced she was remarrying.
Only months after her marriage came the bombshell, she, her new husband and the kids were moving.
Melissa’s small voice jarred Ryan out of his reverie. “Are you okay, Dad?”
They were slowing again, this time to join the backup to grab a ticket for the airport parking.
“Yeah.” He found a grin for her, if a sad one. “I’m just missing you guys already, even if you’re not gone yet.”
Her mouth pinched. “I wish we could stay longer.”
“Yeah. Me, too. But you’ll be back in less than a month. Twenty-eight days.”
Her anxious gaze met his. “You don’t think Mom will change her mind?”
Hiding his anger, Ryan smiled reassuringly. “Nope. She can’t. We have a parenting plan that’s court-approved. This Christmas is my turn.”
“Oh.” She visibly relaxed. “Okay.” Silent while he began the spiral upward in the parking garage, the eleven-year-old said suddenly, “Sometimes I wish…” before stopping just as abruptly.
He shot her a glance. “You wish?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
From the back seat, Tyler said loudly, “I wish we could live here.”
“But then we wouldn’t see Mom.”
“But now we don’t see Dad hardly ever.”
Melissa had no rejoinder.
Ryan said heartily, “A month. You’ll be back in a month. And then for the whole summer.”
Neither said anything.
He hated putting them on the airplane. They were too young to be flying halfway across the country, shuttling between parents for the convenience of the two adults, with no reference to what they preferred or needed.
He watched the plane take off, diminishing into a late November sky. Then he hiked back to his truck, paid the outrageous parking fee and wished he knew what flight Jo was coming in on.
DING DONG.
Sunday night, eight o’clock, and somebody was ringing his doorbell?
Ryan put down his book and left his easy chair to go to the door.
Jo. Jo stood on his doorstep, bundled in a parka, looking small and uncertain. “I should have called, but…”
Exultation swelled in his chest, hurting like he guessed a heart attack might. Without a word, Ryan snatched her off the doorstep and into his arms.
It was a good minute before she emerged from his kiss, her cheeks pink. “Do I take it you missed me?” she asked, voice breathless.
“Yeah.” Belatedly, he reached past her and closed the front door, shutting out the cold air. “You could say that.”
“I missed you, too,” Jo said simply. “When I got in, I went home, and I almost called, but then…I just thought I’d come.”
“I’ve been waiting by the phone.” Which, he realized, was exactly what he’d been doing. He couldn’t remember a thing about the two chapters he’d read in the past hour; he’d been reading with only half his attention while he waited.
“Really?” Her dark eyes were shy.
“Really.” He cupped her face in his hands, threading his fingers through her thick, silky hair. He loved her hair, the texture and the rich glow when light shone on it. His voice thickened. “You’re beautiful.”
“No,” she protested. “You know I’m not.”
He nipped her lower lip. “Don’t argue,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m the expert. You’re beautiful.”
Her laugh was joyous, her mouth soft when he kissed her again. Lifting his head at last, Ryan sucked in a shaky breath.
“I want to hear about your weekend. Here.” He reached for the zipper of her parka. “Let me take your coat.”
He laid an arm across her shoulders and steered her companionably toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“I’d love some.”
He put it on to brew and leaned back against the counter, savoring the sight of her in a red turtleneck sweater and jeans. “Did you enjoy seeing your brother?”
Jo sat at the long kitchen table, one foot tucked under her. “Actually, I did.” She had an oddly pensive expression. “My father came to Thanksgiving dinner.”
Ryan raised his brows. “You didn’t know your brother had invited him?”
“I knew. I’m not sure why I went, but…it actually turned out to be…nice. Oh.” She made an impatient gesture. “That isn’t right. But better than I would have expected. I said things I should have said years ago, and he opened up a little. As much as he’s capable of, I suspect.”
Watching her face and the flicker of expressions crossing it, Ryan made no move to reach for mugs. “What did you say?”
“I told him I was angry that he’d never talked about my mother. That I blamed him for how little I remember about her. How little I even know.”
“You have your aunt.”
Wryly, Jo said, “I’m realizing how much of what Aunt Julia tells me is filtered through her biases. Much as I hate to admit it…you were right.” She hesitated. “For example, she always said Mom gave up a singing career to marry Dad and have children. That she could have been a star.”
“And?” he nudged, when she fell silent.
“Dad says she had nodes on her vocal cords. That the doctor wanted her to quit singing.”
“Couldn’t they do surgery?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not then. Haven’t I read that Julie Andrews can’t sing anymore after some kind of surgery like that?” She shook her head. “Maybe Mom just didn’t care enough about making it. Maybe she wanted to be a wife and mother, and Aunt Julia just didn’t believe she possibly could.”
&
nbsp; He knew this was important, knew it all figured in why Jo herself was so determined never to marry. Quietly, he asked, “Why is she so antimarriage?”
Jo shook her head. “I have no idea. No, that isn’t quite true. I guess their parents—my grandparents—had a horrible marriage. My grandmother was a teacher until she got married, but she was expected to give it up afterward. I think maybe she was bored as a housewife, and she infected Aunt Julia. Or maybe Aunt Julia fell in love with someone who assumed she’d give up going to law school for him. She’s never said.” Jo paused, then smiled reminiscently. “She always told stories about these men she had dated. There was a senator and a Pulitzer-prize-winning journalist and judges and even a movie star.” She named him. “Her life always sounded so glamorous. So much better than if she was married to one guy settling into stodginess.” Jo looked at him in appeal, as if asking for agreement.
He nodded to show his understanding even though he didn’t like knowing that he was “the stodgy guy” competing with Jo’s vision of a lifestyle that would have her appearing in People magazine’s “Star Tracks” on the arm of some celebrity or another.
“I always wanted to be like Aunt Julia,” Jo concluded softly.
Wanted. Past tense. Trying to quell the hope that insisted on rising like flood waters, Ryan turned and opened the cupboard.
“And now?” he asked casually.
“Now?”
“Do you still want to be like her?”
She didn’t answer. He stole a look over his shoulder to see her staring into space with the intense, frowning concentration of someone searching a website for one magical nugget of information.
At last she let out a giant sigh. “The last time I saw her—when she stopped overnight last month—I suddenly realized that she’s lonely. She won’t admit it. She may not even know she is!” Another gusty sigh followed the first. “But I could tell. All the charming, successful men her age have wives now. And children. Her judge…” Jo looked up. “She’s been seeing him forever. I actually thought they might end up getting married. But instead he married someone else, and now he’s pushing a baby carriage. Aunt Julia curls her lip, but I wonder…” Her voice trailed off.
“You wonder?” He’d been doing a lot of prodding tonight, but he wanted her to admit to a change of heart. He wanted her to say, I’ve realized that I love you. That I want to marry you and have your babies and be a librarian in Seattle.
Because he was in love with her.
Apparently, he was a stodgy guy to his core.
“I wonder if she hasn’t realized that she’s going to end up lonely.” Jo sounded sad herself. “I wonder if she wasn’t jealous when she saw him with his pregnant wife, even though I expect he asked her to marry him and she turned him down.”
Ryan thought it was possible she was reading her own feelings into her aunt’s life, but he sure wasn’t going to say so. Maybe he even hoped that’s what Jo was doing, because it would suggest that she was starting to realize that she would end up lonely if she never married.
Specifically, him.
“Why don’t you ask her?” he suggested.
“I tried. Well, in a roundabout, gentle way. She sneered at the idea.”
“Ah.” He set a mug of coffee in front of her.
Jo reached for it. “But she would, of course.”
“Yeah, I suppose she would.”
She stirred sugar into her coffee. “Boyce’s girlfriend left him, so he’s feeling down. I met her once and wasn’t impressed, but he was halfway to being in love with her.”
“Why’d she leave him?” Ryan didn’t much care about her brother’s romantic troubles, but he did care what she thought and felt, and he was enjoying watching her face, seeing it brighten and shadow, her mouth pucker when she thought, the small creases form between her high arched brows when she was momentarily disturbed. She had a delicacy about her bone structure, a fineness to her porcelain skin, that her personality belied. The contradiction was one of the many fascinations she held for him.
“According to him, because he’s too ‘establishment.’ Even to please her, he wouldn’t pierce his eyebrow.” Now her face lit with laughter. “Which sounds yucky, doesn’t it?”
“I would use a word considerably stronger than ‘yucky,’” he said with feeling.
Her laughter fled. “All I’ve done is talk about my family. How was your week with the kids?”
Seeing real interest in her eyes, Ryan told her. He didn’t sugarcoat the visit. If she was to be a real part of his life, she’d see his kids at their worst as well as their best.
She encouraged him to talk about his worries: Melissa’s premature adolescent behavior, Tyler’s depression and their stiff mentions of their mother.
“Do you have any reason to think she isn’t a good parent?” Jo asked.
“I’m not sure she wanted to have kids at all.” He’d never told even Kathleen about Wendy’s reluctance, not wanting his sister to judge his wife. “I’m the one who wanted them. Sometimes I feel guilty, wondering if I pushed too hard….”
Softly, Jo finished his thought. “But if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have Melissa and Tyler.”
“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know she loves the kids. I also know she loses interest in the day-to-day demands they place on her. I think she did better when she was first married, probably because she was trying to impress Ronald with how devoted she was. I’m guessing, from things they let slip, that she’s quit trying. She’s got him sewed up, right?”
Jo expressed another of his fears. “Or maybe he wants more of her attention.”
Ryan shoved back his chair and rose, suddenly unable to bear just sitting. “I wish I had some grounds to demand custody.”
“Did you try, after the divorce?”
“No.” He gripped the back of the chair. “I thought it was better for the kids if we worked everything out amicably. They were young enough that it made sense for them to be with their mother. Tyler was still coming home at lunchtime. Living with me, he would have had to be in before-and after-school care.” He grunted. “Maybe I was a coward. I didn’t want to start a war.”
Jo stood and came to him, sliding an arm around his waist. “Keep talking to them. Find out what life’s like before you make a decision. Remember, they’ll be back for Christmas. This time, they won’t be wary of you. You’ll just be Dad.”
“Yeah.” He made himself relax, rotating his shoulders, then faced her. “You’re right. Like I said, you have good instincts.”
“I sure didn’t inherit them from my father,” she said.
“If he was such a bad parent, how did you turn out so well?” Ryan asked, wrapping one hand around her nape and gently massaging.
She gave a laugh that was more than a little sad. “Sometimes I think I’m a bundle of neuroses. What you see is facade.”
“I’m betting that’s not true.” With his other hand he smoothed her hair from her face. “Our choices, our behavior, our relationships with other people, that’s a big part of us. The things we fear, those are just a facet.”
Her sigh was tremulous. “My relationships with other people stink. Do you know how few truly close friends I’ve ever had? I see my father every few years and wish it wasn’t even that often. Boyce and I go a year at a time without getting together. I’ve never stuck with a boyfriend for any length of time. Aunt Julia was my…” She hesitated. “My lode-stone, I guess, and now I’m questioning her. You don’t know me, Ryan.”
“Then let me,” he said with sudden ferocity. “Show me who you are.”
Her eyes were wet with tears when she looked up. “I’m trying,” she said in a choked voice. “I am. I promise.”
He pulled her tight against him and buried his face in her hair. “That’s all you can do. That’s all I ask. Whoever you are, I love you, Josephine Dubray.”
She shook her head wildly. “You don’t. You can’t.”
“I can,” Ryan said patiently.<
br />
“But…it’s too soon,” she muttered into his chest.
She didn’t love him.
Ryan closed his eyes on a surge of agony. No! She was afraid, that was all. Afraid to admit she did care. He had to believe that!
“Maybe. But I love you anyway.” He nuzzled her hair. “I’m not asking for some kind of declaration in return. I just thought you should know I’m in danger of violating our agreement.”
She mumbled something.
He went still. “What?”
Jo drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’m in danger, too,” she whispered, before pressing her face against his chest again.
JO WENT HOME late, having dragged herself unwillingly from Ryan’s house. She had a nine o’clock class in the morning.
The house was dark. Jo was grateful to find a parking spot across the street but only a door or two down. Shivering from the cold night, she hurried in.
A wonderful, powerful fragrance filled the entry. She breathed it in, thinking, Vanilla. No, cinnamon. Or even lemon and thyme. Or cocoa. Or…was that a whiff of mint?
Kathleen had been cooking in the kitchen earlier. What on earth had she been making? Curious, Jo turned that way, switching on the light as she went.
The kitchen counter was covered with rows of…soap bars. Some sat in molds, while others were laid out on sheets of cardboard. Wonderful, intriguing soap bars, some clear with what might be rose petals captured inside as if in amber, others the color of oatmeal that had been molded into ovals. They were lined up like fresh-baked cookies set out to cool.
Wonderingly, Jo picked up a bar that had layered colors like a fancy dessert and sniffed. Definitely peppermint and a hint of…chocolate? Was it possible? It felt a little soft, and she quickly set it down.
A clear, square bar with petals frozen inside did smell like roses, while a smooth, oatmeal bar flecked with darker colors exuded cinnamon and nutmeg.
How extraordinary, she thought finally, backing away. Imagine, Kathleen making all these! Practical, brisk and sometimes entirely too regal, she of all people was unlikely to have such a…frivolous, if creative, hobby.
Built to Last (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 14
