“What the hell are you doing out here?” His breath roiling in the cold, he caught up to her. “Another storm is due in.”
As if his words had triggered the clouds to let loose, a few small flakes of snow drifted down. Even without the science background tucked away in her reluctant brain, she could see the gray sky had darkened, foretelling a heavy snowfall.
Her feet nearly numb from the cold, she preceded him toward the house. “What did William want?”
“He just found out about a math camp for gifted students that runs during spring break. He needed a letter of reference. The deadline’s not until mid-January, but he’s afraid he won’t be considered if he doesn’t get the application in early.”
She stepped back inside the house, grateful for the warmth. “You’ll write it for him?”
He shoved his boots off and ordered her out of her shoes and the parka. As he hustled her toward the fire, he told her, “I e-mailed the organizer of the event. Let her know I’d pay for William’s slot plus sponsor two others. And I’ll write the letter.”
They stood at the stove, Mia holding her hands as close as she could to the warmth. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”
He didn’t answer, his long hair hiding his face. Whatever nightmare had visited him in his sleep was still with him, holding him tight within its coils. The moments talking with William might have given Jack a brief respite, but the sunlight the boy might have shed had shut off like a sudden eclipse.
“Jack.”
She put her hand on his arm. He walked away, stalking off across the great room and down the hall like a mountain lion, mortally wounded. His bedroom door slammed, an exclamation point to his rejection of her.
Her feet were moving before she worked out what she would say to him. She knocked on the door politely at first, then when he wouldn’t respond, she pounded with her fist. “I’m not leaving, Jack. Let me in!”
She was ready to open the door and enter uninvited when she heard the latch give. His expression was anything but welcoming as he loomed over her.
Impulse had her pushing past him into the room. Memories of their lovemaking washed over her.
She wouldn’t think about that. She turned toward him, arms crossed over her middle. “Talk to me, Jack. Let me help you.”
“This isn’t something you can fix, Mia.”
“At least let me be with you.”
He approached her with a glance down at the bed. “Not a good idea.”
“Jack…” She lifted her hand to his face, rested her palm against his cheek. For a moment, his rigid jaw softened, and she thought he would yield his secrets to her.
Then he wrenched away, breaking the contact. Turned his back to her. “I don’t want you here, Mia.”
She couldn’t leave it at that. She reached out for him again, fingers barely brushing against his shoulder. He turned, expression fierce, flinging her hand away. “Leave me the hell alone!”
The force of his anger sent her stumbling backward against the dresser. She heard a crash, glanced over at the highboy to see a framed picture had toppled. When Jack reached toward her, she shrank back, suddenly terrified by what that large hand might do to her.
“Please don’t,” she pleaded, the words seeming to come from someone else. Her heart raced even as she saw Jack was only righting the photo. The wedding picture she’d seen in the guest room.
He stood motionless, hand still on the highboy as he watched her. But as she watched, his face and his body seemed to change, as if someone else’s image overlaid his. She saw hands in fists, a face twisted with rage. A monster’s eyes burning her as blows rained down.
“Mia?”
A roaring in her ears muted Jack’s voice. Thrust into a maelstrom of fear, she collapsed inward on herself, falling to the floor. Arms over her head to protect herself, she sobbed and screamed as she prayed for the agony to be over.
His first touch on her arm bludgeoned her, although some small scrap of her mind understood it was the barest brushing of fingertips. He murmured her name over and over again, then endearments that finally grabbed at her heart and pulled her from her waking nightmare. She let him tug her into his arms, burrowing against his flannel shirt.
She didn’t know how long they sat there. At one point he repositioned himself, leaning against the bed and pulling her into his lap. Where before her confused mind had felt punishment from him, now she only felt comfort.
His breath ruffled her hair. “Focus on yourself, Mia. Not me.”
“But I care about you.” It was more than that, but she wasn’t about to explore those feelings.
He eased her away from him. “Don’t care, Mia. It’s a waste of time.” He rose, then helped her to her feet.
At the door she turned back. “I thought I’d make chili for dinner.”
“I won’t be joining you.”
She nodded and walked away, feeling bereft. As she forced herself to keep moving, resisting the temptation to look back, the door latched quietly behind her.
He followed a ritual on Christmas Eve. At three o’clock in the afternoon, he was seven hours into it, building up the rage and grief that would peak at 8:21 p.m. To the hour and minute when he found Elizabeth.
Unlike Mia and her well-meaning interruptions, Dawson knew well enough to stay out of Jack’s life from December twenty-third through the twenty-fifth. Dawson shielded him from outsiders even more thoroughly this time of year, telling anyone who asked that Jack took an annual ski trip to Park City every Christmas.
William, of course, knew nothing. Jack had only been mentoring the boy for six months, hadn’t had to deal with the brilliant, cheerful prodigy during the Christmas holiday. Wouldn’t have had to today if he’d remembered to shut down his computer before bed. But after standing in the icy darkness last night until he was nearly numb from cold, he’d headed straight to his room and the blast of a hot shower, computer forgotten.
Still, those few moments with William had briefly lit the dank cave Jack inhabited this time of year. Gave him something to think about besides his grief.
Why, then, was William welcome as a distraction but Mia was not? He knew at least one reason, although he could guess at a couple more if he were willing to be honest with himself. Mia reminded him of the happiness he once had and could never have again. Just her presence here in his home dragged bare emotions into the open, exposing him to more pain.
Outside his bedroom window, thick snow obliterated the view of the trees. The heavy cloud cover had squelched the sun, casting a dim, gray pall over the landscape. The world outside seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each storm, until there was nothing but this house and him and Mia inside it.
Mia’s presence confronted him with an uncomfortable truth—that he indulged himself with his grief, that he wallowed in it. As horrifying as Elizabeth’s death had been, it was five years past. Wasn’t it time he put it away, stuffed it in a box somewhere out of sight?
If only he could pull this knife out of his gut so easily. His psychologist wife would have labeled it post-traumatic stress disorder, would have recommended counseling. He’d seen a therapist, but it had only been a half-assed attempt. There were too damn many locked doors he’d just as soon not pry open with the process.
Which brought his mind back around to Mia and her talent for wielding an emotional crowbar. It wasn’t intentional. She’d asked few questions, had left his past alone for the most part. But she had only to stand in the same room with him to flay him with her sweetness, her caring.
He could just take her to his bed, bury his nightmares that way. It was what his body had been clamoring for since Friday night. Why not use sex to sublimate the pain?
The thought of using Mia that way sickened him. Especially since he sensed that their lovemaking had meant far more to her than it had to him. Women couldn’t help responding that way to intimacy. And Mia was even more vulnerable than most.
A tantalizing fragrance worked its way into
his room—onions and spices, the beginnings of chili. Was she making the promised meal just for herself? Or did she have hopes it would lure him out of his room? It damn well might. The aroma had set off a rumbling in his stomach. The hunger was a revelation; he’d had little appetite in the past few days.
Her quiet rap on his door set off a jangling in every nerve ending. For a heartbeat he considered ignoring her, but his feet were moving toward the threshold in the next instant.
As the door swung open, he tried to brace himself for the sight of her. His heart slammed in his chest as she tipped her serious face up to him, the cheery snowman on her red sweater grinning in counterpoint.
“I was looking for beans for the chili.”
He edged past her. “There are some staples stored on a shelf in the garage.”
She followed him down the hall, through the kitchen, to the garage. He indicated the shelf above the chest freezer. “I keep the pantry overflow here.”
Going up on tiptoe, she reached for a can of black beans at the back of the shelf, her fingertips barely brushing the can. Stretching past her, his body arching over hers, he took down two cans and set them on the freezer.
And should have moved away. Stepped back and waited while she took the cans into the house. Except she didn’t take them and he stayed put, close enough to hear her breath, to inhale her scent, to feel her warmth curling from her body. He might as well be a magnet the way he leaned even closer to her.
She still had her back to him, but had lowered her arm and curved ever so slightly toward him. Her head bent down, exposing even more of her slender throat. The ends of her dark hair lay in stark contrast to her pale skin. There was no resisting the urge to kiss her.
In the chill of the garage, the back of her neck was hot against his mouth. He wondered if the source of her scent was here or at her throat or in her hair. Between her breasts, along her hips, between her legs. He went hard at the thought of exploring each part of her body in his pursuit of that elusive fragrance.
His hands around her waist, he pulled her back, and her body molded against his. His fingers dipped beneath her red sweater, then tugged her T-shirt free of her jeans. The jeans were loose enough that he could easily slide his hand inside and past the elastic waistband of her panties.
She shivered. Mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “Too cold?” In response, she reached back with her hand, wedging it between their bodies, fingers spread across his erection. He nearly went to his knees from the pressure.
Leaning against the freezer, he stroked Mia’s flat belly, reveling in the feel of her satiny skin. With each pass, he dipped lower until he brushed the soft curls below. Mia pressed harder against the front of his jeans, the heel of her hand moving along his length.
He wanted everything at once—his mouth on her everywhere, his body buried deep inside hers. The feel of her climaxing against his hand. He wanted to devour her, pull her inside him, keep her forever safe.
As he couldn’t Elizabeth. The sudden intrusion sent a chill through him, momentarily stilled the movement of his hand. He pushed away the unwanted thought, squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, closing out everything but Mia and the feel of her in his arms.
With hasty greed, he thrust his fingers between Mia’s soft folds, seeking out her hot, sensitive center. Her legs gave way, but he supported her, his free arm hooked around her waist. He drove his finger inside her, the wet warmth nearly pushing him over the edge. Then he rubbed her with slow strokes of his palm, feeling her vibrate against him.
She came with a guttural cry, her body growing heavier as she melted in his arms. He thrust inside her again, felt her flex around his fingers as she climaxed again. The honeyed wetness against his hand sent his heart rate screaming.
She twisted in his arms, pulling free to face him. “I want you inside me.” She reached for his fly, had it half down before he stopped her.
“Condoms are inside,” he reminded her.
She took his hand, pulling him along behind her. At that moment he would have followed her outside to make love in the snow.
The house phone was ringing when they stepped inside. He ignored it, letting her tow him through the kitchen, toward the hall. The answering machine clicked on to pick up the call.
The sound of William’s tearful voice stopped him in his tracks. “Dr. T.? Are you there? Please—” He broke off with sob. “Something happened to my mom.”
Chapter Twelve
While Jack retreated to his office to speak with William, Mia returned for the black beans she’d abandoned. Her body still vibrated in reaction to what had happened in the garage, but she was aching for more. Her emotions were scattered across the map, muddling her mind, leaving her with barely enough brain power to finish putting together dinner.
She drained the beans then threw them into the pot with the rest of the chili makings. The scent of cumin and chili powder swirled off the surface as she stirred, mingling with just a hint of cinnamon. Her impulse to sprinkle in that spice had surprised her. She could only guess it was her secret ingredient for chili.
Covering the pot again, she started opening cupboards in search of cornmeal for corn bread. Jack kept flour and sugar in canisters on the counter; she’d found those when she’d made muffins. She finally located the cornmeal in the pantry on the next-to-top shelf.
As she used the stepstool to reach the bag, she spotted a box of the cinnamon herb tea she’d enjoyed Sunday night. She made a mental note to have some after dinner. Maybe it would soothe her into sleep.
She measured the dry ingredients into a bowl for the corn bread and checked on the supply of eggs and milk. It was early yet, not quite four o’clock. She wouldn’t finish the corn bread for another couple hours.
She stepped from the kitchen and around the corner toward Jack’s office. His voice rumbled through the shut door, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Anxiety for William prickled along her skin.
At a loss for what else to do, she wiped down the already clean counters and wet mopped the floor. She’d planned to prepare the chili toppings later, but needing to keep busy, she went ahead and chopped onions, sliced black olives and grated some sharp cheddar.
Jack finally entered the kitchen just as Mia was setting the washed grater in the dish drainer. His expression told her nothing as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.
“Well?” she asked, wringing the kitchen towel in her hands.
“His mom passed out at work. He and the neighbor weren’t notified until this morning—William spends the night at a neighbor’s while his mom works and it took some time to find that contact number.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I spoke to the neighbor. Apparently Mrs. Franklin has high blood pressure. She should be fine with medication.”
Relief flooded her. “How’s William doing?”
“Shook up. Scared to death. I told him and the neighbor if there was anything she needed medically I’d make sure she got it.”
Of course he would. She’d seen how he felt about William despite the short time he’d known the boy. Because he cared about William, because the boy meant so much to him, Jack’s generosity would know no bounds. What would it be like if he felt that way about her?
Longing stabbed her, that she could be as important to him. That he would feel more for her than compassion toward a stranger. That there would be more to the connection between them than simple physical attraction.
He crossed to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. “I got a call on the business line while I was talking to William’s neighbor. Dawson.”
Mia could think of only one reason Jack would bring up his conversation with Dawson. “What did he say?”
“He finally managed to line up a crew to clear the road. They won’t be able to start until after Christmas, of course, but the road should be open in less than a week. Assuming the weather clears like the forecasts are promising.”
&
nbsp; “That’s good.” It was, wasn’t it? To be able to leave here, try to find a way back to her life? Why, then, did it feel as if a rock had settled in her stomach?
And why did Jack look as grim as if he’d just delivered the worst news of all?
While Jack spent the next two hours hashing out the details involving Mrs. Franklin’s care, Mia took her drawing pad into her room. Using the printout from William, she sketched until her hand cramped and the light outside faded completely to black. Shaking the constriction from her hand, she studied her work and decided she was happy with the result. She tore the sheet carefully from the pad and rolled it up, using some purple yarn she found in the closet to tie it.
At a quarter to six, with no sign of Jack, she threw the corn bread together and set the pan of batter in the oven. Listening for him as she washed the mixing bowl and measuring cups, she realized she might be eating alone. Ignoring a pang of loneliness, she pulled down bowls and plates for two. Cheese, onions, olives and sour cream set out, she waited for the corn bread to bake.
The timer beeped on the oven just as Jack appeared, sleeves of his wool flannel shirt rolled up and his hair mussed as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Seeing him, she couldn’t hold back a spurt of joy.
Mitts on, she slid out the hot corn bread. As she set the pan on the granite countertop, he shut the oven door for her.
“Dinner’s ready,” she told him. She held her breath, hoping he would say he’d join her, steeling herself for the possibility he wouldn’t.
He shut off the stove, shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked from the steaming corn bread to the large pot of chili on the stove. “I’m starving.” He seemed surprised.
She handed him a bowl, then fished a ladle out of a drawer. He dipped it deep into the pot of chili, then brought up a generous helping. He filled the bowl, exchanging it with the empty one. Mia cut the corn bread and put the hot squares into the bread basket.
Her Miracle Man Page 13
