“It’s the strong thing to do, Jordie,” she said, though she might have substituted her own name for his. “It’s the grown-up thing to do.” Releasing his wrist, she took his chin and forced him to meet her gaze. “You are strong. You’re a fighter. You’re a survivor. You can get through this, Jordie. I know you can.” She held his eyes until the sound of a man’s voice came from barely four feet away.
“Okay, Jordie, I’m going to grab hold of your leg and guide your foot to the ladder.”
Jordie started to shake his head, but Amanda tightened her hold on his chin. “Yes,” she whispered firmly. “Quinn was a coward. You aren’t. Show them that, Jordie. I’m begging you to show them that.”
For an instant, he looked like he wanted to argue. In the next instant, though, he seemed to let out a breath. He didn’t quite nod, but she saw his acquiescence. Releasing his chin, she held his arm until he had both feet on the ladder. He looked up at her a final time.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll be down right after you.”
She saw the rescue worker immediately beneath Jordie, close enough so that he couldn’t fall or jump. In tandem, they moved down one step, then another. Before long, they were a body’s length beneath her, then two. She was just starting to think that they were out of the woods when she heard the rumble of stone and felt a shift. This one didn’t stop so fast.
Chapter Seventeen
In the space of a breath, as she slid forward and back on the slick granite, Amanda pictured Graham standing below and feeling unspeakable pain as he watched her die.
But she didn’t die. Heart thundering, she rode the stone to a standstill. Beneath her, there was a commotion of voices. It was a minute before she was thinking cohesively enough again to look down into the grid of flashlight beams and wonder about Jordie. She couldn’t see the ladder.
“How is he?” she yelled.
“Fine,” said Graham, sounding closer than he could possibly be.
“Gray?” she cried.
“On the ladder, behind you and down, babe. Are you hurt?”
“No. Just terrified.”
“You’re gonna have to slide back to where you were.”
“It isn’t safe. The rocks are loose.”
His voice came from a closer point. “We have no choice.” He shouted down, “Shine the beam so I can see her,” then gentled his voice again. “Move slowly now. There, babe. That’s it.”
Desperate to be where he was, which was surely a safer place, she inched backward. She didn’t look anywhere but at her own two hands, which were soaking wet and cold with fear.
“Keep coming,” Graham coaxed from close enough behind her that she started to cry. “Keep coming.”
She felt his hand on her leg, guiding her carefully.
“Gentle, there. A little more. I’m putting your foot on the top rung. Lean forward now, honey, and swing the other leg over. Easy. That’s it. That’s my girl.”
She did as he told her, grateful to be led. She was weeping softly, shaking all over, feeling tired and weak and sore—and frightened still, now for Graham, too. When she had both feet on the ladder, he guided her down one step after another, until his body surrounded her. Only then did she dare release her hold on the granite and grasp the sides of the ladder.
Graham pressed against her and tucked his chin into the curve of her shoulder. For a long moment he held her still. His breath warmed her ear. “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Mandy We’re goin’ down now.”
Fearful that the slightest movement would topple more rock, they moved slowly, backing down carefully, one rung at a time. The ladder widened when they reached the next extension, then widened again a bit lower, but Amanda was only peripherally conscious of anything but Graham’s voice in her ear. She didn’t even hear the words, just felt the tone. It kept her legs working, kept her holding her own weight until he touched ground and swept her up in his arms. He carried her to the edge of the clearing, safely away from the tower and the others gathered there. Sinking down onto the wet earth, he enveloped her in his slicker and drew her in close, rocking her back and forth, holding her with arms that trembled.
Amanda didn’t move. She was too tired, too content. The rain was no problem, since they were already drenched. Speech was unnecessary.
At some point, Russ came over to report that Jordie had broken a leg in the final tumble, but fortunately that was the worst of it. At another point, he came back to report that they had the boy on a stretcher and were carrying him out. At a third point, he returned to see if Graham and Amanda needed help.
At that point, Graham pulled Amanda to her feet. They didn’t need help, he said. They were fine.
“Fine” was one word for it, Amanda thought, though that put it mildly. Jordie was safe; a tragedy had been averted. Amanda knew who had defaced Gretchen’s artwork, and though she still didn’t know who had fathered the baby, she knew with absolute certainty who hadn’t done it. Graham hadn’t. Being with him now, pressed close to his heart under the shelter of his arm, she felt the conviction of that.
She felt more, as they made their way back through the forest. She felt the psychic connection that had so drawn her to Graham at the start. She also felt the chemistry. It was back—back from the lab, where it had been stuck in a mess of tissue cultures, blood workups, tests, and medication—back to the heart-pounding, bone-deep thrill that had been such a steady part of their relationship before all that had come between them. It felt good to focus on those curls of attraction as they walked back through the rain—felt good to press against Graham’s body and let his warmth become part of her again.
By the time they came out of the woods, the rescue squad had Jordie on his way to the hospital. A tiny voice in the back of Amanda’s mind told her to see who had gone with him, who was left with the other children, how they all were faring.
She ignored that tiny voice. Graham filled her heart, and her senses. Selfishly, she pushed all else from her mind.
They were barely in the kitchen with the door closed behind them when he lifted her, set her on the counter, and took her face in his hands. His kiss had the taste of urgency. It said that he felt everything she did—but she had known that well before their lips touched. She was able to savor it and return it, clinging to his hair, then his shoulders.
“I love you,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck. At the same time, he unsnapped her jeans and tugged at the zipper. It was wet and resisted, but that didn’t stop him. He managed to push a hand inside.
Amanda felt the heat rise even before he found his mark, and his touch sent it higher. She climaxed within seconds, a spasming that seemed endless. She was still in the last of it when he began pushing her pants out of the way, and she went to work releasing him from his own. He was heavy and hard; she would have explored that, if there hadn’t been such a dire need to have him inside. His entry was magic. It was smooth and fast, creating aftershocks of her climax that drove her toward a second, and his was nearly as potent. One, two, three deep strokes, and he clutched her tighter and cried out in release.
He stayed hard even when the pulsing inside was done. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he took her mouth again, and for Amanda it was a reunion. She had missed the way his lips slanted over hers, the way his tongue searched and his teeth nibbled. She had missed the trail of his tongue on her neck and, once the slicker was pushed from her shoulders, her jersey was over her head, and her bra tossed aside, on her breasts. She cried out when he drew a nipple into his mouth, and, feeling a line of fire arrowing down, bucked against him when he suckled more strongly.
He began again then, stroking her inside while he used his hands above. Again they climaxed within seconds of each other— one igniting the next in an order neither knew.
The denouement was more leisurely this time, a slower return to awareness, a more spent embrace.
“Cold?” he asked in a raspy whisper.
She shook her head.
“But wet,” he said.<
br />
She couldn’t deny that, though the words were provocative. When he drew back and the slash of a wicked grin shot through his beard, she coiled her arms tighter around his neck.
“Dry me,” she whispered.
***
During a break in the action, he went to a quiet window and gave her a call. She picked up after a single ring. She had been waiting.
“I can’t get there tonight,” he said.
She paused for a beat, then replied with a disappointed, “Not at all?”
“No. I’m needed here. There’s no way I can get away.”
“You said that wouldn’t happen.”
“I also said it was a delicate situation, and that was then. Now it’s even more delicate.”
“Why?”
“Complications. A turn of events.”
“What events?”
He pushed a hand through his hair. He was frazzled enough not to want to go into detail. “We had a major trauma tonight. I’m picking up pieces. It’s important.”
“I thought I was.”
“You are,” he said, and then, because his body didn’t stir at the thought of her and he felt guilty for that, he softened his voice.
“We’ve been through this, cookie. You are important. But there’s an order to things.”
“I’m running out of time. If this keeps up much longer, the baby will be born.”
“No pressure. Not tonight. I’m too drained.”
“I feel pressure. Shouldn’t you, too?”
He wanted to say that he didn’t. He wanted to threaten to deny that the baby was his, if she didn’t back off. Hell, he wasn’t even entirely sure the baby was his. She was a hot little number. Quickies were her specialty.
But after the events of this evening, he wasn’t in a threatening mood. Fear was a potent mellower, and he did feel mellow.
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” he said.
“How do I know you will?” she asked in a way that would have been a total turnoff even if he had been interested in her just then, which he wasn’t. He wasn’t being roped into something that didn’t work for him. If the baby wasn’t his, he didn’t owe her a thing.
“Look, I’m not going to answer that. I can’t talk now. That’s it.” Ending the call, he turned his back on the window and refocused his thoughts on the home front.
***
Georgia had planned to be home in time for supper, but her flight was delayed. She had barely turned on her cell phone and left the plane, though, when Russ called. She stood stock-still, just inside the terminal, while he explained what had happened. Once the initial horror passed, she began walking again, with growing speed as her sense of direction narrowed. If she’d had even the least bit of doubt about what she wanted when the plane had touched down, it was gone.
She wanted to be home.
***
Karen would have stayed at the hospital if she hadn’t been worried about the other children. Allison was with them, and they were in bed when she got home, but they were awake and needing reassurance. She gave them that, tucked them in, and kissed them goodnight. Then she went down to the kitchen and called the phone by Jordie’s bed.
Lee answered. “Hello?”
“It’s me. How is he?”
“Pretty good. Here.”
There was a moment’s silence during the transfer of the receiver, then a subdued, “Hi.”
“How’s the leg feel?” she asked in as upbeat a way as she could.
“It’s okay.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they give you something for the pain?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. You must be tired.”
“A little.”
“Jordie?” She didn’t know where to start, there was so much to say.
“I’ll be home in the morning,” Jordie said in a way that summarily shut down discussion before it began. Karen didn’t know whether he wouldn’t talk because he was tired, in pain, or upset— or because he was just being Jordie—or because Lee was right there.
“I know, honey,” she answered. “I’ll be there to get you. I just want you to know that I love you.”
Jordie was silent.
“Jordie—” Her eyes filled with tears. He was their son, and although he had behaved badly, it occurred to her that she and Lee hadn’t done much better. Keeping the family intact was one thing; doing it at the expense of the children’s peace of mind was something else.
“I know, Mom,” he whispered brokenly. “Me, too.”
***
“We have to talk,” Amanda murmured a bit later. She and Graham had made love in the shower and again in bed. She lay now with her cheek on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, her belly to his middle, and her leg wound through his.
“Later,” Graham whispered, barely moving his mouth. His eyes were closed, dark lashes resting on the tanned skin beneath.
“Talking’s the key. We stopped doing it.”
“For other reasons than this,” he murmured with the ghost of a wry smile.
She touched his mouth. His lips were firm and puckered right up to kiss her fingertips, but that was the extent of his exertion. His chest rose and fell with healthy regularity, but his limbs lay long and inert.
“Why’d we stop?” she asked.
He was quiet for so long, still for so long, that she wondered if he was falling asleep. He had a way of doing that after they made love. Not her. Lovemaking stimulated her. Even now, when she should have been exhausted from her adventure with Jordie, she was wide awake.
“Life,” he murmured.
“Life what?”
“Got in the way. We got caught up. Things came between.” He drew in a deep breath, turned his head on the pillow, and opened his eyes to hers. “The answer to your question? I want you. If we don’t have a baby biologically we’ll have one another way.”
She studied his eyes. His gaze was direct. In its nakedness, she saw an unmistakable honesty.
At the urging of his arm, she lay her head down with an ear to his heart, and timed her breathing to match its beat. “What if things come between us again?”
“We won’t let them.”
“We weren’t aware it was happening this time. How will we know another time?”
“We’re experienced now. This was our first big blow-up, our first real test.”
“I’m sorry I accused you of being with Gretchen. It’s just that there she was, suddenly pregnant and I wasn’t, and you did such a gorgeous landscape plan for her right around the time she would have conceived.” When he didn’t respond, she raised her head. His eyes were closed again. “Who do you think fathered her baby?”
“Don’t know,” he murmured.
“Think it was Lee?”
“Hmm.”
That was a “could be,” Amanda knew. She thought about the ramifications, in light of the talk she’d had with Jordie up at the top of the tower. “At least, if it was Lee, he might have an element of control over her. He could prevent her from going after Jordie for destroying the painting. Think he would?”
***
Gretchen waited until Thursday morning to make the call. She knew the number by heart. Though she had phoned Oliver Deeds only a handful of times, she had studied his number many more times than that in the awful months following Ben’s death. He had been a backup for her then. She kept his number beside that of the local police. He had been a resource when she didn’t know how to handle something, a source of stability, just as Ben had wanted. Of course, Ben couldn’t have anticipated the strength of his own sons’ reactions to what he had left her in his will, and the way that pulled Oliver in different directions at once.
“Fillham and Marcus,” came the receptionist’s singsong voice.
“Oliver Deeds, please.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Gretchen Tannenwald.” She took a deep breath, turned away from the pho
ne, waited.
He came on promptly, as was his way. His specialty was estates. A paper-and-pencil man, he lived and acted contracts and forms.
“Gretchen?”
“Yes,” she said, rushing out the speech she had rehearsed, trying her best to sound independent and strong. “I won’t take much of your time. I just wanted to tell you that I found out who damaged my paintings. It’s someone I know, so I won’t press charges. I’d appreciate it if you would tell that to the insurance company and to David and Alan.”
There was a pause, then, “Are you saying you’re withdrawing the insurance claim?”
“I never filed a claim. I never called them. You did that.”
“You have a right to the money.”
“What good’s the money if I can’t replace the painting?”
“Money’s money. You have a baby coming. Do you need any for that?”
“No.”
“You know I’ll help.”
“No.”
He stayed quiet. She wanted to think that she had surprised him, which was pretty pathetic. Oliver knew her better than Ben’s sons did. He should have known she wasn’t in it for the money.
“So who did slash the art?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Is it someone you’re seeing?”
“I’m pregnant. I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Oh. I was just wondering. Gretchen—”
“That’s all. I just wanted you to know that. Bye, Oliver.”
***
Graham was still in bed, and it was nearly noon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed in bed this long. Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love so much, and it wasn’t over. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw the riot of Amanda’s blond hair inches away. Her bare back and bottom nestled against his equally bare side. His arm was numb where her cheek rested, but that was the extent of his numbness. Holding her, lying so close, he felt the hum of arousal.
They had called in sick. Both of them. It wasn’t a first, but it had been years since they’d done it last.
Turning onto his side, he drew her back against him with a satisfied sigh. Earlier passion had taken the edge off his need. What he felt now was the slower pleasure of a simmering heat, as blood worked its way to his groin.
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