Dream Mender

by Sherryl Woods

  “Sure,” he said cheerfully. “I remember that one. It won an Academy Award.”

  She blinked at him. “It did?”

  “Sure did.” He paused, then added, “Last year.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was meek. Her fascination with the biscuit dough increased. If she rolled it any flatter there wasn’t a baking powder in the world that could make those biscuits rise higher than a silver dollar.

  “So far we’ve accounted for one night in the last year that you didn’t read a medical journal. Anything else?”

  “Aerobics class,” she said in a rush, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. “I take aerobics.”

  “And?” he prodded.

  “And what?”

  “There has to be more, I mean for a woman with an active social life such as yourself.”

  “We go out to dinner after class.”

  “We?”

  “A friend and I.”

  “Must be a woman friend.”

  She glared at him. “Why must it be a woman? Men take aerobics.”

  “But if it had been a man you’d have told me all about him ten minutes ago to get me to shut up and leave you alone.”

  Ignoring his comment, she cut out half a dozen very flat circles and slapped them onto a cookie sheet, then put the tray into the oven.

  “They’ll do better if you turn on the heat.”

  She whirled on him then, flour-covered hands on slim hips. “I don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I know,” he said very seriously. “Why are you doing it? Why did you come?”

  “Because you asked me to. You said you needed help.”

  “I need you,” he corrected.

  She was shaking her head in denial before the words were out of his mouth.

  “It’s true,” he insisted. “In fact, I think if I don’t kiss that smudge of flour on your nose within the next ten seconds I might very well die.”

  She stared at the floor until he reached out with the tip of his finger and tilted her chin up. Her gaze was defiant.

  “Do it, then,” she challenged. “Just do it and get it over with.”

  He grinned at her attempt to stare him down. “You’re not going to shame me into backing off, by implying that I’m pushing you into something you don’t want.”

  A reluctant sigh shuddered through her. “Who says I don’t want it?” she asked.

  Frank was taken aback by the hard-won admission. “Oh, Jenny,” he murmured, drawing her slowly into his arms. With a sigh of his own, he settled his lips on hers. After an instant of stunned stillness, her arms circled his neck. Her body melted against his. Her skin was warm and flushed from bending over the stove. Her soft springtime scent drifted around them. She tasted of tea and sugar and a dusting of flour. It he held her in his arms like this for a lifetime, he knew his hunger for her would never be sated.

  His fingers traced the line of her brow, the curve of her jaw. With each touch, she trembled. With each touch, his need built. One kiss would never be enough. He wanted to discover everything about her, every curve, every texture, every taste. His hand slid to her hips and tilted them up tighter until neither of them could deny the heat or the urgency. Then, without thinking of anything except the hunger to know every shape, every intimate detail of her body, he touched her breast, the caress as natural and needy as breathing.

  With a startled cry, she broke free.

  “No,” she whispered tearfully, backing away. “No. This can’t happen. Not ever.”

  And then she ran.

  Chapter Nine

  When the realization of what he had done slammed into him, Frank cursed himself for an insensitive fool. By the time he recovered from the shock of Jenny’s anguished reaction to his touch, she had left the house, leaving the door wide open behind her. He raced outside and saw that in her haste to escape, she’d simply run, leaving her car parked halfway down the block. He took off down the hill after her.

  He caught up with her at the corner. She was huddled under the street lamp, her arms hugging her middle against the chilly night air that plagued San Francisco even in May. She stood perfectly still, as if she couldn’t make up her mind what to do next, where to go. With the silver mercury light filtering down on her through the fog, she looked lost and alone, so terribly alone. He reached out to her, but she seemed to withdraw to some safe and distant place he couldn’t reach. As he put his hands in his pockets, Frank felt the painful wrench of her hurt deep inside.

  “Jenny, please,” he said urgently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t thinking. I just knew how much I wanted you, how much I thought you wanted me. Let’s talk about what happened, about why you’re so scared. We can work this out.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said flatly. “Nothing.”

  The emptiness in her voice shook him, but the determination was worse. How could he fight that? “At least come back to the house,” he urged as a first, crucial step. “It’s too cold to be out here without a jacket.”

  As if to prove his point, she shivered. He pressed her then, afraid that she’d wind up sick if she stubbornly insisted on staying outside much longer. “I promise not to bring up what happened until you’re ready,” he said with reluctance. “And I won’t touch you, if that’s the way you want it.”

  Her eyes reflected her distrust and again he cursed himself. How much damage had he done in that one careless moment? In instinctively seeking to touch her breast, to discover every shape and texture of her, apparently he had reminded her graphically of her own fears of being an incomplete woman, her obviously deep-seated terror that she couldn’t satisfy a man. Because she radiated such strength and self-confidence, he had forgotten that she was a special woman with a need for very special care, especially the first time they became intimate. He owed her all of the gentle tenderness that she had shown him when it came to his own scars.

  Now he could only wait and pray that the damage of his gesture wasn’t irreparable. Eventually a sigh seemed to shudder through her. Without a word, she began to slowly climb the hill. When she didn’t stop at her car, Frank released the breath he’d been holding.

  When they were finally outside his house, she stopped and looked up. The faint beginnings of a smile tugged at the sad, downturned corners of her mouth. “You did it,” she said in a trembly voice. Tears she hadn’t shed earlier sparkled in her eyes. “You painted it blue. I didn’t notice when I came in.”

  “Jared finished yesterday. You chose the color, remember?”

  She looked from the house to him and back again. “I was right,” she said finally.

  “About what?”

  “It does match your eyes.”

  He chuckled. “So that’s what Karyn’s been gloating about. She guessed, didn’t she?”

  “She never said, but I think so.”

  “There’s a touch of the romantic in you after all, isn’t there, Jenny Michaels?”

  She immediately shook her head in denial. “I’m a hardheaded realist. Ask anyone.”

  “You’d like to believe that, because it’s safe, but it’s not true,” he said just as adamantly. “You have the same dreams as any other woman.”

  “What makes you think you know anything about a woman’s private dreams, especially mine?” she said, a trace of anger in her voice, but an expression of undeniable yearning on her face.

  “I know because you shared them with me in that kiss. We felt the same things, the same wanting not to be alone, the same need to love.”

  There was a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Chemistry. Pheromones. Lust. Not dreams.”

  “Oh, no,” he said with certainty. “A woman like you could never separate the two. You would never let some casual lover get that close. You wouldn’t take the risk of being rejected.” He knew he was taking a risk himself by so bluntly stating the facts as he saw them.

  For an instant, Jenny looked as though he’d slapped her. Then, to his relief, she began
to laugh. “Giving me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you? No man’s ever been that direct with me before.”

  He stared at her for several heartbeats, then said gently, “Maybe no man has ever cared as much as I do.” He held out his hand. “Come inside.”

  It was ten seconds, thirty, an eternity before she sighed deeply and slid her hand into his.

  Inside, Frank was careful to keep his distance, to let Jenny set the tone and the pace. The thawing of icy tension was slow, but eventually they laughed about the hard-as-rocks biscuits and savored the rich beef stew. They talked about old movies—the only ones Jenny really had seen—and about sports. To his astonishment, she was both an avid football fan and an ardent baseball fan. Unfortunately she foolishly preferred the Boston teams to his own 49ers and Giants. She cited flimsy statistics in support of her imprudent loyalty.

  “I hope you don’t actually bet on your convictions with Otis,” he teased, relieved that they were close to recapturing the earlier friendly tone.

  “I don’t bet anything with Otis,” she reminded him. “Though goodness knows, he tried to convince me to wager against him by offering outrageous spreads. What the devil is a point spread anyway?”

  “Considering your views on the evils of gambling, you don’t want to know. You’d probably confiscate his paycheck and make him live on an allowance.”

  “I can just see him agreeing to that.”

  Frank laughed with her, then turned serious. “I doubt you have any idea just how persuasive you are. I think you could get a man to agree to just about anything.”

  She looked startled, then pleased. She held his gaze for just an instant before looking nervously away and getting to her feet. “Even helping with the dishes?” she said with the kind of rush born of deep-rooted caution. She was not going to make things easy for him. There would be no overnight burst of faith, no quick readjustment of her tendency to hide behind a brusque professionalism.

  He wiggled his inept fingers at her. “I don’t have enough dishes in the house for me to go tampering with the ones I do have.”

  “You could manage if you really wanted to,” she countered, the mood settling comfortably at last into the light banter with which she obviously felt more at ease. “I seem to recall that you have a particular aversion to doing dishes. I think you’re just using your injury as an excuse to get out of helping.”

  He grinned back at her. “But you’ll never know for sure will you?”

  “Maybe not,” she said as one of his few good plates seemed to slide from her grasp. With his lightning-quick reflexes, Frank caught it in midair.

  “Then, again,” she observed, amusement dancing in her eyes, “looks to me like your recovery’s a whole lot further along than you’ve been letting on.”

  “You little rat,” he muttered. “You did that on purpose to test me.”

  She grinned. “You bet. You wash. I’ll dry.”

  For the first time in his life, Frank actually enjoyed doing dishes. He was tempted to pull out every mismatched plate, every scarred mug and chipped cup in the cabinets just to keep Jenny around a little longer. He knew that the minute they were done, she’d go, fleeing her emotions, chasing the illusion of safety.

  In fact, as it turned out, she had her jacket on and her car keys in her hands before he could drain the water from the sink. He didn’t waste time arguing with her.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Wishing he could do the gallant thing and open the door for her, he stood by helplessly while she unlocked the car and got in. “Thanks for tonight,” he said, when she’d rolled down the window.

  Jenny nodded, her face upturned expectantly as if waiting for his kiss. Frank leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, fighting against the urge to linger and savor the velvet warmth. “It’s not over, Jenny Michaels. Not by a long shot.”

  He whistled as he turned and walked back up the hill. It was a very long time before he heard the car start and saw Jenny drive off.

  Frank made a resolution as he lay awake later that night. With the finely honed instincts of a man used to caring for others, he had seen through Jenny’s veneer of steel to the fragility and insecurities underneath. For the first time he realized that the complexities of his own recovery were nothing compared to hers. She had taught him all about acceptance and fighting back. He was about to teach her all about joyous, unconditional love. Though his financial future was uncertain, he could offer her that much at least.

  He would start his fight to overcome Jenny’s shattered self-esteem with tender, potent kisses. He had seen the longing in her eyes, so much longing that it made him tremble. And, no matter what she said, there was no doubting that she had kissed him back. She would again. It would just take some old-fashioned wooing.

  He might, he decided reluctantly, have to get a few tips on that from his experienced baby brother.

  Tim was delighted to help out with some expert advice over lunch the next day. So, unfortunately, were Kevin, Jared, Peter and Daniel, who turned up en masse. The word that big brother had the hots for the therapist spread through the Chambers clan faster than a wildfire on a windy day. Even Karyn, still in Indianapolis with Brad for the Indy 500 trials, knew by dinnertime. She called just to stick in her two cents.

  “I knew it,” she gloated. “I knew that she was crazy about you the day she came out of your room all hot and bothered because you wouldn’t do your therapy.”

  Frank groaned, tempted to hang up on her, but unwilling to give her the satisfaction. “Karyn, at that point the woman had spent approximately fifteen minutes with me and I was not especially charming. I don’t think she was smitten. I think she was mad.”

  “Anger. Passion,” she said dismissively. “They’re both pretty powerful emotions. People get them confused all the time.”

  “Another five minutes of this and I am going to get passionately angry at you.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” she countered cheerfully. “It’s payback time. You’ve been meddling in our lives from day one. Do you recall the night you stormed into Brad’s hotel to rescue your precious baby sister from his evil clutches?”

  “Only too well.”

  “I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life. I may not rest until I’ve had a chance to get even.”

  “The man lied and said you weren’t there,” he reminded her.

  He was still none too pleased about that, but he had to admit that Brad was treating Karyn okay. The two of them were obviously crazy in love.

  “He lied to protect my honor,” she said. “It’s about time you forgave him for that. Now let’s talk about you. Forget anything Tim or the rest of those chauvinistic brothers of ours told you. Here’s how you go about winning Jenny’s heart. Trust me…”

  * * *

  Jenny did not sleep well, not that night, not for days. Like an old-fashioned newsreel, the scene in Frank’s kitchen played through her head. Her panic was just as real in the middle of the night as it had been at the time.

  Only once since the surgery had she allowed a man to touch her as intimately as Frank had. She had thought she loved Larry Amanti, thought he loved her. He had been warned about the scar. He’d told her it didn’t matter, had sworn that he loved her just as she was. Then, when he had stripped away her clothes, when she was naked and vulnerable, she had seen the flicker of revulsion in his eyes, had shivered as he tried desperately to overcome his instinctive reaction and touch her anyway. Humiliated beyond belief, she had yanked the sheet around her and ordered him from her bed. He had fled, gratefully if the look in his eyes had been anything to go by.

  In the days and months that followed, she’d realized that perhaps she was the one who had overreacted. With her insecurities close to the surface, she had never given him a chance to adjust to the disfigurement for which no amount of advance warning could adequately prepare a man. Even with that new self-awareness, though, she was not prepared to take the risk again. Rejection was always painf
ul, but it would be doubly so if it came from a man like Frank, a man with whom she’d fallen hopelessly in love because of his kindness and sensitivity.

  Although she couldn’t bring herself to turn Frank’s therapy over to Carolanne—it would be an open admission to him that she did fear what was happening between them—she did keep her distance. Not once over the next couple of weeks did she squeeze his shoulder in encouragement or place her hand on his to add pressure to his grip. The slightest contact seemed to stir desires she had no business having. It was better not to feel that flaring of heat, better not to respond to that tug deep within her, better not to experience the racing of her pulse.

  To her chagrin, Frank seemed oblivious to the withdrawal of physical contact. If anything, he was even more businesslike than she was. He smiled. He joked. He even winked on occasion, a gleam of pure devilment in those wicked blue eyes of his. But his attention never wandered very far from the exercises. When the sessions were over, he thanked her politely and went off to visit with Pam, leaving Jenny vaguely discontented and out of sorts. He was doing exactly as she wanted, wasn’t he? So why did she feel so damned lousy?

  One day, feeling thoroughly abandoned, she followed him down the hall, then lingered outside Pam’s room as the two laughed uproariously over stories she couldn’t quite overhear. She hated to admit, even to herself, how much she missed that easy camaraderie, the teasing banter, the undeniable sexual overtones that made her pulse tremble.

  “Eavesdropping?” Otis inquired from behind her.

  Jenny backed up so fast she almost stumbled over his big feet. “No, of course not,” she said.

  Otis shook his head and rocked back on his heels. “You two got to be carrying on the strangest romance I ever did see.”

  Though her cheeks burned with embarrassment, Jenny retorted quickly and, she hoped, convincingly, “Romance? There’s no romance between Frank and me.”

  Otis rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that? I’ve seen the way you’ve been mooning around here the last couple of months.”

  “Yes, I do expect you to believe it, because it’s true.”