Dream Mender

by Sherryl Woods

  “At the hospital,” Jenny replied cautiously, trying to decide if the question was innocuous or the start of an inquisition. She grabbed a handful of beans herself and clumsily tried to imitate Mrs. Chambers’s quick, decisive motions.

  Mrs. Chambers shot her a perceptive look. “Just another patient, right?”

  “No, of course not. I mean…oh, dear,” she murmured, falling neatly into the maternal trap set by Mrs. Chambers.

  “Frank’s a fine man,” his mother reported.

  “I know that.”

  “Took on a lot of responsibility at an early age.”

  “I know.”

  “Just look at this kitchen. He fixed it up for me, put in new cabinets, that fancy tile.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Jenny said honestly. The white, glass-fronted cabinets gave the room an open, airy feeling. The white tile floor and single row of red accent tiles amid the white on the walls added to the cheerful ambience. The built-in breakfast nook was a similar combination of white Formica and red seat covers. “Did Frank build this breakfast area, too?”

  Mrs. Chambers beamed with pride. “Isn’t it something? Used to be a pantry here. He knocked out the wall and the next thing you know the kitchen was nearly twice as big as it used to be. How many men would have thought to do that?”

  Jenny admired all the extra touches that she was certain were Mrs. Chambers’s, the framed prints on the walls, the bright dish towels, but Frank’s mother wasn’t interested in her own contribution. She was pushing her son’s. In case Jenny hadn’t gotten the message, she added, “He’d make a wonderful husband.”

  “Mrs. Chambers, really, Frank and I are just friends.”

  “Good way to start.”

  “Start?” Jenny said weakly.

  “Of course. My husband and I started out as friends, too. Makes a lot more sense than the way kids do things these days. They fall into bed, get married and then discover they don’t have a thing in common. Do things slow and you do them right. You two take your time, if that’s what you need.”

  Suddenly the large room seemed to be closing in on Jenny. “But…” The protest was barely begun before it was interrupted.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Chambers said cheerily, “I always did think a fall wedding was mighty nice. The church could be decorated with bright yellow mums. Karyn would look real good in that coppery shade that you see in all the fancy fashion magazines.”

  “Karyn?”

  “Of course, I don’t mean to be pushy. I know you have your own friends, but I always think it’s nice if someone from the groom’s family stands up with the bride, too, don’t you?”

  “In theory,” Jenny said, wondering desperately if there was any polite way she could escape to the living room or find a pit of vipers to throw herself into. If she stayed here much longer, she was liable to end up married before anyone heard her protests. She crumbled the beans in her hands into little, bitty pieces before she realized what she was doing.

  The kitchen door swung open. “How’s it going in here?” Frank inquired. “You two getting acquainted?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” his mother replied. “We were just discussing the wedding.”

  Frank’s startled gaze shot to Jenny. His eyebrows rose a quizzical half inch. “Wedding?” he repeated. “Whose?”

  “Why yours, of course,” Mrs. Chambers said, back at the stove and still oblivious to Jenny’s panic.

  “Ma!”

  She turned and waved a spoon at him. “It never hurts to give a girl a nudge, let her know she’ll be welcome in the family.”

  A twinkle of amusement appeared in Frank’s eyes as he scanned Jenny’s face. She was sure she must be pale as a ghost. “You feeling welcome?” he asked.

  “Very,” she said, injecting the single word with ominous implications.

  “Maybe you’d like to come back in the living room with me,” Frank suggested hurriedly.

  “I’d love to.”

  Mrs. Chambers gave them an approving smile. “You two go right along. I’m sure Jenny and I will have a chance to talk more later.”

  Jenny nearly moaned as she left the kitchen.

  “I tried to warn you,” Frank said, his arm circling her shoulder.

  She twisted away from the embrace. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re letting your mother do your dirty work.”

  “What dirty work is that?”

  “The woman practically proposed on your behalf.”

  His expression brightened. “Really? What did you say?”

  “Say? She didn’t want an answer. She took the answer for granted.” Jenny knew her voice was climbing, knew that her attempts to cover her earlier irritation with humor were starting to fail her now. This was exactly what she had feared would happen. The whole Chambers family was going to sit around all through dinner staring at her, waiting for an announcement that was not going to come. And she was going to have to put up with it.

  Why? she thought suddenly. Why shouldn’t she just lay things on the line? Frank might be a little embarrassed at first, but wasn’t that better than allowing this whole misunderstanding to get entirely out of hand? Or was the real problem that a tiny part of her wanted the charade to be perpetuated? If she were to be perfectly honest, hadn’t she enjoyed sitting in that kitchen and playing prospective daughter-in-law?

  Okay, yes, dammit! Was that so terrible? It wasn’t going to happen, but couldn’t she indulge herself for a few minutes or even a few hours in the fantasy of becoming Mrs. Frank Chambers?

  She looked up at Frank then and caught the speculative spark in his eyes. It was as if he could read her mind, as if he knew that she was waging an internal war and laying odds on the outcome.

  Before she could come to a final decision on whether to go or stay, the choice was taken out of her hands. Mrs. Chambers started putting food on the table and the next thing Jenny knew, she was seated beside Frank’s mother and they were all holding hands to say grace. When Mrs. Chambers gave thanks that her oldest son had found such a pretty, kind woman, Frank squeezed Jenny’s hand reassuringly. She caught herself blinking back the surprising sting of salty tears and trying desperately to hold back the flood of hope.

  * * *

  As they drove home, Frank marveled at the transformation that had come over Jenny during the afternoon and evening. From a shy, unwilling date, she had slowly fallen into the role of fiancée. Though he’d been ready to strangle his mother when he’d first walked into that kitchen, he had to admit now that he should be grateful. After a few token protests, Jenny had apparently taken to the idea. By the time they’d left she’d been teasing his brothers, beating them all at Monopoly and agreeing to return the following Sunday. He still wasn’t sure exactly what had come over her, but he’d be damned if he’d complain about it.

  “Did you have a good time?” he inquired as she sat beside him, her eyes closed, a pleased smile tilting the corners of her mouth.

  “The best,” she murmured.

  “Did it have anything to do with me?”

  She blinked and stared at him sleepily. “Of course, why?”

  “Because a few hours ago, you were adamant about defining the parameters of our relationship in very businesslike terms. By the time we left my mother’s, if I’m not mistaken, at least seven people were of the opinion that we’re engaged. I’m one of them.”

  She sighed. “I never really said that, did I?”

  “No, but you knew that was the impression and you didn’t correct it. Why?”

  Her lower lip was caught between her teeth as she obviously struggled with an answer. “I guess I just got caught up in a fantasy,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry.”

  His heart thudding, Frank said, “It doesn’t have to be just a fantasy. I love you, Jenny. You know that. I want to marry you.” He pulled the car to the side of the road and touched her cheek, which was damp with unexpected tears. “I do love you, sweetheart.”

  Her fingers traced his jaw, then his lips
as his breath lodged in his throat. “Oh, Frank, if only…”

  “There are no ‘if onlys,’” he said angrily. “All you have to do is say yes. One little word. Why is it so hard for you?”

  “You know why,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

  “Then come with me, come home with me and let me show you that there is nothing, nothing, standing in our way.”

  Jenny’s eyes were shining, her lips trembling, when she finally whispered, “Yes. I’ll come with you.”

  He caressed her cheek, his thumb moving over the lush curve of her lower lip as his heart slammed into his ribs. Anticipation rushed through him, hot and sweet and urgent. Along with it came a faint anxiety that he was certain mirrored hers.

  “You won’t be sorry,” he vowed to reassure them both. “You will never be sorry.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Regrets and doubts rioted deep inside Jenny the instant she agreed to go home with Frank. But the temptation had proved too strong, the illusion too powerful. Caught up in it, she’d been unable to say no. She would give anything for this one night to be perfect. She didn’t doubt, not for a second, that Frank would try to make it so. She didn’t doubt that he loved her. Every considerate action spoke of the depth of his feelings.

  But was love the only thing that mattered? She had doubts enough about that for the both of them.

  Even so, there could be no backing out now, no second thoughts leading to a tearful withdrawal. When she had said yes, she had made a commitment, to him and to herself. It might last no longer than this one night, but it was a commitment just the same. And, like Frank, she believed in honoring her vows.

  Inside his house, she caught him studying her, his expression thoughtful, worried. “Nervous?” he said.

  Jenny nodded.

  “Me, too.”

  It had never occurred to her that he might be every bit as scared as she was. His nervousness and his admission of it both charmed and reassured her.

  “You can change your mind anytime,” he said, his blue eyes serious. “Anytime.”

  Feeling stronger with each reassurance, she shook her head. “I won’t change my mind,” she said with absolute conviction. “I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  He nodded and held out his hand. When she placed her hand in his, he rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles, then lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze fastened on hers. Inside, she trembled with the magic of that tender gesture.

  “Would you like a drink?” he offered. “I think I have some wine.”

  “Yes. Wine would be good,” she said, though she wanted time more than she wanted the drink. She needed to accustom herself to being here, to the prospect of an almost-forgotten kind of intimacy. She needed to steel herself to the possibility of rejection. Though her heart told her that Frank would never ever hurt her intentionally, she knew that the faintest hint of revulsion in his eyes, the least sign of disappointment would be devastating. She had to prepare herself for that, had to be ready not to cast blame for something over which he might have no control.

  As she waited for the wine, she walked down the hall to his workroom and flipped on the light. She breathed in the clean scent of the various woods, rubbed her fingers over the textures of his finished carvings. When she came to the unfinished blue jay, she recalled how she had guided his inept fingers in this very room, how she had badgered him until he began fighting back against his injury, fighting to regain his skill. Unless she was mistaken, there were fresh details on the piece, less delicate perhaps, but evidence that he was trying.

  She sensed that Frank was standing in the doorway. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here,” she said, suddenly realizing that he might consider this an invasion of his privacy, a claim to intimacy that she didn’t rightfully have.

  “Of course not,” he said, though his uneasiness contradicted the words. He came closer and handed her the wine.

  “You’ve been working.” She gestured toward the blue jay.

  He shrugged, his expression unexpectedly vulnerable. “I’m trying.”

  “It’s very good.”

  He shook his head and regarded the carving critically. “Not yet,” he said, but there was a trace of hope even in the denial.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of you, too.”

  Startled, she stared at him. “Why?”

  “For daring to take this step, for trusting me.”

  “It was time,” she said simply, and knew it was true. She might have put off the action for a week or a month or a year, but emotionally she was as ready now as she was ever likely to be. No man was ever likely to be more right for her than this kind, gentle man who waited patiently for her to set the pace. She put down the glass he’d given her. “Frank, would you hold me?”

  A slow smile trembled on his lips as he put aside his own glass. “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, opening his arms then folding them around her.

  Jenny rested her head against his chest, listening to the quickened beat of his heart and breathing in the faintly woodsy masculine scent of him. There was such comfort in his embrace, such a sense of coming home at last. And yet…

  And yet there was the lightning-quick racing of her pulse. Warmth that had nothing to do with the comfort and everything to do with rising passion stole over her. When his lips finally, inevitably settled on hers, the lightning added thunder, the warmth became white-hot urgency. There was no rush to the kiss, no hurry to the slow exploration by his tongue, but deep inside her, need built feverishly, demanding more, demanding a more passionate pace. She appreciated the care he was taking, the gentle advances, but she hungered for desperate loving, loving that would carry her beyond thought to pure sensation, passion able to overshadow doubts.

  Her fingers tangled in the dark midnight of his hair as she pressed him closer. Her now-sensitive lips brushed across stubbled cheeks, seeking, again, the velvet fire of his mouth. When one arm braced her back and the other tucked beneath her knees, she gasped in startled astonishment, then settled against his chest as he carried her down the hall and into his bedroom.

  For a few seconds she registered the room’s details, the clean, masculine lines, the cheerful colors, the clutter of framed family pictures crowded on the dresser, the haphazard toss of clothes scattered about by a man always in a rush…until now. Then Frank captured all of her attention, his eyes smoky blue with desire, his expression still anxious.

  “You’re sure,” he said one last time.

  Though her heart raced with something very much like sheer panic, Jenny nodded. “I’m sure,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “Very sure.”

  He stepped closer, his gaze locked with hers. With fingers that trembled, he traced the neckline of her blouse, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her neck. Scared as she had never been scared before, filled with a yearning deeper than any she had ever known, Jenny allowed him to slowly, carefully, unbutton her blouse. With the release of the first button, she stilled, but the press of his lips against the newly exposed flesh had her quivering with need. His touch was so deft, his kisses so potent that she forgot to watch for the revulsion in his eyes as first her blouse, and then her specially designed bra fell away. All she remembered were the nights she’d lain awake imagining being cherished like this.

  When she first felt his lips against the scar, a cry of dismay gathered in her throat, but before she could utter a single sound, she was lost in the sensations he aroused, the fierce tug deep in her belly, the sweet, aching hunger below. She wanted nothing more than to go on feeling, but she had to know. She had to.

  At last she opened her eyes. With a mixture of awe and dread, she observed him as he gently traced the line of the scar. With her breath caught in her throat, she waited for him to back away, but the only sign of emotion was the tear that tracked down his cheek and the faint trembling of his hand as he touch
ed her. He lifted his head, though his hand continued to stroke and caress and inflame.

  “I love you, Jenny Michaels,” he said, his gaze locked on hers.

  “I love you,” he whispered again, as his gaze slid lower to the scar and lingered there. There was an instant when he seemed to freeze, and Jenny felt her heart go still. Then she realized that he was staring at his own fresh scars, seeing the cruelly reddened skin against the whiteness of her flesh. She captured his hand in hers and kissed each finger until he, too, believed in the healing power of love.

  Her own tears falling, mingling with his, Jenny heard the tender endearments, felt the powerful stirring of her body responding to his touch. Eyes closed, she gave herself over to the feelings, savoring them as a treasure she would hold always. Even after he’d gone.

  That these wonderful, wild sensations couldn’t last seemed a certainty. She wouldn’t dare to hope beyond tonight, beyond this sweet, thrilling moment. With the fascination of a woman capturing dreams enough for a lifetime, she studied the magnificent lines of his body, the sculpted flesh with its richness of texture. No wonder that he created perfection with his carving knife, when he’d been given such an example. She traced each hardened muscle, each curve and indentation until she knew him as well as she knew herself, until his body tensed with need.

  When their touches grew more frenzied, when their blood flowed like warm honey, when their thoughts had given way to pure sensation, they came together at last. Years of pain and hurt and doubting vanished in one shuddering moment of exultation. Love, as fresh and new as springtime, flowered in Jenny’s heart.

  As she curved her body against his, she told herself that forever was within reach. With his hands curved gently over her disfigured flesh, she could believe that she was beautiful and that anything was possible.

  * * *

  Awakening to find Jenny still in his arms filled Frank with a joy so profound it was as if he’d been reborn. He stretched cautiously, trying not to disturb her, then settled back to study the perfect silk of her skin, the tumble of curls with highlights the color of amber caught in the muted rays of morning sun. She was even tinier than he’d realized. His hands could probably span her waist. He rested one hand just above the curve of her hip to prove his point.