That McCloud Woman

by Peggy Moreland

  "When I was young," she said, smiling wistfully, "I used to spend my summers here on the Double-Cross. All of the McCloud cousins would gather on this very pier and wait for the sun to disappear behind the hills. It was quite a sight. So colorful. So dramatic. Yet, so sad."

  "Sad?" he repeated, cocking his head to the side to frown at her.

  She met his gaze and smiled, pleased that she'd at last managed to pull a response from him. "Yes, sad." She looked again at the distant hills, nodding her head in that direction. "The sunset signaled the end of the day and was a reminder that we were one day closer to having to say goodbye. That always made us sad." She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging her legs to her chest, drifting for a moment in a pleasant sea of childhood memories. "We were separated by hundreds of miles and sometimes we saw each other only once a year, but we were very, very close." She turned her cheek to the top of her knees and looked over at him. "Do you have family?"

  He squinted harder at the sunset, and a muscle flexed on his jaw. "Yeah."

  "Well…?" she prodded. "A brother? A sister? Parents?"

  His lips thinned perceptibly. "One of each. Except for the sister." He frowned, then reached down beside him and picked up a bottle his leg had hidden from her before. Tipping back his head, he took a long swig, his Adam's apple bobbing with each slow swallow.

  Jack Daniel's Old Time Quality Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey, the label read. Alayna noted the level of liquid when he set the bottle down on the pier. Less than half full. "Are you drunk?" she asked, peering at him more closely.

  He dragged the back of his wrist across his mouth. "Not yet."

  "Are you planning on getting drunk?"

  He turned his head to look at her, and she had to tighten her arms around her knees to keep from reaching out and smoothing away the deep lines of dissatisfaction that furrowed his forehead and puckered the corners of his mouth.

  "Maybe." He lifted the bottle again, but this time he tipped it toward her. "Want to get drunk with me?"

  By his measuring look, she knew that he was testing her, sure that she would decline. Just to spite him, she took the bottle, used the skirt of her dress to prudently wipe its lip clean, then took a dainty sip.

  And choked.

  Her eyes bugged wide, she fanned frantically at her face, her throat burning, her breath a ball of fire in her lungs.

  Jack took the bottle of whiskey from her before she spilled it, and took a small sip. "Guess I'll be getting drunk alone," he said wryly. He cocked his head to look at her as he set the bottle aside, and she saw that one corner of his mouth was turned up slightly.

  Alayna froze, her hand stopping in midwave, her mouth and eyes still gaped wide. He was smiling. Well, sort of smiling. And the smile did the most extraordinary things to his face. It softened his features, robbing him of that disgruntled look that he wore so well, and it put a gleam in his eyes, the life that had been missing before.

  And his mouth. Still moist from the whiskey he'd drunk and reddened by the pressure of the bottle he'd pressed against them, his lips were full and inviting. All she could think about was pressing her own lips there and sipping at him, feeling the curve of his smile while absorbing his taste, his flavor, draining all the sadness and bitterness from inside him.

  As she continued to stare, his smile widened, curving both sides of that sexy mouth. Then he was leaning toward her, his breath warm on her face. The sharp scent of whiskey filled her senses. Was he going to kiss her? she wondered, her heart skipping a beat at the thought. She shifted her gaze to his eyes at the same moment that his finger touched the bottom of her chin. He gently pushed up, and her teeth came together with a soft click.

  "Careful," he warned, his voice husky. "You might catch a few flies."

  "You smiled," she whispered, her disbelieving gaze locked on his. "I've never seen you smile before."

  He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe because I haven't had anything to smile about." He shifted his weight to his hip, angling his body toward hers, trapping her raised knees in the curve created by his thighs and chest.

  But his gaze never once left her face.

  "You've got the most beautiful eyes," he whispered. He narrowed his own eyes, focusing on hers. "Blue. The deepest blue I believe I've ever seen. A man could drown in them."

  Drugged by the huskiness in his voice, the intensity in his gaze, Alayna remained motionless, her praise-starved soul feeding on his every word.

  He lifted his hand and brushed the tip of a finger almost reverently across her lower lashes. Her eyelids grew heavy at his touch, too heavy to hold up, while a delicious shiver chased down her spine. Then his finger was tracing her cheekbone, as light and teasing as a feather moving over her skin. "Soft," he murmured, his voice drawing nearer. The ball of his thumb moved to brush across her lower lip. "And oh, so sweet," he whispered. She felt his breath on her face, moist, hot, then his lips touched hers. Once. Twice. A brand searing her flesh.

  She had time to draw in only one ragged breath before his mouth was closing fully over hers, capturing her lips, taking, feeding. His body forged closer, his chest a wall of heat and muscle against her arm. Lost to the sensation of his lips moving on hers, his texture, his taste, she was only vaguely aware of him shifting again. Then his hand was cupping her neck, the pad of his callused thumb stroking the long column of her throat. Her lips parted on a moan at the sensual play of flesh against flesh.

  His thumb moved lower. Lower still. Until it nestled in the valley between her breasts. Her breath burned in her lungs as she waited for more of his touch, ached for him to take her fully in his hand.

  Slowly he fanned his fingers, capturing her breast and gently kneading. Desire rose within her, a giant wave of need that threatened to drown her.

  And she swallowed a moan of utter despair.

  She was no good at this, she told herself. She was, at best, half a woman. Cold. Sexless. Hadn't her ex-husband told her that often enough? She had all the parts, technically knew the motions, but lacked the ability to put all those things together in a way that would pleasure a man. Another shiver shuddered its way through her—this one fed by panic.

  She couldn't bear failing again. Not when she'd worked so hard to regain her confidence. Not when she was on the verge of realizing her dreams. She had to remain strong, in control, so that she could help the children. The two that were already with her, and those still to come.

  On a sob, she tore her mouth from his, turning her face away. "No. Please," she begged, strangled by the tears that clogged her throat. "Don't."

  Slowly Jack withdrew, his blood pumping wildly through his veins, need a deep, piercing ache in his groin, in his chest. He stared at Alayna's bent head, at the way she held one shoulder to her ear as if to ward off a blow. The desperation in her plea slowly registered and ripped a new wound through his already tattered heart.

  No. Please. Don't.

  He swallowed hard as her words echoed around him. Shame washed through him and he drew further away. He opened his hand and looked down at his palm, still feeling the warmth, the softness of her breast. What had come over him? What had possessed him to make a move like that? He closed his hand into a fist, his lips thinning. He didn't want to get involved with her. Even less, to hurt her. She was an angel. A woman who deserved a man who was willing to give her the children that she wanted so desperately.

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I—" But he couldn't think of an explanation for his actions—nothing but the truth, which was that he wanted her. Needed her. He yearned for her softness, her compassion, for just a slice of the joy and happiness in simply being alive that seemed to radiate from her every moment of every day.

  But what did he have to give her in return? Nothing. Not one blame thing.

  Snatching up the bottle of whiskey, Jack pushed himself to his feet. He strode down the pier, the weathered planks pitching beneath his feet as he all but ran from her. From temptation.

  From himself.

  From
the memories that haunted him.

  * * *

  Four

  « ^ »

  Avoidance.

  It was a method of coping that Alayna had dealt with successfully on both a personal and a professional level. Her familiarity with this particular technique had made it easy for her to recognize Jack's use of it. She'd even hoped to convince him that avoidance resolved nothing, that talking was a much healthier way of dealing with his problems.

  And now, here she was, contemplating using the avoidance technique herself … and with Jack, no less.

  She sighed and tucked the bedspread neatly beneath her pillow, then straightened, her gaze going unerringly to the bedroom window. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it as she stared at Jack's cabin nestled beneath the grove of live oaks in the distance. Early-morning sunlight turned the old tin roof to pewter beneath the shade of the old oaks.

  But how on earth could she avoid Jack when he worked for her? When his work required him to be in her home, right beneath her very nose, under her feet?

  "Alayna!"

  She jumped guiltily, then turned. "In here, Billy!" she called and headed for the door. She met both him and Molly in the hall and forced a smile for them. "All ready for school?" she asked as she knelt to adjust the ribbons she'd placed in Molly's hair.

  Molly bobbed her head, held out her teddy bear as proof, then quickly tucked it under her arm again. Smiling, Alayna gave her a hug and a kiss, then stood, turning to Billy. He eyed her warily. "Did you remember to pack your math assignment?" she asked him.

  He rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

  "Yes, ma'am," Alayna corrected as she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and gave him a turn.

  His shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated sigh beneath her hands. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

  Biting back a smile, Alayna peeked inside his backpack to make sure the assignment was there, then zipped the cover. Before he could move away from her, she spun him around and gave him a quick hug and kiss before he could duck free. "Gotcha," she said, laughing.

  Billy dragged the back of his hand across his cheek. "Gross," he complained.

  "You love it and you know it," Alayna teased.

  Molly giggled when Billy rolled his eyes again and Alayna shot her a conspiratorial wink. A horn sounded out front and Alayna hustled the two down the hall and out the front door. She stood in the doorway and waved to Jaime, Mandy's son, who waited in the truck out front. "Have a good day," she called to them as they climbed into the cab.

  "Yeah, right," Billy muttered and slammed the door.

  Chuckling softly, Alayna closed the front door, then sagged back against it with a sigh. The peaceful silence in the house slowly settled over her.

  But the sense of peace was only temporary. She still had Jack to deal with. The children's departure for school served as a reminder that he would be arriving at any moment.

  His attitude toward the children concerned her. Not that he was mean to them, or anything. He just—well, he simply ignored them. Even at the dinner table each night, he erected this invisible wall around himself that prevented Billy or Molly from drawing too close. Not that the wall was necessary, considering the amount of time Jack spent in their presence. He all but choked down his dinner, then would excuse himself and hightail it for the cabin as quick as he could.

  He avoided them.

  Just as she wanted to avoid him.

  She sighed again and headed for the kitchen mentally kicking herself for her cowardice. She knew she couldn't avoid Jack any more than she could avoid acknowledging her own shortcomings. What had happened on the pier the night before was her fault, not his. Jack was a man, after all. A full-blooded, all-American man, and it was only natural that he'd have a man's appetite for sex.

  The problem was that she was only half a woman.

  No, she argued silently, giving her head a shake. She wasn't half a woman. She had all the necessary parts. Even the emotions and desires to go with them. But there was a short circuit somewhere. Some fluke of nature that resulted in a malfunction. To put it simply, her parts, when put into motion simultaneously, just didn't work.

  And it was better to admit the failing, than to pretend otherwise.

  She'd arrived at that conclusion months ago when her divorce from Alex had become final. At the same time, she'd decided that she could lead a full and happy life alone, without the companionship or intimacy found with a man.

  But what she hadn't realized was that while she might be able to intellectually and physically choose to live her life without a man, she couldn't sever her desire for one.

  Jack had certainly proved that.

  The night before, on the pier, she'd wanted to make love with him. She'd wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin. To feel the texture of his lips moving on hers. To taste him. Touch him. To have him fill her with…

  Groaning, she stumbled to a stop before the kitchen door, and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, forcing back the memories, the sensations that had flooded her mind, her body, at his touch. Oh, God, how was she ever going to face him again after what she'd experienced? After she'd made such a fool of herself?

  She jerked her hand to her side, curling her fingers into a tight fist, and willed back the unwelcome fears.

  Knowing that she had no choice but to face him and to apologize to him, she stepped into the kitchen. She set the skillet on the stove, turned on the burner beneath it, then went to the refrigerator. Eggs. Milk. Butter. She gathered ingredients, refusing to let her thoughts stray from the task at hand. She'd make him a nice breakfast, she told herself. And while they ate, she'd explain why she'd reacted the way she had the night before. She'd tell him why she'd pulled away from him, when what she'd really wanted to do was to make wild, passionate love with him. She'd tell him—

  "Alayna?"

  The milk carton hit the floor first, followed quickly by the eggs and stick of butter. Alayna stared at the mess spreading at her feet, the cracked eggshells a vivid reminder of her own imperfections. Slowly she lifted her head. Jack stood in the doorway, his cap squeezed between his hands. Without either of them mentioning it, the memory of the night before stretched between them, larger and more humiliating in the light of day. She saw it in his face, in the tightness of his lips, in the regret that shadowed his eyes … in the reluctance that kept him at the door and from drawing any closer to her.

  Faced with her inadequacies and the ramifications when she chose to ignore them, she dropped her gaze. "You startled me," she murmured, then sank to her knees, and began to scrape at the milk and eggs with her bare hands. "Sorry about the mess. I'll cook your breakfast as soon as I get it cleaned up."

  Tears blinded her and she swiped her wrist beneath her eyes to clear them away, then frantically started scraping again at the spilled milk and broken eggs.

  A hand closed around her wrist.

  "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Alayna. Not you."

  She dipped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes, willing him to disappear, to spare her any more humiliation, any further embarrassment. But when she opened her eyes, his knee was still inches from her own, his fingers still wrapped tightly around her wrist. "It's not your fault," she said and sniffed. "I'm just clumsy, is all."

  "Not about the milk," he said, his voice sharp with frustration. "I'm sorry about last night. I—"

  Alayna sucked in a breath, knowing if she didn't say it now and quickly, she never would. She eased free of his grasp, drawing away from him, both physically and emotionally. "It's not your fault," she said and had to fight to keep the quiver from her voice. "I shouldn't have let things go so far." She pushed to her feet and crossed to the sink and tore a length of paper towel from the dispenser. Grabbing a bowl, she returned and dropped down beside him again. She blotted up the pools of milk and, at the same time, managed to keep her face hidden from him.

  "Why?"

  At the one-word question, her fingers stilled
, then she started frantically mopping up the milk again, her movements as jerky as the nerves that jumped beneath her skin. "Because I'm not any good at sex. I know that, but—" She fisted the paper into a wad within her hand, then set her jaw and started scrubbing furiously at the floor. "I just got carried away for a minute. That's all. It won't happen again."

  Dumbfounded, Jack stared at the back of her head. She'd lost him right after the part where she'd said she wasn't any good at sex. "You're not any good at sex."

  He said it as a statement, not a question, but Alayna felt obligated to respond. "No, I'm not."

  "And what makes you think that?"

  She stopped her mopping and shot him a frown over her shoulder. "Past experience." She snapped her head back around and continued cleaning.

  His mind churning with a thousand questions, Jack watched her, but soon found his thoughts drifting to her backside and how with her kneeling and stretched out so far, wiping up the mess she'd made, her bottom stuck way up in the air. Heart-shaped, each cheek about the size of the spread of his hand, her bottom swayed from side to side in rhythm with the movements of her hand.

  Jack slowly shook his head, remembering the way she'd responded to him the night before, and wondered where she'd gotten such a crazy notion. Not any good at sex? Somebody had done a number on this woman, he decided. There was no other explanation. He'd be willing to bet his truck that she was not only good in bed, but she was great. A woman with as much heart and compassion as Alayna would have to be. "Well, you sure as hell had me fooled."

  She sniffed indignantly. "I'm not a tease, if that's what you're thinking."