After Darke

by Heather MacAllister

  Jaron closed the door after him and hurried back to Bonnie. “Alone at last.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her head and his kiss landed on her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  What was wrong was that she loved him and he didn’t love her. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “It’s an excellent idea.” His hands caressed her back in warming circles.

  “I...I can’t.” She knew where this was leading—

  straight to heartache. In spite of her feelings, they had no future. They were too different, and what’s more, they liked their differences.

  “You could a few minutes ago. I didn’t imagine you kissing me back.”

  “I know.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. With it still damp and drying all kinky, and her being soaked and breaded in sawdust, she knew she must look horrible.

  But Jaron obviously didn’t notice. He was staring at her, and his eyes, which she’d thought cold and opaque until she saw the twinkle, now looked warm and almost unbearably intense. He wanted her.

  But he wasn’t going to have her, not the way he wanted, just because she was all that was available to him.

  Giving her a gentle smile, he drew his fingers down the piece of short hair that kept bothering her and tucked it behind her ear. “Bonnie, there’s something between us. I didn’t want it, didn’t expect it, but it’s there.”

  And how. “And it can stay there.”

  “Why? What’s changed?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s changed.” She couldn’t tell him she loved him, because he’d use the knowledge against her. “It’s just not right for me.”

  He misunderstood. Gesturing around them, he murmured, “Not here, not now. But soon.” He kissed her temple.

  She pushed at his chest. “Not anywhere at any time. This isn’t New York. I don’t do flings.”

  His expression changed, as though a window shut behind his eyes, and they went black and opaque again. “Neither do I. The novelty wore off at least a decade ago.”

  He dropped his arms. They left a lingering warmth on her skin that cooled all too quickly. “I thought you would have learned that about me.”

  Incredibly, she heard hurt in his voice. “I didn’t mean—

  but I have to live here with these people. I have to face them and work with them and—”

  “And apparently live for them as well. Fine. I won’t bother you anymore.” He took a few steps toward the door, hesitated, then turned back to her, his jaw set. “When you decide—if you decide—to be your own person, I’ll be in my room. If you come to me there, mean it.”

  “Since when did being my own person mean I have to have sex?”

  He kept walking.

  “You’re saying that men and women can’t be friends?” She should keep quiet. “No middle ground? No discussion? Just have sex with you or stay away?”

  At the door, he gave her a searing look. “It would be more than sex. And that makes you afraid. I thought you were braver than that, Bonnie.” And he left.

  She should have kept quiet. Jaron was right—she was afraid. But she wasn’t afraid of him, she was afraid of herself.

  * * *

  BONNIE WASN’T AT breakfast the next morning, which was just fine with Jaron. After a solid—okay, broken—night’s sleep, he applauded Bonnie’s restraint. Clearly, they were the victims of hormones and circumstance. That she should have been the one to recognize this only pointed out how contaminated he’d become by this environment.

  He’d let fresh air and a few pretty leaves dim the memory of honest smog and concrete and steel.

  Sitting at his computer—and not looking out the window—he opened a file.

  People thought the country was so much better than the city. Just let them try to survive without the city! The worst were those who disdained urban culture even as they took what it offered.

  No, the worst were those who fled the city, feeling that real life was in the country, and then proceeded to build mansions with all the urban conveniences.

  Or no, the worst of the worst were the country people who catered to them. Take Cooper’s Corner with its fake antique facade and people who pretended to be truly living the simple life. Put a man in plaid and he was imbued with the wisdom of the ages.

  Jaron wrote for hours, holding nothing back, trying to remind himself of who he was. But even as he tried to extol the virtues of his beloved city, he saw it in a different light, filtered through his experiences since coming here.

  Filtered through Bonnie, damn her. The fragments he’d written for future columns lacked the bite of those he’d written before. He couldn’t see things in black and white as easily. He’d lost his edge.

  * * *

  THE DAMAGE COULD have been much worse, both to herself and to the attic renovations. Sheetrock wasn’t that expensive, and the water had dried without ruining anything. And Bonnie had made the right decision about Jaron.

  She packed away her tools and swept the area, since there wasn’t anything more she could do until the building inspector arrived to give the go-ahead on installing the tub, sinks and toilet. She was looking at another ten days’ work at the most, and that was if she took her time. After that, she’d hang around and help, of course, but if circumstances were different, she wouldn’t.

  Maybe she could offer to assess the other outbuildings and help Maureen plan for future expansion. She knew Maureen and Clint couldn’t afford anything else for a while, but if they were interested, Bonnie could be on the lookout for more vintage fixtures. There had been some gorgeous pedestal sinks back in New York.

  She winced. Jaron thought he was the one who was most inconvenienced, but Bonnie’s life was on hold, too. She couldn’t risk going back to New York or going antique hunting around New England until Sonny had been found.

  “I’m pretty much done here until the inspection,” she told Seth. “I think I’ll go check in with my parents.” Maybe someone else’s daughter had flushed a Super Slide Kelly.

  Seth held up a hand in farewell and went back to work. Bonnie watched him for a moment. It would have been so convenient if she could have hooked up with him, but the chemistry just wasn’t there for either of them.

  Naturally, as she walked down the attic stairs, her thoughts turned to the one person she did have chemistry with—Jaron.

  They needed to talk, and in spite of what he’d said, there was plenty of middle ground between an all-out affair and completely ignoring each other. Eventually, they were going to have to appear in public together, and Bonnie wanted to have things smoothed over between them before that happened. The people here knew her too well and would pick up on any tension in a minute.

  Her mother had started fishing for possible wedding dates. Christmas? Late winter? Spring? Next summer? Twice Bonnie had caught her thumbing through bridal magazines, and then had to pretend an interest she didn’t feel.

  If she ever did get married, this was the time of year she wanted to do it, when the trees were flaming with color, the air was crisp and the sun was bright. And she wanted to wear a simple long white gown and get married in the village church with Pastor Tom performing the ceremony and the whole town watching.

  Jaron would hate it, but he wouldn’t be the groom, would he?

  At the thought, tears scalded her eyes.

  “Bonnie?” Maureen called up to her from the foot of the stairs.

  Bonnie blinked rapidly. “Yeah?”

  “Would you meet me in my office?”

  “Sure.”

  Maureen and Clint shared an office on the first floor. When Bonnie got there, Maureen immediately closed the door. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. One of the guests has been asking a lot of questions—not that they all don’t ask questions—but his... I don’t know.” />
  “Yes, you do.” Bonnie’s heart picked up speed. “That’s why Quigg relies on you. Does he have red hair?”

  Maureen shook her head. “No, he says he’s a social worker from New Hampshire working on a study, but something didn’t ring true. Clint noticed it, too.”

  “What does Quigg say?”

  “Nothing yet. But if I have to, I’m sending in his water glass from breakfast so they can check the prints. I’ll let you tell Jaron.”

  There it was. Bonnie’s excuse to approach Jaron. She remembered his parting words, but this was different. He needed to know about the iffy guest. “I’ll tell him,” she said casually, “and then I’ll probably go see Mom. I’m done here until the inspector comes.”

  Maureen nodded. “Be careful.”

  Appropriate words, Bonnie thought as she made her way to Jaron’s cottage. She knocked on the door as soon as she was within reach, so she couldn’t change her mind.

  “Jaron? It’s Bonnie.” She swallowed, about to tell him that she wasn’t there because she’d changed her mind, but stopped because of an awful thought. Had she changed her mind? Her mind was engaged in quite a campaign on Jaron’s behalf, replaying that last searing kiss over and over. Bonnie knew she was attracted to Jaron, and even worse, she was in love with him. But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. They were too different and too stubborn and—

  He opened the door.

  The smile on his face was gone in an instant as he clearly read the confusion in her expression. “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then what? A humanitarian visit to see if I’ve shriveled up from lack of contact with you?”

  “Jaron, don’t be like that.” She pushed her way inside without waiting for him to invite her in.

  “Like what?”

  “Unpleasant.”

  “I’m in an unpleasant mood, which, I might point out, I was not inflicting on anybody.”

  His whole demeanor had reverted to Jaron Darke at his worst. That was good. Anything to make him less attractive.

  “Maureen says one of the guests is asking too many suspicious questions.”

  “I assume they’re investigating.”

  Bonnie nodded. “But in the meantime, she wanted to give us a heads up.”

  “So we can do what?” he snapped.

  “Well, I...I don’t know.”

  “Then think about it.” He started pacing. “Are we supposed to dodge bullets? Shoot back? With what? We’re unarmed, and I haven’t noticed Maureen carrying around her old service revolver. She probably doesn’t have it anymore. Say this guest is one of the bad guys—how fast can Quigg’s people get here? Hmm?”

  Bonnie hadn’t thought about any of that because it had been easy not to, surrounded as she was by the trappings of normal life. “So what do we do?”

  “Not ‘we,’ babe. Me.” He pointed to himself. “I’m going home. If I’m going to have to live life looking over my shoulder, then I’m going to live it in a place that has literate people who know how to carry on a conversation, who appreciate food and wine and music and theater and art and all the things that make life worth living, and who, as a bonus, do not wear plaid.”

  How dare he criticize her world? Bonnie gladly summoned a quick anger. “In other words, you want to return to the life of the shallow and superficial, because you couldn’t hack it in the real world.”

  “The real world?” He threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter.

  “Yes, the real world—the one that has real people who do real work. Honest work. Physical work.”

  Jaron gave her a pitying look. “Spare me from people who think dirt under the fingernails is a sign of holiness. It only means they haven’t washed their hands.”

  Bonnie resisted the urge to check her nails. “You know, Jaron, you think you’re going back to your life, but you don’t have a life. You watch other people living their lives. At least when I go to sleep at night, I know I’ve done something worthwhile.”

  “Oh, please. You pulled a doll out of the toilet.”

  It was the expression of disgust on his face that got to her. Bonnie burst into tears, startling herself as much as Jaron. She couldn’t stand it anymore. They were saying such horrible things to each other.

  “Bonnie.” She felt Jaron’s arms go around her. “No. I didn’t mean it.” He hauled her to him.

  She buried her face in his chest and sobbed—sobbed because she loved him and everything was so wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I didn’t mean it. Not any of it.” He rained soft kisses over the parts of her head and face that he could reach. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I couldn’t stop.”

  “You said horrible things,” she choked out.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He was holding her so tightly she had a hard time breathing. “I said horrible things,” she admitted.

  “You didn’t mean them.”

  She sniffed and gave a watery chuckle. “Maybe some of them.”

  He pushed her away from him, but still held her arms. “Why, Bonnie Cooper!”

  She unearthed a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry I blubbered all over you.”

  “It’s a plaid shirt, so it’s okay.”

  She stuffed the tissue back in her pocket and rested her cheek against his chest, comforted by the beating of his heart.

  They stood that way for a time. Bonnie didn’t know how long.

  “Bonnie?” His voice rumbled next to her ear and she smiled.

  “Mmm?”

  “It’s time for you to go.” He paused. “If you intend to.” The gruffness in his voice tugged at a heart that didn’t need any more tugging.

  She knew exactly what he was saying.

  And she knew exactly how she was going to answer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THIS TIME, BONNIE was the one who pulled back until she could meet his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  His eyes grew heavy lidded. “That’s good, because I don’t think I can let you go.”

  She met his kiss more than halfway. Twin groans sounded in the silence and they laughed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “No,” she confessed, and his eyes squeezed shut. “But I’m staying anyway.”

  He relaxed and gave her a hard kiss. “Quit doing that!”

  She laughed, then sobered quickly. “Unless—do you have any, uh...”

  “Condoms?” He nodded.

  “You do?” She gasped. “Tell me you didn’t buy them in my parents’ store!”

  “I didn’t buy them in your parents’ store,” he assured her. “I bought them that day in Pittsfield.”

  “That’s almost as bad.”

  “I swear, small towns...”

  “And what were you doing buying them, anyway?”

  “You’d rather I stole them?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. But I also bought aspirin, Band-Aids, antacid and Neosporin. Come on, Bonnie, I’m losing the mood.”

  “Ha. You are a mood.”

  “I’ll show you mood.” He bent and kissed her.

  “You think kissing solves everything,” she murmured against his mouth.

  “Only the important stuff.” He nibbled at her lower lip. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

  And because she wanted to—and because he kissed really well—Bonnie believed him. She leaned into him and parted her lips beneath his.

  Jaron ran his hands beneath her jacket to her shoulders and slipped the denim down her arms. Bonnie let it fall to the floor, then wrapped her arms around his neck.
>
  Jaron scooped her off the floor and carried her toward his bed. “I wish I had a huge bed with feather pillows and silk sheets, but all that’s here is a cot.”

  From her vantage point in Jaron’s arms, Bonnie glanced down at it. “Seems big enough.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He lowered her to the cot and knelt beside it, just looking at her.

  It made her feel shy. “What?”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Bonnie. And I mean woman in the truest, best sense. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “Oh.” She blinked.

  “You’re not supposed to cry about it. You’re supposed to revel in your womanliness.”

  What a good idea. She gave him a look and started unbuttoning the plaid shirt he despised. “So let the revels begin.”

  “I like the way you think.” He carefully leaned down and nuzzled her neck, insinuating a hand between her arms so that he could unbutton her blouse at the same time.

  He was better with one hand than Bonnie was with two, but she was distracted by the movements of his tongue as he traced the outline of her lips until they tingled. She sighed, then felt coolness against her skin as her blouse fell open.

  It reminded her that she hadn’t made a whole lot of progress with Jaron’s shirt.

  “Wait a minute.” She sat up and worked at his buttons.

  In the meantime, Jaron traced a lazy finger over the lacy edges of her bra. Goose bumps rose on her flesh.

  Bonnie swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the buttons. “Why don’t you take off your shoes or something?”

  “They’re already off,” he murmured, then used his tongue to trace the path his fingers had drawn.

  Bonnie could feel her pulse in her head and her fingers and her chest and deep inside her in a place that had been pulseless for a long, long time. She shivered, hot and cold at the same time. “Then take off my shoes.”

  He chuckled. “I already did.”

  And when Bonnie looked down at her feet, there they were—shoeless.

  Jaron blew on the moist trail across her breasts and they tingled. Pretty much everything was tingling. She groaned. “Oh, gosh, I can’t do this!”