"Or the two of you could wait for me there, and we could have dinner someplace afterward, so you wouldn't have to cook."
Her frown turned the corners of her lips down almost as provocatively as a smile. "I don't know, Jess." Her eyes met his. "I think Francey's too young for that."
He shrugged. "You're the expert."
"Will you please stop saying that!" she exclaimed emphatically, but softly, so as not to disturb Francey. "I am not an expert on babies. Far from it."
"You know more than I do."
Straightening, he walked to the small desk and dropped his empty bottle into the wastebasket to one side, more because he needed to move than from any urge toward compulsive neatness. His own place was clean, thanks to bossy Mrs. Rodriquez who came in once a week. It was far from neat.
"I'll lend you my books on infant behavior, if you'd like," Hazel said, following his every movement with those wide green eyes of hers. "It shouldn't take you long before you know as much as I do."
"There's a difference between knowing and doing."
He hesitated, then sat down on the edge of her bed. Even though he'd left plenty of room between them, he was close enough to catch a subtle whiff of perfume.
He didn't want to like it. He didn't want to like her. And most of all he didn't want to like being here in her bedroom with her and the baby.
It felt too much like the kind of life he'd forsworn when Gayla had walked out and taken a big chunk of his self-esteem with her.
But reality was pushing him hard at the moment. He wanted Francey, and every legal instinct he'd developed over the years told him that he didn't have a chance without a suitable wife standing by his side.
"O'Connor, I'm not much for playing psychological games," he said more brusquely than he'd intended.
She looked puzzled. "Are you saying we're playing a game?"
Jess stared at the fluffy rug covering the hardwood floor. "Gayla and I were married so fast I never learned how to court a woman. If that's what you need, I'm not your man."
Hazel wondered if he knew how bleak his voice sounded or how tense he appeared to her right now, sitting so rigid and unmoving, as though, inexplicable as it seemed, he was in some way afraid of her.
It moved her to touch the big hand pressed so tightly to his thigh. To tell him how much she wanted to love him and how desperately he needed to be loved. But Jess had been too badly wounded to believe mere words.
"I've been courted," she told him in a low voice. "Flowers every day, romantic candlelight dinners, champagne. I have to admit that I loved it."
His mouth flattened. "Most women do, I hear."
"Ron and I had been married almost two years when I lost our baby. She was full-term, perfect in every way, and we named her Gloria. The doctors simply couldn't make her breathe, even with all the high-tech equipment they had at their disposal. An act of God, one of the nurses said before they took my baby away."
His gaze came to her slowly, as though he were afraid to intrude. "Sounds rough," he said gruffly. "In fact, if I'd known I'm not sure I would have asked your help in this case."
She acknowledged his sympathy with a nod. "I haven't told many people about that part of my life. Cait knows, and my mother and father. And of course Ron's parents. They've been very sweet to me over the years."
His eyes narrowed. "You forgot to mention your husband."
She drew a long, not quite steady breath before leaning forward to set her beer bottle on the nightstand.
"Ron's been dead for eleven years."
"I see." Questions darkened his eyes, questions she had a feeling he wouldn't ask. Because he was a private person, he allowed everyone else that same courtesy.
"In the hospital, after we finally realized that our baby was gone, I fell apart. Screaming hysterics, black depression, blaming God and the doctors and even Ron, because he hadn't wanted the baby. Through it all, Ron was a rock. Calm, supportive, understanding."
"Sounds like a good guy to have on your side." Jess glanced away, when she really wanted him to move closer, to hold her close.
"He was, except I didn't want understanding. I wanted him to hurt as much as I did. And to show it in the same way. I wanted emotion from him, I wanted to see his pain, his fury – all the things I was feeling. When he wouldn't – or couldn't – give me those things, I accused him of not caring. Of … of being secretly glad our baby had died."
Hazel had to pause to catch her breath. She wasn't sure she should go on, then found herself plunging ahead as though some kind of inner dam had just cracked.
"He didn't show up to take me home from the hospital when he was supposed to. I waited as long as I could, then took a taxi. When I walked into our apartment, I found him in the baby's room, slumped over the crib. He'd … shot himself." She drew another breath, then attempted a rueful smile. "To this day, the smell of fresh paint makes me sick to my stomach."
Jess flattened his palm on his thigh and looked at the veins crisscrossing the back of his hand. "With me, it's rubbing alcohol," he said without looking at her. "Every time I smell it it's like I'm flat on my back in the hospital again, swearing at God and mad at the world – and myself."
Hazel was careful not to show even a hit of pity. "It's strange how the senses can trigger emotions."
His mouth quirked. "Not so much strange as a damned nuisance. Some things are better off buried."
"But that's the problem, isn't it?" she cried softly. "Burying things, I mean. They're still there, waiting to catch you with your guard down, no matter how far down you shove them or how busy you keep yourself."
Jess eyed her curiously. "Isn't that your job? Exorcising ghosts?"
"In away, yes."
"So how come you haven't exorcised this one?"
"Actually, I did, although it took me almost two years before I didn't start every day in tears." She managed a chuckle. "And then I woke up one morning bored with grieving for what might have been and tired of feeling sorry for myself. That's when I decided to devote my practice to children."
He allowed a faint smile. "Sounds logical."
"It is, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven myself for what I did." Hazel dropped her gaze. "I said terrible things to Ron, things he didn't deserve." She let him see the whispers of pain she still carried in her eyes. "He loved me so much."
He looked uncomfortable, the way he always did whenever anyone mentioned love. "If he loved you so much, how come he set it up so you'd be sure to find the mess?"
Hazel gasped softly. "That's a terrible thing to say."
He shrugged. "Maybe, but he had to have known what it would do to you to find him like that. Seems to me he wanted you to feel guilty."
She shook her head. "He was a sensitive man. Gentle. I should have known how much he was suffering. I should have been there for him."
"Why? He wasn't there for you. In my book that makes him a quitter."
"But he wasn't! I just told you how supportive he was. How caring."
He shook his head. "If he really cared, he would have hung in there for you, no matter how much he was hurting."
She started to protest, then realized that he had a point, one she really didn't want to face just yet. Instead, as was her habit, she turned her thoughts away from herself and onto him.
"Did you ever consider suicide?" she asked matter-of-factly.
He seemed to stop breathing for a moment before he nodded. "Hell, yes. More than once, actually."
"When your wife left?"
His face tightened. "Something like that, yeah."
"What stopped you?"
One side of his mouth lifted. "I didn't want to go out a loser, which is what I would have been if I'd bailed out when things got rocky."
Hazel looked deep into his eyes and saw a man of such courage and implacable strength that it stunned her. Jess was a winner and always would be. He had faced his pain and worked through it, was still working through it in his own way – just as Neil and Jimmy and
her other patients were doing. Just as she had been doing for a lot of years. She blinked as anger overwhelmed her. Jess was right. She had loved Ron too much to have left him in such a nightmarish way – no matter how much she'd been hurting.
"I … never thought of Ron as a loser," she admitted with painful honesty. "Or a quitter, for that matter, which in a way, he … was."
Unexpectedly Jess took her hand. His fingers were reassuringly strong, his palm warm and comforting against hers. It was an uncomplicated gesture of comfort, one she suspected he hadn't planned.
"You didn't put that gun to your husband's head and pull the trigger, and I'm not sure you could have stopped him, no matter what you said or didn't say. Take my advice and remember that whenever you start feeling guilty."
"I … thank you for that. It helps." The guilt was still there, but strangely, it was less barbed somehow, as though she'd taken a big step toward forgiving herself.
Jess glanced down at their entwined hands. "For the record, I'm sorry about your daughter."
"I am, too."
"No wonder Francey got to you."
"I would be lying if I said she didn't bring back memories of my own daughter, but she's in no way a substitute for Gloria."
"But she could be."
Hazel shook her head. "No. Francey is Francey, a perfect little person in her own right. And," she added softly, "your daughter."
Jess bunched his eyebrows over his nose and slowly shook his head. "I can't let myself believe that, O' Connor. The odds are too long against it."
Hazel didn't try to convince him otherwise. What he was saying was true. Still, there was always hope.
"What happens if Lynn FitzGerald recommends again your adopting Francey?"
Emotion flashed in his eyes and was as quickly mastered. "She becomes a ward of the court until 'suitable' parents can be found."
"That might take months. In the meantime, Francey will be absorbing all the wrong signals."
"Bonding wise." His mouth quirked, but not with humor.
"Yes, bonding wise."
"Which is why I think you should apply."
Hazel absorbed his words slowly, carefully. "Adopt her myself, you mean?"
"You'd have a great shot at it, and in a way…" Pausing, he drew a deep breath, as though the words came hard. "In a way there would still be a connection to Silvia and what she wanted."
His fingers pressed hers ever so slightly, or maybe she was just imagining the increased tension in his touch. Just as she was imagining the whisper of pain in the deep brown eyes watching her so steadily.
"Does that mean you're withdrawing your marriage proposal?"
One side of his mouth jerked, as though he'd been struck with something hard. "After last night, I figured you were going to turn me down."
She drew a deep breath, let it out. "I was … upset."
"And now?"
"Perhaps I've reconsidered."
His eyes, so dark, so deeply shadowed, searched hers. "Why?" he demanded in a low rough tone.
"Because you're decent and fair and … um, extremely interesting." And so sexy my teeth grind together and my skin gets hot when I just think about making love with you.
"Interesting." His tone was thoughtful, as though he were searching for hidden meanings.
"Mmm, I might mention that I also find you annoyingly good-looking – when you're not glaring at me, that is."
Half turning toward him, she rested the hand he wasn't holding against his cheek. The sandpaper stubble was strangely provocative, and so was the quick vulnerable slant to his mouth before he controlled it.
"When?" His voice was hoarse.
"When what?"
"When will you marry me?"
If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn Jess was as smitten with her as she was with him.
"How about a week from Saturday?"
His smile started slowly, then curved with a certain shyness until it took over his eyes and softened the stern lines of his face.
"Works for me."
"We'll have it here, in my rose garden." She traced the beguiling crease in one cheek with her fingertip, surprised and pleased that he didn't immediately draw back, as she'd half expected.
"Wherever."
The texture of his skin was pleasing beneath the sensitive pads of her fingers. "I'll have Cait as my attendant. And a cake, of course."
"By all means," he said dryly.
"The reception will be small, but oh so elegant." Her smile wobbled. "I hope."
He brought his hand up to cover hers, as though she'd pushed him beyond his ability to withstand even that small intimacy. Turning it slowly, he pressed a kiss into her palm, arousing sensations that spread until her body seemed to be warming and tensing at the same time.
"And, um, I'll need a new dress." Her breath was coming in little jerks, and her mind was reeling as he used his thumb to nudge her chin higher.
"Whatever you want," he said, his mouth hovering. His breath was warm and flavored with hops.
Hazel's lashes lowered until her vision narrowed to the firm, aggressive lips that so rarely smiled and yet kissed with such exquisite tenderness.
"You'll want to invite your brother and his daughter." Her suddenly rapid breathing gave her voice a whispery quality.
"Yes, ma'am." His mouth moved a fraction closer. Hazel's heart flip-flopped, and her lips trembled with a need to be touching his. When he still hesitated, she leaned forward and brushed his mouth lightly.
Jess inhaled violently, and his already speeding heart went crazy, thudding piston-hard against his ribs.
He wasn't going to ask her if she knew what she was doing or why she was doing it. At the moment he didn't care.
It had been a lifetime since a woman had kissed him first with more than sisterly affection. A lifetime since he'd wanted more.
Closing his eyes, he took her mouth with the eagerness of a kid. She strained toward him, her hands going around his neck eagerly.
He teased her with his tongue, and her lips parted with a hunger that rocked him. There was no coyness to be overcome, no hesitancy to be broken down with empty promises of love that neither really believed.
Something took off racing inside him, like a sprint gone out of control. Unnerved, Jess drew back, assessing his own reaction, struggling to keep his own needs in perspective. Acting on impulse was something a man with his physical limitations learned very quickly to avoid.
What if, at the last minute, she recoiled from him? What if she cringed when he thrust into her the way Gayla had?
But the room was quiet and so dimly lit that the corners seemed to blur, as though nothing was real. He felt safe here, cocooned. And tempted to throw away all the lessons he'd learned about himself and the way others saw him.
He drew back slowly until her hands slipped from his neck to his shoulders. Unable to completely break the connection between them, he waited. Hazel opened her eyes slowly, still dazed.
"I'll draw up the papers tomorrow."
"Papers?" she murmured.
"The prenuptial agreement."
Comprehension came into her eyes gradually, turning them from a soft blurry gold to a more rational, sane hazel.
"Oh, yes, I almost forgot."
Withdrawing her hands, she folded them in her lap and slowly drew her shoulders back until they were very straight. It was only then that her gaze came to his, the lingering drowsiness slowly slipping away.
"At least we've solved one problem. Tomorrow we can both see Lynn FitzGerald and tell her we're engaged."
"Would you like a ring? Gayla had a diamond, but if you'd like something different—"
"A plain gold band will be fine. After all, we both know this isn't a conventional marriage."
Her voice was very calm, her expression composed, but Jess found himself tensing the way he invariably did in court when he sensed that a witness was hiding some crucial piece of evidence.
He got to his feet slowly. A
n effective advocate knew when to press and when to retreat. "I'd better let you get some sleep."
"You, too," she said with a friendly enough smile. "You have the morning shift, remember?"
Nodding, he glanced toward the crib and the sleeping baby. "Uh, if you're not awake—"
"I will be," she said, slipping her feet under the covers and pulling them up to her waist. "And don't worry about knocking. Mi casa es su casa."
But not her bed, Jess thought as he left.
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
Jess lifted his chin, allowing Tyler to finish tying the tie given to him by Cait as a wedding present. It felt like a noose.
"We should have flown to Vegas," he grumbled when Ty snapped down the starched collar and pronounced him presentable.
Garrett turned from the window. "Too late now, J.D. Pollard just walked up the drive. At least, he looks like a judge – gray hair, a hanging look in his eyes, bullwhip in hand."
Jess wiggled the knot of his tie until the pressure on his gullet eased. Ty had already buttoned his shirt cuff for him, something he had to do with his teeth – if he did it at all. "Very funny, Garrett."
"No sweat, buddy," Tyler chimed in. "Ten minutes, a few words, and we can get down to the serious partying."
Jess shot his friend a disgruntled look. He should have insisted on a nice quiet ceremony in Pollard's office, no matter how disappointed Hazel might have been.
"Nice suit," Garrett tossed off, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Is it new?"
Jess scowled at the sober gray flannel. It was his lucky suit, the one he wore on the first day of any trial. "No, is yours?"
"I hope to shout," Garrett said as he picked up the suit coat he'd carried in with him and shoved his long arms into the sleeves. "Andi would skin me alive before she'd let me disgrace her favorite uncle by wearing jeans and an old jacket like I'd planned."
Jess muttered an obscenity that set his brother to chuckling. Scowling, Jess glanced at his watch one more time. Hazel was upstairs with Cait and the baby. He hadn't seen her yet.
Even though Mrs. Weller had been given a clean bill of health, he'd continued to stay at Hazel's house, sleeping in the guest room, helping her as much as he could with the baby and other chores around the house.
ONCE UPON A WEDDING Page 17
