by Susan Wiggs
She glanced up at him. “I imagine you will. She comes to visit sometimes. She and Magnus reconnected after his accident last year. She’ll be here for Tess’s bachelorette weekend.”
“Seriously?”
“She’s the world’s oldest living bachelorette.”
“So what’s a bachelorette party like? I’ve never been to one.”
“Because it’s girls only. Food and presents—the sillier and the prettier, the better. I love giving parties.” She offered a shy smile.
Again, he had the urge to touch her. She was just...delicious to him. He couldn’t understand it. He’d never felt so drawn to a woman—her scent, her soft curves, the curls of hair framing her face, the fullness of her lips. It was something more than attraction. She moved him—the way she cared so much about her grandfather and Bella Vista, her earnest dedication to her family and friends. Her unbelievable cooking. The tiny pulse beneath the delicate skin of her throat. She bothered the hell out of him, too, because his attraction to her wasn’t something he could rationalize or control. He loved talking to her, even when she was griping at him. He liked the softness that came over her face when she was in the garden or with her grandfather. He just wanted her.
This development was totally unexpected, not to mention inconvenient as hell. He had come here on a job, and once that was done, he’d be leaving. Getting into some kind of emotional entanglement was the last thing he needed. He wasn’t good at relationships. He’d proven that again and again.
This could be different, he caught himself thinking. And then Mac came to a startling realization—the thing that was so wrong about the whole situation was that it felt so right.
“...impossible to imagine how hard it must be for a woman to make that choice,” Isabel was saying.
“Sorry, what?” Mac gave himself a mental shake. Focus.
“I was talking about Annelise Winther,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated. She quickened her pace toward the tool shed. “I’ve been trying to imagine what it’s like to make that choice.”
“To give a baby up for adoption?” He reined in his thoughts and picked up on the conversation again.
“Yes. Because it’s—” She came around the corner, and there was Jamie, carrying a box of beekeeping gear. “Oh, hey, Jamie.” Isabel looked flustered, and Mac couldn’t understand why.
But when Jamie set down the box, he did. The girl smoothed her hand over her belly in that universal way women seemed to have when they were pregnant. When she looked up at Isabel, her eyes were haunted. “I’ve been imagining exactly that a lot lately,” she said.
She was an odd little character, intense, with a distrustful flicker in her eyes when she looked at him. Isabel had taken her in with open arms. Yet another thing to like about Isabel, not that he was looking for things to like about her.
“Oh, gosh, I was talking about something that happened in my family a long time ago,” Isabel said. “Not—”
“It’s okay, really.”
“If there’s something I can do to help, you’ll tell me, right?”
Jamie stared at the ground. Mac sensed the girl had plenty to say. But not in front of him, that was clear.
“I need to get to work,” he said, stepping away from them. “See you around.”
* * *
Isabel watched Mac go, his lanky form moving with an easy grace, though he still favored the injured knee. She still wasn’t convinced that he should stay and pursue his project, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to go. And as he’d said, it wasn’t her decision to make.
Jamie let out a gust of air as if she’d been holding her breath.
“Are you all right?” asked Isabel. “Feeling okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She raked a hand through her spiky hair. “Feels as though an alien has taken over my body. Not that I know what that feels like, but it’s what I’m imagining.”
“How can I help?” asked Isabel.
She indicated the box of new racks she’d ordered for the hives. “I need to check the supers and make sure we got rid of the mites we found last month. I was going to treat for mites one more time, just in case.”
“Well, of course I’d love to help with that,” Isabel said, “but I was talking about you. What can I do to help you?”
Isabel carried the gear as they walked together up the path toward the apiary. In the bright, hot sunshine, the hives were boiling with activity. Bees hovered in the milkweed and lavender, in the yarrow and thyme. The low, humming sound they made still felt unsettling to Isabel, but it seemed to have a calming effect on Jamie.
When Jamie was around the hives, she was deeply in her element, confident and graceful in her every move. She used only natural ingredients to control pests—thyme oil and powdered sugar. She had an uncanny sense about when and how to replace queens, and the new hives she’d installed already seemed to be thriving.
“Here’s the thing,” Jamie said as they moved among the hives, checking bottom racks and supers. “I know I need to get real with myself, and the reality is, I can’t raise a baby. I can’t. I don’t have anything to offer it. If you hadn’t let me stay here, I wouldn’t have a place to live. I have just enough money to get by, and I...it’s simply not in me to bring a baby into the mess I’ve made of my life.”
Isabel winced, hearing the ache of regret in the girl’s voice. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re strong and healthy, and you have all the love in the world to give.”
“That’s nice of you to say. But I can’t let myself be stupid about this, or make a stupid decision. God knows, I’ve done plenty of that already.”
“Question—and feel free to tell me to butt out if it’s too personal. What about the baby’s father? I mean, you said you weren’t together, but maybe he’ll step up and support you.”
Jamie shot Isabel a dark look. “He was the worst, you know?”
Isabel thought of the bruise she’d seen on Jamie’s jaw. “He’s not in the picture, then.”
“Nope.”
“And...sorry about the third degree. Are you safe?”
She nodded. “I am now.”
“Was it some guy in Napa?”
Jamie ducked her head, but not before Isabel saw something—a flash of insight she didn’t understand—in the girl’s eyes. “Yeah,” Jamie said. “In Napa.”
“So you were living there? Working there?”
Again that flash. “I had a gig singing in a small restaurant. And I was supplying organic honey for the culinary school, and for some restaurants. The cooking school there is a big deal, you know?”
“I do know.” Isabel hesitated, then admitted, “I was a student there when I was about your age.”
“And?”
“And it didn’t work out for me there, either. Wasn’t really the right thing.” Isabel had gone to culinary school with such hopes. How quickly that had all turned upside down.
“Yeah? What was wrong with it?”
Isabel sighed. “Long story. And you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Look, he’s not going to come looking for me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jamie said firmly.
“I’m worried about you.”
“There’s no need. My...the guy...he was nice at first, but he turned mean. Like, really mean.”
Isabel felt a leaden sensation in her gut, remembering all too well how it felt to realize someone you trusted, maybe even loved, had turned on you. “So you left him,” she said. “Good for you.”
Jamie nodded, then tossed back her head, almost defiantly. Her eyes were hot with self-loathing. “You don’t get it, Isabel. I didn’t leave. It wasn’t good for me and I knew it but I still didn’t leave. The only thing that got me out of my predicament is that he threw me out. I’m an idio
t.”
“No, you’re not. You’re...” Like me, thought Isabel. Sometimes a perfectly rational, intelligent person made stupid decisions. “Please don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said.
“Forgiving myself doesn’t change my situation. I just can’t figure out how in the world I’m going to raise a kid.”
“It’s the biggest commitment you’ll ever make, and it’s great that you’re taking it so seriously.”
She nodded, using a hive tool to pry apart the stacked supers of a hive. “I never thought I’d be in this position, you know? But now that I am, I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do.”
“You have time to think this over and weigh all the options,” said Isabel.
Jamie nodded. “I’m glad there’s time. But there’s definitely a deadline, and I’m not ready to be a mom. I might never be ready. I knew right away that ending the pregnancy wouldn’t be the right option for me, so now I really only have two choices—to keep the baby, or to give it up for adoption.”
“I’ve never liked that phrase—‘giving up’ a baby. It doesn’t really describe the situation.” Isabel paused, thinking about her grandparents. Annelise Winther’s actions had changed her grandmother’s life forever. She hadn’t given up a baby. She’d given Magnus and Eva a priceless gift.
“A kid needs a family,” Jamie said, and the pain in her voice was hard to hear. “A mom and dad, a stable home.”
“Families are made in lots of ways,” Isabel pointed out. “I was raised by my grandparents. My sister Tess is getting an instant family with Dominic. And she was raised by a single mom.”
“I know, and I have nothing but respect for single moms, but I don’t want that for this baby.”
“There are plenty of resources and help out there,” Isabel said. “Listen, I’ve never been in your position before, but I promise you one thing—life gets better when you let people in.”
“Not if you let in the wrong people.”
She had a point.
“And by the way,” Jamie said, “I don’t exactly see you taking your own advice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like you don’t know. That guy—the writer guy—he’s totally into you and you act as if you don’t even care.”
Yikes, was it that obvious? “Jamie, we’re talking about you. Would you be willing to meet with someone who’s an expert in this area? I can be your friend, but I can’t advise you about something this big.”
Panic flared in Jamie’s face. “I, um...I’ll think about it. Hey, listen, I was going to finish up here and then head into town to do some errands....”
Isabel sensed the girl pulling back. “Of course. I’m being pushy, aren’t I?”
Jamie narrowed her eyes and pulled her mouth into a tight bud. “You’re being kinder than anyone’s ever been to me,” she said curtly, and slid the rack back into the hive.
Chapter Twelve
A loud yell in the night awakened Isabel. She hadn’t been asleep, anyway; she’d been staring into the darkness, thinking about Jamie. She had been in the girl’s place before, if only briefly, and she recalled the surreal wonder and dread that had taken her over on discovering she was pregnant. Although it had come as a shock, although she hadn’t been ready, she’d been awash with emotion.
Reacting to the noise, Charlie scrambled to his feet and gave a wary woof. Isabel lay still and listened, but didn’t hear anything more. Maybe Grandfather was up late, watching TV. Still, sleep eluded her. She could only imagine how thoughts of the baby must consume Jamie. Isabel could too easily put herself in that place—young, pregnant, broke and frightened. And alone, so very alone. She never saw Jamie talking with anyone on her phone or going to visit friends. Isabel had not been homeless; nor had she lacked for family or friends. But she shared a key issue with Jamie. She’d been with a man who had turned on her.
And now Calvin Sharpe was back, more successful than ever, planning his next destination restaurant right here in Archangel. Isabel hated herself for not filing a complaint against him when she’d had the chance. The statute of limitations had run out, and it was too late. Yet hearing about Jamie’s experience made Isabel wish she’d found the fire to fight back. Men who hurt women should not be allowed to get away with it.
The yelling started again, and this time she was sure it wasn’t her imagination or a TV. Charlie trotted down the hall and Isabel followed. The noise was coming from Mac’s room.
“Anything, you motherfuckers, we had a deal. We had a deal.” Mac sounded furious, his voice angry enough to cause her to flinch.
Was he on the phone with someone? In the middle of the night?
“Hey,” she said, rapping on the door. “Hey, Mac, is everything okay?”
The door was ajar and Charlie surged into the room. It was completely dark inside. Mac wasn’t on the phone, but on the bed, slamming his fist down repeatedly.
“We had a deal,” he said again.
Isabel flipped on the light. “What’s going on?”
He swung toward her, his eyes staring. It was eerie, the way he stared right through her. It took her only a second to realize he was in the middle of a nightmare.
“Mac,” she said. Then more sharply, “Mac.”
“No,” he said, still with that blank look. “No, don’t....”
“Mac, wake up.” She crossed the room and touched his arm.
He yanked his arm sharply away. The sudden movement should have caused her to panic, but for some reason, she didn’t. Instead, she felt an odd tenderness toward him. He seemed lost, vulnerable.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “I’ve heard you shouldn’t wake someone from a nightmare, but how about you wake up on your own?”
Charlie whined and scratched the floor. Mac glared wildly around the room. He said something in a language she didn’t understand. Then he blinked and lay back on the bed, a sigh escaping him like air from a tire. “Who the hell turned on the light?” he grumbled.
“You were having a nightmare.”
“Oh...shit. Sorry.”
She couldn’t help but notice he slept in the raw. It was hard to keep herself from staring. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He propped himself on one elbow and rubbed his stubbly cheeks. “Yep, I’m fine.” He appeared to take his time pulling the sheet over himself. “That’s twice you’ve seen me naked,” he said, “and we haven’t even had our first date.”
“What makes you think we’re ever going to have a date?” she asked.
“You were checking me out. You like me. I can tell.” He reached out and scratched the dog’s ears. “Right, old boy?”
She carefully lowered herself to the end of the bed, self-conscious about the old Giants jersey she wore as a nightshirt. “So you have nightmares?”
“Yeah, sorry about the noise. Did I wake your granddad?”
“Doubtful. He takes his hearing aids out at night. Is there anything I can do?”
He gave her a tired grin. “Crawl in bed with me.”
She glared at him, then got up and tossed him a terrycloth robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “Meet me in the kitchen. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“You don’t need to make me a sandwich.”
“But I’m going to.” She left the room before he could protest further. In the kitchen, she layered grilled pancetta, tomato and lettuce on toasted thick slabs of sourdough. She added some chopped cornichons, Dijon mustard and fresh snipped tarragon to the mayo, just to show off. Around Bella Vista, her PLTs were legendary.
Mac wasn’t wearing the robe when he came downstairs. He’d thrown on a pair of lived-in cutoffs, faded in all the right places, and a rumpled but clean T-shirt with a logo from a kiteboarding resort in Australia.
She cut the sandwich into quarters and set it on a pottery plate, along with a side of grapes and parmesan chips, and a beer in a frosty mug.
He regarded the small feast on the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I moan in ecstasy while I eat this.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said, helping herself to a quarter of the sandwich. “Cook’s tax,” she explained.
“Fair enough. Thanks, Isabel.”
She didn’t know why it felt so pleasant, sitting here with him, or why she’d been so keen to fix him a midnight snack. He’d looked scared and lost in the grip of the nightmare. She supposed everyone did, but seeing him that way was strangely touching.
He sat at the old pine kitchen table with his leg sticking out to the side. Even in the dim light, she could see the crescent-shaped scar on his knee.
“You’re not using your cane.”
He shrugged. “Hate that thing. All the walking around I’ve been doing with your granddad is good exercise for the knee. I think it’s helping.”
“Are you supposed to be doing physical therapy?”
“Yep.” He took a gulp of beer. “Massage and whirlpool, too. I did it right after surgery but didn’t keep it up. Who has time for that?”
“If you want to heal properly, you’ll make time.” On impulse, she went to the pantry and found a jar of coconut oil. Then she oiled her hands and took hold of his knee. “Grandfather had a knee replacement years ago. I’m convinced he walks like a champ now because he did all the recommended therapy.”
“Hey—”
“Relax. This won’t hurt a bit. I did it for Grandfather all through his recovery.” She used the connective tissue massage techniques she’d learned for Magnus, rotating her thumbs along the length of the scar. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d touched a man intimately. And she couldn’t recall it ever feeling like this. “The guest suite on the main floor has a whirlpool tub. You should use it.”
“You really don’t have to do this,” said Mac.
“True. I could just let you hobble around Bella Vista the whole time you’re here.”
