by Neesa Hart
But she’d read the article, and that, coupled with the indelible memory of his expression when Amy had told him her story, had made her head spin and made her decision for her.
Like a vision in a dream, she could recall almost every word of his haunting column.
The world is an incredibly noisy place. If you sit for a while, and try to filter the sounds that clutter up your ears, you find that everything makes noise. First, I shut off the obvious things. I isolated myself from the sound of traffic and crowds. Then the telephone, the TV, the radio. The thrum of activity persisted. I switched off my appliances, at the risk of losing the one bottle of milk and the apple I keep in my refrigerator. Light bulbs, I learned, make a buzzing kind of sound that’s excruciatingly loud when you listen to it. I threw the master breaker in my townhouse, retreated to my most interior room to sit in the dark and listen to silence.
Noise continued to interrupt. The distant sound of a siren. The vibrations of street traffic. The ring of a neighbor’s telephone. In desperation, I filled my bathtub with water, held my breath and submerged my head. I could still hear my heart beat.
Tonight, I witnessed a remarkable, even astounding, artistic performance. In my life, I’ve seen the greatest artists in the world perform on the most prestigious stages for audiences equally sophisticated. I’ve watched the premier performances of works which are now classics. What I saw tonight, and the impact it had on me, eclipsed them all. At seven fifteen this evening, I watched thirteen kids dance to the sound of silence. There was music, of course. I heard it. Most of the audience heard it. The dancers, however, did not.
At the corner of Fifteenth and P Streets, in a nondescript looking building, a miracle took place.
With a shake of her head, Cammy forced herself from her reverie. With his characteristically lyrical flow, the column read like a letter from Jackson to an individual reader.
Filtered through her own experience with him, through the lens of his behavior during the recital and later, she sensed again the almost overwhelming cloud of sorrow that he wore like a mantle. Haunted by his memories of Leo, Jackson needed her.
That had clinched it. She’d told herself a hundred times that he didn’t need her specifically. She merely stood in the spot where his need happened to focus. Anyone else might have tumbled into the role. But as the week progressed, the argument weakened, until she found herself on the precipice of a very dangerous ledge. If she allowed herself to fall for him, he’d break her heart. There couldn’t be anything between them. She knew that. A man like Jackson Puller needed a stable family life, half a dozen kids, and a woman who could love him without reservation.
She made an effort to remind herself sternly that she wasn’t that woman. Not only couldn’t she give him children but she’d also concluded long ago that she couldn’t make herself love without strings attached. She had all kinds of excellent psychological reasons for the affliction. It wouldn’t be fair to him, or to her, if they went down that road. Eventually, he’d resent her, she’d resent him, and she would have made them both miserable.
It was the most logical, educated, professional analysis in the world. During graduate school, she’d diagnosed it as “chronic disassociation.” She cared for people—deeply. But she was incapable of letting their existence in her life matter beyond their immediate circumstances. In the end, she always managed to hurt them.
The hold that argument had on her, however, had flown right out the window. Between his behavior at the dance class on Monday night; the interview with Lynette; and the fact that he’d couriered the next installment of his series to her that afternoon, all he’d had to say was “Please,” and she’d wilted like a flower. The effect of this latest column on her was no less devastating than the last one. He’d told Amy’s story with a minimum of frills, drawing sharp contrasts between the realities of the child’s life and the size of her dreams and aspirations. The terribly poignant image of Amy clutching his roses to her chest had lingered in Cammy’s heart to melt whatever resistance she had left.
How had she ever thought she’d have the will to tell him no?
Again she met her gaze in the mirror. “This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” she muttered.
She was telling herself the same thing two hours later as his car ate up the miles between Washington and his family home in the Shenandoah Valley. When he’d picked her up, he’d rushed her to the car with some mumbled explanation about missing the bulk of rush hour traffic. She didn’t buy it. He’d been wisely aware that if he gave her enough time to formulate a plan, she’d back out. Before she could protest, almost before she could think about protesting, he was on the highway.
They’d spoken little, and when they had, they’d discussed their respective weeks in the vaguest of terms. But now, with the traffic beginning to thin and the road laid before them like a black ribbon winding its way across the verdant landscape, she said, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
He slanted her that devilish little-boy grin of his as he reached for her hand. “I can’t believe you did either.”
“Have you decided just how you’re going to handle it when your family jumps to the conclusion that you and I are seriously enough involved that you’re dragging me home to meet them?” She pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. The cool breeze that wafted through the sunroof of his car did little to calm her nerves. Even the weather had cooperated with him. “I warned you.”
“They won’t be totally wrong.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, then settled it on his thigh. “You may not be involved with me,” his wide shoulders lifted in a shrug, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not involved with you.”
She glared at him. “You aren’t taking me seriously at all, are you?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m taking you as seriously as I take earthquakes and hurricanes.”
Her ears were beginning to ring. She wished she could blame it on the batteries in her transmitter, but she knew better. The pressure of his fingers on her hand, the feel of his muscled thigh was making her blood pressure soar. “Jackson—”
He glanced at her. “Okay. Okay. I’ll back off.”
“Since when did you master the art of backing off?”
“Since about noon yesterday when you told me you’d cancel if I made one more comment like that.” He pulled his gaze from the highway to glance at her. “I can’t explain it, Cam. I needed to go home this weekend. I needed the peace of this place, and I needed to share it with you. I haven’t been home since Leo,” he said quietly.
Her heart fluttered. “Really?”
“Yes. I just feel like I’ll find some answers there.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. Believe me, if you manage to figure out why all that’s jumbled around in my head, then let me know. I’ve been going crazy trying to sort through it.”
She exhaled a slow breath. Her fingers relaxed in his grip. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m letting my neurosis dictate my moods again. I hate that.”
Without warning, he pulled his car onto the shoulder, then killed the engine. In the subsequent silence, he cradled her face in his large hands as he tipped his head to kiss her. Long and thorough, the kiss sent little licks of flame skittering along her flesh. The feel of his hands on her face sent her pulse into overdrive. In seconds, he had her clinging to him. Her fingers curled around his wrists to hold him in place while she returned the kiss.
With a slight groan, Jackson shifted so their bodies were closer. He played with her lips, brushing his mouth over hers in the most tantalizing of rhythms. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his fingers continued to rub mesmerizing little circles beneath her ears. Several seconds passed before he opened his eyes. “There,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “That’ll hold me.”
She shook her head slightly to clear it. “What was that for?”
“You do that to me. One simple diagnosis falls from your lips, and I’m hooked.”
“Not funny.”
“You don’t believe shrink talk turns me on?”
“Sure, that’s why you’ve been to so many.”
He laughed. “Okay. How about this?” The callused pad of his thumb rubbed her tingling lips. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a week. I’ve barely seen you since Monday. We’ve both been so busy.”
“Your column made my phones go haywire. I spent so much time answering inquiries, I hardly got any work done.”
He watched her intently. “I’ve been up to my eyeballs in paperwork and meetings. The damned Slavs had to go and have free elections, and the news business just went sort of nuts.”
Why, she wondered, did he have to look so attractive when his eyes sparkled like that? As quickly as her world had tilted, he’d helped right it again. “It would have been nice if they’d called you first.”
“Uh-huh. Or if the president had consulted with us before he authorized an air strike in the Mideast.” He swept his thumb over her lower lip.
She ignored the leap in her pulse rate. “Poor guy. You must have worked yourself to death. I thought your consequence had earned you all the plum assignments.”
“Plum assignments like digging through ten-year-old archives for the complete history of the Bezin Peninsula?”
“No. Assignments like hanging out with some crazy female shrink and her fly-by-night charity.”
Above the rim of her glasses, he traced his fingertip along her eyebrow. “Would it surprise you to learn that my consequence isn’t worth squat around there?”
“My kids are pretty impressed with it.”
“How about you?” He bent his head to nuzzle her neck.
Beyond his shoulder, she could see the weekend traffic racing by, but somehow, within the confines of his car, she felt cocooned. She lifted a hand to the back of his head. Her fingers wove into the crisp silk of his hair. “I’m pretty impressed with it, too,” she admitted.
He kissed her again. This time, he gently, slowly explored her, as if they weren’t parked on the side of a highway, or as if things between them could ever be normal.
The thought brought her firmly back to reality. Threading her fingers in his hair, she tugged until he lifted his mouth. His eyes clouded as he watched her. “Cam?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I want to be your friend. Your good friend,” she clarified at his scowl, “but I don’t think it’s particularly wise for us to get emotionally involved.” She gave him a narrow look. “It’s not the best choice for you.”
“Where did you get the idea you can control something like that?”
“I paid one hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars on education to learn the secret.”
“Then you got ripped off. It’s not going to work.”
“I keep trying to tell you that.”
“Cute.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m really not trying to pick a fight with you.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I just think we could both benefit from exercising a little discretion. I feel like we’re playing with fire.” She paused. “I’d rather not be the one who gets burned.”
She saw his desire to argue clearly reflected in his gaze, but he pushed it aside. Gently, he set her back in her seat, checked her seat belt, then guided his car back onto the highway. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. “You know what I think?”
“Would it surprise you to find out that I have no idea what you think?”
He slanted her a grin. “The feeling is mutual.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I think,” he continued, “that you can argue all you want, but one day, you’re going to wake up and find out you’re hooked.”
“Jackson—”
He reached for her hand. “It’s okay, Cam. I’ll wait.” He squeezed her fingers. “Now, why don’t you fill me in on this fund-raiser you’re planning. I’d rather hear it from you than trying to muddle through your press releases.”
She hesitated, but allowed him to change the subject. They spent the next couple of hours talking about her plans. He listened, made suggestions, asked questions, and kept her hand cradled in his warm palm. The bandage, she realized, was gone. In its place was a jagged scar that pressed against her tender skin as a constant reminder that he had his share of demons, too.
Almost before she realized it, he was turning down a tree-lined road, where a sprawling white farmhouse sat amid rolling hills and towering oaks. She sensed his inward stillness.
“Home?” she prompted.
His gaze remained fixed on the house. “Home.”
eight
Cammy Looked around the comfortable room with a twinge of envy. She’d never met a family like Jackson’s.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned at it. She’d once dreamed of a family like Jackson’s. They’d barely turned into the drive when his mother bustled from the house, flanked by a handful of Jackson’s nieces and nephews, an aging golden retriever, and the scents and sounds of his home.
Jackson was engulfed in the warm circle of love. His sisters and brothers-in-law soon joined the fray. Amid the laughter and delighted squeals of his young nieces and nephews, introductions were made, plans were established, and his father rounded the back of the house with a welcoming smile on his sun-weathered face.
Cammy had been ushered into the house in grand ceremony. One of Jackson’s brothers-in-law had seized her bag from the trunk. His oldest nephew had taken her hand to guide her to the spacious room on the upper floor of the house. His nieces had bounced merrily on her bed, while their mothers attempted, in vain, to regain control. The dog barked. The children shouted. Jackson’s mother stood to one side, delicately wiping her teary eyes with the corner of her apron.
At a softly spoken command from Jackson’s father, the boisterous crew swept out of the room in a whirlwind of sound. Even Jackson, Cammy realized, had gone out with the tide. Alone, she sat on the edge of the bed in the aftermath of the storm. The one time she remembered bringing a roommate home from college, her parents’ maid had shown the girl to her room. Cammy had learned that evening that her father had planned an impromptu campaign trip and that she and her friend would spend the holiday alone.
At the sharp knock on her door, she raised her head to meet Jackson’s gaze. His expression sheepish, he strolled into her room. “‘Fess up,” he urged. “Did it feel like one of your father’s press conferences?”
She managed a slight laugh. “They’re a bit overwhelming.”
“Sorry.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Everyone lives nearby, so I knew we’d see them. I just didn’t think it would be all at once.”
“Is there going to be a quiz on all the names?”
“How would you do?”
“Your parents are Mr. and Mrs. Puller. That’s the easy one.”
“They’d rather you called them George and Marie.”
“They’ll have to adjust.” She pursed her lips as she scrolled through her memory. “Your sisters are Karen, Mary Beth, and Jordan?”
“Right. And they’re married to Bud, William, and Anthony. Wanna try the nieces and nephews for the bonus round?”
“Jaime and Andy belong to Karen and Bud. Tommy, Philip, and Leah go with Mary Beth and William. And Jordan and Anthony get Fiona.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I’ve had practice. Between politics and group therapy, I’ve learned all the tricks for name recognition.” She met his gaze. “When was the last time you were home?”
He thought it over. “Christmas three years ago.” At her surprised look, he held up a hand. “I’ve seen them all individually several times since. Mom and Dad came into Washington last summer. I’ve played tour guide for all my sisters’ families. Heck, I was Andy’s show-and-tell exhibit at her preschool’s career day.”
“They adore you.”
He studied her carefully. “They’re my
family.”
“You got a good one.” She pushed aside her lingering grim mood as she eased herself from the bed. Busying herself with hanging the clothes from her suitcase, she tried to ignore the nervous feelings tumbling through her. “Are you going to tell me what they said about me, or are you going to make me sweat?”
“I should, you know. It’d be payback for what you did to me over that column.”
She shook the wrinkles from a green sundress, then concentrated on adjusting it on the hanger. She fiddled with the straps, as if arranging them just so had become the most crucial task in the world. She focused so intently on the small job that she didn’t realize he’d come up behind her until his hand settled on her shoulder.
He eased the hanger from her stiff fingers to place the dress in the closet. Carefully, he turned her to face him. “Cam,” he whispered as he traced a finger along the curve of her collarbone, “they said they were very glad you were here. They can’t wait to get to know you. Andy wanted to know what this black box is you have clipped to your belt.” He rubbed the stem of her glasses where the implant earpiece rested. “I told her to ask you herself.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And they said they were glad to know I had the good sense to recognize what a great person you are.”
She met his gaze. “Oh.”
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Do you know that I think you’re adorable?”
“Even when you wish you were wringing my neck?”
With a soft laugh, he mumbled something that sounded like “even then,” an instant before he claimed her mouth with the same hungry ardor she’d learned to recognize. And as it always did, it melted her resistance. She flowed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, tilting her head to give him better access. He cradled her head in one large hand, while pressing her closer with the other. His tongue slid between her lips, and she melted. His mouth glided over hers, tantalizingly soft, temptingly demanding. A flutter of excitement tripped along her nerve endings. She was trembling when she heard the giggle from the doorway.
