by Janet Dailey
"We'll get out of your way," Bob laughed.
"You could help," Evelyn told him.
"We could," he admitted and grinned as he and the rest of the men hastily retreated from the tables, leaving the women to clear the food away.
Jonas returned a few minutes later, wearily rubbing his forehead. The plate with his food had been left on the table, but he didn't walk back to it. Instead he wandered to where the men had gathered and leaned a shoulder against a tree a few feet away, a part of them yet aloof.
"Bridget," Evelyn spoke quietly, looking at Jonas with faint concern, "why don't you take his plate over to him? He doesn't look as if he's had a decent meal in days."
Bridget agreed, but she hardly wanted to be the one to point it out to him. She hesitated for a second, unable to find an adequate reason to refuse. Finally she nodded and picked up the plate, walking quietly over to where he stood.
"Jonas," she murmured his name, and he turned. His gray green eyes looked at her, yet seemed to look absently right through her. She held out the plate. "You didn't finish."
He glanced at it and looked away. "I'm not hungry."
"I admit it doesn't look to appetizing now. The meat is cold, but you really should eat something," Bridget persisted in a determinedly calm tone.
"Probably," he agreed indifferently and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and chin. "I forgot to shave," He mused the discovery aloud.
"You also forgot to eat. Please, Jonas." She offered the plate to him.
His gaze shifted to meet her, held it for a second, then looked at the plate. Straightening from the tree, he took the plate from her hand. Bridget waited, guessing that the moment she turned her back he would set it down or dump it in the nearest garbage can. He eyed the sandwich, then unexpectedly and roughly shoved the plate back in her hands.
"Jonas—" Bridget started to protest.
"I lost the baby," he declared in a low, angry voice.
"Oh!" she breathed in sharply.
"She was premature, an ounce over two pounds," he explained gruffly. "We did everything. We had all the best equipment, but we couldn't save her."
Bridget could sense his frustration, his feeling of helplessness when he felt he should have been able to do something. She wanted desperately to offer him some kind of comfort.
I'm sure you did everything you could, Jonas." The trite phrase came automatically to her lips.
"Yes." His mouth twisted cynically as he continued stating off into space. "But it wasn't enough, was it?" he murmured rhetorically. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes for a tired second. When they opened, the brilliant fire in his gaze was focused on her. "I had to tell someone. I don't know, for the life of me, why I chose you. You don't care."
His words were a stinging slap, the pain intensified by the step he took away from her. Her fingers touched his forearm to stop him.
"That isn't true, Jonas," she denied tightly. "I do care."
He studied her upturned face. "Yes, but not the way I mean. Excuse me." And he walked away from her light hold.
Bridget watched him join the men and saw him refuse Bob's offer of another can of beer. There was a lump in her throat as she walked hack to the picnic tables. She swallowed it hurriedly at Evelyn's frowning look.
"He wouldn't eat?" she asked.
Bridget shook her head. "He said he wasn't hungry and I couldn't persuade him, he should eat anyway." She guessed that Jonas didn't want the party spirit dampened with the explanation for his brooding mood and kept silent about the loss of the baby.
Bridget helped the women, with the rest of the clearing up, but her gaze kept straying to Jonas. He looked exhausted yet he didn't sit down. Always he was standing or wandering around. Bridget was certain it wasn't a restlessness that drove him but a fear that to relax would bring sleep. And Jonas was denying himself the luxury of rest.
The impulse was strong to seek him out again and persuade him to go and get the sleep he so obviously needed. Her previous attempt to get him to take needed nourishment had been summarily rejected. Another expression of concern for his welfare would undoubtedly meet with the same result.
When the picnic tables were cleared and the baskets returned to the cars, the women began to join the group of men. It was as if Jonas sensed the exact moment that Bridget started toward the men. At her approach, he strolled with seemingly aimless intent away from them; Automatically Bridget slowed her steps to see where he went, stopping when she saw him heading for the tree where Molly was sitting with Patty Chapman listening to a portable radio. Engrossed in their chatter, they didn't see or hear his approach. All of Bridget's senses were attuned to him and she gravitated a few feet closer.
She saw him come up on them from behind and reach down to turn the volume knob lower. Both girls started in surprise, looking up with alarm.
"Don't you girls think that radio is too loud?" His gray green eyes crinkled with a smile. "The next thing you know, you'll be treated for deafness!"
"Jonas!"
Molly's squeal of delight at seeing him stunned Bridget. She stared at the trio in shocked disbelief. The last time she had questioned Molly about Jonas, her daughter had sworn she disliked him, but that had been a month ago or more.
Molly's attitude was anything but hostile, Bridget tried to regret the change of heart, but couldn't. In fact, there was a certain warm satisfaction in seeing them together like that.
"Gosh, you look tired, Jonas," Molly declared with concern.
"I look that bad, do I?" A halfsmile curved his mouth, affectionate and indulgent. There wasn't even a glimmer of his previous resentment of Molly.
"What happened?" Molly asked.
"No sleep," he answered. "I had an emergency call from the hospital last night. I just came from there straight to here."
"An emergency? I suppose it was some horrible automobile crash." Molly focused all her attention on him, her hazel eyes widening.
"Sometimes, Molly, you have a very morbid curiosity," Jonas chuckled.
"Teachers always tell you that if you don't ask questions you don't learn anything," Molly declared importantly. "Who knows? Maybe I'll decide to be a doctor when I go to college. Just think of the head start I could have by learning all about it from you first."
Bridget stared, the full implication of the conversation beginning to hit her. There was confusion and a vague sense of unease. Jonas squatted beside the two girls.
"I was over by Weybridge the other day," he said. "I had a couple of hours to spare, so I stopped by the Morgan Horse Farm run by the college.
"What did you think of it?" Molly asked, eager for his opinion.
"I was impressed."
"It's grand, isn't it, with all those gorgeous Morgans, and the stallions are magnificent. And the beautiful old buildings," Molly enthused.
"Considering your obsession with Morgans, I'm surprised you don't want to attend the training course at the farm," Jonas observed.
"Oh, I do. I'd love to, but—" Molly lifted her hands expressively "—it's so hard trying to figure out what you're going to do when you get older."
"I think you have plenty of time to make up your mind," he replied dryly.
"I suppose so." Molly sighed and leaned back with a pensive look in her eyes. "I wish I could have visited the farm with you. It's been so long since I was there."
Only a year, if Bridget remembered correctly, but her attention was concentrated on the rapport between the man and the girl. It was such a natural exchange, something that couldn't have happened overnight.
"Maybe I—" Jonas stopped, his gaze slicing to where Bridget stood listening. A hard mask stole immediately over his rugged features, concealing the warmth that had softened them only a moment ago. "Maybe your mother will take you," he changed his response and straightened.
Frowning at his sudden change, Molly followed the direction of his narrowed gaze to Bridget. Guilt flashed across Molly's face, replaced by anxious dismay as she glanced ba
ck to Jonas. The line of his mouth seemed to become grimmer, and slow, purposeful strides carried him to Bridget.
Jonas stopped in front of her. "I suppose you want an explanation."
Bridget felt the catapulting of her heart and a crazy weakness in her knees. There was also a slow, burning anger that he could confront her so calmly.
"I believe I'm entitled to one," she answered stiffly.
His gaze swung to the picnic group and Bridget's did likewise. No one seemed to have noticed them together or were even looking in their direction.
"Let's walk," Jonas suggested.
"Very well," Bridget agreed. She, too, preferred that their conversation should be private without the risk of someone overhearing.
Jointly they turned and walked away from the others. A subdued Molly watched them go, her eyes round and apprehensive. A thin layer of fallen leaves carpeted the grass beneath their feet, making a soft rustling sound as they walked.
When they reached an area fairly secluded from the others, Jonas stopped. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lit it and offered it to Bridget. She refused it with a shake of her head and waited expectantly for Jonas to begin.
He inhaled deeply on the cigarette and blew out a thin trail of smoke. The action seemed to accent the tired, strained lines etched around his mouth and eyes. But Bridget refused to give in to the wave of compassion. As the seconds stretched, so did her nerves.
Finally Jonas said, "I confess I've been seeing Molly."
"For how long?" Bridget demanded.
"A month. More than that. Since the end of July," he admitted after a second's consideration of the length of time.
"Why, Jonas?" Her hands were clasped tightly together. She stared at the pattern of bark on a tree rather than look at him.
"I wanted to get to know her. It seemed the logical way."
"But you made certain I didn't know about it," she accused.
"I didn't think you would approve."
Bridget darted him an angry glance, but a wispy cloud of smoke curling from the cigarette veiled the look in his eyes. The rest of his expression was unreadable.
"You were quite right about that," she agreed. "I wouldn't have approved. And I suppose you encouraged Molly not to tell me about your clandestine meetings."
"If you knew, they wouldn't be a secret. And I guessed you would put a stop to them once you found out. Yes," Jonas admitted, "I suggested to Molly that she shouldn't mention them to you."
"I suppose you met while she was out riding?" At his nod, Bridget looked away. "You actually encouraged Molly to deceive me. That was an underhanded thing to do, Jonas."
"Probably," he conceded. "But if I'd been straightforward about my intentions, you would have seen to it that I didn't succeed."
"You actually believe you were justified. I don't know why I'm so surprised," she laughed bitterly. "You always did take what you wanted regardless of who was hurt. You always believed you were right and justified. Now you do something underhanded like this. No, I shouldn't be surprised."
"You're overreacting, Bridget," Jonas said patiently.
"Am I?" she challenged.
"I hope you don't blame Molly for it. It was entirely my idea." He ignored her challenge.
"I'm aware of that."
"Good," he nodded, "because Molly was insistent that you always knew where she was. The only thing she kept from you was that she was meeting me while she was taking her rides."
"It was still a deception," Bridget insisted, then faced him in agitation. "Why did you do it, Jonas? What did you hope to gain?"
"I told you—I wanted to get to know Molly." He levelly returned her intent look.
"Yes, but why. I suppose you were going to have Molly persuade me to change my opinion of you in your favor. She's a child, Jonas," Bridget's Voice trembled huskily. "Do you think I would let her influence me? She has no idea at all how ruthless you can be and I do. You surely didn't believe I would listen to her, so why? Why did you do it?"
Jonas didn't answer immediately. He took a last drag of the cigarette and dropped it to the ground, grinding it out beneath his heel and exhaling twin streams of smoke from his nose. Bridget held her breath, feeling the coiled tension in him.
"I was very close to hating your daughter, Bridget." He spoke quietly and distinctly, "It's a symptom of a disease known as jealousy, and it was getting out of hand. Every time I saw Molly or was reminded of her or saw that wedding ring on your finger, it consumed me, goading me into saying things to you I didn't mean."
"If that's the way you felt toward her then—" she began stiffly.
"—Why did I make arrangements to see her?" Jonas finished the question for her, his mouth twisting wryly. There was a sardonic glitter in his eyes. "You've probably already come up with an answer for that. But you're wrong. It wasn't to get her into trouble with you, to have the two of you exchange harsh words over me."
Bridget paled at the accuracy of his guess. "Then why?"
"I didn't resent her because she was your daughter. It was because she was 'his' daughter. The only cure seemed to be not seeing her as anyone's daughter, but as a person, an individual."
"From what I saw a moment ago, you appear to have succeeded." Nervously she moistened her lips, her voice brittle.
Part of her wanted to believe that his motives were as altruistic as he claimed, but there were too many doubts from the past for Bridget to trust his explanation.
"We have a friendship of sorts. I have no intention of using it against you, Bridget," Jonas stated.
"Don't you?" she mocked skeptically, knowing its existence had already given him an advantage she didn't want him to have.
Jonas reached out, taking her lightly by the shoulders and turning her to face him, "I don't want Molly getting dragged between us. She isn't going to be a pawn. I hope I've pushed her out of harm's way so that regardless of the outcome between you and me she won't be hurt by it. I don't want her hating either of us."
The touch of his hands made Bridget suddenly and very acutely conscious of him. Her skipping heart was blinding her to all the reasons she shouldn't respond to him. She stood unresisting beneath his light hold.
"But don't think, I've given up, Bridget," Jonas continued, his darkening gaze roaming possessively over her upturned face, "because I haven't. I still want you and I still love you. Maybe some things have changed, but that hasn't. There are some things you just can't forget."
His head bent to lightly claim her lips, mobilely exploring them while he gently drew Bridget into the circle of his arms. It was a languid fire he kindled but a warming one just the same. If time could stand still, Bridget would have been content to let that moment stretch for an eternity, bathed by the radiant light of her love.
When he raised his head, the satisfying warmth of his kiss fled. Bridget was once again chilled, her mind taking over control from her heart.
"I haven't forgotten," she said coolly. "In fact, there are some things I remember more vividly than you do. Like the way you left."
"You were young, Bridget." Jonas sounded weary. "You were young and spoiled by your parents, and I had a lot of years of school ahead of me. I explained why I didn't want to marry you then when I left."
"And I might have believed you," Bridget smiled with melancholy bitterness, "if I hadn't known about the money."
He breathed in deeply and emitted a short cynical laugh as he let his arms slide loose of their circle around her. "I once tried to convince myself that I'd hurt you very badly when I left and that you'd married your husband on the rebound. Do you remember what else I told you that day I left ten years ago?" he asked. At Bridget's wary frown of blankness, he answered the question. "I told you I would come back. But you married your husband after I left. The truth is, Bridget, if you'd really loved me ten years ago, you would have waited for me. And that's something I haven't forgotten, although, Lord knows, I've tried."
She stared at him, feeling a pain so sharp that sh
e couldn't open her mouth to confirm or deny his statement. It paralyzed her. She could neither move nor speak. A whole new set of doubts assailed her at the view she had seen from his side.
Jonas held her gaze for several more seconds before glancing at his watch. "Excuse me—" withdrawn and indifferent now "—I have to be at the hospital at four."
Pivoting, he walked toward his station wagon. Bridget pressed a finger against the center of her forehead, the pain of confusion pounding at her head. He had sounded so sincere, but she was afraid to believe him.
"Mom!"
Bridget turned, fighting her way through the bewildering maze of conflicting thoughts to smile brittlely at the young girl hurrying toward her. Molly's expression was a mixture of anxiety and guilt.
"Did Jonas tell you?" she asked fearfully.
For an instant Bridget forgot how her conversation with Jonas had begun and she was wary when she replied, "Tell me what?"
"About my meeting him up on the hill whenever I went riding," Molly explained almost as if she was unsure whether she should admit in case Jonas hadn't told her.
"Yes, he told me," Bridget nodded.
"I'm sorry, mom. I should have told you, but—" Her daughter was reluctant to put into her words exactly why she hadn't.
"I know why you didn't. Jonas was certain that I wouldn't approve," Bridget made the explanation for her.
"Was he right?" Molly breathed anxiously.
It was Bridget's turn to hesitate. "No," she said finally.
"You mean you don't mind if I meet him now and then?" Molly returned with surprise.
"No, I don't mind," Bridget answered stiffly. "But don't keep it a secret from me any more. That was wrong."
"I won't," Molly promised, then added on a slightly fervent note, "He is kinda nice, mom, once you get to know him."
"Yes, I know." Bridget wanted to warn her daughter not to become too fond of him, but she couldn't.
She couldn't take her own advice. Besides, she wasn't certain any more if the warning was necessary.
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Chapter Nine
AUTUMN'S FIRE had begun to spread through the hills with more leaves changing to the brilliant fall colors. Only the evergreens remained immune to change, staying darkly green, nature's accent for the others.
