by Peggy Webb
“What’s the matter, Rachel?”
Her back stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“You always bustle when something’s bothering you.”
“I’m not bustling. I’m sitting in this chair.”
Jacob chuckled. “You came into the room as if it were a men-only club and you were leading a parade of suffragettes. You can’t fool me.”
“Can you fly a suffer jet?” Benjy piped up.
Propping herself on her elbows, Rachel leaned toward Jacob and gloated. “Well, smarty. Can you fly a suffragette? We both want to know.”
“Not without her permission.”
“Chicken.”
Rachel then turned to her son, who had been avidly following the exchange.
“A suffragette is a name for a special kind of woman who fights for her rights. Later, we’ll look it up together in the dictionary, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Benjy wrinkled his nose and quickly turned his interest to the hot biscuits Vashti was bringing through the door.
Vashti settled onto the chair beside Jacob, her dress billowing and spreading as her enormous hips pressed against the seat cushion.
“So,” she said. Her smile left no doubt that she considered Jacob Donovan to be right up there next to Santa Claus and the president of the United States. “What took you so long to come to see us?”
“I’ve been busy fighting fires.”
“I know. Over the years we kept up with what you were doing.”
He gave Rachel a triumphant smile. “You did?”
“Vashti did,” Rachel lied. She wasn’t about to give him any encouragement by telling him that she’d known every time he went to fight a fire—and every time he came home safe.
“Ha!” Vashti’s snort said it all. Splitting open three biscuits, she reached for the butter. “Some people I know can’t seem to remember things very clearly. Why, there was that time when you were off out yonder in Oklahoma, and we heard over the news that a man had been killed in an oil field fire. I thought she would faint dead away before the announcer ever got around to giving the man’s name.”
“Did she?”
Rachel ignored the gleam in his eye. “Tragedy makes me ill.”
“Ha!” Vashti spread honey on her three biscuits and bit into one with the air of a woman who has had the final word.
Rachel was so anxious to get away from the subject of her interest in Jacob that she made a fatal mistake.
“As soon as you’ve finished your breakfast, Benjy, we’ll go to the park.”
“Yea!” Benjy bounced up and down in his chair, stopping long enough to grab Jacob’s hand. “Can he go too?”
“I’m sure he has other things to do.” Rachel shot Jacob a don’t-you-dare-contradict-me look.
He ignored her. “I’d love to go. Do you have a ball and bat, sport?” He ruffled Benjy’s hair.
“You bet.” Benjy jumped up from his chair and started toward the door.
“Benjy,” Rachel called. When he whirled back around, she put on her best stern mother look. “Your breakfast. You hardly ate a thing.”
He bounced back to the table, took a big gulp of juice and crammed a dripping buttered biscuit into his pocket. “I gotta get my ball.”
When Benjy was out of earshot, Rachel turned her wrath on Jacob.
“Your tricks will get you nowhere, Jacob Donovan. You may fool my son, but you can’t fool me. I know exactly what you are.”
Grinning, Jacob tipped back in his chair. “And what is that, my fiery beauty?”
“You’re a crafty, conniving blackguard who will do anything to get what he wants.”
“Tell me more, love. I’ve always enjoyed your temper tantrums.”
“Temper tantrums!” Out of control and not caring, Rachel jumped up and dumped her orange juice over his head. “Now let’s see who goes to the park.”
Jacob roared with laughter. “Do you think a little orange juice will stop me? It just makes me a bit sweeter.”
Rachel was astonished by her own behavior. She’d spent six years being a perfectly refined lady. But since Jacob Donovan had been in town, she’d rolled in the dirt and fought and spit like an alley cat.
Still grinning, Jacob wiped at the orange juice with a napkin. “The mosquitoes are going to love me.”
Rachel had to smile. Being totally uninhibited felt good; it felt damned good.
“I don’t know what came over me. I do apologize.”
It was the most unctuous and false apology he’d heard, and he was delighted.
“How can I resist such a sincere apology? You’re forgiven, Rachel. And just to show you there are no hard feelings . . .” Jacob’s arm snaked out and swiftly pulled her to his chest. Before she could protest, he bent down and took her lips. The kiss was amazing and thorough.
Vashti buttered another biscuit. “Looks like old times are here again.” She didn’t try to disguise her glee.
“Vashti, don’t you dare encourage him.”
“Well, it appears to me he’s doing all right on his own. A man like Jacob Donovan never did need any encouraging.”
“You’re a wise and wonderful woman, Vashti.” Jacob leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Now, if you’ll show me the shower and lend me a clean shirt, we can all go to the park.”
“Use your own shower, Jacob Donovan.” Even as Rachel spoke, she knew it was useless. Vashti was already leading him off toward the shower. They were laughing and talking together like the conspirators they were.
She sat down in her chair and picked up a biscuit. She might as well eat. She’d need all the strength she could muster to deal with that fast-talking Irishman. In spite of the way things had turned out, she grinned. Darned his handsome hide. He still had charm.
She was into her second biscuit when it occurred to her that she’d better go upstairs and see what was going on. It would be just like Vashti to be turning the entire house over to Jacob.
Another thought struck her. Had she left that letter lying on her desk? What if Vashti had let him use the shower in the master suite?
Panic sent Rachel running up the stairs. “Vashti. Vashti!”
At the head of the stairs she almost collided with Benjy and Vashti.
“Lordy have mercy, Rachel. What are you all in a lather about?”
“Where is that pirate?”
“Why, he’s in the shower. Benjy and I are going outside to throw a few practice balls while we wait. Is there anything you wanted?”
“Is Mr. Donoben a pirate?”
Rachel patted her son’s head. “No, sweetheart, he’s a pilot and a fire fighter.” Turning to Vashti, she asked, “Which shower?”
“Mr. Devlin’s. I found an old T-shirt that we hadn’t sent off to the Salvation Army.”
Relief made Rachel almost giddy. She gave Benjy a bright smile and a big hug. “Go on downstairs with Vashti, honey. I’ll join you in a minute.”
As she walked down the hall toward her late husband’s room, she could hear Jacob singing.
“Waltzing Matilda, walt-zing Ma-til-daaaa . . .”
What he lacked in talent he made up for in volume. Rachel paused inside the doorway, smiling. Jacob always sang in the shower, especially when he was particularly pleased with himself. That last thought wiped the smile off her face. Jacob had a lot to be pleased about: He’d conned his way into her house and into her shower, and he had neatly cornered her into letting him tag along to the playground. What he wouldn’t do was make her run scared.
She jutted out her chin and pushed open the bedroom door. The suite was exactly the way Bob Devlin had left it—neat and orderly, with books organized by category on the bookshelves, the desktop perfectly clear except for a brass duck paperweight, the chocolate-brown puffed comforter unmussed on the bed. On those rare occasions when she’d come to Bob in his bedroom, she’d always had the feeling that no one actually lived there, that Bob was merely occupying a space that wasn’t really his.
; Now, however, things were different. Rowdy, off- key singing was coming from the bathroom. Funny how that little snatch of song livened up the room. When she sat in the chair beside Bob’s desk, she wasn’t aware that she was smiling.
Jacob emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam. One white towel was knotted around his hips, and he was vigorously rubbing his hair with another. He was midway into the room before he saw her. He stopped singing and gave her a wicked grin.
“I never pictured you in a bed with a brown comforter, Rachel.”
“This is . . . was Bob’s room, not mine.”
“You had separate bedrooms?”
Rachel could have kicked herself. She guessed the sight of Jacob in a towel had unnerved her. Bob wouldn’t have been caught dead in a towel. He was always correct and proper, even in bed. Rachel’s glance lingered over Jacob’s chest, moved downward to the towel.
Jacob’s smile broadened.
He’d caught her lusting, darned his charming, roguish hide. She jerked her head around and focused on a watercolor seascape on the wall behind him.
“What difference does it make? I married him. That’s all that matters.”
Jacob’s grin vanished. “Married and living in separate bedrooms.” He looked at the bed, then back at her. It was a knowing look. “Separate bedrooms were never your style, Rachel. Remember Gatlinburg?”
Rachel didn’t want to remember Gatlinburg. She didn’t want to remember anything that would make her want Jacob Donovan more than she already did. But sitting in Bob’s austere bedroom, looking at the all-too-delectable man standing before her, she couldn’t help but recall Gatlinburg. . . .
o0o
Jacob had come back safely from a terrible oil field fire in Texas, and she was between engagements. They had taken a skiing holiday in Gatlinburg. It had been right before Thanksgiving, and all the lodges were booked. They finally found a little inn tucked away in the Smoky Mountains.
“Just got one room,” the wizened old man behind the reception desk said.
“One room is all we need.” Rachel tucked her hand into Jacob’s arm and held on. He was back safely once more, and she didn’t want to ever let him go.
“The only problem is the bed.” The innkeeper held onto the registration book as if it held state secrets.
“What’s the problem with the bed?” Jacob asked.
“It’s a twin bed. Barely room enough for a big man like you, let alone the little lady too.”
“Rachel?”
“I like to be cozy.”
Much later, snuggled together on the narrow bed under the down comforter, Jacob asked, “Is this cozy enough for you, Rachel?”
She put her head on his chest and listened to the steady thrum of his heart. “Hmmm, it’s perfect.” A vision of Jacob battling the roaring blazes of an oil field fire came to her, and she hugged him fiercely. “I don’t ever want to be more than a heartbeat away from you.”
He laughed. “You won’t.”
She squeezed him tighter. “Promise me, Jacob.”
“Those are my plans, sweetheart. No separate bedrooms for us. We’ll have a great big old kingsized bed, just right for romping. Or if you prefer, a twin bed. Just one for the two of us.”
Lifting herself on one elbow, she looked into his eyes. “Promise me, Jacob.”
“Hey, Rachel.” Quick to sense her moods, he tenderly brushed her hair back from her face. “I promise you, baby. I promise.”
Content, she put her head on his chest. “Never more than a heartbeat away. . . .”
o0o
The words echoed in her mind as she looked at Jacob standing there in her late husband’s towel. For a moment she thought that nothing had changed. Jacob had the same powerful body, the same devilish twinkle in his blue eyes, the same wicked smile. Slowly, she rose from her chair and started toward him.
He watched her come. She was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever wanted. The look in her eyes fooled him. He saw the deep intensity, the bright passion that he remembered so well. Jacob was caught in a time warp.
He reached for her. His left hand circled her waist, his right traced her face.
“Do you know how your face glows when you’re thinking about lovemaking?”
She said nothing, merely stood in his embrace. She couldn’t pull away, not yet. His touch sent shivers through her; the look in his eyes made her weak.
His hands slowly sifted through her hair, cupped the back of her neck, and pulled her closer. Their legs touched, flesh against flesh, hers bare in the brief shorts she wore, and his naked below the towel.
Jacob lowered his head, and Rachel unconsciously parted her lips. Only inches away from her mouth, he hesitated.
“You want me, don’t you, Rachel?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She saw no point in denying the truth.
His breath was warm against her cheek, his eyes hot and intense. The sound of their harsh breathing was loud in the stillness of the room. Behind them, Bob Devlin’s bed loomed, a severe brown object that seemed to shout its presence.
“In his bedroom, on his bed . . . you want me.”
The sudden coolness of Jacob’s tone shattered the spell of passion. She pulled out of his embrace and walked back to the chair. Instead of sitting, she stood stiffly, seeking composure by gripping the back of the chair.
“I got carried away,” she said.
“Memories, Rachel?”
“Yes, damn you. Memories.” Biting her lower lip, she turned her face away.
He came to her quickly, holding out his arms for comfort.
“Don’t.” She lifted her hand to stop him. “Don’t touch me.”
Ignoring her command, he rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not offering passion, Rachel. Merely comfort for an old friend.”
Knowing he would never be hers, she couldn’t bear his touch. She jerked away.
“Don’t. I don’t need your comfort. I don’t need anything from you except one thing. Leave. Leave us alone.”
“I can’t do that, Rachel. And you know why.” He strode across the floor, grabbed his pants, and pulled them on. The towel drifted to the floor. There was a small tearing sound as he pulled Bob’s too small T-shirt across his broad chest.
“A seam,” he muttered. “I’ll have it repaired.” Lines of tension hardened his face.
“No. The shirt is merely one we missed when we cleared out Bob’s clothes. Keep it, throw it away; I don’t care. After today, I don’t want to see it again.”
“Or me. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yes.”
His piercing eyes told her he knew the truth: Every fiber in her body ached to see him, over and over again. She could never get enough of Jacob Donovan.
“I came upstairs to tell you that I won’t make a fuss over today—for Benjy’s sake. But afterward, I’ll move heaven and earth to keep you away from me and my son.”
Without waiting for his reply, she stalked from the room. Jacob stood still a few seconds, pondering Rachel’s reaction. It seemed to him that her outrage was out of proportion to the problem. He simply wanted to know how the love they’d had could have been forgotten so quickly, how she could have married two months after he left the country.
What was she hiding? Why was she so determined to keep him out of her life?
He’d find out. The Donovan men always got what they wanted, and he wanted the truth.
As he left the room, he realized he was following a faint scent of roses. The fragrance made him feel warm inside. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the times he’d pressed his face into her rose-scented skin.
“Are you coming, Jacob?”
Her voice, calling up the stairs, brought him out of his trance.
“Coming.”
The truth, he thought as he caught up with Rachel and followed her out the door, that’s all he wanted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bayside Park was only four blocks from Rachel’s house.
It was a quiet neighborhood playground with monkey bars, swings, sliding boards, teeter totters, lots of green grass, and a sand lot for baseball.
Rachel and Vashti sat on a redwood park bench underneath a live oak tree and watched Jacob playing ball with Benjy.
“Isn’t that a sight?” Vashti had hardly quit beaming from the time Jacob had intruded into their early morning routine. “He’s a natural with kids. Just look at the way Benjy responds to him. My, my. A body would think they were father and son.”
Rachel stilled the panic that rose in her chest. Vashti didn’t know. And she had no reason to guess. Martin Windham had arranged a very private birth. The small clinic he owned in Mountain City, Tennessee, had been closed to all patients except Rachel when her son was born. Benjamin had been a small baby, just over five pounds, and she had gotten by with telling everyone he’d been born prematurely.
Now, watching Benjamin and his natural father, Rachel decided that only she would notice the way they stood, both of them with feet apart, stocky legs at precisely the same angle. And their hair. Although Benjy’s was now blond, more like hers than Jacob’s, the glints of red were beginning to show. As he grew older, his hair would darken and turn redder, almost as red as his father’s, she guessed. Benjy’s cowlick bobbed in the sun. She hoped Jacob didn’t remember his own cowlick, tamed now.
“Jacob grew up in a large family,” she told Vashti. “You aren’t seeing fatherly instincts. You’re seeing the little boy that’s still in the man. He always did enjoy having fun.”
“That’s what I always loved about him. Show me a man who knows how to have fun, and I’ll show you a man worth having.” Vashti pulled a folding fan out of her purse and began to fan herself.
Rachel reached over and patted the old woman’s hand. “I know how you loved Jacob.”
“You did, too.”
“Once, long ago. But it’s over between us. I don’t want you to have any false hopes.”
“Ha!”
Rachel knew better than to argue with that one-syllable proclamation. Vashti was as immovable as Big Sugar Mountain. No doubt she knew more matchmaking tricks than Dolly Levi. Rachel would just have to keep the two of them apart; for if she knew Jacob Donovan, he’d take swift and gleeful advantage of his ally, once he found out exactly how Vashti felt.
