by Peggy Webb
“You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”
“I haven’t. I had to pack.” She took another fortifying sip of coffee. “Benjamin and I are leaving Biloxi today.”
“Just like that.” Vashti snapped her fingers. “You’re going to tuck tail and run, just because Jacob Donovan has come to town.”
“How did you know?”
“Seeing the two of you together, it wouldn’t take an army intelligence officer to figure it out. It’s a mistake. That’s what it is.” Vashti banged the lid on the flour canister for emphasis.
“It’s self-preservation. Jacob and I couldn’t make it together six years ago, and we can’t make it together now—not that he’d want to try.”
“Ha!”
“Besides, I need a vacation. You need a vacation.” She left her coffee at the table and went to cajole the older woman. “Where do you want to go? Just name the place, and we’ll go there. How about Florida? We’ll drive down to Orlando and take Benjy to Disney World. Or Mexico? Would you rather go to Mexico?”
“I’d rather sit right here in Biloxi and watch Jacob sweep you off your feet and down to the altar, where you should have gone with him six years ago. That’s what I’d rather do.” She slung flour onto the dough board and pounded her biscuits with a vengeance. “‘Course, some folks I know can’t seem to see the forest for the trees. Always got to be running scared. Always got to be dragging this old woman around somewhere folks don’t know how to speak proper English. All that foreign jibberish. Can’t anybody talk the King’s English except Mississippians. It’s enough to make a body want to retire.”
Rachel let her grumble. It was Vashti’s way. She’d protest long and loud, air her opinions four times each, until there was positively no room for doubt about how she felt. But she’d go. She loved Benjamin and Rachel too much to stay behind. Rachel was counting on that.
Vashti turned from the dough board. “How soon do we leave?”
“As soon as I can call Louie and tell him.”
o0o
Thirty minutes later Rachel had her boss on the phone.
“It’s sudden, sweetheart. But I agree. A vacation will do you good.”
“I know it’s short notice, Louie, but under the circumstances, there’s nothing else I can do.”
“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I’ll get the Crawdads to come in next week and fill your spot. They’ve been pestering me for months to give them a try.” He chuckled. “The Blue Bayou is considered the launching pad to success.”
“Thanks, Louie.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. Say, you didn’t mention where you’d be going.”
“Somewhere as far away from here as I can get.”
“Take my advice. Head north where the sun won’t fry your brains every time you step out the door. I got relatives in Jersey who’d be glad to see you.”
“And I’d be glad to see them. But there’s a favorite little spot of mine on Lake George in Florida, close enough to Orlando to take Benjy to Disney World but far enough from civilization to be a real retreat. Maybe next time, Louie.”
o0o
The three of them were on the road by nine o’clock, Rachel driving, Vashti buckled in beside her, and Benjy bouncing against his seatbelt in the back, pretending the BMW was an airplane and he was the pilot. With the little boy providing the sound effects, they zoomed east on Highway 90, skirting along the edge of the gulf, heading to Florida.
They took their first bathroom break at Pascagoula, less than fifty miles out of Biloxi. As usual, when Benjy was one of the travelers, the pit stop became a real adventure.
“I bet they got a real gum ball machine,” he told his mother, tugging her toward the small service station.
She smiled. “I’ll bet they do. Why don’t we go inside and find out? Are you coming, Vashti?”
Vashti heaved herself out of the front seat. “You two go on. It’ll take me fifteen minutes in the powder room. When you’ve got a body sculpted by Sara Lee, these things take longer.”
Clutching her straw purse and holding onto her straw hat so the gulf breezes wouldn’t blow it off her head, she watched the two of them go. She never traveled without her hat, for she didn’t believe in letting the sun ruin her complexion. She also didn’t believe in raising children without a father.
Her straw sandals slapped against the concrete as she lumbered her way around the service station to the pay telephone. Fishing a quarter out of her purse, she wedged herself into the phone booth and picked up the receiver. She hoped the Lord would forgive her for meddling. But under the circumstances, she didn’t see what else she could do.
The phone rang six times before she heard the click at the other end. She smiled. Everything was going to work out all right.
“This is Vashti,” she said. Then, while Rachel and Benjy were putting pennies into the gum ball machine, she began to tell her story—at least part of it.
o0o
Jacob was in Florida long before Rachel arrived. He’d flown the Baron into Daytona Beach and had rented a jeep for the drive inland to Lake George. Vashti had been very specific about the cabin Rachel always rented. Jacob had the good fortune to rent the one next door to hers. A copse of trees separated the cabins, but sitting on his front porch looking through his binoculars, he had a good view of Rachel’s retreat. Only a few low-hanging tree branches kept his view from being perfect.
He had learned patience when he first became a fire fighter. The raging conflagrations in oil fields didn’t respond to anything else. There were no quick fixes for out-of-control fires. Nothing paid off except skill and finesse and weeks of steady, dogged battling. It would be the same with Rachel. He wouldn’t give up, and she would finally crack. She’d tell him the truth, then he could put her out of his life.
That last thought gave him no joy. He took a long swig of cool lemonade and tried to figure out why. But a mosquito was buzzing his ears and sweat was trickling down his chest, and it was too hot for introspection. He gave it up and padded inside barefoot to get a magazine. Aviation Today. He’d read while he waited.
The sound of a car brought his head up. Training his binoculars through the trees, he saw Rachel. She looked tired. He must be getting to her. Instead of feeling triumphant, he felt a gentle wave of compassion wash over him. He wanted to run through the trees and take her in his arms. He wanted to smooth her tumbled hair back from her face and croon soothing words to her. His hands tightened on the binoculars He couldn’t afford to get soft. Not with Rachel. He wasn’t looking to have his heart broken again.
Jacob smiled when Benjy came into view. That boy sure wasn’t tired. He raced up and down the porch steps, taking his vacation gear into the cabin one piece at a time—first the little overnight bag, then the beach ball, then a mesh sack of toy planes, then his baseball glove, and finally the bat.
“I wish Mr. Donoben was here to play ball.” His clear little boy’s voice echoed through the trees.
Jacob smiled. He remembered how it was to be a boy. There’d been no such thing as talking in a normal tone. Everything had to be yelled so the busy grownups would be sure to hear.
Rachel bent over her son and said something. Jacob could only guess what she was saying. There was nothing shrill about her voice. It was silk and velvet, all soft melodies that cut right through to a man’s soul. He closed his eyes, remembering how it was to hear that musical voice whispering love words in his ear.
Fool. His eyes snapped open, and he looked across the way. Rachel was alone on her porch, standing very still. She was watching him, and for a moment he thought she knew. That was impossible, of course. The cabins were too far apart. She’d be able to see the figure of a man. That was all. Without binoculars, there was no way she could know his identity.
Jacob tipped back his glass and let the cool lemonade wash down his throat. It was hot in Florida.
Rachel stood on the porch a moment, watching. Her heart did a crazy rhythm, and for an instant she thou
ght the man she saw sitting on the front porch next door was Jacob. It was crazy, of course. He’d still be in Biloxi, probably just now discovering she was no longer there.
A line of sweat trickled from under her thick hair and inched down her cheek. She pushed at the hair with her right hand, lifting it off her neck to try and catch a cool breeze from the lake. She was so hot! It was the weather, of course. It was sweltering in Florida.
Dragging her gaze away from the man next door, she went inside to join Vashti and Benjy.
CHAPTER SIX
The sound of a harmonica woke Rachel. At first she didn’t know what had brought her out of her restless sleep, then she heard the faint strains of the mouth harp, plaintive and sweet, floating through her screened windows like night-crazed moths. She sat up, her cotton gown bunched around her thighs and her hair tangled and damp. The music drifted on the hot air. Waltzing Matilda.
Her breath caught high in her throat, and her hands flew to her lips. Jacob couldn’t be in Florida. And yet the song was his trademark, the only one he knew. She remembered so well the day he’d learned it. . . .
o0o
They’d been on a picnic beside the Mississippi River. She’d just come home from a singing engagement in New Orleans, and they were celebrating.
“I brought you a gift, Jacob.” She held a small package out to him and watched his eyes light up. Jacob was like a little boy. He loved presents.
Smiling, he took the package. “You thought of me while you were gone, then?”
“Every minute of every day.”
“What about the nights?”
“The nights too. Every song I sang was for you. Every dream I dreamed was of you.”
He cupped her face and kissed her, quick and hard. “I missed you too.” Releasing her, he leaned back against the trunk of a weeping willow tree and tore open the package. His smile changed to a chuckle. The small blues harp lay in his hand, glinting in the sun. “Does it come with lessons?”
“Private lessons.”
He kissed her again, longer, with more passion this time.
“Hmmmm, sounds good to me. When do we start?” He reached for the top button of her blouse.
She swatted his hand away. “Music lessons, Jacob. If you’re going to be my husband, then it’s high time for you to learn a little bit about music. The harmonica is a perfect instrument for you. All it takes is a little concentration. It will be just like whistling . . . or humming.”
“I do both of those off key.”
“I know. . . .”
o0o
She’d given him his first harmonica lesson there by the river. Waltzing Matilda was the only song he knew, and the only song he ever tried to learn. He’d said one all-occasion song was enough for him. He’d learned the whole thing that afternoon.
As Rachel sat in her bed, listening to the song drift through the window, she listened for the one note. It came to her clearly through the night, third bar, first beat. Jacob always missed the B-flat.
She pushed aside the tangled sheet and reached for her robe. The thin cotton felt cool against her overheated skin. Her slippers made soft slapping sounds on the wooden floor as she padded through the cabin to her front porch. Leaning on the railing, she peered through the night.
There was a full moon riding on the top branches of the trees. The silvery light illuminated the waters of Lake George, gilded the swaying pines and highlighted the hair of the man sitting on his front porch— red hair, wild and unruly.
The false note sang through the night once more as Jacob Donovan played the only song he knew.
Rachel acted on instinct. Without even changing into walking shoes, she hurried down her front porch steps and through the small grove of trees. When she was close enough to see him clearly, she stopped. Rustlings in the leaves at her feet made her jump. She’d been foolish to come. What insanity had propelled her through the night? What impossible dreams had sent her flying to Jacob’s side?
Drawing her thin robe around her shoulders, she turned to go.
“Rachel.” He spoke her name quietly but with great command. “Don’t go.”
She hesitated, torn between common sense and foolish passion. The passion won.
“Jacob.” His name was soft on her lips as she glided through the darkness toward him. When she was at his front steps, she stopped, leaning against the rough wooden railing. “I heard your song.”
“You weren’t sleeping well?”
“No.”
“I couldn’t sleep either . . . the heat.”
“Yes. It must be the heat.”
His compelling blue eyes drew her on. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from them. She trembled as she climbed the steps. Even the small night breeze felt like sandpaper fingers raking over her sensitized skin. When she was on the front porch, standing only a few feet away from his tipped-back chair, she stopped.
Jacob slowly pocketed the harmonica and just as slowly lowered the front legs of his chair. His gaze never left her face.
“You shouldn’t have come out in the dark by yourself, Rachel.”
“I know.”
“The dark can be dangerous.”
Leaning down so that her hair brushed against his cheek, she looked into his eyes.
“I think the only danger is from you.”
He said nothing, merely gazed at her with those hypnotic blue eyes.
“Why are you here, Jacob?”
“I thought a little night music would help me sleep.”
“You know what I mean.”
He reached for her hand. Giving her a lazy smile, he placed her hand on his bare chest. The crisp hairs there curled possessively around her fingers. Instinctively she dug her long nails into his flesh.
Sweat trickled down the side of her cheek, rolled between her breasts. Jacob reached toward the damp cotton gown with his free hand, lightly touching her breast.
“Ahhh, Rachel. You shouldn’t have come tonight.”
“I know.”
His fingers circled slowly on the damp fabric. She moved closer, stepping between his blue-jeaned thighs. Far out over the lake, an osprey rose from its nest, sending its call of alarm over the moonlit waters.
“Even the birds are disturbed tonight.” Jacob’s voice caressed her, just as his fingers did.
She tipped her head back, baring her throat. She felt limp, almost melancholy. The heat of the night pulsed around her, and the heat of Jacob burned through her.
“Even the birds,” she said as her hand reached out and tangled in his bright hair.
Jacob stood up and drew her into his arms. His movements were languid, as if time had stopped just for them.
“A Victorian gown.” His smile was slow and easy. Her breath came in short, harsh spurts as he dragged his hands down her back, pressing through the fabric so that he could feel the heat of her skin. “You’re a paradox, Rachel. A hoyden in cool pearls. A hot-blooded minx in a white Victorian gown.” He lowered his head until their lips were a mere hair’s breadth apart. “You still drive me wild.”
Almost mindless now with need, she drew his head down. His lips were hungry and demanding. He pulled her hard against his hips, holding her so tightly, she could barely breathe as his mouth branded hers. They swayed together, the passion and the betrayal boiling between them and through them and around them. The kiss became a punishing contest for control, a contest neither of them could win.
They kissed until Rachel’s lips felt bruised. When he lifted his head, every nerve ending in her body was crying out for more. She reached for him, caught his shoulders, and held him.
“There was never another woman who could kiss the way you do, Rachel.”
“I’m glad.”
“You would be.”
They faced each other on the dark porch.
“All these years . . .” Jacob paused, his gaze locked with hers, his voice so low, she had to lean in to hear it. “All these years,” he continued, “there’s never been a
woman who could replace you. Never a woman who could take your place in my bed.”
“It was the same with me.”
“Bob?”
“Bob was never you.”
The osprey cried out again, his plaintive whistle sounding over the water. Jacob’s face grew fierce. Suddenly he kicked the chair, sending it crashing to the porch, and swept Rachel into his arms. She pressed her lips against his neck as he carried her through the screen door. His pulse beat was fast and heavy against her lips. It matched the racing rhythm of her own heart.
The bed was small and narrow, a functional cot suitable for one. A lone mosquito buzzed outside the window, its high-pitched whine carrying through the screen. Jacob’s shirt was thrown carelessly across the room’s one chair, and a small brass lamp on a rickety table cast a feeble light over the bed.
Jacob braced one knee on the mattress and lowered Rachel to the white sheets. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, catching the lamplight. Jacob straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands holding her wrists above her head.
“I used to dream of having you under me like this.”
“It’s no dream. I’m here.”
His grin tightened. “Why?”
She moved her head restlessly on the pillow. “Don’t talk, Jacob,” she whispered.
Still holding her hands above her head, he lowered himself to her, pressed his hips tightly into hers, pinning her to the bed. She arched to meet him.
“Do you want me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Show me how much.”
This was a Jacob she’d never known. Always with them, the loving had been a joining by mutual consent. Sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes fast and hard, their lovemaking had always been an occasion of great joy. There had never been this steel-edged dueling match. The bed had never been a battleground as it was now.
Rachel understood why and accepted it. For reasons only she knew, Jacob could never be hers. Except for this one night. Tonight she’d take what she had been longing for these past six years. In the morning she’d probably regret it, but it was a mistake she could live with.
She lifted her head off the pillow and raked her tongue across his chest. She felt the tension in him, felt the quiver that went through his body.
