What I was thinking, too. Bracing her arms behind her, she dropped her head back for his slowly descending kiss.
And a small querulous voice called, “Daddy?”
“Aggggh!” Jack took one swift step backward, still holding on to her. Made a rueful face. Turned to call over his shoulder, “Yeah, Kat?” He smoothed his hands down Abby’s thighs, then swung around, blocking Kat’s view of her for a moment.
Abby ran her hands through her tangled hair. She hopped down from the hood, then slipped out from behind Jack to see Kat trudging across the grass.
“Hey, kiddo, I thought you’d gone to bed.” He went to meet her. Knelt and hugged her hard. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Uh-huh. You shouldn’t have sent us back.”
“Well, I had to chat with the police for a while. They wanted to know things. Fill out some forms. I figured you’d be bored.”
“Did that man really have a gun? Sky said he did, but I didn’t see it.”
“Wasn’t much to see. Just a silly argument, no big deal.” He rose stiffly to his feet. “Well, bedtime, Kat. I’m beat. You look pretty sleepy, too. And I bet Abby’s tired.” He glanced at her apologetically. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Did he have a gun? What kind?”
“Kat, you’ll be a prosecutor when you grow up, for sure.” Jack herded her toward his front door. “Say goodnight to Abby.”
Kat looked back, obviously surprised to find her there. “G’night, Abby.”
Empty and aching, she stood barefoot in the wet grass. Watched them troop up the stairs, a family of two, complete in itself. “’Night,” she called wistfully.
And went home to her lonely bed.
BY MORNING Abby’s frustration had turned to gratitude. Kat had saved her from a bad mistake. What happened last night changes nothing, she scolded herself while she washed the breakfast dishes.
She’d known before that Jack was wonderful.
And now she knew that her heart would break if he ever came to harm.
But that didn’t mean it would be wise to love him.
Even if it was already too late to call back her foolish heart, it was still safer to love him from a distance than to fall into his arms.
Into his bed.
He may be braver than brave, sexy enough to make me go weak in the knees, but he’s still the King of Can’t Commit. Wanting a fling. Willing to risk nothing.
At least now she understood why, after he’d told her about Maura.
And knowing about Maura, how could Abby blame him if he was wary of involvement—especially involvement with a woman newly divorced? It was part of the man’s essential toughness that he’d decline to be burned a second time. That he’d take a clear-eyed, unsentimental approach to his own sexual needs.
And maybe he’s right when he warns me about—what did he call them?—the Divorce Crazies. How it’s not safe for me to have anything right now, but a fling…
Three weeks ago Abby would’ve said she knew precisely what she wanted from life.
Now she hadn’t a clue.
To stay here and risk her heart again—especially on Jack’s temporary terms—would be truly insane.
But to continue with her original plans, to go on to Sedona…when Trueheart now felt like home, full of friends and a future?
Turning off the water, she could suddenly hear voices in the backyard. Sky was out there walking DC. Probably Kat had joined him. Abby wiped her hands on a dish towel and prowled into the living room, where she stood staring down at the latest sketches on her drawing board. This is what I should be thinking about. Focusing on. A career that would feed her soul and pay her bills, not a short-term romance with no possible happy ending.
“Abby?” Jack darkened the kitchen doorway. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear. May I come in?”
Why ask when he was in already? In her house. Under her skin. And it was all very well for her to fret about what she wanted, but here came Jack with his own agenda—finishing what she’d started the night before.
He stopped so close to her, his big boots overlapped her bare feet. “I’ve been thinking…” His hand drifted up, and his knuckles brushed along the line of her jaw, sending a wave of hot pleasure rushing across her skin. “What if I hired a sitter for tonight to watch the kids while we go out on a date?”
“A date?” That sounded entirely too innocent for the wicked promise in his dancing gray eyes.
“Well…” He dragged his forefinger across her lips. “Out for supper? Someplace where they bring it up to your room on a rolling cart?”
That’s what I thought. She smiled. Sighed regretfully. Stepped into his arms as they slid around her and pulled her close. How can I ever, ever, resist you?
If she didn’t, she’d live to regret it.
And she’d already racked up too many regrets this year.
“Or I s’pose, if you prefer your dates alfresco…” His voice had dropped to an intimate rumble. “We could pack a picnic…drive up into the mountains?”
Take each other under the stars, on the hood of his Jeep. She’d been imagining that all night long, and, clearly, so had he. She shivered with longing.
He kissed the side of her neck and whispered huskily, hopefully, “Yes?”
“No.” She flattened her hands on his chest. “I’d love to, but.”
“But?”
“But.” He knew the reasons. Last thing I need is a fling—and with a man who only needs flings. She pushed and he let her go.
“Ooo-kay. Not tonight. I’m a guy, I can take it.”
“Not—” She paused as he pressed a finger to her lips.
“Uh-uh. Don’t say anything you’d only have to take back. I’ve gotta run. Wouldn’t miss Murphy’s arraignment for the world.” Swooping down, he replaced his finger with his mouth. Kissed her briskly but thoroughly—then strode out the door, calling over his shoulder, “Catch you later, Abby.”
And that was as fair a warning as she’d get.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“THERE’S NO JUSTICE!” Alec Fielding complained on Monday at the deli, once Jack had finished the tale of his encounter with Murphy. “I leave town for one measly week, looking for excitement, and all hell starts a’popping the minute I turn my back! I even worked late last Tuesday. Must’ve missed the rumpus by minutes.” He sighed disconsolately. “Would have loved to give you a hand.”
“Abby’s kid was all the help I needed.”
“Spunky little devil,” Alec agreed. “And Sky’s sexy mom? How did Abby cope with the situation? She keep her cool?”
“Absolutely.” She’d saved her heat for afterward. Jack’s heart rate spiked with the memory. Abby on the hood of his car, his for the taking. If Kat hadn’t wandered by, they might have melted the Jeep.
“Cool is good,” Alec said. “Can’t stand a hysterical woman.”
Cool was lousy. The morning after, Abby had given him the cold shoulder, and the weather had been distinctly chilly ever since. Try as he might, Jack couldn’t thaw her. At least not with the kids looking on. And so far she’d dodged his every attempt to cut her out of the herd.
Also handicapping him was Kat’s sudden insecurity. Even though she’d missed the fight, Sky’s ghoulish recounting had clearly scared her; she’d been Daddy’s Little Girl ever since, climbing into his lap, wriggling in between him and Abby on the couch or whenever they walked. All in all, Jack had suffered a frustrating, strictly PG-rated weekend.
“How’s the bus repair coming?” Alec inquired. “Must be about done by now.”
“Moving along.” That was another problem. Abby had confronted poor Whitey on Saturday, telling him that contrary to whatever he might have heard, from whatever unsavory source, she wanted her bus repaired sooner—very soon—not later.
Conveniently forgetting that it was his gossip that had started the trouble, Whitey had sulked all weekend, spending most of his time under the bus, communing strictly with Chang and the exhaust system, c
rawling out only to spit tobacco and to scowl. Jack hadn’t dared ask him how much progress he’d made, but the old man had worked nonstop and stayed late.
“She still headed for Sedona once it’s done?” Alec questioned.
“Far as I know.” Jack shoved his plate with its half-eaten sandwich aside. Abby gone. The cottage next door empty, where there had been laughter and warmth. Its welcoming back door locked. Kat would miss them badly. His heart hurt, just imagining his kid’s coming loneliness.
“You’re going to let her go?”
What the heck am I supposed to do? Handcuff her to my bed? He was just about that desperate. He stood abruptly. “Got an appointment at two.”
Alec grinned up at him, keen-eyed and unrepentant. “I suppose if she does go, she’ll still have to come back for the trial.”
Previously too lenient, Judge Hutchins had considered Murphy’s stunt a personal insult. He’d denied him bail. Fast-tracked his trial for assault and attempted kidnapping. “Uh-huh.” Jack didn’t like it, Abby testifying, drawing Murphy’s malice her way. But the D.A. had already taken her statement, telling her she’d be called. And Abby was quietly determined to do her part, to put the man away for years.
“Divorce Crazies or no, hadn’t you better ask her out on a date?” Alec prodded.
He’d asked her out five times in the past six days! “Thanks, Mom, but I know what I’m doing.”
Going cross-eyed with frustration.
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE?” Abby prayed as she lifted the stencil. Finding an icing of the proper consistency had been harder than she’d expected. Today’s recipe was version four in a week.
“Yes!” Michelle cried as the cookie was revealed. The design of a woman on horseback, whacking a cow on the rump with her Stetson, was picture-perfect. “It’s beautiful. You’re a genius!” She hugged Abby, let her go to twirl around her big kitchen in her apartment above the restaurant. “The very Remington of Cookies!”
“Hey, you’re the one who came up with the icing.” It was a butter-and-caramelized brown-sugar glaze. Stiff enough to stencil, thin enough to show detail, hardening nicely when it cooled.
“And who came up with the idea to cut it in four?”
The cookie was as large as four normal cookies, so why not take a razor-thin wire and score the dough before baking, Abby had reasoned. The cookie could be stenciled in one piece, then broken later, like four parts to a jigsaw puzzle. Michelle planned to introduce them to her customers by serving a complimentary quarter cookie to each diner at the end of a meal. Children would have fun putting the picture back together. Later on, when they had more than one design, Michelle could mix and match.
“I wish I could serve them tonight.” Michelle pulled a gallon of milk from her fridge. She placed two crystal goblets on the table and poured, then set one in front of Abby. “But there’s no time to make more, and this one is ours.” She broke the cookie in two—nodded her approval at the clean break. Divided it again. They saluted each other solemnly with a piece and nibbled.
Lemony, melt-in-your-mouth buttery, eye appeal. “It’s a winner,” Abby murmured.
“Mmm. I was thinking we should debut it next week, a week from tonight.” Thursday was always El Rancho Night at Michelle’s Place. She limited her menu to a few Mexican and Western dishes—enchiladas, fajitas, cowboy baked beans, barbecue, chili—and the locals came in droves. “Speaking of which, are you coming tonight? You’re comped all the way, of course. Bring your hunky neighbor.”
Abby grimaced. “Actually, Jack invited us to supper here tonight, but Kat pulled an anti-cowboy fit. We made the mistake of watching a film on TV last night. A Western, with a very detailed branding scene. Apparently she saw a real branding this spring, out at some ranch, and was utterly scandalized. The film brought it all back.”
“The Suntop branding party, yes, I heard about that. Anse Kirby says she bares her teeth at him every time they cross paths. He thinks it’s cute.”
Abby raised her head. “Anse Kirby?” Michelle’s smile seemed rather wistful.
“Rafe Montana’s right-hand man, which is half a step down from ranch foreman, as I understand it. If you ever want to lasso a long, tall cowboy…”
“Nope. Not in the market.” Not for cowhands, anyway, though she’d developed an alarming weakness for lizard-skin boots.
“And speaking of that, how goes the siege?”
Under the influence of too much sugar last week—they’d been licking the icing bowl—Abby had found herself confessing, telling Michelle about her terror watching Jack in that fight. Also of his continuing insistence that what she needed was a lighthearted fling.
Contrary to her expectations, Michelle hadn’t shared her indignation. She’d been wryly amused. “A divorced divorce lawyer, what did you expect? Who’s less likely to believe in marriage?”
“He’s still pushing,” Abby admitted now.
Pushing back was getting harder and harder. She’d actually been disappointed last night, when Kat had wriggled between them on the couch. Still, resourceful Jack had draped his arm along the backrest, reaching past his oblivious daughter. His slow, work-hardened fingers had stroked the far side of Abby’s neck, played with her ear, then the corner of her smile throughout the movie. His touch had turned her bones to warm taffy. Had they been alone, Abby would have found herself on her back before the cattle drive crossed its first river.
Face it, the only way she was resisting his relentless advance these days was through avoidance. And how long can I keep dodging? “I have to get out of here,” she said on a note of desperation. “And soon. I spoke with my friend Lark in Sedona. She’s still offering me a building site on her ranch. I’d be a dope not to accept.”
“But you can’t go away now,” Michelle protested. “How will we ever become cookie tycoons if you let Jack Kelton run you out of Trueheart?”
“I’m not running. This was my original plan. And you aren’t ready to start a company anyhow.” They’d agreed it would be wise to begin slow. Test the market first through Michelle’s café, later by selling boxes of cookies at her counter. Then, if there truly was a growing demand…
“Yes, but I know they’ll catch on. By this time next year…”
By then she’d be gone. Long gone. Give her some functional wheels and she was gone yesterday.
Better than hanging around, waiting for heartache to happen.
“YES, JUST LIKE THAT. As if you’re looking at the sunset over to your left,” Abby said from her place at the easel. If Kat’s portrait was to be a farewell and thank-you present to Jack, then it was high time she started it. Whitey couldn’t promise that he’d finish the bus this weekend, but for sure he’d finish it the next. The Lake’s final days in Trueheart were flying past, with so much still to do.
“Or maybe I’ve spotted a caravan coming over the hill?” Kat suggested, staring intently into the distance.
“Exactly. Now can you find something to fix your eyes on, sweetie, so you won’t move?”
“That stain above the window,” Kat agreed.
Reaching for her pencil, Abby made a face. “That’s the next project, painting this room.” She’d start on the living room this weekend—tomorrow—while the kids were out of the way, helping Jack build.
With a few flowing strokes, she began to block in Kat’s head, the drape of the mustard-colored burnoose that framed her face, the graceful lines of her throat and shoulders, the fanciful fish-lure earring that dangled from her right ear.
“I still wish I’d caught my falcon,” Kat grumbled.
“And I wish I’d been there, drawing you trying to catch a falcon.” Really, Kat could’ve been the subject for a dozen children’s books. Yesterday she’d spent her entire day crouched in the brush on the far side of Jack’s building site, hoping to tempt a falcon into her net. Her lure had been a once-beloved stuffed rabbit with badly frayed ears, to which Kat had fastened a length of fishing line. Each time a hawk flew over, she’d twitch
the line to animate the bunny, in the growing conviction that hawks preferred living prey.
Theoretically the hawk would dive on the “rabbit”—and Kat would yank a second line, which would bring her net pivoting out of the bushes to trap the bird.
All she’d caught in a day of patient lurking was a sunburn, since she’d forgotten to wear her jungle hat. Abby hoped to complete her underlying pencil sketch today, then take up her oil pastels next Monday or Tuesday, when Kat’s complexion wasn’t quite so fiery.
Kat squirmed in her chair and wriggled her pink nose. “Just a few more minutes, then we’ll take a short break,” Abby said soothingly.
“Are you drawing my hawk yet?”
“Not yet.” She’d made several thumbnail sketches, both from books and a nature show she’d been lucky to catch on TV the other night, till she’d settled on the image she meant to use.
“Are his wings going to be spread like he’s about to fly off my shoulder?”
“Wait and see.” Actually the sparrow hawk would be leaning in to admire the brass and feather lure dangling from his mistress’s ear, while Kat stared like a young falcon off into the distance. But Abby preferred to surprise her.
Kat rolled her eyes toward the front windows. “Here comes a blue pickup. I think it’s Mrs. Harris.”
“Oh, darn, I forgot! She wants her elk head.” Once Abby had convinced her landlady that the cottage needed a fresh new look and that some of her potential renters might even be anti-hunting, Maudie had decided to reclaim her father’s trophy. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said now as Kat stirred eagerly. “It took us too long to arrange that burnoose. You can shift position a tiny bit if you’re stiff, but don’t get up, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”
ABBY HADN’T BEEN GONE for more than a minute when a phone rang. Kat craned her head slowly around and spotted it as it rang again—Abby’s cell phone, sitting on her drawing table.
Surely she wouldn’t want to miss a call? Clutching her burnoose with one hand, Kat stood and walked on eggshells across the room, grabbed it and said, “Hello?”
Kelton's Rules (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 20
