Oh, he managed to write, but it was like pulling teeth, rather than the effortless, almost stream-of-consciousness outpouring of words he was used to.
He sent Jared off to sea for close to two long, dangerous years. But as his hero was triumphantly returning to Boston a wealthy man, the Graceful Lady Fair was taken for a British ship and attacked by the Union fleet. Instead of reclaiming Carrie, Jared was wounded and mistakenly sent to a prison camp for Confederate soldiers. It took him another year and a half, and about 100 pages, to recover from his injuries and successfully escape the prison.
But then, finally, finally Jared was in Boston.
!With a spring in his step, Jared walked down the street that led to the Sinclairs’ town house. He hadn’t felt this good, this whole, in years. It wouldn’t be long now before he held Carrie in his arms….
Jax stopped typing, his fingers poised on the keyboard.
Jared tapped his foot impatiently. “What’s the matter? What are you waiting for?”
“You’re not going to like this,” Jax muttered.
Jared froze. “Don’t tell me she’s not here.”
“She’s here, all right.” Jax started to write again.
And then Jared saw her, her dark hair gleaming in the summer sunshine as she stepped out of the carriage. Her shoulders were back, her head held high—she was exactly as he remembered her.
He wasn’t close enough to see the smile that he knew must be on her beautiful face, and he began to run, shouting her name as he dodged the heavy traffic that cluttered the street.
Carrie’s head turned, and Jared knew the exact instant that she saw him. Her eyes opened wide, her face went pale and her delicate lips moved as she soundlessly spoke his name.
As he skidded to a stop in front of her, it was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and covering her mouth with his own.
“Oh, come on,” Jared fumed. “After all this time, you’re not going to let me kiss her?”
“Chill out,” Jax muttered as he continued to write. “You’re not alone.”
But Jared was aware of the gentleman and two elderly ladies standing near her, so he reined in his desire and simply smiled at her.
She was more beautiful than ever. Dressed as she was, she looked every inch the proper lady, but Jared saw she still had a spark of fire in her deep blue eyes. It was that spark that had become a flame on the day they had met, the day he had found her riding her father’s nearly uncontrollable stallion, dressed in her brother’s clothes, in the field above the manor house. She had seemed as wild and untamable as the horse, and he had fallen in love with her instantly.
Jared could feel Carrie’s eyes studying him, taking in the expensive cut of his clothes, the leanness of his body, the drawn, thin lines of his face.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her low voice husky with emotion.
“You know this man?” the gentleman standing beside her asked. He was several years older than Jared, with a round face and a pair of spectacles that magnified his brown eyes.
Carrie turned to look at him, as if she was startled that he was there. For the briefest of instants, Jared saw what might have been fear in her eyes.
“Yes,” she answered slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “Harlan, this is Jared Dexter, an old friend of my family’s.” She looked back at Jared, and he saw that her eyes were nearly brimming over with unshed tears. “Jared, I’d like you to meet Harlan Kent. My husband.”
It was easy to write Jared’s reaction to the news that Carrie had married another man. Jax knew firsthand about the waves of disbelief, anger and pure heartbreaking sorrow that swept over Jared. He knew about the misery and could describe the sensations in absolute vivid detail.
With a few quick sentences, he brought Jared back to the privacy of his fancy hotel room, where his hero put his head down and cried.
Just the way Jax had done when he realized that Kelly would not be his, that he had come home too late.
Chapter 5
Dear Kelly,
August 24. Your eighteenth birthday.
I spend the day thinking about you. I remember how you invited me to spend your thirteenth birthday with you. We went downtown to the aquarium and looked in the top of the big fish tank. We stared at the skeletons of sharks hanging from the ceiling, sharks big enough to eat us both for breakfast and still go hungry.
For the first time in the three months I have been here, I cry.
Worse than the black eyes and the bruises and cuts and broken ribs, worse than the fear that today may be the day they drag me out of my cell and kill me, worse than the insults and the degradation, the filth and the stench, worse than all that, they have made me break my promise to you. That fills me with pain so great that I can’t stop the tears.
I try to imagine your day, where you go, what you do.
Do you wonder where I am? Do you expect me at least to call?
Right now I’d sell my soul to the devil for a telephone.
I wonder if anyone even knows where I am.
The warden laughs and hits me when I ask, then tells me the government has told my London magazine that I died in a cholera epidemic.
But, Kelly, I am not dead.
You come to me tonight, eighteen years old and so lovely. Your eyes are so sad. We hold each other tightly, and I fall asleep with you in my arms.
But when I wake up, you are gone.
I love you.
Love, T.
Friday morning dawned gray and rainy. Kelly worked on her novel straight through until the early afternoon, grabbing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on her way to get dressed to go to the university lecture series.
Normally the dismal weather would have kept her inside, but today’s guest speaker was none other than Jayne Tyler, one of the hottest names in women’s fiction. Tyler had rocketed onto the New York Times bestseller list with her first novel three years ago, and since then she had written five books, each one better than the last. She created hot, spicy characters that seemed to leap off the pages, and stories full of intrigue and passion. She could have her reader laughing on one page and reaching for a tissue to dry her tears on the next. And Tyler really knew what romance was. She knew exactly the right amount of gentle tenderness to throw in to cut straight through to the reader’s heart.
Today she was going to speak in front of a roomful of hopeful authors and fans, spilling her secrets. And Kelly was going to be there, paying close attention.
She dressed carefully in her favorite dress, a beige-and-tan-checked shirtdress with a flared, nearly floor-length skirt, and long sleeves that she rolled up casually to her elbows.
The rawness of the rainy day penetrated her apartment, and there was a decided draft up the full skirt. So Kelly pulled a pair of slim black leggings on underneath the skirt. Still feeling cold, she unbuttoned the dress down to her waist and slipped a tank-style undershirt on, then put her arms back into the sleeves. She adjusted the small shoulder pads and rebuttoned the dress. With her black cowboy boots on her feet, a wide leather belt around her waist, her hair back in a casual ponytail, and silver earrings with shiny black stones dangling from her ears, she was ready to go.
Amazingly, the trolley was running ahead of schedule, and as she disembarked, she put up her umbrella against the drizzle and glanced at her watch. She was nearly two hours early. She rolled her eyes. Just a tad overeager. Still, if she had timed it perfectly, the trolley would have broken down and she would have ended up being two hours late.
She eyed the row of shops across from the campus lecture hall as she pulled her denim jacket more tightly around her. Somewhere over there was a shop called Quick Cuts, and Marcy had recommended it soundly the last time Kelly had made noise about getting her hair cut.
She hesitated only a few seconds, then made her way across the street, dodging the puddles as she went.
Jax glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his sports car. They were ru
nning late because of this damned rain. Bostonians were notorious for their wild driving skills, and add a little rain to the equation—the end result was sheer chaos.
His sister, Stefanie, was sitting next to him, calmly filing her fingernails.
“There’s no way I’m going to find a parking spot,” he told her. “I’m going to have to drop you.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.” She put her emery board into her purse and looked up at him. “I’m not going in there alone, Jax. We’ll both be late together.”
“Stef—”
“Relax, darling, they can’t start this party without us.” Stefanie pulled down the mirror that was part of her sun visor and checked her perfectly styled blond curls. “I’m the guest of honor, remember?”
“I’m not worried about that. I just want to be able to leave on time.”
Stefanie’s gray eyes were filled with speculation as she looked up from putting on another coat of lipstick. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
Jax kept his face expressionless. He didn’t even glance in her direction.
“I knew it,” she said triumphantly, reattaching the top to the lipstick and tossing it into her purse. “It is, isn’t it? You’re finally over that girl—what was her name? Kevin’s sister. Kelly. The one you wrote that collection of letters to. The one who was so young.”
Again Jackson didn’t say a word. He just drove the car. They were close enough now to start looking for a parking space.
“You know, your entire affair with her was too dreadfully romantic.” Stefanie wouldn’t let up. “She was just a teenager, a child really, while you were a grown man. I know forbidden fruit has a rep for being sweeter and all that, but carrying a torch for her all these years borders on the absurd. Not that I don’t appreciate the absurd, of course. And it is rather disgustingly romantic of you.” She watched him carefully. “I was thinking it might be a good story idea for the next contemporary novel—”
Jax turned and glared at her. “No.”
“Made you look.” She grinned toothily, then laughed at his exasperation. “You’re not over her, are you? Well, maybe this new woman can sufficiently distract you for a while anyway. Tell me all about her, darling. What’s her name? Where’d you meet her—Look, that car’s leaving!”
And so it was. Jax braked to a stop behind a small blue Honda that was pulling out of a miniature parking spot. As he wrestled his car into the space that was barely twelve inches bigger than the length of his car, a young woman standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change caught his eye. Something about the way she was standing looked familiar. He caught a glimpse of short, sleek, dark hair underneath her umbrella as she turned away.
As he pulled up the parking brake and cut the engine, Jax watched a transit bus speed past. It sent a sheet of muddy water into the air. The young woman jumped back, but not quickly enough, and her skirt was drenched.
“Oh, yuck.” Stefanie was watching, too. “The poor thing.”
Jackson checked his watch. “Stef, we’ve got to hurry.”
But his sister’s eyes had widened as she watched the movements of the young woman on the sidewalk. The woman had stepped back, away from the street, and had set down her backpack and umbrella under the awning of an ice cream parlor.
Jax followed Stefanie’s gaze, and watched, too, as the woman calmly took off her denim jacket and placed it on the top of her backpack. She took off a wide brown belt, set that on top of her jacket, then began to unbutton her dress.
She pushed off the top of the muddy dress, revealing a black sleeveless tank top and long, slender arms. Feeling rather like a voyeur, Jax made himself look away. But there was something so familiar about her. He looked back to see her pushing the dress down around her thighs. She wore a pair of skintight black leggings on her long legs. She had very, very long legs.
“Do try to keep your tongue inside your mouth, Jax darling,” Stefanie said dryly.
As Jackson watched, the woman stepped out of her dress, shaking it slightly to get her cowboy boots free—
Cowboy boots!
“She got her hair cut,” Jax breathed, and Stefanie looked at him in surprise.
“You know her?”
But Jax was already out of the car.
Kelly folded her muddy dress small enough to fit into her backpack. She wished she could rinse it out, but the lecture was going to start in just a few minutes. She hoped the mud wouldn’t stain before she had a chance to go home and wash it clean.
“God,” she heard a voice say. “It is you.”
Startled, she looked up from where she was crouching to see T. Jackson towering above her.
“I love it,” he said simply as she slowly stood and faced him. “Your hair—it’s great.”
She was gorgeous. Dressed all in black, her leggings and tank top hugging every inch of her lithe body, and with her dark hair cut very short—shorter even than his—she looked like a chic New York City model. Her hair capped her head, cut so short in the front that she could barely be described as having bangs. Pointed sideburns of hair hung down in front of each ear, curving in to accentuate the prettiness of her face, framing her big blue eyes. Her hair was buzzed short around her ears and in the back, but the effect was remarkably feminine. Her neck looked long and graceful and very, very vulnerable.
She looked as if she were twelve again. His gaze dropped down to her body. Well, maybe not exactly…
Kelly pulled her jacket on, more as protection from his eyes than from the cold. “You’re following me again.” It wasn’t even a question. “Do us both a favor, Jackson. Give up.”
“You know I’m not going to do that,” he said softly. “And actually, this time I’m not following you.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got to go—”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Kelly turned to see a tall woman standing next to Jax, her hand possessively on his arm. She was strikingly beautiful, tall and slim, with hair like spun gold that shimmered and curled around her face. Her perfect mouth was curved upward in a friendly smile, but her cool gray eyes were inquisitive, curious.
Surprise rushed through her. This had to be Jackson’s wife. Funny how he hadn’t mentioned he was married…
“Kelly, this is Stefanie Winchester,” Jax said. “Stef, meet Kelly O’Brien.”
Stefanie Winchester. Oh, Lord, she was his wife. The wave of jealousy that shot through Kelly shocked her. No, it couldn’t be jealousy she was feeling. Maybe it was indigestion—something she ate. As she shook the cool, slim hand that Stefanie extended, Kelly missed the pointed look of surprise and interest that the blond woman sent Jax.
“My brother’s told me so much about you,” Stefanie said, her voice cool and cultured.
Brother?
Stefanie was T. Jackson’s sister, not his wife. Of course. Stefanie. Stef. Jax had told her about his older sister, Stef.
Kelly looked up to find Jax’s eyes on her. He was watching her steadily, and he smiled very slightly, as if he knew what she was thinking. But he glanced at his watch again and turned to his sister.
“We’re late.” He looked back at Kelly. “I’ll see you later.”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her by cupping her face with one hand and pressing his thumb lightly against her lips.
“I will see you later,” he said, his voice soft and so dangerously positive. “You are going to have dinner with me and we are going to talk. Tonight.”
Kelly couldn’t move as she gazed into his eyes. He was looking at her with an intensity that was hypnotizing. As she watched, his gaze dropped to her mouth, and she knew with a flash of heat that he was going to kiss her.
But he didn’t.
Instead he brushed his thumb lightly against her lips, letting his fingers linger before he turned to leave. He walked backward all the way to the curb, a smile spreading across his handsome face.
“You do look…” He shook his head, as if
unable to find the words. “Wonderfully,” he finally said, “amazingly, fabulously, unbelievably, deliciously—”
“You could probably stand to insert an adjective right about now,” Stefanie said dryly.
“Sexy,” he whispered, but his voice carried quite clearly to Kelly.
“I’ll be over about eight,” he said.
“No.” Kelly finally found her voice, but it was too late. He’d already turned and was halfway across the street.
With a sigh of frustration, she picked up her backpack and her umbrella and went back to the curb, where the Don’t Walk sign was flashing. She waited far from the puddles for the light to change.
“Kelly, huh?” Stefanie said, giving Jax a sidelong glance as they went into the university building. “So it’s still little Kelly O’Brien that you’ve got it bad for, even after all these years. Although she’s not so little anymore, is she?”
“No, she’s not,” Jax agreed.
“I thought she got married.”
“She did. It didn’t work out.”
“Lucky you,” Stefanie said. “So naturally you’ve got your catcher’s mitt on, ready to grab her on the rebound.”
“You’re mixing your sports metaphors,” Jackson countered, not commenting on the truth of what she’d just said.
“And you’re going for the big, happy Hollywood ending,” Stefanie decided. “You are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you, darling?”
“Everything I’ve ever written has a happy ending,” Jax told his sister. “It shouldn’t be too hard to orchestrate a real one for my life.”
“I hope so.” In an unusual display of affection, Stefanie reached out and squeezed Jax’s hand. “But you know, real people aren’t as easy to manipulate as fictional characters.”
Jackson’s smile turned rueful. “You’re telling me. And lately my fictional characters haven’t been easy to manipulate, either.”
Dear Kelly,
I have finished.
Letters to Kelly Page 7
