The day after Rosalie had booted him out, she’d been in the guest room when he’d arrived at the house. He crossed the hall to see his old bed. He ignored it as he opened drawers and closets. He pawed through everything. He finally found the five lottery tickets in a box of sanitary napkins under the vanity in the guest bathroom. He stared at them before he walked back down the long hall to a room at the end. It was Rosalie’s office. There was a separate phone line, computer, fax machine, and copy machine. He made two copies of the tickets. He was careful to turn off the machine.
Back in the bathroom, he replaced the tickets just the way he’d found them. Why was she keeping them if she hadn’t won? What was it she’d said? Oh, yes, “my proof that I didn’t win.” She won all right. He was certain of it. He just didn’t know where the damn winning ticket was.
Maybe he was spinning his wheels at Rosalie’s house. Maybe she had put it in a safe-deposit box. No, that wasn’t his wife’s style. Rosalie liked things where she could either see them or where they were within easy reach. She’d hide it, that’s for sure. Just the way she’d hidden the five tickets.
Kent knew the ticket was somewhere on the second floor. He’d bet his life on it. What he needed to do was think like Rosalie. She’d pick someplace obvious. Someplace a normal person wouldn’t think to look for the simple reason it was too obvious, like under the mattress or under the carpet.
He was galvanized as he set out to go through the house again.
Ninety minutes later, all he had to show for his efforts was a sweaty body and a messy house. He looked around at the chaos he’d created. There was no way in hell he was going to tidy up the mess he’d made. Let Rosalie think burglars had broken in. He needed to take something to make it look like an anonymous burglary. What?
Kent’s gaze fell on her jewelry box. Once she’d told him she kept her good pieces, which weren’t many, among the costume jewelry in case anyone ever did break in. How could he have forgotten the false bottom where she kept cash? He lifted out the tray of jewelry to see a thick wad of bills. He rifled through them—over four thousand dollars. He didn’t think twice about taking the jewelry and the money. Suddenly, he slapped at his forehead. Of course, Rosalie probably kept the ticket in her purse, which she kept with her at all times. How stupid could he be? The purse was obvious. Like Heather, Rosalie was predictable.
Angry with himself that he had wasted so much time, he sat down on Rosie’s favorite rocking chair. It wasn’t a total loss, he had four thousand dollars and a pile of jewelry that he could take to Atlanta and pawn. Within seconds he was sound asleep.
“Oh, this is beautiful, Jack,” Rosie said, getting out of the car. “So this is your parents’ house.”
“It was. My dad gave it to me when I got married. I love this place, always have. It was wonderful growing up here with the river in the backyard. I think everyone says that who has ever lived on or near a river.”
Rosie’s heart thumped in her chest.Married. She backed up a step and then another. Kent was right, she was stupid. “You’re married?” Damn, her words sounded so anguished like she’d just found out she’d been betrayed.
“I was. My wife died. It was a long, painful death. Martha, that was my wife, wanted to die here in this house by the river. I think she loved this place more than I ever did or could. You’re the first person I’ve brought out here since she died. For some reason I thought you would like it. You remind me a lot of Martha. I guess that’s why I like you. You would have liked her, Rosie. She was kind, always smiling, and she had the most wonderful sense of humor. We both wanted kids, but it didn’t happen. I had all these plans for a houseful of kids and a couple of dogs and a cat or two. See that big, old oak on the front lawn? I always wanted a swing there for the kids. Eventually, I put one up, and it’s still there. The day before Martha died she wanted me to carry her out to the swing and push her. She kept saying, ‘higher, higher!’ I was petrified she would fall off because she was so weak, but she didn’t. She said it was like reaching for heaven. I think I bawled for two solid hours after I carried her back to bed. She was so exhausted she couldn’t lift her head.”
“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. What did she die of?”
“Ovarian cancer.”
Rosie shook her head sadly. “How did you get through it all?”
“With the help of my dad and my uncle. The fitness centers required my time twenty-four/seven. I didn’t think I could survive, but I did. I think the hardest time was the day I scattered her ashes on the river the way she wanted. I saved some. I suppose it sounds ghoulish, but I buried what I kept under the oak. There’s a round patch of moss covering it now. It’s the only spot of moss under the whole tree. I took that to mean it was okay with Martha that I did that. I needed a place, you know. Someplace where I could sit and talk and relive old memories.
“I thought we’d picnic there, but if you’d rather not, I understand. I’m not real smart when it comes to women and how they think and feel. We have a lot of equally old trees in the back. It’s just that this one is special. It’s well over three hundred years old and shades the entire yard, as you can see.”
Rosie didn’t know what she felt or what she should do. Overwhelming sadness swept through her for Jack’s loss. “It’s the perfect spot for a picnic. I’m flattered that I remind you of your wife. She must have been a wonderful person.”
“She was. Come on, let me show you the house. Pop and I kept it up. It would be sacrilegious not to. I haven’t been here for a long time, but there is a caretaker. The guy that owns the Buick dealership in town owns the house on the left. You really can’t see it through the shrubbery. They maintain their property also. They have two little cottages in the back. We just have extra lawn and a dock. Some rich tycoon from up North owns the one on the right. To my knowledge he’s never come here. My caretaker said the house is falling to ruins. I guess it was some kind of historical write-off for him. The last house on the road will eventually be owned by the town. It’s in litigation. Some distant relatives of old Mrs. Lackland are contesting the will.
“Did I tell you I also know how to cook?”
Rosie burst out laughing. “Sort of. You said you cooked all the stuff for the picnic, so I just assumed you could cook. Thanks for clarifying that for me, Jack.”
Jack reached for Rosie’s hand. She clasped his willingly. It felt good. “C’mon, I’m giving you the tour. Now, this is the front door! Solid mahogany. A master craftsman did the glass inserts at the top. We could have a category-four hurricane, and this door will still be standing. I don’t know about the rest of the house, but I do know about this door and all the others. I had hurricane shutters installed about ten years ago to protect the stained-glass windows.
“It smells kind of musty in here right now, but once the doors and windows are opened, the smell goes away. The floors are the original floors. They’re called heart of pine. You clean them with beeswax. Jeez, I’m sorry, Rosie, you have the same floors in your own house, so I’m not telling you anything new. I envy you that second-floor verandah on your house. When Martha was confined to bed at the end, I moved her down here to the music room so she could be wheeled, bed and all, out to the verandah. We had tons of summer flowers and ferns out here. It looked just like a garden. Someday I am going to move back here. Let Buddy loose so he can wander around.”
Rosie unhooked the leash, told the big dog he could go. He did, sniffing everything as he went along.
“It’s beautiful,” Rosie said. “I can understand why you would want to return here. I love walking along the river. I get some of my best weeds on the riverbanks. One good thing about weeds, they grow fast. I’d like to check yours out before I leave.”
Jack threw his head back and laughed. “Be my guest. By the way, your room is at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. It has its own bathroom. I’ll sleep down here. I like sleeping on the verandah if the weather is good. Do you hear something?”
&nb
sp; Rosie frowned. “Music.”
“That must mean someone is staying at the Daniels place. Oh, well, they won’t bother us. For sure we won’t be bothering them. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
“I thought you were never going to suggest it. I didn’t eat any breakfast. I guess we’re having brunch, eh?”
“I have some salmon in the freezer. I’m going to thaw it out, and we can grill it tonight for dinner. Yeah, we’re having brunch.” Jack reached for her hand again to draw her forward. Together they walked out to the verandah, down the steps, and on out to the front yard, where they’d left the picnic basket.
“I have to warn you, Rosie, I cannot guarantee the ants. As many times as I picnicked under this tree, there were never any ants.” His voice turned fretful when he said, “A picnic is not a real picnic unless you have ants.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Jack, I’ll take an ant-less picnic anytime.”
Rosie watched as Jack spread a huge blue-and-white-checkered tablecloth on the ground. She noticed that he was careful not to cover the rich mound of emerald green moss directly under the old swing. She wondered if, later on, he’d allow her to swing on the swing. On the other hand, maybe the swing, like the moss, was taboo.
“Oooh, that all looks soooo good, Jack. I love fried chicken. You took the skin off, right?”
“Yep, and I fried it in canola oil. You shouldn’t be eating it, but once in a while you have to break the rules. One piece won’t hurt you.”
Jack watched as Rosie fixed a plate of food for Buddy, who was waiting patiently. He liked what he was seeing. He knew he hadn’t been wrong about this woman. He looked upward in the still air. His eyes lit up when he saw the leaves of the old oak start to rustle. The swing seemed to be moving of its own volition. He looked around to see if anything else was moving in the breeze. The funny thing was, there was no breeze. He smiled. Martha was letting him know she approved.
Later, their picnic debris cleaned up, Rosie held out her wineglass. “I can’t remember the last time I was this contented, this lazy. I don’t know how I’m going to run later.”
“It’s the wine. We could take a nap right here on this fine tablecloth where there are no ants. We can’t run now for two reasons, one, it’s too hot, and two, we just ate.”
“Hmmm,” Rosie said, setting her empty glass aside. A minute later she was asleep, Buddy at her side. The dog looked at him with unblinking intensity, almost daring him to move closer. He didn’t. He leaned back and rolled over on his side. He, too, was asleep within seconds.
Overhead, the branches in the angel oak continued to rustle as the swing moved back and forth, going higher and higher until it reached the tip of the highest branch.
It was late afternoon, the golden sun starting its downward spiral, when Rosie rolled over. Her legs stretched out just as her face touched something warm and scratchy. She opened one eye and then the other. She squeezed both eyes shut, her first thought was she was dreaming.
He wasn’t moving. Should she move? She felt his warm breath on her cheek. No, she wasn’t dreaming.
Then his lips moved, and he was saying something. What the hell was he saying? She felt so befuddled, she lay frozen. “Your call,” the voice drawled.
Your call.Rosie’s befuddled brain told her that meant Jack was waiting to see what she did. Vickie would say, seize the moment. God alone knew what Luna Mae would say. The voice whispering against her cheek was so sexy, so intimate, Rosie felt light-headed.Your call.
Rosie wanted to kiss this man more than she ever wanted anything in her life. Her thoughts were jumbled, frantic. Kissing, the kind of kissing that would happen here on the blue-and-white checkered tablecloth, would be intense and lead to other things. She simply wasn’t prepared to shed her clothing, to let a man, any man, see her naked body. Not yet. Then again, maybe it was theswooshing sound she could hear overhead or maybe it was the movement of the swing, reminding her of Jack’s late wife. Whatever it was, it was taking its toll on her.
All the anguish and frustration she felt came out in her whispered reply. “This isn’t the time or the place, Jack. Cut me some slack. When I’m ready for…for this, I want it to be for all the right reasons.” But unable to resist her attraction to this wonderful man, she leaned a little closer and kissed him lightly on the lips. Her mouth felt seared, as if it had touched a flame. She quickly turned, rolled over, and was on her feet a moment later, her hand outstretched to help Jack to his feet. His eyes looked as glazed as she knew her own were. “Just so you know, Jack, I have never been so flattered in my life and…and I like you a lot. Probably more than I should. There will be another time, another place, and then look out, Jack Silver, I’ll blow your socks off.”
She heard that sexy, intimate whisper again. “Is that a promise or a declaration, Rosie?”
Rosie’s hand reached out to stroke Jack’s cheek. “It’s a promise.”
Buddy wiggled between them, his massive body pushing first at Rosie’s legs, then at Jack’s. He wanted to wedge between them. Satisfied when they moved apart, he barked his approval.
“I see this dog as a possible problem,” Jack laughed. “It might be time for me to get a dog of my own, a female to keep him occupied.”
“Good idea.” Rosie looked upward. The angel oak was still, the swing at rest.
“It’s four-thirty, Rosie. Are you up for a short run?” Jack asked, pushing the moment into the background. “I thought we’d do a two-and-a-half-
mile run each way, then take the canoe down the river. You need to get the feel of it.”
“I’ve never been in a canoe before. Or any kind of boat for that matter.” Her voice was cold, distant, when she said, “Kent said I’d tip the boat because of my weight.”
“Kent’s an asshole, Rosie. You will not tip the boat. Now, let’s run off that fried chicken we had for lunch. I slept like a log. Best nap I’ve had in…years. I’m raring to go.”
“You know what, you’re right. We slept for four straight hours. I can’t remember when I slept straight through for four hours.”
“Imagine how much sleep we’d get if we were in a bed,” Jack quipped.
Rosie’s face turned brick red. “Oh, yeah.”
“Okay, let’s go. Side by side, Buddy in the middle. I want you to pick up those legs andGO, Rosie.”
Conditioned now, Rosie sprinted off, Jack and Buddy at her side. She was keeping up with Jack, and she knew he was giving it all he had. She had no idea what speed she was running at but she wasmoving, and she wasn’t sweating half as much as Jack.
“Show-off!” Jack gasped at the turnaround point.
“You taught me too well, Jack,” Rosie gasped in return. “I’ll meet you back at the house!” She picked up her feet and sprinted ahead, her arms and legs pumping furiously.
“Like hell!” Jack gasped again. Rosie laughed again, so far ahead of him she felt pleased. If there was one thing she knew in her heart and in her gut, it was that Jack wasnot letting her win.
She kept running, Buddy way ahead of her. She wanted to look behind her, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She reached the house and was sitting on the old stone wall two full minutes before Jack arrived.
“Beatcha,” Rosie drawled. She held out her arms. Jack fell into them and hugged her hard. It felt so wonderful, so warm and comforting. And even though they were both sticky and sweaty, she felt comfortable touching him.
Jack sprawled out next to her. “You sure did. You’ve been holding back on me. How many miles are you running these days?”
“I just started a ten-mile run.”
“Ten miles! Every morning!”
Rosie grinned. “Yep!”
“Lady, I am impressed!”
Rosie beamed her pleasure.
“How are you on a real bike?”
“Wobbly. I am going to have to find a place to ride. I was never very good on a bike, even as a kid.”
“The tra
ck at the high school is a good place to ride. I’ll see about getting you permission to use it. We need to drink a couple of glasses of water before we set out in the canoe.”
“You’re a slave driver, Jack Silver!” Rosie said, leading him toward the house and the kitchen. Off in the distance she could hear loud music. Puffs of gray smoke swirled above the shrubbery that separated the two river properties. Someone was cooking over a charcoal grill. Rosie felt hungry.
“I want you to win the triathlon in November,” Jack said. “You’ll get your picture in the paper and all that jazz. Winning one of those events is more powerful than any aphrodisiac. I want you to win for yourself, Rosie, not for me, not for anyone else, just you.”
“Jack, you have too much faith in me. Three months is not a long time to train. I have a business to run. There’s the divorce and all kinds of emotional issues I have to deal with. I’m willing to give it my best shot, but I don’t want you to be disappointed if I don’t win. I might come in last. All those guys and women who have been going to the gym for years are so far ahead of me, I don’t know if I can catch up.”
“You can do it, Rosie. Even if you came in last, I’d still be proud of you.” Jack handed her a huge glass of ice water with a circle of lemon perched on the side. She gulped at it.
You can do it.He believed in her. She believed in herself, too, but it was an awesome task he was setting for her.You can do it. She smiled and nodded.
Both runners finished the water before they headed for opposite bathrooms, then it was down to the boathouse and the canoe Jack had tied to one of the pilings.
Ten minutes into the river ride, Rosie’s face darkened with pain and frustration. “This is torture! I can’t do this!”
“Yes, you can. You have strength you haven’t even tapped into. Paddle and shut up. Count. We have fifty minutes to go! Do it!”
Rosie clenched her teeth, her eyes sparking with anger. “Dammit, didn’t you hear me? I can’t do this.”
Pretty Woman Page 17
