Lightning Storm

by Anne McAllister

  LIGHTNING STORM

  Anne McAllister

  Summer lightning—that described Jake

  Torey had fallen in love with him as a teenager, but he’d regarded her as a child. Singed by the experience she met and married another man. Now, seven years later, she’d returned to California as a widow and met Jake Brosnan again.

  He still had that same effect—slashing into her life like lightning, igniting passions she’d thought were dead. But was there any future in loving him?

  Was it love Jake wanted or just a good time with no commitments?

  To Nikki, for instigation, and to Dan, for inspiration

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Good grief, Torey,’ her sister groaned as she heaved the bulging suitcase on to the baggage conveyor belt. ‘This thing weighs a ton! What did Mom stick into it besides her last minute bag of cookies?’

  Torey Cooper grinned, tossing her long black plait over her shoulder, ‘A man probably. When I went back inside to pat the dog goodbye, she probably opened it and stuffed Vince Liebfried inside.’

  ‘Or Harlan Nelson,’ Debbie said. ‘Disguised as a bag of double chocolate chip mounds.’ She giggled in her reference to Harlan’s obvious corpulence, then stepped back and waited while Torey checked in for her flight from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport to Los Angeles. ‘You know, Torey,’ she went on seriously when her sister finally rejoined her, ‘Mom does mean well.’

  Torey sighed. ‘Of course she does. But subtlety isn’t in Mother’s vocabulary. Or in anyone else’s in the family either. Even Paul’s folks were starting to screen the eligible men for me. They sent me an unattached spot welder from Dubuque when the loader broke, and last week they invited me over for Sunday dinner and just happened to arrange for the new minister to be there too. The new single minister! And the man Dad sent out to look over the dairy herd spent more time talking about local night spots than he did about milk yield. It’s been getting so that I never know if the fertiliser dealer is there for me or the manure!’

  Debbie laughed at the pained expression on her sister’s face. ‘But you know they’re only trying to help,’ she protested. ‘They just don’t want you to go on mourning Paul forever.’

  ‘I am not mourning Paul forever,’ Torey snapped, more irritably than, she would have wished. ‘Paul was my husband, for heaven’s sake. Even though he’s been dead for two years and I don’t weep every day of my life anymore, I still love him and I still miss him. And I shall probably go on missing him for a very long time. There aren’t many men like Paul around, and I don’t intend replacing him just to have a man—any man!’

  ‘Nobody’s suggesting that,’ Debbie protested, trailing behind Torey as she sailed through the crowds of people heading for the boarding area.

  ‘In this case, actions speak louder than words,’ Torey grumbled. ‘Every time I turned around I was falling over somebody’s brother-in-law or second cousin. And they’re not remotely interesting. Not one of them.’

  ‘You were spoiled,’ Debbie argued. ‘Paul is a hard act to follow.’

  ‘He is,’ Torey agreed. Her green eyes got a faraway look in them which meant that she wasn’t seeing the airport anymore, but rather a craggy face with warm brown eyes, copper hair and a ruddy farmer’s tan. What they had had together was so special that she had no patience with her family’s matchmaking attempts. ‘Which is why,’ she said firmly to her sister, ‘I am glad to escape. If ever there was a fortuitous event, Gran’s knee surgery is it.’

  ‘Gran wouldn’t thank you for saying so,’ Debbie laughed.

  ‘Probably not. But you have to admit, it was lucky for me. I’d got the farm sold and I was still job hunting. Anyway, who could possibly be better qualified to care for her than an unemployed physiotherapist?’ Even if she hadn’t practised as a therapist since she and Paul had been out on the farm, she still knew her business and, in fact, it would be a good reintroduction into the field. She hoped someone would consider her grandmother a good job reference.

  ‘Who indeed?’ Debbie agreed. ‘Besides,’ she teased, ‘who knows? You might be playing right into Mom’s hands. After all, there are bound to be more eligible bachelors per square inch in southern California than in northern Illinois.’

  ‘No fear,’ Torey said firmly. ‘California is life in the fast lane, remember? Who’s going to take the time to look at a little old lady tractor driver like me?’

  Debbie rolled her eyes. ‘You are only twenty-five,’ she argued. ‘And Vince and Harlan sure look at you.’

  ‘That’s only because I’m a diversion from seed catalogues and soybean plants,’ Torey replied, dismissing the only two single farmers in the area. ‘Besides, they mean nothing to me. And all southern California has is more Vinces and Harlans—with one difference. The ones in California left their common sense out east.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Torey shook her head, remembering the summer seven years ago that she had spent with her grandparents in California. To a naive eighteen year old it had proved to be a painfully enlightening experience. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to know. Suffice to say that men like Paul aren’t thick on the ground.’ She had never told Debbie about the man she’d had eyes for that summer, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  The loudspeaker crackled and announced the boarding call for Torey’s flight. She felt a welling of emotion as her sister hugged her impulsively. ‘Time to go, I guess,’ she said, a trifle shaky now that the moment was at hand.

  ‘Say hi to Gran,’ Debbie said. ‘Be good.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘But don’t feel you have to confine yourself to doing only what I would do!’

  ‘I won’t,’ Torey grinned. ‘But don’t expect anything. I mean, I’m not going to be bringing home Mr. California.’

  ‘What? No surfers?’ Debbie teased.

  Torey made a face. ‘No, thanks, Not for me.’ She gave Debbie a final peck on the cheek and an extra squeeze. ‘Thanks so much for bringing me, Deb. Tell Don I appreciate the loan of his wife for the day. I’m glad you could bring me.’ Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked rapidly and managed a watery smile. ‘Hug that little niece of mine for me.’ She turned then and bolted up the indoor gangway to the plane, a sudden crush of faces and memories plaguing her, assaulting her with might-have-beens. And as she sank wearily into her window seat she thought for the first time in several months, Oh Paul, why you? Why me?

  Stop being maudlin, she told herself. The time for post-mortems had come and gone. She could no longer allow herself to indulge in thinking about what might have been if only Paul had gone to town that day instead of out into the field, if only the recent rains hadn’t caused more erosion than usual, if only his tractor hadn’t tipped ... She closed her eyes and leant back, feeling the throb of the jet engines right up through the back of the seat into her head.

  ‘Something to drink, miss?’ the flight attendant asked once they were underway. Torey glanced at her seatmate, a hardworking businessman from the look of his overflowing briefcase. He was having a scotch on the rocks, and though generally Torey would have asked for a soft drink, she thought she could use something a little stronger at the moment. But not a scotch, which would likely have her flat out in the aisle after three sips.

  ‘White wine?’ she asked, and the steward nodded and poured her a glass. Torey took a tentative sip thinking wryly that at nine-thirty in the morning her mother was probably hanging out the laundry and would doubtless think her older daughter was completely decadent to be sipping wine over Iowa at 33,000 feet.

  But that’s my choice, Torey thought and reflected that, in a way, ‘choice’ was what this whole escape to California was all about. If she had stayed in Galena any longer she wouldn’t have had a choice
of her own left to make. There were far too many parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and in-laws in the small Illinois town who were only too willing to make every decision for her. All her available energy recently had been spent trying to convince them not to!

  In their opinion, without Paul, Torey was lost, adrift—and it was their duty to take care of her, find her a job, an apartment, and—eventually—a man. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so real, Torey thought, remembering how their machinations sometimes bordered on the absurd. She finished her wine and lay back, closing her eyes, hoping as she did so that when she unpacked her suitcase this afternoon she wouldn’t really find Vince Liebfried inside.

  Naps were wonderful, she decided when she opened her eyes an hour later to discover that the glumness and the memories had receded. She sat up and dug into her scrambled eggs with surprising gusto, feeling a stirring of eagerness at the thought of seeing Gran again and of once more being a part of the land of palm trees and eight lane freeways, of bougainvillaea and sandy beaches. And what a pleasure it was to come back a woman, confident and self-assured, quite different from the gawky, naive teenager who had descended on the land of the lotus-eaters once before. Her childlike pixie haircut of long ago had grown for years into the long black tresses that now, unplaited, hung nearly to her waist. Her face, too, had matured, the wide green eyes and generous mouth no longer seeming too powerful but instead strikingly attractive. And if she no longer looked like the child who had come to California seven years ago, she no longer felt like her either. Her love for Paul and her marriage had given her a knowledge, a maturity, and a serenity that his death could never erase.

  She broke off a piece of Danish pastry and buttered it, remembering with equal parts fondness and embarrassment, the innocent she had been. Well, there would be no more of that. She was immune to glitter now, to shallowness and to easy-come-easy-go relationships. With Paul she had had the real thing, an enduring love, and she wasn’t settling for less. Debbie might be right about the number of bachelors in LA outnumbering the ones back home, but she didn’t have to worry about them, Torey decided. They were only looking for one thing—a tumble in bed—and that wasn’t what Torey wanted at all, any more than she had ever wanted it.

  ‘Go home and grow up, kid.’ She remembered the gruff voice as if it had been yesterday. It could still make her ears burn just thinking about it. But, she sighed, he had certainly been right. She had needed to grow up, though perhaps not in the way he had meant. He had thought she ought to develop a little sophistication before she dated any more swinging singles. But she had discovered very quickly that ‘to swing’ wasn’t what she wanted at all. Anyway, it didn’t matter any longer for she had found Paul again when she went home, and even though he was gone now, she had learned something. Surface attraction wasn’t enough. She would never fall for it again. A slight smile played across her features as she thought of that young man of long ago. What would the mature Torey Cooper see in him? Not much, she speculated. Not after having known real love with Paul.

  ‘Not long now,’ the man in the next seat said to her as he began to shovel his papers back into his briefcase. He raked a weary hand through thinning hair. ‘Good to get home, eh?’

  ‘It’s not my home,’ Torey explained. ‘I’m visiting my grandmother. She just had surgery.’

  The man frowned. ‘You being met?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Her tenant’s picking me up. It’s all arranged.’

  ‘Good. Single gals shouldn’t wander around here alone.’

  Torey supposed he was right. ‘Single gals’ felt quite comfortable wandering around Galena and its environs alone, but perhaps large international airports were another matter. Gran had certainly seemed to think so. When Torey had written to tell her when she would be arriving, Gran had called her mother and demanded to know Torey’s flight number, saying, ‘Jake will pick her up.’

  All Torey’s protests about being an adult and independent were swept aside as so much straw. ‘Why fiddle with a cab when you have a perfectly willing man to pick you up?’ her mother had said, the emphasis on the word man being unintentional but obvious.

  ‘Many cab drivers are men, Mother,’ she had snapped, ‘and who knows if this Jake is “perfectly willing”? Maybe no one asked him. You know Gran.’ But apparently Gran had, for word came back that Jake would be there, not to fear, and Torey, knowing when it wasn’t worth arguing with her mother’s set expression, gave up. She even had the grace to feel slightly childish after she grumbled, ‘Tell him to wear a flower behind his ear so I’ll recognise him,’ as she flounced out of the room.

  ‘He’ll wear a red shirt,’ her mother informed her the night before she left. ‘Gran says that’s enough.’

  Torey grinned. ‘If that’s all he’s wearing I’m sure that it will be!’

  Her mother’s face went brick red. ‘Oh, Torey, you ...’ she spluttered. ‘You know what I mean!’

  Torey did, but she wondered after she had disembarked from the plane if her mother had any idea just how many men in southern California were wearing red shirts this particular Monday morning in June. She saw a sweaty construction worker in a grimy red tank top and low-slung blue jeans, an arty, flamboyant type in a flowing red silk shirt with billowing sleeves, and any number of middle-aged men in tomato red sports shirts and white duck pants or madras-patterned golf slacks. Not one of them gave her a second glance. Perhaps she should have worn the flower behind her ear!

  The crowds of people moved away to get their luggage or to converse with those meeting them, and Torey stood by the window, camel-coloured, lightweight coat tossed over her arm, and surveyed the scene. Not a promising red shirt in sight. Not a man of any description looking her way. Amazing. She felt immeasurably lighter. Maybe escape to California had been the answer. For the first time in months she felt free of measuring, calculating male eyes. Heaving a sigh of relief she turned and watched the plane ease away from the building and trundle down the runway to take off.

  ‘Excuse me.’ The voice was low, familiar somehow, and right behind her left ear. ‘Are you Victoria Cooper?’

  She turned to say that she was, but her tongue was suddenly immobilised. It couldn’t be. But then she realised that it couldn’t not be. No two men had those ice chip blue eyes, the heavy dark brows beneath shaggy, equally dark hair. No two men could have that uncompromising jaw, thin, aquiline nose, and sensual mouth. She closed her eyes for a moment, grateful for the window to lean back on.

  ‘Are you all right?’ He was staring at her, concerned, and she realised that he didn’t know her. The astonished, white-faced woman he had come to meet apparently bore no resemblance to the awkward teenager he had known once before.

  ‘F-fine,’ she mumbled, and took a deep, cleansing breath. ‘Just a little unsteady after the plane trip, I guess.’ She heard a hollow little laugh that didn’t sound like hers at all but couldn’t have come from anyone else.

  ‘You are Victoria Cooper? Mrs. Harrison’s grand-daughter?’ He was looking at her curiously, intently, and she remembered how one glance from those eyes had made her melt seven years ago.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, finally getting a grip on herself. It was just the shock of it, that was all, she told herself firmly. ‘And you...’ she allowed herself a sweeping gaze that covered him from the toes of his tattered jogging shoes past well-worn, snug blue jeans and a vivid red Jack Daniel’s Whiskey T-shirt to settle on the once—beloved face, ‘must be Jake.’ She offered her hand, amazed at her coolness, pleased that she had, in fact, ‘grown up’.

  ‘Of the red shirt,’ he grinned, then shrugged. ‘I had to buy it specially.’

  Torey smiled in spite of herself. ‘You could have worn a flower in your ear,’ she told him. ‘I did suggest it.’

  ‘I heard.’ His voice was dry but his eyes were twinkling. ‘I was afraid if I did I might look like everyone else.’

  Torey didn’t think there was much chance of that. He was eve
ry bit as compelling as he had ever been. Jake, if that was what his name was, would never get lost in a crowd. ‘Jake what?’ she asked now as she followed him down endless corridors towards the exit, Jake carrying her case.

  ‘Brosnan.’ He turned and slanted her a grin. ‘James Patrick Brosnan at your service,’ he said, pretending to doff an imaginary cap.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she mumbled, satisfied. J.B. was what he had been called seven years ago. There had been J.B. and Mick and Cliffie and Wicks—nicknames all, as though real names hadn’t mattered, as though what happened on the beach had no relation to what happened in real life. Torey dropped back slightly, watching him move ahead of her, admiring as she had before the natural grace of the man. In water he had been a seal, on land a lean hungry cat with pale, icy eyes. I’m glad I’m not a “cat” person, she thought, and remembered fleetingly the warmth of Paul’s deep brown eyes. Eyes of love, she reminded herself, and hurried to catch up.

  ‘Sorry I was late,’ he said now, adjusting his stride to match hers. ‘I was involved and couldn’t get away.’

  Torey’s lips pursed. Apparently J.B. by any other name was still J.B.! What girl hadn’t he been able to leave this time? she wondered. How often in the past had she overheard him say to his roommate, Mick, ‘Sorry I’m late but there was this chick ...’ or ‘I met a girl in a bar and one thing led to another and ...’ and his blue eyes would glitter with remembered passion, and Torey would lie there on her beach towel silently, her stomach tightening in knots. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said coolly. ‘You needn’t have bothered to meet me anyway.’

  ‘Oh, I’d do anything for Addie,’ he said quickly, and she thought, There, Torey, serves you right. It’s Gran he’s trying to please, not you.

  ‘Have you known her long?’ Torey asked.

  ‘Five years,’ he said. He threaded his way through the hordes of passengers milling at the exit with the same ease as she remembered him cutting through the waves.