If an inch was offered, she felt confident that somewhere there was a mile waiting to be taken. Or at least coaxed into the open. “That was a start.”
Wasn’t she ever satisfied? “You don’t want much, do you, woman?”
“No more than I think I can get.” An enigmatic smile played on her lips. She turned toward Emily and Jackie. “Kids, why don’t you go change your clothes and wash your hands so you can help me bake the pies? Emily, help your brother,” she added.
With a patient sigh, Emily took his hand. “Come on, Jackie.”
To Jack’s surprise, the little boy docilely followed her out. Miracles apparently came in all sizes these days.
He glanced at the preparations Zooey was making. “Party’s tomorrow,” he pointed out. “Why bake the pies today?”
Opening the pantry, she took an apron from its hook and slipped the loop over her head, then began tying the strings behind her back. “Because I don’t like leaving things—”
“To the last minute.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, I’m beginning to get the idea.”
The second Jackie disappeared down the hall behind his sister, Zooey turned to look at Jack. She had been patient long enough, and not knowing was killing her. “Why aren’t you going out tonight?”
Jack looked at her, stunned. They’d been shopping for close to two hours. He’d forgotten all about the conversation he’d left hanging earlier in the study. Obviously, she hadn’t.
“You’re like a junkyard dog, aren’t you? Once you clamp down, you don’t stop.”
Zooey shrugged. She’d been called worse. “I would have preferred a more flattering comparison, but, okay, I won’t argue with the image,” she stated, then focused on him. “Why?”
He wasn’t comfortable discussing his social life with her. Especially since she was both the reason why he’d first gone out with Rebecca and the reason he’d canceled his date tonight. “Don’t you think that’s a little too personal for you to ask?”
“Probably,” she agreed. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to know. “Why?” she repeated for the third time, pinning him with her eyes.
He knew by now that she wasn’t going to let up until he gave her some kind of reason. “Because I don’t believe in wasting a person’s time.”
Zooey’s eyes narrowed. “Yours or hers?”
He paused for a second before answering. Wondering if he should. “Both.”
Zooey studied the man standing beside her at the counter for a long moment. She read what she needed to into his answer. And then she smiled. Broadly.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t,” Jack informed her firmly. He didn’t want her to get the wrong—or in this case, right—idea. This was a matter between him and him, and no one else.
The more he denied it, the more certain Zooey was that she was right.
“Yeah,” she countered, feeling immensely pleased. “I do.” As she waited for Emily and Jackie to return, she folded the last of the grocery bags and put them away for future use, then crossed to the sink to wash her hands. “How are you at grating cheese?” she asked nonchalantly. He’s not going out with Rebecca. He’s staying in. Home team 1, Vixens 0.
“Cheese?” he echoed uncertainly. “For the pie?”
He really didn’t know anything about cooking or baking, did he? She refrained from pointing out that there was no cheese in pumpkin pie. She didn’t want to alienate him or insult him, especially not since he was back on the market.
“No,” she replied sweetly, “for the stuffed tender-loin I’m making.”
No more enlightened now than he had been a minute ago, Jack lifted his shoulders and then let them drop again in a mute indication of helplessness. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”
She would have guessed as much. “Now’s as good a time as any to learn.” Taking the cheese grater out of the utility drawer, she presented it, a cutting board and a hunk of mozzarella cheese to Jack. “Have at it,” she urged. She put the grater into his right hand, the cheese into his left and slipped the board closer to him on the counter. “Just be sure to watch your fingers,” she cautioned. “Blood isn’t part of the recipe.” As Jackie and Emily ran in, making their return appearance, she switched her attention to them. “Okay, everyone’s here,” she announced cheerfully. “Let’s get to work.”
Jack thought of the brief he had waiting in the study. It wasn’t urgent, just something he’d planned on getting done before Sunday night and the much-dreaded Halloween party.
But it would keep, he thought as thin slivers of cheese began to make their appearance at the bottom of the grater, forming a small, growing mound. It would definitely keep.
The doorbell started ringing a little after five the next evening as party guests began to make their appearance.
Coming down the stairs, feeling awkward as hell, Jack hardly recognized his own house. Zooey and the kids had spent all morning and part of the afternoon decorating. Now there was hardly any space that didn’t have a friendly ghost, a warm fuzzy spider or some mythical, equally happy looking creature hovering against a backdrop of balloons.
There was candy everywhere, and somehow, miraculously, Zooey managed to keep Jackie out of it. To that end, she’d enlisted Emily’s help. Honor bound, Emily had to refrain from eating the candy herself.
His daughter apparently had more willpower than he gave her credit for.
As for Zooey, the woman was nothing short of a witch, despite the harem girl costume she’d slipped on at the last minute. Even though she had all but forced him to parade around in his costume, she hadn’t shown him hers. So when he caught a glimpse of her coming out of the kitchen carrying the punch bowl, Jack had found himself in dire jeopardy of swallowing his tongue. Or of carrying on a flirtation with cardiac arrest.
He’d never seen material arranged so sensuously. Everything essential was covered, but alluringly so. The costume fired up his imagination to the point that he found himself indulging in fantasies. Fantasies he knew he couldn’t bring to fruition, but that nonetheless gave him no respite.
“Wow.”
When he heard the single word, he realized that he hadn’t just thought it, he’d uttered it. The flash of an appreciative grin as she turned to look at him told Jack that Zooey had heard his verbal error.
“Thank you. Right back at you. You look very dashing,” she countered.
He scowled. His scalp was itchy beneath the wig, and the hat was making him perspire. “I look ridiculous,” he declared.
It wasn’t vanity prompting him, Zooey thought. He actually believed what he was saying. And obviously hadn’t taken a look at the cartoon figures and comic book heroes milling around in his living room, which was growing progressively more festive.
“No, you don’t,” she insisted. Spying Emily, she called her over. When the little girl came running up, Zooey placed her hands on the child’s shoulders and turned her around to face her father. “Doesn’t your daddy look handsome, Emily?”
Emily nodded vigorously, the ringlets that Zooey had spent half an hour setting into her hair bobbing like golden springs. But before she could say anything, the doorbell rang.
Emily’s eyes widened. Shifting from foot to foot, anxious to be gone, she asked hopefully, “Can I get it?”
As a rule, Zooey never allowed either of the children to open the door, evoking the do-not-trust-strangers mandate.
“We’re all home,” Zooey told her, emphasizing her point. “So it’s okay.”
But even though they lived in a neighborhood that was deemed to be one of the safest in the state, that did not automatically give Emily a green light to open the door whenever someone came knocking or ringing. Zooey firmly believed it was better to teach good behavior than to have to negate and “unteach” bad habits.
Dressed as a fairy princess, Emily ran over to the door, the veil from her small, pointed hat flapping behind her like a pink cape.
“Nice job,” Jack observed.
Zooey thought he was referring to the costume she’d made. She’d finished it just this morning. Actually, she had sewn all three of their costumes, including Jackie’s Robin Hood outfit. Only Jack’s was left up to professionals. She’d tried to control as much as she could, making sure that Jack had no viable excuse why he couldn’t dress up for his children’s party.
“Thanks,” she responded, watching the door to see who Emily was admitting. She watched Olivia bounce into the room, wearing a poodle skirt and saddle shoes, with her hair pulled back into a swinging ponytail. Cute. “It was remarkably simple to make,” she said, referring to Emily’s costume.
“No, I meant telling her about when she could open the door and when she couldn’t.” There was an admiration in his eyes as he looked at her. “You’ve been very good for the kids.”
No hardship there, she thought. Part of the trick was just remembering how she’d wanted to be treated when she was Emily’s age. With respect, not ordered around as if she didn’t have her own set of brains.
“They’ve been very good for me,” she told him. “Actually, they have a rather calming influence,” she confided.
Jack could only stare at her, unable to comprehend how that was possible. And then he laughed, really laughed. He judged that, combined, his children probably had more energy than was typically generated on an average day at the nuclear power plant. That was not conducive to having a calming influence.
Zooey was one very strange, intriguing young woman. Not to mention sensual.
He banked down the last thought and went to greet his guests. Hoping no one would laugh.
Chapter Twelve
When he finally got to the front door and opened it, Jack wasn’t prepared for what he saw standing there.
Instead of the trick-or-treaters who had been ringing his bell throughout the evening, it was yet another guest. He’d thought that everyone who was coming to the party had already arrived.
He hadn’t counted on Rebecca attending after he’d canceled their date without rescheduling.
And he definitely hadn’t counted on her looking like this.
There was an amused expression on her face, undoubtedly in reaction to the surprised, unsettled one on his. But he could hardly be faulted for that.
At first glance, Rebecca appeared to be wearing a very long, flowing blond wing. And nothing else.
The hair extended down to her knees and was, mercifully, strategically arranged to cover everything that was supposed to be covered. Just barely. The operative word here, he thought, being barely.
His first impulse was to grab one of the coats from the coatrack and throw it over her.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Rebecca’s amusement grew by the moment.
“Um, yes. Sure.” Jack moved back awkwardly, as if all his joints had suddenly been fused together.
Entering, Rebecca moved aside so that he could close the door again. She was very aware of the looks she was garnering. And reveling in it.
“I thought lawyers were never at a loss for words.” And then, since she’d gotten the hoped-for reaction from him, her smile became benevolent. “Relax, Jack. I’ve got a body stocking on. A very thick body stocking,” she emphasized mischievously. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m supposed to be Lady Godiva.” The look in her eyes became positively wicked. “I just seem to have misplaced my horse.”
From out of nowhere, and to his eternal gratitude, Zooey materialized with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. She placed the tray between him and Rebecca, her smile never fading as she greeted the party’s newest guest.
“I’m sure your ‘horse’ will turn up somewhere, Rebecca. Maybe he’s just taking a breather for a moment,” she suggested, never taking her eyes off the other woman. She thrust the tray closer to her. “Crab puff?”
Rebecca glanced down at the tray, but then shook her head. Her hair moved ever so slightly. “Maybe later.”
“They’re going quickly,” Zooey told her, addressing her words to Rebecca’s back as the woman melted into the gathering. “There might not be any left later.” Turning to look at Jack, Zooey asked mildly, “Would you like a tank of oxygen?”
Having collected himself, and relieved that the woman wasn’t actually wearing an X-rated outfit—because there were children to consider, especially his own—Jack shrugged away her question as casually as he could. “I just didn’t think that she was coming.”
Obviously, Zooey thought. She was surprised when he didn’t crane his neck, following Rebecca’s progress. Maybe there really wasn’t anything going on between them. Zooey found that extremely heartening.
She laughed softly at his naive assumption about Rebecca’s attendance. “And miss a chance to mingle with the men in the neighborhood? Don’t know much about women, do you?”
“No,” he admitted, popping a crab puff into his mouth. It was gone in one bite. “I don’t.”
His admission took her by surprise. One of the guests reached over to snare a crab puff and Zooey raised the tray a little to make the transfer easier. “An honest lawyer. Wow, you are unique.”
“And hungry,” Jack told her, taking two more crab puffs. He nodded appreciatively. “These are good.”
The compliment pleased her, though she tried not to show it. She’d baked them from scratch. “If you want something more substantial, there’s the tender-loin,” she reminded him. “It’s on the table in the dining room. I could get you some.”
“That’s okay.” He indicated the last crab puff in his hand. “This’ll hold me for a while.”
“Okay, then, time to push the crab puffs some more,” she quipped.
Jack watched as she made her way through the colorful, milling groups of guests in the family room and beyond. Without missing a beat, Zooey had easily taken on the duties of a hostess for this party. He would have said it was her waitressing training rising to the fore, except that, by her own admission, she’d been a fairly poor waitress.
No, it was something more. Something inherent. Because there she was, effortlessly weaving in and out of the crowd with a tray of food in her hands, stopping to exchange a few words with this neighbor or that, as if she’d been throwing and hostessing parties all of her life.
He heard her laugh at something that Megan Schumacher, Olivia’s aunt, said to her. The sound managed to travel to him above the din of mingled adult voices and squealing children. It seemed to go right through him, burrowing into all the corners of his being.
With effort, he turned his attention elsewhere. Anywhere but where Zooey was.
Carly and Bo were over in a corner. The newlyweds had their heads together, talking, touching, laughing like two teenagers in love. They seemed oblivious to everyone else around them.
Jack popped the last crab puff into his mouth, hardly aware of what he was doing. Aware only that he envied Bo, envied the man what he had to be feeling right now. He had no doubts, judging by Bo’s expression, that his gut was probably tightening and he was finding breathing to be a challenge because his heart was pounding so hard.
Startled, Jack stopped. He had experienced those very same symptoms recently. Not at the door just now when Rebecca made her appearance. Not even when he’d taken the woman out those two times, or on their second date, which had ended with an unambiguous invitation to come inside her house and remain for breakfast. It had nothing at all to do with Rebecca.
He’d felt all those things, and more, when he had kissed Zooey.
He needed, he decided, a drink.
And something to take his mind off Zooey and the way her hips moved as she continued to make her way through the crowd.
Jack went in search of someone to talk to. Preferably someone with a major supply of testosterone.
“This was a wonderful idea, Zooey,” Angela Schumacher enthused as she took the next to last crab puff on the tray Zooey offered. She looked toward her three kids, or rather, looked around for them. Each was with his or her own peer
s, and for once, no one was arguing. Moments like this were close to perfect for her. “The kids are having a great time.”
Zooey had never doubted it for a moment. All she’d really needed to do was provide the refreshments and the games. The kids took it from there. And most were generally well behaved. She was keeping an eye on the ones who tended to disrupt things.
“And the adults?” Zooey prompted, glancing from Angela to her sister. Megan had temporarily left her fiancé, Greg Banning, second in command at Banning Enterprises, talking over the merits of forsaking daylight savings time with one of the other men while she got some punch.
Taking a cup, Megan ladled the fruity drink into it. “We’re holding our own,” she told Zooey. Reaching for a second cup, she nodded toward another couple. Adam Shibbs only had eyes for the very pregnant Molly Jackson, whose side he seldom left. “Molly certainly looks happier these days than she has in a very long time.”
“People in love generally tend to look that way,” Angela commented a bit tersely.
Her tone was not lost on Zooey. “That sounded a little cynical.”
Angela flushed, shifting uncomfortably. She hadn’t meant to call attention to herself. But having been abandoned by her husband brought out something less than charitable within her.
“Did it?” she asked innocently. She decided to have a glass of punch herself, and waited for her sister to be finished. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Old wounds just rising to the surface.”
Zooey looked at her knowlingly. It was no secret what had happened to the woman. He husband had walked out. Once out of the picture, the man became lax with his child support payments, forcing Angela to work extra hours in an effort to make up the difference. Which meant that her time with the children at what amounted to a vulnerable period in their lives had to be cut down. Fortunately, Megan was there to take up the slack, but when you got right down to it, it just wasn’t the same thing.
Angela’s kids wanted Angela. And she knew it.
Mother in Training Page 13
