by Alison Kent
And why did he think he couldn’t be her friend... when he already was?
JOHN AND ANNETTE PHILIPS, proprietors of The Emporium, offered the use of their second floor for Arbor Glen’s monthly town meeting. John took pride in the organization of his half of the combination hardware/dry goods/arts-and-crafts store, where many of the local artists shopped for supplies.
Annette’s half was as whimsical as John’s was precise. Dried herbs and flowers hung suspended from the low ceiling among floating streamers of corn-husk ribbons and lace. The aroma of orange and spice wafted through the air to mingle with lavender and rose.
Glad to find the store deserted, Eden covetously eyeballed a grapevine wreath draped in netting of primary colors, yellow, red, green and blue ribbons hanging from a building block locomotive.
Had Annette been anywhere around, she’d no doubt insist that the wreath was perfect for Eden’s nursery. Eden agreed. Her checkbook didn’t. She couldn’t spend another frivolous penny until she’d tallied the sales from the Spring Fest.
The buzz of conversation reached her ears as she slowly climbed the stairs. Making her way into the room, she chose a folding chair in the back row, turned it sideways and propped her feet in the one beside it. The huge ceiling fan overhead stirred the hair around her face.
She’d barely tucked the strands behind her ear and crossed her ankles in the chair seat before Molly came alongside. The way she clucked her tongue made Eden feel like a tiny yellow, henpecked chick.
Well, not so tiny.
“You’re not resting, are you, girl?”
“As a matter of fact, I slept past closing this afternoon.” She narrowed one eye in accusation, loving the way Molly always rose to the bait. “And if you’d come back from where you disappeared to instead of leaving Jace in charge of the store, you’d know that.”
“My, my. Aren’t we in a tiff?”
“No. Not a tiff.” Eden sighed. “I just had a disagreement with Jace.”
“A fight?” Molly’s arched brow indicated matchmaking interest. “I didn’t know you two were close enough to have anything to fight about.”
“It wasn’t a fight It was a difference of opinion.” Eden crossed her arms and propped them on her stomach. “And we’re not close at all. We’re strictly business associates.”
“I’m sure you’re right” Molly’s expression was the picture of innocence. “Why else would he swear me to secrecy and nearly break his neck to put up that new door chime as a surprise?”
Eden couldn’t resist. “And what door chime would that be?”
“The one you heard when you opened the door this evening.”
“Molly Hansen, have you been spying?”
“Of course I have,” the older woman admitted without a hint of shame. “I left early so Jace could finish up while you were asleep. Then I kept an eye out from the bakery window. But that lace curtain of yours got in the way and I couldn’t see a thing.”
“Serves you right.” Eden didn’t want anyone to see her tears. Even Molly. Besides, Molly’s earlier comment deserved further exploration. “He nearly broke his neck, huh?”
“Took a backward step and was inches from coming off that ladder of his.” Molly tapped a finger against her chin. “It happened right after I mentioned what a good thing it was that you and he had become such fast friends.”
“That would explain his suicide attempt,” Eden grumbled under her breath.
“What’s that?”
“Just remarking on the nature of the beast.” Eden propped her left foot on her right thigh and rubbed her swollen ankle.
“What beast? Oh, Jace?” Molly tittered, pressed her fingers to her mouth, tittered again. Then she laid a hand on Eden’s arm and whispered, “I promise not to tell a soul.”
“Tell a soul what?” Eden took in the older woman’s exaggerated wink. “You mean Jace? And me? You’ve got it all wrong—”
“Yes, dear. I’m sure I do.” Another wink. “Now, that beastly Tucker of mine needs me up front. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll wake you after two hours. Nothing less. You will rest.”
Tucker stomped his boot three times in lieu of a gavel and took his position at the end of a picnic table behind the First Baptist Church’s old classroom podium. He could barely see over the top. “We need to get started, folks. Molly’s got another dozen batches of cookies to bake tonight, and I don’t want to be up late sampling them all.”
A chorus of good-natured chuckles erupted from the three dozen or so residents as Molly took her seat at Tucker’s side. Folding chair legs scraped over the floor, echoing in the huge room. The murmur of voices dulled to a low din. The five permanent council members settled down on the benches.
“John Philips will be talking first.” Tucker stepped back and motioned for John to approach the lectern. The talk centered on plans for the Spring Fest. Eden listened with only one ear. Instead, she mentally reviewed the figures she’d been working on when she fell asleep that afternoon.
It was time to start thinking about her fall line, as well as what she wanted to stock for Christmas. Getting an advanced preview of a season’s styles had been a favorite part of the work she’d done at Elite Woman magazine. The perk of traveling to designer showings and fashion events was one she would miss—already missed if she was going to be completely honest.
But she had noticed that her thoughts of late turned less to the past and more to the future. The changes she was making to the shop were a part of that, she knew. Any progress forward tended to make it an unproductive waste of time to focus on a former way of life.
And she hadn’t left the business altogether. She’d just brought a piece of New York and the world to Arbor Glen. Just as Jace had brought his talent and eye for design of another sort.
Now, why in the middle of thinking of her future had she thought of Jace? A frisson of awareness shifted through her and she turned. Hands crossed over his chest, Jace lounged against the doorjamb at the top of the stairs. On some peripheral level, Eden had heard Tucker Hansen pose a question that Jace was answering.
Of course. That’s why she’d thought of him. It was a natural extension of hearing him speak. What wasn’t natural were the feelings sifting through her, the connection they shared that had her surfacing from her subconscious at the sound of his voice.
And then he slid his gaze her way and winked. In the middle of discussing the running of electrical power for the Spring Fest, he slid his gaze her way and winked. Eden flounced back around, facing forward and the dozens of curious glances aimed her way.
Damn the beast. He’d declared their relationship strictly business, then flirted with her there in front of half the town and the First Baptist Church’s old classroom podium. He didn’t want to be friends, yet he was acting like a suitor.
How in the world was she supposed to keep this relationship strictly business when Jace refused to practice what he preached?
AT THE END OF THE SHORT walk home from the meeting, Eden found Jace in her kitchen slicing tomatoes while bacon sizzled in a cast-iron skillet. The salty smell of frying pork and the aroma of Molly’s toasted home-baked bread set Eden’s stomach to growling.
Her gaze swept across the set of Jace’s shoulders, then roamed with interest down the tapering line of his back to the firm buttocks and muscled legs that filled his blue jeans with purpose.
Blowing out a long breath of appreciation—for both the smell of the food and the physical perfection of the man—she leaned back against the door frame. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged but didn’t turn, too busy with the knife to look up. “You went to the meeting without eating. You’ve got to be hungry.”
She had. She was. But that he’d noticed and intervened was interesting. Crossing the room, she snatched a strip of crisp bacon from the paper towel on the counter, snapped it in half and popped it in her mouth. “Thanks.”
Jace grunted noncommittally, grabbed hot bread from the toaster and dropped the
slices on a plate.
Eden waved the other half of the bacon back and forth like a windshield wiper. “Oh, and thanks for giving half the town at least a week’s worth of grist for the gossip mill.”
“Only a week? I must be losing my touch.” He flipped the bacon and crossed the room to the refrigerator.
Eden leaned back against the counter. The sharp edge of the kitchen counter bit into her back. Tired and confused, she wasn’t going to let him blow this off again. “I wouldn’t know about whether or not you’re losing your touch. Which is probably best, since that’s rather personal and we’re not really friends.”
A jar of mayonnaise hit the table with a thud. A bottle of beer followed. Slowly, Jace turned, looking at her over the refrigerator’s open door. “Do you really think you want to be friends with me, Eden?”
Eden wanted that at the very least. “Yes. I do.”
Shaking his head, Jace crossed the room and tossed a head of lettuce into the sink. He ripped off one leaf after another. Cold drops of water pelted Eden’s bare arm. Others popped and sizzled as they landed in the hot skillet.
She bit her tongue and waited.
He slapped the rest of the bacon onto the paper towels, shoved the skillet back off the fire and slung the spatula down hard enough that bacon grease splattered the stovetop in big oily circles. This time, when he turned, nothing about the look in his eyes was playful.
“You’re asking for trouble.”
“I don’t think so.”
He took a step closer, scant inches of warm body heat between them, hands braced on lean and sexy hips. “I do.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“We’re doing fine with a relationship that’s business, Eden. Let’s just keep things the way they are.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor, only to have it wind up on her belly—a belly that except for the width of a breath was touching his. “Your actions speak a lot louder than your words, Jace. Everything you do proves that we’ve already taken our relationship beyond professional bounds.”
He blew out a low, exasperated breath. “You’re making more of what I do than you should.”
“No. I’m not.” She raised her chin, putting her eyes level with the hollow of his throat. She swallowed. Hard. “I could use a friend right now. And I don’t believe a word of what you say about not being a good friend to have.”
She waited for his decision, her eyes flicking from his back to the hollow of his throat. The pulse there beat visibly. His chest rose and fell, his hands clenched and released.
Finally, he pulled a chair from beneath the table. Leaning both hands on the top rung, he stared down at the seat and exhaled.
Chapter Ten
“I CAN’T GIVE YOU WHAT you need, Eden.” Jace shoved the chair up under the table and grabbed the bottle of beer. He took one long swallow, then added, “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
Eden’s fingers itched to brush the hair back from his forehead, to tunnel through the shaggy waves in back, to jerk his head up and make him look her in the eye. “I want you to explain to me the dynamics of our relationship. I want to be sure 1 don’t cross any of the lines you’ve drawn in the sand.”
He made his way to the other side of the room and switched off the gas burners. His expression was equal parts weariness and resignation, his eyes a pale blue, lightly smiling when he met her gaze.
“I guess you won’t buy the line about us being business associates.”
She blew out a gust of breath. “Sure. Why not? Business associates works for me.” He wasn’t the only one who was tired. And she had better things on which to expend her energies than this aggravating hardheaded man.
“You know, the more I think about it, Jace, the more I realize that you’re right.”
“About what?”
“To stick to your guns about being only my carpenter, since it’s too tough for you to be my friend.”
Jace rubbed his hands over his face, then moved them to his hips and gave in with a quirk of his mouth and a shake of his head. “Okay. We’re friends. Are you happy now?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter.” That was a lie, of course, because it did matter, but she knew he was right in staving off even the casual involvement she was pressing for.
He was the one who was the enigma, the mysterious J. B. Morgan who refused his name, his talent, his past. And here she was pushing, wanting to make of him what he wasn’t when she should’ve been grateful for his honesty.
Hadn’t she learned anything from Nate?
She stared at the grouping of antique cookie cutters on the wall behind the table and waited for him to leave. From the corner of her eye she watched him head for the back door, but once there he hooked his fingers in the frame overhead. And instead of leaving, he stared out the square-paned window into the night.
He rubbed one hand over his neck, massaging the muscles bunched there, then turned back to the room. Eden found her gaze drifting down his body dressed all in black, a piratical silhouette against the glossy white paint.
Feelings she’d sworn not to entertain flitted through parts of her body she’d sworn to ignore. A dull ache pooled deep, heated the skin between her legs with a warmth, a pulsing warmth that was purely sexual and had nothing to do with the pressure brought by carrying twins.
Oh, Lord, she was lost; she was insane, wanting a man who she shouldn’t be wanting, a man who was doing his gentle best to let her down. She walked to the table, pulled out a chair and eased down because it was all she could do.
The room echoed still and quiet, and Eden glanced up when Jace moved. He stopped at the stove, picked up a piece of bacon, snapped it in half and crumbled it in his hand.
Wiping his greasy palm on his jeans, he leaned back against the counter. “You remember the friend with the wife who liked hats?” he asked, talking down to his feet.
“The hat rack. Sure.” Interesting opening statement. “Terri, right?”
“Right. Well, Terri is Kevin’s wife.”
“And you and Kevin were friends.”
“Yeah. Past tense.” He bit off a laugh. “That’s probably how Kevin feels, anyway.”
Jace returned to the back door. This time he opened it. A soft spring breeze drifted through the screen, bringing a hint of honeysuckle and mimosa inside. The room hummed with expectancy and Eden found herself holding her breath.
“I’ve known Kevin since junior high,” Jace said. “We went to different schools before that but hooked up the minute we hit sixth grade. Robert and Jimmy Marvin moved into the district during the middle of seventh grade.
“The four of us went through the next six years like one brain, one body with eight legs. One got sick, we all got sick. One decided to play soccer instead of football, we all played soccer instead of football. Marv found his older brother’s stash of girlie mags and developed an interest in women, so we all... well, you get the picture.”
Jace pushed on the screen door frame, testing the strength of the flimsy hook latch Eden had screwed in herself. “Thing is, it didn’t stop there.”
“College?” Eden asked, saying as little as possible and hoping what she chose to say would be just leading enough to encourage Jace to reveal more.
He nodded, shrugged, a slow roll easing tense muscles, then let his shoulders droop. “Texas A & M. Thing is, as close as we were, we’d all been each other’s worst nightmare when it came to competition. And once we got to college, the race took on a whole new meaning. We joked around about it, making bets, small ones at first, but then the rivalry grew fangs.”
His expression grew closed and solemn. “It wasn’t fun anymore.”
It was so hard not to press when she wanted to do just that. But if she didn’t let Jace tell this his way, he might not tell it at all. “What happened?”
He rolled his eyes, expelled a snort of breath. “We shot to the tops of our individual fields, earned a hell of a lot of money and achieved a professional regar
d unheard of for anyone our age.”
“And this was a bad thing?”
“Not at first,” he said, shaking his head. “But it got to the point that nothing else mattered but beating the pants off each other. And even lifelong friendships can’t stand that sort of battering for long.”
“No, but friendships do change over the years.” Even she hadn’t kept in contact with the friends she’d left behind in New York, and she’d only been gone four months. “Careers and family can take you in different directions. You drift apart, lose touch.”
“And that’s okay, as long as you keep them on your Christmas card list, right?”
The rapid tic in his jaw made Eden catch her breath. This was about way more than Christmas cards. “Well... I suppose that’s not the ideal solution. But it does happen.”
Jace crossed the room and pulled out a chair from beneath the table, turning it so that when he sat his knees bracketed hers. “It shouldn’t happen. Not when the friends in question have been a major, a daily part of your life for fifteen years.”
He picked a piece of lint from the knee of her navy leggings. “Here’s the thing, Eden. I don’t even have an address for Robert or Marv. Kevin’s in Colorado. Aurora, I think. And these are the friends who quit the team when I got cut from soccer in eighth grade, who skipped the prom, picked up pizza and hung out at my house because I’d broken my hip two weeks before.
“These guys have always been there for me. They came to the Farriday dedication to celebrate my success. But I wasn’t there for any of them. Not when Robert made partner in his law firm. Not when Kevin and Terri got married. Not even when Marv suffered a heart attack.” Jace leaned his elbows on his thighs and buried his face in his hands. “A heart attack, for crying out loud, in his thirties.”
“And you feel guilty about that, don’t you? Not that you weren’t there,” she went on to explain when he looked up and she sensed he was ready to interrupt. “But that he had the heart attack in the first place? That a friendly rivalry was the cause?”
