FLASHBACK Read online

  She made a face. "Okay. I guess. I got an A in the biology test. I would have brought it home but Ryan Bailey stole it and threw it out the window. He got sent to the office—" she rolled her eyes "—again."

  "I bet he has a crush on you."

  She looked at Jack as if he was out of his mind. "Ryan Bailey? Eeoouw!" She made imaginary gagging motions with her finger down her throat.

  They ate for a while in silence.

  "Why would he throw my test out the window if he likes me?" she finally asked.

  Jack shrugged. "It's a guy thing."

  "That is so immature."

  "I know." He thought about Laura, and the way he'd dared her to kiss him. Talk about immature. He was as bad as Ryan Bailey. His stunt had got her attention, though – and scored him one short but pretty sweet kiss. He wondered what he'd have to do to score a few more.

  "How's the old house coming?" His daughter interrupted his ingenious plans.

  "It's going to be a long job, but that house will look fantastic when we're done." He was certain he spoke the truth. He saw the evidence of Laura's talent every time he visited her grandmother. The old woman complained she was nothing but Laura's guinea pig, but Jack knew how much she loved the authentic restoration her granddaughter had accomplished. The Seattle paper had even done a spread about Laura, showcasing some of her restorations in the city, and he'd been blown away by her talent. He knew how much she loved the old McNair House, and was certain it would be the best thing she'd ever done. And he'd make damn sure the parts he was responsible for were just as good.

  "Maybe I could come by one day after school?"

  "Sure. By next week there might be something worth seeing. Laura will have started decorating some of the upstairs rooms. So, you wanna beat the old man at chess after dinner?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry, I have like piles of homework."

  After dinner she headed upstairs to her room and he cleaned up the dishes.

  He remembered he'd put laundry in the dryer the night before, and went to fold it, but it was already neatly stacked on his bed. Guilt hit him anew. His little girl was too serious. Why wasn't she getting sent to the office with Ryan Bailey instead of getting straight A's and folding his laundry?

  Not that he was complaining. He was so proud of Sara it hurt, but somewhere, deep down, he was afraid. Afraid she didn't know how to have fun. Maybe he'd been so scared she'd turn out like her mother that he'd stifled all the fun in her.

  The worst part about single parenting was having no one to talk to about it all. He would have gone to Gran McMurtry – she could always talk some sense into him – but Laura was there, and she seemed to have the opposite effect.

  Laura.

  He didn't want to think about her. He grabbed a pair of clean shorts from the pile on the bed and swiftly changed into running gear. At the door he yelled, "I'm going for a run, honey. Be home soon."

  "Okay, Daddy" came the muffled reply.

  Jack let the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the road, the steady drag of breath in and the huff out, calm him. It was quiet – just the whisper of the ocean, the sound of his feet, his breathing. The night was clear and cold, the stars chips of ice in the distance. He found his rhythm and let his mind float.

  Images of Laura kept intruding. He was confused by her. She was just so damned different than he remembered. Her hair was different – that was the first thing he'd noticed. As a young girl she'd always worn it long, usually in a neat braid. Now it was short and sassy, and anything but neat. In fact, she was sassy. Mouthy even.

  And she'd sure got over that schoolgirl crush she used to have on him. Those big brown eyes that used to worship him now looked at him like he was a damn termite.

  Besides, she had a boyfriend.

  Jack ran harder, sprinting uphill until each breath was painful and his shirt was sweat-plastered to his chest and back.

  When he got tangled up with Cory, he'd ended up losing more than just a football scholarship. He'd lost his best friend. And that was what he missed most, he realized, as he accepted how much Laura's rejection of his very presence hurt.

  He could use a friend.

  *

  Next morning, Laura didn't even glance at the dusty green truck parked in front of the house, or pause inside the door. Instead, a box of supplies in her arms, she bounded straight up the stairs and into the master bedroom. At least she planned to. As it was, she stopped dead at the bedroom doorway.

  In the middle of the room, a shapely, if dusty, jean-clad butt seemed to grow from the floor like a mushroom. The top part of Jack Thomas was down a hole in her bedroom floor, while the bottom part…

  Her heart started thudding double time. Her breath caught. Whatever he was doing down there was making his back end move and strain against the worn denim. She watched the long muscle of his flank tighten and relax as he worked, watched the shifting of his hips. She felt an insane desire to squeeze her hands into the back pockets of those old jeans. The pockets would be warm from his body heat. They'd cup her hands tight against him.

  Forcing her gaze higher didn't help. His plaid shirt was getting dragged out of his waistband, and a triangle of tawny flesh appeared just above his right hip. She watched, mesmerized, as it grew larger. Then a wave of irritation at her own foolishness struck her.

  "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, dropping the box with a thud.

  It was followed almost immediately by another thud and a cry of pain. The top half of Jack Thomas emerged from the hole, his hand massaging the back of his head. He winced. "And good morning to you, too."

  Laura crossed her hands under her breasts and looked down at him. "What are you doing in here?"

  He grimaced as he continued rubbing the back of his head. He stood and turned his back to her. "Do you see any blood?"

  "I will in a minute," she said through gritted teeth. "Rivers of it, if you don't answer me."

  He turned back. "Dry rot," he said briefly. "Not too bad, though. I'm checking all the floors up here."

  "Wonderful. So I'm going to have sawdust floating all over the place while I'm painting? That's a new paint effect I've never tried."

  He looked a little sheepish. "I thought I'd finished all the carpentry on this floor, but I found a patch on the ceiling downstairs. I could see from below that the flooring up here was affected, too." He paused. "Sorry. I'll do it as quickly as I can."

  It was a reasonable explanation. She should be reasonable about accepting it. In Seattle, where she had a comfortable relationship with lots of other tradespeople, she would have been more than understanding. But this was Jack and she couldn't even be in the same room with him without feeling claustrophobic. Why couldn't he just stay out of her way?

  She glared at the gaping opening in the floor. She glared at him. "I'm upstairs, you're downstairs. Remember? This is my room. While I'm working here you can work anywhere but. Is that clear?"

  "You mean I have to keep track of your movements just to do my job? That's ridiculous." He planted his feet wide and glared right back at her.

  She hated how aware of him she was. How his presence seemed to shrink the room. She wished he'd tuck his damned shirt back in.

  "I tell you what," she said. "I'll make it easy for you." She dug into the box at her feet and grabbed a roll of bright blue low-tack tape. She waved it under Jack's nose.

  "See this? It's very hard to miss. Wherever I'm working I'll put tape across the doorway, like this." She backed up to the doorway and peeled off a long strip of blue tape. She stretched up to attach one end to one corner, and crouched to attach the other end to the opposite bottom corner. She repeated the procedure until a large blue X crossed the doorway.

  "See? X marks the spot." She spoke slowly and clearly, as though he were learning impaired. "Where you see a blue X, you don't go, Jack, understand?"

  He brushed past her on his way out. "I understand all right." She expected him to blast through the tape like
a race car hitting the finish line, but he stopped just before reaching it.

  He turned back toward her and she caught a gleam in his eye. His angry voice was suddenly suspiciously cheerful. "And I think it's a great idea. I'll use yellow tape to mark off my construction areas." He smiled like one of those cartoon snakes talking to a plump and not very bright mouse.

  Laura gaped. She couldn't believe he was backing down. And she knew that smile. Her own eyes narrowed.

  She watched him step carefully through the doorway, bending and twisting so as not to disturb the tape. From the other side of the X he grinned back at her, the snake about to strike. "Don't fall down any holes, now."

  Too late she realized the mess he'd left her in. "Oh, no, you don't, you get back here and fix this hole… Jack!" She yelled down the hall, but the only answer was the retreating thump of his boots.

  She stomped back to the hole, bent and put her own head into the blackness. "Well, if that's the way you want to play it, fine!" she yelled. Her voice echoed in the stuffy darkness along with Jack's mocking laughter. She picked up her roll of blue tape and climbed back out the doorway, then went round to each doorway on the upper level and taped a big blue X on each one. Just for good measure, she taped a blue X at the top of the stairs.

  Satisfied, she returned to the master bedroom, placed boxes around the hole and hoped to heaven she didn't trip over one of them and fall into Jack's excavation.

  Safe for the moment from the marauding carpenter, she got to work. Jack could just wait until she was done and all the paint dry before he finished the floor.

  She didn't emerge from the bedroom until hunger pangs urged her to climb through the blue X and seek some lunch.

  Halfway down the main stairway, she stopped. At the foot of the stairwell was a floor-to-ceiling X in bright yellow tape with the words Caution, construction site printed over and over in black.

  "Ooh." She spluttered in outrage, preparing to pull down the tape, when she found herself chest-to-chest with Jack.

  "Don't touch that tape," he ordered. "This is a construction zone." He patted the hard hat he was now wearing, making his head resound like a snare drum.

  She narrowed her eyes. From the bottom step she was eye-to-eye with him. "And just how do you suggest I get in and out of this house?"

  He shrugged. "This was your idea."

  His lips, she noted in fury, were clamped tight to keep him from laughing in her face. His eyes were so bright with suppressed amusement they were almost crying. He thought he'd won, did he? Well, she would show him she wasn't to be beaten so easily. If she had to fashion a Tarzan swing from old drop sheets just to get in and out of the place, she would.

  "Fine," she snapped. Swinging round, she stomped back up the stairs, thinking furiously. There was a tree that grew under the bedroom window…

  She hung out the window as far as she could, but the cherry tree that grew outside was too far away. She'd break her neck for sure if she tried to climb down. Well, she'd show Jack she could still outsmart him.

  Adrenaline, and something that felt curiously like fun, coursed through her body as she sped through all of the other bedrooms, looking for a way out. None suggested itself, but she was determined not to give in.

  Maybe she should shout "Fire!" and let the fire truck lift her down.

  She snapped her fingers. Of course, the fire escape. She ran back to the master bedroom and through the door to the adjoining dressing room. Attached to the dressing room window frame was a rope ladder that sagged in a dusty heap on the floor. She'd noted that the old rope ladder was the only fire escape on the second floor – something that would have to be changed before the house opened to the public.

  Gritting her teeth, Laura tossed the ladder out the window and, clinging to the window frame, climbed through. The rope was ancient, but thick, and seemed sturdy enough. Mentally crossing her fingers, she crouched and grabbed the sides of the ladder.

  She felt like a kid again.

  The spiky feel of sisal under her palms was itchingly familiar, prickling and burning as she hung on for dear life. Her feet flailed in space before she found a solid rung and planted them on it. She remembered not to look down, concentrating instead on feeling for each step, testing her weight on it before letting go of the one above.

  She was feeling awfully smug by the time she was halfway down, and paused to admire the view of Laroche harbor and her own cleverness. That's when the rung beneath her broke.

  "Oh … my … gawd," she screamed, dangling helplessly. She forgot about not looking down, and nearly fainted when she glanced below, way down at the hard ground a good ten feet below her swinging feet.

  Sweat prickled the hands that were clamped on the ropes. Her arms burned. She knew she'd have to loosen her death grip on the ladder in order to move, but she was terrified. She opened her mouth to scream for Jack, then damped it shut.

  With a mumbled prayer and tightly shut eyes she slowly loosened her grip and slid down, faster than she'd planned, burning her palms, until she bumped into the next rung.

  It broke. She let out another shriek, certain she was about to end up a heap of broken bones.

  But the third rung held, and she didn't waste any more time on the view, but scrambled down with her heart jammed in her throat.

  The rope ladder ended while her feet were still three feet short of the lawn. Trying to keep her knees relaxed, just the way Jack had taught her all those years ago, Laura swung out, closed her eyes and dropped into space.

  Two warm and solid hands grabbed her as she hit the ground, steadying her on her feet

  She spun round and stared up into Jack's face. There were worry creases on his forehead, but the crinkles around his eyes were deep with amusement, and she read admiration in the blue eyes. For a second he was the old Jack, her childhood hero, and she was proud she had outwitted him.

  His strong hands spread warmth into her upper arms where they touched her. He had caught her before she hurt herself, just as he used to. She started to smile back, lost in the blue of those laughing eyes and the old camaraderie. The scent of spring was in the air, along with the tangy hint of ocean and the nearer scent of Jack. She felt an urge to lean into the strong chest and wrap her arms around him. Reach up and plant her lips on his neck.

  Then reality struck. She pulled away, but he grabbed her hands and turned them over, to run callused fingertips across the burning flesh of her palms. "Better put some cream on these," he said.

  She started to pull her hands back, and at the same moment noticed they weren't alone.

  The Save the McNair Committee chairwoman's puzzled face appeared at Jack's shoulder. "Is there something wrong with the door, dear?" Mrs. Walters asked Laura.

  "Yes, Laura," Jack echoed innocently, his eyes wickedly taunting her. "Tell us why you came down the fire escape."

  Her eyes murdered him, before she turned her own innocent face to the older woman. "I just wanted to make sure, in case there was an emergency – for instance, if a deranged lunatic suddenly appeared downstairs – that I'd have another way out of the house."

  "Well, that's very sensible, dear, although I'm sure Jack here could deal with any deranged lunatic callers. If we had any, which, of course, we don't. The nearest asylum is some distance, I believe."

  Mrs. Walters looked from Jack to Laura and back again. "Anyway, I just came by to tell you that we're having a special meeting of the committee next Wednesday night and we'd like both of you to come and give a short progress report."

  "Of course," Laura said.

  "We'd be happy to," Jack agreed.

  The chairwoman kept smiling at them, and only then did Laura realize Jack still held her hands. She jerked them away.

  "Perhaps we'll find out who the mystery philanthropist is," Mrs. Walters said.

  "Mystery philanthropist?"

  "Didn't Jack tell you?"

  "No." He hadn't thought she'd be interested in the little fact that they'd be working together. She
wasn't a bit surprised he hadn't discussed the project's financing with her.

  "The house would have been bulldozed by now, in spite of all our efforts to preserve it, if it hadn't been for a secret benefactor."

  Laura had to hold back her smile; the woman was clearly agog with the excitement of her small mystery. "Really?" she said, seeing something was required.

  "Oh, yes. Well, you know what the costs are like, restoring a home like this. We tried bingos and bazaars, bake sales and—" she shook her head disapprovingly "—even a casino night, but we couldn't raise the kind of money we needed. Not in time to save the house." She shook her head sadly and her tight gray curls wobbled. "I tell you, dear, those were dark days for the committee. Then, out of the blue, the mayor came to one of our meetings and announced the McNair home had a benefactor, who wished to remain anonymous. This mysterious person is putting up half the money for the restoration.

  "Of course, we're all dying to know who it can be, but it's very hush-hush. Even your grandmother doesn't know, and she always knows who's doing what in this town before they've made up their mind to do it."

  Laura tipped her face to the spring sunshine. Neighborly gossip, the smell of the sea and the McNair House were all as much a part of her heritage as her brown hair and eyes. It felt good to be back.

  "Well, I must be going. See you both next week." Mrs. Walters walked briskly away.

  Laura glanced at Jack and found him grinning down at her in a way that made more than her palms tingle.

  "How 'bout a truce?" he said.

  "Why?"

  "’Cause if you break your neck climbing back in that window, you'll slow the project. I'm on a tight schedule."

  She grinned back at him. "Chicken. It's only because you have a child to support that I'm going easy on you. Remember that, Jack."

  *

  Jack's alarm jerked him out of sleep. He stared blearily at the clock and groaned, before dragging himself out of bed to shut it off. It was 5:00 a.m. and he must be certifiable.