FLASHBACK Page 5

  "You remember Laura Kinkaide, don't you?" Jack said, gesturing to her.

  "Laura? You mean from high school? Wow, you turned out gorgeous."

  She grimaced. "Only when I've got paint in my hair." She found herself enveloped in a bear hug. "Hi, Chip," she gasped weakly, when she could breathe once more.

  "Great to see you again. Oh, this is great. I came by to ask Jack to a barbecue. First of the season – at my little summer place, on Saturday. Now you can both come."

  "Oh, no, I, uh … can't," Laura sputtered. The last thing she wanted was a high-school reunion.

  "Don't tell me you got a hot date, because all the decent guys are coming to my place. Honest. It'll be like old times."

  Exactly what she was afraid of. "But I can't leave Gran—"

  "No problem, bring her. Jack can pick you up so you don't have to worry about finding my place." His round eyes twinkled with excitement. "Oh, this is going to be great!" he repeated.

  He was rolling back toward the stairs, beaming.

  "But, Chip," Laura began, trying again.

  "Yeah, Chip. We've got a little job for you before you run off. A bed to move. In here."

  While the men heaved and grunted, wrestling the bed away from the wall, Laura tried to work out a graceful way to refuse Chip's invitation.

  She had a feeling he was going to shove all her objections aside, and decided the best course of action was the most cowardly: a brief but violent illness she'd just scheduled for the weekend.

  "So, we'll see you both Saturday, then?" Chip puffed, mopping his wet forehead with the back of his hand.

  "You bet," Jack said.

  "I'm looking forward to it," Laura lied.

  She caught Jack's look of surprise and smiled her most innocent smile.

  *

  The house felt very empty all afternoon without the buzz of the saw, the sounds of activity, Jack's occasional whistling. Vivaldi gave way to Chopin and then silence. Laura began to hate the sight of cabbage roses as the afternoon wore on. Her neck was getting worse, but there was no way she was giving up until she had every last rose banged into the wall.

  She'd paused to rub her neck when she suddenly had the eerie sensation that she was being watched. Feeling a bit goose bumpy, Laura tried to remember if there were any ghosts associated with the McNair House. She was scoffing at her own silliness, refusing to turn around and scan an empty room, when she heard footsteps approaching.

  Laura turned quickly, and there was Cory Sutherland standing in the room, looking even younger and prettier than she remembered. Laura had aged twelve years since she'd last seen Cory. No way could the other woman have gotten younger, even working in TV. Laura did what any sensible woman would when confronted with a horrible apparition.

  She screamed.

  The apparition jumped about a mile and scuttled back against the wall. For a moment the two stared at each other, mirroring terror. Laura climbed down the ladder on trembling legs.

  "C-Cory?" Laura's voice came out thin and ragged.

  "I … I was looking for my dad." The young girl's voice wavered.

  "I thought he was d-dead." God, yes, Mr. Sutherland had died before Cory ever came to Laroche. Maybe she'd come back to haunt Laura. But didn't you have to be dead to haunt someone? Maybe Cory was dead, and had taken a wrong turn to the great beyond, looking for her father. The stencil brush was so wet with sweat it slipped out of Laura's shaking hand and landed with a plop on the fir floor.

  "Dead!" the voice shrieked in disbelief. "But I saw him here this morning … downstairs, through the window."

  Oh, God. Laura had to get out of this spook house and fast. "Mr. Sutherland was downstairs? This morning?" She flattened herself against the wall just to stay upright.

  "No, my Dad!" The ghost was near hysteria. "Jack Thomas."

  Not even the wall could hold Laura up anymore. She sank to her haunches as the world righted itself once again, and she realized it was Cory's daughter staring at her like she was a lunatic, not Cory herself.

  "Oh, my God, I'm sorry. Jack's fine, he just went to do an estimate on another place. I just … uh, hang on a minute, I have to stick my head between my knees." Laura gulped air until the wood grain of the floor stopped acting like a kaleidoscope and the roaring in her head slowed to a mild rumble. She raised her head cautiously. The girl was still there, looking equally cautious.

  "You must be Sara," Laura said finally.

  "Yeah!" The girl used the same tone as if she'd said "Duh!"

  "You look a lot like your mother. I got confused."

  The girl across the room was getting some color back in her cheeks. "You thought I was my mother? But why would my mother be looking for her father? He's dead."

  "I know."

  "Did you think I came here looking for a ghost?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh." The girl snickered. She tried to squelch it and it turned into a snort. Which made her giggle.

  "If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were a ghost, too." Laura's own voice was wavering. There was a sound like the air being let out of a balloon. Laura wasn't sure which one of them made it, but it started them off and it was a long time before they could stop laughing.

  "By the way, I'm Laura Kinkaide." The statement for some reason turned out to be the punch line of the joke, and they started laughing all over again.

  Laura's sides were aching and her cheeks wet with tears when she finally slumped against the wall, spent. "You look a lot like your mother."

  "Dad thinks she's pretty," the girl said wistfully, and then her cheeks flamed. "Oh, I didn't mean…" She had a sweetness to her that Cory never had. And when Laura looked into her stricken eyes, they weren't Cory's eyes at all, but Jack's. If she'd thought about it, she would have dreaded meeting this child – the living evidence of Jack's betrayal. But this wasn't some abstract baby, staring at her with Jack's eyes, it was a shy and vulnerable young girl.

  "She is pretty. But you're prettier."

  Sara looked shocked, wanting to believe and not daring. That incredible insecurity struck a chord in Laura. She remembered feeling just like that. So sure she was gawky and unattractive that she treated praise like charity.

  "Is it all right if I hang around till my dad gets back?"

  Laura felt the child's loneliness as an echo of her own. "Anybody who hangs around here gets a job. I could sure use some help with this stenciling. And besides, you owe me for scaring the life out of me."

  "But I don't know how—"

  "If you can hold a pencil, know how to climb a ladder and can see, you have all the skills required."

  The girl stepped forward hesitantly, tucking the long blond hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture. "But you're, like, famous. My dad showed me a newspaper article with pictures of you and some of the old houses you fixed up. I couldn't…"

  They'd done that feature more than a year ago. Laura had had no idea Jack had even seen it, and here he'd kept it all this time, even shown his daughter. A rush of pleasure mixed with pride skittered in her stomach. Her smile was even brighter as she assured Sara, "Sure, you can. There's nothing to it. And if you make a mistake, you paint over it. Big deal."

  "Okay. That'd be awesome."

  Laura eyed the girl's ragged jeans and oversize shirt apprehensively. "I have an extra smock if you need one…"

  Sara was looking at her like she was crazy again. "These are my old ripped jeans."

  "Well, I thought maybe some designer ripped them and they cost hundreds of dollars."

  Sara looked Laura up and down, taking in the paint-stained T-shirt and overalls. It was pretty clear what she thought of Laura's fashion sense.

  "Okay, here's how to find the register so you match the stencil exactly."

  The blond head was bent, concentrating on every word, as Laura showed her what to do, and in minutes they were working together, Sara on the ladder and Laura perched on a stool she'd dragged up from downstairs.

  Jack's daught
er was shy at first, hesitant to make a mistake, and so Laura's conversational lures sank like rocks. But once Sara got the hang of it, she seemed to lose her shyness, and soon they were chatting like old friends.

  "What subject do you like best?" Laura asked.

  "I don't know. Science, I guess … except, last week, this boy threw my test out the window."

  "He probably likes you."

  "That's what Dad said. But I don't get why a guy would throw your test out the window if he likes you."

  "Honey, if you ever figure out how a man's mind works, let me know."

  *

  "So I'm cruising down the highway with the top down, you know, gettin' the old 'vette ready for summer—" Chip mimed his actions, chubby hands moving up and down with the imaginary steering wheel "—and this megababe drives by and gives me the look. She turned her head and watched me drive past – I mean, she had love in her eye."

  "Another Corvette fan?" Jack asked. The town's only pub was filling up. He kept lifting his frosty beer mug in salute to some acquaintance or other. He wished for a moment they were in some hole-in-the-wall bar in New York, where nine million people didn't know him.

  "Ouch, what's got into you?" Chip asked. He leaned forward to answer his own question. "Woman trouble."

  "I stay away from women. It keeps me out of trouble."

  "Oh, ho. Sounds to me like the oil needs changing there, buddy. A tune-up and some body work also required." Chip winked broadly. "Tell you what, next time you get to Seattle, I know some nice ladies you could call. I mean nice."

  Jack couldn't think of anything worse. "Thanks, Chip, but my oil's fine. If you know what I mean." He winked back. He hadn't "had his oil changed" since Laroche's only pharmacy had switched hands. Sonja, the divorced pharmacist, who liked things as discreet and uncomplicated as Jack did, had moved away soon after the new owners took over. That was almost two years ago, but Chip didn't need to know that.

  Jack took a long, cool chink of beer.

  "So how are things with Laura?"

  "Fine." He said it in a tone meant to ward off further inquiry.

  "I remember she used to have a real crush on you," Chip reminisced. He was never one to catch a subtle hit.

  "I think she got over it." And how.

  Chip leaned forward. "You blow a little on an old flame, it might get real hot. You don't know until you blow."

  "I don't think so. Anyway, she's G.U."

  Chip snorted at their old code. "Geographically unsuitable is when she goes back to Seattle. In the meantime she's right under the same roof. It doesn't get any better."

  Except that after the job, she'd go back to Seattle and Jack would still be here, stuck permanently in Laroche by the Sea.

  Chip put on a knowing air. "She's a painter. Check out her technique with edible body paint."

  Jack choked and spluttered. "What?"

  "Oh, it's great! Comes in different flavors and colors … banana yellow is a personal favorite." He leered. "With Laura and you working together all alone in that big house, interior decorating takes on a whole new meaning."

  Jack was ready to stick something, like his fist, in Chip's grinning face. "We work together. That's all."

  Something of his thoughts must have come through in his tone, for Chip backed away. "No offense, buddy. It was just a joke. And if I was spending eight hours a day in a deserted house with Laura I'd—"

  "Well, you're not," Jack snapped. "I gotta go."

  "See you Saturday!" Chip called after him, unfazed, as Jack shouldered his way to the door.

  After the noise and warmth of the pub, the street outside seemed quiet and cold. Jack started to head home, then changed his mind and walked back up to the McNair House. The lights were still on upstairs. He checked his watch: 5:15.

  Even though their contracts were separate, he didn't want Laura to think he was a slouch. He let himself into the house, and was surprised to hear female voices upstairs. Curious, he mounted the stairs swiftly. As he moved down the hall to the bedroom, he distinguished Laura's voice and was sure the second voice belonged to Sara.

  Except she sounded so lively. He slowed his steps and approached the doorway silently.

  They were both in there, chattering like old friends. Sara had a pencil and ruler and was measuring a few feet ahead of Laura and her stencil brush. They weren't talking about anything much. It sounded like Sara was telling Laura a story about something that had happened at school. But it was a Sara he wasn't used to. It was a relaxed, giggling girl. And Laura, who had every reason to hate the sight of Sara, was listening with interest, her full lips quirked in a smile.

  As Jack watched them from the doorway, unobserved, he felt a weird shifting somewhere in his chest. He tried to slip away as quietly as he'd come, but perhaps he made some slight noise, for even as he backed out of the room, Laura turned. Their eyes caught and held while Sara prattled on.

  Laura's full lips parted slightly – lips as soft and pink as those foolish roses she was stamping all over the walls. The moment stretched while he stood transfixed under her gaze, as though she could see into his very soul, and he into hers.

  Laura gave a little gasp and broke eye contact. "Your dad's here, Sara," she said, interrupting the flow of chatter.

  "Dad!" Sara beamed down at him. "Laura said I could help her. Look, we're almost done. Can I stay till we're finished? Please?"

  "She's been a great help," Laura added, addressing one of the painted roses as though she didn't want to look at him again.

  He took a breath. "I've got a few things to finish up downstairs. Why don't you come and get me when you've finished helping Ms. Kinkaide?"

  Jack heard a little spurt of feminine laughter behind him, quickly squelched.

  "Really, Jack, if it's all right with you, I prefer Laura."

  Jack had a feeling she'd been "Laura" all afternoon. He shrugged. "Sure. Just don't let Sara be a nuisance." He got himself organized for the morning, stacking lumber and measuring lengths of flooring, ready to cut. He tried not to feel jealous that Sara wanted to spend time with a complete stranger rather than with her own father.

  He couldn't figure out what was going on since Laura had arrived. His quiet, dutiful daughter was suddenly giggling and chattering like a magpie. His old friend Chip, who used to be one hell of a wide receiver, was talking about edible body paint and Laura in the same breath.

  Jack was the only one who seemed to keep his sanity where Laura was concerned. The whole thing was putting him in a foul mood. Unlike Sara and Laura, who looked to be in wonderful moods as they came giggling down the stairway like best friends, instead of a young girl and a virtual stranger old enough to be her mother.

  "Okay," Jack said gruffly. "Let's get home so we can have dinner done and your homework finished before midnight."

  His mood effectively dimmed theirs, and he had the dubious satisfaction of seeing his ebullient daughter relapse into her usual quiet self.

  "Sorry, I guess I kept you too late, Sara," Laura murmured. "It sure was fun, though. Maybe … if you get permission from your dad … we can work together again sometime."

  Sara beamed at Laura, who smiled back. "’Night, Sara, Jack," Laura said, and headed out the door.

  Jack grunted a reply.

  *

  He stayed grumpy all through dinner. Sara escaped to her room with her homework as soon as she could, leaving Jack prey to his own thoughts. It seemed to him things had been going just fine before Laura arrived.

  Now, seeing her every day, hearing her laughter and soft voice, noticing her curves – which not even the bulkiest overalls could hide – he realized how much he missed having a woman in his life. He hadn't felt this restless or lonely in a long time.

  Cory hadn't been a perfect match. In fact, she and he couldn't have been worse suited, but she'd been there when he got home at night. And in the first couple of years, when Sara was small, they'd managed to fake a sort of happiness together.

  But once
she'd left, Sara had kept him on the straight and narrow path of virtue. He never got past the most casual relationships with women. Just the idea that Sara might wake early and find a strange woman in her father's bed was enough to douse his libido.

  If Sonja hadn't worked the late shift at the pharmacy, allowing them time together in the mornings, while Sara was at school, he would have stayed celibate. As it was, the casual affair had been passionate at the beginning, friendly at the end, and they'd parted with some pleasant memories and no regrets.

  He hadn't seen a woman he wanted since Sonja had left. Not until Laura came back.

  It hit him then, the source of his foul mood. Hit him with a stunning sense of clarity.

  He wanted Laura.

  He'd wanted her when he'd rubbed her neck and had her skin, warm and creamy and feathery soft, beneath his fingers. His hands had wanted to move from her shoulders and slip down to caress her breasts – wanted it with an intensity that made him dizzy.

  Then Chip had thrown the image of edible body paint into his mind, where it had taken stubborn root and begun to flower into graphic fantasy.

  The bitter truth was Jack wasn't just in need of a woman. It was Laura he wanted. Laura, who lived miles away and had her own world, job and boyfriend. Laura, who had offered him everything once, only to have him throw it back in her face.

  Even if he could somehow get past all that, he could only have her briefly; he could never keep her. She wouldn't move back to Laroche. And he couldn't leave. He wouldn't do that to Sara.

  He groaned. Then he swiftly changed to shorts and sneakers and he ran.

  Right into Laura.

  She was just coming up the path to his house as he came hurtling out, ready to squash all his demons under his Nikes. She gasped and jumped back, while he tried to put the brakes on.

  As collisions went, it was mild enough, but the bumping of their bodies sent the smell of her hair into the air. She looked freshly showered, and her shiny, chestnut-colored curls smelled of … almond-scented shampoo. Instinctively he caught her arms in his hands as he plowed into her.

  "That's an effective security system you have," she gasped. "Remind me to phone first next time."