FLASHBACK Page 9

  "I thought she wanted you back," Laura admitted.

  Jack's face twisted in a grimace. "I thought so, too, till she laughed in my face and told me to lower my sights."

  Laura touched his hand impulsively. She knew how it felt to love and lose someone. "I'm sorry, Jack."

  He turned to her in surprise. "Sorry? Next to losing Sara, the worst thing that could happen to me would be living with Cory again." He tilted his head back. "I just hope she gives up this crazy idea of hers before there's trouble."

  Laura opened her mouth, then shut it again.

  He didn't want Cory back.

  The truth took her breath away. She'd been so sure that all the elegant blond ex-cheerleader had to do was snap her fingers, and her discarded husband would be panting after her again. A small flame of warmth flickered inside now that Laura knew the truth.

  After that, the evening just kept getting better.

  *

  Jack spent the rest of the night by Laura's side. He fetched her dinner, and they sat together eating barbecued salmon and prawns with tiny new potatoes and assorted salads.

  "This is delicious," Laura said as she bit into a succulent prawn. "Chip's quite the guy. Financial whiz by day, gourmet chef by night."

  "Chip can't boil water," Jack assured her tersely. "He has these affairs catered."

  Laura was still floating on air now she knew that Jack cared nothing for Cory. And, unless she was very much mistaken, he was showing all the signs of jealousy over Chip's sudden interest in her. She couldn't remember an evening she'd enjoyed more. "Still, Chip's been very nice to me. I'm looking forward to decorating his bedroom. He's told me I can do whatever I want in there."

  "Just make sure it's decorating the walls he has in mind." Jack stabbed at his salmon. "Anyway, you have to finish the McNair House first."

  After dinner, Chip put dancing deals together, pairing off his idea of likely candidates. Every time he came Laura's way Jack glared him down. Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark" came on, and Laura remembered the morning of the dueling CDs.

  She glanced up at Jack, to find him smiling down at her, but something in the back of his eyes made her stomach flutter. "How 'bout we do it together this time?" he said, holding out his hand.

  Laura put her hand in his and he led her to the dancing area. When he pulled her close, she felt the roughness of his cheek against hers, the hard warmth of his chest, the movement of his legs, which she followed instinctively. It was the first time they had ever danced together.

  They were a perfect fit.

  It felt so natural, there was a bittersweet ache in the back of her throat. Stan was right. There wasn't anything wrong with the men she dated. The problem was her heart wasn't free. It hadn't been free for a long time. She sighed and nestled closer to Jack, allowing his shoulder to cradle her head. Letting his warmth seep into her.

  Jack murmured something in her ear, but she couldn't make out the words, only the primeval thrill caused by his warm breath stirring against her skin.

  They danced to one song, then another. When the music changed tempo, Jack pulled away, saying gruffly, "Let's get out of here. I see Chip bearing down on you again."

  Laura nodded and let him pull her by the hand away from the dancing couples and straight for the door. "Wait," she said. "I haven't got my purse."

  "Where is it?"

  "Chip's bedroom." She moved in that direction.

  "I'll get it," Jack snapped. "You stay here." He almost sprinted to the bedroom, returning in seconds with the red clutch purse Gran had insisted on.

  "But shouldn't we say goodbye to Chip?" Laura protested as he opened the door.

  "I already did." As she opened her mouth, he quelled her with a glance. "From both of us."

  Laura turned to hide the smile, making a mental note to phone Chip in the morning and thank him. In the meantime it was so nice to be treated like this by Jack. She was twenty-eight years old and felt, for the first time in her life, like the prom queen.

  "Coat?" he asked.

  She shook her head. She wasn't going to ruin the effect of her outfit by wearing the only coat she'd brought with her to Laroche. Better a few goose bumps than a bomber jacket with this dress.

  The air was chilly on her bare arms as they stepped outside. She shivered slightly and Jack's leather jacket came round her.

  "You'll need it yourself," she protested, even as her body snuggled into its warmth.

  "We'll share," he said, putting his arm around her. She let herself lean into him, justifying the action as his need for warmth. She was tingling from head to toe, so aware of him, of the way their bodies moved in unison.

  They came to her van first Jack held on to her as they rounded the vehicle to the driver's side, then waited while she fished for her key and opened the door. She tried to give him his jacket back, but he stalled her with his hands on her arms. She opened her lips to argue and he stilled them with his mouth.

  It was as though he'd been waiting all night to kiss her and he couldn't wait any longer. This was no quiet, chaste little kiss like the other night at the beach, either. This was a hungry, demanding kiss. A kiss of open mouths and exploring tongues. Laura discovered she had been waiting all night to kiss him, too, and joined in with enthusiasm.

  As wet and vigorous as their teenage necking had been, this was adult kissing. Dimly, she noted how much his technique had improved, and how much better she liked the man's body he'd grown into. It felt so wonderful to touch him, to feel his hands moving on her back, over her hips, slow and sure.

  He leaned back slightly, giving his hands room to move up her stomach and then to feather over her chest. She sighed with satisfaction, deep in her throat, as his hands soothed her aching breasts.

  She let her own hands roam over the muscles of his back, his shoulders, his chest, reveling in the solid warmth of him, letting the sizzle of desire burst into flame.

  When his hands traveled above her neckline, she noticed the calluses on his fingers and gloried in the rough texture on her sensitive skin. The sea-tinged air was cold on her overheated flesh, in sharp contrast to the heat she felt everywhere Jack touched her.

  The gravel underfoot crunched as he shifted position. He trailed his lips down her neck, and she arched back against the cold metal of her van, giving him access that he greedily took advantage of. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, gasping as the cold air followed the wet path his mouth left down her neck and chest.

  Then his hands were easing the zipper down her back, at the same time his teeth pulled the bodice down over her breasts until her tingling nipples were free to the air. She trembled all over at the knowledge that she was here in Jack's arms. That he'd chosen her – and that Cory had left the party alone.

  As he took a nipple into his mouth, her head fell back and she gasped with the intensity of her desire, letting the delicious sensations wash over her, while thousands of stars winked down from a deep black sky. She felt like one of them, like a burning star herself in the cold night.

  She wanted him with a fierceness she could no longer deny. For years she had pretended she was over him. But she wasn't. Probably never would be. As his mouth came back to hers for another deep kiss, she reached round and grabbed his hips, pulling him against her.

  He groaned, deep in his throat, his own need apparent. Then suddenly jerked away.

  "Get in the van," he whispered.

  "The van?" Maybe her crush on him was as old as high school, but she wasn't a teenager any longer, and she certainly didn't plan on making out in the back of her dirty van in front of Chip's house.

  Even as her desire-fogged mind tried to figure out an alternative, she realized Jack was pushing her into the driver's seat. That's when she noticed the door of Chip's house was wide-open, spilling out several couples and enough techno-pop music to deafen the local fish.

  Suddenly the night wasn't theirs alone anymore. Voices broke the soft black stillness. Gravel crunched and scraped as
steps drew closer to the line of cars. Laughing comments were exchanged. Jack swiftly zipped the jacket up over her sagging dress, cursing under his breath.

  She was stunned with the force of their mutual desire as well as by the abrupt way it was cut off. She could only sit there, dazed, wanting him.

  With a crooked smile he leaned through the open door. "Are you okay to drive?"

  She nodded.

  "Meet me back at my place. Sara's still at your Gran's," he whispered, half urgent, half pleading.

  But already common sense was intruding on her blissful fantasy. She shook her head, unable to look at him. "No, this is…" How to explain the deadly mix of emotion and pure flaming lust that raged within her?

  She was too vulnerable to Jack. Too easily hurt. One voice inside her ordered caution, even as another clamored to be allowed to see this thing through once and for all.

  Caution won.

  "No, I can't," she cried breathlessly, forcing her body to turn around and her shaking fingers to insert the key into the ignition.

  She felt his frustration in his labored breathing. He kicked at the gravel with his boot. When he spoke his voice was bitter, angry. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not. If that dork you're going out with had any brains, he'd be down here taking care of you."

  Laura felt like he'd slapped her. "What do you mean, taking care of me?" She swung her head round.

  For answer, he grabbed her face and kissed her hard. "We would be fantastic together, and you know it." He rose in one fluid motion and stomped off down the gravel road to his truck.

  She sat there for a full minute, letting her own frustration level drop and trying to get her pulse under control. She also wanted Jack to get going ahead of her so he and Sara would be gone when she returned to Gran's house.

  She fixed her dress, combed her hair and dabbed on fresh lipstick.

  No lights came on behind her.

  She turned on the engine, started the heater, then glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his headlights. Laura waited, listening to the idling of another engine, but no truck pulled out.

  Finally she realized he was waiting for her to go first. Which she did, gritting her teeth and muttering curses against overbearing, interfering men.

  Laura glanced into the rearview mirror once she got on the highway, and there he was, right behind her. It annoyed her so much she shoved the mirror to an impossible angle just so she wouldn't have to watch Jack follow her all the way home.

  She parked the van outside her grandmother's house and let herself in the front door. She shrugged off Jack's coat, leaving it on the coat rack in the entrance hall. By the time she'd done that and crossed to the kitchen where Gran and Sara were playing cards, she could hear Jack coming in behind her.

  "Have a nice time, dear?" Gran said.

  "That dress is way cool," Sara said.

  "Laura, could I speak to you?" Jack said, barging into the kitchen.

  "Wonderful, thanks, and no," Laura replied.

  She turned to fill the kettle, thinking a cup of chamomile tea would calm her and help her sleep. Her sixth sense told her Jack was behind her before she felt his hand on her shoulder.

  "Laura, please let's not leave it this way," he said softly, so only she could hear.

  Unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears. Feeling foolish, and determined not to let him see her weakness, she brushed past him and out the door, almost running up the stairs. Not until she was safely locked in the bathroom with the tap running did she give in to a fit of sobbing.

  Long after she heard the truck drive away she stayed in the bathroom, crying.

  The damned stupid truth was that she loved him. Oh, she'd always loved him. But in Seattle she'd built a life that had thick walls to protect her heart. Back in Laroche, in just a couple of weeks, Jack had bulldozed those carefully built walls and exposed her vulnerable lovesick heart. Just for the pleasure of breaking it all over again.

  "We'd be fantastic together and you know it," he'd whispered. Well, he was right; she did know it. She also knew that an affair with him would devastate her when they had to part. And she wasn't going to let that happen.

  There was only one way to make sure she wasn't a victim of Jack's destructive charm again.

  Leave town.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  "So you're running away again." Gran's voice hit Laura like a slap. Laura turned from the open suitcase with a guilty start, to see her grandmother standing in the doorway, her expression stony in the morning light.

  "I'm not…" Laura began. Then, unable to turn from the truth, she let her head drop. "I have to run away. Call it self-preservation."

  "I call it cowardice." Gran's matter-of-fact tone hurt more than any yelling would. "You love that boy. Face it, Laura. Running won't change the way you feel."

  No, but it would stop her from getting tangled up any more than she already was, physically and emotionally.

  "Please try to understand, Gran." Laura sank down on the bed. She could barely hold back the tears. "I have to go."

  The old woman shook her head sadly. "I've never seen two people more perfect for each other who went about the business so badly." She sighed noisily. "And what about the McNair House?"

  "They'll find somebody else. I'll send a fax when I get back to Seattle. I'll leave the supplies and all my design sheets for the next person. I can even suggest some good designers who could finish the job."

  "Humph." Gran turned away and plonked down the stairs to the kitchen, where Laura soon heard pots banging while she finished packing.

  The heavy suitcase clunked down the stairs behind her. When she reached the main level, the smell of blueberry pancakes made her smile in spite of her misery. It was a smell that took Laura back to childhood. For a special treat – or to make her feel better after any kind of setback – Gran always made blueberry pancakes.

  Laura didn't want breakfast. She wanted to get in her van and put miles between her and Jack as quickly as possible. But she couldn't hurt Gran's feelings. She dumped the suitcase by the front door and returned to the kitchen. Silently, she set the table and poured coffee. Gran put a stack of pancakes in front of her and sat opposite to enjoy her own dwarf stack.

  Laura still didn't want breakfast. But the butter melting in a golden puddle on top of the pancakes made her mouth water. When she poured the amber maple syrup into the butter, the larger pool overflowed in rivulets.

  The first bite was so delicious the world didn't seem quite so terrible anymore. She glanced up at Gran.

  "Don't leave today, dear. It's Sunday. You wouldn't be working, anyway. Take a little rest and think about things. If you still feel the same way tomorrow, you can telephone Delores Walters and inform her in person of your decision to quit."

  Laura took another big bite, taking time to think while her mouth was full. Surely she owed Gran this much. She chewed and swallowed. She nodded. "But don't try and stop me tomorrow."

  She lugged her suitcase back upstairs, then helped Gran prepare the vegetables for dinner.

  "Do you want to come with me to church?"

  "No thanks, Gran. I think I'll walk up to the McNair House and see if I've left anything there I can't live without."

  The older woman nodded. "If you're going up there anyway, you can take some old bedding I'm loaning to the place."

  The "old bedding" was a faded, hand-stitched quilt in a double wedding ring pattern. The original colors were probably dark reds and blues, Laura guessed, but time had mellowed them to shades of soft rose and Wedgewood. The quilt spoke of a time when women worked together to sew an heirloom gift for a new bride. Laura traced one of the rings. "I've never seen this before. It's beautiful."

  "Some of the neighbors made it for my mother's wedding. You can see where they've stitched their names on the back. Mother passed it to me when I married. I intended to give it to your mother but—" Gran shrugged eloquently "—her marriage bed was
in the back of a van. And she's never been the homemaker type. So I've been saving it for you."

  Sharp eyes turned on Laura. "But the way you're carrying on, it'll be years before it's needed. Until then it seems a shame to keep it in the attic, when visitors to Laroche could enjoy a real piece of local history. I typed the names of the women who made it – the list is right here in the box. Perhaps the committee could make a little plaque to go over the bed. I'll suggest it at the meeting Wednesday night."

  The meeting Laura wouldn't be attending. She touched the quilt reverently, moved by the sense of family and community it represented. Also in the box was a set of delicately embroidered linen sheets and pillowcases. Gran had even included two feather pillows. Not original, she informed Laura, but the kind her mother used.

  "You should take these up when the rest of the house is ready. They might get dusty," Laura protested.

  Gran shook her head. "I want you to put them on the bed and see if they fit. We might need to make some alterations."

  So Laura lugged the lavender-scented box into the McNair House. It was heavy enough without the burden of guilt she was carrying along with it. She should have quit the minute she found out Jack was also working on the house. Now she was letting Gran and Delores Walters and the others down.

  Delivering the treasure box of antique linens just made her feel worse – like a depressing old spinster donating her untouched trousseau to a museum. Which, when she came to think about it, was exactly the case. Laura hauled the box up the stairs and down the hall into the master bedroom.

  The old mattress hadn't been salvageable, but the replacement mattress was already on the big old four-poster.

  Laura took her time making the bed. Tears pricked her eyes as she tucked the sheets carefully around the mattress. She slipped the embroidered cases over the pillows and then shook the quilt out and floated it onto the bed. The smell of lavender hung in the air.