A Family Kind of Gal

by Lisa Jackson

  A small sound filled her throat—not the note of protest she’d intended, but a soft plea. His arms surrounded her, and she knew she should pull back from him, slap him across his cocky jaw, but she couldn’t find the strength. Instead she closed her eyes, and for one glorious, taboo moment she kissed him back, opening her mouth, feeling the slick penetration of his tongue.

  Her skin tingled. Her pulse clamored. Her blood heated.

  He wound his fingers through her hair, and the rubber band holding it in place broke, allowing the thick tresses to tumble free.

  Stop this madness, Tiffany, stop it now. While you still can. But her protests were forgotten as his lips moved to her cheeks and eyes. His body pressed against hers, and her nipples tightened expectantly.

  Deep inside she began to palpitate, with a quivering need that chased away all her doubts.

  “Tiffany,” he said on a sigh, and his breath was hot against her skin. He kissed the length of her neck and rimmed the circle of her throat with his tongue.

  Her head lolled backward, and silently she offered him more. A dozen reasons to push him away entered her mind, only to be thrust aside by the greater urge to love and be loved, to feel a man’s hands, his lips, his tongue.

  His fingers scaled her ribs, and his thumbs reached forward, each warm pad pressing against breasts, seeking and finding that taut button beneath her dress, then moving in gentle circles, stirring her blood, stoking the already heated fires of desire that made her skin so hot that perspiration dotted her skin.

  He found the front buttons of her dress, easing each pearl fastener through its hole, parting the fabric so that the warm night air caressed her suddenly bare skin. An ache formed deep between her legs, and she knew in an instant that she wouldn’t stop him; that no matter how far he wanted their lovemaking to progress, she would gladly receive him.

  His tongue licked her collarbone, and she whispered his name.

  “Jay, oh, please—oooh!”

  He kissed her through the lace of her bra, and she cradled his head against her as his lips found her nipple. Through the fabric he suckled, and she could barely keep her balance on the bench. One of his hands reached around her, rubbing her buttock as he teased and kissed her breast.

  “Aaaahhh!” A terrified scream pierced the night.

  “Christina!” Tiffany sat bolt upright. J.D. released her.

  Buttoning her dress and calling herself a moron, she raced to the house, up the back steps and through the door.

  “Mommy!” the little girl cried. “Mommeee!”

  “I’m coming, sweetheart!” Tiffany flew up the stairs. J.D. was on her heels.

  “Daddy! Daddy!”

  “I’m here, baby,” Tiffany said, running down the hallway and tearing into her daughter’s room. “Right here.”

  Christina was in the middle of her bed, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her little face. Tiffany scooped her daughter up and held her tightly, kissing her cheeks, holding her buttocks with one arm and her head with the other. “It’s all right, Chrissie, Mommy’s here. I’ll always be here.”

  Sobbing, Christina clung to her. “I scared.”

  “I know, honey, I know. But there’s nothing to be scared about. I’m here.” She dabbed at her daughter’s eyes and, taking up Chrissie’s favorite blanket, sat in the rocker near the bookcase, the rocker she’d used when the children were infants. J.D. stood in the doorway, looking as if he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue, and a second later Stephen, his hair at odd angles, half staggered into the room.

  “Nightmare?” he asked and Tiffany nodded.

  “Bad dream!” Christina whispered.

  “You gotta do somethin’ about it,” Stephen said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

  “I’m trying. Shhh.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Stephen rolled his eyes at his uncle, then returned to his own room.

  “Can I do anything?” J.D. asked, his face tense.

  She shook her head but held his gaze as Christina, giving up a tiny sigh, snuggled against her. “We’re fine,” Tiffany said and ignored the doubts in his eyes. “Just fine.” She picked up the well-loved, floppy-eared stuffed rabbit and tucked it into her daughter’s arms. “Here’s Bub.” Then she pressed a kiss to her daughter’s curly head and kept rocking.

  Thankfully J.D. took the hint. “If you need anything—”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll be upstairs.” She held her breath as she heard him climb the steps to the third floor. Christina calmed as she always did, and her eyelids slowly lowered as the tempo of her breathing steadied. Humming softly, Tiffany continued to rock until she felt her daughter’s bones turn to butter.

  Gently Tiffany tucked Christina into the bed and tiptoed into the hallway. She left the door ajar and walked toward her own room, pausing for a second at the open door to the third floor.

  It was an invitation from her brother-in-law. She let her fingers run alongside the edge of the door and thought long and hard about his silent offer. A part of her longed to dash up the stairs and throw herself into his arms. Another part restrained her. J.D.’s invitation was one she couldn’t accept. She’d been a fool to kiss him tonight. Letting him touch her and feeling all those long-buried sensations was tantamount to emotional suicide. With renewed determination and more than a trace of regret, she closed the door and walked to her room.

  She could never, never let J.D. get close to her again. It was just too dangerous.

  Slowly she unbuttoned her dress and caught a glimpse of herself in the freestanding mirror. Her hair was mussed, her dress wrinkled, her face still flushed. “Oh, Tiffany,” she said. “Be smart. For your kids’ sake.”

  She tossed her dress into the hamper and slipped on a cotton T-shirt, then slid between the sheets of her bed and turned off the lamp. Why couldn’t she just tell J.D. to take a hike? To leave her and her small family alone?

  Because you want him, Tiffany. It’s just that simple.

  And oh, so complicated.

  Once before, she’d given in to temptation, and she’d lived to regret it. She shuddered and closed her eyes. It had all started with the accident, the damned accident that had altered the course of her life forever. She’d been driving down from the mountain after a day of skiing. Philip had dozed off in the passenger seat. The kids had been in the back of the sedan, Christina strapped in her toddler seat while Stephen, exhausted and half asleep, was listening to his headphones. It had been nearly nine months ago, but she remembered it as vividly as if the horrible night had just been this past week.

  The snow had been blinding as she’d eased down the steep hillside, not realizing that within minutes her entire life would change...

  The snow just wouldn’t let up. Fat flakes fell on to the windshield before the wipers could scrape them off. Ice had collected on the wiper blades, and the steady glare from the headlights of the cars driving up the mountain were giving her a headache.

  She’d never liked driving in the snow in western Oregon where it usually began to melt only to freeze over again, leaving a layer of ice on the pavement.

  Road crews were working around the clock, and she comforted herself with the fact that the road past Government Camp on Mount Hood had been sanded and plowed and resanded. Yet her studded tires slid a little as she rounded a corner, and she looked forward to finding dry, or wet pavement, at the lower elevations.

  She was wearing gloves and her ski clothes, and the heater was blasting hot air, yet she felt chilly inside. She punched a button on the radio, hoping to catch the weather forecast, but the signal was weak at this altitude, with the craggy peaks of the Cascade Mountains causing interference, so she settled for an old Otis Redding song that crackled and sputtered through the speakers.

  Another set of headlights approached. She tried not to stare at the intense beams, but she experienced a strange sensation, one that reminded her of a doe transfixed by the glare. Relax. The sound of a truck’s engine rumbled, an
d its tire chains buzzed over the muffled music.

  It’s just a truck. Big deal. There are dozens of them on this stretch of road, no matter what the conditions.

  She tapped the brakes. They slid just a bit, then grabbed. Good.

  To be safe, she eased as far to the right as she dared, but the guardrail was low in spots, and the black canyon that gaped beyond her viewpoint worried her.

  Honk!

  She jumped, her foot slipping on the brake.

  The truck’s horn blasted again.

  Her fingers tightened on the wheel. She pumped the brakes lightly.

  Nothing.

  Don’t panic! But the truck was roaring toward them on the left, and to the right was the gaping darkness of the edge of the cliff.

  Honk!

  “Philip,” she said as the truck’s horn blared again. “Philip!”

  “Wh-what?” he said around a yawn.

  “The truck, oh, God!” At that moment the semi seemed to swerve and come right at them.

  “Jesus!” Philip was instantly awake. He grabbed for the wheel.

  “Wait!”

  She hit the brakes. They locked. The car shimmied.

  “Holy Mother Mary!” Philip was wide awake and swearing, yanking at the steering wheel.

  “Don’t! Philip!”

  The car slid sideways as the truck, only feet away, loomed like the very specter of death. “Tiffany! Crank the wheel! Pump the damned brakes! Get us out of here!”

  “I’m trying!”

  “Mom?” Stephen’s voice cracked with fear.

  She managed to turn just enough, but the truck, rolling past and out of control, clipped the rear end of the sedan. It spun wildly. She tried to stop but hit a patch of ice, and suddenly the car slammed through the guardrail and into the abyss.

  “Oh my God!” Philip cried.

  Tiffany screamed, and Christina let out a wail.

  “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no,” Stephen muttered as the car, with a bone-jarring thud, scraped down the side of the mountain and skidded downward. Faster, faster, the wheels spinning, the brakes useless.

  “Stop! For God’s sake—”

  Bam! They smashed into something. Hard. The windshield shattered. Glass sprayed. The car spun around.

  “Mommy!”

  “I’m here, sweetie.”

  “For the love of Christ!”

  Again they were rolling rapidly forward. Faster and faster.

  “Damn it, stop the car!”

  “I can’t!”

  She saw the creek. Silver water slicing through the canyon, “Oh, my God—”

  The wheels hit water. Bam! Every bone in Tiffany’s body jarred. Ice-cold water ripped through the shattered windshield.

  “Get out!” Tiffany yelled.

  She scrambled for her seat-belt buckle.

  “Mom! Dad!” Stephen’s voice was strangled by terror. He was flailing in the back seat. Christina cried. Philip was cursing. Wild, raging water flooded the interior.

  “Get out. Everyone get out!” Philip yelled.

  Christina was crying, and Stephen, too, was screaming.

  “Tiffany, for God’s sake, get to the shore.” Philip was opening his door as she fumbled with her seat belt. The latch refused to give. “I’ll get the kids.”

  “I can’t get out!” Stephen’s voice was filled with panic. It was black and dark and so damned cold. Water gurgled and swirled, splashing and rushing around them in an icy current.

  Tiffany’s fingers fumbled with the safety-belt latch.

  “Get out! Get out!” Philip was outside the car, attempting to open the back door. “Christina, hang in there! Stephen, try to get out of the car!”

  Tiffany was shaking, her fingers numb, but the latch finally gave way, and she shouldered open the door only to fall into waist-deep water. Her feet slipped on the rocks, but she clung to the car, fighting the current, praying that they would all get out of this alive. So cold she could barely move, she found the back door and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge.

  “I can’t get out!” Stephen yelled.

  “The safety locks!” Philip shouted. Tiffany couldn’t see him but heard him splashing in the icy water. Christina was crying weakly.

  “Get out the front!” she yelled to her son as the car filled with water. “Hurry!” She felt, rather than saw, Stephen crawl over the front seat to hurtle through the open door. Miraculously she caught his arm.

  Sputtering and shivering, he clung to her.

  “Christina!” she cried.

  “Got her.” Philip’s voice sounded so far away.

  “Okay, hang on to me. Let’s try to get to shore,” she yelled into Stephen’s ear, though she had no idea how wide or deep the creek was. It could be a river, for all she knew.

  “This way.” Stephen stepped around the car only to be half dragged underwater.

  “Philip!” she cried, but there wasn’t an answer. “Philip!” Oh, God, had he drowned? Did he have the baby? “Philip!” Where was he? She strained to listen but heard only the wild rush of the river. “Philip!”

  “Dad!”

  Her heart stopped. “He’s got Christina, don’t worry,” she said to her son though she was dying inside. Her husband. Her baby. Where were they? Dear God, keep them safe! Oh, please!

  “Mom?” Stephen’s voice was faint, his teeth chattering, and she realized that she was numb all over. Not a good sign.

  “Try to get to the shore,” she managed.

  “Where?”

  If she only knew. Frantically she looked around. Blackness everywhere. Only inky, cold, terrifying blackness. They could be in the middle of the creek or close to one bank. Who knew? But they couldn’t stay in the freezing water. They’d both die from hypothermia.

  Which way?

  “M-m-mom, I’m so cold.”

  “Hang on, Stephen.” How long had they been in the water? “Philip!” she cried and strained to hear. Far away there were voices. “Listen!”

  She looked up and saw a bobbing light. The freezing water whirled and danced madly around her.

  “Hey!” a male voice boomed. “Anyone there?”

  “Help! Oh, God, help us!”

  “Hang on, we’re comin’,” the voice assured her, and she clung to Stephen and the car, trying to stay conscious, praying that her husband and daughter were safe.

  She didn’t remember the rescue. It had taken over an hour, and both she and Stephen, suffering from hypothermia, had passed out. She awoke in a hospital in Portland to the news that she and both children had survived, but Philip, as a result of his efforts to save Christina, had died on the way to the hospital. No attempts at reviving him had been effective.

  Tiffany was barely out of the hospital, hardly able to function from grief and despair, when she had to arrange a funeral. All of Philip’s family was at the long, mind-numbing service. She was a widow. Alone with her children.

  J.D. sat between his parents and sister-in-law, not so much as touching her or offering any sign of condolence during the funeral. White-faced, drawn and tense, he’d partially shielded Tiffany from the rest of the family.

  But it hadn’t worked. Philip’s father, Carlo, had been grim and forbidding, his black eyes boring into Tiffany throughout the eulogy. Frances, seated at her husband’s side, wouldn’t even look in Tiffany’s direction, but shunned her and pretended that her daughter-in-law didn’t exist.

  Philip’s ex-wife, Karen, a short blond woman with huge blue eyes, clung to her ex-mother-in-law and sobbed loudly, blowing her nose and sliding furtive glances at the woman who had, eventually, replaced her in her ex-husband’s heart. She wailed loudly, while her children, Robert and Thea, were stoic and grim. Philip’s older children were both in college, both acting as if they’d rather be anywhere in the world but at the funeral home, both seeming more bored than grief-stricken.

  Throughout the service Tiffany held on to both of her children. Christina sat on her lap, and Stephen, pale and wan, was beside
her in the pew.

  Even without the harsh glares cast in her direction or the cold shoulders meant to shut her away from the rest of the family, Tiffany didn’t have to be told that the entire Santini clan blamed her for Philip’s death. She’d been the one who’d insisted upon going skiing that day. Philip had only indulged her. And she’d been behind the wheel at the time of the accident

  There had been a gathering of family and friends at the Santini winery in McMinnville after the funeral and grave-site service. Tiffany had never felt so alone in her life. Everyone was coldly polite, and the hours went by at an excruciatingly slow pace. She just wanted to be alone, to hide and lick her wounds, to mourn her husband and plan her future, her children’s futures.

  The words of sympathy echoed in her heart

  “Sorry about your loss.”

  “A tragedy. Such a tragedy.”

  “I don’t know what Carlo will do without him. And Frances... My, how this has aged her.”

  “Good luck to you and the children.”

  But after a few kind words—a courtesy to the Santini family—the mourners let her be, each finding his or her small group at the gathering, each whispering and talking about the accident, sending her looks that bordered on pity but oftentimes were tinged with hate.

  She’d put on a brave face for nearly two hours, sipping too much wine and fighting back tears of desperation, when a voice behind her said, “Let’s get out of here. I think you’ve done your time for today.”

  She whirled to find J.D. with her coat and the kids’ jackets. Somehow she managed a thin smile and shook her head. “Thanks, but I have my own car.”

  “I know.” Carefully, he removed an empty wineglass from her hand. “I think I should drive.” For once he seemed sincere. Almost kind. “This has been a rough day.”

  “Amen,” she agreed, and didn’t bother to argue. She gathered up Christina and Stephen and handed J.D. the car keys. On the ride home, she closed her eyes, grateful for someone’s thoughtfulness—even her irreverent brother-in-law’s.

  At the home she’d shared with Philip in northwest Portland, she managed to get the kids into bed before she felt herself coming undone. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as J.D. lingered in the kitchen.