Times Change

by Nora Roberts

  “That promiscuity is neither morally or ethically correct or physically wise? Absolutely, I’ve never been promiscuous.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” Seeing Sam’s eyes droop, Will took him to the crib. After winding up a mobile of circus animals, he laid his son down.

  “I didn’t say I was a virgin.”

  Will winced—he hated to think of himself as a fusty prude—then sighed. “I guess I suspected as much.”

  “Want to make me sit in a chair until I apologize?”

  His lips quirked. “I don’t think it would do much good at this point. It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment, Sunbeam.”

  She’d never been able to resist him. Moving closer, she took his face in her hands and kissed him. “But your judgment is so much better.”

  “Naturally.” He grinned and patted her bottom. “It’s one of the few advantages of hitting forty.”

  “You’ll never be forty.” She managed to keep her lips from curving. “Dad, I might as well confess. I have been with a man before.”

  “Not that weasely Carl Lommins.”

  She made a face. “Give me some credit. And don’t interrupt—I’m making a point. When I was with someone it was because I was fond of him, because there was mutual respect and there was responsibility. You taught me that, you and Mom.”

  “So you’re telling me I’m not supposed to worry about your relationship with J.T.”

  “No, I’m not telling you not to worry. But I am telling you I’m not fond of him.”

  “Well, then—”

  “I’m in love with him.”

  He studied her eyes. When a man had been in love, passionately, with the same woman for most of his life, he recognized the signs. It was time to accept that he had seen those signs on his daughter’s face the moment she had walked in the door.

  “And?”

  “And what?” she countered.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to marry him.” The statement surprised her enough to make her laugh. “He doesn’t know it yet, because I just figured it out myself. When he goes back east, I’m going with him.”

  “And if he objects?”

  Her chin came up. “He’ll have to learn to live with it.”

  “I guess the problem is you’re too much like me.”

  She put her arms around his neck to hug him close. “I won’t like being so far away. But he’s what I want.”

  “If he makes you happy.” William drew her away. “He damn well better make you happy.”

  “I don’t intend to give him a choice.”

  Chapter 10

  “It’ll be fun.” Sunny navigated into a narrow parking space under a brightly lit sign that aggressively flashed Club Rendezvous. Jacob studied the winking colored lights with some doubt, and she patted his hand. “Trust me, pal, we need this.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Besides, if I find out you can’t dance, I want to be able to dump you now and save time.” She just laughed when he twisted her ear. “And you owe me.”

  “Why is that?”

  She flipped down the visor and gave what she could see of her face a quick check in the mirror. On impulse she pulled out a lipstick and painted her mouth a vivid red. “Because if I hadn’t been so quick with the excuses you’d be eating dinner at my parents’.”

  “I liked your parents.”

  Touched, she leaned over to kiss his cheek. Seeing she’d left the imprint of her lips there, she rubbed at it with her thumb.

  “Damn it.”

  “Hold still a minute,” she complained when he backed away. “I’ve just about got it.” Satisfied, she dropped the tube of lipstick back in her bag. “I know you like my parents. So do I. But you’d never have gotten nachos and margaritas at Will and Caro’s.” She lowered her voice. “My mother cooks.”

  Taking no chances, he rubbed at his cheek himself. “Is that a crime in this state?”

  “She cooks things like alfalfa fondue.”

  “Oh.” Once he’d managed to imagine it he’d decided he much preferred the spicy Mexican meal they had shared a short time before. “I guess I do owe you.”

  “Your very life,” she agreed. Opening her door, she squeezed herself through the narrow opening between it and the neighboring car. The flashing lights danced over her, making her look exactly as she was—exciting and exotic. “And after a couple of weeks in nature’s bosom I figure we could both use some live music—the louder the better—a rowdy crowd and some air clogged with cigarette smoke.”

  “Sounds like paradise.” He managed, with some effort, to push himself out the other door. “Sunny, I don’t feel right about you exchanging all your currency.”

  She lifted both brows, half-amused, half-puzzled, by his phrasing. “You exchange currency when you go into a foreign country. What I’ve been doing is called spending money.”

  “Whatever. I don’t have any with me to spend.”

  She thought it was a pity that a man so obviously intelligent and dedicated should earn a small salary. “Don’t worry about it.” She’d only started counting pennies herself since she’d become self-supporting. So far, she hadn’t shown much of a knack for it. “If I get to Philadelphia, you can pick up the tab.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” He needed to change the subject, and he found the answer close at hand. “I wanted to ask you what you call that outfit you’re wearing.”

  “This?” She glanced down at the snug, short and strapless red leather dress under her winter coat. “Sexy,” she decided, running a tongue over her teeth. “What do you call it?”

  “We’ll talk about that later, too.”

  With her arm through his, she crossed the broken sidewalk. The swatch of formfitting leather didn’t provide much protection against the wind, but it felt good to wear something other than jeans. It felt even better to note how often Jacob’s gaze skimmed over her legs.

  The cold was forgotten when she opened the door to a blast of heat and music.

  “Ah . . . civilization.”

  He saw only a dim room dazzled by intermittent flashes of light. The music was every bit as loud as she’d promised, pulsing with bass, blaring with horns. He could smell smoke and liquor, sweat and perfume. Through it all was the constant din of voices and laughter.

  While he took it in, she passed their coats to the checker on duty and slipped the stub in her bag.

  She was right. He’d needed it—not just the sensory stimulation, not just the anonymous crowd, but also the firsthand look at twentieth-century socializing.

  Overall there was very little difference from what he might have found in his own time. People, then and then, tended to gather together for their entertainment. They wanted music and company, food and drink. Times might change, but people’s needs were basically the same.

  “Come on.” She was dragging him through the crowd to where tables were crammed together on two levels. On the first was a long bar. There was a man rather than a synthetic behind it, serving drink and setting out bowls filled with some kind of finger food. People crowded there, hip to hip.

  On the second level was a half circle of stage where the musicians performed. Jacob counted eight of them, in various kinds of dress, holding instruments that pitched a wall of sound that roared out of tall boxes on either corner of the stage.

  In front of them, on a small square of floor, tangles of arms and legs and bodies twisted in various ways to the beat. He noted the costumes they chose and saw that there was no standard. Snug pants and baggy ones, long skirts and brief ones, vivid colors and unrelieved black. Women wore shoes flat to the floor or, like Sunny, shoes with slender spikes at the back.

  He imagined this meant those particular women wanted to be taller. But it had the side effect of making it very pleasant to look at their legs.

  He appreciated the style of nonconformity, the healthy expression of individual tastes. He knew there had been a space o
f time between this and his own when society in general had accepted a uniform. A brief period, Jacob mused, but it must have been a miserably dull one.

  As he stood and observed, waitresses in short skirts bustled on both levels, balancing trays and scribbling the orders shouted at them.

  Inefficient, he thought, but interesting. It was simpler to press a button on an order box and receive your requirements from a speedy droid. But it was a bit friendlier this way.

  With her hand in his, Sunny led him up a short flight of curving stairs and began to scout around for an empty table. “I forgot it was Saturday night,” she shouted at him. “It’s always a madhouse on Saturdays.”

  “Why?”

  “Date night, pal,” she said, and laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll squeeze in somewhere.” But she abandoned her search to smile at him. “What do you think?”

  He lifted a hand to toy with the trio of balls that hung from slender chains at her ears. “I like it.”

  “The Marauders are good. The band.” She gestured as the sax player went into a screaming solo. “They’re very hot out here.”

  “In here,” he corrected. “It’s hot in here.”

  “No, I mean . . . Never mind.” Someone bumped her from behind. Taking it in stride, she wound her arms around Jacob’s neck. “I guess this is our first date.”

  He ignored the crowd and kissed her. “How’s it going so far?”

  “Just dandy.”

  Taking that to mean “good,” he kissed her again. Her satisfied sigh set off a chain reaction inside him. “We could always just stand here,” he said, directly in her ear. “I don’t think anyone would notice.”

  “You were right,” she said on another sigh. “It is hot in here. Maybe we should just—”

  “Sunny!” Someone caught her by the waist, spun her around and, ending on a dip, pressed a hard, wet kiss to her mouth. “Baby, you’re back.”

  “Marco.”

  “What’s left of me. I’ve been pining away for weeks.” He slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Where’d you disappear to?”

  “The mountains.” She smiled, pleased to see him. He was skinny, unpretentious and harmless. Despite the dramatic kiss, they had decided years before not to complicate their friendship with romance. “How’s the real world?”

  “Dog-eat-dog, love. Thank God.” He glanced over her shoulder and found himself being burned alive by a pair of direct green eyes. “Ah . . . who’s your friend?”

  “J.T.” She laid a hand on Jacob’s arm. “This is Marco, an old poker buddy. You don’t want to play with J.T., Marco. He’s murder.”

  Marco didn’t have to be told twice. “How ya doing?” He didn’t offer his hand, because he wanted to keep it.

  “All right.” Jacob measured him. He figured if the man kissed Sunny again it would be simple enough to break his skinny neck.

  “J.T. happens to be the brother of my sister’s husband.”

  “Small world.”

  Jacob didn’t bat an eye. “Smaller than you think.”

  “Right.” If Marco had been wearing a tie he would have loosened it. But with his collar already open he didn’t have a clue how to ease the constriction in his throat. “Listen, do you guys need a table?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “We pulled some together back there, if you want to climb in.”

  “Okay.” She looked up at Jacob. “Okay?”

  “Sure.” He was already annoyed with himself. The jealousy had been an emotional rather than an intellectual reaction. He watched Sunny’s long legs as she walked between the tables. And an entirely justified reaction. Maybe men had progressed, but they had always been, would always be, territorial.

  Half a dozen people greeted Sunny by name as they stopped at the table. Because most of the introductions were lost in the roar of the music, Jacob only nodded as he took his seat.

  “This round’s on me,” Marco announced when he finally managed to flag down a waitress. “Same thing,” he told her. “Plus a glass of chardonnay for the lady and . . .” He lifted a brow at Jacob.

  “A beer. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I sold three cars today.”

  “Good for you.” Sunny leaned over a bit, easily pitching her voice above the noise as she elaborated for Jacob’s benefit. “Marco’s a car dealer.”

  Jacob got the image of Marco shuffling automobiles, then passing them around a poker table. “Congratulations” seemed the safest possible comment.

  “I do okay. Just let me know if you’re in the market. We got in a shipment of real honeys this week.”

  Jacob spared a glance at the brunette on his other side as she rubbed her arm against his. “I’ll do that.”

  Relieved that Sunny’s new friend no longer looked as though he wanted to rearrange his face, Marco shifted his chair a little closer. “So what do you drive, J.T.?”

  There was a universal moan around the table. Marco accepted it with a good-natured shrug and popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

  “Hey, it’s my job.”

  “Like taking little old ladies for test drives is a job,” someone joked.

  “It’s a living.” Marco grinned. “None of us are rocket scientists.”

  “J.T. is,” Sunny said.

  “Are you?” The brunette scooted her chair closer.

  She had big brown eyes, Jacob noted. Eyes that just brimmed with invitations. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Oh, I just love brainy men.”

  Amused, Jacob picked up the beer the waitress set in front of him. He caught the look Sunny shot across the table. He recognized it. Jealousy, it appeared, was contagious. Nothing could have pleased him more. He took a long swig and tolerated the smoke the brunette blew in his direction. It was no use telling her that she was endangering her very attractively packaged lungs.

  “Do you?”

  She kept her eyes on his as she slowly crushed out the cigarette. “Oh, yes. I’m very attracted to intelligence.”

  “Let’s dance.” Sunny shoved back her chair and snagged Jacob’s sleeve. “Nice try, Sheila,” she muttered, and dragged Jacob onto the dance floor.

  “Is that her name? Sheila?”

  She turned to him, into him, and tilted her chin upward. “Who wants to know?”

  “Don’t you want me to be nice to your friends?” He settled his hands on her hips. With her heels, her eyes were level with his. And her body fit his perfectly.

  “No.” Her mouth moved into a pout as she twined her arms around his neck. “At least not the stacked ones.”

  Curious, he looked back at the table. “Is she stacked?”

  “As if you didn’t notice. Unfortunately, her I.Q. measures the same as her bustline.”

  “I like your . . . I.Q. better.”

  “Good thinking.” Grinning, she brushed a kiss over his mouth. “I can’t blame her for giving it her best shot. You’re awfully cute.”

  “Small dogs are cute,” he muttered. “Babies are cute.”

  “You like babies.”

  “Yes, why not?”

  She toyed with the ends of his hair. “Just checking. Anyway, you are cute. And sexy.” She took a playful nip at his bottom lip. “And brainy.” She settled her cheek against his as he drew her closer. And mine, she thought. All mine. “What does the T stand for?” she murmured.

  “Which T?”

  “In J.T.”

  “Nothing.”

  “It has to stand for something.” She let out a sound of pleasure, “You dance very well.” The sax was playing again, crying the blues this time. Sunny’s eyes dipped closed as Jacob molded her against him. They were hardly moving in the press of bodies surrounding them. As his hands roamed over her back and his lips down her throat she didn’t care if they ever moved again.

  Her thighs brushed against his. The leather fitted her like a second skin, one he was already imagining peeling away from her. As he turned her in his arms, slowly, sinuously, he shifted to
taste the bare flesh of her shoulder. Even over the echoing music he could hear her skin humming. Lazily he trailed his lips back to toy with hers.

  “You smell incredible. Like spring in the desert, hot, with some lingering trace of flowers gone wild.”

  Unable to resist, she deepened the kiss until her head swam. “J.T.?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think we could get arrested for this.”

  “It would be worth it.”

  She opened her eyes, met his. “Let’s go home. I don’t like crowds the way I used to.”

  ***

  They stayed a week, so that she could drag him to movies, malls, more clubs. She attributed his constant fascination to the fact that he’d never been in the Northwest before. Each time they went out, it was as though he were seeing things for the first time. Because of that, she enjoyed the hours and the errands more than she ever had.

  When they were alone, when she trembled in his arms, she realized that it didn’t matter where they were. They were together. And if with each passing moment she fell more deeply in love, she did so freely and with absolute joy.

  For the first time in her life she began to think of a future with a man, one man. She imagined passing through the years with him—not always content, but always satisfied. She thought of a home, and if white picket fences and car pools didn’t enter the fantasy, children did. She could picture the arguments, the noise and the laughter.

  Before much longer, she thought, they would talk about it. They would plan.

  He allowed himself the week. A handful of days meant so little in the vastness of time. And meant so much to him. He recorded everything he could, and branded the rest on his memory. He didn’t mean to forget, not an instant.

  Yet he worried about how he could tell her where he had to travel when he left her so that it would hurt the least. More, he worried because he was no longer sure he had the courage to live without her.

  When they left to go back to the cabin he told himself that it was the beginning of the end. If it had to end—and he saw no alternative—it would end honestly. He would tell her everything.

  “You’re so quiet,” she said as they turned up the long, bumpy road that led to the cabin.