Tender Absolution

by Lisa Jackson

  “Hayden would never do that,” Ben said, standing up for the brother-in-law he’d sworn to hate.

  “I don’t think so, either, but I hate to be dependent.”

  “The man’s a multimillionaire, Nadine, and unless you signed some god-awful prenuptial agreement, I don’t see how you’re ever going to end up destitute!”

  “I didn’t sign anything.”

  “There you go.”

  Nadine’s green eyes darkened with memories. “I just don’t want what happened to Kevin and you and me to happen to the boys.”

  “It won’t,” Ben said and though there had been a time when he hadn’t trusted Hayden Monroe, he knew that the man adored Nadine and the boys. He hated to admit it, but Monroe seemed to be one helluva good husband and stepfather. The kids, and Nadine, couldn’t have asked for more. Though it galled Ben to concede that Hayden had proved himself to be a stellar kind of guy, he couldn’t deny what was so damned obvious. “Besides, I heard somewhere that your little jewelry and clothing business is really picking up.”

  “I guess I’d better remind you that it’s not a ‘little business’ or a hobby or something to fill my hours. I’ve got more orders than I can handle and have thought about hiring someone to help.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, Nadine studied the blueprints as Ben poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot simmering on the coffeemaker. She made a few notes with a red pencil, chewed on the inside of her lip and finally said, “You know, you really are brilliant. I can’t find much wrong with these.”

  Ben nearly choked on his coffee. Praise from his kid sister was unusual. “Good.”

  “Just put in another dormer in the loft and add a ceiling fan, shore out the back porch two feet and change the bath tub to a shower for the boys.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s it for now.”

  “Thank God.”

  She started to roll up the plans, but he said, “Keep ’em. I’ve got copies. I’ll make your changes, file one with the county, make sure the permits are all in order and then we’ll start excavation, so—”

  “I know. If there are any more changes, I should let you know yesterday.”

  “You got it.” Ben swallowed the rest of his coffee and set his empty cup in the sink. He then moved to leave.

  Nadine shooed her black-and-white shepherd off the rug near the front door. “Move, Hershel,” she commanded and the dog cocked his ears without budging. She opened the door and finally Hershel got the message. He bounded outside to join the grizzled yellow Lab who was standing guard near the rhododendrons. “Did you get an invitation to the big party?” Nadine asked.

  “If you’re talking about the Fitzpatrick extravaganza, the answer is yes, but I don’t know that I have the stomach to go.”

  “Come on, Ben. Be a sport. He’s practically family now,” Nadine said with a gleam in her eyes. “Besides, you can take Carlie. I heard you were seeing her again.”

  “This damned town.”

  “Is it a secret?”

  He studied his sister intently. “I just like to keep things private.”

  She laughed and waved as he climbed into the truck. “Then you shouldn’t have moved back to Gold Creek.”

  “You’re telling me,” Ben grumbled, stepping on the throttle a little harder than he’d planned. Just the mention of Carlie set his teeth on edge. It was true, he’d been seeing her and he’d tried like hell to keep his hands off her. But it had been a losing proposition because it was driving him out of his mind.

  He told himself that he was going straight home, but then he conjured up an excuse to stop by the Hunter house to see if the electrical crew had shown up.

  As he walked up the front steps he caught sight of Mrs. Hunter peeking through her curtains. She met him in the vestibule, her eyes shining.

  “Good news. I won’t have to rent the studio to you.”

  “You must’ve heard I inherited a dog,” he said with a wink.

  “Oh, my, no. I love animals, but you haven’t even finished your work around here and it looks like I might have a buyer for the house,” she said, beaming brightly. She was wearing a pair of her deceased husband’s overalls, a faded red flannel shirt and a smile that wouldn’t quit.

  “Looks like all this remodeling worked.”

  “Well, the deal isn’t signed yet, but when Thomas Fitzpatrick says he’s going to do something, he usually does.”

  “Fitzpatrick?” Ben said, his guts clenching. “He’s the buyer?”

  “If things go as planned.” She picked up a pair of rubber boots she’d left by her door. “Wish me luck.”

  “You got it.” Ben climbed the stairs and told himself it didn’t matter who was buying the place. Mrs. Hunter wanted to sell the old house and Fitzpatrick had the money. They were working on a deal. So what if Fitzpatrick’s name was on everything in town? Who cared if he was going to be Carlie’s new landlord?

  Nonetheless his good mood was destroyed, and when he rapped on Carlie’s door, he fidgeted, anxious to be away from the cloying grasp of Fitzpatrick. His feelings were irrational he realized. Just because Fitzpatrick had been part of the scheme with H. G. Monroe III that had forced the Powell family into near bankruptcy didn’t mean that Ben should hold a grudge. Oh, hell, why not?

  Carlie opened the door and smiled at the sight of him. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

  “I’m not. I thought we’d go out.”

  “Are you sure? I could cook—”

  “I’ll cook,” he said, anxious to leave. He wondered if Fitzpatrick had a key. Surely not yet. Nonetheless he wanted Carlie out of there.

  She was laughing, staring at him as if he’d said he was going to fly to Jupiter. “Ben Powell, chef extraordinaire?” she teased.

  “You’ll be surprised.”

  “It won’t be any of that army stuff, will it? You know…what do they call it…something on shingles?” Her blue-green eyes twinkled and he was reminded of sunlight refracting on a tropical sea.

  He laughed despite himself. “Believe me, you’ll love it.”

  “Just let me get my jacket.”

  He followed her into the apartment and wondered why it seemed like home. He looked around at the smattering of antiques, modern pieces of art and the cork bulletin board with notes pinned haphazardly on it. And everywhere, on the walls, propped against the floor, stacked on an old bookcase, were her photographs. All different. They hadn’t been here before. “What are these?”

  “My work. I had them stored at the studio, but I decided I needed a few pieces around here. You know, to show off a little.”

  As she walked to the closet near the daybed, he looked through a stack of black-and-white pictures of Native Americans in Alaska. A kayak with a single oarsman on a vast sea, whales breaching…

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Not quite.” He was fascinated with the pictures. “I don’t know much about photography, but I like these.”

  “Do you?”

  He saw the hint of her smile and his gut tightened. “Maybe we should go—”

  The phone jangled and Carlie ignored it. “The machine’ll pick up,” she explained as she slid her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. After a few rings and a slight pause, a woman’s shrill voice rang from the speaker.

  “Carlie? Are you there? It’s Constance. Come on, I know you’re probably working in that damned darkroom or something…. Look, I know you’re not all that interested in trying to reestablish yourself, but Cosmos Jeans is doing a retrospective, wants all the women who have posed for their ‘out of this world’ commercials. They’re willing to pay and…if you want to launch that career again, this would be the perfect time. Well, think about it. You know my nu
mber. Can’t wait to hear from you.”

  There was a loud click and Ben watched Carlie’s face as it lost all of its animation. “Let’s go before she calls back.” Grabbing her purse, she opened the door.

  “Your agent?” he asked.

  “Owner of the agency I worked for.” She locked the door behind them and hurried down the stairs.

  “In New York?”

  “She’s there, but there are offices in L.A. and London and Paris.”

  “Big time,” he said.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Sounds like quite an opportunity.” He couldn’t hide a trace of mockery in his voice.

  “It is. I just don’t want it.”

  “You did once.”

  “A long time ago.” She shoved open the door and stepped outside. The night was clear and cool and a soft breeze tugged at Carlie’s hair. She didn’t want to think about Constance, or New York, or the fact that she could really use the extra money modeling could provide. She was getting older; not too many more opportunities would come knocking on her door. And yet…she’d come back home because she was through with the fast lane.

  Wasn’t she?

  As Ben started the truck, she stared out the window. He was suddenly silent, wrapped in his own thoughts as he drove into the heart of town. She didn’t know what to expect from this night, but she didn’t really care. She slid a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Despite the call from Constance, being with Ben gave the evening a tingle of excitement and she let herself think about falling in love with him again.

  Don’t! She couldn’t let herself start thinking about anything so foolish as falling in love. Especially not with Ben.

  * * *

  “THIS IS CHEATING,” she said as she struggled with her chopsticks. They sat at a small table in the kitchen of his house. White cartons and sacks from a local Chinese restaurant littered the tabletop.

  “Why?”

  “I definitely heard you say ‘I’ll cook,’ not ‘I’ll order out.’ Big difference, Powell.” She wagged a chopstick at his nose.

  “Next time,” he promised.

  “I’ll hold you to it.” She started to shove her plate aside but his black shepherd, seated next to her, barked and wagged his tail, hoping for a tidbit. “He likes chop suey?” she asked.

  “He likes anything but me.”

  The dog, as if on cue, placed his head in her lap. She ruffled him behind the ears and he yawned, displaying pink gums and sharp white teeth. “I think he knows a sucker when he sees one,” she said, giving the beast a piece of ginger chicken.

  Ben grinned. It was funny how comfortable he felt with Carlie in his home, almost as if she belonged. He’d expected her to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the furnishings in his austere house: a single leather couch that he’d bought secondhand, desk, table and chairs from garage sales. No warm, soft rug, no throw pillows, not an afghan in sight and not one picture on the walls.

  But she didn’t seem to mind and he was surprised. Although she’d grown up with humble roots, she’d always dreamed of escaping Gold Creek to the fame and glitter of Manhattan. She’d planned to model, had even considered acting and felt that she might end up in L.A., so it amused him to see her sit, jean-clad legs tucked beneath her on his couch. She swirled a glass of wine as he built a fire and he imagined how easily she could fit into his life, into his routine.

  “So why’d you quit the army?” she asked, when he settled back on his heels and watched the mossy logs ignite. The fire crackled and spit.

  “It was time.”

  “Because you were wounded.”

  He sighed and rubbed the wood dust from his palms. “I joined to get out of town, just like you took off for New York. Kevin was dead, my family was splitting up—I just needed time away. I wanted order and discipline and…adventure, I guess.” His eyes darkened. “I liked it at first. I felt duty-bound and patriotic and felt that I was important, but… Oh, hell, I don’t know, I just got older. I saw some of my friends get killed and it all seemed so useless. When I was wounded I was offered a discharge. I took it. Seemed like it was time for something else.” He snorted. “Time to grow up, I suppose.”

  “And that something else was Gold Creek?”

  “It’s home, Carlie.” He stood and reached for his beer on the mantel. “And you can’t run away forever.”

  “Are you talking about yourself or giving me advice?”

  “A little of both, I suppose.” He drained the beer and walked over to her. She wasn’t a tiny person, but she was thin, and curled up on the couch, her eyes wide and luminous, her hair gleaming black, he found her irresistible. He’d kept his hands off her for a couple of weeks, ever since their passion had exploded in her apartment, but now seeing her beautiful face tipped up to his, her lips parted in an inviting smile, he couldn’t stop himself.

  In two swift strides he closed the distance between them and took her into his arms. His mouth covered hers and he tasted the wine on her lips, heard the weak little moan from the back of her throat. Her skin smelled of lavender and felt like warm silk against his fingertips. Heat pulsed through his body and his mind shut off any protests. He didn’t care about the past, didn’t want to remember that he’d told himself for years he couldn’t trust her, wouldn’t think of the ramifications of making love to her. All he knew was the want that started hot and hard in his loins and swept upward through his body.

  Carlie closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of him. His lips, his hands, his tongue. Liquid fire swept through her veins as he began to unbutton her blouse. She knew she should stop, that making love to him was dangerous, but her heart persuaded her to take a chance. The smell of burning wood, the feel of his hands against her flesh, the musky flavor of the wine, the intoxicating feel of him shoved aside all her doubts.

  She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily, her tongue anxiously mating with his. Her blouse parted and he nuzzled her neck, dipping low in the dusky hollow between her breasts, trailing his wet tongue over the silky lace of her bra.

  Arching upward, she felt his hands span her waist, holding her against him, making her aware of the hardness swelling against his jeans.

  “You make me crazy,” he whispered as he breathed across her nipple.

  She could barely speak and when she did, her voice was unrecognizable. “Please,” she begged, “please, Ben, don’t stop.”

  “Never.” He shoved her blouse from her shoulders and stripped her of her bra, until the firelight played upon her naked torso and he stared down at her nipples. “So incredible,” he murmured, running a work-roughened thumb across one dark peak. He lowered his head and sucked gently and she wound her fingers in the thick strands of his hair.

  His fingers found the waistband of her jeans and dipped low over her buttocks.

  Like lava, liquid fire swirled deep within Carlie and she found the buttons of his shirt. Her blood pounded in her ears as he stripped her of her clothes and he kicked off his jeans, pausing only long enough to reach into his pocket for a plastic-wrapped packet of protection.

  “I’ve dreamed of being with you again,” he admitted, holding himself above her, lowering his head to kiss her lips lightly, or brush his tongue across her nipples.

  “So have I,” she said over a suddenly thick throat.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely,” she cried.

  His lips clamped over hers and after a moment’s hesitation, he entered her. Not the high-speed, quick thrill of a teenager, but slowly and surely with long strokes that took her breath away.

  Carlie clung to him, moved with his intimate rhythm and stared into the magnetic beauty of his hazel eyes. The pupils were dilated, his dark skin shiny with sweat as he moved more quickly, taking Carlie on a roller-coaster ride that soared upward,
faster and faster.

  “Carlie!” he cried, as if he’d found something he’d lost for so long a time. “Oh, Carlie.”

  In a flash of brilliance, the world exploded behind her eyes. Her body convulsed and he shuddered against her. The world seemed to tilt a little as his weight settled comfortably over her and she wrapped her arms around his muscular back. I love you, she thought miserably, knowing that loving him was her burden in life. God forgive me, Ben, but I love you!

  She would never tell him, of course. But as she clung to him and the fire hissed softly, she realized that she would never love another man.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AN AFFAIR. SHE rolled the thought around in her head and stretched, the back of her calves rustling the cotton sheets. She’d never believed in affairs; she preferred being single or the permanence of marriage.

  Ben was already up. She heard him rattling around in the kitchen and smelled the rich scent of brewing coffee. Stretching, she relived their night of lovemaking that had taken place first, in the living room in front of the fire and later, in here, this tiny bedroom that was large enough for only a double bed and a chest of drawers. Sparse. Utilitarian. Perfect.

  She looked out the window and saw ice collecting on the thin panes. Frost covered the grass in the yard and a wintry sun was just peaking over the eastern hills. She found Ben’s dark blue terry-cloth bathrobe and wrapped it around her middle, cinched the waist and rolled up the sleeves. Barefoot, she padded into the living area.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said.

  He looked so good. His hair was still damp from the shower and a knowing smile played upon his thin lips. Yes, she could fall in love with him too easily. “I don’t feel very beautiful.”

  “Take my word for it. Coffee?”

  “How about a shower first?”

  “All yours,” he said, and she made her way to the bathroom.

  She’d just ducked her head under the hot spray when she heard the door open and the curtain was thrown back. “I lied,” he said, grinning devilishly as he stood stark naked on the tile floor. “The shower isn’t all yours. You’ll have to share.” He stepped inside and took her into his arms and while the sharp needles of water sprayed her back and mist rose around them, he made love to her again.