“How in the ever-loving hell could you think you’re not passionate, Vera Waltham? If you were any more passionate, I’d be the happiest dead man in Damson County.”
Not tender words, but in the genuine bewilderment with which James offered them, Vera heard tenderness anyway. Happy bewilderment, a mirror of Vera’s own sentiments, or some of them.
She kissed James’s cheek lingeringly when no reply came to mind, though intimacy with him was unlike any lovemaking she’d experienced. More compelling, more daring. To share passion like this took courage, and if James was doing anything, he was helping her find her courage again.
“You’re quiet,” James said, levering up on his elbows. “I have to be squashing you.”
Was that a hint of uncertainty in his voice?
“Don’t go.” Vera managed that much, and backed it up by tightening her arms and legs around him.
“I’ll be right back. What Vera puts on me, I have to take off.”
He was referring to the condom, of course, something else Vera hadn’t known how to talk about. She let her arms go slack, glad in her bones James was the one who had to navigate climbing out of the bed. She heard him snatch a tissue from the box on the night table, and then he was back, the mattress dipping with his weight.
“Women are supposed to want to talk after sex,” he said, sliding an arm under Vera’s neck. “Or maybe I’m behind the times. You going to roll over and go to sleep on me?”
He was teasing, but Vera wrestled him atop her again when he would have spooned himself around her.
“I feel sentimental, James. Like I’m about to say something stupid or cry or both.” Like she’d better not sit down at a keyboard until she had these feeling under control.
He let her get situated beneath him. She scooted down so James was above and around her.
“If what you want to say is the truth, Vera, then it can’t be foolish, and your tears would never be foolish to me.” He palmed the back of her head and cradled her face to his shoulder.
That was what Vera wanted, exactly, precisely what she wanted, to be held and cherished and cosseted, by God. At long last, finally and thoroughly, she’d found a man who knew how to cosset her.
“James?”
“Sweetheart?”
“The space shuttle’s got nothing on you.”
He kissed her cheek, and Vera fell asleep beneath him to the feel of his hand caressing her hair. Her last thought was that it was bliss to be held in the arms of the only man to ever figure out how to…cosset her.
* * *
James poured Twyla a bowl of granola, sliced a few bites of banana and strawberry onto it, tossed on some chocolate chips, and set it in front of the girl.
“Wow. My cereal at home isn’t this fancy. Thanks, James.” Twyla picked up her spoon and dug in. “Mom sure likes to sleep in at your house.”
James rinsed out his own bowl. He’d indulged in an entire handful of chocolate chips on his cereal, because a guy needed to keep up his strength.
“Any change of routine can be tiring,” James said. Then too, multiple shuttle launches in the course of a night could also wear a gal out. “You want to get eggs with me?”
“You buy them at the store?”
The child’s education had been neglected. “I most assuredly do not. Not a quarter mile that-a-way is a genuine working henhouse, and Monday is my day to fetch the eggs. Hiram lets me take what I need and keeps me in butter and milk too, in exchange for the occasional hand with his farm work.”
“Like when you fixed the fence yesterday?”
“That was simply defending my castle,” James said, putting the milk away. “But, yes, mending fence, stacking hay, running the manure spreader over the fields when it’s too cold for an old man’s bones.”
Twyla paused in an effort to spoon-mine the chocolate chips from her granola. “You spread manure? On purpose?”
“Finish your cereal, and we’ll go for a ramble. I’ll write your mom a note.”
James would not sign the note with love, though it was tempting. Last night had been…unprecedented. James usually concluded a sexual interlude feeling he’d scratched his itch, provided the same relief to the lady, and could go happily on his way.
He’d wanted to linger, wanted to hear Vera call his name one more time, wanted to feel her hands on him, wanted to be the man who proved to her she was extraordinarily passionate for all her innocence.
Maybe because of her innocence.
“James, are you going to write the note?” Twyla asked.
“Sometimes it’s hard to get started. Why don’t you write this for me, and I’ll tidy up the kitchen.”
“I washed out my bowl.” Twyla said, taking the chair James abandoned, and sliding over the pen and legal pad James had appropriated from the phone stand. “You begin with Dear Mom, except she’s not your mom.”
“She’s my Vera,” James said, that truth inordinately satisfying. “My dear Vera.”
He wished he’d not delegated the note writing to Twyla, so he could put those words on paper: My dear Vera. My own Vera.
The sentiment echoed as he introduced Twy to Inskip’s hens and the proper method of parting a biddy from her egg. Twyla looked at but didn’t touch the manure spreader, and peered into the pungent gloom of the heifers’ loafing shed for the source of the manure. James stopped by the milking parlor for a gallon of raw milk, explaining to Twy as they returned to the house about homogenization, pasteurization, and cream rising to the top.
“You know a lot,” Twyla said. “Grace says both her uncles are smart, but not as smart as her dad.”
“That’s because her dad was smart enough to marry her mom,” James said as they walked into the kitchen. “That makes Trent the brightest guy in the family. Look who’s awake.”
He smiled at his Vera, who sat at the table in her nightie and bathrobe, a pair of James’s wool socks on her feet, and a cup of tea in her hand.
What a perfectly gorgeous sight. James resisted the urge to kiss her only because Twyla was there and Vera’s gaze held shyness.
“Good morning, beautiful lady,” he said. “We come bearing gifts from the neighbor ladies.”
“I got the eggs myself,” Twyla added. “James says small hands are better for raiding the boxes. I had chocolate chips on my cereal, and can Grace come over and play today?”
Vera peered into the pail James held. “Did you thank the hens?”
“We did,” Twyla said, beaming. “Eggs have to be washed. I never knew that.”
“You’re headed for the office today, aren’t you, James?” Vera asked.
“I am not,” he said, putting the eggs in a colander in the sink. “I have to run over to West Virginia for a client, and that will pretty much ruin the day. I can stick around for a couple hours, though, while you get started on your practicing.”
“That would be helpful.”
Twyla looked from one adult to the other. “Would it be helpful if Grace came and played with me? I promise we’d stay out of your hair, Mom.”
James shot Twyla a sardonic glance over his shoulder. “You’ll pester her for brownies and cookies, and probably sneak out and chase the heifers. I’m leaving this house in the hands of a pair of hooligans.”
Twyla grinned at her mother. “I’ve never been a hooligan before. I’ll text Grace she can come.”
“How about,” Vera said, a touch of authority in her voice, “you will let me call Grace’s mom, and see if Grace is free to come play? Hannah probably has to go to work this morning herself, Twy. Not everyone is still on spring break today.”
“I’ll go make my bed, so when Grace comes, that will already be done,” Twyla said, bouncing out of the kitchen in great good spirits.
“Somebody slept well,” James said, abandoning his post at the sink. “How is somebod
y’s mother?”
Vera rose from the table and faced away from him. “How do we do this part, James?”
“This part?”
“This is the proverbial morning after, and I am…all at sea. I found the note. Thanks for taking Twy on a walk, and thanks for…”
He was across the kitchen in two strides, his arms around her. “The pleasure was entirely mine.” If he had to listen to her thank him for hauling her ashes, it would cast a pall on an otherwise lovely day. “I can’t postpone this business in West Virginia, or else Twyla would be off to play at Grace’s, I assure you.”
“I have to practice.” Vera’s arms stole around James’s waist. “I cannot think straight, but somehow, I have to practice.”
James rested his chin on her crown, pleased beyond words to have muddled her so. Thinking straight was vastly overrated.
“First you have to tell me you enjoyed last night, Vera, and you have to tell me you’re better than just fine.”
She smiled up at him. He snitched a kiss while Twyla was occupied elsewhere, though it left him wanting to snitch more than a first kiss of the day, to hoist Vera onto the counter, undo his jeans, and—
He needed to get back into the habit of keeping a condom in his wallet.
“Now, I’m better than fine.” She closed her eyes and rested against him.
This affection and closeness, this warmth, this was how Trent started every day of his married life. Lucky, lucky bastard. Smart, lucky bastard.
“I can wave Grace off,” James said. “Hannah wouldn’t mind if we wanted to send Twyla to her for the morning.”
“I’m going to practice,” Vera said, slipping free of his embrace. “Practicing will be a complete waste of time, because I won’t be able to focus at all, but I have my standards, James.”
“Anticipation isn’t entirely a bad thing.” He went back to washing the eggs, mostly because dirty eggs might quell the uproar starting behind his zipper. “I’ll also stop by your place on my way west and make sure the security firm has gotten started.”
“Any idea how long that will take?”
Years, if I have any say. Though prevaricating like that with Vera held no appeal, not even if foot-dragging by the security firm assured James more nights in her bed.
Entire nights, which was a switch. He’d awakened with a silky strand of Vera’s hair across his mouth, her leg cast over his thigh, and her soft snoring inches from his ear. Leaving her undisturbed had been an act of sheer discipline, one made possible only by the knowledge that little kids went to bed earlier than grown-ups.
And woke up earlier too.
“I’ll get a schedule from Howard’s crew chief today,” James said. “You in a hurry to get home?”
Vera grimaced at her tea. “I want to get it over with. Those eggs must be spotless by now, James. Where’s Hannah’s number, and is it too early to call?”
“Nah. They have livestock. They’ll be up.” James passed Vera his cell. “She’s on my contact list, but, Vera?”
She glanced up, her gaze wary, and James hated that.
“This is the proverbial morning after,” he said, purposely not touching her. “There was nothing proverbial about last night though. Last night was special, and you are special, and seeing you here in my kitchen this morning is special, and taking your daughter with me to raid the henhouse is special…and I’m saying stupid things, aren’t I?”
She looked puzzled, then the corners of her lips turned up, and a smile broke over her whole face, illuminating every feature and shining out of her dark eyes.
“Yes, James. Yes, you are saying stupid things. Very stupid things for such a brilliant, sexy man.” She went up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth, a fat, sassy, Hello-Buster of a kiss that had James smiling right back at her.
* * *
Vera admitted she’d been wrong.
While James puttered in his study with Twyla on the computer, Vera had sat down to do her finger exercises. She’d expected the familiar comfort of a manual routine, not that they’d come off all flourish-y and polished. Olga could make technique sound that way, as if it had its own drive and will to shine, exactly like concert repertoire.
Vera hadn’t known how to pull off such a feat.
She attributed this aberration in her playing to a wonderful night’s sleep in James’s arms. He’d stayed with her, a pleasure in itself, and kept her warm and occasionally rubbed her back or her scalp.
He was a natural at team sleeping, tucking an arm around her, running his foot up her calf, kneading her backside gently as she dozed beside him. The sex had been dazzling and disorienting, but the sharing a bed…with James; that was the bodily equivalent of the way he talked to her, involving courage and trust and something magic she hadn’t shared with anybody in her twenty-eight years on earth.
A four-hand rendition of happily ever after.
Vera was falling in love with James plain and simple. He’d said she hadn’t had the experience to defend herself against Alex and Donal, and he’d been right. But all the experience in the world wouldn’t be enough to protect her against James’s combination of charm, sex appeal, and sheer male presence.
She got out some Bach fugues, and even they sounded more…polished, competent…brilliant?
“Mom, Grace is here!” Twyla knew to time her bellows to the pauses between pieces, but Vera merely bellowed back. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
She had no desire to leave the piano bench and was still playing twenty minutes later when James sat beside her.
“You’re a maniac today,” he said, when Vera reached a cadence. “What’s gotten into you?”
A who, not a what. “Spring fever, maybe.”
He pushed a lock of Vera’s hair over her shoulder. “The girls are up in Twy’s room. I moved the DVD player in there, and I think they’re having a princess marathon. I should be back by dinner, and Hannah will pick Grace up on her way home from work.”
While Vera impersonated a maniac pirate pianist. Vera liked that image just fine. “Hannah’s working today?”
“She and Trent are both the kind you can’t keep out of the office for too long. You ladies will be OK while I’m gone?”
“We’ll manage.” Then a thought intruded, the trombone making its dolorous entrance on the day’s concerto. “James, what do we know of Grace’s father?”
A funny expression flickered across James’s face. “Why do you ask?”
Why hadn’t this come up earlier? “Because Grace is in my care for the day. What if he shows up? Are there restraining orders? Does he have any kind of custody? Do I have to watch what I say about him in front of Grace?”
“Tangled webs,” James said. “As far as I know, Grace’s father does not know she’s alive, and Hannah wants it that way. Grace’s conception was not a happy occasion for Hannah, but the details are hers to share.”
A gentle reprimand, not quite a scold, but an understandable one. Family business was family business.
“Then I don’t need to worry about him, do I?” Vera asked.
“You do not, particularly when you are sounding so ferociously good at the keyboard.”
“I am, then? It isn’t just my imagination?” Vera could ask James, because he’d be honest. Kind, but honest, because he had no stake in manipulating her, showing her off, or exploiting her talents.
“You’re in rare form, Vera. Recall that you promised to play for me tonight. Save a little of your fire for when the sun goes down.”
He gave her a look that would incinerate her concert grand on the spot, and Vera had to stare hard at middle C.
“Drive safely, James.”
He kissed her cheek and sauntered off, while Vera watched his backside and knew that James knew she was ogling him.
She turned resolutely back to her playing, but what was sh
e thinking, anyway, trotting out musty old Bach? She mentally dug through her stacks of music, came up with the finale to the Emperor Concerto, and started romping away with Beethoven at his exuberant best.
* * *
“Your mom is terrific,” Grace said, remote in her hand. “She can play like that, and she makes great brownies.”
“She hasn’t played that piece since I was little,” Twyla replied. “It’s long, and there’re a lot of other instruments that go with it. I like it.”
“We can watch the movie later. You wanna just listen?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I’m going to tell Merle she missed bee-yoo-ti-ful music,” Grace said, tossing the remote up and catching it. “It makes Bronco want to dance in the Cloud Pasture.”
“It makes me want to learn to play the piano.”
* * *
Vera spent the day playing old friends, trying to pinpoint what, exactly, was different about her music.
What was better.
She hadn’t solved the mystery by the time she made the girls lunch, and she still hadn’t solved it when she spotted Hannah’s blue Prius pulling into the driveway, but she’d had great fun—something Vera couldn’t recall doing on a piano bench for years.
“Hullo,” Hannah said. “I gather the girls are still friends?”
“No sulks or pouts yet today,” Vera replied. “Can you stay for a cup of tea?”
Said like a perfectly normal mom too.
“Yes, please. Reentry is hard after a vacation, and probably harder still after a honeymoon.”
They shared a cup of tea as darkness fell, and as Hannah took her mug to the sink, she tossed a question over her shoulder.
“I don’t suppose James is underfoot somewhere? He wasn’t in the office today.”
“He had an errand in West Virginia, and said it would take most of the day. Business for some client. He ought to be back any minute.”
“West Virginia?” Hannah’s hand went to her middle, as if the tea disagreed with her.
West Virginia was less than fifteen miles away. “I didn’t ask for details. Are you all right?”
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