Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  The dark mass of knots in his belly miraculously dissolved beneath Rachel’s one, welcoming look. There was such a cleanness to her and he found himself wanting her in every possible way. Yet as soon as that desire was born, a sharp stab of fear followed. She was a Donovan. He was a Cunningham. Did he dare follow his heart? If he did, Jim knew that the hell in his life would quadruple accordingly. His father would be outraged. Bo would use it as another lever to get him to look unworthy to Frank. Jim had come home to try and change the poisonous condition of their heritage. What was more important—trying to change his family or wanting to know Rachel much, much better?

  THERE WAS A WHOOP and holler when both grooms kissed their brides, and the party was in full swing shortly after. Jim recognized everyone at the festive gathering. He joined in the camaraderie, the joy around him palpable. The next order of business was tossing the bridal bouquets. Jim saw Rachel stand at the rear of the excited group of about thirty women, and noticed she wasn’t really trying to jockey for a position to possibly catch one of those beautiful orchid bouquets. Why not?

  Both Kate and Jessica threw their bouquets at the same time. There were shrieks, shouts and a sudden rush forward as all the women except Rachel tried to catch them. Ruby Forester, a waitress in her early forties who worked at the Muse Restaurant, caught Jessica’s. Kate’s bouquet was caught by Lannie Young, who worked at the hardware store in Cottonwood. Both women beamed in triumph and held up their bouquets.

  Remaining at the rear of the crowd, Jim saw two wedding cakes being rolled out of the kitchen and into the center of the huge living room. From time to time he saw Rachel look up, as if searching for him in the crowd of nearly sixty people. She was kept busy up front as the cakes were cut, and then sparkling, nonalcoholic grape juice was passed around in champagne glasses.

  After the toast, someone went over to the grand piano in the corner, and began to play a happy tune. The crowd parted so that a dance floor was spontaneously created. A number of people urged Kate and Sam out on the floor, and Jim saw Jessica drag Dan out there, too. Jim felt sorry for the new husbands, who obviously weren’t first-rate dancers. But that didn’t matter. The infectious joy of the moment filled all of them and soon both brides and grooms were dancing and whirling on the hardwood oak floor, which gleamed beneath them.

  Finishing off the last of his grape juice, Jim saw a number of people with camcorders filming the event. Kate and Jessica would have a wonderful memento of one of the happiest days of their lives. He felt good about that. It was time the Donovans had a little luck, a little happiness.

  After the song was finished, everyone broke into applause. The room rang with laughter, clapping and shouts of joy. The woman at the piano began another song and soon the dance floor was crowded with other well-wishers. Yes, this was turning into quite a party. Jim grinned and shook a number of people’s hands, saying hello to them as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen. He wanted to find Rachel now that her duties as the maid of honor were pretty much over.

  The kitchen was a beehive of activity, he discovered as he placed his used glass near the sink. At least seven women were bustling around placing hors d’oeuvres on platters, preparing them to be taken out to serve to the happy crowd in the living room. He spotted Rachel in the thick of things. Through the babble he heard her low, husky voice giving out directions. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink and she had rolled up the sleeves on her dress to her elbows. The circlet of orchids looked fetching in her hair. The small pearl earrings in her ears, and the single-strand pearl necklace around her throat made her even prettier in his eyes, if that were possible.

  Finally, the women paraded out, carrying huge silver platters piled high with all types of food—from meat to fruit to vegetables with dip. Jim stepped to one side and allowed the group to troop by. Suddenly it was quiet in the kitchen. He looked up to see Rachel leaning against the counter, giving him an amused look.

  He grinned a little and moved toward her. The pink dress had a mandarin collar and showed off her long, graceful neck to advantage. The dress itself had an empire waistline and made her look deliciously desirable.

  “I got here a little late,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  Pushing a strand of dark hair off her brow, Rachel felt her heart pick up in beat. How handsome and dangerous

  Jim looked in his new suit. “I’m just glad you came,” she whispered, noting the genuine apology in his eyes.

  “I am, too.” He forced himself not to reach out and touch her—or kiss her. Right now, Rachel looked so damned inviting that he had to fight himself. “Doesn’t look like your foot is bothering you at all.”

  “No, complete recovery, thanks to you and a little homeopathic magic.” She felt giddy. Like a teenager. Rachel tried to warn herself that she shouldn’t feel like this toward any man again. The last time she’d felt even close to this kind of feeling for a man, things hadn’t ended well between them. Trying to put those memories aside, Rachel lifted her hands and said, “You clean up pretty good, too, I see.”

  Shyly, Jim touched the lapel of his suit. “Yeah, first suit I’ve had since … I don’t remember when.”

  “Well,” Rachel said huskily, “you look very handsome in it.”

  Her compliment warmed him as if she had kissed him. Jim found himself wanting to kiss her, to capture that perfect mouth of hers that looked like orchid petals, and feel her melt hotly beneath his exploration. He looked deep into her forest-green eyes and saw gold flecks of happiness in them. “I hope by coming in late I didn’t upset anything or anyone?”

  She eased away from the counter and wiped her hands on a dish towel, suddenly nervous because he was so close to her. Did Jim realize the power he had over her? She didn’t think so. He seemed shy and awkward around her, nothing like the in-charge medic she’d seen at her accident. No, that man had been confident and gentle with her, knowing exactly what to do and when. Here, he seemed tentative and unsure. Rachel laughed at herself as she fluttered nervously around the kitchen, realizing she felt the same way.

  “I have to get back out there,” she said a little breathlessly. “I need to separate the gifts. They’ll be opening them next.”

  “Need some help?”

  Hesitating in the doorway, Rachel laughed a little. “Well, sure… ?. Come on.”

  Jim and Rachel took up positions behind the linen-draped tables as the music and dancing continued unabated. He felt better doing something. Occasionally, their hands would touch as they closed over the same brightly wrapped gift, and she would jerk hers away as if burned. Jim didn’t know how to interpret her reaction. He was, after all, a dreaded Cunningham. And more than once he’d seen a small knot of people talking, quizzically studying him and then talking some more. Gossip was the lifeblood of any small town, and Sedona was no exception. He sighed. Word of a Cunningham attending the Donovan weddings was sure to be the chief topic at the local barbershop come Monday morning.

  Worse, he would have to face his father and brothers tonight at the dinner table. His stomach clenched. Trying to push all that aside, he concentrated on the good feelings Rachel brought up in him. Being the maid of honor, she had to make sure everything ran smoothly. It was her responsibility to see that Kate and Jessica’s wedding went off without a hitch. And it looked like everything was going wonderfully. The hors d’oeuvres were placed on another group of tables near the fireplace, where flames were snapping and crackling. Paper plates, pink napkins and plenty of coffee, soda and sparkling grape juice would keep the guests well fed in the hours to come.

  It was nearly 5:00 p.m. by the time the crowd began to dissipate little by little. Jim didn’t want to go home. He had taken off his coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves and was helping wash dishes out in the kitchen, along with several women. Someone had to do the cleanup. Kate and Sam had gone to Flagstaff an hour earlier, planning to stay at a friend’s cabin up in the pine country. Jessica and Dan had retired to their house on the Donovan spread, not wanting
to leave the ranch.

  Jim had his hands in soapy water when Rachel reappeared. He grinned at her as she came through the doorway. She’d changed from her pink dress into a pair of dark tan wool slacks, a long-sleeved white blouse and a bright, colorful vest of purple, pink and red. Her hair was still up in the French braid, but the circlet of orchids had disappeared. The pearl choker and earrings were gone, too.

  She smiled at him as she came up and took over drying dishes from one of the older women. “I can see the look on your face, Mr. Cunningham.”

  “Oh?” he teased, placing another platter beneath the warm, running water to rinse it off.

  “The look on your face says, ‘Gosh, you changed out of that pretty dress for these togs.’”

  “You’re a pretty good mind reader.” And she was. Jim wondered if his expression was really that revealing. Or was it Rachel’s finely honed observation skills that helped her see through him? Either way, it was disconcerting.

  “Thank you,” she said lightly, taking the platter from him. Their fingers touched. A soft warmth flowed up her hand, making her heart beat a little harder.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to dance with you,” Rachel said in a low voice. There were several other women in the kitchen and she didn’t want them to overhear.

  Jim had asked her to dance earlier, but she had reluctantly chosen kitchen duties over his invitation. He’d tried not to take her refusal personally—but he had. The Cunningham-Donovan feud still stood between them. He understood that Rachel didn’t want to be seen in the arms of her vaunted enemy at such a public function.

  “That’s okay. You were busy.” Jim scrubbed a particularly dirty skillet intently. Just the fact that Rachel was next to him and they were working together like a team made his heart sing.

  “I wished I hadn’t been,” Rachel said, meaning it. She saw surprise flare in his eyes and then, just as quickly, he suppressed his reaction.

  “You know how town gossip is,” Jim began, rinsing off the iron skillet. “You just got home and you don’t need gossip about being caught in the arms of a Cunningham haunting your every step.” He handed her the skillet and met her grave gaze.

  Pursing her lips, Rachel closed her fingers over his as she took the skillet. She felt a fierce longing build in her. She saw the bleakness in Jim’s eyes, and heard the past overwhelming the present feelings between them. She wanted to touch him, and found herself inventing small ways of doing just that. The light in his eyes changed as her fingertips brushed his. For an instant, she saw raw, hungry desire in his eyes. Or had she? It had happened so fast, Rachel wondered if she was making it up.

  “That had nothing to do with it, Jim,” she said, briskly drying the skillet. “Kate told me you’d come home to try and mend some family problems. She told me how much you’ve done to try and make that happen. I find it admirable.” Grimacing, she set the skillet aside and watched him begin to scrub a huge platter. “I really admire you.” And she did.

  Jim lifted his chin and glanced across his shoulder at her. There was pleasure in his eyes. Shrugging her shoulders, Rachel said, “I don’t know if you’ll be successful or not. You have three men who want to keep the vendetta alive between us. And I’m sure,” she continued huskily, holding his gaze, “that you caught hell today for coming over here.”

  Chuckling a little, Jim nodded and began to rinse the platter beneath the faucet. “Just a little. But I don’t regret it, Rachel. Not one bit.”

  She stood there assessing the amount of discomfort she heard in his voice. She was a trained homeopath, taught to pay attention to voice tone, facial expressions and body language, and sense on many level what was really being felt over what was being verbally said. Jim was obviously trying to make light of a situation that, in her gut, she knew was a huge roadblock for him.

  “Did your father get upset?”

  Obviously uncomfortable, Jim handed her the rinsed platter. “A little,” he hedged.

  “Probably a lot. Has Bo changed since I saw him in school? He used to be real good at manipulating people and situations to his own advantage.”

  Jim pulled the plug and let the soapy water run out of the sink. “He hasn’t changed much,” he admitted, sadness in his voice.

  “And Chet? Is he still a six-year-old boy in a man’s body? And still behaving like one?”

  Grinning, Jim nodded. “You’re pretty good at pegging people.”

  Drying the platter, Rachel said, “It comes from being a homeopath for so many years. We’re trained to observe, watch and listen on many levels simultaneously.”

  Jim rinsed off his soapy hands and took the towel she handed him. “Thanks. Well, I’m impressed.” He saw her brows lower in thought. “So, what’s your prescription for my family, Doctor?”

  She smiled a little and put the platter on the table behind them. The other women had left, their duties done, and she and Jim were alone—at last. Rachel leaned against the counter, with no more than a few feet separating them. “When you have three people who want a poisonous situation to continue, who don’t want to change, mature or break certain habit patterns, I’d say you’re in over your head.”

  Unable to argue, he hung the cloth up on a nail on the side of the cabinet next to the sink. Slowly rolling his sleeves down, Jim studied her. “I won’t disagree with your assessment.”

  Her heart ached for him. In that moment, Rachel saw a vulnerable little boy with too much responsibility heaped upon his shoulders at too young an age. His mother had died when he was six, as she recalled, leaving three little boys robbed of her nurturing love. Frank Cunningham had lost it after his wife died. Rachel remembered that story. He’d gone on a drinking binge that lasted a week, until he finally got into a fight at a local bar and they threw him in the county jail to cool down. In the meantime, Bo, Chet and Jim had had to run the ranch without their grief-stricken father. Three very young boys had been saddled with traumatic responsibilities well beyond their years or understanding. Rachel felt her heart breaking for all of them.

  “Hey,” she whispered, “everyone’s leaving. I’d love to have some help moving the furniture back into place in the living room. It’s going to quiet down now. Do you have time to help me or do you have to go somewhere?”

  Jim felt his heart pound hard at the warmth in her voice, the need in her eyes—for his company. Her invitation was genuine. A hunger flowed through him. He ached to kiss Rachel. To steal the goodness of her for himself. Right now he felt impoverished, overwhelmed by the situation with his family, and he knew that by staying, he was only going to make things worse for himself when he did go home. His father expected him for dinner at 6:00 p.m. It was 5:30 now.

  As Jim stood there, he felt Rachel’s soft hand, so tentative, on his arm. Lifting his head, he held her compassionate gaze. “Yeah, I can stick around to help you. Let me make a phone call first.”

  Smiling softly, Rachel said, “Good.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  JIM ENJOYED the quiet of the evening with Rachel. The fire was warm and cast dancing yellow light out into the living room, where they sat on the sofa together, coffee in hand. It had taken them several hours to get everything back in order and in place. Rachel had fixed them some sandwiches a little while ago—a reward for all their hard work. Now she sat on one end of the sofa, her long legs tucked beneath her, her shoes on the floor, a soft, relaxed look on her face.

  Jim sat at the other end, the cup between his square hands. Everything seemed perfect to him—the quiet, the snowflakes gently falling outside, the beauty of a woman he was drawn to more and more by the hour, the snap and crackle of the fire, the intimacy of the dimly lit room. Yes, he was happy, he realized—in a way he’d never been before.

  Rachel studied Jim’s pensive features, profiled against the dark. He had a strong face, yet his sense of humor was wonderful. The kind of face that shouted of his responsible nature. Her stomach still hurt, they had laughed so much while working together. Really, Rachel admitted t
o herself, he was terribly desirable to her in every way. Rarely had she seen such a gentle nature in a man. Maybe it was because he was an EMT and dealt with people in crisis all the time. He was a far cry from her father, who had always been full of rage. Maybe her new relationship with Jim was a good sign of her health—she was reaching out to a man of peace, not violence.

  Pulling herself from her reverie, she said, “Did I ever tell you what made me slam on my brakes up there in the canyon?”

  Jim turned and placed his arm across the back of the couch. “No. I think you said it was a cat.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t a cougar. When I got home from E.R., I asked Jessica to bring me an encyclopedia. I lay there in bed with books surrounding me. I looked under L for leopard, and that wasn’t what I saw. When I looked under J for jaguar …” She gave him a bemused look. “That was what I saw out there, Jim, in the middle of an ice-covered highway that morning—a jaguar.” She saw the surprise flare in his eyes. “I thought I was hallucinating, of course, but then something very unusual—strange—happened.”

  “Oh?” Jim replied with a smile. He liked the way her mouth curved into a self-deprecating line. Rachel had no problem poking fun at herself—she was confident enough to do so. As she moved her hand to punctuate her story, he marveled at her effortless grace. She was like a ballet dancer. He wanted to say that she had the grace of a jungle cat—a boneless, rhythmic way of moving that simply entranced him.