by Amii Lorin
"Don't even think but," Liz urged. "Think positive." She gave Jen a quick hug, then said briskly, "Now, go home and get some rest—you look beat. And call me soon—okay?"
"Yes, I will. I promise." Jen somehow managed a natural smile. "Drive carefully, both of you."
With a last wave of her hand, Jen picked up her suitcase and walked to her still snow-laden car. Thankfully Barton's maintenance crew had cleared the lot around the car, so all Jen had to do was clean the windows, back and front. Thirty nerve-racking minutes after she drove off the Barton's lot; Jen pulled onto the narrow driveway to the one-car garage attached to her parents' rambling ranch home. It was at that moment she remembered she'd promised her mother she'd call the day before.
Her mother, obviously, had not forgotten. She met Jen at the front door, a frown of disapproval marring her usually serene face.
"Jennifer Louise Lengle." Ella's use of Jen's full name was a clear indication of how upset she was. "Do you have any idea how worried your father and I have been? Why didn't you call?"
Even as she scolded, Ella's eyes grew sharp with concern as they noted Jen's pale cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mom." Standing just inside the door on the mat her ever tidy mother had placed there for the purpose of removing sloppy wet clothes and boots, Jen bent listlessly to tug at the zipper of her boot. "I have no excuse. I simply forgot."
Although Jen didn't notice, the look of concern spread from her mother's eyes to her entire face. "Jennifer"— Ella's tone of annoyance was gone, replaced by anxiety— "are you feeling all right?"
Her boots dealt with, Jen straightened. "I'm just tired." She smiled reassuringly as she shrugged out of her jacket. "And I think I may be coming down with a cold." This last remark she tacked on in an effort to stave off questions about her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "Where's Daddy?"
A soft smile curved her mother's lips as she plucked the jacket out of Jen's hands and turned to hang it in the closet. "In his 'den,' asleep in front of the TV." Turning back to Jen, she ordered gently, "Leave your suitcase where it is for now and come have a cup of tea. You look like you need it."
As she followed her mother to the kitchen, Jen glanced down the long hall that lead to the home's four bedrooms, a reflection of her mother's soft smile on her own lips. Her father's "den," as her mother had laughingly dubbed it, was located in the smallest of the bedrooms. Before her sister Vicki's marriage, the room had been used as a guest room. But two weeks after the wedding Ella began rearranging the rooms. Declaring, teasingly, that she was tired of listening to her husband snore as he ostensibly watched television, she turned Vicki's room into a guest room and installed a desk, portable television, and a lounge chair into the small room and christened it "Dad's den."
The aroma of Yankee pot roast assailed Jen's nostrils as she entered the large kitchen, and with a surprised glance at the wall clock, Jen saw it was only a half hour shy of the usual dinner hour of six o'clock. Lord! Jen grimaced as she dropped onto a plastic and chrome kitchen chair. No wonder she felt wrung out. They had been on that bus all day!
"Did you run into any difficulty on the way home?" Ella asked as she placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Jen.
"No," Jen shook her head. "But it was slow going. We left the motel around ten this morning."
"There's my girl." Ralph Lengle's warm voice preceded him into the kitchen. Coming to a stop beside her chair, he slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief hug. "Your trip turned out to be pretty much of a fiasco, didn't it?" he commiserated softly.
In more ways than one, Jen thought tiredly. Glancing up at him, she smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid so."
Becoming still, his eyes searched hers knowingly. For as long as she could remember, her father had been able to gauge her state of health—emotional and physical—from her eyes. Now he seemed puzzled. "What's up, Jen?" he probed gently. "Aren't you feeling well? Or is something troubling you?"
"I'm okay, Daddy." Jen shook her head, as much to deny the moisture gathering in her eyes as his words. Always susceptible to his caring gentleness, Jen was even more so now. "I think I may have caught a cold."
Even though her father nodded, his expression left little doubt in Jen's mind that he was unconvinced.
Somehow Jen managed to eat at least some of her dinner and get through the clearing-away period after the meal was finished. When she was finally free to go to her own room, she walked down the hall determined to take a hot bath, crawl into bed, and have a good cry in an attempt to dissolve the tight knot of misery that had settled in her chest. She achieved the first two of her objectives, but after slipping between the covers, she was dead to the world before the first tear could fully form.
Uncomfortably for Jen, her hasty assurances to her parents that she was coming down with a cold proved to be prophetic. By Monday morning she was sneezing at the rate of what seemed to be three times within every five minutes; bleary-eyed; and red-nosed from her tender skin's constant contact with a procession of tissues. All that long week, Jen dragged her aching body from home to office to home again, sneezing and sniffling all the way.
Dousing herself with hot baths, aspirin, and a supposedly bracing tea concoction her mother brewed for her every night, Jen steadfastly refused to see a doctor. By the end of the week the sneezing and sniffling had stopped, but Jen felt exhausted and looked, in her mother's words, like warmed-over death. Even though her mother had made the statement teasingly, her eyes had revealed her growing concern. Jen had to fight the urge to confide in her mother, then have a good cry on her shoulder.
But she didn't. As each successive day passed without word from Adam, the fear grew inside Jen that she would never hear from him again. How could she tell her mother about him? What could she say? There was no way she could explain what had happened in that snowed-in motel. How could she make her mother understand when she didn't quite understand it herself?
Jen spent the entire week silently fighting the doubts that assailed her mind. Had she fallen headlong into love, she wondered over and over again, or had she been caught up into the snow fever Ted had talked about? Away from Adam's hypnotic, warm velvet gaze, his bone-melting touch, and his reason-destroying mouth, Jen was left with the knowledge of her own inexperience.
Had she, in her innocence, allowed herself to be led down the garden path? Had she, to be blunt, allowed herself to be used as a convenience—a bed and body warmer? The self-questioning seared her soul, but though she struggled to banish them, the questions persisted.
Never before in her life had she encountered anyone like Adam Banner. He was a completely unknown quantity to her, different from any other man Jen had ever came in contact with. His upbringing and his life-style were the complete antitheses of her own.
Jen was, she knew, very much a product of the everyday middle class. Her own upbringing had been free of any disruptive influences or emotional upheavals. As she had honestly told Adam, she was very like other people.
Her moral code had been instilled by loving, concerned, God-fearing parents who believed in the sanctity of the marriage vows. The idea of divorce was unpalatable to them, but compared to divorce, infidelity was blasphemy. Jen had absorbed and accepted their beliefs unquestioningly. It was therefore unsurprising that she had been shocked at Adam's revelations. And now her own re to him held equal shock value.
As one day dragged itself into another, her head cold drained her energy, and her confusing thoughts ravaged her mind, Jen felt torn in two by conflicting conclusions.
On the one hand was the emotional realization that what had been ignited inside her at the first touch of Adam's eyes had not been infatuation or mere physical attraction but the first, exciting spark of love—a spark that had flared into a vociferous flame, consuming all other considerations, by the time Adam's note had been handed to her.
On the other hand was the daunting voice of reason that told her that even if he were with her, they would be poles ap
art. Even though she was young, her character mold was set. Her dreams had been of a very prosaic nature. Very simply, she wanted a life like her mother had: a companionable relationship with her husband, a comfortable home, and children to love and enjoy.
By Friday morning Jen had reached the heartbreaking conclusion that even if Adam should still call or come to her, they had no future together. She loved him—almost desperately so—and she ached to be in his arms, to have all rational thought burned out of her mind by his searching mouth. But she knew that when his arms loosened and his lips left hers, the cold light of reality would still be there, glaringly exposing the fact that although opposites often attract, they are as often incompatible.
Sadly, Jen came to the decision that should he contact her, she would have to deny her feelings for him, for she truly believed that if she didn't, she would pay for a long time to come.
When Chris called while Jen was on her lunch break, she was so weary of her own thoughts she answered "Yes" at once, when Chris asked if she wanted to go out that evening.
"It'll be the usual crowd," Chris said lightly. "At the usual place."
The usual place was a local night spot, frequented mostly by young singles.
"I'll be there," Jen promised firmly, suddenly filled with a need to get back into the normal swing of her life.
Jen informed her parents of her plans over the dinner table, feeling a twinge of guilt at the relief that washed over her mother's face. She had been aware of her mother's concern, of course, but now the full extent of that concern was clearly visible.
She should have known, Jen chided herself. She and Vicki had never been able to hide anything from their mother, and although her mother had no way of knowing what was troubling her, it was obvious she was aware Jen was suffering from more than a common cold.
"It'll do you a world of good," Ella declared with a forced note of cheer in her voice.
"Other than to go back and forth to work, you've been cooped up in the house all week."
After dinner, having cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher, Jen and her mother were straightening the dining area when the phone rang.
"I'll get it," her father offered, coming in the back door after taking out the trash, and crossing the kitchen to the wall phone. Jen was bent over the table replacing the flower-ringed candle centerpiece when he called, "It's for you, honey."
Knowing Chris's genius for changing plans at the last minute, Jen was wondering what the change might be as she took the receiver from her father and said, "Hello?"
"Jennifer?"
CHAPTER 9
The low, caressing sound of her name froze Jen in place. She was unaware that her parents had left the dining room. She did not hear the sound of the TV being turned up in the living room. For long seconds she could not think or hear or breathe.
"Jennifer?" Not so low now, Adam's sharp tone shattered her trancelike state.
Placing her hand over the end of the receiver, Jen drew a deep, ragged breath and released it slowly before removing her hand and answering huskily, "Yes?"
"Darling, you sound strange. Are you all right?" Adam asked in the same sharp tone.
"Yes, I'm fine. I've had a cold all week, but it's better now," Jen explained away the husky sound of her voice.
"Dammit," Adam muttered. "I kept you out in the snow too long last week. Have you seen a doctor?"
"No, it wasn't necessary." Jen sighed. "It was only a head cold, Adam," she ended somewhat abruptly. Why were they talking about a head cold! Adam was quiet a moment and when his voice again touched her ear it held that low, caressing note that so affected her nervous system.
"I'm hungry for you, darling," he murmured roughly. "Cold or no cold, contagious or not, I want to kiss you so badly I get the shakes just thinking about it."
His blatantly sensual tone scattered the fog blanketing her mind, and with a start Jen remembered her decision of that morning.
"Did Bill give you my note, angel?" Adam's soft tone broke into her thoughts.
"Yes," Jen answered flatly.
"Jennifer, are you angry about the suddenness of my departure?" All traces of the sensuality were gone now, replaced by tight urgency. "There was a good reason for the abruptness of my actions."
"I'm sure there was," Jen replied in the same flat tone. And she really was sure, but somehow it didn't seem important anymore. If she was going to stick to her decision, the less she knew, the better. Forcing all expression from her voice, she murmured, "It's not important, Adam."
"Not important?" he repeated blankly. Then he almost shouted, "What do you mean, not important? And why isn't it?"
"Why is it?" she asked quietly.
"Why?" he repeated incredulously. "Wait a minute," he went on with forced control, "I'm tired, and I've got jet lag, and I think I'm missing something." He drew a long breath, then went on slowly, "Why isn't it important, Jennifer?"
"Because"—Jen swallowed around the painful tightness in her throat—"because what happened between us at that motel shouldn't have."
"Oh, hell," Adam groaned. "She's been passing judgments again—this time on herself," he muttered before demanding, "Is that why you left my room that morning?"
"That's not important either anymore," Jen sighed.
"Jennifer, listen to me," Adam said impatiently. "You're being ridiculous and childish. We have to talk about this."
His calling her ridiculous and childish stirred defensive anger in Jen. What did he want of her? Why was he even bothering? First he'd accused her of being too quick to judge. Then he'd scolded her for being tactless. Soon after that he'd called her narrow-minded and straitlaced. Now she was ridiculous and childish. The list of her character faults seemed to grow longer and longer. Why was he even interested? In comparison to the other women he knew, especially his mother, she had to appear appallingly gauche. That thought seared her mind and loosened her tongue in retaliation.
"I don't understand you at all, Adam," Jen cried through stiff lips. "Why did you call me? What interest can you have in such a morally uptight juvenile?"
"Dammit, Jennifer"—Adam's rough tone betrayed his anger—"will you stop this stupidity—"
"No, damn you, Adam." Jen's knuckles were white from gripping the receiver. Now she was stupid! The list grew longer every time he opened his mouth. God, what a bore he must find her. But then—why? The answer came glaringly simple. She had been so unbelievably easy. Was it possible he was between women, she thought wildly, and needed a diversion? The thought was crushing, and without actually forming them, words of repudiation poured from her trembling lips.
"I may be stupid and childish, but I'm not a complete idiot, even if I have given you reason to believe I am. I am not interested in being a part-time playmate to be used whenever there's a lull in your more sophisticated action."
A long silence followed her nearly incoherent tirade, during which Jen could only boggle at her own outrageous statement. She was wrong; she was a complete idiot! The bark of Adam's harsh laughter seemed to indicate his concurrence.
"Part-time playmate!" His laughter turned derisive. "You've been reading too many women's magazines, young lady. I'm coming up there so we can hash this out."
"I won't be here."
"Where are you going?" Adam demanded. "Who are you going with?"
Jen bristled at his sharply possessive tone. How dare he question her?
Enraged, Jen choked, "None of your damned business," and slammed the receiver onto its cradle.
Shaken, trembling, Jen stood staring at the phone, fully expecting it to ring again. As the seconds dragged into minutes her shoulders drooped, and she had to close her eyes against the hot sting of tears. Leaning tiredly against the wall, Jen berated herself for the moisture that trickled from under her tightly closed lids.
A shudder rippled through her body as an echo of his voice whispered through her mind: "Jennifer, are you angry?" Angry? Good Lord, if it was only that simple. How much easier it
would be if the only emotion she felt was healthy anger. She ached to see him, ached to be in his arms, while at the same time she was afraid to see him. She wasn't sure she could trust him not to hurt her again.
Sighing for what might have been, she pushed herself away from the wall. She had taken three steps across the inlaid tile floor when a sudden thought brought her up short. Once before she had thought her words had driven him away. His reply to her then had been "I'll never walk away from you," and Jen knew now, positively, that before long he would be there, at her home, insisting she listen to him.
The thought generated action, and Jen practically ran down the hall to her room. She had over an hour until she was to meet Chris and the rest of her friends, but as she had no idea where Adam had been calling from, she could not, now, waste any time hanging around the house. She had to get ready as quickly as possible and get out. For if she saw him, if he got his hands on her, her resistance would dissolve in her need of him.
Eleven minutes later, every nerve in her body quivering, Jen backed her car out of the driveway. Instead of the long, hot bath she had looked forward to, she had made do with a quick sponge bath and a fresh application of makeup. A shimmery, clingy jumpsuit had replaced her tailored office clothes, and her comfortable low-heeled pumps had been exchanged for a few straps attached to a thin sole and narrow spike heels. She had shrugged into her short fake fur jacket as she headed for the door and had forestalled the questions she could see forming on her mother's lips with a brightly chirped, "I gotta run. Don't worry. I will not drink too much, I will drive carefully, and I won't be very late. Bye." Her last word coincided with the closing of the door.
Jen's breathing didn't return to normal until she was several blocks away from her home. Still shaky, she jerked to a stop as a light changed to red, and she sat gripping the steering wheel, wondering what in the world she was going to do for an hour. A short blast of the horn from the car behind her made her aware that the light had switched to green. It also made her aware of her distracted state of mind. Better go to Chris's, she told herself scathingly. In the condition I'm in, I'm a menace on the road.