Sweet Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  He spoke in a rush before he could change his mind.

  “I’ll let you have the cottage.”

  She froze. Slowly, she faced him, her eyes huge and equal parts fear and hope. “You’ll sell it to me?”

  “Rent it.” He couldn’t do more just now. “That’s all I can promise.”

  Her smile was a summer’s sun, every bit as blinding. “Oh, Gamble, I promise you I’ll be a good steward of it. You’ll never have to worry a second.” She began a little jig, then faltered. “Are you sure this is okay for you? I couldn’t bear it if my happiness caused you more pain.”

  He wasn’t, but her joy made him wish to keep that smile shining. “I’m fine.”

  She beamed and hugged him hard, then bestowed a kiss to what should have been his cheek.

  But it landed at the edge of his mouth.

  Both of them jolted at the hammer blow of memory.

  He stilled, and their lips were only a breath apart, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  His chest was tight, everything in him suspended.

  But so aware of her. Of how she lightened his heart. Her kindness, her giving.

  Close, so close she was, that sense of hope, of sunshine and laughter, of strength and resilience when he was held together with the faintest of threads.

  Too much in her called to him. He narrowed the gap and brushed his lips over hers, soaking up the life in her, the warmth he so sorely needed.

  As their lips met in a kiss more chaste than seductive, he began to register her lush body against his, the lure of her bright spirit reaching inside him. He tightened his arms around her back, seeking. Settled her along the length of him.

  Felt the urge to groan at how good she felt.

  She leaned into him, gave one tiny, breathy moan—

  He took her mouth then as he’d wanted to a hundred times since they’d made love, those wide, delicious lips that had the power to dissolve all rational thought. He yielded the fight to resist her, just for a minute.

  Just one, then he’d—

  But one became two, and her hands slipped into his hair. Against his chest, the abundant softness of her breasts. One arm encircled her waist and that hand slid down her curvaceous hips, pressing her into him.

  He did groan, then, and angled his head to go deeper into the silken warmth of her mouth, while he wrapped her braid round and round his other wrist to anchor her in place.

  And all the while, inside him was an ocean’s roaring, waves crashing against the stones of his heart and drowning out the sounds of anything beyond the stunning demand to have this woman. He gripped her harder, and she responded with a passion that almost obscured everything else.

  But in the tiny pause between one wave and the next, his conscience began to whisper.

  Until finally, he heard it.

  He broke away with a gasp. What was he doing, all but devouring Jezebel right here, at Charlotte’s house? “No.” He backed off. “I can’t.”

  Her eyes were huge and dark with passion, and she blinked as if emerging from a spell. “Wha—”

  He looked around himself for answers. “Not here. Not where—” He wheeled to escape what he’d done.

  She caught his hand, and when he tried to shake her off, she only clasped tighter, pulling him to face her. “Shh, it’s okay. I understand.”

  “Let me go,” he said, as if he did not possess the greater strength by far.

  “Come with me,” she entreated, drawing him slowly but firmly into the shade of a stately oak, murmuring a steady stream of soothing sounds, all of them words he couldn’t hear for the tumult inside his mind. “It’s okay, Gamble.”

  “You don’t get it.” Misery made his voice savage. “I want you to go.”

  “I will, but not like this. Just sit with me a second.” She tugged at him with the clear expectation that he could do nothing to refuse her.

  He gathered his wits and yanked his hand from hers. “No. Get the hell away.”

  “Gamble.” It was the voice that could quiet a rowdy bar, not loud, but calmly insistent on his attention. “I’m not going to leave you believing you’ve done something wrong.”

  He stared at her. “You don’t have a clue what I’m thinking.”

  She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “We’re attracted to each other, powerfully so. It’s not criminal.” She glanced up from where she sat on the grass. “And it doesn’t have to be serious.You still eat, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You eat food. You drink water. You even have a beer. You walk in the sunshine. Talk to other people. Charlotte can’t do any of those things. Do you stop all of them?”

  Fury blinded him. “Don’t speak her name.”

  Spots of color flared in her cheeks, but she rose to stand and pressed on. “I know I’m not her, and I’m definitely no saint. Feel free to keep reminding me of that, just in case I ever manage to forget.” Her voice took on a bitter cast, and he realized that he’d never heard that tone from her.

  Hands on hips, she stood inches away from him. “You’re a male in his prime, and your body requires more than mere food and water. You were once totally alive—” She flung out a hand. “As this place clearly demonstrates.” Then she pinned him with her own anger. “The crime is to stop living, to rob the people around you of the man who could create this beauty, who could live life so richly. I don’t have to know Charlotte personally to understand that she’d be the first to tell you to climb out of that grave that’s not big enough for both of you.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  But she spoke over him. “I will dare and be damned for doing so, I’m sure, but you’ve already tried and convicted me as the harlot who lured you away from your saintly devotion to a woman I’ll never measure up to.” She paused for one quick breath. “Well, screw you for making me feel worthless. I may be no Charlotte Smith, but at least I’m not a coward. Life throws crap at all of us, and you got a raw deal, but you’re not the only person who ever suffered. Get over yourself.”

  Her eyes shone with tears she swiped at angrily. With awkward strides, she left him and began gathering her things while he watched in stunned silence.

  Halfway to her car, she halted but didn’t turn. “I meant to be your friend,” she said stiffly, “but it’s obvious that I’m the last person you’ll consider worthy, so have it your way. Goodbye.”

  Then she left him in the echoing silence.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SKEETER HAD SENSED something was wrong, so Jezebel had to cut short her visit or risk crying again. She would shed no more tears for Gamble Smith. Hurt had pushed her to strike back at him, and she was ashamed of herself, but she hadn’t said anything he didn’t need to hear.

  From now until he left town, she’d be courteous if she were forced to see him, but otherwise, she’d avoid him.

  And do her best to forget him.

  Please, she thought, but she wasn’t sure what to hope for. On fire didn’t begin to describe her body’s response when he touched her. She’d never experienced anything like it.

  And he had, too, blast him, even if he fought it.

  All in all, she had to hope that broken condom was simply that, a torn piece of latex, and not a harbinger of sure trouble for both of them.

  Even if she’d already begun to think about learning to knit and sighed over pictures of babies in magazines.

  Wrong time, wrong man, Jezebel.

  Then she pondered the cottage and the lightning-fast glimpse she’d had of herself playing on the grass with a chubby-cheeked infant. He’d never rent it to her now, and that was that.

  She loaded her arms with bags of groceries and went inside to pet the dog and cat who, unlike Gamble Smith, considered her pretty special.

  * * *

  “TAKE THE AFTERNOON OFF, Gamble. You’re going to drive away customers with that frown,” Lily said.

  He glanced up from where he was deadheading flowers. “I was gone all morning.”

 
; She crouched beside him. “Were you at the cottage?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stroked his shoulder. “It does. Maybe you should let that hussy buy it.”

  “She’s not a hussy,” he snapped, only too aware of the hypocrisy of his defense.

  She goggled at him. “Has she said something to you? Maybe I should pay her a visit and tell her—”

  “Whoa, sis.” But he smiled a little at her protective attitude, though it was more likely Jezebel who needed shielding from him.

  Well, screw you, Gamble Smith, for making me feel worthless.

  He snorted. Or maybe not.

  You’re not the only person who ever suffered.

  “Lil?”

  “Yes?”

  “Am I—” He didn’t finish; he could guess the answer. “I’ve been a real pain in the ass, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve been grieving over a terrible loss.”

  Get over yourself.

  He’d been trying to do that, and in New York, he’d been making progress, but being back here…

  Enough. “I have a better idea. You take the afternoon off.”

  Lily blinked. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “How long’s it been since you ditched class?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “That would be, oh, the day before graduation.”

  Gamble chuckled. “Why am I not surprised? Had to get in one last act of truancy, huh?”

  She shrugged. “Things got too boring when all of you left home. I was trying to uphold the family rep.”

  “Mom catch you?”

  Her smile was wide. “Nope.”

  “Good girl.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and walked her to the door of the office. “Go do something girly—a manicure or whatever.”

  “Gamble.” She rolled her eyes and held out both hands. “A nurseryman has no nails to manicure.” Hers were very short and encrusted with dirt.

  “How ’bout a pedicure, chère? Some kinda scarlet on your toes.” Cal strolled in from the nearest greenhouse. “Then me, I pick you up for dinner and you wear some of those heels that make grown men weep. Preferably with a real short skirt. After, you and I go dancin’.”

  “It’s not appropriate for management and employees to date,” Lily sniffed.

  “That’s okay, sugar. I wasn’t askin’ your mama.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and Gamble was torn between amusement and decking the guy for having the nerve to proposition his baby sister. The jittery pleasure in Lily’s expression called for a bit of both. “I’ll be spending the evening with Mom,” he told her. “You go ahead.And you—” he spoke to Cal “—watch yourself.”

  Cal nodded to him, man to man. Then his serious expression flared into devilment again. “I’d rather watch Miss Lily here.” He grinned. “’Cept she can’t take her eyes off me. It gets sorta embarrassin’, bein’ an object of worship.”

  Gamble could practically see Lily’s temper bashing at the inside of her skull.

  “I’m outta here,” she said to Gamble, then eyed Cal. “But I’ll be doing something much more interesting than a pedicure.”

  “Be still, my heart.” Cal patted his chest. “Can’t wait for the results.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time, Calvin.” She drew his name out for maximum effect, then flounced away.

  His laughter followed her. “Pick you up at seven, chère.” He turned to Gamble. “Quite a woman, your sister. Le bon Dieu did a mighty fine thing the day He created the fairer sex. Nothin’ like a woman in a temper to stir a man’s juices.” He was chuckling as he ambled off.

  Gamble stared into the distance, recalling another woman departing in anger, yes, but brought on by hurt.

  Stir a man’s juices, indeed. She did that, far too easily; his explosive response to her unnerved him.

  But she was wrong about one thing, and he wondered if he was a big enough man to tell her that she wasn’t the one he’d tried and convicted as being unworthy.

  That judgment he reserved for himself.

  “Can you help me over here?” A customer’s voice yanked him from his musings.

  Gratefully, he abandoned his thoughts and went to discuss geraniums.

  * * *

  BUT EVEN AFTER he’d closed the nursery, showered and visited his mother, he couldn’t get Jezebel off his mind. He prowled the rooms like a caged wolf. She turned him inside out, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Because he liked her too much, though he suspected she’d be stunned to hear it, given his behavior.

  He was only marginally cheered by the news that his mother might be allowed to go home in a week or so. He would have been more encouraged about his prospects for leaving Three Pines had not his talk with the nurse made him aware that his mom would need help at home for the next few weeks, including someone to drive her back and forth to physical therapy over in Tyler.

  So he’d left a message for Kat that no new work would be forthcoming for a while, but even as he said the words, his fingers began to itch to pick up a brush again. He still had supplies in his studio, but he wasn’t eager to return to the cottage.

  There was no cure for his restlessness until he squared things with Jezebel.

  Thus it was that he found himself parked behind the bar, deep in the shadows beneath the branches of an ancient oak, waiting for the last of the customers to leave, so he could talk to her without a crowd.

  His day had been long, and he nearly nodded off before she appeared. When she did, he could tell she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone; she made no effort to hide her weariness. He’d witnessed her spreading cheer and spitting mad, but this dispirited woman was new…and disturbing. She worked hard, but he might have played a part in the slump of her shoulders.

  He emerged from the truck, and the sound of his footsteps on gravel had her whirling, alarm on her face.

  “It’s only me, Jezebel.” He moved into the moonlight.

  Exhaustion became wariness. “Why are you here?”

  He expelled a breath. “Good question.” He took a step toward her. “I owe you an apology, but you seem tired. It can wait.”

  She frowned. “An apology for what?”

  “How about being a bastard to you, for starters? For making you cry?”

  She shrugged off his claim. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

  He neared and was disquieted to see her retreat, one hand on the screen door. “I suspect you only voiced what a lot of other people would like to.” He glanced away and shook his head, weary himself. “There are things I’ve never told anyone about Charlotte and me, the day she—” His throat tightened.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t owe me that, Gamble. I’m sorry I was so insensitive. It’s obvious you loved her deeply, and I have no right to presume what you should be doing now.”

  There it was again, the kind heart inside a bombshell’s body. The sex goddess was tough to resist, but this woman was lethal.

  And he was so damn lonely.

  “I was furious with her for getting pregnant. She understood it was too risky.” Ire rose in him again. “I should never have left birth control up to her, but she was determined that I not get a vasectomy, so that I could have children if anything—” He had to stop and swallow. “There was too much about her health that she couldn’t control, and she promised—” He struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “She thanked me…and then played me for a fool. Once it was too late, she was ecstatic. She believed we would be even happier if our family was complete, regardless that I’d told her a thousand times or more that she was all I ever wanted.”

  Jezebel’s expression was mingled sympathy and misery.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, damn it. I couldn’t forgive her, couldn’t be happy about it. I made an effort, but I was scared to death of losing her. That last day I went to pick up the crib I’d built her as a surprise, but I never told her�
�” He realized his hands were clenched. “She died believing I was angry and, goddammit, I still am. She had no right—”

  But even as he said the words he’d contemplated over and over again, he realized that the usual rage in them was missing. Instead, he felt only…empty. Lost.

  For so long, grief and anger had been his closest companions.

  Now he was just…tired.

  “Come inside, Gamble.” She slid her hand down and clasped his. “Let me make you some tea.”

  He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You are really a sucker for a lost cause, aren’t you?” And he realized that he didn’t even care that he was just one more of her charity cases. She was a burning torch in a dark world, and he didn’t want to be left with his thoughts anymore.

  Then he remembered the papers in his pocket. “Here.”

  “What is this?”

  “A lease agreement.”

  “Oh, Gamble…I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not? Changed your mind because I ruined it for you?”

  “No, it’s only—” She peered up at him. “I’m not willing to cause you hurt. I’ll manage something.” She handed them back. “I don’t belong there.”

  “You’re wrong.” He tilted her chin. “Once that place was a little bit of heaven, and the only part that’s changed is me.You nailed it when you said that it was meant to be lived in and loved. I just can’t be the one to do it anymore, but you can. You and that big, crazy heart of yours.” He shoved the papers back at her.

  But turmoil crowded her gaze.

  “What? You really don’t want it?

  She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

  “Tell me.”

  But she turned away, her shoulders slumped in defeat, though he couldn’t imagine why. He yielded to impulse and drew her into his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she clung to him.

  “What’s wrong, Jezebel?”

  She still didn’t speak. He tilted her face to his and saw two fat tears roll down her cheeks.

  “It seems I am forever making you cry.” He pressed his lips to first one eyelid, then the other, moved by her sorrow.

  He trailed kisses down to her mouth, but this time, instead of devouring, he only rubbed his lips softly against hers. A small sob ended in a sigh of pleasure, and he sought to soothe her even as he ached to feast.