Taking a Chance

by Jan Feed

  She’d never minded doing preschool story hours at the library, or book talks at the elementary school to try to lure kids into summer reading. Part of the job, Jo had always told herself briskly, ignoring the pleasure she took in choosing books and finding new rhymes for the preschoolers or gory stories for the fourth-graders. She’d even known she was good at working with children. Which did not, she had told herself, mean that she wanted her own.

  After all, how could she be a capable, never mind loving, parent, when her own father hadn’t shown her the way? It just wasn’t in her genes.

  And she’d bought in, hook, line and sinker, to Aunt Julia’s version of her parents’ marriage. Mom had sacrificed a brilliant career for love, only to find herself changing dirty diapers. No woman could have career and family both. If she thought she could, she was deluding herself.

  Rocking on a wave raised by splashing children, Jo thought wonderingly, But Mom did love me. She did want me. And maybe Dad did, too.

  Did his failings automatically mean they would be Jo’s, too?

  Why had she never asked herself such a simple question? Her mother might have been, must have been, a wonderful parent. Ryan had once asked her how she’d come out so normal if she’d been raised so badly. Maybe, she thought now, because of her mother. By seven years old, a great deal of her basic character and sense of self had been formed. She had forgotten too much, but that didn’t mean the knowledge wasn’t still there, deep inside her, a secret part of her nature.

  Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed her ankle and yanked downward. Rearing out of the water, Jo wrestled a slippy, wet boy into submission.

  “I’m tougher than you are,” she warned him, laughing. She tossed him away with a great heave. He curled into a ball and succeeded in washing a torrent of pool water over her.

  “What a brat!” Melissa called, before diving on a subterranean mission to get her brother.

  No, Jo thought, not a brat; just a sweet, smart boy, with insecurities normal to his circumstances, and the spirit to triumph over them.

  And Melissa: she could be snotty, sure. Who could blame her? But she reminded Jo a little of herself at that age. She was so full of questions and doubts and hopes, it hurt to empathize sometimes.

  Feeling light-headed, Jo drifted to the pool steps and watched them play. I can love them, she thought in profound amazement and relief. All these years, she’d believed herself to be emotionally stunted. Her father’s fault, she had bitterly told herself.

  The truth was, she had just been an emotional coward. Love opened her to loss. She had been too young and vulnerable to learn a lesson so painful. It hadn’t yet been balanced by other lessons, ones about intimacy and laughter and hugs and someone to whom she could tell anything. Hurt himself, her father hadn’t kept teaching her. Really, when she thought about it, she was astonishingly normal, considering.

  Jo’s chest ached, it was so filled with deep affection—no, love—for Ginny, Emma, Helen, even Kathleen… Melissa and Tyler, of course. And most of all, for Ryan. Afraid to love, she hadn’t known she did. She could hardly believe she had been so blind. What had she done when her heart swelled with sympathy for Emma’s inner anguish or Ginny’s sadness? Taken an antacid and called it heartburn?

  She wanted to march upstairs and throw herself into Ryan’s arms. With amusement that curved her mouth, Jo thought, Well, I wanted to do that anyway.

  Would he ask her again to move in with him? Or would he consider it inappropriate, now that he had custody of his children?

  The real question was whether that suggestion was a front for his hope that she’d share his life. He said he loved her. Had he been afraid that if he asked her to marry him, she’d say no?

  Was she really brave enough to make all those promises that had once terrified her?

  She was smiling again, idiotically. Oh, yes. She’d do it in a heartbeat. If he asked.

  Which would not be tonight, unless he planned to go on his knees in front of the kids.

  Melissa and Tyler had tired and were now drifting quietly. Jo stood, water sluicing down her body, and said, “Guys, I’m ready for pajamas and a chapter of my book. Let’s go up.”

  They didn’t argue too much. Towels wrapped around them, rubber sandals slapping the carpeted floor, the three found Ryan yawning as he turned off the TV.

  “Have fun?” he asked the kids, even as his gaze went to Jo. It sharpened, became penetrating as he saw something on her face.

  “Yeah!” Tyler kicked off his sandals. “You should have come.”

  “The hot tub felt blissful,” Jo said, trying to disguise her mood.

  He dropped the remote control onto the bedside table and crossed his arms behind his head, his narrowed gaze not wavering from Jo’s face. “So does lying here.”

  “I’m going to take a shower,” Melissa announced.

  “Okay,” her father said, “but first, I’ve made some changes to tomorrow’s plans.”

  Ready to snap his towel at his sister, Tyler turned instead. “You mean, we aren’t going to the swamp?” he asked in disappointment.

  “We’re still going on the swamp tour. But I made a few calls while you were down in the pool, and I arranged for you two to go on a haunted history tour tomorrow night. It sounds suitably spooky. The hotel manager’s eighteen-year-old daughter will go with you and,” he added when his daughter opened her mouth to protest, “stay with you until we get in. Jo and I are going out on the town.” His eyes met hers. “I made dinner reservations at Antoine’s, and we’ll sample Bourbon Street afterward.”

  She smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “No fair,” Tyler muttered.

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to go on the voodoo tour? I can cancel…”

  “No! That sounds cool. If we see a vampire,” he said with relish. “It’s just…it would be more fun if you came, too.”

  “Thank you.” Ryan smiled at his son. “But I did promise Jo we’d do one romantic evening on our own. Mushy though that probably sounds to you.”

  Tyler shuffled his feet. “No, that’s okay,” he mumbled.

  Ryan looked at his daughter. “Melissa?”

  She rolled her eyes. “We don’t need a baby-sitter!”

  “This is a strange city. I couldn’t enjoy myself if I didn’t know someone was keeping an eye on you.”

  She huffed a little but conceded that she could survive the evening without her father and Jo. If Tyler wasn’t too big a pain.

  Ryan’s eyes met Jo’s again, and for just a moment she tried to let him see that something had changed. One charged look had to do—until tomorrow.

  JO WAS IN a dreamlike state throughout the candlelit dinner at the elegant restaurant in a historic building. Her filet mignon with peppercorns melted in her mouth. Ryan, more adventuresome, tried grilled pompano, and they shared tiny, delicate puffs of potato. In a charcoal suit and tie, Ryan was incredibly sexy. Jo had bought the red silk sheath she wore tonight especially for the trip, and with her hair up and tiny diamonds in her earlobes, she felt almost beautiful. Maybe she really was, at least in Ryan’s eyes. His potent gaze never left her, even when the dark-suited waiter paused to be sure they lacked nothing.

  She knew even as they talked that later she wouldn’t remember a word they’d said. The words weren’t important. The way his eyes darkened when she smiled, that was important. So was the husky tone to his voice, and the slow, impossibly sweet smile that was just for her.

  His hand was warm and tender on the small of her back when they left the restaurant. He made the act of tucking her black velvet wrap around her shoulders a caress, his thumbs sliding along her collarbone.

  Outside the night was cool, but Jo was flushed from the romantic byplay and the intimacy of Ryan’s arm casually enfolding and guiding her. Shy with him now that she understood her own feelings, Jo found herself avoiding his gaze while helping to keep the conversation meaningless.

  Bourbon Street was tawdrier than she h
ad expected, nightclubs with jazz pouring out their doors right beside strip clubs with shockingly explicit posters plastered on their walls. In every doorway stood someone trying to lure passersby in with promises of free drinks, great music, bare flesh. Automobile traffic was barred, and alcoholic drinks allowed outside establishments, so that the party was in the street itself. Tourists wandered with the characteristic New Orleans beads and boas around their necks, drinks in hand. Noisy, crowded tonight, glittering with neon lights, the blocks of Bourbon Street Jo and Ryan walked were exciting, fascinating and yet unappealing to Jo.

  They stopped briefly twice, sipping drinks while they listened to blues, raw and powerful. In neither club did they stay for long. After five or six blocks, Ryan said abruptly, “Do you want to stay?”

  Jo shook her head. “I guess I’m not as adventurous as I thought I was. Do you?”

  His smile was wry. “I’ve always admitted to being stodgy.”

  Jo nodded behind them. “The blonde back there didn’t think so.”

  “Blonde?” Endearingly, he sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t noticed being ogled. “Oh, you mean the one that wanted us to watch a strip show.” He shrugged. “It was my wallet that interested her, not my body.”

  “Right.”

  He slid his arm around her waist. “You’re imagining things.”

  Jo laid her head against him. “I don’t think so. She wanted your body and your wallet.”

  “What about you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her hair. They had turned a corner and found themselves on a dark side street. “What do you want?”

  “I’ll take your body,” she confessed.

  “Damn, I wish you could,” Ryan said with feeling.

  Jo stopped. “Me, too.”

  Ryan turned her to face him. “I love my kids, but…”

  “Mmm.” She lifted her face naturally and parted her lips the moment his touched hers. The gaudy, noisy party behind them faded. Only they existed. He kissed her tenderly, sensuously, making promises with his mouth and receiving everything she could give him in return.

  He lifted his head and said hoarsely, “We need another hotel room.”

  “Will the kids be back yet?”

  He peered at his watch. “Yes. Damn.”

  “We’ll be home in just a few days.”

  “And neither of us lives alone anymore.” He swore again as they resumed walking. “We’ll need a hotel room there, too!”

  “It is inconvenient,” Jo admitted.

  On their meandering route down narrow streets, a couple of taxis passed, a few other pedestrians. Mostly this part of the French Quarter was deserted and dark but for the apartments above shops. Light streaming through wrought-iron balconies made them look like black lace. The spires of St. Louis Cathedral reared against the dark sky. A ship’s horn could be heard on the broad, muddy Mississippi, only three blocks away but not visible. Restaurant doors yawned, bringing bursts of music and light and laughter. In between, unlit shop windows hinted at fascinating contents: antiques, Civil War relics, books and feather masks. Wrought-iron gates between stuccoed brick buildings allowed glimpses of dark gardens or cobblestoned carriage entrances. On one balcony, a couple seated at a tiny table toasted each other with wineglasses and murmured in soft voices.

  Ryan and Jo stopped in dark alcoves to kiss, lingering because this time was magical, stolen. This was the adventure, Jo thought dreamily. She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t recognized that sooner.

  He lifted his head after the last kiss and said roughly, “Damn it, Jo, I wish this week could have been what I promised you.”

  With one hand, she cupped his cheek. “In a way, it has been. Don’t worry, Ryan. I’ve had a glorious time.”

  Although desire still glinted in his eyes, amusement briefly infused his voice. “After this morning, I thought you might insist we take a baby alligator home as a pet.”

  “The kids need a pet,” she said thoughtfully. “A kitten, or a puppy.”

  “Tyler was taken with the small gator that swam next to our boat.”

  “I noticed.” She nuzzled his neck. “I had to hold his hand to keep him from dangling it over the side.”

  “Ah. Nice to know I’ve raised smart kids.”

  “You have. I like them both.”

  Ryan’s fingers tunneled into her hair, sending pins flying. Under his breath he muttered something, probably a profanity. “Jo, I don’t want to go back. How are we going to see each other?”

  “In company.”

  He growled under his breath. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Ryan…” She bit her lip and lifted her head. “I don’t suppose I should think about moving in anymore. Now that your kids live with you.”

  His hands went still, and his voice took on a cadence that she didn’t recognize. “Even after this romantic vacation, you’d think about living with me?”

  Heart swelling, she nodded.

  “Jo.” A tremor ran through him. “I love you.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “I want you to marry me,” Ryan said intensely. “I want to wake up next to you every morning, come home to you after work every day. I want you to be a mother to my kids. I know all that scares the hell out of you, but I need you.”

  Her heart must have burst, because joy and terror and love all ran like rivers through her body. Voice tremulous, she managed to tell him, “I need you, too.”

  Now his fingers bit into her arms. In light from a balcony behind them, his face was taut and incredulous. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…” Damn it, her voice didn’t want to cooperate! Jo took a deep breath and finished more strongly, “I’m saying yes. I’m saying I’ve figured out a lot. I can do this. If…if you really want me.”

  “Want you?” He gave a hoarse sound that might have been a laugh. “I could die from wanting you. From the first time I saw you.”

  Tears dripped onto her cheeks. “Ryan…”

  Ryan’s big hands cradled her face, lifted it so that she couldn’t miss the deep glow in his eyes. “Josephine Dubray,” he said huskily, “will you be mine, to have and to hold, ’til death do us part?”

  “I will,” she said shakily, acknowledging to herself that she was afraid, but refusing to let the fear rule her life any longer.

  Ryan kissed her with consummate tenderness and love. How could she have lived without this? she asked herself, as she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything in her. With her eyes closed, she seemed to be floating in emotions so powerful, they made what and who she had been seem dull and tepid and cowardly.

  When the kiss ended and Ryan touched his forehead to hers, Jo said softly, “I wonder what my father would say if I asked him to give me away?”

  “I think he’d be honored.”

  Jo nodded. Forgiveness might not be love, but it felt right. Necessary.

  “I will,” she repeated, and then smiled, brimming with joy she couldn’t contain. “I will.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8670-6

  TAKING A CHANCE

  Copyright © 2003 by Janice Kay Johnson.

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