by Janet Eaves
He was still annoyed—at her, at himself. He’d dropped her off at home this morning at six. Frustration consumed another non-productive day of writing. He wanted relief. Maybe speaking to Jane would finally force everything into the open.
“Graham Winchester how you’ve grown!” The only customer in the brightly-lit store greeted him with a warm smile.
“Mrs. Malone, isn’t it?”
“To be sure.” The woman patted him fondly on the arm. “Your mother must be so proud of you.”
Why did he feel like he was twelve? “Yes ma’am.”
Graham smiled at his mother’s old friend before glancing around the store. Copies of his book Grayhawk were stacked on a table near the front. The comfortable smell of books mingled with an aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon cookies.
Graham spied the plate of cowboy cookies beside a coffee pot. They looked suspiciously like Aunt Harriet’s recipe. Nice touch. Jane didn’t mind living on the edge by flirting with her make-believe persona from this weekend. He had to smile at her willingness to take a risk.
But where was she? The store was quiet except for the gentle twang of country music from a CD player and Mrs. Malone’s chatter.
The older woman handed him a copy of Grayhawk. He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed it. “Where’s Jane?”
“Now of course you want Jane.” Mrs. Malone glanced toward an open door at the rear of the store. “She has a problem in back.”
Graham returned the book. “Please excuse me then.” He escaped into the backroom. “Jane?”
“Over here. I need help.”
Concerned, Graham found the woman who tormented him yesterday kneeling beneath the utility sink. He heard a strange crying sound.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Here, take this one.” Jane reached up and shoved a wadded towel into his hands.
“What’s going on?”
“Just a minor emergency.”
He stepped nearer and peered over Jane’s left shoulder. On the floor was a cardboard box containing shredded newsprint and a tabby cat. The animal made high-pitched wailing noises and furiously licked its tail. The small, squirming lumps in the box along with the calico were newborn kittens.
He was filled with awe. With care he opened the towel to discover a tiny, wet creature with pinpoint ears and slits for eyes. The little kitten meowed.
“I think that one’s okay now, but keep him warm,” Jane said over her shoulder.
Graham covered his small charge. “What happened?”
Jane glanced up at him for the first time. The urgency in her blue eyes and her look of concern impressed him.
“Someone dropped this cat at my backdoor last night.” Jane returned to her task. “The cat started giving birth a few hours ago, which is strange because cats usually have their kittens late at night when nobody’s around.”
“What’s wrong with these?”
“I’m not really sure. They weren’t breathing. I suspect the mother is young. Maybe it’s her first litter.”
This was the Jane he remembered. Not made up to look like Dawn, but the woman unafraid to challenge his choice of yearbook pictures and confident enough to tell him his term paper on solar energy stunk.
Jane’s blond hair fell into her eyes. A sigh escaped her lips as she rubbed the tiny creature with a towel, raking off remnants of fetal membranes and amniotic fluid. When the kitten remained motionless, Jane cupped it in her hands and turned its small body up and down, up and down.
“Does flipping help?”
She shrugged. “It helped on the one in your hands. I was able to dislodge enough fluid from the lungs to get it to breathe.”
He was spellbound by Jane’s know-how. With his fingertip, he poked the cloth in his hands. The small scrap of fur wiggled.
Jane worked another miracle. His frustration evaporated as her struggle to defeat death engrossed him.
“Does this happen much?”
She flipped her kitten up and down once more. “People drop off cats here all the time.”
“No, I mean kittens not breathing.”
“Sometimes, but you hardly ever know it. The mother eats them if they’re stillborn.”
“Thank you. That’s a detail I can do without.”
Jane glanced back and grinned. “Kind of squeamish, huh?”
“I’ve been known to faint at the sight of blood.”
Her chuckle was brief, but it broke a little tension.
“I think it’s too late for that one in your hands,” he said after a few moments.
Jane’s voice grated with determination. “I’ve got to try.”
He hated to see Jane upset. Minutes ticked away. Jane even blew into the kitten’s tiny nose.
A doorbell chimed in the bookstore announcing the arrival of another customer. At the sound, Jane lifted her head to meet his gaze.
Disappointment etched in her eyes and her voice. “I think you’re right.”
She looked so pretty, her hair tangling in curls around her face, her pert mouth parted, and her cheeks flushed. Graham wanted to reach down, pull her to her feet and into his arms. She needed comfort and he wanted to be the one to give it to her.
“I’m sorry.”
Jane nodded and took a deep breath. She stood and tenderly wrapped the dead kitten in a towel, putting it aside.
“At least we saved one of them.” She turned toward him, her smile holding a note of self-satisfaction.
Graham looked down at his kitten. It squirmed again in his hands and struck up another plaintive meow.
“Let me put the kitten with his mother. I think she can handle things from here on.” Jane held out her hands to him.
Graham hesitated a moment, taking in Jane’s warm dignity and quiet courage. She failed to save both kittens, but she’d given it her best shot. One had survived. It was a small victory.
“Here you go.” He placed the animal into her outstretched hands, his knuckles brushing the soft flesh of her palms.
“Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.”
Her wide-eyed gaze connected with his for an instant before she turned away to put the kitten into the box with its mother and littermates. Heat surged through him and Graham felt a sudden physical need. For Jane. For the real woman who was once his best friend.
“I’ll check on the customer.” His offer sounded brusque.
“Thanks. I can use a moment.”
Alone in the stockroom, Jane’s throat clogged with a raw sense of defeat. She’d put up a good front before Graham, but inside she ached with grief. It was such a small life. So swiftly over.
Fighting to save the kitten was her way of giving meaning to her own life, for lately it lacked direction. That’s one reason she changed places with her sister. She needed to find out why she couldn’t clear her mind of a guy she slept with fifteen years earlier.
Letting out a deep sigh, Jane turned on the hot water and stuck her hands under the faucet. She let the water flow over her fingers until it grew warm. Once the water was hot, she squirted antiseptic soap into her palm and began to wash her hands. Over and over. As if to cleanse the failure from them and from herself.
Graham had seen her fail. She’d seen the compassion in his eyes. She didn’t want that. She much preferred the look of desire she’d seen when he’d thought her Dawn. She wanted him to need her. Even for a moment. Long enough to let him lose himself inside her in what she remembered as a glorious explosion of passion and fulfillment.
Jane ripped a paper towel from its holder and began to dry her hands. His rejection still rankled. Graham would never have turned the real Dawn away. She accepted that certainty just as she accepted the fact she’d try again.
Graham hadn’t left town yet, and as long as he was still in Legend, she had a chance.
****
Graham sighed, glad for the respite and the quiet in the stock room. Would he ever get used to people wanting his autograph? Would he
ever be comfortable living up to his New York Times bestseller reputation? He heard Jane ringing up a final purchase. The front door closed.
With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Graham stared down at the mother cat and kittens. For all the trauma of their birth, the three kittens looked perfectly normal as they kneaded and suckled their mother. Oddly enough, Graham remained in awe of the little creatures, and more especially of the devoted care Jane had taken to preserve something as inconsequential as the life of a stray cat.
Jane was some woman. In his mind, she stood in sharp contrast with women like his old girlfriends and his perception of Dawn. That’s why her lying confused him.
“Oh, there you are.”
Graham glanced over his shoulder to become transfixed by Jane’s quiet beauty and refreshing diffidence. The bold look she displayed as Dawn was gone, tempered by a reserve he remembered from high school.
“I thought I’d check on the kittens,” Graham simply said.
As Jane approached, a faint scent of lavender enveloped him, making him long for something more. Something the other women in his life had never given him.
“The cat seems to know what she’s doing.” Jane did not look at him.
“Just like you.”
She laughed awkwardly. “Hardly.”
“How did you know what to do?”
“I watched a vet deliver puppies by cesarean. His technicians turned the pups like I did. I wasn’t sure about the rest of it,” she explained.
“Your instincts were right.”
She smiled with faint amusement. “For once.”
What did that remark mean? He reveled in her presence, in her modest manner and her sensitivity.
“Is there any coffee left?” He hoped to extend his time with her after she closed the shop for the evening.
Jane nodded. “Would you like some?”
“Sure. And a cowboy cookie.”
“I can manage that.” She gave him a shy grin.
Graham followed her into the bookstore where the lights were dimmed and the door locked. “Did you sell many books tonight?”
Jane gave him a cup of coffee. “Yes. I’m pleased. Molly Malone spread the word at The Emporium that you were here signing books. Midnight, Suzie and Lilly are my dearest friends. I’m glad they stopped by. Thanks for the impromptu autographing session.”
“My pleasure. I’d forgotten how fast word spreads in Legend.” Graham lifted the plate of cookies and offered her the first choice.
Jane took one and brought the large sugar and cinnamon cookie to her lips. Graham’s gaze followed as she bit into the sweet. Damn she was sexy. Especially as Jane.
His heart thudded and he hurriedly bit into his own cookie, dropping his gaze to hide the blatant need he knew his eyes must show.
“These are like Aunt Harriet’s.”
“It’s her recipe.”
“I figured as much.”
Why was he making small talk when so much of his life was in disarray? His heart burned with a growing frustration. He was letting himself drift along guided only by circumstances. He lacked his customary control.
Frowning, he turned away from Jane and wandered to the table. Idly, he picked up a copy of Grayhawk.
“Is something the matter?”
“Just a small problem,” he heard himself admit.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Jane’s gentle offer opened his heart. “I’ve wondered about the quote you selected for our yearbook.”
“From Keats?”
“That’s the one.”
Jane tossed a strand of hair from her eyes. “‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.’ It means dreams are better than reality.”
Graham flipped the pages of his book. Dreams are better than reality. He’d have to go along with that one, for the reality of his life had not turned out as he dreamed when he was a kid in school. His jaw tensed with regret.
“There’s something more, isn’t there?”
Graham looked up. “I resigned from my law firm and gave up my apartment. I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I have a book due at my publisher’s, a book I’ve not even started writing.”
She grinned at him. “I’d say you have a few problems.”
“I have many problems.” He turned away again.
“What are you going to do about them?”
Graham raked a hand through his hair. “Do about them? How in the hell do I know?”
For the first time he voiced his fears. He heard Jane’s intake of breath.
“When I taught school and a kid came to me complaining he didn’t know what to write, I told him to do some brainstorming with a friend,” she said.
Graham slowly turned, his eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting?”
“Only that you need to talk about your writer’s block. Discuss the ideas you have.”
“Are you offering to help?”
Jane tipped her head to the side. “Sure.”
“What do you know about legal thrillers?”
She shrugged. “Not much, but I’m an avid reader.”
Graham considered her for a moment and decided to take a chance.
“I got the idea for Grayhawk from a real law case. I fictionalized it to create my story.”
“Why don’t you do that again?”
“Nothing has appealed to me,” he admitted.
“Do you remember hearing about our classmate whose husband embezzled money? It was about five years ago.”
“You mean Gail Renfro?” Graham scrubbed a hand over his chin. “Her husband was a doctor, right?”
“Yes, and he bet heavily on sporting events and lost a lot of money.” Jane’s lips drew into a tense line.
“Wasn’t he killed?”
“By the mob, and his body was buried in his own backyard while Gail was at work. It was gruesome.”
“I’m afraid that happens in the city.” Graham frowned. “But not in a small town.”
Jane nodded. “Exactly. It shocked Legend and when the guy who did it went to trial, he was acquitted.”
“I remember my mom telling me about this,” Graham said, feeling a tingle of excitement. “Didn’t more evidence surface a couple years ago?”
“But he couldn’t be tried again.”
“Right. Double jeopardy.” Graham began to pace the room. “I can imagine the emotion and the conflict in a small town. The sympathy for the widow.”
“And imagine the internal conflict in the lawyer who won the case, later to discover his client lied,” Jane said.
Turning back to her, Graham grinned. “I like it. You’re a natural at this.”
Jane returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. “I can probably find the newspaper accounts of the case.”
“And I want to talk to the lawyer.”
“I can put you in touch with him too.”
Graham took a deep breath and surveyed Jane’s eager expression. He noted the flush in her cheeks and the subtle lift of her chin. He felt a connection. Like old times. He stepped nearer, so close he could see the tiny laugh lines around her eyes.
“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I have no idea what path my life will take from here. My agent tells me I’m a writer, not a lawyer. I disagreed with him, but when I get excited about a story, a new idea, I know he’s right.”
Her eyes were wide. “Sometimes it takes a while to discover what we’re meant to do.”
Graham felt the spark between them. It was like a living thing, drawing him to her. He yearned to reach out, touch her cheek and cup her chin in the palm of his hand. Yet he was afraid to touch her as Jane.
He took another breath before he spoke. “But I need to be realistic. When I finish this book, I should go back to work. As much as I may want to, I shouldn’t count on writing to make a living.”
“I understand.” Jane’s expression was grim. “Often reality collides with our dreams and often our dreams do
n’t come true. But it doesn’t stop us from trying.”
Her optimism jarred him. Somehow it seemed right coming from Jane. “I thought you believed dreams were better than reality.”
Jane shrugged her shoulders and gave him a wistful smile. “Right now I’ll settle for reality.”
Chapter Nine
Jane gripped the creased magazine article, A Step by Step Guide to your Perfect Romantic Encounter, and read once more the underlined advice promising to “steer her to sexual paradise.” Man, she hoped so. How could she miss with all this great guidance?
She had one last chance to turn her dreams into reality. To find out if Graham was as good as she remembered.
Swallowing her qualms, Jane stuffed the article into her pocket, and gathering the rest of her packages from the trunk, headed up Aunt Harriet’s front steps. Take charge, the article said. Don’t leave anything to chance. Confidence adds to your sex appeal. Jane lifted her chin, ignoring the anxiety churning her stomach. She pushed the doorbell, pasted a smile upon her lips, and readied herself for a sure conquest.
****
Graham shuffled to the door. He was tired. Tired but exhilarated. It was eight o’clock and he hadn’t bathed or shaved all day. Hadn’t had time. Working on his next book kept him too busy. As the stacked pages next to his laptop attested, he was making good progress on what he hoped would be his next bestseller.
Right now, he didn’t welcome the interruption.
“What do you want?” Graham pulled open the door.
“Room service,” a beautiful blonde called out. “I’ve brought your dinner.”
Graham blinked once. Twice. It was Jane, wasn’t it? Jane dressed up to look like Dawn again? He couldn’t tell because of the armload of bags she carried, making her look like a holiday shopper. She wore a pair of tight leather pants—purple no less—so he couldn’t see the scar on her ankle.
He wasn’t sure if this was Jane or Dawn.
“What?”
“Jane told me you’d be writing. So I thought you could use a break.” She gave him a come-on wink.
He used his fingers to slick back his hair. “I don’t need a break.”
“Sure you do.”