They walked, gravel crunching under their feet until they reached the paved trail that passed the picnic area and cinder-block restrooms to follow the shoreline.
“You’re not working today?” Meg asked after a minute.
“I followed up with some people this morning. Haven’t decided about the rest of the day.” He shrugged. “I’m not on the clock. I put in a lot more than forty hours a week, and nothing urgent has come up today.”
Sabra was urgent, but she understood what he meant.
Wishing she’d brought gloves, Meg gazed out over the ruffled waters of the lake. In summer it would be busy with powerboats, Jet Skis, ducks and swimmers. Today she saw it as it might have looked to the tribe of Native Americans who’d had a summer camp on the far shore, or to the first French trappers to descend from the forested north.
“I talked to my father last night.” Jack wasn’t looking at her. “Then answered a call from my mother an hour ago.”
“Oh, Jack.” Driven by that surprising impulse again, she reached for his hand, which was warmer than hers. She’d meant only to give it a reassuring squeeze, but his fingers tightened. They continued walking, holding hands. She hadn’t held hands with a man...ever. It felt comforting, and she thought maybe he needed the contact, too.
“I’m not usually big on talking things out.” He sounded gruff. “If you’d rather not—”
“I’m a good listener.”
“I followed your advice.” He sounded rueful. “I pushed him for answers.”
“And?”
He talked, but dispassionately, as if he was relating someone else’s story. The tight grip on her hand gave away more than he’d have liked.
She was shocked to learn that his father had completely barred his mother from any contact with their son.
“Is that even legal?” Meg asked in outrage. “Didn’t they have to do a parenting plan as part of the divorce?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I didn’t think to ask. She—my mother—says he was the one to file for divorce. He mailed the paperwork to her—she signed and sent it back. Not a single face-to-face meeting.” He glanced at her. “What about you? I know you weren’t married, but Emily’s father must pay support, doesn’t he? And that usually gives visitation rights.”
“Nice diversion. I want to know what your mother said.”
He stayed stubbornly silent as they walked on.
Two minutes later, she broke. “No. He’s never paid a cent. He...bad-mouthed me, said I was known to be easy.” Her heart constricted. She wouldn’t say it was a lie. She wouldn’t. Jack could think anything he wanted. Keeping her voice level, her gaze on the path straight ahead, she continued. “He denied any possibility he could be the father. Why would he be interested in a slut like me? His parents and mine believed him. I didn’t exactly have the resources to get a lawyer and insist on DNA testing.”
“No. God.” Jack drew her to a stop and turned her gently to face him. “You suppose the little jackass grew up enough to feel guilty, maybe wonder about his kid out there somewhere?”
Soaking in his tenderness, Meg closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his chest. His arms came around her. She was glad he hadn’t zipped the bomber jacket. The nubby sweater he wore beneath had a more comforting texture. Above it, she was very aware of his strong throat and the faintest hint of stubble on his jaw.
She took a few breaths and straightened, smiling crookedly. “Thank you.”
Creases deepened between his brows. “For?”
“Not wondering whether Carson had reason to think the father could have been any guy in our high school.”
“Meg.” He framed her face with his big, still surprisingly warm hands. “Easy isn’t a word I’d ever associate with you.”
A bubble of laughter rose, surprising her. “Have I been annoying you?”
His eyes darkened. “In a manner of speaking,” he said huskily.
She wanted him to kiss her. So much, she almost threw herself at him. Instead, she made herself breathe some more, then said, “Shall we keep walking?”
With a single blink, he shuttered the expression that had her heart pounding and released her. “Sure.”
She let him brood for a couple of minutes before she asked, “Will you tell me what your mother said?”
Jack shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “She thought I was better off with Dad. She knew if her career took off at all, she’d be on the road a lot.” He sounded wooden. “She never dreamed Dad would block her from seeing me, but she started to believe he was right, that she wouldn’t be a good influence on me. She says she’d chafed at the life she had in Missoula—” He glanced at Meg. “That’s where I grew up.”
She nodded, wishing they were still holding hands.
“And at her marriage. She’d wanted to escape for a long time, but she didn’t want to leave me.” His Adam’s apple moved. “He refused to let her try to find a band to play local taverns. No way his wife was going to be out every evening flaunting herself in front of men.”
“They sound like a terrible mismatch. Do you know how they met?”
His huff of air was probably meant to be a laugh. “She was playing a tavern—what else? He asked her out. In their wedding picture, she was a beauty. He was a good-looking man.”
If he’d passed on his looks to his son, he must have been, Meg couldn’t help thinking.
He shrugged. “Guess neither of them was smart enough to look deeper.”
“People rarely do.”
His grunt was presumably agreement.
“Why did she wait so long to get in touch with you?” Meg asked.
“I...don’t know.” Now those lines on his forehead, coupled with the tightness of his jaw, even the set of his shoulders, gave him a bleak air. “Probably figured what was done was done.”
Meg stopped, not liking the implication. “Is that what you think?”
He faced her, eyes desolate. “Maybe.”
“It’s not too late, Jack.” She was a fine one to urge him to reconcile with his mother. But her situation was different. Her parents wouldn’t think they’d done anything that required forgiveness, and if, in some alternate universe, they came asking for it, they’d go away empty-handed. “Your parents might both have thought they were doing the best thing for you. That’s...that’s different from them never having loved you at all.”
He had to know right away that she was thinking about her parents. Yanking his hands from his pockets, he reached for her. Once again, she stepped into his arms. Only this time he kissed her.
No preliminaries, he captured her mouth with a depth of hunger and even desperation that she couldn’t resist. There might even have been anger in the mix, as if he was throwing all his emotions at her. None of that kept her body from flaming to life. Plastered against him, she threw her arms around his neck and held on. She had never been kissed like this, deeply, frantically, his lips and tongue and teeth wringing a response from her so primal, she couldn’t think. She only felt—the rough scrape of his jaw, the softness of his lips, the heated thrust of his tongue. His taste, as rich and addictive as dark coffee. She heard, too—a low, humming moan coming from her throat.
He kneaded her butt, lifting her at the same time so he didn’t have to bend too far to plunder her mouth. Beneath the bulk of their multiple layers of clothing, her breasts were flattened against his chest and the hard ridge of his erection pressed her belly.
Heaven help her, if he’d laid her down on the winter-dead grass and ripped off her jeans, Meg wouldn’t have objected. She’d have been tearing at his clothes.
He was the one to raise his head, making a raw sound. His eyes blazed, but he lifted his hands to grip her upper arms, holding her a little away from him. “I want you,” he said hoarsely.
She blinked at him, wondering if her knees would hold her up if he let go.
“We can’t do this here.”
She turned her head. Cold lake waters, populated only by a flock of Canada geese on the far side. Rocky shore in one direction, desiccated brown grass in the other. The hillside of vines bare of leaves rose to the south of the lake.
“No,” she croaked, knowing still that she wouldn’t have stopped him.
“I’d better take you home.”
Her head bobbed.
Somehow she found herself walking back the way they’d come. His hand remained wrapped around her upper arm, either to support her or to hustle her along, she wasn’t sure.
Did he assume they’d continue where they left off once they were in the warmth of one of their homes?
Do I want to?
Given how close she was to melting into a puddle, near-freezing weather or not, a better question might be, If I make love with him, will I regret it?
Probably, but...she’d never so much wanted to take a chance.
* * *
JACK STOLE A glance at the dashboard clock when he turned into Meg’s driveway. Damn it. The high school would be letting out soon. He should have asked if she’d come home with him. Emily was a big girl; she didn’t need a babysitter.
Too late.
He braked to a stop. “Home, sweet home.”
Meg released her seat belt and reached for the door handle, but then she went still. “Would you like to come in?” she asked, very fast. Her voice betrayed shyness and trepidation.
“Yeah,” he said roughly, “but I’m not sure I dare. Emily will be home in, what, half an hour?”
“She’s staying after school today.”
He set the emergency brake, turned off the engine and had his own door open before he was hit with an unpleasant vision. “What if she changes her mind and catches the bus?”
Meg shook her head. “It’s the first meeting of Drama Club this semester. She loves it. They’ll decide today on a play. She would never miss that.”
God, he hoped Meg didn’t envision them having a companionable chat over a cup of tea. That she, too, wanted to go straight to her bedroom and start shedding clothes.
“How will she get home?”
“She’ll call. Since it will be dark by then, I’ll pick her up.”
“We’ll have a warning, then.”
“Yes.”
By the time they reached the front porch, Jack got an idea that Meg was having second thoughts. Her lips were compressed, her body language tight. There was no laughter, no touching him, no suggestive glances.
No glances at all. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at him.
He waited until they were inside and she’d locked up before he touched her arm. “Meg?”
Her eyes shimmered with anxiety and her teeth closed on her plump lower lip.
“You can say no.” He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. “If you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay.”
“It’s not that. Exactly.” She gripped her hands in front of herself. “I’m just...nervous. I haven’t... It’s been a long time. And I’ve never actually—” This time she broke off as if she hadn’t meant to say the last bit at all.
So that’s what he homed in on. “You’ve never actually what?”
Her gaze skittered away from his. “Well...enjoyed sex.”
Jack stared at her, stunned when he shouldn’t have been. She’d been brutally rejected by her boyfriend, then struggled to survive on the streets. After what she’d implied...hell. It was a miracle she had responded to him the way she had, that she’d even considered inviting him into her bed.
“Not even with Emily’s father?” What was his name? “Carson?”
“No. It wasn’t traumatizing or anything like that, but we only did it a few times, and I think maybe my first time was his, too, so he didn’t really know what he was doing.”
“So it was clumsy and too fast,” Jack said slowly.
She scrunched her nose. “Plus, I was freaked because I’d sneaked out of my house. We did it in the backseat of his car. I was terrified we’d be caught.”
He covered her tightly clasped hands with one of his. “This won’t be like either of your experiences, Meg. I can promise you that much.”
Suddenly her eyes became searching. So clear, they felt bottomless, the color making him think of a deep trout pool at the bend of a river.
After a moment, she made a funny sound. “Guaranteed?”
Way to put the pressure on. A sort of rueful amusement didn’t lessen his hunger, but it helped him dial back the intensity.
He lifted his hand to her face and gently brushed his knuckles over her cheek. Her lashes fluttered in surprise, and he felt a puff of warm air. “If you’re too scared, it might not work. But think about how you feel when we’re kissing.”
For an instant, she kept staring. And then her eyes closed and she turned her head just a little, until her lips touched his hand. She opened her mouth over one of his knuckles, kissing him, applying just a little suction. The dampness sent an electrical jolt through him.
“Meg, if you’re not sure...” It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to say.
“I think...I’d regret it if I chickened out.” She stroked his face, her fingertips butterfly light.
The pleasure of that touch was better than any deep-tissue massage he’d ever had. It was both healing and erotic.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked hoarsely.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I KEEP WORRYING about Sabra,” Emily confided to Kimberly Dearing. She’d zeroed in on her because she always knew before anyone else when a couple broke up or a guy was in trouble with a coach, even who’d been cast for plays. Either she had an amazing network of informants or really sharp eyes.
And Emily would not give up.
Kimberly wasn’t her first target of the day. She had been starting supercasual conversations ever since she got on the school bus that morning, asking questions without exactly asking. She might have gotten further if she could have come right out and said, “Have you ever seen her with a male teacher outside of class?” But she shuddered to think how that would go over. By the end of the day, rumors would be flying. Oh, my God, did you know Sabra was getting it on with a teacher? The way rumors grew, speculation about which teacher would mean that, in no time, everyone would be sure it was Mr. Fuentes or Mr. Bouchard. And that would suck for them, especially when Emily didn’t know.
She was just guessing.
Maybe she was being too subtle, because so far, she’d learned zip. No one knew anything helpful at all. Kim was practically her last hope.
A sophomore who had somehow gotten a year ahead in science, Kim had physics final period only a couple of rooms down the hall from Emily’s last class. Kim acted while Emily only did behind-the-scenes stuff, but neither of them ever missed a Drama Club meeting or rehearsal. Emily thought it would seem natural if they walked together to Mrs. Chastain’s classroom, but she had had to race out of her last class to catch her.
Today they were supposed to choose the spring play, although everybody knew the discussion would end up with a unanimous vote in favor of whatever musical Mrs. Chastain had already decided on. It was always a musical. And, of course, she’d have one in mind with a leading female role perfect for her current pet.
So what? Amy wasn’t important.
Emily dragged herself back to the present.
Kim had shrugged. “Running away is stupid.”
“I don’t think she did. I mean, why would she?”
“Everybody thought she was a slut, you know.”
Emily did know, but still, just to come out and say th
at to Sabra’s best friend? “Like everyone else isn’t sleeping around?” she retorted.
“Well, they are, but with them it isn’t...” Pursing her lips, Kim hesitated.
“Outwardly visible?” The words just came, surprising Emily. She must have read them in a novel for English lit.
Kim nodded, her face clearing. “Like that.”
They turned a corner and started down another long hall, which was deserted except for some guys clustered around a locker at the far end.
“Sabra wouldn’t have run away because of that. She didn’t care what they thought about her.” Something Emily had admired, because she did. So she went on to the part she’d practiced last night. “I just keep thinking, I don’t know...” She lowered her voice. “Sometimes, during her lunch or after school, she would just vanish. I have no idea where she went. Did you ever see her hanging out, I don’t know, maybe in a classroom? She liked art, so maybe Ms. Guzman’s?”
They were passing the open door to the chem lab. Teachers were probably still in some of the classrooms, Emily thought uneasily, and Kim had a voice that could shatter glass. She didn’t really believe just asking questions could put her in danger the way Detective Moore had suggested, but—suddenly she felt someone listening.
And, oh no, they’d just passed Mr. Fuentes’s room.
“You seem like you’re in a hurry.” Kim sounded a little breathless. “I have to stop at my locker. If you want to go ahead...”
With an effort, Emily slowed down. “No, that’s okay. Mrs. Chastain won’t start until we’re all there anyway.”
Speaking of slow... Kim took forever to dial her combination and open her locker, while Emily fidgeted behind her, her head swiveling so she could be sure no one approached unseen. Although...there were classroom doors open on either side of the hall. Emily wasn’t sure whose, but teachers wandered in and out of one another’s rooms sometimes.
“I saw her go into Mr. Bouchard’s room a couple of times,” Kim said suddenly. “Not after school. He doesn’t have a class third period, does he? I thought she might just have a question or something, but it seemed a little weird. Plus, she let the door close behind her, and I thought that wasn’t allowed.” She shoved books into her pack, then slammed the locker closed. Turning to face Emily, she added, “And Mr. Hurn’s room, too. That was after school. Does she even have a class from him?”
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