Whatever It Takes

by JM Stewart

  A bubble of laughter escaped her, and she pressed her lips together. Jackson’s head snapped in her direction, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of delight and confusion. Yeah, she couldn’t remember the last time he made her laugh, either.

  Unease churned in her stomach. Twelve hours back in this house and already he’d gotten to her, seeping under her skin when she least expected it. I am so doomed.

  ***

  Two hours later, Becca stood in the remains of what used to be her beautiful little kitchen. After dropping Allie off with Malia, who’d hugged the stuffing out of her then given her enough clean clothing for a week, they’d come straight here. Firemen had been on scene when she and Jackson arrived. Apparently, they kept a close eye on the place for the first twenty-four hours, and insisted on escorting her and Jackson onto the premises. Safety first. He stood politely behind her, in what used to be her hallway.

  “Is there something specific you’re looking for, ma’am?” he asked.

  His voice was full of compassion and he didn’t press for an answer, for which she was grateful, because she wasn’t sure she could actually speak. She was too busy trying not to cry, not to drop to her knees and sob like a child.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been what she’d found. Thanks to their efforts, the firefighters managed to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding houses, but hers . . . was little more than a burned-out shell. They’d had to cut holes in the roof in order to contain the fire, and what was left of it had collapsed. If she lifted her gaze, she could peer up at the sky. There was nothing above her but a blanket of cold, gray clouds.

  She swallowed, managing to force the words past the lump in her throat, and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Nothing specific. I just wanted to see it, see if there was anything here at all.”

  “I’m afraid there’s not much. Fire burned pretty hot. It’s lucky you and your daughter weren’t in here when it started.”

  Becca could only nod. One step inside what was left of her house and a vise had closed around her chest and hadn’t released since. All around, the neighborhood was filled with signs of activity, sounds of people living normal lives. Cars moving down the street. Children laughing as they played outside. There were several dogs somewhere close by. Their ping-pong barking almost resembled a conversation.

  Yet here she was, standing in the remains of her life. Out of all the rooms in the house, she’d loved the kitchen the most. It always caught the morning sun. She’d taken this house in large part because it reminded her of the one she’d shared with Jackson. The breakfast nook in their place—his place, she firmly reminded herself—had always been bright and open, flooding the room with light. And she missed it. She’d taken one look at this place and had fallen in love. Now, the house no longer resembled the quaint little home she’d fallen in love with when she’d first seen it a year ago.

  The sound of footsteps approaching caught her attention and she turned. Jackson appeared beside the fireman. His hands were empty, and the dejection written on his face answered the question before it could leave her mouth, but her heart drummed a hopeful beat anyway.

  “Anything?” She turned to fully face him and clasped her shaking hands together. Something, even a small trinket, was better than nothing. She was hoping for things like Allie’s baby books. The belts she’d earned over the years. At least some of her pictures. . . .

  But Jackson shook his head, remorse rising in his eyes. “I’m afraid he’s right, darlin’. There’s nothing left.”

  She nodded again and bit her wobbling lower lip, determined not to allow the tears burning behind her eyes to fall. She wasn’t a crier, damn it. Crying didn’t solve anything. But looking at this place, her heart just broke. She’d loved this little house. Had been so proud of the life she’d built for herself and Allie. Her whole life was in this house, but now it was all little more than a pile of ash.

  Seeming to understand what she was feeling, Jackson closed the space between them. He hesitated, then draped his arm around her shoulders. She wanted, needed, to pull away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. His arm around her was support, and she ought to be angry with him, because he was doing it again. Unseating her. He was kind and caring and it occurred to her again to wonder why.

  Except he did what he did best—he took charge when she didn’t have the strength. He’d kept her focused for a while.

  At least until she’d stepped into what was left of her kitchen.

  “It’s a shock, sweetheart, I know, but all this”—he waved his free hand in the air, indicating the room around them—“is just stuff. I know you don’t see it that way right now, but that’s all this is. Stuff. Seeing this place scares the hell out of me, Beck. To think y’all could have been in here? That Allie could have been in her bedroom alone . . . Christ.”

  She wanted to argue with him, to try to explain, again, how wrong he was. This wasn’t just stuff. This was her life. But he dragged a hand through his hair, and out the corner of her eye, she caught the tremor in his fingers as he dropped his arm to his side again. That this place scared him, of all people, got to her, and the dam broke. The pain welled up and over, an unstoppable river, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back the sob that rose in her throat.

  “Hey.” Calm and cool, Jackson took her by the shoulders, turned her and pulled her into him.

  She went, because she couldn’t keep herself up anymore, and because he was there, warm and solid and soothing. She buried her face in the familiar warmth of his chest, and he crushed her to him.

  He kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek there. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

  Ten minutes later they were seated in his Mercedes, parked at the curb. She’d gone numb. It was all she could do. She was essentially homeless and she had . . . nothing. Not even a scrap of clothing, save her bra, a single pair of panties, and her karate uniform. Allie at least had the essentials. She had her toothbrush and toothpaste, her pajamas, and enough clothing to get her through Sunday night, but Becca had nothing. Nothing but memories.

  He turned in the seat to look at her, offering a hopeful smile. “How ’bout we go shopping? Pick up the essentials. Clothing, pajamas, toiletries. Then we can go have some lunch.”

  Becca shook her head, staring out the windshield at the street in front of her but seeing nothing. “I just want to go home. Take me home.”

  “All right. I’ll take you home.” He reached over and squeezed her fingers, his voice calm and soothing. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. I’m not much, but you’re not alone.”

  Chapter Four

  One step through the doorway the following Monday evening, Jackson halted in the foyer and set the bag he’d been carrying beside the welcome mat. Thoughts of the surprise he had for Becca became lost as the tantalizing aromas wafting through the house assaulted his senses. Temporarily distracted, he closed his eyes and inhaled. His lungs filled with the crisp, spicy aroma of baked ham and the tangy sweetness of pineapple. He sniffed again, his stomach rumbling as a hint of chocolate hit his nostrils.

  From somewhere down the hall, beneath the upbeat sounds of cartoons, a low, sultry song drifted into existence, one meant to be made love to. The images the song conjured threatened to push all other thoughts from his mind. To make matters worse, Becca hummed along, her voice low and throaty, invoking flashes of memory. Of soft lips grazing his earlobe, of heated whispers in the dark.

  The scents and sounds made him feel like he’d stepped back in time and made him wish like hell that he had. She’d only been here for two days and three nights, yet having her here already proved hard on his sanity. She was filling his house with everything he desperately missed. Like her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, or her quiet conversations with Allie. Or like now, coming home at the end of the day to
her humming to the radio. The house smelled like her again. All of which did nothing but fill his head with bittersweet memories.

  Her presence was killing him. She reminded him too much of everything he missed. Her being here left him at odds with the pain and betrayal he’d felt when she walked out on him. Standing in the kitchen staring at the divorce papers the day they arrived, he hadn’t been certain if he’d wanted their marriage fixed. If she didn’t want to be married to him, he wouldn’t force her to stay. Except in the months since, he’d come to miss her. Desperately.

  Now here she was, making him hope all over again when he knew damn well she would eventually leave. And he’d have to let her.

  Allie came running around the corner, hurling herself against his legs. She wrapped her little arms around him and squeezed him tight. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, sweet pea.” He wrapped an arm around her back and bent to kiss the top of her head. The only positive he could take out of Becca’s tragedy was getting to see his daughter every day. He’d missed this, the small things. Like greeting her sweet little face at the end of a long day. “Did you have a good day?”

  “It was okay.” She shrugged and peered up at him, head tipped back, eyes wide and round and filled with the worry of an adult. “Mommy’s sad, Daddy. She tries to hide it, but I can see it. Her eyes are all red.”

  He stroked her hair. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. She’ll be all right. She’s just sad about the fire.”

  The same fear and sadness echoed in her big blue eyes. Eyes too much like her mother’s. “I left Teddy at home. He got burned, right, Daddy?”

  “I’m afraid he did, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you, though. I went shopping after work.” He nodded in the direction of the bag seated beside his left foot. “Look inside, sweet pea. I bought something for you.”

  She released him and bent to the bag, dug around in it, then squealed and pulled out the bear he’d picked up at the toy store an hour before. She hugged the toy to her chest and closed her eyes. “You bought me another teddy! Thanks, Daddy. I’m going to call him George.”

  “He’s not the same, I know, but he’ll keep you company while you sleep.”

  She opened her eyes, peering up at him. “Like Fred. He sleeps me with me, too. Can we keep Fred, Daddy?”

  “We’ll have to see, honey. You know I’m allergic to cats. He might make me sneeze.” They made his eyes itch like hell, too. His mother had had a cat. Evil little fluff ball. He’d hated that cat.

  Allie shook her head, sending her little pigtails swaying around her ears. “But you’re not sneezing now.”

  He smiled. “Not yet. He can stay for now, but I’m not making any promises, all right?”

  She let out a world-weary sigh. “Okay.”

  He touched her head, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Why you don’t go get Fred and watch some TV, give me a few minutes to talk to your momma.” He smiled down at her. “I’ll see if I can cheer her up.”

  Allie’s eyes illuminated, a smile stretching across her face. “Make her laugh, Daddy. She likes it when you make her laugh.”

  “I’ll try, honey.” He nodded in the direction of the hallway behind her. “You go on now.”

  She threw her arms around him, hugging him again. “Love you, Daddy.”

  He bent to kiss her again. “You, too, sweet pea.”

  When she released him, she turned her gaze to the bear. “Come on, George. Let’s go find Fred.”

  When she disappeared down the hallway, Jackson followed the call of Becca’s song into the kitchen. He stopped in the entrance for a moment to watch her. Clad in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans that hugged her firm backside, no doubt Malia’s, Becca stood at the center island. Her back was to him, head bent over her task, and she clearly hadn’t heard his approach, for she continued to hum and sway to the beat of the primal music. Slim hips he ached to mold his hands to made erotic figure eights in the air.

  In the span of a breath, his body answered the call of hers, and blood blazed through his veins. The sight mesmerized him and sucked him in. He couldn’t stop his gaze from following every sway, every circle, every dip. He couldn’t remember a single reason why he shouldn’t act out all the wicked scenarios playing through his mind.

  Like sidling up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. Getting to hold her Saturday morning had only accomplished one thing: increasing his desire to do it again.

  He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing himself to focus, before he lost his mind and actually crossed the kitchen to her. “Smells good in here.”

  Becca startled as if someone had pressed a hot branding iron to her backside, and whipped around to face him, her hair falling back off her shoulders. Chocolate coated her left hand, the index finger of which was stuck in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked the last of the icing from her finger and pulled it from her mouth. “Hi. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Since Saturday morning, when they’d gone to assess the damage to her rental, it had been a long, mostly silent weekend. After returning from the house, Becca had done everything she needed to. She’d called the utilities and had them canceled, had called the post office and had her mail forwarded to his house. But she’d crawled inside herself. Since the divorce, she’d taken to giving him the silent treatment, only speaking to him when she absolutely had to, but this was different. She went through the motions for Allie’s sake, but she was too quiet.

  So, he’d taken off work early this afternoon. He’d rescheduled what he could, transferred anything pressing that couldn’t wait to another of his executives, and had taken a few hours off. He’d gone shopping.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Her suspicious tone matched the edgy wariness creeping into her baby blues.

  He winked at her, aiming for playful. Because if he did anything else, he’d be doing all those things he shouldn’t. Like crossing the kitchen, taking her in his arms, and kissing her until she stopped being angry with him. Which would get them all of nowhere. “Long enough to see martial arts was definitely not your calling.”

  An answering soft pink flush slid across her cheeks. She turned and picked up a dish towel, scrubbing at the counter as if to clean the grout right out from between the tiles. “Did you have a good day?”

  He swallowed a chuckle at the innocence of her question. She hadn’t a clue what she did to him. Becca flustered far too easily, and she was damn sexy when she was rattled. A sweet fire lit in her eyes every time. He’d spent most of his childhood trying to goad a reaction out of his parents, only to be met time and time again with cool impassiveness. Unlike his parents, Becca’s reaction meant she gave a damn, more than she no doubt wanted him to know.

  “Lousy, actually. I spent most of the day arguing with one of my biggest clients. I gave his latest campaign over to my top executive, and he’s fit to be tied. Nathan’s been with me since before I left my father’s firm, and he’s been adamant he won’t deal with anyone but me.” He raked his fingers through his hair, surprised by the ease with which the truth tumbled from his lips.

  After college, he’d gone to work at his father’s advertising firm. His father had given him Nathan Rembrandt’s account early on, and when he’d opened his own firm years later, the old man had come with him. Now, his father’s firm was competition. Dear ol’ Dad hadn’t been happy that Jackson had left, but taking one of his largest clients with him had stuck in the old man’s craw. His father was all but waiting for him to fail, had said as much, and Jackson was determined to prove the old bastard wrong.

  Becca shook her head but didn’t look back. “It’s your company, Jack. If he’s been with you that long, he ought to trust you by now.”

  “Mmm.” It was the only response he could give. He’d never dare admit any of that to his father. No, he’d have pumped the statement full of false bravado in an effort to avoid the d
isappointed frown the old man would give.

  Something he might have done with Becca once upon a time. Except he was entirely too aware of everything he’d done wrong in their marriage. If he really wanted to convince her to give him a second chance—and he did—he’d have to do things that still didn’t feel quite right. Like sharing about his lousy days.

  Needing to distract himself from that particular line of thinking and the conflicting emotions it brought with it, he pushed away from the doorway and came to stand beside her at the island. “I have a surprise for you.”

  She turned to stare at him, her gaze working his face, as if she were making a decision. Finally, she shook her head and gestured at the oven. “The ham’s almost done. I need to keep an eye on it.”

  “It won’t take long. Come on.” Undeterred, he grabbed her hand, tugging her behind him through the house and out the front door to where his car sat beside hers in the driveway. He led her around to the trunk, then released her hand. He pressed the key fob to unlock the lid, but didn’t open it. “Go on. Look inside. I went shopping today.”

  She hesitated, looking from him to the trunk. “What did you do?”

  Becca didn’t like gifts, never had. Giving them to her had always flustered her. She was a proud woman, determined to take care of herself, to stand on her own two feet. She was damn stubborn, if you asked him, but he’d gone shopping anyway.

  Way too excited for his own good and unable to stand the waiting, he rolled his eyes and lifted the trunk lid himself. “I bought new stuff. Necessities.”

  She stared at him a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times, then peered into the trunk, opening each bag. “There are clothes in here. And two sets of pajamas—”

  “Hopefully I remembered your size correctly. There’s a robe in there as well, so you can stop stealing mine.” He winked, hoping to see her smile.