by Janet Dailey
They worked together to prepare sandwiches, in sync, as if they’d done it for years, which amused her. She put a half-sandwich on her plate and wrapped up the other one, then sat down.
The meal was over with soon enough. Sam offered to help with the washing up, but Jacquie declined—not out of any belief that it wasn’t a man’s place, but because she hoped he would leave the kitchen and allow her a chance to think in peace. He stayed right where he was, but stopped talking. To digest, she supposed.
She hung up the damp dishtowel and rinsed out the sink. That took all often seconds. Now what? Ask Sam to show her how to shift the clutch in the venerable pickup? She doubted Choya was really planning to buy a new car. She was stuck. His nice old dad looked like he was ready for a nap and any driving lessons would have to wait.
Just then, Sam perked up again. He took it upon himself to explain the household schedule: when the meals were eaten, the shopping was done, the clothes washed and a rough-and-ready cleaning schedule. Jacquie paid little attention to any of it, although she pretended to listen.
Her nerves were taut, as finely drawn as a bowstring. The sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop outside the house sent her heart leaping. Her gaze flew to the wall clock above the refrigerator. It couldn’t possibly be late afternoon already!
“That must be Choya,” Sam commented, turning toward the archway to the living room.
At the opening of the front door, Jacquie half rose out of the kitchen chair, wanting to see him and not knowing why. There was the rapid thumping of crutches on the polished wood floor of the living room before Robbie burst into kitchen, his face aglow with excitement.
“Jacquie!” He rushed forward almost faster than his crutches could propel him. “Dad said you were here, but I couldn’t hardly believe him. Jacquie, I’m so glad you didn’t leave!”
Positive that any second Robbie would pitch headlong to the floor, Jacquie stepped away from the chair, reaching out with her arms to catch him. He practically threw himself into them, discarding the crutches with a crash to wrap his arms around her middle in a fierce hug.
It was such a completely uninhibited and genuine embrace that Jacquie couldn’t help responding to it. She returned his hug, the boy’s warmth easing the inner agitation that gripped her.
Robbie tipped his head back, his brown eyes earnestly studying her. “Are you really going to stay? Dad said you were.”
The smile on her lips became hesitant as she loosened his grip and bent down to his level. Her hands trembled on his shoulders. How could she possibly tell this little boy that his home wasn’t good enough for her?
“Yes—but only for a while,” she answered.
He must have sensed her reluctance. He wrapped his small arms around her neck, clinging to her in desperation as he buried his head against her shoulder.
“I hope you stay forever and ever,” Robbie declared in a throbbing voice.
Instinctively, Jacquie smoothed the silken top of his head, brushing a light kiss on the area. A tightness gripped her throat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a slight movement near the entrance to the living room. Her gaze swerved to investigate, encountering the muscled frame of Choya. Even in stillness, he possessed a vitality, a charged aura that seemed to crackle about him.
Tawny eyes held hers, impassively studying her and the boy clutching her so possessively. Nothing in the chiseled granite features revealed any trace of his thoughts. There was no indication of how long he had been standing there or how much he had overheard.
Shaken by the discovery of his presence, Jacquie slowly untangled Robbie’s arms from around her neck, keeping a supporting hand at his waist while she retrieved his crutches. Ignoring Choya wasn’t easy as she smiled at the boy.
“Have you seen my room?” Robbie asked eagerly. “I have a whole bunch of Indian arrowheads. Gramps and me, we go looking for them. Now you can come along too.”
“Of course,” Jacquie agreed weakly.
“And I want to show you my horse. I have one of my very own,” he declared proudly, again brimming with excitement. “No one else can ride him except me—Dad said so. I’ll let you ride him, though. I can’t ride him until I get my cast off. Can you ride a horse, Jacquie?”
“Not very well,” she admitted, since her horseback riding had been limited to an occasional outing with a group at a suburban stable.
“I’ll teach you.” He shifted his crutches. “Come on, I’ll show you my horse. His name is Apache. This all used to be Apache land, did you know that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Save your tour for later, Robbie,” Choya ordered. “You have to change out of your school clothes and do your chores first.”
Robbie gave his father an impatient glance and turned back to Jacquie. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together. After I get my cast off, we can go riding together over some of the same trails that Cochise and Geronimo rode. And there’s this place by a waterhole where Gramps and I find our arrowheads. When it’s warm we can swim there, too, and have picnics and—”
“Robbie,” Choya’s low voice firmly interrupted his son, “Jacquie’s not here to be your playmate.”
The boy swallowed the rest of what he was about to say and nodded. Jacquie straightened, the fiery sparkle of battle in her eyes as she met the gold mask of his gaze.
“Don’t speak for me, Choya. I’d love to spend some time with Robbie. And you don’t have to worry that his homework won’t get done.”
The line of Choya’s mouth tightened. Robbie glanced bewilderedly from her to his father. The charged silence was broken by the soft chuckle of Sam Barnett.
“I was beginning to think that girl had no spirit at all.” His blue eyes twinkled as he glanced at Choya. “She’s barely said one sentence since you left.”
There was a visible relaxing of the hard set of Choya’s features, and even amusement in the eyes that swept over Jacquie before moving to his son.
“Go and change your school clothes, Robbie,” Choya repeated in a calmly chiding tone.
Robbie hesitated. “I don’t want to get Jacquie in trouble.”
“Seems to me that Jacquie can look out for herself,” was the even reply.
The answer apparently satisfied the boy. With an I’llsee-you-later smile to Jacquie, he thumped out of the kitchen in the direction of his bedroom. Sam Barnett gripped his cane and pushed himself from the chair.
“I didn’t get my afternoon nap,” he announced. “I think I’ll lay down for an hour before dinner.”
Stubbornly, Jacquie maintained her challenging stance, refusing to relent an inch although she had been left alone with Choya. If anything her annoyance increased. She held his gaze with unwavering defiance.
“If I’m going to live here, Robbie can’t go around thinking you’ll be mad if he wants to be with me,” she said in a low voice. “You agreed to drop all that.” He had, back at the motel, but it wasn’t something she felt like putting into the rules. Robbie’s feelings were a lot more important than her relationship, such as it was, with Choya. “Remember?”
“Yes.” He moved leisurely into the kitchen. “But for a second, I forgot. He can be a little too eager sometimes. And if you’re living here, it’s not so easy to put him off.”
She hesitated. “Oh. Well, maybe you have a point.”
“So how did it go with my dad?” Choya inquired.
She got the feeling he was asking the question mostly to distract her. “He certainly was happy to have someone to chat with. He didn’t leave me alone for a second,” she said ruefully.
“Sorry about that.”
“I didn’t mind. Not much, anyway,” she added honestly.
Choya shook his head. “Want me to talk to him?”
“No!”
“Okay. Just asking. Did you get unpacked and settled in?”
“I unpacked.”
Choya stopped and gave her a long look. “Think you’ll last the week out here? Y
ou can tell me. If it’s not going to work, I’d rather hear it sooner than later.”
He didn’t add when Robbie gets more attached, but she could finish the sentence for him.
The grooves deepened around his mouth as he studied her face. Jacquie felt suddenly cold. She folded her arms over her chest and just stood there, afraid he would take her hand. “I don’t know, Choya. I’ve never been anywhere so lonely. Tombstone was tiny, but there were shops—and sidewalks—and people around. Out here it’s just the four of us. Do you understand?” She didn’t add that she was worried about how she could keep him at a distance when there were so few distractions.
“I think so.”
She wanted to ask him if his late wife had liked such a solitary existence, but it seemed completely inappropriate. Jacquie fell silent, looking away from him.
“We usually eat around six and I have chores to do. But I can cook if you’d rather not—”
“No, no. I can do it. I need to do it,” she corrected. “Otherwise I’ll just sit and stare out that little window in the back room.” Before Choya could try to change her mind, Jacquie ordered her weak legs to carry her from the kitchen. He didn’t stop her. He must have guessed that she was only running from his presence and not picking a fight.
She suddenly wanted to be by herself and there was nowhere to do that but in the small bedroom off the kitchen. She closed the door behind her. As she moved away, there was a knock on the door and she hesitated.
“Like I said, I’m going to do chores,” Choya stated. “See you at dinner. You really don’t have to cook. We’ll just open a couple of cans of stew. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She didn’t answer.
“And, uh,” he went on, “I guess we’ll boil some frozen green beans too. With a little butter. We could squeeze lemon juice on them too, so we don’t die of scurvy.”
Despite her nervousness, she smiled. But she still didn’t answer. How was she ever going to manage her attraction to him now that they would be living in the same house for the next five weeks?
Striding footsteps carried him away, followed by the slam of the outside door. She waited for a few minutes to make sure he was gone, then emerged herself.
There was a laundry room and small bathroom across from her bedroom. Jacquie used it to splash cold water on her face. The reviving chill was just what she needed to bolster her resolve as she entered the kitchen. It would probably cure her jitters if she stopped obsessing and just did something with her hands. After all, cooking and cleaning were supposedly the reasons for her being here.
She banished all thought of her mixed emotions as she concentrated on the menu for the evening meal. Never much of a cook, she kept it simple—fried chops, potatoes, a vegetable, and coleslaw. The stove proved to be a worthy opponent to her effort, cantankerously refusing to light, then stubbornly resisting her attempts to regulate the flame.
Finally the potatoes were boiling and the chops were in the iron skillet and a half-bag of frozen vegetables got dumped into a saucepan to simmer with a pat of butter. Jacquie felt secure that she could leave all that to cook while she fixed coleslaw.
As she was nearly finished mixing dollops of mayo, salt, and a touch of sugar with fresh slivered cabbage from another bag, she heard a sizzling hiss from the stove. A quick glance saw the lid of the potato pan bouncing while boiling water bubbled down the side. At the same instant, she noticed smoke rising from the skillet.
Grabbing a pot holder from a drawer, she dashed to the old black-and-white stove, hesitating over which to rescue first. Deciding on the potatoes, she leaned forward to reach the pan on the rear burner. Her long hair fell forward. The outside door slammed, followed by footsteps. “What are you doing?” Choya demanded.
Jacquie checked her movement to dart him a quick glance, then reverted her attention to the pan. “What does it look like? The potatoes are boiling over!”
Her breath whooshed out as his arms circled her waist, lifting her off her feet and simultaneously pushing her away from the stove. She staggered backward at his abrupt release as he took the pot holder from her hand and set the pan aside.
“Don’t you know you can catch your hair on fire leaning across a stove like that?” he glowered. “Especially when it’s as long as yours!”
“I didn’t think,” Jacquie breathed, then glanced at the stove. The smoke was really billowing from the skillet now. “The meat!” she exclaimed.
Choya turned, wrapping the pot holder around the handle and lifting the skillet from the fire. Quickly he shut off the burner before setting it back down. With a fork, he turned over the chops, revealing the charred sides. His quizzical glance at Jacquie really annoyed her.
“I said I would cook. I didn’t say I could cook,” she said defensively.
He lifted the lid on the pan of potatoes and a scorched smell filled the air. She brushed a hand across her forehead.
“All you had to do was turn the heat down,” Choya said dryly.
“That’s easy to say,” she protested, feeling his criticism was unwarranted. “That stove is an antique. Only my grandmother would know how it works.”
“Sam doesn’t have any trouble with it.”
“Which proves he’s as old as my grandmother!” Jacquie retorted.
There was a glint of laughter in Choya’s eyes, then he turned toward the stove. “Come here. Let me show you how it works.”
Ignoring the tingle that danced down her spine at standing so close to him, Jacquie listened attentively to his instructions. He spoke clearly and concisely, sliding a mocking glance at her only when he had finished.
“Now see what you can do about salvaging the meal while I wash up,” he ordered.
“I’ll try,” she sighed, and poked a fork into the pork chops to see how badly they were ruined.
As Choya started to walk away, a faint smile curving his hard mouth, Robbie hobbled into the kitchen. He halted just inside the room and sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“What’s that?” He frowned warily.
“Dinner,” Choya replied with a meaningful look at Jacquie. “Or perhaps it’s a burnt offering.” Her cheeks flamed at his laughing taunt.
“Come on, son,” he said. “Let’s wash our hands.”
The meal was edible but barely. Okay, so she hadn’t told Choya that her experience in the culinary arts was limited to watching chef shows. There was no law that said she had to practice what they preached.
It was food. It was hot. It was on the plates. She’d done her job. Choya and Robbie didn’t comment or complain, but Sam had clicked his tongue in dismay at the sight of the blackened pork chops.
The minor disaster meant that Jacquie had to spend a lot of time cleaning up, since the stove had to be scoured where the potatoes had boiled over. Then Robbie had appeared in the kitchen when she’d finished. A checkerboard was in his hand and he challenged her to a game.
“I’m an expert,” he declared, and proceeded to beat her soundly. When he proposed a second game, Jacquie suggested it was time for him to be in bed.
“Okay,” Robbie agreed without argument. “We can play again tomorrow night. Don’t feel bad that I beat you. I been playing checkers since I was three. Dad is teaching me chess, but I’m not very good at it yet.”
Jacquie smiled and said that chess was complicated. Silently considering the way Choya had outmaneuvered her so many times, she was certain he was a master at that particular game.
At Robbie’s request, she tucked him into bed, then left his room when Choya appeared to wish his son goodnight. She didn’t beat a hasty retreat, just walked away, feeling somewhat more at peace, even after the not-great dinner. Cooking was soothing, even when you screwed it up. And all three Barnetts had been awfully nice about it.
As she entered her own bedroom, she congratulated herself on offering Choya such a calm goodnight when she’d walked past him. She had felt his tawny eyes narrow on her, no doubt measuring her mood.
/> Yawning, she didn’t particularly care that it would undoubtedly change again. She was just plain bone tired. She undressed for bed, crawling beneath the covers.
Within minutes of her head touching the pillow, she was asleep. Mental exhaustion made it a dreamless state and nothing wakened her.
Until a hand gripped her shoulder, shaking it slightly.
Jacquie tried to shrug it away and snuggled deeper beneath the covers. The hand tightened.
“Rise and shine,” the voice said.
“Go away,” she mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes. Then memory returned as to where she was and who had just spoken. She rolled onto her back, automatically drawing the covers over her breasts. The gray light of dawn was peering through the window as she focused her somewhat bleary gaze on Choya.
She choked back the impulse to order him from her room and asked instead, “What do you want?” An equally foolish question, since she didn’t really want to know the answer.
Still groggy from heavy sleep, her senses were slow to alertness. Every part of him that her guarded look saw indicated his freshness and overwhelming vitality. Half-closed eyes of shimmering sand-gold returned her study with disturbing results.
“How did you get in here?” she asked indignantly.
“I knocked. You told me to come in. Don’t tell me you were talking in your sleep.”
“I don’t know. How would I know? I was sleeping!”
He sat back on the bed. “Do you know how beautiful you are? Your hair like that, all messed up, and that pouty mouth”—he stopped talking for a second or two—“I gotta get out of here. You’re pure temptation.”
Jacquie shook her head to clear it. Refreshed by her deep sleep, she was still drowsy but well aware that his sensual energy was having its usual, powerful effect on her.
“Where’s Robbie?” she whispered.
“On the school bus.”
“Where’s Sam?”
“He got a ride with a friend. He likes to meet a lady friend for coffee in Tombstone. Early-bird senior A.M. special.”