"Just remember it next time."
She opened her mouth to respond but found she had no response. Next time? He intended to invite them back again? Today's invitation had been a pity invitation. He'd known she and Lucy were blue. But the next time they wouldn't be blue. It would be because he liked them.
Or he thought they needed to meet enough other people that they would leave him alone.
She really wanted to believe he liked them.
The creek marked the change from pasture to woods. It snaked back and forth, splashing over rocks, gliding like silk over moss. At its narrowest point, it was six feet wide and so clear that it looked only inches deep, though according to Tyler, it ranged from several feet to neck-deep on him.
"The best place to wade is on the other side and downstream."
"How do we get there?" Lucy asked.
"There's a crossing down to the left."
Jayne knew better than to expect an honest-to-God bridge—that would have been entirely too lucky. But it didn't seem out of line to hope for a sturdy plank of wood stretching from one side to the other or even a massive fallen tree.
Yep, it was way out of line, she acknowledged when they reached the crossing. It was stepping stones—and not nice flat ones, either. Rocks of different sizes and shapes, some breaking the water's surface by only an inch or two, a few big enough for both feet, more that would support only one.
"Oh, boy!" Lucy charged forward, but Tyler caught her by her shirttail.
"Your legs aren't long enough, Lucky girl. Come here and I'll give you a ride." He crouched, gripped her under the arms and lifted her onto his shoulders.
She giggled as he stood again and waved her arms wildly. "I can see the farmhouse! Hellooo, Rebecca! Hellooo, Miss Carrie!"
Something tight and painful and sweet caught in Jayne's chest. Greg had never carried Lucy on his shoulders, never had a nickname for her, never had anything at all for her beyond a spare minute here or there. He'd been there at her birth, had known her every minute of her five-year existence and he'd never shown her a fraction of the attention or care that Tyler had.
If she'd been destined to make a mistake of her first marriage, why couldn't it have been with someone like Tyler? Someone who still would have been there for his daughter after the divorce? Someone who considered others, who didn't always put his own needs first?
But Lucy would have been a different person if she'd had a different father, and Jayne wouldn't change who she was for all the reliability in the world.
Balancing Lucy, Tyler stopped at the edge of the bank. "You might want to take those shoes off."
"Good idea." They were adorable sandals, but they weren't the most supportive footwear around. She probably stood a better chance with bare feet. Besides, she would hate to see what creek water would do to leather and beadwork.
Clutching her shoes in one hand, she gingerly took the first step. The rock was warm from the afternoon sun and remained solid beneath her weight. The second stone was only eighteen inches away. It shifted a little but was no cause for concern as she crossed to the third.
Ahead of her, Tyler was moving more quickly—of course, with ridged-sole boots and the experience of having made the crossing dozens of times—and Lucy was chattering. Jayne was dimly aware of their reaching the other bank, of him swinging Lucy to the ground and her daughter exclaiming with delight over something only she could see.
"Watch that last rock," Tyler said. "It wobbl—"
Jayne shrieked as she lost her balance. Her right foot splashed into cold water up to midcalf before he caught her flailing arm and hauled her to shore … and right up against his body.
Her breath was gone, her lungs utterly depleted of air. He was solid and strong and warm. His hand held hers just above his heart, the beat slow and steady. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow, as if he was hardly breathing, and the look in his eyes … hunger. Need. Desire.
Oh, yeah. She hadn't seen it directed her way in a very long time, but she'd written about it often enough to recognize it.
Slowly his fingers relaxed their grip on hers, but he didn't let go. Instead he flattened her palm against his chest, then laid his hand over it, and his free hand slowly reached out, catching hold of her shirt, clenching, pulling it taut.
A moment ago chills had been spreading from her quick dip in the creek. Now she was too hot to breathe, to think, to do anything besides lean against him, stare at him, feel him. If he let go, if he walked away, she would sink in a heap to the ground. If he didn't let go, didn't walk away, she would…
His gaze slid to her mouth, and her legs trembled. She would…
He bent, his mouth coming closer, and everything inside her dissolved. She would…
"Tyler! Come quick! Come see what I found!" Small footsteps crackled over dead leaves, then a hand tugged at his arm, giving him a shake, giving Jayne a shake. "Come on, Tyler, quick, before it runs away!" Lucy urged, pulling him harder.
He didn't say, I'll be right there, Lucky girl. He didn't send her back to keep an eye on whatever it was while he finished what they'd started.
No, he let go of Jayne's hand and her shirt and he took a step back, taking his support and his strength and his incredible heat with him. He took another step back, then a third one, and his gaze met hers again—dark, distant, aloof … and regretful. He hadn't wanted to kiss her … but he regretted that he hadn't.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned away. His voice sounded totally normal when he asked, "What did you find, Lucky girl?"
"It's a yertle—you know, like in Yertle the Turtle. And he's all curled up inside his little house, but sometimes he peeks his head out…" Lucy babbled on, her voice growing fainter as they disappeared over the crest of a rise.
Wow. He hadn't even kissed her, and her heart was racing, her stomach tumbling. If his mouth had actually touched hers, if they'd shared their first intimate, needy, hungry kiss, she would probably be too weak, too dazzled, to stand. Thanks to Lucy's turtle, though, that was only a guess.
She hoped the darn thing curled up inside his little house and got stuck there forever.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Daniel Ryan's workshop was nothing fancy—just a large square building sitting directly beside the house and connected to it by a broad covered porch. There were windows on three sides, generally blocked by furniture in various stages of construction, stacks of lumber and shelves of stains, paints and oils, with an oversize set of double doors, similar to those on a barn, at the west end. Those were open Tuesday to allow in the afternoon light and air that smelled of Sarah's flowers.
Tuesdays were Daniel's day to do paperwork, so Tyler was alone in the shop, bent over a worktable, hand-sanding the last of three small door fronts to a china hutch. With its intricate cutouts, the piece reminded him of a filigree locket his grandmother had, elaborately patterned and looking much more fragile than it actually was. Each door measured only twelve by fourteen inches, but the three had taken almost as much time as the rest of the hutch combined. Why not do a raised-panel door front and be done with it? he'd asked Daniel the first time he'd watched him labor over such intricate fretwork, and his boss had replied, The difference is in the details.
That was the first but by no means the last time he'd heard it.
He blew away the dust, wiped the door with a tack cloth, then ran his fingers over it, searching for places that needed attention. When a shadow fell over the door, he looked up to find Kate standing there expectantly. She was smiling, but it wasn't the bashful smile she usually gave him. This one was filled with anticipation.
"Hey, Kate." He glanced at the clock on the wall. He hadn't realized it was time for school to be out. Nearly time to go home … and maybe see his neighbors.
"Guess what I got today?" Without waiting, she shoved her hand into the padded envelope she held and came out with a book, thrusting it toward him. "It's Rochelle Starr's first book. It's been o
ut of print forever and it's really hard to find, but I tracked it down at a used bookstore in Oklahoma. Isn't that cool?"
After wiping his hands on his jeans, Tyler took the book. It was the first time in his life that he'd held a romance novel, much less paid attention to it. Western Knight was emblazoned across the top, Rochelle Starr across the bottom, and in the middle was a half-dressed cowboy embracing a barely half-dressed woman in front of a backdrop of stark mountains. "Rochelle Starr. Is that Jayne?"
Kate nodded. "I found this and two others at used bookstores and I ordered her newest two online. That leaves only three more to track down. Do you think she'll sign them for me?"
"I'm sure she'd be happy to." He flipped open the back cover and found a photograph of Jayne, several years out of date, smiling and looking polished. Sophisticated. Like the city girl she was. Winner of numerous writing awards, Rochelle Starr makes her home in Chicago. Not much of a biography, without even a mention of her husband and daughter. But maybe she hadn't had either of them yet. She looked awfully young in the picture.
"Is she working on a new book?"
Tyler handed it back to her and returned his attention to his work. "I don't know. I imagine so."
"When does her next book come out?" Kate asked.
"I don't know. You'd have to ask her."
"I checked her Web site, but she hasn't updated it in the past month. She really should, you know, to keep the readers coming back. She needs to put a new picture on there, too. She's prettier now than she is in the one that's there. Does she write every day? Because I've heard that writers have to write every day, but I think, jeez, get a life. Just because writing every day works for one person doesn't mean it works for everyone else…" Color turned Kate's cheeks pink. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He was sure "that" was bemused. He hadn't heard Kate say so much at one time since she'd realized that boys were good for more than pestering and playing soccer with. "I was just wondering how Jayne got control of your mouth. She tends to run on at times."
The blush disappeared and was replaced with a smug smile. "Maybe it's a writer thing." After sliding the book back into its envelope, she thrust it out. "Will you ask her to sign it for me?"
His first impulse was to refuse. Jayne would probably enjoy being asked by Kate herself and she could certainly answer Kate's questions better than he could. But taking the book meant an excuse to go next door when he got home. It was pathetic, but he needed that excuse. Besides, Kate said she'd ordered other books. She could get those signed in person.
"Sure. Just leave it."
She beamed a smile. "I'll put it in your truck where you won't forget it." She was halfway out the door, where she ran into her mother, before she called, "Thanks, Tyler. Hey, Mom."
Sarah set a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies—his favorite—and a can of pop on the table, then gazed after her daughter. "She looked happy. You weren't flirting with her, were you?"
He gave her a dry look. "I barely manage civility."
"That's because you're out of practice. A handsome young man like you should be flirting with all the girls—except mine." She softened the last words with a smile. "What are your plans for this evening?"
"Don't have any." Besides taking advantage of her daughter's request to deliver the book to Jayne.
"We're going on a picnic. D.J. has decided he's interested in astronomy, so we're taking dinner up to the clearing to eat and stargaze." Unmindful of the dust, she leaned against the table. "I fixed extra."
He didn't want an invitation to dinner. He got them often enough and accepted from time to time, but not this evening.
"I've packed it into a basket. Why don't you invite your neighbors out to share it with you? Living all their lives in Chicago, they've probably never seen just how magnificent the night sky can be."
She expected him to say something noncommittal—Maybe or I'll think about it—or to mm her down outright. She was surprised when he said, "Sure. Thanks."
A smile almost as high-wattage as Kate's lit her face. She looked as if she wanted to seriously gush, but she settled for squeezing his hand. "Great. Stop by the kitchen before you leave."
He was rarely in a hurry to leave work. It wasn't as if he ever had a reason … until now. He hadn't seen Jayne since he'd dropped her and Lucy off at their house late Sunday afternoon. He'd thought about her, though, way too much, and about how Lucy had the damnedest timing. Just two or three minutes, no more than five, and he wouldn't have cared about her interruption—or she might have been interrupting a whole lot more.
But, no, she'd had to come right then. It was probably for the best that she had, but just once he hadn't wanted what was best. He'd just wanted. Thought he could have.
For a time.
By the time he ate the cookies, drank the pop and finished sanding all the curves and curlicues on the door, it was quitting time. He cleaned up his work space, then washed up at the sink in the corner. Outside, he brushed the sawdust from his clothes and stomped it from his boots before entering the house.
His first stop was Daniel's office, where his boss was sitting at his desk. Daniel was a big man, well over six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, and looked as rough and tough as the mountains outside. There had been a time when he'd lived even more alone than Tyler. Until Sarah had come along and changed everything.
Tyler had never been intimidated by him. He'd lived fourteen years with an average-build man with average looks and charm to spare who was far more dangerous than the biggest, toughest social outcast around. No one seeing Daniel now with skinny little Jordan sitting on his lap and reading aloud from a school-book would be intimidated, either.
When Jordan took a break, Daniel swiveled them both around to face Tyler. "You heading home?"
"Yeah. I got that last door sanded. I'll start the finish tomorrow."
"Hey, Tyler, we're going on a picnic," Jordan said.
"I heard. Have fun."
"We always do," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
With a nod, Tyler went on down the hallway to the kitchen. He envied Jordan that kind of certainty. The Ryans always had fun. The Lewises had always been afraid. Even a simple thing like a meal provided so many opportunities for Del to explode in anger and violence.
Some of the Lewises were still afraid.
Sarah had filled a woven basket with too much food—sandwiches, chips, potato salad, pickle spears and more oatmeal-raisin cookies. "Have fun," she said when she handed it to him. "Really. Just be who you are and enjoy the evening."
With a thin smile, he thanked her, then went outside to his truck. The envelope with Kate's book was in the center of the seat. He set the basket beside it, then backed out.
Just be who you are. Bad advice. He detested who he was. He'd rather be someone else for a while. Someone people didn't worry about. Someone with no past. Someone with at least the hope of a future.
With someone like Jayne.
* * *
"Mom."
Jayne ignored the whisper and continued to type. It was her second full day at work since the move and it had been a productive one. It felt so good to write again, to experience the story practically flowing out her fingertips. It was her favorite part of the whole process—when her characters came to life with little help from her—and when it was really flowing, she hated to quit.
"Mom." The whisper came louder this time, tickling her left ear.
"Babe, you promised me an hour and the timer hasn't gone off yet."
A hand reached past her on the right to set the windup timer on the desk next to the mouse pad. Some part of her mind noticed that the timer had, indeed, gone off, while the rest focused on the long tanned fingers that held it. Her gaze moved upward, over a muscular tanned arm to a white T-shirt sleeve, and she swore her heart skipped a beat.
"You're not working," Lucy complained. "You're typing the same letter over and over."
Jerking her gaze back to
the screen, Jayne deleted the two rows of j's. She saved her file, then turned the chair around to face her daughter and Tyler.
Lucy blew out her breath loudly. "Are you done now?"
"I am. Thank you for being so good."
"It was pretty boring. I napped two times." She held up her fingers to emphasize the words, then climbed onto Jayne's lap, her arm looped around her neck. "Tyler and me have been talking and we decided we want to go on a picnic."
She glanced his way again. His hands were in his pockets now, pulling the denim taut, and his attention was on the awards that hung on the wall above her desk. The Holt Medallion, the More Than Magic Award, the National Readers Choice Award, Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice and, the big daddy of them all, finalist for the RITA, the closest thing to an Oscar the romance world had.
"You must be good," he commented.
She allowed a small but proud smile. "I like to think so."
Then he gave her a look that hinted at amusement. "Rochelle Starr, huh?"
"I didn't choose it," she said defensively. "My editor did. Besides, I don't think a man who owns two male dogs named Cameron and Diaz can tease me about my pseudonym."
"I didn't name them."
"Who did?"
He tugged at one earlobe. "My cousin got them for his kid without asking the ex-wife, who has custody of the kid. They tore up her house and yard and went over the fence so many times that they tore it up, too. She made him take them back, and he brought them to me."
"They was Charley's dogs," Lucy announced. Abruptly she whipped up a padded envelope and waved it. "Hey, Kate bought one of your books and gave it to Tyler to give to you to sign so's he can give it back to her tomorrow. Cool, huh?"
"Yeah, cool." Jayne took the well-read copy of her first book from the envelope. "Wow. I haven't seen this in a long time—well, besides the copies I have. Can Kate read this?"
Tyler shrugged, and Lucy rolled her eyes. "She's practic'ly grown, Mom. Of course she can read."
"I mean—never mind what I mean." She set the book on the desk. "Give me a little time to think about what to say. So what's this about a picnic?"
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