FLASHBACK

by Nancy Warren

  There was an ache deep inside her as she thought of the two brides who had first made love under this quilt. Both had enjoyed long, successful marriages. Laura had a sudden vision of herself and Jack in that bed, under that quilt, and the pain of longing made her bite hard on her lip to ward off another crying jag.

  She turned resolutely away and walked to the other side of the room, where the cabbage rose stencil leaned against the wall. Memory hit her anew.

  She saw herself and Sara working happily together, and relived that curious moment when she and Jack had stared at each other across the room, communicating in a way they never managed with mere words. She picked up the stencil and then changed her mind, putting it back again. The next designer might want to repeat the motif somewhere else.

  Her footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet house as she toured the upstairs rooms, picking up the odd forgotten paintbrush, her level, an Exacto knife. She felt like an artist abandoning her masterpiece half-done. Would the next designer follow her design boards? Would they understand how important it was to put a touch of gilt on this molding? Would they find the right drapery fabric?

  She hated unfinished business. And this house meant so much to her.

  But her safety meant more.

  She and Jack also had unfinished business, and if she was to preserve her sanity, she needed to leave it unfinished. Which meant leaving town. Because now she had tasted his kisses again, felt his hands on her body. She shuddered as the memory of the wild passion she'd felt in his arms intruded. And she was terrified that, if she followed her heart's desire, she would end up burned to a cinder by her own passion.

  She trod back down the stairs, letting her fingers trail along the mahogany stair rail, wishing she hadn't come back.

  She felt his presence before she reached the bottom of the steps, and turned instinctively into the front parlor, where Jack was crouched in front of the fireplace, carving a new section of mantel.

  She heard the whisper of metal scraping against wood as she moved silently into the room. Jack's concentration was evident in every line of his taut back, in the way he held his head. Even his breathing was slow and controlled.

  Laura watched an arc of paper-thin wood build behind him as he worked a chisel in one smooth motion. His other hand followed its path, and Laura shivered, remembering those hands moving with the same concentration last night when he'd traced the curve of her body from hip to breast.

  He turned slowly to look at her, even though she was sure she hadn't made a sound. His eyes quietly assessed her, asking questions Laura didn't want to answer. She wanted to turn and run, but her body was paralyzed, helpless to follow the primal urge to escape the predator.

  Jack rose slowly and came to stand a few feet away.

  She willed herself not to blush.

  "Hi." His eyes searched her face.

  "Hi." She backed up a step.

  "I'm sorry about last night." He gazed down at the chisel still in his hands and rubbed its surface as though checking for sharpness. "I hope we can still work together…" There was a small pause, during which Jack glanced up, then back down again as if fascinated by the tool in his hands.

  Laura's brain and mouth remained paralyzed. Adrenaline spurted through her body. Her heart was banging away on overdrive, but like a flooded engine, her brain had stalled. And she couldn't seem to move.

  "But, if you want me to, I'll quit the project," he said at last. He looked uncomfortable, as if he wished last night had never happened.

  Laura's brain roared to life. Well, he wasn't the only one who wished it hadn't happened. But did he think she was still a sixteen-year-old who couldn't handle a kiss without falling in love?

  Okay, so she was, but she had no intention of letting him know that.

  His assumption that they could no longer work together made her furious, and that made her foolhardy. She wasn't finished with the nicest piece of work she'd done in her career. Why should she walk away from the Mona Lisa before she'd painted the smile?

  Because of Jack? Oh, no. Maybe she wasn't going anywhere, after all.

  "Relax, Jack." Her voice sounded confident and steady. "It was just a kiss." She saw his look of astonishment, saw his lips open, and hurried on. "A … a kiss that got a bit out of hand. It was a mistake, but it won't happen again. Really," she said to his rapidly flushing face, "it's no big deal."

  She smiled, watching his male ego deflate. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  She had the satisfaction of knowing she'd knocked his pride down a mile or two. It was only after she'd started the van and was on her way back to Gran's that she realized she had just told Jack she wasn't quitting. It was one thing to brazen it out for a couple of minutes, but she couldn't keep up the act for long. She felt just like that lovesick teenager again.

  Maybe worse.

  Laura banged her fist on the steering wheel, "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She'd backed herself into a tight corner, but, as Stan was fond of telling her, she was an expert at avoiding intimacy. She calmed down and decided to put most of her energy into finishing her masterpiece. And a little bit of energy into making sure she and the sexy carpenter worked in different parts of the house.

  *

  Gran, predictably, refused to show excitement when Laura announced she was staying, after all. They ate a pleasant Sunday-night roast dinner together while she picked her grandmother's brains about any local lore that had been handed down with the quilt. That got Gran reminiscing, telling Laura not her own familiar stories, but the remembered stories of her own mother, Laura's great-grandmother.

  Soon Laura was picturing Laroche's pioneer women in starched dresses and piled-up hair. Women who brought their own ideas of civilization to this little speck of a town on an island flung past the edge of the wilderness.

  Here, they'd bullied the men into building churches. They'd preached temperance, made jellies of the summer fruits and given birth in their own beds to the next generation of builders and reformers.

  Her great-grandmother had been a friend of Mrs. McNair, and Laura imagined her ancestor sitting with the original owner of the McNair House in the parlor, having tea.

  Her history, the house's history – they insisted on overlapping.

  After dinner, she pulled out her design pad and started doodling, playing with ideas for the nursery and servants' quarters on the third floor. It would be a fairly quick job, as only a portion of the third floor would be open to the public. And, in keeping with authenticity, there wouldn't be much decorating or furnishing to be done.

  What Laura really wanted was to start work on the main floor rooms, which posed by far the greatest challenge. But Jack was still working there, and until he was finished, Laura didn't want to go near it. After that, he would go down into the basement kitchen and then… She flicked through her design sheets and found the ones for the main floor.

  They were dense with sketches, scribbles, scraps of paper and fabric. Stan had called her about a horsehair parlor set that was coming up for auction, and Laura, in a burst of enthusiasm, had not only promised to attend next weekend's auction in Seattle, but had sketched the set onto her design sheet.

  *

  It's no big deal. The words spun round and round in Jack's head. He couldn't concentrate on the intricate carving he had to copy.

  He'd hardly slept the night before; his body so on fire for Laura it physically hurt him. No woman had ever affected him like this. He tried to pass it off as the frustration of an aroused man who hadn't had a woman in a while, but by the small hours of the dark night Jack knew that wasn't true. It wasn't just his body that cried out for Laura. It was some part of him that she made whole.

  He knew she'd been upset when she first drove away. He could understand that she might be angry with him for trying to seduce her in a gravel parking lot. Maybe she was mad at herself for fooling around on her boyfriend. Jack appreciated that as well. Or maybe she just didn't think they should work together and sleep together.

&n
bsp; By dawn he'd decided that if he quit the project, they could start over, take it slowly. He knew a few guys he could trust to do most of the remaining work, all except the hand carving. If he and Laura didn't work together, that was one objection taken care of. Then all he had to do was make damn sure they weren't in a parking lot the next time he made a move.

  Oh, yeah. And she'd have to dump the boyfriend.

  He was prepared to deal with all her objections. But "no big deal"? If she hadn't been shaken to the core by what had happened between them, then she'd put on a pretty damn good act.

  He'd had his fair share of sex; he'd known passion and the kind of pleasure that puts a smile on your face for days. But something else leaped to life when he and Laura started touching each other – something that scared him. He had a feeling she could take him to heights he'd never imagined. And when she left this island that still held him prisoner, would do until Sara finished school, Laura might just take his happiness with her.

  He was still willing to take that risk. Their little escapade in the parking lot felt like it had changed Jack forever. And to her it was "no big deal"?

  He recalled her face this morning when she'd said those words to him. It had been strained and pale. Dark circles had smudged her eyes. Now that he thought about it, she'd looked like a woman who hadn't slept at all last night. He could look in the mirror and see the same signs.

  He started to smile.

  She was lying.

  "No big deal." Ha. He'd like to show Laura a "big deal." He'd like that very much. He rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. That boyfriend of hers hadn't been anywhere near Laura since she'd come to Laroche, he was sure of it. She never even talked about him. The guy, Peter or whatever his name was, had left the field wide-open as far as Jack was concerned. Laura wasn't as cool as she pretended to be; he'd bet his Joe Montana autographed football on that.

  It was like a black cloud had just lifted and the world was bathed in sunshine again. If Laura was having sleepless nights over him, she was vulnerable. On the football team, Jack had always liked playing offense. He enjoyed observing his opponents' weaknesses and working out a strategy to get through their defenses and score. Yep, this was no football match, but he definitely intended to score. And like any match where victory was important, he needed a very careful game plan.

  First, he had to prepare the field. A seduction scene was definitely required. If they'd been somewhere quiet and private last night, instead of making out on the road like a couple of horny kids, he wouldn't have spent the night burning with frustration.

  He would have finished what he and Laura had started.

  He would have spent the night learning her body, exploring all her secret places, making her cry out loud with pleasure.

  Next time, he'd be prepared – he'd use every dirty trick ever perfected by man to get woman in the sack.

  He'd better get some champagne and soft music, all that stuff women liked. He chuckled softly, beginning to savor his plan. Next, he needed a quiet location with lots of privacy. That was more difficult. His house gave him the home-team advantage, but was out of the question because of Sara. Laura's was equally impossible because of Gran.

  He paced the floor, hearing the lonely echo of his boots in the empty room.

  He could have hit himself over the head with the chisel for his stupidity. Of course, he was in the perfect location. The McNair House.

  A surge of excitement coursed through him. Jack played to win. Laura had scored points in the last encounter, but he knew some of her weak spots. Like that soft place under her ear. When he touched it with his tongue, she shivered clear down to her toes.

  He smiled in memory.

  He'd found one or two of her weak spots. He was going to find plenty more and exploit them ruthlessly. This game was too important to mess up – Jack wanted them both to win.

  Dragging out the small, leather-bound notebook he always carried in his back pocket, he flipped to the current page. Under "seasoned mahogany, 1X8," he wrote "champagne" and "glasses."

  He thought about the primitive conditions in the kitchen and added "bucket, ice, candles."

  He tapped his teeth with his pencil. Scribbled "condoms." He closed his eyes, wondering what else to add to the list, then practiced a few mental run-throughs, picturing the scene. He was feeling aroused already.

  He imagined lying with Laura afterward. If last night was any indication, he expected a splendid, vigorous workout. Sex always made him hungry.

  He added "snacks" to the list.

  Whistling his own personal victory chant, he ran up the stairs and did a quick reconnoiter. He almost laughed out loud when he saw the bed already made up in the master bedroom. He felt like his team was already on the scoreboard.

  Jack was still whistling, his mood considerably lighter, when he returned downstairs. He was able to give the right concentration to the intricate detail he was carving. It left part of his mind free for the equally intricate details of what he planned to do to Laura once he had her naked in that big bed upstairs.

  He'd left Cory at home with Sara, trying to catch up on a year's growth and activities in one day. He was happy to give mother and daughter time alone together now he knew Cory didn't plan to take Sara away.

  He left for home in the late afternoon, as promised, for his recap meeting with Cory, so they could go over her candidates for his new wife. He wondered what she'd made of the night before. And what Laura had said to her.

  He really wanted to hear that tape.

  When he got home, Cory and Sara were curled up in front of the TV watching a movie and eating microwave popcorn. So much for mother-daughter intimacy. Had they run out of conversation already? As soon as she saw him, Cory left Sara in front of the TV and joined him in the kitchen with a buff file folder in her hands.

  He grabbed a soda from the fridge, offering one to Cory, who shook her head. She sat down across from him at the kitchen table and flipped open the folder.

  "Is my wife in there?" He gestured with the pop can.

  "It was a disappointing turnout last night," Cory replied. "I've tallied the results, but I don't think our work is done yet." She seemed dispirited.

  "I thought there were lots of nice women at Chip's party. What did you think of Mary, the bank manager?" He sipped soda from the can, keeping his eyes innocent, watching Cory as she flipped through a stack of printed pages.

  She found what she was looking for and scanned the page. She shook her head. "Too hostile."

  "The teacher?"

  She consulted her notes. "Too high-strung."

  "How about Laura?"

  Cory didn't even need her notes for that one, just stared at him as if he was out of his mind for asking. "That woman's obsessed by sex, Jack. It's not healthy."

  He choked on his soda. "Did she tell you about this, uh, problem?"

  "It was all she could talk about." Cory's cheeks flushed. "She had the nerve to ask me if you were a good lover."

  He rocked back in his chair, a slow smile forming. "Was I?"

  "I'm not here to pander to your ego, Jack. I got the impression Laura didn't think you'd be man enough for her."

  "What?" The chair banged to the floor. He bolted straight up, no longer amused.

  "Frankly, I think she's a nymphomaniac." Cory snapped the folder shut. "No, we'll have to keep looking. Maybe we should take out a personal ad."

  "What about her boyfriend in Seattle? Does he satisfy her?"

  "Whose boyfriend?"

  "Laura's!"

  She thinned her lips in a disapproving expression, flicking through the notes again. "No boyfriend. They broke up before she started this job."

  His heart gave a funny lurch. "Are you sure? You didn't mix her up with somebody else?"

  "I'm sure. She talked about how being single was driving her crazy, because of having to do without … you know. Anyway, you can forget about Laura. She's one sick puppy. Do you want me to write the ad?"

&n
bsp; Things were definitely looking up. No boyfriend left the playing field a little less crowded. And she'd thrown out yet another challenge. Didn't think he'd be man enough for her, huh? He remembered how she'd smiled and waved at him while she was being interviewed, She was definitely not playing by the rules, taunting him like that. He'd have to think up a special penalty.

  He realized his ex-wife was still waiting for an answer. "Let me think about it. I appreciate all you've done. Let's leave it for a bit."

  Cory looked at him severely. "Sara's getting older every day. And so are you." She pushed her chair back. "I'll call you next weekend. We'll talk then."

  "Um, something's been bothering me. What were you expecting on the fax machine at your hotel?"

  "What?" Cory scratched her head. "Oh, some interview questions for a show I'm taping next week."

  A light came on in Jack's head. "Interview questions? Do you mean other people usually write your questions for you?"

  She looked puzzled at his sudden interest. "Well sure, we have researchers who put together back-grounders on our subjects and write questions."

  She must have read the amusement in his face. Maybe she knew he was thinking about the mess she'd made of her interviews at Chip's house. "Of course, I can do it myself, I'm just so busy with other things." She sounded defensive, and her cheeks were reddening under her makeup.

  So she still used cheat sheets. Jack smiled to himself. Some things didn't change.

  *

  Jack was already at work, whistling cheerfully, when Laura arrived Monday morning. He gave her a smile so warm it bordered on animal.

  "You should bottle and sell that mood of yours. You'd make a fortune," Laura grumbled. And she'd be first in line to buy a bottle. Jack had obviously forgotten all about their little scene the other night. Just what her ego needed.

  She meant to stomp on up the stairs, but her eyes were drawn to what Jack was doing. Professional curiosity pushed her forward to watch him carving the details into the new section of the wooden mantel. "You couldn't save the original?" Laura asked. She was a purist, after all.