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© 1999
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One
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With nowhere to go, and in no hurry to get there, Jack Cordell dumped a second spoonful of sugar into his coffee and slowly stirred, killing time.
The town he'd stopped in for lunch was a small one, the diner he'd chosen a mom and pop type place that boasted home-style cooking and a blue plate special for $4.95. Though the price of the food mattered little to Jack, the appeal of a home-cooked meal did. After six months on the road, eating cardboard-flavored food, his stomach had been ready for something with a little sustenance to it.
Though crowded and noisy when he'd first arrived, the diner was nearly empty now, the only sound the rattle of pans from the kitchen and the occasional squeak of the waitress's crepe-soled shoes on the worn linoleum as she went about her duties, clearing off tables after the noon rush. The woman looked to be on the downhill side of fifty, full breasted, thick-waisted and with a tongue as sharp as the pencil tucked behind her ear. She wore her hair piled high on top of her head, a metallic gold clamp of some sort holding her bottle-red hair in place. She worked with an efficiency of movement that said she was an old hand at slinging hash.
The dusty plate-glass window on Jack's right offered him a bird's-eye view of the diner's empty parking lot, the bank across the street and the post office beside it. With a slight turn of his head, he had a clear shot of the entire downtown area. All two blocks of it. Though he'd spent the last five years in Houston and was accustomed to its towering skyline and traffic-clogged expressways, Jack had grown up in a town about the size of Driftwood, and found the small town appealing, almost peaceful.
And it had been a long time since Jack had known any peace.
As he stared at the big, lazy-branched oak that shaded the bank's entrance, a weariness settled on his shoulders. He was tired of running. Tired of living out of his truck, eating his meals out of grease-stained paper sacks. Tired of the monotony of chasing a white line, his only companion a fifth of whiskey he kept tucked underneath the front seat, while he tried to outrun his guilt, his grief—and when he couldn't outrun it, drown it. Neither seemed to work. The guilt still weighed heavily on him, the grief a cancer eating away at what remained of his heart.
He knew he had a home to go to, a business to tend. But the idea of returning to either held no appeal. Not anymore.
As he stared at the big oak, his thoughts bluer than blue, his heart a lead weight in his chest, a woman stepped from the bank's double doors and started across the street. She was a petite little thing, fragile looking.
The thick mane of white-blond hair that hung just past her shoulders only added to that fragility. She wore a long, sleeveless dress of the palest blue that hit her about midcalf. One of those shapeless dresses that didn't offer a clue to the figure beneath. Thin-strapped sandals, though, exposed small, slender feet, and a hint that the rest of her might be similarly proportioned.
With her chin dipped down, he didn't have a clear view of her face, but he couldn't help but notice the way she walked—kind of slowlike, her posture that of a person lost in deep contemplation. As he watched, a sigh seemed to move through her and she lifted her head, squaring her shoulders. At the same time, her steps quickened, bringing her closer to the diner and the window he watched her through.
He focused on her face and was struck by the oddest sensation. It was like looking into the face of an angel. A sexy-looking angel, without question, but an angel, nonetheless. Creamy, smooth complexion. Delicate features almost too perfect to be real. Bright, clear blue eyes. Full, moist lips. An innate sexuality in her movements stirred parts of his body that he was sure had died on the vine months ago.
He lost sight of her as she skipped up the steps to the diner, and he quickly shifted his gaze to the door, waiting for her to step inside. She pushed her way through the entrance, bringing a blast of hot, humid air with her. She paused, glancing around, and met his gaze for the briefest of seconds. When she did, the sweetest, yet most sensual smile touched her lips before she turned away and headed for the counter.
She brushed damp hair from her forehead. "Maudie," he heard her say, "I sure hope you saved me a tall glass of that lime iced tea you're so famous for."
The waitress caught up her apron to wipe her hands, her carmine-painted lips splitting in a welcoming smile. "Thirsty, are you?"
"Parched." The sexy angel—as Jack had already started to think of her—sank down onto a stool at the counter, her dress settling like a billowy cloud around her legs. She propped an elbow on the counter and fanned her face with a delicately boned hand. "I swear, it's hot enough out there to fry eggs on the sidewalk."
Maudie shoveled a scoop of ice into a glass. "Did you hear that, Ed?" she yelled through the pass-through window that opened to the kitchen. She hefted an aluminum pitcher and poured tea into the glass without spilling a drop. "Alayna says we could fry eggs on the sidewalk. Why don't you turn off the grill and move your cookin' outside? It'd sure cool things off in here. Might even save us some money on gas."
Jack heard a gruff, male voice, but couldn't make out the man's reply. Alayna—thanks to Maudie, he now had a name to associate with the sexy angel—touched her fingertips to her chest and batted her eyes at the man on the other side of the window. Her voice all but dripped southern honey as she replied, "My-y, oh my-y, Ed, but you do-o-o know how to turn a woman's head with your sweet talk."
Maudie tossed back her head and hooted at the ceiling. "Alayna, I'll swear, for a minute there, you sounded just like your mother." She shook her head, still chuckling, as she pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the counter. "How's the old bat doin', anyway?"
Alayna didn't even flinch at the verbal slur to her mother. "Fine. Giving Daddy heck, as usual."
"Serves him right for goin' off and marryin' a Southern Belle and abandoning his home state of Texas."
Maudie shook her head regretfully as she picked up a glass to polish, obviously preparing to settle in for a long gossip. "So how's the remodelin' comin' along?"
Her smile fading a bit, Alayna took a sip of tea, then set the glass down and plucked a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the counter. "Not very well, I'm afraid." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth—a definite stall tactic in Jack's estimation—then frowned, wadding the napkin in her fist. "Frank left."
Maudie's eyes widened, then narrowed. "How much did he take you for?"
Jack watched Alayna's cheeks turn an engaging shade of pink, before she lifted her glass as if to hide behind it. "Enough," he heard her murmur.
Maudie slapped the counter hard enough to make the napkin dispenser rock and Alayna jump a good two inches off the stool. "That no-count drifter. I knew he'd end up scammin' you. Didn't I tell you that you couldn't trust that polecat?"
Alayna's cheeks pinkened even more, but whether from embarrassment or in defiance, Jack wasn't sure.
"Yes, you did," he heard her reply. "But I had little choice but to hire him. He was the only man in town with the skills necessary to remodel the Pond House for me and the only one who was willing to take on the job."
"Humph! I guess so. The name McCloud would be temptin' enough for a double-dealin' snake like Frank, but with you wearin' the title of doctor, too, I'm sure he saw nothin' but deep pockets and a chance for some easy money."
A doctor, huh? Jack knew he was eavesdropping, but couldn't seem to work up the good manners required to block out the conversation. And now he had a last name to attach to the woman. Alayna McCloud. He liked the sound of it. Soft and feminine, but with an underlying strength. Much like his impression of the woman.
"He did make the house livable," he heard her say in the man's defense. "And the kitchen and two of the bathrooms are at least functional."
"And I suppose you paid him up-front?"
"Well," she began evasively, "not all of it. Besides, he said he needed the money to pay his rent or his landlord was going to kick him and his family out on the street."
"Landsakes, Alayna! Frank doesn't have any family. You let that man work on your heartstrings while he shoulda' been workin' on your house." Alayna's chin snapped up at the criticism and Maudie sighed heavily. "So what are you going to do now?"
Alayna glanced down at the counter and dipped her finger in the condensation the glass had left there, her brow furrowing. "I thought I might run an ad in the Austin paper." She lifted her face, her eyes so full of innocence and hope that Jack felt the need to put a fist in the face of the man who'd cheated her. "Do you think there might be a carpenter there in need of a job?"
Jack's ears perked up at the word "carpenter" and an itch jumped to life on his palms. He rubbed his hands along his thighs to ease it. It had been years since he'd swung a hammer, worked a lathe, felt the satisfaction of wood warming beneath his hands. Uncovering the grain in a piece of painted wood, pumping blood back into an old house. He was a carpenter by trade, but all he'd done for the last couple of years was push papers, put out fires, haggle with subcontractors and inspectors. Did he really want to go back to that? Did he even want to go back to Houston at all?
He glanced out the window at the big oak with its barrel-size trunk and sprawling branches. He squinted his eyes and looked farther, taking note of the quiet street and the quaint shops that lined both sides. He'd grown up in a town like this, before moving to Houston. Small. Friendly. Where everybody knew everybody … and their business.
A sigh moved through him and he pushed back the memories before they could fully form. He was tired of running, but he wasn't ready to go back to Houston. Not yet. Maybe never.
Standing, he fished a couple of dollars out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, then scraped his cap from the seat and his ticket from the scarred Formica tabletop where Maudie had left it earlier. Crossing to the register, he dropped the ticket on the counter and worked his wallet from his back pocket.
Maudie aimed one last frown of disapproval in Alayna's direction, then stood and shifted to the register, pasting a smile on her face for Jack's benefit. "Was everythin' all right?" she asked as she punched the total into the register and took the ten-dollar bill he offered her.
"Fine, thank you," Jack murmured politely as he accepted his change. "Much obliged." Stuffing his wallet back into his pocket, he glanced one last time in Alayna's direction, then turned and left the diner.
Alayna let the door to the diner close behind her, then stopped, drawing in a deep breath. Well, she'd expected an "I told you so" from Maudie, and she'd certainly gotten it. Not that it changed anything. She was still out several thousand dollars and left with a half-finished remodeling job.
Things could be worse, she told herself, looking for the bright side of the situation as she started down the steps. Frank could have taken her money and skipped out on her before he'd made the house livable again. She could at least be thankful for that. After all, she was able to sleep and bathe in her own house, which was, in her opinion, a definite step in the right direction. She could even cook her own meals and no longer needed to take advantage of her cousins' hospitality. Though she had enjoyed sharing her meals with Mandy, Sam and Merideth in their respective homes, and getting to know their families, the time saved in traveling to and fro gave her the opportunity to tackle other projects. She supposed she had that to be thankful for, as well.
And there were the—
"Excuse me, ma'am."
Alayna jumped, sucking in a startled breath as a man stepped from the shadow of the diner, blocking her path.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, whipping off his cap and dipping his chin to his chest in apology. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Alayna pressed a hand over her heart to still its frantic beating. "You didn't frighten me."
He glanced up, one thick brow arched high over a doubtful eye as he nodded toward the hand she still clutched at her chest. "Could have fooled me."
Alayna looked down at her hand, unaware that she had even raised it, then dropped it to her side in embarrassment. She laughed self-consciously as she lifted her gaze to the man's again. She relaxed a little when she found nothing threatening in his eyes or in his stance. "Well, maybe just a little," she admitted. She cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. "You were in the diner earlier, weren't you?"
He took his cap in both hands, curling and uncurling its bill. "Yea, ma'am, I was. And I couldn't help overhearing your conversation."
Alayna wrinkled her nose. "You mean Maudie's lecture."
He shrugged. "Sounded as if she had your best interest at heart."
She rolled her eyes, then sighed. "Yes, I suppose, though I feel rather foolish. Especially since Maudie warned me about Frank." She angled her head, frowning just a little. "I don't believe I've seen you around before. Do you live in Driftwood?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," he answered with a quick shake of his head. "I'm not from around here."
"I didn't think so." She laughed. "In a town the size of Driftwood, everyone pretty much knows everyone else—and their business," she added sagely.
Jack frowned upon hearing her echo his own sentiments about the town, but he was at a loss as how to approach her with the idea that had come upon him earlier as he'd stared out the window at the quiet street. He dropped his hands to his sides and tapped his cap nervously against his thigh.
Alayna continued to peer at him. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked helpfully.
"Well, yes, ma'am, there is," he began uncertainly. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and you mentioning that you were going to advertise for someone to complete your remodeling job. I'd like to apply for the job, if you'll allow me, and save you the trouble of posting an ad."
Alayna's eyes sharpened in interest. "Oh? Are you a carpenter?"
"Yes, ma'am. I've worked in carpentry most of my life. My dad was a carpenter, and he taught me and my brother the trade. I can handle pretty much any job that pops up in a redo. Electrical. Plumbing. Painting. You name it." He snorted what might pass as a laugh. "I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades."
Intrigued, Alayna studied him. He was close to her age, maybe a bit older, with strong features, and broad shoulders. Definitely fit enough for the work that would be required of him. She liked to think she was an excellent judge of character and could tell a lot about a person by simply looking into their eyes. That he could meet her gaze squarely attested to his honesty in Alayna's estimation.
Yet, there was something in his eyes—or rather lacking in them—that concerned her. There was a sadness, an almost emptiness to the brown depths. Not that that would affect her decision to hire him. It simply intrigued her. There was a story there, a loss or disappointment of some kind that had left him disillusioned and withdrawn. She wondered if he'd share it with her, and wondered further if she could help him deal with it.
She gave herself a firm shake, forcing her mind to the situation at hand and her heart from the swell of sympathy she felt building.
She knew Maudie would throw a screaming fit if she discovered that Alayna was considering hiring a complete stranger right off the street, especially after the fiasco with Frank. But Alayna was desperate. She had to find someone to finish the job Frank had started.
"I pay by the hour, not the job," she said, then named a figure, watching his reaction.
He lifted a shoulder. "That's fine by me."
"And I handle the purchase of supplies."
"Whatever suits you."
&n
bsp; "You said you weren't from around here."
"No, ma'am, I'm not."
"Then, where would you live?"
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm sure I could find a place."
She glanced away, looking down the street and away from him. "There's a small cabin on my property," she said thoughtfully. "I lived there until Frank made the house habitable."
Since she'd offered the information as a statement and not an invitation, Jack wasn't sure what kind of response she expected from him, so he remained silent.
"I suppose you could stay there," she said, turning her gaze back to him. "It isn't much, but it offers the essentials."
"I'm used to making do."
"Are you a man of your word?"
His chest swelled as if in asking the question she'd insulted him. "My word's as good as any legal contract you could have drawn."
"And I have your word that you'll see this remodeling job through to its end?"
He gave his chin a tight jerk of assent. "You have my word. I'll see the job done."
"When can you start?"
"When do you want me?"
She arched a brow, a smile teasing one corner of her mouth. "What are your plans for this afternoon?"
Jack shrugged. "Nothing in particular."
She quickly dug pen and paper from her purse, then turned the bag over, bracing it against her stomach while she used its side for a writing surface. "I have a few more errands to run," she told him as she jotted down directions to her house, "but I should be home by three."
She held out the slip of paper and Jack took it, studying her neat handwriting. When he glanced up, he saw that her hand was extended toward him. Along with it she offered him a smile. "I'm Alayna McCloud."
Up close, he found her eyes an even deeper blue than he'd thought before, and he quickly decided that a man could probably drown in their depths if he cared to look long and deeply enough. Thankfully Jack didn't. He took her hand, if a bit reluctantly, and shook it. "Jack Cordell."
That McCloud Woman Page 1