"I wasn't thinking that at all." He shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to plant one foot solidly on the floor. He braced a forearm along his thigh. "In fact, I was thinking just the opposite."
Opposite? Alayna slowly straightened, sinking back on her heels. She turned to look at him, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And what would the opposite be?"
His eyes lit with a devilish grin. "That you are one hot babe."
Alayna's mouth dropped open. "One hot babe," she repeated, her eyes wide with disbelief.
He slapped a palm against his thigh and pushed himself to his feet. "Yep. One hot babe."
Alayna stared up at him for a full three seconds, her heart racing, her hopes soaring. One hot babe? Could it be true? All those years she'd thought— No, she told herself. Jack was wrong. She knew her sexual abilities better than he did. He'd had—what? All of five minutes on which to base his assessment? She'd had years. Frustrating and heartbreaking years to discover her inadequacies, to have them thrown in her face.
She snorted. One hot babe. "Yeah, right," she muttered. She slapped the wad of soggy paper towels into the bowl and stood, chuckling at the ridiculousness of his suggestion as she crossed to the sink. "What would you like for breakfast?"
Though Jack was tempted to push the subject of her sexual prowess, he decided it might be best—for both their sakes—to just let it drop. He didn't want to get involved with her, and she certainly didn't need the complication of getting involved with a man like him. "Those scrambled eggs you were whipping up on the floor looked pretty good to me."
Alayna spun. "Oh, but I can't serve you food that's been—" Then she saw the glint in his eyes, and realized he was teasing her. The tension slowly eased from her shoulders, and she laughed, relieved to know there would be no lingering awkwardness from the previous night's fiasco … and equally delighted to discover that he had a sense of humor buried beneath that gruff exterior.
"Scrambled eggs, it is," she agreed with a decisive nod. She shot him a wink, smiling. "Though I think I'll start with fresh ingredients."
Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight coming through the attic window, stirred by Alayna's steps. She stopped beside an old harvest table and pulled back a corner of the drop cloth that covered it, smoothing a hand over the stained wood she'd exposed. She smiled wistfully, remembering meals shared with her family gathered around the table. She didn't know the table's age, but suspected it was well over sixty years old. Maybe even older. She vaguely remembered her father mentioning that the table had once belonged to his grandmother.
She didn't know when the table had been relegated to the attic, but suspected that her mother had ordered it stored there when she had redecorated the house over twenty years ago. Alayna bit back a smile, thinking of her mother. Ophelia McCloud had hated the Double-Cross Heart Ranch and the family's required summer visits there. The house was old, she'd complained to her husband, with few amenities, and certainly lacking in refinement. And there was nothing to do in the country, she liked to remind him, but watch the grass grow. To appease her, Alayna's father had allowed his wife to completely redecorate the Pond House. The project had kept her busy for two years—and stopped her complaining for almost that long.
Alayna chuckled. In spite of her parents' differences, they loved each other, sharing that love with their children. And Alayna wanted to continue that legacy by sharing her love with children who had never known love as she had.
She stepped back, studying the long table, already imagining her own brood of children gathered around it. There would be laughter and teasing, and plenty of love to pass around.
"Alayna!"
"Up here," she called. She quickly wiped her palm down her thigh, cleaning off the dust she'd gathered, feeling as if she'd been caught skipping school. When she'd slipped off to the attic, she'd left Jack alone to work on a loose spindle on the staircase banister. That he would seek her out was yet another indication that what had transpired between the two of them on the pier the night before had left no adverse effects, and for that she was thankful.
At the sound of his steps on the stairs, she turned, smiling.
He stopped with one foot planted on the top step and braced his hands on either side of the door frame. He leaned forward, peering inside the room. "What are you doing up here?" he asked, frowning.
The bulge of biceps was impossible for Alayna to ignore. That and the way his jeans hugged his thigh. And the endearing manner in which his hair fell across his forehead was, to her, simply irresistible. She told herself it was merely a motherly instinct that made her want to cross to him, comb the dark hair aside and place a kiss on his forehead to erase the frown lines there.
Thankfully she was honest enough to recognize the excuse for what it was—a lie. She may not be able to have sex with a man, she reminded herself, but she certainly still found them attractive. Especially, it seemed, this particular man.
"Looking for treasure," she replied. She laughed at Jack's startled expression. "Furniture," she clarified. "Things I might be able to use downstairs."
"Oh." He pushed from the doorway and stepped inside the low-ceilinged room. He lifted the corner of a dust cloth and raised a brow. "Nice stuff. Old, but nice." He dropped the cloth. "Do you want me to haul anything down for you?"
Alayna turned to the table, studying it closely, while Jack crossed to stand beside her. "I'd like to take this down, if you think we could manage it."
He fitted his hands around the table's edge and lifted, testing its weight. "I don't know," he said doubtfully. "It's pretty heavy. Might need help with this one." He squatted down, peering beneath it. "We might be able to take the legs off. Would make moving it easier." He stood and tossed back the rest of the cover for a better look.
Alayna gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh, no," she murmured, reaching to press her fingertips against the buckled wood he'd exposed.
Jack glanced up at the rafters overhead. "Roof must've leaked," he said. "I'll give it a look later." He lowered his gaze to the damaged wood again, shaking his head with regret. "A shame, too."
"Do you think it can be repaired?"
Jack heard the hopefulness in Alayna's voice, and suspected she'd had her heart set on using the table. He stepped closer, rubbing a hand along the damaged wood, praying it wasn't as bad as he'd first thought. "I'm no professional regarding furniture," he said hesitantly, "but I'd think it'd be cheaper to replace it, than to try to repair it. But if you want, I can haul it into town and get an expert's opinion."
She sighed heavily. "No. I trust your opinion." She touched his hand by way of thanking him for the offer, then turned away, as if looking at the table pained her somehow.
Though her touch was fleeting, Jack felt the warmth of it seep deep beneath his skin. It came perilously close to touching his heart. He stared after her, fighting the feelings of compassion she stirred within him, and the almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms and just hold her.
At the door, she gestured to a small stack of items she'd piled there. "I'll just take these things for now." She lifted a box and started down the stairs, her shoulders drooped despondently.
Jack glanced back at the table, frowning, wondering what it was about the old table that had made her look as if he'd broken her heart when he'd told her it wasn't worth refinishing. He lifted a shoulder and turned away, heading for the stairs. Don't let it matter, he told himself. You've got troubles enough of your own.
From the pile of things she'd left stacked by the door, he selected a small rocker, then followed her down the narrow stairway.
Jack cocked his head, listening. When he didn't hear the sound again, he went back to his sanding. He wasn't sure if he could save the table Alayna had unearthed in the attic, but he was going to give it his best shot. He'd had the truck driver, who had delivered the tin he'd ordered to repair the roof, help him haul the table to the barn. Alayna, who at the time had been in town buying grocerie
s, was unaware that he'd raided her attic. He planned to keep her in the dark until he determined whether or not he could save the old table.
As he sanded and smoothed the buckled wood, he tried to convince himself that he wasn't doing the work to please Alayna. He was a man who loved wood, no matter what the form, and hated to see it go to waste.
He straightened, flexing his cramped fingers. "Yeah right, Cordell," he muttered. "You're a sucker for a sad face. Especially when it's attached to a pretty woman. You always were."
Frowning, he bent to his task again, putting muscle behind the steady movements of his hand.
And heard the sound again.
Lifting his head, he listened. Sure enough, the sound came again. This time, though, he set aside the round of coarse steel wool and stepped outside and into the darkness.
"Here, kitty-kitty-kitty."
Molly? He squinted against the darkness, trying to make out her small form in the moonless night. He saw a flash of white near the front porch of the Pond House and headed that way. He found the girl kneeling in front of the broken lattice that screened the crawl space beneath the porch, her face pressed again the dark opening.
"Molly?"
She jumped at the sound of his voice and rolled to her back, bracing herself with hands planted on the soft grass behind her.
Jack frowned at the fear he saw in her eyes. The kid hadn't said two words to him the entire time he'd been living on the place. She just stared at him, her eyes wide and watchful, her body poised for flight in case he made a wrong move.
And that made Jack mad. He didn't want to scare the kid … but then he didn't want her to like him, either. A hell of a situation, in his estimation.
He glanced toward the house, thinking he'd just get Alayna and let her deal with the kid. Then the cat meowed again, and Molly made a whimpering sound that had Jack whipping his head back around. The look of fear was still in her eyes, but so was her concern for the cat. With a sigh, Jack dropped to a knee in front of the girl, hoping that by putting himself on her level he'd reduce her fear somewhat.
But she remained frozen, her eyes wide and full of fear.
"What are you doing out here in the dark?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
She didn't say a word. Didn't even blink. She just stared at him as if he was some kind of monster who was going to gobble her up for his supper.
He bit back a sigh of frustration. "Does Alayna know you're out here?"
She wagged her head and dug her heels in the ground, inching away from him.
Meow-w-w.
Molly flopped to her stomach at the pitiful sound and pressed her face against the dark opening in the lattice.
Jack lowered himself to the ground and eased up beside her. He squinted against the darkness. "Is that Captain Jinx?" he asked, turning to look at Molly.
She bobbed her head in assent. "He hurts," she said, pointing a stubby finger at the hole in the lattice.
Shocked that the child had actually spoken to him, Jack peered at her more intently. "How do you know?"
"Heard him cryin'."
Jack turned his face back to the hole. He stared into the darkness, but couldn't see a thing. He rolled to his side, and worked a penlight from the pocket of his jeans. Molly jerked away from him at the unexpected movement.
"It's a light," he explained, and flicked it on and off, demonstrating. "See?"
She watched him warily. With a frown he rolled back to his stomach. He inched his way to the hole and shined the light into the crawl space. The light glanced off a matched pair of eyes, glinting like green marbles in the darkness. Cat eyes. He adjusted the beam, aiming it along the animal's length. Ugly and scraggly before, the critter looked a whole lot worse now. It's fur was matted with blood and one ear hung by threads of skin. Probably found another stray torn and got himself into a fight, Jack reasoned.
He felt a movement beside him and turned quickly, blocking Molly's view of the injured cat. "Molly," he said, firmly taking her by the shoulders. She stiffened and tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip, hating the fear he saw in her eyes. "Captain Jinx is hurt," he explained gruffly. Her gaze shot to the darkened hole, her lips trembling. He squeezed her shoulders and she slowly turned back to him. Tears glistened in her brown eyes. Jack had to swallow back the emotion that rose at the sight. "I want you to go and get Alayna. Tell her to bring me a towel. Can you do that?"
She bobbed her head and ducked from his grasp, scrambling to her feet and running for the house. Her white nightgown flapped around her short legs.
Jack quickly ripped off his shirt, knowing he had to get the cat out before Molly saw it. Wedging his fingers between the lattice and the wooden steps it was attached to, he pulled, gritting his teeth and straining until the weathered panel of lattice snapped free with a splintering of wood.
Breathing heavily, he tossed the panel aside and crawled inside the darkened hole, flattening his stomach against the dank-smelling earth in order to fit into the narrow space. "Okay, cat," he muttered, belly-crawling toward it, "try to remember that I'm here to help you, okay?"
In answer, Captain Jinx bared his teeth and hissed, swiping at Jack with his sharp claws.
"Yeah, well, I'm not too crazy about you, either," he muttered darkly, then tossed his shirt over the cat. He scooped the netted cat under his arm, trying his best to be gentle and not injure the cat any more than it already was, then slowly started backing his way from the hole. The cat scratched and clawed, trying to get free.
Jack felt a hand on his foot and froze.
"Jack?"
"Yeah," he said on a sigh of relief, recognizing the sound of Alayna's voice. "I've got the cat. Where's Molly?"
"In the house. I made her stay with Billy."
"Good idea." His shoulders cleared the opening, then his head, and he rolled to his back, holding the squirming cat against his chest, as he gulped in a breath of fresh air. Someone turned on the porch light, probably Billy he reasoned, and he squinted against the sudden glare.
Alayna bent over him, her blond hair falling to curtain her face, her blue eyes filled with concern. Her eyes suddenly widened and she dropped to her knees beside him.
"Oh, Jack," she cried, laying a sympathetic hand against his abdomen. "You're bleeding."
He shifted the now calm cat to one arm and craned his neck to see, then dropped his head back to the ground. "It's just a scratch."
He thought she'd remove her hand once he'd assured her he wasn't hurt, but she kept it there. Her palm smoothed across his bare flesh, brushing away the dirt and awakening nerves beneath the skin. Though her touch was light, tender, filled with compassion, for some crazy reason Jack found its movements highly erotic.
She hadn't touched him since that night on the pier—other than that brief contact in the attic—and Jack hadn't made a move to touch her, either. Didn't dare. They just danced around each other like boxers avoiding the next punch.
But she was touching him now.
He lay still as death, cussing himself for a fool in one breath for not brushing her hand away, and praying with the next that she'd never stop her hand's seductive play. She continued to stroke him, her palm shaping the hardened lines of muscle, smoothing across the taut, flat plane of his stomach, slipping over his side, then starting the journey all over again.
When her fingertips dipped into the shallow well of his navel, Jack couldn't stop the groan of pleasure that swelled from deep inside him, any more than he could prevent his abdominal muscles from tightening in response to her finger's erotic play.
Her gaze snapped to his at the movement. Jack felt the heat that burned between them, saw the need that turned her blue eyes to smoke.
Though he knew it was a mistake, he reached and covered her hand with his free one. "Alayna."
I'm not any good at sex. He could see the words in her eyes as clearly as if they were written there. He remembered the morning she'd told him that. Obviously she remembered that morn
ing, too, because she dropped her gaze from his, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered and withdrew her hand from beneath his to curl it into a fist on her thigh.
She drew in a ragged breath. "How bad is Captain Jinx?"
Jack wanted to tell her that it was okay to touch him, to beg her to touch him again. But refrained. Neither of them needed the complication. Instead he took the distraction she offered. If it was the coward's way out, so be it. Jack wasn't there to win any medals. "I'm no vet, but I'd say he's pretty bad off. Not unfixable. Just bad."
She pushed herself to her feet, still avoiding his gaze. "I'll call Sam. My cousin. She's a vet."
Jack winced and turned his back to the makeshift table where the vet worked a suture through the cat's tattered flesh, reattaching its ear. The cat was anesthetized. Probably didn't feel a thing. But Jack felt every prick of the needle as if it was piercing his own skin.
"You're Mandy's sister, right?" he asked, needing to take his mind off of what was going on behind his back.
"Yep. And Merideth's. I don't think you've met her yet."
Jack stole a glance over his shoulder, winced again as the needle pierced the cat's flesh, and turned his face away.
"You gonna faint on me?"
Jack chuckled at the question and wagged his head. "No. Just don't ask me to help."
"I'm used to working alone."
Jack nodded, but didn't dare turn back around. "The cat's going to be okay, isn't it? I mean, it would break Alayna's heart if he didn't make it. The kid's, too."
"He'll make it. Not without a few new scars, but he'll make it."
Jack felt as if a hundred pound weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He may not care for cats, but that didn't mean he wanted the animal to suffer … or the humans who cared for it, for that matter. He frowned as his thoughts shifted to Alayna.
He remembered the hand on his abdomen, the needs it had drawn, the look of embarrassment on her face when she realized that she had kept her hand on his flesh a moment too long. He remembered, too, the yearning he'd seen in her eyes before she'd turned her face away. He didn't want her to suffer, but something told him that she already had. Probably at the hand of her ex-husband.
That McCloud Woman Page 6