Seductively Yours

by Gina Wilkins

  Jamie turned to watch Trevor as he smoothed Abbie’s nap-rumpled hair. The ease of his movements spoke of experience, and made her see him more clearly as a single father, solely responsible for two very young and very vulnerable children. It was up to him, she mused, to make sure that they were fed, bathed and clothed, to take them to the doctor and the dentist, to tuck them into bed, dry their tears and soothe their fears. Having never been accountable for anyone but herself—not even a pet—Jamie could hardly imagine such awesome responsibility.

  She wondered again about the children’s mother, who had died so tragically young. Trevor’s wife. Was he still in mourning for her? Had he returned to Honoria for his mother’s help with his children, or to escape the painful memories of his wife and the home they had shared in Washington? Maybe a little of both?

  When she found herself wondering if he would ever fall in love again, she abruptly redirected her train of thought.

  She turned to Wade. “I heard, of course, that Emily’s brother Lucas reappeared a couple of years ago. The town gossips must have had a field day.”

  Wade nodded. “He came back for Christmas and stayed to attend our wedding on New Year’s Eve, eighteen months ago. And, yeah, the gossips nearly wore out their tongues when he showed up out of the blue after being gone fifteen years. More than half the town believed he’d murdered Roger Jennings before he left, and they weren’t too happy to hear he’d come back.”

  “From what I’ve heard, he’s back in the town’s good graces now that everyone knows it was Roger’s uncle who was the real murderer. I could hardly believe that. Sam Jennings was my dentist when I was a kid! Who could have imagined then that he’d already killed twice and would kill again?”

  “Lucas’s innocence certainly swayed public opinion in his favor,” Trevor commented dryly. “But not as much, perhaps, as the fact that he made himself a fortune in the California computer industry while he was away. The snobs were much more gracious to the rich businessman than they had been to the rebel he’d been before he left town.”

  “That I believe,” Jamie murmured, thinking of times in the past when she had been shunned because of her own less-than-ideal family background. Being the only daughter of two alcoholics whose marital battles had been well know in the community, Jamie knew what it was like to grow up outside the tight social cliques in this town. “I’m glad Lucas has done well for himself. I understand he and Rachel Jennings were married and live in California.”

  “They seem very happy,” Caleb agreed. “Lucas needed someone like Rachel to calm him down. He was always so hotheaded and volatile, and she’s so calm and restrained—they offset each other very well. They announced just last week that they’re expecting a baby. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of father Lucas makes.”

  “Your family is growing rapidly,” Jamie commented.

  Caleb nodded in visible satisfaction. As the only surviving member of his generation, he must be pleased that the McBride name would carry on, Jamie decided.

  “Uncle Lucas designed this game,” young Clay remarked, proving that he’d been monitoring the adults’ conversation while seemingly engrossed in his toy. “It’s called a Rebelcom and it’s way cool.”

  “You’ll have to show it to me after dinner,” Jamie suggested. “I have a weakness for cool electronics.”

  Clay nodded and pushed another game button, returning to his play.

  “I got one, too,” Sam piped up. “For my birthday. You can see mine, if you come to my house.”

  Jamie smiled down at her young admirer. “Maybe I’ll do that sometime.”

  She didn’t look at Trevor as she spoke, though she wondered how he felt about his son inviting her to their house.

  “So now I’ve asked about all the McBride cousins except Savannah,” she commented, turning back to Caleb. “I know from the grapevine that she married the writer Christopher Pace and they divide their time between L.A. and Georgia. I assume she’s doing well?”

  Caleb nodded at the mention of his late brother’s only daughter. “Savannah’s fine. Seems happy as a clam. Her husband is a decent guy, even if he does hang out some with those Hollywood types.”

  Smiling, Jamie asked, “And her twins?”

  “Teenagers now. Good kids, both of them, and they’re crazy about Kit. He legally adopted them. I sort of hated to see them give up the McBride name, but it seems to have made them feel more like a family, so I guess they made the right decision.”

  Jamie hadn’t forgotten the big scandal when Savannah McBride, head cheerleader, homecoming queen, beauty pageant winner and pampered princess, had become pregnant with twins when she was sixteen. Jamie had been only ten or eleven at the time, but everyone in Honoria had known about Savannah’s predicament and the controversy that had ensued when she’d named Vince Hankins as the father—an accusation the high-school jock had cravenly denied. Jamie was glad Savannah and her children had turned out all right.

  The McBrides had been providing fodder for the town gossips for years, she mused. It had been something that had made her feel a kinship with them, since she’d been the subject of some avid gossip herself during her admittedly reckless teen years.

  “You haven’t mentioned your family yet this evening,” Caleb said, politely directing the conversations away from his own clan. “How is your mother?”

  “She’s fine.” Jamie knew her tone had become stilted, but it always did when she talked of her mother. “She’s living in Birmingham now, close to her sister.”

  “And your father?”

  She felt her neck muscles tighten even more when she replied. “Last I heard, he was living in Montana. We don’t really stay in touch.”

  “I see.”

  There was a brief, awkward silence, which seemed to hold for several tense moments. Then Abbie laughed and babbled something, baby Claire fussed and Bobbie came into the room to announce that dinner was served. Relieved to have the attention diverted from herself, Jamie lifted her chin, pasted on a bright smile and rose to join the others as they moved toward the dining room.

  THE MAIN COURSE was well under way by the time Trevor reached the conclusion that his son was seriously smitten. Sam had hardly taken his eyes off Jamie since she’d arrived. Unfortunately, Trevor was having a similar problem.

  He knew what he saw in Jamie—the same things he’d noticed even back in high school. He couldn’t imagine any normal male being entirely immune to Jamie Flaherty’s less-than-subtle sexuality. But he wondered what it was about her that held his boy so enthralled. Her bright red hair—which, he recalled, had been a medium brown when he’d known her before? Her easy laugh and quick, expressive movements? The fact that she had saved Sam’s life?

  Jamie couldn’t have been more opposite—outwardly, at least—to Trevor’s late wife, Melanie. Melanie had been quiet, dignified, so prim and neatly groomed as to be almost porcelain perfect. She’d had a sense of humor, but it had been understated, restrained. If someone had put them side by side, one might have compared Jamie to the sun—bright, conspicuous, hot—and Melanie to the moon—pale, quiet, cool. Like the moon, Melanie had kept her dark side hidden, even from her husband.

  Abbie interrupted his uncharacteristic daydreaming by banging her spoon on the tray of her high chair. She squealed in delight at the ensuing clang and did it again. Trevor reached over to catch her hand. “No, Abbie. Eat,” he said, redirecting her attention to the bite-size pieces of food on the unbreakable plate in front of her.

  Gazing at him with blue eyes that were exactly like her mother’s, Abbie gave him a slobbery grin. “Daddy,” she said.

  His throat contracted, a now-familiar mixture of love and heartache he often felt when he looked at his tiny daughter. “Eat your dinner, Abbie,” he repeated a bit gruffly, holding a slice of banana to her rosy lips.

  Once she was busy with her food again, he turned back to his own plate. His gaze collided abruptly with Jamie’s across the table, and he resisted the impulse to sq
uirm in his seat. He couldn’t read her expression, but he had the uncomfortable sensation that she saw entirely too much when she looked at him.

  As was often the case, Bobbie dominated the dinner conversation. Trevor loved his mother and knew she had a kind heart and a generous nature, but he wasn’t blind to her bossiness or her penchant for being a little overbearing. While there were a few people who couldn’t stand her, most folks overlooked her shortcomings in favor of her many good qualities. She’d been teaching in elementary school since before Trevor was born, and few questioned her competence—or her knack for running the most efficient and well-behaved classrooms in the school.

  At the moment, she was on a diatribe about an incident that had happened to her through the locally owned bank where Emily had worked for several years, before quitting to be a full-time mother.

  “All this new technology that’s supposed to make things easier for the customers—it’s just a lot of garbage,” Bobbie said bluntly. “I called yesterday to see if a check had cleared, and I spent forty-five minutes on the telephone with some girl giving me directions on how to use the new automated teller service. I told her I don’t want to talk to a recorded teller, and she said I had to learn how, because it would be much more ‘convenient’ for me in the long run. I want to know what’s ‘convenient’ about having to punch in a half-dozen code numbers and then listen to a recording I can hardly understand, hmm? She could have given me the information I needed in less than five minutes. Laziness, that’s what it is. No one wants to provide personal service anymore.”

  “The automated teller system really isn’t that complicated once you learn it, Aunt Bobbie,” Emily responded, but even she didn’t look particularly convinced by her words.

  “‘Automated teller.”’ The very term seemed to enrage Bobbie. “I’ll tell you the same as I told that girl. If everything’s going to be automated down there, why do they need a staff?”

  “She’s got a point there, Emily,” Wade murmured, seeming to enjoy his wife’s discomfort.

  Having gotten her complaint out of her system, Bobbie abruptly changed the subject. “I talked to Arnette Lynch yesterday,” she said, looking at Jamie as she mentioned the recently retired high-school drama teacher.

  “How is her husband?” Jamie inquired politely.

  “Still very weak from his chemotherapy treatments, I’m afraid, but Arnette said she thought he was feeling a bit better. She’s confident she made the right decision in retiring.”

  “I’m sure she did.”

  “I’m so glad you were available to take her place. The students are thrilled to have a real theater veteran teaching them.”

  “I enjoy working with young actors,” Jamie responded. “They’re so eager and energetic. And some of them are quite talented.”

  “What does talent have to do with casting an Honoria High School production?” Emily asked dryly. “Mrs. Lynch always gave the lead roles to the students from the most prominent local families, regardless of whether they could act or sing.”

  Bobbie frowned. “That’s not a very kind thing to say, Emily.”

  “But it’s true, Aunt Bobbie. I saw the performance of West Side Story last fall, remember? Mayor McQuade’s strawberry-blond, freckled daughter Joannie played Maria. No way did she look Puerto Rican—and the poor girl couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.”

  “Couldn’t sing worth a flip, either,” Caleb muttered. “Sounded like a cat with its tail caught in a wringer. It was all I could do to sit through the whole show—and that was only because Bobbie had a death grip on my arm to keep me from leaving.”

  “Mrs. Lynch cast the popular, socially prominent kids back when I was in high school,” Trevor agreed bluntly. “Everyone always knew who would have the best roles—and they were rarely the best qualified.”

  Jamie nodded somberly. “You never saw me hold the lead role at good ol’ HHS, did you?”

  Trevor thought he heard a touch of old resentment in her voice.

  “I was always lucky to get a few lines,” she continued, “even though Mrs. Lynch told me several times that she thought I had real talent.”

  Wade, who’d moved to Honoria only a couple of years earlier, looked startled. “If she thought you had talent, how did she justify not giving you better roles?”

  Jamie shrugged, and Trevor suspected there was a world of emotion hidden behind her matter-of-fact tone. “She said she would face too much controversy if she tried to buck the established system. She was afraid it would cut into her contributions and jeopardize her ability to fund her productions. She knew my folks wouldn’t put up a fuss if I was slighted—unlike, say, the O’Briens or some of the other local society leaders.”

  Wade scowled. “Sounds like it was long past time for her to retire.”

  “She did the best she could,” Bobbie said in defense of her colleague. “You know how difficult it can be to challenge the established order, Wade. You’ve had your share of criticism because you refuse to look the other way when some of the richer folks bend a few laws.”

  “The laws aren’t any different for people with money than they are for people without,” Wade said flatly.

  Emily looked speculatively at Jamie. “I hear you’re planning to do Grease in the spring. You know Joannie McQuade’s going to demand the role of Sandy.”

  “None of my students will ‘demand’ a role—they’ll audition,” Jamie asserted. “If they’re good, they’ll get a part. If they show potential, I’ll work with them until they’re ready. If they show no glimmer of talent, I’ll let them be extras, or assign them other responsibilities. There are a lot of interesting jobs in theater besides acting—lighting, set design and construction, sound, publicity, costumes, stage management.”

  “You’d make Joannie McQuade an extra?” Wide-eyed, Emily shook her head. “Her mother will be at the school to try to get you fired before you can say, ‘Cut!”’

  Trevor noted that Jamie didn’t look notably intimidated. “I’ve spent seven years working in New York. I can handle Charlotte McQuade.”

  Emily made a balancing gesture with her hands. “A city full of New Yorkers,” she said, lowering one hand. “Charlotte McQuade,” she continued, lowering the other. After considering it a moment, she shook her head wryly. “It’s a close call, which is actually scarier.”

  “I’m sure Jamie can handle herself,” Trevor commented.

  The quick look she shot him expressed her appreciation—and perhaps a touch of surprise?

  “I’m going to kindergarten,” Sam announced to Jamie.

  “In the fall, you mean?” she asked encouragingly. He nodded.

  “Are you excited?”

  “I’m sort of scared,” the boy admitted.

  Trevor was a bit surprised. Sam didn’t often share his feelings, especially with people he didn’t know well. But he didn’t usually take to new people as quickly as he had to Jamie, either.

  “Don’t be scared about school,” Jamie encouraged. “For the most part, school is fun. Why else would I want to go back as a teacher?”

  “Will you be my teacher?”

  Jamie smiled and smoothed Sam’s fair hair. “Not for a few years yet, Sammy. But whoever you get for a teacher, I’m sure you’ll have a great year.”

  Trevor watched in resignation as his son fell a little deeper in love.

  4

  LATER THAT EVENING, the adults sat in the den, drinking coffee and talking while the children vied for attention. Sitting again on the couch beside Trevor, Jamie smiled at Abbie, then was surprised when the little girl reached out to her. Jamie obligingly took the toddler into her lap. Abbie immediately snatched for the heavy silver pendant Jamie wore.

  “No, Abbie,” Trevor said, reaching out to stop her. “You’ll break it.”

  “She won’t hurt it,” Jamie assured him. “Trust me, it’s not that fragile—or particularly valuable.”

  Trevor dropped his hand but she was aware that he kept a close eye on
Abbie as she played with the pendant, babbling happily. Jamie really didn’t mind the child playing with the necklace, but she prevented her several times from putting it in her mouth. She knew toddlers liked to taste things, but it just didn’t seem like a particularly sanitary habit.

  “Do you miss New York, Jamie?” Emily asked, distracting her for a moment.

  “I miss the friends I made there, of course. I miss the theater—both as a performer and a patron. There was always something to do and someplace to go. Oh—and the food.” She sighed nostalgically. “I’m not crazy about cooking for myself and I miss the convenience and variety of take-out food in New York. Honoria doesn’t even have a decent Chinese delivery available, much less a really good deli.”

  “We’ve got pizza,” Clay reminded her. “Sometimes Mom lets me order pizza for dinner. But not very often,” he added wistfully.

  “I like pizza, but I get tired of it if I have it too often,” Jamie answered with a smile.

  Clay looked disbelieving that anyone could ever grow tired of pizza.

  “You’d never catch me living in a place like that,” Bobbie said emphatically. “All that crime and rudeness and pollution—I simply can’t see the appeal.”

  Jamie swallowed a chuckle at the stereotypes Bobbie so obviously believed. “It really isn’t all that bad,” she murmured. “By using simple common sense, I always felt quite safe.”

  Bobbie looked as skeptical as Clay had about the pizza.

  Losing interest in the necklace, Abbie lurched forward to reach for one of Jamie’s dangling silver earrings. Trevor and Jamie both made a grab for it and their hands collided, Trevor’s covering Jamie’s.

  Jamie felt her stomach muscles contract. Trevor’s skin felt unusually warm against hers. His fingers seemed to tighten almost reflexively around her hand.

  Then they both suddenly snatched their hands away, giving Abbie an opportunity to take hold of the earring. Jamie winced when the baby gave an enthusiastic tug. “Better leave me some ear, Pumpkin,” she said, disentangling Abbie’s fingers. “I might need it sometime.”