Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel

by Laura Moore

  “My stomach thanks you.”

  Miriam, who had been listening to their exchange as she passed Olivia thin strips of grilled cheese to chomp on, said, “And we all know the express route to a man’s heart, don’t we?”

  Jordan truly had the loveliest blush.

  It occurred to Owen that he was losing count of the things he liked about her.

  “So, Owen, shall we?” Fiona’s voice broke into his thoughts. In the candlelight her smile was full of anticipated pleasure. Which was fine, except that as he hadn’t been listening to a word she’d been saying, he hadn’t a clue what she was proposing. But since they’d finished their crème brûlée and espressos and Fiona was a woman who enjoyed leisurely sex, he could hazard a guess.

  “Of course,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’ll just go freshen up.”

  That particular line had always made him smile inwardly, summoning as it did visions of lips lush and wet with newly applied lipstick, of perfume deftly wielded, misting the shadowed valley of an already delectable cleavage, the small hollow behind the earlobes, and even, in the hands of particularly imaginative women like Fiona, the twin points of the hips.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like another espresso before we go? Perhaps a Calvados?”

  She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “No, thanks. Besides, I don’t think we have time.” She reached across and tugged on his forearm to peer at his watch, letting her fingers caress the inside of his wrist, as she continued. “The second set starts at ten. Caroline promised they’d arrive early to get a good table, but I’d hate to be stuck somewhere in the back if it turns out they’re late.”

  Something clicked in his brain. They weren’t going back to her apartment, but to the Blues Alley in Georgetown to listen to a Louisiana jazz quartet. They were to rendezvous with her friends Caroline and Freddy.

  She stood. Automatically he rose from his chair, dizzy with something that felt absurdly like relief. Going to the nightclub was merely delaying the inevitable, but surely by the end of the jazz set he’d remember what made Fiona desirable.

  The letter arrived in the afternoon mail. It was sheer chance that Jordan decided to place a large vase of irises and larkspur on the table in the foyer and so came upon the stack of bills, magazines, and catalogs, which Ellie had placed there, before her sisters returned from the Lexington horse show. The letter was sandwiched between the electric bill and an appeal from the Nature Conservancy. Picking up the envelope addressed to her, she glanced at the embossed name in the upper left-hand corner and dropped the rest of the mail back onto the table with fingers that trembled. A quick prayer went through her that Ellie hadn’t recognized the name Upton and Crawford as the law firm Richard had retained to represent him during the divorce proceedings. Margot and Jade would have.

  She held the envelope warily, as if it might sprout fangs and bite her. Whatever the letter contained, she didn’t want to deal with it. But she couldn’t put it off, either. Not knowing its contents would be even more distressing. So if she couldn’t wait until tonight when everyone was asleep, she had to take advantage of the fact that she was alone. The kids, happy and exhausted from “helping” Ned and Andy water and feed the horses, were sprawled on the sitting room sofa, watching Miss Piggy and Kermit. Andy and Ned were awaiting the van’s return, and Jordan, in an effort to help Andy secure a date with Miriam, had sent her down to the barn with a fresh pitcher of iced tea and a plate of sandwiches. Ellie had left hours ago. The letter could be read in privacy.

  Far too much of her divorce had played out under her sisters’ protective eyes. That the letter would contain some sort of unpleasantness there was no doubt; Richard didn’t pay William Upton’s astronomical fees to draft notes detailing his abject remorse. It would be a relief, though, to be able to read and digest it without having Margot and Jade race to the kitchen drawer and grab the sharpest knives with which to carve out Richard’s heart.

  The tearing of the envelope sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the late afternoon. Then Jordan was hurriedly unfolding the paper and scanning the three printed paragraphs. The tone was courteous and polite, direct, and so very reasonable. Even so, a silent cry was already being wrung from her heart. No!

  Clumsy fingers tried to shove the letter back into the envelope. Would that she could make the thing disappear entirely, light a match and stomp its ashes into the ground. But he’d be phoning upon his return from Hawaii this week and she would have to agree to or refuse his request.

  Damn him for disrupting the children’s lives just when she’d managed to create a stable routine and home for them.

  Her feet had already begun moving toward the sitting room where the kids were watching the movie. Never mind that Kate was at “The cat sat on the mat” stage of reading, Jordan hastily jammed the letter into her breeches pocket.

  They were lined up on the yellow silk sofa, their legs sticking out like matchsticks in front of them.

  “Mommy, Kermit is so funny!” Max said.

  “Is he? I’m glad,” she said, swallowing the boulder-size lump in her throat that had formed at the thought of being separated from them for even a day. Would Olivia understand what was happening?

  “Wanna come watch him with us?”

  She nodded tightly. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

  Much as Jordan had learned to present a serene façade to the world, she also knew how to take advantage of any distraction at hand in order to deflect unwanted attention. Saturday night was easy.

  Returning from the show, Margot, Jade, and Travis were tired. Tired and happy. The horses had come away with the ribbons in every class. But the day had belonged to Jade. Out of a large field, she and Aspen had captured the green working hunter champion.

  “It’d have been majorly embarrassing if we didn’t ride away with the title. Aspen knew exactly what he was supposed to do in the ring. Every stride was perfect. The judges really liked him.”

  Travis smiled. “Sweet William did well for Margot, too, though we’ve got to school him over in and outs before the next show. He was a little flat over the second fence.”

  “Human error. I probably dropped my hands,” Margot replied.

  “Not from where I sat. It looked to me like he was rushing,” Jade said with a yawn. “I’m going to chill in front of the TV. Later, y’all.”

  With Jade gone, there was no lingering over the kitchen table. The mood shifted quickly. All it took was the exchange of a glance between Margot and Travis for Jordan to breathe a deep sigh of relief. She could time it: within the space of five minutes, Margot and Travis would be upstairs in the haven of their room so she could model what was doubtless a very sexy surprise she’d picked up in New York.

  Sunday might have proved more difficult dodging her sisters’ “Jordan’s an emotional wreck” radars if she hadn’t had the excuse of needing to come up with stunning designs for Hawk Hill’s kitchen and baths. A legitimate excuse, just not the one worrying her to distraction.

  When Margot and Jade came into the front parlor later that afternoon, they caught her sitting on the sofa, the half-dozen kitchen design catalogs next to her forgotten as she stared pensively at Max and Kate, who were building a sprawling town out of colored blocks while Olivia chattered away to her plastic Cookie Monster figurine stuck inside Max’s fire truck.

  Jade claimed her favorite spot on the chaise longue. Olivia immediately lurched to her feet and brought the fire truck over for inspection. Pushing the catalogs aside, Margot dropped onto the sofa next to Jordan. And though she’d tried, Jordan couldn’t erase the frown from her brow, for Margot said, “There’s no reason to fret your way to an ulcer, sweetie. Whoever walks into the house is going to love what you’ve done to the interior.”

  “And it’s not like you have to work with a horror like Nonie Harrison. Owen’s cool. He knows you’ll do a good job since he’s already seen the upstairs,” Jade added.

  A pang of guilt pierced her at keeping
them in the dark about the real reason for her preoccupation. But she needed time to think about the letter. Her sisters’ reactions she could predict. They would want her to fight Richard tooth and nail. All very well, were only she involved, but there were the children to consider. Their happiness was paramount.

  “Yes, but what I did upstairs was easy. I knew my clients. Even with Nonie’s guest cottage, I could work off her tastes—questionable as they are—in order to come up with looks and styles.”

  Margot picked up a catalog and leafed through it. “Did Owen give you any guidelines?”

  She smiled. “He told me to think of a client like Nonie except a hundred times more finicky.”

  “Ugh.” Jade scowled. “Do not ruin that house by thinking of her.”

  “Yeah, it would destroy the feng shui.”

  “But then I’m left with a big blank.”

  “Wait, I know! Design the interior with Margot and Travis in mind.”

  Margot lifted a brow in astonishment.

  “Well, why not?” Jade said. “You guys tied the knot last year and probably want to give Olivia some cousins to boss around once she gets tired of making Cookie Monster toe the line. The rest works, too. You’re horsey and like nice things. And Travis goes for all the guy stuff—a big-screen TV and comfortable furniture. That’ll keep Jordan from making things too girlie. It’s a piece of cake.”

  Margot looked impressed. “That’s a really good plan, isn’t it, Jordan? But you’ll also have to decorate a room for Jade, too.”

  “Make sure you put my room on the other end of the house, so I can have some peace and quiet. Margot’s kids’ll be a lot noisier than yours.”

  “Just wait, Jade. We’ll have to buy ear plugs when yours come into the world,” Margot countered easily as her hand moved to her abdomen and rested there.

  Jordan didn’t think Jade noticed the gesture, but she couldn’t help but suspect that maybe Margot and Travis had decided to get to work on making babies in earnest. That “surprise” Margot had given him must have been really something, she thought, smiling inwardly.

  How thrilling for them. And what a huge step for Margot, fraught with consequences for her modeling. But times were changing. Pregnancy and children were no longer the career-enders they’d once been. Actually, it seemed like every other top model was pregnant these days.

  “So what do you think of my idea, Jordan? Wicked brilliant, no?”

  “It is kind of inspired,” Margot said.

  Jordan nodded. “Definitely an improvement over using Nonie as my imaginary client.” What she especially liked about the idea was that Margot’s and her tastes were actually very similar. She could buy things she loved for the rooms, assured that Margot would like them just as much. “Thanks, Jade.”

  “De nada. Got any more problems?”

  “None that I can think of.” Or at least none that she wanted to share right now. Once she had a clearer idea of her own feelings, it would be easier to face her sisters’ indignation over Richard’s request.

  “So, Ned told us that Owen hung out here yesterday. He must think you’re pretty neat.” Jade grinned.

  “Ned’s given Owen his stamp of approval. Has he got yours, sweetie?”

  It was time to set them straight before they got caught up in their matchmaking. She didn’t want things to get awkward for Owen. “He was simply killing time looking over the main barn and going through John Butler’s pattern book before heading back to Alexandria. He had a date later that evening. At the Grille.”

  The significance seemed lost on them.

  “So he’s got good taste.” Jade shrugged. “Figures.”

  “He couldn’t exactly invite you, sweetie, since you were holding down the fort for us.”

  “Of course not. That’s not—” She stopped, aware she didn’t want to go down that avenue. “I think he’s a nice man, and I have a hunch he gets far more out of visiting Rosewood than we can imagine.”

  To her annoyance both burst out laughing, though in Jade’s case it came out as a very loud snort.

  “He played our piano,” Kate said.

  “That’s right, Kate,” Jordan said firmly. “He plays very well and our piano is probably one of the reasons he likes to come over. What a great animal hospital you’ve built there. Are your dogs getting checkups?”

  A terrific segue to guide the conversation away from Owen. Unfortunately her children preferred to continue on what was becoming a favorite path. “Next time Owen comes over, we’re gonna play Twistuh. Mommy’s gonna teach him how.”

  Jordan managed a weak smile for her son, while her sisters indulged in a fit of giggles. “You two are ridiculously immature,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Sorry,” Margot said, not sounding in the least contrite. “I was just exercising my imagination.” She dropped her head against the back of the sofa and, smiling widely, she closed her eyes. “Yep, I can easily picture you teaching Owen to play Twister.” She opened one eye. “Something tells me he might be really good at it.”

  “Definitely. That’s one dude who might have some smooth moves.”

  “Ha, ha. Sorry to cut this totally inappropriate conversation short, but it’s bath time.”

  “Yeah, and talk is cheap in any case. Max, you make sure Mommy brings Owen over for a game of Twister real soon. Okeydokey?”

  “Okeydokey, smokie.” Max grinned, bobbing his head.

  Her sisters could laugh and giggle all they wanted. The notion that a man, especially one as attractive as Owen, might actually be indifferent to her was inconceivable to them. They were each so beautiful. Margot only had to smile a certain way for men to get that stunned look in their faces; Jade merely had to walk into a room. Neither had the slightest notion of what it meant to be Jordan, divorced mother of three. Whatever sex appeal she might have once possessed had passed its expiration date.

  In one respect, however, she should be grateful for her sisters’ ribbing. While they’d been teasing her about Owen, she’d managed to forget the existence of the letter stashed away in her dresser drawer. But with Richard and Cynthia’s honeymoon coming to an end this week, she’d have to do far more than remember its presence.

  Something was wrong with Jordan, Owen realized at eleven thirty-seven A.M. the following Monday. The realization might have struck him earlier—two hours and thirty-five minutes earlier—when she walked through the door, but Hawk Hill had been hopping. The masons were swarming the chimneys in a race to install the liners and tuckpoint as many bricks as possible before the clouds overhead let loose. As if in anticipation of the coming storm, a dull boom, boom was reverberating through the house while Jesse and Doug slammed away at the walls of one of the upstairs baths with their sledgehammers.

  Given the foulness of his mood, Owen would have been happy to pick up a sledgehammer himself and go at the faded and cracked ceramic tiles until his shoulders screamed and the synapses in his brain were fried, but the electrician had surprised them all by actually arriving on time.

  As Owen and Doug took him through the rooms, their path crossed Jordan’s, but Owen had resisted the urge to look at her too closely. This morning it was imperative he prove his ability to focus on anything else, no matter how pedestrian, such as where an electrical outlet or light switch should be positioned, than on her and how he liked the curve of her bare neck as she studied the blocks of granite and soapstone samples she’d brought with her. Allotting only five seconds to imagine his mouth traveling over that soft pale flesh demonstrated his supreme self-control. And it eased the fear gnawing at him that no matter how many deficiencies he’d discovered in Fiona Rorty, the real reason he’d chosen to spend the night alone on Saturday was the woman standing in his kitchen.

  Not that Fiona hadn’t brought some of this on herself. It was she who’d tipped her hand with the idea of a double date at the jazz club. Double dates implied permanency. Clearly Fiona had begun to consider Owen hers, that they were an item. Her assumption trip
ped his internal alarm, signaling that immediate evasive action was required.

  So he’d cut the evening short with a lame story about his head feeling as if it were suddenly about to explode, saying that maybe he should call it a night. Fiona, no idiot, was less than happy to be left chaperoning Caroline and Freddy at the Blues Alley.

  Confident of his ability to please a woman, he wasn’t so cocksure as to believe Fiona’s irritation was rooted in thwarted desire. She was simply mad that he wasn’t falling in line with her plans.

  He told himself that ditching Fiona had everything to do with the fact that she suddenly wanted to take the relationship to a new level and nothing to do with the admittedly unsettling realization that he’d had more fun listening to Jordan explain horse-training techniques in a straw-filled stall than he’d had sitting opposite Fiona at the Grille as she talked about God knows what.

  In Owen’s experience, that was an insane reason to go to bed alone on a Saturday night—or Sunday night, for that matter. And now, having forgone some seriously therapeutic sex, he had yet to shake this strange fixation with Jordan.

  Thus the reason for his foul mood this morning and his decision to compensate for his fixation by doing his level best to ignore Jordan.

  Except that the last time he’d gone into the kitchen, she’d been worrying her lower lip. And the time before that, he’d noticed her absently massaging the pressure point at the end of her winged brow. Though he’d known her less than a week, he could read the signs: something was troubling her.

  The specs for upgrading Hawk Hill’s wiring for the twenty-first century jotted down on his clipboard, the electrician left. Doug left, too, rejoining Jesse for another half-hour’s brute pleasure in demo work before lunch. But just when Owen thought he might hunt down Jordan and see how she was progressing and perhaps get a sense of what was bothering her, his cell began ringing.

  Sitting down on the front stoop, away from the pounding noise, he had to hold the phone away from his ear or else risk permanent damage to his eardrum. His designer, the normally bubbly Emily Carlson, was not a happy camper.