by Laura Moore
“I swear to God, Owen, if Nonie Harrison whines one more time, asking why you aren’t here supervising the crew, I’m going to rip her a new—”
“Steady there, Em. I don’t want to have to bail you out. Just treat Nonie like an atmospheric disturbance. A lot of hot air.”
“She’s certainly hot for—”
“Please don’t finish that thought, either. Thinking about Nonie in a lather over anyone is enough to put me off my feed for weeks. The next time she asks why I’m not checking on the color blue you’re using, just tell her I’m color blind.”
Emily wasn’t mollified. “I don’t think she cares if you’re blind, deaf, or dumb. Honestly, Owen, she acts like you’re much cuter than you really are.”
He laughed. “Thanks. You’re excellent for my ego. In return, I promise I’ll pop over and shake my head dolefully at whatever shade of white you’ve picked out.”
“Don’t you dare. This job was supposed to be a no-brainer, not a migraine to end all migraines.”
“Take two aspirin and call me in the afternoon.”
“How about I take four aspirin and have Nonie call?”
“You’re becoming evil in your old age.”
“Don’t you forget it, Gramps.”
Disconnecting, Owen became aware of the quiet. Jesse and Doug must have gone out the back to make their lunch run to Braverman’s. Compared to the earlier din, the scratch of cement being scraped and applied by the masons was hardly louder than the chattering of the squirrels. The rain had held off. It was just possible they’d be able to finish the chimney repairs. He pocketed his phone and wandered back inside.
Jordan was in the kitchen, her tools of the trade spread out over the linoleum counter. Amid the catalogs of cabinet styles and finishes and blocks of granite was a sandwich and a clear plastic bag filled with quartered carrots and celery sticks.
“You’re not picking up the kids at school? May I?” he asked, his hand hovering over a carrot stick.
“Go ahead,” she replied, without looking up from the catalog that was open to a page with wood cabinets in a white bisque. “Margot had some errands to run in town so she’s picking them up. She has to leave later tonight for a two-day shoot in New York. I wanted to give the kids a treat and let them spend some time alone with her. It’s good for them to be away from me.” From the way she was frowning at the specs for the options and sizes of the cabinets, one would have thought she was trying to decipher the Rosetta stone.
He leaned a hip against the countertop. “Okay. Here’s the deal. You give me half your sandwich and I listen to what’s bugging you.”
She looked up in surprise. “Nothing’s bugging me. Take the whole sandwich. I’m not very hungry.” Pen in hand she pushed it toward him.
“Are you dieting? Because that would be a mistake.”
“What? No. I just don’t feel like eating.”
His hunch had been right. Something was bothering her. Because the dieting comment would have made the Jordan he knew go as frosty as the inside of a freezer. And he’d plunk down a hundred on a bet that when Jordan was upset she couldn’t eat.
He plucked the pen out of her hand.
That got her attention. “Hey,” she exclaimed.
“Sorry, but you’ve got to eat. I don’t want to deal with worker’s comp when you faint from inanition and crack your head on the floor. Plus I don’t like to eat alone and I’m starving.” He picked up half the sandwich and held it out to her. “So eat.”
She took it with a shake of her head. “I really—”
“It’s something to do with the kids, right?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you guess that?”
“My parents were repeatedly assured that their son was a genius,” he said dryly. “Actually, my deduction process was fairly straightforward. If one of the horses were sick, you’d have mentioned it. What clinched it was the odd expression on your face when you talked about the kids going out on the town with Margot. So spill it.”
Instead, Jordan took a halfhearted bite of the sandwich and chewed, as she considered Owen’s offer. She’d gotten exactly nowhere in coming to a decision with respect to Richard’s request. Her thinking was distressingly like one of those wave-simulator machines that tip back and forth: wishy-washy. It would be such a relief to talk to someone who had no stake in the outcome. “You’re right,” she confessed with a small sigh. “It is about the kids.”
“My parents would be so gratified to know those predictions about my being a genius came true.”
She tried to smile back.
Owen took a big bite of the sandwich because he knew it would be good. Swallowing, he said, “I take it this is more than a runny nose?”
“I got a letter from my ex-husband’s lawyer asking me to consider giving Richard visiting rights. He’d like us to devise a schedule that would allow him to have the kids with him a weekend or two every month and for a part of their school vacations.” She swallowed forcibly against the choking sensation that threatened. “I don’t have to agree to his request, but maybe it would be good for the children …”
“You have full custody?”
She didn’t know why, but having Owen immediately take another energetic bite of the chicken salad sandwich made his question somehow less pointed and intrusive. They might have been discussing whether to have a walk-in shower installed in the master bath rather than the personal details of her divorce.
“Yes. There was a tape of Richard and his mistress.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A tape?”
“Audio only, thankfully.”
“I know you lived in D.C., but please don’t tell me you guys were wiretapping each other.”
It was nothing less than amazing that he’d managed to make her laugh. “No, nothing more high tech than our answering machine at Rosewood did him in. He was supposed to join us for the weekend but he called saying he had too much work to drive out. We’d made some progress with the marriage counselor, and he’d assured me that the affair he was having with his colleague was over, so I believed him. The only hitch with his truly brilliant performance, in which he promised he’d be at Rosewood bright and early the next day, was that when he hung up, he accidentally pressed the redial button. An understandable mistake, as he was very distracted at the time. Well, to make a long and distasteful story short, our answering machine recorded an extremely explicit exchange between him and Cynthia, one that if played before the court would have been awkward for Richard professionally—so awkward that he didn’t contest any of my lawyer’s requests.”
Owen made himself take another bite and chew vigorously. He didn’t want her to see how affected he was by the story. Not prone to violence, he knew that if given the chance, he would happily pound the shit out of the son of a bitch for having hurt Jordan. Satisfying though it would have been to act the hero for the pain Jordan suffered still, that wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed a rational listener to provide counsel, not a rage-propelled avenger to rain blows on her worthless scumbag of an ex.
Unfortunately, she probably needed that even more than Owen’s preferred impulse: to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t even remember her ex-husband’s name.
First things first. He swallowed and took a moment to school his voice so that it betrayed nothing he was feeling. “Right. I got the picture. Smart of you to keep the tape.”
“That was Jade. It certainly made things easier with the proceedings. I was kind of a mess emotionally, and as Richard and Cynthia weren’t married, I didn’t want the children more confused by spending weekends with them. But now they are married, and the house they bought is large enough for all of them.”
“And so your ex wants to be able to spend a little more time with the kids. Common enough desire. Here’s the first question: was he as lousy a father as he was a husband?” Damn. There went any pretense at objectivity.
Her small smile told him he hadn’t messed up. Given how pr
ivate she was, it occurred to Owen that she didn’t talk about the collapse of her marriage to many people. Maybe hearing someone say her husband was a prick was music to her ears.
“Actually, Richard was a good father. Even when he came home tired from the office, he always made the effort to play with them or read them a story. He liked being an involved dad, being part of their lives. I think Kate and Max miss that. Going out for an ice cream on Sundays isn’t enough. I worry, though, that it will be hard on them—unsettling and confusing.”
With a sigh, she picked up a carrot stick and nibbled on it. “To tell you the truth, Richard wasn’t even a lousy husband,” she said, surprising him. “At least, not at first. But whatever he felt for me died at some point, and I didn’t see it. And because I didn’t see it, maybe I didn’t do the things that could have saved our marriage. What was weak of him was to have an affair rather than let me know he’d fallen in love with someone else.”
Weak? Owen should have guessed Jordan was the kind of person who’d be generous even to those who behaved abominably. But he wasn’t going to screw things up by wading into those murky waters. Sticking to the kids was a far safer.
“I’ve heard that kids are pretty resilient. And Kate and Max appear pretty normal.” Damned if he was going to perjure himself by calling Olivia, who seemed like a cross between Frankenstein and Tarzan, normal. “My hunch is they’ll take their cues from you and your ex.”
She nodded. “Yes, I suppose they will. I know Richard would hate to hurt them any more by engaging in a tug-of-war over them.”
“It seems to me that if you’re confident he’s going to approach the question of sharing the kids with their best interests in mind, then you already know what you’re going to do. Because if you weren’t sure he’d do his utmost to make their time with him as positive an experience as possible, I suspect you’d fight him with everything you’ve got. A sight to behold, but not necessarily kiddie-friendly.” With a last bite, he polished off the sandwich. “Of course, you could decide that denying your ex the chance to be with the kids is the perfect revenge for having cheated on you.”
She looked sickened at the suggestion.
“You wouldn’t be the first, Jordan.”
That chin, which by now he’d come to regard as her emotional bellwether, rose in proud defiance. “I’d never do that. They’ve been hurt quite enough.”
“And you and your sisters have done everything in your power to compensate for the fact that their dad doesn’t live with them. As these things go, your kids have a pretty idyllic setup.”
“They don’t have a father to tuck them in at night or ask them how their day went.”
“A complete set of parents under the same roof isn’t a guaranteed formula for happy, well-adjusted children, so quit feeling terrible about what yours are supposedly missing out on. It’s pointless.”
He saw that his words had taken her aback. For a second he wondered if he’d been too harsh, but then the corners of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Okay, no undue pity fest for having failed my kids.”
“Good. Would that more parents failed as miserably as you.”
“Let’s not exaggerate,” she said, her voice tinged with something close to laughter. “But thanks for the excellent advice. And for listening. I really needed a chance to air my thoughts. Where Richard is concerned, I’ve lost all confidence in my judgment. And my sisters aren’t exactly the best sounding board when it comes to him.”
That was a surprise. The sisters seemed close, friends as well as siblings. “You haven’t spoken to them about this?”
“No. When I discovered Richard was still carrying on with Cynthia, I kind of fell apart. Jade, Margot, and Travis kept things going, provided a stable environment and routine for the kids and me until I could pull myself together. While they were willing for my sake to forgive him the first time he cheated, the second time, well …” her voice trailed off.
As he’d been entertaining fantasies of bloodying the guy, Owen could only imagine what her sisters would like to do to him.
“Anyway,” she continued with a little shrug. “I thought it best to sort out my own feelings first. Though all I really accomplished was to vacillate all weekend.” She was staring at the counter, her finger tracing random patterns on the discolored Formica. When she spoke again, he had to strain to hear her. “The thing is—God, I hate myself for being so petty and selfish in feeling this way.”
Petty and selfish were about the last adjectives he’d pick to describe Jordan. “For feeling what way?” he asked, bewildered.
“Talking with you has made me recognize why I was hesitating to let Richard have the children for visits. It wasn’t just because I was worried about how they’ll adjust to the arrangement. It’s that I don’t want them to love her—Cynthia. Not in the way they love me. I couldn’t bear it if I lost that, too.” Her words died away on an agonized whisper.
His gut wrenched tight at her confession and the knowledge of what it must have cost to voice it. Fuck it all. Without another thought, he drew her into his arms.
The front of his shirt soon grew damp with her tears, but still he held her loosely, doing nothing more than rubbing her back in slow circles while he wondered how in God’s name he’d ended up in a situation like this. He liked her, that was it. He’d do the same for Emily Carson if she’d come to him with some sob story. Except he’d never thought about lying between Em’s legs, which pretty much topped his list of things he’d like to do with Jordan.
Her bout of tears didn’t last long. Nonetheless he offered silent thanks when, with a moist sniff, she straightened her shoulders. She looked up, her spiky-lashed azure gaze briefly meeting his before dropping away to stare fixedly at the base of his throat.
“I’ve wet your shirt,” she said to his clavicle.
“It’ll dry.” Providing solace had a definite upside. She was in his arms. Owen wondered whether she’d even noticed that his hands had quit their platonic, comfort-in-need rub to settle at her waist. He spanned her slender strength, the tips of his fingers meeting at the hollow of her spine. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt. His fingers played with the fabric, gathering it so it rode up her waist. His heart drummed with anticipation at touching that silky soft skin.
Though the kitchen was at the back of the house, the sound of the front door slamming was unmistakable, and as impossible to ignore as Jesse’s ringing yell. “Owen, man, where are you? We’ve got your lunch.”
Owen dropped his hands, balling them into fists while in his head he let loose with every single curse he’d picked up in every country he’d ever lived. He was gripped by a sudden vicious urge to fire Jesse on the spot for having the worst damned timing in the world. At the very least dock his pay.
All he’d needed was three more minutes, and he could have tasted the sweetness of Jordan’s mouth and the poignant saltiness of her still damp cheeks.
Jordan had jumped back. She met his gaze with palpable reluctance. “I really am sorry about your shirt.”
“Not a problem. At least it’s not tea.” It could have been indelible ink for all he cared. Christ, he wanted her in his arms.
Her tear-splotched cheeks turned even redder. “I’d forgotten about that. I’m s—”
“Don’t apologize again. Anyone in your position would feel like crying.” His brows slammed together in a scowl as Jesse shouted again. “For Christ’s sake. All right already, I’m coming!” he hollered back. “If you need anything, I’ll be upstairs,” he said, letting himself have one last look at her as need roiled inside him. After tearing out a piece of Jesse’s hide, he was going to tackle one of the bathrooms. Some serious demo work might put a dent in his frustration.
Too swamped with conflicting emotions to speak, Jordan merely nodded. Part of her was relieved at his departure. Now she couldn’t make more of a fool out of herself. If there were a reality show for the biggest idiot, she’d win it hands down. How
could she have gone and spilled not only her heart but her tears with Owen?
Divorced and living in a sexual desert, she might be. But even Jordan knew the basics. Turning on the waterworks was the quickest way to turn a man off.
If Owen had once been interested in her, she had done everything, by spilling the details of how fully she’d played the role of the pathetically deceived wife and then revealing how selfish she was as a mother, to squash any atom of desire he might have felt.
What utterly brilliant timing she had: just when she was starting to walk back, albeit with bumbling baby steps, from the idea that a physical relationship with Owen would be something to avoid at all costs, she’d gone and painted herself as a loser with a capital L.
Owen could attract any woman he fancied. Sad, insecure divorcées need not apply.
But it had been such a relief to unburden herself that Jordan couldn’t regret her inability to edit her words or paint a more flattering representation of herself. Embarrassed as she was now, being able to talk had been immensely helpful. That it had also made Owen even more attractive in her eyes was only natural.
But the last thing she needed was for Owen to become any better-looking. He’d been so kind, not only listening to her but also offering his opinion on a subject that had no interest whatsoever for him. When he’d held her so she could weep out her misery, a part of her had ached to have him enfold her in the muscled strength of his embrace as he thrilled her with the hot passion of his kiss.
An unlikely event. She was beginning to accept that she was a rank failure when it came to sustaining a man’s sexual interest.
Owen had rubbed her back as if she were a nun.
But while he may have decided she wasn’t worth pursuing, he had offered her something that in certain respects satisfied an equally deep yearning, something that Jordan hadn’t experienced in years: a friendship with a man. Looking back at her marriage, she realized that in many ways she had effectively lived the existence of a cloistered nun. An invisible barrier had separated her from most married men and practically all single men. Were she still with Richard, she would never have been friends with someone as attractive as Owen.