He did check-in with both Officer Callahan and Special Agent Connor to make sure that the thugs who had tried to kidnap Dahlia were in jail. The three men who had broken into her house had each copped a plea and were scheduled to be sentenced. Max Jamison—to Jack the guy would always be Pale Eyes—wasn't talking, evidently not even to an attorney, but he was still behind bars. Jack did call the department head for Atmospheric Sciences and made sure the man understood just how personal Doreen's vendetta against Dahlia was. He did find an antique glass dealer in Boston and ordered a replacement window for Dahlia's front door. And he spent hours gluing back together the ceramic angel that had been broken on the first day he met her.
None if it meant he loved her.
He told as much to Ian Stearne when he called to ask Jack to be his best man.
Ian laughed. "Buddy, you've got it bad. Worse than me. The lady's right. You are a coward. All the time, we plan for the worst-case scenario, so what is it?" He went on to answer his own question. "She could dump you, like your ex did. Have your children and take them away from you. Am I right?"
Jack knew agreeing would lead Ian right where he wanted to go. "She could try."
"Which shows you're not a twenty-year-old scared kid anymore. She'll be here for the wedding, too, you know. Maybe it will be a chance to patch things up."
"I doubt if she'll let me that close." Assuming he wanted to patch things up.
Ian's tone grew serious. "Hell, you didn't earn the name Iron Man for nothin'."
I won't wait forever, she had said. Jack found himself thinking about that a lot during the last few days of his leave. The idea of her growing old with anyone else made him crazy. If somebody was going to love her for the rest of her life … he wanted to be that somebody.
He wanted permanent. He wanted to have babies with her. And the idea that he might never get to make love with her again wasn't even worth contemplating.
And he knew that it was long past time to stop wishing for things to be the way he wanted and accept them for what they were. Time to make plans and stop reacting to what had been thrown his way.
* * *
For Dahlia, those same three weeks were filled to the brim with activity. The storm season came into its most active, and when she wasn't teaching, she was in her van tracking storms and making baby steps toward proving her hypothesis about clear air lightning. Ironic that she had made strides only after choosing to sit beneath the belly of the storms.
That didn't keep her from missing Jack when she came home. The man had cooked in her kitchen, to the point of making her want to learn to cook, something she had promised herself she would do when the quarter was over. Every night, she went first to the phone answering machine, hoping against hope there would be some message from him.
By the end of the third week she knew there wouldn't be, and her heart broke all over again. She spent hours crying, and just when she thought the tears were all gone, there would be even more. The process upset her—she who prided herself on being in control. When it came to this, she had none.
One Saturday morning the phone rang while she was having breakfast. As always she had that initial hope that it would be Jack's voice on the other end of the line. This time it was her sister Rosie.
"I'm hoping you'll want to take some vacation time and come home for at least a few days during the first week of July," Rosie said. "I'm getting married."
"Married?" Dahlia jumped up from her chair. "That's so exciting. Who's the lucky guy and why haven't I known about this?"
"It's just happened," Rosie said. "As for the guy, you know him. Lily's neighbor, Ian Stearne."
"So it was a little more than just keeping Annmarie safe," Dahlia said. "You sound happy, Rosie."
"That's because I am. So you'll come, won't you? I can't get married without you."
"I'll be there."
"Great. Mom said that Ian's friend Jack stayed with you a few days. He'll be here, too. He's going to be Ian's best man."
At the mention of Jack, Dahlia's heart stopped. Of course he'd be there. And clearly she was the only one who knew that Ian had sent Jack to watch over her. There would be a time to share that story, she knew, but not during this call—not when Rosie was so happy.
"You know," Rosie continued, "I couldn't decide which of my sisters to ask to be my maid of honor, so I'm asking you both."
"I'm honored. I just have one request."
"What's that?"
"Try to pick out something for the two of us to wear that won't leave me looking like an overgrown flower." The gene pool that had blessed Dahlia with height had denied the same to Lily.
Rosie laughed. "Mom will be disappointed, you know. But I promise. No flowers except for the ones you carry. In fact, I was thinking of going nontraditional—heaven knows I'm not a white-dress kind of bride."
"We each have those great bunads that Mom spent years making after traditional Norwegian clothes came into vogue," Dahlia said. "They would make a great wedding dress."
They talked a little while longer, and through it Dahlia wondered how she would manage to be around Jack while pretending he didn't mean anything to her. Finally she told Rosie that she had to go—there was yet another storm to chase. A better excuse by far than to tell her sister that her heart was breaking.
Over the next week she poured herself into her work, arriving early and staying late. Boo greeted her each night with her usual enthusiasm, bearing no grudges for the lack of attention, which only served to make Dahlia feel more guilty for staying away.
Especially when work was doing very little to exorcize Jack from her mind, her house, her heart.
Well after five one evening, Dr. Worth appeared at the opening of her cubicle. "You're working long hours these days, Dr. Jensen."
She pressed the save button on the keyboard and looked up from the strings of data she was trying to make sense of. "There's a lot to do."
"I don't doubt it." He rolled a chair from the cubicle across the narrow aisle and sat down. "You're happy with the project."
She smiled. "'Happy' implies that I'm satisfied, and that's rarely true. But, I'm making progress."
"Glad to hear it."
She wondered what had brought him to her office, but refrained from asking. He'd tell her when he was ready.
He cleared his throat. "I don't know how to tell you this except to just spit it out." He met her gaze. "Dr. Layard is no longer a member of the staff."
"She's not?"
He shook his head. "You never mentioned how personal her vendetta was against you."
"I … uh, no. How—"
"Did I find out?"
Dahlia nodded.
"I had a very interesting call about two weeks ago from a friend of yours, Jack Trahern."
"Jack called you? Why?"
Dr. Worth stood. "Because there are things he felt I should know, things that he doubted you would tell anyone." He laid his hands across the back of the chair. "The next time any of my staff is held accountable for anything other than the quality of their work, I want to hear about it. Personally, not through channels. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He rolled the chair back into the other cubicle. "Go home, Dr. Jensen. It's late."
"Yes, sir." Amazing. Jack had called Dr. Worth. Dahlia wanted to think it was a sign that he cared, at least a little. Knowing how thorough he was, she decided that it was more likely he was simply tying up loose ends.
She gathered up her things and headed for home. Tonight, she vowed, she was going to do something other than mope around and wish for things she couldn't have.
The sun had been down for a while and the sky was that pale shade of lavender before night took hold when Dahlia pulled into the driveway. The scent in the air made her mouth water. Someone in the neighborhood was barbecuing on the grill.
At the front door she came to a stop. A red rose was on the welcome mat. She stared at it a long moment before finally picking it up.
She glanced over to Emmet's yard where his roses were beginning to bloom. None were as blood red as this one.
Finally she unlocked the door and pushed it open.
A trail of red roses led down the hallway to the kitchen.
Her heart felt as though it would beat right out of her chest. She set down her purse and briefcase, then followed the roses, stopping to pick up each one, absorbing their fragrance and their velvety texture.
No lights were on in the kitchen, but the table was set, and a pair of candles burned. Evidently, they had been burning for a while, based on the way the wax was dripping down the tapers.
What caught her eye and made her breath catch was her grandmother's ceramic angel. She set down the roses and picked it up. The pieces had been so carefully glued back together the seams were almost invisible. Only one fragment in the base was missing. Her eyes misted.
The aroma of something delicious cooking on the barbecue was now stronger.
Picking up the roses, she moved to the back door.
Jack sat there, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a beer in one hand and scratching her dog's ears with the other.
She opened the door, and he looked up at her.
"You're cooking," she accused. "On my grill."
He grinned. "Yep."
"What are you making?"
"Salmon," he said. "Special recipe for a special occasion."
She wished she had put the roses down so she was free to do what she most wanted—hug him. "What's the occasion?"
He took a long pull on his beer. "I'm not sure yet."
"What do you mean, you're not sure yet?" Why couldn't the man just admit it—he loved her.
He stood, then took a step toward her. "It means that we have to talk first."
Without waiting for an answer, he took the roses from her and went into the house. She followed him inside and watched him fill a vase with water.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, wanting him to say the words, more and more afraid that he would not. He carried the vase to the table.
"I'm going to be spending the last year of my hitch in town," he said. "Next Monday morning I report in as the army's newest recruiter here."
"I see." Truth was, she didn't see anything at all.
"And I'm going to be looking for a place to stay," he said. "And it's going to have to be cheap because I'm planning on going to school part-time, too. I have this architectural degree I'd like to finish up." He took a couple of steps toward her. "Are you with me so far?"
She felt completely out of her depth, but she nodded.
"Now then, about that place to live—"
"Jack why are you here?"
His smile faded and he closed the distance between them. "Because I love you. Am I too late, Dahlia? You said you wouldn't wait forever."
Her heart started beating again, and she felt her smile grow watery. "Four weeks, three days and seven hours isn't exactly forever."
"But, who's counting?" He took her hands and pressed them against his heart. "Am I too late?"
She shook her head and slipped her arms around him. "I lied. I would have waited—"
"Forever?" He nuzzled her hair away from her ear. "That's how long I want to spend with you."
"That sounds like a permanent arrangement."
He laughed the instant before he caught her mouth with his for a deep hungry kiss. "That's me. A permanent kind of guy."
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
"Oh, boy," Ian said from his position next to Jack. The words were said like a prayer and echoed the feeling bursting through Jack's chest.
Music from the wedding march swelled, and at the back of the church the two brides stood with their father between them. Both were wearing traditional Norwegian bunads. Rosie had been the one to suggest a double wedding. Jack figured it couldn't get much better than this. To be bound for life to the woman he loved more than life. To become a brother-in-law to his best friend. To have an extended family he hadn't known he wanted.
Dahlia was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. Her blond hair was caught up in the intricate braid that she favored. The white blouse of her dress had long sleeves and a high collar that enhanced her beautiful neck. The blouse was covered by a champagne-colored brocade bodice, heavily embroidered with gold thread and set off by traditional sterling silver jewelry. The dark-blue skirt also was embellished with embroidery in shades of gold and champagne. She wore his gift of something blue at her ears—blue topaz earrings whose color matched the luminescent color of the ice of the Le Conte Glacier where she had taken him a few days ago.
Rosie's dress was similar, but with a deep-rose bodice covering the white blouse and a black skirt.
Little Annmarie skipped toward them, completely ignoring the cadence of the music, also dressed in a bunad. A smile lit her face, and she waved and said hello to people she recognized. When she reached the front of the church, she held her arms up to Ian, who picked her up.
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "After today I'm going to call you Uncle Ian instead of Mr. Ian," she whispered. "Is that okay?"
He grinned. "It is."
"Good." She leaned across Ian, and Jack bent so she could kiss his cheek, as well. "I'm such a lucky girl. I get two uncles on one day."
Ian set her down, and she took her place to one side of the altar. Lily, the maid of honor, came toward them, looking nearly as radiant as her sisters.
Then Dahlia and Rosie walked up to their men. Jack had eyes only for his bride, and her smile promised him everything he had ever wanted, especially the vow to love her and cherish her for all the days of his life.
* * * * *
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