Just a Whisper Away

by Lauren Nichols

  She squeezed his arm. “I’ll pray that you do, Anthony. I was young and in love once, too.”

  Taking his seat again, he watched her cane her way to the open station.

  It was eight o’clock on Wednesday night, and as Danny finished his latte, he caught sight of his reflection in the café’s etched glass wall. He looked good. Different. Besides the black dye job and amber glasses, sunless tanning lotion had darkened his skin to a shade more in line with his new name, and the eyebrow pencil had darkened his brows and deepened the creases beside his mouth.

  He’d made his transformation in a cheesy motel room, but he had to watch his money. He’d cleaned out his savings after his acquittal—six thousand dollars. But after buying Eddie’s old Cutlass and putting aside money for “favors,” he needed the rest for travel expenses. Because he’d had one of his feelings. And when the feelings came upon him, he knew he could trust them.

  An ugly guy at one of the six terminals stood, grabbed a few sheets from the print station, then went to the counter.

  The clerk gave Danny the high sign. A minute later, his fingers were flying over the keyboard and his heart was pounding as he began his search. He knew there could be dozens of telephone calls in his future, but that was okay. Pretty Abbie had said she was originally from Pennsylvania. Somewhere in the Alleghenies. And where did pretty girls go when they got scared? He smiled inside.

  Why, home, of course.

  On Thursday night, Abbie drew a breath, grabbed her laptop from the passenger seat and slammed the door on her dad’s Expedition. Then she crossed the snow-covered gravel to Jace’s shoveled walk, the crisp air stinging her cheeks.

  His log home was smaller than she’d originally thought, the wraparound porch and high peaked plate glass making it appear grander than it was. But it was still warm and welcoming. With his past, it didn’t surprise her that he’d want a strong, sturdy home. In the glow of the spotlights, smoke curled from a broad fieldstone chimney, and once again, the drapes were open, framing his sparsely furnished living room.

  Climbing the steps, she crossed to the front door and rang the bell, reliving last night’s conversation with Miriam.

  “I know your dad cares too much about appearances,” she’d said, clearly disappointed. “But blaming Jace for his mother’s sins is so wrong. Still, it had to be hard for him to find his only child with any man, much less one he disapproved of.” Abbie had agreed, but that didn’t make her father’s humiliating words to Jace any easier to forget— or Miriam’s next question any easier to answer.

  “Were you in love with him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Or had it merely been a bone-melting combination of infatuation and curiosity? She’d been a virgin then, and just looking at him had made her knees weak.

  “So, you never saw each other again after that summer?”

  “Only from a distance,” Abbie had replied, “and I knew better than to approach him.” Her dad had preferred to visit her, so her trips home had been short, and few and far between. More than five years had passed since she’d last been home.

  Thinking back, she knew part of the problem between her and Jace had been his fault for not returning her calls. But what should she have done? Her life was already mapped out, and changing it had been out of the question. She’d been enrolled in college with law school ahead of her, while Jace had no aspirations beyond cutting logs and collecting a paycheck. Besides, though they’d known each other for a year and had indulged in a few hungry kisses, they’d only been seeing each other for three weeks before they made love. That wasn’t long enough to make a life change, no matter how much she cared for him. And she had cared. Cared enough to feel sick over what had happened for a very long time.

  The door swung open, and Jace motioned her inside. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I was on the phone with my foster parents. They’re wintering in Florida.”

  “How nice,” she replied, glad for small talk. She stepped inside. “Have they been gone long?”

  “Since Thanksgiving. They flew back for Christmas, though.”

  “That’s good. The holidays seem to mean more when families get together.”

  “Yeah, I guess they do.”

  Jace turned from shutting the door to meet her eyes. And suddenly—with the closing of that door—conversation stopped and things got awkward. Despite his cavalier attitude as they’d talked in their cars, he was uneasy about tonight, too.

  Recovering, Jace broke eye contact and returned to the subject at hand. “They’ll be back for good next month. They’ll want to get their garden ready to plant.”

  Hoping they were back on track, Abbie made a sound of agreement in her throat because she’d already used up her pat replies. She reached low to unzip her boots and slip them off, her brain and body both deciding that he looked too good for words.

  He wore snug faded jeans and a navy blue Penn State sweatshirt with a tattered neckline. The sleeves were ripped off at the shoulders, showcasing the toned, muscular arms of a man who wasn’t afraid of hard work. Her stomach lifted airily.

  She should’ve expected this. If sitting across from him in separate cars last night had affected her, being with him behind closed doors was bound to double her reaction. Especially with that kiss and intimate knowledge of each other crackling between them. “I brought my laptop along so I could make notes.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’ve already printed the phone numbers and addresses of the people you’ll want to contact.” He nodded through the living room. “My office is this way.”

  Good. He wanted to get straight to work. They’d get their meeting over quickly, and she could leave.

  Unzipping the brown suede jacket topping her dark jeans and yellow angora turtleneck, Abbie scanned the cathedral ceiling and loft as she followed behind him. Music from an oldies station flowed from somewhere in the house…Chad and Jeremy crooning about soft kisses on a summer’s day.

  Sighing, trying to quell the bittersweet memory the song evoked, she concentrated on Jace’s home, on the warm brown logs on the exterior walls and the interior’s creamy textured plaster. The walls were unadorned except for a large oil of a woodland scene above the brown leather sofa, and several black-and-white framed enlargements of old time loggers and sawmills on an adjacent wall. A color photo of his foster parents sat on one of the tables flanking the sofa, and the dark oak flooring was broken up by nubby alpaca area rugs.

  It was a man’s room, a man’s home, and it suited him perfectly. “Nice place,” she said.

  “Thanks. I bought it from Jim Freemont the same day Ty and I bought the company. Nothing like going whole hog into debt.”

  The source of the music was clear when they crossed the short hallway and entered his office. It was larger than she’d expected with an L-shaped desk, file cabinet, bookcase, floor lamp and a short, blue-and-gray patterned sofa. Abbie set her laptop on the floor and tugged her shaggy beige tunnel scarf from her neck. Gooseflesh ran the length of her when Jace moved behind her to take it and slip her jacket from her shoulders.

  Tossing them on the sofa, he motioned her into the swivel chair near the desk’s extended workspace and took the chair beside it. Pulling it close, he opened the first of two folders and got down to business, his voice as detached as any living person could make it.

  He really did want to get this over with.

  “This first sheet’s a list of area radio and television stations that have helped us out in the past. The TV guys charge a fee to announce events on the community bulletin board— and we want that exposure—so that means you’ll have to beg the merchants on the second sheet to donate some cash when you ask them to put posters up in their windows.”

  “Posters?”

  “I’ll get to that after we talk about newspapers. Ads can get expensive, so instead, you’ll want to write two or three short articles—to be run at different times—mentioning the success of other dinners, asking for volunteers
to cook, serve and clean up and tying this year’s event to the food bank.”

  “Okay,” she said, turning to meet his gaze, “but forgive me for asking—” She banged right into a look of unadulterated male lust. Fourteen years had passed, but their memories of loving each other in the dark had lingered, whether they liked it or not.

  “Go on,” he prompted, an ironic half smile softening his expression. “I’m a forgiving kind of guy.”

  No, he wasn’t, and his smile said he knew it. But that was a conversation for another time. “All right. What will you be doing while I’m taking care of the writing, begging and poster placing?”

  “I’ll be finding a place to hold the dinner, handling the stuff in the second folder and going to work every day. Is that enough to satisfy you?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll just bet you will.”

  But then they forgot to look away, the room began to warm and shrink around them and suddenly, there it was again…that feeling of being pleasantly smothered.

  Thoroughly annoyed and physically pulling himself out of the moment, Jace opened the second folder. He removed a letter-sized announcement printed on card stock and searched for his sanity.

  “This is last year’s poster,” he said, locking his gaze on the sheet and refusing to let his eyes drift again to the full mounds shaping her yellow sweater. At nineteen, her body had been slender and coltish, her breasts little more than soft swells around her nipples. Now they would fill his hands.

  He slid the poster across to her. “I have the file for this one in my computer. If it’s okay with you, I think we’ll just update it and add some color and fancy fonts.”

  “It’s okay with me,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes averted.

  “Then it’s good for me, too,” he returned brusquely.

  By eight o’clock, Jace’s nerves were stretched to the wire. He’d known the chemistry between them would show up the second she walked in. He just hadn’t expected this constant battle between good sense and his libido. If the radio DJ hadn’t played so many summer make-out tunes—or if her hair hadn’t smelled so good and her mouth hadn’t looked so inviting—maybe being alone with her wouldn’t have been so difficult. Now…now he had to move around before she noticed how little control he had over the lump in his jeans.

  Standing, he shoved a stack of card stock into his printer. “Come on. Let’s get something to drink while those are printing.”

  “Good idea. I wouldn’t mind having something.”

  Jace wouldn’t either, but he’d bet the something in his mind was a far cry from anything she came up with.

  When he’d filled their iced tea glasses and they’d taken seats at the bar, she told him she liked his kitchen.

  “Thanks, but none of it was my doing. Before I moved in, Betty insisted on prettying up the place.” Now a border of blue cornflowers stretched around the white walls, blue-and-white checked curtains hung on the windows and a wicker basket of fake flowers and greenery sat on a crocheted doily in the middle of his maple table.

  “The house is small, but if I ever need more space, there’s plenty of land for an addition. There’s a narrow creek running through part of it.”

  “You’re lucky. Land’s a real luxury in L.A.” Ice cubes chinked against the glass as she sipped and he had to look away from her mouth. “If I want to commune with nature, I have to go to a park.”

  “There are no trees where you live?” Perpetual sunshine without shade wouldn’t work for him.

  “A few palms and Joshuas in the courtyard—nothing like you have here. But life’s a trade-off, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice growing somber. “I don’t own a snow shovel.”

  Jace stared thoughtfully for a moment, then slowly brought the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. He almost didn’t ask the question rolling through his mind, then did. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not all that happy in L.A.?”

  Her brown eyes widened. “I’m happy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course.” But despite her words, there was something disturbing in her gaze when she spoke again. “Believe me, there are worse things in life than being treeless.”

  “Like what?”

  She hesitated then, almost as though she’d realized she’d revealed a secret. And that piqued his interest. Especially when she set her glass on the bar, glanced at the small gold timepiece on her wrist and forced a smile. “I should be going.”

  “All right,” Jace replied, still curious but deciding not to press. “I’ll get your jacket.” He didn’t understand what had just happened, but suddenly he found himself wondering if her uneasiness was tied to her jumpy response when that champagne bottle had smashed. “We can finish tomorrow night if you’re free.”

  “Sorry, tomorrow’s my dad’s wedding. I think he’d like me to be there.” She spoke wryly as they reentered his office. “Care to join us?”

  “Only in a body bag.” He knew she wasn’t serious, but it would be a cold day in hell when he set one foot on Morgan Winslow’s property again.

  Scooping up her things, he handed her the shaggy scarf and waited until she’d twirled it around her neck. Then, despite her wary look, he held her jacket while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. He felt her tremble when he settled it on her shoulders and freed her hair from her collar. Little bursts of heat tripped through his blood.

  “Just give me a second to grab the finished posters and slip them into a folder,” he said, stepping back. “You can start placing them at the local businesses anytime you’re ready.”

  “Then I’ll start tomorrow morning.”

  They didn’t speak again until she was preparing to leave.

  “Thanks for your help tonight,” he said at the door. “If you’re free on Saturday, we close at noon. We can probably finish up at the office. Would that work for you?”

  “It should. Dad and Miriam are catching an early flight, so…yes.”

  “Then I’ll see you around twelve.”

  She started to leave, then for some odd reason turned back. “You still do that,” she said quietly.

  Those traitorous little blips tripped through his veins again. “Do what?

  “Touch the tip of your tongue to your lip when you’re thinking about something.” Then she said good-night, he told her to watch for deer on the roads and she escaped to her dad’s SUV.

  Jace watched grimly as she drove up the slight incline to the road, then waited until she’d made the right turn at the top of the drive and her red taillights disappeared before he closed the door. Calling himself a jerk for giving even minor importance to the comment she made, he and the unhappy little knot in his gut went back to the kitchen and his watery ice tea. He drained it, then set the glass in the sink and thought about dropping the remaining slivers of ice where they’d do the most good.

  If this kept up…

  Well, he knew a few women who never minded some no-strings fun.

  You still touch your tongue to your lip when you’re thinking about something.

  Why had she said that? For the hundredth time, the question battered Abbie’s mind, and she felt vulnerable for letting him know that she remembered. Where was her courtroom finesse when she needed it?

  Her headlights illuminated the open black iron gate, and slowing the SUV, she coasted down the paved drive to the house and the three-stall garage. She clicked the remote, the door on the first bay opened and she drove inside. The garage boasted the same mottled white-and-gray dappled brick facade and black roof the house did, though her father’s home was more of an estate with its European influence, dormers and regal landscaping. Successful stock trades and shrewd business decisions had made Morgan Winslow wealthy, and his home reflected that.

  Parking, then following the cobblestone walk to the back entrance, Abbie thought again about that tongue-to-the-lip comment.

  Strange. She couldn’t think of one distinct mannerism that had been Collin’s alone. He w
as handsome and charismatic, a gifted attorney and a witty, intelligent conversationalist. But she couldn’t pinpoint a single gesture that summoned the same tenderness she felt when she thought of Jace. Swallowing, she let herself inside. How different he was now…and yet…not so different at all.

  Laughter and conversation carried all the way to the enclosed back porch as Abbie paused to slip off her boots. Then she strode through the kitchen and dining room to the formal living room where Miriam was overseeing the last-minute decorating.

  The sweeping room with its vaulted ceiling had been designed with entertaining in mind, and her mother had seen to it that it was furnished beautifully—even though the family room, with its overstuffed furniture, had always been more to her liking. Now, entering and seeing Miriam’s glowing face as she and the decorator set crystal vases in place for the cream, pink and peach roses the florist would deliver tomorrow, Abbie was glad again that her dad had Miriam in his life.

  She couldn’t deny feeling a pang of disloyalty over the upcoming nuptials, but she knew her mom would’ve approved. That made it easier to blink back a sting, cross the oak flooring and exchange a hug with Miriam.

  “The room looks great,” Abbie murmured, kissing her cheek. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding.”

  Beaming, Miriam glanced around the elegant room, her gaze moving from the white brocade sofa and matching love seats to the faux Louis fourteenth chairs, to the curio cabinet filled with porcelain collectibles, cherry tables and white brick fireplace. Clouds of voile and clusters of greenery and silk roses were everywhere.

  “It’s not too much, is it?” she asked, as the decorator draped the fireplace mantel with more gossamer bunting and secured it with more greens and silk roses.

  Abbie squeezed Miriam’s hand. “It’s perfect.” On the mirrored buffet, crystal and silver platters waited for the canapés the caterer would bring, and creamy white candles were everywhere.

  With her smile fading a little, Miriam drew her aside. “I…I want to tell you something, Abbie,” she said hesitantly, and Abbie waited, somehow knowing what she wanted to say. That was the kind of woman Miriam was.