All Through The House

by Janice Kay Johnson

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then Nate said in a low voice, "I'm feeling a mite cowardly myself.''

  How to start? Her own voice didn't seem to want to work. Finally she managed a beginning. "Nate, would you hold me?"

  One step and she was in his arms. Her cast was an awkward intrusion, but it didn't seem to matter. Held tightly against him, she could hear his heart slamming under the warm wall of his chest. Her own was racing so hard she was dizzy. His arms were tight and strong, and she could feel his mouth against her hair.

  Her voice was muffled when she said, "I was afraid to love you."

  "And I wanted you to love me enough to make up for a mother who didn't," he said, just as quietly. Then, "Let's not wake Kate up," and without taking his arm from around her, he moved them into the living room and onto the couch.

  There she discovered that her eyes were damp. "Oh, damn," she mumbled, and wiped them ungracefully on her shirtsleeves.

  He'd moved a little back from her, though his arm lay across her shoulders. Roughly he said, "Abigail, maybe we should let this drop for another day or two."

  Fear clutched at her stomach. Was he putting off having to tell her she was too late? But she couldn't wait, not any longer. "Why?" she asked.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want you to feel like you owe me something. I didn't mind helping out. This—my being here—has nothing to do with you and me. I want to make damn sure we're separating the two."

  What was he trying to tell her? That she shouldn't read anything into his presence? Or that he was afraid she would let gratitude color her feelings?

  Abigail looked down at her cast, on which Kate had drawn a wobbly rainbow. In a low voice, she said, "Nate, when I got in the car accident, it was right in front of the new development."

  He swore under his breath. "Did the gates block your view? Oh, hell, we haven't put stop signs up yet, either."

  "No, it was my fault. I’d just discovered that I didn’t have my phone with me. I should have put my seat belt on, and I didn't, because I was in such a hurry to get home and call you."

  There was a long pause. "Oh, yeah?"

  She sneaked a glance at him. He was watching her, sudden understanding in his eyes.

  Abigail drew a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry. I...misunderstood your offer."

  "Thanks to your ex-husband."

  She tried to smile and failed. "What I realized is that it's me, not him. James was...domineering, stifling, possessive." Abigail made a small, useless gesture with her hand. "But what really scared me wasn't that you'd turn out to be like him. It was that I would be just as weak as I was then."

  "God, Abigail." His dark brows drew together. "You're not weak! You're the farthest thing from it."

  "Yes, but you see, I wasn't very strong then. I let him do that to me." This was the hard part to say, but she pushed ahead. "And the way I feel about you, I wanted to let you do anything at all to me."

  This time when she looked at him, his gray eyes held a glow that made her pulse trip.

  "You know," he said roughly, "marriage is an act of trust."

  She nodded, her gaze held by his.

  "Your ex betrayed that trust. It wasn't your fault. It was his."

  Abigail nodded, for the first time truly believing that.

  “Loving somebody didn't come easily to me. I...haven't been very lucky in that department. You want to hear something funny?" Nate didn't wait for her assent. "What really attracted me to you in the first place was your strength." His voice was raw, and he still hadn't moved to pull her closer into his embrace. "I told myself it was your body I liked, but I was lying. It was the sparks in your eyes and the way your chin came up and you glared at me. It was the fact that you never backed down, you never lost your dignity. My mother ..." He grimaced. "Mom was always afraid. She never met your eyes. She was like a shadow. Running away, that was the bravest thing she ever did. I spent years thinking all women were like that. I can promise you one thing: I never want you to be less than you are."

  Her throat was thick with tears. "You don't have to make any promises, Nate. I should have known you well enough not to need them."

  His mouth twisted. "The way I talked, you had good reason to be scared off. But I didn't want you to quit your job or be available when I snapped my fingers. I just wanted to be sure I was important to you. I guess I didn't know how to ask for that."

  The tears suddenly filled Abigail's eyes and she leaned against him. "Oh, Nate, I love you," she whispered. "You'll never have to worry about that."

  His arms closed convulsively around her, and he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. "I love you," he said, in a voice just husky enough to make her wonder if he was near tears, too. "God, I love you."

  When she lifted her face to wipe her wet cheeks, he didn't give her a chance. His mouth covered hers in a kiss so achingly tender, she didn't mind the taste of tears—his or hers.

  They kissed until those tears had dried and the tenderness was edged with something deeper, more urgent. Nate's mouth, hot and hungry, moved across her cheek to her ear, down the slender, vulnerable line of her neck to her collarbone, where he encountered the sling. There he stopped, then groaned.

  "What am I doing?" He raised his head. "Damn, I should be sending you safely off to bed."

  "Only if you'll come with me," Abigail said with certainty.

  An incredulous light flared in his eyes. "You must feel like hell."

  "No, I feel wonderful." She smiled shakily. "I've never felt better. Though, with the cast..."

  "You're still incredibly sexy." Nate nipped at her earlobe. "By the way, I did like your legs. And your eyes, foresty-green with touches of sunlight...."

  "Hazel," she murmured.

  "Nah, that sounds boring." His teeth grazed her neck as his fingers deftly undid the top button on her blouse. "More like a woodland pool. And then there's this curve..." His hand, tantalizingly gentle, found her breast. "And this one..." the narrowing to her waist, "and this one." His big hands wrapped around her hips and he lifted her onto his lap. "Strength and softness," he said huskily. "What more could a man want?"

  "A mansion with a ballroom?" she said breathlessly.

  His hands stilled, and for just a second she thought she'd broken the mood. Then she saw his wry smile.

  "You know what one of those phone calls today was about?"

  She didn't even have to think. "The school?"

  "Um hm." He continued to work at the buttons of her blouse. "We got it."

  "Nate!" Abigail straightened. "You're supposed to sound excited!"

  "I have other things on my mind." Then his grin flashed, wicked, sexy and…delighted. "But I'm pretty happy about it," he admitted. "We can expand; you can find us new quarters, by the way. We'll be doubling our construction crews, maybe hiring another architect. Katie Rose is going to have the classiest kindergarten room you ever saw."

  "And you can buy the house," Abigail said, not sure why she still had mixed feelings.

  Either way, she was astonished when Nate shook his head a little ruefully. "No. I think maybe it's time for a new beginning. I'll have a new family, we need our own traditions. What do you say, Abigail McLeod? Will you marry me?"

  "You know I will," she said. "And you have no idea how happy you're going to make Kate. She had you pegged as daddy material a long time ago. And you know what? I think she's right."

  There was that grin again, smug this time. And unbearably sexy. "You bet she's right. So how about if we go work at making this family a little bigger?"

  "Work?" Abigail widened her eyes. "I prefer to think of it as...pleasure."

  The smile was gone, leaving only heat and tenderness and raw emotion. "I love you, sweetheart. It scares me how much."

  She shushed him with a finger across his lips. "No. You don't have to be scared. I'm much too strong to ever let you chase me away. Trust, remember?"

  Completely serious, he said,
"I do trust you. With my life."

  "And I trust you," Abigail said, without even a moment's hesitation. "With..." she smiled into his eyes, remembering how she had put it to her small daughter. "With my forever," she finished.

  "What more could a man want?" he whispered, just before his mouth captured hers.

  THE END

  About The Author

  Janice Kay Johnson is the author of more than seventy books for children and adults. Her first four published romance novels were coauthored with her mother Norma Tadlock Johnson, also a writer who has since published mysteries and children's books on her own. These were "sweet" romance novels, the author hastens to add; she isn't sure they'd have felt comfortable coauthoring passionate love scenes!

  Janice graduated from Whitman College with a B.A. in history and then received a master's degree in library science from the University of Washington. She was a branch librarian for a public library system until she began selling her own writing.

  She has written six novels for young adults and one picture book for the read-aloud crowd. ROSAMUND was the outgrowth of all those hours spent reading to her own daughters, and of her passion for growing old roses. Two more of her favorite books were historical novels WINTER OF THE RAVEN and THE ISLAND SNATCHERS which she wrote for Tor/Forge. The research was pure indulgence for someone who set out intending to be a historian.

  Janice raised her two daughters in a small, rural town north of Seattle, Washington. She's an active volunteer and board member for Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter, and foster kittens often enliven a household that already includes a few more cats than she wants to admit to.

  Janice loves writing books about both love and family — about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. Her Superromance novels are frequent finalists for Romance Writers of America RITA awards, and she won the 2008 RITA for Best Contemporary Series Romance for SNOWBOUND.

  Also Available from Janice Kay Johnson

  HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

  Life is a struggle for Marian Wells, a single mother of twin toddlers who pays the bills with a home day care business but is on the verge of losing that home. She is a lifesaver in the eyes of John McRae, retired professional football player and now television color commentator. He’s started an Arabian horse ranch, but loves the television work too. Problem? Leaving his five year old daughter, Emma, several days a week during football season. Answer? Marian – who loves Emma right away, but is wary of the sexy television personality who doesn’t seem to understand how desperately his daughter has needed him since her mother died. Marian knows what it feels like to be abandoned by a man who refuses to be tied down by responsibilities. He may remind Marian of the sweetness and passion possible between a man and a woman. But can she and their children count on him when it matters most?

  DANGEROUS WATERS

  Once famous for her gold medal winning triumph in the Olympic Games, Megan Lovell now wants nothing more than to belong in her hometown of Devil’s Lake. But when she plunges into the lake at twilight to rescue a man she sees thrown overboard from a boat, she jeopardizes the life she holds dear. FBI agent ‘Mac’ James McClain had been hiding from death threats here in this peaceful town. Now his enemies are hunting not only him, but also the woman who saved his life. On the run, in danger, these two battle a compelling physical attraction that scares them both. Even if they survive, what does a man who lives undercover for months at a time and has never really had a home have to offer a woman who is desperate to be part of the hometown she gave up in her quest for that Olympic gold? Perhaps it is inevitable that they end up back out on the dark waters of the lake, where their only hope of salvation is each other.

  HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

  By Janice Kay Johnson

  CHAPTER 1

  John McRae straightened, abandoning his comfortable slouch against the tiled kitchen counter. Into the telephone, he said incredulously, "You're what?"

  The woman's voice babbled on. "I'm so sorry. I know this must be inconvenient for you, but I was so upset, and, of course, things were in a mess here at home. Dad's in intensive care now. The doctor says he should make it, thank God, but, of course, I've just been living in the hospital. There's no way I can leave him, and I'm dreadfully sorry, Emma is such a doll, but ..." At last she faltered. "Well, I'm sure you understand."

  "You couldn't have called a little sooner?" He reached up and rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

  "I did try once," she said defensively, "but you must have been out. And since then...well, I didn't think about much but Dad. I am sorry."

  She wasn't the only one who was sorry. A moment later, after tersely expressing his sympathy, John dropped the receiver back in its cradle, then slumped into a straight-back kitchen chair. What in hell was he going to do?

  He was booked for a flight out of SeaTac in—he glanced at his watch—precisely three hours and forty-three minutes. Obviously he wasn't going to make that. He'd cancel the dinner date he had with the Denver Bronco's coach and switch his flight to tomorrow. Fine and dandy, he thought grimly, but where was he going to come up with a baby-sitter in the next twenty-four hours, one he could leave Emma with for two days?

  Ten minutes later his flight reservation had been changed and the Bronco's coach had agreed to make their dinner tomorrow night instead. John could snag the Seattle coach sometime before the game for some profound words to quote during the broadcast. For that matter, he could make them up himself. Lord knew he'd heard it all often enough.

  He was reaching into the refrigerator for a can of beer when the clatter of footsteps on the front porch distracted him. Glancing through the window, he saw the yellow school bus just lumbering into motion again out on the road. Then the door slammed and a five-year-old bundle of energy catapulted across the kitchen into his arms.

  "Daddy, is she here? Can I help her unpack? You're not going right now, are you? I don't want you to go."

  He smiled down into his daughter's dark eyes. "Whoa! No, she isn't here, and unfortunately she's not going to be. Her father is sick, and she can't come. I'm going to have to find somebody else, so I'm not leaving until tomorrow. Okay?"

  Emma nodded, but looked troubled. "Didn't she like me? I was quiet when she came. Wasn't I? You said I was good."

  John hugged her thin shoulders again. "You were terrific! She said she was especially sorry because she'd liked you so much. But her father has to come first. Do you understand?"

  Emma nodded again, her brown ponytail bobbing, her face solemn. "Daddy, can't Helen come back? Just for this time? If we asked, I bet she would. I really miss her. Couldn't we ask her? Please?"

  John crouched down to his daughter's level. Hands on her arms, he looked directly into her eyes. "Sweetie, Helen got married. Remember? She can't come back. Her new husband needs her, too. Besides," he added practically, "she's still in Hawaii. Hey, she's probably scuba diving this very instant!"

  Normally Emma could be distracted by a discussion of what their former baby-sitter and housekeeper might conceivably be doing at any given time, but for once his tactic didn't work. She stared at him, her eyes looking even bigger and darker than usual. He was reminded painfully of how young and vulnerable she was.

  "Daddy, I didn't want Helen to go away." She bit her lip and tears suddenly shimmered in her eyes. "I miss Helen."

  He pulled her against him and laid his cheek against her hair. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know you miss her. But she'll visit. She promised. And you have me. You'll always have me."

  Her voice was very small. "If you don't die and go away like Mommy."

  John rocked back on his heels so he could meet her eyes. "I won't die," he said. "God would have to drag me kicking and screaming. And I never was easy to bring down."

  A watery chuckle rewarded him. "That's not what Isaiah says. He says you would have been knocked down all the time if it weren't for him. He says if you hadn't been so slow throwing the b
all he wouldn't have knees that hurt so much."

  John grinned at his daughter. "Don't believe a word he says. Your dad was All-Pro. I unloaded the ball damn quick on occasion. Isaiah is just teasing you."

  She looked thoughtful. "Oh."

  "Now." He stood up. "We need to go see if today's newspaper has come yet. Because, you know what? We have to find a baby-sitter for you, kiddo, or this time I am gonna get pounded for sure."

  He tried to picture what his boss at the network would say if he called and pleaded baby-sitting problems as an excuse for not showing up in Denver to cover Sunday's game between the Broncos and the Seahawks. He failed, since he was pretty sure that'd be a new one on Frank. He also had a feeling Frank wouldn't be very forgiving. As it was, the network had a hell of a time shuffling play-by-play people and color commentators to make sure all the games were covered.

  On the other hand, he wasn't going to leave Emma with just anyone. He'd taken weeks to select a new housekeeper, interviewing what had seemed like dozens of women. What he'd really been hiring was a mother for Emma, and she needed someone special. After losing her real mother when she was three, and now Helen, Emma was fragile.

  He never had found anyone who really satisfied him, but in the end he'd decided he was being unrealistic. Hell, if he'd found the perfect woman, he'd have married her! But perfect women didn't answer newspaper ads.

  Twenty minutes later, he and Emma sat at the kitchen table together, poring over the classifieds. No one was interested in baby-sitting in the child's home. And nary a one mentioned overnight stays. But that didn't mean he couldn't ask.