Fortune Found

by Victoria Pade

  But if there was any chance that he might stick around, that she might have even a few minutes alone with him before her parents returned, Jessie didn’t want to spend those few minutes grubby herself.

  So in regard to his offer to finish the final steps to getting the kids to bed while she showered, she said, “You’re sure?”

  He looked her up and down, laughed and said jokingly, “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

  Jessie made a face and threw a wet washcloth at him.

  He caught it. “Go on before any of that dirt sticks.”

  Jessie dispatched Ella to help Adam brush his teeth, promised she’d be only a few minutes and would still tuck them all in, and made a beeline for the shower in the bathroom connected to her bedroom, shedding clothes the minute she was behind her closed door.

  She took the fastest shower she could and did the quickest shampoo, too. But not merely to make sure she could say good-night to her children. She knew her parents wouldn’t be at Kelsey’s house for too much longer and if she was going to get any time at all alone with Flint, she had to hurry.

  Lecturing herself all the while about the lack of wisdom in giving in to her whims when it came to this man, she nevertheless toweled herself off, flipped her head upside down to give her hair five minutes of blow-drying, brushed on just enough blush to camouflage her fatigue, did a swipe of mascara to each eye and pulled on a hoodie that she left unzipped just half an inch lower than usual and the yoga pants that she knew cupped her rear end to perfection but would still make it look as if she’d just thrown something on.

  Then, with one quick glance at herself in the mirror, with too many vivid memories of last night’s kisses still swirling in her brain, she rejoined the group.

  “And that was when Ella the Magnificent, Bethany the Bold, Braden the Brave and Atomic Adam saved all the baby bears and brought them home to their family.”

  “We did it! That wuz us’s!” Adam shouted, jumping up and down on the foot of Braden’s bed where Adam, Braden and Bethany were gathered around Flint. Ella looked on from more of a distance, perched on Adam’s bed on the other side of the nightstand that separated the matching twin-size beds.

  From the doorway, Jessie watched her oldest daughter go from being spellbound by whatever story Flint had just told back to a show of disdain for how enthralled her brothers and sister were.

  “It was just a story,” Ella insisted to Adam.

  “It was a good one!” Braden said.

  “I liked that I was pretty.” Bethany giggled. “And you were pretty, too, El!”

  Jessie watched her oldest poke her chin in the air as if that meant nothing to her, but it was clear that Ella was as delighted as Bethany by whatever characterization Flint had bestowed upon her.

  It might not be happening with any kind of speed, but Jessie thought that Flint was slowly inching into Ella’s good graces. Very slowly, dragged down by Ella’s reluctance to let it happen, but inching nonetheless.

  Adam was still jumping on the bed, so Jessie went the rest of the way into the bedroom. “You know better than to jump on the bed, Adam,” she scolded.

  “I’m ’tomic Adam!” Adam corrected. “I can shoot arrows outta my fumbs!” Two thumbs-up seemed to prove that, but the three-year-old did stop jumping on the bed.

  “I can turn everything into ice with my eyes,” Braden announced.

  “I can run faster than a rocket and jump higher than big buildings and I’m not ’fraid of nothin’!” Bethany claimed.

  “And Ella is like the mama wion,” Adam said in awe. “Hers fingernails can turn into big long claws and she doesn’t let no bad guys hurt no good guys ’cause she per’tects ever’body!”

  “Wow,” Jessie marveled, catching Adam when he leaped into her arms just as she reached the bed. “That sounds like quite a story.”

  “It was the bestest!” Adam proclaimed, clearly none of his hero worship of Flint abated.

  “But now you’re all riled up just when it’s time to go to sleep,” Jessie said pointedly, pinning Flint with her gaze.

  He grinned and said to his entourage, “What happens after a big rescue mission?”

  “We’re all worn-out and we need to rest, so we have to go right to bed,” Bethany seemed to quote.

  “I’m ready,” Ella said as if she’d been bored to tears. “Come on, Bethany, let’s go to our room.”

  Jessie’s house had four bedrooms. Hers was the master bedroom, her parents were in the guest bedroom, and the other two—including the one they were in—were shared by the children: boys in one, girls in the other.

  Apparently the condition in the story about going to bed right after a rescue had stuck because Bethany scooted off Braden’s bed on command and said, “G’night, Flint.”

  “Good night, Bethany the Bold. Sleep tight.”

  As Ella led her sister out of the room she obviously had no intention of saying anything to Flint, so Jessie said, “Ella, what do you say?”

  “’Night,” she grumbled.

  “’Night, Ella,” Flint responded as if the seven-year-old had been perfectly gracious.

  “I’ll be in in a minute,” Jessie called after them. Then she lay Adam down on his mattress.

  “The baws keeps me from faw’in out,” he explained as he peered at Flint through the safety bars that guarded the upper half of his mattress.

  “Good idea,” Flint said, giving his approval as he got off Braden’s bed so Braden could get under the covers.

  “When Aunt Kelsey mayw-wees Coop,” Adam announced then, “Ella and Beth’ny are gonna be the flower girls, and me and Braden’s gonna be the ring barrels.”

  “Bringing up a new topic—that’s a stall tactic,” Jessie warned Flint when she saw him being drawn in. “And he means ring bearers, not barrels.”

  To Adam she said, “No more talking now. It’s time to go to sleep. Tomorrow is another big day.”

  “Will Fwint be there?”

  “Yes, he will be. So you can see him then.”

  Appeased and exhausted, Adam snatched the stuffed floppy dog he slept with and began his nightly ritual of rubbing the dog’s ear against his cheek. Jessie leaned over the safety bars and kissed her youngest’s forehead.

  Then she tucked in Braden and kissed him as well. Like his twin, Braden bid Flint good-night without prompting.

  “Two down, two to go,” Jessie said as they left the room, pulling the door halfway closed.

  “But probably Ella would rather I not be in on your saying good-night to her,” Flint guessed. “I’m craving a little cool night air, though. Think you can stay awake for a while longer to join me on the porch?”

  Far more delighted than she wanted to be—and all too willing to ignore how tired she was—Jessie said, “Front porch or back?”

  “I’ll be waiting for you on the back,” he promised.

  And then he did something that Jessie thought was purely out of some kind of reflex—he ran a parting hand down her back.

  It took her by surprise. It seemed to take him by surprise, too, because he pulled his hand away almost immediately.

  But still the contact was inviting, hinting at a forbidden intimacy, and it sent tiny tingles up and down her spine.

  It’s exhaustion, she told herself. That was what had caused him to forget himself and rub her back. That was what had allowed such a simple, short-lived thing to thrill her.

  And she honestly thought both of those things were true.

  But it still didn’t keep her from making quick work of tucking in the girls so that she could get outside to Flint.

  When Jessie made it to the back porch, her parents were already there, chatting with Flint, apparently having just returned from Kelsey’s.

  The disappointment that Jessie felt at that first realization that she and Flint were no longer alone deflated her. But after a brief exchange of small talk Jack and Jeannie admitted to their own weariness, said good-night and went inside.

  And finally Jessie was
alone with Flint.

  He sat on the landing so one long leg could stretch down onto the grass while he bent the other at the knee. He leaned into the gap in the porch railing that accommodated the stairs. Then he patted the space in front of him—an invitation.

  It didn’t take more than that for Jessie to join him. Her own feet landed flat on the bottom step and she hugged her thighs, resting her head on her knees to look at Flint as he studied her with an approving, appreciative expression on his scruffily whiskered face.

  “Definitely an improvement,” he said, obviously referring to the results of her own shower.

  “Feels better, too,” she agreed.

  For a moment then neither of them said anything and to Jessie it seemed as if they were finally winding down, relaxing. But it surprised her to realize that she could feel comfortable with silence between them. It had taken much longer for her and Pete to achieve that.

  But just as she was beginning to consider how to break that silence, Flint saved her the effort.

  “The murals on the kids’ walls,” he said. “The cartoon cars and trucks and trains in the boys’ room, and the fairies and gnomes and unicorns in that whole garden scene in the girls’—Braden said you painted those.”

  “I did. Over the winter.”

  Flint shook his head, his forehead beetled in what appeared to be perplexity. “You’re amazing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the work is amazing.”

  “It’s no big deal. It was just fun.”

  “Okay, I headed down this road a little last night but didn’t get too far, and tonight I really need to know. Not the mom, not the wife or widow, just you—”

  Jessie laughed. “It’s all just me.”

  “Tell me what you were like in the pre-marriage, pre-kids days. When you were a girl. Were you always interested in art? Did you want to grow up and become an artist?”

  She merely laughed again. “I always liked to draw and paint and make things, but it was just something I liked to do.”

  “Well, whether you know it or not,” he decreed, “you’re an artist.”

  Jessie merely made a face at that notion.

  “So what did you want to be?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Kelsey always loved animals—particularly horses—which made her more down to earth, I think. But me? I was the dreamer. The romantic. I never thought of being something when I grew up, which I regret. I just always pictured falling in love, getting married, having babies, a home. It was family that I saw for myself, not a career. Even though I guess that’s old-fashioned.”

  “And you regret it?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Regret isn’t the right word. It would just be a lot more helpful now if I’d gone to college, if I had a degree, if I had put some time and energy—and thought—into having a career, too. The most I thought of in that direction was that yes, I’d probably need to work—as maybe a receptionist or in an office or a store or something that I could do full-time until I had kids. Then maybe part-time after that to just bring in a second income for the family I wanted. I knew exactly the kind of wedding I wanted to have, the kind of house. I wanted to be a good cook, have a garden. But when it came to making a living? Like I said, my plans were all tinted with romance.”

  “What career would you have chosen if you’d gone to college?”

  “I’ve wondered that same thing. Psychology, I think.”

  Something about that made him smile. “Not art?

  Really? When you’re so good?”

  “You’re stuck on that, aren’t you? But, no. I told you, art has always been just for fun.”

  “So psychology, then—which I guess makes sense because you’re already doing armchair therapy at your worktable in the studio. But why psychology?”

  He seemed to genuinely want to know. To know just about her and the person she was. It had been so long since anyone had seen her as anything but a wife, a widow, a mom that it was strange. Nice. But strange.

  “I guess I like to know what makes people tick,” she said. “I’m always trying to understand the motivation behind what people do, the way they are.”

  “Have you ever thought about going back to college now?’

  Jessie’s laugh at that sounded almost tipsy because she was so tired. “There’s no way.”

  “Why not? It isn’t too late. People go back to school at all ages.”

  “But I have four kids. It would take too much away from them for me to go off in a new direction, to need to concentrate on something else, and I wouldn’t do that.”

  “So it’s back to the family thing. You really are into that.”

  “I really am,” she said firmly. “What about you?” she asked then. “What was the younger version of Flint like? What did you want to be? Or do you have exactly the life you wanted, the life you thought you’d have?”

  He smiled at her. “I didn’t put any planning into anything but getting out of the chaos that was growing up with Cindy Fortune. I didn’t think about a career either. I just thought about a job, what I could do that would make some money so I could be out on my own—which I was the day after I graduated high school. And since then, when it comes to life, to occupations, I’ve just gone where the wind blew me, tried to learn from things along the way, adjust so I don’t make the same mistakes in life twice.”

  Somehow Jessie didn’t think he was only talking about jobs when he said that, but she was too exhausted to delve into anything overly serious at that moment. She was just enjoying the evening air. And Flint.

  The porch light was off to not attract bugs; there was only a dim light over the kitchen sink that cast a slight glow through the window. But the moonlight, like the night before, illuminated Flint’s achingly masculine features and made her heart beat quicken just from looking at him.

  She sat up straight, with her back against the opposite post, resisting the thoughts that came with that faster pulse and brought her once again to the kiss that had ended their evening the previous night.

  Flint was still watching her, and in the midst of it a small smile spread across that face that Jessie just couldn’t take her eyes off.

  “What?” she asked about the cause of that smile.

  “I was just thinking that you’d be good as a psychologist because you’re easy to talk to, to confide in. I’d tell you my troubles…”

  “Do you have troubles?” she asked.

  “I do. Just lately,” he said in a way that let her know he wasn’t being serious—or was he? “There’s this person, who shall remain nameless, who’s really distracting me. I’m having problems thinking about anything else. I even dreamed about her last night.”

  “Ah, dreams can be very revealing,” Jessie said like a carnival fortune-teller.

  Flint grinned. “Well, this one was a doozy but it didn’t reveal nearly enough.”

  “In what way?” Jessie asked, intrigued even though she knew they were just playing.

  Flint pointed his chin in the direction of Kelsey’s house next door. “The room I’m staying in has a window that faces the bedroom window of this Person-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless. In the dream I was standing there, it was late at night, quiet…” His voice went quiet, too. “The only light on anywhere was in that other bedroom across the way. And behind the closed curtains I could just make out her silhouette.”

  “That didn’t actually happen, did it?” Jessie asked, a little alarmed to think that maybe he’d been watching her from his window, that he had seen her silhouetted against the curtains.

  Her concern made him grin. “No, it didn’t actually happen. But could it?” he requested incorrigibly.

  “No, it could not!” Jessie reprimanded with a laugh. Then she said, “And I’m ready to give you my expert psychological evaluation—you’re a sick, sick man,” she joked.

  “I can’t help myself,” he confessed. “There’s just something about this person that’s gotten into my system.”

&nbs
p; He came away from the post to lean more toward her, reaching for her hands with both of his, staring down at them while he said, “I just really, really…like you.”

  That made her smile—and feel a whole lot of things that were dangerous for her to be feeling.

  Then he glanced up from his study of their intertwined hands and gazed into her eyes for a moment before he leaned just an inch or two closer, clearly aiming to kiss her.

  But instead he paused, waiting, as if this time he wouldn’t do it unless she met him halfway, unless she let him know that it was something she wanted him to do.

  She wished she didn’t. But wishing didn’t make it so. She wanted for him to kiss her so badly that she couldn’t keep from drifting an inch or two forward herself, raising her chin almost imperceptibly but enough to give permission.

  Permission he didn’t hesitate to accept—kissing her once more with his lips parted from the start, and heat waiting just below the surface, as if he’d been thinking about this as much as she had.

  One of his hands released one of hers to rise up into her hair, to cup the back of her head as he opened his mouth a bit wider and let that kiss deepen.

  Jessie recalled too vividly what it had been like to feel his chest through his shirt the previous night and she yearned to feel it again. So that was where her free hand went—to a hard wall of pectoral.

  He placed her other hand there, too, before he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her nearer still.

  Mouths were somehow open much wider by then and that was when Flint’s tongue flicked hers, bold and brazen and titillating at once.

  It sent more than a little shockwave through her, though, exciting her even as she felt a tiny spark of guilt to be indulging in such a moment of familiarity with someone other than Pete.

  But somehow that tiny spark of guilt burned out a split second later, overtaken by a kiss that was growing hotter and hotter by the minute.

  Tongues toyed and teased and tantalized, and even more sensations awakened in her as she let one hand course upward into Flint’s hair, as she learned the nuances of his kiss and tried a few tricks of her own that only added to the heat that was building between them.