Mitch set Scotty on his shoulders. “I had to take care of some business, buckaroo. Did you learn anything new while I was gone?”
“I trotted on my pony.”
“Aw’right! Give me five, little man.” Mitch held out his palm, and Scotty leaned forward and slapped it with his tiny palm.
Then Scotty added, “Mama was with me, so it doesn’t really count.”
“You were holding the reins, weren’t you?” Mitch asked.
“Yep.”
“Then it sure does count.”
Scotty looked just like Tawny, though his face wasn’t lean yet. Jenna watched Mitch’s easy way with the boy and suddenly wondered if he were Scotty’s father. Maybe he and Tawny were married. No, he’d said something about not getting married or deeply involved with anyone. But they’d never talked about whether he was seeing someone, or if he’d produced any children. Not that it mattered, of course.
She swallowed a lump in her throat. It mattered. She didn’t want to explore why, but it did.
“Scotty, this is Jenna. She’s visiting for a spell.”
“Hi, Jenna,” the little boy said shyly, giving her a cute little wave with just his fingers. She felt her heart open right up to him. He ducked down, trying to hide behind Mitch’s head and not very successfully.
“Hi, Scotty.” Another lump. Damn. He was adorable, and she felt an overwhelming urge to touch him. He smelled of baby powder and something sweet, and all at once that yearning for a child burst upon her again.
“Do you have any kids?” Tawny asked.
“No.” Jenna tried to say the word as though it meant nothing. And then she realized something: she and Mitch hadn’t used anything when they’d made love. What if she were pregnant right now?
“Are you all right?” Tawny asked. “Didn’t mean to pry or anything.”
“No, it’s … fine.” But she could feel her face pale as Mitch turned to see what was wrong. Not that she could tell him. The prospect made a smile bloom on her face, color return. “I want to have a child. Paul and I … never did.”
Tawny obviously knew Mitch well, felt comfortable with him, and was attracted to him. Could Tawny see that last part in Jenna’s face as well?
“We’d better get you back to bed, young man,” Tawny said, easing up close to Mitch to take her son down. She remained there a moment longer than necessary, shooting Jenna a meaningful look before moving back. “If you want to catch up, I’ll be awake until eleven. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning. Nice to meet you, Jenna. Scotty, give Mitch a kiss goodnight.”
Mitch bent over, and Scotty planted a kiss on his cheek. He held onto the boy’s little shoulder and whispered something to him. Scotty nodded, then walked up to Jenna and pursed his lips. Touched beyond belief, she bent down and pressed her cheek against his moist lips. He giggled and ran back through the doorway.
Tawny was obviously territorial about both her men, because she hesitated before smiling. She swung her long hair over one shoulder and said to Mitch alone, “Goodnight.” Then she turned and walked back into the office building.
“She must live upstairs,” Jenna said, remembering the person peering out through the curtains.
Mitch nodded, not watching Tawny’s retreat but scanning the horse stalls. “Yeah, I hear you, Midnight.” He walked toward the back where a horse was whinnying and stamping his hoof.
“Cute kid,” Jenna said, following him. “Looks just like his mother. I presume that’s his mother.”
“Sure is. Hey, Midnight. See, I didn’t up and run off on you.”
Jenna realized she’d been searching Scotty’s face for signs of Mitch. He did have brown eyes, but so did Tawny. His hair was straight and brown, nothing like Mitch’s. She wanted to ask, but felt out of place doing so. She reached out and touched the black horse’s mushy nose.
“Why do you call him Midnight Blue? Does he look blue in the sunlight?”
“No, I named him after a Lou Graham song. I name all my horses after rock and roll. Midnight’s sire is Foreigner, and Lou used to be in that group.” At her blank look, he added, “You don’t know Foreigner? They haven’t done much in recent years, but they were huge back in the eighties. Rock and roll has gone down the tubes lately, hasn’t it, Midnight? No more songs about fast cars, fast women, and good ole’ fashioned sex. Everything is about nothing, blue cars and blue buildings and suicide. Give me some Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Damn Yankees.”
Her mouth was just starting to open and say, “Who?”
“Tawny said you were back,” a male voice said. A tall, blonde man strode toward them. “That stinker is going with you next time you decide to up and disappear.” He grinned. “But you brought back a souvenir. I’m Dave Hammond.”
She shook his outstretched hand, not sure whether to be offended by being referred to as a souvenir or not. “Jenna Elliot.”
“Paul’s wife. Tawny just told me. I saw you the day you first came here. I was playing football,” he added at her questioning look. “I’m sorry to hear about Paul.”
“Thank you.”
Dave filled Mitch in on a few things, shook her hand and headed up to watch Walker, Texas Ranger.
Mitch said, “I think he wants to be a Ranger when he grows up. Come on, let’s go back to the house. Looks like you’re fading fast.”
When they walked back into the office, Tawny’s voice rang out, “Scotty, get back up here!”
All Jenna saw was a blur as the child streaked buck naked down the hall to wave at them from the balcony upstairs. “Bye, Mitch! Bye, lady!” He turned to see his mother racing after him, and darted around her back to their apartment.
She rolled her eyes, then chased after him. Even frazzled, the woman looked under control. Mitch chuckled as he locked up the office door behind them, but Jenna sank into silence. Had she ever felt so many feelings at once? Envy, longing, anger, heartache … she glanced over at Mitch as he rubbed Harvey’s head … love? No, not love. Go back and focus on the anger. It’s simple, easy, powerful. She remembered Mitch’s words: love and hate are the most powerful of emotions. How true, how true.
The night was warm and humid, nothing like a New England summer night. And not at all like that desert Texas she’d imagined before she first arrived here. Crickets sang out, and the moon had come out to light up the pasture. Jenna couldn’t help but turn back; just as she suspected, someone was watching them from behind the curtain again.
The uneasiness returned, churning her stomach. Was it … could it be … jealousy? She might have dismissed it out of hand, but it was such a curious feeling, one she’d never had before, that she wanted to examine it.
“Now you can tell Etta that you met the wondrous Dave,” Mitch said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they headed through the pine stand.
“I’ll be sure to mention it.”
She looked over at Mitch’s silhouette next to her, lock of hair bouncing with his steps, shirt rumpled over his broad shoulders. Her mouth quirked, not quite a smile, but almost. Did he feel it, too? Dave was good-looking in a rugged sort of way, tall and lean, complexion red from the sun. But he didn’t stir her insides the way Mitch did. And this jealousy thing … how so very curious. In an odd way, she felt attached to Mitch. As though she belonged to him, or with him maybe. Because of this connection they shared, she assured herself.
“Is Tawny married?” She couldn’t let it go, could she?
“Divorced.”
“That’s too bad. For Scotty, I mean. You seem like a good father figure for him.”
Mitch pulled the band out of his hair and ran his fingers through it. “He’s a good kid. His dad’s a real son of a bitch. That’s why they’re staying here, to give him time to sober up and learn to behave himself.”
“Oh.” Well, that answered that question, anyway. But what about his involvement with Tawny?
They walked into the house and up the stairs. “Do you need anything?” he asked when they reached the top.
“Peace of mind, answers, or perhaps a handy case of amnesia.”
He chuckled, a soft, low sound that shivered right up her spine. “Maybe I can help with the answers part, but I’m afraid I’m out of the other two.”
She nodded, feeling at a loss for words. Finally, she looked down at the duffel bag he’d left by his bedroom door. “Do you have the jewelry?”
“In here.” He tapped the bag with his foot.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Dunno. Let’s see what we find out.”
“All right. Well, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Jenna sank into a tub full of hot water ten minutes later, head cushioned by an inflatable pillow she’d found in one of the cabinets. Instead of relaxing, however, she found herself crying. And for the first time, she didn’t know why.
Forty minutes later, Jenna eased herself from the tub, feeling achy and tired. And oddly cleansed. Up until then, tears had proved useless, a sign of her own helplessness. She pressed her hand over her heart. Not this time.
She slid into her short, silk nightshirt, brushed her teeth, and walked into the bedroom. Music filtered through the door, not loud, but definitely that rock and roll he’d talked about earlier. Then she picked up on another sound, this not part of the music. She eased the door open and found a pile of thick green towels in front of her door. Who had left them there?
Then she heard the sound of glass shattering. She stepped out into the hallway and looked out over the gathering room. The stereo was on, lights twinkling in sync with the music, but no one was there. She walked down the hall and peered into the open doorway of Mitch’s room. It was dark, but for the moonlight spilling in from the French doors facing east.
More glass shattered.
She took the stairs quickly and turned the corner to find Mitch staring at the fireplace. His hair was damp, and he wore nothing but blue jeans. His muscles were bunched up in tension, fingers working the air. Then he picked up a framed photograph and using a pitcher’s stance, sent it flying into the fireplace. The glass shattered against the bricks in the back. No fire burned, and she could see remnants of other pictures in there as well.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, picking up another picture and sending it off.
“Mitch, what are you doing?”
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look at her. “Jenna, go back to bed.”
She walked closer instead, even though danger radiated from him. He had a stack of family photographs on the table behind him, most of him and Paul alone. She walked around the table and tried to draw him away from whatever possessed him. “What music group is this?”
“Metallica. Now go to bed.”
He had a wonderful back, all muscles and tension, one drop of water sliding down the indent of his spine. She felt so well-acquainted with that back, after being pressed against it for two days.
“I don’t think I should leave you alone,” she said, pulling her attention back to the matter at hand.
“I’m having a little one-to-one with my brother.” He picked up another picture, both twins in a Jeep. “Leave us alone.”
He still hadn’t looked at her, but she could see the cords in his neck tense as though he was fighting the urge to turn to her. She glanced down at her dark green nightshirt, not too revealing although the top part of her scar showed above the neckline. Her hand went automatically to cover it. She didn’t know why, but she asked, “You heard me crying, didn’t you?”
He threw the picture, harder this time. It hit the side, sending shards of glass over the flat stones in front of the fireplace. His voice was low, ominous when he said, “I need some time alone with my demons. Leave.”
She should have gone. She even leaned away, but her feet wouldn’t take a step. Her body wanted to take her over to him, and she found herself standing just behind him. She reached out, pressing her palms against his back. He swung round on her so fast, she didn’t have a chance to even make a sound. He pushed her backward, several feet, until she felt the wall against her back. He pinned her wrists to the wall, and his mouth came down on hers.
She sucked in a breath through her nose, making her breasts press up against his chest. Her mouth opened to his, and his tongue ravaged hers, taking until she couldn’t even think. Just as abruptly, he let her go. Anger burned in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at her, Paul or himself.
“You gonna leave now?” he growled. “Or you gonna stick around and hate me even more for ripping your clothes off and taking you on that couch?”
His dark words spurred excitement within her, not fear. Her body came alive, just as it had the last time they’d made love. He looked wild, hair uncombed, chest bare, danger burning in his eyes. She wanted to inhale that fire into herself. She didn’t move.
He was warring with himself; she saw it, felt it, responded to it. It was like the waves washing in around her all over again, and the exhilaration of Mitch throwing her over his shoulder and taking her to bed. This was a whole new part of her, a part she’d never even guessed existed. Her hands were still above her head, where he’d left them. She let them drop and tilted her head.
His voice cracked when he said, “God, Jenna, do you want me to hate myself more than I already do?” He reached out and ran his thumb down her cheek, then turned and walked away.
Her lips still burned from his assault, knees weak at the prospect of feeling his body against hers again. She heard his footsteps pounding across the floor, then the slam of the exterior door. Her heart was pounding, but that sensual beat was becoming overwhelmed by a different kind of warmth. He wanted her, and he hated himself for it. He wanted her.
Jenna saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Betzi peered around the corner, a startled look on her face. Jenna put her hand over her mouth, stifling the “Oh my,” that wanted to escape. Betzi must have heard everything, or at least the worst of it.
“Are you all right?” she asked, coming into the room now, assessing the damage.
Not by a long shot. “I … I’m fine.”
Betzi walked into the kitchen and pulled out a pan, then poured in two cups of milk. “I heard a commotion and came down to see what was going on.” Those words hung in the air, and Jenna felt embarrassment creeping up over her features. “Want to talk about it?”
Jenna wanted to run from the room and bury herself under her covers, but instead, she found herself saying, “Yes.”
Chapter 12
Mitch walked toward the stables, blood pounding in his ears. Why hadn’t she moved when he’d told her to leave? She’d just stood there looking at him with … something, something he couldn’t figure out shining in her eyes. As though she were daring him to follow through on his threat, which he’d been damned close to doing. Too damned close, he noted, aware of his body’s reaction.
He inhaled, letting the pine-scented air fill his lungs. Nothing, it seemed, was going to calm him down, nothing except turning around and going back to the house and taking her up on her dare. The first time he’d loved her, it wasn’t planned; it just happened. From here on out, he would have to take full responsibility for his actions.
“Cripes, it’s your brother’s wife. No matter what, she was married to him, loved him … wanted to have his baby.” That familiar spike of pain shot through him as he remembered the way she’d asked him to give her Paul’s baby.
And when she looked at him now … when she had looked at him just a few minutes ago, whom had she seen?
The pine trees had a two-dimensional quality to them, and he felt the rough bark scratch his bare shoulder as he misjudged distance in the moonlight.
When he and Paul were kids, some wacky doctor had said Paul was a shadow twin. Mitch thought it was ridiculous, still did. Looking back, though, Paul had sometimes seemed like a shadow, never able to live up to Mitch’s abilities, always wanting to fill his shoes. Now Mitch wanted to fill something of Paul’s, and it wasn’t his damned
shoes.
He had reached the stables, and stopped to press his forehead against the door. It was the shadow thing that made Mitch vow never to take anything from Paul. Even when they were kids, Paul didn’t have the guts to fight for what was his, to take what he deserved. Their father gave them nothing they didn’t ask for, didn’t earn. Paul never learned to ask or to fight, so Mitch did it for him. Mitch had come into the world five minutes before Paul and he’d easily stepped into the big brother role. Look how easily he’d stepped on their sacred vow.
The truth would have to make him complete. Wasn’t that what was missing in his life, the truth? He’d told himself that for years, if only he had the answers he sought, he could go on with his life and feel whole. Then why, when he looked at Jenna, was he sure that only she could complete his life? Of all the women he’d met over the years, why did that woman have to be his brother’s wife?
Energy rumbled through him once more, and he found the hidden key behind the sign and went inside. The lights in the gym were blindingly bright. He turned them off again, led only by the dim light from the hallway. He knew the machines by heart anyway, and he set the weights by feel. He worked quietly, never letting the metal weights slam together.
“Mitch? Is that you?”
At first he imagined the soft, female voice to be Jenna’s. But he knew it wasn’t her, and something inside him wilted at the realization. He saw Tawny’s lithe silhouette outlined in the doorway.
He let the weights slowly drop. “Yeah. Did I wake you up?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep. Then I heard someone down here.” She walked closer, leaning against the leg press machine Mitch was on. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Haven’t even tried. Haven’t slept a whole night through in years.” Except for those nights at Jenna’s house, where, miraculously he slept all the way through. When she wasn’t tearing up furniture in her sleep, that was.
“But you’ve never come out here this time of night and started a workout.” Tawny smelled clean and soapy, something like the flowers in the spring that sprung up all over the pasture. He could barely make out her features, but he sensed a difference about her. She leaned a bit closer. “You want to talk about it?”
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