"Forget it. When you're safely in your car then I'll disappear for good but not before."
"Fine," Nan said marching up the dock, stabbing at the tears that now fell. Disappear for good.
Jackson stayed with her, a quiet shadow just behind her, until she reached her car. She dug out her key and stuck it into the lock. Jackson placed his hand over hers.
Oh God. Nan shut her eyes, remembering him doing the same thing the night of the banquet as she opened her apartment door. She remembered the kiss that followed. She'd never forget any of his kisses. She'd never forget him. His memory would never disappear. More tears fell. She couldn't stop them.
"Nan. I'm sorry. So damn sorry."
She looked up at Jackson. His blue eyes were stark and bloodshot, his mouth grim. All of his smooth bad-boy self was gone at that moment.
"I'm sorry, too. Sorry I ever let you into my life. Good-bye, Jack." She twisted the key in the lock and pulled her hand from his.
Nan ignored the tears she saw spring into his eyes. She had too many of her own to worry about. Jackson opened her car door and she climbed inside, pulled the door shut, and cranked the engine. He stood back. She blindly backed out of the parking space and drove away.
She spent the rest of the night crying. Crying because Jackson had been there in the rowboat, like some romantic fool coming after her. Crying because what she wanted from him would forever remain in her dreams and fantasies. Crying because she loved him, and because he had so much to give her and the world, but would never do it because he didn’t think himself worthy. Crying for everything between them that was lost before it ever really had a chance to live.
* * *
At dawn on Saturday morning Jackson rolled out of bed, grabbed his work boots, and quietly left the house before his parents were up. He thought he knew what hell was all about from the inside out. He was wrong. Nan was adding a new dimension to his torture. Her tears and her anger had been one thing, but the dead, resigned, hopeless look haunting her eyes when she'd said, I'm sorry, too. Sorry I ever let you into my life. Good-bye, Jack, reached deep inside him, and twisted him up. His sorry hadn't been good enough and never would be.
Even as he headed out to the old cabin, planning to put the place back into shape, he realized he was running again. But this time he was running from Nan and burying himself in work instead of isolation.
The supplies he purchased to fix the cabin filled the porch. It was going to take a hell of a lot of hard work. His family's assessment that the place needed to be bulldozed down wasn't far from wrong. Stripping off his shirt, he headed for the roof.
Several hours later, Jackson saw his father coming up the drive. He got out of the car and held up a pitcher of iced tea and what looked like a big bag of his mother's to-die-for biscuits.
Jackson set down his hammer and jumped off the roof. "Don't tell me, Mom threatened to tan my hide for skipping out on breakfast."
His dad grinned. "She did." Wouldn't even let me eat mine until I brought you yours. So I just had her pack us both a meal." He set the bags of biscuits on the truck hood, pulled out plastic cups and a tub of milk gravy.
"Oh man," Jackson said. He grabbed a biscuit, tore off a piece, and dipped it into the creamy white gravy.
"She made your favorite, thinking you'd be around this morning."
"Dad, this isn't going to work if--"
His father held up his hand. "You come and go as you please, just kinda let your mom know when you might be around and she'll settle into that just fine. She's worried. We both are and have reason to be."
Jackson broke off more biscuit and swabbed it with gravy. The second bite wasn't as good as the first. "I'm working on it."
His dad lit into his own bag of biscuits, which Jackson noted was half the size of his. "That's all anybody can expect of any man. You know over the years, working in the shipyard, and caring for this old farm, I've come to realize that most of life is fixing things. Seeing what's wrong, what's not working, and tackling those, one day at a time, one step at a time."
Jackson grunted and grabbed his tea.
Nothing much else was said as they worked on the biscuits and gravy. John patted his stomach after grabbing the last crumb. "It's been a while since I've done any roof fixing. Mind if I help?"
Jackson shrugged. "Suppose it wouldn't hurt."
"Good." His dad followed him up to the roof and as they ripped up old shingles and checked for rot, Jackson noticed that is dad wasn't as quick on his feet as he used to be. Time, years of working hard, and sacrificing had taken a toll. Just like he was working hard and sacrificing right now. His father didn't need to be up on this roof, he needed to be sitting at the fishing pond, catching catfish for fun.
John Weldon was a simple man, never claimed to be more than that, and had never wanted more than the simple life, a job that paid enough to feed his family, and a quiet farm to raise them on.
Jackson sat back and ran his gaze over the fields and woods of the Weldon farm, realizing something for the first time. His father was just as important of a man in the backbone of life as a world leader, a physicist, or even a doctor. And part of Jackson's obsessed climb for success, to be the best trauma specialist practicing, to be above his humble roots had been a misguided bid for importance. If he ever became half the man his father was, he'd be lucky.
Another truck approached, spinning a cloud of dust from its tail. Jesse, Jared, and James piled out.
"What in hell are you fools doing?" Jesse asked, glaring up at the roof.
"Fixing a roof," John Weldon yelled back, swiping the sweat of his brow. "Did your mama call you boys?"
"Yep," James said. Jared just nodded. Jesse kept glaring.
"And you all came running?"
"You've been married to her for nearly forty years. What do you think?" Jesse asked.
"That you didn't run fast enough. Get your butts on up here."
Jackson laughed.
James and Jared headed for the ladder. Jesse didn't move.
"It'd be easier to bulldoze this place and start over." The look in Jesse's eyes walked over Jackson like a man forced to wade through manure.
"Maybe," John Weldon said. "But then sometimes doing what's easy isn't what's best. This is one of those times."
Jackson wanted to tell them all to get lost. This was his mess after all.
"If this is one of those times, Dad," Jesse said. "Then you're going to have to climb off that roof and do the supervising. There isn't room for more than four men up there."
John Weldon looked as if he'd planned to argue.
"Don't tell me you're going to pass up the opportunity to whip our lazy asses back into shape?" Jackson challenged, thankful to have a good excuse to get his father out of the worst of the sun. "Besides, we're at the point where somebody's going to have to hand up the supplies."
"Hey, my ass is the best it’s ever been," James said.
"That's not saying much," Jared said.
"Women aren't complaining."
"You boys stop assing off and get to work," John grumbled and climbed off the roof.
Jesse came up a few minutes later. "You know what, bro?"
"What?" Jackson glanced up from the rusty nail he was working loose.
"I'm damn glad to be here. And I'm even more damned glad that you're here."
"Well aren't we just happy," Jackson muttered.
"Yeah, I guess I am." Jesse reached over and held back the shingle so that Jackson could get to the nail easier.
Jackson looked up and met Jesse's gaze. "I'm glad. You deserve it." Their gazes held, saying everything they didn't need to have words to express. Warmth that had been needling around inside of Jackson all week wrapped around his gut. He went back to working on the nail, but a new breath of energy fueled his movements.
"So, how's the little tiger?"
Jesse grinned. "Wreaking havoc like a true Weldon."
Jackson laughed. "I'm going to have to go see him."
> "That'd be a good thing, since you're his godparent."
"I've been meaning to talk to you. I don't think that--"
"I'm not taking no for an answer, bro."
"You don't understand. I'm not good enough to--"
Jesse gripped Jackson's shoulder and Jackson looked up.
"You don't understand. If something happens to me, there isn't a better man for my son than you."
Tears welled up in Jackson's eyes and he looked up at the damn clouds. "Shit."
Jesse squeezed Jackson's shoulder and then let go. "Welcome home, bro."
Jackson couldn't say anything. He just went back to work.
Later, while they were all sitting on the porch enjoying a cool drink after devouring the sandwiches Emma shuttled over, James turned to their dad. "I want to get your opinion of a project Jared and I are thinking about getting into after we finish the children's wing at the hospital."
"What's that?" John stretched as if his back was bothering him a bit.
"I'll get the blueprints out of the truck, while you tell him." Jared jumped off the porch.
"We’re thinking about starting a subdivision. With the profits from the hospital job and, if we can pre-sell the homes before construction, we think we can swing it financially.”
"Sounds reasonable. Why are you asking me?"
Jared returned with the plans. "Well, James and I thought we'd name the place Weldon Estates. It'll be near the Intercoastal with all of those highbrow estates."
Jesse laughed. "You mean the Weldon’s are making a name on the right side of the tracks after all these years."
Everyone laughed with Jesse.
James spread out the plans.
Jackson leaned over and gave them a cursory glance. One minute he was just mildly interested and the next minute one of the plans jumped out at him. It featured a big sunroom with a spa. Whoever had drawn it had penciled in a nice sized garden in the back. To him it had Nan written all over it. He could just see her plants filling the sunroom. He picked up the blueprint. “Mind if I look at this one for a while?”
His question was met with a bunch of raised eyebrows, but no objections. He rolled up the plan and stuck it in his truck. Then he remembered the plant she'd given him. It had probably died after a week of neglect. He went into the cabin to look. It still sat on the dinette table, but instead of brown and shriveled, the little plant was green and lush. Little blue buds had sprouted.
He walked over and stared at it. The table was wet, too. Rain, like tears from heaven had fallen and watered the little plant, kept it alive, despite his neglect. Jackson picked it up to carry to his truck. Maybe…
He shut his eyes and an image of Nan flashed through his mind. She was there. Naked. Lying on the bed waiting for him. He walked up to her, nudging her knees apart and stood between her legs, looking down at her ripe breasts, and warm sex. Everything of hers right at his fingertips. His erection swelled against the fly of his jeans and she reached out to cup him, rubbing him to rock hard.
He knelt down, spread her sex open and pulled her bottom to the edge of the bed. He looked his fill of her, caressing her folds, sliding his finger into her warmth, caressing her until she was wet with need, ready for him to taste of her honey. She rose to her elbows watching him touch her, breaths gasping, nipples begging, and her pulse pounding.
Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he leaned down and kissed the excited, nub of her sex. She moaned and her eyes grew misty. He kept kissing, kept tasting, kept licking and loving until she cried for release, until her eyes turned desperate, and she arched her back, begging for more. Reaching up, he rolled her nipples between his fingers, playing a sweet melody in tune to the stroking of his tongue until she came apart for him. When she settled into the hazy aftermath of his loving, he started all over again. Demanding more as he unzipped his fly, he grabbed her hips, and buried himself deep inside of her. Then they were making love everywhere his gaze settle around him. In the barn down the road, on his bike, on the truck, in the truck. Anywhere and everywhere. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her fantasy obsession had now taken him over.
He had such a hard on that he had to go take a dip in the creek before he could climb back to the roof.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The alarm went off and Nan groaned, forcing herself to roll out of bed. Shakespeare had a cold and Nan thought one was trying to catch a hold of her, too.
She'd dreamed about Jackson last night. Not the hot sexy dreams she used to have. This dream was different and recurring. Jackson was ahead of her on a long road leading directly into a black void, and she was running after him. Running as hard as she could, but she never reached him before he disappeared into the black void. All she could see of him was his back and as much as she cried for him, he never turned towards her.
Jackson had returned to the construction site. And every day she was at work, she saw him outside the window. He never looked her way. The windows were mirrored so he couldn't see that she watched, but didn't he wonder?
It'd been two weeks and thirty-six hours since she'd left him standing at the dock and had told him that she was sorry she'd ever let him into her life.
Part of her shouted no, that she didn’t regret knowing Jackson's touch and the fire of his passion even if she never saw him again. But another part of her that still hurt so bad, cried, wishing she’d never known him.
Climbing into the shower, Nan turned her face to the water's sting, shocking herself to stop the tears. She had to put her mind towards the meeting today. It was D-day with the hospital board and the Nurses Trouble Shooting Committee and Nan hoped she'd written her opening speech in such a way as to express the nurses' concerns as well as garner the board's support.
She dressed, managed to get down a bagel and a glass of juice as she misted her plants. Then she saw the offensive gray hairs. Her beautiful gloxinia had Botrytis! How could she have let gray mold invade her plant? It'd grow like a cancer unless she weeded it out today. A dozen things preyed on her mind and nausea churned all morning long.
She walked into the meeting-room with all of her worries, nerves, and heartache sitting like a heavy rock in the pit of her stomach.
"You must be excited," Candy said, nursing a cup of coffee.
"I've had better moments." Nan smoothed her chignon and straightened her collar. "How do I look?"
"Like a professional. Relax. Believe me, there's more nurses awed by your reputation with the Lois Emerson Merit Award than you can imagine. Most that I know are coming this morning just to see you."
"Candy, if you think you're helping. You're not. I'm just a regular person, and a messed up one at that."
"You'll do fine. Here's Head Nurse Litton."
Nan turned. "Good, I want to run a few questions by her, before the meeting."
Time crept up and bit Nan on the seat of her nurse’s whites before she realized. The meeting began. Her nerves jittered and her legs wobbled, but soon she slid into a rhythm and held her own. The welcome speech went well. She had competent answers to the board's questions. And by the end of the meeting, the board had decided to appoint a small committee to review the hospital's policies in regards to the nurses’ grievances. For the first time it looked like real change in the hospital’s policies was possible. It was more than the Trouble Shooting Committee had hoped for and afterward, rather than running to escape as usual, many of the board members stayed to talk a bit.
Mr. Townsend, having remembered her from the banquet, spoke of her as if she were his long lost daughter. "Nan, I want you to meet Wylan Merit. His wife was Lois Emerson Merit, for whom the award is named.
"Mr. Merit, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"No, Ms. Miller the pleasure is mine. Thank you for making my wife's memory an ongoing honor. It makes losing her to cancer a little more bearable."
Sadness laced Mr. Merit's voice, and edged into his gray eyes, but it was the sadness of a soft bittersweet memory and not the destroying regret that a
te at Jackson. Tears pricked Nan's eyes and she forced a smile to her lips even as her heart wanted to know why? Why couldn't Jackson take Amy's memory and cherish it rather than punish himself with it?
Mr. Townsend dropped his cane and Nan leaned over to pick it up. When she stood, the world around her swam, grew dark, and disappeared.
She woke to find herself on a stretcher.
"What happened?" She tried to sit up.
Candy pushed her back down. "You fainted dead away and we're taking you to the ER."
"No. There's no need."
"Relax. There isn't anything you can do about it. It's hospital policy. Besides, Townsend has already called down there and ordered them to make his star nurse well."
"Oh, hell," Nan muttered. "Who came up with such an idiotic policy idea?"
Candy laughed. "I believe nurses did some years back, when working conditions were even more grueling than they are now."
Nan groaned. The ER would put her through the ringer.
Four hours later, she was more than ready to go home. The doctor finally returned. Nan felt as if she'd been through a week's worth of lab test since the ER doctor's admitting assessment.
The doctor walked into the room and Nan didn’t like his grim expression. “We’ve received the results of your blood work and there are a few things we need to talk about. Why don’t you sit down,” he said, opening her chart.
“I’ve been lying for hours. I’m okay.”
“No. I insist. I have to write you several prescriptions and we need to discuss your condition.”
Nan sat. “What condition?”
“There isn’t any easy way to say this. You’re a nurse, so I’m just going to spell it out. You’re pregnant and you’re anemic.”
Nan blinked. Then shut her eyes completely and leaned back against her chair. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”
“Yes. I’m going to write you a prescription for iron and prenatal vitamins. You’ll get a list of foods high in iron along with your discharge papers. I want you to see an obstetrician immediately. Your hemoglobin is much lower than it should be and you’re going to need close monitoring with this pregnancy. I also want you to see your physician and get a thorough check-up done. Based on my findings, I suspect that this anemia is a result of poor dietary habits and not anything more serious, but it wouldn’t hurt to have everything checked out.”
Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) Page 20