Once Around

by Barbara Bretton

  It happened that fast. One second she was her normal solitary self, and the next her hopes and dreams had a focus. All her life her dreams had had her mama Jo Ellen's name on them. Class valedictorian, full scholarship to Duke, her years in Dallas--they were all her mama's hopes for her daughter's future.

  But this dream, this man, was Jessy's alone. She'd imagined him every night of her life since she was old enough to know that boys and girls were different, and now that he was standing there in front of her, she couldn't remember her name.

  "Jessy." Molly Chamberlain's voice tugged at her sleeve. "I'd like you to meet Spencer Mackenzie."

  "Jessy and I already know each other," Spencer Mackenzie said as her right hand disappeared into his.

  Say something, you fool. Don't go staring at him like he's a plate of barbecue and you've been starving for a week.

  "We do?" she managed. She'd never seen hands like his before, large but graceful, the kind of hands you'd imagine sliding across the keyboard of a grand piano. The kind of hands she'd imagined sliding across her body even though she almost never had time to think about things like that. Get a grip on yourself, girl. Like he'd notice you with Molly Chamberlain standing right next to him.

  "I arranged this for you," he said as he released her hand. It took all her self-control to keep from begging him to hold onto her forever. "We talked about the terms of the lease."

  Actually it was his secretary who had talked to her and sent on the paperwork, but if he wanted to believe they'd spoken, she wasn't about to tell him otherwise.

  "Thank you," she said, wondering if he realized her palm was sweating. If he did, he was too much of a gentleman to let on.

  "So how do you like it?"

  "I like the foyer just fine," she said.

  "I was about to show Jessy her room," Molly said

  "Unless you'd rather do it while I make us some sandwiches."

  "You don't have to make me anything to eat," Jessy said. The thought of being alone with Spencer Mackenzie made her feel faint. "I had something at the hospital cafeteria before I came here."

  "I've eaten at that cafeteria," Molly said, rolling her eyes in comic dismay. "I promised room and board and I'm a woman of my word."

  "I know this place better than Molly does," Spencer said to Jessy. "I'll give you the grand tour."

  I'll just bet you know this place, Jessy thought as she saw the way he looked at Molly as she glided from the room. Jessy had seen a lot of pregnant women in her day, and she'd never once seen one capable of gliding past the third month. There was a lot to hate about Molly Chamberlain: her big house, her pregnant belly, the Greek god who kept stealing glances at her when he thought no one was looking. She wasn't sure she wanted to live there with a woman who made her look even plainer than nature had managed to do.

  But then who was she kidding? In a million years she wouldn't stand a chance with someone like Spencer Mackenzie. The Molly Chamberlains of this world had them all sewn up.

  Chapter Six

  I don't like you, Molly thought as she watched Jessy Wyatt eat a tuna salad sandwich. And I don't think you like me too much either. She'd gone out of her way to be scrupulously sweet and polite to the young doctor, and so far she'd been rewarded with sidelong glances and monosyllabic comments delivered with a faint edge hidden beneath the Southern syrup.

  Jessy Wyatt was a plain little thing with long light brown hair that fell between her shoulders in a messy braid. She wore beige cotton trousers and a pink T-shirt that drifted loosely over her small breasts. One bra strap peeked out from the boat neckline. Her sneakers were worn and white. She carried a pager clipped to her woven belt and an enormous tote bag that looked like it weighed as much as she did. The thought of her examining patients and delivering babies was almost laughable. She didn't look old enough to menstruate.

  You're being a bitch. So what if she's not what you were expecting. You needed a boarder and you've got one. She hadn't advertised for a friend, just someone to share the house with her. As long as she and Jessy didn't come to blows, they'd be okay.

  "Need more iced tea?" she asked, pushing the pickle around on her plate with the back of her fork.

  "More sugar would be nice," Jessy said. Her tone was polite, but Molly heard a note of censure beneath it.

  "Sorry. I always make it without sugar."

  Jessy looked down at her plate but not before Molly saw the faintest beginning of a smile on her lips. "We like it real sweet where I come from."

  Molly pushed the sugar bowl across the kitchen table. "Help yourself," she said. "I don't use sugar."

  "I inhale it," Jessy said.

  "And you're still skinny." Molly's fingers tightened around her glass. "Aren't you lucky."

  "I can eat anything I want," Jessy said, spooning sugar into her glass with abandon. "Butter, ice cream, chocolate, steak—"

  "I can see why you're not a cardiologist."

  Jessy's head shot up, and she looked over at Molly. "Are you insulting me?"

  "Of course not," Molly said. "Just making an observation."

  "I'm a good OB-GYN."

  "Did I say you weren't?"

  "You're looking at me like I'm somebody's kid sister home from school."

  "Can you blame me? You look about twelve."

  "Thirteen," said Jessy. "Fourteen on a good day,"

  Damn it. She had a sense of humor. Molly always had a hard time disliking people who could make her laugh.

  "Listen," she said, pushing away her sandwich plate with both hands, "I think we got off on the wrong foot somehow."

  Jessy said nothing. Her deep-set brown eyes remained level and unrevealing.

  "I'm going through a rough time right now," Molly said. She waited for a response. Jessy continued munching on her sandwich. What was wrong with the girl? Didn't she recognize a cue when she heard one? This was when Jessy was supposed to say don't worry . . .I understand . . . no problem. Instead she chewed her tuna on rye and watched Molly as if she were a specimen on a laboratory slide.

  Molly regrouped and tied again. "My husband left me in a difficult situation. I never thought I'd have to rent a room to a stranger, but then I never thought I'd be having a baby alone either."

  "I'm not looking for friendship," Jessy Wyatt said, "if that's what you're afraid of. I'm pretty self-sufficient."

  "Actually that's what I was hoping for," Molly said, oddly stung by the young woman's blunt words. "I want this to be businesslike and uncomplicated for both of us. The fewer entanglements, the better."

  "I'm glad we understand each other." Jessy's accent wrapped itself around her words, softening their impact. Molly found herself with a newfound respect for the Southern woman. You could get away with a lot with an accent like that, much more than you could when your speech was laced with the Hudson River.

  "I don't want you to think that just because I'm pregnant and you're an obste—" She didn't need to finish the sentence. It was self-explanatory.

  "Good," said Jessy, "because I wouldn't ask you for a free room or use of your car."

  Molly felt heat rush to her cheeks in response. "I'm not trying to start an argument," she said. "I'm trying to bypass trouble."

  "I know that." Ah know that. "So am I." So am Ah. "Then we understand each other."

  "Perfectly."

  It was like dealing with a man. Jessy Wyatt didn't give up one more word than absolutely necessary, and the ones she gave up seemed to cause her physical pain. If she had been looking for friendship from her boarder, she would have been sorely disappointed.

  You knew without asking that Jessy Wyatt would never let a man catch her by surprise the way Molly had. She was too smart and independent for that. She would have known Robert was falling in love with another woman before he did. You could see it in the way she carried herself, almost daring the world to try to block her progress.

  "So when do you start your own practice'?" Molly asked, trying to ease them both into more conventional conversat
ion.

  "Around the millennium," Jessy said. She spooned more sugar into her iced tea. "I'm just starting my residency."

  "Oh," Molly refilled her own glass of tea from the bright red pitcher in the center of the table, then topped off Jessy's glass as well. "So you'll be in Princeton awhile."

  "Depends," said Jessy.

  "On what?"

  "On what Princeton has to say about that."

  "I don't follow."

  "I'm not sure I fit in."

  "That's all that's worrying you? Let me put your mind at ease: Nobody fits in except the natives."

  "And you know because you are one."

  "Me?" Molly laughed out loud. "Honey, you've got that all wrong. I'm no more a part of this place than you are."

  "You look like you belong."

  "So could you if you dressed differently." She sipped her tea then added a lemon wedge. It floated atop the perfect little ice cubes like a yellow crescent moon. "But there's a big difference, between, looking as if you belong and really belonging."

  "Tell me something I don't know."

  "I can tell you this," Molly said. "If you don't change your attitude, you won't stand a chance."

  "My attitude?" Mah attitude?

  "That chip on your shoulder is bigger than your accent."

  "I don't have a chip on my shoulder."

  Molly smiled and took another sip of iced tea. "Whatever."

  Jessy pushed aside her sandwich plate and leaned across the table. "What makes you think I have a chip on my shoulder?"

  "Forget I said anything." Molly offered a bland smile. "I'm always sticking my nose where it doesn't belong." I could shoot you, Spencer. Couldn't you have found me someone who actually likes me?

  "No," said Jessy, her expression growing more intense, "I really want to know why you said that. Nobody's ever said that to me before."

  Molly didn't bother to hide her surprise. "I would think you'd hear it hourly."

  Jessy pushed back her chair and stood up. "I don't much like being insulted."

  "I don't blame you," Molly said. "Nobody does."

  "So why did you do it?"

  "I didn't insult you. I'm trying to help you. If you're going to live here with me, you might want to pretend it wasn't a punishment."

  "I think you're the one with the problem," Jessy said. "I'm real sorry your husband died, but don't go taking it out on me."

  "Hold on a minute," Molly said, rising to her feet. "You want to say that again?"

  "I'll say it as many times as you want me to," Jessy shot back. "Just because your husband died and you have to take in strangers."

  "My husband didn't die," Molly broke in.

  Jessy's eyes widened. "Oh," she said, cheeks reddening. What was that all about? "I didn't realize. Is Spencer—"

  "Spencer's my lawyer. My husband walked out on me two months ago."

  #

  Jessy tried to concentrate on what Molly was saying, but the sound of her own relief overwhelmed everything else. Actually, relief sounded an awful lot like a heartbeat sliding toward arrhythmia, and it took a few deep breaths to bring it back to anything approaching normal. For one terrible moment she'd thought. Spencer and Molly were married. She knew it was irrational. Spencer Mackenzie's wife wouldn't be taking in boarders. You only had to look at his beautiful clothes and perfect hair to know that. Still, when Molly said she wasn't a widow and then mentioned Spencer's name, Jessy's heart came close to breaking.

  She wouldn't have thought it possible. Human hearts didn't break from emotion, especially not over someone just met. Everything she'd learned in med school pointed her away from such a belief. But none of that explained the way her heart had felt, as if someone had dragged a big rig across her chest.

  Relief wasn't much better. She felt giddy and disoriented. She understood maybe every fourth word Molly uttered.

  "Are you listening to me?" Molly demanded. She sounded exasperated, and Jessy couldn't blame her. "I just told you my whole story, and you haven't said a word."

  "Sorry," Jessy said. "I was thinking about a patient." She doubted Molly believed her, but it was the best she could do. Husband left . . younger woman took everything. She hoped that covered the highlights. "So you're getting a divorce?"

  Molly shot her a skeptical look that might have sent another woman running for cover. Jessy, however, was made of sterner stuff. At least, she pretended to be. "I'm getting a divorce. I'm having a baby. I can't afford to keep this house and I can't afford to sell it."

  "Which is where I come in?"

  "Exactly."

  "I was sleeping in the doctors' lounge," Jessy said. "I couldn't afford an apartment in town. Finding this"—she gestured broadly—"is a godsend." And finding Spencer Mackenzie was a downright miracle.

  They considered each other for what seemed like forever. You said too much, girl. Now she knows you're white trash and she'll send you packing. It was one thing to he left high and dry by a no-good husband. Everybody understood it wasn't your fault. They knew you were used to better. For Jessy, this was the best it had ever been. She had no doubt they knew that, too.

  "So what do you think?" Molly asked, folding her arms across her slightly rounded belly. "We don't have a whole lot in common. Do you think this can work?"

  "Like you said, we don't have to be friends. We just have to live together."

  "Talk to my husband," Molly said with a quick smile. "He'll tell you how good I am at that."

  "I'm willing if you are."

  Molly extended her right hand toward Jessy. She clasped Molly's hand and met her eyes. To her surprise she saw kindness in them and understanding and something that just might be the start of respect.

  #

  Rafe pushed the mower up and down the length of the backyard. The vertical blinds were open, and he could see Molly at the kitchen card table. She sat opposite the skinny little brown-haired woman he'd seen getting out of the faded green Chevy. They didn't look too happy. The skinny one was bent over her plate while Molly looked as if she wished she were anyplace but where she was. She had this habit of pushing food around with her fork, like a little kid hiding the peas beneath the mashed potatoes. He was learning all of her habits. He knew that she always rinsed dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, that she drank milk from a dark blue wineglass with a fragile stem, that the sweet curve of her body as she bent down to bring in the morning newspaper was the essence of beauty that had eluded poets for centuries. He didn't even like poetry, but somehow he knew this.

  He usually grabbed his lunch under the big maple tree opposite the sliding doors. It was a great spot. He could lean against the trunk and watch her moving around the kitchen while he polished off a hero and a can of Coke.

  He'd never seen a woman move the way Molly Chamberlain did. She didn't so much walk as glide, a supple, sinuous movement that rippled behind his eyes late at night when he couldn't sleep. He saw other wonders on those sleepless nights. Molly Chamberlain moving beneath him—her hips arching to meet his, her eyes closed, her, full round breasts softer than a whispered dream. Some mornings he couldn't meet her eyes because he was sure the moment she looked at him she'd know what he'd been thinking.

  Assuming she ever looked at him at all.

  The lawyer appeared in the kitchen. He said something, and the two women laughed. Polite laughter. It had to be. He'd never met a funny lawyer and he doubted if that Porsche-driving specimen would be the first.

  Molly pushed back her chair and stood up. The lawyer was at her side instantly, offering her a hand even though it was clear she'd already managed the feat on her own. She smiled up at the lawyer, looking more at ease, more comfortable than she ever had with Rafe. He knew that look. It was the same one Karen had used on every man but the one she was married to.

  They almost looked like a family in there. There was something about Molly and the lawyer that seemed preordained. She was the kind of woman who was meant to have certain things in life: a big house, a
nice car, an expensive husband. Somebody like the guy in the fancy suit who was dancing attendance around her.

  The sight bugged Rafe. It gnawed at his gut like a handful of jalapenos. Ever need proof which way the wind blows? Try being on the wrong side of Molly Chamberlain's window.

  #

  At first Spencer thought Jessy Wyatt was being polite. The last time anyone had listened so intently to one of his stories was when he was trying to explain to an irate judge why his client had decided a trip to the Bahamas was more important than showing up for her hearing.

  Molly usually paid fairly close attention to his stories, but her attention was wandering. She seemed more interested in glancing out the sliding doors to watch the help mow the lawn.

  No, it wasn't his story that was captivating the lady doctor.

  He was tempted to glance down and make sure his fly was zipped, but Jessy's eyes hadn't dropped from his face. He was accustomed to a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex. The lingering glance. Perfectly aimed half smile. A touch so soft you might have imagined it.

  But this was different. She wasn't flirting with him. She was declaring. The invitation was there. No doubt about that. But it was more than that. Her serious face was turned up to him like a flower, one of those scruffy orange lilies that grew along fences and at the side of the road. The kind he usually didn't notice unless somebody pointed them out.

  He wouldn't have noticed Jessy Wyatt in a crowd. Hell, he wouldn't have noticed her now with Molly Chamberlain sitting across the table from her, looking burnished and ripe and beautiful, except that she made it impossible for him to look away.

  He tried to turn it around and aim it back at her. "When will you be moving in, Jessy?"

  She took a sip of iced tea then smiled at him. Her lips were wet and glistening. Her teeth were small and white. She looked almost pretty when she smiled. "Tonight," she said, the word rising up on a Southern wave.