by Janet Dailey
“Let me out by the park up here, Delaney.”
His request took her by surprise. “Why? What for?” She spotted a turn-in just ahead and hurriedly switched lanes to take it.
“I need to walk…on grass instead of concrete,” he replied somewhat grimly.
Delaney found a place to park the car. She switched off the engine and started to gather up her purse. Jared pushed his door open.
“You don’t need to come with me, Delaney. I’ve taken up enough of your time today. I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel.” His fingers closed around the locket in his hand. “Thanks for this and for everything else you’ve done to try to help.”
“I wish it could have been more,” she said to his back as he climbed out the passenger side.
The door closed and she caught the waving flick of his hand in farewell before he moved away from the car, striking out across the grass into the park. She slipped the key back in the ignition, then hesitated. She had a last glimpse of him before he disappeared from view—his head down, his shoulders hunched forward. Not exactly a picture of dejection, more like someone lost, unsure where to go, what to do. Delaney doubted being alone was what he needed—or wanted—right now.
On impulse, she pulled the key from the ignition, got out of the car, locked it, and set out after him. She hadn’t gone far when she saw him standing in the shade of an oak, his head thrown back as if he was surveying the smog-layered sky above. Slowing her steps, Delaney angled toward him. When she was about ten feet away, there was a slight movement of his head in her direction, signaling his awareness of her approach.
She stopped beside him, half-expecting him to ask what she was doing there and make some kind of protest against her presence. But she didn’t expect the arm that came up and draped itself around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. Automatically she curved her own around the back of his waist.
Jared looked down at the locket still clutched in his right hand, a glimmer of moisture in his eyes. “This locket proves Kelly’s in L.A. If nothing else, it does that.” His fingers closed around it as he lifted his gaze. “I’ll find her. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find her.”
“You will,” Delaney agreed, convinced somehow he would.
When she leaned into his side, intending to give him a bolstering hug, Jared swung toward her and wrapped both arms around her, something fierce and needing in the tightness of his embrace. Delaney held on just as tightly, wanting to absorb some of his ache, some of the anguish over his missing sister. She had no idea how long they stood there, her head tipped to the side to avoid bumping the brim of his hat, holding him and being held by him.
“You’re good for me, Delaney,” he said in a thick and husky whisper near her ear. “You’re so damned good for me.”
At that moment Delaney didn’t care whether she was reading more into that statement than he meant. She turned her head, seeking and finding his lips. Instantly they closed on hers with a pressure that was hard and wanting, and she returned it without reservation, his arms binding her to him and her own locked around him, each straining for a greater closeness, needing it.
Others had kissed her with more finesse; others had made her feel more sexually alive; yet the simple roughness of his kiss called up feelings much more basic, much more ageless—feelings that made a woman want a man for reasons that went beyond sex and filled every corner with sparkling sunshine. She was dazzled by it, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.
Jared drew back, his callused hands framing her face, his breathing more than a little ragged. His eyes moved over her face, a warm glow shining from their dark centers.
“You’re one helluva woman, Delaney.” He pulled in a deep breath, shaking his head in a reluctant way. “And I think we’d better stop now, while we can.”
“You’re probably right,” she agreed, a little surprised to discover that despite the pounding of her heart and the almost violent ache inside, she felt remarkably calm.
“I am.” He lowered his head and kissed her lips with a tenderness that was at complete odds with his earlier roughness.
He stepped back, releasing her to take hold of her hand. They started walking, an aimless stroll, and Delaney wondered how she could possibly have forgotten the pleasure to be found in merely holding hands.
“Could I interest you in a change of scenery, Jared?” she asked. “Some place with acres of sky, a place with canyons and open spaces, a place where the buildings aren’t so close together and where there’s even a possibility of a home-cooked meal?”
“Next you’ll try to convince me such a place exists in this city,” he said skeptically but curiously.
“Not far from here,” she replied. “My place. I live in one of the mountain canyons above Malibu. My dad’s coming over for dinner tonight and I know he wouldn’t mind if you joined us.” She wanted her father to meet him. She wanted Jared to meet her father; she wanted to show Jared her home—her life. “What d’you say? Are you tired of restaurant food?”
“I’m tired of restaurant food, the four walls of my hotel room, and my own company.”
“Is that an acceptance?” She chided its form.
“No.” He stopped. “I’m afraid it’s an attempt to justify to myself why I’m going to accept.”
“Don’t justify it, Jared.” Was that her voice speaking so softly? “Just say you’d like to come.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’d like to come and have dinner tonight with you and your father.”
“See how easy that was?”
He kissed her again—with satisfying thoroughness. “That’s what’s easy, Delaney. Too easy.”
“I’m glad.”
His smile was a little stiff and a little rueful. “Then we’re a pair of fools.”
Privately, Delaney knew it was true. In two short weeks, he would return to his ranch in the mountains, his home in Colorado. Her life, her family, her career, her home were here in California. Every instinct told her not to become emotionally involved with Jared. But she, who’d always been such a realist, wasn’t listening to them. For the first time in her life, she was living for the moment and refusing to look ahead.
Some three hours later, Jared stood in her small but cheery white-enameled kitchen, his hat and jacket on the brass halltree in the entryway, one hip propped against the counter, a cold beer from the refrigerator in his hand, his eyes watching while she put away the groceries she’d bought at the market on their way to the house.
“It feels good to be in a kitchen again,” Jared remarked.
“After living in a hotel for a week, I’m sure it does.” She pushed her year-old German shepherd out of the way to open a lower cupboard door and set a five-pound bag of potatoes in its bin.
Jared touched a finger to a scallop-edged leaf of the Swedish ivy plant that trailed over its hanging basket near the window. “You like surrounding yourself with living things, don’t you?”
Delaney straightened from the cupboard and glanced at the plant beside him, remembering all the others in the combination living and dining room. “Isn’t that odd? I’ve never thought about my plants as living things, but they are, aren’t they?” she mused.
“Do you talk to them?”
“Only when they need it.” Smiling, she folded the empty grocery sack and put it away with the others. Finished, she took a wine cooler from the refrigerator and poured it into a tall glass. “Let’s go out on the patio. It’s too nice to stay inside.”
Signaling his agreement with action, Jared pushed away from the counter and waited for her to precede him out of the kitchen. Delaney led the way through the bungalow’s combination living and dining room, which retained much of its original Art Deco look, a look that had been popular when the house was built back in the thirties.
Crossing the room, she studied it with a critical eye, wondering whether Jared liked the mix of cool teal greens, delicate mauves, and warm pinks against the glazed dove gray walls and the scatt
ered touches of dramatic black. Did the room look comfortable and inviting to him—or a little too sleek, a little too modern? She was forced to admit there was little about it that was masculine. Would that bother him? Did he prefer something more rustic, something with more stone and wood? It was crazy to realize how much she wanted him to like her home.
“I see you have your chess board set up.” With his beer glass, Jared gestured at the chess table and flanking chairs situated along one wall.
“Always.” The German shepherd bounded ahead of them to the French-style patio doors, his tail wagging in eagerness.
“How long have you lived here?” Jared reached around her to open the right-hand door. The instant a crack showed, the shepherd made it wider and charged outside.
“Off and on practically all my life.” Delaney stepped through the doorway onto the flagstoned patio, shaded by a 500-year-old oak. “Permanently only the last three years. The house belonged to my mother. She left it to me in her will.”
She wandered over to stand by a wind-sculpted tree and lean a shoulder against its gnarled and twisted trunk, conscious of Jared coming up to stand beside her. Beyond stretched the green and gold hills of the coastal range with its series of mountainous canyons that linked the city’s western valleys with Malibu’s beaches. Overhead a hawk soared lazily, riding the current of a rising thermal. In the distance, the ocean was a hazy blue shimmer that almost blended in with the blue of the smog-free sky.
“My mother inherited it from a bachelor uncle years ago—before she married my father.” Delaney let her gaze follow the German shepherd as he made his rounds investigating to find out who and what had invaded his territory while he’d been locked in his kennel. “Dad would never let her sell it, no matter how lean the times got between acting jobs. It was partly pride on his part, but mostly he wanted her to have some kind of security, even if he couldn’t provide it.”
“He loved her.”
“Yes.” It was as simple as that, and Delaney was pleased Jared saw it. She turned at right angles to him, resting both shoulders against the oak’s trunk and idly studying him, liking the serious and quiet man before her. “While I was growing up, we used to spend some of our weekends here. Dad called it our private canyon hideaway.”
Suddenly the German shepherd started barking excitedly. A second later, Delaney heard a car coming up the drive to the house.
“My father,” she said to Jared in needless explanation. Together they went to meet him.
TEN
AS DELANEY GAVE THE SALAD A final toss, the oversized red cotton sweater slipped off one shoulder. She tugged it back in place, then laid the large salad fork and spoon aside and set the salad on an empty shelf in the refrigerator. She pushed the door shut with her hip and reached for the hand towel on the counter. She paused in midwipe, suddenly conscious of the absolute silence coming from the living room.
What on earth was wrong in there? Not twenty minutes ago, her father and Jared had been chatting away amiably. She hadn’t been surprised by that. Her father had a knack for getting along with anyone. Which was why the silence bothered her.
She moved cautiously to the door and almost laughed when she discovered the cause for the silence. There was Jared, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded in front of him, a satisfied look on his face; her father sat across the chess table from him, hunched over the board, a study of concentration. Her father considered himself a master of the game. She should have guessed he’d challenge Jared to a match when Jared mentioned in passing that he played chess.
Jared saw her and nodded. Still carrying the towel, Delaney walked out of the kitchen and crossed the dining area. “Do I dare ask who’s winning?”
She suspected she already knew the answer; Jared couldn’t have looked more confident if he had rocked back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, and put his feet up.
Her father turned his silvering head and fixed an accusing look on her. “Where did you find this guy?”
“I didn’t. He found me.” She stopped by his chair to study the board and automatically laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “I have a suggestion, Dad.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Concede the game and put the steaks on the grill. It’s checkmate in two moves no matter what you do.”
“True,” he admitted on a sigh. Then, with a show of graciousness in defeat, he lifted his hands and bowed his head to Jared. “The game is yours.” To Delaney, he said, “My error was in underestimating him. I was taken in by his cowboy boots. Never again.”
“I should hope not.” She grinned.
“I like him, though, even if he did beat me,” her father stated, and sent a twinkling glance at Jared.
“Thank you. I regard that as a compliment, Mr. Wescott,” Jared replied.
Her father gave an exaggerated wince. “Make that Gordon, please. Mr. Wescott sounds old, and regardless of the gray in my hair, I am not old.”
“It’s the Peter Pan syndrome,” Delaney explained. “Nearly every actor has it. It’s what enables them to play ‘pretend’ so believably.”
“Don’t take away all our mystique, Delaney.” Her father pushed his chair back from the chess table, his smile telling her not to take his complaint seriously. She knew better and recognized the smile was for Jared’s benefit rather than hers. “Where are the steaks?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Lead me to them.” He stood up. “I hope you like yours medium, Jared. It’s the only way I know how to cook them.”
“Medium’s fine.” Jared set about putting away the chessmen.
All the way to the kitchen Delaney was conscious of her father’s jaunty air and the speculating gleam in his eye each time he glanced her way. She knew what he was thinking and felt oddly embarrassed by it, something that hadn’t happened to her since she was a teenager. She gave the hand towel a toss onto the counter and picked up the plate of strip steaks and long tongs.
Before she could turn, her father whispered near her ear, “Don’t let this one get away.”
“Stop it, Dad.” She turned and pushed the plate and the tongs into his hands, telling him the same things she’d been telling herself. “He’s from out of town and—”
“Don’t try to convince me you invited him to dinner out of pity,” he chided with fake sternness. “That isn’t pity I see in your eyes when you look at him.”
“You’re my father. You’re not supposed to see what’s in my eyes.”
His quick, low laugh drew a smile from her. With his hands full, he gave her a nudge with his elbow. “Go get him, honey.” He feigned a drawl. “Rope and tie and brand him if you have to.”
She grabbed the towel from the counter and threatened to snap him with it. “Out.”
He left, still chuckling to himself. Delaney shook her head, in truth more pleased than exasperated. With a raking comb of her fingers, she slipped her dark hair away from her face and picked up a loaf of freshly baked Italian bread. As she slipped the loaf out of its white paper sack, she heard the heavy tread of booted feet on the hardwood floor outside the tiled kitchen. A look over her shoulder found Jared in the doorway.
“Is there something I can help with? I’m starting to feel like a fifth wheel.”
“How are you at setting tables?”
“I’ve had some experience.”
She smiled at the dry humor in his voice and took a stack of three plates from the cupboard. “Have at it.” She handed them to him and went back to her own task of slicing the crusty bread into thick chunks and placing them in the electric bun warmer.
He came back for the water glasses and again for the silverware and napkins. When he returned to the kitchen a third time, Delaney had the butter dish, condiments, and steak sauces sitting out on the counter for him. He carried them off to the table, then wandered back in.
“What else?”
“I’ll have the salads ready in a minute.” She retrieved the spinach salad from the re
frigerator and placed the wooden bowl on the counter next to the salad plates.
Jared strolled over to lean a hip against the counter and watch. “By the way, I like your father. In some ways he isn’t what I expected.”
Aware of his opinion of celebrities in general, Delaney didn’t need an explanation of that remark. Instead, she simply nodded. “I know. My dad’s warm, caring, and funny at times—as well as irresponsible and impractical.”
“But you’re not. Irresponsible and impractical, I mean.”
“Somebody has to be the parent.” She shrugged and the sweater slipped off her shoulder again.
Before she could pull it back up, his fingers were there, the back of them brushing the rounded point of her shoulder as he drew the knitted red cotton over it. “It isn’t easy being the strong one all the time, is it?”
She looked at him, a little stunned by his astuteness, then realized he’d experienced the same thing with his sister. “No, it isn’t. But you know that.”
“Yes.” He lightly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, tracing the angle of her jaw to her chin, then coming up to rub the side of his finger along her lower lip. He watched it, staring at her mouth. Her breathing became shallow, anticipating his kiss. Instead he drew away, curling his finger into his palm. “I think I’ll go see how your father’s coming with the steaks while you finish up here.”
Delaney watched him go, thoroughly confused. He had wanted to kiss her; she knew she wasn’t wrong about that. But he hadn’t. Why?
At dinner, her father typically dominated the conversation, covering a wide range of subjects before settling on the one he loved best: acting and his early days in Hollywood. Having heard the stories before, Delaney listened with only half an ear—until he started talking about her mother, how they met, their courtship and marriage. He’d hardly talked about her mother since her death—certainly not to a stranger. She was surprised he was doing it now. Then suddenly it hit her and she wanted to kick him under the table for his subtle attempt at matchmaking.