by Elaine Fox
He watched her swallow as her eyes left his. “Maybe so.”
“Good, ’cause I’ll be more than happy to forget about him. But I suggest you stop bringing him up. Jesus, all I’ve heard all day is ‘Jim this’ and ‘Jim that.’ If you don’t want to talk about him, you sure have a weird way of showing it.”
She took a step forward and poked a finger through the air at him. “You see, that’s just the point. It shouldn’t bother you if I talk about my husband or not. I shouldn’t even have to think about bringing him up in front of you. Oh God, I shouldn’t be living here. This is all so awkward.”
Jack straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, where the mention of her living somewhere else had set up an unexpected fluttering of dread. “Actually, that’s not the point. But if you’d like to make it the point, go right ahead.”
“It is the point.”
“No, it’s not. The point is you pull this husband out of your hat when you need him and get prickly whenever anyone else does. Why is that, Delaney? I don’t think it’s just because of that night we spent on the beach.”
The flush that had seemed so sensual before was now angry, and her eyes flashed. She glanced once out into the empty hallway and stepped closer to him. “Would you please keep your voice down? I don’t pull him out of my hat.”
Jack straightened as she neared, resisting an urge to touch her. “Sure you do.”
“No I don’t. I just talk about him because he’s—well, he’s a fact of my life. And the sooner you get used to that the better.”
Jack raised a brow. “I don’t think I’m the only one who needs to get used to it.”
Color rose to her cheeks again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You argue just like a man—in circles.”
He threw out his hands. “Forgive me. But you argue like a woman with something to hide.”
She took a sharp breath, her expression tight. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t even imagine what you mean, and don’t try to tell me. I don’t need you speculating about my life any more than I need you living next door. You don’t know a thing about me.”
“That’s not true,” he said, taking two slow steps toward her, close enough to reach out and run a finger down her soft cheek, though he didn’t. “I know one thing,” he continued quietly, as Ross clattered down the steps and out the front door. “I know you were once the type to have sex on an empty beach with a guy you’d just met.”
At that the glow in her cheeks drained away. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths. She opened her mouth to speak but it was a moment before the words emerged, and then they were husky and low. “I was not the only one who was once that type.”
“Yes, but I was not married.” As soon as he said it, Jack regretted it. What if she really was married? What if everything she said was true? If that were the case, then it was a low, mean thing to say, and he wasn’t ordinarily a low, mean person. But something about her story just didn’t jibe, and something inside of him could not let it lie.
He shook his head and glanced at the floor, unsure whether to apologize or press on. At least this way they were talking, he was finding out things about her. And for some reason he didn’t want to analyze, he really did want to find out things about her.
Delaney stepped back, resting one hand on the back of an armchair. Her eyes darted to the window, resting on the two movers who were wrestling a chest of drawers from the back of the truck.
Jack thought about asking straight out if the baby had a father, then imagined offering himself as a comfort, as assistance in handling the town and the gossips. He could help her, he thought. He could be gentle and kind, he could win her over—
“You weren’t exactly honest with me back then either, Jack.” She spat out his name like a bad taste.
Her tone snapped him out of the silly reverie. Whether she needed him or not, she sure as hell didn’t want him.
“What do you mean? It’s not like I had a wife stashed in the attic.”
Her pupils seemed to dilate. She looked like a wild kitten who, cornered, had no choice but to bite its captor. “You told me you didn’t do that sort of thing all the time. But somehow ever since I got here all I’ve been hearing about are the sexual exploits of Jack Shepard. According to my sources you’re Harp Cove’s very own soap opera.”
Jack gave her a delighted look. “I’m flattered to know you’re so interested. Though I have to say I would’ve given you more credit than to put stock in rumors.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “I’m not that interested, I just hear things. And it’s hard to believe they’re just rumors when everyone says the same thing. And I do mean everyone.”
“Well, for your information, I don’t do that sort of thing all the time. And if you continue to listen to the gossips, you’re going to find out a lot more things I’ve never done.”
She looked decidedly disconcerted, and her eyes cast around the room as if for something to throw. “And—and—you said you were a teacher.”
He frowned, off guard. “I am a teacher.”
She raised her chin along with one eyebrow. “You’re a coach. There’s a difference.”
He took the words in slowly. “That’s right. And I teach physical education. Something wrong with that?”
She looked at him from beneath lowered brows. “Well, it’s—it’s not exactly molecular biology, now, is it?”
“Did I ever say I taught molecular biology?”
“You said you were a teacher.” She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “When you say that, one naturally assumes math or history or something. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Just like it doesn’t matter that you’ve apparently dated every woman who ever passed through Harp Cove and never mentioned that.”
He cocked his head. So the kitten did know how to bite. “I’m sorry if I violated the terms of our disclosure agreement. But I think a secret husband tops anything I may or may not have said.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The fact is we each misrepresented ourselves. I think we’re even.”
He ran a hand through his hair. He had no one to blame but himself if the kitten bit him hard enough to break the skin. He was the one who’d started it, taunting her about her husband.
What he didn’t understand was why her sudden jab bothered him so much. He loved what he did, and he didn’t need her good opinion. If she had a problem with it, she was not the kind of person he’d thought she was, and that was that. He should be relieved she was married.
“Just because my job’s not up to your high standards doesn’t mean I misrepresented myself,” he said. “We can’t all be doctors and lawyers, Mrs. Poole.”
He studied her face as she dropped her gaze to the floor. Her near-black hair shimmered in the light coming through the window, her left hand fingered a tattered spot on the armchair beside her.
He looked at her, and he couldn’t help thinking there had to be something else at work here that would make her go on the offensive like that. Surely she didn’t really think less of him because he was a coach. Or could it be her prettiness had him thinking she was a better person than she really was?
She frowned, then sighed. “I know. Listen—I know. I, ah, I’m sorry, about your job—”
“You’re sorry about my job?”
“I mean, what I said about your job.” Her fingers worked at the spot on the chair. “I don’t mean to sound like such a jerk. I—I respect your work.”
“Uh-huh.” Did he really want her to change her tune? No, it would be better if she were a jerk, he told himself.
She shook her head. “No, really. I do. And I think you’re probably a wonderful teacher. It’s just…” She took a quick breath and seemed to come to a decision. She looked up. “I just don’t like being made to feel…as if I was the only one who had a one-night stand that night.”
He exhaled slowly. So she wasn’t a snob. Dammit.
“You see, I’ve been feeling bad about Jim,” she
continued, “and I’ve been feeling bad about myself, and—and I don’t need to feel as if I committed some horrible crime against you, too.” She looked up at him, her lovely pale eyes full of emotion. “Besides, you didn’t expect any more from it than I did. It’s not as if you asked for my phone number or anything.”
It was true. He hadn’t asked for her number, and he’d kicked himself for it time and again. And now he was kicking her because she obviously hadn’t spent the last year thinking about him the way he’d thought about her.
“Come on, Jack,” she said softly. “We both knew what we were doing that night.”
He looked down and laughed once, without humor. “I thought I did at the time, anyway.”
She stiffened. “If you mean you didn’t know I was married, can you honestly say that would have stopped you?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said.
But he couldn’t tell her what he did mean: that at the time he’d thought making love with her would be a lot less significant than it had turned out to be. That when he’d taken her to that beach he had thought it’d be a one-night stand, which was exactly why he hadn’t asked for her number afterward. His mind and heart a tumult, he’d fallen back on habit. He’d taken her back to her B&B, given her a passionate kiss to remember him by, and left like a thief in the night.
What he hadn’t counted on was not being able to get her out of his head once she’d gone.
“I can’t say whether knowing you were married would have stopped me or not.” He shook his head and looked at her. “I really don’t know. Maybe not.”
She looked relieved, and her expression softened. “Then let’s stop throwing blame around, shall we? I want to blame you to assuage my guilt, and you want to blame me because—I don’t know…?”
She looked expectantly at him, but he said nothing.
“Well, maybe because I’m blaming you.” She waved a hand that, he noted, still wore no ring. “So what do you say…truce?”
He gazed at her, at her pale, smooth skin, her guarded eyes, the brave tilt of her chin.
One corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “You ever think about wearing a wedding ring? It might stop a few problems before they start.”
She allowed a small smile. “Rings get in the way, when I work.”
“Then maybe a sign, or something. You’re just too damn pretty to be walking around looking available. It’s dangerous.”
His compliment was rewarded with a genuine, if embarrassed, smile. She looked down, obviously disconcerted, and clasped her hands in front of her.
She was too damn pretty, he thought. And it was a shame how well he remembered that prettiness, from her head to her toes.
“Thank you,” she said, and moved toward the door in a businesslike way. “And if I get a firm date when Joe will be moving up, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
He frowned. “Joe?”
She stopped—hesitated for what he found to be a crucial second—while her face flamed red. “Jim. My husband. I said Jim.”
Chapter 7
Delaney’s heart thundered in her chest, pushing blood through her ears with a sound like a freight train. She’d gotten her husband’s name wrong. How much stupider could she get? The implications were overwhelming. And the look on Jack’s face told her those implications were not lost on him. Despite his earlier investigative prodding, the realization that he might actually be onto something seemed to shock him.
“No you didn’t.” His eyes were pinned on what she knew were her scarlet cheeks, her deer-in-the-headlights expression. He took a step toward her. “No, you said ‘Joe.’ I heard you. It was very clear. You said ‘Joe.’”
Delaney punched out a laugh and turned for the door, mostly to hide her face, for she knew he wouldn’t let her leave without an explanation. Her mind spun like a hula-hoop out of control, awkward and desperate, in danger of hitting the floor at any moment. She heard a voice that might have been her mother’s emerge from her mouth. “Don’t be silly, Jack. I’ve got a lot of work to do now. I’ll see you later.”
“Delaney.”
She turned at the door, her hand on the knob. “What?”
She tried to look bored but couldn’t do it. The mental hula-hoop careened wildly. The look in his eyes was giddy.
“You said ‘Joe,’ Delaney. What’s going on?”
Her pulse hammered in her neck, she could feel it, knew it was probably visible from where he stood. Was he tallying all the evidence? Was he even now figuring out what would cause her to concoct such an outrageous lie? Fear and suspicion combined to keep that vein beneath the skin of her neck pulsing with the tempo of a band full of castanets.
But it didn’t matter, she thought, grabbing her tumultuous thoughts with two firm mental hands. It didn’t matter if he suspected her of lying because he couldn’t prove it and he could never be sure. Not without her admission, or a paternity test which she would never, ever, as long as she and Emily lived, give him.
She inhaled. She could have a poker face. She could, right now, perfect the perfectly unreadable expression. “Nothing’s going on. What’s the matter with you?”
Her voice was high and unnatural, but he didn’t know her well enough to know that. Did he?
She endured his scrutiny a moment longer than necessary, then sighed. “Okay, maybe I did say Joe.” She rolled her eyes and muttered, “This is so embarrassing.”
He leapt on it. “What is?”
“It’s—it’s a little game we play. See, his middle name is Joseph. James Joseph. So sometimes I call him Joe, sometimes Jim. I don’t usually slip up in front of other people, though. I’m sorry if I confused you.”
“Sometimes you call your husband Joe?” He looked so incredulous she almost had to laugh. Hysteria, no doubt.
She shrugged and looked away. “Sure. Jim, Joe…Jim-Joe, whatever. Depends on my mood. It’s a silly thing, you know. One of those silly little things married couples do.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know many married couples who call each other by the wrong name.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “It’s not the wrong name. It’s his middle name. Besides, not many married couples let you see the intimate games they play. It’s just one of those things.”
For a second she imagined herself and her phantom husband in the cottage’s tiny kitchen calling each other by the wrong name and laughing over it. What morons, she thought. But part of her felt a pang for that missing camaraderie.
Jack nearly disputed her—she could tell by the incredulous look on his face—but stopped short. “Yeah, one of those things,” he said instead.
What did he think? she wondered. Could he possibly be figuring out she’d made up her husband? It was so outlandish, even to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone suspecting it. And yet, it seemed so obvious to her that she didn’t have a husband she also couldn’t imagine anyone believing it.
“Listen, I really do have work to do.” Delaney opened the door. She looked at him, taking in the suspicious expression on his handsome face, and felt suddenly fatigued. “I hope it’s not always so awkward between us, Jack,” she added impulsively.
His eyes met hers, and her heart stuttered. Whenever he looked at her she felt so nervous, as if the direction of his gaze were one of those red laser rifle sights. Was this what Kim had meant when she talked about the way he had of looking at you when he was interested?
But no, she thought. She remembered that look. It was the one that had caused her to invite him out of the Hornet’s Nest that night, ostensibly for some air. Out of the bar and onto the beach.
His eyes scanned her face. “I hope so too, Delaney,” he said finally.
Delaney dipped her head, glad that he seemed willing to call a truce, and turned in the doorway. But he called her back, her name on his lips sending a shiver up her spine.
She turned back with a questioning expression. Polite, she hoped, revealing nothing about the effect he had on her.
He paused. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable. It’s really the last thing I want.”
Relief coursed through her, and she realized that until that instant she’d been thinking of him as the Enemy. Words crowded her head—words of gratitude, relief, communion, understanding—but responses close to her heart would take too long to explain. Would be impossible to explain, really, without giving away the whole mixed-up reality within her.
Finally, she just smiled and said thanks, closing the door behind her when she left as if he were the one who lived there instead of her.
One of those things, Jack thought as he sat on a barstool at the Hornet’s Next, twisting the base of his beer bottle in the circle of its own condensation. One of those things that make people suspect your husband’s a fake. How many married couples have that problem?
Jim-Joe…One of those games married people play…It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Which was the problem. It was ridiculous enough to be true. And Delaney had certainly looked embarrassed enough explaining it to him.
Jack took a sip of the beer and went back to swirling the bottle in the puddle on the bar.
No, the husband was probably real, and Jack was just a fool with an overactive imagination. A fool and a jerk for pressuring her to explain things she shouldn’t have to explain. After all, what business was it of his what she called her husband?
“Hey, Jack,” Kevin said, emerging from the door at the back of the bar and heading toward the counter.
Jack looked up, raised his chin in his brother’s direction, a perfunctory acknowledgment. “Hey.”
The bartender moved to the end of the bar closest to the door. Elbows on the counter, he bent low to talk to Nancy Fuller, a woman who seemed always to be in the Nest, always in that seat, and always in a half-inebriated state.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Kevin’s eyes took in the bandage at Jack’s temple and he smirked.
As much as Kevin complained about Jack’s lack of responsibility, he sure seemed to revel in every example of it. In fact, despite his protestations, Jack was pretty sure Kevin hoped he would never change, Kevin’s own mortgaged life looking so good in comparison.