Jack's Heart, page 20
“I made a promise,” Ed said softly.
“I figured you did. It was probably the only way to get Jack to be here at the Slash-C when he first came — ah, yes, I see from his face that it was.”
What the hell she meant by that when he was damned sure not a muscle in his face had budged he didn’t know.
“I’d never ask you to break a promise, Ed,” she was saying. “The problem is that what Jack needed when he first came has become a burden now. It’s like a puppy that you keep inside a fenced yard when it’s young so it doesn’t wander off, get hurt. But as it grows up, the yard is too small, the dog doesn’t have the space it needs. Ah, I see you don’t like being compared to a puppy, Jack.”
“I didn’t—”
“How about this analogy, then. I knew a dancer who hurt her leg. She had to protect it for quite a while so it could heal. But then the time came when the doctor said it was time to start using it. The first time she tried it hurt. It hurt a lot. So, instead of trying to do a little more on it each day, she went back to protecting it. And the muscles grew weaker and weaker. Until she could barely use those muscles at all.
“Whatever your injury, Jack, I know it was real. I know it was — and is — painful. You needed to protect yourself early on. All that’s true. It’s also true that you made a change some time back. So slow, so gradual, it was hard to spot. You surely didn’t realize it at the time or I’m sure you’d’ve tried to undo it. Might not realize it even now, but we’re not going to let you undo it. At the start, and for quite a while, you worked each day like it was a limbo to be endured, only to face the same thing the next day. You worked hard, but with no heart. What’s changed is the heart. And that’s meant you start a day looking forward to what it holds.
“But you’re still standing back seeing what the day sends. You’re not reaching out to grab hold of it. You’re still in a cast.”
For an instant he thought she’d said past. He made the mistake of meeting her gaze during that instant.
She didn’t let up. “That’s gone on too long. Now you’ve got to stop protecting your injury. You’ve got to risk some pain. Or you’ll never be able to stand on both feet again.”
She put one hand to his cheek.
“Ed made you a promise. I didn’t. Not then, anyway. But I am making you one now. I’m going to do my best to push, prod, and order you into using those parts of you you’ve let weaken to such a dangerous level by trying to protect them. Starting by saying, yes, you will come to the party tomorrow. As part of your official duties as foreman of the Slash-C, as one of the representatives of the Slash-C, and as our friend.”
She smiled that sweet smile at him, and if he wasn’t numbed by the fact that she’d as good as threatened him, he might have smiled back.
“That includes escorting Valerie to the party. No — don’t even try. Besides, it won’t take all that much time, since she’s staying in the office again tonight. Don’t forget the spare bulbs for the colored lights, Ed,” she added before walking away as calmly as ever.
Ed clapped one hand to his shoulder, and said with a blend of compassion and humor, “You’re in for it now, son.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Valerie unhooked the office’s screen door, pushed it open to let Addie outside. But not wide enough that she’d have to see him standing on the porch calling for her, as Donna had ordered.
From behind the door, Val said, “I’ll be ready in a minute. Will you keep an eye on Addie? Donna will be here anytime to pick her up. Okay?”
She’d let the door swing closed while her daughter made for the flower box on the north side of the porch. But now she opened it up again, stepped out and said, “Will you keep an eye on her?”
It seemed an unnecessary question. “I’m looking at her,” he pointed out. Better to focus on the daughter than the mother anyhow. Especially since he’d seen she was wearing a dress. How could someone so short have legs that looked like that?
“Not the same thing. And I’m not risking something happening to her because I thought you were watching her and you didn’t hear me or otherwise know you were supposed to be looking out for her.”
“Okay, okay. I’m watching.”
“Okay.” She pivoted, swung the door wide, and marched inside. Each motion swung the material of that dress, hinting at a slightly different combination of muscles, bones, sinew and flesh working together. The combinations gave him a fresh appreciation for the formation of her bottom and legs that had his throat working long after the door slapped closed.
This was bad.
He had to get his mind — and other parts of him — to stop fixating on her backside. Or any other parts of her.
He dropped down to sit on the porch, twisting sideways to lean against the post, and putting one boot on the porch floor, the other down a step, letting the bent leg cover the tightness in his jeans.
Addie straightened from the flower bed, then brushed her hands against each other in a gesture that was so like her mother that he looked away. He kept listening, however, tracking her footsteps on the wooden porch.
So he wasn’t entirely surprised when the toe of first one pint-sized shoe, then another entered the limited field of vision allowed by his lowered cowboy hat.
“Whatcha doing, Jack?”
Instead of answering, he huhed in disapproval. “You’ve got a shoelace untied. Step on that and you’ll go down on your nose.”
“Dow’ on ’er nose,” she parroted.
“Or worse,” he added, since she didn’t seem to be taking it seriously. He took the trailing laces in his big hands and wondered if he’d be able to manipulate them. Amazing that the entire foot of this decidedly individual human being wasn’t much longer than his thumb. “You shouldn’t be wearing those flimsy things at all. You need boots if you’re going to be walking around here.”
“Boots like Brennan.”
“That’s right.” He figured with the Trimarco females it was best to grab hold of anything resembling agreement whenever you had the chance. “Boots’ll protect your feet better from rocks—”
“Rocks.”
“—or twisting your ankle—” He pulled the loop through on the bow.
“Ankle.”
“—or snakes.” A double knot should keep it more secure. Might as well do the other one, too.
“Snakes.”
He shouldn’t have said that one. “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t let you go where snakes are. But sometimes they can be where you don’t expect them.”
Like Valerie Trimarco was where he’d definitely never expected her. Inside his head. Inside—.
“Why are they were you don’t ’spect ’em?”
“Because they’re sneaky. That’s why you have to listen when I say no.” Why wouldn’t her mother listen when he said no? Why wouldn’t any of them? He patted the top of her second shoe, signifying the complete of his double-knot there. “Understand?”
She didn’t answer or repeat. Instead she dropped down into a squat in front of him, bringing her head under the brim of his hat, still lowered from his focus on her shoes.
Before he reacted to that she reached out and put her palms on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.
Forcing him.
Ridiculous. As if she had the muscle to force him to do anything.
But she had the power.
The memory of Donna’s one-handed version of this touch flashed through him.
He felt the rub of grit still on Addie’s palms, proving her Valerie-like brushing off movement hadn’t completely succeeded. Then, as he brought his gaze to her face, it felt as if the grit had transferred to his eyes and his throat.
Yes, she definitely had the power.
Forced or not, he was looking at her, just as she’d wanted.
He stared into this child’s eyes. Open wide, hiding nothing. So … safe. He didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes exactly like that.
Her mother’s eyes were similar, the melting color, the shape, the dark lashes. But with Val there was that zing between them that complicated things. Even when Val was determined to ignore the zing, the effort that took cast a shadow that proclaimed the existence of what it tried to deny.
With Addie it was simpler. Simpler than he could ever remember. Ever.
“Don’t be scared, Jack,” Addie said.
Lost in staring at her eyes, he struggled to absorb the words.
“Scared? I’m n—”
Donna Currick’s voice cut across his. “Addie, are you ready? Time to come over to the main house.”
Addie dropped her hold on Jack’s face and skipped down the stairs without a care.
Leaving him suspended, still feeling her hold. On his cheeks and in a part of him so much deeper than his flesh.
Donna took Addie’s offered hand at the bottom of the stairs and turned to start away, then turned back. “Sorry to interrupt, Jack, but I had to so you wouldn’t lie to a child.”
She was gone before he could protest.
Lie? What—
Oh. He’d been about to tell Addie he wasn’t scared. Donna meant—
Before he could complete the thought, much less absorb the impact, the screen door squeaked open, then slapped closed. He came to his feet, needing to be on his feet, ready to move. It had nothing to do with avoiding a repeat of the moment at the Flying W foreman’s house, looking up at her, feeling gravity shift.
Val stood in front of him, a tilted smile on her face. “Scary, isn’t she?”
He thought she meant Addie. But Donna qualified, too, so maybe she meant both.
That thought might be what slowed his reactions enough that he didn’t anticipate.
Before he knew it, Val had put her hands up to his cheeks, where Addie’s had been. But the effect of this touch was not at all the same.
The grubbiness of Addie’s contact had scratched down through layers of resistance in ways he hadn’t realized until Val’s palms — for all their cool smoothness — flowed heated balm into him.
“That girl of mine would have been branded a witch for sure if she’d been born three- or four-hundred years ago.” Her soft palms brushed at the grit on one side, then the other. “Did you know there were women accused of witchcraft in Gloucester right around the same time as Salem? But none of ours were ever hanged. So there’s probably witch blood flowing through—”
He stopped her words and her motion by grasping her wrists. His hands easily encircled the narrow juncture of delicate bones.
She looked up, and there were those eyes. Like her daughter’s, not at all like her daughter’s. Wide, and brown, and challenging, and warm … heating.
Her breathing had picked up. Without looking away from her eyes, he was aware of her breasts rising and falling faster under the light fabric of that dress. Narrow straps were all that held it up.
“Have to go.” His words were jerky.
She nodded. “You’re right. We don’t want to be late for the party.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but what choice did he have?
He released her wrists, and watched her descend the stairs in front of him. He sucked in a breath and followed her.
*
Val absently rubbed a wrist.
She’d caught herself doing that ever since they joined the people happily milling around the patio and into the main house. She did it absently while she greeted, helped, talked, laughed, shared, mingled with people she’d come to like a lot. She was having a good time, truly she was. Yet she was partially disconnected. Because, as she did all those things, a portion of her was still back in that moment.
He hadn’t hurt her. Certainly hadn’t left any bruises. But he had left an impression.
Many impressions, in fact.
Of the strength and weight of his hands.
Of the physical contact’s effect on her hormones. Which had mostly been He’s touching me. Yay! Let’s go for more!
Of the struggle inside the man. The flex and release of his hold. Never enough to hurt, at least not to hurt her, but what about himself? It was as if that flex and release had been a barometer to emotions pulsing through him. And his emotions had had nothing to do with the Let’s-party response of her hormones.
What it all came down to was that instinct had made him grasp her wrists. But then he hadn’t known what to do with the grip he had on her.
Her heartbeat stuttered at broader implications of that thought.
He didn’t know what to do with the grip he had on her.
That didn’t bode well for her.
*
He’d done better than he usually did at parties.
Maybe with so many guests it was natural that he’d find a few — or they found him — to sit with at a table, interspersing widely separated comments into watching the swirl of people.
Ed came by, set a drink in front of him and clapped him on the shoulder with a “Good boy.” Shane Garrison and his father came and sat for a while, talking with him about sports and the ranch. Matty brought him a plate of food that could have lasted a village a week. Lisa gave him a sisterly hug before being called away. Addie, Brennan and a half dozen other kids zipped around the table three times in some game of their own making. On the last pass Addie threw her arms around as much of him as she could, shouted, “Jack!” in his ear, then took off again. Taylor took the seat Shane had occupied earlier and asked about Phantom, then listened when Cal showed up and the talk turned to cattle. While they were at it, Donna stood at the far side of the table, smiled beatifically and gave him a nod of approval that would have warmed him if he’d let it.
Val kept her distance.
That was okay. In fact it was good. The dress was worse than that damned white blouse. If he’d had to see it up close…
Between her keeping her distance, the size of the crowd, and the blue of the dress blending in more than her blouse had Thursday night, especially once it got full dark, it was harder to keep track of her. That was good, too.
Until he didn’t spot her at all. As much as half an hour since he’d last seen her for sure. Back when Addie had been over there on the porch swing with some other kids, being read a story by Shane’s mother, and Val had been nearby.
He stood to look over the section of patio filled with dancing couples. No Valerie.
Maybe she was putting Addie to bed in one of the rooms used as kids’ dorms. He’d seen how that worked at other parties. They stacked ’em up side by side like firewood and the kids slept like they’d been knocked out — maybe they had, from the combination of excitement, food, exercise, and stimulation. But they recovered fast, waking up early, ready for the next adventure while the parents, some of whom had stayed up dancing most of the night, could only groan.
He sat back down and waited as long as he thought it might take to put a kid to bed, plus two minutes. He didn’t waste the time, using it to scan the crowd more carefully. No Valerie Prudence Trimarco.
Time was up.
She was gone. Missing.
He made himself breathe slowly. She wasn’t missing. Zoe Parisi had said Angi Pilson was on her way back to Minnesota, and certainly no one here presented a danger to Val.
He stood, excused himself.
He’d brought her here, even if it was only a hundred feet from the ranch office. He’d find her.
He took a deliberate route from his table’s back corner, though the maze of other tables, around the dancers, past a spattering of couples along the corral fence. One couple slipped into the barn, but the female wore jeans, not a blue dress, and had blonde hair, not dark curls.
By now he was in the open area between the main house and the other buildings. As he kept walking, he looked at the rows of parked vehicles, but few had left. He saw a female figure among them … then recognized the minister’s wife returning to the party with a sweater.
A dim light showed from the office, but it was hard to tell if it was inside or the reflection of landscaping and party lights. He angled closer to it.
Enough light showed inside that he saw the temporary ladder set up to reach the loft, now that the staircase was down for the week.
Movement.
On the ladder.
He was across the space, up the steps, in the screen door before he knew it.
“What the hell, Valerie—”
She looked over her shoulder, which was damned stupid, since she only had one hand holding the side of the ladder, while the other held a stack of books. “Oh. Hi, Jack.”
As he swung the main door closed behind him, he controlled his voice. If she slipped — “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Coming down the ladder.” She suited action to word. Down one rung, then the next.
He refused to let his eyes notice the way the skirt moved around her legs. Or how much of her legs he could see.
“Everybody said I could borrow as many books as I wanted any time. They said there are lots about old-time cowboys like you’d talked about. I found some that look really interesting. Cowboys from back in the late 1800s writing about their lives—” she hitched a shoulder to indicate the books she held. “—and I thought I’d like to read them, so I — ah.”
“What the—”
But she’d righted herself before he was to the ladder. He wasn’t worried about the sturdiness of the ladder. He’d built it to hold his weight. But she had on flat-soled sandals that could have had a layer of ice permanently attached to their bottoms, judging by the way they slid across the rung. The armful of books didn’t help.
“You’re going to break your neck wearing those shoes. Give me the books.”
She handed down the books, which he tossed on the seat of an overstuffed chair nearby.
“They are a little slippery. The shoes, not the books.”
Smiling, she turned to look at him as she said that, and the soles of her sandals slid across the rung again.
“A little,” he grumbled. He grabbed at her, and got a fistful of skirt with one hand, while the other was spread wide, cupping the curve of her butt cheek through the fabric.
“Oh!”
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