My Husband, My Babies, page 15
Water cascaded over his head. It ran into her face when she looked up at him, her mouth open. She spit out a mouthful of water like a swimmer surfacing, then arched back as if to scold him more.
The last thing Sam wanted to hear was a lecture. He wanted someone to hold him and tell him things were going to be okay, but he’d settle for a pair of lips on his. Jenny’s lips.
Ducking his head beneath the cascade, he kissed her.
She struggled against him for the space of a heartbeat then her fists went flat. Her eyes closed—against the emotion she was feeling or the water he didn’t know. Or care. Separated by a sopping sweatshirt and saggy flannel—two of the least sexy materials known to man—Sam’s body reacted as if Jenny were modeling the latest fashions from Victoria’s Secret. The steam finally loosened the knot in his chest, but now another knot built—lower.
A voice of reason tried to push past the greedy, life-affirming rejoicing in his mind. But she felt so good in his arms, so right, he couldn’t quit.
And somewhere in the middle of his pheromone-saturated brain, a truth solidified. Jenny was kissing him back. Her lips parted to give him freer access. A tiny sigh passed between them, and he swallowed it like a balm to his parched soul.
She tasted of mint toothpaste and herbal tea. Her tongue started out shy but quickly dived into a passionate exchange that made Sam think about where he might have stashed his condoms. It had been so long since he’d needed them, he couldn’t remember.
That tiny foray into reality sucked Sam into a big white room with a warning beacon flashing: What the hell are you doing, O’Neal? Think.
Reality hit like a bucket of ice water. Too much. Too soon. He wasn’t a hormone-driven kid the way he’d been with Carley; this wasn’t any ordinary lustful urge. This was Jenny, the woman he loved. And if he didn’t stop now, he might never get a second chance to prove how much he loved her.
CHAPTER NINE
JENNY WASN’T PREPARED for the sensation to stop. For one heart-stopping moment—the second Sam’s lips touched hers—she’d been transported to a safe place, a place where the loneliness of the past months was replaced by heat and need. A place where she wasn’t just a mother or a niece or a sister or a widow. Where she was Jenny. A woman. Desirable. Alive.
Her response may have been fueled by months of deprivation—Josh had been in too much pain those last few months to tolerate touch of any kind—but all Jenny knew was that whatever Sam was offering, she wanted more of it. She needed the reassurance that Sam was alive. And so was she.
“No,” Sam said, breaking the lock she had around his neck.
Jenny blinked away the moisture beaded on her lashes. The mist that enveloped them was steamy and smelled of smoke and Sam. Her fingers clung to the scruff of his soaking-wet collar. Although he’d pulled away with his upper body, she was still pressed against him from the chest down. His hardness, his desire, was muted only by the layers of wet clothing between them.
“Please,” she whispered. The neediness in her voice resonated in the tiled stall.
“No. This isn’t right.”
She knew that, but it didn’t stop her from reaching up to cup the line of his jaw. His beard was rough, and she wanted to feel its abrasive quality against her skin.
Sam shifted them sideways so the water slanted between them like a silver diagonal from shoulder to hip. A fine mist clung to his melted eyelashes. Jenny noticed for the first time a small scar that would normally have been hidden by his eyebrow. She put her index finger on it and asked the question with her eyes.
His upper lip pulled back in a look Josh called Sam’s run-for-cover smile. “A tribute from my ex-wife’s father,” Sam said, adding an extra couple of inches to the space between them.
Despite the warm water and the steam, Jenny shivered.
Sam dropped his arms, accidentally knocking Jenny’s hand away. “Go to bed, Jenny. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow’s going to be worse.”
“Why?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. The emotional charge between them had triggered a release of her milk, which reminded her all too vividly who she was—Tucker and Lara’s mother. Sam’s dead brother’s wife.
“Why what?” Sam asked, coughing. He turned into the steamy water and let it wash over his upturned face. He continued to cough, a loud rattle that echoed acoustically.
The smart thing would be to leave, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. “Why will tomorrow be bad?” she asked.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall and started to unbutton his flannel shirt. The rush of water combined with fatigue made him fumble like a drunk.
Jenny brushed aside his hands. “Let me do that. Then I’ll go. Why is tomorrow going to be so tough?”
He let his head loll back. “Because you’re going to find out what really happened out there, and you’ll pack your bags and leave.”
Jenny’s heart knocked erratically. “What do you mean?”
“About the cat,” he swore, turning away just as she finished the last button. “Go, Jenny. I…”
He turned his back to her and slowly took off the shirt. Jenny stepped away, needing the space to keep from touching him. His broad tanned back was corded with muscles; faint whorls of hair were flattened by the torrent of water cascading over his shoulders. Red welts—scrape marks, she’d guess—marred the sleek perfection.
When he started to unbutton the waistband of his jeans, she retreated, recalling all too vividly the lack of underwear beneath those pants.
She grabbed a big thick towel from the bar opposite the shower and fled. Heedless of the wet footprints she left behind or the trail of water dripping from the hem of her sweatpants, she ran down the hallway to the safety of her room.
She dashed into her bathroom and quietly closed the door to the nursery. After stripping off her wet clothes, she toweled dry as briskly as her skin could tolerate.
Fool. Idiot. She turned on the overhead light and looked at herself in the unflattering brightness. Her wet hair hung in scraggly lengths—it really needed a cut. Her eyes were red from the water, her skin blotchy. Her breasts were large and unfamiliar and her belly sagged in unattractive folds.
If Josh were alive he’d have teased her out of her funk. He’d have reassured her that she was beautiful, desirable. But he wasn’t here and she was so pathetically needy she’d turned to the only man around for comfort.
She leaned across the counter, careful not to disturb the baby paraphernalia. “You are a miserable excuse for a human being,” she told her reflection. “Sam has enough problems without you throwing yourself at him for reassurance that you’re not just a pair of mammary glands with feet.”
A chuckle made her turn sharply. Andi stood in the doorway that connected to Jenny’s bedroom. “Naked and talking to yourself. Not a good sign,” she said, grinning.
Jenny let out a low groan and reached for her terry-cloth robe hanging beside the bathtub. “What are you doing here?”
“Ida called to tell me about the fire. I came out to see if I could help. Wanna tell me what all that muttering was about?”
Snugging up the fabric belt, Jenny reached for the hair dryer—anything to postpone the inevitable. As she feathered her damp tresses with her fingers, she looked at her sister’s reflection in the mirror. Jenny and Andi hadn’t talked about anything besides Ida Jane and business for so long, she didn’t know where to begin. Would this sister understand? Jenny had a feeling Kristin would, but she was in Oregon and wasn’t scheduled to visit for another couple of weeks.
“It’s nothing. I was upset with Sam. He put himself in danger and…” Jenny turned off the dryer. And what? He kissed me? Or I kissed him? Which was it?
“Yeah, sure. Like I believe that. Come on. I’m sleeping with you, and you’re going to tell me everything. I learned how to interrogate people in the marines. You’ll be putty in my hands.”
Andi’s teasing laugh made a shiver course down Jenny’s spine. She’d been just that and more in Sam’s hands. Sam’s wonderful hands. Even now, that one thought was all it took to make her hungry for more.
You’re in bad shape, girl. Bad, bad shape.
Minutes later, the two sisters were snuggled together in the down mattress of Jenny’s double bed. A yellowish glow from the night-light in her bathroom cast long shadows across the walls and ceiling.
“So?” Andi asked. “What’s gives with you and Sam?”
Jenny shook her head. “It was no big deal.”
Andi pinched the fleshy part of Jenny’s upper arm. “Ouch!” she hissed, batting Andi’s hand away.
“I told you. I know torture.”
The silliness of the comment made Jenny giggle and within seconds she was consumed with laughter that quickly segued to tears. Andi watched, her obvious mirth turning to concern. Jenny grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed and blew her nose. “Sorry.”
Andi turned on her side, placing head on hand to look at Jenny. “Okay, then, the truth this time. I heard that anguished plea in the bathroom mirror so don’t even think about lying.”
Jenny stared at the ceiling. The semidarkness made it a little easier to confess. “I was helping Sam into the shower and I sort of stumbled and wound up in the shower with him—fully dressed, of course—and we kissed. I’m sure it was just a close-brush-with-death kind of thing for him.” She didn’t add, But I liked it. It felt wonderful.
Andi ran her free hand back and forth in front of Jenny’s eyes. “Are you smoking crack?”
Jenny turned her head. “What?”
“Drugs of some sort? I’ve met a few delusional drug addicts over the years. They’re good at building elaborate fantasies…like that one.”
Jenny frowned. “It was just a kiss.”
Andi made an impatient snort. “I know Sam O’Neal, Jen. If he kissed you, it was because he wanted to, not because you were handy.” She snickered. “I know because I’ve given him ample opportunities over the years to kiss me and he never did. Not once. Well, once. On the forehead. When I was particularly persistent, but that was it.”
Jenny pulled the covers over her head. “I kissed him back,” she mumbled. “It was really good.”
Andi’s chuckle made the mattress jiggle. “Way cool. Can I tell Kris?”
“No.”
She shrugged. “She’ll find out. You’ll blab sooner or later. You always do. Jenny Perfect has to confess, otherwise she’s not perfect.”
Jenny sat up sharply. “Dammit, would you quit with that name? Would someone so perfect be attracted to her own brother-in-law when her husband has only been dead two and a half months?”
The words, once spilled, seemed to take on a life of their own, echoing in the big room like a yodel.
“Wow,” Andi whispered in hushed awe. “This is serious? You’ve actually got the hots for Sam?”
Jenny sank back down. She felt sick to her stomach admitting it, but there was no use lying. Andi was right—Jenny always blabbed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”
Andi snuggled close and patted Jenny’s cheek. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re young, you’re alive. Sam’s a sexy guy.”
Jenny closed her eyes and sighed. Those sounded like weak excuses for what was surely immoral behavior. Jenny owed Josh more loyalty than two and a half months of mourning. She owed it to herself, too.
“That kiss was an aberration, Andi. It’s not going to happen again. I’ll talk to Sam in the morning and make it clear that we can’t be attracted to each other. Period.”
Andi flopped back. “Yeah, that’ll work.”
Jenny ignored the sarcasm. It would work. It had to.
SAM PAUSED beside Jenny’s door. At first, he thought he heard her crying, but the instant his hand touched the doorknob he knew the sound was laughter. And a second voice was evident. Andi.
He relaxed. His apology could wait.
He had no excuse for his behavior. He just hoped it wouldn’t ruin the fragile balance they’d created the past couple of weeks. He’d planned on slowly courting Jenny over the course of the next year or two. Instead, he’d lost his mind and attacked her in the shower.
Turning, he headed downstairs to get a drink. Maybe whiskey would help, he thought. The scrape marks on his back hurt and his right shoulder ached, but that was nothing compared to the knot of dread in his belly.
Sighing, he trotted down the stairs in stocking feet. His exhaustion had vaporized the instant they’d kissed. Unfortunately, the encounter had left him recharged in more ways than one.
After struggling out of wet jeans that had stuck to him like melted plastic, he’d lathered and scrubbed until his skin hurt, but no amount of mental gymnastics could minimize his body’s longings. Finally, a blast of cold water had done the trick.
With teeth chattering, he’d dried off and dug through his drawer for his lone pair of flannel pajamas, last year’s Christmas gift from Ida Jane. Normally, Sam was such a light sleeper he’d never had to worry about being awakened accidentally while sleeping in the buff. But he should have known better with guests in the house.
He went to the liquor cabinet beside the fireplace. The orange glow of the fire burning in the hearth filled the room with a warm, pleasant homey quality—a far cry from the raging blaze he’d encountered a few hours earlier. After downing a shot of single malt, he poured a second then wandered toward the east-facing glass doors at the far end of the room.
“Are you here to watch the sunrise, too?”
Sam jumped a full foot to the right before his brain registered the voice. Ida Jane. Patting his chest until his heartbeat returned to normal, he faced his guest, who was sitting in the recliner, a woolen throw gathered across her legs. “Miss Ida, you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing up?”
He sat down on the matching mahogany leather sofa across from her. He’d picked the furniture because it fit the decor, but he seldom sat here, preferring instead the solitude of his office or the coziness of the reading nook in Jenny’s bedroom. Jenny and Ida Jane had made more use of the great room in the past weeks than he had in twelve years. The addition of two baby swings and a playpen made it look like a real home.
“I like to watch the sunrise. I’m a bit early, but when you get to my age, you don’t take anything for granted.”
Sam smiled. He liked this old woman more than he could say. He’d never known a grandmother, only having met his mother’s mother once when he was seven or eight. He vaguely remembered the experience as a tedious bus ride winding up in a busy town with rows and rows of brick houses so close together they almost touched. They didn’t stay long at the skinny building with the planter box outside the window.
Sam couldn’t picture his grandmother, but he vividly recalled the flowers in the box—purple and white with round faces that looked like little men with black mustaches and bushy eyebrows. On the bus home, Sam had asked about the flowers, but Diane had cuffed him, saying, “I don’t want to talk about it. Or her. Ever again.”
And they hadn’t. That was Diane’s way. When Josh was old enough to ask about his heritage, Sam had said, “All dead. Don’t bother asking.”
“Quite the adventurous night, wouldn’t you say, Sam?”
To put it mildly. “Definitely.”
“It got me thinking about our old home. It burnt down, you know.”
Sam knew. The people who’d owned the ranch before Sam had lived in the mobile home Hank and Greta now occupied. When Sam had expressed an interest in placing his house on the flat area across from the barn, they’d told Sam the story of the original homestead.
“You lived here growing up, didn’t you, Miss Ida?”
She nodded. Her hair looked a bit wild in the dim light. Her face seemed amazingly alert. “Up until I was sixteen. That’s when Daddy lost the place in a poker game.”
Sam blinked in surprise. He’d always pictured her as a child, not a young woman, when her family moved into town.
“Suzy was eleven at the time. It almost broke my heart, but I think Suzy preferred living in town. She was the social one.” Ida made a swishing motion with her hand. “She loved action. I was content with the animals and the quiet. She was bored to tears.”
Sam pondered that point a few seconds. “And yet, she wound up marrying the man who won the place from your father, right?” he asked, trying to recall all the pieces of the story he’d heard over the years.
“That’s true,” Ida Jane said. “Of course she sold the place after Bill died. Said it held bad memories for her.”
Sam sipped his drink, savoring the slow burn that eased the harsh tightness in his throat.
“Bill was her husband? The man who was killed in the fire that destroyed the farmhouse?” Sam asked. He felt a little strange asking—after the close call he’d experienced, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
“Poor Bill,” Ida Jane said sadly. “He and Suzy had only been married a short time when he died. Less than two years, I believe. From what my mother told me, it was a difficult period for him. He loved Suzy and adored Lorena, but Suzy was a bit high-strung, she could exhaust a person. Especially someone as quiet and laid-back as Bill.”
“Did you know him well?” Sam was curious about the man—Jenny’s grandfather.
“Heavens, yes. He was our neighbor the whole time I was growing up. The Rocking M was much smaller than it is now. After Bill got this property, he deeded the two parcels together.” She chuckled. “He kept the Rocking M name and brand instead of his own. Daddy always said Bill did it just to annoy him.”
“I take it your father was something of a poor loser?”
Ida Jane sighed. “Truth is, Daddy liked gambling a whole lot more than he liked ranching. Bill was a good rancher, Daddy wasn’t.
“The ranch had belonged to my mother’s family. She inherited it when her parents and brother passed away in an influenza epidemic. Daddy tried to keep it up, but his heart wasn’t in ranching. The only reason he risked the deed in that poker game was because the back taxes had come due and he couldn’t pay them. He’d have lost the place one way or the other, but he’d never admit that.”
