Redemption's Kiss Page 16

  God, she couldn’t breathe. “And?”

  “And he asked for my advice. Said he felt like he didn’t know you any more and you were drifting away from him. He thought you were angry with him about Mary as much as about the first affair, and I—”

  “You what?”

  John swallowed audibly. “I told him that was crazy. He wondered if I’d talk to you about going to counseling with him, and I told him that was crazy, too. I thought he was trying to get off the hook for his affair by blaming you. But now—I’m not so sure.”

  More of that awful hope crept into her heart, leading her down the garden path, no doubt. Along with that she felt anger because her brother had possessed this piece of her puzzle and never even told her.

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because. I’ve always known that Beau loves you as much as he’s capable of loving anyone. The question is, how much is that?”

  A lot.

  Jillian’s heart answered without hesitation. Beau loves me as much as I could hope to be loved by anyone.

  This was all so much to think about. Exhausted suddenly, she collapsed on the bed and flopped back onto the pillows. “What should I do?”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m not sure I will.”

  “Trust me. In the meantime, I’ve got to go. I didn’t call to offer my sound advice, you know. I called to wake you up and tell you we’ll be down in a couple weeks for our weekend off. If you have a room for us.”

  “I think I can manage something.”

  “Happy Mother’s Day, Jill.”

  Mother’s Day. She’d almost forgotten. Allegra had a big day in store for her, and Jillian couldn’t wait. “Thanks.”

  “Hi, baby!”

  Jillian stepped to the edge of the porch and caught Allegra as she flew up the stairs and into her arms. Allegra submitted long enough for Jillian to get a whiff of unfamiliar shampoo and then drew back. With a gleaming smile of brightest sunshine, the girl smoothed her own hair and waited for Jillian’s reaction.

  “How do I look, Mommy?”

  Jillian got a good look at her daughter and felt her jaw drop.

  Whoa. Tricky question right off the bat. Allegra’s tiara sat, crooked, atop hair that had been clumsily parted down the middle and then twisted into…were those braids? They were supposed to be braids, anyway. The ends were wrapped in plain old red rubber bands, the kind that were made for office use and would have the girl’s hair tangled into an unmanageable snarl in another three minutes. Below that, she wore a bright green tutu over her fluttery yellow Easter dress and white patent-leather Mary Janes.

  Tinker Bell on steroids pretty much covered the look, but an honest assessment was unthinkable. Jillian settled for a carefully worded half-truth.

  “You look amazing.”

  Allegra laughed with delight, skipping away just as Seinfeld edged in. Taking advantage of Jillian’s position down where he could reach her, he nudged her face with his and then, when she didn’t move fast enough, gave her a quick lick on the cheek, which was wet, gross and smelled of chicken scraps. On the other hand, she’d had a rough night and would take affection where she could find it.

  “You silly dog.” Tipping her chin up and into the safe zone well away from his enthusiastic pink tongue, she scratched under his collar. “You’re such a silly dog.”

  “Daddy did my hair,” Allegra informed her.

  Ah. That cleared up that nonmystery. The child’s hair had either been done by a man or a blind, thumbless woman who didn’t own a brush.

  “That explains it,” Jillian said.

  Having exhausted all her best stalling tactics, there was nothing left to do but stand up straight and greet Beau, which was easier said than done since her heart was thumping loud enough to violate any local antinoise ordinances.

  While she hadn’t slept and felt like she’d been forced through a wood chipper, all brittle, antsy and discombobulated, he seemed to be doing…great. Looking well rested and more relaxed than he’d been since he arrived in town, he wore running shoes, shorts, a T-shirt and a Braves baseball cap that gave him the kind of casual appeal that made athletes so irresistible.

  And make no mistake about it—he was still an athlete. His scarred leg had seen better days, of course, but as a set his legs were still muscled and powerful, and his toned arms and heavy shoulders, well…she wouldn’t go there.

  After giving him what she hoped was a discreet once-over but was probably a slack-jawed leer, she tried to focus on his eyes. This was a mistake. He looked virile and intent, as though he’d been infused with the energy and desire to run out and conquer the world and wanted to start right here, with her.

  And then he wanted to swallow her. Not whole, but savoring one piece for hours at a time. It was all there in the banked heat, and the way that hazel gaze skated over her body with a deepening of color until it became an earthy forest-green.

  She’d worn her sexiest and most cleavage-baring sundress just so she’d see that exact look in his eyes, and it was well worth it. Ice-blue with a scoop in front and crossed straps in back, it highlighted a good fifty percent of her brown skin, much to his subtle pleasure.

  “Good morning,” he said with an easy smile.

  There it was: Greeting 101. Perfectly functional, nothing fancy.

  And yet it was infused with so much meaning that her head spun with the possibilities. He didn’t look smug. He looked happy, as though the weight of the world was off his shoulders at long last.

  As though anything was possible.

  Maybe anything was.

  “Hi.”

  He stared at her, his smile fading away to a deepening of his dimples that was somehow an even more devastating test of her nerves and strength.

  Her own face, meanwhile, was doing strange things. Her cheeks burned, and she realized, with a jolt, that she wanted to smile back but was fighting the urge.

  It felt unnatural, denying him. Or maybe she was only denying herself.

  Flustered, she turned back to Allegra, who was twirling on her tiptoes, dancing to a tuneless song that she hummed under her breath.

  “How long did it take you to manage that hairstyle?” Jillian asked.

  He laughed. God, he had a beautiful laugh. And she’d missed it with the phantom ache she imagined she’d feel if she lost her right hand.

  “With Allegra rolling around on the floor with Seinfeld? About two hours.”

  There was that urge again, to laugh with him and commiserate.

  As though he knew she was all tied up in knots, he rescued her by calling to Allegra. “Are you going to give Mommy her present?”

  Present?

  It’d barely registered because she’d been so focused on Beau.

  “Yes.” Allegra bounced over in a remarkable imitation of Bambi frolicking in the woods, and grabbed at the box Beau held—a round hatbox in a beautiful blue floral pattern wrapped with satin ribbons. “Let me have it, Daddy. I can do it.”

  “No, you can’t.” Beau gave the girl an indulgent grin as he lowered the box to the porch swing and waved for Jillian to sit down. “This box is bigger than you are.”

  Allegra shot him a glaring pout and scrambled onto the swing next to Jillian with a flash of her pink My Little Pony panties.

  “Open it, Mommy. Open it!”

  The one-second wait proved to be too much for the girl, who reached for the ribbon and tugged it. Jillian started to push her little hands away—whose present was this, anyway?—but then she noticed that Beau was leaving with Seinfeld.

  Jillian’s heart lurched. “Where are you going?”

  Stupid, Jill. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Way to wear your heart on your sleeve.

  But Beau didn’t seem to make anything of it and shrugged as he gathered the dog’s leash in his free hand. “I’ll let you ladies enjoy your Mother’s Day in peace. We’re going for a long walk and then I’m going to work in the backyard a little.”


  “Oh.” Jillian, who’d had vague and half-formulated plans of inviting Beau to stay for the Mother’s Day brunch extravaganza, which was, even now, in full swing on the back porch, tried to keep her expression indifferent. “Well…don’t strain your leg too much.”

  “I won’t. I took some Tylenol and it’s feeling pretty good.” What? He took some meds? Was that why he looked so good today?

  What did this all mean?

  She watched while he smiled up at the sky for no apparent reason, breathing deep. Then he gave her a look that was as pointed as his next sentence.

  “I think it’s going to be a beautiful day, Jill. Don’t you?”

  It already was a beautiful day, not that she could bring herself to agree with him on this point. They both knew they weren’t talking about the day at all, but the birth of a new era between them. An era that was here whether she admitted it or not.

  He left without waiting for an answer. She watched him go, the dog ambling at his side, and fought against the Come back, Beau! that was right on the tip of her tongue.

  And then it hit her.

  God, she was sick of herself. She was up, she was down, she was back, she was forth, and she couldn’t decide where she wanted to be and muster the courage to get herself there. She gave new meaning to the word pathetic.

  “Open it, Mommy! Open it!”

  Allegra had worked off all the ribbons and had the hatbox lid more than halfway up already. Trying to get back in the game, Jillian took over the box-opening duties and got the surprise of her life.

  A kitten with a blingy blue rhinestone bell collar poked her head out and looked around.

  Oh my God.

  It was a beautiful Siamese, just like Ramona, her childhood pet, all white fluffiness with enormous blue eyes, pointy gray ears and a blackish muzzle that looked like she’d smudged her face in some fireplace ash.

  They blinked at each other for one arrested moment, and then the kitten meowed, a long, whiny sound that spoke of much suffering inside the box, the desire to bounce and play in the grass and, probably, the need for a fish treat of some sort.

  If there was anything more adorable on the planet, Jillian doubted that she’d ever live long enough to discover it.

  “Hi, kitty.” The creature, who couldn’t have been more than three months old at the outside, was a squirmy fit for Jillian’s hands as she raised her up for a better look. Gorgeous. She had bright eyes the color of the glowing gas flame on her stovetop, and Jillian fell utterly and completely in love with her.

  Before Jillian could press a kiss to her fuzzy little forehead, however, Miss Attitude meowed again and swiped Jillian across the nose with one black-tipped paw.

  And Jillian laughed with a belly-deep delight she hadn’t known she could still feel. Leaning her head back and pointing her toes to get the swing going, Jillian held the kitten high over her head and nuzzled her soft fuzziness despite the kitten’s obvious and growing displeasure. The little thing made a sound that was much more squealing disgust than meow, and Jillian laughed again. She couldn’t stop the laughter even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. It came and came and came, an endless bubbling wellspring from inside her chest that would no longer be denied.

  Next to her, Allegra was bouncing and clapping, thrilled that her present had gone over so well. “Do you like her, Mommy? Isn’t she cute? What’s her name, Mommy? What should we call her?”

  Jillian didn’t know and she couldn’t think about it now because she only had eyes for Beau, who’d obviously remembered her Ramona stories from a thousand years ago.

  Halfway to the street now, he stopped and turned, drawn, she knew, by the commotion and the rusty sound of her laughter, which was rarer than a Diana Ross and the Supremes reunion concert. As though in suspended animation, he watched her over his shoulder, his lips parted in surprise.

  For the first time in years, she didn’t look away. She didn’t punish him with the killing, aloof glare that she’d perfected, nor did she deny him what he said he wanted most. To her astonishment, she no longer felt the need. This was, after all, a beautiful day, and she could smile about it.

  She could smile at him. She wanted to smile at him.

  “Thank you.” It was a blanket acknowledgment for the kitten, the cathartic lifting of that terrible burden between them and this thrilling feeling of hope, of the possibility of happiness. “Thank you.”

  He took a moment to come back to life, and when he did, it was with a devastated twist of his face, quickly hidden. He looked away and looked back just as quickly, with a swift, heaving breath in between, and she saw the jerky bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed back his emotion.

  They stared at each other, words unnecessary.

  At last his eyes lit up and a corner of his mouth curled, but this time he was the one who couldn’t manage a full smile.

  It was okay, though. She understood.

  “You’re welcome.” He swallowed again, trying without much success to clear his voice. “It was my pleasure.”

  Chapter 15

  When Beau didn’t answer the front door, Jillian figured he was around back.

  She also figured maybe she should turn herself around and return to the B & B, where she belonged, and where Barbara Jean was currently putting Allegra to bed, but she couldn’t force her body to walk in that direction.

  Instead, she kept to the stone path skirting the front of the spotlit house and took a moment to enjoy Beau’s handiwork, a springtime wonderland of glorious flowers and shrubs. Everything beautiful was here, planted by his hands this very day, and she should know because she’d peeked out her window to watch him about, oh, seven or eight thousand times.

  Forsythia in the same fierce yellow as the edges of today’s sunset, potted impatiens in hot-pink and white, peach and red. Coleus and elephant ears, hostas, black-eyed Susans and fragrant lavender and Russian sage. The path, which had footlights to guide her, wound around, past the right wing of the U-shaped house, and slipped through the open door of the decorative wrought-iron gate that protected the courtyard.

  “Oh,” she breathed, the sound lost to the gentle splash of water.

  It was fabulous, the kind of hidden paradise that reminded her of her occasional visits to the old homes of Savannah. In the middle stood a large fountain with a beautifully sculpted figure. It was, Jillian realized, stunned, a smiling mother. She wore a draped gown that clung to her curves and balanced a pigtailed daughter on one hip. With her free hand, she poured water from a jug, nourishing the profusion of marble flowers at her bare feet.

  Though the figures looked nothing like Jillian or Allegra, the symbolism was unmistakable and breathtaking.

  The perimeter of the courtyard held more potted flowers and ferns, palms and shrubs she didn’t recognize, all fragrant on the warm night breeze. There were wrought-iron benches and tables, chairs and footstools, and the French doors leading into the living room were open, letting out the strains of Frank Sinatra crooning about doing things his way.

  And there was Beau. Stretched out on a lounge chair facing the fountain, with a drowsing Seinfeld draped over his calves.

  Jillian’s heart kicked into overdrive, and the pulse at the base of her throat pounded with nerves and excitement. She crept closer, her hands tightening reflexively on the handles of the heavy picnic basket she’d brought with her, and wondered what she would say.

  Another visit to Beau’s house, another basket, more food. She prayed this visit would be significantly less disastrous than the first.

  Her sandal scuffed on an uneven stone. The tiny sound made Seinfeld raise his head, look around, ears perked, and meet her gaze with a low woof. Beau turned his head, following the dog’s line of sight, and saw her.

  They both stilled, except that Beau’s eyes widened with surprise and his lips parted with an oh she couldn’t hear.

  The arrested moment between them lengthened, lasting well past the time that Seinfeld yawned, stretched and ambled over to
nuzzle Jillian’s elbow.

  She didn’t have eyes for the dog. Only Beau.

  With a slow unfurling of his big body, he got to his feet and kept one hand on the back of the lounge chair for balance. He’d apparently showered and changed after his long day of yard work, and he now wore a pristine white T-shirt and dark shorts, the perfect clothing to highlight a god’s perfection—if he had to wear clothes at all, that was.

  His shoulders were wide, his defined torso rippling and sleek through the thin cotton, his endless legs powerful despite the jagged scar that ran from thigh to calf on one side. His skin gleamed and his eyes glittered in an unrelenting stare that held her right where she was, suspended in this hidden world of incredible beauty and possibility.

  She waited, but Beau wasn’t ready to speak yet. Neither was she.

  The breeze brought her a knee-weakening whiff of his subtle deodorant, which was something fresh and sporty, and her body remembered that scent and tightened accordingly.

  She wished, in a secret, shameful part of her brain, that he would do something to take all decision making out of her hands, but she knew he wouldn’t. Then she wished she’d drunk a frozen margarita or six and had an excuse, something to point to later that would relieve her of all culpability for anything that might happen between them, but she was dry as a Prohibition-era tavern.

  This was all up to her and there could be no excuses tomorrow, no backtracking.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  God, his voice. It was deep and quiet, nothing that could be heard from more than ten feet away, and yet it surrounded and echoed through her, affecting her as strongly as fingers trailing down her spine or the gentle press of lips in the bend of her elbow.

  “I brought you some dinner.”

  “I see that.”

  No, he didn’t. Those intent eyes saw her bare shoulders and the plump valley between her breasts. They saw her hips and her fluttering skirt, which revealed hints of her thighs as the breeze swirled around her. They saw her hair trailing across her face and the subtle heave of her chest as she tried to get air.