A Woman's Heart (13 page)

The French woman had looked at her curiously when Jann purchased a triangle of the stall's best brie and thin slivers of Canadian smoked salmon. She'd even asked what the occasion was. But Jann had simply smiled and said she, Alex and a friend were taking a picnic to the Polynesian Cultural Center.

It might be too much, but it was a picnic fit for a king, Jann decided, well contented with the spread. Even a rich man from Boston would find no cause for complaint. Although to be fair, after the initial protest against Jann's van, Peter had been a good sport. When the Volkswagen stalled at a stop light, he'd merely looked at her with an I-told-you-so grin and slipped out quietly to check under the hood.

"Needs a tune-up, maybe," Jann had muttered as they'd peered into the engine together, and later, after Peter had fiddled with this belt and that clamp, she had held her breath as she turned the key in the ignition. His tinkering worked. Without a single hesitation the engine turned over and idled smoothly.

She had exaggerated a little about the vehicle's capabilities. She hadn't told Peter there had been only three entries in the race, or that it had begun as a joke between old friends. Two other retirees had bought claptrap old wrecks about the same time as John and they'd laughingly challenged each other to a race.

One year later, when the cars were fixed up, the Cross Oahu race was born. To the amazement of all, John had come in first, a fact of which he was inordinately proud, and about which Ruby teased him unmercifully.

Jann glanced at Peter watching a Cultural Center performer crack open a coconut on the tip of a stake. Only he wasn't looking at the demonstration. He was concentrating instead on the baby in his arms.

"Lunch is ready," she called, restraining her impulse to dash forward and snatch her baby away. Claire's brother was becoming so comfortable with Alex, and Alex was comfortable too. Like the perfect father and son. A family. Jann's pulse thudded against her temple. They were a family without her.

"Everything looks wonderful," Peter said, turning at her call and approaching the picnic table. He reached out his hand and snagged a skewer of pineapple from the fruit platter.

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all."

Something in his tone warmed her, and the warmth was frightening, too, making her long to run towards him and at the same time run away. "I need Alex's car seat," she said breathlessly. "I'll just go get it."

"What do we need it for?"

"Alex can sit in it while we eat."

"I'll hold him."

"No."

His brows lifted inquiringly. "Then I'll get the car seat for you."

"No," she said again, managing with effort to keep her voice level. She turned and moved in the direction of the car park, needing to be away from him for a few moments to keep her thoughts at bay.

He caught up to her and placed his hand on her arm, slowing her, stopping her. Her turmoil increased.

"We'll all go," he said firmly.

She nodded reluctantly, and together they walked out through the Cultural Center's gates.

"So," he began, as they wove between the parked cars, "are you having fun yet?"

"How can I have fun?" She was too aware of him as usual and overwhelmed by his presence.

"Why can't you?"

"Because nothing has changed. No matter how normally we try to behave, how many dinners we have out, picnics we conjure up, or trips to the zoo, we're still in the same place." The pulse hammering her temples increased to a pounding. "We both still want the same thing but both of us can't have what we want."

"That's true," he admitted slowly, "but I was hoping you were beginning to see that Alex will be happy with me."

She didn't want to even look at Alex, couldn't bear to see more evidence that what Peter said was true, couldn't bear either the thought of Alex leaving. When had she become so attached to this child? The first moment she saw him, she realized with despair.

"In other words," she said starkly, "you win and I lose."

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"There's no other way to put it." She turned away, desperate to hide the moisture gathering in her eyes, not wanting to look weak when she needed to be strong. Swiftly, she moved the last few steps to the van.

"Wait!" Peter cried, catching up with her as she jerked open the door. Juggling Alex in his arms, he pulled her around so that all she could see now was his face. "It's time to face facts," Peter said brusquely, but the eyes staring into hers were gentle.

"What facts?"

"It's time to give Alexander up."

"Why?" she demanded, resisting the urge to snatch her baby from him. "So you can catch the plane tomorrow and take Alex with you? No more time wasted. Everything tidy and as it should be." She glared at him over Alex's head. "That's not going to happen."

"I want this to be easier for you."

"You just want it easier for yourself."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Then leave my baby be."

"I can't," he said. "Surely you can see that."

She could see it and that's what made it all so difficult. If Claire's brother loved his nephew even half as much as she, he would never give up his quest.

"I'll have to stay here until you change your mind," he said, handing Alex to her then reaching past her to lift Alex's car seat from the van. With his movement, he was close to her, could feel her breath upon his neck. He clenched his jaw, determined to resist the call her body made to his.

"Have you considered Alex in all of this?" She stepped away from him as she spoke, as if she, too, felt the call.

The loss of her nearness was both a sorrow and a relief. "Alex is the only one I am considering," he said gruffly. Now that Claire was dead, he couldn't allow himself to think of anyone else, couldn't continue to be attracted to this woman who had been Claire's friend.

"A baby needs a mother."

Her voice was so low it almost disappeared, as the life died in her eyes when he spoke of taking Alex. He tried to harden his heart, tried not to care. For Alexander's sake and for his own.

"Mothers aren't always what they appear," he said tightly.

"What do you mean?" She drew herself up, her hair around her head now a bristling halo of indignation.

It seemed suddenly as if there was a wall between them, that if he reached for her the wall would be palpable to the touch. Was it an aura he was seeing? Was he starting to think as she thought now? If he stayed in her company much longer, would he, too, believe in crystals and the power of the spirit.

As his mother had believed. Or so she had said.

Old age hippie, new age free spirit. Not a speck of difference between them as far as he could see. Though in his opinion, his mother had come too late to the movement, wasn't really interested in the hope and innocence of that era, wanted nothing to do with the peace and justice issues. She wanted only the freedom to indulge in her own desires.

"Alex needs someone he can depend on," he said fiercely, forcing his arms to his sides, not allowing them to move lest he take them both in his grasp.

"He can depend on me."

The magic was back in her eyes once more. He had to fight its pull, couldn't let himself surrender, for if he put himself at risk, Alexander would be at risk, also, and he couldn't let that happen again to someone he loved.

"Can you promise you'll be around for the next twenty years?" he demanded.

Pain streaked her face and lodged in her eyes. "No one can guarantee that."

He wanted to hold her, comfort her, never let her go. "That's what's required," he said instead.

A lifetime commitment was something his mother had never understood. She had enjoyed her children only when it was convenient, but was too swiftly bored and eager to escape with people as rich and bored as herself, giving no thought at all to the family she left behind. She bestowed on others the attention he and Claire had needed, hadn't seen that without their mother, a child's heart could break.

It had happened to Claire. He wouldn't let it happen to Claire's child.

"I know what's required," Jann replied breathlessly, as though no air had made its way from her throat to her lungs, as though she continued to stand through sheer will power alone, "and what I intend, but—"

"There are no buts."

"No one knows what the future holds." Her face paled as though she'd already looked through the door to the future, and never again wanted to look that way.

"Take control of the present and the future will take care of itself," Peter advised firmly.

"You can't control the present or the future either. No one can."

"Then how can you take charge of a baby?" He saw the hurt in her eyes, longed to somehow eradicate it. "No one will blame you, Jann, if you give up Alex now. You're young. You're not tied down. He's not your blood."

"I love him," she said simply.

His mother had said the same, when speaking of him and Claire, but he'd discovered that without care, the words meant nothing.

"Love's not enough," he growled. "You can't say you want him now then lose interest when something more interesting comes along."

"There's nothing more interesting to me than Alex."

The way she looked at his sister's baby, he could almost believe she meant it.

"I've seen how you live," he countered, "and your passion for your work. What happens when you can't do both?"

"Alex is my passion."

"Maybe for today, but what about next week, next month, next year?"

"I made a promise."

"What happens when you wake up one morning and realize just how tied down you are?"

Peter's words jolted her, turned her cold. She'd spent half a lifetime keeping herself free, warding off emotional commitments like a fish would a shark. And now with this baby, she was prepared to fling her freedom away and welcome the tie to another human being.

"I don't look upon custody of Alex as tying myself down," she said, aware of a lightening in the area of her heart. It was true what she said, and the knowledge gave her joy.

"What about a husband?"

"I don't need a husband."

"You say that now, but what will you say when you meet someone you like?"

"I'm not intending to fall in love." Heat warmed her cheeks as she made her denial and she lowered her gaze, not sure what was in her eyes. Or in her heart either. She only knew that in some strange way Peter Strickland was starting to get to her, to mean more to her than was wise. She was equally sure she couldn't afford for him to know.

"People never intend to fall in love," Peter told her solemnly.

"I thought you didn't believe in love."

"I don't."

"It could happen just the same."

"It won't."

"And if you do fall in love, what then? If you have Alex he'll be in your way, too."

"Babies are seldom convenient," he asserted, flinging back at her what she'd said to him. "Mostly they just happen, like Alexander happened for Claire." He bent and kissed Alex's head, their dark hair mingling. "You don't turn your back and say, not now, thank you very much."

"I didn't turn my back," Jann cried. "Alex has me to take care of him. You're not obligated to react to anything. Claire wanted me to have Alex and I want him, too. He's safe. He's loved."

"He's my nephew," Peter said, "and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Afraid?" she demanded.

"No."

"Every time we speak of love and marriage in relation to you, you try to change the subject."

"Your questions are too personal."

"No more personal than what you asked me." She stared at him hard. "I'd like to know the answer. Besides, you seem to know a lot about me, so no doubt you've had your lawyers working overtime on that. I'm entitled to ask questions too."

"You're entitled to nothing."

"You're afraid," she accused again then ruthlessly went on. "The woman you fall in love with might not care that Alex is your nephew. She'd probably prefer to have her own children than care for someone else's."

"The same could be said about you." His words smashed against her like storm waters against the shore.

"I don't want my own children," she denied, feeling her lips tremble, knowing as she spoke that what she said was a lie. "Alex is all I want. All I need. To me," she finished starkly, "Alex is everything."

* * *

Jann wearily put the last of the picnic dishes into the galley cupboards, wishing the words she and Peter had spoken would stop reverberating in her brain.

They had taken a stab at eating the feast she had brought, but neither had been very hungry. When at last they finished trying, Peter had packed up the food and dishes, while she wandered the Cultural Center with Alex in the stroller.

She had managed somehow then to control her brain's whirling, but it was impossible to do so now in the silence of her own space.