After Tex (16 page)

“You guys didn't fight again, did you?”

“Why on earth would Jake and I fight?”

“Beats me, but you seem to be pretty good at it. You were talking and laughing when I went to sleep in the car the other night. When I woke up, there was practically frost on the windshield.”

Because it seemed pointless to continue the denial, Megan shrugged. “Old habits, I suppose.”

“I thought you used to be friends.”

“Sometimes even friends have disagreements.”

“Is that what happened with you and Jake? You had a fight on the way home? Was it about me?”

Megan regarded her curiously. “Why are you so interested in this?”

Tess shrugged. “No reason.”

“I'm not buying that.”

“I just thought it might be okay if you and Jake…” She shrugged. “You know.”

Megan had a terrible sinking feeling that she did know. “No, sweetie, nothing's going to happen between Jake and me.”

“Why not?”

“It's just not, okay? Now let's get going before we're late.”

Tess gave up with obvious reluctance and trailed downstairs after Megan. Jake gave them a troubled look.

“Everything okay?”

“Let's go,” Tess said, bolting past him and out the door.

Jake turned to Megan. “What just happened here?”

“Tess had some crazy idea in her head. When I told her she was wrong, she was disappointed.”

A knowing expression stole across Jake's face. “About you and me?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Believe me, I know all about being a neglected kid and looking for a happy ending.”

“Well, I told her she was wrong, that nothing was going to happen between you and me except regular disagreements.”

Jake grinned. “Did you, now?” He reached over and deliberately trailed a finger along her cheek. “Are you so sure about that?”

Megan slapped his hand away, because his touch
had
set off all sorts of old yearnings. “I'm sure,” she insisted.

“Good.”

The response startled her. “Good? What do you mean, good?”

“It's just going to be that much more fun proving you wrong.”

“Jake, this isn't a game. You've made it plain how you feel about me because of what happened years ago. I don't blame you, but let's not muddy the waters with sex.”

“Sweetheart, life is a game. If you don't take chances, you're not really living. You ought to know that better than anyone. Who would have thought a small-town girl from Wyoming could slip into New York, take a failing magazine and turn it into a publishing wonder? Who would have thought that a woman who used to burn oatmeal would become the gourmet guru of society?”

“Did it ever occur to you that I burned oatmeal
because I hated it, not because I didn't know how to cook?”

“I think you're deliberately missing my point.”

“Which is?”

“That none of us know what's around the next corner. You can swear up and down that there's nothing between us. You can even fool yourself into thinking that there never was and never will be a connection—” his gaze locked with hers “—but I can prove you wrong.”

Megan swallowed hard under that intense gaze. “How?”

“A kiss,” he said softly. “Just one kiss.”

“See, you're back to sex again.”

“Are you going to accept the dare or not? I say you're chicken.”

Desperate to prove him wrong, she said, “Okay, go ahead. One kiss. I dare you.”

He stepped closer, crowding her, making her aware of every masculine inch of him, of the heat radiating from him. One hand circled her neck. His gaze—hot enough to forge steel—settled on her lips.

And, then…
nothing.
He didn't touch her mouth with his, didn't slide those clever fingers into her hair or skim his knuckles along her jaw. He simply waited, and all the while Megan could feel her resistance slipping away, could feel the slow, inevitable buildup of yearning, the coiling of tension in her belly. Another few seconds and she would be kissing him with the kind of desperate hunger that would more than prove his point.

The corners of his mouth tilted up in a knowing little smile, as if he'd read her mind, guessed her
deepest secrets. He took a step away, released her. When she almost staggered backward, his grin widened.

“See, darlin',” he said with a touch of purely male arrogance. “It doesn't even take a kiss, merely the anticipation. Now imagine what would happen if my mouth actually covered yours, if my tongue slid inside.”

Megan's knees went weak just listening to him. She found her reaction—the whole game, for that matter—to be infuriating. She hated this power he had over her, hated the weakness in herself that gave it to him.

But that didn't stop her from wanting him, and the knowledge of that scared the living daylights out of her.

P
eggy had obviously read every last chapter of Megan's books, as well as every issue of her magazine. Even though she'd invited them for a barbecue, her table was set formally with a clever fall flower and leaf arrangement in the center. More flowers, displayed in every room, brought the outdoors in. Not a speck of dust would have dared to land on the highly polished furniture. Megan had a feeling that all three of her children had been locked upstairs all day to keep order in the downstairs rooms. It had never looked like this when she and Peggy had been kids.

“The house looks wonderful,” Megan said, feeling nostalgic just stepping inside the familiar rooms.

“It's still the same old place,” Peggy said, downplaying her efforts. “Johnny and I have painted a little here and there and refinished the floors, that's all.”

Still wearing his work clothes, his blond hair mashed down from his hat, Johnny came in just in time to hear the last.

“She's had me working like a fool around here for the past week,” he grumbled, though he gave his wife an affectionate peck on the cheek. “If you're coming over again, Megan, give me some warning so I can get out of town.”

Peggy scowled at him. “It's not as if the house didn't need some work. We'd been talking about it forever.”

Even though the dissension between the two was lighthearted enough, it made Megan uncomfortable. Before she could think of anything to say, Jake stepped in.

“These floors must have been a bear to do,” he said to Johnny. “Mind telling me what you did to restore them? I'd like to do some work on the floors over at my place.”

“Yeah, I heard you'd bought the old Harper house,” Johnny said. “I thought a hot-shot lawyer would want someplace bigger.”

Jake didn't take offense. “It suits me,” he said simply. “I've enjoyed working with my hands.”

Megan was fascinated by the exchange. For the first time she realized she had no idea at all where Jake had been living since coming back to town. She'd seen the office, knew he wanted Tex's ranch, but obviously he had to be staying someplace other than that tumbledown shack his mother used to rent from Josh Wilson. Megan remembered the Harper house. It had been next door to his mother's house, a safe haven for Jake when things had gotten too difficult at home. She wasn't all that surprised that he had bought it, but she couldn't help wondering what he had done with it.

For the moment, though, she was simply grateful that he'd distracted Johnny. The two of them went off to look at floor polish and sanders. No doubt they would wind up with more guy talk about hardware
and tools. Peggy sighed, obviously also relieved that they were gone.

“I'm sorry. I thought Johnny would get back sooner and have time to clean up. I'd have told him to do it now, but he'd have bitten my head off. Some days I can't say anything right.”

“Don't be silly,” Megan protested. “Just promise me that the next time you invite me over you won't go to so much trouble. It's the company that's important, not the decor.”

“It's not like you're just anybody,” Peggy countered. “Look at what you do for a living. You must live in this perfect place with the latest of everything. Besides, it's been so long since you've been here and you're such a celebrity now, I just wanted things to look nice at least, even if we couldn't go out and buy the latest furniture.”

“Well, everything looks wonderful. More important, it takes me back to when we were kids. Now what can I do to help with dinner?”

“Nothing,” Peggy said sharply, then winced. “Sorry. Everything's under control. Would you like a drink? I think I'll have a glass of wine.”

“Wine would be lovely,” Megan agreed, following Peggy into the cheerful kitchen with its bright yellow curtains and sparkling white appliances and countertops. The refrigerator looked suspiciously new and state-of-the-art, too. In fact, it was the exact one Megan had on the set of her TV show.

Her expression still tense, Peggy reached for a wineglass and filled it with an expensive chardonnay before handing it to Megan. She grabbed her own
half-filled glass from the counter and added more wine.

“To you being back in Whispering Wind,” Peggy said, touching her glass to Megan's. “Welcome home.”

“To old friends,” Megan added, watching worriedly as Peggy drank half her wine in one long swallow. Only after that did the lines in her forehead ease. Uncertain whether she had any right to ask anything so personal, Megan couldn't seem to stop herself from touching Peggy's arm. “Is everything okay?”

Peggy regarded her with eyes that were far too bright. “Of course. What could possibly be wrong? I'm married to the man of my dreams, I have three wonderful kids and my best friend's back home at last.”

Megan let the subject drop, because it was obvious that was what Peggy wanted, but she couldn't help watching her and Johnny intently for the rest of the evening. Thanks mostly to Jake's skillful handling of Johnny, dinner went smoothly enough. The swirling undercurrents of tension never got a chance to take over. The kids were polite and well-mannered. Even Tess seemed subdued. Jake filled all of the awkward silences, praising Peggy's cooking, questioning Johnny about the ranch. Still, by the time the meal was over, Megan was so tense her shoulders ached. She couldn't wait to make her escape.

Jake must have known going in that something was wrong in the Barkely household, but he hadn't prepared her. She couldn't ask him about it in the car with Tess listening, but the very second Tess had gone off to bed, she turned on him.

“Okay, what do you know that I don't?”

“About?”

“Peggy and Johnny. There would have been full-scale warfare over there tonight if you hadn't interceded.”

“Maybe they were just having a bad night. It happens,” he said, shrugging it off.

Megan wasn't buying it. “Peggy was trying too hard and drinking too much. Johnny was sniping at her, even when he tried to make it sound as if he was only teasing. I think he deliberately came in late, just so he wouldn't have time to clean up for dinner, because he knew it would make her crazy. Is their marriage in trouble? Peggy made it sound as if they were ecstatically happy the first time she came to see me.”

“Megan, this is none of my business—or yours, for that matter.”

“She's my best friend.”

“She
was
your best friend. A lot has gone on since you've been away.”

Irritated by the dig, Megan wasn't about to let the subject go. It was true she and Peggy hadn't stayed in touch, but she still cared about her and hated to see her hurting. Maybe she could help.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You're right. There are a lot of things I don't know about. Fill me in.”

“What makes you think I know anything about Peggy and Johnny's marriage? Maybe I'm just a nice guy who spotted a bit of tension and tried to help out.”

Megan ignored the disingenuous response. “Is it her drinking? Is she an alcoholic?”

“She had a few glasses of wine at a dinner party,”
Jake said dismissively. “I've known people who could drink the whole bottle on a special occasion. It didn't make them a drunk. Believe me, I know all about alcoholics, Megan. I lived with one. You don't have a clue.”

“Why are you getting mad at me?”

“Because you're poking and prodding me for information that I don't have and wouldn't share if I did. If you want to know what's going on over there, then the people to talk to are Peggy and Johnny.”

She didn't understand his anger. “Jake, I just want to help.”

“Obviously Peggy went out of her way tonight to make a good impression on you. She wants you to think her life is perfect. Let it go at that. Maybe the best way to help her is to leave it alone unless she comes to you for advice.”

“Then she does need advice,” Megan said.

Jake shook his head. “In all the years I've known you, there's only been one surefire way to shut you up,” he said, just before settling his mouth firmly over hers.

The earlier promise of that withheld kiss exploded through her, stealing breath and thought. His lips were wickedly clever in silencing her and stirring her senses at the same time. His tongue—well, whole volumes could have been written about
that
sensual assault. Her skin burned under his touch. Her knees went weak. And every last thought of meddling melted away as his hands slid upward over her hips, caressed her breasts, then came to rest on her shoulders.

When the kiss ended, Megan was too dazed to re
call what they'd been talking about. She barely remembered her own name.

“Well, hell,” she murmured.

Jake grinned.

“I guess you were right.”

“About?”

“The connection.”

“Connection?” he repeated, his expression innocent.

“Between you and me.”

“Ah, that connection.”

“It's just chemistry,” she said, trying to put the least damaging spin on what had shaken her.

“I don't know about you, but I've always found science fascinating,” Jake said. “Chemistry, electricity, anatomy, all that sort of thing.”

“Go take a course,” Megan grumbled.

“Why do that when you're a lesson all by yourself?”

“This was an experiment, Jake. Nothing more.”

“A successful one, if you ask me.”

“Then it doesn't need repeating.”

He gave her a lazy once-over. “Oh, darlin', anything that volatile bears repeating. Something tells me we're going to have to do that one over and over to make absolutely sure it always has the same result.”

 

Jake was sitting behind his desk with his feet propped up a few days later, contemplating the feel of Megan's lips under his, when he realized he wasn't alone. Six-year-old Tommy Morgan was standing in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets as if he'd been told not to touch anything.

“Hey, Tommy.”

“Hi,” he said shyly, inching into the room.

“Everything okay?”

The towheaded boy with the huge brown eyes nodded. “Guess so.”

“What brings you by?”

“My mama wants to know if you gots time to see her.”

Jake pretty much had nothing but time. “Sure. When does she want to come?”

“Soon as you say so.”

“Then you go tell her that now's as good a time as any.”

Tommy's solemn expression brightened. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” Jake said, grinning as the boy took off, his chubby little legs pumping furiously.

A few minutes later Janie Morgan, who had the same huge, sad eyes as her son, came into his office, still wearing a big plastic apron that had been discolored by hundreds of hair dying jobs. She barely looked old enough to be out of school, much less to have a son Tommy's age. She reminded Jake of his mother.

“Tommy said this was a good time. Is it okay?”

Jake gestured toward a chair. “It works for me. What can I do for you?”

She perched on the edge of the chair and twisted her hands nervously in her lap. “I was talking to Henrietta the other day. She said maybe you could help me out with Josh Wilson.”

“He's your landlord, right?”

“He owns the property, if that's what you mean.
As for keeping it up the way a landlord should, forget it. He's never done a lick of work around that place. He says repairs will cost more than it's worth.”

Old anger burned in Jake's belly. He hadn't just heard this story before, he'd lived it. He reached in a desk drawer and took out a legal pad. “What's the address?” he asked grimly.

“You'll help me, then?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. Maybe it would make up for the impotent rage he'd felt years ago.

“I can't pay much.”

“Don't worry about it,” he told her. “Think of this as repayment of an old debt.”

Janie looked confused. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“Let's just say I have an old score to settle with Mr. Wilson and let it go at that. Now tell me everything that needs doing around the place, how many times you've made the requests, what his responses have been. Do you have any of it in writing?”

Janie laughed. “You could sum up his responses in one word—
no.
As for putting it in writing, I tried that, but he ignored my letters. All I've gotten is that same verbal response when I've cornered him in the general store or the diner. Most of the time, he pretty much avoids me.”

“Why haven't you moved?”

“Where would we go? There's not a lot of property around Whispering Wind that I can afford. I have my own business, but, face it, you can only do so many perms and dye jobs in any given month. The ladies of Whispering Wind aren't the kind who'll come in regular once a week for a shampoo and set. That
would be an extravagance. Between food and clothes for Tommy, who's growing like a weed, there's not a lot left over to save for a house, especially when I wind up getting the roof on that rental patched once a month with my own money.”