All That You Are (14 page)

While childish, she shoved him just to get her frustration out. His hands clamped over her arms, holding her still. Pumping fast, her heartbeat betrayed the calm she presented. She could feel her pulse at her neck, the obvious sign she was affected by him.

Trying to slow her breathing, she remained motionless while his face loomed over hers and his breath caught on her cheek.

For the longest time, he drank in her features, looking at her face as if he wanted to memorize it. She grew
nervous, unsure how to respond. Her mind said one thing, her body said another.

She wasn't immune to his startling good looks, the feel of him this close. His warmth, his scent, the dark glint in his eyes. But she wasn't going to jump him, not for anything.

Dana had a lot of reserve in her. She could wait this out for as long as he wanted. She wouldn't flinch or bolt. She could stand still and simply breathe.

In the end, Mark's hands slid over her arms and toward her chin. He caught the point in his strong fingers, then lightly brushed his thumb over her mouth. She couldn't suppress the shiver that came with a thousand hot pricks of assaulting pleasure. Angry with her lack of resolve, she finally jerked back, needing to be free of him.

“Get out—go have a drink,” she ordered.

Then in a tone that both exasperated and caressed her like a light kiss, he replied in a rich timbre, “I'm not the one who needs it, Princess Bubble Gum.”

“What did you call me?”

“Pretty sweater. You look amazingly good in that color.”

Then he turned and left as quietly as he'd appeared. Dana let herself watch him retreat, standing still. Her chin lowered and she gave her pink sweater a glance. Its cable knit was delicate and woven with ruby-pink metallic yarn to create a startling pink illusion of rich color. It was probably the most expensive sweater in her closet; her mother had bought it for her.

For long seconds after Mark left, Dana stood wondering what all this had really been about.

But she didn't have time to overly ponder it because the hour had grown late—it was nearly eleven o'clock. Opening the hard-shell black case, she took out her father's saxophone. She had her own, back at the house. He'd bought it for her and taught her to play. But she kept Oscar's sax at the bar. This was his place, his music, and when the notes on his saxophone filled the Blue Note, it was as if he was here again rather than on the recordings.

Finding Leo, she told him to cut the music when he saw she was ready. This was their standard operating procedure when she opted to play. Normally she did so a couple times a week, but it had been nearly a month since she'd played.

Standing on the short riser where other performers played live jazz, Dana held her shiny saxophone, and Leo was right on cue to cease the jukebox tune.

Posture straight, head erect, she fought to stave off the flush that had crept over her face. Mark sat at the bar once more, and she could feel his eyes following her every move.

When she'd prepared, taking her place, she had it in her mind to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” but as the room stilled to a hush, she heard rain pounding on the rooftop. Fat drops fell on her corrugated roof, sounding like a brass-tack staccato over metal. A thought hit her—they didn't need the buckets anymore.

Mark had fixed the leaks.

Now everyone in the Blue Note could enjoy the sounds of the rain as it fell overhead.

Taking a few silent beats, she collected herself, then began to play. “Here's That Rainy Day” came alive as the crowd gave her an encouraging round of applause.

Breathing from her core's center, she played with a loose embouchure and a strong airstream. Fingers close to the wind holes, she went after tone and purity.

Air and fingers met. She had a perfect understanding of open and closed so the melody was in constant motion. Her father had taught her that the notes she did not play were as important as those that she did. Sometimes, technique only served to stifle. Use your sense of rhythm to make the song come alive.

As the song wrapped around her she forgot about everyone in the room. Her father's voice came to her ears, blending with the sweet notes of his instrument.

“Put your heart and soul into it, Danalee-honey. Otherwise it's just noise.”

She liked to imagine she could play as well as Oscar Jackson, Louisiana musician extraordinaire, but she would never emulate the sound he had perfected as his own.

As the last note rose from her chest, traveled through the reed and created a soothing sound, Dana held still.

The crowd gave her rousing applause, and the noise broke her dream world. When she played, she grew lost in the music. It became a part of her she grabbed hold of, bringing her closer to her father.

Tonight had been especially hard, and for reasons she didn't understand at the moment. Stinging tears flooded her eyes, and as she lowered the sax onto its stand, she blinked to keep them at bay. She knew she had to get out of here. Fast.

Head down, chin low, she wove her way out the front door and gulped in the clean, wet air. Rain fell in a veil that clung to her skin, her face, her sweater.

She sprinted to the aviation office and stood under the awning that offered little shelter. She didn't realize she was crying until she tasted the salt on her lips.

Losing her father had been more than difficult. Keeping the bar going in his memory was even harder. There were times when she didn't want any part of it.

She wasn't smart enough to figure out a business budget.

She wasn't talented enough to play the saxophone her father had lovingly taught her.

She didn't have it in her to meet people and think of them as old friends when they sidled up to the bar—not like Oscar had.

Oscar Jackson was the one and only Sax Man. He had lived and breathed jazz. The Blue Note was his dream, his vision.

Dana kept it going—for him. And for Ketchikan. They loved this place. She couldn't close it. Why she even let herself think of that right now…

A weak moment. One that allowed her to release her true inner feelings rather than hold back.

She understood Mark when he'd said he did things out of an obligation. If he only knew how alike they were…if he only—

“Dana,” came Mark's voice through the rain.

He approached, the rain spotting his shirt as he met her under the awning.

“Go away,” she said in a biting tone.

Mark pulled her to him, his fingers digging into her shoulders, the contact a searing heat through her wet sweater. His mouth was inches from hers, his breath caressing her trembling lips.

“You're crying.” He took her face in his hands and held her, easing his callused fingers over her temples. She closed her eyes and allowed him to stroke her. Standing still, she could barely take in a breath. He moved his hands lower, tracing the shape of her eyebrows, eyelids and long lashes, cheekbones, nose and, finally, her mouth. She parted her lips as he continued to trace her jaw and slim neck.

His touch returned to her lips again and she involuntarily pressed a featherlight kiss on his thumb, tasting his skin.

“I want something that's mine and only for me.” The words seemed to be spoken by someone other than her, but Dana had felt them well inside her. Then she whispered, “Kiss me.”

She melted into him and he pressed his fingers into her hair that now curled down her back. Pulling her face closer, he brought his wide mouth down on hers.

He kissed her slowly and skillfully, sapping any common sense she might have had. Everything inside her skittered in a warm fusion of senses. She breathed deeper, the night smelling of minerals and earth as she dragged in a half breath.

There was a strong hardness to Mark's lips as he blended his warm moisture with hers. The pit of her stomach tightened as she let herself enjoy without thought, without guilt. It had been so long since she'd kissed a man…yet badly wanting to.

From the beginning, she'd been attracted to Mark, but she'd held that reaction in check. Now, she let go of reason.

Shocked by her own eager response, Dana kissed
Mark back, shadowing his movements. She grew only slightly startled when he forced her teeth to part, his tongue invading her mouth's velvet recesses. The contact made her dizzy, and she tightened her grip on his muscled back. She wanted him close, so close. She worked her hands over his spine and across his heavy shoulders, feeling the thick cords of his neck.

It was as if her blood had turned to fire, fueling some hidden desire she never knew she possessed.

This was insanity…the emotions of the moment had caught her unawares. She'd been too vulnerable, discouraged that she hadn't played as well as Oscar. All she wanted was something for her, to be a woman who needed and wanted.

And she'd wanted this.

But it would be a bad choice to give in to.

Cold rain pelted them, giving her the chill she needed to allow the reality of the situation to set in.

Breathless, Dana broke free. It took her several long seconds to compose herself, unable to disguise her body's reaction to him in the way her cheeks had heated. Without looking away from Mark's face, she staggered to break free from his grasp.

Gasping, she said, “I didn't mean it. I didn't want you to kiss me.”

Eyes dark, like stones on the beach, he swallowed thickly. She could see from the way he slowly worked his jaw, he was trying to figure out what happened. “I could take it back.”

“No,” she rallied, not wanting him to kiss her again. Then in a defensive cry, she urged, “Leave me alone.”

“Whatever you say, Princess Bubble Gum.”

“Stop calling me these ridiculous nicknames.”

“You want to know why I do?” He leaned in closer, his voice like a flat chord, but strong with sharp meaning. “Because it makes your eyes shine and you react…and you look like you've been—” He slowly shook his head, as if in disbelief over his blunt honesty. “God help me, I love that look on your face.”

“Well un-love it.”

“Not so easy, sweetart. Once I get something set in my mind, it stays there. For a long time.”

Rain fell over his face as he stepped back, then left her to her own ruminations over what had just happened.

T
HE BLACK RUBBER WHEEL
didn't pivot on its axis like it should, causing Mark to grip the cart's handle tighter. The blue Wal-Mart cart didn't want to steer in a straight line down the jeans aisle. He came to a Levi's table and fingered through them, finding his size and length. Chucking two pairs of 501s in the cart, he moved on to socks and T-shirts.

Doing laundry a couple times a week had gotten old.

When he'd arrived in Alaska, he hadn't given himself a specific timetable to be here, but he'd figured he would've been back in Boise by now.

Several weeks should have been ample time to figure out what he wanted to do about his role in the family business. The trouble was, in the month and handful of days that he'd been in Ketchikan, he'd barely given his situation back home his attention.

His mind had been wrapped around Dana and her current set of problems, not his own. Ever since last night, entirely different thoughts had clouded his head. And they had nothing to do with her renovations.

This morning lying in bed, in a state of half asleep and half awake, he could almost feel her pliant sweater beneath his hands. The strands of her wet hair curled
around his fingers. The warm feel of her mouth over his. Visions of their heated kiss, of her sweet body pressed against his, had invaded his dreams.

He'd woken strongly aroused and staring at the ceiling. The dreamlike images became crystal clear in his thoughts. He was a fairly tall man, and with Dana in his arms, he felt too big and too tall. As if he'd crush her. She was so short and slight. It had been with effort he'd bent his knees to accommodate her in his arms while pressing his lips to hers.

Not since he'd been in junior high or high school had he spent time reliving a kiss. Back then, he'd thought with what was behind the fly in his jeans. Zeroing in on sex had been the focus of puberty. He thought about sex as an adult. But a guy wasn't programmed to repeat a romantic scene in his head over and over. What happened, happened. Then the moment was over. Sometimes a kiss was okay. Sometimes it was mind-blowing. But it wasn't worth dwelling on after the fact. This morning's dream went beyond the normal for Mark. Dana's effect on him was like nothing he'd experienced in the past.

There was nothing about her that he couldn't find interest in. He was attracted to the way she walked, with sure, easy steps. The way she managed the Blue Note with a firm yet friendly approach. Her voice, sometimes rough and scratchy, other times a soft purr. The delicate features on her face, her long hair with its changing texture, her love-me sweet body. And when she'd played that saxophone…holy hell.

Sweat beads popped out on Mark's brows.

Maybe it was because he knew things would never
work out for them that he was drawn to her all the more. Dana had a life here in this town. His was back home. The explanation for all his thoughts was easy. It was that wanting something not attainable that made it all the more appealing.

Feeling relatively assured he wasn't going over the deep end, Mark shoved thoughts of Dana from his mind.

Moving the cart around the corner, he narrowed in on the sundry aisles. He needed deodorant, razor blades and shampoo. Like most guys, he was pretty basic.

He would have thrown in some food items, but unlike the Wal-Mart back home, this store just had one cooler case with limited items and, for dry goods, only basic stuff like crackers, nuts and teas and coffee. Guess he'd have to hit the grocery store.

Winding his way down an aisle, he mindlessly glanced at the products, and as he did so, he recognized a voice at the other end of the aisle before he saw who was talking.

“Momma, how come we have to buy namp-kins and not snotty tissues?” a little boy asked.

“Because our last name starts with a
J.”

Mark held back, inching his way forward, watching Dana and her son wheel a slow path ahead of him.

Dana wore jeans that fit her in a way that defined her hips and thighs, offering a suggestion of curves beneath. They rode moderately low on her, a chocolate-brown belt woven through the loops.

Swallowing the tightness in his throat, Mark noted she had the kind of shapely booty that a man could take hold of in both hands as he held her close.

She wore a brown cable-knit sweater and a cream-
colored vest, also boots; and she'd twisted her hair into a messy ponytail. Just the sight of her caused him to react in a physical way. And she was oblivious to the effect she had on the man behind her.

Her son sat in the large basket, items surrounding him as he stacked and restacked them into a makeshift fort. Sitting cross-legged, his jeans rode high on his ankles, cowboy boots on his feet. He wore a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sweatshirt and Dana's battered fedora hat, which swam on his head.

Terran asked, “How come Dad's last name starts with a
B
and I'm not a
B?”

“Because that's how you were born.”

“How come I was born a Jackson and not a Boyd?”

“That's just how it was, baby.”

“But why?”

“Because you know why. Mommy and Daddy aren't married.”

“Why not? Everybody else is married.”

“Grandma's not married.” Dana selected plain white napkins in an economy package and tossed them into her cart.

“But she was married to Grandpa, wasn't she?”

“Yes.”

“Then how come you aren't married to my daddy?”

The cart stilled, Dana's back straight and proud. She drew in a breath, taking in a few beats before replying. “Sometimes I wish I had been, Terran. But things just didn't work out that way.”

Mark's thoughts worked over that piece of news, but he didn't hold on to them.

“How come?”

“Let Momma see the list, baby.” Dana took a wrinkled sheet of paper from her son. “So we got the hand sanitizer. Next we need to find six glue sticks and one bottle of Elmer's white glue.”

“Who's Elmer?”

“Oh, I don't know, Terran,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Some guy who invented the glue.”

“How come he 'vented it?” Terran peeked his head around his mother's side, saw Mark and said, “Hi.”

Turning with a jerk, Dana caught sight of Mark as he rolled his cart behind her. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hello.” Her response was uttered almost shyly, softly. Her eyes lowered, as if she didn't want to meet him directly in his gaze.

Mark addressed Terran, allowing Dana to focus on something other than him. “Whatcha doing, dude?”

Lifting his chin, he knocked the hat brim back with his hand so he could have a better view. “I'm buying my kinny-garden supplies. I don't bring any snot tissues, I have to bring namp-kins because I'm a
J.
What are you?”

“I'm an
M
.”

“Is your dad an
M?”
Terran asked, his face masked with a veil of seriousness.

“Yes, he was.”

“See, Mommy. Everybody's the same as their dad's letter but me.”

Smiling uneasily, rolling her eyes briefly, Dana struggled with an evidently deflated feeling.

Mark directed the conversation elsewhere so Dana didn't have to keep addressing the subject. “So, Terran, you're starting school?”

“Yep. I'm five.” He displayed five dirty fingers with orange sticky stuff on them. “How old are you?”

“Forty.”

“How many fingers is that?”

“That'd be forty.” Mark flashed ten splayed fingers four times.

“You're old.” He grinned broadly, the gap in his mouth pink and empty.

A frown caught on Dana's mouth. “Terran, what did I tell you about being polite to people?”

“He's not people—we know him.” Terran stuffed his hand in his jeans pocket and revealed an unwrapped sugar candy. “Want a jellybean?”

“No thanks. I'm trying to cut back.”

“Huh?” he replied, his orangish lips pursed. Then he asked in a loud whisper, “Mommy, did he just cut one? You told me never to talk about when I'm tooting in the store.”

“Gosh, Terran, he's not doing
that.”
Dana's eyes widened, embarrassment spreading across her face. Adjusting her leather purse in the cart's seat, she apparently needed a distraction to get her out of the awkward situation. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, a silver hoop clipped into the lobe.

Addressing Mark, she said, “Have a good rest of your day.”

“You do the same.” Mark looked into her eyes, ever unique, a soft and glittery appeal in them. Whenever he let himself get caught in those eyes, he could forget where he was, do things he shouldn't.

He had feelings for her. Feelings he hadn't expected or sought. They would be his worst enemy if he didn't
keep them in check. Yet this close to her, he wanted to feel her arms around his neck once again, have her flush against his—

“Hey, Mark? Mark?” Terran called again when Mark didn't readily acknowledge him. When Mark transferred his glassy gaze, the boy asked, “Do you like the toy aisle?”

“Uh, sure.” Mark let the intricacies of his thoughts slip away.

“Can you play hockey?” Terran scooted forward on his knees and batted down the wall of assorted products he'd erected around himself.

“No.”

“I can. Is that your cell phone?” He pointed to the black case on Mark's belt.

“Yeah.”

“Did you know that GCI Cellular has the best plan for you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Terran, stop,” Dana broke in. To Mark, she shrugged. “He likes to ask a lot of questions.”

“Ya think?” Mark smiled, not particularly bothered by the little boy's inquisition.

“Hey, Mark? Do you like cheesebuggers?”

“Sure, I like cheeseburgers.”

“Can you get a cheesebugger with us today?”

“No,” Dana clipped, interrupting Mark's “Sure.”

Snapping her head in Mark's direction, Dana glowered at him. “I don't think it's a good idea.”

“Why not?” He gave her a half grin. “I'm hungry. My treat.”

“But you can't have your treat until after you eat your
bugger,” Terran added soberly. “Mommy says—no sweets before eats.”

Tipping his head in Dana's direction, Mark replied in an easy tone, “Your mom's right. Sweets are a nice treat. Especially when they're from her.”

If looks could kill, Dana's would have shot Mark down right in the middle of Wal-Mart.

 

B
URGER
Q
UEEN WAS
a Ketchikan institution. Located outside the tunnel and across from the cruise-ship berths, the place drew both tourists and locals. The building didn't look like much to an outsider. Its exterior was pale in color, like vanilla ice cream, and with blue trim that reminded Dana of her mother's hydrangeas.

Parking there was a nightmare. The restaurant was built in a shallow cutout of the shale that rose tall behind it. The dark gray rocks were covered with wild greenery and flowers at this time of year. Three picnic benches with red umbrellas were available for the customers who dined outside. Inside the small restaurant, there were four booths with seats as hard as the shale itself.

Since there was a break in the rain and the temperature was moderately pleasant, Dana, Mark and Terran sat outside. The side door to the restaurant was open, and Dana had placed their order at the counter. Now they waited for their meal ticket to be called.

One thing could be said about Burger Queen—the food was the best, and if you wanted to eat here, patience was a virtue. Nothing on the menu was cooked fast.

Terran and Dana occupied one side of the table, while Mark sat on the other. Dana had bought Terran a coloring book to go along with an extra box of twenty-four
crayons. He'd had a mini-fit over not being able to use the new crayons and having to save them for the first day of school. Gone were the tears that had swum in his eyes. Now his demeanor was as happy as a clam as he colored a picture of a dump truck.

Dana easily knit her fingers together, still not quite sure what had prompted her to have lunch with Mark Moretti. She was a big girl and could have said no, but she hadn't. She'd agreed, and for whatever the reason, here she was.

Vehicles and tourist buses zoomed over Tongass Highway, the traffic pretty steady for a Saturday afternoon. Located the way it was, the restaurant was less than ten feet from the road.

“Do you eat here often?” Stylish sunglasses covered Mark's eyes, making them unreadable.

“A couple times a week. Mostly I have dinner at the bar. Or my mom saves me something for when I get home.”