December Heat (3 page)

But
Mark’s letter spoke of peace between them, barely mentioning their discord. The letter had been a deliberate drawcard to get him to visit. Odd though, that it was posted on the very day Mark died. It was almost as if Fate played a hand, making sure that somehow, they reconnected.

“How
are you coping?” He saw the pain flicker in her eyes. Was she coping?

“I
have good days and bad days,” she said quietly. “I try to keep busy, and that helps. Life has to go on.”

The
air between them filled with the sound of cicadas. Jake had forgotten how persistent their buzzy droning could be.

“Can
I get you something to drink?”

Jake
nodded, still unable to fully comprehend the news Nicolette had given him. This had to be a dream. A bad dream.

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He followed her inside. From where he stood in the open plan living room, he could see her moving about in the tiny kitchen, tucked away in the corner. A bench and a narrow wall, which probably protected the back of the fridge, were all that separated the two rooms.

“Have
you had lunch?” she asked.

“No.”

“Would you like a sandwich?”

Jake
realized it had been a long time since breakfast and that part of the gnawing in his stomach was from hunger. “Yes, please, if it’s no trouble.” He rolled his shoulders to try to alleviate some of their tension.

There
were a few minutes silence as she prepared lunch, leaving Jake alone with his thoughts.

“Don’t
you find it lonely here, all by yourself?”

A
thought struck him that maybe she had someone else. He didn’t care much for the idea, but wasn’t sure if it was because she was the widow of his good friend, and it was, in his opinion, too soon after Mark’s death to be seeing another man, or whether he was just plain envious. He walked over to the glass sliding door that lead out onto a screened verandah overlooking the pool, below which the tops of eucalyptus stretched all the way down to the river.

“Yes,
and no. It usually depends on whether it’s a good day or a bad day.”

Maybe
there was someone else.

“Let’s
eat on the verandah,” she said.

He
turned on her approach, and, glancing up at him, she stepped through the door and lowered the tray to a wicker coffee table. He took a seat in one of the cane chairs and Nicolette handed him a bottle of lager. He knew it was one of Mark’s favorites and grief tightened its grip on his heart once again.

“Glass?”

He shook his head.

“I
didn’t think so. Mark always preferred to drink it straight from the bottle too. Something about not contaminating the brew by putting it in a glass that had been used for a dozen other purposes.”

“Aren’t
you having one?” he asked, then raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. The ice-cold lager slid down his throat and settled in his gut like a stone.

“No,
I never did care for the taste of beer,” she replied. “I just keep a few on hand, in case of visitors.”

Though
he was curious about the status and frequency of visitors, he was tempted to ask her about the empty wine bottles, but thought better of it now that the friction between them had dissipated.

She
looked away. “Do you still want to stay?” There was a softness, almost a hint of hope in her voice. Jake told himself he’d imagined it. Nicolette wouldn’t want him around. Not the way she’d treated him in the past. Not now Mark was gone. She had no obligations to him even though he’d like them to be friends.

Jake
had noticed the uncertainty in her eyes before she turned from him. He wanted to; needed to, stay in this idyllic place so far away from everything that progressively had eaten into his soul these past years. Until now, there was almost nothing left. Perhaps being in Mark’s home would help him heal. Though he was grasping for something he couldn’t put into words, Jake felt he had to try. And now, with Mark gone, the need to clutch onto this unknown entity intensified.

At
least here he could try to forget. With a woman who could make him forget.

The
thought took his breath away.

That’s
not what he meant to think at all. Perhaps he should go. “I don’t want to put you out,” he heard himself say, but it was a feeble effort and he knew he didn’t sound convincing.

He
really should go, before he did something stupid. The last thing he wanted to do was close the door on his and Mark’s relationship. And Mark would want him to keep an eye on her. Save her from herself, from the bottle too, if she needed saving from that. He hoped he was wrong in that regard.

Every
fiber of his being told him not to go. Told him Nicolette needed him.

Chapter Three

Nicolette
sat in the love seat on the verandah and stared through the trees, not really seeing anything. The gentle swinging of the seat helped soothe her. She’d spent hours in this spot on long lonely nights, just dozing or staring into the blackness, too afraid to enclose herself in her room.

She
knew news of Mark’s death took a heavier toll on Jake than he let on. She still hadn’t forgiven Mark for dying on her, for taking the easy way out.

Their
marriage had brought with it problems that neither of them had foreseen. Deep in her heart, she’d clung to the belief that, with her love and support, Mark’s mental health would improve. But it hadn’t.

Mark
—the Mark she’d fallen in love with and whose memory she tried to hang on to—would expect her to honor his invitation to Jake. At least, that’s what she told herself. There was no underlying reason for making the offer to Jake to stay. She had her own plans for the future. Jake Harrigan’s bad boy image appeared battered and much more vulnerable than she remembered. He was less cocky, less self-assured. It was more than the news of Mark’s death, she was certain of that, since Jake had looked battle-weary even before she’d told him. She’d been shocked at how exhausted he looked.

It
wouldn’t have surprised her if Jake didn’t want to be alone. She could put up with him for a few days, surely, until he looked a little more like his old self. But did she really want the wild and uninhibited Jake hanging around?

Nicolette
preferred not to think about the fact that she didn’t want to be alone either. Usually, on a good day, it didn’t bother her too much, but with Christmas approaching, she felt vulnerable and afraid. This was to have been her second Christmas with Mark, only the second Christmas for a long time she’d shared with someone she loved. She’d anticipated her marriage would guarantee a long line of Christmases with him. Now there was every chance she’d spend this one alone.

Somewhere
in the depths of her chest, her heart felt like a chunk of wood, but as was her usual course of action, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, brushed the tears from her eyes and went to check on the baby.

“All
settled in?” she asked Jake, while tucking the anxious Kylie close to her breast. She murmured softly to the tiny warm bundle, propping herself on the couch, feet outstretched, bottle poised. With barely any coaxing, the baby’s hungry mouth latched onto the rubber teat and furiously sucked the warm milk.

“Yes,
thanks. Is there anything you want me to do around here for you? Might as well take advantage of an extra pair of hands.”

She
looked up and smiled at Jake who seemed mesmerized by the baby. “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll think of something. You might want to take the boat out sometime. It’s little more than a dinghy, but it’s sound.”

“I’d
enjoy the relaxation. I haven’t been fishing in ages. At least that has a purpose.”

“This
part of the river’s polluted with fertilizer from the farms. You won’t be able to eat the fish you catch. Maybe that will take the fun out of it for you.”

He
looked disappointed. “Pity. That explains the color. I expected the water to be dark green and clear, reflecting the trees and blue sky. It was like that last time I passed through here.”

“That
must have been a while ago.”

“Yeah.
I was in school at the time. That seems a lifetime ago now.”

“Well,
you could always go exploring. There are some lovely places along both banks of the river.”

The
baby paused and pulled her mouth away from the teat. Nicolette took advantage. Placing the half-full bottle between her knees and a nappy over her shoulder, she gently lifted Kylie to rest on the soft toweling, and began to stroke her tiny back.

Nicolette’s
gaze roamed over Jake, who appeared not to notice, he was so taken with the baby. Her gaze drank in the dark hair with the loose drift of waves that fell across the left side of his brow, that, like him, refused to conform, hinting at his wilder self.

The
night they’d met, those curls had seemed to mock her, draw her in, begging her to entwine her fingers with them...along with the curve of his mouth, shapely, inviting, and the kiss that was nearly her undoing. She’d tried to stifle the effect he’d had on her. After all, Mark was her chosen mate, her partner in life.

A
fling with Jake Harrigan would have ruined her future happiness and, even so, she wasn’t the type to indulge in a fling for the fun of it. In spite of her fierce loyalty to Mark, she’d been unable to completely shake the knowledge and guilt that a little bit of her had betrayed the man she loved, even though she’d put a stop to progressing the kiss any further.

And
she hadn’t encouraged it to begin with. A taste was all it took to shake her inner being, feed her curiosity. Excite her. As enticing as Jake was, she wasn’t his type. He’d quickly tire of her and move on to the next conquest.

Jake
stretched lazily, and she realized he’d been watching her assessment of him. Her face warmed. As long as he couldn’t read her mind.

“She’s
ready for the next half. Would you like to try?” she asked Jake, breaking what had become an intense silence. Even the lazy drone of the cicadas had quietened down.

“Sure,
why not, but you’ll have to show me what to do. I haven’t done this before.” He rose from his chair and moved to sit on the couch beside her.

“Sit
here, it’s more comfortable than in the middle.” She grabbed the bottle from between her knees, and rose to her feet. Then as he took his place, she leaned over to hand him the baby.

“Got
her?” she asked.

He
nodded. “Sure thing. She’s so tiny, there’s nothing to hang on to.”

“Don’t
hold her too tight,” Nicolette warned, the sweet freshness of clean baby wafting around them.

“She’s
so soft, cuddly...so small. She smells great, not at all like I expected a baby to smell. Never thought much about babies at all, to tell you the truth.”

Nicolette
smiled. “I’m not surprised.”

Kylie
snuggled into him, making funny little whimpering noises.

“Are
you comfortable?”

“Yes
.” He looked up at her, amazement in his eyes.

“Good.”
She handed him the bottle, and watched as Kylie again latched on to the nipple, though a touch less enthusiastically than before.

“There,
just hold the bottle a little higher, that’s it. Then she doesn’t have to work so hard.”

“This
is cozy.”

His
soft words drew her attention. Without realizing it, Nicolette had placed her hand over Jake’s as he grasped the bottle.

Suddenly
aware of the warmth and strength of his hand as it flexed beneath hers, Nicolette quickly withdrew her hold, stood back and observed, glad to put some distance between them.

“I’ve
never done anything like this before,” he reiterated, as if shocked by his own competence.

“You’re
a natural. You’ll make a good father,” she teased, trying to ignore the effects of the image before her, of a tall and broad-chested daredevil gently cradling a tiny baby in the crook of his arm. He looked too sexy for words.

“You’d
better have this, for later, just in case.” She smiled and placed the nappy over his shoulder. She tried to ignore his pleasant male scent, and the lingering traces of soap, mingled with the fragrance of baby. And the urge to touch the wispy curls feathering his collar. “You just never know when it’s all going to come right back up again.”

“Gee
, thanks,” he said. “But I think I can handle it. A bit of recycled baby milk won’t worry me.”

“I
suppose not, after some of the things you’ve seen,” she said, using her imagination to fill in the images of things he might have seen. “But that’s breast milk, so it won’t be as offensive a smell as formula.”

He
looked at the bottle, then looked at her. “You’re kidding me?”

She
shook her head. “Kylie’s mum, Magenta, believes in being prepared.”

The
quizzical look hadn’t left his face.

“Don’t
ask me,” she said. “I don’t know how it gets in there either. I have no experience with these things.”

“Would
you like to?” he asked softly.

“Have
babies, you mean? Yes of course, but I may have lost my only chance.”

Something
about the look in his eyes made her stomach flip.

“There’ll
be someone else, in time.”

“Maybe,”
she said. “But I’m not looking.”

* * *

The chilling noise woke her. Nicolette looked at the clock. The glowing red figures glared back at her...two-thirty. She groaned and pushed at her pillow, wondering about the sound that had yanked her from such a deep sleep. Maybe she’d dreamed it after all.

At
first she thought it came from a couple of nocturnal animals having a skirmish in the nearby bush, but when the sound came again, she knew it to be human. And it was in her house!

Jake!

She bolted upright, her feet shot to the floor and paused. Should she go to him?

The
cry came again, eerie in the stillness of night. Bad dream or not, she wasn’t about to stand on ceremony. That was a cry for help. And she knew enough about how it felt to cry out in anguish in the middle of the night and have no one come.

She
padded to the door and quietly opened it, her feet barely making a sound on the scatter rug covering the polished floor. The door to Jake’s room stood ajar and she pushed it cautiously, not knowing what would greet her on the other side.

Moonlight
shone a path across the bed. She could see tangled sheets, bare skin and movement all at once, and it took a few seconds to discern that the bare skin was Jake’s broad back. She was relieved to find the sheets partially covered him, though one long leg poked out from beneath, and his foot dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Jake,”
she said softly, hoping he didn’t wake with a fright.

He
began to mumble and groan and she could make no sense of his muffled words. She reached the bed and squeezed his foot, gently at first, and then gradually applied a little more pressure. “Jake, Jake, wake up.”

Still
unsure if she were doing the right thing, Nicolette paused. “Jake, Jake,” she said again, her voice growing stronger and more insistent.

He
groaned and mumbled, then thrashed around and flipped over on his back. He mumbled some more and she brushed his brow with her fingers. His hair was damp. The night wasn’t hot. Whatever his dream, it had really shaken him.

The
sheet had slipped down almost exposing him. She focused her attention on his face as she gingerly tugged the linen a little higher.

He
woke with a start.

A
hand gripped hers, almost crushing her fingers and she gasped, both in fright and discomfort. “Let go!” she breathed, trying to sound braver than she felt. What had been unleashed here, in Jake’s nightmare?

He
took a moment to pull himself together and tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillow with a loud drawn out sigh.

“I’m
sorry,” he mumbled, releasing her. “Are you all right? Did I wake you? I...I’m sorry.”

“I
could ask you the same thing. You were making some terrible noises. Like you were hurt, or in pain.”

“Just
a bad dream. I should have warned you.”

“Can
I get you anything? Water, or something?”

He
dragged himself into a sitting position, pulling the sheet with him, much to her relief. She noticed his chest glistened with sweat as well.

He
nodded. “Yes, thanks. I’m so thirsty.”

She
patted his hand and stood, and he gripped her fingers. “Thanks,” he said in a sleep-filled voice. “Every now and then, my past catches up with me. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Her
heart went out to him. “It’s okay. As long as you’re all right.”

She
could only imagine the horrors he’d seen. Mark had spoken of them occasionally, but had only hinted at the real thing. There were no graphic descriptions to accompany his little anecdotes. Jake was right. Mark had given her edited versions.

Jake
looked so vulnerable, so tired, with every unpleasant situation he’d ever encountered etched in his face. She reached out to stroke his cheek, as if to wipe away all the horrors he had seen. But a sense of wariness and indecision stilled the movement.