Loving Jessie (8 page)

“I’m thinking about it. I’m trying to figure out how much of it is here before I make any decisions. I haven’t tackled anything like this in a long time.”

“It’s a long-term project.” Reilly shot him a questioning glance, his words holding a question Matt wasn’t ready to answer. He didn’t know how long he planned to stay.

“I haven’t committed myself yet,” he said, shrugging lightly.

Reilly nodded and turned his attention to the car again. Wearing faded jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, his sandy-blond hair rumpled, he looked more like a slightly over-the-hill beach bum than the owner of a successful construction firm.

“Playing hooky?” Matt asked, picking up an old T-shirt and wiping the grease off his hands.

“More or less. There’s not much point in being boss if I can’t take a little time off now and then.”

His tone was a little defensive, a little defiant, and Matt’s brows rose. Something told him that the time had come for him to find out what was bothering his old friend. It had been inevitable. Reilly had never been able to keep a secret for long. Matt had sometimes wondered if that openness was the result of growing up with two loving parents or something inborn in the other man.

“Great party the other night,” Matt said, not sure he wanted to hear whatever it was Reilly so obviously wanted to tell him.

“It was great seeing everybody, wasn’t it?” Reilly picked up a wrench and set it down again. “Dana said to thank you for the flowers you sent.”

“I’m glad she liked them. She throws a hell of a party.”

“Yeah.” Reilly picked up a worn spark plug, studied it a moment and then set it down next to another plug, fussing with its position as if the fate of nations rested on their perfect alignment.

With a sigh, Matt tossed the T-shirt down and rested one hip against the Chevy’s scarred fender.

“You want to spit it out now, or are you going to make me beat it out of you with a tire iron?”

Reilly shot him a startled glance, opened his mouth to deny that there was anything to spit out, then closed it without speaking. His shoulders seemed to slump a little. “Have you ever done something so incredibly stupid and self-destructive that you find it just keeps haunting you?”

Matt flashed on the dreams, on the reason behind them; then, oddly enough, he thought of the kiss he’d shared with Jessie after the party. He wasn’t sure it qualified as self-destructive, but it had certainly haunted him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth curving in a half smile. “I think I can safely say that I’m a strong contender in the stupid-acts sweepstakes. What have you done, Kemosabe?”

The old nickname made Reilly smile, but it faded immediately, and for a moment there was naked vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away.

“I slept with another woman.” The flat words echoed in the shabby little building, shimmering in the heat with an almost visible presence.

Aside from a lift of his brow, Matt didn’t rush to comment. Instead, he considered the idea, trying to connect
it with what he knew of the man who’d been his friend for most of his life. He shook his head slowly.

“I always figured you for the faithful type, Ri.”

“I was. I am.” Reilly spun away, staring down at the neat row of spark plugs. “It was once. One time. One lousy night, and I’ve managed to destroy my marriage.”

His voice had thickened, and Matt looked down, contemplating the toe of his running shoe. In theory he was a firm supporter of the enlightened viewpoint that said it was okay for men to cry, but that didn’t make him comfortable with the reality.

Now that it was started, the story spilled out. Dana had been on a trip to New York for some sort of photo spread on former beauty queens. Reilly had had business in Los Angeles, and when the business was concluded, there had been a party. And at the party had been a woman, someone he knew casually and liked.

“I know it’s no excuse, but I was drinking and she was…she practically crawled all over me.” Reilly shoved his fingers through his hair, his expression both shamed and defensive. “I’ve tried to figure out what the hell happened. She was going through a divorce, and her husband was there with another woman. Maybe she wanted to punish him. We’d met before, and there’d never been anything between us. I mean, she’s attractive but I’d never… Hell.” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “There’s no excuse for it. I slept with her. I was sorry as soon as it happened, but I couldn’t change it.”

“I suppose you told Dana,” Matt said after a moment.

Reilly gave him a startled look. “I had to. I owed her that much. Not telling her would have been like lying to her.”

Matt shook his head, his mouth twisting in a rueful
smile. “Honesty is a sometimes overrated quality. And a painful one.”

“You think I shouldn’t have told her?”

Matt shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. I’m no expert on marriage.”

“Obviously neither am I.” Reilly shoved his hands in his back pockets and turned away, his shoulders hunched. “She forgave me. I didn’t deserve it, but she forgave me. She didn’t scream or hit me or throw me out of our bedroom. She just asked me if it was ever going to happen again, and when I told her I’d never regretted anything more in my life, she said we’d forget about it.”

Only it hadn’t been that easy, Matt thought, seeing the misery on his friend’s face, remembering the fragile emptiness he’d glimpsed in Dana’s eyes. You couldn’t just forget something like that, couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened, no matter how much you wanted to. Memory just wasn’t that accommodating.

Reilly drew a deep breath and lifted his head to look at Matt, his mouth curving in a half smile. “Thanks for listening, man. It helps to talk about it, even though I know I can’t go back and change it.”

Matt nodded slowly. “No, you can’t ever go back.”

Jessie gave the table a careful inspection. She knew a great deal about the art of presentation. Fine dining involved much more than the food. Everything from the table linens to the glassware contributed to the experience. Tonight she wanted everything to be as close to perfect as she could make it. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be one of the most important nights of her life.

Or the night when she confirmed, once and for all, that she was certifiably insane.

With a sigh, she turned away from the table and went
into the kitchen. This was Matt, she reminded herself. She’d always been able to talk to him about anything. She’d known him most of her life. Of course, she hadn’t known he could dissolve her knees with a kiss until a few days ago. She held the memory of that kiss like a talisman, as if it somehow proved that her insane idea made sense.

Standing in the kitchen, she ran through the remaining tasks in her mind, checking to make sure everything was ready. She’d chosen the menu with care. Beef tenderloin with a mustard and herb crust, flageolet with roasted tomatoes, mushroom and endive salad with truffle oil vinaigrette, and her own recipe for pound cake soaked in melted butter, sugar and Galliano. The tenderloin was tied, ready to be browned and then roasted. Everything else was ready and waiting. She knew Matt didn’t drink much, but she’d opened a good California merlot so that it could breathe. Her grandfather’s favorite cognac was waiting in the living room.

Jessie frowned as the thought drifted, unbidden and unwanted, through her mind.
And the condemned man ate
a hearty meal
.

Matt settled back into the comfortable embrace of the big wing chair. He’d always liked this room, this house. Jessie’s grandfather had lived here for over fifty years, and it had the cozy, lived-in feeling of a well-loved home. Softly burnished oak floors glowed golden in the lamp-light. The furniture had been chosen for comfort more than style, with soft, wide cushions that made it impossible to do anything other than relax back into their embrace. The stone fireplace was empty at this time of year, but he had memories of the way it looked in the winter,
a fire crackling on the hearth, sending out heat and the sweetly pungent scent of piñon and eucalyptus.

It had been foolish to worry about coming here. Foolish to think that a single kiss would somehow change his friendship with Jessie forever. He’d felt a little awkward at first, thinking Jessie might have been upset or, worse still, had asked him over so that they could talk about what had happened. He should have known better. Jessie was… Well, she was Jessie. And a single kiss, even one hot enough to melt paint, was not going to intrude on a friendship that dated back more than two decades. She was much too practical for that. Had too much common sense. And if he felt a twinge of annoyance that she could apparently shrug the whole thing off, well, that was probably just another facet of delayed stress or whatever the hell it was.

It had been a pleasant evening so far. The food had been superb, and, though he’d turned down the wine, he had given in to temptation and allowed her to pour him a snifter of cognac. He held it now, cupped in the palm of his hand, warming it so that the rich, fruity scent drifted up to tease even before he tasted it. After that initial awkwardness, he and Jessie had fallen into conversation as easily as they always had, discussing everything and nothing. She hadn’t mentioned her grandfather’s book, hadn’t asked if he’d made a decision about doing the photography for it, and he hadn’t brought it up, either. He wasn’t ready to pick up a camera again. Maybe he would never be ready.

Still, she’d asked him to dinner for a reason. He’d known Jessie too long not to recognize the signs. She hadn’t settled in one place for more than a minute or two since they left the dining room. And she hadn’t stopped
talking. The easy conversation they’d enjoyed earlier had disappeared in a nervous flood of chatter.

The cognac cradled in his palm, he leaned back in his chair and watched her as she stood next to an end table, fussing aimlessly with the shallow bowl of roses that sat there, making minute adjustments to the arrangement. At least she wasn’t wearing a dress tonight, though he wasn’t sure the black ribbed leggings and silky blue shirt she was wearing were much of an improvement. She really did have amazing legs.

“So, you want to tell me why you invited me to dinner?” he asked, seeking a distraction.

Jessie lifted her head to look at him, her eyes startled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when a woman feeds a man filet mignon and plies him with fine cognac, there’s got to be an ulterior motive.” His smile took any sting from the words, but Jessie flushed guiltily, and her fingers tightened around the rose she held, bruising the peach-toned petals.

Now that the moment was here, she was torn between a desperate need to blurt out her question and an equally desperate urge to tell him he was imagining things, that she didn’t want anything at all, had never wanted anything and would never want anything. Except that would be a lie, because there was something she wanted quite desperately, and he might be her best hope of getting it.

Gathering her courage in both hands, she drew a deep breath. This was Matt, she reminded herself. Never mind that she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was really amazingly attractive sitting there, with his dark hair just a little tousled and his eyes questioning. Had his eyes always been so blue? Not that it mattered. What mattered was that he was one of her dearest friends. She could talk to him about anything. Ask him anything.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” She lifted her eyes to his face and felt her nerves steady a little. He looked so familiar, so dear. “It’s…it’s sort of…unusual and rather…personal.”

“My specialty,” he said lightly. When she didn’t smile but just stood there staring at him, her big brown eyes wide and almost frightened, Matt shook his head and smiled gently. “Spit it out, Jessie. You know there’s nothing you can’t ask me.”

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured. She looked down at the mangled arrangement of roses for a moment and then lifted her eyes to his face again.

“What is it, Jess?” he asked softly. “What do you want?”

“A baby.” She blurted it out, then drew a deep breath and repeated it more steadily. “I want a baby.”

M
att stared at her. For the space of several seconds his mind was completely blank. Auditory hallucinations, he thought. That was the only possible explanation. Three sips of cognac and he was starting to hear things. Things like Jessie telling him she wanted a baby. Telling him in a way that suggested she wanted him to help her get one.

Maybe the cognac was spoiled, he thought. Moldy. Any mold that could live in eighty-six-proof alcohol could probably cause a man to hear things. Even something as crazy as Jessie asking him to… Suggesting that he could…

“Excuse me?” he said at last, his voice raspy.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Jessie said nervously. “But when you think about it, it really makes perfect sense.”

Now that the words were out, now that she’d actually taken that first, huge step, her confidence took a quick upward bounce. Matt was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind, but once she’d explained things, he would see that it made sense. He’d never let her down before, and she knew he wouldn’t this time, either. It was just a mat
ter of explaining things to him, of making him see how much this meant to her.

“It probably seems very sudden to you,” she said, her voice calm and steady, wanting him to understand that this was not an impulsive suggestion but something to which she’d given a great deal of thought. “But I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while, and it’s really not as crazy as it seems.”

He said nothing, only continued to stare at her with that look of blank shock.

“It’s really very simple.” Her body thrumming with nerves, Jessie sat down, then shot up from her chair immediately. It was so important to make him understand. She’d tried out half a dozen carefully prepared little speeches, but now that the moment was here, she could only speak from the heart.

“I know it’s a cliché, but my biological clock is ticking like a time bomb.” She moved to the front window and made a minute adjustment to the alignment of the curtains. “I’m twenty-nine years old, without a single romantic entanglement in my life. I’m tired of waiting for Mr. Right to show up.”

She had already decided not to mention the fact that her particular Mr. Right had married someone else. This had nothing to do with Reilly. She didn’t want a baby as a consolation prize because she hadn’t gotten the man she loved. She glanced at Matt, but he was staring down into the brandy snifter, his expression hidden from her. She wished he would say something, give her some clue as to what he might be thinking, but he just sat there—listening, she hoped.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like the whole dream,” she said, picking an invisible piece of lint off the back of the sofa. “A husband, a family, two cars in the garage and
a white picket fence.” Jessie laughed self-consciously. “But things didn’t work out that way. I mean, I suppose I could put up a white picket fence, but there’s no husband in the picture, and I don’t really need a second car.” She realized she was starting to babble and caught her lower lip between her teeth as if to physically contain the stream of words.

Matt still hadn’t spoken, and his silence was starting to seem very loud. This had all seemed so reasonable when she was thinking about it, but now, hearing the echo of her own words in the quiet room, she wasn’t so sure. This wasn’t exactly like asking him to teach her to drive or to take photographs of her grandfather’s rose garden.

“When I thought about it, I realized that there was no reason why I couldn’t have part of the dream.” Jessie sank down on the sofa, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned toward him, focusing everything she had on making him see how much this meant to her. “I’d be a good mother. I know I would. And these days, no one looks twice at a single parent. Maybe it
is
a little crazy, but I… I want a baby, Matt.”

Stated like that, the words sounded rather…naked, but she couldn’t take them back. She wouldn’t. This was Matt. Matt, who’d patched up her skinned knees and taught her to drive and made her laugh more times than she could remember. She’d always been able to count on him. True, this was something a little…bigger than a Band-Aid or a stick shift, but once he understood how much it meant to her, he would—

“You want a baby.”

Jessie jumped at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t read anything from his tone, which was curiously flat, empty of emotion. Swallowing the nervous lump in her
throat, she nodded, realized he wasn’t looking at her and forced words out through a throat suddenly gone tight.

“More than anything in the world.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” he asked in that same cool, emotionless voice.

She blinked. Hadn’t she made it clear? Sifting back over her own words, she realized that she hadn’t actually said it outright. It had to be obvious what she’d meant. But maybe he wanted to be sure of what she was asking.

“I wanted you to…” Jessie trailed off, feeling color creeping up from her throat into her face. It hadn’t seemed like such a…personal request until she was forced to try and put it into words. “I thought we could… I haven’t worked out the details yet, but you and I would… I mean, we…”

Her voice trailed off as Matt reached out to set the brandy snifter carefully on the coffee table. He finally raised his head and looked at her, but his face was still in shadow, his expression unreadable.

“You’re asking me to knock you up?” he asked, almost casually.

The crude phrase stung, and her flush deepened, her face burning with the heat. “I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly,” she got out after a moment, her voice strangled with embarrassment.

“Then how—exactly—would you put it?” he asked, politely inquiring. “Maybe you’d prefer a more poetic term. Should I have asked if you wanted me to get you with child? Put a bun in your oven?”

Jessie wasn’t fooled by his light tone. She edged back on the sofa, suddenly uneasy.

“Well, yes. Sort of. I didn’t think of it quite that way,” she muttered.

“You didn’t think of it that way?” Matt stood
abruptly, coiled violence in the move. “Did you think at all?”

Looking up at him, Jessie sucked in a quick, half-frightened breath at the anger that blazed in his eyes. Though the width of the coffee table was between them, he seemed to loom over her. Large and male and very, very angry. She’d never seen Matt lose his temper, and she was suddenly acutely aware that she didn’t
want
to see him lose it.

“I just—”

“What in the holy hell made you think I’d agree to something like this?” He spun away from her as if he couldn’t bear to look at her another second. “Jesus, Jessie, we’ve never been anything but friends. Why would you think I’d be willing to—” Matt broke off, unable to say the words. For a moment he’d sounded more bewildered than angry.

“Well, we…the way you kissed me the other night, I thought—”

He spun toward her, his expression so fierce that she pressed her back against the sofa as if she could somehow disappear into the pretty blue floral upholstery.

“A kiss?” he said incredulously. “That’s what gave you this insane idea? I kissed you, and you figured the next step was me getting you pregnant?”

“No. Yes. Not just that,” she said defensively. “I’d been thinking about it for quite a while, wondering how to go about it, and then you came home and, well, I just thought…” Jessie’s voice trailed off miserably. This had all seemed so much more reasonable before she’d actually said the words out loud.

“You just thought I was the kind of man who’d be willing to get a woman pregnant and then casually walk
away from his own child?” In a heartbeat, his anger shifted from white hot to ice cold.

Jessie stared up at him, her eyes blank with shock. She’d never looked beyond the fact that she wanted a child, never given so much as a thought to what would happen afterward, to how he might feel about fathering a child.

“No, I didn’t think that at all,” she said truthfully. “Of course I wouldn’t expect you to walk away. I mean, you could see… Anytime you wanted. I wouldn’t try to keep you away.” She stumbled to a halt and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the full weight of her own stupidity sink in.

How could she have been so blind? She’d never thought beyond the basic fact that she wanted a baby and Matt could give her one. In her dreams, she’d seen herself cradling her child in her arms, looked ahead to the first toddling steps, the first day of school, shuddered over the prospect of adolescence and even gotten a little teary-eyed about the sweet pain of seeing her son or daughter leave home in twenty years or so.

She hadn’t thought at all about how he might feel about the child she was asking him to help her create. And if she’d thought about it, even for a second, she would have known that there was no way Matt could ever father a child and then not be a part of its life.

Her clever idea had tumbled down around her head like a house of cards, but she could think about that later. For now, she was more concerned with repairing the damage she’d done tonight.

Opening her eyes again, she looked at Matt. He was standing on the other side of the coffee table, his hands on his hips and his back to her, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. She felt her heart tremble with fear. His
friendship had been a constant in her life. It didn’t matter that years might pass between visits. She’d always known he was there. She didn’t want to lose that. She didn’t want to lose
him
.

“Matt, I’m sorry.” The words sounded weak and inadequate to her own ears, but she had nothing better to offer. Rising, she moved around the coffee table until she stood beside him, waiting until he looked at her, trying not to flinch from the icy-blue fire of his eyes. “Matt, I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. I didn’t think it out.”

“No, you didn’t.” The words were as cold as his eyes.

Her hand not quite steady, she reached out to touch the taut muscles of his arm, but he stepped back, out of her reach. The sharp movement, the utter rejection of it, stabbed her straight through the heart.

Matt saw the hurt flare in her eyes, and there was a part of him that wanted to reach out to her, wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t trust himself to touch her. Not with this red-hot anger burning in his gut.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, taking another step back. There was a shimmer of tears in her eyes, a plea he couldn’t answer. Not right now. Without another word, he turned and walked out the door, feeling Jessie’s eyes on him every step of the way.

Someone was knocking on the door. Not just knocking, but slamming their fist against it with solid rhythmic thumps. Gabe came awake reluctantly, squinting at the clock on the nightstand. Almost one o’clock. Who the hell would be knocking at one o’clock in the morning? Not knocking, he realized as the sleepy fog receded a bit. That thudding sound wasn’t knocking.

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bed and reached for the ratty gray sweatpants he’d tossed over the foot of
the bed a few hours ago. Damned few hours ago, he thought, yawning widely. He shoved his fingers through his dark hair as he padded barefoot to the door. The thudding continued, pausing momentarily and then picking up again. He could almost feel the beat through the worn wooden floor beneath his feet.

Obviously Matt was back from his dinner at Jessie’s and for some reason had decided that one o’clock in the morning was a good time to replenish the woodpile—a perfectly logical decision. Gabe pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the sagging porch. A full moon sailed high overhead, casting clear silvery light over the chaparral-covered hills. Closer to the house, the stark white glow of the halogen floodlight illuminated the area beyond the porch. Matt stood in the center of that pool of light, splitting wood with vicious concentration. The night was warm, and he’d stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the ground. Black denim rode low on his hips, and his torso gleamed with sweat.

Gabe watched in silence as Matt set the wedge in place in a eucalyptus log, then picked up a sledgehammer and hefted it over his head before bringing it down with brutal force. He repeated the motion, and the wood split with a thin ripping sound that seemed loud in the late-night quiet. Watching his younger brother, he felt a sharp twisting pain in his chest. Even as a child, Matt had held his emotions close, particularly when he was in pain. Throughout the nightmare of their childhood, Gabe could count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d seen Matt cry. He’d built a wall inside that had held against the bite of their father’s belt and the vodka-scented oblivion of their mother’s indifference. Instead of tears, Matt had exorcised his demons on the football field or the track, push
ing himself physically, as if he could sweat them out. Gabe wondered what demons he was battling tonight.

He waited until Matt paused, the sledgehammer dangling against the side of his leg, his chest heaving with exertion, the sound of his ragged breathing clearly audible.

“You know, most people just count sheep when they can’t sleep,” he said conversationally.

Matt turned without surprise. “I’m not really in the mood for cute furry little creatures.” He brought his free hand up to probe the grinding ache in his wounded shoulder. Apparently, when his doctor had recommended moderate exercise, she hadn’t meant splitting wood with a twelve-pound sledgehammer. Suddenly aware that he was exhausted and in considerable pain, he let the hammer drop to the ground and bent to scoop up his shirt, wiping it across his sweaty torso.

“Let me guess,” Gabe said. “Jessie made an extra-rich dessert and you’re worried that the calories will ruin your boyish figure.”

“Not exactly.” The mention of Jessie had his fingers knotting in the soft white cotton of the shirt.

“You think we’re going to have a really cold winter?” Gabe suggested, arching one brow at the tumbled pile of wood.

Matt shrugged, then winced when the movement pulled at his shoulder. He hoped he hadn’t done any real damage, but, at the moment, he couldn’t dredge up much concern. He walked up the steps and onto the porch, aware that Gabe was watching him, his eyes full of questions he wouldn’t ask. Which was good, because he had no intention of ever telling anyone about what had happened tonight.