Never Say Goodbye (8 page)

As Scott waited for Jess to reply he used the moment to simply drink in the sight of her. For three long years he had had nothing but dreams to sustain him. Dreams of her kindness, her beauty, her joy. Of the
way her eyes had once shone with love when they gazed at him. Of his hope of winning her heart all over again. Those were the dreams he had clung to.

And now Jess stood only a whisper away, no longer a dream but flesh and blood. She was close, so close. And yet so far. Reachable but not touchable, though the urge to do so grew stronger with each encounter. But until he saw welcome and warmth in her eyes, rather than the caution and conflict now reflected in them as she pondered his invitation, he knew that patience—and prudence—were his friends. Whether he liked it or not.

As the seconds ticked by, Jess realized she had to make a decision. But for some reason her brain didn't seem to be functioning. Her
heart,
on the other hand, had kicked into overdrive, urging her to follow her brother's advice and talk with Scott. And as she gazed into his warm brown eyes, her doubts somehow melted away. After all, it was only a cup of coffee. What harm could it do? In fact, if her brother was right, some
good
might come of it.

With sudden decision, she nodded. “All right. I have time for a quick cup.”

If it wouldn't have attracted so much attention, Scott would have fallen to his knees on the spot. As it was, he simply sent a silent, heartfelt thank-you heaven-ward. “Great! Why don't you pick out a table and I'll get the coffee?” he suggested, struggling to contain the elation in his voice.

“Okay. Just a little cream.”

He smiled then, that lazy, smoky smile that had always turned her knees to rubber. “I remember,” he
said softly. Their gazes connected for a brief second before he turned away, but it was long enough for her to see the heat simmering in the depths of his eyes. “I'll meet you on the terrace,” he said over his shoulder.

Jess stared after him, caught off guard by the intimate, husky timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes, which had opened a floodgate of memories. She had never been a morning person, and when they were first married Scott had gotten into the habit of rising first to make coffee. Then he'd bring her a cup in bed, slipping in beside her to sip his as she slowly woke up. And sometimes, especially in the cold days of winter when neither wanted to leave their warm cocoon, they'd snuggle back under the covers for a few stolen moments. So yes, Scott knew exactly how she liked her coffee. And other things, as well.

A surge of longing suddenly swept over Jess, so strong and so unexpected that she gasped, causing a passerby to pause and gaze at her in alarm.

“Are you all right, dear?” the older woman asked in concern.

Jess felt her face grow red, and she nodded jerkily. “Yes. I—I'm fine.”

The woman didn't appear to be convinced. “Are you sure? Would you like to sit down?”

“No, really, I'm fine.”

An older man came up beside the woman and glanced curiously at Jess. “What's wrong, Ellen?”

“I thought perhaps this young woman was ill.”

By now they were drawing inquisitive glances from
those seated nearby, and Jess felt her color deepen. “I appreciate your concern, but…”

“Is something wrong?”

Jess turned to find Scott gazing at her with a troubled look, but before she could speak the older woman chimed in.

“Oh, are you with this young man, dear? Well, Harry, she's in good hands. I'm sure he'll see to her if she isn't well. You take care, miss,” she said over her shoulder as they headed toward an empty table.

Jess closed her eyes, wanting to drop through the floor in embarrassment. How in the world was she going to explain that exchange to Scott? she wondered desperately. There was no way on earth she could tell him the truth!

“Jess?”

She forced herself to open her eyes and meet Scott's gaze. He looked even more concerned now, and a slight frown marred his brow. “What was that all about? Are you sick?”

Jess swallowed. “No. I'm fine. Where would you like to sit?”

Scott ignored her question, titling his head to study her face. “You look a little flushed.”

But not because I'm sick!
she thought silently, glad that he couldn't read her mind. “I'm fine, really,” she repeated more firmly. “How about that table over by the railing? We can see the roses from there.”

He hesitated for a moment, then much to her relief let the subject drop. In fact, he seemed a little distracted himself—which was okay with her. “That's fine,” he agreed.

Scott followed her to the small café table, still berating himself for his response to her comment about the coffee. He'd have to be more guarded in the future. He needed to avoid topics that would make him recall the intimate details of their marriage. Because a few more slips like that and he could easily scare her off.

“The roses are great this year, aren't they? Does your father still have his rose garden?” he asked with studied casualness as he deposited the cups and his notebook on the table.

She nodded. “Bigger than ever. It's become almost an obsession since he retired two years ago. He's got a couple of bushes right now that he's hovering over like a mother hen, in preparation for a show in July. So much so that he threatened not to go with us on vacation next week.”

“A family vacation?”

“Yes. To Padre Island.”

“Sounds nice.”

“We've been going there the last few years. Mom and Dad really like it.” But she didn't want to talk about her parents. Knowing how they felt about Scott, she could imagine their reaction to this little tête-à-tête. So she changed the subject, pointing to his notebook. “What's that for?”

“Landscaping ideas. I've done a lot of reading about the subject in the last few years, and I've dabbled in design. The botanical garden always inspires me, so I try to drop by on Saturday mornings whenever I can.”

She looked at him curiously. “I thought you'd lost interest in that sort of thing years ago.”

“Not really. I just didn't have the time to devote to it. However, time hasn't been a problem these past few years.”

The final comment was made lightly, but Jess suspected that for a man like Scott, who had always filled every minute of his day with activity, time must have hung very heavily on his hands in prison. However, that was ground she didn't want to tread on. “So what are you working on now?” she asked.

He hesitated, then reached for the notebook and flipped through a number of detailed drawings, stopping at one that was only partially finished. He handed it to her.

“That one's actually going to see the light of day,” he said. “My boss has asked me to work with one of our customers to design this garden.”

Jess glanced at him in surprise. There was an undercurrent of pride and excitement in his voice, a boyish enthusiasm, that she hadn't heard in many, many years. As if he truly loved what he was doing.

With interest she studied the detailed layout, drawn precisely on graph paper. It was a woodland cluster of plantings, with several dogwood trees as anchors. The design was pleasant to the eye and very natural looking, though the plotting of the plants and the groupings of perennials had clearly been carefully thought through.

“Very nice. May I?” she asked, nodding toward the notebook.

“Yes. But the designs are pretty rough. This kind of work is mostly done by computer these days, but I…well, I used what I had.”

Jess looked again at the meticulous workmanship and shook her head. “I wouldn't exactly call these rough,” she disagreed. Each one had clearly been done with great care, and all were appealing. But the one she lingered over longest was a lakeside garden featuring a gazebo. There was something about it, some quality of tranquillity, that touched her soul. “This is lovely,” she said softly.

Scott leaned over to see which drawing had caught Jess's eye. “As a matter of fact, that's the only design in the book that has actually been produced,” he said, pleased she had singled it out. “It's for a meditation garden at my church.”

Jess looked over at him. “You mean this garden really exists?”

“Yes.”

She glanced down again, impressed by his talent, touched by a beauty that the black-and-white pencil drawing could only hint at. “I think you may have found your true calling, Scott,” she said as she closed the notebook and handed it back to him.

“I think you may be right,” he concurred with a satisfied nod. Then he set the notebook aside and smiled at her. “So now tell me about you. How did you end up here?”

She took a sip of her coffee and shrugged. “After…the accident I needed something to do. I volunteered here for a few months, and when the job became available, they offered it to me. It was a perfect fit with my public relations background, and they already knew me from volunteering. I've been here for almost two years.”

“Do you like it?”

“Very much. It's pleasant work in a beautiful setting. And it keeps me busy, which is good. Also, since I sold the house I haven't had much opportunity to garden, and being in a place like this helps make up for that.”

“Knowing how much you enjoyed working with flowers, I was a little surprised to find you'd moved to a condo,” he admitted.

She took a sip of her coffee, gazing at him over the rim of her cup as she tried to discern whether he was upset that she'd sold the “trophy” house he'd once taken such great pride in. But he didn't appear to be disturbed. Just curious. She set the cup on the table and shrugged. “The house was too big just for me. Besides, I didn't feel capable of tackling the upkeep single-handedly. But I do miss having a yard, so I may get another house at some point. I don't know. I just sort of take it a day at a time for now.”

He studied her silently for a moment, then sighed and glanced down at his coffee. “I can relate to that. Sometimes that's the only way to survive.” When he looked at her again, his eyes were troubled. “Your parents watched out for you after the accident, didn't they?”

Though his tone was quiet, the intensity in his eyes told her clearly that this worry had been on his mind for a long time. She swallowed with difficulty, touched by the depth of his concern in a way she couldn't articulate, then averted her head and looked toward the rose garden. Dear God, yes, she had been alone—and lonely—despite her parents' best efforts to fill the gaps, she recalled, her throat tightening with emotion.
Nevertheless, their love had made a huge difference. In fact, it was only because of them that she had survived.

She drew an unsteady breath, fighting for control, but when she spoke there was a catch in her voice. “They saved my life,” she said simply, without looking back at him.

As Scott gazed at her stoic profile, his gut clenched painfully. Night after night in prison he'd lain awake staring into the darkness, praying that God would watch over her and keep her safe, that He would ease her pain. Jess had always been a strong woman. But when he'd seen her at the funeral, he'd known she was balancing precariously on the edge of an emotional breakdown. That only the support of her family, and God's grace, would keep her from falling into the abyss of despair and depression that had already sucked him in.

Clearly, she'd survived and gone on with her life, though it was equally clear that she'd been through hell in the interim. And the ordeal had obviously taken a lasting toll on her, he realized, noting the way her slender fingers were gripping the paper cup, so tightly that the shape was distorted. He longed to reach over and take her hand in a comforting clasp, to promise her that she'd never have to face such trauma alone again. But it was too soon. He knew that intuitively. He had to keep his distance. Physically, at least. But maybe he could put out some feelers on the emotional front.

“How are you
now,
Jess?” he asked gently.

She didn't turn back to him immediately. And when she did, she met his gaze directly with eyes that were dry—and slightly defiant. “I'm fine, Scott,” she said
as steadily, as convincingly, as she could. She forced herself to hold his gaze for a long moment, hoping he would buy her response—even though she herself was beginning to realize that it was a lie.

Scott didn't dispute her claim. But he didn't believe it, either. She was too fragile emotionally. Too thin physically. And too lost spiritually. She needed him as much as he needed her. But convincing her of that would take time. And he'd gone about as far as was prudent today. Reluctantly he took the last swallow of his coffee and reached for his notebook. “I'm glad things are going well for you, Jess. And it was good to see you today.”

She looked at him in surprise, taken aback. He'd seemed so anxious to see her, to talk with her. So why was he was cutting their exchange short? But on the heels of that question came another, more disturbing one. Why should she care? And the answer was clear. She shouldn't. The fact that she
did
only made her angry. Letting Scott back into her life would just set her up for disappointments, she reminded herself. And she'd had enough of those. Abruptly she reached for her purse and stood.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said shortly.

If Scott noticed her change in tone, he gave no indication of it. “My pleasure,” he replied, rising in a more leisurely way. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“It's not far.”

“I don't mind.”

She shrugged. It wasn't worth arguing about. “If you like.”

They made their way silently through the main exhibit building, and by the time they exited a light rain had begun to fall. She glanced at the sky with a frown,
pausing under the overhang from the building. “You'll get wet if you walk me to my car,” she said. “Why don't we just say goodbye here?”