Once Around (13 page)

Assuming she ever looked at him at all.

The lawyer appeared in the kitchen. He said something, and the two women laughed. Polite laughter. It had to be. He'd never met a funny lawyer and he doubted if that Porsche-driving specimen would be the first.

Molly pushed back her chair and stood up. The lawyer was at her side instantly
, offering her a hand even though it was clear she'd already managed the feat on her own. She smiled up at the lawyer, looking more at ease, more comfortable than she ever had with Rafe. He knew that look. It was the same one Karen had used on every man but the one she was married to.

They almost looked like a family in there.
There was something about Molly and the lawyer that seemed preordained. She was the kind of woman who was meant to have certain things in life: a big house, a nice car, an expensive husband. Somebody like the guy in the fancy suit who was dancing attendance around her.

The sight bugged Rafe. It gnawed at his gut like a handful of
jalapenos. Ever need proof which way the wind blows? Try being on the wrong side of Molly Chamberlain's window.

#

At first Spencer thought Jessy Wyatt was being polite. The last time anyone had listened so intently to one of his stories was when he was trying to explain to an irate judge why his client had decided a trip to the Bahamas was more important than showing up for her hearing.

Molly usually paid fairly close attention to his stories
, but her attention was wandering. She seemed more interested in glancing out the sliding doors to watch the help mow the lawn.

No
, it wasn't his story that was captivating the lady doctor.

He was tempted to glance down and mak
e sure his fly was zipped, but Jessy's eyes hadn't dropped from his face. He was accustomed to a fair amount of attention from the opposite sex. The lingering glance. Perfectly aimed half smile. A touch so soft you might have imagined it.

But this was different. She wasn
't flirting with him. She was declaring. The invitation was there. No doubt about that. But it was more than that. Her serious face was turned up to him like a flower, one of those scruffy orange lilies that grew along fences and at the side of the road. The kind he usually didn't notice unless somebody pointed them out.

He wouldn
't have noticed Jessy Wyatt in a crowd. Hell, he wouldn't have noticed her now with Molly Chamberlain sitting across the table from her, looking burnished and ripe and beautiful, except that she made it impossible for him to look away.

He tried to turn it around and aim it back at her.
"When will you be moving in, Jessy?"

She took a sip of iced tea then smiled at him. Her lips were wet and glistening. Her teeth were small and wh
ite. She looked almost pretty when she smiled. "Tonight," she said, the word rising up on a Southern wave.

"
If you need help with your belongings, I can recommend a good local moving service."

Her eyes crinkled as her smile widened.
"I can pack my belongings in my suitcase and have room to spare for the complete works of Shakespeare."

He didn
't know what to say to that. Most people of his acquaintance had more stuff than they could fit in a town house and summer place in Cape May. He'd need three trunks just to pack up his law books. His clothes would take another three. That thought had never made him uncomfortable before, but it did now.

#

The lawn mower sat in the center of the backyard like an abandoned car. One second Rafe had been pushing it up and down the slope, the next second he was gone. Maybe he'd had enough, Molly thought, tapping her fork lightly against the side of her plate, Maybe he had better things to do than pay off a debt to the wife of the man who'd backed out on the deal. She wouldn't blame him one bit if he'd packed it in and she never saw him again.

Jessy
's voice danced around the edges of her thoughts. There was something vaguely familiar to the lilting tone. Jessy was flirting with Spencer. The realization hit her right between the eyes.

Molly looked at her across the table and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Jessy
's plain face was expressionless, save for a smile that caused her brown eyes to almost disappear. Someone should have told her not to smile that way. She'd be a mass of crow's feet before she turned forty. Spencer stood perfectly straight with his back to the refrigerator. He looked like an advertisement for extreme discomfort. Poor Jessy. She was so far from being Spencer's type that it made Molly feel almost sorry for her.

It hadn
't taken long for Molly to get a good sense for the type of woman who appealed to Spencer Mackenzie: beautiful, socially acceptable, and temporary. He was great company, but a woman would be very foolish to fall in love with him. Not that Jessy Wyatt was in love with him. She'd known him less than two hours. You could barely get a good case of lust started in two hours.

As if on cue
, Rafe appeared in the. doorway. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, although he didn't look sorry at all. He looked downright annoyed. "A messenger dropped this off for you."

"
A messenger? Are you sure it wasn't FedEx?"

"
I know the difference between FedEx and a messenger." His tone was flat, but she thought she caught a sharp edge to his bland words.

She felt her cheeks go red. She hadn
't meant to embarrass him.

He crossed the room and handed her a flat
, bright red envelope with a wide snow-white label pasted neatly in the center.

"
Mr. and Mrs. Robert Chamberlain."

She shook her head.
"Somebody hasn't been keeping up with local gossip."'

Spencer extended a hand to Rafe.

"Spencer Mackenzie," he said.

Rafe hesitated just long enough to make Molly wonder if he was going to ignore Spencer entirely
, "Rafe Garrick."

The
two men shook hands.

"
I'm Molly's lawyer," Spencer said.

"
I cut her grass," Rafe said.

Spencer nodded.
"You're doing a good job."

"
Thanks," said Rafe.

Molly winced. Somehow he
'd managed to make "Thanks" sound like "Go to hell."

She slid her index finger under the bright red flap.
"This isn't a fancy way of serving a subpoena, is it, Spencer?"

His handsome face darkened.
"I wouldn't think so. Maybe you should let me handle this."

"
I'm only joking," she said, waving him away. She ignored the smirk on Rafe's face. So what if Spencer didn't have a great sense of humor. Humor wasn't everything.

Jessy didn
't try to mask her curiosity. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and rested her chin in her palms. "Maybe you won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes."

Molly arched a brow.
"The Prize Patrol isn't parked out front."

"
Maybe they're around the corner," Jessy said, deadpan. "Ready to pounce."

"
They better have an ambulance, too," Molly said as she
reached into the envelope, "because I'll need resuscitation.''

The men were quiet. That didn
't surprise Molly. Men were invariably puzzled by female byplay. They probably thought she and Jessy were fighting, which Molly found hilarious since their handshake had practically been a declaration of war.

"
So what is it?" Jessy asked.

Molly drew in a breath.
"Tickets," she said after a moment. She looked up at Spencer. "For the Historical Society dinner-dance."

"
Two hundred a pop," Spencer said. "Robert must've been feeling guilty."

Molly fanned the four tickets between her fingers like a winning poker hand.
"Think I could scalp these at the door'?" Spencer's patrician jaw sagged. "I'm only kidding," she said quickly. "I know Princeton matrons aren't supposed to scalp tickets to a charity dance, but I don't think there's a law against giving them away."

She had their attention now. Rafe
, Spencer, and Jessy were all staring at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"
Here," she said, holding out the tickets. "Pick one."

Jessy leaned forward and plucked a ticket from the group.
"Thanks," she said, dipping her head in Molly's direction. "Think they'd mind if I wore jeans?"

Spencer b
ent down and selected a ticket. "I'll pay you for this," he said.

"
Try it and I'll find another lawyer." She smiled grimly. "These tickets are on Robert."

That left Rafe. He was leaning against the doorjamb
, arms crossed over his chest. He looked amused, a little disapproving, extremely sexy.

"
There's one ticket left," she said, feigning a casual self-confidence she didn't feel. "You might as well join us."

"
Thanks," he said, "but I'll pass."

"
Of course you won't pass," she said, aware of Jessy's and Spencer's rapt interest in their byplay. "This is an exclusive group. You're part of it. There's a ticket here with your name on it."

His jaw tightened. She saw
it happen. She'd read about it a million times, but this was the first time she'd witnessed the phenomenon. Impressive, she thought, and more than a little bit off-putting. He wanted that ticket as much as he wanted a case of chicken pox. Maybe even less. Which made her want him to have it even more

Their eyes met
, and everything else fell away. Who was she kidding? The only thing she wanted was Rafe.

Chapter Seven

Jessy went back to the hospital after lunch to gather up her be
longings. She'd stuffed most of them in a pair of lockers off the doctors' lounge. The rest she kept in the trunk of her car. It had been sweet of Spencer Mackenzie to offer the name of a moving company. If he'd offered himself as moving man, she would have said yes in a New York minute, even though a child could have carried everything she owned and then some.

Did he have any idea how she felt about him? She hadn
't tried to hide it. Molly Chamberlain was wondering about it. Jessy saw it in her eyes across that sad little kitchen table that would have looked more at home in her mama's, house than in the middle of that fancy Princeton mini-mansion. Of course, that mini-mansion wasn't worth spit in a bucket if you couldn't pay the mortgage.

Spencer was Molly
's lawyer. That much Jessy knew for a fact. What she couldn't figure out was how they felt about each other. She'd listened to them talking in Molly's kitchen, and it was like listening to foreigners. Only this time it was Jessy who was the foreigner.

They seemed to know the same people
, the same references, the same jokes. Molly could finish Spencer Mackenzie's sentences, same as he could finish hers. Maybe they were old friends, Jessy thought. That would explain it. She didn't want to think they were anything more than that, because she loved him. She knew it was crazy to even think such a thing, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind. All her life she'd waited for this moment, wondered where she'd be when it happened, who the man would be, and now, today, right there in central New Jersey, it finally happened.

She loved everything about him. The sound of his
voice, a mellow baritone that made her shiver. He had clear gray eyes like polished silver. His dark blond hair was perfectly cut, kept just long enough to make her yearn, to run her fingers through it. His jawline was strong and well-defined. Straight nose, gorgeous mouth. Even his ears were perfect. She'd never seen anyone like him before. Not even in her dreams.

She left her car on the upper level of the parking structure and bypassed the elevator. She raced down the stair
s .then hurried across the lot near the ER and into the hospital. A woman in a red suit was doing business at one of the pay phones to the left of the door. Her notebook computer was open on her lap, and a leather-bound organizer rested on the small shelf beneath the phone. Saleswoman? Patient? Visitor squeezing in some work between bedside vigils? Jessy toyed with the possibilities as she emptied her lockers and stuffed everything into a Macy's shopping bag. She loved wondering about people, trying to figure out who they were and why they did the things they did. Back home everyone had been cut from the same bolt of cloth. They dressed alike, thought alike, went to the same schools and churches, and married each other's cousins.

She
'd been planning her escape from the day she was born. She liked to think she'd come out of her mother's womb with her bags packed. Her daddy never quite understood why not even on the day she finally left for good.