Almost Perfect (40 page)

TJ had his own problems, Jared reflected, pulling out sheets of drawings. Maybe McClouds weren't intended for marriage. Maybe Cleo was right and he should just move in with her.

He twisted the computer-generated drawing in his hand and frowned in puzzlement, then grinned as he realized Gene had reproduced his version of a wrestling match. Not quite his sister's talent, but a warm spot burned hotter in his gut at the thought of Cleo teaching the kid how to use the program he'd sent.

The court had let Gene go, as Cleo had predicted.
They'd slapped Linda into a drug program and the kids had gone into foster care. At least Cleo's handpicked foster parents were intelligent enough to allow generous visiting privileges. Cleo had the kids as often as the foster parents did.

To hell with living together. He wanted this contrary woman to be
his
. Primitive male instinct clamored for placing his claim on her. Women simply didn't understand the concept of possession.

He'd lose what little he retained of his senses thinking she could leave him at a moment's whim. She'd taught him what he wanted was important, and he couldn't think of anything more important than hearing Cleo vow to spend her life with him. He was willing to gamble everything on the chance of winning a lifetime with her.

Forgetting TJ, he shuffled through the rest of the papers. Kismet hadn't attempted the drafting program. She'd sent colorful pencil drawings of butterflies with faces he didn't recognize—possibly her foster parents or teachers. He wished he knew. He wanted to be involved in their lives. After the vivid fullness of Cleo's cluttered world, he'd developed a loathing for the sterile shallowness of his single life.

A giant red dragon and a laughing blue clown denoted Matty's attempts at art. Cleo's son had inherited her directness, if not her complexity. Give the kid time. Jared glanced over his shoulder at the doll-sized merry-go-round of flying witches and dancing skeletons a friend had made from his sketches. He'd hoped to be down there by Christmas to give it to Matty. Perhaps he should fly down and appear on their doorstep without an invitation.

He was afraid to study the last sheet of paper in the bunch. He could tell by the intricacy of the computerized plan that Cleo had applied her stubborn brain to learning the software so she could produce it. He wondered if
she filled her lonely nights with a computer, as he did. He shuffled her drawing to the top and glanced briefly at the three dimensions of her newest mechanical creature. Captain Hook.

He knew he didn't want to examine it closer, so he handed the stack to TJ and reached for his Chinese. His stomach rebelled, but he stuck the chopsticks in rather than think.

TJ chuckled at the drawing. “Looks just like you, with kind of a movie-star flair. Tom Cruise in sunglasses, I'd say.”

Jared sank lower into the chair. “Tom Cruise as Captain Hook?” Maybe he'd read the message wrong.

“Nah, it's definitely you, with long curly hair and shades. Better-looking, admittedly. If that's how she sees you, then you've got her snared. All you need to do is go down and reel her in.”

“You didn't happen to notice what Hook is holding, did you?” Jared covered his eyes with his palm, but nothing could make the pain disappear.

“Sure, Tinkerbell in a cage. Isn't that the story?”

“Evil Captain Hook holds Tinkerbell hostage,” Jared agreed glumly. He didn't have to look closer to know whose face Tinkerbell wore.

He wondered if Captain Hook was a promotion or demotion from Peter Pan.

Either way, it wasn't an invitation to Christmas dinner.

December, South Carolina

Waking to the sound of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” Cleo grumbled sleepily, curled around her pillow, and snuggled closer to a body that wasn't there.

Shit.

Two damned months, and she couldn't rid her bed of Jared's laughing presence.

Fully awake now and not wanting to be, she flipped over and glared at the ceiling. Maybe she should paint the plaster blue and ask Maya to paint rainbows. Or storm clouds. Whatever.

She'd almost finished the attic, and with winter setting in, she couldn't do much else to the house except decorate. She didn't have much experience at decorating, but she could learn, she supposed.

She'd hung a big slate board on Matty's wall so he could draw to his heart's content. He seemed happy here, although he occasionally complained of missing his cousins. Still, the school board had accepted her proposal to finance special tutors for kids who needed extra help, and Matty loved his tutor, so he was doing okay.

She'd thought that was all she needed to be happy. As usual, she was wrong.

Remembering whispered jokes and sizzling kisses in
the early dawn, and intimate breakfasts in bed, Cleo snatched off her covers and got up. Jared haunted her. She swore that man was a ghost who lurked in corners, prepared to leap out when she least expected him.

Maya had apparently shown Matty the
Scapegrace
comic in the paper and told him who drew it, so Matty demanded Cleo read it to him every morning. The nerd in the strip had taken on more heroic qualities lately, so she didn't mind, except she spent the rest of the day wondering what Jared was doing to set his leapfrogging mind down that track.

It didn't help that Gene talked about him all the time, she thought morosely, climbing into her jeans and dragging on a sweater. She and Marta had canvassed three counties looking for people willing to take in Gene and Kismet. It had been tough, but they'd found an older couple with a farm willing to give two wild kids a chance. Gene still had an attitude, but he and Jared e-mailed each other regularly, so he was cool. For now. His constant references to Jared kept the ghost alive, though.

“Mommy!” Matty burst through her bedroom door and flung his skinny arms around her legs as she put down her brush. “Is Santa comin' tomorrow?”

She ruffled his shaggy dark hair, and even that reminded her of Jared's sable locks. His impromptu hug tugged all the weak links in her heart. “Nope, not tomorrow. We don't even have a tree up yet. Want to make paper chains to go on it?”

“Yeah!” He shot back out of the room, hell-bent on doing everything at once. Not unlike a certain man she knew.

“Mommy!” Matty eagerly looked up as she strolled into the kitchen. She grimaced at the newspaper he'd spread across the table. “Jared drew Santa Claus. What does it say?”

She bent over and read the words to him. “It says, ‘Gerry better get good grades at school or he'll only get lumps of coal for Christmas.’ ” She paraphrased the actual teenage jargon so Matty would understand better. Good thing he was too impatient to sound out the letters that jumbled so easily in his head.

Her son wrinkled his freckled nose in concern. “Santa wouldn't do that, would he?”

“It isn't really Santa, hon. Look, it's Freddie wearing a Santa suit. See, he's hiding Gerry's real present under his beard. Think maybe Jared is telling Gene he'd better study if he wants a gift this year?”

Matty lit up with excitement. “Yeah! Only here, Freddie wants the present for himself. Cool! Can we bake cookies?”

Cleo smiled mistily at the rest of the cartoon. Matty wouldn't get the joke anyway, and he'd already moved on to other things. “After we eat breakfast,” she reminded him. “Get your cereal out.”

She wondered if Jared's agent was pitching fits about the underlying messages in the strip lately. Responsibility, respect, and communication were a few of his favorite themes, and every prank had a consequence. In this one, Freddie ended up with the coal, and Gerry aced the test and got the present.

The strip wasn't always as funny as it had been in its early days, but it lacked the bitter edge of the past year, and she kind of liked seeing morals in comics again. Kids needed that kind of lesson.

Wondering if love made her sappy, she took down cereal bowls and let Matty pour his own. She sure as hell hoped Jared was making the best of her sacrifice, because there were nights she was so lonely even beer looked good as a method of filling these gaping wounds. If it hadn't been for Matty, she'd be a basket case by now.

Her new doorbell rang the first bars of the Hallelujah chorus, and she glanced at the kitchen clock. Ten. She'd slept late, but this was a little too early for visitors on a Saturday morning.

Of course, the steady parade of would-be archeologists, sightseers, and government officials picking at the pirate graveyard produced any number of strays lately. She'd retired Burt much too soon.

But Matty liked her giggling Tinkerbell better. It flitted past the windows in a glowing light at night, but it was pretty worthless during the day. She was almost growing used to intruders. That didn't mean she wanted that damned film company down there day and night.

“I'll get it!” Matty shouted, racing to the door ahead of her. He never walked when he could run, and he was accustomed to lots of people coming and going at his aunt's house, so he wasn't shy.

That was good. She wanted him to grow up normal and confident of his place in the world. Maya had done a fantastic job of bringing him around. Now, if she could only find a man with half Jared's kindness …

She stared in disbelief as Matty threw open the door, revealing the towering man filling the screen. Not completely across the room yet, she hesitated, contemplating turning and running out the back door. Then panic mode set in, and she crossed the floor in two strides.

“What is it?” she demanded, shoving the screen door open so Jared's older brother could step inside. “Is it Jared? Is he all right?”

Matty instantly retreated into anxiety as he looked up the long length of the stranger who entered. Cleo couldn't pick her son up and cuddle him anymore, but she knelt down and hugged him while TJ McCloud regarded them as if they were space aliens.

“No one's knocked him silly, or sillier, yet,” TJ said
gravely, looking a little embarrassed and lifting his gaze to encompass the room instead of their huddle of fear. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

Relaxing, Cleo swept the hair off Matty's forehead and pushed him toward the kitchen. “Eat your breakfast, short stuff. This is Jared's brother Tim, and everything is fine.”

Matty held his ground. He'd spent too many years protecting Cleo's broken spirits to leave her now. “Santa doesn't give coal,” he told TJ adamantly, apparently naming him responsible for correcting Jared's comic strip.

Cleo smiled at her visitor's startled expression. Standing, she offered her best chair, a much sounder replacement for the old wicker. “Have a seat. Shall I bring you some coffee? It's awfully early.”

“Airports keep rotten schedules.” Before taking the solid rocker, he glanced out her front window. “I took a look at that skeleton bone Jared told me about. I don't think it's a pirate,” he said carefully.

He'd come here to look at a skeleton? Cleo raised her eyebrows but responded in the same cautious manner as he'd used. “I keep telling them that, but the movie people think it would make great publicity.”

“Movie people?” He grimaced. “That mean the beach house won't be available any longer?”

She hadn't thought about it. She had scarcely begun the repairs. If they really did film down there … She shook her head. “I'd rather someone convince the idiots it's a slave cemetery.”

“Not unless they're white slaves,” he answered gravely. Producing a videotape from his jacket pocket, he finally accepted her offer of a chair.

White slaves didn't calculate on any level. Cleo's mind slipped back to drunken Ed's stories of spies, but she couldn't cling to irrelevant thoughts while Jared's brother
sat there, obviously on different business than long-lost skeletons. “Coffee?” she asked again.

“Coffee would be nice if you have some. I brought something I thought you should see.”

Cleo stared at the proffered tape in bewilderment, but more than a little unnerved by his presence, she attempted her best hostess manners and didn't grab it from his hands. “Give me a minute. Cream or sugar?”

“Neither.” He fell into a staring match with Matty, both exhibiting curiosity with no undercurrents of anger or fear.

Cleo could see a lot of Jared in his scientist brother, and her heart ached as she poured the coffee and returned. She thought Jared would be the kind of man who loved Christmas. Maybe his brother was the same and had decided to deliver some kind of early Christmas gift. Odd, though.

Taking a sip of the coffee, TJ nodded his appreciation, then gestured toward the video. “It didn't occur to me until I was on the plane that you might not have a VCR. Do you?”

She picked up the plastic case and slipped the tape into the machine hidden by one of Matty's towering stuffed animals. She could afford a lot more than teddy bears these days. “VCRs are a requirement for anyone with kids. Can't have them watching the garbage that passes for television.” She glanced at Matty, who had settled into his favorite cross-legged position, ready to absorb any new entertainment. “It's okay for him to see?”

TJ laughed softly. “Yeah. I'm not transporting porn across state lines.” He hesitated, then added carefully, “Jared doesn't know I'm here.”