Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (28 page)

Margot looked impressed. “That’s a really good plan, isn’t it, Jordan? But you’ll also have to decorate a room for Jade, too.”

“Make sure you put my room on the other end of the house, so I can have some peace and quiet. Margot’s kids’ll be a lot noisier than yours.”

“Just wait, Jade. We’ll have to buy ear plugs when yours come into the world,” Margot countered easily as her hand moved to her abdomen and rested there.

Jordan didn’t think Jade noticed the gesture, but she couldn’t help but suspect that maybe Margot and Travis had decided to get to work on making babies in earnest. That “surprise” Margot had given him must have been really something, she thought, smiling inwardly.

How thrilling for them. And what a huge step for Margot, fraught with consequences for her modeling. But times were changing. Pregnancy and children were no longer the career-enders they’d once been. Actually, it seemed like every other top model was pregnant these days.

“So what do you think of my idea, Jordan? Wicked brilliant, no?”

“It is kind of inspired,” Margot said.

Jordan nodded. “Definitely an improvement over using Nonie as my imaginary client.” What she especially liked about the idea was that Margot’s and her tastes were actually very similar. She could buy things she loved for the rooms, assured that Margot would like them just as much. “Thanks, Jade.”

“
De nada
. Got any more problems?”

“None that I can think of.” Or at least none that she wanted to share right now. Once she had a clearer idea of her own feelings, it would be easier to face her sisters’ indignation over Richard’s request.

“So, Ned told us that Owen hung out here yesterday. He must think you’re pretty neat.” Jade grinned.

“Ned’s given Owen his stamp of approval. Has he got yours, sweetie?”

It was time to set them straight before they got caught up in their matchmaking. She didn’t want things to get awkward for Owen. “He was simply killing time looking over the main barn and going through John Butler’s pattern
book before heading back to Alexandria. He had a date later that evening. At the Grille.”

The significance seemed lost on them.

“So he’s got good taste.” Jade shrugged. “Figures.”

“He couldn’t exactly invite you, sweetie, since you were holding down the fort for us.”

“Of course not. That’s not—” She stopped, aware she didn’t want to go down that avenue. “I think he’s a nice man, and I have a hunch he gets far more out of visiting Rosewood than we can imagine.”

To her annoyance both burst out laughing, though in Jade’s case it came out as a very loud snort.

“He played our piano,” Kate said.

“That’s right, Kate,” Jordan said firmly. “He plays very well and our piano is probably one of the reasons he likes to come over. What a great animal hospital you’ve built there. Are your dogs getting checkups?”

A terrific segue to guide the conversation away from Owen. Unfortunately her children preferred to continue on what was becoming a favorite path. “Next time Owen comes over, we’re gonna play Twistuh. Mommy’s gonna teach him how.”

Jordan managed a weak smile for her son, while her sisters indulged in a fit of giggles. “You two are ridiculously immature,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Sorry,” Margot said, not sounding in the least contrite. “I was just exercising my imagination.” She dropped her head against the back of the sofa and, smiling widely, she closed her eyes. “Yep, I can easily picture you teaching Owen to play Twister.” She opened one eye. “Something tells me he might be really good at it.”

“Definitely. That’s one dude who might have some smooth moves.”

“Ha, ha. Sorry to cut this totally inappropriate conversation short, but it’s bath time.”

“Yeah, and talk is cheap in any case. Max, you make sure
Mommy brings Owen over for a game of Twister real soon. Okeydokey?”

“Okeydokey, smokie.” Max grinned, bobbing his head.

Her sisters could laugh and giggle all they wanted. The notion that a man, especially one as attractive as Owen, might actually be indifferent to her was inconceivable to them. They were each so beautiful. Margot only had to smile a certain way for men to get that stunned look in their faces; Jade merely had to walk into a room. Neither had the slightest notion of what it meant to be Jordan, divorced mother of three. Whatever sex appeal she might have once possessed had passed its expiration date.

In one respect, however, she should be grateful for her sisters’ ribbing. While they’d been teasing her about Owen, she’d managed to forget the existence of the letter stashed away in her dresser drawer. But with Richard and Cynthia’s honeymoon coming to an end this week, she’d have to do far more than remember its presence.

Something was wrong with Jordan, Owen realized at eleven thirty-seven
A.M
. the following Monday. The realization might have struck him earlier—two hours and thirty-five minutes earlier—when she walked through the door, but Hawk Hill had been hopping. The masons were swarming the chimneys in a race to install the liners and tuckpoint as many bricks as possible before the clouds overhead let loose. As if in anticipation of the coming storm, a dull
boom, boom
was reverberating through the house while Jesse and Doug slammed away at the walls of one of the upstairs baths with their sledgehammers.

Given the foulness of his mood, Owen would have been happy to pick up a sledgehammer himself and go at the faded and cracked ceramic tiles until his shoulders screamed and the synapses in his brain were fried, but the electrician had surprised them all by actually arriving on time.

As Owen and Doug took him through the rooms, their
path crossed Jordan’s, but Owen had resisted the urge to look at her too closely. This morning it was imperative he prove his ability to focus on anything else, no matter how pedestrian, such as where an electrical outlet or light switch should be positioned, than on her and how he liked the curve of her bare neck as she studied the blocks of granite and soapstone samples she’d brought with her. Allotting only five seconds to imagine his mouth traveling over that soft pale flesh demonstrated his supreme self-control. And it eased the fear gnawing at him that no matter how many deficiencies he’d discovered in Fiona Rorty, the real reason he’d chosen to spend the night alone on Saturday was the woman standing in his kitchen.

Not that Fiona hadn’t brought some of this on herself. It was she who’d tipped her hand with the idea of a double date at the jazz club. Double dates implied permanency. Clearly Fiona had begun to consider Owen hers, that they were an item. Her assumption tripped his internal alarm, signaling that immediate evasive action was required.

So he’d cut the evening short with a lame story about his head feeling as if it were suddenly about to explode, saying that maybe he should call it a night. Fiona, no idiot, was less than happy to be left chaperoning Caroline and Freddy at the Blues Alley.

Confident of his ability to please a woman, he wasn’t so cocksure as to believe Fiona’s irritation was rooted in thwarted desire. She was simply mad that he wasn’t falling in line with her plans.

He told himself that ditching Fiona had everything to do with the fact that she suddenly wanted to take the relationship to a new level and nothing to do with the admittedly unsettling realization that he’d had more fun listening to Jordan explain horse-training techniques in a straw-filled stall than he’d had sitting opposite Fiona at the Grille as she talked about God knows what.

In Owen’s experience, that was an insane reason to go to
bed alone on a Saturday night—or Sunday night, for that matter. And now, having forgone some seriously therapeutic sex, he had yet to shake this strange fixation with Jordan.

Thus the reason for his foul mood this morning and his decision to compensate for his fixation by doing his level best to ignore Jordan.

Except that the last time he’d gone into the kitchen, she’d been worrying her lower lip. And the time before that, he’d noticed her absently massaging the pressure point at the end of her winged brow. Though he’d known her less than a week, he could read the signs: something was troubling her.

The specs for upgrading Hawk Hill’s wiring for the twenty-first century jotted down on his clipboard, the electrician left. Doug left, too, rejoining Jesse for another half-hour’s brute pleasure in demo work before lunch. But just when Owen thought he might hunt down Jordan and see how she was progressing and perhaps get a sense of what was bothering her, his cell began ringing.

Sitting down on the front stoop, away from the pounding noise, he had to hold the phone away from his ear or else risk permanent damage to his eardrum. His designer, the normally bubbly Emily Carlson, was not a happy camper.

“I swear to God, Owen, if Nonie Harrison whines one more time, asking why
you
aren’t here supervising the crew, I’m going to rip her a new—”

“Steady there, Em. I don’t want to have to bail you out. Just treat Nonie like an atmospheric disturbance. A lot of hot air.”

“She’s certainly hot for—”

“Please don’t finish that thought, either. Thinking about Nonie in a lather over anyone is enough to put me off my feed for weeks. The next time she asks why I’m not checking on the color blue you’re using, just tell her I’m color blind.”

Emily wasn’t mollified. “I don’t think she cares if you’re
blind, deaf, or dumb. Honestly, Owen, she acts like you’re much cuter than you really are.”

He laughed. “Thanks. You’re excellent for my ego. In return, I promise I’ll pop over and shake my head dolefully at whatever shade of white you’ve picked out.”

“Don’t you dare. This job was supposed to be a no-brainer, not a migraine to end all migraines.”

“Take two aspirin and call me in the afternoon.”

“How about I take four aspirin and have Nonie call?”

“You’re becoming evil in your old age.”

“Don’t you forget it, Gramps.”

Disconnecting, Owen became aware of the quiet. Jesse and Doug must have gone out the back to make their lunch run to Braverman’s. Compared to the earlier din, the scratch of cement being scraped and applied by the masons was hardly louder than the chattering of the squirrels. The rain had held off. It was just possible they’d be able to finish the chimney repairs. He pocketed his phone and wandered back inside.

Jordan was in the kitchen, her tools of the trade spread out over the linoleum counter. Amid the catalogs of cabinet styles and finishes and blocks of granite was a sandwich and a clear plastic bag filled with quartered carrots and celery sticks.

“You’re not picking up the kids at school? May I?” he asked, his hand hovering over a carrot stick.

“Go ahead,” she replied, without looking up from the catalog that was open to a page with wood cabinets in a white bisque. “Margot had some errands to run in town so she’s picking them up. She has to leave later tonight for a two-day shoot in New York. I wanted to give the kids a treat and let them spend some time alone with her. It’s good for them to be away from me.” From the way she was frowning at the specs for the options and sizes of the cabinets, one would have thought she was trying to decipher the Rosetta stone.

He leaned a hip against the countertop. “Okay. Here’s the deal. You give me half your sandwich and I listen to what’s bugging you.”

She looked up in surprise. “Nothing’s bugging me. Take the whole sandwich. I’m not very hungry.” Pen in hand she pushed it toward him.

“Are you dieting? Because that would be a mistake.”

“What? No. I just don’t feel like eating.”

His hunch had been right. Something was bothering her. Because the dieting comment would have made the Jordan he knew go as frosty as the inside of a freezer. And he’d plunk down a hundred on a bet that when Jordan was upset she couldn’t eat.

He plucked the pen out of her hand.

That got her attention. “Hey,” she exclaimed.

“Sorry, but you’ve got to eat. I don’t want to deal with worker’s comp when you faint from inanition and crack your head on the floor. Plus I don’t like to eat alone and I’m starving.” He picked up half the sandwich and held it out to her. “So eat.”

She took it with a shake of her head. “I really—”

“It’s something to do with the kids, right?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you guess that?”

“My parents were repeatedly assured that their son was a genius,” he said dryly. “Actually, my deduction process was fairly straightforward. If one of the horses were sick, you’d have mentioned it. What clinched it was the odd expression on your face when you talked about the kids going out on the town with Margot. So spill it.”

Instead, Jordan took a halfhearted bite of the sandwich and chewed, as she considered Owen’s offer. She’d gotten exactly nowhere in coming to a decision with respect to Richard’s request. Her thinking was distressingly like one of those wave-simulator machines that tip back and forth: wishy-washy. It would be such a relief to talk to someone
who had no stake in the outcome. “You’re right,” she confessed with a small sigh. “It is about the kids.”

“My parents would be so gratified to know those predictions about my being a genius came true.”

She tried to smile back.

Owen took a big bite of the sandwich because he knew it would be good. Swallowing, he said, “I take it this is more than a runny nose?”

“I got a letter from my ex-husband’s lawyer asking me to consider giving Richard visiting rights. He’d like us to devise a schedule that would allow him to have the kids with him a weekend or two every month and for a part of their school vacations.” She swallowed forcibly against the choking sensation that threatened. “I don’t have to agree to his request, but maybe it would be good for the children …”

“You have full custody?”

She didn’t know why, but having Owen immediately take another energetic bite of the chicken salad sandwich made his question somehow less pointed and intrusive. They might have been discussing whether to have a walk-in shower installed in the master bath rather than the personal details of her divorce.

“Yes. There was a tape of Richard and his mistress.”