Smooth Talking Stranger (29 page)

I shrugged and made my lips in the shape of a smile. “I think I’m just the flavor of the month as far as Jack is concerned.”

“You’re the first woman he’s ever brought around the family,” Liberty said in a low voice. “He could get serious in a hurry, Ella.”

As I cuddled Luke and struggled with my thoughts, I was relieved when Liberty’s nanny emerged from the house with a robust, handsome toddler. The boy was dressed in a swimsuit and a T-shirt printed with cartoon lobsters.

“Matthew, honey . . .” Liberty hopped up and went to get him, lavishing him with kisses. “Did you have a nice nap? Do you want to play with Mommy? We have a friend visiting, and she brought her baby . . . do you want to see him?” He responded with an enchanting wide grin, conversing with his mother in a few garbled sentences, his plump arms wrapped around her neck.

After giving us a cursory inspection, Matthew decided that playing in the sand was far more interesting than the new baby. Liberty stripped down to her swimsuit and took her son to the edge of the water, where they sat and began to fill a bucket with sand. “Ella, come put your legs in the water,” she called. “It feels great.”

I was dressed in a printed halter top and matching Bermuda shorts, but I had packed a swimsuit. Pulling it from the diaper bag, I said, “Give me a minute to go and change.”

“Sure. Oh, this is our nanny, Tia . . . let her take care of Luke while you put on your swimsuit.”

“Is that okay?” I asked Tia, who came forward with a smile.

“Yes, he’s no problem,” she exclaimed.

“Thank you.”

“There’s a guest bathroom off the kitchen,” Liberty told me, “or if you need a little more space, go into any of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Got it.” I went into the house, relishing the coolness of the kitchen, and found a small bathroom with earthy-hued striped walls and a stone vessel sink and a black-framed mirror. I changed into my pink swimsuit, a retro-styled one-piece. Padding barefoot through the kitchen, carrying my clothes, I heard the sound of voices, one of them Jack’s deep murmur. The voices were accompanied by hammering and sawing, and the occasional squeal of a power drill.

I followed the sound to a partially opened door that led to the spacious garage, where a huge shop fan circulated the warm air. The space was brilliantly lit from the secondhand sunlight that bounced in through the open garage doors. Tapping the door a little wider, I watched unobserved as Jack, Gage, and Carrington worked on the wooden skiff, which was propped up on padded sawhorses.

Both Jack and Gage had removed their shirts in the heat. I wondered wryly how many women would have paid good money to see the two Travis brothers dressed only in jeans, all sun-burnished muscles and long, lean bodies. As my gaze lingered on Jack’s sweat-glittered back, I had a flash of recent memory, my hands urgently gripping those hard muscles on either side of his spine, and a pleasant riff of awareness went through me.

Carrington was busy spreading a thick layer of glue on the last of three strips of wood that would be joined and fastened to the top edge of the skiff as a gunnel. I had to smile at the sight of Gage crouched beside her, murmuring instructions, holding back one of the braids that threatened to drag through the glue.

“. . . and then at recess,” the girl said, squeezing a huge bottle of wood glue with both hands, “Caleb wouldn’t let anyone else play with the basketball, so Katie and I went and told the teacher—”

“Good for you,” Gage said. “Here, put more glue on the edge. Better to use too much than not enough.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.”

“And then,” Carrington continued, “the teacher said it was someone else’s turn to play with the ball, and she made Caleb write an essay about sharing and cooperation.”

“Did that fix him?” Jack asked.

“No,” came Carrington’s disgusted reply. “He’s still the terriblest boy you could ever meet.”

“They all are, honey,” Jack said.

“I told him you were going to take me fishing,” Carrington went on indignantly, “and you know what he said?”

“That girls aren’t good at fishing?” Jack guessed.

“How did you know?” she asked in amazement.

“Because I was a terrible boy once, and that’s probably what I would have said. But I’d have been dead wrong. Girls are
great
at fishing.”

“Are you sure about that, Uncle Jack? ”

“Of course I—wait a minute.” Together Jack and Gage lifted the assembled wood strips and fit them to the edge of the boat.

“Sweetheart,” Gage murmured to Carrington, “bring that bucket of clamps over here.” Carefully he placed clamps along the gunnel, pausing to adjust the wood strips when necessary.

“What were you saying, Uncle Jack?” Carrington pressed, handing him some paper towels to wipe up dripping glue.

“I was about to ask you: Who is the fishing expert in this family?”

“You.”

“That’s right. And who’s the expert on women?”

“Uncle Joe,” she said, giggling.

“Joe?” he
asked in feigned outrage.

“Humor him, Carrington,” Gage said. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”

” You’re
the expert on women,” Carrington told Jack promptly.

“That’s right. And I’m here to tell you, some of the best anglers in the world are women.”

“How come?”

“They’re more patient, and they don’t give up easy. They tend to fish an area more thoroughly. And women can always find the spot with the hidden boulders or underwater weeds where fish are hiding. Men, we just look right past those spots, but women always find ‘em.”

As Jack spoke, Carrington caught sight of me in the doorway, and she threw me a grin. “Are you gonna take Miss Ella fishing?” she asked Jack, who had picked up a Japanese saw and was cutting off the protruding end of the gunnel at an angle.

“If she wants to,” he said.

“Is she gonna catch
*you, *
Uncle Jack?” Carrington asked slyly.

“She already did, darlin’.” At the sound of her titter, Jack paused in his sawing, followed her gaze and saw me standing there. A slow smile spread across his face, and his gaze turned dark and hot as he glanced over my pink swimsuit and bare legs. Dropping the saw, he muttered to the other two, ” ‘Scuse me, I’ve got to talk to Miss Ella about something.”

“No, you don’t,” I protested. “I just wanted a peek at the skiff. It’s beautiful, Carrington. What color are you going to paint it?”

“Pink like your bathing suit,” she said cheerfully.

Jack was coming toward me. I retreated a few steps.

“Don’t take him away for good, Ella,” Gage said. “We still need to fasten the gunnel on the other side.”

“I’m not taking him away at all, I . . . Jack, get back to work.” But he headed for me without pausing, and I giggled and retreated into the kitchen. “Leave me alone, you’re all sweaty!” In a few seconds, I found myself pinned against a countertop, his hands gripping the beveled granite edge on either side of me.

“You like me sweaty,” he murmured, his denim-clad legs corralling mine.

I leaned backward to avoid contact with his damp chest. “If I have caught you,” I told him, still giggling, “I’m going to throw you back.”

“You only throw the little ones back, darlin’. The big ones you keep. Now give me a kiss.”

I tried to stop smiling long enough to comply. His lips were warm as they moved over mine, the kiss erotic in its careful lightness.

*   *   *

After the boat-builders had finished gluing and nailing the gunnels in place, they cooled off in the pool, and we spent the rest of the afternoon lazing and swimming. Lunch was brought out, big bowls of field greens tossed with grilled chicken, red grapes, and walnuts, and we shared a bottle of ice-cold white burgundy in chilled glasses. The nanny took the children inside the cool house, while Gage, Liberty, Jack, and I ate at a table shaded by a huge umbrella.

“I’m making a special toast,” Gage said, lifting his glass. We paused and looked at him expectantly. “To Haven and Hardy,” he continued, “who by now have become Mr. and Mrs. Gates.” He smiled as we all stared at him in surprise.

“They got married?” Liberty asked.

“I thought they were going to Mexico for a long weekend,” Jack said, looking torn between pleasure and annoyance. “They didn’t say anything to me about any wedding plans.”

“They had a private ceremony at Playa del Carmen.”

Liberty was laughing. “How can they get married without us? I can’t believe they wanted privacy for their own wedding.” She turned a mock-scowl on Gage. “And you didn’t say anything to me. How long have you known?” But she was glowing with obvious happiness.

“Since yesterday,” Gage said. “Neither of them wanted a big show. But they’re going to plan a big celebration party when they get back, which I told Haven was a fine idea.”

“I think that’s great,” Jack said, raising his glass to the unseen couple. “After everything Haven’s been through, she deserves any kind of wedding she wants.” He took a swallow of his wine. “Does Dad know?”

“Not yet,” Gage said ruefully. “I guess I’m going to have to tell him . . . but he won’t like it.”

“He approves of Hardy, doesn’t he?” I asked with a touch of concern.

“Yeah, he’s given his blessing to the match,” Gage said. “But Dad never misses the opportunity to turn a family event into a three-ring circus. He wanted to be in charge of it.”

I nodded, understanding immediately why Haven and Hardy hadn’t wanted their wedding to be a big production. For all that they were a friendly and gregarious couple, they were both protective of their private life. The feelings cut too deep for them to be put on display.

We all drank to the newlyweds and talked for a few minutes about Playa del Carmen, which apparently was known for its beaches and fine fishing, and was far less touristy than Cancun.

“Have you been to Mexico, Ella?” Liberty asked.

“Not yet. Eve wanted to go for a while.”

“We should go one of these weekends, all four of us, and take the kids,” Liberty told Gage. “It’s supposed to be a good place for families.”

“Sure, we’ll take one of the planes,” Gage said easily. “Do you have a passport, Ella?”

“No, not yet.” My eyes had widened. “The Travises have a plane?”

“Two jets,” Jack said. A smile touched his lips as he saw my expression. He picked up my free hand and played with it lightly. I supposed that by then I should have been used to the little shock that occurred whenever I was reminded of the financial stratosphere the Travises occupied. “Gage,” Jack said to his brother, still staring at me, “I think the mention of the planes is scaring Ella. Tell her I’m a regular guy, will you?”

“He’s the most regular guy in the Travis family,” Liberty told me, her green eyes twinkling.

I couldn’t help laughing at the qualifier.

Liberty smiled. And I realized she understood how I felt.
It’s okay,
her gaze seemed to say.
You’ll be fine.
She lifted her glass again. “I’ve got some news to share, too . . . although it’s not a surprise to Gage.” She glanced at Jack and me expectantly. “Guess.”

“You’re pregnant?” Jack asked.

Liberty shook her head, her smile widening. “I’m going to start my own salon. I’ve been thinking about it for a while . . . and I thought before we had another child, I’d like to do this. I’m going to keep it small and exclusive, just hire a couple of people.”

“That’s wonderful,” I exclaimed, clinking my glass with hers.

“Congratulations, Lib.” Jack extended his own wineglass and followed suit. “What are you going to call the place?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Carrington wants to call it Clippety-Do-Da or Hairway to Heaven . . . but I told her we have to be a little bit classier.”

“Julius Scissors,” I suggested.

“Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow,” Jack joined in.

Liberty covered her ears. “I’ll go out of business in the first week.”

Jack raised his brows into mocking crescents. “The big question is, how is Dad going to get more grandchildren? That’s a Travis wife’s job, isn’t it? You’re wasting prime childbearing years, Lib.”

“Stow it,” Gage told him. “We’re just now starting to catch up on our sleep, with Matthew getting a little older. I’m not ready to go through it again just yet.”

“No sympathy from this side of the table,” Jack said. “Ella’s been going through all of it—the sleepless nights, the diapers—for a kid who’s not even hers.”

“He feels like mine,” I said without thinking, and Jack’s fingers tightened protectively on my hand.

There was silence except for the quiet spray of the misters, and the splashing waterfall.

“How long do you have left with the baby, Ella?” Liberty asked.

“About a month.” With my free hand, I reached for my wineglass and drained it. Ordinarily I would have put up a bright false smile and diverted the subject. But in the company of sympathetic listeners, with Jack beside me, I found myself saying what I really thought. “I’m going to miss him. It’s going to be hard. And lately it’s started to bother me that Luke won’t remember the time he spent with me. The first three months of his life. He won’t know any of the stuff I did for him—I won’t be any different to him than a stranger off the street.”

“You won’t be seeing him, after Tara takes him?” Gage asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not often.”

“He’ll remember deep down,” Jack said gently.

And as I looked into his steady dark eyes, I found solace.

Luke lay on the floor of my apartment in a baby gym, a floor quilt with two crossed arches featuring rattling beads, spinning birds and butterflies, crinkly leaves, and cheerful electronic music. He loved it nearly as much as I loved watching him. At two months, he laughed, smiled, made noises, and was able to raise his head and chest.

Jack lay on the floor beside him, lazily reaching up to flick the toys or to push a button for new music. “I wish I had one of these,” he said. “Strung with beer cans, Cohibas, and those little black panties you wore Saturday night.”

I paused in the midst of putting away dishes in the kitchen. “I didn’t think you noticed them, you took them off me so fast.”