That McCloud Woman (3 page)

In
the kitchen, Alayna set the bag of groceries on the counter, then began to dig
out the items that needed refrigeration. "Would you like something to
drink?" she asked, crossing to the refrigerator. "I made lemonade
this morning, or I might be able to scare up a beer. Frank might have left one
or two behind."

Jack
looked around the kitchen, admiring the old glass-front cabinetry.
"Lemonade's fine," he murmured absently. He crossed to the breakfast
nook, tucked into a bay window, and ran his hand across the faded wallpaper,
letting his fingers tell him the wall's history.

Alayna
watched him as she pulled the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.
"Frank didn't do much in there," she offered. "My first
priorities were the kitchen, my bedroom and bath." She took two glasses
from the cabinet and filled them with ice.

"There's
beaded paneling beneath this paper."

In
the midst of pouring lemonade, Alayna glanced Jack's way and saw that he had
pulled a knife from his pocket and was carefully scraping at the paper near the
window frame. "What?" she asked, wondering what he was doing.

He
folded the knife and stuck it back in his pocket. "Wood," he
explained, plucking with a fingernail at the paper he'd loosened. Then added,
"Two-inch tongue and groove." He gave his head a regretful shake.
"Somebody papered over solid wood walls."

Intrigued,
Alayna caught up their drinks and crossed to him. She offered him a glass,
which Jack took, then she leaned to peer closely at the spot of wood he'd
uncovered. "Is that bad?" she asked in concern.

The
heat and intimacy of her body pressed against his had Jack sidestepping away
from her, giving her room and himself the opportunity to breathe a little
easier. "Not necessarily bad. Just stupid."

Alayna
choked back a laugh upon hearing her ancestors referred to as
"stupid." The McClouds were a proud bunch, and probably wouldn't
think kindly of a man who questioned their intelligence. She took a sip of her
lemonade. "So what do you propose we do about it?"

Jack
turned his head to look at her, surprised by the "we" in her
statement, but decided to take it as a sign that she trusted his opinion.
"It's your house. But if it was left up to me, I'd rip that paper off and
let the wood breathe. It'd be a pretty sight, I can promise you that."

Alayna
looked at him, surprised by the level of emotion in his voice, his passion for
something as innocuous as a wall of wood. "Will it cost much?"

He
lifted a shoulder, which seemed to be his favored means of communicating with
her. "Elbow grease, mainly. 'Course you never know what problems you might
find when you start uncovering things."

Alayna
turned to look at the wall again, trying to imagine it without the faded paper,
and wondering, too, what other things she would discover that Jack felt
passionate about … and she
would
find out. There was still life
inside him. The emotion he'd just displayed over her breakfast room wall proved
that. "Okay," she said, with a decisive nod at the faded paper, then
turned to smile at him. "Let's do it."

"Now?"

Alayna
laughed at the shocked look on his face, her blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"No, not
now,
as in right this minute." She turned to look at the
wall again, her smile softening. "But I think you're right. That wood
needs to breathe."

That
she would accept his advice so readily both surprised and relieved Jack. He
knew from experience that homeowners could be a pain in the butt to work with,
having ideas and opinions on how repairs should be made that could drive a
remodeler straight up the wall. He just hoped that when he stripped off that
paper, he didn't discover that it had been hung to cover up some problem, like
termite or water damage. While he was thinking this, he felt a featherlight
touch on his arm, then it was gone and Alayna was turning away, saying,
"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the house."

Jack
followed her, unconsciously rubbing a hand at the tingling sensation she'd left
on his arm.

"The
fireplace in the living room was sealed off years ago," she explained as
she led the way to the front of the house. "I'd planned to open it and
make it functional again." She paused in the archway that opened to the
large living room. Jack stopped beside her, stealing a glance her way, and saw
that she had her arms hugged up beneath her breasts in an oddly protective way.
"But I'm afraid," she said with a disappointed sigh, "that this
is one of the luxuries I'm going to have to forego in order to stay on
budget."

Jack
turned his head to follow her gaze … and the craftsman in him all but drooled
at the sight before him. A huge limestone fireplace dominated the opposite
wall, its white stone front stretching a good twelve feet from floor to
ceiling. Embedded in the stone above the fireplace's dark opening was a
hand-hewn cedar mantel, polished with care and age. Jack's heart swelled at the
amount of time and skill that had gone into the overall design, but it quickly
took a nosedive when his gaze hit on the gas space heater wedged in the firebox
where logs should be resting, waiting for the flare of a match.

Leaving
Alayna standing in the doorway, he crossed the room and knelt down before the
hearth. He leaned over, bracing his hands on the uneven stone, and looked up,
craning his neck so that he could see up the flue. Sure enough, weathered
boards sealed off the chimney. He poked at the boards almost wistfully,
thinking of the waste … and, too, of the disappointment he'd heard in Alayna's
voice when she'd told him she was going to have to forego re-opening the
fireplace in order to stay on budget. He straightened, dusting soot from his
hands. "I can open her back up," he said, avoiding her gaze.
"'Course I'll check out the chimney and flue to make sure that
everything's in working order first. But I won't charge you any extra for my
time."

"Oh,
no!" she cried, hurrying across the room. "I can't allow you to do
the work for free."

Jack
frowned as he looked down at her, seeing nothing but a deep, blue pool of
compassion in her eyes. The idea that she would think of his needs, and not her
own, baffled him. In his opinion, and based on his personal experience, the
gentler sex was, as a rule, selfish and demanding. Was this woman real? he
asked himself. When he felt himself being sucked deeper and deeper into her
gaze, drawn by the compassion he saw in her eyes, he backed away from her.

"Not
much work involved," he insisted briskly. "Somebody along the line
probably just got tired of cutting wood and sealed off the fireplace, choosing
instead to use gas to heat the room." He gave an impatient gesture with
his hand. "Let's see the rest of it."

Thankfully
she let the subject drop. With nothing but a curious glance in his direction,
she led the way to the stairway.

"The
master bedroom is downstairs," she explained over her shoulder, "but
Frank finished all the remodeling there before he left. You'll need to focus on
the rooms upstairs." The soles of her sandals scraped lightly on the
oak-planked stairs as she climbed higher, drawing Jack's gaze to her feet.

He
stood at the bottom step, his eyes sliding up over her ankles and to the gentle
curve of her calf. A warmth crawled up his neck and down to his groin as her
elevated position on the stairway above him revealed more and more of her bare
legs to him.

And
he silently prayed she was wearing panties.

He
wasn't sure what he'd do if he discovered she wasn't. It had been a long time
since he'd been with a woman in the biblical sense, and he didn't know if he
had the willpower needed to resist the sight of so much tempting flesh. He
swallowed hard, paralyzed as much by the feelings of lust building as he was by
the sight before him. He tried to remember the last woman who had stirred thoughts
like these, but quickly gave up. It had been way too long.

"Upstairs,"
she said, lifting a hand from the rail to gesture above her, "are four
more bedrooms." On the landing, she turned to look back at Jack and
stopped when she saw that he was still standing in the hallway below. "Are
you coming?"

"Yeah,"
he said, his voice husky, staring at her and trying his damnedest not to think
about those panties. The idea that he'd even think about a woman's panties was
a relatively new one, and a definite improvement over his thoughts for the last
several months. This woman was pushing buttons and getting a response to
hankerings he was sure he'd lost long ago.

Could
this be the end of his wanderings?

He
cleared his throat, and started up the stairs. "Yeah," he said with
more enthusiasm, thinking he might have just landed himself in heaven—or hell,
depending on how the situation turned out. "I'm right behind you."

Alayna
waited until he'd caught up with her, then opened a door on her left. "I
don't plan to do anything too major in here," she explained. "Just
freshen things up a bit. Paint. Drapes. Maybe add shelving for toys and
such."

Jack's
head snapped around at the mention of toys. "You have kids?"

At
the question, the smile that seemed her constant companion melted right off her
face. She glanced away from him and to the far window with its view of the
pond. "No," she replied with what almost sounded like embarrassment.
Then she forced her chin up and a confident smile to her lips as she turned her
gaze back to his. "At least, none of my own."

Jack
felt the blood drain right out of him at the hope he saw in her eyes. And just
when he was beginning to feel a little interest, a little heat in the old
furnace, she had to go and mention kids. A damn shame, too, he thought sadly,
admiring the sway of her hips as she walked away from him and across the room.
She was a beautiful woman. Sexy. Friendly.

And
convenient.

He
shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. But he wasn't getting
involved with a woman who wanted kids. Not Jack Cordell. No how, no way.

Two

«
^
»

W
hile Jack was
bemoaning his bad luck with women, a horn blasted outside and Alayna hurried to
the window and peered down below. One look and she cried, "Oh, no!"
then whirled and ran past him.

Wondering
what she'd seen that had put that horrified look on her face, Jack crossed to
the window and looked down. A yellow school bus was parked out front, its
caution lights blinking.

Jack's
stomach clenched at the sight of the small faces pressed against the windows.

As
he watched, unable to move, the bus's doors folded back and a book bag came
sailing through the door. A small boy appeared next, one shoulder hunched up
defensively against the bus driver who was shoving him down the steps in front
of him.

Every
muscle in Jack's body tensed, poised for flight.

He
had to get out of there.

But
before he could make good his escape, Alayna appeared on the front lawn below him,
the skirt of her baggy dress whipping around her legs as she raced toward the
bus. Jack shifted his gaze back to the little boy. He couldn't hear what the
bus driver was saying to the kid, and didn't want to hear. He wanted out in the
worst sort of way. Out of this house. Out of this town.

He
just plain wanted out.

You
have my word. I'll see the job done.

Jack
groaned, leaning to plant his hands against the window's sill and his forehead
against its glass as his words came back to haunt him. He squeezed his eyes
shut. He'd given his word. And Jack Cordell never backed down once he'd given
his word.

He
opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh and saw that a little girl had joined
the trio on the drive. She was standing off to the side, her chin dipped to her
chest, a threadbare-one-eyed teddy bear hugged tight to her chest, her thumb
sunk deeply into her mouth. The boy was kicking and swinging at the driver, and
Alayna was trying her best to wedge herself between the two.

When
the bus driver gave Alayna a shove, roughly knocking her out of his way, Jack
straightened, curling his hands into tight fists. Whether he wanted to be in
this house, or not, was no longer important. He couldn't stand by and watch a
man rough up a woman.

He
stormed from the room, down the stairs and out onto the lawn. Alayna was
already back on her feet and was preparing to jump back in the fray.

"Let
the kid go."

The
order was delivered with just enough volume and with enough punch behind it to
make the boy quit his thrashing, the bus driver to quit his shouting and the
little girl to drop her thumb from her mouth. All four—Alayna included—turned
to stare at Jack, slack-jawed.

Jack
moved closer. "I said, let the kid go."

The
bus driver squared his shoulders. "And who do you think you are, telling
me what to do?"

"Who
I am isn't
important. What I'm telling you
is.
Let the kid
go."