Holiday in Stone Creek Page 26

  JACK SHUT DOWN the computer and retired to the sewing room.

  Knowing she wouldn’t sleep, Ashley showered, put on blue jeans and an old T-shirt, and returned to the kitchen, where she methodically assembled the ingredients for the most complicated recipe in her collection—her great-grandmother’s rum-pecan cake.

  The fourth batch was cooling when dawn broke, and Ashley was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee untouched in front of her.

  Jack stepped out of the sewing room, a shaving kit under one arm. His smile was wan, and a little guilty. “Smells like Christmas in here,” he said, very quietly. “Did you sleep?”

  Ashley shook her head, vaguely aware that she was covered in cake flour, the fallout of frenzied baking. “Did you?”

  “No,” Jack said, and she knew by the hollow look in his eyes that he was telling the truth. “Ashley, I’m sorry—”

  “Please,” Ashley interrupted, “stop saying that.”

  She couldn’t help comparing that morning to the one before, when she’d virtually seduced Jack right there in the kitchen. Was it only yesterday that she’d visited Olivia and the babies at the clinic in Indian Rock, had that disturbing conversation with Melissa outside the nursery? Dear God, it seemed as though a hundred years had passed since then.

  The wall phone rang.

  Jack tensed.

  Ashley got up to answer. “It’s only Melissa,” she said.

  She always knew when Melissa was calling.

  “I’m picking up twin-vibes,” her sister announced. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Ashley said, glancing at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “It’s only six in the morning, Melissa. What are you doing up so early?”

  “I told you, I’ve got vibes,” Melissa answered, sounding impatient.

  Jack left the kitchen.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Ashley said, winding the telephone cord around her finger.

  “You’re lying,” Melissa insisted flatly. “Do I have to come over there?”

  Ashley smiled at the prospect. “Only if you want a home-cooked breakfast. Blueberry pancakes? Cherry crepes?”

  “You,” Melissa accused, “are deliberately torturing me. Your own sister. You know I’m on a diet.”

  “You’re five foot three and you weigh 110 pounds. If you’re on a diet, I’m having you committed.” Remembering that their mother had died in the psychiatric ward of a Flagstaff hospital, Ashley instantly regretted her choice of words. This was a subject she wanted to avoid, at least until she regained her emotional equilibrium. Melissa, like Brad and Olivia, had had a no-love-lost relationship with Delia.

  “Cherry crepes,” Melissa mused. “Ashley O’Ballivan, you are an evil woman.” A pause. “Furthermore, you have some nerve, grilling me about Alex Ewing, when Jack McCall is back.”

  Ashley frowned. “How did you know that?”

  “Your neighbor, Mrs. Pollack, works part-time in my office, remember? She told me he arrived in an ambulance, day before yesterday. Is there a reason you didn’t mention this?”

  “Yes, Counselor,” Ashley answered, “there is. Because I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Why not?” Melissa sounded almost hurt.

  “Because I knew I’d look like an idiot when he left again.”

  “Not to be too lawyerly, or anything, but why invite me to breakfast if you were trying to hide a man over there?”

  Ashley laughed, but it was forced, and Melissa probably picked up on that, though mercifully, she didn’t comment. “Because I’m overstocked on cherry crepes and I need the freezer space?” she offered.

  “You were supposed to say something like, ‘Because you’re my twin sister and I love you.’”

  “That, too,” Ashley responded.

  “I’ll be over before work,” Melissa said. “You’re really okay?”

  No, Ashley thought. I’m in love with a stranger, someone wants to kill him, and my bed-and-breakfast is about to become a stop on a modern underground railroad.

  “I will be,” she said aloud.

  “Damn right you will,” Melissa replied, and hung up without a goodbye. Of course, there hadn’t been a “hello,” either.

  Classic Melissa.

  The upstairs shower had been running through most of her conversation with Melissa—Ashley had heard the water rushing through the old house’s many pipes. Now all was silent.

  Thinking Jack would probably be downstairs soon, wanting breakfast, Ashley fed Mrs. Wiggins and then took a plastic container filled with the results of her last cooking binge from the freezer.

  A month ago she’d made five dozen crepes, complete with cherry sauce from scratch, when one of her college friends had called to say she’d just found out her husband was having an affair.

  Before that, it had been a double-fudge brownie marathon—beginning the night of her mother’s funeral. She’d donated the brownies to the residents of the nursing home three blocks over, since, in her own way, she was just as calorie-conscious as Melissa.

  Baking therapy was one thing. Scarfing down the results was quite another.

  Half an hour passed, and Jack didn’t reappear.

  Ashley waited.

  A full hour had passed, and still no sign of him.

  Resigned, she went upstairs. Knocked softly at his bedroom door.

  No answer.

  Her imagination kicked in. The man had aliases, for heaven’s sake. He’d abducted a drug dealer’s seven-year-old daughter from a stronghold in some Latin American jungle.

  Maybe he’d sneaked out the front door.

  Maybe he was lying in there, dead.

  “Jack?”

  Nothing.

  She opened the door, her heart in her throat, and stuck her head inside the room.

  He wasn’t in the bed.

  She raised her voice a little. “Jack?”

  She heard the buzzing sound then, identified it as an electric shaver, and was just about to back out of the room and close the door behind her, as quietly as possible, when his bathroom door opened.

  His hair was damp from the shower, and he was wearing a towel, loincloth style, and nothing else. He grinned as he shut off the shaver.

  “I’m not here for sex,” Ashley said, and then could have kicked herself.

  Jack laughed. “Too bad,” he said. “Nothing like a quickie to get the day off to a good start. So to speak.”

  A quickie indeed. Ashley gave him a look, meant to hide the fact that she found the idea more than appealing. “Breakfast will be ready soon,” she said coolly. “And Melissa is joining us, so try to behave yourself.”

  He stepped out of the bathroom.

  Her gaze immediately dropped to the towel. Shot back to his face.

  He was grinning. “But we’re alone now, aren’t we?”

  “I’m still not on birth control, remember?” Ashley’s voice shook.

  “That horse is pretty much out of the barn,” Jack drawled. He was walking toward her.

  She didn’t move.

  He took her hand, pulled her to him, pushed the door shut.

  Kissed her breathless.

  Unsnapped her jeans, slid a hand inside her panties.

  All without breaking the kiss.

  Ashley moaned into his mouth, wet where he caressed her.

  He maneuvered her to the bed, laid her down.

  Ashley was already trying to squirm out of her jeans. When it came to Jack McCall—McKenzie—whoever—she was downright easy.

  Jack finally ended the kiss, proceeded to rid her of her shoes, of the binding denim, and then her practical cotton underpants.

  She whimpered in anticipation when he knelt between her legs, parted her thighs, kissed her—there.

  A shudder of violent need moved through her.

  “Slow and easy,” he murmured, between nibbles and flicks of his tongue.

  Slow and easy? She was on fire.

  She shook her head from side to side. “Hard,” she pleaded. �
��Hard and fast, Jack. Please…”

  He went down on her in earnest then, and after a few glorious minutes, she shattered completely, peaking and then peaking again.

  Jack soothed her as she descended, stroking her thighs and murmuring to her until she sank into satisfaction.

  She’d expected him to mount her, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he dressed her again, nipping her once through the moist crotch of her panties before tucking her legs into her jeans, sliding them up her legs, tugging them past her bottom. He even slipped her feet into her shoes and tied the laces.

  “What about—the quickie?” she asked, burning again because he’d teased her with that little scrape of his teeth. Because as spectacular as her orgasm had been, it had left her wanting—needing—more.

  “I guess that will have to wait,” Jack said, sitting down beside her on the bed and easing her upright next to him. “Didn’t you say your sister would be here for breakfast at any moment?”

  She looked down at the towel—either it had miraculously stayed in place or he’d wrapped it around his waist again when she wasn’t looking—and saw the sizable bulge of his erection. “You’ve got a hard-on,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Jack chuckled. “Ya think?”

  Melissa’s voice sounded from downstairs. “Ash? I’m here!”

  Ashley bolted to her feet, blushing. “Coming!” she called back.

  “You can say that again,” Jack teased.

  Smoothing her hair with both hands, tugging at her T-shirt, Ashley hurried out of the room.

  “I’ll be right down!” she shouted, from the top of the stairs.

  Melissa’s reply was inaudible.

  Ashley dashed into her bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, then checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

  She looked, she decided ruefully, like a woman who’d just had a screaming climax—and needed more.

  Quickly, she applied powder to her face, but the tell-tale glow was still there.

  Damn.

  There was nothing to do but go downstairs, where her all-too-perceptive twin was waiting for cherry crepes. If she didn’t appear soon, Melissa would come looking for her.

  “You were having sex,” Melissa said two minutes later, when Ashley forced herself to step into the kitchen.

  “No, I wasn’t,” Ashley replied, with an indignant little sniff.

  “Liar.”

  Ashley crossed the room, turned the oven on to pre-heat, and got very busy taking the frozen crepes out of their plastic container, transferring them to a baking dish. All the while, she was careful not to let Melissa catch her eye.

  “Olivia and the twins are coming home today,” Melissa said lightly, but something in her voice warned that she wasn’t going to let the sex issue drop.

  “I thought the babies had to stay until they were bigger,” Ashley replied, still avoiding Melissa’s gaze.

  “Tanner hired special nurses and had two state-of-the-art incubators brought from Flagstaff,” Melissa explained.

  Once the crepes were in the oven, Ashley had no choice but to turn around and look at Melissa. “You were having sex,” Melissa repeated.

  Ashley flung her hands out from her sides. “Okay. Yes, I was having sex!” She sighed. “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of? How do you ‘sort of’ have sex?”

  “Never mind,” Ashley snapped. “Isn’t it enough that I admitted it? Do you want details?”

  “Yes, actually,” Melissa answered mischievously, “but I’m obviously not going to get them.”

  Jack pushed open the inside door and stepped into the kitchen.

  “Yet,” Melissa added, in a whisper.

  Ashley rolled her eyes.

  “Hello, Jack,” Melissa said.

  “Melissa,” Jack replied.

  Like Brad and Olivia, Melissa wasn’t in the Jack McCall fan club. They’d all turned in their membership cards the last time he ditched Ashley.

  “Just passing through?” Melissa asked sweetly.

  “Like the wind,” Jack answered. “Your brother already threatened me, so maybe we can skip that part.”

  Ashley raised her eyebrows. Brad had threatened Jack?

  “As long as somebody got the point across,” Melissa chimed.

  “Oh, believe me, I get it.”

  “Will you both stop bickering, please?” Ashley asked.

  Melissa sneezed. Looked around. “Is there a cat in this house?”

  Jack grinned. “I could find the little mutant, if you’d like to pet it.”

  Melissa sneezed again. “I’m—allergic! Ashley, you know I’m all—all—atchoo!”

  Ashley had completely forgotten about Mrs. Wiggins, and about her sister’s famous allergies. Olivia insisted it was all in Melissa’s head, since she’d been tested and the results had been negative.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  Another sneeze.

  “Bless you,” Jack said generously.

  Melissa grabbed up her coat and purse and ran for the back door. Slammed it behind her.

  “Well,” Jack commented, “that went well.”

  “Shut up,” Ashley said.

  Jack let out a magnanimous sigh and spread his hands.

  Ashley went to the cupboard, got out two plates, set them on the table with rather more force than necessary. “You,” she said, “are complicating my life.”

  “Are you talking to me or the cat?” Jack asked, all innocence.

  “You,” Ashley replied tersely. “I’m not getting rid of the cat.”

  “But you are getting rid of me? After that orgasm?”

  “Shut up.”

  Jack chuckled, pressed his lips together, and pretended to zip them closed.

  Ashley served the crepes. They both ate.

  All without a single word passing between them.

  After breakfast, Jack retreated to the study, and Ashley cleaned up the kitchen. Melissa called just as she was closing the dishwasher door.

  “It wasn’t the cat,” Melissa said, first thing.

  “Duh,” Ashley responded.

  “I mean, I thought it was, but I’m probably catching cold or something—”

  “Either that, or you’re allergic to Jack.”

  “He’s bad news, Ash,” Melissa said.

  “I guess I could take up with Dan,” Ashley said mildly. “I hear he’s looking for a domestic type.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  Ashley smiled, even though tears suddenly scalded her eyes. She was destined to love one man—Jack McCall—for the rest of her life, maybe for the rest of eternity.

  And Melissa was right.

  He was the worst possible news.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I’M GOING OUT TO Tanner and Olivia’s after work today,” Melissa said. “Gotta see my nephews in their natural habitat. Want to ride along?”

  By the time Melissa left her office, even if she knocked off at five o’clock—a rare thing for her—it would be dark out. Ardith and Rachel would surely arrive that night, and Ashley wanted to be on hand to welcome the pair and help them settle in.

  She’d already decided to put the secret guests in the room directly across from Jack’s; it had twin beds and a private bathroom. Jack would surely want to be in close proximity to them in case of trouble, and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual.

  “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” she confessed. “By the time you leave work, I’ll probably be snoring.”

  “Whatever you say,” Melissa said gently. “Be careful, Ash. When the sex is good, it’s easy to get carried away.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Ashley replied. “Have you seen Dan lately?”

  Melissa sighed. “We’re not speaking,” she said, with a sadness she usually kept hidden. “The last time we did, he told me we should both start seeing other people.” A sniffle. “I heard he’s going out with some waitress from the Roadhou
se, over in Indian Rock.”

  “Is that why you’re considering leaving Stone Creek? Because Dan is dating someone else?”

  Melissa began to cry. There was no sob, no sniffle, no sound at all, but Ashley knew her sister was in tears. That was the twin bond, at least as they experienced it.

  “Why do I have to choose?” Melissa asked plaintively. “Why can’t I have Dan and my career? Ash, I worked so hard to get through law school—even with Brad footing the bills, it was really tough.”

  Ashley hadn’t been over this ground with Melissa, not in any depth, anyway, because they’d been semi-estranged since the day of their mother’s funeral. “Is that what Dan wants, Melissa? For you to give up your law practice?”

  “He has two young sons, Ash. The ranch is miles from anywhere. In the winter, they get snowed in—Dan homeschools Michael and Ray from the first blizzard, sometimes until Easter, because the ranch road is usually impassible. Unless I wanted to travel by dogsled, I couldn’t possibly commute. I’d go bonkers.” Melissa pulled in a long, quivery breath. “I might even pull a ‘Mom,’ Ashley. If I got desperate enough. Get on a bus one fine afternoon and never come back.”

  “I can’t see you doing that, Melissa.”

  “Well, I can. I love Dan. I love the boys—way too much to do to them what Delia did to us.”

  “Mel—”

  “Here’s how much I love them. I’d rather Dan married that waitress than someone who was always looking for an escape route—like me.”

  “Have you and Dan talked about this, Melissa? Really talked about it?”

  “Sort of,” Melissa admitted wearily. “His stock response was, ‘Mel, we can work this out.’ Which means I stay home and cook and clean and sew slipcovers, while he’s out on the trail, squiring around a bunch of executive greenhorns trying to find their inner cowboys.”

  “How do you know that’s what it means? Did Dan actually say so, Melissa, or is this just your take on the situation?”

  “‘Just’ my ‘take’ on the situation?” Melissa countered, sounding offended. “I’m not some naive Martha Stewart clone like—like—”

  “Like me?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “You didn’t have to, Counselor.” A Martha Stewart clone? Was that how other people saw her? Because she enjoyed cooking, decorating, quilting? Because she’d never had the kind of world-conquering ambition Brad and Melissa shared?