Homecoming (12 page)

Federica was a wealthy woman, an executive for one of the most powerful hotel chains in the world. A hotel chain that bore her name.

It was clear that she’d arrived in a state of exhaustion, on the edge of collapse, like a soldier who’d been in the line of fire for too long. And it was also clear that these few days were merely a little R&R for a busy executive. When she recovered, who knew what she’d morph into?

Well, he knew. Ms. Yup, that’s who. Ms. International Yup, with one of those fancy watches with two dial faces so you could always know the time in Singapore, and wallets with separate zippers for different currencies.

Jack had had enough of grasping women. Women who calculated the odds before making any kind of a move. Right now, though, Federica didn’t look calculating at all. She looked soft and unbearably inviting. He had to clamp down on the hard edge of desire that had him looking at her hungrily. Wanting her with a fierceness that surprised him.

He sighed. This was going to end badly, he could feel it. Getting involved with Federica Mansion was a big, big mistake. He knew that.

He was going to make that mistake anyway.

He got up from the picnic table and crossed around to her side.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

Federica looked up at Jack, at his outstretched hand. She placed her hand in his and he tugged her to her feet. He led her to the deck chairs, which he’d placed side by side, facing the river and the setting sun. “Come sit down and watch the sunset with me.”

“Okay.” Federica would have cheerfully followed him if he’d said, “Come with me and watch the hogs being slaughtered.”

She walked on weakened knees and sank heavily into the canvas deck chair. Jack only touched her lightly, guiding her by the elbow, and she felt as if she were on fire.

“You want a chaser for that meal?”

“What?” His voice came to her dimly, as if he were talking through several layers of glass.

“A chaser. I’ve got some good bourbon.”

“Bourbon.” She shook her head, trying to get rid of the fog. “Sure. Who made it? A cousin?”

“Nope.” Jack came back from the house with a bottle and two glasses. He poured one for her then peered at the label. “Rickety Bridge. Old Virginia brand. They only make two hundred bottles a year.”

Federica sipped her bourbon, though she didn’t need anything to make her feel light-headed. Jack sank into the deck chair beside her with a sigh.

He was inches away from her and her hands literally itched to touch him. Thank goodness one hand was occupied with a glass. Something was going to have to give, and soon. She felt like reaching over and touching him, grabbing him, anywhere. She, of all people, who had cultivated her touch-me-not persona for so long it was nearly perfect. So many businessmen on the road assumed that because she was on the road too, and away from home, she was an easy mark.

So she had a lot of experience with icy refusals but not much with jumping bones. To keep her hands busy, she sipped her drink and wished that Ellen were here. Ellen would know exactly what to do. Too bad she couldn’t have Ellen at the other end of a hidden mike, like a Secret Service agent. That way Ellen could give her instructions. She could almost hear Ellen’s voice, coaching her.

Women don’t jump men’s bones, Federica. That’s crass. Women eat men’s bones. Delicately. And spit them out afterwards.

Now slowly, very slowly, sidle your hand close to his, as if you weren’t aware of what your hand was doing, and make a conversational gambit.

Federica plopped her hand on the arm of Jack’s deck chair, then stared at it.

That wasn’t very subtle. Now, think of something to say.

Jack looked down at her hand, then at her, and Federica started drowning in those deep blue eyes.

Talk, Federica! Say something!

“Er—that was a wonderful meal,” she said finally. Her voice sounded choked and distant. “How come you cook so well?”

“What?” Jack frowned.

“I said, you cook really well. Where did you learn how?”

“My wife,” he said glumly.

His wife?

“Your…wife?”

“Yeah. Horrible cook. I had to learn how.”

“Yoo-hoo, Jack.” Lilly’s voice called out and a section of picket fence swung open, scattering wisteria petals. Lilly stepped through and smiled blandly at Jack and Federica, sitting so closely together. “Sorry to bother you, Jack.” She innocently held out a canister. “But I’ve run out of salt.”

Federica felt lost.
His wife
?

Chapter Seven

His wife?

Stunned, Federica looked at Jack and Lilly, so alike but so different. Lilly looked curious, Jack looked annoyed and they both looked at her.

His wife.

He was married.

Well, of course he was.

A prime specimen like that. Walking around loose and unattached in this day and age. Unthinkable.

It only confirmed the First Ellen Larsen Law of Love.
The chances of a man being single are inversely proportionate to his attractiveness
. Jack was the most attractive man she’d seen in a long time. Maybe ever. Ergo…

A wife. Federica looked around, as if a wife were something Jack might have temporarily misplaced, like the keys to the house. Where had he put her? Was she hiding up in the attic somewhere, like Mrs. Rochester in
Jane Eyre
? Or worse, was the wife out of town for a day or two and was Jack taking the opportunity to play around a bit?

That
thought was so humiliating Federica couldn’t even stay in the same place with it.

She bounced out of her deck chair.

“Hi, Lilly.” Federica looked around brightly, as if she and Jack had been attending a large dinner party and by sheer chance they were the last people to leave. “Jack and I were just—”

“What did you say you wanted, Lil?” Jack’s brow was furrowed. He eyed his sister’s belly and got up from the deck chair. “Have a seat.”

“No, that’s okay, I—”

“Sit.”

“No, really—”

“
Sit
.”

“Well…if you insist.” Lilly sank down with a grateful sigh and started fanning herself. “Thanks.” She reached up and touched her brother’s eye. “Swelling’s gone down.”

Jack smiled faintly at his sister. “I’ll live.”

Lilly held out the canister. “So…you have any salt, Jack?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got some salt.” Jack stared at her through narrowed eyes. “I seem to remember buying you a two-pound pack the other day.”

“I pickled some cucumbers. Used it all up.” Lilly said guilelessly. Jack was looking annoyed and Federica was feeling dazed. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Oh, no.” Federica drummed up a smile. “We were just chatting,” she looked down at her wristwatch without seeing a thing, “and my, how the time has flown. I guess I should be—”

“We were just talking about my wife,” Jack said, coming out of the house with a box of salt and a fold-up chair.

Federica flinched.

“My
ex-wife,”
he said heavily as he opened the chair. Federica could feel the color flowing back into her cheeks.

“Oh, Samantha.” Lilly waved her hand. “Water under the bridge. What a bi—” She slanted a glance at Federica, “Business woman. Certainly knew which side her bread was buttered on.”

Federica looked at Jack and then Lilly. “Ex-wife?”

“Ex-wife,” Jack pronounced the two syllables carefully, as if speaking to a foreigner. “As in divorced. As in—no more.”

“Well then.” Federica settled back into the deck chair. “You want a pillow for your back, Lilly?”

Two hours later, Lilly stood up, bracing a hand against her back, and winced.

“How’s it going, Lil?” Jack asked.

“Not too bad. I had an ultrasound the other day.” She smiled secretively.

“Did they see what sex it is?” Jack asked eagerly. He turned to Federica. “Wyatt and I want a boy. We’ve already booked baseball time. Someone’s going to have to take the little tyke in hand. Norman’s hopeless at sports.”

“Well…they’re not entirely sure,” Lilly began, then glanced at Jack’s face and relented. “But it looks like you and Wyatt will be coaching Little League games in about six or seven years’ time.”

“Yowee!” Jack gave a rebel yell and hugged her.

“You’re such a sexist, Jack,” Lilly laughed at him. “Don’t you know that there are coed Little League teams now?”

“Yeah, but you can’t flick wet towels at girls in the locker room. They’ll sue you for harassment. Besides, Wyatt and I already have it all figured out. Your next one will be a girl, and we’ll escort her to her coming-out party. You know Norman can’t dance, and Wyatt does a really mean foxtrot.”

“That’s ridiculous. Carson’s Bluff doesn’t have debutante parties. Your niece will probably be playing soccer in ten years’ time. And beating the pants off you.”

In ten years’ time
, Federica thought.

Jack and Wyatt and Lilly and Norman and now the baby—they all knew exactly where they were going to be in ten years’ time. Right here, surrounded by family and friends, shouting excitedly in the late summer afternoon as a beloved child made his first home run, or scored her first goal, with the smell of frankfurters wafting on the air.

And she would be…where? In a hotel room alone somewhere, in some foreign city. That was certain. The only uncertainty was which one. Kyoto? Cancùn? Vientiane? Soho? Noho?

Her eyes stung and she blinked.

This is pathetic
, she thought. How can I feel sorry for myself? Wherever I’ll be, I’ll be in a luxury setting, successful, busy and happy.

She’d be happy.

Sure she’d be happy.

Jack frowned at her. “Federica?” He moved away from Lilly. “You okay?”

“Of course.” She swiveled in his direction and showed all her teeth in a smile. “I’m just wondering if I should be getting back on—”
Home
lingered on her lips and died. The Folly wasn’t home. The big empty beige flat in San Francisco was home. The Folly was temporary, just another hotel room. “To the Folly.”

“Do you need anything, Federica?” Lilly asked practically. “Jack’s too much of a dense male to think that women might need things. Um, female things. He thinks being at the Folly is all anyone could ever want or need.”

Federica was touched. No one ever asked her what she needed. Everyone just assumed that being a Mansion was all anyone could ever want. “No, I’m okay, except…”

“Except?”

Federica looked down at her grubby, stained turquoise shell. “I need some clothes. I don’t have anything to wear.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You’ve got a giant suitcase full of clothes.”

“I don’t have clothes in my suitcase,” Federica said. Her suitcase was full of Valentino and Armani and Geoffrey Beene suits. “All I have are uniforms. For going to war. I need
clothes
. Real clothes, like jeans—”

“And T-shirts,” Lilly said knowingly. “Maybe a track suit or two. Some sneakers. Sure. I’ll drive you down and take you to Kerry’s tomorrow afternoon because I know Jack has to run into Shelby for Wyatt. Anything else?”

“Something to read.” Federica had a sudden, pleasing image of herself sitting on the Folly’s veranda with her feet up on the post, reading a murder mystery. Or maybe a romance. “Nothing too serious, though,” she warned. “I want light entertainment. Really light.”

“Well,” Lilly mused, “Don’s got a big mystery section. He’s into his religious phase, but he still has a good selection of light reading. We can take a walk around town tomorrow if you’re up to it.”

“Thanks, Lilly.”

“No problem.” Lilly yawned, and cupped her rounded belly. “Well, the two of us will be saying goodnight. I need to get back to Norman.” Lilly frowned. “Heavens, I hope Norman’s not still up. He had strict instructions to turn his laptop off after nine…” Her voice trailed off.

“Gotta watch him, Lil,” Jack said swiftly. Unobtrusively, he put a big hand to her back and gently pushed. “Workaholism’s the deadliest addiction known to man. Go fix him a stiff drink or something.”

But Lilly was already moving. “He’s been having a number of relapses, lately,” she said worriedly, as she opened the gate. “Oh, dear, the lights in his study are on…” She disappeared in a gentle rain of purple petals.

“Norman will be okay once the baby comes.” Jack latched the gate behind Lilly with an inward sigh. “If anything can take his mind off spreadsheets, it’s changing diapers.”

“And walking the baby at three in the morning,” Federica agreed.

Their eyes met, then slid away.

“Well.” Jack shifted from one sneakered foot to another, and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Well.”

“Well,” she echoed hollowly.

If she didn’t know that Jack was a superbly relaxed man, at ease with himself and the world, she’d say he was nervous. But that couldn’t be. What did he have to be nervous about? Surely not about…her?