Jake's child (7 page)

She knew she was foolish. She'd been foolish when she'd opened the door to Nicholas and the disreputable-looking Jake, but maybe God wouldn't begrudge her this moment that warmed her frozen heart with might-have-beens.

Sarah swung Nicholas until her arms were ready to drop. They walked down to the lake when an airboat roared in and captivated him. She couldn't ignore his wiggling eagerness, either, and begged a ride from the Seminole guide. Nicholas sat in the boat, his smile ear-to-ear.

When they returned, they ate tuna fish sandwiches out on the porch. Nicholas picked out the pickles and wadded them in his napkin. Downing the last of his iced tea—she wished she had milk—he flopped on the floor and focused on the revolving blades of the ceiling fan. Sarah had switched on the fan as the afternoon had become warmer. She leaned her head back on the chair, her feet near Nicholas. It was turning out to be a warm winter and the afternoons were downright hot. Not the best weather for fishing, but she'd make out. She wasn't solely dependent on income from guiding and boat rentals.

Nicholas interrupted her reverie. He was wiggling his legs in the air. "You like me, don't you, Sarah?" He rolled over on his belly and propped his chin on his hands as he waited for her answer.

Sarah couldn't give him a straight answer. "How could I not, Nicholas?" She evaded his gaze. Oh, she liked him. She did. And she'd like to roast the mother who'd let Jake take Nicholas off on this harebrained trip. Yet Sarah envied her.

He nodded. "Last night I thought you didn't like me, but it was just the dirt, huh?" At her startled look, he shrugged magnanimously. "I'm glad you like me. Jake's okay about stuff like dirt, but my dad didn't like me messing around much." His voice was obstinate. "He loved me a lot, so I didn't care."

"Of course he loved you, Nicholas." The pain was unbearable.

"My mom didn't." He rolled on the floor.

"Excuse me?" Sarah's thoughts scattered like sand in the wind.

"My mom didn't love me." He rolled from side to side, not concerned with the impact his words were having on her.

"Of course she does, Nicholas. Moms love their boys." Sarah's nails snagged on the wicker chair.

"Mine didn't love me," he insisted. He walked over to her chair, his knees bumping against her, those sharp-pointed little knobby knees.

"Oh, Nicholas, she must." As Sarah lifted him onto her lap, his bony body knocking and jabbing against her, she laid her chin on his head. Rocking him, rocking him, easing her own hurt and silencing her questions.

Nicholas looked up at her. "Are you crying, Sarah?" He rubbed his thumb under her eye.

"No."

"Looks like it." Inquisitive, he sat up straighter.

"No, must be my allergies." She let him go as he pulled off her lap, leaving her lap and arms empty. Sarah rubbed the wicker chair arm hard.

"That's too bad. I'm glad I don't have 'lergies." He opened the screen door and leaned out. "When's Jake coming back, Sarah?"

She wished she knew. She couldn't endure much more. Her mind was weaving fantasies.

When Jake rattled up the driveway, his headlights picked out Sarah down by the dock. She was hunched over her knees, looking out at the lake. A full moon shimmered in the dark of the night. Good. She'd put Nicholas to bed. She wouldn't kick them out tonight. He'd bought some time.

All afternoon Jake had driven around, delaying his return. After he paid for the new tire, he picked up smoked mullet and milk. Then, as an afterthought, figuring he

might be in for a long night out in the truck, he added a six-pack of beer.

Now, after he shut off the ignition, he could hear crickets. "Sarah?"

She walked over to him. Leaning in the open window, she said, "You took your time, Donnelly." She twisted the door handle. "Come on out. I won't shoot." Her face was a pale circle in the moonlight. Weary lines etched the outside of her soft eyes.

Jake's skin prickled with alarm. What had happened? Sarah's edginess had vanished. She seemed all curves and softness in the wan light, an illusion. Losing himself in the watery light and her low voice, he had no defenses against this Sarah. He couldn't stay here.

"Come on in the house. Nicholas is upstairs asleep. But you knew that, didn't you?"

Her voice wrapped around his senses. "You timed your return very well. He's been asleep for half an hour. You're staying, of course." She paused, pointed to the sack of groceries in the VW. "I see you'd already made plans. Provisions?"

He nodded warily and removed the key. He'd been in control since he arrived, and while he'd been so cleverly tying her up with knots of responsibility, she'd undergone a change. Touched with shadows and mystery, her skin glowed in the moonlight. In spite of himself he wanted to touch it, see if it were satiny.

Jake walked beside her, shifting the paper sack to his outside arm. Once her arm brushed the hairs on his. She opened the screen door and beckoned him in. He followed.

In the kitchen she peered in the sack, got a bottle opener, plates and forks. "Want to eat on the porch? It's warm enough."

"Your house," Jake said, letting her take the lead. He'd follow her dance steps while she was in this mood. A bull-

dozer couldn't have pushed him out of her house at this moment, and he turned the heat of his anger to simmer.

He pulled the wicker table and chairs together and spread the fish on newspapers. "Beer?"

"Sure. Thanks." She sat yoga-style while she picked at the mullet with her fork. Then she smiled contentedly and pulled the succulent flesh off with her fingers, licking them free of clinging bits. "I love mullet, especially smoked."

The spicy scent rose between them, earthy, evocative, making Jake ache for long afternoons of lovemaking with rain drumming down. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and gestured to the fourth fillet.

"I couldn't possibly., .well, possibly," she amended, digging off one final white strip.

He wrapped up the bones and skin while she went to the kitchen.

She returned, carrying a knife and lemons. "Come on. Out on the stoop." She sliced the lemons and handed him one. Squeezing the juice over their hands, she rubbed hers together, sniffing them. "Nice."

Slick and wet her fingers twined. Jake wanted to slide his fingers between hers, touch the delicate webbing of lemon-bathed skin.

A long silence filled with possibilities thrummed between them, and then Sarah spoke. "Why did you lie about Nicholas's mother?"

Watching Sarah's face, Jake figured Nicholas had let something slip. She'd been setting him up. He should have known all the moonlight and magic were false. "I said three accusations of lying were enough. I didn't lie about Nicholas's mother." He hadn't, not really. He'd been very careful.

"Nicholas said his mother didn't like him."

Jake was as angry with himself as with Sarah. "She doesn't." He shifted into the shadows where he could watch her and not be seen.

"But he made it sound as if she were dead. You said his mother gave you permission to take Nicholas with you." Sarah's hands were folded tightly in her lap. "What's your game, Jake Donnelly? Why are you in my home?"

"Okay. I confess. I'm a drug dealer and the kid is my cover. All right? Call the cops." His voice was all calculated irritation.

She frowned and leaned back.

"Look, I said I had permission. I didn't say who gave me permission. Hell, I'd have brought references if I'd known I was going to wind up being given the third degree." Jake watched her face wrinkle as she tried to remember what he'd said.

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief.

His indifferent shrug was more convincing than an argument. "I'm sorry to destroy your swell, little conspiracy notions, but Nicholas's mother is alive. She just can't handle him right now after her husband's death."

"I don't understand." She twisted on the stoop towards him. A faint aroma of lemon rose to his nostrils.

Jake leaned back against the top stoop. "You're making something out of nothing." He sighed, wondering how much he could say.

He'd decided this afternoon that he wasn't going to tell her Nicholas was her son. Not now, maybe not ever. She was going to have to prove she could be trusted with the boy. If Jake had any doubts, any, he and Nicholas were hightailing it out faster than lightning could strike. If even one of the things he'd been told were true, she didn't deserve Nicholas, anyway.

Fairness and justice didn't matter. This time he held the cards. If he were some noble fool maybe he'd have a problem with his decision, but he couldn't afford any mistakes. Nicholas needed someone and Jake was all he had. He could be tough enough, cruel enough to disappear with Nicholas.

This time Jake could be God. What did he care about Sarah and her illusions?

He shifted and began again. "You and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. Everything I've said or done has been twisted by your fear, your suspicion/' He cleared his throat. "I should never have stormed up to your door the way I did."

"No." She nodded.

He looked away. "I lack finesse sometimes."

"Oh, yes, I think we're in agreement there." Underlying her cool voice was laughter.

Jake went with it. Despite her doubts, she seemed willing to humor him. He was sure she had her own tainted motives. "And Pm mule-headed. Once I get the bit between my teeth, I'm hard to stop."

"Hmm."

"I'm not a nice guy."

Her hair lifted in the breeze and something changed in the night. "You're nice to Nicholas." Rivers ran deep in her voice, sweeping him along in their currents.

"Nicholas." Jake stretched his legs in front of him, waggled his feet.

"Yes, Nicholas." She stood in front of him, a small, indomitable figure smelling of lemon and flowers.

He almost admired her courage. Except that it, too, was an illusion.

"I don't like to talk about Nicholas," Jake continued, brushing away her thin cotton skirt that clung to his leg.

"You've made that very clear. / want to, though." Thinking of him and Nicholas and the story he'd told stirred a crazy thought up from the depths of Sarah's mind, one that explained everything except the impossible. But the idea sank below the surface when Jake stood up, powerful, his heat reaching out to her in the moonlight. She continued, "His situation baffles me. And there's something about him—"

As she moved in front of him, the cotton fabric of her skirt fluttered in the slight breeze, molding to her delicate curves. He wished he were someone else, anyone else, so he could wander off with her down toward the lake and find a shadowed, private spot where only the touch of skin on skin mattered. A place where he could stroke her skin, make her look at him with dazed blue eyes. As he watched her in the night, he sensed that with her he'd find something lost long ago.

He swore. What a fool he was making of himself. She was just a woman, and not even a nice one at that.

"Will you accept that what I'm going to tell you is as much of the truth as I can give you? That I mean no harm to Nicholas?"

"I know you wouldn't hurt him. He worships you." Sadness crept into her voice. "I might accept your version of the truth. It all depends." She looked up at the moon, her throat a silver silhouette in the dark.

"Good enough." Jake rose and stretched out the muscles of his back. "I am responsible for him right now, until his situation with his mother is resolved." He kept emotion out of his voice, knowing he didn't dare think of this woman in connection with Nicholas. "I was his father's friend, so I was asked to help. That's all I'm doing. Anything else you might be thinking, and God only knows what it might be, is just the result of my rudeness and your own imagination. I don't know what Nicholas meant by whatever he said, but I've told you the truth."

Jake touched the smooth strand of hair blown across her face. "And for my clumsiness, I apologize." Her eyelashes tickled the back of his finger as her eyes closed, opened. This time her beautiful eyes, Nicholas's eyes, looked at him with no wariness, no shutters. He couldn't afford to believe in her, for Nicholas's sake he couldn't, but his restless fingers moved with their own demands.

The bumpy fabric of her blouse slipped under his finger as it moved over the slope of her shoulder. He slid the fabric in small circles over her skin. Her shoulders were fragile wings under his hands. "No, don't," she murmured. He felt as though he were spreading lemon oil all over her, stroking it into her skin, her bones. He ran his thumbs down the indentation of her spine, pressing against her arching muscles. A muted whisper. His. An imperceptible sigh. Hers. For Jake the world tipped on its axis as he touched the hollows under her arms, urged her hands behind his neck. His breath came hard from his lungs, rasped. He needed her against him.

Sarah found herself pressed against the old tree, found herself touching the hard muscles of Jake's neck, lost herself in the feel of him against her. There was still something wrong about his story, but everything she'd denied herself for years was rolling in, drowning her with feelings. Questions could wait. She felt as vulnerable as baby turtles scuttling foolishly to the sea while the gulls circled hungrily overhead. Like the turtles, she raced for the breakers, defying death in a mad dash for life. That was what Jake was making her feel—that pulse-pounding, life-validating race for the sea.

He was a living pulse beat against her, and she clung to the life that throbbed in him and sent her own pulse surging against him. When he pulled her down on the swing with him, her skirt caught the breeze and lifted. She reached down to push it under them, but his hand stopped her, traced the edge of the skirt and smoothed under the light fabric. His palms met in back, cupping her, pulling her against him.

Through the nylon of her panties she felt the rasp of his hands, sensed the snag of callus against silky fabric. The tips of his fingers traced under the elastic edges, and she ached for his touch. She'd seen him touch Nicholas with tenderness and affection, and now his hands moved on her with a

fierce tenderness that she needed. His hands slid over her thighs, thumbs meeting where she hurt for his touch. And he stopped.