Ten Acres and Twins (15 page)

“What about your Duke fellow? Will he be hanging around?”

“Duke?”

“The banker,” Jack said with a frown. “Your date?”

“Oh! You mean Dwight.”

Jack's face grew darker. “I thought his name was Duke.”

“No.” She shook her head, and the movement put enough pressure on the door to release the latch. The door drifted open. Abby caught her balance and looked behind her. Her bed seemed quite inviting with the covers strewn about.

It beckoned her, telling her to risk chugging that train right into the station.

“No, he's not Duke? Or, no, he won't be helping?”

When Abby turned back around, she realized Jack had moved forward a few steps. He was eyeing the bed, too. “Dwight won't be here,” she squeaked. “I don't think he ever gets his hands dirty.”

Jack stepped even closer and said, “You sound as if you don't like him.”

His words were harmless, but his voice was sort of growly. He was close enough now that she could reach out and untie the belt to his robe, if she was so inclined.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the conversation. It had been something about the dweeb banker.

Oh. Did she like him?

“He's probably a genius accountant, but he can't figure out women very well,” she said, and opened her eyes.

Jack's expression was turbulent, and he stared at her mouth and stepped close enough to kiss her.

And then he did. And she didn't stop him.

That old train blew its whistle and started chugging. Abby didn't know whether he was pushing her to the bed or she was pulling, but within seconds the back of her legs hit her mattress and she fell onto it, bringing him down with her.

Never once did their mouths break apart to breathe, or nibble, or say anything at all crazy or sensible.

Such as “Stop.”

Someone slid a hand between their bodies to pull Jack's belt loose, and his robe practically fell off his shoulders.

Hers fell off, too. Of course it would, without a belt.

Her T-shirt was more secure, but that didn't keep his hands
from touching her breasts with a gentleness that made her shiver.

Finally, he backed his head away for a second, allowing them both to gasp for air.

Then he bent down to lick her breast through the thin cotton fabric of her shirt. She stared down at the wet spot, and felt that crazy need spiral through her soul.

At the very instant she needed to feel his mouth against her bare flesh, her shirt flew off her head, propelled by her spellbound arms.

He paused, watching her movements, then homed back in on her mouth while bringing a thumb to each nipple. Abby met his tongue with thrusts just as heated, and she placed her hand flat against his belly and slid it downward.

He was hot and smooth, rigid and ready. She wanted to experience him in every way. First, however, she wanted to feel him against her. Using her free hand to coax him closer, she wrapped her legs around his body.

They fit together as perfectly as sun and shadow. She sighed against his mouth, accepted his hardness against her hollows.

Still kissing.

Still caressing.

Still wanting more.

Until she remembered.

Then she brought her hands up to his chest and used every ounce of her strength to shove him off.

And got out of the bed, hurrying to the door. She could still feel his burning heat against her body when she was two steps down the stairs.

She'd had to get away. The overpowering need he provoked was stronger than anything she'd experienced before. It stunned her, in much the same way she'd been stunned the first time she was stung by a hornet.

She'd been only six years old, and helping her father in the
flower shop, but she could remember wanting to concentrate on the sting for a minute, to get a handle on the feeling.

Now, the sting of her wanting was just as powerful. She knew she'd remember this ache just as clearly.

By the time Jack caught up to her, she was standing downstairs in the living room, looking out the window at the blackness of a cloud-covered night in the country.

“Man, I'm sorry,” he said softly when he reached her side. He stood behind her, not touching her.

“Me, too,” she answered, without looking at him.

“We really can't do that,” he said, sounding uncertain.

She turned to look at him then. “I know.”

Her eyes slid down a long, strong and splendid torso. The gray flannel boxers did little to conceal the desire he was still feeling. Her eyes flew back up to his face.

“Jack?” she said.

His eyes jerked up from her naked body, too.

He blew out a shaky breath, closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he reached out one long, strong hand and jerked the floor-length curtain right off the rod.

He wrapped it around her body several times, quite carefully. He even went so far as to lift her arm and work the material underneath.

She shivered again.

These feelings were too confusing.

He was so tender, and she wanted him so much. She didn't want to remind herself that she couldn't
have
him.

He took the other end of the curtain and wrapped it around his waist, tucking the end into his boxers. Then he put his arm across her shoulder and drew her toward the sofa.

She nearly tripped over the trailing length of curtain, so fashioned it into a sort of a clumsy tail behind her. It made a swishing sound as she walked across the room, and she snickered. Only Abigail Briggs would find herself walking across her own living room in a curtain that a nearly naked man had folded around her body.

He didn't laugh at all. He just sat on the sofa, staring straight ahead. After a minute, he said, “We need to get this all out in the open.”

“Okay,” she said.

She couldn't stifle a giggle, despite her need. He didn't seem to notice that they were both enfolded in a plum jacquard curtain.

He seemed completely serious. “I want you, but I can't sleep with you.”

She smothered another giggle. “I know.”

“Sleeping together would be a mistake.”

Now she laughed out loud. “A huge one.”

He turned to look at her, and smiled when he noticed her laughing. But his smile was wry. “Maybe now that we've admitted that, we can work out some sort of arrangement.”

She stopping laughing. “What kind of arrangement?”

“Let's agree to be friends,” he said, still serious. “Surely two adults who are aware of the complications of an ongoing sexual relationship can have enough willpower to resist.”

“Surely.”

“Especially now that we're both admitting the problem.”

“You would think so, wouldn't you?”

“So, we're attracted to one another. We can't act on it.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

“Tomorrow morning when we get up, we'll both know we're just going to be friends and nothing else.”

“Fine,” she said.

When he didn't say anything else, she figured the matter was settled. “I'll see you in the morning,” she said. She gathered the curtain around her and stood.

And frowned.

Should she jerk the curtain panel off him, or just make a run for it?

The absurdity of the situation hit her with such force that she had to sit back down, she was laughing so hard.

“Why do you keep laughing?”

“Oh, no reason,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. “But there is a problem.”

“What?”

“How do we retreat to our separate quarters?”

He glared at the wad of curtain she had balled up in her fist, and then followed the end of it all the way to where the end was tucked in his underpants.

His laughter was loud and uncontrolled. And she just grinned as she watched him.

When he finally calmed down enough to talk, he shook his head and lifted an eyebrow. “Get ready,” he said with a barely stifled snort. “We're going to count to three and run.”

Within seconds, the curtain swished to the floor between them as they both let go and turned to run. Abby caught a glimpse of Jack's fine-looking backside as she made her way up the stairs, and she smiled at the memory.

But as she paused on the landing to catch her breath, she frowned, wondering how her gleefulness could change so rapidly to regret.

W
HAT IS THAT
diabolical racket?

Jack tried stuffing his pillow over his head to drown out the noise and nab a few more minutes of sleep. Wasn't it the middle of the night? Who would be talking? And whoever it was, why were they doing it outside his window?

Eventually, he realized it wasn't the noise that was keeping him from drifting back into oblivion.

It was the questions.

Why was there a crowd standing outside his window, and wasn't that Abby's voice raised slightly above the others? What was happening?

As soon as some lucidity flowed to his brain, he rolled across the bed to peek through the blinds. A small group was gathered at the opening in the woods that led to the orchards, and Abby was standing in front of them with a baby on each hip.

Apparently, the peaches were ready now. At the crack of dawn. He just couldn't get used to these country mornings, which always seemed to start several hours too early.

Groaning, he went to his closet to grab some clothes and throw them on. He'd told Abby he wanted to help with the harvest. From the look of things, she could use a baby-sitter about now.

Heading out the back door, he strode quickly to her side, waited until she paused between sentences, and then held out his arms for the babies. “You could have knocked on my door to get me up,” he said quietly.

She looked at him from under fluttering lashes, handed over the twins and immediately began to address her tired-looking group again.

As he returned to the house, he decided it was lucky that the harvest had begun. Even though there were six extra helpers out there, handpicking the peaches would require time and care.

Both he and Abby would have to add a few responsibilities to their load, which should make his efforts to stay away from her a little easier.

He dragged the high chairs into his office, buckled a baby in each one and dropped a handful of crunchy oat cereal and a couple of toys on each tray.

Then he sat at his computer desk and stared out the window at Abby.

In fact, despite his efforts to work and take extra shifts with the twins, he spent most of the day watching her. Somehow she managed to organize the workers and tend to the greenhouse, and still had the energy to offer him an occasional hand with baby-care duties.

He'd never seen a woman work harder. She handled the group of teenagers with a gracious manner and decisive command, making them glad to be working for her. Jack knew some business managers who never accomplished that feat.

His respect for her grew with every moment. And with every second, his body let him know that he was in for a troublesome year.

The lack of desire that had plagued him in Kansas City—making him wonder if he was too old to care about sex—was completely remedied by watching her lithe little body moving around the house and yard.

But still, the reasons for resisting remained. He couldn't hurt Abby by beginning a casual romance with her, and she'd admitted herself she knew that would be a mistake.

It helped that there was a constant stream of people coming in and out of the house. The kids made frequent use of the
kitchen and bathroom facilities, and amazingly, Abby was able to keep up with their demands for food and drinks—and attention.

On Monday morning, he got up a few minutes after the teenagers usually arrived, and was surprised to find Abby sitting at the kitchen table alone. “Where's your crew?”

“School,” she said, as she removed a slice of bread from a bagged loaf on the table. “They'll come later this afternoon, and work until seven.”

Jack had been repeating the mantra that the peach harvest was a lucky break, so it didn't make sense to feel lucky that he had Abby and the twins to himself again. But he did.

He stepped over to the coffeepot to pour himself a cup, and refilled Abby's before he sat across from her and watched her take a bite of the bread. “That's what superwoman eats for breakfast?”

“Superwoman?”

He smiled. “Able to handle infant twins, fledgling ducks, six teenagers and a greenhouse full of plants without a single break. Doesn't require a decent amount of sleep, and subsists on next to nothing.”

He directed a wry look toward the bread.

She shrugged. “I didn't have the energy to make anything requiring dishes this morning. Besides, Rosie and Wyatt should wake up any minute.”

He let his gaze linger on her face. She hadn't seemed to appreciate his humor at all, and her eyes looked tired. The extra work must be catching up with her.

As if on cue, an enthusiastic bawl sounded from upstairs. Abby started to spring up, but he put his hand on her shoulder to push her back down. “Eat your bread. I'll bring them down.”

At lunchtime, he had a surprise waiting for her when she brought the twins into the kitchen. It was only a roast beef sandwich, but it was a vast improvement over her breakfast.

Her appreciation was apparent in her smile, and by the
time they'd worked together to get the babies fed and the mess cleaned up, he'd teased her to giggles again.

That night, when he heard one of the twins crying, he listened for a minute, hoping Abby could handle it alone. But also praying that another little voice would join in so she'd need help.

After the hushing of the first wail stretched into a long span of silence, he decided to go up there, anyway. But by the time he'd donned his robe and made his way to the foot of the stairs, all noises had ceased and both upstairs doors were tightly closed.

He was relieved. And crushed.

He'd wanted to talk to her. He'd wanted more than that. His body was beginning to react to a baby's cry as if it was the most cunning of aphrodisiacs.

But he loped back to his bed, deciding to force himself to work through a program in his head. He stared at the ceiling in a quiet house, wrestling with his will.

Using every ounce of it to keep from bounding upstairs again to beg Abby for a completely different arrangement.

He was just congratulating himself on his phenomenal self-restraint when he heard the opening of a door, followed by footsteps. Of course he had to check that out.

He started up the stairs as Abby was coming down.

She didn't seem at all surprised to see him. She stopped when they met, halfway up and halfway down, and smiled a greeting. Then she toyed with the bottom edge of her T-shirt and stared at his chest.

He couldn't find his voice. After an eternity of standing in the middle of the stairs, she seemed to wobble. He stepped closer to grab her elbow, but his hand slid instead to her waist.

It was a sensuous waist—a perfect combination of firm and curvy. It felt so good under his fingertips that he kept them there even after she'd regained her balance.

He slid his hand up her rib cage a few inches, and watched
her eyes spark when his knuckle grazed against the base of a very tempting breast. Then he let it slip down along her curves again, to a very erotic hipbone, and watched her bite her lip. He stepped closer.

“Were you coming upstairs for something?” she asked.

He kept his hand resting lightly against her waist. “I heard a noise,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Were you coming down for something?”

The pretty pink color flowed across her freckled cheeks. “Yes, um…a glass of milk?”

“Oh.” He let go of her waist and followed her down to the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she poured her milk. “Things are going well with this new arrangement,” he said, just to make conversation.

“Sure they are,” she agreed. Then she scooped her hair behind her ears, said good-night and left the room.

The full glass of milk was still sitting on the counter.

 

B
Y
T
HURSDAY EVENING
, the harvest was nearly complete, and Abby was still a whirlwind of activity. She alternated between the orchards, where she kept tabs on the crew, and the kitchen, where she stirred bubbling kettles of delicious smelling concoctions.

She was so busy that she'd broken down and sent one of the teenage girls upstairs to entertain the twins in the nursery.

Jack was in his office, attempting to work, when he heard a shout, followed by so much commotion he couldn't imagine what sort of atrocity had happened.

The sound came from the greenhouse. He ran out there with his heart pounding, wondering if some stranger had invaded the farmhouse to hurt Abby.

But she was unharmed and alone, except for the ducks. With wild arm movements, she was shooing them along a path in the greenhouse, scolding them as they flapped out of her reach.

The cause of their disgrace was evident when Jack noticed a long green stem drooping from the bill of the young female. Both ducks were squawking in disapproval at being treated so indelicately. As Jack stepped into their path to block their escape, he realized that several pots were overturned. Dirt and greenery carpeted the pathway.

“Abby, what happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened? Those ducks of yours decided to have my ornamental grasses for a snack.”

Jack surveyed the greenhouse. Except for a single low shelf empty of pots, most of the plant life was intact. “Sorry,” he offered, trying to hide a smile.

Abby put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, are you just going to stand there grinning, or are you going to help?”

“What can I do?”

She pointed to the ducks, which were now hovering in a corner, squabbling over the tendril. “Start by cornering those creatures and putting them in the garage,” she said. “It's time for them to make a life outside.”

He snatched up the ducks and carried them out, smiling all the way. Everything Abby did, she did with spirit. Indignation added a blush to her cheeks and a fire to her eyes, making her look…red-hot.

Sighing, he found a deep box for the ducks and set up temporary holding quarters beside his car. After equipping it with food and water, he returned to the greenhouse. By that time, Abby had picked most of the pots back up off the floor and was beginning to sort through the tangle of plants.

“Need help?” he asked, and winced when a shock of sexual awareness tore through him. Somehow those two words had taken on an extra meaning when he said them to Abby.

She didn't seem to notice, though. Without looking up, she said, “Start by filling these pots three-quarters full with new soil from the bag near my workstation. I'll take it from there.”

Jack carried pots to the table and filled each, leaving them for her to finish. Silently, Abby repaired most of the damage and returned the pots to their shelf.

Meanwhile, Jack found a broom and began to sweep up the debris. “Hope they didn't create too much calamity.”

“Now that things are in order, I realize they didn't,” she said, snickering. “When I walked in, it looked as if they'd demolished an entire season's crop.” Her smile turned to a chuckle. “Wouldn't you have loved to see them having their little duck party?”

And with that, Abby bent over her workbench with her hand on her belly, laughing heartily at the thought.

Jack could only watch. The one thing more intriguing than the flash in her eyes when she was mad was the twinkle there when she was laughing.

He was still admiring it when she pulled off her gloves, strode to the French doors and peered back over her shoulder at him. “Are you planning to help?”

“Absolutely,” he said, following her over to pull open the door and wait for her to go through. “Help with what?”

She rolled her eyes as she passed. “You did put the ducks in the garage, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to move them, unless you want the elegant charcoal finish on your hot-as-you-know-what new car to get covered.”

“With…?”

“Duck muck.”

Within minutes, he was walking out to the pond beside Abby, each of them carrying a duck. Abby stopped at the side nearest the shelter and nudged the female into the water. As it swam off, she said, “Welcome to your new home, Calamity Duck.”

Jack smiled. “What's this one's name?”

“I don't know,” Abby said, tilting her head. “What do you think?”

“Since they work as a team, what about Wild Bill?”

“Wild Bill and Calamity. That's perfect,” she pronounced. “See if he'll follow her.”

Jack put the male down at the edge of the water. Sure enough, the drake swam along after his companion, seeming confident in his new surroundings.

Jack and Abby stood side by side, watching as the ducks waddled onto their island and circled around the shelter Paige had built. When the pair began to forage at water's edge, Jack knew they would adapt.

The mellow afternoon sunshine provided the ducks with a peaceful initiation to the outdoors.

Standing out here with Abby didn't seem to be a bad way for a man to end the day, either. Jack was surprised at how much he was enjoying his time in the country. At some point he'd stopped thinking of the house as a monstrosity, and started thinking of it as home.

That thought was not only incorrect, it was dangerous. This was Abby's home. Eventually he had to leave her, and the house, and Rosie. But living here was anything but dull.

He had an urge to take hold of Abby's hand—an urge he throttled, of course. Exactly the way he had throttled most of his impulses when he was around her.

They were far too dangerous.

 

A
BBY SAT AT THE END
of a long table in a bustling corner of Topeka's most popular pizza place, and grinned at the jovial camaraderie of her companions. The three teenagers—half of her harvest crew—had all grown up together and were good friends. The two blond boys were Sharon's sons, and the brunette girl lived on the ranch down the road.

Eating dinner together in town was a rare treat and a nice gesture. And hadn't been Abby's idea.