The Way Home (44 page)

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you were tired.”

“I’m not that tired.” His thumb brushed across her nipple, his touch so exquisitely gentle that Meg felt tears come to her eyes. She turned her head so that their lips met, giving in to the need he’d sparked. With a groan, Ty scooped her off the floor and settled her across his lap, deepening the kiss.

She wound her arms around his neck, pressing close, letting the hard strength of his body chase away the last of the afternoon’s fears. As long as Ty held her like this, as long as he wanted her, nothing else in the world mattered.

CHAPTER 19

Ty gave the nail one last whack with the hammer and then stood up. Bracing his hands on his hips, the hammer dangling from between his fingers, he looked down at his handiwork and allowed himself a pleased smile. The old porch floor had been rotted through in more places than it had been solid. Luckily the joists underneath had still been sound so replacing the floor had been a relatively simple job, requiring little more than some new boards and a sunny day. The weather had obliged with an unseasonably warm spell, he’d provided the boards, and the porch was no longer a hazard for unwary feet.

One job done and probably only about a thousand left to do, Ty thought ruefully, turning to look out at the property. When he’d made the decision to give up wings for a plow, he’d known he was in for some hard work. What he hadn’t realized was how much would have to be done before he could even consider putting in a crop.

The house wasn’t the only thing that had suffered from neglect. The chicken house, which had been his grandmother’s domain, had been so rickety that a good, hard push had collapsed it. He and Jack had spent two days patching the holes in the barn roof, a job Ty hoped never to have to do again. He’d been thousands of feet in the air in a plane and never given a thought to how far down the ground was. Braced on the steepsided roof, he’d been vividly aware of just how hard he’d bounce if he fell.

Once the bam roof was as solid as they could make it, Jack had begun the task of dismantling the old tractor that had sat rusting in the bam these past six years. When the tractor was working again, Ty thought it might be possible to believe he was really a farmer. Though the calluses on his hands ought to be evidence enough, he thought ruefully.

“Admiring your empire?” Jack’s question preceded him as he walked up from the bam.

“Thinking about how much is left to do.” Ty shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“You can still change your mind.”

“No.” He didn’t add anything more to the flat refusal.

Jack stepped up on the newly repaired porch and fixed Ty with a curious look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

The question surprised Ty. Enjoying it? Well, there was certainly satisfaction to be found in seeing the work they’d done.

“I like seeing things look the way they did when my grandfather was alive,” he said, giving an oblique answer to the question.

“I suppose there’s something to be said for good old physical labor. Nothing printable.”

“You were getting too soft,” Ty told him, grinning at Jack’s sarcasm.

“I like soft,” Jack complained. “Soft doesn’t hurt as much.” He rolled his shoulders and winced.

“At least the weather’s warmed up,” Ty offered as consolation. A week ago they’d been bundled in coats and gloves. Today it was warm enough for shirtsleeves.

“It’s warmer in California.” Jack wasn’t in the mood to be consoled. “If you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to quit for today.”

“Sure. You’ve put in as many hours as I have. I appreciate the help.”

“What are friends for?” Jack had draped his jacket over the porch rail earlier, and now he picked it up and slipped it on. “I’ve got … somebody to see.”

“Somebody like Patsy Baker?” Ty asked shrewdly. He’d been wondering how long it would take his friend to get around to seeing her.

“Maybe.” Jack reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of Chesterfields.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” The hammer slipped back and forth in Ty’s fingers as he looked at his friend.

“Hell, no.” Jack lit the cigarette and looked at Ty through a thin veil of smoke.

“Might be smarter to keep your distance,” Ty suggested mildly.

“Nobody’s ever accused me of being smart,” Jack said, his grin only a little forced. “I’ve got to stop in town and get a new pan gasket, anyway. I tore the one I had.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Ty said.

“Bright and early,” Jack said, the words drifting back over his shoulder as he walked to his car.

Ty watched him leave, his dark brows lowered in a frown. He had the feeling somebody was going to get hurt in this situation. He just hoped it wasn’t Jack.

Jack was aware of Ty’s concerned gaze following him as the car bumped its way down the rutted lane to the road. He would have offered some reassurance if there’d been any to give. But the fact was, Ty was right — he’d be a hell of a lot smarter if he just kept his distance from Patsy Harper — Baker. Damn, but it was hard to remember her married name. But he could no more stay away from her than he could flap his arms and take off flying.

Funny, for almost five years he’d managed to put her out of his mind, thought she was gone from his heart. Yet all it had taken was seeing her at Ty and Meg’s wedding, and five years suddenly seemed like the blink of an eye. All the time he’d been in California he’d thought about her, remembered her.

He’d be smarter to keep his distance, but he wouldn’t be human.

The house looked just as he remembered it. Neat and tidy and nothing like the Patsy he’d known. What had happened to her determination to shake the Iowa dust from her shoes and find her fortune elsewhere? He parked the car and got out, his footsteps slowing as he walked up onto the porch. He had no right to be there. What was he going to say if her husband answered the door?
Excuse me, but I used to be your wife’s lover and I just dropped by to say hello?
But she’d said that her husband traveled a lot, and since there was no car in sight, it seemed safe to assume that he was away from home.

Jack knocked on the door and waited, counting every beat of his heart as it slammed against his breastbone. Damn. He was as nervous as a sixteen-year-old boy on his first date. He heard the sound of footsteps inside the house and then the door was opening and Patsy was standing there, only the thin barrier of the screen door between them.

“Jack.” His name was a flat statement, and he had the odd impression that she wasn’t really surprised to see him.

“Patsy.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, aware that the subtle tremor in his fingers could spoil his casual image. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and see how you were.”

“I’m fine.” She made no move to open the screen door.

“Can I come in?”

She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the door as if ready to slam it shut. Jack waited, watching the expressions flicker through her eyes, knowing she was torn between what she
should
do and what she wanted to do. At least, he hoped she wanted to let him in. After a moment she reached out and flicked up the hook on the screen door. He didn’t give her time to change her mind but pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The house still smelled of beeswax and lavender, but overlaying both of those scents was the warm fragrance of fresh baking.

“Something smells good,” he said, sniffing appreciatively. He gave Patsy his most winning smile. “Smells like chocolate cake.”

“It is.” She hesitated and then gestured to the right. “Would you like a piece?”

“When have you ever known me to turn down a piece of cake?” he asked, deliberately putting their relationship in the present tense.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” she said. She put it in the past, but her smile was a little less wary.

Jack followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table while she dusted the warm cake with powdered sugar before cutting two squares. She set a plate in front of him and, without asking, poured him a glass of milk.

“Chocolate cake and milk,” he said reverently as she returned the glass bottle to the ice box. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“My neighbor gave me the recipe,” she said as she sat down. “I like to bake. If fills in the time when Eldin’s gone.” At the mention of her husband’s name, Jack felt the moist cake turn to ashes in his mouth.

“You mentioned that he travels a lot?” he asked, amazed at the casual tone of his own voice.

“Yes. It’s harder for him to make a sale these days, what with people not having much money. Have you seen Meg lately?” she asked.

“A few days ago.” Jack accepted her change of topic. He didn’t particularly want to discuss her husband.

“How is she?”

“She seems well enough. A little pale, maybe. But living with Helen McKendrick would be enough to turn just about anyone pale.”

“Is she a difficult woman?” Patsy sounded anxious for her sister.

“Not as long as she gets her way.”

“I hope she and Meg are getting along all right.” Patsy dabbed her fork against the top of her untouched cake. “Meggy shouldn’t be upset in her condition.”

“Ty will look out for her,” Jack said easily. Seeing that she was still frowning, he sought to distract her. “I suppose asking for another piece of cake would be rude.” His tone was wistful as he eyed the remaining cake.

“I swear, I’ve never met anyone over the age of five with a sweet tooth to match yours, Jack.” Despite her gently scolding tone, there was a flush of pleasure on her cheeks as she got up to cut another piece of the cake and set it on his plate.

Looking at her, Jack was struck by how beautiful she was. She leaned over the table and he was unable to resist the urge to touch her. His fingertips brushed against her cheek. She froze, her eyes jerking to his face. Jack kept his gaze steady on hers as his fingers traced the curve of her cheekbone.

“I thought I’d imagined how soft your skin was,” he said slowly.

As if his voice broke a spell, Patsy straightened and moved back to her chair, her movements jerky, like a marionette controlled by an amateur puppeteer.

“I’ll have to tell my neighbor how much you enjoyed the cake,” she said, her voice a shade too high.

“What’s he like?”

“My neighbor is a woman. Mrs. Leary. She’s elderly and — “

“Your husband,” Jack said abruptly. “What’s your husband like?”

“I don’t think I should discuss Eldin with you,” she said. She dropped her hands into her lap, but not before he’d seen that they were trembling.

“I’ve always been curious about him,” he said in a conversational tone at odds with the tension in his gut. “You can’t blame me for being curious about the guy you married a few weeks after telling me you’d always love me. I kind of think I’ve got a right to know something about him,” he said, giving her a rueful smile.

Patsy felt at war with herself. She stared across the table at Jack, reading nothing but mild curiosity in his look. He could have been a casual acquaintance making polite conversation. But their acquaintance was far from casual, and her instincts said that discussing Eldin with Jack was a mistake. On the other hand, perhaps he
did
have a right to ask about her husband. Maybe she’d granted him that right when she married someone else without a word of explanation.

“He’s a good man,” she said slowly.

“How old is he?”

“He’s forty-six.” She saw Jack’s eyebrows go up and lifted her chin. She knew what some people thought of her marrying a man more than twice her age, but she’d make no apologies to anyone, not even to Jack.

“No children?” he asked, his eyes questioning.

“Not … not yet.” The words were difficult to get out past the ache in her throat. She dropped her eyes to the table, not wanting him to see what a nerve he’d touched with that question. “I keep hoping.”

Jack stirred restlessly as if finding the topic uncomfortable. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said abruptly.

Happy?
That wasn’t the word she’d have used, Patsy thought. Content, perhaps. Comfortable. But happy? Seeing that Jack was staring out the window, she let her eyes linger on his profile, hungry to see every small change in the face she’d once known almost as well as her own, updating the image she carried in her heart.

As if sensing her gaze on him, he turned his head, and for a moment, their eyes met. She looked away immediately, but not before she’d seen the hunger in his eyes. A hunger that made her heart beat a little faster even as guilt brought color to her cheeks.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

For an instant Patsy stopped breathing. She stared at the oak surface of the table, noticing every tiny nick and scratch, cataloguing them as if her life depended on it.
Jack had missed her!
The knowledge sang through her veins.

She was a married woman, she reminded herself sternly. She summoned up an image of Eldin, his gentle eyes smiling at her in forgiveness. But there’d already been enough in her life for which she needed to ask forgiveness. She wasn’t going to add another sin to the list already in place.