CHAPTER SIX
Kimberly hardly dared breathe until she had driven several blocks away from Pioneer Chapel and Jake McGowan. Why had she followed him to the cemetery? Why had she let his bleak look disturb her? And why, dear God, had she let him kiss her?
Sighing, she glanced at the single white rose, now dewy with rainwater, lying on the passenger seat.
Smiling wryly at the bedraggled flower, she flicked on the wipers, then licked her lips anxiously, only to be reminded of Jake and his overpowering kiss. Deep inside her there was a yearning—a yearning she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“Get a grip on yourself,” she warned, glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright. “Oh, Kimberly, you are an idiot,” she whispered, barely noticing the car trailing after.
Compressing her lips, imagining the feel of Jake’s mouth against hers, she cranked on the steering wheel and ferried her car into the puddle-strewn driveway of her cottage near the park.
Steadfastly Kimberly pushed aside her fantasies of Jake. They were out of the question. He was her lawyer, for God’s sake. He had to remain objective in order to help her keep Lindsay!
Scooping up her purse and the rose, she climbed out of the car and ducked under the dripping clematis clinging to the eaves of the back porch.
The door banged shut behind her.
“Mommy!” Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Lindsay, her cheeks rosy, her blond hair streaming behind her, nearly slipped as she ran across the kitchen floor and threw herself into Kimberly’s waiting arms.
“Hi, honey!” Kimberly hugged her daughter fiercely, as if in so doing she could erase the black cloud that hung over them.
Lindsay squirmed, squealing happily in her arms. “Oooh. You look beautiful!” Blue eyes studied Kimberly’s dress and the single strand of pearls encircling her throat.
“Where’d you go?”
“To a wedding. And look—here’s something for you!” Kimberly handed Lindsay the white bud.
“I wanted to go, too.” Lindsay pouted, her lower lip protruding in vexation as she took the flower and contemplated the ivory-colored petals.
Kimberly kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Maybe next time,” she promised as she heard Arlene’s brisk footsteps in the hall.
“How was the wedding?” Arlene asked, entering the kitchen.
“Just like the ending of a fairytale. Diane was working her way past cloud nine and headed for ten.”
“Good for her. You could take a lesson, you know.”
“On love?”
“Yes—on love. All men aren’t the same,” she said meaningfully as she untied her apron.
Don’t I know it, Kimberly thought. Lindsay climbed away from her mother and headed down the hall.
Kimberly shook the rain from her hair. “So, how’d it go today? How was Lindsay?”
“An angel, as usual.”
“Sure.” Kimberly laughed.
“Well, maybe her halo tilts once in a while, but she wouldn’t be normal if it didn’t.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Kimberly found a cup in the cupboard and poured coffee from the glass pot in the coffee maker. She held up the pot to Arlene, but the older woman shook her head.
“Had enough. My back teeth are already floating. Now, tell me every last detail of the wedding.”
Kimberly went through the entire ceremony, and Arlene’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I’m glad you went. You need to go out and have yourself a good time once in a while.”
“I don’t know if I’d call a wedding a ‘good time.’”
“You know what I mean. You need to live a little and kick up your heels. And going out sure beats sitting around here worrying about what—” Arlene glanced nervously at Lindsay, but the little girl was already in the living room searching for her blanket “—that ex-husband of yours has up his sleeve. I tell you, if I ever see him again face-to-face . . .” She let her warning trail off, but her sharp birdlike eyes blazed with indignation.
Despite her fears, Kimberly laughed at Arlene’s militancy. “If Robert only knew, he’d be shaking in his boots!”
“He’d better be! Now, listen, I made a big pot of lentil soup. It’s on the stove. And there are fresh chocolate macaroons in the cookie jar.”
“Oh, thanks. But take some home to Lyle,” Kimberly insisted, thinking of Arlene’s crippled husband.
“Another time, maybe, but not tonight. The last thing we need is something more to nibble on.” She reached for a plaid jacket hanging on a peg near the back door. “Okay, I’ll be back in the morning. If the weather clears up, I’ll take Lindsay over to the park—just to see if there are any ducks who haven’t figured out that they should be in Palm Beach.” With a wave she stepped outside.
Kimberly watched her leave, then lifted the lid of the soup kettle. Tangy, spice-laden steam curled upward in a soft cloud.
“Hey—lookie at me!” Lindsay stumbled into the kitchen. She was wearing a rhinestone tiara in her hair, a long strand of beads around her neck, one of Kimberly’s lace slips and a pair of Kimberly’s satin pumps. “I’m a bride,” she proclaimed proudly, her large eyes meeting her mother’s.
“And a beautiful one,” Kimberly said, laughing as she twirled her daughter off her feet. One of the high heels dropped with a clank to the floor. “So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Guy?”
Kimberly couldn’t help grinning. “You know—the man you’re going to marry.”
“No one!” Lindsay said emphatically. “Like you.”
“Like me,” Kimberly said as she held Lindsay close. “Well, pumpkin, it’s hard to have a wedding without a groom—but if that’s the way you want it, it’s okay by me.”
“Good.” Lindsay smiled slyly and eyed the ceramic teddy bear jar on the counter just out of her reach. “Now can I have a cookie?”
“Later. First, we’ll have some soup.”
Lindsay made a face, crinkling up her nose. “I like macaroons better.”
“Most of us do,” Kimberly admitted as she placed her daughter on the floor. Lindsay concentrated on balancing in the high heels again.
Kimberly padded Lindsay’s pale curls. “I’ve got to get changed, and then we’ll have dinner.”
She hurried down the short hall to her bedroom, and Lindsay followed, the shoes clumping noisily.
“Who was the bride today?” Lindsay asked.
“Diane—remember?”
“Oh.”
Lindsay turned and marched out of the bedroom and down the hall, singing loudly, “Here comes the bride.”
Kimberly tugged the dress over her head and stared at her reflection in the oval mirror above her bureau. Small creases lined her brow, but her blue-green eyes sparkled. Thoughts of Jake skittered through her mind.
She felt an annoying flush climb slowly from the swell of her breasts to her throat. Smiling to herself, she brushed the tangles from her wet, bedraggled hair. Her feelings concerning Jake McGowan were in a jumble. Professionalism had to overcome this ludicrous joy she felt at the mere thought of him. Suddenly annoyed, she flung her brush onto the bureau and kicked off her shoes.
She should never have followed him to the cemetery, she never should have allowed herself to be charmed by Jake McGowan. Glancing at the mirror again, she frowned. “You’ve made a mess of things this time,” she chided her reflection. Wearing only her satin slip, her hair shining from the recent brushing, she sank onto the mattress of her double bed.
No matter what happened she still had to approach Jake as a professional. Damn it, she needed him. “You’ve got no choice,” she whispered into the empty room. With that, she leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, only to see the mocking image of Jake’s face.
* * *
His thoughts all tangled in Kimberly, Jake drove home from the wedding reception. His senses still reeled, and he wondered what kind of fool he’d been, kissing Kimberly impulsively, then dancing so close to her. Caught in the fragrant cloud of her perfume and the yielding warmth of her body pressed tantalizingly to his, he hadn’t been able to think clearly.
Even now his palms began to sweat around the steering wheel as he remembered looking down at her when they’d danced. She’d tossed her head back, her hair brushing his arm, her gaze touching a forbidden part of his soul.
She hadn’t seemed to mind that her dress was stained by the rain, nor that her hair had been tossed in the wind. He’d wanted to bury himself in those long, rain-darkened strands, and he’d had trouble dragging his gaze away from the pink pout of her lips.
Overwhelmed, Jake had felt a crazy desire to sweep her off her feet and steal her away so that he could get lost in her body and soul. But he hadn’t. Common sense had prevailed.
Staring at the dark streets. He realized he hadn’t been so fascinated with a woman in years. Though his mind screamed that he was making an irrevocable mistake, he couldn’t fight the jolt of possession that ripped through him.
That she had been Robert Fisher’s wife was unthinkable. She was warm and soft, and erotic thoughts still fired his blood, pounding with the same driving beat of his heart.
Tail lights glowed in front of him, and he stomped on the brakes. The Bronco fishtailed. “Forget her,” he growled at himself. But as the words passed his lips, he knew he never would.
* * *
Three days later Jake winced against the morning sunlight. His eyes burned from too little sleep and too many hours poring over every scrap of information in the Robert Fisher file. He hoped to come up with something he could pin on Fisher, something concrete he could use as a bargaining tool to get him to drop the custody case.
Of course, he’d hoped for even more than that. Some shred of overlooked evidence that would put Fisher away for good. No such luck.
But early this morning, when he’d finally given up and closed the Fisher file, he’d dropped onto the bed, only to stare at the clock and listen to the sounds of the night while his mind wandered back to Kimberly—over and over again. No matter how many times he forced his thoughts away from her, they always crept back to her soft smile and dark-fringed eyes.
Muttering an oath to himself, he shoved open the office door and was greeted by the sound of classical music and the smell of warm coffee.
Sarah, the plump secretary he’d inherited from Diane, was at her desk, diligently working on her computer, her fingers moving skillfully.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. McGowan.”
“It’s Jake. Remember? Unless we’re dealing with stuffy clients, let’s keep things informal.”
“You got it. Coffee’s on. You want a cup?”
He forced a smile. “I can get it myself.”
“I’d be glad to—”
He held up a palm. “Relax, Sarah. This isn’t the Dark Ages. You’re liberated now, remember?”
She snorted, but smiled and went back to her work.
Jake headed down the hall. In the kitchen he poured a mug of dark coffee and warmed his hands on the side of the cup. He had several client appointments this morning, but his concentration wasn’t on property line disputes, patent infringement or tax loopholes—or anything other than Robert Fisher.
And Kimberly Bennett.
“You’re obsessed,” he muttered, crossing through the reception area and picking up the stack of phone messages from the corner of Sarah’s desk. He flipped through them quickly, hoping to spot Kimberly’s name, but stopped at the final note. Ben Kesler had finally returned his call.
Jake McGowan’s mood improved. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said as he kicked his office door closed and plopped down in his chair.
He hadn’t noticed that Sarah had rearranged his desk, not until he picked up the receiver and saw the picture. His hand paused in midair as he stared onto the face of a small, two-year-old boy. A boy with dark hair and blue eyes. A boy holding a stuffed yellow duck and wearing a wide smile. A boy he loved with all his heart. A boy he’d called his son.
Jake let the telephone receiver drop. His throat nodded, and he picked up the picture, staring at the lifeless photograph. Steeling himself as he always did, he took the framed photo and placed it behind him on the credenza.
His forehead creased, and he waited until he was composed again. Then he reached for the phone and punched Kesler’s number.
Kesler was in a meeting and would call back. Without really thinking, Jake dialed Ron Koski’s number and left a message. Ron called back half an hour later.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, his gravelly voice needing no introduction.
Jake got right to the point. “I didn’t find much in the Fisher file,” he said, “in fact, just about nothing I didn’t know already. So I want you to get back to Brecken. See if you can find out anything.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing, probably,” Jake thought aloud, leaning back in his chair. “But if the police are getting close to Fisher, he’ll know it. Someone will leak the information to him for the right price. If that’s the case, maybe he’s getting ready for a long vacation.”
Koski let out a low whistle. “You think that’s why he’s interested in his kid all of a sudden.”
“I don’t know,” Jake admitted, hating to think what would happen to Kimberly if she lost her child. “I just want to cover all the bases. See what you can dig up.”
“Will do. But Brecken’s become pretty tight-lipped.”
“I know,” Jake said, rubbing his jaw. “That’s what worries me.”
* * *
At five o’clock Bill Zealander stormed into Kimberly’s office. His ruddy face was set in a scowl, and his eyes, behind wire-rimmed glasses, were nearly black. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, slapping down a file folder with a memo clipped to it.
“Of what?”
His eyes narrowed as he read the memo. “Eric’s reassigned the Juniper trust to you. Why?”
“Because the heirs requested me.”
His nostrils flared. “Which heirs?”
“Henry and Carole—the children.”
“That’s preposterous! You know them?” he challenged.
“Not personally, no,” she said calmly. “But I helped Henry secure a building loan when I worked in mortgage trust, and I helped Carole set up a custodial account.”
“And that’s all?” he asked, concealing his disbelief.
“Other than the couple of weeks I’ve worked with them on the estate. Why?”
“You know why.” He leaned over her desk. “The Juniper trust is well over five million dollars—one of the largest in the department.” His mouth set in a tight grimace. “Don’t think I won’t talk to Eric about this!”
Kimberly smiled, but her eyes met his levelly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Bill. Go right ahead. Talk all you want.”
“I will.” Snapping the folder up, he strode out the door as quickly as he’d marched in. Kimberly dropped her forehead into her hands. “Men,” she muttered under her breath.
“Ms. Bennett?” Marcie’s voice buzzed over the intercom. “Call for you on line two. Mr. McGowan.”
Kimberly’s heart jumped. “Thanks,” she said into the intercom, she picked up the phone. “Kimberly Bennett.”
Jake got right to the point. “I’d like to meet with you. As soon as possible. I just got off the phone with Kesler.”
Kimberly’s breath stilled. “And?”
“And it looks like you were right. Robert is hell-bent to gain full custody.”
She closed her eyes, and her fingers tightened around the receiver, holding it in a death grip. “I knew it,” she said, seriously. “I just knew it!”
“I think we’d better get together.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll pick you up at the bank right after closing. We’ll go to dinner, then get down to brass tacks.”
She didn’t even think about arguing. She was too shaken. So, Robert was going through with it. Just as he’d threatened. “Can he take her away from me?” she asked, bracing herself.
“Not if I can help it.”
Still numb, she hung up the phone. At least she had Jake on her side. That was good. Jake McGowan, she decided, thinking back to the jut of his chin and the anger that would spark in his flinty eyes, would be a dangerous enemy.
True to his word, Jake arrived less than forty-five minutes later. Marcy, who showed the man to Kimberly’s office, winked at Kimberly from behind his back, then made a quick escape.
Kimberly glanced up from her desk, saw the concern in his eyes and felt her heart flutter uncontrollably.
“What did Kesler say?” she demanded, shutting the door behind him.
“You want to talk here?” he asked.
She glanced around the cherry-paneled walls and bit her lip. “Probably not. This might sound paranoid, but there’s too much of Robert here. He’s a major client with the bank.”
“And the walls have ears?” One side of his mouth tilted upward.
“I just don’t like to take any chances.” Kimberly licked her lips. “I’m scared, Jake,” she admitted. “Really scared.”
“Don’t be. Nothing’s happened yet.”
“I can’t lose her. I can’t.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned against him. The strength of his body felt so right—so natural. She didn’t even consider pulling out of his embrace, but clung to him. The soft texture of his jacket rubbed against her cheek, and the smell of leather and aftershave filled her nostrils. “Lindsay—”
“Shh. Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t let that happen?”
She nodded, her crown brushing his chin. “But you don’t know Robert.”
His muscles tensed. “I know him.”
“He can be so . . .”
“Ruthless?”
“Yes,” she admitted, shivering. “Ruthless.”
He tilted her chin up with one finger and forced her frightened gaze to meet the calm depth of his. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be more ruthless, won’t I?”
“You’d stoop to his level?”
His mouth twisted sardonically. “Let’s just say I’ll do whatever’s necessary. Now, come on, let’s go.”
She didn’t argue. Slipping reluctantly from the security of his embrace, she stuffed some files in her briefcase, snapped the leather case closed and grabbed her cape. “Where to?”
“Some place close?”
“No.” The after-work crowd hung out during happy hour in some of the local bars and restaurants nearby, and Kimberly didn’t want to risk being overheard by anyone at the bank.
“Bollinger’s, then?” he suggested.
Bollinger’s was a restaurant perched high on the hills in Northwest Portland. She couldn’t have suggested anywhere that was more out of the way. And, as far as she knew, Bollinger’s wasn’t one of Robert’s regular haunts. “I’ll meet you there.”
“I could drive you.”
She felt suddenly silly for the way she’d nearly fallen apart. Tossing her hair from her face, she said, “I can drive myself. Really. It’s just easier that way.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
She walked with him to the elevators. In the parking garage she watched as he unlocked his Bronco, then she slid into her Mercedes and headed west.
Within twenty minutes she was seated across a small table from him. The restaurant was housed in an old Victorian structure, complete with turrets and gables. It clung to a forested hill in Northwest Portland and had been remodeled several times since the turn of the twentieth century. Filled with paraphernalia of bygone years, Bollinger’s was an eclectic blend of antiques—Army recruiting posters from the World Wars, artifacts from the forties and fifties, record jackets from the sixties and Tiffany lamps with hanging prisms and classic movie posters.
Kimberly barely noticed. “Tell me everything Ben Kesler said.”
Jake sat on the other side of the small table. His knees nearly brushed hers, and candlelight flickered over the stern set of his features. “It’s pretty simple, really. They’re planning on trying to wrest custody from you because Robert’s convinced you’re unfit.”
“Oh, God.”
“Saying it and proving it are two different matters,” Jake pointed out.
A waiter dropped by the table, and Jake ordered them a bottle of wine. When she started to protest, he wouldn’t hear of it, and without consulting her, ordered for them both.
Kimberly didn’t care. She wasn’t interested in food. She was only concerned about Lindsay.
The waiter returned with the wine, and Jake poured them each a glass. “Now, tell me about your life,” he suggested.
“What about it?”
“What do you do all day?”
“You mean in my free time—between being a mother and a full-time bank officer.”
His eyes twinkled in the reflection of the candles. “Right.”
“I sleep—exercise a little. Watch some TV and read. Pretty interesting stuff, eh?” she asked, sipping from her glass.
The waiter deposited crisp salads and a crusty loaf of Viennese bread on their table.
“What about the men in your life?”
“Men? Plural?” she responded, feeling a little defensive.
“Okay, tell me about the man in your life.”
She dropped her eyes and tried to stem the rage that boiled up by pounding a tomato slice on her salad plate. “I hate this, y’know.”
“What?”
“This—accountability. My life dissected under a microscope.”
“I know.” He reached across the table, and his hand covered hers. “But I have to ask.”
The tender gesture tore at her heart. She withdrew her hand and lifted her eyes to his. “There is no man.” Except maybe you.
Jake stared at her for a second, then blinked and turned his attention to cutting the loaf of bread on the board between them. “Surely you’ve dated since the divorce.”
He placed a thick slice onto her plate.
“Not much.”
“So, tell me about the dates.”
She wasn’t used to sharing her personal life with a man—any man. And Jake was different. Baring her soul to him took courage. She had to remind herself that she hired him to probe into her personal life. “There’s nothing much to tell,” she said as the waiter removed the salad plates and placed steaming platters of pasta and vegetables on the table. “The first man was an old family friend—nothing romantic. And the second—well, it was a mistake.”
“Why?”
“The man was Eric Compton. My boss at First Cascade. He’s the vice president in charge of the trust department, only one step down from Aaron Thornburn, the president. It was only one date, but it caused all kinds of problems.”
“Such as?”
“Other employees, one in particular, thought I was trying to sleep my way to the top.”
He stared at her for a second. “Were you?”
Her mouth nearly dropped open, but she clamped it firmly shut. Did he think so little of her? “What do you think?”
His mouth curved into a lazy smile. “It doesn’t seem your style.”
“It isn’t. I wish I’d never gone out with Eric. Things would’ve been much simpler.” She frowned at the memory. Eric had hoped to start something that night, had expected her to fall at his feet. He’d even gone so far as to suggest she spend the night at his place, and she’d nearly choked on her drink. In many ways the evening had been a disaster.
“And you’ve never gone out with him again?”
“No.” She sipped from her water glass.
“Why not?”
“No reason to fan the fires of gossip. I’ve got enough problems being the only woman trust officer without having to be known as the boss’s ‘woman.’”
“And Compton—he’s accepted this?”
“He doesn’t have much of a choice.”
Jake stared at her. “Anyone else?”
“No one serious.”
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them, and Kimberly wished she’d never agreed to meet him here. The small table was too intimate, and Jake was too close, his stare too intense. She could feel his gaze on her as he sipped his wine. She watched his throat work as he swallowed. That small motion, so natural, was sensual in the dark room. She dragged her gaze away from his throat and stared through the window. The lights of Portland twinkled in the distance.
“Tell me about Lindsay,” Jake whispered.
Kimberly’s head snapped up. “What about her?”
“Everything. She’s what? Five?”
“Yes. Robert and I had been married a little over a year when she was born.” Kimberly felt suddenly self-conscious. “When I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic.”
“And Robert?”
“Suggested an abortion.” That had been the start of the end, she knew now. “I wouldn’t hear of it, and we argued a lot. During the last part of the pregnancy, he seemed to change his mind and became interested until she was born.”
Jake’s eyes were penetrating, the hard angles of his face illuminated by the single flickering candle. “What went wrong?”
“He wanted a boy.” She smiled sourly. “Archaic, right?”
A shadow passed over his eyes. “Very.”
She pushed the remains of her meal around on her plate, then let her fork drop. “He never seemed to care about her. Don’t get me wrong—he was never cruel or anything, just inattentive. And he lost interest in me, too.”
“So you wanted out—”
“Oh, no.” Surprised that it was so important that he understand, Kimberly said, “He wanted the divorce. I fought it at first.”
“Why?”
“Because we were parents. We had this wonderful baby, and I wanted to create this perfect little family unit.” Her lips twisted cynically. “You know the image, right off the front pages of the old Saturday Evening Post.”
“And he didn’t feel that way?”
“By that time he’d found someone else,” she said, the pain as real and cold as it had been the night he’d explained about Stella. “And then I started paying more attention to the rumors and innuendos in the papers.”
“And believing them?”
“No—yes—I don’t know. I believe where there’s smoke there’s fire, but I never saw or heard anything that would confirm all the speculation about him.”
She finished what she could of the dinner and pushed aside any lingering thoughts of Robert and their short, unhappy marriage. Jake turned the conversation away from the painful subject, and soon he had taken care of the bill and escorted her through the double doors.
“You know,” he said once they were outside and darkness surrounded them, “we’ve got a problem.”
“Just one?” she teased, flashing a smile in the clear night air.
“Believe me, it’s enough.” He took her hand in his, and his fingers were warm. A thrill raced up her arm.
Her heart began to beat against her ribs. “What is it?”
“You and me.”
“What about us?”
“I’d like to see more of you, Kimberly,” he said, the admission obviously difficult.
“I think we’ll see a lot of each other in the next couple weeks.”
He plowed stiff fingers through his hair. “I know. But the trouble is, I want more. More than just a business relationship. I know it’s crazy and off-limits, but that’s the way it is.” His eyes darkened with the night, and her pulse was pounding in her head.
“I don’t think it’s wise—”
“I know it isn’t. But we can’t deny what we feel.”
“Oh, Jake, don’t—”
He cut her off. “Don’t deny it, Kimberly.”
Her throat tightened as he drew her close.
“I asked you those questions in the restaurant for two reasons. One was for the case. The other was for me.”
Her pulse quickened. Unconsciously she licked her lips, and his gaze drifted down to her mouth. “I—I think we’d better keep this professional,” she said, her voice unfamiliarly husky.
“I agree—but I don’t think I can.” He stared at her with such honesty, she nearly melted inside.
“I have a daughter to think about.”
“I know.”
“And . . .” She slowly pulled her hand from his. “And sometimes I feel you’re holding back. That you’re not being completely honest.”
His expression turned guarded. If he were going to share any secrets with her, it wouldn’t be tonight.
Disappointed, she turned away, only to feel his fingers clamp on her shoulders and turn her quickly. “I know it’s crazy, but I can’t help it,” he grounded out before his lips descended on hers and he kissed her with that same raging fire she’d felt before. She couldn’t stop him, and kissed him back. Swept away in a rising storm of passion, she clung to him.
When at last he lifted his head, he stared at her with a hint of amusement. “Now, just how’re we going to ignore this, Ms. Bennett?”
“I’ll find a way,” she teased back, her equilibrium shattered.
“You think so?” His grin slashed white in the night. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.” He dropped his arms to let her go, but she lingered a second.
“I just don’t think I can get involved with anyone right now. Not until this is all over.”
“I wonder if that’s possible.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, turning to her car, not trusting herself alone with him another minute. She climbed into the Mercedes and took off.
She drove home automatically, guiding the car by instinct. Though she tried not to think of Jake’s handsome face or enigmatic, off-center smile, his image seemed to loom in her mind’s eye. He was her lawyer, for crying out loud. She’d convinced him to help her, and that was that. She touched her mouth softly, remembering the firm lines of Jake’s lips as they had covered hers with a possession so demanding, so vibrant that she could still feel the pulsing desire that had swept from his body to hers.
“Stop it,” she muttered, cranking on the wheel as she turned into the driveway. Angry with her wayward fantasies, she cut the engine and dashed up the back steps.
Stepping into the kitchen, she spied a pajama-clad Lindsay standing on a chair. Her heart wrenched at the thought of a future without Lindsay’s precocious remarks and bright eyes.
A huge lump filled her throat. Lindsay was watching Arlene as the older woman bent over a bowl and stirred slowly. The scent of lemon filled the room.
“Baking again?” Kimberly asked as she dropped her purse onto the table.
“Mommy!” Lindsay scrambled out of her chair and to Kimberly’s waiting arms. “You’re late!”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“I missed you,” Lindsay pouted.
Arlene clucked her tongue. “Don’t you fuss,” she warned, glancing fondly at Lindsay. “I told you she called.” Arlene resumed her stirring and nodded in Kimberly’s direction. “Just give me a minute. Lindsay wanted lemon pie.”
“But we still have cookies!”
“So eat ’em.”
Kimberly slid out of her coat. “Really, Arlene, you didn’t have to go through the trouble—”
“No trouble at all,” Arlene said, chuckling. “It kept her busy, and lemon’s my favorite, too.”
“Arlene says I can stay overnight with her.”
“Oh?” Still balancing her daughter on her hip, Kimberly crossed the kitchen and peeked into the kettle of simmering lemon pudding.
“Next weekend, if it’s all right with you,” Arlene verified.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Besides, it’ll do Lyle a world of good to watch this little one.”
Lindsay clapped her hands together. “We are going to make you a Christmas—”
“Shh!” Arlene said, grinning. “It’s a surprise. Remember?”
“Oh!” The child looked positively stricken.
Kimberly touched her blond curls fondly. “Okay. You can spend the night, if you promise to be good, brush your teeth and go right to sleep when Mrs. Henderson tells you to.”
“I’m always good,” Lindsay proclaimed, crossing her little arms over her flannel-covered chest.
“An absolute angel,” Arlene said, smothering a smile. “Okay, here we go.” She poured the lemon filling into a warm piecrust, then spoon fed globs of shiny meringue on top. Lindsay couldn’t stand not being part of the action. She squirmed from Kimberly’s arms, climbed back on her chair and promptly stuck a finger in the cloudlike meringue.
Kimberly tried to stop her daughter. “Don’t—”
“It’s all right,” Arlene said. “Half the fun of baking is testing, isn’t it, sweetheart?”
Lindsay cast Kimberly an I-told-you-so look over her small shoulder. A dot of meringue stuck to the tip of her nose, and Kimberly had to laugh.
“I think we better wash you up and get ready for bed.”
“Not yet—”
“Come on,” Kimberly insisted. “It’s after eight.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Kimberly remarked, noting the blue smudges beneath Lindsay’s bright eyes and the fact that her thumb kept slipping between her small lips. “Come on, angel, I’ll read you a story.”
“But I want—”
“Shh.” Kimberly carried her protesting daughter to the loft, which served as Lindsay’s bedroom. Tucking the child between the covers, she lay beside her, opened a book of favorite nursery rhymes and began reading. Within minutes Lindsay drifted to sleep, her lips moving slightly, her blond head resting on a plump pillow, while she clutched her favorite stuffed animal, a fuzzy raccoon.
Kimberly’s throat constricted as she stared at her sleeping child. No matter what, she couldn’t lose Lindsay.
Listening to the sound of the rain drumming against the roof, she placed her arm around her daughter’s waist and Kimberly closed her eyes. Somehow, she vowed silently, she’d find a way to keep Lindsay with her. And Jacob McGowan would help.