Caleb took the folder without looking at it. "That’s quite a woman you’ve got there, Jack. Of course, you never have let the pretty ones get away, have you?" A lazy grin tugged his lips. "That reminds me, Emily asked me to say hello." Jack shot Caleb a cold look. "Your sister? She never wanted anything to do with me, so don’t even start this crap."
Molly’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men.
"Oh, she always had a crush on you, Jack. You just enough sense not to go after my baby sister, so she never got what she wanted."
"Well, that makes two of us." Molly muttered under her breath. Or not.
Jack shot her a harsh look. "Molly, dammit, that’s none of his business!" Caleb raised his eyebrows and took a big step of retreat. He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "I’m not getting in the middle of this." He started to open the door, and then paused to look at Molly. "Jack and I have been friends for a lot of years so I’m not going to step on his toes, but if anything changes, you’ve got my number." Jack still fumed after Caleb let himself out. He jerked a chair away from the table and dropped into it, gesturing toward the pizza.
"Have a slice. It’s your favorite."
Molly flipped the box open and stared at the toppings. "How did you remember that?"
"How could I forget?"
Molly’s heart melted a little in spite of his frigid monotone.
"Why did you tell him there was nothing between us?" Jack stopped her midsentence. He picked up a piece of pizza, blew out an angry breath, and dropped the slice back on the cardboard.
Molly opened her mouth and closed it again, speechless. "I thought our relationship was none of his business." But the retort rang weak. His words flew across the table, his voice tight. "The fact that you let him think you were available makes it mine."
They sat there glaring at each other, a silent showdown of wills. Finally Molly got up and retrieved a couple of wine glasses. She placed them on the table in front of Jack.
"Thanks for bringing dinner."
"Thanks for wearing that damn dress." He offered a small smile. Molly grabbed a slice of pizza and took a large, unladylike bite.
"You want to heat that up?" He offered a bemused smile.
"Heat the rest of it up. This one is as good as gone." Molly stood to turn on the heat and let Jack slide the box into the oven. He poured two glasses of wine and offered her one.
Molly polished off the rest of her slice and fingered the stem of her glass. "Look, we need to talk."
"You think?"
"I’m leaving Jefferson Heights," she said. Simple and to the point. "I can’t stay here after . . . you know."
"You don’t need to leave town."
"I can’t stay."
"You can’t run from your life."
Molly almost choked on her wine. "Are you kidding me? You, the guy who slept with every girl who’d have you? And then ran away from everything? Is that how I’m supposed to cope with this?"
Jack slammed his fist onto the table, making Molly jump and the glasses to titter.
"I didn't run away; I went to college. And besides, did it ever occur to you I might know what I’m talking about because I did leave?"
Molly glared at him. "You can’t tell me how to grieve. I’ve just lost the only family I had left and now I’m about to lose everything they spent their lives working for, and you want me to set up a tent and watch you start over? What kind of psych class did you learn that in?"
"Dammit, Molly, I don’t want you to watch anything! I want you there with me!" Sudden, thick silence clogged the space between them, and for the first time the distance felt like more than air. Jack’s words slammed against Molly with physical force, sending her reeling. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut until they hurt, but the confusion surrounding her relationship with Jack didn’t budge. The oven timer broke the silence. Jack retrieved the pizza from the oven and clicked the dial off, kicking his discarded shirt across the room on his way back to the table.
Molly cleared her throat. "I’ve had second thoughts about doing . . . this." She paused. "About having an affair with you, because, well, my feelings are real and I won’t be around to finish what we start."
Jack looked up, a glint of hope in his eye.
"I didn’t want to get my hopes up about us. But I can’t stay here anyway. I can’t stay here and watch someone else take over my life."
"Molly, no one has to take over your life." He pushed the pizza box out of the way, reached over, and took her hands.
"My land is my life." She yanked her hand away. "If anyone could understand that, it should be you. Why else would you come back here to so many bad memories?"
"For you," he said without hesitation, staring clean through to the other side of her soul. Molly shivered.
"You’re starting over, and I can’t stay. There’s no future for us."
"I want you with me, Molly. Let me help you." The emotion wavering in Jack’s voice made Molly’s eyes grow hot with unshed tears.
"You already left me behind once, Jack. I can’t handle another loss right now." The tears won, dripping down her face and landing in fat plops on the table. A shadow bit into the sweetness of Jack’s expression. "That night changed me, Molly— you changed me. Every damn thing I hated about myself changed five years ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since."
Molly stared at him, slack-jawed. "All through college . . .?"
"Not a one." He reached across the table again to take her hands. "I made a mistake back then and it came at your expense. I’m so sorry I hurt you, Molly, but when you set me back on my pompous little ass, I learned a thing or two about myself." Jack lifted Molly’s hands up and kissed them, a day’s worth of stubble scratching and tickling her.
"Like what?" she whispered.
"Like I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my life with. I came back here to ask you to be my wife."
Molly stared at him, fresh tears filling her eyes. "But you know I can’t stay . . . ." Jack grinned. "Not the reaction I hoped for, but it’s a lot better than the last time I asked for you for something." He ducked when Molly picked up a roll of paper towels and threw them at him, then fired back by pulling her around the table to his lap and wrapping his arms around her. Every inch of her body sizzled from the contact, and judging by the size of the third party crowding for space in his lap, she wasn’t alone in her reaction.
"I will do everything I can to save your family’s farm, and you have my word on that," he said, trailing a finger from her neck down to the line of her cleavage.
"It’s not your problem." Molly tried to sound firm, but voice shook with emotion.
"Sure it is. If we’re joining our empires, losing that land will cut mine in half." He tightened his grip on her arms before she could swat him.
Molly stared at him, loving the shock of dark hair tangling with his eyelashes and wondering if it was even possible he could be serious. "I don’t know what to say, Jack."
He threaded one hand through her hair and brushed her lips with his. "Don’t say a thing. I still have a lot to make up for before I earn the right to ask you to marry me, and that starts with earning your trust."
"I do trust you, Jack." Molly breathed the confession as his hand slid up her thigh.
"You’re just saying that," he said with a silky grin. "And after that little incident with Amy, I think you deserve more."
"What do you mean?" Molly’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Arthur Callahan’s brat and—according to almost everyone in Jefferson Heights—Jack Geller’s latest one night stand.
"I mean I want to prove to you I’m not out to notch my bedpost." He circled her thighs in a naughty trail with the tips of his fingers.
"That bedpost you’re using belonged to my grandparents, so I wouldn't recommend notching anything." She grinned her warning. "As for your own bedpost, I’d imagine you’ve sawed it in half by now."
"Ouch! I guess I deserved that. What if I just tie you to the bed instead?" One of Jack’s fingers slid beneath the fabric of Molly’s panties, filling her with a jolt of electricity that left her trembling from head to toe.
"Grandma would be after you with her rolling pin," Molly said, her heart careening wildly through her chest.
Jack abruptly removed his finger and smiled contentiously. "We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?"
He turned to her and cradled her face with both hands. It was all Molly could do to stay upright as hot waves of desire flooded her, rendering her senseless. "Look, I respect you, and I want to prove it. I will make love to you when—or if - you agree to become my wife."
"What if I want you before then?" Molly whispered, channeling her inner vixen and stroking the obvious ridge of his erection through his jeans. Jack squirmed at her touch but didn’t waver. "Then you’ll say yes."
Chapter Twelve
Jack wasn’t kidding. The next several days passed in a riot of sweet torture. His so-called respect was relentless—he didn’t exactly keep his hands to himself, but the other part of him she wanted so badly stayed under wraps. Bulging, more often than not, but off limits all the same.
Molly wondered what he did with that particular problem. The idea of Jack touching himself did little to settle her libido, although it did make her feel oddly shy—
a feeling only trumped by the idea of her touching herself. She still wondered how much he’d figured out the day he popped in on her at her greenhouse office, and her perpetually heated body managed a flush every time she thought of it. And although she desperately wanted to recapture the blissful, tumbling release he’d so easily coaxed from her that day, she doubted she’d manage to match the feeling on her own. And her choice loomed. In spite of the fact that Jack had yet to make love to her—or perhaps because of it—Molly wondered more and more how she could ever walk away from him. He’d certainly earned her respect, but she couldn’t promise to marry him. Not with the house of her dreams springing up within eyeshot of a heartbreak that just wouldn’t heal. With eight days to go until the foreclosure sale and six large figures needed to prevent it, her hopes weren’t high. Molly stepped through the back door of the sagging farmhouse and walked barefoot across the yard, enjoying the tickle of the grass under her feet. An old plank swing swayed gently in the breeze atop a tangle of Black-Eyed Susans and Gerber Daisies, and she headed straight for it. She tested the aged ropes before sitting on the wooden board, a pang descending through her. She knew her grandfather strung them two decades ago for a tiny pig-tailed girl who thought he hung the moon and who had been no less impressed by the swing. Through the years this had become one of her favorite spots. And, like all the others, it was joined mercilessly to her childhood memories of Jack.
She wriggled her bare toes through the flowers, marveling at the way the once barren, packed earth had been taken over by the blooms. Her grandmother fussed endlessly about the swing positioned over her flower bed, and sure enough, Molly and Jack eventually carved a trench of skid marks below its path that caused the bed to flood every time rain fell. But years later the thriving plants nearly brushed the bottom of the plank, dissolving into a blur of colors as Molly gingerly pushed off from the moist ground. If only she could heal as wholly, she and Jack might have a chance.
"That’s how I’ve always pictured you, you know." Jack’s voice crept through the solitude, so quiet she almost thought she imagined it.
The swing drifted to a stop. "How’s that?" she asked, melting at the sight of him standing on the lawn several feet away. With that devilish look in his eyes and a grin that perpetually feigned innocence, it almost seemed as if no time had passed. But the ripped muscles of his bare torso and broad expanse of his chest indicated otherwise. No wonder she couldn’t think of anything else. She craved it—she craved him.
"Carefree. Innocent. In my mind, you’ve always been the picture of everything I lost." He walked over to the edge of the flower bed and sat in the grass. The sun simmered on the horizon, casting a golden light across his already bronzed skin. "Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to turn back the clock to this?" She watched him as he looked around the yard, his eyes pausing on the many outbuildings, no doubt remembering the freedom of being a kid with hundreds of acres beneath his feet and a thrill around every turn.
"Would you change anything if you could?" The swing steadied to a halt. Molly wriggled her bare feet through the flowers, careful not to tear the plants. Her movement set the swing in motion again. She feared his answer.
Jack’s eyes rested on her. "No."
"No?"
"I wouldn’t want to end up anywhere else. The details don’t matter."
"They do matter," she persisted.
"I handled everything the only way I knew how at the time. You can’t spend your life with regrets."
"But if you could have back what you lost—"
"It doesn’t work like that, Molly, and you know it. All we have is right now."
"And a lot of memories," she added, a touch of bitterness in her voice.
"Good ones, Molly."
"Not all of them are good." She paused, fighting the sorrow of her memories. "We used to be so close, Jack. Why did you stop coming over here?" He shrugged. "It’s hard enough being a teenage boy. When your best friend is a girl, you get a lot of flack."
"That’s not much of a reason."
"Is that why you won’t trust me? Because I started hanging out with the guys?"
"It’s more than that," she said to him, her voice steady, "and you’re trivializing something that hurt. A lot."
"I’m not trivializing anything. I told you before, I can’t change the past."
"But you’ve got to understand how the past makes it hard for me to trust you now. You didn’t get all of those girls into your bed without knowing exactly what to say and when to say it."
Jack remained for a long moment, twisting two pieces of grass with his fingers, appearing unduly fascinated by the green ribbons. "I do have a regret or two," he finally said without looking up.
"But you just said –"
"I said you couldn’t live with regrets. I didn’t say I never had them." He abandoned his study of the lawn to meet her eyes. "I regret you won’t be my first. I wish I could give that part of myself to you the way you’re giving it to me."
"Who says I’m giving it to you?" She laughed.
He didn’t.
The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and purple in its wake. As darkness fell, fireflies began to light the sky.
"Hey, Molly?" Jack sat up straight, his elbows splayed on his bent knees, his bare feet and torso ridiculously tempting in the amber twilight. "Got any jars?"
"Jars? What for?"
He jumped to his feet. "For catching fireflies!" He reached across the sleeping blooms and tugged her from the swing.
"Jack, that’s mean!" But she allowed him to pull her close anyway.
"No, it’s not. We’ll let them go."
"You were a horrible influence on me."
"If you think I’m done influencing you, you’re mistaken." He growled with a smile, tracing lines up and down her spine with his fingertips that sent shivers scurrying in quick succession.
"I do believe I’m off limits." She countered his argument with a touch of goodnatured sarcasm, all too aware of the warm length of his body now pressed to hers.
"Admit it," he said, his mouth touching hers. "You trust me."
"Yes." She breathed against him, dizzy when his lips swept to her neck with soft, warm nibbles.
"Yes?" He froze.
" A yes." She laughed. "Not the yes." Her touch grazed the front of his jeans.
"Maybe I just want to keep you hanging for a little while."
"Baby," he laughed, "there ain’t nothing hanging on me right now." And as if to prove it, he ground his hips against her in an intimate gesture that nearly made her explode on the spot.
"Jack?" she said once she caught her breath. "If this is real, I don’t want to lose you."
He stroked her hair and wrapped her in a warm embrace that made the whole world feel right again. "It is real," he promised. "And you won’t."
Chapter Thirteen
"I brought you something," Jack told Molly that night as he dropped a thick, banded stack of papers on the sofa next to her. Still damp from a shower, he wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain white tee and still managed to look sexy as hell. Molly rearranged her nightshirt and tucked her legs beneath her, already starting to overheat despite the fact she’d stepped out of a cold shower less than thirty minutes before. And a cold shower, she’d learned, did nothing to kill sexual desire. In fact, the harsh spray teased her hot body, plucked at her hardened nipples, and left her gasping for breath. Far from making her forget sex, it was sex. Of course, with Jack around even poking the centers out of the donuts she made for the coffee shop reminded her of sex.
"What’s this?" she asked, heating up another ten degrees as she inhaled the scents of soap and aftershave clinging to his skin. They’d run through the yard for an hour, barefoot and laughing, catching fireflies and chasing one another until they were both sweating in the humid darkness. True to his word, Jack let the fireflies escape unharmed, but Molly remained more convinced than ever she wouldn’t be so lucky. She was also convinced she wanted to stay with him. The idea of him sitting on that new porch with her by his side lured more appealing every time she thought of it, but until the issue with her own land was settled she wasn’t sure she could make the promise. Knowing she would lose the farm and waking up every day to watch someone else work her land while their children played on her swing and caught her fireflies were two different things. She wasn't sure she could vow to endure that for the rest of her life. And she owed it to him to be sure.
Jack helped himself to a can of cola from the fridge before dropping on the sofa next to Molly. "Are you going to look or what?"
Molly glanced down. "Your house plans? Times, what, fifty copies?"
"Not quite." He offered her the can.
Molly shook her head, her breath catching at the intimate gesture. "So what am I supposed to do with these?"
"Plan, decorate. See those red marks on the walls?"
Molly nodded.
"Electrical sockets," he said. "I read something about women and plugs. Seems they’re always in the wrong spot or there are never enough. So let me know where you want them."
Molly’s gut twisted. Apparently he was serious about putting her in charge of the interior, and the warmth that settled through her had nothing to do with the sexual voltage that plugged the air between them. Making plans with him was eerily natural, and she sat far too close to the hard lines of his body at the moment to know if it was the rebounding closeness of their childhood or something much bigger that sparked the feeling.
Jack, oblivious to her plight, flipped through the pages to show her enlargements of each room. He landed on a booklet at the back she hadn’t noticed. "Paint chips." He made the announcement with bravado. "White walls are out." Molly managed a laugh. "White walls are out?"
He shrugged. "I saw a decorating magazine in the bank lobby. And that better never get out!"
Molly waited for him to thump his chest with mammalian pride, but he didn’t. Unfortunately, in the meantime she found herself staring intently at the way the stark white shirt rested against the tan, chiseled muscle of his bicep. She blinked and clamored for distraction.
"The farm is for sale." Molly pulled a flier out of the side table drawer and held the page up for him to see. "The agency sent this to me. It’s part of a national direct mail campaign for leads they collected from their website."
Jack took the flier from her.
"So what happens if I get an offer on the farm? We won’t be able to close before the auction. Is Arthur going to sell it anyway?"
"Arthur is dreaming if he thinks he’ll make his money back from an auction around here," he said, staring at the page. "I’ve never handled a foreclosure before, but if Arthur has a brain in his head he’ll let a sale go through." He looked up at her and frowned. "Why the hell didn’t you tell me you had this place listed with an agent?"
"Did you just say you were handling the foreclosure?"
“Arthur put me in charge of all the loans. I didn't want to worry you by bringing it up.”
“Don’t you think you could have mentioned that before?” Molly’s voice shook with anger. “It may just be a job to you, but this is my life.”
“And I’m doing everything I can to get your life back!”
But it was too late. She’d stormed from the room without a backward glance.
Chapter Fourteen
Jack tapped a pencil against his desktop, drumming a nervous off-tempo beat even he found annoying. He couldn’t remember the last time he been so on edge, particularly now that the rest of his life hinged on what happened when he picked up the phone. But he wanted this for her. Failure was not an option. Not even nine o’clock yet, the day already ranked one for the record books. Too keyed up to sleep, he'd insisted on making the delivery to Harlan in Molly’s place. Harlan had been on a rampage, and it was through his crumb-spewing rants that Jack had learned Molly had given notice to quit her pastry gig the week before. And then, God help him, he'd seen Amy Callahan. Laying eyes on her had pained him, plain and simple. He’d almost lost Molly over his own stupidity and whatever the hell Amy thought she could accomplish by dragging him to her bed, and he didn’t like being reminded of his mistake.
His hasty retreat from the coffee shop had left him in the precise position he'd hoped to avoid—with time to kill. The more he thought about all the different ways his plan could go wrong, the more nervous he got. And Ben McPherson had an uncanny talent for smelling uncertainty.
By the time Jack finally punched in the numbers for Ben’s direct line, his hands trembled. One way or another, Molly’s world was about to change. He just hoped the overhaul would be for the better.
"McPherson."
"Ben, it’s Jack."
"Geller! You calling to beg for a second chance at that job I offered you?" Jack glanced around at the dusty plank walls of his small office at the bank. He could practically see Ben in his own well-appointed corner suite, the sun-streaked glass and steel skyscraper offering a world-class view of the New York skyline. Jack’s tiny wooden office was nothing by comparison, but not even the offer of a six-figure salary had been enough to keep him from a chance with Molly.
"Actually, I need a favor. It’s sort of an investment."
"Really? What’s the return?" Straight to the point, as always.
"Financially, not much." Jack knew Ben would consider money without a return a loss since he could earn with it elsewhere, but he didn’t mention that little detail. He wouldn’t have to.
A long silence. Finally, "This sounds like one hell of a favor, son." Jack hesitated. He didn’t know how much he should tell Ben. A businessman through and through, he’d often expressed regret for not being more of a family man. But regrets hadn’t prevented him from working seven days a week, so Jack didn’t suspect his empathy would run deep. He decided to take a neutral approach.
"The property bordering mine is scheduled for foreclosure next week. It’s about five hundred acres. I can’t afford the price set by the bank, but it’s a steal. It’s listed with an agency." Jack rattled off the website and property number from Molly’s flier and listened as the clacking of a keyboard rebounded through the phone line. Ben sighed. "How do you benefit from owning this land, son? You aren’t going into farming are you?"
Jack grimaced. "Most of the land can be leased out to the bigger farming operations."
"At a profit?"
"It’s a good risk."
"And you want me to finance this for you?"
Jack hesitated. "Yes."
The line filled with silence. "How do you plan to repay me with that piss-ant job you took out there?" Ben grunted. His tone gave no hint of a decision, but Jack forged ahead anyway. He just prayed he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.
"The job you offered me in the city, Ben. I’m going to take it."
* * * * *
In an unusual move, Arthur spent the first half of the day out of the office, leaving Jack free to hash out the details with Ben over the phone. Now, he only had to clear the sale of the property with the bank president. Arthur, however, was nowhere to be found.
Jack felt only the slightest bit sheepish knowing he planned to quit his job at the bank—most likely without proper notice - but he couldn’t take the chance of making Arthur privy to that little detail ahead of time. Jack suspected the almighty dollar—the full sale price of Molly's property instead of the pennies on the dollar he'd get at auction—would outweigh any plans Arthur would invent to nix the deal out of spite. Still, Jack hadn’t lost the urge to watch his back where Amy, and by extension, Arthur, were concerned.
He wanted to leave the farm in Molly’s name, but Ben was skeptical enough without Jack asking him to take the risk on a stranger. Jack couldn’t set up financing for Molly without her consent, either, so he resorted to the only option he had left. He’d buy the farm himself, and Ben would hold the mortgage. He just hoped like hell Molly thought the solution was close enough to owning the place herself. Determined not to miss Arthur when he came in, Jack skipped his usual trip to the diner for lunch. By the time he heard Arthur’s door bang open, it was after four o’clock and Jack’s stomach growled with such volume that it sounded as if he had a snarling dog under his desk. He suspected his mood might be comparable to that of his imaginary canine pal, but that didn’t stop him from making a beeline for Arthur’s office. He had big plans for the night, and this time, he didn’t want anything floating around unresolved to ruin them.
He skidded into the doorway and rapped on the frame in one easy motion. Too late, he realized Arthur had company. Amy.
Jack’s mouth hung open at the sight of her, the words having beaten a hasty retreat when the younger Callahan came into view. Amy, of course, took his reaction as a compliment.
"Why Jack," she said, "you flatter me!"
Jack snapped his jaw shut. "I need to talk to you, Arthur. It’s business."
"Sit down, Jack!" Arthur bellowed, jovial. "Amy here was just asking about you." Jack shot Amy a short nod. "Money, Arthur. Income."
"Oh, hell, boy. It’s Friday! Let it wait. We’re celebrating! Isn’t that right, angel?" he crooned to Amy.
"It’s okay, daddy. I can go freshen up." Amy kissed Arthur on the cheek, bending over to give Jack a view of her backside before she squeezed past him to the door. He wrinkled his nose as an overpowering cloud of perfume grated him, and then clung to the air in her wake.
When the door clicked shut, Arthur’s affable demeanor did a quick one eighty.
"My Amy seems quite taken with you, Jack."
He waited for Arthur to continue.
"I don’t like it. You didn’t waste any time taking her to bed, and the whole town knows it. You ruined her reputation, son, but she’s more than willing to forgive your little indiscretion. I want my little girl to be happy, so the two of you have my blessing."
"Blessing for what? Jack bit back his temper—not to mention his comments about Amy’s precious reputation - trying desperately to remember how much he needed Arthur’s cooperation for the sale to go through. For Molly. Arthur stared him down. "Just don’t do anything stupid, son. I want her to be happy. You’re not exactly what I had in mind as a suitor, but you have the corporate earning potential to support her in the lifestyle she desires." Like hell, Jack thought, remembering the stories Arthur shared over the past week.
Arthur planted a hardened look on Jack. Jack glared back.
"Amy is not as innocent as you think she is," Jack finally said.
"Maybe not, boy, but the whole town saw you creeping away from my house one recent morning." Arthur raised a brow. "That was a first. Before you, she handled her relationships with discretion. She maintained respect from this community." Jack fought the urge to laugh. Amy played the society princess well enough—not that Jefferson Heights had much of an inner circle—but she sure had her daddy fooled. Arthur read his mind. "She went through an unfortunate phase in high school, but she’s well past it. She’s very involved with the community and her charity work. Amy is an upstanding young woman and she deserves to be treated like one." He paused and shot Jack a hard look. "In fact, I demand it." Jack didn’t bother to argue. He certainly wasn’t tempted to share Amy’s bedside manners with Arthur. In fact, he had precisely one thing on his mind. But before he could harness his thoughts enough to broach the topic of the sale with Arthur, Amy sidled back into the room. Arthur leaned back in his chair, a sedate grin crossing his features. Jack didn’t miss the hint of a threat behind it.
"So, Jack, what would you like to do tonight?" Amy asked, her smile as sweet as sugar. She reached for his arm.
"Actually, I’m going out of town." He treated her to the nicest smile he could muster. "I’ll see you on Monday, Arthur."
Jack made his escape without waiting for a response. His head spun with the ridiculous reality of what had just happened, praying he’d figure a way out of whatever the hell they had in mind before the news of his so-called relationship with the angelic Amy reached Molly. And before the property went to auction without him.
Chapter Fifteen
One moment Molly had been stretched out on the sofa in a dreamy haze, thoughts of Jack hot on her senses, and the next he was there in the flesh. She must have dozed off, because she hadn’t heard him come in, but when his lips brushed hers with a teasing, feather-like intensity, her body came instantly awake.
"Jack. What are you doing?" She hadn’t forgotten the hurt of finding out he was handling the foreclosure, nor could she fully let go of her anger. She knew her own pride had gotten in the way, but that didn’t stop her from blaming Jack for his part. But he seemed to have put the argument behind him. A slow smile traipsed across his face. "Get ready to say yes to me, my dear."
"What? Why?" Molly stared at Jack, who sat before her like a seriously sexy cat with a mouthful of canary.
"I just might have the key to saving your farm."
That brought her instantly awake. "What are you talking about?"
"Uh-uh, not yet. First I want to show you something." The long shadows and a glance at the clock revealed it was after eight o’clock—a full three hours later than she expected him. Her stomach told her she was long overdue for food. He tugged her by the hand until she got up and followed him into the kitchen.
"Where are my pastries?"
"Caleb has them." As if that explained a thing.
"Why does Caleb have my pastries?"
"He’s taking them in for your tomorrow. I thought you might want to spend the day in bed with me."
She wasn't sure if she should be angry or ecstatic, but an odd, tasty tingle radiated through her body of its own accord. "You did that?"
"Yes, ma’am. And guess what else I did?"
Molly was almost afraid to ask. "Do I want to know?" He took a step away from her, triumph born in his expression. "I arranged for a bakery in Driver to handle the Sunday and Monday deliveries. You know, in case you wanted to spend the whole weekend in bed with me."
Molly gaped at him. "Harlan agreed to that?"
Jack grinned devilishly. "I brought him samples. He approved. In fact, they’re all set to take over for you if you're really serious about quitting. But I talked to Harlan, and he'd really like you to stay. Then again, if you insist on getting up that early, I can think of a few other activities you might prefer instead." Molly blinked. She had to be dreaming. Had to be. "And Caleb? How did you convince him to do this? You were pretty rude to him, you know."
"Caleb and I go back a long way. He’s not going to hold a grudge. Besides, he gets to stare at Lacey the whole time he’s helping. He was more than happy to volunteer."
"You didn’t want him looking at me, Jack."
"That’s different."
At least he had the good sense to look sheepish.
"Come on. There's something I want to show you."
She followed him outside. He stood at the edge of the porch, staring off in the direction of his house. The pale moonlight made the framed skeleton look ghostly against the black sky. Just that day, most of the downstairs had sprung to life on the foundation. "Look at that," Jack told her softly.
"What?" Molly walked up to him and peered into the night.
"We have a front door." He smiled at her.
Ignoring the butterflies his simple declaration let loose in her abdomen, she gave him a sideways look. "You have a slightly bigger hole in one spot than in most of the others."
"That's the doorway. Eventually there will be a door there. We have a threshold." A threshold. Married people needed thresholds. Emotions doused her, goose bumps marching up and down her flesh in an unorganized, albeit passionate, promenade. The moment hung between them, the implication of his words setting her nerves on fire.
Fire. "You hungry?”she asked, ready to skip the whole food idea and head straight for bed.
"Yep." His eyes traveled the length of her body. Molly shivered. The passion in his look caressed her on a physical level with an intimacy beyond what any touch might bring.
I regret you won’t be my first. His words swayed through her. He was wrong. No matter how many girls he’d been with before, she knew she’d be the first he ever made love to. She could see the emotion in his eyes, the love wrestling for space with a sexual desire that seemed, she noted with amusement, to be winning the war in the south. God, she was going to self-combust.
"Let’s take a walk," he said mysteriously.
"I thought you were hungry."
He laced his fingers through hers and led her down the porch steps and into the night. Under the sprawl of darkness, the sounds of night shifted through the still air in a chorus of chirps and hums. The world belonged to them, the only visible light coming from the brilliance of the moon and through the windows of the farmhouse, dusky with age.
Molly eyed the field and her sandals. "You want me to walk across there in the dark?"
Jack stared at her, amusement lighting his expression. "Okay, we’ll do this your way." And before she could make a noise, he hauled her onto his back and started off across the field. Molly shrieked but quickly discovered an adult piggyback ride blew the kiddie version out of the water. She relaxed into the rhythm of his stride, snugging her arms against his chest and enjoying the steady rock of his hips between her legs
"What are we doing here in the dark?" she asked, her voice hushed against the stillness. She was glad for the dark, hoping it hid the flush of her cheeks.
"I told you. I want to show you something."
Molly watched as he slid a few cinderblocks to the ground in front of the opening that would one day be the front door. The scent of new wood permeated the thick air and she wondered how Jack felt standing here—if he thought of the past or looked forward to the future.
In a moment, she had her answer.
Jack jumped up and down on the pile of cinderblocks he’d arranged a few times, adjusted for a wobble or two, and then tested them again. Once they didn’t budge, he walked back to Molly. Without saying a word, he gathered her into his arms, picking her up and carrying her effortlessly across the threshold.
Without breaking eye contact, he lowered her feet to the plywood floor of what would one day be the living room. He slid one hand to cup the curve of her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb, holding her up with his gaze. Molly caught the slightest wobble in his expression and realized with a start he was nervous. Her breath caught. Surely he wasn’t . . . ?
He dropped down to one knee.
He was! Tears filled her eyes before he could say a thing.
"No fair! Let me do this right so I’m not having nightmares of Bonnie coming after me with her rolling pin. Because I haven’t exactly decided against tying you up to the bed."
Molly nodded, a small sputter of laughter escaping through the tears. Jack took a deep, shaky breath. "Molly, I love you. You complete me, and I don’t want to spend another five minutes without you, let alone five years. Anywhere in this world you want to go, you tell me. I’ll be there for you, I promise." He paused and wriggled his hand into his pocket. Molly never looked past his face, too lost in his eyes and the moment to concern herself with what he held in his hand. The ring might have come from a gumball machine for all she cared.
Molly sniffled.
"Will you marry me, Molly?"
She nodded before he even finished the question. Jack slid the ring on her finger and kissed her, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Yes," she said between kisses, falling headfirst into his embrace. "There’s nothing in the world I want more." There were no more questions between them. She meant it with all of her heart.
Chapter Sixteen
The ring most certainly did not come from a gumball machine. Three sparkling, round diamonds lined the gold band, a larger one in the center flanked by a slightly smaller, although equally brilliant, stone on either side.
Molly had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
"Jack," she gasped. "You shouldn’t have done this!" Obviously recovered from his bout with nervousness, he let loose with an easy grin. "Do you like it?"
"I love it!" She held the ring up to capture the moonlight, and a thousand fragments of light beamed back at her.
"The salesgirl said the three diamonds were supposed to symbolize the past, present, and future. That sounded about right under the circumstances."
"It’s perfect," she breathed, marveling at the fact that even the fit was right.
"You are perfect," he whispered, slipping his hand behind her head to pull her closer. "I’ve loved you for so long."
Molly tried to respond, but he stole the words from her mouth with a soulstirring, breathtaking kiss that left her melting in his arms.
"Jack?" she murmured against his nibbles. "Will you make love to me now?"
"Just try and stop me," he growled.
* * * * *
The back door slammed open with such force Molly thought for sure it was broken. She didn’t care. She and Jack fell through the doorway in a feverish tangle of arms, legs and panting breaths that left her seeing stars.
Jack stumbled backwards, trying unsuccessfully to kick off his boots. He almost landed himself and Molly on the floor in the process.
"Just leave them on," she choked out just as he succeeded in freeing himself.
"Hang on," he said, breaking away from her for a torturous moment. He pushed the back door shut and locked it. Before he could turn around, Molly had her arms around him from behind, her fingers following the naughty trail of hair down his abdomen and into the waist of his jeans.
Jack grabbed her wrists and gently tugged them out of his pants, turning in the circle of her embrace until he faced her. Molly shivered at the raw emotion that clung to his features, the way his eyes darkened with need. But the charge hung between them for only a moment before he picked her up. Ignoring her squeals, he held her straddled against his hips in a deliciously erotic twist on her earlier piggyback ride. She hooked her ankles behind him and clutched his neck, wasting no time in delivering a path of teasing kisses from his ear to the soft underside of his chin.
"Dammit, Molly, you’re going to get wetter," he said with a throaty growl. "Let’s go upstairs."
She started to tell him she was already wet, but the light vibration of his voice against her skin left her senseless. Instead, she nodded without a clue as to whether or not he noticed her consent. He didn’t appear to be waiting for a response, either; in fact, the rock of his gait suggested he might be taking the stairs two at a time. Molly thought she’d dissolve when he lowered her onto the bed, his lips meeting hers in a slow, silky kiss that left her deliciously unsure of which way was up.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He moved his hands from her thighs to her belly, taking her dress with him.
"Are you kidding me?" Pleasantries forgotten, he ripped the dress over her head and playfully pushed her down to the bed, sinking down after her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he took the tip of her bare breast into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak and sending an avalanche of wet heat tumbling through her. Molly moaned and arched into him in a futile attempt to get closer. He was delightfully preoccupied with an award-winning assault on her nipples, teasing one side with his thumb and finger while his tongue worked a number on the other. For a few sweet moments, Molly couldn’t remember her own name, let alone what kind of hare-brained thinking led her to turn him down years ago. She was only half aware of his hand as those fingers slid down to her side, even as they blazed a hot trail along the curve of her waist, past the swell of her hip. She barely felt the fabric of her favorite tangerine-colored panties as he tugged against them. But when he managed to slip a couple of very talented fingers under the wet fabric, she almost shot off the.
"Duly noted," Jack said wryly, not giving an inch in spite of the way she writhed helplessly beneath him. Or maybe because of it. Instead, a teasing grin casting an impish glow to his eyes, he wedged the rest of his hand under the drenched fabric and slid those two devilish fingers deep inside of her. She didn’t know what in the world he did at that point, but with his thumb caressing her arousal and a deep, rolling sensation filling her, Molly didn’t stand a chance. She was already gone. She didn’t open her eyes to look as she plummeted through space—a sweet, delicious freefall that sent her careening through emotions she’d never felt before. And probably hadn’t—at least not before Jack walked back into her life. But she didn’t have to look to know he was there, and so in tune with her body that his touch granted blissful reprieve at just the right moment, tenderly coaxing her to a gentle landing in his arms.
Their bodies stilled as the chaotic sounds of night, riding an unusually brisk breeze through the open windows, meshed in an odd chorus with the whisper of their breaths.
"Molly?"
"Mmm?" She stretched against the rumpled sheets and gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
"Isn’t this the part where you start begging for more?" he asked weakly. Molly widened her eyes and stared into the face of the man she loved, noting he didn’t look the least bit pale in spite of his pitiable tone. That was pretty impressive considering every drop of blood in his body had to have fled to his groin in order to create a display as impressive as the one still threatening his zipper. "Nah, I’m good." Before he could wipe the horrified look off his face, she rolled over and pulled him to his knees. Feeling bold and coy, she hooked her fingers through his belt loops and drew him closer. Her body already hummed for more, and the way the moonlight offered impossible definition to his broad shoulders and the chiseled muscles of his upper body did nothing to deter those thoughts.
Jack’s sharp intake of breath was almost lost behind the hiss of the zipper. She pulled the elastic of his boxers clear and eyed her jutting prize with dueling emotions of love and lust, not particularly concerned with which of the two won out. He kicked his way out of his clothes and crawled on top of her, pushing her gently back on the bed as he went. He kissed her neck in a series of light, barely-there flutters that gave her goose bumps. The silken, rock-hard ridge of his erection nosed between them.
Molly strengthened her hold around him, feathering her fingers through his hair and pulling him impossibly closer as they tangled together.
"Jack," she begged, his name escaping in a pleading whisper—one immediately lost to the force of his mouth on hers.
Too soon, he pulled away. "I need to go get something," he said, his voice laced with regret. "I’ll be right back."
Molly nodded, emotions overflowing. He only disappeared from her sight for a moment, but the moment lingered long enough to make the room feel far too empty. However fleeting the sensation, it scared the hell out of her. Jack strutted back into the room carrying a small box, the flap already torn open. He removed one packet and tossed the rest on the floor. A ripping sound echoed through the silence; a second later he climbed back on the bed. Instead of diving in as she expected, he paused, holding his body away from hers on strong, well-defined arms.
Even in the shadows of night, she clearly saw intensity in his darkened eyes, the hazel flecks turned to steel in the dim light. Only traces of the boyish charm she loved so much remained aloft in his burning expression. The way he wanted her—loved her—nearly brought tears to her eyes. But on a deliciously primal level, the man looked as if he could eat her alive, his body powerful, strong, hard. The sight of him wanting her drew enough heat to drive her wild, but by the looks of him he was more likely to drive her through a wall. His entire body glinted rock hard—all man, muscle, and legend. And the legend wanted her.
Molly slid her arms around his back and pulled him closer, the hard planes of his body hitting her in all the right places—one in particular.
Fulfillment was an understatement. Euphoria, perhaps. Whatever the word, Molly closed her eyes and soared. When their bodies moved together, the only conscious thought she entertained was that nothing had ever felt so right in her life.
* * * * *
Jack was in serious trouble. For all his experience, he sure as hell had never done this before. Sinking into her body for the first time made him wonder how she could be so damn hot and not combust, or so unbelievably wet and not put out the flames that licked his soul.
Jack’s self-control teetered on non-existent, but Molly’s quiet whimpers brought out a tenderness in him. "Are you okay?" he whispered, just as lost in the depths of her blue eyes as he was in the softness of her body
Her breathy "Oh, yes" was almost his undoing. Then she wriggled her hips beneath him and he fell even further, not quite grasping how just being inside of her could feel better than anything he’d ever known—not that he cared to remember a damn thing at the moment. Nothing in the world mattered but the woman in his arms. Molly’s breath came in a series of sultry gasps and erotic tremors, the little puffs of air tickling his skin. Her hair fanned around her on the pillow. The faint light highlighted the mass of tumbled curls, making a soft halo around her beautiful face. He stared at her in disbelief, incapable of accepting the fact that she was his. Every devilish inch of her.
He gave up on plans to make this last; he’d waited for this—for her—far too long. Resigned to a brief opening act, Jack tangled his hands in her luscious mane and held her, sucking and tasting her mouth with as much self control as he could muster—and it wasn’t much. She responded by kissing him deeply, sending his gentle seduction into a tailspin of feverish breath and reckless need. He realized, too late, they’d eased into a mind-bending rhythm—slow and chivalrous, but raging with an internal frenzy that sent him over the edge. And judging by the spasms radiating from her tight, hot body, he took her with him.
Jack lost himself in the sensation, just two things clear in his mind: every moment of the wait had been worth it, and he’d be damned if he’d ever let her go.
Chapter Seventeen
Molly woke Saturday to the sound of rain drumming against the roof of the farmhouse. The old structure creaked against a howling wind, uneasy on its foundation as the storm buffeted the clapboards. An odd chill blanketed the thin air. Molly drew in a deep breath, relishing in the unusual absence of the stifling heat of summer. Jack’s arms tightened around her when she stirred, sending an unruly streak of need through her body. She closed her eyes to the gray morning and let the memories wash over her, as ubiquitous as the rain pouring against the window screens and dousing the sills.
Molly lost track of how many times they made love during the night, but she remembered every amazing moment. Molly figured she’d be lucky if she could walk at this point, but luckier, she grinned to herself, if she couldn’t. Spending the day in bed with Jack didn’t seem like such a bad idea. And judging by the hard line of his erection already nudging her from behind, he would likely share that thought. Molly nestled against him, loving the way his body wrapped protectively around hers. Impossibly, she wanted him again.
She shivered as tender kisses dotted the back of her neck. "Good morning." Jack’s sleepy voice greeted her, his warm breath a tickle on her bare skin against the chill in the room.
"The best." Molly moved to capture the arm he rested around her waist before it could follow a naughty trail up her body. But he got past her and cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and finger. Already hot for him, approval spilled from her lips in the form of a throaty sigh.
His erection nudged her from behind, and without thinking Molly rolled her hips and arched to him. Even though he was a deliciously tight fit, he slid into her depths like he was meant to be there, their bodies soon locked into a frantic rhythm that left her clutching at the sheets and crying out his name. And when the first exquisite spasms rocked her, Jack responded with a moan. Liquid heat spilled between them. Almost immediately, Jack buried his face in her hair. "Oh, God, Molly. I’m so sorry."
Molly blinked her way back down from her cloud, her brain finally settling on his words. They hadn’t used protection! Her mind rushed to her internal datebook, and she relaxed. They should be safe.
Molly rolled over in his embrace to meet his eyes as a gust of wind shook the house. "It’s okay, Jack. I think the timing is okay." She traced the outline of his jaw with the tip of her finger. "I trust you," she told him in a soft voice. Relief, then mischievous warmth filled his eyes. "I’ve never done that before, you know," he said, tightening his arms around her. "I guess you’re my first, after all." The summer storm wasn’t the only thing stirring the air of the little farmhouse. Molly relished in the odd combination of sexual desire and playful ease that strung between them, still in awe of the fact that he wanted her. And Jack, for all of his cocky confidence, must have felt the same way. She caught him staring at her with childlike wonder, a half smile tipping his lips.
As the farmhouse shook against the weather, Molly relished with the knowledge that her foundation stood solid. Anywhere with Jack would be the only home she ever needed.
With a start, she remembered the phone call she’d received yesterday—before he’d distracted her by giving her his ring and spending the entire night making love to her.
"I forgot to tell you. I got a full price offer on the farm yesterday," she said.
"Really? Did you accept?"
He sounded far too casual.
She rolled over so she was on top, facing him. "You knew?"
"Yep. I meant to tell you something yesterday, too. Remember I said I might just have found the way to save your farm? I found you a buyer!" Molly rolled her eyes. "Are you willing to share your brilliant plan? Because I'm not sure how we get to keep the farm if we sell it."
Jack grinned, slow and easy. Just the way he made love. "Accept the offer."
"That’s it? Accept the offer? Sell it?"
"As long as you don’t mind selling to me."
Molly started to tell him he couldn’t afford it, but realized at the same moment she had no idea if he could or not. But it wouldn’t make sense to sell her home if he could write a check to save it, would it? "I'm not sure I follow."
"Actually, you’re selling to a man named Ben McPherson. He’s the one with the deep pockets. I dropped most of my cash on the new house." Molly scooted back to her knees and sat up as Jack continued, looking more pleased with himself by the moment.
"He’s going to buy the farm, pay off Arthur for you, and then he’ll sell it back to me. I tried to get him to just write me a check, but he doesn’t like me quite that much," Jack told her with a rueful smile.
"Is Arthur going to hold off on the foreclosure until the sale closes?" Hope glimmered.
A shadow flashed across Jack’s features. "I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it, but he’d be a fool not to let it go through. This is a full price offer, not a short sale. He can't hope to make close to that if he has to put it up for auction."
"So how long will it take to close?"
Jack shrugged. "Knowing Ben, the closing won’t take long, but it’ll be tight." Wow. She settled back against the cushions and reached for her cup of tea on the coffee table. The tea was cold, so she fiddled with the tea bag.
"Are you okay with this?" He peered at her.
She met his eyes, fighting tears. "I don’t know how to thank you."
"You already have. Hell, I still owe you one after last night." A flush crawled through Molly’s body, no doubt dousing her face in shades of scarlet. Without the cover of darkness, shyness bit down on the reality of moaning and screaming and calling his name.
Jack squeezed her bare toes affectionately and climbed off the sofa. He crossed the room to dig through the refrigerator.
"Have you told Arthur?"
"No. I tried to tell him yesterday, but he was tied up. "I'll tell him Monday morning. Ben is going to fax some paperwork for you to sign to set the process in motion." He reappeared with a piece of pie and grabbed a fork from the drawer.
"As soon as Ben buys the land," he continued, "Arthur is out of the deal. Ben will finance the purchase for us, but the legal ownership will be in my name until we pay him off." He sat down next to her and fed her a bite of pie.
"We can get married first if you want."
"Huh?"
He shrugged, the dim light dancing in his eyes. "I don’t want you worrying about me running off with your farm."
Molly laughed. "Where are you going to take it, Jack?" She swatted at him. "I’m not marrying you as part of a real estate transaction."
"Hey, I’m trying to be considerate," he said with a wounded look. He put the empty plate on the table and gathered her into his arms. "Why don’t you meet me at the bank Monday morning around eleven? By then, I should have things straight with Arthur. We can have an early lunch to celebrate and have the documents from Ben notarized, all in one shot."
"That sounds great. I just have one question."
"What’s that?"
"What’s the catch?"
He laughed. "There’s no catch, as long as you don’t mind putting the farm in my name."
Molly put her head on his chest, indulging in his scent, already so familiar to her.
"Why should I? I’m letting you put me in your name, you know." Jack snorted. "You’ve got a point there, Mrs. Gellar." Molly nudged his lap, grinning. "You’ve got a point there yourself, Jack."
Chapter Eighteen
Molly glanced at the clock. She had two hours before she had to meet Jack at the bank. Two hours before she’d sign the papers giving him the legal right to act on her behalf regarding the property. She thought of her grandparents - of the devotion and the pride they had in their home and family. The way they’d loved her and, just as completely, Jack. The grandson they never had, they’d called him. Molly smiled, happy tears filling her eyes. "You’ve got him now," she whispered to the heavens, knowing they’d understand.
By the time Molly pulled into the parking lot of the bank, her hands shook on the old steering wheel. She held her left hand up and stared at the exquisite trio of diamonds glittering on the gold band. Her heart fluttered, her memory so alive with the events of the past three days she could scarcely breathe. But it was real. Jack was hers, and the farm would be theirs—together.
Jack met her at her truck with the kind of kiss that was best suited for the bedroom - or at least that’s where Molly wanted to go the instant she tasted him. "Did you bring lunch?" he asked, not quite disengaging from her mouth before he spoke. Molly giggled, instantly comforted. "Sandwiches. Are you just using me for my cooking?"
"Nope," Jack told her, deadpanning. "You don’t have to cook sandwiches." He cocked an eyebrow. "But maybe I’ve got a thing for your delivery service." Molly rolled her eyes and leaned over to get the lunch bag from the seat. "Where are we eating? Your office?"
Jack pulled her in for another kiss. "I vote for the backseat."
"My truck doesn’t have a back seat."
"But it’s got a bed," he countered, pressing her against the cab. Between hot metal and a very hard place.
Molly fanned herself against the building heat. "Maybe we should go to your office."
"Are you trying to get me alone?" He teased her.
Molly handed him the bag and reached in the truck for a jug of ice-cold sweet tea. "It’s hot out here, Jack."
"Okay, okay," he said with a good-natured grumble. "But don’t think it’s not going to be hot in there." He winked and leaned over to kiss her on the neck, stealing a nibble that left her seeing stars.
Dazed, Molly walked with him to the bank, fully expecting a rush of cool air when he held the door open for her. No such luck. Instead, tepid air stewed against an army of electric fans. The air conditioning in the lobby was little match to the heat. Miss Bell manned the counter, a salad and a glass of water in front of her. Jack nodded to her and led Molly down the hall to his office. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. When he finally relinquished control of her mouth, Molly’s hunger had nothing to do with her stomach.
Jack, on the other hand, switched gears and went straight for the food. "They missed you this morning at the coffee shop. The food was good enough, but Harlan just might lose some weight before it’s over with."He at least had the decency to hand her a sandwich before he dug in to his own
Molly laughed and sat down in a chair. "I’m flattered, truly." She noticed a couple of picture frames on the desk and, curious, flipped them around. Her breath caught. "Jack, where did you get these?"
"My mother."
Molly traced her finger over the glass. One showed a smiling, teenaged Jack surrounded by his grandparents and his mother. They sat on the front steps of his old house amid a pile of fat orange pumpkins and golden chrysanthemums. Molly recognized a shawl her grandmother had given Jack’s grandma and knew the image couldn’t have been taken long before the fire. Sadness washed over her as it sank in just how quickly Jack’s life changed. In an instant, his entire family was gone. At least she had time to prepare - as much as anyone could—for her own loss. But the other picture put a hard lump in her throat. It showed her and Jack, both of them about ten years old. He held a dripping water hose and she was soaking wet. No mystery there.
"How did these survive the . . . ?" She just couldn't mention the fire.
"They found them at the beauty shop."
Molly had forgotten his mom had worked there. "Why in the world had she kept this one with her?" She laughed, rubbing the glass over the two of them as if she could smooth her waterlogged hair back into place.
"She said it was cute."
"And you’ve kept this photo all these years?"
He cast a winsome glance her way. "At the risk of sounding like a total schmuck, it’s the only one I have of you."
She eyed him. "If I didn’t know better, Jack, I’d think you were a sensitive guy."
"Schmuck," he corrected through a mouthful of food. Then he swallowed and winked at her. "No accounting for your taste in men, huh?" Molly tried to glare at him but failed miserably. The photo—knowing he kept it so long—gave her a serious case of the warm and fuzzies. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to sign the papers. She wanted to give him all she had, and the anticipation of what was about to happen curled through her. Her life would never be the same again.
* * * * *
Jack stood at the side of the parking lot and watched Molly drive off, the taste of her goodbye kiss still tingling on his lips. His shoulders sagged with relief. She’d signed the papers, and Jack was one very large check away from keeping his promise to her. He pushed his rolled sleeves higher against the heat of the afternoon and headed back inside, cursing the tie clinching like a noose around his neck. He was surprised to see Blue back at her desk, but not so shocked when she scowled at him. He exchanged glances with Miss Bell and found hers completely unreadable.
"If you’re finished with your shenanigans, Mr. Callahan expects you in his office," Old Blue barked.
Shenanigans? "Good. I need to see him."
Blue gave a snarly harrumph as he passed. Jack ignored her. He covered the distance to his office with long strides and grabbed the signed papers off his desk, grinning at the photo of Molly and him in a way he wouldn’t readily admit to. Cute, hell. When he turned around, he ran smack into Amy Callahan. "Dammit, Amy. How in the hell can you sneak up on anyone in those things?" He spit the question out, eyeing a pair of vicious high heels that had her standing on her tiptoes.
"I didn’t. I’ve been in here waiting for you."
"What do you want?"
"I have to tell you something. It’s important."
"Yeah, well your father wants to see me in his office. I have orders straight from the warden." He shrugged with false apology and started for the door. She put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
"Jack, trust me. You’d rather hear this from me than from Daddy." He sighed. "Fine, you’ve got one minute." He could humor her for one minute.
"How about nine months?" she asked, a touch of defiance clashing with an odd tremble in her voice. "I’m pregnant."
Chapter Nineteen
Jack pushed the door shut at a deliberate snail’s pace, using the time to come to terms with what Amy told him. He stared at the closed door for the better part of an eternity, choosing his words carefully. "Amy, that’s not possible. We did not have sex." Amy stared at him, wide-eyed and ashen. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. His eyes darted to her abdomen, taking in the way she clutched protectively at her belly. "We did not have sex," he said again, not sure which of them he was bent on trying to convince.
"Jack, you were out of it that night. You were drunk. But I remember everything you did to me." Her eyes fluttered and seemed to settle into focus somewhere near his feet. "You’re still the best lover I’ve ever had," she said in a demure, soft tone. Not at all like someone who stood poised to wreck his life.
"I was not drunk. But I sure as hell remember you giving me some Tylenol."
"Jack! What are you suggesting?" Amy reached for him and he recoiled sharply, jerking backward and hitting his desk. The pictures toppled face down, faces smiling no more.
"You know damn well what I'm suggesting."
"The baby is yours. There hasn’t been anyone else."
Jack’s head pounded as he grasped at the hazy memories of the night he’d tried to forget. Could it be true after all? He'd convinced himself his love for Molly would have prevented him from doing anything he'd regret with Amy, but those pills . . . In truth, he had no idea what happened that night. And if she were really pregnant . . . . He knew as sure as he stood there the truth wouldn’t matter. Arthur had him by the balls, and damned if Jack didn’t still need his help.
His white-knuckled grip on the papers Molly had signed nearly rendered them useless for the fax machine. Numbly, he placed them back on his desk, trying to diffuse his anger before he exploded. If Amy was really pregnant—and that was a big if—he didn’t want to turn himself into a total ass by screaming at her.
"Just tell me why you’re doing this, Amy." He stood with his back to her, hands planted wide on his desk. The tension in his arms made his sleeves feel painfully tight. He snatched the tie loose, yanking it over his head to fling the strip of cloth across the room. Then he jerked his collar free and enjoyed a drop of satisfaction at the ping of a button hitting an unidentified surface.
Amy’s hands landed on his shoulders, cold as ice.
He shrugged her away. "Tell . . . me . . . why."
Amy’s heels tapped away from him. He turned to see her sitting in a corner chair. She still wore that wide-eyed innocent look, but white-faced. Afraid. Her bottom lip trembled when she spoke. "My baby needs a father. You’ve got a good education and great job and you’ve really made something of yourself. And I’ve never stopped loving you, Jack."
"You never loved me to begin with, Amy. I've never been good enough for you." They'd used each other for sex years ago, and they both knew it. Back then he’d been proud of the conquest; today the memory turned his stomach. "Did you tell your father??"
Amy shook, rattling herself from head to toe. "Of course. There was no one else—it has to be you."
Jack stared a hole through her demented little head, remembering the way she’d screamed after him when he left her house. He snatched the papers off his desk and threw the door open, smashing it into the wall, probably shaking half the building.
"Where are you going, Jack?"
He ignored her. He covered the distance to Arthur’s office in a nanosecond, then stopped at the closed door and stared at Molly’s signature on the contract. The truth wouldn’t matter now. There was no way Arthur would let her keep the property right next door to the place he thought would belong to his beloved little girl. The knowledge tore him apart.
He knocked on Arthur's door, and then walked in without waiting for an invitation.
Arthur sat at his desk, red-faced. Jack held the papers up and aimed straight for the sweet spot—Arthur’s wallet. "I’ve got a full price offer on the Coleman place. If you hold of the foreclosure until the deal closes, you’ll get every penny of your money back."
The old man’s eyes flickered amusement. "You’ve got one hell of a lot of nerve, boy."
"I’m doing my job, Arthur. Handling your loans. Foreclosures are bad for business, and I'm about to bring you a six figure deal instead."
"If you’d spent as much time handling my loans as you've spent handling my daughter, you wouldn’t be in this hell of a mess, would you, boy?"
"I did not sleep with—"
Arthur held up a hand. "This is not up for discussion. My little girl wouldn’t lie to me."
"Then I suppose we'll have to wait to see the results of a paternity test." Arthur glared at him and tapped a thick finger on his desk. "Let me see those papers."
Jack handed them over without a word.
Arthur nodded periodically as he read. "Interesting idea you have here, boy." He dropped the whole stack on his desk. "The part in particular where Miss Coleman turned over her interest in the property to you. Why would she do that, Mr. Gellar?"
"I’m getting your loan paid off, Arthur. Not just caught up, but paid in full, years ahead of schedule. What difference does it make why she did it?" Arthur gave a dark, threatening smile. "I suspect this is more than a little bit personal. You told me once you weren’t involved with the Coleman girl, yet she’s given you quite a gift here. And you told me you weren’t involved with my daughter, but she’s carrying one hell of a gift for all of us, now isn’t she?" Jack bit back the denial. He had told Arthur they weren’t involved, and now his credibility was shot—not that it stood a chance to begin with when it was his word against Amy’s.
Arthur tapped the paperwork and shook his head. "You won’t get this land deal closed before the scheduled date of foreclosure. There are some . . . complications with the deed. It’ll take a while to clear those up."
"Complications, my ass. Molly’s family had owned that farm for generations. I'll bet you can't even locate the original deed." Ben McPherson left no stone unturned before agreeing to help; he did not invest in anything without doing his homework. Other than the mortgage with the Bank of Jefferson Heights, the deed was clear.
"Fortunately," Arthur continued, "I have a solution that will benefit all of us." His eyes shifted from Jack to Amy and back again. "I’ll give you time for the sale to go through, and you can do whatever noble thing you’ve cooked up to give Miss Coleman her land back."
The "but" hung thickly in the air.
"Of course, you’ll have to keep your end of the deal, son."
"And what is that?" Not that he wanted to know. Not with the way a satisfied smirk contorted Arthur’s features into the face of a man who just won the grand prize.
"Either you take my daughter as your wife before Friday morning at nine o’clock, or the foreclosure goes on as scheduled."
Chapter Twenty
Molly drove the short distance to the coffee shop with a ridiculous grin plastered to her face. She hadn’t talked to Lacey all weekend, and the fact that Lacey hadn’t called her once was a dead giveaway Caleb had let something slip. Molly was dying to see her best friend to fill in the blanks.
Molly parked and nearly floated into the café. Lacey stood behind the counter, staring at a display case still half full of pastries. She looked up and shrugged. "This never happened with your stuff," she said with a wry grin. Molly held out her left hand.
Lacey’s eyes popped from clear across the room. "Oh my gosh! Caleb said . . . but
. . . . Oh, Molly, that’s the most stunning ring I’ve ever seen!"
"Isn’t it beautiful?" Molly sighed, crossing to the counter and settling into a chair.
"It is," Lacey agreed, eyes shining. Suddenly her smile fell flat. "Does this mean you’re actually okay with . . . ?"
"With what?"
"You haven’t heard?"
"Heard what? I’ve been with Jack all weekend."
Lacey’s voice dropped to a whisper even though they were the only two in the room. "Amy is pregnant, and she’s telling everyone Jack is the father."
* * * * *
Molly stormed the half block from the coffee shop to the bank, not even bothering with her truck. Amy had to be lying, because Jack sure as hell wouldn’t. Molly trusted him with all she had, and at this point she’d given him all she had. Jack could not be the father of Amy’s baby.
Besides, wasn't it a little too soon to even know? Molly threw the bank door open, causing it to bang wildly on its hinges. Beatrice Crosby—Old Blue, Jack called her—looked up with a start, causing her old-fashioned beehive hair-do to wobble on its perch.
"Can I help you, Miss Coleman?" she asked stiffly.
"No." Molly stormed past her without a second glance.
"You can’t go back there!" Beatrice hauled herself up to give chase if the groan of her chair could be any indication. The floor rumbled under the woman’s weight, and Molly almost laughed at the irony. Her world might very well be about to crash around her, and damned if the earth wasn’t shaking beneath her feet.
Molly quickly covered the length of the hall and paused in the doorway of Jack’s office. His laptop sat open on his desk, but Jack wasn’t in the room. A cursory glance told her the papers she signed weren’t there, either.
Molly turned to Beatrice. The woman, piled heavily into her dress, stared her down, a bead of perspiration emerging from her wrinkled forehead.
"Where’s Jack?" Molly demanded.
"Mr. Gellar is in a meeting," Beatrice sniffed.
He had to be with Arthur. Ignoring Beatrice, her beehive, and the glare emitting from the woman’s face, she took the few steps to Arthur’s office and paused outside the door. Her breath caught when she heard male voices. Even muffled, she recognized Jack when she heard him.
God, please don’t let it be true, she prayed, doubting anyway. But she had to hear him say it, and then she’d believe in him all over again.
Just as Molly lifted her hand to knock, the door flew open. Amy Callahan herself stood in the doorway, her initial look of surprise fading into the smug expression of a woman who knew she’d won.
Molly narrowed her eyes. The whole town may have fallen for Amy’s nice girl act, but Molly never liked her before and sure as hell didn't plan on warming up to her now.
"Molly." Syrupy sweetness edged the flat greeting, but the warmth didn’t find her eyes.
Molly looked past her. Straight at Jack.
He stared at her like a deer in the headlights. She searched his face for something to hold on to—anything—but all she found was guilt.
"I wasn’t expecting you to come back here," he finally said, his voice hollow.
"Let’s go, Jack." Amy took a step forward and brushed past Molly. Only then did Molly notice their linked hands.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces, but she had to know. She had to hear the truth—from him—but she damn near choked on her words.
"Oh, God, Jack. Is it true?"
* * * * *
Jack saw every crumbling emotion in her eyes. Molly disintegrated right there in the doorway, falling away from him piece by piece. But it was the shock playing across her face hurt him more than anything. When he watched her shatter, he knew it was because she’d believed in him.
The room fell silent. Jack knew Arthur stood behind him, the contract probably still in his hand. Amy smiled at Jack, that damned smug look plastered to her face. And Molly, his sweet Molly, stood frozen, looking more broken by the second. Words tumbled through his head, explanations and reasons and excuses, but he couldn't find a way to string them together in any kind of logical way. So he said the only thing he could as Amy dragged him away.
"I’m sorry."
Chapter Twenty-one
"That’s quite a ring, Miss Coleman." Arthur’s voice broke through her nightmare. Molly self-consciously tucked her left hand against her leg, away from Arthur’s prying eyes.
"Not my place to say so, but I’m not so sure how smart you were to sign your interest over to Mr. Gellar."
Molly turned slowly to face him. She might have cried, but the tears balked, unwilling to get involved. Not when she was already mad as hell.
"It’s nothing personal, dear. I thought quite highly of your grandparents, but business is business and you . . . you just can’t seem to handle it. I’m surprised you gave up your land so easily, although it’s quite a coup for Mr. Gellar. Surely you don’t expect him to give that windfall back. It wouldn’t be the first time he deceived you today, would it?" Arthur pulled a cigar out of his desk and spun it between two fingers. "What do you think, Miss Coleman? Pink or blue for my grandchild?" A wave of disgust slammed Molly, fueling her anger. "You’re a bastard, Arthur."
"Not the worst I’ve been called, Miss Coleman. Not by a long shot." He stretched his arms in front of him, the sleeves of his jacket revealing a crisp white shirt in the seconds before he dropped his elbows to his desk. Even in this heat, he wore a full suit. Molly shook her head. Only the devil himself could stand the temperature, but she reserved that title for Jack. That lying, cheating, son of a—
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Coleman?" Arthur asked, the invitation for her to exit clear in his tone.
"You can go to hell, Arthur," Molly said evenly. She held her head high as she backed out of the office, and slammed the door as hard as she could on its fragile hinges. The door listed to the side, broken, when it finally came to a halt. Molly allowed herself a drop of satisfaction before she walked calmly down the hall to the bank lobby. She ignored Beatrice’s scowl, heading instead for the gentle smile of Miss Belle. With the teller’s help, Molly withdrew every penny she had from the bank and closed her account. Pocketing the cash, she walked the distance back to her truck and drove to the little farmhouse where she’d spent her entire life. The time she spent gathering her things was mercifully short. She threw what she could take with her into a clean garbage bag and tossed it to the floor of her truck, saddened by how little she had. As if he could sense her broken heart, Fido howled plaintively, trotting on her heels as she made her way through the worn house. Molly closed her heart to the happy memories that flooded each room, the longago images of her childhood mingling bitterly with war-torn thoughts of Jack. His love, tender and gentle at times, frantic and urgent at others, haunted her, but she refused to let the warmth wash over her. Refused to feel anything.
She took a guarded look around the battered downstairs, her gaze settling on Fido. For the first time, hesitation taunted her. Flush with sorrow, Molly leaned down to scruff his fur, then, on second thought, scooped him up against a litany of growling kitty profanity. She allowed a small smile then relented and returned him to the floor. She popped open a can of cat food and shook her head when the low-pitched growls turned to purrs.
"You’re spoiled rotten," she said to the indifferent feline as she stepped away. There’s only one thing left to do, she thought. She pulled a pad of paper and a pencil out of the drawer and scrawled a quick note, leaving it on the kitchen table. Then, with a quiet calm, she slipped off Jack’s ring and placed it on the scrap of paper. Molly leaned over to give Fido a final scratch behind the ears and fought the urge to turn around when she walked through the screen door for the last time. Jack owned it all now—as far as she could see—and he’d made it clear his life no longer had anything to do with her.
He didn’t deny the baby. He chose Amy.
He may have already let Molly go, but she wasn’t going to give him the chance to leave her behind again.
* * * * *
Jack hated the fact that Amy sat in his truck, but it remained the least of what he hated about her. Her sitting there like she didn’t have a care in the world, flapping some damn black and white printout of a speck she repeatedly referred to as "our baby," ranked much higher on the list. And her insistence on getting ice cream to celebrate just plain pissed him off. He agreed to drive her home just to get rid of her, but now she sat next to him, licking a drippy cone and eyeing him like she’d rather be licking something else.
For the umpteenth time in the thirty minutes since Molly caught them together, he second-guessed his decision to play along with Arthur and, to a lesser extent, Amy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, doing whatever it took to give Molly what she wanted the most, but would she really want this as part of the bargain?
The mental image of Molly, stricken, tore at him. He despised that he hurt her, but she’d loved her land a lot longer than she’d loved him. But she'd told him the land didn’t matter anymore. She’d chosen him, and he’d stood right in front of her and let her think he’d chosen someone else.
"Dammit!" Jack swore and hit the steering wheel again. To his slight satisfaction, Amy jerked upright in the seat. She actually seemed to edge away from him as she tucked the photo back into her purse with shaking hands.
On impulse, Jack steered into the parking lot of the coffee shop. Maybe he could get in touch with Molly and tell her the truth. His chest constricted with the realization she might not listen.
Jack took a deep breath and tried to sound cordial. "Why don’t you go in and get something to drink? I have to make a couple of phone calls." Amy’s face flashed relief, an unconvincing smile spilling across her features. He stared into her blue eyes and realized, not for the first time, how cold they were. Dark and hard, not a hint of Molly’s fiery love. Money couldn’t buy that, and neither, he realized, could a piece of land.
Shit. He really had taken everything from Molly. As far as she knew, her land was gone and so was he.
"I’ve got to make a phone call."
Amy just stared at him. Finally she said, "Aren’t you going to open my door for me?"
Jack counted backwards from ten, and then he leaned across the cab and threw her door open from the inside. She gawked at him.
"That’s not exactly what I had in mind."
"I need to call the airline to make reservations for New York. I don’t have time to play games with you."
She blinked over at him and cast a cagey smile his way. "Are you taking me to the city?"
"No." He hesitated, trying to decide if merely tolerating her would be enough. But the shattered look on Molly’s face filled his mind, and he knew the damage was done. "I have to go see a client," he explained, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. "I wasn't exactly expecting all of this today, and I’ve got a big deal to close." Amy crossed her arms over her chest. "Daddy didn’t mention you were going to New York, Jack."
Jack pent up a long-suffering sigh, trying to maintain a hold on his patience. God only knew what would happen with Molly’s land when he left town if he pissed Amy off. Before the closing, Arthur still pulled the strings, so he had to maintain control with Amy "It’s a new opportunity. Your father gave me free rein to make my own decisions, and this is a big one. And," he added pointedly, "I’ll lose a lot of money if this deal doesn’t go through."
"Money" was the magic word. Amy leaned toward him as if she actually expected a kiss, but Jack snapped his phone to his ear and looked away. She finally gave up and dropped out of his jacked-up truck, letting out a squeak when she hit the pavement in those ankle-breaking shoes. Poor kid, he thought of the baby. And for the first time, he wondered who the baby’s father really was. Amy was probably too selfish to realize that, whoever the guy might be, he had a right to know about his child. As soon as the door slammed shut behind Amy, Jack put a call through to Ben’s direct line and said a mighty prayer the man would answer.
When he heard Ben’s gruff greeting, he launched. "Ben, it’s Jack. I’ve got a situation. I need a certified check for the payoff on that property. I’m on the next flight from Kansas City to pick it up myself." Jack spit the information out in a string of breathless thoughts, finally pausing for oxygen.
"You want me to just give you that much money?" Ben didn’t bother to hide his surprise.
"Ben, you can keep every commission I earn from you until I pay you back. Keep my whole damn salary, I don’t care. I need this." Jack didn’t love having to grovel to the man who was just days away from becoming his employer, but his pride took a distant second to Molly. "Please."
Silence. Jack could almost hear the wheels turning in the old man’s head. Finally,
"Son, are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Not the kind you might think. I’ll explain when I get there, okay? I’ve got to make reservations for a flight." Jack said another silent prayer he could get out that day. The clock in his mind ticked loudly.
So did the sound of a keyboard from Ben’s end of the line. "I’ll take care of the flight," he said after a moment. "It’s three hours non-stop from Kansas City. There will be a car waiting for you at JFK." He gave Jack the flight details, then paused before asking, "Did you get those papers signed?"
Dammit. Arthur had them, and Jack’s laptop sat on his desk in his own office.
"She signed them," was all he said before he clamped the phone shut, ending the call. Only half relieved, Jack flipped the phone open again and dialed Molly. No answer at home, and the cell went directly to voice mail. With a fervent prayer it wasn’t too late, he headed into the coffee shop. He had no idea if Molly was there or not since she normally parked around back, but he knew Lacey could man the firing squad well enough for the both of them.
Sure enough, Lacey stood armed and ready. Her icy look did a respectable job of banishing the summer heat and humidity clear out of the atmosphere. He glanced around, saw Amy occupied in the middle of a crowd of women, and headed straight for Lacey.
He didn’t mince words.
"Lacey, I swear I am not that baby’s father." Every fiber in Jack’s body pleaded for her to believe him. Someone had to believe him.
Lacey glared at him. She leaned down over the counter and somehow managed to scream at him in a barely audible tone, "Then why are you marrying her? I have never seen Molly so upset. God, Jack, you broke her heart."
And his, dammit, not that it mattered. The only person he cared about was Molly. Jack looked around and, seeing no one within hearing distance, opened his mouth to tell Lacey as much of the truth as he spit out in thirty seconds or less. But before he could tell her a thing, Amy’s voice broke through the crowd.
"Jack! Why are you all the way over there? Come here, darling!" Jack swore. He slipped a business card out of his shirt pocket and slid it to Lacey, hoping his actions weren’t noticed. "If you talk to Molly, tell her to call me. Please, Lacey. I promise it’s not what it looks like."
Lacey stared at the card on the counter, making no move to pick it up. "Kind of hard to misinterpret all of the wedding plans going on over there."
"Jack! Did you get your flight, sweetie?" Amy came up behind Jack and clutched his arm possessively.
Lacey cocked an eyebrow. "A flight?"
"Jack is going to New York," Amy purred. Then she added in a stage whisper,
"He insists on going alone. I think he’s going to buy my engagement ring. You can’t buy anything decent around here." She sniffed her distaste with a toss of her hair. Jack thought of the ring he’d given Molly and tried to hide a smirk. He’d bet money Amy would risk breaking a nail to get her hands on that sucker. As Jack listened to Amy drone on about how much better everything was in New York—although not as good as Paris—Lacey made a casual move to drop her dish cloth over his business card. She slid the duo off the counter with a dark look in his direction.
"Well, Amy, that’s just exciting for you, now, isn’t it?" she drawled when she could finally get a word in, not sounding the least bit excited herself. Amy lapped up the mock gesture of friendship. "Oh, Lacey, have you seen the pictures of our baby?" She dug into her overpriced purse for the ultrasound scans.
"Well, no, I haven’t. I’d love to see them though." Lacey shot Jack a venomous look.
"I’ve got a plane to catch," Jack said quickly. He had absolutely no desire to see those damned ultrasound photos again, and if he missed his flight he really would be screwed. He dodged Amy’s embrace and sent a final pleading look to Lacey. Her eyes were cold even as she plastered a sweet smile to her face. With a final cutting glare in his direction, Lacey shifted her attention to the little black-and-white printout.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jack had no desire to go back into the bank, but he needed his laptop. Worse, he knew better than to show up in Ben’s office in New York without the signed documents. And having to explain his trip to Arthur—to say nothing of why he left Amy at the coffee shop—wasn’t high on his to-do list, either.
He couldn’t believe his luck when he steered into the lot and saw Arthur's truck gone, but he didn’t waste any time getting inside. He breezed past Old Blue without a glance and almost grinned at the sight of Arthur’s broken door lying askew off one hinge. But when he saw the papers lying on top of Arthur’s desk, it was Jack’s turn to be pissed. The papers held private information; Arthur obviously had very little respect for anyone but his precious daughter.
Jack took the papers before heading to his own office to retrieve his laptop. He took the time to dig up a manila envelope for the contracts and almost made his way through the before he caught sight of Miss Bell waving him over. Her expression of concern did not sit well.
"I’m not one to gossip," she said in a low voice, "but not long after you left with Callahan’s daughter, your Molly almost tore that door off the wall." She nodded toward the hall. "She stopped and closed her account before she left." Jack gave Miss Bell’s wrinkled hand a warm squeeze and thanked her before running out of the building. He managed to hit redial on his cell phone and jump in the truck in one motion. When Molly’s cell phone again went straight to voice mail, he tried the house. He didn’t expect her to pick up, but trying made him feel better. He broke a land speed record getting back to the farm, the panic clutching at his throat seizing a little tighter when he caught sight of the new house with sheeting on the walls. Henry’s crews were fast
Jack swallowed. Hard. God help him, he had to find that woman and convince her to forgive him or that damn house would never be a home.
He pealed into the gravel drive and spun sideways when he took the turn behind the house. He jumped out of the truck and ran to the back door. When it didn’t open as he expected, he walked right into the solid wood panel. The door was locked. Molly wasn’t there.
But something else was.
Even through the screen and the glass, he couldn’t miss the diamond ring sitting on the kitchen table.
"Son of a bitch."
He shook the doorknob uselessly before giving up and running back to the truck to jerk the keys out of the ignition. By the time he let himself into the house, he could hardly catch his breath.
God, why hadn’t she given him a chance to explain? But he realized with a start that she had, and he hadn’t explained a damn thing.
Jack slipped the engagement band on his key ring and picked up the note. He read the short message and swore, throwing it on the table. Lacey, please take care of Fido. I’ll be in touch. Molly.
That damn cat. He sat in the windowsill, not the least bit concerned with the walls falling down in Jack’s world. Molly was gone, and he had a flight to catch—one last chance to make things right. Even if he couldn’t make her forgive him, he’d damn sure get her home back.
Jack ran upstairs to pack a bag, and a quick glimpse in Molly’s room—the one they’d shared the last few nights—told him her things were gone. Reeling, he left the house and locked the door behind him.
Helpless to do much else, Jack tore up the road to Kansas City. He probably had plenty of time to catch his flight, but a sense of urgency kept his foot to the floor. He tried to call Molly more times than he could count, realizing when the low battery light blinked he’d forgotten his charger. His phone would be dead before he even got on the plane.
He'd been driving an hour when the phone vibrated against the truck console. He snatched it up without checking the caller ID. "Molly?"
"Jack, it’s Lacey." She sounded breathless, but with the wind screaming the cab through open windows, who could tell?
"Lacy, I–"
"It’s not your baby, Jack."
"What?"
"It’s not your baby," Lacey repeated. "It’s not possible." Stunned, Jack checked his mirrors and jerked the truck to the side of the highway, rolling to a halt on the shoulder.
"How do you know?"
"The ultrasound picture. There are some numbers on the side of the print."
"So?"
"So the numbers date the pregnancy. Amy’s baby had to be conceived about three weeks before you returned to Jefferson Heights. If you got her pregnant, it didn't happen the night she took you home with her."
Jack’s heart damn near pounded out of his chest. "Are you sure?" A soft laugh tinkled through the phone. "My dad is an obstetrician, Jack. I’m sure. Early ultrasounds are the most accurate way to date a pregnancy. There’s no way it’s that far off."
Jack slumped in the driver’s seat. "You believe me." His words were more of a statement than a question.
"I do, but I’m not the one you need to worry about." He sat up, ramrod straight. "Lacey, dammit, you have to find Molly."
"What am I supposed to tell her? You already knew it wasn’t your baby and yet you went along with this ridiculous charade. That’s not going to make her feel better." Jack threw the truck into gear and roared back onto the road, sending a shower of gravel behind him. "I had my reasons. Or I thought I did. Tell her everything I did was for her. Tell her I love her and I’m coming back." He punched the accelerator, leaving half his tire tread right there on the pavement. The acrid smell of burned rubber swirled into the cab. "And Lacey? Don’t tell anyone else about this. Not yet." Silence filled the line.
"Lacey?"
"You’d better not screw this up any more than you already have, Jack."
"Don’t worry, I won’t." But as he clamped his phone shut, he couldn’t help wondering whether he believed the words himself.
Chapter Twenty-three
Well appointed and modern, Ben’s office lacked warmth. The sprawling suite filled an entire level of one of New York City’s most prestigious addresses, polished floors reflecting with indifference against glass-fronted offices. Custom-made parquet peeked through a clear coating that seemed to be an inch thick. Even the upholstery was cool, indifferent leather. The place smelled of money.
Jack had a difficult time counting himself among the employees, although a generously proportioned blonde seemed intent on making him feel at home. He wouldn’t have paid attention to her at all if not for the fact that she teetered around with her chest thrust ahead of her, offering it up the way most folks would offer a drink or a handshake. He shook his head. Maybe someone should advise her to have those suckers reduced in size before she tipped completely over.
Thoughts of Molly once again hit him like a board to the side of his head—unlike the blonde intern, nothing about Molly could be considered fake. The dull ache sharpened when he thought of how much trust she put into him and how much he’d hurt her in return. If he couldn’t get her back . . . .
"Jack, come on in." Ben gestured from the doorway to his private suite. Tall with thinning gray hair, the man wore a tailored suit that probably cost more than Jack’s truck. He followed Ben through the outer office, nodding to his personal secretary as he passed by her desk. It was late—almost seven o'clock—and still she tapped furiously on a keyboard.
Ben led him to a conference table set up on one side of his office with dizzying proximity to the glass exterior of the building. Two solid walls of nothing but straight down. The combination of circumstances left him feeling ill.
"Now," Ben said, "explain this to me."
Jack launched into the story of the whole sordid mess, not the least bit happy with having to share the details of his supposed encounter with Amy with his new boss. Ben listened, silent and expressionless.
"So," Jack said, "Arthur told me if I haven’t married Amy by Friday at nine o’clock, he was going to auction the property. The only way to stop the sale is to pay off the bank. As far as Arthur knows, I’m a sure thing for a position as his new son-in-law." Ben shook his head. "Here’s the problem, son. My attorneys haven’t completed their investigation into the property. We know Miss Coleman is the deeded owner and the bank holds the mortgage, but if there are other liens or if it’s tied up in legal disputes we’ve yet to discover, I’ll lose my shirt in this deal. My company will take a hit and it will reflect poorly all the way around. That’s exactly why we decided to move forward with a traditional sale to begin with instead of a payoff." Jack’s heart fell to the cold, hard floor. "Ben, it’s personal.
"You can’t make a business decision based on a personal issue, son." Ben regarded him with a flicker of interest, just a hint of amusement lighting his eye.
"Some decisions are more than just business, Ben. You’ve shared your regrets with me, and I have to tell you, this woman, Molly, is the one thing I will never allow myself to regret. None of this," Jack waved his arms around the room, "means a damn thing when you’ve lost . . . lost what Molly and I have." Ben leaned back in his chair. "You forget I have about forty years of living on you, son."
"Then you know I’m right," Jack shot back.
Ben smiled. "Okay, son, let’s play ball. Since you’re a couple of contracts and four walls away from being one of my brightest investment strategists, why don’t you give me your professional opinion? From a business standpoint, would you recommend this deal?"
Jack didn’t hesitate. "No. I wouldn’t put it on your desk, let alone recommend it." Ben tapped his fingertips together. "Yet here we are." Jack met his eyes. "How about this. What’s the value of an employee who will spend years working his ass off because his boss stuck his neck on the line? How do you measure the return on that?"
Ben laughed, and the deep sound reverberated off the cold walls. "I guess with your office being in that Godforsaken place, I’ll need a little extra loyalty out of you, won’t I?"
Hope squeezed through the strangled neck of Jack’s soul.
"Hell, boy. My daughter won’t speak to me anymore because I’ve spent so much time at work. You’re like the son I never had, so you might as well run off with all my money. What’s the payoff on that loan again?"
Jack told him.
Ben mumbled a blue streak while he dug through his briefcase. He came up with a checkbook and a pen. Jack watched as he wrote an exceptionally large number on the line in very small print, then ripped the page off and handed the check over. "That’s a personal check, son." He winked. "Seeing as how this is a personal matter and all." Jack’s eyes gouged a virtual hole in the paper. He knew Ben was loaded, but stroking a generous six figure check out of a personal account?
He was also, it seemed, a mind reader. "I need to transfer funds to that account, but by the time the banks open in the morning in Kansas City, you’ll be able to trade that check for a cashier’s check. Then you haul ass back to that bank and pay off that mortgage, quit working for that bastard Callahan, and get your woman back." Jack fought the urge to hug the man. His hands shook as he slipped the check into his own briefcase. He stopped short when he saw the signed documents. "Do you want these papers?"
Ben waved dismissively. "Against my better judgment, no. You don’t lend money to family unless you’re willing to let it be a gift, so just to be clear, there are no expectations."
"I don’t know how to thank you, Ben." And Jack didn’t. Family. The word reverberated in his mind.
Ben gave him a fatherly smile. "You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and more sense at your age than I probably have right now. Damned if money won’t buy happiness this time around, so you’re welcome to it. Now let’s go have dinner before you get back on the plane and drop back off the map. Helen!" He called to his secretary, switching gears in a breath. "Reservations for two. Tell them we’ll be there in 20
minutes."
Jack followed numbly, reeling. He had the check, and Molly would keep her home. There were no documents to tie them together. If he put that ring back on her finger, the gesture would be because she wanted him to—not because he legally owned her farm. And that was as it should be.
But as the elevator dropped noiselessly through space, the gleaming walls returned the distorted reflection of a man who had damn near lost everything. And if he couldn’t get Molly back, Jack wondered just how far he was about to fall.
* * * * *
The plane touched down in Kansas City at four in the morning. As much as Jack hated to rent a hotel room for only a few hours, he knew he needed a shower and time to gather his thoughts. Exactly twenty-four hours ago, he and Molly had lain tangled together in her bed, making love and planning a future together. Now he had no idea where she was, and she had no clue she still had a home. He had a no-strings-attached check that would pay off the mortgage on the farm, a new job with a prestigious investment firm, and—after today—no reason to get anywhere near Arthur or Amy again. By now, Lacey must have given Molly the news about the dates on the ultrasound scans. All he needed was to find her and make her believe it was all going to work out.
The next morning, he spent the good part of an hour at the bank. Apparently Jack wasn’t the only one flabbergasted by the size of the check. After showing every form of identification he owned—including his damned library card—cashing the check still required a phone call to the manager of Ben's branch in New York. The man knew Ben personally and had been notified of the transaction ahead of time, and only with his okay did the fine folks of Kansas City turn over the cashier’s check. He cringed when it occurred to him how long he'd need to pay the debt, but—despite the mind-boggling fact that Ben considered the money a gift—Jack would pay him back. Finally the Kansas City bank manager sent him on his way, laden with words of apology for the inconvenience. After assuring the worried, bespectacled man that everything was fine, Jack climbed back into his truck and locked the doors. The thin paper check sat heavily in his jacket pocket, a reminder of what the day would bring. After grabbing a late breakfast from a fast food drive-thru, he pulled on the interstate and headed south. Whatever the day brought, he knew the balance of his life listed precariously on what would happen when he returned to Jefferson Heights. But one way or another, he’d give Molly her life back. He just hoped it would be enough.
Chapter Twenty-four
The sleepy flat farmland flanking Jefferson Heights sat just as indifferent to Jack’s return as it did his departure. As he roared down the road through towering cornfields, for the first time in his life Jack wished his truck wasn’t quite so loud. He held no misplaced aspirations of sneaking back into town, but there was something to be said for being inconspicuous.
Jack drove back to the old farmhouse, hoping against hope he’d find Molly there. It was well past lunch-time, and she’d normally be in one of three places: the coffee shop, her greenhouse, or her own kitchen. He didn’t expect her to hang out at the coffee shop with his name and Amy’s linked as the headliner on the rumor mill, so he held his breath that she might have come home.
No such luck. Her truck was nowhere in sight.
Jack stopped in long enough to plug his cell phone in, cursing the fact that he hadn’t thought to buy a car charger. Fido growled from the bottom step, so Jack opened a can of food for him before heading back out. Molly would be pleased to know her guard cat remained alive and well, wherever the hell she was. And he just had one loose end to tie up before he could go find her.
When he caught sight of his house, two memories assaulted him at once. He remembered proposing to Molly in the front room of what would soon be their home. The metal roof led him back to the moment of waking up to the drumming of a pouring rain. He could still smell the sweet honey scent of her body, warm and soft next to his. Damn, Henry worked fast.
By the looks of the parking lot, Arthur and Amy were both at the bank. He didn’t take the time to wonder what the hell Amy was doing there, nor did he worry about the confrontation that would follow after he took care of the little detail nipping at his heels. Grateful he didn’t have to wait in line, Jack walked straight up to Miss Bell. He pulled the cashier’s check from his coat pocket and slid the paper across the counter. Her eyes bugged.
"I need two copies of this check," he told her in a low voice, all too aware of Old Blue stationed at her desk across the room, "and then I want you to apply the whole amount to Molly’s mortgage. It’s a full payoff. I have the letter stating the amount in my truck if you need it."
"No, it’s all in the computer, dear." Miss Bell’s eyes were full of questions, but she quietly did as he asked.
When she handed over the copies of the check and a receipt for the payment, he winked at her. "I promise I’ll fill you in later. For now, just say a prayer that this whole mess ends with a wedding—and I’m not talking about Amy’s." Miss Bell nodded, her eyes shining with a youthful gleam. "Molly’s a lucky young woman."
"I hope she still thinks so, Miss Bell." Dodging Old Blue’s glare, he walked down the hall to his office, likely for the last time. He found a small box and filled it with the few personal items he kept in his desk, none more important than the two photographs Molly had asked him about the day before. He shook his head in disbelief. Only yesterday, Molly stood there, in love with him. The contrast from one day to the next splashed like cold water on his heart. But justice—justice was coming. Jack retraced his steps back to Arthur’s closed door. Surprised he’d gotten it fixed so fast, Jack put the box out of the way on the hall floor and knocked. The door tipped forward and sideways when he rapped against it.
Fixed it, hell.
He caught sight of Arthur just before he called for him to come in. When Jack lifted the door to swing it open, Amy’s eyes lit up and she squealed.
"You’re back! Did you bring me anything?"
"No, but your father will be pleased to know my little investment paid off."
"Is that so?" Arthur spoke from his spot behind his desk. "It’s a damn good thing. This wedding of yours is costing me a fortune."
Jack took great delight in his next words. "Oh, Arthur, there won’t be a wedding. Not on your dime, anyway."
For a long second, no one moved.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Arthur barked. Jack held up one copy of the cashier’s check. "The mortgage on the Coleman place has been paid in full. You have no claim on the property anymore. Or me."
"The hell I don’t!" he roared, jumping to his feet. "You will take care of my grandchild! No one lies with my daughter and ignores the consequences." Jack almost laughed at the truth behind his words. "Oh, I’m paying the consequences, Arthur. But I’m not the baby’s father, so I won’t be paying for that."
"The hell you aren’t!" Arthur shot back, red faced.
Jack turned to Amy. He ignored the tears falling down her cheeks and fixed his eyes right on her. "Do you have one of those ultrasound photos with you, Amy?" She nodded, her eyes and nose running with her tears.
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" Arthur seethed. Jack waited for Amy to produce the image. She hesitated to hand it over, so he snatched the scan from her. A quick glance made it obvious Lacey knew what she was talking about—the numbers were there, exactly as she said they’d be. He bypassed Amy and went straight to Arthur.
"Do you see those numbers?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "They give the gestational age of the baby. Feel free to check with Amy’s doctor for verification, but the bottom line is this: she'd been pregnant for several weeks before I came back to town. There’s no way the baby she’s carrying belongs to me." Jack couldn’t keep the smug satisfaction out of his voice.
Arthur’s dark gaze darted to his daughter. "Amy, is this true?" Amy’s façade of shock dissolved beneath a fury of tears. "Daddy, I’m sorry," she wailed, sounding for all the world like a cat with its tail caught in a door. Jack resisted the urge to cover his ears.
Arthur picked up his phone and barked into it. "Beatrice, come see to my daughter." He sat stoically until Old Blue collected a sobbing Amy, then he turned to Jack.
"I suppose I owe you an apology, son."
"I’m not your son, Arthur, and you don’t owe me a damn thing. Believing Amy was one thing; blackmailing me is inexcusable."
"I hope—"
"I won’t be back. I assume the size of the check I brought in will more than make up for my failure to provide two weeks’ notice."
Arthur didn’t say a word.
"See to it that you remove the lien from Molly’s farm," Jack added before turning his back and walking from the room. He swept the box from the floor and carried it through the lobby, thanking Miss Bell again on his way out.
Only one thing left to do, and his entire life rested on whether he did it right
* * * * *
Jack drove to the coffee shop in hopes of finding Lacey, but the building stood dark and the parking lot empty. He knew she spent most afternoons with Molly at the greenhouse or in the kitchen baking, so he headed back to the farm. Lacey’s car was there, but there was no sign of Molly’s truck. Jack parked next to Lacey, behind the house. The back door stood open, sounds drifting through the battered screen.
"Lacey?" he called, letting himself in.
"Jack?" She peeped from behind a closet door, startling him.
"Where’s Molly?"
"I don’t know. I’m just here feeding this overgrown cat of hers." Jack started at Fido and shook his head. The little tub of lard had just eaten less than an hour ago, and now he had his face buried in a stinking slab of kitty loaf, working that snarling, purring thing he did so well.
Footsteps echoed overhead, jerking Jack’s attention away from the cat. "What the hell is that? I thought you said Molly wasn’t here!"
Lacey blushed in the same long, drawn out way she spoke. "She’s not. It’s Caleb."
"Caleb?" Understanding dawned slowly. "Are the two of you, um . . . ?"
"No!" she said quickly. "Molly and I always took lunch over to the crew. He just went to use the bathroom. He usually comes by to help us carry the sandwiches over, and, well, he didn’t know."
Didn’t know Molly was gone. Dammit.
"Hey, man." Caleb’s voice preceded the rest of him down the stairs. "What are you doing here?"
Jack took in the way Caleb’s gaze lingered on Lacey a bit longer than necessary, but he didn’t dwell on the development. His own life balanced on the line. Lacey jumped in before he could answer. "Is everything okay?" No, he wanted to shout. Nothing was okay, and it wouldn’t be until he got Molly back. Instead, he launched into a brief explanation of what happened in New York and followed the tale up with the morning’s developments. "So Molly owns the farm free and clear, and I have to find her. I have to get her back." Caleb shook his head. "You do have it bad, brother. Have you tried the park over off Pritchard Road? I saw a truck like hers in the lot on my way in this morning." His words sent Jack into a tailspin. Of course! What better place for Molly to sit around hating him than the very spot he’d left her five years ago?
"Thanks, man!" He yelled over his shoulder, already halfway back to his truck. It was time to bring Molly home.
Chapter Twenty-five
When Molly stopped at the park the day before, she'd been struck by how little the space changed over the years—but much more so by how very much she had. Five years ago she’d been perfectly content to go on without Jack. Now, she didn’t know how she’d make it.
But she would. He might have stolen her family’s farm, her virginity, and even her heart, but Molly held on to her fighting spirit.
She should have been on the road to, well, anywhere. Putting miles between Jack Gellar and whatever he had to do with Amy Callahan. Getting away from her old life. Instead, she’d made the trip as far as Driver. She window-shopped until the stores started to close down for the night, then she stopped at a little restaurant for dinner. Anything to feel normal, she’d thought as she sat alone at the table with a meal she never really tasted.
But after she left Driver, she'd driven halfway back to Jefferson Heights before she'd realized she was headed in the wrong direction. Facing physical and emotional exhaustion and with nowhere else she cared to go, she'd found herself at the park for the first time in five years. The irony of the location wasn’t lost on her, but going further wasn’t any more of an option than going back. She'd slept in her truck with plans to start over—one way or another—in the morning.
But sunrise had grown into a bright blue sky hours ago. Molly wasn’t ready to let go yet, and she found comfort in sitting there with her thoughts. The cool shade of the trees kept the blistering heat at bay, but she didn’t think anything could erase her memories of Jack.
It’s not his baby.
Lacey’s text message rolled through Molly’s thoughts over and over. She supposed she should have found the message soothing, but the words had the opposite effect; she'd grown angrier than ever. If Jack wasn’t the baby’s father, then why was he going along with Amy’s accusations? What possible reason could he have for doing this to her?
And the way he made love to her, it had to be real—she knew it heart and soul. But a part of her couldn’t forget Jack was a pro at getting women into bed, and she was as naïve a woman as he would ever find—an easy target.
Still, as she thought about her time with Jack, the worst part of their relationship wasn’t what she’d lost. Oh, no—his actions made it pretty clear she hadn’t lost anything at all. The worst part was now she realized just how much she’d been missing. Only a few breathless weeks with Jack led her to see just how empty her life had been without him, and now, in a cruel twist, she found herself helpless to go back to the way things used to be.
Molly closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, at the same time the unmistakable rumble of Jack’s truck filled her ears. Damn. She should have known he’d think to look there, but she hadn’t really expected him to be looking. Not ready or willing to face him, she held her ground on the top of a worn picnic table, her feet flat on the bench seat. She listened as the engine died and his truck door slammed behind her.
"Molly!" the familiar voice called out. Her heart responded, aching to run for him even as the rest of her protested his presence. In compromise with herself, she turned to shoot a lethal glare in his direction.
But when she saw him, her breath caught. Jack stood several feet away, rumpled and sad, his charismatic grin gone behind a layer of . . . what? Remorse? Molly barely recognized him.
All of those nights he bounced through the back door with his shirt and tie nearly off didn’t prepare her for a glimpse of him like this. Even in the brilliant sunshine, his eyes were flat, dismal. Broken. And beneath it all, she saw the boy within the man. Not in the mischievous way she’d come to adore, either. Like him or not, she did love him, and she sensed with every fiber of her being that he was hurting. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Will you let me explain?" Molly turned her back to him before the tears fell.
He edged closer. "Molly, it’s not my baby."
"I heard." She shot the words back, angry. "Lacey sent me a text. I actually tried to call you, but your phone must have been off." For that, she’d been grateful. The urge to understand why had been quickly snuffed out by common sense. It didn’t matter why—Jack left with Amy, and that was that.
"The battery died. I forgot my charger. Look, Molly," he said softly, changing gears. "I want you to know I didn’t take your land. It’s still yours and yours alone." He sat next to her on the picnic table.
Molly pulled her hair away from her face without looking at him. "Won’t do much good come Friday, will it?"
"What’s Friday?" he asked with an irritating amount of nonchalance. And there it was—that grin. She caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye.
"The auction, you jerk." Molly met his gaze and found herself supremely annoyed by the glint of humor that met her halfway.
Jack pulled a thick sheaf of papers out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
"It’s yours," he repeated.
Molly unfolded the documents and gasped.
"I didn’t find out about Amy’s pregnancy until yesterday, after you left the bank." Jack sighed heavily before continuing. "Arthur wasn’t in his office when I got to work, so I went straight there with the papers when you left. I didn’t know Amy was there, and I sure as hell didn’t know she pinned me as the father of that kid. When you walked through the door, Arthur had just told me he wouldn’t let the sale close unless I married Amy."
Molly gawked at him. "So you agreed to marry Amy for my farm? What the hell made you think I’d rather have the farm than you? I accepted your proposal, Jack. That meant I chose you."
"I know. But I wanted to give you everything. I couldn’t let you lose your dream when we were so close."
"So you saved my family's farm, but you lost me," she said flatly. "Boy, when you go down, you really go down in flames don’t you, Jack?"
"Did I lose you?"
His words came back to her. I’m sorry. The damn tears came freely. Jack cupped her chin, gently turning her to face him. "The baby isn’t mine." He said the words so quietly that she barely heard him.
"I know it’s not yours," she said, jerking away from his touch. "What I don’t know is why you let me think otherwise."
"I didn’t think I would have to, Molly. I couldn’t deny the baby with everyone there, in front of Arthur, and after that, I couldn't find you to tell you."
"Did you have sex with her?"
"No." His response came fast but solid. As if he truly had no doubts.
"How do you know that if you don't remember?"
Jack wrapped his arms around her, pulling her a hell of a lot closer than she ought to be. When he spoke, the soft whisper of his voice brushed her skin like a caress.
"I just know it. There would have been some evidence left behind, if you know what I mean."
"You could have washed up afterward."
"And I could have driven the Daytona 500. But I'm just as sure I didn’t do that either. You're just going to have to trust me, Molly."
"Not quite, Jack." The tears pooled and fell. "I told you the land could go. I wanted you."
Jack reached to wipe her tears away with trembling hands. "I don’t know if you still want me, but you can have your farm back. I flew to New York to get a check from Ben. He took care of the mortgage, so you don’t owe Arthur a dime. You’re holding the proof of the payoff in your hands. It’s still in your name, Molly. I didn’t take your home away from you, and neither will Ben."
Her bottom lip trembled, and she immediately clamped down on it with her teeth. She had no intention of falling apart in front of Jack. "I don’t know how I can pay him."
"There’s no repayment plan. We’ll do what we can do. You can lease the land and equipment to another farmer. Hell, we can put both of our parcels together and bring in a pretty good chunk of change."
Molly caught the slightest hint of humor in his eyes before his expression turned serious again. "I love you, Molly." He reached for her with his free hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face.
She shuddered involuntarily, and it wasn’t the bad kind of shudder. It was the deliciously familiar "Jack" kind that made her world seem right even when it wasn’t. The same one that made her realize love mattered more than the ground beneath her feet, and that memories didn’t have an address.
The one that completely turned her world upside when he walked into her life, and again when he’d walked out of it. She shook her head.
"What does that mean?"
Jack’s husky voice traipsed over her, soft and rough all at once, causing a full scale rebellion—every cell in her body wanted him, but she fought the feelings anyway. He cupped her face, stroked her cheek.
"I want you to know, I’m not going back to work at the bank. I took the job offer in New York."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. "You’re leaving?" Her words said a lot more than she wanted them to, because then he knew. She could see the awareness in his eyes, in the way the old Jack suddenly appeared in full force behind that perpetual grin.
"No, baby, I’m not leaving." His took her into his arms again and held her. "I’m working from right here. I told you the front room of the house would make a great office, and that’s where I’ll be. I’m not leaving you again." He pulled away just far enough to look into her eyes. "Well, maybe a business trip or two," he conceded, "but you can always come with me."
"You still want me?" She sniffled, cursing the unholy feeling she needed to apologize to him.
"Always," he whispered, stroking her back. "You didn’t do a damn thing wrong."
"I left the ring . . . ."
"I’ve got your ring right here. I kind of hoped I’d run into someone who might want to wear it."
Molly almost laughed through her tears. "I don’t think you’d have much trouble finding someone to wear that ring."
"There’s only one person I want."
"Jack, I don’t . . . ." Molly trailed off, unsure of what she needed to say. Jack dug into his pocket and Molly forgot to breathe. She expected to see a diamond ring emerge, but he handed her his keys instead. "It’s your turn."
"Huh?"
"Here’s your chance. I may not have earned your forgiveness, but I damn sure earned this. Take my keys. It’s my turn to walk."
Molly stared at him. "Lovely thought, Jack, but you could probably hot wire that truck and pass me on the road back home."
He laughed. "Maybe," he admitted sheepishly, "but it’s the thought that counts, right?"
Molly narrowed her eyes. "Not when you’re the one walking." Jack laughed again. "Okay, how about this. If I promise not to father any more illegitimate babies, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Molly rolled her eyes. "When you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?" But tears—happy ones—slid down her cheeks when he slipped the ring back on her finger. His lips met hers in a sweet, gentle kiss that quickly turned insistent with need.
"Are you ready to go home now?" He murmured the invitation, his lips still touching hers.
She broke free and smiled, thinking of a long hot shower and an even longer, hotter day in bed with Jack. "Oh yeah. I’ll race you!" She challenged him before hopping off the table and sprinting across the parking lot.
"Hey, you still have my keys!" But his protest fell on deaf ears. She'd already climbed into her truck.
Molly flashed her most innocent smile as she started the engine. "Careful who you get a ride with, Jack." She winked before roaring out of the parking lot. She couldn’t help but grin as she drove off. Revenge was definitely sweet, but nothing could be sweeter than going home—nothing but knowing that Jack would be there to share a life with her.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and grinned. Well, he'd be there eventually.
~The End~
About the Author
Sarah lives a charmed life as the mother of six incredible homeschooled children, all of whom are completely adorable when they're asleep. Her husband of many years (long, long years, he calls them) is the kind of guy who could teach those heroes from the books a thing or two about romance, not that he'd readily admit it. Completely supportive of her newfound love of writing fiction, he's generously offered to help with any necessary research for "the good parts." She's never had to ask twice. Down in Flames is Sarah's first piece of fiction since grade school. Although the craft of writing fiction was initially intimidating, it has morphed into a favorite pastime since her characters, unlike her kids, actually listen to her. Most of the time. Learn more about Sarah at