That McCloud Woman (7 page)

The
sky was streaked with color—vibrant reds, soft purples, seductive blues.

"Beautiful,
isn't it?" she said softly, enchanted as always by the dramatic display.
His noncommittal grunt won a frown from her—though she received little
satisfaction in making the gesture since he stubbornly refused to look at her,
or acknowledge her presence. Unwilling to let his indifference chase her away,
she turned her attention back to the horizon. Silence stretched between them,
broken only by the croaking of frogs along the bank and the musical call of
cicadas from the tall clumps of grass growing around it. The sounds brought
back a wealth of memories.

"When
I was young," she said, smiling wistfully, "I used to spend my
summers here on the Double-Cross. All of the McCloud cousins would gather on
this very pier and wait for the sun to disappear behind the hills. It was quite
a sight. So colorful. So dramatic. Yet, so sad."

"Sad?"
he repeated, cocking his head to the side to frown at her.

She
met his gaze and smiled, pleased that she'd at last managed to pull a response
from him. "Yes, sad." She looked again at the distant hills, nodding
her head in that direction. "The sunset signaled the end of the day and
was a reminder that we were one day closer to having to say goodbye. That
always made us sad." She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging her
legs to her chest, drifting for a moment in a pleasant sea of childhood
memories. "We were separated by hundreds of miles and sometimes we saw
each other only once a year, but we were very, very close." She turned her
cheek to the top of her knees and looked over at him. "Do you have
family?"

He
squinted harder at the sunset, and a muscle flexed on his jaw. "Yeah."

"Well…?"
she prodded. "A brother? A sister? Parents?"

His
lips thinned perceptibly. "One of each. Except for the sister." He
frowned, then reached down beside him and picked up a bottle his leg had hidden
from her before. Tipping back his head, he took a long swig, his Adam's apple
bobbing with each slow swallow.

Jack
Daniel's Old Time Quality Tennessee Sour Mash Whiskey, the label read. Alayna
noted the level of liquid when he set the bottle down on the pier. Less than
half full. "Are you drunk?" she asked, peering at him more closely.

He
dragged the back of his wrist across his mouth. "Not yet."

"Are
you
planning
on getting drunk?"

He
turned his head to look at her, and she had to tighten her arms around her
knees to keep from reaching out and smoothing away the deep lines of
dissatisfaction that furrowed his forehead and puckered the corners of his
mouth.

"Maybe."
He lifted the bottle again, but this time he tipped it toward her. "Want
to get drunk with me?"

By
his measuring look, she knew that he was testing her, sure that she would
decline. Just to spite him, she took the bottle, used the skirt of her dress to
prudently wipe its lip clean, then took a dainty sip.

And
choked.

Her
eyes bugged wide, she fanned frantically at her face, her throat burning, her
breath a ball of fire in her lungs.

Jack
took the bottle of whiskey from her before she spilled it, and took a small
sip. "Guess I'll be getting drunk alone," he said wryly. He cocked
his head to look at her as he set the bottle aside, and she saw that one corner
of his mouth was turned up slightly.

Alayna
froze, her hand stopping in midwave, her mouth and eyes still gaped wide. He
was smiling. Well, sort of smiling. And the smile did the most extraordinary
things to his face. It softened his features, robbing him of that disgruntled
look that he wore so well, and it put a gleam in his eyes, the life that had
been missing before.

And
his mouth. Still moist from the whiskey he'd drunk and reddened by the pressure
of the bottle he'd pressed against them, his lips were full and inviting. All
she could think about was pressing her own lips there and sipping at him,
feeling the curve of his smile while absorbing his taste, his flavor, draining
all the sadness and bitterness from inside him.

As
she continued to stare, his smile widened, curving both sides of that sexy
mouth. Then he was leaning toward her, his breath warm on her face. The sharp
scent of whiskey filled her senses. Was he going to kiss her? she wondered, her
heart skipping a beat at the thought. She shifted her gaze to his eyes at the
same moment that his finger touched the bottom of her chin. He gently pushed
up, and her teeth came together with a soft
click.

"Careful,"
he warned, his voice husky. "You might catch a few flies."

"You
smiled," she whispered, her disbelieving gaze locked on his. "I've
never seen you smile before."

He
lifted a shoulder. "Maybe because I haven't had anything to smile
about." He shifted his weight to his hip, angling his body toward hers,
trapping her raised knees in the curve created by his thighs and chest.

But
his gaze never once left her face.

"You've
got the most beautiful eyes," he whispered. He narrowed his own eyes,
focusing on hers. "Blue. The deepest blue I believe I've ever seen. A man
could drown in them."

Drugged
by the huskiness in his voice, the intensity in his gaze, Alayna remained
motionless, her praise-starved soul feeding on his every word.

He
lifted his hand and brushed the tip of a finger almost reverently across her
lower lashes. Her eyelids grew heavy at his touch, too heavy to hold up, while
a delicious shiver chased down her spine. Then his finger was tracing her
cheekbone, as light and teasing as a feather moving over her skin.
"Soft," he murmured, his voice drawing nearer. The ball of his thumb moved
to brush across her lower lip. "And oh, so sweet," he whispered. She
felt his breath on her face, moist, hot, then his lips touched hers. Once.
Twice. A brand searing her flesh.

She
had time to draw in only one ragged breath before his mouth was closing fully
over hers, capturing her lips, taking, feeding. His body forged closer, his
chest a wall of heat and muscle against her arm. Lost to the sensation of his
lips moving on hers, his texture, his taste, she was only vaguely aware of him
shifting again. Then his hand was cupping her neck, the pad of his callused
thumb stroking the long column of her throat. Her lips parted on a moan at the
sensual play of flesh against flesh.

His
thumb moved lower. Lower still. Until it nestled in the valley between her
breasts. Her breath burned in her lungs as she waited for more of his touch,
ached for him to take her fully in his hand.

Slowly
he fanned his fingers, capturing her breast and gently kneading. Desire rose
within her, a giant wave of need that threatened to drown her.

And
she swallowed a moan of utter despair.

She
was no good at this, she told herself. She was, at best, half a woman. Cold.
Sexless. Hadn't her ex-husband told her that often enough? She had all the
parts, technically knew the motions, but lacked the ability to put all those
things together in a way that would pleasure a man. Another shiver shuddered
its way through her—this one fed by panic.

She
couldn't bear failing again. Not when she'd worked so hard to regain her
confidence. Not when she was on the verge of realizing her dreams. She had to
remain strong, in control, so that she could help the children. The two that
were already with her, and those still to come.

On
a sob, she tore her mouth from his, turning her face away. "No.
Please," she begged, strangled by the tears that clogged her throat.
"Don't."

Slowly
Jack withdrew, his blood pumping wildly through his veins, need a deep,
piercing ache in his groin, in his chest. He stared at Alayna's bent head, at
the way she held one shoulder to her ear as if to ward off a blow. The
desperation in her plea slowly registered and ripped a new wound through his
already tattered heart.

No.
Please. Don't.

He
swallowed hard as her words echoed around him. Shame washed through him and he
drew further away. He opened his hand and looked down at his palm, still
feeling the warmth, the softness of her breast. What had come over him? What
had possessed him to make a move like that? He closed his hand into a fist, his
lips thinning. He didn't want to get involved with her. Even less, to hurt her.
She was an angel. A woman who deserved a man who was willing to give her the
children that she wanted so desperately.

"I'm
sorry," he mumbled. "I—" But he couldn't think of an explanation
for his actions—nothing but the truth, which was that he wanted her. Needed
her. He yearned for her softness, her compassion, for just a slice of the joy
and happiness in simply being alive that seemed to radiate from her every
moment of every day.

But
what did he have to give her in return? Nothing. Not one blame thing.

Snatching
up the bottle of whiskey, Jack pushed himself to his feet. He strode down the
pier, the weathered planks pitching beneath his feet as he all but ran from
her. From temptation.

From
himself.

From
the memories that haunted him.

Four

«
^
»

A
voidance.

It
was a method of coping that Alayna had dealt with successfully on both a
personal and a professional level. Her familiarity with this particular
technique had made it easy for her to recognize Jack's use of it. She'd even
hoped to convince him that avoidance resolved nothing, that talking was a much
healthier way of dealing with his problems.

And
now, here she was, contemplating using the avoidance technique herself … and
with Jack, no less.

She
sighed and tucked the bedspread neatly beneath her pillow, then straightened,
her gaze going unerringly to the bedroom window. She caught her bottom lip
between her teeth and worried it as she stared at Jack's cabin nestled beneath
the grove of live oaks in the distance. Early-morning sunlight turned the old
tin roof to pewter beneath the shade of the old oaks.

But
how on earth could she avoid Jack when he worked for her? When his work required
him to be in her home, right beneath her very nose, under her feet?

"Alayna!"

She
jumped guiltily, then turned. "In here, Billy!" she called and headed
for the door. She met both him and Molly in the hall and forced a smile for
them. "All ready for school?" she asked as she knelt to adjust the
ribbons she'd placed in Molly's hair.

Molly
bobbed her head, held out her teddy bear as proof, then quickly tucked it under
her arm again. Smiling, Alayna gave her a hug and a kiss, then stood, turning
to Billy. He eyed her warily. "Did you remember to pack your math
assignment?" she asked him.

He
rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

"Yes,
ma'am," Alayna corrected as she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders
and gave him a turn.

His
shoulders rose and fell with a frustrated sigh beneath her hands. "Yes,
ma'am," he muttered.

Biting
back a smile, Alayna peeked inside his backpack to make sure the assignment was
there, then zipped the cover. Before he could move away from her, she spun him
around and gave him a quick hug and kiss before he could duck free.
"Gotcha," she said, laughing.

Billy
dragged the back of his hand across his cheek. "Gross," he
complained.

"You
love it and you know it," Alayna teased.

Molly
giggled when Billy rolled his eyes again and Alayna shot her a conspiratorial
wink. A horn sounded out front and Alayna hustled the two down the hall and out
the front door. She stood in the doorway and waved to Jaime, Mandy's son, who
waited in the truck out front. "Have a good day," she called to them
as they climbed into the cab.

"Yeah,
right," Billy muttered and slammed the door.

Chuckling
softly, Alayna closed the front door, then sagged back against it with a sigh.
The peaceful silence in the house slowly settled over her.

But
the sense of peace was only temporary. She still had Jack to deal with. The
children's departure for school served as a reminder that he would be arriving
at any moment.

His
attitude toward the children concerned her. Not that he was mean to them, or
anything. He just—well, he simply ignored them. Even at the dinner table each
night, he erected this invisible wall around himself that prevented Billy or
Molly from drawing too close. Not that the wall was necessary, considering the
amount of time Jack spent in their presence. He all but choked down his dinner,
then would excuse himself and hightail it for the cabin as quick as he could.

He
avoided them.

Just
as she wanted to avoid him.

She
sighed again and headed for the kitchen mentally kicking herself for her
cowardice. She knew she couldn't avoid Jack any more than she could avoid
acknowledging her own shortcomings. What had happened on the pier the night
before was her fault, not his. Jack was a man, after all. A full-blooded,
all-American man, and it was only natural that he'd have a man's appetite for
sex.