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HUNGER AWAKENED HER. She opened her eyes and blinked against the dim glow of light from a small lamp set on the nightstand beside her bed. But this wasn’t her bed. She pulled her hand from under the covers and ran her fingers over a star-patterned quilt. Her befuddled gaze traveled around the room, absorbing the unfamiliar furnishings taking shape among the shadows—a pine armoire, a rocking chair near a lace-curtained window, a captain’s trunk at the end of the four-poster bed, her luggage piled near the door, her wedding dress hanging in the far corner. Where was she?
A note, taped to the lampshade, grabbed her attention. She reached for it. You were still asleep at dinnertime, it read. I didn’t want to disturb you. Leftovers in the kitchen. Help yourself. See you in the morning. Zelda.
Zelda?
Puzzled, Jessica stared at the note for a few seconds. She had a vague recollection of an older woman. She’d been so kind. But the man hadn’t been kind at all. She remembered furious copper eyes. He’d thought she was lying.
She bolted upright, blood surging through her veins as her mind recaptured the events of the past twenty-four hours. The wedding. Preston. Amber. The escape. The car breaking down. The unbearable heat. That awful, awful man. Some details remained blurry. Had she really fainted? Oh, Lord, she must have! And that despicable man had witnessed her final humiliation. She’d fallen into his arms like a helpless little girl. He must’ve carried her to this room and put her in bed. Lifting the quilt, she peeked underneath. Her cheeks flamed. She was only wearing her panties and strapless bra. Had he undressed her too? Impossible. Please, let it have been Zelda.
Flinging the quilt aside, she swung her legs out of bed and carefully pushed herself to a standing position on the braided rug that covered a portion of the oak floor. Thankfully, the dizziness and nausea of earlier had subsided. But she was famished; she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten. She’d scarcely touched her food at the rehearsal dinner the night before. Lorna had attributed her daughter’s lack of appetite to wedding nerves, oblivious to Jessica’s very real turmoil.
It all seemed so long ago. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She would find the kitchen and get something to eat.
She went to her luggage and opened the largest case, sorting through the clothing for something to wear. She wished that she’d packed her favorite robe, but the well-worn terry cloth wouldn’t have been suitable for a honeymoon. Her hands caressed the sexy, delicate lingerie, the one thin silk robe that barely reached her knees.
When she’d packed this suitcase two days ago, she’d been thinking of the pleasure this scanty attire would give to Preston. There hadn’t been any lover before him, and he’d patiently agreed to wait until their wedding night before sleeping together. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, she now understood why he hadn’t been too upset when she’d stalled his amorous advances. Apparently, Amber had been taking ample care of his needs.
“I’m not going to think about that now,” Jessica muttered.
She wrapped the silk robe around her waist and firmly knotted the sash. Finding her overnight bag, she dug around for a mirror. “I could look worse,” she mused, studying her reflection in the compact mirror. Either all of the hairpins had fallen out, or someone had removed them, for her dark hair tumbled in loose waves down to her shoulders. Her face was ghostly pale, kiss-proof lipstick too red in contrast. Using a cotton ball doused with make-up remover, she wiped away the lipstick and then the mascara smudges beneath her eyes. Not exactly the wedding night she’d imagined, she thought dourly as she brushed her hair. She’d once dreamed of Preston taking the pins out of her hair and brushing it slowly before carrying her to bed. What a foolish romantic she’d been!
She opened the bedroom door to a darkened upstairs hallway. Somewhere below, she heard the steady, reassuring ticktock of a grandfather clock. Following the path of faint moonlight that sifted through a window at the end of the hall, she came to the top of a staircase that descended to the floor below.
The first stair board creaked under her bare feet, and she paused. She didn’t know what time it was, but she was certain that it was late in the evening. Except for the sound of the clock, the house was quiet and still. She didn’t want to awaken anyone. Especially him. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her in this house. If he found her wandering around, it would probably only increase his suspicion of her.
Her stomach rumbled. She straightened her shoulders and steeled her resolve. Vowing she wouldn’t let that man’s ridiculous assumptions get to her, she walked down the remaining steps, keeping close to the edge where the wood didn’t squeak.
Hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, she peered down a wide hallway that appeared to lead to the back of the house. It seemed logical that the kitchen would be in that direction. The whir and click of a refrigerator drew her towards a swinging door. She pushed it open and halted when she saw how dark the room was on the other side. Flattening her right hand against the wall, she searched for a light switch, finding none. She inched farther into the room, feeling cool tile beneath her feet.
“Grrrr...uff!”
Not again! Her stomach coiled as she remembered the dog and realized that she wasn’t alone in the room. Sure enough, she spied a hulking black shape slowly padding towards her. She took a step backward, expecting to escape through the open door behind her. But something was blocking her exit route—the familiar solidness and warmth of a man’s shirt-clad chest. In front of her stood a ferocious dog, behind her the last person she wanted to see. For an instant, she didn’t know in which direction to turn. Weighing her chances, she made a sudden lunge away from the man, trying to circumnavigate him to reach the door.
“No you don’t,” he said, curling one inflexible arm around her waist. She was drawn backward against his chest and held there firmly. “Back off, Brutus,” he commanded, his voice just above her head, warm, whiskey-scented breath ruffling her hair. Nails clicked on tile as the dog grudgingly retreated.
The man’s hand burned through the thin silk of her robe just above the sash. She held herself still, willing her body not to betray the depth of her instant reaction to his touch. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t fathom these strange sensations that curled her toes and made her skin prickle with sharp awareness. For some insane reason, she wanted to stay where she was, just as much as she wanted to pull free. A tiny gasp escaped her lips. He responded with a sharp, indrawn breath and, for a split second, his fingers spread over the gentle curve of her hip and pressed her body even closer to his.
Abruptly, he released her. The ceiling light flickered on, casting a mellow glow over the blue and white room. He dropped his hand from the wall switch and moved past her. Picking up a bottle of whiskey sitting on the draining board near the sink, he filled a tumbler with the dark amber liquid. Bracing one hip against the counter, he took a long, slow sip, observing her over the rim with an unreadable, penetrating gaze. He was dressed much the same as earlier that day, jeans and a polo shirt, pale blue this time. His feet were bare.
Jessica was at once very aware that she was practically naked beneath her robe. Feeling like a pinned butterfly, she slid her eyes away from him and stared cautiously at the dog, who was studying her with an expression uncannily similar to his master’s. Just a couple of steps to the door, and she’d be safe. She started to move.
“Don’t leave.”
She kept moving.
“Brutus isn’t going to hurt you,” he admonished, setting his glass down and striding across the room. He clasped her elbow. “I’ll show you.”
Realizing his intent, she dug her heels into the floor. “No. Don’t.”
“Trust me.”
She glowered at him, belligerent. “Why should I?”
A ghost of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, but he refused to argue with her as he gently but firmly drew her towards the dog. The animal wagged his tail in a cautious circle and gazed up at her with soulful, chocolate eyes.
Standing beside her, the man slid his hand down to her wrist. She shivered, involuntarily clenching her hand into a fist. He leaned into her, guiding her forward to present her fist for the dog to sniff. When the dog gave a friendly shake of his tail, the man wrapped his hands over Jessica’s, gradually prying her fingers loose, shaping and turning her hand until it was held flat, palm down. Then, he brought her hand to the dog’s shaggy head and held it there. She froze.
“Easy, now,” the man soothed in his whiskey-soft voice, and her thoughts wandered back to the first time she’d watched her father assist a restless mare with a newborn foal. He’d spoken in much the same way as he calmed the new mother. Jessica had been five years old, peeking behind the foreman’s legs with wide, curious eyes. How odd. She hadn’t recalled that memory in years.
“See?” the man said. “Brutus is wagging his tail. He’s all bark. Rub his belly and he’ll be your devoted slave for life.”
She wasn’t ready to venture quite that far yet, but she kept her hand on the dog’s head, and watched the man’s large, warm hand moving over hers, guiding and encouraging her to feel the softness of the animal’s ears.
“Are you afraid of all dogs?” he asked. “Or just this one?”
“I’ve always been afraid of dogs,” she answered reluctantly.
“Why?”
“I was attacked by a wild dog when I was seven. My father told me to stand still, not to run. But I panicked and ran anyway, and the dog bit my leg. I had to get over a dozen stitches.” Her fingers sifted through the dog’s soft coat, her thoughts dwelling on that hot Texas day. It had seemed from that frightening moment onwards that everything in her life had started to go bad. Her voice was distant. “He shot the dog.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Where did this happen?”
She was silent for several moments. She dreaded reliving her childhood years. Not because those years had been terrible. Rather, they had been the happiest times of her life. This was the second instance in a matter of minutes that she’d thought of her father. She didn’t like it. It was best to keep the pain secreted deep in her heart where she could pretend it didn’t exist. “Does it matter?” she said eventually. “It was a long time ago.”
“And you haven’t been near a dog since, I take it. Until today.” He released her hand and stood back.
Jessica observed the dog watching her, his tail circling at a furious pace. He did look completely harmless with his tongue lolling, seeming to grin at her. Testing her courage, she petted him for a few seconds longer before standing upright.
The man had returned to his stance by the counter. She glanced at him, catching guardedness in his expression, a strange watchfulness that he rapidly concealed. Something deep inside of her tightened in response. Disturbed, she angled towards the door. “Well, I guess I’d better go back upstairs.”
“What did you come down here for?”
“I was hungry. And thirsty.”
His voice was tinged with faint mockery. “And you’re not anymore?”
She looked away from him to the half-empty whiskey bottle. “I’m fine. I don’t want to bother you.”
“Oh, I think you’ve already managed to do that today,” was his silky rejoinder. “Sit down. I’ll fix you something to eat.”
“No,” she replied suspiciously. “That’s okay.”
“Sit down. Brutus won’t bite you and neither will I.”
Her look spoke volumes. “Your bark has done enough damage today.”
“If you’re expecting an apology for what happened this afternoon, forget it.”
“I don’t expect anything from you,” she retorted, her nerves rankled. “I don’t even know you. I don’t want to know you.”
He shrugged. “You’re not the type of person I care to know either. But you’re here in my grandmother’s house, against my wishes, and I want some answers. Brutus, stand by the door.”
The dog brushed against Jessica’s legs as he ambled past her to the door. He sagged down in front of it with a beleaguered sigh she would’ve found comical if she hadn’t been so incensed. She should’ve stayed in bed. Her eyes shot daggers at the man who was still leaning nonchalantly against the counter. “You are such a...a...jerk!”
He winced. “Ouch. That hurts.” He reached for the whiskey bottle. “Would you like a drink? No? You’re right. Probably not a good idea to drink alcohol on an empty stomach. Tea then.” He opened a cupboard above the stove. “Orange spice or chamomile? No. I don’t want you falling asleep on me. I’ve been waiting here on the hunch that you might come down. Orange spice it is.” He glanced at her over his shoulder while he filled a teakettle at the sink. “Sit down. Get cozy. I’ll have tea ready in a second.”
Jessica’s lips were so tightly compressed her front teeth started to ache. She wanted to stomp her feet. Scream at him. But recalling her experience earlier that day, she knew such childish behavior wouldn’t have an ounce of effect on this obstinate man. Seeing no immediate way out of her current circumstances, she grudgingly made her way to the oak table in the middle of the room and pulled out a chair. She sat down carefully, tugging at the hem of her robe in a useless attempt to cover her bare knees. “I like milk in my tea,” she said sulkily, watching him set out a cup and saucer.
“No problem.” He retrieved a glass jar from the fridge and set it on the table. “Fresh from Lancaster Dairy next door. Any other requests?”
Wanting to rile him, she adopted the snobbish, saccharine upper class intonations of her mother and stepsister. “I don’t suppose you could make a sandwich.”
He arched one eyebrow. “Oh, no. I usually have servants who do that for me.”
She scowled.
“Bet they didn’t teach you that in charm school.” He went to a cupboard. “You have three choices here. Peanut butter. Peanut butter. And, ah, my favorite, peanut butter. Gram doesn’t go grocery shopping until Tuesday.”
“Are there any tomatoes?”
“You want a tomato sandwich?”
“No. I want tomato slices on the peanut butter. And a little dab of mayonnaise on top.”
He looked genuinely appalled. “Peanut butter and tomatoes?”
She tilted her nose in the air. “That’s right. On rye bread. I don’t suppose you have any.”
He checked the bread bin. “Just whole wheat.”
“I suppose that will have to do.”
“It’ll do fine. My grandmother baked it this morning.”
“Toast it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want the bread lightly toasted so the peanut butter will melt a little. And the tomatoes must be very thinly sliced.”
He pulled a knife and spoon from the utensil drawer and banged the drawer shut with one hip. His eyes glinted, but she couldn’t tell if it was with irritation or reluctant amusement. “Maybe you’d like to make this yourself. Or do you even know how?”
She gave a scoffing laugh. “Not to spoil whatever little fantasy you obviously have about my lifestyle, but I live alone and manage to take care of myself quite nicely.”
Presenting his back to her, he dropped two slices of bread in the toaster. “Yes, I could take care of myself ‘quite nicely’ too in a penthouse suite with a maid, doorman and a chauffeured limo at my beck and call. I bet you don’t dine in too often.”
Jessica was flabbergasted at how jarringly close he was to the truth. She actually felt guilty. Preposterous! Was it her fault that her stepfather doted on her? “I don’t have a maid. My stepfather offered one, but... How is it that you presume to know so much about me?”
She waited for an answer with mounting impatience while he poured steaming water into a teacup and brought it to the table. Then he retrieved the toasted bread and proceeded to spread the peanut butter in a thin layer. Eventually, he said, “I know more about you than you think.”
Her ire rising yet again, she slapped her palm on the tabletop. “You pried through my luggage, didn’t you? Went through my purse like a common thief!”
“Settle down,” he said, unperturbed. “I didn’t go through your things.”
“Then how?”
He started to slice a tomato. “Hearing your name was enough.” He held a tomato slice on the blade of the knife for her inspection. “Is this thin enough for you? Yes? Good.” He continued to methodically slice the tomato before saying, “Have you ever heard of six degrees of separation?”
“Pardon?”
“The theory that each of us, everyone on this planet, is separated from one another by no more than six people. Say, for example, that I have a friend who had a friend who is the brother of the governor of Florida. Or say you played in the kindergarten sandbox with the future wife of the Ambassador to China. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I’m not dense,” she said, an acid tinge in her voice. “I’ve heard that theory before.”
He placed the finished sandwich and a napkin before her and sat down across from her, straddling the chair backwards, sinewy forearms resting on the slatted back. “Did you want me to cut that in half? No? Good.” He took a sip of whiskey under her impatient gaze. “So, Jessica Lind-Mallory, the stepdaughter of Senator Blake Mallory, who is the natural father of Amber Mallory, who is a close personal friend of Angelica Wade, tell me again that what happened today was just a coincidence, and not a cruel joke that backfired.”
She shook her head, forehead knitted in total bafflement. “Who’s Angelica Wade?”
Whiskey sloshed out of the tumbler as he set it on the table with barely constrained force. “You’re still determined to play innocent.”
“I’m not playing anything!”
He said nothing, his eyes trained on hers. She felt like she was standing in judgment for a crime she hadn’t committed. He’d had her tried and convicted without ever giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“This is ridiculous,” she fumed. “But, just to humor you, let’s say that I am playing some trick on you. That would mean I purposely drove a car I’ve never driven before today, and purposely broke down on a deserted road, then purposely climbed through barbed wire fences and weeds—in a wedding dress!—on the hottest day of the year, and purposely fainted, something I have NEVER done in my entire life. Oh, yes, it all makes perfect sense to me! Of course, don’t bother asking me why I did these things.”
“Why did you?” he asked unsympathetically.
She threw her gaze to the ceiling, momentarily lost for words. “Don’t you pay any attention to the news?” she finally asked, looking at him askance.
“Not recently, not the social and entertainment news anyway, which I’m guessing you’re referring to. You could say that I’m on a sabbatical from the rest of the world right now.”
His baffling answer stirred her curiosity, even as she gave an inelegant snort. “Well, that’s obvious! I’m surprised you haven’t called my stepfather to let him know that I’m here. He probably already has a reward posted and his security team scouring the state.”
“Why? Did you steal the car?”
“Ha! I wouldn’t have set foot in that stupid car if it didn’t happen to be so convenient.”
He seemed surprised. “Then it doesn’t belong to you?”
“No. It’s Preston’s car.”
It was his turn to snort. “Preston?”
Even though he’d betrayed her, she still felt compelled to defend her ex-fiancé’s name. “Preston Thornton. The man I was going to marry today.”
He rested his chin on clasped hands. “Ah. The alibi. Does he know you have the car?”
Jessica rolled her eyes, refusing to respond.
“Is he in on the joke too?”
Was he being intentionally obtuse just to vex her? No one had ever been able to ruffle her feathers so quickly and easily. He seemed to be taking inordinate pleasure in doing so.
She leaned across the table, staring directly into his impenetrable eyes. “Listen to me.” She spoke slowly and succinctly, as if dealing with a fractious child. “I’m only going to say this once more. There is no joke. No one sent me here. I did this on my own. Me, myself and I. The decision to leave Preston was mine alone. And I’m glad of it...”
Her voice hit a snag as she remembered her mother’s reflection in the mirror that morning as Lorna had fussed with the veil. She’d wanted Lorna to look at her, not at the veil. Wanted her mother to see the desperation and hurt in her daughter’s eyes. Wanted her to ask what was wrong. But Lorna had rambled on and on about what a handsome couple Preston and Jessica made, how successful he was becoming in his political career. Why, he could be president one day! Jessica had wanted to scream at Lorna, to tell her that Preston wasn’t so perfect. But, somehow, she’d felt ashamed, knowing that she was about to make a decision that would be the downfall of all of Lorna’s high expectations of her. Even though it was Preston’s unfaithfulness that had set the wheels in motion, Jessica had felt as if she were the one at fault. She’d never let her mother down before.
She was unaware that her face was an open book to the man sitting across from her. All her self-doubt and anxiety was written clearly upon her expressive features. He observed her keenly behind a veneer of austerity. All at once, he wanted to believe her story. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to reject it. Because if she was telling the truth that would open a scenario he was unwilling to explore, tempted though he might be.
Water dripped from the sink faucet in a staccato beat. Brutus twitched his legs as he chased squirrels in his dreams. As if awakening from her own dream, Jessica lifted her eyes to the man sitting across from her, catching an odd expression on his face before he could hide it. They gazed at each other for a quiet time, each unable to look away.
“Eat your sandwich,” he said at last, sounding gruff.
“I’m not hungry,” came her hushed reply.
“You said you were.”
“Well, I’m not anymore.”
“If you don’t eat it now, you’ll eat it for breakfast. We don’t let food go to waste around here.” He flashed a brief smile. “Besides, I want to see you eat it. I’ve never met anyone with such bizarre taste.”
She picked up the sandwich and took a defiant bite. Suddenly ravenous, she took another bite, then another, while the man watched her with cautious fascination. She swallowed the last bite and then took a sip of tea, meeting his eyes over the rim of the cup. Setting the cup down a little too forcefully, she leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, so I was hungry after all.”
He chuckled. The sound of his laughter, coming from deep in his chest, sent a brief, oddly pleasurable shiver up her spine. “What’s so funny?”
“You have mayonnaise on your chin.” He laughed again as she hastily wiped it off. “Now, if I were such a jerk, I wouldn’t have told you that.”
She thought it best to ignore that remark. “Did I get it all?”
He pointed to his own mouth. “There’s a bread crumb on the corner of your lip.”
Her tongue darted out to find the errant crumb. Too late, she realized what a provocative gesture it was. His gaze latched hotly onto her mouth. Her cheeks flushed. “Uh, thank you. That was a good sandwich. Almost as good as I could’ve made.”
His eyelids drooped, masking his expression. He sat up straight in his chair. “All right,” he said, sounding annoyed, not with her, it seemed, but with himself. “Let’s get back to this Preston person.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
He ignored her. “Let’s see if I’ve got the gist of your tale so far. You were going to get married today to some guy with the unfortunate name of Preston who likes to drive expensive foreign cars. But you decided not to marry him after all, took his car and ran away. Then the car broke down.”
“That’s right. And here I am.”
“And here you are.” He considered her while she finished her tea. “What did he do?” he asked finally.
She pretended to misunderstand. “He’s a political consultant currently working on my stepfather’s re-election campaign.”
He shot her an irritated look. “I meant, what did he do to make you jilt him?”
Sensing another storm brewing, she sat up in her chair. “That’s between him and me.”
“There’s only one reason why a girl like you breaks off an engagement,” he stated callously.
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Obviously, his wallet wasn’t fat enough to suit your champagne budget. A spoiled princess like you needs to live in the lap of luxury. You decided that he wasn’t going to move up that corporate or political ladder as fast as you wanted him to. His ambitions just didn’t fit in with your lifestyle, did they.” His eyes sparked with accusations.
Was this Preston they were talking about? Or someone else? The bitterness in his tone puzzled her; his outrageous allegations infuriated her. “Stop right there! I wasn’t marrying Preston for his money or status. That’s never been important to me. I loved him.” She scraped her chair away from the table. “Why am I bothering to explain myself to you? It’s truly none of your business.”
“I disagree.”
“Why? Just because these weird circumstances have thrown us together doesn’t mean you have the right to badger me. Why does my story matter to you so much anyway?” She took a swift breath, realization suddenly dawning. “Oh, I get it. This Angelica person dumped you, didn’t she? You were going to marry her, and she broke it off for all the reasons you’re accusing me of.” Catching his grimace before he could hide it, she said resentfully, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“It would seem that you know her better than I do,” he goaded. “You tell me.”
“I don’t associate with my stepsister’s friends. Amber and I rarely spend time together. She’s four years older than me, and as similar to me as oil to vinegar. If this Angelica is anything like Amber, trust me, you’re much better off without her.”
Tense silence filled the room as he studied her. She thought she saw a gleam of respect in his eyes when he finally said, “You’re good.”
“Pardon?”
“You and your cohorts planned out a plausible story, but I still don’t buy it.”
Her chair toppled over with a clatter as she rose swiftly from the table. “You’re crazy! I’ve had enough of this inquisition. All you need to do is search online to know I’m telling the truth. My wedding day was hyped as the San Francisco social event of the year. Jessica Lind-Mallory and Preston Thornton the Third. The senator’s stepdaughter and the promising future politician.” Her voice went up an octave. “All the media were there today. I was lucky to make it this far without anyone following me. All I wanted was to find a quiet place where I could have some peace while I sorted things out. Instead, I end up in the middle of nowhere with a...a brute and a bully! I don’t know you. I don’t know this Angelica person. I don’t care what your problems are, and...how dare you impose them on me!”
He remained in his chair, ostensibly unruffled by her tirade as he took another sip of his drink. “Stop shouting,” he said. “You’ll wake my grandmother.”
“Oh!” she seethed, full to bursting but unable to think of anything further to say. She gave him one last scathing look before pivoting away and stalking to the door. “Tell your stupid dog to move.”
Whiskey bottle clinked against glass. “He isn’t stupid. Tell him yourself, brat.”
Hands on her hips, she glowered at the dog. “Get out of my way!”
Brutus grinned up at her and wagged his tail.
Jessica’s fury proved greater than her fear. She stepped over the dog and pushed through the door, stumbling over the threshold in her haste.
She thought she heard the man laughing as she found her way up the stairs.
***
THE KITCHEN WAS EMPTY when Jessica came downstairs early the next morning. A screen door at the end of the room opened onto a pretty, vine-trellised brick patio. Two steps led down into a garden divided by a lush green stretch of lawn, vegetables on one side, an abundance of flowers on the other. She heard a cheerful “yoo-hoo!” as Zelda came around the far corner of the garden, a basket tucked under her arm. Jessica went to greet her.
“Good morning,” Zelda said.
Jessica’s reply was slightly reserved. After the commotion she’d caused yesterday, she felt a little shy and uncomfortable.
Scanning her up and down, the older woman gave a satisfied nod. “You look rested. How do you feel?”
“Fine. My headache’s gone. Thank you again for your hospitality.”
“Think nothing of it.” Zelda set the basket on the patio step and held out her hand. “I don’t know if you caught my name yesterday. I’m Zelda McAllister. And that rude young man is Ethan. My grandson.”
Ethan.
Her mind had been too foggy to catch his name yesterday. Funny, she hadn’t thought much about it until now. He’d just been that man. Maybe she’d wanted to keep it that way; now that she knew his name he suddenly became more real. In the warm morning sunlight, everything that had transpired over the last twenty-four hours had suddenly become very real.
She took Zelda’s outstretched hand. “I’m Jessica Lind-Mallory, and I’ve never fainted in my life. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“Nonsense. You just had too much sun. It can happen to anyone. I told Doctor Richards your symptoms over the phone, and he said you’d be fine as long as you drink plenty of liquids and take it easy for another day or so.” She glanced up at the sky. “Thank goodness the fog came in last night. It’s a little cooler today. Come inside. I was about to make breakfast. Do you like waffles?”
“Please don’t go to any trouble.”
“But it’s no trouble at all,” Zelda assured her, retrieving the basket. “I always make a special breakfast on Sundays. Look at these strawberries from the garden. Aren’t they gorgeous? We’ll slice them up, and I’ll make some whipped cream. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it?” She hooked her free arm through Jessica’s. “I’m suddenly ravenous. Let’s hurry!”
Jessica laughed. “What can I do to help?”
“Follow me.”
Zelda was pure delight. Such a contrast to her brutish grandson. Her genuine manner immediately put Jessica at ease. While she washed and sliced the strawberries, she listened to Zelda’s bright chatter, admiring her brisk efficiency. She wondered how old the woman was and asked before thinking. Zelda smiled proudly. “I’m seventy-two. But, most of the time, I feel like forty. That was a good year, forty. My husband and I went to Europe for the first time. My two sons were in college by then.”
“You have just two children?”
“Yes. Drew and Sean. They both married right out of college to the sweetest girls. Altogether, they’ve given me four grandchildren. Ethan is the oldest. He’s thirty. Then, there’s his sister, Annie. It’s her old room you’re occupying. She’s been in New York for the last few years.”
“What does she do?”
“She works in an art gallery.” There was a trace of disquiet in Zelda’s voice. She paused for a moment before continuing in a lighter tone. “Next is Nate. Those three belong to Drew and his wife, Ruth. My youngest son Sean and his wife have a daughter. Gracie. She’s getting married next year to Matt Lancaster. He and his father and older brother, Jake, live on the dairy ranch next door.”
Jessica’s curiosity wasn’t pretense; she truly wanted to know about Zelda’s family. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have much of a family herself. “Other than Annie, do they all live in this area?”
“Well, Ethan’s staying here for a while. Nate’s in the final year of his residency at UCSF. Drew and Ruth are in San Diego. Sean and Jean—that’s his wife—live in Arizona. As does Gracie for now. All of my grandchildren spent most of their summers here when they were growing up.” She switched on the hand mixer, her voice rising above the sound. “Ethan was living in San Francisco until just recently. My husband, Andrew, passed away last August, and my oldest grandson decided to keep me company for a few months.”
Jessica paused in her task. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
Zelda switched off the mixer. “Andrew had a good life. He’d just turned eighty-five three days before he died. Everyone was here for the birthday, and they ended up staying for the funeral. He had a wonderful sendoff. It seemed like all of King’s Valley came to the funeral.” As she spoke, she poured batter onto the waffle iron. “Why don’t you set the table? You’ll find place mats and silverware in the top drawer of the hutch over there.”
“Will your grandson be eating with us?” Jessica asked as she opened the drawer.
“Ethan had his breakfast early. He’s like his grandfather. Doesn’t like to waste a minute of the day. I think he was going to work on your car. He couldn’t find a mechanic shop open yesterday, and there won’t be any open today either. Tomorrow being a holiday, I doubt we’ll find anything until Tuesday.”
Jessica’s hopes sank. She was intent on leaving today. After their conversation last night, she didn’t want to see Ethan again. She felt certain that he didn’t want to see her either. “I’m sorry to be such a pest, but would you mind taking me to a motel in town today?”
“There you go again. Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault that fancy car broke down. And I have plenty of room here, Jessica. I enjoy the company. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
“But your grandson—”
“This is my house, not Ethan’s. Now, please sit down. Your waffle’s ready.”
Jessica sat, and Zelda handed her a plate. Catching the older woman studying her with a troubled expression, she smiled brightly. “Was your husband a farmer?”
Zelda laughed. “Lord, no. That was one of my father’s greatest disappointments.” She turned to the counter to pour more batter on the waffle iron. Her tone was sweet with reminiscence. “I was an only child. My father owned the largest piece of land in this area. Half of it was orchards, and the other half dairy. One day, Andrew came to visit a friend who worked summers in the apple orchard. I was perched in an apple tree. I remember looking through the leaves at him and thinking: that’s the man I’m going to marry. I was sixteen, and my father could never say no to me, even though he didn’t think too highly of Andrew’s profession.”
“What profession was that?”
“Andrew was a lawyer. My father had had some bad dealings with lawyers and thought they all belonged at the bottom of San Francisco Bay. But Andrew wasn’t a big city lawyer, mind you. He had a small office in town. Would you like some orange juice?” At Jessica’s nod, Zelda filled both of their glasses and continued with her story. “He went to that office every day until the day he died. He specialized in family law and was as honest as the sky is blue. Some say he was generous to a fault, often supplying his services for free to the immigrant families who provide most of the farm labor in this region.”
Jessica thought of her encounter with Ethan last night and the feeling of being on a witness stand. “Did either of your sons follow in his footsteps?”
“My sons, no. But Ethan did. He worked for a firm in San Francisco. Garner and Wade. Corporate law or some such thing.”
And Jessica had called him a country hick! She almost choked on a mouthful of strawberries.
“How’s the waffle?” Zelda asked, coming to the table with her own plate and sitting down.
“Delicious,” Jessica replied with genuine praise. “This is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
The older woman beamed. “I love to cook, but breakfast is my specialty. Would you like some more whipped cream?”
“Yes, please.”
“You know, I’m going to let you in on a little secret not too many people know about yet.” There was a twinkle in Zelda’s eyes as she leaned confidentially across the table. “I’m going to convert this house into a bed and breakfast. What do you think about that?”
“What a marvelous idea,” Jessica said with real enthusiasm. “That’s what I wanted to do for my honeymoon, stay at bed and breakfast places along the coast, but Preston—my, uh, the man I was going to marry—wanted to go to Paris. I was on my way to Bodega Bay yesterday. I was hoping to stay at a B and B I’d read about. I love that kind of atmosphere.”
“Oh, so do I,” Zelda agreed, all smiles. “I got the notion when my dearest friends, Bertha and Josephine Wakefield, took me on a trip to the Gold Country shortly after Andrew died. We stayed at a bed and breakfast managed by a married couple in their late sixties. I thought, why, I could do that! I’ve got at least ten good years left, and why not do something I love to help fill the time. I’m always happiest when my family is here, and the house is full.” Her voice softened. “It’s been so empty since Andrew died. Ethan’s been busy helping in the orchards. I hardly see him. I’m lonely. I need people around me. Now I hope you understand why I don’t mind having you stay here. I enjoy extending hospitality to people, making sure they’re happy and well-fed.”
Impulsively, Jessica reached across the table and covered the older woman’s hand with her own. “I think it’s a splendid idea. You would be perfect at it. I’d like to be one of the first guests when you open.”
Zelda gave a gleeful laugh. “You already are in a way. I have the permits. There’s a little remodeling and redecorating that needs to be done. I was planning on having an interior designer come in and give me some pointers.”
“Oh, how odd.” The coincidence was too much. All at once, Jessica had a peculiar sensation, as though she were opening a door to a room that was familiar and strange at the same time.
“Is something wrong?”
Jessica shook her head. “No... It’s just that I’m a few courses shy from being a certified interior designer. I took the classes for fun, mostly, because I’ve always enjoyed dressing a room. My mother and I lived in so many places before she met my stepfather. I guess I never had a sense of permanence. I longed for a place of my own that I could decorate the way I wanted. Preston and I were planning to buy a house in Atherton. I was looking forward to decorating it.”
The older woman smiled, turning her hand over to clasp Jessica’s. “Well now, you turning up here just gets better and better. I’ll show you around the place—”
The screen door opened with a screak, announcing Ethan’s entrance from the garden. He shot a brief glance towards the two women holding hands across the table before striding to the sink to wash his hands. His tee shirt was covered with dirt and grease smudges.
Zelda released Jessica’s hand. “Well, Ethan? What have you found out?”
He wiped his hands on a paper towel, and then tossed it in the trash, frustration in his every gesture. “I can’t be positive, but I think it’s the water pump.” He looked at Jessica. “Did you notice the temperature gauge moving into the red zone just before the car broke down?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“So, the car isn’t drivable,” Zelda said, sounding decidedly pleased.
Ethan glowered at his grandmother’s cheerful expression. “No.” Disgust was etched plainly on his features. “I’ll check around for a mechanic tomorrow. I don’t have any more time to work on it today. I was supposed to be at Manuel’s an hour ago.” He glanced at the oven clock. “Maybe you can take her into town, Gram?”
“Jessica is staying here another day. As my guest.”
He looked from his grandmother to Jessica, his eyes grim. “Now, Grandma—”
“My mind is made up. The only place I’m driving to this morning is church. You can take Jessica with you to Manuel’s.” She turned to Jessica. “Manuel Gonzales is our foreman. He’s building a new fence on his property today. Ethan’s going to help. There’ll be a picnic.”
Ethan’s displeasure at this turn of events was unmistakable. “Gram, it’s going to be hot and grimy work. I’m sure she won’t be comfortable.”
His grandmother shooed his objections aside with a flick of her wrist. “Rita will take care of her. I was invited to come, but I’m visiting Bertha and Jo after church. Jessica will have to take my place. She can help Rita with the lunch. I made a potato salad.”
Unable to reason with his grandmother, Ethan directed his dissatisfaction towards Jessica, his eyes clearly demanding that she reject Zelda’s invitation. “Do you really want to spend your day on a ranch? This isn’t a ladies’ high tea I’m going to.”
Later, she would truly wonder what prompted her reply. Only minutes before, she’d wanted to leave, to avoid any further, unnecessary confrontation with this annoying man. Yet how could she refuse such a small request from Zelda after that woman had been so kind to her? Such sincere warmth and generosity, so freely given, and completely unselfish, was a rarity in Jessica’s life; she was thirsty for more. She would stay one more day, for Zelda. Besides, she couldn’t let Ethan have the last word. He’d said some rotten things to her last night. Maybe there’d be an opportunity today to set him straight, once and for all. She knew he’d be upset if she agreed to Zelda’s plan, but he deserved to feel more than a little discomfort after the way he’d harassed her yesterday. Her mind made up, Jessica threw him a sugary smile and said, “I haven’t been to a picnic in ages. I’d love to go.”