5

 

After dropping Allie at school, Misty headed to the post office and then the grocery store. She was out of coffee, and that was simply unacceptable. Already, her head throbbed from caffeine deprivation. Maybe she should swing by Anderson’s Coffee Shop for a to-go cup and grab one of their delicious cinnamon-apple muffins, too.

Her belly growled with longing, but a quick glance at the clock on the dash told her daylight was burning—and fast. Allie had a short school day due to teacher meetings, and she had to be picked up again in just a few hours. Misty should be elbow-deep into the Web-design project by now, downloading photos and tying up loose ends. The meeting with Spence Tucker loomed. She sighed and tapped the gas…there was certainly no time to waste on indulgences today.

She headed south, away from town. The sky was angry with the threat of rain, and if she hurried, she’d beat the storm. So much for mowing the lawn later that afternoon—those plans were dashed. Oh, well…one more day, half-an-inch more growth, wouldn’t hurt. The rain made it a good day for inside work—computer work. Besides, she’d be glad to put this job to bed, move on to something new. She had a few solid leads.

Misty followed the two-lane road a few miles before turning right onto Maplewood and then taking a quick left onto Connor Court. After a pause at the four-way stop sign, she continued down to the end of the quiet road where her house stood at the top of the cul-de-sac. It was a small house, but Misty was excited by its potential. The yard backed up to a pasture, and word was the owner had no intentions of selling the land anytime soon. That meant a lot of open space for Allie and a great view of the Smoky Mountains from the back deck.

Misty frowned as she approached the end of the cul-de-sac. An unfamiliar black sedan, not there when she’d left earlier, was parked near the foot of the drive. Were the neighbors having morning company, or was the car owned by another annoying door-to-door salesman who scoured the street, looking for a way around the sagging economy?

Misty noticed a rental tag on the rear bumper. Her senses piqued, she switched off the radio and avoided scraping the interloping car by mere inches as she swung into her drive. Coasting to the shelter of a trio of mature Bradford Pears that had come into full bloom, she killed the engine. Grabbing the pound of coffee beans she’d snagged at the grocery and slinging her purse over one shoulder, she slipped from the car as thunder rolled in the distance.

She made it two steps before he advanced from the shadows and the deep rumble of a voice startled her.

“Where is she, Misty? Where’s my daughter?”

 

****

 

“Jack…” Misty’s voice whispered over the growing breeze as coffee beans exploded across the concrete drive like shotgun pellets. Jack sidestepped the shrapnel, grabbing Misty as she began a swan-dive to the pavement.

“Hey, there…” He gathered her against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of peach-vanilla that mingled with the sweet promise of impending rain. Her face went ashen against the dark contrast of her hair, startling his pulse into a sprint. “Breathe, Misty.”

She sputtered and gasped, and Jack watched her summer-blue eyes roll back. He gave her a stiff shake as a lump of fear lodged in his throat. “Misty, you have to breathe.”

“Jack…” She croaked as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.

“That’s right.” He drew a sigh of relief and smoothed dark hair from her smooth cheek. The locks were longer—and sleeker—than he remembered. “Relax. I’ve got you.” In an instant, the years melted away and Jack felt as if he’d never left her side.

But he had left…no denying it.

“Let go of me.” Misty’s eyes widened as her gaze locked with his. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and with one, quick move her fist slammed into his chest.

“No.” Though the force of her blow chased the breath from him, he held tight. “You’re going to fall.”

“I don’t care.” She lashed out at him once more before breaking his hold. She staggered backward, her hands grasping the air until she found her bearings. “Oh…oh my…I’m dreaming.” Her head wagged side-to-side, her eyes two shimmering stones set against a stark, white canvass. “I have to be dreaming.”

“If you are, then I am, too.” Jack widened his stance and stood at the ready, just in case she decided to go for the face-plant again.

“No…impossible.” She continued to shuffle back, putting a healthy distance between them. “It’s more like a nightmare.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Jack crossed his arms, wincing.

“Good.” Misty pinched her thigh, grimaced from the sting. “Nope, I’m awake and this is a nightmare.” She cocked her head, took one more look at him, and fell to her knees to scoop up what was left of the coffee beans. Her voice wavered in the growing breeze. “What do you want, Jack?”

He took a step toward her. “I want Allie…my daughter.”

“No.” Misty dropped the beans again as if they were burning embers. She collapsed into a ball, her head lolling into her hands. A high-pitched shriek filled the air, battling waves of thunder, and it took Jack a moment to realize the squeal was coming from Misty—she was wailing.

“Hey, don’t do that.” He quickly closed the distance between them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Misty, please…”

“Please what?” Her voice was rapid-fire. She shrugged him off. When she glanced up, her blue eyes smoldered and tears streaked her cheeks. “Go away, Jack.”

“No.” He stood over her as a crack of thunder rocked the ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to.” Lightning danced like flickers of static over a live wire as she stood to face him. Though tears dripped from her chin, her voice held steady as she repeated, “You have to go, Jack.”

“No, I don’t.”

“In that case…” Her chin lifted and her mouth curled into the defiant little pout Jack remembered. Good, they were getting somewhere now. “I guess I’ll call the police.”

Oops, not the direction he was aiming for.

“And tell them what—that I want to see my daughter?” He paused for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Though Misty’s words had wounded, his pride refused to show it. “You know, maybe that’s a good idea. We could straighten this mess out a lot faster.”

“You made this mess, Jack.” Misty’s lips turned down, and she swiped tears from her cheeks. “You.”

“If that’s the case,” he held his voice low, level, and clenched his hands in an effort to control his temper, “Then I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it.”

“Why now?”

“Misty—” Jack took a step toward her, grimaced when she backed away in a counter-measure. “I wish you’d quit doing that.”

“I wish a lot of things, too.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“You expected me to?”

“I expected…” What, exactly, had he expected? He turned away to pace the width of the drive, slapping the thighs of his jeans. This was all wrong—everything was wrong, like a slow-motion replay of the days leading up to his previous departure. He sure didn’t want to play that scene again.

Dear God, make it right…guide me to make it right…

Turning back, he took two giant steps toward Misty, closing the gap before she could react. He reached for her hands, grasping her smooth, delicate fingers in his. “I’m not here to hurt you—or Allie.”

“It’s too late for that.” Though she didn’t pull away, sobs came with a vengeance, making Misty’s entire body quake. “Just go, Jack.”

“I can’t….I don’t want to.” The realization hit him like a rockslide. He drew her into his arms, sheltering her as the sky opened up and rain began to splatter them, the drops matching the cadence of her tears. “I want to make things right with you, and I need to see my daughter.”

 

****

 

Misty’s head threatened to explode.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

The words grew to a chant that matched the throbbing at her temples. As her vision clouded over, she disentangled herself from Jack’s arms and gathered the nearly-empty bag of coffee beans.

His scent clung to her—spearmint gum and soap and a hint of rich earth that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Somehow, Misty managed to unfold herself and find her footing. Heart skittering, she staggered blindly toward the stairs and used the railing as a lifeline while she scaled to the porch.

“Misty…” Jack’s voice was a far-off echo. “Wait.”

“It’s raining.” Drops fell in huge, sloppy plops, like bullets from the sky. The wind kicked up, whipping her damp hair in a wild, dark wave. “I have to go inside.”

“We need to talk.”

“You should get out of the storm, too.” She nodded slightly, though the effort cost her, and heard the slap of his boots over concrete as he followed.

They snaked through the living room and into the kitchen, where Misty collapsed into a chair at the table. Her laptop sat open and a flurry of notes and color-coded file folders scattered the table.

“Coffee…please,” she managed. “Or there’s a good chance this headache is going to kill me.”

Jack crossed to the sink; water ran and splashed into the carafe and then the coffeemaker reservoir before the nearly-empty bag of beans was jostled from Misty’s hands.

“Where’s the grinder?”

Misty lifted a finger, pointed blindly.

“OK, then.” The machine whirred as it crushed the beans, and Misty felt her heart crushing, too.

How can this be? How can—

As Jack searched for mugs, cabinet doors slammed and the explosion in Misty’s head lifted her from the seat. She groaned.

“Stop that.” The words were little more than a grunt. “My head…” She lowered it into her hands, massaged her temples.

“Creamer?”

“Fridge.” Somehow, her lips formed the words. Her vision was slowly, painfully, returning. “Top shelf, back right corner.”

“Sugar?” Jack two-stepped around the kitchen, his bulk filling the space. Working with tools—heavy equipment—had been good to him. The muscles that strained beneath a snug black T-shirt were proof. And he had a beard now…more like a scruff that gave him a rugged, almost dangerous edge. Misty gave herself a mental slap for noticing as he paused in his search and turned to her. “Misty, do you have any sugar or that fancy stuff in tiny little pink packets?”

“Next to the toaster.”

“Spoons?”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Jack.” She lifted her head slightly, scowled. “Check the drawer.”

“Found them.”

The coffeemaker sputtered, and the rich hazelnut aroma coaxed Misty from the edge. Though the throbbing continued with a vengeance, her vision had cleared.

Not a good thing. Jack was real…he was here, puttering around like he belonged…in her kitchen. And he smelled as good as she remembered. The faint scents of sawdust and spearmint whispered over her as, outside the bay window, thunder crashed. Rain splattered the glass with such force Misty thought it might break.

“Take this.” Jack placed a mug of coffee in her hands. The warmth calmed and the inviting aroma soothed. “Drink.”

She took a sip and sighed deeply. Perfect…just a hint of sweet. How had he known just the way she liked it? She hadn’t begun to drink coffee until after Allie was born—and Jack had long-since left.

He eased into a chair across from her, his gaze holding steady while his forehead creased with worry. “Better?”

“Slightly.”

“I’m sorry, Misty.”

“You should be.”

“That’s how it’s going to go down, then?” He shifted in the chair and its legs scraped the tile she planned to mop sometime today—after the Web project and before the lawn. “We play the blame game?”

“This isn’t a game, Jack.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Why don’t you stop being angry for just a minute?”

“Angry?” Misty’s voice squeaked as resentment bubbled over. “You think I’m angry? Well, angry doesn’t even begin to put a dent in what I’m feeling. No, siree.”

“OK, then.” Jack sighed and held up his hands, fingers splayed in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not starting a relationship again with you.”

“I meant the conversation, Misty.” Jack shook his head, lifted his coffee mug, and studied her over the rim as he gulped, swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I meant, let’s start this conversation over. That’s all.”

“Oh.” The slight stab of disappointment came as a shock to her. “I thought you meant…”

“Us?” He leaned back in the chair, balancing on two legs.

“Yes, us.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve made your feelings perfectly clear as far as that goes, right?”