A Husband in Time (16 page)

The sparks whispered to the ground, and the flames that had leaped skyward lowered again, carrying what remained of the building with them. Jane raced forward to where she'd seen the three—or thought she'd seen them—hopping over flaming bits of debris. Two of the men were already struggling to their feet, crying out in pain as they beat their smoldering clothes, and then staggering away. The third remained where he was, half buried in rubble. And Jane went to him, frantically throwing charred wood from his back, burning her hands and not caring.

“Help me!” she screamed, and only then did several others surge forward to finish the job and lift Zach's still body from the mud and rubble. They carried him to the road, laid him on his back there. One bent over him for a moment as Jane joined them there.

Then he straightened, looking at all of them, slowly shaking his head. “It's no use. He's dead.”

“N
o!” Jane screamed the word, pushing past the men who surrounded Zach's still body. Her hair was stuck to her face, and dripping wet, her jeans muddy to the knees, her shirt soaked. Her running shoes were caked in mud, and she imagined she looked like some kind of crazy woman to most of them. But she didn't care. “Get out of the way! Let me through!”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. We all cared for him, but it's no use. He's gone.”

Jane fell to her knees beside Zach as the rain pummelled her back and shoulders and pounded down on him, rinsing away the mud and soot from his still face, beading on his face and pooling in the corners of his closed eyes. She pressed her fingers to his throat, but felt no pulse. She laid her face against his lips, but felt no breath. Then she slipped one palm beneath his nape, lifting slightly, and she tipped his chin back with her other hand. She pinched his nose and covered his mouth with hers, and she blew air into his lungs.

“Land sakes, woman, you oughtn't be kissing on a dead man thataway!”

“He's gone, ma'am. Best to let him be, now.”

She lifted her head briefly, then blew again. And
then again. Someone touched her shoulder, as if to pull her away.

“Leave her alone!” a strong female voice said. And Jane knew it was the woman who'd come here with her. Benjamin's mother. And the tone of anguish in her voice left no doubt in Jane's mind. She still cared for Zach. “Can't you see she's trying to help him?”

Jane ignored all of them and positioned her hands over Zach's chest. Counting silently, she pressed down, once, twice, over and over. Then she breathed into his mouth. And then she pumped again.

“Get her off him!” a man shouted. “It's unnatural, what she's doing!”

Again hands came to her shoulders, tugging her back this time. And again that female voice, the one she knew belonged to the woman Zach had loved, interfered.

“Get your hands off her, or I'll shoot.”

Startled, Jane turned, and saw that beautiful, fragile-looking woman, standing there in the firelit night, with rain dripping from her velvet hood, pointing a tiny pistol at the man nearest Jane.

“All of you, back off. Now!”

Slowly the men backed away, shaking their heads and muttering. “She's plumb lost her mind,” one man said. “They both have.”

Jane didn't waste a second. She bent over Zach again and continued the CPR. She pumped until her arms screamed for relief, and then still longer. “Please, Zach,” she muttered. “Please. We need you, dammit.”

Finally she felt a soft beat against her hand when
she laid it over his heart. She lowered her head to Zach's chest and dissolved in tears of relief.

Zach drew a raspy breath, then another, and then he coughed. His hands came up, found her head there, and his fingers wound in her hair, holding her to him.

The group of bystanders had gone utterly still. Some crossed themselves, while others swore aloud, and still others only gaped.

“Jane,” Zach whispered.

She lifted her head to stare down into his eyes. He licked his lips, tried to swallow. Jane pressed her palms to his cheeks, and kissed him gently, slowly. Her tears dampened his lips, and when she lifted her head away, he licked them again.

“I got them,” he rasped. “I got the pills.”

She closed her eyes. “I never doubted you would,” she told him.

“Let's get him back to the house,” someone said, and it seemed the words jerked the others back from their stunned state of confusion.

Jane rose, allowing them to lift Zach bodily.

“Put him in my buggy,” Claudia ordered, and the men obeyed her as if they might be quite used to doing so.

Jane followed, climbing in without an invitation. And Claudia came in after her. She took the reins, shook them, and the wheels rolled to life. The buggy bounded and bounced over the muddy road, making sucking sounds and splashing its way back toward the house as the rain pattered down on its top. Jane sat beside Zach, clinging to his hand.

She wondered what on earth she'd done, how
she'd let it happen. She hadn't realized the truth until she was bending over him, realizing he might very well die there in the mud. She'd fallen in love with another man who would leave her alone in the end. A man who thought of women the way he thought of a good meal. Something he enjoyed while he could and then thought no more about. At least…that was the way he thought of most women. With one notable exception, she thought, with a sidelong glance at Claudia. Jane had lowered her guard, somehow, and let a sweet-talking womanizer waltz out of the past and straight into her heart.

And she knew, without a doubt, that when he waltzed back out again, he'd leave nothing behind but shattered bits.

 

There was something soft petting him like a cherished pet. Over and over it smoothed through his hair, across his face. Slowly, hypnotically. Zach inhaled, half expecting to get a lungful of acrid smoke for his trouble. Instead, though, he breathed the sweetest perfume this side of heaven.

The feminine scent of Jane Fortune.

Jane? Stroking him like
that?

Very cautiously, Zach opened his eyes, just a crack. Enough to peek out and see her without letting her know he was awake just yet. And what he saw surprised him. She was sitting in a chair beside him—he was, apparently, in his own bed. But she looked so…soft. Vulnerable. There was an ache, a longing, in her eyes, utterly unveiled. No masks right now. Not when she thought no one could see. It was all right there, on her face. And it rocked him, be
cause he'd never seen it quite this clearly before. Probably because she kept it so well hidden.

Tenderness. Caring. Need. And, God, the loneliness.

He turned toward her, reaching out, compelled to do so, before he gave it a second thought. Jane's reaction was to stiffen, and draw away. A mask slammed down over her face in the blink of an eye, hiding that caring, heartsick Jane away behind it. Probably for her own protection, he thought. Dear God, for a moment there, she'd been looking at him as if…

No. That was impossible. Perhaps he'd been hallucinating.

“Jane,” he whispered, searching her face even as she averted it and tried to swipe her tears away without him seeing. He smiled at the effort. So he hadn't imagined it, then. “Too late, Jane,” he said, though his voice was coarse as tree bark. “I already saw you crying.”

“I'm not crying,” she told him.

“No. And you haven't been sitting here, touching me and stroking my head, either, have you?”

“Of course not. You're delirious.” She got out of the chair, her movements jerky and quick, and poured a glass of water from a pitcher. “Here. You're probably thirsty.”

“Thank you, Jane.” He took the glass, drank deeply, and watched her watching him. Her eyes focused on his throat as he gulped the water down. When he was finished, he set the glass on the nightstand. He absently licked his lips, and then froze as
her eyes flared wider. She quickly looked away as her face went red.

He glanced past her at the window, and was surprised to see no droplets beading the pane. Just darkness, stark and unrelieved. “What time is it?”

“I don't know. Well after midnight, at least.” She scanned his puzzled face and went on. “You were unconscious for a few hours, Zach. I think it was a combination of the side effects you were already suffering from and the smoke of that fire.”

“I've slept that long?”

Smiling slightly, she nodded.

“And how are the boys?” he went on.

“Cody's okay. Tired, but okay. I set up a cot for him in Benjamin's room. He didn't want to leave him.”

Zach shook his head slowly. “That's one special boy you have there, Jane.” Then he frowned, and swallowed hard. “And what about Benjamin? How is my son?”

“The same,” Jane told him. “I've given him another dose of tryptonine, but it's too soon to see any real improvement yet. Tomorrow, though, he'll start to feel better.”

Zach grinned, unable to help himself. “Everything is going to work out. It will—you'll see.” She looked doubtful, but Zach couldn't rid himself of the feeling of optimism that had decided to overwhelm him. Not only was his son going to be fine, but Miss Jane Fortune was showing signs of…caring. And that, for some reason, made him feel almost giddy. “And where is everyone now, Jane?”

Her brows rose. “Asleep, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “Asleep. All except for you. You hold a vigil at my bedside, devoted as a lovesick young wife would be.”

“Don't be stupid, Bolton.”

“Don't be stubborn, Jane,” he replied. “At least admit the truth. Why is it so difficult for you to say it? You care about me, Jane. And you want me, too. Every bit as much as I want you. You know you do. You haven't stopped thinking about what it was like…what it could be like again, if we—”

She lifted her gaze, locked it with his. “Unlike some lower life forms I could name, I do not act on every physical craving.”

He smiled at her, sitting up. “You…you'd call it a craving? You
crave
me, Jane?”

“Go to hell, Zach.” She whirled to stomp away, but Zach caught her wrist, and slowly drew her back around until she faced him. He pulled her nearer, until her thighs touched the mattress, and then kept pulling, until she had no choice but to sit down on its edge.

He scanned her face, wishing he knew why she denied her feelings so vehemently. “Do you hate me, Jane?” he whispered, searching those blue eyes.

“Of course not.”

He couldn't have told it from her tone, or the look in her eyes, though. He lowered his head, suddenly, and began to cough. He coughed until he doubled over, until he fell back against his pillows in exhaustion. Until his skin was coated in a thin sheen of sweat and his lungs felt as though they would burst.

And she was leaning over him, swiping his fore
head and neck with a cool cloth, pushing her fingers through his hair. “Zach, easy. Relax. That's it.”

Weakly he looked up at her. Now she looked as if she cared again. A second ago she'd looked at him like an assassin. Now her eyes were wide with concern, and her touch was as tender as a lover's. “I don't understand you,” he managed to whisper.

“So who said you had to understand me?” She dabbed at his brow again. “Dammit, Zach, are you all right?”

He closed his eyes, nodded.

“I don't believe you. Twice through the damned twilight zone, and then nearly killed in a fire. How much more do you think your body can take?”

He lifted a hand, cupped her nape and drew her closer. Gently he brushed a kiss across her lips, and he knew she didn't object to it when her eyes fell closed. “Climb into this bed with me, Jane, and we'll find out,” he whispered, and then pressed his lips to hers again.

Only this time she jerked away so fast she almost yanked him out of the bed and onto the floor. Her eyes flew open wide, and flashed with an anger so hot it nearly seared him. “Damn you, Zachariah Bolton!”

“What?” He blinked in total confusion. What was her problem, anyway?

“I was not one of your one-night stands, that's what! What happened between us…” She balled up the washcloth in her fist, and hurled it at him. “It wasn't just sex—at least it wasn't for me. So stop treating me like one of your giggling sluts, Zach, because it meant something to me. It meant some
thing, even though I didn't want it to. And now I find myself in a place where I said I'd never be again.”

He shook his head quickly, scanning her face. “It meant something to me, too, Jane. And what place is it you're talking about, the place you swore you'd never be again?”

She closed her eyes. “Heartbreak, Zach. Its name is heartbreak.” Then she spun on her heel and walked slowly away. Leaving Zachariah to wonder where he'd gone wrong. Dammit, didn't she know how he felt about her? How she touched his heart in a way no woman ever had? Hadn't he made that clear to her? He'd never wanted another woman the way he wanted her. Never…never
felt
for another woman the way he felt for her. No, he realized with new-found clarity, not even Claudia.

But then again, Jane Fortune was not any other woman. Far from it, in fact.

He blinked as he considered his unusual feelings for her—the ones she apparently had no clue about—and then he froze, blinking in shock. By God, he hadn't gone and fallen in love with her, had he?

Lord, what if he had?

Well, he supposed there was one way to find out. He'd simply have to sit down and analyze his feelings, the way he would perform any other experiment. Meanwhile, though, enough was enough. He did not deserve her being this angry with him. And he didn't want her living in what she referred to as heartbreak. He'd talk to her. She was going to sit down and explain to him exactly what she was feeling, and she was going to do it now. He got out of
the bed, steadied himself, and started for the door. Maybe…maybe he could ask her to stay, after all…. Maybe…

 

Jane closed Zach's bedroom door and turned from it, only to run smack into Claudia. The woman was the very picture of elegance in her high-necked, lace-trimmed dress. Her blond-gold ringlets framing her delicate face. Her button-up shoes peeking from the frilly hem of her dress. Jane felt like a slob in her filthy jeans and shirt.

Claudia eyed her, then the door through which she'd just come, and then her again, brows lifting this time. “Well,” she asked, not even bothering to hide her meaning, “how is he?”

“I thought you were the expert on that, Claudia.”

The woman blinked as if in surprise. “You're a very strange woman,” she said. “Candid in your speech, foreign in your mannerisms. And your clothes…”

“You have a problem with my clothes?” Jane asked.