“So this is why you’re not so crazy about the annual games. Or why your grandmother’s insistent view of love is such an irritant.”
He took another swallow off the longneck. “She raised a man who represents the antithesis of love, commitment and devotion, yet she believes in it to the depths of her toes. It’s all a game. And when the game’s over, there’s always a loser.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know. Even my parents—for as crazy as my mother is—love each other. Understand each other. Are devoted to each other. It’s not the same for everyone. There are people who spend their lives together. Willingly. And happily.”
“And there are just as many people who live a lie.”
He heard the frustration tinge her words as she continued to argue her point of view. “It’s not all a lie. Our lives are not lies. And the feelings we have as part of the human experience aren’t lies. Don’t tell me you don’t realize that.”
“I think we create stories to suit ourselves at a given point in time. Just like you’re doing, Sloan.”
Her voice was quiet when she spoke, yet the words slammed into him with the force of an oncoming Mack truck. “I really am sorry you feel that way. Sorry you feel there’s nothing true in this world. That you feel the only thing between two people is a game to be lost.”
“Oh come on, Sloan. You’re leaving here in less than a week. You said so yourself. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a love for the wilderness. You’ve got a very nice doorman building awaiting your return, sweetheart. If you want a quick fling up here in the wilds I’m your man, but somehow I don’t see you as the type to handle the decided lack of commitment that comes with a one-night stand.”
“Well, then.” Sloan stood, laying her full beer bottle on the table before her. “I should probably get going.”
“You probably should. Come on. I’ll walk you back to the Indigo.”
She rebundled herself, Tasty’s hat scrunched in her hands as she kneaded the fabric with her fingers. “I’m not expecting love, Walker. Or a heap of false words. But I am expecting someone whose feelings are pure enough to acknowledge something that’s real. I don’t think you’re in that place. I don’t think you’re even capable of it.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“Actually, I think taking in the fresh air—
alone
—will do me good. It’s suddenly become rather oppressive here.”
“You’re not crossing the town by yourself.”
“I live in a city of eight million people and I get along just fine. I think I can handle three blocks where I’ll be lucky if I see a soul. Good night.”
He wanted to go after her, but he knew she was right. Besides, he could watch her walk all the way to the center of town. The bright lights would illuminate each and every step she took.
Cold air wrapped around him as he stood in his doorway while the heat pressed at him from behind. He watched her take every one of those steps to the hotel. And with each footfall that took her farther away, he cursed himself every type the fool.
“Stubborn, ignorant, arrogant asshole.” The words had become her litany and she repeated them over and over on her walk back to the Indigo.
It was for the best, she tried to convince herself. For the best that she didn’t take this any further. She already knew having sex with Walker was going to leave a mark. She’d developed feelings for him, and taking that to more than a physical level was only going to make it harder to leave.
And leave she would.
She didn’t belong here. She had a life back home. A life she enjoyed. Most of the time.
Didn’t she?
And that’s when it hit her like a ton of bricks. If she hadn’t known Walker was still watching her from his front door, she’d have plopped down on one of the benches in the town square.
“Oh, McKinley, you are such a fucking idiot. Really and truly. Why the hell did you go and fall in love with him? Of all people, why him?”
Suddenly, Grier’s tears that morning over breakfast made a hell of a lot of sense, especially as tears of her own threatened via the fist-sized lump in her throat.
She was three thousand miles from home, developing a completely inconvenient, idiotic,
emotional
, attachment for a man.
A man, she added to herself, who not only didn’t believe in love, but who actively avoided anything that even remotely smacked of commitment.
Or did he?
After all, he lived in town, where the eyes of Indigo recorded his every move. All that bullshit about Mayberry and being a small-town lawyer sure smacked of commitment, didn’t it?
And taking care of his grandmother and looking out for her. Oh, he played the long-suffering grandson, but he did what was right. He stood by her and helped her and looked out for her.
And if that wasn’t commitment, what was it?
If she asked him, he’d probably say it was duty.
But it wasn’t.
It was a choice. Walker Montgomery was clearly capable of choosing commitment.
He just wasn’t capable of making it with her.
Jessica glanced around her small living room and wondered what had happened since the time she’d left this morning and this very moment.
The room looked the same. The bright red overstuffed couch with the accent pillows in vivid, vibrant primary colors still sat askew from where she’d left them last night after watching TV. The throw blanket she’d wrapped herself in was still in a heap on the floor. And the latest paperback thriller she’d been reading while the commercials were on lay facedown on the coffee table.
There was one noticeable difference, though.
Jack Rafferty sat on the middle of her couch.
She fiddled with the tassel on a throw pillow. “You helping the guys finish up in the square tomorrow?”
“Sure am.” Jack stared down at the can of Coke she’d nervously heaped on him when they’d walked in.
A good hostess never lets her guests go thirsty.
Her mother’s words rang in her ears and she nearly broke out in a laugh at the remembered lessons on etiquette, poise and entertaining her mother had regularly doled out. Somehow, those lessons never included what to do when one wanted to jump the visitor sitting on the opposite side of the room.
Nor did they include lessons on what to do when one had already jumped said visitor and had been given the proverbial cold shoulder ever since.
At the remembered slight—and the overly polite niceties they’d shared over the past eighteen months—some of the warm glow she’d been feeling evaporated.
She’d spent all these long months letting Jack know she was open to getting to know him better and he’d kept her at arm’s length.
Worse, he’d left her feeling like the weekend they’d shared had been some cheap thing he’d like to forget.
“Mary, Julia and Sophie don’t let anyone out of manual labor, do they?”
“No, not really.” He offered a small, rueful smile. “Taskmasters, those three are.”
“Yet they remain surprisingly lovable.”
“That they do.”
Jack’s gaze returned to his Coke can and she wondered again what they were doing here. He’d been all warm smiles and friendly conversation at the diner. Nothing overtly sexual and damn it, she was so crazy about him, she was willing to settle for even that.
When he’d suggested they go back to her place so Nancy could close up the diner and go home, she’d been so surprised she’d agreed without a backward glance. But now that they were here, she was fast coming to think this hadn’t been one of her brighter ideas.
Of course, nothing had been the same since that glorious weekend she spent with Jack all those long, long months ago. Bright ideas and her reaction to the man just didn’t belong in the same sentence.
Even if—in her own defense—her skin did crawl with anticipation and excitement every time he came within her field of vision. It was like some torture designed especially for her. The damn man could make her hot and bothered from a hundred paces.
And all the son of a bitch wanted to do was have a friendly chat over a soda.
God, she was hopeless.
“Jess?”
“Hmmm? Sorry?”
“You look a million miles away.”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Oh, nothing.” She waved a hand. “Nothing important at all.”
“Yeah, it’s funny. Thinking.”
“Oh?”
His gaze never left the can and his words were soft as he exhaled on a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”
“Oh?” Her breath caught in her throat.
Even as her hopes soared, she tried desperately to rein in her feelings. He could be thinking about any number of things, none of which had anything to do with her. Or more to the point, her unrequited feelings for him.
He lifted his gaze from the can and his fingers stilled. “Are you participating in the games this weekend?”
She shrugged, her hopes plummeting again as she mentally called herself an idiot a million times over. “Yeah. Why?”
“Would you reconsider if I asked you to?”
“Why would you want to do that? Ask me to, I mean? I compete every year.”
His dark gaze never left her face. “Because I’ve been thinking a lot about you. And I realize I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“Honest about what?”
At that he stood and moved over toward where she sat, kneeling down in front of her. His long fingers spread over her knees and she felt the heat of his touch through the heavy material of her jeans. As if branded, that simple, light touch shot sparks through her and she grew damp at her core.
With gentle movements, he pushed her knees apart and positioned himself between the cradle of her thighs. His arms came up and caged her into the chair as he moved in, his lips so close to hers she’d barely have to lean forward to kiss him.
“About how I feel about you. About the way you make me feel.”
Tears welled low in her throat, almost painful as she swallowed around the lump. Was it possible?
Could he actually feel something, too?
Had all these long, lonely months of waiting actually led to something?
“How’s that?”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her throat. Whatever heat she’d felt from his fingertips was nothing compared to the flames that immediately consumed every part of her. “Alive,” he whispered against her skin, and at that Jessica lost it. “You make me feel alive, Jess. That and so many other wonderful things.”
Her arms came up around his shoulders and tugged at his hair so he’d look up at her. “Are you sure? Because I can’t go through another eighteen months like the last ones.”
“I’m sure.”
“Really sure?”
Jack shifted and sat back on his heels, but he reached for her hands, his fingers threading through hers. “I’ve been so unfair to you. So fucking unfair.”
The tears she fought to hold back welled up on their own volition. “Yeah. I understand why. I mean, I think I understand why. But yeah, you have.”
“Ah, Jess, I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’ve been so torn. Between feeling like I’ve betrayed Molly in the worst way and feeling like I finally have hope inside me again.”
She wanted to believe him so badly, but she had to see this through. Had to understand why he’d behaved as he had. “What changed your mind?”
“A lot of things. The last few days. Those guys Mick picked up on Denali. The games and all the talk about bachelorettes that hits this time of year. But it was Mick who clinched it.”
“Mick?” At the thought of his rangy, devil-may-care partner, Jessica couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “What in God’s name did Mick have to do with this?”
“Grier’s got him in a twist. And he’s not sure why.”
“I don’t think she knows.”
He waved a hand as his brows furrowed. “I really do not want to know the details. Avery was chewing my ear off earlier and the way I see it, Mick’s love life is none of my business.”
“I still don’t see what his love life—or lack thereof—has to do with you here in my house.”
“I got to thinking about how I’ve treated you over the last year. And how it’s the last thing Molly would have wanted. For me or for you. She liked you, you know.”
“Molly?”
Jess thought about the pretty, petite woman who had been Jack’s wife. They’d been several years apart in school and Molly had even babysat her a few times when she’d been that awkward age of not old enough to stay by herself but almost too old to need sitting. They’d read teen magazines and
ooh
ed and
aah
ed over celebrities.
“I liked her, too. She was a wonderful person. And I can’t imagine the hell you’ve lived with. Losing her. And before that, her getting sick.”