Janelle Taylor (27 page)

She went to the bathroom, carrying her shopping bag. He could hear her in there, tossing toiletries into it. She closed the door. He could hear water running.

Beau got out of bed and got dressed.

He walked over to the window and pulled the draperies opened.

The room instantly filled with light, yet somehow, it didn’t brighten.

Outside, the day was overcast.

He looked down at the depressing courtyard with its overgrown shrubs, plastic-webbed lounge chairs, and perfunctory, uninviting swimming pool.

He thought about what Lisa would say about this view, this room, this hotel, this town.

And what his mother would say. That he, Beau Somerville, didn’t belong in a place like this.

He considered the winding, treacherous path that had led him here, finding it—all of it—surreal.

After a long time, Jordan opened the door again.

He looked up, startled, so lost in his thoughts that he had nearly forgotten she was here.

She emerged from the bathroom, looking utterly presentable. Her hair had been brushed back into a neat ponytail, her clothing straightened, her shirt tucked in.

In her hand, she clutched the shopping bag that held her belongings.

He looked at it. “Is that everything?”

“This, and my purse. Everything else I had was at the beach house. If there’s anything left—”

“I’m going to have the rental place send it to you;
don’t worry,” he said, and motioned at her bag of clothing. “Do you want me to drive that stuff back for you, though? Just so you don’t have to carry a plastic shopping bag on the plane …”

She looked up, seeming interested.

He almost thought she was going to take him up on it, until he added, “I can drop it by your place when I get into town.”

Her eyes clouded over. “That’s okay. I’ve got it. It’s not that big a deal.”

She doesn’t want to see me again,
he realized.

“I’ll call you for Spencer’s new address and phone number,” he said, needing, for some reason, to prove that this wouldn’t be their last contact.

“Curt is going to move with him,” she told him with a shrug. “To a condo or something… he doesn’t know where yet.”

“Oh.” He took a deep breath. “I want to see Spencer, though, Jordan, if he visits you. Please let me know if he does. Okay?”

She looked directly at him for the first time since she’d left the bathroom. He saw a flicker of resentment in her gaze. “If he visits, I’ll let you know.”

Hell, what was wrong with her?

Didn’t she want him to see Spencer?

There was a knock at the door.

“I need to get in there now,” the maid’s voice called. “Or else I have to get the manager up here.”

“It’s okay,” Jordan said, walking toward the door and opening it. “We’re all set.”

Beau trailed her, but by the time he reached the heavyset, irritated-looking woman waiting beside the maid’s cart, Jordan was already halfway down the hall.

“Jordan,” he called, hurrying after her.

“I’ve got to run,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get to the airport.”

“Let me give you a ride there.”

“It’s okay. I had already arranged for a car service. He’s probably waiting downstairs. I hope he hasn’t left.”

Before reaching the elevator bank, she shoved open the door to the stairway and gave him a little wave. “I don’t have time to wait for an elevator. I’ll see you, Beau.”

With that, she was gone.

He stood looking after her, a hollow, desolate chill creeping over him.

This is what you wanted,
he reminded himself.
Remember? A clean, easy break. No messy good-bye.

It was for the best, he decided as he jammed the button with the “Down” arrow beside the elevator.

He told himself that if he reached the lobby and her car wasn’t waiting, he would insist upon driving her to the airport.

But the elevator took a long time to come.

As it sank slowly to the first floor, he decided that he would stop her.

It was an irrational, desperate thought, and he didn’t have the slightest idea how he would go about it.

He only knew that he suddenly felt as though he couldn’t let her get away. As though it would be wrong to let her go.

Perhaps the biggest mistake he could possibly make.

At last, he got to the lobby and glanced toward the double glass doors through which Spencer had disappeared less than two hours ago.

He saw an airport sedan pulling away from the curb. There was a lone occupant in the backseat, the silhouette of her familiar ponytail clearly outlined.

She’s riding out of your life, and you’re not doing a thing to stop her,
he told himself, watching the car pull out onto the street.

But he felt powerless to move.

You live in the same city,
he told himself.
When you get back home, you can call her. Get in touch with her. See her, even.

But he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he wouldn’t.

This had been his last chance.

Somehow, he had decided in that elevator that if it was meant to be, he would find her in the lobby when the elevator doors opened.

That maybe she would even be standing there waiting for him, telling him that she couldn’t leave.

Instead, she had been on her way.

And the ponytailed silhouette never turned to look back.

Obviously, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Jordan!”

Startled, she glanced up at Jeremy Van Pragh. “Geez, do you have to yell at me?” she asked, scowling.

“Yes, apparently I do,” he said, shaking his dyed blond head. “I’ve been nicely saying your name and it didn’t work. What planet are you on?”

She shook her head, unwilling to confess the wayward path her thoughts had taken. She dragged them back to the present, to this familiar, spacious, sun-splashed catering office on the ground floor of a charming brick row house.

She gestured at the pad of paper on her desk in front of her—not that she had even glanced at it in the past fifteen minutes. “I’m just trying to figure out how many strawberries I need to buy to dip in white chocolate for the Murphy wedding next weekend. What do you need?”

“Labor Day off,” Jeremy said, perching on the edge of her desk, his legs dangling in childlike fashion, swinging back and forth. “Can you handle the Tremell clambake on your own?”

“On such short notice?” She glanced at her calendar. “That’s less than a week away, Jeremy!”

“I know, but Paul’s boss told him he can bring me to his annual end-of-summer bash at the beach after all,” Jeremy said. “I guess that a couple of Republican senators have canceled, so nobody will be scandalized if Paul shows up with me as his date.”

“I’ll be scandalized,” Jordan said. “I was counting on you to help me with that clambake.”

“Paul and I will dig the pit and lug the stuff over to the Murphys’ place for you,” Jeremy promised. “You can hire some other burly types to help with the shucking and cleaning. I told you, you should’ve replaced Amy and Rob.”

Amy and Rob were the two college students they’d hired to help with the catering business over the summer. Both had left for school a few days ago. Jordan had fully intended to find replacement staff for the busy fall season, but somehow the task had managed to get away from her.

That had happened quite a bit this summer.

No longer as efficient as she had always been—especially when it came to her work—she had found herself spending much of her time lost in daydreams these past nine weeks.

Nine weeks.

Long enough for her to reassure herself that she wasn’t carrying Beau’s child.

At first, all she could think about was that she had been a fool to throw caution to the wind that last afternoon.
The issue of protection hadn’t even entered her mind—not until it was too late. Only in the cab on the way to the airport had she realized what they had done.

She had spent the next few weeks praying that she would get her period….

And sometimes, late at night when loneliness enveloped her along with the darkness, she prayed—in lapses of purely irrational hope—that she wouldn’t

But she did.

And she hadn’t seen or heard from Beau since she had left him in that crummy North Carolina hotel two months ago. Somehow, it seemed that her thoughts of him grew more, rather than less, prevalent as time went by.

The memories refused to fade.

She constantly found herself thinking about him, wondering where he was, what he was doing, how he had been.

She didn’t even have Andrea MacDuff to ask casually about his well-being. She was back in Louisiana with her husband for the summer and wouldn’t be returning to Washington until the Senate reconvened in September.

As for Spencer, he, too, was growing more prominent in her thoughts over time. Their weekly telephone conversations had become more frequent, so that at this point, hardly a day went by without her talking to him.

Spencer was still living with his aunt and uncle in their Pittsburgh home, after all. Curt had said that he and Sue had agreed to try sharing a roof for the summer, for the sake of their own children as well as for Spencer.

But he had confided yesterday that it wasn’t working out. When his wife and children started college this week, he and Spencer were moving into a two-bedroom
condominium in a nice complex in a residential neighborhood. Spencer would be enrolled in full-time day care as of today.

Jordan made a mental note to call him later and see how it went. She had asked Curt several times if he would bring the little boy down for a visit, but he was so busy getting his own life straightened out, as well as settling Phoebe’s and Reno’s legal affairs, that he hadn’t had the opportunity.

She knew that Spencer had spoken to Beau over the summer, too. The child had mentioned his name in passing. It had taken all of Jordan’s self-control not to ask Spencer about him—not to beg for more information.

“Earth to Jordan, come in, Jordan,” Jeremy intoned, still perched on her desk.

She blinked and looked up at him. “Hmm?”

“I said, do you want a coffee? I’m going out to Starbucks for one of those sweet, frothy, fattening, slushy, caffeine drinkie-things. Can I bring you something?”

“No, thanks,” Jordan murmured, absently nibbling the end of the pencil she clutched in her hand.

She thought about the package she had received from the rental agency last month. Inside the neatly wrapped package were the belongings she had left at the beach house. Not much. Just the clothes she had left in the bureau and the toiletries she’d left in the bathroom.

She had impulsively thrown away her shampoo. It wasn’t even honeysuckle-scented, but she knew she would never use it again without thinking about what he’d said, or the way he’d buried his face in her hair and inhaled….

“Jordan.” Jeremy leaned close to her, his blue,
bespectacled gaze peering into her face. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re thinking about Mr. Wonderful and Mr. Wonderful Junior again, aren’t you?”

“No!”

“Yes, you are, Jordan. I can see it in your eyes. For God’s sake, Jordan, why don’t you just go ahead and call him?”

“I did call him. Just last night. And I’m going to call him again tonight to see how day care went”

“I wasn’t talking about Junior, and you know it,” Jeremy said.

She glowered at him. He glowered right back.

Jeremy knew the whole story, of course. She had filled him in on all of it as soon as she came back. She had to. The moment she had seen him, she had collapsed into his arms, sobbing. But it was one thing allowing Jeremy, her dear old pal and business partner, to comfort her. It was quite another to listen to his well-meaning but ill-conceived advice. Jeremy was a sucker for hearts-and-flowers, old-fashioned, happy-ending romance.

“Jeremy, how many times do I have to remind you? I’m not calling Beau, okay?”

“No. Not okay. You should call him.”

“No!” She bit down on the pencil. So hard she tasted wood.

Ick.
She tossed the pencil aside and scowled at Jeremy. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Starbucks?”

“I’m going,” he said, rising and shaking his head. “But I think you’re making a big mistake. And I’d be
willing to bet that Wonderful Senior is sitting in his office right this very minute, mooning over you.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered, going back to her strawberry order as Jeremy strode toward the door.

“Did you see the note I left you about the meeting with Landry next week?” Ed asked, poking his head into Beau’s cluttered office.

“Hmm?” Startled by his partner’s voice, Beau looked up.

“Landry,” Ed said. “Did you see the note? About the meeting?”

“Saw it,” Beau told him, snapping out of his reverie. He looked down at his chaotic desktop, looking for his date book. “I made a note of it. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Ed narrowed his eyes at Beau. “You okay?”

“Sure. I’m fine.” Beau toyed with the computer mouse in front of him. On the screen was the elevation of a new office complex he was designing for a high-profile client. He had been working on it for days, but it wasn’t coming along as quickly as he’d expected.

“How’s the kid?” Ed asked, leaning against the exposed brick wall, his arms folded across his chest.

“Spencer?” Beau exhaled through puffed cheeks. “As well as can be expected. I talked to him yesterday. He’s starting day care today. Full time. He and his uncle are moving to a new place, too.”

“You told me.”

“Did I? Sorry.”

Ed flashed an understanding smile. “It’s okay. I probably tell you things about my kids two or three times, too.”

But Spencer isn’t my kid,
Beau thought.

An image of Tyler danced into his consciousness. Seeing his son’s familiar smiling face, he found himself smiling fondly, welcoming the image.

Soon it melded with another little boy’s face in his mind’s eye.

Spencer’s face.

How Beau longed to see the child again, to scoop him into a bear hug and ease his pain.

Regular telephone conversations with Spencer—and occasionally, with his uncle—had done little to quell Beau’s longing.

His wistfulness for Spencer had only deepened—along with another, far more complicated yearning that was never far from his thoughts.

Jordan.

“What’s the matter?” Ed asked, watching him.

“Nothing.” Beau struggled to wipe the telltale emotion from his face. “I just miss him, that’s all. Spencer.”

“Why don’t you fly up there and visit him?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Beau said. “I don’t want to undo what his uncle is trying to accomplish.”

“Maybe it would do everyone some good if you took the little guy off his hands for a while,” Ed suggested.

“I couldn’t do that!” Beau protested, though the mere thought of it filled him with eager anticipation. He instantly saw himself bringing Spencer to the playground, and to the toy store, and to McDonald’s for Happy Meals. He could shower the little boy with affection and gifts. He could tuck him in at night and make his breakfast in the morning, give him piggyback rides, and teach him how to ride a scooter …

“Why can’t you do that, Beau?”

“Because the only connection I have to Spencer is
the time I spent with him during a very difficult week in his life,” Beau said, dragging himself back to reality. “I’m not a relation. I never even knew his parents. His uncle has custody, and I can’t go barging in someplace I don’t belong.”

“What about Jordan, then?” Ed asked.

“What about her?” Hearing her name, Beau fought off a shiver of unwanted feeling. “She technically has no role in Spencer’s future, either.”

“What about in
your
future?” Ed said quietly.

“Ed, you know I’m not looking for—”

“You don’t have to be looking for it. Sometimes it just finds you,” Ed told him. “And when it does, you grab it and hang on to it.”

“Maybe
you
do that,” Beau said stubbornly. “I don’t. I like my life just the way it is.”

“You live and breathe your work,” Ed said, just as stubbornly. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, your work hasn’t been all that great these past few months. You’re distracted, Beau. And until you figure out what you’re going to do about that—”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Beau broke in, feeling the hot blood rising to his cheeks. “Track her down and marry her?”

“Maybe,” Ed said with a maddening shrug.

With a burst of resentment, Beau thought about how easy it was for Ed to sit here and say these things. He was happily wedded to the girl he had loved half his life; he had three adoring, healthy daughters. He had everything that mattered most in the world, and he seemed to think everybody else could easily attain those things, too.

Beau cleared his throat, but his voice still emerged
hoarsely. “Hell, Ed, I’m not going to get married again,

and you know it.”

“I don’t even think
you
know it, Beau.”

With that, Ed walked out of his office, hands shoved in his pockets, whistling.

Beau glared after him, his heart pounding as though he’d just run a marathon.

Jordan shivered, rolling up her car window against the evening chill as she turned down M Street, heading home.

Labor Day had yet to arrive, and the official start of autumn was still nearly a month away, but tonight she could feel summer’s end looming.

Maybe it would be easier to forget Beau and Spencer then, when fall’s chilly days brought the promise of the holidays, and snow.

Snow.

She remembered Beau telling Spencer how eager he was to see snow this winter, his first away from the Deep South.

Beau.

Spencer.

Again.

Frustrated, Jordan reached out and turned on the radio. It was tuned to her favorite station.

The car filled with music. Mick Jagger singing about waiting on a friend.

Stopped at a light, Jordan listened to the familiar tune.

The Rolling Stones reminded her of Beau. They had listened to a Stones CD over and over during the endless,
harrowing drive down to North Carolina that long-ago day. Not this song, but it didn’t matter.

Everything, it seemed, carried her back. To him.

She reached out and jabbed the “Scan” button as the light turned. Driving forward, she heard the radio skittering from station to station, blaring snatches of familiar songs and DJs’ voices.

She settled on a news station, certain that wouldn’t prompt any memories of Beau and Spencer.

But as the newscaster read the weather forecast, her thoughts continued to drift back in time.

Going over everything that had happened, she tried to find something she could have done differently. Some pivotal moment when she could have gone in another direction to change the outcome.

Because, truth be told, as hard as she had tried to embrace this life she had so fleetingly left behind …

She could no longer deny that something was missing.

No.

That
someone
was missing.

Someone to share it with.

She was no longer content with her solo daily whirlwind of client meetings and party plans and recipe searches. It was no longer an interesting challenge to hunt down fourteen odd-sized lilac-printed tablecloths for a socialite’s daughter’s sweet-sixteen party, or two hundred perfect, oversized red apples for a reception for the mayor of New York. She was bored with flower arrangements and hors d’oeuvres and ice sculpture.