All Through The House (24 page)

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Nate said
in a low voice, "I'm feeling a mite cowardly myself.''

How to start? Her own voice didn't seem to want to work.
Finally she managed a beginning. "Nate, would you hold me?"

One step and she was in his arms. Her cast was an awkward
intrusion, but it didn't seem to matter. Held tightly against him, she could
hear his heart slamming under the warm wall of his chest. Her own was racing so
hard she was dizzy. His arms were tight and strong, and she could feel his
mouth against her hair.

Her voice was muffled when she said, "I was afraid to
love you."

"And I wanted you to love me enough to make up for a
mother who didn't," he said, just as quietly. Then, "Let's not wake
Kate up," and without taking his arm from around her, he moved them into
the living room and onto the couch.

There she discovered that her eyes were damp. "Oh,
damn," she mumbled, and wiped them ungracefully on her shirtsleeves.

He'd moved a little back from her, though his arm lay across
her shoulders. Roughly he said, "Abigail, maybe we should let this drop
for another day or two."

Fear clutched at her stomach. Was he putting off having to
tell her she was too late? But she couldn't wait, not any longer.
"Why?" she asked.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't want you to
feel like you owe me something. I didn't mind helping out. This—my being
here—has nothing to do with you and me. I want to make damn sure we're
separating the two."

What was he trying to tell her? That she shouldn't read
anything into his presence? Or that he was afraid she would let gratitude color
her feelings?

Abigail looked down at her cast, on which Kate had drawn a
wobbly rainbow. In a low voice, she said, "Nate, when I got in the car
accident, it was right in front of the new development."

He swore under his breath. "Did the gates block your
view? Oh, hell, we haven't put stop signs up yet, either."

"No, it was my fault. I’d just discovered that I didn’t
have my phone with me.  I should have put my seat belt on, and I didn't,
because I was in such a hurry to get home and call you."

There was a long pause. "Oh, yeah?"

She sneaked a glance at him. He was watching her, sudden
understanding in his eyes.

Abigail drew a deep breath. "I wanted to tell you I was
sorry. I...misunderstood your offer."

"Thanks to your ex-husband."

She tried to smile and failed. "What I realized is that
it's me, not him. James was...domineering, stifling, possessive." Abigail
made a small, useless gesture with her hand. "But what really scared me
wasn't that you'd turn out to be like him. It was that I would be just as weak
as I was then."

"God, Abigail." His dark brows drew together.
"You're not weak! You're the farthest thing from it."

"Yes, but you see, I wasn't very strong then. I let him
do that to me." This was the hard part to say, but she pushed ahead.
"And the way I feel about you, I wanted to let you do anything at all to
me."

This time when she looked at him, his gray eyes held a glow
that made her pulse trip.

"You know," he said roughly, "marriage is an
act of trust."

She nodded, her gaze held by his.

"Your ex betrayed that trust. It wasn't your fault. It
was his."

Abigail nodded, for the first time truly believing that.

“Loving somebody didn't come easily to me. I...haven't been very
lucky in that department. You want to hear something funny?" Nate didn't
wait for her assent. "What really attracted me to you in the first place
was your strength." His voice was raw, and he still hadn't moved to pull
her closer into his embrace. "I told myself it was your body I liked, but
I was lying. It was the sparks in your eyes and the way your chin came up and
you glared at me. It was the fact that you never backed down, you never lost
your dignity. My mother ..." He grimaced. "Mom was always afraid. She
never met your eyes. She was like a shadow. Running away, that was the bravest
thing she ever did. I spent years thinking all women were like that. I can
promise you one thing: I never want you to be less than you are."

Her throat was thick with tears. "You don't have to
make any promises, Nate. I should have known you well enough not to need
them."

His mouth twisted. "The way I talked, you had good
reason to be scared off. But I didn't want you to quit your job or be available
when I snapped my fingers. I just wanted to be sure I was important to you. I
guess I didn't know how to ask for that."

The tears suddenly filled Abigail's eyes and she leaned
against him. "Oh, Nate, I love you," she whispered. "You'll
never have to worry about that."

His arms closed convulsively around her, and he pressed his
cheek against the top of her head. "I love you," he said, in a voice
just husky enough to make her wonder if he was near tears, too. "God, I
love you."

When she lifted her face to wipe her wet cheeks, he didn't
give her a chance. His mouth covered hers in a kiss so achingly tender, she
didn't mind the taste of tears—his or hers.

They kissed until those tears had dried and the tenderness
was edged with something deeper, more urgent. Nate's mouth, hot and hungry,
moved across her cheek to her ear, down the slender, vulnerable line of her
neck to her collarbone, where he encountered the sling. There he stopped, then
groaned.

"What am I doing?" He raised his head. "Damn,
I should be sending you safely off to bed."

"Only if you'll come with me," Abigail said with
certainty.

An incredulous light flared in his eyes. "You must feel
like hell."

"No, I feel wonderful." She smiled shakily.
"I've never felt better. Though, with the cast..."

"You're still incredibly sexy." Nate nipped at her
earlobe. "By the way, I did like your legs. And your eyes, foresty-green
with touches of sunlight...."

"Hazel," she murmured.

"Nah, that sounds boring." His teeth grazed her
neck as his fingers deftly undid the top button on her blouse. "More like
a woodland pool. And then there's this curve..." His hand, tantalizingly
gentle, found her breast. "And this one..." the narrowing to her
waist, "and this one." His big hands wrapped around her hips and he
lifted her onto his lap. "Strength and softness," he said huskily.
"What more could a man want?"

"A mansion with a ballroom?" she said
breathlessly.

His hands stilled, and for just a second she thought she'd
broken the mood. Then she saw his wry smile.

"You know what one of those phone calls today was
about?"

She didn't even have to think. "The school?"

"Um hm." He continued to work at the buttons of
her blouse. "We got it."

"Nate!" Abigail straightened. "You're
supposed to sound excited!"

"I have other things on my mind." Then his grin
flashed, wicked, sexy and…delighted. "But I'm pretty happy about it,"
he admitted. "We can expand; you can find us new quarters, by the way.
We'll be doubling our construction crews, maybe hiring another architect. Katie
Rose is going to have the classiest kindergarten room you ever saw."

"And you can buy the house," Abigail said, not
sure why she still had mixed feelings.

Either way, she was astonished when Nate shook his head a little
ruefully. "No. I think maybe it's time for a new beginning. I'll have a
new family, we need our own traditions. What do you say, Abigail McLeod? Will
you marry me?"

"You know I will," she said. "And you have no
idea how happy you're going to make Kate. She had you pegged as daddy material
a long time ago. And you know what? I think she's right."

There was that grin again, smug this time. And unbearably
sexy. "You bet she's right. So how about if we go work at making this
family a little bigger?"

"Work?" Abigail widened her eyes. "I prefer
to think of it as...pleasure."

The smile was gone, leaving only heat and tenderness and raw
emotion. "I love you, sweetheart. It scares me how much."

She shushed him with a finger across his lips. "No. You
don't have to be scared. I'm much too strong to ever let you chase me away.
Trust, remember?"

Completely serious, he said, "I do trust you. With my
life."

"And I trust you," Abigail said, without even a
moment's hesitation. "With..." she smiled into his eyes, remembering
how she had put it to her small daughter. "With my forever," she
finished.

"What more could a man want?" he whispered, just
before his mouth captured hers.

Janice Kay Johnson is the author of more than seventy books
for children and adults.  Her first four published romance novels were
coauthored with her mother Norma Tadlock Johnson, also a writer who has since
published mysteries and children's books on her own.  These were
"sweet" romance novels, the author hastens to add; she isn't sure
they'd have felt comfortable coauthoring passionate love scenes!

Janice graduated from Whitman College with a B.A. in history
and then received a master's degree in library science from the University of
Washington.  She was a branch librarian for a public library system until she
began selling her own writing.

She has written six novels for young adults and one picture
book for the read-aloud crowd.  ROSAMUND was the outgrowth of all those hours
spent reading to her own daughters, and of her passion for growing old roses. 
Two more of her favorite books were historical novels WINTER OF THE RAVEN and
THE ISLAND SNATCHERS which she wrote for Tor/Forge.  The research was pure
indulgence for someone who set out intending to be a historian.

Janice raised her two daughters in a small, rural town north
of Seattle, Washington.  She's an active volunteer and board member for
Purrfect Pals, a no-kill cat shelter, and foster kittens often enliven a
household that already includes a few more cats than she wants to admit to.

Janice loves writing books about both love and family —
about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have
on us throughout life.  Her Superromance novels are frequent finalists for
Romance Writers of America RITA awards, and she won the 2008 RITA for Best
Contemporary Series Romance for SNOWBOUND.

Life is a struggle for Marian Wells, a single mother of twin
toddlers who pays the bills with a home day care business but is on the verge
of losing that home.  She is a lifesaver in the eyes of John McRae, retired
professional football player and now television color commentator.  He’s
started an Arabian horse ranch, but loves the television work too.  Problem? 
Leaving his five year old daughter, Emma, several days a week during football
season.  Answer?  Marian – who loves Emma right away, but is wary of the sexy
television personality who doesn’t seem to understand how desperately his
daughter has needed him since her mother died.  Marian knows what it feels like
to be abandoned by a man who refuses to be tied down by responsibilities.  He
may remind Marian of the sweetness and passion possible between a man and a
woman.  But can she and their children count on him when it matters most?

Once famous for her gold medal winning triumph in the
Olympic Games, Megan Lovell now wants nothing more than to belong in her
hometown of Devil’s Lake.  But when she plunges into the lake at twilight to
rescue a man she sees thrown overboard from a boat, she jeopardizes the life
she holds dear.  FBI agent ‘Mac’ James McClain had been hiding from death threats
here in this peaceful town.  Now his enemies are hunting not only him, but also
the woman who saved his life.  On the run, in danger, these two battle a
compelling physical attraction that scares them both.  Even if they survive,
what does a man who lives undercover for months at a time and has never really
had a home have to offer a woman who is desperate to be part of the hometown
she gave up in her quest for that Olympic gold?  Perhaps it is inevitable that
they end up back out on the dark waters of the lake, where their only hope of
salvation is each other.

John
McRae straightened, abandoning his comfortable slouch against the tiled kitchen
counter. Into the telephone, he said incredulously, "You're what?"

The woman's voice babbled on. "I'm so sorry. I know
this must be inconvenient for you, but I was so upset, and, of course, things
were in a mess here at home. Dad's in intensive care now. The doctor says he
should make it, thank God, but, of course, I've just been living in the
hospital. There's no way I can leave him, and I'm dreadfully sorry, Emma is
such a doll, but ..." At last she faltered. "Well, I'm sure you
understand."

"You couldn't have called a little sooner?" He reached
up and rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

"I did try once," she said defensively, "but
you must have been out. And since then...well, I didn't think about much but
Dad. I am sorry."

She wasn't the only one who was sorry. A moment later, after
tersely expressing his sympathy, John dropped the receiver back in its cradle,
then slumped into a straight-back kitchen chair. What in hell was he going to
do?

He was booked for a flight out of SeaTac in—he glanced at
his watch—precisely three hours and forty-three minutes. Obviously he wasn't
going to make that. He'd cancel the dinner date he had with the Denver Bronco's
coach and switch his flight to tomorrow. Fine and dandy, he thought grimly, but
where was he going to come up with a baby-sitter in the next twenty-four hours,
one he could leave Emma with for two days?