If You Can't Stand the Heat... (Harlequin Kiss) (21 page)

Jack, forgetting that he was live on international TV, picked up his pace and scuttled across the rubble to where the man was sinking into a hole he’d dug. Jack saw a strand of long black hair flowing around a half-sheared brick and his heart stopped. He swallowed. It was exactly the shade of Ellie’s hair...

The young man was sobbing as he yanked debris away from her.
‘Mi esposa, mi esposa,’
he muttered frantically, tears streaming down his face.

His wife. All he could see was his wife’s hair...

Jack swallowed and jumped into the small hole with him, started to throw bricks, planks and stones away from where he imagined her head and body was. The problem was that her hair was so long—she could be lying in any direction.

Minutes felt like hours and his back muscles and biceps were screaming in pain. His shirt was soaked onto his body but Jack refused to quit. There was no sound coming from the victim but Jack knew that didn’t mean she was dead. He refused to believe she was dead...

What if this was Ellie? How would he be feeling? The thought kept hurtling through his brain. Desperate, out of control, terrified. He wouldn’t be able to live without her...

Jack lifted a board up and away and there she lay, her beautiful face unmarked by the falling building. Her eyes were open, glassy, but Jack didn’t need to check her pulse to see that she was still alive. The hand lifting up towards the young man was a solid enough hint.

Jack yelled at Ted to call for the medics and was surprised to see that Ted was still filming. Why wasn’t he helping them? Surely the woman was more important than the story? He felt sickened by Ted’s callousness, the fact that he could just observe and not participate, to report but not become involved.

Then again, he couldn’t blame him either. Wasn’t that what
he
did, story after story, situation after situation?

Jack caught the bottle of water someone threw down, cracked the seal and gently poured a tiny bit of water into the woman’s mouth. He didn’t want to lift her neck, he had no idea what injuries she had, and her legs were still pinned beneath the debris. Her husband had his face buried in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Jack gently dripped water from the bottle into her mouth and they waited. The young man was now talking to his wife, and Jack felt the lump in his throat grow as he watched them interact, listened to their conversation. It was blindingly obvious that they loved each other so much, that they were ecstatic to be given a second chance.

All his life he’d avoided love, thinking that it equalled confinement. That he’d lose his freedom. That a love affair would hamper his individuality and compromise his independence. He now realised that, compared to losing Ellie, none of it meant a damn thing. His feelings for her scared him, but he knew he was a better man for loving her and that she was worth any emotional risk. He’d been so careful to control every aspect of his life and it was a revelation to discover that being out of control was the best feeling in the world. Being in love felt marvellous. He loved the way it made him feel...

With her he’d found the place he most wanted to be—the home he’d thought he didn’t need. She was the one person, the one place, where he could be truly intimate and feel safe. Secure. Looked after. Loved. She had given him the gift of balance and stability and his throat swelled with emotion. He needed to get back to her...

Jack wet the corner of his T-shirt and wiped the victim’s face. He saw relief and gratitude in her eyes.

‘Muchas gracias,’
she whispered between dry and swollen lips.

Jack swallowed, nodded and ran his hand over his head as he heard the rescue workers and medics approaching. He sent her a quick smile and backed away, lifting himself out of the small area to allow for medical assistance.

It was only as he walked away from them and Ted that he realised that his face and cheeks were wet with tears.

* * *

Across the world Ellie worked in her bakery, waiting for her staff to come in to work. Her heart was haemorrhaging, she decided, as a lone tear dripped off her chin and landed on the pale pink wedding cake beneath her. It had been nearly a week since Jack had left and she missed him with an intensity that astonished her. The memory of the night he’d left was on constant replay in her head, and she relived the moment of her heart ripping apart on a daily, hourly basis, causing pain to shoot through her system. There was no relief from the memories. Every room in the house made her think of Jack, and she hadn’t been able to eat at her kitchen table since he’d left.

She wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t thinking. Her hands shook. She felt constantly cold. Ellie looked at the tiny tearstain on the cake and felt grateful she could cover it with a sugar rose. Idly she wondered if she should be making wedding cakes with a scorched heart. Wedding cakes should be made with love and hope, not with sadness and regret.

Ellie looked up to see Merri in front of her, dressed in a bright pink apron. ‘Reporting for duty, ma’am.’

Ellie just managed to smile. She’d totally forgotten her threat to fire her if she didn’t arrive for work, and now a part of her wished Merri
hadn’t
come back, so that she would be so busy she’d never have to think, feel, again.

‘It’s about time,’ Ellie muttered, and held out her arms for a hug.

She stepped into her friend’s arms and hung on. After a while she stepped back, felt Merri’s hand between her shoulderblades and turned her head to look into her deeply concerned face.

‘You okay?’ Merri asked.

‘Jack left.’ Ellie shook her head and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘I can’t seem to stop hurting. I think I’m okay, then it sneaks up on me and
wham
! Dammit—I’m dripping again.’

‘God, El, how long have you been like this? Why didn’t you call me?’

Ellie winced, feeling the headache pounding between her eyes. ‘I couldn’t—can’t—talk about him.’ She bit her lip. ‘I feel like I’ve been eviscerated with a butter knife.’

‘Oh, sweetie. You’re fathoms deep in love with him.’

Ellie nodded.

Merri sat down on the chair next to Ellie’s table and sent her a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t make it work, but sometimes love just isn’t enough.’

‘It’s supposed to be,’ Ellie whispered.

Merri’s voice was laced with regret and loss. ‘In books and movies. In real life...? Not so much.’

Ellie stared past Merri’s head. ‘I’m worried about him. My imagination is in overdrive.’

‘Jack knows how to look after himself.’ Merri put her arms on the table. Her face was uncharacteristically serious. ‘Ellie, I’ve never seen you so unhinged. I’m worried about
you
.’

‘So is my mum.’ Ellie stared at her flour-dusted shoes. ‘She keeps telling me that I can’t live like this, that I have to do something about him...but what can I do? Nothing! He’s gone and he isn’t coming back.’

‘You need to try and relax. Get a decent night’s sleep and find a way to work through this.’

‘I’m trying—’

‘Try harder. If you carry on like this you’ll be on anti-depressants in a month, in a loony bin in three months.’

‘I know that I’m a mess.’ Ellie gripped the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. ‘I feel like I am marinating in pain.’ She flipped Merri a tiny smile. ‘Does that sound desperately melodramatic?’

‘Yes, but you’re entitled.’

Merri draped an arm across her shoulder and they both looked down at the wedding cake. Merri tipped her head so that it touched Ellie’s. ‘Sweetie, I’ll be here to hold your hand every step of the way, to talk to you and to cry with you. But this cake...?’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

Merri picked up a swatch of fabric off the table and held it against the cake. ‘Wrong shade of pink, honey.’

* * *

Jack shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he left the church where Brent’s memorial service had just ended. It was over, and yet he didn’t feel the relief he’d expected to. He’d delayed his return to Cape Town to be here but he wondered if he’d ever manage not to feel guilty for being alive. He needed to get to Ellie. She’d understand, help him work through this.

Now he needed to avoid the Sandersons if he could. What could he say to them? He was sorry? He was...but it sounded stupid, seeing that he lived because Brent had died. There they all were—Mrs Sanderson hugging his mother by the gate, Mr Sanderson, his eyes pink from cold and tears, talking to his dad.

He should say something. Anything... But he really just wanted to walk away. They couldn’t—wouldn’t—want to talk to him.

Jack had made it halfway to his car when he heard his name being called.

‘Jack!’

He felt the hand on his arm, turned and looked down into Brent’s mother’s elegant face. He winced internally.

‘Where are you rushing off to?’ she asked.

Jack, guilt holding his heart in a vice grip, looked around for a means of escape. ‘Uh...’

‘I’m so glad you came.
We’re
so glad you came.’

Oh, Lord, now Mr Sanderson had joined them. Any moment his parents would join the party and he’d be toast. Jack forced himself to put his hand out and shake Mr Sanderson’s hand. ‘Sir. It was a nice service.’

‘We’re very happy you made it, Jack. And call me David.’

‘I’m June.’

Oh, this was getting to be fun.
Not.
Jack jammed his freezing hands back into his coat pockets and reluctantly nodded when David asked him if he’d take a short walk with them through the cemetery. Jack sent his mother a miserable look over his shoulder and followed Brent’s parents to Brent’s headstone. June dusted some snow off the face of the stone and rested her gloved hand on top.

‘We’ve wanted to talk to you for a while. We’ve been following your career,’ David said. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You didn’t want to come today,’ June said. ‘You didn’t want to see us. Why not?’

Jack looked at a point beyond her face. ‘I thought it would hurt you too much.’

‘And? Come on—spit it out,’ June coaxed.

Her eyes encouraged him to be honest, and for a moment he felt as if he was seventeen again and terrified.

‘And it kills me to know that Brent had to lose his life so that I could have mine,’ Jack said in a rush, scared that if he didn’t get the words out he never would.

June’s eyes filled with tears and her face softened. ‘Sweetheart, his death had nothing to do with you. It was his time to go...’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. I’m just grateful that you had a second chance at life. Grateful that you haven’t wasted his gift...’ June took his hand between hers. ‘Yet your mother tells us you have no home, no family, no partner. It worries her. It worries
us
. Why not?’

‘Uh—’

‘When we gave you our son’s heart we expected you not to waste your second chance. We also expected you to make the most of your second chance,’ David stated, his voice firm but gentle. ‘But we never wanted you to feel guilty—only thankful.’

His mother must have had more than a few discussions with them about him for them to be having this conversation, Jack realised. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or to wring her neck for interfering. He smiled inside. He’d go for grateful.

‘So you think it would be okay if I fell in love? Had a family? Even knowing that Brent never had that chance and I do, with
his
heart?’ he asked, holding his breath.

David placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘Not only do we think it’s okay, we think it’s important. It’s another chance—another opportunity for you to be fulfilled—and that’s all we ever wanted. For you to make the most of his gift, to wring out as much happiness as you can from life. Brent had a generous spirit and that would be his wish.’

‘And it’s ours...’ June added.

Jack swallowed the tears he felt at the back of his throat as their words picked up the last of his guilt and flew away with it. He managed what he suspected was a watery grin. ‘Well, there is this girl, and she’s been giving our heart a run for its money...’

June grinned and put her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘Ooh, a feisty one. I like her already.’

* * *

Three days later Ellie sat cross-legged in the middle of the driveway and gazed at what she was privately calling Ellie’s Folly. Fascinated, she rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand and just looked. The house preened in the spotty sunlight that appeared now and again from between low black clouds, like an elderly showgirl remembering her former life.

Rolled up and sticking out of the back pocket of her shorts was the agreement of sale that Mrs H had finally signed an hour before.

‘Enough is enough,’ she’d told Mrs H, after carefully explaining what she intended doing with the property. ‘Either accept my offer or I’m walking away.’

‘But—’

‘Permanently. Pari’s will close down, jobs will be lost and St James will lose a landmark institution. I’m tired of your vacillations and games. I’m dealing with enough drama as it is and I don’t need any more. The ball is in your court.’

Getting tough had paid dividends and the old lady had signed at a price that allowed her enough cash to do the renovations. She was now the owner of a gorgeous old building that needed lots of love and attention. Thank goodness—because she seriously needed the distraction of hard work.

It had been a good day. If she ignored the fact that she was still miserable and heartbroken and so, so sad.

Ellie felt something cold nudge her shoulder and looked sideways to see a large frappe in one of Pari’s takeaway glasses. She’d told her mum that she’d be here and wasn’t surprised by her presence.

‘Isn’t she stunning?’ Ellie breathed, unable to take her eyes off the building.

‘She is—but you are even more so.’

Ellie scrambled to her feet as that deep voice caressed her. She looked at him, wide-eyed with astonishment.

Jack was back and he was standing in front of her, looking fit and fantastic.