One Tuesday Morning (3 page)

He leaned over and kissed her, the slow passionate kiss of a love that didn't happen in spurts, a love that colored every page of a life they'd written together. He moved his lips along her cheekbone toward her earlobe. “Ten years is too long to worry.”

“Nine.”

“Nine?” He drew back, and his little-boy expression almost made her laugh.

“Yes. You're almost thirty-six, Jake. You said you'd retire at forty-five like your father. That's nine years.”

“Okay, nine. It's still too long to worry. Besides … I love what I do.” Without waiting for a response, he worked his fingers up beneath her rayon blouse and pressed his thumbs against her ribs. “Almost as much as I love you.”

She squirmed and couldn't contain a giggle. “Stop it!”

“Anyway, you're worrying about the wrong thing.” He tickled her once more, and when she twisted free, he held his hands up in surrender.

“Oh yeah.” She caught her breath and straightened her shirt. “What am I supposed to worry about?”

“Beating me at tennis.”

“Okay.” She forced a sarcastic laugh. “I could try to worry about that.”

“What? Is that arrogance in my fair damsel's voice?” He stifled a grin. “You beat me in three sets last week, and now I'm no challenge? Is that it?”

She let her head fall back and she laughed, this time without reservation. “Okay … I'm worried, Jake.”

“Good. And don't forget—today's Sierra's first lesson.”

“Here we go.” Jamie could feel the sparkle in her eyes. “She's four, Jake.”

“Martina Hingis was probably four when she picked up a racket.”

Jamie's laughter rang through the cab. “You're crazy.”

“About Sierra, yes.” Jake's smile faded some. “I don't know what I'd do without her.” He took her hand. “Or you.”

“Me either.” She settled against the door of the truck, still facing Jake. “Sierra's perfect, isn't she?”

Jake stared out at the harbor, and his eyes grew distant. “Being a dad has given me these feelings …” He angled his head. “A love I can't describe.”

Jamie smiled, slow and easy. The cry of the bagpipes faded from her memory, and one by one the clouds of fear lifted, breaking up like morning fog over the water. Jake was right. Worrying did no good. Especially when every day held so much life for their little family.

“Come on.” Jake opened his truck door and motioned for Jamie to follow. She did, and the two of them walked to the front of the ferry, found a quiet spot against a railing, and turned to face the receding New York skyline.

“It's breathtaking every time.” She stared past the Statue of Liberty and lifted her eyes to where the World Trade Center towered over the rest of lower Manhattan. “You've been on every floor, haven't you?”

“Of the Twin Towers?” Jake squinted and gazed up at the tall buildings. “Probably. Jammed elevators, chest pains, faulty wiring in the office coffeemaker.”

“And the bombing.” She lifted her chin and studied his face. “Don't forget about that.”

“Yeah.” He lifted one shoulder. “But the fire was out before we got there.”

“Still … it was scary. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“The towers are safe, Jamie. Stairwells run down three sides.” He narrowed his eyes and looked back at the buildings. “It's the old warehouses and abandoned factories. Those are scary.”

“I know.” She gripped the railing behind her and studied the city again. After a moment she shifted her gaze to him. “I'll try not to worry so much. Okay?”

He slipped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Okay. Besides, who of you, by worrying, can add an hour to his life?” He paused. “That's from the Bible.”

Jamie let the comment pass. Letting go of her fear was one thing. Claiming some sort of help or understanding from an old leather-bound book of ancient letters was another. But to say so would only upset Jake. And the day was too beautiful, their time together too short for that.

“I love you, Jake Bryan.” She slid her arms around his neck, letting herself get lost in his embrace. “I'm sorry for being afraid.”

“I know.” He kissed her again, this time more slowly. The ferry was less crowded than usual, and they had privacy in the place where they stood. When he pulled away, he searched her eyes. “I'm not going anywhere, Jamie. God and I have a little deal, a secret.”

“Is that so?” She tilted her face and batted her eyelashes at him. “I don't suppose you'll share it with me.”

“Nope. But I can tell you this much. God isn't finished with me yet.” He brought his lips to hers once more. “And He's not finished with you, either.”

They held hands as they returned to Jake's truck and climbed back inside. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into their tree-lined neighborhood and the same familiar street where they'd grown up. This was home. The quaintness of the island, the way she knew every front yard, every family that made up this part of Westerleigh.

The old house was gray now with white trim, but it was still much the same as it had been when Jamie grew up there. They pulled in the drive, and the moment they walked inside, Sierra ran to them, her eyes lit up.

“You're home!” She stretched her hands up toward Jamie. “Oooh, Mommy. You look pretty.”

“Thanks, baby.” Jamie swung her up into a hug and nuzzled her cheek against Sierra's. She smelled nice, like baby powder and maple syrup.

Jake paid the sitter, and when she was gone, the three of them moved into the living room.

“Did you and Daddy go to church?”

The question poked pins at Jamie's good feelings. Before she could answer, Jake came up alongside them. “Hey, little girl.” He took Sierra into his arms. “How was your morning?”

“We had pancakes.” Sierra rubbed noses with Jake and giggled. “Did you and Mommy go to church?”

“Sort of.” Jake twirled one of Sierra's curls around his finger. “It was a special church meeting for one of the firemen at Daddy's work.”

“Oh.” Sierra searched his eyes. Her golden hair shimmered against her blue T-shirt. “Did he do something good?”

Jake tilted his head and hesitated long enough for Jamie to read his heart. “Yeah, baby.” He pursed his lips and nodded, and Jamie felt the familiar ache from earlier. “He did something real good.”

Sierra brought her chin to her chest and placed her hands on either side of Jake's face. “Is Mommy going with us
next
Sunday?”

Jake gave Jamie a quick smile. He never pushed her, just left it open. In case she ever changed her mind. Jamie cleared her throat. “Mommy has her painting class next Sunday, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Sierra blinked at Jake. “But you'll take
me
, right, Daddy? Two times a month?”

“Right, honey.”

“Because Mrs. Ritchie looks for me two Sundays at class time.”

“Yep. Mrs. Ritchie won't be disappointed. You'll be there next week for sure.”

“Goodie!” Sierra jumped down and made a quick wave in Jamie's direction. “I'm gonna check on Brownie. She sleeped in my bed this morning.”

Brownie was their faithful lab. Eight years old and graying around her jowls, she was wonderful with Sierra and didn't mind wearing baby bonnets. The two of them were best friends. Jamie watched their daughter scamper off, and a thread of guilt sewed itself around the perimeter of her soul. She looked at Jake and gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?” A lazy grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He crossed the room into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.

She followed, her voice quiet. “For not making a big deal out of the church thing.”

“I'll never push you, Jamie.” He took a swig of water and studied her. “You know that.”

“Still …” She felt uneasy in a way she couldn't quite pin down. “It means a lot.”

“No big deal.” He set the glass down. “I'm gonna change clothes. Tennis in half an hour?”

She leaned against the counter and felt her gaze soften. “Okay.”

“You over the fear thing?”

Jamie smiled. “For now.”

It wasn't until she went upstairs to change that she caught sight of the mirror and stopped short. Who was she kidding? The worry wasn't gone; as long as firefighters were dying it would never be gone. They had Sierra and each other and a life sweeter than she'd dared to dream. Jake's job loomed as the single threat to everything that mattered.

Sometimes where Jake and Sierra were concerned, Jamie felt like a little girl again, building sandcastles on the beach, desperate to stretch the day, to make the sunny hours last as long as she could. Jamie could still see herself the way she'd been on sandcastle Sundays, giggling and skittering back and forth on the sand, chasing back the waves, believing somehow she could stop the tide from claiming her precious creation.

But in the end the waves would come. Always they would come. And when they did, they would wash away all she'd built. There hadn't been a single thing she could do to stop them.

Her father's long-ago words came back to her.
Look at Jake's mother. She lives with the danger every day. It's in her eyes, part of who she is. That'll be you one day if you marry Jake Bryan
.

Jamie leaned closer and scrutinized her eyes. Her father had been right all along. When had her eyes stopped being the light-filled carefree speckled brown of her childhood? Now they were dark and deep, and they'd taken on a new color, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to that in Jake's mother's eyes. The same color Jamie had seen in the eyes of a dozen other firefighter wives.

The color of fear.

T
WO

S
EPTEMBER
4, 2001

Laura Michaels whipped around and ran smack into a giant mouse.

She shrieked, but the sound was lost among the roar of a hundred happy children. Taking a step backwards, she ran her hands down the rat's furry arms. She looked both ways to make sure none of the kids were watching. Then she leaned close and whispered in a loud voice. “Are you okay?”

The mouse nodded, and his oversized plastic head bobbed up and down. He lifted his paw and pointed to the melting ice-cream cake on a nearby table.

Laura gasped. “The cake!” She raked her fingers through her straight blonde hair and glanced at her watch. Seven o'clock. Eric should've been there an hour ago. She managed a smile and aimed her words through the mouth of the giant mouse so whoever was inside could hear her. “I'll get the boys and be right back.”

The mouse nodded again and wandered off to another table.

Josh had wanted to celebrate his eighth birthday at Chuck E. Cheese's, and Laura and Eric had easily agreed. Laura could pick up an ice-cream cake, and the restaurant would take care of pizza and drinks. Josh and his friends would entertain themselves for hours, and there'd be nothing to clean up.

“Get there at five-thirty, and I'll be right behind you,” Eric had promised earlier that afternoon. “No later than six.”

It seemed doable. The restaurant was at the west end of the San Fernando Valley, just ten minutes from Eric's office in the heart of Warner Center. At first the afternoon had gone as planned. Six young guests had arrived at the Michaels' Westlake Village house and ridden with her thirty minutes on the Ventura Freeway to the pizza parlor.

But five-thirty had become six, and the boys had eaten their pizza with no sign of Eric. When they were finished, Josh and his friends fanned out into the game gallery while Laura snatched glances back at the front door. An hour passed, and without Eric, she had no one to help her round up the boys. Now she was standing guard over a melting ice-cream cake and leftover pizza balanced precariously atop a pile of unopened birthday presents.

This is crazy … where is he?

Her silent words were more introspective than prayer, and Laura didn't wait for a response. She peered through the maze of children looking for any sign of the boys. Forget the cake and presents; they'd be fine without her for a few minutes. She took a few hurried steps toward the arcade area when suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around. “Thank goodness you're—” The sight of Eric's brother stopped her short.

“Where's Eric?” Clay Michaels leaned against the table and locked eyes with Laura. Clay had attended a small college in Missouri and had returned to Southern California a few months ago. He was a police officer, and he idolized his older brother.

“You've got it all, Eric,” Clay had told him a few weeks ago. His tone had been light and not completely serious. But the admiration he had for Eric was evident. “You're a great husband, great father. The perfect guy with the perfect family.”

Laura hadn't had the heart to set him straight. Besides, if he lived near them long enough, Clay would get a clearer picture of Eric soon enough. Times like this one were bound to expose Eric for what he was—a corporate climber with eyes for nothing but whatever lay at the top of the ladder.

She managed a quick smile. “He's … he's late.”

“For Josh's birthday?” Clay's eyebrows rose a notch. “What's keeping him?”

The same thing that always keeps him
, Laura thought. “Work. He's probably on his way.”

“Where's Josh?” Clay snagged a piece of pizza from the pan and moved it off the stack of presents. “Looks like the cake's about to give out.”

Laura shifted her gaze and stared hard at the mass of children in the arcade room. “He's in there somewhere.” She looked back at Clay. “He's with six eight-year-olds. Could you get him?”

“Sure.” Clay set the pizza down on a plate, grabbed a napkin, and headed toward the other room. “Be right back.”

Laura watched him walk away. She'd had mixed feelings about Eric's younger brother since their days as classmates in grade school. Clay was kind and gentle, with blonde hair and a square forehead that made people wonder whether he and Eric were really brothers. Her feelings for the two men had always been as different as their looks. Laura had fallen for Eric the moment she'd met him. His confidence and ambition, the sure way he held himself. Clay had been her friend; Eric, her first love.

Her only love.

But since Clay's return to Southern California, Laura had to wonder. Had she picked the wrong brother so many years ago? The thought was crazy, really, but still it lay there on the doormat of her heart. Laura watched Clay as he made his way through the arcade searching for Josh. Clay wasn't the financial success that Eric was, and he didn't have Eric's striking looks. But what did those things matter, really? Clay could make her smile as easily as he could swing Josh up onto his shoulders. The man taught Sunday school at the church they all attended, he sang in the choir, and even though he'd been back just a short while, he'd already taken part in two workdays at the Los Angeles homeless mission.