Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) (27 page)

Nan sighed. Maybe she wasn’t cultured enough, but
she just couldn’t get into the swing of the party. Nursing her
champagne, she tried to look busy and found herself remembering how
much more fun she’d had on a blanket by the creek, counting out
strawberries and chunks of cheese to trade Jackson for some
champagne. Then came the motorcycle. Damn it. Nan mentally smacked
herself. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, and the yearning
ache for Jackson that was never far from the surface erupted
again.

A band started playing in the stateroom, its volume
way too loud, and the lead singer’s voice was nowhere as smooth as
Jackson’s. Nan left for the cool peace of the upper deck, but
couldn’t escape the memory of Jackson.

A man grabbed her arm as she walked by the steering
room. “I see Swanson deserted you again. I wouldn’t be so quick to
answer if I were out with you.”

It was X-ray Eyes, the odious radiologist who had
bothered her at the hospital party. Nan stepped back, tugging on
her arm. “Let go.”

“Hold on. No reason to get upset. Just want to get
to know you a little.”

He didn’t let go of her arm and Nan could smell a
good deal more alcohol on the man’s breath than was in his
aftershave.

“Let go of my arm, now.”

“In just a minute. Why don’t you come on in here
with me and let me fix you a fresher drink. We'll get to know each
other a lot better.” He leered at her as he tried to pull her into
the empty room.

That was it. Nan didn’t care if she was overreacting
or not. She swung around and planted her entire weight against the
man. He stumbled forward, fell against railing, and amazingly went
overboard.

He tried to save himself by grabbing onto her and
she went over too, trying to help. As soon as she surfaced she
heard all the commotion on the yacht. People tossed life preservers
out into the water and Nan wanted to just drown herself. It seemed
that between the hospital benefit and tonight, the only impression
the hospital’s upper crust would have of her is of a drowned rat.
Nan grabbed the flotation device and promptly untied the rope from
around it. The boat lay anchored in the harbor, not too far from
the shore and Nan just couldn’t face the people on it. She told the
people at the rail that she would swim to the dock and go home.

A few yards from the yacht, a rowboat moved her
way.

Jackson sat with a smug smile on his face. “Need a
ride, sugar?”

Could her life sink any lower? She should have
expected a fool stunt like this from him after he’d shown up
banging on her door the other night. Nan pushed off towards the
dock. “No, I don’t.”

“Why not? Where’s Swanson?”

She pushed her wet hair from her eyes. “Brad’s on
call, permanently. And I don’t want a ride because I can swim and
you’re obviously stalking me.”

“I’m what!”

“You heard me.”

“I was concerned. Brad Swanson isn’t the right man
for you. He’s an ass.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not anything like him.”

“If you say so.”

“Nan, just get in the damn boat.”

“No.”

“Fine. I won’t tell you they sighted sharks in the
harbor last week.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jackson then
went into a perfect rendition of the theme from
Jaws
.

Nan’s heart sped up and she started looking around
in the murky water. The sun was about to set. She screeched in
frustration and swam over to the rowboat. “I’m going to shoot you
for this, damn it. Why can’t you just stay out of my life?”

Jackson leaned over and pulled her into the boat.
She was a briny mess.

“I don’t know, Nan. I just don’t know.” He kissed
her and tears sprang to her eyes. She pushed him away.

“We want different things in life, Jack. Sex isn’t
going to change that. Go get a life. Go find someone who wants what
you do, and is willing to leave your past alone. I’m not that
someone. I want more than a good time when you’re in the mood.”
Just hold on Nan told herself. She could keep it together until she
made it to her car, made it home.

“I deserved that,” Jackson said, his voice quiet,
tight, completely unlike his smooth talking self.

Nan blinked away more tears. “No. You deserve more
than that. You just aren’t willing to let yourself have it. Take me
to the dock. I want to go home.”

Jackson looked as if he was going to say something
else, but he didn't. He just rowed the boat to shore, his strong
muscles straining under his shirt, reminding her of how good they
felt against her, over her, beneath her. Everywhere. His jeans
clung to his long lean legs and a breeze ferried in from the ocean,
making him look as if she'd just ran her fingers through his silky
hair. She clenched her fist and stared at the dark water, refusing
to look at him again.

Once at the dock, he helped her get out of the boat.
His touch was as unwelcome and as painful as her stabbing memories
of him. Everything was too fresh, too raw. She couldn't deal with
this.

"Where's your car, Nan?"

"I'll find it myself." She patted the tiny satin
purse slung securely over her neck and under her arm. "Go! Go, row
your boat!" She just wanted to be away from him. Away from all of
the reminders of how good his loving was.

Another minute and she'd start crying.

"Forget it. When you're safely in your car then I'll
disappear for good but not before."

"Fine," Nan said marching up the
dock, stabbing at the tears that now fell.
Disappear for good
.

Jackson stayed with her, a quiet shadow just behind
her, until she reached her car. She dug out her key and stuck it
into the lock. Jackson placed his hand over hers.

Oh God. Nan shut her eyes, remembering him doing the
same thing the night of the banquet as she opened her apartment
door. She remembered the kiss that followed. She'd never forget any
of his kisses. She'd never forget him. His memory would never
disappear. More tears fell. She couldn't stop them.

"Nan. I'm sorry. So damn sorry."

She looked up at Jackson. His blue eyes were stark
and bloodshot, his mouth grim. All of his smooth bad-boy self was
gone at that moment.

"I'm sorry, too. Sorry I ever let you into my life.
Good-bye, Jack." She twisted the key in the lock and pulled her
hand from his.

Nan ignored the tears she saw spring into his eyes.
She had too many of her own to worry about. Jackson opened her car
door and she climbed inside, pulled the door shut, and cranked the
engine. He stood back. She blindly backed out of the parking space
and drove away.

She spent the rest of the night crying. Crying
because Jackson had been there in the rowboat, like some romantic
fool coming after her. Crying because what she wanted from him
would forever remain in her dreams and fantasies. Crying because
she loved him, and because he had so much to give her and the
world, but would never do it because he didn’t think himself
worthy. Crying for everything between them that was lost before it
ever really had a chance to live.

* * *

At dawn on Saturday morning
Jackson rolled out of bed, grabbed his work boots, and quietly left
the house before his parents were up. He thought he knew what hell
was all about from the inside out. He was wrong. Nan was adding a
new dimension to his torture. Her tears and her anger had been one
thing, but the dead, resigned, hopeless look haunting her eyes when
she'd said,
I'm sorry, too. Sorry I ever
let you into my life. Good-bye, Jack,
reached deep inside him, and twisted him up. His sorry hadn't
been good enough and never would be.

Even as he headed out to the old cabin, planning to
put the place back into shape, he realized he was running again.
But this time he was running from Nan and burying himself in work
instead of isolation.

The supplies he purchased to fix the cabin filled
the porch. It was going to take a hell of a lot of hard work. His
family's assessment that the place needed to be bulldozed down
wasn't far from wrong. Stripping off his shirt, he headed for the
roof.

Several hours later, Jackson saw his father coming
up the drive. He got out of the car and held up a pitcher of iced
tea and what looked like a big bag of his mother's to-die-for
biscuits.

Jackson set down his hammer and jumped off the roof.
"Don't tell me, Mom threatened to tan my hide for skipping out on
breakfast."

His dad grinned. "She did." Wouldn't even let me eat
mine until I brought you yours. So I just had her pack us both a
meal." He set the bags of biscuits on the truck hood, pulled out
plastic cups and a tub of milk gravy.

"Oh man," Jackson said. He grabbed a biscuit, tore
off a piece, and dipped it into the creamy white gravy.

"She made your favorite, thinking you'd be around
this morning."

"Dad, this isn't going to work if--"

His father held up his hand. "You come and go as you
please, just kinda let your mom know when you might be around and
she'll settle into that just fine. She's worried. We both are and
have reason to be."

Jackson broke off more biscuit and swabbed it with
gravy. The second bite wasn't as good as the first. "I'm working on
it."

His dad lit into his own bag of biscuits, which
Jackson noted was half the size of his. "That's all anybody can
expect of any man. You know over the years, working in the
shipyard, and caring for this old farm, I've come to realize that
most of life is fixing things. Seeing what's wrong, what's not
working, and tackling those, one day at a time, one step at a
time."

Jackson grunted and grabbed his tea.

Nothing much else was said as they worked on the
biscuits and gravy. John patted his stomach after grabbing the last
crumb. "It's been a while since I've done any roof fixing. Mind if
I help?"

Jackson shrugged. "Suppose it wouldn't hurt."

"Good." His dad followed him up to the roof and as
they ripped up old shingles and checked for rot, Jackson noticed
that is dad wasn't as quick on his feet as he used to be. Time,
years of working hard, and sacrificing had taken a toll. Just like
he was working hard and sacrificing right now. His father didn't
need to be up on this roof, he needed to be sitting at the fishing
pond, catching catfish for fun.

John Weldon was a simple man, never claimed to be
more than that, and had never wanted more than the simple life, a
job that paid enough to feed his family, and a quiet farm to raise
them on.

Jackson sat back and ran his gaze over the fields
and woods of the Weldon farm, realizing something for the first
time. His father was just as important of a man in the backbone of
life as a world leader, a physicist, or even a doctor. And part of
Jackson's obsessed climb for success, to be the best trauma
specialist practicing, to be above his humble roots had been a
misguided bid for importance. If he ever became half the man his
father was, he'd be lucky.

Another truck approached, spinning a cloud of dust
from its tail. Jesse, Jared, and James piled out.

"What in hell are you fools doing?" Jesse asked,
glaring up at the roof.

"Fixing a roof," John Weldon yelled back, swiping
the sweat of his brow. "Did your mama call you boys?"

"Yep," James said. Jared just nodded. Jesse kept
glaring.

"And you all came running?"

"You've been married to her for nearly forty years.
What do you think?" Jesse asked.

"That you didn't run fast enough. Get your butts on
up here."

Jackson laughed.

James and Jared headed for the ladder. Jesse didn't
move.

"It'd be easier to bulldoze this place and start
over." The look in Jesse's eyes walked over Jackson like a man
forced to wade through manure.

"Maybe," John Weldon said. "But then sometimes doing
what's easy isn't what's best. This is one of those times."

Jackson wanted to tell them all to get lost. This
was his mess after all.

"If this is one of those times, Dad," Jesse said.
"Then you're going to have to climb off that roof and do the
supervising. There isn't room for more than four men up there."

John Weldon looked as if he'd planned to argue.

"Don't tell me you're going to pass up the
opportunity to whip our lazy asses back into shape?" Jackson
challenged, thankful to have a good excuse to get his father out of
the worst of the sun. "Besides, we're at the point where somebody's
going to have to hand up the supplies."

"Hey, my ass is the best it’s ever been," James
said.

"That's not saying much," Jared said.

"Women aren't complaining."

"You boys stop assing off and get to work," John
grumbled and climbed off the roof.

Jesse came up a few minutes later. "You know what,
bro?"

"What?" Jackson glanced up from the rusty nail he
was working loose.

"I'm damn glad to be here. And I'm even more damned
glad that you're here."

"Well aren't we just happy," Jackson muttered.

"Yeah, I guess I am." Jesse reached over and held
back the shingle so that Jackson could get to the nail easier.

Jackson looked up and met Jesse's gaze. "I'm glad.
You deserve it." Their gazes held, saying everything they didn't
need to have words to express. Warmth that had been needling around
inside of Jackson all week wrapped around his gut. He went back to
working on the nail, but a new breath of energy fueled his
movements.

"So, how's the little tiger?"

Jesse grinned. "Wreaking havoc like a true
Weldon."

Jackson laughed. "I'm going to have to go see
him."

"That'd be a good thing, since you're his
godparent."