Whatever It Takes (15 page)

She dropped her gaze to her lap, stroking her thumb along the thick pad at the base of his fingers. “There’s a luau on Saturday.”

He glanced over at her. “What’s the occasion?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Lila’s pregnant.”

“I thought she and Chase couldn’t have children?”

The joy in her sister-in-law’s voice days earlier filled her head. When she’d spilled the news, Lila’s voice had trembled with a mixture of elation and relieved tears. “Neither did they.”

“Well good for them.”

The warmth in his voice had the same emotion blooming in her chest. She traced the lines of stitching for a moment, the words she needed to say caught in her throat. If she was going to find out if he still loved her, she’d have to let herself be vulnerable with him too, and it had her trembling. But the thought of him alone, with no family, provided another heap of guilt on top of the rest. They were his family, too. Probably the only ones he had. “Will you come with me?”

He remained silent for a moment. “Do you want me to?”

The somber edge in his voice made her glance over at him. The same emotion echoed out at her from his eyes as well. He wanted to know if
she
wanted him there. A desperate part of her wondered if she was making the right decision. What if they ended up back in the same place? She might only get her heart broken again. But he was being honest with her. She had to give him the same in return, because the truth was, she wanted him there. If only to see where the time with him would lead them. Letting the dream die had been the hardest moment of her life. Now, the girl she’d once been, who’d fallen hard for him, ached to put it all back together again.

So, she squeezed his fingers and let herself be honest with him. “Very much.”

Relief flooded his features, and his thumb drifted across her knuckles, intimate, soothing, and electrifying. He turned back to the TV, this time more relaxed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t tell you things because I don’t want to burden you with my drivel. My father always told me I wasn’t ever to burden someone else with my emotional nonsense. He usually told me this when I had something I wanted to share with him. I always hated him for it.”

Her chest constricted. She turned to stare at the TV, watching the images flicker across the screen, and squeezed his fingers again. “It’s not drivel and it’s never a burden, Jack. I like when you talk to me.”

More than she knew how to tell him. The soft rumble of his voice, his sexy Southern accent, could lull her to sleep. Listening to him always soothed something within her, even if he only babbled about the weather.

A comfortable silence fell between them and set her simultaneously at ease and on edge. The small intimacy he’d shared meant the world to her, but the feeling left her at odds with herself. A small part of her kept expecting the bottom to drop out from beneath her. This side of him was like seeing him again for the first time, truly seeing him. The closer she felt to him, the more terrified she became, and the more she feared she’d wake up to discover she was only dreaming.

The longer they sat together, though, watching TV in silence, their fingers entwined beneath the covers, the larger the yearning in her stomach grew. To see where this new development in their relationship would lead them. She only knew one thing: if she didn’t at least try, than she was a coward.

An hour later the movie finally ended, and as the credits rolled down the screen, they sat in silence, tension mounting between them. Technically, she needed to leave his room, but the truth was, she had no desire to.

She drew a deep breath and glanced over at him. “I should go back to my room. I don’t want to confuse Allie, and I’d imagine you’re probably tired. Today was a long day.”

Tenderness mixed with regret in his gaze as he looked over at her. “I’ll admit I am a bit fatigued, but I’m not ready to let you go yet. Stay a bit longer? Watch another movie with me?” Her gaze flicked to Allie, nervousness rising up over her. Something he caught, for his fingers tightened in hers. “She sleeps like the dead. One movie, then you can go.”

It was the longing in his eyes that made the decision for her, if only because it echoed the same emotions within her. God, she couldn’t resist that face, never had been able to.

She nodded. “One more. What’s on?”

He released her hand to pick up the remote, turning to the cable’s on-screen guide. “Don’t know. Let’s pick one.”

Jackson woke the next morning to a warm body against his side. Opening his eyes, he expected to see Allie but found Becca instead. She lay curled against him. Her skin was warm and her arm deliciously heavy on his stomach. She looked beautiful, her eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Her silky golden locks fanned the pillow beside him. He had no memory of drifting off, but clearly they’d both fallen asleep during that last movie.

Little-girl giggles drifted to him and his heartbeat sped up. Allie. Panic flitted through him as he lifted his head. She lay at the bottom of the bed on her stomach, resting her chin in her hands. She had the television on but turned low. Obviously she’d realized Becca had spent the night in his bed instead of her own room. They shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. Would she have questions?

“Mornin’, sweet pea.” He eased himself to a sitting position, the pain slicing through his rib cage. For the sake of his daughter, he swallowed his tired groan.

Allie peered back at him, her little face beaming. “Morning.” Her gaze darted to Becca, and if at all possible, her smile widened. “Mommy stayed, too.”

He followed her gaze, eyeing Becca’s soft form against his side, regret mixed with joy. He liked her beside him, but he needed to address her presence in the bed. It was a difficult conversation, but one he needed to have with Allie.

“I think we all fell asleep watching that movie. You know, this likely won’t happen again, sweetheart. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea. It doesn’t mean anything’s changed between your momma and me.”

She looked down at the bed, twirling her finger over the pattern on the quilt, her expression hard to read.

“I know. ’Cause you’re still ’vorced. She was scared, too, Daddy. I’m glad she stayed. So she can take care of you if you hurt again.” She turned, crawled up the bed to him, and laid down on his other side, carefully hugging his thigh. She lifted her head, peering at him with worried eyes. “
Do
you hurt, Daddy?”

He stroked the hair back off her face with his good hand. “A little, but I’ll be all right. I’ll heal, I promise. How ’bout we take Mommy’s car and go get some breakfast? Muffins from the bakery around the corner? You hungry?”

More to the point, breakfast would take her focus off the fact that Becca had spent the night in his bed.

Allie shook her head, her big blue eyes wide and worried again. “You shouldn’t drive.”

He smiled. “All right. How about eggs, then? Just like on Saturdays.”

Relief flooded her face, and Allie sat up, bobbing her head. “And I can make the toast.”

She hopped off the bed, and, too much like her mother, held her hands out to him. He allowed her to pull him to his feet, swallowing a pain-filled groan when moving jostled his sore ribs.

“All right. Lead the way.” How he’d make eggs one-armed, he didn’t know, but he allowed her to lead him out of the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, he was halfway through the scrambled eggs. Allie stood on a chair at the counter beside him. As it turned out, she’d helped him crack and whisk the eggs and now spread butter on the toast. All he’d really done was cook.

“Is it Saturday already?”

At the sound of Becca’s soft voice, he turned. She stood in the kitchen doorway, rumpled and wearing his robe again.

Allie turned and beamed at her. “I’m helping Daddy make breakfast, Mommy.”

Becca crossed the kitchen, stopped beside Allie, and placed a hand on her back, kissing the top of her head. “I see that.”

“She wouldn’t let me drive to the bakery around the corner, so we compromised.” Jackson pulled the spatula through the eggs, now sizzling in a heated pan on the stove. The aroma of toast and cooked eggs filled the air, and his stomach rumbled again. Allie giggled.

“Daddy shouldn’t drive, right Mommy?” Her tone matter-of-fact, Allie returned to her task of spreading butter on the toast slices on the counter.

“Oh, I think he’ll be all right, baby.” Becca smiled, her expression relaxed. “Accidents happen, but we can’t let them make us so afraid we stop living.”

Allie nodded but didn’t look entirely convinced. Jackson could only stare at Becca. She was a lot more relaxed this morning, her face open, and for a moment he stood dumbstruck. He couldn’t remember the last time so much warmth and tenderness had filled her eyes. At least not directed at him. He was sure his heart had simply stopped beating.

“Do you need any help?” Becca raised her brows and nodded in their direction.

“I haven’t made the coffee yet.”

She nodded and moved into the room toward the coffeemaker. He hadn’t lied when he told her she made terrible coffee. She tended to brew mud. But he’d suffer through it. He couldn’t resist the chance to spend the morning doing something he’d taken for granted once.

A few minutes later, they all sat around the table in the breakfast nook. Jackson stared in awe. Becca sat across from him, Allie to her right. The two of them bent their heads together and giggled. A playful warmth radiated around the kitchen. It was another moment in time he wanted to burn into his memory.

Making breakfast together had been an experience he wouldn’t soon forget. Becca had most definitely relaxed. She’d teased him about almost burning the eggs. He’d teased her about her awful coffee. Allie giggled. A lot.

Now here they were, all three of them, seated around the kitchen table eating and discussing the day ahead. Like a family. Being there with them flat-out amazed him. He wanted to soak in every second of his time with his girls, commit every nuance to memory and let the time wrap around his soul. He missed things like this growing up, the simple stuff, like breakfast as a family. After Becca left, he missed moments like these the most.

When Becca finally shooed Allie off to get dressed for school, the need to make them a family again cemented. Now that he had her here, he had to do whatever it took to bring her back home permanently. He’d let her go once. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

***

Jackson sat at the kitchen table an hour and a half later when the front door clicked shut. The sound of Becca’s footsteps preceded her into the kitchen. She stopped short in the doorway, surprise written on her face.

She darted a glance at the microwave clock, seated on the counter beside the sink. “Aren’t you usually at work by now?”

He shook his head and set his cell phone on the table. “Not going in today. Just called Jeannette and told her to cancel my meetings for the day.”

“You okay?” Concern puckered her brow, and she moved further into the room, striding across the kitchen to him.

He waved a hand at her. “Oh, I’m fine. I have things I need to see to is all, and they won’t get done if I’m at work all day. Have to call my insurance and then I need to see about getting another car.”

She stopped at his side. “Ah. Feel free to use mine.”

“With both our jobs, we can only get by on one car for so long. In the meantime, I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out how to take a shower.” He darted a glance at his arm. “How in the world do you bathe with these things?”

It left him feeling too much like an invalid again, but he’d asked because he hadn’t a clue, and he knew Becca had. She’d told him once, when they were dating. She’d broken her arm twice, once roughhousing with her brothers and once in a game of tackle football with her friends.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s no pretty way around that one. When I broke mine, Mom put my arm in a plastic bag. Here, I’ll show you.”

Five minutes later she had his arm trussed up in a white plastic trash bag, the top of which she held closed with gray duct tape. He had to laugh. “I look ridiculous.”

She put a hand over her mouth and giggled. “Yes, you do, but at least you can take a shower.”

A breath later, her smile fell and she froze in front of him. She cocked her head to the side, studying something about him.

A knot of dread formed in his stomach. He let out a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that look on your face makes me nervous. The last time you looked at me like that I played the part of your practice dummy. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

She clasped her trembling hands together and turned to stare at the floor for a moment. Seconds ticked out before she finally squared her shoulders, dropped her hands to her sides, and looked back up at him. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like help.”

He shook his head, not quite following her. “Help with what?”

“Showering.” She blinked at him like she’d merely commented on the weather. “It’s hard to do one-handed, and with your ribs, it’s bound to be painful. I can help, if you like.”

He couldn’t stop his brows from rising clean into his hairline. Her cheeks reddened, but she held his gaze, bold and unapologetic.

Obviously his mind had wandered too far into the gutter. He must have misunderstood her. Or hoped too hard. “Surely you aren’t offering to wash my back.”

Her chin jutted out in defiance. “Yes.”

***

Jackson stared at her, stunned surprise in his widened eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. Becca wanted to suck the words back and crawl into a hole. She had no idea what she was doing. She only knew she couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation the night before. Couldn’t stop seeing that image of him in his twisted car. She didn’t like seeing him hurt. Didn’t like the thought that nobody ever really cared for him as a child, that nobody ever pampered him who wasn’t paid to do so.

She swallowed a sigh. The ease with which he’d opened up to her had gotten to her last night. She wanted to follow the urge, wanted to let him in, because something deep inside wouldn’t let her
not
follow it. If she did, she’d regret it. Now, it was as simple as helping him bathe. Something she knew darn well
was
difficult one-handed.

“Come on.” Refusing to think too long or too hard about it, she grabbed his good hand and led him through the house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Jackson followed in silence. She was grateful he didn’t throw one of his cocky taunts at her. If he did, she might lose her nerve.

“I’ll draw you a bath.” Once inside the bedroom, she released his hand and moved into the adjoining bathroom.

This was another room she’d missed when she moved out. When he’d had the house built, he’d designed this space for her. It was large, bright, and open. On one end sat the two sinks and shower stall. On the other, beside a large picture window, stood an old-fashioned claw-foot tub. She’d spent many long hours soaking away aches and pains in that tub. Out of all the things in the house, she missed the tub the most.

Shaking off the thoughts, she moved to the tub, plugged the drain, and started the water running. Then she turned, only to come up short. Jackson stood in the doorway, leaning his good shoulder against the frame. The tender heat in his eyes sent her pulse throbbing, her blood suddenly running thick and hot. Bathing someone was such an intimate thing to do, but to bathe
him
? Her nerves had scattered. All too well she recalled the times they
had
sat in that tub together, all the showers they’d taken together, and in about a minute, she was going to have to put her hands all over his warm, wet skin.

They watched each other for what seemed like forever, the moment moving between them. Oh, he remembered as well, for heat flared in the depths of his eyes. An answering shiver raked the length of her spine. Their relationship was changing. Their conversation last night had shifted everything between them. It was like a whole new world had opened between them, and the desire that flared had the room around them suddenly sweltering.

She turned to the tub, knelt down, and turned the water off. Jackson finally moved from his spot and strode into the room. He stopped at her side but didn’t touch her. Not that he had to. The yearning moving between them had become a living, breathing entity. God, how she ached to turn and press herself into his arms. The floodgates had fully opened, and she ached to take the moment and run with it. When she peeked over at him, the look in his eyes said he wouldn’t stop her, either.

“I’m afraid I need help, sweetheart.” His voice was a low hum, vibrating with an aching tension. Of the hot variety. “With my belt and the button on my slacks. I don’t think I’ll be able to get either one of them, one-handed and all.”

Her heart stuttered, but she nodded. He hadn’t gotten undressed last night, had told her he was too tired and too sore to bother with it, and she
had
offered to help him. But the thought alone made her nipples tighten and ache. “Right.”

Undoing his belt buckle, her fingers trembled so hard she fumbled for several seconds simply to unlatch the clasp. He had to be able to feel her shaking, but luckily, he didn’t toss any of his teasing comments at her, and she kept her gaze on her task. If she looked up into his eyes, had to watch the heat filter in, she’d surely crumble. It was a step in the right direction, but she needed to take this slowly or she’d scare herself.

When her fingers closed over the button on his pants, his stomach muscles jumped and his breathing hitched, but he didn’t say a word, for which she was eternally grateful. When she reached for his zipper, his hand closed over hers, stopping her movement. “I think you’d better let me get that, sweetheart. I can manage from here.”

The husky tone of his voice and the hidden meaning in his words had heat and butterflies tumbling through her stomach. She drew in a ragged breath, nodded, and stepped around him, returning to the doorway, putting her back to the room. “Let me know when you’re in.”

Despite her best intentions, she followed the sounds of his movements. The rasp of the zipper and the quiet
shush
of his pants sliding from his body. His footsteps as he crossed the room. The creak of the laundry hamper, and the soft thud when the lid dropped closed.

She swallowed past a desert-dry throat. That meant he was now naked. Heat curled low in her belly, and she fisted her hands to keep from turning to watch him make his way back to the tub. God, she used to love looking at him naked, and the strength it took to remain where she stood had the muscles in her shoulders tensing painfully.