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Expectations
Brenda Novak


With her son, Ryan, Jenna's moved back to Mendocino, where she's living and working at the Victoriana Bed and Breakfast.It's owned by the elderly Durhams–whose grandson, Adam, was her first love. And, in some ways, her last…. But that was fifteen years ago, before Adam abandoned her and his family for the bright lights and big city. For a successful career and a fast-track life.When Adam and Jenna rediscover each other, he wants her back. But much as Jenna knows she could love him again, she also knows there are too many obstacles between them. Too much history. Too many expectations. And now…her baby. But Adam's a very determined man. A man she has reason to love…









Jenna’s eyes darted from the cash register to the pregnancy test


It seemed to be lying on the conveyor belt screaming, “Jenna thinks she’s pregnant!” She craned her neck down the aisle, and just as she feared, spotted Adam and Ryan on their way back.

By the time the checker turned her attention to Jenna’s purchases, it was too late to ask her to ring up the pregnancy test separately. Adam and her son were within hearing distance. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it, she prayed, but lost all hope of that when the checker tried to run the package through the scanner and it wouldn’t beep. Frowning, the woman picked up her microphone. “Johnny? Would you get me the price of the First Choice Pregnancy Test? Aisle 9, I think.”

Jenna took a gulp of air and held it as Adam’s jaw dropped and his eyes flew to her face. She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Where did that come from?” she asked. “That’s not mine.”

The checker blinked at her. “You don’t want this?”

“No, it’s not mine.” Jenna could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Maybe it belonged to the person in front of me.”

“Mrs. Jones?” The checker scoffed outright. “She must be sixty-five. I don’t think so, honey.” She shoved the pregnancy test off to one side.

Jenna wanted only to get out of the grocery store and away from the First Choice box as soon as possible.


Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you how happy I am to be a new Superromance author and to be able to share Expectations, my first contemporary romance, with you.

Not long ago, when I visited the picturesque town of Mendocino along the northern California coast, I knew I wanted to set a book there. Expectations is that book. It’s a story about coming home, about two people who are, for very different reasons, eager to leave the small, close community where they grew up. One ventures into the world and meets with success; the other must come to terms with a failed marriage. But they’re both searching for something when they come home again—and what they find, surprises even them.

I’d love to hear what you think of Expectations or answer any questions you may have. And I hope you’ll look for my next book later this year. You can contact me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611, or via my web site at www.brendanovak.com where the dates and titles of my upcoming books will be listed, along with current book-signing information.

Happy reading!

Brenda Novak




Expectations

Brenda Novak








To my editor, Paula Eykelhof.

For her open heart and open mind.

For treating authors with patience and respect.

For listening to me when I was an unpublished writer

fumbling through my first verbal pitch, and seeing the

potential in spite of the nerves.


I would like to acknowledge the assistance

of René Stwora-Hale, criminal prosecutor, for her advice

on matters legal. And I would like to thank Kim Grace

for giving me those precious few, guilt-free hours to write

without distractions. Thanks also to my sister,

Tonya Schmidt, for her interest in and excitement

about my work.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


WAS SOMEONE BREAKING IN?

Jenna Livingston stiffened beneath the fluffy comforter of her bed. The Mendocino house, which she helped run as a bed-and-breakfast, was more than a hundred years old. It had its share of nighttime settling noises. And the sea was never silent. Less than a half mile away, surf pounded constantly against the tall black rocks of the Northern California coast, a life rhythm for the small community.

But this noise…this was different. She might have thought Ryan had awakened, but her son’s room opened off her own and the door between them was still closed.

Straining to hear beyond the rasp of her own breathing and the thump of her heart, Jenna waited.

There it was again. Scratching against the side of the house. A bump. Coming from downstairs.

Had Mr. Durham heard it? Jenna listened for movement in the room across the hall.

A snore loud enough to reach through two doors answered her. Lyle Durham, the seventy-year-old owner of Victoriana Bed-and-Breakfast, was obviously sound asleep. His sixty-nine-year-old wife, Myrtle, probably snored right along with him. She wore hearing aids, which she removed at bedtime along with her teeth. And there were no paying guests tonight. Tourist season was over. Except for the occasional weekend when visitors again swelled the local population, the advent of autumn left the small town of Mendocino quiet and close.

Creeping out from under the covers, Jenna pulled on a robe over the tank top and bikini underwear she wore to bed. If her own troubled thoughts hadn’t kept her awake, she doubted she would have heard anything, either. But these days she spent more time tossing and turning than she did sleeping, and the effects were beginning to show. She was jumpy, not yet at peace with the recent changes in her life.

Another thump led Jenna to the top of the stairs, where she squinted into the darkness below. Running a hand through her long tangled hair, she considered waking the Durhams, then decided against it. Mrs. Durham would call the police, Mr. Durham would insist on going alone to investigate, and if Ryan got up, he’d find himself in the middle of another frightening episode.

A lot of unnecessary fuss if the trouble turned out to be nothing more than an alley cat getting into the garbage again. Besides, if it came to facing a burglar, Jenna trusted her own skills more than she did the old man’s bravado. She felt almost as protective of the Durhams as she did of Ryan. They had taken her in at a time when she badly needed someone; they treated her like a member of the family.

The stairs creaked as Jenna descended, one hand on each wall to help keep her balance. The moonlight, which had filtered easily through the sheer curtains of the upper bedrooms, struggled to reach the dark interior of the lower level. Heavy draperies and blinds covered the tall thick-paned windows, but Jenna wasn’t about to give her presence away by turning on a lamp. Not when she already knew where each and every piece of furniture was. After her arrival at the end of August, she’d helped redecorate the place and had selected and arranged its many antiques.

Tiptoeing past a Louis XVI settee with matching chairs, Jenna paused to listen.

A muttered curse, very definitely human and very definitely male, broke the silence.

The kitchen. The man, whoever he was, sounded as though he was climbing through the kitchen window.

I should call the police. Jenna looked up the stairs, once again tempted to wake the Durhams. Breaking and entering wasn’t kid’s play. Mendocino had a low crime rate, especially during the fall and winter, but that was no consolation if she, Ryan and the Durhams joined the few who’d been victims.

Judging from the movements she heard, however, the thief was nearly inside. By the time the police arrived, whatever he planned to do would be done.

Jenna had a better idea. Pressing herself to the wall outside the swinging kitchen door, she tightened her robe and calmed her mind, seeking her karate instructor’s voice in her head. After three years of lessons and intense training, she’d earned her black belt—and she’d proved herself capable of handling even a large man the last time her drunken husband had come after her. Drunken ex-husband.

The sound of the refrigerator door opening and the clink of bottles came from within. Then the crackle of cellophane, water running in the sink and a cupboard being closed.

What was he doing? Stealing food? Snooping? Or looking for a stash of money?

Finally she could hear him crossing to the door. Jenna’s heart skidded and bumped as her taut nerves threatened to leave her in a quaking heap on the carpet. During her encounter with her husband, her emotions had sustained her, but long-smoldering anger was quite different from fear.

She raised her hands in a defensive stance. Whoever it was wouldn’t expect her. She’d have the element of surprise on her side. Except that this housebreaker seemed to think he had all the time in the world, which was partly what frightened her. Only a bold thief would be so careless. Or a thief with a gun.

The door swung open, and Jenna reacted, refusing to give the man a chance to use any weapon. Slicing the air with her right hand, she landed a blow to the neck. Her foot rose almost in unison, kicking him squarely in the groin.

He grunted and collapsed to the floor, curling into a fetal position.

Jenna grabbed the vase from the table at her side and lifted it high. “Who are you and what do you want here?” she demanded, prepared to bring it crashing down on his head.

For a moment the intruder didn’t speak. At last he wheezed, “I’m Adam Durham. My grandparents own this place. What the hell is going on?”

Jenna’s blood turned to ice. Adam Durham! She hadn’t seen Adam since high school—and she didn’t want to see him now. Especially not rolling on the floor because she’d kicked him.

Or maybe he deserved it for ruining her life all those years ago.

“What’s happening down here?” Jenna squinted as the lights flashed on. Lyle Durham stood at the foot of the stairs, a concerned scowl on his seamed face.

“Jenna, girl, you all right?”

Jenna realized she was still holding the vase. Setting it back in its rightful place, she nodded and followed Mr. Durham’s gaze to the man at her feet.

“Adam, what are you doing here? And what the devil’s the matter?”

“Kung Fu here just kicked the shit out of me. What does it look like?” he groaned.

The old man’s scowl deepened. “What did you do to her?”

Adam didn’t answer. He rolled to his back and tried to catch his breath, giving Jenna her first glimpse of his face. He’d changed—she saw that right off—and all for the better. The rangy reckless boy she’d known had grown into a well-built man in a tailored business suit. With slick black hair that shone almost as richly as his leather loafers, he looked the consummate business executive. Except for his eyes, which still sparkled with mischief.

Myrtle Durham, wrapped in a fuzzy pink bath robe that complemented her husband’s gray terry-cloth one, came down the stairs and peeked over Mr. Durham’s shoulder. “Oh, my! It is Adam. And he’s hurt.”

“I thought he was a burglar,” Jenna explained.

“And she didn’t stop to ask any questions,” Adam added with a glower.

Jenna lifted a challenging brow. “Most men who climb through windows in the middle of the night aren’t paying a social call.”

“But why didn’t you use the key?” Mrs. Durham asked. “I always leave one out for you.”

Adam shook his head. “It wasn’t where you usually keep it, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Nothing gets past our new manager.” Mr. Durham winked at Jenna. “Come on, boy. You can’t be too badly hurt. Jenna’s not big enough to cause lasting damage.” He offered Adam a hand.

“Unless you don’t know she’s lying in wait for you.” Adam accepted his grandfather’s help. “A man with a Twinkie in his mouth isn’t exactly prepared for attack.”

His voice, full of the same wry humor she remembered so well, made Jenna wince. She’d spent fifteen years trying to forget Adam Durham.

It felt as if it hadn’t been a day.

“Look at you,” his grandfather said when Adam stood, towering half a foot above the older man. “You grow taller every time I see you. What’s it been, two years?”

Frowning, Adam slapped the dust off his suit pants. “I’ve been six-two for ten years, Pop. You say that every time I come here. Besides, you know it’s only been four months since my last visit.”

“Four months, two years—it’s the same to an old man with no other family. Did you get tired of all that talking in court and decide to move home, like you should’ve done a long time ago?”

Seeming to recover his aplomb, Adam chuckled and ran a hand through his thick hair. “No, Pop. I’m still a lawyer, still living in San Francisco. I just had some time this week and thought I’d come for a stay.”

“That means you’ll be on the phone till you leave.”

“Lyle!” Myrtle brushed past her husband to give her grandson a hug.

Adam returned the hug, lifting the short plump woman off her feet. Then he released her and pulled off his already loosened tie. Jenna assumed his jacket had been removed before his climb through the window and pictured it draped across the passenger seat of—what kind of car would he own now? Certainly nothing like the beat-up Chevy they used to drive everywhere, back when they were high-school sweethearts.

“I won’t make a single call. Promise.” He crossed his heart, drawing Jenna’s attention lower. She’d tried not to notice the other marked changes in him, but now she couldn’t stop looking. Adam was no longer a gangly eighteen-year-old. He was a man, and he had the body to prove it. The white shirt he wore, unbuttoned at the neck, covered shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, a lean waist and arms contoured with well-defined muscle.

“What’s she doing here? And where’s my old buddy Dennis?” he asked.

His use of the third person and his emphasis on Dennis’s name told Jenna he hadn’t yet forgiven her for the kick to his groin. And that he felt as uncomfortable around her as she did him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. The minute he’d graduated from high school, he’d broken up with her, saying he wanted the freedom to pursue a career. She’d retaliated by saying she was going to marry his best friend, who had chased her for years. They’d fought, Adam had gone off to college, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Unfortunately, when she graduated a year later, she’d followed through with her threat to marry Dennis.

“She has a voice,” Jenna answered, telling herself she wasn’t the same person she’d been back in those days—lost and vulnerable because her mother and stepfather had just died in a car accident and her real father had rejected her yet again. She’d been through a lot to toughen her up since.

“Dennis and I are divorced.” She stated it matter-of-factly, as though she didn’t care about conceding their last argument to him. But she did. She hated admitting the divorce to anyone, Adam most of all. According to the Durhams, who had raised him after his mother died of a drug overdose, he’d gone on to accomplish all he wanted. He’d become a huge success in the big city; he was rich, powerful, happy.

She couldn’t even keep her marriage together.

“Mom?” A sleepy-eyed Ryan hovered behind the Durhams. “What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

Jenna hurried to her eight-year-old son and, putting a reassuring arm around his shoulders, brought him into the light. “No, honey, it’s the Durhams’ grandson, Adam. You’ve heard them talk about him before, haven’t you?”

Ryan scratched his tousled head of wheat-blond hair. “Yeah. He’s the real busy guy from San Francisco, right?”

If Ryan’s words implied an accusation, Jenna knew her son wasn’t aware of it, but the adults shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m a defense attorney,” Adam explained. “With the number of bad guys running around these days, not to mention the wrongly accused, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

Ryan nodded and covered a yawn. Had Adam said he was a football player or a cop, the boy might have been more impressed. Jenna doubted he knew what a defense attorney was.

“This is my son, Ryan,” she explained, proud of the one good thing her years with Dennis had given her.

Adam focused on the boy, an unreadable expression on his face. “I went to school with your parents,” he said. “Used to play ball with your dad.”

That he had played far more intimate games with Jenna went unsaid, but the look he gave her indicated he hadn’t forgotten.

Neither had Jenna. The memory of his kiss, warm and insistent, skittered through her mind, creating the same old flutter in her stomach. How could so much time pass without changing anything?

Then again, those same years had changed everything.

Suddenly Jenna wanted to get away—and stay away—from Adam Durham. The history books were closed. She wasn’t ready to think about the old times, the good times.

Mr. Durham lifted one gnarled hand to smooth back the gray hair above his ears, the only place he had any, just as Mrs. Durham waved them all toward the kitchen.

“I’ve got a fresh pumpkin pie—”

Adam grinned. “I know. I found it.”

Jenna remembered the sounds she’d heard coming from the kitchen and blushed. While Adam had been raiding his grandmother’s refrigerator, she’d thought he was searching the freezer for a juice can full of cash.

“I thought you were eating a Twinkie.”

“I went easy on the pie, in case Gram had big plans for it. The Twinkie was just to finish me off.” He stretched, accentuating his size. “I’m a growing boy, after all.”

Hardly a boy, Jenna thought. “Well I wouldn’t want to keep you from your second piece of pie. You three go ahead.” She began pushing Ryan up the stairs in front of her. “I’d better get this boy back to bed.”

Yes, the Durhams had always made her feel like part of the family, but Jenna knew she wasn’t part of this. As soon as Adam appeared, she’d become the intruder—understandable, considering their history and what had just occurred, but awkward all the same.

“Jenna, wouldn’t you like a slice of pie? You’re getting far too thin,” Mrs. Durham said.

“She looks good to me,” Adam muttered.

Jenna felt Adam’s dark eyes on her like the heat of a campfire, and again she tightened the belt of her robe before turning back to face them. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. There’s school in the morning, and Ryan agreed to tidy up the woodpile afterward. I’ve got to be up early to interview waitresses if we want to replace Gayle before the holidays.”

Adam smiled, his teeth glinting against his darkly shadowed jaw. “Maybe I’ll help Ryan. When I was a kid, I used to collect the spiders I found out in that old woodpile.”

Ryan brightened. “Great! I found a tarantula once when we visited the Grand Canyon.”

“We’ll see if we can find another one tomorrow, though we’ll probably have better luck coming up with a black widow.”

“Black widows are cool.” Ryan resisted his mother’s hand long enough to add, “Hey, save me a piece of pie, okay?”

“You got it, kid.” Adam winked at Ryan, and Jenna shooed her son on his way.

“I’m sorry about your, um, neck,” she said to Adam, then followed Ryan up the stairs.



“OKAY. WHAT’S JENNA doing here?” Adam took the milk from the stainless-steel restaurant-style refrigerator and set it on the large oak table. Taking a seat, he crossed his legs at the ankle and angled them out in front of him, trying to appear patient as he waited for the explanation. He’d never dreamed he’d see Jenna again. Not here. Not after all these years. And certainly not minus his old friend.

What was more, he’d never expected the sight to land him a blow in the gut with twice the impact of those she’d landed elsewhere on his body tonight.

Grandma Durham busied herself uncovering the pie she’d reclaimed from the fridge. “She’s working here, dear. She’s our new manager. Didn’t you know? I could swear I mentioned it on the phone a time or two.”

She stood on tiptoe to reach the cupboard where the plates were stored, and Adam swiftly stood and retrieved them for her.

“You said nothing of the sort—and you know it.” He leaned down to see her face, which was worn and lined and pleasant to look at, like a treasured old book.

“Why? What’s going on?”

With a smile and a shrug, she sent a glance her husband’s way. Pop Durham sat across from Adam’s seat, rattling the pages of yesterday’s paper as though absorbed in what he read there. But Adam wasn’t fooled. Pop listened to every word they said, all the while pretending his grandson’s visit wasn’t that important to him, just the way he did whenever Adam came home.

“In August, I think it was, she moved back to town to sell her stained glass—”

“Her what?”

“She makes the most beautiful windows and lampshades, dear, in stained glass. You really should see them.”

“That’s how she was planning to earn a living?” Adam couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice, and Gram reacted with a dose of defensiveness.

“She could, you know. She’s good enough. She’s just getting her business set up. So it was perfect that she could come and work here. We needed the help and she needed the extra income.”

His grandmother gestured him back to his seat, and Adam stretched out again. “What, exactly, does she do for you?”

“Oh, whatever we need, actually. She fills in if the maid doesn’t show up, or the waitress, or she helps Mr. Robertson in the kitchen if the restaurant gets busy. She does some bookkeeping for a few hours the first part of the week, then basically manages the restaurant and inn from Thursday to Sunday.” Gram frowned. “I told you we were going to hire someone, that Pop and I are getting too old to handle this place alone.”

With a twinge of guilt, Adam loosened his collar by unfastening another button. Her meaning was clear. His grandparents wanted him to come home and work, and eventually take over the place when they passed on. They had never understood his desire to make something more of himself, and he couldn’t seem to explain it to them, though he’d certainly tried. As the illegitimate son of a drug addict who’d abandoned him when he was only five and then killed herself, he knew what a psychologist would say. He’d dated one once who’d sent him her analysis of him after he’d broken it off. She’d said he was an overachiever, acting out of a desire to prove himself valuable to society. Because he’d been rejected at such a young age he had no faith in his intrinsic worth. He feared losing control, which was why he never did, and why he worked himself nearly to death to fill his life with things, instead of people.

For all the confidence with which that letter had been written, Adam wasn’t sure he agreed. He was a simple man and not prone to blame his faults on anyone, least of all his parents. His mother, when she was alive, had enough troubles of her own, and no one knew who his father was. Besides, he wasn’t about to lay that psychological mumbo jumbo on his poor grandparents. They’d feel as though they’d failed him in some way, when they’d always been the best part of his life—along with those three years with Jenna.

“You told me you were going to hire someone, but you didn’t say who,” he said.

“Does it matter?” Pop Durham glanced at him over his paper as the scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted through the kitchen. The smell brought back the autumns of Adam’s youth: the crisp sea winds, the crackle of a warm fire, melting butter on homemade bread and, most of all, the safe haven the Victoriana had provided him under the loving care of his grandparents.

He owed them so much, yet he couldn’t give them the one thing they wanted. He couldn’t move back home.

Using his fork to draw designs in the whipped cream his grandmother had ladled over his warm pie, Adam lifted his gaze to meet Pop’s. “I think it matters. You both know Jenna and I were once close.”

“That was fifteen years ago,” Gram asserted, pouring him a tall glass of milk. “I wasn’t sure you’d even remember Jenna.”

Adam took a bite of his pie, savoring the spices and the smooth texture of the filling. How could he ever forget Jenna? She was his first love and, in some respects, his last. “So what happened between her and Dennis?”

“She told you. They got divorced,” Pop said. “It’s over.”

“When?” Adam wasn’t about to let his grandfather put him off. He’d suffered through too many years of imagining Dennis with Jenna, in every way he had once been with her, to settle for just “It’s over.”

“’Bout six months ago.”

“That boy’s got problems.” Gram shook her head. Her hair, now dyed a harsh black, was flat on one side, where she’d been sleeping on it. “But it’s none of our affair. You’d better let Jenna tell you about Dennis.”

Adam downed his pie, wondering how Jenna had managed to claim so much of his grandparents’ esteem and loyalty in the short time she’d lived with them. “Does he come around?”

“Not yet, and he’d better not show up while I’m here,” his grandpa said, finally folding the paper and setting it aside to accept his own pie.

Adam opened his mouth to ask another question, but the ringing of the telephone cut him off.

He glanced at Gram in surprise. Who would be calling the Victoriana at nearly one o’clock in the morning?

His grandmother clucked her tongue, but neither she nor Pop made any move toward the phone, so he reached over and picked up the receiver himself. Before he could say hello, he heard Jenna’s voice. She sounded…wary.

“Hello?”

“Jen?”

“Dennis? Why do you keep calling me? I’ve asked you not to bother us here.”

“You think I’m going to let you get away that easy, Jen? You’re my wife, and that’s my boy you got there.” Dennis’s words were slurred and difficult to understand, and Adam realized immediately that he’d been drinking. Reluctant to intrude on Jenna’s privacy, Adam started to hang up when her shaky response made him pause.

“Dennis, the divorce has been final for months. I’ve got a restraining order against you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call the police. Besides, I won’t have you bothering the Durhams. They’re old and they need their rest.”

Dennis gave a throaty laugh. “It’s not the Durhams I plan to bother. You go ahead and call the police, Jen. That karate shit won’t help you this time. They’ll need to bring a body bag by the time I’m through with you.”

Then the phone clicked and the line went dead.




CHAPTER TWO


JENNA SAT ON THE EDGE of her bed, trying to stop the tremors that racked her body. Dennis had rattled her, which was exactly what he’d intended. She shouldn’t have let him, but there was a craziness about her ex-husband that frightened her, for Ryan more than herself.

Dennis had been getting worse since she and Ryan had left him. Would he, one day, follow through with his threats?

“Mom? Was that Dad?” Ryan’s voice came from the other room, where his light had just snapped off.

Drawing in a deep breath, Jenna wondered what she should say. She didn’t want to blacken Dennis’s name. Ryan was only eight. He needed a man in his life, a healthy role model. But the boy’s father was far from healthy right now, and Ryan had, no doubt, already heard her responses to the caller.

“Yes,” she told him.

“Was he drunk again?”

Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, hating the truth and the pain it caused her son. “I think so, honey.”

Ryan didn’t answer. The springs of his bed squeaked and, in a moment, he shuffled into her room. “I know he scares you.” He stared at her, his large brown eyes as earnest as his words. “I wish I was big enough to protect you.”

Smiling, Jenna beckoned him to her. “Ryan, it’s not your job to protect me, especially from your own father.” She blinked back tears brought on by her son’s sweet devotion—and aggravated by her own raw nerves. “Dennis is…just confused right now. When he gets a handle on his drinking, he’ll be the fun dad we once knew.”

“Will we go back home, then?”

Jenna searched her son’s face for any sign of hope and found none. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because I don’t remember him being any fun.”

Standing, Jenna rested her hands on her son’s thin shoulders. At four foot five he was only a foot shorter than she was.

“That’s a real shame, Ryan, because your father was…is…a wonderful person. He’s just got a big problem.” She didn’t add that their troubles had started long before his drinking. That piece of information wasn’t relevant, anyway, because Jenna would have stayed with Dennis, for Ryan’s sake, had he not become abusive.

Ryan nodded. “I’d better get back to bed.”

“Okay.” Jenna gave him a squeeze. “We’re doing just fine on our own, don’t you think?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I like it here.”

“So do I.”

“Do you think that Adam guy will really help me catch a black widow tomorrow?”

Adam. Another sensitive subject. Refusing to dwell on the man she’d just kicked—hard—Jenna looked at the clock next to her bed. Nearly one-thirty. What a night.

“I think so,” she said. “Now hop into bed.”

Ryan gave her a quick kiss on her cheek and headed to his room, leaving Jenna to climb back into her own bed and stare at the ceiling. She listened to the ocean, hoping it would calm her, soothe her mind into sleep, but she was still awake when the Durhams went to bed. As they passed her door, she heard Mrs. Durham ask her husband if he’d taken the medication for his high blood pressure.

Then Adam’s sure step sounded in the hall. If she wasn’t imagining things, he paused by her room, and she half hoped he’d knock so they could talk the rest of the night away. Over the years she’d wondered countless times about his life. Was his career as fulfilling as he’d thought it would be? Did he still like motorcycles? Was he in love?

She knew he’d never married. Occasionally Mr. Durham grumbled something about how quickly Adam went from one woman to the next, but neither of them had said much more than that. They were disappointed that he hadn’t settled down and started a family. And they hadn’t forgiven him yet for moving away.

Jenna yanked the comforter over her head, well aware that the desire to spend time catching up with Adam was a crazy notion.

She hadn’t forgiven him, either.



ADAM LAY AWAKE long after the rest of the house grew quiet, his head swimming. The evening had been an eventful one. Not only had he discovered his high-school sweetheart living with his grandparents, he’d heard the voice of his old friend, Dennis, for the first time in fifteen years.

Only he hadn’t liked what Dennis had to say. They’ll need a body bag by the time I’m through with you.

Adam’s hand flexed with the urge to connect with Dennis’s face, even though Dennis and Jenna’s problems had nothing to do with him. He was just visiting for the weekend. Monday would see him whizzing back to San Francisco in his new Mercedes coupe, with the top down if the weather was warm enough—his hometown and the friends he’d left there easily forgotten.

No, purposely ignored, maybe, but not forgotten. He remembered the hurt in Jenna’s eyes the day he’d broken up with her and the regret that had weighed on his heart at odd moments since. She might have married Dennis, but she’d haunted Adam’s life like some elusive ever-present ghost. She was the standard by which he measured all other women.

Blocking out the sadness of their final month together, he shifted his thoughts to better times and settled eagerly on the day they’d first made love. They’d already been dating for two years and knew each other better than Adam had ever known another human being. That day, they’d gone swimming in the ocean, as they often did. But this time Jenna hadn’t stopped him from removing her swimsuit when they left the water and stretched out on the beach.

Giving in to the smile that tempted his lips, Adam closed his eyes and relived the moment of seeing Jenna naked for the first time. She’d been beautiful, with the wind whipping her dark hair about her face, her blue eyes gazing up at him with complete trust, nipples drawn tight and hard with desire.

When he touched her, his hand shook as it did now, just remembering the feel of her silken limbs entwined with his own. He felt again the grit of the sand on his palms, the warmth of the sun on his back, the sound of the sea in his ears—and Jenna beneath him, tight and warm and willing.

After the initial pain she’d experienced, she had matched his eagerness and his passion with an honesty and an intensity that would never fade from his mind. Since then, he had searched for that same responsiveness, those same feelings, but he’d never again achieved what he’d had with Jenna. Maybe he never would, as punishment for pledging her all his tomorrows and then breaking that promise.

As much as he’d wanted her, loved her, some inner devil had urged him to leave Mendocino before he became an innkeeper like his grandparents. He wanted to see the world, challenge himself, and eventually become part of the stiffly competitive legal world in San Francisco.

A year after he left Jenna, he’d winced at the news that she’d married Dennis, but he’d forged ahead. A law degree, a prestigious practice, becoming one of four partners in a firm of sixteen. Two hundred thousand a year, then three hundred, and finally half a million turned his beat-up Chevy truck into a Buick, a Lexus and now his first Mercedes. He drove one of the most expensive cars on the market. He had a big home on the bay, powerful friends, important clients. He’d made it to the big time, hadn’t he? He should be glad of the path he’d chosen.

And he was. He’d had no real doubts until he’d seen Jenna tonight. The sight of her wide sky-blue eyes had pulled him up short. The curves of her body beneath the robe, the body he’d once known so well, had made him wonder what he’d missed—and if it wasn’t better than what he’d had, after all.

At the sound of someone in the bathroom, Adam checked his alarm clock in surprise. He’d feared it was morning and he hadn’t slept at all, but according to the clock it was only two-thirty. Only. He’d be exhausted in the morning.

He went back to the pleasant memories of his days with Jenna, remembering her carefree laugh that time he’d given her a ride on his buddy’s motorcycle. Afterward, she’d insisted on driving, gave it too much gas and popped a wheelie. They’d gone down the street on one wheel, then two, again and again, until she finally crashed and bloodied his knees, as well as hers, and they’d limped home, laughing and pushing the bike before them.

Chuckling, he wondered if she still remembered ruining her new pair of jeans that way. Fortunately holes at the knee became fashionable after that, so he still got to see her in those great-fitting jeans.

And then there was the day she’d baked him a strawberry dessert, which she spilled in her aunt’s car when she tried to bring it over to him. They’d spent the better part of the night trying to clean it up….

Whoever was using the bathroom was sure taking a long time. He could hear his grandfather’s snores throughout the private part of the inn and knew that Pop, at least, was sleeping soundly. It could be Gram or Ryan in there, but after overhearing Dennis’s call, Adam suspected it was Jenna.

Slipping out of bed, he put on the pajama bottoms he usually left in his leather bag and headed out into the hall. A light glimmered beneath the bathroom door, but the occupant seemed to be sick, not merely upset.

He knocked softly.

“I’ll be out in a moment.” Jenna’s voice sounded oddly breathless.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Is there something I can get you?”

A few seconds passed before she answered. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

In the morning? What about now? He paused, wondering what to do. Considering how she must feel about him, he figured she could be seriously ill and still not let him help her. “Do you want me to get Gram?”

Another long pause. “No. Please don’t bother anyone. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Adam smiled to himself. She had kept him awake, but not in the way she thought. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway. Would you please unlock the door so I can see you’re as fine as you say you are?”

“No.” This time her response came quickly and the toilet flushed right afterward. To cover the sound of her retching?

“Jenna? Are you throwing up?”

No answer. He rattled the knob. “Jenna, open this door, or I’m going to wake the whole damn house.”

“Just a minute.”

He heard the tap water turn on and off. After another lengthy silence, she opened the door and flipped the light off at the same time.

“I’m fine, see?”

Blinded by the instant flood of light and then the sudden darkness, Adam couldn’t see anything. He thought he glimpsed a tired and unusually pale face, but her voice sounded better.

“What was wrong in there? Have you started throwing up when you get upset?”

Forced cheer edged her words. “No. Why would I be upset?”

Because your ex-husband just threatened to kill you. Adam nearly blurted it out before he caught himself. He had no right to barge into her personal affairs. No right to hear as much as he had. But damned if he didn’t want to help Jenna in some way, if only to make up for hurting her so long ago.

He changed tactics. “I was about to go down and make myself some tea, thought it might help me sleep. Would you like a cup?”

“No. I’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’d better go back to bed.”

That’s what you said two hours ago, but it doesn’t look like you’ve gotten much sleep.

“Sure.” He moved aside, catching a trace of her perfume as she slipped past. He didn’t recognize it as one of the more expensive brands he’d smelled on some of the women he’d dated, but it was perfect for her: spicy, warm, rather exotic.

“Jenna?”

She turned back when she reached her door.

“I was sorry to hear about you and Dennis.”

She stepped into her room and he wondered if she was going to answer him.

“Divorce is never pretty,” she said at last. Then, with a decisive click, she closed the door.



JENNA BROKE OUT in a cold sweat as Adam’s steps receded. She couldn’t even move. She stood in the middle of the floor, hugging her body, rocking back and forth.

She’d felt nauseated, she’d thrown up, she’d felt better—just the same as last night. But that cycle was exactly what worried her. The flu struck for at least a day. With food poisoning, you threw up until your system cleansed itself. Her nausea hit about the same time each night and always occurred on an empty stomach.

Just like it had when she was pregnant with Ryan.

Dropping her head into her hands, Jenna began to knead her temples. Oh, God, please, I can’t be pregnant.

After Ryan, she and Dennis had tried and tried to have another baby. When she hadn’t conceived after four years, they visited a doctor, who told them Dennis’s sperm count was too low. They were given the name of a fertility specialist, whom they’d never called, partly because Dennis seemed to lose interest—he had his boy and was satisfied—and partly because he’d started drinking.

Jenna took a deep breath and managed to stumble back to her bed. Climbing under the covers, she shivered and wondered if she’d ever be warm again. Just when Dennis and the divorce were almost behind her, she could be pregnant.

A new baby. A huge responsibility. Dennis’s child.

A sob escaped her as she tried again to count the days since her last period, but she couldn’t remember exactly. Dennis had forced himself on her almost three months after the divorce was final. She’d submitted because she hadn’t wanted to wake Ryan with another of their fights, and after sharing her bed with Dennis for thirteen and a half years, she hadn’t thought one more time would make a difference.

But if she was pregnant, it made a huge difference.

She thought of Adam asking her if she threw up when she was upset, and tried to calm down. He’d unwittingly offered her an alternative explanation. Stress did strange things to the body, causing headaches, stomach ailments, insomnia, all kinds of things.

Besides, her symptoms could result from fear. What she needed was to buy a pregnancy test at the grocery store and find out for sure. If it turned out negative, she could relax.

If it turned out positive…

Jenna closed her eyes. Sleep, she ordered herself. Ryan was depending on her and so were the Durhams.

But who could she depend on?

Adam. His name leaped into her mind, and for one sweet instant she let herself pretend. Then reality doused her like an icy ocean wave.

“I can only depend on myself,” she whispered to the moonlit ceiling, and settled herself sternly between the cold smooth sheets.




CHAPTER THREE


JENNA STOOD in the kitchen, staring out the large bay window that overlooked the side yard. If she leaned close enough to the wall, she could see Adam and Ryan stacking wood along the back fence. She’d been watching them for several minutes already, as she drank her morning coffee. After the disruption during the night, she hadn’t made Ryan get up for school. He got good grades and she figured one day off wouldn’t matter much.

“They making any progress?” Mrs. Durham came into the room and opened the refrigerator to survey its contents. She held a pad, on which she wrote various groceries they needed to purchase, but she paused to glance at Jenna.

“I think they’ve spent more time squirting each other with their water bottles. Can you hear Ryan squealing?” Jenna smiled; Ryan and Adam had been running around the yard, wielding their water bottles like pistols. Periodically they took aim and fired, only to have the other duck behind the house or shed. By the time their bottles were empty, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.

She felt relief—and pleasure—at seeing Ryan laugh again. He needed to do more of it. He was a sober responsible boy, a wonderful child, but Jenna sometimes worried that her problems with Dennis had made their son older than his years. To see his carefree spirit revived lifted her own somber mood, and she knew she had Adam to thank. Ryan wouldn’t be having such a grand time if he was out in the yard alone.

“Adam never could set his mind to a task and simply do it. He made everything into a game, remember?” his grandmother said.

Jenna looked away from the scene beyond the window to focus on Mrs. Durham. “I remember. But he’s not the same person now. I mean, he’s just the opposite, isn’t he? So intense…”

Mrs. Durham finished her inventory and shut the fridge. “He’s certainly driven. I don’t know what happened to him. When he was young we couldn’t keep him in school. The principal was always calling to say he’d cut class again. Once he graduated and started college, that all changed.”

Looking back at Adam, Jenna took a sip of her coffee. “I guess he decided it was time to grow up.” Grow up and leave me…

“I’m not so sure he wasn’t better off before,” Mrs. Durham muttered. “Anyway, I’m going to the store now. Anything I can pick up for you, dear?”

Jenna’s thoughts instantly reverted to the gnawing worry that had claimed her attention for most of the morning. She needed a pregnancy-test kit, but she wasn’t going to ask Mrs. Durham to get her one. She’d have to go to the store at some point herself.

“We could use some more turkey for Ryan’s lunches, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crossing to the counter where she’d set her purse, Jenna pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her wallet, but Mrs. Durham refused to take it.

“Lunch meat is part of your room and board, you know that.”

“But you pay me a good salary besides. I can’t help worrying that I’m not pulling my weight around here—enough weight for me and Ryan, that is. You and Mr. Durham always encourage me to finish my glasswork, even at the expense of my duties.”

“Nonsense. You handle all the PR, work with our vendors, take care of the bookings. We couldn’t get by without you. All I do is a little bit of shopping and the cooking on Mr. Robertson’s days off. But your stained glass is going to make you rich someday, mark my words. Louis Comfort Tiffany could do no better.” Mrs. Durham nodded toward the window, where Jenna could see Adam and Ryan bent over some new object of interest. “You don’t have to worry about doing anything extra for Ryan’s keep, anyway. It’s been too long since we had a boy in the house.”

Their boy. Adam.

“How do I look?” Mrs. Durham grabbed her own industrial-size bag. “Is the back of my hair okay?”

“You just need it ratted a bit right here.” Jenna used the comb Mrs. Durham fished out of her purse to lift the flat spot at the back of her head, just as she did every morning of the week except Thursdays, the day she went to the hairdresser. “That’s better,” Jenna said, handing back the comb.

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Durham retrieved a tube of bright red lipstick from her bag and liberally applied it. Then she ran a finger along each painted eyebrow, patted her nose with powder and snapped her compact shut before slipping it back into her purse. “I should be back in an hour or so.”

Jenna followed her to the door in the wake of the gardenia fragrance that trailed behind her. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. I spoke to a young girl earlier on the telephone who wants to interview for the waitress position. I told her she could come any time this morning, so you’d better stay, just in case. Now that Gayle’s moved away, she won’t be able to fill in again, and I don’t like it all falling on you. See what you think of this girl, if she shows up.”

“Okay.”

Jenna watched Mrs. Durham back her beige Cadillac down the driveway, then walked to the sink with her cup. She’d interviewed three people for the position and thought she’d found a good candidate, but it didn’t hurt to talk to a few more. Only the Durhams, Pamela, the maid, and Mr. Robertson, the cook, worked with her at the Victoriana. Jenna wanted to be certain that the person she hired fit in.

“Can we get a drink?”

Adam’s voice startled her. She turned to see his arms and face glistening with sweat despite the cooler weather. His T-shirt and faded blue jeans clung damply to his body.

Jenna could smell the slight tang of his sweat as he brushed past her to claim a glass from the cupboard. She tried to forget the times she’d tasted the salt on his skin after they’d been swimming in the ocean or running or…

Ryan followed Adam in, carrying a jar with a huge spider inside. “Look, Mom! Isn’t this cool?”

Stifling her initial revulsion, Jenna forced a smile. “It’s great. What kind of spider is it?”

“Adam’s not sure. It looks like a tarantula, but it’s not. See the babies crawling on its back?”

This time Jenna couldn’t quell a shiver as Ryan shoved the jar right up to her face. Inside, she could see hundreds of tiny spiders squirming on their mother’s back. “Don’t you think you should let it go?” she asked.

“I’m not going to hurt it. I just want to keep it as a pet.”

“I think it would rather be free.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at Adam. “My mom’s trying to turn me into a sissy.”

“Going soft in her old age, is she? She didn’t feel too soft last night. She nearly ruined some equipment I consider very valuable.” Adam rubbed his neck where she’d chopped him and grinned.

Glad he hadn’t put a hand to his other injury, as well, Jenna resisted the urge to smile back at him. They’d been angry with each other for fifteen years. She might be soft on children, animals, even insects, but he was a full-grown man, and she wasn’t about to go soft on him. Soft got you hurt, especially if it involved his “equipment.”

“Could be poisonous,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the jar with the spider, where, fortunately, Ryan’s attention remained.

“It can’t bite me when it’s in a jar, Mom. You’re just afraid it’ll die or something, and you don’t like to see anything get hurt.”

“Just rattle a few pans in the middle of the night and send it through the kitchen window. She’ll smash it quickly enough,” Adam said, and downed his glass of water.

Jenna narrowed her eyes. “You look pretty healthy to me.”

He cocked one dark eyebrow at her. “You haven’t seen my bruise.”

“And I’ll thank you not to show it to me.” Jenna’s quick response drew Ryan’s interest.

“What bruise?” he asked.

Adam gave Jenna a slow smile, letting her stew.

“It’s right here—on my neck.”

He tugged his T-shirt down until Jenna saw more chest than she wanted to. She glanced away, but Ryan said, “I don’t see anything.”

“Just give it a few days,” Adam told him.

“Or give me one more clear shot,” Jenna muttered under her breath.

Adam hooted with laughter, but she ignored him. To Ryan, she said, “You can keep the spider for a day or two, then turn it loose in the woodpile.”

The doorbell sounded, and Jenna felt a profound sense of relief. She hated being in the same room with Adam. He kept her off balance, scowling at her one minute and teasing her the next.

At the same time she had to admit that his presence at the Victoriana excited her like nothing had in a long time.

“That must be my applicant.” She dropped a kiss on her son’s sweaty brow. “Are you all finished with the wood?”

“Yeah, but Pop wants Adam to weed the garden. There’s only pumpkins and squash left, but I said I’d help, too.”

Jenna blinked in surprise. Pop? What had happened to “Mr. Durham”? “I’m glad you’re making yourself useful,” she said. “I’d better get the door.”

The girl on the front step was young, maybe eighteen. She seemed eager enough to work, but tattoos on her arms and neck and extensive body piercing didn’t create the best impression. The Durhams were conservative, and their business was intended to re-create the aura of Victorian days. This girl’s appearance was hardly consistent with that.

Still, Jenna asked her a few questions, just to be sure she wasn’t making a mistake. As they stood in the hall talking, Adam and Ryan came past them to head outside.

The girl’s eyes rounded and her gaze stayed on Adam until the door shut behind him. Then she stared blankly at Jenna. “What? What did you ask?”

Jenna repeated the standard question about prior experience, but while she waited for an answer, her eyes strayed to her own reflection in the cheval mirror across the room. If they hadn’t known each other before, would Adam find her as attractive as this young woman had just found him? Could she catch his eye? Make it follow her across a room?

For the past five years she’d felt invisible to Dennis, and throughout her marriage she hadn’t bothered to notice any other men who might have given her some indication of her attractiveness. She’d been too busy trying to make her world right. Adam had said she looked good, but she’d been in her robe, with her hair a mess. He couldn’t have meant it.

“Mrs. Livingston?”

It was Jenna’s turn to be jerked back to the conversation. “Yes?”

“I was wondering how many days a week you need someone.”

“The restaurant is only open for dinner Thursday through Saturday, and Sunday for brunch. Boyd Robertson is our cook. He comes from a military background and runs a pretty tight ship, so we’ve always called him by his last name. He’s lived in Mendocino as long as I can remember, and his culinary talents pull in a lot of locals in addition to our guests. If we get busy, Mrs. Durham, one of the owners, helps cook, and I help waitress.”

“So how many hours would that be?”

“About twenty a week.”

The girl glanced through the front window, and Jenna wondered if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam, who had disappeared around the side. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be enough. I really need something full-time.”

“You might try some of the restaurants in Fort Bragg if you can’t find a position around here,” Jenna told her.

“Thanks.” With a fleeting smile, the girl left, and Jenna decided to hire the applicant who was pushing fifty years old. The last thing she needed was a waitress who followed Adam around with stars in her eyes—not that another woman’s admiration of him bothered her, she told herself.



ADAM WHISTLED as he helped his grandfather weed, wondering why he felt so carefree this morning. An avalanche of letters and legal documents awaited him at the office, and though he hadn’t checked his voice mail, he knew it was loaded with messages. He’d told his grandparents he had some extra time this week, but in his world there was no such thing. Still, here he was, pulling out weeds with Pop as if at least thirty people didn’t need to get in touch with him.

It must be the change of pace, he decided. His work was grueling, all-encompassing, a hundred-hour-a-week investment. Mendocino represented home and family and was, in its comfortable way, refreshing.

Adam stood up and drew a deep breath of the salty air gusting in from the sea. He saw Jenna through the window, talking to the heavyset Mr. Robertson, the Durhams’ cook. She wasn’t sixteen anymore, but she looked better at thirty-two. Her body hoarded no unwanted pounds. Karate, or some other type of exercise, had kept her muscles toned, and her eyes, which had always been her loveliest feature, hadn’t changed.

Except, perhaps, for the expression in them. Now a wiser Jenna gazed back at him, instead of the romantic girl who used to love him. He wondered what her life with Dennis had been like and when their marriage had turned bad.

She caught him watching her and drew the shade, leaving him with no distraction but his thoughts.

“How’s the herb garden, Pop? Do you need me to weed that, too?” Adam asked, bending back to his work.

His grandfather leaned on his rake. From beneath a straw hat, great drops of sweat ran down his weathered face, and he wiped them away with his forearm. “Cook takes care of that. He won’t let me near the place. Says I don’t know a weed from a dirt clod—” he chuckled “—and I’m happy to let him think so.”

Ryan approached, squinting up at them from beneath an Oakland A’s hat, the gold in his eyelashes sparkling in the sunshine. He’d given up on the weeds shortly after they’d started in favor of playing with his new eight-legged pet, but he never strayed far from Adam’s side. The kid seemed starved for male attention. “Hey, what do you think this spider eats?” he asked.

“I bet it eats flies, just like most spiders,” Adam told him.

Ryan frowned. “Where can I find a fly?”

“Well, we’d have better luck if it was barbecue season, but—”

“Ryan?” Jenna stood on the porch, shading her eyes with one hand. She’d changed from the professional-looking wool slacks she’d worn all morning into a baggy pair of jeans, an oversize sweater and leather sandals.

“I have to pick up something at the store. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” she called.

Ryan nodded, still studying his spider, but Adam stopped Jenna before she could leave. “Maybe we’ll go with you,” he said. “Ryan needs something to feed his new pet.”

A frown flickered across her face. “From the size of that spider, a large rodent would do.”

“Fresh out of those, I’m afraid.”

Jenna’s smile turned devilish. “Then how about a defense attorney from San Francisco?”

As Pop cackled from his corner of the garden, Adam gave Jenna his darkest scowl. “Enough lawyer jokes already. You’re revealing your eagerness to be rid of me. It’s not polite.”

Jenna shrugged. “This is your home, not mine.”

“For the moment it looks like we both live here. So how about it? Will you give us a ride to the store?”

The expression on Jenna’s face said she didn’t want them to go, but her reluctance only made Adam push harder. “Well?”

“Actually I was going to walk. My van’s in the shop,” she said, and winced visibly when Ryan added, “It’s a junker. My dad bashed up one whole side of it.”

Adam leaned his rake against the nearest tree, acting as though this piece of information didn’t surprise him—but it did. After Dennis’s call, his grandparents had admitted that his old friend had become an abusive alcoholic, but Adam couldn’t picture the somber boy he’d once known beating up on Jenna. Dennis had been so lovesick he’d dogged Jenna’s footsteps all through high school. His infatuation with her had destroyed his and Adam’s relationship—and they’d been friends since Little League. It was difficult to believe someone as devoted as Dennis had been could turn on the object of his affection. Had his drinking really gotten that out of hand? And if so, how badly had Jenna and Ryan suffered?

Adam peeled off his gloves. “We can take my car,” he told her. Nodding at Ryan, he added, “As long as arachno-lover here doesn’t mind sitting on your lap. There’s no back seat.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up. “We get to ride in your car? Cool!”

Jenna fidgeted with the strap of her purse as though she was about to protest again, but Adam didn’t give her a chance. “The spider stays behind,” he said, taking the jar from Ryan and setting it under the tree next to his rake. With a hand on the boy’s neck, he guided him to the parking lot on the other side of the house.

Jenna met them at the car. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sleek contours of the black Mercedes coupe, but she made no comment.

“Isn’t this great, Mom? Have you ever seen a car like this?” Ryan asked.

“Only on Miami Vice,” she muttered, sliding onto the black leather seat when Adam opened her door.

“Miami what?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Never mind. It was before your time.”

Adam climbed in and started the car. “Don’t pretend you’d be more impressed if I drove a station wagon,” he said.

Jenna threw him a playful look, reminding him of the girl he used to know. “If you really want to impress me, you’ll let me drive.”

He dropped his jaw in mock surprise. “This from the person who wrecked my friend’s motorcycle in high school?”

“Mom wrecked someone’s motorcycle?” Ryan echoed.

Jenna’s delicate brows drew together, creasing her forehead. “You can’t still hold that against me. It happened more than sixteen years ago.”

Adam pinned Jenna with a level stare. “I’ll let bygones be bygones if you will,” he said softly.

Jenna turned toward the window, but Adam could see the stubborn tilt of her chin reflected in the glass. “I didn’t want to drive, anyway,” she said.



A FEW LOCALS milled about the grocery store eight miles up the coast. Mrs. Trumbill, the chiropractor’s receptionist, looked over the painkillers and allergy-relief medicines. Mr. Francis, the town pharmacist, thumbed through the latest issue of People. Jenna acknowledged them both on her way to the produce aisle, wondering what she was going to buy, now that she couldn’t purchase her pregnancy test.

“What is it you need to get?” Adam asked, hefting two good-sized oranges in his hands. Jenna watched his fingers curl around the fruit and remembered his touch on her body. He’d driven her crazy with those hands, those lips…

Making an effort, Jenna pulled her gaze and her thoughts onto safer ground and picked out six golden delicious apples. “Just some fresh fruit for Ryan’s lunches.” Although Jenna had carefully timed her departure from the Victoriana so that Mrs. Durham would be finished with her shopping and on her way home, she couldn’t calculate the other woman’s movements with any accuracy. She was afraid they’d run into Adam’s grandmother and then Mrs. Durham would say something about the teeming drawers of fresh produce they already had at home.

“It’s not like Gram to run out of that sort of thing,” Adam said.

Jenna glanced at him, but his face held no suspicion. He bagged the oranges and dropped them in the basket as Ryan tugged him toward the ice-cream aisle.

“Hey, do you think we can talk Mom into buying us some ice cream?”

Jenna knew Adam hadn’t dampened Ryan’s enthusiasm for treats when they came back with ice cream, fudge and caramel toppings, M&Ms, a container of popcorn and whipped cream.

“We’re going to make sundaes and watch movies tonight,” Adam explained when Jenna raised a questioning brow.

“Great.” She didn’t ask who made up the “we.” At the moment she didn’t care. She was too busy looking for things to put in her cart that would constitute more than a waste of money. She managed to remember the new toothbrush she’d been wanting to purchase for at least a month, but when they got in line at the checkout, she still didn’t have what she really needed. And that was when she decided to get it.

“Adam? Would you mind taking Ryan to pick out a package of lunch meat? I forgot to get some,” she said.

A refrigerated section at one end of the store contained lunch meat. Shelves at the opposite end displayed feminine hygiene products. With any luck she’d have just enough time to grab a pregnancy test and have it rung up and bagged before the two of them returned.

Fortunately Adam agreed to do as she asked. Unfortunately, by the time Jenna retrieved what she wanted and raced back, another customer had engaged the checker in conversation.

“Are you going out of town for Thanksgiving this year, Mrs. Jones?” the checker was asking an older white-haired woman dressed in an expensive velour jogging suit.

Having already paid, Mrs. Jones paused in wheeling her groceries away. “Not this year, Karen. We usually go to a cabin at Lake Tahoe, but I think I’m ready to have the family out here. The grandkids are getting older, so I don’t think it’ll be too hard on me. Say, did you ever try that stuffing recipe I gave you?”

The checker propped a freckled arm on the back of her booth. “No, but I tried one off the bag of bread crumbs I bought here, and it wasn’t too bad. I thought this year I’d add a bit of celery, even though my husband doesn’t really like celery. It’s my Thanksgiving, too, and my mother always put celery in her stuffing.”

Jenna’s toe tapped, and her eyes darted from the cash register to the pregnancy test. It seemed to be lying on the conveyor belt, screaming, “Jenna thinks she’s pregnant!” She craned her neck to see down the aisle and, just as she feared, spotted Adam and Ryan on their way back.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry…um, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

The checker smiled with forced tolerance. “Sure. I’ll be right with you.” She pushed away from the back of the booth. “Well, Mrs. Jones, tell your husband I said hello. And maybe I’ll try that stuffing recipe of yours this year.”

By the time Mrs. Jones said her goodbyes and the checker turned her attention to Jenna’s purchases, it was too late to ask her to ring up the pregnancy test separately. Adam and Ryan were within hearing distance, and the sight of it, right there in front of them both, was almost enough to give Jenna heart palpitations. She didn’t want Ryan to get his hopes up about having a sibling unless it was true, and she didn’t want Adam to know, period. He’d already made her feel like a fool, appearing out of nowhere in his flashy car and his expensive suit, while Dennis had ruined their credit and lost them their 1996 Oldsmobile, which wasn’t much of a car to begin with, as well as their house.

Besides, the whole thing might be a false alarm.

Jenna’s eyes flicked over the pregnancy test again. Maybe Adam and Ryan wouldn’t notice it, she prayed, but lost all hope of that when the checker tried to run the thing through her scanner and it wouldn’t beep. Holding it almost at eye level and frowning, she said, “I wonder why this isn’t in our system.” She brought the microphone to her lips. “Johnny? Would you get me the price of the First Choice Pregnancy Tests? Aisle nine, I think.”

Jenna took a gulp of air and held it as Adam’s jaw dropped and his eyes flew to her face. She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Where did that come from?” she asked. “That’s not mine.”

The checker blinked at her. “You don’t want this?”

“No, it’s not mine.” Jenna could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment, but she tried to act as natural as possible. “Maybe it belonged to the person in front of me,” she said, because there was no one behind her.

“Mrs. Jones?” The checker scoffed outright. “She must be sixty-five. I don’t think so, honey.” She shoved the pregnancy test off to one side, where the smiling woman on the box stared at Jenna.

The next few minutes stretched into what felt like an hour. Jenna kept her eyes on her checkbook until it was time to pay, then Adam gently nudged her aside and threw two twenties on the counter. She didn’t fight him. She only wanted to get out of the grocery store and away from the First Choice box as soon as possible.

“Thank you, sir, and come again.” The checker smiled at Adam, her thick makeup creasing as she handed him the receipt.

Adam gave the lighter bag to Ryan and carried the other out himself. He didn’t say anything as they walked back to the car, but Jenna didn’t have to look at his face to know he wasn’t smiling.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE BRINY SMELL of the sea wafted through the cracks of the old building, permeating the entire room Jenna used as her studio. She sat staring at a half-finished stained-glass window portraying a small lake surrounded by great willowy trees. Natural light, which flooded the square room through a series of skylights, passed through several of the finished pieces hanging from the rafters and made small rainbows of color on the cement floor. Shortly after she’d moved in, the Durhams had hired their contractor to turn one of the old gardening sheds into a small studio for her, and there wasn’t another place on earth she felt more at home.

Outside, Adam and Ryan were talking and laughing as they tossed a football, but Jenna felt no inclination to join them. She’d fled to her studio as soon as they returned from the store and hadn’t come out since. Though normally she would have spent some of her day with Ryan, working on a school project due next week, he seemed to be occupied well enough without her. That her son already adored Adam, her nemesis, after only one day in his presence annoyed her—even more than Adam catching her trying to purchase a pregnancy test.

Allowing herself a deep heartfelt sigh, she picked up her carbide glass cutter, determined to finish the lake or to sit up all night until she did. She was using antique glass, one of the most delicate and expensive kinds, to make the water, but it varied in thickness by almost three-quarters of an inch. She couldn’t get a clean cut, couldn’t get the feel of her medium. Normally her hands worked almost independently of her mind, somehow sensing just how much pressure to use to score the glass without breaking it, how to tap gently near the cut and separate the two pieces. But not today.

After ruining yet another section that was supposed to be a lapping wave, Jenna slouched onto her stool. At this rate, she would be buried in broken glass by sunset! She couldn’t concentrate. Not with Adam just outside.

Standing again, she skirted the waist-high worktable and walked to the back of the studio where utility cupboards lined the wall. Taking out a large rectangular window she’d finished shortly after returning to Mendocino, she lifted the fabric she’d used to protect it and gazed down at a secluded cove—the stretch of beach where Adam had made love to her the first time.

She kept this piece hidden, as though someone else might guess its history, but really there was no need. With tall black cliffs and a green, tempestuous sea, it could depict almost any part of the Northern California coast. Except for the house she’d put in the background. She’d seen the same house over Adam’s shoulder that day sixteen years ago; she’d gone back to look at it since and had created a perfect likeness.

Closing her eyes, Jenna drifted back in time and felt the sand of the cove radiating heat beneath her naked body, the wind stirring her hair. When she thought of how Adam had touched her, his voice from outside the shed made the memory that much more real. She shivered as she relived it, feeling his hands move over her flesh, raising goose bumps along their path, as they curled around her limbs with the strength of the sea.

Moving in unison with the water that lapped at their feet, he’d covered her body with his, gently coaxing her to succumb to him like the pull of the tide. Let go…let go…

She’d wrapped her arms around him and relinquished control, and soon Adam began to pound into her with the rhythm of the waves against the rocks. Then her nerves tightened and leaped, like the spray flinging itself freely into the air, and she seemed to burst into a million fragments of brilliant light.

Opening her eyes, Jenna stared numbly down at her own representation of that day. It reminded her of what it felt like to be loved.

To be loved by Adam.

“Incredible.”

Jenna jumped and nearly dropped the window, but Adam’s sure hands grabbed hold of it.

“Damn, don’t you believe in knocking?” she snapped.

Adam’s gaze didn’t falter from the stained-glass depiction of the cove. “I did knock. You didn’t answer.”

Jenna’s eyes moved guiltily to his face. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. She’d touched an emotional memory so deep it had eclipsed all else. Like the actual event.

“Does Ryan need me?” Seeing him looking at the cove made Jenna feel as if he was reading her journal. Exposed, she wanted to distract him, but he didn’t answer her question. And he resisted her efforts to pull the window away.

“When did you learn to do stained glass?”

“I started about six years ago when I took a course at a community college. But I’m just an amateur, really. I’ve sold a few pieces to the tourists who come through here, nothing more.”

Did he know what he was looking at? Did he guess Dennis had never been able to replace him?

“Gram told me you were good. But I never imagined anything like this. You’ve definitely got more than your share of talent.”

The space heater that hummed a few feet away was making the place unbearably hot. Jenna yanked out the plug, wishing Adam would stop looking at the cove. “Thanks. There’s more over there if you’d like to see them. This one’s actually not my best,” she lied, relinquishing her own hold on the piece as if it meant nothing to her.

Retrieving a little broom hanging on a hook inside another cupboard, she began to clean up the glass splinters at her worktable.

He circled the room, carrying the window with him, then paused at the partially finished lake. “They’re nice, really nice.” He held the cove up again for closer inspection. “But I like this one best.” He turned to look at her for the first time since he’d made his presence known.

Did he know?

No! How could he? It was sixteen years since they’d been on that beach. And she’d been the one to stare up at the house in a dreamy half doze as he slept facedown on her breast.

Still, Jenna couldn’t meet his eyes. She finished sweeping up the glass chips, then glanced beyond him to the subject of their conversation. “It’s a fairly good rendition of the coast, I guess.”

He studied the window, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I think I’ve been there.”

“Then you know how beautiful it is.”

“I do.” He smiled at her. “In fact, I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

Jenna gave a shaky laugh and stepped back to avoid the scent of his cologne. “Sounds like you need to travel more.”

“Or purchase this window. How much?”

She shook her head. “It’s not for sale. I’m trying to accumulate some inventory for a spring show. Maybe when that’s finished—” or when hell freezes over “—I’ll let you know.”

“Sure.” Carefully setting the stained-glass cove on her table, he turned away. “Gram wanted me to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“Great.” She kept her smile casual, as though Adam hadn’t just reached inside her and cradled her heart in the palm of his hand. “You go on in. I’ll be right there.”



DURING DINNER Adam received a call from his secretary. Though Pop frowned when he got up from the table to accept the receiver from Gram, he ignored his grandfather’s disapproval. He’d promised them he wouldn’t make any calls, and he hadn’t. But he was a big boy now, and if Cheryl needed him, he wasn’t about to turn her down. Though Pop hated the thought of him living and working anywhere other than Mendocino, he had a life in San Francisco and a practice to run.

“Cheryl? What are you doing still at the office? It’s past seven on a Friday night.”

“Adam, I’m so glad I got hold of you! Why haven’t you been checking your voice mail?”

He could hear her popping her gum as she talked, and pictured her leaning on her desk with both elbows, her glasses and her short blond hair falling forward as she stared at the phone. “What’s the emergency? I’ve only been gone one day.”

“That’s all it takes with Mr. Whitehead.”

Recognizing the name of one of his biggest and most difficult clients, Adam took the cordless phone into the living room where he could talk without interrupting the meal. “So what’s new?”

“He’s frantic, that’s what. The DA has subpoenaed his files, and he’s convinced we have to do something to block it right away.”

“Monsoto’s going to get the records because they’re evidence. I’ve already explained all this. There’s no legal way to stop him.”

“I don’t think Whitehead cares about legal. I tried to tell him that, too, but he started swearing and demanded I put him through to Mike.”

“There’s nothing Mike can do.”

“Except make your life miserable. He still owns more of this practice than anyone else and he wants this guy mollified.”

“What does he want me to do? Destroy evidence? Because short of doing that, there’s no way to stop Monsoto, at least no honest way.”

Cheryl’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honest isn’t in Mike’s vocabulary, you know that. And I get the impression he’s tired of it being in yours. He’s been giving all the questionable stuff to Roger, who’s more than willing to do whatever it takes. Money is God to that guy.”

The loyalty in his secretary’s voice felt good, but not good enough to offset Adam’s anger. “Roger’s going to have to learn his own lessons. Whether Mike makes him a partner or not, I won’t risk my reputation for an ambitious developer who’s bribed half the city council.”

“Don’t you mean allegedly bribed?”

“We both know the answer to that.”

“Then maybe you should turn him over to Mike or Roger.”

“I’ve tried. They want my clean-cut mug to be the one in front of the jury. And I don’t have any problem with that, as long as they let me do things my way.”

“Uh-oh…”

“What?” Already feeling the old tension mounting, Adam stretched his neck. Mike was getting greedy in his old age and was starting to make him uncomfortable. The question was, how far would he go? And how far would he push Adam?

“Mike wants to talk to you.”

The words had scarcely left Cheryl’s lips when Adam heard Mike’s gruff voice.

“Where the hell are you, Adam? We’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“I’m out of town. Cheryl says we’ve got trouble with Whitehead.”

“Those records will put him behind bars.” Mike paused to blow his nose. “We’ve got to come up with a way to keep the district attorney from getting his hands on them.”

“You mean a legal way, don’t you, Mike?”

Mike cursed. “Adam, you gotta get with the real world, buddy. No one plays fair anymore. You insist on that, you’ll lose every time.”

“My record is pretty good so far.”

“Things are changing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mike grunted. “It means we gotta be flexible. I should fire that secretary of yours for trying to start trouble between us. Look, this is a competitive business. You don’t need me to tell you what’ll happen if you fall from the top. It takes money to live the way we’re accustomed to living.”

“What’s going on, Mike? My stand on this should come as no surprise. I’ve told you before that I’m not willing to bend the rules.”

“Dammit, do you picture yourself wearing a suit of armor and riding a white horse? Everybody’s entitled to a defense. Who are you to say where that responsibility begins and ends?”

Adam sighed and rubbed his temple. “Last check, I was your partner. Listen, we’ve been over this before. I’m no saint, Mike, but I don’t break the law. I’ll give Whitehead the best honest defense there is. You can’t ask me for more than that.”

Angry frustrated silence.

“Mike?”

“Don’t worry about Whitehead, Adam. Roger will take care of it.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but the line went dead. He didn’t want the case, but he hated letting Mike make him feel like a schoolboy who couldn’t handle a tough assignment. Things were changing. Mike had been his mentor for years. Only now, the more closely Adam looked at the firm’s senior partner, the less he liked what he saw.

“Is something wrong, dear?” his grandmother called from the dining room.

Adam propped his elbows on his knees and tapped his forehead with the phone. He needed to get back to work. He was losing his edge. The political machinations of the sixteen lawyers who worked at the firm had always provided an exciting challenge for him. He hadn’t minded Roger and others like him, struggling to climb the power ladder, stepping on anyone in their way. Adam had eagerly pitted his wits against theirs and had come out as one of Mike’s three junior partners. But he was getting tired of the grind. Now office politics seemed just another distraction, an irritant.

“It’s nothing,” he replied at last, shoving himself to his feet. Jenna was still in the dining room, drawing him back. When she was around, the last thing he wanted to think about was San Francisco or his career.

“Are we ready for ice cream yet?”



AFTER DINNER, Jenna made Ryan do some reading at the table while Mrs. Durham helped her with the dishes; Adam went to pick up a video. Dinner had been delicious, but she hadn’t been able to eat more than a few bites. The roast beef, carrots and potatoes with gravy she’d swallowed churned in her stomach as a bout of nausea visited her early tonight.

“Mom, what’s this word?”

Jenna took a deep breath and looked down at the book her son held out to her. She helped him sound out familiarity, read the word in context, then kissed his cheek.

“You like Adam, don’t you?” she asked.

“He’s cool. I can see why Dad would hang out with him when they were kids. Adam says they used to go bodysurfing in the ocean all the time.”

All the time before she and Adam got together. After that there was nothing but enmity between the two young men.

“I’m sure you’ll do plenty of that yourself in a few years,” she said.

“So we’re going to stay in one place for a while?”

Jenna mussed his hair. “I’ve told you we’re going to be here until I’m old and gray. What, do you want me to sign a blood oath?” She gave him a reassuring smile. Her son had experienced enough emotional distress in his eight years. She wouldn’t uproot him again. Dennis had moved them five times in the past twenty-four months. Each time he lost his job he dragged them to another Oregon city to “start over.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s no sacrifice, love. I like it here, too.”

Adam returned with the video, and Jenna lost her son to his innate charm, which was surpassed only by the promise of an ice-cream sundae.

“Mom? Do you want one?” Ryan asked, helping Adam dish it out.

The thought of more food, of any kind, was almost enough to send Jenna running for the bathroom. “No, thanks. I ate too much at dinner.”

Adam glanced up and caught her eye, giving her a searching look, but she dried her hands on the towel, hung it under the cupboard and excused herself.

“I’ll spend another hour or so in my studio, then I’ll go to bed early,” she said.

Ryan’s face registered disappointment. “You’re not watching the movie with us?”

“Not tonight, honey.”

“Mom, are you all right? Are you sick or something?”

Jenna shook her head. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“You go and get some rest, Jenna dear,” Mrs. Durham said, carrying a dish of ice cream to her husband, who was already sitting in front of the television. “And don’t worry about getting up early. We have no reservations for tomorrow night. I’ve given Pamela the day off, and Mr. Robertson will be coming in later than usual, just in time to start dinner. I was hoping Adam would take us all for a drive along the highway. It’s been months since I’ve been anywhere fun. Would you like to come along?”

Jenna declined politely. Highway 1 followed the coast and made her carsick even when she wasn’t feeling nauseated to begin with. “It will be nice for you to get out. I’ll look after the place while you’re away. Sorry to miss out on the movie tonight,” she added, and hurried upstairs to get her sweater before going to her studio through the back door. She needed to escape her son’s hero worship of her old boyfriend—and from that same man’s unsettling presence.



A ROILING STOMACH woke Jenna long after everyone else had gone to bed. She darted across the hall, stopping only long enough to lock the door behind her, and bent over the toilet just in time.

Damn. She had to be pregnant. What other reason could there be for this regular sickness?

Remembering the incident at the grocery store earlier, she groaned and smacked her forehead with her palm. She’d been tempted to invent another excuse to get away later in the day, but she feared Adam would guess what she was doing. So she’d made herself wait. He would leave in a day or two, probably on Sunday, and she’d be free to do what she wanted. Certainly she could wait that long.

The shrill ring of the telephone broke the silence, and Jenna stiffened. Dennis! It had to be him. Only he would call so late.

She got to her feet and tried to launch herself from the bathroom before he could wake the whole house, but the ringing stopped before she unlocked the door. She waited, wondering if he’d call back, but heard nothing more. Slumping down to sit on the floor, she stared miserably at the yellow-and-blue-flowered wallpaper with its contrasting border until she felt strong enough to stand again.

Was she safe to leave the bathroom and go back to bed now?

She thought so.

Using the lip of the counter to help her rise, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, taking the time to rub some peach-scented lotion on her arms and legs. Then, switching off the light, she opened the door and headed to her room.

A male voice at her elbow startled her. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, and she felt herself being pulled against a solid chest. “Shh, you’ll wake Gram and Pop. It’s only me.”

“Adam, what are you doing up?” she whispered as soon as he released her.

With a hand on her arm, he propelled Jenna into her room. “Are you the only one with a night-owl permit? Shut the door and turn on the light.”

Confused, Jenna closed the door behind her and did as he asked, belatedly realizing her near nakedness. Crossing her arms in front of the spaghetti-strap tank top that did little to conceal her breasts, she glared at him. “You nearly scared me to death!”

He grinned. “Since I’m not wearing any athletic protection, that could have been very dangerous.”

Jenna’s eyes glided over him. He wasn’t wearing much of anything. A thatch of dark hair covered his broad chest and narrowed down to his navel, disappearing beneath the pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips. His feet were bare. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”

He lifted something for her to see. “Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of stalker. I was just trying to give you this. I didn’t think you’d want the whole house to know.”

Jenna’s eyes dropped to the square object he held in one hand. She blinked. It was the First Choice Pregnancy Test she’d tried to buy at the grocery store.




CHAPTER FIVE


COULDN’T ANYTHING go right? Jenna stared at the box for several seconds before working up the nerve to accept it with a simple thank you. She tried to smile, to ease the awkwardness of the moment, but she didn’t have it in her and could only hope she didn’t look as miserable as she felt.

“Dennis?” he asked.

Jenna almost nodded before she pictured Adam counting back the months—and wondering why the hell she’d slept with her ex after their divorce was final. Rape by someone she’d lived with for years wasn’t an easy thing to explain, and she had no intention of trying. She was enough of a pity case already.

“No,” she said. “I met the guy not long after Dennis and I split up. It was…just a one-night stand. It didn’t mean anything.”

Adam’s brows drew close. “You had unprotected sex with a stranger?”

Jenna raised her chin. “I didn’t exactly plan it, all right? It’s not like I carry something in my purse, hoping to get lucky. Are you saying you’ve never done anything like that?”

“No, I haven’t.” His steadfast gaze was difficult to meet, making Jenna wonder if the truth wouldn’t have been less painful, after all.

“Besides, even if I took a different woman to bed every night, it wouldn’t be the same,” he added.

“Oh, yeah? Interesting you think so.” Jenna heard her voice rise and carefully lowered it so she wouldn’t wake Ryan, grateful for the anger that surged through her body, because it replaced humiliation and embarrassment. “Maybe you’ll enlighten me. I’ve always wanted to hear the rationale behind the old double standard.”

“I don’t have an eight-year-old son to explain this to, and I don’t have a deranged ex who’s going to go ballistic as soon as he learns.”

“No, you don’t have either of those because your precious practice and your own personal success are more important.” She forgot about trying to cover herself and clenched her hands at her sides. “Your responsible-parent act is convincing, but the truth is, you can’t even imagine what it’s like to look at the child you helped create and know that regardless of all the other shit that happens in your life, you’ve done one thing right. Because you’re too scared to love that much.” She tossed the pregnancy test on her dresser and flounced into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. “Now, if you’ll go, I need to get some sleep.”

He stared at her, eyes narrowed, and Jenna was afraid he’d make a rejoinder. She prayed he’d leave her in peace. Her strength was ebbing, and the nausea, the worry and her lack of sleep combined to make her feel like an emotional wreck.

To avoid letting him see the tears swimming in her eyes, she rolled over and presented him with her back. He had the life he wanted. What difference did her problems make to him?

“Damn,” he swore, and stalked out.



TOO ANGRY TO SLEEP, Adam prowled around his room for the next thirty minutes. Part of him wanted to wring Jenna’s neck for getting herself into such a tough situation; another part wanted to race back to San Francisco and avoid the whole mess.

In any event, he couldn’t help feeling he owed her something. Jenna would never have married Dennis if he hadn’t broken his promise and left her behind. But she could only blame herself for this pregnancy. She might not be as sophisticated as those women who routinely protected themselves against pregnancy and STDS, but she was old enough to understand the consequences of her actions. She had one kid already, for hell’s sake!

A soft knock at the door stopped Adam in his tracks. Knowing it was probably Jenna, he moved as far away from the entrance as he could before calling, “Come in.”

She’d been crying. He could tell the minute he laid eyes on her, and he felt the ice around his heart melt a little, despite his best efforts to keep the temperature down. Fortunately the stab of jealousy he’d felt when he first suspected Jenna might be pregnant returned, keeping his voice gruff. “What is it?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “I…I wanted to make sure I could trust you to keep what you know a secret. Just for now.”

“About the baby?” With one arm, Adam braced himself against the wall and stared out the window at the landscape lights in the garden below. “Are we sure there is a baby?”

“I’m afraid so.” She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I need a few days to decide what to do.”

Evidently she’d already taken the test he’d bought her, and the results had shaken her. Her voice was soft and sounded nearly as frightened as her enormous eyes looked. Adam could understand why. He felt shell-shocked himself, and the baby wasn’t even his. “How far along are you?”

“About three months.” She fiddled with the belt of her white terry robe, then sighed. “Listen, I have Ryan to think about and, well, I regret saying what I did about the, um, baby’s father. It would only confuse Ryan to think Dennis wasn’t—”

“I won’t say anything, to anyone.” Adam cut her off, hating the thought of a total stranger getting past barriers Jenna would never let him cross again. He remembered the stained-glass window he’d seen in her studio and wondered, for the first time, if he was wrong about it being “their” stretch of beach. Just because their years together still meant something to him didn’t mean Jenna held them with the same sacred regard. It was egotistical of him to even think so.

She smiled a little, and he felt another tug at his heart. What would it have been like to marry Jenna and to watch her grow big with his child? To have a son like Ryan?

“I guess you’ll be heading back to San Francisco soon,” she said.

“Yeah. I’ve got to get back. Some things have happened since I’ve been gone…”

“Sure, it’s hard to get away when you’ve got so much going on.” She spoke quickly and started toward the door, obviously expecting him to take her words at face value, but he couldn’t ignore the undercurrent. She knew he was running away from her again. He hadn’t been able to fulfill his promise to her fifteen years ago. And he hadn’t gotten any better at making commitments since.

“Dammit, Jenna,” he said, catching her by the arm. “What do you expect me to do? Walk away from my practice?”

“What do I expect?” She frowned. “I don’t expect anything. I couldn’t hold you here once, I wouldn’t try again. Any demands you feel are simply your imagination. Or maybe they’re reflections of your grandparents’ hopes, not mine.”

“Liar.” He could feel her shaking under his hand, a natural reaction after learning about the baby, he supposed, but he wanted to believe that part of her still responded to him.

She released a bitter laugh. “God, Adam, what do you want from me? If you want to hear me say it nearly destroyed me when you left the last time, I will. But if you think I’ll give any man the chance to hurt me like that again, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Didn’t Dennis hurt you, Jen?”

“The truth?” Defiance flashed in her eyes. “In some ways,” she admitted. “Fat lips hurt. Broken bones hurt. Worrying about Ryan because of Dennis and me hurt. Living in fear hurt. But Dennis could never really reach me. Not in here.” She tapped her chest with the knuckles of one fist. “This is locked up tight, and the key was lost a long time ago. A divorce is a huge wakeup call, Adam. We’re not kids anymore. Every decision I make affects my son, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take another emotional risk, at least not now, and not with you. Ryan needs me to be strong and consistent. So that means you’re safe. Get it? I don’t want anything from you, and to be completely honest, I wish you’d do us all a big favor and go back to San Francisco. That’s where you want to be. That’s where you belong. So go, okay?”

The phone on the nightstand jangled. As Jenna jerked away to answer it, a shadow of apprehension entered her eyes. Dennis again, Adam thought. This time of night, it had to be him. And Jenna knew it.

Instinctively he skirted past her to grab the receiver. “All right, Dennis,” he barked into the phone, “you want to threaten somebody, try threatening me. I won’t stand still for your harassing Jenna anymore, do you understand?”

“Well, if it isn’t my old buddy.” A harsh chuckle sounded on the line, then the soft pop a bottle makes when it loses its seal. “I thought so,” Dennis said, his words barely recognizable amidst the slurred syllables.

“Jenna might think my brain’s pickled, but I’m not stupid. I knew what was happening all along. As soon as you snapped your fingers, she packed up and left me to run right back to you, eh?”

Adam didn’t like the sound of Dennis’s crazed voice. Neither did he like the accusation that he’d been responsible for the divorce. “I didn’t even know you two weren’t together until I came home last night, but you’ve had too much to drink to believe that. So believe what you want. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You guys are divorced. You got that, Dennis? That means you leave Jenna alone.”

Again the grating laugh. “You getting all you want, friend? Because she was sure a stingy bitch with me.”

Adam clenched his teeth. “Just leave Jenna alone.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I won’t bother calling the cops. It’ll be just you and me, and a lesson learned the hard way.”

“That sounds like something I won’t want to miss. Maybe we should sell tickets. Jenna would love that, wouldn’t she? To have us fighting over her again? It’ll be just like old times.” And the line went dead.

Jenna stood staring at Adam, her face chalky white, her hands over her mouth.

“If he calls or bothers you again, Jen, I need you to tell me—”

“No! Thanks for the infusion of testosterone, Adam, but it won’t help me protect Ryan or your folks when Dennis comes here, raving drunk, and you’re in San Francisco. Don’t you understand? Dennis lived in your shadow our whole married life. Nothing could bring him here quicker than to think we’re together. So next time don’t do me any favors.”

She slipped from the room and into the hall, and Adam resisted the urge to go after her; instead, he rammed a hand through his hair. Jenna had had one hell of a night, and because of his own scrambled emotions, he hadn’t done much to make things better. But it was high time someone stopped Dennis from harassing his ex-wife. Jenna thought Adam’s involvement might cause Dennis to do something rash, but Dennis was already a ticking bomb, ready to go off. And most women didn’t understand something boys learned at a very young age: the only way to stop a bully was to beat him at his own game.



“ADAM! ADAM, wake up!”

With a groan Adam rolled over and squinted bleary-eyed at a blond head—Ryan’s. “Hey, squirt,” he mumbled. “What you doing up so early?”

“It’s not early, Adam. It’s almost seven o’clock. Grandma Durham sent me to tell you we’re ready to go.”

“Go?” After the almost sleepless night he’d spent, Adam felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. He rolled over and snuggled deeper into the blankets, but any hope of going back to sleep ended when Ryan’s small fist knocked gently on his head.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

Chuckling, Adam scrubbed the sleep from his face. “All right, wise guy,” he said, “the lights are going on, but slowly. We’re traveling up the coast. Am I right?”

“Yep! Grandma Durham packed us some snacks to eat in the car. Her blond brownies, which I hate—” he grimaced, then brightened “—but there’s chocolate-chip cookies, too, and fudge, almond roca, deviled eggs, Jell-O jigglers—”

“Whoa, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“You gonna take as long to get ready as my mom?” the boy asked.

Adam perked up. “Jenna’s going?”

“No. She just takes a long time to comb her hair and do all that girl stuff.”

“Oh, I see the connection. You think I look like a girl.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “No, I just don’t want to wait while you spend an hour in the bathroom.”

“So it’s a baseball-cap day, huh?”

Ryan grinned. “Yeah, just wear a hat!”

The prospect of a long drive without Jenna dimmed Adam’s enthusiasm. After what had happened last night, he didn’t want to leave her side until he knew what Dennis was going to do. But Oregon was nearly a full day’s travel away. She should be safe until some time after noon, and he, Ryan, Pop and Gram would be back by then.

Adam was surprised to realize that he wasn’t upset about the possibility of postponing his return to San Francisco. Spending more time in Jenna’s company appealed to him, despite the knowledge that it would probably be better for both of them if he kept his distance.

Humans were so perverse, he mused. The more they knew they shouldn’t have something, the more they wanted it.

“All right, squirt. Out you go, so I can dress.”

Ryan ambled to the door, tossing a baseball a foot or two into the air and catching it with a stiff new glove.

“You think we can play catch later on?” he asked as the ball landed with a satisfying plop.

“Sure. Looks like we need to get that glove oiled up and broken in.”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s grin widened at the prospect, and Adam wondered how a father could let anything come between him and a boy like this.

And a woman like Jenna.

For a moment he actually pitied Dennis. His old friend had lost a lot. Granted, it was his own fault—but what did he have left in his life?

As soon as the door closed, Adam threw off the covers and started digging through his suitcase.

“Adam? You ready? The day’ll be half-gone before we get out of here if we don’t go now,” Gram’s voice called from downstairs.

“Half-gone! It’s not even seven o’clock, and it’s Saturday,” Adam muttered, buttoning his faded jeans and pulling on a 49ers sweatshirt. His grandparents would never change. They got up at dawn every day, even when it was only to have fun.

“After dragging me from my bed, I hope you at least have a cup of coffee waiting for me,” Adam called back, settling a baseball cap over his sleep-tousled hair.

There was no answer, but he knew Gram well enough to expect more than a cup of coffee. She’d probably fixed him a ten-course meal. Remembering the quick bowl of cold cereal or occasional Pop Tart he tossed down before rushing off to the office in San Francisco, he thought he could get used to the pleasures of living in Mendocino again. Then he realized something—until that very moment, he hadn’t known how much he’d missed it. Small town, slow pace. Home and family.

“Hey, this is what I went to San Francisco to get away from,” he grumbled, then opened the door to find Ryan waiting in the hall. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.”



AFTER GETTING a couple of rooms ready in case they had some drive-by business that evening, Jenna went to her studio, planning to spend the morning finishing her stained-glass window of the lake and trees. Pamela, the maid, had the day off, and Mr. Robertson wouldn’t be in until four o’clock to start dinner, so she was alone, and grateful for the solitude.

Flipping on the space heater to get rid of the chill, she studied the glass she’d cut before bed the night before and decided to start leading the window. She had a penciled drawing of the finished work on the table under the glass. But the telephone interrupted her before she could begin.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jen. It’s me.” Laura Wakefield was the one friend Jenna had grown up with in Mendocino who hadn’t married or moved away. She still lived with her parents, just a few miles down the highway, and helped her mother care for her father, a victim of Alzheimer’s.

“Laura, what are you doing up this early? It’s only eleven o’clock. You never roll out of bed before noon.”

“A fringe benefit of working the late shift.”

“You manage a seafood restaurant that closes at ten. That’s hardly the late shift.”

“Well, it’s not the early shift, either, which means I can sleep in if I want. Anyway, today I thought I’d drive over to Fort Bragg to see a matinee. Feel like coming with me?”

Jenna considered the work in progress waiting on her table. “I’m working on the lake piece. Then I’ve got to see about ordering more brochures for the Victoriana. And I promised Mrs. Durham I’d finish their website. So I’d better pass for today.” She considered telling Laura about Adam’s being in town, then decided against it. Her friend would want to know exactly how she felt about seeing him for the first time in fifteen years, and Jenna didn’t want to identify her feelings, let alone talk about them.

She realized that if she spent much time with Laura, she’d end up telling her anyway, but that didn’t stop her from extending the usual invitation. “Want to come over for a cup of coffee before you go?”

“No. I’m going to have a shower and color my hair.”

“You are? You’ve never colored your hair before.”

“I know, but my dad’s sister is in town. She’s helping take care of him and I’m ready for a change, and one of the waitresses at the restaurant said I should go blond.”

“As in bleach blond?”

“Is there any other kind for a brunette?”

“Oh, no, Laura, think of the roots.”

“It’ll be a hassle, but if I do it often enough—”

“You’ll ruin the texture of your hair.”

“I take it you don’t like the idea.”

“I think you’ll regret it.”

“Hmm. Maybe I will. Anyway, my stomach’s a bit queasy. I should probably just go back to sleep.”

Reminded of her own nausea, and the baby, Jenna put a hand to her stomach. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said.

“So tell me.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

Jenna held the phone away from her ear, but she was too late to avoid the blast of Laura’s exclamation.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated.

“Oh, my gosh! And I thought you led this chaste little life. Where have you been going without me?”




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