Joan Pickart - To A Macallister Born

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Jack said, matching her volume. “So, okay, you loved your husband, but, my God, Jennifer, it’s been five years since that man died. He wouldn’t want you to grieve for a lifetime, to cease to exist as a woman. You can’t mourn him forever.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I sure as hell don’t,” he said, restlessly raking a hand through his hair. “What I do understand—what I know—is that you want me as much as I want you.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Jack sighed in exasperation, then leaned down and grabbed the blanket from the floor. “I’m leaving now, Jennifer,” he said, “but this discussion isn’t over. There’s something happening between us, and I want to know what it is. I’ll be back.”

Jack turned and left the house, closing the door with a tad more force than was necessary.

Jennifer walked to the door on trembling legs, snapped the lock into place, then rested her heated forehead on the cool, smooth wood.

Dear heaven, she thought frantically, what had she done? She’d responded to Jack’s kisses like some wanton hussy, had pressed her body to his, had felt his arousal surging full and heavy against her and had inwardly rejoiced in the knowledge that such a magnificent man wanted her. Her.

Sensuous images had flitted through her passion-laden mind of clothes disappearing by magic, of tumbling naked onto her bed and reaching eagerly for Jack, bringing him to her to fill her emptiness, to awaken her sleeping femininity with glorious lovemaking.

I’ll be back.

Jack’s fiercely spoken words echoed in her head, and she spun around, her eyes darting across the room in a near-hysterical search for somewhere to hide.

“To hide from Jack?” she said aloud, as tears stung her eyes. “No, heaven help me, to hide from myself.”

This was her fault. She wasn’t who she really was when she was with Jack. She didn’t know why—just did not know why, but she did know she would be certain never to be alone with Jack MacAllister again.

Exhaustion swept over her like a heavy curtain, and she stumbled across the room, turning off the lights as she went. A short time later she slipped into bed, a weary sigh escaping from her lips as her head touched the soft, welcoming pillow.

Sleep. She needed to sleep, to escape from the turmoil in her mind, to put hours of distance between herself and what had transpired with Jack in her living room.

Sleep, she thought foggily. Then morning would come and everything would be fine in the light of the new day.

When sunlight tiptoed into Jennifer’s bedroom the next morning and nudged her awake, she stirred, opened her eyes slowly…and thought of Jack.

With a muttered “Damn him,” she threw back the blankets on the bed and stomped into the bathroom for her shower.

Dressed in jeans, a navy-blue sweatshirt and her Big Bird slippers, she entered the kitchen twenty minutes later in a less-than-chipper mood. With a mug of hot coffee in one hand, she began to assemble Joey’s breakfast with the other, a frown on her face.

“Mom,” Joey said, coming into the kitchen.

“What!” Jennifer snapped. Then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Joey, I’m sorry. I sound like a grumpy bear. Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” She paused. “How did you get into the house?”

“You didn’t answer my knock at the front door, and the doorbell’s broke, and I had to use the key from under the mat to get in.”

Jennifer set her mug on the counter and lifted Joey into her arms. “I apologize,” she said, then kissed him on the nose. “I didn’t start my day with my best foot forward, but I’m fine now. I’ll fix you breakfast, then walk you to school.”

“’Kay,” he said, wiggling to get down.

Jennifer set him on his feet.

“But don’t hold my hand when we turn the corner by the school, Mom,” Joey said, sliding onto his chair at the table. “That’s baby stuff, and I’m big now.”

“Yes, you certainly are getting big,” she said quietly. “Very quickly, too. You’ll be grown and gone before I know it.”

Joey frowned. “Gone where? I belong here with you. I’m never going to leave you, Mommy. Never, ever, never. ’Cause if I did, you’d be all alone.” He straightened in his chair and smiled. “No, you wouldn’t. Not if you were the next bride ’cause you caught the flowers. Then you’d have a groom guy and you wouldn’t be alone at all.”

To Jennifer’s dismay she was assaulted by the memory of being held so tightly in Jack’s embrace, wrapped in the safe, strong cocoon of his arms as he kissed her.

“Don’t start that again, Joey. I am not going to be the next bride. I’ll be just fine when I’m alone after you’re grown up. Clear?”

“No,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. “I’m going to talk to Uncle Ben and Uncle Brandon about this. I’m going to tell them that you’re breaking the rules about catching Aunt Megan’s flowers. You told me I should never break rules, Mom.”

“Oh, my stars,” Jennifer said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “I don’t believe this. We are now changing the subject. What do you want for breakfast? Cereal? Toast? Eggs?”

“Hot dog with mustard.”

“Why not?” she said, throwing up her hands.

“And potato chips,” Joey added.

“Don’t push your luck, sir. I’ll trade you potato chips for a banana.”

“And orange soda.”

“Milk.”

Joey sighed. “’Kay.”

Jennifer began to prepare the agreed-upon breakfast as Joey chattered about beating Grandma Clark at Candy Land the previous evening.

Jennifer laughed. “Poor Grandma Clark. You played Candy Land again? She can probably do it in her sleep by now.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“Guess what, Mom. It’s my turn to feed the gerbil at school today. That is so cool. Can I have a gerbil of my own? I’ll keep it in my bedroom.”

“Oh, ugh, no,” Jennifer said, smiling. “Those things remind me of mice. Just enjoy the one at school.”

“Can I have a dog? Know what? Sheriff Montana told me he might get a dog. If I had a dog, then my dog and Sheriff Montana’s dog could be friends. Wouldn’t that be really great?”

“One hot dog with mustard, plus a banana,” Jennifer said, placing a plate in front of Joey. “There—you have a dog.”

“That’s a hot dog,” Joey said, giggling.

“A dog is a dog. I’ll get your milk.”

Jennifer crossed the room and took a carton of milk from the refrigerator. As she turned again, she saw Joey jump from his chair. “Where are you going?” she said.

“Somebody is knocking at the front door,” he said, running from the room.

“So early?” she said, frowning. “Wait, Joey. Don’t open the—darn it.”

Jennifer hurried after Joey as quickly as her Big Bird slippers would allow, the carton of milk still in one hand. Joey flung open the door, and Jennifer stumbled slightly before coming to a halt behind him.

“Hi,” Joey said.

“Hi. I’m Jack MacAllister, a friend of your mom’s. You must be Joey. I borrowed your blanket last night and I came to return it. I also brought some fresh cinnamon rolls from Hamilton House as a thank-you gift for allowing me to use your Pooh bear.”

Jack shifted his gaze slowly to look at Jennifer. “Good morning, Jennifer,” he said, smiling. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Joey said, stepping back and bumping into his mother.

Jack entered the house, and Joey slammed the door.

Jack swept his gaze over Jennifer, chuckling as he gave special attention to her feet. “Love the slippers,” he said, grinning at her. “Milk? Great,” he added, nodding toward the carton in her hand. “That will hit the spot with these cinnamon rolls. Come on, Joey. Let’s dig into these goodies while they’re still warm.” He dropped the blanket onto the sofa.

As Joey and Jack headed for the kitchen, Jennifer just stood where she was, Big Bird slippers on her feet, a carton of milk in her hand.

“My life,” she said, a rather bemused tone to her voice as she stared into space, “is suddenly out of control.”

Jennifer headed toward the kitchen, then stopped, staring down at her silly slippers.

She should make a detour to her bedroom, she thought, and change into her tennis shoes. No, forget it. Jack had already seen her funny feet, and besides, she’d never do anything to hurt Joey’s feelings.

Joey, she thought, starting toward the kitchen again. He shouldn’t eat one of those enormous cinnamon rolls from Hamilton House. He’d be on such a sugar rush, he’d be bouncing off the walls the entire morning at school.

“New York City,” Jack was saying when Jennifer entered the kitchen.

“Wow. Cool,” Joey said. “They have big apples there, or something.”

Jack laughed. “Or something. But I’m moving to Ventura, California. I just stopped off in Prescott to visit my buddy Brandon. I’m going to be a member of MacAllister Architects, Incorporated.”

“Why?” Joey said, then took a bite of the gooey roll.

“Why?” Jack frowned. “Well, because I was ready for a change, and it will be nice to be working with family.”

“Whoa, Joey,” Jennifer said, bringing a knife to the table where the pair sat. “Half a cinnamon roll for breakfast. You can have the rest later.”

“’Kay,” Joey said, as Jennifer cut the roll in two.

“You’ll join us, won’t you, Jennifer?” Jack said.

“I don’t eat breakfast,” she said, not looking at him. “A cup of coffee is all I have.”

“Then bring your cup and sit down,” Jack said.

“Yeah, Mom,” Joey said. “You should do that because we have company.”

“Mmm.” She glared at Jack. “Very early company.” She paused. “Oh, all right. Would you like some coffee, Jack?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, smiling. “Sounds great. I take it black.”

“Dandy,” she said, spinning around and nearly falling over her slippers.

Don’t think, she ordered herself as she went to the coffeemaker. She would not entertain any thoughts, any memories—absolutely none—about what had happened between her and Jack the previous night.

She would not allow her bones to dissolve when Jack MacAllister smiled at her.

She would pay no attention to the flutter of heat that was now swirling and pulsing through her body.

She couldn’t care less if Jack had removed his jacket to reveal a sweater that was the exact shade of his chocolate fudge sauce eyes.

She could handle this. No problem. Jack was just a man, who was sitting at her table stuffing his face with a cinnamon roll. A gorgeous man. A man whose shoulders looked a mile wide in that sweater. A sweater that encased strong arms that had held her so tightly, so safely in his embrace. An embrace that had included kisses that were ecstasy in its purest form and—

That’s enough, she ordered herself. Get a grip.

She plunked a mug of coffee in front of Jack, retrieved her own from the counter, then poured a glass of milk for Joey. She sat down next to her son at the table and put the glass in front of him.

“Every drop, sweetie,” she said.

“’Kay,” Joey said, then looked at Jack again. “How come you had my Pooh blanket? Did you leave yours in New York City?”

“Something like that,” he said, smiling. “I used your blanket like a coat, because I wasn’t wearing mine and it was cold.”

“Oh,” Joey said, nodding. “Do you have a dog?”

“No,” Jack said, then took a bite of roll. “Mmm. Delicious.”