FIRE & ICE Book 3 of the Gypsy Road Series Karen Wiesner This book is dedicated to Kelly Novotny, a never-say-goodbye friend. Thanks for your unwavering support and the information I needed! Love, Karen Copyright 1999, Karen Wiesner ISBN: 1-58200-112-X All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. Chapter 1 HE WAS bare naked! Tracey Scott stood trance-like, with her hand still on the blind she’d pulled. Jon warned her last night he was hard to wake. He might have at least also warned her he slept in the raw! Biting her lip, Tracey tried to get herself to stop looking. At the very least, to get herself to do what she’d come in here to do and then leave. When she came to live with her employers, Jon Rushing and Blackie Scarpacchio, she’d foreseen a few issues of privacy being breached. Now she stared at a part of Jon she’d admired more than once in worn denim. No denim this time. No nothing. Oh my. He’d yanked a pillow over his head as soon as she drew the first blind and sunshine poured across the bed. It was summer, the old house they rented had few amenities like air conditioning. The fan did little or nothing except recirculate hot air. Why not sleep in the nude? Tracey swallowed the lump in her throat. After a night of steamy, erotic dreams about this man, ones she’d almost convinced herself were normal and no indication of real desire, seeing Jon’s muscled, nicely rounded rear end.... He started to roll, and Tracey panicked. She couldn’t see any more than she already had. She couldn’t! Darting forward, she put her hand on his shoulder, hoping to deflect a full-body roll onto his back. "Jon, wake up! We’re still going to the car show today, right?" "What time is it?" he grumbled. "9:30. Are you awake?" His head popped out from under the pillow, and he looked up at her with barely open eyes. Tracey desperately tried to keep her gaze on his face, but this close up... Mhm. Although Jon was only 5’7—and a half, he was always quick to add—he was the most attractive man Tracey had ever known. She was barely 5’4 herself, so she didn’t mind his height at all. He was still larger-than-life. Perfectly proportioned. Wildly sexy. "Why don’t you crawl in here and we’ll both go back to sleep. After." With a start, Tracey felt his hand gliding like a blaze of fire up the back of her leg and under her short, pleated skirt. If she hadn’t jumped away out of necessity, he would have gone further than the curve of her fanny. Jon’s flirtations had always been outrageously daring. "Are you awake?" she demanded. He combed back his thick, blondish-brown mane of hair. "Stick around, honey, and you’ll be able to answer that yourself." The husky note in his voice told her all she needed to know. He was aroused. As soon as he rolled over, she’d see for herself. Tracey fled with his chuckle floating after her. After pulling the door closed behind her, she stopped when it touched her back. She pressed a hand against the bare strip of skin at her waist. She shouldn’t, but couldn’t help, smiling. Sure, she’d heard most men woke aroused—Jon’s had nothing to do with her, but all the same she wouldn’t mind knowing he found her attractive enough to get aroused from it. Over the past year, since she’d moved from Los Angeles to Stevens Point, Wisconsin in order to take the job with the guys, Jon and Blackie had become more than employers. They were her best friends. When they invited her to move into the house and share the rent with them, she’d agreed almost immediately. Family was important—essential—to her. Living alone had been...well, lonely. So far, she loved living with the guys. She liked cooking for them, having someone around to talk to or just to watch a movie with. Sure, the two of them had more than one foible. Hogging all the hot water so no one else could shower, smoking in the house, "ordering out for sex" as Tracey called Blackie’s many one-night stands, Jon’s penchant for walking around naked, especially from the bathroom to his bedroom. To this point, she’d only caught brief glimpses, just enough to startle but not paralyze her. All in all, it was working out. Having a few erotic dreams about the guys was normal. And yes, she reminded herself, she’d had one or two, maybe just one, about Blackie too, though it’d been nowhere near as intense as the many starring Jon. She told herself any woman living in such close proximity to two good-looking, sexy men would have the same. On a deep exhale, she pushed off the door and went back to the kitchen and her cooking. She and Jon were taking the day off today to go to the car show. When he saw the ad in the newspaper last night, Jon suggested they go. Blackie would take over for them at Hog Heaven, the motorcycle repair and retail shop he and Jon owned with another friend, Rod Summers. She worked as the receptionist/secretary/PR/bookkeeper for the shop. "Now that’s what I like to see," Tracey heard Jon’s voice about fifteen minutes later. She glanced back to see him in the kitchen doorway. "Barefoot lady sashaying around the kitchen, making me breakfast." He’d moved into the room, close enough that she could smell his intoxicating cologne. "You don’t look anywhere near pregnant though." Tracey truly enjoyed their flirtatious repartee—something that had started again gradually, over the last few weeks. Yet what he’d said was too close to the bone. He might as well have read her mind. He curled an arm around her bare midriff, beneath the apron she’d put on, with his palm flat against her belly. Tracey forced herself to get back into the spirit of their sparring. "Hey, hey, the cook needs some space. See this apron." She turned to show him, but knew he’d seen it enough times to know what it said: Dangerous chef at work. Keep a ten-foot distance for your own protection. An amusing gift from her parents, who knew how the kitchen could look like a cyclone hit it after she got done cooking. "Ten feet. This kitchen barely has two." But he slipped away to get some coffee for himself. She went on with cutting out her homemade buttermilk biscuits, surreptitiously glancing at Jon and rubbing at a tickle on her nose. He wore a blue T-shirt that brought out the blue in his blue-gray eyes. The T-shirt lovingly defined the muscles in his chest, his stomach and his arms. Tracey hadn’t minded the corner of the living room the guys devoted to their weightlifting equipment, not when her sit-up mat fit in nicely and not when she saw the benefits of that equipment. She didn’t need to go to the gym to lust after the bodybuilders. Another perk to living here. Jon looked and smelled so good today. He was also in a good mood, one that reminded her of not only The Florida Keys, where they met about eighteen months before, but also of the first couple months after she moved to Wisconsin. When Jon wasn’t trapped in his black misery, pushing everyone including his closest friends away, he was fun, funny, sweet, impulsive and completely crazy. Tracey doubted he really meant all the outrageous things he said and did, but knowing that hadn’t stopped her from wishing once or twice he was serious. But that black misery had taught her more than once not to even consider getting involved with Jon. She never knew when the darkness would roll in, and she couldn’t trust her heart to Jon, just in case it did. After popping the biscuits in the oven, she started the eggs and ham for Jon. She didn’t eat meat herself, but she enjoyed cooking for anybody who enjoyed eating. Jon and Blackie ate like they were starved each time she made a meal. She’d learn to prepare army proportions for every meal. "I’ve never seen anybody look so damn cute with a face full of flour." Tracey glanced up at Jon, too aware of him for her own good, and he dabbed a towel over her face. "Thanks," she said with an embarrassed smile. "Still cute," he said under his breath. He leaned toward her, and Tracey stopped breathing when she realized he was going to kiss her. She dodged him quickly. Kissing Jon, even the unserious one he’d probably give her, would be far too much temptation for her. Maybe spending the day alone with him wasn’t such a good idea. "Hey, I charge double for stolen kisses," she teased, her throat dry. Her hand shook, which meant the spatula in it did too. She put it down. "How much do you charge for dreamed ones? I’d be broke after last night." I’m just not as good at this as he is, Tracey thought, feeling heat flood her cheeks. He couldn’t possibly know she’d dreamed about him last night. He was only flirting, saying he’d dreamed of her too. The front door slammed, and Tracey jumped. And she’d thought her heart raced before! Blackie came into the kitchen, obviously coming off an all-night, one-night stand with some nameless woman. A redhead, Tracey thought to herself. They were all redheads. He glanced at them as if they were naked and rolling around on the floor together. For some reason, Tracey felt herself blush again. Without a word, he grabbed one of the bran muffins she’d made earlier and left the room. Tracey sneaked a look at Jon to find him staring back at her. She smiled and threw herself into breakfast again. A half hour later, after arguing about which vehicle to take, they finally got on the road in her car. Jon asked her if she really liked antique cars during the course of the hour and then some trip. "My parents own an antique shop in Chicago. I wasn’t crazy about antiques at first. Why buy old when you can have new? But it grew on me, I guess. Now I love antique cars, antique furniture, antique houses—although it’d be nice to have more than one outlet per room and a phone that weighs less than twenty pounds." Jon grinned. "No kidding." He reached for the radio at the same time she did. Both fell away without turning it on. "We could fix the place up if we ever decide to buy the monstrosity." Tracey shrugged. "Wouldn’t it lose some of its charm if we modernized it?" But she thought, we won’t be living together long enough to buy the house. Tracey had plans for the future that she couldn’t imagine Jon and Blackie wanting to share in. The car show already had most of the streets lined with parked cars. They repeated to each other a dozen times which street they parked on, but Tracey suspected it wouldn’t do them much good. They didn’t know the town well enough to have the street locations down. They walked the rest of the way. It was hot, muggy and looked like it might rain later. Jon spent a lot of time talking with car owners, checking out the cars top to bottom. Tracey ended up walking ahead. While she found the cars neat to look at, she wasn’t interested in getting to know them inside out. When she turned down another line of antique cars, something caught her eye. She glanced again at an auburn-haired woman about two-hundred feet from her. Recognition hit her in seconds, although she’d only met her once. Blackness, misery, oh man! I have to make sure Jon— "You walk too far ahead, we might not be able to find each other," Jon said behind her. Tracey whirled, forcing a smile. "Hey, let’s...I...uh, saw this really neat car...back this way." She steered him back the way he’d come. "I saw all of ‘em that way." He started forward again, and Tracey tried to get in front of him to block his view. Obviously he thought she’d gotten a touch of heat stroke based on his expression. "Then let’s go get something to eat," she suggested. "Tracey, we just ate a breakfast big enough to feed an army two hours ago. What’s wrong with you?" He walked around her again, and even when she started to say something about bran muffins not being filling she knew it was too late. His entire body went stock-still. He saw Jessie Nelson with her husband, Steve Thomas. Tracey knew the names, the stories, and she knew just seeing Jessie would throw Jon back into that impenetrable darkness. Nothing Tracey did could prevent that now. Jon turned suddenly and started walking like a man on an important mission. To escape. Tracey ran after him, torn between anger and sadness. It wasn’t fair! They’d planned the whole day and now it was destroyed in two seconds flat, the way Jessie destroyed everything. To the innocent eye, Jessie appeared to be no more harmful than any other drop-dead gorgeous woman with a body that could sink and raise ships. But those who followed her reputation knew she’d thoughtlessly crushed Jon countless times, betrayed her husband —again, countless times—, and God only knew the damage she’d done to her and Steve’s three, young children. That didn’t even get into the rebounding effects of her crimes. Jon walked fast, too fast for Tracey to catch up to him without breaking into a dead run. Just as she suspected, they had a hard time finding where they parked. When she finally caught up with him, she saw being lost made him even more furious. "What street did we park on?" he demanded of her. "You do realize what you feel for her isn’t love?" she said instead of telling him what he wanted to know. "You do realize it’s an insidious, killing obsession? That’s all?" That’s all? Tracey snorted even to herself. His obsession could easily become everything. It devoured him like a black hole. After the last time, it’d taken him almost six months to get back on track. "Yeah. I realize that. Now what damn street is it?" Tracey spit out the only answer he wanted, and, half hour later, he drove with absolute concentration, the radio blaring to prevent her from talking. He never wanted to hear anything she said when Jessie got her hooks in him. Tracey was as angry as he was, even more so, when the rain finally broke, coming down in sheets, and she tried to tell Jon what to do and what not to do with her car in the rain. Her car was fickle; in the rain, only she knew how to handle it to keep it running. Jon didn’t listen. They made it to Stevens Point, but he ignored her instructions to put it in neutral and press lightly on the gas pedal at lights to keep it running. The car died at an intersection, and no matter how many times he tried to get it to turn over, it refused to cooperate. "I told you," Tracey couldn’t resist the jab. "Why don’t you get a decent car? Or at least let me fix this bucket so it runs right?" "Just because you don’t know how to handle Mabel doesn’t mean she’s a bucket!" "Nobody else in the world would name their car after their dead great-grandma!" Cars honked behind them. Jon flipped on the trouble lights. Impulsively, Tracey jumped out of the car and ran through the pouring rain to the phone booth on the corner. Once inside, she spent a minute gasping for breath before she picked up the receiver with a dripping hand. She dialed the shop, and Blackie picked up after half a dozen rings. "My car broke down," she said, shouting as much as she could over the rain and her chattering teeth. "Can you pick us up?" After some cursing and name-calling of Mabel, he said he’d be there in ten or less. Tracey raced back to the car. "What was that?" Jon asked immediately. "I called Blackie. He’ll be here soon." Taking off her waterlogged shoes did nothing to warm her. Even squeezing the water out of her clothes didn’t help. Jon turned away from her, shaking his head. Probably hearing her shiver, he glanced back. Tracey covered her chest with her arms at his obvious focus. "You’re insane, honey. Why didn’t you let me run out there?" She was too miserable to answer his soft, concerned rebuke. A second later, he yanked his T-shirt off and pulled it down over her head, unwilling to allow her first-refusal. "Nut," he muttered as, undercover of his T-shirt, she reluctantly removed the soaked cami top she wore. Then she put her arms into the dry cotton he took off his own back. "No more than you," she returned in a whisper he probably didn’t hear over the rain. LOOKING like an adorable, half-drowned kitten, Tracey kicked off her shoes once inside the house, stalked down the hall, and slammed into her bedroom. Jon and Blackie looked at each other, sharing a silent,"Women!" before they went into the kitchen. Blackie had come with the tow truck, and "Mabel" was now in the garage next to the house. According to Tracey, she’d start right up tomorrow as if nothing had happened. It wasn’t until Jon got a brand-new bottle of Jack Daniels out of the cupboard that Blackie seemed to realize Tracey’s mood hadn’t simply been based on rain and being stranded. Blackie came out of his life philosophy that the world would be a better place if we were all telepathic—no talking required, long enough to mutter, "Oh man, say it ain’t so." On a good day, Blackie might say a grand total of a hundred words. Before Tracey came along, days could go by when he spoke only one-word utterances. Jon sensed he was about to become Chatty Cathy. "I don’t wanna talk about it." "What’s Jess doing up here for a car show?" Blackie asked. Jess lived in Milwaukee, where Jon hailed from. When their friend JoJo moved up here, Jon, Blackie and her brother migrated too. Jon figured there’d be less chance of running into Jess. No matter how obsessed he was with her, he at least had the smarts to avoid her at all cost. He only got involved with her when she sought him out. And only then because she knew exactly how to work her black magic on him. "Steve’s into antique cars, remember?" Jon muttered, tearing the seal off the whiskey bottle. Even as he opened it, he wondered, What do I need this for? Force of habit, after seeing Jess, had made him get it out. Instead of drinking, he lit a cigarette at the same time Blackie did. Unbelievable as it was, at one point in Jon’s life, Jess’ husband had been his friend. But then Jess got between them. Steve married her, Jon got her whenever the marriage and life became too much for her. Jon grabbed a magazine, ripped out a page, and furiously started folding. His paper-folding—self-taught and without rules—started early in life. Even he deduced it was a way to relieve stress and pain. "Did she see you?" Jon shook his head without looking up. Blackie apparently realized there was no need to guess what would happen next. Every time Jon saw Jess, he went down into the pit of despair. His recovery time hadn’t gotten any less since the first time she left him, when he was seventeen. The phone rang. Jon leaned back on his chair to grab the receiver of what had to be the world’s oldest working phone. It was huge, black and resembled the robot heads in the Jetsons’ cartoon. "May I speak to Tracey Scott?" a severely uptight voice asked. Jon’s anger flared. How many guys could Tracey date in a month’s time? She always said she was "going out with a friend," but he knew they were actually dates. Almost all of the guys were uptight suits too, based on their voices and the few he’d seen. A woman with a wild streak in her like Tracey didn’t fit with rich, staid guys. "Why?" Jon demanded, holding back a cruel laugh when the suit started to sputter. "Hold on." Jon hung the receiver on the curtain rod, then got up to get Tracey. "Another suit?" Blackie guessed, and Jon muttered "Yeah." When he knocked on Tracey’s door, she opened it with a furious "Yes?" She wore a short bathrobe with her hair up in a towel. "Phone." "Oh." She sounded almost embarrassed. What did she think? He’d come to apologize? Or to chew her out? "I’ll be there in a minute." She closed the door again, and Jon went back to the kitchen seriously considering hanging up the phone. While he’d never liked the idea of Tracey with some other guy, the fast and furious way she’d been dating lately obsessed him. She’d never gone out this much before. Why did she even need to? She came out dressed in boxer shorts imprinted with a tool belt design, her hair in a ponytail. In all the time Jon had known her, he’d never seen her with her hair down. It was this silky-looking, golden stuff a man couldn’t help but want to take down out of all the sophisticated twists and knots she wore. Take down and get his hands in. Figuring she’d have a harder time agreeing to a date if he eavesdropped on her conversation, Jon turned his chair to face her and sat staring at her, smoking. She turned away with a glare but obviously sensed he continued staring. Intrigue should have disappeared after she moved in here with them. Now he saw her run around the house in those crazy boxer shorts of hers, without make-up. He knew firsthand how cranky she got before her first cup of coffee in the morning. Jon was still intrigued. Intrigued wasn’t exactly the word for it. When he wasn’t in the pit, just looking at Tracey...well, consumed him. She was an utterly adorable, tiny creature. The first time he laid eyes on her, his first thought was She’d have adorable kids. We’d have adorable kids together. She had a little girl’s face. Sweet as could be, sheer innocence, with an inner light. But some of her features were purely feminine. Narrow, baby blue eyes with thick, long lashes and silky, arched brows. A pink mouth with all those pillows of softness, those sexy curves. Her top lip had a full cupid’s bow, and her chin had a deep dimple he found so damn sexy, a lot of his erotic dreams about her were just of kissing. And none of that got into her heavenly body. He’d fallen in love with her on sight, after she doused him in ice water. ‘Course now he was over her. "I’ll be ready," Tracey said. Jon only heard one side of the conversation, but she’d made another date, no doubt about it. Tracey hung up, then marched over to the freezer. Jon picked up the whiskey and drank deeply. "Let me guess: a lawyer? doctor?" he said sarcastically, setting the bottle down with a thump. Tracey brought a little cup of ice over to the table, fanning the air of smoke and grimacing before she sat down at the table with them. "If you must know, he’s an accountant. He’s the brother of one of Bethany’s employees. She gave him my number." Bethany was their business partner Rod’s wife. "You know, second-hand smoke causes cancer too. Do you want to kill me? If you guys care about me at all, you’d smoke outside. Or quit." Miss Healthy-Inside-and-Out crunched on a handful of ice. Jon used the glowing butt of his cigarette to light the paper dragon he’d folded on fire. Each of his creations met this fate. "Who dates on a Friday night?" he muttered. Tracey snorted a laugh. "Try everybody in the civilized world! I have to get ready. He’ll be here in a half hour." Jon watched her leave the room, then swilled more of the whiskey. When he offered it to Blackie, he shook his head. What did she do with all these guys? Jon wondered. She always came in alone, late sometimes, but came in all the same. Did she date any of these suits more than once? Did she kiss them? Sleep with them? Jon banged the bottle down on the table. "I’ve got handcuffs. You wanna chain her to her bed?" Blackie laughed at him. "Why shouldn’t she date? You’re too screwed up to tell her you’re nuts about her." "I just saw Jess. I’m over Tracey." "Yeah. I can see that." Blackie shook his head like Jon was transparent. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang and Tracey walked past the kitchen on her way to it. "See you later," she called. Jon got up with his bottle and went to the window. A minute later, he saw Tracey, dressed in a form-fitting red dress that would come off tonight—in Jon’s dreams. He saw the guy she was with—yeah, definitely a suit—and his hold on the bottle tightened. Miraculously, the glass didn’t break. They drove away. Hell, the rest of this day would be long and the night even longer. When he glanced at Blackie and saw his you’re-pathetic expression, Jon muttered "Shut up." Chapter 2 ON THE porch, Tracey dodged her date’s kiss, deflecting it to her cheek. He’d been trying to kiss her all night. Staid? Definitely. Uptight? Yup. Octopus? Oh yeah. Chemistry? Nil. Would she be dating him again? Not a chance. When he asked if he could call her again, Tracey wasn’t even sure what she mumbled. She just wanted to escape. After she slipped inside the house, she leaned back against the solid pine door. The blind date actually had some potential in the first hour. They’d seemed to have a few things in common. And then he’d said, "I’ve got the next twenty years of my life planned out." He’d gone on to detail that plan, and now she knew accountants had big dreams too. Tracey couldn’t wait twenty more years for a baby. At twenty-six, her biological clock shrilled "Now!" too loudly to ignore. Easing off her pumps, she followed the light into the kitchen. Jon stood by the window with that darn bottle still in his hand. Her first surprise was that it wasn’t half-empty. She’d expected it to be, after he’d seen Jessie Nelson. Instead, it was still mostly full. "What, are you spying on me?" was her second surprise realization. He stood staring out the window where he’d have a bird’s eyeview of the street, as well as the porch. "How long have you been standing there?" He must have moved at some point since she left this afternoon. He’d changed his jeans. Still no shirt, and no socks or shoes. The snap of his jeans stood open, revealing a rock-hard abdomen.... "That wasn’t the kiss of somebody who got laid." Tracey’s gaze flew to his face. She was suddenly as furious as she’d been in the car after he saw that witch. He drank to forget that, and his drinking made him rude and vulgar. "It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do with my dates. How dare you?" Apparently he dared. "He wanted more than that kiss off out there. Who could blame him? You dress like that, you’re setting yourself up as a human invitation." Dress like...? In a movement Tracey was horrified to realize she found incredibly sexy, he lazily rolled his shoulder off the wall. "I don’t know. Maybe virgins like you think you’ve got no effect on men." He walked past her on his way out of the room. Tracey actually stood fuming a few minutes, then she tossed down her pumps and stalked after him. What right did he have to assume she was a virgin? What right did he have to call her a tease? Her dress was nowhere near sleazy. For the past couple weeks, his return to his outrageous "jealousy" hadn’t bothered her. Even if it was flirtatiously feigned, she’d found it endearing. Now it bothered her. This jealousy was out-of-bounds as well as misplaced. He couldn’t get over Jessie choosing another man over him. Somehow he carried that over to her situation. She found Jon in the living room, sprawled on the sofa, and leaned over him. "Look, you jerk—" She grabbed the bottle out of his hand and slammed it down next to the ashtray on the coffee table. "—You were blind-sided by that..." Tracey shook her head, wanting to use a word that, frankly, wasn’t part of her language. "I’m sorry about that. But don’t take it out on me. I don’t deserve it." When she felt tears behind her eyes, she ended her defense with, "Good night!" He must have been a blur in reality, he moved so fast. She didn’t even clear the end of the sofa before he sat up on his knees and grabbed her around the waist. Tracey’s shock left her unable to do anything except stare at him. It was then she saw pain in his eyes. Misery. An ache so deep he couldn’t hide it. Crazy as it was, Tracey’s anger subsided instantly. He was hurting. She didn’t want that. When he leaned his head against her chest, the way a child would against his mother, she hesitantly put her arms around him. The lump in her throat grew. Why do you have to be so obsessed with a woman who doesn’t care anything for you? Tracey thought. One who uses you and makes you take her misery? Why do you let her? She was so caught up in empathy, she had no warning before he tumbled back on the couch, carrying her with him. The fall stole her breath when she landed on his chest. "You’re in the privacy of your own home, honey. You can let loose a little," he said softly. This position, being molded so intimately with a man who made her understand the true meaning of physical chemistry made her unable to react the way she should...at all cost. As if on a quest, he started removing the barrette and pins that held her hair in an elegant couture. She should have stopped him. She should have done anything to get away. Wrong as it was, though, she couldn’t deny how good it felt, having him touch her. "Yeah, oh yeah. This is more like it," Jon muttered in a voice that only increased her traitorously good feelings. Wearing her hair up wasn’t simply a fashion choice. She was cursed (or blessed) with a baby face. With her hair down, that was emphasized even more, especially without make-up. Tracey had herself convinced upswept hair, make-up, sophisticated clothes and four-inch heels made her look at least her age. Jon’s fingers wove through her hair, creating zings of pleasure from her scalp, right down to her feet. Her toes actually curled. "Damn, you’re beautiful, Tracey. Why do you keep your hair up?" He drew his finger along her cheekbone, and then over her mouth. The look in his eyes had her gulping back a moan. "Second thought, keep it up. You’ve got too damn many guys on your tail as it is." What was he talking about? Who was he talking about? Certainly not her! Tracey realized with a start that he was nursing his broken heart any way he could. Even if it meant pretending she was Jessie. He was trying to forget Jessie by using the first available woman as a substitute for that beloved witch of his. "Let me up, you jerk! You’re drunk!" As hard as she could, Tracey shoved herself away from him. Gravity took care of the rest since Jon didn’t try to hold her back. She lost her balance before her feet could get anywhere near the floor. She toppled over, directly onto the antique table she’d bought recently. The thing had been wobbly before. Now it went down like it was made of cardboard. The ashtray and the bottle on it went flying. Pain exploded in her back, but nothing could equal her anger and the embarrassment of having her skirt practically around her neck, her legs in the air, not an ounce of decorum to be found. When Jon tried to help her up, she shook him off and struggled to sit up herself. "I’m not her. I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends." To add to her humiliation, she felt tears fill her eyes and Jon stared at her in concern. He leaned forward, removing a cigarette butt from her hair. Ignoring the bruises already forming on her back, Tracey got up. "Are you hurt?" She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t stay here or she’d cry. As fast as she could, she walked to her bedroom—shutting out his shouted demand to know if she was okay—and locked the door. He made no sense, none whatsoever. But it didn’t matter. The only right thing she’d ever done with Jon Rushing was refuse to allow herself to get involved with him. She knew that was one mistake she’d live to regret. Knowing that, why couldn’t she stop her own senseless attraction to him? WHAT the hell just happened? Jon leaned his head against Tracey’s door. For the last how-many-hours, he’d worked himself into a jealous frenzy, and—no dammit—he shouldn’t have been drinking. It only made everything worse. But those last few minutes, he’d never wanted a woman more in his life. He’d actually thought what he felt was mutual. Fooling himself into believing that had happened before, too damn many times. He turned away without banging on the door the way he’d intended to. If Tracey was seriously hurt, she would have said, "I need medical attention" instead of "I’m not her. I can’t believe you. I thought we were friends"—whatever that meant. His best guess was she actually thought he was so drunk he might have forced her. Tomorrow, he’d make sure she believed he’d rather die than hurt her, even when he was drunk. But the thing was, Jon realized as he crossed the hall to his bedroom, he wasn’t drunk. He’d had equivalent to a couple short glasses. For someone who drank a couple bottles of the hard shit a day when he was in the pit, today’s amount wasn’t enough to wet his whistle. Was he over Jess? he dared ask himself, grabbing his Ibanez acoustic guitar and bringing it out to the porch with him. He sat on the swing there. The rain had started again recently, another summer shower. Surprising himself, when he put his fingers to the guitar strings he immediately started playing. While he was with Jess and after she inevitably left, he sometimes couldn’t play for months. His fingers would hover just over the strings, but he couldn’t make them play. Now he played, guided by what was inside him. Love, lust, regret, pain, guilt. Maybe just seeing Jess wasn’t enough. Maybe she had to come to him, begging him to take care of her, pushing all the buttons to make him believe she might kill herself if he didn’t help her. Jess had fueled the dark, living depression he’d struggled with as long as he remembered. He met her when he was only fourteen. At first it was pure lust. He’d been a virgin and ripe for his first encounter. Jess was Venus personified, even at that age, and eager to do everything and anything too. But it wasn’t until the last time she left him strung up, high and dry, that he realized he never loved her. Their relationship had never been about that. She came into his life at a time when he felt no one in the world needed him, least of all his old man. Jess needed him. Being needed fueled his obsession and then left him drained almost to death like a vampire’s victim. Tracey...Tracey was a whole different story. Light, happiness, pure love—he’d experienced all of those things for the first time with her. From the very beginning, she brought out parts of him he didn’t even know he had. They met in The Florida Keys. He’d gone down with Blackie, Morris and Lori Gordon after JoJo sent them tickets. For two weeks, the five of them had shared the bottom level of a two-story beach house. The third day, Jon had been down on the terrace, snoozing in the afternoon sun. A gush of ice- cold water had hit him squarely in the chest, bringing him instantly awake and swearing like a gypsy. That was when a blond-haired goddess had leaned over the top-floor rail, saw him and gasped. "Oh no! I had no idea anyone was down there. I’m so sorry," she said in her husky voice. Jon had been furious until she ran down and he saw her standing in front of him for the first time. Love at first douse for that drowned rat. Smiling at the memory, Jon set aside his guitar. He went into the house to get a cigarette from the kitchen. Once outside again, he glanced at the thing. Time to quit these too. Maybe Tracey would believe he cared for her then. God knew he’d done everything short of bop her upside the head with his heart in The Keys and then after she moved to Point. She never took him seriously. The first time, she’d been involved long-term with some guy in Los Angeles. That could be why she hadn’t allowed it to grow serious between them. Her excuse when she came to live here had been flimsy, to say the least. The old can’t-get-involved-with-the-boss excuse. She must have really believed her own argument too, because after two months of hot pursuit, Jon still hadn’t gotten more than a couple minor indications she was caving. And then Jess showed up, he kicked his Pollyanna attitude and accepted that life wasn’t interested in seeing him happy anyway. End of story, right? No damage, right? Obsessed with two women. Gotta be one for the history books. He was sick of Jessie’s games. And he was sick of chasing a woman who was...too damn good for him. Tracey deserved some rich, proper guy who didn’t have enough baggage to crush her, the way Jon did. Why should she fall in love with him? He had nothing to offer her. Here’s the really stupid part, folks—believing that’s never stopped me before. Jon had the feeling he’d count his life worth something just having known an angel like Tracey Scott. Chapter 3 TRACEY WOKE late the next morning and wanted desperately to go against every value her parents had lovingly instilled in her. She didn’t want to face Jon. She didn’t want to talk out their problems until they could be resolved. Funny how, all the years she’d been growing up that face-it-head-on philosophy worked. It’d rarely worked for her as an adult. Tradition won out. She wasn’t willing to lose Jon’s friendship. Therefore she had to go out there and face him. As she gathered her hair into a scrunchie, she felt every ache in her back come to life. She probably had bruises galore there. Smelling coffee, she went to the kitchen first. She hadn’t gotten a chance to decide how to respond naturally. She blushed when she saw Jon leaning against the sink. Unlike pretty much every morning that he actually got up before her, he didn’t smoke this morning. When she looked away, darting between him and the table in an effort to make herself small and quick, he said "Tracey" in a soft voice. She glanced at him as she took her coffee mug out of the dish drainer. The last thing she expected from him was grief. "Are you hurt?" he asked just as Blackie walked into the room. Their friend must have been up too, out on the porch smoking. She could smell cigarette lingering on him but not the real thing in his hand. A part of Tracey hoped Jon would drop it now that Blackie had joined them. She didn’t want to talk about last night. The embarrassment and emotional hurt were still too fresh. She scooted past Jon to let Blackie at the dwindling supply of coffee and went to stand at the opposite end of the counter. The room she’d once thought of as sunny and cozy became suffocating and elbow-locking. Blackie glanced from Jon to her, seemingly picking up on their tension. His dark eyes were, as usual, unreadable. At thirty-five, Blackie Scarpacchio was a man of mystery. Jon had told her early in their relationship that Blackie’s real name was Byron. Rod had given him the name Blackie—never had a nickname been so apt. Not only was his appearance black—long, silky black hair, black eyes, shadowed countenance, dress-from-head-to-toe black—but his personality was black too. He refused to communicate anything about himself or his feelings with anyone, and he only commented on a subject if the person involved was a close friend. What Tracey knew about him had been told to her by his friends. And she sensed things. She sensed he was in emotional turmoil almost all the time, that he’d give his life for his friends, that he wasn’t bored, removed or uncaring—as his outer guard suggested. She sensed he was nothing but a teddy bear inside. "Dammit, Tracey." Jon slammed his mug—the oversized one featuring Taz—on the counter. Tracey had been huddled in the corner, sipping her coffee, hoping to escape notice. She jumped at the pleading anger in his voice. "Answer me or I’ll find out for myself." She swallowed a mouthful of scalding, too strong coffee. Apparently, Jon wasn’t waiting for an answer. She didn’t have the time to even make sense of his words before he moved toward her. He turned her bodily, gentle yet firm, and lifted the back of her top. Tracey barely grabbed the flyaway hem at the front before it could expose her otherwise unfettered breasts. "What the hell are you doing to her?" Blackie’s voice cut through her shellshock. "Holy—" Apparently she’d gotten as many bruises as she suspected from that fall out with the coffee table last night. When she turned, she saw Blackie standing behind Jon, about three heads taller than him, his face dangerous with fury. She saw the horror and sorrow in Jon’s expression. Blackie grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back against the counter. "What the hell did you do to her, man?" "Stop it!" Tracey shouted, seeing Jon would do nothing to defend himself. She set her cup down. "It was an accident. I fell on the coffee table. Go look at it if you don’t believe me." "And how did that happen?" Blackie didn’t even glance at her. He was too busy choking the life out of his best friend. "I lost my balance," Tracey said. "Blackie, let him go. It was an accident. Really." When he glanced at her, she put her hand on his arm, tugging a little to get him to relent. He let Jon go, leaving him gasping. She could feel how hot her face was as she smoothed her top back down. Last night, Jon shouldn’t have said the things he had. He shouldn’t have used her that way. But she’d caused that fall when she realized how much she wanted him. That was her problem and her fault. "How about I make us a huge breakfast and then we all get ready and go to Bruisers?" She said it with an infusion of cheerfulness she not only didn’t feel but that was completely inappropriate in the fog-thick tension. After a minute, both guys mumbled some form of agreement, then Jon went out to the porch. Despite the silence, they all ate heartily of the multi-course brunch she prepared. By the time everyone was ready, it was almost one in the afternoon. Tracey regretted her suggestion by then. She’d said it, hoping this outing—one they’d done together many times before—would get things back to normal between them. Instead, she had the feeling it’d never be the same again. Her regret blossomed when someone brought up transportation. "Let’s take my car," Tracey insisted immediately. They couldn’t take Jon’s only vehicle—a motorcycle. Her car had a back seat. Blackie’s pride and joy was a Corvette, black, of course. Blackie snorted. "No damn way I’m getting in that hunk-a-junk." Tracey started to defend Mabel, then realized it didn’t matter. Either she didn’t go, or she got into the ‘Vette—on Jon’s lap, something she’d done many times before without a qualm. Today she qualmed. Today she couldn’t bear to be in such an intimate position with Jon. They went out to the two-car garage, an add-on, and Tracey looked at Blackie’s beautiful, sexy car. It more resembled a sardine can to her in her present mood. Blackie and Jon got in. Tracey bit her lip. She couldn’t trust herself. But she’d be too humiliated to say she decided not to go now that they’d gotten this far out the door. On a deep, shaky breath, she ducked inside, onto Jon’s lap. He instinctively opened his legs wider to give her more headroom. Tracey regretted her choice of clothes now too. Getting in had caused her short, knit skirt to ride up to the point that the lace top of her stockings showed. Unless she wanted to give Jon an unintentional thrill by sliding around his lap, she couldn’t adjust her skirt. In the past, she’d maneuvered around in whatever way made her the most comfortable. Inevitably that meant her back to the door, with an arm around the back of the seat. She and Jon had even teased, nuzzled and flirted with each other through entire rides. They’d been friends. They’d realized there was no graceful way to seat three people in this car, so they might as well have fun with it. Now she couldn’t imagine being more uncomfortable. Even when Blackie turned on the radio and started out, her only comfort lay in the thought It’s only three and a half miles. Only three and a half miles. Three and a half miles on a road that seemed to have endless potholes and dips the ‘Vette did nothing to smooth out. Still, her behind slid around Jon’s lap like a kid’s on a skating pond. After a pothole that had her back almost on the ceiling, Jon put his arm over her thighs to keep her in place. His fingers curved against her stocking, the index finger on bare skin. Tracey closed her eyes, trying to tamp down the heat working itself through her body. Her nipples hardened uncontrollably, and that led to even more devastating effects. The most feminine part of her contracted with the slightest friction, Jon’s tiniest movement. Never in her life had she been so easily and quickly aroused. It frightened her to think what would happen if Blackie wasn’t here. If she and Jon were alone. Could she trust herself? Tears stung her eyes. The one thing she’d always been able to rely on was her own high standard of self-respect. She relied on the fact that temptation couldn’t seduce her body into surrender. She made all decisions of a sexual nature with her heart and with her head. Even in the early days with Jon, she’d held true to herself on that count. She’d gone to The Florida Keys to straighten out the confusion she felt—about her career, about her life, and—though she hadn’t admitted it to herself until she met Jon—about the man she’d loved and expected to marry. Jon had created his own confusion inside her. She’d wanted him to make love to her the first time she met him, while he stood there soaking wet from the ice water in her cooler and grinning at her forgivingly. She’d never have given in to impulse then, but she’d been tempted in the weeks that followed. Spending nearly every waking moment with this crazy, wonderful, sexy man had tested her like never before. Then, when her fiancé Justin hadn’t been a consideration any longer, the temptation grew. But she’d never rushed into a sexual relationship. A part of her had never been sure if Jon was serious or just playing sweet and torturous games with her. That uncertainty of the heart and head kept her eager body in line. She’d almost surrendered though. Given another month, maybe less, she had no doubt she would have given herself to Jon in love. But Jessie had come. Tracey wanted Jon again, in spite of everything. She wanted him to kiss her, touch her, tell her it was Okay, everything was Okay between them. But that just wasn’t true. Blackie found a parking space a few blocks from Bruisers and, surprising Tracey, he got out and started walking away without waiting for them. Had Jon said something to him? Tracey scrambled to open the door, but Jon stopped her. "I never meant to hurt you, Tracey. I’d never hurt you. I’d never force you, drunk or not. You know that, don’t you?" Force her? Did he mean rape? Tracey forgot everything and turned to him full-body. "Of course I know you wouldn’t do that! It wasn’t about that. It was..." He touched her chin, her cheekbone, so gently, and all the feelings came back, this time more tender than wild. "I’m sorry." She didn’t know what to say to his apology, what she could say past the lump in her throat. Why can’t you be free? Tracey thought recklessly. Why can’t you be free of that miserable witch? Free to love me? I’d be good for you. He stared at her, she saw nothing except the unrequited ache inside her. When he drew her forward, down, she was lost. He’d never kissed her, she never allowed it before. A kiss was far too intimate. Now she couldn’t stop him to save her life. Kissing Jon was everything she’d ever imagined it would be. An explosion of sensations, emotions, desires. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to move closer and open every part of herself to him. She did open her mouth to allow the kiss to deepen. It didn’t matter who initiated it. Tracey’s body spiraled. In a matter of minutes, she’d explode if he kept doing this. If he kept kissing her. If he didn’t touch her and end her torment. She longed for completion like she was dehydrated and he was the only answer to her thirst. But then a wicked, taunting thought entered her seduced mind. She opened her eyes, saw she wasn’t alone in everything she felt. He was as far gone as she was. No way he could hide that. The totally lost look on his face, and the physical evidence of his arousal against her hip, were undeniable. What if he’s thinking about her? What if, behind those desire-laden eyelids, Jessie is kissing him? No! What was she doing? Jon was not free of Jessie. He was not free to love Tracey. How could she even entertain the thought of giving herself to a man who couldn’t give her every part of himself in return? She pulled away from Jon, shoved open the car door and bumped her head in her scramble out. See? Loving Jon hurts—in every way, she scolded herself for her lapse. She didn’t even want to imagine how much worse it would hurt if she willingly allowed herself to love him, willing gave herself, willing fooled herself into believing it was mutual. TRACEY’S suit from last night showed up at Bruisers a matter of minutes after Jon navigated his way to the bar. From a distance of about fifty feet, Jon saw Tracey, he saw the tall guy with round glasses and geek written all over him approach her. He’d caught a glimpse the night before of the round glasses. Coincidence? Jon didn’t believe it for a second. She must have called the guy while they were getting ready. And then, in the car, she’d kissed Jon straight out of his mind. Maybe he should have felt elated. The intensity of that kiss.... Jon clenched his teeth, both at the memory and the suits’ peck on Tracey’s cheek across the room. He’d always known kissing Tracey would be like that. Ornery as he’d been when he said it to her last night, a part of Jon did suspect she was a virgin. Tracey was the type of woman who didn’t just give her body for a couple hours of mutual pleasure. Strings were attached all over the place. When she gave her body, it came completely messed up with her heart and her soul forever, and she had to trust she’d get the same in return. Why would she give Jon that and then run away unless she did feel something for him...and didn’t want to feel it? He didn’t need to ask himself the reason she’d be wary of him. Jess. His obsession. Someone elbowed him, and Jon reluctantly turned to Blackie. The bartender demanded what he wanted. Jon ordered a beer and a shot, then looked back at Tracey. She came toward them with her geek. She’d reapplied her lipstick, he saw. Jon put a hand to his mouth and came away with pink frost on his fingers. His entire body reacted as if reliving her taste, her softness, her need matched to his need. And I plan to count the minutes until it happens again, even if it’s never. His shot arrived, and he gulped it down, already aware he was going to make a jealous ass of himself. Not a damn thing he could do about it either. Tracey introduced them to her suit in the same tone of voice she’d introduce a family member who also happened to be a pedophile. When she finished by saying, "This is Jon Rushing and Blackie Scarpacchio," Jon glanced away to pick up his beer instead of taking the geek’s outstretched hand. "So, you’re friends of Tracey’s." Jon nodded, waving the arm with the beer in hand. "Oh yeah. We work together, live together. Not much we don’t do together, is there, babe?" She kissed me senseless. You got nothing, dude. You know which way the sunset is. Get going. The geek got the lost-all-confidence expression Jon expected. Tracey glared at him, a little pink in her cheeks that reminded him of the flush of arousal she’d gotten during their kiss. Jon couldn’t let it go at that. Even as he thought, Your SOB! Leave it alone, he rubbed his hand over his mouth again. Glancing from the gloss there to Tracey, he held his fingers up. "Same flavor, huh?" Then he turned away from them, disgusted at himself. He had no right to put Tracey in this position, especially after she’d given him something he’d have sold everything he owned for. When he heard Tracey angrily mutter, "Let’s get out of here," Jon couldn’t get himself to look at her again. He stared at the bar, his hold on his glass tightening. Tracey and her date were long gone when the glass burst in his fist. To his ears the sound was deafening, yet no one seemed to notice except Blackie next to him. "She doesn’t even like him," Blackie said in a rebuking tone. Jon stepped back, tossed a twenty on the bar, and walked out. The air outside was stifling, not the fresh air he needed to clear the raging emotions in his chest. He wanted a cigarette and could have stopped anywhere on the long walk home for a pack. He didn’t. He didn’t give in to the bottle either when he got back to the house. After washing the beer and glass off his hand, he got his guitar, took it out to the porch and played for hours. Played until the anger dissolved, leaving only regret. He had to let Tracey go. One thing to know that, another to accept it. Planning the words to say to her when she got home, Jon told himself he’d back off because it was what Tracey deserved. Midnight rolled around, and he wasn’t quite so altruistic anymore. Tracey rarely stayed out late, especially with a guy she "doesn’t even like." Around one, Blackie’s car swung into the garage. Jon wasn’t optimistic enough to believe Tracey ended up back at Bruisers and came home with Blackie. She didn’t. Blackie came up the porch steps alone. He didn’t look at all drunk. Blackie always looked stone cold sober. For a long minute, his friend just stood on the top step, his shoulder against the railing, and smoked. "Tracey back?" he finally asked. With his jaw clenched, Jon shook his head. "What’d you do to her? Those bruises looked worse than a round with a flimsy antique." "You think I hit her? You really think I could do that? To Tracey?" Jon shook his head. If his best friend didn’t know him any better than that, he had to be doing something wrong. He also knew that Blackie sided with the women he cared about, wrong or right, that his protective instincts kicked in fiercely then. If it was happening over Tracey, that meant Blackie cared about her pretty deeply. "You wanna whale on me, feel free. You couldn’t make me feel any worse about that than I already do." Jon crossed his arms over his chest. Blackie stared at him. Jon looked away to watch a car drive past. "When’s the last time you got laid, man?" Jon snorted a laugh. Predictable. Sex—Blackie’s answer for all that ails ya. He shook his head. "Works for you, not for me." "May not solve all your problems, but it’s gotta be better than walking around with your tongue hanging out every time you look at Tracey. Bang her, forget her. Just get your shit together before you drive her straight outta here." Jon made sure his look conveyed it, but he didn’t say "You hypocrite" out loud. Even if Blackie wouldn’t admit it, he was just stupid in love with Lori Gordon and had been she was thirteen. Lori was fifteen years younger than him. He’d been the first to hold her after she was born. Lori worshipped him from second one. Blackie couldn’t seem to get past the difference in their ages despite the fact that she was of-age in every single culture in the known world. He seemed to think they were related or something because of the ties between them. "So, you gonna hit me?" Blackie threw down his cigarette and crushed it under his boot before he shook his head. "Good. Then mind your own business. If I need a shrink, I’ll pay for one." Jon picked up his guitar again. As Blackie went inside, he muttered "I’ll write a check." Jon followed not long after. The house was quiet. Too quiet. He’d never be able to sleep in the silence. Making a cup of instant coffee, he admitted to himself the real reason he wouldn’t be able to sleep—Tracey wasn’t here. He sat at the table and started folding a letter with Ed McMahon and Dick Clark’s mugs at the top. She didn’t even like the suit, so what was she doing with him for so long? His head filled with heat. He didn’t want to imagine what. He couldn’t imagine Tracey doing that anyway. Sex wasn’t recreation or painkiller for her like it was for Blackie. Yet she didn’t come home that night. Chapter 4 TRACEY DREAMED she was on a torture rack just before she groggily opened her eyes. She tried to roll out of the pain and felt herself falling. The cement floor at Hog Heaven brought her fully awake. She’d been trying to sleep on the just-barely-cushioned, short and narrow couch in her office. The only good thing about it was the floor was only a few inches down. But she landed on the boniest part of her hip. Oh well, what’s a few more bruises, Tracey thought, near tears. She couldn’t believe herself that she’d spent the night here. She’d been so angry, embarrassed. Her date from the night before, Cliff, hadn’t exactly showed up by coincidence. She’d mentioned at dinner with him that she went to Bruisers on a fairly regular basis. He said he’d tried to call her, and then decided to come down on the off-chance she’d be there. By pure luck, she had been. At first, she’d been happy about it. After kissing Jon, she couldn’t imagine facing him. And then he’d acted like such a jerk about it. Why would he do everything short of say "I kissed Tracey in the car"—for the whole world to hear? She didn’t know, but her humiliation allowed her to use Cliff. As soon as they got in his car, she knew she couldn’t continue it. For some reason, Cliff really seemed to like her. She didn’t want to lead him on. She’d just wanted to get away from Jon. So she said "Cliff, you’re a very nice guy, but I don’t think we should see each other again." She’d just walked out of the bar with him and got in his car. He had every right to be surprised by her announcement. "Because you and that...Jon? are...involved?" Tracey hadn’t expected this. "No. No! We’re not. I don’t know why he said that. It’s because I realized last night we don’t have the same goals." "Isn’t it too early to decide that?" He’d taken off his glasses and started polishing them with a vengeance. For a long minute, Tracey watched this display next to her. Breathe on, polish, hah! hah!, rub-rub-rub. Then she shook her head. Getting this over with quickly was essential. "No. Actually...I want a child. Next year. As soon as possible." He’d begun to replace his glasses, but her words stopped him cold. For an instant, the round frames hung suspended on his nose crookedly. "Oh. That’s..." He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, turned straight ahead. "Well, where should I drop you?" After he’d dropped her at Hog Heaven, Tracey went to her office and started laughing wildly. Cliff, for all his spit and polish, wasn’t her type at all. She liked dark men. Dangerous, mysterious, moody, a little crazy, a lot wild. Men who kissed a woman without permission and without restraint. Men who tasted like they’d fought many battles and would fight one more. One more for a woman who could bring them to their knees. Her lunatic laughter had turned into something worse. Tracey had choked on a sob when she realized who that man was for her. Jon. Jon. And she wasn’t the woman to get him on his knees. How could he kiss her? She’d never allowed it before, even if she’d wanted it so bad it wasn’t funny. Why hadn’t she been able to stop him this time? Now her feelings, her longings were stronger and deeper. And why had he acted like that in the bar? Like a jerk? Like a possessive, jealous lover? She had to go home. It was still early. Jon and Blackie would surely be asleep. She’d shower, have breakfast and come back to the office. She had very little work to do here, especially on a Sunday, but she’d find anything to avoid Jon today. On a groan of pain, Tracey got to her feet and called a cab. Hoping to get in and out within twenty minutes, she quietly closed the door behind her when she got home, removed her shoes and tiptoed to the hall. Fate was not on her side again today. The bathroom door opened, and Jon came out—stark naked! Her mind must have blocked it out to protect her because the dream she’d had about him during the few hours she actually slept on the couch came back to her with a punch. Every breath-stealing, mind-blowing, uninhibited instant of the dream returned. Tracey reacted against the memory and Jon’s nudity the only way she could. She freaked out. "You’re not the only person who lives in this house, you know!" she shouted, only realizing after Jon jumped that he hadn’t even been aware of her presence. If she’d kept quiet, she could have gone ahead with her original plans. Too late now. "You can’t prance around the house as if it’s not..." Arousing, titillating, tackle-you-and-take-you-down-to-the-floor tempting. "...offensive!" Offensive. Good grief, the man had a body that would make the Queen of England flex her fingers! Tracey’s chest felt squeezed to the point of suffocation. Looking at him like this was too much. Jon walked toward her, seemingly not in the least uncomfortable with his state of undress. "You tell that to the suit this morning too?" he asked when he was in her face, closer than she could handle. He stared at her as if she stood in the hall naked. "How dare you imply—? I never...I don’t sleep with men on the second date, and how dare you imply I do!" "I know you don’t. I know you’re not that type. But you wanted me to believe you were, didn’t you?" He sneered. "You wanted me to get good and worked up imagining you with that geek." Tracey choked on a gasp. She couldn’t deny it, even to herself. She’d wanted to punish Jon, to test him. No matter that she’d done it subconsciously. Instead of having Cliff drop her off at the shop, she could have come back home, locked herself in her room. But she’d wanted everything Jon accused her of wanting. Her face blazed with heat. She dropped her gaze from his and instantly regretted it as heat blazed to every other part of her. "Well, you got it, honey. I’m jealous. I waited up for you until about an hour ago. I imagined you letting him do things to you...Waking up with you..." His teeth clenched so tight, Tracey was surprised he could get the words out. "Are you happy now?" No. She wasn’t. She was sorry and confused and embarrassed. "What I can’t figure out is why you let me kiss you. I know something like that means a lot to you. And you felt it before you ran. You know that doesn’t make sense." Before she could say anything,—God only knew what she could say—Blackie shouted from behind his bedroom door, "Will you two shut the hell up?" At any other time, Tracey would have laughed herself silly. Blackie had never raised his voice in all the time she’d known him. Because she couldn’t answer Jon’s words, she fled into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. She was afraid he’d come after her if she didn’t. And she couldn’t have him in her bedroom. Especially already naked. Jon claimed she didn’t make sense. Maybe he was right, but his behavior was just as confusing. He’d acted like she cheated on him because of one kiss. Yes, a kiss was a huge step into intimacy for her. But his jealousy, his sense of betrayal, the fact that he’d waited up for her last night—why? Jon wasn’t serious about her. She was just a fun distraction until Jessie came back for him. Wasn’t she? Tracey realized that was what she’d believed for a long time. She wasn’t sure what she’d believed those first two months after moving. She’d done what she always did with men. Taken it slow, getting to know him, getting to trust him before she allowed herself to involve herself too deeply. But then Jessie had come. Tracey hadn’t gotten to the point of trusting Jon or believing his intentions were the same as hers at that point. Never once during those two months had she believed Jon was serious about her. She didn’t know what to believe now. Was this some strange reaction to him seeing Jessie recently? Instead of showering, Tracey changed clothes and left the house without breakfast or coffee. She made a pot of coffee once she got back to the office. Her desk was nearly bare; she really didn’t have any work that needed doing. When she first moved to Point to take this job, the office had been in complete disorder. It’d taken her months to make heads or tails of everything. She’d worked late many a night, and Jon stayed with her more often than not. Now the office ran so smoothly, some days she had nothing more to do than answer the phone. The truth was, the guys didn’t really need her full-time anymore. Every time she suggested cutting back her hours (why should they pay her for answering a handful of calls they could take themselves?), they balked, insisting they didn’t want to go back to managing, mismanaging the office themselves. She knew they kept her on full-time hours because she had to work full-time for both the money and her own sense of fulfillment. They did it out of friendship. Nothing’s working out here, Tracey admitted to herself, and the thought had her sitting heavily in her chair. She’d felt this way just before she went to The Florida Keys. Her life back in Los Angeles had been pointless, unfulfilling. Her relationship waning. Now she knew she couldn’t continue accepting her new friends’ generosity when they really only needed someone part-time. And she couldn’t keep living with the guys. With Jon, specifically. The cowbell on the front door clanged, and she sat up straight, glancing through the oversized glass window. She saw with a sigh of relief it was only Blackie. Facing Jon now... She wasn’t up to it. Blackie came in and poured himself some coffee without a word. He must have gotten up, dressed and come straight here. "I’m sorry if we woke you," she managed, flushing again when she remembered what he’d unwillingly overheard. The coffee smelled good, but she didn’t feel like moving from her chair to get some. He took his mug over to the couch, glancing at the wad tucked into the corner of the couch. "There’s a couple beds upstairs." She’d wadded up a clean pair of overalls to use as a pillow. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to sleep. They held the scent of the garage and of Jon. Upstairs, above the garage, was the apartment Jon and Blackie used to share before they rented the house. "Oh. I didn’t have a key." "Top drawer of your desk." Lot of good it did her now. Tracey shook her head, leaning forward with elbows and head on the desk. "Why is Jon acting like this?" she asked. Blackie never really wanted to talk, but she did. Maybe he’d indulge her. "Does he always become so insane after he sees Jessie?" "What does his acting jealous over you got to do with Jess?" he muttered. He needed to ask? Tracey glanced at him. "He’s in love with her! Thinks he is anyway." Blackie snorted a cruel laugh. "Love? Not hardly. He’s stupid. He’s obsessed. But it’s got nothing to do with her. Not this time. Not since he laid eyes on you." When he drank from his cup, Tracey turned her head into her outstretched arms. "He went with her. When she showed up six months ago, he went. Easily." "Why shouldn’t he? You weren’t giving." Blackie shook his head. "Look, he’s on you like a pit bull on raw meat day and night. Seeing Jess on Friday—no effect. You telling me you didn’t notice that?" "He started drinking again," Tracey insisted. That was always the first sign. Blackie had told her that himself. "Not much. Nothing like the other times." He sat forward, putting his elbows on his thighs. "I don’t know what you tell yourself, baby, but when he met you, you were the end-all, be-all for him. I’ve never seen him happy before, not like he was then. And when you first moved here— What does the guy gotta do to get your attention? He’s acting like a circus clown around you, and you—nothing." Tracey’s mind couldn’t accept this. Her mind closed around everything Blackie said, refusing to allow it to get through. "He was never serious. He couldn’t have been. Nobody does and says such outrageous things if they’re serious. I can’t imagine anyone doing the crazy things he’s done." The tattoo he’d gotten with her name on it after she commented on the one he’d said was for Jessie. The brazen things he said. All the impulsive, expensive gifts she’d had to refuse. The job offer she hadn’t believed was valid at first, until his friends confirmed it. The way he’d played Tracey the beautiful songs he wrote for Jessie on his guitar. "Welcome to Jon Rushing’s Lunatic World," Blackie said with unusual flourish. Tracey shook her head. She couldn’t accept this. There was simply no way she could accept that Jon had ever been serious about her. "No. Because if what you say is true, if he..." She held back a visceral sob. "If he loved me, he wouldn’t have gone with her when she showed up six months ago. He would have told her no and he would have told me his feelings." "Would you have believed him if he sat down and "told you his feelings?"" he quoted her with a scoff. "No way. You would’ve thought it was all part of the game. And you don’t understand Jess. Why Jon does what he does for her. It’s got nothing to do with love. It’s guilt. You don’t know what he’s capable of. You never gave him an incentive to say no to her." Tracey shook her head again, and Blackie let out a gusty sigh of frustration. If she wanted to keep her own sanity, she couldn’t allow herself to believe any of this. "Fine. He’s not so stupid in love with you he’d sell his soul for one night. It’s a free country. If it makes you feel better, go on believing he’s just one hell of a fun-loving guy. It’s all a game." Blackie glanced at her with dark eyes that made her feel transparent. "And then you tell me you’re not a little stupid in love with him yourself." It was the last thing she needed to hear, especially in such a point-blank, nowhere-to-run, nowhere-to-hide way. Before the tears started, she went to Blackie, needing him to hold her even if he wouldn’t have on his own. Obviously a little surprised, he nevertheless set down his mug and hugged her while she cried pathetically. "I can’t," she said when she could talk. "Because if she comes back...What would I do then?" "You know he’d leave you?" Blackie demanded gently. "You know that for a fact?" Tracey couldn’t say she knew much of anything at this point. Not even her own heart. He lifted her chin. "Don’t live your life like I have to, baby. Sometimes you gotta take a chance and sometimes maybe it’s worth it." But she couldn’t do that. Not while her head and heart were in such a mess. The one thing she could do—had to—was to get away for awhile and try to clear her head. Get away from Jon, where 99.9% of her confusion lay. "I’M gonna head out," Jon called, coming out of the office with the keys to what they called "the company car." It was a beat-up Chevy that ran like a dream. They all used it and kept it at the garage, since none of them had room for it in the home garages. Blackie glanced up at the clock. Rod hadn’t come in today and hadn’t bothered calling in either—not unusual for him, especially since he’d gotten married and had a kid. The phone had been ringing off the wall too. All-in-all, a busy Wednesday. Blackie didn’t say it, but he probably wanted Jon to finish out the day. He also knew Tracey got back today. She’d left Sunday to go down and visit her parents in Chicago. Jon hadn’t seen her since they’d clashed in the hall. When Blackie ducked back down to check the air in the tires of a Suzuki Katana, Jon got into the Chevy. Tracey had forced him to do what she’d almost certainly left to do—think. Make some decisions. Get his shit together, as Blackie so eloquently put it. The time for he and Tracey to be together was long past. It was an old dream. Hell yeah, that kiss still kept him awake at night, but it seemed he and Tracey had just two options: friends or lovers. She didn’t want to get involved with him romantically and sexually. Blackie had hinted strongly at the reason Jon already knew—his past relationship with Jess. How could he fault Tracey her wariness there? It didn’t explain why she’d put him off when she first moved to Point. At that time, Jess could have been in the next galaxy for as much as he talked about her, or even thought of her. Blackie had hinted strongly at the reason for that part of Tracey’s indifference too. She thought he was playing games. Apparently wearing his heart on his sleeve earned him nothing except an honorary degree from clown school. Friendship was the only option between them. Tracey meant too much to him not to take what he could get. When she got home, she’d find the house he’d spent the evening cleaning yesterday, a meal (his cooking lessons started tonight) and an apology. At the grocery store, Jon found himself unable to pin down Tracey’s favorite meal. Almost everything she ate was healthy. Vegetables, fruit, bran. A lot of bran. He came out with four bags of stuff he didn’t know how to prepare. He’d grown up with a maid who took care of the cooking as well as just about everything else in the house. At sixteen, Jon had been on his own to a certain point. Blackie took care of him. Blackie—the king of fast food. Until they met Tracey, they ate out or they starved. He’d never tried to cook so much as a can of soup. Tracey had dozens of cookbooks. How hard could it be? After he pulled into the driveway at the house and got out, Tracey’s car pulled in behind. Jon found his teeth, his hands, his chest clenching up in anticipation. How the hell could he handle not touching her? Get himself to not only stop thinking about touching but actually keep himself from it? Blackie was right. Maybe he needed to start seeing other women. Jon laughed to himself as he watched Tracey move around inside her car. Dating. He didn’t even know what that meant. Other than Tracey, his friends met someone, slept with them and then either stayed with them for awhile or never saw them again. Tracey got out with a duffel bag over her shoulder. Seeing her backlit by the sun made him ache even more. She was adorable. Her hair was pulled up into Cindy Brady-like pigtails. She wore white shorts and a pink top. Anybody ever tell you you’d have the cutest kids, babe? Jon thought, folding his arms over his chest. What was it about this woman? She made him feel unguarded, impulsive, naked, with just a look. No wonder she thought he was a clown. She walked up to him slowly. The color in her cheeks couldn’t be ascribed to make-up or the sun. "Hi. You’re home early." Jon nodded. Everything he thought to say reneged his decision to uphold friendship and only friendship. "Gotta get these groceries in," he finally uttered after staring at her long enough to make him hungry. "Groceries?" He glanced back at her. "How many bags?" she asked. "Four. Why?" She hoisted her duffel up on her shoulder more securely, then held up her trunk key. "I’ve got four too. Where did you go?" He told her their usual supermarket, and they realized they must have been there at the same time but never ran into each other. Jon laughed, and so did she. The tension broke. "Guess we eat like royalty for the next week," he said on a shrug. Tracey laughed again before going to get hers. "So, how’d it go?" Jon asked when brown paper bags completely covered their kitchen table. Tracey let out a deep sigh and smiled. "I really needed the vacation. I needed to see my parents. Just being around them for a couple days...I feel like I can handle everything again." Tracey was an anomaly in all the people he’d known. She had perfect parents. She did everything by the book—love, sex, communication. Most of the time, she was a shrink unto herself about everything. Jon had never seen her in a muddle the way she’d been before she left Sunday. "You should meet my parents sometime," Tracey said with a handful of individually bagged veggies. "You and Blackie should. I think you’d really like them." Don’t be so sure they’d like us. Daddy’s little girl living with two severe head cases—definitely not love at first sight. "Couldn’t be all bad. They had you." He turned away to toss a pack of coffee filters into the cupboard. "You never told me about your parents. Where do they live?" Tracey asked. She brought up a subject Jon had spent his life avoiding. His friends knew better than to talk about it. Tracey had asked him before too, and he’d always managed to distract her. Now he said "My mom died when I was little. My old man is a doctor. It’s his whole life." Tracey stepped in front of him with the expression of sympathy he’d expected. "You mean—?" "He worked all the time. I was raised by someone he hired just for that purpose, so he wouldn’t have to see me any more than practical. He kicked me out when I was sixteen." Why he told her, he didn’t know. She asked, and he was aware all they could have was friendship. "Why would he do that?" The old pain still rose, almost as intense as the anger he liked to think topped it. "He slept with Jess. I caught ‘em together. He told me to get out; he never wanted to see either of us again." He knew now why he hadn’t talked about it in thirteen years. Why he’d shoved it as far back as he could inside himself. He shouldn’t feel anything when he talked about it or even thought of it. Yet it still hurt, almost as much as the day it happened. "Oh my...! Hasn’t he tried to contact you?" Tracey, Tracey, you think the world should all fit together in some nice little puzzle of logic. It doesn’t. Ever. Life is too damn messy to do that. Why don’t you know that at your age? "Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?" He could feel her gaze even after he turned away and went back to getting the groceries out of bags. She had questions she wanted answers to, but she didn’t ask them at his request. "I’m sorry..." she said a few minutes later, when the only thing left to do was fold up the empty bags. "I’m sorry things got so crazy before I left Sunday. I’m sorry I left the way I did. I just—" Jon moved over to her and put a finger to her lips. "I’m sorry too. Let’s forget it and get back to friends. Okay?" Her smile was enough to make his legs weak. "That’s what I think too." She hugged him. Jon held on like life and death. Friendship? Platonic friendship? Just touching her was enough to bring him to his knees. He wanted to touch her, keep on touching her, touch her everywhere. Kiss her... Tracey pulled back, and he felt like a jerk. He was damn lucky a woman like her even wanted his friendship. Maybe exorcising his decidedly unplatonic urges was a process. Every day he’d want to touch her a little less. Yeah, and pigs could fly. Chapter 5 AFTER ALMOST an hour alone in the house with Jon, Tracey felt both guilt and relief when Blackie got home. She’d believed being with her parents was a cure-all of its own. That when she got back here everything would be back in order. So why did she still look at Jon and want things she shouldn’t? Why was a part of her disappointed seeing Jon on his best behavior around her? Yet she knew if he stepped out of line, it would make everything more complicated. Just after Blackie came in, rubbing her head in silent affection and went to shower, another car drove up. Tracey recognized Rod and Bethany Summers’ car. Excitement rose in her. She followed Jon outside, just barely able to contain the urge to run. If Bethany was also here—and she was—that meant Andrew was here. Rod and Bethany’s little boy was almost eighteen months old and he took after his daddy, 100% fireball. Tracey had fallen madly in love with the little guy on sight. He, in addition to JoJo and Randy’s baby boy, was a big part of the reason she wanted a child of her own so badly. She and/or the guys baby-sat on a semi regular basis. With Bethany currently pregnant with twins, Tracey expected that frequency to increase after she had her babies. Once Rod got Fireball Junior out of his car seat and let him down, Andrew raced toward them in that adorable toddler gait, shouting "On" (Jon) and "Ace-e" (Tracey.) Both she and Jon squatted to catch him in a hug. This is what I want, Tracey thought emphatically. One of these. One of my own. But she also found herself looking at Jon too, unable to leave him out of the equation. While Tracey hadn’t told her parents how much she wanted a child, they had talked about it in a roundabout fashion. She’d asked—while the three of them prepared one of their elaborate dinners, with Van Morrison playing through the house—why they never had another kid. Tracey had always assumed lack of choice had dictated the decision, certainly not choice. Her parents loved children. When Tracey brought her many friends over, her parents always welcomed them enthusiastically. Her mother had shocked her by answering, "One was more than we could handle. Why would we ever do it again?" Both of her parents slid past her, moving on to another task. "It was hard. The first—" The two of them had looked at each other and confirmed, "Three years." "At least the first three years were the hardest of our lives. We’d been married for over five years before we started thinking about it. We were set in our selfish ways." Her mother bit into a stalk of celery. "Sleeping late." "Weekends to ourselves," her mother added. "Reading, lounging around..." "Going out anytime of the day and night." "Getting up in the middle of the night to make love..." "Not getting up to tend a screaming child." Tracey had listened to these ping-pong balls of conversations—something her parents did often—with shock. She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about her parents and her childhood. Never before had she heard any of this. Instead, they’d told her all the goofy, fun, scary, adventure stories. "Our business wasn’t prospering. We took turns putting in long hours—either with you or at the shop." Her parents looked at each other. In that gaze, Tracey could see the kind of love she’d always dreamed of for herself. "Our marriage was in shambles. We hated each other." Tracey gasped, but the two of them laughed out loud. Her father pointed a knife toward his wife. "I was doing everything. All the child-care and trying to keep the shop above water." "Oh no! I was doing all the work. You were doing nothing." As if it was a game, they’d laughed together again, moving together and kissing. Tracey saw nothing amusing. Their marriage was the envy of everyone, including Tracey. How could they say this? Her father glanced toward her after he thoroughly kissed his wife. "Before we had you, we lived for ourselves and each other. Suddenly we had this kid. This wonderful, amazing, demanding kid..." "Demanding everything we had to give. We never slept, we never had time to be alone together. We never had money for a baby-sitter because the antique business—at least ours—was practically in the toilet." Tracey’s mother must have seen her shock. She came over and put her arms around her daughter. "If and when you have your own child someday, you’ll understand how you can love someone so much, more than life itself, yet feel this overworked, overtired, angry, frustrated...temporary resentment toward the same person. It’s pure insanity the first couple years, but then you find some balance again." "The hardest job you’ll ever love," her father said, giving her another hug. Tracey had realized later they gave her parenting reality most people were embarrassed or ashamed to admit out loud. Having a baby would be hard. She knew that. Especially doing it all alone, the way she had to. Being with her parents had set her mind on that count. She was going to figure out how to do it, how to do it soon, and then she’d do whatever necessary to make it happen. TRACEY slipped out of the room to make dinner a few minutes after Rod and Bethany asked the three of them to baby-sit Andy overnight. An overnighter always required at least an hour to allow Andy time to get comfortable and for them to get themselves to leave him. At the moment, the munchkin was having a dandy time going through their videos with his mom saying "No no, sweetie" every few seconds. Jon glanced at another of his oldest friends. Rod grinned ear to ear watching his son tear around the living room. Total pride. This kiddo and JoJo’s baby Joshua brought out in him what Jon forced himself to dub "uncle instincts." He was crazy about his friends’ kids. With a lump of regret in his throat, Jon went to the kitchen. Tracey squatted in front of the open refrigerator unloading menu ingredients. Brown-eyed Girl played from her little CD player on the counter. She always listened to music in the kitchen, while she worked. Not that he’d spent a lot of time watching other people, but Tracey was something to behold when she cooked. She sang, she danced, she started one thing, left it unfinished, went to the next, and eventually got everything prepared. And usually left behind a mess that required almost as much time cleaning up as making. Jon loved watching her in here, but he had things to do. "I was planning to help with dinner." Tracey jumped, turning to look back at him. She’d taken a quick shower before everyone else arrived. Now her hair was caught back with a colorful barrette. He liked the way her wispy bangs feathered over her eyes. He’d like it even better if she left all that glory down. You have a hard enough time keeping your hands off her. You don’t need more temptation. "Oh," she said, then realized "As in cook?" Jon grinned. "Thought I’d give it a shot. Wanna give me my first lesson?" Tracey’s smile was sweet enough to make more than his teeth ache. "Really? You want to learn how to cook?" Random thoughts—some wildly romantic, corny, impulsive and just plain out-of-bounds—went through Jon’s mind. He finally shrugged and said "Why not? Could come in handy someday." That answer was at least safe. "Hold on: Did you buy those groceries...for...to make me dinner?" That had to be obvious. When either he or Blackie did the shopping, they came home with frozen pizzas, chips, milk, white bread and beer. He’d never bought fresh vegetables and fruit and bakery wheat bread before. Why did it affect her though? She’d brought home meals for herself and specifically for him and Blackie in her groceries. She didn’t eat meat, for one thing, and she’d purchased shrimp and steak. She always did that. "I didn’t have a plan or anything." He moved behind her to the counter with all her cookbooks. The first one he pulled out was called Wok Cooking. "I just threw some stuff in, hoping one of these would tell me what to do with everything." Tracey smiled. "We could make a top-of-the-line stir-fry. Andrew could eat that too." Everyone knew Bethany only allowed her baby to eat certain foods, nutritious ones. Rod got a severe tongue-lashing whenever he gave his son something with loaded with sugar or excessive salt. Tracey set a cutting board and Chef’s knife on the counter in front of him. "You won’t need a cookbook. Just cut up the veggies any way that works." After she delivered a pile of vegetables to him, Jon picked up a green pepper and the knife. Thirty years old and not a clue how to cut up a pepper. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Tracey asked. "Maybe you could show me how to get started." Her smile teased him. He didn’t mind it, not coming from Tracey. She took the knife and eased in front of him. Stepping back to give her room would probably have been both platonic and courteous, but he didn’t want to. He needed to see what she did anyway. As she efficiently sliced through the pepper and removed the seeds in one try, Jon smelled her hair and felt silky strands against his face. She had a beautiful neck. Elegant, with curves and hollows that led down to a shadowed cleft... "See, nothing to it. Think you’re ready?" Swallowing with difficulty, he reluctantly took the knife from her and let her move away without trying to grab her back. Jon glanced down to find part of the green pepper he hadn’t known how to approach sliced into matchstick-like pieces. "You don’t have to julienne the rest. Any rough chop is just as good. It all tastes the same." But he knew Tracey. The food she cooked looked as good as it smelled when she arranged it on a plate. He wanted her to enjoy this meal. He picked up a carrot. Ten minutes later, he had a pile that vaguely resembled what Tracey had done with the pepper. "That looks great," Tracey said. He glanced up, proud as punch, until he saw all she’d accomplished in the ten minutes. She’d gotten the jumbo shrimp she bought them ready to broil, a loaf of French bread cut open, waiting to be buttered and baked, water boiling for the brown rice she liked and now she rinsed strawberries in a colander. He’d "julienned" half a green pepper and a single carrot. "Might have another one done before the Millennium," he said, and Tracey laughed. "When my parents first taught me to cook, I’d shell peas or take the tops off strawberries. When I finally got permission to chop the veggies, I felt like I’d won an award," Tracey told him, holding half of a strawberry she’d bitten into. "It took me over an hour to cut up a couple tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes because I wanted them to look as beautiful as they did when my parents did the same thing." She looked so happy talking about her family life. "Sounds like you had fun with your parents," Jon commented. "That’s...weird." The only person he’d ever known who had a good relationship with a parent was Lori Gordon, and that only came with age. Tracey shrugged. "I suppose a lot of people think it is. But my parents were my best friends for most of my life. I can tell them almost everything. We always have fun together. I went to my first concert with them. A KISS concert." Jon had to look up from the zucchini he chopped. "Are you joking? KISS? Your parents like KISS?" "My parents are heavy metal junkies. My dad looks like Vince Neil did in Motley Crue’s prime." "No way. Your parents sound like Ward and June Cleaver, not Gene Simmons and Shannon Tweed." Popping the end of the strawberry in her mouth, Tracey smiled. "Wait ‘til you meet them. I think you’ll be surprised." Tracey came over to him with a whole strawberry. "These are delicious. Try one." Like a goddess urging him to eat from her hand, she held the fruit out. Jon glanced at her face, then leaned forward to take it from her with his mouth. Her friendly innocence changed in that moment. Jon should have ignored the tension, but somehow he couldn’t. "Strawberry. That’s the flavor of your lipgloss, isn’t it?" he asked, his voice sounding as husky as hers did when she started to ask how he knew. The pink frost she wore last Sunday had tasted like strawberries. She would taste like strawberries if he kissed her again, now. "Jon, no. Please...don’t," she whispered. She must have seen his intention in his eyes. Excepting her words, every part of her said she wanted the same thing he did. She looked paralyzed, fighting mentally what her body would willingly accept if he ignored her verbal plea. He probably would have ignored that too, if she hadn’t said "I didn’t want to bring this up tonight, but I’m thinking of moving out." Another cooler of ice water, like the one she’d dumped on him in The Keys, couldn’t have shocked him more. "There are things..." she continued. "...things I’m planning that I don’t think you and Blackie would want to be a part of. In order to do that, I need to have my own place—" Before he could react or she could finish, Rod ducked in. "We’re gonna try leaving." Tracey moving out? Her reason was too vague for him to accept. He couldn’t imagine anything she might plan that would make him want her to leave. The second he got her alone tonight, he had plans of his own—to talk her out of leaving. Chapter 6 TRACEY RUSHED through the dinner cleanup, a chore she usually enjoyed. Tonight, Andrew was here. She could have finished sooner if she’d taken Jon’s offer to help. Cooking the meal together in this tiny kitchen had been all the stimulation she needed for one day. Why did she convince herself her mini-vacation would erase any tension in this house? She had to move out, not simply because she was sure Jon and Blackie wouldn’t be too happy about her living here with a baby. Every time she was with Jon...he reminded her why she almost fell in love with him after moving to Stevens Point. He was sexy, sweet, funny, crazy. He could even cook now, and Tracey loved that in a man. A part of her wished she could forget why she absolutely couldn’t get involved with him. What would it be like to.... No! Tracey slapped the towel over the edge of the sink, pumped lotion into her palm, and walked out to the living room massaging it into her hands. She could hear laughter, Jon and Blackie’s, but mostly Andrew’s hysterical giggles. It was Andrew himself who’d changed Jon’s mind about helping her clean up. The little sweetheart had sweetly begged Jon to play his "tar" (guitar) for him. Tracey entered the living room, laughing immediately when she saw uncle "Wackie" laying on the carpet, flying Andrew overhead with his powerful arms. For someone as solemn as Blackie, Tracey never failed to be amazed at how uninhibited he was with his friends’ children. He had as much fun as the little boy did. "Think I’m locked," Blackie said on a laugh. "And if he throws up, you know where you’ll get it." Jon got up, swinging Andrew up and through the air. A lump rose in Tracey’s throat as Jon brought the little guy down. Andrew wrapped his chubby arms around Jon’s neck, as if needing to come down from the high-pitch excitement. Watching them, Tracey experienced an ache so intense she went from a smile to tears that nearly choked her. Everything inside her resisted the reason for her ache. She couldn’t make an admission like that, not even to herself. "I think somebody wore you out, didn’t they, munchkin?" Jon said softly, stroking Andrew’s head resting on his shoulder. Andrew raised his head instantly, as if Jon said something familiar. Something his parents said often. His tiny lips trembled and he moaned "Mama." He was tired, and when a little boy got tired, he always wanted his mother. Andrew reached for her as soon as Tracey stepped forward—an instinct in the face of his tears. Someday I’ll have a child who’ll want only me like this, Tracey thought, understanding she was no substitute for this little guy’s mother. As he cried, Tracey caressed his head and spoke in a soothing voice. Hearing him cry hurt her because she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Blackie was clearly a little surprised by Andrew’s swing from ecstatically happy to miserable. Jon just watched them, seeming to understand. She finally distracted Andrew with the mention of a bath. He streaked toward the bathroom squealing "Tubby tub." Jon joined her to give Andrew his bath in the unusually large bathroom. Their tub was a severely old-fashioned sit-down shower. With the landlord’s permission, Jon and Blackie had installed a stand-up shower where a huge towel cupboard had been, which cut down on the storage space considerably. Andrew had fun playing and splashing in his bath, leaving Tracey and Jon almost as wet as he got. Tracey tried not to pay attention to Jon when he took his shirt off. As soon as Andrew got out, he became immediately irritable again. While Tracey changed her clothes then child-proofed Jon’s bedroom for the night, Jon took him out to the living room to dry him off and put a fresh diaper on him. He’d sweat to death in Jon’s bedroom wearing more than that. "I think he’s ready to conk out," Jon said when she entered the living room. Andrew’s expression was grumpy as could be. He’d clearly given Jon the fight of his life over putting the diaper on. "Should we go beddy-bye, sweetheart?" Tracey said, and Andrew lifted his arms. He was too unhappy for goodnight kisses, so Blackie stroked his head. Jon hugged him and offered Tracey a couple books. While Andrew had slept in Jon’s room before, the place still held interest for him. Tracey spent twenty amusing minutes trying to stop him from pawing through every one of Jon’s personal possessions. She finally got him into the bed and read him his books softly. When that did nothing to lull him to sleep, she sang the theme from The Wizard of Oz a dozen times before he finally yielded to his fatigue. Bethany had warned them Andrew was at an age where getting him to sleep was a struggle each and every night. No kidding, Tracey thought as she slipped off the side of the bed. His face was angelic in sleep though. Being a mother wouldn’t be easy. Not at all. But she was ready, as ready as a person could ever be. Tracey touched his hair lightly, then went to plug in the monitor she’d bought after baby-sitting Andrew overnight for the first time. Without it, she’d ended up checking on him every five minutes. A part of her wanted to go to bed early to avoid Jon, but even the long drive she’d had today couldn’t justify going to bed at 8:30. She saw the front door open and heard the porch swing creaking. From the living room came the sound of soft strumming. Jon played his guitar. She could never resist listening to him play either. He sat on the floor, his back to the chair. He’d put on a dry shirt. "I haven’t seen you smoke all night," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb him. Blackie had been going out to the porch to smoke. It surprised her that those words she’d spoken about second-hand smoke—said in annoyance of Jon’s eavesdropping—had been taken seriously. Blackie was a you-don’t-like-it-leave kind of guy. So why did he change his ways for her? "I quit," Jon told her without looking up. "Huh?" "Save me a couple bucks a day." Tracey wasn’t sure she wanted to ask if he’d done it for her. He’d been a smoker, as far as she knew, for a long time. His willpower had to be pure steel to just up and quit. Tracey sat in the corner of the couch furthest from Jon, closed her eyes and soaked up the soft, beautiful song he’d written. She remembered it. Falling. He’d played it for her for the first time when they were in The Keys. Jon was all talent, no ambition when it came to his music. More than once, while listening to him, she’d asked why he didn’t do something with it. She knew people in the business; she had connections. But he shook his head each time and said music was like a diary to him. Private, therapeutic, intimate. He’d also told her he never allowed anyone else to hear most of that "diary," namely he never sang the words he composed for anyone except her. Tracey would never forget the night he told her that. She’d gone to bed alone, wishing she wasn’t alone. It was then she realized her love for Jon Rushing wouldn’t be denied any longer. The next time she saw him, she’d decided, she would tell him exactly how she felt. The next time she saw him, he’d been in Jessie Nelson’s noose. Tracey had been completely thrown, even after Blackie explained everything to her. "I love this song," Tracey said, tears in her throat. "Even if you did write it for Jessie." She meant the last part to sound teasing. Instead, it came out bitterly jealous. Without halting his fingers on the strings, he glanced up. "I didn’t write it for Jess. I can’t play my guitar when I’m with her or even think about her. I wrote it for you. In Florida. I told you that." Tracey held back a gasp. He had told her that. She’d assumed he wrote it for another woman, but was "recycling" it for her—all part of his crazy sweetness. The way he played it that night was too much like he’d known the song forever. How could he have come up with something so beautiful in the short time they’d known each other? How could his feelings have been that deep? "I know you think I’m a clown, Tracey, and, hell, I probably was. But that’s what a guy does when he’s stupid in love with a woman." One word stood out in the silence that followed. Was. "I was a clown, but I’d never been more serious in my life." He shook his head. "Don’t worry. I think I’ve finally got my head on straight." Did he think she’d feel some obligation to how it "was?" Did he have no idea that—while she never got to the point of accepting he was serious—she’d wanted to believe he could be? If Blackie was right and Jon honestly believed he’d loved her, then... God, then maybe he would have told her he loved her too four months ago. And maybe she might have given her heart to him, only to be pushed aside when Jessie appeared like the harbinger of doom. Now Jon was over her. At one time, he claimed to be "stupid in love with her" but now he "had his head on straight" about that. Tracey wanted to cry, yet wasn’t entirely sure what hurt so much. The fact that they could have loved each other, even if for only a little while, or that he’d loved her—past tense? Maybe being together would have helped him resist Jessie’s hold on him. "You’re good with kids," Jon said, keeping his gaze on his guitar again. "You think so?" "I know so. You’re gonna make a hell of a mother someday." The desire to cry came back, stronger. Everything he said and did made her feel like crying lately. "You’re good with kids too," she said in a fragile voice. He glanced up, grinning a little. "Yeah?" A fierce need overtook her. With every cell in her being, she wanted to talk to Jon about this. "I’m going to have a baby." She said it before she had a chance to realize how it sounded. Jon’s shock played it back to her. "I don’t mean that the way it sounded! I’m not pregnant! Not yet anyway." It should have been funny. The way Jon cast his guitar aside and stared at her like she’d suddenly gained thirty-five pounds of baby was too revealing to be amusing though. Now that she started, she couldn’t just leave it out there without explanation. With a lot less confidence than she’d had a few hours ago, Tracey went on: "It’s why I think I should move out. I want to have a baby soon. Within a year, at most—" Shaking his head, Jon put his hand up. "Hold on. You sound like you’re planning an Immaculate Conception. You’re not doing this alone?" His voice didn’t indicate whether he thought doing it alone was bad or good. Maybe he didn’t know either. "It’s kind of why I was dating so much for the past couple months. I was hoping I’d meet someone, we’d fall madly in love within two weeks and we’d get married and pregnant in whatever order it happened." To her own ears, in retrospect, her plan sounded naive and unrealistic. First and foremost, she could never give herself to a man in that short of time, especially if her feelings for him were strong. She never trusted herself if she fell too hard, too fast...like the way she had for Jon when they met. In two weeks, Jon had scared her to death. She’d already been engaged to one man, one she’d admittedly been having doubts about, and here came Jon. Sweet, crazy Jon, making her feel she could give him every part of herself and be safe. Good thing she had been wary because she couldn’t be safe trusting her heart to him. "And now?" Jon demanded. It almost sounded like his teeth were clenched. Tracey swallowed hard. "Now...now I guess I go with Plan B." Was he angry? He stood, his fists balled, and turned his back to her. "And what’s Plan B?" "I don’t know. Looking into other options, I guess." Why would he be mad? She must be misinterpreting the way he stood. "Do you think I’m crazy? I mean, have you ever thought about having kids, wanting them more than anything—?" "No." The word sounded like a cannonball. It was followed by a bullet, silent but deadly: "Dammit, Tracey." When he stalked out of the room, Tracey sat in utter shock. What did she expect? Congratulations? Encouragement? Most people would find her plans pure insanity. She was twenty-seven years old. Having a baby alone would change her life forever, affecting everything she did thereafter. The front door slammed. The reason for her ache while watching Jon with Andrew in his arms came to her in jarring clarity. A reason she couldn’t shake or deny. She wanted a baby, not via Plan B. She wanted a baby—with Jon. IF he’d ever experienced stress-relief from roaring down the highway at top speed on his motorcycle, it didn’t work this time. Nothing could get the taste of regret out of Jon’s mouth. Nothing could block out Tracey’s insane confession. And nothing could turn back time. When Jon pulled into the driveway, the only lights on at the house were the ones on the porch and from the kitchen. Blackie sat on the porch, smoking. Tracey had to be in bed already. Her car was still in the garage. As Jon walked across the grass to the porch, he noticed with annoyance that Blackie didn’t look anywhere near as hot as he felt. The night was stifling. Blackie could wear his leather jacket on a 100-degree day and never notice the heat. Jon yanked his sweat-soaked T-shirt over his head. That breakneck ride should have cooled him off. Instead, it did just the opposite. Blackie greeted him with gruff words: "She’s moving out." Because a part of him expected it, Jon swore under his breath. He sank down onto the top step, toward his friend. "What’s going on now?" Blackie leaned forward to flick his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk. Jon watched the red glow land. Talking about it wouldn’t help. Blackie was the worst amateur shrink alive and he was too damn honest to help. But Jon needed to talk anyway. "She wants a baby. I mean she wants one immediately." Blackie’s only answer was a snort of disbelief. "That’s why she was dating all those suits. She wanted the whole wham-bam-husband-and-baby thing." The thought of Tracey going out with all those geeks, spinning white picket fantasies that—thank God!—hadn’t happened made him furious. Casual dating was one thing; Jon could almost accept that. But to date hoping for more, a lot more, than dinner and a peck at the door were too much for his possessive mind. "And now that she decided it ain’t gonna happen, she’s putting Plan B into action." "Plan B?" Blackie scoffed. "What the hell is Plan B?" Yeah, Plan A’s crazy enough. "How should I know? Adopt a kid? Kidnap one? Have a doctor shoot her full of some stranger’s—" "No way. Tracey’s—" Blackie shook his head, unable to finish. None of it fit her. Tracey was the type who fell in love with Prince Charming, had a passel of perfect babies and went on to live a charmed happily-ever-after. She deserved that. "What does that have to do with her moving out?" Jon shrugged, figuring Blackie already knew that too. Tracey might not admit it, but she wanted to move out because she wasn’t comfortable anymore. Comfortable with Jon. And, yeah, he did his damnedest to make her uncomfortable too, with or without the intention. "Strawberry. That’s the flavor of your lipgloss, isn’t it?" "I suggested the apartment over the shop. She said she was gonna look around." Jon wanted her here, but, if she moved, the apartment was his first choice for where she should live. If she went, he needed to know where she was. "Why don’t you...?" Blackie started, and Jon glanced at him. The only person Jon had known longer than Blackie was JoJo Summers. The guy was and always had been impassive. No matter what he felt inside or how his voice sounded, his face remained impassive 99.9% of the time. Now he looked embarrassed. "Why don’t you go propose to her and give her what you both want?" Jon brought his knees up. Blackie was acting like Cupid, and that was enough to knock him flat any other time. At this time, he just shook his head, too filled with self-disgust. His entire body clenched as tight as it had when Tracey told him all her baby plans. He heard the spark of a lighter and the flare of a cigarette lighting. "Why the hell not? You make your own misery, you know—" "Shut up." Jon looked at him. "Just shut up and listen, okay? Six months ago, Tracey moves here, I’m..." He gritted his teeth. "I’m doing back-flips trying to get her attention. No go. You saw it, man. I was fucked. Getting nowhere with her. Then Jess came. You know all this—she’s a mess. She screws her own life up. But she just went through this...She thought she was pregnant. Wouldn’t have been Steve’s either. She didn’t wanna take that chance again." Jon’s tone expressed his bitterness when he added "Not more than once anyway." He glanced at Blackie. He could tell his friend already knew it was bad, whatever it was. "She wanted me to get a vasectomy. We fought about it, and then I thought...Shit, I thought I’m never getting Tracey anyway, so what the hell does it matter?" There was no way to explain the depth of depression that led him to do the stupidest thing he’d ever done to date. He’d realized later his impulsiveness combined with the depression had been a fatal mixture. Within hours of giving in to his pessimism, he’d regretted going through with it. And, when Jess walked out not a full two days later to go back to her husband, the blackness swallowed him whole. God, he’d been angry. At Jess, for her stupid guilt and her unrelenting need to see someone else more miserable than she was. At Tracey, for not seeing him as anything more than a friend when he’d been ready to lay down his life for the chance to be with her. Mostly, he’d been mad at himself. For mistakes, for the past, for his own guilt. He’d mourned for the children he’d never have with Tracey. For a love that could never be any more than one-sided. For the malfunction that let him be happy for a little while and then made sure he knew it’d been nothing more than a joke. He’d never been lower in his life. Not when his mother drank herself to death, leaving him with the blame. Not when his old man told him to get out and never come back. And not when he lost Jess to Steve. Blackie swore softly. "She wants a baby more than anything. She said that herself. So I should just let it go. Let her go. But I think about doing that and—" Jon shook his head hopelessly. "Unless she told me she hated me and never wanted to see me again, I’m probably always gonna want her. How’s that for stupid?" Blackie surprised him. Jon fully expected a shit load of criticisms to come raining down on his head. But his friend said "There’s other ways to get a kid. Ones I think she’d be just as happy with. Cuz I think she’s the type of woman who, if she trusts somebody, that’s good enough." "Are you trying to tell me I can prove to Tracey I’m over Jess enough to get her to take a chance on me?" Blackie shrugged, slight encouragement along the lines of crazier-miracles-have-happened. "No way." Jon shook his head definitely. "She wants a baby. She wants one more than anything." "...have you ever thought about having kids, wanting them more than anything—?" Jon had heard it with his own ears. He believed her. He saw the look she got every time she held a baby. He’d seen her tears watching Andy laugh like a loon, then cry for his mother. She wanted a baby, and, even if she wanted one with him, Jon couldn’t give her what she wanted most of all. Chapter 7 FRIDAY WAS slow at Hog Heaven. Tracey finished what little work she had to do, then signed out for the day. Only Jon commented on her departure. "Apartment hunting?" he said, obviously wanting to be friendly, regardless of how he really felt about her decision to move out. Tracey nodded vaguely. He, especially, had been pushing for her to take the apartment over the shop. Last night, Tracey had decided their offer was too good to turn down. Living in the apartment would help her save money. The guys refused to charge her rent for the apartment—after all, it was just sitting there collecting dust was their logic; someone might as well use it. They’d also proved to her, with electric bills from when they’d lived there, that utilities didn’t make a significant difference in the total bill for the shop. The only things she would pay for were phone, an air conditioner if she bought one, and heat in the winter. Even that would be small since the shop’s heat kept the apartment warm for the most part. Saving money was Tracey’s first priority. When she’d taken a look at her financial situation last night, she realized she didn’t have anywhere near enough money to have a baby, let alone adequate insurance coverage. The guys didn’t offer an insurance plan per se. They just threw an extra hundred to her paycheck every two weeks, and she was supposed to use that to invest in whatever insurance she needed. She’d never been all that fond of insurance companies, so she’d put half of that money into a savings account and used the rest to pay for the mandatory car insurance on Mabel. With a baby, she’d have to compromise her principles and get medical insurance. Good coverage. That insurance savings account was also the only savings she had. She’d lived her life believing in her parents’ philosophy—can’t take it with you. After sitting down and writing out her monthly expenses, she’d shocked herself with her clothing extravagance. Sure, her closet was stuffed and she had another freestanding rack in the corner of her room loaded with outfits, but how could she have spent so much on her wardrobe? Time to start living frugally. Time to start saving and preparing for the future. It meant she’d have to wait a little while to try for a baby. At least a couple months, maybe six months, but the longer she waited the better her financial picture would look. And the more time she had to evaluate all of her options thoroughly. Tracey’s first step into a better financial future was changing jobs. The guys were extremely generous with her, too generous. She couldn’t keep accepting that generosity since they really didn’t need her full-time. She drove into the parking lot of Seasons Fitness Center and had a hard time finding a space. JoJo’s business was thriving. If a town of Stevens Point’s size was patronized so frequently, Tracey could imagine how successful her many other branches were. The receptionist inside waved Tracey up to JoJo’s office. On her way upstairs, Tracey felt a twinge of guilt. She’d practically lied to Jon about coming here. She felt like she was sneaking around behind their backs. I’ll tell them I’m taking the apartment and—cross your fingers—this job as soon as I leave here, she assured herself. After knocking softly, Tracey opened the door to JoJo’s office and found the president of a multimillion dollar chain popping around her desk and shouting "Boo!" to her six-month-old baby. Joshua sat in a carrier on the floor, giggling sweetly. Tracey smiled at the picture the two of them made. JoJo glanced at her sheepishly. "You’re the third person to catch me goofing off today." With a stuck-in-the-throat laugh, Tracey murmured "TGIF, right?" "You said it!" JoJo got to her feet and reluctantly went back to the stack of paperwork on her desk. "Thank God I hired an assistant." The hope Tracey had in coming here crashed with the easygoing though relieved words. "You hired an assistant?" JoJo made a sour face. "Yeah. For all the good it’ll do me for a while. He was the best option, but he’s just out of college and green as they come. So I’ll actually have to work more until he’s fully trained. But when he is, no more travel. No more ten hour days, hopefully." Kneeling by the baby, Tracey stroked his thick, dark hair and got a smile for her trouble. "So, what’s up, kiddo?" JoJo asked, rummaging around in a desk drawer and coming up with a toy for Joshua. Tracey scooted back to the plush sofa. She smiled slightly at JoJo, but couldn’t hide her disappointment. "Actually, I came about the job you offered me a couple months ago. Morris’ job. But I guess I’m too late." Tracey had never met Morris—JoJo’s late business partner and friend. He’d died just before Tracey came to Stevens Point. Jon had told her about him a little, enough for her to suspect Morris had been like a father to him and Jon had been deeply affected by his death. JoJo shot forward. "No. No you’re not! Too late, I mean. I hired someone to do Morris’ job, but I need someone to do mine." "Yours?" Tracey’s eyes widened. JoJo sat next to her of the sofa. "I’m pregnant again. I just found out a couple days ago...and I’ve been going crazy—" "Oh JoJo! I’m so happy for you. Randy must be thrilled." Between JoJo’s husband and her brother Rod, Tracey couldn’t decide which man was more in love with his family. JoJo laughed. "You could put it like that. He and Rod have this friendly little competition going—who’ll have more kids in ten years. They’re having twins, but Randy thinks we can take ‘em." Despite her natural laughter, Tracey felt an unwilling stab of envy. "Anyway," JoJo said on a deep breath. "I’ll always need to work, but—I think you understand this—I want these first couple years, until Josh is in school and the new baby is almost there. I wouldn’t mind working half days. Maybe even less for a while." Tracey actually gasped in pleased surprise. She’d worried some about the travel she knew was involved in Morris’ job. If, when she got pregnant, she didn’t want to travel extensively. She could see bringing her baby to work every day in the beginning. "You’ll be on salary, full medical/dental/vision package, two weeks paid vacation to start out... Well, everything will be in the offer letter with proposed net wages. I’ll give you basically anything you want if you’ll do this. What do you say?" Laughing, still in shock—more so, actually—Tracey said "When do I start?" "How ‘bout Monday? I mean, if you think the guys’ll be okay with all this?" Tracey sighed, folding her hands. "They’ve really been keeping me on out of pity or friendship. They need someone to come in to answer calls in the morning for a couple hours and someone to do monthly maintenance. That’s all." JoJo smiled. "Well, great. Then I’m not a thief and they won’t want my head on a platter." From his seat, Joshua made a cute noise, seeking attention. After JoJo crooned to him, Tracey asked with every bit of her heart, "Can I hold him?" JoJo grinned. "Yeah. Go ahead." Tracey set down her briefcase and purse, then lifted the baby from his seat. He smelled like shampoo, powder and sweet baby. Heaven is a baby, Tracey thought, feeling a rush of pure love, one that put tears in her eyes. Afraid JoJo would notice, she said, "You haven’t even looked at my resume." Her voice sounded watery, but JoJo didn’t seem to notice. "Sure I have. You worked as a publicist for a photographer in college for a while. A secretary/receptionist at Kira Gunn Fashions in Los Angeles in your last three years of college. You graduated with honors. You were a hostess at Saxons restaurant after graduation and worked as an accountant until you took the job with the guys. You’re perfect for this job. I knew it as soon as I sent my gremlins out to shamelessly pillage your background for my gain." "I guess you did," Tracey said, a little shocked. She rarely included her stint in PR on her official resume. The last thing she wanted was someone calling that "employer." "So I’ll expect you Monday morning, and we’ll go over the details of your job. Then you can train my assistant." A half hour later, when Tracey could get herself to relinquish Joshua to his mother, Tracey drove back to Hog Heaven. Saving money would be a snap with this job. And working while she was pregnant and after the baby came was possible. The job was perfect. The only problem would be telling the guys. They’d been so good to her and a part of her felt she betrayed them by leaving. By chance, all of them were there when she got back. Feeling embarrassed, she cleared her throat. "Can I talk to you guys?" Then she went into the office. They straggled in one by one. Jon came in last, and she had a hunch he already knew everything she was about to say. He went over to the soda machine, gave it a well-placed kick and it rewarded him with a bottle of pop. "I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just say it." Focusing on Rod was a lot easier than facing Jon or Blackie. "I know you’ve been keeping me on out of friendship. I appreciate that—" Both Blackie and Rod predictably started arguing that point. "All you need is someone to answer the phone in the morning, since that’s when most of the calls come in, and someone to do monthly maintenance. I can still do that part if you want me to." She could see Rod and Blackie had visions of the nightmare state the office had been in before she came. "I promise I won’t let you get overwhelmed with paperwork again. But... I’ve taken a job with JoJo. She needs someone to take over for her for a while." Tracey pursed her lips. Her breath felt shaky in her chest. Why did she feel like she’d said good-bye? She wasn’t saying that at all! God forbid she ever bid farewell to these crazy, lovable men who meant more to her than... "And, I’d like to move into the apartment upstairs if you still don’t mind." She was going to cry. Nothing could stop that. Especially when she saw that her emotional state affected the guys too. Jon wouldn’t look at her. Blackie’s solemnity was heavier than usual. And Rod actually had tears in his eyes. "Nothing’s going to change," Tracey insisted, not even believing herself. "I love you guys. You’re the best friends I’ve ever had and that won’t ever change." Tears poured from her eyes. Rod stepped forward to hug her. "You’re family now. So you couldn’t go away anyway. Can’t leave your family permanently, can you?" Tracey shook her head. "No. You can’t." She moved over to Blackie, and he muttered, "Bunch of crybabies," but she knew deep inside he was just as affected as they were. He hugged her, then reminding her the keys to the apartment upstairs were in the desk drawer. She couldn’t and didn’t want to leave Jon out, no matter what stood between them. She hugged him as hard as she had the other two, hearing the emotion in his voice when he said "I’ll help you move." Tracey backed up after a minute. "Great. Thanks. I was thinking of moving this weekend. Tomorrow. Does that work for you?" "I’m your man," he answered, his voice soft. She heard absolute sincerity, an undertone she was sure Rod and Blackie missed. If she could get herself to accept it, she knew he’d given her more than his services for the move. He’d just given her his heart. "I JUST have to pack my things from the bathroom...and I think I can take it from there," Tracey said, feeling oddly disappointed that the arduous task of moving was almost over. She pulled into the driveway of the house, parked, then glanced at Jon. Between the house and the apartment over Hog Heaven, they’d made three trips. Not even enough to get winded really. Blackie had been right in his reason for not helping—they’d handled it together easily. He’d left for the weekend, presumably to Milwaukee, but Jon said he saw a plane ticket poking out of his duffel. During the drive over to the apartment the first time, they’d speculated and decided the "ticket" must have been a brochure or something. Where would Blackie go out of state? He had no family outside of his friends. Unless he’d flown to New York to see Lori Gordon, who attended Parsons School of Design there. They’d vetoed that in a second. No matter how obvious it was to everyone that Blackie was madly in love with Lori, he avoided, denied and vehemently resisted those feelings and Lori. Lori was the twenty-year-old daughter of Jerry Gordon, who owned a bar in Milwaukee called Rainbow Nights. Jon had told Tracey that Jerry took Blackie in after his parents dropped him off there and never looked back. This had happened to Blackie at an age where he’d been young enough to not understand why they’d done what they had and old enough to retain every single scar from their cruelty. Jon, JoJo and Rod had met Blackie through their "father figure" Morris, who had been friends with Jerry Gordon. "You can stop long enough for some water, —or ice chips—can’t you?" Jon said, and Tracey smiled. It was still early afternoon. She didn’t want to go back to the apartment and be alone the rest of the day. "Sounds good to me." They got out, and Tracey collected the boxes she’d emptied at the apartment for the last of her things here. She followed Jon into the house, setting the boxes at the end of the hall. Jon was popping the top of a frosty beer in the kitchen. He’d taken his shirt off. She couldn’t blame him. Ninety degrees today, and the back stairwell was steep, especially after lugging two dozen boxes up it. My oh my, he had a nice torso. His muscles looked as hard and sculpted as Michelangelo’s David. She bypassed looking at the tattoo about the size of a CD case in the middle of his back—the one he’d gotten for Jessie. The tattoo on his chest, just above his heart, showed a "romantic" heart gushing blood from a dagger piercing it straight through. Her name was on the bejeweled dagger. "What does it mean?" Tracey asked softly, affected by the tattoo and the pain he must have gone through to get it. He set down the bottle he’d emptied in one draft. When he shook his head, she touched the tattoo. His sharp intake of breath was loud in the otherwise silent room. His nipples contracted just as sharply. Tracey had to force herself to swallow. And to breathe. "It’s just a tattoo. It’s not like a painting, with a back story—" She shook her head. He was lying. He’d told her the meaning of the tattoo on his back while they were in The Keys. That one depicted a velvet black sky, even darker shapes of gnarled trees, an evil moon and—absolutely luminous in all the blackness—the whites of two eyes. The face around them was there, as well as a nude body, but both were so a part of the darkness only if a person looked at it for a long time could they see the beauty and shape of a woman, a woman with eyes both haunted and feral. The meaning was, of course, in the eyes—Jessie haunted his life, appearing out of blackness and extinguishing life in everything around her. "You sure you wanna know?" No. But she nodded. "Life and death. You. For me." His explanation explained little. Tracey wasn’t brave enough to pursue it further. When he sat at the table and started folding a piece of paper there, she got a cup of ice chips from the freezer. "So, tell me about your "serious" boyfriends." Tracey turned to him with a few shards of ice in her mouth. "What? What do you want to know?" "Everything. Everything you’ll tell me." She supposed she should have felt uncomfortable about it. She’d never had close "girlfriends" to talk to. Almost exclusively, her friends had been male. Men rarely liked to talk about relationships. Her parents were the only ones she’d talked to about her "serious boyfriends." After she pulled out the chair across from Jon and sat down, she said, "There were only two serious ones. Jeff was the first, in my freshman year in college. If I said his full name, you might recognize him because he’s big now. He photographs some of the biggest names in modeling and a lot of rock stars—Gwen Nicholson-Nelson, Gregg Stevens. Anyway, he was just starting to get a reputation then. He was about ten years older than I was." Tracey shook her head, feeling the mortification creep back already. "Maybe that was part of the appeal. All the other guys I knew were so immature." Jon glanced up at her from folding what looked like a flower even in its early stages. She crunched on another sliver of ice. "I was a virgin and even more wary of getting involved too fast. My mom always said, "If it’s worth taking a risk on, it’s worth waiting for." He was...constantly trying to get me to give in. I thought of the PR thing to...well, keep us busy." "PR thing?" Tracey laughed. "Yeah. In college, I had big dreams. I thought if he did more promotion, he’d rocket straight to stardom. So I aggressively worked on getting his name out there. It worked too. Six months later, he was a couple thousand dollars richer and had his pick of assignments. And I thought I was ready." She couldn’t look at Jon, especially knowing he’d glanced up from his flower again. "He told me his biggest fantasy was to have me come over in a trench coat and, beneath, a sexy little teddy. It took a lot courage for me to do this—I felt so silly in this little red lace teddy...But I trusted him, I loved him, and I wanted to give him his fantasy. So, dressed like that, I went to his apartment late one night. Let myself in and...got into bed with him in the dark." Her cheeks burned hotter than lava. Her whole body felt flushed at the memory of ultimate humiliation. Jon swore under his breath just before she said, "He wasn’t alone." Her embarrassment was over the top, but almost a decade had passed. Without warning, she giggled. "You can imagine everyone’s shock when Jeff turned on the light! It wasn’t funny then, of course," she said in-between giggles. For some reason, Jon didn’t share her amusement the way she thought he should. "I know I was too young then and he was too old to be "playing games," as he called it. But he told me he loved me for six months. He said he’d wait until I was ready. He’d wait impatiently, but he would wait. Apparently this wasn’t the first time he’d been "impatient." He cheated on me right from the start." Jon muttered some choice words that made Tracey want to get off the subject ASAP. "Second and last serious boyfriend was Justin Pascal. I’d been friends with him all through college. We went to the University of Miami together. Of course I found him sexy beyond belief, but I really did see him as a friend most of that time. To make a long story short, we kissed. Just one of those accidental things. And that’s what started it. After Jeff, there was no way I could get involved sexually. Not for a long time. Justin waited for me for over a year, and things were pretty great when we finally did..." "I got it," Jon muttered, and Tracey shook those particular memories off. "Then his sister died of an overdose, and he changed. He kept pushing me away every time I tried to help him. That’s kind of why I went to The Keys. I felt trapped. He didn’t want me anymore and I didn’t know what else to do to save us. I still loved him, but a couple months after I got back he told me it was over. He said he didn’t want my help or my love. He didn’t ever want to see me again. I’m sure it was his pain talking, but it still...hurt. That’s when I decided to come here and start all over again." "Bunch of jerks," Jon concluded. Tracey shook her head immediately. "Justin wasn’t. He was in pain. People do things they wouldn’t normally do when they’re in pain. He was really good. I heard he’s married now, so it just wasn’t meant to be with us. That happens." "Are you still in love with him?" "I love him. I’ll probably always love him, but I’m not in love with him." She’d realized she wasn’t in love with Justin when she met Jon. He’d finished his paper flower and now placed it in the ashtray. "You realize your penchant for destroying all the beautiful things you create is psychological, don’t you?" Tracey couldn’t resist lecturing. "You think so?" He hadn’t yet reached for the matches. "Jessie burned you and you’re getting your revenge." Jon grinned at her pop psychology. "I always thought it was more like getting everything perfect with a beautiful woman. Then you make her burn." Tracey could tell he wasn’t serious. Impulsively, she plucked the flower from the ashtray and took off running with it. When Jon pursued, she started laughing wildly. Before he could catch her, she tripped on a rug in the living room and went sprawling on the floor. The flower flew out of her hand. The carpet in the living room was threadbare with age, providing little if any cushion for her fall. Jon rolled her on her back when she groaned. "You okay?" He knelt beside her, and Tracey got a lump in her throat looking at him, his concern for her. She stopped caring where she hurt physically. Just as impulsively as her flight in here was her movement now. She put her hand on his arm and urged him down. He came easily, but she could see he didn’t have a clue to her intentions. Neither did she, until she kissed him. Light, barely a brush at first. Even as she deepened it because it felt right and he willingly complied, he held himself over her as if afraid to let himself give in completely. She could feel the rigid muscles in his biceps, down to his wrist. Tracey wanted to feel his body fitted against hers. But, in ways, the kiss overwhelmed her too much to trust herself. She glanced at Jon and saw his eyes closed tightly, as if he were in mortal agony...or pure ecstasy. She drew back slightly, and he eventually looked at her. "I didn’t know, Jon," she heard herself say, and realized she’d needed to say this to him for days. For a long, long time. "I didn’t think you were a clown, but I never thought you were serious." "Did you want me to be?" he asked, his tone unreadable. "Yes. Not at first. Not in The Keys. I couldn’t have...then. Because of my commitment to Justin. But when I moved here, yes I wanted you to be serious. Even if you weren’t...I didn’t trust myself with you. I never fell like that before. So fast and so hard, I stopped caring if you weren’t serious. As long as you were there, that’s all that mattered. So I had to be even more careful about letting you know how I felt." "How you felt?" Tracey could hear the anger in his voice. "Well, it worked. I never had a clue how you felt. That you felt anything at all." Tracey swallowed hard. "I know. It was either walk around like a lovesick puppy or hide it somehow. If you weren’t serious, I didn’t want you to know how I felt. And then it didn’t matter. I decided one night—It was a Tuesday, and we spent the whole day together. I went to bed that night and decided I had to tell you." "So what the hell happened?" Tracey flushed, unable to express the truth without revealing her own jealousy. Jon sat back on his heels, realizing without words exactly when this had happened. Maybe realizing—as she did—that Jessie’s timing had been either lousy or a blessing. "So I proved you couldn’t trust me," he said between his teeth. She didn’t have an answer. The answer was simply too obvious for words. "Did it ever occur to you she wasn’t the reason? You were the reason. You never gave the slightest sign— So why wouldn’t I—?" Tracey stared at him, hearing what he chose not to say: "So I gave up." Shaking his head, he stood and swiped the paper flower she’d tried to save off the floor. Filled with guilt, Tracey watched him leave the room. She should have told him back then. But she wasn’t entirely convinced Jessie had nothing to do with it. She wasn’t convinced that if Jessie came back, he wouldn’t go back to her, even if Tracey was a consideration. She didn’t trust him on that count, yet the regret she felt couldn’t be denied. Getting up, she went to pack the remainder of her things. When she carried the last box out, she glanced into the kitchen. The flower had been reduced to mere ashes. She couldn’t be the one to change the past enough to consider a future. Chapter 8 MAYBE HE really was an optimist—in disguise, Jon thought, pulling the company car he and Tracey had used for her move into its designated spot inside Hog Heaven’s garage. Only an optimist would come away from the last couple weeks feeling hope. After Tracey left the house that afternoon, he’d been mad, sad, defeated. He’d played his guitar for a couple hours and somewhere in the process of spontaneous composition he’d realized the core of everything that’d happened between him and Tracey: She loved him. Didn’t matter if she wanted or didn’t want to feel that way, whether or not she trusted him. At one point in time, she’d loved him. It was enough to make a grown man giddy. If she’d loved him once, there was a chance she could love him again if he proved himself. Why couldn’t he be a white knight? Where was it written he had to lose everything every time? With Tracey by his side, he could imagine a life without dark obsessions, without depression and guilt and failure. He could imagine himself happy by making Tracey happy. Bottom line was, he didn’t have a single thing to lose by trying. He grabbed the bag of groceries he’d bought with an actual menu in mind, then hiked up the staircase in the center of the garage leading up over the office. Jon expected to spend a couple minutes finagling an invitation from her, but Tracey opened the door and pretty much made his life with a smile of sheer relief. "You haven’t had dinner yet, have you?" It was after eight, but she’d just moved. The refrigerator hadn’t even been plugged in their last trip, and her phone wouldn’t be connected until early next week. Tracey shook her head. "I found a jar of peanuts in the cupboard. When did you guys say you moved out of here?" Jon laughed at the stale look on her face. Then she said softly "Come in." The apartment inside smelled dusty with disuse, even with the windows wide open and the one fan she had working the air for all it was worth. She’d made a pretty big dent in unpacking. Unless most of the boxes were stacked in one of the three small bedrooms, she looked almost done. "You’ve been busy," he said as he set the bag on the bar ten feet from the door. Tracey glanced into the furnished living room, where they’d set all the boxes this afternoon. "Yeah. I’ve got a couple of my knickknack boxes to go, but I guess it just looks like I have a lot of stuff." She turned back to him. "Besides, it kept me from...noticing I was alone." He heard the music for the first time since she opened the door. Another thing to block out being alone? Swallowing hard, she said, "I’ve always hated living alone. It means cooking alone, eating alone, watching TV alone, talking to yourself." "You’ve been talking to yourself?" Jon teased lightly, stepping closer to her. "Not yet. But I probably will be in a couple days." He didn’t laugh. Neither did she. In fact, her eyes were almost too bright and shiny. He didn’t like the thought of Tracey lonely. "Maybe you shouldn’t have moved out." "I had to. You know I had to." He lifted his hand to touch her face, but she moved out of reach, saying, "So what did you bring? I’m starving." The first thing she found in the bag was a small bouquet of flowers. When she turned back, he shrugged. "Thought they might spruce up this place." She gave him a tight smile. "I guess I’ll have to unpack those last two boxes tonight after all, to find a vase." Jon took over unpacking the bag. "Lasagna," she guessed with the emergence of cheese, black olives and the telltale noodles. "Vegetarian." "We could have made it half your way." "I can live without meat once in awhile and not go into withdrawal." A corner of her mouth lifted as she looked at the flowers again. "Jon, why are you here?" she asked like she’d just realized it should have been her first question. He didn’t need to think about his answer. He said it instinctively. "Because you’re here. And I wanna be where you are." Her lush mouth trembled as she stared at him. She’d known. Deep down where it counted, she’d known his answer before he said it. Forget wrong or right, regrets and fate’s decree. He took the flowers from her, set them on the counter and kissed her—all in one moment. He wasn’t sure if he anticipated a fight. In any case, he didn’t get one. Tracey stepped into his arms and offered herself to him eagerly. The need to run his hands over her body was strong. Yet, now that he’d gotten this far, he didn’t want to push his luck. Cradling her face in his hands, he more than contented himself with her sweet, sexy mouth. He didn’t run his tongue over her generous bottom lip or suck on the cupids’ bow so clearly defined in her top lip—Later, he told himself. This time reality. Later, they could move into fantasy if she wanted to. He just kissed her until he knew her mouth by heart. Then he put his arms around her and hugged her. Tracey hugged him back hard, with a rush of husky words: "I’m so glad you’re here." Jon needed to hear that more than he needed to assuage the desire he only seemed to feel for Tracey. They made dinner, talked about nothing serious, ate at the bar and did the dishes together. Everything was good. Necessary. But Jon had the feeling they were both biding their time through it all. Especially when they went into the living room, set their water bottles on the table in front of the couch and reached for each other almost before they sat down. What is she telling herself to allow this? Jon wondered, and then didn’t care. He’d waited too damn long to have her, not only willing, but eager. Eager was a mild word to describe the way Tracey kissed him. Heat, white lightning raced through them. Open mouths, hands that heeded boundaries but only just barely. Jon removed the scrap of cotton that held her hair back and sank his fingers deep. Ah baby, she was beautiful when aroused, just like he knew she’d be. She broke away suddenly. "I’m sorry... I don’t want to lead you on! I can’t think! I just want to kiss you—" Her face flushed from embarrassment as much as desire. Putting his index finger to her swollen lips, he shook his head. "I just wanna kiss you too, honey. I’m not asking for more than that." She sat back on her heels. "I can’t even promise you—" "I know that. I’ll take whatever you give me. Even if it’s the boot." He smiled, but she didn’t. Tracey was one woman without compare. He’d never known anyone to wait so long for intimacy, to treat sex like it was the most precious gift a person could give another. The fact that she’d almost given him that meant a lot to him. From what she’d said, she didn’t jump into a decision like that lightly or quickly. Six months for the first jerk, a year for the second. She’d almost given in to Jon in less than two months—hell yeah, that meant everything to him. "I don’t know what you think, Tracey, but I don’t jump into something like that easily either. Maybe you think I’m like Blackie, but sex isn’t...Not all men live to score. Or to forget pain. It doesn’t work like that." She seemed confused and interested, so he went on with what he wasn’t likely to ever admit again out loud. "The physical part is good, and if that’s all there was to sex, I’d be chasing it like nothing else mattered. But the other part of it... It’s not worth it." "Are you saying you don’t...?" Tracey started in shock. Jon shook his head. "It’s like you got this huge hole inside you. This black emptiness. And when you have sex, you show it to another person. You show ‘em the vulnerability and ugliness and...fear. And then what they do with all that makes a difference. If they get up and walk out on you when it’s over, you’re more empty and a hell of a lot less willing to show anybody else that black hole. Maybe it’d be different if someone stayed. Maybe the hole wouldn’t be so dark and empty then." He didn’t look at her, nor was he surprised when she put her arms around him. Closing his eyes, he said, "It’d be different with you. I think you’d make it worth the risk of letting someone see inside." When he glanced at her, he brushed a hand against her cheek. "I love your hair down." She smiled after a long minute, following his lead because he’d revealed something she probably thought she wasn’t ready for. "Really? I think it makes me look about ten years old." "No ten-year-old has ever made me wanna take it down and—" He kissed her. Even after everything he’d told her, she melted against him, impossibly more receptive than before. If she just couldn’t resist him against her better judgment or if she genuinely believed he might be trustworthy—it didn’t really matter at this point. She was going to give him the chance to prove himself. Never had the gates of opportunity been open wider. And never had the demons in his past been more amassed at the border, determined to defeat him. TRACEY’S first day working for JoJo’s health club went by quickly. She owed it partly to feeling like she’d spent her life training for this exact job and to feeling as though she walked on a cloud. The last time she felt this way was after moving to Wisconsin, taking the job at Hog Heaven...and, yes, falling in love with Jon. Everything had come down to a single choice this past Saturday—did she want to spend her life miserable or did she want to try to achieve total happiness? Jon made her happy the way no other person ever had. Sure, there were issues on why she shouldn’t get involved with him. But she was finding there was a lot she didn’t know about him. There was a lot she didn’t know about his relationship with Jessie Nelson. Maybe Jon was genuinely past his obsession because of his feelings for Tracey. Anyway, in a purely live-for-the-present state of mind, she just loved being with him. He’d come over yesterday too and helped her clean the apartment from floor to ceiling. They’d had the quintessential soap sud fight, made dinner together again and then kissed for at least an hour on the couch. It was crazy to act like this. Absolutely sophomoric, yet—as all she was ready for—it was right. Somehow Jon seemed to feel the same way she did. Despite how much she ached for him after he left, the kissing satisfied her as much as lovemaking would when...if, she reminded herself, they were both ready. God, please let him come again tonight, Tracey prayed her deepest desire. She turned the corner onto Church Street and drove the last few blocks to her new apartment. Her heart did everything short of explode in her chest when she saw him sitting on the back steps that led directly up to the apartment. You’re losing it here, she warned herself, and promptly ignored the alert. She thought of the Bobby McFerrin song and almost laughed out loud. As she parked and got out, Jon stood. "How’d your first day go?" he asked when she reached him. "Perfect. It’s going to work out perfectly, I think." He smelled freshly showered. After a full day in the garage, the scent of grease and antifreeze would have canceled out the cologne he wore. He must have gone to the house to shower, then came right back. "Do you want to come up?" she asked, because their relationship seemed new and he seemed to need an invitation. She hadn’t noticed his guitar case propped next to the steps until he grabbed it. "You could have just gone up and showered in the apartment," she said as she led the way up. Both Jon and Blackie had used the shower in the apartment before, especially on Fridays, when they planned to go straight to Milwaukee from work. They kept towels there just for the possibility. "It’s your apartment now. We knock and don’t go in without an invitation." Tracey smiled at him as she unlocked the door. "Well, you have an invitation once-for-all then." They were "loaning" her the apartment rent-free after all. But it was more than that. Once inside, Jon set his guitar case on the bar while Tracey unloaded her briefcase and purse on the kitchen counter next to the bar. Unbuttoning her stylish blazer, she watched Jon open his case. He closed it a minute later. He held a flower. A paper flower. She’d never seen him make one like this before. It had a blossom, leaves and a stem. Usually, once the blossom was made, he torched it. "It’s beautiful!" she said, taking it from him when he held it out to her. It really was exquisite. The petals looked like velvet. Touching the blossom carefully, she realized they were made of some kind of velvet paper. Red velvet with green for the stem and leaves. "Someday I’ll make you enough to put in a vase, but it took me all night just to get that one right." Tracey glanced at him and had to swallow back a whole mess of tears. He’d saved one of his beautiful creations. She couldn’t deny the parallel. "One is all I need," she said softly. "I love it. Thank you." Setting it gently on the counter, she rounded the corner where the bar met the counter. "You left your hair down." She could tell by the tone of his voice that he’d noticed the difference as soon as he saw her. But when she stood in front of him, he saw the change was more than not putting it up. "You had it cut." "I went to Bethany’s salon before I got home." Jon scissored a strand between his fingers, following the way it curved out from her face at the temples then swept back like a silken frame. "What do you think?" she asked, still a little uncomfortable having it down after years of wearing it in sophisticated twists. He started to say something. Tracey suddenly saw heat in his eyes. She almost stopped breathing in reaction, and then he leaned toward her. The touch of his lips on hers was light, seeking an invitation. Tracey swayed toward him, catching a handful of his shirt, and pulled herself heartbeat-close. Her obvious bid unleashed him. His arms went around her, lifting her slightly until they locked in place together. Their kisses the past two nights had been easy and smooth. She was lost instantly with this kiss fueled with raw need. No longer could she be satisfied. She was nowhere near in control. His hands slipping inside her blazer and around to her back lit a fire of urgency inside her. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. She wanted to touch him, his bare skin, put her mouth to every inch of his hot, smooth flesh... Jon broke away without opening his eyes. "I want you, honey. I can’t even sleep. I close my eyes and think of your mouth..." Tracey put her arms around his neck, needing to hold on to more than his shirt because she felt like she might fall. When Jon looked at her, she had to match his naked honesty. "I don’t sleep very well myself lately." With any other man, she’d be rushing to make sure they wouldn’t take advantage of her honesty. Jon felt her trembling in his arms, obviously felt how aroused she was, and he grinned instead of testing her limits. "That’s all I need to know." Tracey couldn’t help giggling. Jon laughed with her for a minute, hugging her hard. "What do you say we run over to The Hilltop for dinner?" With a sigh, she said "Sounds good. I’ll change my clothes and then we can go." Behind her bedroom door, she changed into shorts and a top. While brushing out her hair, she saw the brochures she’d picked up last week. Plan B brochures—adoption and artificial insemination. Tracey lifted the small stack, and then opened the top drawer of the dresser. Unwilling to consider her actions, she dropped the brochures into the drawer, slammed it shut, and went out to dinner with Jon. The restaurant was busy, but they got a table after a short wait. "So, where did Blackie go this weekend?" she asked after they ordered. Jon shook his head. "I don’t have a clue. He kept saying it was no big deal, to forget it, but he wouldn’t tell me." "Well, that’s pretty suspicious, huh?" "Yeah, but of what?" Tracey smiled. "So what do you think? A weekend rendezvous with Lori in New York?" "He’d clam up about it if he did, but it’d take a miracle to get him to stop remembering he changed her diapers and see she’s old enough to do pretty much anything she wants." "Did you call Jerry in Milwaukee?" Jon shook his head, grinning. "I’m not his keeper. If he doesn’t wanna tell me where he was, I guess I don’t find out." Tracey’s curiosity flew out of control, but she’d have to accept there was probably a lot she didn’t know about "the man in black" too. "So how’d work go today?" he asked quietly. "Great! The hours just flew by. I’m supposed to be training the other guy JoJo hired—to replace Morris. I’ve never met anyone so on-fire as this guy. I kept thinking ‘Better get him on a plane before he takes off himself!’" Jon didn’t smile. He said "So you like him, huh?" in a tone she well knew. He was jealous. "He’s a nice kid." "That’s all?" "That’s definitely all. I’m not interested...in him." Leaning closer to her, Jon touched her hair again, smiling a little now. He didn’t have to say his thoughts out loud. She wasn’t uncomfortable with any of this, she realized. Not even when Jon leaned forward and kissed her softly. From the minute she saw him waiting for her at the apartment, she’d been untroubled about where they headed here. She supposed that didn’t make sense—maybe as much as it did make sense. How many men, who had no intention of staking their heart on forever, told a woman sex made them feel empty, told a woman he believed she could change that? A part of her had to face that Jessie Nelson was still a factor. Until she reconciled that part, she couldn’t give herself to Jon completely. But she had to try. She couldn’t not try anymore. He simply meant too much to her. "Hey?" Jon and Tracey broke apart to find JoJo and Randy standing next to the table. Tracey blushed; Jon didn’t seem in the least bit uncomfortable with being "caught." Their friends seemed surprised, but they both grinned when Jon asked what they were up to. "Carry-out and heading home to Joshua," JoJo said. "How ‘bout you two?" Jon shrugged. "Eating in." Tracey refrained from giving an explanation for the kiss. Sure, they’d be the topic of their friends’ gossip. Allowing that was better than trying to explain what she couldn’t. After a little more conversation, JoJo and Randy moved on to the cash register to pick up their carry-out. They held hands until Randy reluctantly got out his wallet. Jon glanced at her, and she couldn’t help smiling slightly. Their drinks came, and, a minute after that, JoJo and Randy stopped back at the table with their order in hand. "Since I’m not big on formal announcements—" JoJo started. "We’re pregnant!" Randy couldn’t seem to wait even long enough for JoJo to finish her sentence. She laughed, nudging him gently with an elbow. "Hey, that’s great," Jon said, getting up to hug JoJo and shake Randy’s hand. Tracey hadn’t gotten a chance to give Randy her congratulations, so she joined the hugfest. She noticed the change in Jon as soon as the two left. Just as she was about to ask if everything was okay, he said "So...how’s that going?" The tone he used exactly matched when she told him her plans to have a baby and he’d said "Dammit, Tracey." He didn’t want to ask—she could tell, yet he seemed compelled to after JoJo and Randy’s announcement. Funny that the word "pregnant" had reminded him of her plans, yet hadn’t reminded her. "Oh. Everything is...on hold. I realized I just don’t have the money yet. I need to start saving. And I have to fill out the paperwork that’s part of the Seasons benefit package, for medical insurance. I was putting the extra you guys gave in a savings account, but I never really had medical insurance before." Her face felt warm and she found she couldn’t look at him. Everything she said was true. He didn’t need to know more; she didn’t want to think about more. Their meal arrived, and they gratefully dug in. "So, how did it go for you guys today at work?" He shrugged with a make-do grin. "You spoiled us, I guess. We were used to working on a bike without interruption. We had to take turns running to the phone today, and even when we weren’t... I’m used to seeing you in the office, busy as a bee. Blackie’s putting an ad in the paper tomorrow." "I’m sorry—" He shook his head. "No apologies. We want you to be happy and to feel like you’re earning your keep. We thought you were, but you didn’t seem to think so." "I was very happy. I loved working for you guys, but yeah, the job did seem to be over for me. I’m glad you’re going to get some help." After dinner, they walked over to Iverson Park and sat on a picnic table for a while, looking at the Little Plover River. Jon kept his arm around her the whole while, even after they got back in her car and he drove them slowly to her apartment. After he parked, turning off the car, he looked over at her. She didn’t want him to go home. She also wasn’t ready to let him spend the night—she wasn’t ready in her head and her heart anyway. "I gotta get my guitar," he said in the silence. She nodded, and they walked up to the apartment. "You could stay for coffee—" It was a hot night, and they both knew it was an excuse to tempt fate. Jon kissed her. "I better go. Now." She couldn’t help smiling, holding his hand until he got to the door with his guitar. The words "I had a good time" were on the tip of her tongue, yet she found herself admitting, "I’m happy." Jon looked at her tenderly for a long minute, then gave her a kiss equally tender. "So am I." It wasn’t until he got in the company car and drove away that she wondered why he’d brought his guitar with him tonight. Just to protect the paper flower? She picked up the delicate rose. How can this not be worth it? She wondered. I’ve never been happier in my life. And I’m a happy person by nature! How can it be wrong? That was the one question that kept her from going in headfirst, eyes closed, heart held out. Chapter 9 THE NEXT night, after work, Jon availed himself of Tracey’s offer to use the shower in her apartment, then went down to the bottom of the back steps to wait for her. While he waited, he played his guitar to keep himself from worrying that tonight was the night she’d say "I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t get involved with you." Last night, she left him with "I’m happy" and that meant as much to him as "I love you" would have. He didn’t know what she told herself or what she foresaw for the future. If he thought too deeply about those things or allowed himself to ask her outright, he was afraid she’d bolt and/or change her mind. Maybe just making her happy, just loving her right would allow everything to work out. Tracey pulled into the back alley at least a half hour later than the night before. She seemed to be enjoying her new job with JoJo. Standing, he soaked up Tracey’s welcoming smile when she came to him. "I’m glad you’re here," she said, then teased "I was afraid you were getting sick of seeing me every night." Jon eased the strap over his head and held his guitar away from him. She stepped into his arms. "Never. I thought you might be getting sick of this ugly mug." Cupping his chin in her hand, she teased, "Pretty boy here is really ugly." Jon knew he was good looking. He’d always known and really didn’t care. It’d never gotten him anything in life. He didn’t mind Tracey believing it though. She smiled gently, serious now. "Never." Jon kissed her, thinking, There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, give you, accept from you. Anything, if I can have you like this for the rest of my life. Damned if he didn’t believe she thought the same thing when they separated and looked at each other for a long minute. "Come up," she said softly. Don’t read into that, Jon warned himself because the way she said "Come up" brought too many needs to the surface. He hadn’t had a decent night’s rest since their first kiss a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t feel any worse for wear. If Tracey gave herself to him, he’d be hard-pressed to turn her down. If she was sure, he had wings. He’d take her anywhere, as far as she could go. "I used the shower," he told her when she found her door unlocked at the top. "Oh. Good." He closed the door behind them once they were inside. "You brought your guitar again," she said, seeing his case open on the bar again. "Yeah. I wrote you something. I was gonna play it for you last night, but..." "Play it! Please. I want to hear it." Jon laughed at the childlike joy on her face. "It can wait until—" Tracey tossed her bags down and dragged him into the living room, insisting "Now." Never in his life had Jon felt comfortable playing, and singing, for another person, except kids because there was no pressure from kids. Knowing someone actually listened made him uneasy and he lost his coordination. The first time he played for Tracey, in The Keys, it felt right. No more intimidating than pledging himself to her for the rest of his life. And he’d been doing that since the day he met her. Shedding her shoes, Tracey sat facing him on the sofa with her legs tucked under her. She wore a pink dress that made her look both sophisticated and ultra-feminine, kitten soft, especially with her hair down around her face. Last night she’d told him she was happy, and her face testified to the fact. She practically glowed. No way would he question whether or not he deserved it. Not now. He started strumming the song that had evolved through his frequent playing over the last couple weeks. With his gaze on Tracey, he sang the words easily: Every time you speak, I want to read your mind. Every time you smile, I want to be your lover, the man of your heart. Every time we kiss, I breathe in your soul. All I want is to get inside of you. Inside your mind, inside your heart, inside your soul. You consume me. You make me whole... He couldn’t finish because tears fell from her eyes and he had to hold her. Setting aside his guitar, he stood and pulled her up into his arms. Wrapped up in each other, they moved together as if the song still played. "I love you, Tracey." He’d said it to her in every other way. This way couldn’t be denied for a minute longer. "Oh Jon—" She looked up at him. And then someone pounded on the door. After glancing from the door back to him in confusion, Tracey wiped her cheeks with both hands, then went to answer the summons. When he heard her say "Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?", Jon suddenly felt unprepared. He suspected short of wearing a tuxedo and getting his hair sheared down to a high-and-tight, nothing could have prepared him. And nothing could have readied him for their appearance either. Guess I didn’t believe her when she described them as metal-heads. Tracey hadn’t exaggerated. Her dad—compared to everyone else in the room—was tall and all hair. His blond hair fell to his shoulder blades. He wasn’t dressed any better than Jon in T-shirt and jeans. Tracey’s mom didn’t look any older than her daughter. They could have been twins, except her mom had hair halfway down her back and done in an 80’s "big hair" style. "You’ve been living here almost two years and we’ve never been up to see you once. Figured it was high time," her old man said as he stepped back from hugging Tracey. It didn’t matter that the guy was a metal-head—he was Tracey’s father and the second Jon got noticed, he felt like he’d been caught doing the man’s daughter on the living room floor just seconds before. As all attention fixed on him, Tracey moved over to him, put her arms around him without an ounce of shame, and introduced him to her parents. She didn’t say "This is my boyfriend" but she didn’t need to. The tone of her voice, when she said his name, held him up as someone truly special to her—above all others. If she could give him that kind of honor with the people who meant the most to her, he wouldn’t stand around giving everyone the shucks-I’m-scum routine. Putting one arm possessively around Tracey, he held his other hand out to her parents. Despite his seeming confidence, Jon was shocked when he realized her parents genuinely liked him. Her old man pumped his hand fiercely, grinning, and her mom hugged him enthusiastically saying they’d heard so much about him and were thrilled to finally meet him face-to-face. The next couple hours were fun. He could see why Tracey was so crazy about her parents. He’d never again think of them in the same light as June and Ward Cleaver; that was for sure. They were too off-the-cuff and crazy for that. Jon had a lot in common with them—music, love of motorcycles, Tracey. Her parents somehow made Jon even more eager to touch Tracey whenever she came near. They were both so openly affectionate—with each other, with their daughter. Even with Jon. Having led a mostly hands-off life, he felt a little uncomfortable about that at first. Her parents had stopped by a grocery store on their way over, and—when they went down to their jeep to bring everything up—Jon swung Tracey into his arms and kissed her. He could tell she felt as recklessly happy as he did. "I hope you don’t mind—" she started. Shaking his head, he said, "They’re great." "Yeah. They like you. I knew they would." Hell, she looked so beautiful, her eyes sparkling, he wanted to pick her up and take her to bed. Forget the sound of her parents tromping back up the steps. Pulling her tightly against him, he made sure she knew exactly how he felt. She opened her eyes as he kissed her. "I wish—" was all she got the chance to say before her parents rejoined them. She wanted him. Jon even let himself believe she’d been about to say "I wish we were alone so you could make love to me." He couldn’t spend the night with her, not this night, but he didn’t regret it. He belonged to Tracey. If she wanted him, they had forever. Jon checked out around nine o’clock, wanting to give her time alone with her folks. Her mom hugged him, extending an invitation to visit them in Chicago with Tracey soon and, then and there, extracted a promise from him that they would. Her old man started to shake his hand, yet ended up giving him a roughly affectionate, backslapping hug. "Bring your guitar down when you come, ‘kay? I want a lesson or two. And plan to stay at least a week. Tracey’s old bed oughta be big enough for the both of ya." Jon supposed he should have been shocked. Her father darn near gave him permission, not only to sleep with his daughter, but under his roof too. After the last couple hours, Jon knew this guy spoke his mind. Glancing at Tracey, Jon saw a smile and a flush on her face. "Whatever she wants," he said. He wouldn’t burn any bridges or make any hasty assumptions about where he and Tracey were headed. Whatever happened was in her hands. After packing up his guitar, Tracey walked him out to the top of the back steps. He closed the door firmly, wanting privacy to say goodnight to her. "I wish you didn’t have to go," she said huskily after he kissed her. "We need to talk. But I guess it can wait a couple days." Her parents had said they’d be in town until Thursday. They’d stay with Tracey since she had plenty of room for them. "I loved your song. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Thank you." He caressed her cheek with his thumb. She was his inspiration for everything. They kissed again, longer, deeper, neither wanting to let go tonight. He could feel the difference in her arousal. They’d both been content with the kissing for the past couple days. Now he couldn’t get her close enough, and she moved into every caress with pure need. He wasn’t satisfied with her open mouth, the taste of her anymore either. When he drew his hands up her sides, ran his thumbs over her nipples, she whispered "Yes" almost mindlessly. He didn’t need further encouragement. He covered her breasts fully with his hands, zeroing thumb and index fingers on the hard centers. Tracey’s arms tightened around his neck, bringing her mouth to his ear. Her moans were soft; he could feel her fighting to keep them that way. And it drove him straight out of his head. Leaning back against the door, he eased her between his thighs until his manhood, hard and thick, nestled snug against her pelvis. "Jon...I’m..." She pulled back to look at him. Thank God no one could see them—the back building faced other businesses closed for the night. And thank God for the music blaring inside the apartment. Tracey was a private person, and he knew the thought of an audience would make her feel shame when neither of them should have to feel that. This was right. She was aroused to the point of pain. He could see that in her eyes. So was he. Right now, the only satisfaction possible for him was to satisfy her. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he whispered, "It’s okay" as he unfastened the last two buttons on her dress. Tracey nodded. Jon pressed his hand flat against her smooth, warm belly, then slid it beneath the silky border of her panties to her mound. Watching her eyes close and feeling her hands tighten around him, he stroked her. His masculine pride increased as her wetness did, as he saw her coming apart with each slick pass of his fingers. Her breathing became ragged. The heat between them reached inferno-level. Just before she went up in flames, he put his index finger horizontally against her mouth to catch her cries. She bit him, and he felt nothing but pleasure from her sharp little teeth. He was on the edge himself, and she pushed him even closer when she kissed the finger she bit and then took it into her mouth, sucking on him hard. He couldn’t take it. Easing his finger out, he hugged her hard enough to break bones. "God, I love you, baby. I wanna be inside you so bad I could die." "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—" He drew back and kissed her fiercely. "I know. This got out of hand. I can wait. You’re all that matters to me. It’s gotta be your choice, when or where and how much." Another kiss to keep him company tonight, and he grabbed his guitar. "I’ll wait for you forever, Tracey. You know that." It took over an hour of driving the long way around Stevens Point for his body to calm down enough to go home. Every time he thought of Tracey, he got hot and hard and blind with need. Blackie was out on the porch when Jon pulled into the driveway. Neither of them spoke for a long time after Jon set his guitar just inside the door and sat on the swing. Blackie half-sat in the corner of the porch with one leg stretched over the rail. As usual, he had a cigarette. Because he was afraid to even speak Tracey’s name for fear of bringing on more than he could handle, Jon finally said, "JoJo’s pregnant again." "Yeah." "She told you already?" Blackie shrugged. "Saw her yesterday afternoon." "And she told you?" If Blackie had seen her in the afternoon, why didn’t he tell Jon the news? "Didn’t need to. You never noticed she gets a rack on her enough to make Dolly Parton envious when she’s pregnant?" Jon shook his head, thinking Only Blackie’d notice something like that. The only breasts Jon had noticed in a long time were Tracey’s small, firm, responsive.... Ah hell. Just before he could make an excuse and head for a cold shower, Blackie said, "So you tell her?" "Her who what?" Jon’s libido had fried his mind into pure incoherence. His friend’s tone sounded exasperated when he muttered "You’ve been over there like a lovesick puppy every damn night since she moved. You know who and what I’m talking about." Had he told Tracey he was sterile? That was what Blackie wanted to know. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? If there was a chance Tracey could fall in love with him, maybe his sterility wouldn’t matter to her. It wasn’t the best plan in the world, and he supposed some people might consider it underhanded. And he couldn’t claim he hadn’t had more than a few opportunities to tell her. Not telling her was stupid. Telling her would be even more stupid. Chance or no chance? He wanted a chance. "What the hell are you thinking? How do you think she’s gonna react after she’s flat on her back, dreaming of babies, and then you tell her they’re all blanks?" "I’m gonna tell her. Long before it gets to that point. I’ll tell her." Somehow. Tracey wasn’t ready for that big of a step anyway. Even if she allowed what she had between them tonight, he was sure it’d be at least another month or two before he could go to bed without standing under a spray of ice first. Blackie sat there, shaking his head in total disapproval. Jon lost it. "Look, man, you can start lecturing me about proper etiquette in love when you face up to the fact that you "banged" a nineteen-year-old you’re stupid in love with and you realize that’s considered legal in every state except the fogged one between your ears." He grabbed the handle on the screen door, stopped to throw, "That clear to you?" over his shoulder and went to see about that ice bath. FEELING a little ridiculous, Tracey tried to hold her trench coat closed and slide behind the wheel of her car at the same time. She had to ease her five-inch heels off just to drive. Tracey had talked to Jon a couple hours ago, just after she got home from work. Her parents had wanted to take her out to dinner and invited Jon. He’d seemed a little down but convinced she should have some time alone with her parents. Tracey had a sneaky suspicion Jon’s answer had pleased her parents. Over the multi-course meal at a Chinese restaurant, her parents had come clean about the whole visit. Based on her last trip to Chicago, the conversation about how hard it was to have a baby, and phone conversations since, they knew she was in love. Not only that, they’d strongly suspected the man in question was Jon Rushing. Ever since she’d moved to Wisconsin, they said, she’d been giving them an earful about her new friends—Jon especially. Apparently—and completely unrealized by Tracey—she’d absolutely refused to talk about a single person during her last trip to Chicago. Jon. At first Tracey had tried to deny there was any connection at all between Jon and having babies. Even as the words had formed in her throat, she remembered the past few days, yesterday in particular, with Jon and knew there was a connection between Jon and having babies simply because she was so in love with him nothing else mattered. She wanted to be with him forever. She wanted to belong to him completely...and she believed he belonged to her. The fact that her parents loved Jon too only made everything sweeter. After Jon left last night and she spent an extra ten minutes on the top step to get calmed down enough to face her parents, she’d gone back inside to a barrage of rave reviews. "Oh honey, I love him! No wonder you’re so hooked!" her mother had said, hugging her. "Don’t get me wrong. I liked Justin—" (The only other man Tracey had been involved with that they’d met.) "—He was cool," her father interrupted. "—but a guy who’s too afraid or embarrassed to touch you in front of your old man—" "—Jon couldn’t take his eyes or his hands off of you!" her mother jumped back in. "That is a man who will stop at nothing to make you his." Her father concluded the matter with "Jon is worthy of you. He’d be good for you and to you." Later, alone in her bed and aching, she’d accepted the belief that she did the right thing getting involved with Jon. She wasn’t ready for full-blown intimacy, not yet, but soon. She hadn’t expected herself to be ready less than twenty-four hours later. At dinner tonight, she realized she wasn’t simply blinding herself to the facts in order to allow herself this with Jon. Her father was right—Jon was good for her and to her. So here she was, dressed—or undressed—and ready to become his. Her parents seemed to know she wanted to be with Jon tonight, and they’d announced they were heading back after dinner. Even if it wasn’t the real reason, she’d unquestioningly accepted their, "We like night drives and should get back to the shop anyway." excuse. She’d thought about calling Jon and asking him to come over, but came to the conclusion that Jon needed—and deserved—proof of her trust. As ridiculous as she felt wearing a trench coat on a scorching night, she couldn’t deny how right it felt. One touch from Jon and she’d surely be right back where he left her last night. Tracey pressed a little harder on the gas pedal with her bare foot. By the time she reached the house, she was so eager with anticipation she could hardly breathe. Getting her heels back on took twice as long as it should have. She wasn’t nervous. She was excited. He’ll open the door and you’ll be on him like a dog in heat! The only thing that calmed her down was the reminder Jon didn’t live here alone. Blackie could come to the door too. She didn’t mind if he saw her in the trench coat and wondered. It was buttoned as far up as it could go. She just didn’t want to jump the wrong man. The front door was open, with the screen door allowing her to hear the TV blaring from the living room. Making sure her coat covered as much as possible, she took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. Half a minute later, Jon came down the hall toward her dressed in only jeans. Tracey stopped breathing. She felt light-headed just looking at him. This was right. She felt it with all her heart, her mind, her body. "Aren’t you supposed to be with your parents?" he asked just before he reached the screen door. "They went back," she said hoarsely, moving inside and into his arms the instant he opened the door. After she kissed him, he looked down at her coat. "Isn’t it a little hot to be wearing a—" Thinking the words "trench coat" must have made the connection for him because he glanced up, into her eyes, quickly. He clearly remembered what she’d told him about the last time she wore a trench coat. "Tracey—?" The muscles in his handsome face stretched across his cheeks even tighter. "I love you, Jon. I want to be with you." "You trust me?" he said softly, somewhere between a question and awe. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I love you, I trust you, I want to be with you forever." She touched his face, smoothing out the lines hardened by disbelief. "Please tell me you want the same with me." He started to speak, shook his head as if his emotions overwhelmed him. He cupped her head in his hands, then took her face, easing her closer for a surprisingly gentle kiss. "Tracey...God, honey, I never... I’m so in love with you, I can’t believe this. Are you sure?" His reaction to the gift she wanted them to share tonight and for their rest of their lives only convinced her more. She touched her lips to his. Looking into his eyes, she whispered "Make love with me." Closing his eyes tightly, he hugged her and then kissed her, this time deeper. So deep, she didn’t feel him unbutton the trench coat until he swept the sides open and looked at her. She wore a white stretch lace cami with a satin G-string. Other than the heels and the coat, that was all. Jon muttered. "Have mercy." under his breath the way a man having a heart attack might speak. Tracey backed up to the wall dividing the foyer from the kitchen and brought Jon—who seemed unable to do anything except look—with her. "I wanted to sneak over here last night," she whispered. "I think my parents expected me to. At breakfast, Dad said "Surprised to see you here this morning."" While she smiled, Jon shook his head. "Your parents are... I’ve never met anybody like ‘em. My old man—" He’d slid his hands into the coat and all the way around her. Meeting bare flesh from mid-back all the way down halted his words and her interest in much of anything except more touching, more kissing, more everything. She was about to suggest they go to his bedroom when Blackie emerged from the living room with an empty bottle of beer. Tracey wasn’t sure who moved faster to close her coat, she or Jon. Blackie didn’t look embarrassed to have caught quite an eyeful of them, of her, but she was. Intimacy was an extremely private thing for her. She seemed to lose sight of that whenever she was with Jon. He muttered, "Hey" and gave Jon a look, one she couldn’t begin to fathom, before he went into the kitchen. Tracey glanced at Jon, and they decided in that shared gaze to move this into his bedroom. As soon as the door closed, her back came against it and Jon kissed her mindless. The coat settled around her ankles. She kicked her heels off. Then Jon moved even closer. His bare chest met the thin lace of her top. His hands slid without hesitation to her bare rear end, closed over it and lifted her against his zipper and the bulge behind it. How could he do this to her? Only Jon scattered her every inhibition. Intimacy was supposed to take time, yet she felt she and Jon were not only meant to be together, but that even in this aspect they knew each other in every way. Making sweeping strokes over his back, she watched him ease down her torso, cupping, caressing, and creating firestorms with every touch of his mouth against her skin. Everything inside her spiraled tightly and pooled toward the place Jon headed. As his tongue and lips worked over her quivering belly, he slid the G-string down, her thighs apart. The first touch of his mouth to the very core of her sent her through the roof. He loved her until she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore, until she wanted him inside her so bad tears actually coursed down her cheeks. After laying her on the bed and coming down on her, he looked at her, kissed her with that overwhelmed emotion controlling his expression. "Tracey...I—" He shook his head, and, for a minute, she wondered if something was wrong. Why would he seem so...devastated? "I don’t deserve you," he said finally. "I don’t ever wanna lose you." Hadn’t she convinced him yet? "You’re everything I ever wanted, Jon. I love you, and you’ll never lose me. You see, with you I’m non-returnable." Instead of smiling, he let out a sigh and hugged her so tightly she could only assume she’d given him the promises he needed. He kissed her again, with her again 100% as they undressed each other fully, learning each other with hands and mouths and pure love. She tasted his readiness, drawing her tongue up along the hot length of him. Neither of them could wait after that. Jon rolled her to her back, she opened herself to him, surprised by how easily he entered her. She’d never been this ready before, never loved anyone more than she did him. Nothing hindered them. No protection, no discomfort. They fit together perfectly. Jon kissed her, his gaze locked with hers, and they whispered, "I love you" at the same time. He began to move within her, slow, deep strokes she met wholeheartedly. She never came down from the peak. She rode it steadily, loving that as much as she loved the heavy passion straining the muscles in his face and clouding his eyes. She couldn’t imagine anything more intense until he rolled them. His hands reached for her breasts. Then each stroke coincided with the strum of his fingers on her nipples. The pleasure reached life-and-death proportions. She tried to hold back the scream building, but Jon shook his head, pulling her down to him and grinding the words, "Let it out, Tracey. Let it go." from clenched teeth. The scorching heat of his climax left her unable to control anything. She didn’t hear anything. All she did was blindly feel. When reality came back into focus, she heard their harsh breathing, the fan churning blasts of humid air back on their sweat-soaked bodies, the TV blaring from the living room. Jon held her with no more strength than she claimed. She lay on him like a lump of wet clay. "If I’m not dead, I’m paralyzed." "Me too," she said, finding it hard to even speak. "I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again." She actually understood for the first time why people slept after sex. She’d always had an influx of energy before. With a hand on her hip, Jon turned so she rolled to his side. "I knew it’d be like this with you," he said without lifting his head from the sheet. Tracey smiled, bringing her hand to his cheek. He kissed her palm. "How many women have you had?" she asked playfully. "Two." The fact that he was serious surprised her as much as the total. He’d told her his experience was limited. She just didn’t expect it to be so limited. He was thirty years old, drop-dead gorgeous. She knew women looked at him often with lust in their eyes. She’d seen it. And living around Blackie for so long, didn’t he ever get tempted to indulge with that many women? Propping her head on her elbow, she said "I believe you. It’s just hard to believe. You’re so sexy. I can’t believe women aren’t seducing you into affairs left and right." "Affairs?" She laughed. "Yeah. You know, sex twenty times a day for months on end." He shook his head. "I never had that, Tracey." She was teasing. This confused her though. "Sure you did. With Jessie." Jon gave a succinct laugh. "No." He turned away to drag a pillow under his head. "Why are we talking about this anyway?" He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but she couldn’t let it go now. "What do you mean you didn’t have an affair with Jessie?" "You sure you wanna hear this?" She nodded because it was in the past. Jon belonged to her now. "When I first met her, we went at it like dogs in heat for a couple months, but...that was never enough for Jess. I was never enough for her. She wanted every guy who set eyes on her to want her. And they did. By the time my old man kicked me out and we broke up, we almost never did it anyway. And when she comes back...It’s not about sex. I think she tries to tell herself it is..." He shook his head, looking at her the entire while he spoke. "I slept with someone else. Right after Jess broke up with me when we were teenagers. I figured maybe Blackie screwed everything with breasts for a reason. Maybe it gets rid of the emptiness and pain. It made mine worse. So...since then, I avoid it, and to keep Blackie off my back about it, I sleep somewhere else periodically." Wide-eyed, Tracey stared at him. "You mean you—" Jon nodded. "Make a show of flirting with some chick at a bar if he’s around, then I spend the night in a hotel—alone." She couldn’t help it. Tracey laughed and so did Jon after a minute. "Well, you won’t have to do that anymore," she said dragging herself across his chest until their noses almost touched. He caressed her cheek, agreeing softly. "Rod told me you slept with JoJo once." Jon got a reminiscent grin before he shook his head. "We started to once, but... She’s not my sister. Still, she was my best friend all my life, pretty much like Blackie. It was too weird for both of us and we called it off." "Good," she said, and he grinned again. "I’m thirsty. You want something?" "Ice chips?" Tracey languidly watched him pull on his jeans. He kissed her before going out. She lay there smiling for a long time. Then she put her hand to her abdomen. Maybe.... "We didn’t use birth control," she said when he came back and handed her a cup. She sat up, taking a handful of the ice chips to rub over her neck. "We haven’t really talked about how you feel about having a baby, but I should tell you I’m kind of expecting my period soon, so—" "You’re not pregnant." After placing a bottle of water on the dresser, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Probably not, but there’s—" He turned to her, and his expression stopped her cold. Something was wrong. "I’d love to have a baby with you, Tracey." Hearing him say it filled her with warmth. She smiled. "But you’re not pregnant, honey—God, I don’t wanna tell you this." Looking at him, a hard lump of fear formed in her chest. She’d gone into this with her eyes open, 100% sure. Now.... Now he looked at her like he was sorry. For everything. "What?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper. He seemed to want to hold her, to at least touch her, but he didn’t. "I can’t have kids. I can’t give you a baby." Her confusion forced her to realize they were on a different subject. He wasn’t telling her he didn’t love her or he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her. He was talking about something else. "Why can’t you?" "I had a vasectomy." Tracey instinctively laughed, but it wasn’t because she didn’t believe him. She laughed because nothing seemed real. One minute she’d totally been in sync with the man she loved and now everything was entering some realm of insanity. "When?" She felt incapable of doing anything except uttering one-word journalisms. "About four months ago." She’d expected ten years ago. Fifteen years. Never four months. There was something else significant about the time. Four months—about the time Jessie had come back. "You mean, you...for her?" He didn’t need to confirm with a nod, though he did. She saw it all. She understood Jessie had woven her spell, casting her black magic and he’d been too enchanted to refuse her anything. He was sterile. He could never have his own children because...God, because.... Tracey shook her head, trying to fight her tears. When Jon said her name, she shook her head again. "Do you love me?" she asked in a fragile voice she didn’t recognize. "I love you, babe. Only you." She nodded, getting up and getting dressed. She put on one of Jon’s T-shirts, the G-string and the coat before he begged, "Don’t go. Not now." in a voice that told her he knew he couldn’t convince her to stay. Despite wanting to stay, to be with him, she knew she had to go. She couldn’t be here right now. She was scared and being with him wouldn’t help. Buttoning the trench coat with trembling fingers, she felt her chest tighten enough to explode. She kissed Jon, not even understanding her own words when she tried to tell him it was okay and she loved him. Blackie was on the porch when she made it outside, but she didn’t stop and he didn’t try to prevent her from going. She already knew she’d spend the next few hours crying, unable to think anything through to the conclusion that Jon loved her, only her. When she finally got to that point, she found she was glad he hadn’t told her a week ago, or even last night. She didn’t know how she could have ever forgiven him then. Chapter 10 LESS THAN fifteen minutes after Tracey walked out of his life, Jon made up his mind. He dressed, threw some clean clothes in a duffel bag and headed out to the garage. Blackie called him from the porch, but Jon didn’t hesitate. Shoving up on the garage door, he ducked under it before it reached the top. He flipped on the light, then went to his Yamaha 1200 V-Max. With Tracey’s move, the garage had more room than they needed for Blackie’s ‘Vette, his motorcycle, the garbage and recycling. They kept almost all of their tools at the shop. While he shoved his clothes from the duffel to his saddlebags, Blackie walked into the garage. "Where the hell you going?" He didn’t want to give Blackie any incentive to call him an idiot. He already knew he was. The last thing he’d ever expected was Tracey to show up here tonight and tell him she loved him and wanted to make love with him. His plan had been a lot more win-win. In a month, she could be so head over heels with him, when he told her he was sterile she’d just laugh and say "We’ll find some other way." Did he need to hear from someone else he was the biggest jackass on the planet for believing it wouldn’t matter to her? When had anyone ever loved him more than anything? Second place in Tracey’s heart would have been good enough for him, if she’d stayed. "Dammit, man, what’d you expect? Just give her some time. Don’t do anything half-assed." Jon unscrewed his gas cap, saw the tank was almost empty and crossed the cement floor to get the red can of gas. Blackie stepped in his path and grabbed him by the collar. "Goddammit, Jon, everything you do is cuz you don’t stop to think, "What’s gonna happen tomorrow if I do this today.’" Jon shoved his friend’s hands off him and they traded a few punches. But when Jon shouted, "You didn’t see her face, man! You didn’t see...If I don’t give her a baby, it’s over," Blackie backed off. They stared at each other. Blackie looked sick of it; sick of having to clean up the mess after his friends flew off the handle. Jon realized Blackie was afraid the next time he saw him it’d be to identify the body, maybe after it’d landed at the bottom of a cliff with every bone broken. Swerving past his friend, Jon grasped the gas can. "You can’t talk me outta this, so just...go to bed." "At least tell me where the hell you’re going." "She wants a baby more than anything. I want a baby with her. She’s gonna get one." Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Blackie move in front of him, near the garage door, again. "What are you talking? Black market? Shit! When did she say she wants a baby more than anything? I mean, hell, did she tell ya that while the two of you were banging your bed into splinters?" Jon muttered angrily, disliking the way Blackie turned the most pure, perfect thing that had ever happened to him into something rude. Blackie didn’t hesitate for a second. "Maybe she said that before, but don’t you think things are different now?" How could anything be different? Yeah, they made love, spoke love, he’d told her the truth...and she’d bailed just like he deserved. When he glanced at Blackie after replacing the gas cap on his bike, he saw the same angry fear on his friend’s face that had been there when JoJo almost killed herself at eighteen, then again after Morris died and JoJo took off God knew where and they’d both believed when they found her she’d be dead; they wouldn’t be in time to save her this time. Jon remembered how he’d felt then—helpless, hopeless, mad and so damn scared, he’d gone off like an atomic bomb at the first opportunity. He didn’t want Blackie to feel that. "Look," he started, after putting the gas can back in the corner. "I’m gonna see my old man. He must practically live at that damn hospital. There’s gotta be some way to put it back the way it was." "You’re gonna get the vasectomy reversed." Blackie shook his head, obviously only slightly relieved that Jon wasn’t planning on gassing up his motorcycle for the sole purpose of driving it off a cliff. "Well, at least let me drive you. It’s late. You’re not thinking clearly at all. Better yet, let me call Tracey. Tell me her phone nu—" Jon shook his head, straddling then kicking the motorcycle alive. "Stay out of it. Leave her out of it, Okay? I’ll be back in a couple days. Then she and I will have something to talk about." He wasn’t stupid. Blackie rarely kept his nose out of his business. But no one and nothing could stop him from getting Tracey back. TRACEY woke with a start, heard her stereo, silence, and almost fell asleep again. The pounding that must have woken her in the first place started again. Sitting up on the couch, she saw it was almost four a.m. Someone was banging on her door. Jon. Oh God. Her chest hurt almost as much as her sore, puffy eyes did. The tears she’d cried for hours should have stripped her of all capability, yet fresh ones filled her eyes. "Tracey." The gruff voice behind the door wasn’t Jon’s. The fact that Blackie was here sent a shiver of uneasiness through her. She got up and raced to the door. "What—?" She couldn’t finish. She’d been about to ask if something was wrong, but the look on Blackie’s face answered the question. Normally he was somber. Now his expression was as black as the sky must have been before Noah’s flood. "Wish you two’d get your shit together," he muttered through clenched teeth, moving inside. "Blackie, what—?" He turned to her, effectively silencing her. "What do you want most? Him or a kid?" What in the world was he talking about? "I don’t—" "Just answer me." The answer brought tears to her eyes. "Jon," she said despite how she hurt inside, no longer sure she’d done the right thing. Blackie swore. "Then you know?" she asked in a watery voice. "You know what she asked him to do? What he did for her without—?" She could see Blackie knew about the vasectomy. "What kind of power must she have to get a man to agree to throw away his opportunity to reproduce?" "Jess? You think she’s got power over Jon?" Tracey couldn’t speak. Blackie looked furious. She’d never seen so much emotion on his face before. "Jess had something over him, but it was a long time ago. Since he met you..." "Are you saying it’s my fault he had the vasectomy?" Tracey couldn’t help asking. "No. Hell, no. You’re not responsible if he doesn’t stop and think. Cuz he’s so damn needy and depressed." "He’s depressed?" "He was. When you moved here, he was nothing like himself. He was happy." Blackie shook his head. "So damn crazy about you he couldn’t see straight. He walked around like...like the whole Cloud 9 thing. And when you’re that high, when you crash, it’s straight to the ground. He gave up thinking you’d ever come around. So, hell yeah, he was stupid by listening to Jess, but when he gets depressed like that nothing matters. He doesn’t even care about himself then." "Why didn’t he see a psychiatrist if he was so depressed?" Blackie laughed cruelly. "You live in a whole different world than we do, babe. We may need it more than the rest of the world, but we rarely take our problems to friends, let alone shrinks." "So he got the vasectomy because he gave up on me?" Blackie shook his head in frustration. "It’s not about blame. Doesn’t matter about that. You think you’re chopped liver next to her, but in his mind the sun rises and sets on you. Only you." Hearing this didn’t help her already fragile state of mind. Blackie moved right into her face. "Don’t start that. I need you to listen. Cuz he’s already gone off on some half-assed mission to give you what he thinks you want most of all." Gone off? Jon had gone off somewhere? "He thinks maybe he can get the vasectomy reversed." Tracey had the distinct impression Blackie tested her; that he harbored a slight belief she’d say, "Oh, good, because I really want that baby." Even if he did think that of her, she realized exactly what he was saying. Jon wasn’t at home thinking about getting the vasectomy reversed. He was already halfway there. Tracey sank onto a barstool. "No. No! Why would he do that? Why?" Blackie didn’t need to repeat himself. Jon thought she wanted a baby more than she did him. From his point of view, the way she left him earlier, maybe she couldn’t blame him for believing that. "I just needed some time! How could he believe I’d be so shallow? I told him I loved him. I gave him..." Herself. Wasn’t that enough to convince him he mattered most to her? Of course she wanted a baby with him. But he had to know he was the most important part of her future. Didn’t he? Oh God no! "I have to stop him." She was already on her way to her bedroom to put on something more than boxer shorts. Blackie followed her. "You don’t even know where he is." "You’ll tell me." She turned her back on him to change. There wasn’t time for modesty. Besides, Blackie had already seen most of her last night. "I wish I could, but all I know is he went to see his old man in Milwaukee." "His father is a doctor," Tracey remembered, pulling a pair of baggy shorts over the boxers. "Yeah. But I don’t have a clue which hospital or where he lives." Tracey turned to him in confusion. "But...how could you not know? You’ve been friends forever." Blackie shook his head. "Seems like it, but I met him when he was twelve—and even then I never went to his house or even called him there. And you know he never talks about his old man or any of that shit in the past." None of it made sense to Tracey. She’d let her close relationship with her own parents cloud reality. While inconceivable to her experience, Jon had no contact with his father. He’d been scarred too deeply by their past to allow it. "I have to do something," she said softly, urgently, imploring Blackie with a glance. "I’ll take you to Milwaukee. He might stay with Jerry until later this morning." "You don’t have to—" "I’m driving you, dammit. Now grab what you need and let’s go. Nothing’s gone right tonight anyway. I’m not tempting fate again." She wasn’t sure what he meant and asked once in his car. "I waited a couple hours to come here cuz I figured Jon was right—it’s none of my business. But when I headed out this way, I ran outta gas, had to walk ten miles one way to get to a station. When I got back on the road, I got stopped by a cop and he damn near arrested me." "For what?" "I told him he was royally #@$%*^& me off." Tracey shook her head, substituting in her head the real word he’d used rather than the nonsense one he said for her benefit. "It’s only a twenty minute drive between the house and the shop." "Yeah. And we’ve got a two hour drive ahead of us." Anything could go wrong. Tracey nodded, reaching over to put her hand on his arm. "Thanks for...everything, Blackie. I love you. You’re one of my best friends, and I don’t know what I’d do without you." She didn’t expect him to return or respond to her affection, and he didn’t, except to mutter "Get some sleep, baby. You’re gonna need it." Her exhaustion agreed with him. After she locked the passenger door, she turned toward the window and tucked the pillow Blackie thought to grab on their way out, between the glass and her head. "We’ll be in time to stop him, won’t we?" she asked, already drifting into sleep. The squeeze he gave her shoulder reassured her enough to allow her to fall asleep. He woke her after what seemed only minutes, but sunshine poured through the windshield instead of moonlight and she recognized the parking lot behind Rainbow Nights—the bar Jerry Gordon owned. Jon’s motorcycle was nowhere in sight. "What time is it?" Tracey demanded, sitting up and feeling the weight of what was happening settle heavily in her chest again. "‘Round six." If Jon wasn’t here by six, he’d never had any intention of coming to the bar. He’d gone straight to his father. "Does Jerry know where Jon’s father lives?" Blackie shrugged. "Maybe. I doubt it." "Does anybody know?" Tracey asked angrily, understanding Blackie couldn’t force Jon to talk about something he didn’t want to. It sure would have helped now if his friends had pushed a little harder on the subject. "Maybe Rod. JoJo." "Maybe it’s in the phone book." Calling Rod or JoJo would have to be a last resort. It was too early in the morning to wake them, and possibly, the rest of the family. Blackie unlocked the back door of the apartment behind the bar, and they spent the next few hours trying to find someone or something that might know Dr. Rushing’s home address. It wasn’t listed in the phone book, white or yellow pages, none of the medical facilities were willing to give out information about anything they wanted to know. Jerry came down around eight, but couldn’t help them; he’d never met Jon’s father either. When he said there was a slim chance Lori might know and revealed she was home for a couple days, Blackie went upstairs. Tracey already knew Lori wouldn’t know anything. She decided to call Rod. As Bethany handed the phone over with the sound of Andrew’s cries, Tracey felt both stupid and sorry. Rod mumbled a not-too-pleasant, half-asleep greeting. "Do you know Jon’s father’s name and/or address?" Tracey asked. "Huh?" Tracey repeated her question until he woke enough to understand what she wanted. "No. I never went there. Never even met him. He was always working." "Do you know which hospital he works at?" Rod muttered a negative. "JoJo knows. I bet she can tell you. Why do you wanna know anyway?" "No reason. I’m sorry I woke everyone." She hung up just as Blackie and Lori came downstairs. Blackie shook his head to tell her Lori didn’t know either. The last thing Tracey wanted to do was call JoJo and risk waking Joshua. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Tracey laid her head on the desk. "I’m half-asleep, so just tune me out if I’m way off base, but I don’t see the big deal. Even if it’s possible to undo something like that, why shouldn’t he?" Lori said, and Tracey glanced up to see her sitting in an old armchair. "If you both want kids—" "It’s an operation! Maybe not as major as brain surgery, but they still have to cut him open—" Tracey couldn’t explain any better her urgency, her need to stop Jon. He believed she loved him less. The operation was proof of that belief. She couldn’t allow him to go through with something so drastic. Especially not if he believed it was over between them if he didn’t. "I can’t let him go through it," she concluded. Blackie came out of the kitchen with two coffee mugs. He brought the first to Tracey, asking how the call went, and she took the coffee. "Rod thinks JoJo will know." "So you gonna call?" She nodded reluctantly, and he went to Lori, handing her the other mug. When Tracey first met Lori Gordon, the slightest attention from Blackie had the redhead fawning and falling all over him. Since she’d started college in New York, the tables had turned. Lori avoided Blackie, seemed uncomfortable each time his attention turned to her. Blackie had become the one fawning and falling all over her. Tracey had never seen him treat anyone else the way he treated Lori. His expression softened, even the pitch of his voice did whenever he spoke to her. He treated her like the most precious, fragile thing he’d ever known. That was exactly how he felt about her too—Tracey never doubted that, no matter how he tried to deny or escape it. Tracey watched the two of them for a few more seconds, aware that love was sometimes senseless and insane. Love healed and destroyed indiscriminately. What was it doing to Jon to make him react so desperately? She had to find him! Randy picked up on the second ring. "I didn’t wake the baby, did I?" Randy laughed. "Nope. He’s been up since six." "Is JoJo there?" "She left about an hour ago. She’s probably at the club." But she wasn’t. The receptionist at Seasons told Tracey that JoJo had come in, gone to her office and left ten minutes later, giving these instructions: She wouldn’t be back for the rest of the day, so Tracey should handle things as usual and that, if Randy called, to tell him she’d call him in the afternoon. No one knew where she’d gone. Tracey called Randy again, told him where she was and to have JoJo call her as soon as possible. There was nothing left to do except wait for that call. Blackie offered to drive her around in all the "rich" sections of town, places where a doctor might live, but there were simply too many—North Lake Shore Drive, River Hills, Foxpoint, Shorewood, Cedarburg, Mequon... They both knew the chance of stumbling upon his house by accident in a city the size of Milwaukee was slim, if not impossible. He finally convinced her to go upstairs and lie down. They’d come get her when JoJo called. Tracey was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. Her sleep was too troubled by listening for the phone to be restful. She got up after a couple hours, figuring a shower and a meal would help her wake up. When she got downstairs, she found JoJo there saying, "I had to come down, some stupid little emergency at the club here. Randy said you guys were here and you’re looking for—" JoJo saw her and turned to her fully. "What’s up? I hauled ass over here as soon as I talked to Randy." Tracey had a silly urge to just burst into tears. Instead, she managed to ask in a threadbare tone if JoJo knew Dr. Rushing’s address. Within seconds, JoJo gave the answer they’d spent all morning looking for: "River Hills." Even as Tracey and Blackie rushed out to his car, she had an overwhelming suspicion they were too late anyway. Chapter 11 "DID YOU do this for Jessie Nelson?" Jon opened his eyes at his father’s question. Though he’d put the passenger seat back, it didn’t relieve his discomfort one iota. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep through the next two weeks—which was how long it’d be before he healed enough to, maybe, get Tracey pregnant. "Her name is Tracey Scott." He supposed he owed the old man that much of an answer. The good Dr. Rushing pulled every string he had, not only to get Jon into surgery this morning at five a.m., but he’d been allowed to sign out so soon after his surgery only because his old man was a doctor. "The fragile blond who works for you?" Jon did everything short of jackknife to sitting. And groaned with regret at the movement. "How the hell do you know Tracey?" Although he hadn’t seen his father in fourteen years, Tracey might have somehow met the old guy. But she’d have told him if she had. "I’ve seen her coming in and out of your motorcycle shop." What was the old man saying? How did he even know Jon owned part of a business? "You won’t answer my calls or my letters," his father said defensively. "If this is the only contact I have—" Jon shook his head. "Look, this whole thing was purely medical. Maybe you should just drop me off at Rainbow Nights. I’ll recover there." When he showed up at his father’s house in the middle of the night, Jon had tried to make his intentions clear. He’d been a mess then. If his old man misunderstood everything, he couldn’t blame him. God only knew how his dad figured out what he wanted anyway...and God only knew what he’d assumed about Jon’s reasons for coming to him for help. He could have gone to any doctor. If the old guy thought this was some kind of reconciliation, Jon would break him of that foolish notion ASAP. "I know you’re not here for me," his father said. "But you need to recover at the house. There’s a remote possibility that hematoma or infection could set in." Jon suspected the old man threw medical jargon around to convince him that where he recovered could spell the difference between life and death. "Then we don’t talk." He turned toward the passenger window. Funny, the first thing he’d thought about after he woke up in Recovery was when he was sick as a kid. The only time his old man ever seemed to care about him was when he was sick. Hell, he’d been the greatest dad in the world then. He’d take off work until Jon got better, fuss over him taking his temperature or staring into his mouth, nose or ears. Sometimes he read or even sat by his side for hours, even after Jon fell asleep. It embarrassed Jon to remember the times he’d faked illness to get the old guy’s attention. "I know you want me to stay out of your life. I know I hurt you when I asked you to leave—" "Asked? Try punt-kicked my ass to the next county." "I need to say something, Jon." His father’s voice sounded rougher than sandpaper. "What you do with it is your choice, but I have to say it." Short of covering his ears and screaming like a little kid, Jon couldn’t do much to stop him. He didn’t exactly feel up to jumping from a moving vehicle today either. "I know you don’t want to hear or believe this, but she seduced me. Your girlfriend walked around the house in those sexy clothes—" Jon couldn’t help scoffing. The old man banged a sixteen-year-old girl because she dressed in short, tight clothes? "She touched me every chance she got, and I don’t mean on the shoulder. She kissed me, she touched me, she touched herself...rubbed herself against me. And the things she said—" Jon glanced at his father. The thickness of his voice matched the pervading color in his face. The old man kept his gaze fixed steadily on the road. "I hadn’t had contact with any women, except nurses and doctors at the hospital, for a long time. Not since your mother, and even then—" All Jon heard was his father had a weakness for beautiful, sexy women without drinking problems—at the time, Jess had been all that and more. "She seduced me until I couldn’t say no anymore. That’s when you...found us. I should have told her she couldn’t live there long before it came to that. I know that now. I know I was wrong to ask you...demand that you both leave. I was humiliated. Can you understand that? I couldn’t face you—" Dr. Rushing shook his head, swiping at his eyes. "I never wanted to lose you over something so...stupid and wasteful." His father turned to him, and Jon instinctively looked away. "Nothing could be worth losing you. I wish you could forgive me, son. Tell me what to do to make it up to you, and I’ll do it. Anything." Jon didn’t want to have anything to do with his father’s plea. He’d hated him for a damn good reason. He wanted to continue hating him. "Stay out of my life then," he said under his breath. At least ten minutes later, when he thought it was safe, Jon glanced back at his father. The old man looked at least a hundred years older than he had fourteen years ago. He’d never had any trouble wondering why Jess went after his dad. Jon had the combined looks of two extremely attractive people. Now the old guy’s hair was steel gray, his face wrinkled into a permanent frown. Straight to the point, his father looked half dead. Jon looked away again, feeling a burning in his gut, not purely due to extreme hunger. Pride, he decided, unwilling to wave a white flag. His old man turned into the driveway of his mansion. Jon noticed with a start of surprise, a Corvette parked in front of the house. When Tracey and Blackie got out, Jon stopped feeling anything except confusion. Why would Tracey come here? She’d walked out on him last night, unable to say what they both knew—he’d screwed up royally and she’d have a hell of a time forgiving him for it. Yet she was here. How had she even found him? He couldn’t imagine that even JoJo remembered his father’s address, it’d been so long ago since Jon lived here. The second his old man shifted into park, heedless of his physical discomfort, Jon jumped out of the car and confronted Tracey. He’d deal with Blackie later. "What the hell are you doing here?" She glanced at his loose sweat pants, which hid the scrotal supporter almost completely, looked at his face and burst into tears. Jon’s vision started weaving in and out of blackness then. The last thing he saw before it went out completely were Tracey’s horrified tears. "HE’S fine," Dr. Rushing told Tracey, putting a comforting hand on her arm. When Jon passed out at her feet, Blackie had somehow sensed it enough in advance to catch him on the way down. Then Jon’s father stepped in. He’d lifted his son as if he were still a small boy and carried him into the house, up a flight of stairs steep enough to rival Mt. Everest, to what must have been Jon’s old bedroom. How a man who looked so frail managed the task was a miracle on its own. Dr. Rushing couldn’t be more than fifty-five years old, yet he could easily have passed for eighty. He had the same careworn lines on his face and weight-of-the-world curve to his shoulders her great-grandmother Mabel had before she died. "He needs rest and food. He just moved too fast." Tracey bit her lip for a long time, trying to hold back a sob. "So he’s already had...the surgery?" Dr. Rushing nodded. "His chances for a full sperm recovery are excellent—97 percent. He had the vasectomy only four months ago, and the microscopic exam of his testicular end vas fluid revealed normal motile sperm quality. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble conceiving within the next twelve to twenty-four months, provided there’s nothing else wrong." Holding her hand against her mouth and shaking her head, Tracey looked down. She didn’t want this! The fact remained, she could do nothing to stop or change what had happened. Jon was in there, hurting in every way because he’d made all the wrong assumptions. Because she’d stupidly thought she had to leave him long enough to get her head together. Why hadn’t she stayed and talked to him? Because it’d felt like Jessie was in the room with them, the room she and Jon had made love in, given themselves to each other completely, at last. Why was Jon so darn impulsive? How could he decide to do something himself, something that affected both of them so much, without at least talking to her first? Blackie put a hand on her neck. "I’m gonna get going. Call me if you need me. I’ll be at the bar. And I’ll take his bike so you’ll have a car if you need one. I don’t think he’s in any condition to drive a motorcycle for a while." Tracey hugged him and whispered, "Thank you. For everything." "You must be Tracey Scott, the girl who works for him," Jon’s father said, once Blackie left. She nodded. "I did work with Jon. You must be Jon’s father, the doctor." "I’m surprised you know that much about me. I can’t imagine I’m the subject of many conversations." Everything Jon had told her about this man shocked her. Now, after she’d seen the tender way he’d brought Jon up here and examined him to make sure losing unconsciousness hadn’t been due to more than "moving too fast", fatigue and hunger, she put aside his past actions. She could see how much this man loved his son in every glance and mention of his name. "I’ve only known Jon for a year and a half and only just recently—" She wasn’t embarrassed by the "just recently" stuff. She was simply too tired to think of a proper way to phrase how their relationship had changed over the last week. Glancing into the bedroom, she thought again of the way Jon had demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?" Did he actually believe she’d have gone on with her life after learning what Jon planned to do? That she’d get up in the morning, make breakfast and go to work, that was that? That last night meant nothing to her? That knowing he was being cut open, believing she wanted it, didn’t affect her in the least? How could he even think that for one second? "He must love you a lot to do this." Tracey turned back to Jon’s father. She wanted to say, "I didn’t want him to do this. He did it without consulting me. And maybe in a way love for me drove him, but in another way, it means he didn’t believe in our love enough to not do it." Saying that wouldn’t be for Jon, but to acquit herself of guilt in everyone’s eyes. She said nothing. "I’ll have my housekeeper, Rosa, bring up breakfast. You look like you could use a meal and some rest yourself, young lady." "Thank you. I appreciate that." He smiled at her, and Tracey felt a wave of affection for him. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances," she said softly. Dr. Rushing shook his head. "If not for these circumstances, I might never have met you at all. Or seen my son ever again." Tracey watched a man of a million regrets walk slowly down the stairs. She felt sorry for him, but the truth was she didn’t know the whole story. Jon was awake when she went into the room. He swallowed two of the pills from the bottle on the nightstand. "How did I get up here?" he asked sheepishly. She started to tell him, but he cut her off. "Forget it. I won’t be able to face Blackie next time I see him if I hear it." It should have been funny, but she couldn’t laugh. Just looking at him made tears fill her eyes. He stared at her steadily as she faced him, too overcome to speak for a minute. "I can’t believe you did this. Why? Why would you do something so drastic?" Jon let out a succinct laugh, like the answer was obvious. "Why else? I love you. I wanna give you everything you want. I don’t wanna be half the man you need." Tracey shook her head fiercely. "I was upset! It doesn’t mean I didn’t think you were all the man I need. I never thought you’d—" "I didn’t do it just for you. I did it for me too. I never wanted kids before. I never even considered it until I met you. But what does it matter anyway? I already lost you." Normally, she was a woman who thought violence was never an answer to anything. She so badly wanted to hit Jon, she actually balled up her fists. "You jerk! You didn’t lose me! You’ll never lose me. I love you, you big dummy. I didn’t love you for an hour and then it was up for debate! I’m sorry if that’s what life made you believe love was before, but I’m not like that. Love is forever for me. Especially with you." Jon glanced away, muttered, "If you’re saying this out of guilt cuz I went under the knife—" Tracey cringed at the vivid reminder of what he’d been through. The thought of him allowing himself to be cut open horrified her. "I love you! I love you. How many times can I say it? How else can I show you? How can I convince you I do? I want you, with or without a baby. You’re all I want!" She sat down hard in a chair near the window and covered her face in the wake of fresh, bitter tears. "Dammit, Tracey. Come here. I don’t think I can get up." Lifting her head, she saw he’d tried to. He was half off the bed and looking at her as if she were an oasis he’d kill himself to get to if he had to. Tracey raced to him, helping him back into bed and carefully settling beside him when he was comfortable again. Being in his arms, held close to him, only made her cry harder. "I’d never have allowed you to do this. I didn’t want it," she mumbled, barely coherent. "I want a baby with you, Tracey. Maybe even two. I wanna marry you and have a family with you. That’s why I did it." "We could have adopted or found some other way—" He shook his head. "This is what we both want most of all. Let’s try this first." Tracey looked down at him. "I could kill you." The softness of her voice made him smile a little. "Well, since you’re too much of a softy to do that, kiss me instead." Holding herself so she couldn’t fall on him or hurt him in any way, she kissed him with everything she had in her. Jon eased out of it after a minute. "Maybe we better wait a couple days to even do this much." "Did I hurt you?" she asked fearfully. He shook his head. She knew he lied too. "My memory’s too good. You kiss me and I keep thinking of you in that trench coat...and nothing at all—" "I’m sorry." "Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry for that." He cradled her head in his hands. "I can’t believe you’re here." "Where else would I be, Jon? Getting here wasn’t easy—you wouldn’t believe what it took to get here, and then to find out I was too late after all that—" "It’ll be worth it," he promised, seeing tears fill her eyes once more. "Where else would I be?" she asked again, in disbelief. "Don’t cry, honey. Everything’s okay. ‘Long as we’re together, it’s all worth it." She couldn’t change what was done, but she could make sure from now on Jon believed her love was forever, and unconditional. Chapter 12 "I LOVE you. I trust you. I want to be with you forever... Make love with me." The scent of Tracey’s hair, her head against his chest, her soft breaths fanning across his nipple, her hand resting lightly on his stomach—all things non-sexual, yet Jon was hard as a rock and suffering miserably for the normally normal function. The last thing he wanted to do was the only thing he could do. He had to get away from Tracey for a little while. Extricating himself from her, he sat up. "Where are you going?" Tracey whispered lazily. At least she wasn’t freaking out every time he got up anymore. The good doctor had reassured her that Jon could do everything he normally did, except have sex for two weeks and lift heavy things for at least three or four weeks. "I’m keeping you up." He glanced back at her. In the moonlight streaming through the windows, she looked even sexier than his memories of her the night they made love for the first time. She wore an old T-shirt of his she’d found in a drawer. "I can’t sleep anyway. It’s not you." Asking was a mistake. He’d want her even more if the same thing keeping him up kept her up too. He stood and went to the window on the opposite side of the room. It felt good to stretch his legs. "What’s keeping you up, babe?" Tracey exhaled, almost a sigh. "I feel like... Family is so important to me. I know you haven’t had it easy that way, but... I love you, and I want to know things about you." He’d known becoming her lover would make her want more than "things." She wanted everything. He wanted to give it to her too, even if it wasn’t easy for him. "What things?" he asked anyway. "Your father, how your mother died. I know that man Morris who died just before I came to Wisconsin meant a lot to you..." Jon let out a rough laugh. "You don’t ask for much." Tracey sat up on the bed and leaned forward, reaching for the lamp. "Don’t." If he had to talk about stuff he’d never talked about to anyone, he at least wanted to do it in the dark. She sat back again, on her haunches. "I don’t remember much about my mom. She died when I was six. Mostly all I remember is how much she drank, how miserable she was. She was always telling me how the old man worked all the time, ever since she met him. People told her how it’d be getting involved with somebody on their way to being a doctor." Jon shrugged. "Maybe she loved him, I don’t know. She couldn’t handle being a mother, living in this museum of a house. Doing it all alone. Not having a husband." He could still picture her, dressed like a queen...for nobody. It was like she’d always tried to look good just in case the old man ever came home some time during the day. He still remembered how she completely transformed the rare times he was there. "The only time she didn’t complain or drink was when he came around. I’m the one who got all her shit. She wasn’t even thirty when she drank herself to death. And then it was my fault cuz I didn’t do enough to help her cope. I couldn’t talk her down." "How could it be your fault? You were just a little boy," Tracey interrupted. "I’m telling you how I felt. I didn’t say it was rational. It’s just what was. And it got to be something of a habit. When I met Jess, she made me feel like my mom did. Like her life...and death were up to me. I had to talk her down every time or she’d do it. She’d jump." Jon couldn’t help laughing a little. "Maybe I should feel like some god or something. I had all this power." He shook his head. "Just made me feel helpless." Standing here in the dark reminded him of when he was a teenager, when Jess had moved in here at his insistence. He’d been afraid she’d do something stupid. He remembered watching over her at night—her worst time, the time of the day she most threatened to kill herself. "Jess is one of those people who can’t find a reason to live but never stops looking. The only thing that makes her happy is seeing somebody as miserable as she is. We were a perfect match." Tracey let out something that sounded like a gasp. "Why would anyone—?" How could somebody as perfect and pure as Tracey understand? "You live in a different world than I grew up in, babe. You expect life to come up roses for you. I can’t even imagine how you do that. You expect to be happy. Hell, I expected to spend the rest of my life as miserable as I was when I came into it. When you live like that..." He turned to Tracey and could just make out her unhappy expression. "Life gives you crap. You keep your chin up, go on, face another day. Life gives you crap, you buck up again. Life gives you crap, and you’re a little less optimistic this time around. Life gives you crap, and you stop thinking tomorrow might be any better. If life ever gives you something good, you don’t trust it anymore. You expect it to turn bad. Maybe not right away, but it will. You never doubt that." She got up, like he knew she would, and came to him. When she put her arms around him, she looked up into his face. The moonlight put a glow all around her, one that fit her. She looked like an angel. She was an angel. "This—what we have—isn’t going to turn out bad," she said convincingly. "I didn’t tell you something about my relationship with Justin Pascal. I loved him and, even after I met you in The Keys, I knew Justin was going to end it. But I believe in love and forever. If Justin hadn’t pushed me out of his life, I’d still be with him today." "And this is supposed to make me feel better...how?" Tracey tightened her hold on him slightly. "It’s supposed to make you believe I’m not going to bail out if things get tough, or if things don’t work out the way we plan. So, unless you stop wanting me, I’m non-returnable. You won’t get rid of me easily." "I’m never gonna stop wanting you, Tracey. That’s a promise." Aware he shouldn’t, Jon kissed her anyway. Just like he expected, he regretted it because the resulting erection was excruciating. "Damn, I wanna make love to you so bad...and I’m in no condition to even think about it." Her upturned face made his ache worse. She was so sweet and giving. "I want you too," she whispered in a husky voice. "But maybe I should sleep in another bedroom until you’re better." Jon shook his head definitely. If he couldn’t make love to her, at least he wanted her next to him when he slept. He dropped a kiss on her small nose. "Go to bed. Try to sleep. I’m gonna go downstairs." It was late, the old man was probably either at the hospital or in bed. More than likely, the hospital. Jon had a strange reluctance to confirm his suspicions. Someone was awake. Once Jon cleared the winding, elaborate staircase, he heard classical music, some haunting, sad piece, coming from the living room. Jon found himself acting like a snoop. Instead of walking right in, he hid behind the wall and glanced in. His old man was on the couch...sobbing. Rosa held him, murmuring comforting nonsense. On the glass coffee table were old familiar-looking photo albums. Pictures of his mom, of him as a withdrawn little kid. The old guy got up and went to the mantle, turning his back on his housekeeper’s comfort. Rosa had come to work and to live with them after Jon’s mother died. She’d been barely twenty-one then, and, although Jon never saw her as a mother, he’d come to love her. Rosa was nothing like his mom. She didn’t heap her problems and guilt on him. She’d taken care of him. She’d been there for him when the old man practically moved to the hospital. She’d tried to make home life normal for him. It’d already been too late by then, of course. At six, Jon felt responsible for his mother’s death, worthless in his father’s eyes and he’d trusted no one except the black misery that held him in its sway even then. And now the old man felt guilty for the past. Now. Too little, too late, Jon thought harshly. ‘Bout time you were the one who felt worthless and unloved. Like nothing you ever do will make a difference. Rosa glanced toward Jon and caught him lurking. After all this time, her loyalty ultimately went to his father—Jon was sure of that. Yet she didn’t glare at him or even expose him. She just looked at him sadly, imploringly. Jon ducked back and went upstairs. After he got into bed with Tracey, who was at least sleepy now as she moved into his arms, he couldn’t put the image of his old man sobbing over some old photographs out of his mind. And even when Jon told himself it didn’t change anything, he felt guilty. Story of your life was all he could conclude for the foolish emotion. "THIS was so much fun. I wish it didn’t have to end." Tracey smiled regretfully at Rosa. "I know. But I promised Jon I’d be back in two hours." After stowing their purchases in the backseat of Rosa’s car, they got in together. "I’ve got some other errands to run, so I’ll just drop you off at the house," Rosa said, starting the car. "I’m sorry for the inconvenience." Rosa shook her head. "No inconvenience." Tracey had brought very little with her, especially since she hadn’t planned to be away from home for more than a night or two. Jon had, of course, begged her not to go when Rosa asked her if she needed anything, but she was already going stir-crazy and shopping sounded fun. Jon wouldn’t leave his bedroom for anything for fear he’d run into his father in the museum-proportions of the house. Whenever Dr. Rushing came to check on him, Jon grew tense and surly. His father seemed to absorb his attitude like poison darts, looking even more aged. "How long have you known Jon?" Tracey asked. "Since his mother died. I’d just turned twenty and realized college bored me to death. My parents wanted me to go. I wanted to get married and have kids. Anthony—Dr. Rushing—hired me the very day I applied to his advertisement for a "live-in nanny."" Rosa glanced from the road to Tracey. "I know he never looked at me as a mother, but...Jon was the only child I ever had. I loved him like he was mine. He already had too many scars though." "Scars?" Physical? Tracey knew there were definitely emotional scars. "You’ll never hear me say a word of good about Jon’s mother, Anthony’s wife. She was a selfish, spoiled little brat." "Did you know her?" While Jon hadn’t painted an endearing picture of his mother, she’d sounded lonely to Tracey, not selfish. "I didn’t need to. What kind of woman marries a man knowing doctors work constantly and then acts surprised about the loneliness? She knew what she was getting into and should have gotten her own education and career...or put everything into her son. All she did was complain about everything except the money. She came from a poor background. I think that’s why she married Anthony, even knowing she’d be lonely. She didn’t care how much Jon needed her either. She just used him as a shoulder to cry on." While Tracey was sure Rosa’s views were biased, she knew at least her assessment of how Jon felt was right. She couldn’t imagine any mother hurting her child the way Jon’s mother had hurt him. "Anthony hasn’t exactly been a model father, of course. He’s always worked too much, sometimes when he didn’t have to. He did that especially after his wife died. I know Jon stopped caring long before...the trouble." Jessie Nelson, Tracey defined immediately. "Anthony doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat, he has no interests anymore. Since he forced Jon out, he’s lost all will to survive." The way Rosa said Dr. Rushing’s first name was so revealing. She seemed to put her heart into it each time she spoke it. Tracey glanced closely at the woman. True, she did look much too young for Dr. Rushing. If she’d come to the Rushing household when Jon was six and she was twenty, she had to be forty-four or forty-five. Rosa had coal black hair, done up in a twist at the back of her neck. Tracey hadn’t noticed it before—before she’d gotten to know Rosa as more than Dr. Rushing’s employee—but she was very attractive in a sedate, second-glance way. "Does Dr. Rushing know how you feel about him?" Tracey asked. Rosa turned to look at her, seemed to realize it was obvious, and nodded. "He knows, but he pretends he doesn’t. He tries to make us both believe he’s my employer and that’s all. He wouldn’t let me go though, even if he had no real need for a housekeeper. I know he’s not going to allow himself happiness unless or until Jon forgives him." Rosa took a deep breath. "You can imagine how shocked we were when Jon showed up in the middle of the night. He’s as stubborn as his father when he wants to be. Stubborn and impulsive. Not a good combination." When the other woman glanced at her, Tracey wasn’t sure how to react. She knew Jon certainly didn’t intend this visit to include reconciliation. Did his father harbor some belief it might? Jon had given him no reason to believe that. "We both think you’re perfect for Jon, Tracey," Rosa said smiling and touching her hand. "That Jessie Nelson was pure poison, just like his mother. You’re good for him. And he’ll be good to you." Tracey wasn’t surprised by the vote of approval. Jessie was every parent’s nightmare. Anyone would be a better choice. But Tracey herself believed she and Jon were meant to be together. If Jessie stayed out of Jon’s life forever, they could make their love last a lifetime. After Rosa dropped her off, Tracey carried her packages into the house. Dr. Rushing lived in a huge house, one better suited to a family of ten. The house had every convenience and luxury, right down to a small golf course in the backyard. Jon had told her his father’s second love—after his work—was golf. Tracey started toward the staircase, but heard something from the living room. Laughter. Television kind of laughter. Had Jon decided to come downstairs after all? She walked into the living room and found his father watching a video. He glanced up at her entrance. For the first time since she met him, he smiled. Tracey smiled too and turned toward the TV to see what he watched. "Jon’s second birthday party," he told her in a soft, happily reminiscent tone. "The only one I ever made it to." On the screen, Tracey saw a little boy, one as exuberant as Rod and Bethany’s son. In disbelief, she also saw a man she knew had to be Jon’s father. Young, good-looking, alive. He swung little Jon up into his arms. Tracey felt a lump form in her throat, not only at how adorable Jon was as a baby, but at watching father and son hug with pure affection. "I was called away halfway through the party. When I got home, it was late. He was already in bed, but he...I found him with the little doctor’s bag I bought him...clutched in his arms—" Dr. Rushing’s voice broke, and he sat forward with a sob, covering his face with his hands. "He’ll never forgive me, and I don’t blame him. What I did was unforgivable." Driven by human compassion, Tracey set her things on a chair and sat down next to the doctor. She put her hand on his arm. He glanced toward her. "He told you, didn’t he? Of course he did; he loves you. You know why he hates me. Why he’ll never forgive me." Tracey didn’t know what to say. Right now, Jon was dead set against forgiving his father. She couldn’t lie about that. "I love him. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get him back. I’ve got nothing else to live for." Tracey had always hated gentle scolding like, "Don’t talk like that." It was how he felt. She couldn’t tell him he was wrong to feel that way. She couldn’t give him hope she didn’t have herself. Jon’s pain was justifiable. His father had not only neglected him often in his childhood, but he’d driven him out of his own house and asked him never to come back. "Accept the love you’re given," Tracey said softly. "Maybe you’ll find a reason then." And she would talk to Jon. She couldn’t keep from doing that. Yes, Jon had more than enough reason for his inability to forgive, but maybe he didn’t realize how sorry his father was for his crimes. Maybe knowing would make a difference. After squeezing Dr. Rushing’s shoulder, she gathered her purchases, then went up to Jon. Chapter 13 JON WAS bored to death. Switching off the small TV, he stood and went to the window. Tracey promised to be back by now. Not that he could blame her for wanting to be out of this jail cell. Especially as a teenager, Jon had used this place for a bed and breakfast, just like his old man. He’d always been out, anywhere else, with JoJo and Rod and Blackie, and—near the end—Jess. When he heard footsteps coming toward his door, Jon tensed. The old guy had already come up once this morning to check out his wounds. He’d guessed Jon felt a hundred percent better, yet warned infection could still set in. If Jon had stopped long enough, he might have asked his doctor at St. Luke’s when he could go back to work and normal life. He didn’t quite believe his dad. At least he believed he was being too cautious about the recovery time. Tracey moved into the room with bags in both hands. "You look much better than you did yesterday. Are you sure you don’t want to go down—?" And take the chance of running into his old man again? Jon shook his head definitely. After dropping the bags on the bed, Tracey came to him for an intimate greeting. The pain he felt yesterday at a mere kiss had subsided considerably. Tracey wouldn’t let this kiss progress further than breathlessness. "Take me home, babe. There’s no reason we need to stay here, no matter what he says." Just as he expected, Tracey shook her head. "No. Your father said you need to take it easy for three or four days." "Then it’s three. We’re leaving tomorrow." She sighed while he went over to the bed. "I really like Rosa," she said after a minute. "She’s...You must have had a lot of fun with her when you were little." "Yeah. She was great. She was always there for me. The old man did one thing right, hiring her." He sat on the bed and opened one of the bags. Scraps of lace, satin.... "Do you know she’s in love with your father?" Jon glanced up. He couldn’t say he’d ever paid attention to the old guy’s relationship with his housekeeper. But then he did like young women. "Thought she was smarter than that," Jon muttered. Tracey came over to the bed, taking the sexy nightgown he’d pulled out for a closer look. "Hey, this is supposed to be a surprise!" "Put it on." She smiled, shaking her head. "No. When you’re better...and ready." "C’mon, no previews for an ailing man?" Tracey laughed, tucking the sheer slip of lingerie back into the bag. As she took her purchases over to his dresser and started rooting around for something inside one of the other bags, she said casually "Jon, have you ever talked to your father...about that day? And about the past?" Rosa had apparently been the one talking. "His sob story, you mean?" Tracey turned back to him, leaning her behind against the edge of the dresser. "Jon, he loves you. He made a mistake he’s regretted since the day he sent you out of his life. You should have seen him down there. He doesn’t feel he has anything to live for without you. Rosa says he’s punishing himself. He hardly sleeps or eats, and he won’t allow himself to be happy with a woman who could be really good to him." The tone of voice Tracey used told Jon she felt guilty for bringing this up, yet also felt compelled to do it by all she upheld to be morally right. Jon had equally compelling reasons for withholding forgiveness. "He didn’t make "a mistake." He made mistakes. He was never there. Do you understand that? He never gave a damn about me. I wasn’t surprised when he kicked me out." Tracey looked at him sadly. "But maybe it’s not so...I mean, you can’t blame him for that day. Jessie probably did seduce him. Your mother died a decade before that. If he hadn’t been with anyone since then and Jessie played on that weakness...She’s pure evil. You can’t deny—" He couldn’t help it. He started laughing. Tracey stopped short in her defense of his old man, looking confused. "Jess is evil? She’s harmless! Hell, she’s like a puppy, begging for affection, attracted to every damn bone except the one she has." Tracey had gone utterly rigid, right down to the expression on her face. "How can you defend her? She’s destroyed so many lives! Yours, her husband’s, her children’s, your father’s. She’s nowhere near an innocent in all that. How can you possibly say she’s harmless?" "I can say it cuz I know her. If she hurts people, it’s pure side effect." "You said yourself that the only thing that makes her happy is seeing other people as miserable as she is." Jon shook his head at Tracey. "That’s an observation, the one I got from knowing her for so long. She does all that stuff unconsciously." "Well, I don’t believe that. I think she knows exactly what she’s doing. I think she deliberately seduced your father because...because she could." Jon couldn’t help snorting a laugh again. The thought of Jess having a motive, especially one like Tracey suggested, was ridiculous. Jess didn’t plan anything. She just did whatever crossed her mind. She was just reckless, and that made her selfish because she could rarely see past her own immediate, overwhelming needs and pain. Seeing Tracey’s stiffness return, Jon got up and went to her. "When did you talk to him?" he asked soothingly. "Just before I came up here." The wounded edge to her tone didn’t escape Jon. She was either hurt about everything he said about Jess or she still pleaded his old man’s case. "He’s down there watching videos of your second birthday party. He’s miserable. Can’t you see that? He’s aged so much since that video, I barely recognized him in it. And I know you have good reasons for—" "Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that now he has regrets? I may have left his life for good the day he told me to get out, but he never noticed I was there before that. He never wanted me." He shook his head in disgust. "And he blamed me after my mom died. Tracey’s eyes widened. "What? How do you—?" "He worked a lot before, but after she drank herself to death, he practically lived at the hospital. He couldn’t even stand being in the room with me. Why else would he do that if not cuz he blamed me for her death?" Tracey shook her head, putting her hands on his chest. "I’m sure he didn’t blame you, Jon. He’d just lost his wife. I’m sure he was grieving too and maybe he was afraid to let you see that. Maybe he thought he had to be strong for you because you were so young. And maybe he felt guilty too. Because he didn’t know she had a drinking problem until it killed her or because he hadn’t been there for either of you. Wouldn’t that explain the way he withdrew from you better than that he blamed you?" She had a point, but Jon wasn’t ready to accept anything that shed good light on his old man. Moving closer, Tracey put her arms around him. "I know he made mistakes. I don’t know how anyone can put their career before their own child. But maybe fourteen years of pain is enough. For both of you. I don’t think he’s going to be able to take much more of it." Tracey wasn’t the type to manipulate him with guilt. The only reason she’d say something like she had was because it was the truth. He’d seen the evidence of it himself. His old man looked a hundred years old. And he’d wept last night like the weight of the world crushed him . . . While his attempts weren’t overt, Tracey was right in suggesting the old man was suicidal. Jon didn’t like to think about it, but he remembered Morris, a man who’d become a father to him after his own kicked him out and told him never to come back. After Morris died, Jon had thought seriously about contacting his dad. Having Morris in his life had eased the pain of loss for a long time, but once Morris was no longer there . . . Jon had no one. His father had been trying to contact him for years, and he’d ignored every attempt. In the end, his own pride refused to give in, even at his weakest point. But now . . . he didn’t like the thought of his old man not being here. "Jon, the reason why I’m saying all this is that, if we have children . . . " Tracey spoke softly, drawing his gaze back up to her face. "...I would want your father to be a part of our lives. Wouldn’t you? If for no other reason than your children deserve the chance to know their grandfather." Jon’s immediate thought was, Of course he’ll be a part of our kids’ lives. But he couldn’t get himself to say it. "You do whatever you need to, Tracey. I won’t stop you. But leave me out of it." TRACEY drove up to the house, surprised to see the company car in the driveway, trunk open and full of boxes. Blackie came out of the house with another. Jon sat on the porch swing watching him. At least he wasn’t helping. It’d only been two weeks since his surgery. As soon as they got back to Point, she’d collected enough stuff from her apartment to last for two weeks or so and moved back into the house. Into Jon’s bedroom this time. "What’s going on?" Tracey asked Blackie when she got out of her car. "‘Minute," he muttered and went back into the house. Tracey repeated her question for Jon once she reached the porch and he rose to meet her. He shook his head, putting his arms around her. "I don’t know, but I think you’re moving in and he’s moving out. All your stuff from the apartment is back here in the living room." "Wha—?" He smothered her shock with a kiss that left no doubt—he didn’t mind Blackie moving out; he wanted to be alone with her. Tracey felt a little, guilty niggling she didn’t want to feel. Their friend came out again with a huge black leather case. "I’m gonna move over to the apartment." Tracey started "You don’t have to do—" "I need the space. That bedroom in there’s..." He indicated the one he’d occupied in the house with a jerk of his head, "...like a damn closet." "What do you need more space for?" Jon asked, obviously out of curiosity—it wasn’t an attempt to talk him out of moving out. For a minute, Blackie looked embarrassed. He glanced away for a long time, nodded, and then said "I talked to Rod about this already today. I want the two of you to buy me out of my share of the bike shop." Tracey was as shocked as Jon looked. She’d always assumed Blackie loved Hog Heaven because he was so good at it. "What are you gonna do?" Jon wanted to know. Blackie turned to them. "You remember when we were kids? I used to draw." "The comic books." Jon nodded, but he still seemed confused. "Yeah. Well, I never stopped. I just stopped showing you guys." Tracey realized then what the case he held was—an artist’s portfolio case. "I went to New York that weekend you were so curious about. My agent—" "Agent?" "I sold a comic book series to—" Jon interrupted again. "You mean The Princess & the Gypsy one?" "Yeah. But that’s just the weekly-paycheck stuff. I also got some offers to do science-fiction book covers." From the time Tracey met Blackie, she’d noticed his hands always had paint on them. She’d assumed it was from custom painting motorcycles—another service at Hog Heaven. "Well, why the hell didn’t you tell us before?" Blackie shook his head. "What was there to tell? I was just doing it then. I’m telling you now. You gonna buy me out or what?" He sounded angry, but Tracey knew he was embarrassed. Being creative in secret was a lot different than actually being good enough to maybe make a living at it. It was also hard when all your friends had jobs that weren’t in the arts. "One condition:—" Jon held out his hand. "Hand it over. I wanna see this stuff." Tracey had the same urgent need to see what was in that portfolio. She just never expected Blackie to allow it. As it was, he didn’t give it up easily. He handed it over like he thought the whole idea was stupid and would accomplish nothing. While Jon unzipped it and he and Tracey sat on the swing to view the contents, Blackie went to close the car trunk. Tracey couldn’t say anything for a long minute as Jon slowly flipped through the paintings. Then she muttered "oohs" and "aahs" left and right. Blackie’s paintings stunned her. The colors were so bold—black resembled velvet, green like real emeralds. The actual drawings were done so realistically too. One painting in particular, she could almost feel the cold winter when looking at a huge black horse coming out on stark whiteness of snow-covered mountains. The horses’ cold breath even looked real. Astride the horse was a bronze, voluptuous warrior woman almost entirely naked. Tracey blushed at some of the paintings that featured the naked redhead and a black-masked man in various, intimate positions. The sensuality was evident in all the paintings, even the ones without people. "Holy shit, this stuff makes the comic books when we were kids—" Jon couldn’t finish. His tone of voice revealed his sharp awe. "You should be doing this for a living," Tracey said. "These are fantastic." They obviously embarrassed Blackie. Before they finished looking at all the paintings, he snatched the portfolio away. "Travis is drawing up the papers for the shop," he told Jon, re-zipping the case. "I’ll sign." After Blackie turned and went to the car, Jon said, "Hell, it’s like finding out our best friend is a secret agent. No wonder he always locked his bedroom door. He didn’t want anybody to know he was leading a double life." Tracey smiled. "Has Lori always been the woman he paints?" Jon laughed slightly. "I don’t think he even realizes it’s always her. He’d just say it was coincidence." The phone rang before Tracey could comment. Jon went to answer it while she hiked to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Being alone in the bedroom reminded her again that the two-week ban on sex had lifted. They were free to do more than want each other to the point of pain in the middle of the night. Even as she experienced a tingle of arousal at the prospect, she also felt that niggling again. The one that made her feel as though she betrayed Jon and their love. Often during the day, Tracey had flashbacks of how Jon defended Jessie to her, claiming the woman was innocent of her countless crimes. Tracey didn’t have to know her personally. It was the old happens-once-you-call-it-an-accident, twice-suspicious, three-times-busted. As far as Tracey was concerned, Jessie was evil through-and-through, no question. And it wasn’t that Tracey didn’t trust Jon. If she believed he’d go back to Jessie, she would have called this whole thing off pronto. It was Jessie she didn’t trust. The woman obviously had the devil on her side. If she wanted something, she won—every time. If Jessie came back wanting Jon, it wouldn’t matter that Jon was in love with her. It wouldn’t matter if—God!—she was pregnant. Jessie would cast her spell, and Jon would have no choice but to obey. Where would that leave Tracey? After all Jon had done to prove his love and commitment to her, Tracey couldn’t even let him know her fears. He’d believe she didn’t trust him then. Dressed in a cropped shirt and heart-covered boxing shorts, Tracey went to the kitchen to get out a small pack of chicken and tomatoes for dinner. Jon hung up almost immediately, and she casually asked who’d called. Before they left Milwaukee, Tracey had promised Jon’s father and Rosa she’d be in touch frequently. She’d also given them the address and phone number here in Stevens Point. Although obvious to everyone the contact didn’t include Jon, his father had seemed happier by the way she’d reached out. Tracey guessed he figured this was something and something was better than nothing. He’d hugged her too, thanking her, and Tracey wished his intentions could change Jon’s heart. She couldn’t blame Jon for his feelings, but grudges weren’t productive. Especially not when the very thing he fought could very well heal him if he let it. "Rod. Our lawyer Travis called him. We’ve gotta get together and discuss what we plan to do about Blackie’s share." Tracey glanced back at him as she rinsed the tomatoes. "Is this what you want? I mean, you really like your job, don’t you?" "I love it. It’s what I always wanted to do. And buying out Blackie means more money between me and Rod. We’re gonna need that to fix this place up for the kids. Maybe we should buy the house." A lump formed in Tracey’s throat. A home, children, Jon—everything she’d ever wanted. Why did it have to come with wariness, fear that she could lose it all so easily? And on the thoughtless, selfish whim of one woman? "Maybe we should get married too," Jon said, turning her into his arms. Tears found their way to Tracey’s eyes. "Ask me that in a month, okay?" she said on a watery smile. "Why in a month? Why not now?" He sounded suspicious. She hugged him closer. "Because I think we need to concentrate on one thing at a time. You have more responsibility at work, we need to save money, especially if we decide to buy this house. And you want to add getting married to all that?" He backed her into the table. "You forgot one thing." Tracey felt his hand ease under the hem of her shirt and stopped breathing momentarily. "What’s that?" she whispered in a husky voice. Jon got so close, his breath fanned her lips seductively. "God willing, we’re gonna make a baby together. Speaking of which..." She’d expected him to make a bid, so she wasn’t surprised. Every night he’d tried to convince her that the two weeks were just overcautious, doctor recommendations. That he was ready, healed and waiting hurt more. Every night Tracey insisted they heed the doctor’s recommendations. She’d rather be too cautious. The thought of hurting Jon would hurt her too much. When he’d claimed he could be satisfied just pleasuring her, she’d refused that too. She wanted to wait until they could share. After making sure the table surface was indeed behind her, Tracey set down the tomato she held. Jon kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his back. A shockwave of excitement vibrated through her as his mouth made love to hers. Her hands moved up and down his back, beneath his T-shirt. He felt so good. He tasted so good. Everything he did sent a burst of desire through her nerve endings. When he lifted her hips, snugging her against his arousal, she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him as close as he could be. He set her on the table. The loud splat Tracey heard and felt made them draw apart. She stood, turning to see the ruptured tomato she’d come down on. "Thank God! I thought that was me," Jon said on an exhale. Tracey burst out laughing. "You? Why would you think it was you? I’m the one with tomato guts on my rear end." He laughed too. "I’ve been waiting two endless, torture-filled weeks to have you." Still giggling, Tracey peeled off her shorts. Jon’s amusement died, and Tracey’s followed once she saw the look in his eyes. "You wear those all the time? Not just to seduce me?" "Thongs? Sure. Then I never have panty lines." His teeth clenched. If a person could burst into flames on the basis of desire, Tracey had the feeling Jon would be nothing but ashes at that moment. They made it as far as the living room carpet. Two weeks of torture ended in five minutes flat. Neither of them could have taken more than that. The need was too intense. "No pain?" Tracey asked in the kitchen later, while they prepared dinner together. Jon shook his head with a sexy grin. "Nothing but pleasure with you, babe. And now that we took the edge off—" He whispered something with the words "slow," "thorough" and "all night." Tracey had to close her eyes to fight down the raw edge again. "So, how come you’re a vegetarian?" he asked as if he hadn’t just turned her onto going to bed now, forget dinner. "You don’t have any trouble cooking the stuff, so I don’t think you do it because of the cruelty-to-animals cause." Tracey lifted her cup of ice chips to her mouth and crunched on one. "I worked in a grocery store once in high school. In the meat department. It was...so sickening. The beef and chicken would come as skinned cows and chickens and we’d have to cut them up or grind them. And the smell...that raw smell of meat...revolting. As if that wasn’t enough, if someone wanted a live fish, I’d have to catch it and kill it and... It was the most disgusting job imaginable. For a while, I kept trying to eat meat, but I’d throw up every time. I finally decided I couldn’t eat it anymore. The thought of putting it in my mouth always reminds me of that." Jon stared at her with wide eyes. "Well, I’d say that’s a good reason," he said, and Tracey laughed. During dinner, they talked about Blackie, Jon’s plans for the business, how work had gone for her that day. Jon feigned jealousy about how closely she had to work with Morris’ replacement. Toward the end of the meal, Jon asked, "So when do you wanna visit your parents?" A warm happiness filled her chest. Justin had fought meeting her parents every step of the way. Oh, she loved the idea of being in her parents’ house with Jon. She’d always wanted to end up with a man her parents not only approved of but loved like a son. "Soon," she said softly. Jon loved her. She had nothing to fear, she told herself, and she believed it with all her heart at that moment. "Let’s clean up tomorrow. Later." With a clang, Jon set down the dishes he’d started gathering. Apparently, she’d get no argument from him. Chapter 14 "FIVE MINUTES," Tracey said, coming outside and sitting on the porch swing next to him with a cup of her beloved ice chips. She set the cup on the porch rail. Jon put his arm around her. His protective instincts rose just looking at her. She wore a thin, soft pink sweater that made her look utterly fragile. That fragility was part of the reason they had strong hopes that, after three months, she was finally pregnant. They hadn’t had any "surprises" the first two months. She got her period when she expected to. Based on the schedule she’d been on for the last two months, she should have gotten it two weeks ago this time. Not a lot to go on—Tracey claimed her period rarely followed a strict schedule; the first two months could have been flukes. She picked up the bird he’d folded from a candy bar wrapper. "I haven’t seen you fold anything in a long time. You used to do it all the time. Whenever your hands weren’t occupied." "Yeah. I guess I’ve got something to occupy my hands now." "And that means no more torches," she added. "Does this mean we’re no longer fire and ice?" With an intimate laugh, she turned her face toward him, closing her eyes when he leaned close and kissed her. Tracey was pregnant. He felt it with everything he had inside him. She didn’t want to admit she thought the same. After all, the doctors had advised them not to perform home pregnancy tests unless, 1) Tracey hadn’t gotten her period for two, preferably three weeks, and 2) they were 99.9% sure she might be pregnant. They’d go crazy every month if they did anything else. Of course they’d gone crazy every month despite following that advice. Tracey had always been responsive to him, but now she did everything short of melt into him and fuse with their kiss. "Let’s go to bed early tonight," he said between kisses. She nodded. "Yes." The look in her eyes made him clench his teeth. Nothing had changed—since the day he met her, he wanted her all the time. Everything had changed because now he could have her whenever he wanted. He reached for her and she gave him every part of herself. Jon rubbed his hand lightly over her cheek. She snuggled into his caress. "I love you, Tracey." "I love you too." She pressed a kiss into his palm just before a rowdy group of trick-or-treaters came down the sidewalk toward them. They both stood to check out the costumes. "Hey, may the force be with you," Jon said on a grin. As he doled out the candy and the individually wrapped boxes of raisins Tracey insisted on—the ones that would be found in trash cans around the city for sure—she pleased the kids with ooh’s and aah’s over each costume. "Did you see those cinnamon-bun ears on that little girl?" Tracey said after their section of the street was quiet again. Jon laughed. "Yeah. Cute kid." "Do you think we’ll have a girl?" "Eventually. One of each, at least." Bethany had her babies a few weeks before—two tiny little girls, and Tracey had been walking around in a daze since they went to meet the adorable twins. It was getting late, and the trick-or-treaters were dwindling. Besides, they both wanted to go in and check out the test. The next kid got the last of the candy and raisins. Going inside, they locked the door and turned off the outside light. Then they went into the bathroom together. They’d bought the house barely a month before, and Jon’s first priority had been to fix up the mess he and Blackie made of the bathroom when they put in the shower. They also had the carpet in the living room replaced...and tried it out countless times already. With Hog Heaven split two ways instead of three now and with Tracey’s job, they’d saved quite a bit, although the down payment on the house had almost forced them to start all over again. They’d talked about getting a minivan too. Neither of their vehicles were fit for "baby" travel, let alone reliable. Tracey had even agreed to putting "Mabel" out to pasture. All they’d need once they got the van would be the baby. And, if Tracey ever said something other than "Let’s talk about getting married—later," he’d be set up for life. They glanced at each other, sharing mental crossed fingers, then Tracey picked up the white stick. "Two pink lines, that means you are?" he confirmed as they looked at it. Tracey nodded, then moved more into the light. There was something of one line, the second line was so faint it might be a trick of the light that he even saw it. She grabbed the instruction sheet. "It didn’t say anything about one kind-of line and one not-really. What does this mean?" She read the instructions, shaking her head. Jon took the page from her. It didn’t say anything about in-betweens, but it clearly said two pink lines meant positive. "I guess I’m not," she said, looking confused. Jon put his hand on her arm. "You okay, babe?" Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "It’s only been three months. They told us not to expect anything so soon." He was disappointed too, but comforting her was easier than facing what it could mean—the vasovasostomy hadn’t worked. "We’ve got plenty of time." "And we’re having a good time," she added, this time smiling as much as she could. He pulled her close, and they held each other from a long time. "Take me to bed, Jon," she whispered. Tracey was unlike any woman he’d ever been with. She responded to him. She didn’t make him jump through rings of fire or "perform spectacular feats of stratospheric skill never before attempted by civilized man." Sometimes she whispered his name like she was totally lost in him. Like if they died together at that moment, she’d go happy. "Oh!" He lifted his mouth from her breasts. "I’m sorry. I don’t know why... That’s usually perfect," she said softly. "You’re sensitive?" He’d noticed that a couple nights ago. He’d just barely brushed her nipple and she’d moaned in her sleep, turned to him...and four o’clock in the morning had never been so cheerful. He lowered his mouth, this time decreasing the pressure, and she came almost immediately as he sucked and lightly licked at her nipples. Damn, she was so beautiful when she was aroused, completely naked and all his. Her body glowed, her eyes glowed with love. He eased down to her flat belly, nuzzling the smooth skin that, someday, could be stretched and round with a growing baby. Their baby. How could she not be pregnant? In the past almost four months, he’d come to know her body almost better than his own. There were differences lately, subtle ones, especially when she was turned on. But why would the test come up negative if she was pregnant? Maybe he just wanted it too much. Later, wrapped together like spoons and both drowsy, Tracey said "Are you sure you don’t want to see your father next month?" Tracey had seen the old man once before. She’d told him about it beforehand then. After, she tried to tell him about it. He refused to hear it. The truth was, he’d thought a lot about his old man since they left Milwaukee. His kids deserved a grandfather, but if Dad cut out every time Grampa came around, they’d start asking questions in a hurry. Ones Jon wouldn’t want to answer. Those were his altruistic reasons. The other ones he didn’t want to talk about. Even think about. He wanted to forgive his father. He just didn’t know how. "You go ahead," he said quietly, then turned over on his other side. Tracey followed, spooning him this time. "Are you going to get rid of this someday? Or at least cover it? The eyes almost glow in the dark, you know." Obviously she meant the tattoo on his back. She wouldn’t mention Jess’ name, of course. She didn’t mention much of anything about that lately, and sometimes he wanted to bring it up just to get her to face it. Anything had to be better than walking around on eggshells. Because he’d noticed things. Things like how she reacted when he came home late or went somewhere without telling her. He’d been telling himself her behavior was just because they were new to the monogamous relationship thing. But every time she put off talking about marriage, he wondered if it wasn’t distrust. Maybe deep down Tracey really believed he’d go back to Jess if he got the chance. "Get rid of it? I won an award for that tattoo. My tattoo guy did anyway. Now you want me to get rid of it?" Obviously his joking didn’t go over well. He glanced back at her silence to see her wide-awake and trying desperately to hide her hurt expression. "It’s a stupid tattoo, babe. It doesn’t mean anything, just like she doesn’t mean anything to me." "So why not get rid of it? I heard laser surgery is—" "Expensive. We’re saving for our kids. Not for unnecessary surgery." He turned to her fully, but she lowered her gaze to the tattoo he’d gotten for her. She even touched it lovingly. "I love you, Tracey. Only you. Forever. I’m with you from now on, okay?" She pursed her lips slightly, still not looking up. "If she means nothing, then why won’t you see your father?" In the silence that followed the biggest trap he’d ever seen in his life, Jon thought about saying, "Maybe I will." That would be about the only thing he could say to evade the ambush she set for him with her question. Before he could, Tracey shook her head. "I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m...I’m just disappointed because I was so sure I was pregnant. I don’t know what I’m saying." "I’m disappointed too, babe. About the negative." "I know. I love you." She kissed him. Jon believed that much. She did love him. But did she really trust him? One thing was for sure—getting rid of a tattoo wouldn’t rid her of her fears. WIDE-AWAKE, Tracey lay next to Jon, listening to the eerie silence of the house. She’d been able to sleep through the night as long as she could remember. For the past couple weeks, she’d woken for no apparent reason some time around two o’clock in the morning. And she had to pee. That was unusual too. When the need didn’t go away and she didn’t get drowsy enough to forget about it, she forced herself to leave the warmth of the bed and Jon’s arms. If she wasn’t pregnant, why had everything that’d always been normal for her shift or change altogether? And why did Jon refuse to get rid of his tattoo for that woman, just like he refused to believe she was guilty for her heinous crimes? If you believe a person is innocent, Tracey thought while on the ice-cold toilet bowl, wouldn’t you be a lot less on-guard around them than you should be? Maybe there was a pattern to Jessie’s coming and going. During the last couple nights, when she couldn’t sleep, Tracey had spent a lot of time piecing together the puzzle. Jessie had returned last time going on nine months ago—just after Tracey moved to Wisconsin. Tracey had asked Blackie about Jon’s involvement with Jessie during that time. Blackie said something about, "every time he finally gets his life together, that’s when she shows up to make sure he never fully recovers." He’d also said, half-joking, half serious, something about "every nine months or so." If there was even a kernel of truth in that, Jessie might be back soon and Jon might go even if he didn’t want to. Someone as evil as Jessie Nelson wouldn’t let all her hard work getting him in her strings go to waste. That’s probably why you’re not getting pregnant, Tracey told herself in disgust as she washed her hands. Self-imposed stress about losing everything she loved was making her queasy, needy, oversensitive, lose sleep. It probably even accounted for her missing period. She wanted to talk to someone. Not Jon because she didn’t want to hurt him just to ease her stress. Getting an afghan from the living room, she wrapped it over her shoulders. The house felt cold tonight. The floor was icy beneath her bare feet. She went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed before she could change her mind. The only person she knew who might be awake at this hour and didn’t have kids to disturb was Blackie. He answered on the second ring. She couldn’t tell by his voice whether he was tired, bored or lonely. "I didn’t wake you, did I?" He gave a short, soft laugh that she didn’t understand and said, "Nope. What’s up, baby?" "I need to talk to someone. Not Jon...because he doesn’t deserve..." She huddled deeper into the blanket, staring out the kitchen window at the moon. "I hate feeling this way. I love Jon. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him." "So what’s the problem?" And the way Blackie said it reminded Tracey all her life she’d believed true love was just that simple. But it wasn’t. Simple didn’t begin to cover the fear of getting too comfortable with this life, this wonderful life she shared with Jon. Of letting herself believe Jessie had had her fill of Jon and would never return or would go away if she saw how happy he was without her. "Tell me the truth, Blackie. You know her almost as well as Jon, don’t you?" "Yeah." "If she came here and found Jon happy with me, married and a baby on the way, would it matter to her? Would she go away quietly?" Blackie’s pause created a constriction in Tracey’s chest. She wanted desperately to hear him say, "Yes she would." Maybe that would quell her fears—to hear it from Blackie. "No. Probably not. Jess is tenacious. She’ll try everything in her arsenal to get what she thinks she needs." So her fears were justified. Tracey had to hold her breath for a minute to fight down a sob...or a wail. "She’s not gonna succeed this time, baby. You’re what he wants," Blackie added. "I know. I know! Jon loves me. He’s done everything to prove that to me. I don’t doubt that at all. But Jessie is... She has...God! She’s got the devil on her side. How can I fight that?" "I don’t know." Tracey let out a laugh that almost made her cry. "I think the only thing that can get rid of this fear is if she does come. She comes and I...I stumble upon them together. Then I’ll see with my own eyes that she’s not some supernatural being. She’s human and her power over Jon is gone. Because he loves me." "And then you’ll know you’re not chopped liver?" Tracey couldn’t help laughing. "Yes. And then I’d know that for sure too." After thanking Blackie for listening, she hung up and went to the bathroom again. She saw the pregnancy test stick on the sink. When she picked it up, she again saw the kind-of and not-really lines. After a minute of staring at it, she tossed the thing into the trashcan. Test or no test, she knew her body. All the things she’d experienced weren’t simple stress or even PMS. First thing tomorrow morning, she’d call her doctor to get an appointment. When she got back in bed, Jon wrapped her in his arms. He wasn’t much warmer than she was. "Can’t sleep?" he asked quietly. "Not really. Did I wake you?" "Yeah. Not having you next to me wakes me now." Tracey couldn’t help smiling and couldn’t stop the tingle of tears behind her eyes. In the dark she was safe because Jon couldn’t see them. He molded her against him, letting her feel how hard he was. God, I love you. You’re my whole life. I couldn’t live without you. I won’t, Tracey thought fiercely. Then she loved him the same way. Chapter 15 THE PHONE rang again. Jon muttered to himself in annoyance. With just him and Rod owning the shop, they had more work than ever and Rod still cut out early just as frequently. Jon let it slide before this, figuring someday when he had kids of his own he’d need flexibility too. Today he wasn’t getting a single thing done on his own. Stopping in the middle of his work again, he went into the office. "Yeah?...Huh? She’s here? Now?...Hell, I didn’t expect her for at least...Yeah, I guess. I’m ready...What about Tracey? She’s on her way, isn’t she? You called her right away?...okay, well, I hope she gets here in time or this is for nothing...Yeah. Later." Jon went back to the motorcycle he’d worked on before the call. He surprised himself with how calm he felt. No dread, no anger, no acceptance of the inevitable. Just relief. He did see her enter through the big garage door immediately, though, despite not acknowledging her. For as long as he’d known her, Jess wore the kind of clothes that always caught attention. And the way she wore them on her perfect little body was enough to make women hate her and men drop at her feet like lapdogs. At one time, in the very beginning, Jon had strutted along in that collar like he was top dog in the kennel. But then he’d realized, come closing time, he went into his cage just like all the other pathetic mutts she commanded. For the first time in his life, he was free, he was ecstatically happy. Because of Tracey. No way would he throw that away. "Hi, Jon," Jessie said, approaching him the way she always did—wary and affectionate as a kitten, if he gave her the opportunity. He didn’t. He didn’t ask her how she was, he sidestepped her attempt to hug and kiss him. "What are you doing here, Jess?" he asked, hunkering down to adjust the idle of the motorcycle he’d been trying to finish up all afternoon. She moved closer to be heard over the running bike. "Blackie told me you were here. He said you’re doing really good. That’s great, Jon. Wish I could say the same." Jon didn’t want to hear her sob story. It was the same every single time. Her husband didn’t understand her. Maybe this time he’d really leave her and then what would she do? Jon was the only real friend she had, the only one who understood her since her brother died. Unfortunately Jon did understand. He just wanted no part of it anymore. With the idle set, Jon turned off the bike and she abruptly stopped talking. She seemed to realize her method wasn’t working on him this time. Not that she’d give up, of course. Jon went over to the tool bench and replaced the screwdriver in its designated niche. She caught him off-guard when she slid between him and the bench. Jon glanced at her to see her top unbuttoned. She smelled an awful lot like Blackie’s cologne too. "Shit...Jess, I’m running a respectable business here. The last thing I need is a customer walking in here and thinking I pedal more than motorcycle repairs." He put her away from him firmly, but she moved with the speed of a cobra striking. Seconds before she could kiss him, he shoved her away again, this time leaving no room for doubt. "We’re not doing this. Do you understand me? I’m not interested." "You’re not interested? You’re always interested," she claimed boldly, overestimating her hold on him. Did she really believe herself? Even in his lapdog days, he’d avoided this with her. Sure, the first couple months of knowing her had included some pretty incredible sex. But then nothing seemed to satisfy her. She wanted it in this position, this location, this intensity. Talk about performance anxiety. He never knew when she’d demand something from him he wasn’t comfortable giving. Or able to give. After awhile, it was just easier not to fight her when she went looking for it elsewhere. Whenever she came back...it wasn’t about sex for him after that. "I’m interested in someone else, yeah. I’m not yours anymore." Her eyes widened, and she pushed her thick, auburn hair off her shoulder, looking uncomfortable with the thought of being second-best. "So it’s true. Blackie wasn’t just..." Dropping the bait, Jon thought to himself. "Her name is Tracey Scott, my one and only forevermore." Jess pursed full lips that seemed to be in a perpetual pout otherwise. "That one who came to you last time I was here? The one who said she was worried about you, she was a friend and wanted to help, and you told her to get out?" That memory came back to him with a full-body cringe. Had he said that to Tracey? He’d been so drunk and miserable, he didn’t remember everything that happened then. It sounded like something she’d do, even if it went against the grain that time. A friend was a friend, even when he was a bastard. In the time it took him to cringe, Jess burst into tears. "After all we’ve been through together, you’re in love with someone else? I love you, Jon. You’re the only one who... Without you, I’d kill myself. I’d have absolutely no reason to live. You’re the only person who really cares about me—" The lump in his throat formed the way it always did when she talked like this. He could picture it too easily—finding her bleeding, just barely breathing, and his anger and helplessness would destroy him. "No, dammit. That’s where you’re wrong. Steve cares about you. He loves you or he would’ve cut out long ago. God knows you gave him reason to. Go home, Jess. Let him take care of you. I can’t do it anymore." He shook his head, trying to clear the failure he didn’t deserve to feel. "I can’t take this guilt and your misery and your pain. I’m sorry life’s been hard for you, babe. But you’re not alone. You’ve got a husband who loves you and three kids. Go home." Jess stared at him for a long minute, a hardness in her wet eyes. "Ronnie is your son," she said softly. This was one thing she’d never before used to get her way. In the past, anywhere between Ploy #1 and #3, he gave her what she wanted. Jon couldn’t help his laugh of disbelief. "Maybe I wasn’t a straight A student in school, but I can do the math, Jess. I’m not stupid enough to believe he’s mine when we’d been apart for over a year before you got pregnant." He shook his head at her for her foolish attempt. "You gotta find a reason to live. You know that, and I can’t help you do it. I never could. Go home." Even when he saw real tears fill her eyes, ones not meant to manipulate him, Jon did what he had to do—he turned away from her. He grabbed the hose for the air compressor and dragged it over to the motorcycle he’d been working on. "Goodbye, Jon," Jess said softly before she walked out. Jon didn’t watch her go, simply heard the click of her heels fading as she went. Relief flooded over him so strongly, he almost started laughing. Blackie appeared out of the alcove upstairs and came down the steps. "Tracey?" Jon mouthed. "She was here. Saw the whole thing. She left about a minute before Jess did." Two nights ago, Jon had overheard Tracey on the phone. He’d known she talked to Blackie. The next day Jon came to work and talked to Blackie himself. That conversation hatched a plot—suggested by Blackie. Blackie called Jess, a shoot-the-breeze kind of thing for all appearances. They’d both known if Jess was at a low-point—and she was, no big shock—just hearing about Jon would send her flying here looking for a sympathetic shoulder. While he hadn’t expected Jess to show up so soon, the plan was to have Blackie immediately call Tracey when Jess arrived, make up some reason why she needed to come to the shop, then try to hold Jess upstairs until just before Tracey arrived. Somehow the insane plan actually went off without a hitch. Tracey witnessed proof positive Jess had no hold over him anymore and now they could settle into the whole forever thing. Maybe he should have been mad that she believed Jess had more power over him than she did. Bottom line, in the past he’d given her plenty of reason to have doubts about him. If she still had qualms, well, then he’d be mad. "So what’d you tell Tracey to get her here?" Jon asked as he peeled off his coveralls. He had no idea what state of mind Tracey was in; he had to go to her immediately though. Blackie shook his head. "I didn’t tell her anything. When I called her at JoJo’s club, the receptionist told me she was already on her way over here. Saved me from having to make something up to get her here." Already on her way over? "Why was she coming here?" Blackie shrugged. "Why don’t you get going? I’ll close up for you." Jon nodded after a minute. "How’d you get Jess to stay up there so long? Or don’t I wanna know?" "What are friends for?" Blackie managed to keep a straight face, but Jon already knew how he’d occupied her. Regardless, it’d worked. "You know, you’re turning into a regular Cupid." When his friend flipped him off, Jon laughed and went to wash up before heading out. In the office, the phone rang and Blackie picked it up. He held it out to Jon. "Your old man." No doubt he expected Jon to say, "Hang up." Instead, he moved to take it. His ears were ringing like somebody slapped him, because of the prospect of talking to his father. "‘lo?" "I know this must be a mistake, but I got a message telling me to phone you at this number. I’m sure Tracey must have left the mess—" "I did." Jon had made the decision to contact his dad the night before. Tracey’s inability to sleep in the wee hours of the morning had given him the same inability, and plenty of time to soul-search. It took all his courage to make the call this morning, but he hadn’t been able to pin down whether he was annoyed or relieved at being told Dr. Rushing was in surgery. "You did?" The old man’s voice wavered somewhere between disbelief and hope. Jon was relieved Blackie had gone out to close down the shop instead of listening in. "Maybe we should talk." Sitting at the edge of the desk, he closed his eyes and jumped. At least that was what it felt like when he added, "You doing anything this weekend? Or whenever you can get time off at the hospital." He wasn’t wearing a parachute either, but a part of Jon knew that was the only way he could ever forgive his father. Jump in, forget his pride and look at the big picture instead of a tunnel back to a painful past. "Tonight?" His dad’s immediate suggestion made Jon grin despite the heaviness in his chest. The old man was afraid he’d changed his mind. He had no way of knowing Jon had committed himself to a future with Tracey, a family, love and, maybe, total healing. "Can you get off work on such short notice?" Jon heard the catch in his voice when his dad laughed. "Come hell or high water, I’ll be there in a few hours if you want me there. After all, I’ve given this damn hospital the best years of my life." Dr. Rushing would say to hell with being a doctor if it stood in his way now. Jon could hardly believe it after all the years of coming in last—after the hospital. After a long moment, Jon said "Maybe you should plan to spend the weekend. Bring Rosa." "I’ll do that. Thank you, Jon. You won’t regret this." Jon hung up and told himself he hadn’t heard tears in the old man’s voice. And he sure as hell didn’t have them in his own eyes. Grabbing his jacket, he went out to the shop. "Thanks, man," he said to Blackie, who tried not to grin when he said, "Get outta here." TRACEY paced the porch, the living room, the kitchen. She could barely contain the urge to scream, "I didn’t mean it!" She expected it to be the first sentence out of her mouth when Jon got home forty-five minutes later. She stood just beyond the screen door inside as he entered. The look of, "What’s going on?" pervading his expression upon seeing her kept her from screaming, "I didn’t mean it!" He closed the front door, and she was in his arms in a heartbeat. "You okay, babe?" "No. I don’t know." She looked up at him. Never once—since she got home, at least—did she consider not telling Jon what she’d witnessed. "I was there. I saw her. I saw Jessie...and I’m so sorry." Jon’s hug and his eyes were too warm to ever assume her announcement made him angry. "Why are you sorry, Tracey?" She stroked her hands over his face lightly. "Because it’s like...You think you want something, you think it’ll be the answer to your problems, but when you get it—and you never expect to get it—you just can’t live it down. The consequences or the guilt." Jon made a whizzing, flying motion over his head. Obviously her explanation explained nothing to him. "I thought I wanted to see you with her, once for all. I thought if I saw her, I’d realize she’s human, not some evil manifestation come to earth on a sinister mission to doom all mankind." Jon didn’t laugh this time, but she could see the urge there. It didn’t bother her this time. He was right. "I still don’t believe she’s anywhere near innocent or harmless, but you’re right. She’s not supernatural. Her power is limited." Cupping her face, Jon kissed her, butterfly soft. "So why do you feel guilty?" She shook her head. "Because it wasn’t fair. I never doubted you. Do you believe that? It was her. It was all her. I never wanted to test you. And that’s why I feel so guilty." Wrapping her arms around him, she put her face against his, closing her eyes tightly. "It’s not fair because, watching the two of you, I shouldn’t have felt...so proud to be yours. So proud of you for doing what you had to do without ripping her to shreds for her crimes against you. I feel so guilty because it’s not fair of me to feel relieved because the fears I had were all gone watching that. And I love you even more now. That’s not fair." Tracey opened her eyes. "How can I ever make it up to you, Jon?" Tracey wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that he didn’t seem to be taking any of this terribly seriously. He pulled her close again and kissed her. "All your fears are gone?" How could they not be? Jessie Nelson had tried "everything in her arsenal," just as Blackie had promised she would, and Jon had fought her at every turn, firmly yet with gentleness. She’d never forget how he’d said, "Her name is Tracey Scott, my one and only forevermore." He’d sounded so sexy and sweet, so cool. Tracey had felt a wave of love so strong, it was just after that the guilt really slammed her. "All my fears are gone, Jon." "Prove it," he said in a soft, challenging tone that, at first, surprised, then warmed her. "Okay." Snuggling up against him, she kissed him with every bit of the pent-up emotions she’d faced today. Then she drew back to look him in the eye. "Let’s get married. Make me yours in every way possible." The fierce look in his eyes brought her smile to life. He took her mouth and her senses past reason. After moving into the bedroom, they made love like it was the first time, rediscovering each other, taking and giving every and all. "I’m tempted to throw you over my shoulder and haul you to the parson right now," he said later, holding himself over her. Neither of them wanted to let go. Tracey smiled, stroking her hands up and down his biceps. "I always pictured a small summer wedding in my parents back yard, but we may have to rethink that. We need to get married as soon as possible. And I kind of like the idea of a shotgun wedding—although my dad likes you too much to hold you at gunpoint for anything." Jon went completely still, staring down at her as if one false move would set off a time bomb. Tracey smiled again. "I was coming to tell you...when I saw Jessie there," she said softly. "Our kind-of and not-really was wrong. My doctor confirmed that I’m almost three weeks pregnant." He closed his eyes so tightly, and then, when he opened them, she saw moisture there. "God, I knew it. ‘Least I thought I did until I saw that stick. You didn’t believe it either?" Placing her hands lovingly on her lower belly, where a baby grew inside, she said simply, "I know my body." Jon turned on his side to lie next to her. When he put his hand on hers, she moved so he could touch her. She could almost see her belly, rounded with life, feel that life moving inside her, imagine holding their child. Jon’s thoughts paralleled hers—just looking at him, she knew that much. The doorbell rang, interrupting a moment Tracey wanted to savor with Jon. "Who can that be? Can we get rid of them?" she said, uncharacteristically rude. Jon groaned, seeming to know who their visitor was. "No. We can’t. We’re having guests this whole weekend." "Who?" Tracey asked as he got up to get dressed. "My old man and Rosa." Tracey sat up in surprise. "I called him." Instead of pointedly asking, "You called him?" she asked what changed his mind. "I asked myself, if he died, would I regret not...trying. Would my pride mean anything then? And...you know me, I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try. Couldn’t live with the guilt." Tracey loved him in her gaze, sure he wouldn’t like it if she told him how proud she was of him. "We’ve got a lot to tell him," she said softly. Jon glanced at her belly, then came over and kissed her. "I love you, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you." She smiled with her whole heart. "Well, as you know, I’m non-returnable. You’ll never have to find out." ~ The End ~ Blackie Scarpacchio has played Cupid in his friends’ lives, yet he denies himself the same happiness. The hard lessons kicked into him from birth have left him angry, hard, and afraid to risk his heart. Lori Gordon has loved Blackie for as long as she can remember. They both want what they can’t have—each other... Don’t miss the exciting conclusion of the Gypsy Road Series, VOWS & THE VAGABOND, available January 2000. (ISBN: 1-58200-113-8)