Natural Attraction Page 12

  “Mother!” Jessie’s startled gaze flew to her mother’s cherub face. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “Forget about chilling this stuff, Jess,” Marta stated firmly, rescuing the wine from Jessie’s slack grip. “Just get the glasses. We’ll put some ice in them. You look as if you need a good stiff belt.”

  Chapter Six

  JESSIE SLIPPED THROUGH THE screen door, the full, pleated skirt of her lemon-yellow shirtwaist whispering against her stockinged knees. “Hi,” she greeted Mark, a bit breathless from her dash downstairs. She closed the screen pointedly behind her, blocking his entrance into her home. “You’re early,” she stated, a tinge of accusation in her tone.

  “Only a minute or two. You’re ready to go, I see,” Mark returned, craning his neck to look over her shoulder. “You’ve got a beautiful old house here, Jess. What are you hiding in it?”

  “Nothing,” Jessie insisted, splaying her hands protectively along the sage-green wooden frame.

  “You told me you’ve done a lot of restoration on it. I’d like to take a look inside.” He was teasing again. Jessie had missed that honey-rough edge to his voice nearly as much as she’d missed the man it belonged to during the past hectic days.

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” she replied feelingly. “Not today, anyway.”

  Mark cocked his head, lifting one hand to rest on the wooden frame by her cheek. One brow crawled toward his hairline; fine laugh lines fanned out from his marvelous blue eyes. “That bad, eh?”

  “Definitely. You can’t imagine how long it takes to get everything back on an even keel after two sleep-overs.” She lifted the back of her hand to her forehead, fluttering her lashes in imitation of a suffering silent-film star. “The kitchen will never be the same. Nor will I.”

  “Must have been some parties,” Mark said with what sounded like a note of envy in his raspy baritone.

  “They were. Ann’s volleyball coach stopped by to be sure everyone was going out for the team.” Jessie made a fist, pumping it skyward in imitation of a perfect serve. “Her speech was so effective that after she left they started an impromptu game in the family room. Thank goodness, they used one of those sponge balls, or it would have been Armageddon.”

  Mark whistled in admiration. “You didn’t have a coronary? I guess I won’t be having to tell you ‘lighten up’ anymore, will I, Jess?”

  “I think I did handle it very well,” Jessie replied in a self-congratulatory way. “Not quite a natural at it yet, but I’m trying. Ann’s developing a mean spike, if I do say so myself,” she added in a thoughtful tone. “Let’s see, what else happened? Oh, yes. I have it on good authority that both parties were an unqualified success because the football coach called at midnight both nights to make sure all his boys were in before curfew.”

  “Did you get any sleep at all?” Mark’s gaze searched her flushed, happy face for signs of fatigue.

  “Some. Sunday we all crashed. Monday seemed to go every which way; the twins are avid to get their driver’s licenses, so we got started on the preliminaries. I can’t believe so much work piled up on my desk at A & M. I’m just getting things back under control today. And I got the first batch of negatives developed. They’re great! I don’t care if I have to toot my own horn. They’re good….” Jessie’s voice died away. She looked down at her hands, unsettled by Mark’s intensity, but her eyes snagged on the long stretch of flannel-covered legs planted firmly on the porch.

  “How do you do it, Jess?” He reached out to lift her chin with a tapered forefinger. He leaned closer, placing both arms on the door frame to block her escape.

  “Lots of women do it on their own, Mark. I’m not special,” Jessie demurred, raising her eyes to the level of his chin. She was flustered by his praise, his nearness, the clean scent of him in her nostrils, the heat of his body radiating out to warm her through the fabric of her dress.

  “Oh, yes, you are special, Jessie Meyer. Very special.” He moved closer, his mouth inches from hers. The front of his crisp oxford shirt brushed the tips of her breasts through the thin batiste of her dress. “Raising three children alone, working full time for Abrahms and Mahoney, moonlighting for Meanderings….”

  “I have my mother’s help,” Jessie began but dwindled to a halt. She wouldn’t have her mother to be a buffer or a companion much longer if she married Hiram Parker. What would Mark think of that development? Could she tell him? She could and probably would. It was a comforting thought. But his overpowering nearness drove those cogitations from her brain in the twinkling of an eye. Was she already drifting past the safe delusion of friendship? Was she on her way to loving him?

  “Jessie, I’d like to take you someplace where we can be alone, to talk.”

  “I’d like that.” Jessie got the words out with barely a squeak. “Someplace quiet and not one bit crowded.”

  “I know just the spot.” Mark took her hand, preparing to lead the way down the brick steps, along the mossy herringbone-patterned walkway to his car.

  “Wait a moment.” Jessie tugged him back. “We’re leaving now, Mom,” she called through the screen door.

  “I didn’t hear Mark drive up.” Marta’s voice came down the hall. “Hello, Mark.”

  “Hello, Marta,” he answered the unseen greeting politely.

  “Have a good time, Jessie, dear. Don’t be worried about getting back late. The girls and I will do just fine without you. Jess!” The older woman’s tone was suddenly both muffled and excited at once. “I’ve found where the ants are coming from.”

  “Hurrah,” Jessie called back. “Where?” She shot Mark a half-impish, half-rueful look.

  “From under the living-room couch.” Marta’s voice grew fainter still. “Aha. I found it. The lost pizza that almost started the riot Saturday night.” Her voice returned to its normal volume and timbre. “There’s a full column of the industrious little beggars all the way to the kitchen sink.”

  “The spray’s on the back porch, Mom.”

  “Good night, Marta,” Mark called over his shoulder, urging Jessie down the steps. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Yes, you do that” came the faint reply. Obviously Marta was fully occupied with her ants.

  “Don’t be late, Mother,” one of the twins cautioned from a vantage point above their heads.

  “We expect you home at a decent hour,” her sibling added in a schoolmarmish tone. Stifled giggles issued from an upstairs window. Two heads appeared briefly to enforce the directive with waggling fingers.

  “Yes, my dears. I’ll be good as gold.” Jessie laughed, waving up at the girls. “Go help Grandma get rid of the ants. She found your lost pepperoni pizza, Lyn.”

  “She did! Bobby Lester didn’t eat the whole thing, then. I told you so.” She tweaked Ann’s hair. “’Bye, Mark.”

  “’Bye.” Both teens disappeared from view.

  “Good-bye, girls,” Mark spoke into thin air as he opened the passenger door for Jess. Yet another voice delayed their departure. Mark thumped an impatient hand on the roof of his car.

  “Where are you two going, Mom?” Nell queried from the macramé hammock strung between two old maples in the side yard. It was one of Marta’s most ambitious winter craft projects and incredibly uncomfortable to Jessie’s way of thinking. Nell didn’t seem to mind. She hung over the edge, dangling a book in her hand, defying the laws of gravity. “Should I wait up for you?” she suggested helpfully, keeping her balance by some miracle of acrobatics.

  “No, miss, you will not wait up for your mother,” Mark responded, leaving no room for argument. “That’s an order.” Jessie could feel the back of her neck getting warm. She wished they could be on their way without any further adieus.

  “Yes, sir,” Nell replied equitably enough, flopping back into the hammock’s folds. “Have a good time, Mom.” The pregnant Cecelia leaped gracefully onto Nell’s stomach and curled up against the girl’s warmth.

  “I feel as if I’ve run the gauntlet.” Mar
k let out a long sigh of relief as he settled Jessie into the seat.

  “I warned—”

  “Don’t say it, Jess,” he cautioned darkly, slamming the door. “It’s got to get easier. The novelty of my showing up on the front porch will have to wear off sooner or later.”

  Jessie didn’t answer, letting the warming glow his comment produced deep in her middle spread out and envelop her like a glowing cloud. Mark took her hand in his. They drove through the familiar residential streets in silence.

  Jessie rolled her window down. The air was cool, typical late summer weather with a hint of fall in the air. She leaned her head against the seat rest, closing her eyes. Tiny butterflies played tag in her stomach, but she wasn’t nervous. Not really, only pleasantly stimulated by thoughts of the evening ahead.

  The radio was tuned to a station that played soft classical music. When was the last time she’d gotten in a car and the radio didn’t blast her out of the seat the moment she turned the key in the ignition? Too long. The strains of a Chopin nocturne lulled her into a state of languid peace. She was barely aware when they crossed over the canal into the old manufacturing district.

  “Why, it’s the magazine,” Jessie said, slightly confused, as she glanced up at the three-story brick building. “I thought we were going out to dinner.”

  “We are. At least you are. You wanted some place private and quiet, I think you phrased it. You’ve got it. I live upstairs, didn’t you know?”

  “No, I didn’t. I spend very little time here,” Jessie reminded him.

  “I know, part-time help. Well, the place is cheap,” Mark expanded in mock seriousness. “The utilities are paid and I needed something to do with my hands. I spent three weeks with my sister when I first moved up here. It was fun being part of a family again but nerve-racking and more than enough incentive to spur me on to a place of my own. Here we are.” They’d bypassed the magazine’s small, eclectically decorated offices and reached a side door in the long, drafty corridor that led to the printing plant. Jessie seldom ventured beyond the composing room when she dropped off slides of her work, so she wasn’t surprised she’d never noticed the big metal door with its small, wire-mesh-enforced glass window that led to Mark’s home.

  She also wasn’t surprised to see the bare-stud wall at the top of the second flight of stairs. There were thick pink mats of insulation stuffed between the wooden supports, attesting to Mark’s determination to make himself a comfortable home in the drafty factory loft. What did surprise her were the double leaded glass doors set about two-thirds down the length of the wall.

  “They’re lovely.” Jessie ran her hand over the satiny finish as Mark held one open for her to enter.

  “Aren’t they? Found them up here with a bunch of other stuff when old Peavy sold me the building. Seems the original owner was a textile manufacturer.”

  “What else in New Hampshire?” Jessie interrupted, stepping over the threshold.

  “He’d planned on building himself a house befitting his standing in the community. He never got it done.”

  Inside the loft was one long, narrow room situated to take the biggest advantage of the view out over the river canal.

  The floors were bare golden oak polished to a high sheen. The walls were bare, too: mellow sandblasted brick that echoed the colors in the brass-framed hunting prints hanging with military precision along its length. The off-white kitchen was to Jessie’s left, the sitting room directly ahead. The ceiling where they stood was low. It was a sleeping loft, Jessie guessed and found she was correct when she stepped into the living area and saw the open staircase leading up into the shadows.

  “Mark, it’s a lovely home. The old cotton baron’s loss has certainly been your gain,” Jessie said in genuine admiration. She liked the colors, all earthy and warm. It was very like him: simple, direct, strong. The furniture was straight-lined and deep-cushioned. Jessie realized just how tired she was when she couldn’t stop herself from slipping out of her too-tight heeled sandals to sink down onto the tuxedo-styled sofa in deep contentment.

  “Would you like something to drink while we’re waiting for dinner to finish up?” Mark bent over the back of the sofa to drop a quick kiss on top of her head.

  “Gin-and-tonic if you have it.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “I didn’t know you cooked,” Jessie observed, scooting around to watch him moving with sure grace within the small confines of his kitchen.

  “I can in a pinch. Don’t expect miracles, though. It’s a curried lamb-stew recipe I picked up from a friend in the Middle East. Dessert is an incredibly expensive Amaretto mousse I ordered from a bakery downtown. It’s worth every cent; I guarantee you’ll love it.”

  “I will.” Jessie accepted the frosty glass from his hand. Their fingers brushed, and Jessie’s middle tightened in pleasurable anticipation. She doubted if she’d taste a bite of their meal no matter how delicious it was. All she could think about was Mark: his hands, his lips, his body. Jessie shook her head to clear her mind of the erotic vision. “Tell me what you’ve done since we got back.” She swallowed a hasty mouthful of gin-and-tonic, cursing the inanity of the remark but it was the best she could do.

  “Nothing compared with your weekend, I can assure you.” Mark grinned at her from the other end of the couch where he’d stretched out with his feet on the glass-topped coffee table. “Catching up on the backlog, paying bills, roughing out the article for National Geographic.” He hadn’t tried to touch her after that one butterfly kiss. “I’m looking forward to your prints. Would you like another drink or shall we eat?”

  “Let’s eat. I’ll tell you my mother’s big news over dinner.”

  “Your mother’s news? Sounds intriguing.” Mark uncoiled his rangy frame with unhurried grace, reaching out a hand to assist Jessie up from the sofa.

  “Do I have to put my shoes on again?” Jessie asked.

  “Not as long as I can take mine off, too.” Mark stepped out of his suede loafers and kicked them under the coffee table.

  “Deal.” Jessie laughed, leading the way to the small maple pedestal table under the high, uncurtained windows. “Didn’t this place go out of business during the Depression? I think I recall Carl’s parents speaking of it occasionally.”

  “Yes. It was empty until after the Second World War. That’s when old Mr. Peavy took it over and converted it for his magazine.”

  “Can’t I help you serve?” Jessie offered when Mark disappeared into the kitchen.

  “No, ma’am. It’s all right here.” He returned almost at once with a serving cart laden with thick crusty bread and butter, salad and the savory stew. It looked delicious, smelled delicious and, Jessie knew, would also taste delicious.

  “What’s your mother’s big news?” Mark led the conversation back as Jessie guided her fork into the stew a few moments later.

  “She’s getting married!” Jessie brought her earnest gaze level with his as a piece of lamb remained suspended on her upraised fork. “Can you believe that?”

  Mark raised a dark brow in acknowledgment of the momentous announcement. “Yes, I can. Your mom’s a terrific lady.”

  “Of course she’s terrific, but to fall in love in six days. To have a love affair—” Jessie broke off, stuffing the lamb in her mouth. What a gauche thing to say. Her mother’s love life was none of her business.

  “I think it’s great,” Mark said softly. “I wish her every happiness. Who’s the lucky guy?” Mark kept on eating his meal but he didn’t taste a bite. He didn’t have any trouble believing her mother had fallen in love in six days. It wasn’t taking him much longer to fall in love with Marta’s daughter.

  “He’s an old high school flame.” She was answering his question and Mark tried to pay attention to her words, not merely to the sound of her speaking them. “He’s coming up soon to meet us all. I’m sure he’ll propose. I’m going to miss my mother very much.” Jessie gave a wistful shake of her head. Mark watched her, entranced
by her hair. It was pinned in a loose coil on top of her head. She’d highlighted the deep brown of her eyes with a coral shadow. A deeper shade of coral accented her cheekbones and the sweet inviting curve of her mouth. The makeup enhanced and refined her soft features, but in his eyes she looked just as good without it.

  “I take it she’ll be leaving Manchester?” Mark asked, trying hard to keep up his end of the conversation. He sensed Jessie needed to talk about her mother’s unexpected romance, perhaps work through a few points in her own mind.

  “His home is in Florida. I’m sure they’ll spend at least the winters there. He has children. I’m not sure how many.” Jessie frowned. “Three, I believe. And eight grandchildren. So they’ll want to spend time with them and my brother’s family.”

  “You’re having trouble taking it all in, aren’t you, Jess?” Mark refilled her coffee cup. She wasn’t aware she’d emptied it.

  The dark rich mousse appeared on her plate as if by magic while she mulled over his last remark. “Yes, I am. I hadn’t thought about Mom leaving me and the girls. Naturally, I’m aware they’ll be gone before I know it or want it to happen. But I always thought we’d be together.”

  “She has a right to her own happiness, Jess.” Mark laid his fingers over hers where they rested on the table. Outside, the sun must have set, because the sky had faded to a dusty rose. Jessie stared up into the empty sky crisscrossed by high white vapor trails.

  “Nobody deserves happiness more. She left her home and came out here and held us all together after Carl’s death. I think it’s just the shock. It’s funny how things work out.”

  “If my nieces hadn’t thrown a tantrum that day, none of this would have turned out as it has.”

  “We wouldn’t have come to know—” She’d almost said “love” but shut her lips tightly before the near escape of the word. “We’d never have become friends. And my mother wouldn’t have gone home to her class reunion to find Hi again. How odd.”