Where She Belongs (Destiny Falls) Page 2

  “Thank you, Jessie. I must thank you, too, Molly. It’s very sweet of you to take time away from your kids to be with me.”

  “I’m glad to help, Mrs. Olson. I put the kettle on to boil for a pot of herbal tea, if you’d like some.”

  Jess’s mother nodded.

  “Sounds good, Molly,” Jess said brightly—feeling anything but. She kissed her mother’s damp cheek and rose from the bed. “I’ll bring up a tray.”

  “Thank you.” Her mother’s smile trembled.

  “Stay, Jess,” Molly said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thanks, but I’d like to.” She needed to get out of here before she lost it—the last thing her mother needed. A few minutes alone in the kitchen would calm her. She just needed those few minutes.

  Thank God Adam would be gone by now. She didn’t care how she’d felt about him as a teenager, she couldn’t handle his unspoken recriminations and very adult small-town judgments with her heart and head in such a state.

  Crouched before the big stone fireplace, Adam pushed at the embers with a poker, listening for the whistle of the kettle like he’d promised Molly in case she got hung up with Jess and Nora before he left.

  Jess Morgan. He shook his head. Man, had she changed. Pete had mentioned her from time to time when he and Adam had worked together with the Destiny Falls Young Achievers, and Molly was always eager to relate some cute teenage tale about the pair of them.

  However, tonight, the edge he’d often heard in Pete’s voice took precedence, raising questions Adam knew damn well weren’t his business. Like what kind of woman didn’t visit her mother in four years? Didn’t know her flesh and blood well enough to realize that of course Pete’s death would devastate Nora? Who didn’t call before leaving the country, heavy work schedule or not?

  That Jess might have grown into the self-absorbed type of woman Adam avoided dredged up a restlessness he’d thought long buried.

  He’d liked his memories of Jess from that long-ago summer. Her innocence and trusting nature, her faith in all life had to offer. She’d been shy and beautiful, even at fourteen. Tall, leggy, tons of curly black hair, and eyes the color of melted toffee. If she’d been a year or two older...

  But she hadn’t been and so he’d kept his distance, thinking fondly of her when Molly recounted an especially funny story. Foolishly, he hadn’t expected his memories of Jess to change.

  For her to change.

  But who didn’t change as they grew up?

  He placed a log on the fire, the seams of his jean jacket straining. At the clicking of heels, he glanced up to see Jess descending the stairs. Her long, dark curls veiled her face.

  Fake-coughing, he stood. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and startled, filled with pain.

  “Sorry.” She wiped her cheeks. “I thought you’d left.”

  Gut knotting, he closed the fire screen. “I decided I’d tend the fire while Molly made the tea.” He hooked the poker onto the old brass stand.

  “She’s upstairs,” Jess said unnecessarily, clutching the post at the base of the steps.

  He nodded and moved toward her. “How’s your mom?”

  “N-not good.” Stepping off the stairs, she drew in a sharp, short breath.

  Aw, hell. He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. Or try not to cry, in this case.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, grazing her hair. Her back bunched into knots beneath her light gray dress.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Her eyes sparkled with checked tears, lashes clinging together like starbursts. Damp and spiked. Beautiful.

  “No, I—” A lone tear rolled down her face.

  He rubbed the tension between her shoulder blades. “Your mom will make it through this, Jess. Molly told me she’s a strong woman.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean—” Turning away, she hugged her arms. “Usually, my mother is a strong woman. But the way she’s acting tonight... She looks like she’s been crying for hours. It’s not like her, and it worries me.”

  “She’s grieving. It’s a normal process.”

  “Maybe for some people. Not for my mom.”

  “Sure, it is,” Adam tried again, gently. “Sorrow, denial, anger—they’re all a part of grief.” He knew too well. “Maybe you can’t see it that way because you’re mourning for Pete, too.”

  She shot him a strange look.

  “Think of it this way. Your mom’s husband died a week ago tonight—in the same bed she’s lying in now—and her only child couldn’t be here to attend the funeral with her. Now, I know this is a lot to absorb. I know she’s having a rough night. But, given the circumstances, I’d say she’s holding up fine.”

  Jess glanced away. “You don’t understand. My mother isn’t an emotional woman—not like this. She keeps her feelings under close wraps. That’s how she deals with things. It’s her way.”

  “So she’s a private person. Her husband’s death is a pretty good reason to act out of character.”

  “Not in my experience, it isn’t.”

  The kettle whistled and sputtered from the kitchen.

  “The tea.” She took off. “I forgot about it.”

  So had he.

  Adam trailed her into the large kitchen. She worked efficiently, as if on autopilot, grabbing the teabags Molly had left on the counter and dropping them into a china teapot. She filled the teapot with boiling water, then crossed her arms with her back to him and spoke so quietly that the ticking of the wall clock reached his ears.

  “My grandmother died when my mom was twelve. Cancer. By the time the doctors found the mass, her death was painful and very quick. My mother was forced to grow up overnight. She helped my aunt with the running of the house so my grandfather could keep working the farm. She never had time for grief, at least not in the way she’s expressing it now.”

  Her voice thickened. “When Dad and—” She broke off. Inhaled. Started again. “When my father died, it was the same. I’ll never forget that day. Hearing the news, feeling the shock, the terror. I felt like I was disintegrating, but Mom never cracked, not once. She never cried in front of me. I used to think she never cried for him at all.”

  Adam scraped his hand over his mouth. Damn it. He didn’t know much about Jess’s father. Only his name, Frank Morgan. Molly had never volunteered the information, and he’d never had reason to ask.

  Until now.

  “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen. An adult, I suppose, but in many ways I felt as sheltered as a child.” A slow breath seeped out of her. “I really don’t want to talk about my father anymore, okay?”

  “Okay.” Adam leaned on the counter so he could see her face. He felt for her, although he couldn’t claim to understand her. He’d never lost a parent, but he’d conquered his own childhood demons years ago. As a result, he didn’t believe in hiding from trouble or running away. In his personal life, as in his forestry consulting business, he believed in holding out for the long haul. Putting down roots and watching them grow.

  He intended to live out his days in the tiny sawmilling community that had always anchored him. Nothing—not the callous realities of the boom/bust logging industry, not the pain of the woman he’d once loved destroying their future with her recklessness—would dissuade him from strengthening his commitment to place. To home.

  Adversity encouraged him to push harder to achieve his goals.

  However, for Jess, he suspected that, like his father and his ex-fiancée, hardship prompted her to hide, and the unexpected sent her packing.

  Still, she drew out something in him.

  A dark curl tumbled over her cheek, but he didn’t brush it away. If he touched her, he might feel compelled to offer her the comfort of his arms. Her rigid stance shouted that she wouldn’t welcome the gesture.

  “As for your mother’s grief—”

  “I can handle it now that I know. I just wish I’d known.” Her gaze fixed on the rose-sprigged teapot.
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  “That I’d told you at the airport.”

  “Yes. If you knew how upset she was tonight.”

  “Well, I’m guilty there. I did know. But Molly felt your mom’s anxiety had a lot to do with waiting for you to come home. She didn’t want me to alarm you, Jess.” He maintained a low, even tone. Look at me. Let me know I’m doing some good here.

  She massaged her forehead as if ten bass drums boomed inside it. “I guess you’re right,” she said without conviction. “I’m not very good with surprises. Especially ones like this.”

  She glanced at him then, and he held her gaze. Hers spoke of secrets in shadows, luring, summoning, captivating him.

  Was the shy but happy girl he once knew hiding in there somewhere?

  A blush dusted her face, and she reached for a tray from the fridge top.

  Molly swept into the room. “How’s the tea coming?”

  “Almost ready.” Jess retrieved china cups and saucers from birch cupboards, her movements swift and choppy. Self-conscious.

  Molly studied her. “Are you okay? The way I went about this—”

  “I’m fine.” A curt note colored Jess’s voice, and she paused. “Moll, I’m sorry. It’s okay, and I’m okay. I’ll be fine, really.”

  Molly glanced at him. She’s not fine, resonated in her concerned expression.

  He turned up a hand: Whatever you need from me, Cuz.

  Gratitude smoothed his cousin’s features. “Do you want me to stay longer?” she asked Jess. “I’ll call the sitter and make the arrangements.”

  “A babysitter? Where’s Tim?”

  “Coaching basketball in Vancouver. The high school boys made it to the provincial championships.” Molly lifted the receiver of a sky-blue wall phone.

  “So you had to hire a babysitter? Why didn’t you say so? I could have rented a car in Kamloops.”

  “Then need to keep it the whole time you’re here? There still isn’t a car rental place in town, Jess. Besides, I didn’t mind.”

  Jess strode to the table and opened her purse. “I’m paying for the sitter. How much—”

  “Jess, no.” Molly hung up the phone. “Please don’t change the subject. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. You work like a dog on your trips. You must be wiped out.”

  “I’ll go to sleep when Mom does.”

  “Yeah, in the rocking chair in her room. I know you can take care of your mom. What worries me is whether you can take care of you.”

  Molly’s gaze remained unyielding, and Adam pushed off the counter. His cousin could be a mule at times, but Jess was right—Molly needed to return to her kids.

  “Molly, you go. I can stay another hour or so.”

  Jess raised a hand. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Actually, it sounds like the perfect solution.” Molly smiled. “Thank you, Adam. You’re a sweetheart.”

  No, a mind-reader. Molly and her husband were his friends and family. They spotted one another all the time. “Anything for you, short stuff.”

  “Don’t I have a say in this?” Frustration edged Jess’s voice.

  “Please don’t argue with me, hon.” Molly retrieved her navy jacket from the back of a chair. “What can it hurt to have Adam around? You shouldn’t have to cope alone.”

  “I live alone. I’m accustomed to coping.”

  “This is different, and you know it.” Molly pulled on her jacket and withdrew keys from the pocket. “I’m calling Adam tomorrow,” she said, her voice firm, “and I don’t want to hear that you kicked him out.” She crossed the kitchen and stretched on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered near his ear. “Make sure she goes to bed before you leave, maybe fix her something to eat, too.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Face tight, Jess walked Molly to the mudroom door. Returning to the kitchen, Jess bee-lined to the counter and pressed a hand against the teapot.

  “Warm,” she muttered as if he’d personally cooled the contents. “Mom likes it scalding.” She poured the tea into the sink, re-boiled the remaining hot water in the kettle, then topped off the teapot and covered it with a patchwork cozy.

  “It’s no problem for me to stick around, you know,” Adam said to her back.

  She picked up the tray and faced him, shoulders squaring. “Look, I know you mean well, but I’m perfectly capable of caring for my mother. And myself. Thank you for the offer, but there’s really no need for you to stay.”

  If that were true, his cousin wouldn’t have insisted. “How about fear of Molly?”

  “Funny, you don’t look like a coward.”

  “I’m not. I’m not questioning your competence, either, but this is Destiny Falls—we help each other out. I’ve met your mother several times. I doubt she’d object to my being here.”

  Her eyes closed briefly. “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?”

  “That I can do this on my own.”

  “I’ll keep out of the way unless you need something. Besides, I told Molly I’d stay.”

  “Do you always do what Molly wants?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly, I just do what I want. It’s less hassle that way.”

  “You don’t give up, is that it?”

  Adam laughed, scratching his jaw. Her don’t-crowd-me act might work with her Toronto pals, but she didn’t intimidate him. “Perseverance is my middle name. Face it, Jess, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Two

  THE NIGHTSTAND CLOCK read ten past midnight before her mother finally fell asleep. Now Jess sat in the rocking chair by the bed, holding her mother’s hand and watching the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the wedding-band quilt. A peaceful expression graced her mom’s features, and Jess sighed with relief.

  Her mom really needed this rest. Her grief for Pete was overwhelming, beyond anything Jess had imagined. Yet, why should the change in how her mother coped with loss surprise her? After all, when in the nine years since Dad and Danny died had she honestly tried to understand what her mother thought or felt?

  Her resentment of Peter Olson had always stood in the way of developing the close relationship several of her Toronto friends shared with their mothers. Pete’s thinly disguised dislike of her had played a major part, too.

  However, continuing to blame Pete for their lack of intimacy was an easy solution to a complicated issue. The problem dug much deeper.

  How deep or why specifically, Jess couldn’t say. But it was time she found out.

  Her mom mumbled in her sleep, turning on her side to face Jess. As soon as peaceful slumber claimed her again, Jess tucked her hand beneath the quilt and quietly pushed back the rocking chair. She kissed her mom’s forehead, then lowered the bedside lamp. The tea tray could wait until morning.

  Leaving the bedroom door ajar, she stepped into the hall and leaned against the daisy-flecked wallpaper. Toes pinching, she pulled off the pumps she’d forgotten until now. Ugh. The soles of her feet throbbed almost as much as her head. A hot shower before bed would feel wonderful. However, for all she knew, Adam Wright still skulked around downstairs.

  Damn him.

  He reminded her of Molly—persistent, tenacious, steadfast. All positive qualities she admired in her friend, but found unsettling in Adam.

  Especially when combined with his striking blue eyes and disarming smile.

  Why couldn’t he have left when she’d asked him to? But no, not Molly’s cousin. Apparently, bullheadedness ran in both branches of the Wright family. Jess had wanted privacy, so of course he’d insisted on making toast. When she’d maintained she wasn’t hungry, he’d said he meant the snack for her mom. Jess had felt like an uncaring fool.

  Minutes later, once she was busy consoling Mom, a light rap had sounded on the bedroom door. She’d gone to thank Adam for his thoughtfulness only to discover the plate of warm, buttered toast resting on a blue gingham placemat on the floor, a blossom plucked from a sympathy bouquet poking from a water gl
ass beside it.

  And Adam nowhere in sight.

  The kind gesture had moved her—and still did—as she replayed the scene in her mind.

  But she didn’t want to feel anything for Adam Wright. She just wanted him and the uneasiness he stirred within her gone.

  The mudroom door had slammed moments ago. Had he finally taken the hint?

  She picked up her shoes and padded into the bathroom for some aspirin. Beside her, the shower beckoned. If not for Adam...

  She tossed down her shoes. Enough! She wanted a shower—she’d take one. This was her childhood home, not his. She couldn’t allow his presence to dictate her actions, like she’d always done with Pete.

  She turned on the shower. Unless her mom had finally tossed it out, her ratty, pink chenille bathrobe still hung in her old bedroom. With luck, her matted, purple bunny slippers huddled in the closet.

  One look at her in that get-up, and Adam Wright, if he hadn’t left already, would head for the hills.

  Twenty minutes later, Jess left her room with her hair wet from her shower and the bunny slippers slapping the floor. Her suitcase with her favorite PJs remained downstairs. She hadn’t been about to risk bumping into Adam wearing nothing but her robe to get it. However, a rummage through the dresser had produced a granny nightgown, which she wore beneath the old robe. She’d scrubbed her face free of makeup and vanquished her headache with the aspirin. If not for the chance that Molly’s cousin hung around, she’d be ready for bed.

  She checked on her sleeping mother, then went downstairs. The living room was empty and the fire dead, but the lights, though dimmed, still glowed. A tantalizing scent teased her nostrils. Pancakes? Her stomach growled.

  She entered the kitchen. Pancake mix dusted the orange countertop, several cupboards stood open, and a batter-clumped whisk lay beside a glass measuring cup. At the stove with his back to her, Adam blithely flipped pancakes. His jean jacket sprawled on the chair by the phone, one sleeve brushing the floor.

  Not only was he here, he’d ransacked the place! “What are you doing?”