It had always worked. He'd walked around this house silent, alone and lonely, like an undead thing in the world of the barely alive. After a while, she had stopped even trying to bait him. They lived like strangers, all of them, each one distant and unconnected with the others.
He hated it, of course, but it was the only way to protect his precious children. It was the one thing he and Amarylis had always agreed upon. He was a danger to them all. It was distant, his insanity, but not forgotten. Even now, years after the breakdown, he went to sleep each night afraid, and woke each morning in a cold sweat. He was always desperately afraid that the darkness would take him unaware and that, during a blackout, he'd hurt someone. Maybe even his babies ...
He accepted his isolation from his loved ones as a fact of life, another ramification of his cowardice, and mental defect.
But now things were changing. Until Caleb's birth, he couldn't remember the last time one of Amarylis's cruel games had actually angered him. He watched her manipu-
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lations from afar, through eyes that understood and anticipated her every move. And that had given him the edge. Now he was losing that edge. She was doing the unexpected, changing her routines. Every time she did something new, he felt it like a hard punch in the stomach. Emotions hurtled through him with frightening velocity? pain, shame, fear. But the strongest of them, the emotion that made him the angriest of all, was need. He'd thought the need for her had died years ago, buried in the icy coffin of her hatred.
Only now it was creeping back, suffusing his senses and sucking the strength from his soul. God, when she smiled at him, the need for her was like a hammerblow to his heart. It had been so long since she'd smiled, he'd almost forgotten. Almost .. .
"Ignore her," he said quietly to himself. Ignore the changes, the smiles, the touches. Ignore it all, and remember who she is and why she hates you.
The sound of Savannah's carefree laughter seeped through the half-open door and filled the small, darkened kitchen.
Jack groaned and pulled away from the window. Turning, he paced across the room, trying not to see the tablecloth and flowers.
Changes. More goddamn changes ...
Ignore it.
The lilting strains of laughter came again. This time it was his wife's soft, throaty chuckle that filtered through the cool night air.
A sharp stab of longing almost shoved him toward the door, but he planted his feet and remained motionless.
"Please, God," he murmured, "I've never asked you for much, and I know I don't deserve help, but I need it. Please, don't let me start believing in her again. Please ..."
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Tess woke in the middle of the night to feed Caleb. Half-asleep, she nursed the baby, then rediapered him and put him back to bed. She was almost at her bed when she heard a strange, scraping noise coming from the living room.
You know the goddamn rules.
Jack's words came back to her, reminded her that she shouldn't leave her room.
She stared at the door. The old Tess?the one who'd grown up in so many foster homes?wouldn't have questioned Jack's edict. A rule was a rule. A person didn't go where she wasn't wanted.
But the old explanations didn't soothe Tess this time. Something had happened to her tonight. When she'd stood in the moonlit yard, close enough to touch Jack, feeling his breath as a caress across her lips, she'd realized how desperately she wanted to get to know the man who was her husband. And there was only one way to do that. Break a few rules.
Slipping into her wrapper, she went to her door and eased it open. Pale golden light spilled into the hallway from the living room.
Cautiously she made her way down the darkened corridor and paused at the corner of the room.
Jack was sitting on the stone hearth, his body backlit by the red-gold glow of a fire. Between his legs was a large piece of wood. The slow, steady scrape-thunk of a knife slicing along skinned wood filled the room.
Tess narrowed her eyes, trying to see what he was making.
A rocking horse. She could just make out the pointy ears and triangular head, and the huge arched rockers.
Tess's heart twisted. He was up, alone and probably lonely in the middle of the night, making something for the children he loved so deeply. Children he never spoke
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to and rarely looked at, but spent his every waking moment trying to protect.
What happened to you, Jack Rafferty? The question burned on the tip of her tongue, spiraled through her mind. What had happened to make him so desperately afraid of showing his love?
She tried to remain motionless and silent, tried to respect his privacy, but she couldn't. Before she knew it, she was moving toward him, her hand outstretched, her heart in her eyes. "Jack?"
His head snapped up. "Amarylis? What are you?" "Lissa," she answered softly. "And I couldn't sleep." She walked to the couch and sat lightly on its ragged edge. "What are you making?"
"Please," he said in a broken, tired voice. "Leave me out of it."
"Out of what?"
"Whatever new game you're playing. Just leave me and the kids out of it."
"What's wrong with games?" Her voice was so quiet, he had to lean forward to hear it. "Maybe you could use a little fun in your life."
Despair filled his eyes. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and looked away. "I'm doing the best I can," he said quietly. "Don't push me."
The aching words tore at Tess's heart. The silent pain in his eyes wrapped around her throat and squeezed hard.
She took a single step toward him, then stopped. She had to move slowly with Jack, take the relationship step by step. Tonight was the beginning, the starting place, and it was important that she do it right. If only she could figure out what "right" was with Jack ...
Suddenly he lurched to his feet. The rocking horse hit the hardwood floor with a clatter as he strode toward the kitchen.
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"Jack." His name slipped from her lips before she had anything to say.
He didn't even pause. He tore through the kitchen and left the house. The door banged shut behind him.
Tess stared after him for a long time. Then she went over and picked up the half-finished rocking horse. Running her fingers along the scratchy wooden surface, she felt the sting of tears come to her eyes.
He was running from something; she was sure of it. Something dark and dangerous that scared him to death.
And he was alone in his fight. Desperately, achingly alone.
Somehow she had to ease that burden from his shoulders, had to let him realize that she wouldn't hurt him. If she could bring him into the family, make him lighten his heavy load, they could begin the healing?and melding? process together.
Somehow she had to figure out a way to get past Jack's angry facade and touch the man behind the mask.
It came to her the next morning as she was cleaning out the pantry. The Plan.
Phase One was deceptively simple. Force Jack to react.
She knew now that he was working hard, very hard, to remain distant and aloof from his wife and children. The scene by the crib proved how much he loved them, and how terrified he was to show his love.
She had no idea why he acted so angry all the time, but Tess was fairly certain it was a carefully constructed facade. A way to keep his children from loving him.
All she had to do was slowly, layer by layer, peel away his angry defenses. She had to force him to interact with his family. If she could just bring him into the circle of his family, maybe he would relax a little. Maybe he'd even try to be a dad.
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Tess knew how he felt, knew the pain of being an outsider in your own family. She knew, too, how the girls felt every time he turned his back on them or failed to meet their gazes. Each rejection, no matter how small, was like a tiny slice of the surgeon's knife. As an orphan, a reluctant stranger in someone else's family, Tess had learned a lot about what children needed, and even mor
e about how it felt to get less or nothing at all. Kids needed love and laughter and a place they felt safe. The Rafferty girls had none of those things.
Until now, Tess vowed. Somehow she'd change that; somehow she'd bring laughter and love into these walls.
Laughter. That was the key. She had to teach Jack to laugh. It seemed like a simple thing, too simple, but Tess was certain that everything hinged on that. If he could let go of his anger long enough to laugh, or even to smile, maybe the real Jack would come out of hiding.
But how to make him smile? That was the question that had kept her awake half the night. But about ten seconds ago she'd dusted off a jar of pickles, and it had come to her.
Do the unexpected. Get him off guard, and keep him off guard. She'd done it once already, when he'd interrupted her bath. Seeing her naked had shaken him up so badly, he'd forgotten to be mad for a while.
Now she just had to get him that off balance with her clothes on.
It would work. She was certain of it.
All she had to do was figure out what he expected of her. And do the opposite.
Tess was waiting on the porch for Savannah and Katie when the girls got home from school. "Hi, girls!" she yelled cheerily, waving.
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Savannah gave her a tentative smile and waved back. "Hi, Mama."
Tess plucked up her heavy skirt and hurried down the steps, crossing the grassy yard to meet them. "I've been waiting for y'all to get home from school. I've got a great idea."
Katie perked up. "Really? What?" Tess linked arms with each girl, and together they walked toward the house. "You'll see, but first I want to ask you a few questions."
Both girls immediately tensed, their brisk walk slowed to a hesitant shuffle, then stopped altogether.
Kneeling in the grass, Tess gathered them close. "Don't be worried. It's nothing major. I just wondered what things are usually like around here." Two blank stares.
Tess tried a more specific question. "I mean, what does your daddy expect around the house?"
Savannah frowned in thought. "You mean like having supper on time?"
Tess grinned. "Exactly! So your daddy expects his meals on time. What else?" "Well, he likes things quiet." "Uh-huh. What else?"
Savannah shrugged. "I dunno. He don't like messes." Tess's grin softened to a thoughtful smile. "You're right about that." She turned to Katie. "Can you think of anything he expects, sweetie?"
Katie's eyes bulged in surprise, as if she couldn't believe her mother was asking her for advice. Then she screwed up her little face in deep concentration. "Nobody's 'posed to touch his tools 'n' stuff in the barn." "That's perfect, Katie. Just perfect!" Disbelief rounded the little girl's eyes. "It is?"
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Tess nodded. "The best. And now, here's the hard part. What does he expect of me?"
They both answered at once. "Yelling."
Tess laughed happily. "No problem. I hardly ever yell. Now," she said. "How about that game?"
"Are you sure?" Savannah asked, eyeing Tess warily. "Daddy don't like games like this."
Tess gave her a look of complete innocence. "But everybody likes hide-and-seek."
"I like hide-and-seek," Katie piped up, her pudgy pink fingers wrapped tightly around the bunch of spoons Tess had given her.
"There, you see," Tess said to Savannah. "Everyone likes hide-and-seek. Now, Katie, you go hide the rest of the silverware while Savannah shows me again how to baste this damned bird without getting burned. Then wash up your hands and go get your daddy."
Jack wiped the gritty dirt off the pitchfork's prongs and carefully hung it on the barn wall. The perfectly aligned pitchforks, hoes, rakes, and other farming instruments glinted dully in the late afternoon's fading light. Turning away, he eased the hammer from his belt and hung it on its hook above the workbench. It hung perfectly straight in its place alongside the trowel.
"Daddy, supper's ready!"
"Supper?" Jack turned away from the workbench and saw Savannah standing just outside the barn door. A gentle breeze rustled her skirt and lifted the curly ends of her long hair. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was a brightness in her eyes he hadn't seen in a long time.
Confusion rendered him momentarily speechless. She looked ... happy.
"C'mon Daddy. It's ready."
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He fished the pocket watch from his pants pocket and flipped it open. He immediately frowned. "But it's only four o'clock. We don't usually eat for another hour."
Savannah shrugged. "All I know is, Mama said to get you for supper." She glanced back over her shoulder toward the house. "Now I gotta go. We're playing games."
Before Jack could say a word, she was gone, skipping across the grass for home.
"Games?"
He glanced at his nice, orderly tools and felt a flash of fear. "What now? Amarylis?"
Reluctantly Jack left the barn and headed for the house. As he passed the oak tree, he heard a happy, high-pitched giggle coming from the open kitchen window.
He paused, frowning. Laughter?
Then came Savannah's voice: "Here it is, Mama. Under the pie safe!"
And more giggles.
Jack's stomach tightened into a small, anxious knot. He climbed the steps slowly, wincing at each creak of the tired old wood. The doorknob felt cold and strangely unfamiliar in his hand as he entered the kitchen.
The first thing he noticed was the mouth-watering aroma of roasting chicken. The second was the pandemonium.
Amarylis and Katie and Savannah were running around the kitchen and living room, giggling, crawling under furniture, lifting lamps.
"Here's a soupspoon!" Katie yelled, laughing, as she produced a spoon from beneath the sofa's cushion.
Jack frowned and quietly shut the door behind him. As he moved into the room, he noticed the table.
"What the hell ..."
The table was set with flowers, plates, cups, silverware,
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even salt and pepper. The only problem was, all of the utensils were painted onto the tablecloth in bright red.
He studied the strange artwork, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. "Hello, Jack. Welcome home."
He heard his wife's softly spoken words, and cringed. Ramming his hands deep in his pockets, he grudgingly looked up at her. She was standing in front of the kitchener, her hands clasped together like the well-bred southern lady she had always claimed to be.
And yet, she looked . . . different. Disheveled. Her cheeks were flushed from steamy heat and laughter, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that made him ache with longing. Once, long ago, she'd looked like this whenever they'd been together.
She watched him study her, making no move to turn away. A slow, sensuous smile curved her full lips. Crazily, he felt it was a smile meant for him and him alone. He clenched his jaw and looked away. The oven door creaked open, then banged shut. The aroma of roasting chicken and potatoes filled the small room.
Jack searched for something to say that would sever the ridiculous feeling of lightness seeping into his consciousness. "Why is supper so damned early?"
Staring at the bizarre tablecloth, he waited, arms crossed, for her to answer. She didn't.
"Amarylis?"
Still nothing.
He crossed the kitchen in two giant steps and came up beside her. "Goddamn it, I'm talking to you."
She looked up at him, the very picture of innocence. "You were?"
"You know I was."
"How would I know that? In normal communication,
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one looks at the person to whom they're talking. I thought perhaps you were addressing the painted flowers."
"Damn it, Amarylis?"
"That's a problem as well."
Jack was so goddamn confused, he didn't know what to do. His hands balled into frustrated fists. "What?"
"You called me Amarylis."
"Yeah."
"So naturally I assumed you
were speaking to the flowers. I am Lissa. From now on I refuse to answer to anything else." She grinned. "Unless you want to call me honeybun or sweetie pie."
Jack stared at her in disbelief, then spun away from her innocent eyes and smiling mouth. He strode to the dresser and grabbed a plate. Wedging it under his arm, he yanked the bottom drawer open.
It was empty.
He turned back toward her. "Where's the silverware?"
She moved the chicken to a small platter, carefully arranged the potatoes in a ring around it, and set the food on the table. "I'm not sure."
He went to the table and sat down hard. "You're not sure where the silverware is? It hasn't moved in years." She sat down across from him, steepled her fingers, and rested her chin on her fingertips. A challenging smile sparkled in her eyes and curved her full lips. "That's right." "I'll get you some, Daddy; it's in?" "Your daddy can get his own silverware, Savannah," Lissa said in a matter-of-fact voice that brooked no argument.
Jack shot a quick glance toward the living room. The girls were standing side by side in front of the sofa, staring at him. They both looked ready to dive beneath the sofa at a moment's notice.
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He sighed tiredly, suddenly exhausted by everything. The changes, the smiles, the laughter. Everything.
"Okay, Lissa, what's going on?"
"The girls and I were playing hide-and-seek. We were sure you'd want to join in."
He snorted at the obvious lie. "Well, I don't. So now that the game is over, let's eat."
"Why would you think that?"
He frowned. A headache flared behind his eyes. "Think what?"
"That the game's over."
He glanced at the girls again, then back at his wife. "Who's hiding now ... Caleb?"
She smiled. "We weren't hiding people. We were hiding things."
Jack knew he shouldn't ask. "What things?" Her smile grew into a grin. "The silverware." Jack's first reaction was to explode. The last thing he needed at the end of a hard day was a game of hide-and-seek for the silverware.