She stripped out of the flour-dusted gingham gown and tossed it in a heap at the bottom of the armoire. Then she yanked on the muslin crotchless pants and covered them with a floor-length white muslin skirt with pretty lace
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along the hem. Last came a sleeveless, scoop-necked, short-waisted white blouse that looked like something Ralph Lauren might create for spring.
She went back to the washstand and studied herself in the mirror, turning this way and that. The pretty white fabric belled and swirled. She felt incredibly feminine and beautiful.
Satisfied, she left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. After another quick check on the supper, she called for the girls.
Savannah and Katie came running out of the bedroom. The moment Savannah saw Tess, she stopped in her tracks. Katie rammed into her sister's backside and giggled loudly.
Tess frowned. "What's the matter?"
Savannah shot a nervous glance at the door, as if she was afraid Jack would come through any minute. "You're wearing your ... unmentionables."
Tess glanced down, surprised. "Really? This is underwear? All of it?"
Savannah nodded.
Tess laughed. "What a hoot. Well, this should get old Jack's attention, don't you think?"
Savannah started to say something else. Then she noticed the kitchen table. Her eyes bulged.
"Now what's wrong?" Tess asked.
"That's the good Sunday tablecloth. We ain't used it since Reverend Weekes came for dinner last year."
Tess winced at the word "ain't" and made a mental note to start grammar lessons tomorrow. "What day is it?" "Thursday."
"Close enough. Now, wash up. Your daddy will be here soon."
* * *
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Jack pushed the battered gray Stetson higher on his head and backhanded the sweat from his brow. Squinting against the fading purple twilight, he glanced down the row of fence-line he'd built today.
God, he loved it out here. Alone, working his land like in the old days. Here he wasn't afraid or lonely or filled with regret. No one expected anything of him or looked at him through hurt- or hate-filled eyes. He was just plain old Jack Rafferty, San Juan Island sheep rancher. Not Jackson Beauregard Rafferty III, disowned, cowardly son of the wealthiest planter in Georgia.
Not for the first time, he felt an almost suffocating wave of regret. They could have had a good life here. If only Amarylis had given the island-?given him?a chance. But, of course, she hadn't. Within ten seconds of landing in Garrison Bay, she'd dismissed the island and all its residents with an airy sweep of her pale hand. No one, she declared, but poor white trash would live in such a backwater place. And Amarylis Rafferty refused to have anything to do with trash. Jack had seen Savannah wince at her mother's words, seen the lonely pain creep into his daughter's eyes. A pain that had been born on that day and grown every day since, until now Jack couldn't remember what she looked like without it.
He stood there for a long time, watching wind scurry through the gilded grass and ripple across the water far below. The slow-moving breeze rustled softly through the leaves overhead, then died away, leaving in its wake an almost preternatural silence.
With a last swipe at the sweat on his forehead, he headed in for supper. As he rounded the barn, the house came into view, and his rare good mood fled. His stomach twisted into a coil.
He crossed the yard and ascended the stairs slowly. Each step reverberated up his stiffened spine. After the
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bathing debacle this afternoon, he felt like a man walking on an emotional tightrope. One misstep and years' worth of hard work would be wrenched away.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.
"Hi, Jack," his wife drawled. "Welcome home."
He was too stunned to hide his reaction. "You're wearing your ..."
"Unmentionables. I know. Savannah told me." Humor? honest-to-God humor?twinkled in her brown eyes. "C'est la vie."
"Say la what?"
"It means?roughly?such is life. Anyway, my boo?" She glanced over at the children, and amended her sentence. "My breasts are covered, so who cares?"
Savannah and Katie covered their mouths to keep from laughing.
Jack glanced around the kitchen, looking for something?anything?to take his mind off the creamy swell of cleavage that looked so damned inviting. "You're using the Sunday tablecloth."
Dumb, Jack. Really dumb. Now she'll rip it off the table and throw it at?
"Thursday."
He frowned. "Huh?"
"Now it's the Thursday tablecloth. Tomorrow it'll be the Friday tablecloth. Then I think we'll have a picnic. What do you think, girls? Wouldn't a picnic be nice on Satur day?"
"A picnic? You must be joking."
"It may rain, of course, so we'll have to have a contingency plan?like dinner in the barn."
He wondered suddenly if she'd been hit on the head or fallen down the porch steps. "Amarylis? Are you all right?"
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"I'm glad you brought that up." She bent over the table and collected the plates.
Jack felt a headache start. It swelled behind his eyes like a giant wall of pressure. She had to be toying with him. She had to be....
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for the strength to remain numb. When he thought he could speak without raising his voice, he said, "Brought what up, Amarylis?"
"My name. It stinks. What could her?I mean, my mother have been thinking?"
Jack opened his eyes and stared at her. "You always liked your name. You said it showed good southern breeding."
"Breeding? What am I? A pig? Here, follow me."
Without waiting, she went to the kitchener.
Reluctantly he followed.
She peered into the pot and started ladling stew onto the plates. "Now, about my name . . . Hmph, it's sort of runny."
He was holding on to his temper by a thread. "Your name?"
She laughed. It was a clear, guileless sound that made his headache double in intensity. "Of course not. The stew is runny. My name is just plain ugly. I've been giving it some thought lately, and I've decided to change it ... at least a little. Sort of a nickname." She paused, frowning. "How do you spell it, anyway?"
It was a few seconds before Jack felt it was safe to answer. "A-M-A-R-Y-L-I-S."
"Ugh. Sorta limits my choices. I'd love to choose, say ... Tess, but I don't think that's quite right. After all, a new life deserves a new name. How about Amy?"
Jack was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, but he couldn't think of a damn thing to say anyway.
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"No," she said finally. "Too young. Mary's too traditional, and Maryl probably hasn't been invented yet." Her frown deepened for a moment, then vanished. "I've got it! Lissa." She cocked her head and looked right at him. "From now on, I'd like to be called Lissa, okay?"
They were so close, he could feel the whisper of her breath against his lips. Jack stiffened, fighting the urge to leap backward.
She gave him a smile that sent feelers of warmth shooting into his groin. Then she reached out to touch him.
This time he did leap backward. "Lissa is fine," he said through gritted teeth.
"Great, I'm glad we got that settled. It's pretty, don't you think? Now, let's sit down."
"Together?" Savannah's voice came out as a surprised squeak.
Tess set the plates down. "Of course, together. We're a family, aren't we?"
Jack gave her a sick look. "Don't tell me. Supper's one of those 'new and improved' things."
She pulled out her chair and sat down, patting the back of the chair nearest her. "Here you go, Jack. Head of the table."
He edged past her and took a seat, careful not to touch so much as her little finger.
"Savannah and Katie, y'all?my, what a great word that is?y'all sit on either side of your daddy."
When everyone was seated, Tess went to the stove an
d eased the oven door open. Dry heat whooshed out at her, bringing with it the scent of done-to-a-turn biscuits. Grabbing a towel, she pulled out the heavy pan and set it on the riddle board, then snapped the door shut with her hip and ventured a proud look at her biscuits.
Her smile fell flat.
Her biscuits were flatter.
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She stood there a long time, staring at her failure, trying vainly to figure out what she'd done wrong. After a few minutes, Savannah came up beside her and peered around her shoulder.
"Gosh, them biscuits are flat. Look hard, too. You musta forgot the soda."
"Oh," Tess said. She felt a moment's worth of disappointment, but years in the scientific trenches had taught her to discard it easily. Then she had a flash of inspiration. "They aren't biscuits, they're? No, I'll save that for later. Come on, let's sit down."
The four of them came together at the table and sat down like a regular family. They looked everywhere except at one another. Gazes darted like wildfire, up, down, across, away. Obviously no one knew what to do, or when to do it.
"Everyone take hands," Tess said in a voice that brooked no argument.
"But?" Savannah started.
'Wow." Tess reached a hand toward each girl. Katie's small, pudgy, pink hand slipped into her own warm one, and Tess gave the girl's cold, trembling fingers a reassuring squeeze. Then she took hold of Savannah's hand.
Jack looked studiously at the flowers on the table, his hands in his lap. For a moment Tess thought he wasn't going to comply. Just as she was about to say his name, he brought his hands to the table and clasped his daughters' hands.
Tess bowed her head and waited for everyone else to do the same. One by one, they did. "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen."
"Amen," mumbled the rest of the family. Immediately everyone yanked their hands back.
With a sigh, Tess eased her napkin out from beneath the
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silverware and plopped it in her lap. Plucking up the soupspoon, she took a sip of her stew, and frowned.
The broth tasted like bottled water that had been left in the sun. No, it was saltier than that. Seawater, maybe.
She reached for the pepper and poured a load in her stew. "What did I do wrong, Savannah?"
"Nothing, Mama. It's great."
Tess laughed easily. "Sure, if you like drinking dirty dishwater ..."
Savannah struggled with a smile. "The vegetables and meat are good. Maybe next time you could add some flour to the broth. It'll thicken it."
"God knows you can find the flour," Jack muttered.
Surprise brought Tess's head up.
Jack flashed her a smile that lasted no longer than a heartbeat, then his mouth drew back into its customary scowl.
Tess felt as if she'd been struck. The memory of his smile lingered long after he'd looked away from her, floating down to that small, dark, frightened corner of Tess's soul, and brought with it a quivering ray of light. Somewhere deep inside Jack was a sense of humor, and with laughter there was always hope.
Tess smiled. For the first time since meeting Jack, she thought maybe she could really, truly fall in love with him. Maybe ...
Chapter Eight
After supper was finished and most of the dishes had been washed and dried and put away, Tess clapped her hands for attention.
Jack regarded her warily. "What now? You want us to call you Queen Victoria?"
"Vicky is fine," she shot back with a grin.
"Mama, what do you want me to do with these . . ." Savannah eyed the flat brown patties, as if uncertain whether they deserved the title biscuits.
"I'm glad you asked," Tess answered, tossing her soggy dishrag over the dry sink's rim. "I'm going to go check on Caleb, and while I'm doing that, I want you three to go stand by the tree swing. I'll be right out."
Savannah looked at her in horror. "But?"
"Damn it, what?" Jack cut in.
Tess ignored them. "Go on, all of you. I'll be out in a minute." When they didn't move, she looked pointedly at Jack. "I could cook something else. Maybe a nice three-layer cake."
Jack flinched. "We're going. Come on, girls."
They filed out of the house like silent, resentful soldiers. Tess checked on the sleeping baby, then grabbed the biscuits and ran outside.
The fresh, salt-limned night air immediately filled her with a giddy feeling of anticipation. Moonlight illuminated
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the three people standing in the small yard. Behind them, the farm buildings were a charcoal-hued range of shapes and rooflines. The barn was a hump of black in the distance.
She looked around. "Do we have a dog?"
Katie burst into nervous laughter.
Jack's eyes narrowed. "No, we don't have a dog."
"Too bad." Tess plucked up her hem and balanced the heavy pan on one hip, making her way carefully down the steps. "Gather round, y'all. We're going to play Frisbees."
They shuffled reluctantly toward her. Tess set the pan down in the middle of the dirt driveway. "Savannah, run down there to the edge of the chicken house. I'll wing one to you."
As Savannah did as she was told, Tess grabbed a biscuit from the pot. "Here it comes," she yelled, flipping the leadlike pancake with an expert flick of the wrist.
The pale brown circle flew through the air.
"Catch it!" Tess hollered.
Savannah reached high and just missed. The biscuit glanced off her fingertips and exploded against the chicken house wall. Rock-hard bits flew everywhere.
"Is the wall still standing?" Tess yelled.
Beside her, Katie clamped a hand over her mouth.
Tess touched the girl's shoulder. "You can laugh," she said softly.
Katie looked up. In the meager light, her brown eyes appeared huge in the small, pale oval of her face. "Can I try it?" There was a quaver in her voice that tugged at Tess's heart.
"Of course. You go on down there, and I'll send one your way."
Katie hurried toward her sister and turned around, hands outstretched.
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Tess lobbed a slow, easy one. The biscuit rolled through the air and landed in Katie's tiny hands.
"I got it, Savannah! I got it!"
Tess was so caught up in watching the girls, she didn't hear Jack come up beside her. "What are you doing?"
She jumped in surprise. Whirling around, she found herself almost in his arms. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but the emotion lasted for less than a heartbeat. His gaze narrowed, pinned her in place.
"Answer me, damn it."
His nearness sent strange sensations tingling through her body. Her throat felt thick and tight. For a second, she couldn't breathe.
Moonlight spilled through the branches and illuminated their faces. They stood motionlessly, close enough to touch but careful not to.
She tilted her face up and met his troubled gaze.
He's afraid, she realized suddenly and without question. Tess had learned long ago to trust her instincts about people. She was rarely wrong. For some reason, Jack was afraid of his wife, and his sarcastic anger was just a cover, a way to keep his precious distance. She'd bet her last dollar on it.
"Jack." she whispered his name in quiet wonder.
He didn't move, just stood there, staring down at her through those narrowed, unreadable eyes. Their faces were close, no more than a hand's span apart. She could smell the masculine wool and leather and woodsmoke perfume of his clothing, feel the whisper-soft threads of his breath against her lips.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
Tess swallowed thickly. After years of deafness, she knew what it meant to listen. In his voice she heard things a non-hearing-impaired person would never notice. Fear,
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exhaustion, despair. And something else, something that took her heart and twisted it in half. Loneliness.
In that moment, she knew
. She could be a part of this family. Tonight when she'd picked flowers with the children, and taken their hands at prayer-time, Tess had felt ... as if she belonged.
This was the second chance Carol had given her. It wasn't just about another body in another time. It was about finding the kind of emotion she'd only dreamed about, about exploring a side of herself she'd never known existed.
And it was even more than that. This chance belonged to all of them. Together they could help one another, heal one another.
The realization freed her, gave her a sense of daring and Tightness she'd never known before. Made her feel ... brave. As if she could take on the world?or one very frightened, very lonely man.
Tess blinked up at him, knowing her eyes were filled with all the pent-up hopes and dreams of a woman who'd lived alone too long. Knowing that the emotion in her eyes would scare the hell out of him, but unable to shield her gaze. She'd never been good at pretending not to care.
He backed away from her suddenly, his hands raised in the air, his head shaking slowly in denial. "I won't let you hurt those kids any more than we already have." She reached for him. "Jack ..." He jerked away, stumbling backward in his haste to escape her touch. "I mean it," he said quietly. "Don't hurt them."
Tess watched him go. With every step he took, she felt an aching sadness creep through her chest.
She realized then the risk she was taking. If she let herself fall in love with this family, with Jack, nothing would
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ever be the same again. If they?if he?rejected her, it would hurt as nothing in her life had ever hurt before.
Jack stood at the window, his forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching his wife toss flat biscuits to his giggling daughters.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about what was happening to him. What she was making happen with her sudden smiles and casual touches.
He had to remain numb; he knew that. Years ago, when his wife's hatred for him had just begun, he'd learned to squelch his hurt and need beneath a veneer of icy calm. When Amarylis laughed at him, he turned away; when she slapped him, he turned the other cheek.