Chapter 17
Looking back and forth between them, Callie put it all together. It was the blond from the Plaza Hotel hallway. The scarf and earrings that had been in Jack's suite were hers.
Callie fought a sudden urge to be sick.
"I'm Blair Stanford," the woman said, sticking out her hand and narrowing her eyes.
Probably because she was remembering their brief passing, too.
Callie awkwardly returned the gesture, shooting a glance at Jack. He met her eyes and shook his head as if he regretted the situation she'd been put in.
"I wish I could say I was pleased to meet you," Blair Said, with more honesty than hostility. "This has been a disappointment, as you can imagine."
Callie didn't know how to respond, and as she looked away, her eyes flickered down to the diamond. It had a diameter the size of a nickel.
"I think I'll just go upstairs," she murmured.
"That's not necessary," Blair said. "Jack and I were just making our good-bye official."
She picked up a Vuitton handbag and nodded stiffly at Callie. Then she looked at Jack and said, "Take care of yourself. I know you always do."
"I'll walk you to the door"
"That's not necessary. Actually, I'd prefer you didn't." She paused on her way out of the room, glancing at Callie. "Be careful, darling. He's a wonderful man on many fronts, so there's a big hole to fill when he leaves."
Callie looked away, thinking the woman was undoubtedly right.
The sound of the front door being opened and closed was followed by a long silence.
She shifted her eyes to Jack. His head was down and he was gripping the edge of the countertop.
"Are you okay? " she asked.
His chest rose and fell. "Yeah."
She waited for him to say something more. When he didn't, she murmured, "You want to hold off on dinner?"
He looked up. "Maybe. I don't know that I'd be good company right now."
Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered whether he was having second thoughts. But maybe it was just the awkwardness of Blair showing up. "I understand."
He came over and kissed her briefly. "Thank you."
After he left, she glanced over at the ring and tried to imagine wearing the thing. She couldn't picture it on her finger.
Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He certainly hadn't mentioned marriage to her.
She groaned. Marriage? They'd made love three times and already she was thinking about altars? She had to be out of her mind. Weekend escapes were one thing. And even then, she might have been pushing it a little.
She forced herself to consider how long they'd known each other and didn't like the answer. It was a matter of weeks, not months. They had a long, long way to go before she should be thinking more than a couple days ahead.
Jack went into his study and tried to pretend that settling in with the bourbon was not becoming a routine. After a couple of swallows, he pushed the glass and the decanter away, feeling too much like his father. What he wanted was a little peace, not a coping mechanism with nasty consequences.
But when his mother appeared in the doorway, he reached for the glass again. She was wearing a formal dress and a lot of pearls and he took the outfit as a good sign she was leaving.
Which couldn't happen fast enough for him considering the displeasure on her face.
"Where did Blair run off to? And why was this," she held up the diamond, "in the kitchen?"
Damn it, he should have pocketed the ring when he'd had the chance.
"The engagement is off."
"Whatever for?" she demanded.
"That's none of your business."
Mercedes began shaking her
He refilled his glass. "I can assure you, being with Callie is no sacrifice for me. At all."
His mother's face tightened. "Maybe in the privacy of your own home. But what about in the outside world? You need someone who understands the kind of life you lead. Blair can support you—"
"And you think Callie can't? My lifestyle isn't rocket science. I see the same five hundred people, at the same parties, year after year. I could do it with my eyes closed and so could anyone with half a brain."
"That's a considerable simplification and you know it. Listen to me, Jack, I know how hard it was for your father and me—"
Jack didn't bother to keep the boredom out of his voice. "My father worshipped you and you've had a great time playing grande dame for the past forty years. So don't try and pretend it was all a chore, okay?"
She took a deep breath. "There's no reason to talk to me like that."
"Was there anything else you had to say, Mother?" As soon as the words came out, he regretted the invitation. Of course there was going to be more.
"Jack, you simply cannot do this. Especially if you are going to run for governor." As his eyebrows lifted, she explained, "Gray Bennett's mother called and told me that he's been here in Boston, meeting with you. It's obvious what you're planning."
"Ah, the Smith College alumni network at its best."
Mercedes came up to the desk with her particular brand of urgency, clearly prepared to force her will on him. Even though she'd never swayed him, she was always willing to try.
Man, his father hadn't stood a chance once she'd picked him out of the crowd, Jack thought.
"You know I've always hoped you'd run," she said, "and not just at the state level. Can't you see what elected office would do for you? The power it would give you? The respect? Don't you want all that?"
"I already have power so a lot of people respect me," he said dryly. "And I have a feeling that you're quite interested in being the mother of the governor, aren't you? But you're not impressing me with your logic. I fail to see how marrying Blair when I don't love her would land me in the governor's seat any more than being with Callie would prevent it."
The tone of his mother's voice hardened. "Don't think your love life isn't going to play a role in the election. God knows, your past is going to be hard enough to live down. You shouldn't compound the problem by losing someone like Blair just because you want to sleep with a member of the lower classes."
"That's enough," he said sharply, bringing the glass down hard on the desk.
His mother was not deterred.
"Jackson, I cannot let you make a mistake like this. There are ways of fixing these things."
He narrowed his eyes on her. "It's rather noble of you to try and save me from myself, but bear this in mind. If you want to keep living here, you will back the hell off and stay out of my life. Do we have an understanding?"
Her thin brows shot up into her forehead.
"But you must see that it can never work between you and that... Callie," she said, gesturing aimlessly with a jeweled hand.
"I'm sorry, didn't we just agree you wouldn't interfere? Or are you moving?"
Mercedes stared at him, looking almost helpless. He could imagine her frustration, to be so close to her dreams, and yet unable to control his actions.
"Jack, I'm your mother—”
"That doesn't mean you're running the show around here. Shut the door on your way out, will you?" As she continued to stare at him, he cocked an eyebrow. "Now."
When he was alone, he finished his drink and then went to look for Callie.
Even if he was out of sorts, there was nowhere else he wanted to be but with her.
A week later, Callie returned to the house following a productive afternoon with the portrait. After having worked her way around the outside of the painting, she was now far enough in so that she was cleaning Nathaniel's face. Even with the dirt and grime he had been handsome, if rather dour, but revealed in all his glory, he was resplendent. His eyes were a dark mahogany, his cheeks a gentle pink, his hair thick with a multitude of browns. Copley had brought out the best in his subject, but she suspected that there had been a lot to work with. And with the old varnish gone, his brooding expression was less intense.
As she opened the back door, the resounding silence in the kitchen reminded her it was Thomas's day off.
This meant Mrs. Walker would be out to dinner and Callie grinned. Although she and Jack had plans to go to the movies and have dinner somewhere, maybe they should just stay home. It seemed a damn shame to waste the privacy.
She glanced at her new watch. She was getting used to it and it did serve the purpose of telling her when it was lunchtime. More than anything, though, she liked it because it made her think of Jack.
Sitting down at the table, she started to leaf through the paper, stroking Arthur's ear with her free hand.
An hour later, she looked at the watch again and started pacing around the kitchen. Jack was never late and he'd told her he'd be home an hour and a half ago. She was wondering whether she should try him at the office when the phone rang.
Even though she wasn't in the habit of answering calls at the house, she picked up the receiver, hoping it was him.
"Hello?"
"Callie, it's Jack. I need your help."
In the background, she heard muffled voices and the sound of something shrill. Were those alarms?
"What happened?" she asked, her hand coming up to her forehead.
"I totaled my car."
Her lungs immediately stopped functioning.
Calm, stay calm, she told herself. At least he can still pick up the phone.
"Oh, God. Are you—”
"I'm fine except I broke my damn arm. Can you come pick me up? I'm at Beth Israel."
"Where? And what's around here to drive?"
"Take the other Jag."
He told her where the keys were and gave her directions to the medical center. As she flew out the door, she was imagining all kinds of what-if's with horrid consequences. The way he drove, he could have done a lot more damage to himself than just ending up with a cast on his arm.
"The other Jag" was a convertible, and as luck would have it, a stick shift. As she hiccuped down the driveway, she was hoping that enough of the transmission system would be left by the time she got to Boston to get them home again. The trip was interminable. She was a reluctant driver under the best of circumstances, and stress didn't improve her skills. Behind the wheel of a powerhouse engine, working the clutch and accelerator with all the finesse of a student driver, she was no Jeff Gordon.
A lifetime later, she pulled up to the emergency wing of the hospital's massive complex. She figured she'd have to ditch the car to find Jack, but then he came limping out of the double doors, his arm in a sling. She jammed on the brakes and leapt from the cat
"You hurt more than your arm," she said, eyeing the bandage at his temple.
"You should see the DB9." He shook his head and winced. "It looks like it's been through a trash compactor. This morning it was a sports car. Now it's an accordion."
Callie opened the door for him and he grimaced as he carefully slid inside. She ran around and got in, but hesitated before pulling away from the curb because she wanted to take a good look at him. His jacket was around his shoulders, his tie was hanging out of his pocket, and his untucked shirt had some dried blood on the collar. She wondered what kind of bruises were hidden under his clothes.
"Can we go now?" He put his head back against the rest and closed his eyes. He looked tired and uncomfortable, but not as if he were on death's door by any stretch.
As soon as she was convinced he was all right, she
"What the hell did you hit?"
He winced as her voice bounced around the inside of the car.
"How do you know it was my fault?" he asked quietly.
"Because I've been in a car with you. Damn it, you could have been killed."
"First of all, I wasn't. And I know this because I hurt all over. Secondly, the driver that swerved into my lane had a thing or two to do with the accident. Now can we please go?"
Biting back a curse, she gripped the steering wheel and eased them onto Brookline Avenue.
"How did it happen?", Callie grumbled.
"I was on Storrow Drive. Some guy in an SUV shot into my lane, and when I tried to get around him, I hit the guardrail, did a three-sixty, I think, and ended up on the esplanade." He turned his head and looked at her. "That's the strip of green between Storrow and the Charles River. Usually it's reserved for pedestrians, so you can imagine I wasn't the only one surprised to find myself in a car on the jogging path. Thank God no one else was hurt. "
She shook her head. "You drive too fast."
"I know."
"You're too aggressive."
"I know."
"You could have killed yourself," she repeated, irritated by his laconic responses. "And don't say I know."
"Okay."
She shot a glare across the seat. In the glow from the dash, she saw that his eyes were closed. He looked beat and the urge to yell at him faded. Focusing on the road, she figured she would get him home and put him right to bed.
Assuming he didn't fall asleep in the car.
When she pulled into Buona Fortuna's drive, she thought she was going to have to wake him up, but he lifted his head and let out a long sigh. Carefully parking the Jag in the garage, she wondered if she was going to have to help him get out, but he stood up on his own and slowly limped out into the night air. Closing the garage door, she noted that Mrs. Walker's car was back and wondered what the woman's response was going to be. Here was her perfect son, all banged up. She was probably going to throw a fit.
As Callie came to his side, Jack was staring up at the stars with a thoughtful expression, his good arm cradling his broken one in spite of the sling around his neck.
She reached out and put her hand gently on his shoulder. She needed to touch him and not through his clothes. She had to know the warmth of his skin, to have his body against hers, to feel that he was all right, not just assume it from afar.
"Thank you," he murmured softly. "For picking me up."
"Good Lord, of course."
He started for the house and she followed, measuring the way he favored his right foot and the rigid way he held himself. As she opened the door for him, she thought he looked visibly relieved to be home.
"Do you want anything to eat?" she asked.
"Can you bring me something upstairs? I want to change and lie down."
When she came up to his bedroom, the confident, elegant man she knew was standing by his bed, completely tangled up in his clothes. The sling was hanging cockeyed from his shoulder, his shirt stuck around his neck, and his belt was half undone.
"You need some help?" She put down the plate and glass, swallowing a smile.
One eye glared out of the mess. "Yes. Please."
She quickly freed the buttons, stripped off the shirt, and removed the sling.
She held her breath as she eyed a bruise on his collarbone.
"That must have hurt." She put her hand out and touched him, running her fingers gently around the red mark.
When he didn't say anything, she looked up. His eyes were closed and his face was showing intense concentration as if he were drinking in her touch.
Jack's voice was rough. "When the car stopped spinning around, I was so damn dizzy and bashed up, I couldn't tell what kind of shape I was in."
She winced, trying not to imagine his broken body being pulled out of the car by paramedic.
His eyes opened slowly. "The first thing I thought of was you. The idea of not seeing you again was ... unbearable."
Callie reached up to his face, feeling the rasp of his beard growth, the hollow above his jawline, the pulse that beat at his throat.
When she dropped her hand, he took it and put it back.
"Touch me," he said. "You make the numbness go away."
She let her hand move down over his shoulder and onto his biceps. Lightly tracing his pecs, she paused on his beating heart and went down on to the ridges of his stomach. She could felt his body tighten under her fingertips and heard his breath as it rushed out of him. When she brushed the back of her knuckles across his belly button, he hissed, taking his lower lip between his sharp teeth.
She paused, worried that she was hurting him.
"Don't stop," he said thickly. His eyes were wild, on the edge of violence. "Christ, please don't stop."
She reached for his belt buckle, feeling supple leather as she finished undoing it. His pants hit the floor in a rush and she looked up. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his chest.
Jack grabbed her with his good arm, crushing her to him, burying his head in her hair. Feeling the solid wall of his chest, hearing the beat of his heart, she shuddered and opened her mouth.
Knowing that she was taking the biggest risk of her life, that it was too early, that it was not the right time, that maybe she was just speaking out of passion and relief, she whispered, "I love you."
Jack fell still and she immediately wished she could take the words back.
What was she thinking? Sure, he cared for her. Yes, he had passion for her. But love?
Callie stepped back, trying to cover up what she'd said, but his eyes pegged her with an intensity she'd never seen in them before.
He brought her back against him. "I can't believe it, I didn't think it would ever happen. But... I love you, too."
He pulled her close and she felt like crying. It was more than the blessing that he was home safely. That he felt the same way she did. That his words were not a promise, but a statement of fact. No, the feeling came from a sense that maybe the world wasn't quite the hard, cold place she'd always known it to be.
After so many years of being alone, she had someone of her own.