No More Mr. Nice

chapter 11


The morning crept by with the speed of a turtle on its back. Representatives from the University of Oklahoma and Oklahoma State gave presentations about career opportunities. The kids were attentive, and best of all, Lucas was gone.

Since Jess hadn’t had any sleep, most of her morning had been spent struggling to keep from falling off her chair in a heap. She imagined Lucas must be having the same problem at his office. Today was Careers and Crafts Day, so he’d been granted time off.

She was managing to keep awake with lots of coffee, but the Goodalls and the Kornblums were giving her odd looks. She didn’t blame them. Every time they smiled at her, she yawned back.

“Madam?” Maxim inquired, startling her from her fuzzy ramblings. She leaped a foot off the chair and gasped. All the kids twisted around to rubberneck. Howie Goodall stopped in the middle of his talk about the joys of leather craft, and stared in confusion.

She bit her lip, mumbling, “Excuse me. Please—go on, Howie.” She hated having to face the butler, who knew what a sinful night she’d spent with the master of the house. Unable to look him in the eye, she whispered, “Yes? What is it?” half expecting a blackmail demand.

“Mr. Lucas is on the phone.”



Her heart hammered stupidly against her rib cage at the mere mention of his name, and she glanced at Maxim’s sober face. “He wants to talk to—to me?” she breathed faintly.

“It seems your mother is at his office.”

“Mother?” Jess felt a stab of apprehension “I thought she was sleeping….” As she rushed toward the kitchen, she called back, “Thank you, Maxim,” and meant it in more ways than one. The servant’s eyes had been gentle, almost pitying, in fact, and she was grateful. “What’s happened, Lucas?” she said breathlessly as she picked up the receive. “How did—”

“Your mother’s fine,” he interrupted. “She was doing her Mamie Eisenhower impersonation, and the police were going to throw her in the drunk tank. To make a long story short, she convinced a patrolman to bring her here.”

“There? Why, there?” Jess asked, confused.

“I don’t know,” he said tiredly. “But I haven’t ruled out industrial sabotage.”

“I’m coming right down.” She hung up and found Jerry tinkering in the garage. Twenty minutes later, she rushed into Lucas’s high-rise office where a group of men, their ties loosened and jackets discarded, were huddled in fierce discussion. Behind their circle of chairs loomed some spaceship-like computer equipment, much the same as that installed in the room at Lucas’s house where they so recently—

The men glanced her way en masse, and an expectant hush fell over the room. She imagined they were waiting for her to explain why she had suddenly turned a bright shade of pink. Some movement caught her attention, and she noticed a plumpish woman wearing a classic blue suit, her short silver hair immaculate, her smile hostess-bright.

“Mother…?” Jess breathed.

The woman lifted her gaze from the cup she was filling. “Why, Jessica,” came the huffy response. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a meeting? Shame on you for interrupting. We haven’t much time to work out a problem with our horse-feedbag glove. Do we, dear?” She directed an extravagant smile at Lucas.

Nodding perfunctorily, he strode to confront Jess by the door. “She might as well stay,” he said under his breath. “All she wants is to keep busy and feel important. I’ll bring her home with me.”

Jess’s anxious glance swung from him to her mother, who was offering to make sandwiches. With a worried sigh, she looked back at Lucas. “I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he broke in sharply. “We’re busy. Just go.”

“You look awful,” she said, without thinking. The skin beneath his eyes was deeply shadowed, his craggy features drawn in exhaustion. She had a foolish urge to hold him, to try to put the gleam back into his dark eyes—the gleam she’d seen for a brief moment last night when they were lying in each other’s arms. Squelching the memory, she scolded, “You need sleep.”

His tired yet mesmerizing gaze searched her face. “You should have thought of that last night,” he admonished softly.

With a hot, liquid rush of feeling, she veered away from that dangerous subject. “Lucas, is any amount of money worth ruining your health?”

“Dammit, Jess. I’m not the only one to consider here,” he gritted. “There are stockholders—”



“Oh, sure, and they’ll go bankrupt without this deal?”

“No, but Takahashi’s contract would be our biggest this year. Our stock value would go up at least—”

“I’m all aquiver,” she scoffed. “Think what a nice big tombstone you’ll be able to afford!”

She watched his brow crease into a scowl, but before he could speak, Sol called, “Brand, come see what you think of this idea.”

He nodded absently, growling under his breath, “Look, I know you can’t help being a bleeding heart. But I’m busy. Go bleed on somebody else.”

“Okay. Act like a hard-nose,” she hissed. “But, you called me about my mother and kept her out of jail, busy or not.”

He’d turned away, but stopped to flick her a puzzled glance. “Anybody would have done that. What’s your point?”

“My point is, you try so hard to be a hardass,” she insisted. “But a real, hardass wouldn’t have cared enough to call, and certainly wouldn’t allow her to stay and-”

“Lucas?” Mamie interrupted, with a wave. “Do you want chicken salad on wheat or ham on rye? I’m doing both.”

He held up a finger to indicate he’d be right there. “Stay the hell out of my head, Jess,” he warned, wheeling away to rejoin his meeting.

On the trip back to the house in the limousine, Jess couldn’t banish the surge of affection for Lucas that had come over her in his office. Heaven only knew, she’d tried. Not only had he not been embarrassed by her mother, but he’d given her a “job.” Even as harried and exhausted as he was.



Darn you, Lucas Brand, she complained inwardly. The last thing I want in this world is to harbor tender thoughts about you! Why aren’t you the cold-blooded jerk you pretend to be?

BUT HARBOR TENDER thoughts she did, even though, for the next two days, Lucas kept his distance. She’d felt a completely illogical disappointment about that.

Tonight was the hayride, and Lucas and Jess were chaperons on the second wagon. She knew the less time she spent with him the better it would be for her mental health in the long run. But she kept dwelling on the fact that he’d have to be near her for several hours, and her heart thrilled. Unfortunately, Mamie had decided to ride along, so Jess tried not to get her hopes too high.

Surprisingly enough, after Mamie’s sojourn in Lucas’s office, she’d begun to behave better. She’d taken over as a sort of “warden of etiquette” at mealtimes. To the amusement of the volunteers, Mamie gave spirited lectures on table manners, utensil placement and the proper rendering of thank-you notes. Even though she became confused sometimes as to which meal was which, she was more an asset than a hindrance, and the kids seemed to find her a strange but interesting addition.

Mamie dressed like a proper president’s wife, and continued to harangue Jess about her “vulgar” choice of clothing. But oddly enough, the kids appeared to feel better about themselves at the very idea that they, one day, might have to write a thank-you note to the governor for a “lovely time.” It was true that one former Oklahoma governor and a current United States congressman, were products of the Mr. Niceguy program. So, who really knew what might happen one day? If nothing else, it wouldn’t kill the teens to be able to write a proper thank-you note or identify a shrimp fork.

Seven o’clock rolled around, and Jess was emotionally torn about sharing anything so intimate as a ten-foot-long hay wagon with Lucas—rolling along under a pale gold lovers’ moon. Would he talk to her? Maybe even smile?

Soon enough, she discovered she needn’t have worried. Mamie had made it her duty to station Lucas at the front and Jess at the back, while she took a post in the middle. That way, her mother explained, they could all keep a sharper eye on any “potentially immoral” activities that might get started beneath the blankets.

Jess and Lucas didn’t speak two words to each other, or share so much as a glance, all the way to the site of the bonfire and weenie roast. Around nine, the scent of burned weenies redolent in the air, Jess realized her mother was missing. “Oh, no,” she moaned, glancing frantically around. Mamie had insisted on wearing a three-piece tweed suit and low-heeled pumps—her idea of casual clothing. If she got lost in the woods, she’d freeze before morning.

Catching Bertha Kornblum by a coat sleeve, she whispered, “Mother’s disappeared. I’m going to look around. She gets disoriented so quickly.”

Bertha nodded. “Don’t go far. Even with the moon, the woods are pretty black.”

Nodding, Jess caught a glimpse of Lucas. He was at the makeshift condiment table—a blanket spread over the back of a hay wagon—smiling and talking with Jack and Annie. Though Lucas looked tired, he appeared to be relaxed and was clearly enjoying himself. While Jess watched, the dog, Moron, scampered up, and stole a weenie out of Jack’s bun. Jess heard Lucas’s deep laughter and felt strangely desolate. All she craved was a simple smile from the man. Why, she wondered, must she care? Remembering she needed to locate her mother, she headed into the woods. “Mother?” she called softly, not wanting to alert the others until it became absolutely necessary. “Mother? Where are you?”

Jess reached a stream, and was amazed to recognize the spot. It was near that quaint white cottage. She peered around. Yes, there was the darned branch that had scraped her off Snowflake the other day. Instinctively, she headed for the natural bridge formed by a fallen tree that spanned the creek.

“Mother?” she called again, stepping onto the trunk. “For heaven’s sake, this is no time to go wandering off.” A voice inside her suggested that maybe she should heed her own advice, but she didn’t have time to ponder the wisdom of it. Something ahead of her moved. She squinted and recognized it as an animal of some kind—with a long, white—“Oh, my Lord,” she breathed. A skunk.

She pivoted on the log to backtrack, and was horrifed to see another skunk on the far end of the log, with several smaller ones trailing behind. Had she stumbled into some sort of skunk parade? A polecat family on an outing?

The absurd circumstance that had put her in the middle of a log bridge between a touchy-looking mother skunk and her offspring on one end, and perhaps, dear old Dad on the other, wasn’t important right now. What was important was—she was trapped!

She ran through her list of options quickly. It was short—get squirted by an irate skunk, or get wet. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the stream, clamping her jaws to stifle a cry at the icy chill of the water. Remaining as still as she could, she stood statuelike, afraid to breathe, as the mother and her offspring crept across the log at eye level.

Once they’d disappeared into the blackness, she sucked in a long-overdue breath and hugged herself to ward off the violent tremors that flooded her body.

“Let me guess,” came a deep, amused voice. “You’re going down with the ship?”

Lucas stood on the bank, his lanky legs braced wide, his arms folded across his chest, a crooked grin on those firm, sensual lips. He exuded that maddening sexual magnetism she knew so well, and had fought so hard. She stared longingly at him, thinking maybe a dip in the freezing water was worth seeing him smile again. A violent shiver brought her back to her situation, and she retorted through chattering teeth, “I love f-funny men. Why don’t you g-go look for one!”

“You’re catching your death.” He leaned forward, extending a hand. “Grab hold.”

Since the other bank was steep, she had no choice but to move toward him, but she ignored his offer. “N-no thanks.” Even his casual helping hand would be hard to bear, now that she knew what those hands could do

He cursed, grasping her by the upper arm and hauling her out. “At the rate you’re moving, you’ll freeze solid,” he said, hoisting her into his arms. “You’ll have to get out of those things.”

“I can’t g-go back.” she objected weakly. “Mother’s lost.”

“No, she’s not. She was out—’using the facilities’—to put it in her delicate terms.”

Jess relaxed as much as her quivering muscles would allow. “Thank heaven.” Looking around, she discovered they weren’t headed toward the campfire, but were crossing the log bridge. “Wh-where are we going?” she asked, her teeth making loud, clacking noises.

“The cottage.” He sounded reluctant, as though he had no desire to take her there. “You can get out of those wet things.”

Just as Lucas stepped off the log and onto the bank, there was the sound of barking, and Moron rushed past and disappeared into the woods. “Damn dog’s going to be pleasant company on the trip back,” Lucas mused with a resigned shake of his head.

She eyed him speculatively. “You saw the skunks, then?”

He met her gaze. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t try to help me?”

“I left my tranquillizer gun at the office,” he drawled, a faint smile quirking his lips. “Anything I’d have done would have set them off.”

She realized he was probably right and dropped the indignant tone. “Moron’ll get lost,” she murmured. “We’re pretty far from the house.”

“I doubt it,” Lucas said with a mordant chuckle. “The worse he smells, the faster he finds the house. It’s one of Murphy’s newer laws.” They reached the clearing and he stepped across the picket fence.

“You don’t sound particularly unhappy about it,” she commented softly. “You’ve changed, Lucas.”

He set her on the cottage porch and reaching up over the door, fished for a key. “I’m just too tired to care,” he muttered, as he inserted it in the lock. The scarred portal creaked as it swung open. Lucas stepped back to allow her to precede him. “Take off those wet things. I’ll get a fire going.”



He crossed the room to the hearth, opened a rough chest, and lifted some cut wood from it. He’d placed several logs in the hearth before turning to peer at her. She was still shrinking near the door. “Get those things off,” he repeated more sternly.

She swallowed hard. “Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate? I mean, you being right here and all.”

A dark brow lifted sardonically. “I’ve seen you naked,” he reminded harshly. “You made sure of it. Remember?”

She floundered before the intensity of his look. “I—Well that was—”

“I know what it was,” he cut in, and went back to readying the fire. “And since we’re past having any sexual interest in each other, you should have no problem shedding wet clothes in front of me.”

She hestitated. “Of—of course,” she answered feebly, and scurried across the room. She wrapped the quilt from the bed around her and skinned out of her sopping clothes. Lucas didn’t turn in her direction as he added pieces of kindling to the fire, gradually coaxing it into a healthy blaze.

She perched on the bed, pulling her legs up to hug her knees beneath the quilt. Unable to help herself, she watched his profile. His thick black hair, lit by the flickering firelight, gleamed a rich mahogany. His square jaw was tense, and something like pain was etched into the grave lines of his face.

She felt suddenly restless, and got up. Remembering her discarded clothes, she swept the quilt about her, taking the clammy things to the fireplace to drape them from the stone mantel. The two photographs sitting there drew her attention, and she picked them up to move them into a better light.



Settling on the rag rug before the glowing hearth, she peered at the silver-framed images. One was an elderly woman, kindly looking, dressed in overalls and a man’s plaid shirt, her gray hair twisted into a bun atop her head. She looked careworn but lively, and there was something familiar about her eyes. The other photograph was of a small boy standing between a scroungy mutt and a swaybacked horse. The child was dark-headed, and had the most wonderful smile….

Her mouth dropped open in mute surprise. “Why, Lucas.” Holding up the boy’s picture, she said, “This is you, isn’t it?”

He’d stopped stoking the fire, and was just sitting there beside her, watching, apparently dreading the question. A muscle worked in his jaw, as he nodded. “In another life.”

She frowned at his sad response, holding out the photo of the woman. “Who’s this?”

Clearly impatient, he grabbed the pictures and stood to replace them. “I’ll go tell your mother to gather some dry clothes when the hayride’s over. Then I’ll—” He dragged a hand through his hair. There was frustration in his gruff voice—the same frustration that had settled in the depths of his eyes. Unexpectedly, he turned away and strode toward the door. “Somebody will bring you your clothes and get you home.” Before she could object or even register that he was leaving her there, alone, he was gone. The only sound was the echo of the slamming door.

Jess tried to rest as she waited, but couldn’t. She wandered restlessly about the cottage, haunted by the memory of Lucas’s troubled face. She was forced to finally admit to herself that she cared about Lucas. Since it was clear he didn’t plan to tell her about his past, she felt compelled to search through the cabin’s meager contents. She desperately needed to know everything she could about him.

As she rummaged in drawers and cabinets, she carried with her the two framed pictures. She didn’t find much. Dishes, pots and pans, an old metal jewel box with a few trinkets inside. The thing that drew her interest in the box was a folded, hand-drawn Valentine inscribed with the childishly scrawled message, “I love you, Grandma Jane.” The signature had read, simply, “Lucas.”

There was also a faded snapshot of a man and woman. The man bore a striking resemblance to Lucas. Jess guessed that these were his parents, in happier times, before addiction to drugs had ruined their lives.

From these skimpy keepsakes, she gleaned a great deal about how Lucas had become the man he was. It seemed he’d lost everyone he’d ever loved, one way or another. As a small child, he must have felt utterly abandoned, first by his parents’ desertion, then by his grandmother’s death.

He’d mentioned he’d been married once. Jess had a feeling his marriage had come at a time when he was beginning to heal, to reach out. When it ended, he’d simply closed himself off entirely. A tear trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away, closed the box and replaced it in the dresser beside the bed.

So, this was the reason Lucas Brand tried so not to care for people. He feared abandonment so much, he’d shut himself off from emotional connections. He made sure he discarded relationships before they could discard him. That’s why the Mary Anne Browns of the world waited in vain for his call. He’d promised himself never to put his heart in jeopardy again. She couldn’t really blame him. People defended themselves from hurt in many different ways. Lucas had obviously chosen to place his trust and his passions in the logical, unemotional world of computers.

And this cottage had become a shrine of sorts, a cherished monument to what he’d called “another life”—a life in which he’d felt loved and secure, one that his young, broken heart had convinced him could never be his again.

A footstep on the porch made her stiffen. Then she realized it was someone returning with her clothes. When the door opened, she stared in astonishment and her breath caught in her chest. Lucas stood there.

Framed in the doorway, an overnight bag clenched in his hand, he was painfully arresting, clad in close-fitting jeans and a bulky white turtleneck that accentuated the width of his shoulders. Firelight and shadow played on his solemn face, giving it a bold and primitive look. Silently, he entered the cottage and closed the door behind him.

She held herself very still, the familiar heat of desire washing over her against her will. “Lucas,” she breathed. “I thought—What are you doing here?”

He dropped the bag on a chair, quickly closed the distance between them and crushed her in the strong warmth of his arms. “Damn me to hell if I know why,” he growled, his tone hoarse with self-reproach. “I may be out of your system, Jess. But, you’re not out of mine.” Lifting her, he settled her on the bed, then hovered inches above her, imprisoning her between his arms and the looming promise of his body. “Give me tonight,” he coaxed roughly, his eyes searching hers with such erotic purpose that her heart turned over in response.



Her thoughts in a jumble, she swept her gaze over his face, down his lean cheeks to the sharp, chiseled lines of his tensed jaw, then back to his lips—those wonderful, tormenting lips that could thrill her to mindless distraction. There was nothing she wanted more in life than to give herself to him—now and all the rest of her days. But having discovered his fear, his reason for rejecting love, she was terrified to let herself say yes. She didn’t want to be just another Mary Anne Brown to him. She loved him. She knew it now, and that knowledge filled her with trembling dread.

“Lucas…” she tried, but her voice failed her. Frantically, she turned away, struggling to maintain a shred of composure. “You have a right, I suppose, since I—I started this thing.” He didn’t answer, forcing her to look into his blazing eyes.

“Don’t talk like a failure. You don’t owe me a thing,” he ground out. “Don’t give yourself to me as a sleazy consolation prize. You’re an intelligent, accomplished woman, Jess. Either you want me, or you don’t.” His dark, compelling eyes raked her face, searching for truth. “Just tell me what you want. It’s as simple as that.”

Oh, if it were only that simple, Lucas! her mind cried. But her foolish willful arms paid no heed as they curled about his neck and drew him down to her.