The Secret Heir

Because this was all she could do for him now, she opened her arms to him. “I miss you, too,” she murmured, her words having a deeper, more wistful meaning.

It seemed to be all he needed to hear. He gathered her into his arms and crushed her mouth beneath his.

If there was more than desire in his kiss, a desperation that could not be entirely attributed to lust, this was not the time to confront him about it. Maybe two such stubbornly independent, obsessively self-sufficient people had to learn to communicate the best they could, and maybe words weren’t always the only way to share what they were feeling.

Considering the turmoil their emotions were in, she might have expected a heated rush to climax, with much more intensity than finesse. She would have been wrong.

Jackson took his time just kissing her, exploring her mouth from every depth and angle. From soft and sweet to hard and hungry. It had been a long while since he had spent so much time just kissing her, and she was rather surprised by the urgency of her response. Those kisses swept her back to a time when their relationship had been new and exciting, when they had been content to spend hours just holding and enjoying each other. Before pragmatic realities and unreasonable expectations had come between them.

She speared her fingers into his hair, relishing the thickness and softness of it. He gathered her even closer, and she pressed herself against him, savoring his warmth and his strength. She wouldn’t change one thing about him physically, she thought, as they drifted into another long, lazy kiss.

She loved so many things about Jackson. His unflinching integrity. His admirable work ethic. His sense of loyalty. Even his devotion to his family, though there were times she thought he went a bit overboard in some respects. When it came right down to it, the only thing she would change about him was how he tried to change her.

Eventually his kisses moved from her mouth downward, tracing the line of her arched throat, pausing for a while at the soft, pulsing hollow at the base. He knew she’d always loved to be kissed there. Just as he knew that touching her in that other place always made her gasp softly, as she did now.

When they were together like this, it was just the two of the

m, lost in each other. If only they could carry that closeness with them back into the real world with its outside demands and intrusions, Laurel thought wistfully. And then Jackson took her right nipple into his mouth, and she could no longer think at all….

Jackson was gone when Laurel woke Sunday morning. He had left a note, so hastily scrawled it barely resembled his handwriting. “Tell Tyler I’m sorry. I’ll see him later. Love to you both.”

Had he started to sign his name? What might have been a crossed-out J was at the bottom of the page.

She checked on Tyler, who was still sleeping, but beginning to stir. He wouldn’t sleep much longer. Belting her robe around her, she headed down to the kitchen to start his breakfast. She found the Sunday paper sitting on the table, and a pot of coffee already prepared. A cup of cold coffee sat on the counter. Jackson had apparently poured himself a cup, but hadn’t hung around long enough to drink it.

She was going through the motions of a typical weekend morning to avoid thinking about Jackson: the stricken look in his eyes when he’d come home the night before, the way he had sought her out during the night, making love to her until neither of them could move another muscle. She was trying not to think about where he might have gone now, or why he hadn’t told her what Donna had said to him.

She was trying not to give in to the despair of wondering if their marriage could survive another blow, especially if it drove him farther away from her.

Why hadn’t he talked to her? Why couldn’t he see that she was the one person he should have been comfortable talking to about his problems?

When Tyler got up a short while later, he didn’t seem particularly surprised that his father wasn’t home.

“He go work?” he asked as he finished his breakfast. Though he was too young to know where “work” was, he accepted that his father spent a great deal of time there.

“Yes, he went to work,” Laurel fibbed. “But I’m sure he’ll be home as soon as he can to spend time with you. In the meantime, would you like to color with the new markers Gammy bought you? You can put stickers on your artwork, too. She brought you a whole new book of stickers.”

Always happy to play with art supplies, Tyler settled in his booster seat at the kitchen table to scribble contentedly. It wasn’t long before a stack of colorful, sticker-covered works of art littered the kitchen.

Needing something to occupy her own hands, Laurel got out pans and ingredients and started baking. It was something she enjoyed doing occasionally, something her own mother had never attempted, as far as she knew.

Laurel didn’t bake because mothers were expected to bake, which would have been Donna’s reason, but because she simply enjoyed the measuring and stirring and the delicious aromas that ensued. Not to mention that she liked eating the results, an indulgence she didn’t allow herself very often.

There was little pleasure in going through the motions that day. Nor did she imagine that she would have an appetite for sweets, or anything else, until she knew what was going on with Jackson. But baking a fresh banana nut cake gave her something to do besides worry.

When someone tapped on the kitchen door just as the oven timer dinged to let her know the cake was done, her first thought was that Jackson had come home, until she realized he wouldn’t need to knock.

She took the cake out and went to open the door to find her father-in-law on the other side. He held a wrapped package in his callused hands and wore a vaguely apologetic look on his weathered face.

“Carl. Please, come in.”

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing anything.”

“No, Tyler’s just finished playing with his new markers. I was going to let him watch a cartoon before lunch.”

“Want to see Scooby-Doo, Gampy?” Tyler offered.

Carl’s face softened when he looked at the boy. “No, thanks, Tyler. I need to talk to your mom. But I brought you a present from your grandmother. She would have come herself, but she isn’t feeling very well.”