Husband in Training Page 5

  He disappeared through the crowd. Jenny waited where she was, smiling at people as they moved by her, feeling just a little awkward standing there all alone, but rather enjoying herself nonetheless.

  Nick wasn't gone long. "Come on." He tucked her arm in his. "We'd better grab our seats. The waiters are moving in."

  Jenny glanced out across the acres of tables. Sure enough, men and women in white shirts with black ties were already weaving in and out, serving trays held high.

  Nick led Jenny to a table not far from the dance floor, where six of the eight chairs were already filled. The little silver-embossed place cards at the two empty seats read Nick DeSalvo and Guest.

  Amidst another flurry of introductions, Nick pulled back Jenny's chair for her. Jenny shook several hands in a row and murmured over and over, "So nice to meet you." It turned out that Nick had built the house of the couple across from them, as well as the offices of the dentist on their left.

  Nick said the name of the woman on her right. Jenny stuck out her hand. "So nice to—"

  "Jenny. I swear. You don't remember me, do you?"

  Jenny blinked—and the woman's name registered. Clarice Hunter. High school. Another honor student, as Jenny herself had been. Andrew and Clarice had dated, before Jenny came along. And Clarice had become … a lawyer, wasn't it?

  Clarice knew. About what had happened to Andrew. Jenny could see it in those hazel eyes. The story had made the front page of the Bee: "Man Shot Dead in Doughnut Shop Holdup." And, now that Jenny thought about it, she remembered that Clarice had sent flowers to the funeral. A beautiful bouquet of white roses and red carnations.

  Jenny felt slightly foolish, not to have remembered her high school rival right away. Foolish and a bit unnerved, to run into Clarice here, among all these strangers, after so many years.

  She forged on gamely, "Clarice. Of course I remember you."

  "How are you?"

  "I'm … good. I'm just fine."

  "You look terrific."

  "Well, thank you. And how have you been?"

  Clarice laughed. "Working. A total career woman, that's me. You're a teacher, right?"

  "Yes. Fourth grade."

  "And I seem to recall that you have a little girl…?"

  Nick laughed then. "Not so little anymore. Polly's thirteen now."

  Jenny added, "She's growing up fast."

  Clarice nodded. "What's that old joke? Why don't teenagers move out on their own—while they still know it all?"

  Jenny let out an obligatory chuckle. "Well, there is truth in that. Sometimes Polly does drive me nuts. But what can I say? She's bright and beautiful and I adore her."

  "Spoken like the wonderful mother I'm sure you are."

  Clarice really did sound sincere. Jenny allowed herself to relax a little. As each second ticked by, it seemed less and less likely that Clarice would start gushing over how sorry she was for Jenny's loss, or that she'd toss out some brittle remark about how Jenny had once stolen Andrew from her. High school, after all, had been a long time ago. And as the years went by since Andrew's death, casual acquaintances tended to be more willing to let the grim subject lie.

  The man to Clarice's right, apparently her date, whispered something in her ear. Clarice turned and answered him as a waiter slipped a salad in front of Jenny. Jenny picked up her fork, grateful to have something to put in her mouth that would keep her from having to say 'Nice to meet you' one more time.

  Nick leaned close and asked, "Want some dressing on that?" He had picked up the silver condiment server.

  "Thank you." She took the server from him and spooned oil and vinegar over the attractive mixture of greens.

  "Bread?"

  She turned back to him. His dark eyes gleamed at her.

  And the strangest thing happened. Some sort of charged impulse seemed to zip around in the air between them. She had a feeling of strong complicity with him, as if they shared a naughty, delicious secret. At the same time, Jenny experienced a lovely, effervescent, lifting sensation, one that alarmed her a little. In recent years, she had often felt close to Nick. But there was something else in this moment now. Something … exciting. Something dangerous. Something that made her feel giddy and way, way too young.

  Jenny took a dinner roll and told herself not to let her imagination run away with her.

  In the center of the table stood several opened bottles of wine. Nick knew her preferences. He picked up the Chenin Blanc and held it so that she could read the label. She nodded in acceptance and he filled her glass.

  Jenny spotted a waiter, serving cocktails from a tray at the next table over. She put her hand on Nick's dark sleeve. He leaned close again and she advised, "Better catch him if you want your Scotch on the rocks."

  He nodded and signaled the waiter. A few minutes later, his own drink arrived.

  After the main course came a few speeches. The waiters were serving a dessert of caramel mousse when the band started playing. Nick pulled Jenny out onto the dance floor. As he took her in his arms, she found herself trying to remember how long it had been since they had last danced together. Five or six years, at least. And then, it had only happened a few times—back when she and Andrew double-dated with him and someone else. Andrew never cared much for dancing, but Jenny loved it. And so did Nick.

  Inevitably, on those double dates, Andrew would end up turning to his friend. "Come on, Nick. Do me a favor. Get Jenny out on that floor where we all know she's dying to be."

  And Nick would hold out his hand to her, since his friend had asked him to. Jenny would go out on the floor with him—to please Andrew, she would always tell herself. But the truth was, she really did want to dance. And inevitably, she would forget how much Nick irritated her the minute he started whirling her around the floor.

  Now, the first number faded off and the second one started. Nick and Jenny paused, swaying, until Nick picked up the beat again.

  Nick asked, "Having fun?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Me, too. Thanks for saying you'd come."

  "My pleasure."

  They danced on, pausing and then starting again each time the song changed. Then, as the bandleader announced a short break, a business associate tapped Nick on the shoulder and asked for a few minutes of his time. Nick walked Jenny back to the table. "I won't be long, I promise."

  "Don't rush. I'll be fine."

  Clarice Hunter sat in her chair alone, sipping red wine. Jenny slid in next to her and poured herself another glass from the bottle of Chenin Blanc.

  "A pretty nice party, considering," Clarice said.

  Jenny set the bottle down and picked up her glass, wondering what that meant.

  Clarice elaborated, "Oh, you know. Big charity events. The food's usually terrible and the speeches never end."

  Jenny sipped. "I guess we all got lucky this time around."

  Clarice rested her elbows on the table and ran a slender, beautifully manicured forefinger around the rim of her glass. "You and Nick look good together."

  Jenny stared at Clarice for a moment as the implication sank in. And then a laugh of pure surprise escaped her. "You've got it wrong. Nick and I are friends. Very close friends, the past few years—but that's all."

  Clarice kept running her finger around and around. "Oh, come on."

  Let her think what she wants to think, a voice inside Jenny's head advised. But somehow, she couldn't stop herself from arguing, "No. Seriously. Nick's been wonderful to me and my daughter, since Andrew died. And tonight, well, he needed a date. I said I'd help him out, that's all."

  Clarice picked up her glass. "Hmm." She sipped and set the glass down. "I have to tell you, I've been sitting here watching you two dance, wondering why some girls have all the luck."

  Jenny thought of Andrew, of the tender, playful way he had kissed her that last time, before he went out the door after jelly-filled doughnuts and never came back. She gave Clarice a level look. "I haven't had all the luck, Clarice. Not by a long shot." />
  Clarice was the one to drop her gaze. "Yes. Of course. I realize that."

  Right then, it occurred to Jenny that maybe something else was going on here. "Are you … interested in Nick?"

  Clarice waved one of those slender hands. "What smart single woman in Sacramento isn't? He's a major success story, our Nick DeSalvo."

  "Clarice. You know what I mean."

  Clarice was silent for a moment, then she answered, "There's nothing. Not really." She shrugged. "A couple of years ago, my firm moved its offices to an older building right here in the downtown area. The whole place had to be gutted, a complete remodel. We hired Nick's construction company to do the job. Nick and I went out to lunch during that time—twice. It never got beyond that. He never even made a pass at me." She sipped more wine. "Darn it."

  "So then. You are interested in him."

  "Jenny." Clarice shook her head. "The point is, the interest has to be mutual."

  Jenny made a sympathetic noise and said no more. She'd probably carried the subject too far, anyway.

  The band started up again. Clarice spotted her date coming toward them across the dance floor. She stood and brushed out her slim-fitting velvet skirt. "Time to dance. Take care, Jenny."

  "You, too." Jenny watched Clarice walk away. Then she glanced around for Nick, but didn't see him. Still off somewhere talking business, no doubt. She had time for a quick trip to the ladies' room.

  As she smoothed her hair and freshened her lipstick, Jenny couldn't stop going over the things Clarice had said. Strange. Clarice just wouldn't give up the idea that there was something romantic going on between her and Nick.

  And Jenny had to admit that there might be some slight cause for Clarice's suspicions. Jenny and Nick did get along well together these days. And they both liked to dance.

  However, if Clarice only knew about Sasha—which Jenny hadn't told her, because Sasha was Nick's business—if Clarice only knew about Sasha, she'd see the whole situation in a different light. She'd understand why Nick hadn't wanted to take a real date to this event tonight. She'd realize that she was way off base about the whole thing.

  Jenny found she was glaring at her own reflection in the mirror. She made herself smile, capped her lipstick, gave her hair a final pat and returned to the ballroom once more.

  Nick stood by their table, waiting for her. "You disappeared."

  "A little nose powdering was in order, that's all."

  "Come on, let's dance some more."

  He led her out to the floor again and took her in his arms. It was wonderful. Such fun, to be dancing. They never sat down through that whole set, or the one that followed.

  By then, it was after midnight. Many of the guests had already left. The waiters hovered against the mauve-colored walls, eager to clean up and go home.

  Nick got Jenny's jacket for her and helped her slide her arms into the narrow sleeves. Then they left the ficus trees and twinkle lights behind. Outside, the parking valet fetched Nick's Cadillac. He held open Jenny's door and she settled herself into the soft leather seat.

  They were driving past Capitol Park when Nick asked her if she'd like to stop somewhere for one last drink.

  The idea pleased her. She started to say yes, but then she glanced over at him and it occurred to her that stopping for one last drink was just a little too much like something lovers might do. "I really ought to get home, I think."

  He shrugged. "All right. If you have to."

  "I do. Really."

  "Fine. I'll take you on home."

  She said no more and neither did he. The powerful car hummed through the dark streets. Jenny started to feel a little sad. A little … forlorn.

  She'd had such a lovely time. And now it was over. Nick would drop her off at her door. She'd go in. Say good-night to Polly and Amelia and her mother, if they were still up. She might have to field a few nosy questions from Polly. Then she'd go down the hall to her room, take off the beautiful dress, hang it in her closet—back there with the black one she hadn't worn in over four years. How long would it be until she might wear a dress like it again?

  The answer came, as sad and forlorn as she felt right then: probably a long time. Maybe she'd never wear such a dress again.

  Soon enough, Nick pulled into her driveway next to her mother's big blue Buick. He got out and came around to open her door—but she'd already pushed it wide. He reached for her hand.

  Some contrary mood had hold of her. She pretended not to notice his gentlemanly gesture and rose without his aid. He stepped back, out of her way, and closed the door behind her. Jenny hurried around the front of the two cars, headed for her own front door.

  A greenish light bled through the blinds over the kitchen window. Jenny knew what that meant. The girls were watching a movie in the family room, with all the rest of the lights off. Behind her, Nick stepped up onto the porch.

  Jenny grabbed the doorknob.

  It was locked. Nick waited, at her back, way too close, it seemed to her. She could feel the warmth of him—and his size and strength. "Jen?"

  She didn't want to turn, to look at him. All at once, she felt cornered. In danger—though Nick would never in the world do her harm.

  She flipped the clasp on her beaded bag and felt in there for the key.

  "Jen?"

  Her hand closed on the cool metal. She pulled it out of the bag—and dropped it.

  With a small noise of frustration, she bent down to grab for it. Nick did the same. He got there before she did and retrieved the key.

  They both stood, ended up once again with her facing the door and Nick right at her back.

  "Jen?" She felt his breath, he was so close. It tickled the feathery hairs at her nape.

  She thought of that charged moment at the banquet, when he had looked at her and she had felt as if they shared some exciting, rather naughty secret.

  And she thought of what Clarice Hunter had said. Some girls have all the luck… He never even made a pass at me…

  Nick had never made a pass at Jenny, either.

  But she had the most alarming suspicion that he intended to.

  Right now.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  "Jen." She felt the caress of his breath again, warm and sweet along her ear.

  She knew she couldn't just stand there forever, facing away from him, refusing to answer him.

  "Jen, are you all right?"

  She made herself turn. She looked into his eyes. She saw affection. And concern. And nothing else, really.

  He took her hand, which suddenly felt small and icy; his was so big and warm. He dropped the key into her palm. And he smiled. "You seem mad all of a sudden. What's the matter?"

  She had to fully admit it to herself, then. Nick had no intention of making a pass at her, no intention at all.

  Conflicting emotions roiled inside her. Embarrassment. Relief. Totally uncalled-for irritation at him.

  His dark brows drew together. "Something is wrong. What?"

  She gulped. "No, really. It's nothing." Except her own foolish and presumptuous imagination. He was Nick and he was her friend and she ought to be ashamed of herself for imagining that he would suddenly decide to put a move on her. He had never made a pass at her. Never. Not in the years they'd only tolerated each other for Andrew's sake. And not in the years since they had become true friends.

  "Jen?"

  She commanded herself to stop pondering her own foolishness and give the poor man a reply. "Oh, Nick. Of course I'm not mad."

  He still looked a little apprehensive. "Are you sure there's not something?"

  "Positive. Except maybe that I hate for the evening to end."

  That pleased him. She watched his face relax, saw a smile take form. "Whew." He was still holding her hand. He gave it a squeeze. "You had me worried there."

  "Well, stop it. I had a great time. Do you want to come in?"

  He seemed to consider, then shook his head and relea
sed her hand. "Naw. Better not. It's getting kind of late."

  "Yes. I suppose so."

  He started walking backward, down the single step, then along the walk toward his waiting car, grinning all the way. Finally, with a quick salute, he turned and disappeared behind the wall of the garage. Jenny stood there beneath the porch light, waiting, until he started the car, pulled out into the street and waved at her as he drove away.

  Inside, the girls sat on the floor of the family room, with a bowl of popcorn between them and a can of Dr. Pepper each. They were watching a black-and-white horror movie. Jenny came up behind them and stopped just a few feet away. On the screen, a hideous, wild-haired woman in a tattered nightgown pulled a cockroach off a tree and shoved it into her mouth, then chewed with ghoulish gusto. The scene cut to an interior, where a pretty blonde clutched the sides of her face and screamed in fright—not too loudly, thank goodness; the girls had remembered to keep the sound low.

  Jenny looked down at the two of them, realizing that she'd expected Polly to be waiting at the front door, eager to hear everything about the evening in order to gather more background for her training sessions with Nick. Instead, in true thirteen-year-old fashion, Polly and her friend had found a movie to watch and Polly had forgotten all about her mother and Nick and their big date.

  The girls stared at the screen as if in a mutual trance. Jenny doubted they even knew she was there.

  But then, without taking her eyes from the grisly scenes before her, Polly muttered, "Hi, Mom," and Amelia raised her hand in a vague sort of half wave, then went ahead and completed the gesture by feeling for the popcorn bowl and scooping up a handful of the fluffy white kernels. Of course, Polly wouldn't have any. She wasn't allowed to, with her braces.

  "Having fun?" Jenny asked.

  In unison, the girls said, "Mmm-hmm," never blinking, never shifting their eyes from the flickering screen, where a large group of ghoulish types now staggered through the darkness toward a run-down clapboard house. Amelia shoved popcorn into her mouth and chewed as she watched.

  "Granny's gone on to bed, I take it."

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Well. I guess I'll turn in, too."