Читать книгу Blossom Street Bundle - Debbie Macomber - Страница 34

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Monday morning following her hair appointment, Jacqueline returned to the house to find that a local florist had delivered a dozen red roses. Martha, the housekeeper, had placed them in the center of the formal living room on a round coffee table.

“Who sent the roses?” she asked, stunned to find them.

Martha shook her head. “I didn’t read the card.”

Jacqueline walked into the living room and examined the red buds, gently taking one in her hand. The roses were perfect, still dewy and just ready to open. Their scent was so lovely, Jacqueline thought they must be antique roses. If so, they would’ve cost a fortune. She couldn’t imagine who’d be sending her roses or why.

She reached for the card but didn’t open the small envelope, wanting to linger over the suspense. It wasn’t her birthday or her wedding anniversary. Her husband had never had much of a memory for such events, anyway. In fact, Reese hadn’t sent her flowers in years. Paul was too much like his father to think of doing such a thing, especially when there was no obvious reason for it.

Unable to guess, she finally tore open the envelope, withdrew the card and read it.

Reese.

Her husband! There was no explanation, no message. Confused, Jacqueline sat down on the sofa, still holding the card. She found Martha staring at her, making no attempt to disguise her curiosity.

“Well?” the housekeeper asked.

“They’re from Reese.”

Martha beamed her a broad smile. “I thought so.”

Despite herself, Jacqueline smiled, too. Maybe her housekeeper knew more about her life than she did.

“Would you like me to start dinner for you this evening?” Martha asked as she turned toward the kitchen.

Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I believe I’ll cook tonight, Martha.”

The housekeeper didn’t so much as blink, but Jacqueline could tell she was surprised. Jacqueline rarely ventured into the kitchen, and hadn’t made a complete meal in years. Early in their marriage she’d found a chicken curry dish that Reese had particularly enjoyed. She’d torn the recipe out of a magazine. Jacqueline thought she knew where it was, although it’d been quite a while since she’d gone to the effort of preparing it.

“Martha, do we have any curry spices in the house?”

“I think so. Let me look for you.”

“Is there chicken in the freezer?”

“Should be.”

Jacqueline was only half listening. She moved past the housekeeper and into the kitchen, opening a bottom drawer where she kept her cookbooks. “Do you remember a recipe I had years ago for chicken curry?”

Martha frowned. “Can’t say I do. Are you going to be making a mess in my kitchen?”

Jacqueline smiled, biting back a retort that would have reminded the other woman whose kitchen this really was. “Don’t worry,” she assured Martha. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”

Martha nodded, but she still looked concerned.

After paging through six cookbooks, Jacqueline found the recipe in the back of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, together with a number of other loose recipes she’d collected over the years. Sitting down at the table, she wrote out a grocery list.

By the time Reese walked into the house at six o’clock, the kitchen was redolent with the scent of coconut milk, chicken, curry and yogurt.

“What’s this?” Reese asked, loosening his tie.

Jacqueline hadn’t heard him come in and whirled around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Dinner,” she announced cheerfully.

Forgetting herself, she walked over and kissed his cheek. “The roses are beautiful. Thank you.”

Reese’s eyes widened just a little. “I figured I owed you an apology,” he murmured. “I came down on you pretty hard about parking in the alley. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“You were worried about me. It’s a case of me running over the mailbox with the tractor.”

He frowned. “What?”

Jacqueline laughed and quickly retold Tammie Lee’s story. “That’s why her daddy hollered at her mama,” she concluded. “Twice.”

Reese chuckled and then to Jacqueline’s amazement, he kissed her. She was sure he only meant to brush her lips with his, but when their mouths met, something wonderful and exciting took hold of them both.

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Jacqueline slid her arms around her husband’s neck. Reese’s mouth was on hers, as avid as if they were new lovers.

Jacqueline lost all sense of time and didn’t know how long they remained locked in each other’s arms. When they broke apart they both seemed at a loss as to what to say or do next. This was by far their most passionate kiss in years.

What astonished her most was the zeal with which she’d responded to his kiss. She’d assumed that after years of celibacy, the sexual part of her nature had atrophied. It was a shock to realize just how alive—how sexual—she was capable of feeling.

“I’d better shower,” Reese said as he backed away from her. He seemed to be in a state of shock himself.

Jacqueline didn’t trust her voice enough to speak, so she merely nodded. Leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes.

“Wow,” she whispered to the empty room. Now that was something! Once she’d stopped trembling, she retrieved two dinner plates and set them on the dining room table.

When Reese returned from the shower, his hair damp, he’d donned slacks and a golf shirt. Jacqueline had just finished lighting the candles, pleased with her efforts. She could be domestic when called upon and today she’d rediscovered how much she actually enjoyed it.

“Can I do anything?” he asked.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. It was ridiculous to feel shy with her own husband of more than thirty years. She would never have expected this, but she felt as if that kiss was the first one they’d ever shared—as if their intimacy was completely unfamiliar. “Would you pour the wine?”

“Sure.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of chilled chardonnay, which he uncorked. After he’d poured them each a glass, he turned on the CD player.

Singing along to the soundtrack of Les Misérables, Jacqueline mounded rice on their plates and ladled on generous servings of curry. She carried the plates to the table, where Reese was waiting for her. He stood behind her chair and pulled it out, a courtesy he hadn’t bothered with in years.

“It’s a long time since you made me chicken curry,” he said when he was seated across from her. “It smells delicious—thank you.” He reached for his wineglass and raised it. “Shall I propose a toast?”

“Please.” Happiness settled over her until she was nearly giddy with it. Until now, Jacqueline had lost hope that they might recapture the love in their marriage. She felt light-headed with anticipation as she lifted her wineglass and touched the rim to his.

“To the future,” Reese said.

“The future,” she echoed.

After a sip of wine, Reese picked up his fork. Jacqueline held her breath while he tasted his first bite, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

She knew she’d succeeded when he closed his eyes and murmured a soft sigh of appreciation.

“It’s even better than I remember.”

Jacqueline relaxed and took her first taste. The curry was as good as she’d hoped. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure why she’d buried the recipe when she knew how much Reese enjoyed her meals—and how much she used to enjoy making them. Years earlier she’d done all their cooking, even for their many social events. More recently, she’d had her parties catered. She’d casually mentioned that in last week’s knitting class when they’d started talking about memorable meals. To her surprise, Alix had said she’d like her own catering company one day. Alix of all people! This was a rather unexpected revelation, but it made her wonder. She owed Alix….

“I have a small confession,” Reese said, breaking into her thoughts.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, but before she could stop him, he continued.

“You need to thank Tammie Lee for the roses. They were her idea.”

Jacqueline picked up her wine. “Well, I didn’t think you’d come up with that idea on your own.”

“To Tammie Lee,” Reese said, holding up his wineglass.

“To Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated.

The phone rang and she sighed.

“I’ll get it.” Reese was out of his chair before she could protest.

For once, just once, she wanted them to have a quiet dinner together. She wished now that she’d taken the phone off the hook.

Whoever was on the line certainly had Reese’s attention. His brow furrowed and he frowned and then nodded curtly. Replacing the receiver, he muttered, “I have to go.”

“Where?” Jacqueline asked before she would stop herself.

“Problems on the job.” He grabbed his car keys and was out the door. “I’m needed at one of the sites. Not Blossom Street—the Northgate project. It appears we blew a circuit and the entire block is without electricity.”

Sitting alone at the table, listening as Reese’s car engine roared to life, Jacqueline felt numb.

A moment later, she flung her napkin furiously onto her plate and walked over to the sink. She grabbed the counter with both hands, biting down hard on her lower lip.

“He’s needed at the site,” she repeated, her voice cracking. She knew exactly who’d phoned and exactly where he’d gone and it wasn’t to any job site.