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Every now and then, Lissa, who was busily checking something in the oven, would gently correct Katie. "No, sweetheart, the word is w-a-s. Was, not saw. Put your finger right under each letter and see if you can tell the difference."
Lissa straightened. The oven door banged shut. "Well, supper's just about ready. Now all we need is your father." She turned and saw Jack standing at the door. Smiling, she wiped her hands on her apron and walked toward him. "And here he is."
Savannah's head jerked up. "Daddy!"
Katie lurched to her feet. Her feet tangled in the chair and knocked it over. The book she was reading skidded across the table and thumped to the floor.
Lissa stopped in front of him, apparently unaware of the bedlam going on around her. She tucked a curly, sweat-dampened lock of hair around her ear and smiled up at him. "You'd better get washed up for supper."
The softness of her voice was almost more than Jack could handle. He had a swift, terrifying urge to take her in his arms and never let her go.
"Jack?"
He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'll be right back."
He ran for the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. It took him five minutes to change out of his sweat-and-dirt-stained work clothes and five more to calm his racing heart. He paced restlessly back and forth, then sat lightly on the bed's very edge.
He had to get control of his emotions. This thing had to be taken slowly, one step at a time. God knew he didn't feel like humiliating himself again.
"Jack?"
Her voice slid through his turbulent thoughts. He snapped to a board-straight sit and shot a glance at the door. She was peeking just around the corner.
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"Supper's ready."
Supper. Sitting together as a family, holding hands, talking quietly. The images made him sick with longing. And suddenly he was afraid. Trusting in her was one thing; rejoining the family, being a father, that was another. He wasn't strong enough to do that. He loved his children too much, too desperately, to ever let them down. And sooner or later he let everyone down. "I'm not hungry."
She breezed into the room in a swirl of marigold yellow skirting and dropped to her knees directly in front of him. For one terrifying moment he thought she was going to touch him, but she didn't. She clasped her fingers together and looked up. "I made the supper myself?most of it, anyway. Savannah told me it was your favorite."
Jack tumbled into her deep brown eyes and was lost. "You made it for me?" She nodded. Waited. Don't do it. Don't? "All right." "Great!" She got to her feet and offered him her hand. He stared at her pale fingers, remembering with crystalline clarity the silky softness of her skin. A numbing coldness crept along his flesh and made him shiver. Trembling, he stood up. God, how those hands had once set him afire....
He swallowed thickly but couldn't look away.
"Jack?" She wiggled her fingers to get his attention.
Slowly, as if every motion were fraught with danger, he reached out and touched her hand. Their fingers threaded together, curled tightly. The moist warmth of her palm made him think of other things, other places.
"Let's go," he said gruffly.
Smiling, she plucked up her skirts and led him out of the bedroom. Through the doorway and down the hall, they walked. She chatted gaily about something?he had
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no idea what. Nothing got through the jumbled confusion in his mind except the exquisite warmth of her touch.
And then it was gone.
"Here you go, Jack," she said, pulling out his chair.
Jack's trancelike state snapped as clean as a whistle. He watched her bustle toward the stove, then turned his attention to the carefully laid table. In the center of the white-clothed surface was a small, chipped lightning jar filled to overflowing with daffodils and bright red tulips. Each place setting consisted of a blue crockery plate, blue and white napkin, and newly polished silverware. All in all, it looked like a perfect family dinner table.
"I set the table, Daddy. Ain't it?I mean, isn 't it pretty?" Savannah said shyly as she pulled out the chair next to him and sat down.
