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Chapter Nine
Autumn’s fire had begun to spread through the hills with more leaves changing to the brilliant fall colors. Only the evergreens remained immune to change, staying darkly green, nature’s accent for the others.
From the kitchen window, Bridget stared at the hills, not seeing their steady change to autumn’s glory. She was thinking of the man who lived in the farmhouse hidden by the nearest hill. She was thinking of Jonas.
Since their conversation at the picnic almost three weeks ago, he had occupied her thoughts almost exclusively. His achingly tender words haunted her, shaded as they were by the tragedy he’d had to witness and the unknown young couple whose misfortune had brought her and Jonas heart to heart at last.
He’d slept for eighteen hours once he’d gotten home, or so he’d told her. After that, he’d returned to being his usual self, and he hadn’t mentioned what had happened between them on that day. She had seen him half a dozen times in the last three weeks, talked to him on each of the occasions, but there had always been others around. Jonas hadn’t suggested, invited, or asked to speak to her alone. And Bridget had been hesitant to take the initiative.
Despite the awkwardness of their reunion, despite their mutual reluctance to really open up to each other, their feelings for each other had begun to grow again. The passion was still there, no doubt about that. But, ten years older now, she knew that was only part of a truly loving relationship. The long-ago issues between them remained unresolved. All the goodwill and silent patience in the world weren’t going to clear the air. She was beginning to realize that waiting and wondering would drive her crazy. She would have to forget her pride or her reluctance, whichever it was that stopped her, and make the first move.
Bridget glanced at the telephone mounted on the kitchen wall and immediately dismissed its use as the way. She wanted to see Jonas. She wanted to see him now. Bridget didn’t want to wait another second.
Taking her coat from the closet, she slipped it on as she hurried out to the car and drove out of the driveway onto the road.
The tires spun uselessly in the gravel for a second before finding traction. The small car shot forward. After weeks of waiting, Bridget was overcome by the need for haste. Within minutes, she had covered the semicircular route to the Hanson farmhouse.
It was Jonas’s house now, she told herself. He was here to stay.
The engine had barely died when Bridget stepped out of the car and walked swiftly toward the back door of the old place. Her knock didn’t bring any answer and she knocked louder, with the same results.
There was always the possibility that Jonas was up a ladder or something like that and couldn’t come to the door. He liked to fix things. She felt a pang of wistfulness, thinking that their relationship was probably one of the very few things he hadn’t managed to fix right away. Didn’t stop him from trying, though. Nothing stopped Jonas.
His SUV was parked in the driveway, so he had to be here. She tested the doorknob and found the door unlocked, then pushed it open and walked into a silent house. She hesitated in the kitchen, listening and looking at the empty rooms—empty of Jonas, anyway.
“Jonas?” she called. “Jonas?”
The back door of the house opened behind her and Bridget turned with a jerk, her heart leaping at the sight of Jonas striding toward her. A frown tightened the angular planes of his face.
“Bridget,” he said her name as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “What are you are doing here? What’s wrong?”
Relief washed through her at finding him. She hoped he would be willing to listen to all her questions—and answer them. She might finally know if she had been misjudging him for ten long years.
“Oh, Jonas, I’m so glad to see you,” she declared weakly.
He misinterpreted the reason for her statement. His expression grew worried as his gray-green eyes bored into her.
“Is it Molly? Has something happened to her?” he demanded.
“No, no, Molly’s fine,” she assured him with a tremulous laugh of relief.
“Then why—” He gave her a wary once-over.
“I had to see you,” Bridget explained. There was a husky catch in her voice that seemed to do something to him.
“Why? What about?” Jonas demanded, then groaned. “Uh-oh. Don’t give me that look.”
She knew exactly what he meant. Her emotions were revealed in her eyes. He knew her too well not to read them.
He had. Suddenly Jonas’s fingers curled into her chestnut hair, lifting her head to meet his descending mouth. There was an explosion, flames leaping within Bridget at the searing fire in his kiss. Her hands curved inside his fleece-lined parka and around his waist, feeling his muscles straining to press her closer.
Gladly, she tried to oblige. Her toes barely touched the floor as she arched against him, his length taking her weight and the hard circle of his arms providing support. The male scent of him was an aphrodisiac to her senses, drugging them with an erotic nectar.
His driving hunger was insatiable. Sensually he devoured her lips, nibbling, tasting, exploring, never getting his fill. The furious hammering of his heart was as loud as her own, thudding in her ears with a wild tempo.
Slowly he let her feet touch the floor, bending her slightly backward over his arm. He began diversionary tactics to completely undermine her self-control, exploring the curve of her cheek, the delicate and sensitive lobe of her ear and the pulsing vein in her neck.
His searching, caressing hands pushed at her coat, its bulk interfering with his desire to touch her. Bridget aided his attempt to remove it, letting it slip to the floor. Then she tugged at his parka until Jonas shucked it quickly.
