A Week Till the Wedding. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ the reunion, she’d said, she’d see a new doctor. Maybe her mind was slipping, but she was as stubborn as ever.

      “You could help to make her final days happy ones.” And he could leave here knowing Daisy was in good financial shape. She could finish school, close this crappy shop, get out of town the way he had.

      She considered his offer for a long moment, and finally said, “All right, I’ll help. A couple of visits to your grandmother, a few lies … I can do that.” She walked toward him, came close, reached out and punched him in the chest with the tip of her index finger. She didn’t look him in the eye as she poked him there, hard.

      Jacob didn’t move, but he took a long, deep breath. Damn, she smelled good. The sight of Daisy brought back strong, old memories, but it was the way she smelled that triggered memories he had no right to cling to. She was the stuff of dreams, the kind of woman a man could never entirely let go of, no matter how hard he tried.

      “But I won’t take a dime of your money,” she said. “I’m doing this for Miss Eunice, not for you. She was kind to me after my parents died. She’s a good woman and I’ll do this for her.” Daisy lifted her head slowly, until her eyes met his. “Not for you and not for your money.” She said the word “money” as if it was a bad thing.

      He’d change her mind about the money, eventually, but he wasn’t going to argue with her now.

      “Dinner tonight with the family?”

      “Not wasting any time, are you?” she countered.

      “Might as well not.”

      After seeing her, smelling her, remembering their time together—the good and the bad—he knew the sooner they got this over with, the better off they’d both be.

      Their time, their chance, had come and gone years ago. He didn’t pine for anything or anyone, but a small, reluctant part of his brain recognized that Daisy Bell disturbed him on some primitive level. He didn’t need or want to be dragged into the past, not by old memories, not by a surprisingly tantalizing scent.

      Daisy was the past, and Jacob cared only about the present and the future. Only a fool would be tempted by something long gone.

       Chapter Two

      The Taskers had been movers and shakers in the county for as long as there’d been a county. The family home, a few miles out of Bell Grove, was stately and majestic and yet still homey. It wasn’t a showplace, it was a home. At least, it had been home years ago when Daisy had come here often with Jacob as his girlfriend. Holidays, summer vacations … for nearly two years she’d spent much of her time away from school and her part-time job with her parents right here. She’d never told anyone how much she loved this old house. And she never would.

      Through the years residents had tried to give it an appropriate name, a name befitting a fine home with a rich history. Now and then a Tasker would try to call it Magnolia Whatsit or Oak Something. But what it was always called, what stuck, was Tasker House. Daisy had always thought that made the fabulous, sprawling two-story mansion sound like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story. Apparently she was not alone in that belief, and that was why Taskers kept trying to change it.

      For the occasion, Daisy had chosen her outfit carefully. She wanted to look good, for the family and even for Jacob, though where he was concerned it was intended in a “this is what you threw away, look but don’t touch” kind of way. She wore a pale green sundress that hit the top of her knees, white sandals, and her hair down. Maybe she hadn’t done anything spectacular with her hair, but she’d brushed until it gleamed. Jacob had looked at her more often than was necessary on the ride from town, cutting his eyes from the road now and then to study her. It was what she’d wanted, right? She wanted him to regret giving her up, she wanted him to suffer.

      So why was she determined to meet him here next time and avoid being trapped in a car with him again?

      The way he stared at her made her squirm. Sitting so close to him for so long was making her seriously antsy. In trying to punish him, she had ended up punishing herself. It was absolute torture to have him so close. And he didn’t seem to be tortured at all.

      The house was just as she remembered it, majestic and welcoming, perfectly positioned on a vast expanse of land that was lushly green. A portion of the land was flat and had once been farmed, but to the west there were gentle hills and ancient trees. She and Jacob had taken many a long walk in those hills …

      He offered his arm at the porch steps, and she took it. She would not allow him to see how she was affected by his closeness. He couldn’t know, not ever, that he made her squirm.

      “Do you sleep in a suit?” she asked coolly as they walked up the steps, neither of them in a hurry. He looked good in the dark suit and crisp white shirt, she’d admit, especially since everything he had on fit him as if it had been made for his body, but the outfit seemed wrong here at Tasker House, especially given the season. Even late in the day, the summer heat remained. And the humidity. You … could not dismiss the humidity! Besides, the stupid suit reminded her that he’d dumped her for his precious career. She didn’t want or need his success rubbed in her face.

      “Not usually,” he said.

      She shouldn’t have asked that question. As she recalled, he usually slept in nothing at all. At least, he had when she’d been around. So had she, come to think of it. They hadn’t lived together, though that step had been coming, but she’d spent the night at his place and he’d spent the night at hers—when roommates were away. It was a vivid memory she could do without, given the circumstances. She tried to think of other things, to push the memory of a naked Jacob out of her mind, but nothing else would stick.

      Before she could wipe the image of a naked Jacob from her brain, Susan Tasker met them at the door. The screen door squealed as she opened it, and she smiled. Or tried. It was the most pathetic attempt at a smile Daisy had ever seen. Focusing on Jacob’s mother helped; it was difficult to fantasize about the man naked while the woman Daisy had once believed would one day be her mother-in-law looked on.

      Susan Tasker had married into the prominent and wealthy Tasker family, but she’d soon become one of its leaders. Her husband, Jim, Miss Eunice’s only living child, was a quiet man who seemed to be happy to share the handling of the family business matters and properties with his wife. She had given him four sons and taken on an active role in the multiple Tasker concerns—there were a number of businesses across the South that were at least partially owned by the family corporation—as if she’d been born to it.

      And now she cared for his mother, as well.

      “Daisy,” she said softly as she backed up to allow her and Jacob to enter the house.

      “Mrs. Tasker.”

      The older woman—she had to be approaching sixty—turned around, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, call me Susan. You’re not a child any longer.”

      Susan had put on a few pounds in the years since Daisy had seen her, and whoever was styling her hair had done a terrible job. The color was flat and lifeless, and the cut was too severe for the shape of her face. She needed layering, and some highlights to soften the color.

      Which was, Daisy reminded herself as they followed Susan Tasker toward the parlor, not her problem.

      From first glance, it was СКАЧАТЬ