Expectations. Brenda Novak

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СКАЧАТЬ returned the hug, lifting the short plump woman off her feet. Then he released her and pulled off his already loosened tie. Jenna assumed his jacket had been removed before his climb through the window and pictured it draped across the passenger seat of—what kind of car would he own now? Certainly nothing like the beat-up Chevy they used to drive everywhere, back when they were high-school sweethearts.

      “I won’t make a single call. Promise.” He crossed his heart, drawing Jenna’s attention lower. She’d tried not to notice the other marked changes in him, but now she couldn’t stop looking. Adam was no longer a gangly eighteen-year-old. He was a man, and he had the body to prove it. The white shirt he wore, unbuttoned at the neck, covered shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, a lean waist and arms contoured with well-defined muscle.

      “What’s she doing here? And where’s my old buddy Dennis?” he asked.

      His use of the third person and his emphasis on Dennis’s name told Jenna he hadn’t yet forgiven her for the kick to his groin. And that he felt as uncomfortable around her as she did him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. The minute he’d graduated from high school, he’d broken up with her, saying he wanted the freedom to pursue a career. She’d retaliated by saying she was going to marry his best friend, who had chased her for years. They’d fought, Adam had gone off to college, and she hadn’t seen him since.

      Unfortunately, when she graduated a year later, she’d followed through with her threat to marry Dennis.

      “She has a voice,” Jenna answered, telling herself she wasn’t the same person she’d been back in those days—lost and vulnerable because her mother and stepfather had just died in a car accident and her real father had rejected her yet again. She’d been through a lot to toughen her up since.

      “Dennis and I are divorced.” She stated it matter-of-factly, as though she didn’t care about conceding their last argument to him. But she did. She hated admitting the divorce to anyone, Adam most of all. According to the Durhams, who had raised him after his mother died of a drug overdose, he’d gone on to accomplish all he wanted. He’d become a huge success in the big city; he was rich, powerful, happy.

      She couldn’t even keep her marriage together.

      “Mom?” A sleepy-eyed Ryan hovered behind the Durhams. “What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”

      Jenna hurried to her eight-year-old son and, putting a reassuring arm around his shoulders, brought him into the light. “No, honey, it’s the Durhams’ grandson, Adam. You’ve heard them talk about him before, haven’t you?”

      Ryan scratched his tousled head of wheat-blond hair. “Yeah. He’s the real busy guy from San Francisco, right?”

      If Ryan’s words implied an accusation, Jenna knew her son wasn’t aware of it, but the adults shifted uncomfortably.

      “I’m a defense attorney,” Adam explained. “With the number of bad guys running around these days, not to mention the wrongly accused, there’s a lot of work to be done.”

      Ryan nodded and covered a yawn. Had Adam said he was a football player or a cop, the boy might have been more impressed. Jenna doubted he knew what a defense attorney was.

      “This is my son, Ryan,” she explained, proud of the one good thing her years with Dennis had given her.

      Adam focused on the boy, an unreadable expression on his face. “I went to school with your parents,” he said. “Used to play ball with your dad.”

      That he had played far more intimate games with Jenna went unsaid, but the look he gave her indicated he hadn’t forgotten.

      Neither had Jenna. The memory of his kiss, warm and insistent, skittered through her mind, creating the same old flutter in her stomach. How could so much time pass without changing anything?

      Then again, those same years had changed everything.

      Suddenly Jenna wanted to get away—and stay away—from Adam Durham. The history books were closed. She wasn’t ready to think about the old times, the good times.

      Mr. Durham lifted one gnarled hand to smooth back the gray hair above his ears, the only place he had any, just as Mrs. Durham waved them all toward the kitchen.

      “I’ve got a fresh pumpkin pie—”

      Adam grinned. “I know. I found it.”

      Jenna remembered the sounds she’d heard coming from the kitchen and blushed. While Adam had been raiding his grandmother’s refrigerator, she’d thought he was searching the freezer for a juice can full of cash.

      “I thought you were eating a Twinkie.”

      “I went easy on the pie, in case Gram had big plans for it. The Twinkie was just to finish me off.” He stretched, accentuating his size. “I’m a growing boy, after all.”

      Hardly a boy, Jenna thought. “Well I wouldn’t want to keep you from your second piece of pie. You three go ahead.” She began pushing Ryan up the stairs in front of her. “I’d better get this boy back to bed.”

      Yes, the Durhams had always made her feel like part of the family, but Jenna knew she wasn’t part of this. As soon as Adam appeared, she’d become the intruder—understandable, considering their history and what had just occurred, but awkward all the same.

      “Jenna, wouldn’t you like a slice of pie? You’re getting far too thin,” Mrs. Durham said.

      “She looks good to me,” Adam muttered.

      Jenna felt Adam’s dark eyes on her like the heat of a campfire, and again she tightened the belt of her robe before turning back to face them. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves. There’s school in the morning, and Ryan agreed to tidy up the woodpile afterward. I’ve got to be up early to interview waitresses if we want to replace Gayle before the holidays.”

      Adam smiled, his teeth glinting against his darkly shadowed jaw. “Maybe I’ll help Ryan. When I was a kid, I used to collect the spiders I found out in that old woodpile.”

      Ryan brightened. “Great! I found a tarantula once when we visited the Grand Canyon.”

      “We’ll see if we can find another one tomorrow, though we’ll probably have better luck coming up with a black widow.”

      “Black widows are cool.” Ryan resisted his mother’s hand long enough to add, “Hey, save me a piece of pie, okay?”

      “You got it, kid.” Adam winked at Ryan, and Jenna shooed her son on his way.

      “I’m sorry about your, um, neck,” she said to Adam, then followed Ryan up the stairs.

      “OKAY. WHAT’S JENNA doing here?” Adam took the milk from the stainless-steel restaurant-style refrigerator and set it on the large oak table. Taking a seat, he crossed his legs at the ankle and angled them out in front of him, trying to appear patient as he waited for the explanation. He’d never dreamed he’d see Jenna again. Not here. Not after all these years. And certainly not minus his old friend.

      What was more, he’d never expected the sight to land him a blow in the gut with twice the impact of those she’d landed elsewhere on СКАЧАТЬ