Expectations

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

WAS SOMEONE BREAKING IN?

Jenna Livingston stiffened beneath the fluffy comforter of her bed. The Mendocino house, which she helped run as a bed-and-breakfast, was more than a hundred years old. It had its share of nighttime settling noises. And the sea was never silent. Less than a half mile away, surf pounded constantly against the tall black rocks of the Northern California coast, a life rhythm for the small community.

But this noise…this was different. She might have thought Ryan had awakened, but her son’s room opened off her own and the door between them was still closed.

Straining to hear beyond the rasp of her own breathing and the thump of her heart, Jenna waited.

There it was again. Scratching against the side of the house. A bump. Coming from downstairs.

Had Mr. Durham heard it? Jenna listened for movement in the room across the hall.

A snore loud enough to reach through two doors answered her. Lyle Durham, the seventy-year-old owner of Victoriana Bed-and-Breakfast, was obviously sound asleep. His sixty-nine-year-old wife, Myrtle, probably snored right along with him. She wore hearing aids, which she removed at bedtime along with her teeth. And there were no paying guests tonight. Tourist season was over. Except for the occasional weekend when visitors again swelled the local population, the advent of autumn left the small town of Mendocino quiet and close.

Creeping out from under the covers, Jenna pulled on a robe over the tank top and bikini underwear she wore to bed. If her own troubled thoughts hadn’t kept her awake, she doubted she would have heard anything, either. But these days she spent more time tossing and turning than she did sleeping, and the effects were beginning to show. She was jumpy, not yet at peace with the recent changes in her life.

Another thump led Jenna to the top of the stairs, where she squinted into the darkness below. Running a hand through her long tangled hair, she considered waking the Durhams, then decided against it. Mrs. Durham would call the police, Mr. Durham would insist on going alone to investigate, and if Ryan got up, he’d find himself in the middle of another frightening episode.

A lot of unnecessary fuss if the trouble turned out to be nothing more than an alley cat getting into the garbage again. Besides, if it came to facing a burglar, Jenna trusted her own skills more than she did the old man’s bravado. She felt almost as protective of the Durhams as she did of Ryan. They had taken her in at a time when she badly needed someone; they treated her like a member of the family.

The stairs creaked as Jenna descended, one hand on each wall to help keep her balance. The moonlight, which had filtered easily through the sheer curtains of the upper bedrooms, struggled to reach the dark interior of the lower level. Heavy draperies and blinds covered the tall thick-paned windows, but Jenna wasn’t about to give her presence away by turning on a lamp. Not when she already knew where each and every piece of furniture was. After her arrival at the end of August, she’d helped redecorate the place and had selected and arranged its many antiques.

Tiptoeing past a Louis XVI settee with matching chairs, Jenna paused to listen.

A muttered curse, very definitely human and very definitely male, broke the silence.

The kitchen. The man, whoever he was, sounded as though he was climbing through the kitchen window.

I should call the police. Jenna looked up the stairs, once again tempted to wake the Durhams. Breaking and entering wasn’t kid’s play. Mendocino had a low crime rate, especially during the fall and winter, but that was no consolation if she, Ryan and the Durhams joined the few who’d been victims.

Judging from the movements she heard, however, the thief was nearly inside. By the time the police arrived, whatever he planned to do would be done.

Jenna had a better idea. Pressing herself to the wall outside the swinging kitchen door, she tightened her robe and calmed her mind, seeking her karate instructor’s voice in her head. After three years of lessons and intense training, she’d earned her black belt—and she’d proved herself capable of handling even a large man the last time her drunken husband had come after her. Drunken ex-husband.

The sound of the refrigerator door opening and the clink of bottles came from within. Then the crackle of cellophane, water running in the sink and a cupboard being closed.

What was he doing? Stealing food? Snooping? Or looking for a stash of money?

Finally she could hear him crossing to the door. Jenna’s heart skidded and bumped as her taut nerves threatened to leave her in a quaking heap on the carpet. During her encounter with her husband, her emotions had sustained her, but long-smoldering anger was quite different from fear.

She raised her hands in a defensive stance. Whoever it was wouldn’t expect her. She’d have the element of surprise on her side. Except that this housebreaker seemed to think he had all the time in the world, which was partly what frightened her. Only a bold thief would be so careless. Or a thief with a gun.

The door swung open, and Jenna reacted, refusing to give the man a chance to use any weapon. Slicing the air with her right hand, she landed a blow to the neck. Her foot rose almost in unison, kicking him squarely in the groin.

He grunted and collapsed to the floor, curling into a fetal position.

Jenna grabbed the vase from the table at her side and lifted it high. “Who are you and what do you want here?” she demanded, prepared to bring it crashing down on his head.

For a moment the intruder didn’t speak. At last he wheezed, “I’m Adam Durham. My grandparents own this place. What the hell is going on?”

Jenna’s blood turned to ice. Adam Durham! She hadn’t seen Adam since high school—and she didn’t want to see him now. Especially not rolling on the floor because she’d kicked him.

Or maybe he deserved it for ruining her life all those years ago.

“What’s happening down here?” Jenna squinted as the lights flashed on. Lyle Durham stood at the foot of the stairs, a concerned scowl on his seamed face.

“Jenna, girl, you all right?”

Jenna realized she was still holding the vase. Setting it back in its rightful place, she nodded and followed Mr. Durham’s gaze to the man at her feet.

“Adam, what are you doing here? And what the devil’s the matter?”

“Kung Fu here just kicked the shit out of me. What does it look like?” he groaned.

The old man’s scowl deepened. “What did you do to her?”

Adam didn’t answer. He rolled to his back and tried to catch his breath, giving Jenna her first glimpse of his face. He’d changed—she saw that right off—and all for the better. The rangy reckless boy she’d known had grown into a well-built man in a tailored business suit. With slick black hair that shone almost as richly as his leather loafers, he looked the consummate business executive. Except for his eyes, which still sparkled with mischief.

Myrtle Durham, wrapped in a fuzzy pink bath robe that complemented her husband’s gray terry-cloth one, came down the stairs and peeked over Mr. Durham’s shoulder. “Oh, my! It is Adam. And he’s hurt.”

“I thought he was a burglar,” Jenna explained.

“And she didn’t stop to ask any questions,” Adam added with a glower.

Jenna lifted a challenging brow. “Most men who climb through windows in the middle of the night aren’t paying a social call.”

“But why didn’t you use the key?” Mrs. Durham asked. “I always leave one out for you.”

Adam shook his head. “It wasn’t where you usually keep it, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Nothing gets past our new manager.” Mr. Durham winked at Jenna. “Come on, boy. You can’t be too badly hurt. Jenna’s not big enough to cause lasting damage.” He offered Adam a hand.

“Unless you don’t know she’s lying in wait for you.” Adam accepted his grandfather’s help. “A man with a Twinkie in his mouth isn’t exactly prepared for attack.”

His voice, full of the same wry humor she remembered so well, made Jenna wince. She’d spent fifteen years trying to forget Adam Durham.

It felt as if it hadn’t been a day.

“Look at you,” his grandfather said when Adam stood, towering half a foot above the older man. “You grow taller every time I see you. What’s it been, two years?”