Expectations

THE BRINY SMELL of the sea wafted through the cracks of the old building, permeating the entire room Jenna used as her studio. She sat staring at a half-finished stained-glass window portraying a small lake surrounded by great willowy trees. Natural light, which flooded the square room through a series of skylights, passed through several of the finished pieces hanging from the rafters and made small rainbows of color on the cement floor. Shortly after she’d moved in, the Durhams had hired their contractor to turn one of the old gardening sheds into a small studio for her, and there wasn’t another place on earth she felt more at home.

Outside, Adam and Ryan were talking and laughing as they tossed a football, but Jenna felt no inclination to join them. She’d fled to her studio as soon as they returned from the store and hadn’t come out since. Though normally she would have spent some of her day with Ryan, working on a school project due next week, he seemed to be occupied well enough without her. That her son already adored Adam, her nemesis, after only one day in his presence annoyed her—even more than Adam catching her trying to purchase a pregnancy test.

Allowing herself a deep heartfelt sigh, she picked up her carbide glass cutter, determined to finish the lake or to sit up all night until she did. She was using antique glass, one of the most delicate and expensive kinds, to make the water, but it varied in thickness by almost three-quarters of an inch. She couldn’t get a clean cut, couldn’t get the feel of her medium. Normally her hands worked almost independently of her mind, somehow sensing just how much pressure to use to score the glass without breaking it, how to tap gently near the cut and separate the two pieces. But not today.

After ruining yet another section that was supposed to be a lapping wave, Jenna slouched onto her stool. At this rate, she would be buried in broken glass by sunset! She couldn’t concentrate. Not with Adam just outside.

Standing again, she skirted the waist-high worktable and walked to the back of the studio where utility cupboards lined the wall. Taking out a large rectangular window she’d finished shortly after returning to Mendocino, she lifted the fabric she’d used to protect it and gazed down at a secluded cove—the stretch of beach where Adam had made love to her the first time.

She kept this piece hidden, as though someone else might guess its history, but really there was no need. With tall black cliffs and a green, tempestuous sea, it could depict almost any part of the Northern California coast. Except for the house she’d put in the background. She’d seen the same house over Adam’s shoulder that day sixteen years ago; she’d gone back to look at it since and had created a perfect likeness.

Closing her eyes, Jenna drifted back in time and felt the sand of the cove radiating heat beneath her naked body, the wind stirring her hair. When she thought of how Adam had touched her, his voice from outside the shed made the memory that much more real. She shivered as she relived it, feeling his hands move over her flesh, raising goose bumps along their path, as they curled around her limbs with the strength of the sea.

Moving in unison with the water that lapped at their feet, he’d covered her body with his, gently coaxing her to succumb to him like the pull of the tide. Let go…let go…

She’d wrapped her arms around him and relinquished control, and soon Adam began to pound into her with the rhythm of the waves against the rocks. Then her nerves tightened and leaped, like the spray flinging itself freely into the air, and she seemed to burst into a million fragments of brilliant light.

Opening her eyes, Jenna stared numbly down at her own representation of that day. It reminded her of what it felt like to be loved.

To be loved by Adam.

“Incredible.”

Jenna jumped and nearly dropped the window, but Adam’s sure hands grabbed hold of it.

“Damn, don’t you believe in knocking?” she snapped.

Adam’s gaze didn’t falter from the stained-glass depiction of the cove. “I did knock. You didn’t answer.”

Jenna’s eyes moved guiltily to his face. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. She’d touched an emotional memory so deep it had eclipsed all else. Like the actual event.

“Does Ryan need me?” Seeing him looking at the cove made Jenna feel as if he was reading her journal. Exposed, she wanted to distract him, but he didn’t answer her question. And he resisted her efforts to pull the window away.

“When did you learn to do stained glass?”

“I started about six years ago when I took a course at a community college. But I’m just an amateur, really. I’ve sold a few pieces to the tourists who come through here, nothing more.”

Did he know what he was looking at? Did he guess Dennis had never been able to replace him?

“Gram told me you were good. But I never imagined anything like this. You’ve definitely got more than your share of talent.”

The space heater that hummed a few feet away was making the place unbearably hot. Jenna yanked out the plug, wishing Adam would stop looking at the cove. “Thanks. There’s more over there if you’d like to see them. This one’s actually not my best,” she lied, relinquishing her own hold on the piece as if it meant nothing to her.

Retrieving a little broom hanging on a hook inside another cupboard, she began to clean up the glass splinters at her worktable.

He circled the room, carrying the window with him, then paused at the partially finished lake. “They’re nice, really nice.” He held the cove up again for closer inspection. “But I like this one best.” He turned to look at her for the first time since he’d made his presence known.

Did he know?

No! How could he? It was sixteen years since they’d been on that beach. And she’d been the one to stare up at the house in a dreamy half doze as he slept facedown on her breast.

Still, Jenna couldn’t meet his eyes. She finished sweeping up the glass chips, then glanced beyond him to the subject of their conversation. “It’s a fairly good rendition of the coast, I guess.”

He studied the window, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I think I’ve been there.”

“Then you know how beautiful it is.”

“I do.” He smiled at her. “In fact, I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

Jenna gave a shaky laugh and stepped back to avoid the scent of his cologne. “Sounds like you need to travel more.”

“Or purchase this window. How much?”

She shook her head. “It’s not for sale. I’m trying to accumulate some inventory for a spring show. Maybe when that’s finished—” or when hell freezes over “—I’ll let you know.”

“Sure.” Carefully setting the stained-glass cove on her table, he turned away. “Gram wanted me to tell you dinner’s ready.”

“Great.” She kept her smile casual, as though Adam hadn’t just reached inside her and cradled her heart in the palm of his hand. “You go on in. I’ll be right there.”

DURING DINNER Adam received a call from his secretary. Though Pop frowned when he got up from the table to accept the receiver from Gram, he ignored his grandfather’s disapproval. He’d promised them he wouldn’t make any calls, and he hadn’t. But he was a big boy now, and if Cheryl needed him, he wasn’t about to turn her down. Though Pop hated the thought of him living and working anywhere other than Mendocino, he had a life in San Francisco and a practice to run.

“Cheryl? What are you doing still at the office? It’s past seven on a Friday night.”

“Adam, I’m so glad I got hold of you! Why haven’t you been checking your voice mail?”

He could hear her popping her gum as she talked, and pictured her leaning on her desk with both elbows, her glasses and her short blond hair falling forward as she stared at the phone. “What’s the emergency? I’ve only been gone one day.”

“That’s all it takes with Mr. Whitehead.”

Recognizing the name of one of his biggest and most difficult clients, Adam took the cordless phone into the living room where he could talk without interrupting the meal. “So what’s new?”

“He’s frantic, that’s what. The DA has subpoenaed his files, and he’s convinced we have to do something to block it right away.”

“Monsoto’s going to get the records because they’re evidence. I’ve already explained all this. There’s no legal way to stop him.”

“I don’t think Whitehead cares about legal. I tried to tell him that, too, but he started swearing and demanded I put him through to Mike.”

“There’s nothing Mike can do.”

“Except make your life miserable. He still owns more of this practice than anyone else and he wants this guy mollified.”

“What does he want me to do? Destroy evidence? Because short of doing that, there’s no way to stop Monsoto, at least no honest way.”

Cheryl’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honest isn’t in Mike’s vocabulary, you know that. And I get the impression he’s tired of it being in yours. He’s been giving all the questionable stuff to Roger, who’s more than willing to do whatever it takes. Money is God to that guy.”

The loyalty in his secretary’s voice felt good, but not good enough to offset Adam’s anger. “Roger’s going to have to learn his own lessons. Whether Mike makes him a partner or not, I won’t risk my reputation for an ambitious developer who’s bribed half the city council.”

“Don’t you mean allegedly bribed?”