Leaping Hearts(53)

“We’ll finish this soon,” he whispered before going into the kitchen.

With a blinding smile of anticipation, A.J. went upstairs to change.

As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her hair, she couldn’t help noticing the change in her reflection. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, like she had a delicious secret, and a glow on her cheeks that wasn’t just windburn. Even to her jaundiced eye, she looked radiant.

Who needed to waste time with facials and makeovers when you could toss a little passion and chaos into your life and get the same effect?

After she washed up and changed her clothes, A.J. hit the stairs with far more enthusiasm than the mild hunger in her stomach justified. Following the down-home smell of meat loaf into the kitchen, she grinned as she saw Devlin bending over the stove and pumping a masher over a pot of potatoes like a jackhammer.

He looked up the instant she came through the door. “Almost ready. You want to ride shotgun on Chester’s salad?”

“Sure,” she said, pushing aside unexpected shyness.

Hearing Chester grunt in frustration, she went over to the other man, who wasn’t having a lot of luck with a pile of fresh greens and vegetables. Wielding a knife with all the finesse of a backhoe trying to put pansies into the ground, he’d made a mess. Huge chunks of red peppers had fallen victim to his hacking and a misbegotten cucumber looked like it’d been mauled by a dog.

“How you doing there, chef?”

“Damn vegetables,” he said while almost slicing off his finger. “Who the hell needs roughage anyway? Do I look like a damn rabbit?”

“No, you look like a madman. And I think the last thing we need in your hand is a knife,” she said, nudging him aside.

“Ah, c’mon, now,” Chester grumbled good-naturedly. “I’m a *cat.”

“Tell that to this pepper,” A.J. said, picking up the gnarled carcass. “It looks like it’s been in an accident.”

Before long, they were all sitting down at the table. The food was good but A.J. didn’t really taste it. She was too preoccupied with what awaited on the other side of the meal and Devlin’s eyes flashing across the table egged on her impatience, making her wish dinner was over before it started.

Seemingly oblivious of the undercurrents around him, Chester prattled along, keeping up the conversation by himself. When he wasn’t talking, he was lingering over each mouthful, pausing to savor his meal in a way his two companions had never seen him do before.

By the time the man cleared his plate, after his third helping, he thought the other two were so itchy they looked like a pair of kids in church. A.J. was pushing a bit of meat loaf around her plate like it was a soccer ball, and Devlin was stacking and unstacking the salt and pepper shakers with an urgency Chester found highly amusing.

The groom smiled broadly, an expression they both missed.

“That was a good meal,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his meager stomach, satisfied with the angst he was stirring up.

“Yes, it was,” Devlin blurted, getting to his feet like there was something on fire in the oven. A.J. leapt out of her chair, picking up plates from the table in a frenzy.

“What, no dessert?” Chester asked.

“Here,” Devlin said, wheeling around and opening the freezer door. He tossed an ice-cream sandwich across the room with an air of desperation.

“Maybe I’ll just help with the cleanup,” the groom drawled while he unwrapped the paper carefully.

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Devlin told him.

“You’re a guest,” A.J. said, picking up Chester’s plate.

“So are you,” the man quipped. After he polished off the dessert, he began folding his napkin with the precision of an engineer. “I should probably pitch in somehow—”

“No!” they both said, freezing over the sink.

Before the chorus of denials continued into another refrain, Chester laughed out loud. When his jacket materialized in front of him and he was bid a sturdy good night, he felt like he’d been bootlicked through a doggie door, but didn’t mind. He’d had enough fun at their expense for one night.

As the man stepped out into the cold air, he paused to zip up his jacket. When he turned around and glanced back at the house, he saw through the window that Devlin and A.J. were entwined in an embrace, oblivious of the world.

His smile as he turned away was one of approval. Devlin was looking more and more like his old self. And that girl, well, she was pretty as a picture and had the stuffing to take him on. It was a good match, he decided.

Betcha those dishes won’t be done till the morrow, he thought.





9


IT WAS a week later that A.J. rolled over in Devlin’s bed and realized she was in love with him. Coming out of a wistful dream, something about riding Sabbath through Virginia’s best hunt country, she felt very male arms wrapped around her and the cushion of a sturdy chest against her back. She turned over slowly, careful not to wake him.

In the gray light of the early-morning hour, his face was a study in strong shadows, from the hollows in his cheeks and the deep sockets of his eyes to the arching iron of his jaw. He was beautiful, a sublime model of masculine form, a living, breathing dream.

And with the deepest, most feminine part of herself, she knew he was hers. Just as she was his. Their hearts and minds had come together. They’d become so close, she wasn’t sure where he left off and she took over and she didn’t care about her lost individuality. She was half of herself without him, more than her whole with him.