his cheek. “Good boy,” she said. Then she turned to Ross, whose handsome face had already begun to darken again. “Are we still on for Friday?”
Ross nodded, glancing covertly at Jackson. “You bet we are. I’ll be there at six.” And then, with an awkward lurch of boyish defiance, he leaned over and pecked Annie on the lips before turning and hurrying back toward the field.
Annie and Jackson watched the game in a pregnant silence for a couple of minutes. Finally Annie spoke.
“I know you don’t think I should be seeing him.”
Jackson kept his eyes on Tommy, who was reining himself in and staying with the pack. What a shame. “That’s right,” he said. “I don’t.”
Annie made a small popping sound with her chewing gum, something she never did unless she was angry. “But, doggone it, Jackson, you haven’t got any right to tell me who I can and can’t see.”
Jackson nodded. “That’s right,” he agreed equably. “I don’t.”
Annie growled, obviously losing patience with him. “Listen here, Jackson Forrest. You’d better come on out and tell me what your problem is with Ross, or you’d just better hold your tongue and stay out of it.”
He swiveled, slanting her a laughing glance. “Think back, Annie, darling. Did I say a word against Ross? I think this topic was your idea, not mine.”
She narrowed her eyes, considering. He could tell when she realized he was right—her hazel eyes began to flash. Annie hated being wrong.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to say anything, did you? You know I can read your mind. You don’t like Ross, Jack. I want to know why.”
The chilly February wind had blown pieces of her hair up against her flushed cheeks. Jackson reached out and gently tucked the fine, light-brown strands back behind her ears. “Maybe I don’t think he’s good enough for you and Tommy. Maybe I think you deserve better.”
She looked unconvinced. “Yeah? Why, do you see the King of Siam standing in line to date me?”
“Annie—”
“I’m serious, Jack. I’m not exactly the catch of the century, you know, a single working mom.” She cast a wry gaze over the crowd of upscale parents. “Can you imagine any of these guys inviting me to the country club for dinner?”
“Annie—”
She shook her head, rejecting his assurances of her worth. She’d always hated soft soap and platitudes. “Besides, Jack, I’m just dating him a little, that’s all. It’s not as if I’m going to marry the guy. You don’t have to worry that he’s going to try to step in and be Tommy’s dad or anything.”
Jackson managed not to flinch, although she had hit a bull’s-eye with that one. Canny Annie. She always could cut right through to the truth of things. He turned toward the soccer field, as much to avoid letting her read his expression as to follow the progress of the game.
Tommy was working his way downfield, threatening to score once again. Jackson’s gut twisted a little, watching those bony, knob-kneed legs churn with every ounce of energy in the boy’s body. The kid had so much heart, so much spunk. He needed a dad. He deserved one.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Jackson said. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”
A moment’s silence. And then, slowly, her hand slid up and rested against his forearm. When she spoke her voice was softer, less agitated. “Besides you’ve got other things to worry about right now. Isn’t your old girlfriend supposed to show up at Everspring this afternoon? You know, that pretty, prissy girl from high school?”
Jackson frowned. “Beau’s old girlfriend,” he said curtly. Annie knew all this. What was she playing at? “Not mine. Beau’s.”
Annie tucked her hand cozily into the crook of Jackson’s arm. “Right. Whatever,” she said. “If you say so.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS A TYPICAL late-winter morning at Everspring Plantation—dull, lifeless, the doldrums season for gardeners. Too late for the red blush of berries, too early for the yellow splash of bulbs. Brown grass slept, still exhausted, under gray skies.
But Molly, standing on the mossy brick steps of the old plantation kitchens staring down toward the banks of the slow-moving river, didn’t see winter. Everywhere she looked, she saw flowers. She saw spring days banked high with azaleas, sprinkled with candy-colored tulips, crocus and lilies. She saw green summer acres bordered with pink phlox, white candytuft, blue columbine and crimson dianthus. She saw fall afternoons lit by chrysanthemums as fiery gold as candles.
And if she closed her eyes very tightly, she could see Beau, too, walking across those flower-filled lawns, coming toward her with the summer wind ruffling his silky blond hair, the sun lighting the intense green of his eyes. And a smile on his lips.
“Mom! Come quick!” Liza’s eager voice broke into Molly’s yearning daydream. “It’s a maze, just like in the puzzle books!”
Opening her eyes, Molly shook away the images, forbidding tears to even think about forming. How absurd of her to give in to maudlin sentimentality the very first moment she set foot on Everspring earth. This was why she had left Demery in the first place, why she hadn’t come back in ten long years. She knew that here at Everspring, where Beau had lived, where she and Beau had loved, the memories would be as overpowering as quicksand.
But she could resist it—and she would. She refused to live in the past, no matter how beautiful its gardens might have been. She was lucky. She had a life, a career, a future….
She had a child.
And she intended to give that child her full attention.
“Mom!” Liza stood at the opening to the thick, six-foot high maze, her fists planted on her boyish hips with exaggerated impatience. “Come look! It’s so cool!”
Molly smiled. “It’s boxwood,” she said. “Little-leaf box, actually. It’s from Japan.” She always used playtime to teach Liza about plants. And at least half the time, Liza listened.
This wasn’t one of those times. Ignoring the botany lesson, Liza grinned as her mother drew closer. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Suddenly, she reached out and tapped Molly’s arm.
“You’re it!” she cried triumphantly, and then she started lithely into the maze, disappearing immediately behind its leafy walls.
Molly hesitated only a second before taking off after her. Liza’s legs might be younger, but Molly had the advantage of familiarity. She knew every twist and turn, every blind end, and every secret pass-through. At eleven, she had cleverly eluded Jackson, who was always chasing her through the maze with a tree frog, a lizard or a garter snake in his hand.
And at sixteen, she had allowed Beau, sexy, laughing Beau, to catch her.
She heard Liza just ahead, giggling. The sound was infectious. She laughed, too, giving herself over to the pleasant adrenaline rush of the chase, the cool, invigorating feel of wind across her cheeks.
“You
