Long-Lost Mom Read online

  “Come on,” she chided gently. “You must have a thousand things you want to say to me.”

  “Nothing you want to hear, believe me.”

  “Stone...”

  Annoyed, he strode over to his biggest table saw and flipped it on. The rumbling roar made it satisfyingly impossible to speak.

  No way could he hear her sweet voice now.

  But dammit, he could still smell her, that light scent designed to drive a man out of his mind.

  It was working.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she squared her shoulders and walked calmly over to him. God. She wore a long floral-print dress with a hundred tiny buttons down the front. She looked so good it made him ache.

  She reached down and flipped off the saw. “Just tell me where I can start,” she said, holding her fingers over the switch so he couldn’t turn the thing back on without touching her—something he had no intention of doing. “Then,” she continued calmly, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Why are you here?” he demanded in a hoarse voice he didn’t recognize. “The old Jenna would have fled long ago.”

  “I’m not the old Jenna.”

  No, she wasn’t, not by a long shot. This Jenna, the seemingly new and improved version, lifted her chin, willingly weathered the storm, stared down anything to... What was it she’d said?

  To right her wrongs.

  Well, she had many wrongs, and he was ashamed to admit he’d harbored them close to his heart as if he’d had a right to do so. Most people wouldn’t have had the nerve to face his rare but formidable temper. They would have broken down under the emotional burden of guilt she clearly carried.

  He didn’t care.

  “I’d rather you get out of my sight now,” he said.

  “I know you would. But I’m not going.” A shoulder lifted in a careless shrug, reminding him forcefully of Sara.

  Jenna’s daughter. His daughter.

  And suddenly his anger was too big to be politely held back. Risking the touch, after all, he pushed her hand aside from the machine and flipped the saw back on. “Get out of the way,” he yelled, grabbing a piece of wood. He had no measurements, nothing planned out, but he didn’t care. He needed the diversion.

  Stubbornly she stuck close. Over the noise, she called out, “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

  He shoved the wood through the saw and bullheadedly kept his back to her, unable to look into her red-rimmed eyes. Obviously she’d been crying.

  Crying, because of his unreasonableness.

  Still, he couldn’t help himself. “If you won’t leave, then at least tell me what you want.”

  “A lot of things.” She watched the wood turn to sawdust under his trained hands. Despite the noise of the machine, he heard the way her voice caught suspiciously. “Some simple things, actually.” She met his gaze. “Like... pictures. I’d love to see Sara’s photo album.”

  “Humph.” Another piece of wood was demolished under his reckless hands. At this rate he should be able to destroy his entire supply within an hour.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really back.”

  Hope flared in her expression. She must have thought his interest was a good thing. He took on an air of nonchalance he didn’t feel.

  “I guess I had what you would call an epiphany,” she shouted, then nodded at the saw. “Do you think you could turn it off now? Please?”

  It was ridiculous, juvenile even, to have this conversation over the roar of the saw. But he didn’t care, and he sent another perfectly good piece of wood to its death. “I’m trying to work here, Jenna.”

  “Stone Cameron, you’re just being stubborn.” Eyes flashing her fury, she pushed in front of him, turning so she presented the back of that perfect body of hers to his hungry gaze. Scooting between him and the saw, she bent to reach for the switch.

  Her curvaceous bottom bumped into the front of his thighs.

  Instinct—and raging lust—had his hands starting to lift to grasp her hips. Abruptly he forced his hands to his sides.

  With a good amount of body contact, she finally flipped off the saw, then turned and glared at him. Had she noticed his physical condition? Her cheeks were on fire, and he doubted it was all anger.

  Yeah. She’d noticed.

  Okay, so hell. They still shared an attraction with the force and unpredictability of an active volcano. He could deal with that, though. He wasn’t just some hormone-driven adolescent.

  “Can you listen now?” she asked.

  “No. I’ve got a meeting downtown.” He strode to the door, needing to get out now or lose whatever self-control he still had.

  “Fine. Great,” she said to his back. He could hear the wobble in her voice and closed his ears to it because his anger was the only thing getting him through. “But I’ll be here when you get back, Stone. Sooner or later we have to talk.”

  The later the better, in his opinion. Maybe later he’d be able to squelch down his need to both throttle and kiss her.

  And then again, maybe later she’d have taken off again, and the whole point would be moot.

  Jenna stood in there, her heart just as empty as Stone’s office. He had preferred work to facing her, a rather deflating thought.

  His phone rang, startling her.

  So did the message. Sara had been caught “defacing public property,” whatever that meant, and now she was sitting in the principal’s office awaiting parental guidance.

  Jenna panicked.

  Stone was gone, and Sara needed a parent at the school as soon as possible.

  A parent.

  That was her.

  Panic faded to fury—at herself.

  As she stood there quaking in indecision, her precious daughter, yes, daughter, dammit, was sitting in the principal’s office.

  Principal Rand Ridgeway.

  A man who’d once terrified Jenna, a man who’d gotten away with it then, but who wouldn’t get away with it ever again if she had anything to say about it.

  Without stopping to think, she scribbled a note for Stone, then grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

  Thinking of nothing but protecting Sara, she drove to the school. It wasn’t until she pulled into the parking lot and took the last available space, next to the principal—oh, God, the principal—that dread filled her.

  What was she doing? No one was going to release Sara to a perfect stranger. No matter that the perfect stranger was Sara’s mother. Jenna couldn’t reveal that until she and Stone had talked this out, until they’d come up with a plan for the best way to tell Sara the truth.

  If he ever agreed to tell Sara the truth at all.

  No time to think about that, Jenna decided, pressing her hands to her rolling stomach. Not when there were so many other things to get sick over.

  Like the fact her childhood nemesis had her daughter in his clutches.

  Jenna swallowed hard and forced herself to look up at the two-story school building. Forced herself to picture poor Sara sitting in the principal’s office waiting to be rescued, and afraid he’d do to Sara what he’d done to her.

  She ran all the way through the parking lot to the big double doors of the school. The warm stuffy air hit her. So did the old familiar smell of pencil shavings, copy toner and teen sweat. Jenna’s legs turned to rubber.

  Horrible memories hit, for school had not been a happy place. She’d been considered a troublemaker and, as a result, had spent much time in this very front office.

  The bench was still there against the wall in front of the receptionist’s desk. How many afternoons had she spent sitting on it, waiting for the principal to see her?

  Waiting for him to give her that slick knowing smile as he motioned her to come into his office, where he’d then deliver blistering lectures on the evils of disappointing her hardworking mother..

  Where he’d set the tone and mood for her to fear him, hate him, so that when they’d been at her own house, with her mother o