Kiss Across Chaos Read online

  Veris grimaced. “Maybe he did just forget.”

  “He just happened to arrive bearing gifts,” Alex murmured.

  Jesse saw all three of them exchange thoughtful glances. She didn’t turn her head but slid her gaze sideways to see if Alannah had picked up the inferences.

  Alannah sorted through the bowl of nuts, picking out the macadamias and lining them up beside her wine glass. Sydney was chatting with Liberty and Alannah was listening to them, oblivious to the other conversation.

  Cael and Nayara exchanged fond glances. “We’ll have to worry about that, soon.”

  Nayara nodded.

  Winter, though, just looked sad.

  Christian, the youngest person at the table, and still using a booster seat, tugged at London’s sleeve and said something in French, too fast for Jesse to follow.

  “Yes, sweetheart, you can go and play,” London told him. “But let me wipe your hands and face first.” She used her napkin to clear away the last of the custard and put him on the floor.

  That was a signal for the other children to slither from their seats and run from the dining room, their voices already lifting. Taylor swayed out of their way as she came back in.

  “It’s enormous!” she said, also pointing back toward the door.

  “I’ll take some of it off your hands, if you like,” Neven said. “London likes fish.”

  Remi snorted. “She lives in Brittany. She doesn’t have a choice.”

  London laughed. “I like fish anyway, but salmon would be a nice change.”

  Veris got to his feet once more. “Cael, do you want to take some?”

  “Yes, please,” Cael said. “We don’t…” He paused. “Well, it would be very welcome,” he added.

  Jesse wondered what he had been about to say, that he had clearly considered to be a breech of protocol. Were salmon extinct in their time?

  The adults at the table also rose to their feet, discussing who would get salmon, who could take it home, and how they should cook it, while they stacked dishes and took them into the kitchen.

  Jesse was shooed out of the kitchen when she carried her pile of plates and dishes in and parked them on the island. “You cooked,” Sydney told her, flapping the tea towel at her. “We all sat on our asses.”

  “You didn’t eat the food, either,” Jesse pointed out.

  “I would have, believe me,” Sydney assured her. “Besides, if I used that as an excuse to get out of doing something, my life would come to a grinding halt.” Her smile was warm enough, but the idea was startling.

  “As human as possible, huh?” Jesse said.

  “For the sake of the children, for those we love, and for our sanity, yes,” Sydney said gravely. “So go and relax,” she added, turning Jesse around and pushing her out of the door.

  Jesse headed for the front room and the dying fire. She built the fire up again, then moved over to the big picture window. She would never get tired of this view—although the view from the back verandah, where the Mount Lady Macdonald seemed to rise directly in front of the house, was astonishing in its own way.

  Brody came up beside her and held out a small flat-based glass to her.

  Jesse took the glass. “What is this?” she asked, as Brody uncorked a dark bottle with a label that looked hand-drawn. Jesse would have said it was a very old bottle, but the label was crisp and new, even though the paper it was made from had a slight creamy cast to it. There was no English on the label, either.

  “This is a straw wine. A Vin Santo,” he said, and poured a deep amber liquid into the glass. “A dessert wine,” he added.

  “I’ve had more than enough wine today,” Jesse said.

  “Try it,” Brody urged her.

  She sipped. It was sweet and thick and rich. “Mmm, nice,” she said.

  “Let it warm in your hand. It gets even better,” Brody told her. “I’d warm it, but…” He shrugged, smiling. His dark eyes danced.

  But he was the same temperature as the room and couldn’t warm it.

  “Where is this from?” Jesse asked suspiciously, eyeing the odd-looking label once more.

  “Tuscany.” He recorked the bottle. “We have…had…have a villa there, back in the fourteenth century. Taylor took me back there a couple of days ago and I took a couple of these bottles out of the cellar, just for today. I thought you would like it.”

  “I do,” Jesse said truthfully.

  Brody put the bottle on the mantelshelf over the fire and came back to the window seat she stood in front of. “That view doesn’t grow old,” he said softly.

  The wave of…something washed over her without warning. An invisible band clamped around her chest and grabbed her throat. Her eyes stung. Her chest hitched and she realized she was a step away from crying.

  She breathed deeply, trying to ride out the odd sensation.

  “Hey, what did I say?” Brody said, still speaking quietly.

  She shook her head, afraid that if she spoke, she would bawl, instead. She kept breathing, battling back the tears.

  Brody waited. He was very good at that. So was Veris. They had infinite patience, because they had all the time in the world to figure things out.

  When Jesse thought she could safely speak once more, she said, “I’m happy.” And her eyes filled once more. “God, this is stupid,” she added and dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I should be smiling, but it just…”

  Brody was smiling. He sat on the window seat and patted it.

  Jesse folded onto the cushion and wiped furiously at her damp eyes and they refilled.

  “You’re family, Jesse,” he said gently. “You don’t have to be grateful for that. It just…is. Taken for granted.”

  She swallowed. “But I’m pathetically, wonderfully grateful anyway.” Her voice was hoarse. “After Mom died, I was alone—jarheads excluded, but even they aren’t the same as you guys. You get me. You let me be myself. And you’re…you’re nice.”

  Brody gave a soft laugh. “No one has ever called me nice before.”

  “But you are. All of you. You’re different. Of course you are. But that doesn’t make any difference, or maybe that is the difference. You don’t brim over with milk and honey—none of you do—but you’re all nice to be around and you don’t seem to mind me and my ways, and you’re always happy to see me, and if it hadn’t been for you guys, I think I might have curled up and blown away, the last few years, but you’re here and you let me in and…and I’m happy.”

  Brody picked up her hand and just held it. “You know there is no ‘letting in’ in the way you’re talking about, right? You’re family by default, not by a show of hands. Time tapped you on the shoulder. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not.”

  She nodded. Aran had said something like that, a long time ago. “But still…”

  He bumped his shoulder against hers. “We’re only nice because at the moment, no one is taking pot shots at us. No one is coming after us, stealing us away, screwing with time and our lives. So we can be nice. You haven’t been around to see the dark side. We all have one, you know.”

  Jesse wiped the last of the moisture from her cheeks, feeling foolish. “I’ve got one, too,” she muttered. “That doesn’t scare me.”

  “It should,” Brody said. “One day, you might get to see that darkness and then you’ll understand.” He put her hand back on her knee. “We’ve been having a nice run of peace for a few years now, but that won’t last. It never does.”

  “I can’t figure out if you’re sad about that, or glad.”

  “Bit of both,” Brody said. “Surviving interesting times is tough, but it’s not boring.”

  “And peace is,” Jesse finished. It wasn’t a question.

  “It can get that way, although for a while, it’s good.”

  She nodded, because she understood that completely. It was always good to get back to camp, but a month standing down was usually too long.

  “Are you upsetting Jesse, Brody?”
Veris said, moving across the room toward them.

  Jesse sat up straighter. “No! I was just being stupid—”

  “She’s happy,” Brody added.

  Veris paused. “Happy.” He repeated it woodenly. His blue eyes fixed her with an intense examination.

  Jesse swallowed.

  “Because for some unfathomable reason, she likes us, and likes being around us,” Brody added. “Although I’m sure she doesn’t include you on that roster, Northman.”

  “I do!” Jesse protested, and realized it was the truth.

  The corner of Veris’ mouth twitched. He pulled over the upright chair that London had been using and sat in front of both of them. The chair gave a tiny groan. He was a big man. He crossed his arms. “Probably just as well. Taylor would be upset if you disappeared on us.”

  “Speak for yourself, big guy,” Brody murmured. “He means he would be upset,” he added to Jesse.

  Veris didn’t dispute it. But he did look uncomfortable.

  Jesse changed the subject. “I’m a day or two away from finishing the editing on your book,” she told Veris. She had been ridiculously touched when he had asked her to line edit his How To Survive Time Travel handbook. It would never be formally published, but her name was in the credits as editor.

  He raised a brow. “Thank you for that. It’s a good time to get it out there among everyone, while this quiet spell lasts.”

  “Brody was just talking about how the peace never holds.”

  “You’re writing up a storm yourself, Jesse,” Brody said. “How many novels, now?”

  “Twenty,” she admitted. “Only, I slowed down a bit because of…well…” Her tongue was loosened by the wine. Most normal peoples’ eyes glazed over when she talked about her writing. But neither man was looking at her with anything but deep interest. She was family, she reminded herself, and mentally shrugged. “I wrote a different sort of novel. I’m releasing it in January, under a pen name.”

  “Genre?” Brody, the creative, asked.

  “I don’t know where the story came from,” she confessed. “I wrote it in seven days in marathon stints. It just fell out of me…” She drew in a breath. “It’s an alternative history.”

  Veris and Brody exchanged glances.

  “Like the Allies losing the Second World War and what that would look like now?” Veris asked.

  Wariness touched her. Only now did she realize that ‘alternative history’ to the reading public would feel like ‘messing with time’ to these real time travelers. Veris was rabid about preserving history and not messing up one’s own future.

  “Or, if the Roman Empire had never collapsed,” Brody added.

  “Or if Arthur hadn’t lost to the Saxons,” Veris said, his gaze on Brody.

  Brody grimaced.

  Veris looked at Jesse. “May I read it?”

  “Buy a copy, you lout,” Brody shot back.

  “I don’t know the title or the author,” Veris pointed out.

  “It’s just a stupid little story,” Jesse said quickly, feeling like she wanted to squirm. As far as she knew, neither of them had ever read any of her military thrillers, and she suspected that was because they’d seen more than enough of war in their very long lives. But this story was very different. “It wouldn’t hold your interest,” she assured Veris.

  Veris considered that seriously. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “He reads everything,” Brody said. “So does Alex. And Taylor.”

  “The whole family reads everything they can get their hands on,” Jesse pointed out dryly.

  Brody chuckled. “True. At least tell us the pen name, Jesse. Then we can get a copy…or not. And you needn’t know either way.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “Jerry Hale.”

  Veris nodded. “Thank you.”

  Jesse blew out her breath. “Well, I warned you.”

  “Are you staying the night, Jesse?” Veris asked.

  She shook her head. “I think Alannah has a date tonight.”

  “Taylor can take you back tomorrow,” Veris replied.

  “Thank you, but I gotta get some writing done. I’m behind,” Jesse admitted. “The three-day break between houses has jammed up my routine.”

  “Where is the next house you’re sitting?” Brody asked. “And when?”

  “Arlington,” she said. “I start tomorrow. They’re going to London for Christmas and won’t be back until after the New Year. A good long one, this time. Alannah said she’ll drop me there. She’s got a vacation day tomorrow.”

  Alannah worked in Hollywood, doing something that Jesse wasn’t entirely sure about, except that it was something to do with the production of movies and seemed to involve a lot of drinking, parties, meetings and phone calls.

  Brody lifted his brow. “Arlington. You’ll be right across the Potomac from Aran.”

  Jesse’s breath caught. Her heart jolted. She hadn’t even thought of that.

  In fact, she had completely forgotten that Aran lived and worked in Washington now. If she thought of Aran at all, she tended to remember him from Martha’s Vineyard, when she had first met him, which was ridiculous, because that was years ago. Even Harvard was years ago. He was a political lobbyist now, working for Abel & Toloni, one of the most prestigious consulting firms in D.C.

  Her throat grew warm and the skin over it prickled, rising up to her chin. Her heart wobbled. She breathed shallowly, feeling a little ill. She had been looking forward to this very long housesitting assignment and getting a lot of writing done. The house could have been in Tacoma for all she cared. She had barely processed that it was just across the river from the Capitol.

  Now the housesitting job felt…tainted.

  Veris made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Across the river could be across the universe as far as Aran is concerned. He’s too damn busy for anyone.”

  There was an odd note in his voice.

  Brody watched his lover with a non-judgmental expression. “He’ll find his way back,” he said gently.

  Jesse fought to control her breathing and wished she could order her heart to slow down. Brody and Veris would be able to hear every thudding beat. They could probably smell her distress, too.

  And really, what was she panicking about? It was clear that Aran didn’t come home for family visits very much at all. It wasn’t just today. She hadn’t seen him here for years, even though she was a frequent visitor herself. Aran lived his life in Washington and she would be way over on the other side of the river. And she was housesitting, which implied she stayed in the house and watched it.

  Slowly, her heart calmed. Her breathing deepened. She made herself relax.

  She could still enjoy this long stretch of solitude and get some serious writing done. What had she been panicking about?

  And why?

  Chapter Two

  By December, Jesse was going stir crazy. Her bag of coffee beans was finished. It didn’t help that the owners of the house she was sitting were health nuts and the only coffee-type substance in the house was some disgusting plant extract thing. The convenience store two blocks over didn’t know what coffee meant, either, but their black-smelling sludge at least had caffeine in it.

  The sludge got Jesse through to December fifth. She was deep in the guts of the next book and didn’t want to break off, but by the fifth, she could feel the pressure to breath air that hadn’t passed through a furnace filter. She needed to move. The daily isometrics and exercises weren’t enough. She knew the signs. Rafe’s insistence that she monitor her wellbeing was ingrained, now.

  When she got up from the dining room chair and had to pause while the dizziness passed, she knew her instincts had been right. Time to get going. A good long hike and fresh air. She could think about the next act in the novel while she was moving.

  She did some quick research and found a French-style patisserie in Annandale with over a hundred five-star reviews. The patisserie was one-hundred-and-eighty degrees away from do
wntown D.C., although she wasn’t sure why that comforted her. She let the puzzle go, for there were too many storylines running through her brain and she didn’t want to mentally drop out of the novel too much, or she might lose track of characters and story arcs.

  It was a good long hike to the patisserie in air that had a bite to it and made her nostrils sting. After a while she warmed enough so the chill in the air was merely pleasant.

  It was a shock to find the patisserie jammed full of customers. It was an authentic-looking bakery, with green awnings and little round tables inside, black and white tiles on the floor and the divine smell of fresh, still-warm bread wafting from the door every time someone opened it, which was frequently.

  Jesse pushed open the door and stepped in, her mouth watering. Beneath the strong scent of hot bread, she could also smell really good coffee. Espresso. She sighed and scanned the racks of bread loaves behind the counter, and the pastries and croissants behind the glass cases while she waited her turn to be served. She also kept an eye on the tables. The store was on a corner, and the tables ran around the corner, too, which made watching all of them a challenge.

  She bought an espresso and a flat white, and three croissants, then snagged a table around the corner just as the three people rose and dusted off breadcrumbs. She settled in with her tablet and stylus to mind-dump thoughts about the book while she drank—finally—excellent coffee.

  The croissants weren’t right. Jesse chewed her way through half of the first, disappointment touching her. Real French croissants didn’t taste like this. These were only sort-of right. Close, but they were missing…something.

  She was really here for the coffee, though, so she drank both cups and ordered more and returned to the table, still mired in story problems.

  She only realized she had lifted her head up from the tablet and was staring at nothing, thinking, when her gaze was caught by movement. There was movement everywhere in the café, but the silhouette that snagged her attention and yanked her out of the story was tall. Wide shoulders. Strong. She tended to key in on physical strength. She’d spent years professionally interested in strength and stamina and sizing up the most dangerous person in the room was still automatic.