Reckless by Ruth Wind Page A

didn’t smile. He didn’t answer. Just sat facing the windows. Jake saw the purpling mountainsides reflected in Harry’s round glasses and noticed the yellowish look of the old man’s skin and the deeply etched lines in his face.
    â€œAre you all right, man?”
    â€œI’m old,” he said, and coughed heartily. “Nothing a good Winston won’t cure.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll be right back.”
    Jake wasn’t in the home much this time of day, and it was different. He waved at old soldiers in their beds, thinking it seemed lonely here tonight, with the sounds of canned television laughter unable to completely drown the mechanical whooshes and beeps of health support equipment. Fluorescent tube lights gave everything a cold greenish cast. Jake thought absently that the rooms should be painted more cheerful colors. Maybe some warm blues and greens, or stripes in bright primaries.
    He ducked into Harry’s room and quietly opened the narrow closet, careful not to awaken Harry’s roommate, who slept with his mouth open, snoring robustly. He found the light cotton jacket Harry favored and crept back out to the hall, closing the door behind him.
    A woman’s laughter spilled into the hallway. It was a warm, life-giving sound in the quiet of the home, sexy and utterly female. Jake smiled, thinking of all the men who would turn to that sound and grin to themselves, or maybe yearn to hear it in response to one of their jokes.
    A man’s voice murmured just a couple of rooms down, and the woman laughed again. Low and husky, somehow very rich. Nice. He thought it belonged to a young woman, and his dulled libido perked up. He’d been too tired even to do much automatic flirting the past few weeks. Maybe he’d peek in to see who it was. A lot of these guys had children and grandchildren in the area.
    Just as he neared the door, however, the woman came out, looking over her shoulder to offer a slightly ribald joke to the old man in the bed.
    Ramona. Jake stopped, clutching the jacket in his hands. For one brief moment, he wanted to duck into one of the rooms along the route so he could avoid her. He didn’t like the astuteness of those clear, steady eyes.
    But for once, her hair was down, and she had on something that actually flattered her coloring and figure. It was a pretty, springlike dress made of some floral fabric, very light and airy—and kind of transparent, like those old dresses from the forties.
    Beneath the red-and-blue fabric, she had on some kind of dark slip. He saw the straps on her shoulders and followed the line of the slip over her breasts.
    She didn’t see him until she nearly ran right into him, swinging out of the room with her dress fluttering around her legs and her hair tumbling down her back. He caught her arm to keep her from bumping into him.
    â€œYou really do have long hair,” he commented.
    Her eyes showed a flare of pure womanly pleasure before she managed to don her professional manner. “Jake! It’s good to see you.”
    â€œYeah?”
    She gave him a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Yes. You look a lot better. Did the sleeping pills help?”
    Annoyance rose in him. He didn’t want to be her patient. He wanted to slide his hands over that slippery dress and feel the way her flesh gave against his palms. He let his gaze wander over her body, and his sex gave a small, approving shout. “Nice dress,” he said.
    â€œThank you,” she replied as if she hadn’t noticed his perusal. “It’s one of my favorites.”
    There was a long, long row of tiny buttons from the demure neckline to the hem. “Must be hard to get on and off. You’d about have to use tweezers on those buttons.”
    She took a step away from him and crossed her arms. One breast swelled prettily against a red fabric petal. “Cool it, Jake,” she said.
    â€œCool