Walk Me Home

by Liza Kendall

  Oh God. He smelled the same: like leather and sweetgrass and cedar and home.

  She couldn’t think.

  “Charlie.” That voice vibrated down every nerve in her body. Rough and sweet at the same time. Edged with a fear that a man like him could never admit to. His arms got tighter around her. “You okay?”

  She managed to nod. He sat up, taking her with him so that she now sat between his legs on the floor. He was panting behind her; she finally gasped in some air.

  “How—” She looked at the door, a good seventy-five feet from where they sat. Had the man been fired from a gun? How had he reacted so fast? How had he crossed that distance in a quarter second and managed to catch her?

  Lila’s expression asked the same question.

  “Are you all right, Jake?” Charlie asked, her face suddenly burning. Thank God he was behind her. Thank God she didn’t have to look into his—

  He shoved her away. Got to his feet and stood over her, hands on his hips, dark eyes blazing into her. His unruly dark hair was slightly too long, and he needed a shave. The dimple at the left of his mouth still did weird things to her insides.

  Oh.

  Whom had she been thanking again? And for what?

  And why did she have to be in a heap on the ground while Jake Braddock towered over her, looking not at all pleased to see her after all these years?

  Jake’s eyebrows drew together in a black Irish frown, and the kindness disappeared from his voice. “I’m fine. What in the hell were you doing up on that ladder? In those idiotic boots?”

  She still couldn’t think, and it took a moment to fully drink in the sight of him: tall and rangy, in his practical and comfortable Ropers, snug battered denim, and a flannel shirt rolled to his elbows. His chest was broader than she remembered; he’d filled out over the years. There were other parts of him she refused to even acknowledge. He’d gone from boy to 100 percent man.

  It took her another moment to register the word idiotic. And then another for it to trigger her anger, which was an easier emotion than total humiliation.

  “My boots are Italian, not idiotic,” was all she could think of to say. Oh, Charlie, really?

  “Eye-talian? That so?” His mouth tugged up in a grin, displaying that one crooked tooth in front that she’d always loved and elongating his firm jaw. “Well, there are lots of fashionista cows, chickens, and horses out here who’ll appreciate those.”

  A snort, quickly muffled, came from Lila’s direction.

  Charlie shot her a death glare before turning back to Jake. Her anger kicked up another notch at his sarcasm.

  Jake and his smart mouth continued. “Me, I’ve just got on plain old American footwear here—it’s not fancy, but at least I’m not unbalanced.”

  “I resent that.”

  “Do you?” His grin widened.

  “I’m very stable,” she snapped, and he lifted an eyebrow. “Mentally,” she amended, then got even more furious with herself. Could she sound any stupider? “And I’m here to help with wedding decorations, not walk through cow pastures.”

  “Ah. Pardon me, your ladyship. Allow me to assist you so that you can get on with things, then.” He reached down a big, calloused hand.

  Charlie ignored it and scrambled to her feet by herself, dusting off her jeans and sweater.

  Jake gave her a slow, deliberate, very male head-to-toe assessment while the burn in her face spread to her neck and then over her chest. How dare he? She felt like a horse for sale. She stared right back at him. And then, unwisely, she asked, “Are you done, or would you like to see my teeth, too?”

  “Your teeth?” He shook his head. “Nope. That’s not at all what I had in mind.”

  “Really, Jake? Grow up,” said Lila, stepping forward. “Why are you here?”

  “That’s a damned good question. I’m here because I had to sign some papers for Deck, and he needs you to sign them, too.”

  Lila frowned and folded her arms across her chest. “Why didn’t he just text me?”

  Jake folded his arms the exact same way. “I asked him that question, too.”

  They stood there awkwardly, looking like two bookends, and Charlie was irrationally tempted to laugh, then equally tempted to cry. She had done this. She had caused the rift between brother and sister. She had screwed everything up. It was all her fault.

  Charlie cleared her throat. “Well,” she began, inching sideways toward the door. “This has been, um, great. But I’ve got to get—”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Lila said. “As long as you’re not injured and don’t need to pay a visit to the ER.”

  “But I—”

  “You just said you were fine.” Lila smiled sweetly.

  “True, but—”

  “Swags,” her pal reminded her. “Knitting circle. Wedding. Groomsman.” Lila inclined her head toward Jake as he stared suspiciously at one of them and then the other.

  Charlie pleaded silently with her eyes, shaking her head at an uncompromising Lila.

  “Why is the hair on my neck rising as we speak?” Jake asked. “Why am I feeling very uncomfortable right now? Why do I feel like the pawn in some weird chess game?”

  “Because you’re not the stupidest man I’ve ever met,” his sister replied.

  “Thank you.” Jake tucked his hands in his pockets. “But whatever it is, no.”

  “You can’t say no before the question is even asked,” Charlie told him. Irrationally. Because of course she didn’t want him to say yes. Remember that, dimwit?

  “Oh, but I can,” he said.

  “That’s not fair.” Charlie sounded ten years old, even to her own ears.

  Jake’s expression went from carefully blank to blazing with resentment and old hurt. “Life isn’t fair, Charlie—or don’t you remember that?”

  She felt the words like a kick in the stomach.

  Life isn’t fair, Granddad had growled at a sixteen-year-old Jake right in front of her. Figure it out! Now go home.

  “Play nice, children.” Lila stepped between them. “Jake, we need a big favor.”

  “No.”

  “A little one, then.”

  “No.”

  “We need a hero,” she wangled, clearly trying to appeal to any white-knight instincts Charlie hadn’t just squashed out of him with her ample behind. Charlie shuddered just thinking about it.

  “No.”

  “A groomsman for Will and Felicity’s wedding this Saturday,” Lila continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

  Charlie hadn’t realized how loud a silence could be. Particularly in the vast space of a barn with unusually good acoustics. And it wasn’t just the silence. The look on Jake’s face . . . oh, wow. This was a bad, bad idea. She ran her index finger across her neck, desperately trying to catch Lila’s eye: Abort mission!

  Her “friend” grinned, shrugged off the murderous gaze aimed at her, and turned back to her brother. “C’mon, Jake,” she wheedled. “It’s only a few hours.”

  “In a suit. At a wedding.” Jake pulled at the collar of his T-shirt. “I hate weddings. They make me itch.”

  This was news to Charlie. They’d planned in high school to get married in this very barn as soon as they turned eighteen.

  “Don’t make me go through Mayor Fisk and get you officially assigned.” Lila smirked, clearly delighted with the Machiavellian idea.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Jake growled.

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Jake suddenly laughed, a sound Charlie hadn’t heard in years. It sounded a little bitter, though, and that part she didn’t remember from the past. Not until the very end, anyway.

  “Jake?” prompted Lila.

  “Sorry, I’m still recovering from the shock of being asked such an insane favor,” he said. “Will seriously lost a groomsman days b
efore his wedding?”

  “Correct. He lost the best man, actually. He’s being sent overseas.”

  “Damn.” He nodded, but then . . . “Wait a minute. Isn’t Charlie in the wedding?”

  With a little less confidence, Lila answered, “Yep. She’s the maid of honor. But we just need a body. A random groomsman, not a best man.” She paused and then said, “This sounded better in my head.”

  “Clearly there’s something wrong with your head. You’re still asking me to stand up at Will’s wedding. You’re asking me to stand up with Nashes in a Nash wedding.” Jake laughed, a hollow sound of disbelief.

  Tears pricked at the back of Charlie’s eyes as Lila’s expression changed, as it finally dawned on her what they were really asking Jake to do: forgive. Could he?

  Evidently not.

  Charlie took a step back, a little disoriented, wondering how rude it would be to turn and walk out without another word. They should never have asked him. Jake might forgive Lila, but he’d never forgive her.

  Jake shook his head. “Find someone else.”

  Charlie’s face reignited.

  “But the bride is freaking out,” Lila said as her cell phone started barking again. Really, Bridezilla’s timing was uncanny. “And we are in desperate straits here, dude.”

  “Do. Not. Call me ‘dude.’”

  Charlie dragged a hand down her face. Maybe she was reading too much into this. Nobody could blame the man for saying no—he was probably having trouble just standing upright after she’d leveled him like a sack of potatoes. She had probably flattened his “family jewels” in the fall.

  “Would you respond better to ‘butthead’?” asked Lila of her brother.

  “Probably.”

  “Now I feel I’m getting somewhere!” Lila looked triumphant.

  Jake snorted. “Only because you’re deluded.”

  “Forget it, Jake,” Charlie mumbled. “We shouldn’t have asked. It should be anyone but you.”

  A long pause ensued.

  Jake stared darkly down at her, now looking—of all things—offended.

  “We can ask Vic,” Charlie said desperately to Lila, willing to suggest anything just to end the conversation and give Jake an excuse to leave. Because one of them sure had to leave.

  “Vic?” Lila was aghast. “I don’t think so. There will be no plumber’s crack on display at one of my events.”

  But Jake’s expression morphed from offended to amused, and then to calculating. He opened his mouth as Charlie stared at him. She shook her head, suddenly knowing exactly which words were going to come out of his mouth. He’s enjoying my discomfort. He’s going to say yes.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, his now-devilish gaze on Charlie. Then he turned back to Lila, and his tone softened. “For you.”

  Lila raised her eyebrows. For once, she had no snappy comeback. She looked at her brother, wide-eyed and speechless.

  Charlie sucked in a breath. Masterful: Jake was exacting revenge on her and forgiving his sister at the same time. She was horrified—and she was touched.

  And then he added, “Dude.”

  Lila and Jake burst out laughing.

  Charlie swallowed the lump rising in her throat. It was the first time in more than a decade that she had seen them behave like family.

  Chapter 4

  Charlie’s hands shook on the wheel as she backed Granddad’s old green beast of a truck, ironically named Progress, away from the Old Barn. The rip in the ancient vinyl seat next to her exposed its mildewy stuffing.

  What a perfect metaphor; her own stuffing felt exposed. And she was surprised it hadn’t exploded out of her when she’d hit Jake Braddock like an asteroid. Charlie squirmed again at the memory as she put Progress into gear and rumbled forward, kicking up gravel as she gained speed. Grouchy joined her as she passed the main house, where Declan lived. The dog escorted her off the property, barking and wagging his tail when she turned onto the main road.

  She headed toward Our Lady of Mercy Hospital, where Granddad was recovering very slowly from hip replacement surgery. Complications because of arthritis, infections, and blood clots were keeping him there longer than normal, and he wasn’t happy about it. Neither was the insurance company, but Kingston Nash was a VIP in Silverlake, and the hospital wasn’t about to give him the bum’s rush.

  Charlie swerved to avoid an armadillo and took a sharper left onto the parkway than she’d intended. A small cooler full of Granddad’s contraband vanilla pudding packs flew off the back seat and onto the floor, ice rattling.

  She’d allowed the encounter with Jake to rattle her. There was something about the way his eyes had assessed her. And he’d shoved her away so quickly it made her ache inside. He still felt betrayed after all these years. He was still hurt.

  That’s what had her hands trembling. That was all. Charlie hated for people to be angry with her. She was a pleaser . . . and when she didn’t please, it upset her, even though she knew that it was impossible to please everyone all the time. Eventually, she found herself in a no-win situation, stuck between two people who wanted or needed opposite things from her.

  As she got up to speed on the parkway, the crisp autumn air billowed through the open windows and blew through her hair. The sun warmed her face and neck and she felt like a kid on a bicycle again, pedaling furiously into the countryside to escape her homework or chores. For a few moments she felt free, happy, and . . . home. A gust of wind somehow blew a smile onto her face, dissipating her anxiety.

  And then as the parkway segued into Main Street and she slowed to make the turn onto Elm, she saw it: the site of the old Nash mansion. The blackened and burned-out foundation an eyesore, the peeling white posts of the onetime picket fence bitter, bony middle fingers extended like Granddad’s gesture to fate.

  He’d gotten countless offers on the land—from private citizens, from two different churches, from the local bank. Even Mayor Fisk had sat him down to discuss creating a park or a new city hall there. But Kingston Nash refused to sell or donate or repurpose the land. And though he was still sitting on a pile of insurance money from the fire, he wouldn’t even consider rebuilding.

  Charlie pulled up parallel to the front “lawn,” which consisted of a tangle of crabgrass, dandelions, and weeds. Babe Nash would be fit to be tied if she could see it. She’d always had giant pots of colorful geraniums or mums on either side of the wide steps that led up to the wraparound veranda. There had been other flowers, herbs, and vines flowing out of hanging baskets; Good Housekeeping and Family Circle magazines stacked on the wicker coffee table; Laura Ashley–print cushions on the comfortable wicker chairs and sofa.

  Unlike some of its brick ranch neighbors, the house itself had been a pristine white three-storied Colonial, with dark green shutters and dormer attic windows. The hardwood floors inside shone with polish and set off Oriental area rugs to perfection. Grandma Babe’s Queen Anne dining set was well used but still elegant.

  What Charlie remembered most vividly were the aromas of bacon and eggs, pancakes, and cinnamon rolls in the morning, cookies or spice cake or apple pie in the afternoon. She remembered the simmering spaghetti sauce, beef stew, or chicken and dumplings in the evenings, along with the low background noise of Granddad’s baseball or football games.

  There, along that far blackened ridge, had been Babe Nash’s kitchen. Charlie remembered watching it burn as she knelt in the grass, shaking in the arms of her brother, Brandon. And that adjoining area, now full of broken glass and debris, had been the dining room—backdrop to countless family dinners and holiday meals. Grandma Babe had cooked and served them in an actual apron, one with rustic roosters on it.

  Charlie didn’t realize that she was crying until tears silently streamed into the corners of her mouth and plopped from there into her lap. She couldn’t bear to think about that apron; her grandmother had still been w
earing it that night when Jake came through the flames and out of the house with her on his back. Grandma Babe had been wearing it when he laid her down on the lawn and collapsed, coughing, while Mom and Granddad gave her CPR. And when Mom, sobbing, had screamed at her to wake up: Mama, please, God, just wake up . . .

  Charlie, openly sobbing now, slammed old Progress into gear and shuddered away from the curb. It was so painful to see the old place like this; she either needed to remember to stay away, or . . .

  Or what, Charlie? Nothing would ever dull the pain or fade the memories or solve the mystery of how the fire had started, but maybe something new could be built. A new house. A garden. Anything but this festering wound in the ground.

  The best tribute they could pay to Babe Nash’s memory would be to rebuild the house exactly as it was. It deserved a fresh start.

  A fresh start. Jake Braddock’s face flashed into Charlie’s mind. They’d once imagined living in that house together.

  Charlie gripped the steering wheel. After her family had abruptly moved to Dallas, she’d never imagined coming home to Silverlake was possible. Now for some odd reason—even with Jake Braddock in town—the idea didn’t feel as ridiculous as maybe it should have before she’d watched a grown-up Jake and Lila laughing their butts off like old times.

  Because this wasn’t about the past. This was about the future. This was about Granddad and his happiness and turning something dark and troubling into something fresh and joyous. Lord knew, the old man could use some of that.

  She was going to bring up the subject to Granddad during her visit. Surely enough time had gone by? And the old man needed a purpose in life, a bigger one than driving his nurses crazy and annoying the town council. This was it. Charlie would bring him both pudding and a purpose.

  Charlie parked outside Mercy Hospital and killed Progress’s engine. She climbed out, opened the cooler, and fished out two wet, cold vanilla puddings. She dried them with the dish towel she’d stuffed in the cooler pocket, then dropped the treats into her Tory Burch handbag, along with Granddad’s monster set of keys.