“Sure, no problem.” Emily secured the baby in the cradle of her arms and moved to a chair. “I didn’t mean to get in the way. I just don’t get as much time to talk to people as I used to.”
Those simply spoken words without even a hint of self-pity tugged at Dee more than if the girl had poured out buckets of tears. She understood too well the fear from losing control of her world.
“I appreciate the company.” Dee scooped off the musty spread and whipped a fresh one into a fluttering parachute over the bed. “Want to tell me about your boyfriend?”
“His name’s Chase. He’s, like, so hot,” she said, her dialect an odd mix of Generation Y meets farm town as she listed his every “awesome” attribute.
Dee clutched the top sheet to her chest. Generation Y. How could she recall such catchphrases but not her own name? She swallowed down a fresh well of nausea and searched for why she’d hooked on the phrase.
Nothing.
She remembered about key cards and movies, but no real life experiences to accompany the information. She sagged to the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” Emily asked.
Dee jerked. “Huh? Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’m a little distracted today.” She swallowed hard and searched for normal conversation. “So, uh, is Chase Madison’s father?”
Emily nodded, thankfully not offended by the question. She hitched the baby on her shoulder and tugged her shirt back in place. “We’re gonna get married when we’re older.”
A tap sounded from the door just before it opened. A blast of air funneled into the room as Jacob stepped inside, his broad shoulders momentarily sealing the entry.
His height no longer intimidating, her nerves smoothed as if an iron had flattened all the disruptive wrinkles. How did he do that? Manage to calm her world with a job offer and a sandwich?
Jacob slammed the door closed behind him. He swiped the baby from Emily’s shoulder and lowered his oversize body into the seat to finish burping the infant. “Hey, there, runt. How many doughnuts did your mama pilfer?”
“Only one, that you know of.” Emily grinned without a flicker of remorse. “Madison needs the fruit in that raspberry pastry.”
“Quit eating up the profits.”
“Deduct it from my portion of the inheritance from Dad.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, his face creasing into an almost-smile.
The conversation hummed on, but Dee couldn’t focus on anything except the tableau of that tiny baby held so securely in oversize hands.
Her breath hitched. Emily was right. Jacob Stone was hot. A glance at those trim hips and long legs encased in overwashed denim sent a liquid heat flooding through Dee that rivaled any sugar jolt from a raspberry tart.
What kind of woman did that make her? Did she get warm and soft feelings over every man who crossed her path? She didn’t like that image of herself. Could she simply be drawn to Jacob because he’d been the one to toss her a lifeline?
Emily grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and reached for her daughter. “I’m outta here. You old folks reek of gloom and doom.”
Jacob propped a boot on the edge of the bed, blocking Emily’s escape. “Where’re you going? The weather’s not showing any signs of letting up.”
“Just to Chase’s.” Emily draped a thick yellow blanket over the baby. “Don’t say no or I’ll just sneak out. You’re my brother, not my father, and even he didn’t rag on me every time I wanted to go somewhere.”
He slid his foot to the ground. “Take the truck and be careful.”
“Sure, Gramps. I’ll even call you on your cell if I can pick up any reception in this weather.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “And get this lady into some warmer clothes and shoes before she, like, loses a toe to frostbite. Of course, if she wears anything of yours, she’ll be a fugitive from the fashion police.”
Police. Dee’s throat closed with a new thought. What if the police were after her? She couldn’t imagine herself as a criminal. But she wouldn’t have imagined she’d choose a low-cut silk dress if she couldn’t see the proof glaring back at her from the mirror.
And she didn’t even want to think about what the hundred on the bedside table had meant.
Jacob tipped back his chair. “Thanks for the fashion commentary, kid. You’re one to talk.”
“Truth hurts.” Emily tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, red streak glinting. “Later, dudes.”
“Don’t forget to call,” he shouted after the closing door.
Emily had just assumed he would loan Dee clothes, no question or hesitation. She had to admit, he did have a way of taking charge and reordering her world with seeming ease.
Jacob swung his feet up to occupy the vacated chair. Chilly silvery-blue eyes whispered over her. “I imagine you’re not staying in that dress because it’s your favorite. No suitcase?”
Dee backed a step as if that might distance her from the impact of that shivery gaze. She wasn’t even sure whom to trust. Keep focused. Cell phone. He had a cell phone. She should have thought to ask about one earlier. Now she could call for help and find her family—or perhaps end up in jail. “Uh, no. I don’t have a change of clothes.”
He gripped the chair arms and shoved to his feet. “Meet me over at the office when you finish up here.”
“Sure. About ten more minutes.” She tucked the spread along the pillows, taking more time to even the edges than she needed until he left.
Ten minutes and she could try for a cell phone connection. Regardless of the outcome, she wanted to know. All she needed to do was ask him for the phone.
Was she ready for what she might find?
Jacob refilled the coffeemaker in the lobby while he waited for Dee to finish her call. Apparently she’d thought of a friend to contact after all.
At least she’d cleaned the rooms before cutting out. He would be ready if the bus managed to make it through the storm, and the regular maid would be over her bout of flu soon.
Dee’s muffled words wafted from the other room. He settled in the creaky leather chair behind the check-in desk and let her soothing tones flow over him. She had a nice voice, gentle and soft like a wind whispering over airplane wings. If only she weren’t shoveling lies his way faster than a snowplow.
Her voice quieted. Jacob tugged open a file drawer and tried not to watch the sway of her hips as she glided down the hall connecting his rooms to the reception area.
Dee paused in the doorway, her shoulder resting against the frame. She clutched the phone to her chest. “Thanks. The connection was crackly, but I got through.”
“You’re all set then.”
“No.”
So much for a return to peace. “Your ride can’t make it out here yet?”
She shook her head. Her grip tightened around the cell phone until one of the buttons chirped. “Is the job open long-term? Well, as long as you plan to keep this place open. I may need it for a while.”
“I’ve already got someone who comes in to clean.” Her panicked eyes compelled him to add, “But Grace’s arthritis is acting up, and she could use the extra help.”
Which was the truth, except now he had two housekeeping employees and a floundering business. Great. He would bankrupt the place at a time he needed to secure a future for his sister.
“Thanks again for letting me use the phone.” She leaned to place it on the counter. Her dress gaped open, giving a full view of creamy breasts encased in lace.
Jacob shifted his gaze to a file, not nearly as interesting but a hell of a lot less tempting. “Let’s get you into something warmer.”
The now predictable battle waged in her eyes, pride versus practicality. She glanced down at that slinky little dress and nibbled her lip, then her spine straightened to a debutante stance that matched her face far more than the clothes. He could see pride had won.
Dee clasped the neckline closed. “Thank you, but you’ve done enough already.”
“I’m not offering to let you ra
id my closet. Emily’s right about my wardrobe—or lack of one.” Since he wore a flight suit most of the time, he didn’t need much in the way of civilian clothes. He gestured for her to follow him to the hall that connected the front office to the living quarters. “There’s a lost-and-found box of unclaimed items folks have left in the rooms. You can help yourself.”
She scrunched her toes in her shoes and looked out the ice-laced window. Starch leaked from her spine. “If you’re sure it’s all right. Consider it trade for the cleaning I’ve done today. No handouts.”
“Haven’t you ever heard about the joy of giving? Consider it an early Valentine’s Day gift.” Only a week away. Did she have someone besides Mr. Smith out there? Shaking off the thought, Jacob swung open the supply-closet door. “Rifle through and take anything you need. You can scrub a few extra sinks if it’ll make you feel better.”
Her thin shoulders slumped before she pivoted to face him. She reached, her trembling fingers hesitating an inch shy of touching him. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
The heat of her hand crackled through the air and scorched his chest. An image of lace burned an imprint in his mind. His thoughts twisted along paths he had no business traveling, paths that led to wrapping his body up with her, even if only for a mind-numbingly short time.
He should swaddle her in a few layers of clothes and march her out the door for more reasons than he’d originally thought. “You’re welcome.”
Jacob lost himself in the routine of paperwork. For all of four minutes. Maybe he should shovel more snow one-handed—ouch. Heaven knew that could keep him busy and cool him off. Or was there enough snow in a Washington winter for that just now?
He tipped his chair for a better view into the hall and let himself study her for an unrestrained moment. She’d made a small pile of clothes to use, a larger pile of obvious discards neatly folded to the other side.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Did Emily get to her boyfriend’s house okay?”
Jacob thudded his chair to the ground along with his thoughts, better all the way around. “Uh-huh.”
She hooked an arm over the rim of the box, her slim legs tucked to the side. “Am I bothering you?”
Yeah. “No. Why?”
“I was only trying to make polite conversation, fill the silence a little. We’re stuck here together, after all. I didn’t mean to be a pest. Just say the word if you don’t want to talk.”
“Didn’t mean to be rude. I’m buried in paperwork.” There. That sounded like a polite excuse.
“Sorry.”
He scrolled down the computer screen and began cross-referencing expenditures for tax returns. His father hadn’t been much for bookkeeping. Jacob just prayed the old man had actually paid his taxes.
He needed to come up with enough money to get Emily through the college years. His pay didn’t come close to covering that. Plus, even if he could convince her to move in with him, she would need child care during school hours and someone to stay with her when he was deployed.
Dee cleared her throat and coughed, still dainty sounds. “Little Madison is precious. And the baby’s father seems…involved? It was nice of you to let them have time together today.”
Jacob slipped in a backup CD. “Like I had a choice. As Emily said, I’m her brother not her father.”
Pain flashed in Dee’s eyes before they turned flat as a slap of mud on a windshield. He’d been curt, but the whole situation frustrated him. He wanted to beat the crap out of Chase, but Emily insisted she loved him and they were going to get married. The situation made his blood boil, so he was better off staying quiet.
The rustling of clothes brought his attention back to the present as Dee sorted through the box. How could one small woman explode into his life so fully in the span of a few hours?
“I have big feet!”
“What?” Jacob pivoted in his chair, doing a slow take toward her.
Dee sat in the middle of the discarded pile. A tennis shoe dangled off the end of her toes like Cinderella’s stepsisters trying on the glass slipper.
She snatched the shoe off her foot. “Did I say that out loud? Sorry, but my feet are kind of big.”
“You’re only just noticing?” This was the strangest woman he’d ever met.
“I, uh, just forget sometimes that the rest of the world doesn’t have snow skis for feet.”
If he didn’t get her outfitted soon, she would never return to her room. He gave up the fight and moved to help her. He tucked into the closet and pulled out another box.
Jacob knelt beside it. Beside her. Damn, but he’d gone from putting distance between them to landing himself six inches away. “Dig deep. There’s a pair of gym shoes near the bottom that might come closer to fitting.”
Dee peered inside, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the vee neck of her dress. It didn’t make one bit of difference. Funny thing about the male imagination, he didn’t actually have to see what was beneath that dress to have a clear mental picture.
He buried his hands in the box, rummaging around until he found the near-new Nikes. Jacob tossed them onto her pile. He also grabbed a ski sweater, a long one, and added it to her stack, as well. “You can go shopping with your first paycheck. Which reminds me. If you’re going to work here long-term, you’ll need to fill out one of these.”
Jacob lumbered to his feet, knees and ankles popping as he stood. He shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk and passed one to her.
“What’s this?”
“Your W-2 form.”
“W-2?” Dee’s face turned whiter than the snow in the parking lot, her wide brown eyes the only splash of color.
“Yeah. Just fill in your name and address. I’ll take care of the rest when I file it. You know. For next year’s taxes.”
Dee sagged to the edge of her bed. She wanted to crawl beneath the covers and never come out. The Tacoma Police Department hadn’t told her anything useful on the phone, instead insisting she needed to come in once the highway cleared. They’d relayed only enough to let her know she didn’t fit the descriptions from any missing persons’ reports.
She clutched her little wad of clothes closer, bringing to mind an image of Emily cradling Madison earlier. Dee pressed her small bundle to her belly and rocked. Tears begging for release clogged her chapped nose. Still she rocked, refusing to cry. If she started, the fear would win. Just like if she crawled under those covers she might never tunnel back out.
At least she had a home, four paneled walls with her choice of two beds. Hers sported red plaid comforters to go with the shiny veneer furniture and cheap water-color of Puget Sound. Yes, she had a home. For now.
The W-2 form glared at her from beside the TV where she’d tossed it. How would she talk her way around this one? She wouldn’t, not in a shimmery crimson dress and do-me-sailor pumps.
Dee unrolled her bundle of clothes like some hobo’s pack. Two pairs of sweatpants. A couple of T-shirts. An overlong sweater. And tennis shoes. She’d relented and let Jacob toss in three pairs of his socks.
She peeled off the dress and panty hose with great relish. Forget practicality. She flung both into the trash. Without question, that can would be emptied pronto by the Lodge’s newest housekeeping employee.
As she stood in her lace bra and panties, Dee realized her body looked no more familiar than her face. How surreal to become reacquainted with herself at thirty-some-odd years old.
She extended her arms, twisting the right to one side and then the other arm. She discovered a faded, inch-long scar just below her left elbow and paused to trace it with her finger.
What else didn’t she know about herself?
On impulse, she tugged off her bra and checked the tag: 34B. Not overly endowed, but enough to catch the attention of a certain sexy-eyed man.
She shrugged back into the bra and told herself to quit losing focus. Who she’d been didn’t matter as much as who she became from this point forward. She wouldn’t repeat he
r “Mr. Smith” mistake by turning weak-kneed over the first hunk to cross her path.
Dee whipped a T-shirt over her head and stepped into sweatpants, wriggling them over her hips. Her hands paused midtug. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she had, could she? She eased the sweats down a notch.
She stared at the map of stretch marks scrolled across her stomach.
“Oh my God.” She blinked and looked again.
Nausea kicked into overdrive. Her hands twitched away. The pants snapped back, covering what she wasn’t ready to view.
“Calm down,” she muttered, not even caring that she was talking to herself since she’d decided she might well be crazy anyway. “Stretch marks can come about any number of ways. Maybe I’m a diet junkie with a ballooning weight problem. I’ve just got babies on the brain because of little Madison.”
Slowly she inched the pants lower, following the milky-white ladders all the way to—
A scar. A bikini-cut, puckered scar. Just like a Cesarean section scar.
Her legs turned to soup. Dee folded into a heap on the floor. All the bottled tears and terror gushed free. Fists pressed to her stomach, she scavenged for control, strength, reason in a world turned inside out.
Her time to plan had ended. If she had a child out there somewhere, she had to find her or him. Fast.
And that meant trusting Jacob Stone with everything and pray he wasn’t another “Mr. Smith.”
Chapter 4
J acob pushed away from the computer. The numbers weren’t going to change anytime soon and the busload of seniors should be arriving any minute now. At least he could accommodate them.
Whatever Dee’s secrets, she made one hell of a great worker. She’d accomplished more in a day than most would in a week. He’d found nothing wrong with any of her rooms. Not at all what he’d expected from a party girl.
More than her face didn’t fit the profile some of her initial behavior indicated. She could have cried or pleaded her way into an extension on her room, and most men would have caved. Dee hadn’t even tried.
She’d shown a lot of grit on a day that would have taken most folks down. He admired that. Emily liked her, too.
Out of Uniform Page 3
