by Marin Thomas
She found it strange that Brock had never told her the full story, but then, he hadn’t talked much about any of the members of his family. At the beginning of their romance, whenever she had asked for more details about his siblings or his parents he’d just laugh, shake his head and say, “You’ll meet them soon enough.”
And she had. Over the months of their engagement she’d grown to know each of them a little better. B.J. she saw rarely because until he married Savannah he was almost always on the rodeo circuit. But she’d been around him enough to realize that he was the kind of guy who liked to take charge, a strong man with a good heart.
Having so many brothers who liked to tease and play practical jokes, Cassidy had learned to protect her heart. Only recently had she given it to Dan Farley, who was a real sweetheart in Winnie’s opinion. Farley frequented the Cinnamon Stick Café a lot. He put in hundreds of miles every week as a large-animal vet and needed the caffeine to stay alert during his very long workdays.
Corb was easy to get to know because he was the most like Brock: easygoing and charming, plus, since he was Laurel’s husband, she saw him the most.
It was only Jackson who had remained an enigma. Jackson who eluded her attempts to talk to him at family gatherings and who never patronized her café, either.
She was actually very surprised that he’d opened up so much tonight.
But there was still one subject he hadn’t broached.
She dipped her paintbrush into the can, dabbed off the excess, then carefully continued along the edge of the wall avoiding making even the smallest mark on the ceiling.
“What about your dad?” She was watching her paintbrush, not Jackson, as she asked this. She suspected that not having to make eye contact with her was why Jackson was talking more than usual tonight. “Was he part of your life?”
“Nope. I’ve never even met him.”
“So, on your birth certificate...” She’d recently filled out the form for Bobby and could picture it in her mind, especially the line where she’d had to write down the father’s name. Tears had blurred her vision as she’d printed Brock Lambert on that page.
“My mother put unknown where my father’s name should have gone. I always thought she was keeping his name from me, though she claimed he was just some cowboy she met at the bar one night.”
Hearing the pain in his voice, she had to stop painting. So many times since Brock’s accident, she’d worried what effect his death would have on their son.
Her heart ached every time she thought about it.
Just as her heart ached now for Jackson.
Because he’d grown up without a dad. Because he’d tried to take care of his mother and felt as though he’d failed. And most of all, because he felt responsible for Brock’s death and the fact that Bobby didn’t have a dad, either.
That was why he had spent the past week building this bedroom and now helping her with the painting.
She wondered when, if ever, he was going to feel as if his debt to her and Bobby had been paid.
She took a deep breath, then went back to something she could control—her painting.
And when she was finally done cutting in the walls, she climbed down the rungs and set her brush on the tray. “Done,” she said with more fatigue than satisfaction.
“Great. I’ll just move the ladder out of the way so I can get at this last section.” It only took Jackson a couple of minutes and then he was finished, too.
After setting down the roller brush, he pointed at her arm. “You’ll want to wash that off before it dries.”
“What?” She twisted her arm, but couldn’t see what he meant.
“This.” Gently he took her by the wrist and rotated her forearm a few inches. With his other hand, he rubbed away a blotch of paint.
Waves of pleasure spread out from the places where he was touching her. Winnie felt the aftershocks multiplying in her body. Her heart rate zoomed; she even felt breathless.
When she looked up, for once Jackson met her gaze head-on. She marveled at the warmth in his blue eyes, the lushness of his mouth, the manly strength of his jaw and chin.
He was insanely good-looking.
How had she been so oblivious before?
“Win, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
There was actual pain in his voice, but there was something else, too. Something hot and desperate. And she felt it, too.
Don’t kiss him was her last coherent thought. But she was already leaning in. Closing her eyes.
God only knew what he was thinking. Or not thinking.
Because he leaned down as she leaned up, and it was happening, the thing that shouldn’t happen.
They were kissing, or was it drowning?
He had his hands around her face now, holding her like a precious, wonderful thing.
And she reached out to shoulders that were so broad and strong she felt that they could carry her anywhere she wanted to go.
His lips on hers. It was like magic. To think he felt these things for her, the same things she’d begun feeling for him.
And then, it was over.
They weren’t kissing anymore, not even touching. And Jackson was shaking his head, even as she was reverberating with aftershocks of pleasure.
“Damn it. I was afraid this would happen.”
He stepped back from her, as if she was a dangerous, uncontrollable person and he had to be careful not to spook her.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he said. “I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried....”
Her arms dropped to her sides and hung there. They’d never felt so...empty. “I’m just a woman. An ordinary woman.”
“Not to me. You were never that.”
She felt as if he had her heart on a string and was playing with it. “Then why are you walking away?”
“Are you kidding me? Tell me you don’t think this is wrong.” Jackson’s eyes, glowing with warmth a minute ago, were dark with misery now. “And while you’re at it, how about explaining it to Olive, too, and the whole bloody Lambert family? And if that’s not enough for you, imagine telling Bobby one day how you ended up kissing the guy who killed his father.”
“Damn it, Jackson. You didn’t kill him.”
“If he were here. If he saw this.” Jackson pointed from her to himself. “It would kill him. Trust me. It would.”
What could she say to that? An ugly shame began to seep over her, staining what had momentarily felt lovely and good.
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She felt small. Dirty. Bad.
“You better leave.” She was looking at her bare feet as she said this. She’d taken off her socks so she wouldn’t slip on the ladder. Now she curled her toes under. Her feet were cold. All of her felt cold.
Jackson didn’t answer. But she felt his absence as he moved away from the door. She heard him exit out the front way. The sound of the door latch catching. Then the distant thud of his boots on the stairs.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Winnie discovered a new universal law. It went something like this. The day you wake up grouchy because you couldn’t sleep because you’d kissed your dead fiancé’s brother will be the same day your normally happy little boy wakes up grouchy, too.
“What’s the matter, Bobby? This is your favorite cereal, right?”
“No.” He frowned at her, then pushed away the cooked-rice-and-banana cereal he usually loved.
Did he have a fever? She pulled out the thermometer to check. Normal.
Was that molar bothering him? She took a look at his gums. No sign of inflammation.
Finally she tried offering him toast with jam. Slices of apple.
These he go
bbled up. Hoping he’d gone back to being her usually sunny boy, she let him play while she got ready for work. When it was time to dress him in his snowsuit and boots, he got stubborn again.
“No,” he said to his snowsuit.
“No,” he said to his boots.
Winnie stared at her son. “Is this national no day or something?”
He couldn’t possibly be upset over what had happened last night, could he? He was only a toddler. He’d been in a different room. The door had been closed.
Winnie decided to phone her mother for a professional opinion. The answer wasn’t encouraging.
“Bobby might be entering the terrible twos a little on the early side.”
Terrible twos.
Oh, no. She hadn’t read that far in her Parenting For Dummies book yet. And she didn’t have time now. Bobby was due at the babysitter’s in ten minutes, and she had to be at the café five minutes after that.
“Do you want to ride in your new sled, Bobby?”
He looked up from the toy cars he’d been pulling from his toy chest.
It was one of the items Olive had given him in the present frenzy of two weeks ago. Winnie removed the wooden sled from the closet. She could see he was curious.
“It’s an outside toy, Bobby. You have to put on your snowsuit and boots.”
He eyed the sled. He eyed the boots and snowsuit lying on the floor where he’d tossed them.
Then he sighed and went to his outdoor clothes. He picked up the snowsuit and gave it to her. “Help.”
A new word. He’d just said a new word. Plus, her little psychological ploy had worked. Winnie wanted to give her son a big hug and kiss, but decided it would be smarter to play it cool.
“Sure, I’ll help you, Bobby. I’m glad you want to give this a try. You’re going to love your new sled.”
And he did. He laughed the whole way to Linda’s house. The faster Winnie pulled him, the louder he laughed. I think I’ve found my new workout.
In less than five minutes Bobby was happily ensconced with his new sitter. Winnie left the sled in Linda’s backyard and made it back to the café five minutes before ten.
She said hi to Vince, who was in the kitchen putting his last batch of buns in the oven. His day started early and ended shortly after lunch. Then she slipped on her apron and joined Dawn behind the counter.
The place was quiet and Dawn had her laptop open. She wasn’t working on her correspondence courses, however, but doing a little internet shopping.
“Look at these boots.” She scrolled down, then clicked to enlarge the image.
“Pretty.” Winnie peered at the black leather boots with stacked wedge heels. “Not very practical for Coffee Creek, though.” The town only had sidewalks on a few streets. And you could never count on them being clear.
“True.” Dawn sighed, then closed the laptop. “I guess I should make some fresh coffee.”
“Good idea.” Winnie had already noticed the pot was low and had been about to make the same suggestion. She started preparing tuna salad for that day’s sandwich special and soon more customers came in and the place was hopping.
Bert from the post office showed up, like usual. He and his ex-wife were always careful not to come to the café at the same time. Winnie didn’t have time to do more than give him a smile and a friendly hello.
She should have been too busy to think about anything but work.
So why did she keep having flashes from last night? The way Jackson’s hand had felt on her arm.
The look in his eyes before he’d kissed her.
And then the kiss. Oh, wow, that kiss... Her knees went a little weak every time she thought about it. And him.
And she thought about both way too much. Was she going crazy?
She had to talk to someone. To Laurel. Her best friend would help her get some perspective on this.
But it was three and a half hours before Winnie had time for a break. She ran up to her apartment, using the inside stairs, intending to call Laurel in private.
But someone was in her apartment. She could hear the floorboards creaking and the radio playing quietly, even though the connecting door from the stairs to her apartment was closed.
There was only one person who could be in there. Jackson still had the keys she’d loaned him when he’d started the project. He must have gone in the back way, as usual. Probably he was planning to be gone before she returned home at quarter past two.
Last night she’d told him she didn’t need his help anymore. But she wasn’t surprised that he’d ignored her. He was noble to a fault, where she was concerned.
She ought to back down the stairs quietly and let him finish the painting in peace.
But what she really wanted was to go inside and force him to talk about what had happened between them last night.
Two options. Retreat. Or advance. Which one was smarter?
Before she could decide, she felt her cell phone vibrate. Pulling it from her back pocket, she saw the call was from Laurel. She decided to take it.
“Hello?” Despite the poor soundproofing in the building, she doubted if Jackson could hear her over the sound of the radio.
“Hey, Winnie. Sorry to bother you while you’re at work, but Corb just left for town and he forgot his phone. If he stops in for a coffee, would you tell him we’re almost out of diapers?”
“Sure.” Winnie hesitated. “Actually I was just about to call you. I need to talk about something.”
“Are you and Bobby okay?”
“Yes. Well, Bobby is. Me, I’m not so sure. You’re going to think this is crazy, but there’s something weird going on with me and Jackson.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I’m around him I feel so...strange.”
“Is this about Brock’s accident? Because if you’re feeling angry—”
“No. I’ve never blamed Jackson for that. It’s something else. He’s been so sweet, building that extra room for Bobby. And, have you ever noticed that he’s, well, he’s pretty hot, actually?”
“Don’t tell Corb, but yeah, I’ve noticed.” Suddenly there was a new tension in Laurel’s voice. “Hang on. You aren’t saying you’re attracted to Jackson, are you?”
Winnie didn’t answer.
“He’s, like, practically Brock’s brother.”
“I know.” The words came out sounding like a groan.
“Oh, Winnie. If you think your relationship with Olive is complicated now. Can you imagine what would happen if—” Laurel stopped. “Wait a minute. Has something happened between the two of you?”
Oh, Lord. Should she tell her? She’d never been able to keep a secret from Laurel for long. And the temptation to talk about what had happened was very strong.
“Last night when we were painting Bobby’s room...we sort of kissed.”
“You didn’t!”
“It was amazing. Wonderful. But also awful. After it happened I kept thinking how much it would hurt Brock if he knew....”
“It’s too close to home,” Laurel said. “When you talked about being ready to date again, I was so happy for you. But I never guessed you were thinking of Jackson.”
“I wasn’t. At least, I don’t think I was.”
“So...the kiss just sort of happened?”
“It sure wasn’t planned. And Jackson was so upset after. He said it was a mistake.”
“But you want it to happen again?” Laurel guessed.
“I do.”
“Oh, Winnie. You’ve been through so much and you deserve to be happy. But I can’t help agreeing with Jackson. It would be better if you found someone else.”
Winnie had really been hoping for a different answer.
But the logical side of her had to agree.
“You’re probably right. Look, I have to get back to work now. Thanks for listening.” She ended the call abruptly so Laurel wouldn’t guess how upset she was.
If even Laurel thought the idea was so crazy, then her attraction to Jackson really must be wrong.
She had to stop.
Thinking of him. Dreaming of him. Wanting him.
She had to stop all of it.
Winnie glanced at the door to her apartment. She wanted so badly to go inside.
Instead she headed back to the café and put on a fresh pot of coffee.
* * *
A WEEK CRAWLED BY. Winnie did her best to control her thoughts and yearnings where Jackson was concerned.
It helped that he never came into the café.
Bobby adjusted quickly to his new bedroom, but the lovely additional storage space was quickly filled to overflowing.
Had she been wrong to say no to Brock’s cabin?
Thinking of the beautiful open-concept kitchen, the views of Cold Coffee Lake and the mountains beyond, the roomy two bedrooms and large mudroom—not to mention the cozy porch out front—Winnie began to think that she had.
Especially since she doubted that she was ready to start dating after all.
A few days after after her awkward phone conversation with Laurel about Jackson, Laurel and Corb had invited her to a dinner party at their home.
They’d invited several of their friends—including a horse trainer who worked at Monahan’s Equestrian Center. Greg was a handsome, sandy-haired fellow with a warm smile and a great sense of humor.
She could tell right away he was interested in her, and she’d tried to be interested back. She’d even accepted and gone on a date with him last Saturday night.
It had been awful.
Excruciating.
Every time she’d smiled, she had felt like such a fake. She didn’t want to be with Greg. She wanted—
Face it, she wanted what she couldn’t have.
“What’s wrong, Win?”
She’d stepped into the kitchen to get a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls for the counter. Vince was measuring scoops of flour into one of his large aluminum mixing bowls. He stopped and gave her a searching look.
