I’m Yours_Sweetbriar Cove_Book Four

by Melody Grace

  Jake thought about Mackenzie sharing the long drive with Declan, cozy in the cab of his truck. “I can go,” he said quickly.

  “Great.” Mackenzie ticked it off her list. “We’ll go this week. There. Business is all done.” She tucked her notebook away. “Now we can get back to the pleasure part of lunch.”

  Pleasure.

  The word made Jake’s body tighten, and he flashed back to the other night in front of the fire: Mackenzie straddling him, with her hair falling softly around them.

  He gulped. “You know what?” he said, shoving his chair back and getting to his feet. “I forgot, I have to . . . meet Cooper.”

  Mackenzie looked confused. “Now? Why?”

  “I’m going to rent his place. Maybe.” Jake scrambled for a reason to get away. “He said he’d give me the tour, and I totally blanked. I’m sorry.”

  “But—” Mackenzie started to protest, but Jake couldn’t stick around to listen. If he spent one more moment with her, he didn’t know what he might do.

  Chances were it wouldn’t be platonic.

  “Sorry,” he said again, and bolted for the door before he could change his mind. It wasn’t until he was outside, breathing in a lungful of crisp winter air, that he realized he’d stuck her with the check.

  Damn, he’d have to make it up to her. But not today, when she was looking like that.

  He knew his limits, and he’d just reached them.

  12

  Jake drove the long way back to Sweetbriar to clear his head. When he arrived back in town, he found a familiar figure leaving his parents’ front porch.

  “Coach Wilson?” he asked, getting out of the car.

  “I just dropped by to say hello,” the old man said. It had been ten years since Jake had seen him yelling from the twenty-yard line, but that weathered face was unmistakable—and the faded old baseball cap he wore in blue and white. School colors. “Heard the rumors you were back in town.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come see you yet,” Jake said, chastened. He knew Wilson would want all the NFL news, and to tell the truth, he hadn’t been ready to put on a smile and pretend everything was going to be OK.

  “That’s OK, kid.” Wilson smiled. “I know you’ve been busy, with the festival and all.”

  For once, the gossip mill was on his side.

  “Come on in,” Jake said, holding the door wide. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, beer?”

  Wilson snorted, following him to the kitchen. “My day-drinking days are long behind me. Cindy would raise hell. You know she’s got a chart up on our fridge, tracking my cholesterol?”

  “Water it is then.”

  “Well, if you’re opening a bottle . . .”

  Jake chuckled, and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. Wilson settled at the kitchen table and looked around. “How are your parents enjoying their trip?”

  “They’re loving it.” Jake smiled. “Mom texts me a picture of a new beach every other day. She’s already talking about their next cruise.”

  “Ha. Good thing you’ve got that NFL contract to keep them on the water. Don’t you?”

  That was Wilson, straight to the point.

  “For now,” Jake said.

  Wilson gave him a sympathetic look. “ACL. Helluva injury, that one. When I saw you go down like that . . .” He winced.

  “You were watching?”

  “Never missed a game,” Wilson said simply, and Jake felt that shot of guilt all over again.

  Wilson had been his biggest supporter back in the day—and his hardest critic. He’d seen Jake’s natural talent on the field and pushed him to take it to the next level. “Anyone can be a high-school hero,” he would say, sending Jake out to run another set of laps. “But it takes commitment to make it as a pro.”

  Jake took those words to heart, and it sent him all the way to his college team and beyond. He owed a lot to Wilson, and the donations he’d made anonymously to the high-school athletic department didn’t even begin to cover it.

  “I’ll be back out there soon enough,” Jake said. “It’ll heal.”

  Wilson looked skeptical. “And if it doesn’t?”

  Jake paused. He didn’t want to think about that part. “A lot of guys go into sportscasting,” he said with a shrug. “Or switch to the business side. Managing, training.”

  “Makes sense,” Wilson said, and quietly took another sip of beer.

  It did. It also would feel like a failure to Jake, to stand on the sidelines, talking about someone else’s game. Sure, DeJay loved the spotlight, and would happily gab a mile a minute to whoever wanted to hear, but it didn’t hold the same appeal to Jake.

  And as for becoming an assistant coach, or consultant—just one more guy in the massive NFL roster . . . Maybe it was his ego talking, but he was used to being a part of the action, not just a cog in the machine.

  “You know, I could use some help with the team, when school starts up again,” Wilson added casually. “It’s not the pros, but there’s a couple of good kids this season, they’ve got potential. We’re hoping to make it to state, maybe even pick up a couple of scholarships for them. Could use your experience.”

  Jake was flattered. “Thanks, but I’m not sure I’ll be here by then.”

  “Bright lights calling you back to the city?” Wilson asked with a smile.

  Jake just shrugged. It had been a few weeks, but Miami felt even farther away: loud and brash in his memories after the peace of the coast. “We’ll see. Like I said, it all depends how I heal. I’m working hard on the rehab,” he added, not liking the doubt on Wilson’s face. “Making real progress.”

  “That’s good, son. Real good to hear. But you know, there are worse places to call home than right here,” Wilson said, giving him one of those clear-eyed looks of his. “Settle down, start a family . . .”

  “You sound like my mom,” Jake replied lightly.

  Wilson chuckled. “Maybe she’s got the right idea.”

  He set his beer down and got to his feet. “I won’t keep you any longer. Think about swinging by, we could use some pro pointers on the field.”

  “You’re the only pro they need.” Jake showed him out and watched Wilson stroll back down the street. It seemed like only yesterday he was at practice, back in high school, when everything was still ahead of him. Full of possibilities.

  He looked around. The trophies on the mantel, the pictures on the wall. Suddenly, it all felt suffocating, like some kind of shrine to the man he’d spent his life trying to be.

  Was he still that man anymore?

  Jake grabbed his keys. He was already out the door before he called Cooper about that rental. He might as well look at the place now, especially since he needed an alibi. He hated lying to Mackenzie, and at least this way, there was a kernel of truth in his cover.

  * * *

  Cooper met him at the barn, a soaring, rustic space in the woods just outside of town. It was hidden down a dirt road, surrounded by peaceful trees and the sound of running water from a nearby stream. “I’ll take it,” Jake said, getting out of the car.

  Cooper arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t even opened the door yet.”

  “You’re the master architect, right? I trust you.” Jake stopped a moment, listening to the quiet and the sound of birds in the trees. It really was a beautiful spot, and—most importantly—it didn’t have trophies of his former winnings set on every surface. He already knew he couldn’t spend another night in that place. He’d take a room at the motel if he had to, but something told him Cooper’s place would be a step up from that. “I can sign a lease right now if you want.”

  Cooper waved away the offer. “It’s fine. I’ll know where to find you.” He pulled out the keys. “Let me show you around. The furnace is temperamental, but there’s a trick to it.”

  He led Jake inside. Just as Jake predicted, the place was great: the original barn converted into a big, open-plan living space with a sleeping loft in the back. Sun filtered t
hrough the iron-paned windows, spilling onto the wooden floors and giving the whole room a warm, relaxed feel. “I can take the furniture, or leave it,” Cooper said. “Whatever suits.”

  “It would be great if you could leave it,” Jake said, looking around. Cooper’s style was simple and hand-crafted, and he smiled. “My teammates are paying interior designers a small fortune to get this look,” he said, chuckling. “I’m guessing you didn’t pay ten thousand bucks to have this table imported from Italy.”

  “Hell, it sounds like I’m in the wrong trade,” Cooper laughed.

  “I’ll hook you up,” Jake said, as Cooper finished giving him the tour.

  “There’s enough wood on the porch to see you through winter, and a back-up generator, too, in case of storms,” Cooper explained. He paused, giving Jake an assessing look. “Just how long are you planning on staying?”

  The million-dollar question—and it seemed like everyone wanted an answer.

  Jake gave a vague shrug. “I don’t know. But I can cover a couple months’ rent up front, just in case.”

  It didn’t seem like the reply Cooper was looking for, but he nodded. “How are the festival plans going?” he asked, as they headed back inside.

  “Fine,” Jake replied. “Mac’s pretty much got everything figured. I’m just there for the heavy lifting.”

  “Welcome to the club,” Cooper grinned. “Debra’s had me hauling trees the past five years running.”

  “Gee, thanks. I guess I’m the new errand boy in town,” Jake cracked, but Cooper was still looking at him with that careful expression.

  “It’s a big deal, you know,” Cooper continued. “It matters to a lot of people.”

  “Sure,” Jake agreed, checking out the kitchen area. Not that he’d be using it. “It’s the big tourist draw.”

  “And locals,” Cooper said with a steady look. “If things got messed around, if someone didn’t take it seriously, then there would be a lot of unhappy folks around here.”

  Something told Jake they weren’t talking about the Starbright Festival anymore.

  “It matters to me too,” he said carefully. “But I’m just lending a hand. I’m not sticking around here, so I won’t get involved.”

  “No?” Cooper looked surprised. “Why the hell not?”

  Jake opened his mouth, but nothing came out. All his silent arguments about friendship and commitment and what Mackenzie deserved suddenly didn’t even seem worth saying out loud.

  “Yeah, I figured.” Cooper smirked. “But a word of advice, landlord to tenant. Don’t take too long figuring it out, because she’s not going to wait around for you again.”

  He left the keys on the counter and sauntered out the door, leaving Jake alone with the lingering threat—and the one word that lodged uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

  Again?

  He checked the time. He needed to go pick his stuff up and apologize to Mac, so he headed back into town again, stopping by the bakery for some “sorry” muffins. With any luck, she would be too engrossed by the carbs to remember what a fool he’d made of himself at lunch. He pulled up across from the gallery, just as another car slowed by the curb outside.

  It was Mackenzie in the passenger seat, smiling and talking to the driver.

  Declan.

  Jake tensed. What was she doing with him?

  He watched as she climbed out of the car, still smiling. Declan followed, circling around to walk her to the gallery door. They lingered there, talking for a moment, Declan gesturing widely and Mackenzie laughing along. Then she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and headed inside.

  It wasn’t until Declan had driven away that Jake exhaled. He realized that he was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.

  What was he playing at?

  It shouldn’t matter who Mackenzie was friends with. He wasn’t staying around, remember? He had no claim to her, and had been going crazy trying to keep it that way.

  He should be glad there might be another man in her life.

  Glad, and not filled with a pure, hot jealousy that made him want to burn the world down.

  He gulped down a ragged breath, and turned the keys in the ignition again. Mackenzie’s love life was none of his business.

  Maybe if he repeated that often enough, he’d start to believe it was true.

  13

  Flirting hadn’t worked.

  Mackenzie pored over their lunch, trying to figure out exactly where she’d gone wrong. From the way Jake had been looking at her, it wasn’t the dress—or the conversation. They’d been chatting, having a good time, tension crackling between them so sharp her heart was beating faster even before their appetizers arrived.

  OK, maybe she’d laid it on a little thick, sighing and moaning like that. But in her defense, it was worth the praise. Declan was the best chef around.

  And then Jake had bolted, leaving her with a table of delicious food and no company.

  Mackenzie didn’t know what to do next. Should she admit defeat already? Just when she thought Jake was off limits for good, he did something to make her head spin all over again. Like kissing her. Or showing up on her doorstep bright and early on Friday morning with a rental truck, a bag of muffins, and an unreadable expression on his face that could still take her breath away.

  “Ready to hit the road?” he asked, as if there was nothing weird about embarking on a road trip with the woman he’d been seducing there just a few nights before.

  Hell, if he could play it cool, then Mackenzie would just have to call his bluff.

  “Sure thing,” she beamed. “Just let me get my coat.”

  It was a cool, crisp day, with snow clouds lurking on the horizon, so she grabbed some gloves and a scarf too, bundling up before she left the house. “I hope it snows soon,” she said as she followed him out to the van. “It usually comes these first weeks in December. But I guess it’s been a while since you had a white Christmas,” she added with a smile.

  Jake gave her a blank look. “I spend the holidays in Aspen most years. We get plenty of snow out there.”

  Mackenzie blinked. Jake’s tone was as cool as the wind slipping under her collar, but she didn’t have time to think; he was already back in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.

  “Don’t leave without me!” Mackenzie climbed inside. “For a start, I’m the one with directions.”

  “Great.” Jake’s voice stayed even. “Just program them into the GPS.”

  Mackenzie did as instructed, shooting him a sideways look as they drove out of town and hit the highway down the coast. He was looking at the road straight ahead, but she could have sworn there was a tense expression on his face.

  Had something happened? Bad news from the physio, maybe, or his teammates back home? Mackenzie knew he hated to talk about that stuff, so she changed the subject. “Mmm, chocolate chip,” she said, digging into the muffin bag. “My favorite. Thanks for picking them up.”

  “Don’t get so excited, they’re a day old,” Jake replied shortly.

  Mackenzie paused. Okaaay.

  “I’m surprised they’re still around, then,” she said, trying to be upbeat. “Since when do you leave a pastry unattended?”

  “I was going to drop them off yesterday,” he said, still staring straight ahead. “But you weren’t at the gallery. Did you have big plans after our lunch?”

  She frowned. After Jake had made his quick exit, she’d hung out at the restaurant for a while, then Declan had given her a ride home—

  She stopped. Declan. Was that the reason Jake was in such a mood? But it made no sense at all. Declan was just a friend, and even if he wasn’t, did Jake just expect her to sit around waiting for him to swing by with apology muffins after running out on their lunch?

  She felt a flash of annoyance. She was the one trying to lay her cards on the table, and he was just running hot and cold.

  “Let me see,” she replied at last, matching his cool tone. “I’m always s
o busy, it’s hard to keep track. Hmm, I spent some time with Declan, I think—tasting his new recipes. He’s very talented,” she couldn’t help but add.

  Jake scowled. “Yeah, he seems like a real charmer.”

  “It’s the accent,” Mackenzie continued, musing. “There’s just something about British guys.”

  “The women, too,” Jake replied, and her good mood slipped. “They can’t get enough of a real American man. Trust me on that.” He gave her a smug wink, and Mackenzie’s muffin turned dry in her mouth.

  She didn’t want to trust him. Hell, she didn’t want to think about what he’d been doing with all his many women these past ten years, so she turned on the radio instead. It was programmed to a classic rock station, and Foo Fighters were playing, and just like that, she was seventeen again, feet up on the dashboard of Jake’s car, driving back from practice down those dark country roads.

  Mackenzie smiled and started singing along.

  “Remember?” she asked, looking over at him. “You kept getting the lyrics wrong.”

  Jake started to smile. “And you made me look it up on my parents’ computer, just to prove you were right.”

  “Which I was.”

  “Not that you’d let me forget it.”

  Mackenzie laughed. “I’ll take my wins wherever I can get them. And speaking of which, don’t you owe me a Mighty Monster hot dog for that pool game?”

  “You don’t forget a thing, do you?”

  “Mind like a steel trap, baby,” Mackenzie laughed. “And a stomach to match. Although I ate so much yesterday, I might give that foot-long dog a miss. Pro-tip, never become friends with chefs if you want to keep to a healthy diet. Especially when they think butter is a basic food group.”

  “Right. Your friend Declan.” Jake’s smile disappeared. He stared out at the road, stony-faced again.

  Mackenzie stifled a sigh. Two hours to Boston? It was going to be a long ride.