Kiss and Tell

by Cherry Adair

  And there it was. In the open. Short and sweet, and wrapped up in a neat package.

  Jake would rather have taken the physical hit.

  "Don't beat around the bush, do you?" Jake raised a hand when Michael stepped forward, blood in his eye. "Don't waste your energy. We both know you're right." Jake paused, torn. "Before I go, I have to have a promise from you."

  "I don't owe you any goddamn promises, pal," Michael snarled, eyes blazing. "That's my kid sister in there. A girl with a bad heart you damn near got killed with your wet work. A kid who, no thanks to you, just had a bullet taken out of her. A kid who could have died without any of her family ever seeing her again.

  "You want a promise? How about if I promise not to kill you if you're out of our lives in five? How about that for a promise?"

  Jake wasn't about to go into the semantics of Michael's calling Marnie a kid. She might be that to her brothers, but she sure as hell was all woman to him.

  "Two promises," he told Michael. "One. Find Duchess up there and get her home. Two—" Jake cleared his throat. "Two, stay with her until she's well enough to go home. Don't let her wake up alone in the hospital." He looked at the other man. "Please."

  After a pause, Michael nodded.

  Jake let out the breath he'd been holding and stuffed his fingertips in the front pocket of his new jeans. "I'll go in and say good-bye."

  "She's sleeping."

  "Then you won't mind staying out here until I'm gone, will you?"

  Without waiting for an answer Jake walked inside, praying that she was indeed sleeping. He didn't think he could bear to see her eyes when he told her good-bye.

  Three days later they reluctantly released her from the small mountain hospital. Marnie, taking the path of least resistance, went home to her father's house instead of her own small cottage a few miles away.

  There she let the housekeeper tuck her into bed in her old room and lay staring at the ceiling for two days until she forced herself to snap out of her lethargy.

  She showered, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast on Monday morning to find her entire family at the kitchen table. There was much scraping of chairs as they all rose at the same time to hover over her.

  Her father, big, rugged, and still handsome, his dark hair touched with silver, came over to give her a gentle bear hug. He was dressed for the office in a three-piece Armani suit and the tie she'd given him last year for his birthday. Marnie returned the hug. He felt big, safe, and infinitely dear.

  "Morning, Daddy. Muskrats."

  Her father let her go but looked down at her with keen eyes that read more into her expression than she would have liked. "It's good to have you up and about," he told her calmly. "Sit down and have some breakfast."

  Kyle slung a brotherly arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair. "How're you doing, kidlet?"

  "Just peachy, thank you." Since her brother the doctor had poked and prodded her endlessly for the last couple of days, he should know.

  "Just like old times." Marnie took her place at the table and opened her napkin on her lap. "Are you all quite recovered from my injuries yet?" she asked mildly, looking around the table at her father and her Four Musketeers.

  She thought how dear they were, with their worried eyes and grim expressions. They all loved her so much. She couldn't imagine her life without them. They'd always just been there, through all her highs and lows, through surgeries, through ghastly boyfriends. They'd been her wall of love. Protecting her. Treasuring her.

  And she thought of Jake.

  Jake, who'd never had anyone to care about him. Jake, who'd had his friends taken from him—twice in the case of Lurch. Jake, whose first love had betrayed him. Jake, alone. Isolated.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Darn it. She was still weak and weepy. She missed Jake so much it was a far worse physical ache than her injury.

  "A bullet wound is nothing to take lightly, honey. Especially for a girl in your condition," her father told her, beckoning Hester, their housekeeper, to serve Marnie's breakfast. It was an unnecessary order, of course. The housekeeper had worked for them for almost twenty years and had X-ray ears and was already dishing up Marnie's food.

  "Dad, I'm twenty-seven years old. Not a girl anymore. Second, I'm not in a condition. I'm as healthy as a horse. Yes, Daddy, I am." She prodded Kyle, sitting beside her. "Tell everyone, including yourself, Doc, how healthy I am."

  "She's good," Kyle agreed.

  Marnie looked around at the five large men taking up most of the room at the table. They might hear it. They might even agree with Kyle. That didn't mean they were going to treat her any differently than they had all her life. She sighed.

  "Don't you have cows to punch?" she asked Derek, who lounged back in his chair cradling a cup of coffee between his long fingers. No one seeing her brother away from his ranch would guess he was a cattleman. He wore two-thousand-dollar suits and cashmere sweaters. Not a dark hair out of place. Yet she'd seen him soaked with sweat, a bandanna tied around his head as he castrated bulls, standing knee deep in cow poop.

  "Things are under control." He grinned. "Don't sweat it."

  "And you?" she demanded of his twin, Kane, the world-renowned photographer. They were identical in looks and opposites in personalities. While Derek was charm personified, Kane was quiet, kept to himself, and was almost antisocial. "Don't you have shutters to bug or something?"

  Marnie glanced up and smiled as the housekeeper set a plate of eggs and bacon before her. "Thanks, Hessie." She looked back at Kane. "Well?"

  "I'm between assignments right now."

  "You, too?" she asked Michael, who sat brooding beside their father and searching her face for God only knows what.

  "Yeah," he said, reaching for the coffeepot to fill her mug. He ladled two spoons of sugar into the brew, then added milk and picked up a spoon. "Between assignments."

  Marnie watched him stir her coffee. "Have you by any chance noticed what you're doing, Michael Dominic Wright?"

  "What?"

  "You just fixed my coffee as if I were a handicapped two-year-old."

  "You're hurt."

  "Yeah, Michael. I was shot. You've been shot before. Being alive beats the alternative, doesn't it? Nevertheless, I'm quite capable of putting milk and sugar in my own coffee." Marnie sighed as she looked around the table. "Look, you guys, I appreciate your going up there to help us. Thank you for worrying about me. But I'm fine now. Really, I am. Not talking about it isn't going to make what happened up there go away."

  Her father leaned over and took her hand. "We tried talking you out of going up there alone, honey. We're not blaming you, but look what happened."

  "Dad, guys, I hate to shock you all, but I wouldn't have missed going up there, and experiencing what I did, for all the tea in China. The getting shot part wasn't so hot," she added wryly, adding more milk to her mug. "But everything else I experienced was worth it."

  "I don't want to hear the details," Michael snarled, getting up and going to the toaster. Half a second after he put his hand over the slots the toast popped up. Marnie had no idea how he always knew something was going to happen before it happened, even down to something as simple as the toast popping. He tossed the hot toast onto a plate and strode back to the table.

  "Trust me, I wasn't going to give you details. Look, I went up to Grammy's cottage to think some things through. And despite all the running around and the dramatics, I've resolved some of those things in my mind." She glanced at their faces.

  Behind Kane's shoulder the housekeeper gave her an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.

  "Dad, as much as I love you, I quit. I don't want to be a programmer. I don't want to work in an office behind a computer all day."

  "Sure, honey. What about if I move you to—"

  "No, Dad. I quit quit."

  "You'll feel better after you get back into your routine and—"

  "No, I won't. I'm going to try my hand at illustrating full time. After breakfast
I'm going back home. I'm going to convert my second bedroom into a studio. Then I'm going to put together a portfolio of my work and make some calls, and see what happens."

  "Great idea, kidlet," Kane told her. "I always said you have terrific talent. Why don't I drive you back and see what we can do about getting that studio set up?"

  "I'll take the ride, thanks. But the studio I'll take care of myself."

  There was a chorus of protests.

  Marnie raised her hand. "Stop. You guys have to let me sink or swim on my own. I know you all love me, but you're smothering me. I have to take a big part of that blame. I've made excuses all my life and taken the path of least resistance. One, because I love you all and I didn't want to hurt any feelings. And two, because it was so much easier not to swim against the tide. But that's got to stop. I'm a big girl. I have to do things on my own. Please help me by not helping me so much. Okay?"

  Without waiting for their answer—after all, it wouldn't make any difference at this point—Marnie said briskly, "Now, which of you got rid of the man I love? The man who could very well be the father of my baby?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  « ^

  Nine-thirty-nine La Mesa Terrace was at the end of a cul-de-sac in a quiet residential neighborhood. At three-thirty in the afternoon a few kids, bundled to their noses in heavy outerwear, jostled each other on the sidewalk on their way home from school as Jake drove slowly down the street.

  It was typical northern California winter weather. Bright and sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. Not as cold as the mountains, but fresh and crisp as a green apple. He'd left the window down and let the wind blow on his face for the five-hour trip down from the mountains.

  He'd realized a little too late that she'd probably be at work. Or recuperating at her father's house. Or in a Paris art school studying some young stud's form.

  "Glad to be home, girl?" he asked Duchess, who sat regally in the front seat, ears perked, tongue lolling. She'd been good company. No complaints, and a good listener.

  Even at under five miles per, he was at the end of the street in about a minute and a half. Jake's heart had raced here in double time. He eased Marnie's little red Beamer alongside the curb.

  The small house was painted daffodil yellow, with dark green shutters and front door. The lawn was a little long, but the beds were filled with a wild profusion of end-of-season autumn flowers.

  It looked homey. Loved. Welcoming. Damn, I've got it bad.

  Duchess stuck her head out of her open window, then looked back at him sitting there, steering wheel clenched between white-knuckled fists. She made a polite noise of inquiry.

  A cigarette would be nice. He didn't smoke.

  A drink would be great. He didn't drink.

  It's good to want things, Jake reminded himself.

  "Did I mention I was possibly a tad nervous here?" he asked the dog, who'd heard this before. Ad nauseum.

  This was really stupid. All he wanted to do was fulfill his promise to Marnie to return her car and her dog. No big deal. And he wanted to make sure she was okay after taking a bullet meant for him. He owed her that much.

  Like hell that was all he wanted.

  Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt, Jake thought morosely. Denial had always been a form of self-preservation.

  It had crept up on him full blown.

  He loved the infuriating woman.

  It was that simple, and that damn complicated.

  Love. Judas. What did he know about love? Not a damn thing other than that he was crazy about Marnie Wright and would do anything it took to get her to admit she felt the same way.

  The shocker was, he wanted it all. Love. Marriage. Commitment.

  Ah, man… She wants to study art in Paris. Hell, she's probably in Paris right now. So would it be fair to bust in there and declare myself when she wants to fly free? Shit.

  After the age of sixteen, when he'd left home to join the navy, he hadn't had a moment's indecision in his life. Yet here he was. Wanting her. Starving for her. Trying to be altruistic and do what was best for her.

  I want to be what's best for her, damn it!

  He wondered desperately what the pink flowers along her walkway were called. He admired the white tubs filled with droopy little blue flowers by the front door. He watched a kid scuffing his new school shoes as he kicked a plastic cup along the gutter.

  Duchess sat patiently waiting for him to act. "I'm getting there," he said, a little irritated that she had so little faith in him. He had to get this right. One shot. He didn't want to screw it up. He couldn't barge in there half cocked and make demands.

  Even though he wanted to. Bad.

  Duchess was the perfect opening.

  While Jake was being debriefed in Montana, where T-FLAC's headquarters were, Michael Wright had managed to get a message to him. He hadn't been able to locate the dog. Jake had hired someone in Gray Feather to pick up Marnie's car, then flown back to California, chartered a chopper, and gone to look for her mutt.

  As promised.

  It had taken the better part of the day to find her, cold and shivering, near the burnt-out ruin of the cabin. Having been on her own for several days, Duchess had been ecstatic to see him. Jake had left the chopper in Gray Feather, picked up the car, and headed out.

  Judas. He'd faced down the world's most feared terrorists, in the world's worst places, with zero fear. He'd interrogated drugged up junkies on the docks with less trepidation. He'd been shot, stabbed, beaten, and tortured with less anxiety.

  All he had to do was get his ass out of the car, lift the shiny brass knocker on her green front door, and tell her how he felt.

  Piece of cake.

  Then why the hell was he sweating?

  He raked his fingers through his hair, thinking maybe he should have had it cut. When had he last had a haircut? He couldn't remember.

  The dog looked at him pityingly.

  Jake drummed his finger on the leather-covered steering wheel. "Get the lead out, huh?"

  He'd never felt this way before. It felt terrifying… but right. And strangely comfortable.

  What he'd felt for Soledad was so faint a copy as to be unrecognizable. Because, God help him, being ripped apart by Soledad's betrayal was nothing compared to how he'd feel if Marnie told him to get lost.

  The thought terrified him.

  Maybe he should have worn a suit. "Do you think a suit would have been better?" Man, he was talking to a dog. Okay, Duchess was smart, but she was still a dog. And he was so damn scared his hands were sweaty and his right eyelid kept twitching.

  Hell, there was a first for everything.

  He pulled the handle to release the door and got out. He held the door open until Duchess daintily walked across Marnie's leather seats to exit on the driver's side.

  Doorbell or knocker? He rang the bell. He heard it chime inside the house. He tried to guess where she might be, and how long he'd wa—

  "Jake," she said. No surprise. She'd probably wondered what the hell he'd been doing just sitting in her parked car staring at her house.

  Her fluffy pale blue sweater matched the color of her eyes. "Here's your dog." Brilliant. Really brilliant, Dolan.

  "So I see, thanks," she said with perfect calm. As though he hadn't almost killed himself getting here in a hurry. As though he hadn't walked all over God's creation to find her dog. As though he hadn't—

  Get a grip here, pal, Jake cautioned himself while his heart raced and his eyelid continued to twitch. He wanted to hold her. Feel her warmth. Inhale her unique fragrance. Taste her mouth.

  Marnie crouched down to fuss over the dog one-handed. "Hi, puppy girl, I missed you so much." A sling made out of a purple scarf with yellow happy faces on it supported her plaster-of-Paris-encased arm.

  Signatures and drawings covered the cast, reminders of the fullness of her life. She had family. Friends.

  "Are you going to invite me in or leave me out here freezing my ass off?" It came out more harshl
y than he'd planned.

  She rose. "Yes, come in. You're letting five hundred dollars' worth of heat out."

  She looked so beautiful his heart ached. It'd been only a little over a week since he'd seen her. But she'd been groggy or sleeping, and that picture had stayed with him night and day since then.

  Now, despite the broken wing, she looked pink-cheeked and breathtakingly alive. Thank you, God.

  He never again wanted to see her blood staining his hands or hear the hideous noise as she gasped for air. He never again wanted to see her wheeled into an operating room or lying in a stark hospital bed, frail and helpless. He couldn't bear thinking about her bum heart.

  He never wanted to see her hurt. Either physically or emotionally.

  He wanted to love her.

  Jake went absolutely tomb cold. What in God's name did he know about love? Answer? Not a damn thing.

  Dispirited as he'd never before been in his life, Jake followed her through the house. He belatedly remembered her telling him she was more interested in finding herself than in finding a man.

  A convenient memory lapse.

  How he felt was immaterial.

  But he wanted all or nothing.

  Bullshit.

  If she wanted to live in Paris, he'd live in her garret with her. He just had to persuade Marnie that was what she wanted, too.

  The house smelled of tomato and lemon. He had a peripheral view of the rooms as they passed. Bright, primary colors, lots of open spaces, a jungle of plants, but Jake was more interested in watching her sweet little bottom.

  "Let's go in the kitchen. I want to stir my sauce."

  "Smells good."

  "I had a craving for Italian. Coffee?"

  "Yeah. Sure. Fine." Craving? Jake took a surreptitious glance at her flat stomach. "Are you pregnant?" As soon as the words were out he did a mental forehead slap. Judas Priest! He used to be known for his subtlety.

  The mug she thumped down on the oak table before him had a pink flamingo with bulging eyes as the handle. Coffee sloshed over the edge.

  "Is that why you're here?" She tossed him a paper towel. It landed between them. Like a gauntlet? Uh-oh.