by Cherry Adair
Jake obediently wiped up the spill and crumpled the napkin in his fist. He knew a trick question when he heard one. "I told you I'd deliver your car and Duchess."
"It's hard to believe you were such a chicken liver," Marnie said, sounding exasperated. "You let my brothers chase you away."
"They didn't."
"Then why did you leave me in that damned hospital without saying good-bye?" Marnie demanded, cheeks pink, eyes flashing.
"In my profession one doesn't say good-bye."
"Your profession stinks."
"I had to report in for debriefing." He remembered her comment when they'd made love the first time and wanted to smile. He'd kill to debrief her right now. Out of those jeans and that fluffy sweater and onto a soft bed…
He took a sip of coffee. Fixed just the way he liked it.
Marnie sipped hers. Too hot. It burned her tongue. She was going to win an Emmy for this. Or was it an Oscar?
Wearing jeans and an unfamiliar dark brown leather jacket over a cream fisherman's sweater, Jake looked disreputable and dangerously sexy. His hair was loose around his shoulders, shiny clean, and begging her fingers to explore.
She rose to stir the spaghetti sauce. Duchess, having inspected the house for intruders, wandered over to Jake and put her head on his knee.
"So what did you decide?" Jake asked casually, fondling Duchess's ear as Marnie resumed her seat. "Are you going to Paris?"
"No. I decided not to go."
"Because you're pregnant?"
She'd heard him the first time. It was like trying not to notice an elephant in the middle of the room. "What if I am?"
"Are you?"
"No. I—I don't know. It's too soon." I'm praying that I am. She wasn't going to beg him to stay. "I don't feel as though I am. Probably not."
"So why aren't you going to Paris, then?"
"I decided to convert my spare room into a studio." She took another sip of coffee, not tasting it. She longed to go around the table, sit on his lap, and pull his mouth to hers. Her lips actually tingled. "There's a local children's book author I've done some stuff with before. We've been talking about collaborating on a series of children's books."
How was it possible that after knowing Jake Dolan less than two weeks, she felt as though colors were brighter when he was in the room? She'd known how desperately she'd missed him, but until she'd seen him sitting in the car outside with Duchess, she'd had no idea how monochromatic her life was without him.
Jake Dolan made her heart glow in Technicolor.
"That's good. Sounds like you've made some choices." He drained his mug, set it down carefully, and shifted his big feet.
Her heart skittered, then thudded in sudden dread. Was he leaving? Just like that? Here's the dog, your car, bye?
"Yes." She licked dry lips. "I talked to my dad and the Musketeers. They say they understand. They promised they'll try to let me make my own choices about things."
"That's good." He picked up his empty mug and stared into its depth as though it were a crystal ball.
"Yes."
The kitchen clock ticked, and the sauce bubbled and plopped and filled the kitchen with its spicy fragrance.
I can't bear this. I can't bear it, Marnie thought as the silence dragged on. It hurt to breathe. At least on the mountain he'd been able to talk to her. This was horrible. Awkward. Stilted. Marnie knew he was trying to find a graceful way to say good-bye.
Please, Jake…
She stared at the reflected image of the overhead light fixture in her murky coffee. What was she pleading for? He was a man who didn't even know he had a heart.
What had been a life-changing experience for her had obviously been nothing more than a short sexual interlude for him. He couldn't wait to leave. She got up blindly and headed for the stove. She leaned her hip against the counter, picked up the wooden spoon from its rest, but didn't stir the bubbling sauce. Tears blurred her vision.
This was killing her.
From the second she'd opened her eyes in the hospital to find Jake gone, she planned what she'd say when she saw him again. If she saw him again. In none of her fantasies had her heart ached or her chest hurt with the pressure of unshed tears. In none of her fantasies had he sat looking at her with cool eyes and a hurry-the-hell-up-and-say-what-you-have-to-say expression.
"Did you sort out everything with your boss?" she asked, not looking at him. The sauce was going to burn on the bottom of the pot, but she didn't have the energy to stir. It was all she could do to hold her tears at bay.
"Yeah. It was Lurch all along. After faking his own death in San Cristobal he started SPA. He knew terrorism from the inside out, making it easy to stay one step ahead of us. Then he trained his people just as we were trained in T-FLAC, blurring the lines even further."
"I'm sorry, Jake," she whispered in a tight voice. "How awful for you to be betrayed by your best friend like that. What happened to him? Was he… Is he… ?"
"He's the one who shot you." A muscle jumped in his cheek. "I shot him and ended it." He shrugged. "To me, he died years ago."
"Well, I guess that's that, then," she said, trying to sound brisk. "I'm really sorry about your cabin, Jake, but you'll rebuild that, won't you? What a hassle that'll be, dragging everything up the mountain."
Please stay. I won't ask anything of you, just that you love me a little. A bleak future loomed before her. She took half a breath, then scowled.
What was she thinking? Damn it! She'd reverted to type. That was the old Marnie, who did what other people thought was best for her.
Well, Jake Dolan was what was best for her, and she was what was best for him. But darn it, he was going to have to come to that realization himself. And he'd better do it fast. Before she had to resort to drastic measures.
Which she'd have to come up with soon.
She turned to stir her sauce, then removed the pot from the burner and turned off the stove. Narrow-eyed, she looked at Jake. He hadn't moved.
"I don't need you, you know." It sounded a little belligerent. Fine. She felt a lot belligerent.
Jake studied her, the muscle in his right eye ticked frantically. She didn't look loverlike. She didn't appear to be about to fling herself into his arms. In fact, she was starting to look pissed off.
He wasn't quite sure where this meeting had veered off course, only that it had.
"That's obvious," he said cautiously. "You have a nice house. A new career. Your family." He got to his feet. "I'd better get out of here, I have a plane to catch." A plane to nowhere.
He knew a dozen ways to get the truth out of a man, none of them pleasant. He spoke seven languages fluently, was a proficient marksman, and could use a knife with the skill and precision of a surgeon. He was considered one of the best at what he did. Yet he couldn't get one small, frail blonde to love him.
His mother and Soledad should both have been considered trial runs. He was batting a thousand.
"Oh?" Marnie asked, sounding only mildly interested. "How are you getting to the airport? You came in my car."
Jake gritted his teeth. "I'll call a cab."
"The nearest phone is at the mall. Six miles away."
Jake glanced at the yellow phone on the wall. "I don't want a phone. Or a cab. Damn it, I want…" He raked his fingers through his hair.
"What do you want, Jake Dolan?"
"You."
"You've had me." She cocked her head, her eyes reflecting the pretty blue of her sweater.
Jake looked at her mouth, at that full, sexy lower lip. And he remembered the taste of her. The texture. The feel of her skin sliding against his…
"Is that what you thought?" she demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "That you could drop off my car and dog, have a quickie, and be on your way?"
He kept his expression inscrutable. "I want to marry you." Surely she'd understand now. She was the air he breathed. He'd die without her.
"Because we had sex and I might be pregnant?"
"Great sex. People have married for less."
"Not the people I know."
"So the answer is no?"
She hesitated two beats. "Yes. I mean, yes, the answer is no."
He stared at her. It was a damn good thing he had no heart. It would be crushed beneath her dainty tennis shoes right now. Judas, it hurts to breathe.
Jake stared at her. At her smooth skin. Her wonderful hair. Her mouth, and her eyes, and her throat, and her slender wrists, and her…
This was agony. He had to get the hell out of here, before he… before he… He needed to leave. Now.
This was obviously what she wanted. He'd told her how he felt. She'd said no, hadn't she? He had to do what was best for Marnie. The right thing, God help him, was to stroll out that door and let her get on with her life.
"Well," he said, his voice strangely hollow, "I'll see myself out."
"Out?"
"I just wanted to see how you were doing, and to bring Duchess back."
"And to ask me to marry you," she added quietly, a look of frustration flitting across her beautiful face. She jumped up from the table, and the noise of the chair legs scraping across the linoleum made Jake's teeth ache.
"I'll see you to the door." Marnie stormed ahead, leading the way to the small entry. She snatched open the front door and stood back, shoulders military straight. Her eyes glittered feverishly as she glared up at him.
The cold air felt good on his face. The only good thing in the universe. He turned to look at her as she stood there, one hand on the brass handle, ready to slam the door in his face.
He frowned. "Are you okay?" He automatically put his palm to her forehead. Her silky hair brushed his skin before she pulled away.
"Just damn peachy, thank you very much."
He made a frustrated sound and dropped his hand. "Have a good life, Marnie Wright. You deserve it. I'll be on the lookout for those books of yours."
"Will you?" She licked her lower lip, her eyes shadowed. A breeze blew her hair about her face and she brushed it back. "Will you read my books to your children, Jake?"
Direct hit. Neat. Hardly any blood. A mortal wound. "There won't be any children."
"Why not?"
"Because… Damn it. Because the only person I can imagine being their mother is—you."
Marnie stared at him for a second, then grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him back into her warm, tomato-and-lemon scented house.
She slammed the door behind him, then, clutching his lapels in white-knuckled fists, stood on tiptoe and brought him eye to eye. Almost.
"Tell me how you feel about me, Dolan."
"I told you how I feel."
"When?" Neither the snarl nor the mean eyes changed one iota.
Jake thumbed over his shoulder. "Five seconds ago. In the kitchen."
"You asked me to marry you."
"I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I must have been out of civilian life too long. I thought that said something."
"In this case it could mean you want someone live-in for sex," Marnie said irritably.
"I don't. Hell, yes, I do. But that's not what I—Damn it, woman. You're making me insane. What do you want me to say? God only knows I feel it. I taste it. I want it." Jake rested his forehead on hers. "Please, tell me what you want me to say. I'll do, or say, whatever it takes to hold on to you. Anything."
Marnie let go of one lapel and poked him in the chest. "Tell." Poke. "Me." Poke. Poke. "You." Poke. "Love me."
"I do." Jake frowned, totally baffled as he nabbed her poking finger and brought it to his mouth for an experimental nibble.
"You do?"
He kissed her palm, then sneakily managed to get her hands around his neck and pull her a little off balance. "Of course."
"You love me?"
He hoped to God their children turned out just like her. "Hell, yes."
Her eyes were a little crossed in such close proximity. "Say it."
"I, Jake Dolan, love you, Marnie Christine—ha! you thought I wouldn't remember!—Wright."
Marnie pulled back and punched him in the solar plexus.
A warm summer breeze flirted between the leaves, filtering the sounds in the clearing. From behind the almost completed cabin, Jake heard the high-pitched whine of Michael Wright's Skil saw and the bass of Kyle's radio underscored by male voices. Someone had started the grill, and the pungent smell of briquettes mixed with the piney fragrance of the trees.
Hammer in hand, Jake paused, one foot on the first tread of the stepladder braced against the outside wall. He breathed deeply, drawing the fragrance of freshly cut lumber and contentment deep into his lungs.
Tomorrow he'd bring Marnie up to see what'd been done with the cabin. He thought she'd be pleased. Of course she hadn't been pleased with his caveman tactics yesterday, when he'd insisted she remain in Gray Feather. Arguing with Marnie had its own rewards, however.
Damn, life is good. Real good.
Married life suited him.
They'd had a small wedding in her father's backyard six months ago, Jake uncomfortable in a tux and Marnie so beautiful in her traditional white gown that she'd taken his breath away.
If anyone had told him a year ago he'd be in this emotional place, he would never have believed so much happiness possible. Or even probable.
His life before Marnie had been proof of the old adage You get what you pay for. He'd given his soul to what had passed for his life. He'd paid by becoming emotionally bankrupt. Cynical. Distancing himself from emotion to become immune to the human condition.
One small, sassy blonde had changed all that.
Marnie grounded him in a way he'd never thought possible. For the first time in his life Jake felt like an authentic human being.
Yes, married life suited him. It had also come with a few unexpected perks. Like family. A connection to others he'd only imagined.
Jake surveyed the building project with satisfaction. Many hands did make light work.
The cabin was almost complete. Hell, he could easily have torn down the burned timbers and constructed it by himself. God only knew he was used to doing things alone.
But he hadn't had to.
He'd erroneously thought himself incapable of being surprised. But once the dust had settled at T-FLAC, the powers that be had refused his resignation. And he'd discovered support from the most unexpected sources. People, he thought, still puzzled by it, who had been pissed when he hadn't called on them for help with Dancer. They considered themselves friends and had been ticked he'd been too blockheaded to realize it. Several of them had volunteered this weekend, helping to put the cabin together, along with all four of Marnie's brothers.
"That one bears watching." Hunt St. John, one of the T-FLAC operatives who'd given him grief over Dancer, gestured with his chin as Kane Wright rounded the corner. "What makes me think the guy's more than a fashion photographer?"
"In the seven months I've known him I've wondered the same thing."
"Ask."
Jake laughed. "Not if I want peace in my house, I won't."
"Henpecked? You?" The corner of Hunt's mouth kicked up slightly as he crouched to sift through the toolbox at his feet.
"You have no idea."
"No." Hunt's eyes darkened. "I don't. Gotta get these hinges on the bathroom door. Later."
Jake liked St. John. But he had a feeling few people knew the other man well, despite his laid-back style and easy smile. As for the Wright brothers, Jake had a strong suspicion none of them was quite what he seemed, either.
Judas, I've been around black ops and nefarious characters for far too long.
He'd managed an alliance with Marnie's family, although he sometimes still caught Michael watching him as though he was about to screw up.
Four Musketeers, and the guys from T-FLAC.
Friends.
Jake shook his head.
Damned if they weren't starting to grow on him. All these new friendships still felt a
little like an ill-fitting suit, but they were becoming easier all the time.
The brothers and five guys from T-FLAC were all hard at work, kidding around as they hammered and nailed, ragging him unmercifully as they contributed ideas to the larger version of the cabin. Hearing laughter from some of these men was almost incongruous. Most of them were as Jake himself had been not that long ago—loners by choice.
How things had changed.
He and Marnie had bought a huge, hundred-year-old farmhouse on the outskirts of Gray Feather. Close enough to civilization, but distant enough for the discretion required for his work. He hadn't quit T-FLAC, he'd just changed direction. His interest in inventing private security and the existence of the lair had given him the opportunity to train new operatives on-site. He didn't miss fieldwork. His life was filled with enough intrigue and heart pounding for any man. Jake grinned.
"Hey, Dolan, you bringing my nails up here or what?" Derek yelled from the roof above him.
"On my way." Jake quickly clambered to the top of the ladder. "Judas, man," he grumbled, handing his brother-in-law the box of nails from his back pocket. "You and St. John! Don't you guys have sweat glands like the rest of us?"
Derek, not a hair out of place, white shirt spotless and still neatly tucked into his jeans, grinned. "I sweat when the occasion warrants it. Come see me sometime when I'm castrating bulls."
Jake shuddered. "I'll pass." He ran an expert eye over the roofline layered with new shingles. "Nice work."
Derek gave him a two-finger salute, then went back to work. The noise from the nail gun made further conversation impossible.
Jake skimmed down the ladder, then lightly ran his hand over the boards comprising the front wall of the new cabin.
The back of his neck prickled.
He turned, scanned the clearing, and reached in his back pocket for a weapon.
He wasn't carrying. But old habits died hard. Jake scrutinized the area anyway, left to right and back again.
There were no alarms to warn him when anyone approached. Everyone was either inside or out back. Not that anyone else was expected up here this weekend.
Jake did another visual scan.
