by Kit Morgan
“Nothing. I just wanted you to see what else was out there.”
“So I’d swear off marriage for life? Because if all that’s out there is women who can talk in entire chapters without breathing … hard pass, thanks.”
She laughed. “No, that wasn’t my intent.” She calmed herself, then asked, “So this Casey. What are you going to do?”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I’m not going to talk about it.”
Jenny wasn’t budging. “The woman miraculously winds up in Redmond, less than twenty miles from the ranch and you’re not going to do anything?”
“I’m not going to talk about it.”
She stared at him in the dim light of the truck’s cab. “Jake, what did she do to you?”
Jake put the truck into gear. “Jenny?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going to talk about it.” He pulled back onto the road.
Jenny sighed loudly, almost a growl. “If I was the one moping around all this time, then treated that girl the way you did, you’d be lecturing me into next month. You know it.”
Jake sighed. She was right, he did. He wouldn’t let her off the hook – and he knew she wasn’t going to let him off. He pulled over and turned off the ignition. “She used me.”
Jenny nodded. “Go on.”
Jake drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “She was a client at Dixie’s. We went out and had coffee a few times. I… I started falling for her. Maybe I finished falling for her, I don’t know. I thought it was going somewhere – I wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her better. I was considering staying in Brooklyn.”
Jenny gaped at him. “Wow. So what happened?”
“She invites me to this fancy museum party, and I find out the only reason she did was to tick off her old man. He disowned her, so I guess it worked. But apparently I was just a useful idiot for her.”
Jenny’s mouth was hanging open. “Disowned her … holy moley, Jake. Then … she came here?”
“The last time we talked, I told her she ought to get out of New York if she really wanted to live her own life. So she did, I guess – and I’d done such a bang-up job selling the wonders of rural Oregon that she decided to come here. But the first I knew about that was tonight.” He glared out at the night. “Either that, or she’s the worst stalker ever.”
Jenny was silent, and he knew her mind was working. That meant trouble. “Did you ever stop to think that she needs you?”
“What?”
Jenny shook her head and muttered something about men being dense as sheep. “I heard what she said, Jake. You never told her specifically where we live – and Oregon’s a good-sized state. Okay, she could’ve found out from Miss Williams or someone. But would she travel all the way out here, to someplace she’s never been, uprooting her whole life, just because you said it was neat? Don’t you think that means something?”
“Jenny, I don’t know what she’s doing. If she wanted to ask my forgiveness, she could’ve hunted down the ranch phone number and called, or sent an e-mail through the academy, or …” He threw his hands in the air.
“Well, maybe she doesn’t know what she’s doing either. But she could’ve gone anywhere, or nowhere. She came here – and the only thing she knew within a hundred miles of here is you. You’ve been depressed ever since you got back, and the only reason is her. So for crying out loud, deal with it, for both your sakes. Take advantage of the situation.”
“Take … advantage?”
Jenny faked beating her head against the dashboard a few times. “Why are men so thick?”
“I’m not thick. I’m trying to figure out why she’s here.”
“Jake, let me spell it out for you, in one-syllable words so even you can’t miss it. You’re. Why. She’s. Here. She. May. Not. See. That. But. I. Know. It. And. If. You. Have. A. Brain. You. Know. It. So. Deal! With! It!” Jenny reached over, turned the key in the ignition and started the truck. “I’m tired from all that explaining. Let’s go home.”
Jenny didn’t say another word the whole way home, and neither did Jake. But he was thinking like mad. Up to and including wondering what kind of breakfast that coffee shop served. If he was going to deal with it, food would help.
Casey poured a second round of coffee for a table full of what looked like ranchers and farmers. One of the younger ones tried to slap her on the butt and just barely missed. She glared at him but it did little good – he just smiled and laughed. She hadn’t had any trouble with customers before this, and hoped the man didn’t come back. Either way, she’d report it – Mr. Roberts didn’t like anyone harassing his staff.
In her two weeks there she’d already learned the names of a lot of the regulars, and liked bantering with them. Most were older gentleman, but there were a few younger ones who came in after finishing morning or afternoon chores for a cup of coffee and a pastry, fueling up before running errands. Except for that one handsy hayseed, they all seemed like good people, unpretentious and friendly.
“Do you really design sexy swimwear?” Mr. Hubbard’s wife Sally asked as Casey refilled her cup.
“I do. Can I get you anything else?”
Sally glanced around, then lowered her voice as she leaned toward her. “Do you design anything for women my size?”
Casey studied Sally, and guessed she was at least a size 24. “I haven’t so far, but I certainly could.”
“Honey, you’d make a killing around here if you did. Every time I take my grandkids to the public pool, I see these young gals with their cute little swimsuits and I die with envy. ‘Course, you’ll never get me into a bikini, but it would be nice to have something pretty to wear.”
Casey continued to study the older woman. Fun, sexy swimwear for grannies. Hmmm, maybe she should think about it. It would certainly open up a new market …
“Are ya gonna stand there all day, Casey, or can I get a refill?” Mr. Hubbard said.
“Sorry.” She topped off his cup.
Her hair suddenly lifted from her face as the door opened, letting in a soft breeze. She looked up, met Jake Sullivan’s eyes and almost dropped the pot. He smiled gently and headed for a table in the corner. She was the only one working the tables, so she’d have to serve him. Just wonderful.
She glanced at Donnie behind the counter, busy making a breakfast croissant. The shop didn’t serve anything extravagant as far as food – coffee, pastries, donuts and an egg sandwich for breakfast, sandwiches and soup for lunch, desserts in the evening. Why would Jake go out of his way to come in this morning?
Well, she figured she’d find out soon enough. He was perusing one of the paper menus as she cautiously approached. “Would you like some coffee?” she offered.
Jake looked at the pot in her hand, then at the table. “Isn’t it customary to pour the coffee into a cup?”
Casey closed her eyes in acute embarrassment, her cheeks flaming. “Be right back,” she mumbled, heading back behind the counter. She grabbed a coffee cup and filled it there, not wanting to risk accidentally pouring it in his lap. She really hadn’t expected to see him anymore than he’d expected to see her. Or was her subconscious playing a trick on her, setting her up for … what?
She brought the cup to his table and set it down. “Cream and sugar?”
His face softened as he looked at her, and her heart melted on the spot. He didn’t answer at first, just studied her, his eyes filling with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. Regret? Finally he said, “Sure.”
She swallowed hard and retreated behind the counter once more, feeling lightheaded. And he hadn’t even ordered yet! She gathered up the creamer and the container of sugar packets, and returned to his table. “Do you know what you’d like?”
He looked at her, and now his eyes burned like lasers. “I’d like you to go out with me.”
She took a step back.
“But first, a breakfast sandwich,” he continued. “With bacon.”
She stared at him a mo
ment and heard Mr. Hubbard snicker from the table behind her. “H-h-how would you like your egg?” she squeaked.
“It’s a breakfast sandwich, Casey,” he pointed out with a smile. “The egg is always fried.”
“I mean, did you want it over-medium or over-hard?”
His smile was still firmly in place, his eyes still locked on hers. “I want to take you out. I want to have a long conversation with you. I don’t honestly care how your co-worker cooks my egg.”
She stared at him in shock. “I can’t.”
The smile faded. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
She took another step back as she remembered the woman from last night clinging to his arm. “I won’t.”
He took a breath, picked up the cream and poured some into his coffee. “Also, do you have chocolate donuts?”
Casey swallowed hard. “We do,” she said softly.
He looked at her again, and it almost did her in. “Then I’d like two, please.” He turned back to his coffee and took a sip.
Casey slowly backed away from the table, bumped into Sally’s chair and almost fell over.
Jake was out of his before she could right herself. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and noticed he was holding her arm. His hand was warm, making her want to pull closer. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He released her, straightened and returned to his seat.
Casey managed to get Donnie his order without tripping over anything else, but now she and Jake had the attention of the rest of the patrons. Judging from the looks on their faces (grinning like Cheshire cats), most of them knew Jake. She needed a moment out of the public eye.
She wasn’t going to get it. “Croissant or English muffin?” Donnie asked, turning to the small grill.
Casey sighed with annoyance – in the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten to ask. But she remembered he’d ordered croissants several times when they spent time together in Brooklyn, and smiled at the memory. “Make it a croissant.”
“Will do.” Donnie set to work.
Casey took two chocolate donuts out of the small display case on the counter and put them on a plate, deciding to wait until Donnie was through preparing Jake’s order and give everything to him at the same time. She wasn’t sure she could hold herself together if she had to keep going back and forth to his table. It was bad enough the customers were watching them without giving them something else to see – like tears streaming down her face.
She’d been up half the night puzzling over running into Jake in the first place. Oregon was a big state – she really hadn’t given any thought to the chances of crossing paths with him. How could she have been so oblivious? But here he was again.
Still, he had a girlfriend – a really annoying live-in girlfriend, from the sound of it. She did say, let’s go home, didn’t she? Or had she been so shocked at seeing him again that she hadn’t heard straight. No, that was wishful thinking – the motor-mouthed redhead had made it quite clear. Maybe Jake had a thing for redheads, and that was why he’d wanted to spend time with her in Brooklyn. Maybe he’d just missed his girlfriend. But then, why was he asking her out now?
She didn’t know. All she did know was that she wanted him out of the coffee shop, pronto, before she fell to pieces.
“Who is that guy?” Donnie asked as he put Jake’s order on a plate.
“Nobody.”
“Then why is he staring at you like that?”
Casey took the plate from him and turned around. Jake was indeed staring at her, but she couldn’t read his expression. She took a deep breath – might as well get this over with. Leaving Donnie’s question unanswered, she headed back out with Jake’s order.
Jake watched Casey’s careful approach. One would think she was carrying a bomb, not a breakfast sandwich. She set it and the donuts on the table on separate plates. “Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered.
He was tempted to ask her to stay, but a family filed in through the coffee shop’s door and he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to get Casey in trouble again – he’d caused her enough last night.
And he’d had enough trouble last night, too – thanks, Jenny. By now Tate and his mother probably knew what had happened. Luckily, he’d slipped away from the ranch this morning before either had a chance to grill him for information. They could ask Jenny – who would be all too happy to supply them with what they wanted to hear.
And now because of his sister, he was sitting here eating a breakfast sandwich – only he wasn’t really angry about it. She’d made a good point last night – there was no logical reason for Casey to be here except him, even if neither he nor Casey had consciously planned it. Maybe the good Lord above really was giving them a second chance.
But did he want one? She’d abused their budding friendship/romance, using him as a chess piece in her game against her father, even if she hadn’t realized she was doing that either. Still – and he’d figured this part out without Jenny’s help – he hadn’t stuck around to find out how Casey had fared afterwards. He’d buried himself in work, then left at the first opportunity. And why did he need to work himself like a dog to try and forget about her unless …
Yep, that was it. Unless he’d cared that much about her. And why would he be so stressed about it now, unless he still did?
Jake noticed he’d already wolfed down his sandwich and half a donut, the flavors barely registering. It seemed Casey wasn’t the only one doing things subconsciously.
But he couldn’t just order Casey like she was a donut. What he could do was start over, be her friend. Since they were both here, he could pick up where they’d left off - but first they’d have to get past what she’d done to him, meaning to or not. That meant he had to give her the chance to get them past it – and trust her that she wouldn’t do it again. So here he was, giving her the chance.
Would she take it? She didn’t seem to want it. Maybe that had to do with Sammi’s presence last night. And maybe part of that was his fault – he shouldn’t have let Sammi paw all over him the way she had. Casey might well think he was already taken. Okay, he’d have to remedy that.
Jake finished his sandwich, donuts and coffee, left a twenty on the table – more than enough to cover his breakfast and Casey’s tip – and left. Casey, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight. No matter – he’d see her soon enough. And then … who knew?
Chapter 12
Casey lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Jake had come into the coffee shop every morning for three straight days. Every time, he was gentle and kind, asked how she was doing – and asking her out. There’d been no sign of the woman from that night either - he’d always come alone.
Would he come again tomorrow? Would he ask her out again? Would this be the norm from now on? And what would she say? How long could she hold out?
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:57. Ugh. If only she could sleep. Maybe she should get up and work on the new swimsuit design. Sally Hubbard’s suggestion had sparked an idea and she’d been playing with it ever since. No one was really designing swimwear lines for plus-sized, older women – not nice ones, anyway. It was a completely untapped demographic. Who says grannies can’t be sexy?
She smiled at the thought, turned over and finally fell asleep. For a little while.
Come sunrise Casey got up, did her morning routine, ate some oatmeal and walked across the street to work, longing for the triple espresso she’d need to prepare her for the day. She and Donnie had been pulling the morning shift ever since the night Jake came through the door. She wondered what Jake Sullivan would do if Mr. Roberts put her back on the evening shift - would he start coming by then instead?
But Casey liked to work mornings, Jake or no Jake. The tips were better, and she liked the older patrons. They were friendly and kind and liked to joke with her. If only her father could see her now – so far, she hadn’t heard a peep out of him. It wasn’t l
ike she couldn’t be found – she’d left a forwarding address with Jeffries, the doorman at the apartment the company owned. Jeffries thought moving west was a grand adventure, and had wished her well.
She wished she could introduce Dad to the people she was getting to know. They were plain, honest folks who lived simply, worked hard and enjoyed life. Her father didn’t enjoy much of anything, probably because he was too busy trying to control everything around him, especially her.
But since that fateful night of the gala, he’d left her be. He’d cut off her credit cards, of course, but she’d still had her small personal account, the money she’d earned herself from her swimsuit designs, and the debit card that went with it. If Melanie could shoot her latest creations, she could submit the layouts to magazine editors she’d been targeting. She just hoped none of them wanted to meet with her in person – currently she probably didn’t have the money to fly to New York and back.
Casey rubbed her eyes after making herself a big cup of rocket fuel and letting Donnie in the back door. How had she gone from living in a $10,000-a-month apartment in the nicest part of Manhattan to a $500-a-month one with olive-drab furniture over an antique store in the wilds of Oregon? “Pride goeth before a fall,” she misquoted to herself. She had no one to blame – or credit – but herself.
Yes, her overbearing father had worn her down – telling her where to live, whom to date, what her career should be, then trying to bully her into all of it. But at the end, she was the one that pushed him, and herself, over the edge. If she was suffering, the reason why could be found in the mirror, regardless of J. Wayne Woodrow’s intentions.
But there was every reason to believe that if she went back, it would just be more of the same. And she wouldn’t have it. She refused to be treated like a child again. Yet at the same time, she missed him – he was, after all, the only father she had. Would she ever see him again?
“I think I’ll live it up this morning,” Jake said. “Give me a cream-filled donut and coffee.”
