by Jackie Braun
So he’d packed up and gone, not only from the force but also from Buffalo.
Six months ago, he’d stumbled across the inn. His family had gone there a lot when he was a boy, both in summer and winter. It was located in the shadow of Camel’s Hump in Vermont’s Green Mountains. He’d loved the place back then and he’d been hoping it would hold the same magic for him as an adult. But it wasn’t open for business, and a for-sale sign had been stuck out front. One look at the inn’s sorry state and Jake’s heart had sunk, but that hadn’t stopped him from buying it.
The local people were the same as he remembered them being: polite, if a little standoffish to outsiders. That was fine by him. He wasn’t there to make friends. He just wanted peace. He wasn’t, as his brother claimed, running away from his problems and hiding out.
“Is this … is this it?”
It took Jake a moment to realize that the horse had bypassed the inn and stopped at the door to the small outbuilding that housed her stall.
“I guess Bess is ready to get out of the storm, too.”
“She lives here?” Caro turned in the saddle then so she could see his face. “You live here?”
“I do. I own it.”
Her brows shot up, and no wonder. Not only was he not the friendly owner one would expect of such a small establishment, he knew the place didn’t look habitable with its peeling paint, loose boards and overgrown shrubbery.
“It’s not open for business right now. But it’s warm and dry. I’ll see that you’re settled inside before I go back for your bag.” He spoke to the horse then. “Sorry, girl, but your day’s not through.”
It was snowing harder now. The flakes so big it was as if the heavens were engaged in a snowball fight. He hopped out of the saddle and reached for Caro. Even through the bulk of her clothing, he could tell her waist was small and she barely weighed what a child would. She was probably on some silly diet, eating only fruit or drinking special shakes. Women, he thought on a sigh. He’d never figure them out, not that he’d had much practice trying lately.
When they reached the relative safety of the back porch, Caro smiled at him. Surely his dry spell was what accounted for the kick of interest he experienced. Her expression wasn’t born of anything more than politeness, yet he found it sexy and a little too inviting.
It didn’t hurt that she was saying, “Don’t go.”
“Don’t go?” he repeated absently as he took in her flushed cheeks.
“Nothing in that bag is important. The weather …” She swept a hand through the air. “You’ve done enough already. I’d feel horrible if something happened to you on my account.”
Jake blinked at her. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone—a woman—worry about him.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and bits of melting snow shook loose from her damp hair. He reached out to free some more and she shivered. Her gaze slid to the side, giving him the impression her reaction wasn’t completely due to the cold. Interest, as unwelcome as the late-winter storm, stirred a second time. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he recalled perfectly what he was missing.
The door swung open behind them before he could do anything he’d have to apologize for. He was grateful until he realized it was his mother standing there. Her hands were planted on her hips and the look on her face would have left a drill sergeant shaking in his boots.
“Jacob Robert McCabe, don’t you ev—” Doreen McCabe halted her diatribe midword as soon as she spied Caroline. Blinking in surprise, she switched gears and tones. “Oh, hello. I’m Doreen. Jake’s mother.”
“This is Caroline Franklin,” he said.
“Caro.”
“Right. Caro.”
Doreen nodded, splitting her gaze between the pair of them. “I didn’t realize Jake was expecting company.”
“I wasn’t,” he said at the same time Caro replied, “I’m not.”
“Company, that is.” Her laughter was tight.
If his mother found the situation confusing, she didn’t let it show. Using the same tone that had kept him toeing the line for the first eighteen years of his life, she shouted, “Good heavens, son! Have you no manners at all? Bring that poor girl inside before she catches her death of cold. She needs to get out of those wet clothes.”
Jake swallowed hard, because for one foolish moment, he’d been thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER TWO
CARO STEPPED INTO the vestibule through the door Doreen held open and all but sighed when the warm air greeted her. But what caught her attention were voices. There were several of them, including the high-pitched squeal of children. She sent a quizzical glance in Jake’s direction, before bending down to unzip her boots. Numb fingers made her progress slow.
“I thought you said the inn wasn’t open for business,” she murmured.
“It’s not.” Jake had already removed his hat. Now, he shucked off his coat.
He didn’t sound happy.
“Oh, those aren’t guests. They’re the rest of our family,” Doreen informed Caro as she took her son’s coat. With a meaningful glance at Jake, the woman added, “And because we’re family, we invite ourselves if need be.”
“Mom …”
“Just saying.” She took Caro’s parka, as well, hanging them both on pegs to dry. “I’ll grab some towels for the two of you. Go into the main living area and sit by the fire to warm up while I’m gone.”
Caro nearly smiled. Jake didn’t seem the sort of man to take orders, but this was his mother. Sure enough, he led her to a room at the front of the inn, where a fire blazed in the hearth. An older man was seated in an overstuffed chair next to it. He was reading a book and smoking a pipe. A couple of children, neither of whom was much older than her Cabot, played at the older man’s feet. On the couch across from them, a young couple snuggled together under a thick knitted throw.
Family.
An ache welled inside Caro, both for what she’d lost and for what should have been. Her parents had been gone five years, the victims of a car accident. She’d been the one to positively identify their bodies, yet she still sometimes found herself reaching for the telephone to call them.
If she were looking for an excuse as to why she’d married Truman, that would be it. She’d been so lonely, so very lost after their deaths. And he’d been understanding and supportive. He’d taken charge, helped her make decisions when she was too griefstricken to do so. It wasn’t until later she’d realized how controlling he could be.
She forced herself back to the matter at hand. She was relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the night alone in the ramshackle inn with its brooding owner, but now she felt like an intruder. Quite obviously, this was a family gathering and she was an outsider. It didn’t help that all eyes were on her when she and Jake stepped into the room. The older man glanced up from his book, the children stopped playing and the couple on the couch shifted to sitting positions.
One of the children was the first to break the silence.
“Uncle Jake’s back! Uncle Jake’s back!” squealed the little girl. She hopped up and shot across the floor to wrap one of his legs in an embrace.
Not to be outdone, the little boy followed suit. He didn’t just hug Jake’s leg, he tried to scale it. Caro smiled. It was just the sort of thing Cabot would do. Jake’s reaction, however, was the polar opposite of what Truman’s would have been. Instead of being befuddled by the boy’s exuberance and a little embarrassed by the affectionate display, Jake scooped him up in his arms.
“Hey, munchkin.”
Caro’s heart did a strange thunk-thunk, which she attributed to wishing for what already should have been the case for her son: a father who not only enjoyed his silly antics but would take part in them. It had nothing to do with Jake, even if at the moment he seemed nothing like the brooding man who not so long ago had begrudgingly offered her shelter from the storm.
His smile was real, smoky blue eyes
alight with teasing humor. He was all the more handsome for it.
Thunk, thunk!
This time Caro outright ignored the sensation.
“Daddy said you were going to freeze your fool head off out in the snow.”
Leave it to a child to rat out an adult. But she wisely hid her smile. And good thing, too, since right after Jake asked in an amused voice, “Did he now?” he shot a dark look in the direction of the couch, where the man in question sat, hands on his knees and ready to rise.
Brothers, she decided, and felt another bubble of envy swell. Caro was an only child.
The little boy grinned and nodded vigorously. “Yep. But Grandpa said that a little time alone would do you good.” Now he frowned. “Did it?”
Half of Jake’s mouth rose. “For the most part.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back, Uncle Jake,” the little girl enthused. “Mommy and Grandma were getting worried that something had happened.”
“What about you?” Jake asked.
“A little. But you’re in-in …” She scrunched up her pretty little face and glanced toward the couch. “What’s that word from the superhero movie we watched last week, Daddy?”
“Invincible,” the man supplied. His lips twisted on the word.
The child repeated it with an adorable lisp while Jake’s expression turned rueful.
His gaze was on his brother when he said, “I’m no hero, super or otherwise.”
He set both of the kids down, even as the couple on the couch and the older man in the rocker rose and stepped forward.
Caro sensed a second meaning to Jake’s words that made her curious, but she didn’t comment on it. She was a guest, one even less welcome than his family apparently was. The underlying tension here was impossible to miss.
No matter, she assured herself. She would be on her way as soon as the snow slowed down and a wrecker could pull out her car.
Which reminded her. “Excuse me, can I use your telephone?”
Before Jake could answer, the little boy asked, “Who’s this, Uncle Jake?”
She didn’t wait to be introduced. “I’m Caro. Your uncle may not be a superhero, but he did rescue me from the storm. My car got stuck in a drift.”
It was a little bit more than stuck, but she mentally crossed her fingers that whatever damage the front had sustained could be repaired without too much fuss.
Jake glanced sharply in her direction. An odd mix of anger and bewilderment colored his expression.
“Right place, right time,” he mumbled. He was back to the surly man who’d first stumbled across her, leaving her to wonder what she’d said to irritate him.
“I’m Jillian,” the little girl said. She stuck out her hand, which Caro shook. “I’m six and I have a loose tooth. Want to see?”
Without waiting for a reply, Jillian opened her mouth and used the tip of her tongue to wiggle one of her top front teeth. Her already-adorable lisp was going to become even more pronounced soon, Caro thought.
“Jilly,” reprimanded the woman from the couch, who was now, along with the man Caro assumed was Jake’s brother and the older man, gathered around Caro in a semicircle, smiling politely even as they stared openly. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. A loose tooth is pretty exciting news for a child.”
Jake cleared his throat and apparently remembered his manners. “Caro, this is my sister-in-law, Bonnie, and my brother, Dean. You’ve met Jillian, of course. Her brother is Riley.”
“I’m almost five,” Riley informed Caro, holding up the corresponding number of digits.
Jillian rolled her eyes. “He just turned four last week.”
Only children were so eager to add a year to their age. Caro bent down to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley.”
The boy’s wide grin revealed a pair of dimples that melted Caro’s heart. Cabot had dimples.
“And this is my father, Martin McCabe,” Jake was saying.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCabe.” Her hand was swallowed up in one of Martin’s giant paws.
“Likewise.”
Doreen returned then with a couple of towels, making Caro aware of how bedraggled she must look. Truman and his mother would be appalled that she was standing in a roomful of strangers looking like something the cat had dragged in. But then the Wendells wouldn’t socialize with people like the McCabes in the first place. Unless she missed her guess, they weren’t blue-blooded snobs who sat around at dry dinner parties discussing investment strategies, mutual funds and which couples in their social class had failed to make a killing in the stock market.
The McCabes, she realized, were more like her parents had been, down-to-earth folks who valued family, God and country.
The old ache throbbed to life a second time, a little more pronounced. She wrapped her arms about herself, seeking comfort she knew from experience wouldn’t come.
“Good heavens, child! You’re shaking. Get closer to the fire,” Doreen instructed.
“I’m fine,” Caro began. Her protest was lost as the older woman began issuing orders.
“Martin, throw another log on the fire. Dean, give the poor girl the afghan from the couch.” She eyed Caro a moment before continuing. “Bonnie should have something to fit you even though you’re a bit taller.” The older woman’s lips pursed. “And a little on the thin side.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Then what were you thinking heading out in a snowstorm?” Jake demanded.
His mother gasped, presumably at his rude question and not-so-nice tone. It was his tone, as much as his words, that caused Caro’s spine to straighten. Her hands dropped to her sides where her hands fisted.
“I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Not in a storm, you don’t.”
“Jacob!”
They both ignored Doreen’s shout.
“Storm or no storm, it’s important.”
“Nothing is that important,” he drawled. “Trust me.”
“This is.” Thinking of Cabot and Truman’s stipulations, Caro swallowed a sob. It wouldn’t do to fall apart now. “I have … a deadline to meet.”
“Work?” He snorted in disgust. “You risked your life for work?”
Let him think what he would. “Unlike you, I wasn’t out in a blizzard to ride a horse.”
She felt exhilarated, having given as good as she’d got. Meekness no longer suited her. In truth, it never had. But numb as she’d been for four years, first from grief and later from disbelief, she’d fallen into the ill-fitting role. God help her, she would don it again if need be.
That thought had her sobering.
Jake gaped at her, his wide mouth going slack for just a second before his lips pressed together in a flat line. She heard Dean’s muffled laughter and a glance around confirmed that the rest of the McCabe clan found her dressing-down of one of their members amusing rather than in poor taste. Even so, Caro was appalled. Whether the man had it coming or not, she was being unforgivably rude.
“I’m sorry. I … I …”
Jake unclamped his jaw just enough to say, “You mentioned something earlier about needing to make a phone call.”
“Yes. My cell’s not picking up a signal.”
“Follow me.”
Doreen settled the afghan around Caro’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “My son’s bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
Not quite sure what to make of that assessment, Caro offered a weak smile.
Jake was waiting for her at the tall reception desk near the front entrance. A small brass lamp with an oblong shade lit a guest book that was yellowed from age. The telephone, an ancient-looking thing with a twisted cord, rotary dial and clunky black receiver, was next to it.
“It’s not a local call,” she said.
“Fine.” He pushed the telephone toward her.
“I’ll reimburse you for the charges.” It looked as if h
e could use the money, given the state of the inn. It was a shame, too. The place had such great potential. That much was obvious despite its disrepair.
“Just make your call.”
Jake stomped away. He was angry, but not at Caro, even if he thought she should have stayed tucked safe in her home rather than venturing out in foul weather.
For work!
But the person he was good and angry at was himself. He was angry with the way he was acting. Angry with Dean that his younger brother had called him out on his self-prescribed isolation and stirred up emotions that had only recently begun to settle.
“You’re being selfish,” Dean had said earlier that day.
Jake’s family had arrived en masse the evening before, showing up at his doorstep, all grins and giggles, in an SUV they’d rented after touching down at the airport in Montpelier.
“I just want to be left alone.”
“No, you just want to stew. You got screwed, bro. No two ways about it. They set you up to take a fall. You took it.” The younger man set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I never understood that.”
“A woman was dead. Her child, too. A colleague killed himself afterward.”
And then, Miranda.
“But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t get the address wrong,” Dean had insisted. “Someone as anal as you doesn’t get stuff like that wrong.”
Jake wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t be sure. Not anymore. Not without proof. “I was in charge. It happened on my watch, which makes it my fault.”
All of it.
“So you keep saying. But it’s been more than a year. When are you going to cut yourself some slack and rejoin the land of the living?”
The woman and her child didn’t have that luxury. Nor did the rookie cop. Those were facts he couldn’t move beyond. Between them and the media scrutiny his family had endured, and his wife’s decision not only to divorce him but to abort their child, going into exile had seemed the only solution.
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Except your family.”
