The Road Not Taken (The Daddy Diaries)

by Jackie Braun

  Three hours later, the fire had burned down to mere embers again, Jake’s scent lingered on her pillow like a promise and Caro was wide-awake.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SURELY, CARO WOULD BE sound asleep by now, Jake reasoned as he crept quietly up the stairs.

  He took care to bypass the treads that he knew squeaked the loudest. He just needed to slip into his room, grab a pair of sweatpants from the bureau and his toothbrush from the bathroom. Then he would be on his way back downstairs where his mother had already made up the lumpy couch with a sheet and a couple of old quilts.

  The rest of the McCabe clan had turned in more than an hour ago after Bonnie and Dean had filled the kids’ Easter baskets with goodies. Jake had watched his brother and sister-in-law scurry about the living room with a flashlight to find the best hiding spots, giggling like a couple of kids themselves as they did so.

  He’d watched the bobbing lights and listened to their lighthearted banter. He’d never envied his brother anything—until now. A loving wife, children Dean adored and who adored him back. He was a lucky man.

  Jake hadn’t expected to ever have either of those things. Police work made relationships difficult. He’d watched the marriages of too many of the guys in his department crumble from the stress and uncertainty. He hadn’t been willing to go through it himself. His decision had suited him just fine, too, until he’d met Miranda. She’d made him believe in happily-ever-after endings, even for a cop known for his sharp edges and hard shell. She’d made him believe he could have the kind of family he’d grown up in. The kind of family Dean had now.

  Upstairs, Jake heard his father, the undisputed night owl of the bunch, snoring noisily as he passed the room in which his parents were staying. They were good people, deeply involved in their community, and considered pillars of it. They’d defended him doggedly and without reservation. It had nearly killed him to watch journalists put them through the media wringer. To see his mother exit a Women’s Club of Greater Buffalo meeting only to be ambushed by a throng of reporters shouting questions and cameramen jostling for a position.

  The final straw had come after his ex gave a tell-all exclusive to one of the local network affiliates detailing what she’d termed Jake’s dark nature. Miranda had turned the times he’d come home after a hard shift and locked himself away in his woodworking shop into a nefarious ritual.

  “I never felt like I truly knew him,” she’d said at the end, dabbing her eyes.

  Maybe she was right. He sure as hell didn’t know the woman who’d sold him out. The woman he later learned was having an affair. The woman who’d decided she didn’t want to bear their child, but just move on.

  The following day, Bonnie was stopped outside Jillian’s dance studio by the same television crew, looking for more dirt.

  “Were you afraid of your uncle?” the reporter asked Jillian, who’d tried to hide behind her mother.

  As Bonnie tried to push past the cameraman, the reporter said, “Did you ever see warning signs that the man wasn’t up to his job and that innocent people would wind up dead as a result?”

  “Mommy, what does the man mean? Why is he talking about Uncle Jake this way?”

  The look of horror and confusion on Jillian’s face would haunt him to his grave. It was then that he’d decided to leave town. He’d put his family through enough.

  Jake reached his bedroom. To his relief, Caro had left the door ajar. He pushed it in slowly, gritting his teeth when the hinges creaked in protest. Just a little wider and he would be able to slip through the opening. When the door creaked a second time, however, he caught the silhouette of a woman jackknifing to a sitting position on the bed.

  Time reeled backward and, for a moment, Jake relived the nightmare. A woman screamed; a baby cried. The echoes of gunfire long past rent the air. Silence followed, punctuated only by the broken pleading of the rookie cop under his command.

  No! God, no! What have I done?

  “J-Jake?”

  Caro’s voice snapped him back to the present. Although the room was dark, he didn’t need to see her expression to know he’d probably scared her half to death. And no wonder, creeping in and then standing just inside the doorway near the foot of her bed breathing as heavily as some pervert.

  “Sorry.” He wiped a hand down his face and gathered up his wits.“Yeah. It’s me. I just need … I just need … my toothbrush. Sorry,” he muttered a second time as he stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

  Inside, he splashed cold water on his face. After blotting it dry, he leaned against the porcelain basin and exhaled slowly. He was grateful it was too dark to see his reflection in the mirror that hung over the sink. He probably looked as shaky as he felt.

  Why wouldn’t the past stay put?

  He knew what a shrink would say. It was because nothing had been resolved, which was why the department psychologist had recommended further counseling when he’d agreed to resign. The way Jake saw it, no amount of counseling would change the facts. Besides, fixing up the old inn was keeping him busy. His mind and his hands equally occupied. It was therapy enough.

  Or it had been.

  Until just recently.

  Caro was sitting on the side of the bed when he came out of the bathroom. She was clutching the lapels of the borrowed robe at her throat. She’d added a log to the fire, but it was slow to catch, spitting out only enough flame to allow him to read her expression. She didn’t look frightened. She looked concerned. Not for herself, but for him.

  “I’ll stoke up the fire before I go,” he offered. “You need to stir up the embers or that log you put on won’t catch properly.”

  “The only fires I’m used to starting these days are the gas kind that go on with the click of a remote-control button,” she admitted ruefully.

  “Those are more practical.” Jake knelt down and poked at the embers, coaxing out flames.

  “I know, but I like the crackling sound a wood fire makes. It reminds me of being a kid and going on camping trips with my Daisy Scouts troop.”

  He angled to the side so he could peek at her over his shoulder. “You were a Daisy Scout? No offense, but I’m having a hard time picturing you pitching a tent and slathering up with bug repellent.”

  “Well, I did.”

  She notched up her chin. He found the defiant gesture way too sexy for his peace of mind.

  “In fact, I was a tomboy till my early teens,” she was saying. There was a smile in her voice when she added, “My dad used to tease me that I was the son he never had. As a joke, he’d call me Carl. It drove my mother crazy.”

  Jake definitely couldn’t picture the ultrafeminine woman who was sitting on the edge of the bed being anything remotely boyish.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I discovered the opposite sex and decided I wanted to be a girl again.”

  “Good choice.” When her brows rose, he cleared his throat and pushed to his feet. “I’ll get out of your way now. I didn’t mean to wake you. And, sorry if I scared you. I was trying to avoid both.”

  “You didn’t wake me.”

  He noticed she said nothing about the scared part. Given the way she’d jackknifed off the mattress, he figured she didn’t see the point in denying he’d given her a fright.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “No. I was exhausted earlier, but now?” Her laughter was bemused. Even so, he liked the sound of it. She was thinking about her son, no doubt.

  Jake was thinking about him, too. He wondered what her child was like; he wondered why the man who’d fathered him was no longer part of her life.

  But all he said was, “If you’re hungry there’s more of my mom’s chili in the fridge. You could heat some up. The stove is gas, so it still works even without the power.”

  “No offense, but if I have a bowl of Doreen’s chili now, I doubt I’ll sleep at all.”

  It was his turn to chuckle. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you about the heat.”

 
“You did. But it was worth a little heartburn.”

  A smile bloomed on Caro’s lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. The interest he kept trying to deny mocked him again. He swallowed and glanced away.

  Picking up the thread of their conversation, he said, “She’s won blue ribbons with it at the annual cook-off held in Niagara Square.”

  “My mother couldn’t cook to save her life,” Caro said. “My dad did all of that. He was quite good at it, although he came up with a few questionable combinations that even our golden retriever wouldn’t touch.”

  This was the second time she’d mentioned her parents. The second time that, despite her smile, he’d detected a note of sadness.

  “My mother told me earlier you’d lost them both in a car accident.”

  Caro’s expression faltered as she nodded.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s been five years.”

  “The amount of time doesn’t matter. It still hurts.” He cleared his throat. “I’d imagine.”

  “Yes. It does. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For understanding how much I still miss them. I try not to wallow in it or anything,” she said.

  “But you haven’t forgotten them. And you never will.”

  She nodded. “They were on their way to see me when the accident happened.”

  Just as she’d been on her way to see her son when she’d slid off the road into the snowbank. The realization gave new insight into just how frightened she must have been. And just how desperate to risk life and limb in a storm to get to her child.

  She stood then and gave the robe’s belt a brisk yank. “You know, maybe a cup of tea would be nice. That is if you have any.”

  “Tea?” He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m not a big fan of the beverage.”

  “I’m shocked,” she said, deadpan. “I had you pegged as a green-tea enthusiast.”

  He shook his head, grateful for the light topic and her teasing tone. He was more than happy to leave the discussion of tragedy behind, even though he’d been the one to initiate it.

  “I like coffee. Strong and black.”

  “And, let me guess, thick enough to chew.”

  “Now you’re catching on.”

  “I don’t think I’m up for that.”

  “Me, either. Bonnie brought some hot cocoa to make for the kids,” he said.

  “And mini-marshmallows?”

  “Is that how you take it?”

  “Is there any other way?” she demanded on a laugh.

  “How about with a little shot of peppermint schnapps thrown in?”

  “Hmm. I’ve never had that. It sounds good. And a little more grown-up than the mini-marshmallows,” she admitted.

  “You can add those, too, if you want. It’s not an either-or proposition.”

  “Thanks. I’ve had enough of those lately.”

  Curious, Jake nonetheless didn’t ask what she meant.

  They made their way downstairs with the aid of the flashlight he’d left for her use earlier. In the kitchen, in lieu of a kettle, Jake filled a saucepan with water and switched on the stove burner. As blue flames licked the bottom of the pan, he grabbed two heavy porcelain mugs from one of the cabinets and a bottle of schnapps from another.

  “Shine the light over here,” he instructed.

  Caro came over to stand next to him as he rooted through a couple of grocery bags on the counter. A moment later he had the hot-cocoa mix. He handed her the bag of mini-marshmallows.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll share.” At his confused expression, she added, “You know you’re going to want some of these.”

  Half of his mouth rose in a smile that had a curious effect on her insides. “Maybe just a couple.”

  “Please. No one eats just a couple mini-marshmallows,” she said. “They’re like potato chips. Half the bag is gone before you know it.”

  He eyed her in the dim light. “You don’t look like the sort of woman to binge on junk food.”

  “We all have our guilty pleasures.”

  The words hung in the air between them. Pleasures, guilty or otherwise, had been low on Jake’s list of priorities these past several months. He hadn’t forgotten what he liked, though. His gaze lowered to her mouth, settled on a pair of ripe lips that were slightly parted and ever so inviting.

  “Don’t forget yours,” she said.

  Gaze lingering on her mouth as his libido slipped toward fantasy mode, all he said was, “Hmm?”

  “The schnapps.”

  “Schnapps?” He struggled through the haze of hormones.

  “Peppermint schnapps to put in our hot chocolate. As guilty pleasures go, that outranks both marshmallows and potato chips.”

  He nodded. Perhaps, but other things had come to mind that trumped a shot of schnapps but good.

  “It’s definitely more adult,” he agreed, only to regret his choice of words. Anything labeled adult added another layer of complexity to guilty pleasures.

  He concentrated on the matter at hand, and began spooning cocoa mix into their mugs. Caro added a generous heaping of marshmallows to hers. He decided to pass. The water was boiling in the pan on the stove. He carefully poured it into the first cup. Caro stirred. They repeated the process. Then he added a shot of the peppermint schnapps to both. She stirred again.

  “We make a good team,” she noted.

  Jake frowned. He was no longer part of any team. His loner status, his self-imposed exile, he’d embraced both these past several months. Why had they suddenly begun to chafe? His family, their surprise visit, the argument with his brother. The explanation fit perfectly. Until his gaze caught on Caro.

  “Jake?” She smiled uncertainly. “Everything all right?”

  Nothing had been right for a long time. Sometimes he was sure nothing would ever be all right again. He nodded anyway.

  “Take these over to the table. I’ll see if I can find some matches and we’ll light the candle in the centerpiece my mom brought for Easter dinner.”

  “Oh, we shouldn’t do that,” Caro protested. “Save it for tomorrow.”

  “It’s okay. My mom won’t mind. She’s never been one to put appearances over practicality.”

  He found some matches and started the wick. As soon as he was seated across from Caro, though, he wished he’d heeded her advice. The woman looked even lovelier in the intimate glow of candlelight. There were just enough shadows to add an aura of mystery.

  Jake had always liked mysteries. He especially liked solving them. He had a few pieces of the puzzle. A son. A custody battle. Grief over her parents. But what was the rest of her story? He didn’t doubt there was more.

  Caro sipped from her mug, coming away with a foamy upper lip, which she licked clean. “Mmm. This is really good.”

  He sipped from his own mug to keep from groaning. In general, he wasn’t much of a fan of hot chocolate, but add a splash of schnapps and a beautiful woman, and the stuff was ambrosia.

  “I feel like we should have had a snowball fight or something first,” she said.

  “That can be arranged.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Have you had many snowball fights?”

  Her expression remained wistful. “Not many, no. Only child, remember? It’s kind of hard to have a snowball fight with yourself.”

  “What about friends, kids from the neighborhood? Didn’t you ever have a battle with them?”

  “A few times.” She shrugged. “The boys usually started it.”

  “Boys are good at that,” he agreed, thinking back to his own childhood and the times he’d lobbed a snowball at an unsuspecting pretty girl to get her attention.

  “Mostly, after a big snow, I spent time with the neighborhood girls building snowmen. Not because I really wanted to.”

  He wagged a finger. “Tomboy, you said.”

  “That’s right. Still, I always thought it would be fun to be included in one of the huge, all-out wars the boys were having.”r />
  Caro took another sip. This time she wasn’t as successful at clearing the melted marshmallow residue as she’d been the first time. A bit of it clung to her upper lip. He licked his own.

  “You get to live your childhood over now.” Her brows drew together, so he clarified, “With your son. Having children and watching the delight they take in everything is like being a kid again.”

  “That’s an interesting observation for a man without children.”

  “Dean … that’s what he says. Of course, my brother never really grew up anyway.”

  She waved blotchy fingertips at him. “You get to do things like dye Easter eggs.”

  Since his own were the same unrecognizable shade, he couldn’t help laughing.

  “And play hide-and-seek,” he added. He and the kids had engaged in a game shortly after the egg dying, mostly to keep the kids out of Bonnie’s hair.

  “I couldn’t help noticing that you’re very good at both, by the way.”

  Her lips bowed after she made that assessment, and his attention was drawn once again to that little patch of melted marshmallow on the top one. His mouth watered. He swallowed and glanced away.

  “Thanks. One of the perks of being an uncle is you get to let your inner child out every now and then.”

  Earlier, Caro wouldn’t have thought the brooding man had an inner child. He was full of surprises. She was full of questions. Curiosity trumped politeness, so she asked one.

  “Do you plan to settle down someday and have a family of your own?”

  Jake’s demeanor changed then, as did his expression. Both turned rigid and guarded. His answer was flat and monosyllabic. “No.”

  It’s not your business, she reminded herself. Even so, she heard herself prodding, “Never?”

  His gaze remained focused on the fat, flickering candle that sat tucked amid greenery on the table between them. He was silent for so long, she didn’t think he planned to answer her. It was probably just as well that he didn’t. She was opening her mouth to apologize and change the subject when he spoke.

  “I used to think I would.” The words came slowly, as if pulled from some spot deep inside of him. Caro waited patiently for him to continue. “I’d met someone. We made it all legal. Then we settled in a fixer-upper we got for a steal in a neighborhood that our real-estate agent termed ‘up and coming.'” Rough laughter followed. “That just meant the house needed a lot of work and the neighborhood was still really rough around the edges. But it was a lot of house for the money, and it had great potential.”