Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed?

by Jami Davenport

  “Son, I don’t know why you continue to do this to us.”

  “I’m not doing anything to anyone. I’m trying to live my life the best way I can.” Somehow this entire conversation had been twisted into being about him. For once he hadn’t done a damn thing to deserve it.

  “You spend your day pounding nails with a hammer. That’s a life?”

  “I enjoy doing the physical labor. I couldn’t handle a desk job. Dad, we all choose different paths. Why can’t you and Mother accept mine?”

  “Because you’re doing this to get even for reasons neither of us fathom.”

  “I’m not trying to get even.” The same old argument over and over. Oh, yeah, in his rebellious teens, his life’s mission had been to annoy the hell out of his parents. After all, negative attention was better than no attention. Ask any kid whose parents were too busy for their children. “Just drop it. It’s not getting either of us anywhere.”

  “Your mother wants to know if you’ll be at the house for Thanksgiving dinner. It broke her heart when you didn’t show last year.”

  Jake doubted it broke her heart. Regardless, a few hours of misery with his family more than compensated for the amount of guilt they’d heap on him if he stayed away.

  “Yeah. Tell her I’ll be there.”

  “You tell her. She wants to talk to you again.” Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He’d rather be nagged by his mother than lectured by his father.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “Jake, what happened between you and Jill? She was perfect for you.”

  No, not perfect for him, but perfect for his family. “It just didn’t work out.”

  “Your taste in women concerns us.”

  Jake agreed with his mother on something. His taste in women needed revamping, especially when he specialized in vamping it. Too bad classy women like Mariah or Jill didn’t excite him. Give him a vamp any day.

  “Uh, speaking of women.” He might as well get this over with.

  “Yes, Jacob.”

  “I have a favor to ask.” He’d been holding his breath, so he let it out in one long whoosh.

  “And that would be?”

  “My office manager will be alone on Thanksgiving. Would it be okay if she joined us?”

  “Oh, Jake. That’s so wonderful. You’re thinking of someone other than yourself.”

  Should he be insulted or complimented?

  “I hoped that my devotion to charity work might rub off on my children. The poor thing. Certainly, bring your secretary.”

  “She’s my assistant. And a very good one.”

  “I’m sure she’s quite competent for what you can afford to pay.”

  Jake bristled and bit back a smart reply. In an off-handed way, he’d pleased his mother. He stole a page from Brad’s book—a smart son accepted the meager praise his parents sent his way and didn’t examine it for ulterior motives. “She’s very competent, though somewhat unorthodox. I don’t know how I survived these past few years without her.”

  “That’s wonderful. We look forward to meeting her. By the way, the Winstons will be joining us. Make sure you’re here on time.

  The Winstons? Crap. That meant Jill would be there. Did he really want Harlee, Jill, and his sister in the same room?

  It was too late now.

  * * * *

  Harlee avoided Jake all weekend. He didn’t call her, and she didn’t call him.

  The next morning she drove to work in the beat-up company truck he’d loaned her. She arrived two hours early and searched his office for new information on the Rosehill development. She didn’t find anything of interest. Either he’d taken the stuff home, or there wasn’t anything new.

  By the time Jake walked in the door over an hour late, she’d buried herself elbows-deep doing payroll. Jake grunted a greeting and stomped past her into his office. Harlee stared at his retreating back and wondered what had his boxers in a bunch. It couldn’t possibly be her.

  The phone interrupted her musing. Carson. He sounded as cheery as Jake looked. She transferred him into Jake without waiting for permission. Getting in the middle of a family spat wasn’t the way she wanted to start her Monday morning.

  She turned up her radio in an attempt to drown out Jake’s raised voice and busied herself with the time cards.

  After several minutes, no sound came from Jake’s office. The light on her phone went out.

  Shooing her inner coward back to its room along with her inner child, she peeked into his office. “Jake?”

  He held his hands over his eyes while he rubbed his temples. She waited several seconds but didn’t receive a response.

  “Jake? Are you okay?”

  He raised his head. His bloodshot eyes and defeated stance reflected his weariness. “Fine. Is there any coffee?”

  “I’ll get you a cup.” Harlee hustled to outer room and returned in a flash with a steaming mug.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to get that for me.” He wrapped his big hands around the mug. She admired the strength in those long fingers. An imaginative man could do incredible things with fingers like those. He took a sip and eyed her over the rim. One look in his eyes, and she knew his troubles went deeper than their Friday night encounter and were directly related to family.

  Sometimes being a self-proclaimed orphan had its advantages—no family to interfere with her life.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  He sighed and gestured toward a chair. Harlee dropped into it. Her heart went out to Jake. She wanted to take him in her arms and absorb some of his hurt, but she couldn’t. She didn’t dare. “Carson thinks I’m going to cause Dad to have another heart attack.”

  “What? You? Why would you do that?”

  “Mr. Perfect claims I’m corrupting Brad.”

  “Brad? You corrupting him?” Harlee threw back her head and hooted with laughter.

  Jake scowled at her. “You have no idea. I’m guilty till proven innocent based on my history.”

  “Sorry. It’s just so ludicrous.” Harlee pursed her lips in an attempt to contain her amusement.

  “He insists I abandon my construction business because swinging a hammer is beneath me. Then he told me to mend my carousing ways and beg our parents for forgiveness.” He propped his chin up with his hands. “Hell, I thought I had mended my carousing ways. As far as Brad goes, he strays just fine without my assistance.”

  “Jake, I…”

  He didn’t hear her. “Yesterday Mom and Dad called me to chew me out because Brad’s spending too much time here and neglecting his responsibilities.”

  “Is that anything new?”

  “Neglecting responsibilities? Hell, no. Not for him. But no one ever noticed before. He’d scam his way out of any problem.”

  “That doesn’t work now?”

  “Not with Carson, it doesn’t. Carson sees right through his bullshit.”

  “Except when it comes to your part in this.”

  “Yeah. It’s always been that way.” Jake shrugged, accepting his fate once again. “I guess I’d better get some work done.”

  Harlee turned to go then stopped in his doorway. “Jake, I, about Friday night…”

  He waved her off with a hand. “Forget about it. Never happened.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Harlee…”

  His expression shut her up.

  “It must be fun to have a big family.”

  “Fun?” Jake snorted. “I never thought of them as big or fun. I only have two brothers and a sister and several cousins, aunts, uncles. You know the usual.”

  “Actually, I don’t know.”

  Jake met her eyes. Her sad, blue eyes touched him in places he didn’t let most people go. “You don’t have much of a family, do you?”

  “No.” She looked away. Her face colored with embarrassment.

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My fa
ther is in prison for life. At least my mother thinks he’s my father. I don’t know where my mom is. Vegas, last I heard.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t imagine. He was the black sheep in his family, the rowdy one, the troublemaker. Yet, despite everything he’d done and the gray hairs he’d given his parents over the years, he’d always had a family to bail him out. “Harlee, I—” Her melancholy expression tugged at his heart. “I’d love for you to join my family for Thanksgiving.”

  There, he’d said it. And God help them both.

  Chapter 8—The Thanksgiving Debacle

  Jake reined in his pickup at Harlee’s front door and slammed it into park.

  They’d catch the morning ferry and be at his parents’ estate before noon. No sense getting there too early or too late. Too early, and there’d be too much time for arguments. Too late, and his mother would scold him like a five-year-old. It wouldn’t end there. She’d get a day’s worth of mileage out of that small transgression.

  Jake bounded up the front porch steps, anxious to get started and get it over with.

  Harlee opened the door as he raised his hand to knock on it. His hand stalled in midair as he assessed her appearance. She tilted her head and smiled sweetly at him. She held her arms out and spun around in a tight circle. “How do I look?” She looked great, even a little toned down for her, and she wore a decent looking sweater and an almost prim skirt. She waited for his verdict, uncertain and anxious.

  “Great, Harlee. You look great.” He breathed a sigh of relief. She almost looked the part of an assistant. Almost but not quite. Harlee’s innate sexuality shone through, even when she attempted to be more conservative. His critical family would zero in on that, and he’d be in deep shit. They’d make false assumptions. He didn’t want them to think the worst. Harlee performed her job well, but not that well. He wanted them to like her, not consider her a detriment. Why it mattered, he didn’t know. It just did.

  “Jake, are you okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah. Fine. Where’s your coat?”

  Smiling, she grabbed it from the back of the couch and shrugged into it.

  He crossed his fingers that they’d both survive the day.

  * * * *

  Harlee sat in the formal living room, sipping wine from a crystal goblet that cost more than her entire wardrobe. She tugged on her scratchy wool skirt, making sure it covered her knees. She’d chosen a sweater actually a size too big, now she wondered if she’d made a bad choice.

  A flippin’ Thanksgiving photo shoot for Better Homes and Gardens wouldn’t do this setting justice. All around her, Jake’s family and guests talked and laughed. They’d been polite to her. Yet, she felt like a novelty item from a dollar store on display in their living room.

  Her experience with designer clothes and expensive furniture might be limited, but there wasn’t one thing in this room that came from a store with ‘mart’ in its name. She couldn’t relate to any of their conversations. “Did you see the winter collection at Nordstrom?” “The Dow dropped ten points yesterday.” “I had the best tennis game.” “What are you wearing to the Boeing Charity Ball?”

  Sighing, Harlee craned her neck to peek in the mirror hanging on the wall. She squinted and stared harder. For a brief moment, she saw her mother reflected back at her.

  She blinked. She could not accept that. Her mother was trashy and cheap. She was better than that. The glaring contrast between the haves and have-nots created that momentary illusion.

  She looked again and saw an insecure women desperately trying to fit in. She didn’t. She almost wished she’d worn more makeup so she could hide behind that persona instead of showing them the real Harlee underneath.

  Taking a deep breath, she gave herself a little pep talk. The size of person’s checkbook or the labels on one’s clothes didn’t make a person better. Not at all. She was a good person, as good as any of them.

  Harlee straightened and held her head higher. She glanced around the room and wrinkled her nose. The place reeked with the scent of old timber money—money that had raped Washington’s old growth forests a hundred years ago. That very same money threatened to destroy Rosehill and bulldoze the camp.

  Harlee shook her head. Proof of Jake’s family legacy decorated every wall. Countless old photographs depicted trees that rivaled small houses in circumference. Men were sawing and chopping the trunks, destroying in minutes what took over centuries to grow.

  Harlee’s gaze swung to Jake, seeking reassurance. He leaned against the fireplace with a glass of scotch. His free hand clenched into a fist. He’d been summoned there by his father as soon as they’d entered the room and introductions had been finished. He stood apart, aloof, a stranger in his own family.

  Even so, his pristine polo shirt and slacks made him look the part of his father’s son. Despite his down-to-earth manner, she’d be wise to remember that he was, first and foremost, a Reynolds.

  He directed his attention toward a conversation between his father and oldest brother. His chin jutted out and his jaw tightened when they addressed their comments directly to him.

  He spoke tersely. His frown deepened. She couldn’t make out his words but didn’t need to. Brad walked up and attempted to smooth things over. His animated gestures indicated he was telling some sort of joke.

  As if he felt her eyes on him, Jake turned his head. His expression changed and softened. He swept his gaze down her body and back up again. His heated glance microwaved her to a crisp, while his mouth quirked in a sexy smile. Harlee’s breath lodged in her throat. He winked conspiratorially.

  She swallowed and fanned herself. That fireplace put out a lot of heat. Yeah, right, that wasn’t the only thing putting out heat.

  Jake pushed himself away from the wall and crossed the room to sit next to her. “You okay?” He spoke quietly, almost tenderly.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. My family overwhelms most people. Hell, they overwhelm me.” He laughed, and his generous smile dimpled the corners of his mouth. His twinkling eyes warmed her heart.

  “Thank you for being so good to me.”

  “Harlee.” Jake spoke her name like a man savoring a gourmet chocolate on his tongue. He squeezed her hand and held it a little too long.

  Harlee looked away, afraid she might get teary. Her eyes collided with Bridget’s disgusted gaze. Jake’s mother’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed that little gesture either. One microsecond later, the woman stood next to them. Scowling, Bridget followed on her heels.

  Harlee chanced a tenuous smile as Jake’s mother perched on the sofa arm next to her youngest son.

  “Harlee, watch out for our Jake. He’s careless with young women’s hearts. My handsome son is a real charmer with the ladies.” Clarice adopted the expression of a concerned friend, while she rubbed Jake’s shoulder. Jake winced, glancing apologetically at Harlee.

  Harlee’s face heated up faster than an egg in the frying pan.

  Next to her, Jake tensed. “Mother—”

  “Mrs. Reynolds, I’ll keep that in mind,” Harlee interrupted.

  “You’d be wise to do so. Jake is our baby, and we spoiled him rotten. We bought him everything he ever wanted.”

  “How many sports cars did you total before you were out of high school, Jake?” Bridget added with wide-eyed innocence.

  “As if you don’t know that answer to that,” Jake spat back.

  Clarice ignored the two siblings. Perhaps this was par for the course. “Jake doesn’t have the discipline of the other children or the ambition. He expends too much energy being the family rebel.”

  Jake seemed plenty disciplined to Harlee, especially when it came to her drunken seduction of him last week. As far as ambition, he worked his ass off. Couldn’t his mother see that? This family had a semi truck-sized blind spot when it came to their youngest child.

  “We were heartened when he invited you to join us. For once he thought of someone other than himself.” Joseph Reynolds stepped into the “bash Jake” c
onversation. It appeared to be a family pastime. Joe’s gaze pinned her to the couch and penetrated her very soul. He didn’t seem to like what he saw.

  Jake stiffened beside her. She peeked at him through her lowered lashes. He sat rigid and ramrod straight. His clenched jaw and hard eyes concealed his misery and hurt. Pain lurked behind that curtain of indifference. She knew how that pain felt, the pain caused by parents who didn’t believe in their child.

  “I think Jake’s one of the most generous people I know. He gave me a job and took a chance on me.” She didn’t dare look at him. He wouldn’t appreciate her defense.

  “That’s typical.” His father barked a harsh laugh as he moved to stand beside his wife. “Jake takes reckless chances. Sometimes through blind luck and sheer ignorance, they work in his favor. He does everything the hard way and never learns from his mistakes.”

  Harlee’s hackles rose like a cat cornered by the neighborhood canine bully. The censure on his father’s face infuriated her. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to give Mr. Reynolds a taste of her trailer-trash temper. Fortunately for Jake’s dad, a tall woman preempted her indignant retort.

  “Jake, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Jake frowned and looked in the other direction. That appeared to be the last thing he wanted to do.

  Harlee stared at this department store mannequin posing as a real woman. Pale and too thin, she wasn’t beautiful or even pretty, but she used what she had to her advantage. She’d probably be homely without her carefully applied makeup, perfect hair, and expensive clothes. Harlee felt like child’s finger painting next to a Rembrandt.

  “Jill, this is Harlee.” Mrs. Reynolds introduced them, tossing Jake a look mothers reserved for little boys behaving like brats. He ignored her and slid closer to Harlee until their thighs touched.

  “Harlee?” Jill snickered. “What a provincial name.” The mannequin dismissed her with a wave of one perfectly manicured hand and turned to Jake.

  Jake’s mouth thinned with displeasure. “Harlee is my assistant. I invited her to be my guest for dinner. You’d be wise to remember that.”