by Rachel Hauck
“She’s resting. We’re flying home early in the morning. She sends her regrets.”
Jimmy stepped back, needing space to think. Not this again . . .
If Colette needed rest, he did not want to disturb her. She was very upset this afternoon. But the way Jimmy saw things, he didn’t have much time left.
He intended to speak his mind. Resting would have to wait.
He tucked the ball against his ribs and shoved around the manager. “What room is she in?”
“Hold on now . . .” Ford heeled after him. “She doesn’t want to speak to you.”
“I thought you said she was resting.”
“And she doesn’t want to speak to you. She’s said all she intends to say.”
“Then she can tell me to my face.” Jimmy knocked on the first door on the right. “Colette? You in here?”
“You can’t knock on every door, disrupting people.”
“Don’t blame me. You’re the one with Colette’s room number.” Jimmy rapped softly on the door across the hall. “Lettie, it’s Jimmy. I just need a word.”
A bass growl came from the other side. “Wrong room, buddy.”
“Sorry to disturb you.” Jimmy moved down the hall. About to knock on the third door, Ford blurted, “Five. She’s in room five. Stop pestering the rest of the guests.”
With a backward glance at Ford, Jimmy moved down the hall. “Colette, darling, it’s me, Jimmy. Can I speak with you?”
“Colette, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Ford said over Jimmy’s shoulder.
“Pardon me, but this don’t concern you.” Jimmy frowned. “Don’t you have another client to tend to?”
“There’s where you’re wrong—it does concern me.”
The door eased open and a weary but beautiful Colette greeted him. “Jimmy, please come in.” She stood aside. “Ford, I’m famished for dinner. Can you order us something?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He growled as he turned away.
“He’s a peach,” Jimmy said, gazing at Colette, gripping the ball between his hands.
“He’s protective.”
“I don’t aim to harm you, Lettie.”
“I know that and you know that, but—is that what I think it is?” She pointed to the ball.
“Game ball. Nineteen forty-eight. Had it with me the first night I talked to you.”
“So, are we back to that? The beginning?” Colette reached for the ball, turned it in her hands, and flipped it back to Jimmy.
“If we could, I’d change a few things. I’d not be here now, with you on one side of a hotel room and me on the other, yes, almost like strangers.” Jimmy stepped closer. “But we’re not strangers, Colette. When you walked into the wedding chapel yesterday, I knew you. I felt like my heart had finally returned home. If that don’t sound like a bunch of sentimental yuk from an ole bachelor football coach.”
Colette retreated to the sitting area, reclining in a fancy upholstered chair, the evening light bright against the window. Yes, she was as lovely today as she’d been that night at the Clemsons. He even loved the time-earned lines of her face. Because each one had a story.
And in his chest beat a heart full of stories he longed to tell her, his one true love.
“I don’t think we can go back, Jimmy.” She shook her head, then rested her chin in her hand. “It’s too late.”
“More than too late, it’s impossible.” Jimmy took the seat next to hers, tucking the ball beside him. “I’m talking going forward, Lettie. Having a life together.”
She chortled. “Based on what, love? We’re strangers.”
“Then let’s get to know each other. I’m game. Colette, I’m tired of waiting. Tired of living alone, of being in that old house, of saying I’ll do things but never getting around to them.”
“Then do them, Jimmy. You don’t need me.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I do need you, Lettie. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for. Please marry me.”
Her pretty, made-up eyes glistened. “We’ve lost so much time.”
“Then let’s not lose any more. If you don’t love me, I’ll understand, but I want you to give me a chance. I can win your heart all over—”
“It’s not that, Jimmy.”
“Do you love me?” He hung on, determined. The fear and misunderstanding, confusion and anger wedged between them by time and manipulation ended today.
“Do you love me?” She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself. “Though after what I did, you should show me the back of your head as you walk away.”
“Lettie, yes, I love you. I never stopped loving you.” He dropped to one knee in front of her. “I don’t care what you did. I understand. I forgive. I want to marry you. I must marry you. What happened in the past is over. We can’t change it. I reckon you did what you had to do.” He cupped her hands with his. “So I’m asking you to do what you have to do now. Marry me. We’ll deal with Drummond in time. And what Peg did.”
Tears started down her cheeks. “I could’ve called your father. Talked to Aunt Jean and Uncle Fred—”
“You talked to the person you trusted most and she let you down, darling.”
“Running seems so silly now. So far away. But I was so ashamed, felt so alone. So I made a whole new life for myself, a whole new Colette.”
“But aren’t you forgetting something? You married me that day in the chapel. Said vows to me. As I did to you.”
“But it wasn’t legal or proper, Jimmy. We both knew it.”
“Maybe not in the eyes of the law. But in the eyes of my heart, I meant every word. The way I see it, it’s time to honor our private vows with a public wedding.”
“Surely after all these years apart, we’re not still married. We can’t possibly hold each other to youthful pledges.”
“Why not? Did we mean what we said? We’ve not recanted, nor divorced each other?”
She shook her head, her chin quivering.
“Did you marry someone else?”
Again no.
“Me neither.”
“Do we tell Drummond?” She angled for the square tissue box on the end table. “I wanted to tell you, Jimmy, so many times. But Drummond Sr. and Peg made it clear I was to be silent and stay away. So I did. And I didn’t want to hurt James.”
He caught the tear sneaking down her chin with the edge of his finger. “Why don’t you stop throwing blocks and just say yes? We’ll figure all of this out together. I love you, Colette Greer, heaven help me.” He squeezed her fingers. “Marry me?”
She regarded him for a long, nearly heart-stopping moment. Then she nodded. Once. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you, James Westbrook. I’ll marry you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JACK
He burst through Granny’s front door. Man, Taylor had this place lit up like a Christmas tree. And she left the front door unlocked.
“Taylor? Babe?” He ran up the stairs two at a time. “Taylor?”
“Jack?” She stood in a narrow doorway, a lean set of stairs rising up behind her. “Where have you been?” She jumped into his arms, a white envelope crumpled in her hand.
He gripped her close, holding on to the one he loved. Cupping her face in his hands, he bent to kiss her. He’d never tire of her taste.
Taylor stumbled back when he released her. “J-Jack . . . what happened?” She laughed, touching his damp shirt. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“I went to Sam’s. He’s got a punching bag in his old garage.”
A dark flicker shot from her eyes. “Wow, me being pregnant made you want to hit something?”
“No, I just needed to move, think. Get some space between my head and heart. Taylor, you took me by surprise.”
“Jack, I wasn’t ready for this either. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know, I know, I’m not saying you did.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Look, I’m no
t perfect—”
She gasped. “Really?” She swirled her hand in the space between them. “Then this is off—”
Grinning, he pressed her against the wall and kissed her again. “Hush and listen. Sam came out and, well, we talked, and I had some God time, gained some perspective. Taylor, I’m in. I want to build a life with you. I want to get out from under the ghost of my father. I’m scared, unsure, and have a way to go to be the man you need me to be, but I’m . . .” He stepped back, sweeping his arms wide. “I’m in. I want this baby. Lord help the poor thing.”
He braced himself, searching her face, ready for the pushback. For her to remind him he had yet to overcome his father’s rejection, that he knew nothing about being a father, but either he could do all things through Christ who strengthened him or not. For the moment, he was banking on that verse being true.
“Are you sure? I mean, have you thought about this?”
“What’s to think about? You’re pregnant. The wheels are in motion. What are our options? Walking away? No, I don’t want to walk away. I won’t do that to my kid.”
“So you boxed a bag and snap, just like that, you’re all good?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had a come-to-Jesus meeting, and while it’s not adjourned yet, I have a clear sight of what I want, where I’m going, and how to get there. Sam and I are talking again tomorrow. I texted Hops to say I’d not be back until Wednesday.”
She arched her brow. “Wow, I’ve never heard you talk like this.”
“Weird?”
“Sort of, but I like it.”
“So are you all in?”
“You said you know what you want. What is that, Jack?”
“Life with you.”
The sheen in her eyes reflected her heart. “O-okay. And what about London?”
He pulled her to him. “It’s a no unless you want to go.” He kissed her, feeling her, sensing her, breathing in her response, her love filling his empty emotional bank.
She caught her breath as he released her. “This is not going to be easy. We’ve been living like we’re not all in. Like if it doesn’t work out we can walk away, ‘no fuss, no muss.’ ”
“No more. We’re not walking away. Our vows on the beach count.”
She leaned against his chest and pressed her lips to his. “I love you, Jack.”
The most beautiful words. Jack inhaled, peering into her eyes. “Taylor Branson, I love you. Very, very much. And God help me, I’m going to tell you every day.”
He scooped her up, swaying from side to side until their bodies truly felt as one. When he set her down, Taylor slipped her hand into his, leading him down the hall to her room.
“Taylor, I’m all sweaty,” he said.
“You’re about to be even more so.”
With a sly grin, she set the envelope in her hand on the nightstand, eased the door closed.
This girl was his life adventure and he’d never tire of her. God help him.
TAYLOR
Evening settled over Heart’s Bend as she lay in Jack’s arms, more in love with him than the night they married.
He rolled on his side, brushing his hand over her hair. “I love you.”
“So you’ve said. About a dozen times in the last hour.”
“Now that I’ve said it, I like it.” He nuzzled her neck, shoving the sheet away, and Taylor thought he might go for another round. Instead, he sat up. “Hey, listen, I want to run something by you. Sam told me I’m like a son to him. He wants to adopt me. Give me his name. Wh-what do you think about that?”
Taylor sat up. “Wow, that’s . . . amazing. He knows you’re thirty, right?”
Jack laughed. “That’s what I said.” He peered at her. “He’s been the only father I’ve ever really known. He wants to make me his son.”
“I like the name Gillingham.” She linked her fingers with his. “Do you think if you’re not a Forester you wouldn’t mind coming home to HB now and then?”
He searched her face. “I don’t know. I’m a work in progress, Tay. But yeah, it might not be so bad.”
“The baby would have two sets of grandparents.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But he’ll have that either way.”
“Guess it boils down to what you want, Jack. Do you want a new name with a new father, one who loves you? Or do you want to stay with the old name, being reminded of the man who out and out rejected you?”
He raised her chin, kissing her. “I married a smart girl.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“Okay, what say we get some dinner.” Jack bounded out of bed, reaching for his clothes. “You were doing something when I came in. What was it?”
She pointed toward the door. “Getting up the nerve to go into the attic.”
“I thought Emma was in charge of cleaning out the house.”
“She is, but Granny left me this weird letter.” Taylor slipped out of bed, retrieving the letter, handing it to Jack. “Something about a box and a secret.”
“A locked box apparently.” Jack held up the key. “Why do you have to get up the nerve to go into the attic?” He skimmed the letter, laughing in the right places. “I like your granny.”
“Only ’cause she said she liked you.” Taylor slipped into her shorts and top.
“Naturally . . .” Jack finished reading and folded up the letter. “What is she talking about? A secret?”
“I have no idea, but since you’re here . . . want to investigate the attic with me?”
“Why are you afraid of the attic? Can we order pizza? I’m starved.”
“Yeah, I’ll call Angelo’s.” She retrieved her phone. “And I’m terrified of the attic due to Emma and the great haunted house of 1995. By the way, our kid is never going to a haunted house.”
“Shall I lead the way, then?” Jack stepped around her, easing open the attic door. He winked and her heart fluttered. Letting go meant she could fall all the way in love.
“Have at it. Light switch is on the right. By the way, Jack, Daddy came by tonight.”
He glanced back at her. “And?”
“We talked. He didn’t have an affair, Mama did.”
Jack stopped midclimb and let out a low whistle. “You’re kidding. You’ve been angry at him all this time for nothing? ”
“Yes, and thank you for pointing that out.”
He started for the attic landing. “How’d you leave things?”
“Like we have to start over, capture our lost years. I told him he was going to be a grandpa. That made him very happy.”
Jack hit the landing and slipped his arm around Taylor. “I’m proud of you.”
She pressed her hand to her forehead and stepped over to a pile of boxes under the eave. “Well, it’s a start. We’ve a ways to go—”
“I’m proud you made it to the attic.”
“Ha, very funny. And here.” Taylor passed Jack what appeared to be an original Star Wars light saber. “For keeping the ghosts away.”
Jack tapped the boxes with the tip of the plastic saber. “So what are we doing here?”
“Look for a box in a box.” Taylor glanced around. “But once, when I was a teenager, I came over after school and found Granny up here putting something beneath the floorboards.”
Jack knocked on the boards with the saber. When one echo responded hollow, he knelt down and tested the floorboards. And found a loose one.
When he raised it and peered in, he smiled at Taylor. “Could this be it?” He held up a deep, rectangular-shaped box. “Looks like something for jewelry.”
Taylor took the box and glanced around for a place to sit. Nothing. So she reached for an old afghan and made a nest on the floor.
Jack propped open the sailor window, letting the heat out and the cool evening air in. Then he joined Taylor on the afghan.
“All right, box, show us what you got.”
Taylor inserted the key. “I’m nervous.” She peeked at Jack. “I’m glad you’re here.”
<
br /> “No place I’d rather be.”
Inside was another note and a bundle of letters bound by twine. “They’re addressed to Colette.” She flipped through the return addresses. “They’re all from Jimmy. Looks like he was on a base.”
“What’s your granny doing with them?” Jack took the pack from her and thumbed through.
“I don’t know.” She spied the edge of a photograph. Pulling it free, she studied the black-and-white image. “That’s Daddy as a baby.” She passed it to Jack. “Does that look like a young Coach?”
“Yep.” His gaze locked with hers. “I’m starting to figure out Granny’s secret.”
“She had an affair with Coach?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Read her letter, let’s find out.”
Taylor opened the note. “It’s dated last year. Titled ‘Confession.’ ” She made a face. “Sounds like a Danielle Steele novel.”
Confession
I’ve done some wrong. Lived with the guilt my whole life. And I’m weary. I’ve secrets bottled up inside and I don’t feel I can bear them any longer.
Though I must, for the sake of my sister. We’ve carried a burden together and I intended for it to die with me.
Yet there is one secret I must confess.
I broke them up. I forged letters from Colette to Jimmy and Jimmy to Colette because I loved him. I was so jealous of Lettie I couldn’t see or think straight. If Jimmy wanted her, then I wanted Jimmy.
So when Colette told me she was pregnant—
Taylor glanced at Jack. “Not Granny, Jack. Colette.”
“The plot thickens. Go on.” He tapped the letter.
I devised a plan to get her away from him. I wrote letters, using my ability to copy handwriting. I’m full of regret, but what can I do now but say I’m sorry?
“Wait, wait, wait . . . what?” Taylor reread the line. “Granny forged letters?” She peeked at the stack bundled with twine. “Who does that?”
“I don’t know, but I bet Granny had a reason.” Jack flipped through the box’s contents, coming up with a thin document. “Looks like a birth certificate.”
Taylor read the first line over his shoulder. “ ‘James Allen Westbrook Jr. Mother, Colette Greer. Father . . .’ ” Taylor raised her gaze to him. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Jack, Colette and Coach had a baby.” She slapped at his leg. “James Allen Westbrook Jr. This is huge.”
