A Promise Of Home (A Lake Howling Novel Book 1)

by Wendy Vella

  “I got that message from Jake,” Branna said, thinking of his scowl.

  “Oh, and before I go, I thought you should know they’re forming a high school reunion committee, so run if you see anyone coming towards you with a clipboard.”

  “High school was an hour and half from here on a slow yellow bus. Why is anyone from Howling organizing it?”

  “Two words, Macy Reynolds.”

  “She’s still here? Wow, I was sure she would have gone on to win a Miss something contest and marry a movie star.”

  “Howlers don’t stray far, Bran, as is evidenced by your return.” Belle flicked up a hand and then she was gone, leaving Branna smiling.

  The smile was still on her face when she climbed the stairs to go to bed. Three years she’d lived here in Howling and at the time, she’d thought them some of the worst and best of her life. She’d been angry after the death of her mother and hurting because her father had turned away from her in his grief, but here she’d found friends. Branna had believed she’d never be a real Howler, because she’d been born in Ireland, but maybe she was wrong. Belle had said Howlers don’t stray far from home, and she’d been talking about her, Branna O’Donnell.

  Climbing into bed, she turned off the lamp and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she’d stay, or even if she would, but for now, this was the right place for her to be…right here under Georgie’s roof.

  “I’m here, Georgie,” she whispered. “Let your soul rest easy, my friend.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I like this one better than last week’s mystery muffin, Buster, what’s in it?”

  “The key word there, Branna, is mystery.”

  She was sitting in the corner of The Hoot, Buster’s cafe, at one of the tables he had set up to look out the big window to the mountains and redwoods beyond. It was early, and the day crisp, but in here it was warm, especially with one of Buster’s coffees and a muffin in front of her. She’d been back two weeks now, and life was starting to settle into a routine.

  “But you can’t keep it as a mystery muffin if it’s going to be a regular in your cabinets,” Branna protested.

  “It won’t.”

  “What? Why?” She looked down at the piece she had left. It had to be a regular or she’d never get to taste it again.

  Buster’s sigh could have felled a forest. “Branna, we’ve had this discussion four times, and you’ve only been back in town two weeks. The mystery muffins are a treat for those game enough to try them; they’re not a regular thing.”

  “Give me the recipe then, so I can make it again.”

  The loud scoffing sound coming from behind the cabinets made her frown.

  “I can bake.”

  “Annabelle told me you burn things,” Buster said.

  She rolled her eyes, even though Buster couldn’t see her. “One thing, when we were in high school. I burnt the popcorn and she had to take the blame as we were in her house and her uncle wasn’t too happy with the smell.”

  “That’s not how I heard it.” Buster appeared behind the counter. Those beautiful eyes narrowed. The man had the longest lashes she’d ever seen; women would pay good money for those.

  “I can cook, I tell you, and one day I’m proving it,” Branna gave him a glare.

  Branna had always felt comfortable around Buster, and that hadn’t changed. She came in here to sit in silence and read. If he chose to talk, they did; if not, he grunted hello and good-bye, and that was where it ended.

  “You better have those pies cooked, Griffin!”

  She hadn’t seen him since the day he stormed out of her house, and now there he was, standing just inside the door with the sun surrounding him. The table she sat at wasn’t tucked completely out the way of the door, so she had a partial view of Jake McBride, big and beautiful, eyes narrowed and looking downright unsociable as he entered.

  “You’re early; I just pulled them from the oven.” Buster disappeared back into the kitchen as he spoke.

  “Had some stuff to do in town and my stomach is gnawing on itself, so feed me.” He saw her then, and she was certain he would have walked back out if the pie wasn’t important to him. He gave her a nod, but didn’t add any words.

  Another scruffy T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, this one bearing some army slogan, and he’d pulled on cargo shorts that had seen better days, on his feet he wore trainers, also worn. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, but as neither of them was inclined to speak, they both let it settle into a heavy thickness.

  “Jake, this is Branna.”

  Jake snorted as Buster appeared with a tray of sandwiches. “You want coffee? I’m making Branna another one.”

  “Ah, sure,” he shot her a look. “How’s the head?” The words were thrown at her in a dismissive way, as if to say, I don’t give a shit, but anyway…

  “Good, thank you.” Branna then reeled off the high school pledge, and named three of her teachers, remembering how he’d asked her those questions the other day, and she’d been unable to answer them.

  “Nice,” he looked at the chair across the table from hers, then pulled it out and folded his large body into it. “What about the wrist?”

  “Your mom said I had to wear the brace for a while yet, because of the damage I’ve done to some things inside.”

  “Tendons and ligaments,” he said.

  Buster dropped a plate loaded with food in front of Jake and a mug of steaming black coffee before each of them.

  “He won’t tell me what’s in the mystery muffin,” Branna said, filling the silence, because now that Jake was close and looking at her with those intent black eyes, she felt uncomfortable. In fact, she wanted to squirm in her seat.

  She’d been like this in school when he was near; her face used to flush and she’d feel off balance. Branna hadn’t wanted to be infatuated by Jake McBride. In fact, she’d done everything she could not to be, but nothing had helped. So, she’d tried to avoid him or have a really bad attitude whenever he approached her, but nothing had worked.

  There was no doubting that he’d been hot in school, but there’d been other equally handsome boys too, but it was Jake that had got to her, Jake that she’d secretly lusted after with the ferocious heart of a teenager.

  “Mystery is the key word there, Branna.”

  “Buster said that.”

  “Well then, he’s probably right.”

  She watched as he ate half the pie in one bite. His teeth were large and white and Branna had the disturbing vision of them nibbling on her ear.

  “I’m sorry!” She hadn’t meant to say it so loudly, but she knew she needed to apologize, and now was as good a time as any.

  His dark brows rose at her words. “About what?”

  “For the way I treated your mother and Belle, the way I treated you when I should have been thanking you for looking after me and instead was being awkward and ungrateful.”

  His smile wasn’t the light your face kind that it used to be, but she saw a glimpse of the boy she once knew.

  “I do awkward and ungrateful. My best friend’s the master at it and as it turns out, I’ve perfected it myself over the last few years,” Jake said.

  “Valid point,” these words came from the depths of the kitchen, confirming Buster’s status as Jake’s best friend.

  “Still, please accept my apology anyway.”

  He did that other disturbing thing he’d done in school then, looking at her as if he could read every thought spinning around in her head.

  “Accepted. It’s not like I wasn’t prepared.”

  “Prepared?” Branna questioned.

  “You weren’t up for Miss Congeniality in school, Rosebud, so I figured unless you’d had a personality transplant, not much had changed.”

  “I was fifteen!” Branna literally spluttered out the word. “You show me any kids of that age who are congenial! And, furthermore, I didn’t have the compulsion that you had back then to have everyone fall at my
feet. You went through your days flashing that smile at any unsuspecting female, or male for that matter, and being bloody accommodating to everyone but me; it was enough to bring up a person’s lunch!”

  Buster’s laughter sounded like a rusty hinge.

  “And there was me thinking you hadn’t noticed me in school; fair warms my heart to see how wrong I was,” Jake drawled. “And, for the record,” he leaned closer to Branna. “I tried to be accommodating, you just didn’t reciprocate.”

  He was deliberately taunting her, and yes, she should laugh and brush it off, but the cold look in his eyes told her that to him there was no humor involved. His mood was dark and he wasn’t about to sugar coat anything, especially not to her. In fact, if she got up and left, Branna was fairly certain, it would just about make his day.

  “Hard to believe the man before me is the same boy I once knew,” Branna said, hitting back at him. She didn’t understand what had happened to Jake McBride, but something had and it had shaved off all his light edges and replaced them with dark ones. “You sure grew up different from what I imagined.”

  “Well, I guess shit happens to all of us, Rosebud, even the golden boys.”

  He was angry, even though his voice sounded like he was messing with her, and it wasn’t recent anger either, this was deep-seated. Branna understood what she was seeing in him, because she’d battled it for years herself.

  “I never said I thought of you as a golden boy.”

  “It was implied.”

  “Like hell,” Branna snapped.

  “Well, at least you stayed the same. Belligerent, rude, and you still got that flower child look going.” Shards of black ice ran over her from top to bottom, as he took in her loose flowing top, faded cutoffs, and leather sandals.

  Branna had taken years to put the emotions from her past in a place that could no longer hurt her, but looking at this man, she felt them return; she felt the helpless anger and confusion of her time at Howling resurface. Swallowing a large mouthful of coffee, she took a few seconds to get herself back under control. There was no way she would allow Jake McBride to provoke that kind of reaction in her again…ever.

  “Listen, McBride, I think we’ve established we weren’t buddies in school, and I’m fairly confident that’s not going to change anytime soon, even with your new hot, bad boy, I don’t give a fuck attitude.” Branna kept her voice level. “So, here’s the thing, thanks for looking after my head and putting on the polite act that day, but in the interest of us both finding some peace in this town, how about we agree to stay the hell away from each other?”

  “And there was me thinking we were hitting it off just fine.”

  His lazy smile made her hands twitch to slap him. Pushing back her chair instead, she walked out of the bakery without another word.

  Jake watched the door close behind Branna, then slowly took another bite of his pie. The action was a reflex and the pie that he loved so much now tasted like dust. His eyes followed her along the path in long angry strides until she disappeared from his sight.

  When had he become an asshole?

  “That went well.” Buster sat in the seat Branna had just left.

  “Not one of my finest moments,” Jake said. “She used to annoy me in school, and it looks like not much has changed, especially as I’ve lost my ability to sugar coat things.”

  “The thing is, Jake, I like her. She’s sure not a talker, and when she comes in here we’ve not passed more than a few words, but she’s a comfortable person and I don’t want to see her hurt, especially as it’s my belief that girl has suffered a whole world of hurt already.”

  “Jesus, did you just string an entire sentence together unprovoked?”

  Buster’s look told Jake he knew that he was deflecting the conversation away from himself.

  “You’re going through shit, Jake, but you have the support of your friends and family to help you through the hell you’re battling; that little girl has no one and never did have.” Buster’s eyes were somber as he looked at Jake. “Her daddy, according to my Aunt Vi, was a cold unfeeling asshole and if memory serves, Branna O’Donnell only had Annabelle and Georgie as friends, while you pretty much claimed everyone else in Howling.”

  Jake ran a hand over his face as shame washed over him. Not many people could pull emotion out of him these days, but Buster was one of them. He didn’t push or smother him and usually when he spoke Buster made a lot of sense, like now.

  “I’m just not real good company anymore; maybe I should stay home?” Jake looked into the sympathetic eyes of his friend.

  “Maybe, but then I can’t imagine you’re all that happy with your own company either.”

  “Also true,” Jake agreed. “She come in here much? Branna?”

  Buster ran with the change in conversation. “Most days, until she can start running again, then she said it will be less often.”

  “She runs?”

  “Yeah, seems she’s one of those sicko healthy types like you.”

  “Says the man who pumps weights and sits on that rowing machine for hours.”

  “True, but I don’t run,” Buster added with a smug look.

  “Wonder what she does for a living?”

  Buster settled back in his chair. “Annabelle said she was a teacher and is now a writer of some kind.”

  “No kidding, just like her daddy. What else you got?” Jake knew the grapevine would be working overtime with a new person in town, especially with Branna having lived here before.

  “Annabelle wouldn’t say; she reckons Branna is a private person and didn’t want everyone knowing her stuff.”

  Jake snorted. “Someone will get it out of her, or dig up the information; that’s how this town works.”

  “Yeah, not much for gossip myself.”

  Jake pointed his cup at Buster. “You’re the biggest gossip of the lot, but just hide it behind that piss off face of yours,” he teased.

  “I don’t have a piss off face; I just don’t understand the need to be yammering on constantly like some.”

  “I hope you’re not accusing me of yammering.” Jake climbed to his feet to take the dishes and put them in the sink. “Because I’ve never yammered a day in my life.”

  “Whatever.”

  “See you at seven.” Lifting a hand, Jake made for the door.

  “She’s planting stuff and digging holes. I told her to call me if she needs help,” Buster said, as he headed back into the kitchen.

  “And you’re telling me this why?” Jake turned to look at his friend.

  “Just on the chance you wanted to apologize for being a bastard.”

  “I am a bastard, Griffin, when are you and the rest of this town going to realize that?”

  Buster said something that Jake missed as he walked out of The Hoot.

  “Hey there, Jake.”

  “Macy,” Jake dug around in his pocket for his keys in the hopes that the woman who’d just walked up to him would take the hint and let him leave.

  “The committee thinks you’d be a good man to take the microphone on the night of the reunion,” Macy Reynolds-Delray stated.

  “Not really good at public speaking, Macy. If you need any cars tuned, however, I’m your man. Plus, I’m not feeling too social these days,” Jake located the keys and started towards his pickup; Macy followed, tottering on her heels.

  Macy Reynolds, now Reynolds-Delray, was the girl who had it all in school. The girl that every boy lusted after; she was certainly the person he’d had plenty of uncomfortable nights dreaming about. Homecoming queen…every girl in school wanted to be her friend. Of course, that club had been exclusive. She was still beautiful, but now it was a forced beauty and the eyes beneath those long fake lashes were cold. Carefully pampered, her hair was colored almost white, her breasts looked bigger, which could mean she’d had some work done, but he wasn’t sure. She looked about as real as one of the dolls his sister had loved as child.

  “It’s one night, Jake, at
the school you attended.” Even her voice had lost that enthusiastic, if highly annoying, pitch…this one was cold and emotionless.

  “Sorry, Macy, I’m busy.”

  “I hear Branna O’Donnell is back too, and she’s a teacher and writer,” she added, stopping on the curb beside his pickup. I’m going to ask her to do some handouts and advertising for the committee.”

  Why was he surprised that Macy knew this about Branna? Small towns could ferret out even the most closely guarded secret.

  “You do that, Macy. I’m meeting Mom for lunch, so I’ll see you around.” He didn’t look back, just climbed in and fired it up and headed out of town. He had a barn, plenty of loud music, and cars that sounded a whole lot better than running into more of the good folk of Howling. Driving past the end of Branna’s driveway, he pushed his foot down on the accelerator; he wasn’t going anywhere near her again. Something about her flashed warning signals inside his head, and then there was the fact that he couldn’t look at her and not want to strip her naked.

  ***

  Branna was still cursing herself when she pulled Georgie’s hat on and walked outside.

  She’d overreacted to Jake today and that annoyed her, because it meant that all those years she’d worked hard at forgetting, or at least locking all those feelings away, hadn’t worked. Well, they had, but now they weren’t anymore, because of him, Jake McBride. Why did she care what he thought of her? Why had she ever cared? She’d reacted like an emotional fool and then stormed out of the bakery like a child throwing a tantrum. That was not the woman she had become, the one who’d spent years perfecting the imperturbable façade.

  The problem was, she couldn’t get him out of her head. What had changed him into the man she’d seen today?

  Stomping around the back of the house, Branna found the garden and began tugging out weeds with her good hand. Georgie would be pissed if she saw her treasured garden being strangled to death by the bloody things, and even one-handed it was good to be doing something, anything to drive the memory of those cold, angry dark eyes out of her head.

  Jake McBride was hurting, Branna had seen it, but why?