"Seems to me she came in first in a regional Spam cook-off once."
Rebecca stared at Jake. “I'd forgotten all about that."
He winked at her, then smiled at her fascinated daughter. “She's just being modest. The truth is your mom's always had a knack for making something special out of the ordinary."
Dinner that night was a cultural smorgasbord—hummus, egg rolls, gyros and more. Much more. Watching Jake and Katie dare each other to sample the already prepared ethnic specialties Jake had brought home in lieu of the usual staples, Rebecca realized how predictable her life had become. As a girl, Rebecca had never known when or where, much less what, her next meal might be. Since Katie's birth, she'd sought security in the routine, raising her daughter according to what Rebecca now realized was some idealized version of how she imagined “real” families lived.
Between Katie's trip, Jake's return and the tornado, she'd been thrown off schedule, but once Katie started back to school next week, Rebecca realized she fully expected to resume her routine of spaghetti on Mondays, chicken on Tuesdays, right through to pot roast on Sunday afternoons.
Jake was the one who had yearned for new places and experiences, not she. All Rebecca had ever wanted out of life was the security of a home and family. Granted, she'd once aspired to owning an antique-filled mansion on the river, but the truth was, as long as she had Katie she could be happy anywhere.
She wished she could say the same of Jake. Watching him grin like a pirate at Katie, then pop a piece of Swiss milk chocolate into his mouth, Rebecca knew she could never keep Jake in Warner out of duty or obligation. For while her dreams had been of wealth and security, his had been of freedom and adventure. The boy she'd known had thrived on the new, the unusual, the unexpected. The man he'd become could never be happy with the simple life she'd created for herself and Katie, any more than her father had been happy living with her mother. She'd been a selfish fool to think she and Jake would be different.
"I'll get the dishes,” she said, and rose from the table.
Jake reached out and caught her wrist. “Why don't you leave them for me? You haven't stopped moving all day."
The warmth of his hand flowed up her arm and into her heart, making it ache for what would never be. She avoided Jake's eyes as she gently pulled away. “It won't take but a few minutes. Why don't you and Katie play one of those board games you bought?"
He said he'd gotten them for everyone, but Rebecca suspected he'd bought them as a surreptitious gift for Katie. Rebecca's heart had twisted with regret all over again when she'd seen them. He'd missed out on so much. “Katie, why don't you pick one out?"
"All right!"
Two hours later, Jake found Rebecca in his bedroom, the room she still shared with Katie, wiping salvaged toiletry articles with a damp cloth. After finishing the dishes, she'd slipped upstairs to give Jake and Katie some time alone together. “Hi."
She turned and smiled. “Hi."
"I take it Katie's in the bathroom washing up."
"You take it right. It's past her bedtime. How'd it go?"
"She sunk all my battleships. I, for one, could have used some strategic help. That girl's ruthless when it comes to winning."
Rebecca smiled. “I know. It's scary. I'm not sure where she gets it. You never seemed that competitive, and I'm certainly not.” she trailed off, feeling awkward. She'd imagined conversations like this with Jake thousands of times over the years, but now that he was here...
"I don't know,” Jake mused thoughtfully. “You'd have to be pretty competitive to graduate first in your class. To sail through college with a perfect four-point-oh—at least for the first two years."
Rebecca smiled, for the first time willing to discuss the past without getting angry or defensive. “It dropped when Katie came along, but I think I ended up with a three-point-seven."
"You always were the smartest person I knew."
A hint of nostalgia entered his eyes and Rebecca recalled how, more often than not, on his way out for the evening, Jake would stop by the apartment to cadge a cookie or two and tease her about her study habits. But beneath the teasing she'd sensed his pride in her, and her dedication to making good grades had come in part from a deep-rooted desire to please him.
As she looked back now, she wondered if he'd considered himself incapable of shining academically, so had chosen to encourage her instead.
It gave her something to think about.
"So how come you're hiding out up here?” Jake asked, with the same quiet perceptiveness he'd shown when they were younger.
"The truth? I don't know what to do with myself. I'm feeling unsettled and I hate it. It reminds me of life with Chloe after ... after my dad left."
Jake's expression softened. “You can't compare your life with your mother to what's happening now, Rebecca. Your home was destroyed by a tornado, not irresponsible acting out."
"I know. But being left homeless has made me realize how deeply my life is rooted in the familiar. How attached I've become to my things. We didn't have much, Jake, but what we had was special. It was part of what made the apartment a home."
Jake's smile held an unexpected hint of sadness. “Home and hearth. You haven't changed a bit, Rebecca."
Neither have you, she thought, then dismissed the bleak realization before it could ruin her evening.
"Tell me about the stuff you have in storage,” he said. During dinner, she'd mentioned her visit to the storage facility, explaining there wasn't enough room in the apartment for all the furniture she'd acquired over the years, and she'd never intended to live there permanently. “You think there'd be enough room for it here?"
"Well, sure, but...?"
"If it looks anything like this bedroom set, it couldn't help but be an improvement over what's here now. Besides, you and Katie might feel more comfortable staying here surrounded by your own stuff.” He met her eyes. “More settled."
Rebecca stared, touched beyond words. “Jake, I don't know what to say."
He shrugged in that way he had of pretending something didn't matter. “You don't have to move anything if you think it's going to be too much trouble to move it in and then take it out again when you find another place to stay. I just thought you might like to have the option of knowing it's okay with me."
"Thank you."
"I'll give you a hand if you need it."
"I appreciate that. I'll let you know."
Jake nodded and turned to leave.
"Jake?” She crossed the room. This would be their only chance to speak privately until tomorrow. After last night, she refused to go downstairs again once Katie went to bed. Being alone with Jake was too great a temptation. She was too attracted to him. Sooner or later she was going to have to figure out how to get past that, but for now, hiding out seemed to be her best option.
He'd paused in the hallway and was waiting. She stopped at the bedroom doorway, then cast a quick look at the bathroom door to make sure Katie wasn't on her way out. “About Katie,” she whispered. “Are you planning to tell her you're her father?"
He seemed to go very still. “Why do you ask?"
"I'd like to be there if you do."
He looked at her for the longest time, saying nothing. When he spoke it was with a quiet conviction that moved Rebecca's soul. “I won't pretend to understand why you did what you did, Rebecca, or say that suddenly learning I have a seven-year-old child didn't hurt, deeply. But I won't interfere with the way you mother her. She's bright, funny, talented, and compassionate. That didn't happen on its own. You've been there for Katie from the start, guiding her and watching her grow. You know her inside and out. If you think telling her I'm her father will in any way hurt her, then I vote we never tell her. God knows I don't want to be the drag on her that Mickey was on me."
Rebecca's protest was automatic and heartfelt. “Jake..."
He shushed her with the touch of his calloused fingers on her lips. Desire stirred deep in her womb. It was all
she could do not to close her eyes and lean into his light touch.
Jake cleared his throat. “Katie clearly likes having me as a friend,” he said, his voice gruff. “Seems to me that's the best course to keep for now."
It had always hurt, her decision not to tell Katie who her father was, but suddenly their deception burned like acid in Rebecca's heart. Even so, she had to think about what would happen when Jake left Warner. If Katie knew Jake was her father, she'd feel abandoned when he left—and rightfully so.
Rebecca knew all too well how being left behind felt. She also knew she'd do whatever she had to, to spare her daughter that kind of pain.
"Sounds like a plan,” she said quietly.
Jake turned away, never imagining that her agreement would cut so deeply. With no small amount of surprise, he realized some insane part of him had actually hoped Rebecca would defend his right to let Katie know he was her father. Right then and there. As soon as she got out of the bathroom.
Instead, he knocked on the bathroom door to tell Katie good night and that he was going out for a run. He couldn't stand the thought of spending the rest of the evening in the same house with Rebecca, knowing how desperately—how pathetically—he wanted her. Knowing how obviously she wanted to avoid him—now that she'd let him know how she felt about letting people know that he, Jacob Donovan, was the father of her child.
But what did he expect? Rebecca had known him since he was a kid. If anyone was in a position to judge him, it was Rebecca. And if she didn't think he made the grade.
There wasn't much point in sticking around.
Chapter Eleven
Taking a coffee break at Feeney's the next morning, Jake scowled at the weekly paper's headline story. A condensed version of his life in print was not what he considered news. Nor did he care for the startlingly clear shot of himself, covered with blood, carrying Bryan Modano to safety across a sea of shattered glass. His left shoulder twitched at the memory.
Jake found it ironic to be credited with saving the life of the mayor's grandson, when twelve years ago he'd derived a defiant satisfaction from causing trouble between the mayor and his daughter. He hadn't seen Mimi yet, wasn't even sure she still lived in town, but figured he'd find out soon enough once people got a good look at his picture and realized just who had been around their nieces and nephews at the library.
He looked back at the picture of himself and Bryan. Funny, he would have thought survival would be front and center in everyone's mind at the time, not photo ops. Apparently that reporter Moog wasn't one to let a little thing like wholesale destruction get in his way. Jake skimmed the article again, relieved that Moog hadn't made any reference to the personal relationship between himself and Rebecca.
Now that was a story for the paper. Jake figured it would fit right in with the soap opera section. With a snort of disgust he set the paper aside and went back to work, happy to have something familiar and productive to lose himself in while the world went crazy around him.
Ten minutes later, Sheriff Sutter pulled up in a cruiser.
Jake's instincts went on full alert. By now, Sutter had to know Rebecca and Katie were staying with him. God knew he'd have something to say about it if he were in Sutter's spit-shined shoes. Especially if Sutter and Rebecca had something going.
Sutter's I've-got-your-ass-now look as he climbed out of his cruiser was all too familiar to Jake. He braced himself as an involuntary shaft of fear sliced deep into the pit of his belly. The first time he'd seen that look in a lawman's eyes, he'd lost everything dear to him, including his brand new bike and the second-hand leather jacket Rebecca had given him for his eighteenth birthday.
It took everything Jake had to keep the fear that coursed through him at bay, and focus on the engine he was rebuilding as Sutter approached Feeney and started talking.
Several long minutes later, Jake felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He straightened slowly, every muscle in his body tense as Sutter strode toward him. The tall, physically fit man radiated power and authority, and that alone would normally have had Jake's back up in a flash. But the lethal look in Sutter's eyes told Jake what was going down here was personal.
Real personal.
The closer Sutter came, the louder Jake's instincts screamed at him to run—but his feet remained rooted to the ground. An image of Rebecca and Katie wearing matching black T-shirts—his T-shirts—at the breakfast table yesterday morning popped into his mind, and Jake suddenly knew with absolute certainty that if he ran, he'd be leaving the door wide open for Sutter to move in on Rebecca, and that was not an option.
Not when Jake knew Katie was his. He might not be the best candidate to raise his little girl, but the idea of Robert Sutter taking over the job was dead.
"Donovan."
Jake nodded. “Sheriff."
"Feeney tells me you were working the station alone Thursday afternoon."
Jake almost frowned. This wasn't about Rebecca? He nodded slowly. “For about an hour before the tornado hit. Why?"
"I understand you were working on my vehicle."
Jake suddenly registered that Sutter wasn't driving his Blazer, but a squad car. Ice filled his insides and he clamped down on his emotions at the memory of being arrested for Christine's murder. He'd resisted the arrest, knowing they had the wrong man. Big mistake. Shoving him into the back of the cruiser all battered and bleeding had been only the beginning of his eight-year sojourn into hell.
"Mind if I have a look around?"
"Not if Feeney doesn't mind. It's his place."
Sutter brushed past him, saying nothing. Jake fought back the memories of prison search teams and the choking resentment at having his space invaded as the sheriff took his time looking over Jake's personal workbench, where he kept the tools Feeney had loaned him until he could afford his own. But unlike the search and destroy missions his cell had been subjected to in prison, Sheriff Sutter touched nothing.
Still, Jake knew the man's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing. Sutter obviously took his job seriously, and given that there hadn't been a whisper of real trouble in Warner in years, he seemed an effective enough candidate for re-election. Jake was stunned to find himself thinking he'd rather deal with Sutter any day over the slick ex-cop from the city Dillenger was backing. Jake had met his kind many times over. All spit and polish on the outside, rotten to the core on the inside.
Knowing Sutter expected him to break the silence, Jake obliged so he could get on with his day. “What's up, Sheriff?"
Sutter turned and eyed Jake coldly, his low voice feral. “What's up is some cocky sonofabitch sliced my brake cables halfway through, and I damn near didn't make it back down from checking out Holton Hill last night."
Jake stared, unable to believe what he was hearing. Someone had sliced the sheriff's brake cables? And Sutter suspected him?
Suddenly Jake remembered Dillenger. Remembered leaving Dillenger at the station just before the tornado hit. Remembered sending him into the service bays for protection. Alone. Without thinking, he flashed his gaze to the cubbyhole where he'd stashed the distinctive red and black-handled boot knife he'd come across in his basement last week. A memento from his adolescence. When he'd found it, he'd smiled wryly, thinking how little he'd known about knife-fighting then. He wasn't sure why he'd brought it to Feeney's. Especially since he wasn't allowed to carry weapons.
His insides cramped as he realized it was gone.
Sutter's low voice held ugly speculation. “I'm thinking you might know a little something about who did it."
Jake looked back at Sutter, who fixed him with a hard, knowing stare. His blood ran cold as Jake pictured Avery Dillenger recognizing the knife as Jake's, smiling smugly, picking it up, then getting down on his knees in his thousand dollar Italian suit.
And cutting the sheriff's brake lines.
Christ.
No one would believe him. Least of all Robert Sutter.
Jake forced himself to meet Sutter's hard stare wi
th one of his own. No way was he taking the rap for this one. “Sorry, Sheriff. I can't help you."
Sutter's eyes narrowed to black pinpoints of fury. Stepping up to Jake, he warned, “I'm going to be watching you, Donovan. Every move you make. One wrong step and I'm gonna be on your ass like a tick on a dog. I don't care what kind of hero the paper is making you out to be. When I find the knife that cut my cables and your prints just happen to be on it, you're going down for good. I damn well guarantee it."
With that, he pivoted on his heel and left, leaving Jake more stunned and shaken than he'd felt in years. And that made him angry. Swearing almost non-stop, Jake spent a good fifteen minutes searching the workbench from top to bottom for his knife. He didn't find it—but he did find a half empty bottle of Dr. Pepper on the floor beneath it.
Damn it all to hell. He should have seen that one coming a mile away. Should have known there was a reason Dillenger kept coming around the station. From what Jake had heard about his power-hungry cousin since his return, there wasn't anything Avery Dillenger did without having a plan.
And most times that plan wasn't revealed until it was too late.
Jake didn't have time to keep looking for the knife as people started pouring into the station. By noon, he was feeling like he'd entered an alternate reality. Women were bringing him food, and men were treating him with a new, if grudging, respect.
Even his grandmother stopped by. She didn't speak to him. She never did. But Jake could feel her cool blue eyes watching him from the back seat of her tinted-window Bentley. The same Bentley she'd rode off in with old man Dillenger the night of Jake's mother's funeral.
No, Jake wasn't likely to forget that car.
To top it off, several of the parents—and grandparents—of the children he and Rebecca had rescued stopped by to thank him, including the mayor, while photographers snapped their picture and a handful of reporters tried to interview them. Refusing to have anyone intrude on his life any more than they already had, Jake left the interviews to the mayor and retreated to the service bays for the rest of the afternoon. With the same respect he'd shown for Jake as a teen, Feeney left him alone, and went about handling the gas customers with his usual flair for service with a smile.
Jake's Return Page 12
