“This is the kitchen,” Timmy announced, dragging her to the middle of the room, where sun danced through the windows, gleaming off the well-worn, wood plank floor.
She laughed. “Yes, I can see that. And this is where the cooking is done, I presume?” She tried not to be intimidated by the thought of actually cooking something these adorable kids would eat.
Instead, Rebecca continued her quick visual inventory. In the middle of the room sat a long oak dining table, with well-worn oak chairs tucked in all the way around. In the center of the table was a vase of fresh flowers. At each window were plaid curtains in the same shade of peach and green as the rest of the kitchen.
Rebecca felt her heart catch in her throat. There was a distinctive feel to this room—a warm, welcoming family feeling. There was caring and love here. This room that was, without a doubt, part of a home.
She had to take a deep breath to stop the ache that quickly started between her breasts and began spreading to her fragile heart, surprising her. A swell of longing rose, so strong it nearly weakened her knees.
This was the kind of home where children were raised and loved and cared for, a home that was a welcoming haven.
A home like she’d never had.
Her eyes closed for a brief moment.
Because of the Ryans.
The tears came quickly, hot and strong, catching her off guard, and Rebecca had to blink hard to stop them from spilling over.
“You okay, Miss St. John?” Timmy was staring up at her with a curious look on his face.
Swallowing hard, Rebecca cleared her throat and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m f-fine,” she stammered. “Just fine.” She widened her smile a notch as she looked into Timmy’s glorious, innocent eyes. “Now, why don’t you show me where the pots and pans are?”
The boys dropped her hands like hot potatoes and raced across the kitchen, skidding the last bit on their knees, coming to a halt in front of a row of low cabinets.
“In here, in here.” They opened several cabinets and began dragging pots and pans out, scattering them helter-skelter across the floor.
“I’ll get the macaroni and cheese.” Terry grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and dragged it over to a higher cabinet. Before she could blink, he’d scrambled on top of the chair, nearly toppling it, along with her heart.
“Terry!” Her voice came out a terrified croak as she started across the room, only to be intercepted by Jake, who came around the corner as if he had radar and scooped the boy up in his arms.
“No standing on chairs, sport. You know better.” As he looked at Rebecca, an unusual glint in his eye, Jake slung the boy over his shoulder, making him giggle.
“Boys.” He set Terry down on the floor, then crouched down again so he was eye level with the little munchkins. “Why don’t you two go wash your hands and take Ruth for a quick walk while we make lunch?”
Something about the tone of Jake’s voice made a shiver climb over Rebecca, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she watched him. Something had obviously changed in the few minutes he’d been gone. Exactly what she wasn’t certain. But she was a student of human behavior. She had to be in her job, and she knew something had changed.
“Macaroni and cheese, right? And hot dogs?” Timmy looked at his uncle expectantly, then shifted his hopeful gaze to Rebecca. “Right?”
“Right.” Jake swatted Timmy affectionately on the behind. “Go on now, go get washed up and take Ruth out. We’ll call you when lunch is ready. Extra scoops of ice cream if I don’t find any streaks of dirt on your hands when I inspect them.”
Apparently appeased, the boys grinned at each other. “Extra scoops of ice cream! All right.” The boys high-fived each other again. “Let’s go.” Timmy reached for the dog’s collar. “Come on, Ruth.” They trooped out of the kitchen and down another long hallway, with the dog slipping and sliding and barking between them.
Jake turned to face Rebecca. “So.” He picked up a grape from a bowl of fruit on the counter and popped it into his mouth, letting his gaze trail lazily over her before bringing those laser-bright blue eyes back to hers. “Rebecca St. John, is it?”
Not certain what was wrong, but feeling an odd sense of discomfort, she nodded.
“So, Miss St. John.” He plucked another grape and looked at it carefully before popping it into his mouth, as he moved closer. “Since you’re apparently not the nanny I thought you were, would you mind telling me exactly who the hell you really are?”
Chapter Two
“Nanny?” Rebecca’s stomach pitched, her nerves hummed. He thought she was a nanny? She would have laughed if it hadn’t been so absurd.
He hadn’t a clue who she really was, she thought, worrying her lower lip. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or alarmed.
Taking a deep breath, Rebecca paused, then pushed her hair off her face, trying not to reveal her sudden nervousness at his words and his closeness.
“Why on earth would you think I was a nanny?” she asked with a shake of her head, watching as he moved closer. Instinctively, she took a step back. The closer he came, the smaller the room became.
He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. “A strange woman shows up while I’m waiting for the boys’ new nanny—”
“So you just assumed I was that nanny?” she asked with an elegant lift of her brow. “If you recall, I told you who I was and offered to tell you why I was here,” she reminded him with what he could only assume was amusement.
Jake scowled. He didn’t care for that haughty tone of voice, as if she was a princess and he was some hapless servant.
Nor did he care to be the source of her amusement.
Mildly irritated, he studied her, felt a quick, hard punch of desire and decided to ignore it. He’d learned his lesson with damsels in distress years ago. And from the haunted look in this one’s eyes, she was clearly distressed about something.
Not his problem, he reminded himself, watching her carefully. But judging from the ease with which she’d dragged out that icy, imperialistic persona, he figured she’d had a lot of practice using it.
He decided he’d better tread carefully. He needed to find out who she was and what she really wanted. Pronto.
“True,” he admitted. “You offered to tell me who you were, but I didn’t think it was necessary—”
“Because you just assumed I was the nanny?” Cocking her head, she met his gaze. “So then I can only…assume that you’re looking at me as if I’ve somehow tricked you, or lied to you, because you made an error in judgment? Is that correct?”
“I was wrong.” It annoyed him no end having to admit it, knowing it amused her. “So why don’t you enlighten me? Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” He was close enough now to get a hint of her perfume. It was something sweet and seductive, reminding him of tangled sheets and hot, satisfying sex.
“There’s no need to swear or be rude.” Her eyes cooled and that dainty, elegant chin of hers lifted as she glared down her pert little nose at him. Under other circumstances, he probably would have thought it adorable. “And I already told you who I was— Rebecca—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said impatiently, waving away her words. “We already did the introductions, remember?” She was stalling and he didn’t like it. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What do you want, Rebecca St. John? And what are you doing here?”
“Edmund Barker sent me.”
Her answer took him by surprise and he frowned. “Why would one of my grandfather’s old poker buddies send you here?” He let his gaze traipse up and down that long, lush, lovely body. If she was joining his grandfather’s poker game, perhaps Jake should reconsider and take up cards. It might be worth it. He cocked his head and tried not to grin. “You a card player?”
“No.” Shaking her head, Rebecca swallowed hard. The moment of truth had arrived. Tension coiled through her body, churning her stomach, weakening her knees, but strengthening her resolve.<
br />
The truth would set her free.
“I work for Mr. Barker.” She hesitated, forcing herself to hold Jake’s gaze. “I’m a reporter.”
An icy chill washed over him. His hands were suddenly unsteady, and he slipped them into his pockets again, fearing he’d do something he’d regret if he didn’t.
“Mr. Ryan?” She stared at him; he’d gone still as a statue. “Jake?”
She was absolutely certain she’d never seen anyone move so fast. He closed the distance between them in two efficient steps, then took her arm gently, but firmly, steering her bodily toward the kitchen doorway.
“Wait a minute,” she protested, trying to shake free of him. It was like trying to shake a summer cold: impossible. “Let me explain.” Despite the coolness of her voice, her heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
“Nothing to explain,” Jake said, struggling to hold on to her and his annoyance. He hated letting a woman make a fool of him. It really ruined his day.
He had to give her points for nerve, though. Not many reporters would dare intrude on the Ryan family. They knew better.
“Will you just listen to me!” Her strappy high heels might be pretty, but they weren’t very sturdy, nor were they capable of getting any traction on the slippery marble floor.
“Nope.” Ignoring her, Jake continued to haul her across the foyer, wanting only to get her out of the house before the twins surfaced again. He didn’t want any nosy reporters anywhere near the boys. It was far too dangerous; he’d never expose his nephews to anything that could jeopardize their safety or security, and a reporter was real high on that list. “You’ve said everything I will ever need or want to hear.” He decided to ignore the flash of heat that had streaked through him the moment he’d put his hand on her. She was a gorgeous, desirable woman, and he was a normal, healthy man. He wasn’t going to give it any more thought than that. With luck, she’d be out of his life, and his line of vision, in a few moments, so he figured he was safe.
“But I haven’t said anything yet,” she insisted, exasperated and trying to stop his forward movement, with little success.
“Tough.”
The Ryans were known far and wide for their privacy and protective instincts when it came to family. No family could go through what they had twenty years ago and not close ranks against strangers.
And none of the Ryans were as fiercely private or protective as Jake was.
A reporter.
Jake cursed himself. How could he have been so foolish? He glanced at her. He should have known that cool, classy demeanor wasn’t befitting a nanny.
A reporter.
The word echoed in his mind like a mantra. Reporters were the nosiest, lowest form of life on the planet, as far as he was concerned. He should have known something was amiss, should have paid more attention to his inner warning system. It had never failed him yet, especially where a beautiful woman was concerned.
Furious with himself, Jake realized he’d allowed her access to the family—worse, to the boys, exposing them, possibly jeopardizing their safety and their privacy. He swore again.
It was an unforgivable lapse.
As the oldest of the Ryan boys, he had always been the self-appointed protector of the clan, and he took his responsibilities and obligations seriously.
Once, and only once, he’d forgotten his responsibility, and his baby brother, Jesse, had paid the price.
And a high price it had been.
Jake had never forgiven himself, never been able to forget that because of him, his little brother had disappeared, had suffered an unknown fate, the horrendous possibilities of which still haunted Jake’s dreams almost every night.
It was his fault.
He could never forget, or forgive himself.
Guilt and grief had eaten away at him for almost twenty years. He’d spent many long, lonely hours going over and over the events of the night Jesse disappeared—wishing he could change things, wishing he’d done things differently, wishing that night, that awful, awful night, had never happened.
But all the wishing in the world couldn’t change reality. Perhaps he couldn’t change the past, but he sure as hell could protect his family’s future. And that meant never again forgetting his obligations or responsibilities.
He glanced at Rebecca, felt a renewed sense of anger and quickened his step, anxious to get her out of his house and his life.
“Will you let go of me?” Struggling to keep up with him, Rebecca tried to get him to slow down, but he continued to haul her along.
“Not until you’re out of my house and off my property.” Holding on to her with one hand, Jake yanked the front door open with enough force to have it bouncing back on its hinges. “Now get out.” His face had darkened like a sudden spring storm and his body was stiff with anger.
Stunned by his reaction, Rebecca could merely stare at him. She’d always had a plan, a flexible plan depending on what she encountered. As an investigative reporter, she’d been in more dicey situations than she could remember, but she always had her professionalism to fall back on. It was like a cloak of protection—no emotions, nothing to cloud the clarity of an issue, a situation.
But now she was off balance because her emotions were involved, and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation simply because it was so foreign to her.
Taking a step closer to her, Jake narrowed his gaze when she made no move to leave. “Miss St. John,” he said with what he considered reasonable restraint. “I’ll assume you’re intelligent enough to find your way back to your car by yourself.” His eyes flashed like the flames of hell. “If not, I’ll be happy to show you the way.”
“Take your hands off of me!” Rebecca yanked free of him, nearly knocking herself off balance in her three-inch heels. Absently, she rubbed her arm where he’d touched her. He hadn’t hurt her; on the contrary, he’d been surprisingly gentle with those large, masculine hands of his. But what his touch had done was start a riot in her body, a reaction that had yet to settle.
“How dare you manhandle me!” Insulted, and more flustered by his touch than she dared let on, she stepped closer to him, bumping the toes of his cowboy boots with the toes of her high-heeled sandals. “I am not some misbehaved household pet to be hauled around and then tossed out.” Rebecca gave her head an arrogant toss, letting her voice rise in the quiet foyer. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Who the hell do I think I am?” he roared, stunned by her sheer audacity. “I know exactly who I am, lady.” His voice bounced off the foyer walls, shaking her confidence. “And may I remind you this is my home. I belong here. You’re the intruder, not me.” Deliberately, he bumped her toes right back, wanting to shake up that icy coolness.
“I am not an intruder,” Rebecca insisted, refusing to back down from him. “And stop looking at me like I just slithered out from under a rock.” Absently, she rubbed her arm again, wondering why his touch had caused such an unusual response in her. It had caused an ache of almost…yearning inside.
Another foreign feeling, something she’d never encountered before. Because of her past, she’d lived in a deliberately self-imposed exile, never letting anyone near, never trusting anyone enough to let them get close. Especially men. So it was only natural for her to be flustered by this man’s touch.
Other men had touched her, of course, in a nonsexual way, but something about this man’s touch was purely, blatantly sexual.
And it totally unnerved her.
But she didn’t have time to try to figure out why right now. She’d dissect and analyze all of these foreign feelings later, when she was calm and alone and able to see things with a clearer eye.
She continued to glare at him, anger coloring her words. “You’re the one who made ridiculous assumptions. If you would just let me explain—”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” He crossed his arms across his formidable chest. “Now, you’ve got exactly five seconds to get your butt o
ff my property before I bounce you out on it.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” From the look that crossed his face, he would indeed dare, she realized. Rebecca shivered at the cold fury radiating from him. She’d gotten this far, managed a reasonable cover story to get Edmund Barker to hire her. Now she had to find a way around the rather formidable and cantankerous Jake Ryan.
If she was forced to leave now, she might not get another chance to return, to learn the truth. And she wasn’t about to let that happen. She had way too much at stake.
She glared at him. “You not only invited me in, Mr. Ryan,” she said coldly, “but may I remind you you also invited me to lunch!” He’d also asked her to make lunch, but that minor detail didn’t seem important at the moment.
“Yeah, well, consider that invitation rescinded.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. “It came before I knew you were a reporter, the lowest form of life known to man.” He felt a momentary stab of guilt when she paled even further. She looked as if someone had whitewashed her face, leaving only the deep blue of those huge, gorgeous eyes to haunt him. He wasn’t going to let that sad, haunting gaze get to him, he decided firmly. He simply wasn’t.
Annoyed at himself as well as with her, he felt emotions he’d held in far too long bubble over. Losing the tight grip he always kept on his control, Jake stepped even closer. He knew he was crowding her, probably scaring her as well, judging by the look in her eyes, but he didn’t care. Her presence, her occupation, who she was, not to mention his own strong physical reaction to her, seemed to unleash something powerful inside of him: guilt. A reminder of what he’d lost, what they’d all lost. And anger—an anger he’d been too young and frightened to express or deal with at the time, so he’d buried it deep inside of him. It threatened to come spewing out now, raining down all over her. And him.
After Jesse’s disappearance, the press had come out like vultures, hovering around, following every Ryan, asking question after question, pointing fingers, assessing blame.
With Family In Mind (Saddle Falls Book 1) Page 3
