The Road Not Taken
The Road Not Taken
Jackie Braun
Breaking down Manipulative and cold as ice, Caro’s ex might be an utter jerk, but she’s got to go back to him to keep custody of her young son. Her journey through a blizzard makes the hard decision harder – and one almighty skid later she’s got a whole new sub-zero problem… Until a mysterious stranger appears out of the mist on horseback! Breaking free? Trapped with him in the ongoing storm, Caro discovers her rescuer is an ex-cop – the grouchy-yet- gorgeous Jake McCabe.Shocked by their intense attraction, Caro will soon face the most difficult choice of all: in Jake she may have found the hero she’s been looking for (and, by God, deserves! ), but to claim him she risks losing her little boy…
Praise for Jackie Braun
‘A great storyline, interesting characters and a
fast pace help immerse readers in this tender tale.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Inconveniently Wed!
‘Quite humorous at times,
with beautifully written characters, this is a terrific read.’
—RT Book Reviews on
A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh
‘Solidly plotted with an edgy,
slightly abrasive heroine and an equally unforgettable
hero, this story is a great read. Don’t miss it.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Confidential: Expecting!
‘… reading her books [is] a delightful experience that
carries you from laughter to tears and back again.’
—Pink Heart Society on
Boardroom Baby Surprise
About the Author
JACKIE BRAUN is a three-time RITA
Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist, and the winner of the Rising Star Award for traditional romantic fiction. She makes her home in Michigan, with her husband and their two sons.
Readers can find out more about her by visiting her website, www.jackiebraun.com
‘I thought I understood the depth of love when I married my husband. I realised I’d only scratched the surface when our children came along. They changed everything from how I saw myself to how I saw my husband. In addition to being a wonderful man and the love of my life, he’s an exceptional father.’ —Jackie Braun
Also by Jackie Braun
Inconveniently Wed!
A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh
Confidential: Expecting!
Boardroom Baby Surprise
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Road Not Taken
Jackie Braun
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my good friend Richard Noble.
What would a book signing be without you?
PROLOGUE
JAKE MCCABE CURLED HIS HAND into a fist. Pain and useless rage had him wanting to use it. On a wall or whatever else might be handy. Bloody and bruised knuckles would be a small price to pay if they brought him even a small measure of relief.
Instead, he relaxed his grip enough to pick up a pen and open the journal. It had only one entry, written a couple of months earlier when the department shrink first recommended keeping a diary as an outlet for his thoughts and emotions.
“This is crap,” it read. “I don’t see how writing things down will make a bit of difference.”
Now, however, with a new wound festering, he penned the words he couldn’t bear to voice. He didn’t find peace in doing so, for that was impossible. But it turned out the shrink was right about his need for an outlet. The words flowed in a bitter torrent. One paragraph, then two, scratched in his slashing penmanship.
Afterward, Jake lowered his head and wept. Tears smeared the ink, turning the first sentence illegible. It didn’t matter. He would remember the words long after the raging storm of his emotions quieted.
“Miranda killed our baby today.”
CHAPTER ONE
THE CAR HIT THE SNOWBANK with enough force that the air bag deployed. But at least it had stopped after what seemed like an eternity of swerving and fishtailing on the maple-tree-lined two-lane highway.
Caroline Franklin Wendell peeled her fingers from the steering wheel and ran one shaking hand over her face. It wasn’t her life that had flashed before her eyes during those seemingly endless moments of terror. It had been her son’s. She’d nearly failed Cabot by dying and leaving it to his father and grandmother to raise him. That thought had her shivering.
Caro gazed out the windshield. The front end of the subcompact was buried to mid-hood in a snowdrift. But she knew her life had gone off track long before she’d hit that patch of ice. It had been skidding out of control ever since she’d foolishly married Truman four years earlier. She’d just refused to believe it. She’d refused to believe that the mistake she’d made couldn’t be fixed.
Even that morning, heading back to him in defeat, she’d held out hope that she would find a way out of this nightmare. Not for her sake, but for Cabot’s. Her son was the only good thing to come from her marriage to the heir of one of New England’s most affluent and powerful families.
Now, with her heart hammering and her limbs still shaking, she laid her forehead against the faux-leather steering wheel and finally accepted the truth. Truman was right. There was no way out.
I’m doing this for your own good. You need me, Caroline.
Caro wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, only that the last of the heat had leaked from the inside of the car. She could see her breath each time she exhaled and, even through her cashmere-lined leather gloves, her fingertips pinched and prickled from the cold. She fished her cell phone from her purse. Eventually, she would have to call her husband to report her delay and, if need be, beg him for more time. She wasn’t above begging when it came to her son. First, she needed a wrecker for her car and someplace warm for her to wait for repairs.
She flipped open her phone and stared for a moment at the photo of her son on the display. He was smiling, happy and free of cares, just as every toddler should be. She ran the tip of her index finger over his cherubic face and then frowned as she realized that her phone had no service.
After forcing open the car door and stepping into the knee-deep snow, she raised the cell high in the air and turned in a semicircle.
Still nothing.
She stuffed the phone into the pocket of her parka and cursed. The mild oath floated away on a puff of white air.
She could wait for help, she supposed. Although it was doubtful another driver would be foolish enough to be out in these conditions. Only desperation had forced her to be. She glanced down the road in the direction she’d come. She’d passed a gas station when she’d unwisely decided to leave the interstate, as road conditions there had worsened. That was three miles back or maybe four. She was wearing boots, but the supple leather and three-inch heels weren’t meant for this kind of weather, much less a rigorous hike in it.
She gazed in the opposite direction. What lay ahead on the road she’d been traveling?
Her luck it would be miles of nothing but more maple trees and snowdrifts. She’d survived the accident but, quite literally, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Tears stung her eyes and her breathing grew labored as panic kicked into high gear. What was she going to do? She had a deadline to meet.
Caro thought she heard bells, a rhythmic jangling from off in the distance. She dismissed the sound as the product of the wind and her own imagination. A moment later, though, a man on horseback appeared at the bend in the road. The rim of his hat was covered in snow, as were the broad shoulders stuffed inside a tan shearling coat. He looked like something out of a dream. A fantasy, she amended, as he drew closer and his ruggedly handsome features came into focus: deep-set eyes of an indiscernible color, angular cheekbones and a shadow of a beard on the lower half of his face.
Caroline’s heart knocked out an extra beat at the same time her knees gave way, and she sank into the snow.
Clearly, she had died.
Jake wiped a gloved hand over his eyes after he spotted the woman. She was a vision. Had to be. No one in her right mind would be out in this godforsaken weather. The only reason he was out was to work off the worst of his temper. And he’d had the good sense to tramp about on horseback. The big animal knew her way back to home and shelter even better than he did.
When he saw the woman collapse, he was out of the saddle before his horse came to a stop, trudging the half-dozen steps through a knee-deep drift to reach her. He crouched beside her, resisting the urge to scoop her up in his arms.
Protect and serve.
A lifetime ago, those words had been part of his daily mantra. No longer.
“Lady, hey, lady!” His words sawed gruffly through the wind. “Are you okay?”
She gazed at him with glazed eyes and a look of terror and revulsion. He wasn’t insulted. He’d had that effect on people before.
But then she did something that shocked him to his core. She raised one shaky hand to the side of his face and asked, “Are you an angel?”
The question took him by surprise. Jake had been called a lot of things during the past year. Angel wasn’t among them.
“Not even close.”
“I thought …”
“Are you hurt?”
She blinked, frowned. “I guess not.”
“You’re sure you didn’t hit your head or anything?” He glanced past her into the car and noted the deflated air bag. It had saved her from greater impact, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t sustained injury.
“I’m okay,” she insisted. As if to prove the point, she struggled to her feet.
Jake rose with her. The woman was taller than he’d first thought she would be, given her otherwise delicate appearance. Not delicate, he decided. Fragile. There was a difference.
The top of her head came even with the bridge of his twice-busted nose. He couldn’t see her feet through the snow, but he’d bet she was wearing heels, something high and impractical to go along with the rest of her fashionable, if nonfunctional, wardrobe. It was a good thing he’d come along. She wouldn’t have lasted another hour out here on her own.
People need you, Jake.
“My car is another matter,” she was saying. “I’m not sure the extent of the damage, but it will need to be towed to a garage for a look.”
People are counting on you, Jake.
He banished the words as he surveyed the small vehicle. It probably got great gas mileage, but that was about all it had to recommend it. His tone was more gruff than he intended when he said, “You call that a car? It looks more like a toy.”
The woman laughed, but the sound verged on hysteria rather than mirth. Make that half an hour that she would have survived without his intervention.
“Yes, well, do you know if there is a garage nearby? And a working phone? My cell isn’t getting a signal out here. I need to call for a wrecker.”
“You can call from the inn.”
“Inn?” She sighed and her expression turned hopeful. “There’s an inn nearby?”
He nodded. “It’s about a half mile up the road.”
“Do you know if it has a vacancy?” She grabbed his arm. “Please tell me yes.”
Jake swallowed and for just a moment found himself lost in a pair of wide hazel eyes. “I’m sure there’s something available.”
In truth, the inn was a broken-down husk of its former self, much like the man who’d purchased it a while back. It was closed to the public, but he did have guests this Easter weekend. He was, begrudgingly, entertaining his entire family, a fact that explained why he could be found out in a snowstorm at the moment.
His parents, brother, sister-in-law and their kids had arrived unannounced the day before. Already he and his younger sibling were at odds. He’d left to avoid saying something he was bound to regret. Well, regret more than what had already passed through his lips.
“Thank God,” the woman was saying. “I … I don’t suppose you could take me there?” Her gaze cut to his horse. Despite the nasty conditions, Bess stood patiently a few feet away. The Clydesdale normally pulled the inn’s sleigh and she’d been thrown in with the sale. As angry as Jake had been when he stomped out of the inn, he’d had the presence of mind to take the big animal rather than stalk off on his own.
“Be happy to.”
He didn’t sound happy, a fact that wasn’t lost on her if her expression was any indication.
“You said it’s only half a mile. I … I can walk.” She took an awkward step forward in the snow.
“Right.” He snorted and motioned with one gloved hand. “In those impractical clothes? Hell, lady, you’d be lucky if you didn’t freeze to death before you made it ten yards.”
She whirled back to face him. Those hazel eyes snapped with heat now, and the color in her cheeks wasn’t all the result of the bitter wind. “I’m not helpless! I refuse to be helpless!”
The shouted words echoed off the maple trees, sending some snow down from their branches. Not helpless maybe, Jake thought. But she was desperate. He’d seen that look in the faces of people whose loved ones were caught up in the drug trade. In their cases, he knew exactly what had put it there. But what did a woman who looked like a walking advertisement for the life of the idle rich have to make her desperate?
He dismissed the question, squelched the old urge to offer to help. Not my problem. Jake was officially out of the hero business … not that he’d had much choice in the matter.
Even so, he heard himself saying, “Come on. I’ll give you a boost into the saddle.”
The woman eyed the big animal. This time it was fear rather than pride he heard when she said, “I really don’t mind walking.”
“Yeah, well, I do. It will take twice as long. At least.” This time he tempered his tone. “Don’t worry about Bess here. She’s a gentle giant.”
The woman pointed back toward her car. “What about my bag?”
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. “How big is it?”
“I don’t need the luggage that’s in the backseat if that’s what has you worried. But I’d appreciate the toiletries bag that’s on the floor on the front passenger side.”
He glanced through the window and grimaced. It was small enough to fit the definition of a carry-on at the airport, but since this short trip was going to be precarious enough without adding baggage, he said, “I’ll have to come back for it.”
He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. Instead, she trudged through the snow to the horse. Over the howl of the wind, Jake thought he heard her chant, “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”
He helped her into the saddle before swinging up behind her. Bess shifted, unaccustomed to accommodating one rider on her back, much less two. He knew how she felt. He wasn’t accustomed to riding alone, much less with a beautiful stranger all but seated on his lap.
“Steady now, girl. It’s all right,” he said, reaching around the woman to give the mare’s thick neck a reassuring pat. “Just give us a chance to get settled.”
The woman turned toward him. “I just realized that I know your horse’s name, but not yours.”
“It’s Jake. Jake McCabe.” He braced for her reaction. For a while his name had been synonymous with Satan, at least back in his hometown of Buffalo. But her expression never changed.
“I’m Caroline … Franklin.” Her tone sounded oddly defiant when she added, “My friends call me Caro.”
“Well, Caro, are you ready?”
She nodded and they set off.
It took longer than he’d expected to get to the inn and not only because he went a little slower than he would have if he’d been in the saddle alone. The conditions definitely had worsened. The wind had nearly erased the horse’s earlier tracks.
He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the inn, dilapidated as it had become. The place had a soothing effect on him, nestled as it was in a stand of towering trees and out of view of the main road. The wide porch was covered with several inches of snow, even though he’d shoveled it off not long before leaving. In the summer, he envisioned it dotted with the rocking chairs he’d been making in his workshop.
He’d always enjoyed woodworking, and he was pretty good at it thanks to his father’s patient tutelage while he was growing up. Where some cops turned to alcohol to unwind after a bad day, Jake had turned to his band saw, sander and other tools of the trade.
He credited them with saving his sanity last year while he’d awaited the outcome of the internal affairs investigation that had followed the fatal shootings of a woman and her child. They’d been killed during a raid on a house where a major drug dealer was believed to be hiding. Jake hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d been the one in command.
His team had gone to the wrong address.
Before the investigation was complete he’d crafted two chairs. He’d taken more care with his design and workmanship than ever before, determined not to overlook any detail. He didn’t need the department’s shrink to tell him it was about regaining control. In the end, he was satisfied with the chairs, but left reeling by the department’s findings.
They claimed he’d been given the correct address, but had misread it. No way, was his first reaction. He’d done no such thing. But certain paperwork went missing and, haunted as he was by the tragic deaths, he could no longer be sure. After the inquiry, an official reprimand went into his permanent file, but he was allowed back to work. No other action was to be taken, but then things took an even uglier turn.
The rookie cop who’d fired the shots committed suicide, unable to handle having the blood of two innocent people on his hands. In the court of public opinion, Jake was responsible for that, as well.
In Buffalo, where he’d worked as a police officer for nearly a dozen years after graduating from college with a degree in criminal justice, he’d become a pariah. Oh, some folks rallied around him, both in public and on the force. And the union had vowed to fight the investigation’s outcome. But when the captain came to Jake and quietly offered a severance package, he’d accepted it. In truth, he’d already planned to walk away.
He hadn’t seen the point in fighting. A woman was dead. Her baby killed along with her. A rookie dead. Even if Jake hadn’t screwed up the address, it had happened on his watch. And then there was Miranda …
So he’d packed up and gone, not only from the force but also from Buffalo.
Six months ago, he’d stumbled across the inn. His family had gone there a lot when he was a boy, both in summer and winter. It was located in the shadow of Camel’s Hump in Vermont’s Green Mountains. He’d loved the place back then and he’d been hoping it would hold the same magic for him as an adult. But it wasn’t open for business, and a for-sale sign had been stuck out front. One look at the inn’s sorry state and Jake’s heart had sunk, but that hadn’t stopped him from buying it.
The local people were the same as he remembered them being: polite, if a little standoffish to outsiders. That was fine by him. He wasn’t there to make friends. He just wanted peace. He wasn’t, as his brother claimed, running away from his problems and hiding out.
“Is this … is this it?”
It took Jake a moment to realize that the horse had bypassed the inn and stopped at the door to the small outbuilding that housed her stall.
“I guess Bess is ready to get out of the storm, too.”
“She lives here?” Caro turned in the saddle then so she could see his face. “You live here?”
“I do. I own it.”
Her brows shot up, and no wonder. Not only was he not the friendly owner one would expect of such a small establishment, he knew the place didn’t look habitable with its peeling paint, loose boards and overgrown shrubbery.
“It’s not open for business right now. But it’s warm and dry. I’ll see that you’re settled inside before I go back for your bag.” He spoke to the horse then. “Sorry, girl, but your day’s not through.”
It was snowing harder now. The flakes so big it was as if the heavens were engaged in a snowball fight. He hopped out of the saddle and reached for Caro. Even through the bulk of her clothing, he could tell her waist was small and she barely weighed what a child would. She was probably on some silly diet, eating only fruit or drinking special shakes. Women, he thought on a sigh. He’d never figure them out, not that he’d had much practice trying lately.
When they reached the relative safety of the back porch, Caro smiled at him. Surely his dry spell was what accounted for the kick of interest he experienced. Her expression wasn’t born of anything more than politeness, yet he found it sexy and a little too inviting.
It didn’t hurt that she was saying, “Don’t go.”
“Don’t go?” he repeated absently as he took in her flushed cheeks.
“Nothing in that bag is important. The weather …” She swept a hand through the air. “You’ve done enough already. I’d feel horrible if something happened to you on my account.”
Jake blinked at her. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone—a woman—worry about him.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and bits of melting snow shook loose from her damp hair. He reached out to free some more and she shivered. Her gaze slid to the side, giving him the impression her reaction wasn’t completely due to the cold. Interest, as unwelcome as the late-winter storm, stirred a second time. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he recalled perfectly what he was missing.
The door swung open behind them before he could do anything he’d have to apologize for. He was grateful until he realized it was his mother standing there. Her hands were planted on her hips and the look on her face would have left a drill sergeant shaking in his boots.
“Jacob Robert McCabe, don’t you ev—” Doreen McCabe halted her diatribe midword as soon as she spied Caroline. Blinking in surprise, she switched gears and tones. “Oh, hello. I’m Doreen. Jake’s mother.”
“This is Caroline Franklin,” he said.
“Caro.”
“Right. Caro.”
Doreen nodded, splitting her gaze between the pair of them. “I didn’t realize Jake was expecting company.”
“I wasn’t,” he said at the same time Caro replied, “I’m not.”
“Company, that is.” Her laughter was tight.
If his mother found the situation confusing, she didn’t let it show. Using the same tone that had kept him toeing the line for the first eighteen years of his life, she shouted, “Good heavens, son! Have you no manners at all? Bring that poor girl inside before she catches her death of cold. She needs to get out of those wet clothes.”
Jake swallowed hard, because for one foolish moment, he’d been thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER TWO
CARO STEPPED INTO the vestibule through the door Doreen held open and all but sighed when the warm air greeted her. But what caught her attention were voices. There were several of them, including the high-pitched squeal of children. She sent a quizzical glance in Jake’s direction, before bending down to unzip her boots. Numb fingers made her progress slow.
“I thought you said the inn wasn’t open for business,” she murmured.
“It’s not.” Jake had already removed his hat. Now, he shucked off his coat.
He didn’t sound happy.
“Oh, those aren’t guests. They’re the rest of our family,” Doreen informed Caro as she took her son’s coat. With a meaningful glance at Jake, the woman added, “And because we’re family, we invite ourselves if need be.”
“Mom …”
“Just saying.” She took Caro’s parka, as well, hanging them both on pegs to dry. “I’ll grab some towels for the two of you. Go into the main living area and sit by the fire to warm up while I’m gone.”
Caro nearly smiled. Jake didn’t seem the sort of man to take orders, but this was his mother. Sure enough, he led her to a room at the front of the inn, where a fire blazed in the hearth. An older man was seated in an overstuffed chair next to it. He was reading a book and smoking a pipe. A couple of children, neither of whom was much older than her Cabot, played at the older man’s feet. On the couch across from them, a young couple snuggled together under a thick knitted throw.
Family.
An ache welled inside Caro, both for what she’d lost and for what should have been. Her parents had been gone five years, the victims of a car accident. She’d been the one to positively identify their bodies, yet she still sometimes found herself reaching for the telephone to call them.
If she were looking for an excuse as to why she’d married Truman, that would be it. She’d been so lonely, so very lost after their deaths. And he’d been understanding and supportive. He’d taken charge, helped her make decisions when she was too griefstricken to do so. It wasn’t until later she’d realized how controlling he could be.
She forced herself back to the matter at hand. She was relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the night alone in the ramshackle inn with its brooding owner, but now she felt like an intruder. Quite obviously, this was a family gathering and she was an outsider. It didn’t help that all eyes were on her when she and Jake stepped into the room. The older man glanced up from his book, the children stopped playing and the couple on the couch shifted to sitting positions.
One of the children was the first to break the silence.
“Uncle Jake’s back! Uncle Jake’s back!” squealed the little girl. She hopped up and shot across the floor to wrap one of his legs in an embrace.
Not to be outdone, the little boy followed suit. He didn’t just hug Jake’s leg, he tried to scale it. Caro smiled. It was just the sort of thing Cabot would do. Jake’s reaction, however, was the polar opposite of what Truman’s would have been. Instead of being befuddled by the boy’s exuberance and a little embarrassed by the affectionate display, Jake scooped him up in his arms.
“Hey, munchkin.”
Caro’s heart did a strange thunk-thunk, which she attributed to wishing for what already should have been the case for her son: a father who not only enjoyed his silly antics but would take part in them. It had nothing to do with Jake, even if at the moment he seemed nothing like the brooding man who not so long ago had begrudgingly offered her shelter from the storm.
His smile was real, smoky blue eyes alight with teasing humor. He was all the more handsome for it.
Thunk, thunk!
This time Caro outright ignored the sensation.
“Daddy said you were going to freeze your fool head off out in the snow.”
Leave it to a child to rat out an adult. But she wisely hid her smile. And good thing, too, since right after Jake asked in an amused voice, “Did he now?” he shot a dark look in the direction of the couch, where the man in question sat, hands on his knees and ready to rise.
Brothers, she decided, and felt another bubble of envy swell. Caro was an only child.
The little boy grinned and nodded vigorously. “Yep. But Grandpa said that a little time alone would do you good.” Now he frowned. “Did it?”
Half of Jake’s mouth rose. “For the most part.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back, Uncle Jake,” the little girl enthused. “Mommy and Grandma were getting worried that something had happened.”
“What about you?” Jake asked.
“A little. But you’re in-in …” She scrunched up her pretty little face and glanced toward the couch. “What’s that word from the superhero movie we watched last week, Daddy?”
“Invincible,” the man supplied. His lips twisted on the word.
The child repeated it with an adorable lisp while Jake’s expression turned rueful.
His gaze was on his brother when he said, “I’m no hero, super or otherwise.”
He set both of the kids down, even as the couple on the couch and the older man in the rocker rose and stepped forward.
Caro sensed a second meaning to Jake’s words that made her curious, but she didn’t comment on it. She was a guest, one even less welcome than his family apparently was. The underlying tension here was impossible to miss.
No matter, she assured herself. She would be on her way as soon as the snow slowed down and a wrecker could pull out her car.
Which reminded her. “Excuse me, can I use your telephone?”
Before Jake could answer, the little boy asked, “Who’s this, Uncle Jake?”
She didn’t wait to be introduced. “I’m Caro. Your uncle may not be a superhero, but he did rescue me from the storm. My car got stuck in a drift.”
It was a little bit more than stuck, but she mentally crossed her fingers that whatever damage the front had sustained could be repaired without too much fuss.
Jake glanced sharply in her direction. An odd mix of anger and bewilderment colored his expression.
“Right place, right time,” he mumbled. He was back to the surly man who’d first stumbled across her, leaving her to wonder what she’d said to irritate him.
“I’m Jillian,” the little girl said. She stuck out her hand, which Caro shook. “I’m six and I have a loose tooth. Want to see?”
Without waiting for a reply, Jillian opened her mouth and used the tip of her tongue to wiggle one of her top front teeth. Her already-adorable lisp was going to become even more pronounced soon, Caro thought.
“Jilly,” reprimanded the woman from the couch, who was now, along with the man Caro assumed was Jake’s brother and the older man, gathered around Caro in a semicircle, smiling politely even as they stared openly. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. A loose tooth is pretty exciting news for a child.”
Jake cleared his throat and apparently remembered his manners. “Caro, this is my sister-in-law, Bonnie, and my brother, Dean. You’ve met Jillian, of course. Her brother is Riley.”
“I’m almost five,” Riley informed Caro, holding up the corresponding number of digits.
Jillian rolled her eyes. “He just turned four last week.”
Only children were so eager to add a year to their age. Caro bent down to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley.”
The boy’s wide grin revealed a pair of dimples that melted Caro’s heart. Cabot had dimples.
“And this is my father, Martin McCabe,” Jake was saying.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCabe.” Her hand was swallowed up in one of Martin’s giant paws.
“Likewise.”
Doreen returned then with a couple of towels, making Caro aware of how bedraggled she must look. Truman and his mother would be appalled that she was standing in a roomful of strangers looking like something the cat had dragged in. But then the Wendells wouldn’t socialize with people like the McCabes in the first place. Unless she missed her guess, they weren’t blue-blooded snobs who sat around at dry dinner parties discussing investment strategies, mutual funds and which couples in their social class had failed to make a killing in the stock market.
The McCabes, she realized, were more like her parents had been, down-to-earth folks who valued family, God and country.
The old ache throbbed to life a second time, a little more pronounced. She wrapped her arms about herself, seeking comfort she knew from experience wouldn’t come.
“Good heavens, child! You’re shaking. Get closer to the fire,” Doreen instructed.
“I’m fine,” Caro began. Her protest was lost as the older woman began issuing orders.
“Martin, throw another log on the fire. Dean, give the poor girl the afghan from the couch.” She eyed Caro a moment before continuing. “Bonnie should have something to fit you even though you’re a bit taller.” The older woman’s lips pursed. “And a little on the thin side.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Then what were you thinking heading out in a snowstorm?” Jake demanded.
His mother gasped, presumably at his rude question and not-so-nice tone. It was his tone, as much as his words, that caused Caro’s spine to straighten. Her hands dropped to her sides where her hands fisted.
“I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Not in a storm, you don’t.”
“Jacob!”
They both ignored Doreen’s shout.
“Storm or no storm, it’s important.”
“Nothing is that important,” he drawled. “Trust me.”
“This is.” Thinking of Cabot and Truman’s stipulations, Caro swallowed a sob. It wouldn’t do to fall apart now. “I have … a deadline to meet.”
“Work?” He snorted in disgust. “You risked your life for work?”
Let him think what he would. “Unlike you, I wasn’t out in a blizzard to ride a horse.”
She felt exhilarated, having given as good as she’d got. Meekness no longer suited her. In truth, it never had. But numb as she’d been for four years, first from grief and later from disbelief, she’d fallen into the ill-fitting role. God help her, she would don it again if need be.
That thought had her sobering.
Jake gaped at her, his wide mouth going slack for just a second before his lips pressed together in a flat line. She heard Dean’s muffled laughter and a glance around confirmed that the rest of the McCabe clan found her dressing-down of one of their members amusing rather than in poor taste. Even so, Caro was appalled. Whether the man had it coming or not, she was being unforgivably rude.
“I’m sorry. I … I …”
Jake unclamped his jaw just enough to say, “You mentioned something earlier about needing to make a phone call.”
“Yes. My cell’s not picking up a signal.”
“Follow me.”
Doreen settled the afghan around Caro’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “My son’s bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
Not quite sure what to make of that assessment, Caro offered a weak smile.
Jake was waiting for her at the tall reception desk near the front entrance. A small brass lamp with an oblong shade lit a guest book that was yellowed from age. The telephone, an ancient-looking thing with a twisted cord, rotary dial and clunky black receiver, was next to it.
“It’s not a local call,” she said.
“Fine.” He pushed the telephone toward her.
“I’ll reimburse you for the charges.” It looked as if he could use the money, given the state of the inn. It was a shame, too. The place had such great potential. That much was obvious despite its disrepair.
“Just make your call.”
Jake stomped away. He was angry, but not at Caro, even if he thought she should have stayed tucked safe in her home rather than venturing out in foul weather.
For work!
But the person he was good and angry at was himself. He was angry with the way he was acting. Angry with Dean that his younger brother had called him out on his self-prescribed isolation and stirred up emotions that had only recently begun to settle.
“You’re being selfish,” Dean had said earlier that day.
Jake’s family had arrived en masse the evening before, showing up at his doorstep, all grins and giggles, in an SUV they’d rented after touching down at the airport in Montpelier.
“I just want to be left alone.”
“No, you just want to stew. You got screwed, bro. No two ways about it. They set you up to take a fall. You took it.” The younger man set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I never understood that.”
“A woman was dead. Her child, too. A colleague killed himself afterward.”
And then, Miranda.
“But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t get the address wrong,” Dean had insisted. “Someone as anal as you doesn’t get stuff like that wrong.”
Jake wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t be sure. Not anymore. Not without proof. “I was in charge. It happened on my watch, which makes it my fault.”
All of it.
“So you keep saying. But it’s been more than a year. When are you going to cut yourself some slack and rejoin the land of the living?”
The woman and her child didn’t have that luxury. Nor did the rookie cop. Those were facts he couldn’t move beyond. Between them and the media scrutiny his family had endured, and his wife’s decision not only to divorce him but to abort their child, going into exile had seemed the only solution.
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Except your family.”
The words hit with the impact of flaming arrows, which was Dean’s intention. Jake missed his parents. As annoying as Dean could be, he missed his brother, too. And then there were Bonnie and the kids. They were a tight-knit family.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know.” His brother had snorted. “So, you’re in Vermont to make a fresh start?”
Jake had said nothing.
“That’s what I thought. If I believed you really wanted to be here, that would be different. But you’re here basically hiding out,” he accused a second time. “And while you’re busy with your pity party, Mom and Dad are left hurting, and my kids are left to wonder why their uncle moved to another state and is living like a hermit.”
“You don’t get it,” Jake had snapped. “I did this for you. I did this for all of you.”
“No, bro. We can take care of ourselves. You did this for yourself. You did this because, in addition to the nasty fallout from that unfortunate police raid, you can’t face what Miranda did.”
Jake had grabbed his brother by the shirt. The old rage boiled inside him, tempting him to take a swing. Instead, he’d let Dean loose, found his coat and headed out into the storm. His temper had yet to subside when he’d spied Caro through the falling snow.
He glanced at her now from the door that led to the kitchen. He couldn’t hear what she was saying into the telephone receiver, but she wasn’t happy. The rigid set of her shoulders and the down-turned corners of her mouth said as much.
What was her story?
There was more to it than she claimed, of that Jake was sure. He might no longer be a cop, but his instincts when it came to people were still good. She didn’t fit the portrait of a driven career woman. Something about her was too soft for the hard-edged, high-stakes business world. And the quality of her clothes screamed high society, even if her car had screamed penny-pincher. Yet she’d endangered her life to meet a deadline.
Why?
She said it was important. Something illegal? His gut told him no, but Jake couldn’t shake his first impression that she was desperate.
Not my problem, he reminded himself, putting his curiosity aside. It was back in an instant when her expression softened and her lips curved into a smile.
Just who was on the other end of the line to make her scowl one moment and melt like butter the next?
She twirled the phone cord around the fingers on her left hand as she spoke. No rings that he could see, but the conversation she was having now had nothing to do with business.
I love you.
Jake didn’t hear the words. Rather, he saw her lips form them just before she set the receiver back in its cradle. He wasn’t disappointed that she was involved with someone, even if he did find her attractive. He was past all but the most primal of feelings where women were concerned. He had his ex-wife to thank for that. Besides, he barely knew this woman. Caro hadn’t deceived him. She hadn’t betrayed him. She hadn’t had time to offer more than cursory explanations.
If she had, would she?
He realized he was still staring at her, probably with a scowl on his face, given her startled expression when she spied him. Her eyebrows lifted; her lips parted. He let loose a mild expletive as he levered away from the doorjamb.
Jake never had been the life of the party. That was Dean with his easy smile and open demeanor. But these days Jake knew he came off as unapproachable. Only his family was immune to his black moods and foul temper.
And this woman, apparently.
Caro surprised him by crossing to where he stood.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “Did you get through okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Crisis averted?”
A shadow crept over her face. “What do you mean?”
“The deadline you spoke of. Did you get an extension or a reprieve or … whatever?”
She nodded. “Sort of. For now.”
Why didn’t she look happy about it? A moment ago she’d been smiling and whispering words of love to the party on the other end of the line.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Right.” It was said for his benefit, as was the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were saying something else. It wasn’t desperation he saw in them now. Not entirely, at least. He spied apprehension, nerves. That delayed deadline?
More questions bubbled. After all, it was Saturday afternoon. Tomorrow was Easter Sunday. Just what kind of work was she involved in that required her to be on the clock over a holiday weekend?
And then there was the way she’d ended the phone call. Perhaps she’d had a spat with her lover and they’d resolved it over the phone, but now she was stranded and they wouldn’t be together for the weekend.
That was it, he decided.
“He must be special.”
“Very.” She sighed, and then flushed. “Wh-who?”
Case closed. “Never mind.”
“I also need to call a garage for a wrecker. I wonder if you might have a telephone directory?”
He found a dog-eared book in one of the drawers at the registration desk. It was outdated by half a dozen years. Caro frowned when he handed it to her.
“You don’t have anything more recent?”
“No, but I doubt it will matter. The town hasn’t changed much in the past three decades.”
Quaint, old-fashioned, it was the same year after year. That was part of its draw for tourists. That was exactly its draw for Jake now. He needed a place where his memories weren’t tainted with the stain of the events back in Buffalo.
“Do you have a recommendation?”
He scratched his chin, thinking. “Try Orville’s. They do towing as well as repairs, and it looks like you might have some damage.”
This time, he left her alone to make the call, returning to the living room where his family waited. It was a bad choice if he’d hoped to avoid confrontation. His mother spoke first, which wasn’t surprising. His father preferred to stay in the background, asserting himself only when necessary, but then to great effect. Martin McCabe might be a quiet man, but he was no pushover. Still waters, according to Doreen. And she claimed that, of her two sons, Jake was the one who had inherited the quality.
“Who is she?”
“Just a woman who had the bad luck to have her car go off the road in a storm.”
“A good-looking woman,” Dean mumbled, earning a smack on the arm from his wife.
“Where is she from?”
“Where is she heading?”
“Where is she now?”
His family pelted him with questions. Jake answered his mother’s first.
“She’s calling for a tow truck. I told her to try Orville’s”
“Is he still in business?” his father asked.
“Apparently.”
“Do you really think he will come out in this weather?” Dean wanted to know.
“Not likely.”
“Which means she’ll be spending the night here.” Doreen clicked her tongue. “Heavens, I’d better get busy cleaning up another guest room. God knows they’re not habitable in their present condition.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Bonnie offered.
They started toward the door.
“There’s no need. Caro can have mine,” Jake said.
The chivalrous gesture had his mother smiling and nodding. His brother’s grin, however, had Jake clarifying, “I’ll sleep on the couch in here.”
“Can I sleep down here with Uncle Jake?” Riley wanted to know. He danced excitedly in a circle.
“Me, too! Me, too!” Jillian chanted.
“You’ll sleep upstairs with us,” Bonnie said. Before they could protest, she added, “Remember, the Easter Bunny is coming tonight. It wouldn’t do for him to stumble over a couple of sleeping children while trying to hide your baskets full of treats.”
That quieted them, but only for a moment.
“When are we going to color the eggs?” Jillian asked, hopping on one foot.
“Let’s do it now!” Riley squealed.
“After dinner and before bath time,” their mother said.
On their way from Montpelier’s airport, they’d stopped at a grocery store. They had everything for the holiday feast with them, from the eggs the children were itching to dye to the honey-glazed ham that would be served the following day for dinner. Doreen even had packed the fancy Irish linens the McCabes used every holiday. Jake took in the scene before him. The kids scampering about, his father smoking a pipe while seated fireside. It was so damned easy to pretend that everything was the same with his family here.
Except that it wasn’t. Nothing was the same. This family gathering was different. Someone was missing … and he didn’t mean his ex-wife.
He glanced toward the doorway. Caro stood there—looking tentative, looking utterly beautiful despite her damp hair and pinched expression. She was nothing like Miranda, despite their shared affinity for high-quality clothing. Miranda’s features were far sharper. The description he kept coming back to when it came to this woman was soft, fragile.
Jake cleared his throat. “Any luck getting a tow truck to come out?”
“No. A man answered at the place you suggested, but he said the roads were impassable and he had a dozen or so requests for assistance to handle ahead of mine. With tomorrow being a holiday, he said it would be Monday at the earliest before he could tow my car to his garage.”
Some of that desperation leaked back into her expression. “Is there another garage I should try?”
“Maybe. But I have a feeling they’d all tell you the same thing,” Jake replied.
She nodded glumly.
“Well, not to worry. You’re welcome here,” Doreen said. “You’ll take Jake’s room.”
Her eyelids flickered. In surprise or dismay? “Oh, no. I couldn’t—”
“He insists,” Doreen said.
At Caro’s dubious expression, Jake added, “Actually, I do. It will save my mother and Bonnie from having to clean up another one of the guest rooms.”
She smiled. “Well, in that case …”
“You’d probably like a hot shower,” Doreen said. “Show her where everything is, Jake, while Bonnie and I try to come up with a change of clothes.”
Having been given his marching orders, Jake headed for the stairs. Even though Caro was behind him, he swore he could smell the subtle, sexy scent that wafted from her person.
CHAPTER THREE
CARO FOLLOWED JAKE UP the stairs just past the reception desk. The oak banister wobbled under her hand and the steps creaked beneath a maroon carpet runner that was worn and faded from age.
At the top, he turned right, bypassing two doors before stopping to open the third.
“This is it,” he said.
Jake stepped backward to allow her to enter the room first. She’d assumed she would follow him inside and so they wound up bumping into one another. The side of his foot came down on her big toe and the point of his elbow found her breast.
“God, sorry.”
“Excuse me,” she said.
Their words were issued simultaneously and with an equal measure of awkwardness.
“Um, are you … okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Good thing you aren’t still wearing your boots.” Caro chose to ignore entirely the other injury she’d suffered.
This time she was ready when Jake waved her ahead.
The room was a good size, with a dormer wide enough to fit a desk and a sitting area comprised of two wingback chairs that flanked a fireplace. Clothes were draped over the chairs, making it clear sitting wasn’t their function these days. But the fireplace looked to be in working order, if the ashes and charred log inside the opening were any indication.
Caro wished it were lit now. She felt as if she would never be warm again. But she didn’t ask Jake to indulge her. She’d put him through too much trouble already.
The other main focus of the room, of course, was the bed. It was an antique brass number that she’d bet was original to the inn. She crossed to get a better look at the detail work on the tarnished headboard. As she rested one hand on the cool metal, the covers distracted her. They lay in a twisted heap in the center of the sagging mattress. Hers always looked the same by morning, no matter how diligently she tucked in the sheets. She pictured Jake there, tossing and turning. Intrigued, she nonetheless forced the image away.
He cleared his throat, making her aware that he stood just behind her. Caro turned. She could only imagine what he was thinking.
“You’re a restless sleeper,” she said inanely.
His brows shot up.
“The covers.” She motioned to them with one hand. “They’re all bunched up.”
“I would have straightened my bed if I’d known someone besides me would be sleeping in it tonight. I wasn’t expecting company. More company, that is.”
“I didn’t mean to sound critical,” she offered hastily. “In fact, my covers always look the same by morning.”
His brows rose again, making her feel foolish and flustered. She didn’t care for either sensation. So, when she spoke again, her tone was no-nonsense. “Anyway, I really do appreciate your giving up your bed for me. The room is very nice. Lovely in fact.”
His laughter startled her almost as much as the transformation humor made on his appearance.
“It’s a dump, Caro. The whole place is.” He sobered then as he glanced around. “It wasn’t always like this and it won’t be by the time I’m finished. I’ll make it right.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that final fierce declaration. In the end, it didn’t matter. He switched gears and returned to more practical matters.
“There are only three bathrooms that are in working order in the entire place. One is on the main floor next to what used to be the caretaker’s quarters. The other two are up here, including the one through there.” He pointed to a door on the far side of the room. “Sorry I wasn’t able to go back for your bag, but you’ll find most of the basics—soap, shampoo, toothpaste. I think there’s even a new toothbrush in one of the vanity drawers.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She offered a smile. “It sure beats sleeping in a snowdrift.”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping. You’d be dead.”
Her smile vanished.
“Sorry.” He glanced away.
For the first time, she noticed a small, crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his left eye. She had one similar in size and shape on the underside of her chin, the result of a fall off her bike when she was six. Truman considered it a defect and had tried more than once to talk her into seeing a plastic surgeon to have it made less noticeable.
She was glad she’d resisted. As it was, he’d managed to erase so much of her personality and her person, remaking her into an image she’d barely recognized when she gazed in the mirror. One of the first things she’d done after leaving him was to dye her hair back to something resembling its natural shade of caramel-brown. He’d preferred her as a blonde, and he knew best, after all.
“Sorry,” Jake said again, pulling her from her musings. This time he sounded a little more irritated than contrite.
“No need to apologize. Besides, you’re right. I was already in serious trouble when you happened along,” Caro admitted. “And I didn’t mean to stare at you just now. It’s just that I was noticing your scar.”
On impulse she reached over and traced its smooth surface with one fingertip. He pulled backward as if she’d struck him.
“It gives your face character.”
“That’s putting it politely.” He didn’t sound convinced. Nor did he appear to appreciate her forwardness.
“I have one, too.” She tilted up her chin and pointed. “See? Right here.”
He cupped the side of her face and turned her head slightly to get a better look. His callused hand felt rough against her skin. She told herself that was the only reason for the odd sensation his touch inspired.
“How’d you get yours?” he asked as he withdrew his hand.
“I fell off my bike and hit the handlebars on my way down. I was six. You?”
“Eleven. Dean and I were horsing around and I took a header off the front porch. My mother’s stone birdbath broke my fall.” He rubbed his temple. “I wound up with a concussion and we both wound up grounded.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I was older.” He shrugged. “Supposedly, I knew better.”
“Hi.” Bonnie knocked at the opened door before entering. “I come bearing clothes. Sorry to say, all I have for you is a robe and a pair of wool socks. I didn’t bring a second pair of pajamas.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I really appreciate this.”
Caro took the berry-colored terry-cloth robe from Bonnie’s hands. It was soft and looked warm, as did the gray socks. That was all that mattered.
“Aren’t you going to light the fireplace, Jake?” Bonnie asked.
Caro could have hugged her.
“I guess I could,” he said slowly.
“It would help take the chill off,” Bonnie said, sending Caro a grin.
“The inn’s furnace needs to be replaced. It’s on my to-do list.” He sighed then. “Along with a lot of other things.”
“Dean’s told me stories about this place. He said it was something else when you were kids. He remembers the two of you playing hide-and-seek in the common rooms and sliding down the banister.”
Jake grunted. “The banister couldn’t take Riley’s weight now without splintering into pieces.”
“He’s getting big.” Unless Caro missed her guess, Bonnie was purposely misunderstanding his meaning. “Doreen says he’s the spitting image of Dean at that age. He’s all McCabe. Same with Jillian.”
A muscle ticked in Jake’s jaw and something akin to pain flashed in his eyes.
The silence stretched. Before it could become too awkward, though, Bonnie dusted her hands together.
“Well, just to let you know, Mom’s reheating the pot of five-alarm chili she made earlier. She told me to tell you it would be ready whenever you and Caro are hungry.”
Caro’s stomach growled as if on command, making her realize she was all but starving. The piece of toast and cup of tea she’d had several hours earlier had barely been enough to sustain her through the morning. Adrenaline, however, had staved off the worst of her hunger.
Apparently, until just now.
Caro wanted to be appalled. She found herself laughing out loud instead. Bonnie joined in. Jake, however, gaped as if she’d gone mad.
In her head, Caro heard her mother-in-law say sternly: “Only a woman of ill breeding would comport herself in such a manner.”
Caro sobered.
“What about you guys?” Jake was asking Bonnie.
“Oh, we ate a little over an hour ago.”
“Jillian said you were worried about me,” he reminded her wryly.
“I was, which is why I indulged in two bowls.” Bonnie’s smile vanished and she poked his chest with her index finger. “Don’t do that again. I don’t care how much Dean ticks you off. Don’t do that again. Do you hear me?”
Jake grabbed hold of the finger before she could jab him a second time and gave it a squeeze. “I hear you. Next time, I’ll pick Dean up and dump him outside in the snow.”
“One stipulation,” she said.
“Anything.”
“Wait until I have the camera handy.” Bonnie left the room chuckling.
“That’s nice.”
Jake turned to face Caro. “What?”
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Jackie Braun
Breaking down Manipulative and cold as ice, Caro’s ex might be an utter jerk, but she’s got to go back to him to keep custody of her young son. Her journey through a blizzard makes the hard decision harder – and one almighty skid later she’s got a whole new sub-zero problem… Until a mysterious stranger appears out of the mist on horseback! Breaking free? Trapped with him in the ongoing storm, Caro discovers her rescuer is an ex-cop – the grouchy-yet- gorgeous Jake McCabe.Shocked by their intense attraction, Caro will soon face the most difficult choice of all: in Jake she may have found the hero she’s been looking for (and, by God, deserves! ), but to claim him she risks losing her little boy…
Praise for Jackie Braun
‘A great storyline, interesting characters and a
fast pace help immerse readers in this tender tale.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Inconveniently Wed!
‘Quite humorous at times,
with beautifully written characters, this is a terrific read.’
—RT Book Reviews on
A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh
‘Solidly plotted with an edgy,
slightly abrasive heroine and an equally unforgettable
hero, this story is a great read. Don’t miss it.’
—RT Book Reviews on
Confidential: Expecting!
‘… reading her books [is] a delightful experience that
carries you from laughter to tears and back again.’
—Pink Heart Society on
Boardroom Baby Surprise
About the Author
JACKIE BRAUN is a three-time RITA
Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Award finalist, and the winner of the Rising Star Award for traditional romantic fiction. She makes her home in Michigan, with her husband and their two sons.
Readers can find out more about her by visiting her website, www.jackiebraun.com
‘I thought I understood the depth of love when I married my husband. I realised I’d only scratched the surface when our children came along. They changed everything from how I saw myself to how I saw my husband. In addition to being a wonderful man and the love of my life, he’s an exceptional father.’ —Jackie Braun
Also by Jackie Braun
Inconveniently Wed!
A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh
Confidential: Expecting!
Boardroom Baby Surprise
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Road Not Taken
Jackie Braun
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my good friend Richard Noble.
What would a book signing be without you?
PROLOGUE
JAKE MCCABE CURLED HIS HAND into a fist. Pain and useless rage had him wanting to use it. On a wall or whatever else might be handy. Bloody and bruised knuckles would be a small price to pay if they brought him even a small measure of relief.
Instead, he relaxed his grip enough to pick up a pen and open the journal. It had only one entry, written a couple of months earlier when the department shrink first recommended keeping a diary as an outlet for his thoughts and emotions.
“This is crap,” it read. “I don’t see how writing things down will make a bit of difference.”
Now, however, with a new wound festering, he penned the words he couldn’t bear to voice. He didn’t find peace in doing so, for that was impossible. But it turned out the shrink was right about his need for an outlet. The words flowed in a bitter torrent. One paragraph, then two, scratched in his slashing penmanship.
Afterward, Jake lowered his head and wept. Tears smeared the ink, turning the first sentence illegible. It didn’t matter. He would remember the words long after the raging storm of his emotions quieted.
“Miranda killed our baby today.”
CHAPTER ONE
THE CAR HIT THE SNOWBANK with enough force that the air bag deployed. But at least it had stopped after what seemed like an eternity of swerving and fishtailing on the maple-tree-lined two-lane highway.
Caroline Franklin Wendell peeled her fingers from the steering wheel and ran one shaking hand over her face. It wasn’t her life that had flashed before her eyes during those seemingly endless moments of terror. It had been her son’s. She’d nearly failed Cabot by dying and leaving it to his father and grandmother to raise him. That thought had her shivering.
Caro gazed out the windshield. The front end of the subcompact was buried to mid-hood in a snowdrift. But she knew her life had gone off track long before she’d hit that patch of ice. It had been skidding out of control ever since she’d foolishly married Truman four years earlier. She’d just refused to believe it. She’d refused to believe that the mistake she’d made couldn’t be fixed.
Even that morning, heading back to him in defeat, she’d held out hope that she would find a way out of this nightmare. Not for her sake, but for Cabot’s. Her son was the only good thing to come from her marriage to the heir of one of New England’s most affluent and powerful families.
Now, with her heart hammering and her limbs still shaking, she laid her forehead against the faux-leather steering wheel and finally accepted the truth. Truman was right. There was no way out.
I’m doing this for your own good. You need me, Caroline.
Caro wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there, only that the last of the heat had leaked from the inside of the car. She could see her breath each time she exhaled and, even through her cashmere-lined leather gloves, her fingertips pinched and prickled from the cold. She fished her cell phone from her purse. Eventually, she would have to call her husband to report her delay and, if need be, beg him for more time. She wasn’t above begging when it came to her son. First, she needed a wrecker for her car and someplace warm for her to wait for repairs.
She flipped open her phone and stared for a moment at the photo of her son on the display. He was smiling, happy and free of cares, just as every toddler should be. She ran the tip of her index finger over his cherubic face and then frowned as she realized that her phone had no service.
After forcing open the car door and stepping into the knee-deep snow, she raised the cell high in the air and turned in a semicircle.
Still nothing.
She stuffed the phone into the pocket of her parka and cursed. The mild oath floated away on a puff of white air.
She could wait for help, she supposed. Although it was doubtful another driver would be foolish enough to be out in these conditions. Only desperation had forced her to be. She glanced down the road in the direction she’d come. She’d passed a gas station when she’d unwisely decided to leave the interstate, as road conditions there had worsened. That was three miles back or maybe four. She was wearing boots, but the supple leather and three-inch heels weren’t meant for this kind of weather, much less a rigorous hike in it.
She gazed in the opposite direction. What lay ahead on the road she’d been traveling?
Her luck it would be miles of nothing but more maple trees and snowdrifts. She’d survived the accident but, quite literally, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Tears stung her eyes and her breathing grew labored as panic kicked into high gear. What was she going to do? She had a deadline to meet.
Caro thought she heard bells, a rhythmic jangling from off in the distance. She dismissed the sound as the product of the wind and her own imagination. A moment later, though, a man on horseback appeared at the bend in the road. The rim of his hat was covered in snow, as were the broad shoulders stuffed inside a tan shearling coat. He looked like something out of a dream. A fantasy, she amended, as he drew closer and his ruggedly handsome features came into focus: deep-set eyes of an indiscernible color, angular cheekbones and a shadow of a beard on the lower half of his face.
Caroline’s heart knocked out an extra beat at the same time her knees gave way, and she sank into the snow.
Clearly, she had died.
Jake wiped a gloved hand over his eyes after he spotted the woman. She was a vision. Had to be. No one in her right mind would be out in this godforsaken weather. The only reason he was out was to work off the worst of his temper. And he’d had the good sense to tramp about on horseback. The big animal knew her way back to home and shelter even better than he did.
When he saw the woman collapse, he was out of the saddle before his horse came to a stop, trudging the half-dozen steps through a knee-deep drift to reach her. He crouched beside her, resisting the urge to scoop her up in his arms.
Protect and serve.
A lifetime ago, those words had been part of his daily mantra. No longer.
“Lady, hey, lady!” His words sawed gruffly through the wind. “Are you okay?”
She gazed at him with glazed eyes and a look of terror and revulsion. He wasn’t insulted. He’d had that effect on people before.
But then she did something that shocked him to his core. She raised one shaky hand to the side of his face and asked, “Are you an angel?”
The question took him by surprise. Jake had been called a lot of things during the past year. Angel wasn’t among them.
“Not even close.”
“I thought …”
“Are you hurt?”
She blinked, frowned. “I guess not.”
“You’re sure you didn’t hit your head or anything?” He glanced past her into the car and noted the deflated air bag. It had saved her from greater impact, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t sustained injury.
“I’m okay,” she insisted. As if to prove the point, she struggled to her feet.
Jake rose with her. The woman was taller than he’d first thought she would be, given her otherwise delicate appearance. Not delicate, he decided. Fragile. There was a difference.
The top of her head came even with the bridge of his twice-busted nose. He couldn’t see her feet through the snow, but he’d bet she was wearing heels, something high and impractical to go along with the rest of her fashionable, if nonfunctional, wardrobe. It was a good thing he’d come along. She wouldn’t have lasted another hour out here on her own.
People need you, Jake.
“My car is another matter,” she was saying. “I’m not sure the extent of the damage, but it will need to be towed to a garage for a look.”
People are counting on you, Jake.
He banished the words as he surveyed the small vehicle. It probably got great gas mileage, but that was about all it had to recommend it. His tone was more gruff than he intended when he said, “You call that a car? It looks more like a toy.”
The woman laughed, but the sound verged on hysteria rather than mirth. Make that half an hour that she would have survived without his intervention.
“Yes, well, do you know if there is a garage nearby? And a working phone? My cell isn’t getting a signal out here. I need to call for a wrecker.”
“You can call from the inn.”
“Inn?” She sighed and her expression turned hopeful. “There’s an inn nearby?”
He nodded. “It’s about a half mile up the road.”
“Do you know if it has a vacancy?” She grabbed his arm. “Please tell me yes.”
Jake swallowed and for just a moment found himself lost in a pair of wide hazel eyes. “I’m sure there’s something available.”
In truth, the inn was a broken-down husk of its former self, much like the man who’d purchased it a while back. It was closed to the public, but he did have guests this Easter weekend. He was, begrudgingly, entertaining his entire family, a fact that explained why he could be found out in a snowstorm at the moment.
His parents, brother, sister-in-law and their kids had arrived unannounced the day before. Already he and his younger sibling were at odds. He’d left to avoid saying something he was bound to regret. Well, regret more than what had already passed through his lips.
“Thank God,” the woman was saying. “I … I don’t suppose you could take me there?” Her gaze cut to his horse. Despite the nasty conditions, Bess stood patiently a few feet away. The Clydesdale normally pulled the inn’s sleigh and she’d been thrown in with the sale. As angry as Jake had been when he stomped out of the inn, he’d had the presence of mind to take the big animal rather than stalk off on his own.
“Be happy to.”
He didn’t sound happy, a fact that wasn’t lost on her if her expression was any indication.
“You said it’s only half a mile. I … I can walk.” She took an awkward step forward in the snow.
“Right.” He snorted and motioned with one gloved hand. “In those impractical clothes? Hell, lady, you’d be lucky if you didn’t freeze to death before you made it ten yards.”
She whirled back to face him. Those hazel eyes snapped with heat now, and the color in her cheeks wasn’t all the result of the bitter wind. “I’m not helpless! I refuse to be helpless!”
The shouted words echoed off the maple trees, sending some snow down from their branches. Not helpless maybe, Jake thought. But she was desperate. He’d seen that look in the faces of people whose loved ones were caught up in the drug trade. In their cases, he knew exactly what had put it there. But what did a woman who looked like a walking advertisement for the life of the idle rich have to make her desperate?
He dismissed the question, squelched the old urge to offer to help. Not my problem. Jake was officially out of the hero business … not that he’d had much choice in the matter.
Even so, he heard himself saying, “Come on. I’ll give you a boost into the saddle.”
The woman eyed the big animal. This time it was fear rather than pride he heard when she said, “I really don’t mind walking.”
“Yeah, well, I do. It will take twice as long. At least.” This time he tempered his tone. “Don’t worry about Bess here. She’s a gentle giant.”
The woman pointed back toward her car. “What about my bag?”
It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. “How big is it?”
“I don’t need the luggage that’s in the backseat if that’s what has you worried. But I’d appreciate the toiletries bag that’s on the floor on the front passenger side.”
He glanced through the window and grimaced. It was small enough to fit the definition of a carry-on at the airport, but since this short trip was going to be precarious enough without adding baggage, he said, “I’ll have to come back for it.”
He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. Instead, she trudged through the snow to the horse. Over the howl of the wind, Jake thought he heard her chant, “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”
He helped her into the saddle before swinging up behind her. Bess shifted, unaccustomed to accommodating one rider on her back, much less two. He knew how she felt. He wasn’t accustomed to riding alone, much less with a beautiful stranger all but seated on his lap.
“Steady now, girl. It’s all right,” he said, reaching around the woman to give the mare’s thick neck a reassuring pat. “Just give us a chance to get settled.”
The woman turned toward him. “I just realized that I know your horse’s name, but not yours.”
“It’s Jake. Jake McCabe.” He braced for her reaction. For a while his name had been synonymous with Satan, at least back in his hometown of Buffalo. But her expression never changed.
“I’m Caroline … Franklin.” Her tone sounded oddly defiant when she added, “My friends call me Caro.”
“Well, Caro, are you ready?”
She nodded and they set off.
It took longer than he’d expected to get to the inn and not only because he went a little slower than he would have if he’d been in the saddle alone. The conditions definitely had worsened. The wind had nearly erased the horse’s earlier tracks.
He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the inn, dilapidated as it had become. The place had a soothing effect on him, nestled as it was in a stand of towering trees and out of view of the main road. The wide porch was covered with several inches of snow, even though he’d shoveled it off not long before leaving. In the summer, he envisioned it dotted with the rocking chairs he’d been making in his workshop.
He’d always enjoyed woodworking, and he was pretty good at it thanks to his father’s patient tutelage while he was growing up. Where some cops turned to alcohol to unwind after a bad day, Jake had turned to his band saw, sander and other tools of the trade.
He credited them with saving his sanity last year while he’d awaited the outcome of the internal affairs investigation that had followed the fatal shootings of a woman and her child. They’d been killed during a raid on a house where a major drug dealer was believed to be hiding. Jake hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d been the one in command.
His team had gone to the wrong address.
Before the investigation was complete he’d crafted two chairs. He’d taken more care with his design and workmanship than ever before, determined not to overlook any detail. He didn’t need the department’s shrink to tell him it was about regaining control. In the end, he was satisfied with the chairs, but left reeling by the department’s findings.
They claimed he’d been given the correct address, but had misread it. No way, was his first reaction. He’d done no such thing. But certain paperwork went missing and, haunted as he was by the tragic deaths, he could no longer be sure. After the inquiry, an official reprimand went into his permanent file, but he was allowed back to work. No other action was to be taken, but then things took an even uglier turn.
The rookie cop who’d fired the shots committed suicide, unable to handle having the blood of two innocent people on his hands. In the court of public opinion, Jake was responsible for that, as well.
In Buffalo, where he’d worked as a police officer for nearly a dozen years after graduating from college with a degree in criminal justice, he’d become a pariah. Oh, some folks rallied around him, both in public and on the force. And the union had vowed to fight the investigation’s outcome. But when the captain came to Jake and quietly offered a severance package, he’d accepted it. In truth, he’d already planned to walk away.
He hadn’t seen the point in fighting. A woman was dead. Her baby killed along with her. A rookie dead. Even if Jake hadn’t screwed up the address, it had happened on his watch. And then there was Miranda …
So he’d packed up and gone, not only from the force but also from Buffalo.
Six months ago, he’d stumbled across the inn. His family had gone there a lot when he was a boy, both in summer and winter. It was located in the shadow of Camel’s Hump in Vermont’s Green Mountains. He’d loved the place back then and he’d been hoping it would hold the same magic for him as an adult. But it wasn’t open for business, and a for-sale sign had been stuck out front. One look at the inn’s sorry state and Jake’s heart had sunk, but that hadn’t stopped him from buying it.
The local people were the same as he remembered them being: polite, if a little standoffish to outsiders. That was fine by him. He wasn’t there to make friends. He just wanted peace. He wasn’t, as his brother claimed, running away from his problems and hiding out.
“Is this … is this it?”
It took Jake a moment to realize that the horse had bypassed the inn and stopped at the door to the small outbuilding that housed her stall.
“I guess Bess is ready to get out of the storm, too.”
“She lives here?” Caro turned in the saddle then so she could see his face. “You live here?”
“I do. I own it.”
Her brows shot up, and no wonder. Not only was he not the friendly owner one would expect of such a small establishment, he knew the place didn’t look habitable with its peeling paint, loose boards and overgrown shrubbery.
“It’s not open for business right now. But it’s warm and dry. I’ll see that you’re settled inside before I go back for your bag.” He spoke to the horse then. “Sorry, girl, but your day’s not through.”
It was snowing harder now. The flakes so big it was as if the heavens were engaged in a snowball fight. He hopped out of the saddle and reached for Caro. Even through the bulk of her clothing, he could tell her waist was small and she barely weighed what a child would. She was probably on some silly diet, eating only fruit or drinking special shakes. Women, he thought on a sigh. He’d never figure them out, not that he’d had much practice trying lately.
When they reached the relative safety of the back porch, Caro smiled at him. Surely his dry spell was what accounted for the kick of interest he experienced. Her expression wasn’t born of anything more than politeness, yet he found it sexy and a little too inviting.
It didn’t hurt that she was saying, “Don’t go.”
“Don’t go?” he repeated absently as he took in her flushed cheeks.
“Nothing in that bag is important. The weather …” She swept a hand through the air. “You’ve done enough already. I’d feel horrible if something happened to you on my account.”
Jake blinked at her. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone—a woman—worry about him.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and bits of melting snow shook loose from her damp hair. He reached out to free some more and she shivered. Her gaze slid to the side, giving him the impression her reaction wasn’t completely due to the cold. Interest, as unwelcome as the late-winter storm, stirred a second time. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he recalled perfectly what he was missing.
The door swung open behind them before he could do anything he’d have to apologize for. He was grateful until he realized it was his mother standing there. Her hands were planted on her hips and the look on her face would have left a drill sergeant shaking in his boots.
“Jacob Robert McCabe, don’t you ev—” Doreen McCabe halted her diatribe midword as soon as she spied Caroline. Blinking in surprise, she switched gears and tones. “Oh, hello. I’m Doreen. Jake’s mother.”
“This is Caroline Franklin,” he said.
“Caro.”
“Right. Caro.”
Doreen nodded, splitting her gaze between the pair of them. “I didn’t realize Jake was expecting company.”
“I wasn’t,” he said at the same time Caro replied, “I’m not.”
“Company, that is.” Her laughter was tight.
If his mother found the situation confusing, she didn’t let it show. Using the same tone that had kept him toeing the line for the first eighteen years of his life, she shouted, “Good heavens, son! Have you no manners at all? Bring that poor girl inside before she catches her death of cold. She needs to get out of those wet clothes.”
Jake swallowed hard, because for one foolish moment, he’d been thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER TWO
CARO STEPPED INTO the vestibule through the door Doreen held open and all but sighed when the warm air greeted her. But what caught her attention were voices. There were several of them, including the high-pitched squeal of children. She sent a quizzical glance in Jake’s direction, before bending down to unzip her boots. Numb fingers made her progress slow.
“I thought you said the inn wasn’t open for business,” she murmured.
“It’s not.” Jake had already removed his hat. Now, he shucked off his coat.
He didn’t sound happy.
“Oh, those aren’t guests. They’re the rest of our family,” Doreen informed Caro as she took her son’s coat. With a meaningful glance at Jake, the woman added, “And because we’re family, we invite ourselves if need be.”
“Mom …”
“Just saying.” She took Caro’s parka, as well, hanging them both on pegs to dry. “I’ll grab some towels for the two of you. Go into the main living area and sit by the fire to warm up while I’m gone.”
Caro nearly smiled. Jake didn’t seem the sort of man to take orders, but this was his mother. Sure enough, he led her to a room at the front of the inn, where a fire blazed in the hearth. An older man was seated in an overstuffed chair next to it. He was reading a book and smoking a pipe. A couple of children, neither of whom was much older than her Cabot, played at the older man’s feet. On the couch across from them, a young couple snuggled together under a thick knitted throw.
Family.
An ache welled inside Caro, both for what she’d lost and for what should have been. Her parents had been gone five years, the victims of a car accident. She’d been the one to positively identify their bodies, yet she still sometimes found herself reaching for the telephone to call them.
If she were looking for an excuse as to why she’d married Truman, that would be it. She’d been so lonely, so very lost after their deaths. And he’d been understanding and supportive. He’d taken charge, helped her make decisions when she was too griefstricken to do so. It wasn’t until later she’d realized how controlling he could be.
She forced herself back to the matter at hand. She was relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the night alone in the ramshackle inn with its brooding owner, but now she felt like an intruder. Quite obviously, this was a family gathering and she was an outsider. It didn’t help that all eyes were on her when she and Jake stepped into the room. The older man glanced up from his book, the children stopped playing and the couple on the couch shifted to sitting positions.
One of the children was the first to break the silence.
“Uncle Jake’s back! Uncle Jake’s back!” squealed the little girl. She hopped up and shot across the floor to wrap one of his legs in an embrace.
Not to be outdone, the little boy followed suit. He didn’t just hug Jake’s leg, he tried to scale it. Caro smiled. It was just the sort of thing Cabot would do. Jake’s reaction, however, was the polar opposite of what Truman’s would have been. Instead of being befuddled by the boy’s exuberance and a little embarrassed by the affectionate display, Jake scooped him up in his arms.
“Hey, munchkin.”
Caro’s heart did a strange thunk-thunk, which she attributed to wishing for what already should have been the case for her son: a father who not only enjoyed his silly antics but would take part in them. It had nothing to do with Jake, even if at the moment he seemed nothing like the brooding man who not so long ago had begrudgingly offered her shelter from the storm.
His smile was real, smoky blue eyes alight with teasing humor. He was all the more handsome for it.
Thunk, thunk!
This time Caro outright ignored the sensation.
“Daddy said you were going to freeze your fool head off out in the snow.”
Leave it to a child to rat out an adult. But she wisely hid her smile. And good thing, too, since right after Jake asked in an amused voice, “Did he now?” he shot a dark look in the direction of the couch, where the man in question sat, hands on his knees and ready to rise.
Brothers, she decided, and felt another bubble of envy swell. Caro was an only child.
The little boy grinned and nodded vigorously. “Yep. But Grandpa said that a little time alone would do you good.” Now he frowned. “Did it?”
Half of Jake’s mouth rose. “For the most part.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re back, Uncle Jake,” the little girl enthused. “Mommy and Grandma were getting worried that something had happened.”
“What about you?” Jake asked.
“A little. But you’re in-in …” She scrunched up her pretty little face and glanced toward the couch. “What’s that word from the superhero movie we watched last week, Daddy?”
“Invincible,” the man supplied. His lips twisted on the word.
The child repeated it with an adorable lisp while Jake’s expression turned rueful.
His gaze was on his brother when he said, “I’m no hero, super or otherwise.”
He set both of the kids down, even as the couple on the couch and the older man in the rocker rose and stepped forward.
Caro sensed a second meaning to Jake’s words that made her curious, but she didn’t comment on it. She was a guest, one even less welcome than his family apparently was. The underlying tension here was impossible to miss.
No matter, she assured herself. She would be on her way as soon as the snow slowed down and a wrecker could pull out her car.
Which reminded her. “Excuse me, can I use your telephone?”
Before Jake could answer, the little boy asked, “Who’s this, Uncle Jake?”
She didn’t wait to be introduced. “I’m Caro. Your uncle may not be a superhero, but he did rescue me from the storm. My car got stuck in a drift.”
It was a little bit more than stuck, but she mentally crossed her fingers that whatever damage the front had sustained could be repaired without too much fuss.
Jake glanced sharply in her direction. An odd mix of anger and bewilderment colored his expression.
“Right place, right time,” he mumbled. He was back to the surly man who’d first stumbled across her, leaving her to wonder what she’d said to irritate him.
“I’m Jillian,” the little girl said. She stuck out her hand, which Caro shook. “I’m six and I have a loose tooth. Want to see?”
Without waiting for a reply, Jillian opened her mouth and used the tip of her tongue to wiggle one of her top front teeth. Her already-adorable lisp was going to become even more pronounced soon, Caro thought.
“Jilly,” reprimanded the woman from the couch, who was now, along with the man Caro assumed was Jake’s brother and the older man, gathered around Caro in a semicircle, smiling politely even as they stared openly. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. A loose tooth is pretty exciting news for a child.”
Jake cleared his throat and apparently remembered his manners. “Caro, this is my sister-in-law, Bonnie, and my brother, Dean. You’ve met Jillian, of course. Her brother is Riley.”
“I’m almost five,” Riley informed Caro, holding up the corresponding number of digits.
Jillian rolled her eyes. “He just turned four last week.”
Only children were so eager to add a year to their age. Caro bent down to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley.”
The boy’s wide grin revealed a pair of dimples that melted Caro’s heart. Cabot had dimples.
“And this is my father, Martin McCabe,” Jake was saying.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McCabe.” Her hand was swallowed up in one of Martin’s giant paws.
“Likewise.”
Doreen returned then with a couple of towels, making Caro aware of how bedraggled she must look. Truman and his mother would be appalled that she was standing in a roomful of strangers looking like something the cat had dragged in. But then the Wendells wouldn’t socialize with people like the McCabes in the first place. Unless she missed her guess, they weren’t blue-blooded snobs who sat around at dry dinner parties discussing investment strategies, mutual funds and which couples in their social class had failed to make a killing in the stock market.
The McCabes, she realized, were more like her parents had been, down-to-earth folks who valued family, God and country.
The old ache throbbed to life a second time, a little more pronounced. She wrapped her arms about herself, seeking comfort she knew from experience wouldn’t come.
“Good heavens, child! You’re shaking. Get closer to the fire,” Doreen instructed.
“I’m fine,” Caro began. Her protest was lost as the older woman began issuing orders.
“Martin, throw another log on the fire. Dean, give the poor girl the afghan from the couch.” She eyed Caro a moment before continuing. “Bonnie should have something to fit you even though you’re a bit taller.” The older woman’s lips pursed. “And a little on the thin side.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Then what were you thinking heading out in a snowstorm?” Jake demanded.
His mother gasped, presumably at his rude question and not-so-nice tone. It was his tone, as much as his words, that caused Caro’s spine to straighten. Her hands dropped to her sides where her hands fisted.
“I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Not in a storm, you don’t.”
“Jacob!”
They both ignored Doreen’s shout.
“Storm or no storm, it’s important.”
“Nothing is that important,” he drawled. “Trust me.”
“This is.” Thinking of Cabot and Truman’s stipulations, Caro swallowed a sob. It wouldn’t do to fall apart now. “I have … a deadline to meet.”
“Work?” He snorted in disgust. “You risked your life for work?”
Let him think what he would. “Unlike you, I wasn’t out in a blizzard to ride a horse.”
She felt exhilarated, having given as good as she’d got. Meekness no longer suited her. In truth, it never had. But numb as she’d been for four years, first from grief and later from disbelief, she’d fallen into the ill-fitting role. God help her, she would don it again if need be.
That thought had her sobering.
Jake gaped at her, his wide mouth going slack for just a second before his lips pressed together in a flat line. She heard Dean’s muffled laughter and a glance around confirmed that the rest of the McCabe clan found her dressing-down of one of their members amusing rather than in poor taste. Even so, Caro was appalled. Whether the man had it coming or not, she was being unforgivably rude.
“I’m sorry. I … I …”
Jake unclamped his jaw just enough to say, “You mentioned something earlier about needing to make a phone call.”
“Yes. My cell’s not picking up a signal.”
“Follow me.”
Doreen settled the afghan around Caro’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “My son’s bark is a lot worse than his bite.”
Not quite sure what to make of that assessment, Caro offered a weak smile.
Jake was waiting for her at the tall reception desk near the front entrance. A small brass lamp with an oblong shade lit a guest book that was yellowed from age. The telephone, an ancient-looking thing with a twisted cord, rotary dial and clunky black receiver, was next to it.
“It’s not a local call,” she said.
“Fine.” He pushed the telephone toward her.
“I’ll reimburse you for the charges.” It looked as if he could use the money, given the state of the inn. It was a shame, too. The place had such great potential. That much was obvious despite its disrepair.
“Just make your call.”
Jake stomped away. He was angry, but not at Caro, even if he thought she should have stayed tucked safe in her home rather than venturing out in foul weather.
For work!
But the person he was good and angry at was himself. He was angry with the way he was acting. Angry with Dean that his younger brother had called him out on his self-prescribed isolation and stirred up emotions that had only recently begun to settle.
“You’re being selfish,” Dean had said earlier that day.
Jake’s family had arrived en masse the evening before, showing up at his doorstep, all grins and giggles, in an SUV they’d rented after touching down at the airport in Montpelier.
“I just want to be left alone.”
“No, you just want to stew. You got screwed, bro. No two ways about it. They set you up to take a fall. You took it.” The younger man set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I never understood that.”
“A woman was dead. Her child, too. A colleague killed himself afterward.”
And then, Miranda.
“But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t get the address wrong,” Dean had insisted. “Someone as anal as you doesn’t get stuff like that wrong.”
Jake wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t be sure. Not anymore. Not without proof. “I was in charge. It happened on my watch, which makes it my fault.”
All of it.
“So you keep saying. But it’s been more than a year. When are you going to cut yourself some slack and rejoin the land of the living?”
The woman and her child didn’t have that luxury. Nor did the rookie cop. Those were facts he couldn’t move beyond. Between them and the media scrutiny his family had endured, and his wife’s decision not only to divorce him but to abort their child, going into exile had seemed the only solution.
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Except your family.”
The words hit with the impact of flaming arrows, which was Dean’s intention. Jake missed his parents. As annoying as Dean could be, he missed his brother, too. And then there were Bonnie and the kids. They were a tight-knit family.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I know.” His brother had snorted. “So, you’re in Vermont to make a fresh start?”
Jake had said nothing.
“That’s what I thought. If I believed you really wanted to be here, that would be different. But you’re here basically hiding out,” he accused a second time. “And while you’re busy with your pity party, Mom and Dad are left hurting, and my kids are left to wonder why their uncle moved to another state and is living like a hermit.”
“You don’t get it,” Jake had snapped. “I did this for you. I did this for all of you.”
“No, bro. We can take care of ourselves. You did this for yourself. You did this because, in addition to the nasty fallout from that unfortunate police raid, you can’t face what Miranda did.”
Jake had grabbed his brother by the shirt. The old rage boiled inside him, tempting him to take a swing. Instead, he’d let Dean loose, found his coat and headed out into the storm. His temper had yet to subside when he’d spied Caro through the falling snow.
He glanced at her now from the door that led to the kitchen. He couldn’t hear what she was saying into the telephone receiver, but she wasn’t happy. The rigid set of her shoulders and the down-turned corners of her mouth said as much.
What was her story?
There was more to it than she claimed, of that Jake was sure. He might no longer be a cop, but his instincts when it came to people were still good. She didn’t fit the portrait of a driven career woman. Something about her was too soft for the hard-edged, high-stakes business world. And the quality of her clothes screamed high society, even if her car had screamed penny-pincher. Yet she’d endangered her life to meet a deadline.
Why?
She said it was important. Something illegal? His gut told him no, but Jake couldn’t shake his first impression that she was desperate.
Not my problem, he reminded himself, putting his curiosity aside. It was back in an instant when her expression softened and her lips curved into a smile.
Just who was on the other end of the line to make her scowl one moment and melt like butter the next?
She twirled the phone cord around the fingers on her left hand as she spoke. No rings that he could see, but the conversation she was having now had nothing to do with business.
I love you.
Jake didn’t hear the words. Rather, he saw her lips form them just before she set the receiver back in its cradle. He wasn’t disappointed that she was involved with someone, even if he did find her attractive. He was past all but the most primal of feelings where women were concerned. He had his ex-wife to thank for that. Besides, he barely knew this woman. Caro hadn’t deceived him. She hadn’t betrayed him. She hadn’t had time to offer more than cursory explanations.
If she had, would she?
He realized he was still staring at her, probably with a scowl on his face, given her startled expression when she spied him. Her eyebrows lifted; her lips parted. He let loose a mild expletive as he levered away from the doorjamb.
Jake never had been the life of the party. That was Dean with his easy smile and open demeanor. But these days Jake knew he came off as unapproachable. Only his family was immune to his black moods and foul temper.
And this woman, apparently.
Caro surprised him by crossing to where he stood.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “Did you get through okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Crisis averted?”
A shadow crept over her face. “What do you mean?”
“The deadline you spoke of. Did you get an extension or a reprieve or … whatever?”
She nodded. “Sort of. For now.”
Why didn’t she look happy about it? A moment ago she’d been smiling and whispering words of love to the party on the other end of the line.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Right.” It was said for his benefit, as was the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were saying something else. It wasn’t desperation he saw in them now. Not entirely, at least. He spied apprehension, nerves. That delayed deadline?
More questions bubbled. After all, it was Saturday afternoon. Tomorrow was Easter Sunday. Just what kind of work was she involved in that required her to be on the clock over a holiday weekend?
And then there was the way she’d ended the phone call. Perhaps she’d had a spat with her lover and they’d resolved it over the phone, but now she was stranded and they wouldn’t be together for the weekend.
That was it, he decided.
“He must be special.”
“Very.” She sighed, and then flushed. “Wh-who?”
Case closed. “Never mind.”
“I also need to call a garage for a wrecker. I wonder if you might have a telephone directory?”
He found a dog-eared book in one of the drawers at the registration desk. It was outdated by half a dozen years. Caro frowned when he handed it to her.
“You don’t have anything more recent?”
“No, but I doubt it will matter. The town hasn’t changed much in the past three decades.”
Quaint, old-fashioned, it was the same year after year. That was part of its draw for tourists. That was exactly its draw for Jake now. He needed a place where his memories weren’t tainted with the stain of the events back in Buffalo.
“Do you have a recommendation?”
He scratched his chin, thinking. “Try Orville’s. They do towing as well as repairs, and it looks like you might have some damage.”
This time, he left her alone to make the call, returning to the living room where his family waited. It was a bad choice if he’d hoped to avoid confrontation. His mother spoke first, which wasn’t surprising. His father preferred to stay in the background, asserting himself only when necessary, but then to great effect. Martin McCabe might be a quiet man, but he was no pushover. Still waters, according to Doreen. And she claimed that, of her two sons, Jake was the one who had inherited the quality.
“Who is she?”
“Just a woman who had the bad luck to have her car go off the road in a storm.”
“A good-looking woman,” Dean mumbled, earning a smack on the arm from his wife.
“Where is she from?”
“Where is she heading?”
“Where is she now?”
His family pelted him with questions. Jake answered his mother’s first.
“She’s calling for a tow truck. I told her to try Orville’s”
“Is he still in business?” his father asked.
“Apparently.”
“Do you really think he will come out in this weather?” Dean wanted to know.
“Not likely.”
“Which means she’ll be spending the night here.” Doreen clicked her tongue. “Heavens, I’d better get busy cleaning up another guest room. God knows they’re not habitable in their present condition.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Bonnie offered.
They started toward the door.
“There’s no need. Caro can have mine,” Jake said.
The chivalrous gesture had his mother smiling and nodding. His brother’s grin, however, had Jake clarifying, “I’ll sleep on the couch in here.”
“Can I sleep down here with Uncle Jake?” Riley wanted to know. He danced excitedly in a circle.
“Me, too! Me, too!” Jillian chanted.
“You’ll sleep upstairs with us,” Bonnie said. Before they could protest, she added, “Remember, the Easter Bunny is coming tonight. It wouldn’t do for him to stumble over a couple of sleeping children while trying to hide your baskets full of treats.”
That quieted them, but only for a moment.
“When are we going to color the eggs?” Jillian asked, hopping on one foot.
“Let’s do it now!” Riley squealed.
“After dinner and before bath time,” their mother said.
On their way from Montpelier’s airport, they’d stopped at a grocery store. They had everything for the holiday feast with them, from the eggs the children were itching to dye to the honey-glazed ham that would be served the following day for dinner. Doreen even had packed the fancy Irish linens the McCabes used every holiday. Jake took in the scene before him. The kids scampering about, his father smoking a pipe while seated fireside. It was so damned easy to pretend that everything was the same with his family here.
Except that it wasn’t. Nothing was the same. This family gathering was different. Someone was missing … and he didn’t mean his ex-wife.
He glanced toward the doorway. Caro stood there—looking tentative, looking utterly beautiful despite her damp hair and pinched expression. She was nothing like Miranda, despite their shared affinity for high-quality clothing. Miranda’s features were far sharper. The description he kept coming back to when it came to this woman was soft, fragile.
Jake cleared his throat. “Any luck getting a tow truck to come out?”
“No. A man answered at the place you suggested, but he said the roads were impassable and he had a dozen or so requests for assistance to handle ahead of mine. With tomorrow being a holiday, he said it would be Monday at the earliest before he could tow my car to his garage.”
Some of that desperation leaked back into her expression. “Is there another garage I should try?”
“Maybe. But I have a feeling they’d all tell you the same thing,” Jake replied.
She nodded glumly.
“Well, not to worry. You’re welcome here,” Doreen said. “You’ll take Jake’s room.”
Her eyelids flickered. In surprise or dismay? “Oh, no. I couldn’t—”
“He insists,” Doreen said.
At Caro’s dubious expression, Jake added, “Actually, I do. It will save my mother and Bonnie from having to clean up another one of the guest rooms.”
She smiled. “Well, in that case …”
“You’d probably like a hot shower,” Doreen said. “Show her where everything is, Jake, while Bonnie and I try to come up with a change of clothes.”
Having been given his marching orders, Jake headed for the stairs. Even though Caro was behind him, he swore he could smell the subtle, sexy scent that wafted from her person.
CHAPTER THREE
CARO FOLLOWED JAKE UP the stairs just past the reception desk. The oak banister wobbled under her hand and the steps creaked beneath a maroon carpet runner that was worn and faded from age.
At the top, he turned right, bypassing two doors before stopping to open the third.
“This is it,” he said.
Jake stepped backward to allow her to enter the room first. She’d assumed she would follow him inside and so they wound up bumping into one another. The side of his foot came down on her big toe and the point of his elbow found her breast.
“God, sorry.”
“Excuse me,” she said.
Their words were issued simultaneously and with an equal measure of awkwardness.
“Um, are you … okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Good thing you aren’t still wearing your boots.” Caro chose to ignore entirely the other injury she’d suffered.
This time she was ready when Jake waved her ahead.
The room was a good size, with a dormer wide enough to fit a desk and a sitting area comprised of two wingback chairs that flanked a fireplace. Clothes were draped over the chairs, making it clear sitting wasn’t their function these days. But the fireplace looked to be in working order, if the ashes and charred log inside the opening were any indication.
Caro wished it were lit now. She felt as if she would never be warm again. But she didn’t ask Jake to indulge her. She’d put him through too much trouble already.
The other main focus of the room, of course, was the bed. It was an antique brass number that she’d bet was original to the inn. She crossed to get a better look at the detail work on the tarnished headboard. As she rested one hand on the cool metal, the covers distracted her. They lay in a twisted heap in the center of the sagging mattress. Hers always looked the same by morning, no matter how diligently she tucked in the sheets. She pictured Jake there, tossing and turning. Intrigued, she nonetheless forced the image away.
He cleared his throat, making her aware that he stood just behind her. Caro turned. She could only imagine what he was thinking.
“You’re a restless sleeper,” she said inanely.
His brows shot up.
“The covers.” She motioned to them with one hand. “They’re all bunched up.”
“I would have straightened my bed if I’d known someone besides me would be sleeping in it tonight. I wasn’t expecting company. More company, that is.”
“I didn’t mean to sound critical,” she offered hastily. “In fact, my covers always look the same by morning.”
His brows rose again, making her feel foolish and flustered. She didn’t care for either sensation. So, when she spoke again, her tone was no-nonsense. “Anyway, I really do appreciate your giving up your bed for me. The room is very nice. Lovely in fact.”
His laughter startled her almost as much as the transformation humor made on his appearance.
“It’s a dump, Caro. The whole place is.” He sobered then as he glanced around. “It wasn’t always like this and it won’t be by the time I’m finished. I’ll make it right.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that final fierce declaration. In the end, it didn’t matter. He switched gears and returned to more practical matters.
“There are only three bathrooms that are in working order in the entire place. One is on the main floor next to what used to be the caretaker’s quarters. The other two are up here, including the one through there.” He pointed to a door on the far side of the room. “Sorry I wasn’t able to go back for your bag, but you’ll find most of the basics—soap, shampoo, toothpaste. I think there’s even a new toothbrush in one of the vanity drawers.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She offered a smile. “It sure beats sleeping in a snowdrift.”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping. You’d be dead.”
Her smile vanished.
“Sorry.” He glanced away.
For the first time, she noticed a small, crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his left eye. She had one similar in size and shape on the underside of her chin, the result of a fall off her bike when she was six. Truman considered it a defect and had tried more than once to talk her into seeing a plastic surgeon to have it made less noticeable.
She was glad she’d resisted. As it was, he’d managed to erase so much of her personality and her person, remaking her into an image she’d barely recognized when she gazed in the mirror. One of the first things she’d done after leaving him was to dye her hair back to something resembling its natural shade of caramel-brown. He’d preferred her as a blonde, and he knew best, after all.
“Sorry,” Jake said again, pulling her from her musings. This time he sounded a little more irritated than contrite.
“No need to apologize. Besides, you’re right. I was already in serious trouble when you happened along,” Caro admitted. “And I didn’t mean to stare at you just now. It’s just that I was noticing your scar.”
On impulse she reached over and traced its smooth surface with one fingertip. He pulled backward as if she’d struck him.
“It gives your face character.”
“That’s putting it politely.” He didn’t sound convinced. Nor did he appear to appreciate her forwardness.
“I have one, too.” She tilted up her chin and pointed. “See? Right here.”
He cupped the side of her face and turned her head slightly to get a better look. His callused hand felt rough against her skin. She told herself that was the only reason for the odd sensation his touch inspired.
“How’d you get yours?” he asked as he withdrew his hand.
“I fell off my bike and hit the handlebars on my way down. I was six. You?”
“Eleven. Dean and I were horsing around and I took a header off the front porch. My mother’s stone birdbath broke my fall.” He rubbed his temple. “I wound up with a concussion and we both wound up grounded.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I was older.” He shrugged. “Supposedly, I knew better.”
“Hi.” Bonnie knocked at the opened door before entering. “I come bearing clothes. Sorry to say, all I have for you is a robe and a pair of wool socks. I didn’t bring a second pair of pajamas.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I really appreciate this.”
Caro took the berry-colored terry-cloth robe from Bonnie’s hands. It was soft and looked warm, as did the gray socks. That was all that mattered.
“Aren’t you going to light the fireplace, Jake?” Bonnie asked.
Caro could have hugged her.
“I guess I could,” he said slowly.
“It would help take the chill off,” Bonnie said, sending Caro a grin.
“The inn’s furnace needs to be replaced. It’s on my to-do list.” He sighed then. “Along with a lot of other things.”
“Dean’s told me stories about this place. He said it was something else when you were kids. He remembers the two of you playing hide-and-seek in the common rooms and sliding down the banister.”
Jake grunted. “The banister couldn’t take Riley’s weight now without splintering into pieces.”
“He’s getting big.” Unless Caro missed her guess, Bonnie was purposely misunderstanding his meaning. “Doreen says he’s the spitting image of Dean at that age. He’s all McCabe. Same with Jillian.”
A muscle ticked in Jake’s jaw and something akin to pain flashed in his eyes.
The silence stretched. Before it could become too awkward, though, Bonnie dusted her hands together.
“Well, just to let you know, Mom’s reheating the pot of five-alarm chili she made earlier. She told me to tell you it would be ready whenever you and Caro are hungry.”
Caro’s stomach growled as if on command, making her realize she was all but starving. The piece of toast and cup of tea she’d had several hours earlier had barely been enough to sustain her through the morning. Adrenaline, however, had staved off the worst of her hunger.
Apparently, until just now.
Caro wanted to be appalled. She found herself laughing out loud instead. Bonnie joined in. Jake, however, gaped as if she’d gone mad.
In her head, Caro heard her mother-in-law say sternly: “Only a woman of ill breeding would comport herself in such a manner.”
Caro sobered.
“What about you guys?” Jake was asking Bonnie.
“Oh, we ate a little over an hour ago.”
“Jillian said you were worried about me,” he reminded her wryly.
“I was, which is why I indulged in two bowls.” Bonnie’s smile vanished and she poked his chest with her index finger. “Don’t do that again. I don’t care how much Dean ticks you off. Don’t do that again. Do you hear me?”
Jake grabbed hold of the finger before she could jab him a second time and gave it a squeeze. “I hear you. Next time, I’ll pick Dean up and dump him outside in the snow.”
“One stipulation,” she said.
“Anything.”
“Wait until I have the camera handy.” Bonnie left the room chuckling.
“That’s nice.”
Jake turned to face Caro. “What?”
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Jackie Braun
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Breaking down Manipulative and cold as ice, Caro’s ex might be an utter jerk, but she’s got to go back to him to keep custody of her young son. Her journey through a blizzard makes the hard decision harder – and one almighty skid later she’s got a whole new sub-zero problem… Until a mysterious stranger appears out of the mist on horseback! Breaking free? Trapped with him in the ongoing storm, Caro discovers her rescuer is an ex-cop – the grouchy-yet- gorgeous Jake McCabe.Shocked by their intense attraction, Caro will soon face the most difficult choice of all: in Jake she may have found the hero she’s been looking for (and, by God, deserves! ), but to claim him she risks losing her little boy…