Blackbird Lake Read online

  Jake was here in the same room with his daughter, breathing the same air, less than ten feet away from his own child, and he had no clue. All because of me, she thought grimly. Because I never told him.

  She’d made the decision two years before that she wasn’t going to tell him anything about the baby, not ever. For his own good, as much for him as for Emma, she reminded herself now as she met those steady blue eyes.

  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And it wouldn’t hurt Emma, either—not the way it would if she knew she had a father who didn’t want to be a real part of her life.

  “Is Austin okay?” she asked quickly, praying she didn’t look as freaked out as she felt.

  “Probably sound asleep again by now.” Jake’s voice was quiet, even. “I let him pet Bronco—” He nodded toward the skinny mutt, who now looked as docile and well behaved as a prize-winning poodle at a dog show. “Then I promised him we’d come back tomorrow so the two of them could play fetch in the backyard.” He gave his head a shake. “Whew, you sure had your hands full. That was my fault. Sorry.”

  It took every drop of willpower she possessed to keep from stepping instinctively between him and Emma as he advanced toward the sofa.

  Toward their daughter.

  An enormous lump filled her throat as he peered down at the little girl with the wispy curls draped across her cheeks.

  Emma looked like a real-life, honest-to-goodness cherub. Beautiful. Sweet. Innocent. Deeply asleep now, her tiny fingers clutched the soft peach-colored throw tucked around her shoulders.

  “Who’s this amazing little heartbreaker?” Jake asked softly. “Since she doesn’t have a bed of her own in this house, I’m guessing she’s yours.”

  “Ye-es. My daughter. Emma.” Carly tried to ignore the bubble of fear and tension expanding in her chest.

  “Wow, what pretty hair. She looks so much like you. I’m sure you must know how beautiful she is.” His gaze lingered on Emma, and a smile tugged at his lips before he turned slowly away and fixed those disconcertingly direct eyes on Carly.

  “So. You’re married now. Damn. Just my luck.” Even as the rueful grin split across his face, he automatically glanced down to her left hand and registered with a small jolt of surprise that she wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

  Or, for that matter, an engagement ring.

  “Oops. Or…not,” he added easily, with a wider grin and a shrug of his shoulders. There was neither a question nor judgment in his eyes.

  “So not married,” she answered quickly, with a shrug. But a flush crept up her neck and heated her cheeks. “Emma’s father isn’t in the picture.”

  Whoa. What kind of an asshole wouldn’t be in the picture for his very own kid? Jake felt a rush of pity for the toddler asleep on the sofa—and contempt for the man who had run out on his responsibility. He noticed that Carly’s voice sounded stiff, even a little bit breathless, and he guessed she wasn’t nearly as cool with the father deserting them as she wanted everyone else to think she was.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stick my nose where it didn’t belong,” he began but she brushed right past him and Bronco as if he hadn’t spoken, heading straight to the front door.

  “I’ll tell Denny you stopped by.”

  Man, this woman couldn’t get rid of him fast enough.

  She looked even more delicious than he remembered from that night in Houston. She had a fantastic willowy body, long and lean. And that fresh, sexy girl-next-door kind of beauty—a stunning combination of naturalness and sensuality. And her lips…they were probably the most pouty, shapely, inviting-looking lips he’d ever seen. And he’d seen quite a few. Fact was, he still remembered just how sweet they tasted…how sweet she tasted….

  What really got him, though, wasn’t the knockout beauty of her heart-shaped face, or her full soft lips, or even the remembered peal of breathless, slightly tipsy laughter as they got to know each other between the sheets in Houston.

  It was her eyes. Those incredible dreamy green eyes, soft and rich as a summer forest. They seemed to have a way of drawing a man in. Deeply in.

  When they weren’t deliberately trying to block him out.

  Which was what they were doing right now.

  Following her to the door, Bronco at his heels, Jake struggled to rein in his attraction to her—the same heady jolt of instant attraction that had pulled him to her across the lobby of that hotel—but she sure didn’t make it easy.

  She was damned sexy in that scoop-necked ivory sweater, with her mass of thick red curls, simple faded jeans, and sneakers. Fact was, she looked like a million bucks. Like some slender supermodel hanging out in Lonesome Way, lying low—on vacation, Jake thought. Tall and graceful—with very distracting curves filling out her sweater and jeans in exactly the right places.

  This Carly McKinnon was so much more down-to-earth than the stunning, polished businesswoman he’d invited into his hotel room in Houston. Back then she’d been dressed in very high heels, a gold silk blouse, and a black business suit.

  He remembered her kicking off those heels and sauntering toward him with a sexy little smile. He remembered her rising up on tiptoe and kissing him within two minutes of stepping into his hotel room.

  And after he’d stripped off her elegant blouse and skirt, tossed aside her wispy black bra and tiny lace thong, he’d discovered a whole other side to her.

  A side that was effortlessly sexy, a little bit wild, and as hot as any spark from a campfire.

  The truth was, he’d actually thought about her again the next day…and the next. And maybe even the day after that.

  Which was unusual for him.

  He’d even been tempted to call her. But he’d told himself that would be a bad idea.

  Jake had a sixth sense about women. And from what he’d seen of Carly McKinnon in bed and out, he’d sensed that beneath the sexiness and the smarts and the confidence, and despite her eagerness to fall into bed with him that night, she wasn’t the type of woman to either take or let things go lightly.

  Which meant she wasn’t a good fit for a man who never lingered long in one place—or with one woman.

  His instincts had warned him to leave well enough alone and walk away. And in his long career with horses, bulls, and women, Jake had learned to trust his instincts.

  He’d never expected to see her again—especially not here in his hometown. But maybe he should have expected it, he thought. She’d told him they’d met briefly as kids, told him that she knew Martha Davies and had visited Lonesome Way a couple of times.

  Over dinner that night she’d even mentioned witnessing a fistfight while she was in town—a fistfight that involved Jake sticking up for a younger kid.

  Well, that wasn’t too unusual, Jake had reflected. He’d always seemed to have a zero-tolerance policy for bullies. Like Roger Hendricks, who’d always picked on the smallest boys on the playground when they were in grade school.

  Jake had put an end to that quick enough. Probably because his father had always quoted old cowboy sayings to him when they were working side by side at the ranch—and one of those old sayings had stuck hard in Jake’s mind.

  A cowboy should never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.

  Words to live by, son, Jake’s father had told him. And Jake did just that.

  He’d searched his memory over dinner with Carly that night in Houston, and finally, when she described the fight to him, he’d vaguely remembered it—and the older boy whose butt he’d kicked.

  Gil Tucker. An ass in horse’s clothing.

  Gil and he had never gotten along. The guy had been a bully practically since the time he learned how to walk. He and his cousins had cornered puny Randy Taylor outside of Roy’s Diner that day. Jake didn’t remember all the details. He only knew Gil had grown up to be every bit as much of a loser as he’d been in his teenaged years. He was now an assistant coach with the high school football team. According to Rafe and Travis, Gil got his kicks tear
ing into the weakest of his players.

  Some things never changed.

  But Jake was far more interested in what Carly was doing in Lonesome Way here and now. How she’d come from a big-time job out east to babysitting at Denny McDonald’s house on Blue Bell Drive.

  “So I’m guessing you’re here visiting Martha.” With Bronco following right on his heels, he joined her at the door where she waited, all but tapping her foot. She looked so pretty and so damned eager to be rid of them both that he couldn’t help but take it as a challenge. “Any chance you’ll be sticking around a few more days? I’m thinking we could go to dinner.”

  “Sorry, I can’t. Emma keeps me pretty busy.”

  “Aw. I’m sure she does.” Leaning against the doorjamb, he gazed down into her eyes. They met his with a coolness that didn’t bode well. He felt a ping of disappointment. But Jake was nothing if not a risk taker. “The thing is, I have a niece. She’s great—fifteen, very smart, real responsible. And she babysits—”

  “I know. Ivy. She’s terrific. But, as I said—I can’t.”

  Can’t or won’t? he wondered. Her face was set, determined. As in Sorry, buddy, but no way.

  Well, all right, then. Don’t try to spare my feelings or anything. Jake didn’t know whether to laugh or go take a shower. Maybe his deodorant was failing him. He didn’t usually have this much trouble getting a date. Especially a second date.

  “So…I take it you know my brother and Sophie, too?”

  “I know your entire family.” For the first time, she hesitated a moment, then plunged on. “I…we—Emma and I—we live here now.”

  She was staring at him almost defiantly. At least that was how it seemed for a moment. Then she gave him what looked like a forced, too casual smile. “Two doors down, actually. The McDonalds are our neighbors.”

  “No kidding. You moved here? From Boston?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a jerky little shrug. “Sure, why not? People move all the time.”

  “Not to Lonesome Way, they don’t.” He smiled at her, but still…he sensed something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Her skin was slightly, adorably flushed and she sounded almost defensive. “We’re kinda off the beaten track. Seriously, how the hell did you end up here?”

  She hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Martha, of course. She’s the closest person I have—we have—to family. I wanted to be near her. She’s Emma’s godmother but she’s actually more like a grandmother to her. And this town…Lonesome Way…”

  She paused again, then met his gaze squarely, speaking more slowly as if she really needed him to understand. “Since the first time I visited here, I haven’t been able to get Lonesome Way out of my mind. I always thought it was the perfect small town, the perfect place to grow up. Then, a few months before Emma was born, I suddenly realized I wanted to raise her here. Not in Boston or any other big city. I wanted her to grow up in a small town. In this small town. To put down roots…I didn’t really have any roots when I was a child. And my foster mother had died two years before…so,” she said, flushing a little bit more, “I quit my job so Emma could have this. A place where she belonged. I wanted her to have family close by—Martha,” she added swiftly.

  Suddenly she put her hand on his arm and gave him a little push. “Look, I really do need to check on the kids. Thanks for all your…um, help.”

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t missed the subtle sarcasm of that last word—or her speaking glance at Bronco. But the touch of her hand on his arm—he swore a tingle ran through his blood where her fingers touched.

  “Seeing as it was this big guy who caused all the problems, it’s the least I could do. But maybe I’ll see you around.” He gave her his best grin.

  “Sure. Maybe.” But not if I can help it! Carly eased the door closed.

  This time he didn’t try to stop her, and she pushed it firmly shut until the latch clicked. Then she sagged against it, her heart still racing. With relief she heard the sound of an engine growling to life, saw headlights flash through the living room window as his truck rolled away into the night.

  God, her hands were trembling. Like leaves in a summer storm. She pressed them to her cheeks.

  What a freaking disaster. Her mind whirled as she strode up and down the living room, reliving every moment of Jake staring down at Emma, of that smile in his eyes when he looked at her.

  She’d felt too many emotions roiling through her in that moment—the terror that somehow he’d recognize Emma as his daughter, the guilt at having kept her from him all this time. Even though she knew he didn’t want the responsibility and he was better off—they were all better off—with him not knowing, she couldn’t quite block out the whispers of her conscience.

  Jake had the soul of a nomad. He was not father material. Not even close.

  Biting her lip, she paced across the patterned living room rug. And reminded herself yet again that Emma would be happier without any father than one who would feel obligated and potentially resentful.

  When Karla called a scant twenty minutes later to let her know that they were on their way home, that the hospital wanted to keep Denny’s father overnight for observation but his condition wasn’t serious, Carly managed to tell her in a steady enough tone about Jake showing up at the door.

  “Oh, damn. Denny told me he was coming by tonight! I totally forgot. The two of them have some business deal to discuss. We both completely blanked on it after the accident. We were so worried about Sam—Denny,” Carly heard her call out, “Jake came by to talk to you about his project! We forgot to reschedule!”

  What project was that? Carly wondered after Karla assured her they’d be home within the next half hour. Not that it mattered to her what Jake did or didn’t do.

  But she found herself thinking again about that hand-some face she could barely tear her gaze from. About that superbly muscled body, and how surprising it was to see the gentleness of his expression when he’d looked at Emma. He’d been good with Karla and Denny’s kids, too, she acknowledged.

  And she couldn’t help wondering if the decision she’d made two years before to keep the truth from him had really been wise and unselfish.

  Or self-serving and the easy way out.

  She bit her lip and reminded herself she’d reached the decision for all the right reasons. And by the time Karla and Denny returned, and she scooped Emma up into her arms once more to carry her home, she had almost completely convinced herself again that she was right.

  She was so immersed in her own thoughts and worries that she didn’t even notice the dark-colored truck parked across the street from Willa Martin’s driveway. Or see the man watching her from the driver’s seat, sitting very still, sheathed in darkness, the engine turned off, and only his gaze following her as she strode with Emma across the two front lawns to the door of her home.

  Chapter Six

  Madison’s eyes drifted closed. Pleasure flitted over her as she sat facing the street at her corner table in A Bun in the Oven the next afternoon and bit into her freshly baked cinnamon bun.

  So delicious, she thought, trying to concentrate on the gooey sweetness, the drizzle of icing, the fragrant smells of dough and chocolate drifting through the bakery—and not on what Delia Craig was saying.

  “So I’m going to wear this one-shouldered red shimmery dress. And wait ’til you see my shoes. Killer shoes. Also red. Stilettos. Does the name Jimmy Choo mean anything to you? I bought them online. On sale! What are you going to wear?”

  “Don’t have a clue. Trying not to think about it.” Madison took another bite of the cinnamon bun. But her stomach was starting to knot up and ache a little. Not from the cinnamon bun, but from the way Delia was looking at her. As if she was from another planet because she wasn’t psyched to prance and pose her way across the stage at the Double Cross Bar and Grill on auction night.

  “You know, you really need to give this some thought. The auction’s coming up soon. Less tha
n two weeks.”

  Surrounded by what seemed like a quarter of the town of Lonesome Way enjoying an early lunch in the bustling, sunny bakery, Madison shook her head.

  “Shhh. Don’t remind me.”

  “We could go shopping in Livingston,” Delia suggested. “At Sequins and Swirls. It’s the cutest shop with lots of sparkly party dresses and jewelry and stuff. It’s your day off from babysitting—why not take advantage of it?”

  Delia Craig had never known a moment of stage fright. With her pert face, long, honey brown hair, nose sprinkled with freckles, and a high, soulful singing voice that melded perfectly with her boyfriend Eddie’s deep twang, she positively ate up being the center of attention onstage, any stage, like a seven-year-old digging into a marshmallow-topped hot fudge sundae.

  “I’m not wearing a party dress,” Madison said firmly, licking a bit of icing off her finger. “I’m not wearing a dress at all.”

  “Then what will you wear?” Delia swallowed another bite of her gooey caramel brownie and stared. “Sweatpants? Jeans?” she asked jokingly.

  “One or the other, probably. Yes.”

  “Come on.” Delia laughed. “It’s one thing to dress like that when the Wild Critters perform. You’re always in the back, in the shadows anyway. But for the auction, you want everyone to see you. You want as many guys as possible bidding on you, don’t you? Guys go nuts for a girl in a tight, sexy, shimmery dress. Especially one with your figure. You’ll raise a ton more money for the shelter if you go with the sexy vibe.”

  Madison knew she was right. But the idea of wearing a dress practically made her itch. She’d worn enough dresses in her pageant years to last her two lifetimes. Sweet dresses, sexy dresses. Long swirly dresses and pink heels, white diaphanous dresses with tulle and silver slippers that made her look like a stupid miniature Cinderella doll.

  And she could still see her mother’s face, squinched critically as she looked Madison over before pushing her off down the runway.

  “Don’t slump, Madison. Shoulders back, sweetie. Way back! Smile. You look like you just fell down and skinned your knee. You need to look like a princess. A happy princess who’s smiling and waving to all of her subjects. Like in a storybook. Do I need to buy you a storybook with pictures? Smile more. Bigger…that’s it. A great big smile, that’s the way to win! No more of this finishing fifth or eighth. Show them you want to win!”