Blackbird Lake (10 page)

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.

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 than 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!”

With a shudder she tore herself from the stroll down memory lane hell and all of a sudden, just like that, she saw Brady Farraday walk past the bakery window.

Her chair squeaked as she shoved it back.

“Sorry, Dee, be back in a minute.”

Madison had to dart around a couple of teenaged girls trying to enter the bakery. She managed to spot Brady’s tall figure right before he entered Benson’s Drugstore, and hurried after him.

Slightly out of breath, she burst into the drugstore and scanned each of the aisles before she finally spotted him in the back, near the refrigerated section. He already had a six-pack of beer in one hand, and he was grabbing a package of hot dogs in the other. He wore jeans and boots and, despite the cool fall day, no jacket. Just a short-sleeved blue-gray T-shirt that revealed tanned skin and hard, ropy muscles.

“Brady.” She skidded to a stop before him. “I’m sorry about Cord. Are you all right?”

He stared at her, close to six feet of strapping, good-looking cowboy going very still. His thatch of thick sandy blond hair tumbled over his brow as he looked her over slowly, then shrugged.

“Saw your note. I’m fine,” he said curtly, but she didn’t miss the flash of skepticism in his eyes. She guessed the words
and you care
why
?
were flashing through his brain.

Fair question. Especially since the two of them hadn’t spoken a word to each other in years. But Brady had lost his
brother. And his way. Long ago, as children, Madison thought with a tug of sorrow, they’d roller-skated down her street together, holding hands. Climbed on the monkey bars in the schoolyard, racing every day to see who could reach the top first.

How many times had they sprawled together, side by side in the treehouse he’d built, eating Cheez-Its out of the box and munching on his mom’s peanut butter cookies and groaning over their never-ending homework?

In middle school they’d talked endlessly on the phone every night about who liked who, who was a snob, a brat, who smoked, who drank, who was a total jerk.

And when her mother wasn’t dragging her off to compete in some pageant on the weekend, Brady had come over nearly every day to hang out. They’d listened to music in Madison’s bedroom, dreamed about how he was going to be a race car driver someday, how she was going to write songs and sell them to top country and pop artists all over the world.

When Dylan Hunt, a seventh grader, had pestered her to be his girlfriend for a whole week after she’d told him no, then began calling her with taunting phone calls and telling everyone in school she was a stuck-up bitch, Brady, who’d been skinny and half a head shorter than Dylan back in those days, had pushed the other boy up against a locker and warned him to lay off. Dylan had never bothered her again.