Wanted: A Family (9 page)

“Don't you want to eat first?” Elise's brow furrowed. “I thought you were hungry for fish.”

“Are you sick?” Jacob took a step toward her, his tone laced with concern.

“No, just tired. Too tired to eat.” Unable to meet his gaze for fear he'd see the panic in her eyes, she hurried out of the kitchen.

In her bedroom, she wilted onto the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest, aching to hold Jacob in her arms.

Jacob. A man without faith.

A man without a past.

A man without permanence.

Even with all his shortcomings, Martin had given her that much.

She'd protect her child from a broken heart by holding Jacob at arm's length. She released the pillow and laid her palms over her unborn child. A flutter of movement, as if her baby leaped within her, wrapped around her heart. All she needed was this precious little one, God's gift and her future.

 

Jake knelt on the staircase, tightening the screws in the banister, eliminating the wobble. Steadying the railing with both hands, Callie stood looking up at him with those startling blue eyes. He could've managed without her help, but it gave him an opportunity to ask questions that might lead to information about the woman who'd given birth to him.

“Once I'm finished, this railing should be solid enough to support my weight with two mules on my back.”

As he'd intended, she grinned, looking happy.

Unlike the expression she'd worn last night, when she'd raced out of the kitchen with the excuse that she was too tired to eat fresh-caught fish. But she hadn't been able to look him in the eyes when she said it. No, she'd been
unsettled by the intimacy sizzling between them at the river.

Well, she wasn't alone.

What he hadn't counted on was his overwhelming reaction to having her near this morning, aware of her scent, her sea-blue eyes and slender, toil-toughened hands. A woman like Callie shouldn't have to work that hard. She ought to find a reliable man, a God-fearing man, and remarry. Yet the notion of Callie attached to another man tightened his jaw until his teeth hurt.

He sat back on his heels and absorbed the tendrils of her hair curling around her neck, the delicate arch of her brows, her full, kissable lips. What would it be like to have that sweet mouth against his? To feel her soft curves pressed against him?

With every ounce of his strength, he concentrated on his objective. “How long have you lived in Peaceful?”

She hesitated, a troubled look filling her eyes. “I moved here when I was seven to live with my aunt after…” she took a deep breath “…after my parents and baby brother drowned.”

That Callie had been orphaned twisted in Jake's stomach.

She cleared her throat. “Our farm sat in a valley, the school on high ground.” She laid trembling fingers over her lips as if trying to hold back the words. “I wasn't the only child to lose my family that day.”

“You were a little kid.” He touched her jaw, wanting to take her into his arms, but didn't. “That had to be terrifying.”

“You understand better than most,” she said softly. “It happened because a disgruntled husband sought to punish his wife's lover and blew a hole in the dam. The whole thing
gave way. He claimed he was innocent but the evidence was overwhelming and he finally confessed.”

The news crashed into Jake with the force of an avalanche. He couldn't imagine the horror of losing her family, especially that way. A lawbreaker had destroyed Callie's world and now sat in jail, as he should. If she learned of Jake's sentence, how could she not question his innocence?

“I'm so sorry.” Knowing the words weren't enough, not nearly enough, for all Callie had missed.

“I was luckier than you. My mother's sister took me in and helped me adjust.”

Jake ached to somehow erase all she'd suffered. “Not luckier. You knew what you had. What you lost. I could only guess what it meant to have a family.”

Avoiding her eyes, he rotated the handle of the screwdriver, twisting the screw tighter and tighter into the wood. Something despicable must live inside him that pre vented others from stomaching his presence. “Even when I lived with one for a little while, I was never part of their circle.”

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It's better to have had a family and lost it than never to have had a family at all.”

That delicate hand burned through his sleeve. He wanted to cover it with his own, to show her he cared, but even a fine woman like Callie, with all she'd experienced would be suspicious of his stint in jail.

“Losing my parents and Ronnie was…” She shivered. “Terrible. But I have memories, happy memories to remember them by. Aunt Hilda had a few pictures of us, pictures I cherish. Pictures I can pore over, hold, touch. They don't replace my family, but they keep them alive in my heart.” Her eyes glistened. “I wish you had that.”

Jake wanted that, too. Some sense of where he came from and who his parents were. That lack of connection twisted inside him. A constant ache he'd learned to live with, so much a part of him he barely noticed. If only he could share his search for his mother. But if he found her and she rejected him… He couldn't bear for Callie to witness his humiliation.

He forced his thoughts to Callie's aunt. She'd know all the scandals in town, might know the identity of his mother. “The day I arrived, when I asked about your family, you didn't mention an aunt.”

“Aunt Hilda had a stroke and died.”

The news thudded in Jake's stomach. “You've endured the loss of your family, your aunt and your husband. I've never heard you utter one word of complaint or resentment. You're strong, Callie Mitchell.”

“I'm weak, Jacob. God is strong. I lean on Him.”

Callie didn't realize what a rare creature she was, an uncommon woman, but Jake knew. And his admiration for her grew. Her baby was fortunate to have such a mother.

A desire to know the woman who'd given him birth gripped him. Perhaps she was a woman of strength with an inner beauty like Callie. He'd judged her, condemned her. But he didn't know her circumstances.

“Even with everything you've been through, you've made friends, gotten involved, put down roots. Probably not much happens in town that escapes you.”

“Are you implying that I'm a gossip?”

“I'd never believe that of you. I thought people in small towns generally knew everyone's business.”

She sighed. “That can be a problem, like with Elise on Sunday. Some folks poke their noses in more than they should.”

Here was an opening. “Elise can't be the first young
woman to find herself in those circumstances. Your aunt probably saw young women in the same fix in her day.”

“If she did, she kept it from me.”

Callie had lived with a woman who'd protected her from the harsher side of life. “Losing your aunt must've hurt.”

“Aunt Hilda was a wonderful, giving woman. I miss her. I married Martin soon after she died. Now he's gone, too,” she said softly.

Suddenly her mouth contorted as if she might cry.

Jake brushed her cheek, then stood helplessly, unable to break away. In Callie, he recognized the signs of bone-deep loneliness. Loneliness he lived with every day. Or he had until he came to Peaceful.

He lifted her chin, bringing her face within inches of his. Almost losing his composure at their closeness, he wanted to comfort her, to hold her, to make her pain vanish. But the widow's weeds she wore served as a vivid reminder that she mourned her husband.

“What can I do? Should I call Elise?”

“I'm fine,” she said, though her voice trembled. “Once in a while it hits me anew that all the family I had in the world is gone.”

“You have Martin's parents.”

She nodded but remained mute. No wonder. Commodore Mitchell could've made things easier for Callie. Been the supportive father figure she needed badly. But he badgered her and criticized her. Losing an opportunity Jake would give anything to have. Callie appeared to cope with loneliness by re-creating that family with Elise.

Callie looked away, letting her gaze meander toward the railing. “Martin meant to get around to fixing up the place. But something always interfered.” A hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “The fish were biting or his buddies would invite him hunting.”

Jake couldn't imagine a go-getter like Callie married to a slacker, even a slacker with good intentions. What had been wrong with the guy? Martin Mitchell had possessed everything of importance. A beautiful wife, a great old house, parents. Why hadn't he put them first, before his amusement?

“Don't judge my husband and find him wanting,” Callie said, as if reading his thoughts. “You might see Martin as lazy, but he had many good qualities.” She raised her eyes to his.

Jake met her moist, forlorn gaze, all but tearing a hole in his self-control, his eyes stinging and swallowed hard. “I know he did, Callie. You wouldn't have loved him otherwise.”

“He liked to have fun, to tease. I never had a dull moment with Martin around.” She smiled. “He appreciated nature. He'd call me to watch a pretty sunset or see a rainbow.” Her voice faltered. “He died so young. I'm glad he got to enjoy those things as much as he did.”

Her forceful tone and the intensity of her gaze dared him to disagree. He craved that loyalty. Loyalty he'd never had. But if Callie discovered his past, she'd never talk about him the way she talked about Martin, with that sweet acceptance, with that tolerance.

Still, what would it be like to have a woman like Callie stick up for him? What would it be like to have a woman like Callie to watch a sunset with? What would it be like to have a woman like Callie to call his?

No point in speculating. He might be a hard worker, his one edge over Martin Mitchell, but Callie could never care about a taciturn jailbird the way she'd cared about her happy-go-lucky husband.

Today had proved that Callie knew nothing about unwed mothers in the town all those years ago. He'd have to find a
way to look at the newspapers cluttering her library. Surely somewhere in that pile was the information he sought.

Once he found the woman who'd given birth to him, he'd be on his way, though the prospect of leaving sank inside him with the weight of an anchor. But what was the point of staying? He had no hope of forging a family with Callie.

C
allie put the finishing touches on the tulip centerpiece. As she rearranged the height of one flower, her hands trembled. Silly to be this shaken by her first dinner party since Martin died. Some would see entertaining this soon as unseemly, but too many deaths, too many funerals had taught Callie to live in the moment. She believed God's Word supported that lesson. As much as she could, she wouldn't let past losses or future uncertainties cast a shadow on her today.

The dinner party gave her a chance to offer Jacob a taste of hospitality, of the pleasure of gathering around a table, sharing a meal and conversation with friends. His edgy demeanor in her kitchen implied that this wouldn't come easily for him. But once he got acquainted with her friends, he'd relax.

She heard a rap on the door. Jacob stood on the other side, clean-shaven, wearing his church clothes and a wary look in his green eyes. She wanted to assure him that which fork he used didn't matter one whit, but a man raised in an institution wouldn't have confidence in social situations.

“Thought I'd fill screw holes then polish the banis
ter. I wouldn't want your guests to think I'd left a project incomplete.”

“How thoughtful.” Smiling, Callie stepped aside to let him enter.

“I'll try not to get in your way.”

Just his presence in the house chased every task from her head. “You won't bother me.” When had she spoken a bigger lie?

As he set to work, Callie returned to the dining room, reliving their conversation yesterday. She'd opened up about her past. He'd cared about her losses, understood her loneliness. What would it be like to lean into those strong arms of his?

The prospect of counting on another man skittered along her spine. Caring brought heartache. And she'd had all the heartache she could handle. She'd focus on her baby and refuse to get involved with Jacob, except to help him repair the house.

Through the archway, she had a view of the foyer. Jacob bent over the banister, his black hair catching the light. His haircut gave him a refined appearance, but she missed the rugged masculinity of his collar-length hair.

A loner, Jacob shunned the limelight. She appreciated the care he took with the house, not only to make it safe and functional, but also attractive. He had a patient touch.

Aunt Hilda had possessed that same unhurried way about her. She'd devoted her life to teaching Peaceful's children, first in a one-room schoolhouse, then in the new larger building in town. She hadn't earned much money but with the little left over, her aunt had bought everything on this table.

Callie smoothed a slight wrinkle in the white linen tablecloth, letting her gaze sweep over her aunt's candlesticks, flatware, lovely china. The mahogany table and chairs had
come from her aunt, handed down from Callie's grandmother, a link to her mother's childhood home, something she cherished.

When Callie arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back, Aunt Hilda's income went toward providing for a growing child, but she never complained about the sacrifice. Her example taught Callie the importance of giving, of helping others. She couldn't repay her aunt, but she'd taken in Elise, as her aunt had taken her in. She hoped to make a difference for Elise, for any woman in her situation, by opening her home and her heart.

Even to her lonely neighbor. Mildred had accepted the invitation to dinner before Callie had gotten the words out of her mouth. Knowing the effort it took to prepare food, only to eat alone, she should ask Mildred to join her more often.

To ensure that she hadn't forgotten anything, Callie let her eyes meander over the six place settings. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, she stepped back, took in the room's high ceilings, deep moldings, crystal chandelier and gleaming wooden floor. Mere days after she and Martin had moved in, she'd painted the wainscoting white and hung above it the striped navy, pink and white wallpaper. She'd delighted in bringing even this small part of the house back to life.

Strides in the hall announced Jacob's approach. He stood under the archway, his stance wide, as if maintaining his balance on the deck of a wind-tossed boat. His gaze swept the table, then lifted to her, the expression in his eyes as skittish as a seasick landlubber heading to open water.

“We can't all fit around the kitchen table,” she said by way of explanation, though he hadn't asked.

“You have the right to eat where you want.” His tone
mild, unconcerned, yet he glanced toward the front door as if he were ready to make a run for it.

She chuckled. “Eating in a dining room isn't a jail sentence.”

His gaze swiveled to hers. A flash of alarm traveled his face then vanished so quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it.

“It'll be fun. You know Mildred. You've met Hal Frederick.”

“I remember.”

“I've known Hal's wife, Loretta, for years. She's more big sister than friend. We're exact opposites. She loves to hunt, while I have to work up my courage to kill a chicken for the pot.”

The warm depth of his gaze enfolded her. “I'll be glad to handle that chore for you.”

Jacob's kindness rippled through her. Martin had known about her squeamishness, yet rarely was around to handle unpleasant tasks. Jacob made her feel cared for. Protected. Cherished.

Inside her chest her heart rat-a-tat to a wayward beat. All because Jacob Smith looked at her with those burnished jade eyes, suggesting that he cared, suggesting they had a future, suggesting—

She wouldn't finish the thought.

“I'm sure Loretta's a fine person,” he said. “That all your guests are. Otherwise, you wouldn't care about them.”

“Then why look like you've been given a life sentence?”

His smile faltered. “You're imagining that.”

“Am I?” Not waiting for his answer, she moved toward the kitchen and tossed over her shoulder, “Want to help put the finishing touches on the meal?”

He followed her in, the staccato of his footfalls discordant with hers. Nothing about the two of them fit.

She enjoyed people. He avoided them.

She loved God. He denied God.

She cherished family. He cherished solitude.

Even so, Jacob's tough beginnings and his commitment to her house connected them, along with a huge dose of attraction she didn't trust. Whenever he was near, that attraction pulled her into a swirling eddy of conflicting emotions. Jacob Smith had a past he avoided and he wasn't staying. She wouldn't let feelings rule her head.

Not this time.

In the kitchen, she handed Jacob a knife. “Please slice the pie. I promised Hal apple, but decided on cherry.”

“He'd be a dunce not to appreciate any pie made by your hands.”

“Thank you.” Callie checked the roast, releasing an aroma bringing a growl from her belly. Across the way, Jacob divided the pie into wedges with the precision of someone accustomed to measuring every cut he made.

She bit back a smile. “The vegetables are almost tender. Everything's ready…except me. I'd better change.”

“That'll give me time to polish the banister.”

Side by side, they walked to the foyer, Callie aware of the man, towing her to him with a strength that left her shaken.

He looked around him. “Where's Elise?”

“Upstairs taking a nap. I'll awaken her so she can get ready.”

When they reached the staircase, Jacob took a jar and a rag out of the sack she hadn't noticed him carry in. “Beeswax and linseed oil should give it a nice finish.” He set to work.

“If you don't need anything else, I'll go upstairs.”

“I'm all set,” he said. “Take your time.”

As Callie climbed the steps, she planned what she'd wear. Perhaps the gray silk dress she'd altered to give more ease in the midriff and Aunt Hilda's lavaliere. Normally, she saved the pendant for special occasions, but the ruby would sparkle in the candlelight. Her breath caught. Here she was a widow, trying to look pretty for a Godless drifter.

Forgive me, Lord, for such foolishness. Protect my heart from a man who can destroy it.

 

Jake watched Callie climb the stairs. Gripped by a desire for her to turn back, he waited. Waited for a brief glimpse of her face.

Another step.

A third.

He kept watching, hoping she'd look at him as she ascended the broad staircase, her hand gliding along the banister, totally unaware of his presence below. No doubt she had her mind on last-minute details.

With the rag poised to wipe down the banister, the mixture in the jar at his feet, the tools of his trade—tangible things he could count on, unlike relationships with others, he took one last look.

She pivoted and smiled down at him.

Joy exploded in his chest and spread through every muscle and tendon, holding him transfixed, captured by her beauty—inside and out. He drank in her warmth and goodness the way sun-bleached boards absorbed the first coat of varnish.

Then, in a blink of an eye, she moved out of view.

Every feature and contour of her lovely face was fixed in his memory. The prospect of an entire evening with Callie burned within him. To watch her slim, expressive brows
rise and fall. To watch her full lips turn up in a smile. To watch every nuance of her expression transform her face. What a privilege.

But then he remembered that the sheriff would share that table. How long before Frederick discovered the truth? Truth had not set Jacob free. Truth had imprisoned him.

With the sheriff at the table, Jake would have to watch every word he said. But the invitation gave him an excuse for finishing the railing, the little job a convenient ploy to get into the house early.

On silent feet, Jake moved down the hall toward the library. The knowledge that Callie trusted him alone in her house tweaked his conscience, but seeking the woman who gave birth to him wouldn't bring Callie harm.

At the last door on the right, he turned the knob. Inside the library, he strode to the desk. He'd leave the door open, listen for Callie's return.

The first stack of newspapers looked recent, but over to the side a pile, brittle and yellowed with age, looked promising. He'd start there. Rummaging through the stack, he discovered the newspapers dated decades before his birth.

His hand moved to another stack, yellowed but in better condition. His throat clogged. This stack might hold the information he sought. Flipping through the dates, he located the year 1877. With shaking hands, he looked for May 21, 1877. His birthday.

Or so he'd been told.

A squeak of the floorboards overhead. Jake jerked to his feet. One of the women would soon arrive downstairs. He straightened the newspapers and eased the door closed after him.

He made it to the foyer, grabbed the cloth and polished
the banister, revealing the soft glow of the wood's patina just as Callie made it to the landing.

“Oh, that looks much nicer,” Callie said, descending the final flight of stairs. “Lovely.”

The description fit her perfectly.

As she reached the foyer, Jake got a whiff of roses, the delicate scent she wore. Her dress accentuated her soft curves and the swell of her baby, and then swirled to the hem. The lower neckline revealed the jewelry she wore, the pale skin of her throat, the pulse hammering in its hollows in rhythm with his. “You look…stunning.”

A smile curving her lips, she laid a palm on his cheek and he covered it with his, looking into her eyes. He yearned to cup her jaw, to lift her face to his. To kiss her.

Elise appeared at the head of the stairs. Their hands fell away.

Callie took a step back. “Doesn't Elise look pretty?”

“Very pretty.”

Elise blushed, appeared ready to deny it, but Callie took her arm. “Help me pour water in the glasses.”

Once the ladies had entered the kitchen, Jake returned to his work. If the woman who'd given birth to him lived in this town, she'd had twenty-three years to claim him as her son and hadn't. Jake saw no reason why she'd welcome him now. Still, he needed more time to search those newspapers.

His jaw clenched. He couldn't bear the idea of Callie learning of the woman's existence, only to see him rejected and humiliated. Nor could he allow his birth mother to be disgraced.

After spending time with Elise, he cared about his mother's reputation. Getting others involved would stir up a hornet's nest. Someone would get stung.