Jake's Bride (Search For Love) Read online

  Jake came into the bedroom. His navy shorts, red polo shirt and sneakers made him look more like a tennis coach than a PI. Although she could feel his gaze on her, she positioned the blazer on top of the other clothes and returned to the closet, removing a handful of dresses.

  "How's it going?" he asked gently.

  "Fine."

  "Christopher looked as busy as your aunt. He's helping her empty the kitchen cabinets."

  Sara could still see her mother cooking in that kitchen, still almost smell the pumpkin bread and apple pie that were her specialties. She spoke past the lump in her throat. "Helping?"

  Jake chuckled. "He was using two lids as cymbals."

  Sara put one of her mother's dresses on the pile on the bed. "Maybe I should bring him up here for a while and give Aunt El a break."

  "Maybe you should take a break. Eloise said you've been at this since nine o'clock this morning. It's almost two."

  "I took a break for lunch." She gazed at a green and white print dress that was one of her mother's favorites.

  Jake crossed to the middle of the room where three cardboard boxes stood, one with purses, one with shoes, one with odds and ends. "Sara, you don't have to do this all in one day."

  "It won't get any easier. I just have to do it." She laid the green and white dress with the others. "Did you need something? I mean since you came over?"

  "No. I thought I could take Christopher to the playground so you and your aunt can work uninterrupted."

  Jake's unexpected appearance and kindness was more than Sara could handle at that moment. The ice blue suit of her mother's she held in her hand had been special. She had helped her mother pick it out. Jennie Standish had worn it for her twentieth wedding anniversary the year before she'd lost her husband.

  Suddenly, the immensity of Sara's loss shook her. She couldn't keep her chin from quivering as her eyes filled with tears. This time she couldn't stop them. Turning toward the closet, she hoped Jake wouldn't see.

  "Do you think Christopher will go with me without you?"

  All she could do was nod as she tried to swallow a sob.

  "Sara?"

  She managed, "I'm sure he'll--"

  The hand on her shoulder stopped her pretense. Jake nudged her around and saw the tears coursing down her cheeks. "What's wrong?" he asked so gently her tears flowed freer.

  "I miss Mom so much. And Dad. It's like I lost him all over again. I can't believe they're both gone." Her shoulders shook, and she bowed her head.

  Blessedly she felt Jake's arms around her, and she sobbed into his chest. He held her close, and she cried as she hadn't been able to since her aunt notified her of her mother's death.

  Jake didn't say anything, and she was thankful because there was nothing anyone could say. The loss was too fresh, the pain too sharp for words to comfort. But the warmth of Jake's body against hers and the strength of his arms did comfort. They stood that way a long time, her cheek and hands pressed to his chest. The feel and smell of him were familiar, awakening more than comfort, reminding her of the night they'd shared.

  The beat of his heart, strong and rhythmic, hastened under her hand. His heat surrounded her, becoming steamier the longer they stood together. His muscles grew taut, and she could feel tension spread through him.

  He pulled away and she felt cold and alone...alone enough to look up at him with the longing she felt. His jaw tightened, and he took another step back. She saw his chest rise and fall as he pulled a long draught of air into his lungs. The next instant his expression was set, control and restraint evident in the straightness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his stance.

  The same control made his voice even. "I'll send Christopher up so you can talk to him about going with me."

  Just as quickly as Jake had entered the room, he'd disappeared.

  Sara pulled in a few deep breaths of her own. Taking a tissue from the box on the dresser, she blew her nose. The tension between her and Jake was getting worse instead of better, and she didn't know what to begin to do about it.

  #

  Three weeks had passed. Sara pushed a carton aside with her foot as she readied her mother's belongings for public auction. Just last week, she'd gone to two preliminary job interviews. But she hadn't heard anything yet. She had some savings, but not enough to put her mother's furniture in storage. So she'd had no choice but to go ahead with the auction. Without a job, she couldn't rent an apartment. Eloise was insisting she and Christopher could stay with her as long as they needed to. But Sara had always been independent. She'd raised Christopher on her own, and she wanted them to be on their own now. But until she found a job, that wasn't possible.

  Many days during the past three weeks, Jake had come to entertain Christopher so Eloise and Sara could work without distraction. Sara had thanked him often, but he didn't seem to want her thanks. He didn't seem to want anything from her except time with their son.

  Two days she'd gone back to Wasco, packed up her apartment, closed it, and left the boxes she couldn't fit into her car with the apartment manager. She'd taken Christopher along and Jake hadn't protested. He seemed to think about what was best for Christopher as much as she did. He'd realized Christopher needed to say goodbye to Wasco, too. Today, the day before the auction, Jake had offered to help with the heavy work. Between watching Christopher and dealing with memories associated with her mother's possessions, Sara hadn't had time to think about herself and Jake...at least not this morning.

  She opened the upstairs hall closet. It seemed empty, but she knew she should check the back of the top shelf. She found a stepstool in one of the bedrooms and climbed up. A large shoebox zigzagged across the back corner. Leaning forward, she tried to catch the lip with her finger. She'd managed to snag it when the stepstool tilted. The next thing she knew the box had spilled over the shelf, and Jake had swept her into his arms.

  Her heart raced and her throat went dry. He'd discarded the cotton shirt he'd worn with his jeans. The muscle shirt he'd worn underneath left nothing to her imagination--not his muscles, not his tanned skin, not the springy hair tickling her arm.

  "You should be more careful." His husky voice fell over her, and although it was October, she felt as hot as she would in August.

  "I will be," she squeaked, aware of the rise and fall of his chest, his heart speeding with hers. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I'll put the phone book on the stool."

  He arched his brows and grimaced. "Oh, that's real careful," he drawled as he set her on her feet.

  "I have to finish emptying everything."

  "So call if you need help."

  "I don't want to take advantage of your help."

  Jake's brown eyes held her for an interminably long moment. "I'll let you know if I think you're taking advantage."

  She knew he would. Maybe she was afraid to put any pressure on their relationship, any more than was already there.

  Jake mounted the stool, lifted the box, and with his other hand, scooped up the contents that had spilled out. Jumping off the stool, he laid the papers on the top step. One of the photographs floated to the carpet.

  Sara picked it up, recognizing it immediately. It was a picture of her and Jake her mom had taken the day they'd become engaged. Had she subconsciously left this box for last? She knew what else was in it. Her gaze went to the stepstool the same time as Jake's. A wedding invitation lay there. Their wedding invitation.

  Venturing into frozen territory, Sara laid the photograph on top of the invitation. "The night I called off the wedding--"

  "Sara, this won't do any good."

  "Please let me tell you, Jake. It might help you understand."

  When he remained silent, she took that as a sign he'd listen. "That night when I came in, I heard you and Mom. The doctor had just told me I was pregnant. I heard Mom ask you why you felt the way you did about children. Your response was so vehement, so absolute, that I knew if you couldn't accept children, I couldn't marry you."

 
"You didn't tell me you were carrying our child."

  "But, Jake..."

  "Like I said, Sara. This won't do any good." He glanced at the shelf in the closet. "There's nothing else up there. If you need any more help, I'll be downstairs."

  She needed Jake. She needed him to open his heart to her as he'd opened it to his son.

  ***

  A short while later, Sara heard the telephone ring downstairs. She'd unplugged the phone in her mother's bedroom. From the foot of the stairs, Jake called, "Sara, it's for you."

  She couldn't imagine who would be calling her unless it was Mr. Gunthry. "I'm coming."

  She hurried down the stairs. Before she lifted the receiver to her ear, Jake said, "It's a guy named Mark."

  Sara smiled. Mark was a good friend and had been her next door apartment neighbor. Sinking down on the floor where the phone lay, she crossed her legs under her.

  Jake was almost finished removing furniture from the living room to the garage. All that remained were the end tables and coffee table. He concentrated on them now, making sure nothing was left in the small drawers. He listened, not feeling guilty in the least. The past few weeks, he'd felt as if his life had been turned upside down. The more he saw Christopher, the more time he wanted to spend with him. Each time he left his son, he didn't like the feeling.

  There was only one solution to not leaving Christopher...having Christopher live with him. Yet he couldn't take a child from his mother. Besides, there were no grounds. From what Jake could see, Christopher came first with Sara. Always.

  Of course, there was another solution. He could marry Sara. After all, she'd taken care of their son and from what he could tell had done a very good job. She'd raised him alone and Jake knew that couldn't have been easy. On the other hand, at any time she could have called him. Why hadn't she?

  He wondered about her decision to stay in L.A. Was she doing it for herself, for him, for Christopher? Was she staying out of guilt? Where Sara was concerned, there were too many questions and not enough answers. Because he didn't know if he could believe what she told him. He didn't know if he could believe her about anything important ever again.

  The problem was that whenever he came within two feet of her...

  "Hi, Mark. I meant to call but things have been hectic. Thanksgiving? I hope to get back sooner than that to pick up the boxes I left with Mr. Jenkins." She glanced sideways at Jake as if she wished he weren't within hearing distance.

  Tough. He was staying. Sara had driven back to Wasco twice, returning with carfuls both times. The boxes were stacked in Eloise's garage. Sara had taken Christopher to Wasco with her. Those were the only two days Jake had missed seeing his son since he'd learned he had one. Now, he wondered how much time Sara had spent with this man named Mark.

  "No, I know we didn't have much since it was furnished," Sara said. "I left a few boxes I couldn't fit into the car. Mr. Jenkins was great. He pro-rated the month." She listened for a moment. "If you could do that, it would save me another trip up. I'll send you a money order so you can ship them. You have my aunt's address?" She smiled and listened again.

  "Christopher is fine. He hasn't mentioned yet what he wants for Christmas. A fire engine? I'm sure he'd love it. I've been trying to get Mom's estate in order but now I'll concentrate on him and the holidays...Sure you can talk to him. Hold on." She cupped her hand over the receiver. "Christopher. Mark wants to tell you something."

  Jake watched his son run to the phone, eager to talk to the man on the other end of the line. While Sara looked on, Christopher chattered to Mark about his aunt, the ice cream cone he had yesterday and finally said, "I have a Daddy now." He held out the receiver to his mother.

  Sara took the phone. "Yes, I did. I wasn't going to get into that now." She glanced up at Jake. "Yes, everything's fine. I'll write or call when we're more settled."

  After a few more minutes of conversation, she hung up. Christopher ran back to the kitchen to be with Eloise and Jake asked, "Who's Mark?"

  Sara rose from the floor. "He was a neighbor...and friend."

  "How much of a friend?"

  "He's going to send the few remaining boxes so I don't have to drive back up."

  "Have you known him long?"

  "Ever since I moved to Wasco."

  "He's not married, I take it."

  "No. Divorced."

  "Were you ever lovers?" Jake figured if he shocked her, she'd tell him the truth.

  Totally astonished, Sara just gaped at Jake. As the astonishment wore off, annoyance took its place. Most of the time Jake acted as if he didn't want anything to do with her. Now, he wanted to know about her love life? His interest intrigued her and also gave her hope. Because if he cared...

  "Why does it matter if I was involved with Mark?"

  Gold sparks flashed in his eyes. "So you were."

  "I didn't say that. I want to know why you care."

  "Because what you do affects our son. I want to know if this man was in and out of your apartment as if it was his, if he stayed overnight—"

  "All right!" she broke in, deciding answering him was the lesser of all evils. "Mark and I were never lovers. After Christopher was born, he helped me out a lot. We even dated for a while. But we both knew we were meant to be friends."

  "Just friends."

  She'd said it once, she wasn't going to say it again.

  But Jake kept probing. "Does he know about us?"

  All she could do was be honest with Jake and hope he'd eventually believe her. "Yes. He knows Christopher is yours. I didn't see him when I went back to pack up so I didn't have a chance to tell him I'd told you about Christopher."

  "Why did he call?"

  Sara knew Jake was showing too much interest to merely be concerned about what had happened in Wasco. She almost smiled. Almost. "He wanted to know if Christopher would like a fire engine for Christmas."

  Jake was exasperated with himself for caring who Mark was, how close he'd been to Sara, and what he meant to her now. He didn't like the idea of another man buying his son gifts, of another man helping Sara after the birth of his son. Yet guilt stabbed him, too. As Christopher's father, he should be thinking about what his son wanted for Christmas, how to make their first Christmas together special.

  He tried to put the topic of Sara's romantic past aside. "Have you bought Christopher anything yet?"

  She shook her head. "No. I've got to get organized."

  "Maybe you and I could go Christmas shopping some night. After the auction."

  Sara gave him a radiant smile that could light up all of L.A. "I'd like that."

  When she smiled like that, he remembered all the good times. He hadn't looked forward to Christmas in a very long time. A child always made Christmas special. A child and...a family. He wanted his son to feel the stable solidity of a family. Jake moved away from the furniture and closer to Sara. "I'd like to make Christmas special this year for Christopher."

  "So would I."

  The pulse at Sara's throat fluttered, and he could count each beat. The round neckline of her T-shirt just gave him a brief glimpse of the soft skin above her breasts. He remembered the softness, the suppleness, the heat when he'd aroused her.

  "I'd better finish upstairs," she murmured.

  On impulse, Jake laid his hand on her arm. "Come with me to the garage. See if everything is set up the way you want it."

  She studied his hand on her arm, then lifted her gaze to his. "All right." As he took his hand away, she looked around the empty room. "This is so hard."

  "You can cancel the auction."

  "And do what? Put it all in storage? No. I have to let go. I have Mom's china and her perfume bottle collection. The rest..." Sara shrugged. "It's not going to help me remember her better."

  Jake wasn't so sure of that. Sara was putting up a brave front, but getting rid of her mother's things hurt her. He wished he could make it easier somehow. He knew how loss hurt, how it lasted. He didn't want her to regret not keeping
those things that were dear to her mother.

  In the garage, Sara examined each piece of furniture sitting around the perimeter. "I'm giving Mom's sideboard buffet to Aunt El. She was with her when she bought it."

  As Sara talked, she slowly crossed to an old-fashioned cherry vanity. The bench was covered in needlepoint. Sitting on it, she lovingly ran her fingers over the carved handles of the small vanity drawers. "I remember sitting and watching Mom while she put on her perfume and jewelry. When I played dress-up, she'd sit me on the bench and help me apply lipstick. Then she'd say, 'You can only keep it on for a little while. Remember you're only pretending to be grown-up. You shouldn't wear lipstick until you're sixteen.'"

  Jake saw the tears glisten in Sara's eyes. "Why don't you keep the vanity?"

  Raising her head, Sara met his gaze in the mirror. "Where would I put it?"

  "I can keep it for you. In my guest room. When you get settled somewhere, you'll have it." Though the idea of her settling somewhere other than with him was disconcerting. It shouldn't be. She'd left him. She'd lied to him. He didn't trust her. Still the idea of her and Christopher being someplace else, maybe moving someplace else, increased the ache in his heart.

  Sara's bottom lip quivered, and he could tell she was fighting tears. Finally, she managed, "I would like to keep this."

  He said brusquely, "Consider it done. I'll ask Nathan if I can borrow his SUV tonight."

  Rising from the bench, Sara came toward him. He wasn't sure what she was going to do until she did it. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him gently on the cheek. It was as light as the whisper of an angel--the softness of her lips, the slight brush of her breast against his arm, the sweet smell of her--and it was over faster than he could blink. But he felt all of it in every fiber of his being.

  "Thank you, Jake. Your help and understanding mean a lot to me."

  The urge to draw her into his arms was so strong he could imagine tasting her. But there was still too much between them--too many doubts, too much history.