Always Devoted

by Karen Rose Smith

  Sara took one last chance. "Jake, you can't leave like this. We can talk--"

  He shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. We've made our choices. Now we'll have to live with them."

  His tall body was rigid. She wanted to hold him and make everything right. But she couldn't. She had to let him go.

  Jake Donovan didn't meet her gaze again, didn't touch her, didn't say good-bye. He simply walked out the door.

  Chapter One

  Almost Four Years Later

  In a fog, Sara walked around the house her mother had rented in Los Angeles for most of her life. She picked up a needlework magazine on the coffee table. Crossing to her mother's favorite easy chair, she opened the tapestry bag with her mother's knitting. A small sweater was almost finished. Jennie Standish had intended it to be a Christmas present for her grandson. Christmas...a time for families and love and--

  Sara had been debating with herself ever since Christopher was born--as she'd fed him, and changed him, and cared for him in Wasco, a small town about two hours away. She'd thought her love for Jake and her memories of him would fade with the years, but they hadn't. She saw him in Christopher's brown eyes, the quirk of his smile, the beauty of him. She constantly questioned whether she'd done the right thing when she'd left L.A. without telling him about her pregnancy.

  With Christopher's first birthday, she'd told herself that Jake had probably gone on with his life. During Christopher's second year, every time she visited her mom in L.A., she'd thought about calling Jake. And this past year as Christopher had learned and grown and asked more questions about the world around him, she'd doubted her decision daily.

  A month ago, the owners of the day care facility in Wasco where she'd worked had informed her they'd be closing it at the end of the month. They'd said operating costs were too high and the profit margin not great enough. Thinking about moving back here, she'd sent resumes all over Los Angeles, seriously considering telling Jake they had a son.

  Then two weeks ago, she received a phone call from her aunt in the middle of the night, a phone call that had changed her life. Her mother's unexpected death had shaken up Sara's world. It had made her look at her life with Christopher more closely--what he needed. They had Aunt Eloise, her mother's sister. But no one else. Christopher needed his father. Soon he'd begin to ask specific questions. Sara couldn't lie to him. She wanted to tell him what a wonderful man his father was. She wanted him to know Jake because he deserved to know his father. Now, all she had to do was pick up the telephone...

  The doorbell rang and Sara jumped. Maybe it was Aunt El. She'd offered to watch Christopher so Sara could start packing her mother's belongings, so she could spend some time alone with her thoughts--in the house where she'd grown up, in the house she'd soon have to vacate.

  When she answered the door, a man in a green uniform stood on the porch. "Eloise Murray told me I could find Sara Standish here. I have a package for her."

  "I'm Sara Standish."

  "Sign here, please."

  Sara signed the paper on the clipboard and the young man gave her the manila envelope. She thanked him, closed the door, and checked the letterhead. It was from her mother's lawyer. Sara had met the white-haired, older man when she was a teenager, after her father died.

  Slipping her thumb under the flap, she tore the envelope open. Inside, she found a sealed letter along with a note from the lawyer.

  Dear Miss Standish,

  Your mother instructed me to deliver this letter to you upon her death. I will call you in a few days to set up a time for the reading of her will.

  My sincere condolences,

  George Gunthry

  With shaking fingers, she carefully opened the ivory envelope.

  Darling Sara,

  I know this will be a difficult time for you. But there is something I'd like you to do. Do you remember your father's gold pocket watch? It's in my jewelry box. I want you to give it to Jake. George made my will after your father died. I preferred not to tamper with it because I want this bequest to be a personal moment between you and Jake. Before Christopher was born, you made a decision considering Jake's wishes. Maybe it's time to consider yours and Christopher's.

  I love you, Sara. All I've ever wanted is your happiness. Be happy, sweetheart, no matter what you decide.

  Mom

  Was this her mother's way of giving her a last bit of guidance, a gentle shove? Making her face Jake again and her feelings for him?

  It was time to face the truth, to let Jake decide if he wanted to be a part of his son's life. It was time to let go of the guilt and the doubts and put the decision in his hands.

  She would go see him. Test the waters. Tell him about her mother's bequest. Then she'd decide what to do next.

  #

  On Wednesday afternoon, the heat of a September sun poured onto Sara's shoulders as she rang Jake's doorbell, praying he still worked from an office in his house. Her courage faded as she stood on the doorstep of the Spanish-styled two-story with its black wrought iron trim and terra cotta-colored exterior. She'd always loved Jake's house with it's old world charm and cozy interior. Was he sharing it with someone else?

  The door opened and a pretty woman with light brown hair and a warm smile stood before Sara. Sara was speechless for a moment, though she'd thought about Jake marrying another woman. She swallowed hard, her courage flagging, but her determination taking over.

  "Hello? Can I help you?" the woman asked as her gaze slid over Sara's yellow dress and bolero jacket.

  "I'm looking for Jake Donovan. Are you...Mrs. Donovan?"

  The woman laughed. "Absolutely not." She extended her hand. "I'm Gillian Bradley, and I work with Jake. Are you trying to find someone?"

  "Uh, no. Just Jake."

  Gillian motioned her to follow. "Come in. He's in the office."

  Sara stood in Jake's living room, her emotions tightening her throat. After four long years, everything was the same, from the native American painting above the fireplace to the hand-carved wooden lamps standing as sentinels on either side of the taupe and green tweed sofa. The light wood end tables, their tops inlaid with mosaic tiles, even held the same bronze sculptures of wild horses Jake had purchased from an art collector. She'd stood beside him as he'd bargained for them. The only new piece was a chest with shelves sitting by the stairway.

  Gillian motioned to the office, a sunroom adjacent to the living room. Sara walked toward it, her heart pounding.

  A portable playpen was set up in one corner. But a child wasn't in it. Jake stood by the windows, holding a toddler. Sara couldn't believe it.

  Jake said, "I think Matthew's getting another tooth. I have an extra teething ring in the refrigerator--" He turned toward the doorway and went perfectly still.

  Sara knew she looked different. She'd let her hair grow longer after Christopher was born. She'd lost some weight, too. Working and running after her son had kept her in shape.

  But she wasn't the only one who'd changed her hairstyle. Where Jake had once worn his hair cropped short, it now hung to his shirt collar in the back and over his ears on the sides. As for the rest of him-- Her heart had already tripled its rhythm. In khakis and a cream polo shirt, he looked good enough to...hug. But the stance of his body, the set expression on his face told her this wasn't a reunion he'd anticipated or ever expected.

  Suddenly, the baby waved his arms and reached for Jake's collar. Jake tore his gaze from Sara's and rubbed the little guy's back as if he'd done it many times before. "I think your mom has plans for you."

  Gillian laughed. "It's time to go home. He's just trying to coax you into carrying him around a bit longer." She picked up the diaper bag sitting near the playpen, then held out her arms.

  Matthew reached for his mother, then swayed back toward Jake with a smile and a gurgle. Jake leaned closer to Gillian. "Go on, pal. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Gillian lifted Matthew from Jake's arms. After a short pout, he snuggled in his mom's arm. "
Call me if you have any questions on the notes I made. I'll see you in the morning," she said, glancing at Sara, then back to Jake.

  Jake nodded, but his gaze returned to Sara's. It wasn't until the front door closed that he finally looked away.

  Sara felt shell-shocked, seeing him again. Memories came rushing back along with old feelings. She remembered the day she'd met him, the workshop he'd presented, his intensity when he'd talked about teenagers needing to be guided in the right direction instead of letting them end up in the criminal justice system. After his workshop, she'd approached him with a few questions. They'd gone for coffee and talked, becoming more absorbed in each other than the subject of his presentation. He'd asked her out over the weekend. And their courtship had begun.

  She remembered the kisses, the touches, that one special night...

  She'd matured and changed over the past four years. Watching Jake hold a child in his arms led her to believe he'd changed, too.

  Her memories and emotions kept her immobilized. Jake had to pass her to get to his desk chair. When he did, she could have sworn they both held their breath. The brief contact of his shoulder against hers as he bypassed the playpen acted like a jolt of electricity to her already overloaded nervous system.

  Not knowing where to start, she said, "Gillian said she was your partner."

  "Yes, she is."

  "She brings her baby to work?"

  Jake lodged one hip against the desk. "Sometimes."

  "How old is...Matthew, isn't it?"

  "Fifteen months." The lines along Jake's mouth that carved into his lean cheeks when he smiled now looked deeper than they had four years ago.

  Sara couldn't keep the burning question in her mind. "Is Matthew yours?"

  Jake looked as though he might not answer, but then in a brisk tone explained, "Gillian is happily married to a friend of mine. Matthew is theirs."

  "I was surprised to see you with a child."

  "I never said I didn't like kids. I just didn't want to bring any into the world."

  When the silence stretched into an unbearable awkwardness, he asked, "Why are you here?"

  There was no welcome in his voice, none of the gentleness she knew he was capable of. The wall he'd erected the last time they'd talked, the day he'd left her mother's house, was solid and sturdy. All she could do was take one step at a time.

  "My mother passed away two weeks ago." Sara's throat tightened and she had to fight back the tears that were all too ready to come to the surface these days.

  Jake's stony expression softened. "I'm sorry. I know how much she meant to you."

  Yes, he did. In fact, he'd known everything about her because she'd held nothing back. Not until she'd received the news of her pregnancy. "I've been staying at Aunt El's."

  "How's your aunt taking this?" he asked, his tone bringing back memories of his arms around her, confidences shared, yellow roses.

  She shook off the images and the feelings that went with them to concentrate on his question. Her Aunt Eloise and her mother had been close all their lives. "It's difficult for her."

  Jake stuffed his hands into his pockets, a familiar gesture. He always did it when he was uncomfortable. "I am sorry about your mother, but you could have sent me a note. Why did you come?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

  "Because Mom left me a letter. She wants you to have something of my dad's."

  The seconds ticked by. "Why?"

  "Because she liked you, Jake. She...she just wanted you to have it." Sara knew Jake's memories of his mother weren't all happy ones, that's why she'd hoped he could share her mother. It was too late. But it wasn't too late for him to have a relationship with his son. "I wanted to invite you over to Mom's house to pick it up. How about tomorrow sometime?"

  Jake looked torn. Finally, he said, "All right. Around one?"

  "That's fine. I'll look forward to seeing you then."

  He pushed away from his desk. "I'll walk you out."

  Jake felt almost numb and didn't try to make conversation as he walked Sara Standish to the door. He'd never expected to see her again. He'd told himself she was history. But he couldn't look at a yellow rose, he couldn't close his eyes sometimes, he couldn't look at the tux still hanging in his closet without wondering what they could have had, without wondering why he still missed her, without wondering if she was now married to someone else, mothering the children she'd wanted.

  The sense of betrayal he'd experienced when she'd called off the wedding had never ebbed. He'd fallen in love with her and he'd trusted her--with his heart and with his life. But he hadn't been enough for her. His love hadn't been enough. She'd wanted more. She'd wanted something he couldn't give her because in giving her a child, he would have given himself unending heartache. His grief over his dead son hadn't lessened, it had taken a deeper foothold. Sara's broken promise had made him more guarded, and he knew he'd built an impenetrable shell around his heart.

  So why did Sara's presence in his house make that shell feel not quite as secure, as if it needed another layer?

  Jake glanced at her again. If he looked too hard, too long, he might feel something that after she left again could only hurt him more. She was so damn pretty. Those big blue eyes once filled with optimism and sparkling enthusiasm now reflected sadness and something else he couldn't put his finger on. But it didn't matter. After tomorrow he'd never see her again.

  He opened the door for her. When she stepped over the threshold onto the porch, he called, "Sara?"

  She turned.

  "Don't go to any trouble tomorrow. I won't be able to stay. I have appointments later in the afternoon."

  As soon as he saw her disappointment, he regretted his abrupt words. She looked as if she was about to say something, but then changed her mind. Instead, she nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow around one."

  Jake watched her walk down the path to her car, wishing he could deny her effect on him, wishing tomorrow over so feelings he'd kept in check for four years could stay buried.

  #

  Jake walked up the steps to the house Jennie Standish had rented, remembering the last time he'd left it the night Sara had called off their wedding.

  He'd thought he was over her. He'd thought he'd gone on with his life. But just one look at her, the scent of her, the lift of her brow when she was unsure, was enough to make every nerve in his body need. And not just any woman, but her. He hadn't slept last night. Not that insomnia was new to him. But too many memories had come crashing back.

  When he rang the doorbell, Sara answered immediately. She must have been waiting. She was dressed in a navy top and shorts that wasn't intentionally seductive, but showed off her slim figure. Had she lost weight? He'd always liked her short hair, but he had to admit the longer style was sensually enticing. He wanted to touch it, to brush her cheek, to—

  He gave himself a mental kick.

  "Come in," she said softly.

  That damn soft voice. He'd never heard it raised in anger. "I can't stay long." He knew he was curt, but he had to watch every response, every syllable, every thought.

  She led him to the living room couch. He chose a side chair. Not commenting, she lifted a small felt pouch from the coffee table. "This is what Mom wanted you to have."

  Her fingers brushed his palm and the years slipped away. Heat forked through him and he remembered the night they'd made love. He'd never forget that night as long as he lived--the intimacy, the closeness, the sheer pleasure.

  Focusing on the pouch, he opened it and shook the contents into his hand. A gold watch. Her father's watch. A lump formed in Jake's throat.

  "Sara, I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything. I think Mom had a reason for giving that to you."

  He heard the seriousness in Sara's voice and his investigative senses went on alert. More was going on here than a bequest. Sara had come back into his life for some reason. "Why did she give it to me?"

  He watched Sara's breasts rise and fa
ll as she took a deep breath. "I've been living in Wasco, Jake. When Mom died, I wasn't with her. It was a heart attack, out of the blue..." Her words faded and she blinked away emotion.

  He wanted to comfort her, but he knew better and stayed put. "Sara?"

  She regained her composure. "When Mom died, I had to rethink decisions I'd made. Decisions that involved you."

  He cocked his head and listened intently, to hear what she wasn't saying. "Go on."

  "I felt it was best at the time. I thought-- Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. The last four years I've been doubting my decision. Since Mom died, I realized I was wrong and you need to know."

  "What do I need to know?" He asked the question slowly, expecting a shock, trying to prepare himself for whatever was coming.

  "You have a son. I was pregnant the night I called off the wedding."

  The buzz of a lawn mower penetrated the windows. The space between him and Sara vibrated with his shock and something much stronger than came from his gut and surged through his bloodstream.

  Sara's hands fluttered. "I couldn't tell you. I didn't want you to marry me for that reason, not when you didn't want children. I couldn't see any other way to go."

  He could hardly contain his anger, his sense of betrayal, and he felt like a volcano ready to blow. "You could have told me the truth!"

  "No, I couldn't have. Because you would have done the honorable thing despite the way you felt, and that would have been wrong for both of us."

  He'd never imagined Sara could lie or deceive. He'd trusted her and this was how she'd repaid that trust. Anger rushed through him, vibrating in his quick response. "So you did the dishonorable thing. You lied," he added, his voice sharp and meant to cut through her.

  "I didn't lie. I told you I wanted children. I wanted this baby. I never could have given him up for adoption or--"

  Jake leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees, his breathing fast, his heart pounding. "Don't say it. I can't believe you believed I'd want you to do either. Not after what we shared." He remembered her telling him she loved him. He remembered loving her.