Blackbird Lake

by Jill Gregory

  “I’m sure.” Jake settled back in his chair as Brady started toward them.

  Both Jake and Denny went silent as the younger man reached their table, tucked twenty feet away from the long mahogany bar and directly across from the jukebox, where Blake Shelton’s “Hillbilly Bone” was playing.

  “Have a seat,” Jake suggested when Brady merely stood there, a flush rising up his neck.

  “You heard him,” Denny added, pleasantly enough. He’d been shy all of his life and had never even really dated until he was forty-five and met Karla. Everything about his life had changed on that day.

  Now he and Karla were married, Denny was a father of two, happier than he’d ever been in his life. And he had come into his own. More and more, he was taking over the daily management of McDonald Construction. His father had always been the one in charge of the business, but his dad was slowing down—and Denny, at forty-nine, was sliding fairly effortlessly into a leadership role. Still, he knew his father liked to pretend nothing had changed. Sam still had a hard enough head that he was out of the hospital already today and raring to get back to work, despite the docs telling him to take a good five, six days to recover from the accident.

  “Got a business proposition for you, Brady.” Denny squinted up at the good-looking young man who’d been his best employee in years.

  Until the day he walked off the job without a word.

  Brady Farraday had left McDonald Construction one man short, and up a creek with a hard-ass client pushing for a home remodel deadline to be met. Denny would be lying if he didn’t admit he’d been pissed and furious at the kid for months.

  But Brady’s brother had died. And the boy had always been responsible up until then. Yeah, he’d give him one more shot.

  But if he ever bailed again…

  “What’s this all about?” Brady stared warily back and forth between Jake and Denny.

  “Sit your butt down and find out.” Jake pushed a menu toward a space at the table where there was an extra chair. “Hurry up,” he said in an even tone. “Denny and I are ready to jump with both feet into a new project and we need to know if you’re in or out.”

  “A new project? You mean you’d hire me again?” Dazed, Brady stared at his former boss.

  “Depends. Jake’s willing to vouch for you, to guarantee you won’t leave me in a bind again. So if you give me your word—”

  “I will. I mean, I won’t…run out on you, that is.”

  “Order yourself some lunch, then,” Denny told him gruffly. “And let’s get down to business.”

  A half hour later Jake took off for Travis and Mia’s place. The more he reflected on the plan to turn his land and cabins into a part-time haven for bullied kids and their families, the more he felt like this was what he was meant to do.

  He intended to have at least a quarter mile of open land in between each of the cabins. Plenty of space for people to sit out on a porch and take in the staggering mountain view, to watch wildlife right in their own backyard, to appreciate the scope and wonder and beauty of the Montana wilderness. To simply breathe.

  There could be riding lessons and group activities at the main lodge, possibly even some low-key, upbeat counseling sessions. A guide to take guests on hikes or fishing trips up to Blackbird Lake or one of the other lakes in the basin, a chance to hone new skills and make new friends.

  During most of the year, he could rent the cabins out to tourists, along with the three bedrooms on the second floor of the main house, making them available to vacationers, hikers, and fishermen, but he’d block out the summer months—and maybe two weeks of the school year’s winter recess—for the kids who needed a real break.

  Something to put a smile back on their faces, build up their confidence, and allow them to share the sheer joy of the outdoors—of campfires and marshmallows, horseback rides, and a night sky brimming with an explosion of stars.

  It would be good for the city kids, good for their parents, and good for Lonesome Way. The tourists who came to hike, ride, hunt, or fish the rest of the year would boost the town’s economy. And hey, he thought as he parked, let Bronco out of the truck, and looked on in amusement as the dog followed him to the door of Travis and Mia’s sprawling cabin, Sophie’s bakery would likely have way more business than she could handle once the tourist folks got a taste of her cinnamon buns, her chocolate velvet cake, and her array of wrap sandwiches and country side dishes.

  Rafe’s wife might even need to expand her business.

  “That was a really nice thing you did for Brady,” Mia told him a few moments later as Bronco snored in the corner of the huge kitchen and Jake sprawled on the hardwood floor with Zoey, handing the little girl colorful foam blocks as she piled them on top of each other and then, shrieking with laughter, knocked them down.

  “Denny’s the one who gave him his job back.” Jake shrugged as Zoey picked up a block and hurled it toward his face. He caught it one-handed and pulled her up onto his lap. Her fairy blond hair wisped in her eyes as she laughed innocently up at him, a tiny vision of dimples and deviltry. “This little one is going to break a thousand hearts,” he announced and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “Look who’s talking. The heartbreaker king.” Mia laughed as she strolled to the granite countertop to put up more coffee. Travis was taking a meeting at his office, and Mia, who had taken a leave of absence from teaching after Zoey was born, had been decorating the house with streamers and posters for her daughter’s first birthday party this coming Saturday.

  “So who’s the current woman in your life right now as of…” Mia peered at her watch and then turned to Jake. “As of three P.M. today, that is.”

  “Her name’s Miss Zoey Tanner,” Jake retorted easily as his niece nestled up against his chest. “And she’s a knockout.”

  Zoey appeared completely oblivious to the compliment, though, as she began drifting off to sleep in his arms. He leaned back, studying her tiny delicate face.

  Something about her utter relaxation and innocent drowsiness stirred a memory in his mind.

  He suddenly realized what it was. She reminded him of that other little girl. The cute red-haired one he’d glimpsed last night at Denny McDonald’s house. Carly McKinnon’s daughter. She’d been deep in this same sort of blissful sleep when he’d made his way to the sofa and peered down at her.

  “Carly McKinnon and her little girl—they invited to Zoey’s party?” he asked suddenly.

  “Of course.” Mia glanced up from her cookbook. She’d been searching for a recipe while the coffee was brewing, hunting for her grandmother’s potato salad recipe. She was fixing that, as well as chicken fingers, pasta salad, fruit, mini hot dogs, and tuna roll-ups for the birthday lunch. “Carly’s become a good friend ever since she moved to Lonesome Way and she’s very active in Bits and Pieces, our quilting group. We’ve even had a few daytime meetings and speakers at her quilt shop on Spring Street. Zoey and Emma have playdates, too, now and then—even though Emma is six months older. They’ve hit it off.” Mia’s brows rose. “But I had no idea you knew them.”

  “Nothing much gets by me in this town,” Jake tossed off with a grin.

  “Uh-uh. Especially when there’s a beautiful woman involved.” Tilting her blond head to the side, Mia eyed her brother-in-law curiously. “And Carly is definitely beautiful. Emma is, too. So…how did you say you know them again?”

  There was more than casual interest in her tone. And she had a speculative light in her eyes that Jake recognized.

  Mia must have caught the matchmaking bug from my sister, he decided in amusement. Lissie and all the women of his family—hell, all the women of Lonesome Way—seemed always to expect love to bloom around every corner of this town.

  “We met a few years ago in Houston, had dinner together,” he said nonchalantly. He didn’t intend to tell his sister-in-law that he and Carly McKinnon had also spent a smoking-hot night in his hotel room. A memory of Carly kissing her way down his chest, of her soft bu
rnished hair brushing his skin, and her long legs twining around him as they made love, sprang into his mind, but he pushed the images away.

  “I bumped into her over at the McDonald place last night. It was kind of surprising to find she’s living in Lonesome Way. And yeah,” he added as Mia started to say something, “I know all about her connection to Martha Davies. But still. Boston to Montana is one major move.”

  “And a good one for this town. Believe me, everyone in Bits and Pieces was thrilled when she opened Carly’s Quilts. Now we don’t have to drive all the way to Livingston for our supplies. Needless to say, she was welcomed with open arms. She’s an amazing quilter, too—she used to be a big-time number cruncher with Marjorie Moore and gave up a very lucrative position to move here. She really wanted to be close to Martha since she’s Emma’s godmother and all. Martha and Carly’s foster mother were cousins.”

  Foster mother, he thought. Had she ever mentioned over dinner or in his hotel room that she’d been in foster care? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t really remember either of them doing much talking that night.

  “Why don’t you give this sleepyhead to me.” Mia broke into his thoughts as she strode around the counter. “I’ll take her upstairs and put her down.”

  “So what’s the deal about the baby’s father?” Rolling to his feet, Jake transferred his niece carefully into his sister-in-law’s arms.

  “The father?” Mia shrugged. “No one knows anything about him. Carly never mentions him, except to say he’s not in the picture. Her exact words. I don’t think she’s ever been married, though. And she doesn’t date, either…at least, she hasn’t since she moved here.” The glance Mia flicked him was a hopeful one as she reached the bottom of the staircase, Zoey snug in her arms.

  “The theory around town is that Carly either had a boyfriend who walked out on her and Emma—or a one-night stand with some jerk who didn’t sign up for daddyhood. Luckily she’s a great mother all on her own. But still…” She paused, one foot on the lowest step, Zoey tucked sleepily in her arms. “It can’t be easy. I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of a man would turn his back on his own daughter.” Mia shook her head. “It’s just sad.”

  But Jake barely heard that last part. Just as he scarcely noticed his sister-in-law whisk up the steps and disappear into the nursery with Zoey.

  He stood frozen. Stunned. As if he’d been gut-punched, or thrown from a bull and had hit the dirt hard. As if something had been knocked loose in his head.

  Three short words Mia had said reverberated through his brain.

  One. Night. Stand.

  He and Carly. Hell. They’d had a one-night stand.

  Damn it, how long ago was that?

  Jake rapidly calculated. He’d gone to Houston to host the charity bash shortly after he won that bull-riding championship in Cheyenne. So that night he took Carly to dinner—and to bed—was slightly more than…two years ago…around twenty-four months….

  No, that was wrong. Actually, he realized with a jolt of shock ripping through him, it was more than that…closer to twenty-six or twenty-seven months….

  And Emma McKinnon is six months older than Zoey….

  His stomach dropped through the floor as he did the math. Then redid it. Every muscle in his body seemed to turn to ice.

  For one instant, the cowboy with the lightning reflexes and nerves of iron couldn’t move or speak.

  Then he raced to the door, his boots smacking against the hardwood floor.

  “Jake, wait! Where are you going?”

  Mia, puzzled, peered down at him from the top of the stairs. “Coffee’s ready. Travis will be home any minute and Grady wants to show you his new telescope—”

  “Sorry, Mia, but there’s something I have to do. Right now.”

  “Jake, can’t you—”

  But he was gone, bolting from the cabin before she could get out the next word. He was only vaguely aware that Bronco had trotted to the screen door and was whining, staring morosely after him. A moment later, tension searing through his shoulders and neck, he wrenched the truck into gear and tore out of Travis’s driveway, speeding east toward Blue Bell Drive.

  His stomach churned. His hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He barely noticed turning sharply onto Carly McKinnon’s street. He did remember that she lived two doors down from Denny and Karla….

  Two doors to the right or to the left?

  That question was answered when he caught a glimpse of nosy old Willa Martin in high-top sneakers and a pink housedress, sweeping her front porch, two doors down from the McDonalds’. Willa had been a school secretary when he was in junior high and had given him the evil eye every time he was sent to the principal’s office.

  Which was a couple of times a week….

  He rolled right past her house, then past Denny and Karla’s, braking sharply two houses down at the well-tended white Victorian with a pink-and-yellow-cushioned swing on the front porch.

  And a toddler’s swing set in the backyard.

  Vaulting from his truck, he took the porch steps two at a time, his heart hammering way more than it did when he swung out of the chute on the back of an angry bull. But though he pressed Carly McKinnon’s doorbell again and again, no one answered.

  He couldn’t hear a sound from inside the house.

  Quilt shop. Spring Street.

  Grim faced, Jake leaped off the porch and sprinted back to the truck.

  Ten minutes later he swung into a parking space across the street from Carly’s Quilts, vaulted out of the truck, and hurried toward the door.

  Chapter Seven

  In the back room of the quilt shop, Carly set aside the pile of invoices she’d been reviewing for the past half hour. Standing, she stretched for a moment, then walked over to get more coffee. She had just refilled her cup when the bell over the quilt shop door pealed.

  In surprise she glanced at her watch. It was nearly closing time.

  She didn’t usually get many customers this late in the day, and Laureen had left an hour earlier with a migraine, after apparently enduring the date from hell last night.

  According to Laureen, the man she’d been set up with took one glance at her when she arrived at the Lucky Punch Saloon and suddenly looked like someone who’d just been kicked in the kneecaps.

  He’d ordered a beer for each of them, and a lone platter of nachos, but had excused himself after only a half hour of conversation, mumbling that he didn’t have time to join her for dinner because he just remembered a work project he had to finish.

  “Believe me, he was no prize himself,” Laureen had told her emphatically.

  But the jerk had left her feeling mortified and angry. He hadn’t even bothered to go through the motions of having dinner.

  “Am I that repulsive? Really? He couldn’t have run away any faster if I’d had horns and a tail,” she’d exclaimed as she paced back and forth along the shelves of fabrics and crafting supplies. There’d been no trace of the red lipstick on her mouth today, only her usual pink lip gloss and a frown.

  “Forget about him. He’s a toad. When you meet the right guy—”

  But there Laureen had cut her off, insisting there was no right guy for her, and that she was never letting anyone set her up with a man again.

  After Laureen had sunk into a chair that afternoon, closing her eyes from the pain of the migraine while Dorothy Winston deliberated on fabric for a pinwheel quilt, Carly had quietly ordered Laureen to go home, lie down, and take the rest of the day off.

  Now, alone in the shop, Carly hurried out of the back room wondering if she’d returned.

  “Laureen, I thought I told you to—” She stopped short.

  Jake stood just inside the quilt shop door.

  Her heart gave a small jump. He looked every bit as tough, dark, and handsome as he had at the McDonald home last night—but instead of a smile, today his mouth was set in a firm hard line.

  “Anyone else here?
I need to talk to you. Right now.” He strode toward her, not bothering with any of the conventional niceties.

  A flutter of premonition sent her pulse racing. No, it isn’t possible. He can’t know, she told herself.

  “What’s going on? Don’t tell me you lost your dog. I promise you, he’s not here. You’d notice the howling.” She strove for a flippant tone, but it was a struggle to stay calm as she walked past the pattern books, past the shelves stacked with fabric, past the array of quilts displayed on the walls, even right past Jake until she reached the small sitting area at the front of the shop with its two-seat lavender sofa and a comfy armchair upholstered in a cheerful old-fashioned rose and yellow pattern. If she was going to have to talk to him, they were going to do it on her terms, in her favorite, most relaxing area of the shop.

  But instead of following her he moved swiftly to the window blinds and closed them with a quick yank of the cord. Carly’s green eyes widened.

  “What’s this all about?” She planted her feet, willing her hands not to clench at her sides.

  Jake advanced, halting only three feet away from her. “Is she mine?”

  “What…did you say?” Carly’s mouth went dry. Oh, God, no. She must have misunderstood him. He couldn’t have said…

  “Emma.” He bit out her daughter’s name, their daughter’s name, a dangerous light in his eyes. “Is she my daughter? Tell me the truth, Carly.”

  Carly didn’t know what it felt like to faint, but she knew the ground was swaying a little beneath her feet. And she definitely knew the sensation of pressure building in her chest, squeezing out all the air in her lungs…she knew that all too well….

  Drawing in the deepest breath she could manage, she braced herself to stand perfectly still, to face the angry glitter in his eyes. They reminded her of blue sky lit with lightning from a storm. The tension in his shoulders and the tautness of his jaw told her he was exerting a fierce effort at self-control.