by Jill Gregory
“I’ll loan you the CD.” But Carly was having a hard time holding back a laugh. She could just picture big, tough Jake Tanner, the bull rider, trying to sing “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.”
“Emma’s definitely a girl who knows what she wants,” he informed her with a touch of pride as she sank down on the sofa and kicked off her black pumps.
“You think?” Carly grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s as sweet as Sophie’s cinnamon buns, but she’s a munchkin with a mind of her own.”
“I’d expect no less.” He moved toward her with his lithe cowboy gait and dropped down beside her on the very feminine sofa, stretching his long, jean-encased legs as far as he could with the coffee table in the way. Instantly, her heartbeat revved up.
Damn, why did he always have this crazy effect on her?
“She looks just like you, Carly. You gotta know that. Soft, sweet, beautiful. I’m not trying to sweet-talk you here,” he added matter-of-factly. “Just stating the truth.”
“Actually, she has your eyes. That deep, dark, amazing blue…” Carly suddenly became aware how close together they were sitting. He was less than a foot away. She could almost feel the heat and strength radiating off his powerful body. In a tan and black flannel shirt and faded jeans, he certainly looked unlike any babysitter she’d ever used since the day Emma was born.
She had a quick, distracting flash of that intense, intoxicating night that Emma had been conceived, seeing in her mind’s eye the spectacularly muscled chest beneath that shirt, the powerful forearms and tanned glisten of his skin as his mouth slid with excruciating slowness down the entire length of her body…the feel of him pumping inside her…
And then…and then…
Carly blinked. Someone had said her name. It was Penelope Andrews. She had finished speaking and the women gathered at the quilt shop were now out of their chairs, chattering enthusiastically and helping themselves to coffee and sandwiches, pie, and brownies throughout the shop.
“Professor Andrews.” Jolting back to the present, Carly focused on the woman’s round, pleasant face as conversation bubbled everywhere throughout Carly’s Quilts. “We all enjoyed your talk very much.” She spoke quickly, a flush climbing up her neck. “It was fascinating. And we so appreciate your taking the time to come today.”
The words were the truth. The woman was well-spoken and informed. The part of the talk Carly had actually listened to had been quite helpful as well as entertaining, but somehow…somehow…
Jake had taken over her brain.
It wasn’t like her to tune out that way. In high school and college she’d learned to focus and to channel her attention to whatever task was before her. In her previous life, she’d delivered complicated financial reports to the entire board of directors of Marjorie Moore without losing her train of thought or breaking into a sweat.
But now—all she seemed able to do was focus on Jake and Emma.
It amazed her how good he was with her. Better than good, he was great. She had to admit he had more patience even than she did and was the most laid-back, easygoing man she’d ever met.
He let Emma muss up his hair, pull his ears, play with the buttons on his shirt. She’d gotten into the habit of climbing onto his lap with Bug in tow every time he dropped by to see her. As long as she wanted, he held her on Bronco’s back as if the dog were a pony, and the mutt’s tail never stopped wagging as he walked around the house or across the backyard with Jake holding Emma in place as she yelled, “Ride ’em, cowwoy!”
He’d promised Carly he’d teach Emma to ride for real in a couple of years. His first pony, Dakota, was now eighteen, gentle as a puppy dog—and in retirement at Sage Ranch. “By the time Emma’s four, I’ll have her riding like a rodeo queen,” he’d told Carly and she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or alarmed.
“Something I need to tell you.” Ava’s whisper interrupted her thoughts. Suddenly Carly glanced up and realized that nearly all the quilters had left. Only a few remained, along with Laureen, Ava, Martha, and Dorothy, and they were all busy dividing up and packing the leftover brownies and pie and washing off platters and plates and cups.
Ava jerked her regal chin toward the front of the quilt shop, farthest away from where the other women were working, and, mystified, Carly followed her to the parlorlike sitting area of comfy chairs.
“I know,” Ava whispered. Her eyes danced with a conspiratorial gleam. “About you and Jake.”
Her heart stopped so fast she thought she was going to fall over. “You know what exactly?”
“Why, that he’s Emma’s father.” Ava’s dimples popped out as a wide smile spread across her face. “And I’m awfully glad to hear it. It’s time that boy quit running here and there and finally settled down.”
“He’s not settling down anywhere—and how did you know?” Carly demanded in a low tone.
“Well, now, honey, how do you think?”
Carly closed her eyes with a sigh. “Martha,” she muttered, opening her eyes to study the other woman.
“Of course it was Martha. She only told me the other day, though. You see, while I was working the cash register at A Bun in the Oven a few days ago, Willa Martin came in to buy some cupcakes and she happened to mention that Jake had been spending quite a bit of time over at your place. She’s seen that dog of his in your front yard a lot, not to mention Jake’s truck in the neighborhood nearly every day.” Ava’s smile widened even further as Carly drew in her breath.
“So,” Ava continued, “I simply mentioned it to Martha, and she got all flustered. Now, we’ve been best friends since grade school and she can’t lie to me, so I finally got it out of her. But don’t worry, dear, the only other person we’ve told is Dorothy—and she’s tickled about it. We won’t say a word to anyone else. Still…” Ava shook her head and whispered a warning. “Word is bound to leak out sooner or later. This is Lonesome Way, after all, and it’s nearly impossible to keep a secret in this town. Willa will surely tell someone else that Jake is always around—”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s not!” But Carly knew her protest was futile as Ava patted her arm gently, looking amused.
“Of course he isn’t, dear. Not that it’s anybody’s business. It certainly isn’t mine. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the three of us agree that the three of you—you, Jake, and Emma—would make a lovely family—”
“Ava!” Martha hissed suddenly and both Carly and Ava jumped.
Martha had materialized out of nowhere, exactly like a fairy godmother, Carly thought, but she could only stare at this particular godmother with narrowed eyes.
“You told her, Ava, didn’t you?” Martha scowled at Sophie’s silver-haired grandmother.
“I merely wanted Carly to know that all three of us are aware that Jake is Emma’s father and that we’re behind her one hundred percent no matter what happens—”
“Shhh!” Carly gasped as Dorothy suddenly appeared right behind Martha.
“No matter what happens about what?” the former principal inquired softly, with a glance toward the back of the shop. Then she saw the expression on Carly’s face.
“Oh. That. We’re talking about Jake.” She nodded sagely. A grin widened her chipmunk cheeks. “No worries, dear. None at all.” She waved a hand in the air. “We know you had your reasons for not telling him the truth way back then.” Her whisper grew to a stage whisper and had Carly’s spine tightening in alarm.
Carly’s glance flew to the back of the shop again, but thankfully that sharp-tongued Gloria Cartwright, on a prolonged break from her shift at Lickety Split, was busy poring over a pattern book, and the other women were mostly chatting among themselves and paying no attention to what was being discussed in the front of the shop.
“But now that Jake is here,” Dorothy continued, “and spending so much time with you and little Emma, someone’s bound to notice and put two and two together. It’s not much use trying to keep secrets in a town like ours—”
>
“Apparently it’s futile.” Carly whipped a glance at Martha, who blinked guiltily, then shrugged.
“Well, I didn’t mean to tell. But Ava wouldn’t stop pestering me. Willa Martin had gone on and on about the amount of time Jake and Bronco have spent at your house—and about how Jake babysat Emma the night you went on your date with Wash. She happened to have her window open that evening and she claims she heard him tell Wash flat-out that the two of you were…were…”
“Together,” Ava filled in helpfully. “That’s what the young people say now.”
“We’re not together! We’re not…anything…of the sort….” Carly caught herself, and bit her lip. It was true. Jake hadn’t so much as touched her any of the times he’d come over to spend time with Emma since the day of Zoey’s birthday party.
Not that she didn’t want him to.
Every time he was within ten feet of her, hot little licks of desire trembled along her skin. But he was sticking to his end of the bargain and she would, too. For Emma’s sake. And for her own.
It wasn’t in the cards for her to be with a man. Any man. Especially a loner of a cowboy who answered only to the call of the rodeo and the open road.
And who would soon be taking off for months at a time, risking his life on a near daily basis while he rode enraged bulls until they bucked him off and possibly stomped him to death. Dancing and drinking beer in rowdy bars at night with pretty, scantily clad women all too eager to fall into his arms, into his bed….
As she had only a few years ago….
Her stomach clenched.
Now, a man like Wash Weston, she told herself, would be perfect. He was older, settled, and he wanted a daughter. But she’d felt only a desire to pull away when he’d reached for her, tried to kiss her.
On the other hand, all Jake had to do was walk into a room and her heart started bouncing around like a pinball in her chest and she ached all over for…for what? For him to kiss her? To wrap her in his arms, carry her off somewhere, and make her forget that she was now a sane, stable woman, no longer that heartbroken girl, trying to banish the memory of a lying, cheating jerk?
She had a home now. A sweet, beautiful child. She had a business, friends, a town where she belonged. She didn’t need anything or anyone else. She didn’t need Jake Tanner stirring up her life, stealing away all the calm and peace of mind she’d worked so hard to come by.
Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she noticed Georgia Timmons thumbing through a pattern book only a few feet away. And glancing sideways in their direction.
The girl who’d been voted in high school as Most Likely to Take Over the World wore skinny pink jeans, boots, and a glittery denim jacket. Crap. Had Georgia overheard any of the conversation? All of it?
Her heart sank as Mrs. Pretty in Pink met her eyes, closed the pattern book with a snap, and drifted over, smiling.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re not what, Carly? And with who?” she inquired with a smirky kind of smile. Her blond hair fell in flawless waves to her shoulders and her eyes flitted over each woman in the little group.
Georgia liked wearing pink almost as much as she liked being in charge of everything. She was the refreshment chair again, as always, for the town’s upcoming fund-raiser. She had been every year for as far back as Carly—and Martha—remembered. And she would be, Martha had told Carly once privately, until she was lowered into the ground and a pile of earth heaped atop her casket.
“Come on, now, what secrets are you ladies keeping? Carly, is there something we should know?” she asked in a tone that was at once teasing and suspicious.
“If there was, you’d be the first person I’d tell.” Carly managed to pull off a breezy smile just before she changed the subject. “Georgia, I’ll need to know how many cakes, pies, and whatever else you’d like me to bake for the fund-raiser. Since it’s just before Thanksgiving, I thought pumpkin pies would be appropriate. Or pecan pies. And I have a recipe for a maple-walnut tart that is heavenly—”
“Oh, my! Is that Annie’s recipe?” Martha’s eyes shone. “Her pumpkin pie was the best! My cousin, Annie, she had a way with a pumpkin pie like no one else,” she told Georgia fondly. “And I bet she gave you all her secret recipes,” she added, turning toward Carly with a smile.
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Carly murmured. But as several other of the remaining women streamed past them, calling out good-byes, and Georgia Timmons followed them out the door, her mind was already drifting.
The Lonesome Way fairy godmothers were so far off it was almost laughable. Oh, she knew the story about how Ava had believed Rafe Tanner would be the perfect man for Sophie after she divorced her husband and returned to Sage Creek. Ava had put Rafe right at the top of her list of eligible men in town. The number one man for Sophie.
And in that case, she’d been right.
Within weeks of Travis Tanner moving back to Lonesome Way, everyone had guessed that he and Mia would get back together. And they had.
But they were wrong in her case, all of them, very wrong about Jake. He and Carly and Emma weren’t ever going to become a real family.
True, he’d postponed his trip to Salt Lake City for another week to squeeze in a little more time with Emma. But he hadn’t touched Carly or tried to kiss her, or shown any inclination to do so. He’d been a perfect gentleman.
She, on the other hand, had scared herself with how many times she’d wondered what would happen if she leaned in and kissed him after Emma went to bed, or reached for him all those times she said good-bye to him at her front door.
If she let herself touch him just once, wrapped her arms around his neck, allowed herself to give in for even a moment to the intense longing to be close to him…
Damn it, she wanted to kiss him again. To see how it felt to taste those firm, warm lips. She wanted his arms around her. To feel all that rugged power and strength and cockiness mixed in with an unexpected gentleness that never ceased to surprise her.
She wanted what she shouldn’t want—and couldn’t have.
She and Jake needed to remain friends. Only friends. For Emma’s sake.
But whenever she saw him, her heart did a crazy little dance.
It’ll be better when he goes off to Salt Lake City, she told herself. Then she’d find some peace.
She wouldn’t stare at her ceiling every night, remembering the deep timbre of his voice as he told her some new story about what Emma had said or done. Or thinking about his easy, gentle way with their daughter. Or the way Emma had begun to look for him when he wasn’t there, asking where he was, when he was coming to see her, babbling about him and Bronco as Carly made her bed, straightened up the house and Emma, dragging Bug, toddled after her from room to room.
In a strange way, Jake was part of their household now. Somehow he had become an almost daily fixture of their lives, entertaining Emma while Carly made supper. Washing the dishes while Carly got Emma ready for bed.
It had seemed to happen so naturally. But he was still hands-off. And apparently that was fine with him because he hadn’t once tried to touch her, much less kiss her.
His manner at all times was kind, direct, considerate.
Screw that, she thought bitterly.
But she knew it was for the best. She only had to hang on for another week, then he’d be gone for the commercial shoot, and then a rodeo, and who knew when he’d come back?
Once he hit the road, returned to the vibrant thrum of the rodeo, saw the glare of lights and heard the excited roar of a crowd chanting his name, he might not come back to Lonesome Way for a very long time.
She tried to ignore the hard knot tightening in her chest every time she thought about it.
Emma would ask for him. But, after a while, she’d forget. Wouldn’t she? She was still so young….
Only a few days before, all three of them had driven over to Sage Ranch in Jake’s truck and he’d introduced her and Emma to Dakota. His once frisky paint po
ny was now a placid senior who wickered long and loud in greeting when Jake appeared, carrying Emma on his shoulders into the barn.
After he’d saddled the pony and led him into the paddock, he’d lifted Emma up into the saddle and held her there.
She’d looked a tiny bit uncertain at first and as if she might cry.
Carly had taken a few steps forward, but Jake spoke offhandedly. “Hey, Emma, you’re riding Dakota, Daddy’s first pony. He’s the best pony in the world.”
“Ponee!” Emma’s tiny fingers had grabbed onto Dakota’s mane and tugged. Jake instantly enclosed her hand in his. “Soft, Emma. Soft and gentle…like this.”
He showed her how to rub Dakota’s neck, held his hand lightly atop hers as she smoothed her tiny fingers along it.
“Wide!” She stared at Jake, her lower lip pushed out with determination. “Me wide. Me.”
“Sure you can ride, Emma. It’s easy.” Holding Emma in the saddle, he walked Dakota around the paddock. Emma squealed with excitement as Carly leaned against the corral post and watched, her heart filling her throat.
When Jake finally lifted Emma off the pony, he turned toward her with a grin. “Two years from now, I’ll start her on some real riding lessons. My dad taught me before I turned four.”
Two years. A long time from now, Carly thought, knowing she couldn’t allow herself to count on Jake being around much by then. His schedule could be even busier, he could meet some woman—get distracted for a while—or get bucked off a bull and stomped to death….
Her throat constricted and she said a quick fervent prayer that the latter would never happen. But she had to prepare herself to continue raising Emma alone. And to keep Emma from feeling abandoned.
We’ll both forget what it’s like having him around, she assured herself as she finally locked up the quilt shop and headed for her Jeep.
Me and Emma—and Martha—we’re the three musketeers. In this together, all for one, one for all. And all we really need is each other.
Once Jake was gone for a few weeks, or a month, Carly was almost certain Emma would stop asking about him. And so would that pesky whispering voice inside her own heart.