She hated this uncomfortable space between them. Hated it a lot, but for the life of her, she had no idea how to conquer it.
Melinda, the waitress, brought her water along with another beer for Jake. Raine watched the way the young woman’s eyes rested on him. She saw the hungry look and she also saw the questions. Melinda was wondering about Lily. Wondering about Jake’s relationship with the blonde.
Join the club.
The water was tepid, and Raine made a face as she took a sip and watched Melinda weave her way around the tables on her way back to the bar. A few guys sat there, including Matt Backhouse. He caught her eye and nodded, his eyes appreciative in the way a man’s are when he sees something he likes.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at her that way that for a moment she was startled. She’d been holed up for so long that she’d forgotten what it feels like to be appreciated. Raine smiled politely but not before Jake caught the look and turned around.
“Backhouse?” he said roughly. “Really?”
Raine glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Backhouse is a skirt.”
“A skirt?”
Jake nodded, his frown firmly in place. “Yep.”
Raine gripped her glass a little tighter and took another sip, even though Jake’s cold beer was looking a hell of a lot better than what she had in her hand.
“What exactly is a skirt?” she asked drily.
Jake looked at her as if she’d just dropped in from outer space. “You don’t know what a skirt is?”
“I’m pretty sure my definition of a skirt is a lot different than the one in Jake Edwards’s dictionary.”
His frown relaxed somewhat as he settled back in his chair. “Well, let’s see. Backhouse is divorced, right?”
Last she heard.
“You know he is.”
“His wife left him for Pete Ramsey?”
She nodded. It had been quite the scandal at the time.
“Pete Ramsey is his best friend?”
Her lips tightened. “Since elementary school.”
“And isn’t that Pete he’s sitting with?”
Raine glanced back toward the bar. Again, she nodded. “Your point?”
Jake took a long drink from his beer and stretched his legs out in front of him. “My point is, he’s a skirt. If my woman left me for my best friend, you can bet your ass I wouldn’t be having social beers with the guy. It would take everything in me not to beat his ass into the ground.”
“Well that’s a great way to solve things.” She motioned toward the men. “Maybe they worked their issues out.”
“I’m not talking about solving anything. I’m talking about code, a guy’s code of conduct, and that”—he nodded back toward Backhouse—“is just wrong.” He shook his head in disgust. “I bet he moved back in with his parents.”
Raine gritted her teeth, but she had to hand it to Jake. He was calling it pretty close.
“Kind of like you?”
Jake’s eyes widened. “That’s different, and you know it.”
Of course it was, but she couldn’t help herself. Raine set her elbows onto the table and cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”
He leaned forward, his spicy, earthy scent floating in the air between them. Raine was aware her pulse exploded and kicked into overdrive. And God, she was so hot…hot and sweaty all of a sudden.
Jake stared at her for several long moments before answering. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and gruff. “Because I’m a grown man and I don’t need my parents to get me through life. I do just fine on my own.”
No shit, she thought.
“You never used to be so…” She licked her lips and glanced down at her hands. Her wedding ring and diamond looked huge on her third finger, all the more so because she’d lost so much weight in the last few months.
“What?” he prodded.
Raine exhaled a long shuddering breath and whispered, “Hard.”
His eyes pierced her. “Better that than a”—he nodded behind him—“damn skirt.”
“So”—Raine leaned forward—“when you say ‘skirt,’ you’re making a derogatory female reference, correct?”
Jake frowned. “Not really. I just mean the guy is a wimp.”
“And because I wear a skirt from time to time, I’m somehow defective? Weak?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean exactly, Mr. Edwards?” A crack of something lit up inside her and her chest tightened. God, she missed Jake more than she wanted to admit.
The darkness in him seemed to soften and he cocked his head to the side, a smile pulling on his mouth. “Well, Mrs. Edwards, what I’m trying to say is that Matt Backhouse isn’t the guy for you. You’d scare the crap out of him, and he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
“I—” she sputtered, feeling strangely exhilarated.
And hot. And bothered.
“I would scare him? What the hell does that mean?” She grabbed her water and finished the glass, slamming it down onto the table as if she’d just downed an entire jug of beer.
“He’s a skirt, and someone like you needs a guy with a hell of a lot more backbone.”
“Really,” she said carefully, not liking the way his dark eyes settled on her. “And why is that?”
He grinned at her just as the house lights dimmed and the band members resumed their places on stage. “Because a skirt wouldn’t sit here and argue a point. He’d nod and agree with everything you say, and you’d be bored to tears.”
She didn’t get a chance to reply, because the band kicked into a raucous rendition of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd song that had half the bar tapping along to it and the other half trying their damnedest to sing along.
Forty-five minutes later, when the band was finally stretching out that last note, it was near closing time.
Raine sat back, feeling a little lighter—happier than she’d been in a long time. As she gazed around the room, she realized a few things, troubling things that needed to be dealt with.
First off, she had become a bit of a shut-in, and that had to stop. She needed to get out and try to breathe some life into her soul, because if not—she swallowed and glanced at her hands—if not, she would wither and die. Oh, her shell of a body could go on for years, but living without a soul wasn’t a way to exist.
And Jesse would not have wanted her to waste away.
“Hey.”
Jake’s quiet voice grabbed her and she sat back.
“You all right?”
“I’m good.” And she was.
“So”—she paused—“Wyndham Place.”
Jake leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, Wyndham Place.”
She reached over and grabbed his beer bottle, taking a good long sip from it as she organized her thoughts. But in the end, it wasn’t so much being organized as it was just asking the question.
“Why?”
Jake studied her closely and she took another long drink from his bottle, emptying it along the way, and set it back in front of him.
Brad Kitchen appeared from nowhere with a more-than-a-little-tipsy Lori Jonesberg on his arm. The woman was sporting a vibrant red head of hair with shocking chunks of white blond fringing her bangs. The look was retro, loud, and on anyone else would have looked outrageous, but on Lori it looked cutting-edge and was actually almost tame, compared to some of the looks she’d sported over the last few years. As owner of the local salon, it was almost as if Lori felt she owed it to the town to show them exactly how cool they could look.
Except there were very few residents who could pull it off, Raine included.
Raine pretended not to notice the frown that settled on Lori’s mouth as the woman eyed Raine’s own impromptu cut. The frown deepened a
nd Lori’s eyes—slightly crossed from too much beer—narrowed as she teetered dangerously on her four-inch leopard-print boots.
“Good Lord, which one of my girrrlzz did that to you?”
Shit.
Raine fingered the one piece that never settled and tucked it behind her ear. “Uh, I kinda did it myself.”
Lori’s eyes widened in horror. Seriously. It was as if Raine had just told the woman she was terminally ill or something.
Thankfully, Brad saved Raine from the brunt of whatever the hell Lori was about to unleash.
“Congrats again, Edwards, on the Wyndham deal.” Brad’s arm snaked around Lori in order to keep the petite woman steady. “You never did say what you’re going to do with the property. You gonna demolish it and build?”
Jake shook his head. “Nope.”
For a moment, Brad seemed a bit mystified, and then his eyes widened incredulously. “That house was this close to being condemned, Jake. Are you seriously going to fix it up?”
Again, Jake nodded.
“Hell, that will take a small fortune and a hell of a lot of time and worry.”
“I guess it will.”
“Good luck with it, then.”
Jake took the hand offered to him and shook it. “Thanks.”
They both watched as Brad Kitchen led Lori away, though she did manage to peer over her shoulder and grimace at Raine once more, her hand to her ear as she mouthed Call me before Brad guided her out of the Coach House.
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” Jake said quietly.
Raine stopped fussing with the errant strand of hair and glanced back at him.
“You look good.”
She stared across the table at Jake for so long that when he cleared his throat and looked away, she exhaled a shaky breath and pushed her empty glass back. He was so full of shit that if his eyes weren’t already brown, they sure as hell would be now. She looked like crap and she knew it.
“You ready to go?” he asked, pushing his chair back.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Do you need a ride, or are you okay to drive?”
“I’m good,” he answered.
They both stood and once again the big, empty space between them yawned open.
“About your question earlier,” he said, his hand at her back as he pushed her toward the door. They both waved at a beaming Salvatore, and when she stepped outside, the November air hit her so hard, her lungs hurt as she inhaled a crisp, cold shot of it.
She shivered and pulled her coat tighter. “Question?” she asked as she took a few steps before she realized he wasn’t following. Raine turned around and waited.
Jake’s expression was unreadable as he hunched his shoulders against the brisk wind, hands shoved into his front pockets. For several moments there was nothing but the sound of the wind through the trees and the scattering debris it whipped across the concrete parking lot.
“Your question about Wyndham Place. About why I would spend a crap ton of money on a home that half of Crystal Lake thinks should be demolished.” A devilish grin spread across his face, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Raine relaxed. She took a few seconds, content just to drink in the change in him. There was a bit of the old Jake in front of her.
“Dad asked me the same question.”
“And what was your answer?”
His eyes glittered, the lines around them somewhat softened by the half grin that still claimed his lips. “Why the hell not?”
She smiled. “Why not?” she repeated softly.
She knew there was a lot more to it. Wyndham Place had been theirs. The Bad Boys and their tagalong fifth wheel, Raine. They’d spent way more time than they should have in the old house when they were teenagers, and a lot of stuff had happened there. Parties. Romances. Fights.
Her eyes misted. A lot of firsts.
“So, that means…” She exhaled and met his eyes. She needed to hear him say it. Needed to feel like maybe there was a chance for things to get back to good. “That means you’re staying in Crystal Lake?” She licked her lips nervously as she thought of Lily St. Clare.
Jake’s expression turned serious, his hooded gaze unnerving as he rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. He wrapped a deep indigo scarf around his neck and nailed her with a direct look.
“I guess I am.”
Chapter 11
What the hell was he thinking?
The buzz he’d been feeling for nearly a week was starting to wear off—big-time—and he had no one to blame but himself. Wyndham Place was a hell of a lot more than just a run-of-the-mill fixer-upper. It was a massive undertaking and one that he’d gladly embraced in the heat of the moment nearly a week ago, but now…
Jake stared at the huge pile of crap outside the long rambling porch—a porch that was sagging in several areas—and he had to ask himself the question.
Was he crazy or just a sucker for punishment?
The last Wyndham who had actually lived on-site had taken steps to update plumbing and electrical, but even so, there were problems, and a good bulk of the electrical had to be replaced. Luckily the pipes were in good order, though the boiler that heated the old steam radiators was toast.
It was cold as hell, but he couldn’t even use the fireplaces—and there were plenty of those—because the chimneys needed to be cleaned first, and he had a feeling they were home to more rodents than he cared to think about.
He scratched the five-day stubble that had grown along his jaw and gazed up at the house. It needed new windows, a roof, and exterior paint by the truckload. There were some serious framing issues on the main level, because some idiot had thought it would be a good idea to take out two load-bearing walls. Asshole. Those would have to be replaced and the subsequent flooring issues upstairs caused by the dumbass move dealt with.
And that was just a small dent in the list he’d been adding to daily. Jake Edwards was, if anything, a perfectionist, and if he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. No cutting corners. It was something he had learned from the best—his father. The family business, Edwards Lumber Company, had been a mainstay in the area for more than three generations, and Jake and his brother had cut their teeth working for their father every summer until they’d enlisted.
“Too bad there’s a shit ton of corners,” he muttered as he carried out another pile of crap.
He’d spent the day before ripping out the kitchen, and the mess before him was the fruit of his efforts. Old crappy cupboards, countertops, and appliances. The large refuse bin he’d rented had already been carted away and emptied twice, and he was waiting for it to be brought back and dumped in his driveway so that he could fill it again.
Jake rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand. He was hot and sweaty despite the cold November weather. It was nearly four in the afternoon and already getting dark. With most of the leaves gone from the surrounding trees, the place looked pretty damn bare. He inhaled a crisp shot of cold air, his chest tightening as he gazed across the expansive lawn toward a small stone cottage barely visible behind an overgrown cedar hedge.
Cedar… The smell settled in his lungs.
They say scent is what keeps memories glued together, and Jake had been battling scent demons ever since he’d got back from Afghanistan well over a year ago. He’d never really left the desert, it seemed.
A few days after his brother’s funeral, he’d taken off to the shooting range. Somehow he’d got it in his head that if he could just shoot the shit out of something, it would help relieve the stress and heartache that ate at him night and day.
Christ, had he been wrong. The sound of gunfire was bad enough—even in a controlled environment—but it was the smell of it, that certain metallic scent of hot ammo, that immediately grabbed him hard. He’d barely been able to get through his rounds and the hell away
from the shooting range without losing his shit all over the place.
He glanced at the cottage again as the smell of earth mixed with the bits of snow at his feet. The cedar and the hint of winter in the air combined and brought a wave of memories over him. Before he knew what he was doing, Jake tossed his gloves and headed for the cottage.
When he came out the week before to see Wyndham Place, he’d had no interest in the cottage and hadn’t bothered to look at it. The main house had been his concern and he hadn’t thought twice about the smaller home.
At one time it had belonged to the Wyndham caretaker, and though at first glance it appeared to be as neglected as the main house, he was surprised as he got closer to find that it wasn’t the case. In fact, all the windows that he could see were intact. He supposed the ones around back could be busted, but for the moment they looked good.
Jake walked up the stone path and hesitated at the door. His gut churned and he was sweating profusely.
Those damn demons were just waiting to get him. He knew this, and yet he was helpless to do anything but move forward. There was a reason, or two, as to why he hadn’t bothered with the cottage the week before. He could say it was because the place didn’t matter. He could tell himself that until hell froze over, but the simple truth was, it was bullshit.
“A heaping pile of bullshit, brother.”
A wry smile crept over his face as the echo of his brother’s voice sounded in his mind. Christ, the four of them, the Bad Boys, as they’d been called, had never shied away from calling bullshit.
“I nailed Rebecca Stringer last night.”
“Bullshit.”
“Hey, it was me who hit the grand slam in the bottom of the ninth, not Cain.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, really.”
“I call bullshit.”
Carefully he turned the knob and the door swung back slowly. Jake stepped inside the cottage. There were beer cans and bottles strewn about, as well as fast-food debris. Cigarette butts and empty bottles of wine and liquor littered the floor, and the only piece of furniture, a red and blue plaid sofa, was in the middle of the room, with an old rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. He was surprised it wasn’t in worse shape.
The Christmas He Loved Her Page 10