His dark eyes narrowed a bit, and though he seemed steady on his feet, he’d consumed enough alcohol to fell most men she knew. “Are you serious?” he said.
She shrugged. His tone was sharp, and she really didn’t want to get into it with him right now. She unlocked her trunk and lifted it up, cursing as snow fell over her hands.
“She was offering, and that’s something most guys wouldn’t turn down.”
“I’m not most guys,” he said roughly, grabbing the snow brush from inside and moving to the front of the vehicle. “You going to warm this thing up, or what?”
“Am I driving you home?” she retorted, opening the driver-side door.
“Do I look like I can drive?” He swooshed a large chunk of snow off her windshield, and she squealed as a good amount of it ended up in the car. In her lap. And in her face.
She didn’t say anything else. She just watched him through the glass as he methodically cleaned her entire car. Snow glistened in his hair, which he hadn’t cut since he was home, and it was now officially—as Mr. Edmonds, their high school football coach, used to say—girlie man. Though with his strong features, large athletic build, and five o’clock shadow, there wasn’t anything remotely girlie about Jake.
There never had been.
When he was done, he tossed the brush back into the trunk and hopped into the passenger seat, his large frame filling up the space in a way that made her nervous.
“Shit,” he exclaimed as he searched for the seat belt, “this thing is a hell of a lot smaller than I remember.” His knee banged against the dash as he twisted, seat belt in hand, trying to find the buckle. He bumped the dash again, swore, grunted, and then laughed.
“Oh my God, Jake. Could you be any more of a loser?”
Raine reached over and grabbed the belt off him, her fingers nimbly shoving it into the buckle. She waited for the click and then slowly glanced up at him, a scowl in place, but one that melted away like sand through an hourglass.
Snowflakes glistened in his hair like diamonds, reflecting from the security light just to the right of the car. One perfect flake nestled on the edge of his eyelash and she held her breath, afraid to breathe.
Afraid to move.
How long did they stare at each other with nothing but the wind in their ears?
No clue.
But it was long enough that the snowflake began to melt, and for no reason—other than insanity—Raine’s hand crept upward to carefully brush it from his face. Her eyes followed her fingers, and for the longest time she just stared at him. At her paleness against his tanned and masculine cheek, and then his jaw.
She felt the rough stubble from his beard, the heat from his body, and she smelled the musky spice that was all Jake.
His eyes were hooded, his long lashes downcast, but she heard the catch in his throat and something inside her woke up. Something hot and heavy and so exquisite, it was painful.
Christ, but the Edwards brothers were attractive. Even though Jesse had been the serious twin, he’d been lighter in coloring, more like pretty boy Mackenzie Draper. But Jake…God, there was nothing gentle, or soft, or pretty about him.
And as she watched him in silence….as his hooded gaze widened and stared back at her from beneath lowered lids…she found herself feeling something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Want. Need.
Desire.
God, it was so hot.
Which was insane, because it was still frosty inside her car, and their hot breath made small puffs that evaporated into nothing as they stared at each other through the heavy silence.
He moved slightly and she noticed for the first time how glassy his eyes were. Whether from fatigue or… The smell of whiskey hit her.
“You’re drunk,” she whispered.
His generous mouth curved into a frown. “I’m not drunk enough,” he answered roughly. “Because if I was as drunk as I should be, I’d be passed out cold. I’d be sitting here like a zombie, and we’d be on our way home, where you would dump my ass at my parents’ place, and hopefully I’d stay drunk until tomorrow morning, maybe even sleep.” A heartbeat passed; his voice was husky. “Instead…”
She leaned forward a bit more, barely able to hear him.
“Instead,” she repeated softly.
Jake exhaled and grabbed her hand, rolling it along his skin until it rested near his mouth. The air between them was charged with something tangible. Something fierce and hard.
Something scary.
“Instead, I’m thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about.” His hand crept to her chin, his touch gentle, though his fingertips were rough. Maybe his fingers trembled—she couldn’t tell, because all of a sudden things seemed wonky, as if reality were out of sync.
No longer hot, she was cold as hell and shivered violently, her mind crying out, though the scream was buried inside her head, where no one could hear.
Such longing rushed through her, such an intense need to be touched—to matter to someone—that she whimpered and closed her eyes. She moved her head slightly, her mouth parted, and she was afraid that her heart would beat out of her chest. Blood rushed through her veins, senses long dead erupted, leaving her breathless. Aching.
Her breasts swelled. His fingers splayed across her jaw now, not as gentle as before, and yet she wanted more. She wanted…
“Jake,” she whispered, her body warring with her mind. On what planet was this okay? To be here like this with her husband’s brother?
Yet she leaned into him instead of pulling away. She didn’t want his warmth to leave her, because she was afraid that she would never get warm again.
“Please,” she whispered.
And then his mouth was on her hers, his lips hot and hungry. She opened for him and it was neither a gentle nor a coaxing kiss, but rather a clashing of emotion. It was want and need and anger and guilt.
But that didn’t stop the surge of desire that rolled through Raine, and she whimpered as she moved and tried to get closer to him.
His hands were on her chin, holding her steady, and she felt him stiffen—felt him withdraw.
And when he pulled away from her, she was more confused than ever.
“What are we doing, Raine?” Jake’s voice was ragged. “What the hell are we doing?”
She heard his pain and the hole inside her expanded. It twisted and twisted until she could barely breathe.
“We’re trying to survive,” she whispered through tears.
I’m trying to stay alive.
“We can’t, not like this. Not again.”
Jake pushed her away and leaned back. “Not again,” he repeated, and closed his eyes. “Christ, I feel like shit. Just get me to a bed.”
He settled back into his seat, head turned toward the window, away from her.
For a few seconds Raine was too stunned to do anything. What had she just done? Eventually she became aware of doors slamming shut and engines roaring to life. The truck next to her pulled away, and she watched its taillights fade away to nothing. It would seem that the turkey roll was officially over.
Her fingers gripped the steering wheel, and after a while she flipped the radio on, reversed out of her parking spot, and headed into the night.
Chapter 14
Dawn came late this time of the year and it was usually cold, dark, and nasty. Jake rolled out of bed, his mood black before he’d even given it a chance to improve. He was still in the clothes he’d worn the night before and hadn’t bothered to change, which meant that now his bedroom smelled like a damn brewery.
He glanced in the mirror and groaned at the sight of his bloodshot eyes and rumpled T-shirt and jeans.
Coffee was the order of the day and something he needed in the worst way possible. The rest—like a shower and a change of clothes—would have to wait.
Noisel
essly he made his way downstairs, but the smell of a freshly brewed pot greeted him, and he knew someone was already up. He hoped it wasn’t his mother, because God knew she deserved a hell of a lot better than his sorry ass first thing in the morning.
God, he felt like shit.
But that’s what Canadian whiskey will do to you, if you let it.
With a groan he entered the kitchen and winced at the bright lighting. His father was at the kitchen table, Saturday paper in hand and two steaming cups of coffee in front of him.
“I heard you up and poured you some java,” his father said.
“Thanks.”
Steven peered over the paper at him and shook his head. “Hitting it a little hard last night, were you?”
“Appears so.”
Jake grabbed his coffee, leaned against the table, and glanced at the clock. It was barely five in the morning, pitch dark, and the wind that howled along the lake was something fierce.
“Mom still in bed?” Jake savored the warmth of his cup and studied his father.
Steven nodded, folded the paper, and grabbed his mug before settling back in his chair. His thick hair, white as the snow outside, was kept short, and though his color was better than it had been, he was still pale. He was still thin. Still heartbroken.
Would any of them ever be whole again?
“How’s Wyndham coming along?” Steven asked. “Sorry I haven’t been out this week, but the new development on the other side of the lake is keeping me busy.”
Jake smiled wryly. “It’s coming…I guess.”
“You sure you don’t want any help? I could spare a few men.”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got Weasel coming to look at the electrical on Monday morning to get that mess sorted out, and I plan on framing and drywalling the two load-bearing walls that some jackass decided to move by the end of the week. The roofers are coming Wednesday, and the windows should all be replaced by next week as well.”
His father nodded in approval. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”
Jake shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but once the main stuff is done, I’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do inside. The place has gone to shit, and most of the woodwork needs to be redone, walls replastered, floors leveled.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And that’s just the beginning.”
“You’re working real hard.”
Something in his father’s tone, a note of concern, caught Jake’s attention. He took a sip of his hot coffee and shrugged. “It feels good.”
For a few seconds nothing was said, and then his father spoke so gently that Jake had to strain to hear him. “You’re working too hard, son.”
Jake’s heart skipped a beat, heavy at the sadness in his father’s voice, and he glanced away. How could he make any of them understand that he needed to push himself? He needed the mental and physical exhaustion, because sometimes—hell, most of the time—it was the only way he could forget. The only way he could function.
“I hear you at night,” Steven said hoarsely.
Jake’s head whipped up. “What was that?”
Steven’s eyes were misty and he cleared his throat. “I hear you at night, Jake. You don’t sleep. You’re up pacing your room, or down in the gym, killing the equipment, or off for a run.”
For a moment Jake could only stare at his father helplessly. Now would be the time to open his damn mouth and get everything out into the open. Now would be the time to spill the dark secrets he’d kept. Could he seek salvation?
Was he strong enough to ask for forgiveness?
Yet his throat was so tight that he was barely able to breathe, and the demons he’d been running from for the last year and a half were suddenly here, with him, right beside him, laughing their fucking asses off.
We got you.
We’ve always had you.
He closed his eyes, his heart beating crazily as the pressure inside him built steadily. White noise erupted in his ears so loud that he winced, and he groaned, hanging his head in his hands in an effort to get a grip. He couldn’t lose his shit. Not here. Not at home in front of his father.
And yet he could taste the desert in his mouth. Feel the heat of the sun, the stinging sand in his eyes. He could hear the steady ping, ping, ping of the sniper shots, the hoarse shouts of his men. The cries of rage and retribution.
Civilians screaming in pain, children running mad. A dog named Len, the mangy critter his unit had adopted.
And he saw Jesse, striding through it all as if he wore a death wish around his neck, like the crazy fuck from Platoon.
The blackness inside Jake was so big he felt like he was coming apart. His eyes flew open, but he was still back there. Back in hell. And for a moment he was confused. Something fell at his feet. Something shattered.
His coffee mug.
And then two arms were around him, holding him tight, not letting go even as he struggled to break free.
Eventually everything fell away as it always did, and he was left trembling, drowning in cold sweat.
“Jesus, Dad, I’m sorry.”
His father’s gripped his shoulders tightly, and when he had enough balls to look Steven in the eye, Jake’s world tilted a little. His throat was so tight, his jaw clenched in an iron grip and there was nothing more that he could share.
Not now anyway.
Steven’s eyes were wet, and Jake was startled to realize his stung as well.
“I don’t want to know, Jake…what happened over there.” Steven gazed at him, his right hand gripping Jake behind his head to keep him steady. Just as he used to do when Jake was ten, and it was the bottom of the ninth, winning run on base, and Jake was up to bat. Steven would always look him in the eye and calm him down.
“I don’t need to know how Jesse died. What I need, as a father, is for you to let go and come back to us, because this family won’t survive another blow. We just…we just won’t.”
Jake carefully pulled away from his father. He bent down and picked up the pieces of his mug and then grabbed a cloth from the sink to wipe up the mess. When he was done, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward. He was freezing.
Outside, it was still pitch dark, though a frosty December moon shimmered along the top of the still-unfrozen water. Snow was falling, nothing more than a light dusting really, and the wind was all but gone. Crystal Lake was as smooth as glass.
In another lifetime he might have gone back to bed. He might have tried to get some rest, but in this life that he was left with, that wasn’t an option. Even though he was bone tired, he knew that hard, physical labor was the only thing that settled him.
He should go.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, not knowing what else to say.
“Jake, I need you to get better,” his father said quietly, and it was that quiet strength that got to him. Jake blew out a hot breath and took a moment to compose himself. He wasn’t a child, for Christ’s sake, but sometimes the thought of launching himself into his father’s arms was more than he could bear.
“I’m trying,” he managed to say.
“Not good enough.” Gone was the warmth. “You need to try harder for the people who love you. For your mother and me…and for Raine. She needs you more than you know, and I’m pretty damn sure she’s not going to make it through unless she has you in her corner.”
Jake blinked, his chest beating hard. But what could he say? He’d failed them all, Jesse the most. If they knew the truth, would they still be so damn gung ho to keep him around?
“You get that, right?” Steven ground out. “We need you, Jake. This family needs you.”
Jake stared at his father for a long time, and when he finally spoke, his voice was subdued. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to good. After—” His voice hitched and he cleared his thro
at. “After what happened over there, I don’t know if it’s possible.” He paused. “But Dad, you have to know I’m trying. I’m trying my best, and right now that’s all I got.”
For several long moments the two men stared at each other, and then Steven nodded. “Okay then.”
***
Less than an hour later, Jake pulled up to Wyndham Place and parked near the new refuse bin that had been dropped off sometime last night. It was empty, and if he wanted to make a dent in the pile of crap out front, he’d best get started.
The sun was now up, and with the temperature hovering around the freezing mark, it wasn’t all that cold. With only a few weeks until Christmas, he was damn lucky to have escaped any real major snowstorms, but one was on the way.
Jake exited his Jeep and glanced up at the sky. It was filled with dark gray clouds and he figured they were in for one hell of a snowfall in the next twenty-four hours. A thought crossed his mind and he made a mental note to dig around his father’s garage for his snowmobile.
Maybe a ride would help clear his head later, but in the meantime—he glanced at the pile of crap again—he had other things to occupy him.
He took two steps and noticed tire tracks leading to the stone cottage. The overgrown cedar hedge didn’t let him see shit, but the tracks were fresh, and there was only one set going in. What the hell?
He took off, thinking it was most likely a teenage couple using the place for what most of them had done through the years—getting lucky. But it was time to let them know that a new owner had taken up residence and the cottage was off limits, and anyone thinking to use it for a quick lay was trespassing.
He followed the tracks down the path, and when he rounded the corner, he tripped over something that tied up his feet but good. With a curse Jake tried to keep his balance but instead fell backward onto his ass.
“Jesus!”
Jake landed in mud and wet snow and was immediately attacked by a bundle of fur that came with a wet, sloppy tongue and the unmistakable odor of puppy breath.
Gibson.
The little bastard strained against Jake’s hands, trying to get to his face, but damned if he was going to let Raine’s puppy lick him as if he were a piece of candy. Everyone knew dogs spent half their time licking their junk. He shoved the puppy off him. No way was he getting close to that.
The Christmas He Loved Her Page 13