by Dena Blake
“Great.” The resentment in her crystal blue eyes came through loud and clear. “Looks like paradise.”
Jillian let out a slow sigh. She hadn’t wanted to uproot Abby from her home in New York, but under the circumstances, she had no other choice. The loss of her parents had been devastating, and leaving her behind while she investigated Blake wasn’t an option.
“Who’s that?” Abby pulled the lever on the seat and bolted straight up.
Jillian glanced up at the doorway, and her heart stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut. The young man standing on the porch was surely something she’d conjured up from the past. She opened her eyes and he was still there. Tall and lanky, his forehead sprayed with auburn hair, he looked to be only about seventeen. She’d driven straight through, but she didn’t think she was that exhausted. She pinched her leg. She must have fallen asleep. The boy threw them a wave, and she pinched harder. This had to be a dream, or maybe she was dead.
The front door opened, and a man with hair the color of dark-red Oklahoma clay stepped out next to the teenager. Dressed in khaki pants and a blue-and-white, long-sleeve, button-down shirt, he slid one hand into his pocket and placed the other on the porch beam as though he were a model posing for a shoot.
Jillian’s mouth dropped open. This wasn’t possible. It was Blake. Then and now.
The men started toward the car, and Jillian couldn’t move. He was older, but he hadn’t changed. Even now, Blake Mathews was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He was her sister’s first everything.
Her plan seemed feasible when she’d run it through her head the hundred times on the drive over here, but now she was having second thoughts. What if Blake didn’t understand what had happened so many years before? What if he didn’t care? She looked at Abby, still planted in the front seat, flipping through her CD case. What if he didn’t want anything to do with Abby? Damn it, Jamie. I can’t believe you did this to me. Jillian took in a deep breath to steady herself. It was too late to think about any of that now.
As Blake came around the front of the car toward her, the young man rounded the back of the old brown Honda CRV and yanked at the hatch.
“Blake Mathews,” he said, pulling the driver’s door open and holding out his hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Mathews.” She hesitated before swinging her legs out and taking his hand. “I’m JJ Davis, and this is my niece, Abigale Davis.”
“Abby.” The fifteen-year-old corrected her.
“Nice to meet you, ladies.” He peeked in and gave Abby a subtle smile. “And please, call me Blake.”
Jillian rounded the car and stopped by the teenager taking the bags from the back. Still caught by the resemblance, she couldn’t form a sentence.
“This is my son, David.”
Son? She darted her gaze to Abby and then back to David. Abby was fifteen, and this young man looked to be at least seventeen, maybe older. She stared back at Blake. He couldn’t possibly have a son.
“You have a son?”
“I do.” He nodded and pulled his eyebrows together. “Have we met before?”
“No.” Jillian scrambled for words. “I don’t believe so.”
“I thought you said the kid was a dude,” David said, and gave Blake a questioning look.
“Maxine must have made a mistake.”
David pulled the largest bag out and dropped it onto the asphalt. “You sure have a lot of stuff.”
She watched him struggle with the next bag. “Oh, just bring in the two big ones for now. We can get the others later.”
David grabbed one of the bags, Abby grabbed the other, and they both headed into the house. Jillian stood on the sidewalk watching Blake pull the rest of the luggage from the car before closing the hatch.
She’d found him. He was no longer the tall, gangly teenager she remembered. He was definitely a man now. Could she trust him with Jamie’s beautiful little girl? She heard Abby’s voice echo in stinging complaint as she lugged her bag up the porch stairs. A little girl was how she’d remembered her, but she wasn’t little anymore. She was an attitude-filled young woman.
When Blake looked up and his gaze met hers, she looked away quickly. Don’t blow it. Spinning around, she walked toward the house, preparing to enter the so-called sanctuary she swore she would never set foot in again. Not able to do so immediately, she hesitated, trying to clear the knot developing in her stomach. She glanced back at Blake, and the knot immediately disappeared. Just watching him gather the rest of the bags in his arms before following her up the cobblestone walk was enough to make her forget the terrible horror that had happened within these walls.
The bags began to tumble back into his face, and he shouted, “I could use a hand with these.”
“Oh, sorry.” She hurried back to help him, swiped the small black cosmetic case from the top of the heap, and then bounced back up the steps and through the door.
“Thanks.” He let out a chuckle. “That helps a lot.”
Jillian stepped inside and took a deep breath. The house no longer smelled of her mother’s famous meat loaf and home-baked chocolate-chip cookies. All that lingered now was the smell of fresh paint. “Where to now?”
“Up the stairs, to the right.”
After climbing the U-shaped staircase, Jillian stood at the top, staring to the left toward her parents’ bedroom. The room where it had all happened. Sweat formed on the back of her neck, and her stomach churned. She was going to have to visit them while she was in town.
“You have the two rooms with the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between them.”
Forcing herself to move, Jillian headed the short distance down the hall, set her bag just inside the door, and looked around. She remembered the path well. She’d spent a lot of time in this room. The scent of fresh paint filled her nose. The color of baby blue now covered the pink walls she remembered. She walked through the bathroom to Jamie’s room, and her stomach shot to her throat. Sadness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed hold of the door jamb. Put it out of your mind, Jillian. She took in a deep breath and forged ahead.
The furniture was sparse—a twin bed, nightstand, and lamp in each room. No dresser, mirror, or decorations. The rooms weren’t nearly as comfortable as they were when she was a child, but more stuff wouldn’t make it feel like home again.
“Kind of bare in here, isn’t it?” she said, shrugging off the tingling chill climbing her spine.
“We haven’t finished furnishing it yet. The department’s a little behind with our funds. I think some of the original furniture is in the attic. I’ll check on that this weekend.”
“Thanks.” It might be comforting to have some of her old stuff around her, but then again, it might not. The sun blinded her as she looked toward the window. “Are there any curtains?” They’d taken down the old frilly ones that had hung here when she was a child.
“Not sure if that’s in the budget, but I’ll check on it. If so, I’ll get to it as soon as I can.” He went to the window and glanced out at the setting sun. “You’re on the west side. The sun shouldn’t be too bright in the morning.”
“Yeah, but I bet in another few hours it’s going to be blazing hot in here.” Thoughts of the blistering nights from her youth flashed through her mind. Endless tossing and turning, twisted in the sheets, unable to get comfortable. Then there were the hot sleepless nights she’d spent lying here with Amelia. Nights Amelia had sneaked out of her house and climbed up the trellis to be with her when the arguments in her house were so loud there seemed to be no escape. She shook herself out of the thought, flipped the latch on top of the wooden frame, and hoisted the window open. She stuck her head out of the opening. The old wooden trellises that led to the window in each room were gone, replaced by ones made of aged copper patina and now covered with beautiful roses. The wood had probably rotted away long ago, just like the family who had once lived there.
“None of these old houses have central air. It would cost a fortune to put it in now.” Bla
ke moved across the room and raised the other window. “If you open both windows, you can get a good cross-breeze going.”
“It’s too bad you don’t have something newer.”
“This is a good old house.” Blake smiled and looked around the room. “I’ve spent some pretty good days here.” His gaze drifted back to Jillian, and he seemed lost in thought. Maybe he did remember Jamie.
Jillian stepped across the room. “Is this the bathroom?”
“Yes, but…”
She closed the door before letting him finish. She had to. If she stayed out there one more minute, she would blow it. Her back against the wall, she slid down the door and squatted, holding her face in her hands. Can I really pull this off? The recurring doubts surfaced again. This is the right thing to do. I can’t possibly take care of Abby myself, can I? She shook her head. No, that can’t happen. She had no experience with children whatsoever. Besides that, she had a career to get back to, and Blake had experience. He had a child already, a teenager who couldn’t be more than two years older than Abby. Two years older and she had no idea. How could that happen? It didn’t make sense. The thought that Blake might have been sleeping with someone else when he was seeing her sister had Jillian’s anger bubbling. What the hell was that about? Maybe that was why Jamie had never told him about Abby. Maybe Jamie had left him without a single word, no explanation, and no clue as to where she was going. Granted, there were extenuating circumstances, but she could have, and probably should have let him know, somehow. Her thoughts wandered to Amelia. Jillian should have done the same.
They had every right to go on with their lives or go back, as the case seemed to be for Blake. Would he love Abby in spite of Jamie’s betrayal? Swiping her fingers across her tear-stained cheek, Jillian hoped when he found out the truth, Blake would love Abby no matter what Jamie had done. She smiled. Blake seemed like a good guy. He might hate Jamie, and possibly her for keeping it from him, but she was optimistic that he would accept Abby.
Seeing the toilet lid taped closed and the connections dangling from the back, she shot up to the basin and splashed a handful of cold water on her face. After she dried it with the only thing in sight, an old T-shirt that smelled of men’s cologne, she grabbed the knob and sucked in a deep breath, hoping she hadn’t been gone too long.
When she pulled the door open, Blake met her with his arms crossed and an if-you-had-listened-to-me look. “I’m not quite finished with the plumbing in there. I should have it done in a few days.”
“I see that. Is there another bathroom I can use? It’s been a long trip.”
He led her into the hallway. “Down here to the right.”
As she followed, Blake picked a T-shirt and a pair of dirty socks from the handcrafted, built-in bookcase she remembered. Her father had spent months building it. Giving her a prickly smile, he tossed the dirty clothes into the room across the hall, then reached in and pulled the door closed.
She pushed the door slowly, waiting for some sort of nasty critter to jump out at her. “In here?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Closing the door behind her, she walked gingerly, trying to avoid the magazines scattered across the floor. When she lifted the lid of the toilet, she was relieved to see that at least the bowl looked clean. At this point, running to the corner gas station wasn’t an option. Messy, but clean. She could deal with that.
After she washed her hands, she reached down to straighten the magazines into a pile. As she looked at the covers, she could see they were probably all David’s. World Wrestling Federation, Hot Rod, MAD Magazine. She smiled, thinking about her teen years. She used to read MAD. She remembered sneaking into her parents’ bedroom to read her mother’s copy of Vogue. The trendy fashions had dazzled her the first time she’d looked in mother’s closet and the first time her mother had let her wear something out of it. It was a spectacular place, where Jillian could dream of being whoever she wanted, a place where she used to love to spend time.
The beginnings of a headache poked at the back of her head, and she took a deep breath before she flipped open the MAD Magazine. She wondered if it still had the same satirical punch. When did they add so much text? She flipped through a few more pages. And pictures? Naked pictures! She peeled the cover back. It wasn’t MAD Magazine. Someone had glued the MAD cover onto an adult magazine. She picked up a few of the others and found the same had been done to those. No, no, no. These will not stay. Jillian gathered them all up quickly. Abby was much too young to be exposed to the realities of the male libido. Okay, just settle down, Jillian. He’s an adult, an adult male. If he wants to look at pictures of naked women, there’s nothing wrong with that. He certainly doesn’t have to explain it to you. She’d met enough men and women with far worse habits than magazines.
Blake was standing by the top of the stairs when she came back out. Jillian shoved the magazines into his hands. “Please get rid of these.”
“Sorry. The boys are kind of messy.” He hedged his way down the hall and peered inside.
“You shouldn’t leave stuff like that lying around.” She eyed the magazines.
He looked puzzled. “MAD, Hot Rod, WWF. Nothing questionable here.”
“Take a closer look.”
She didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated at his show of naiveté. This definitely wasn’t the same man she knew from years ago. If the first hour was any indication, things might not go as planned. What was she saying? Her plan had to work. There was simply no other way. He flipped through the pages and his eyes widened.
“Changing the cover is a little extreme, don’t you think?” She wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger, but his face turned beet red. Maybe he didn’t know.
“Sorry. I’ll take care of them.” He took the pile of magazines, and she followed him to the other end of the hall into her parents’ old room. She peered into it as he entered. It looked different than it had before. The hardwood floor had been refinished and the furniture was new. It was nicely decorated in vibrant colors. He’d made it different. It wasn’t her parents’ room any longer. The bed was made, there were no stray clothes, and the dresser was neatly organized. A man who cleans up after himself. Every woman’s dream. She heard him pull out a drawer and slap the magazines in before he reappeared and yanked the door closed behind him as he came out.
“Excuse me a minute, please.” He headed straight down the stairs, his feet thumping in a quick rhythm as he descended into the living room where David and a couple of other boys were watching TV.
“I found your magazines.” He waited with his hands on his hips for a response. Jillian stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched as David’s face paled. The boys seemed truly scared. What was Blake going to do? Punish him? Ground him for life? Blake moved closer, and David sank farther into the couch.
“Oh, no,” she said, covering her mouth in a shuddered whisper. He’s a bully just like his father. Remembering the repeated reprimands Blake had endured as a child, Jillian stepped into the room. David might deserve some sort of punishment, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him hit the boy.
He looked at her, then back at David. “You get to cut the lawn this summer.”
“The whole summer?” David asked with a tinge of protest clear in his voice.
“You wanna do the edging too?” His face was concrete, his eyes still and blazing.
“Okay,” David said.
Blake rubbed his face as he turned away and then back to look at David again. “Don’t bring anything like that into this house again. Any of you.”
“Yes, sir.” All the boys answered together.
Abby came bouncing down the stairs, dropping the book she was carrying onto the last step.
“Did you unpack?” Jillian asked.
“Why? I don’t want to stay here. Can’t we go to a hotel? There’s no place to put my clothes.”
Jillian crossed her arms. “We are staying, and you can hang them in the closet.” Ji
llian had filled Abby in on the investigative report, only a half-truth, and Abby had begged Jillian to let her stay with one of her friends in New York. However, in order to carry out her sister’s wishes, Jillian needed to see how Abby and Blake interacted.
“I’ll do it later.” Abby rolled her eyes. “Is there anything fun to do in this rinky-dink town?”
David’s gaze followed her across the room. “You can hang out with us.”
“Yeah.” The rest of the boys hooted as they quickly made room for her on the couch.
Blake stepped in front of her. “Negative. She’s only fifteen, boys.”
David’s head tilted, looking around him. “Doesn’t look fifteen to me.”
“Nevertheless, she is. I expect you to keep your distance.”
Jillian saw Blake glance at Abby in a fatherly fashion. The man wasn’t an idiot. He knew the girl had all of the right parts, and she was certainly putting them out there for everyone to see. “This is Shane.” He pointed to the boy who looked to be the oldest. “And this is his brother Logan.” He pointed to the younger, skinnier one. “They’re my foster sons and live here also.”
Logan got up from the couch, walked over, and shook their hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Logan,” Jillian said before turning to Abby. “Maybe you should dress a little more conservatively while we’re here.”
“What’s wrong with this? It’s just a midriff, Auntie.” Abby plucked the book off the steps where she’d left it.
“Look, dude. She’s got a tattoo on her back.” Shane bumped David’s shoulder with his fist.
“It’s not a tattoo. It’s a birthmark,” she shot back with a venomous look, swiping her hand across the jagged crescent-moon shape on her lower back, just to the left of her spine.
“Blue. That’s an odd color,” Blake said.
“Aunt JJ has one too.” They all gave their attention to Jillian, and she nodded. Not that she wanted everyone to know.
“It’s called a Mongolian blue spot.” Jillian absently rubbed the similar one just below and to the right of her belly button. Hers had never faded. She was in the lucky five percent who were marked for life, just as her mother had been. They were considered sexy now, but it had never been revealed in any of her photographs, even when she’d done the story on modeling. In that world, body art, natural or artificial, was usually covered with makeup for all shoots.