by Mary Manners
“Hmm…then poor vision’s the least of your worries.” Though her pulse quickened to a height that made it nearly impossible to breathe, she managed to keep her tone steady and light. She would not become one of those girls who fawned all over him—though she understood their motivation. Not only was he handsome beyond words, but the guy was also kindhearted and gentle. She cleared her throat and pressed a hand to his chest to maintain distance. “I’m not kissable, Jake.”
“Oh, but I beg to differ.” He feathered his index finger across one dimple, and she shivered as his breath warmed her cheek. “But I’ll refrain—for now, at least.”
“I…why?”
The stars overhead were reflected in his eyes. “Because when I do kiss you, sweetheart—and I will— you’ll know it means something, and you’ll want it as much as I do.”
“You think so?” Delaney stepped back slightly, struggling to keep her pulse from exploding through her jugular. “Well, if I didn’t know better, Jake, I’d say you’re suffering from a concussion along with poor vision.”
“If I am, I hope it never goes away.” He reached over her shoulder and pushed open the door before turning away. “When Tate wakes up, tell him I said hello and that I’ll see him Saturday.”
“I’ll tell him.”
He brushed a knuckle along her jawline. “And I’ll see you Saturday, too, Delaney.”
Jake brewed a pot of decaf and settled in at the kitchen table. Moonlight shimmered across greening pasture grass. The snow had melted, and with February easing into March, the temperatures were beginning to moderate. The weather should be good come Saturday—not too cold for Tate to enjoy an afternoon away from home. Maybe, if he felt up to it, they could do a little exploring in the field or drop a pole into the stocked pond. Jake wondered if the boy had ever been fishing.
His conversation with Delaney replayed over and over in his head. Man, his desire to kiss her was nearly overwhelming and took him completely by surprise. What was meant to be a simple dinner—a little respite for Delaney with no strings attached—had become so much more.
At least for him.
He wasn’t so sure she was on board. And why should she be? For all she knew from the media, he was just some football star out on the prowl. And the recent headlines did little to dispel that image. Maybe he’d get the chance to explain things to her, eventually. Not that it would matter much. Jake knew that once people were firmly set in their opinion, it was just this side of impossible to change their way of thinking.
He’d been close enough to Delaney to feel her pulse, and he knew from the drum of blood through her veins that she felt something. As the night unfolded around them, her perfume had drifted up to fill the air he breathed, something warm and floral…a long-awaited whisper of spring.
Delaney was much more than just a beautiful woman. Jake admired the fact that she tried to keep things as normal as possible for her son. Sure, she worried about Tate. But she didn’t let that worry overwhelm. That took a strong faith, which Delaney possessed in spades, and courage—a kind of courage Jake had given little thought since Josh’s death. Even after all the years that had passed, he still missed his brother. The ache smarted like a sliver of wood lodged in his heart. He figured by now it would have worked its way out. Yet, the pain still lingered, truly a part of him now. He’d detached himself from everything that mattered—even his mom and Harry. He’d gone weeks without speaking to them, though at least one of them left a message on his cell phone almost every day to remind him he was missed.
Jake was stabbed by guilt. How had he gone so long without finding a way beyond the hurt? Could he turn that pain into something good, now?
He reached for the devotional Stan had given him. He’d yet to read the first entry, and he supposed now was as good a time as any. His feelings were jumbled, his heart like a map lacking directions. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go, and the feeling left him unsettled. He cared about Tate, and Delaney, as well.
The very idea scared the stuffing out of him. What if Tate didn’t make it? What would happen to Delaney? He couldn’t bear the thought of her lost in a dark tunnel of grief. Somehow, over the course of the last several weeks, he’d fallen in love with her.
He opened the devotional. Tonight he’d break the proverbial seal and read through the first few entries. But before that, he had a call to make. A heartfelt conversation with his mom was long overdue. He scanned the contacts stored in his cell phone, paused at his mom’s and Harry’s in Fernandina Beach, and hit send to connect.
Chapter 8
“MAMA, LOOK.” TATE JABBED A finger at the bay window, leaving prints. “There’s a pond.”
“I see it.” Delaney cringed at the smudged glass, but Jake didn’t seem to mind.
Tate leaned in and breathed on the window, fogging the glass. “Does it have fish, Jake?”
“You bet it does.” Jake stepped over and placed his hands on Tate’s shoulders, squeezing gently.
“Can I go watch them swim?”
“If it’s okay with your mom.”
“Can I, Mama?” Tate turned to Delaney and tugged at her cardigan. “Can I, please?”
“Sure, honey. But you have to bundle up.” She handed him his Titan’s jacket. It had quickly become his favorite. “The sun’s out, but it’s still a bit cool.”
“I’ll grab some chairs and a blanket.” Jake motioned toward the fridge. “Can you make a few sandwiches, Delaney? We’ll have a picnic.”
“Sure I can. That sounds nice.”
“Make yourself at home. I’ll get the cooler, too. We can load everything into the back of the truck and ride down to the pond together.”
“Good idea.” Delaney glanced at Tate, whose cheeks were a bit sallow. He’d slept in later than usual that morning and was more sluggish than he’d been the past week or so. His system was wearing down. Dr. Garrison warned her that this would happen, in time.
“You want something to drink, Tate?”
“Does Jake have apple juice?”
“I sure do, buddy.” Jake grabbed a plastic cup from the cabinet above the sink. “You told me you like it, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Tate nodded and climbed into a chair at the kitchen table. “’Course I did.”
“Well, I added it to my grocery list.” Jake grabbed a carton of juice from the fridge and filled the cup before handing it to Tate. “Would you like some, too?” he asked Delaney.
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, her heart swelling. “But it was nice of you to think of Tate like that, Jake.”
“No problem. I want him—and you, too, Delaney— to be comfortable here.”
“We are.” The house was surprisingly modest— not at all what Delaney expected. It sat on twelve acres of land, according to Jake, and had been in his mother’s family for several generations. The wrap-around porch practically begged for company, and Delaney imagined the double swing had seen its share of action over the years. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Jake set the carton of juice on the counter and slipped into his jacket. He headed toward the door leading out to the garage. “Now, I’ll just go get those chairs and load them into the truck. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Delaney opened the refrigerator to return the apple juice and found it stocked with all of Tate’s favorite foods. She forced back the lump in her throat as she drew out a deli tray, mustard and mayo. “Turkey or ham?” She asked Tate as she opened a loaf of wheat bread.
“Peanut butter.”
“Um…okay.” She spied a jar on the counter beside the toaster. “With jelly?”
“Uh-huh. Grape. And one of those cookies.” Tate pointed. A bag of Oreos lay open on the kitchen table. “They look good.”
“Sure do.” Delaney filled a baggie with half-a-dozen, and then added one more for good measure. They could all share. Tate leaned forward in his chair and pressed one cheek to the kitchen table. “Are you tired, honey?”
“Kinda.
”
“Want to take a nap?”
“No! I might miss something.”
“Just asking.” Delaney wagged a finger at him. “Don’t raise your voice to me. It’s disrespectful.”
He sighed. Chair legs scraped as he pulled closer to the table. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Here’s a handful of grapes to tide you over until lunch.” She handed him a small plastic bag filled with plump, red grapes.
“Thanks.” He tugged a grape from the bunch and popped it into his mouth. “Is Jake coming back?”
“Yes, as soon as he gets things ready for us.” Delaney returned to preparing their lunches. She slathered mayo on a slice of bread and plopped it atop a generous stack of turkey. “Drink your juice.”
A few moments later, Jake stomped dirt from his boots as he reentered the kitchen. “Truck’s loaded.” he announced as he ambled over to Tate, who rested his head on the table once again. “What do you have there, buddy?”
“Mama gave me some grapes.”
“May I have one?”
“Sure.” Tate pulled one from the bag. Jake stood there with his mouth open and motioned for Tate to toss it. A perfect catch had both Delaney and Tate laughing.
“Do it again, Jake!”
A few more tosses followed, all with perfect aim.
“I think you’ll make a great quarterback one day, Tate. You have the arm for it,” Jake praised.
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”
“Cool. Can I throw some more later?” Tate laid his head on the table once again. “I’m kinda tired now.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jake handed him his ball cap. “How about a ride on my shoulders out to the truck, buddy?”
“Okay.” Tate lifted his head and raised both arms, wrapping them around Jake’s neck as he was hoisted into Jake’s strong arms. His eyelids drooped, and Delaney knew if her son didn’t get his second wind quick, it was going to be a very short fishing expedition.
Tate rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think I can walk too far, Jake,” he murmured.
“No worries. I’ve got you, buddy.” Jake cradled him close. “It’s okay. Rest on me.”
Delaney’s eyes filled with tears as Jake brushed past her toward the garage. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll strap him in and come back for the cooler.”
“I can manage it.” Delaney swiped her eyes and struggled to hold her voice steady.
“Hey, are you crying?”
Delaney nodded stiffly as she sniffled. “Yes.”
“Why?” Jake turned back and stood to face her. He slipped his fingers through her hair and skimmed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “What did I do?”
Delaney sighed and smiled through her tears. “You made me want to kiss you.”
“Let me do that for you.” Jake reached for Delaney’s fishing rod.
“It’s okay. I can manage it.”
“Oh, right.” Jake winked. “After all, we’re not using worms for bait.”
“It’s nothing like that.” Delaney rolled a piece of bread and pierced the blob with a fish hook. “It’s just that I’ve done this before. My dad used to take me fishing when I was a little girl.”
“I see.” Jake’s blue eyes smiled in the sunlight reflected off the water. Tate was nestled in his lap, wrapped in a quilt and sleeping soundly. “Maybe you can bait my hook, then, too?”
“You’re doing a fine job.” Delaney laughed. “No fooling me. You could do it with your eyes closed.”
“I suppose I could. But it’s good to hear you laugh.” Jake affirmed with a nod. “Today’s been good for all of us.”
“It’s kept my mind off next week.”
“What’s next week?”
“Another round of tests for Tate. Dr. Garrison is keeping close watch on him.”
“That’s good…the close watch, I mean.”
Delaney leaned over and pressed a hand to Tate’s forehead. The skin was clammy but cool—no signs of the fever that cranked her fears to high alert. “He hasn’t been himself today. He’s wearing down.”
“I noticed that too.”
She lifted a hand to her lips. “I’m worried, Jake. The chance of finding a donor in time is only one in ten-to-twenty thousand and those odds only worsen as time passes.”
“But it’s still possible, right—to find a donor?”
“Yes. Someone’s out there for Tate, but the clock is ticking too fast.” Tears filled her eyes, and she choked back a sob, shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t want to cry, Jake. Not here—with the sun shining so warm on my back and the birds singing and everything else so very, very…perfect.”
“It’s okay.” He took her fishing rod and set it in the grass along with his before drawing her close. “Let it go, sweetheart. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s perfectly fine to cry.”
The dam broke. Her tears spilled over.
“I just want him to get better. That’s all I want— everything.”
“I know.”
As Jake wrapped her in his arms he wished with all his heart he could promise that would happen…that he could wave a magic wand and set everything to right.
Of course, he couldn’t do that. But he could love Delaney and be there for her through everything—whatever that might be.
He prayed it was enough.
Chapter 9
JAKE’S CELL PHONE CHIMED, ROUSING him from a fitful sleep. He’d caught little more than a few winks through the night, his mind focused on Delaney and the deep worry in her voice over Tate’s impending appointment at the hospital. A bone marrow transplant was the final option to bring him into remission—if only they could find a donor.
He’d drifted off to sleep praying about it. Now, he felt tension in every muscle fiber and his head drummed with a dull, sleep-fogged ache. The phone screeched once more. He reached for it, bobbling it in his hands as he tried to read the screen. He didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID, but he picked up the call, anyway.
“Jake Taylor here.” He struggled to clear the rasp from his voice as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair. He needed coffee—now. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Taylor, this is Dr. Garrison over at Miracle Cove Children’s Hospital. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” Jake sat up in the bed and switched the phone to his other ear, his senses piqued to full alert. He recognized the name. Delaney spoke often of her respect for Tate’s pediatric oncologist. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with you immediately. It’s important.”
“Is Tate okay?” Fear gripped him. “Delaney told me he has an appointment with you today.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll see Tate this morning. He’s due to be admitted in just a few hours for a battery of tests.”
“And Delaney?” Jake’s heart thumped wildly along his ribcage. “Is she okay?”
“As far as I know. She phoned to confirm the appointment.” Dr. Garrison paused. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Taylor—”
“Jake.” He pushed back blankets and slipped from the bed. Shuffling across the cold, wood floor, he double-timed it to the kitchen, continuing the conversation as he went. “Is this about Tate?”
“Yes.” He paused for what seemed an eternity, before finally continuing. “Jake, I’m not really sure how to say this. The situation is so unique, that even I am at a loss as to how to handle it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You see…we’ve located a donor for Tate—an individual who’s as close to a perfect match as someone who’s not a blood relative can possibly be.”
“That’s great…wonderful.” The ramifications of Dr. Garrison’s statement washed over him like a warm shower following a championship game. “Delaney must be thrilled beyond words.”
“Umm…Delaney doesn’t know yet, Jake.” Dr. Garrison drew a single, deep breath. “She doesn’t know I’ve called you
.”
Jake filled the coffeemaker with grounds—enough to get an elephant dancing—and flipped the switch to get them brewing.
“Now you’ve got me really confused. Shouldn’t she be the first one to know? Why are you telling me before you’ve even spoken to her?”
“Because I had to confirm with you first. We got a call from the National Donor Registry, and you’ll play a very big part in this, Jake—a crucial part.”
“Oh, man…” A light suddenly dawned, and the room began to swim. Jake sank into a chair at the table and doubled over as the coffeemaker gurgled to life. “Do you mean…?”
“Yes, Jake.” Dr. Garrison lowered his voice. “You’re Tate’s match. You’re the one he’s been waiting for.”
“But that’s impossible—Delaney said the chance of anyone unrelated matching is one in ten-to-twenty thousand, and I just joined the registry a few weeks ago. How can it possibly be?”
“Miracles happen, Jake, and I’d call this the best kind of miracle.”
Jake scrubbed his stubbled jaw in disbelief. “Are you sure…about me being the best match for Tate?”
“I’d like to run another test, just to confirm.”
“When are you going to tell Delaney?”
“That’s up to you.”
He sat up at full attention now. “What do you mean?”
“Provided our follow-up tests validate the match, are you prepared to go through with this…to really go through with the transplant?”
“Of course I am.” Jake nodded profusely, and the room began to clear. “How could I not?”
“Your career. Before we can harvest the cells you’ll have to take a round of medication to boost the production. Then there’s the harvesting procedure itself, and afterwards it takes a measure of time to heal and for the cells to build back up in your system. You’ll feel a bit off-kilter and will have to miss some workouts.”
“Workouts can wait. Tate’s well-being is infinitely more important.” He was emphatic. “It’s not even an issue. When can we start?”