Cooking Up Love

by Gemma Brocato

  Jack made the fifteen-mile drive in under twenty minutes, his heart pounding like a race horse in his chest the entire time. The truck went up on two wheels as he pealed into the driveway at the Palmer house. The place looked deserted, as expected with a vacation home on a weekday afternoon in springtime. The owners weren’t due for two more months. That was how long Jack had estimated as they signed the remodel contracts.

  The truck had barely stopped before he slammed it in park and leaped from the cab, yelling, “Jem! Jemima? Sugar, where are you?” He paused to listen. “Jem, if you can hear me, holler.”

  Good one, Jack. Grant probably tied her up and gagged her, he thought as he raced up the front steps and tried the door. Locked. And the key the owner had given him was in the key box in his office. Fortunately, there was no dead bolt. He stepped away, reared back and slammed his boot just above the handle. The old wood splintered with a sharp crack, but held. The door swung open with one more well-placed kick and Jack was through it before it bounced against the wall and started an arc back.

  “Jem?” His voice echoed back in the otherwise-silent space.

  He sprinted to the top of the stairs and rapidly searched the second floor, coming up empty. His feet hammered each step as he flew down, heading toward the kitchen and basement at the back of the house. He scanned each empty room as he passed through the wide central hallway and skidded to a stop near the back door.

  “Jem, sugar? Answer me,” he yelled, futility ringing in his voice.

  Jerking the Dutch door open, he stepped onto the screened porch and surveyed the yard, anxiously running his hands through his hair. His heart stopped as he caught sight of the root cellar.

  With a shiny, new padlock on the door.

  He was across the yard before he realized he’d moved. “Jem?” His voice cracked as he pounded on the door. “Oh, God, please don’t let her be in there. Jem!”

  He looked at the lock holding the door closed. That hadn’t been there last week. Turning, he charged back to his truck. His fingers refused to cooperate as he stabbed at the keyhole on his toolbox. God dammit. Take a deep breath, he commanded, fumbling to open the box in the bed of the truck. Finally! The lock clicked. He flung the lid up and reached for bolt cutters and a flashlight. He dashed back to the stout oak panel barricading the root cellar.

  He snapped the lock off in three seconds flat with a mighty heave of his arms and pulled it out of the hasp an instant later. The cutters and destroyed lock tumbled out of his hands and hit the ground beside him with a dull thunk as he pulled the door open.

  “Jem?” There was no answer from the blackness of the cellar. Panic seared him as he scanned the dark maw. “Sugar, are you there?” He turned on the flashlight and started down the ramp into the dark.

  He swept the light from left to right, across various burlap sacks and bushel baskets. Nothing.

  Wait! He directed the light back to the left and leaped forward as he realized one of the unmoving lumps on the floor wore Jem’s tennis shoes. He slid the last few feet on his knees and pulled her inert form into his arms. He turned her face in to the light coming through the open door. The dim glow of his flashlight sharpened the planes and angles of her face, creating huge hollows in her cheeks. Her lips were slack, her eyes open, unblinking.

  “It’s okay, Jem.” He shook her, trying unsuccessfully to get a response. “It’s all right, sugar. I’m going to get you out of here.” He surged to his feet with her cradled close and strode up the ramp and out into the wide open.

  He choked back bile when he caught sight of her hands shackled together. The son of a bitch handcuffed her! He laid her gently on the grass, then went back for the bolt cutters. As soon as he’d cut the bracelets in half, he spread her arms wide and scooted back from her prone body. He held one of her hands in a loose grip, maintaining contact.

  Leaning forward, he started talking to her softly. “Come on, sugar, come back to me. You’re safe now. You’re outside, in the sunshine. I have you.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, cringing as he touched her chilled flesh. “We know it was Grant. We’ll stop him. I promise he’ll never get to you again.”

  The sun peaked out from behind the late-afternoon clouds, shining on Jem’s face. Her breath was much too shallow, her color a sickening gray. Pressing shaking fingers to her neck, he was shocked by her galloping pulse. Leaning over her, he blew into her face. He hoped it would work the same way it had when Mason and Mia were babies. When tantrums lasted too long, or they wailed too hard, they forgot to breathe. Pippa could always snap them out of it. Please, let it be this easy.

  “Breathe, baby. Don’t you leave me,” he begged, blowing more forcefully. With his finger pressed tight against her carotid artery, relief soared through him when her heart slowed a bit. Encouraged, he kept at it. “That’s it. I know you can hear me. Stay with me. I’ll be lost without you. You have to come back. I love you.” His voice broke on a sob, his tears dropped unheeded onto her cheeks. “Please, God, let her be okay. Please, Jem…”

  He laid his cheek on her forehead and gathered her close, rocking, crooning… Pleading. Time slowed to a crawl.

  She convulsed. Her brow creased, and her hands fluttered weakly against his arms.

  Jack pulled his head back, staring in her eyes. Withdrawal became confusion and then morphed into panic. He relaxed his arms when she pushed violently out of his grasp and crab-walked backward. She skittered to a stop a few feet away.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God.” She exhaled harshly as she wildly twisted her head around. Awareness dawned on her face. Then it was replaced by horror.

  “It’s okay, Jem. You’re outside. You’re not trapped in the root cellar.”

  She trembled uncontrollably.

  Jack fought the urge to close the gap between them, to pull her back into his arms. He waited, struggling for patience as she lifted her head toward the sky, letting warm sunlight wash over her. She’d never looked more beautiful. He swiped his hands across his eyes, brushing away tears that still fell.

  “Jem,” he whispered.

  She stared at him for a long moment before sobbing loudly and launching herself onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. A grimace crossed her face as she raised her arms, but it didn’t stop her from clutching him in a death grip.

  He shifted, swinging his legs in front of him, settling her more comfortably, and rained kisses on any part of her face and head he could reach. He held her snugly and rocked her body through the tears and residual shivers of panic.

  “How long?” she gulped, catching her breath. She pulled back to look at him and wiped away the tears lingering on her cheeks, before putting a hand up to brush away his.

  “Aw, sugar. Is it going to do any good for you to know?” he asked quietly.

  “Please, Jack,” she pleaded. “Just tell me.”

  “At least two hours.” He gathered her close as tremors continued to wrack her slender frame. “We had to wait until Dunk regained consciousness to figure out who had you and where.”

  “Oh my God! Is Dunk okay? Grant hit him. Hard. With a skillet. The bastard.” She shivered and jerked upright on his lap, but settled back down as he nodded.

  “He’ll have a headache and needs to take it slow for a few days. But he’s alive, and giving the nurses hell.”

  Jem laughed weakly. Relief slammed through him.

  “It was SPACES. They used Tessa’s behavior to throw suspicion away from them. It was the ledger…”

  She trailed off as Jack’s cell phone rang. He shifted her weight a bit but shook his head and held on to her as she attempted to slide off his lap. He dug his phone out of his jeans pocket, put it to his ear and answered. “I got her, Sam. The bastard locked her in the root cellar.”

  “Son of bitch! Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s okay. Shaky, but okay. As soon as she’s ready, I’ll take her to hospital to be checked out.”

  “Now, Jack, get her to the damn hospital now!” />
  Jack held the phone away from his ear and laughed in reply. “I’m going to wait until she doesn’t feel the need to ride to town in the truck bed, instead of in the cab,” he said, tightening his grip on her, pulling her closer. “Call Pip, so she can give Dunk the news. I’m sure he’s worried to death. We’ll be there soon.”

  He disconnected without a goodbye, dropped the phone to the ground next to him and pulled her close. His lips lingered on her forehead for several long moments. “I have never been more scared in my life than when Pippa called.”

  “Grant tried to convince me you’d been in an accident. He was trying to get me to leave when Dunk walked in. God, I’ll never forget the sound when the skillet hit his head. Are you sure he’s okay?”

  He nodded and tightened his grip. “The doctor didn’t say so, but judging by how angry he looked when he told us what happened, I’d say he’ll be okay.”

  “He went down so hard. When Grant pulled a gun and aimed it at me I thought my heart would explode right out of my chest.”

  Jack closed his eyes against the immediate image in his head, of Jem bleeding to death, a gaping hole in her chest.

  Jem’s raised her hand to his face, brushing away his anguish with a soft stroke of her fingers. “Pippa and the kids were coming for a lesson. I didn’t want them to walk in and startle Grant. I couldn’t bear the thought of any of them hurt.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” He sucked in a sharp breath.

  Jem sat quietly in his lap, as Jack breathed deeply to slow his galloping heart. His chest moved rhythmically against her breasts, hitching on the inhalation, wheezing as he exhaled.

  “I love you, Jack. I knew you’d come. I held off the panic as long as I could, praying you’d find me before I was too far gone. Thank you for rescuing me.” She pressed her mouth against his cheek for an instant. “Now take me back home.”

  Chapter 29

  Jack hovered close as the doctor checked Jem over. He even walked alongside the wheelchair the nursing staff insisted on when they took her for X-rays. The doctor smiled as he said “sprain” and Jack’s relieved sigh was audible. He was right there, clutching her right hand as the nurse slipped the sling around her neck and settled her arm in it. Jem grimaced in discomfort, he barked at the nurse to be careful, and Jem smiled. When the aide delivered her pain medication, Jack held the straw for her to sip water to wash it down.

  “Jack, I love the attention, but you’re making the staff uncomfortable.” She laughed.

  “You’ve been through a lot today,” he replied, as if it was explanation enough. “I’m taking you home as soon as we’re done here, and tucking you into bed.”

  Jem waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him. He was still laughing when his family walked through the door to her room.

  Pippa walked straight to Jem and wrapped her in a fierce hug, making Jem wince. Jack ordered his sister to stop, to which she replied, “Shut up, Jack. You’re not the boss of me.”

  Pippa’s remark lightened the mood and distracted everyone else in the room from the unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. But Jem wasn’t fooled. Pippa’s display of sisterly love touched her. She grabbed Pippa’s hand, swallowing hard against the unexpected frog in her throat. “I’m okay, honest. Thanks for calling the ambulance for Dunk so quickly. I was so worried about him.”

  Sam leaned in to kiss Jem’s cheek, careful not to bump her injured shoulder. “God, am I glad you’re safe!”

  “I guess that makes it unanimous.” She smiled and looked at Jack. “You know, we owe Tessa an apology. I never really thought my troubles could be because of SPACES. Diverting attention onto your ex-wife was pretty smart.”

  “She made it easy. Especially after the drama she created in front of an audience. It was hard to see any other explanation,” Jack groused.

  Jem laid her hand over Jack’s where it rested on her shoulder. “Well, Irene and Grant were clever. But then they’ve used people and situations to their own advantage for a long time. Based on numbers in the ledger, they made millions with their scam. No corporation wants the kind of negative publicity they could bring in the name of an environmental cause.”

  A thoughtful look etched Sam’s face. “Some of the journalism kids in school did a series on what these so called ‘nonprofit’ groups were able to get away with. SPACES wasn’t the first one to try this type of corporate blackmail. They were just more successful at hiding their actual intent.”

  “Caro figured out what was going on,” Jem said. “She hid the ledger and broke ties with the group. The books were her insurance policy, in case anything ever happened to her. Unfortunately, Peter overheard a conversation and died because he always was a quick study. He was trying to stop Grant the night he died.” Jem stopped, blinked hard to clear her tears, and took a deep breath before she went on. “Peter’s death was a horrible accident, but Grant admitted he didn’t try to stop his fall. Peter was trying to do the right thing. I’ve never been more proud of my brother. All these years, we believed he was doing something illegal. He died trying to stop something bad. Maybe knowing that will help my parents heal.”

  “How does Irene figure into this?” Pippa asked as she settled on the other bed in the room.

  “She was the mastermind behind the entire operation. She targeted the companies they intended to blackmail and orchestrated the action plan. No one in the group ever saw her. She was a complete unknown to everyone except Grant. He acted as her general and ran the routine stuff.” Jem shrugged her shoulders and winced. “Ow. Then later, after they laid low long enough, Irene decided it was time to get the ledger back from Caro. So she applied for a job at the café. Caro never knew what a kind of bitch she’d hired. I didn’t either.”

  “Yeah, but she had a great story. Husband dies, she needs an entrance back to life after caring for him. She worked for Caro for years. Why wouldn’t you trust her?” Sam raised his hand in a question.

  “I hear you indulged your inner vandal today when you saw her and Grant breaking into my apartment. Puncturing Grant’s tires was quick and creative thinking, Sam. I like that in a schoolteacher.” Jem nodded approvingly at Sam.

  “I did what I needed to do. I just hope this doesn’t land me in hot water with Mom and Dad.”

  Everyone was still laughing at his response when Officer Tompkins knocked on the door and walked in. “I wanted to let you know Grant and Irene are under arrest. Looks like they’ll be charged with kidnapping, breaking and entering and attempted murder. That’s just a start. The special agent in charge of the Boston FBI is on his way here. He’s very interested in speaking to the pair of them. According to him, we should be prepared to file additional charges.”

  “Did they find the ledger?” Jem asked.

  “Grant said they found a lockbox and broke into it. But he swears there was no ledger in it.”

  “Because there wasn’t.” Jem glanced at Jack.

  Jack took Jem’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Caro protected the book for years. Even though neither of us are accountants, we knew the ledger was important. We hid it in the same place Caro picked for the key. Behind the Wedgewood stove.”

  Tompkins whistled. “Caroline was a clever old bird. They’d never know, would they? The FBI will be here around six. Okay if I go retrieve it for them?”

  At Jem’s nod, Sam volunteered, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Jem, I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll be talking to you in the next few days.” Tompkins shook hands with Jack and turned to leave as Sam kissed Jem goodbye.

  “I’ve got to go, too,” Pippa said. “Mom has probably spoiled the twins rotten with sugary drinks and candy.” She tenderly hugged Jem, before turning to envelop her brother in a bear hug. She released him and walked quickly to the door, wiping her eyes on the way out.

  “Alone, at last.” Jem laughed. “God, they’re great. Everyone is. It’s a nice feeling.” She could tell she’d confused Jack, so she clarified. “Belonging. Everyone has made me feel like I belong
here. In Granite Point. I like it.”

  “You do belong.” Jack put his finger under her chin and kissed her.

  Jem sighed with pleasure at the touch of his lips, and would have lost herself in the moment if the door hadn’t opened again. A nurse walked into the room, followed by an orderly pushing another wheelchair. The nurse went over discharge orders as Jack listened closely, asking questions as the instructions were explained. The orderly helped Jem off the exam table and held the chair steady as she lowered herself onto it. The nurse handed the clipboard to her, and she signed on the dotted line as the orderly released the brake.

  Jack took the pen and clipboard from Jem and handed it back to the nurse. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

  Confused, but accommodating, the pair left the room.

  Jack waited until the door was fully closed before resetting the brake and bending over to brace his hands on the wheelchair’s arms. Leaning down, he laid his lips across Jem’s and kissed her. Softly, delicately before deepening it, stealing Jem’s breath. She put a hand to his cheek, loving the rasping feeling as she brushed her fingers across his stubbled chin.

  Jack released her lips and gazed at her. “I’ve been thinking. You should rent your apartment to Avery and Marissa. Give them a chance to get settled, you know, before the baby comes.”

  “Where am I supposed to live?” Jem asked.

  “With me,” Jack replied simply. “As my wife.”

  Tears of happiness, on what might have been the ugliest day of her life, flowed freely down her cheeks. Jack kissed them away. “I love you, sugar. You’re the only woman I want. The only woman for me. You’ve brought the flavor and spice to my life I didn’t know I was missing. Please, don’t make me live without you.”

  He captured her lips again, and she tasted the future in his. She tasted love.

  “Oh, yes.” she smiled, wrapping her good arm around his neck to pull him closer. “Oh, yes!”

  About Gemma Brocato

  Gemma Brocato told lots of stories (some might say whoppers) growing up, but it wasn’t until a job transfer took her family to the United Kingdom that she started writing them down. Then, she partially cured a huge dose of homesickness by writing her first novel. Once completed and sent off with a kiss, even the rejections, addressed to Dear Author, were gratifying.