Blackbird Lake (36 page)

When they were both breathless, he drew back and gazed down into her flushed, upturned face, into eyes that were searching and trusting all at once.

Then she grabbed the front of his jacket again and murmured, “Ice cream can wait, Brady. I can’t. Kiss me some more.”

She pressed her lips to his and he grinned and did what he’d been brought up by his mother to do—always oblige a lady.

Two weeks later in Bismarck, North Dakota, Jake hurried toward his rental car. Behind him in the stands of the rodeo arena, a roar went up from the crowd. The bronc-riding competition was still under way. But he never slowed his steps or felt tempted to turn back and see what was going on.

For once the smells and sights and thrumming energy of the rodeo hadn’t grabbed him the way they always had before.

He’d originally booked his return flight for first thing in the morning, but he’d impulsively changed his plans and switched to a red-eye tonight. He could have stayed another hour or two at the rodeo, bunked at his hotel, and made it to the airport after breakfast but he found himself suddenly in a big hurry to get back.

He’d only left Lonesome Way five days before, but he missed Emma something terrible. He missed Bronco, too. He’d left the mutt in Carly’s willing care, since Emma loved the animal so much. But…who’d have thought he’d miss that dog?

And who else do you miss?
a voice inside him asked. His own voice. He couldn’t seem to shut it up.

Well, yeah, he missed Carly. And that was an understatement. They’d been spending even more time together ever since her whack-job ex-boyfriend and that private detective had faced a judge. A judge who sent both of them packing.

The detective hadn’t been charged with anything, but Kevin Boyd had gotten away with a suspended sentence for breaking and entering, contingent on him agreeing to leave town immediately—and to leave Carly and Emma alone.

Once the judge had listened to all the testimony, added up dates and times, and seen Emma’s birth certificate as well as the results of a blood test, he’d informed Boyd that based on his own testimony as to the last date he had any contact with Carly McKinnon, along with the child’s legal age and date of birth
and
the blood test results, there was no possibility that the child in question could be his.

If ever a man had left a town with his tail between his legs, it was that asshole Boyd, Jake thought. But he hadn’t slunk out before Jake had warned him personally—in a soft, even, but unmistakably dangerous tone—that if he ever came within fifty miles of Carly or Emma again, he’d rearrange his face so that the devil himself wouldn’t recognize him.

With Hurley already speeding home to Wyoming and Boyd gone as quick as he could book the next flight to Boston, Jake had no reason to worry about leaving Carly and Emma for a couple of days. The danger was over.

He’d called her that first night he arrived in Salt Lake City, and then each night he was in Carson City. He’d even spoken to Emma on the phone, though all she’d done was babble something about Bug and “Mumma” and “Masson,” which was her way of saying “Madison.” But this trip, when he’d flown out here to Bismarck for the Wilderness Falls National Rodeo, he’d had second thoughts.

He’d
wanted
to call again every morning and every night. To hear Carly’s voice. Find out about her day and Emma’s day. But he’d stopped himself. He realized he couldn’t continue to do that.

It wouldn’t be fair.

Now that the danger was over, he had to start stepping back. Give Carly some room and take some for himself. They were getting in too deep. And Jake didn’t do deep.

This is bad; you need to nip it in the bud. Now,
he told himself as cheers and applause thundered from the stands behind him. He barely heard it. All he could think about was how he felt when he and Carly were together. Whether they were washing dishes or making love. Every time he was with her, every time they touched or kissed and even when he simply looked at her—he felt incredibly close to her. Closer than he’d ever felt to anyone.

It was terrifying. More terrifying than the most savage bull on the circuit. An insistent beep kept blaring in his brain, warning him of danger.

He knew they were on the brink, in danger of crossing an invisible line. Of becoming more than coparents to Emma, more than friends. More than even friends with privileges. It was uncharted terrority and every instinct Jake possessed roared at him to back off.

If he called her every night he was away, she’d have every right to start thinking of them as a couple. Believing that they were more involved than they actually were. She didn’t realize that there were things he could never give her or do for her—or be for her.

Which was why it was better to pull back now and not feed any more expectations.

He cared too much about Carly to ever want to see her hurt.

The amazing, beautiful mother of his daughter deserved better than what he could give her. She was strong and smart and sexy beyond words. And whenever they made love—whether Emma was over at Travis and Mia’s place on a playdate with Zoey or having a sleepover at Martha’s, or even tucked into her own little crib down the hall at night—he couldn’t get enough of Carly. She felt so perfect in his arms. The richness of her laughter drew him like home cooking. He’d discovered somewhere along the way that
those forest green eyes and her brave spirit never ceased to call to him.

But he sensed they were dancing close to a very dangerous cliff. It was time to step back from the abyss.

Frowning, he yanked open the door of his rental car and was about to slide behind the wheel when he spotted the girl.

Skinny, about eighteen. A beauty with shiny blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, and a quick, eager walk. For a moment—just one moment—something about the color of her hair and the shape of her face and the way she moved reminded him of Melanie.

He watched her run along the sidewalk and into the arms of a clean-shaven young cowboy in a tan Stetson, who scooped her up and twirled her in a circle. Her laughter rang out like tinkling crystal, and the illusion dissolved.

Melanie had never laughed like that. She’d hardly laughed at all. Ever. Aside from the color of her hair and the quick way she walked, and the brilliant blond beauty, this girl was nothing like Melanie.

Still, he stood a moment, his hands gripping the top of the car door, thinking back on the pretty and mostly silent girl he’d promised to help. The girl who’d desperately needed him.

He’d forgotten how young they’d both been back then. She was just seventeen; he was nineteen. And she was scared to death.

Her mother had died of leukemia ten years earlier. Her father was a rodeo pickup man, responsible for helping the cowboys dismount after a bucking event and for keeping the arena clear, as well as for herding and roping as needed. He was also a drunk and a bully who dragged Melanie along with him from rodeo to rodeo when she wasn’t living at her aunt’s house in Livingston, getting home-schooled.

Jake had first met Melanie Sutton at the Bear Claw bar in Livingston. They’d run into each other after that at a number of rodeos and became friendly. One day, he happened to spot a bruise on her arm, but she wouldn’t talk about it. A month and a half later, she had a bruise on her
face, a bruise so purple that no amount of CoverGirl makeup could completely disguise it.

It took a little time before Jake got her to admit that her father became violent at the slightest provocation. He beat her if she came home late after being with friends or if he caught her talking to any male under the age of forty. Or if she burned his supper, or didn’t answer him fast enough when he asked her a question.

Furious, Jake was determined to confront the man and warn him what would happen if Jake ever found out he’d hit his daughter again.

But Melanie wouldn’t let him. She was terrified by the very idea and begged him not to say a word to her father or to anyone else. Jake suspected others knew, too, but they all looked the other way. Her father, Duke Sutton, apparently never drank on the job and was considered one of the best pickup men in the business. No one wanted to get in Duke’s way or cross him by paying too much attention to the bruises and broken bones that now and then plagued his daughter.

Melanie had always looked defeated and as skittish as a deer skidding on melting snow across a lake. Finally Jake knew why.

He made her swear to call him the next time she felt in danger. He promised he’d come and help her anytime—all she had to do was call.

He even managed to win her trust enough to get her to accompany him to a social worker’s office for an initial meeting he set up. The social worker urged her to file a police report against her father and to go to a women’s shelter. But Melanie panicked, too terrified of her father to even contemplate such a thing, and bolted from the meeting.

When Jake caught up with her, she was headed resolutely back to her father’s RV to clean up and cook supper before Duke returned from working with his horses. She’d been crying, her eyes red and bloodshot.

Mostly it was the hopelessness that stabbed at him. Melanie didn’t believe she would ever escape, so she didn’t allow herself the courage to try.

He wrapped his arms around her and told her he would be there for her. That she needed to get out now, and head to a place where she’d be safe. Somewhere far away where her father wouldn’t find her.

At first she refused, assuring him over and over again that she
would
run away someday, as soon as she scraped together enough money and enough courage—and a good head start. Once she finally did, she vowed, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks, her father would never find her.

Jake clasped her hands in his, right there outside the RV, and told her he’d buy her a ticket then and there. That she could go wherever she chose, someplace far away, where her father wouldn’t find her. That he’d give her enough money to get started and she could pay him back down the road when she could.

Hope lit her eyes then. Real hope. Tears slipped slowly down her cheeks as he waited. And finally, she drew in an unsteady breath and nodded at him.

Jake immediately booked her on a one-way flight to Sacramento. Melanie had a childhood friend who’d moved there. They’d kept in touch over the years and her friend was now working as a nanny. She knew of another family looking for a live-in nanny and was certain Melanie would get the job if she could only get there.

The ticket he bought her was for a red-eye flight leaving that evening. Jake would drive her to the airport at nine
P.M.
, after his event.

He escorted her back to her dad’s RV to pack, then bought her a pizza and a two-liter bottle of Coke before bringing her back to his motel room to hide and eat and wait for him.

The trouble came while he was gone. Melanie must have realized she’d forgotten something in her haste to pack. A small box of postcards that had belonged to her mother. They were old black-and-white postcards that her grandfather had sent to her mother from all over the world when he’d been in the army. Melanie had told Jake about them before, confiding that she kept the box hidden beneath the springs of her mattress so her father wouldn’t destroy them during one of his rages.

She couldn’t bear to leave them behind and apparently snuck home for the box when Jake was competing at the arena.

But when she reached the RV, she stumbled upon her father. For once he’d been caught drinking on the job, and had been sent home. He was in a rage, his anger no doubt fueled further because Melanie had been missing when he arrived home.

She tried to escape, to run, and even managed to punch in Jake’s number on her cell phone, screaming for help. But Jake was already down in the arena, preparing for his ride, and he didn’t get the call until it was too late. Until his ride was over and the thunderous applause had died down, and he’d dusted himself off and sauntered from the arena. Checking his phone, he heard her desperate pleas for help.

Help that hadn’t come.

His gut clenched and in sick panic he tore out of there. He looked for her first at his motel room, then at Duke’s RV.

His gut told him what he’d find before he burst through the open door. Duke Sutton was nowhere to be seen, but there was blood everywhere.

Melanie’s body was sprawled near the front. Broken. Lifeless. Nearby was an old cardboard box and a couple of dozen postcards soaked in blood.

The sheriff tracked down Duke before Jake did and found him drowning his guilt in some hole-in-the-wall bar in the next town. Jake had wanted to get his hands on the bastard first, and begged the sheriff for two minutes alone with him in a cell, but the sheriff said, “I know how you feel, son, but it ain’t gonna happen. We go by the book here.”

And sent him packing.

Standing outside the arena now on this chilly October day, Jake’s jaw clenched, remembering all of it. How Melanie had called him. How she’d needed him, begged him for help. And he hadn’t been there for her.

He’d
promised.
And now she was dead.