Lake Magic (13 page)

Jared heard her bedroom door close.

“Son of a bitch.” He got out of the chair and began to pace. The room was spacious with its soaring ceilings and exposed wooden beams, but even so, he felt caged in, trapped. Everywhere he looked, there were reminders of the people who had either lived in this house or had been loved by them. Dozens of pictures vied for space on the thick wooden mantel. Older black-and-white pictures in tarnished silver frames intermingled with newer color snapshots. On the far wall there was everything from wedding photos to baby pictures to graduation portraits.

Jared stared at them, easily identifying Jenny. Even as a kid playing on the beach or climbing a tree or riding a bike, she had the same big smile and bright blue eyes. In several pictures she was with an older woman who Jared guessed to be her grandmother. He was struck by how happy Jenny looked. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen.

He paused at her graduation photo. Even then she’d been a knockout.

Near her senior photo were two others in identical frames. From the resemblance, Jared could only assume they were her brother and sister. Lovie Murphy had made sure he knew as much as she did about the Beckinsale family.

Jared thought about his own graduation. There’d been no photos, no memories, no celebration, which had been just fine with him. School had been a means to an end, nothing more. He could have dropped out—most of the kids in the system had. No one gave a shit. Oh, they acted like they did, said all the right things, but in the end it boiled down to too many unwanted kids and too few social workers. Looking back, he often wondered why he hadn’t just given up like so many of the others. But even back then, he’d wanted more. A different life. A
better
life. Where the only person you relied on was yourself, not some damn handout from the state.

With a curse, he turned away from the pictures.

Who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay in this house. Once, when he’d been a kid, he would have done anything for a place like this. A family that had roots that went deep and held firm even through the tough times. But not now. Now, all he wanted was to get his money and get out.

Draining the last of his beer, he headed into the kitchen, intent on throwing the bottle away when he saw Jenny’s wallet on the floor, along with a plastic container full of food. He picked them both up, putting the food in the fridge. For no reason he could think of, he held on to the wallet.

In the military, he’d been called everything from brilliant to bastard. Brilliant because he’d outmaneuvered, outflown, and plain outperformed any other pilot. Bastard because he didn’t give a damn about what other people thought of him—not even his COs. He stared at the wallet in his hands, remembering the look of sheer agony that had come over Jenny’s face when he’d shown her the letter from Steven.

Jared cursed again. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in the cockpit of an F-18 thousands of miles up in the sky; it was the only place he belonged. But a few months back he’d broken his cardinal rule to remain detached, and that error cost him everything. He’d believed in a just world, where the strong protected the weak. The bureaucrats in Washington had other ideas. And because of that, Jared had tendered his resignation. He refused to let some politician thousands of miles away decide who lived and who died.

He set the wallet on the counter and threw his beer bottle away. He told himself the only reason Jenny was still trying to keep the business going was out of some misguided loyalty to Steven. Jared knew Steven wouldn’t want Jenny struggling to hold on to something that was impossible for her to grasp. Soon—very soon, if Jared’s guess was correct (and it always was)—Jenny was going to fold up shop. It was obvious she’d just about reached her caving point. And when she did, Jared would be right here.

Grabbing his duffel bag, he turned and headed up the stairs, deliberately ignoring the pinch of conscience every time he remembered the look in her eyes.

 

 

 

 

During the last nine months, sleep had become as elusive as an unbroken heart. Most nights, Jenny lay awake in bed, trying to avoid memories that somehow were more vivid in the ebony darkness. When her memories became too painful, she escaped outside to her front porch. There, cocooned in one of her nana’s quilts and curled up in a rocker, she let the sounds of Hidden Lake wash over her, soothing her. It had always been that way, she and this lake. They had a connection, one that defied explanation. No matter how hard life got or how bumpy the road ahead seemed, there was a peace to be found rocking gently in the dark night, listening to the sounds of the water.

Except for last night.

Last night, she’d felt like a prisoner in her own home—her own bedroom. With Jared prowling around in her house, she wasn’t about to venture out of her room for fear of running into him. Once a night was enough.

Though she wasn’t even sure if he was prowling. Even though she told herself to ignore him, pretend he wasn’t downstairs, her effort proved futile. She found herself straining to hear his every movement. But no matter how hard she listened, silence was all she heard.

As the minutes ticked into an hour, then two, she found herself becoming even more angry. Damn him. Damn him for doing this to her. Damn him for barging in where he so clearly wasn’t wanted. And damn her for not being able to ignore him.

Her muscles grew tense, worrying that at any moment she would hear him right outside her bedroom door. The waiting strained her, made her body ache and her head throb. As the hours passed, she found herself wishing for rain. Wishing for the noise it would bring and obliterate the harsh quiet that permeated the house and free her from her unwanted vigil. But the dark sky remained quiet.

Not hearing him was a worse kind of hell than hearing him.

Close to dawn, she dozed, only to wake with a start. She lay there, disoriented, trying to figure out what had jarred her out of a fitful sleep. She glanced at her bedside clock. Six oh three.

You’ve got to be kidding.

She heard the noise again. Creaking on the stairs.

Grabbing her robe, she hurried out of bed. She made it to the top of the stairs in time to see Jared’s tall outline disappear out the door. He had left. She leaned against the railing, waited for the expected flood of relief, but it never came. Because she knew without a doubt he’d be back.

Where did he go?

More importantly, why did she care?

She turned away from the stairs and went back into her room. She shut her door, harder than she intended. Somehow she was going to get that man out of her mind and out of her house.

She looked longingly at her bed. Right now, she’d like nothing better than to crawl back in and burrow under her thick, warm covers. But even as she had the thought, she knew she wouldn’t. Who knew how much time she had before Jared returned?

She started for the bathroom, only to walk past it to the room Jared was staying in. Curiosity had her opening the door, peering inside.

The room looked exactly as it always did. Not a thing was out of place. The bedside table held the old lamp and picture of her grandpa fishing, just as it always had. The top of the dresser was bare except for a few more photos and another lamp. But that was it. Not even so much as a book or a glass of water altered the space. Knowing she was being nosy but unable to stop herself, she peeked into the closet. Empty. Chest of drawers. Also empty. It was almost as if he hadn’t spent the night. And then she saw the bed. There was no mistaking that military precision.

As she turned to leave, something in the corner caught her eye. She took a few steps closer and realized it was his duffel bag. His
packed
duffel bag.

She couldn’t help but smile. If he wasn’t unpacking, he wasn’t planning on staying.

All but humming, she left his room and headed to the bathroom.

She was in and out of the shower in twenty minutes—a record for her. Back in her room, she dressed in her favorite old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton top. As she made her way to the kitchen, she twisted her hair up and around and secured the thick bundle with a claw clip. Thank goodness she hadn’t needed to take the extra time to wash her hair.

The house was chilly and dark; no surprise at this ungodly hour. She turned on the lights, cranked up the thermostat, and she put the teakettle on to boil. What was it with Jared and his obsession with the predawn hours? All right, predawn might be stretching it, but from her limited association with him, he seemed to be one of those obnoxiously early risers. She chalked up another fault on his ever-increasing list. Normally, she’d be generous and blame it on his military background, but she was feeling anything but generous this morning. Besides, it was Saturday. Even Steven had known how to relax on the weekend.

The teakettle whistled. A few moments later, with a cup of tea, she leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the large window. Light, misty rain fell from a bleak sky. She stared at the dark clouds, taking comfort in the fact that the weather matched her mood.

She stood in her kitchen, drinking her tea and fighting down the feeling of trepidation that had plagued her ever since she’d come home last night and found Jared in her house. Knowing her unwanted guest (and she used that word in the loosest way possible) could come and go as he pleased was just plain unsettling.

He had to go. It was as simple as that. But knowing it and making it happen were two completely different things.

The old avocado green clock that had hung in her grandmother’s kitchen for as long as Jenny could remember ticked away. She mentally groaned, thinking about the long day that stretched out before her.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten much yesterday, even last night at her dad’s birthday party. Somehow, the hundred and one questions her family had pelted her with had killed any appetite she might have had. All anyone had wanted to talk about was Jared. A conversation Jenny was so not having. After an hour or so, her family got the hint, but even though his name hadn’t been brought up again, she couldn’t keep thoughts of him out of her mind.

She opened the fridge and saw the Tupperware container her mom had sent home. She didn’t remember putting it in the fridge, but then, she pretty much didn’t remember anything about last night except finding Jared in her family room.

Ignoring the leftovers—eating them would remind her of an evening of interrogation she’d rather forget—she reached for the carton of eggs. She got out a skillet from one of the bottom cabinets and set it on the stove.

Her breakfast was just about finished when the front door opened.

Jared walked into the kitchen like he owned the place. “Mornin’.” He flashed her a grin that should be illegal in all fifty states.

She tried not to stare; honest to God she did. But ignoring Jared was like ignoring the Sistine Chapel. Except while he might be pure perfection on the outside, his rotten heart was another matter entirely.

Dark stubble shadowed his face, and raindrops glistened off his black hair. Rain molded his navy blue T-shirt to his chest like a second skin, revealing defined muscles and a hard, flat stomach. A pair of black shorts revealed long, toned, muscular legs. He smelled like a fresh rain shower, crisp morning air, and clean, hard-won sweat. She felt a pull in the pit of her stomach.

Damn him for waltzing into her kitchen half-dressed and making her remember sensations she’d buried long ago.

He snagged the clean kitchen towel off the counter, wiped his face, then ran the towel back and forth over his short hair.

“That’s a kitchen towel,” she snapped, trying hard to ignore him. And failing miserably.

The towel paused at the back of his head. “Do you mind?” He flashed her one of his boyishly charming grins that didn’t fool her for one second.

Yes
, her mind screamed.
I mind everything you do.
But arguing about a stupid towel was the least of her problems right now. She had bigger fish . . . bigger flyboys . . . to fry. “No, of course not.” She tried to sound like she meant it.

And then it dawned on her just what he’d been doing up at this early hour. “You were running?” The way she said it was more of an accusation than a question.

“Only a quick jog. Didn’t have time for my usual seven miles.”

She choked. Seven miles? Chalk up another of his faults: compulsive exerciser. In her book, that ranked right up there with puppy haters and serial killers.

She was about to let him know how crazy she thought he was when the smell of something burning had her hurrying to the stove.

She grabbed the pan off the burner and popped the toast up. One of these days she was going to have to get a toaster that actually worked. She looked down at the food. Burned toast and overdone eggs. She placed the blame for this latest culinary disaster exactly where it belonged: on a wide, muscled chest and a wolfish grin that sent a tingle of awareness straight through her.

She pulled a plate out of the cupboard and tried to slide the eggs out of the pan and onto the plate. They weren’t budging. It took several hard scrapes with the spatula to unstick them. Nonstick spray my foot.

She eyed the eggs suspiciously. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were still a few bits of eggshells mixed in. Darn it, she thought she’d picked them all out. Oh well, she’d just make sure to be extra careful when she ate.

Her toast was another matter. She thought about making a couple more pieces but then abandoned the idea. She’d learned a long time ago that enough butter could cover a multitude of cooking blunders.

With her breakfast in one hand, she turned and came face-to-face with Jared. Well, face-to-chest.

How did he always manage to sneak up on her?