Lover's Lane (7 page)

Kat was barely twenty-eight and thoroughly convinced happy marriages existed only in romance novels. Suspicious husbands and wives were occasionally proven wrong, but the percentage of mistaken suspicion was low. The only truly happily married couple Jake knew was his sister Julie and her husband, Terry Avery.

He wished he’d been as lucky. He wished things had worked out for him and Marla. He wanted to believe in the dream, but time and delving into other people’s heartbreak was slowly disillusioning him.

Suddenly he found himself wondering what Caroline dreamed of and if she ever saw a man in her future.

He liked to think he was a good judge of people. The woman he’d met last night didn’t seem capable of hurting a gnat, but something had made her run from the Saunders and keep on running. She had taken Rick’s son away from family who cared about him, not to mention a potential fortune in inheritance, without any obvious motive.

He shifted on the hard cement bench as the homeless man across the grassy lawn shook the last crumbs of bread out of the bag.

“Anything else?” Jake asked Kat.

“Your granddad called. Between you and me, he didn’t sound very good. He wants you to call him. Said it was important. Something about business.”

Perfect. Maybe he’d call Jackson and segue the conversation into the property overlooking the cove. He wasn’t about to mention the possibility of renting the house to Kat yet. No sense in getting her Hawaiian-Portuguese temper riled up too soon.

She knew him almost as well as Marla had. She’d think he’d lost his mind.

“I’ll give him a call,” he promised.

“I’d say don’t wait. He didn’t sound like himself.”

8

CARLY WAS BENT OVER, TRYING TO WIPE STICKY MAPLE SYRUP off a bench seat in a booth, when she had the distinct impression that someone was watching her.

She glanced over her shoulder and froze when she saw Jake Montgomery standing just inside the door, staring at her rear end. Not only that, but he was smiling. The simmering twinkle in his eyes nearly undid her.

She shot up, forgot about the syrup, and tried to pretend her face wasn’t on fire.

“This is a surprise,” he said.

His smile had widened, but she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to equate the artist he’d met last night with the disheveled waitress with a wet rag in her hand and a grease-spattered apron tied around her waist.

She wondered how fast his interest would wane. It had become evident to her that professional men often considered waitresses worth no more than a passing flirtation.

“This is my real job.” She wiped her hands and brushed an escaped lock of hair behind her ear.

The way he insisted on staring did nothing to help fade her blush. “Have a seat and somebody will be right there.”

He chose a vacant stool at the end of the counter, picked up a menu but didn’t open it as he watched her finish writing up an order. Finally, still all too aware of his stare, she took a deep breath, walked over to the counter, tossed the rag, and stood over him with her order pad in hand.

Just looking into Jake Montgomery’s eyes nudged awake thrilling and terrifying sensations that scared the hell out of her. She was beginning to think he might be a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“What’ll it be?” She tried to sound as if it didn’t matter that he’d stumbled upon this aspect of her life. “Do you know what you want?”

“I thought I did.” He held her stare, ignoring the menu in front of him.

“The . . . um . . . tortilla soup is Joe’s specialty. And he makes a mean patty melt, if you’re into red meat.” She noticed her knees weren’t exactly functioning properly.

“I’ll try the melt.”

Her handwriting came out uneven and shaky as she made a note on the pad. “Anything to drink besides water?”

“Diet Pepsi.”

Carly realized that somewhere between the patty melt and the diet Pepsi, Selma had sidled up to her.

“Will that be all?” Carly hardly recognized her own voice.

“For now,” he said softly.

As soon as Carly turned away, Selma leaned an elbow on the counter, angling so that Jake got a clear view of her ample cleavage and lowered her rusty voice an octave.

“You in town for long or just passing through?”

Carly shoved the order onto a clip on the chrome wheel and heard Jake explain that he’d originally just driven up for the weekend but that he might end up coming back. Carly reached for a tall glass, filled it with ice and then with Jake’s soda.

“Selma, your orders are up!” Joe, who never missed a thing, not even from the kitchen, began pounding the bell on the window ledge.

Carly rotated around the tables, making certain her customers had what they needed. When she returned to the counter, Jake’s patty melt was ready. She set it before him and watched him pour a puddle of ketchup on his plate.

“Your boss is quite a character.” He glanced over his shoulder at Selma, who was chatting with an elderly woman lingering over a slice of apple pie.

Carly laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I’d like to hear all about it sometime.” He fell silent for a moment before he added, “You have a beautiful smile, Carly. You should wear it more often.”

Jake watched Carly’s cheeks bloom at his compliment.

She ignored it but the smile lingered.

“How’s the patty melt?”

“Everything you said it would be.”

She left him to circulate around her station again, pouring coffee refills, greeting customers, delivering orders. She was definitely a pro, doing ten things at once and smiling the whole time.

Selma was filling a plastic bamboo salad bowl behind the counter when Carly walked back over to check on him. Jake lowered his voice.

“Is working here the reason you can’t go to dinner with me tomorrow night? Or will you be at the gallery again?”

“I don’t really work there. I only cover for Geoff on occasion. I’m here every Saturday night because the other girls usually have dates.”

“You don’t date?”

“I told you last night, I prefer to spend time with my son.”

He understood what she was saying, but something in her eyes told him that she felt differently, that she wouldn’t mind dating if the right man came along. She lingered long enough to ask if he wanted more soda.

No sooner had she left than Selma walked over again.

When the cook started pounding on the order bell, Selma turned around and yelled, “Keep your pants on, José. I hear ya.” She leaned over until she was eye to eye with Jake.

“Did I hear you just ask Carly out for dinner tomorrow night?”

“You’ve got very good ears, Selma.”

“That’s not the only good thing I’ve got.” She winked. “If Carly suddenly found herself with the night off tomorrow, would you ask her out again?”

“Sure. But maybe she’s just using work as an excuse.”

Selma glanced across the room. Carly was in deep conversation with a local cop. Jake had to give Carly credit. She was as adept as a chameleon at hiding out in the open.

“Try asking her again tonight.” Selma suddenly straightened and gave a slight nod, indicating Carly was on her way back. “If it doesn’t work out,” Selma winked, “I wouldn’t mind spending time with you. I close up at eleven.”

9

SATURDAY MORNING, THE METAL BLEACHERS AT THE T-BALL diamond were as cold as they were hard.

Chris’ team was scattered over the field dressed in matching gray T-shirts emblazoned with sinister black stingrays. Glenn had Chris playing shortstop, but at the moment Chris was busy writing his name in the soft infield dirt with the toe of his shoe.

Carly shoved her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and yelled, “Be ready, Chris!”

Her son’s face lit up with a smile wide as the Pacific. He beamed and waved just as the batter hit the ball off the T and headed right toward him.

After two attempts, Chris picked up the ball. Thankfully for him, it was a good thirty seconds before the batter realized he was actually supposed to run to first base.

Carly hid a smile behind her hand. The games were little more than comedies of error, the kids never quite sure what was going on.

Tracy Potter, seated two benches below Carly, turned and called, “Aren’t they just the cutest things going?”

“I think they’re actually improving.” Carly watched Chris as his team left the field and headed for the dugout behind a chain-link fence.

Tracy turned around to concentrate on the game again. She was seated with a group of other mothers and always asked Carly to join them, but Carly usually declined, preferring to sit on the upper seat by herself, more comfortable in her self-imposed isolation.

She had her job, Selma and Joe, Etta and Geoff, but that wasn’t the same as having family—not that she’d know what having a real family was like. Sometimes she found herself longing for someone close enough to
really
talk to, someone who knew everything about her, who knew about her past and what she had been through. Someone she could share all her doubts and longings, hopes, and dreams with.

She purposely kept her friendship with Geoff Wilson one-sided. He talked and she listened to his dilemmas over the aging parents he left behind in Chicago, his ongoing emotional trauma after splitting with a partner of eight years, his concerns about opening the gallery in a town with an economy that relied on the tourist season.

She knew he would do anything for her, but that wasn’t the same as opening her heart to someone as well as being completely honest with him. She hadn’t had that kind of relationship since she was fifteen. Not even with Rick, and when she’d finally opened up and told him the truth, it was too late.

Last night, sitting alone in a puddle of moonlight at the kitchen table, sipping warm milk in her flannel robe, she’d actually considered calling the Rose Cottage to tell Jake Montgomery that she had changed her mind.

He was just a weekender. What could be safer? It might have been pleasant being alone with an interesting and undeniably handsome man. No complications. No strings.

But eleven-thirty at night was too late to call anyone. Besides, Jake Montgomery might have already invited someone else, and she
was
supposed to work. If there was one thing Selma hated, it was a last-minute schedule change.

Out on the ball field, the Stingrays were at bat. Glenn was patiently trying to explain that not
all
of them would get a turn
this
inning. His announcement was followed by a collective whine.

“That’s probably the way major-league players feel but they don’t get to whine out loud.”

When a deep, masculine voice wrapped itself around Carly, she quickly turned and found herself face-to-face with Jake. Somehow, she’d been so absorbed that she hadn’t even noticed when he climbed the bleachers to sit down beside her.

“Hi.” Tongue-tied, she strained to think of something else to say until she realized where they were and wondered how he’d found her. “What are
you
doing here?”

As Jake slid closer, he glanced over both shoulders. “I thought this was a public park.”

“Are you stalking me?” She tried to keep her tone light, but she was only half kidding. First he showed up at the gallery, then the diner. And the first time she’d ever seen him, he may or may not have been watching her from the bakery. Now
this
?

She suppressed an urge to grab her purse, head for the dugout, gather up Christopher and his equipment, and make a beeline for Etta’s old car, Betty Ford.

But just then Jake held up the papers she’d just noticed in his hand. “Glenn asked me to bring these by. I found a place to lease.”

“In Twilight?”
So much for no complications. “I didn’t realize you were planning to stay around.”

“Hey, believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are.” He glanced out toward the field, offering her a heart-stopping view of his strong profile. Then he met her eyes again and said, “Clap.”

“What?”

“Applaud. One of the Stingrays just hit a homer.”

When Carly realized Christopher was rounding first base and headed toward second, she jumped up, forgetting everything but her son and his first-ever home run.

As soon as Chris made it safely across home plate, she became aware that Jake was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, rental forms forgotten and crunched beneath his arm. He was clapping and whistling as if he actually cared about the score.

In his enthusiasm he bumped into her shoulder. Beneath his long-sleeved denim work shirt, he was as solid as a rock, warm, and definitely all male. Carly was tempted to lean against him, hungering for the quiet strength radiating from him, longing to give in to a sudden and unexpected need to be held, to be touched.

It would be so sweet to have someone like Jake to share the joy of the moment with, to appreciate the simple things of life, day-to-day triumphs and sorrows, the quiet hours late at night and just before dawn. Very sweet indeed, but she doubted she could ever completely be able to open up enough and trust anyone. Not with so much at stake.

Beside her, Jake had grown very still. She was almost afraid to meet his eyes, afraid he would glimpse her vulnerability.

“Mom!” Chris was yelling. “Did you see me?”

“I did! Way to go!”

When she sat down again, Jake remained standing, studying Christopher. Her heart stuttered, her protective instincts on high alert. Then suddenly, he sat down and devoted his attention to her.

“He’s some boy,” he said softly. His gaze swept her face. “You must be proud.”

She didn’t know him well enough to be certain, but he appeared genuinely impressed with her son.

“He means the world to me.” The sun was struggling to break through the marine layer of cloud cover. Carly raised her hand to shield her eyes against the bright haze. Jake pressed the papers in his hand over his thigh and began smoothing out the creases.

He lingered, as if there was something more he wanted to say, but he didn’t or couldn’t. He suddenly saluted her with the papers.

“Well, I’d better get these to Glenn before I talk myself out of renting the place. Bye, Carly.”

“Bye, Jake.”

She watched him climb down the bleachers to speak to Tracy, but before he did, he turned and looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, and her heart tripped over itself.

He seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. The kind of guy that Rick had been. The type she thought she would never meet again.