That Thing Called Love (17 page)

Sand that had to be cold as hell this time of year. High-end running shoes with a sock stuffed in each were planted neatly on the log at his back.

Jake snapped off several shots.

The quiet
click-whir, click-whir
sent Max’s head whipping in Jake’s direction, and the deputy’s right hand had his pistol almost clear of its holster before Jake’s identity apparently registered.

“Christ.” Jake’s own hands snapped to shoulder height in an instinctive
see, no weapon, no threat here
demonstration, sending his camera swinging from its strap around his neck. Embarrassed by his reaction, he snapped, “What the fuck? They issue
guns
to guys with PTSD?”

“We prefer to call it razor-honed instincts,” Max said coolly, reseating his weapon. “Something I don’t expect a guy who takes pretty pictures for a living to understand.” But the dig was nowhere up to his usual standards, and something in his dark eyes suggested that maybe Jake’s crack had some basis in fact—if not currently, then in the not too distant past.

Something clenched low in Jake’s gut, because he didn’t like to think about what his half brother must have seen overseas to cause such a thing.

If it even were a fact and not just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t think his imagination was that good, though, and knowing instinctively that Max would hate anything he’d construe as pity, Jake sank into the sand next to the bigger man and lounged back against the same log. Turning his head to look at him, he said lightly, “So, you ever actually work? I mean, every time I see you, you’re either here or drinking beer at the tavern.”

The corner of Max’s mouth ticked up. “I just finished a nine-hour shift. I like to come here sometimes to watch the water and the mountains and maybe catch the show on the access.”

“What show?”

His half brother turned to pin him in his head-on gaze for the first time since Jake had sat down next to him. “You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you ever come down here in high school to watch people put their boats in and take ’em out of the water?”

“Can’t say that I did. I rode in friends’ boats sometimes, but they usually had private docks. I guess I never considered how they got them in and out of the canal.”

“That’s right. You ran with the rich crowd.”

He shrugged. “I started going out with Kari around my sixteenth birthday. Most of her friends came from the wealthier families in the area.”

“My friends were more the beer-blast and burger type. Sometimes a parent would have a nice little runabout or a beater boat that you could fish or crab from, but mostly we just came down here to party and watch the yahoos launch their boats. Probably eighty-five percent know what they’re doing, but that still leaves a shitload who don’t have a clue.”

An old Wahoo, running on fuel that emitted a smoky stench suggesting it was too rich in oil, pulled into shore. A passenger jumped onto the beach, then turned to push the boat back out before striding toward the parking lot. The boat took off, but circled around to idle twenty feet offshore.

Max grinned. “Speaking of which—”

Jake looked at him. “You know these guys?”

“Nah. But I’ve seen them before. Watch and marvel.”

Except for the soft slap of the small waves generated by the boat’s wake unfurling against the beach, it was quiet for a moment. Then a panel van backed a boat trailer down the ramp. As they watched, the trailer was maneuvered deeper and deeper into the water, until it covered first the trailer’s wheels, then its fenders. Even then the van continued to back up.

Jake jackknifed upright. “Are you kidding me?” He turned to stare at his brother. “He’s got the whole back end in there. Doesn’t the idiot know what salt water does to metal?” He turned back to watch the van on the access and snorted an incredulous laugh. “Seriously, man? The fucking tailpipe’s blowing bubbles!”

“Gotta love it, right?” Max demanded drily and cracked a rare smile.

“You see this kind of thing often?”

“All the time. Here’s a tip for you, little Bradshaw. Never buy a vehicle with Kitsap plates and a trailer hitch.”

“Ya think?” He laughed and settled back against the log.

Max was right—he watched and marveled. But it wasn’t so much the yahoo on the Wahoo’s lack of technique that held him in awe as the fact that this—this being with his brother and actually laughing over the idiocy of people together—had done what nothing else had managed to do: drained the edgy restlessness that had plagued him all day right out of him. Who would have predicted that?

With an odd little twist in his stomach, he realized that sometime in the past few weeks, Max had ceased being the bully from his past and become a...friend.

But he wasn’t stupid enough to say so out loud. “I can’t believe, with all the years I lived here, that I missed out on this. Look, here comes someone else.” He glanced at Max and grinned. “Give me a heads-up next time, yeah? I’ll bring the beer and popcorn.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“N
O
TEAM
PICTURES
!”
A
USTIN
groused for the umpteenth time as he took the plate Jenny had just rinsed and extended to him. “We’re going to be the first team in Bulldogs
history
not to have our pictures taken! And forget about the special annual or the write-up about you and the inn.”

She wouldn’t particularly miss the big ad she always bought to accompany the write-up, as it was more to support the team than bring in customers. Although to be fair, they had gotten occasional bookings from it.

But that wasn’t the point. She looked at the misery etched on Austin’s face and felt helpless. It didn’t stop her from trying to soothe him. “Honey, I’m sure—”

The teen banged both fists down on the kitchen counter, making her bobble the pan, in which he’d made their boxed mac-and-cheese dinner, back into the soapy water.

Unclenching his fingers, he braced his palms against the tiles and stiff-armed himself away, his head drooping disconsolately between hunched-up shoulders. “Sorry,” he said to the countertop. “You can’t help this time, though, Jenny.
No
body can—”

Then his head abruptly snapped up and he thrust a finger at the Sand Dollar across the small parking area. “That’s not true.
He
can!”

And before she could say a word, he’d ripped open the door to the mudroom and banged through the outer one. “Austin, wait!”

He didn’t, and jamming her feet back into the heels she’d kicked off for the aborted cleanup, she hobbled as fast as she could behind him. She finally stopped at the bottom of Jake’s porch and stood on one foot while hooking a finger under the leather she’d bent trying to jam her foot too quickly into the back of her other shoe.
Damn cheap designer knockoffs.

She smoothed out the abused leather as best she could and, seating the heel of her foot properly this time, straightened, twitched her dress in order and took a deep breath before she climbed the stairs.

Maybe Jake wouldn’t be home. That would be a shame for Austin, of course, but not such a bad deal for her. Was it truly all that wrong to think of herself first in just this one itty-bitty instance?

She winced at the sound of the boy pounding on the door.

Because if Jake
was
home, this would be the first time she’d come face-to-face with him since that embarrassing pass she’d made the other night. Twisting, she brushed nonexistent lint from the retro kick-pleats of her dress skirt.

“Good! You’re here. You gotta help me!”

Damn!
She slowly faced front again.

Jake stood in the doorway, dressed more casually than usual in his ancient Columbia University sweatshirt, threadbare baby-wale cords and white athletic socks. Dark stubble framed those beautifully cut lips and strong jaw, and his hair was attractively rumpled.

“O-kay,” he said amiably. “I’ll do my best. What do you need?” Then his voice deepened a notch and managed to sound like hot sex on cool sheets when he added, “Jenny.”

She gave him a brisk nod. “Jake.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone knows everyone’s name,” Austin snarled impatiently.

She’d love to just let it slide, but couldn’t. “Snapping at everyone is not the way to make friends and influence people, Austin Jacob.”

He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to impart something snarky, but snapped it closed. Gave her a nod. “Sorry,” he muttered with zero sincerity. Still, he’d apologized instead of singing the ubiquitous teenage
“Whatever”
anthem, so Jenny gave him a pass on the tone.

Taking an audible breath, Austin turned to his father, then exhaled it with a whoosh. “Dude. Because of Dr. Howser’s stupid screwup with the chicken pox vaccination, we’ve got no photographer for the team pictures. The guy who always does it came down with a case of the pox, too, and they’re telling us, like this
helps
at all, that adult cases are usually ten times worse.”

“So, can’t he simply do it when he’s feeling better?” Jake inquired reasonably.

“No! He’s booked right up until the end of June, when he’s taking some big-deal family vacation to Europe!” The teen’s voice rose with each word until he was one decibel shy of yelling.

Then to Jenny’s eternal pride, he composed himself. His voice was still passionate, however, when he said, “These pics are a big damn deal. Not only do we get our individual and team photos, but there’s this dope bound book with everyone’s picture in it, kinda like a high school yearbook, ya know? And there are stories and photographs of the people and businesses that support us through the year. Like Jenny here!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to stand in front of him, displaying her like Exhibit A.

“Really?” she demanded incredulously, craning her head to look over her shoulder at the teen.

“Work with me here,” he muttered. Then looking past her to Jake, he slapped on a better-grab-the-tissue-’cause-this-story’s-gonna-be-
sad
face. “Jenny waits all year for the publicity her write-up brings to the inn.”

“Sure,” Jake said with a straight face. “Because tons of local people must stampede for the chance to shell out their hard-earned bucks on a hotel a mile from home.”

Exactly!

Austin growled like a cat faced with a raccoon. “Hey, the coupon in her ad brings them to the restaurant in droves.”

“This is true,” she agreed.

But the teen’s hands dropped away from her arms and his shoulders sagged. “Aw, hell. Never mind.”

Jake stared at his son and could no doubt see, as did Jenny, that this was not posturing. This was genuine dejection.

He stepped closer. “What do you say I volunteer to step in for the photographer?” Jake asked gently. “Would that help?”

Austin’s head came up. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, man, that would be so dope!” He lurched forward to give Jake an awkward hug, then took a hasty step back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Thanks, Dad. I mean, really, thank you.”

The boy may not have realized the form of address he’d just used on his father, but Jenny froze as if she’d stepped on a land mine, and her next move could be the end of her life as she knew it. And the look that flashed across Jake’s face—well. For a second his expression was open and stunned. Hopeful. Vulnerable.

Then he blinked and it was as if the action punched the Drop Curtain button, because she could no longer read him at all. “That’s what we’ll do then...provided Jenny helps me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, sure, she can do that,” Austin agreed eagerly.

“Wait a darn minute, you two,” she said. “I happen to have a job that’s already taking up most of my time and attention.”

“It’s the slow season,” Austin said.

“Not this weekend it isn’t.”

“Then we’ll fit things into the weekdays.” Jake looked at her. “Work around your schedule.”

“Maybe we could do the team’s pictures before practice or a game,” Austin added. “I could let them know when.”

Dammit, when the boy looked at her with his face alight with happiness, what was she supposed to do? “Why don’t you go make a copy of the phone tree off my computer while I hammer out a few details with Jake?”

“Okay.” He swooped to give her a big bear hug that lifted her off her feet and made her squeak. Setting her down, he grinned and stepped back. “You guys are the best.”

“Of course we are. Now that you got your own way.”

He shot her a cocky grin, then leaped off the porch and bolted toward home.

She turned to his father. “Seriously? You tow me into this?”

“You’ve been avoiding me ever since you proposed we get it on,” he said, ruthlessly dragging the one subject she’d prefer left stuffed in a dark corner into the light of day. “It’s either this or we go to bed and have hot sex.”

“Okay, fine,” she said snappishly. “Let’s go to bed.”

“What?” His jaw dropped. Then his eyes lit up and he stepped forward. “Really?”

“No, not really.”
Dammit.

But, no, she couldn’t think that way.
No casual sex. He’s leaving.

Closing her mind to the voice whispering in her head, she gave him a poor-delusional-man head shake. “Jeez, you’re easy.”

“Hey, I’m a guy. It’s built in our DNA.”

“It’s built in your d-i-c-k.”

He grinned. “That, too. Wanna see how mine’s built?”

“Pffff.”

“Ouch. Dismissive. Well, never mind.” He stepped closer, but the flirtatiousness disappeared. “So, how big a project is this?”

“Fairly big, although maybe not for a man accustomed to traveling to faraway places and living in primitive conditions for his assignments. Why don’t we go over to the cottage and I’ll dig up last year’s album to give you an idea of the scope on this one.” She took a breath and allowed, “I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to coordinate this. There are several families who’d be happy to help, so I could delegate part of it.”

“Don’t forget Austin’s offer.”

“Oh, trust me, Austin’s going to do his share.” Then she smiled. “Although, I have to admit I’m kind of proud of him for his follow-through on this. It really knocked him for a loop when he heard there wouldn’t be team photos this year and no annual. Especially that, I think. The annual is unique to our team. It falls outside the range of the Little League—this is sponsored entirely by Razor Bay and the local Small Business Association.”

They went over to her bungalow, where she accepted the phone tree from Austin, who had been on his way back to Jake’s. She sent him to unearth the past two years’ leather-bound annuals from the bookshelf in his room. While he did that and took them to Jake in the living room, she went into the kitchen to make them some coffee and cocoa and slap a dozen store-bought cookies on a plate.

A moment later, she put the tray on the coffee table and joined the two males on the couch, where they sat with their heads together, poring over last year’s book. “What do you think?” she asked Jake when he closed the last one.

“I can do better than this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you insulting our photographer’s work?”

“Not at all—he’s not half-bad. But I’m better.”

“He bragged shamelessly,” she said dryly.

He shot her a cocky grin that looked an awful lot like his son’s. “It’s not bragging if it’s true. I am good.”

“Okay, you are,” she conceded. “I love that photo you gave Austin.”

“Me, too,” Austin said, probably admitting aloud for the first time how much it meant to him.

“I think all photography rocks,” Jake said. “But shooting people is what I like and do best.” His eyes were alight with enthusiasm when he looked at them. “And I can make this the most kick-ass annual these kids have ever seen.”

“Sah-weet!” Austin crowed and gave his dad a high five.

Jenny couldn’t argue with that, so she got down to business with Jake. “You’ve been to enough games to have an idea how many kids are involved,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I’ll run off a copy of the list of participating merchants and businesses so you can get an idea of the extent of that portion of the project, as well.”

Austin hopped up, too. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he all but danced with excitement. “A bunch of the guys talked about hanging at Bella T’s for a while tonight. Can I go give them the news?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” She glanced at Jake. One, he had just made a hell of an offer and Austin disappearing in the wake of it might seem a little less than appreciative. Two—and face it, the biggie for her—she’d just as soon not be left alone with him.

But Jake merely asked his son if he’d done his homework.

“Yeah. Did it before dinner.”

“Then if it’s okay with Jenny, it works for me.”

Well, crap. That neatly boxed her in. “Okay. But be back by nine.”

“Sweet!” It was apparently Austin’s word of the day, and it hung in the air as he tore out through the kitchen.

Thighs spread wide, Jake leaned back against the couch cushions, his hands linked behind his head and elbows pointing at ten and two o’clock. “I do believe he’s pleased,” he said, looking pretty damn pleased himself.

“I think you can safely say that,” she agreed dryly. “Well, I’ll just go get the list—”

He looked up at her from his indolent sprawl. “First tell me about this write-up on the inn that Austin mentioned.”

She sat down again, but this time perched on the edge of the coffee table, prepared to dash away at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t say why she felt so on edge. Despite his lazy posture, Jake’s behavior was professional.

She exhaled a quiet breath. “Each of us gets a full page, half of which is dedicated to the ad space we buy. Basically we’re paying half price for a full-page spread. The other half simply gives us an opportunity to put a personality to the advertisement.”

“Who does the copy?”

“We each do our own—and those who suck at it get help from someone who doesn’t. I’m sure it sounds like amateur hour to you, but it’s surprisingly effective. The personal information makes it not feel so advertisey, and by boxing only the coupons we offer, it comes across more like a who’s who of Razor Bay business professionals.” She shrugged. “For an extra twenty-five bucks we can also have our individual pages put up on the town website. I’ve probably gotten more reservations through the internet than the ad in the annual, since that targets primarily team families and other locals. And as you pointed out, people who live here aren’t usually in a mad rush to spend their rare night out at the inn next door. They’re much more likely to go into Seattle or Tacoma or up to the Seven Cedars Casino in Sequim.”

“So, why bother?”

Really?
She stared at him. Wasn’t it obvious?

He met her gaze expectantly, however, so she said, “To give back to the town that’s given so much to me.”

That elicited a grimace and she tilted her head curiously. “Why do you dislike it here so much?”

“I don’t dislike it, exactly.” And to Jake’s amazement, he realized he was no longer experiencing the usual get-me-the-hell-out-of-here restlessness he’d felt like pepper beneath his skin the minute he’d crossed the town line. Sometime during the past couple of weeks it had disappeared—but so gradually he couldn’t pinpoint when.