To Win Her Love (23 page)

“Wait.”

Gracie paused at his guttural demand and turned to arch a bitter brow.

His chest expanded with his sigh. “Please, Gracie.” Silently, he stared at his half sister, weeping quietly against Gracie’s shoulder. His Adams apple convulsed on a ragged swallow and his fury seemed to deflate in time with his drooping shoulders. His gaze skittered back to Gracie and the anger hardening her heart was no match for the shadowed uncertainty in his eyes.

Helpless against the silent plea in the darkened, green orbs, the sting of tears scratched at the back of her throat. Time froze as he held her gaze and the confident predator who took on the world and emerged victorious faded into the shadows. In his place stood a handsome, if imperfect, man. A man unsure of his footing as he struggled with a reality he had no experience handling.

Her heart quivered in her chest, freefalling in a crazy tumble and slid dangerously close to full out, undeniable love.

Finally, he dipped his chin in a nod, and turned away. Gracie squeezed her eyes shut briefly and shoved aside the dizzying fear. Nothing had changed. No matter her feelings for Jake, the twins were what mattered. She rubbed a soothing hand over Angel’s back.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Jake unclipped the harness from Hercules and looped the strap over a hook on the wall. After a last pat to the horse’s neck, he strode out of the stall and closed and secured the latch. Pivoting, he stepped forward until he stood less than a foot away. The pained smile he offered Gracie caused a shimmering throb beneath her heart.

The smile slid away as he wrapped his long fingers around her upper arm and squeezed gently. “Sorry. I guess I don’t react well when I’m rattled, either.”

He dropped his gaze to Angel and, after hesitating slightly, rubbed a hand down her back. “Angel?” He waited until she shifted her head to peek up at him and proved he was indeed aware of the consequences of his anger. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. This was my fault. No one else’s.”

Angel sniffled and swiped at her nose with the back of her uninjured hand. Mary promptly dug through her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Gracie’s jaw nearly dropped when he took the folded cloth, held it to Angel’s nose, and insisted she blow.

He nodded at the arm she held tucked to her side. “Does it hurt?”

Angel nodded and fresh tears leaked down her cheeks.

“Then we’d better take care of it. How far is the nearest hospital, Mary?”

“About three miles.”

He winked down at Charlie then curled his fingers around Gracie’s elbow to lead her toward the door. “What do you say, Charlie? Can you help Miss Mary with the next batch of cookies while Gracie and I take Angel to get her arm fixed up?”

Charlie sniffed and nodded.

Gracie’s steps faltered. Hospital? How could she leave the farm with them when the mob still waited at the gate?

Oh, God
. She’d need to do some quick thinking because Jake wasn’t taking Angel anywhere without her. As they exited the barn, her gaze was drawn to the old pickup parked near the track leading to the back gate. Maybe she could convince him to let her drive.

Gracie stopped short in the kitchen doorway, blinking her eyes at what surely must be a mirage. Littered with the evidence of a baking disaster, Mary’s pristine and organized kitchen was in shambles. The uncharacteristically cluttered counters held several open canisters, their lids discarded haphazardly in the midst of a half dozen dirty bowls of various sizes. Mary’s prized industrial mixer sat with its blades upended. A dark, oozing matter dripped from them to form a brown puddle. The same substance coated the tile backsplash in a splatter design. A fine layer of flour, or possibly sugar, dusted the counters and floor.

Murphy’s footprints told the tale of his prancing attempts to snag a treat. They crisscrossed the large room, concentrating mostly in a circular track around the table by which he stood. The tags on his collar jangled against the metal of the bowl he was doing his best to lick clean.

At the center of the disaster, with their backs to her, the twins each perched on the edge of a chair. Leaning over the table and swirling pink icing over a lopsided brown block Gracie assumed was a cake, each held a…
Dear God. Were those steak knives?
Between them sat Jake, his broad back dwarfing their tiny frames in contrast.

“What in the world?”

Three pairs of innocent eyes met her gaze when they turned their heads.

“Jake has to crush Atlanta tomorrow. He’s gonna miss Thanksgiving,” Charlie chirped happily. “Miss Mary said we could have another Thanksgiving when he gets home, but Jake said that’s a lot of work for her, so we made her a cake. It’s a surprise.”

Considering the mess they’d made, on Thanksgiving eve, no less, Mary was in for a surprise all right. Gracie opened her mouth to start barking orders for an immediate cleanup when her gaze landed on Angel. The slash of pink icing marring the cast on her left forearm wasn’t responsible for Gracie’s hesitation, nor was the chocolate ring around her tiny mouth. What made Gracie’s heart quiver off balance was the wide smile tilting her lips. Genuine and easy, her smile softened the shadows darkening the little girl’s eyes for the past month.

She waved her broken arm. “I cracked a egg with one hand and didn’t lose any shells in the batter!” Her jubilant smile didn’t dim when she spun her head to grin up at her half brother. “Right, Jake?”

He tapped a finger to her nose. “Right, Angel face.” He grinned at the icing left behind and popped the finger into his mouth.

Angel wiped the smear from her nose and following his example, sucked the icing from her fingers. Her happy giggles wrapped around Gracie’s thudding heart and squeezed painfully. Tears of equal parts relief and fear stung at the back of her throat.

“That’s terrific, baby.” She ducked her head, passing by the table to make her way to the ransacked counter, and blinked furiously. The sponge at the edge of the sink provided a purpose for her shaking hands. Running the sponge under the water, she squeezed it out and attacked the counter.

As she had numerous times since the incident in the barn several weeks ago, she cursed Pete for thrusting her into a situation destined to tear her apart. Building a family with the girls was a dream she harbored in the depths of her soul but, despite what her helpless feelings for Jake meant to her custody chances, she loved Angel too much not to find joy in her happiness. The same went for Charlie. How could she resent the girls’ growing affection for Jake when the innocent love he inspired in them eased the sting of their grief over the loss of their parents?

As for Jake? She loved him as well. How could she not celebrate his surprised pleasure as he opened his heart to his sisters? Not thrill
for
him as he slowly cast aside a lifetime of bitter memories to discover the delights of being part of a caring family?

And how ironic his apparent acceptance of her dream might well be the vehicle by which it was stolen?

The scrape of chair legs reached her. She dipped her head to the side to wipe away an escaped tear on her shoulder. Damn it. Tears never achieved a thing except to make her eyes puffy and her nose red. They certainly didn’t change anything. She jumped when Charlie appeared at her elbow.

“You wanna lick?”

Gracie blinked to clear her watery vision and stared at the chocolate-covered serrated knife Charlie held up. “Oh, baby. Let me have that.” Fingers clenched around the sponge, she carefully plucked the lethal looking cutlery from her niece’s icing-smeared fingers.

Charlie glanced from Gracie’s face to the messy counters and back. She scrunched her nose in a quizzical frown. “Don’t cry, Auntie Gracie. I’ll help you clean up.”

“Gracie?”

She refused to acknowledge Jake’s quiet inquiry. Hugging Charlie to her side, she bent to press her cheek to the top of her head. “Thanks, baby. Miss Mary won’t like it if she comes home to find her kitchen messed up.”

“I can help, too.” Angel tugged on her sleeve.

Straightening, she swiped a finger under her eyes before smiling at Angel. “Then we’ll have it cleaned in a snap.”

Without meeting Jake’s gaze, she directed Angel to begin sweeping up the flour-coated floor, then she rinsed the sponge and helped Charlie onto the counter where she could take care of the splatters on the backsplash. Next, she turned on the tap, added soap, and set the mixing bowl and blades to soak. Murphy raced to lick up the last of the batter, his nose following the bowl she picked up from the floor.

Jake appeared at her side, carrying tubs of icing and other cake decorating paraphernalia. She stared at the lethal-looking knife in his hand and arched a brow. “Steak knives?”

He offered a guilty smile. “They wanted to make squiggles in the icing. Charlie insisted the sharp knives have the perfect ridges they needed to pull it off.” He popped one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “It worked.”

She shook her head and handed him a roll of paper towels, jerking her chin at the chocolate mess coating most of the table. “You’re lucky neither of them cut off a finger.”

He screwed up his mouth in a grimace. “Finger, hell. I was more worried about their tongues. They kept licking the icing off the blades.”

Despite the heaviness weighing on her shoulders, she laughed. He tucked the paper roll under one arm and cupped her chin in his palm, lifting her face for his study. She stood silent, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze skimming over her cheeks and down over her mouth before lifting back to her eyes. He spoke softly in the voice she’d come to love over the weeks since they first made love. The one he used whenever they managed to find some time alone. The voice only she heard. “What is it, princess? What’s made you sad?”

Her eyes stung with renewed tears. She shut them briefly. Did he know how much she wanted to step into his arms and never leave? If she gave in to the overwhelming need to cling to what she wished could be, would he welcome her there for longer than the next eight weeks? Forcing a smile, she opened her eyes, wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and squeezed.

“Not sad.” She searched for an excuse he’d accept without further questions. “Tired, I guess.”

He didn’t buy it. His doubt was there in his eyes, but he didn’t push her either. Dropping a kiss to her nose, he stepped back. “Then relax and have a seat. I’ll get you a glass of wine.” He raised his voice to include the twins in the conversation. “The girls and I caused this disaster. We’ll clean it up. Right, ladies?”

“Right!”

“Right!”

Gracie shook her head. Like Cinderella’s mice, the twins dove into their tasks with happy smiles. Charlie brushed the broom across the floor, creating a fine cloud of billowing flour. Angel dipped the sponge into the sink, dripping soaping water down her arm and onto the floor before dropping it on the counter to scrub industriously.

Gracie jumped when Jake cupped her shoulders in his hands. He spun her around and urged her toward the table with a palm to her ass. A familiar tingle rippled up her spine when he ended the touch with a caressing pat. She glanced over her shoulder, squinting her eyes when he winked.

The devil. He knew full well that kind of touch wouldn’t help her relax. She flopped onto a chair, and he had the gall to laugh. True to his word, he delivered a chilled glass of wine, returning her to her seat several minutes later when she attempted to help Charlie locate the dustpan and brush. Finally, she gave in gracefully and sat back to watch.

For a bachelor, he didn’t shy away from cleaning. Rolling up his sleeves, he tackled the bowls and dishes, scraping away the worst of the drying batter, then handed each piece off to the waiting girls, who loaded everything into the dishwasher.

All three of them were sidetracked by a rogue bubble formed when he dunked a glass into the soapy water. Of course, he then had to show the girls how he managed it. They each took a turn, shrieking with laughter when one of the resulting bubbles popped on the tip of Angel’s nose.

The bittersweet sight scraped at Gracie’s heart, even as it made her smile. As crazy as Pete’s stipulations were, they’d also been a gift, allowing her a sweet glimpse of the family she craved. For that, she’d be forever grateful, but with the crumbling of each stone in Angel’s wall of distrust, Gracie’s dreams disappeared more and more beneath the rubble.

Jake didn’t realize it yet, but he was falling in love with his sisters, as they were with him. He might have arrived at the farm against his will, but she could no longer imagine him walking away when Pete’s terms had been met.

In slightly less than two months’ time, no matter what decision was made, someone would be hurt. Several someones. The girls would suffer, too, forced to choose between two people they loved.

Jake was right. That particular stipulation of Pete’s was asinine. It was also cruel.

The decision to enjoy her time with Jake and the girls while she could burned with a new urgency. Was it only a month ago she despaired of losing custody? Now she understood she stood to lose much more. If not for her secret parental connections, she’d be free to fight for her dreams
and
Jake with everything she had. Instead, a shadow hovered over the time they shared.

He suspected she was hiding something, but then, how could he not after her foolish trek through the woods and her furtive behavior the night Angel broke her arm. In the end, she hadn’t bothered suggesting they sneak out the back gate, but ducking onto the floorboards of his SUV as they passed through the front gate and insisting they slip out the back door when they were done at the hospital, only made him more suspicious. Like a dog on a scent, he continued to press her for answers. Answers she didn’t dare give.

On second thought, if Pete were here, she’d strangle him for serving up her dream, temporarily, in such a way that left her furtive and guarded with the man she loved.

* * * *

“It’s going to piss me off if I have to spend the day disposing of a body.”

Gracie glanced up from her laptop. Max filled her doorway. One broad, muscled shoulder propped against the frame, he’d tucked his battered leather jacket under one arm. The conservative, pale blue dress shirt collar peaking from beneath the coal gray sweater contrasted with the scarred black biker boots covering his big feet below disreputable jeans—he looked like a GQ thug.