Just a Little White Lie(55)

“I can take care of me.”

“Can you?” He cocked his head to one side. “I wonder.”

Next door, a neighbor’s lawn mower started up, and Jake took several steps closer to her. She fought the urge to back away.

“Once you’re under Daddy’s wing again…” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Gonna be a lot of pressure applied.”

Her stomach settled somewhere around the vicinity of her toes. He was right, and she wondered if she really did have the guts to stand up to both her father and Donald, the two men who’d been so important in her life.

Her spine stiffened. Yes, she did have the courage. She’d be able to stand up for herself against them if it came to that.

Having Jake at her back would have been so satisfying. Pure enjoyment to simply know he was there for her, come…whatever. But that was one fantasy, one indulgence she’d have to get over.

When she walked into work on Monday morning, he wouldn’t be there. Nor would he be there Tuesday or Wednesday or ever again. She’d have to learn to cover her own back, so she might as well start getting used to it.

And if knowing that made her want to cry, well, she’d have to suck it up, put on her big-girl panties and do what needed done like she had so many times before. She’d pretended it didn’t matter when her dad left her and her mother, when the next “daddy” left, when the next “stepmother” walked away. She could just keep on pretending.

Jake was staring at her intently, almost as if reading her mind. “You ready to go it alone, Luce?”

She nodded.

“When I do go after him, it could very well involve your company. Your family. Your fortune.”

“Understood.” She opened the Jeep’s door and slid behind the wheel. Reaching down, she found the lever to adjust the seat for her shorter legs. “Thanks for everything, Jake.”

She turned the key and felt the thrum of the Jeep beneath her, so different from her Porsche. “I won’t spill the beans to Birdie. Since your grandma and mom know we weren’t sleeping together…” Heat rushed across her cheeks. “I mean, before—”

“I understand.”

Carefully, she backed out of the driveway. As she drove down the street, she squelched the nearly overpowering urge to peek in the rearview mirror. To see if he stood watching her.

She loved Jake Parker, the man who intended to destroy her father. Her family’s business.

He’d vowed to take them down, and he would.

It didn’t matter.

Her own dreams had already come crashing down.





Chapter Eighteen




Birdie was a saint. When Lucinda pulled into her drive, bag and baggage, the woman didn’t ask a single question about why she, her brother’s fiancée, had moved out of his home.

“Have you eaten breakfast?”

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Well, if you change your mind, root around in the cupboards and fridge till you unearth something worth eating. I haven’t been to the grocery store yet this week, so it’s anybody’s guess what you’ll find.”

She moved to the back of the Jeep and helped Lucinda tug the mammoth suitcase from the back. “Jeez, Louise! You brought your whole wardrobe? Maybe stole the rocks from Jake’s garden too?”

Heaviness weighed down on her, but Lucinda forced a smile for Birdie’s sake. “You know what they say. A girl can never have too many clothes!” She shrugged, suddenly at a loss. Jake knew the case contained her honeymoon trousseau. Birdie didn’t. And she could never know. “I wasn’t sure what I might need.”

Tugging the thing along behind her like some recalcitrant poodle, she started up the drive. She paused, breathed in the cool mountain air and studied her new, very temporary home.

Birdie’s home, a cute little cottage, was adorable. Sitting at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, flowers splashed along the front walkway, inviting friends and family to the door. Bees worked a patch of lavender, and several monarchs hovered over the deep purple bottlebrush-like flowers of the butterfly bush by the stoop.

Jake’s sister swung the front door open, and her first hint of nerves crept out, unmasked by her tightly clenched hands. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, Lucy, but here we are. My home, sweet home.”

“Birdie, this is delightful!” And it was. Sunlight poured in through a bay window and hardwood floors gleamed. Puzzles books, and the remnants of an action figure that had obviously lost his last battle were strewn over the coffee table, all signs of the young boy who lived and played here. The place was homey, cozy and welcoming.