Just a Little White Lie(73)

“Jake.” She hesitated. “I need to sleep alone tonight.”

He stilled behind her, his fingers tangled through her hair. “Why?”

“I have a lot to think about.” She refused to turn, to look at him. “You’re right. A lot has happened today.”

“I don’t understand why that means you can’t sleep with me. Sleep being the operative word.”

“Because I need to think.”

“You need to sleep.”

“That too.” She turned then, forced herself to smile and leaned down to kiss him softly. “Do you have any Epsom salts? Think I’ll take a nice, long soaking bath before going to bed.”

“Good idea.”

He hopped up and slid into his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned. Digging around under the vanity, he finally found the battered box. “Haven’t needed these since I played a double-header in our law firm’s league two years ago.”

“Thanks. Good night, Jake.” She took the box from him and closed the door.





Close to an hour later, she wrapped a towel around herself and padded to her room. Darkness had fallen, but she decided not to turn on the bedside lamp. Moonlight shone through the window, bathing everything in its silvery light. Absolutely perfect for her mood.

Ignoring the expensive nightwear in her suitcase, she reached again for Jake’s cotton T-shirt. She might not have him beside her tonight, but she could still have the comfort of his shirt.

Digging in her purse, she found a bottle of aspirin and downed a couple. Her hip really did ache. Already, she had an ugly purple bruise the size of a softball. By morning it should be a real doozy.

Well, it didn’t matter. It would be hidden by her clothes, so nobody else would see it. And she’d risk it a thousand times over to keep Sammy safe. She shivered. She’d been so afraid he’d end up under the truck’s wheels.

But he hadn’t, she reminded herself and forced the image away.

Outside, the night was perfection. The quintessential summer evening. It seemed a shame to waste it. She walked over to her window and opened it a few inches, letting in the rose-scented breeze. Cicadas buzzed, and a few fireflies darted through the yard, lending magic to the soft night.

The back door opened and closed. Jake’s footsteps crossed the porch. Then it was quiet again, the hum of the cicadas the only sound. She should go to bed but hesitated when the first faint strains of his guitar reached her. She pictured him sitting on the porch, picking out the melody, and smiled wistfully. When his voice blended with the music, she gave in.

Kneeling on the floor, she rested her head on her arms on the windowsill and imagined he was singing to her and her alone.

Girl, you’ve got it bad.

After the third song, she slid into bed beneath his grandmother’s quilt and let him sing her to sleep.





Chapter Twenty-Two




Lucinda woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. Her stomach rumbled. Her brain rebelled. What was she going to do about Jake?

Maybe she didn’t have to do anything about him.

She needed to leave.

She’d done that with Donald, hadn’t she?

But, she reminded herself, the situation had been completely different. Or had it?

Donald had betrayed her. He hadn’t been honest on so many levels. Jake hadn’t really been honest with her either. There were shades of Donald there, weren’t there?

A sharp, jagged crack rent her heart.

Donald’s deception, though, had been self-serving. Jake’s had been because he was trying to help others.

A Band-Aid slapped across the crack in her heart.

Did the reason really matter? If he lied about one thing…

Pain seared deeply as the Band-Aid ripped loose and exposed the crack again.

She grabbed the extra pillow and held it over her face. It didn’t block her thoughts, her doubts, so she threw it across the room. It landed beside the open window where she’d listened last night like an eavesdropper as Jake poured his feelings into song.

Or were they his feelings? Maybe he sang those songs because they were the only ones he knew.

Arghhh. She was driving herself nuts. Throwing back the covers, she crawled out of bed. She’d slept very little, tossing and turning, trying to decide what she needed to do. She hadn’t reached a single conclusion.

Nor did she have any clothes. They’d never quite gotten around to bringing in her suitcase. Heat flared as her mind raced at breakneck speed, remembering the reason for that.

She opened the door a crack, tickled to see her luggage sitting in the hall. Bless the man.

Shaking out a pair of rumpled shorts and a cotton top, she dressed quickly. She ran a brush through her hair, flicked a stroke of mascara and called it good.