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Jake’s gut clenched at the humiliation in her swiftly averted gaze. “Your mom’s waiting in the car,” he said to Joy.
“But I’m showing Shelby how to…”
He cut her short. “I’ll show her.”
“Retrieve from the trash? You don’t even know yourself, I’ll bet,” replied Joy, tipping her chin.
“Go home,” he said.
“I was trying to help,” she huffed.
“Some help,” Jake muttered as Joy passed him in the door.
Joy made a face at him. He crossed to the desk, wondering whether to apologize to Shelby on Joy’s behalf or pretend he hadn’t overheard. He was opting for pretense when Joy called to him from the open door.
He pivoted to see her hand over the light switch.
“Nighty-night,” she said as the room went dark.
“Turn it on, Joy,” ordered Jake.
She snickered instead and closed the door behind her.
“Sorry, I don’t know what gets into her,” apologized Jake, though under the circumstances, darkness wasn’t all that unwelcome.
“I gather she heard things,” Shelby said.
“Not from me,” he said quickly. “There’s a remote switch. Reach into the desk drawer.”
“Which drawer?”
“Top,” Jake replied, though he could have as easily crossed to the switch. The drawer squeaked as she opened it. He heard pencils rub pencils, the metallic sift of paper clips and other desk drawer contents shift beneath Shelby’s unseen fingers. The darkness amplified the cat-paw soft sounds of her search. That, and the silence to which Joy’s cheeky question clung like a fly caught on a glue strip. No use ignoring it.
“I’ll tell Paula to talk to her,” he began.
“Please don’t,” Shelby interjected. “You’ve done enough.”
Jake twitched, certain she believed him the source of the things that had piqued Joy’s curiosity.
He circled the desk. “Slide back. I can put my hand right on it.” In the absence of light, he misjudged her position. His hand skimmed her curls in a chance touch that tickled his palm and his fancy, too. “Sorry.”
“My fault,” Shelby murmured and rolled the desk chair away from the desk, giving him more room.
The darkness heightened her flower-sweet fragrance. Feeling enveloped by it, Jake’s hand closed over the remote in the drawer. “Those your toes I’m walking on?” he asked, in no hurry to shed light on the room or the inspiration behind an unorthodox and not-so-chance but gentle collision of feet.
“No harm done,” she said, and withdrew them.
Jake’s sock-clad feet begged to disagree. The harm was a sweet ache that started in his feet the moment she pulled hers away. Jake swallowed a sigh and hit the remote. Light flooded the room. Her silk-stocking clad feet were tucked beneath the chair. He reached to close the yawning desk drawer and in so doing, noticed her shoes neatly aligned beneath his desk. They looked good there. Like small white hens come home to roost. Foolish to think it, much less want to say so. He moved to one side, making elbow room for her as she put on reading glasses, tilted the lined pad beside the keyboard and began typing.
“Ready for some cake now?” he asked for want of a better excuse to regain her attention.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
Curious as what so firmly held her focus, Jake reached for her tablet. His finger barely touched down when she whisked it away. He blinked, cupped his elbow in one hand and rubbed his chin. “So, what’s this you’re writing?”
“Not much at the rate I’m going,” she said, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
Jake leaned in, trying to read the screen. Her silky lashes swept upward, lush and long and thick. Strained patience flashed in hazel depths. “Sorry,” he said, and backed away.
“For what?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly. But I didn’t get that much of a reaction when I dropped my crane on your car,” he said, wincing.
Color flooded Shelby’s face. Grabbing the tablet was pure reflex. Just as strong was the urge to erase the screen with a keystroke rather than to let him read her work before it was finished and polished. Unwilling to admit how raw and inadequate her first drafts seemed to her, and how she cringed at the thought of anyone else reading them, she swept a curl behind her ear, and explained, “What I’m working on is a rough draft. If I let you read it, it weakens my motivation to finish the thing.”
“Top secret, eh? Now I am intrigued.”
“You have no hang-ups?” she countered quietly.
“Classified, like your story,” he claimed.
His gentle jesting cooled her rising hackles and left a foolish grin on her face. She wiped it clean, curled a leg beneath her and offered, “Shall I have my publisher send you a copy?”
“Will you sign it for me?” he pressed, mouth tilting.
“If you like.”
“Just your name? Or could I have an inscription, too? Something like, ‘To Jake, You Have My Number.”’
“I sure do,” she countered.
He laughed and she smiled and the anchor eased its grip on her heart. But only for a moment. The interest flickering in his eyes reminded her that Patrick had once looked at her that way, too. Rejection, like honeybees, left the stinger in. Shelby averted her face before the heat of that bite brushed her cheeks.
“What’s it take?” asked Jake. At her blank glance, he propped a hip on the corner of the desk and added, “Time wise, I mean.”
“From here to here in a year.” She tapped her temple, then spread her hands as if she held a book. “Unless I get stuck.”
“I better go then, and let you get back to it,” said Jake.
Her smile, though fleeting, did nice things to her face. Like the blush on a peach. Though on closer scrutiny, Jake found that pinch never quite left her eyes. Her lashes came down, closing the beaches on those hazel seas. Intrigued, he wondered at her thoughts. That, at least was rational. The impulse to sweep her out of her chair and into his arms to kiss those pinch lines into retreat was not.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and came to his feet.
“Good night. Thanks for everything,” she called, breathing easier now that he was leaving.
Jake wished she would use his name. He hesitated a moment, realizing he hadn’t used hers, either. It formed on his tongue. But already, she had shut him out. Her white fingers were over the keys, skipping like whitecaps. Divorce, Jake had heard, was second only in trauma to suffering the death of a loved one. Where, then, did getting jilted rank? Somewhere in the ballpark with desertion, he wagered. He was still seeing the consequences of that in Paula’s life, and Joy’s too, as she struggled to fill the void left by a father who didn’t know she existed.
Jake checked on Gram before turning in. It was a long while later when he heard water running and knew Shelby had called it quits for the night. He rubbed one eye and peered at the illuminated dial of his alarm clock. It was 3:00 a.m. And after the day she had had. She had stamina.
Jake rolled over and slept until the aroma of perking coffee stirred him awake. It was six. He could have grabbed another hour of sleep. But these days, Gram and the stove were an unpredictable mix.
Shelby smelled coffee and heard voices. In the time it took her to get her bearings, she remembered she had no car, and nowhere she had to be today. On that note, she dozed off again and got up a good while later to an empty house. A shower and a dash of lipstick helped a face in need of some color. She rubbed scented hand cream from elbows to fingertips and went downstairs.
There was coffee in a carafe and cold bacon and biscuits on the kitchen table. Shelby made a biscuit sandwich and poured coffee. She ate quickly, carried her dishes to the sink, turned on the tap and her thoughts, too. By the time she reached the study, words were crowding, wanting out.
Ringing church bells drew Shelby to the window at noon. Moments later, Jake’s Jeep turned up the back alley and parked in the drive alongside his building. He climbed out loosening his tie and circled to help Gram Kate from the front seat. Three more cars pulled in behind him. Doors flew open and a blend of Jacksons piled out. Shelby assumed they were Jacksons—lanky frames and blue eyes were in the majority. She watched Joy turn down the alley. A boy pedaled toward her on his bicycle. Joy hurried to meet him. They slipped out of sight behind Jake’s sign building.
Jake climbed the stairs to change out of his suit and saw the guest room was empty. He returned downstairs and found Shelby at his desk. Her fingers moved over the keys. She paused, lips pursed, and typed on, unaware of him in the open door. It was the sort of concentration he looked for in crane operators. He could have used some of it himself yesterday on the bank building, letting his eye stray to a pretty woman climbing out of her car in the lot below. For all the good it did. It was plain to see that her heart was still attached to the one who had cut her free.
Smitten in spite of himself, he called to her, “How’s the story coming?”
She glanced away from the screen. “Pretty well, thank you.”
“Doesn’t seem like much of a vacation, closed in with your work.”
“It’s a treat not to have to squeeze it in between my hours at the office.” She pushed her chair back, and rose smoothing her dress. It was sleeveless, with a fitted yoke, brown as toast. A drift of yellow pleats fell from the bodice.
“That’s a nice sunflower dress you’re wearing,” said Jake, though the loose fit left a lot to the imagination.
“And you said you didn’t know flowers,” she countered.
Jake grinned. “No, but I’ve pulled enough weeds…”
“It’s a weed? A sunflower is a weed?” she said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“Look it up.” Jake reached for his favorite gardening book on the desk, and pushed it her way.
Shelby thumbed through dog-eared pages and plunked back into her chair. “You’re right.”
His mouth tipped at her disheartened sigh. “I haven’t ruined it for you, have I?”
“‘A rose by any other name’…” She set the quote adrift, and tucked a curl behind her ear. The pencil tunneled there wobbled and fell in her lap. “How was church?”
“Crowded,” he replied, and ducked under the desk to retrieve the pencil. “But we would have made room for you.”
“I overslept. By the way, I’ve been thinking about that loaner car. Perhaps it’s time I phoned my insurer.”
“No use trying on Sunday,” he told her, fingers brushing hers as he returned the pencil. Her nails were trimmed short, but neatly curved and tinted ivory. “Anyway, I checked with my agent last night. He said he would have a car for you sometime tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Shelby said. “I’ll stop by your shop then, and get the manuscripts out of the trunk.”
“If they’re that important, we can go today,” he offered.
“Could we? I wouldn’t bother you with it, but I’m responsible for them,” she explained.
“We’ll go after lunch. My sisters brought covered dishes for lunch,” he said.
“What can I do to help?”
“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”
She smiled and followed him into the kitchen where he made introductions, then slipped upstairs to change out of his suit.
There was enough physical similarity between Jake’s sisters that Shelby had a hard time remembering who was who. It was even more difficult with the children. Shelby counted seven boys and six girls. Then Joy came dashing in, flushed and fresh as a rosebud dressed all in pink.
“Where you been?” asked one of her cousins.
Joy pinched his arm.
“Ouch!” he squealed. “Quit it, Blondie Blake-a-cake,”
Joy’s giggly cousins shouted with laughter and took up the chant: “Blondie Blake-a-cake! Blondie bake-a-cake, Blake-a-cake,”
“You better quit calling me that or you won’t be eating any of my cake,” warned Joy with a lofty sniff.
“Another cake? You’re turning into a regular Sara Lee,” Jake said, joining the teasing.
He had changed into khakis and a loose-fitting shirt that suited his eyes. The writer in Shelby made mental notes. Preoccupied with the process, she saw his smile shift to silent inquiry and realized her gaze had lingered too long. His smile came on again as their eyes met. The glow of it spread heat within, like bottled sunshine. Startled at her instinctive response, Shelby averted her glance and finished setting the table. When the dinner call came, Jake held a chair for her, another for Joy, and settled between them.
The family joined hands for the blessing. Once again, Shelby found herself comparing Jake’s broad, callused palm to the one her heart knew so well. With an effort, she focused on the bountiful table and the congeniality of Jake’s family. The adults were welcoming, the children boisterous and lively. The meal, right through to dessert, was seasoned with humor and affection, and a balm to Shelby’s bruised spirits.
“Scratch chocolate. Lemon’s my favorite,” Jake told Joy as he dribbled warm lemon sauce over his slice of lemon cake. “Second only to butter bean.”
“Butter bean? I never heard of butter bean cake,” said Joy.
Everyone laughed.
Joy’s cheeks turned as pink as her dress. “You made that up,” she accused, and flipped her braid over her shoulder.
“It’s served in all the finest restaurants,” claimed Jake. “A real delicacy. Isn’t that right, Shelby?” he prompted with a gentle elbow and a blue-eyed wink.
Shelby indicated her mouth was too full to answer.
Thwarted, Jake wagged his head. “And here we were about to cut you in on our after-dinner baseball game.”
The children gulped dessert, grabbed their baseball gloves and tramped out, arguing over teams. The men followed. Shelby stayed behind with Jake’s sisters to clear away dinner and learned how to load and start the dishwasher.
Afterward Paula, Wendy and Jake’s other sisters joined Gram Kate on the veranda. Shelby slipped up to her room for her notebook. She was on her way down to the study when Jake met her on the stairs.
“You’re not going to spend your afternoon working, surely,” he chided.
“I’m behind,” she explained.
“Good position to be in.” Grinning, he pivoted on the step. “You won’t go wrong. Fall in behind me, and I’ll take you out for some air.”
“I meant behind on my work,” she protested.
“Even God rested from His work on the seventh day.”
