A Promise Of Home (A Lake Howling Novel Book 1) (6 page)

“What the hell are you doing, you crazy Irish woman?”

Yesterday, her head had been too fuzzy to really check him over, but today she wasn’t so lucky. In school he’d been big, but his body hadn’t filled out yet, but now it definitely had. He was one of those rare men that were big and graceful; she admired his long, even strides as he stalked towards her. Curls the color of chocolate caramel stood off his head, eyes black as midnight, large fists clenched. His movements were easy, even though he was angry. He wore a worn gray T-shirt with a tear in the shoulder over a broad chest and old shorts that stopped above his knees…and he was indecently handsome.

“About what?”

He stopped before her and drew in a deep breath through his nose, which Branna guessed was because his teeth were clenched.

“You’re not in Washington now, Branna, you’re not just a number; people here actually care what happens to you, and breaking out of the clinic in the middle of the night is not endearing you any to me or the rest of the community,” his words were deep and angry.

She didn’t want to feel guilty about what she’d done, but damn, he was making her.

“Annabelle woke and panicked, my mother thinks you’re probably lying injured in a gutter somewhere, and if I’d have seen you walk out of that clinic, I’d have blistered your ears so bad they’d still be ringing.”

She’d never seen Jake McBride snarl. In school, he was the good guy, the boy everyone wanted to be near. He’d had a way about him that drew people to his side, and he’d pretty much been nice to everyone, except her, because she hadn’t wanted anyone to be nice to her and she definitely hadn’t reciprocated in the kindness stakes the few times he tried. In fact, not that much had changed, she realized, except that age had taught her how to be polite while keeping everyone a good arm’s length away.

She felt a stab of remorse, thinking about Annabelle and Doctor McBride; she hadn’t meant to upset them, she’d just hated being in that clinic and wasn’t used to taking other people’s feelings into consideration, so she’d just done what she needed to do and left.

“That’s a threat, McBride and I’m reporting you.”

“Good, and I’ll tell Cubby Hawker that you have a head injury and are a few brain cells shy of the regulation dozen.”

He really was mad; a muscle was ticking in his jaw and he looked mean, but Branna refused to let herself be impressed with just how awesome he looked. She was not going to fall into that trap again; school had been bad enough. She’d spent too many hours lusting after this man, who was then a boy and trying to hide it.

“Cubby Hawker is the local sheriff?”

“And a mighty fine one.”

“Wow?” She tried to picture the little tubby red-haired boy she’d known as an authority figure and came up short.

“You do realize that you have a head injury, right?”

“I’m fine, McBride. Go home and tell your mother that.” Branna picked up her suitcase, then let out a yelp as two hands lifted her off her feet, and suddenly she was heading towards the house with her feet dangling off the ground.

“Put me down!”

He did, in a chair and then knelt before her so their eyes were level, and Branna’s throat went suddenly dry at the anger that pinned her back in the seat.

“I read a study on head injuries when I was in med school and that was after I saw a student hit his head from a fall. The same day, he hit it again, this time playing ball with his friends. Two days later, he was dead and I wanted to know why. Turns out, he had a brain bleed.

“Jake, there’s no need for this; truly, I’m fine.”

“Recite the high school pledge for me.”

Branna smiled, she knew that off by heart, as they’d had to say it every day before class. Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but nothing came out, because she couldn’t pull the words from her head.

“How about, naming three of your teachers in our final year?” he asked.

Branna literally drew a blank and he knew it, as she mumbled that she couldn’t remember because it was so long ago, which, of course, was a lie, as she remembered everything. It was her curse. Her brain refused to reject things. It stored and cataloged and she could recall any fact, no matter how much she wanted to forget it.

“The thing about head injuries, Branna, is they come back and bite you in the ass if you don’t take the proper precautions. Now, while it’s my opinion that, because you’re an adult, it’s your right to make dumb decisions and go to hell your own way, it’s not my mother’s. Unfortunately, she does care about the choices you make and she’s one of the few people I give a damn about, so I’m not having her beating herself up because some thick headed Irish idiot won’t do as she’s told.”

“B-but I feel all right.” She was shocked that she couldn’t remember those things and trying to find them inside her head was making it hurt.

“Well, obviously, you’re not.” Standing, he went out the door, and she wondered if he was leaving, now that he’d made his point, but he was simply collecting the suitcase she’d left outside, as he reappeared seconds later.

“You don’t have to—” He ignored her and stomped up the stairs to drop her case in the bedroom. Over the next thirty minutes, she watched him unload every item in her van. She tried to stop him, but he just carried right on and Branna was too tired to fight him. Truth be told, she was shocked over her failing memory. That, above all things, had stopped her from leaving the chair.

“Where does this go?” He held a large leafy plant that was as tall as him, which made him have to speak to her through the fat shiny leaves.

“In here, please.”

He placed it in the corner, and Branna admired his tight muscled butt as he bent to put it down. He really was a fine looking man, if a really angry one. She’d been without one so long that it was hardly surprising she was enjoying the view. After all, she was breathing and pretty much any girl with a pulse would appreciate the man before her.

“That’s it, now you don’t move from this house; you don’t lift anything or watch too much TV.” His dark brows had drawn together as he glared down at her. He wasn’t even breathing heavy from all that lifting; no sweat slicked his brow. “No driving either, I don’t want the citizens of Howling hurt.”

“No driving?” Branna queried.

“No, if you need anything, call someone.”

She wasn’t about to point out that she didn’t have anyone to call here in Howling, except maybe Annabelle, and she wasn’t really sure where they stood, which was pretty pathetic, considering she’d lived here for three years.

“Where’s your phone?” One large hand extended towards her, and Branna was fairly certain he’d pat her down if she didn’t pull it out of her back pocket and hand it to him, so she did. Handing it back to her minutes later, he then turned on his heel and left. No goodbye, no raised hand, no see you around, he just left, started that big green pickup, and rolled out of her driveway.

Looking through her phone, she saw he’d put the clinic number in it, but not his. What had happened to the Jake McBride she’d known all those years ago? The man who now carried his name seemed angry. Visions of yesterday filtered into her head, the way he had carried her, the hand that had run down her back, and the feel of her fingers in his. Those were the actions of the boy she’d once known, so he was obviously still in there. But something had made him change so that now his smile wasn’t as bright.

Resting her head, Branna let her eyes sweep the room. Georgie and her husband Dan, plus Annabelle, had been the only ones in the three years she spent in Howling who’d seen through the surly young girl she’d been and it had been with them that she’d finally found peace. It had broken her heart when Dan had died while she was here. After the death of her mother, to lose him had nearly destroyed Branna, as it had Georgie, but they had clung to each other, and through that found the strength to go on.

The little house was still full of their things. Georgie’s clothes had gone, but everything else was still here. The chairs she and Dan had sat in were still in the same place with the little lace head covers. Georgie had made those and tried to teach Branna to stitch some herself, but after much scolding and hilarity, she’d failed. Instead, she’d brought out the knitting needles, and Branna, surprisingly, had been good at that, and still knitted today.

Climbing out of the chair, she made her way to the sofa, where she pulled the cream knitted blanket she’d made Georgie from the arm, then curled up and let her mind drift and let the memories settle around her.

The sound of a car woke Branna. Sitting upright, she rubbed her eyes. Her head felt better, steadier. Searching her memory for the high school pledge, she still drew a blank, however, which was unsettling.

“If you make me coffee, I may just forgive you by Christmas, and as that’s still a good few months away, you have some work to do.”

Branna found herself smiling as Annabelle Smith appeared in her doorway. Unlike yesterday, she was dressed casually today, as a concession to the heat; she wore a floaty pale pink tank top and white shorts that showed off the endless length of her long legs, teamed with white sandals and her toes painted to match her top; she could have stepped out of any fashion magazine. Over her shoulder was slung a buttery colored bag.

“You still got that color thing happening, I see, Smith,” Branna climbed off the sofa.

“Always will have and don’t change the subject.” She walked into the house carrying a brown bag from which delicious smells were coming.

“Coffee, now!”

“I’ve got a head injury,” Branna complained, as she walked to the kitchen. “Be gentle.”

“You play another trick like that, and it’ll be more than a head injury you end up with.”

Branna struggled one-handed to put the coffee on, and then took a deep breath before facing her old friend.

“I’m sorry, Belle, really sorry; it was never my intention to hurt anyone. I just needed to get out of there; you know how I am in those kinds of places, and the reasons why.”

“You’re not fifteen anymore.”

“I know it,” Branna sighed. “But I’m no better for the years that have passed; in fact, I’m probably worse.”

“Worse how?”

Belle started getting cups and rinsing them out, as they hadn’t been used in some time. She then started foraging through the supplies Branna had brought with her.

Branna leaned on a cabinet and watched while she tried to think about what to say. She wasn’t big on confidence sharing; she wasn’t big on friends either, for that matter. In fact, this woman was probably the only true friend she’d had since her mother’s death, but Belle knew pretty much everything there was to know about her. Over the three years they had been friends, Branna had unloaded her fears, her angers, and everything else that was personal to her onto her shoulders and Belle had simply listened and not judged, then offered the one thing Branna had needed, friendship.

“Come on Bran, spill, you know I’ll get it all out of you anyway.”

She laughed, and it felt good. Branna could feel the comfort of what they’d once had again, the teasing and companionship that had always been there for them.

“Going to Washington was what I wanted when I left here. WSU offered me anonymity, a place to be a face but nothing more. I worked hard and passed with flying colors, but I never formed any connections like I did here with you and Georgie and Dan and over time it was just easier to be that way. I guess when I walked out of the clinic yesterday, I did so without thinking about you or Doctor McBride, because that was what I’ve always done. I’m not good about thinking of anyone else but me,” Branna said honestly.

Belle added the milk. “It bothered me that you were going to WSU two years younger than everyone else and with all those issues you always had.”

“Two years was a lot at that age,” Branna conceded. She’d skipped grades because of her intelligence, which had done more to hinder her than help.

“And there was me thinking that you’d be partying in Washington, making friends, and doing the wild thing,” Belle said.

Branna took the cup she was handed and followed Belle back to the living room. She took Dan’s chair, so Branna took Georgie’s, which was now hers. Belle put the bag of delicious smells on the small table between them.

“Did you get these from Buster? Because he picked me up this morning and gave me a muffin that tasted like ambrosia.”

“No other place like it. That man can bake.”

Branna bit into the muffin and made a small appreciative noise. “So, why has Howling’s most adored son turned into the ice-man, Belle?”

“Ha, ask me about the national deficit; it’d be easier than trying to understand Jake McBride.”

“Yes, I noticed how surly he’s become.”

“You two should get on fine now; he avoids people too.” Belle swallowed a mouthful of coffee and sighed. “Jake trained as a doctor, then went into the US Medical Corps and I know he was in Iraq, because I work with his mother and she was scared the entire time he was there. Then, one day, a year ago, he came home and started fixing everyone’s cars and he’s still doing it, much to Doctor McBride’s confusion.”

“Okay, so that explains the flashlight thing he did with my eyes, and the lecture I got this morning about head injuries, but not why a trained doctor is now a mechanic.”

Belle thought about that for a few seconds as she took another bite and Branna realized that she was happy to be sitting here with her old, maybe still, friend. She was not on edge with Belle; sharing confidences and gossiping wasn’t making her itch like it normally did with anyone else.

“I don’t actually know the details, because Jake keeps his problems pretty close to his chest, and while we’re friends, Buster and that Texan Tomcat are the only ones he talks to. His mom won’t talk about it either, just gets all choked up if you try to. So, I just let it go, but I have to say, it eats the hell out of me not knowing what makes that man tick,” Belle said.

Branna laughed. Belle loved to know everyone’s business, always had, even in school.

“He’s certainly filled out some.”

“He’s a hot, sexy hunk of man is what he is and that belligerent attitude only makes him hotter,” Belle sighed.