COWBOY FOR SALE--A Second-Chances Spicy Romance (29 page)

Just past the main drag the houses seemed well maintained, yards neatly mowed and sidewalks swept clean. It was a pretty safe bet most of the properties were still owned by the same families. In Faythe, sons and daughters who’d left were expected to return and live in their childhood houses after their parents died. It was tradition.

Slowing to a stop, he turned left on his great-aunt’s street. Her house was the largest and oldest Victorian on the block and she’d taken pride in keeping it period inside and out. As a child he’d been reluctant to sit on the antique sofas and chairs, but she’d always insisted he treat the house as his home away from home. And her house had indeed been a refuge, probably the only way he’d survived his childhood in one piece.

As he pulled into her driveway he turned off the engine and the lights, then coasted to a stop. Every window of the old house was dark. He listened to the quiet, then tipped his head out the window to look at the night sky. It was dazzling compared to the Chicago sky he’d grown accustomed to, and he picked out some of the constellations Tillie had taught him.
If you ever
feel lost, just
find the North Star and you’ll know the way home
. She’d been patient with him and he’d soaked up the mythic stories she’d taught him of the stars and planets. It would be so good to see her again, and, for the first time in a long time, in Faythe.

As he glanced again at the front of the house, a light came on upstairs. In a few moments, another one downstairs.

She was awake.

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, knowing he’d soon be sleeping soundly in the guest room after all. He watched as a shadow moved past the parlor window, his great-aunt checking to see who was in her driveway at such an ungodly hour.

Jake got out of the car and made his way up the front walkway, then climbed the creaking front porch steps and stopped in front of the door, listening. First he tried the door bell. Not a sound. Probably one of his first repair jobs on the long list he knew she’d have waiting for him.

Though it would be difficult to slow down--he hadn’t taken a real break from working in over ten years--he was determined to honor his great-aunt’s wishes. And her plea to him for help was the one and only thing that had the power to bring him back to the town he’d tried so hard to forget.

And besides, the Stuart advertising campaign was well ahead of schedule thanks to his recent round-the-clock attention. He had a long history of coming up with award winning ideas for their line of luxury hotels--they could certainly coast for a couple of weeks. Think Tank owed him that and, more importantly,
he
owed Aunt Tillie. She’d offered him a lifeline when he was young, and if all she wanted was some help with her old Victorian, he was happy to do what he could to help her get the house ready to sell. He’d simply keep to himself and be back in Chicago as quickly as humanly possible.

He tapped with his knuckles on the beveled window glass of the front door and in a few seconds, the porch light came on.

“Aunt Tillie? Aunt Tillie, it’s me, Jake,” he said. “If you’d ever get a phone I could have called...and I’m sorry it’s so late, but I--”

The door opened a crack and a flash of orange streaked past his ankles, down the steps and into the front yard, straight toward the maple tree.

“Oh,
no
!”

The voice belonged to a young woman who appeared in the doorway as the door opened wide.

“Max!”

The woman stepped out the door and pushed past him, strands of her long curls whispering against his bare arm as she ran down the steps. Jake took a step backward and turned to watch.

The woman’s thin, white gown revealed the silhouette of every sumptuous curve of her petite body, and her reddish-brown hair cascaded to the middle of her back, dancing as she raced after the cat. Jake stared as the woman stood under the maple tree with her arms extended, calling softly.

“Max...Max...it’s okay...but you have to come
down
...” When the cat climbed higher in the tree, the woman spun around to face him.

Jake turned away from her and leaned his head inside the front door. Whoever this night nymph was, he had a feeling he’d definitely need his great-aunt to identify him.

“Are you just going to stand there?” The irritation in the woman’s voice pulled his attention back to her. Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands indignantly on her round hips. The effect of the full moon on her gown left even less to his imagination and he forced his gaze away from her body to meet her glare. And although her expression certainly defied it, she was nothing but angelic in the silvery glow of the moonlight.

“What?” In his mesmerized state, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her.

From her stance by the tree, the woman continued to stare at him, but now seemed as if she were evaluating him. Her ill-humored expression softened a degree.

Finally she spoke in a measured tone, “Would you
please
come over here? You’re probably tall enough to reach him.”

Jake closed the front door against any additional potential feline runaways, then walked down the steps to join her. Again he forced his gaze away from her fluttering gown, this time to the long-haired orange cat who sat calmly looking down at them from a thick branch.

“Can you reach him?” she asked.

“Nope. Got a ladder or a stool or something?” Jake stared at the cat who yawned as though he was already getting bored with the game he’d started.

“I’ll get a chair off the porch,” she said, twirling around and walking briskly past him. Again her long curls brushed his arm, this time leaving a scent of lilacs in the air.

Jake held both hands up toward the cat. “You better come down, Max. This lady’s not in such a lovely mood--”

To Jake’s amazement, the cat eased down the tree trunk, then stepped with great care onto a lower branch and finally into Jake’s arms. There he relaxed, nuzzled his nose into the bend of Jake’s elbow and began to purr.

“How did you
do
that?”

Jake turned to the woman and shrugged his shoulders. “We’re old friends. I didn’t think he’d remember me.” She stood in front of him holding an antique ladder-back chair to her chest, her dark eyes fixed on his.

Then it hit him. “Cory? Cory Wells?” He watched her eyes widen under now sharply raised brows, and he could see her cheeks color even in the moonlight.

“Tillie’s
your
aunt?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“She’s my great-aunt, actually. What are you doing here?”

“I moved back to Faythe to help Tillie...her health...the house...”

“Where is she? Is she still asleep after all this racket?”

Jake watched as Cory took a deep breath, then returned his stare with a rock steady gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Jake, to be the one to tell you. Tillie passed away over a month ago...she went peacefully, in her sleep.”

Jake stepped back, the trunk of the tree meeting his shoulder with a painful thud.

Meow.

Jake stared at the cat in his arms, his mind racing.
Too late. He was too late.
“I...I was in London...I didn’t know...she asked me to come, but I’m later than I thought I’d be and...”

“Jake, why don’t you come in and I can explain--”

He broke off her invitation by handing her back the cat, then he shook his head. He needed some time to adjust to what he’d done...no, what he
hadn’t
done. How could this have happened? Anger and regret pumped through his veins, burning his soul with the realization that he hadn’t been there when Tillie had needed him most.

“Jake--”

“Is the Lakeview Motel still open between here and Ellison Bay?” he asked over his shoulder, already turned away and on his way back to the car. His breath came in ragged bursts as he battled the panic that was building inside him, panic that he was about to break down, lose control of his emotions in front of Cory.

“I think so. Jake, why don’t you meet me at the attorney’s in the morning at ten,” she called after him. “Al Weismann’s office is above the hardware store--I’ll let him know to expect you. I’m sure you have lots of questions, and he’ll be able to explain things and read you the will, tell you why I’m...”

The frantic sound of Cory’s voice faded, drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. When Jake reached the car, he slid into the seat and, with shaking fingers, managed to get the key into the ignition and start the engine.

He didn’t look back at her or the house as he drove away. Instead, he put all his effort into one thing: suppressing the threat of hot tears by shutting down the flood of grief. He’d bury it deeply for now, deal with it later--a skill he’d perfected in his childhood.

With each deep breath he pushed his grief deeper and deeper until he felt numb, a wall safely built between it and his heart.

A stab of pain pulled Jake’s index finger to the side of his head to rub in deep circles at his left temple where a tension headache had already begun.

He stopped hard at the four-way; a hand-painted sign nailed to the wooden post offered the comfort he sought:
The Java Hut. Open ‘til midnight. Turn left on Cherry Street.

His old street.
Perfect
. A jolt of caffeine would help his headache if he could ingest it in time, and, more than that, he needed to stop and think.

As he drove, the thought popped into his head of how ridiculous it was for a trendy coffee place to share the block with his old man’s ramshackle clapboard house.
Well, Pop, things change...whether you like it or not.

Jake turned onto his old street and then into the parking lot of The Java Hut. He jammed on the brake, blinked hard, then twisted his neck to look over his shoulder, then back again to search for address numbers, finally finding brightly colored blue and yellow tiles above the shiny red door.
Seven thirty one.

His Porsche Boxster was parked exactly where his old bedroom should have been. To his right he should be looking at an ancient gnarled cherry tree--and not a Dumpster camouflaged by a white picket fence on which was painted a steaming cup of coffee and The Java Hut in bright red letters.

It hit him that the coffee shop was sitting precisely where his childhood home should have been.

As Jake stepped inside the shop, he watched an older woman look up from wiping down the espresso equipment. More than ever he was counting on his charm to discourage her from glancing toward the clock and noticing it was closing time.

He drew his mouth into a well-practiced killer smile. The woman returned with one of her own, then tucked an errant gray hair behind her ear.

She tossed her cleaning rag on the back counter and said, “Now, you, young man--you look like you need something strong enough to put some hair on your chest. How ‘bout I make you one of my special cappuccinos. It’ll give you a little kick to get you through whatever it is you’re trying to get through, or maybe help you get away from whatever you’re trying to get away from.”

Jake nodded. “You’re a mind reader. Sounds perfect.”

While the woman concocted her miracle drink, he settled onto a tall stool at a nearby table. Too many surprises. Too many unknowns to deal with in the middle of the night.

The woman set the cup on the table in front of him and Jake offered her another cultivated smile. “Have you worked here long?” he asked as he brought the steaming cup to his lips, then took a sip.
C’mon caffeine, do your stuff.

The woman grinned, one eyebrow lifting. “You from around here?”

“Used to live here--actually
right
here.” He emphasized his point by tapping a finger against the red and purple mosaic tabletop. “This shop is sitting exactly where my house used to be.”

“That right? Well, I’ll be damned. You’re Ralph Randall’s kid, aren’t you?” She broke into an open, friendly smile and joined him at the table.

“Jake,” he said, extending his free hand to her.

“My, my, you sure have changed.” she said putting her hand in his. “When you came in I pegged you for a big city executive-type who got himself lost. Felt sorry for you and figured the least I could do was get you a cup of coffee. I’m remembering you left Faythe for Chicago the minute you graduated--that right?”

“You know what happened to my house?”

She studied him for a moment before she answered. “Not that I really blame you much for
not
asking, but don’t you want to know what happened to your father?”

Jake opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Truth was, he really didn’t give a rat’s ass what had happened to his old man--but he couldn’t quite say the words out loud. He had Tillie to thank for that too. She’d insisted on manners and a civil tongue, especially around women.

“Your dad got sick,” the woman began, “a few years ago. Then he got so he couldn’t stay alone anymore--Alzheimer’s.” She paused, her brows pulling together. “You know about your Aunt Tillie?”