Have Gown, Need Groom (13 page)

“That one,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically emotional. “I think it needs a home.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jake parked the Jeep in front of Hannah’s, frustrated and tired. He hadn’t learned anything about Mimi and Joey from the tree-hunting adventure, except that DeLito was about as enthusiastic a tree-hunter as Jake himself. He also sensed tension between Mimi and DeLito and wondered what had caused the rift.

“Okay, where do you want it?” he asked, juggling the scraggly tree down from his Cherokee. Slinging it over his shoulder, he followed Hannah into her house. He didn’t understand why Hannah had chosen the lopsided spruce when the woods had been filled with sturdy pines rich in needles.

“In the den.” Hannah led the way through the entrance to the hall. The fine antiques and old-fashioned accessories were so different from his own place he found himself staring at them, studying the details. The family photos on the wall, the lace doilies that looked like they’d been handcrafted by a loving grandmother’s fingers.

“Just sit it in the corner by the fireplace.”

He lowered the spruce, careful not to knock the antique coffee table and the small tea set spread daintily on the gleaming wood surface.

Within seconds, she’d located a tree stand and he settled the tree inside, frowning when he let go and the tree teetered sideways.

Hannah laughed. “I think it’s leaning because the branches are so much fuller on the right side.”

He tried to readjust the base, but only managed to make it worse.

Hannah laughed harder. “I’m not sure it’s going to stand up straight. I may have to get Dad’s old belt.”

Jake arched a brow from where he’d stooped. “What?”

“Dad’s belt.” Hannah dug through the box and produced a strip of green plaid flannel. “Dad used to take turns letting us choose the tree. The first year Alison chose, the tree was so lopsided it would hardly stand. Then Mimi made things worse by hanging all the decorations on one side. Dad had to tie the tree trunk to the wall so it wouldn’t fall over.”

Jake chuckled, awed by the close-knit family. He stood back, scrutinizing the problem, then dropped down and worked to right it, finally leveling the base off with the saw and aligning the trunk. Hannah rummaged through the box of decorations on the Victorian settee.

“If you need to get going, I can finish,” Hannah said.

Did she want him to leave?

“No, I can stay,” Jake said, knowing Wiley would still be at the dealership and DeLito and Mimi and Alison were delivering the bigger tree to Wiley’s house.

She unwrapped a string of tiny white lights and handed him one end. Odd, how easily they seemed to work together. His height enabled him to reach the taller branches while Hannah draped the lights along the lower ones. Finally, Jake climbed the ladder and placed a white angel on top. Hannah plugged in the lights and the angel and the room lit up with sparkling white lights reminiscent of snowflakes.

“It is beautiful,” Hannah admitted.

Hearing the soft admiration in her voice touched a chord inside him. He swallowed, catching the sweetness of her smile as she began lifting ornaments from the box.

“You have a lot of decorations,” he commented, surprised that several ornaments seemed to be handmade, not expensive crystal or china or glass balls as he’d expected.

“My dad’s a packrat. Every year he gave us an ornament for Christmas,” Hannah explained. “He kept all the decorations we made at school, too. And my Grammy Rose sends us a homemade ornament in our stocking each year. She always writes the date on the bottom.”

Jake studied the simple reindeer made from a clothes-pin and felt, the crocheted little pig, the handpainted teddy bears and punched-tin stars. Hannah Hartwell’s tree painted a picture of loving family memories—something he’d never had.

He shifted and stared at his hands. Her whole family was starting to get under his skin in an odd way. Not a good sign. Emotions had no place in police work. And neither did getting involved with a suspect or a relative of one.

A twinge of panic hit him. He needed to hurry up and unearth the truth about the car ring before he found himself getting attached to the oddball bunch.
If
it wasn’t already too late.

H
ANNAH HAD TRIED
her best to keep the conversation light while they’d decorated the Christmas tree but sharing the nostalgic ornaments had somehow seemed so intimate. Occasionally she’d glimpsed a sadness in Jake’s eyes, a longing and hunger both sexual and emotional, a hunger she doubted he knew she could see. He’d revealed a lot about himself when he’d mentioned the aluminum tree, and then again when he’d become melancholy over her description of the handmade ornaments her family traded every year. He wanted his own ornament, his own tree she realized, sadly, maybe even his own family or place to belong. Only she doubted the big proud man would ever admit it.

Maybe she was becoming psychic, she thought, finding the idea not quite as unsettling as she once might have.

Or maybe he was her destiny—her soulmate?

Then again, maybe Dr. McCoy was wrong, and she was wrong about Jake, and she was losing her mind.

If she’d learned anything from her own childhood, she knew that trying to change someone to fit a mold didn’t work. Her mother wasn’t the settle-down type and they couldn’t make her stay—Jake was a drifter and would leave, too.

He flipped off the lamp on the end table, stood back, folded his big arms and admired the tree, his mouth twisting up in a smile. White lights glittered from the tree branches like diamonds. “You did a good job, doc.”

“Thanks for your help,” Hannah said softly.

His gaze met hers, a reminder of the times their fingers had brushed as they’d hung the treasured ornaments, the way his voice had sounded low and husky as he’d said her name. Desire stirred along her nerve endings, rippling into a tidal wave of need as his dark gaze raked over her.

He was going to kiss her, Hannah realized, when his gaze fell to her lips.

She parted them in anticipation, the heady scent of his hunger like an aphrodisiac to her heart. His hand rose to cup her chin, to trace a featherlight line over her lips, then to slide into her hair. Tilting his head sideways, he threaded his fingers in her hair, drawing her to him with a moan of desire that broke the silence humming between them.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured just before their mouths met. Their tongues collided, mating and dancing in a frenzy; their hands found each other, clinging and holding on as passion erupted, breaking down fragile walls of restraint. Hannah sighed in contentment when his arms embraced her, nestling into his body as if she’d been sculpted to fit against his frame. Her pulse beat wildly as he trailed hot kisses over her neck, as his hands covered her breasts, as his blatant arousal pounded against her belly.

She dug her hands into his hair, sweeping her tongue along his face, groaning in pleasure when his mouth dipped to suck at her breasts through the soft knit of her sweater. “In the bedroom,” she whispered, urging him to follow.

He didn’t release her, merely walked her backward, his hands and mouth everywhere on her fevered skin. Heat rose in Hannah, nearly setting her ablaze, all coherent thought lost in the moment. His hands slid beneath her sweater to cup her breasts, hers lifted the buttons loose from his shirt. They entered her darkened bedroom, still clutching one another, the air between them humming with sultry looks and touches. Hannah felt something press against her leg, something hard and cold, blocking her path to the bed. She glanced down and, through the dim moonlight streaming in the window, recognized the hope chest.

The dreams of her wedding brought her back to reality.

She’d vowed to save herself for her husband. She’d promised to wait until she’d given her heart before she gave herself. And while she
feared
she might be falling in love with Jake, she’d still only known him a short time.

And she had no idea how he felt about her.

Jake slid his hand to the hem of her sweater and the silly folk legend rose to haunt her. She caught his hands, halting his movements, then slowly looked into his eyes. Shadowed by desire, his eyes had darkened to black, had filled with emotions and turmoil that was almost frightening.

She panicked and pulled away, tears filling her eyes. He toppled backward, bumped his backside against the doorknob.

“I can’t…Jake, I’m sorry. Are you all right?” She gestured toward his injury.

He nodded, unaware of the reason she had denied him as he massaged his aching hip.

“I really am sorry,” she whispered, hating the quiver in her voice. “But…it’s just too soon. I…we barely know each other.”

“And we’re too different,” he said, a low, almost hurt edge to his voice.

“No.” Even as Hannah denied his accusation, she knew he spoke the truth, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it. It was the very reason she didn’t stop him when he turned and walked away.

A
NGER BALLED
a knot in Jake’s stomach as he drove away from Hannah’s—anger that Hannah had been right. He was a fool for allowing himself almost to sleep with her. It would only make things harder for him to walk away. And he
would
walk away. Better to do it with the least amount of damage possible. Why hadn’t he been able to control himself?

Maybe passion had momentarily taken its toll, but once daylight had broken she would have regretted her impetuous decision. He was simply a rebound affair for her, someone to ease the confusion over her breakup with Broadhurst. And once Broadhurst returned, she’d be reminded of their differences.

Hell, she’d probably decide she’d been crazy to cancel her wedding and go running back to the man.

He should be glad.

Because somewhere deep inside, he had a feeling if he slept with Hannah, he would lose his heart. And he wasn’t ready to give it up—not completely.

Although he suspected his loss of control might be due to the fact that he already had given a small part of it to Hannah.

Details from the case bombarded his musings, confusing him even more. He’d already sent the info about the woman DeLito had met to headquarters. And he still didn’t know for sure if Mimi and Wiley were involved. They might already have the proof he needed to wind up the case, and he could leave Sugar Hill this week.

Forcing himself back to work, he hurried home and called his partner.

“Muldoon here…. What the hell are you doing calling me so late?”

Jake grimaced. “I’ve been out of touch all day. Did you find anything on DeLito or the woman who met him? I sent her photograph in yesterday.”

“DeLito has an alias, Tony Leery. He has priors for auto theft, fraud, forging signatures, writing bad checks, the list goes on and on.”

Exactly the kind of report Jake had expected. “What about the woman?”

“All we know so far is that her name is Buffy. I’ll call you tomorrow when I find out more.”

Jake hung up, shucked his clothes and went to the refrigerator. Mumbling beneath his breath, he dug through the food Wiley had sent and yanked out contents and made a sandwich. With a beer in one hand and a roast beef sandwich in the other, he slumped onto his sofa and stared at the empty den. Hannah’s house had seemed so cozy and full of life, especially with the Christmas tree lighting up the room.

He flipped on the lamp and told himself to get over it. He was alone, always would be. And he didn’t mind being alone. At least, he never had before he’d met Hannah Hartwell.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Hannah saw the Broadhursts walking the halls with the chief of staff, their speculative gazes tracking the ER to make certain things were being run efficiently. A jelly-smeared toddler escaped her mother’s hand and barreled toward the soda machine in a nearby waiting area, plowing into Mrs. Broadhurst and wiping jelly on the woman’s white pants.

Mrs. Broadhurst shrieked.

Hannah almost laughed. The mother darted forward and retrieved her little escapee, chastising her in a soft voice. Mrs. Broadhurst glared at Hannah as if she’d ordered the little girl to maul her. With rumors still running rampant in the halls, she imagined she’d be getting called into the chief of staff’s office any minute now.

She walked past the nurses’ station and saw the doors open and a team of paramedics rush in.

“Head injury here!”

“I’m with you,” Dr. Porter shouted, motioning the paramedics toward him.

“Patient’s going into cardiac arrest!” another team yelled, rushing through the corridor.

Dr. Roberts jogged toward the gurney. “Room five. Get the paddles ready!”

Tiffany hauled around the corner from an exam room, issuing orders to the orderlies and assistants to send for blood and other needed equipment. With a click of her teeth, she glanced at Hannah, her face solemn. “We’ve got some crazy kook who thinks he’s Napoleon in room one. I’m calling psych for a consult.”

Hannah sighed. She had just finished a close call with a suicide, had sent the patient to the psych ward herself. Dropping her sterile gloves into the bin, she headed to the locker room, grateful her shift had ended. Pausing momentarily, she whispered a heartfelt prayer for any incoming patients.

She thought of her family as she did so often in the ER. Alison. And Jake.

But Jake wasn’t family.

Maybe he could be, a tiny voice whispered. Maybe you should give him a chance—
take
a chance and not be afraid to open your heart.

Guilt plagued her for leading him on the night before, for inviting him to her bedroom, then pushing him away. He probably thought she was some kind of tease. She wanted him to understand her reluctance, that making love to her meant giving her heart. Rationalizing that the hope chest had brought her back to her senses didn’t seem to help since the darned hope chest had triggered her migration from sanity in the first place.

She tightened the ribbon around her ponytail, hunched her shoulders and left the locker room, ignoring the curious glances from two nurses. More gossip today—apparently they claimed Hannah had been cavorting around with one of her father’s salesmen.