In Your Wildest Dreams (46 page)

"If you hadn't come along back there ..."

Her breath started to hitch as she recalled what she'd just endured, so he rushed a reply. "It was a matter of good timin'. God watchin' over us, I guess." His own words caught him off guard—it had been a long time since he'd given God credit for anything.

When they reached Stephanie's door, Tina rose onto her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. He looked down to find her eyes glassy with fresh tears. "Thank you again," she whispered. "And I'm sorry you got dragged into somebody else's problems."

It's my lot in life,
he thought, holding in a cynical chuckle as he gently squeezed her hand. "Your sister's the one who really deserves your thanks. She wasn't gonna let anything stand in the way of findin' you. Just let Stephanie help you and things'll work out like they should."

She mustered a small smile through her tears and seemed ready to make a getaway so she wouldn't cry in front of him. "I'll say good night now," she said, pushing her way into the room.

Which left him with Stephanie.

Her eyes looked a little glassy, too, when he peered down into them.

/ hate myself for hurting you, but I don't seem to have any other answers.
"Well,
beb,"
he said instead, past the small lump in his throat, "looks like we did what we set out to do."

She nodded, still gazing up at him.

"So I guess you'll be headin' back up to Chicago now."

Again, a nod. She looked so emotional it was killing him.

"Well, take care of yourself, and be careful. You'll do that for me, no?"

Her
lips
trembled when she said, "Wait here."

She disappeared behind the door of her room and returned a few seconds later cradling a mound of yarn in her arm, which—when she stretched it out—formed a scarf. "I finally finished it," she told him.

"This is what you were makin'," he said, remembering, " 'cause Tina showed you how." She'd told him more than once of her attempt to pick up the skill.

She gave another nod. "And I know it's ugly, and it doesn't even get cold here, but"—she rolled her eyes and thrust it at him—"here it is. A thank-you present."

He took the soft swath of loosely interwoven yarn into his hand. "I thought you were makin' it to show Tina."

"I was." She stared into his chest instead of his eyes, seeming uncomfortable, embarrassed. "But I can make another one. This one I want to give to you, even if it's a stupid gift."

"It's not a stupid gift."

She raised her eyes to his, swallowing nervously. "I thought a lot about you while I was working on it, so it just seems fitting that it should be yours."

"Thank you," he whispered.

She blinked, her features pinching slightly, looking closer to tears, until finally she threw her arms around him, pressing to him tight. "No, thank
you,"
she said softly into his chest, and he felt the warmth of her breath through his T-shirt as his arms closed firm around her. He took in the scent of her hair, the feel of her curves, one last time. "Thank you for helping me find my sister, and thank you for
...
helping me find a part of
me,
too." She pulled back, parting their bodies, and peered up at him. "Like it or not, I love you, and I'll always remember you for that." She looked at the scarf again. "Maybe you'll put this in a closet or a drawer and every now and then you'll see it and remember me."

He gazed down into her lovely blue eyes, already missing her embrace. "Despite what you might think,
chère,
I won't ever forget you. That's a promise."

She merely looked up at him, no response. He couldn't blame her. What a promise he'd just made. A promise of
...
nothing. She'd wanted so much more from him and there was a big part of him that wanted to give it to her— and still he was going to walk away.

'Take care of yourself, Stephanie Grant," he said, starting to take backward steps.

"You too," she whispered.

He shut his eyes to block the threat of tears, but opened them to take one last look. She was wearing the same outfit she'd worn to the bayou house that first night they'd made love. He knew all the beauty that hid underneath it; he knew all the fire that burned in her heart. There was more he should say to her—words he hated, like "need" and "love." But he wasn't willing to back them up—he was only willing to run away. So that's what he did, turned and walked briskly from LaRue House, and as he forced one foot in front of the other, he felt his
own
heart breaking in two—again.

Although he heard a ruckus as he approached his building, he didn't really pay attention. He lived in a seamier area of the Quarter, after all, and it was late—and God knew he had a lot on his mind.

It was only as a low sob came from the street that he peeked around the cars parked along the curb and spied Shondra kneeling on the pavement. Scruff was stretched out in front of her.

"Aw, Jesus," he muttered, breaking into a run. He dropped down next to her on his knees. "What the hell happened?"

She looked up at him, her face wet with tears,
lips
trembling. "Car."

The little guy's new leash remained attached to his new collar—Jake could only guess he'd gotten loose from her somehow.

Bending over the dog, he pressed a palm to his furry little chest until he got a heartbeat.
Thank God.
"He's not dead," he said. "We need to get him to a vet."

"But
...
I thought you aren't supposed to move people when they're injured."

Poor sweet
'tite
fille.
"He's not a person," he said gently. "And we can't leave him in the street. I'll be careful," he promised, sliding his arms beneath the dog.

Once on his feet, he told Shondra to get his keys from his front pocket and open the passenger door of the truck, nearby. Just then, a cruiser came rolling slowly past, out on patrol. "Hey!" he yelled. "Need some help over here!"

The driver's-side window descended until Jake could see the face inside—a young guy he didn't know. "What's the problem?"

He motioned to the dog in his arms. "Know an all-night vet?"

"Uh, only place I know of is over in
Métairie."

Merde.
Jake knew the place, too—he'd just hoped there was someplace closer. "Thanks," he said, carrying Scruff to the truck. He laid the dog across the seat, then Shondra and he got in from the other side.

She cried the whole trip, releasing low sniffles and broken, heavy breaths. She stroked the dog's side as they traveled and every so often checked to make sure he was still alive, announcing it each time. Jake drove like a man possessed, but at the same time, tried to take it easy so he wouldn't jostle the dog.

Ten minutes after loading the dog in the vehicle, Jake carried him into the animal hospital. "Dog's name?" a lady asked from behind the counter.

"Scruff," Shondra said.

"Owner?"

"Shondra Walters."

"And who will be paying the bill tonight, Shondra?" Jake stepped up. "Me."

The woman glanced back and forth between them. "And you're
...
her father?" "I'm a friend."

The woman nodded, but Jake thought she still looked uncertain.

A few minutes later, Scruff was carried back to the vet. He and Shondra sat side by side in the brightly
ht
waiting room, where photos of playful puppies and kittens adorned the walls.

"Think he'll be okay?" she asked, glancing up.

He had no idea, of course, but nodded. "He's a tenacious little mutt—he isn't goin' anywhere."

She pursed her
lips
and he could see her trying to look strong. Funny, he'd never seen Shondra look scared— until now.

"Were you on your way home from work when you saw us?" she asked. "Or on your way home from Stephanie?"

"Work."
And
Stephanie. "Why?"

"Just
...
I thought if you had a late date planned with her after work or somethin', you should call her."

God, that stung. He would have loved to have a late date with Stephanie. He just gave his head a short shake. "No, no date."

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you think somethin's wrong?"

She shrugged. "You're just actin'
...
like you used to, at first. Like you're pissed at somebody. You and Stephanie have a fight or somethin' ?"

He kept his gaze trained on a beagle puppy on the opposite wall. "We broke up."

To his shock, Shondra gasped. "Why?"

He peered down at her, deciding he should try to relax her. "Not that big of a deal,
'tite
fille.
We just
...
couldn't work some things out."

"What things?" she asked, sounding calmer.

Jake swallowed. "She wanted more than I could give her."

She blinked, looking bewildered. "Like money?"

"No." He shook his head. "Like
...
a more serious relationship than I was into. That's all."

"Why weren't you into it? You didn't feel the same way?"

"Not that exactly." If anyone else asked him such nosy questions, he'd tell them to go to hell. Not Shondra, though. He couldn't help wanting to teach her about life, what to expect, how to survive. It was just hard sometimes knowing how much to say.

"Well, then,
what
exactly?"

"Remember I told you about my wife, who died?"

She nodded.

"Thing is, it just doesn't feel right to have a serious relationship with somebody else. Makes me feel guilty."

She blinked and he sat there waiting for her to think he was a noble guy, but her expression said something else. "I don't mean to get all up in your business, but if you ask me, that's pretty damn stupid."

He flinched, widening his eyes on her. "How do you figure, O wise one?"

She tilted her head, clearly considering her answer, then looked down at the black sandals Stephanie had picked out for her. "Well, if I was your wife, and / died"— she-lifted her gaze back to him—"I'd want you to hook up with somebody else and be happy. It'd be real selfish to expect you to stay all faithful to me, since I couldn't be with you no more. Know what I mean?"

She was blushing a little, but he pretended not to see it. And her reasoning made sense, yet
..
. "Thing is, it's a lot more complicated than I can explain." /
caused her death.

Shondra didn't need to know
that
sort of horrible truth— that you can love someone and still be responsible for letting them die.

She only shrugged. "I'm just sayin'
...
I don't think your wife would want you to be alone. You've seemed a lot happier than when I first met you, and I figured it was Stephanie makin' you that way. I
liked
you that way."

As the office's inner door opened and the vet came through, Jake and Shondra both stood up. "How is he?" she asked with anxious eyes.

The doctor—a clean-cut guy about Jake's age—smiled warmly, and already Jake knew the mutt was gonna make it. "Scruff's a tough little guy and he's going to be okay," the doc said.

"See, what'd I tell ya?" Jake added with a light smile.

She smiled back and he felt a little like a hero again.

"He's got a concussion and a bump on the head, but both of those will go away and he'll be good as new in no time."

"For real?" Shondra asked, her gaze gone wide.

"Absolutely," the vet said. "You'll want to take it easy getting him home, and he might move a little slow for the next day or so, but after that, he'll be just fine."

Shondra gave a little jump for joy, grabbing onto Jake's arm. "Did you hear that? He's gonna be fine, Jake! Good as new!"

Jake put his arm around her shoulder, happy and relieved on her behalf. Then he caught the eye of the receptionist—the woman was watching them, and looking at him like he was a child molester. Pissed off, he pulled his arm away.