Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (7 page)

No, he could only depend on himself.

But lunch was the least he could do for the woman who hadn't given up when they'd found the shelter's office closed, who'd encouraged him to investigate further. Thanks to Violet, Jake now had a lead on someone who possibly knew Remy.

He'd give his favorite hammer for one of the ladies at Dotty's Dippity-Do to call him with information on Remy.

* * *

“Now, that's the kind of smell a man wants to have hit his nose when he walks into a place.”

The aroma of pizza dough and tangy tomato sauce filled the air as Violet and Jake waited to be seated in a nondescript pizza parlor in a hole-in-the-road town between Atlanta and Appleton.

Glad she'd agreed to come along, she hoped to get to know him better during lunch. To find out more about this man who was in charge of Abigail's care. To make sure he was as dependable as he seemed.

“You don't like the smell of permanent solution, huh?” she asked with a smirk.

“No way. I don't know why women with straight hair want curly hair anyway. And why women with curly hair want straight hair. Men just like it to be clean and silky so we can run our fingers through it.”

Violet's face flamed and probably matched the sauce on the pizza at the table beside them. She couldn't look at Jake until her face cooled.

And even then, she couldn't forget the thought of him running his fingers through her hair.

“Come on back,” said the hostess. She led them to a booth along the wall, tossed down menus and then hurried away.

“I like my pizza with thick crust and double meat,” Jake said. “You?”

“Uh-oh. I like mine thin with veggies.” She leaned her chin on her hand and gave him a smart-alecky smile. “I guess you lose.”

“Oh, I don't think so.” He winked at her. “They sell it by the slice.”

His wink made her stomach do a pirouette.

The waitress arrived, and they placed their order. Because the women's restroom was more likely to have a changing table, Violet offered to take Abigail for a diaper change. When she returned, Jake had his cell phone on the table.

“I haven't gotten a response yet from Peace House. I thought maybe I'd email again now that I know more about the shelter.”

“Okay.” Violet passed the diaper bag back to Jake.

He took Abigail, popped a pacifier in her mouth, then put her in her carrier beside him on the vinyl seat of the booth. “In my original email, I only said I was looking for my cousin, Remy West, who'd given the shelter's address as her last place of residence.”

“Then I definitely think you need to mention she left Abigail with you and that you're trying to get hold of her to discuss Remy returning to get her child.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

As he typed in the text of the email, she watched his big, calloused fingers stumble over the letters, backtrack and then try again.

He had a cut on the back of his hand that was mostly healed and a new, red and tender scrape on one of his knuckles. Various scars marked previous wounds. He'd probably injured himself on the job numerous times, carrying on without giving the nicks, cuts and bruises a moment's notice.

Had he done the same thing with his bruised heart after his parents died? And what about after any women had broken his heart?

“Tell me what you think,” he said, handing her the phone.

In the message, he'd explained the situation and then asked Ms. Phillips, the director, to please pass along word to Remy that Jake was worried and wanted her to email or call him.

“Looks good.”

“Then let's send it.” After hitting the send button, he put the phone in his pocket.

Violet wanted to smooth the little divot of tension from between Jake's eyebrows. “Don't worry. I think she'll answer this time.”

The waitress swooped in and delivered two plates covered in the largest slices of pizza she'd ever seen.

“Enjoy,” she said. “I'll bring drink refills ASAP.”

Abigail had fallen asleep sucking on the pacifier and napped peacefully. Violet put her napkin in her lap and reached for the fork.

Jake reached across the table. “Let's say a blessing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He opened his hand, palm side up.

She swallowed and put her hand in his. As she'd imagined, his was warm and work-roughened. But she didn't mind—only thought it felt strong and capable.

His blessing over their meal included a request for God to reunite Remy and Abigail. A prayer that left tears in her eyes at his heartfelt plea.

With a brief squeeze of her hand, he released her. As he picked up his fork, she noticed he once again looked worried.

“What are you thinking about that's got your brow wrinkled?” she asked.

“You.”

Her hand stilled on the fork. “Me?”

“I hope you'll still stand by your word to give me time to locate Remy. At this point, I think we're at the mercy of Ms. Phillips.”

Oh.
Disappointment slid in to replace the initial thrill that he'd been thinking of her.

She wanted to huff at her silliness. Why had she set herself up for that roller coaster of emotion? “Of course I will. I gave my word.”

“Thanks.” He resumed eating with gusto. But no sooner had he bitten off a huge bite than Abigail startled and began to fuss.

Attempting to sweet-talk Abigail, Jake spoke in a high-pitched voice while he rocked the carrier.

Impressed, Violet watched as the infant quickly settled and went back to sleep.

She had to admit her opinion of him was quickly changing. All week she'd sensed a gap between the villain she'd imagined and the man sitting across from her rocking a car seat and talking baby talk. Was she allowing him to sway her? Would she lose her objectivity?

Still, she was pleased—and relieved—to see that Abigail was in good hands.

Having arrived at the middle of her slice of pizza, she put down her fork, picked up the wedge and chomped off a mouthful. The oozing cheese stretched until it pulled apart and the string hit her chin.

Jake snickered. “I love watching you go after that pizza, determined to conquer it. Like you do everything else—no holds barred.”

He hadn't seemed so thrilled when she went about buying the pediatric practice. “So you think of that as a positive trait rather than negative?”

He seemed taken aback by her question. “Well, positive for the most part. As long as it's for good, and no one gets hurt in the process. Like today, when you didn't give up after finding the shelter office closed.”

At least he didn't mention his aunt and uncle. “Yeah, I'm pretty driven.”

“Why is that?”

If only she could throw out something simple, some adversity all teenagers faced that had made her stronger. But no, she had a much more complicated story. A story she never shared. “I had a falling out with my parents late in high school. Struck out on my own after graduation. Put myself through college, worked hard for good grades, got in med school. I had to be driven to make it through that.”

“What caused the falling out?” He chugged some sweet iced tea and looked at her with a pleasant expression, as if expecting a typical answer.
Overbearing rules, disapproval of her goals, didn't like her friends.

What would he say if she told him she'd gotten pregnant, and when she said she wanted to keep the baby, they refused to support her, whisked her away to her aunt and uncle's house in another state and arranged for an adoption?

“Just the regular stuff,” she said.

No one outside her hometown knew her secret and she preferred to keep it that way. She'd enjoyed the freedom from people judging her or, worse, the looks of pity.

“Seems to me it would take more than the standard disagreements to cause a total break with someone as important as your mom and dad.”

“I was sorry to learn your parents died when you were young. What happened?”

He wiped a napkin over his mouth. “They were killed in a car accident. I was six.” His eyes crinkled as he grimaced. “I can't imagine refusing to see my parents over an argument or ‘regular stuff.' I'd trade my right arm to have them back.”

Shame burned her face. Shame and dread. Because if she and Jake became friends, she would eventually need to tell him the whole truth—how she'd failed everyone who loved and trusted her and then, when faced with the consequences of her mistake, was too weak to stand up to keep her own child. “I'm sorry for your loss. I understand how you must think my behavior ridiculous.”

She excused herself to go to the restroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror, pressing a damp paper towel to her cheeks.

Every time she relived those moments, regret nearly ate her alive.

What if she had been brave enough to strike out on her own, deliver the baby and keep him? Would her life be full and happy now?

Violet dabbed the cool cloth to her neck. Took several deep breaths to gather herself. She'd come to lunch to get to know Jake better. But she'd ended up faced with her own baggage.

Being around Abigail was messing with her mind.

Being around Jake was making her feel vulnerable, as if his good opinion mattered.

But she didn't need Jake or his good opinion. She didn't need anyone.

* * *

Jake jolted awake to total quiet. Bolted straight up in bed, looking at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning. Panic sent his heartbeat racing. Was something wrong with Abigail?

He sprinted to her room and stood over the travel crib. Her deep, even breaths left him weak-kneed with relief, his reaction to Abigail sleeping through the night exactly as Violet had said it might be.

Apparently, they'd worn out the little gal with their trip to Atlanta the day before.

Eager to see if Remy had emailed him, he hurried to the kitchen, bypassed the coffeepot and went straight to his laptop.

An email from the shelter director was in his box. Once again, his heart raced. This could be big news.

Clicking on the message, he held his breath.

Dear Mr. West,

At this time, Remy is not willing to share her contact information. However, she gave me permission to pass along this message:

Jake, I appreciate you caring. I'm doing well. But I have no desire for contact since it will be easier on me, and better for the baby, to make a clean break.

Love, Remy

Jake jammed a hand through his hair.
The baby.
Remy hadn't even called Abigail by her name. As if distancing herself from her child.

At this time?
Did that mean Ms. Phillips thought Remy would change her mind down the road? Was it a subtle message to be patient and not give up?

This cloak-and-dagger stuff was going to make him crazy.

He needed to talk to Violet. To get her take on the email. Maybe she'd be on her patio having her morning coffee and watching the sunrise.

He stepped outside and, sure enough, she sat in the semi-dark in shorts and a T-shirt...barefoot...leaning over the table, the light from her tablet illuminating her face.

Always busy, always working. As if she felt she couldn't afford to stop.

Or didn't deserve to?

Not wanting to startle her by calling out her name, he stepped into his yard and waved until she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up.

“Good morning. Can you come over when you get a minute?”

“Sure.” She carried her tablet and coffee mug back into her house and then a moment later reappeared wearing flip-flops.

“Hey,” he said when she met him in his yard, looking bright-eyed and sunny...beautiful without makeup, even with a little poof on one side of her hair, as if she'd gone straight from bed to her morning routine.

“Good morning.”

An awkward silence fell over them. There was something intimate about meeting before dawn in the middle of dewy grass, her hair rumpled from sleep.

He coughed and shoved the thought out of his mind. “Um. I got an email from the director.”

“Really? That's great news.”

“No, it's not good news. Do you have time to come read it?”

She nodded and followed him inside.

Violet took a seat at the table, tapped the touchpad to wake the laptop and stared at the screen. Her eyebrows drew downward as she read. “I guess this is good news and bad.”

He sat beside her, leaning his arms on the table. “Definitely see the bad. How do you see good?”

“Someone responsible knows where Remy is so that means she's probably safe.”

“Good point. I got so caught up on Remy wanting a clean break that I didn't think of that.”

“But this also confirms her connection to the shelter, which means she has been, maybe still is, a victim of domestic abuse—horrific to consider.” Violet looked away from the screen and put on her serious doctor look. “And, like you said, it confirms Remy doesn't want to come back to get Abigail.”

Her stern brow and narrowed eyes raised his hackles. “You promised to give me time. The search isn't over.”

“I'm not going to take any action yet. You'll get your time.”

He knew that left unsaid was her suspicion that nothing would change during that time.

“Jake, I think you should consider that Remy may be doing the disappearing act to protect Abigail from an abusive father.”

“She said he died.”

“Maybe that was to keep you from searching for a birth father.”

He stood and paced across the kitchen. This would all be a bit easier to swallow with a shot of caffeine.

He grabbed the bag of ground coffee beans. “She seemed different when she was here. I'd like to take her at her word.”

“Desperation will make a person say
anything
—even an outright lie.” A flush pinkened her cheeks, then her gaze dropped to the table.

Had she lied to him? From the guilty avoiding of eye contact, he couldn't help but suspect she had, maybe in all the hedging she'd done yesterday about her past. Or if not outright lying, maybe hiding something.