Vibrant Heart: Book 1 in the Great Plains Romance Series (8 page)

After they finished their lunch, Trish brought them coffee and cleared the remaining plates. Evelyn placed the punchbowl in the middle of the table, still obviously giddy over her gift.

Stan turned to Jake. “Missed you at the meeting this morning.”

Jake smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just couldn’t tear myself away from a previous engagement.”

Meeting? Melanie cast a sidelong glance at Jake, who seemed intently focused on his coffee. Sundays were the one day her father relaxed, making exceptions for only two events: church and his AA meetings.

The blood drained from Melanie’s face. Was Jake in AA? But he’d been drinking last night when he came to see her. A queasiness rose in her stomach no matter how strongly she concentrated on pushing it back down. If he’d been drinking, it was her fault. She could have spurned his advances from the beginning, but she didn’t. She could have clarified the Raymond situation before it got out of hand or, better yet, let Jake think that she had been the initiator. Instead, she’d played right into his anger, letting her passion and desire for him trump all rationality. He’d gone out to right the wrong that Raymond had committed—something that Melanie had already done in her mind—and when he returned to her, she never even asked him what happened.

“Everything okay, Melanie?”

When she heard her name, everything seemed to crash down around her. Her breathing became shallow. She was desperately trying not to look at him. She knew if she did, if she looked into his eyes or saw him flash his smile, she was done for. She would give up everything—her job in Chicago, her life, her freedom—just to spend more time with him. Jake was the kind of man worth risking it all, and she had no doubts that it would be a tremendous risk. They might last a few months, maybe even a year, but men like Jake weren’t satisfied with just one woman. Raymond certainly wasn’t. And then where would she be? Stuck back in Bender with no career, no life, just another one of Jake’s conquests. Not that Jake was even interested in her anymore. Was that why he’d left so early, why he was flaunting his closeness to Trish in front of her—because he held Melanie responsible for him falling off the wagon?

Just like Raymond had.

A coldness settled in over her heart. She would not risk that kind of humiliation, not again, no matter how loudly every fiber of her being was screaming at her to do just that.

She took a steadying breath. “Listen, I can’t—we can’t—do this, not here, not now.”

She pushed back from the table. Both Jake and her father stood up as she did, and she could feel the concern as they reached out toward her, but she shook them off. “Fine, I’m fine. I just—I can’t.”

She heard a loud crash from the table next to them, followed by the irritated voice that had been calling Trish earlier. “What do you think you’re doing?” It was a shriek that silenced everyone in the restaurant, and Melanie held her breath, afraid they would hear how close she was to hyperventilating. “Get your manager—I want you fired!”

She heard Trish’s sob, then saw her streak past the table.

“Sir, let’s speak outside.” Jake’s voice was calm, controlled, and Melanie’s heart shattered. He was more concerned about helping Trish.

She turned to tell her father she was leaving, but she heard the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with a face. Was this what he did to Raymond last night? Was this how he handles problems? Set to leave, Melanie gave Jake a final glance, but all she saw was his back. The angry customer, who was several inches taller than Jake, pulled back his fist and punched Jake in the stomach, hefting him into the air. Without thinking, Melanie reached out and snatched the crystal bowl off their table seconds before Jake landed on it. But her hands were shaking, and the bowl slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor and shattering into tiny pieces.

“No!” she sobbed, looking down at the shards of glass all around her.

Chapter Sixteen

Jake heard Melanie’s shriek, followed by her sobbing, and completely forgot about Bruce Garrison standing over him, waiting to finish what he’d started. The punch hadn’t been much, certainly nothing Jake couldn’t handle, but it had upset Melanie. Now he felt the overwhelming need to tell her he was okay while also wanting to jump up and shout from the rooftops that she cared about him. At least she didn’t want him to get hurt.

But when he turned to look at her, she was staring at her own hands, tears rolling down her face. He saw the shattered glass all around her feet and his elation was replaced with fear. Fear laced with a blackness that made him want to throttle Bruce. Luckily for the other man, the hotel staff were on high alert. Two of the kitchen staff, two quite burly men who Jake had brought with him from the last hotel he opened, were already escorting Bruce from the restaurant. Bruce was yelling and fighting his escort, but one look from Jake and Bruce was practically pulling them to the exit.

Jake rolled off the table and swept Melanie up into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. She continued sobbing, her entire body shuddering each time she inhaled for yet another sob. He waved off her father as he carried her to the front office area and placed her carefully into an office chair. Grabbing the first aid kit from the wall and slamming the office door, he told himself it was to protect her privacy, that it had nothing to do with the fact that his hands were shaking or that his panic was rising. She was still sobbing and didn’t seem to be calming down. He squatted in front of her, carefully examining her legs.

“I don’t see any cuts.”

The tears fell faster.

“Are you hurt?” He held her hands and looked up into her face, but she turned away from him. “Mel, darlin’, please. Tell me what’s wrong.” When she still wouldn’t look at him, he pulled her up to sit in the chair, holding her on his lap. He rocked her lightly, terrified by the fact that he couldn’t get her to stop crying.

After several moments, Jake considered calling 911. He was out of his depths, but he didn’t want to let go of her for even the few seconds it would take to fish his phone out of his pocket.

Melanie took several deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. “I’m fine.” Her voice cracked, and she sat up, turning away from Jake to wipe the tears from her face.

“Melanie.” He cleared his throat, further unnerved by how shaken his own voice sounded.

She pushed herself off his lap to stand up but still didn’t look at him. “It just startled me, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” He reached for her elbow, but she pulled away.

“Yes, everything’s fine. Sorry about...all that.” She half-turned and waved her hand, forcing a smile.

She wasn’t fooling him and they both knew it. Jake waited, his breathing shallow. Whatever was happening, he had a bad feeling that he was not going to like it.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. Please, explain to my father.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before throwing open the door and racing out through the lobby, to the large glass doors that led to the parking lot.

Jake watched her go, unable to breathe. The sucker punch she’d leveled at him hurt more than anything Bruce Garrison had ever thrown. Finally Jake gasped, as if his breathing returned all at once. He ran his hands through his hair and bent over his knees. He’d gotten exactly what he’d been looking for: a one-night stand who was gone the next day. No strings. No drama.

And she’d left him doubled over and gasping for breath.

His fury catapulted him into action, and he stepped through the glass entry doors just as her rental car pulled out onto the highway, heading south. Toward the airport, no doubt. Jake scowled. His anger settled around his shoulders. He tried to shrug it off, but he knew it would be a cold day in hell before he forgave Melanie Olson.

Or forgot her.

Chapter Seventeen

Melanie drove back to Chicago instead of flying. It would give her the time to work through the pain, get it all out of her system, before facing her colleagues at the publishing house. She avoided the interstate and the never-ending calls from her father, preferring to follow the two-lane highways so she could pull over whenever her emotions got the better of her. Which they often did. At some point in central Iowa she was able to admit to herself that she had feelings for Jake—she didn’t understand how it had happened so quickly, but that was not the point. Admitting the problem was the first step. That night, after stopping at a small hotel in eastern Iowa, she emailed her father and told him not to worry about her, then climbed into bed and tried to let go of the memories of her night with Jake.

Thirty minutes later she knew sleep was not in the cards. She turned on the television, muting the sound, and watched the pictures flash across the screen, hoping she could trick her mind into thinking about anything but Jake and how she had run away from him. It was a cowardly thing to do, and when did she become a coward? She had never been afraid to speak her mind, which was one of the reasons she had landed her executive editor position, yet when it came to Jake...oh sure, she could tell him exactly what she thought about every topic in the world except one: her feelings for him.

She scoffed and swung her legs off the bed. “Don’t be stupid, Mel.”

Perhaps some work would help her get her mind off Jake’s smile, his kisses, the way he made her toes curl when he touched her.

“Oh for crying out loud. Yes, he was good in bed—clearly from lots of practice!”

She snorted as she pulled out her laptop. Now she was openly talking to herself. Jake would certainly get a kick out of that. When she talked to him, she’d have to remember to tell him about it.

Except she wouldn’t be talking to him. She wouldn’t be going back to Bender, not while he was there. She could not—would not—be responsible for yet another man in her life turning to alcohol. Alcohol had destroyed her parents’ marriage and it had turned Raymond into something he wasn’t. Jake had been playful while drinking, but he’d also said he’d only had a drink or two. What would happen when he had more than a few drinks? And he inevitably would. They always did. No one ever fell off the wagon for just a drink or two.

He had a right to know why she walked out on him today, if only to avoid an awkward situation in the future in case she ever went home again. She couldn’t imagine that now, but she knew that with time and distance she would forget how she felt now. The last thing she wanted was for Jake to expect her to jump into bed with him whenever she came for a visit.

She began to type the letter.

As the sun rose on the third morning, she saved the document and stood up to stretch. For the first time since checking into the hotel, she pulled back the curtains. The window looked out over a nearly empty parking lot. Melanie smiled. It could have looked out over a nuclear dump and she still would have smiled. Nothing could dampen her elation.

The letter had morphed into a retelling of her history with Raymond, an attempt to explain to Jake why they could never be together again. She stopped avoiding her pain and even wrote about her trip home, complete with all the daggers and bitterness. It was a painful process that led to more tears, but at one point she was able to remember past the pain and write about unknowingly being attracted to her soon-to-be family member, highlighting the humor in the situation. Now, more than seventy thousand words later, along with a whole lot of caffeine and very little sleep, she had written a novel. “My novel,” she whispered. She clasped her hands and bit the knuckle of her forefinger to keep from screaming with excitement.

It was a rough draft and undoubtedly needed a lot of work, if she ever even tried to publish it, but it was done. Somehow she didn’t think she’d ever show this novel to anyone. It was too personal, too heartbreaking. Yet she had written her first novel, and if she could write one, she could certainly write more. The exhilaration that coursed through her was almost as intense as what she felt when she was with—

“No, I won’t think about that. Not yet.”

She shook her head as if to prove it to herself, then checked her cell phone for messages. The phone was dead, and it took her a moment to remember where the charger was. When she finally plugged it in, she groaned. Seventeen voicemails.

Several messages were from her dad, with him doing his whole nonchalant check-in that he had mastered long ago. He gave her a random update, like how Evelyn had moved his shampoo to make room for all her toiletries, then ended the message with some version of “hope everything is good with you.” It was his way of saying that he was worried about her and that she needed to call him.

A couple of messages were from work. They were worried about her. She hadn’t bothered to inform them of her change of plans. If she didn’t show up by 8 a.m., she would be out of a job. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after 6 o’clock and Chicago was another three to four hours away. Her dream had always been to be a writer; she couldn’t put that off any longer.

She wouldn’t put it off any longer. She was no longer an editor. She was a writer.

Two of the messages were silent. She sat on the corner of the bed and listened, imagining that she could hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat. But then he hung up, and the connection was gone. Gone without saying a word.

Just as she had done to him.

She slept for nearly two full days before finally checking out of the hotel and driving back to her tiny apartment in Chicago. During the drive, she decided what she would do. She had enough money saved up that she could live for several months—maybe even eight or nine if she were careful about expenditures. She would devote herself to writing full time for at least three months, then maybe find a part-time job if she wasn’t feeling confident. Three months. She could do that, right?

It turned out she could quite easily. She put her first novel aside and delved into a story about three elderly sisters, including all the imagined husbands they’d married and buried. That story turned into several more, and soon she had the outline of their antics as they traveled the world, carrying out special jobs that involved the removal of unfaithful lovers and husbands, somehow always managing to clear the way for true love. The irony that she was writing a romantic comedy was not lost on Melanie.