Jake had come to entertain Christopher so Eloise and Sara could work without distraction. Sara had thanked him often, but he didn't seem to want her thanks. He didn't seem to want anything from her except time with their son.
Two days she'd gone back to Wasco, packed up her apartment, closed it, and left the boxes she couldn't fit into her car with the apartment manager. She'd taken Christopher along and Jake hadn't protested. He seemed to think about what was best for Christopher as much as she did. He'd realized Christopher needed to say goodbye to Wasco, too. Today, the day before the auction, Jake had offered to help with the heavy work. Between watching Christopher and dealing with memories associated with her mother's possessions, Sara hadn't had time to think about herself and Jake...at least not this morning.
She opened the upstairs hall closet. It seemed empty, but she knew she should check the back of the top shelf. She found a stepstool in one of the bedrooms and climbed up. A large shoebox zigzagged across the back corner. Leaning forward, she tried to catch the lip with her finger. She'd managed to snag it when the stepstool tilted. The next thing she knew the box had spilled over the shelf, and Jake had swept her into his arms.
Her heart raced and her throat went dry. He'd discarded the cotton shirt he'd worn with his jeans. The muscle shirt he'd worn underneath left nothing to her imagination--not his muscles, not his tanned skin, not the springy hair tickling her arm.
"You should be more careful." His husky voice fell over her, and although it was October, she felt as hot as she would in August.
"I will be," she squeaked, aware of the rise and fall of his chest, his heart speeding with hers. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I'll put the phone book on the stool."
He arched his brows and grimaced. "Oh, that's real careful," he drawled as he set her on her feet.
"I have to finish emptying everything."
"So call if you need help."
"I don't want to take advantage of your help."
Jake's brown eyes held her for an interminably long moment. "I'll let you know if I think you're taking advantage."
She knew he would. Maybe she was afraid to put any pressure on their relationship, any more than was already there.
Jake mounted the stool, lifted the box, and with his other hand, scooped up the contents that had spilled out. Jumping off the stool, he laid the papers on the top step. One of the photographs floated to the carpet.
Sara picked it up, recognizing it immediately. It was a picture of her and Jake her mom had taken the day they'd become engaged. Had she subconsciously left this box for last? She knew what else was in it. Her gaze went to the stepstool the same time as Jake's. A wedding invitation lay there. Their wedding invitation.
Venturing into frozen territory, Sara laid the photograph on top of the invitation. "The night I called off the wedding--"
"Sara, this won't do any good."
"Please let me tell you, Jake. It might help you understand."
When he remained silent, she took that as a sign he'd listen. "That night when I came in, I heard you and Mom. The doctor had just told me I was pregnant. I heard Mom ask you why you felt the way you did about children. Your response was so vehement, so absolute, that I knew if you couldn't accept children, I couldn't marry you."
"You didn't tell me you were carrying our child."
"But, Jake..."
"Like I said, Sara. This won't do any good." He glanced at the shelf in the closet. "There's nothing else up there. If you need any more help, I'll be downstairs."
She needed Jake. She needed him to open his heart to her as he'd opened it to his son.
***
A short while later, Sara heard the telephone ring downstairs. She'd unplugged the phone in her mother's bedroom. From the foot of the stairs, Jake called, "Sara, it's for you."
She couldn't imagine who would be calling her
Two days she'd gone back to Wasco, packed up her apartment, closed it, and left the boxes she couldn't fit into her car with the apartment manager. She'd taken Christopher along and Jake hadn't protested. He seemed to think about what was best for Christopher as much as she did. He'd realized Christopher needed to say goodbye to Wasco, too. Today, the day before the auction, Jake had offered to help with the heavy work. Between watching Christopher and dealing with memories associated with her mother's possessions, Sara hadn't had time to think about herself and Jake...at least not this morning.
She opened the upstairs hall closet. It seemed empty, but she knew she should check the back of the top shelf. She found a stepstool in one of the bedrooms and climbed up. A large shoebox zigzagged across the back corner. Leaning forward, she tried to catch the lip with her finger. She'd managed to snag it when the stepstool tilted. The next thing she knew the box had spilled over the shelf, and Jake had swept her into his arms.
Her heart raced and her throat went dry. He'd discarded the cotton shirt he'd worn with his jeans. The muscle shirt he'd worn underneath left nothing to her imagination--not his muscles, not his tanned skin, not the springy hair tickling her arm.
"You should be more careful." His husky voice fell over her, and although it was October, she felt as hot as she would in August.
"I will be," she squeaked, aware of the rise and fall of his chest, his heart speeding with hers. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "I'll put the phone book on the stool."
He arched his brows and grimaced. "Oh, that's real careful," he drawled as he set her on her feet.
"I have to finish emptying everything."
"So call if you need help."
"I don't want to take advantage of your help."
Jake's brown eyes held her for an interminably long moment. "I'll let you know if I think you're taking advantage."
She knew he would. Maybe she was afraid to put any pressure on their relationship, any more than was already there.
Jake mounted the stool, lifted the box, and with his other hand, scooped up the contents that had spilled out. Jumping off the stool, he laid the papers on the top step. One of the photographs floated to the carpet.
Sara picked it up, recognizing it immediately. It was a picture of her and Jake her mom had taken the day they'd become engaged. Had she subconsciously left this box for last? She knew what else was in it. Her gaze went to the stepstool the same time as Jake's. A wedding invitation lay there. Their wedding invitation.
Venturing into frozen territory, Sara laid the photograph on top of the invitation. "The night I called off the wedding--"
"Sara, this won't do any good."
"Please let me tell you, Jake. It might help you understand."
When he remained silent, she took that as a sign he'd listen. "That night when I came in, I heard you and Mom. The doctor had just told me I was pregnant. I heard Mom ask you why you felt the way you did about children. Your response was so vehement, so absolute, that I knew if you couldn't accept children, I couldn't marry you."
"You didn't tell me you were carrying our child."
"But, Jake..."
"Like I said, Sara. This won't do any good." He glanced at the shelf in the closet. "There's nothing else up there. If you need any more help, I'll be downstairs."
She needed Jake. She needed him to open his heart to her as he'd opened it to his son.
***
A short while later, Sara heard the telephone ring downstairs. She'd unplugged the phone in her mother's bedroom. From the foot of the stairs, Jake called, "Sara, it's for you."
She couldn't imagine who would be calling her
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