Karen Leabo - The Prodigal Groom

She opened her mouth to object, then clamped her mouth closed. Her expression was pensive. Jake could tell she was warring with herself, weighing the temptation of having Flash’s son at her disposal with the inconvenience of having Jake himself underfoot.

“What if things didn’t work out?” Laurie asked. “What if you turn out to be a worse manager than me?”

“Give me five minutes’ notice, and I’ll leave.” But he was pretty confident that wouldn’t be the case. He would work his butt off to get this place back in shape.

If Laurie did end up kicking him off Birkett’s Folly, it probably would be for a different reason. He’d had no intention of pursuing her, or engaging her in anything other than a friendly but professional relationship. He figured he’d given up the right to anything more the day he’d left her standing at the altar. But ever since he’d held her, filling his lungs with her scent, feeling her warmth and softness against him, he’d realized he would have a helluva time keeping his hands off her.

Laurie gave him a penetrating look. He stared back, waiting for her decision.

“When could you start?” she asked in a less-thanconf ident voice.

Jake banked his elation. She was actually going to do it! “Is the house ready?”

She nodded. “It’s clean, and the lights and water are turned on. There’s some furniture, though not much, and nothing in the way of sheets and towels.”

“I’ve got everything I need. I’ll move in tonight, and I can start first thing in the morning.”

Laurie nodded, not looking at all happy.

“You won’t regret it, hon—Laurie, I promise.” Damn, he’d almost called her “honey.” It sure would be easy to fall into old habits, and that could get him in trouble. He shoved his Stetson on his head and got the heck out of there, before he could say or do anything else stupid.

Before she changed her mind.

Laurie stared out the kitchen window, mesmerized, watching Jake walk around the barn taking notes, while Maurice pointed out leaks and storm damage. In his comfortably worn jeans and western shirt, Jake looked leaner, tougher, than Laurie remembered. And although he’d never been what she would term “cheerful,” he used to smile every so often. Now it seemed as if that solemn scowl never left his face.

His mood didn’t matter, she reminded herself. The only important thing was for Jake to do the job he’d been hired for, and so far his performance looked promising. He’d been at the Folly less than twelve hours, and already he was taking charge—inventorying the stock, making lists, setting priorities.

On one hand, his presence was comforting. Laurie was tired of dealing with the endless problems of running the Folly, and letting someone else take control of all her worries had a certain appeal. On the other hand, having Jake so close by was disturbing, setting off a chain reaction of awareness within her that had kept her awake last night, her body thrumming uncomfortably.

“Mommy, something stinks.”

“What? Oh, no, the hash browns!” Laurie quickly pulled the cast-iron skillet off the burner and stirred the potatoes. A black layer had formed on the bottom of the pan, and she spent the next five minutes picking out the most burned pieces and dropping them into the trash.

That would teach her to stare out the window in the middle of cooking a meal, even if the view was more riveting than usual. She had to get hold of herself. She had to think of Jake as just another employee, not her former lover, or she wouldn’t be able to function.

Wendy watched curiously from her booster chair, where she’d been sitting and drinking a glass of orange juice. “Did you burn something, Mommy?” she asked.

“Just a little. It’s fine now,” Laurie answered absently. “I think breakfast is ready. Would you go outside and ring the bell, please?”

Wendy scrambled out of her chair, eager to perform her favorite task. But she stopped at the door and looked at the four place settings on the table, her little brows drawn together as she put the pieces together. “Is Jake eating with us?”

“Yes, he is. And don’t call him Jake, sweetie, call him Mr. Mercer.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a grown-up, and children shouldn’t call grown-ups by their first names.”

“What about Maurice?”

“That’s different,” Laurie said. “He’s practically part of the family.”

“Then why can’t he be my daddy?”

Laurie sighed. “He just can’t be, okay? Now go ring the bell.”

Wendy reached for the doorknob and twisted it, quietly chanting, “Mr. Merster, Mr. Merster.” Just before she walked outside, she turned back to Laurie. “Jake’s easier to say.”

Laurie shook her head. She had a feeling that her efforts to keep Wendy and Jake away from each other would be in vain. The two seemed to have a sensitivity to one another, almost as if they both knew, on some subconscious level, that they were father and daughter. Last night, when Jake had pulled into the driveway with his truck loaded with the belongings he intended to move into the manager’s house, Wendy had run out to greet him before Laurie could stop her. Then the child had jabbered nonstop as Jake had unloaded his belongings and taken them inside the little cottage.

Laurie had tried to take Wendy away, claiming that Jake should be left in peace while he was moving in, but Jake had insisted she stay. “Wendy’s gonna be my number-one ranch hand, so we better get to know each other, right?” he’d said, tickling Wendy’s chubby tummy.

Wendy had giggled, denying she was a ranch hand but obviously intrigued with the idea.

The old schoolhouse bell pealed as Wendy pulled strenuously on the rope. Laurie watched out the window as both Jake and Maurice looked up. Maurice waved to signal her that he’d heard, and Jake tipped his hat. Even at a distance, Laurie caught a glimpse of steel blue eyes—or maybe she only imagined them. Nonetheless, she shivered.

A few minutes later both men came into the kitchen. Jake’s sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy, tanned forearms, and his hair was damp and slicked back, evidence that he’d washed up at the old pump before coming in for breakfast. Laurie tried not to stare as she served up scrambled eggs with green peppers, homemade biscuits and the slightly crusty hash browns.

“Smells good,” Jake offered.

“Miz Laurie’s turned into the best cook in the county,” Maurice said, “though when she first came here she couldn’t boil water. She learned quick, though.”

Laurie’s gaze locked with Jake’s for an endless moment. How well she remembered his teasing her about her lack of cooking skills, insisting she ought to learn some domesticity if she wanted to keep her man home at night. And she had insisted, with a certain amount of suggestive body language, that she had other means of keeping her man’s attention.

Looking at him now, she had a feeling that he, too, was remembering those peppery dialogues they used to have. She glanced away and took her chair, busying herself with her napkin.

“Mommy burneded the taters,” Wendy announced.

“They are a bit browner than usual,” Maurice said.

“Better crispy than raw,” Jake added, taking a large bite of the hash browns.

Laurie stood abruptly. “You’re right, they’re too brown. I’ll make some more,” she said, moving to the refrigerator. “The potatoes are already shredded, I just have to fry them up. Won’t take but—”

“Laurie, sit down,” Jake interrupted. “The hash browns are fine.”

“But it’s no trouble.”

“It’s not necessary. Sit down.”

Laurie bristled. How dare he order her around in her own house. Who was the boss here? Then she sighed. Jake could hardly be considered her employee when she wasn’t paying him. He was trying to bail her out of a mess. And right now, he was being very tolerant of a less-than-satisfactory breakfast.