Читать книгу Inherited: One Baby! - Laura Marie Altom - Страница 13

“What’s with the corn dogs?” Candy’s best friend and neighbor, Kelly Foster, asked at six forty-five that night.

“You think I should’ve made Jake a standing rib roast?”

From her perch on one of the tall stools lining the burgundy-tiled counter, Kelly made a face. “At least spaghetti and a salad would have been nice. I mean, come on, corn dogs? The guy asked you to marry him again, not scrub his toilets.”

“True,” Candy said, pulling open the oven door and sliding in the tray of dogs. “And, hey, at least this time around he’s loaded. He can afford a dozen housekeepers to do all the dirty work. Think they clean up broken hearts?”

For a brief second, she squeezed her eyes shut while forcing back tears. Sarcasm wasn’t like her, which proved that the sooner Jake returned to Florida, the better off her mood—not to mention, life—would be. “Sorry to be so testy,” Candy said. “It’s just that where Jake Peterson is concerned, one marriage was way more than enough.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “From your first bizarre date spent picnicking on the Lonesome High football field, you two were made for each other. Everyone knows it. Why do you think Jake never married again?”

“How should I know? We haven’t exactly stayed close. And for your information, our first date wasn’t bizarre, it was romantic.” Candy threw extra force into whacking a freezer-burned bag of French fries against the butcher-block cutting board.

“Eww,” Kelly said. “How old are those?”

“Judging by the ice pack’s density, I’d make a conservative guess that I bought them around the time I broke up with Chad. Remember that grease phase I went through?” Candy shuddered. “My skin breaks out just thinking about it. At least one good thing is coming out of this dinner.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m cleaning out the freezer.”

Grinning, Kelly shook her pretty blond head. “You’re hopeless. Back to the subject of Jake, what do you think he’s up to?”

“You mean, besides no good? Ba-bum ching.” While tapping the high hat on her imaginary drums, Candy flashed her friend a smile.

“You’re not fooling me, you know.”

Reaching into the fridge for mustard and ketchup, Candy said, “I wasn’t trying to.”

“You’re scared to death, aren’t you?”

“About what? This is just dinner. I do it every night of the week, every week of the year—except during our annual cruise, and then I do it two times a night. Ba-bum ching.” Using the ketchup bottle as a microphone, she said in a deep Elvis voice, “Thank you, thank you very much. You can catch my act nightly at the Lonesome Lounge.”

“This is bad. Very bad.” Leaning her right elbow on the counter, Kelly cupped her chin in her hand. Tapping her cheek with her index finger, she said, “I haven’t seen you this un-funny since the night you heard Jake was leaving for Florida.”

“What are you talking about?” Candy said, filling two glasses with iced tea. “We celebrated that night. Remember? I sprung for all of us girls to eat the Holiday Motel’s seafood buffet. It was a lot of fun.”

“Of course, how could I forget a thrill-a-minute evening of culinary delights like crab-flavored chicken wings—not to mention the fact that you must’ve told enough cornball jokes to keep Laffy Taffy in business for the next hundred years. Come on,” Kelly said with a sigh. “It’s me you’re talking to. You can tell me how you really feel.”

“How many times do I have to say this,” Candy said, putting the mustard and ketchup in the dishwasher. “I feel fine. I’m not the least bit upset about Jake being back in town.” One by one, she started to unload mugs from the top rack and slide them onto the brass hooks beneath the cabinets.

“Is it because you’re on such an emotional high that you’ve decided to unload the dishes before even washing them?”

Candy gazed at the assorted dribbles of coffee, tea, and cocoa pooling on the counter. “Crap.”

“What was that? Miss Sunshine isn’t actually a tad on edge is she?”

“No,” Candy all but growled.

“Good, then when you finish reloading all those dirty mugs, you might want to unload the ketchup and mustard.”

A squeal of pure panic escaped Candy’s lips. “Oh, God. I am a wreck, aren’t I? Kelly, you’ve got to stay through dinner. What am I going to do? Say? I can’t be alone with him. You know what just looking at Jake does to me. I mean, I despise him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still think he’s the hottest guy on the planet. I mean, you should’ve seen him at the store today, his hair all mussed and that disgustingly handsome chiseled jawline of his all freshly shaven and tanned. And his bod—don’t even get me started on what ten years have done for the man’s physique.” When Candy’s shoulders slumped, her best friend hopped off her stool to enfold her in a hug.

“Trust me,” Kelly said, “you’re going to be fine. You two were high school sweethearts. You’ve known each other forever. Maybe, just maybe,” she said, brushing away one of Candy’s tears, “he misses you, and that proposal was more real than you think.”

“Fat chance,” Candy said through one last sniffle. “Even if I wanted to get back together with him—which I don’t—you weren’t here the morning he came home to pick up the last of his stuff. I handed him the shoe box he kept my love letters in, but he told me to keep it, Kel. He told me he didn’t want a single thing in his new life to remind him of me. After that, he walked out. He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Thanks,” Kelly said, using a paper towel to blot at her own tears. “Now you’ve got me all choked up, too—and I’m supposed to be the strong one.” She pulled Candy into a fierce hug.

“Please stay for dinner,” Candy whined. “I’ll make you a steak—oh, and those twice-baked potatoes you love.” A sharp metallic noise called her gaze to the window. “Oh, no, was that a car door?”

“See ya,” Kelly said, pulling back with a wave of her paper hanky.

“What about your steak? You love my steaks.”

Kelly blew her a kiss on her way out the back door. “I also love you, which is why I think it’d be best for you to handle this one on your own. Besides which, not only do I have a watercolor class tonight, but I happen to know for a fact you have nothing in that fridge of yours besides moldy cheese and three-year-old pickles. ’Bye.”

“Deserter,” Candy mumbled, watching her only link to sanity fairly skip across the backyard.

The doorbell rang.

The screen door creaked open. “Candy? You in there?”

She crossed through the living room on her way to the front door.

“Hi,” was all she could think to say when, just like when she’d been a new bride watching her groom saunter into the house, Jake’s lopsided grin tumbled her heart.

“Something smells good,” he said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Corn dogs.”

“Yum. My favorite.”

Had he always been so tall? The room never used to feel cramped when he was in it. And why was she suddenly wishing she’d taken Kelly’s advice and at least made a quick batch of spaghetti? “Sorry I didn’t fix a more substantial meal. I’m basically running low on everything.”

“Who’s complaining?” he said, gazing around the comfortable room with what she hoped was appreciation.

They’d bought the once-nearly-condemned Queen Anne not long after their wedding because the payments had been cheaper than rent. The rambling home sat atop a forested hill overlooking Lonesome Lake. Over the years she’d restored the place to its former glory, and though she couldn’t fathom why, it meant a lot to her that Jake liked what she’d done.

Licking her lips, she said, “A lot’s changed around here since you left.”

“I’ll say.” He let loose with a low whistle. “It actually looks cozy instead of like the poorest frat house on campus. What happened to the cement-block bookshelves and Goldilocks—that old gold sofa we had to prop up with leftover bathroom tiles?”

“They died. They’re now at the city dump, resting in peace beside a lovely retired couple. You might know them. The Kenmores? Adorable pair of washer and dryers. Used to live over on Pecan Lane in a yellow ranch.”

Jake’s chuckle caught Candy off guard, filling her with velvety images of the past. Breakfasts and dinners shared upon a wobbly sawhorse table. Saturday night candlelit bubble baths, exchanging off-color jokes as to why the hot water pipes groaned. For a second, Candy’s world felt right again, the way it used to. Back in the days when if only she could make Jake laugh, everything would be okay.

A pang shot through her at the realization of just how not okay those old days had turned out to be.

Since the last thing she wanted Jake knowing was how topsy-turvy his presence made her feel, she played tour guide. “On the left, you’ll see my sort-of-new sofa. Note the soft floral chintz. Always a big hit during the occasional bridal shower I get wheedled into hosting. And to the right, we have a real, live bookshelf/entertainment unit—I’m still working on the entertainment part.”

“Nice,” Jake said with a slow nod. “But how do you see what’s on TV? It’s awfully small. I didn’t even know they made that size for home use.”

“Well, now you do. Besides, it suits me just fine since now that the house is done, my nights are usually spent reading or doing the shop’s books.”

“That’s all well and good, Candy, but if you want a big screen TV, all you have to do is—”

“Thank you, but I don’t want your money, Jake.”

“It’s our money.”

“You formed the current-day Galaxy Sports after our divorce.”

“Yeah, but in the divorce papers, it states quite clearly that you’re a half owner.”

“But I don’t want to be.”

“Tough. You are.”

“Argh!” she said, ducking her gaze from his intense dark one. “Ten years certainly hasn’t put a dent in your pride.”

They stood only three feet apart but, in that instant, they might as well have been on separate planets. What was it about him that after all this time still turned her legs to taffy? Part of her wanted nothing more than to drop the pretense of not-so-polite chitchat and get to the reasons for his sudden—not to mention ludicrous—proposal. But another part of her, the part fighting a bizarre desire to drag the man back into her life, to lock him up and throw away the key, felt that the more casual they kept this meeting, the better.

“I know this’ll sound strange,” he said, “but once I tell you why I’m here, you’ll see just how little pride I have left.”

“I’m all ears.” She mimed bunny ears at the sides of her head, wiggling her fingers in a feeble attempt to disguise a nervous giggle.

“Okay, well…” He sniffed, looked toward the kitchen. “Is that smoke? Jeez, Candy, from the looks of it, your whole damned kitchen’s on fire!”

A FEW MINUTES LATER Jake had extinguished supper, but a thick, not to mention, smelly, gray cloud still clung to the ceiling. On the scary meter, the oven flame-up had been nothing compared to the white-hot terror stuck in his throat at the mere possibility of Candy being in danger. Now that he knew she’d be okay, he felt even worse.

Because really, he had no business worrying about her.

For a minute there, he’d felt as though they were married again, as though she was still his responsibility.

“Well, that oughtta do it,” he said, setting the extinguisher on the counter before adding, in what he hoped was a carefree tone, “Good thing I carry that model in all of my stores. If I hadn’t been familiar with how it works, your kitchen might be toast.”

“Yeah,” Candy said from beside the sink. Already having opened the windows and turned on the fan, she now wielded the faucet’s spray attachment—just in case. “Guess I’d better start keeping a closer eye on those rascally corn dogs, huh?”

“Might be a good idea—especially when you set the oven on broil.”

“Oops. I thought I’d set it on three-fifty. Guess before you got here I was sort of wound up.”

A charming blush pinkened her cheeks, but it did little to quench his frustration with her for being so careless. Didn’t she know how much she meant to him?

Whoa, buddy. Shouldn’t that be how much she used to mean? Because now, a reunion with Candy only meant one thing: keeping Bonnie.

Leaning against the counter, he turned serious. “I’m afraid you’re going to need a new oven.”

“You think?”

He nodded and crossed to where she stood. Hands on her shoulders, in his best manly fireman voice, he said, “It’s okay, ma’am. Fire’s out. You can safely put down the hose.” Easily enough said, but the jolt zinging through his arms from just touching her made him think he was the one in danger from fire. The flames leaping from her!

He must not have been the only one affected by their touch. Candy not only popped the spray nozzle back into its hole, she scooted a good two feet down the counter.

In all the excitement, she’d earned a black smudge of courage across her left cheek. Years of watching out for her leaned him forward, where, with the pad of his thumb, he brushed away the soot.

“What’re you—” She tensed until she realized what he was doing.

“Sorry, you had some—”

“It’s okay.” Her dusky gaze darted to the floor, then back to him. “Thanks. For the cleanup job and for saving our—I mean, my house.”

“No problem.” Had he only imagined it, or was the Ice Queen starting to thaw? “Glad I was here to help.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Candy gave herself a mental thwack on the head. Yeah. Me, too? What was wrong with her? For a second there, she’d actually enjoyed his company.

Time for a reality check. And the lonely reality was that no matter how right Jake’s being back in their kitchen might feel, his presence was only temporary.

Which was good.

Because, really, she was far better off without him.

How could she have forgotten how relieved she’d been when he’d left? How great it had felt knowing she’d never hear him ask those tired old questions again?

“When do you want to start our family?” he’d asked morning, noon and night. “You’re gorgeous. Only in my dreams can I imagine how adorable our kids are going to be.” Nuzzling her neck, he’d follow up with, “Any idea how soon we can expect to be expecting?” And toward the end of their marriage, “Come on, Candy Cane. I’m just asking for a couple of kids. How bad could they be?”

Candy swallowed hard, watching through watery eyes as the only man she’d ever loved sauntered to the fridge.

Head inside, giving her an entirely too attractive view of his tight, jeans-clad derriere, he said, “I’m hungry, woman. What’s to eat around here besides—” he pulled out a jar, squinting at the label “—mini-gherkins?”

Hurriedly wiping at a stray tear, she said, “Ketchup or mustard. Take your pick.”

“You need to go to the store. This is no way to live.”

“Ordinarily, I’d say you’re right, but in case you forgot, I’m leaving for Peru in six days, so there’s not much need for stocking up.”

He closed the fridge, eyed the now soggy bag of fries. “Wanna order a pizza?”

“Nah, let’s save money and play food scavenger hunt.”

“Why? There’s no need to save money.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Candy,” Jake said, softening his tone. “Half of everything Galaxy Sports has ever made is sitting in an account with your name on it. Why won’t you use it?”

“Simple, because I don’t want your money.”

“It’s our money. Dad gave that business to me and you on our first anniversary. Remember? The divorce papers say all profits are to be split fifty/fifty.”

“For the last time, Jake, please listen. Thank you for the offer. It’s sweet—beyond sweet. But really, I don’t want or need it. Give the money to charity. Send a few kids to college.” She turned her back on him, knotting her arms across her chest.

“More than a few kids. We’re talking millions of dollars, Candy.”

“Oh, so is that the going rate for a woman’s heart?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She spun around to face him. “What do you think it means? Sure, we fought a lot about how you wanted kids, but beyond that, Galaxy Sports also contributed to our marriage falling apart. Because you started caring more about proving to your dad how good you were at selling everything from footballs to fishing poles than you ever cared about being my husband.”

“Wrong. If memory serves me correctly, you spent an awful lot of time at Candy Kisses, too. What was I supposed to do, turn caveman and drag you home? The more I thought about it, the more I realized maybe you’d never wanted to be my wife.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper. She swallowed hard, fighting still more tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. “You know why I asked for a divorce. It was about kids, Jake. Your obsessive need for them. I told you I couldn’t have them, but you wouldn’t listen. You knew I could never be a mom. You knew it, yet you kept bringing up the subject—despite the fact that you also knew how much it hurt me to let you go.”

“Let me go?” He laughed. “More like booted me out the door.”

“Argh, this is just like you, you stubborn—Never mind. Evidently my reasons don’t matter any more now than they did ten years ago.”

“What reasons? That’s just it. You never gave me any. I could live without having kids, what I couldn’t live without was love, Candy. And let’s face it, when that last year went by with us living like strangers, what was I supposed to think? And when you filed for divorce…Well, I know I can be thick-headed, but it wouldn’t have taken a jackhammer to pound the fact into me that at that point you pretty much didn’t give a damn about me or our marriage.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She aimed her index finger in the direction of his chest, ignoring the release of ten years’ worth of hot tears. “I—I would have done anything for you. That’s how much I used to love you, Jake. I loved you so much that I set you free. I couldn’t give you kids, so I set you free to have them with another woman. That’s how much I loved you—not Candy Kisses—you.”

“Jeez.” He slashed his fingers through his hair and haltingly approached her before going for broke and crushing her in a hug. “Oh, man, Candy. What a mess we made of things, huh?”

She nodded against his warm, oh-so-solid chest. Being back in his arms felt so good, so right, as if she’d finally come home. Too bad that home was just a dream. The fairy tale the two of them once shared could never be recreated.

Those once-idyllic days had been back when they were lovesick teens. Married at eighteen, only a month after their high school graduation, their marriage lasted a whole five years. At first, it’d been idyllic. With both of them working long hours in their respective family businesses, they hadn’t given a thought to the future aside from what time they’d next make love. For nearly twelve months, that had been enough, but then Jake had wanted more.

The total package—meaning kids.

He knew what kind of mother she’d had. The whole town knew the sad cliché of poor little Candy Jacobs’s mother running off—never to be seen again—with a traveling carpet company rep she’d met at the interior design shop where she worked.

Even before that, though, Valerie Jacobs could hardly have been nominated for mother of the year. She didn’t bake cookies, read bedtime stories or attend school plays. She never cooed over scribbled drawings or A-plus spelling tests, and she certainly never braided her daughter’s hair or shopped hand in hand for the perfect Easter dress. Not that any of that would have even mattered to Candy had she provided the one thing every child craved above all else—love.

No, the worst thing about Valerie Jacobs was that she’d been devoid of feelings for anyone but herself—oh, and of course, for her lovers.

Candy’s dad had tried making up for her mother’s shortcomings with occasional pats on the head and hugs, but he was always busy at work, trying to keep her mother in the finery that only occasionally made her smile.

Years after the fact, Candy had learned that the man her mom had finally run off with hadn’t even been her first affair.

When her father died of a heart attack three days after Valerie’s abandonment, no one had been surprised. They’d just amended the gossip to include the fact that “that Jacobs woman” had quite literally broken her husband’s heart.

When Candy’s grandfather had taken her in, life had been a little sweeter. But the little girl who eventually grew up never forgot the kind of emptiness that lurked inside. After all, half of her blood was Valerie’s, which meant she was destined by DNA to be just as wretched a wife and mom. The only question was when the time bomb ticking inside her would finally go off.

Jake had known all about Candy’s mother. What he hadn’t known—because she’d never told him—was that Candy had no intention of repeating her mother’s mistakes. When Jake began pressuring her to have kids, Candy realized she had already made one disastrous error in ever daring to dream she’d make a good wife. Hurting herself and Jake had been one thing. But her most sacred vow, no matter what, she wouldn’t break. And that was to never, ever become a mother herself. No child deserved the lonely life she’d once led.

Jake softly stroked her hair, so softly that had Candy been a cat, she would have flopped onto her back and purred. Problem was, she wasn’t a cat. She was a flesh-and-blood woman who needed to get on with life.

Life without Jake.

Jake stiffened when Candy pulled away.

After sniffling, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go all emotional on you. What I meant to say is that if you’d like a pizza, since I’m tonight’s hostess, I’ll buy.”

“Sure,” he said, tucking his hands into his jean’s pockets, warming them because after releasing her, bone-chilling loneliness licked the tips of his fingers. “That sounds good—only I’m paying.”

“Okay,” she said with a wooden nod. “I’ll go call.”

Alone in the comfortable kitchen with its yellow-gingham curtains, hanging copper pots and glowing oak cabinets, Jake felt lost. Out of his comfort zone. His world was modern and sleek. Filled with man stuff. Chrome and leather and women who didn’t even know a kitchen came with their mansions. He’d come here to ask Candy a simple question. What had gone wrong?

In spite of Candy’s confession that, at least in her mind, her reasons for divorcing him had been entirely altruistic, that didn’t mean their main dispute had changed.

He still wanted kids, she didn’t. Period. Not just end of story, end of their story.

If he were smart, he’d walk away.

But he wasn’t smart, he was in love—not with Candy—but Bonnie. And if that made him a fool for love, then so be it.

Gazing around the kitchen, taking in the handmade rag rug hugging the brick floor, the candid photos gracing buttercream-yellow walls, the beams of warm twilight shafting through the paned bay window to kiss the ladder-backed chairs at a round oak table, he realized with a lonely ache that this was the kind of home he’d grown up in.

This was the kind of home he wanted for Bonnie.

Oh, sure, he could have Palm Breeze’s hottest designer turn his house into a carbon copy of Candy’s, but what he couldn’t pay someone to reproduce was the everyday simplicity. The deep-down sweetness.

The scent of painstakingly rubbed lemon oil that did battle with burnt corn dogs and won. The happy gurgle of a fish tank bubbling in the far corner. And from outside the screened windows, faint stirrings of leaves in the trees. Waves lapping at the lakeshore. Kids playing Freeze Tag somewhere down the street.

After all that Jake had achieved, the fortune he’d amassed, this kitchen was the one thing that, in as long as he could remember, felt familiar. Like home. It irked him that just being back in this room, no matter how much in appearances it’d changed, inside, he felt the same way he had walking out for the last time. Like an empty, aimless shell of a man.

Dammit, but he resented Candy for going on with her life and this house without him.

This had been his house as much as hers. His dream as much as hers. And now, seeing how capably she’d managed without him, he felt like an intruder. A failure. And that scared him, for the only thing he’d ever in his whole life failed at was his relationship with her.

How ironic was it that his future with Bonnie depended on his past with his ex-wife?

Just like his dad, he’d always planned on returning home after a long day’s work not to an empty house, but to a home bursting with laughter and life. Kids, dogs, cats, hamsters—Once upon a time Jake had wanted it all, with Candy beside him, hugging him, kissing him, making love to him late into the night until they had to stop because one of their kids was banging on the bedroom door.

“Mommy? Daddy? Can I come in? I had a bad dream.”

Candy would giggle, pulling her simple cotton nightie over her head, past full breasts, slim abdomen and hips. Jake would hop out of bed and yank on his boxers before opening the door to scoop his sleepy rug rat into his arms. For the sake of his daydream he’d call the kid Mark, and he would smell a little sweaty and of cedar shavings—not unlike his pet hamster.

In his mind’s eye, Jake watched himself lug Mark to their bed where he’d wriggle—footie pajamas and all—smack-dab into the middle before promptly falling asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. And then, in milky moonlight, Candy would reach out to him, her husband and best friend, grasp his hand and give it a light squeeze. Without either of them saying a word, Jake would know his every wish had quietly come true.

Back to reality, Jake swallowed hard.

What happened, Candy? What happened between us to make love not be enough?

“Pizza should be here in about forty minutes.”

He looked up.

Even doing something as simple as crossing the room, Candy had such grace. A long time ago she was everything he’d ever wanted and more. That long, silky hair, those even longer legs. When they made love, she’d had this way of wrapping those legs around him, urging him deeper, urging their souls closer, that had nearly made him weep with the sheer joy of being her man.

Now…

Whoa. Now, he just wanted out. Time to regroup.

The woman and her cozy kitchen were dangerous. “Forty minutes, huh? Whew, that’s a long time.”

“Yeah.” At the waist of her simple floral dress, she fumbled with her hands. “Uh, want to watch a movie or something while we wait?”

“No, Candy, I think what we should do is talk.”