A Love Like Ours (13 page)

L
ater that night, Lyndie’s phone chimed to signal an incoming text.

Ah. From Luke, her square dancing partner who’d been fond of noting the obvious.
It’s Monday
, he wrote.

She waited for him to venture more, but nothing came.
Yes
, she typed back.

Can’t find anything good on TV. Want to grab dinner?

Thanks for the offer, but I fell this morning at work so I’m going to stay in and take it easy tonight.

You okay?

I’m okay.

All right. I’m signing off now.

Lyndie set her phone facedown on her art desk. After the square dancing meet-up, she had a renewed appreciation for girl’s night in. Never more so than tonight, after her spill this morning, her visit to Dr. Dean, and the ensuing fuss made over her by her mom, dad, Zoe, and Amber. It was seven thirty, and she’d only gotten rid of the last of them half an hour ago.

She positioned herself on her stool in her studio, her hair in a topknot. She had her pen in her hand, two different studio lamps lit, and her pets jockeying for the prized position of foot warmer.

And now, finally, she had time and solitude to marvel over what
she’d been wanting to marvel over all day. Namely, the fact that Jake did not entirely dislike her. No, no. His behavior today at the track had proven it. He liked her at least a little, and the truth of it made her heart melt and turned her thoughts into hopeful, unwarranted mush.

When he’d come running over to where she’d been lying in the dirt of the track, he’d looked stricken. He’d taken her hand and tested her arms and legs for broken bones. At one point she thought she’d seen his eyes go shiny. With tears? Lord above! Could Jake Porter’s eyes have glistened with tears? Over her?!

If she hadn’t just fallen off one horse and been run over by another, she’d have been able to remember everything Jake had done and said in more minute detail. As it was, the pain of her spill had fuzzed her memory slightly.

He’d carried her. That part, she recalled perfectly. The rugged power of his arms and chest had enclosed her. Warmth and his mesquite-and-spice scent had seeped into her through his jacket. She’d wanted to turn her face into his shoulder and pass out from ecstasy.

Since that would have been uncouth, she’d dared to run a few fingertips into the dark hair at his nape instead. She’d intended to be so subtle about it that he wouldn’t notice. But she was pretty sure he’d noticed.

Maybe she
had
been slightly in shock. She’d said, “You like me” to Jake—her employer, let’s not forget—and combed her fingers through his hair.

Twenty minutes later, Lyndie was dabbing her tiniest paintbrush into the cake of purple watercolor paint when a knock sounded on her front door.

Pray, let it not be Luke.

She padded to the door wearing the outfit she’d changed into after her shower. An ancient pair of jeans, her favorite hoodie, and pastel-striped slipper socks.

She pulled open the door and found Jake on her landing, almost as if her thoughts had called him into being.

Surprise momentarily froze Lyndie. Not so her Cavaliers. They fell over themselves jumping up on him and trying to impress him with their excitement.

He wore no cowboy hat. He was holding a package of something in one hand. The blazing yellows and sulky oranges of sunset framed his imposing silhouette. And she was
still
having trouble adjusting to the reality of him on her porch. Especially after everything that had gone down between them this morning.

“May I come in?”

She started. “Yes! Sorry. Of course.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“When I heard the knock I was thinking that it might be my mom, delivering me ice cream from Braums,” she fibbed.

“I can go to Braums and get you something, if you want.”

“Having you visit is enough.” She stepped back. “Come in.” When he made no immediate move, she pulled on the sleeve of his jacket, drew him over the threshold, and shut the door behind them. Touching him may not have been the wisest move. His arm had hardened noticeably beneath her grip.

“Dogs! Down.” She pressed them both into sitting positions. “Stay.” The moment she brought her attention back to Jake, they jumped up on his jeans again. “Stay!” Then, to him, “Sorry. They love everyone. This jumping thing is their only flaw.”

He gave each dog a quick scratch under its chin. “What’re their names?”

“This one is Empress Felicity and this one is Gentleman Tobias.”

He quirked a dark brow. “What kinds of names are those for dogs?”

“Charming and creative ones.” She pointed down the hallway. “There’s Mrs. Mapleton.” Her ragdoll cat gave them a bored frown, then disappeared into the studio.

Jake was here! “Um . . . Would you like to sit down?”

“I . . . can’t stay long,” he said stiffly. “I just wanted to come by and . . .” He exhaled. His mouth set in a solemn line. “Are you okay?”

Tenderness formed an almost painful knot in her chest. Surly Jake Porter had cared enough to come and check on her in person. “I’m fine.”

“These are for you.” He extended the package, a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

She took them, fighting back a sudden urge to cry over them. She’d been a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup fanatic as a kid. He’d always given her all the ones he’d collected on Halloween. Looking back, she couldn’t remember why she’d let him do that. She should have insisted he keep them to enjoy.

“Do you still like them?” he asked.

“Some things”—she lifted her gaze to his—“don’t change.” The dogs’ tails thumped the floor. “Thank you for bringing these.” A handsome man delivering chocolate to your door? Nationally recognized cure-all. “Sit down and have some with me. I’ll take your coat.”

He hesitated. She held out her hands for his jacket, and he finally shrugged out of it, revealing a baseball-style T-shirt. The torso of the shirt was white, the sleeves navy. It was well worn-in, like all the times through the washer and dryer had softened it.

He looked big and untrusting and sexy. Physical awareness turned within her, delectable heat.

She hung his jacket over one of her dining room chairs, catching the same campfire scent that had enveloped her when he’d, oh yes,
carried her in his arms
and she’d accused him of liking her and then petted his neck. “I’m in the mood for some coffee with these peanut butter cups. Is decaf okay?”

He nodded, and she went to work scooping the expensive blend she considered well worth the cost into her coffeemaker.

It wouldn’t do to read too much into the fact that he’d carried her this morning. His actions may not have had anything to do with her and him. Them. His past in Iraq may have ingrained a sense of responsibility into him that had made him react that way. It could be he’d have done the same for any of his riders.

She set three Reese’s on the bar in front of one of the rustic
wooden stools, near where he stood. She remained on the kitchen side of the space.

He didn’t immediately take the bait and sit.

Honestly, he was more skittish than the squirrels she and her mom had tried to entice onto their porch with chopped nuts when she’d been little.

C’mon, squirrel. C’mon. Sit yourself down
.

He lowered onto the stool and rested one boot on a rung. He left his other leg outstretched, ostensibly in case he decided to bolt.

She unwrapped a peanut butter cup.

“You’re not going to wait for the coffee?” he asked.

“Goodness, no. Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Rule follower.” She took a bite. The taste, creamy peanuts and milky chocolate, took her back in time.

“What did Dr. Dean say?”

She held the half-eaten cup to the side. “He didn’t see any signs of concussion. Certainly no evidence of anything more serious. I’m simply supposed to call him if I start having symptoms.”

He frowned.

She didn’t want to paint too rosy a picture and make him suspicious. “The only thing I’m dealing with now is a little soreness.” She finished her Reese’s. Circles of chocolate remained on her thumb and pointer finger. She didn’t want to stick her fingers in her mouth in front of him, so she wiped them off on a dish towel.

“You’re completely fine?” he prodded.

How was she going to resist falling for this man? “Yes.”

“Lyndie?”

“I’m completely fine.”

His posture relaxed slightly. The sight of his apparent relief made her glad she’d downplayed it. The
little soreness
she’d copped to was an understatement. Immediately following the accident, adrenaline had mostly covered her pain. As the day had worn on, the hip, ribs, and shoulder she’d fallen on had begun to ache.
Bluish bruises had risen beneath her skin down that half of her body, and she’d been taking ibuprofen every four hours.

Jake didn’t need to know that, though. If he even suspected, he wouldn’t let her ride. “I’ll be at work in the morning.”

He regarded her doubtfully.

“All five of my horses have races coming up.”

“The other riders can cover for you.”

“I want to work. I’ll be there in the morning.”

The coffeemaker stopped gurgling, and she filled two cream-colored mugs. He took his black. She didn’t.

“I’m sorry you saw me take that spill today.” She savored her first sip of coffee. “It must have been pretty bad to watch.”

“Yes.” His blunt, strong fingers toyed with his mug’s handle.

“Do you think I could have done anything to avoid the collision?”

“No.”

“You responded really quickly, and you seemed to know what you were doing. I remember you looking at your watch. Were you monitoring my pulse?”

“Respirations.”

Huh. My word, he was gorgeous. Jake, the third son and the one who’d once been, and in her opinion still was, the most handsome Porter brother. The implacable lips. The blatant scar. The seriousness chiseled into his features by hard experience. Formidable. Yet after the events of the morning, she saw something ever-so-slightly vulnerable in him, too.

She fervently wished she had on the shirtdress and the lip gloss she’d worn square dancing. Instead, Jake had shown up on her doorstep when she was wearing a hoodie. A snug hoodie, but still.
Where was Amber’s lip gloss when she could actually use it?

Jake hadn’t sipped his coffee or touched his Reese’s, so she leaned across and opened one of his squares, presenting the peanut butter cup to him on her palm. “Eat.”

He peeled off the paper cup, tipped his head back, and popped the whole thing in. His mouth curled sheepishly as he chewed.

Lyndie went to work on her second Reese’s, enjoying watching him eat his more than she enjoyed her own. He was huge and muscled, but a shade too hard and lean. If she had her way, she’d make sure that he ate more in general, and more dessert in particular.

He tried his coffee. “I still can’t figure out how that horse didn’t trample you.”

She angled her head. “Can’t you?”

“No.”

“I meant what I said to the EMT. I don’t believe it was luck or coincidence that caused that horse to miss me. What are the chances that his hooves would fall so close and not leave a scratch on me?”

“Slim.”

“Exactly.” Downstairs, she could hear the quiet sound of Jayden’s muffled voice singing. The rich smell of coffee tinted the air. “God’s the one who’s behind the miracles.” She leaned the ball of one foot into the ankle of the other.

Jake’s face didn’t change.

“Do you still have the faith you had when you were younger?” She already knew the answer. She asked the question because it gave her an opportunity to raise a difficult subject.

“No.”

“Why?”

Long seconds dragged by. “I can’t . . . Just . . . No.”

“God’s still in the business of doing miracles, small and big. For me. For you.”

His forehead knit.

“The miracle of Silver Leaf running the other day? That one was for you.”

“Silver Leaf ran for you, Lyndie.”

“Not for me. I think that God empowered him with the ability to run . . . for your sake.”

“Why would God do that?”

“Because it’s one of the only avenues of communication He
has left with you. You’ve shut Him out, but I think He wanted to show you that He hasn’t shut you out.”

With athletic grace, Jake pushed off the stool. He went to one of her living room windows and peered out at the dark backyard.

She’d troubled him. Having a conversation with Jake was like walking through a field pitted with land mines. Much of what she wanted to say to him was guaranteed to trouble him. If they were going to have a relationship that was anything more than extremely superficial—and she very much hoped they were—then she was going to have to step on a few land mines.

Did she dare step on another land mine tonight and ask him for the chance to jockey Silver Leaf? She wanted to. The words waited, hovering. She kept them back because they were too important to risk speaking at the wrong time. She’d just taken a fall off one of his horses. Now was not the best time to convince him of her jockeying prowess or press him further on the issue of God. Right now, he needed her to lighten the tone.

“Here.” She crossed to him, handed him his coffee mug, and considered the view beyond her window. “We all love the big backyard. Especially Jayden. You already know that Jayden and Amber live downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“I moved in two months ago. I’ll give you a tour. It should take all of thirty seconds.” Carrying her own mug, she pointed to a few of the pieces in the living room and told him where she’d acquired them. She stopped to brag on the merits of her pride and joy, the antique farm table in her dining area. Then she took him down the hall. She merely waved in the direction of her bedroom and bathroom. A single girl never wanted a man to look too closely at those areas unless she’d had time to stage them properly.

“This is my studio.” Her desk ran along one wall before bending and traveling beneath the wall that held the room’s large window. She’d hung all kinds of art above her desk, creating a charming hodge-podge of inspiration and color. Some of the pieces she’d
framed with scrolly antique frames. Some, she’d covered with minimalist glass. Two of the pieces were ringed with birch wreaths.