A Promise Of Home (A Lake Howling Novel Book 1) (24 page)

“Go find out, Jake. She’s been in there a while now,” Buster said.

He did, climbing the stairs to the bathroom Buster had directed her to…the guest one that was probably still clean.

“Branna, it’s me, Jake.”

“I’ll be out soon.” Her words were muffled through the wood.

“Open the door, Rosebud.”

“Go away, Jake, I just need a minute.”

“Now, Branna.”

“No.”

“Yes, or I’ll break it down and Buster will be pissed.”

“You wouldn’t!”

He didn’t answer, instead waiting silently. Seconds later, he heard the lock click, then the door opened.

She’d left off her shoes, and stood before him looking lost and alone and so small it made him hurt. “Hey, you.” She bit her bottom lip and fought the tears, so he pushed harder. “Want a hug?”

“W-we’re, not huggers, you and m-me.”

“Sure we are. Why, just tonight I gave you one before you went up on that big scary stage. How about we give it another try?”

“I-I just want to be alone, Jake, please.” The sniff was loud in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

“That’s not how this relationship thing works, sweetheart.”

“We’re n-not in a relationship.” Her knuckles were white on the door.

He reached for her before she had a chance to close it. Pulling her into the hallway, he wrapped his arms around her and held tight. “It’s a relationship, Rosebud, pure and simple.” The words felt right, so Jake stopped fighting and held his woman. She kept herself rigid, but he just held her tighter, until she slumped into him, resting her head on his chest.

“Why is he here, Jake?”

“To see you, Branna, his daughter.”

“He didn’t want me before. Why now?”

This was a minefield that needed careful navigation. “Branna, he’s not going anywhere till he talks to you, and right now my mother’s settling him into their house.”

“What?” She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

“My mother saw me talking to your dad and she stepped in; next thing, they’re driving off.”

“I don’t want him there.”

“It’s done, sweetheart, changing my mother’s mind is not something you’d want to take on; believe me, I’ve tried many times with little success.”

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes sad. “It just about kills me to see that look in your eyes.”

“I’m okay; it was just a surprise after all this time to see him again.”

He kissed her, soft and sweet, and her lips clung to his and told him she was anything but okay.

“How long’s it been since you saw him?”

“Five years. We had a fight and then he went away for good and I don’t want him here, Jake. The last time we spoke we both said horrible things, nasty hurtful things a-and I can’t do that again.”

If Declan O’Donnell walked into Buster’s house right at that moment, he’d take him apart, no questions asked, no explanations given; he’d destroy him for the pain he’d caused the woman in his arms. She’d arrived in Howling to make a home, and her garden and house had been trashed, and now her father had arrived. She was tough, but everyone had a breaking point.

“Annabelle’s trying to convince Buster to bake you a mystery muffin, and he’s resisting, but my money’s on her.”

She huffed out a breath, but didn’t move.

“I don’t want this, Jake. I came here to rebuild my life and find some peace. I want to write and nothing else.”

“The sex is good, though, you have to admit?”

“Average.”

“I need to put a bit more effort in, obviously.”

“Make him go away, Jake.” She sounded defeated.

“Let me know when you’re done being pathetic, and we’ll head down for coffee.”

She rested against him for a few more minutes, and then with another sigh, she pulled out of his arms. “I’m done.”

“That’s my girl.” Jake gave her another kiss, then took her hand and they headed back down the stairs.

“Buster’s house is really cluttered, considering The Hoot is so pristine.”

“His mother said he was born with slothful tendencies, but when he’s in the kitchen, he becomes a domestic goddess; it’s one of life’s little mysteries.”

Buster was muttering and putting a tray into the oven, while Annabelle made coffee when they entered. Tex had flicked on the T.V. and had his feet up on the coffee table.

“Fifteen minutes, Branna, and you better eat them.” Buster shut the oven and threw down the oven mitt. “And, no, you can’t have the recipe.”

“You ever thought of hiring a cleaner?” Annabelle stepped over a pile of what appeared to be aprons.

“It’s my home; if you don’t like it, leave.”

Jake pulled out a bar stool for Branna, and took the one beside her. Together, they listened to Buster and Annabelle bicker, with Jake tossing in the occasional comment and all the while he knew she was thinking, that sharp little brain of hers working out how she could avoid all contact with her father.

Jake woke the following morning and reached for Branna. It was something he did instinctively before opening his eyes. Feeling her body still soft from sleep, running his hands over it and hearing her sigh was a thing of wonder. However, this morning the space beside him was cold and empty.

Climbing out of bed, he found a pair of shorts and pulled them on, then made for the bathroom, where he washed and brushed his teeth. The kitchen, which incidentally was empty of women, smelled of coffee. Filling a mug, he walked through the rooms and still there was no sign of her. Opening the door, he headed outside and around the house towards the barn. If she’d gone for a run without him, he’d throw around a few weights before fixing breakfast.

He heard the radio as he entered, and found her under the hood of Geraldine. She wore one of his T-shirts, which had ridden up, and a pair of panties, and he wished he had a camera because he’d make a shit load of money with that one single shot. Not that he’d sell it; it’d be for his eyes only.

“Rosebud, you know how most mornings I wake ready for anything?”

She straightened at his words. Hair a mess, smudge of grease on her chin, a wrench in one hand.

“What?”

“Seeing you like that is not helping my condition.”

Her eyes went to his crotch, then shot back up to the smile he now had on his face. Very slowly, she put the wrench down, and lowered the hood of the car.

“I was just checking her over. Dan, Georgie’s husband, taught me to do a service on her, so I was,” she licked her lips as he started towards her. “Doing the service.”

“Need any help with that…service?”

“Ha, that was cheesy, even from you.” She started backing away, moving around the car as he stalked her.

“Hot woman dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and panties, with a wrench in her hand and grease on her chin. Tell me any man who hasn’t fantasized about that?”

She kept walking around the car and he followed every step.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so I came out here. I-I like tinkering with Geraldine, always did.”

“How about tinkering with me instead?”

“Will you stop that? You sound like you’re making a bad porn movie.”

She was backing herself into a corner, between the workbench and the back wall of the barn, but hadn’t worked that out yet.

“Now how does a good little Irish girl know about that kind of thing?”

It was good to see the worry gone from her eyes, if only for a while. The green depths were definitely heating as he drew closer, and Jake was so hard, each step was uncomfortable. She bumped into the workbench and turned to see what she’d hit and he made his move, caging her in with his arms and body.

“What are you doing, Jake?”

The pulse in her neck was racing, so he put his lips there.

“Well now, sweetheart, I’d hoped after all the practice we’ve had, you’d know what it was.”

Jake slipped his hands under the shirt and eased them upwards, taking the shirt with him.

“S-someone might come in.”

“I’m hoping they won’t stay long.” Pulling it over her head, he gripped her waist and boosted her onto the bench.

“Don’t suppose you’d stay there while I got my camera?”

“Will you stop talking!” She grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged, bringing him closer.

The kiss was deep and their tongues danced as he eased her hips forward. Her hands held his head as they took and gave whatever the other had to give. They were both struggling for breath when he broke the kiss.

“Behind you, there’s the back of the bench, grip it tight, baby.” She did as he asked and Jake began a slow torturous journey over every inch of her chest, his mouth caressing the slopes of her breasts and circling the nipples that were hard and ready for his mouth. He teased her by touching everywhere but the dark circles.

“Jake!” his laugh blew heat over one nipple as he finally gave her what she wanted and sucked the aching bud deep into his mouth. She arched into him, her legs clamping around his hips.

“Don’t let go, baby.”

She was panting, little breaths of need as he pulled her legs from his waist, then slowly removed her panties.

“I need you now, Jake.”

“Soon, Rosebud, you got to let me fulfill my fantasy.”

He cruised his lips over the smooth skin of her stomach and through the thatch of black hair to where she needed him most. Her scent drove him crazy, as did the taste of her. He licked the soft pink folds and the tight bud and she jerked upwards.

“Now.”

“Don’t let go, Branna.” He teased the damp flesh, stroked and nibbled and the tension inside her rose as she began to make those sweet little noises that drove him crazy.

“You bastard, McBride, I said now!”

He laughed as he pulled off his shorts and then grabbing her hips, he thrust inside that wet tight heat. He rode her hard, and she met each thrust, urging him on until she screamed loud and long in his ear as he grunted in hers. He fell face-first into her lap, and she slumped backward, both breathing heavily.

When they could both breathe and think again, he lifted her down, holding her against his chest.

“You okay?”

She managed a dry laugh.

“I don’t think I need a run this morning.”

They showered, ate, and then he said he had some errands to do in town.

“I need to head home, Jake, I have work to do.”

That suited him just fine, as he had something he needed to do to, and not having her with him would make it easier. He walked into his parents’ house an hour later.

“Son.” His dad was sitting at the table drinking coffee with O’Donnell.

“Dad,” Jake poured himself a cup and took the seat next to him. “Mr. O’Donnell.”

He looked about as approachable as his daughter and in the daylight he saw the resemblance was even stronger than he’d originally thought. On Branna, those looks combined to make her the knockout she was; on him, they made up a man with sharp edges to his face and cold eyes beneath lowered brows.

“Declan is my name.”

“I know.”

“And you hate me because I hurt Branna.”

“About sums it up.”

“Hear him out, son.”

One thing Patrick McBride had always been good at, was judging people, but Jake wasn’t inclined to agree in this situation.

“Branna told me you shut her out of your life after your wife was killed. Is she lying?”

Declan closed his eyes briefly, like his daughter did when she was gripped by emotion; Jake didn’t like seeing the similarity. He didn’t want to feel a damned thing for this man…ever.

“I should have this conversation with my daughter, not you.”

“You could, but then I’d have to tell you where to find her, and I’m not inclined to do that yet, especially as she asked me to make you go away.”

The man flinched and the hand that reached for his coffee shook.

“I thought she’d speak to me, thought she’d at least do that.”

Jake understood the power of silence, so he said nothing and waited; his father took his lead and did the same.

The room they sat in was on the second floor and looked out over the yard of the Munro family next door. Oscar had been his age and they’d been able to shoot arrows from his toy bow, right from that yard into this room. Jake remembered his mother shrieking at him when one had landed in the fish tank. His parents’ house was home and always would be, no matter where he settled. He loved the wood paneling and the chart that marked his and Katie’s growth. Occasionally, there was another name, usually one of his ten cousins that were scattered around the U.S. and had come to visit. But the real heart of this place, the reason it felt as it did, were the two people that lived in it. He couldn’t imagine growing up without them, or having their love ripped away like Branna had when the man before him had turned his back on her.

“When Rose died, the devastation of losing her stole my will to live. We’d been together since she was thirteen; she was, quite simply, my life. I didn’t know how to cope. I kept seeing her lying there, hearing her screams, and I couldn’t help her.” The words were spoken in his soft Irish burr, and the sadness was evident in each one.