That Thing Called Love

CHAPTER FOUR

JENNY STROLLED INTO THE INN’S dining room the following morning, only to rock to a halt in the doorway when she saw Jake Bradshaw sitting alone at one of the window tables. How did he do that? How the hell did he manage to be everywhere she went?

Wasn’t it enough that he’d thrown a monkey wrench into her get-away-from-it-all evening with Tasha last night? Now he had to invade her dining room, as well? This was her time of the morning, dammit, her territory, her inn.

Okay, maybe the latter wasn’t hers in the legal sense, aside from the portion Emmett had so generously bequeathed her. But in all the ways that mattered, she claimed ownership. The Brothers Inn had been a major part of her life since she’d arrived in Razor Bay at sixteen. Hell, it was the reason she’d come to this town in the first place—the promise of a job when the pampered life she’d known had disintegrated in the wake of her father’s arrest and incarceration.

And ever since Emmett had promoted her to general manager, she’d made a habit of coming to the dining room each morning at the end of the breakfast shift to eat that much-touted most important meal of the day. She’d found it particularly beneficial since Austin had moved in with her. Breakfast at the inn was her way of easing into the day, a transition between getting the teen off to school and diving into her busy shift at the inn.

Striding across the room, she smiled at or murmured hellos to the few guests still finishing up their meals, before stopping at Jake’s table.

“What are you doing here?” Okay, so it was obvious, given the topped-off coffee cup at his elbow and the plate containing a smear of egg yolk, an untouched bunch of red grapes and a single crust of toast, which he’d pushed out of the way to accommodate the Bremerton Sun he was reading.

But it was the best she could do when she wasn’t allowed to say, You breathe, therefore you bother me—get the hell out of my dining room.

“Hey.” He looked up from the newspaper spread out on the table. Flashed her a million-dollar smile. “I’m having breakfast. You, too?”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and tapped the toe of a fabulous-if-she-did-say-so-herself Steve Madden Mary Jane. It reverberated a soft tattoo against the hardwood floor.

Jake’s smile faded. “Is it a problem that I’m staying here? Do you want me to leave?”

Yes! The moment Austin had left this morning, she’d put in a call to the Pierces’ lawyer to discuss her chances of keeping the boy with her now that his absentee father had stated a willingness to fight for custody. Already feeling ragged from the results of that conversation, learning that blood relatives are almost always chosen over a nonrelated contestant, she wished nothing more than for Jake Bradshaw to go far, far away.

And never come back.

But he’d made it pretty clear that wasn’t going to happen. And she knew the bastard had been right when he’d told her that either she could make things easier for Austin, or she could stick to her guns and likely make them a lot more difficult. So she sighed and dropped her arms to her sides.

“No. We don’t make a habit of turning customers away at The Brothers just because we don’t like their looks.” Hearing herself, she almost blew a pithy little raspberry, but managed to sink her teeth into her lower lip before she could follow through on the impulse. But, please. She doubted anyone had ever turned this guy away over his looks. “Or their history. Not if they aren’t currently doing anything wrong.”

He raised his eyebrows. “But it’s just a matter of time, eh?”

“You said it, not me.”

He laughed. “You’re not shy about trying to kick my teeth down my throat, are you? I like that about you.”

She gave him her politest GM smile. “Always happy to oblige.”

“I bet you are.” He kicked the chair across from him away from the table. “Have a seat.”

The response that rose to her lips was very un-GM-like, not to mention an anatomical impossibility. Austin, she reminded herself firmly. I have to consider Austin first and foremost.

She sat. “Thank you. I’m not sure I’ve ever received an invitation so suave.”

He grinned. “It’s my big-city polish.”

Dammit, she didn’t want to like anything about this guy, but she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from twitching upward in appreciation. Then the decision she’d made after a night spent tossing and turning slammed front and center.

And the smile dissolved.

“I gave your request a lot of thought,” she said. “And I’ve decided to do what I can to make Austin’s transition as easy on him as possible.”

He sat straighter in his seat. “Thank you.”

“Like I told you yesterday, I’m not doing this for you. And you might want to hold the thanks, anyway, because I don’t know if you’ll like my take on how you should handle things.”

“Lay it on me.”

“For starters, I wouldn’t tell him your plans to haul him back to New York yet, if I were you.”

His brows drew together. “You don’t think he should be prepared?”

A plate with scrambled eggs, toast and a ramekin of yogurt, blueberries and handmade granola was slid onto the table in front of her, and Jenny looked up at the waitress, giving her a smile. “Thanks, Brianna.”

“No problem.” The young woman turned Jenny’s cup over in its saucer and filled it with coffee. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you.” Glancing around, she saw that she and Jake were the only diners left—not that there’d been that many to begin with. “Go grab your own breakfast. And tell the crew to work around us if we’re still here when they’re ready to set up for lunch.” A chore they performed as soon as the breakfast crowd cleared out and they’d eaten their meals.

The girl shot her a grin. “Will do.”

She watched Brianna walk away, then turned back to Jake. “I absolutely believe Austin needs to be prepared,” she said, picking up the conversation. “But if you lead off with the fact you’re taking him from Razor Bay, he’ll shut down on you so fast it’ll make your head spin—and it will only take you that much longer to gain his trust. Look, you might be accustomed to packing up and taking off at a moment’s notice, but trust me, Austin is not.”

He studied her. “What makes you think I am?”

“Please,” she said with dismissive scorn. “There’s a wealth of stuff about you on the internet.”

“You looked me up?”

“Of course.” She tipped her head. “Do you find my assessment off the mark?”

He hitched one shoulder. “No, that’s pretty accurate.”

“So you’re used to living life on the fly. You’re also an adult. He’s a kid who’s lived in one place his entire life.”

“And is probably dying for a change.”

“Why, because you were at his age? That’s something you should definitely discuss with him, but aside from longing for a daddy when he was younger, I can’t say that I’ve ever witnessed signs of Austin being dissatisfied with his lot.”

He started patting his chest and her eyebrows drew together. “What are you doing?”

“You slipped that knife in so sweet and slick, I want to be sure I don’t bleed to death before I even realize I’ve been shivved.”

She shrugged. “Put yourself in his place for a minute instead of trying to shoehorn him into yours. I know you’re getting up there in years but—”

A bark of laughter interrupted her. “Jesus, you’re a pisser.”

Jenny ignored him. “—try to remember back to when you were thirteen. How open would you have been if a man you’d never met suddenly inserted himself into your life and, without giving you so much as a moment to get to know him, told you he was gonna haul you away from everything you knew to a life different from anything you could imagine, clear on the other side of the country?”

“In all honesty?” He gave her an ironic smile. “I probably would’ve burned rubber packing my bag. But in the interests of that putting-myself-in-his-place thing, I agree that a different kind of kid might be pissed.” He gave a grudging nod. “I’ll keep my plans to myself until we get to know each other.”

“And I’ll work on trying to get him to spend some time with you.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugged and picked up her fork. She’d prefer to move to another table where she could eat her breakfast in peace, but for the sake of cooperation, she stayed put. But the sourdough toast and eggs in her standing Saturday order tasted like wood chips and glue.

He didn’t try to talk to her while she forced herself to eat every bite. For a while she appreciated it. But as the silence dragged on, she felt an antsy need to fill it with something.

Anything.

She shifted in her chair. Set her fork down and looked at him across the table.

Got hung up for a minute on his eyes.

Stop that! Dammit, what was it about him? She’d never been one to go all crazy over a handsome face. Yet with him—well, it was scary how unlike herself she felt when she looked at him too long or too closely. She was so not the bubbleheaded Ooh, what pretty eyes you have—what’s your sign type.

So why did she look at this man and feel darn near that vacuous?

Giving herself a mental head-smack now, she sat a bit straighter in her seat. “Why did it take you so damn long to get here after Emmett died?”

She almost crowed in self-approval, but managed to confine herself to a silent Thatagirl. Put him on the spot.

He leveled those glorious green eyes at her. “The phone call was made to my home rather than my assistant—”

“Maybe because no one knew you had an assistant,” she snapped.

He sighed. “Look, I stipulate that everything is my fault, okay?”

Jenny reined herself in, because these knee-jerk reactions weren’t helping. “I’m sorry,” she said and put real effort into sounding as if she actually meant it. She gave him the slightest nod. “Go on.”

“Said the queen to the peasant,” he said drily.

Shooting him her snootiest look, she twirled her hand to urge him to get on with it.

He only laughed. “It was a perfect storm of lousy luck. The housekeeper had been with me less than a month when I left on this trip, so by the time it occurred to her to contact Lucinda—that’s my assistant—the news was several weeks old. I was photographing the reefs and the Karangetang volcano in the Sangihe-Talaud Archipelago of Northern Sulawesi at the time. It’s remote, it’s freaking monsoon season, which our scheduler should have known before he set the damn trip up, and we only got access to a satellite phone when we came back to Minahasa about every third weekend or so.” He shrugged. “Even when I heard about it, I was obligated for an additional six days. Then it took time to get a flight to the Philippines and even more time to get a flight from there to Seattle. I don’t go to the most accessible spots in the world.”

“So even if you heard right away, you wouldn’t have been here any sooner?”

“I had a contract! Would you have left this inn in the lurch?”

“For Austin? In a New York minute.”

His expression went blank. “I genuflect to your superior parenting skills. But I’m trying here, okay?”

And since Jenny had caught a glimpse of genuine pain cross his eyes before he slapped on a poker face, she nodded. For the first time she really saw that he was, indeed, trying—and that maybe this wasn’t as easy for him as he’d made it appear up until now. “Okay. I guess the important thing is that you’re here now. But you’ve gotta understand that this isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know,” he said wearily. “Believe me, I get it that I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

She pushed her plate away, sat a bit taller and reached for her coffee cup, wrapping her hands around it in an attempt to warm her cold, cold fingers. Despite the lip service she’d given, a part of her must have secretly hoped this was something that would simply disappear if she wished hard enough.

Instead, it was growing more real, more concrete, by the second. She drew in a deep breath, then quietly exhaled. Replaced her cup in its saucer and pressed her hands, fingers splayed, against the cool wood of the tabletop to disguise the faint tremor they’d developed.

“Give Austin time and don’t bullshit him,” she told him quietly, “and he’ll likely come to love you. He adored the idea of you when he was little.”

Jake leaned into the table. Slid his own long-fingered hands across its surface as if to touch her. But he halted their progress when his fingertips were less than an inch from hers.

She hated that the near touch set up a series of quivers deep inside.

“And you’ll help me?” he demanded.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

He nodded.

“Then I will.”

Even though it’d likely rip her heart right out of her breast to do so.

* * *

“BRADSHAW! GET YOUR head outta the clouds and pay attention!”

Austin literally jerked at the sound of Coach Harstead’s brisk bellow—and raised a baseball mitt-encased hand to acknowledge the reprimand. “Sorry, coach!” Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to refocus on the Bulldogs’ Wednesday practice.

God, it was hard, though. His so-called father had been trying to pin him down for the past week and a half, wanting to talk and bond and shit. Austin had been doing his best to avoid the guy, but surprisingly, Jenny, who he’d assumed would be the last person wanting him to spend time with the man, hadn’t been much help. She actually thought he should be—how had she put it?—open-minded.

My ass. Resettling his cap in front, he narrowed his eyes on the batter. His friend Lee was up. Dude was right-handed with a tendency to pull the ball, so ninety percent of his hits came straight to where Austin played shortstop, between second and third base. “Come to Mama,” he murmured.

Yet even as he concentrated on being ready for it, he wondered where his “dad” had been when he’d actually wanted a father. Nodamnwhere, that’s where. Or maybe, given the guy’s big-deal job, everywhere.

Everywhere except Razor Bay.

The crack of a ball off the bat focused his attention once again and, seeing Lee’s line drive arc to the left of him, Austin got himself in position. A second later he snagged the ball out of the air, feeling it hit his mitt with a satisfyingly meaty thwonk, and winged it to the second baseman to tag Oliver Kidd, who should have stayed put on first.

“Good work, Bradshaw!” Coach Harstead called. Then to the rest of the boys, he said, “That’s a classic example of the double play that frequently happens when you hit to shortstop. So let’s all work on not doing that, whataya say?”

Stoked over his play, Austin’s concentration improved for the rest of the practice. He actually felt pretty good by the time Coach called it quits. It was a nice little break from the stress he’d been feeling this week with his dad back in town.

Nolan came up and slapped him on the back. “Nice play with Lee and Oliver.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I did okay for once. Usually Coach catches me at my worst.”

“Nah. He knows you’re good. Maybe even all-star material—”

“Austin.”

He stiffened all over at the sound of Jake’s voice and, schooling his expression, turned to face him, giving a sullen shrug of acknowledgment. Making up his mind to play it cool, however, he tried real hard not to scowl.

But, jeez.

The guy didn’t resemble any of his friends’ dads. He was younger, for one thing. And even if he wanted to talk to him, it wasn’t like he’d have the first idea what to say. Jake had like a billion-dollar camera slung around his neck—and between the hot-shit globe-trotting photographs he took for some famous magazine and the way he looked—like an action-movie guy or something—well, it could be sorta intimidating. If Austin gave a rip about that kind of stuff.

Which he didn’t.

Jake turned to Nolan. “Your mother called Jenny,” he said. “She had to take your little brother to the doctor. It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he assured the boy, “but because she’s hung up, I’m here to give you two a ride.”

Crap! Still, there wasn’t a lot they could do about this plan—not when it had the parental stamp of approval. So by unspoken agreement, he and Nolan tumbled into the back of Jake’s Mercedes BlueTEC SUV that everybody and his brother had asked Austin about, as if he would be the first to know anything about it—not!—and visited with each other, ignoring their driver.

When Jake pulled into the driveway at Austin’s friend’s house a short while later, Nolan opened the back door but stopped to say, “Thanks, Mr. Bradshaw.”

Austin, who was damned if he’d thank Daddy Dearest for anything, simply nodded. “Yeah,” he said, climbing out of the SUV in Nolan’s wake. He met Jake’s eyes when he reached back in to grab his pack. “Tell Jenny I’m doing my homework with Nolan,” he said, and slammed the door shut. Then he turned and stalked away.

He refused to feel guilty over the flash of disappointment he’d spotted on the face of a guy he’d assumed didn’t need anyone.

CHAPTER FIVE

JAKE WATCHED UNTIL THE KIDS disappeared through the front door of Nolan’s house. “Well, that went fucking swell.” Blowing out a breath, he put the Mercedes in gear and backed down the driveway. Now what did he do?

He’d expected to get a little more out of the opportunity Jenny had presented him in the wake of Rebecca Damoth’s frantic phone call than to receive the invisible chauffeur treatment. Grumbling to himself to avoid acknowledging the hollow that had formed in his gut when his son resolutely ignored him, he drove aimlessly around Razor Bay.

He had to admire the irony. When he’d heard the news about Emmett and realized that this was his final chance to take responsibility for the parenting he’d abdicated so many years ago, what should have been a cut-and-dried decision wasn’t. He hated to admit it, but part of him had been seriously tempted to simply continue doing what he’d been doing. In the end, however, not a damn thing wasn’t an option. He was tired of the guilt. He might be able to shove it aside for blocks of time, but it always came back to haunt him.

Maybe he was like those chicks who were only drawn to men who treated them like shit. Because the more his kid ignored or tried to avoid him, the more fascinated he found himself.

Spotting the sign for the public access to the canal at the north end of town, he turned off the road into its long parking area and drove through the lot to the double-wide boat ramp, not stopping until his tires were a few feet shy of the water. The tide had turned but was only about halfway to high. He turned off the ignition and, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, stared out at the canal.

Not only was it midweek with most people at work, the day was gray as a bucket of day-old fish guts, the mountains obscured by liverish rain clouds too dense and weighty to push beyond the stratum of those stacked upon them. The parking lot didn’t contain a single vehicle with attached trailer, and Jake had his doubts that even the most intrepid, boat-happy sailor from Bangor—the naval station on the other side of Kitsap—would be hauling a boat down to the launch today.

He climbed out of the SUV, stepped off the paved launch and walked to the water’s edge.

It had been windy during the week and a half he’d been in Razor Bay, but today not so much as a breeze stirred. The skies looked as though they might open up at any minute, but for now they were dry. Squatting, he selected a few flat stones from the rocky beach then surged back upright, took a step back with his right foot and skimmed one across the water’s flat, mirrorlike surface. It skipped four times before sinking. He pulled another out of his jeans pocket and let it fly, as well.

He’d envisioned making at least a little progress with his son by now, but Austin avoided him like a case of the Asian clap. How was he supposed to get to know him if the boy was either impossible to find or faded like smoke in the wind the few times Jake could locate him?

It didn’t help that he was getting that closed-in feeling Razor Bay inevitably generated in him and, agitation building, he abandoned the lightweight skipping stones and culled some honest-to-God rocks—several with razor-edged oysters attached—from the beach. He hurled them, one after the other, as far as he could throw them. Each made a nice, solid kerplunk, sending up a decent splash as they struck the water.

That was where his satisfaction ended.

At the rate he was going, Austin would be thirty before he was ready to move with him to New York. Jake needed to get things moving at a faster clip than he’d managed so far.

Frustration at his failure to make progress bit deep. Dammit, he was accustomed to dealing with problems in a brisk, competent manner. He spent a good deal of every year in far-off places where situations without easy solutions regularly arose. Yet, when faced with dilemmas, he was the guy you could count on to dig in and find ways to fix them.

That wasn’t what he’d been doing here. And the hell of it was, whenever he bent his mind toward finding a way to break the ice with his son, instead of working with its usual efficiency, his brain turned into a barren moonscape.

Tires crunched over the scattering of pinecones that had dropped from the evergreen trees dotting the parking lot, but Jake had no interest in seeing who’d arrived. What did he care if someone decided to overlook the less than ideal weather conditions? Hell, as far as that went, why shouldn’t they? It might be a butt-ugly day, but the canal was calm for the first time since he’d arrived in this godforsaken town.

Hunkering down on the beach next to the paved boat ramp, he culled a new arsenal of the largest rocks he could find. The mood he was in, he’d welcome the opportunity to lob a boulder or two, but the beach wasn’t exactly littered with those.

He was aware in a disinterested corner of his mind that the vehicle hadn’t swung around to back a trailer down the ramp alongside his SUV. Instead, a car door opened and closed behind him and, as he rose to his feet to throw the first rock, he heard the gritty sound of shoes kissing sand-dusted pavement. Ignoring it, he hurled another rock, then another.

“Tourists pay big bucks for access to that water,” Max said from behind him. “They expect it to be there the next time they show up. So keep that up and I’m gonna have to write you a ticket for reef building within twenty feet of the shoreline.”

Hearing the deep tones of his half brother’s voice gave him the usual screw-you jolt of irritation—but laced this time with a new, unexpected thread of pleasure. He shrugged off the latter as a fluke, since his pleasure receptors and Max were a foreign pairing.

“Twenty feet?” he demanded, turning to face Max. “Please. I could throw these babies thirty in my sleep.”

Max’s mouth curved up on one side. “I’m guessing algebra wasn’t your long suit.”

“True.” His own lips quirked. “Business majors don’t need no stinkin’ algebra.” A degree he’d pursued in order to prove he was the financial achiever his father wasn’t. Not that Charlie Bradshaw hadn’t provided for his family—whoever that might have been at any given moment. But where he had been a middling salesman, Jake had an intrinsic knack with money. More important, he’d had an urge to be more successful than his father. To be better in every way.