To Cherish Page 7

  Jazz snickered, and Dalton was grinning broadly as they opened the white containers of food. The three of them were close, and he felt like the odd man out. He didn’t have any siblings and wasn’t sure how to take some of their joking around. As the containers were put out and plates were filled, Garth began to fear Dalton was right. What if he hadn’t bought enough food for everyone? At least Trey seemed to enjoy the honey chicken, asking for more. As they ate and talked, he relaxed when he realized he’d done okay. Sure, they’d put a serious dent in the meal, but there were still a couple of unopened containers.

  Dalton finally sat back with a low groan. “Enough. If I eat any more, I’ll bust a gut.”

  “Told you,” Jazz said, poking a finger into his flat belly with a wide grin. “Better watch out or you’ll get soft.”

  “Never,” Dalton vowed, giving her a quick kiss. Jazz wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back.

  Garth had to look away from the obvious love shimmering between them. His gaze clashed with Jemma’s, and he found himself momentarily lost in the brown depths, searching for something he didn’t dare name.

  Kate Bruno, he reminded himself sternly. Remember Kate.

  “Mommy? Can I have a cookie?” Trey’s plaintive voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Only one,” Jemma said, opening a container full of warm gooey chocolate chip cookies. No one seemed disappointed to forgo the crisp fortune cookies to have chocolate chip, instead.

  Dalton reached for one before Jazz could good-naturedly slap his hand. “Yum.”

  “I thought you were going to bust a gut?” Jemma asked, her gaze innocent.

  “There’s always room for dessert, especially your baked goods,” Dalton said, taking a big bite.

  Garth pushed away from the table and began piling the trash together.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jemma insisted.

  He nodded, then backed away, once again feeling as if he didn’t belong here. “I, um, need to make a few calls.” He hightailed it out of the kitchen, scooping his duffel from the floor and heading up the wide staircase to the second floor.

  He was tempted to pick something other than the yellow room but told himself he was being ridiculous. No reason to make more work for Jemma.

  It was too early for bed, but the nagging headache was bad enough that he downed another couple of ibuprofen and stretched out on the mattress. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and reveled in the darkness.

  He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but when he opened his eyes, he could see through the window that the sun had gone down. The time was close to nine o’clock at night, which meant he’d slept for a few hours.

  Rolling off the bed, he stood, relieved that his headache had nearly vanished. He stretched his arm and shoulder, then padded to the door.

  At the top of the stairs, he listened for the sound of voices, indicating Jazz, Jemma, and Dalton were still in the kitchen, but all was quiet.

  Moving silently, he went down to the first level, double-checking that the doors were securely locked. Peering through the windows, he didn’t see anything suspicious outside either.

  At the French doors, he stared at the lake, remembering the night before and how he’d thought everything was quiet then, too.

  But he’d been wrong.

  Moving away from the French doors, he stood off to the side of the window that overlooked the east side of the house. The same side where he’d been assaulted.

  Without moving he watched, searching for a sign of movement. It may be too early for Cunningham or his hired hand to make a move, but he remained where he was for the next thirty minutes.

  Everything outside remained quiet and still, so he made his way into the kitchen. He sat at the table for a moment, wondering how to uncover the identity of Cunningham’s accomplice.

  The frequency of the attacks against Jemma convinced him that her ex had hired someone who was staying close by. He could make a sweep of the motels in the area, but that wouldn’t do much good considering he didn’t have a name.

  The sound of a door opening had him jumping to his feet. Jemma emerged from the master suite, appearing startled by his presence.

  “Oh, uh, hi.” She hesitated, then walked through the dining area toward the kitchen. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was for a while.” He searched her gaze. “Something wrong?”

  She sighed and went to the sink to fill her teapot. He noticed she tended to make tea when she was stressed. “Nothing new,” she said softly. “I just keep wondering when Randal will strike again.”

  He moved forward, wanting, needing to offer some sort of comfort. “Hey, that’s why I’m here, remember? I won’t let him hurt you or Trey.”

  The corner of her mouth tipped up in a reluctant smile. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you staying,” she admitted.

  After turning on the heat beneath her teakettle, she stood close to him.

  Too close. He was lost in the cinnamon and vanilla scents that clung to her skin.

  He told himself to step back, to remain professional, but his body didn’t listen to his brain. His arms reached for her and drew her close.

  She slipped her arms up and around his neck. “Garth,” she whispered, and his name had never sounded so good.

  He wasn’t strong enough to resist the sweet temptation he held in his arms. He lowered his mouth to hers and captured her lips in a soul-shattering kiss.

  7

  Jemma felt herself drowning in Garth’s kiss, a wave of longing sweeping through her. It had been so long since she’d kissed a man.

  Enjoyed kissing a man.

  His muscles were warm and solid beneath her fingertips. He tasted of peppermint and combined with his intoxicating woodsy scent proved to be a powerful aphrodisiac. He was sweet, gentle yet passionate in a way she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

  Garth broke off their kiss and took gulping breaths of air. “I, um, that was nice, but, um, I need to get some rest.”

  She leaned back so she could see his face. “Nice?” she repeated. “Is that your way of saying thanks, but no thanks?”

  “Jemma.” The way he said her name in his low husky voice sent tingles of awareness rippling across her skin. “I—can’t do this. I can’t get romantically involved.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” Her challenging tone surprised her, because she normally didn’t push like this. If a guy wasn’t interested in her, fine. But Garth’s kiss had gone from zero to one-sixty in a heartbeat, and she sensed he was impacted by their embrace the same way she was.

  “Same thing.” He took a step back, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I didn’t ask to stay here at the B and B for this. My only goal here is to keep you and Trey safe.”

  Her earlier bravado melted away, leaving her feeling foolish and vulnerable. “I know you didn’t ask to stay for this, but I thought we shared an emotional connection. My mistake. I really do appreciate your dedication to finding Randal.” She turned away, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. “Oh, and I’ll pay you back the amount of the towing fee for my van as soon as possible. Good night.”

  “Jemma, wait.” The urgency in Garth’s tone gave her pause, and she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “For what?”

  “Could we talk for a minute?” He looked miserable, but she forced herself to stay right where she was.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” She wanted, needed to get out of there before she made another massive error in judgement. “Truly, I understand where you’re coming from, and I’m not upset or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m glad. But I’m looking for information regarding Cunningham’s closest friends, or allies, or someone who might be indebted to him. Anyone you think he could lure into doing something like this.”

  Mortified, she realized that her last comment only made the awkward situation worse. He hadn’t wanted to talk about personal stuff but about her
ex.

  Time to pull herself together.

  “I don’t know many of them by name,” she finally said. “Let me think about it, okay? I’ll see if I can come up with a list for you in the morning.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Thanks, Jemma. For everything.”

  “Good night.” She quickly navigated between the tables in the dining room so she could gratefully disappear into the master suite.

  After closing the door behind her, Jemma leaned against the solid frame, covered her face in her hands, and inwardly groaned at how badly she’d handled that.

  Not only had she initiated an apparently unwanted kiss, but she’d acted as if he should be falling all over himself to date her. Honestly, what in the world had happened to her common sense?

  Garth could have any woman he wanted, why would he choose to be saddled with a single mom hiding from an abusive ex-husband? Quite clearly, he wouldn’t.

  She lifted her head and blew out a silent breath. Okay, then, no more late-night rendezvous with Garth. The explosive kiss they’d shared hadn’t impacted him the same way it had gutted her. Fine. Dandy. That was her problem, not his. She should be happy that he was willing to offer his protection, what more did she need?

  Nothing. Having him here was more than enough.

  Although after the way she’d acted tonight, she wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to move on in the morning. To head home, wherever that was.

  She tossed and turned for the rest of the night, her brain jumping from Garth, to Randal, to her ex’s friends, and then back to Garth.

  The sun was bright when she woke up, and she looked around the room in confusion. Usually Trey woke her up, but her son wasn’t here.

  Instantly she bolted out of bed and rushed to the door, throwing it open. She raked her gaze over the dining area. “Trey?”

  “Here, Mommy.” Her son waved at her through the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. He was in his booster seat at the table.

  Her panicked heart rate slowed, and she stood for a moment, gaping at the picture Garth made wearing her grandmother’s rosebud apron and wielding a spatula. “What are you doing?”

  He lifted a brow. “Making breakfast.” He flipped the burner on under her teakettle and gestured to the pancakes on the griddle. “I may not be the cook you are, but I can manage simple stuff. These are almost ready if you want to join us.”

  Abruptly self-conscious, she smoothed a hand over her messy hair and tugged at the hem of the baggy T-shirt she used to sleep in over her boxer shorts. “Um, yes. That would be great. Give me a few minutes.”

  She ducked inside the bedroom and quickly brushed her teeth, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and changed her clothes. Emerging from the suite a few minutes later, she tried not to be too impressed with the way Garth had taken over the kitchen and had cared for her son.

  “Smells delicious,” she said, dropping into a seat beside Trey. Her son’s face was liberally smeared with maple syrup, but she still pressed a kiss to his temple. “How’s breakfast?”

  “Yummy in my tummy.” Trey took another bite. “I like Barf’s flapjacks.”

  “Garth. I mean, Deputy Lewis,” she corrected.

  The teakettle whistled. Garth set a package of tea bags and a mug next to her. Feeling pampered, she pulled out a tea bag and placed it in the mug. Garth poured steaming hot water in her cup, then turned back to the stove. “How many flapjacks would you like?”

  “Two is fine, although here in the Midwest we call them pancakes.”

  “Same difference.” He slid a plate with two pancakes in front of her. “My foster mother always called them flapjacks, so that’s how I think of them. And yeah, okay, you’re right. Susan grew up in Louisiana.”

  “Told you,” she said with a laugh. Then her smile faded as she realized that Garth had grown up in foster care. Losing her parents and grandparents had been bad enough, but not having her siblings was incomprehensible. She couldn’t imagine not having any family and wondered if Garth knew anything about his.

  “What’s the matter? Are you afraid to try them?”

  “Of course not.” Using the edge of her fork, she cut into her pancakes and took a bite. “Hmm. These are incredible. Your foster mother taught you well.”

  “Yes, she did.” There was an underlying note of seriousness to his tone. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask more about his past but told herself not to be nosy.

  “Can I go fishin’?” Trey asked.

  She hid a grimace. Worms, yuck. “Oh, I don’t think we have a fishing pole or anything to use as bait. But that’s a good idea, Trey. I’ll look into getting those things sometime soon.”

  “I have a fishing pole,” Garth offered. “And I’m off work today, so I don’t mind taking him fishing.”

  “Really?” She eyed him curiously over her tea. “You like to fish?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? I can’t say I’m a professional or anything, but I should be able to keep him out of your hair for a while. If you’d like some time alone to get things done.”

  She thought about her desire to get into the attic to find the candlesticks. “I would like that, very much. Thank you.”

  He waved her off. “No need to thank me, it will be fun.”

  His idea of fun was different from hers, but whatever. She wasn’t about to argue.

  “Maybe you could write out that list for me while we’re down at the lake,” he said, digging into his pancakes. “That way I can work on it this afternoon.”

  She suppressed a sigh and nodded. “It’s not a long list,” she warned. “I came up with three names.”

  “That’s better than nothing.”

  Jemma finished her breakfast and poured herself another cup of tea. She took a moment to jot down the three names of Randal’s friends and a brief description of how they knew each other; Kevin Rhymes, his current partner on the Bloomington police force, Ben Skubal, his former partner who was recently promoted into a detective role, and Peter Dunn, an old college roommate.

  There were likely others, but Randal had kept her at arm’s length from his personal life, telling her she needed to stay home with the baby rather than join him in going out on Friday or Saturday nights. She loved Trey, so taking care of him was no hardship, but she’d resented the way Randal had treated her as the little woman who needed to stay at home.

  Especially when he’d come home drunk and mean more often than not. Until things had escalated that fateful night.

  Thank goodness for Jazz dropping everything to come to pick up her and Trey. She hadn’t maintained any friendships, but family was forever.

  Something Garth may not completely understand.

  Placing the list in front of Garth, she turned her attention to cleaning up.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” Garth protested. “I’ve been told I’m a messy cook.”

  “I’m grateful you bothered to cook at all,” she told him honestly. “I can’t tell you the last time a man did that for me.”

  He stared at her for so long, she felt herself blush. She turned to fill the sink with sudsy water. Friends, remember? Nothing more.

  Kitchen cleanup duty didn’t take long, and Garth asked if she minded if he took Trey along with him to pick up his fishing pole and bait. Letting her son out of her sight wasn’t easy, but she told herself that wrapping Trey in a blanket of fear wouldn’t do him any favors.

  “Of course, have fun. I’ll be up in the attic if you need something.”

  “Sounds good. Come on, Trey. Let’s go for a ride.” Garth lifted her son into his arms and strode toward the door. The sight of them together made her breath catch in her throat.

  It was good for Trey to have a positive male role model in his life. Someone to look up to.

  So why was she longing for more?

  Enough. She had no idea how long Trey would be satisfied with his fishing expedition so there was no time to waste. There was a passageway into the attic from t
he ceiling in the hallway between the green and yellow rooms.

  Using a stepladder, she grasped the cord and carefully pulled the foldaway staircase down. A cloud of dust accompanied it. She coughed and waved it away.

  There was a light at the top of the stairs, a dim bulb that didn’t illuminate the entire area. There were other bulbs strategically placed along the way, and she walked through the boxes and broken furniture to turn them on.

  Propping her hand on her hips, she looked around in dismay. The stuff up here looked to be in worse shape than she remembered. Searching for the silver candlesticks might be a futile effort, but she had to try.

  When she and Jazz were kids, they loved playing up here. They’d hang sheets from one nail to another, creating two forts where they could pretend to be living in their own apartments as neighbors.

  Unfortunately, their lives had taken different paths, Jazz hadn’t found a job to complement her marketing degree, so she’d gone into real estate. Jemma had become a schoolteacher, married Randal, and had given birth to Trey. After that, Randal had insisted she stay home to care for their son, and she remembered Jazz telling her that she needed to stand up for herself.

  But at the time, she hadn’t listened. Until Jazz had been forced to come to her rescue.

  After leaving Randal she’d gone back to teaching second grade. Until the incident with Trey had sent her moving on to McNally Bay.

  She and Jazz were still close, more so now that they were living in the same place and kicking off a new business together. But she often wondered what her life would have been like if they hadn’t drifted apart after college.

  She told herself the past didn’t matter, what was important was that she and Jazz were together now. Hopefully, their four older brothers would make good on their promise to come and visit this summer as well.

  The B&B was a joint investment, with Jemma and Jazz getting a larger cut for doing the work. Jazz was going to help serve guests and clean rooms, while doing the marketing and the financials. Jemma would do all the cooking, as well as helping out with the other tasks. A true partnership.