Nobody But You (14 page)

J
acob had been chopping wood for about two hours, using some of the wood rounds he'd found lying in a huge pile on the side of the cabin.

He'd chopped more than they'd need at the resort, stocking the extra against the back of the cabin for winter—even though he'd only rented the place short-term and it was currently summer.

He stopped when he could no longer lift his arms. He'd set the ax aside and stood there catching his breath when he felt it. Her. But the dock was still empty, no
Little Lucas
and no wild tumbleweed Sophie Marren.

And then he realized she was sitting above, on the edge of the embankment, her bare feet hanging over, swinging slightly. She wore her sunglasses so he couldn't see exactly where she was focused, but he knew.

He lifted a hand in greeting, his body tightening. In hunger, he told himself. But he knew that it wasn't food he was hungry for.

She stood and made her way down to the beach. He met her just as a truck pulled up to the cabin. Hud's truck. Deciding Hud could wait a second, Jacob smiled at Sophie.

She didn't smile back.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Or…you're not lake patrol.”

He smiled at the idea of being lake patrol. Yeah, he'd been military for nine years and still was, but if there was one thing he'd learned about himself, he wasn't exactly a rule follower. Taking a job where he had to impose rules upon others wasn't going to work for him. Ever. “Not lake patrol,” he agreed with a laugh.

She took a step back, and he realized his mistake. Never laugh at a pissed-off woman. He reached for her, but she evaded, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“You think this is funny?” she asked.

“Funny that you thought I was lake patrol? Absolutely,” he said. “Funny that you're somehow all riled up at me? No. I don't find that funny at all. Unless you're looking to expel some of that energy in a constructive but down-and-dirty way. Because then I'm game.”

She stared at him. “Are you talking about sex? Because you should know, I'm so not going there with you, not ever again. The thought makes me sick.”

Her nipples were hard even though it was still eighty degrees out. Her face was flushed, but he'd bet the last beer in his fridge that it wasn't from heat. “That's a big fib,” he said.

“No, see, that's my point,” she grated out. “
You're
the fibber.” She shoved her hair from her face, where it'd fallen into her eyes. “You let me think that I was going to get in trouble by parking here. More than once. You acted all…authoritative, and I believed you. You sucked me into your force field and I nearly lost—” She bit back the rest of that sentence.

“Lost what?” he asked.

“My job!”

He'd have laid another bet down that she'd nearly said
herself
. Which cut him like a knife.

“You know what?” she said. “Forget it. Forget all of it—including that morning last week, where for one teeny-tiny second I thought maybe your entire gender didn't totally suck!”

“It was more than a teeny-tiny second,” he said.

She glared at him.

Okay, so she couldn't be charmed out of this. But he had absolutely zero idea what exactly was happening. “I'm going to need a hint here, Soph. I don't remember ever telling you that I was lake patrol.”

“I
assumed
.”

He knew better than to tell her what assuming made her. “How? I told you I was on leave.”

“Yes, but you always seemed to be there when I was…illegally parking, pointing it out. And you have that whole authority presence down. I just—” She bit her lower lip. “Assumed,” she whispered.

“I promise you,” he said, “I had no idea you thought I was lake patrol.”

“But…” She tossed up her hands, looking genuinely upset and miserable, and he felt bad about that. Really bad. He stepped toward her, but she pointed at him to stay. Clearly going for a dramatic escape, she stormed the beach, heading to the next property over, which was North Beach and the campgrounds. She stomped her way down the dock, with him right behind her. Ignoring him, she boarded the boat and slammed the door behind her as she headed belowdecks.

And caught the hem of her dress between the jamb and the door.

“Dammit,” he heard her mutter from the other side of the door before whipping it open. She yanked her dress in and slammed the door for the second time, clearly making a statement that she was still mad.

As if he couldn't tell by the energy crackling off her, enough that he could have popped corn off her skin. He blew out a breath and stepped on board as well. “Sophie—”

“No,” she said through the door. “You wielded around your power like…like you're some male alpha dog whipping it out to pee all over everything and mark your territory!”

“I rarely ever whip it out to mark my territory,” he said, hoping to make her smile.

What he got was silence. “Soph.”

Nothing.

“Listen,” he said. “Did you ever think that I kept seeking you out because…well, because I wanted to talk to you?”

He waited while she processed that, waited as she hopefully remembered three truths and a lie. Or more accurately just the terrifying real truths over a bottle of Scotch. Their kiss.

The time they'd spent in his bed…something that hadn't been far from his mind. How she'd felt in his arms, the way she'd looked at him, like he really did it for her, like he was enough, just as he was, screwed up and all.

She opened the door and looked at him. Color tinted her cheeks. Yeah, she remembered everything. But there was something else going on here, something far deeper that was upsetting her. And he didn't buy that it was simply because she'd misunderstood him being lake patrol. No, she was upset because she thought he'd lied to her.

Her past was rearing up and lifting its ugly head, and he got that. He did. But he wasn't going to let her make him the bad guy here. “I've never lied to you,” he said.

He could feel her doubt and wished he could eradicate it, but only she could do that.

“I need to think,” she said.

“Can you think over dinner? I'll cook so you won't have to.”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“No, really, I'll surprise you.” And himself…

But she shook her head. “I can't think in your presence.”

“Why not?”

“Because looking at you is like…” She tossed up her hands. “It's like walking down the chips and cookie aisle at the grocery store. I can't resist you, and then I'll forget why you're bad for me.”

“How about I promise to be so good to you that you'll forget the bad?”

Her gaze had started to soften, but then she apparently found her resolve, because she shook herself out of it and said, “Argh!” Then she jabbed a finger at him. “No. No more of your magical kisses that make my clothes fall off. You've got to go.” To prove it, she moved to the captain's chair, started the boat, and revved the engine.

He'd have liked to push the issue and talk her down, coax her into coming back home with him, but he knew pushing her right now wasn't the smart move.

And he wanted to be smart here. Wanted to be smart with her. Careful. She needed to be in control, and he got that. “Promise me one thing,” he said. “That you'll moor at my place. No more sneaking around, trying to find a place at the end of a long day when you're too tired to be behind the wheel. My dock is open to you. No fee, no paybacks, no worries. Period.”

She stilled. “Okay,” she murmured.

Okay. She'd be back when she needed to moor the boat for the night, and they could talk then. On her terms.

He barely got out of the boat before she hit the gas and was gone, leaving nothing but a wake.

Hud came down to the dock to stand next to him, smirking, the ass. “You've been back, what, two weeks, and you've already pissed off the hottest redhead in town. I think that's a record, even for you.”

J
acob shook his head. He hated letting Sophie go, but she needed a moment, and he could give it to her, knowing she'd be back tonight. “Don't start,” he said to Hud, and turned his head to eye his twin—who up until now had barely given him the time of day, even though they'd spent a lot of time at the resort together.

He'd done his best not to care. He'd spent time with his mom. He'd also been working on the cabin here and there, fixing some things that had been bothering him, like a loose floorboard and some wonky electrical that made it so he couldn't run his TV and make toast at the same time.

He'd been taking long paddleboard rides, pretending not to search for one crazy hot and adorable redhead's boat.

But he was restless, spending too much time not doing what he'd come here to do.

Which was not one Sophie Marren. “What are you doing here?” he asked Hud.

“You've been visiting Mom.”

Jacob stared at him. “Did you think I wouldn't?”

Hud didn't answer that. Instead he said, “You went a long time without seeing her.”

This conversation was a one-way-road straight to Troubleville. Because he
had
seen their mom, as often as he'd been able to manage it. “Was there a question in there?” Jacob asked.

Hud didn't react to this, but there was something in his eyes, something to suggest temper even though he looked calm and patient and utterly in control.

But Jacob wasn't nearly as patient, never had been. “Why don't you just say what you came here to say.”

“All right,” Hud said, “but it's going to be a repeat of what Sophie Marren just yelled at you.”

“You don't want any more magical kisses that made your clothes fall off either?” Jacob asked.

Hud gave him a long, level look. “You lied to me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You let me think that you left here and never looked back. But you paid half of Mom's bills.”

Jacob let out a breath. Not where he'd thought this was going. “You already knew that,” he said. “Where's the lie in that?”

“Because I just went to pay her next month's bill online and discovered someone already paid it. In fact, someone paid it for the rest of the year. In full.”

Jacob lifted a shoulder. “So?”

“I knew it.” He pointed at Jacob. “That's bullshit—you know that? I pay my half, always have. I don't need you to cover my part. Just because you heard about the resort and the money troubles doesn't mean you get to show off by stepping up and playing the hero now to assuage your own guilt.”

Jacob had been about to say that stepping up now was the only way he knew how to make up for things, but Hud's holier-than-thou attitude was pissing him off. He stepped closer to his brother and Hud did the same, clearly itching for a fight every bit as much as he.

The thing was, stepping up to pay his mom's bills wasn't about showing off. He'd saved just about every penny he'd made over the past nine years. In the beginning he'd been aggressive with investments and it had paid off. His money had made money, and now he had a nest egg. It gave him peace of mind to know that if something happened to him, his mom would be okay.

“You didn't write,” Hud said. “You didn't call. But you sent money for Mom and…Fuck.” He shoved his hands in his hair and turned in a restless circle. “How could you not even call?”

Jacob closed his eyes. “I don't know.” But he did know. It'd been because of what Hud had said to him before he left, angry words that shouldn't have sliced as deep as they had, but he'd been eighteen and he'd felt gutted. And hurt. And what eighteen-year-old punk kid dealt with that well? Not him.

“And now all of a sudden you want to put money in and be a part of this family?” Hud asked in disbelief. “You want to be the big hero and think that it fixes everything? Tough shit, man. You can't buy your way back in.”

Is that what Hud thought? If so, hell if Jacob would explain about Brett and why he'd come back to Cedar Ridge. “Your problem with me being home has nothing to do with me helping out,” he said. “And I have the money, so why the fuck can't I use it to help? Or do you plan to hold this over me for the rest of our lives?”

Both of their phones buzzed an incoming text at the same time. They pulled their phones from their pockets and froze at the group message from their mom.

In sync, they moved toward their vehicles. “Meet you there,” Jacob said.

Hud shook his head. “I'll drive. Get in.”

Jacob did just that, taking some hope from the fact that at least in the case of an emergency they could come together and do what had to be done.

“She's never fallen before,” Hud said with a frown, whipping out of Jacob's driveway. “Physically, she's been really good.”

Jacob was trying to reach the front desk by cell phone but was on hold. “What are you doing slowing down?”

“The light's going to turn red before I get there,” Hud said.

“Since when do you drive like a grandma?”

Hud grinded his molars and hit the gas, making it through the intersection without the light turning red.

“Turn left,” Jacob told him. “It's faster to go down Jeffrey Pine Road.”

“I'm a cop,” Hud said through his teeth. “I know the best route.”

“Great. Do you know which pedal is the accelerator?”

“Shit.” Hud hit the gas, and Jacob couldn't help but note with some grim satisfaction that he turned left on Jeffrey Pine, possibly on two wheels.

Five minutes later they hit their mom's room at a dead run and came to a skidding halt in her doorway.

Carrie sat in the center of her bed, her ankle propped up on an ice pack. She had a supersized loaded pizza in front of her.

“Just in time, boys!” she said cheerfully. “Come, sit, eat while it's still hot!”

“Mom,” Hud said, still breathing hard from the run up the stairs. “You said you fell.”

“I did. I was leading a Jazzercise class downstairs and tripped over Yvonne. We toppled like dominos. You should've seen us. There's a pic of it. Carl said he posted it on Instagram. He's going to tell everyone that his girlfriends are more into each other than him.” She laughed and reached for her phone on the bedside table.

“Mom, we don't need to see the pic,” Hud said. “How badly are you hurt?”

Jacob already knew the answer to that. She was beaming at the sight of them, happy and absolutely pain free. In fact, he'd bet his portion of that pizza that she was up to shenanigans and one hundred percent lucid at the moment.

“Baby, relax,” Carrie said to Hud, and patted the bed. “Come eat.”

Hud pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before looking at Jacob like
WTF?

Jacob shrugged and moved to the bed. He removed the ice pack from her ankle and eyed it closely. Slightly swollen. Relieved, he replaced the ice pack and sat, pulling her in for a hug. Then he grabbed the biggest piece of pizza and took a bite. “Good stuff,” he said. “Stone's?”

Carrie nodded with a smile.

“Missed that place,” he said. “I'm starving.”

Hud divided a look between the two of them like maybe they didn't speak the same language as he. But he sat. “Mom, what's going on?”

She patted his knee. “Do you remember that time you traded my cat for one of the neighbor's dog's new puppies?” she asked.

Jacob remembered. He and Hud had been maybe eight and had a mutual hate affair with the love of her life, Bones the cat—who'd hissed at them and shit in their shoes at every turn, out of spite. The people in the apartment across from them had a dog who'd shown up pregnant after being missing for two days. Two months later, she'd had pups in their bathtub.

Hud and Jacob had gotten the bright idea to trade Bones for a new puppy, and aided by the neighbor's son, the switch had been stealthily made one night.

The next morning, the neighbor had blown a gasket and so had Carrie. “You made us work for the guy cleaning up after those puppies for two weeks,” Jacob reminded her. “Ten puppies, each with a loose digestive track. And this one…” He jabbed a thumb in Hud's direction, “kept pretending to gag like he was going to throw up and managed to get himself excused.”

“Aw,” Carrie said. “He wasn't pretending. You know he's got a weak stomach.” She ruffled Hud's hair. “Don't you, baby?”

Hud grumbled something beneath his breath, and when Jacob laughed, he narrowed his eyes.

And then stood up and stared at them some more.

“What?” Carrie asked him. “What is it?”

“I'm missing something,” Hud said.

“Oh no,” she said. “I'm so sorry. Where did you last see it? Because your room's a complete and utter wreck, Hudson. If you'd just clean it like I asked—”

“It's not a
thing
,” Hud said. “It's something else.” He stared at Jacob.

“What is it?” Carrie asked, but Jacob knew. He held Hud's gaze and
knew
.

“You two don't seem like people who haven't spoken to or seen each other in nine years,” Hud said.

Carrie laughed. “Well, of course not, silly. I speak to him as often as I speak to you. And speaking of that, you have a big birthday coming up. You're finally going to hit double digits, the big one-oh. What should we do to celebrate?”

So this answered Jacob's immediate question. They were ten years old today. Or would be next week.

And she wasn't in the present at all…

“We don't need anything special, Mom,” Hud said, and stood up. “You, I want to see you outside.”

“Can't, baby,” she said. “My ankle—”

“
Jacob
,” Hud said.

Jacob casually reached for another piece of pizza and leaned back against the headboard. Because he knew what was outside. A fight. One he didn't want to have.

Carrie took Hud's hand. “Honey, whatever it is, just say it.”

Hud pinched the bridge of his nose and then dropped his hand and looked at his mom. “You heard from him. All this time, when he was”—Hud looked at Jacob—“gone, you heard from him.”

Carrie, confused on the timeline or not, knew she'd stepped in it. She bit her lower lip, her expression dialed to an unbearable sadness that Jacob couldn't take. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I called every week,” he told Hud.

“He used FaceTime,” his mom said. “And sometimes he came in person.”

Hud's eyes widened as he stared at Jacob. “You came here. You came here to Cedar Ridge?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Hud—”

Hud pointed at him. “How many times, Jacob?”

“I don't know,” he said.

“Nine,” Carrie said, and winced when both boys turned to her. “I kept count. Was I not supposed to keep count?”

Hud swore and paced the length of the room, glowering fiercely. Then suddenly his temper drained and he shoved his fingers in his hair. “Jesus, Jacob,” he whispered. “You kept up with her?”

“Did you really think I wouldn't?”

Hud's eyes hardened again. “You kept up with her and not me.”

Yeah, okay, that one was more difficult. He took a deep breath to speak, but Hud closed his eyes and turned away. “Forget it,” he said.

Forget it
. He'd said the same thing all those years ago to Jacob, turning away from him then too.
If you want to be like Dad, go. But know that if you do, we're no longer brothers
.

And Jacob, not exactly an innocent party to the fight, had let those words fester deep inside. It'd taken him a shamefully long time to realize that what Hud had said had been in anger.

But what Jacob had done, walking away, he'd done with a purposeful calm. He'd walked away.

He'd
been the bigger ass.

He knew that.

What he didn't know was how to fix it.

When the pizza was gone, Hud dropped Jacob off at the lake, not saying another word.

Jacob got out of his brother's truck and turned back. “I'm still going to work at the resort.”

“Fine,” Hud said tightly. “We need you.”

The knot in Jacob's chest unloosened a little. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Hud said again. “As long as it doesn't involve you writing a goddamn check.” He drove off, leaving Jacob in his dust. Fair enough, since Jacob had once done the same.

He sat on the porch as the sun set, waiting for Sophie.

But she didn't come back. Not that night.

Or the next.

Or the next.