“It’s not open for business right now. But it’s warm and dry. I’ll see that you’re settled inside before I go back for your bag.” He spoke to the horse then. “Sorry, girl, but your day’s not through.”
It was snowing harder now. The flakes so big it was as if the heavens were engaged in a snowball fight. He hopped out of the saddle and reached for Caro. Even through the bulk of her clothing, he could tell her waist was small and she barely weighed what a child would. She was probably on some silly diet, eating only fruit or drinking special shakes. Women, he thought on a sigh. He’d never figure them out, not that he’d had much practice trying lately.
When they reached the relative safety of the back porch, Caro smiled at him. Surely his dry spell was what accounted for the kick of interest he experienced. Her expression wasn’t born of anything more than politeness, yet he found it sexy and a little too inviting.
It didn’t hurt that she was saying, “Don’t go.”
“Don’t go?” he repeated absently as he took in her flushed cheeks.
“Nothing in that bag is important. The weather …” She swept a hand through the air. “You’ve done enough already. I’d feel horrible if something happened to you on my account.”
Jake blinked at her. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone—a woman—worry about him.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and bits of melting snow shook loose from her damp hair. He reached out to free some more and she shivered. Her gaze slid to the side, giving him the impression her reaction wasn’t completely due to the cold. Interest, as unwelcome as the late-winter storm, stirred a second time. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but he recalled perfectly what he was missing.
The door swung open behind them before he could do anything he’d have to apologize for. He was grateful until he realized it was his mother standing there. Her hands were planted on her hips and the look on her face would have left a drill sergeant shaking in his boots.
“Jacob Robert McCabe, don’t you ev—” Doreen McCabe halted her diatribe midword as soon as she spied Caroline. Blinking in surprise, she switched gears and tones. “Oh, hello. I’m Doreen. Jake’s mother.”
“This is Caroline Franklin,” he said.
“Caro.”
“Right. Caro.”
Doreen nodded, splitting her gaze between the pair of them. “I didn’t realize Jake was expecting company.”
“I wasn’t,” he said at the same time Caro replied, “I’m not.”
“Company, that is.” Her laughter was tight.
If his mother found the situation confusing, she didn’t let it show. Using the same tone that had kept him toeing the line for the first eighteen years of his life, she shouted, “Good heavens, son! Have you no manners at all? Bring that poor girl inside before she catches her death of cold. She needs to get out of those wet clothes.”
Jake swallowed hard, because for one foolish moment, he’d been thinking the same thing.
CHAPTER TWO
CARO STEPPED INTO the vestibule through the door Doreen held open and all but sighed when the warm air greeted her. But what caught her attention were voices. There were several of them, including the high-pitched squeal of children. She sent a quizzical glance in Jake’s direction, before bending down to unzip her boots. Numb fingers made her progress slow.
“I thought you said the inn wasn’t open for business,” she murmured.
“It’s not.” Jake had already removed his hat. Now, he shucked off his coat.
He didn’t sound happy.
“Oh, those aren’t guests. They’re the rest of our family,” Doreen informed Caro as she took her son’s coat. With a meaningful glance at Jake, the woman added, “And because we’re family, we invite ourselves if need be.”
“Mom …”
“Just saying.” She took Caro’s parka, as well, hanging them both on pegs to dry. “I’ll grab some towels for the two of you. Go into the main living area and sit by the fire to warm up while I’m gone.”
Caro nearly smiled. Jake didn’t seem the sort of man to take orders, but this was his mother. Sure enough, he led her to a room at the front of the inn, where a fire blazed in the hearth. An older man was seated in an overstuffed chair next to it. He was reading a book and smoking a pipe. A couple of children, neither of whom was much older than her Cabot, played at the older man’s feet. On the couch across from them, a young couple snuggled together under a thick knitted throw.
Family.
An ache welled inside Caro, both for what she’d lost and for what should have been. Her parents had been gone five years, the victims of a car accident. She’d been the one to positively identify their bodies, yet she still sometimes found herself reaching for the telephone to call them.
If she were looking for an excuse as to why she’d married Truman, that would be it. She’d been so lonely, so very lost after their deaths. And he’d been understanding and supportive. He’d taken charge, helped her make decisions when she was too griefstricken to do so. It wasn’t until later she’d realized how controlling he could be.
She forced herself back to the matter at hand. She was relieved that she wouldn’t be spending the night alone in the ramshackle inn with its brooding owner, but now she felt like an intruder. Quite obviously, this was a family gathering and she was an outsider. It didn’t help that all eyes were on her when she and Jake stepped into the room. The older man glanced up from his book, the children stopped playing and the couple on the couch shifted to sitting positions.
One of the children was the first to break the silence.
“Uncle Jake’s back! Uncle Jake’s back!” squealed the little girl. She hopped up and shot across the floor to wrap one of his legs in an embrace.
Not to be outdone, the little boy followed suit. He didn’t just hug Jake’s leg, he tried to scale it. Caro smiled. It was just the sort of thing Cabot would do. Jake’s reaction, however, was the polar opposite of what Truman’s would have been. Instead of being befuddled by the boy’s exuberance and a little embarrassed by the affectionate display, Jake scooped him up in his arms.
“Hey, munchkin.”
Caro’s heart did a strange thunk-thunk, which she attributed to wishing for what already should have been the case for her son: a father who not only enjoyed his silly antics but would take part in them. It had nothing to do with Jake, even if at the moment he seemed nothing like the brooding man who not so long ago had begrudgingly offered her shelter from the storm.
His smile was real, smoky blue eyes alight with teasing humor. He was all the more handsome for it.
Thunk, thunk!
This time Caro outright ignored the sensation.
“Daddy
