JEREMY ARRIVED AT Brooke’s condo the next day precisely when he said he would, at one o’clock in the afternoon. Despite the ongoing pain in her ankle, Brooke had showered, dressed herself in a T-shirt and matching sweats and styled her hair into a careless topknot she liked but would definitely not have pleased her mother. Linda had called her this morning. Brooke told her about the celebrity who’d been hired at WJQC and Linda immediately went to tell her husband.
“Craig is beside himself, honey,” Linda had said. “He wants you to invite this Mr. Crockett to the house. Can you do that? Daddy would be so pleased.”
Okay, so Jeremy Crockett was a big deal, but Brooke refused to primp for him today. She simply wanted him to take her seriously, as seriously as she took herself. She needed him to listen to her every word. A few minutes before he was due to arrive she went to her small kitchen and prepared a salad and iced tea.
“Nice neighborhood,” he said when he entered her condominium, which was furnished with Federal antiques.
His smile was warm and genuine. She wondered if he knew anything about antiques.
“The Battery is only a few blocks away,” he said.
“I like it,” she said. “The Battery is actually six blocks—a good brisk walk.” She paused, realizing that her ankle would have to heal before she took that walk again. “This condo is small but enough space for me and my shoes.” She loved the city’s beautiful historic district, and many people felt that the neighborhood surrounding the iconic Battery, which dated back to the Civil War, was Charleston’s finest area.
She noticed Jeremy’s careful appraisal of her treasured belongings—her lady’s desk, mahogany chairs and comfy floral-print sofa. Including the heavy damask drapes, Brooke had chosen everything for the condominium to fit in with the historical ambience. She loved the classic style and coziness of her apartment.
“Have a seat on the sofa,” she said.
“I was hoping you’d say that. I can’t see myself on any of the other delicate chairs in this room.”
She smiled. While he’d been looking at her furniture, she’d been looking at him. He wore jeans and a solid blue oxford shirt, perfect for a late-spring Charleston day. Something pleasant and piney drifted toward her, a subtle, woodsy aftershave.
Jeremy set his tablet on an end table and took a seat at the end of the sofa. She hobbled to the other end and sat. His eyes narrowed as they stayed fixed on her. “How’s the ankle today?”
“Better than yesterday, I would say. But I don’t have any marathons in my future for a while.”
He smiled. “Mind if I take a look?”
As if he hadn’t examined her ankle enough the day before. But she pulled up the elastic cuff of her sweatpants to show him the damage. He lifted her leg and settled the ankle on his knee. Then he gingerly and very gently rubbed the bruised flesh.
“It is a bit better,” he said. “The swelling is down. You’ve been icing it.”
“Yes, doctor,” she teased. “Following orders.”
“That makes a difference. You should have full use of it in a week. Before I leave, I’ll show you the most preliminary exercises to regain strength.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said and lowered her leg to the floor. “Shall we get started? As promised, I made a salad. I left it on the counter in the kitchen and, honestly, it would be easier if you went and picked up the bowls yourself.”
“Sure.” He stood and entered the kitchen.
“There’s a tray next to the backsplash,” she said. “And tea in the fridge.”
She heard the refrigerator door open. “Sweet or unsweet?” he asked.
“Unsweet, thanks.”
He returned, set the tray on the coffee table and the drinks on coasters.
“It must have been an inconvenience for you to come here on a Saturday,” she said. “Your children aren’t in school.”
“Believe me, they’ll make me pay for abandoning them when I get home. I promised them a movie and ice cream. Right now my housekeeper is staying with them.”
“Must be nice to have help,” Brooke said.
“Finding Marta has made this whole transition a lot easier for me. She agreed to live in and has done more than just keep the house in order and watch the kids. She knows all about hanging pictures and buying the right colored towels. I could probably live with magazine photos on the walls and burlap in the bathroom.”
Brooke laughed. She found his appreciation of his housekeeper a nice aspect of his personality. “Where do you want to start today?” she asked him. “This is officially day one of newsroom training, since I sort of spoiled yesterday’s session by tripping over my own feet.”
“You’re the expert,” he said. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“Okay. I think we should start by acquainting you with the city of Charleston.”
He nodded, then took a bite of salad. “This is good.”
“Glad you like it. Now…basically a good newsperson is always aware of the demographics of the city he broadcasts to. What do you know about Charleston?”
He swallowed, drank some tea and thought a moment. He was taking a while to answer, prompting her to think he didn’t know much. She hadn’t intended to embarrass him, but he was going to have to be an expert on the city she loved.
He cleared his throat and rattled off many up-to-date statistics about the city and its population.
Pretty good. He’d done some research. “How does all that affect a news broadcast?”
He settled back against the sofa, crossed his legs and finally looked relaxed. “You take New York or Los Angeles, for instance,” he began. “For Charlestonians, greater emphasis should probably be placed on state and local stories.”
He was absolutely right. WJQC had always tried to fill their five o’clock reporting with stories that would interest folks from South Carolina, leaving a skirmish in the Ukraine to the eleven o’clock news team.
When Brooke challenged Jeremy about the significance of these various details and their relevance to reporting, he had ready answers.
“You’ve done your homework,” she told him.
“I try to. Through the last years, though, my homework has been memorizing passing plays for the Wildcats. This is, excuse the cliché, a very different ball game.”
They went on to discuss the city’s neighborhoods, political leanings, school districts and more. When Brooke next looked at her clock, the salad bowl was empty and an hour and a half had passed. If she’d thought that Jeremy Crockett was going to prove himself to be a dumb jock, she was wrong.
After another hour, Brooke sighed at a natural break in their conversation. “That’s probably enough for today,” she said.
“It’s almost four o’clock,” he said. “Hope I haven’t tired you out.” He tapped his tablet on his knee. “I’ve got a lot of good notes here.”
“You did great,” she said. “I’m really impressed.”
“Maybe you should hold that praise until after another session, but I’m glad you think that.” He stood and looked down at her. “I am serious about helping you rehab that ankle,” he said. “I’d be glad to give you some pointers that have proven to work.”
Her face flushed warm. “I appreciate that,” she said. “But if I have to, I could hire a physical therapist, and, well…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence without sounding like a prude…or worse, like someone who might actually enjoy his help.
“It’s okay,” he said, letting her off the hook. “Keep it in mind. I’ve helped lots of guys with rehab in the past, guys with injuries similar to yours.”
Lots of guys. No, this would never work. She couldn’t possibly let Jeremy get close to her. He’d already surprised her with his knowledge and enthusiasm for the city. She already liked him, and that wasn’t part of her plan. She just wanted to make him camera-ready, earn her bonus, maintain her job and get back to looking for Edward. If she liked Jeremy too much, her emotions might throw her off her goal, and that couldn’t happen.
“I suppose we’ll have to see how Monday plays out,” she said. “Maybe we can get in an hour or so then.”
“I’d like to get into the technical stuff, like camera operation.”
She smiled, finding it easy to do. “Oh, you will. That’s always fun.”
She followed him to the door, where he stopped and placed his large hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you before I leave? Get you a drink or a blanket?”
“I don’t need a thing.” Why did he have to be so darn nice?
He left her condo, and without thinking, she raised her own hand to her shoulder, feeling the warmth of where his hand had been on her T-shirt. Just one day ago, she had gone to work resenting everything about Jeremy Crockett and the time he would take away from what she really cared about. But today, after one foot massage, and learning more about the man he truly was…well, she didn’t resent him quite so much.
* * *
AS JEREMY WALKED to his car parked along Queen Street by Brooke’s condominium, Lynette’s words echoed in his mind. I don’t need your help, Jeremy. I have my own money. I’m self-sufficient. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you and the children we’ve created, but I don’t want to marry you.
Those words pounded in his memory and ached in his heart. His most earnest proposals to Lynette had been after the births of their two children. Aside from pledging his devotion to her, he’d tried to convince her that they needed to be a family—unified parents to their two children. Sure, he could provide for them married or not, but he wanted more. He wanted Lynette’s respect, enough that she would want to make it official between them. Enough that his kids would look up to him and ask his advice every day, not just once in a while. He supposed he was trying to make up for the lousy job his own father had done—nevertheless, being a strong, capable family man was important to him in every sense.
Both times he’d poured out his heart to her, Lynette had smiled and kissed him and explained that she wanted the best for their kids, as well. But that didn’t mean she had to be married to their father. They could be in love and remain faithful to each other without a license.
True. But still, Jeremy had a deep-rooted desire to take care of everything and everyone. He’d transferred that desire to other players on the football team. He’d even tried to take care of Brooke and make her ankle better. He wanted to take care of his kids so they didn’t want for anything. He wanted them to be happy and well-adjusted, especially about the tragedy in their lives. At this point, he feared he might be failing. Meanwhile, Lynette had resisted every attempt he made to do what he believed was the right thing. Some men were takers. Some were givers. He definitely wanted to be one of the latter group.
Jeremy opened his car door and settled into the driver’s seat. He stared out the windshield at a picture-perfect spring afternoon. “What is wrong with you, Crockett?” he said aloud.
How else was he to explain an almost overwhelming urge to help Brooke Montgomery? She had a sprained ankle, that’s all, but he knew how to make her better. He was the team player all the other guys came to for encouragement and advice, even after they’d seen the qualified team doctors. He’d helped them. But Brooke didn’t seem to want him to do anything like that for her.
“Don’t do this, Jeremy,” he said as he started the car. “Don’t think that every wounded creature needs your help. Some people get along just fine without the supposed Crockett magic touch. You’ve made a new start with a new job in a new town in a new house with two people who definitely do need you. Your kids. They need you for shelter and food, help with their homework and love. That should be enough.” He pulled away from the curb, but he couldn’t deny an overwhelming urge that it would have been nice if Brooke had needed him just a little.
“Forget stray cats and wounded birds,” he said, recalling his childhood instincts to help every creature that mewed or couldn’t fly. “For a guy who played hard and gave as good as he got on the football field, you can be quite a sap in real life.”
But he couldn’t rationalize Brooke in his mind. She was giving up her time and her knowledge to help him succeed. He was supposed to believe that she was just that self-sacrificing a team player. She had no ulterior motive, and for that he was grateful. But Jeremy wasn’t the kind of guy to take without giving back. And he usually wasn’t satisfied until he’d given back more than one hundred percent.