Rebecca Hardaway swayed slightly on her fragile high heels and for one horrifying moment she feared she was going to topple forward and straight across the silver-and-white casket suspended over the open grave.
Dear God, give me strength, she prayed as she struggled to brace her trembling legs and stop the whirling in her head. She had to be strong. If not for herself, then out of an odd respect for the person who was about to be lowered into the earth.
Up until five days ago, Rebecca hadn’t even suspected she had an aunt much less known Gertrude O’Dell existed. If Gertrude herself hadn’t left strict instructions with a lawyer to notify Rebecca of her demise, she doubted she’d ever have known.
When the law offices of Barnes, Bentley and Barnes had called Bordeaux’s, the department store in Houston where Rebecca worked as a fashion buyer, she’d thought a coworker had been pulling a joke on her. Her mother didn’t have a twin sister in New Mexico! Surely there’d been some sort of mix-up.
But shockingly, there had been no mix-up and now questions continued to tear at Rebecca. How could such a secret have been kept for so long? Why had her mother, Gwyn, done such a thing? Her father had died eighteen years ago. Had he known about Gertrude? Or had Gwyn kept her twin sister a secret from everyone?
You don’t understand, Rebecca. Gertrude and I were never close. Even though we were sisters, we were very different people. She had her own life and I had mine. We chose to go our separate ways.
Her mother’s lame response to Rebecca’s grilling hadn’t answered anything. In fact, Gwyn was still evading her daughter’s questions. And each day that passed without answers filled Rebecca with more and more resentment and puzzlement. She’d thought herself alone in the world except for her mother and now she realized she’d been cheated out of the chance of knowing her aunt!
And now it was too late. Too late.
At the head of the casket, a minister finished reading the 23rd Psalm, then added a short, comforting prayer. As Rebecca whispered “Amen,” she felt a strong hand cup her right elbow.
Lifting her head, she looked straight into a pair of gold-brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. The face was partially shaded by the brim of a gray cowboy hat, but she recognized the man as one of the eight people who’d seen fit to attend her aunt’s simple graveside services.
“I thought you might need a little support,” he said softly. “The day is hot and grief has a way of draining a person.”
Grief. Oh, yes, she was feeling all kinds of grief. She’d lost more than an aunt. She’d lost the whole foundation of her family. And her mother was still evading the truth. But this man had no way of knowing that.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
A few steps away, the minister concluded the services, then offered Rebecca a few consoling words before he walked away. Beside her, the young cowboy continued to hold her elbow. He was dressed in a starched white shirt and blue jeans, the creases razor-sharp, the fabric carrying the faint scent of grass, sunshine and masculine muskiness. His hand was warm, the fingers wrapped against her skin, incredibly tough.
Who was this man, she wondered, and what connection did he have to Gertrude O’Dell?
“They’ll be lowering the casket in a few moments,” he said in a low husky voice. “Would you like one of the roses for a keepsake?”
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she glanced at the lone spray of flowers lying upon the casket, then at him. “Yes. I would like that.”
He dropped his hold on her arm and moved forward to pluck one of the long-stemmed roses from the ribbon binding. As he handed the flower to Rebecca, her throat thickened and tears rushed to her eyes.
Up until this moment, she’d not shed a tear or given way to the emotions washing over her like stormy waves. But something about this man’s kindness had pricked the fragile barrier she’d tried to erect between her and the awful finality of her aunt’s funeral.
“Thank you,” she told him, then lifted her watery gaze from the rosebud to his face. His dark features were masculine and very striking, making the soft light in his eyes even more of a contrast. “I’m Rebecca Hardaway, Gertrude’s niece. Did you know my aunt well, Mr.—” She paused as a slight blush heated her cheeks. “Uh, I’m sorry. I have to confess that I don’t know any of her friends.”
Once again his hand came around her elbow and with gentle urging, he moved her away from the casket and over to the limp shade of a lone mesquite tree. “My name is Jake Rollins,” he told her. “And I’m sorry to say I didn’t know your aunt personally. I only saw her from time to time as I drove by her place. I came to the funeral today—well, because I thought she might like having someone say goodbye to her.”
“Oh.”
The tears in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks and she wiped helplessly at them with the pads of her fingertips. He pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her.
She thanked him, then used the soft cotton to dab at the tracks of moisture on her cheeks. While she tried to gather herself together, she was keenly aware of his broad frame, the way his brown eyes were studying her. There had to be a lot of compassion in this man, she thought, for him to attend the funeral of a person he’d not really known.
He began to speak. “My friends, the Cantrells—the people I’m here with—own a ranch just west of your aunt’s place. It’s called Apache Wells. Maybe Gertie mentioned it to you?”
She shook her head. She didn’t know how to explain to this man that she’d never spoken to Gertrude O’Dell. Never met her. It was all so unbelievable, yet terribly true. “I’m afraid not. But I do thank you and your friends for coming today. I—well, if it weren’t for you and your friends, there would have been only a handful of people here to see her laid to rest.”
Faint cynicism quirked his lips. “People nowadays tell themselves they don’t have time to go to funerals. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry myself over the lack of mourners.”
Interest suddenly sparked in her misty blue eyes. “You called my aunt Gertie,” she asked. “Is that how people around here knew her?”
Jake tried not to appear stunned as he studied the beautiful woman standing before him. This couldn’t be Crazy Gertie’s niece, he thought. The old woman had been a recluse who’d always been dressed in old clothing and was known for firing a shotgun at anyone she didn’t deem welcome on her land. Rebecca Hardaway was the complete opposite. She looked exactly like one of those women whose photographs filled a fashion magazine.
She was wearing a black dress that hugged her slender hips and draped demurely across her breasts. Her high heels were just that—high. With little straps that fastened around her shapely ankles. A black straw hat with a wide brim and a band swathed with white chiffon covered her pale blond hair and framed a set of pale, delicate features. Her lips were red and so were her short fingernails. And even with her blue eyes filled with tears, all Jake could think was that she was one classy chick.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure about that,” he said. “We—Abe, old Mr. Cantrell that is—always called her Gertie. I imagine that’s what her friends called her, too.”
Everyone around here had assumed Gertie had no family. Down through the years no one had witnessed any outsiders visiting. In fact, Jake figured he’d fudged when he’d pluralized the word friend. The only person who’d had much contact with the woman at all was Bess, an older lady who worked in a small grocery store in Alto. A moment ago Jake had seen her climb into her car and drive away from the cemetery. If Rebecca wanted information about Gertie, then Bess would be her best source.
“I see,” she murmured.
At that moment, she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the coffin being lowered into the ground. Sensing the sight was cutting into her, Jake moved the two of them a few more steps away from the grave site and did his best to distract her. “Did you make the trip here by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes. I live in Houston and—there was no one available to make the trip with me.”
No family, husband, boyfriend? Even though Jake had already glanced at her left hand in search of a wedding ring, he found himself looking again at the empty finger. It was hard to believe a beautiful woman like her wasn’t attached. And if she was, what kind of man would have allowed her to travel all this way to attend such an emotional ceremony by herself?
“That’s too bad,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
She drew back her shoulders as though to prove more to herself than him that she wasn’t about to break down. “Sometimes a person has no other choice but to be alone, Mr. Rollins.”
His lips twisted to a wry slant. Women had called him plenty of things down through the years, but never Mr. Rollins. “I’m just Jake to you, ma’am.” He tilted his head in the direction of the Cantrell family, then suggested, “Let me introduce you to my friends.”
“I’d like that,” she murmured.
For May in Lincoln County, New Mexico, the sun was hot in the cloudless sky. Every now and then a faint breeze rustled the grass in the meadow next to the lonely little cemetery and carried the scent of Rebecca Hardaway straight to Jake’s nostrils. She smelled like crushed wildflowers after a rainstorm. Sweet and fresh and tempting.
Forget it, Jake. She’s not your kind of woman. So just rein in that roaming eye of yours.
By now Abe, Quint and Maura had gathered near the wrought-iron gate that framed the exit to the cemetery. As Jake and Rebecca Hardaway approached the group, Maura, a pretty young woman with dark red hair, was the first to greet them. Quint, a tall handsome guy who was the same age as Jake, followed close behind his wife. Next to him, Abe moved to join the group. The elderly man was somewhat shorter than his grandson and rail-thin. His thick hair was white as snow and matched the drooping walrus mustache that covered his top lip. Abe was a legendary cattle rancher of the area and Quint was quickly following in his footsteps. Both men were like family to Jake.
Quickly, he made introductions all around and had barely gotten the last one out of his mouth before Maura reached for Rebecca’s hand.
“You must be awfully weary, Ms. Hardaway,” she said gently. “We’d love for you to join us at Apache Wells for refreshments. That is, if you don’t have other plans.”
Gertie’s niece glanced at Jake as though she wanted his opinion about the invitation. The idea took him by surprise. A fancy woman like her had never asked him for the time of day. But then he had to remember that Rebecca Hardaway was obviously under a heavy weight of grief and probably not herself.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
“Nonsense, young lady,” Abe spoke up. “We always have the coffeepot on. And everybody’s welcome. We’d enjoy having you.”
Rebecca smiled at the old man, which was hardly a surprise to Jake. Even though Abe was in his mid-eighties, Quint’s grandfather hadn’t lost his charm with the ladies. What did surprise him was how the tilt of the woman’s lips warmed her, made her appear all too soft and touchable.
“Thank you, sir,” she said to Abe. “It would be nice to have a little rest before I drive back to Ruidoso.”
“Great,” Maura chimed in. “Just leave your car here and ride with us. The roads might be too rough for your rental car. Someone will bring you back to pick it up.”
“That’s kind of you,” Rebecca told her. “Especially since I—well, I’m not sure I’m up to driving at the moment.”
Quint suggested it was time to get out of the hot sun and be on their way. Jake didn’t waste time helping Rebecca over to the truck and into the front passenger seat.
She gave him demure thanks, but no smile and as Jake climbed into the back bench seat next to Abe, he wondered what the old man had that he didn’t.
Hell, Jake. If you want a woman to smile at you all you have to do is drive down to Ruidoso and saunter into the Blue Mesa for a cup of coffee or the Starting Gate for a cold beer. There were plenty of women around those hangouts who would be more than happy to smile at you.
Yeah, Jake mentally retorted to the cynical voice in his head. He knew plenty of women who were willing to give him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But none of them were like Rebecca Hardaway. And if any of them were like her, he’d steer clear. He was a simple man with simple taste, he told himself. If a man understood his limitations, he was more likely to avoid trouble.
And yet as Quint guided the club cab truck over the dusty road, Jake’s gaze continued to drift to the back of Rebecca Hardaway’s head. Once she’d gotten settled in the leather seat, she’d removed her hat and now as she turned her head slightly to the left to acknowledge something that Quint was saying, he could see a drape of fine blond hair near her eyebrow and wispy curls tousled upon her shoulder. The strands were subtly shaded and obviously natural.
There was nothing fake about Rebecca Hardaway, he thought. At least, not on the outside. As for the inside, he’d have to guess at that. Because there was no way in hell she’d ever give a working man like him a glimpse.
Abe’s cattle ranch, Apache Wells, consisted of more than a hundred thousand acres and had been in existence long before either Jake or Quint had been born. The property was only one of many the old man owned and though he was rich, Abe lived in a modest log house nestled at the edge of a piney foothill.
Once inside the cool interior, Maura and Quint quickly excused themselves to the kitchen to prepare refreshments. While Rebecca took a seat on a long couch, Abe settled himself in a worn leather recliner and Jake stood to one side trying to decide if he should escape to the kitchen with his friends or take advantage of these few minutes with the Texas wildflower.
“Don’t just stand there, Jake. Sit down,” Abe practically barked at him. “You’re makin’ me tired just lookin’ at you.”
Stifling a sigh, Jake pulled off his hat and carried it over to the opposite end of the couch from where Rebecca was sitting.
As he sank onto the cushion, and placed his hat on the floor near his boots, he said, “Sorry, Abe. I was thinking I should go help Maura and Quint. But I guess they can manage without me.”
“Sure they can,” Abe replied. “Besides, I need you to help me entertain Ms. Hardaway.”
Since when did Abe need help entertaining a woman? Jake thought wryly, but he kept the comment to himself.
“Oh, please. You don’t have to make conversation for my sake,” Rebecca spoke up. “Just sitting here in the cool is nice and restful.”
She’d leaned her head against the back of the couch and crossed her legs. From the corner of his eye, Jake let his gaze wander down the length of shapely calf and on to the delicate ankle. Like the black leather strap of her high heel, he could easily imagine his thumb and forefinger wrapped around her smooth ankle and tugging her toward him.
Jake’s thoughts were turning downright indecent when Abe spoke up and interrupted them.
“I’m right sorry about Gertie, Ms. Hardaway. She wasn’t an easy person to know, you understand. She liked her privacy and I respected that. As neighbors we got along. ’Cause we didn’t bother each other—just exchanged a few words from time to time.” He wiped a thumb and forefinger down his long white mustache. “She was way too young to leave this world.”
“Yes. She was only fifty-six. But she...suffered from some sort of heart condition.” At least, that was what Gertrude’s lawyer had explained to Rebecca about the cause of her death.
“That’s too bad,” Abe replied. “Could be that’s why she didn’t socialize. Guess she didn’t feel like it.”
Rebecca’s gaze dropped to her lap. Was the old man trying to say in a nice way that Gertrude O’Dell had been a recluse? If so, he was probably also wondering why Rebecca or other relatives hadn’t been around to visit or check on the woman. Oh, God, the whole situation was so awful. She didn’t want to explain to these people that for some reason her family had been split down the middle. She didn’t want them to know that her own mother had refused to attend her sister’s funeral. It was embarrassing and demeaning.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that, Abe,” Jake countered. “Gertie visited some with Bess.”
Rebecca looked at the cowboy named Jake. Without his hat, she could see his hair was thick and lay in unruly waves about his head and against the back of his neck. It was the color of dark chocolate and even though the lighting in the room was dim, the strands gleamed like a polished gem. As her gaze encompassed his broad shoulders and long, sinewy legs, she decided he was a man of strength. No doubt he worked out of doors. With his hands and all those muscles.
She swallowed uncomfortably, then asked, “Who is Bess?”
“Gertie’s friend,” he answered. “She was the older woman at the funeral. She left the cemetery before we had a chance to introduce you. I guess she must have been in a hurry for some reason.”
“Oh. Yes.” Rebecca vaguely remembered an older, heavyset woman dressed in a simple print dress standing on the opposite side of Gertrude’s coffin. “I would have liked to have met her. And thank her for coming to the services.”
“I’m sure Jake can make that happen for you,” Abe said. “He knows where everybody works and lives. He gets around.”
Rebecca didn’t find that hard to believe. Even though she didn’t know him, Jake Rollins looked like a man who would never have a problem socializing. At least, with the female population.
He had that rangy, rascally look. The sort that tugged at a woman’s dreams, that made her want to learn how it felt to be just a little naughty, a bit wild and reckless.
Had Gertrude ever had those womanly feelings? Rebecca wondered. Had her aunt ever looked at a man like Jake and wondered what it would be like to make love to him? To have him make love to her?
From all appearances, Gertrude had died a spinster. And at the rate Rebecca was going, the same was going to happen to her. Men were drawn to her, but they didn’t stick around for long. Once a guy learned she enjoyed her demanding career, he chose to move on and find a woman who could devote her time solely to him.
Rebecca was doing her best to push those thoughts away when Quint and Maura entered the room with a tray of refreshments. And thankfully for the next half hour, the conversation moved away from Gertrude O’Dell’s untimely departure, and on to the daily happenings of these people who had chosen to show her a bit of hospitality and kindness.
While Rebecca sipped iced tea and nibbled on a sugar cookie, she learned that Maura and Quint had been married for nearly two and a half years and had two young sons, the latter of which had been born only a few months ago. Abe was a widower and had been for nearly twenty years. As for Jake, she could only assume he was a single man. During the conversation he didn’t mention family of any sort and there definitely wasn’t a ring on his finger. At the cemetery when he’d handed her his handkerchief, she’d noticed that much about him. But it wasn’t the lack of a wedding band, or the mention of family, that told Rebecca he was a bachelor. He had that independent look. Like a mustang who knew how to avoid the snares and traps made by human hands. Even though she was a city girl, she could see that about him.
But in spite of the prickly awareness she had of Jake Rollins, Rebecca decided she could’ve sat in Abe’s house for hours, letting the easy conversation take her mind away from all the hurt and betrayal she’d been feeling since she’d learned of Gertrude’s existence. But the day was getting late and she needed to do so many things before she returned to Houston.
After placing her empty glass on a tray situated on the coffee table, she rose to her feet. “Thank you so much for the refreshments and for inviting me to your home,” she told Abe, then included the others in a hasty glance. “You’ve all been so kind, but I really need to stop by my aunt’s place before dark. If someone could drive me to the cemetery to pick up my car, I’d be ever so grateful.”
Quint looked questioningly at Maura and then Maura smiled suggestively at Jake. “Jake, I know you’d be more than happy to drive our guest to pick up her car. Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s a fool question,” Abe shot at Maura. “Jake would give up his eyeteeth to drive Ms. Hardaway to wherever she wants to go. And if I were twenty years younger I wouldn’t give him the chance.” Winking at Rebecca, he pushed himself out of the chair and fished out a wad of keys from the front pocket of his jeans. Tossing them to Jake, he said, “Here, son. Take my truck. That way you won’t have to hurry back with Quint’s.”
With a bit of dismay, Rebecca watched Jake rise to his feet. She’d expected Quint or Maura to be the one to drive her. Not the brown-eyed cowboy with the charming dimple in his cheek.
“Thanks,” Jake told him. “And don’t worry. I’ll take care of your truck.”
“Dammit, I’m not worried about you taking care of my truck. Just make sure you take good care of Ms. Hardaway.”
Abe walked over and with a gnarled hand patted Rebecca’s shoulder. For a moment the old man’s gesture of affection stung her eyes with emotional tears. It had been years since she’d had her father in her life and with both sets of grandparents passing on before she’d been born, she’d never had a grandfather. Abe made her realize what she’d been missing and how much she needed a wise, steadying hand right now.
Jake cast Abe a wry grin. “Don’t worry about that, either. I know how to be a gentleman.”
Behind them, Quint chuckled and Rebecca didn’t miss the dark look that Jake shot back at him. Obviously the two men were such good friends they communicated without words, she thought. And from what she could read from the conversation, Quint viewed her as a lamb about to be thrown to a wolf.
That was a silly thought, Rebecca told herself. She was twenty-eight years old and had been around all sorts of men. She hardly needed to worry about one New Mexican cowboy.
But moments later, as he wrapped a hand at the side of her waist and helped her into Abe’s truck, her heart hammered as though she’d never been touched by a man.
“I noticed that Mr. Cantrell called you ‘son.’ And you and his grandson appear to be very close,” she remarked as he climbed beneath the wheel and started the engine. “Is Mr. Cantrell your father? I mean, I know you have different surnames, but—well, sometimes that doesn’t mean anything.”
He thrust the truck into first gear and steered it onto the graveled drive. “No. Quint is just a good friend. Has been since the third grade. And Abe isn’t my father. I don’t have a father.”
“Oh.” His last words weren’t exactly spoken in a testy nature, but there had been a faint hardness in his voice. She wondered what that could mean, but realized she was in no position to ask. Besides that, Jake Rollins shouldn’t be interesting her. Not now anyway. She was here to say goodbye to her aunt and deal with the woman’s estate. Certainly not to get involved with a local. “Neither do I,” she told him. “Have a father, that is.”
He shot her a questioning glance and she explained, “He died when I was ten. He worked for a major oil firm and was involved in an accident while he was in the Middle East. Something happened to cause an explosion on the job site.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”
She shrugged. “It’s been nearly eighteen years and I still miss him.”
He remained silent after that and it was clear to Rebecca that her revelation about her personal life hadn’t given him the urge to expound on his. Biting back a sigh, she forced her attention to the passing landscape.
Once they’d moved away from Abe Cantrell’s house, the forest of tall pines had opened up to desert hills dotted with smaller piñons and huge clumps of sage. To her extreme right, the sun was quickly setting, bathing the whole area in shades of pink and gold.
During Rebecca’s many travels, she’d never been to New Mexico. And before her small commuter plane had landed in Ruidoso, she’d not expected the area to be so open and wild or for it to touch something deep within her.
Was that why Gertrude had come to live in this state? Because she’d thought it beautiful? Or had she simply wanted to put a great distance between herself and her sister. Oh, God, there were so many questions Rebecca wanted, needed answered.
“What is that cactus-looking stuff with the pretty blooms on it?” she asked Jake as she forced her thoughts back to the moment. “See? Over there to your left with the pink blossoms.”
He nodded. “That’s cholla cactus. It blooms in the early spring and summer. You don’t have that in Texas?”
“Not in the city of Houston.”
His gaze slanted her way. “Guess you don’t get out in the country much.”
He’d not spoken it as a question but more like a statement of fact. As though he already knew the sort of person she was. The idea that she appeared so one-dimensional to this man bothered her a great deal. Though why it should, she didn’t understand at all.
“Not in a while,” she replied. “But I’ve been in the desert before. In Nevada. It didn’t look like this.”
“No. That state is pretty stark in some areas. But Lincoln County, New Mexico, is just plain pretty,” he said with obvious bias.
Even though the cab of the truck was roomy, Rebecca felt as though there were only scant inches between them. His presence seemed to take up a major part of the space and try as she might, she couldn’t seem to make her eyes stay away from him for more than a few seconds at a time.
While she went about her daily life in Houston, she was accustomed to seeing businessmen dressed in boots and Stetsons. Yet she had to admit that none of those men looked like Jake Rollins. He was the real deal and she was embarrassed to admit to herself that his raw sexuality mesmerized her.
“Well, here we are at the cemetery already,” he announced as he geared down the truck and pulled to a stop in front of her rented sedan.
She avoided looking across the wrought-iron fence to the mound of fresh dirt covering Gertrude’s grave. Instead, she smiled at Jake. “Thanks for taxiing me back to my car. It was very kind of you.”
His grin was crooked and caused her breath to hang for a moment in her throat.
“And I didn’t have to give up my eyeteeth to do it,” he teased.
In spite of everything, she chuckled. “Mr. Cantrell is quite a character. I think I could fall in love with him.”
He let out a humorous snort. “Most women who meet him do. How he’s stayed a widower all these years is a mystery to me.”
He climbed out of the truck and Rebecca waited for him to skirt the vehicle and assist her from the cab. Once she was down on the ground and standing next to him, she quickly started to step away, but his hand continued to rest on the side of her waist, causing her to pause and glance up at his dark face. His brown eyes flickered with a light that was so soft and inviting, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“I guess this is goodbye,” he said.
The husky tone of his voice sent shivers over her skin and she could only think how his touch soothed her, thrilled her in a way she would have never expected.
Her heart was suddenly hammering, yearning for some elusive thing she couldn’t understand. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I—uh—don’t suppose you would like to stop by Gertrude’s house with me? I mean, if you’re not in any hurry. I need to shut things up before I head back to Ruidoso.”
His brows arched faintly, telling Rebecca he was clearly surprised by her invitation. So was she. It wasn’t like her to be so impulsive. Especially when it came to men. But during her aunt’s graveside services, Jake Rollins had been so kind and caring. And though she couldn’t explain it, his presence made her feel not so alone and heartbroken.
“I’d be pleased,” he said.
“Fine.” She drew in a long breath, then stepped away from him and quickly headed to her car.
Gertrude’s house was only two short miles from Pine Valley cemetery. As she drove carefully over the country dirt road, Jake followed at a respectable distance behind her. When she finally parked in front of her aunt’s small house, she climbed out of the car and waited for him to pull his vehicle to a stop next to hers.
When he joined her, she said, “I only arrived in Ruidoso last night, so I didn’t get a chance to drive out here until this morning. I’ve still not looked over the whole property. Only the house and its surroundings.” She glanced at the house and tried not to sigh with desperation. “I have to admit it wasn’t what I expected.”
As she walked toward a small gate that would lead them to the front entrance of the house, Jake followed a step behind.
He said, “I take it you’ve never been out here to your aunt’s home before.”
There was no censure or disbelief in his voice and that in itself drew out her next words before she had time to think about them.
“You’re right, I haven’t. And I’m very sorry about that.”
“Well, you’re here now. That has to stand for something,” he said, then with an easy smile, he touched a hand to her back and ushered her up the small steps and onto a concrete porch.
By the time Rebecca reached to open the door, his comment had tugged on her raw emotions. Pausing, she bent her head and swallowed hard at the tears burning her throat. What was the matter with her? She hadn’t known Gertrude O’Dell and until an hour or so ago, Jake Rollins had been a stranger. Neither of them should be affecting her like this.
“Rebecca? Is something wrong?”
Lifting her head, she looked at him and her eyes instantly flooded with tears.
“Oh—Jake.”
The words came out on a broken sob and before she could stop herself her head fell against his chest, her hands snatched holds on his shoulders.
She felt his strong arms come around her and then his graveled voice was whispering next to her ear.
“Don’t cry, Becca. Your aunt wouldn’t want that. And neither do I.”