A Love Like Ours (25 page)

Because he loved her.

No matter how much he’d tried to talk himself out of it, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from loving her. He treasured her far more than any of the things he’d spent his life building: money and success and recognition for training Thoroughbreds. None of it meant anything to him compared to her.

“Jake?” She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you planning on speaking tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. That’s reassuring to hear. Are tacos okay with you?”

“Sure.”

She nodded and went back to flipping and bending corn tortillas. “Sit down at the bar and have some guacamole. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m good.” He took a seat on one of the stools near where she’d placed a bowl of homemade guacamole and a bag of tortilla chips.

Lyndie chatted with him about how she’d spent her day, and he let her voice wash over him like rain. Occasionally, she stopped to dip and eat a chip. She continued to treat him casually, as if what had happened between them last night hadn’t changed everything.

He understood her strategy. By playing it cool, she hoped to keep him from freaking out. When she’d been eight, he’d seen her use the same technique on the Stoneleighs’ dog. The Stoneleighs
had owned land next to the Porters, and Lyndie had, of course, been attached to their dog. Right after the Stoneleighs’ dog had surgery, Lyndie had given him sympathy and cuddles. Later, she’d treated him with easy confidence, taking him on therapy walks to the pond and pretending not to notice his sorry limp.

In this situation tonight, he was the Stoneleighs’ dog.

Gracefully, she moved the final tortilla from the oil and turned off the burner. After checking the seasoned ground beef she had going in a pot, she started chopping tomato and lettuce.

“Are we going to talk about the fact that we kissed last night?” he asked.

Instantly, her face rose. She scanned him for a few long moments. Then her forehead creased in confusion. “We kissed last night?”

He smiled.

“You’re smiling!” She pointed at him, looking wildly pleased with herself. “You! Are smiling. It’s rusty and troubled-looking, but that, right there, is a smile.” She set down her knife and came around to him.

He remained on the barstool, his legs braced apart and his boots planted on the floor. He wished he’d changed into something better or, at the very least, shaved this morning. He had on what he’d been working in. He’d left his hat in his truck.

She walked right up to him and interlaced her fingers behind his neck. “You smiled.” She beamed at him.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t mention the kisses because I’m trying not to stress you out.”

“I’m not—”

“Please. I haven’t seen you or talked to you all day, but I could sense your stress across the miles. I was worried that you might not come tonight.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“I’m glad you did.”

He set his hands on her waist. Through her shirt, he could feel the firmness of her skin and the feminine flare of her hips. His
desire for her struck to life like a match to flint. “You’re in trouble, Lyndie.” He meant every word. He was trouble, and she’d invited him in.

“I might be,” she answered, serious. “Let’s just see what happens, day by day, all right? At this point, there’s just one thing I want from you.”

“Which is?”

“To eat dinners with me. You don’t eat enough. So for the next few weeks at least, let’s meet somewhere for dinner. Here, your house, a restaurant, whatever. That’s my one request.”

He remembered how she’d fed the Stoneleighs’ dog pieces of cut-up hot dog when she’d been nursing him back to health. “Bossy.”

“Very.”

“I don’t want you to have to cook for me.”

“I’m happy to do it.”

“But I should be the one doing things for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do anything for me. It’s enough just to be with you.”

“Lyndie,” he whispered roughly. He had not been enough to save his men all those years ago. He was not enough for anyone, and not even close to enough for her.

“It’s enough,” she repeated. Her arms wrapped around his sides, and she hugged him, laying her cheek against his chest in a way that tore open his heart.

After a few moments, she brought her face up, just inches away. Her gaze searched his, and her gentle fingers slid into the hair at the back of his neck in a caress that felt like heaven.
She’s only touching your neck, Jake
. And yet his body responded with force, his blood pounding, his senses rushing.

He’d been living in a dark hole. She was the first light he’d seen in so long, he’d forgotten what light looked like. It turned out that light looked like Lyndie. To him, she was peace and comfort. And he was selfish and screwed up and he needed her. Heat burned at the backs of his eyes.

He bent his head to hide his feelings and trailed a string of
kisses up her neck to below her ear, then along her jaw. She made a soft gasping sound before his lips met hers. He kissed her while time spun out. He could kiss her for hours—

She arched back from him suddenly. “Do you smell that? The meat!” Lightning fast, she dashed into the kitchen and lifted the pot off the burner. She slid him a look full of amused accusation. “You made me burn the taco meat.”

“I take full responsibility.”

“This is not going to give you a good impression—”

“—I have a very good impression of your kissing—”

“—of my cooking. We’re going to have to eat the meat that’s on the top. It’s not as scorched.” She dug into it with a spoon. “The stuff on the bottom is inedible.”

Did she know what he usually ate for dinner? Take-out or pre-packaged frozen meals. He’d much rather eat burned meat with her.

They filled their plates and sat side by side at her dining table. During the time they spent eating and talking, something new, like a secret, moved between them. At one point, she crossed her legs and rested the side of her foot against his calf. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything except her foot touching his calf. It was the kind of small thing he often saw Meg and Celia do with Bo and Ty. Except it didn’t feel like a small thing to him.

When they were done, they carried their dishes into the kitchen. He moved to open the dishwasher, but she took hold of his hand before he could.

“Leave the dishes.” She tugged him into the living room, pausing to light one mellow lamp on the way. “I’m going to run and go get my sketch pad.”

“Why?”

“So I can sketch you. You’re inspiring me.”

He couldn’t imagine how.

She chuckled. “You realize, right, that you’ve mastered the skeptical expression you’re giving me? It’s very effective. However, you
are
inspiring me, and I want to do a super-quick sketch of you. A super-quick one, if you don’t mind. Sit here.”

He took a seat on her sofa. By the time she returned from her studio, one of her dogs had already jumped into his lap.

“Down, girl.” Lyndie reached over and guided the dog back to the floor. She settled at the end of the sofa, cross-legged and facing him.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Just relax.” Her pencil met paper, and she started drawing.

Both her dogs peered at him, their tails wagging. Her cat studied him from where she sat on the windowsill. Lyndie glanced at him, then down at her paper. He wasn’t used to this much attention, and he sure wasn’t used to someone drawing him. He couldn’t understand why she’d want to. But then, a lot of what went on in Lyndie’s head had always been a mystery to him.

He stretched his legs onto her ottoman and extended his hand to her. She smiled and set her free hand in his. He held it, their fingers interlaced, while she balanced the pad on her thigh and continued drawing with her other hand.

This time, both dogs saw an opportunity to jump up. The same one who’d been in his lap earlier climbed back on. The other one snuggled next to Lyndie.

“It’s okay,” he murmured before Lyndie could shoo them down again.

The soft sound of pencil scratching against paper filled the space. Contentment he hadn’t known since he’d last sat in her apartment with a dog on his lap settled over him. He looked down at the delicate hand he held and took his time exploring every finger, knuckle, every part of her palm and wrist.

Tiredness moved through him. Not the usual anxious tiredness, but a heavy and soft tiredness that didn’t carry with it anything to fear. Without letting go of her hand, he relaxed his head against the sofa and closed his eyes.

He knew the exact moment when Lyndie set aside her sketch pad. He opened scratchy eyes halfway.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

“I am asleep.”

She grinned. “You’ve said that to me once before, Jake Porter.”

He opened his arm to her. She immediately moved in next to him, her slight weight against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He angled his face toward the top of her head. He could feel her hair against his jaw and smell the scent of her shampoo. He pressed her hand against his chest and covered it with his own.

He never wanted to move.

Lyndie began to suspect that Jake really had fallen asleep. At last. The clock on the side table read eight thirty. She waited until it read eight thirty-five, then dared a peek at his face. Yep. Asleep.

Asleep! He couldn’t have given her a better gift if he’d given her jewelry or roses.

The man was weary down to his soul. Not just from a long day. Weary from a long eight years. But he’d found enough peace here, with her, to rest, which delighted her. She had a nurturing personality, and until now, she’d only had her sister and her animals to dote on.

Jake needed sleep and food and old-fashioned pampering. She badly wanted to give him all three. The trick would be convincing him to let her.

She noted the tiny details of him she didn’t often have the opportunity to study. His stubble. His scar. The crescents of his lashes. The lean contours of his features. His disordered hair. He looked dangerous and scruffy and . . . delicious. A pirate.
Her
pirate.

However, she didn’t fully dare to trust the pleasure expanding through every inch of her. She’d been praying over her relationship with Jake, but God’s opinion on it had not yet been discernibly clear. She thought she might be doing the right thing with Jake, but there were moments like this one when an uneasy sense of worry twanged within her.

Jake might not make good boyfriend material. He might not. In
addition to the fact that he’d shut God out, PTSD was something he’d always live with. No one would ever mistake him for having a sunny disposition. And he might never be able to shoulder the heavy emotions of a real relationship. So the jury was still out on Jake and on them as a couple.

She stayed next to him on the sofa for thirty minutes. He’d cradled her hand against his chest, and beneath her palm she could feel the rise of his breath, the beat of his heart. She took turns studying his face, then the scuff marks on his boots, then the masculine lines of his body, then his face again.

She had . . .
Jake!
. . . in her apartment.

When she finally eased away, he jerked and slitted open a striking hazel eye.

“You’re tired,” she whispered.

His hold on her tightened instinctively, telling her that he didn’t want her to leave him.

“I’m going to bring you a pillow and a blanket, and you’re going to sleep here tonight.” She gestured toward the sofa.

“It’s okay.” The timbre of his voice was sleep-rough. “I’ll go back to my place.”

The place where he couldn’t sleep? “No,” she said firmly, planting both hands against him when he looked like he was about to sit upright. “Nope, you’re not.” She clambered to her feet. “I mean it!” she called over her shoulder as she hurried down the hallway. She took the biggest and softest blanket she owned from her linen closet, then swiped one of the two pillows off her bed.

He watched with sleepy bemusement as she placed the pillow at one end of the sofa and threw the blanket over the other. “Lie down,” she instructed. When he moved his boots in the direction she’d indicated, she intercepted them and pulled off one, then the other. She had an extra-long sofa. His frame fit, but barely.

“Vest.” She extended a hand.

He shrugged out of it, and she hung it over the back of a chair. She really wanted to say “shirt” and take that from him, too, so that she could check out his upper body. She refrained.

He reclined onto the pillow, tucking one arm behind his head, looking at her as if she were his research project. She unfurled the blanket over him, letting it fall with a breezy murmur.

“You’re enjoying this,” he observed.

“Shh. Go to sleep, handsome, tired horse trainer.”

He gave her a small smile, and like the first time he’d smiled at her earlier, it suffused her with tenderness. She’d been frightened that the boy who’d given her smiles at the age of twelve had lost his ability to smile. But he had not.

In the kitchen she poured him a glass of ice water. She’d meant to pull out a frozen key lime pie after the tacos, but that snuggling thing on the sofa had pretty much caused every other plan to fall out of her head. She’d make sure to feed him dessert after dinner tomorrow.