A Man to Believe In Page 11

  “Really? What’d you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I was only trying to help.

  “Then why’d she get so mad?”

  “I don’t know!” Jake closed his eyes and slowly counted to three, then looked down at his nephew, wondering if kids had a special homing device that made it possible for them to zero in on the one topic you didn’t want to discuss. “Look,” he said patiently, “could we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. Me and Jason found a dead frog in his swimming pool yesterday.” Ricky wrinkled his nose. “It was gross.”

  Jake managed a laugh. “I can imagine.” Though this topic was only slightly more palatable than the previous one, it would have to do. He’d fudged the truth more than a bit when he’d told Ricky he didn’t know why Cori was so mad. He knew, all right, and he couldn’t blame her one bit for blowing her stack at him. Lord, he’d acted like a fool, a jealous fool.

  But when he’d seen Mr. Clean drape his arm around the woman he’d spent the night making love with, something snapped inside him. It was as if every hormone in his body had sprung to life. He’d reacted without thinking. Shaking his head, he decided this was one time following his instincts hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “Can we take a break?” Ricky said, interrupting Jake’s thoughts.

  Jake glanced down at Ricky. The rag dangled from his right hand, and he blinked his eyes sleepily. “Good idea.”

  “Race you to the house,” Ricky shouted, suddenly coming to life again and taking off at a run, leaving Jake trailing a foot behind him. They were almost to the door when Ricky stumbled.

  Automatically, Jake reached out and caught him before he fell. “You okay?” Ricky nodded. Looking down, Jake discovered the problem. “We’d better tie that shoelace, sport.”

  “I can do it.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get it.” Jake knelt down and reached for the laces.

  Ricky pushed Jake’s hands away. “I can do it myself, Uncle J.T.”

  Jake rose to his feet and watched Ricky struggle to tie his shoe, thinking he was so much like his mother. Mary used to get that same expression on her face whenever she was determined to prove she could do something without his help. Jake smiled. Nothing much had changed. She still refused to let him do anything for her.

  Thanks for the offer, but I’m used to doing things myself, she always told him, her tone quietly firm.

  As quiet and firm as Cori’s had been that morning.

  Cori.

  He pictured the way she’d looked standing in the driveway next to her car, a battle-ready expression on her face, then compared it to the I-can-handle-this glare Mary had aimed his way a few days before when he’d offered to change the washers on her kitchen faucet. Not much difference between the two. No difference, really.

  Slipping his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he realized he was getting the I-can-do-it-myself routine from Ricky as well.

  In other words, butt out.

  Jake walked over and sat down on the back porch steps. As good as his intentions were, he had to admit his actions were seen—a good many times—as interference. Hell, he’d finally accepted the fact that Susie didn’t need him sticking his nose in her business all the time, and then he’d turned around and done exactly that with Cori. And she’d been the one who’d made him understand about his sister.

  Lord, he’d messed up royally this time. Why hadn’t he paid attention when Cori had tried to tell him that she could handle the situation herself? he wondered. The answer was swift in coming: He’d been too busy making an ass of himself because some bozo tow-truck driver had touched his woman.

  Now he had his work cut out for him. Somehow, he had to find a way to let Cori know he finally understood what she’d been trying to tell him.

  Cori used her elbow to hold the frame of the miniblind in place as she finished setting the final screw. Then she took a step back and admired her handiwork, pleased she’d managed to get the window coverings installed in one day.

  And one night, she added, reminding herself it was well past dark and she’d been working at the store since early that morning. Since she’d fought with Jake and ordered him to leave.

  Her eyes wandering around the store looking for the next project to tackle, she reached for her cup of tea. She took a cautious sip, wishing the dam stuff would cool off so she could down the whole cup in one giant gulp and get the much-needed mood-elevating boost promised by the blurb on the side of the tea box.

  The telephone rang.

  She jumped, sloshing hot tea over the sides of the cup.

  “Damn.”

  The phone continued to ring. She wiped her hand on the back of her jeans and made a disparaging remark about Alexander Graham Bell’s handy little invention, refusing to let the persistent noise goad her into picking up the phone.

  It was Sunday, so she wasn’t likely to receive any business-related calls. She’d turned the answering machine on for one reason—so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Unless this was another hangup—there’d been at least half a dozen of those—her machine would record the message and add it to the others.

  While she’d been deciphering the instructions for installing the blinds, Bobby had called to tell her that her “chariot” was back in business and she could pick it up anytime. He’d come to her house—a second time, not too long after Jake had left—and without a single comment about the curious situation that had occurred earlier, had hooked her car up to the tow truck. After dropping her off at her store, he’d promised to make it primo in a flash, and driven away.

  Marsha had called. Four, maybe five, times.

  Hi, Cori. What’s cookin’? Give me a buzz when you get in. Click.

  Say, ol’ pal. What’s new with you? Call me. Click.

  Hey, McLaughlin. Did you forget how to dial a telephone? Click.

  She hadn’t come right out and asked for the juicy details about Cori’s date with Jake, but that was her reason for calling. Cori wasn’t ready to discuss anything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Which was why she’d turned her machine on hours earlier.

  Cori drew her mouth into a smirk. Who was she trying to kid? She’d turned it on because of Jake.

  She didn’t know what she’d say to him if he called. When he called, she amended, certain she hadn’t seen the last of him.

  Click. Another hangup.

  The caller must have decided it wasn’t worth leaving a message. Or was stubbornly determined to talk to her, not her machine. She glared at the telephone. Jake had that kind of determination. He’d left her house madder than a hornet, but she knew him well enough to conclude that wouldn’t be the end of it, that he wouldn’t give up on them without a fight.

  And because she’d had a chance to cool down over the last few hours, she realized she didn’t want to call it quits either, not after one misunderstanding.

  Thinking more clearly now, she reminded herself that she knew from the beginning of their relationship that Jake had this personality quirk that made him automatically step in and take charge of a situation. She should have been prepared for that this morning and dealt with it on a rational level instead of getting so worked up about it.

  But he’d behaved like such a macho man, she argued with herself, the way he’d patted her on the behind and tried to send her in the house to wait while the men dealt with the car problem. Brother, it was too much. And the way he’d acted downright crazy when she’d defended Bobby, as though he were some arch-rival in a jousting tournament and she was the fair maiden choosing to champion Bobby the Mechanic instead of Jake the Magnificent. Jeez, you’d have thought he was jealous of the man or something.

  Slowly, Cori set her teacup down. Leaning an elbow on the counter, she gave that last notion serious consideration. She and Bobby had been friends since junior high school, but Jake couldn’t know that. Bobby had had his arm around her when Jake had come charging out of her house like a bull seeing a red
flag. It was very possible he’d gotten the wrong impression about what was going on between them. Maybe he had been jealous. That would certainly explain his behavior, maybe even excuse it.

  And he wasn’t entirely out of line in assuming she needed him to take care of the predicament with her car. She’d told him all about the problems she’d been having with it and that she was a hopeless idiot when it came to understanding automobiles. And she’d jumped all over him when he’d tried to help. Nice going, McLaughlin.

  The phone rang again. As she listened to her own voice issue instructions to the caller, she tapped the fingers of one hand on the counter, impatient to find out who was calling this time.

  “If you don’t pick up this phone right now, I’m going to send my husband over there to check on you, and he’ll be very mad if I make him leave in the middle of 60 Minutes,” she heard Marsha say. “You have until the count of three. One … two … two-and-a-half …”

  Cori snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Okay, okay. I’m here.”

  “Jeez, Louise. I was really worried about you,” Marsha said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make—”

  “Are you all right? Where have you been? Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” Cori drew in a deep breath. “I just haven’t felt like talking to anyone today.”

  Marsha let out a huffy noise, then began to pry out all the details about the date and afterward.

  A couple of minutes later Cori found herself reluctantly admitting that she and Jake had used the stocking-stuffer Marsha had given her.

  Marsha gave a relief-filled sigh. “Then everything’s great between you.”

  “I wish,” Cori muttered.

  “What’s that? What’d you say?”

  “I said I wish—” A knock at the door interrupted her. Cori grinned, then looked up and sent a silent thank-you toward heaven. “I have to hang up. Someone’s at the door.”

  “At this time of night? Cori, you be careful. You hear me? You’re there all alone.”

  “Relax, Marsha. I won’t open the door unless it’s safe.” She hung up.

  More knocking. This time she would swear she saw the wooden door vibrate.

  She went over and opened the peephole—and saw something that looked suspiciously like an enormous cherry-red nose. A second later the red thing rose slightly, bringing into view a set of perfect teeth surrounded by orange lips in exact proportion to the giant schnoz.

  She slammed the peephole shut with one hand while she automatically checked the deadbolt with the other. Locked. That’s right. She’d done that earlier.

  “Who’s there?” She pressed her ear to the door and waited for a reply.

  “Miss Cori McLaughlin?”

  Reluctantly, she reopened the peephole. “Yes?”

  The nose bobbed up and down. “Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous,” a muffled voice said. “I have a Clown-O-Gram for you.”

  As she watched, her visitor took a step back and held a large envelope to the peephole. Her name and address were written in bold, four-inch-high letters. A few months back she’d seen a commercial for Clown-O-Grams, Inc., and remembered thinking what a great idea it was.

  “Who sent you?”

  The clown promptly took two additional steps back and planted himself directly under the light, where she could see a good deal more of him. He wore a cardinal-red vest over a pink, black, and chartreuse plaid suit. His headpiece consisted of a chalk-white face with elongated silver tears painted on each cheek, a ridiculously high forehead, and a crown of springy nylon curls sectioned off in neat rows of yellow, green, blue, and white.

  “Miss McLaughlin,” he said in a stern but still-muffled voice. “I’m here on official business. Open up.”

  Cori stiffened. “Don’t get pushy. I don’t open my door to every clown who comes knocking, you know. How do I know you’re not a thief or a murderer in disguise?”

  The clown’s shoulders seemed to sag. “Lady, do I look like I’m in any position to attack you?”

  In one arm he carried a bunch of papier-mâché flowers as big and colorful as the ones she’d brought back from her trip to Mexico a few years before, as well as a charcoal and turquoise teddy bear that had to be three feet tall. In the other he juggled a bottle of wine, at least a half-dozen helium-filled balloons, and a heart-shaped box of candy that looked as if it weighed five pounds.

  He looked harmless all right, and he had probably been sent by someone who wanted to wish her luck with her store.

  Cori released the lock and opened the door. “Okay. You can come in. But no funny stuff.”

  The clown skipped in and planted himself in the middle of the room, his costume billowing out around him as he swayed back and forth to the beat of some unheard tune. He extended his left hand and offered her the paper flowers. “For you, my lovely.”

  “Thank you.” Getting into the spirit of things, she accepted the cheerful bouquet with a curtsy.

  Whistling an unrecognizable ditty through the small round hole in the mouth of his headpiece, the clown began to dance. Cori turned in circles as he skipped around her, clapping at his clumsy antics, graciously accepting one gift after another until her arms couldn’t hold any more. Laughing, she decided this guy was great at his job. She felt better than she had since … since that morning.

  After executing a wobbly bow, the clown held up his final offering.

  Cori piled her presents on the counter and turned to accept the big white envelope. She examined the lettering for several seconds, then opened the flap and drew out a single card.

  I thought if I was going to act like a clown, I might as well dress the part. Please forgive me.

  I was a fool. JT

  The clown reached up and pulled off his headpiece.

  “Jake?” He stood in the middle of her store, wearing yards of colorful cotton and a serious expression.

  “Just hear me out,” he said, holding up one oversize fuchsia-colored mitt to forestall her objections. “Please?”

  She opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. Finally, she felt her head nod.

  He let out a giant sigh and took a step toward her, his pantaloons swaying as he moved.

  “You were right—I had no business interfering when you were talking with Bobby.” His words came out in a rush, as if he expected her to find her voice any second and toss him out on his ear. “You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and I shouldn’t have treated you like a little kid. And … I was jealous about the way that guy was touching you. I acted like an idiot. I’m sorry. For everything.” He blinked, his brilliant blue eyes hidden from her for a fraction of a second. “I really mean it.”

  She looked down and gingerly ran her fingers over her name on the front of the envelope. Once again he’d surprised her. After the way she’d treated him, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he never spoke to her again. But he’d shown up on her doorstep dressed as a clown, bearing silly, oversize, heartbreakingly sweet gifts. And a sincere apology.

  Jake held his breath until she raised her head and allowed her gaze to meet his. He watched her lips curve into a smile, and the knot that had settled in his stomach hours earlier dissolved instantly.

  It had been worth all the hassles he’d gone through rounding up so many presents, begging an old high-school buddy to open up his costume shop late on a Sunday night. More than worth it.

  He reached out and gave the thick red-gold braid trailing down the front of her T-shirt a tug. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Cori felt tears well up in her eyes, but she was helpless to stop them. She blinked, and one slipped over the rim and slid down her cheek.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Jake pulled her into his arms. “Please don’t cry.”

  But he didn’t really try to stop her. He held her against him, one arm tight around her waist, crushing her body to his.

  Heart to heart, thigh to thigh, he let her cry. He rubbed her bac
k and drew soft circles on the side of her cheek. He murmured tender love words and made wicked suggestions as to what he might do next to try to cheer her up.

  Her tears soaked the front of his clown costume. She’d never been happier.

  “You planning on running out of water anytime soon?” Jake remarked. “I’m think I’m drowning.”

  She giggled, then laughed, then began to choke.

  Still wearing a giant mitt, Jake pounded the area between her shoulder blades until she caught her breath, then placed his hands on her arms and held her away from him. “Are you all right?” She nodded. He hugged her to him and rested his chin on her head. “Can I tell you a little story?”

  She nodded again and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him back, thinking it felt good to have him hold her.

  “When Susie was about seven years old,” he began, “she got a new bike for Christinas. It was a two-wheeler, but it had training wheels on it, and for a while she was content to ride with the extra wheels on. But before long she was bugging me to take them off. Finally, I said okay. Everyone in the family lined up on the porch to watch Susie. Mom, Mary, Elizabeth. They were all there.”

  Cori smiled, thinking about her first adventure with a two-wheeler. She’d had to borrow a friend’s bike because she didn’t have one of her own, and by the time she got the hang of it, she’d fallen so many times she had scrapes on both elbows and knees. But she’d been proud of her success. “Susie must have been so excited.”

  “She was. But I could tell she was scared. It was a long way down to the cement.”

  Cori frowned into his shirt. “Did Susie fall?”

  “No. I ran next to her the whole time.” As he talked, he stroked her hair, ran his hands over her shoulders, down her back. “At first I held on to the back of the bike seat to steady her,” he continued. “When it seemed as though she was getting the feel of it, I let go, but I still ran beside her, just in case she got off balance. Susie laughed and yelled to everybody to watch her ride all by herself, and I let her think she was. That’s the way it went every day, until I was convinced she wouldn’t fall.”

  “You never gave her a chance to fail,” she whispered.