His Runaway Bride Page 4

  Pace looked sufficiently—and convincingly—horrified at that idea. "Absolutely not. That idea would never cross my mind, I promise. There are much better ways to get your point across to a child." He desperately wanted to ask her if Jake had ever hit his son, even though he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to hear the answer, and he was very sure that it was none of his business, as much as he wanted it to be.

  He'd even gone so far as to volunteer to watch Brae so that Brownie and Jayne could have a girls' day together in Casper, although Jayne wasn't as comfortable with the idea as he wished she would be.

  She kept checking with him that this was all right and giving him information about the boy, right up to the minute they drove out of the yard, despite his reassurances that he was looking forward to taking care of Braeden and that she should relax and just have fun in the city. She'd already given him every possible method of contact information for her—none of which he'd had before, and for which he was quite grateful, although not for the reason that she probably thought.

  When they were less than a minute away from the ranch—not even to the actual road yet—Jayne let her concerns overwhelm her and mused out loud, "Is he going to be okay taking care of Braeden?" She was amazed to immediately find herself jerked to a halt.

  Brownie turned to her and said exactly what was on her mind, as she was apt to. "He's going to be fine. Pace, as I've said before, is great with kids. He'll run him ragged, which Brae will love, and he'll protect him with his life. What, do you think he's going to have him breaking horses and riding bulls?"

  Jayne had the grace to look embarrassed. "No, of course not."

  "Good." It was on the tip of her tongue to say something nasty, like, "Pace will pay a helluva lot more attention to Braeden than his own father would," but she didn't. Instead, she laid it all out. "Maybe we shouldn't go if leaving Brae is going to have you tense and worried all day. You're not going to enjoy yourself if you don't feel he's going to be safe."

  Although she didn't have much money to play with, Jayne was still looking forward to a day out, for several long, guiltily pleasurable hours of just being herself and not "Mumma.”

  "No, please." Brownie had already thrown her beautiful SUV into reverse, but Jayne put her hand on her friend's arm. "I want to go. I do. I'm sorry. I must seem to you to be one of those overbearing, clinging mothers, and I do try not to be. I'm just more raw and sensitive about him—and myself—lately, and it's hard for me to be away from him, even though I know it'll be wonderful for my mental health."

  Brownie hadn't moved.

  "Let's go. He'll be fine, and Pace will take good care of him."

  "Are you sure?" Brownie gave her an assessing look.

  "Yes, I am."

  And when all was said and done and they finally made it back to the ranch, she was very glad she'd gone.

  Brownie'd had gift certificates that covered the both of them for a day of beauty at a very luxurious spa. It had included a massage that had Jayne convinced she was going to need to be poured everywhere she went for the rest of the day. She had never felt so relaxed in her life when it hadn't involved booze.

  "Can I take you home with me?" she asked the masseuse.

  They got mani-pedis, too, and Jayne nearly killed Brownie when she convinced her to get a Brazilian.

  "You had better start running!" Jayne growled at her friend, who merely grinned in return when she was finally, painfully hairless in places she hadn't even known she owned hair.

  They'd had a decadently large breakfast at a place along the way, and they didn't eat lunch until almost two in the afternoon, but it was well worth the wait. Jayne had taken Brownie to breakfast—much to her friend's consternation—and when she reached for the bill after lunch at the extremely good but somewhat expensive restaurant, she got her hand slapped smartly.

  So, she set to digging out her wallet instead. "Just tell me how much I owe," she said, flipping through her cards, wondering which wasn't close to its limit.

  The waitress happened by at that moment, though, and she was neatly outmaneuvered by Brownie.

  "Hey, I want to pay my fair share!" Jayne complained.

  "Not necessary. I invited you out, so I'm paying. End of discussion."

  Jayne sighed heavily. "Really, Brownie. Please. I don't want to be any more of a freeloader than I already am."

  "Stop. You are not. And the less you spend, the more money you'll have when you decide to move on—a day which I am not looking forward to, let me tell you." Brownie's voice changed to be much softer, reminiscent of her brother's. "Listen, I know you have your pride, and I'm not trying to step on that. I'm really not. But you've got to let people who care about you help you when you need it."

  Jayne sighed and slouched back against the booth she was sitting in, already feeling the tears flooding her eyes. "Thank you," she choked out, trying unsuccessfully to blink them back. "I'll never be able to say it often enough—"

  Brownie smiled. "You've already said it too much. I'm very glad to help; so is Pace. So, you'll just have to grin and bear the fact that you have friends who care about you."

  She got a chuckle out of her, for which she was grateful. Brownie knew that a flood was coming, eventually. Jayne was keeping her feelings about what had happened recently—and she thought probably from long before that, too—all bottled up, and eventually, she was going to explode. But when that happened, she hoped they were home, where it could be much more easily handled.

  Although, when it came right down to it, it didn't matter where they were—she would be there for her friend, regardless.

  It was nearly Braeden's bedtime by the time they got home, and Jayne fully expected to come in to poor Pace trying to get him to bed.

  Instead, though, the house was almost eerily quiet.

  "Hi, honey, we're home!" Brownie yelled as they were putting their coats away.

  "Shh!" Pace chided as he walked toward them with a finger over his lips.

  "What? Why do we have to be quiet?" his sister whispered back at him.

  "Because Braeden's asleep, and I don't want you to wake him."

  Jayne was impressed—very impressed. "You got him to go to bed early?"

  "He was practically falling asleep in his Kraft Mac and Cheese during dinner, so I skipped the bath tonight and put him to bed. He never really did wake up fully."

  "Good God, you're a miracle worker!" Jayne proclaimed.

  Pace smiled at her praise and even reddened slightly. "I just kept him ultra-busy. There's always something to do or see on the ranch. We petted the horses again, and he met a cow—we keep one for milk who is very friendly, and he helped milk her just before dinner. We watched the farrier shoe the horses, we cleaned out a stall together, and we played hide and seek in a haystack, and we chased chickens."

  "I'm pooped just listening to all of that! No nap?"

  "No, I skipped it in favor of wearing him out," he admitted.

  "He wasn't cranky by the end?"

  Pace seemed kind of philosophical about that. "Oh, he was a bit crabby until I got some dinner into him. All those carbs made him sleepy, and he was out like a light."

  "Well," Jayne began. "You did a great job! Thank you very much for taking care of him."

  "It was my pleasure, Jayne. He's a wonderful little boy—smart and curious. I'd forgotten what it was like to see the world through fresh eyes. And damn, he's fast on those little legs!"

  "Isn't he? If I let go of him for a second, he's in Canada!"

  "Are you two hungry?"

  Jayne patted her non-existent belly. "No, thank you. We had a big breakfast at Seely's, then lunch at La Petite Chat in Casper, and then we hit Jackson's Bakery in Bath just as they were closing and had napoleons and éclairs. I've definitely gained forty pounds in one day."

  "And that would be a good thing, Ms. Landers." He refused to call her "Mrs. Otis" ever again, and he had remembered that Landers was her maiden name. "You're too skinny."

  To every
one's surprise, Jayne stuck her tongue out at him, but Pace just laughed as he warned, "You ought to be careful, Jayne, or you're going to get yourself into trouble."

  What he said and how he said it set parts of her tingling that had only ever tingled around him, making her face flush brightly.

  Pace was moving around the kitchen as he cleaned it, occasionally rotating his right shoulder around in its socket with a pinched look on his face. "What else did you guys do besides eat?"

  "Oh, we went to the spa and got massages, got our nails done, and the virgin over here got a Brazilian."

  "Brownie!" Jayne was blushing so red, she thought she was going to faint. "He doesn't need to know that!"

  No, he didn't, but he couldn't help picturing it, nonetheless, and he was glad that he was standing behind the bar so that no one would see that he was trying to snap to attention in a pair of jeans that was barely able to accommodate his sudden expansion.

  "Then we went shopping—Jayne window and me not."

  Pace smiled. "I noticed the bags. I'd have to question who you were if you ever went to the city and didn't come back with something," he teased, rubbing his shoulder.

  "You okay?" Brownie asked, frowning.

  "Yeah, shoulder's playing up a bit. I'm using it more, hefting the little man onto them."

  "Well, stop doing that!" Jayne scolded.

  He just grinned. "Yeah, but he really likes it. He gets a different perspective from up there, and I love having him there."

  "Stubborn man." She shook her head.

  But Brownie's eyes had narrowed calculatedly. "You should let Jayne massage you. She was wonderful at that in college. Whenever anyone got stressed, or it was exam time, she would literally go from one dorm room to another, doing everyone's shoulders and neck."

  Not just no, but hell no! Jayne was thinking, but what she said was, "Yes, but he's a professional athlete—"

  "Was a professional athlete," Pace interrupted with a small smile.

  "Yes, but you've undoubtedly had professional massages. And you have an injury. I'm not trained, and I would be terrified of hurting you—causing some kind of other injury."

  His smile broadened. "I would be more than willing to assume that risk if you would be willing and it would get me some relief. I could go take some Tylenol or something, but I prefer more natural methods of pain relief." He was thinking of one very pleasant way that she could relieve the pain, but he kept it to himself.

  Pace rose and went to grab a chair from the dining room set, which he placed in the open area where kitchen, dining room and great room converged. Then he straddled it and laid his arms across the back. "Your patient awaits."

  Jayne looked like a deer caught in headlights, but Brownie had conveniently—and deliberately, she suspected—disappeared.

  Pace was just sitting there, waiting for her to massage him, and she couldn't seem to get her legs to cooperate. Her feet were rooted to the floor.

  She wanted to be the kind of woman who would do what he wanted—touch him casually, help him and ease his pain. Even then, though, she would never think that it would lead to anything else between them.

  But she wasn't. She had always been rather timid and reticent—and, aside from what Brownie had said, she was not a touchy-feely person, although she did enjoy helping people and all the genuine thanks she got from her fellow students, even though she generally eschewed the limelight.

  Pace raised his head. "Jayne? You still there?" he asked, turning to look at her.

  As soon as his eyes fell on her, he was up like a shot. The chair found its rightful place beneath the dining room table, and he came to stand in front of her, while keeping a very respectful distance.

  When he spoke, his tone was that familiar, soothing one she was familiar with, but even more so. "I'm so sorry, Jayne. I was treating you like my sister, as if I knew you well enough to do so. I didn't mean to upset you. You certainly don't have to massage me." He moved toward the big sectional in the great room. "Come sit down. Make yourself comfortable. I'll sit over here."

  He took an easy chair that was about as far away from her as he could get without going outside and sank down into it.

  Jayne didn't move at first, but eventually, she turned to face him. She was still standing there with that wide eyed, terrified look on her face.

  "Jayne, come sit with me, please," he asked again.

  His tone was just the right combination of firm and coaxing, with not the slightest trace of impatience in the least.

  It was impossible not to draw comparisons between him and her husband. Jake would have been beside himself by now if she'd refused to obey him like this.

  "Honey, I'd come carry you over here, but I don't want to touch you. But you're shaking like a leaf, and I don't want you to fall over. Please come sit. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to. I just want you to be safe."

  She took a tentative step toward him, and he smiled warmly. "That's it. You make yourself comfortable anywhere you want."

  Jayne made her way—slowly—to the chair that was as far away from him as she could get without being in the dining room. Just as she was sitting down, he popped up and went to the bar, pouring a healthy dose of whiskey into a glass then turning around to find that she was still standing and edging away from him.

  "You can sit down, hon. I'm just going to put this right here. It'll calm your nerves." He put the glass on the coffee table in front of where she had been going to sit then resumed his seat, waiting patiently for her to feel that she could come and sit.

  "Can I bring you anything? Are you cold, or is the shivering a reaction?"

  "Re-re-reaction," she answered softly, sinking back into the chair she'd just vacated so precipitously.

  "Okay. If you're cold, there's a throw on the back of the chair. My gramma made it. It's a little holey from age and use, but it's clean and really warm. When I was a little kid and wasn't feeling well, she'd bundle me up in it and let me watch cartoons while I lay on the couch."

  His voice was insidious, making her body relax when her mind was all adamantly afraid, but it was so calm and soothing, too, it was impossible to ignore.

  "She made the best roast chicken I've ever had. Then she'd made soup with the bones later in the week." Pace wasn't really sure what he should say to her, but he'd been told by several women that a certain tone of his voice could be very relaxing and reassuring, and she certainly needed both of those things.

  But he figured that the truth—which he always did his best to stick to, as a rule—was probably the best thing. "I'm so sorry to have scared you like this. I didn't mean to, and neither did Brownie, I'm sure. You've handled your situation so well that I think we both forget that there have to be some scars that haven't healed for you yet." He paused, wishing he'd poured himself something, too.

  "But I also want to tell you that I like you a lot. I always have—since she first brought you home to meet me. I was playing football and I wasn't around much when you were here, and I would have found a way to pursue you, but before I knew it, you were married and I'd lost my chance. I don't want to miss it again, Jayne. I don't mean to frighten you more, but I want to put my cards on the table, so you know where I stand. When you're ready, I'd love to take you out—somewhere, anywhere. In the meantime, I want to tell you, and I'll repeat it any time you want, that if you were ever mine, I could never hurt you. And, regardless of whether or not anything develops between the two of us, you are safe here. You can stay here for as long as you want. I won't let anything happen to you, and I will never allow him to hurt you again, Jayne."

  He didn't know how he'd managed it, but he'd gotten through the whole speech without absolutely snarling about what that asshole had done to her. But he knew instinctively that she didn't need that from him at the moment, so he'd swallowed it down, although his voice had gotten telltale softer when he'd spoken about her husband.

  "I know it's a lot to throw at you, but I don't want anything from you ri
ght now except to help you feel better and get back on your feet."

  She looked a lot less tense to him, but he still wondered if he had overplayed his hand by telling her that he was interested in her. Pace realized that she was dealing with some very serious stuff, and perhaps he shouldn't have added that element to her burden, but he was just trying to be up front with her.

  He'd been horrified to realize—from his sister—that she had thought he didn't even like her, so that might have given him a bit of a push, too.

  Jayne suddenly got up, but he forced himself to remain seated while his arms literally ached to draw her into a gentle hug.

  Looking at the ground, Jayne tentatively stated, "I'm going to bed now."

  "Sleep well. If there's anything either of us can do for you, let us know."

  She nodded her head, already halfway down the hall.

  Pace got up and poured himself a draught of whiskey that was five times the size of the one he'd given her, which he didn't think she'd taken more than a sip of, so he confiscated it as a chaser to what he already had.

  His mind was racing, his heart was pounding, and he felt as if he was going to throw up, quite sure that he'd blown it with her utterly and completely. He had several more shots before heading to bed himself, unable to bear his own company for another minute, and hoping he'd consumed enough adult beverages that he'd just fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  But he had to pass her door before he got to his own, and what he heard as he passed by stopped him dead in his tracks. She was crying her eyes out—there was no denying it, no mistaking that sound—and all he wanted to do was to barge in there and take her into his arms and just hold her. He would want to soothe her, of course, but he wouldn't insist that she stop crying. A good cry was just what she needed, but he hated that she was doing so all alone.

  That was one of the best things he'd learned from his sister—as a guy. Sometimes, you just need to cry. He'd earned big points with the women he'd been involved with by not panicking when they started to cry, but instead, holding them until they'd cried it out.