His Secret Daughter Page 5

  But rounding the corner of the church, Callie came to a complete standstill. Jake was encircled by the Truelove matchmakers, the entire posse of them.

  The sixtysomething ladies were notorious for poking their powdered noses where they didn’t belong. For years, they’d been after Callie’s dad to remarry, throwing one eligible, matchmaker-vetted widow or divorcée after the other at him.

  And some help her father was proving to be. On the other side of the footbridge, her dad was talking to Lorena. She was their closest farm neighbor. Wearing her nurse scrubs, she was either coming off a shift or starting one at the regional medical center.

  There’d be no help for Jake there. Or for Callie, either. The Truelove matchmakers were tougher than they looked. With the ladies blocking access to the bridge—the only escape route—there was no avoiding them.

  Might as well face the issue head-on. Truelove was a small town and, like most small towns, possessed a formidable grapevine, faster by far than any text message. The ladies would be wanting to meet Maisie’s father.

  These ladies had been good to Callie’s mother during her long illness, and to Callie and her father ever since.

  Stepping forward, she squared her shoulders. “Miss IdaLee. Miss GeorgeAnne. Miss ErmaJean.”

  Not unlike a deer caught in the glare of oncoming headlights, Jake’s eyes darted around the cluster of women.

  Married, divorced or spinster, the “Miss” was an honorary title of respect bestowed on any Southern lady who was your elder in age. No matter if the “Miss” was elderly or not.

  “Why, CallieRose—” the uncontested leader of the pack, GeorgeAnne, said Callie’s name like she did her own, the words running together “—do introduce us to this handsome young man.”

  Jake flushed. It was all Callie could do not to laugh, but she took pity on him and came to his rescue.

  “ErmaJean Hicks, IdaLee Moore, GeorgeAnne Allen, I’d like you to meet Jake McAbee.”

  “Ma’am.” He inclined his head at each in turn. “ErmaJean. IdaLee. GeorgeAnne?” He blinked. “Such...unusual—I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard such lovely names before.”

  Jake McAbee was quick on the draw. She’d give him that. Maybe he hadn’t needed her help after all.

  “How nice.” Miss ErmaJean fluttered her lashes. “Such a gentleman.”

  Jake’s eyes cut to Callie’s. Again, she suppressed the urge to laugh. But en masse, the Truelove matchmakers could be a bit overwhelming. More than a bit.

  Callie rubbed Maisie’s back. “The ladies are founding members of Truelove’s Double Name Club.” She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “An old and beloved tradition among Southern families.”

  “And it goes so well with the drawl, too.” Jake gave her a slow, lazy grin.

  Her knees suddenly wobbly, she gaped at him, and that discombobulated, tingly sensation every time she was near him started again. When he smiled at her like that... She gulped. Jake McAbee ought to come with warning labels.

  Callie became aware that the ladies had gone still, their eyes behind wire-rimmed frames large and sharp. Not unlike a cat zeroing in on a mouse. Somehow she’d momentarily forgotten about them, which was never a good thing when dealing with the matchmakers.

  They could get an entirely wrong idea about what was between her and Jake. Was there something between her and Jake? Her heart thumped.

  “Such a cute family you make.” Subtlety wasn’t GeorgeAnne’s strong suit.

  Callie felt the heat crawling up her neck. Before she could frame an appropriate response, Miss IdaLee, the oldest of Truelove’s matriarchs, laid her slightly gnarled, blue-veined hand gently on Maisie’s blond head.

  “Isn’t it wonderful to have your papa with you at long last, Maisie honey?”

  Callie hadn’t imagined that two-year-olds were capable of curling their lip.

  Maisie drew herself up and with great deliberation stared fixedly at the surrounding glade of trees. Anywhere and everywhere but at her father.

  Callie’s heart fell to her toes. Her gaze cut to Jake, hoping, praying, he hadn’t seen Maisie’s reaction—but he had. As had the ladies. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  At the look on his face, she wanted to weep for him. He dropped his eyes to the grass. Not thinking, she took a step closer, reaching out to him.

  The gesture was not lost on the matchmakers. Becoming aware of how such a gesture could be misinterpreted, she let her hand fall.

  “Our Maisie and her father will get used to each other.” GeorgeAnne cleared her throat. “Nothing that a little time won’t heal.”

  “Will it?” Jake whispered as if to himself. “Does time heal all wounds?”

  GeorgeAnne’s glacier-blue gaze softened. “With the Lord’s help, I believe it can.” She gave his shoulder a quick pat. “Hang in there.”

  Callie warmed toward the often sharp-tongued, overly brusque woman.

  Excited shouts broke out. “Maisie! Maisie!”

  Callie’s good friend, Amber, waved. Amber’s two energetic girls rushed over, breaking the moment. The twins proved enough to send the matchmakers into a temporary retreat.

  The ladies moved across the footbridge toward their vehicles, but Callie had an uncomfortable feeling neither she nor Jake had heard the last of the matchmakers.

  Although a few years older, Amber’s girls were Maisie’s best friends, too. Long ago during high school, she dated Amber’s brother, hoping one day to call Amber a sister. But that wasn’t meant to be.

  Callie set Maisie on her feet to chat with her little friends, but she kept a firm grip on her hand.

  Perhaps Jake had had about as much female companionship as he could tolerate, because he slipped across the bridge as Amber drew closer.

  “You can thank me later,” Amber laughed, watching the matchmakers disperse to their cars.

  “Not soon enough.” Callie rolled her eyes. “But I owe you. Free babysitting any night of your choice. What’s your class schedule like this week?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Amber shook her head. “You always look after my girls for free.”

  “Because I love doing it. It’s no bother.”

  Amber gave Callie a little hip bump. “Nice try, changing the subject. But you’re not getting off the hook so easily. Not until you bring Maisie’s dad into the diner and introduce me to this man who has you so rattled.”

  “He does not.” Dropping her hold on Maisie, she crossed her arms and then uncrossed them. “I am not.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Jake... It isn’t...” She smoothed her skirt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Amber’s lips twitched. “Uh-huh.”

  “Stop saying that.” Callie took hold of Maisie’s shoulder, preventing her from sliding into the small creek bed. “He does not.”

  Catching hold of the slippery-as-eel twins, Amber led them across the footbridge. She threw Callie a parting shot. “Sure about that?”

  Actually, when it came to Jake McAbee, Callie wasn’t sure about anything.

  Chapter Five

  Callie said nothing more to Jake about the incident with the Truelove matchmakers at church. But that afternoon, when she got her father alone in the barn, she gave him an earful about his failure to protect one of his own—an unattached male—from the clutches of the infamous matchmakers.

  It was Jake himself, however, who broached the subject a few days later when he came into the house. “About those ladies...” At the kitchen sink, he cranked the faucet, letting the cool water flow over his muscled forearms.

  She didn’t have to ask which ladies. “I’ll help you sort them out individually by name, so next time you won’t feel so ambushed.”

  He lathered the bar of soap, scrubbing his hands and his forearms beneath his rolled-up sleeves. “Culling the herd?”
He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Divide and conquer?”

  She laughed. Jake McAbee could always make her laugh. She hadn’t expected that when she first met him. And she appreciated his easygoing manner in the aftermath of what had to have been an unspeakable embarrassment for him on Sunday.

  “Consider it a survival mechanism for living in Truelove.” She handed him a towel. “I’m sorry that it happened at all.”

  He rubbed his arms with the towel so vigorously she feared he’d scrub off his skin. “No one’s fault, except mine.”

  She wished he weren’t always so quick to take the blame for everything.

  “What the ladies said about you, me, Maisie...” Callie fidgeted. “They feel it’s their duty...” This wasn’t coming out right. “They take our town motto a little too seriously...”

  He spread the towel over the counter to dry. “Truelove, where true love awaits.”

  Maybe this would come out easier if she didn’t have to look at him. The tic jumping in his cheek was distracting, as was the tanned skin on his throat above the open collar of his denim shirt.

  She stirred the soup pot on the stove. “Any eligible bachelor is fair game, I’m afraid.”

  Jake leaned his hip against the kitchen island. “I’m sorry they embarrassed you. You deserve far better than to be publicly linked to someone like me. Next time I see them, I’ll set the record straight.”

  There he went again.

  Gripping the spoon, she spun around. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You’re dripping.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  He pointed to the tomato sauce dribbling off the spoon in her hand.

  “Oh...” After grabbing the cloth on the counter, she bent over the kitchen floor.

  Ripping a paper towel off the rod, Jake also crouched. And smack, their foreheads collided, knocking both of them onto their keisters.

  She fell against the under-sink cabinet. “Ow!”

  Grunting, Jake landed against the island cabinet door, but humor danced in his blue eyes. “You’ve got a hard head, farm girl.”

  Forgetting she still clutched the wooden spoon, she moved to rub her brow and succeeded only in braining herself with the utensil, thoroughly splattering sauce all over the floor. She groaned.

  “Callie...”

  She liked how he said her name, how the syllables rumbled from his chest, rolled from between his lips. With her eyes, she traced the line from his stubble-covered jaw to his mouth.

  “Callie...”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his. “W-what?” she gasped, a breathy note in her voice.

  “You’re wearing the sauce now.”

  “I—I am?”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “You are.”

  She dropped the spoon with a clatter. “Where?” She swiped at her forehead. “Here? Is that better?”

  He leaned forward on his knees. “And here.” Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he wiped away a streak of tomato sauce.

  The butterflies in her chest went into full flight mode. A quick intake of breath brought his woodsy scent to her nostrils.

  Cupping her cheek in his palm, his thumb gently moved across her cheek. “Better now.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  “Much better,” she whispered, lost in the intensity of his gaze.

  “Cawee!” Maisie barked.

  Jolting, she and Jake sprang apart.

  Hands propped on her little hips, Maisie glared at her—not Jake—as if Callie had consorted with the enemy and betrayed Maisie’s trust.

  Callie’s heart hammered. “Maisie, you scared me.”

  How long had she been standing there? Not that anything had happened. What would have happened, though, if Maisie hadn’t interrupted?

  She flushed.

  Jumping up, Jake started to offer his hand to help Callie stand. But when Maisie transferred her scowl to him, he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  She jabbed her tiny finger at Jake. “No wike him, Cawee.”

  He flinched. “I’ll call Nash to the table.” Dropping his eyes, he lumbered toward the screen porch. The door slammed behind him, settling into the frame with a dull thud.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t scold Maisie for her feelings about her father or her lack of feeling. But even if only two years old, Maisie’s uncharacteristic rudeness couldn’t be allowed to go unchecked.

  Catching hold of the edge of the counter, she leveraged herself upright. “I don’t like your attitude, Maisie Nicole McAbee. Nor the way you treat your daddy.”

  Maisie’s eyes—so like Jake’s?—narrowed at Callie.

  “We talked about how your daddy didn’t mean to scare you that first day. He would never hurt you. You don’t need to be afraid.” Callie smoothed her blouse. “He’s trying so hard. I don’t understand why you are so mean to him. He loves you so much.”

  Maisie’s blond curls flew as she shook her head from side to side. “No May-zee daddy. No wike.”

  “If you’d only give him a chance.” She went down to Maisie’s level. “Please?”

  Giving Callie a nice view of her back, Maisie returned to her toys in the living room. Her feelings in regard to her father were only too clear. Her attitude, intractable.

  Callie rocked on her heels. Maisie gave new definition to stubborn. A trait Maisie’s mother, Tiff, had possessed in spades. The “cutting off your nose to spite your face” kind of stubbornness. A stubbornness that too often had resulted in disaster for Tiff.

  Like mother, like daughter? God, please, no. Not when she was doing everything in her power to make sure Maisie never went down the road Tiff had chosen.

  Standing beside the island, she watched Maisie play with her plastic barn animals. Love welled inside Callie for this child who’d grown not under her heart, but in it.

  That had to count for something. Doesn’t it, God? Love had been the essential ingredient Tiff’s childhood had lacked. The seed from which so many of Tiff’s bad choices had sprung.

  Callie had tried loving Tiff through her mistakes, but in the end, Tiff had left only carnage in her wake. Wrecking her own life. Devastating other lives, like Jake’s.

  She wanted so much more for Maisie. But what counted for more? Despite everything Callie had done, was a child’s future determined more by heredity than environment? If that was true—and this was what she feared most—then Maisie’s parental genes potentially meant a lifetime of unhappiness and ruin.

  All of the fight went out of Callie. She slumped against the edge of the counter, hope draining from her like water through a sieve.

  The screen door squeaked as her father tromped inside the house. Maisie scrambled to her feet, and her Pop-Pop swept her into a bear hug.

  When he entered quietly, Jake’s emotional exhaustion hit her like a visceral blow. The hopelessness of ever reclaiming his daughter’s affection was etched across his shadowed face.

  She couldn’t—mustn’t—let Jake accept defeat. He was key to making sure what happened to Tiff never happened to Maisie. Biting her lip, she pivoted toward the stove.

  If she could just figure out a way to get the both of them over this initial hurdle and jump-start a real relationship between them, for the sake of Maisie’s future happiness. She ladled the sauce over the pasta on each of the four blue pottery plates.

  Callie’s dad toted Maisie off to the downstairs half bath to wash her hands for dinner.

  Without being asked, Jake removed the silverware from the drawer and set the table. Always working hard to “earn” a place at the table.

  She hadn’t expected Jake McAbee to tug at her heart so much.

  Maisie was too young to understand, but she needed a father in her life.

  Callie worried her lip between her teeth. A long-distance father? That was the
“arrangement” she’d made with Jake. But what else was she supposed to do? She carried her father’s plate to the table.

  Maisie belonged on the farm, not with a man she barely knew. A man with no home and no real roots. What kind of example would that be to Maisie?

  Jake carried over the other two plates, placing one on her place mat and the other on Maisie’s. He left himself for last, like always.

  Callie’s heart wrenched. Grabbing a glass, she pressed it against the lever on the ice dispenser at the fridge. Ice cubes plonked into it.

  Tiff had made it clear she wanted Callie to raise her child, which was the reason Callie fought to keep Maisie here. This wasn’t about her needs or the hole Maisie filled in her life. She was honoring Tiff’s wishes. Right?

  Jake rushed over. “Callie, let me help.”

  She blinked at him. “Help?” What did he mean?

  He gestured toward the overflowing glass. Still-falling ice cubes littered the kitchen floor.

  “Oh... I’m...” Biting her lip, she stopped pressing the glass against the lever. “Thanks.”

  “Callie Girl, is everything all right?” Standing behind the chair, her father had already settled Maisie into her booster seat. Both of them stared at the skating rink she’d created in the kitchen.

  “I—I...” She waved her arms, sloshing additional ice cubes out of the glass and onto the floor. “I got distracted.”

  Jake took the glass from her. “Go sit down. I’ll clean this up for you.”

  Shouldn’t she clean up her own messes? Wasn’t that what she was doing, and doing so badly? Trying to clean up Tiff’s mess?

  “Callie.” Her father pulled out her chair. “Take a break, sweetheart.”

  So she sat. While Jake, good guy that he was—despite her desire to believe otherwise—scooped up each errant ice cube. He and her father made sure to mop any wet spots on the floor. Stuffed cat clutched in her arms, Maisie entertained herself by talking in the singsong little voice she used with BooWoo, her beloved companion.

  Callie’s heart drummed in her chest. Why was she so determined to find fault with Jake? To ease her own conscience? To justify keeping Maisie from him?