Why was she so supersensitive where he was concerned? He was a longtime friend of Ted’s so it was obvious he wasn’t the type of stranger she needed to be wary of. So why not relax and just enjoy herself? He was another member of the wedding party—no more, no less.
But when she glanced at him as Ted stepped up onstage and joined Cindy and Dana in their song, he was smiling at her and she felt her heart leap to her throat.
“If it even looks like they’re coming anywhere close with that microphone,” he said in a loud voice, talking over the noise, “I’m making a break for the door.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” she called back.
He smiled at her and she felt her throat close off again. She quickly turned away in an effort to avoid the danger of any further conversation. She concentrated instead on Ted and Cindy as they entertained everyone with their best Sonny and Cher impersonation while murdering the song “I Got You Babe!”
Despite all the laughter and good feelings, Kristin felt herself becoming angry and frustrated. He was there. Him. That nameless, faceless stranger who had stolen her freedom, and it just wasn’t right. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. This should be one of the happiest times in her life. Her only sister was getting married. Cindy had found the man she loved and they were beginning a wonderful life together. Nothing should be more important and nothing should get in the way. Yet, there was something—someone who threatened to take center stage. The poison that touched her life touched theirs as well, and made her the angriest of all.
From her peripheral vision she was aware when Jake turned and looked at her, and felt a surge of frustration. How much longer was this going to go on? How much longer was she going to greet every new man she met as if he were him, as if he were the stranger who knew her only as Jane Streeter, who had muscled his way into her life and made it a living nightmare?
Chapter 3
Kristin leaned back against the chair. The last twelve hours had been a glorious blur of flowers, music, tears and wedding vows. It had been a beautiful ceremony, having gone off without a hitch, and with the reception in full gear now, she was ready to relax.
“I know who you are.”
The whispered voice in her ear had Kristin’s blood turning to ice. Frozen in fear, the champagne flute slipped from her hand, landing on her dinner plate and shattering into a hundred tiny pieces.
“Wha—wha,” she croaked, but her mouth was too dry for words to form.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Jake said, quickly reaching for a napkin and stopping the stream of wine before it found its way to her dress. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Somehow Jake’s voice penetrated the dizzying ring in her ears, silencing the roar. “W-what did you say?”
Jake pushed the debris of broken glass to one side and sat down on the chair beside hers. With the dinner over and the dancing having just begun, the table was empty, except for the two of them.
“I feel terrible,” he confessed. “Are you okay?”
“N-no.”
Jake’s forehead creased in concern. “You’re not? What can I do? Can I bring you something?”
“No—I mean, yes,” she stammered.
“What,” he asked anxiously, reaching a hand out to hers. “Tell me what you want—I’ll get it.”
“No,” she said, giving her head a shake, trying to regain her composure. “I don’t want anything.”
“How about a drink? Maybe some more champagne?”
“No, I don’t want anything to drink,” she insisted, pulling free of his hand. “Y-you said…you said you knew who I was. What did you mean?”
Jake pulled his hand back into his lap and felt heat crawling up his neck. Maybe talking to her hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He was still having trouble believing all this, was still reeling from learning who she really was. Kristin Carey was Jane Streeter—his Jane Streeter. Dear Jane herself! What were the odds of the two of them showing up at the same wedding at the same time, let alone her sister marrying his best friend? They had to be astronomical—off the charts! The situation seemed almost too impossible to be true, and yet he knew that it was. There was no denying that voice.
That voice! It was unmistakable. The only thing that surprised him was that he hadn’t figured out her identity for himself.
“Oh, that,” he said with a dismissing gesture. “I just mean that I knew…you know…about…”
“About what?” she demanded, pushing her chair away from the table.
“A-about the radio show,” he stammered, feeling a little as he had when he was ten years old and sent to the principal’s office for having poured food coloring in the urinals at school. “You’re…you’re Dear Jane.”
She leaped to her feet. “How did you know?” she demanded. “Have you been following me?”
“No, of course not.” He rose slowly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her reaction would be, but this certainly wasn’t it.
“Then I demand you tell me how you found out,” she insisted. “I want to know how you found me.”
“Jane—” He stopped himself, confused and flustered. “I mean, Kristin. Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He reached out, hoping to help ease her back onto the chair, but she yanked violently away.
“I am upset and I want you to tell me how you found out.”
He drew in a deep breath, utterly and completely baffled by what was happening. Somehow, someway, he’d taken a sudden turn into the Twilight Zone. What other explanation could there be?
“Look,” he said carefully, using a voice he hadn’t used since he’d been a cop on the street. “Please, just sit down. We’ll talk.”
When she hesitated, glancing for just a second at the chair beside her, he took that as a sign to move.
“Here,” he said, pulling the chair close and holding it for her. “Sit, please. I feel terrible. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She slowly lowered herself to the seat, but glared at him suspiciously, as though she expected him to pull it out from under her at any moment. “All right,” she said as she watched him take the chair beside hers. “Now tell me. How did you find out I am Jane Streeter?”
At that point Jake wasn’t sure what to do. Did he tell her the truth? Should he tell her it was Ted who had told him? He’d said she didn’t like talking about the show, did that mean she’d be angry with him?
He suddenly wished he could just rewind the tape on these last few minutes and start all over again. The wedding ceremony had gone off without a hitch. No one had fainted, no one had tripped and—gratefully—no one had thrown up. And given the fact that they’d been seated at opposite ends of the table during dinner, he’d been fairly successful in steering clear of her for most of the day. But dinner was over now, the band was playing, the dance floor was crowded and the reception in full swing. Only the high spirits and good feelings had lulled him into a false sense of security and he’d thought it would be safe to talk to her again.
Brother, had he ever been wrong.
“I really didn’t want to start any trouble,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “It just happened to come up in a conversation last night. Ted mentioned—”
“Ted?” she gasped. “Ted told you about me?”