“You don’t trust me?”
She laughed at his indignation. “Not from here to the corner.”
He shrugged, looking sheepish. “It was worth a try,” he said. “And Ma really is worried about Bree.”
“Then she or Bree can call me and fill me in,” she said, not relenting. “Though Bree has never been in the habit of confiding in me.”
“I think that’s part of the problem,” Mick said, his expression thoughtful. “Bree’s not in the habit of confiding in anyone.”
She frowned at his tone and his surprising insight. “You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “I’ve learned to listen to Ma. When she says something’s wrong, it usually is.”
“Then call me and fill me in once you have a better idea of what the problem is. If Bree really does need me, then of course I’ll come.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” he promised. “Now, I’d better head for the airport and see if I can still get a flight yet tonight.”
The sharp stab of disappointment she felt at the meal being cut short was a warning. She might think she had control of the situation, but that was far, far from the truth. Once Mick O’Brien got an idea in his head, he was all but impossible to ignore or dissuade. Especially for a woman who still had a soft spot in her heart for him.
3 _____
Jake was very glad the job he was on required hard, backbreaking labor. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, thanks to that near miss with Bree. He’d worried that Connie could be right, that Bree might be staying in Chesapeake Shores. Then he’d worried even more that she might leave again. Nobody could ever suggest that his life was ruled by logic, he thought dryly.
He trimmed back another boxwood in a bedraggled hedge so his equipment could get a better grip to yank it from the ground. His broad, tanned shoulders were slick with sweat and the bandanna tied around his forehead was damp. He was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and work boots. Sunglasses, covered by protective goggles, shaded his eyes as he worked with the power saw to cut a few more branches. The noise was deafening. As the last branch snapped off, he turned off the saw. But even as silence fell, it seemed as if the air still vibrated. He whipped off his goggles and turned to find Bree standing a few feet away, her expression uncertain. She looked cool as a cucumber in another of those sundresses she favored, this one a pale green.
He was tired. He was dirty. And he was in no mood for this,whatever it was that had brought her here. If things had been different between them, he might have admired her audacity in tracking him down.
“Hello, Jake.”
“I’m busy,” he said, snapping the goggles back into place and turning on the saw.
He’d wait her out. Cut off every damn branch, every tiny twig if he had to. He was not having this conversation with her. He was never speaking to her again. He’d made that decision when he’d found her all cozy and friendly with Martin Demming years ago. That had been the last straw, the deathblow to his hope that they might still salvage their relationship. The mere fact that she’d come home and was standing right here, apparently intent on butting into his life, didn’t change any of that.
He kept on cutting, ignoring her, until he’d left the base of the very last bush barely sticking out of the ground. When he was through, pleased with himself for not caving in to his desire to drink in the sight of her, he looked up and found her still standing right there. Her patience had always been a stark contrast to his rush through life, but today he found it more annoying than ever.
“Go away, Bree.”
“Not until we’ve talked,” she said, her chin jutting up stubbornly.
He whirled around and scowled at her. “Now? You want to talk right now? Where the hell was that eagerness to have a conversation six years ago? You didn’t seem inclined to say two words to me back then. You just took off. Half the time you wouldn’t even answer my calls, so I had to come to Chicago. And what did I find when I got there? You and Demming sharing a bottle of wine.”
“Having a glass of wine with a friend is hardly a crime,” she said mildly.
He retreated from the accusation and tried to make himself clearer. “The wine wasn’t the problem and we both know it. It was the way he was looking at you.” He shook his head. “No, it was the way you were looking at him. That was the real problem. Anybody with twenty-twenty eyesight could tell you were infatuated with him. We’d been apart how long by then? Three months, as I recall.”
There was a flash of guilt in her eyes that told him he hadn’t mistaken anything that night. He’d gotten what was going on between them exactly right. And even now, dammit, it still mattered. It continued to hurt that she’d been able to forget about him, about the baby they’d lost and the plans they’d made. Worse, she’d done it so quickly, so easily, as if nothing between them had ever mattered.
“I’m sorry, Jake.”
“Yeah, well, so am I. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t want to rehash things at this late date.”
He tried to stare her down. It would have worked at one time, but today she held her ground. He sighed. If she was intent on having her say about something, it would be easier in the long run to let her get on with it. After all, he didn’t have to listen. He could tune her out, think about … His imagination failed him. He couldn’t think of anything that would be compelling enough to keep his attention diverted from the words coming out of Bree’s mouth.
“Okay, two minutes,” he snapped. “What do you want?”
“I’m thinking of staying in Chesapeake Shores,” she began.
He tried not to let her words cut right through him, but they did. Just one more decision that had come too late to matter, one more way she could rip out his heart on a daily basis.
“Well, bully for you,” he said, because she was clearly waiting for a response.
She did wince then, but she didn’t back down. “I wanted to know if that would be okay with you, if we could at least try to get along.”
“We can stay the hell out of each other’s way,” he said. “That’s the best I can promise. Take it or leave it. Go or stay. It makes no difference to me.” The lie tripped off his tongue convincingly, he thought. At least he hoped it did. He would not let her see that she still got to him. It was one thing for Mack and Will and his own sister to see right through him, but not Bree. That would be too pathetic.
There was a quick flash of hurt in her eyes, but then she nodded slowly. “Okay, then,” she said softly, a quiver in her voice that told him she was near tears. He steeled himself against it. So what if he hurt her? It was nothing to the pain she’d caused him.
She turned on her heel and walked away, giving him a perfect view of her excellent backside. Just staring after her stirred him in ways it shouldn’t. What was wrong with him? Was he a total jerk? A glutton for punishment? Because he knew with every fiber of his being that given a chance, he would take her to bed. Not into his heart again. Never that. But sex? Oh, yeah.
After her uncomfortable—okay, awful—confrontation with Jake, Bree sat in an Adirondack chair on the front porch, her feet propped up on a post, a notebook in her lap. She was making a list, something that was more like Abby than her. She had to get a handle on what she could do if she stayed here, because if she didn’t have a solid plan in mind, it would be too easy to drift back to the life she knew in Chicago, lousy as it was. So far she hadn’t written down one single thing, maybe because she couldn’t stop thinking about Jake and the way he’d looked at her.
Had she hurt him again for no good reason? If she couldn’t come up