Assumed Identity - By Julie Miller Page 0,37
the stroller at the end of the table, and pull out a set of colorful plastic keys for her to play with before they slipped into opposite sides of the booth. He leaned back, folded his arms over his chest and waited for Robin to start the conversation.
He had to give the woman credit for getting straight to the point. “I’d like to take you to dinner to thank you for what you did for us. Better yet, I’d like to fix you a meal. I’m guessing you’re not a man who gets much home cooking.”
Jake patted his stomach. “You don’t think I eat?” So what if most of his meals came from a microwave or were takeout? It didn’t mean he was starving. Or that he wanted to become a charity project for her. “You already said thank you. More than once.”
She tucked one of those chin-length strands of hair behind her ear and breathed deeply, gearing up to try a different approach. “It doesn’t seem like enough. You didn’t just water my plants while I was on vacation—you saved our lives. I’d like to do something a little more tangible to express our gratitude. I think you’d be insulted if I offered you money—”
“I would.”
“—and you don’t strike me as a man who’d appreciate a big bouquet of flowers. Besides, up until thirty minutes ago, I had no idea where I’d have my man deliver it. I thought you’d appreciate something practical. You have to eat. I cook. Pretty well, I think. And I almost always fix more than...”
Robin stopped mid-sentence with a soft gasp and looked down. She pulled out her cell phone and Jake heard another, almost inaudible, gasp. She was doing it again—that little shake of the head, as though she was dismissing something unpleasant. She closed the phone in her fist and set it down in her lap, out of sight beneath the table.
“You need to answer that?” Jake asked, before she could resume the argument.
“I have it on vibrate. It startled me, that’s all.” The pink scrape mark on her jaw stood out as the rest of her skin paled. She picked up Emma’s toy keys and gently cupped the baby’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
Jake didn’t buy the smile she gave him when she looked up to meet his assessing gaze. “I was assaulted last night. What do you expect? Of course I’m jumpy.”
“Don’t give me that. You found out my name, tracked me down, dolled the kid up—all so you could feed me dinner? I’m not buying it.” He reached across the table take hold of the hand she rested there. Jake damned himself for doing it. He damned her for shifting her grip to hold on. “Something’s got you spooked. And whatever you just saw on your phone is part of it.”
Setting her phone on top of the table, she showed him the message written there. “My assistant, Mark, keeps texting to tell me this woman I talked to before I left the shop has called three more times asking for me.”
“What woman?”
“I answered the first time because I thought she was a reporter.”
“What woman, Robin? What did she say?”
“It was a prank call. She sounded drunk. I’m assuming she read about me in the paper.”
“And?” Her long, artistic fingers were like ice to the touch. And Jake couldn’t seem to stop from stroking his thumb against the pulse in her wrist, trying to instill some warmth into her.
“She said I didn’t deserve her.” She was holding on with both hands now. “She said I should have died last night.”
Jake concentrated every nerve on his grip to keep the surge of anger from fisting his hand too tightly around hers. “Lousy coward. You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I don’t care what anyone says about me. But she was so adamant about how terrible a mother I am. I know I’m a single mom, but I do my best. I get tired sometimes, but I can support Emma on my own. She has a good doctor, a safe home...” A deep breath shuddered through her. “I read every book, I took classes—so I’d be ready when my chance to have a child came. I fought so hard to have a baby on my own. I don’t have that many years left when I can have a healthy pregnancy. But none of the relationships I’d been in were right for starting a family. And none of the science I tried took.” She pulled one hand