Assumed Identity(53)
She pushed the call button and fished the ring of keys from her pocket. “And I’m still calling you Jake.”
“Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”
“I don’t know.” The old bronze doors separated and she stepped inside. She made sure he was looking at her before she dropped the keys into his palm. “You’ll have to keep trying.”
Chapter Nine
Jake was screwed. He’d exchanged his stark downtown haunts where he knew every alley and fire escape, every place trouble could hide, for the domestic mousetrap of Robin’s rambling brick farmhouse on the outskirts of the city.
The twentieth-century home had more doors and windows than one man could watch at any one time. They’d been updated with new locks, but there were a detached garage, a barn and a gardening shed he’d need to keep an eye on, too. Plus, sight lines didn’t allow him much of a heads-up to anyone approaching the house on foot. While Robin didn’t run the place as a working farm, there were still rolling grass hills between the house and the highway, as well as a forest of native pines and deciduous trees running along her property to the south and east.
Despite its remote location away from the incidents around her downtown shop, her home would be a nightmare for one man to defend, even if he were at the top of his game. Jake was far too distracted tonight to be at the top of anything.
First, there was the house. Even at night, its tree-lined drive appealed to his need for isolation in a much prettier way than the lumpy sofa bed, thrift-shop table and tight space of his apartment did. Then there was the food. Robin had claimed she could cook, but leftover stew and banana-nut muffins shouldn’t taste like the best meal he’d eaten in two long years.
Finally, there was Robin herself. She’d kicked off her shoes as soon as she got inside the house and ran around in her bare toes and butt-hugging jeans, somehow managing to pull off sexy while she heated up some dinner and gave Emma her bath. Every room of the house was a reflection of some aspect of her—practical and efficient, stylish and comfortable, beautiful in a subtle, take-a-man-by-surprise kind of way.
He liked it all. He liked her.
If he stayed here too long, he’d get soft and be useless as the protector Robin and Emma needed. He was equally certain that the moment he dropped his guard would be the moment that his past caught up with him. And whether he remembered the details or not, he doubted the reunion would be a pleasant one. Being with Robin and Emma would put them right in the middle of whatever dangers were lying in wait for him.
After another late-night sweep to make sure every door and window was locked, Jake wandered into the nursery, where Robin was cleaning up after putting Emma down in her crib. The dim light from the lamp on the dresser and the soft strains of classical music playing in the background made Jake drop his voice to a whisper. “Everything is as secure as I can make it.”
“Thank you.” Robin’s voice was just as quiet. She stifled a yawn before gathering up a towel and the clothes Emma had been wearing earlier. “I’ll get your room ready next.”
He was about to tell her not to go to any trouble on his behalf when a little whimpering noise came from the crib. Jake crossed the room to look down at the pink, squirming ball of Emma Carter. Her eyes were closed, but she was batting at the gingham sheet beneath her, pinching her face and moaning like she was gearing up to cry. “Is she okay?”
“Of course. Full tummy, warm bath. She’ll be asleep in no time.” Robin was folding up the Noah’s ark quilt that had been tossed over the rocking chair where she’d given Emma her bottle.
“Then why is she crying?”
“She’s not. She’s stubborn like her mama and fighting to stay awake.” Another yawn betrayed Robin’s fatigue and the late hour. She needed to get to bed. They all needed to get some sleep if they were going to stay sharp and vigilant against any other threats. “Just nudge her thumb to her mouth. She never took a pacifier, but sucking her thumb seems to calm her right down.”
“You want me touch her?”
Robin warmed the room with a smile. “Of course. She won’t bite.”
Jake was a grown man who outweighed little Emma by at least two hundred pounds. Still, he needed a fortifying breath before he reached over the oak railing and caught one of Emma’s tiny fists between two of his fingers. He guided the hand to her mouth. As soon as it touched her lips, the thumb popped right in and the unhappy noises stopped. And she did it all without opening her eyes. “That’s my girl.”