“Did he know where she went? I’m sure she talked about New York all the time, she said she’d grown up there,” Jake asked, curious. His mother had been a true New Yorker. He’d discovered at an early age his love for the city through her, and what the city could give him if he worked hard. It was a long time ago that he’d stopped caring about why she’d left the quieter country life. It was obvious she was most at home in the back of kitchens, with rough language, rough people, and all that the restaurant kitchen culture heralded.
At least he’d experienced that side of her, had grown up that way.
“He didn’t know. Heather just up and vanished after she left him. He said the first place he checked was her parents’ place just outside Calgary, but she never turned up there. She wasn’t from New York City, Jake.”
“She wasn’t?” he asked. “I always wondered how she came to be all the way over here, but she never talked much about that, just that New York was her real home.”
“She was from here. I think her parents moved from the US when she was young. They both worked in the oil industry and transferred back—I think her father was from here originally, hence family close by.”
Jake’s skin prickled, and he forced himself to take a breath in. His mother had gone on and on about growing up in New York. Was everything a lie? He sat back, a bit stunned at that. She had parents. He had grandparents. Here.
“Oh.”
“Her parents are gone now, rest their souls. They helped Brett search for a while, but not long after she left he married Veronica, and it was unseemly for him to keep looking publicly when she had Tanner. But he did, continuing in private. Right up until not so long ago, when he found you.”
Jake drew a breath in, then out.Holy shit.
His father had wanted him. His mother had told him time and time again that his father didn’t want them, that her parents had left her high and dry and it was up to them to make it on their own.
But his father had looked. His grandparents had looked.
“He asked me not to tell the boys, and now, I wish I had. I think he was going to tell them about you, prepare them for what was coming, but—” She stopped and looked away from him again.
“But what?” Jake prodded.
“He sat on it too long and ran out of time. I think he told me because he needed to tell someone and was scared to tell anyone else. It was the culmination of a lot of years of searching, and I think that was when he got the fool notion to will the entire ranch to you. The regret of not knowing you pushed him to act rashly. Or the tumor was messing with his head.”
Anxiously, Jake shifted to his feet, wanting to be anywhere but with another person as he absorbed what Peony had just told him. The urge to get into the kitchen, to do something to stop the tsunami of thoughts in his head and keep his hands busy roared into him, and he didn’t want to have it turn to anger and upset her.
“I can see this is a lot to take in,” Peony murmured, and put a hand on his forearm, the muscles corded as he attempted calm himself. Her hand was cool on his skin and sent prickles up his arm. “When Brett was at his limit, he looked just like you do. I’m so sorry, Jake. I truly am.”
Jake covered her hand with his and took a deep, cleansing breath in through his nose, looking down and away. “I think I’m going to go make something to eat. Are you hungry?”
“No, dear, I’m fine,” she replied, smiling at him knowingly. “Go cook. It will help.”
He headed for the door and turned just as he reached it. Peony was staring at the fireplace mantel, lost in thought.
“Peony, thank you for telling me,” he croaked, and strode away before he could let the emotion win.
Chapter Thirteen
Liz stepped in through the mudroom to go find her mother, thinking she must be in the kitchen since all the lights were blazing. She looked through the door and stopped.
The kitchen was a mess, and it was most definitelynother mom.
Jake finished expertly slicing what looked to be an onion, then slid it into a bowl with the edge of his knife, big shoulders moving, fluid and practiced. She stood a moment more, catching the smooth jazz flowing over the room from the tiny portable speaker now sitting above the sink, making the entire space feel classy.
Until Jake had arrived, Liz had normally avoided the expansive kitchen after dark. The countertops and shining metal appliances were cold and unwelcoming. But right now, warmth emanated, beckoning her. She noticed an expensive knife set and a laptop open with music queued.
She was drawn in, but at the same time, didn’t want to disturb the scene. He was obviously in his element, and even though she liked watching him like this, just as she had that first night he’d been here, she felt like she was intruding.
So she leaned on the door frame and took him in, waiting for a moment to sneak through into the house. His shirtsleeves were rolled up tight at his elbow, and he’d tied a crisp white chef’s apron high on his waist. His hair was finger-combed messy, and the serious way his eyes followed his hands was completely, utterly sexy.
Maybe she should go in and say hello. She couldn’t really deny any longer that there was this attraction she felt for him that was entirely irrational; that it was right there under the surface, prodding her when she least wanted it to.
Maybe it was the painkillers she’d taken or the fact that she was deliriously overtired that dissolved her reluctance, but her stomach fluttered, and little sparks ran along her body when he bent into the fridge and pulled out more vegetables.
The last straw that drew her in to lean on the island was when he started humming to the music, deep and smooth.
