A silentOshaped his mouth, and he quirked an eyebrow. Her face flushed and she looked away, clearing her throat, embarrassed.Awkward.
Her mother let out a small sound and took his hand in both of hers, squeezing it, and smiling. “Oh, bless you, young man. Yes, yes, we’re aware this must be a bit of a strange situation for you.”
“You could say that,” he said, another smile cutting the hard planes of his face. In that instant, he looked every bit a West. This was going to shock the hell out of her brothers.
“Please, come up out of the heat. I have some tea on, I hear you Americans like sweetened cold tea on hot days?” her mother added, and tugged on his hand.
A masculine chuckle escaped him as her mother went back up the steps with more energy than she’d exhibited since the day her husband had died. Liz let out a big breath, following them. Too late, she averted her eyes after taking in Jake’s very well-toned backside, clad in perfectly fitting jeans.
He was fit. From what Frank had said earlier, he was a chef. She had expected plump, or odd, like those chefs she saw on TV all the time, but this man looked like he could vault onto a horse and be at home. Damn.
They entered the cool of the house, her mother chirping on, asking him about his flight and the drive, his short answers reverberating back. His voice was deep, just like her brothers’, but had an American lilt to it, like the cops in movies. Frank had said Jake was from New York City, so that was probably why.
They made their way to the main living room, and Liz slipped off to the kitchen. She heard her mother tell Jake to make himself at home, that she’d be back in a moment.
Peony bustled into the room, and they looked at one another, both of them raising their eyebrows at once.
“Holy hell, Mom.”
“Don’t we know it,” her mother replied as she hefted the tray of iced tea and drinking glasses. “I don’t think there’s any doubt he’s Brett’s. Go get the boys and Frank.”
Chapter Three
Jake studied the pictures along the fireplace mantle, waiting for Peony to come back. He flexed his hand, still feeling tense, but remembering Liz’s firm grip as they shook hands. Her eyes were a unique shade of blue, reminding him of sapphires, and her voice was sexy and firm, like a smooth, aged whiskey. His head had emptied of any sort of intelligent, witty response when she’d spoken.
Why he’d had that response, he wasn’t sure, because now was definitely not the time to be even contemplating anything to do with attraction to another person. She wasn’t posh or polished in any way either, was completely unlike the type of woman he was normally intrigued by. But there it was. He ran a hand down his face and chalked it up to a long drive and a strange situation.
Pictures of his father and a myriad of horses were the focus in many of the frames. A wedding shot of Peony and Brett was there too, with a much younger Liz with piled-up hair, wearing some lace concoction, standing in front of them.
Another picture off to the other side was of a beautiful, auburn-haired woman sitting on a log with two teenaged boys, all of them in very nicely knitted sweaters, the fall leaves surrounding them. They must be his brothers, he thought. He picked up the picture beside it, with just the mom sitting on the log, looking back and forth between the two pictures. He didn’t recognize himself in either boy.
“Her name was Veronica. She was my mother,” a voice said from behind him.
Jake looked up and put the picture back quickly before doing a double take. Standing in the door was a more weathered version of himself, tall, dark haired and dark eyed, dressed in worn-out jeans and a dark-blue flannel shirt, holding a brimmed hat in his hands.
“Jake West,” Jake said, walking toward the man, hand outstretched.
“I know who you are,” he snapped, not taking Jake’s hand. Jake dropped it, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere that had entered the room with the other man.
They eyed one another, neither of them moving, and Jake knew he had been measured and found wanting. This guy was the real deal, and right now, he probably resented the hell out of Jake for even existing. Jake had faced down restaurant critics who had been less intimidating.
“Tanner West!” Peony admonished the man as she returned, carrying a tray with a pitcher and stacked glasses. “I know you’re upset, but don’t you be rude to our guest.”
Tanner’s flinty gaze turned from Jake and softened slightly. “Sorry. I’m on edge. We didn’t kn—”
“You must be Jake!”
Jake turned to see another man bound into the living room, a smile on his face. He was a bit shorter than Tanner and had auburn hair, like his mother in the photo. “I’m Brady, the baby.”
Jake smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” It was an honest statement. At least one of these men wasn’t being an asshole. He was thankful for that.
“Frank’s taking a quick phone call,” Brady said as he flopped onto a chair and put his hat on his knee. Peony handed him a glass of tea, and he poured it down his throat in one smooth motion. Jake put his hands in his pockets. He felt like an interloper. This family was obviously close, had lived here their whole life. He was . . .
Well, he didn’t belong here. At all. Peony handed him a glass of tea, and he nodded in appreciation.
“Thank you.”
“So, Jake. Frank tells me you’re a chef in New York City?” Peony said, sitting on the sofa and balancing her own glass, her eyes focused in on him. He nodded as he took a sip of his tea.
