Scotland For Christmas Part 22

Isabel could feel eyes boring into her head, but she kept her gaze on Emily. "Which holiday do you like best?"

"Christmas is my favorite, too," Emily said. She glanced to her father. "Can we get a Christmas tree on Sat.u.r.day?"

"Sure," he said. "We can do that."

Emily seemed to relax. "I'll take the plates out to the kitchen." She nudged Zach. "Come help me."

"I'll help you." Jacob sc.r.a.ped back his chair. He gave Isabel a grateful smile on his way out to the kitchen.

ISABEL WAS DOING what she did best, smoothing the way for everybody else. Jacob saw it. It made him ache for her. It made him ashamed of himself. It made him want to stop the pretense and tell her the truth.

"I like her," Emily said to Jacob as she came into the empty kitchen carrying piles of dirty plates.

He'd turned on the faucet and was rinsing the plates over the running garbage disposal. Back in the family room, he'd made sure Zach was showing Isabel how to play some computer game, and she was enthusiastically occupied.

She was curious about the world, he thought. Everything she touched turned golden and successful.

Him? He was usually reserved. Concerned about protecting other people from pain. Maybe he was tired of it.

"Jacob, did you hear me?" Emily waved her hand in front of his face.

"I like her, too," he said, putting the stopper in the sink and squeezing some dishwashing liquid under the running water. His mom didn't like to put her fine china into the dishwasher. She insisted that it be washed by hand so as not to dull the gold detail in the pattern. Idly, he flicked a finger over a flaw on the top plate.

Emily tied her frizzy blond hair into a ponytail. "I like Isabel better than Rachel, that's for sure."

He thought about keeping silent but decided he didn't want to any longer. "Ah...how much do you know about what happened?"

"I was a junior bridesmaid, remember? I was there. I saw it."

Ouch. He'd forgotten that. "Yeah, well, I was kind of in shock, so I probably didn't react in the best way."

"Don't worry. I thought Rachel was the one who was the jerk."

He'd been thinking about that lately. At the time, he'd pretty obviously blamed everything on Rachel. But these past few weeks with Isabel...

All the talking they did on the phone-initiated more on Isabel's end, but he was partic.i.p.ating, too-had opened his eyes. "Nah, she probably had her reasons for calling it off," he said.

"She shouldn't have left you. She should have stayed and fixed it."

"She didn't like that I work so much," he said.

"I don't think so. It's that you never smile or have any fun."

"That's what you think?" With a flick of his fingers, he playfully splashed some water at her.

She giggled and jumped away from the sink. "Did you bring your gun with you?"

"My service weapon? No, I did not."

"Good." She thought for a moment. "Does Isabel know about it?"

"She does."

"Does she know that Mom was born in Scotland?"

"Yes." He was proud to say it.

"And does she know that we're half siblings?"

He sighed, but nodded. "She sure does."

Emily sighed, too. "Good. I think it's important you tell her the truth. That's what I would want if I were her." She c.o.c.ked her head. "Will we see her again, do you think?"

He knew better than to get her hopes up. "No, unfortunately, she's going back home at the end of her cla.s.ses."

Emily stopped stacking plates in the sudsy dishwater and crossed her arms. "You don't know that for sure yet."

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, if you don't tell her that you like her then you're lying to her by omission, right? And if you lie to her for too long, you'll definitely lose her. She'll run away screaming, trust me. And you don't want that, right, Jacob?"

Isabel came into the room still laughing from the game in the den. Her face was lit, her eyes bright.

"What are you two talking about?" Isabel asked, looking from Emily to Jacob.

Jacob sat on the stool his mother used to stir her sauces over the stove. It had just hit him upside the head, but the sixteen-year-old was right.

He needed to tell Isabel the truth. If he didn't, he was an even bigger jerk to her than he thought Alex had been.

So what was he going to do about it?

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

JACOB RUBBED THE heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Isabel asked, leaning over the kitchen island. "You look a little green."

He opened his eyes to see Emily standing beside Isabel, making faces at him that Isabel couldn't see.

Jacob slowly straightened from the stool. "No, I'm not okay. I have to tell you something. My father...my real father...was killed in action when I was young. That's what I want you to know. I don't want you to hear it from anyone else."

"Oh," Isabel said. Her eyes softened as if she was saddened by what he was saying.

"His name was Donald Ross." He waited for her to make the connection between that name and her family history, but she just looked at him with kind eyes as if she felt empathy for him.

"I'm sorry. My father died unexpectedly, too," she said, her voice gentle. "I can only imagine how that would have affected you as a young boy."

"Yeah, it ripples through everything," he agreed. "Even when you don't think it should."

He glanced at Emily, and realized he was saying this as much to her as he was to Isabel. Emily just bit her lip and stared at him.

"So, if your father was killed in action...then he was in the military?" Isabel asked.

"No, he was in law enforcement. He was a police officer."

"Oh," Isabel said. Her eyes grew huge. "Oh." Maybe now she would understand. Jacob welcomed more questions-he was tired of silence. He looked to both her and Emily, but neither said a word.

For Emily's part, though, her crushed expression said it all. As she gazed at him with her big eyes, Jacob doubted she'd known these details. He had to fight not to turn away. Other than that one blowup about it he'd caused years ago, there had been nothing but silence on the subject since then. Too many adults flinching from questions asked. From Emily's perspective, likely all she'd known was that their mother didn't want Jacob working with guns.

Isabel glanced at Jacob's waist, where he usually kept his service weapon, his radio and his handcuffs. He was pretty sure that she still didn't entirely understand what was going on, either. She really had no idea of the scope of the secret he'd been keeping from her.

One step at a time. Isabel needed to know how he felt about her, first and foremost. He cared too much about her to "lie by omission" anymore, as Emily had put it.

"Em, I'm gonna take a walk with Isabel now. You and I will talk later. Is that okay with you?"

His sister nodded vigorously at him, still gripping a plate she'd been in the process of settling into the dishwater.

Make her stay, she mouthed, pointing to Isabel again, behind her back. Maybe she was anxious for happy endings. When he was her age, he'd wanted to make the world right, too, whatever that took.

Jacob's way had been to let his mom go to her new family, while he focused on becoming a cop. Emily seemed to hover, sensitively observing and directing what was going on. He understood, because at one time, he'd been similarly affected. His brothers didn't seem to be as sensitive.

Maybe they coped with their mom's sadness and refusal to talk in other ways. Or maybe they took it as normal.

Jacob smiled at Emily. He would call her later. Daniel and Mom might be angry at him for talking to her about it, but Jacob was simply tired. Tired of the lies. Tired of the omissions. He wasn't protecting anyone by staying away. Not any longer.

He went to the closet and handed Isabel her coat, and he put on his own, too. He'd been wearing the Black Watch scarf she'd bought him everywhere, even to work. The name-Black Watch-and the history made him feel like a professional protector. That Isabel had been inspired to give it to him made him feel a little bit loved.

He led her out the sliding-gla.s.s door and down the stairs of the wooden deck, then past the backyard pool area. The aboveground pool was covered with a black tarp. A puddle of stagnant rainwater had settled on top. In just a few weeks it would be frozen solid.

He took Isabel's hand-cold, so he rubbed it in his-and they walked toward an old snowmobile path he'd found one Thanksgiving, years ago, when he'd felt alienated and had wanted some time to himself.

The faintly trod path wound about a hundred yards through a meadow, and then veered to a stand of trees. Both he and Isabel were silent, the sound of their footsteps kicking up dried leaves and crunching the occasional fallen twigs.

She squeezed his hand and veered closer to him, smiling in question, clearly not sure what this walk was about. He knew he needed to start talking because it was time she heard the truth.

And he would tell her, even though there was a good chance she might leave him.

There was a large, flat rock at the side of the meadow, and Isabel went to it, drawing up her feet and sitting cross-legged. She looked as though she belonged there, on a hike on a beautiful day in the country with him.

"You're easy to love, you know that?" He wished he could erase everything he'd done up until this moment and start over again. He sat beside her, looking out over the field. "Alex was an idiot."

She smiled sadly. "Maybe, but I don't care about that anymore." She rubbed his chest. "Jacob, I'm really sorry about your dad. Emily didn't know how he died until just now, did she?"

"I'm not sure what my siblings know, honestly." He sat beside her and put his chin in his hands. "I'll make things right with her later. Right now I'm more concerned about you."

He interlaced his fingers with hers. Their situation killed him. Every day was slipping by so quickly. He really did want her to stay with him longer. "We don't have much time left."

"I know." Isabel turned, sliding her arms around his waist in a sweet, s.e.xy hug. "I've been thinking about that, too." Shyly, she nibbled at his ear. He was instantly aroused. He just wanted her so d.a.m.n badly.

"When you come home with me for Christmas," she whispered, "will you be coming because you want to visit Scotland, or...because of me?" She lowered her eyes. "I mean, I just...wish you cared more about spending Christmas with me." She put her hand on her chest. "This isn't coming out right, is it?"

"It's coming out perfectly." His voice was hoa.r.s.e. "You want me to go with you because of you."

She nodded. "I'd be lying if I said otherwise. It's Christmas," she whispered. "It's not a time to be...false."

"No," he said, "it isn't."

"I don't want to pretend anymore." Isabel stared at her hands, twisting them in her lap. "I know what I feel. I mean...of course I want you to go for dinner with my uncle and me, that goes without saying. But it's grown into more than that for me." She gazed up at him. "I loved meeting your friends and your family. I like feeling closer to you."

He traced her cheek with his finger. He just wanted to make love to her. Skip all this other stuff they needed to talk about.

"Say what you will about your family," Isabel said, laughing softly, "but they really do want to be together. Do you see how careful they are with each other?"

"They're careful with my mom because they don't want to upset her," he said.

She blinked at him, a questioning look on her face.

Dammit.

There was no turning back. He'd started on this path. All he could do was hope she understood.

"Please hear me out," he said quietly. "Don't leave me until I'm finished."

"Why would I leave you?"

He took a breath. "Because me being your bodyguard? That wasn't an accident."

She looked at him in disbelief.

He ran a hand through his hair and plowed on. "I asked my friend Lee to help me meet your uncle. Driving you to Vermont was the solution he came up with."

Her face seemed to pale. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because..." This was where he had to choose his words carefully. "I needed some information about my real father that only your uncle knows."

Isabel was blinking fast, no doubt thinking back to that weekend. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because I hadn't fallen for you earlier, Isabel."

Her hands went to her head as if she was angry and fl.u.s.tered. "Tell me this isn't happening."