Kentucky Groom by Jan Scarbrough Page B

hamburgers clung to the ceiling, setting off the alarm. Jay spotted the smoke detector in the hallway, reached up and detached the nine-volt battery.
    The agonizing noise of the alarm ceased, but not Jesse’s cries. Jay was stunned by the sight of Jesse huddled on the kitchen floor wrapped in her mother’s arms.
    Carrie glanced up at him, and he understood at once the haunted look he had seen in her eyes at the hospital. It had been because of Jesse. Jay went to the stove and removed the heavy black iron frying pan from the heat.
    “It’s okay, honey,” Carrie crooned to her daughter. She folded the little girl in her arms and rocked her back and forth as a mother would rock an infant. “Jay’s taken care of it. It’s just the smoke from the frying hamburgers.”
    Slowly Jesse’s sobs subsided. When she raised her eyes to Jay, he was startled by the depth of trust he saw in them.
    “Thanks,” the little girl mouthed.
    “Hey, no problem.” Jay shrugged off her thanks, knowing it was time to lift everyone’s spirits. He grinned at the two of them. “When do we eat? I’m starving. Hospital food was really the pits.”
    Jesse scrambled to her feet and dove at Jay, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and burying her head against his body. Jay reached down and stroked the girl’s blond head. He had no words of comfort. Just his presence seemed to be enough for Jesse.
    His gaze caught Carrie’s as she looked up at him from where she still sat cross-legged on the floor. It was as if she said thanks with her eyes. Damn! Gratitude again, not love.
    Forcing back his disappointment, Jay bent his head, slowly disengaged Jesse’s embrace, and stooped down to be on her eye level.
    “How about eating our hamburgers outside?” he asked. “I saw a nice picnic table under a big shade tree. How about cleaning it off for us?”
    Jesse glanced at her mother who was scrambling to her feet. “Good idea,” Carrie echoed. “Take that damp rag over there.”
    Jesse nodded. As she closed the door behind her, Jay stood up frowning. “She’s a changed child.”
    Carrie glanced at him and turned to face the stove, tears in her eyes. “She’s been that way since the fire. She’s so fearful and timid. I can hardly leave her.”
    “I see that.”
    “I’m trying to be patient with her,” Carrie explained. “The doctor suggested a child psychologist, but my insurance won’t cover it.”
    “I can pay for it.” The words were out of his mouth before he considered them.
    The muscle in her jaw clenched. “I don’t want your help.”
    “I don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of money, remember?” It was the truth, damn it. Trouble was, it was again the wrong thing to say, and he recognized in his offer the same sort of action his father would take. It bothered him.
    “Yes, I know.” Carrie turned from the stove with a plate of fried hamburgers in her hands. She shoved it at his midriff. “Here, take this.”
    “If you won’t take money from me, I’ll loan it to you.”
    “I could never pay it back.”
    He shrugged. “Then consider it a gift.”
    Her anger flared. “Like buying Tate’s business? I don’t care for your gifts. They come without the truth attached.”
    Jay walked to the door. She knew how to hurt a guy. “Some people would appreciate it.”
    Carrie caught up to him, and touched his upper arm, causing him to pause and turn toward her. “Wait, Jay. I do appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s just that I want to make it on my own.”
    Breath caught in his throat as he glanced down at her. She was so delicate, so vulnerable. A poignant ache throbbed in his chest. He placed the plate on the top of a nearby television, freeing his hands and then lifting a finger, caught a tendril of her blond hair and brushed it away from her face. Carrie’s lips were pressed together in a tight, hard line, but he noticed the movement of her throat as she swallowed.
    “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” he asked.