Dare To Love

Page 7

None of this was good. They were playing a game, a charade. Their relationship was nothing more than a showcase to convince her father to back off. Guilt tugged at her middle, clenching like a fist. She was using Jake, and it wasn’t fair.
But then again, this had been Jake’s idea, and if she gained some freedom from her father’s incessant pressure to marry, why not?
But what if she wanted more?
Did he want more?
As she stepped back into the ballroom, she scanned the bar for Jake. Her heart leaped to her throat when she found him surrounded by both her father and Alex. Lifting her skirts, she made quick work of catching up to them, hoping she could run interference before the two of them embarrassed Jake.
She arrived just in time to hear them arguing architecture. Obviously Jake knew building and construction, but she feared he was out of his league with an architectural discussion.
“You have to admit, the vertical concept and false fronts of the Italianates are truly a work of art,” Alex said.
Raymond nodded smugly. “I agree. But the gingerbread carving strategy of the Eastlake style is really my favorite.”
Jake hadn’t uttered a word since she’d returned. He inclined his head in her direction, a hint of a smirk on his face, but other than that seemed content to let her father and Alex carry on.
Maybe he felt uncomfortable chiming in.
“Gentlemen,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation away from grilling Jake, “I’m sure you’ll all agree the fundraiser tonight has been wildly successful.” They all looked at her, nodded politely, then resumed their discussion as if she wasn’t even there.
“The structure is astounding,” Alex said. “Dalton, do you have any idea what type of wood was used to construct the early Victorians?” Lucy rolled her eyes. What was this, a pop quiz?
“Some, I assume, were built with a prefabricated framework,” Jake said.
“However—”
“Really, gentlemen, I think what Jake’s trying to say is—” Her father waved his hand, silencing her interruption. “I believe you’re mistaken, young man. Now, I understand someone like you could not possibly be aware of the history and architecture of our fine city.”
Lucy was desperate to get Jake out of the line of fire. She stepped over to his side and tugged at his coat. “Would you like to dance?” she offered, giving him a visual signal that hopefully he’d see as rescue.
“Actually, what I was saying is entirely accurate.” Jake stayed focused on her father, ignoring her completely.
“What do you mean?” Raymond asked.
Oh dear. Now he’d stepped in it. “I’m sure Jake was just making polite conversation.
Really, Father, this inquisition is intolerable. Jake, let’s go.” As if he hadn’t heard her, Jake continued. “Some of these homes were built from prefabricated framework or plans that could be sent for in the mail, and others were planned and designed by architects. But most were made from redwood, which was available in abundance near the coast.”
“True,” Raymond stuttered. “But as far as the differing styles—” Jake went on as if her father hadn’t spoken. “While I can agree on you and Sheldon favoring the Italianate and Eastlake styles of Victorians, my favorite is the Queen Anne.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped.
“The Queen Anne’s most distinguished feature is its steep gabled roof, a rounded turret corner tower, and a front porch usually inside the main structural frame.
Some homes typically include a piece of each of the three mentioned styles, in which case they are referred to as San Francisco style. I tend to prefer the blended architecture because it showcases the finest aspects of all three.”
Lucy was stunned. She’d finally stopped trying to figure out a way to extricate Jake, only to realize he was holding his own fabulously. The man knew architecture.
Her father and Alex tried a new tact. Politics. Followed by religion. And as they went on, attacking Jake’s intelligence with difficult questions on global warfare, economics, finance, and the stock market, Jake answered every single one of them correctly.
They barraged him with questions, hoping to trip him up, to make him feel stupid.
And he’d countered every single one of them with more knowledge about the subjects than she could ever hope to amass. In fact, he’d even put a few questions to them that neither her father nor Alex could answer.
With a sigh of relief, she relaxed. She’d underestimated Jake Dalton.
It didn’t take long for Alex and her father to figure out they weren’t going to be able to embarrass Jake, and they finally gave up in disgust, moving off to mingle with the politicians in attendance.
Lucy turned to Jake, about to tell him how impressed she was with his knowledge.
But she was shocked at the fierce glare on his face. His jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was angry. Very angry.
At her. Without a word, he turned and headed to the door.
Lucy hurried after him, catching up to him near the front door of the hotel.
“Jake, wait!” She grasped his sleeve and fought to catch her breath.
He stopped, turned to her.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going home, Lucy.”
“Why?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Why did you bother to bring me here tonight?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did you think I was stupid?”
“No, no of course not.” Frantically she tried to recall anything she’d said that he could have misinterpreted.
“If you thought I was so moronic that I couldn’t enter into a simple discussion with your father and that idiot he parades around as your fiancé, then you shouldn’t have asked me here.”
Now she understood, guilt stabbing at her. “I didn’t know how much you knew about the subject. Honestly, I was trying to spare you some embarrassment.”
“I expected your father to treat me like I was stupid. I didn’t expect you to feel the same way. I’m finished.” He turned on his heel and walked through the doors.
Stunned, Lucy could only stare after Jake’s retreating form, misery forming a knot in her stomach. What had she done?
He wasn’t stupid. She was. She fled to the ladies room and flopped onto a chair, fighting back tears.
Jake had offered to help her out, and she had insulted him. Underestimated his intelligence in a huge way. He was right. She had thought he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a conversation with Alex and her father, and he’d proved her, and them, wrong.
He had a sharp wit and intelligence she hadn’t expected.
And why hadn’t she expected it? Because she had prejudged him based on his occupation. He was a construction worker, therefore he couldn’t be as smart as lawyers, right? Blue jeans couldn’t possibly hold their own against designer suits.
She bent over and laid her head in the palm of her hands.
For someone who’d always prided herself on not being one of the snooty upper class, she had sure shown her true colors tonight. She’d made judgments about Jake based on his social class, and not on him as a person. In doing so, she’d proved herself the biggest snob of all.
Jake threw the charcoal on the grill and ignited the flame, then picked up the slimy tennis ball his Golden Retriever, Rascal, had dumped on his foot.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” he asked the dog, who sat at his feet, butt wiggling and tail flapping furiously back and forth. “Guess not.” He threw the ball across the yard as far as he could. Rascal took off in a determined gallop, growling and shaking his head when he pounced on his quarry.
Jake laughed at the dog’s antics and headed inside for a beer. He walked past the pile of paperwork leering at him from the dining room table and chose to ignore it for the time being. It was Saturday, he was hungry, had been working on the house and yard all day, and he wanted a break. Paperwork could wait for later.
He’d thrown himself into home improvement projects since dawn, after spending a restless night tossing and turning. A vision of curly hair and eyes the color of pale jade haunted his dreams.
How could he have been so wrong about her? She’d seemed so unlike most of the upper class women he’d met before. Nonjudgmental based on what he did for a living.
He thought she’d enjoyed his company on their date the other night. Then it turned out she was so deathly afraid he’d embarrass her in front of her father that she tried to steer him away from the conversation, certain he was too stupid to know the answers to the questions her father and Alex had asked him.
It was better to end things with her, anyway. Before he did something really moronic, like get involved. Like thinking she might care, that someone like her could actually fall for someone like him.
Lucy Fairchild was no better than his father. Passing judgment on him, condemning him as a failure for no good reason. He’d endured enough of that to last a lifetime.
Taking out his aggression by viciously tenderizing the steak with a wooden mallet, his annoyance ticked one notch higher at the sound of the doorbell.
Five o’clock on a Saturday. You’d think salespeople would give a working guy a break and stay away on the weekends. He wiped his hands and stomped to the door, ready to skin alive the first person who tried to sell him something.
“What?” he said in a curt tone as he swung open the door.
Lucy blinked, taken aback by Jake’s surly greeting. It was hard enough to be standing at his door, and with a welcome like that she felt like tucking her tail between her legs and running for her car.
“I’m…I’m sorry to bother you, Jake.”
“How did you find my house?” he asked, frowning.
“You’re listed in the telephone book.” She’d been surprised to find how far outside the city he lived. Then again, considering the size of his house and yard, it didn’t surprise her he had to travel half an hour east of San Francisco to afford this much land.
Small houses with no yards went for over a quarter of a million in the city.
His brows knit together, but he didn’t speak. Almost like he couldn’t quite believe she was standing there.
“Jake?”
“Why are you here?”
This wasn’t going to be easy. Did she really expect it to be? She’d just have to stand there and take it. Whatever he dished out, she deserved. “I’m here to apologize.” Somehow it didn’t seem powerful enough. The words fell flat. He stared at her, his lips in a straight line, no emotion showing on his face.
“For what?”
“For last night. For what I did, for what I said. For assuming—”
“It’s not necessary. You didn’t need to come all the way out here.”
“It is necessary,” she said, taking a step toward him. He looked, as usual, amazing.
Last night in a tux, today in shorts and a tank top, showing off tanned, broad shoulders.
Her heart accelerated, whether from sheer nervousness or feminine delight she wasn’t sure.
Taking a deep breath, she figured she’d better just spit it out. “Jake, I was wrong.
I’ve always prided myself on not being a snob, not judging people based on their appearances or occupation. And I grossly underestimated you. I have no excuse other than complete stupidity. Please, I beg you to forgive me.” He stood silent for a moment, his head tilted at an angle as if digesting what she’d just said.
“Come in.” He held the door open and motioned her inside.
With a silent sigh of relief, she stepped into the tiled entry, immediately struck by the simplistic beauty of his home. She’d thought the same thing when she pulled up into the double driveway. A one story beige frame with blue painted shutters and ornate double front doors, the house had beckoned her in welcome. The lawn was expertly manicured, evergreen bushes lined the picture window in the front, and three river birch trees provided a shady overhang.
Children played in the front yard of the surrounding homes, screaming and laughing, riding their bikes and playing ball.
It was a beautiful sight.
“You want a drink?”
She nodded and followed him, admiring the dark Berber carpet and pale gray walls.
The furniture was modern, from the black leather sofa and matching chair in the family room off the entry way, to the glass and chrome table nestled in a nook in the kitchen.
“I’ve got beer, some white wine, or iced tea. Take your pick.”
“A glass of wine would be great.” She smoothed her hair off her face and tucked it into her ponytail before sitting down at the table.
He came back with a bottle of beer and a glass of wine. She took a sip, surprised at the smooth flavor.
“What is this?” she asked, twirling the liquid in the glass.
“Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, eighty-eight.”
“I like it. Very easy and light.”
He shrugged, but didn’t respond.
“You have a lovely home,” she said, cringing at the small talk.
“Thanks.”
She turned at the sound of scratching, surprised to find a beautiful dog wagging its tail on the other side of the sliding glass door. “Oh! You have a dog!” Without a look in Jake’s direction, she bounded from the chair and threw open the door, stepped out back and dropped to her knees to pet the dog.
He was very friendly, licking her face and wagging his tail furiously.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”
“His name’s Rascal.” Jake stepped out behind her.
She looked up at him. “He’s adorable.”