The Will (Magdalene #1)(121)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Last, not too long after that, I made certain one Kieran Wentworth did not miss it when we were exiting the church and I maneuvered myself, Amber, Jake, Ethan, Conner and most especially the Taylors close to him. He was standing somewhat removed from a woman and man who must have been his parents. I then faked tripping, and as I’d done it so often in my life, I was good at faking it.

Of course, I wouldn’t have wanted to fall to the floor so I had to grab something. The something I grabbed was girl Taylor, thus swinging her with me and directly into one Kieran Wentworth.

Jake caught me.

Kieran Wentworth caught Taylor.

He blinked when he looked into the exotically beautiful face of the girl curled in his arm.

I grinned as he did it.

Jake’s arm tightened around my belly as he did it and his lips went to my ear.

“Seriously?” he asked and his tone sounded both amused and perturbed.

I had no answer to this question for I didn’t understand it as I often didn’t understand it when Jake, his children or others around us used this same word frequently. So I decided to ignore it and moved forward, pulling Jake with me.

“I’m so sorry. I’m quite clumsy,” I shared, grinning innocently (I hoped) in Kieran Wentworth’s face.

With obvious effort, he tore his gaze from girl Taylor and looked to me.

“Uh…not a problem,” he replied.

I noted he still had a hand on girl Taylor’s waist.

I nodded to him, smiled at him, pried Jake’s arm from around my belly but did it taking hold of his hand and then I dragged him away in order to let nature take its course.

“That was epic,” boy Taylor, trailing us, decreed.

“It’s Josie who’s epic,” Amber, also trailing us, contradicted.

At her words, so much warmth washed through me, I couldn’t handle it all and I tripped, genuinely this time.

Jake hauled me close and clamped an arm around me.

He said nothing but when I looked up at him, he was grinning.

We waited at the cars for a full ten minutes before girl Taylor finally joined us.

And I was delighted to see when she did, she looked dreamy.

* * * * *

In the afternoon two days later, I leaned into Arnie, my hand on his arm and touched my cheek to his.

When I had it there, I whispered, “She will be missed.”

“She will, my dear,” he replied. I leaned back and he said, “I’ll see you at the house.”

I nodded, gave his arm a squeeze and moved away. Jake moved in, shook Arnie’s hand and murmured his condolences. He did not take a great deal of time doing this and shifted away quickly to allow others to approach.

He got close to me, slid an arm around me and commandeered the umbrella I was holding, pulling me even closer and holding the big black umbrella over our heads as he moved us to his truck.

I walked through the sodden grass of the cemetery trying not to let the spike heels of my black boots sink into the turf, and failing.

They would need to be cleaned, air dried and shined and hopefully, in the end, they would not be ruined.

Jake performed somewhat of a miracle both holding the umbrella over me even as he helped me climb up in the truck, a difficult task in my black pencil skirt.

Once I was in, he closed my door, folded the umbrella, tossed it in the backseat and moved around the hood of the truck with the drizzle falling on his unguarded head and fantastic Hugo Boss suit.

Once he’d climbed in beside me, I noted, “That suit becomes you, Jake.”

“Thanks, baby,” he muttered as he turned the ignition.

He glided us out onto the lane and as we were approaching the exit to the graveyard, he said, “We don’t have to go to the open house if it’s too much for you, babe.”

“Gran would go,” I replied.

“You’re not Lydie,” he stated.

I turned my head to look at him as he stopped before taking the turn on the main road.

Even with the mist of rain in his hair and on the shoulders of his suit, he was most handsome.

“Yes I am, Jake,” I whispered.

He looked to me, studied me, his eyes warm, his face soft, then he nodded.

He looked back to the road and turned onto it. Once on our way, he reached out and took my hand, pulling it his way and holding it against his thigh.

And he continued to hold it all the way to the Weaver’s.

* * * * *

It was afternoon the day after Eliza’s funeral when I looked out the window of Jake’s office at the gym and saw him standing with one of the many boys who were there for junior boxing league.

The boy was staring up at Jake with a rapt expression on his face, like I would assume one would stare at Superman if he was real.

“Seriously?” Alyssa’s voice asked. “How does he find anything in here? I mean, his membership isn’t even computerized. It’s all on paper.”

I said nothing.

My eyes moved through the gym to Mickey, who was standing ringside, calling out to the two boys in it. They then moved to Junior, who had three boys working punching bags. Finally, I shifted my eyes back to Jake, who had his hands up in front of his face. They were curled into fists and he quickly dropped one, punching it in the air, then the other one dropped and he punched the air then he brought his right one up and jabbed it, also into the air, directly bringing his fists back up to mostly cover his face.

Then he dropped his hands and jerked his chin up to the boy.

The boy lifted his hands in front of his face, changed his stance and mimicked what Jake did.

When he finished, Jake smiled down at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

The boy beamed.

Already lost in that man, seeing all this, all he’d wrought for these kids who clearly loved it, I sent a prayer to God that He’d never let me be found.

“You need to sort his shit out, Josie. How he gets anything done is anyone’s guess. This place is a disaster zone,” Alyssa announced and I turned my eyes to her, taking in Jake’s office as I did.

It was, indeed, a disaster zone.

And the day before, when I informed Jake of this (however, I didn’t use the words “disaster zone” but instead “colossal mess”) after fully taking it in for the first time when we opened, I also informed him that I could organize it for him if he wished.

His reply was, “I am not a desk jockey, honey. You sort that shit, I’ll feed you so many tacos and give you so many orgasms, you won’t be able to move.”

Although both options (primarily the latter) sounded very good to me, I’d returned, “It’ll be difficult to sort your office if I can’t move.”