The Road Not Taken (The Daddy Diaries) Read online

  Though it was killing him that she had yet to contact him, whether to let him know if she wanted his financial help or anything else, he would always be grateful he’d stumbled across her in that snowstorm.

  He was making a place for himself here. Not just restoring the inn, but creating a home. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d reached the conclusion that he wanted to open the inn and stay to run it, only that life here amid the towering maples and mountains suited him.

  Though he tried not to dwell on it often, he could picture Caro and Cabot here. Living together. A family of three. growing in number through the years. For now, though, that was a mere fantasy.

  The phone rang just as he slumped down on his mattress, exhausted from another day’s work. It was Bonnie.

  “I was just thinking of you and decided to give you a call,” his sister-in-law began.

  “Is everything all right at home?”

  “Oh, fine. Great, in fact. Jilly lost another tooth last week, and Riley went through kindergarten screening on Monday. The school says he’s more than ready to start in the fall. When they asked him to count to ten, my little show-off did it in Spanish,” she finished proudly.

  “He’s a bright kid. Gets it from you.”

  “Bless your brother, but don’t I know it.” Her laughter boomed through the line. When it subsided, she said quietly, “We got a card from Caro today. She and Jilly have been corresponding for a while now.”

  “Yeah?” He wasn’t quite able to hide his interest.

  Bonnie heard it. “She asked about you in her letter. Wanted to know if you’d been back to Buffalo.”

  “I’ve been busy with the inn. You should see it now. Fresh paint in every room, a new carpet runner on the stairs and the hardwoods have been refinished throughout.”

  “What about that banister?”

  “Good as new. I could slide down it now.”

  “Is that all you’ve done?” she teased.

  “No. I handcrafted new mantels for all of the fireplaces and finished up the last of the chairs for the front porch. There are eight in all.”

  She whistled through her teeth. “Well, I guess you really have been busy.” Then, in a more serious tone, she asked, “Do you like it there, Jake?”

  “I do.”

  “So, you plan to open the inn and … and welcome guests and everything?” Bonnie asked.

  “I think so,” he replied slowly.

  “All by yourself?”

  “I’ll have to hire some staff.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “She’s married, Bonnie. It’s not as easy as calling her up and asking her out on a date.”

  “But you would if you could.”

  He remained silent. The fact was, if he could, he would do much more than that.

  “She loves you, you know.”

  “She wrote that in a letter?” he asked.

  “No. I figured it out on my own by watching the two of you at the inn.”

  “She’s married,” he said a second time, reminding himself as much as he was reminding Bonnie. “She needs to be the one to decide whether or not she wants to remain such. And she has a lot at stake.”

  “Custody of her son.”

  “Yes. It’s her decision. She knows I’ll support her whatever she decides.”

  “That’s it? You’re not going to do anything else?” Bonnie persisted.

  “I’m doing it.”

  “Toiling at your inn, while Caro languishes in Burlington?”

  It dawned on him then. “I need to have something to offer her,” he said softly. “Not just the inn, but a clean slate.”

  “There are a lot of folks here in Buffalo who are still willing to champion your cause. So, when are you coming?”

  It was time, he thought. And he was ready. Ready to go back to Buffalo, to face the public, the police department and the ghosts that haunted him.

  “Expect me Wednesday evening.”

  Jake’s meeting with city officials and his former superiors at the Buffalo Police Department on Thursday morning went better than he expected, and that was saying a lot.

  Prior to the official sit-down, he’d met up with the members of his old squad. They’d welcomed his return with whoops and hollers and multiple offers to buy the first round of drinks at a favorite watering hole after hours. Their enthusiastic welcome buoyed Jake’s spirits.

  “When will you be back in uniform?” one called as he started toward the door.

  It was without regret that he said, “It’s not going to happen, guys, but look me up if you ever get out to Vermont.”

  The mayor, the head of Internal Affairs and the chief of police were seated around a table in the conference room when Jake entered. The only person he didn’t recognize was introduced as the city attorney. Unless he missed his guess, they thought he was considering some sort of legal action against the city.

  “It’s good to see you again, McCabe.” This from Chief Edwin Dash, who divided a nervous glance between Jake and Mayor Charles Kersher.

  The mayor, who was behind in the most recent poll of likely voters, didn’t look the least bit happy to see Jake.

  “Hello, Captain McCabe.”

  “Mr. Mayor.”

  Dash cleared his throat. “And you remember Bob Feldman from IA.”

  “I do.”

  Bob smiled as they exchanged a handshake. He could be hard-nosed and annoyingly anecdotal at times, but he was fair and apolitical, as his initial report, which had cleared Jake of wrongdoing, proved.

  “Jake. There are a lot of people in this town who were hoping we’d seen the last of you. I was never one of them.”

  “Thanks, Bob.”

  The mayor frowned, as did the city attorney, Fred Hans, a portly gentleman with a bad hair comb-over.

  The attorney was the first to speak after they took their seats around the table.

  “As you know, the city offered you a lucrative sum to resign your position within the department. That amount was and remains nonnegotiable.”

  Jake ground his molars together before replying. “I’m not seeking a bigger payoff from the city, Mr. Hans.” His gaze cut to the mayor’s and the chief’s before it settled on Bob’s. “I’d like the Internal Affairs investigation reopened or another one launched. I want to know exactly how I was given the wrong address.”

  “Jake, we’ve been through this.”

  Jake talked over him. “I didn’t misread it and it wasn’t a simple case of transposed numbers or the right house number but the wrong street. It was out-and-out wrong. A woman and her child died as a result. The young cop who fired the fatal rounds killed himself. And I.I’ve decided I’m no longer willing to accept what I was told. I want to know what really happened.”

  “The city supported you both during and after the internal affairs investigation,” the lawyer said. “You were on paid administrative leave and a press conference was called to announce the findings.”

  “I remember that press conference. As the saying goes, I was damned with faint praise.” He turned to Bob then. “I’m not questioning your initial investigation, but I wonder if something might have gotten missed since the focus was on me.”

  “Who else should it have been on?” the mayor snapped.

  Jake nodded. “It happened on my watch. For that, I’ll accept responsibility. But if it was an error, human or computer, the department needs to figure out a way to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Perhaps we can look into things again. I never felt I got full cooperation from everyone involved, but there was such a push to complete the investigation.” Bob left it at that and glanced at the mayor. The mayor frowned.

  “I don’t want one word of this breathed to the media until you have something concrete,” he warned the chief.

  In other words, don’t do anything to jeopardize further his chances for reelection.

  That wasn’t good enough for Jake. The chief and Bob were obligated to adhere
to the mayor’s wishes. Jake, who was no longer an employee of the city, felt no such compunction.

  When he called a press conference for the following morning, Jake made it clear that his silence was over, his grief for the family was immense and that he wanted more answers than had been provided so far to ensure such a thing never happened again.

  This time, he welcomed the media spotlight’s glare.

  “Don’t touch that, Cabot!” Susan shouted as the little boy picked up a piece of driftwood that had washed up on the sandy shore in front of the Wendell home on Lake Champlain.

  “It won’t hurt him,” Caro called to her mother-in-law, who was seated on the patio with Truman, enjoying lunch al fresco on this unseasonably warm September afternoon. “It’s just a piece of driftwood.” To her son, she said, “Let’s pretend it’s a pirate ship.”

  “Caro, don’t encourage him. Who knows what he’ll pluck off the beach next.”

  “Like a seashell or two,” she muttered under her breath as Susan continued.

  “No doubt it reeks of that unpleasant fish smell. You should take him inside at once and have him wash his hands.”

  Truman folded his newspaper and set it aside, finally deciding to weigh in. “Mother is right. It never hurts to err on the side of caution where germs are concerned.”

  It didn’t surprise her in the least that he took her side. Nor did it surprise Susan, who smiled smugly. In the months Caro had been back, nothing had changed. Truman still treated her as a lump of clay to be molded, and his mother was ruling the roost.

  “Be sure to have him use the antibacterial soap,” Susan instructed.

  Caro took Cabot inside, but not with the intention of scouring his hands. What’s more, she’d smuggled in the driftwood, which she let him play with while she placed her call. She’d put off making the call since her return to her husband, though in truth she’d wanted to chase Jake down the driveway that day back in March and beg him to take her and Cabot with him.

  Instead, she’d swallowed her pride and her tongue. For Cabot’s sake, she’d tried not to rock the boat. But the boat was filling with water and her ability to bail was at an end. One way or another, this ship was going under.

  After working up her courage to dial the number Jake had given her, it came as a huge letdown when she got a recording:

  “You have reached the Second Chance Inn in Blakefield, Vermont. Unfortunately, we’re still closed for renovations, but we will be open the second week in October, just in time for the fall colors. Visit our website for sightseeing information and room rates and to book a reservation online.”

  Disappointed though she was not to talk to him personally, it was hard not to smile. Jake was taking a chance and opening the inn. Her heart swelled.

  Caro glanced over to where her son sat on the floor, pushing the driftwood “pirate ship” over the waves of the Aubusson rug Susan had insisted on to replace the one Caro had picked out for the great room. God, what she would give for a crystal ball to know what the future held. But there was no way to know. She only knew she had to try.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JAKE WAS SWEEPING LEAVES off the front porch when he heard a vehicle coming up the drive. Probably a delivery. He’d been inundated with those the past couple of weeks as the grand reopening of the inn neared.

  He glanced over his shoulder but instead of a delivery truck it was an older-model car. The driver looked somewhat familiar. No. It couldn’t be, he thought as he leaned on the broom handle and waited for it to stop. But it was indeed Caro who was behind the wheel.

  He grinned broadly, eager to take her into his arms, until he spied the little boy dozing in a car seat in the back. She had a life and a husband back in Burlington, and if her silence these past several months was any indication, she was keeping both.

  He wanted to be happy for her, and happy for her little boy, too. But his heart was still just a little too bruised where she was concerned. He still wanted her … both of them … for himself.

  “Hello, Jake,” she said as she stepped out. The breeze caught her long hair and pulled tendrils of it across her face. He pushed it aside, glad for the excuse to touch her, even if only briefly.

  “This is a surprise.”

  “I probably should have called,” she admitted.

  “No. No problem.” He glanced inside the car at Cabot. “He’s tuckered out.”

  “Nap time,” she explained.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Terrific. He’s growing like a weed. At his last pediatrician visit he topped out on the chart for height.” She motioned to the inn, then, and changed the subject. “I thought you were open for business.”

  “Not quite yet. Another couple days.”

  “I like the name, by the way. Second Chance Inn.”

  “It seemed to fit.”

  She nodded. “I heard that you’d gone back to Buffalo and tried to clear your name.”

  “That made the news in Vermont?” he asked in surprise.

  “Not exactly. But I found some articles on the internet. I read they reopened the investigation.”

  So, she’d kept up on him. He thought that was a good sign.

  “Nothing conclusive, yet, although the human error is no longer pointing in my direction.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Better than that, I finally got a chance to talk face-to-face with the victims’ family. Against the city attorney’s advice, I met with the father.”

  Her expression sharpened. “And?”

  “The man … he said he forgave the rookie and everyone else involved in the raid, including me, a long time ago. He said hanging on to those kinds of feelings doesn’t do anyone a bit of good.

  “Seeing how he could be so forgiving made it easier to forgive myself.” He cleared his throat, but his voice still wavered a bit when he admitted, “And it helped me forgive Miranda for what she did to our child.”

  “Oh, Jake. I’m glad.” She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “You look … relaxed, happy.”

  “Pretty much,” he agreed, although there remained one major blight on his peace—and she was standing before him.

  The breeze sent the leaves he’d just cleared off the porch skittering back over the wooden boards. Futile, he thought. That’s what this was. It was killing him, standing here talking to her, when what he really wanted was to pull her in his arms, kiss her, hold her, beg her to stay with him.

  She motioned behind him to the inn. “The place looks incredible, by the way. Inside and out. I took the virtual tour offered on your website.”

  “That was Bonnie’s idea.”

  “It’s a good one.”

  He nodded and worked up a smile. “I took your suggestion, too.” At her frown, he explained. “I hired someone to staff the front desk.”

  Caro’s laughter drifted away on the breeze. “I noticed you’re booked solid through the New Year.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Half the rooms are rented by my family.” He pushed at some leaves with the broom, mostly just to give his hands something to do. “So, where are you headed?”

  “I’m on my way to Montpelier.”

  That surprised him. “Yeah?”

  “A job,” she said, and her smile bloomed. “I got my old job back in the public school. It’s still only part-time, but …”

  “Caro—”

  She cut him off. “I left Truman. This time for good, Jake.” Her gaze strayed to the car’s window. “I’m going to seek full custody of Cabot.”

  “And you need a loan.”

  “Yes.” Her smile trembled. “To start. I was hoping for a little more than that from you later on.”

  “Whatever you need from me, Caro, you’ve got it.”

  “Well, there is one thing.” She licked her lips, exposing nerves. “You once mentioned you thought you were falling in love with me. Did you get over it?”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  He let go of the broom handle so he could
pull her into his arms. It clattered against the porch railing, causing Cabot to stir in his car seat. A pair of sleepy eyes opened, blinked.

  “Where are we, Mama?” Cabot asked. “I can answer that one,” Jake said. “You’re right where you belong.”

  EPILOGUE

  IT TOOK A WHILE BEFORE Jake’s statement proved true.

  A year longer, in fact, during which Caro and her son lived in a small efficiency apartment in Montpelier. She didn’t mind the wait. It gave her time to get to know Jake, the time that their initial whirlwind romance had lacked. Now, more than ever, she was sure of her feelings.

  It also gave Jake and Cabot time to form a bond. They were a delight to watch together. Jake was so patient with the boy, so fond of showing him new things. So eager to pass on what his own father had passed on to him. Already, Cabot had a tool belt and could name all of the different kinds of saws Jake used in woodworking. He wasn’t allowed to touch them, of course. And he was only allowed inside the workshop when Jake was with him, and then only to sit in a designated chair well out of harm’s way.

  Reservations at the inn remained strong. It was a rare weekend that found the Second Chance with a vacancy, and peak times, such as now with Vermont’s colors in full glory, it was booked solid with a waiting list of guests hoping for a cancellation.

  Jake’s family came often from Buffalo. They doted over Cabot, who was made an honorary McCade long before Caro’s divorce settlement and custody arrangement became final.

  With the money Jake loaned her, Caro was able to hire an excellent lawyer.

  “You’ve changed, Caroline,” Truman had told her one day after depositions were taken.

  “A little,” she’d agreed. “But mostly you’re finally seeing me as I really am and not as the woman you want me to be.”

  He’d frowned. But that appeared to be a turning point. Not long afterward, he’d backed down from his initial threat to see that their son was taken away from her completely.