Dream House

by Jean Brashear

  His mother had more courage in her little finger than he possessed in his whole body, based on how he’d conducted himself thus far.

  His road ahead was murky, but he could manage this one try. He drove through the gate and looked around for Jezebel. Noted that she had the flowerbeds in front of the porch already cleared of weeds previously choking the azaleas, loaded with buds ready to burst into bloom. She’d obviously been hard at work, all the more impressive for how little sleep he’d allowed her last night.

  Suddenly, he heard the sound of a dog’s furious barking—

  And a woman’s scream.

  He shut off the engine and charged to the rear of the cottage like a madman.

  Skidded to a halt at the sight before him.

  And couldn’t help but chuckle.

  Jezebel was shrieking—but her shouts were of laughter, belly-deep. She’d managed to acquire streaks of dirt over most of her clothing and nearly every patch of skin, and she was attempting to wash them off with water from the hose.

  But her dog, huge and golden, was bounding toward the stream of water and snapping at it as if it posed a serious danger to his mistress, getting himself drenched in the process…and shaking off all the excess on her.

  Once again she’d surprised him. Most women would have been upset and scolding the dog while doing whatever was necessary to dodge getting themselves dirty.

  But not Jezebel. Her hair was dripping wet and her hat had been flung to the ground nearby, its brim crumpled by both her feet and the dog’s as she danced around him, squirting the water as he barked and frolicked with her.

  She glanced up and spotted Micah. The stream from the hose followed the path of her gaze.

  Soaking his shirt in the process.

  “Oops.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry. Rufus and I were just—”

  Spurred by an extraordinary impulse he couldn’t explain, Micah leaped toward her and wrested the hose from her grip. “Sorry, huh? I just changed my shirt.”

  He aimed the spray right at her.

  Jezebel shrieked again as he hit her smack in the chest.

  Rufus barked with glee and raced to tackle the liquid monster. Micah pointed the hose over his head in a teasing arc, and while he was distracted, Jezebel charged—

  Slipped on the soaking-wet grass—

  And took Micah down with her.

  He lost control of the hose, left whipping around like a demented snake. As soon as it settled, Rufus charged it.

  Jezebel lay in the mud beneath Micah, giggling hysterically. She was filthy, but her eyes sparkled with merriment.

  And some of the ice inside his chest melted. Reflected joy flooded him.

  Yes, she was a stunner, built for long nights and wet dreams, too gorgeous to be true. But what he felt most strongly at that moment was not the luscious body under his or the beautiful face beneath the grime.

  It was hope, even more seductive. Light and cheer and promise that day might dawn for him again.

  Jezebel fell silent, and the sound of the water and the dog faded. For a second, Micah remembered what it was like to live in sunshine and faith. The sheer and immense pleasure of that moment had him leaning to kiss her in gratitude for the bounty of it.

  He reveled in the little hum of delight that issued from her throat as she returned a curiously innocent kiss, more friendship than desire, optimism rather than a search for succor and respite.

  Very soon, though, hunger surfaced. Before it could take over, Micah ended the kiss, for once unwilling to settle for the purely physical.

  Her eyes opened slowly, and he tensed, unable to explain himself or his reaction.

  She rubbed one hand over his back in a comforting gesture, as though she understood. Then her gaze dropped to his chest, and her smile spread.

  He glanced down and saw telltale brown streaks on his clean white T-shirt.

  “Oops,” she said again, with no remorse evident.

  Before he could summon a response, Rufus slurped at his cheek.

  “Rufus!” she warned.

  Micah rolled off her, relieved by the interruption. “Not through playing, boy?”

  The dog’s eyes cut to the hose, still pouring water on the ground, then back to Micah. His tail wagged.

  Memories of childhood fun had Micah lunging for the dog, play-growling and roughhousing with him. Rufus barked with joy and tumbled into Micah’s chest.

  The game was on.

  Finally, he and Rufus gave out at about the same time, and Micah flopped to his back in the light shade of a dogwood, the animal panting heavily at his side.

  Micah looked up through the spring-green leaves into the blue sky above and welcomed the pleasant feeling of exhaustion. The day was warm, his skin was cool from water and breeze and his mind was, for once, easy.

  Soon he would speak to Jezebel, offer to help her clean up. Figure out how to feel about that kiss.

  But right now, just for a second, he would close his eyes, content to simply…be.

  Jezebel had studied them while sitting in a puddle, water soaking into her jeans. All too aware of just what a wreck she was and what would be required before she could get ready to go to work tonight. She had no spare clothes with her, no towel to place on the seat of her car.

  But the sound of Micah’s laughter, as free as a boy’s, rendered her unable to do anything but remain where she was, for fear of interrupting him.

  So this was what the old Micah Smith had been like before tragedy had cast a shadow over him. With a wry smile, she settled back to watch a man who desperately needed to laugh, wrestle with a slobbering, happy dog.

  And at that moment, Jezebel Hart, for the first time in her life, fell in love.

  It didn’t seem to matter just now that they had no future, that he would leave and she would stay. That she might be hiding a secret.

  That her heart would break, and he would never have a clue.

  One kiss that could have been exchanged by young teens had managed to penetrate where the most expert lovemaking had not. One instant in which a laughing man and a barking dog and a puddle of mud had conspired to open up a wary heart that for many years had protected itself mightily.

  So what was she supposed to do with all the feelings rocketing around inside her now?

  She was venturing so far outside herself it was terrifying. Heartache awaited, she knew, the pound of flesh demanded in exchange for an outrageous joy.

  Screw it. She mentally donated a dollar to her jar as she accepted that she would hurt and hurt badly in the not-too-distant future. Micah Smith wasn’t remotely ready to return the ridiculous amount of emotion she was experiencing. To even flirt with the notion was insane.

  She’d walked into this, fooling herself that she wouldn’t get attached. She’d been proven wrong, but that was her problem, not his. As both Micah and Rufus slid into slumber beneath the shade of a tree, Jezebel reminded herself that she was a big girl, and she’d survived everything else life had thrown at her.

  She would manage this, too. Somehow.

  She remained still until she was certain both of them were deeply asleep. Then she rose slowly and tiptoed to the faucet, turned off the water and carefully picked her way to the rear of the house. She would dearly love to take a shower, but she felt the need to proceed with caution about making herself at home in the house that was still more Charlotte’s than hers. For the time being, she would do what she could with the hose in the front yard.

  The disarray inside her, however, would require more than a simple application of water.

  Micah startled awake when the big head landed on his chest.

  Adoring brown doggy eyes stared into his. A long tail slapped against his leg. Micah stretched, and the dog bolted to instant attention, ready to play again.

  Micah sat up slowly, unable to recall the last time he’d slept so deeply. He noted the sun slipping near the treetops to the west and stood. “Jezebel?”

  Beside him, Rufus perked his ears. Whine
d softly.

  “Where is she, boy?” He scratched the dog’s head, his own mind muzzy. Surely she wouldn’t have left Rufus with him. “Let’s find her.” Wet cloth clung to him in the lengthening shadows, and he shivered. He started for the back door, then glanced at the mud caking his boots. He’d check the front yard for her car first.

  As they rounded the side of the house, he rolled his neck and shook his head in an attempt to fully awaken, but his limbs seemed to be moving through molasses. He yawned until his jaw cracked.

  He could sleep for a week.

  Then he smiled, oddly refreshed, nonetheless. When he arrived, her car was still there, the front doors both open. Micah frowned and made his way over.

  Rufus charged past him with an excited yelp, and Micah barely managed to grab his collar in time. “No!” he ordered, as quietly as he could. “Get back.”

  Jezebel reposed on an old scratchy blanket tossed over the seat. She was apparently asleep, but still Micah’s heart beat a little fast until he could ascertain a regular rise and fall in her chest.

  Once he was sure, he gave himself a minute to simply observe. She must have washed herself off, along with her clothes, but not in the shower, he could tell. He spotted another hose lying in the grass. Her socks and outer shirt drying on a bush.

  He had a perfectly good shower, washer and dryer inside; why hadn’t she used them?

  Even he could figure that out, when his first reaction was to flinch at the notion.

  Because, you jerk, you’ve made it quite obvious that this house is a shrine to Charlotte.

  Jezebel was far too sensitive to the moods of others and respectful of their privacy to encroach.

  Micah leaned one hand against the car’s roof while petting Rufus to keep him at bay. Studied the woman before him, her frame loose in slumber, black ringlets as shiny as a crow’s wing spread over the ancient blanket in disarray.

  Heaven help me, you’re beautiful. Bountiful in more than her figure. Kind and caring and generous.

  And playful. A free spirit, as a sudden memory of her dancing through watery arcs, rainbows in the air and a gamboling dog at her feet, could attest.

  Something about her lightened his heart in a way that was difficult for him to accept as his due, precisely because he wanted to so much.

  “Hi.” Her voice was thick and gut-tightening sexy, her smile instant and genuine.

  “Hi. You can’t be comfortable there.”

  She stretched that voluptuous body, and Micah’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. She smothered a yawn as she answered, “I doubt the ground was all that soft, either.”

  He skimmed his glance over her clothes. “You could have showered inside.”

  She ducked her chin. “It was okay.”

  “Would you like to come in? The plumbing works, I swear, and I could loan you a T-shirt or something.”

  “I should head back. I have to open the bar soon, anyway.”

  He surprised himself by asking, “Could Darrell do it?” Her expression was equally startled. “So you could have a night off?”

  “A night off?” she repeated as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

  He hesitated. Take that next step. “Yeah. You know, like…a social life.”

  “What—” She cleared her throat. “What would I do?”

  The words wouldn’t come. He and Jezebel stared at each other.

  Then he saw her begin to close in. Her gaze dropped.

  Try again, he told himself. “You could…” He swallowed hard, then rushed ahead. “Have dinner with me.”

  Her head jerked upward. “With…you?”

  He might as well be thirteen, so awkward he felt.

  But at thirteen, he’d already given his heart to—

  No. Not now.

  I can’t, he thought. This is too hard.

  “Just as friends, you mean.”

  She’d handed him the perfect opening. Yeah, he started to say—

  “No.” He’d startled her again. “Or maybe so. Hell, I don’t—”

  She placed one hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled, though it was a little uncertain. “I’d like to have dinner with you. Wednesday is a slow night, usually. I’ll call Darrell and ask.”

  “If you tell him why, he’ll say no.”

  She winked. “Then I guess I’d better not explain.”

  And there she was again, that woman who understood fun.

  “If you don’t want to shower here, then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She flicked a glance past him to the cottage, and something skimmed over her features too quickly to catch. “I’ll take Rufus home and clean up.” She cast him a saucy grin. “I imagine that even though Three Pines is a little short on fine dining, I’d do well to show up in more than a clean T-shirt.”

  He chuckled. “The town’s also a little short on good gossip right now.”

  “The two of us showing up together will fix that.”

  “I planned to go somewhere else.”

  “Oh.” Her grin faded. “Of course.”

  He stepped closer. “That’s not why. I just assumed you’d enjoy something besides Lorena’s or the Dairy Queen.”

  “Sure.” A new smile, somewhat forced. “That’s nice of you.”

  He’d hurt her. Was that his fate from now on? To hurt women who deserved better? “I’m not nice, Jezebel. But I don’t set out to be a bastard, either. There’s a place in Tyler that might not be Manhattan but is much more interesting than anything here.” He clenched his jaw. “But if you’d rather hit Lorena’s so that I can prove I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, then Lorena’s it is.”

  She tossed that luscious mane, her hands fisted at her waist. “I’ve never been to Manhattan, but I’m also no fool, except perhaps for taking you up on this invitation. But I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed a meal out, so you’re on, Buster.” Before he could find a response, she’d snapped her fingers imperiously. “Let’s go, Rufus.”

  The Amazon queen had chosen to reappear.

  All Micah could do was watch as she punched the accelerator and zipped off.

  But at the gate, her brake lights flared. Jezebel threw open the door and seemed embarrassed. “Some exit. I forgot to put up the hoses and tools.”

  Micah waved her off. “I’ve got it. See you in a couple of hours.”

  She said something he couldn’t quite make out as she left.

  Then it hit him. You are too a nice person.

  Micah shook his head and found a laugh.

  And went to clean up Jezebel’s mess.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Insane.

  She was completely, irretrievably bonkers for ever agreeing to this, Jezebel realized as she stood in front of her closet with twenty minutes left, attempting to figure out what on earth to wear for this…not-date. Why hadn’t she asked for details, even the most basic clues?

  Because he’d been a breath away from changing his mind. Honesty demanded that she admit that.

  Why hadn’t she let him? What kind of masochist was she?

  Six forty-two.

  She chewed at her lip, trying to recall when she’d last been this nervous.

  Someone banged on her door.

  She shrieked and grabbed the nearest hanger. Yanked off the red slip dress and slicked it over her head. “Just a minute,” she called out. She fumbled for shoes, then dropped the first ones. Green heels, uh, no. It wasn’t Christmas.

  Another knock. “I said—Oh, never mind,” she muttered. “He’ll just have to wait while I come back in and search some more.” She nearly tripped over Rufus and paused to soothe him. “I’m fine,” she told herself. “Calm, I swear it.”

  Even the dog knew she was lying. She yanked open the door. “You’re early—”

  It wasn’t Micah.

  “I thought you were resting.” Darrell’s expression was thunderous. He held out a plate “I made you supper.”

  “Oh. I, uh—”
r />   “She’s going out with me.” Micah appeared behind Darrell.

  If Darrell’s eyebrows drew any closer together, they’d link. “You’re not sick.”

  “I didn’t exactly say…”

  “You told me you needed the night off. You never take time for yourself.”

  “She’s doing it now,” Micah said. “You got a problem with it?”

  Darrell’s glare grew to encompass the other man. “Yeah. Jezebel don’t date, and she shouldn’t begin with you.”

  She waited for Micah to protest that it wasn’t a date.

  He didn’t. “I believe that’s between Jezebel and me. Could have sworn you’re married.”

  With a rumble, Darrell moved to close the distance between them.

  Micah didn’t back down.

  She darted between them. “Guys. Chill.” She turned to Darrell. “I didn’t lie to you. I do need a night off. You’re always telling me I work too hard.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  She cut him off. “So are you withdrawing your offer?”

  “Wouldn’t have made it if I’d had a clue you were going out with him.”

  “We’re not going out. We’re just—”

  Micah slipped an arm around her waist. “What we are is none of his business.”

  Darrell’s nostrils flared, but she was too shaken by Micah’s gesture to gather her wits and clarify.

  Even if she’d been sure what, exactly, she and Micah were.

  “Told you before, you hurt her, and you answer to me,” Darrell said. “I understand a man grieving. I’d be lost without my Shirley. But Jezebel deserves better than a rebound.”

  Micah’s grip tightened. His face was frozen in lines of strain. He didn’t answer, which was telling. He was, of course, on the rebound.

  But there was much more to him that Darrell didn’t see.

  “Darrell, I’m lucky to count you as my friend. I mean that.” And she did. “But you have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  His piercing gaze finally switched from Micah to her. “Do you?” he challenged.

  No. I’m completely insane. He is going to hurt me.

  “Yes,” she answered. She mustered every ounce of conviction she could summon.