by Lori Wilde
She was trying to get rid of him. Hide him from her boyfriend. Sweep her little indiscretion away under the rug.
Despair stiffened his steps. He was pissed off at himself. Angry that he’d allowed his feelings to run away from him. He’d been so stupid to think a woman like Flynn could feel anything deeper than lust for a guy like him.
Idiot. Fool.
Contempt for his own foolish hopes ground him like a cigarette butt beneath a boot heel. His stomach sickened. His vision blurred. Blindly, he stumbled off the bridge.
Jesse gulped back the memory, stared down at the water. That moment had been one of the lowest in his life.
The next morning it had all turned around. Flynn called him to tell him that she was going to break up with Beau that night after high school graduation. His hopes had soared as swiftly as they’d been dashed the night before. He’d gone to the graduation ceremony, eager and happy, ready to declare his true feelings to Flynn and give her the motorcycle jacket he’d bought for her a few days earlier.
But he’d never gotten the chance.
Before he could enter the auditorium, Sheriff Clinton Trainer’s men converged on his car in the parking lot. They’d pulled him out, forced him on the ground. Then the sheriff had yanked Jesse’s keys from the ignition and made a beeline for his trunk as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.
Beau and Flynn had pulled up just in time to see Jesse being stuffed into the back of Clinton Trainer’s patrol car.
“Jesse!” Flynn had cried, and rushed over. Beau, he’d noticed, stood behind her smirking.
“Stay back.” Clinton had come between Flynn and the patrol car. “This man is under arrest.”
“For what?” Flynn had exclaimed.
“Possession of cocaine. Over a kilo, intent to distribute. And possession of an illegal firearm.”
Flynn had looked into his eyes. “Jesse?” she’d asked, her voice small and tremulous.
He’d winked at her, all cocky bravado. “Don’t worry, Dimples,” he’d said. “It’s not the worst thing since Vietnam.”
CHAPTER TEN
Beau, thank you for being my anchor.
—Flynn MacGregor, yearbook entry, 1999
After what had almost happened between her and Jesse, Flynn was determined to keep to the top floor of the theater and let Jesse have the bottom. He offered to help her finish the wallpaper, but she refused. She started entering the Yarn Barn by the side entrance, hustling up the outside steps rather than traipsing through the motorcycle shop.
Truth was, she was terrified of what she was feeling and what she might do if she found herself alone with him again.
And then there was Beau.
The fact that she’d been so tempted with Jesse, had almost crossed a line, rattled her to the core. Was Jesse just something she needed to get out of her system? Or did her attraction to him mean that her relationship with Beau was in serious jeopardy? She had a lot of thinking to do.
On Sunday evening Beau took her to see an action-adventure flick at the cineplex. She sat through the whole thing without seeing or hearing a word of the movie, her mind fidgeting with her dilemma. Were her feelings for Jesse real? Or were they leftover remnants from their childhood? What about Beau? What were her feelings for him?
On the drive home, he reached over, took her hand, squeezed it gently. “You’ve been very quiet tonight.”
She rubbed her temple. “I have a bit of a headache.”
“Have you given any more thought to going to the law enforcement convention with me next weekend?” he asked.
Great, she’d totally forgotten he’d asked.
“I’ve got to work at Froggy’s next Saturday. Janeen is still out on her honeymoon.”
“Can’t you find someone to work for you? I’d like to have you there for moral support when I give my speech.”
“You’ll do fine. Besides, what would I do with myself all day while you’re in workshops?”
“You could see the sights in Dallas.”
“I’ve been to the grassy knoll and the School Book Depository. That’s about the extent of tourism in Dallas.”
“You’re right,” he said. “But it would just be nice to have you with me. You could stay in the room, order room service, get a massage and spa treatments. You never pamper yourself. My treat.”
Okay, now she felt like a total shit. Wouldn’t a good fiancée be jumping up and down to go with him? “Honestly, Beau, I’m a little nervous about leaving my father all alone for the weekend. Carrie is going on a weekend trip to San Antonio with her boyfriend, and if I go too, Floyd will be by himself and more vulnerable to temptation.”
“Maybe next year then,” he said.
“Next year,” she echoed.
He walked her up onto the front porch, kissed her at the door. It was a good kiss, a sweet kiss, a kiss that once upon a time would have caused her to take him by the hand and lead him up to her bedroom. “See you tomorrow,” he said.
“Good night, Beau.”
Then she’d gone to bed and dreamed of Jesse. A hot, erotic, endless dream.
Whenever she was at the Yarn Barn, she threw herself into her work. Pushing herself until her muscles ached. She finished the wallpapering and started putting down the parquet flooring herself. She came early and stayed late. And Jesse gave her space, which sort of irritated her when she thought about it, even though she didn’t know why. Was he avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him? She managed to go the whole week without ever seeing him.
But oh, she heard him. Each tread of his boot as he moved around below her, echoed in her ears. She brought her iPod, stuffed earbuds in her ears, but she still knew he was there.
On Friday, the day Beau departed for his conference in Dallas, she worked herself into a frenzy putting down the parquet, trying to douse her awareness of Jesse. She broke her fingernails and got splinters in her hands. Her knees throbbed from all the kneeling. At last she finished the flooring. Great, now she could go home. Then she got to her feet and looked down. For the first time she noticed the mismatched design. Somehow she’d gotten off track with the pattern. The floor was going to have to be ripped up and the whole thing done again.
“Son of a horse,” she swore, and in frustration kicked the stack of remaining parquet tiles, stubbing her toe. “Ouch, ouch, dammit, dammit.” She hopped around on one foot, clenching her teeth against the pain. The iPod in her ear blasted Gretchen Wilson’s “Work Hard, Play Harder.” She ripped the buds from her ears; the tinny sound spilled into the room as she sank to the floor holding her toe.
Jesse came plowing up the stairs. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay.” She glowered.
Concern etched his face. He rushed over, sank to his knees beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I stubbed my stupid toe having a temper tantrum.”
He rocked back on his heels, a smile tugging at his lips. “A temper tantrum? What about?”
“Look.” She swept a hand at the mismatched floor. “A week’s worth of work down the crapper.”
“Let me look at the toe.” He reached for her shoe.
The last thing she wanted was his hand on her body. She swung her foot away from him. “That’s okay. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” he said. “Maybe you should take a page from Gretchen.”
“Huh?” She blinked at him, too unnerved by his nearness to snap to what he was talking about.
He picked up her iPod and handed it to her. “Work hard, play harder.”
“I don’t play.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said.
“I better get to work pulling up this floor.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He touched her hand.
Flynn gulped, jerked back. “Um…what’s that?”
“Let’s go do something fun.”
“Jesse,” she said. “I’m engaged to Beau.”
“Does that me
an you can’t have fun?”
“I don’t want to have to deal with it if someone sees us out together.”
“What if we went somewhere the locals never go?”
“Where’s that?”
“Mini golf out on 377.”
She laughed. He was right. The locals never played mini golf. It was always too packed with tourists.
“When was the last time you played mini golf?”
“When Noah and Joel were ten.”
“Well, that’s too long. Come on. Give yourself a break. It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t know.” She waved at the floor.
“I’ll help you fix it.” His eyes danced impishly.
She drew in a deep breath. “It’s not such a good idea.”
“I’ll buy you a hot dog,” he cajoled. “I promise, it’s nothing more than two friends letting off some steam on a Friday night. We’ll be out in public. Nothing to hide.”
Honestly, the thought of getting out of the building was tempting.
“I’m going to look pretty dorky playing mini golf by myself, but hey, if making me look dorky is your goal…” he teased.
“Okay, fine,” Flynn relented. “One round of mini golf.
Twenty minutes later, she had to admit to herself it wasn’t a bad idea. They took her car because she refused to ride on the back of his motorcycle. They were outside in the evening breeze and she could feel the tension easing from her shoulders. It was amazing how much fun they were having doing something as simple as miniature golf. Flynn had played a few times, mostly bringing Joel and Noah up to the Puttery, getting them out of the house for some semblance of a normal childhood. But she’d never been here on a date. Not that this was a date. They were just hanging out.
“So seriously, Ol’ Ramrod never brought you here?” Jesse asked, practically reading her mind.
“Ol’ Ramrod?”
“Yeah, he walks like he’s got a rod rammed up his back.”
“Beau has good qualities.”
“Not a many as you’d like to think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jesse shook his head. “Never mind.”
“He’s been a good friend to me.”
“I bet he has.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Hell, yes. He’s had ten years with you. Ten years I’ll never get back no matter how many rounds of mini golf we play.” Jesse brushed against her as he went to line up his putt, and she knew the touch was not accidental.
“He was in Iraq for four years.”
“Okay, six years. It still sucks.” He made the shot and looked up, and for one lightning-quick second she saw his heart in his eyes, but he quickly cut it off.
Her own heart moved, shifted in response.
“Your turn,” he said.
“Oh yeah.” She took her shot, ended up far away from the hole.
“Tiger Woods has nothing to worry about.”
The wind changed directions, blew in off the lake, tossed Flynn’s hair in her face. She could feel it starting to frizz. Irritated, she pushed it behind her ears. “Damn hair.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse said. “You look gorgeous.”
“I don’t.”
He chuckled. “I’m not going to argue. It’ll just give you a big head.”
“Too late, I’m already big-haired.”
“You do have a lot of hair,” he conceded.
He was looking at her like he loved big hair. He was standing so close she could smell his darkly sexy Jesse scent. A shiver swept through her, and she quickly turned away before he could see the desire in her eyes. She wasn’t ready for these feelings. Not by a long shot.
“Oh, look what’s up next.” She pointed to the upcoming hole. “A castle. And it’s got a moat and a drawbridge that raises and lowers. Hurry and put your ball in the hole so we can move on.”
“My ball is already in the hole. You’re the one gumming up the works.”
“That’s my ball?”
He inclined his head. “It is.”
“I’m red?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t be red.”
“You’re red.”
Flynn narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Why can’t you be red?”
“Because Noah loves red. He’s always red. And Joel is blue. Carrie likes yellow.”
“What do you like?”
“Whatever is left over.”
Jesse shook his head. “That’s really sad.”
“What?”
“The fact that you’re so used to giving away your favorite color that you won’t even claim it when it’s yours.” Jesse leaned over and fished his ball from the hole. “See, I’m green.”
“I’m red?”
“You are.”
“How did you know red was my favorite color?”
“You told me once. A long time ago. Before you brainwashed yourself into fulfilling everyone’s needs but your own.”
“And you remembered that?”
“Dimples, where I’ve been I’ve had nothing else to do but remember,” he said. “There’s another thing I remember.”
“What’s that?”
“You used to talk about becoming a teacher. Why didn’t you do it?”
“I couldn’t leave my mom.”
“She’s been gone a year.”
“So? There’s still Carrie and my dad and the twins.”
“All adults who can take care of themselves. What have you done for Flynn? What steps have you taken to achieve your goals?”
“The Yarn Barn.”
“That’s not your dream.”
“It is.”
“Only by proxy.”
They stood there looking at each other. All around them couples and families were laughing and talking and whacking golf balls through windmills and Eiffel Towers and into clowns’ mouths. The moment stretched, awkward and unsettling.
“What was it like?” she asked softly.
“What?”
“You know.” She wished that she hadn’t asked it.
“Prison?”
“No Disneyland.”
He laughed. “Not as much fun as those spinning teacups, but between that obnoxious Small World ride and prison…” He cupped his hands, palms up, moving them back and forth like a scale balancing. “Pretty much a tossup.”
Flynn started humming the “Small World” song.
“Now that’s just mean. That song should be outlawed.”
She laughed. “The lyricist was clearly a sadist.”
“They should play that in prisons,” he mused. “To the folks on death row. They’d all commit suicide.”
“Ooh, gallows humor. Dark and broody.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, softening her voice, “that you went to prison.”
“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”
“You lost ten years out of your life. That’s sad.”
“The way I figure it, we’re all in some kind of prison. Take you for instance.” He pointed at her with the end of his putter.
“Me?”
“Just as a for instance.”
She wasn’t so sure about this; she putted the red ball, sank it into the hole. “Okay. As a for instance.”
“You’re trapped here, just like I was trapped in prison. Oh sure, you’ve got a bit more space, but in the end you go through the same routines every day. Your prison might not have four walls, but you’re trapped just the same.”
“But I could break my routine any time I wanted. I don’t have to do it,” Flynn argued.
“That’s a good rationalization, but it’s still a rationalization.”
“What? Did you get a psychology degree while you were in the slammer?”
Jesse’s smile was wry. “Something like that.”
“It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“I survived.” He shrugged like it was nothing worse
than a trip to the dentist.
She tried to imagine what he’d gone through and she couldn’t fathom it.
“Here was my day,” he said, reading her thoughts again. “Not so different from yours. Up at five-thirty. You get up what? Six?”
“Six-thirty,” she mumbled. “But I don’t like it.”
“’Course not. It’s something you have to do, not something you want to do. Then there was cell count.”
“I don’t have that.”
“Cooking breakfast for your family and getting them out the door for the day qualifies as cell count.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Shower.” He ticked the items off with his fingers. “You do that. Lunch, ditto. Exercise yard, day room, for you the equivalent would be working at Froggy’s. Followed by dinner, cell count, lights out.”
She slid him a sideways glance, but she could read nothing on his face. “My routine varies.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Christmas, holidays.”
“Same thing as visitor days. See, prison, Flynn MacGregor’s life, not so dissimilar.”
When he put it like that, he had a point. Flynn moved onto the next hole. The one with the castle. “I’m going first,” she said, hoping he’d drop the subject.
“The only real difference is that your trap is of your own making.”
She hit the ball. It struck off the drawbridge just as it started to close and came bouncing back to her. “Oh yeah, like someone planted that kilo of cocaine and .357 Magnum in the trunk of your car.”
His eyes glittered a warning, told her not to push, but he’d pissed her off. Because of his foolish youthful indiscretions, they’d lost precious time together. She was with Beau when she could have been with him. “You think I’m guilty,” he said.
“I get it, you had a rough childhood. You lived on the streets, you needed money. Selling drugs was the only way you knew how.” The truth was, she didn’t understand. Plenty of people had bad childhoods without turning to crime.
Jesse tossed his putter onto the AstroTurf, narrowed his eyes, and stalked over to invade her personal space.
Flynn gulped, but held her ground.
“You’ve been hanging out with Trainer too long,” he growled.
