Not that hot chocolate and second desserts had settled people down that much, especially Regan. The girl was still vibrating with adrenaline. She’d done so well—definitely her father’s daughter.
“A good battle, all around.” JJ looked down at Regan who’d curled up beside her. “You, my girl, can be on my team any time.”
The way her face lit up could melt the hardest heart.
“Time for something other than fighting. Someone needs to unwind a bit.” Bull grinned at Regan, rose, and took two instruments off the racks along the wall. His guitar and… He handed a violin to Hawk who sat a couple of feet down the sectional from Regan.
“There’s a plan.” After grabbing his guitar, Gabe handed Caz the drum.
Tucking the violin under his chin, Hawk drew the bow over the strings. The guys worked for a minute, getting the instruments into tune, then he played a quick introduction to John Denver’s “Country Roads”.
As the singing started, JJ joined in.
But Regan didn’t. JJ frowned. The girl had taken to singing with the men like a duck to water. Why was she quiet now?
She was staring at Hawk.
“Regan,” JJ murmured a warning, even as Hawk frowned at Regan.
She didn’t notice his scowl, just slid down the sectional to right beside him. “That sounds like someone singing, only better.” Her eyes were wide. She wasn’t looking at Hawk, but the violin. “That slays.”
Even as the singing faltered and stopped, Hawk’s scowl slowly disappeared as he stared at Regan. “You like the violin?”
“I never heard anything like that.” The plea in the big brown eyes was heartrending. “Can I learn?”
“Jesus.” Hawk stared at her for a long moment. “Uh…yeah. Sure.”
A second later, the big bad Hawk showed even he wasn’t invulnerable to Regan’s happy glow. Because the man almost smiled.
* * *
Needing a moment of quiet in all the chatter, JJ ran upstairs. Pulling on her slippers, she stepped outside onto her tiny balcony into the darkness. The air was so cold and clean, she pulled breath after breath into her lungs.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw the light from the windows glinting off softly falling snow. Again. Nevada got a few dustings of snow, but nothing like this. Alaska was an entire world of snow—and everything changed with it. Cars had to be plugged in at night. Going outside involved a whole ritual of donning coat, boots, gloves, scarf, and hat. And sometimes sunglasses. The sun on snow could be blinding.
But the nights…oh, they were glorious. If clear, huge stars would sparkle in an immense black bowl of sky. If the moon was out, the world looked as if the gods had spread glitter on every surface. If clouded over, the darkness was amazing.
Or there were the northern lights.
She pulled in another breath. The singing drifted upstairs to her and out into the night. Into the cold silence. An owl across the snow-covered lake gave a hoot.
Such a lonely sound.
She wasn’t lonely, though. Not any longer.
On the evenings she didn’t work, she joined Caz and Regan for supper, homework, and reading or a movie. Sometimes, the gang would gather at Mako’s cabin. Every night, she and Caz would be together, then she’d discreetly sneak out well before Regan’s rising. Although he frowned on the secrecy, he was letting JJ have her way. For now.
As long as she was in his bed every night.
She shook her head. Just the thought of him warmed her. The memory of how his hands felt on her body, of his kisses. Of him inside her, so thick and hard. The way his grip on her would tighten right before he came. His wicked sense of humor—like getting her to the point of orgasm—and reminding her to be quiet because Regan was asleep downstairs.
Trying to hold in her cries totally intensified her orgasm.
He knew that, the jerk.
Making love with him was always different. Sometimes intense, sometimes she felt so out of control it was almost terrifying, sometimes sex was simply fun. He was open about everything—what he liked, how he wanted her to touch him, what he enjoyed about her body, what he liked doing to her. It was freeing to share what she preferred…although he usually already knew.
He could read her so easily.
Had he been able to tell how much she loved him?
Smiling, JJ headed inside, shaking the snow out of her hair. He cared for her. He’d said so, and she was beginning to believe it. But there was no need to rush into anything. They had time.
Downstairs, she veered over to the kitchen to put the dessert leftovers away and do the final cleanup. Everyone was still over in the living area on the sectional, and she smiled as a song ended and everyone tossed out suggestions for the next. Even Regan.
Lillian walked around the island with coffee cups.
Regan followed with a few plates, and JJ stepped back to let her put the load into the dishwasher. None of the guys had dishwashers in their cabins, but since their family meals in this cabin generated so many dishes, they’d overruled the tech-phobic sergeant and installed one here.
Regan put the last dish in. “Done.”
“Very good, dear.” Lillian added her cups to the top rack. “I like your hair. Did JJ do it?”
“Uh-huh.” Regan patted her French braids, miraculously intact despite the snowball fight.
“You can tell JJ’s an expert,” Lillian said.
“You can?” Regan snatched a cookie before JJ could put the lid on the container. They grinned at each other.
“Long hair is easy to braid. Short hair, now, that’s tricky.” Lillian ran her hand through her chin-length silver-white hair. “I never did master the art.”
JJ chuckled. “I had incentive. I learned the painful way that if hair gets in your eyes, you’ll lose fights. My only choices were to either cut my hair really short or keep it braided back.”
Regan’s eyes were big. “Police sure get in a lot of fights.”
JJ laughed. “That was actually in a boxing class. Although, Rescue does seem to have a lot of brawling.”
“We do. Too much alcohol. Too many obstreperous Patriot Zealots.” Lillian’s gaze met JJ’s. “Small towns are prone to bickering—and rumors, as well.” The slight emphasis had as much impact as a shout.
“All towns are filled with chatter,” JJ said cautiously.
“Of course.” Lillian smiled at Regan. “Child, would you please let Dante know that we need to be on our way?”
“Sure.” Delighted to be asked for help, Regan trotted around the island and crossed to the living area.
“Rumors, Lillian?” Stomach churning with dread, JJ leaned against a counter and waited.
“I dislike listening to gossipmongers, but I thought you should be aware.” Lillian kept her voice low.
“Of what exactly? What is being said?”
“The worst is speculation that you’re sleeping with all the men at the Hermitage. One story says you had sex with Gabriel to get the job as his officer.”
Shock silenced JJ completely.
“The buzz is that you did the same thing in your Nevada city.”
No, no, no. The air had gone icy. With numb fingers, JJ finished snapping the cookie container shut and set it to one side on the counter.
Nash’s smear campaign had driven her from Weiler. Now it had followed her here? All she wanted was to be as good a patrol officer and as enmeshed in a community as her father had been. When he died, she’d lost the sense of belonging to something bigger than herself.
She just wished to help. To fit in. Why was it so hard?
Even if she protested against the gossip, no one would believe her. Most people believed the worst of someone, especially of a woman in a nontraditional career.
“I see.” JJ swallowed. “Thank you for telling me. It would’ve been awful not to know why people were whispering.”
“That’s what I thought.” Lillian’s face creased with worry, making her look older. “Combatting gossip is…diffic
ult, but do remember that rumors fade.”
“Yes, I’m sure the gossip will die down.” She wasn’t sure of that at all. In Weiler, her reputation had been utterly destroyed. What if it happened here?
“Well, it’s time for Dante and me to get moving.” Lillian took her hand. “Come and visit me this week.”
“Sure.” JJ endeavored to smile. “Thanks, Lillian. Really.”
As she followed the older woman toward the living area, JJ came face-to-face with Hawk. He was leaning on the island, beer in hand…and had undoubtedly heard what Lillian had said.
Great. He’d already disliked her, now he probably figured she was slut of the week.
Ignoring his gaze, she walked past.
As she joined the others, Caz put his arm around her.
Her stomach churning from Lillian’s news and feeling as if she’d fallen into quicksand, JJ leaned against him. What was she going to do?
Caz’s brows drew together. “What’s wrong, mi princesa?”
“Nothing.” Everything. “I think I just need some alone time.”
He frowned. Because he could undoubtedly tell there was more…but then he gave her a long wonderful engulfing hug and kissed her forehead. “Rest, then. We’ll talk tomorrow, mi corazón.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The enemy invariably attacks on two occasions: When they’re ready or when you’re not. ~ Murphy’s Laws of Combat Operations
* * *
On Friday after Thanksgiving, JJ found Dante behind the counter of his market. “Hi, Dante.”
“Afternoon, girlie. How’s the cop business?”
She smiled. “The snow cuts down on a lot of problems—and adds others.” Was that why the gossip was spreading? People didn’t have anything better to do? “I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“When I got here, we’d talked about my renting a cabin. Is one available?”
“Well, damn, I thought you were settled in at the Hermitage. That’s what Gabe told me.” His brows drew together in a concerned expression. “Is there a problem with the men?”
Obviously, Lillian hadn’t shared with him. JJ’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “No. No, not at all. But I don’t feel right about continuing to live in Mako’s house. I’m not a family member or anything. It would be more appropriate for me to rent somewhere else.”
“Trouble is, I got some complaints from customers this season about those old cabins. Too smoky, appliances going wonky, bugs. Some bad shingles with dry rot beneath.” As he smoothed his big white beard, she wondered if he played Santa for the local kids. “Anyway, I figured this was a good time to deal with everything, and I hired Chevy and Knox to bring the cabins up to snuff.”
She stared at him. “You’re saying you don’t have anything to rent?”
“Not a one.” He considered. “Might could be they’ll have one livable in a couple more weeks. Mebbe.”
Her anxiety rose. “I see. Is there anywhere else you can think of?”
“Can’t think of anywhere. The B&Bs are closed down. No customers, you know, so this is when they go on vacation. One goes to Phoenix until February, the other’ll return in January for the ski season.”
“Okay, but… Right. Okay.” God, what was she going to do? “Can you plan on me booking a cabin when one is ready?”
“Surely I’ll do that.”
“Thanks, Dante.”
As she walked out, frustration and dread filled her. Was Rescue going to be just like Weiler—a place where she’d started to fit in and then been driven out?
She looked up at the sky, noting the day was already growing dark.
Winter was closing in.
That evening, Rescue held its Black Friday festival at the roadhouse.
After last August’s popular harvest festival in Lynx Lake Park, the town’s residents had wanted a winter gathering, one for just Rescue after the tourists were gone.
Arm around Regan, Caz walked around the overly crowded roadhouse. Perhaps it was time to consider finding a community center. “The place looks great. Your decorating crew did a wonderful job.”
Regan beamed up at him. The schoolkids had spent part of the day here—and were considered part of the party crew.
The dividers between the restaurant and bar sections had been removed to create one big room. Silver tinsel glittered from the chandeliers. Twinkling red lights and garlands were strung along the bar, fireplace, and around the windows. A huge fir tree with golden ornaments and lights filled one corner. A wealth of potluck dishes covered the bar top. “Smells good, don’t you think?”
Regan sniffed and smiled. “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll eat as soon as the program is over.” The entertainment was homegrown with each class in the school, local singers, and band groups performing. Regan’s class had all dressed in red for their short performance.
Last week, Audrey, JJ, and Lillian had taken Regan to Soldotna to shop. When he’d offered to take the day off, Regan had proudly told him it was an all-woman outing. From what she’d reported, all three generations had enjoyed a marvelous time.
“Hey, Regan. Over here!” Delaney waved.
“Papá, can I go?”
When his daughter looked up in appeal, Caz grinned. “Our table is right in front. Come and sit with us after your program.”
“Thanks, Papá.” She cut through the crowd—a little red meteor in search of her buddy.
As the roadhouse filled, Caz wandered through the crowd and caught up with friends. He’d have liked to have JJ with him, but last night, she’d told him she’d be on duty today and wouldn’t join them.
He understood the demands of a job; however, he’d felt something was wrong. Her expression last night had been distant. Her stalking cat grace had been missing. Her shoulders had sagged. Worry trickled down his spine.
Possibly, she’d just been tired. She wasn’t used to a daylong family gathering, after all. But she’d seemed to enjoy herself right up until the moment she suddenly needed time alone. Perhaps she was missing her mother?
Well, he’d catch up with her later. See if something was worrying her. Have an early night, give her a backrub, and tuck her into bed.
Preferably his bed.
“Caz, how are you?” Sarah from the coffee shop interrupted his thinking. She was seated with her husband, Uriah, who did the coffee shop baking, and her kindergartner, Rachel.
“Good. It’s been an interesting month.” He smiled at her. “How are you feeling?”
She patted her huge belly. “Only a week or so to go. Beverly says I should do fine.”
Uriah frowned. “Can we call if…?”
“I’m pretty sure Beverly has delivered more babies than I have. She’s been at this a long time.” In her early sixties, Beverly was an excellent midwife. “But if she needs backup, absolutely call me. You both have my cell phone.”
“Thanks, Caz.” The lines smoothed out of Uriah’s face.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “He is such a worrier.”
Caz gave Uriah an understanding look. Nothing made a man feel more helpless than watching a woman having a baby.
As he kept moving, he spotted Dante and Lillian sharing a table with Tucker and Guzman near the front.
A back corner of the room was filled with the Patriot Zealots who’d brought their wives and children, as if to remind the town that they had families. It was easy to forget since their children didn’t attend school, and their women rarely came to town—and never without the men. As usual, the women were dressed in the typical PZ garb of long skirts, long-sleeved blouses, with hair pulled back tightly. No makeup, no jewelry. Each woman with her children sat next to a man. The men talked. The children and women were silent. Subdued.
Caz growled under his breath. Whenever one of their women visited his clinic, he’d tried to talk to her about her life. Unsuccessfully. Even when alone with him—a health clinic policy he insisted upon—each woman insisted she was fine and was ha
ppy at the PZ compound, despite old bruises, scars, and the signs of abuse. He’d never been so frustrated.
Unfortunately, all he could do was let them know he would help, and that Gabe would help. Anytime, anywhere.
It wasn’t nearly enough. Yet without reports, witnesses, or complaints, his hands were tied.
* * *
On duty, JJ walked through the roadhouse, giving each person a quick assessment for drugs, intoxication, and belligerence. So far, so good.
Gabe had planned to serve as the police presence tonight, but she’d told him she’d do it. If she avoided sharing a table with Caz and the chief, maybe she’d also avoid feeding the gossip.
She had really hoped Lillian was wrong—that there were only a few gossips, and this mess would pass over like a quick rainstorm. That brief period of optimism had cracked quickly. Ever since she’d entered the roadhouse, she’d been treated to sideways glances, open stares, and whispers that increased wherever she went.
Some people didn’t even bother to keep their voices low.
“That’s her, the female cop,” a striking brunette in city clothing was saying to two other women. “She’s the one living with all those men. I bet they’re pleased to have their own live-in slut.”
As nausea twisted JJ’s stomach, she moved away, pretending to want some fruit punch. But when she got to the bar where several older women were serving the cherry-colored liquid, one pretended not to see her. The other gave her a scornful stare.
“Could I have a drink, please?” JJ asked politely.
Mouth pressed tight in disapproval, the woman handed over a drink.
I haven’t done anything wrong, dammit. “Thank you.” Back rigidly straight, JJ held the woman’s eyes until the woman looked away.
Lillian had been right. Once again, she was being lied about, treated like filth. Shunned.
Carrying the glass, JJ headed toward the back of the room. Her throat was thick, her heart felt like lead in her chest. The too-short weeks of feeling part of this community made the loss so much worse. She had so wanted to be a meaningful part of the town.
Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2 Page 27
