Picture Me and You: A Devil's Kettle Romance, #1

by Sey, Susan

  “Aren’t we all?” Willa murmured.

  Addy glanced from her fuming sister-in-law to Willa’s utterly blank composure. “Evidently we are. Somebody will have to explain that to me one day but right now I have to focus, so can everybody just put it on pause for a minute? One minute?”

  Georgie rolled her eyes dramatically but stayed silent.

  “One minute,” Willa said finally. “One.”

  “Thank you.” Addy jogged across the room to poke her head through the swinging door near the fireplace. And there was the kitchen, in all its badly laid-out glory, just as the blue prints had promised. “Awful design but plenty of space,” she called back. “Good bones.”

  “Fabulous,” Georgie muttered. “I’m so glad.”

  Addy all but danced back to the foyer and paused in front of the stairs with naked longing. She sent a pleading glance Willa’s way. “One more minute? Because if there are even four bedrooms—”

  “Six,” Georgie said, carefully ignoring the dark little woman beside her.

  “Six?”

  “If you include the master suite.”

  “Six!” Addy bounded toward the stairs, delighted.

  “Addison! Do not leave me alone down here!”

  “Willa’s right beside you!”

  Georgie sniffed. “That’s worse than alone.”

  Willa rolled her eyes. Addy sympathized. Georgie was way too lazy to be this bitchy on a regular basis. Something must really be buried between those two.

  Later, she promised herself. For now, she wanted to see the upstairs like she wanted her next breath. “Come on then, Georgie. And quit being so mean to Willa. We need her.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Georgie muttered as she minced around another crusty pile of crap on the floor. The old-growth hardwood floor, Addy noted. The buzz in her blood was rapidly escalating to a gleeful roar. This could work. It really could.

  The instant Georgie was within arm’s reach, Addy latched onto her elbow. “Willa, you come, too. Please? I need your opinion.” Willa gave a long-suffering sigh but ambled forward. As soon as her boots hit the steps, Addy bounded upward.

  She hit the upper landing and darted down the narrow hallway with — yes! — six doors lining it. Six! She flung open the first one, sprinted across the floor and ripped down a pair of ridiculous puce drapes.

  The Devil River’s kamikaze leap into the lake below was even more dramatic from up here. Rocks speared up out of the swirling water in the bay, went under and fought their way clear again with implacable determination. Dark clouds slid by overhead, completely unconcerned by the life-and-death drama playing out below.

  Everything inside Addy sang. A straight-up hallelujah chorus went off in her head. Because this endless tug of war between beauty and danger, peace and violence, beginnings and endings? This astonishing, impossible force of nature throwing itself endlessly off the edge of the world?

  This was beauty, albeit a terrible one.

  Addy had known her share of disappointments in life but one of the greatest was the fact that she’d been born with an artist’s soul but not an artist’s hands. Beauty rang inside her like a bell but she had absolutely no talent. At least not for art. Her gene pool was full of accountants and nurses. Comptrollers and lawyers. (Corporate lawyers, though. Never even a semi-flashy trial attorney.)

  But here? Now? In the new reality Jason Bloom (that thieving weasel) had unleashed on the family? It was Addy’s gifts that mattered. It was her unique combination of talents — her eye for beauty combined with that ruthless pragmatism that had so disgusted her husband — that was going to save the family he’d left her. And the plan that was forming inside her head? If it wasn’t art, she didn’t know what was.

  “Ladies,” Addy said, “this is a house worth saving.” She squeezed Georgie’s elbow and flung her free arm around Willa, who stiffened in surprise. “And you’re going to help me do it.”

  Jax stepped back from an impressive array of spanking clean fire hoses. It was past five o’clock but he took a minute to savor the sight of those hoses drying on the wind-whipped pavement outside the fire station, and the satisfaction of having put them there with his own two hands. Well, mostly his own two. He’d used Matty’s as well. Liberally. Physical labor cleared the mind and provided perspective, which was something he figured his brother was short on just now. And he couldn’t do much about their mom jumping all over the kid’s crap but he could provide some perspective on the situation. And if he could get his hoses cleaned at the same time? Win/win, as far as he was concerned.

  “Now that’s a decent day’s work.” He wiped his hands clean — sort of — on the butt of his cargo shorts and slapped Matty’s skinny shoulder. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “It feels like I lost a cage match with a python.” Matty swiped his cheek on the hem of his sopping t-shirt. “In a swamp.”

  “I know, right?” Jax threw a companionable arm around his brother. “Good times.” He gave the kid a hearty squeeze, then nudged him toward the fire station door. “We deserve a treat.”

  “Yeah?” Matty pushed through the heavy metal door, and glanced back at Jax with a comic mix of hope and wariness. “What kind of treat?”

  “How should I know?” He nodded Matty into the kitchen/break room down the hall to their left. “We’re men. We forage.”

  The space was small but sported all the essentials — a two-burner stove, a microwave that made everything smell like burnt popcorn and an industrial-strength coffee maker. A warped linoleum counter separated the cooking area from an eating area. The evening’s on-duty volunteers — two gut-heavy guys with an easy couple of decades on Jax — sat at the ancient dinette set, frowning over a hand of cards. Jax nodded to them on his way to the dorm-sized fridge under the counter.

  “Matty, say hello to Frank Wilson and Mason Kennebec.” He helped himself to a bottle of water. “The unsung heroes of every other Monday night.”

  “Hey, Jax,” Frank said. “Hey, kid.”

  Jax handed a second bottle to his brother with a glance that reminded him of his manners. “Hey, Mr. Wilson,” Matty said obediently. “Mr. Kennebec.”

  Mason only grunted and stared at his cards. Matty polished off his bottle with one long swallow and reached for a second one.

  “Got the Monday chores done,” Jax told the men.

  “Hoses and all?” Frank surveyed his cards absently. “That’s good.”

  “Matty was a big help.”

  Mason discarded a jack like it was a weight off his shoulders, and finally looked up. “Glad to hear it.” He smoothed an impressive mustache. “Dirty job, that one.”

  “Tell me about it,” Matty muttered and muffled a belch in his sopping sleeve.

  Jax grinned. “Told him he’d earned himself a treat.”

  Frank tipped his head toward a hot pink pastry box on the table beside the discard pile. “Have at it, kid.” Then he smiled and picked up the jack. Mason’s walrus ‘stache twitched.

  Matty’s eyes lit up. “Doughnuts?”

  “Stopped by the Sugar Rush on my way in.” Frank laid down a winning hand with leisurely triumph. “Gin.”

  Mason scowled and tossed down his cards. “Damn it.”

  Frank leaned back, rubbed his belly and grinned. “Not my fault you suck at cards.”

  “Not cards, gin. And that’s because it’s a stupid game.” Mason leaned in to thump a knuckle on the discard pile. “Now, cribbage. There’s a two man card game.”

  “Always with the cribbage.” Frank sighed and pulled the cards in for a shuffle. He riffled them between his big fingers like a magician and started to deal a fresh hand.

  Mason picked up his cards. “Eat fast, kid,” he said to Matty. “Your sister’s here for you, and you know how women feel about spoiling dinner.”

  “His sister’s here?” Jax said, his gut tightening. He hardly needed to ask but he did anyway. “Which one?”

  “Addy.” Mason ran a thoughtful finger over
his mustache and considered his cards. “Put her in your office while you were finishing up the hoses. Said she wanted to talk to you before she left.”

  Oh, hell. Of course she did. Addy hated being at odds with anybody, let alone family. He should’ve known she wouldn’t be able to let the sun go down on that little incident outside the Wooden Spoon this morning. She was here to make peace, and there would be no peace for him unless he let her.

  He eyed the pastry box Matty was face-down in. There were at least eight doughnuts left. Given the rate at which Matty was shoving them into his face, there was probably just enough time for Addy to smooth things over without putting Jax’s self-control into the red. He hoped.

  “I’ll go see what she needs,” he said to Matty. “Come on back when you’re done.”

  The kid grunted around a mouthful of custard-filled bismarck, and went to work on a chocolate long john.

  Jax walked down the short hall to his office and, sure enough, there was Addy sitting in his desk chair. Graham Graves, another of his volunteers, sat on top of the desk in front of her, arms folded to better display his biceps while he chatted her up. Union carpenter for the paycheck, volunteer firefighter for the glory, Graham was as sweet-faced as a daisy and as horny as every other twenty-two-year-old guy on the planet. And he was looking at Addy like Matty had looked the doughnuts.

  Jax fought a scowl. Every damn time he turned around today, somebody was putting the moves on this girl. He leaned a deliberately casual shoulder into the doorjamb. “Hey, Graham.”

  “Hey, Jax,” Graham said, his gaze never veering from Addy. She leaned around the guy to send Jax that high-octane smile of hers, though. The one that made perfect strangers lay fat wet ones on her in the middle of Main Street. Not that he could blame them. It was those damn dimples. Who could resist?

  He scowled at her. He didn’t mean to. He never meant to, but a guy could only expect so much of himself. The polite disinterest was only a veneer, after all, and a damn thin one at that. It had served him well these past four years but occasionally it slipped and he just flat-out scowled at her. It was either that or kiss her, and while random tourists apparently got away with that shit all the time, he doubted he would.

  Even as he scowled at her, though, he knew it was a mistake. Addy would only take it as a challenge, and turn on the charm.

  “Hey, Jax.”

  And, oh holy hell, did she ever. That smile didn’t just amp up; it went fucking supernova. Suddenly, he wasn’t just looking at those dimples, he was feeling them — in the soles of his feet, in the palms of his hands, and in other more alarming places he wasn’t going to think about. He was literally sweating with the effort it cost him not to reach out and just touch one. Because, Christ, he wanted to know what they felt like. They looked as soft as fresh-baked bread, but he couldn’t know for sure. Not until he touched one.

  Which he’d never do, so he should probably quit being such a scowly bastard so she could stop smiling so goddamn hard.

  He shoved his fists into his elbows, blanked his face and glanced at Graham, who had no problem at all with Addy’s blinding smile or with her fresh-baked dimples. No, he was just sitting there, happily and openly admiring the view.

  Jealousy caught Jax on the raw. He himself was shaking — literally shaking — with the effort of resisting her. But nobody else was even trying. Not Graham, and certainly not the handsy tourist who’d kissed her on the sidewalk. Bitterness filled him and it took every ounce of his considerable self-control to keep it off his face.

  “Addison,” he murmured politely but without even a smidgen of warmth. Her smile flickered. A casual observer would never even have noticed but Jax was hardly casual, and he knew he’d hurt her. And he was desperately sorry for that but he simply couldn’t afford the kindness. This shit was just too hard. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “I thought I’d grab Matty before I headed up the hill. But I also wanted to talk to you about something.” She paused. “About a few somethings, actually.”

  “Ah.” He looked at Graham. “This explains why she’s behind my desk. What remains unexplained, however, is why your ass is on my desk.”

  Graham popped to his feet, caution finally seeping through the hormones. “Sorry, Chief.”

  Jax pushed off the doorframe and strolled into the office. “I know you’re not on duty today, Graves. Weren’t you on a job site down in Hornby Harbor?”

  “I got off early.” He edged toward the door. Smart kid. “Thought I’d catch a workout in the station’s weight room before dinner.”

  Addy pursed her mouth into a flirty little question mark. Jax was glad his shirt was already soaked from the hose washing, because he was truly sweating now. God, that mouth. It was killing him. She said, “What, swinging a hammer all day doesn’t count as exercise?”

  “Not if I want to slay the ladies at the slip and slide again this year.” Graham paused in the doorjamb to flex. Jax sighed. Last year for Devil Days, he and his staff had covered the sledding hill behind the middle school with plastic sheeting, then charged people a buck a pop to be squirted down it with fire hoses by shirtless firefighters. It was — predictably — one of Devil Days’ more popular attractions, and the highlight of Graham’s young life so far. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

  She laid a hand over her heart. “We’re only women, Graham. Have mercy.”

  The guy inflated his chest until Jax feared for his shirt.

  “Okay, go lift weights,” Jax said, nudging him the rest of the way out the door. “Addy wants a word. With me.”

  “Sure thing, Chief.” Graham aimed his puffed up pecs at Addy one last time. “So long, Addy. Call me sometime?”

  She grinned. “As it happens, I might have some work for a decent carpenter.”

  “Awesome.” He sent her a good-natured leer over Jax’s shoulder. “I do like to hammer stuff.”

  Addy turned a laugh into a sneeze and Jax shut the door in Graham’s face.

  Chapter 10

  JAX PUT HIS back against the closed door and murmured, “Bless you.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned again, dimples flashing mercilessly.

  “Having fun?” That was pure acid in his voice but he couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t.

  Addy didn’t even notice, or if she did, she didn’t respond. She leaned back in his chair, crossed her legs and sighed happily. “Oh, yeah.” She wore a black fleece zip-up over a plain white tee, a threadbare pair of jeans and some bright red clogs. Her curls didn’t even clear the top of his big leather chair but the clean, sunny scent of her filled the air. “That kid is adorable.”

  “Adorable?” He could feel the scowl building again. “Try horny.”

  “Well, sure. He’s, what, twenty?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Give him a break, Jax. Horny is the only gear they’ve got at that age. That and hungry.” She smiled fondly. “He was just being friendly.”

  “Friendly?” The scowl broke free. “He offered to hammer you.”

  She waved that off. “Oh, for pete’s sake. He did not.”

  “Yeah, he did. In those exact words.” Jax stalked across the office and thrust a finger into her face. “And that guy outside the Wooden Spoon this morning? He kissed you.”

  “He did not.”

  “Yeah, he did.” He stared. “He goddamn frenched you on Main Street.”

  “No,” she said with insulting patience, “he frenched Diego’s Angel.”

  Jax had to close his eyes to absorb that one. He’d suspected tongue action but hadn’t been one hundred percent certain. Now he was. His scowl tried to give way to outright rage so he pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard.

  “Jax, come on—”

  He cut her off with a raised hand. “No, stop. Just stop talking, okay? I need a minute.”

  She didn’t argue or ask why, thankfully. She just fell silent and gave him his damn minute. He took a brisk walk around his tiny office, searching for the
flapping reins of his self-control. When he made it back to the desk, he thought he had it. He really thought he had himself in hand. She was still sitting in his office chair, composed and calm, though her cheeks were bright and pink. He wondered if he’d embarrassed her, then decided he couldn’t worry about it. He was too busy hanging onto those reins. He just had to focus here. He had to let her smooth things over between them and go the hell away so he could get a hold of himself. Because he was close — perilously close — to scooping her out of that damn chair and showing her exactly how dangerous horny and hungry could be.

  He doubted she’d give him the same pass she’d given Graham.

  He leaned back against the front edge of his desk and folded his arms tightly over his chest and said, “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Go ahead?”

  “Apologize. You can’t stand it when anybody’s mad at you, especially family. You’re not going to sleep at night unless we kiss and make up, so let’s just get it over with.”

  Her cheeks flushed deeper and Jax could have bitten his own tongue off. Kiss and make up? Jesus, Jackson. Freudian doesn’t begin to cover it.

  She stood up, slowly, and for one heart-stopping moment, Jax thought maybe she’d taken that kiss-and-make-up bit literally. Hope and terror slammed into one another, shattered into confusion and left him frozen on the spot. But she didn’t make a move to narrow the gap between them. She simply rose to her full five feet five inches, slapped her hands onto her hips and lifted long-suffering eyes to the ceiling.

  “You know what?” she said conversationally. “I’ve about had it with you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve had it, Jackson. With you.” She brought her gaze down to his and he felt the impact all the way to his steel-toed boots. Holy hell, Addy was angry. She was seriously pissed. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen such a thing. “I have been as nice to you as I know how to be. I’ve excused you and explained you and forgiven you, but I’ve taken as much from you as I’m going to take.” Her cheeks blazed now, blood-red roses in bloom, and she stamped across the two feet separating them to drive a finger into his deltoid. Oh, God, now she was touching him? “You’re such a jerk.”