by Jewel E. Ann
As she pushed open the front door, feeling weak with defeat, her phone vibrated with a text message.
Hebrews 9:22
“How’s he doing?”
The thundering of her pulse muffled the sound of Jackson’s voice. Some fucker kept vying for her attention, trying to cripple her with fear, when AJ’s doctors had already given her an overdose of it.
“He has a brain tumor.”
“Jill …” He pulled her into his arms, but still no tears, just a cold numbness. “Cancer?”
“They’re not sure yet, but it seems inoperable and AJ doesn’t want treatment.” She stepped back, laughing at the morbidity of the situation. “Let me rephrase that … he’ll agree to treatment if I tell him about my past.”
“Oh … you’re not thinking of—”
“No, I’m not going to tell him.” She shrugged. “What’s one more death to my name?”
“It’s not your fault.”
Shaking her head, she held up her phone. “Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably die before him.”
Jackson plucked it from her hand. A squint of confusion etched along his forehead. He searched for its meaning. “Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”
“What if it’s him?”
Jillian narrowed her eyes. “Who?”
“AJ.”
“Not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“Jesus, Jackson! Did you hear me say he has a brain tumor? It gives him migraines, and seizures, it’s probably the reason his personality flips without a moment’s notice, but he’s not a stalker.”
“Maybe one of his personalities is.”
“It’s not.”
“Nothing else makes sense. Trigger and Four are dead. If it were the people responsible for Mom and Dad, they wouldn’t play this cat and mouse game … we’d simply be dead.”
Jillian put her hands over her face and sighed with a little grumble. “Tell Knox to get me a new phone. I’m going to bed … for the next month. Don’t wake me.”
*
The overprotective and sometimes doting brother hated being the bastard, but someone had to be. After three days of Jillian leaving her bedroom only for water, Jackson yanked her from the black hole.
“Time’s up. I’ll give you five seconds to get out of bed before I start your intervention.”
“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” Jillian warned from under her rat’s nest of covers.
“I welcome the challenge. At this point I’d welcome any sign of life from you. Maybe you need a good ass-kicking.”
“Jackson!” she yelled and flailed as he heaved her over his shoulder and carried her to the bathroom. Depositing her stubborn ass in the shower, he turned the lever until an icy stream of water rained on her.
She clawed at the walls and slipped along the floor like a drowning cat.
“Wash up. You stink.”
An hour later she emerged from her room with clean clothes and wet hair. “He loves me. And he’s dying. That’s messed up, right?” She looked at Jackson through vacant eyes.
He could confirm AJ’s impending death, but not from his tumor. “He’s not dying, not today anyway. I’d call it shock. Once he accepts the reality of his situation, he’ll man up, let them fry half his brain with some experimental treatment, and live happily ever after with his psychotic neighbor.”
“Not funny.”
Jackson cradled her face then sighed at her lifelessness. “I’ll never stop reminding you that you are the strongest person I have ever known because when you hit the lowest depths of hell, you choose to claw your way out every time. It’s not what you do … it’s who you are. You’re a survivor.”
The bravest woman alive sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m not. You … I’d die without you.”
He hugged her. “You wouldn’t. I think a meteor could hit Earth and wipe out the human population with the exception of you.”
She grunted. “I’m not invincible.”
Jackson kissed the top of her head. She encompassed his world. “You are to me.”
Even the protector of this brave woman lived with his own demons. Had he followed his instincts, he could have saved Claire’s life and in turn, his sister’s. Instead he waited for their dad to get home nearly twenty-four hours later.
Twenty-four hours too late.
He never told his sister that, and he swallowed the guilt every day of his life. Nothing but more pain could come from what-ifs.
“I have a lesson in two hours and I have a few errands to run. So eat something and call Dodge and Lilith. They’ve been worried about you.”
Jillian nodded.
“And ice your eyes or something … your face just looks all kinds of wrong right now.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Anytime.”
*
Jillian forced down a piece of dry toast then lay down with teabags on her eyes. The man who would always have her heart was alive, but she would never see him again. The man who made her think love was possible without said heart was right next door, but he was on a cruel suicide mission and eventually he would die and she would never see him again.
Maybe she would be the last person standing. It was just her and life—both equally crazy.
The doorbell rang. Tossing the teabags in the trash, she shuffled her bare feet to the door.
“Hi.” Jillian mustered a smile at the woman standing on her stoop.
“Hi, sorry to bother you. I’m Ryn Middleton. I clean AJ’s house.” She pointed next door. “There’s usually a key under his planter, but it’s not there. And the garage code doesn’t work either. I tried his cell phone but it goes straight to voicemail.”
Jillian laughed a little. She had no doubt that AJ was trying to keep someone out of his house, but it wasn’t Ryn. “He’s had some issues lately. I’m sure it’s just an oversight on his part.”
Ryn wrinkled her nose a bit. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or get you in trouble, but would you happen to have a spare key to his place? I’ve been cleaning his house for over five years so I’m not a thief or anything. I just have a really full schedule, so if I don’t clean for him today he’ll have to wait another two weeks.”
Jillian smiled. “I do actually.” She held up a finger. “Just let me grab it.”
The woman, to whom the rules did not apply, returned with a small black box. Ryn raised a brow.
“I’ll open it for you. I’m Jillian, by the way.”
Ryn followed as Jillian’s boots squeaked with each step through the dewy grass to AJ’s front door. “Uh … that doesn’t look like a key,”
“It’s a universal key. Comes in quite handy. You should think about getting one. I’m sure this isn’t the first house you’ve been locked out of.”
Ryn replied with a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure what the neighbors would think of me using a lock-picking set to open a client’s door.”
“They’d think you’re ingenious.” Jillian turned the handle and the door opened. “Well, at least that’s what I’d think if I saw you doing it.” She returned the picks to the box and closed it.
“What if he asks how I got in?”
Jillian grinned with pride. “Tell him I let you in. It’s the truth, and trust me, he won’t ask you any more questions after that.”
Ryn gave her an easy nod. “Thanks. I’d better get to work.”
Jillian smiled, took a few steps toward home, then turned. “Are you taking new clients?”
Ryn grabbed two buckets of supplies from the back of her car. “I could probably take on one more, but it would have to be a weekly client. I have a two hour slot on Tuesday afternoons, but it’s not enough time for a bi-weekly job. More dirt. More time.”
“My brother and I could use someone to do some light cleaning, if you’re interested.”
“Your brother?”
Jillia
n laughed. “Yes. My roommate happens to be my brother, for now. We just moved here.”
“Well, yeah … if you want Tuesdays I could put you on my schedule. When I’m done here, I can come over and give you an estimate if you’ll still be home.”
Jillian didn’t really need an estimate, but it seemed like the normal thing to expect so she went with it. “Sure. If I’m not home Jackson will be. And, just a fair warning … he’s going to like you.” She winked at Ryn.
An uneasy smile formed along her lips. “Excuse me?”
“Just ignore everything he says or does. He’s taken a vow of celibacy. Some days are easier than others.”
*
“We hired AJ’s cleaning lady to clean this pit on Tuesdays, and she’ll be dropping by to give an estimate when she’s done with his place. So be nice and keep your dick in your pants. I’m going to watch Lilith.” Jillian pulled her hair back into a ponytail.
“We hired her?” He loved how his sister made decisions for both of them without consulting him.
“Yes.”
“And why do you think my dick will wander from my pants?”
She insulted him with her lack of trust. He was a changed man.
Her answer began with a sigh. “Because she’s older than you—maybe late thirties, early forties. And she’s pretty.”
Jackson crossed his arms. “Elaborate on pretty.”
“She’s most likely married with kids, two fish, and a dog, so I don’t know why it matters.”
“Elaborate on pretty.” He held firm.
“Five-seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, shy smile, an inverted bob cut with wavy shades of blond, light blue eyes, and freckles. Bye.” She shut the door.
After piecing all the descriptives into a mental image, he looked down at his crotch. “Yeah, buddy, this could be a problem.”
Several hours later, while in the middle of his lesson, a few soft taps rapped on the door.
“Keep playing. I’ll only be a minute.”
He opened the door. “Hello.” The smile that curled along his lips continued to grow as he stole a few extra seconds to just look. It didn’t hurt to look. “You must be AJ’s housekeeper.”
“Yes. Ryn Middleton.” She strained her neck to the side. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
“I’m in the middle of a lesson, but Jillian said you’d be coming by. Come in. Feel free to scope out the place. You won’t bother us.”
A nice smile, indeed shy but genuine, graced her mesmerizing face as she nodded. Although, it was her eyes that held his attention, a stark change from his past. He usually couldn’t remember a woman’s name, let alone her eye color. The exception, however, stood in front of him with the most brilliant blue eyes that faded to icy blue halos right next to her pupils. They drew him in like a hypnotic spiral—an idiot just staring at her.
“Oh…” he moved to the side and grinned “…yes, come in.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
His student continued to kill his piano by playing her own made-up chords that had him dreaming of physically harming her. Ryn didn’t need to whisper. Her voice offered an angelic reprieve from the musical massacre going on in the background.
The distracted piano teacher, with his head in the gutter, sat back down by his student while Ryn surveyed their place. No wedding band shackled her finger, but it was possible she didn’t wear one while cleaning. Five or so minutes later she paused near the front door, writing something on a pad of paper.
“Play that song again,” he told his student. His mind screamed, Get out! And never touch Black Beauty again.
Jackson’s new obsession smiled as he approached her. “Here’s the estimate.”
“Great. So I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Her brow furrowed a bit. “You…” she gestured to the piece of paper “…didn’t even look at it.”
Jackson looked at it for two quick seconds. “Great. So I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
Ryn chuckled. “Twelve-thirty.”
He nodded. “If you need to discuss that time with your husband and call us back that’s fine.”
Ryn peaked a single brow. “I’m pretty sure women asking their husbands’ permission to schedule work went out of style a couple generations ago. Twelve-thirty on Tuesday.”
A terrible answer. What was he supposed to deduce from that? A simple “I’m not married” or “I don’t need my husband’s permission” were the acceptable answers. At least they would have been clear answers; the only acceptable answer was the first one.
*
Shit. Shit. Shitty. Shit. Shit. That pretty much summed up Ryn’s thoughts on her new clients, specifically the tattooed sex-on-a-stick that taught piano lessons. Guys that looked like that did not teach piano lessons. Then there were those geeky glasses with the white tape on the bridge. Was it wrong that within thirty seconds of him answering the door her mind had him crawling up her body wearing nothing but those glasses? Probably.
Damn hormones.
His eyes and that smile—she knew flirting when she saw it. Or maybe it was teasing. Flirting said “I want you.” Teasing said “You want me, but you don’t have a chance in the world. Ryn had to think on that one.
Celibacy.
Jackson didn’t look like a priest, but there really wasn’t any other good explanation. He probably played the organ at church. A tattooed organ-playing priest. And his age—younger. He had to be in his sexual prime. That explained Jillian’s warning. His carnal needs warred with his spiritual calling and his type had been reduced to a simple category: women. When a person suffers from starvation, they’re not choosy. They just crave food.
Any woman would be tempting after going so long—or maybe forever—without sex. Was it possible? Was Jackson a virgin?
Ryn tore through her last house on autopilot and dragged her tired, aging ass into the shower. Three weeks separated her from the big four-oh. It wasn’t a huge deal, except she would be forty and single with a twenty-one-year-old daughter and an ex-husband with a restraining order against him. She really knew how to pick ’em.
The most important male in her life was Gunner—her ten-year-old German shepherd. She adopted him as a pup and they went through years of training together. The perfect guard dog, obedient to her like a soldier.
“Should we call Maddie?”
Gunner tilted his head to the side. Ryn towel dried her hair while plopping down on the bed and grabbing the phone.
“Not now, Mom.”
“Nice to talk to you too, Maddie.”
“Well you call me every day. I have a date. Some of us have a life, you know.”
Ryn knew. How could she not? Her daughter reminded her of it all the time.
“I thought we could do a spa day for my birthday.”
“I have to work on your birthday. Need I remind you why that is?”
No. She didn’t need to hear it again. Maddie’s father pulled her college funding when Ryn filed the restraining order. Maddie complained that her mother overreacted. She didn’t, but Maddie had no way of knowing that because Ryn sheltered her from all the ugly. It was a mother’s sacrifice and Ryn never regretted it, even when her daughter treated her with disrespect and contempt.
“Well, if you find someone to work for you—”
“I won’t.”
The usual sigh escaped Ryn. Someday Maddie would understand that no amount of money justified selling both of their souls to the Devil. And Preston Iverson was the devil.
“Madison … I love you.” Ryn ended the call before her stubborn daughter had a chance to respond. Of course she loved her only child, but she had too much respect for herself to tolerate any more snide comments. It was like strikes—after three, Ryn ended the conversation.
“That went well.”
Gunner did another head tilt. He had her back, licked her tears, and never once complained. Maybe she needed to take Maddie to obedience school too.
Chapter Three
Jillian mea
ndered home after leaving Dodge and Lilith’s. She wasn’t ready to go inside and deal with Jackson, the second text, and the ramifications of AJ’s diagnosis. Choosing the temporary sanctuary of the front porch stoop, she plopped down and watched her neighbors grilling out and tending to their yards and plants. The breeze ebbed and flowed, carrying the smoky aroma of Stan’s charcoal grill and the droning screech of cicadas.
A small part of her waited for AJ to come home, which was ridiculous because she had no idea what to say to him. Maybe if she could see him, fall into his arms, the right words would come to her. If only he could feel the conflict that warred inside of her, he’d realize that her past didn’t matter. Maybe. If only. But doubtful.
“Hey, kiddo. Did you look over the notes and the profit and loss statement?” Stan asked, hobbling his way up her driveway, shoulders slumped, sweat dripping from his brow, and muddy gardening knee pads still strapped to his legs. The guy never stopped working.
“I did.” Briefly.
“Anything we could improve on?”
“You spend too much money on snow removal. Granted, I’m not from around here, but I have a feeling your plow guys show up the second there’s a light dusting in the middle of the night. Then there’s the insane amount of money going toward insurance. When lightning struck the Dickson’s house and caused damage to the roof, that was a legitimate claim for the association’s policy. But the most recent claim from the kitchen fire started by the Anderson’s college-aged daughter, who doesn’t even live there? That should have been a claim for their personal homeowner’s insurance.”
“Well, we try not to discriminate.”
“I think the association needs to worry less about discrimination and more about taking it up the backside. It’s okay to be neighborly at picnics, but when you’re responsible for people’s money, you have to treat it like a business and have guidelines and boundaries in writing.”
Stan nodded. “I’ll talk to Dodge about it.” He seemed a bit disappointed in her opinion.
“Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you asked my honest opinion.”
“No, no … that’s fine. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. It’s not like this is your area of expertise.”
