Ain't Misbehaving (9781455523801)

by Cannon, Molly

  “I can see that.” He watched Dinah grab Linc’s hand and pull him out of the room. Linc gave his wife a questioning look, but followed without arguing.

  “I wanna get out of here, Jake,” Marla said, waving him closer. “Take me home, would ja?” She lay down on the table and stretched. “I’ll even let you tuck me in, if you want.”

  “Is that right?” Jake ignored her seductive tone. “Let me go find the nurse then.”

  She grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Oh, and I didn’t eat any onions, if you know what I mean.” She gave him an exaggerated wink and waggled her eyebrows. Her stomach made a loud growling noise, causing her to frown. “Come to think of it, I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”

  Before he could figure out what the heck she was talking about the nurse came waltzing into the room pushing a wheelchair and holding a clipboard. “Here you go. Sign these forms, and you’re free to go.” Linc and Dinah returned to hover in the doorway.

  Marla Jean struggled to a sitting position. “It’s about time. Give me that pen, Nurse Bloomfield.”

  “Mind your manners, missy.” The nurse scolded Marla Jean before handing her the clipboard. They’d all known Nurse Bloomfield since they were kids. She worked as the school nurse at the junior high during the week, and took shifts at the hospital emergency room on weekends. Even though she was getting up in years she never seemed to slow down.

  “Will we need to rent crutches?” Linc asked.

  “I’ve got a pair she can use,” Dinah said. “They’re up in the attic, Linc. You’ll have to crawl up and get them down.”

  “That’s fine,” Nurse Bloomfield interjected, “but for the next few days she needs to stay off her foot as much as possible. Make an appointment with Doc Baker for Monday, Marla Jean. He’ll tell you when you can go from crutches to a walking boot. And here’s a prescription for pain medication the doctor ordered.”

  Lincoln took the prescription while Jake picked up Marla Jean from the exam table and turned toward the wheelchair.

  “Why don’t you just carry me some more, Jake?” She made cow eyes at him.

  “And get in trouble with Nurse Bloomfield? Not a chance,” He tried to put her in the chair, but Marla Jean held on stubbornly until he pried her arms off of his neck.

  “Hospital policy says you’ll ride out of here in the wheelchair, young lady.” Nurse Bloomfield gave her a stern look over the top of her glasses. “And you mind your family. Relax and let them take care of you.”

  “I’ll push,” Jake ordered. “You sit.”

  “You’re not the boss of me, Jake Jacobson.” Marla Jean shook her finger in his face.

  Linc was laughing as he ran ahead to hold the doors open. “Did you hear that, sis? You have to mind us. This might not be so bad, after all.”

  “I’ve got your purse,” Dinah said helpfully and trotted along beside while Jake wheeled her outside. “Do you want us to stay with you tonight?”

  “Oh no, don’t be silly, Dinah. I’ll be fine and dandy.”

  “Lincoln, tell her she shouldn’t be alone. She’s supposed to stay off her foot.”

  Marla Jean waved a hand in Dinah’s direction. “Don’t be such a worry wart. I plan to go to bed and stay there, and it’s not going to kill me to limp back and forth to the bathroom when the need arises. If y’all want to stop by and bring me breakfast tomorrow morning, I won’t say no, but otherwise, go home and sleep in your own bed.”

  “I don’t know,” Lincoln hesitated.

  Jake knew he’d regret it, but he opened his big mouth and volunteered. “I’ll sleep on the living room couch and keep an eye on her.”

  “Jake, you don’t have to do that,” Lincoln protested. “We’ve imposed on you enough lately.”

  “Hey, I’m working across the street at the old house right now, anyway, and Marla Jean’s couch is probably more comfortable than the creaky twin bed I’ve been sacking out on every night.”

  Dinah looked amused, and Lincoln looked uncertain.

  Marla Jean smiled serenely before listing sideways in the wheelchair. “Oh goodie, Jake will take me home. It’s all settled then.”

  Jake, on the other hand, had never felt more unsettled in his life.

  Chapter Ten

  Marla Jean rocked along on the bench seat of Jake’s truck all drowsy and contented. Her cheek was nestled against his shoulder. Solid, warm, covered in leather. He smelled divine. And if that wasn’t enough to make the world a lovely place, her toes didn’t hurt. In fact, nothing hurt. The pain medication had taken care of that and gone to her head like a downed slug of whiskey. Singing suddenly seemed like an absolutely grand idea.

  She opened her mouth and warbled, “I’m forever blowing bubbles…”

  Jake cut his eyes in her direction, but kept his opinion of her vocal talent to himself. She knew she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and seldom remembered the right words, but she always tried to make up for it in volume.

  “Soapy bubbles I declare. They drift along while I sing my song, and like my dreams they just burst in midair.”

  The last line of the song put a damper on her sunny mood. She scrunched up her face in a grumpy frown. “Life is like a bubble, don’t you think, Jake?”

  “If you say so.” He kept his eyes on the road.

  “I mean you’re floating along pretty as you please, over hill and dale, and then pop! Life as you know it is over. Done. Finished. And you’re nothing but a soapy spot in somebody’s front yard, all alone and forgotten.”

  “That’s very philosophical.”

  “I know,” she nodded twisting to face him. “I’m a very deep thinker these days.”

  “All that thinking will curdle your brain. Sounds like you have too much time on your hands.”

  “Exactly. You’ve hit the nail on the head, buddy boy. And that’s why I’ve decided to take up kissing.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I owe it to myself.”

  “You lost me, Marla Jean.”

  “It’s really very simple. Your aunt,” she whispered as if it was a secret, “is certainly floating Bradley’s boat these days. But what about mine? Huh? Nobody gives a fig about my boat.”

  “What happened to the bubbles?”

  She had a sneaky feeling he was making fun of her, so she decided to ignore him. “That’s why I had to kiss Harry.”

  “To float your boat?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I wish it was that simple. But no, I had to kiss him cuz he wasn’t Bradley.”

  He made a harrumphing sound. “So you’re trying to make Bradley jealous?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She reached over and tweaked his nose. “He’s a soapy spot on yesterday’s lawn as far as I’m concerned, but he was Dial and Donny Joe is more like Irish Spring and Harry—well I’m not sure about Harry yet, maybe Lava. But you get the idea.”

  “I couldn’t be more confused if you were speaking Chinese.”

  “That’s all right. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Jake, old boy. I just came up with the plan tonight, so I haven’t worked out all the kinks. The kissing kinks. Or the kinks in the kissing. Well, you get the idea.”

  They pulled up in front of the house, and Jake shut off the engine. He got out and walked around to the passenger side. Marla Jean patted Gertie on the dashboard. “Thanks for the lift, old girl. It’s been a slice. I like Gertie, Jake,” she told him when he opened her door.

  “That’s good to know,” Jake said. Picking her up from the seat of the truck, he carried her up the front steps.

  She tucked her head against his shoulder, enjoying the ride while it lasted. “You don’t have to stay, you know. You should go home. I’ll just give a yoo-hoo if I need something.”

  “Fat chance,” he said without breaking stride. “I told your brother I’d watch out for you, and I will. Lincoln would tan my hide if I just dropped you off like a sack of potatoes and went home.” Jake shifted her so he could unlock the front door. �
��You weigh a hell of a lot more than a sack of potatoes, by the way.”

  “That’s because I have curves. Womanly curves. I’m not the scrawny kid you used to know.”

  He went down the hall to her old bedroom but stopped when he walked in and saw the easel set up and all the paintings lining the walls, but no bed. “Wow, you’ve been busy.”

  “I’m painting again. I even signed up for some art classes.”

  “That’s nice, but where do you sleep?”

  “Oops.” Marla Jean giggled. “I forgot to tell you I’m using my parents’ bedroom now.” Being careful of her foot, he turned around and went the other direction and she asked, “Okay, back to this thing between you and my brother. What exactly did Lincoln do that has you in his debt?”

  “That’s between me and Lincoln. Your brother’s one of the good guys though. But you already know that.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint. I’ll quit prying.”

  “That’ll be the day.” He sat her down on the yellow wing chair in the corner of the bedroom and started turning down the bed. “What about pajamas?” He walked to her dresser and looked questioningly at the drawers.

  “Second drawer from the top.” It made her feel odd to see him in her bedroom, sorting through her personal stuff. He picked up the Dallas Stars jersey she’d worn the last time he’d been over and tossed it to her. Then he kept pawing through the drawer. “What are you looking for now?”

  “Pants. You need something to cover up your womanly curves.”

  Using the arm of the chair for support, she stood up and started limping the few feet to the master bathroom so she could change. “Nah, that’s okay. This is fine.”

  He stopped and shot her a look that said he didn’t think so, and her stomach did a flip at the idea that he might be affected by the sight of her showing a little skin. “Okay, okay. Throw me those purple leggings.”

  He tossed those to her as well, and said, “Can you manage?”

  “Why? Are you offering to help?”

  He headed for the bedroom door. “Holler when you’re decent, and I’ll help you get settled in bed.” He left the room without waiting for her answer.

  She hopped over to the bathroom and shut the door. Sitting on the closed toilet, she managed to get undressed and into the jersey without much trouble. But the leggings were a different story. She got one leg on without a problem, but when she tried to stretch them over her bandaged toes the pressure hurt too much. And then the room decided to spin.

  To hell with modesty, she thought. Not having the energy or the inclination to take them off, she hobbled out of the bathroom, one leg in the leggings and one leg out, and collapsed onto her bed. She stuck her good leg under the covers but left her injured foot out and eased it onto the pillows Jake had thoughtfully stacked at the end of the bed for elevation.

  As soon as she became horizontal, exhaustion hit her like a punch from a heavyweight boxer. On top of that, the room insisted on revolving like a runaway tilt-a-whirl. It was only fitting. Her whole evening had been filled with more ups and downs than a carnival ride. She closed her eyes. Between Harry and the mum that ate Chicago, and Bradley and his holier-than-thou attitude, she’d been under way too much stress for an evening that was supposed to be fun.

  Actually, smashing Libby’s nose in with a bathroom door had been therapeutic in a twisted way. From the beginning, she’d bent over backward to remain civilized about Bradley and Libby’s affair. All the upbringing drummed into her head about being a nice girl, and minding her manners, made her stifle her real inclinations. Inclinations which included, but weren’t limited to, setting all of Bradley’s possessions on fire and slashing the tires of Miss Libby’s precious Bookmobile.

  But she was too polite, too refined. She hadn’t done any of those things, so it was a relief to finally get a lick in. Bam—right in the old schnoz-ola. Even though it had been an accident. She giggled, and then sobered.

  Some people said there were no such things as accidents.

  Kicking Jake’s truck tire hadn’t been an accident. It had been stupid and pointless and dumb. She’d have been better off baying at the moon. She lay there in a heap, thinking about her mangled foot, thinking about her mangled life.

  Wild nights of dancing at Lu Lu’s were out for a while. Wild nights in pick-up trucks in Lu Lu’s parking lot were out for damn sure. But they’d been out even before she hurt her foot. She just wasn’t cut out for casual sex—at least not with guys like Donny Joe. That was the truth of it.

  Why couldn’t she be more like a man? Wham, bam, thank you mister. That would solve a lot of problems. She wasn’t saying she had to be in love with the guy, but it would have to be someone she liked and respected. What was the term people used these days? Friends with benefits? She wondered if that’s what Jake and Genna were. The idea made her restless and squirmy.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Jake asked, “Are you decent?”

  “Who is it?” she asked in a silly sing-songy voice.

  “Florence Nightingale. Who do you think?” Jake told her as he opened the door. He came in carrying a tray. “You said you hadn’t eaten since lunch, and I thought you could use something besides pain medication in your stomach.”

  She scooted up a little in the bed. “Oh, Florence, you’re a lifesaver. I could eat a horse.”

  “You’ll have to settle for grilled cheese and tomato soup.” He started to set the tray across her lap, but noticed her uncovered leg. He put the tray on the dresser, picked up a plaid throw from the chair, and spread it across her legs.

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t get those stupid leggings on over my foot, so you’ll have to put up with my half-naked body. Try not to swoon.”

  “Men don’t swoon.”

  “Oh, really? What do men do?”

  He retrieved the tray from the dresser and set it across her now safely covered legs. “We throw plaid blankets over anything that looks like trouble.”

  She brightened. “I look like trouble?”

  He leaned over her and adjusted the pillow behind her back to give her better support. His face was only inches from hers. “Marla Jean, you’ve been trouble since you turned sixteen.” Then he winked. That same old infuriating wink that always let her know he didn’t mean anything by the remark. She was still good old Marla Jean, and he was still good old Jake.

  She leaned forward and kissed him. An impulsive, unbridled kiss, before she could think better of it. Just to let him know that she wasn’t the same old Marla Jean he’d always known.

  He didn’t exactly kiss her back, but he didn’t move away, either. She brushed her lips against his again. He tasted like the middle of the night and everything sinful. A shot of whiskey and slow dancing in dark corners. A stolen touch and skinny-dipping in the moonlight. Damn. That was new. Waxing poetic while she kissed someone had never happened before. She decided to blame it on the pain pills. When she finally pulled away, he blinked. “What was that?”

  “I put you on my list.” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears.

  “Your list?” He frowned and straightened up.

  “You know, my kissing list.” Shit. After only one tiny touch of his mouth, lust and yearning roiled around inside her like macaroni in a pot of boiling water, but she strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “And it was a thank-you—for being so nice—taking care of me, and all kiss. Even if you are only doing it because of whatever the hell it is you owe Lincoln.” The urge to pull him down onto the bed and lick tomato soup from his navel washed over her like a rogue wave.

  “You don’t have to thank me, Marla Jean. You’re uh… like the little sister I never had.” As if he had to keep reminding her. Then he patted her on the head. “And you’d do the same for me, right?”

  “Right,” she muttered. He’d patted her. On the head. Like a puppy dog who went wee-wee when he was let out in the back yard to do his business. Obviously the kiss made no impression on him whatsoever.

  �
��Now, eat your soup before it gets cold.” He walked over to the door and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Out of curiosity, how many men are on this kissing list?”

  “I’m just getting started, but you were number three.”

  “Let me guess, Donny Joe, Harry, and me.”

  “Sorry about that. You were an impulse—ya know, due to proximity and pain pills and gratitude.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’ll probably kiss millions more before I’m done.” But she was beginning to wonder if any of them could compete with that little peck she’d just stolen from Jake.

  “Men will be lined up in the streets, kiddo. I’m going to go make up the couch now.”

  “Sheets and blankets are in the hall closet. I feel like the worst hostess just lying here letting you do all the work.”

  “I’m not a guest. I’m kind of like family, remember? I’ll be back to get your dishes in a bit.” He walked out of her room, taking his miraculous kissing lips with him.

  She took a big bite of her grilled cheese sandwich and chewed distractedly. To the empty doorway she hollered, “In case you haven’t noticed, Abel Jacobson, I already have a brother.” Under her breath she added, “And believe me, one brother’s enough.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Christ on a bagel.” Jake hurried away from Marla Jean’s bedroom like he was allergic to bees and she was a buzzing hive. What the hell just happened in there?

  Marla Jean kissed him.

  Okay. It was no big deal. And just like she said, it was motivated by pain pills and proximity. But that kind of thing was just the first step leading down the wrong trail.

  He pulled the bedding from the shelf in the linen closet. It wasn’t the first time he’d made up the couch in the Jones’s living room. As a teenager he’d been known to sleep over when things got ugly over at his house. Usually he slept on one of the twin beds in Lincoln’s room, but there had been occasions when Linc had been sick or staying up late working on a school paper, when Jake had been installed on the couch instead. Mrs. Jones never blinked an eye when he showed up on their doorstep. She’d ask if he was hungry and then grab the sheets and an extra pillow, no questions asked.