He took a bite, and I took a bite, then I picked up the cup of coffee and sipped. We finished the eggs and toast together, and I leaned back against the pillows again putting one of the bags of ice to my eye and the other to my side, flinching from the chill. We stayed quiet for a few minutes, and I studied Jackson. I wanted to know what made him tick. He was awfully good looking. I loved the way his hair fell to his shoulders, and the way he was always brushing it back like he wasn’t really used to it being that long. His eyes seemed to change color depending on the light. Hazel, I think it’s called, but his leaned toward the green side more often than brown. He had a tiny scar under his right eye, and I had a sudden urge to touch it, maybe even kiss it, but kept my hands and my lips to myself. What was I thinking, anyway? Was it so wrong of me to be attracted to someone like him so soon after being beaten by Troy? I’d never met anyone like Jackson before. Someone who actually cared about what happened to me—a total stranger. Sure, Weezer and Gabby cared, but they knew me. Jackson just took me in; no questions asked.
“So, you own the bar, but you don’t work at it. That’s convenient. Just how did you manage that?”
“Ah.” The green in his eyes brightened, he leaned back next to me, and my body tensed involuntarily. He had to have noticed, but didn’t say anything. “Now that’s a bit personal don’t you think? I didn’t know we had decided to share secrets yet.”
I shrugged. “Okay, I get it, I tell you mine then you tell me yours, right?”
“Well, yeah. I mean if we’re going to share secrets as well as breakfast.”
I laughed but coughed at the same time. “Ow, ow, ow, that hurt.”
“Oh, sorry sweetheart, I’ll try not to make you laugh again. At least not for a few days, but I can’t guarantee anything after that.”
I thought about that for a minute. Where would I be in a few days when I was finally well enough to travel?
“It’s funny. I hardly know you, but I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time. All the logic in the world tells me I shouldn’t trust anyone, and I shouldn’t want to be alone in the company of a man again, but I do feel comfortable here with you ... like this.” I squeezed my eyes tight, realizing what I just revealed. I couldn’t go on hiding my emotions in front of this guy. It was just too hard.
“So ... you weren’t in an accident. It was a man who did this to you.”
“I guess that was too easy for you. I haven’t really been very consistent with my story. Yes, it was a man, although I’m not sure you could classify him as such.”
“Ah, there I tend to agree with you. A man, a real man, would never hurt a woman that way.” He reached out and took a couple strands of my hair, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. “Your hair is still a bit damp. Would you like me to dry it for you?”
“You want to dry my hair for me?”
“Yes. Wait, if memory serves, and the last tenant didn’t take it there’s a hair dryer here in this little bathroom.”
He stood and went to the bathroom, returning a moment later holding a little red hair dryer and a brush.
“Um … this is a little weird.”
“If you think so.” He set the dryer and brush down on the coffee table next to the tray of empty breakfast plates.
“Really, Jackson, I think I can dry my own hair.” He plugged the dryer into the outlet behind the daybed and I picked up the brush. Lifting my arm up, taking one stroke down my head had me cringing in agony.
“Here. Let me help,” he coaxed in a soft voice, taking the brush from my hand. “Your hair is making your shirt wet.”
Could I really trust Jackson? I wanted to. It had been so long since I trusted anybody, except for Weezer, and even then it was only once. Troy kept too close an eye on me to try to talk to anyone, especially towards the end. “Well, okay. I wouldn't want the daybed to get all wet.”
I managed to sit up and turn my back toward him, letting him stroke the brush through my tangled hair. He was gentle, careful not to pull. I closed my eyes and reveled in the attention. Never in my life had a man dried and brushed my hair for me.
The warm air from the dryer soothed me, and he was being careful not to let the heat stay in one spot too long. Not once did he put the brush near the bump on my head. My hair seemed to be dry. But he continued brushing and I caught myself grinning as his fingers ran through the strands behind each sweep of the brush. Maybe Troy did kill me and this was heaven.
I was going to have to talk about what happened sooner or later. Maybe it was best if I just got it over with now. Except right at this moment, I was enjoying the tenderness of Jackson's gentle hands.
Chapter 13
Jackson
I dried Lena’s hair and brushed it until it was smooth, making careful short strokes starting at the end, and then longer ones as I got all the little tangles out. I made sure to be particularly cautious around the area by the bruise. After her hair was dry, I continued to brush the long strands, running my fingers through the silky threads behind each sweep of the brush. It was so satiny smooth and smelled like roses, a shampoo I'd found in Brodie's shower left by one of his female friends. Mmmm … good choice.
“There, now you’re almost perfect,” I said softly.
“Almost,” she said, gently touching the bottom part of her eye as she sank back against the pillows.
I leaned back against the sofa, my arm resting by my leg, so close to the bottom of her feet. I moved it quickly on top of my thigh, not wanting to accidently rub against her skin. Those thoughts ran rampant in my brain, but I had to push them aside. I had more important things to concentrate on, like wanting to know about the creep she was running from, but I figured she’d never tell me until I gained her trust. I needed to give her time to recuperate.
I glanced at her. Her eyes were shut; her breathing relaxed. I watched as her chest rose with every breath she took, knowing each one probably hurt.
I carefully got up, pointed at Rufus and whispered, “Stay,” and quietly let myself out, locking the door behind me. I had two sets of keys, and put this one on the key holder in the kitchen before I left. I went back to the bar to make good on my promise to Doc to buy him a beer. I wasn’t looking forward to the twenty questions I knew would be waiting for me, not only from Doc, but from Brodie too.
I didn’t want to stay too long. I needed to get back to wake Lena up. After I’d given Brodie and Doc the short version of what happened when I took her home, leaving out the bath and the hair drying, I had to endure listening to twenty minutes of taunting about the fawn and some other injured animals I’d rescued over the years. They’d managed to keep any mention of Lena out of the conversation in front of the rest of the guys in the bar. Both knew she was running from someone, and if word ever got out that I was helping a strange girl, well, you never know who might be listening.
I shrugged through most of it, laughing along until it wore me out and Brodie finally noticed my mood change to a somber one. “Sorry, Jackson,” he said, patting me on the back. “Don’t mind these guys, they’re just having a little fun.”
“Yeah, I know. Poke all you want. Wait until it’s your dog or cat that needs rescuing, and see who’s laughing then.” I finished my coke, went to the office, grabbed my guitar, and took off. And for the first time in many years, I looked forward to going home.
Chapter 14
Lena
I awoke to the sound of birds chirping frantically just outside the window by the small kitchen. Jackson must have left it slightly open before he’d left because the room had smelled a bit musty when he first brought me up here. It had grown a bit chilly, so I got up and slowly walked over to the window to shut it when I saw the nest with three babies in it. The tiny birds sat nestled in a corner of the ledge just to my left under the eaves of the roof. It was just before dusk, and the three chicks chirped as though they’d been left alone all day long, and were famished. I knew the feeling.
Once, my mother had left me all day. I’d
been starving too by the time she finally came home just before midnight. I think I’d been around eight years old or close to that. We couldn’t afford a babysitter, and she trusted me to stay at home alone for short periods of time after school so she could work a full eight-hour shift at the grocery store. When she came home that night, she’d apologized and said it had been out of her control. She said that the people at work needed her. She’d had a black eye, and when I questioned her about it she simply said it was an accident, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. She’d promised never to leave me that long again, but taught me how to make a scrambled egg and toast just in case she was ever delayed like that again. By the time I was nine, I had dinner cooked for her almost every night. I was happy to do it. She worked hard, and I know she did it for me. She’d had a tough time of things most of her life, and told me she wanted me to be able to have the things she never had the chance to have.
Things changed though, once she married Carl. Then, she was home all the time. Except … she wasn’t the same. She still loved me; I know she did, she just couldn’t show me anymore. All her time had to be spent catering to Carl. Whatever Carl said, she did. Or else she’d get another one of those black eyes like the one she’d gotten when I was eight, and several times since, after she’d married Carl.
I loved my mother. I didn’t want to be like her though. Unfortunately, soon after marrying Troy, I realized too late that I’d fallen down the same path that took my mother’s life. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny, and I certainly didn’t believe in the theory that growing up in a battered home led to a battered life as an adult. With any luck, and a new view outside this window, I was on my way to changing my so-called destiny.
After closing the window, I turned to walk away and stubbed my toe on something. I looked down to see a metal hammer lying on the floor. I picked it up and glanced around the room wondering why Jackson had left it on the floor. There didn’t appear to be any projects in the room that he’d been working on, but I guess he could have been working on just about anything that needed a hammer. I took it over to the daybed with me and placed it under the pillow before sitting down again.
No sooner had I settled back down when I heard a knock. I looked up and saw Jackson’s smile through the glass window at the top of the door. I thought Jackson had a key, but I was pleased that he didn’t just walk in. I’d had very jumpy nerves since earlier that morning, and I’m sure I would have freaked out if he’d just walked in.
“Come in,” I said, but the door didn’t open.
Instead, I heard, “I can’t. I’m out of hands.”
I giggled a little, and got up to open the door to find him standing there, a wide smile gracing his beautiful jaw as the smell of chicken soup wafted through the air. He balanced a tray with a bowl of soup and crackers, a sandwich with something that looked like meatloaf inside it, and a tall glass of milk on one palm. In the other, he held a couple of books.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I returned. He just stood there, balancing that tray, so I said, “Is that dinner?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He laughed as he entered the room. He set the tray down on the table and simply stared at me. We stood in silence a moment before either one of us spoke.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he finally said. “I’m actually a pretty good cook … usually, but I … I didn’t have much time to go to the store today … I mean, considering. That meatloaf is from last night. I hope you like meat … I mean, I hope you eat it. I mean, meat.”
I didn’t say anything, mainly because he was kind of cute standing there fumbling over his words like a kid suddenly called upon to read his essay aloud to a room full of laughing teeny-boppers. You know, the one about what he did on his summer vacation, the vacation that ended with his first kiss. Then he added, “Meatloaf. I hope you like meatloaf.”
“I do. Thanks.” Jackson seemed a little different all of a sudden. Almost, shy. I didn’t think of him as a shy man considering how he’d helped me so far, and I wondered what brought on the change. But when I looked down at myself, I realized the thermal shirt I wore adhered to my breasts as though it was molded to them, revealing my nipples. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, and headed to the sofa. I didn’t own a bra any longer, so I didn’t know exactly how to fix the problem.
“I have a friend who is about your size,” Jackson said. “Maybe she can lend you a … some clothes until we can get you some of your own. In the meantime, I’ll … uh, be right back.”
The quick sound of his footsteps on the stairs indicated he was running, and I guess I was right when he came back up, huffing out of breath, holding a terry robe out for me to put on.
“Thank you,” I said, quickly shrugging into the soft blue material that not only hid my breasts, but also covered my hands since the sleeves fell two inches below them.
“Here, let me help,” he said, taking one of the sleeves and rolling up the cuffs so that my hand appeared again. Then he did the same with the other one.
I smiled and sat, crossing my arms back over my chest. I felt very self-conscious now. I guess neither one of us had noticed before since I’d been sitting down the entire time. Plus, my back had been to him while he’d been brushing my hair.
“This all looks amazing. Thank you.” I said, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. “Mmmm, this is delicious,” I said with a mouth full and covering my lips with my fingers while I chewed then swallowed. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah. I have. I uh, need to get down to the house. I’ll be back up later to check on you.”
“Check on me?”
“Yeah, you know, no more than two hours sleep at a time—for tonight. After that, I think you’ll be fine.”
“Oh,” I said, sounding a bit too disappointed, I thought. As much as I liked Jackson, I was glad he was leaving. Not that I didn’t want his company, but I needed some time to get over the embarrassment of him seeing my breasts sticking to my shirt as if I’d been a contestant in wet T-shirt contest.
Chapter 15
Jackson
I’d never been so damn flustered in my whole life, but seeing Lena standing there with my shirt clinging to her breasts like that I’d lost my ability to speak. All I could think about was how perfect her breasts were, and I felt like a complete douche because I couldn’t stop staring at them. I was supposed to be trying to gain her trust, not making her think I’m some perv. I should have tried harder to avert my eyes, but man, I am a full blooded twenty-two year old guy, complete with a high level of testosterone that always shows up when I least expect it. The sooner I got out of there, the better, for both our sakes.
Maybe Brodie and Doc were right, and I shouldn’t get mixed up in this. Lena was a pretty girl under that bruised and beaten face. Somebody beat the crap out of her—a somebody who might come looking for her.
I paced the floor of the kitchen from one end to the other, running my hand through my hair as I thought. Let him come, I decided. Let him just try to lay another hand on her and see how far he gets. When I get through with him, he won’t be able to use those hands for a long time for anything, not even to get his own rocks off.
I swiveled my body, swinging my fist out through the air, just missing Brodie’s jaw by inches as he jumped back.
“Whoa, bro. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just ready to pound the asswipe who decorated Le … Lana’s face, and used her body as a doormat for kicking the shit off his boots.”
“What? Did she tell you who it was?”
“No, but when I find out … I’m going to make him wish he’d never met her.”
“I hope you’re just blowing smoke, because you, more than anyone, should know what could happen if you lay a hand on that creep.”
“That’s only if he can prove I threw the first punch.”
“Yeah? And who’s to say he couldn’t. Lana? Don’t count on it. Women like her always end up sticking up for the creep who’d beat them.
You know that.”
I grabbed the collar of my brother’s shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t talk about her that way. She’s not like those other women who keep going back to the bastards who beat them time and time again, defending the S.O.Bs like they’re mini-gods.”
“How do you know? You’ve known her for what, ten hours?”
“I just know.” I shook my head, let go of his shirt and stepped back.
“Shit. You’re falling for her. Already? Don’t be stupid, Jack.”
I shot him a dagger riddled stare, but he continued anyway. “I’m not saying anything you don’t already know. She might be a nice girl.”
“She is!”
“Okay, but … look, I didn’t mean to imply she wasn’t nice. I’m just saying what usually happens in abuse cases. If it was abuse.” I glared at him again. “I suppose it could have been rape. Then, of course, she wouldn’t defend the guy. All I’m saying is be careful, Jackson. It seems to me that anyone mean enough to do what he did to Lana would go out of his way to get you thrown in jail for messing with even one strand of his hair. Plus, abused women usually defend the abuser. If it was abuse, we’ve seen it before, right here in our own little town, Jack.”
Brodie was right. We had seen it with our own uncle. Late one night, right before last call, a man and woman were arguing. It suddenly got more heated and turned ugly, with the guy striking the woman and knocking her four feet back into the bar until Uncle Joe stepped in to defend her. Joe was a big man, and had no problem beating the guy until he was out cold. Broke his nose, too. The cops came, and the woman took her boyfriend’s side, accusing Uncle Joe of starting the fight. It was their word against his since there were no other witnesses, and Uncle Joe spent the next six months in jail for battery and assault. I didn’t want a repeat of that.
“I know you’re right, but don’t let it go to your head.”
Beautifully Wounded (The Beaumont Brothers) Page 6
