Jameson's Salvation

by Riley Edwards

  Time to set shit right.

  “Got anything stronger?”

  “Sure. Jim Beam, Johnnie Walker, and Jose Cuervo.”

  A woman after his own heart.

  “Will you join me?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a few fingers of Johnnie.” Kennedy’s face flamed and she quickly added, “I mean, I’ll take a pour.”

  “I’ll have the same.”

  “’Kay. Have a seat and I’ll be right back.”

  Jameson watched as Kennedy scampered out of the room, and the moment he was alone he wondered what he was doing and why’d he’d been so intent on staying. If he was honest with himself, which he always was, he hadn’t accepted her invitation for a drink so she wouldn’t suffer another blow to her ego as she’d earlier explained his first rejection had done. It was because he was intrigued.

  And his fascination with her went beyond how impressed he was by her. He was simply enthralled. Jameson was definitely interested in her. He just wasn’t sure if he should act upon it. Jameson wasn’t relationship material. He never had been. He had major hang-ups about commitment and he was smart enough to understand where those issues stemmed from.

  So while he’d like nothing more than another tour of the upstairs, this time one that included the master bedroom—complete with testing the thread count of Kennedy’s sheets—he wasn’t going to make a play.

  He had no doubt she’d catch his play. There’d been a few times Jameson had caught her staring at him with blatant interest, but it was unclear what that curiosity entailed. He had no idea if she was a serious relationship type of girl on the lookout for a husband, or if she just wanted a roll in the sack and a good time. The former was a no-go, the latter he could provide in spades.

  However, there was the small problem she was Nixon’s friend, and however loose that connection, he wouldn’t exploit it. Not even for dynamite sex and a taste of the pretty Kennedy Lane. And Jameson was sure the woman would be a great lay.

  “Here ya go,” Kennedy said, handing him his whiskey.

  “Thanks.” He waited for her to take her seat, then sat himself, trying to keep a respectable distance. “You don’t have a TV,” he observed.

  “I probably sit in this room once a month if I’m lucky. I do have one in my bedroom but I couldn’t tell you the last time I turned it on. By the time I come in, eat, and shower, I’m normally too tired for much of anything else.”

  Damn, did he understand that. Jameson wasn’t a big TV watcher either.

  “When I say that out loud, it reminds me how boring I am.”

  “Boring because you don’t numb your mind with TV?”

  “No, because I don’t have a life. I do go out on occasion. I mean, I do have some friends, but most are married with kids, so luckily they can’t get out much either. I don’t know why it’s important to me that you know this, but I’m happy with my life.”

  Jameson was more pleased than he should’ve been that Kennedy had opened up and given him that small truth, but he couldn’t deny the feeling.

  “Why would you think that I’d think you weren’t happy?”

  She sighed and he was beginning to see a pattern. When she was getting ready to say something that she thought would be embarrassing, she’d exhale and brace for ridicule. The gesture pissed him off. Not the act itself but the reason behind why she did it. Someone in her past had not been kind to her, and he didn’t think it was her dad. She was too fond of her home and the land for it to be him. She wouldn’t’ve tried so hard to save it if he’d been a dick to her. And it wasn’t her mother. Every time she spoke about her, love crept into her voice.

  “Because my life revolves around work. But I’m fortunate enough to love what I do. I like working my garden and taking care of my bees. I love making honey and candles, and canning my vegetables. It may sound boring, or like I’m not ambitious, or I settled for this life because I didn’t have big dreams. But honestly, this is the life I always wanted. I enjoy a hard day’s work. I like to be a good steward to the land. I like selling what I make at the market. Everything I sell, I make or grow. I can look at everything around me and know each day I accomplished something.”

  “I’m not sure who in your past made you feel like you weren’t ambitious, but I’d bet you get more accomplished by eight a.m. than most people do in a week. There’s nothing wrong with an honest day’s work accompanied by a shit-ton of elbow grease. I’m glad you’re happy, I don’t think there are many people who can say they love their job. But you can. I don’t think you’re boring. I find you interesting and I want to know more. I wanna watch you finish the demo work on your bedroom upstairs. I have a feeling you could teach me a thing or two about finish carpentry. As a matter of fact, Kennedy, I can’t remember a woman I’ve ever found more fascinating than you.”

  Kennedy’s shy smile made his admission almost worth it, though he was mentally berating himself for revealing too much. He never should’ve told her he wanted to know more about her. He knew he was giving her the wrong impression and almost shot back his whiskey so he could once again hightail it away from her.

  Good God, he’d turned into a pussy.

  He watched as she took a healthy swallow of her drink and chuckled when her face didn’t scrunch up like most women’s did when they sipped whiskey.

  “What’s amusing?”

  “You obviously like your Johnnie Walker, you didn’t grimace.”

  “I do,” she confirmed. “Now, when I shoot tequila that’s a different story. I was happy you didn’t choose Jose or I’d be making all sorts of funny faces and you’d think I was some kinda pansy-assed girl.”

  “Babe, you’re a girl all right, but I wouldn’t say there’s a single thing about you that makes me think you’re a pansy.”

  “You haven’t seen me drink tequila yet so you can’t say that.”

  Jameson took his own sip and savored the warmth as it hit his chest.

  “So what made you move to Kent County? It isn’t exactly a beacon for excitement,” Kennedy inquired.

  Jameson was happy to see some of the shyness gone, but he didn’t particularly enjoy sharing.

  “The short answer is, I moved here because of Nix.”

  “And the long one?”

  “How ‘bout we save that for a night filled with tequila?”

  “Gotcha.”

  Kennedy smiled and relaxed back, sinking farther into the couch cushions, taking no offense to him tabling the conversation.

  They both sat there in companionable silence and he liked that about her, too. She didn’t need to fill the void with needless chitchat. She could simply be and enjoy her whiskey.

  Yeah, Jameson liked that too much.

  With both of their drinks drained and Kennedy stifling a yawn, Jameson reluctantly ended their evening.

  “I’m gonna head out,” he told her and stood.

  She followed him to her feet, her gaze lingering on his chest a moment before she brought her eyes up and smiled.

  “You’re really big,” she blurted out, then quickly tried to cover her blunder. “I mean, you’re really tall. Obviously, I knew this. I mean, you’re tall-tall so it’s easy to see, but standing this close to you and really seeing the height difference…well, it…never mind, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. My brain is malfunctioning.”

  Jameson chuckled at her stuttered explanation and let her off the hook. “I get what you’re saying,” he started. “But maybe our height difference has more to do with you being a tiny little thing.”

  “I’m not tiny,” she huffed. “I’m five-seven. You’re just a giant.”

  “I’m six-three, not eight feet. And compared to me, you’re a little thing. I could toss you over my shoulder and run five miles and still not notice you.”

  “I have no doubt,” she mumbled.

  He really needed to leave. Now that he was picturing Kennedy’s lean, sexy body thrown over his shoulder, he was not thinking of PT-ing—he was fantasizing about car
rying her up to her bedroom and showing her just how big he was.

  His body was so much bigger it would easily cover hers, but her long legs would still wrap around his waist. He had no doubt they’d be a perfect fit. The mere thought of Kennedy withering under him while moaning her pleasure made Jameson’s dick twitch in excitement.

  It was really time to leave.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  That was a brilliant idea, he needed to be shown the door. As much as it was his suggestion it was time for him to head home, he was having serious trouble with his feet taking him where he needed to go.

  Kennedy opened her front door, leaving the glass storm door closed, and looked up at Jameson with tired eyes and licked her lips. He fought back the groan that was threatening, seeing the moisture her tongue had left behind. He’d bet those full, pink lips would feel great wrapped around his cock.

  Goddamn. He was kicking his own ass for thinking dirty thoughts about a woman when he had no business going there with her. But if they did…

  “Thanks again for today,” she broke his train of thought.

  “No need. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Will you be around?”

  “Yeah, I have a full day in my garden.”

  He didn’t even want to think about her bent over, ass in the air, tempting all his strength as she harvested her crop.

  “I’ll be over around noon.”

  “Okay.” Her answer was timid and she went as far as to look away.

  “If that’s not—”

  “No. Noon’s fine.”

  “Then why are you being shy again?”

  She didn’t reply for a moment and Jameson was wondering if he should’ve kept his mouth shut, when she straightened and with a smirk she answered, “I’d rather not say.”

  He should’ve known she’d politely tell him to mind his business.

  “All right, babe, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jameson pulled open the storm door and made his way in the dark to his truck. First thing on his agenda tomorrow was to get her motion-activated lights.

  He was almost home when a thought occurred to him—was Kennedy acting shy because she thought he was going to kiss her? She was staring up at him expectantly, she had licked her lips. But neither of those things supported his notion. Maybe it was his imagination running wild. Maybe she was nervous because she didn’t want him to try something.

  Maybe Jameson just needed to cool his jets and stop thinking about all the ways he’d like to fuck Kennedy, and treat her with a little more respect.

  But Jameson suspected his fantasies were the tip of the iceberg.

  6

  Kennedy

  For the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to get out of bed when my alarm sounded. I wanted to roll over and enjoy the rest of my dream. But I knew if I’d hit snooze, I’d continue to do it five more times and I had work to do.

  Besides, what was the chance I’d fall back into the same dream? Luckily, in my dream, Jameson had already done all the good stuff. When the buzzing started, my Dream Jameson was cuddling me close after he’d given me multiple, really great orgasms.

  Unfortunately, it was a dream in every way. In my limited experience there was no such thing as multiple orgasms. Actually, there was no such thing as an orgasm being the result of sex, period. But in my dream, Jameson had indeed made me quiver and shake and scream his name. That was another myth about sex, the screaming. No one actually shouted during sex. Nothing felt that good. But holy hell, in my dream Jameson had been taking me so hard from behind, hitting all the right spots, I was crying out and doing it loudly.

  Too bad that particular fantasy would never come true.

  There was no way the man had any interest in me other than helping me with Reggie Coleman.

  He was crystal clear about that last night when he was leaving. He couldn’t have avoided making any sort of contact with me if he’d tried. Well, he could’ve if he’d left through the back door while I was holding open the front.

  When he’d asked me why I was acting shy, I was shocked he’d called me out. Most people wouldn’t notice, and if they had, they certainly wouldn’t have asked about it. But not Jameson, no, he asked about everything. I’d rather poke my eyeballs out with toothpicks than tell him I was thinking what it would be like if he’d leaned down and kissed me goodnight.

  Today I had to face him again, and after seeing Dream Jameson naked, I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that and not turn a shade of red.

  I looked down at my watch and decided it was time to go in and wash up. Jameson would be here any minute and I’d been out in my yard for the last five hours and I was a sweaty mess. I had enough vegetables to take to the market this week and cover the orders I already had for the local restaurants who purchased from me. I’d spend the rest of the day washing and boxing everything up so tomorrow I could jar the honey I’d collected yesterday.

  I was carrying the last crate to my back porch when a shiny, red Ram pickup pulled up my lane and my temper spiked. Jameson did not drive a Ram, he drove a Tundra. And his wasn’t flashy red, waxed to a high-gloss shine. No, Jameson’s was a man’s truck. It was metallic gray, with a blacked-out grill and rims. It looked tough, like the man who drove it. The interior was much cleaner than mine, but his was still a workhorse, not as a way to compensate for a potbelly and low testosterone.

  Reggie hefted himself out of his truck and started toward my house. I cut him off before he could reach my newly laid brick walkway.

  “Get off my property,” I snapped.

  “You should take my deal,” Reggie returned.

  “I told you no.”

  “Now, listen here, Kennedy, a smart girl like you—”

  “Get. Off. My. Land,” I cut off his condescending speech.

  I’d heard it before and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it again.

  The sound of tires eating up the gravel driveway caught my attention and I wasn’t sure if I was ecstatic Jameson was there, or if I was twice as pissed at Reggie that I hadn’t had time to wash up and Jameson was going to be treated to me looking like I worked in a field all day. Which I had, but I still didn’t want Jameson to see the dirt on my hands and I was sure I stunk to the heavens.

  “This is the last time I’m gonna make you an offer,” he stated.

  “Great.”

  “I don’t think you’re understanding me. I won’t be offering—”

  “What won’t you be offering?” Jameson asked, entering the conversation.

  Reggie took a step back, probably thinking he had more time to threaten me before Jameson was in earshot.

  “Private business matter. None of your concern, son.”

  Jameson’s eyes narrowed on Reggie and I had a feeling that was the wrong thing to say. Jameson towered over Reggie by a lot—he was not a tall man. And the size difference was tremendous. Where Jameson was a big wall of muscle, Reggie was a short stack of hotcakes with puddling in between the layers.

  “I’m thinking any business that relates to Kennedy is my concern.”

  “I don’t—”

  “What’d he say to you this time?” Jameson asked me, interrupting Reggie’s rebuttal.

  “Oh, the usual. If I was a smart girl, I’d take his offer. Then he told me this would be the last time he makes an offer. You interrupted him before he could get to the good part.”

  Jameson’s lips twitched, not missing my mocking tone.

  “Yeah? What’s the good part?”

  “Well, he normally spouts off about how when times get hard, I’ll have no choice but to sell. Then he tells me his offer won’t be as high. Then sometimes he explains that the cost of taking care of my mother is going to wear me down and when it does he’ll only offer me half of his current offer, so I should give it to him now. And I would be giving it to him at the price he wants to buy at. He likes to come at me with all sorts of shit. But this is the first time I’m going to explain to him that if he comes onto my la
nd one more time, he’ll be met in the driveway with my shotgun.”

  I turned from Jameson to look at a red-faced Reggie and announced, “I’ve asked you to leave. You’re trespassing. So I’m gonna tell you one more time, I’m not selling. Not today, not ever. Now, I’m going in this house, I’m going to my safe, and I’m getting my gun. If you’re still out here when I get back, I’m shooting.”

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot me,” Reggie told me with a broad smile.

  Smug bastard.

  “You willing to take that chance? Because I’m telling you right now, your pretty red truck’s gonna get the first taste of my buckshot. After that, we’ll see.”

  I turned and walked around to the back of my house. I didn’t wait to see what Jameson was doing. I didn’t wait to hear if either man had something to say about my promise of brandishing a weapon. I marched into my house, went straight into my mudroom where my safe was at, spun the dial, opened the heavy metal door, and pulled out my favorite Remington Model 870. It was my dad’s and had been passed down to me.

  I remembered as a kid Dad teaching me how to shoot this gun. I also remembered him teaching me never to aim it at something I didn’t intend to shoot. He also told me never to kill an animal I didn’t intend to eat unless it was threatening something I loved or trying to kill our livestock.

  I wondered what my daddy would think about me shooting Reggie Coleman’s truck. Knowing my dad, he’d be proud. Reggie was a nasty pig and he was threatening something I loved—what was left of my dad’s farm.

  He wouldn’t get it. Not ever. I’d told Reggie once and I’d meant it, over my dead body, he’d take this land.

  “Whoa there, Annie Oakley.” Jameson appeared.

  “He gone?”

  “Yep. I think you promisin’ to shoot that fancy-assed truck ‘a his did it.”

  “It would. He loves that damn thing. Never seen a speck of mud on it. Bet he carries one of those shammy towels with him, in case he gets caught in the rain.”

  Jameson studied me for a moment and his eyes flicked to the shotgun in my hand before he looked back at me and smiled.