Dad’s answer had been Jack-the-jolly-jigger.
“Since you can’t read music, Jack here will be your instrument,” Dad said as he held up the long stick with a wooden man attached on the end. Jack had jointed arms, legs and knees that swiveled, swung and bent with the slightest movement of the stick.
My dad sat in a chair with a long, thin piece of wood three inches wide underneath him. Holding Jack so his legs hovered on the end of the flexible “plank”, Dad nodded to an old tape player he’d set on the table. “Turn the music on and I’ll show you how Jack works.”
I was doubtful, but pushed the play button. When the folk music began to play, Dad hit the board between his legs and as the wood vibrated and bounced, he lifted Jack up and down with the stick, making the ends of Jack’s feet tap the board to the beat of the music.
Dad had made it look so easy. Which I found, it wasn’t. I was little, but I was determined. After six months, I’d graduated to an Irish tape I’d found at a neighborhood garage sale. I’d hoped the Celtic drums would help me find the right beat so I could get the hang of Jack (instead of wanting to strangle the wooden jigger). But I never could get the right balance between tapping the board and lifting Jack’s feet up and down.
I only remembered a couple pre-Dad-leaving events with my father. Helping him sand the headboard was one and Jack-the-jolly-jigger was the other. I hadn’t tried to play Jack and the old tape in years. Yet, Ethan sat there on my desk chair, making Jack tap out difficult steps on the bouncing board in perfect cadence to the Irish music.
“I can’t believe you’re making Jack dance a jig,” I finally said.
Glancing up, Ethan smiled. “I hope you don’t mind. This is great. I’ve never seen one of these before.”
Never seen one? How could he play it so easily then? Trying not to feel totally inept, I clasped my comb tight and walked into the room, confessing, “I’ve never been able to get him to dance like that.”
Ethan tapped the board a couple times and Jack’s loose legs clicked out a beat. “It kind of drew my attention so I picked it up. Once I started messing and playing with ways to turn it, make it jump and such, the rest came to me. It’s not that hard to learn. Want me to show you?”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing my pride that he’d figured out in mere minutes what I never could.
Ethan hopped up and held the board for me to sit on it. Once I was settled in the chair, he knelt beside me and said, “You hit the board and I’ll hold the guy.”
While the music played on, I tapped and Ethan made Jack dance. I watched him flick his wrist and tried to track how he moved the wooden man.
When a new song started, Ethan handed me the stick. “Your turn. I’ll tap the board and you hold Jack.”
Nodding, I took the stick and tried to mimic Ethan’s earlier movements as he tapped the board. I did better than I had in the past, but nowhere near the smooth sounds Ethan had tapped out.
“It’s all about timing,” Ethan said, reaching for my stick hand.
His hand was warm and my heart ramped when his fingers folded completely around mine. I loved being close to him like this, sharing something fun. “Watch. It’s like this,” he said in a patient voice.
After several more tries, with Ethan guiding my hand and tapping the board, I was able to make Jack dance to the beat. Laughing as Jack’s arms spun and he kicked up a fun jig, I said, “You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to make this stupid toy dance.”
The tape ended and silence filled the room. Ethan’s blue eyes locked with mine. “Well, now you can. Whenever you want.”
I smiled. “Thanks for the pointers.”
Once I’d moved Jack, the board, and my dad’s old tape recorder back against the wall, Ethan asked, “When am I going to meet your mom?”
When I turned, he was sitting on my bed, holding my hot pink throw pillow (the only project I’d finished, since I could complete it in one day). “Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll come home early one day.” Whoa, that had sounded more sarcastic than I’d meant. Clearing my throat, I grabbed my wide-toothed comb from my desktop. “I’d like to meet Samson, too,” I said as I sat down beside him, then ran the comb through my damp hair.
“He’d like you.” Tossing the pillow, Ethan tugged the comb from my hand and twirled his finger in a circle, telling me to turn around.
Facing away from him, I leaned on my hands and tilted my head back, closing my eyes as he combed the tangles from my hair. “That feels so good,” I sighed, enjoying every single stroke. “I could sit here all day.”
Ethan’s fingers replaced the comb, making me tingle all over. I hmm’d my approval, loving the intimacy of his fingers sliding through my hair instead of the hard plastic.
When his lips pressed against the small scar near my hairline, my heart leapt and every muscle in my body tensed. My eyes flew open and I stared at him upside down as he peered down at me.
“Did you get this scar playing soccer?” he asked, his hands cupping my face.
I’d always been a little self-conscious about the scar, but when Ethan asked, I only heard curiosity, not disgust. “I don’t remember really. I was little when it happened.”
His thumbs stroked my cheekbones as he kissed my scar again, and then pressed his lips to the space between my eyes before kissing the tip of my nose. Every touch, every movement was slow, tender…reverent. My heart raced when his warm lips met mine, his plump lower lip pulling gently on my upper one.
My fingers crushed the bedspread as I pushed on the bed, kissing him back. When he slid his mouth to my jaw, I quickly turned and faced him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. Ethan grasped my waist and tugged me close, murmuring my name.
As his lips pressed against mine, every part of me centered on him. I slid my hand across his jaw, enjoying the sensation of his five-o-clock scruff scratching my palms as he lowered us to the bed. I dug my fingers into his neck, pulling him close. Ethan pressed against my mouth, rolling me underneath him with a swift fierceness that made every nerve ending under my skin jump and tingle. The electric feeling had nothing to do with the unending static that permeated my sheets and covers.
“You even taste like sunshine.” Static popped as he nipped at my bottom lip. Ethan jumped and when I started to apologize, he pressed his lips to mine once more. This kiss was harder and edged with a rough intensity.
Blood pumped through my veins. I savored the feel of his chest and weight crushing me, the slide of his hand along the curve of my butt. When his grip on my thigh tightened and he pulled my leg around his hip, locking us together perfectly, excitement thrummed through me.
Ethan paused, his body tensing. “Did you hear the garage door?”
I glanced at my clock. Five-twenty-five glowed back at me. “Crap. Of all times…that’s my mom.” I jumped up and straightened my sweater. “A couple times a month she leaves early to do grocery shopping.” Waving him on, I said, “Go wait in the living room. I’ll be right out.”
As I finger-combed my messy hair, I heard the rumble of voices in the kitchen. My lips looked slightly swollen and my cheeks were rosier than normal, so I quickly brushed on some powder and dabbed on lip gloss. Hopefully the makeup would explain my perky look.
I paused in the kitchen doorway when I saw Ethan helping Mom with the grocery bags from the garage. “Hi, Mom, I see you met Ethan.”
Mom set two bags on the counter and glanced at Ethan, who was carrying a couple bags. “Yes, I did. He says you two are working on a History paper together.”
“I really hope you got some more dryer sheets. The last ones you bought were awful.” I grabbed one of the bags from Ethan. “Yeah, we’re doing a paper on Superstitions and War and plan to check out CVU’s library for resource material.”
Mom heaved a sigh. “I guess I’ll just save you leftovers.”
I paused pulling out the new box of dryer sheets. “You were going to cook?”
She cast an embarrassed glance towa
rd Ethan. “My cooking’s not that bad, Inara.”
“I meant…you usually bring dinner home or order out. Were you going to make spaghetti?”
“Yes.”
I glanced at Ethan, silently seeking his understanding.
When he nodded, I smiled. “Then Ethan and I will make the salad. We’ll head to the library later.”
After dinner, while Ethan was in the bathroom, Mom took the pan I’d just dried and put it away. Turning, she held her hand out for the cookie sheet I was almost done drying and said in a casual tone, “That’s an interesting tattoo your friend has.”
Nothing with my mom was casual, yet I was surprised she’d seen Ethan’s tattoo. Then I remembered he’d pushed up his sleeves to help wash the dishes. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t looked while I had a chance. He’d kept his sleeves down at the shelter—we all did—to protect against scratches. “What tattoo?” I said innocently, handing her the cookie sheet.
Mom visibly relaxed. “You haven’t seen it?” She slid the pan into the cupboard and glanced my way. “He has a dragon tattoo on his arm. I’m not much for body art, but that one was tastefully done with the dark outline and muted coloring. I just hope he doesn’t have them all over his body.”
Was she fishing about my sex life by asking about the tattoo? Mom never asked direct questions about personal stuff. I stiffened, resenting it. It’s not like she was around enough to know one way or the other. Regardless, I was glad I was already on the pill to regulate my period. That way she wouldn’t do something embarrassing like make a doctor appointment for me with the excuse it was time for my annual exam. “A dragon tattoo, huh? That’s kind of interesting.”
We heard Ethan coming back down the hall and she leaned close, whispering, “I like him. He seems like a nice boy.”
Her approval made me happy and my earlier resentment faded. I beamed as I swiped the towel inside the salad bowl. “He’s great. I’m glad you like him.”
Clasping the wooden bowl I handed her, she murmured, “Just don’t let him break your heart.”
Chapter Sixteen
“That makes six,” I said, tucking the thick history book into my backpack.
As I started to heave my nearly full backpack onto my shoulder, Ethan grasped the strap and took it from me, hoisting it onto his shoulder instead. “Six is probably enough.”
“Oh, no. You insisted on looking up all twelve. We’ve gone through ten. Might as well check out the last two.”
“We started later than we’d planned.” Ethan shrugged. “I think a half dozen will do it.”
“Going home to an empty house is how you want to spend the rest of your night?”
“We can always go back to my house and start taking notes on the books we have.”
The longer we’d stayed at the library, the more on edge Ethan seemed. I squinted at him. “You don’t like libraries much, do you?”
Leaning close, he kissed my nose. “We’re not alone here.”
“Shhhhh.” An older man glared at us from a side table.
Ethan’s comment made me tingle all the way to my toes, but I felt we needed at least one more resource since our subject was so unusual. Snickering, I tugged him along behind me as I headed for the elevator. “Come on. We’ll just go up the stack to the periodical room, check it out, and then we’ll leave.”
The stack elevator moved so slowly we could’ve taken the stairs and gotten there faster. It was stuffy and small, holding four people max. I breathed through my nose, taking in as much air as possible as the elevator squeaked and moaned its way up to the eighth floor. Housing old resource material that was rarely used, the stacks felt like a separate world that was cut off from the main library.
The lights popped on the moment we stepped into a room no larger than twenty by twenty. Tall shelving featured bound periodicals that dated back f-o-r-e-v-e-r.
Our shoes slid across the dust on the hard floor. “Guess the eighth floor’s rarely used, huh?” I said in a whisper, not at all sure why I was whispering. No librarians were up here to tell us to keep our voices down. The place was a tomb. The room was so packed that the shelves started two feet out from the elevator, creating the same claustrophobic feeling I’d experienced on the way up.
Ethan pulled the piece of paper with the info we needed from his back pocket. Glancing up, he said, “We need to check out ‘open aisle’, shelf three for the article we’re looking for.”
I started forward, but Ethan quickly wrapped his arm around my waist and walked us around the stack.
I loved being close to him, but I figured we’d find what we were looking for faster if we split up. I started to step away, but he grasped my hand in a tight hold and frowned. “Stay close.”
The florescent lights above us buzzed as I glanced back at him, surprised by the sharpness in his comment. “Um, sure.”
Pointing to a sign taped on a tall bookshelf that sat halfway down the main open aisle—duh—I said, “Here it is,” and quickly squatted to knee-level to find shelf number three. I had to tug several times to pull the extra tall, three-inch black binder out.
When Ethan stepped beside me, but didn’t comment on my battle to free the binder, I looked up, expecting to see amusement on his face. Instead, he was standing with his hand on the edge of a square metal bin sitting three shelves above me. “What are you doing?”
Shoving the bin until it clanked against the shelving’s metal back, he kept his hand on the edge of the shelf. “You were tugging so hard, the bookcase shook. I wanted to make sure the bin didn’t fall.”
My gaze shot to the bin with its sharp edges and pointy corners. I winced, thinking how much that would’ve hurt. “Thanks for paying attention…” I trailed off when a creak behind the bin drew my attention. Through the bookcase’s open back, I saw the bookcase behind it tilting forward, bins and binders tumbling out.
Clutching the binder, I gasped, “Watch out! Another bookshelf’s falling—”
I heard Ethan yelling and my brain said move, but my body was locked in place as a vivid childhood memory—of a towering dark bookcase packed with books leaning toward me—slammed into my mind.
I held onto a lower shelf and stood on my toes, trying to reach a toy my mom had purposefully placed out of my reach on the tall bookcase—my punishment for banging it on the brand new coffee table. When the bookcase began to tilt and books began to shower down around me, I screamed but was so scared I couldn’t move. A man’s voice called my name and I glanced up in time to see a wooden globe bookend slide off the edge of the shelf, heading straight for me.
Pain shot through my back and chest, yanking me back to the present. Ethan laid on top of me. We were pinned to the floor under the weight of two heavy bookcases, the thick binder wedged between us.
I coughed and gasped, trying to recover from having the wind knocked out of me.
“Are you okay?” Ethan grunted.
I tried to inhale. “Can’t breathe.”
He’d put one arm around my head to protect me from the falling periodical binders and his other arm was behind his own head. “Me either,” he croaked, then grunted as he worked to free his arm trapped by the heavy bookcase.
Once his arm was free, he pushed a binder out of the way, then flattened his hands on the floor on either side of me. “As soon as I say, ‘Go’, slide out from under me and get clear of the shelving. Got it?”
I was so lightheaded all I could do was nod.
Setting his jaw, Ethan pressed his shoulders against the shelving at the same time he pushed his hands against the floor. The shelving creaked as Ethan’s improvised push-up lifted it a couple inches off of us. “Now,” he gritted out.
My chest ached, but I slid myself backward along the floor as fast as I could.
The moment my feet were free, Ethan’s arms collapsed, sending him and the heavy metal shelves back to the floor.
“Ethan!”
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed the top of the bookshelf, then pulled
upward, using every muscle in my body.
When the bookcase began to lift, I heard Ethan take a gasp of breath. “Just a little more.”
But the weight of the second shelf was too much. “It’s too heavy I can’t move it any more!”
Ethan grunted and my fingers began to ache as I frantically looked around for something to take some of the weight. Against a far wall, I saw a low stepstool sitting next to a rolling book cart. “I have to put it back down for a sec. I think I can use that stool for leverage.”
As soon as I lowered the shelf down, I ran to get the step stool. Setting it near the lowest part of the shelf, I said, “When I lift, pull the stool under the shelf. Got it?”
“Hurry,” he wheezed.
Grabbing the edge of the shelf again, I lifted it as high as I could, then said, “Now!”
The stool slid, jamming under the metal shelving’s edge.
As some of the weight shifted off my hands, I bent my knees lower and strained harder, lifting the shelf another inch.
Ethan crawled out, sucking in lungfuls of air.
Releasing the shelving, I moved to his side. For a couple of seconds we stared in silence at the two bookcases and the mess on the floor underneath it.
“What happened?” I finally spoke.
Pushing my backpack off his shoulders, Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at me, concern in his gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Are you?”
“I’m good,” he said and lowered his hand to his side.
A streak of blood was smeared across his palm. “You’re hurt,” I said, turning his shoulder to see.
Something, probably one of the binders, had nicked the back of his neck. “I’m fine,” he said, pushing his collar against the cut to stop the bleeding.
Still reeling, I stared at the mess and exhaled quickly. My back ached a little. “Did you tackle me?”
Grimacing, he stared at the bashed in metal bin poking up through the open backside of the bookshelf, magazines scattered all around it. “Sorry. That bin would’ve fallen on you first if I hadn’t pushed you out of the way. Why didn’t you move? It’s like you were in a trance or something.”
Dark Roses: Eight Paranormal Romance Novels Page 74
