Calamity Jena

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  He opened the fridge, peered inside then turned to her in disgust. “One egg and a handful of mushrooms?” He stretched up to his full height, which had to be way past six foot, because, at five foot four, Jena felt dwarfed in his presence.

  He folded his arms over his black T-shirt, making his muscles bulge, and for the first time in memory, Jena was distracted from her Pop-Tarts. Her mouth watered. There was actually something out there that was more enticing than a warm chocolate tart.

  “What do you normally eat?” he demanded, breaking the spell his muscles had cast on her.

  Jena pointed to the empty plate in front of her, while wondering if there was an IQ test to become a cop. Had he passed?

  “I don’t understand how you manage to look the way you do,” he said. “The problems must be hidden under the skin. You’re probably a walking time bomb for diabetes and heart disease.”

  “Well, thanks for that cheery thought.” She stuffed the last of the Pop-Tart into her mouth.

  “While I’m here, I’ll take care of the food. There’s no way I’m living on those.” He pointed at the empty plate in disgust.

  “Nobody put a gun to your head and forced you to eat it.”

  Matt frowned, reached into the back of his jeans and came out with his phone. Still glaring at Jena, he dialled.

  “Dougal, can you find someone to bring a couple of meals to Jena’s place?” A pause. “That would be great. There’s nothing to eat here.” Another pause. “Oh, you heard. Yeah, we’ll be needing breakfast as well. I’ll go shopping tomorrow and stock up. Thanks Dougal.” With a swipe of his thumb, he ended the call.

  Jena noted that he didn’t even identify himself or say goodbye. Typical macho-man phone etiquette. Emily Post would turn in her grave.

  4

  Matt hated being idle, so he killed time waiting for food to arrive by stripping paper off the kitchen wall. Jena had disappeared into her bedroom to do who knew what, and Matt was stuck in the kitchen alone. He hadn’t seen the rest of the house and was too afraid to look. Who knew what he’d discover? Plus he wanted to put off finding out where he’d be sleeping. He feared he’d find a bare mattress in a room with holes in the walls. Memories of policing derelict houses full of druggies in Glasgow filled his mind. He never thought he’d be sleeping in the same conditions.

  He didn’t know how Jena lived in this mess. Part of him wanted to pick her up and carry her off to his house. He might live in the ugliest house in Invertary, but at least it was in one piece.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Matt turned to find Jena behind him, hands on hips, tapping the toe of her ridiculous shoe on the old linoleum. “I’m sorry, did you want to keep this on the walls?” He couldn’t have stopped the sarcasm even if he’d tried—which he didn’t.

  She speared him with a cute little glare. “No, but this isn’t the room I’m working on next. You’re messing with my plan. This room isn’t a priority.”

  Matt felt his brain go momentarily fuzzy. “How can the kitchen not be a priority? You cook here. You spend most of your time in here. You store your food here. It should have been the first room you worked on.”

  “I don’t need the kitchen. I toast Pop-Tarts or bake an egg. I don’t live in here. I live in my bedroom. Or now that the living room’s finished, I spend time in there.”

  “You did your bedroom first. That’s insane. Everybody knows you renovate the kitchen and bathroom first.”

  She stomped over to him and poked his chest. “Excuse me, but last time I checked this wasn’t your house. I can start wherever I like. And I wanted a bedroom I could sleep in.”

  “Women.” He threw up his hands in disgust.

  “You did not just say that.” Jena’s jaw dropped in horror.

  “Trust me,” Matt said before turning back to stripping the wall, “I have two sisters. I know all about the fickle workings of the female mind.”

  “Are you for real?” As she opened her mouth, to no doubt berate him, there was banging at the front door.

  “Food. Great.” Matt strode past her and down the hall to the front door. As soon as he opened it, he regretted it. “Oh, hell no.”

  “Hey, Don Don. Where’s your girlfriend? We want to meet her.” His younger sister Claire thrust a bag full of hot food at him before pushing past into the house.

  “Does Mum know you’re shacking up with someone?” Megan, Claire’s twin, asked as she followed her sister.

  “Get out,” Matt ordered them. “Couldn’t Dougal find anyone else to deliver the food?”

  They gave him identical grins, each equally wicked. “We volunteered. Where is she?”

  “What were you doing in the pub anyway?” He stomped down the hall after them.

  They turned to him in unison. “We’re twenty-two, Don Don, not kids anymore. Don’t you just hate it?”

  Aye, he bloody well did. He growled at them and they laughed.

  Jena chose that moment to appear in the kitchen doorway. She was obviously still fuming. Her eyes went wide when she spotted his sisters. Most people had the same reaction. They were tall, blonde and beautiful. Unfortunately they were also evil. When they were six, they’d declared that their mission in life was to drive him mad. So far they were right on target.

  “You must be Jena.” Claire held out her hand. Jena took it, looking a little bewildered. “We’ve seen you around now and then, but haven’t managed to say hello. Sorry about that. I’m Claire, Matt’s sister. That’s Megan. We came to rescue you. We figured that seeing you’d been alone with Don Don for an hour now, you’d probably need rescuing. Am I right? I am. I know. You don’t need to confirm it.”

  Jena looked a little stunned before laughing loudly. The sound did strange things to Matt’s stomach, which he immediately attributed to hunger. With a grumble, he barrelled past the women and into the kitchen.

  “Jena, come eat. You can’t live on cardboard.”

  “Oh my sainted aunt, what crawled up his bum?” he heard Megan say.

  “I think it was a Pop-Tart,” Jena said, and the three women laughed.

  With a frown, Matt dug out the meal Dougal had sent over. Beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and baby veg. Nothing fancy, but beautifully cooked and no doubt delicious. The chef at The Scottie Dog knew what he was doing. Matt had checked him out the minute he’d arrived in town. It took a lot to impress Matt where food was concerned. He took his stomach very seriously, and the guy at the pub could be trusted.

  “Jena,” he shouted. “The food is getting cold.”

  He heard more laughter and knew his sisters were filling Jena’s head with rubbish. It was their gift. One of them. Along with driving him insane, getting into trouble and attracting unsuitable men.

  The moment the three women walked into the room, Matt knew Jena had sided with the twins. It was to be expected. Women always stuck together.

  He dished out food for Jena and pointed at the table. He was actually surprised when she did as she was told. Matt sat at his spot and dug in. Experience told him that the best reaction to his sisters’ interference was to ignore it. Sometimes it even worked.

  “What’s the story with you and Don Don?” Claire asked with an evil glint in her eye.

  “Why do you call him Don Don?” Jena at least was eating. For some reason, Matt felt relieved that she was getting some decent food in her. A person could not live on sugar-coated card.

  Claire gave him a mischievous smile. “Didn’t big brother tell you?”

  Matt knew better than to rise to the bait.

  “It’s his name,” Megan said. “Donald Matthew Donaldson. Don Don.”

  Jena started to laugh and covered her mouth with her hand. Her look was pure pity. “Oh, you poor soul. Your parents must have hated you.”

  He frowned. “It’s a family name.”

  “We called him ding don when we were kids. He didn’t like it,” Claire said helpfully.

  “He didn’t like being called ding-a-ling
either, but we thought it was hilarious,” Megan added.

  From their laughter, they still thought it was pretty funny.

  Claire wiped her eyes. “You were going to tell us how long you’ve been dating Matt. We didn’t even know he was seeing someone, let alone living with them.” She looked around. “I don’t know how he can stay here without having a breakdown.”

  “Yep, this place is his worst nightmare,” Megan added. “He’s totally OCD. The mess must be driving him nuts.”

  “Sitting right here,” Matt reminded them, but was ignored.

  “He must like you a lot,” Claire said. “So spill. Details.”

  Jena seemed caught between amusement and fear. He saw that look a lot where his sisters were concerned. She opened her mouth to answer, but Matt decided to save her before she got in deeper with his crazy siblings.

  “She’s not a girlfriend. She’s work.”

  The women gasped. “That’s a horrible thing to say.” Claire smacked him on the back of the head.

  He rubbed the spot. “I mean I’m here to protect her. I’m not dating her. I’m her bodyguard.”

  “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” Megan waggled her eyebrows at him.

  Matt pointed his knife at her. “Knock it off.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Or what? You’ll lock us up again? Been there, done that. Your threats don’t impress.”

  Jena’s eyes went wide. “Your brother locked you up?”

  “They deserved it,” Matt said.

  “It was terrible.” Megan laid it on a bit thick, even for her. “I was traumatised. I’m still seeing a counsellor about the whole experience. I doubt I’ll ever get over it.” She lowered her voice. “Especially my time getting to know Big Bertha, if you know what I mean.”

  Jena started to giggle. Matt looked to heaven for the strength not to throw his sisters back into Invertary station’s tiny jail.

  “They spent one night in a single cell, here in town. They broke into my house and filled it with rats,” Matt said. “The other night they spent in the same solitary cell was for dying Kitty Baxter’s sheep pink.”

  His sisters grinned at each other—no remorse there. Jena looked bewildered.

  “There was no Big Bertha,” Matt said. “And the only member of this family getting therapy is me—for dealing with them.”

  Claire smacked him on the back of the head again. “That’s just mean.”

  He pointed his fork at her. “Do that one more time and I’m locking you up for assaulting an officer.”

  “Killjoy,” Claire grumbled.

  “So, is it true? Is he guarding your body? Does that involve getting naked?” Megan said.

  “Gross,” Claire said. “You’re talking about Don Don. Remember, we have a deal. We never use the words naked and Don Don together in the same sentence.”

  “Technically, I didn’t,” Megan said.

  Jena held up her hands. “Nobody is getting naked. My ex is in town and I don’t want to deal with him.” She lowered her voice. “He’s connected to the mob. Matt is watching out for me.” She smiled at him. “It’s very sweet of him, even if he has been rude about my food and taken it upon himself to peel off my kitchen wallpaper.”

  The twins glanced around the room. “That might be a good thing,” Claire muttered.

  Matt wanted to add an amen, but kept his mouth shut.

  “The mob?” It worried Matt that Megan sounded more intrigued than afraid. “What on earth were you doing with a mobster?”

  For the first time in this ludicrous conversation, Matt was actually interested in what they had to say.

  Jena let out a heavy sigh. She seemed to be searching for the right words. “When I met Frank, he wasn’t involved with the mob. He was a bit of a hustler, sure, but he was charming and kind.” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “He treated me well. Was really attentive, know what I mean?”

  The twins nodded and Matt frowned. Jena’s love-struck look made him want to beat Frank Di Marco to a bloody pulp.

  “After a while,” Jena said, “his constant get-rich-quick schemes began to grate. I was forever bailing him out of trouble. He was forever promising that his big break was around the corner. He was obsessed with ‘keeping me in the kind of lifestyle I deserved’. His words. Not mine. I don’t care about that stuff. I think it was an excuse. He had a lifestyle in mind that he wanted. Badly. I didn’t realise how much until it was too late. One day he came home, said he was now the proud owner of a strip club. He was real cagey about where he got the money to buy it. Next thing I knew, he was dressing like a pimp and spending time with Vince Rizzoni.”

  “Who?” Megan said.

  “Bad news, honey, bad, bad news.” Jena shook her head sadly, and Matt had an overwhelming urge to pull her into his lap and comfort her. He told himself to snap out of it. She was a job. That was all. He didn’t need the hassle that followed Jena Morgan like a cloud wherever she went. Nope, he had plans that involved a proper police job, far away from Invertary.

  “Over the last year we were together, Frank changed. He became arrogant. Entitled. Kept talking about his reputation. Had whispered conversations with guys with no necks, if you know what I mean.”

  Claire nodded. “Bodybuilders.”

  Matt looked at the ceiling and bit his tongue to stop from laughing. Jena stared at his sister for a beat.

  “No, honey, mob enforcers. Goons. Hard men. Criminals.”

  “Oh.” Claire turned pink, and Matt wanted to ruffle her hair. He was glad his sisters didn’t know about men like that. Damn glad.

  “What happened?” Megan said. “What made you leave?” She lowered her voice. “Did he turn into a hard man too?”

  “Worse,” Jena said. “He started auditioning the women in his club.”

  The girls shared a confused look.

  “On their backs,” Jena clarified. “He was having sex with the strippers. I caught him with one of them. And that was it. I sold our gear to make up for the years I’d poured money into him, and his schemes, and I bought this place.” She grinned. “Bad story over. New beginning in Scotland.”

  “Is he here to get his money back?” Claire said.

  “I don’t know why he’s here.” Jena looked at Matt. “If he’s looking for money, there’s none to get.”

  “Do you think he’s come to rub you out?” Claire said. “That’s the right way to put it, isn’t it?”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Okay, enough of this. Thanks for bringing the food over. Time for you two to go home.”

  They made the same disgruntled whines they’d made as kids when he was left babysitting them and had to put them to bed. It made him grin.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Megan promised Jena.

  Matt herded the women out of the house.

  “Leave Jena alone,” he told them when they were outside the door. “She’s got enough on her plate.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be any trouble at all.” Megan batted her eyelashes at him in an attempt to look innocent. Yeah, like that would work.

  “If I believe that, then I also believe in Santa.”

  “You mean he’s not real?” Claire held her cheeks in shock.

  “Get out of here.” Matt shooed them away. “And don’t forget to visit Dad this week. Mum says he’s having some better days.”

  A sad look passed over them. “We’re going tomorrow,” Claire said.

  “Good.”

  They turned to face their car. “Love you, Mattie,” they both sang at the same time.

  He found himself grinning when he went back into Jena’s house.

  5

  Jena was washing dishes when Matt came back into the kitchen. She knew he was there because the air tingled, sending shivers up her spine. She glanced at him, wondering for the millionth time what she’d gotten herself into.

  His black shirt was pulled tight over muscle. His jeans sat low on his hips and clung to thick thighs. Black hair, usually short a
nd neat, looked like he’d ran his fingers through it. He had one of those square jaws you usually only found chiselled on marble sculptures—or on underwear models. Deep-set blue eyes made him appear continuously broody. Even if the guy had been a total airhead, the eyes would have made it look like he was thinking hard.

  “Where am I sleeping?” That deep brogue of his made her mouth water.

  “I’ll show you.” She dried her hands on a purple dishtowel.

  She manoeuvred past him and into the hall, aware that he was close behind her. She pushed open the heavy wooden door to the living room. She’d stripped about twenty layers of paint off it by hand—and felt every single minute of the work. It’d cost her a manicure, but it was worth it every time she ran her hand over the warm surface.

  “The couch pulls out into a bed. It’s not very big, but you’ll be fine for the night.”

  Abby had given her the couch. It had originally been grey, but Jena had made a cover for it from a vibrant blue chunky cord material she’d found on sale at Kirsty’s mum’s shop. There was also an oversized beanbag made from a paisley patterned material in pinks, blues and purples. Apart from that, the only other furniture in the room was a tiny end table she’d found in a skip and sanded to perfection, before painting it the same shade of pink that was in the beanbag. There was a silver standing lamp beside the couch and a small silver TV fixed to the wall above the fireplace. Jena had like the simple lines of the fireplace, but had painted it white to freshen it up. The part that would house a fire had long since been boarded up, so she’d placed a vase of flowers in the space. Pink and purple ones Abby had let her pick from her garden. She’d made the floor-length curtains out of the same material as the beanbag and painted the walls a lovely shade of lavender, and the trim white. Overall the feeling was one of warmth and comfort.

  When she turned towards Matt, his eyes were wide with shock. “Who did this?” He motioned to the room.

  It took Jena a few seconds to realise he meant the décor. “I did.”