He slowly walked around the room, his steps echoing over her polished wooden floors. He ran a hand over the stripped and stained window ledge, before examining the lavender-coloured walls.
“You did a good job, Jena.”
She couldn’t help it—she felt her heart swell at the praise. “You sound surprised.”
He grinned at her. It was panty melting. “Yeah, I am. You don’t strike me as the DIY type.”
“I can learn. I had to.” She shrugged. Why did people always look at her and see a bimbo who was incapable of reading a book? “Besides, this room wasn’t too difficult. I just stripped everything in it. And years of making dance costumes means I’m a dab hand with a sewing machine.”
He frowned at her. “Don’t put yourself down. This is a lot of work. You didn’t just strip everything. You gave it a new lease of life. And you did a great job.”
Jena felt her cheeks burn. It was hard to look him in the eye. “Glad you appreciate it. This room happened before I ran out of money. You won’t see this again, so soak it up while you can.” She gave him a wide grin as he stared at her, as though assessing. “I’ll get the bedding.”
She turned, heading for the stairs and the only other room in the house that was finished—her bedroom. When she returned, Matt stood in front of the wide bay windows texting someone. A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched, piquing Jena’s curiosity.
“Trouble?” she asked.
There was a pause, as though he was unsure whether to answer or not. “My dad. He’s having a few good days. I need to make time to go see him.”
“Good days?”
His gaze turned to the darkened windows. “Alzheimer’s. Late stage.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything else. Eventually Jena felt uncomfortable waiting for him. “I’m going to head to bed. I need to get up early tomorrow. First day of work.” She flashed a nervous smile at his back, aware he could see her reflection in the window.
“I didn’t know you’d gotten a job.”
“It isn’t a proper job or anything. It’s at the hardware store, Gordon says I can work for supplies.”
“Sounds like a proper job to me.”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “I’m the in-house entertainment. He thinks my ignorance is funny.”
“That’s small-town living—you take your fun where you find it.”
For a minute Jena’s libido sabotaged her brain and she imagined having all sorts of fun with the sexy cop. She took a step back.
“Okay, I’m off to bed. Bathroom’s at the top of the stairs.” She gave him an apologetic look. “There’s no hot water. If you fancy a cold shower then be my guest. I’m saving for a new boiler.” She chewed her lip. “Or I would be saving for a new boiler if I had any money.”
His gaze zoomed in on her, reminding her that he wasn’t only a houseguest, he was a cop.
“If you’re working in exchange for building materials, what are you doing for money to live?”
Jena forced a smile. “Don’t worry, officer. I’m not doing anything illegal.”
Before he could ask any more questions, Jena ran for the stairs and headed to the sanctuary of her bedroom. The truth was that she wasn’t doing anything to earn money. She was living off what little savings she had left and selling the few bits and pieces of jewellery she’d brought with her. By her estimation she was about two weeks away from living without electricity and eating raw mushrooms from Abby’s farm three times a day. She hadn’t had any time to look for work, and her marketable skills were seriously limited. As far as she was aware, Invertary wasn’t in the market for a go-go girl.
For a second the stress of her life stole her breath. She lay on her bed and stared at the pristine white ceiling. Problems were stacking up and she had to fight not to drown in them. Her money was running out. Her house was falling down around her ears. Her ex was in town looking for payback. And there was a cop sleeping on her couch.
A very sexy cop.
She pulled the pillow over her face and screamed into it.
“If you’re going to kill yourself there are easier ways to do it,” came the droll voice from her doorway.
Jena shot up straight to find Matt grinning—she’d forgotten to shut her door. With a wink, he headed into the bathroom. As soon as she heard the door click behind him, Jena tiptoed over to her bedroom door and shut it quietly.
As she climbed back into bed, she wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment.
“Night, Jena,” Matt called as he passed. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep. Every little noise in this house echoes. Wouldn’t want to overhear any X-rated dreams you might have.”
Yep, Jena decided—you could die of embarrassment.
6
The twins were still laughing when they climbed into the ancient lime-green Mini Cooper they shared.
“I don't know who to feel sorry for more.” Megan angled the car out into the dark country road. “Matt for having to suffer Jena's pit of a house, or Jena for having to suffer Matt.”
“Jena, definitely.”
Megan took her eyes off the road long enough to turn to her sister and share a grin. When they turned back to the road, it was just in time to spot the horrified look on the face of a man running towards them. Megan yanked the wheel. The guy made a dive for the bushes. They felt, rather than heard, a loud thud. The two women screamed. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road.
“Did we hit him?” Megan's voice was barely audible.
“I don’t think so.” Claire's hands shook as she opened the car door. The front corner of the car was wedged against a tree stump. She let out a shaky breath. “We hit a tree.”
“I can’t see the guy,” Megan called.
“There!” Claire ran towards the black-clad body, which was lying on the grass verge against the hedge.
The twins fell to their knees beside the man. “Who is it?” Megan demanded. “What happened? I didn’t hit him. Why isn’t he moving?”
“I don't recognise him.” Claire reached over and put a trembling hand on his wide chest. Relief made her giddy. “He's breathing. I think he hit his head when he dove out of the way.”
That news jerked Megan out of her daze. “Good. That’s good. Not good he hit his head. Good we didn’t hit him and he’s still breathing. What do we do?”
“I don't know.”
He made a little groaning sound. Claire patted his chest, hoping her gentle touch would reassure him. Hard, corded muscles met her fingertips, making her suddenly aware that she was petting a very large, strange man.
“Can you hear me?” she said. “You've been in an accident.”
With a gentle groan, his head turned towards Claire, and the air was sucked out of her. Masculine. He was the definition of the word. His dark hair was cropped military short, and an old scar ran from his hairline over his temple to the curve of his cheek. His nose had been broken at some point and had healed slightly crooked. For a second Claire had the urge to trace the bump on the ridge. Full lips were the only soft feature in a harsh face. She stared at them and wondered briefly if they were as soft as they looked.
“What’s your name?” Megan’s voice snapped Claire’s attention away from her inappropriate thoughts.
His eyes didn’t open, but he mumbled a word: “Grunt.”
“No, honey, she asked your name.” Claire patted his chest. “Tell us your name.”
There was silence as the guy slid back into unconsciousness.
“Did he say Grunt?” Megan said.
“He’s totally out of it.” Claire studied the man in front of her. “We need an ambulance.”
“It could take an hour for the ambulance to get here from Fort William, maybe longer.”
Megan had a point.
“We could take him to Doctor Murray,” they said at the same time.
“Should we move him?” Megan said. “What if he's broken his neck?”
/> The man groaned softly. His eyes flickered open, unfocused and dark. He blinked, searching for something to rest on. His gaze hit Claire. His eyes softened.
“Angel.” His voice rough as gravel. He lifted a beefy arm. Slowly and awkwardly reaching for Claire. She gasped as he cupped her cheek. His huge palm felt rough against her skin and her body hummed with awareness. “Mine,” he growled.
The word came out strong, like a vow. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hand fell to the ground. Claire forced herself to breathe again.
“Well, that was weird,” Megan whispered.
“At least we know he isn't paralysed. We need to get him into the car.”
“Shouldn't you check him for injuries first? Make sure nothing is broken. Do some first aid.”
“Why me?” Claire said. “You check him.”
“You're a teacher; you have first-aid experience.”
“I'm a kindy teacher. We fix everything with Mickey Mouse Band-Aids and lollipops.”
“Just check the man. He could be bleeding to death while we argue.”
“Fine.” Gritting her teeth, Claire tentatively ran her fingers down his arms and legs, checking for breaks and blood. She found nothing except solid muscle and biceps that would make Dwayne Johnson weep with envy. “Go grab the flashlight so I can see if he’s bleeding anywhere.”
Her sister jumped up, and a minute later she was back with the flashlight in hand.
“Shine the light at his head.”
Claire was painfully aware of every movement, and sound, his body made. Her fingers felt something wet at the back of his head. She held up her hand. Blood. He groaned but didn’t gain consciousness. “Help me roll him onto his side. We need to stop the bleeding.”
“Yeah, we don't want blood all over the car,” Megan said.
“I was thinking more along the lines of the guy bleeding out and dying on us.”
“That too.”
“Do we have anything we can use to stop the bleeding? Do we have a first-aid kit in the car? We need to dress this wound. He’s bleeding a lot.”
“I think I have something. Be right back.” Megan ran for the car.
Claire caressed the man’s face. “It’s going to be okay. You hit your head. I don’t think anything else is damaged. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you.”
“Got something,” Megan called out breathlessly. She collapsed in the dirt beside them. “Here.” She thrust a box of tampons and a pair of red tartan tights at Claire.
Claire stared at them for a minute. “What the heck am I supposed to do with this?”
“They’re absorbent. Tie them to the wound with the tights, then voila, no more bleeding.”
Claire rubbed her temples.
“Have you got a better idea?” Megan demanded.
Unfortunately Claire didn’t, and the guy was still bleeding out in front of them. “Okay, hold them in place while I fix these to his head.” She pressed a row of tampons to the wound, then Megan held them to his head as Claire fixed them in place with the tartan tights. The tights wound around his head several times before she secured them by tying a bow on his forehead.
They leaned over him.
“Is he still bleeding?” Megan said.
“Shine the light here and I’ll check.” To her relief, there was no fresh blood. “We’re good. It’s stopped.”
She gently placed him back on the ground and stood. The women stared at him. From the neck down the guy was a badass wrestler for WWE. From the neck up he looked like a five-year-old had played doctor with him.
“The bow’s kind of cute,” Megan said. “Makes him look less intimidating. I’ll get the car.”
Megan reversed the car up beside Claire.
Claire looked at the huge man, then back to the tiny car. “I think he may be bigger than our car. We’ll never squeeze him in the back. We’ll have to put him in the passenger seat. His knees will be up around about his ears, but he won’t notice. Guess there’s an upside to being unconscious.”
Megan nodded, then pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go. They looked down at the unconscious man.
“We should probably have kept up those yoga classes,” Claire said. “This is going to take muscle that I just don’t have. You grab the feet; I’ll take the arms.”
Megan held his feet, which were clad in black running shoes. Claire grabbed hold of his hands, noticing how massive they were compared to hers. She looked at her sister. “On the count of three, we lift him and get him to the door. From there we can lever him up into the seat.”
“Got it.”
“One, two, three.”
They strained. They grunted. They pulled. He barely moved an inch. Red-faced and panting, they stared at each other.
“Is he made of frigging rock?” Megan said.
“Solid muscle. Trust me. I felt it.” Claire rubbed the back of her neck while she tried to think. “Come over here—we’ll take an arm each and drag him to the car.”
Megan rushed to her sister’s side.
“Ready? Go.”
They grunted and yanked him backwards, relieved when he moved. “Lift upwards,” Claire said. “We don’t want to bang his head again.”
“I am lifting up. He isn’t a man, he’s a frigging mountain.”
The guy’s head lolled but it didn’t hit the ground. Thankfully. About forty years later, they’d dragged him to the car door. Claire’s shoulder muscles were aching and she was trying not to pant. She definitely needed to spend more time getting fit and less time eating chocolate in front of the TV.
“Uh, Claire, should be do something about that?” Megan pointed down his body.
His shorts had been dragged down to his ankles—and he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Claire’s mind went blank.
“I think it’s best if we pretend we don’t notice,” she croaked.
“How can you miss it?” Megan pointed. “He’s perfectly proportioned for his huge, huge size.”
“Megan!” Claire elbowed her sister hard.
“Stop it.” Megan rubbed her side. “It’s not like I’m deliberately being a pervert. I didn’t take his shorts off.”
Claire chewed her lip. “We should probably pull them back up.” She elbowed her sister again. “You do it.”
“Nuh-uh. What if he wakes up and finds me messing with his clothes? What if he thinks I’m molesting him? You do it.”
“You’re the one who’s impressed by his package, you can be the one who gets a closer look at it.”
“Ha! I’m not the one who’s still staring at it.”
Claire snapped her gaze away, and her cheeks flushed. “There’s something glinting on it. I think we may have damaged him dragging him along like that.”
“We can’t have. His penis didn’t touch the ground.”
“There’s definitely something stuck to it. Go check it out.”
“You do it. I’m not studying his penis.”
“What if he’s injured?”
“He can stay injured. Let the doc check him out.”
“Bloody coward.” With a grumble, Claire walked to the guy’s middle. Her eyes popped. “He isn’t injured.” She pointed at him. “He’s pierced.”
“No way, let me see.” Megan rushed to stand beside her sister.
Claire rolled her eyes. “What happened to you not wanting to get up close and personal with his privates?”
“He’s pierced. I’ve never seen that before.”
The women stared at him. “That had to hurt,” Claire said. They winced.
The guy let out a moan. The women screamed, shot back from him and fell on their backsides. They froze, scared to move in case he woke up. He didn’t.
With a shaky sigh of relief, they scrambled to their feet.
“Maybe we should pull his shorts up now?” Megan said. She pointed at Claire. “You do it.”
Muttering about her cowardly sister, Claire headed for the shorts. After she’d struggled for w
hat felt like hours to get his shorts past his ankles, it became clear it wasn’t going to happen.
“What’s more important?” she asked her sister. “Making sure he’s decent, or getting him medical help?”
“We’ve seen it all now anyway.”
“Good point. I’ll take them off. That’s easier.”
Claire tried to get the shorts off over his shoes, but his huge freaking feet made it impossible. In the end, she took off his shoes too. As she lifted his legs, she couldn’t help but notice that his backside had been scraped to hell from being dragged along the ground.
As she yanked his shorts off, there was a flash. She snapped her head up to find Megan holding her phone.
“Tell me you didn’t take a picture.”
Megan grinned. “Trust me. You’ll appreciate it later.” She put the phone back in her pocket.
They worked together to get him sitting upright at the open door.
Claire scrambled onto the driver’s seat. “I’ll put my arms under his and you wrap yours around his waist.”
“I’m not sure I like that idea. That’s leaving me a little too close to his penis.”
“Will you stop saying penis? It’s freaking me out. I don’t want to talk about his privates.”
“But it’s okay to stare at it?”
Claire clenched her jaw and counted to ten. “Just get on with it. We need to get him to the doctor. Now isn’t the time to freak out about his privates.”
“Fine,” Megan grumbled. “But I’m not happy about this.” She wrapped her arms around his waist.
Claire put her head on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his body. The heat coming from him was distracting, and even through the heavy smell of wet grass he still had a musky scent that was all man.
“On three,” Megan said. “One, two, three.”
They yanked hard. He flew upwards. His head crashed into the top of the doorframe.
“Oh no, did we kill him this time?” Megan wailed.
With a shaky hand, Claire checked his pulse. “No. He’s okay.” I hope.
Claire climbed into the back to hold his head, while Megan folded his legs into the tiny car. Megan snapped the belt into place. She went to shut the door, but changed her mind at the last minute. She pulled out her camera and snapped another picture. With a grin, she slammed the door shut, ran around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. “All things considered, I thought that went quite well,” she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue. With care, she smoothed it out and threw it into the stranger’s lap. “I can’t drive with his penis winking at me.” With that, she put the car in gear.
Calamity Jena Page 5
