Jena’s answer was a bit fast in coming for Matt’s liking. She dated anyone who asked her, yet was offended at the suggestion he might be in the running? Yeah, Matt didn’t like that one bit. There was nothing wrong with him. Women loved dating him. They were falling over themselves to get his attention. He was a much better catch than Bob the bloody butcher. For a start, he was taller, he had more muscle mass and he didn’t need a bottle of bleach to fix his hair. He frowned at Jena. He’d deal with her outrage later. Right now he had to get rid of Bob.
“This has nothing to do with romance. Jena has a situation going on right now. Her activities are restricted. It’s too dangerous for her to wander around in public. That means no dates. With anyone.”
Bob eyed him thoughtfully. “You’re playing her bodyguard, then?”
“I’m looking out for her until this situation is resolved. She’s keeping a low profile. She isn’t dating.” Matt felt the need to repeat himself. He was pretty sure his words weren’t getting through the cloud of hairspray that surrounded Bob’s head.
Bob nodded and Matt felt smug.
Then the butcher ruined it by turning to Jena. “You can come to my house for dinner. I’ll cook. My place is far from public, so I’m sure Officer Donaldson won’t have a problem with it. Will you, Matt?”
Matt smothered the need to wipe the smile off Bob’s face—with his fist.
“Thank you, that’s real kind of you, Bob.” Jena gave Matt a pointed look. “I should be fine at Bob’s house, right? It isn’t a public place.”
Matt didn’t like this one bit, but couldn’t see a way around it. He nodded once, sharply. It was Bob’s turn to look smug.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, then,” Bob said.
“I’ll drop her off,” Matt told him. “Make sure she isn’t followed.”
The butcher cocked an eyebrow at him. “You do that.”
With one last smouldering smile, Bob sauntered out of the shop giving Matt his back. The butcher’s jeans were a shade too tight around his rear end. Another thing Matt didn’t understand. Or like.
“That was rude.” Jena pointed a finger at him. She had that little line between her eyebrows that always seemed to be present whenever he was around. He sighed. Well, sue him for doing his job.
“I was being honest. It isn’t safe for you to date right now. You need to curtail your activities until these guys are back in the States.”
She pointed at the door. “You hurt his feelings.”
Matt laughed. Bob was about as sensitive as a brick wall. “No, I didn’t. He could have waited a couple of weeks until this whole thing blew over. He’s just being an arse pushing to see you right now.”
Jena put her hands on her hips and started lecturing him. Matt noticed, yet again, that the cute cut-off dungarees she wore were designed to flatter every inch of the curves beneath them. Not to mention showcase those luscious legs of hers. She might not be the tallest woman on the planet, but her legs were perfectly formed.
“You aren’t even listening to me.” She threw up her hands in disgust.
Damn. Had she been talking? He’d totally missed whatever she was ranting on about.
Instead of admitting his mind had wandered, he decided to bluff his way out of trouble. “I don’t need to listen to you, Jena. I don’t need to acknowledge your complaints. They make no difference to me. I’m only here to make sure you’re safe. To make sure the baggage that followed you over the ocean doesn’t cause any trouble in my town.”
Jena muttered something that sounded like “annoying, pig-headed, rude men”. Matt ignored her.
“Come on. Work’s over. I’m hungry. I brought you a sandwich. We can eat at the station while I go over some paperwork.”
Her eyes went wide, distracting him for a moment from the food he was desperate to get at. “I don’t want to go to the station. I want to go home. I have a lot to do.”
“We’ll go back to your place after I finish the paperwork. You need to eat. You might as well do it at the station.”
“Your bossy attitude sucks. I don’t like this one bit.”
For some reason Matt heard that as I don’t like you. His stomach spasmed sharply. He rubbed it. Had to be hunger pains.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to do what you’re told.”
With a growl, Jena picked up the huge bag she carted everywhere, called to Gordon that she was done for the day and stomped behind Matt to his car.
Women. They should come with a manual.
8
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Grunt felt something prod his shoulder and struggled to open his eyes. It felt like he’d been beaten over the head with a baseball bat. He groaned loudly and the noise hurt his ears.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” That sounded like Joe. Where the hell was he? Why were his eyelids so heavy?
“Aye, he’s fine. Some people are like this when they have a head injury. They conk out and wake up when they feel a lot better. It’s not exactly normal, but it’s within parameters. I’m not worried.” The Scottish voice sounded more amused than worried.
“Okay, big guy, you need to get up and put some pants on.”
What the hell? Grunt forced his eyes open. Bright light bit at them. Joe’s grinning mug appeared in front of him.
“You’re in the doc’s office. You’ve got a concussion. Nothing serious. You’d need a brain for it to be serious.”
Grunt grunted, making Joe laugh. Pain in his ass. Grunt struggled to sit. It felt like his head was going to fall off.
“Pain,” said the Scottish guy. “I’ll give you a shot for that.”
Grunt wanted to lie back down and wake up after his day had improved. Instead he let Joe pull him to sitting. He looked down to find he was on a hospital bed, in a fully equipped examination room. He still wore his workout shirt. His shoes were gone and there was a sheet over his lap. He peeked under it.
“Where are my shorts?” His voice sounded like gravel under heavy boots.
Joe’s grin got wider. He folded his arms over a T-shirt that said “Mob Minder”. The guy’s sense of humour was going to get them killed.
“I don’t know how much you remember, buddy,” Joe said. “You went out for a run. Two chicks almost ran into you on a road at the edge of town. You hit your head jumping out of the way of their car. They bandaged you up.” Joe started to laugh. He held up a hand, signalling he was getting it under control. Grunt frowned, but it hurt his head, so he stopped. “They got you into their car and brought you here. Doc fixed you up and watched you overnight.”
“Why didn’t he call you?” His tongue felt furry. Did he eat dirt when he avoided the car?
“Here you go,” said a cheery voice.
Grunt turned towards it and found the red-headed doctor holding a large syringe.
“Hell no,” he croaked.
“Don’t be a big baby,” the guy said.
Before Grunt could stop him, the doc whipped down the back of the sheet and jabbed him in the ass. Grunt yelped and rubbed the spot. It hurt more than it should have. He strained to look over his shoulder to see why. It felt like there were bumps on his skin, cuts maybe. The doc followed his actions.
“Ah, about that. You have a scraped backside from the girls dragging you to their car.”
What the? He looked at Joe, who was trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably.
“Spill,” Grunt ordered.
Joe pinched the bridge of his nose as a grin escaped. “Your shorts slid off when they dragged you. They couldn’t get them up, so they took them off. Along with your shoes.”
Okay. Not great news. A little mortifying, sure, but he could deal. Why was Joe still grinning? Grunt narrowed his eyes. At least that didn’t hurt.
“What else?”
“We didn’t know who you were,” the doc said. “You didn’t have any ID on you.”
Grunt just stared at him. Who carries ID out running? Answer: no one.
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“I called the pub to see if you were staying there, but Dougal wasn’t working. The girl covering the bar was new and didn’t know who’d booked in.” The doc paused and looked at Joe.
“The chicks who hit you posted a picture in the bar to see if anyone knew you.”
Grunt waited. There had to be more to it than a mugshot if Joe was straining to keep a lid on his hysterics.
“Show me,” Grunt said.
Joe pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. The doc shuffled away from him. Not a good sign. Grunt prepared himself for the worst. Had they taken a picture of him with his junk hanging out? Nah. Nobody would do that.
Joe unfolded the paper and held it up for Grunt to see. He sucked in a breath, his eyes shooting between Joe and the doc.
The doc held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Joe was laughing too hard to talk. Grunt felt his cheeks heat for the first time in memory. There he was in full colour. Out cold. Drooling. A big-assed tartan bow in the middle of his forehead. Women’s products stuck to his head. His knees up to his chest, folded into the car like an oversized pretzel. And someone had used a black marker pen to censor his junk.
There were words printed under the photo: “Do you know this man? He’s currently unconscious at the doctor’s office. If you know him, go get him.”
Joe was wiping tears from his eyes. He was useless.
Grunt turned to the doc. “Who brought me in?”
An image of a blonde angel flashed into his mind. Had he died when he hit his head?
“It was the Donaldson twins.” The doc spoke in the direction of his feet before looking up at Grunt. The bastard was trying not to laugh. “You should know before you look them up that their elder brother is the town police officer. You should also keep in mind that they were trying to help.”
Great. This day just got better. “Where are my shorts?”
The doctor rushed to get them while Joe plopped into a chair, trying to catch his breath.
“I’m framing this,” Joe said.
Grunt frowned at his friend and wondered whom he’d kill first. So many options, so little time.
It was a hard decision.
9
Friday didn’t start well. For one, Jena found another bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. The card with this one said, “Please forgive me, I can’t live without you, love Frank.” She clenched her teeth, ripped up the card and handed the flowers to Matt.
A few minutes later, Lake turned up to watch her while Matt ran some errands, taking the flowers with him. Lake was better company than Matt. He sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. He didn’t talk, he didn’t criticise and he didn’t take over renovating her house. At the changing of her guard, Lake smiled, nodded and disappeared quietly. It was perfect. She decided that she wanted Lake to watch her all the time. Surely Matt would be thankful?
Matt arrived back at her house after lunch. He brought in bag after bag of groceries, lecturing about the need for healthy food as he did so. Jena ignored him, went into her living room, pushed the sofa back against the wall. Plonked her iPod into the speaker dock. And danced.
For one long, glorious hour, she didn’t think about Matt, Frank or the fact her money was running out. Nope, instead she let the music take over as she swayed and pirouetted and stretched in time to the beat. When she finally wound down, she actually felt relaxed for the first time in days.
And that was when it hit her—she could teach dance lessons to earn some cash.
Before she could think twice about it, she ran into the kitchen.
“I’m going to teach dancing,” she announced.
Matt looked up from where he was stripping the paper from the wall beside the door. Jena had given up on telling him not to take over her renovation. Instead, she started viewing him as cheap labour. He’d even brought tools from home to help with the job. Including a steamer thingy that she wished she’d had when she’d stripped the living room walls. She’d gotten the paper off by soaking it with a sponge full of warm, soapy water. By the time she’d finished, the room looked like a big bubble bath. But it smelled great. She’d used a juniper bubble bath mixture in the water.
“Did you hear me, Matt? I’m going to run dance classes.” She bounced on the spot.
“Great?” He seemed confused.
“It just came to me,” Jena told him. “It’s the perfect way to make money fast. It can be a cash business. I won’t need to worry about tax and stuff.” She beamed at him.
Matt muttered something under his breath. Was he counting to ten? That made no sense at all.
“Jena, are you telling me—a cop—that you’re planning to rip off the government by avoiding tax?”
“No, silly, I’m telling you I’m going to run casual classes.” She bit her lip. “If I get all the junk out of the garage I can hold them there. The floor is concrete and the ceiling doesn’t leak.”
He blinked a couple of times. “You want to run classes here?”
“No, Matt, in the garage.” Was he being deliberately thick? “Can you help me clear it out? I could use some muscle.”
“You can’t hold classes in the garage. Or anywhere near this house. It’s a health and safety hazard. You need a permit to do something like that. You’ll never get one.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She was so getting him a T-shirt emblazoned with the word “Killjoy”—in pink. “Who hands out these permits?”
“The council.” He folded his arms over his grey muscle shirt, making her momentarily lose her place in the conversation. “Over here that’s Caroline McInnes. She’s a stickler for rules. There’s no way she’ll let you run a class. Not unless the garage is in pristine condition before you apply for a permit.”
Jena’s shoulders slumped, then jerked straight back up to their happy position as soon as another idea hit her brain. “You don’t need a permit if you’re just having some friends over for an evening of dancing, do you? And if they decided to give me gifts, of, say, money, what could I do to stop them? Refusing to accept would be rude.” She beamed at him.
Matt let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Jena, you’re telling me you plan to run illegal classes in a derelict building and take money you have no intention of paying tax on. Seriously, princess, is it that hard to remember I’m a cop?”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “So I can’t even talk to you now?”
“Sure, you can talk to me. Just not about any illegal plans you might have.”
Damn, that ruled out quite a chunk of what she had in her head. She put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you pretend that you didn’t hear anything?” She batted her lashes at him. “I’ll give you free dancing lessons to turn a blind eye.” She smiled hopefully.
Matt’s loud groan wasn’t encouraging. “That’s bribing an officer. Stop now. Don’t say another word. We’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”
“Exactly.” Jena winked at him as she grinned. “This never happened. You know nothing.” She gave him a quick hug, shivering at the feeling of his firm body under her hands. “Thanks, Matt.”
Matt found his arms wrapping around her without his brain telling them to. There was something about crazy Jena Morgan that was irresistible. Man, but she smelled good. Flowery. Spicy. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to smell both. Or how the smell managed to make him feel hungry and horny at the same time. A thought he quickly tried to tamp down.
The doorbell rang. He frowned in the direction of the front door, hoping that whoever was there would leave. Then he remembered Dougal was sending food to save Matt from trying to cook in Jena’s derelict kitchen. Not that his reprieve would last for long. There was still breakfast to make in the morning. He eyed the cooker. He really hoped the damn thing didn’t blow up on him.
Jena stepped away from him, which felt strangely wrong. “I’ll start clearing out the garage. You never know when all that space might come in ha
ndy.” She winked at him again.
Matt fought the urge to roll his eyes. Subtle was not a word he’d use with Jena. And after this conversation, neither were the words “law-abiding citizen”.
“Uh-uh, princess.” He reached around her waist and pulled her to him. “No wandering off until we talk this through properly. There will be no illegal classes.”
“I thought we had an understanding,” she wailed.
“I know you did.”
She wriggled to get out of his hold and he tightened it. The doorbell rang again. There was no way he was letting Jena out of his sight until he’d knocked her latest plan on the head. Who knew what she’d get up to if he left her unsupervised?
He shifted Jena around so she was balanced under one arm, dangling against his hip. Holding her like a rugby ball, he headed to the front door.
“Let me go, Matt, this isn’t funny.”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
“Matt. Put me down. I’m not a toy you can cart around and do what you want with.”
Now that was an interesting idea. He looked down at Jena’s flushed face as she glared up at him. Her long hair glistened as it swung around her. Her breasts were pushed up tight against him. She was a tempting bundle. One that would make the perfect toy.
“I’ll put you down when we’re eating. We can talk then too.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an unreasonable bully?”
“All the time.” He opened the door.
“Help,” Jena shouted as she struggled to get free. “The cop has lost it, he’s gone nuts. Get me out of here.”
Matt rolled his eyes at his mother, who stood with her mouth hanging open. “Hey, Mum, ignore Jena. She’s having issues.”
“Yeah, with you, dumbass,” Jena snapped.
He grinned down at her. “Now, Jena, is that polite behaviour around my mother?”
His mum opened and shut her mouth several times.
“Mrs Donaldson, can you please do something about your son? This is not normal behaviour.”
“Call me Heather, dear,” his mum said helpfully.
Jena growled at him. “I’m getting a sore stomach. You’re squeezing too tight. Put me down right now, Matt Donaldson.”
Calamity Jena Page 7
