Because of a Girl

by Janice Kay Johnson

  In her anxiety, Meg looked almost plain, her eyes shadowed by more than the dark circles beneath them. “No. She hasn’t yet, not really. Well, she did in eighth grade, but the relationship was more in name than substance. They didn’t spend any time outside of school together.”

  Jack nodded his understanding. Middle-school romances had been torturous for him and most of his buddies. They were painfully aware of girls, wanted to act on it, but felt foolish when they tried. Through it all, they had to maintain the illusion of being cool, confident, even though he suspected he wasn’t the only one humiliatingly aware of how far he trailed behind the girls in maturity. In retrospect, he thought it might have been even harder for him, having been ditched by his mother. Some boys could probably talk to their fathers, too. His, always a quiet man, had become even more silent and withdrawn after his mother went.

  “She has a crush on a boy now.” Meg had bowed her head. “A senior. I think he’s noticed her, but nothing has come of it.” She looked up, rueful. “I confess to being glad.”

  She was talking to him. Jack would have happily sat here for hours listening to her tell him her worries. “A popular kid?”

  “Very. He’s student body president and plays both football and baseball. I understand he’s a very talented pitcher, maybe enough to be scouted by a major league team or two.”

  “I know who you mean.” He’d spent too much time at the high school lately. “Dominic somebody.”

  “Kjargaard.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t talk to him, but I’ve seen him.”

  “With Emily?” she asked with quick worry.

  “No. Strolling the halls as if he expects the crowd to part for him like the Red Sea.”

  “Wonderful,” she muttered.

  He laughed. “Not the end of the world, Meg. Emily’s dedication to finding Sabra says something important about her. You should be proud of her.”

  Her eyes acquired a suspicious sheen. “I am,” she said so quietly, he had to bend forward to hear her. “I just...”

  This time he didn’t stop himself from reaching across the table and taking one of her hands in his. “You get scared, too. I understand.”

  With something like astonishment, she looked at him. Tears that hadn’t quite fallen clung to her lashes. And, God, her hand felt good in his, fine-boned but strong. He felt some calluses, something he didn’t come across with women much. From her rug hooking?

  Calluses, because she worked so hard, he thought, ashamed of himself.

  She squeezed his hand hard, then wriggled hers free. After a few blinks to defeat the incipient tears, Meg squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry. All you need is for me to fall apart again.”

  Please. Fall apart on me. He couldn’t exactly say that, but he could hint.

  “I wouldn’t mind, Meg. Not if you need support.”

  Something flared in her eyes and she shook her head decisively. “Thank you, but no.”

  He watched her, seeing the strain on her face, the wariness in her hazel eyes. “Meg, I screwed things up the other day, but I’d like to get to know you.” Regret roughened his voice. “Make up for being such a jackass.”

  She scrutinized him long enough, he had a hard time holding her gaze. Finally, a sigh removed some of her starch. “I’m probably the one who should apologize. It’s not like anything you said was news.” Her smile wasn’t very successful. “I already knew you didn’t want to like me.”

  “You did?” Surprise had him speaking too quickly. Nice to know she could see right through him. Throat tight, he said, “I’m sorry, Meg. You pushed some buttons.”

  “So I gathered.” Her brows drew together. “Um...is the subject totally taboo?”

  Yes. Jack tensed but made himself say, “No. What is it you wanted to know?”

  “Well...only what your father has to say about this.” She waved a hand. “I mean, your mother wanting to reconcile.”

  He hoped she couldn’t tell how rigidly he held himself. For all his eagerness to make it through her door, now he wanted out of here.

  Except...at the same time, he didn’t. Maybe it was the compassion he saw in her eyes, maybe the knowledge that her own past was far more painful. Hell, maybe it was just Meg.

  “I haven’t told him,” Jack made himself say. “Dad was devastated when she left. It...changed him. I see no reason to upset him.”

  Meg’s lips parted, but she closed them and gave the tiniest of head shakes, as if she was reproving herself.

  “What?” he said hoarsely. “You might as well finish saying whatever it is you have in mind.”

  “This really isn’t any of my business.”

  He wanted to be her business. Unable to avoid the truth any longer, Jack rolled his shoulders and said, “Spit it out, Meg.”

  “Well... I just wondered if there was more to their breakup than you know. Did he talk to you about it then?”

  No. His father had shut down. He’d issued the terse news that she craved a singing career she couldn’t have if she stayed trapped as a wife and mother, and that was it.

  “He’s...pretty closemouthed.”

  “You could try,” Meg said softly. “Now that you’re an adult, he might be willing to tell you things he wouldn’t then. We don’t always know whether we’re really protecting our children or ourselves.” Her smile was wry, undoubtedly because there was a great deal in her past she hadn’t shared with her daughter.

  Some demon drove him to challenge her. “I will,” Jack said, that roughness still in his throat, “if you’ll tell me what happened to you after your parents threw you out.”

  Meg blanched. He’d never actually seen anyone lose color like that.

  Damn, was what he thought. Maybe he didn’t want to know how bad she’d had it.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  He knew what she was asking. What did those years matter to him?

  He sat there for a long time, seeing nothing but her stricken expression. And then all he could say was a truthful, “I’m not sure.” He had heartburn, or something worse. “But I need to know.” Was he begging? “Please, Meg.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  STUPEFIED, MEG COULD only stare at him. His expression was naked. He was begging for the chance to really know her.

  Was it possible that he felt anything like the confusion and hope and knee-buckling attraction she did? Sometimes she imagined they resonated, her scars and his, her wish for something she’d never had, his for...she didn’t know. He had to be afraid, too. Why else did he go warm then cold?

  Right now, in keeping with his personality, even his occupation, Jack Moore was refusing to let her hide from him. He could be patient, but that didn’t mean he’d give up.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  Jack tried to smile, as if he wanted to rebuild his own defenses. “I’m not sure I do, either.”

  “You wouldn’t look at me the same if you knew.” Oh, no, did I say that?

  But there was such kindness on his craggy face and in his eyes like melted caramel. “It can’t be any worse than I’ve guessed, Meg. Surviving with no money, no adult to help you...” He shook his head. “There are only so many options.”

  No. But he was in law enforcement. She guessed him in some ways to be conservative, a man of unbending morality. How could he not despise the choices she’d made, the ugliness she had turned her face from?

  “I tried going to a shelter.” Her mouth seemed to have taken over. And really, there was no reason not to tell him this much. “The counselor there called my parents. They refused to take me back.” Why was that so hard to admit, even now? But Meg knew; oh, she knew. If your own parents couldn’t love you, a part of you would forever believe no one could. You weren’t deserving.

  “Damn it, Meg!
” He shoved his chair back and circled the table, crouching next to her. Now those eyes were dark and worried. “Here I’ve been complaining about my mother, and at least I always knew—”

  “She did love you.” Oddly, Meg had no impulse to cry now. Her eyes burned instead, as if she hadn’t blinked in too long. “My parents never did. I think I had to be a mistake. But—” Her voice broke.

  “There’s understanding, and then there’s understanding.” He stood, pulling her up with him. His arms closed around her, hard. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I thought...maybe we had to get it out of the way.”

  She was holding on to him just as hard, Meg realized hazily. She had bunches of his shirt gripped in her fisted hands. And she wasn’t trying to escape. The vibration of his heartbeat was unbelievably comforting. “It’s okay,” she mumbled, not knowing if he could hear her.

  The painful truth dug its claws into her. He was the one who had to get it out of the way. He wouldn’t want to get too involved with a woman who had violated his sense of right and decency.

  They stood there for the longest time like that, Meg letting herself draw strength from him despite her fears and doubts, Jack moving his hands over her back, kneading, pressing, soothing.

  When he said her name, she expected a demand for her to tell him what had happened next. She lifted her face to his and saw that wasn’t what he was thinking at all.

  His eyes were narrowed, intent. He cradled the back of her head, and that heated gaze dropped to her mouth. Was he...? After what she’d suggested, he surely wouldn’t want...

  He kissed her, at first so gently she stayed in a suspended state of wonder. His lips were softer than she had imagined. They played with hers, brushing them, tugging at her lower lip. But the hot stroke of his tongue had her opening her mouth for him. A shiver brought her to life, and she surged up on tiptoe to kiss him back.

  Nothing had ever felt like this. She wanted to sink into him. Somehow her arms had come to be around his neck, and he was lifting her higher with a hand gripping one buttock. His long, muscular body felt so good; she thought she might be rubbing herself against him, but it didn’t matter because his hips were rocking, and she wanted to slide her hands over bare skin, feel the contours of muscle and bone, melt into him...

  He ripped his mouth from hers and swore.

  Bewildered, Meg froze.

  In a voice like gravel, he said, “Is that the school bus I hear?”

  She held her breath. Oh no! Of course it was. She tried to remember if this was one of Emily’s days to come straight home or not, but her mind was muddled. No, wait—Meg was sure they hadn’t talked about it over breakfast, which meant...Emily would be walking in the door any moment.

  She sank to her heels and began reluctantly separating herself from him, grateful for the support of his hands, now wrapped around her waist. She peeked at his face and saw lips that appeared a little swollen and damp. His eyes held a molten glow. At that, a small sound escaped her. A whimper? Meg so hoped not.

  Quick thuds on the front porch were followed by the door opening. “Mom?”

  Meg scrambled back. She’d have sworn Jack groaned as he resumed his seat. Because he was aroused and Emily might have noticed?

  Oh no. Panicked, legs unsteady, Meg did the same, praying his afternoon stubble hadn’t reddened her cheeks.

  “In the kitchen,” she called. Her eyes met his. “Do I look okay?”

  “You look fine.” Jack smiled crookedly. He was lifting his cup to his mouth when Emily appeared, her face drawn.

  It was getting to her that they couldn’t find Sabra, Meg thought, wanting to hug her.

  But Emily had already fastened her gaze on Jack. “You’re here! Does that mean...?”

  Lowering the cup, he shook his head. “I wanted to tell your mother where we’re at—that’s all.”

  Somehow, Meg came up with a maternal smile. “Why don’t you grab some cookies and sit down with us?”

  “I should get going,” Jack said, not sounding all that convincing.

  Gripping the ceramic lid of the cookie jar, Emily wheeled around. “But what did you tell Mom?”

  He repeated the news about the UPS driver. Emily brought a glass of milk and a plate of molasses cookies to the table, sinking down beside her mother.

  “You mean, you really didn’t believe Mom?”

  “I did.” He smiled at her. “I just thought she’d be happier to hear there was confirmation. Especially since—” With an apologetic glance at Meg, he cut himself off.

  She knew what he’d been about to say. “Sabra’s mom is being a pill. She showed up again today to tell me it’s all my fault.”

  Emily stiffened. “But she’s the one—”

  “She is.” If she didn’t look at Jack, Meg could almost forget they’d passionately kissed only a few minutes ago. She could feel like a mother, not a sex-starved woman. Wanton was probably the correct word, she decided.

  And no, she’d never in her life felt wanton. Sex with Carson, Emily’s father, had turned out to be awkward and unsatisfying. Only seventeen himself, he had been clumsy and hurried. Later...well, what Meg had done later had been grimly endured. And the kisses that followed the few dates she’d gone on in later years were at best pleasant.

  I can want a man, she thought in astonishment; then she knew her cheeks were heating because she was thinking something like that sitting here in the kitchen only a foot away from her daughter.

  Fortunately, Emily was still focused on Jack, who was telling her about his canvass of community college students.

  “Any new rumors at school?” he asked.

  Emily held herself very still for a moment before giving her head a quick, hard shake. “Nobody is talking about Sabra anymore. The only thing they can think about is—” Her mouth still hung open when she stopped.

  The sight of her horror had Jack’s eyebrows rising. “Would that be a party?”

  She stayed mute.

  “Did you know that the vines don’t produce grapes consistently for something like six years after being planted? How much loss that adds up to for a winery to have to replace mature vines that have been trampled and broken?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “I believe you,” he said quietly. “I know you’re too worried about Sabra to go out and party. I’d also like to think you wouldn’t condone drunken destructiveness.”

  Head bowed, she hunched her shoulders.

  “Don’t suppose you want to tell me who was there?”

  Emily shook her head again.

  “I didn’t think so.” He paused. “I understand, Emily. I wouldn’t have ratted out my friends, either.”

  She gusted out a breath and met his eyes. “The people there aren’t exactly my friends.”

  He kept watching her, and Meg kept watching him. Emily was too focused to notice, but Meg had a suspicion Jack wasn’t.

  It was easy to see why he was so good at his job. And, yes, why he was so irresistible to her, as if she hadn’t already figured it out. She kept seeing his patience, his kindness, his ability to read minds. His empathy, something she’d never credited cops with having. But, maybe, to make detective you’d have to have the ability to understand what people thought and felt, to see beneath their skin?

  “We’ll catch them,” he said easily. “Some of ’em anyway.” His voice hardened. “And they’ll pay restitution or do community service. The vineyard owners are seriously annoyed.” When Emily didn’t respond, Jack stirred. “I really should be on my way. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  Astonished, Meg heard herself say, “I’d suggest you stay to dinner, except we won’t be eating for a couple of hours.”

  For a moment, they looked at each other, saying with their eyes what
they couldn’t out loud. Do you mean it? Yes.

  “If you’d like to come back...” she said hesitantly.

  One corner of his mouth tipped up. “If that’s an invitation, my answer is a thumbs-up.”

  Obviously shaken from her preoccupation with Sabra, Emily gaped at them.

  “Is five thirty too early for you?” Meg asked.

  “Nope.” This smile was broad, his eyes the color of aged whiskey. “I’ll be here.”

  He waved her off when she started to rise to her feet. “You don’t have to see me out.” He pushed his chair back in, nodded at both of them and left. A moment later, they heard the front door opening and closing.

  Meg was horribly aware of Emily gaping.

  * * *

  EMILY COULD NOT believe what she was seeing. Her mother liked the detective. And he liked her?

  She didn’t even know how to react. Mom hardly ever even dated, and when she did, she didn’t seem very excited about it. She hadn’t, not once, invited a man home to dinner.

  And, sure, Detective Moore had stayed that one night, but only because he’d been here when dinner was ready to go on the table. This was different.

  Or maybe not.

  Emily thought of the times she’d come into a room and noticed how close they were standing, or felt some kind of weird energy crackling around them. Mostly she had assumed he was being suspicious of Mom and she resented it, or she was ragging on him to do more than he already was.

  Had he kissed her?

  Heading up to her room, Emily told herself she didn’t want to think about him and Mom that way, except...she could sort of understand. He was hot, for an older guy. In a different way, more than Mr. Fuentes or Mr. Bouchard. He was bigger and more muscular. It wasn’t hard to imagine him chasing down a bad guy. And maybe the gun and badge had something to do with it, too. Or the way he seemed to see everything. He could be nice, but he could also be dangerous.

  Somehow, Emily had never imagined her mother marrying. Think how weird it would be, having a man living with them, sleeping in Mom’s bed—!!!—shuffling around in the kitchen in his pajamas in the morning. Or...what if they had to move into his house?