by Donna Alward
Her eyes softened. “Oh, Rick…”
She looked up at him and his heart slammed against his ribs. This was not good.
“I can get Josh or Mom to take me home, don’t worry about that.”
“Okay.”
“What time do you want me to meet you at Glen’s tomorrow? You’ll need a ride back to Jewell Cove.”
Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. It was probably better if he didn’t get too used to spending time with Jess. Maybe then he wouldn’t think of her quite so much. He could just imagine what would happen if he tried putting into action even half of what he’d been thinking lately. Holding her in his arms while they were dancing didn’t help matters in the least.
He scrambled to come up with something. “I’ve got a lift, thanks. You can sleep in and have a lazy day.”
“You’re sure?”
She almost sounded disappointed. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“I’m sure.” There was a pause and then he added, “Right. I’d better go.”
He didn’t kiss her cheek. He didn’t dare. He offered a platonic smile instead and excused himself from the group, heading for the front door.
CHAPTER 10
A week went by and Jess neither saw nor heard anything from Rick. Josh had mentioned that he and Rick had taken back the Mustang the morning after the wedding, and then stopped for breakfast at a truck stop. Josh made no mention of Rick being “under the weather,” and Jess couldn’t help but admire Rick for acknowledging his struggle with the bottle and taking the necessary steps to get through it okay.
And she figured if Rick wanted to talk to her, he’d make an effort to do so. She certainly was in no panic to talk to him. Why would she be? It wasn’t like they were really even getting along very well.
Except she couldn’t forget the way he’d held her—a little close, but not too close—as they’d danced.
During the time she spent not thinking about Rick, Jess kept herself busy manning the shop, holding classes twice a week in the back room, and sneaking in moments to knit on the baby blanket. It was nearly half done, but the lacy pattern meant having to count stitches and was something best done when she was sure not to be interrupted.
Another week passed and the foot traffic was peaking again. She worked long, hard days and in the evenings she threw herself into making items for the fall bazaar at the church—several pairs of earrings, which she hung for display on a three-sided cardboard “Christmas” tree, an assortment of tea candles, bath bombs, and appliquéd holiday ornaments.
That’s when she had the perfect idea to keep Rick busy.
Christmas ornaments.
She waited until Tessa was manning the shop on a Wednesday and zipped into the city to pick up clear glass balls. She bought a single box of fourteen to start, and then packed up a selection of candles in holders that she’d already made. And then she headed to Rick’s house. If she couldn’t get him out of his cave, maybe at least she could prompt him to become active in his community again.
She rang his doorbell, balancing the cardboard box of supplies in her arms.
He came to the door, eyeing her suspiciously as he stood in the entryway. “Jess,” he greeted, his voice guarded. “What brings you by?”
His hair was a bit too long, slightly mussed, and a day’s worth of stubble shadowed his face. He wore a gray hoodie and faded jeans that had a tear across one knee, and he was in his bare feet.
The look shouldn’t have worked, but it did. Ultra-casual Rick was at once both dangerous and cozy, a lethal combination that made Jess unable to speak for a few seconds.
“Jess?” he prompted again, frowning.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said, getting a grip. She tried a smile. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.”
He stepped aside and let her in.
The change in Rick’s house was profound. The last time she’d been here, it had been as neat as a pin. Today dirty dishes were piled in the sink and on the counter, and a laundry basket piled with clothes lay askew on the floor. Three days of newspapers were scattered on the table with coffee cup rings on top. She paused. “Someone fire the maid?”
Rick just kept walking to the back of the house. “Something like that,” he said.
She followed him through. The living room to the left looked neglected and unused, a layer of dust on the furniture. Good heavens, when had he last cleaned? Roberta Sullivan would have a canary, seeing her house in such a state.
The porch—Rick’s studio—however, was clean and precisely organized. He stopped in front of his current project and picked up his brush. “Whatever you’ve got to say, say it while I work,” he stated. “I’m trying to finish this section and don’t want to stop halfway through. The paint needs to be even.”
She put the box on top of a supply cupboard, stepped forward, and simply stared at the door where Rick worked his magic.
The door itself was solid wood and stained the rich color of a toasted pecan. A rectangle of glass was set in the center of the door, and she watched as Rick touched his brush to a bit of creamy white paint and expertly shaped a petal on a blackberry blossom. The green climbing stems were already painted, along with some plump, purply blackberries.
“That is beautiful.”
“I’ve been trying to finish it in a hurry. It’s the sun-porch door to Tom and Abby’s place. Tom was going to refinish it and I offered to do it.” He stood back and looked at the flower, gave it another small touch with the brush, and nodded. “I figured I’d surprise them with this. In some ways that house will always be the house on Blackberry Hill, you know? So I matched the stain as best I could to the floor, stripped it, refinished it, and I’m trying to get the painting done by Saturday.”
“Does this mean you’re going public?”
Consternation twisted his lips. “I didn’t say that.”
“So what are you going to do? Lie? Not take the credit? Jeez, Rick.” She didn’t know why he was so bent on hiding his talent. Or showing it to the world but staying so adamantly anonymous. He should be proud.
“When they ask, I’ll just say, ‘Do you really think I could do something like that?’ And that’ll be the end of it. Look how surprised you were.”
He was probably right. Dammit.
She rested her hips against the edge of the cupboard. “So this is what’s been keeping you locked away the last two weeks?”
He finished another petal and grinned. “Miss me?”
“Hmph,” she huffed, determined not to be charmed by his sideways grin. “No.”
“Not even just a little bit?”
“Not even.”
“Come on, Jess. You know you love irritating me and pointing out my faults.”
Her cheeks flamed, because she knew that’s exactly what she’d done. “If I was … am … hard on you, it’s because…”
He put down the brush and faced her. “Because…”
She licked her lips, which suddenly seemed dry. “Never mind.”
He peered at her closer. “No, I don’t think so. Because why?”
She wanted to tell him, to make him understand that she wasn’t deliberately trying to find fault. “Look, you know that I dated Mike Greer for a while, right? It’s just … that he…” Oh, for God’s sake. Years of therapy and she couldn’t even say it? She lifted her chin. “That he abused me.”
“Abused you,” Rick parroted, his gaze locked on her face. “Verbally?”
She nodded, just a little.
His voice took on a dangerous edge. “Physically?”
She swallowed. Nodded again.
“The bastard,” Rick said calmly. Too calmly. “The goddamn bastard.”
The fact that Rick was showing such control gave her the strength to tell him the truth. “There’s more, you see? Mike is an alcoholic. Whether or not he ever admitted it, I don’t know. But he had this way of looking absolutely charming to the world and then he’d start drinking and before I knew i
t he’d fly into a rage. Over nothing. A single glass in the sink and I was a terrible housekeeper. A thank-you to the guy behind the counter at the deli and I was a whore flirting with other men. He got very good at hitting me where it wouldn’t show and I got good at applying makeup and wearing turtlenecks and long sleeves.”
Rick’s mouth had gone tight, but Jess felt the floodgates open up. It was such a relief to tell someone after all this time—someone who wasn’t Josh. A friend.
“So you see, Rick, watching you go off the rails, watching you drink yourself stupid, and knowing that deep down you have so much rage at the world? That pretty much scares me to death.”
He didn’t come closer, but it felt like he had as he frowned. “So when you judge me, it’s because you’re afraid of me?”
“Afraid for you,” she corrected, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to end up like that, okay? It’s not who you really are. You’re not Mike, but seeing your anger and your drinking, it brings back terrible memories for me.”
“Jesus, Jess…”
“Are you an alcoholic, Rick?”
He stood there, dumb, and she felt horrible for asking so bluntly but relieved, too, that it was all out in the open. “I am not trying to be cruel,” she said softly. “I saw you that day you came to work. You left the party after the wedding. I’m asking honestly. Because if you need help I want you to get it.”
She could see the struggle happening inside him. It was in the dark confusion in his eyes, the way he held himself stiffly beneath her touch. “I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know I was drinking too much, but it had become my anaesthetic. I promised my mom, though. I promised her I would stop and I have. That morning I showed up at your place? I couldn’t sleep the night before. I wanted a drink so badly I would have done just about anything to get one. Instead I came down here and painted. I worked most of the night until the worst had passed. I didn’t get much sleep at all. I wasn’t hungover, Jess. I swear to you.”
His brutal honesty touched her, and without thinking she took one more step and put her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. She believed him. She really did.
His arms came around her and he lowered his chin to her hair, the stubble on his face tugging slightly on her curls. He was warm and solid and he’d just allowed himself to be the most vulnerable she’d ever seen him. His right hand cupped her head and stroked down her hair, just once, but it was enough to change the hug into something different. An awareness flowed between them. She noticed that his shirt was old and the fabric soft, that he was only a few inches taller than she was, which made their bodies mesh together quite conveniently. He smelled like that unique scent of clean laundry and men’s aftershave that women found impossible to resist, with the added afterthought of paint and solvent. Jess knew she should pull away, but she couldn’t. Not yet.
It felt too good. When had she last been touched like this? It was only an innocent hug but it was pure, devoid of agenda or anger.
“Jess,” he murmured in her ear, a warning.
She briefly recalled their dance at the wedding and how good it had been to be in his arms, even though he’d kept a respectable distance. Her head was telling her to run and not look back. But her heart wasn’t. Was she being an utter fool?
She pulled back enough that she could see his face. She had to tell him this was a mistake, that she’d been rash. Instead her gaze caught his and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away. His left arm held her close and his right hand cupped her head and then slowly, ever so gently, he ran the side of his thumb down her cheek, dropping his gaze to her lips.
His thumb rested on the side of her chin and she was mesmerized by the depths of his eyes, the slow fire burning there as he moved closer, closer …
Was she drifting in to meet him? Impossible. And yet her eyelids started to flutter closed and her stomach got that swirly, weightless feeling that a girl gets when a boy is about to kiss her.
The first touch of his mouth on hers was feather-light, testing. Jess held herself perfectly still. But Rick had to know she’d take some thawing, because he rubbed his lips persuasively over hers, taking little tastes that melted her resolve and dulled the voice in her head as her senses took over.
“Jess,” he said again, and the way he said it was with such wonderment that Jess’s heart took flight. She opened her lips, just a little, but it was all the encouragement he needed. He nudged and coaxed until she relaxed against him and met his tongue with her own.
And oh, mercy, it was amazing. She stopped thinking altogether and let herself feel, just this once. He tasted like sweet coffee and cinnamon and his hand slid into her hair. She ran her fingers over his shoulder blades, holding him close, until he pushed his weight forward just enough to make her take a step backward. Then another until they met with the storage cupboard and she could rest her weight against it.
And still they kissed, drinking their fill of each other and listening to the sound of their labored breathing in the narrow space.
Finally they either had to stop or take things a step further. Jess felt so alive, so feminine and womanly, something she hadn’t felt in a long time and it was tempting to see where things might lead. But she hadn’t totally shut off her brain and she knew better than to let things get out of hand. Rick either felt the same or sensed her hesitation, because the kiss gentled, tapering off into a light grazing of lips again before the contact broke.
She felt sorry the moment there was space between them.
But Rick kept his arms looped around her hips, and in a surprisingly tender move, touched his forehead to hers. Confused, she lifted her gaze just a bit and saw his eyes were closed, his thick lashes touching his cheeks. A wave of tenderness swept over her. Their one and only kiss before this moment paled in comparison to this one. It had been innocent and carefree, but this … this was more. This had a decade of pain and wisdom behind it, making it all the more amazing.
Jess reached up and smoothed a rebellious curl away from his temple, feeling more affected than she was comfortable with. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to get sucked into caring for a man clearly so damaged. In her deepest dreams, Jess envisioned herself meeting a man like her brother-in-law, Mark, or one of her cousins, someone who didn’t have his own demons to fight, someone who wasn’t one drink away from being an alcoholic. In other words, the opposite of Rick Sullivan.
Which was easy to say—when she was alone in her loft thinking about hypotheticals—and way harder when she was standing in the circle of Rick Sullivan’s arms in the late afternoon.
“Wow,” he finally said, the word barely more than a breath.
“Um, yeah,” she replied, trying to put things back on a more normal footing. She leaned back a little so his hands slid from the hollow of her back to her hips. “Wow is right. That was even better than the last time.”
“You were keeping score?” he asked, his eyes widening while his lips took on that cocky edge that she loved.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she admonished. “We were young.”
“A lot has happened since then,” he admitted. “For both of us.”
“We can’t do this, Rick. I can’t.” She stepped away and out of his loose embrace. She didn’t quite know what she regretted more—actually kissing him or putting a stop to the possibility of ever kissing him again.
He smiled a rogue’s smile and she felt herself melting. “We just did,” he pointed out.
Yes, they had. And it had been amazing, she admitted to herself. “I mean, we can’t do this again.”
The smile slid from his face. “You don’t trust me.”
It sounded so terrible, and yet it was true. “It’s not all you. I don’t trust myself, or my judgment.” Her judgment had left a lot to be desired in the past. What if she made the wrong decisions again?
His dark eyes held hers. “Yet you trusted me with the truth about Mike.”
&nb
sp; She blinked. “That’s different,” she said quietly. “I shared that with a friend. It’s a lot different when there are hearts at stake.”
He scoffed and looked away. “As if I could ever break your heart.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
Silence filled the room as Rick looked back at her, his lips dropped open in surprise. Jess wanted to disappear but at the same time she’d made a promise to herself not to avoid honest and important conversations.
“Jess, I…”
“I care about you, Rick,” she said softly. “We’ve known each other for years. And I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you. Even as a kid.” Jess paused, smiling softly. “Remember when you worked for that landscape company? You used to wear ratty jeans and work boots and had a huge farmer tan.”
“No matter how hot it got, we always had to wear our work T-shirts and no shorts,” he replied with a note of nostalgia.
“I don’t think there was a girl in Jewell Cove who didn’t have a crush on you at least a little bit.”
He shook his head and laughed a little. “Now I know you’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” she insisted, her voice firmer.
“That was ten years ago. Look at me, Jess. I’m not the same man I was when I left. We both know it.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We do. And I’m smart enough now to know it has very little to do with your injury and a lot more to do with what’s happening inside.”
His cheeks colored a little. So she was right. There was more going on with Rick than adjusting to life as an amputee.
“There are things I want, Rick. I’d like to get married and have kids someday. I’d like to be in a relationship where I’m not always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And right now I seriously doubt you’re the guy to give me that kind of stability. You don’t know what you want.”
Rick nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. “I hate that he did that to you, you know,” he said, steel lining his voice. “If I’d been here…”
