Boarding school, then the military? Sarah Jane thought, a bit shocked and more than a bit curious. She knew that boarding schools were more popular in the north east, but Mick was definitely rocking a southern drawl. Military school then? Had he been a problem child? Her gaze slid over that restless frame, the one that made her knees melt and her spine sag, and instinctively knew her guess could fit. Nevertheless, it seemed a bit harsh.
Though she hadn’t given much thought to children--aside from wanting to have them at some point in her future--Sarah Jane couldn’t imagine shipping them off away from home to go to school. What sort of parents had he had? she wondered. Robots? She knew he’d mentioned spending summers with his grandfather, a little tidbit he’d shared today when she’d commented on his carpentry knowledge. So...if he’d spent months away at school and summers with his grandfather just exactly when had he been home?
Furthermore, the military admission fully fit. There was a precision in the way he did things, a confidence in the very way he moved which bespoke of some sort of specialized training. How long was he in the military? she wondered. Which branch? And how did one make the leap from soldier to photographer? Though he obviously knew his way around the camera and was comfortable behind the lens, she had to admit, given his particularly brand of energy, that he seemed more prone to the former than the later.
Interestingly, the only time he seemed to truly settle was this afternoon when she’d finally given up and let him put a hammer in his hand. He’d kept offering to help, kept pacing and taking pictures and had generally been even more of a distraction. But once he’d started working with her, he’d actually calmed down a bit and worked with impressive attention to detail and skill. He had an inherent ability, a respect for the architecture and an artisan’s eye. Building a house was easy--saving pieces of one was a lot tougher and Mick seemed born to the work. She’d been pleasantly surprised and for one blinding moment of ridiculous wishful thinking, she’d had the strangest thought that he belonged there with her.
Weird, Sarah Jane, thought, refusing to even entertain the idea when she knew it was so far removed from actual possibility it was almost laughable.
Much like her ever owning Ponder Hill, she thought, remembering another pipe dream. The old mansion--now sitting empty, slowly turning to ruin despite her covert efforts to maintain a few repairs and owned by a mad old woman who refused to sell--had been her dream home since the first instant she’d laid eyes on it as a little girl. Sarah Jane remembered it just like it was yesterday. Making the long trip up the tree-lined drive, seeing the gleaming white house with the double porch on the hill. She’d been with her dad that day, working as his “assistant” though she’d barely been big enough to hand him a hammer, when he’d gone out to make a quick repair to one of the shudders.
Sarah Jane had fallen instantly in love with the house. The fancy windows--particularly a pretty stained glass piece on the second floor--the sweeping porches, the beautiful courtyard, but more than anything...the way it had felt.
The second her foot had connected with the hardwood in the foyer, she’d felt...home. As though it had been waiting for her and she’d finally arrived. Even her childhood home on Maple street--the one where Chastity was currently living--had never felt as right to her as Ponder Hill. Any time her father had been called to do any work on the old place, Sarah Jane had always tagged along, desperate for just a few minutes, however brief, at the house. In short, she loved it there and she desperately, more than anything, wanted it.
Unfortunately, the current owner didn’t possess what one would call a right mind, and had no intention of selling it. Ever. Meanwhile, it was falling further and further into disrepair. True, she snuck out and did minimal things to keep it from getting any worse--repaired shingles, made sure the pipes were wrapped in the winter, those sort of things--but the years of neglect were slowly showing their wear and it desperately needed saving.
Muck like Mick, she thought, surprised at the strange revelation. He was an enigma, Sarah Jane decided, her gaze lingering on the masculine angle of his jaw, that smooth achingly perfect cheek. A riddle she wanted to solve...then taste.
Mick looked up at her and his gaze tangled with hers. A little snap of electricity sizzled across her nipples, shot through her belly and rested hotly in her sex. “Shouldn’t we get going?”
Letting go a small silent breath, Sarah Jane nodded. She made sure the animals were settled, then grabbed her purse and locked up. “Do you mind if I drive?” she asked.
A knowing half-smile curled his lips. “Not if you don’t mind if I take my camera.”
“Not at all,” she said. She slid into her truck and waited on him to join her. “Though I don’t know that you’ll find anything of interest to photograph.”
She heard a tell-tale click and turned just as Mick was lowering the camera. His voice was low, almost intimate. “I already have.”
Impossibly, Sarah Jane felt another blush rise on her cheeks. Two for two, she thought, wondering if she’d ever be the same.
“So...where are we going first?”
Sarah Jane grinned. “First we’re going to take a little drive around the town square--“ so that, with any luck, Chastity would see them, muah haha “--then we’re going to visit one of Monarch Grove’s most interesting citizens, Carl Hirsch, better known more recently as Squatting Buck.”
Mick chuckled low and shook his head. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to be good?”
“Because it is.”
And she hoped it was only going to get better.
CHAPTER 6
Resisting the urge to gnaw his tongue off after his never-had-a-pet slip-up, Mick settled into the passenger seat of Sarah Jane’s truck and perused her house and front yard. A nineteen-thirties bungalow, the old craftsman style home sported a cozy front porch swing and beautiful leaded glass in the front door. Purple and red petunias, marigolds and other flowers he couldn’t name poured from eclectic pots and out of neat flower beds. Bird feeders--particularly those of the hummingbird variety--hung from various tree branches and a little koi pond gurgled happily, tucked against the corner of the house where it met the porch.
“You’ve got a nice place,” Mick said. “Did you do the renovation yourself?”
She nodded. “My dad helped me. It wasn’t in too bad of shape when I bought it, but still needed a little TLC.” Country music blared from the speakers when she cranked the ignition and, shooting him an adorably sheepish look, she quickly turned it down, then backed out of the drive and made a right toward Main Street. “We, uh... We put in new cabinets, refinished the woodwork and floors, updated the bathrooms. That sort of thing. My dad was a perfectionist in every sense of the word when it came to work,” she said, laughing softly. “Mediocrity wasn’t allowed, so everything was done right.”
From all that he’d seen, it certainly looked that way to him. And she’d obviously inherited the gene because he could honestly say he hadn’t seen a bit of sub par work in her repertoire. She was quick, careful and efficient, and it was painfully obvious that she loved what she did. He envied her that, Mick thought, missing that part of his life. Not so much the Ranger days, he admitted, but more knowing his purpose. He felt like a ship without a rudder, adrift and directionless.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mick told her, once again making a mental note to call his grandfather. Frankly, he didn’t miss his parents--hard to miss people you never actually knew. But his grandfather? He was different. And he wouldn’t be around forever.
“Thank you,” Sarah Jane murmured. “He was such a force of nature. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that he’s gone.”
“Heart attack, right?” he asked, thankful that Mason had brought it up yesterday, which explained his knowing about it and enabled him to essentially avoid another lie.
“Yeah,” she confirmed sadly. “One minute he was helping a buddy with a privacy fence, the next...” She shrugged, leaving the worst unspoken. “A
nyway, it’s been rough. My mom passed away when I was sixteen. Breast cancer,” she added. “So being officially orphaned has been rough.”
He’d pretty much been in the same boat, so he understood exactly where she was coming from. “What about other family? Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins?”
“No grandparents. My mother was an only child, so no aunts or uncles on that side. My dad has a sister, but she doesn’t live here. She’s in Little Rock. She came down for the funeral, of course, and I talk to her occasionally, but you know how it is.” She gave a little sigh. “Life gets in the way and despite tragedy, it goes on.”
So no real family to speak of, which explained her desire to hang onto her heritage--her father’s cigar, her mother’s wedding dress, her old home--not to mention the half-dozen pets that coexisted with her. She’d made her own furry family of sorts, clung to friendships and was determined to hang onto her past. He certainly couldn’t fault her for that, once again finding himself feeling like he was a traitor in the friendly camp. He grimaced.
Probably because he was.
She hesitated and a wry smile curled her lips. “I actually have a step-mother, but considering she’s stolen my home and inheritance, for obvious reasons, I, uh--“ she laughed bitterly “--don’t count her.”
Mick chuckled softly, though inwardly he felt his pulse quicken. At last. Maybe now he’d get some answers. “That’s understandable,” he said. And honestly, this acting/lying thing was not for him. He hated pretending like this wasn’t old news, that he wasn’t already familiar with every sordid detail of her troubles, that he might possibly be here to contribute to them. Though instinct was telling him that wasn’t the case. In fact, he grimly suspected Chastity was using them to keep Sarah Jane from finding the will, not any personal mementos of her parent’s.
“You met her this morning,” she pointed out, her light tone at odds with the white-knuckle grip she had on the steering wheel.
He cleared his throat. “Oh?”
“The woman you were having breakfast with when I came in--Chastity.”
Because he knew he was supposed to be surprised that her step-mother was her own age, Mick purposely widened his eyes in what he hoped was an expression of appropriate shock. This blew. Totally blew. “You’re kidding? But she’s--”
“--a money-hungry slut, I know,” Sarah Jane finished.
He smothered another laugh and passed a hand over his face. God, she was wonderful. A beautiful hellion. “Actually, I was going to say ‘so young.’”
“That, too,” she admitted. “We’re the same age. Don’t ask me what my father was thinking. I don’t know.” Her voice developed an edge. “I just know that she was never supposed to have the house and my inheritance, things that belonged to my mother.”
Paydirt. Tell me what I’m looking for, Mick thought. Give me a reason to adjust course. Let me help you. “How do you know that?”
“Because, in what was the only sound decision that came out his lunatic marriage, he took care of a will. He showed it to me because he didn’t want me to worry.” Her jaw worked. “But it has conveniently vanished from the filing cabinet where he kept it and from the attorney’s office. Did I mention that my step-monster is sleeping with the attorney?” she asked.
“Damn,” Mick said, surprised at that last little tidbit. It was all he dared say. Furthermore, he had absolutely no doubt she was telling the truth. As part of his training he’d taken several courses on body language and deceptive behavior. Sarah Jane’s posture, language and story was right on target for the truth. He mentally relaxed and decided a new course of action was in order. One that changed the status quo into Sarah Jane’s favor.
“No worries,” Sarah Jane replied, shooting him a determined smile. “I’m going to find it.”
He knew she’d been planning this, but hearing her say it made Mick a bit nervous. While he admired her and would undoubtedly take the same approach were he in her shoes, knowing that Chastity had gone so far to hire them to keep Sarah Jane away made him a bit nervous.
“What are you going to do?”
“Get it back, of course.”
“Have you tried going to the police?”
“It’s my word against hers,” Sarah Jane explained. “They can’t do anything.”
“But what about the attorney? Can’t he authenticate that there is a will even if he can’t produce it?”
“He could, but he won’t. Says it’s been so long he really can’t remember if he drew up a will for my father.” She snorted. “He’s lying, of course, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Maybe not, but he could, Mick thought, surprised at how much he wanted to track down this attorney and smash the hell out of his face.
“Anyway, you should watch yourself,” Sarah Jane said. “You get tangled up with Chastity and she’ll suck the marrow right out of your bones.”
Mick chewed the inside of his cheek, enjoying what he could only assume was jealousy on his behalf. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Mick told her. “But to tell you the truth, she’s not my type.”
Seemingly pleased, Sarah Jane’s ripe lips curved into a small smile and it was utterly ridiculous how happy that little grin made him. It was so wonderful, in fact, that he wanted to do it again and again, wanted to make her laugh so that he could feel it resonate throughout his own chest. Dangerous waters, he thought, fearing he’d already ventured out over his head.
Though he didn’t have any idea what the hell was going on with him--and admittedly his life was an absolute wreck--today, while he’d been working with Sarah Jane had been the happiest he’d been in recent and distant memory. It had taken a good bit of convincing on his part to get her to agree to let him help her, but he couldn’t deny that once he had and they’d actually gotten started together...it had been the strangest thing. The rest of the world--the constant need to move, his perpetual adrenaline craving--had simply faded away. Vanished.
Mick couldn’t adequately describe what had happened because he genuinely didn’t know. He just knew that he’d discovered the antidote to his restlessness, the remedy to the you’re-a-screw-up mantra he’d been living with in one form or another all of his life. The noise in his head had stopped and he’d been content to simply hold a hammer, do the work and be with her. Selfishly he hoped that whatever had put Mason under the weather would keep him there for a while so that he could continue to work with her on his own. Greedy? Yes. But he couldn’t help himself.
“All right,” Sarah Jane said, drawing his attention back to her. She straightened and cleared her throat. “Let’s begin your official tour. You’ve seen the town square, or course--the hot spot for all of Monarch Grove’s social activities--but there’s a little bit of interesting history here I can share.” She pointed to the gazebo in the middle of the lawn. “For instance, that pretty piece of architecture was donated to our city by Mr. and Mrs. Homer Jenkins--”
Mick nodded, though he hardly found that “interesting.”
“--on the condition that their cremated ashes be placed inside the urn built into the middle of the floor upon their passing.”
Mick swiveled a look at her and felt his eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. They’ve always been in the center of the social scene and don’t see any reason that should change after they’re--“ her lips twitched “--dead.”
“That’s not interesting, Sarah Jane,” Mick said, feeling a laugh bubble up his throat. “That’s plain old weird.”
“Oh, no,” she laughed. “We’ve got another stop before we get to weird. This is just odd.”
“Semantics,” he teased, settling more comfortably into his seat. His gaze slid to Sarah Jane, to the soft smile playing over her lips and a single long strand of hair curling around the side of her breast. He liked the shirt, Mick thought. Scoop-necked, sleeveless. It showcased the barest hint of cleavage and her toned tanned arms and put him in mind of Daisy Duke.
Particularly the short
s, he decided, sucking a slow breath through his teeth as his gaze feasted on the long stretch of bare leg next to him. He let his eyes roam over her thigh, past her knee, down her shapely calf. And there, right above her ankle, he stopped short and felt a smile roll around his lips. Well, I’ll be damned, Mick thought. She had a tat. A blackberry vine, complete with flowers and berries twined around her ankle and wound its way a little over the top of her foot.
Sarah Jane looked over and saw him smiling. “What are you grinning about?” she asked suspiciously.
“You’re tattoo. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like that.”
“Well, they are supposed to be original to their owners, right?”
“I suppose. Why a blackberry vine?”
She shrugged. “I just like them,” she said, though the answer seemed a bit evasive. She swallowed. “My mother always loved them, particularly the wild ones. We used to spend hours in the summer picking the berries. She’d made jams and jellies and cobblers.” She made a humming noise in her throat, as though remembering the taste. “It’s her recipe that I enter into the fried pie contest every year.”
Ah, Mick thought, inclining his head. There’s the significance. That small wild berry represented happy memories of her mother, and much like her life, were short-lived and bittersweet.
“I can’t wait to try that pie,” Mick said, surprised to realize just how much he meant it. A sentimental hell-cat, Mick thought admiringly.
She chuckled under her breath. “I hope it lives up to the hype. What about you?” she asked. “Have you got a tattoo?”
“I do,” Mick admitted, but didn’t elaborate, instinctively knowing it would drive her nuts.
The Hell-Raiser : Men Out of Uniform Book 5 Page 7
