Jesse's List: A Beach Pointe Romance

by Mysti Parker

  Jesse's List

  Mysti Parker

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  ****

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Mysti Parker on Kindle Direct Publishing

  Jesse's List

  a Beach Pointe Romance

  Copyright © 2017 Mysti Parker

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, shame on you. Every time a book is stolen, a kitten dies somewhere in the world. You don't want to kill a kitten, do you? Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and/or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only and not an implied endorsement. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For all the good men and women in uniform. And counselors.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Other Books by this Author

  Connect with the author

  Chapter One

  Deputy Jesse Maddox thought nothing could top The Chicken Incident of 2003. That is, until a rainy Tuesday morning in June fourteen years later. The noise woke him up—a metallic crash, screech, and a squeal. No, lots of squeals. He blinked to clear the sleepy blur from his eyes. Something ran past his police car. Whatever it was clocked eleven miles per hour on his speed camera.

  He cursed himself for falling asleep on the job. Again. The sheriff would have his hide. He climbed out of the car on shaky legs and onto the gravelly shoulder of the rural highway. His left foot had fallen asleep, so he stomped it on the ground a couple times while he leaned against the open door. Tingles climbed up his leg, which he quickly ignored.

  Pigs ran down the road. Across the road. Along the ditch line.

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  One of them hit his car door and almost knocked him off his feet. A hundred yards down the road, their transport truck lay on its side. The driver clambered up and out the passenger side door. He seemed no worse for wear, thankfully.

  Jesse lifted the police radio from its holder on his duty belt. He hesitated then pressed the transmit button. “Deputy Maddox to dispatch.”

  A response came a few seconds later. “Ten-four. Go ahead, Deputy Maddox.”

  “Dispatch, I think we have a…” What the hell was the code for that? “We have an eleven-seven.”

  “Ten-four. What’s the location of the prowler?”

  He groaned and pressed transmit again. “Dispatch, no, we have an eleven-fifteen.”

  “Ten-four.” A pause. Her tone changed from robotic to annoyed. “A ball game in the street? Jesse, are you okay?”

  He poked his forehead with the radio antenna and squeezed his eyes shut. Tires skidded on the road. Then a thump and a splat. He opened his eyes, afraid to look. A new GMC pickup had plowed into one of the darting pigs. Blood and guts were splattered across the highway.

  The driver, a young man in business casual khakis and a polo, jumped out and ran around to the front of the pickup. Hands fisted in his hair, the man let loose a scream of pure disbelief. “What the hell? What the actual hell?”

  Jesse pressed transmit again. “Dispatch, we have a ten-fifty-four, a nine-zero-one T, and a ten-forty-five.”

  “Ten-four. Livestock on highway, non-injury accident, and animal carcass. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Sue, I’m sure. It’s a pig truck. They’re running all over the place.”

  “Ten-four. Do you need backup?”

  The driver spotted Jesse. "Well, if it's not ticket-a-minute Maddox. Are you going to write me up a ticket for this like you did for driving thirty-seven in a thirty-five? Go ahead! I won't pay it, you son of a bitch!"

  Jesse pressed transmit and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, Sue, I need lots of backup. We’re gonna be here a while.”

  ****

  Nobody wanted to piss off a boss. Especially when that boss was two hundred fifty pounds of fat-padded muscle who wore a duty belt equipped with a Colt M1911, a stun gun, and a billy club with more than a few dents in it. Sheriff Ken Stanton steepled his fingers and propped his chin on their tips. His fixed stare conveyed neither anger nor disappointment, which worried Jesse. One could usually expect the sheriff to launch a barrage of verbal admonishment that could bring even the vilest criminal to tears. Not this time. He regarded Jesse like someone torn over whether to order a Bud or Coors Light.

  Jesse’s attention drifted to the five-by-seven wedding photo on Sheriff’s desk. A much younger, red-haired bride stared up at the tuxedo-clad sheriff with admiring eyes. She’d been what folks called a “comfort wife” after Sheriff’s first wife died a few years back.

  Snapping his focus back to the situation at hand, Jesse shifted in his seat. “Sir, if I could—”

  The sheriff cut him off with a stiff hand. “This is three times, Maddox. Three times you’ve fallen asleep while on patrol. This pig truck driver was speeding and could have easily been pulled over before he tried to round that tight curve had you been awake. And let's not forget the complaints from people you've ticketed for stupid shit and your asshole attitude.”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  Another stop signal. “Most folks would abide by the three-strikes-you’re-out route. But most people have more than one deputy in their department. Not me. All I got is you.”

  “Yes, sir, and if you could—”

  “You need help.”

  “Help? As in another deputy?”

  “No, help as in medical or mental. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got narcolepsy or something. But I really don’t want to have to train another deputy. Not many kids these days want to be in law enforcement when they graduate, much less at the sheriff’s department. Most of them are delinquents that don’t need to be anywhere near a gun.”

  “I could get some sleeping pills.” Jesse scratched the back of his neck. Caked mud flaked off and joined the filth already under his fingernails. Mud, pig manure, oil, and God knew w
hat else, covered his uniform and once mirror-shined shoes. He reached up for his hat. It wasn’t there.

  “Lost your hat again, too.” The sheriff let out a long, tired sigh and opened his yellow pages. He flipped through until he stopped and wrote down a name and number on his notepad. He tore off the page and handed it to Jesse.

  Jesse read it aloud. “Leigh Meriwether? Who’s that?”

  “A therapist.”

  The word raised Jesse’s hackles. “As in physical? Occupational?”

  “No, as in mental. Somebody to talk to about what’s keeping you up at night. This job ain’t easy, you’ve seen some awful things, and lived a rough life. Maybe those things are dug in too deep for you to let them go.”

  “Sir, I don’t think—”

  The sheriff’s voice rose in volume with every word, as did the red in his complexion. “No, you don’t think. If you did, you’d have already addressed the problem so we wouldn’t be sitting here in my office with you covered in pig shit!”

  Jesse glanced down at the paper then rubbed his eyes. They burned, not only from the mad dash to catch running pork chops, but from the measly two hours of sleep he’d gotten the night before.

  “Call her. Make an appointment and go. I want you to report back here when that’s done. And I don’t care what time of day you have to go. If it’s not an emergency, I can handle it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” He might as well be sentenced to a month of Sundays in a fire and brimstone Baptist church. “But, can’t I just—”

  “You’re dismissed, Deputy. Call her and get back to work.”

  Jesse nodded, willed his tired body to stand, and went to the door.

  “And Deputy?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Find your damn hat.”

  Chapter Two

  Leigh Meriwether sat in her arm chair facing the faux leather couch that now hosted George and Sarah Donner. The forty-something couple's counseling had lessened their arguments, but it had also loosened their tongues. Over the last few sessions, Leigh had heard things no one would expect from George, an overweight Baptist preacher with a bad comb-over. Sarah, equally overweight and dressed in a high-necked green dress, had been just as forthcoming with her troubles.

  And there she sat on the edge of her seat, confessing in a not-so-quiet whisper, "He wants me to do things!"

  Though Leigh dreaded knowing any more about their love life, she had to ask. "Okay, what things does he want you to do?"

  Mrs. Donner cast a nervous glance at her husband, curled her fingers and thumb into a circle, and made an O with her mouth. She awkwardly bobbed her head up and down. Ugh. Why couldn't she just say blow job and get it over with?

  Leigh closed her eyes and waved both hands to stop the 'demonstration.' "Okay, I get it. Most couples engage in oral sex from time to time."

  Reverend Donner gestured to Leigh. "See? I'm not a pervert."

  "But," Leigh continued, "it's important to uncover any possible mental blocks that might keep you from experimenting with new sexual activities. Are you afraid of any particular, um, aspect of the act?" She braced herself for a graphic retelling of a failed sex night or worse. These two needed a sex therapist, but Leigh was made of sterner stuff, as her mum said. Surely, she could hide her shock for another ten minutes.

  Mrs. Donner grabbed a tissue from the side table, then yanked out two more.

  "Here we go," the reverend mumbled.

  "We used to do things. You know, experiment like that."

  Leigh noticed the reverend's subtle head shake. She fought to keep a straight face.

  "But then my chi-i-i-ickens..." Mrs. Donner sobbed, holding the wad of tissues to her face.

  Her husband patted her back half-heartedly and rolled his eyes. Leigh had heard the chicken story more times than she cared to remember. She could only imagine how many times Mrs. Donner's long-suffering husband had heard it.

  "And after that," Mrs. Donner wailed into her tissues. "I just didn't want to li-i-i-ive."

  "Sarah, it's been fourteen years," he said. "Can you just forget about the chickens? You even ate some of them."

  "They were my children!"

  "Don't you have children?" Leigh asked, hoping she hadn't mixed up her clients.

  "Five," Reverend Donner answered.

  Mrs. Donner's head shot up. Her wet, red eyes glared at him. "You wouldn't understand!"

  "You've got that right."

  Her pleading eyes turned on Leigh. "They had names! And then that Maddox boy... I can't even say his name without wanting to gag." She retched into her tissues. The woman really should have been an actress. Emmy material right there.

  "So..." Leigh prompted, "That's why you can't, um, perform oral sex? It brings back memories of your chickens' death."

  "And that Maddox boy!"

  "And I'm the pervert," the reverend mumbled.

  She slapped him on the chest. "Not the boy, you idiot, what he did to my chickens."

  "They tasted pretty good to me," he said with a shrug.

  She slapped him again.

  He winced and rubbed his chest. "Have a little compassion for the kid, Sarah. He lost his parents when he was nine years old."

  "Really? How?" Leigh normally wouldn't have been curious if the person in question wasn't in her appointment book for that afternoon.

  The reverend tightened his lips into a straight line as though reluctant to say anything. "His dad died suddenly, and his mom ran off. No one's seen her since."

  That was enough for now. If she asked for more details, her boss would reprimand her for not focusing on her current clients' needs.

  "That's really no excuse," Mrs. Donner said then blew her nose into the tissues. It sounded very wet.

  Leigh's appetite went bye-bye. Who needed lunch anyway?

  "Okay, your time's about up. What I want you to do is..." She turned in her chair and searched the bookshelf. They weren't Kama Sutra people. She decided on The Good Girl's Guide to Great Sex. "Here, take this home, and try to implement some of the ideas."

  Reverend Donner took the book and stood while his wife gathered her tissues and tossed them in the garbage can. "Thank you, Leigh. We'll do our best." He didn't sound too hopeful.

  ****

  After a lunch of water, pretzels, and peanut butter, Leigh returned to her office and sat at her desk with a long, heavy sigh. Her finger hesitated over the speaker button. She’d been back and forth with herself for a week, wondering if her next case would be too much to handle. Jesse Maddox had a bad reputation in Beach Pointe, though by some accounts he’d cleaned up his act since joining the sheriff’s department. Yet, the stories Mrs. Donner and other clients had told her about his former misdeeds made her wonder if she should take her chances with him. The worsening headache that had developed before lunch didn’t help matters.

  She pressed the button.

  “Yes, Doc?” Becky, the ever-bubbly receptionist chirped.

  Leigh wished she’d stop calling her Doc, since she wasn’t a psychiatrist, didn’t have a Ph.D., and wasn’t fully licensed as a counselor yet. She had to complete her four thousand hours of supervised work under Dr. Gadbury first. With just a hundred hours left and the National Counselor Exam looming ahead, it wouldn’t do to get stressed over a possibly unreformed bully.

  “Cancel my one o’clock, okay?” Leigh asked.

  “Um, well…”

  A drawling, deep voice resonated through the speaker phone. “If it’s a bad time, I can cancel.”

  Then to make matters worse, Dr. Gadbury’s nasally voice followed. “What’s going on?”

  Leigh sank her forehead into her hand. Lovely—the deputy was early. And her boss had just come back from his lunch break. She never faked sickness, so she’d have to suck it up and do her job or risk losing Dr. Gadbury’s recommendation.

  She pressed the button again. “Never mind. Send him in.”

  Sitting up straight in her desk chair, she ran her fingers through her
curls and popped a Tic-Tac. The door opened, and Jesse stepped in, ducking slightly to clear the top of the door frame.

  Good gracious, he was a lot bigger and taller than she expected. Sure, she’d seen him around town here and there, but never close enough to appreciate the sheer size of him. His former round, pimply face she had seen in a high school yearbook had turned rugged, with a strong, square jaw and a five-o-clock shadow. A faint white scar striped his left cheek. He didn’t have a Joe Dirt mullet like he had as a teen, but a severely short-shaved style. Why anyone would choose to let their scalp show was beyond her, but it was common for those in law enforcement. And, of course, he was dressed in full uniform, complete with a pistol, stun gun, and billy club. She shuddered a little at the thought of him having access to deadly weapons.

  He removed his hat, which had a few stains, and gave her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

  “Good afternoon, Officer Maddox. You can have a seat there on the couch.”

  “Thanks.” Jesse did as she requested, setting his hat on the side table. He sat straight and tall, his fingers gripping the armrest, and scanned the room without turning his head. He seemed keenly aware of everything around him, as she would expect for a cop. It could also mean he needed stability and security, which could explain why he had an appointment today.

  She took a seat in her worn armchair across from Jesse. Beach Pointe Counseling sat on the end of an eighties-era strip mall. Her office, in the far back corner, was cozy, if a little dated. The baby-crap green shag carpet felt good beneath Leigh’s feet, and she kept it flawlessly clean. The wood-paneled walls looked like something you’d find in an old mobile home, but she had dressed them up with her diploma and certifications, not to mention some colorful artwork she’d found at the local flea market.

  He tapped his foot as though he was impatient for this whole thing to be over. That made two of them. Leigh opened her legal pad and clicked her ballpoint pen. So close to her license, she reminded herself. If she could stomach the Donners' sex problems, surely she could grin and bear a few sessions with the town bully.