by Beth Ciotta
“Good different?”
Touched by the concern in his voice, she smiled. “Perfect different.”
He smiled back, and it occurred to her, once again, that Travis was an attractive man…even with his crooked nose and that scar. He took off his ball cap and sleeved sweat from his brow. Hunched over like he was, she got a prime view of his scalp and—gasp—dark roots. No wonder his red hair didn’t look quite right with his olive skin. Why would he dye his dark hair red? She itched to ask, but it seemed rude.
Instead, when he pulled his cap back on, she took off her beret and smoothed a palm over her own dye job. “Thanks again for all the hair tips.”
“Except the highlights didn’t go well.”
“That wasn’t your fault. So…how is it you know so much about hair color and styles, anyway?” Oh, that was subtle.
He turned away to screw a bracket into the wall. “Mona used to be a hairdresser.”
“Really?” She’d had no idea. Not that she had known Mona all that well. Like Travis, the woman had kept to herself.
“That was a long time ago. Another life.” He glanced at his watch. It seemed to her that he did that a lot. As if he had to be somewhere at a certain time—all the time. “It’s close to five and you’ve had a rough day,” he noted. “If you want to take off, I can handle things here.”
She must’ve hit a sore spot, making him think of his wife. Empathy rose, but she didn’t know how to help. She thought about him going home to his lonely house, or rather, avoiding it and staying here until all hours. “What about you? Ready to knock off? Maybe I could…I mean…I’d like to treat you to dinner. You’ve worked so hard and I’m paying so little—” she gestured to the extensive renovations “—considering.”
“It’s not about the money.” After an awkward moment, he glanced over his shoulder. “I appreciate the dinner invitation, Kylie, but I’m on a roll, so I’ll probably work well into the night, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” But she did feel guilty. “Can I help?” She meant that in more ways than one.
He smiled again before turning back to his work. “You already have.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BY 5:10 P.M. TRAVIS HAD assembled the last display rack. He threw empty boxes into the trash bin behind the store. Kylie had changed back into jeans and sneakers, and was on her way home. She’d plastered on a smile when she’d said goodbye, but he knew she was upset. About the HPS, her hair, plus she mumbled something about Faye not taking her calls. Travis had wanted to hug her on her way out, but he didn’t dare. She might mistake his affection for a sexual overture. It wasn’t like that. Could never be like that. But he didn’t plan on explaining—about his affections or anything else. If all went well, in two days he’d be on a plane to France. A long-lost dream resurrected by Kylie.
At 5:15 p.m. Travis examined the weather-beaten sign that had previously hung above the awning of the store.
McGraw’s Shoe Store
“Practical Shoes for Practical People”
The style and message no longer reflected the interior or stock—or its proprietor. Travis envisioned an overhaul that would complement the renovations without violating any codes.
If anyone knew how to get around red tape, it was the Artful Dodger.
Screw the Historical Preservation Society. If they thought they were going to silence Kylie’s cry for change, they were wrong. He knew what it was like to crave something different. He knew the anguish of being denied.
“Don’t make this about you,” he could hear Mona saying.
Too late.
At 6:10 p.m. Travis admired his work. In less than an hour he’d tackled both the exterior sign and the interior plaque that used to hang above the cashier counter. He popped open his sixth can of Coke and contemplated what still needed to be done, undaunted by the hard work, inspired by the challenge.
Interior decorating had been his first passion. Even as a kid, he’d spent days rearranging his ma’s furniture. While his older brother had his nose stuck in a graphic novel, Travis flipped through the pages of their aunt Maria’s home decor magazines. When it came to furnishings and window treatments, he always had opinions on colors and styles. Even as a teen, the passion never died, but it was snuffed—by his pop, his uncle and his brother.
Tradition dictated Travis go into the family business. Interior design was for fairies and pussies. Except Travis wasn’t a chip off the old man. And he wasn’t anything like his brother. He couldn’t stomach physical intimidation. But he was smart. Smart and personable. He could talk anyone in circles and dodge any problem—hence his nickname.
So they sent him to law school. Having a lawyer in the family was beneficial, and even though he didn’t love the work, he was good at it. Because he loved his family, he ignored his true self. Just as he’d ignored the realization early on regarding his sexual preference. He’d conformed and been miserable.
He didn’t want Kylie to buckle under town pressure and conform. He’d do everything in his power to transform McGraw’s into the shoe store of her unique vision. As for her dream trip, he planned on making that happen, too. But he had to work fast. The last thing Travis wanted was to bring danger into Kylie’s life. He couldn’t shake the bad feeling that he’d stirred up trouble by breaking routine. By sending that e-mail. He couldn’t get Mona’s voice out of his head. “Run!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE SUN SAT LOW ON THE horizon by the time Jack drove out of town. Shy sat in the passenger seat, head out the window, ears ruffling in the wind. Not a care in the world.
Jack focused on the road, his mind clogged with the day’s events. Problems out the ass.
After his tense encounter with Kylie, Mayor Wilson had dragged him into an uncomfortable meeting with the town council. They’d hired Jack to keep the peace. Kylie was proving a nuisance.
“I was hoping this crisis of hers would play out when she sobered up,” said the mayor. “Unfortunately, she’s still acting out and promised there’s more to come.”
“If Kylie sabotages the success of the Apple Festival,” said Fred McCourt, president of the First National Bank, “she’s going to rile the town merchants and tarnish her reputation.”
“We’d hate to see folks turn on that girl just because she’s having a rough time,” said the mayor.
“We’re counting on you to curtail her sudden rebellious streak,” said Max Grogan, who, although retired from the fire department, seemed to hold several other civic positions.
“How do you propose I do that?” Jack asked, not liking the gist of the conversation.
“Use your imagination,” said McCourt.
“Or your influence as a friend of the family,” said Max.
“Or your badge,” said the mayor.
Even though they’d had the best interests of Eden and, seemingly, Kylie, at heart, he’d left that meeting unsettled. Being ordered to manipulate Kylie, by any means, chafed on several levels. The situation was complicated by their mutual attraction.
The afternoon had digressed when Ms. Vine hit him with a ton of paperwork and Ziffel reported gossip about Jessie applying for jobs all over town. Jessie had never worked a real job. She’d never wanted to. She’d married well and lived the good life. And now she was willing to work as a hostess, cashier or salesperson? Clearly, the woman was desperate, yet no one had been willing to hire her. At least that was the scoop according to Ziffel. Maybe Jessie would inform him differently.
Jack pulled into his driveway and cut the engine of his SUV. He swiped off his sunglasses and rolled back tense shoulders. Loud thumping distracted him from his thoughts. He glanced over at Shy, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Her wagging tail thwacked against the leather seat. He looked to where she looked and spotted Maddie sitting on the front porch swing, alone and focused on a book. He smiled. First, because it meant Jessie had decided to stay on another night. Second, because it was good to see his niece.
He tho
ught back on their brief interaction last night. He hadn’t expected Maddie to be so timid. So…polite. Jessie had been an outgoing kid, always vying for attention. Maddie was the extreme opposite. She’d stolen his heart in a blink of her baby browns. It blew Jack’s mind that Frank had walked away from that sweet little girl. Although, he’d heard through the grapevine that he’d never been a doting father. Probably because he was too busy screwing everything in a skirt.
Jack tucked away furious thoughts as he approached his somber niece.
Shy bolted forward and surprised the kid by jumping on the swing. Maddie tossed aside her book and hugged the dog, burying her face in Shy’s sleek fur.
“Hi, sweet pea,” Jack said as he scaled the front stoop.
Her pale skin flushed as though she’d been caught doing something wrong. She nudged away Shy and swiped dog hair from her pink dress—a lacy, poofy thing, embroidered with flowers. Jack noted her white leggings and shiny black shoes. Her long black hair was brushed to a high gloss and…were those rhinestones on her headband? At least it’s not a tiara, he thought, wondering if Jessie dressed her daughter like a princess every day.
He stooped in front of Maddie, noted the sadness in her eyes. “How was school?” he asked casually.
She glanced away, shrugged.
Not wanting to force their relationship, he respected her silence and glanced at the house. “Your mom inside?”
“Making supper.”
“I’ll lend her a hand.”
“Okay.”
He noted the way Maddie kept stealing looks at the dog. He ached to see her smile, to hear her laugh. “Shy’s been cooped up all day,” he said as he stood. “Would you do me a favor, hon? Run her around? Maybe throw her a stick? She likes playing fetch.”
Maddie’s eyes sparkled, but she didn’t move. “I’ll get dirty,” she said in a small voice.
That was Jessie talking.
“I’ll square it with your mom.”
She glanced at the badge clipped to his belt. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Okay.”
Maddie pushed off the swing and ran into the yard, poking around an old oak, looking for a fallen branch. Shy followed, and soon after the two were engaged in a playful game.
The minute Jack saw a genuine smile on the girl’s face, he moved inside. He wondered at Jessie’s mood. Wondered if she’d fill him in on her day or if she’d shut him out. Wondered how he could make her smile.
He tugged off his EPD cap and shrugged out of his nylon jacket. He caught a whiff of tangy sauce and garlic toast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal, cooked by someone other than himself. Although he could say for certain, he’d never had a meal cooked by Jessie. Mouth watering, he followed his nose.
His sister was shaking oregano into a saucepan when he walked into his kitchen. He moved closer and looked over her shoulder. “Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“With garlic bread. I know,” she said before he could comment. “You were expecting rabbit food.”
Jack heard the hurt in her voice. “I’m sorry about that anorexic crack, Jess.”
“A loss of appetite and an unwillingness to eat are two different things.”
“I know.” Jack noted his sister’s frail frame. She’d always been conscious of her weight, but this was beyond maintenance. He blamed stress. Trying to lighten her mood, he indicated the boiling pasta and simmering sauce. “So, tonight you’re hungry?” Maybe things were looking up.
“It’s for Madeline. She had a bad day. I’m trying to cheer her up.”
“Thought she looked a little glum when she greeted me on the porch.”
“No offense, but I think she was more interested in greeting the dog.”
“I don’t blame her,” he said with a smile. “Shy’s more fun than me. They’re in the front yard playing fetch.”
“Oh, for…” Jessica frowned over her shoulder. “She’ll get dirty.”
“Dirt washes off. So why does Maddie need cheering up?”
She focused on the sauce. “Another incident at school. Kids making fun of her. Calling her names.”
“Like what?”
“Fancy-Girl. Priss-Butt. Only this time a little boy stuck up for her and there was a fight. He got in trouble and…she’s upset for multiple reasons.”
“Jessie.”
“What?”
“Maddie does look like a Priss-Butt.”
“What?” She abandoned the wooden spoon and turned to glare.
“You dress her up like a little princess. Like a mini pageant queen. She’s a five-year-old. Let her be a kid.”
“And you’re qualified to give advice on children because?” She threw up her hands and turned back to the stove. “Never mind.”
Jack backed off. He nabbed two beers from the fridge, set an open bottle next to Jessie, then took a pull of his own. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
“It won’t be forever.” She took a sip of Bud, then poured the boiled pasta into a strainer. “Just until I can afford to rent a place.”
Again he wondered why she couldn’t or wouldn’t stay in her own home. Four thousand square feet of luxury. As far as he knew, the house was paid off.
“I got a job,” she blurted. “As a server at Boone’s Bar and Grill.”
Jack paused midsip.
“I start tomorrow,” she plowed on. “Wanda said I lucked out. Said her day server, Missy, wants to switch to nights so she can attend classes at ITT Tech in Fort Wayne. Still, the day shift is 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Which means I need to find someone to watch Madeline for a few hours after school. I can’t ask our old sitter. I…I just can’t.”
“Why Boone’s?” He had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Jessie. Couldn’t be good keeping her feelings bottled. Maybe if she opened up about the job hunt, she’d open up about Frank.
Embarrassed, she busied herself transferring the toasted bread from the oven to a napkin-covered plate. “Boone and Wanda were the only ones who’d hire me. They’re desperate for help. I’m desperate for a job.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I don’t want Frank’s money.”
“Why?”
“Because…just because!”
Jack eyed his sister’s stiff spine. Jessica Lynn Cortez, former pageant queen, wife of a prominent lawyer, a woman who’d earned a reputation as a snob, serving up suds and chicken wings to the locals? Jack was impressed with her determination to earn her own money—no matter the cost to her pride.
Jessie shoveled spaghetti into a large bowl, then poured on the sauce and meatballs. “Would you please tell Madeline to wash up? Dinner’s ready.”
“I’ll pick up Maddie from school,” Jack said, backtracking to avoid a total freeze out. “If I can’t, I’ll have Ziffel do it. I usually get off at five, so we just need coverage for a couple of hours.” He angled his head. “What about Mrs. Carmichael? She has a lot of experience with children and I think she’d appreciate the company. I’ll look into it.”
Jessie bristled.
“What?”
“You’re doing that superhero thing. I don’t want to be saved. I want to take control of my own future, but…”
“What?”
“I can’t refuse your offer or your suggestions. I know I can trust Madeline with you and Deputy Ziffel and…Mrs. Carmichael. She’s perfect.” She blew out a tense breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, would you please call in Madeline?”
“Sure.” He swigged more beer, then set the bottle on the counter. She could’ve complained about her humiliating day of job hunting. Or about Frank’s philandering. She could’ve asked her big brother to beat the shit out of her piece-of-shit husband. The old Jessie would have done all those things. Instead, she seemed determined to endure this life-altering debacle in stoic, if not stubborn, silence.
“I thought about what you said this afternoon. You were right, Jessie. I didn’t l
ike you, or rather what I saw of you when we were younger. I love you. You’re my sister, for chrissake. But you always ticked me off. I thought you were self-centered and insensitive, as a kid and an adult.”
She swallowed hard. “And now?”
“I think Dad was right,” he said while turning to fetch his niece. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
LIVING IN THE FRICKING middle of nowhere had its advantages.
For instance, no one saw Kylie wipe out on her bike when she cut too sharply and peeled into her gravel driveway. She’d been going too fast, obsessing on her crappy day. The bike was okay, which was more than she could say for her pride and bruised thigh. But at least no one, especially Jack, had witnessed the embarrassing display.
Mad at herself, she’d parked the Kawasaki in the shed, then hobbled toward her humble abode. She’d invested in the 1989 single-wide mobile home for three reasons.
1. It was a goodly distance from the home she’d grown up in. The home still occupied by her mom and grandma. Two women who bickered even when they agreed. (How was that possible?)
2. It was cheap. Her dream trip wasn’t. And so far she’d saved for it twice.
3. Privacy.
No one was in her business thanks to the seclusion of Hawkins Woods. So when she’d paused two feet from her doorstep and screamed her frustration to the darkening sky—no one heard. When she kicked the bird feeder in her Zen garden—no one saw. Unfortunately, the outburst hadn’t quieted her chaotic emotions.
Once inside, she’d changed out of her ripped jeans into comfy black yoga pants and an oversize Godzilla T-shirt. She’d checked her answering machine—no messages, flipped though her mail—all junk, then schlepped into the kitchen, realizing, on top of everything else, she was lonely.
Distracted, she’d burned her dinner, so she’d settled on a bowl of frozen raspberry yogurt and a cup of mint green tea.
She was heartsick about her hair, frustrated with Jack, confused by her feelings for Jack, lonesome for Spenser, concerned about Travis and anxious about Faye—who’d yet to return two of her calls. Yes, she’d broken down and reached out first. She was mad about that, too.
