by Jaime Rush
She flicked a piece of tartan material that was hanging on a chain from the rearview mirror. “You’re really okay with having no connections to people, to being alone?”
She remembered making a similar statement, and him refuting it. He nodded, and she thought maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Or believed it, in any case. “Aren’t you lonely?” Because she was. “I don’t understand how you can not be so lonely that sometimes you want to just shrivel up and die from it.”
“Like you?”
“Nah, I meant it in a general way.”
He’d obviously heard the emotion in her voice; he slowed to a stop. “You have us now.”
Those words caved in her chest, stole away her breath. No, you can’t hold onto them. “What if Magnus doesn’t want me anymore? What if he hates me?”
“I know my brother. He won’t hate you.”
“You don’t know him with Darkness. And if he blames us for making that decision, you’ll both hate me. There are too many variables. You can’t make that kind of sweeping statement.”
“I just did, though.”
She wanted to smack him on the arm; she wanted to crawl in his lap and hold on. What worried her most was that he would risk his life to save hers because he didn’t think his life was worthy. Because it would redeem him.
She threw herself back against the seat, arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed. “Just go.”
“You want me to leave?”
“No, I mean, keep driving.”
He was probably giving her a curious look now, and she fought not to look at him. The truck pulled out onto the road, and the smooth rumble of the engine lulled her into a doze. She got those dreams that weren’t really dreams but snippets of scenes or memories floating through. In one, Lachlan said, You have us now, and then kissed her like he had earlier. Her eyes snapped open and she saw he was watching her.
“You were making noises,” he said, “Like a cat purring.”
Enough of that. She reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m going to check in with Hayley, see how the carnival’s going.”
“It’s going great,” Hayley said a minute later, excitement in her voice. “I wish you could be here to see it, tons of people having fun. But there’s a lot of buzz and concern about what happened to the trailer and to you.”
They’d left it a mess, possibly with blood. Cringe. Lachlan’s blood. Double cringe.
“What did you tell them?”
She didn’t like either of the stories, that she and Lachlan were having wild sex or that her uncle was stalking her.
“I didn’t know what to say.” The strain was evident in the poor girl’s voice.
Damn Russell. He’d spoiled it. Now all those people who thought she was so great would think she was so awful. “Tell them Lachlan and I went a little crazy. If they mention blood, I accidentally cut him.”
“But that’s not what happened, is it?” Hayley asked.
“I don’t want you involved, okay? Let’s leave it at a lapse in judgment, my wild side exploding. I’ll be in touch.”
“Please do, Jessie. No matter what you said . . . I don’t want to lose you in my life.”
The words tore at her. “I’ll talk to you soon. ’Bye.” Unless . . . dare she hope that they could kill Russell?
He took in her sad expression. “You alright?”
She always put on her everything’s fine facade, but she didn’t have to with Lachlan. “It’s so hard.” Except it felt strange, opening herself up that way. “I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again. Saying goodbye is part of life.”
He saw right through it but said nothing as he continued to head down to where she worked. Used to work, anyway. Another lie to make up, another goodbye to say. He parked along the sidewalk. She got out, letting the sun warm her as the cool air embraced her. He started to reach in back for the sword but paused. “That’s not going to work, having the sword when I’m getting my hair cut. I’ll attach the dirk to the inside of the coat and hand it to you to hold.”
“Sure.” She looked at the sign: MUSIC TRIPP. Sighed. “I’d better get it over with. I feel terrible quitting without giving them notice. Can you give me a couple of minutes?”
“I’ll stay here.” He looked like a warrior, wide-legged stance, ready for anything.
She went in and found Glen Tripp talking to someone by the guitars. She waited, catching his surprised look.
He excused himself and walked over. “Hey, why aren’t you at the carnival? Toni and the girls are there now, probably looking for you.”
“I have to leave town. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be in next week.”
“Is everything all right?”
“It’s complicated. I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I don’t expect you to hold the job for me. But I’ve enjoyed working with you and the family.”
“Can I help?”
She sighed again. That’s what she liked about them; they were do-anything-for-you people, her dream family. She shook her head. “Just don’t be mad.”
“Of course not.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “But I’m worried about you. You’re the most conscientious worker we’ve ever had. Whatever is making you quit like this must be serious.”
Great, now she wanted to cry. She cleared her throat. “Tell Toni and the girls I said goodbye and that I’ll miss them.”
Lachlan took her in as she walked out. “That must have been hard.”
“Not really. The pay was pretty low. With my erratic work history, I can’t score a high-paying job. The Tripps are nice, but it was just another job.”
He totally surprised her by pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “Go on, have a cry.”
Damn, could she not cover any of her emotions? She closed her eyes and savored the feel of his comfort. For just a moment. Then she stepped back. “I never cry.”
“Never? Not even when—”
“Not even then. Let’s get your hair cut.”
They walked five storefronts down to DORIS JEAN’S HAIR SALON AND GENERALLY COOL PLACE TO HANG OUT. He regarded the sign.
“It is,” she said. “Doris cut my hair during the Locks of Love thing, which was the only way I could afford a real haircut. I started coming down on my breaks, having a cup of coffee, and . . . well, hanging out. They like to give me hair and makeup tips.” Doris was probably fifteen years older than her but seemed to take a motherly role with her. Jessie liked it.
She reached for the door, but he beat her to the handle and pulled it open. “I forget gentlemen are supposed to do this sort of thing. I’ve been remiss.”
“Yes. Yes, you have.”
He gave her a sheepish look, no doubt thinking of all the ways he’d been remiss.
Doris, a bundle of energy who seemed bigger than her five-foot-two frame, squealed and came running over in her four-inch heels. “Jessie!” She started to give her a hug but stopped at the sight of Lachlan behind her. Her smile morphed to a predatory one. “Well, well, who’s this?”
“Lachlan,” Jessie said before he could.
He took in the gazes of every female in the place, including the clients who were getting treatments. “Uh, hello.”
Doris thrust her chest out and took several ministeps over to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” She reached out and took hold of a lock of his hair with her other hand. “What gorgeous hair you’ve got. Please tell me you’re here for a service.”
Her forwardness threw him even more. He opened his mouth, paused, and then asked, “Service?”
“Haircut, style. We also offer chest and back hair removal.”
His hand involuntarily went to his chest. “No, that’s quite alright.” Jessie liked the way he ran all right together, and she loved the expressions on his face. He said, “Jessie said you cut long hair for wigs. Can you throw me in to that?”
Doris reached for his hair again. “I could throw you into a lot of things.” She waggled her eyebrow, the una
bashed flirt.
His smile was stilted. Poor guy. She had thrown him into a den of single women. Two other stylists had moved in, too, both closer to Jessie’s age. While a part of her enjoyed Lachlan’s reaction, another part felt like a cat dunked into a tub of water, growling and with claws flying.
Macy said, “I’ll do him. I’m open for the next hour.”
“I can do it. My specialty is long hair,” Cammie said.
Doris pointed to the plaque on the wall: DORIS JEAN’S HAIR SALON. YOU GROW IT, WE’LL STYLE IT. “See whose name is on that sign? That’s who’s doing him.”
Jessie leaned toward Lachlan. “They don’t get a lot of good-looking guys in here.” She’d heard the laments before. Doris had been trying to advertise at men, even changing the color on the sign from pink to blue. Wasn’t working.
Doris grabbed Lachlan’s hand and dragged him off to the sinks in back. “I give the best scalp massages.”
He glanced back, giving her that adorable worried look.
You’re safe, she mouthed. Maybe. The cat growled again, a low, long one. Come on, what’s wrong with you? He’s not yours, and he’s not even flirting back.
Macy and Cammie closed in on her and talked at once. “Who’s that?”
“And what happened to the big hunk with curls?”
Jessie had referred Magnus to the salon. Doris had cut his hair, too, raving about all his curls, just as Lachlan had said women did. Now, she watched as Doris settled Lachlan in the chair. He’d obviously never been to a proper salon before. He jerked up when the chair tilted backward.
“That’s Lachlan, Magnus’s brother,” she said.
“His brother? Ooh, you bad girl, you, cheating on one brother with the other!” Cammie said.
“Or is it something kinky?” Macy said, nearly salivating at the prospect. As Jessie and Macy exchanged romance novels, Jessie knew her taste ran toward erotica. “Do you have them put on kilts and—”
“Lalalalala.” Jessie covered her ears until she saw Macy’s mouth stop moving. “Do not put those images in my mind. We’re just friends.” Except for that kiss.
“Friends. Yeah, sure.” Macy glanced to where Lachlan was getting to his feet and holding a towel turban over his wet hair. “The way you were looking at him . . .”
“And the way he was looking at you,” Cammie added.
Macy held out a lock of her hair. “I might be blond, but remember, it’s a dye job. You’re not fooling me.”
Was she . . . was he . . .
He was now within earshot, and Doris was asking, “Was that the most wonderful hair wash ever?”
“It was quite nice,” he said, and dammit, he meant it.
You are not feeling jealous because she got to run her fingers through his hair, got to make him feel good. Right?
Right.
Doris pulled a wide-tooth comb through his hair. “How short do you want to go, honey?”
“Not too short,” Jessie found her mouth saying. “Uh, it might be a shock, after having long hair for so long.”
Macy gave her a See, I knew you liked him that way look, accentuating it with a nod.
“Whatever you think is best,” he said to Doris. “I trust you.”
Doris gave Jessie a sugar-sweet smile. “He trusts me.” She turned him to face the big mirror and pulled the mass of long wet hair up to give him an idea of what shoulder-length hair would look like. “How about this?”
“Aye, that’s fine.”
“Aye.” Doris wilted, looking at the three of them. “I love his accent.”
Jessie met Lachlan’s eyes and burst out laughing. He shrugged, giving her a crooked smile. But he was laughing, too, and she felt a jolt shoot right through her as their gazes locked.
“What’s so funny?” Doris asked, her gaze going from her to him. “Oh, some kind of private joke.”
“‘Private.’ ” Macy gave an exaggerated nod of her head.
Oh, boy. Jessie could feel herself slipping. The trill of excitement zipping through her, the smile she couldn’t get off her face . . . all bad signs. The more he relaxed and opened up around her, the more appealing he was. Knowing his shadows, his fears, well, that made it worse.
The jealous cat growled as Doris’s fingers moved through his hair, the worse sign yet. The more Doris touched him, the more Jessie wanted to go all wild on her. Which was plain crazy.
Doris put his hair into three ponytails and cut each one. She held them up. “Say goodbye.”
Lachlan waved that off. “It’s only hair.”
Doris prattled on about everything and nothing. Every few minutes his gaze would slide to Jessie’s. There was the jolt again.
Macy got a walk-in, and Cammie finally drifted off to straighten her station. Doris dried Lachlan’s hair, turning her wrist expertly and leaving his hair fluffy and shiny. When she was finished, she spun the chair so he faced her directly. “Well? Is he gorgeous or what?”
Well, he’d been gorgeous in a rough, Highlander sort of way. Now his dark hair tapered back to the base of his neck. He looked . . . civilized, but not completely.
“I like it.”
Doris unclipped the cape and released him. “Do you need any product?”
“Product?” he asked.
“Shampoo, hair spray.”
“No, I’m good.” He followed her to the register.
Doris gave him a twinkle-eyed smile. “You sure are, sugar.”
He gave her a big fat tip, the kind Jessie wanted to give her but couldn’t. Jessie slid her arm around his. “I’d better get you out of here. Thanks, Doris.”
Every woman in the place called out farewells with their fluttering fingers. Sheesh.
Lachlan took his coat back as soon as they walked outside, checking their surroundings. Satisfied that things were clear, he ran his fingers through his hair. “Feels strange.”
He didn’t even get that he’d created a stir, that most of those women would have thrown themselves at him if she hadn’t been there looking so obviously . . . with him.
“How long have you had long hair?”
“Dunno, probably since I was fifteen. Not as long as it was, though.” He looked around again. “You want to go by the store, get food or anything else?”
“Yeah. I want to make dinner.” It was late afternoon now, and her tummy was beginning to growl. “You’re not having boiled chicken and brown rice either. Do you like things spicy?”
He lifted his eyebrow, with a decidedly devilish gleam in his eyes. “Are we talking about food here?”
She pointed at his chest, her finger poking hard muscle. “Do not flirt with me, Lachlan McLeod. It’s wrong and unfair and . . . frustrating.”
“Was that flirting?”
On anyone else, she’d suspect that guileless expression was an act. “Yes. You do this thing with your eyebrow, asking if we’re talking about food, and it makes me all crazy inside because you can’t go there and I can’t go there. So stop.”
“I was flirting, eh? Mm, interesting. It just sort of came out, the spicy thing, and I didn’t know I was doing a ‘thing’ with my eyebrow.” He released a huff of breath. “It’s so damned easy with you, Jess. I was being honest when I said I’d shut that part of myself off and you turned it back on again. Just goes to show you what a sod I am, flirting with you and not even realizing it.”
He did not need to add anything else to his things-to-hate-himself-for list, as he’d said. She would be strong, too, and not add anything more to her list of awful things she was responsible for.
She put her hand on his cheek. “Don’t beat yourself up either. We’re only human.”
The strong sense of being watched spiked through her. She turned and found four faces watching them with the kind of expressions they might have over a juicy scene from a soap opera. Just like those scenes, she would leave them hanging.
Chapter 13
The kitchen hadn’t been such a mess, and hadn’t smelled so good, since Lachlan’s fath
er’s death nine months ago. Lachlan usually threw a chicken breast into the microwave, cooked some rice, heated some canned green beans, and that was about it. All he needed was sustenance. The way his mouth watered at the aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and chicken cooking in the pan . . . well, she’d awakened his hunger for good food, too.
She tasted some of the sauce, rolling her eyes in pleasure. “Mm, perfect.”
She’d set him to chopping lettuce and carrots for a salad, having already whipped up a dressing from scratch. She flitted from thing to thing, humming, a smile on her face.
“You do love to cook, don’t you?” he asked.
“My dad and I used to cook together. It was special. I felt all grown up, like I was helping. My mom was sick a lot, and Dad ended up doing a lot of the household chores.” The smile on her face showed him how much those times meant to her.
“What was wrong with your mum?”
“The doctors couldn’t find anything, but she’d been sickly her whole life. Failure to thrive, she said they called it. I took care of her, played mommy. She started getting better in those last couple of months.”
She moved with grace, whisking a bowl of homemade salad dressing filled with herbs and a touch of balsamic vinegar; she liked to tell him every ingredient, like one of those cooking show hosts. She had a lovely glow on her face, putting a flush on her apple cheeks and a sparkle in her hazel eyes. He had to stop watching her or else he’d chop his fingers off.
“Here, try this,” she said, suddenly beside him with a spoon of the tomato sauce.
He obliged and leaned down, so used to his hair falling forward he almost made to push it back.
He had the same reaction she had, rolling his eyes and letting out a soft Mmmm. “Incredible.” Except he was looking at her. He shifted his gaze to the now empty spoon. “You said it was chicken cacciatore?”
“Yep. I got it from this old Italian cookbook I picked up at a thrift store. You know it’s good when there are food stains and notations on the pages.”
