Timid (Lark Cove Book 2)

by Devney Perry

  “We’ll find something.” I slid into some flip-flops, then we traipsed through town and across the highway to her boathouse and got her ready for her date.

  After picking out some skinny jeans and a simple green blouse, I left Leighton’s place and walked home in no particular hurry, enjoying the warm sunshine of the early evening.

  Saturdays were me days, because during the summer, it was my only day off in the week. Even then, I usually stopped by the camp for an hour or two, just to check in with the counselors. But today, I’d stayed away and let my capable staff run the show.

  Tomorrow would be hectic, starting early with a sendoff for the current campers and ending late with a welcome party for the new group of kids. So I was enjoying the day to myself and catching up on some much-needed rest and laundry.

  As I strolled down the sidewalk toward my house, my thoughts drifted to Jackson. Would there be another note waiting when I got home? My feet sped up, then I slowed as I remembered the time. He was already at work.

  Thea was still in New York and Jackson had to open the bar. That was probably why I’d gotten today’s note so early.

  Dang. It had only been a few days, but I’d gotten used to having them by my door when I got home in the evenings.

  I walked the rest of the way home, finding my mom sitting on the bottom step of my staircase with her garden gloves and a pair of scissors.

  Her blond hair was twisted in a bun and trapped in a visor. She always dressed nicely, even when gardening. Today she wore a pair of navy linen pants and a cream blouse. The only thing casual about Mom was the pair of tan gardening clogs she wore when working outside.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she greeted, trimming back a flower.

  “Hi. Want some help?”

  “Sure! I didn’t realize these had grown so much these past two weeks. I’ve been so focused on getting the strawberry patch in the front yard under control.”

  “It’s okay. I just step around them.”

  “I think we’d better trim them back.” She picked up a yellow petunia that had been trampled, probably by one of Jackson’s boots.

  I laughed. “You’re probably right.”

  I picked up the watering can that I used every day to water the flowers and went to the faucet to fill it up. I watered quickly, then found another pair of scissors to help Mom.

  It didn’t take us long to work our way up the stairs, trimming until we could actually see the stairs again. When we got to the top, Dad came out from around the garage.

  He was wearing his standard khaki chinos, short-sleeved shirt and loafers. The only thing different about his summer attire and his school-year attire was the lack of a tie. He still styled his light blond hair like he was going to work. And he starched and ironed his slacks every morning.

  “You girls ready for dinner?” he asked.

  “Almost,” I told him, tying up the garbage bag we’d filled.

  Saturdays were also my night to eat dinner with my parents. We’d started the ritual after I’d moved into the garage three years ago, so instead of going on dates or meeting friends, I spent my Saturday nights with Mom and Dad.

  With the work done, Mom and I descended the stairs, meeting Dad at the bottom.

  Mom pulled off her garden gloves and tossed them on a step. “I’m ready.”

  “You’re wearing your visor and clogs to dinner?”

  She shrugged. “It’s just pizza at the bar.”

  “The bar? I thought we were going up to Kalispell.” I wasn’t mentally prepared to go to the bar for dinner. Or adequately dressed.

  I normally wore dresses in the summer, except for jeans a couple times a week on days I’d spend outside exploring with the kids at camp. I never went to work without taming my hair and applying some makeup.

  But today I’d made no effort. My face was bare and my hair hadn’t been washed—or combed for that matter. It was just pulled back in a messy braid. I was wearing raggedy, olive-green shorts with a black tank top that sometimes doubled as a pajama top. The straps of my yellow bra were showing.

  “We don’t want to be driving around if we’re drinking,” Dad said.

  “I can be the designated driver.”

  He shook his head. “No way. We’re celebrating tonight! We’re so proud of all the work you put into finding someone to buy the camp. Now it’s safe for, hopefully, another fifty years, we want to toast to a job well done with our daughter. Besides, we haven’t been to the bar in ages. I’m craving pizza.”

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Can I have ten minutes to change?”

  “You look beautiful.” Mom took my hand and tugged me behind her down the driveway. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, Willa,” Dad said, catching up. “You look beautiful.”

  And that was how I ended up at the bar on my Saturday night with Jackson coming my way.

  “Hey there, Nate. Hi, Betty. Long time no see.” Jackson shook both of my parents’ hands, then came to stand behind me at the table we’d chosen in the middle of the bar.

  I scooched my chair in toward the table, trying to put a little more space between Jackson and me, but he wasn’t having it.

  He put both hands on the back of my chair, then leaned in close. “Hi, Willa.”

  “Uh . . . hi.” I shivered at the heat from his chest on my bare shoulders.

  Why was he standing so close? My parents were right there. Our table was one of four tall, square ones in the center of the room and there was plenty of space between tables.

  Plenty. P-L-E-N-T-Y.

  But was Jackson using any of that plentiful space?

  No sirree. He stayed pressed against the back of my chair, like there were only three inches of usable space behind him, not three feet.

  My skin prickled he was so close. I tried to nudge my chair forward again, but it barely moved. Sweat beaded on my temples and I pulled in a shaking breath.

  Jackson’s woodsy, rich scent was everywhere. It overpowered the stale beer, pizza and peanuts, and I inhaled a deep breath, unable to resist.

  Sexy Hot Forest. That’s what they’d call his cologne.

  “Willa, you look flushed.”

  “Huh?” My eyes whipped to Mom, but she’d already turned to Jackson.

  “You’d better bring her some ice water, Jackson.”

  “Sure, Betty.” The vibrations from his rumble hit my neck, making my cheeks burn even hotter.

  My face had been red since we’d walked in the door.

  The moment Jackson had seen me trailing into the bar behind my parents, a smug smile had spread across his face. He’d gotten this sexy glint in his eye as he’d watched us take our seats. Well, as he’d watched me take my seat. Then he’d unleashed the swagger, rounding the bar with long, confident strides that made my heart race.

  If that hadn’t gotten me flustered enough, Jackson had foregone his standard plaid shirt. Tonight, it was just faded jeans, boots and a black T-shirt that fit snugly across his chest and biceps.

  There was a lot of muscle action happening behind me. I willed my shoulders to stay straight and not give in to the temptation to lean backward and sink into that heat Jackson was radiating. I squirmed in my chair as a coil tightened between my legs.

  This sexual tension was going to kill me.

  I pulled in a deep breath, blocking out Jackson’s smell, and did my best to get ahold of my internal temperature.

  “I’ll bring you all waters,” Jackson told Mom and Dad. “What else can I get for you tonight?”

  As he spoke, he drummed his fingers on the back of my chair, brushing his knuckles ever so slightly against my shoulder blades.

  Tingles shot down my spine, forcing me to straighten even more. My ribs slammed against the table, making the condiment rack wiggle.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, grabbing the bar menu that was sandwiched between a bottle of ketchup and one of hot sauce.

  As I studied the same list of pizza toppings I
’d memorized years ago, I took another breath. But with my torso pressed against the table, I couldn’t get enough air.

  Jackson shifted even closer, his forearms resting on the back of my chair. It put those dangerous knuckles up against my tank top, trapping me in my place.

  “We’re celebrating tonight, Jackson.” Dad pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket to examine the row of liquor bottles behind the bar. “So I guess I’ll have a vodka martini, please. Extra dry, no olives.”

  “Oooh!” Mom wagged her eyebrows at Dad and purred, “Feeling frisky tonight, Mr. Doon?”

  “Eww, Mom,” I groaned. “Gross.”

  She giggled, then looked up at Jackson and winked. “I’ll have the same.”

  “You got it.” He chuckled and bent his head lower, his breath whispering over my ear. “What would you like?”

  A shiver ran down my back and my shoulders shimmied. The movement caused me to rub against his knuckles. It was just a slight touch, but the heat from his fingers singed through the back of my tank.

  I jerked forward, making the table bounce again and winced as it bit into my rib cage once more.

  “Willa!” Mom frowned. “Stop doing that.”

  “Sorry. This chair is, um . . . uncomfortable.”

  Behind me, Jackson chuckled. “I’ve got somewhere else you could sit.”

  I ignored him and shoved the menu back in its place. “I’ll just have a Bud Light.”

  “You got it,” he said, then finally backed away from my chair.

  As soon as he was clear, I slumped in my seat, savoring the ability to breathe again. Both of my parents were inspecting me.

  Mom had a goofy grin on her face. Dad’s glasses had slid down his nose and his eyes were alternating between me and Jackson.

  I gave them both a small smile, tucked my hands underneath my thighs and looked around the room, pretending like that hadn’t been the most uncomfortable, yet exhilarating drink order I’d ever placed in my life.

  I loved the Lark Cove Bar, and not just because of its staff. The building itself was full of character and rustic charm.

  The high ceilings had exposed iron beams, and the battered floors were littered with peanut shells. None of the stools or chairs matched. The walls were paneled with warm wood and filled with a variety of signs and pictures that Hazel’s parents had collected over the years.

  She’d added her own special touches when she’d moved back to Montana to run the bar. After she’d retired, Thea and Jackson had put up some things of their own as well. There wasn’t much free space left these days and I’m sure there were those who’d call it cluttered. I liked to think of it as a collection.

  They’d each left their mark.

  The bar itself was long and ran in an L shape across both of the back walls. Tall cocktail tables were in the center of the room, and a few booths lined the front windows. The black vinyl benches had been patched with electrical tape in a few spots.

  It wasn’t fancy or trendy, but it was perfect for Lark Cove.

  “Here you go.” Jackson came back quickly, setting down our drinks on square napkins along with a paper boat of peanuts. “Do you guys want dinner?”

  “Yes, please. We need pizza.” Mom turned in her chair to place our regular order. The entire time, Dad watched Jackson with a careful eye.

  Probably because as soon as Jackson’s hands had delivered the drinks, they’d gone right back to my chair.

  I looked over my shoulder, up at Jackson. He flashed me a wink before focusing back on Mom as she rattled off our order.

  Jackson’s stance was intimate and claiming. He was leaning down, just a bit, into my space. His long legs were planted wide behind my seat, so if I wanted to stand, he’d have to move first.

  It was no wonder Dad was suspicious. He hadn’t missed the wink or the significance of Jackson’s stance.

  As Mom finished ordering, a new wave of nerves fluttered in my belly. I wanted Jackson to leave my chair, but I knew as soon as he left, I was in for some questioning.

  Mom’s detailed order of our three pizzas, all of which had their own special combination of five or six toppings, ended too soon.

  “I’ll get those going. Be back.” Jackson rubbed a knuckle down the back of my arm before walking off.

  One simple touch and my face was flaming again. Tingles worked their way down my elbow and to my fingertips. When I lifted my beer to my lips, my hand was shaking and a few drops sloshed over the rim.

  Meanwhile, Dad sat across from me in silence, studying my every move.

  Don’t bring it up. Please don’t bring it up.

  “I think he likes you, sweetie.” Mom’s face was so full of hope it made me love her even more. She so desperately wanted me to date, but there just weren’t many single men my age in Lark Cove.

  “Maybe.” I sipped my beer, hoping that would be the end of it. I should have known better.

  “You should ask him out.” She nudged my elbow with her own. “He’s cute.”

  “He, um . . . already kind of asked me out. I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Is he making you uncomfortable?” Dad’s chest puffed up as he straightened in his chair. “Do I need to talk to him?”

  I shook my head and bit back a smile. “No. I’m fine.”

  Though I’d love to be a witness to that confrontation. Dad and Mom were both on the smaller end of the human-size spectrum. Mom was an inch shorter than me. Dad was five nine. Jackson had at least fifty pounds of muscle and brawn on him, plus quite a few inches.

  But that wouldn’t scare Dad away one bit.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because you looked uncomfortable.”

  I shook my head. “Really, Dad. I’m fine. I, um, I’m just not sure what to do about Jackson yet.”

  “You’re not sure?” Mom nearly spit out her sip of martini. “You’ve had a crush on him since you were seventeen. I think the obvious answer here is yes.”

  “I’ll think about it. Now can we talk about something else?” Anything else. We’d made a pact on my fifteenth birthday never to talk about boys, periods or bras in front of Dad. Maybe I needed to remind her that it was still in place.

  “Fine.” Mom shrugged and took another drink. I thought for a minute the discussion was over, but it wasn’t. “Though for the record, I think you two would have the most beautiful blond babies.”

  “Mom!” I glared at her, then peeked over my shoulder.

  Thankfully, Jackson had gone to the kitchen and hadn’t heard her. I turned back around and gave Dad a pleading stare. He grinned and changed the subject, distracting Mom with a question about my cousin’s baby shower in Kalispell the next weekend.

  My shy demeanor certainly didn’t come from my mother’s gene pool. Mom had grown up in Kalispell and my three aunts still lived there with their families. All four of them were as direct and outgoing as you could get. If not for their petite frames and innocent faces, some would have called them rude. But due to their stature, they got labeled “sassy” or “spitfire.”

  I loved my aunts dearly, but the annual family reunion was something I’d spend months dreading because my mom was the tamest of the lot. Those get-togethers were always packed full of questions about my love life, or lack thereof, and awkward attempts to set me up with my cousins’ single friends.

  “Let’s do a toast.” Dad raised his glass. “To Willa. We’re so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and clinked his glass, then Mom’s. “I appreciate all of your help.”

  Mom and Dad had both proofread my proposal to the Kendrick Foundation more times than I could count.

  We sat and chatted for a while as we waited for Jackson to bring out our pizzas. It didn’t take long for him to deliver all three, carefully squeezing them onto the table between our drinks.

  “You guys need anything else?” he asked. “Another martini, Betty?”

  “Do you mind?” she asked Dad.


  I always thought it was cute when she did that. My mom’s alcohol tolerance was low and after two martinis, she’d be a ball of giggles. She always made sure Dad didn’t care if she got tipsy, which he never did. But she always asked his permission, not because she had to, but because above all else, they were thoughtful of one another.

  “Of course not.” He patted her knee. “Go for it. I’ll have another too.”

  “Willa?” Jackson asked, nodding to my beer.

  I shook my head. “Just a water, please.”

  “You got it.” He left us to our meal, smiling at me as he walked away.

  Wowzah. I’d seen that smile a hundred times, but rarely had it been just for me. Even though he’d been aiming it at me all week long, I still wasn’t used to it.

  A part of me hoped I’d never get used to it. Having a smile steal your breath away was a feeling like none other.

  “I’m happy for you,” Mom whispered as she dug into her pizza.

  I lifted a slice of my own and gave her a smile. I was still scared. What I’d told Leighton was still true. But there was excitement and happiness there too.

  The conversation at our table stopped as the three of us did what we always did at meal time: inhale food. By the time we were done, Mom, Dad and I hadn’t spoken more than one word. Our three pizzas were gone except for a few pieces of discarded crust.

  Jackson chuckled, returning to the back of my chair. “I was going to bring you a box, but I see you don’t need one.”

  Dad laughed too. “We were hungry.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Just the check.” Mom smiled up at Jackson, her nose a rosy red from the martinis.

  “Will do,” he told her. “Willa, you feel like sticking around for a bit?”

  “Oh, uh . . . no. I’d better go.”

  “Come on. One more beer,” Jackson pleaded. “I had this idea to do something special for Charlie and I wanted to run it by you.”

  I hesitated long enough for Mom to make my decision for me.

  “Stay, sweetie.” Mom patted my hand. “Your dad and I have business to attend to at home.”