by Judy Duarte
“He didn’t say much. How could he?” Jillian began to close the gap between them. “But I think it really bothered him.”
“Good.” If Mac would have had a wife like Jillian and kids…Well, the guy ought to feel like crap for leaving them.
He kept his thoughts to himself as he watched Jillian draw near. Seeing her again had awakened the attraction that had lain dormant for years, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Could he trust his feelings after only spending a few hours with her?
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and he fought the growing need to touch her. To slide his arms around her and draw her to him, just as he used to do when they’d been young.
“I think it also bothered him to know that you were here for dinner,” she said. “I told him that we were old friends, but he seemed to think there was more to it than that.”
Was there?
“Jared doesn’t realize that I’m not in a hurry to jump into a relationship,” she added. “I made one big mistake already, and I don’t plan to make another.”
He wanted to ask just what that mistake was. Her marriage? The divorce? Did she blame herself for not seeing it coming?
When she and Mac had dated, their split had left him heartbroken, but he’d been too proud to admit it. After all, back then, he hadn’t had a thing to offer a girl like her.
In fact, he still didn’t.
“Hey, Mom!” Tommy yelled from upstairs. “Come quick! The toilet is all stopped up!”
Mac couldn’t decide if he was glad to have the conversation interrupted or not.
“I’m coming!” Jillian, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, managed a wistful smile. “Every time I turn around, something goes on the blink around here.”
“Let me take a look at it. I’ve developed a real knack for unclogging sinks and pipes in the past week.”
She scrunched her face in that cute way of hers. “Gosh, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not?”
Her lips parted as though she had a good reason, then she stepped aside. “I’m probably going to be sorry for this, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t honed too many fix-it skills yet.”
“Why would you be sorry about me taking a look at your toilet?”
“Because you’ve seen me—and the kids—at our worst today. And something tells me that you’re not used to all the domestic drama.”
He wasn’t. Yet he lifted his hand and trailed his fingers along her cheek, relishing the silky softness of her skin, as well as the arousing effects of touching her. It was a ballsy thing to do, he supposed. But he couldn’t help it. And the fact she didn’t pull away or flinch suggested that she hadn’t found his move out of line.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That’s what friends are for.”
But as he turned to head for the stairway, he found himself wondering if this was just the kind of drama he’d been missing all of his life.
Chapter Nine
Talk about domestic drama.
Jillian stood in the bathroom doorway and watched Mac kneel beside the toilet, roll up his sleeve, reach deep within the now-empty ceramic bowl, and pull out a small toy motorcycle. Then he got to his feet and dropped it into the sink.
As he washed his hands with hot, soapy water, he glanced over his shoulder and flashed Jillian a boyish grin. “I’ve had plenty of experience with plumbing these past few days, but I’ve yet to run into this same problem at my place.”
She was sure he hadn’t. Finding toys that had been flushed down the toilet was the kind of thing only parents and grandparents had to deal with. She turned to her son, who sat on the edge of the fiberglass tub, the pale green bathmat bunched up at his bare feet.
“How did your motorcycle get in there?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t do it.”
Jillian knew better than to believe everything her children told her, but since Megan had disappeared the moment Mac had entered the bathroom, Tommy wasn’t the only suspect. Jillian would have to question Megan about it, but she didn’t have the heart to scold her right now. Not after the child’s tearful chat with her father tonight. So she would wait until bedtime to bring it up.
Mac held the three-inch-long motorcycle under the running faucet. “What do you suggest we do with this? It definitely needs to be sanitized.”
“Don’t bother doing that,” Tommy said. “It’s gross now. Just throw it away. I don’t even want it anymore.”
When Jillian nodded her agreement, Mac dropped the toy into the trash can beside the sink.
After he’d filled the toilet to the proper water level and made sure it was in working order, Jillian began to back out of the bathroom, clearing a path to the hallway.
“Okay,” she said to her son, “now that the crisis is over, it’s time for you and Megan to go to bed. I’ll be in shortly to tuck you in and listen to your prayers.”
As the boy headed to his bedroom down the hall, Jillian led Mac downstairs. “Thanks so much for solving another dilemma for me. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
They continued to the living room, their weight creating an occasional creak on the wooden steps. Once at the bottom landing, she wasn’t quite sure which way to turn or what to say.
Mac had already declined coffee, and she feared, with her luck, something else would go on the blink before the night was over. So she walked him to the door, still not quite ready to let him go, but unable to conjure an excuse for him to stay when it was probably in his best interest to leave.
“Well,” he said, “I guess I’d better head home.”
“Thanks again for all you’ve done today.”
“No problem. Thanks for the best tacos I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re welcome.”
In the lingering silence, their gazes met and locked. Something powerful swirled between them, something heart-spinning and warm.
Memories began to rush Jillian’s mind: their first kiss; the taste of the peppermint-scented toothpaste he used; that musky, mountain-fresh scent that had belonged only to him.
Her heart rate kicked up a notch, and anticipation swept through her. She may have gotten rusty at this sort of thing over the years, but she sensed he was going to kiss her. And if he did, she feared she’d let him.
There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t, but each one slipped her mind as quickly as it popped up.
Standing only a heartbeat away from Mac, the past and present blurring together, Jillian was afraid to speak, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell.
Was he just as caught up in it as she was?
Mac had dated his share of women since his breakup with Jillian, and he’d had plenty of hot, lusty kisses to ease his heartbreak. But none of those kisses had ever compared to the sweet innocence of the first one he’d shared with Jillian. Or with the hungry, youthful intensity of those that had followed. And now an opportunity to kiss her again was presenting itself.
The kid he used to be would have been reluctant to step out on a limb like that, but Mac was no longer that same gangly teenager on hormone overdrive who’d had a hopeless crush on the high school valedictorian, the good girl who’d turned the bad boy’s life on end. So he took a chance, lowered his head, and brushed his lips across hers, relishing the breathy intimacy.
He knew he was probably out of line, so he expected her to tense, to balk, to pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him back as though she’d been missing him for as long as he’d been missing her.
When her lips parted, his tongue swept into her mouth. The feel of her in his arms, her taste and scent, were better than he’d remembered, and his head swam in a sea of possibility.
But Mac was a realist, not a dreamer. He’d witnessed Megan’s response to her father’s phone call tonight. And he’d been aware of Jillian’s need to speak to her ex in private. Things we
ren’t the same as they’d once been; he and Jillian were no longer teenagers with their futures lying before them. There were complications now, as well as old baggage.
Mac had always made it a point to avoid dating single mothers for that very reason. There were too many extra hurdles, too many variables to make a man’s life more difficult than it had to be.
Besides, when it came to dealing with kids, Mac was way out of his league. There was no way he was daddy material, so he slowly drew back, breaking their kiss and loosening his hold.
As he did, Jillian reached for his shoulder to steady herself. The kiss, he realized, had knocked her off balance, which shouldn’t be the least bit surprising. It had unbalanced him, too.
Her cheeks, which had flushed several times throughout their day together, were a rosier shade than ever now. And a red splotch along her neck and throat suggested that she’d been just as swept away by their chemistry as he’d been.
His ego wanted to rise up and pound its chest, yet common sense tamped it down. He and Jillian still couldn’t be any more star-crossed.
So now what?
Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I…uh…don’t know what to say. I hadn’t planned to do that.”
“Neither had I.” Her voice was soft, yet husky.
A rash of excuses lay on his tongue, yet he couldn’t think of one that was entirely accurate, so he let them all remain unsaid. “I’d better call it a night.”
She managed a smile tinged with shyness. Or maybe it was embarrassment; he couldn’t be sure how she was feeling.
“Do you want to borrow the umbrella?” she asked.
Then he’d have to return it, and he wasn’t sure if it was wise to make even that much of a commitment. “Thanks, but I won’t need it.” He glanced at the windowpane, saw no evidence of the heavy rain they’d had earlier. “It’s only drizzling now.”
He turned away and opened the door, letting himself out.
As he walked down the front steps, he knew she stood in the doorway, watching him go. It took all he had not to turn around, but he pressed on. He was nearly to the driveway when he finally heard the click of the door shutting behind him. It was only then that he seemed to falter, but just for a moment.
The winter air was cold and damp, yet he relished the chill and the subsequent shiver that chased his dreams away with a dose of reality.
Now what? he asked himself.
The answer never came.
As he continued along the wet sidewalk in front of Charlie’s house, the colorful outdoor lighting in the old man’s yard seemed to proclaim hope and goodwill, as did that of nearly every house on Sugar Plum Lane tonight—every house but his and Jillian’s.
At least hers had lights on inside. His, which he was now approaching, looked like a big black hole ready to suck the life out of the neighborhood.
His feet sloshed along the wet concrete, and as he neared the streetlight, he glanced at his wristwatch. For the most part, the day was over. He’d had a lot of things he’d wanted to get done and not much to show for his time, thanks to the decision to get involved in a neighborly dispute. Everything else just got more complicated by the minute.
What was he going to do about his attraction to Jillian?
As he continued in a fog of indecision, he sensed that he wasn’t alone, and a feeling of being watched shivered through him. He glanced behind him, then looked to his right and left.
Down the street, near the fire hydrant, he spotted a shadowed figure with long hair and wearing what appeared to be a dark trench coat.
Jesse?
His steps slowed, but the shadow, as well as the feeling, disappeared as quickly as he’d imagined them.
Weird, he thought, shaking it off.
Still, he wondered what the homeless man would have had to say about all of this. About the kiss he and his old high school sweetheart had shared tonight.
Do the right thing, Jesse had once told him, and you’ll get the family you’ve always wanted.
Before Jillian moved back to Fairbrook, Mac had considered the department his family. But had Jesse’s comments been a prophecy? Was there a real family in Mac’s future?
Or was Mac’s hope of finally hooking up with Jillian merely an attempt to spit into the wind, like he’d done fifteen years ago?
Chapter Ten
The rain stopped around five o’clock that morning, and by the time Mac finally rolled out of bed and peered out the window, there were only a few clouds left in the sky. The day promised to be clear and bright, yet Mac’s thoughts were anything but.
Ever since that kiss last night, he’d been unable to focus on anything other than Jillian and what he felt for her.
Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. He also thought about her kids and the lousy Christmas they were going to have. Not that he was any expert on what they were missing out on. He’d learned not to put much stock in any holiday—especially that one—but he knew most kids were counting down the days by now.
Around nine-thirty, as he poured his second cup of coffee, he had what could only be considered a lightbulb moment.
What would it hurt for him to purchase Jillian’s kids a Christmas tree?
There was a lot at the north end of Applewood Drive, so it wouldn’t take long to pick one up. He wasn’t sure what she had in the way of decorations, so before heading out to his Expedition, he climbed the stairs to the attic, where he turned on a dusty forty-watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling of the small room.
He scanned a hodgepodge of junk Ray had been storing—a wrought iron birdcage that was big enough for a parrot or two, an old oak rocker with a slat missing in the back, a guitar with a macramé strap, and a beat-up canvas golf bag with several wood-shaft clubs.
Those golf clubs had to be really old—antiques, maybe. He wondered where Ray had gotten them, why he’d been saving them, and if they were worth anything.
Against the east wall, near the only window, several boxes had been stacked from floor to ceiling. Ray had marked the outside with black capital letters indicating the contents: 2005 TAX AUDIT, DAD’ S ARMY PAPERS, and XMAS STUFF. Mac pulled the Christmas boxes away from the rest and found colored lights and ornaments in them.
Behind the boxes, life-size, painted plywood cutouts of a red-nosed reindeer and a drummer boy leaned against the wall. A couple of Victorian-style carolers had been placed next to them.
Two wicker laundry baskets held strands of outdoor lights that had been rolled up neatly around shortened pieces of PVC pipe.
Maybe Mac ought to take some of this stuff to Jillian’s and use it to decorate her house and yard. The kids would probably be happy about that. So he stacked a couple of boxes on top of each other, picked them up, and carried them downstairs. It took several trips, but soon he had it all placed by the front door.
All he had to do was share his intentions with Jillian and hope she agreed with his plans.
But why wouldn’t she? This way she and the kids could have a Christmas they would remember, even if it wasn’t at all like the holidays they’d had in the past.
He stepped outside and, after locking his door, strode toward Jillian’s house. The sun was out, and a temperate coastal breeze had chased away the crisp wintry chill that had settled over Fairbrook yesterday.
Across the way, a middle-age man who lived a few doors down from Jillian was tinkering under the hood of a red ’56 Thunderbird. Charlie had mentioned that one of the neighbors had refurbished the car and rebuilt the engine himself. If the guy would have glanced up from his work, Mac would have given him a nod or maybe even strode closer to take a look at the classic car. As it was, he continued on his way.
In front of Charlie’s house, his steps slowed and he studied the display of Christmas decorations that, in the daylight, merely littered the yard.
Mac had told the old man that he would try to solve the missing angel caper. So, on impulse, he crossed the wet, soggy lawn and approached the nativity scene, where the Mado
nna gazed lovingly on the infant in the manger and Joseph looked at the two in awe. A shepherd was flanked by two lambs, a cow, and a donkey. Mac wasn’t sure where the missing angel had stood, but as he surveyed the grass surrounding the other figures, he didn’t see anything amiss. As he turned to go, he noticed a small piece of gold ceramic floating on a puddle of muddy water. He stooped and picked it up, turned it over, and studied the broken edges.
A second, closer scan of the surrounding area revealed another small piece just steps away from the first. And then another.
It didn’t take a forensic expert to come to the conclusion that the angel had been broken or to follow the trail from Charlie’s lawn to Jillian’s. The pieces didn’t lead to her front door, but there were at least two smaller chunks on the side of her yard.
Had Tommy been lying when he’d insisted he hadn’t taken the angel?
As a homicide detective, Mac had honed a skill at reading facial expressions and discerning when a suspect was lying.
Most liars tended to skate around the question, to blink, and to fidget in one way or another. But the boy had looked Mac right in the eye when asked about it. Of course, his answer might have been different if Mac had asked if he’d broken the angel and hidden the evidence that led to his house.
Mac blew out a heavy sigh and raked his hand through his hair. He wasn’t exactly sure how to handle this, but he didn’t want to accuse Jillian’s kids until he had something solid. He supposed he ought to play it by ear. So he made his way to Jillian’s front porch and rang the bell, then, remembering that it was on the blink, grabbed the brass knocker and banged it several times.
When Jillian answered wearing a pair of cream-colored slacks and a pink cotton blouse, her breezy smile nearly knocked him to his knees. The kiss they’d shared last night hovered over him, and he’d be darned if he knew what to do about it. Ignore it, he supposed.
“Can you come outside for a minute?” he asked. “I want to talk to you in private.”
