Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “I’ll think of you every time I use them,” he promised, then put a hand at her waist and kissed her cheek, and this time, she did hold his shoulder. His lips were warm despite the freezing morning, his clean scent filled her head, and his shoulder was so solid. He lifted his head, smiled into her eyes, and said, “I think I know which one of us is a good person. Let’s go.”

  She climbed into the middle seat with him, because Dyma was already in the back with Owen. Jennifer would have turned around to talk to her, but Dyma would have said something. Something adult and cautionary, possibly, which was a role reversal Jennifer did not need right now. So she just sat there as the driver pulled out and Dyma said, “They’d better have coffee at this airport.”

  “We’ll get some on the plane, anyway,” Owen said.

  “Ha,” Dyma said. “In about two hours. I’ve been on a plane twice in my life before this trip down here. Well, four times, there and back. The mechanical part of it was good to see, but the rest of the experience wasn’t very impressive.”

  “Twice?” Owen said.

  “To LA,” Dyma said. “And Boston. Mom and I went to look at schools last year.”

  “Which ones?” Owen asked.

  “MIT. Cal Tech. UCLA. Those were the main ones. I applied to more, but we didn’t get a chance to visit them.”

  “Which one are you ending up at?”

  “None. University of Washington gave me the best package, they have in-state tuition for Idaho residents, and Mom can drive me there. That made the decision pretty easy. Plus, Boeing’s in Seattle, so—internship, right? I really wanted MIT, because it’s the best, but we couldn’t swing it. I figure, MIT for grad school, after I get a few more years to build up my credentials and impress them. Stretch goals are important. They keep you motivated.”

  “They sure do,” Owen said. “Nothing good comes easy. Good to have it paid for, too.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly paid for,” Dyma said. “They cover all the fees, though, and a little more, too. Mom’s paying half the rest, and I’m doing loans for the other half, and getting a job. Another job. Fortunately, I have excellent credentials in the food-service industry, and Washington’s minimum wage is higher than Idaho’s. Do you know how much MIT would have been? Seventy-three thousand dollars a year, and they were only offering forty-five thousand. Good thing my school offers so many AP classes, huh? I’m planning to get my BS in three years, which will mean only about thirty thousand in loans. And then I go for my master’s.”

  Kris glanced at Jennifer, and she looked out of the window. Yep. That was an airport out there, all right. She tried not to think about Dyma telling them all this, or about the gap between her grandpa’s Social Security and his living expenses, now that her mom’s Social Security disability wasn’t part of the picture, her own imminent lack of a job, or the fact that she was going to be moving in with her grandpa or moving to Portland and trying the Mary Tyler Moore thing. Except that she was older than Mary. And more desperate.

  Face facts. She was going to have to do Blake’s Portland thing whether it was scary or not. Otherwise, she was going to run out of money to help Dyma, even if she moved in with her grandpa. Jobs in Wild Horse just didn’t pay enough.

  Dyma would be fine. She’d get a good job after that master’s, and she’d pay those loans back. She had to be fine. Dyma was doing this.

  Kris said quietly, “That’s some responsibility.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look at him. “It’s my choice,” she said. “It’s always been my choice.”

  “Right,” he said. “It can still be a responsibility.”

  She glanced at him, then back out the window. “Hey. We just missed the turn for the terminal. We’re going to have to go around again.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Actually, no. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  15

  Many Revelations

  The driver turned onto an unmarked road that led to a small building with a half-dozen small jets perched beyond it like sleek little falcons, and Jennifer said, “You chartered a jet to get to this party? OK, now you’ve really gone the extra mile, because that’s almost two thousand dollars an hour for the most bare-bones extra-light, and if you’re planning on using it to fly back, that’s a lot of hours. I’ve got news for you. Unless the money to pay for it comes from your family, you don’t have to worry about your dad, because it’s already clear how far you’ve come. You don’t have to say a word. Surely you realize that.”

  Kris looked startled. “How do you know what it costs? Also, two thousand? What, I’m flying you in some tin can? We’re sitting on fold-down seats? I’m offended.”

  She sighed. “That’s ridiculous. Obviously, I don’t fly this way. Am I supposed to turn up my nose at the non-rosewood paneling? Guess how Dyma and I flew to Boston? Coach all the way, and we didn’t check any bags, either. If there’d been a fold-down-seat option, those would have been our tickets. I told you, though, I make arrangements for a living.”

  “Oh. I guess I didn’t realize what kind of arrangements.” The SUV pulled to a stop next to a non-tiny, streamlined white jet that had definitely cost more to charter than two thousand an hour, the driver climbed out and opened the doors, and Kris said, “Well, let’s go, then. Dyma needs her coffee.” He got out of the high vehicle with the same muscular, loose-limbed grace Jennifer had been watching for the past two days, and she followed, taking his hand for the step down and feeling way too much like Anne Elliot in Persuasion, no matter what she’d just said. Putting her gloved hand into Captain Wentworth’s much larger one to be handed into a carriage, unable to breathe at the contact, the care he was taking of her, and the intensity in his eyes. Not that she’d watched the BBC version of that movie approximately fifty-three times or anything. But now, it felt like her story.

  Which it wasn’t. This was really not a big deal. He either sold a lot of farm equipment—he owned a dealership, maybe, though that seemed like a stretch, if he was turning thirty-one, just like Owen owning a ranch at whatever-age-he-was. Or, more likely, he was from a wealthy family, and he and Owen had met at boarding school.

  Well, no. Owen at some fancy Eastern boarding school? Andover Academy, maybe? Playing lacrosse? The thought of Owen lumbering down the field with a lacrosse stick in his oversized mitt of a hand made her laugh. Scratch that one.

  If Kris’s last name was “Deere,” though, she definitely got it. All of it, including the alcoholic, judgmental father. A wealthy, dysfunctional family? That fit. Whatever the answer, though, it wasn’t actually her business, and it was definitely nothing for her to get excited about. Everything was still exactly the same as before. They’d go to North Dakota for the day, she’d help him all she could, and then she and Dyma would go home feeling like they’d had an adventure. And, just maybe, she’d feel empowered.

  Instead of like she’d lost something else. Like, maybe … a possibility.

  No. She wasn’t going to think that. She was going to look forward. If you looked behind you, you couldn’t see your path. Which sounded like the Tao but wasn’t. It was hers. She was hanging onto it.

  Dyma said, “Mom. We need to get our bags.”

  “Nope,” Kris said. “The driver’ll bring them.” He told Chauffeur-Cap Guy, “Thanks, man,” and shook his hand, and if Jennifer hadn’t been watching pretty closely, she’d have missed the bill he slipped in there. Which made her like him even more. For tipping, and for being discreet about it.

  Dignity, and letting other people keep it. It was a thing.

  The pilot was standing by the folded-down steps of the jet, and Kris paused to shake his hand, too, then said something to him and got an answer. He turned back and told Dyma, “If you want to go on up into the cockpit, Tom here’ll give you a tour around the instruments and answer all your questions.”

  Dyma stood stock-still, for once without a smart answer. “You’re kidding.”

  “You’ll have to head on back to the passenger
compartment for the flight,” the pilot said, “but you’re welcome to sit and watch my pre-flight checks.”

  “Yes,” she said, and hopped right up after him with so much bounce in her step, Jennifer had to smile.

  “That was nice of you,” she told Kris. “You’ve made her day.”

  Kris headed up the steps after them, stopped at the top, and said, “Ah. Coffee. Dyma will be happy about that, though I think Miss Dyma might be high on life. Some snacks here, too. Help yourself.”

  A carafe of coffee, warm croissants wrapped in white linen, and a bowl of fruit, to be exact. She let Kris take her coat and hang it up, then grabbed a coffee, went on back, and sat in an extremely comfortable cream leather seat, while Kris set his own cup down on the table between them and took the seat opposite. He said, “I was expecting this to go over bigger, I’ve got to admit. I mean, you don’t have to fall on my neck weeping tears of gratitude for a flight that’ll take about an hour and a half, but you could be a little awed by my status in life.”

  She had to laugh, and he grinned and said, “Yep. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re a surprising woman.”

  Owen buckled himself in across from them and said, “Not going exactly like you thought so far, is it, bro? Maybe you’re actually not all that.”

  “So tell me,” Jennifer asked. “After all this buildup, I’m hoping for something really exciting, but the possibilities are limited. If you don’t actually sell farm equipment—what is it? You’re a drug dealer, or just a very good pharmaceutical sales rep? Probably not. You’re flashy, but drug dealers probably don’t cross-country ski, especially not in places that don’t even have a hot tub. The sales rep idea is still possible, though, if you’re a majorly reckless spender who may be fudging his expense accounts. You’re a tech titan, or you and Owen are both tech titans? I just can’t see it. You’re too physical, and you never look at your phone. You’re a movie star, and Owen’s your bodyguard? That would work, considering how good-looking you are, except that nobody’s recognized you so far, and neither do I, so if you’re an actor, I’m guessing private-jet money would fall into the category of ‘extravagant spending.’ Or—final guess here—you’re the heir to a farm-equipment fortune. That’s most likely, because people generally sprinkle some truth in their stories. Less exciting, but also less chance I’ll be arrested at the end of this trip.”

  “Shot down again,” Owen said. “I’m enjoying this.”

  “Dude,” Kris said, “she doesn’t recognize you, either.”

  “Nobody recognizes me,” Owen said. “I’m not the one with the pretty face. And let’s face it, people are mostly looking at my butt. It’s not that special.”

  Jennifer looked between the two of them. The prickles of awareness were starting to grow. If she hadn’t been wearing long sleeves, she’d have seen goosebumps. She said, “You’re joking.”

  “Not so far,” Kris said. “But what?”

  “You’re NFL players,” she said, and started to laugh. “I cannot believe my life. I cannot … I can’t believe my life.”

  Harlan said, “What?” Dyma came back from the cockpit, slid into the seat across from Owen, and said, “What?” Owen was the only one who wasn’t saying anything. He just sat there looking amused, exactly like he had when his bull had put Harlan on his ass.

  Harlan told him, “You could be enjoying this less,” and Owen said, “Yeah, I don’t think I could.” And Dyma said, “What?” again.

  Harlan was starting to feel a little annoyed. He realized now that he’d waited to tell Jennifer who he was for a couple of reasons. First, that he’d been afraid she’d look at him differently, and second, that he’d … wanted her to look at him differently?

  Could he be that much of an asshole?

  Well, yeah. Probably.

  Jennifer told Dyma, “They’re NFL players,” and the jet’s engines started up like the dramatic punctuation. If this had been a movie, there’d have been music.

  “You’re kidding,” Dyma said.

  “See,” Harlan informed Jennifer, “that’s the response we were going for.”

  She flapped a hand at him, still apparently possessed of the giggles. “Sorry.”

  Her golden eyes were gleaming with some laughter-induced tears, her wide mouth was turned up in absolute merriment, and even her freckles seemed to stand out more against her pale skin. She looked like the best time there ever was, and he leaned across the table, took her head in his hand, kissed her mouth, got the same sweet shock as he had when he’d done it last night, and said, “You know what? I’ll take that reaction.” Grinning like a fool.

  She said, “See? I told you that you were a good person.” And smiled with the kind of heart-melting sweetness that just … well, melted his heart. Which was probably a bad sign. Or a good one.

  He was so confused.

  “OK,” Dyma said. “Explain.”

  “My name’s not Kris,” Harlan said. “It’s Harlan Kristiansen. I’m a wide receiver for the Portland Devils.”

  “And you’re still not the bodyguard,” Dyma told Owen.

  “Well, I could be,” Owen said, “since I seem to be spending most of my time lately hauling Harlan’s butt out of trouble. But I’m also a center for the Devils.”

  “An All-Pro center,” Harlan put in. He couldn’t tell what Jennifer was thinking. She wasn’t reacting much at all, was what it was. Call that “unusual.” What did it mean, though?

  Dyma said, “So. Mom. Looks like we can tell them what you do for a living. All this secret-keeping looks pretty silly now, huh? I told you your job wasn’t going to be that big a deal. Oh. We’re taking off. Wow. This feels really different than on a jumbo. That makes sense, though. The drag and weight are so much less, so it takes less thrust to get the same lift. I need to look up the equations.”

  She’d clearly moved on from the topic, so Harlan asked Jennifer, “What do you do for a living? Now I’m the one trying to guess, and I’m blank. Idaho doesn’t have a lot of pro football teams.”

  “Idaho doesn’t have a lot of pro anything,” Jennifer said. “Nope. I’m Blake Orbison’s executive assistant, up in Wild Horse, Idaho.” She smiled cheerily at him. “I’m guessing you both know him. Probably pretty well, because I’m also guessing Owen’s spent some of his career snapping him the ball, and that you’ve spent some of yours catching his passes. Football is my life. Except not, because Blake doesn’t play football anymore, and I’m losing my job anyway.”

  “Wait, what?” Dyma asked. “Mom. What?”

  “Oh, shoot,” Jennifer said. “I wasn’t going to tell you yet. Don’t worry. I’m going to get another one. We’ll be fine.” She didn’t look quite as sure about that as the words sounded, though.

  Harlan said, “So, wait. You lost your job and broke up with your boyfriend? Recently? When was all this?”

  “Wednesday.” She broke off a piece of chocolate croissant, still trying to make it look airy, but it looked a little forced to him. “Both things.”

  Harlan said, “And all you did was drink a couple of Irish Coffees? Man, that’s restraint. I’ve behaved worse than that when I’ve lost a game.”

  “I know, right?” she said. “I didn’t get drunk and fall into bed with you, like I’m guessing just about every other single woman would have, and if it’s true of the married ones, too, don’t tell me. I exercised and went to bed early. You’d think I’d get a prize for that, except that you never get those kinds of prizes, and anyway, that’s just my life.”

  “Born careful,” Harlan said.

  “Well, no,” Dyma said. She’d been looking upset since she’d heard about the job. “More like she hasn’t had a choice. And now she’s not going to have one again. Really? Blake’s laying you off? That’s why I was going to be able to leave, though. Because you were OK, and I wasn’t going to be wrecking your life again. How can I go now?”

  16

  Walk On

  Jennifer so did not want to have this conversat
ion here. She wanted to eat her croissant and be on a private jet and pretend she was capable of flirting with Kris—Harlan. She wanted to be somebody else, with somebody else’s life, for a little while longer. Real life would come back soon enough.

  No choice, though, because here the conversation was. When you were the parent of an eighteen-year-old who’d been stubborn all her life, you took your conversations where they happened, because the chance might not come again.

  “Of course you’re not wrecking my life,” she said. “Blake’s not going to be staying in Wild Horse much, the resort is built, and he doesn’t need me anymore. And that’s OK, because I’m going to get a new job. Maybe even a better one, who knows? He said he’d help me. And you’ve never wrecked anything. You’re the best thing in my life. And of course you’re going to leave. This is your time to fly. And maybe it’s mine, too, who knows? It’s all going to be fine.”

  “Really?” Dyma said. “Without Grandma there to talk things over with and tell you you’re awesome, not to mention her disability check paying Grandpa’s rent? In Wild Horse without the Blake job, which is the only thing that’s made people be nice to you?”

  “I’m sure they’d be nice to her anyway,” Owen said. “She’s a nice person. Anyway, getting sucked up to because you’re a football player isn’t really anybody being nice. It’s just getting sucked up to.”

  “You don’t get it,” Dyma said. “You don’t know.”

  “No, I don’t,” Owen said. “On the other hand, Orbison’s no kind of fool, and he doesn’t suffer fools, either, so if he hired her, I’m guessing she’s as good as they come. I’m also guessing he knows everybody there is to know, job-wise.”

  “He does,” Kris—Harlan—said. “He was making money outside of football when he was still in football. He’s a good guy, too. If he says he’ll help, he will.”