Tombstones (Beekman Hills Book 4)

by K. C. Enders

  “Jack,” I gasp as he pushes me into the edge of the counter.

  His front is pressed to my back, contact from his lips down to our hips. The feeling that I handed this thing its deathblow by talking futures and babies dissipates in a puff of smoke and burning desire as Jack turns me and scoops me up onto the counter. All thought blows wide open as he pulls me to the edge and slides between my thighs, making me gasp and shudder. Carrying me while I’m still wrapped around him, Jack takes me to the bedroom where we lose ourselves in each other’s bodies until we are nothing short of sated.

  “You’re going to have to feed me again,” I say as I sit on the hearth to pull my boots on. “I’m weak.”

  Freshly showered, Jack appears at the edge of the room, jeans still unbuttoned, feet bare, T-shirt and flannel hanging from his hand. “We have a few leftovers,” he teases. “We could just hole up here all day and—”

  “Tempting but no. We need to go out in the world and see what there is to see.”

  He finishes dressing and shoves his feet into combat boots, pulling the laces tight and tucking the bows into the tops. “What?” he asks, straightening to his full height.

  “Not a thing. Just surprised that I like watching you get dressed,” I tell him, handing over his coat.

  Jack huffs out a laugh and asks, “As much as you like watching me undress?”

  “I’m usually too distracted to notice that.” My smile pushes my cheeks high, and for the briefest moment, we stand there, staring at each other. Not with heated, lusty desire, but with something softer. Something scary and dangerous and … more. I clear my throat and grab my purse, murmuring, “Let’s go.” I duck out the door, needing to escape the fog of unattainable possibilities.

  Sun bounces off the chrome grill of his truck, and the lights flash as the locks click open. Driving into town, down out of the mountain, is nothing short of gorgeous. Bright snow-covered trees line the road and guide us into the picturesque town nestled into the valley. I slide my sunglasses on and reach for the cupholder before I remember that it’s empty, the cup I brewed in the cabin abandoned to lust. No coffee. None. And, if I don’t fix that soon, I’m going to end up with a headache crippling me.

  “A café sound good to you?” Jack asks.

  “Dear God, yes. I need some caffeine and a big old plate of something bad for me,” I groan. My stomach rumbles loudly at that moment, erasing any question on just how hungry I am.

  Once again, defying logic and space constraints, Jack parallel parks his monstrosity and swings out to get my door. I like it. He’s attentive but respectful. Masculine but not condescending. Long-term but leaving. I shove those thoughts and feelings away because I knew what this was, going into it. There’s no use in dwelling on wanting to manipulate and change the outcome that is so solidly set in stone.

  Instead, I focus on the late breakfast of eggs Benedict and breakfast potatoes with strong black coffee, trading bites for a taste of Jack’s hash and egg skillet.

  I grab the bill before Jack has a chance to set his coffee cup down and hand it and some cash to the server, telling her it’s all good.

  “Kate,” he admonishes, reaching for his wallet. “Let me—”

  “Nope. Breakfast is on me,” I tell him, taken aback by the shocked look that crawls across his face.

  “That’s new.” Jack stands, tucking his wallet away and reaching for my chair. He helps me into my coat, which, while a nice gesture, is usually more awkward than helpful. Reaching for and missing the sleeve, having to adjust and shimmy around until it’s settled just right. But not with Jack. He manages to do even that with finesse and precision. “Thank you,” he says, voice gravelly yet soft.

  I turn to him as we step out onto the sidewalk. “It’s breakfast. So not a big deal,” I say, brows pulled together.

  “Just has never happened to me before, a woman paying for a meal for me.”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugs, lifting one bulky shoulder. “Yeah, no. I’m not trying to be an ass, but I was raised to believe that the man pays. Opens the doors, all of that.” He settles his hand at the base of my back and guides me down the street.

  I let that idea simmer. Stir it around in my brain while we walk along the main street, peeking into shop windows.

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” Jack asks as I peer into a stationery store, my love for books and journals pausing my feet.

  “Going home to see my mama and them.” He chuckles, and I realize that my Southern just flashed itself for all the world to see. “Sorry, my accent just does that when I think about going home.”

  “I like it.” He nods to the door, asking, “Want to go in?”

  I do, but the last thing I need is another journal, sitting empty on my shelf. Because let’s face it; I love the beautiful books and all the potential their empty pages hold, but I don’t want to mess them up with my ramblings.

  “Nah, I need to find something for my mom and my friends. This would be purely a selfish store.”

  I’m a few steps toward the next little shop, the windows filled with handmade mugs and bowls, when Jack’s palm lands on my back again.

  “Do you mind if we go in here?” Mississippi has a serious thing for pottery, and my mother would love the gorgeous pieces and unique glazes.

  “Not at all.”

  Jack gets the door once again, and as he strolls through the shop with me, I ask, “What about you?”

  He pauses, brows lowered.

  “Christmas. What are your plans?”

  He picks up a small cream-and-brown mug, weighing it in his hands, almost like he’s checking it for a good fit. “I fly home for a couple of days and then catch a flight overseas. Tripp’ll meet me in Chicago, and we’ll fly the rest of the way together.” It feels like there’s more he wants to say, like he’s teetering on the edge of something, and instead of falling over, Jack takes an emotional step back. Forcing a smile, he replaces the mug and reaches for his phone. “Hey, I’m going to step out and take this. Are you good for a minute?”

  “Of course. Take your time,” I say.

  He strolls out to the sidewalk and slides his phone to his ear. His broad back strains under the fabric of his coat, and he glances back at me before walking to the park bench a few stores down.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” a salesclerk asks. She straightens the mug Jack just walked away from.

  Smiling, I say, “This is beautiful. Is it local?” I pick up a bowl glazed in blues and greens, the edge of it ruffled and a swirl of deep blue curling around the interior. It’s just Lis’s style.

  “It is. In fact, the artist is due to stop in soon and drop a few pieces off.” Her lips flatten into a tight line as she darts a quick look around the shop, nerves rolling off of her.

  I tuck the bowl under my arm and move on to the next display.

  “Oh, let me take that for you.” The clerk scoops the bowl out from under my arm and protectively clutches it to her chest as she hurries to the counter.

  A set of plates with soup bowls grab my attention, so I carefully add those to my bowl on the counter, almost dropping them as the shadow of a man appears in the doorway to the storage room.

  His dark brown eyes skitter around the store, landing on where my hand curls around one of the soup-bowl-plate things. Silently, he approaches and places a crate on the floor behind the counter. “Nora,” he says to the woman helping me, “these are ready to go. Anything you’re low on?” He scratches at his chin, fingers getting lost in his beard, and scans the store, eyes landing back on my hands.

  “No, I think we’re good,” Nora says quietly.

  The interaction is kind of weird.

  “There’s a round platter in here that would go well with those soup-plates.” He awkwardly nods at me. Shifting his weight, he steps back in the direction he came from.

  “Okay.” Nora watches as he disappears out the door as quietly as he came in.

  “That was …”
I start, but I’m not sure where to take that statement.

  “Intense. He’s intense, very defensive of his craft.” She relaxes visibly and asks, “Do you want to see that platter?” She sifts through the crate, pulling one beautiful piece of art after another out until she sighs. “Here we go,” she says, placing a stunning platter in front of me.

  Even though I’m sure it’s way more than I’d normally spend, I can’t walk away without it.

  “My mama will absolutely love it. I think that’ll be it though.” I hand over my card and watch as she carefully wraps up my purchases, placing them in a beautiful red bag. Hell, with the bow she adds to the handle, I can use it as a gift bag for my mama’s pieces.

  I thank Nora and step out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the area, I find Jack leaning against the side of his truck, legs crossed at the ankle, hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes sparkling as he takes in my approach.

  “You find something good?” Jack asks, reaching to relieve me of the bag.

  “I did. Got my mama and one of my friends taken care of. I just need to find something for my roommate, and I’ll be in good shape.” I watch as he carefully sets the bag on the floorboard of the back seat of the truck. “How ’bout you? You get your call taken care of?”

  “Yeah. Just confirming flight plans home for next week.”

  Next week. No matter how I cut it, I’ve not had enough time with Jack. I’m not ready for this to be done. I’m not ready to say good-bye. Instead of risking emotion spilling into my voice, I purse my lips and nod. I need to lock my emotions down. There’s no use in showing my hand. Making things uncomfortable. It’s not Jack’s fault I’m falling for him, and it’ll just be easier all around if I shove it down and ignore the way my heart beats faster, the way he’s burrowed his way into my soul. He’s leaving. It all comes back to the fact that he’s leaving.

  Chapter 12

  Jack

  EACH TICK OF THE second hand is like a bomb timer counting down. Silent and ominous. Inescapable and unignorable.

  The call I took gave me a headache and made me think about how much better Christmas would be with Tripp and his family or maybe in the Mississippi Delta as opposed to going home. Home. Home is so much more than a place on the map. An address. And the last place I want to spend the final days of my leave is with my judgmental family and the lying, cheating manipulator who tried her very best to fuck over my escape from them.

  Jessica is ancient history. She just doesn’t seem to be willing to acknowledge it yet. We dated through most of high school, and everyone in town had us practically married off at the start of my senior year. Yeah, no. By that point, I was pretty well on my way to the United States Military Academy and wasn’t going to do a damn thing to jeopardize that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  And, now, she’s harassing me. Badgering me to get together while I’m home. Catch up. Over my dead body.

  Of course, at the mention of our time coming to a close, Kate withdraws, turning inward. Shutting down. I close and lock the truck, her packages safely tucked over top of the bag from the stationer’s shop. It didn’t escape me, the way she stared at the gorgeous red leather-bound journal in the front window. I saw her hand drift toward where it lay in a bed of fake snow, bright mittens and a snarky coffee cup completing the display. I shouldn’t have. It would be smart to let this thing with Kate die a natural death. Enjoy it until I left and then cut communication, go our separate ways. The thought of doing that physically hurts me; like a gut punch, it knocks the wind right out of me.

  “You want to keep shopping or—”

  “Yeah. I, uh”—Kate paints a tight smile across her face—“I need to find something for Gracyn.”

  I’m pretty sure that’s her roommate, but since I haven’t met any of these people, it’s hard for me to be positive.

  Words can’t do a fucking thing to fix this, make it better, so I wrap my arm around Kate’s shoulders. Pulling her into me, I plant a kiss at her temple and guide her down the sidewalk, seeking the next shop, the next little thing that will turn her smile from forced to full and real.

  We wander in and out of stores as the sun dims behind clouds, the temperature drops, and the wind swirls snow flurries around us. I make damn sure to ignore my phone and the constant buzz of it in my pocket. I don’t give a shit what Jessica is trying to orchestrate. I have Kate here within my reach, and that’s all that matters. Live in the moment; tomorrow is never a guarantee—or something like that.

  “That should do it,” Kate says as a cashier hands back her card and gift bag stuffed full of tissue paper and what Kate claims is the perfect gift for her roommate.

  Seemingly more relaxed than she was earlier, Kate tucks her wallet back in her tote, and I take the bag. As soon as I’m able, I wrap her other hand in mine and bring her knuckles up, pressing them to my lips. So soft. Her lotion hints at something clean and powdery. Something I can’t quite pinpoint.

  “What kind of lotion is this?” I breathe it in, committing the scent to memory, allowing it to seep into me so that I can carry it with me when I go.

  “Mine?”

  “Yes, Kate. Yours,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes, and as innocent or annoyed as that little movement is, all I can think of is how, when she comes, she does the same damn thing.

  “It’s called Au Lait. You like it?”

  “I do.” I inhale another hit of it, like it’s a drug I can no longer live without.

  Snow blows across the road as we climb back up the mountain to our cabin. Kate softly sings along with Sinatra, her voice sultry and deep, like she’s a lounge singer from back in the day. Nothing is better than a whiskey-tainted voice—or, in Kate’s case, tequila-tainted. Just one more damn thing about this woman that has me falling when I have no right to. No time for it. This isn’t what I wanted. It’s exactly what I was running from when I left Montana for West Point, New York.

  I’m more than happy to play the bachelor uncle to Jake. I don’t need anything more than that. The demands and expectations that my parents put on me to marry and stay on the ranch were fucking ridiculous. Sure, I’m their only son, but my older sisters married a few years prior, and their husbands liked ranching. Wanted to do it. I found my way out, and for some dumbass reason, I thought my family would be happy for me. Not what happened.

  Instead of pride and congratulations, I got guilt and a fuck-ton of pressure to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime. Honestly, earning an appointment to the military academy is one of the highest honors I can think of.

  “What are you thinking on so hard over there?” Kate asks.

  I didn’t notice that she’d stopped singing with Frankie and Dean Martin.

  “Nothing worth my time. You have fun today? Get everything set for Christmas?”

  She hums her agreement as I pull into the drive for the cabin. The quiet shush of snow falling surrounds us. The flakes landing on Kate’s bright red coat as we step out into the night is like a dusting of sugar. She looks good enough to eat.

  I toss her a wolfish grin, trapping her in my arms as I reach around her to grab her shopping bags. “You want these inside, right?”

  “I do.” Kate reaches for the small bag partially hidden under the seat. “You want to take this in, too?”

  I take it from her and tuck it back on the floorboard. “Nah, that can stay out. Nothing breakable in there.” I don’t know when I’ll give it to her—hell, I’m not entirely positive that I will give it to her—but something about the way her eyes had lingered, like it was an extravagance, made me want to buy the thing.

  “You found something for your mama then? For Christmas?” she asks, stomping the snow from her boots on the welcome mat.

  I shift the bags to one hand and tap in the four-digit code, unlocking the door. “Meh, it’s just a little something I didn’t think I could pass up.” I set the bags on the table and go straight to the fireplace, lighting the kindling, adding some logs. Coaxing some warmth in
to the room while steering her away from that line of questions.

  The microwave dings, and Kate pulls out leftovers from last night, dividing the steaming pasta between a couple of bowls. “Is this good?” she asks, tucking forks and napkins into her hand and bringing it all to the rug in front of the fire.

  “Perfect.” I grab a bottle of wine from the grocery order I had delivered and pour us each a glass.

  Kate twirls some pasta around her fork, shakes it off, and starts over again. “What’s it like? Your job?” she clarifies when my brows pinch together, confused. “Can you even talk about it? Is that allowed?” She pops the pasta into her mouth, lips sliding the spaghetti from the fork.

  “I can—”

  “But you’d have to kill me,” she teases.

  “Yep. And that would be a waste.” I swallow down some wine before continuing, “It’s not very exciting until it is, and then time passes in perfectly choreographed chaos. Most of what I can talk about is the stuff you see on the news. Beyond that, I really can’t.” And I don’t actually want to. I’ll be back in the thick of it soon enough, and I took my leave stateside for an escape.

  Kate nods, staring into the fire. “I don’t know how Chloe and Jake do it. Do they get to talk to Dallas at all when he’s deployed?” she asks quietly.

  And this is why I can’t do the family thing while I’m serving in this capacity. I know all too well how hard it is on the family left behind. “Not much. An occasional e-mail, maybe a call if the time zones and the mission starts line up just right, but when we’re deep …” I trail off, letting her make the natural conclusion.

  “Wow. She’s so strong, so stoic. Keeps Jake from losing his shit. She must not have the news on much around him, huh?”

  “Probably not. Jake’s a tough kid. This life is all he knows, so I think he pretty much rolls with it. Tripp has been popping in and leaving since he and Chloe got married. Hell, he missed most of Chloe’s pregnancy. Almost missed Jake’s birth, but that kid held out and waited for his dad to get home. He was a week late. Chloe said she was miserable, but I think, deep down, she was thrilled that Tripp was there for it.”