by Sherry Lewis
He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could see the tiny scar below one ear, the strands of dark and light that combined to create his wheat-colored hair, the lazy curls that lay on the back of his neck and brushed the collar of his shirt. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth and lingered there. “Dinner will be here in about thirty minutes,” he said, reluctantly dragging his eyes back to meet hers. “I, uh…I came in to see if you’d like something to drink.”
She knew she should say no. Mixing alcohol with the emotions racing through her would be foolish. Irresponsible. Dangerous! But that didn’t stop her from asking, “What did you have in mind?”
“There’s a bottle of riesling in the kitchen. Or I could mix something if you’d like that. Mom keeps a well-stocked liquor cabinet.”
“I’d love some wine.” She wouldn’t let herself ask for anything stronger.
He nodded slowly but didn’t move away. “You’re an interesting woman, Lucy Montalvo. I’d really like to know what you’re like when you’re not being a cop.”
She tried to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat. And when she tried to speak, the words wouldn’t come out above a whisper. “I’m the same,” she said softly. “I don’t change much.”
His lips curved slightly. “I think that’s one of the things I like most about you. It’s a rare quality, you know.”
“Is it?” Her voice sounded a bit stronger, but she couldn’t be sure. Her heart was pounding so hard, she could barely hear herself.
“Yes, Lucy. It is. A woman who is what she is? No pretense? No illusions? Not many people like you really exist.”
Was he real? The glow in his eyes made her breath catch, and he was close—too close. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t make sense of the emotions raging inside of her. Did he mean what he was saying? Did he—
Without warning, he dipped his head and brushed his lips across hers, wiping away the last bit of coherent thought in her head. He pulled back slightly and looked into her eyes for her reaction, but the shock of the contact, mingled with the growing need inside of her, gave him his answer.
He lowered his mouth again, and this time his lips demanded a response. One arm slid around her waist, pulling her close, the other around her shoulders, and she realized how long it had been since she’d felt like this—if she ever had.
Lucy was overcome by a burning desire. She tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, needing even more than he was giving.
With a low growl of pleasure, he responded, passing his tongue across her lips, teasing them open with gentle but insistent pressure. An answering moan filled her throat, and though she wasn’t sure the sound actually materialized, Jackson seemed to feel it.
Something in the back of her mind whispered that she was making a big mistake, but she ignored it and gave herself to the sensations, the moment, the dream. She wasn’t sure which of them came up for air first, she only knew that reality seemed to hit them both at the same time. Angel wasn’t home yet. They couldn’t put her second.
His arms fell away, and she took a quick step back at the same moment. He abruptly turned toward the kitchen. “I should… The wine.”
“Yes,” she said, moving toward the computer and trying to get her head on straight. “I need to—” Unable to put the words together, she broke off with a feeble wave toward the table.
With a nod, Jackson hurried from the room and left her clutching the back of a chair for support. He’d been right to pull away. They couldn’t forget about Angelina and she couldn’t forget that he really knew next to nothing about her. She still hadn’t told him about Tomas, and despite what everyone else said, she was still terrified that he’d resent her and become angry with the department for putting her on the case. Jackson deserved someone who could do the job well, and Lucy still wasn’t sure she was qualified.
And what kind of relationship could they possibly have anyway? Their lives were so different. Their needs were nothing alike. This was a relationship born out of crisis—it would be totally irresponsible to think that anything real or lasting could come of it.
It was merely a moment stolen out of time. And that’s how it had to stay.
BY THE TIME THE FOOD arrived, Jackson had had time to move beyond that kiss by putting plates, bowls, napkins and the wine on the table. Lucy glanced up with a smile that made his heart melt, left the computer and switched chairs to sit across from him. “What did you order? It smells like heaven.”
Removing the lid from the first takeout container, he nudged it toward her. “Walnut shrimp, stir-fried beef, spring rolls with peanut dipping sauce and Thai egg roll, which, I am assured, is to die for.”
Lucy laughed and reached for a pair of chopsticks. “You did very well. I’m impressed.”
“Not bad for a guy who was raised on steak and potatoes, huh?”
“Not bad at all.” She helped herself to a piece of beef and closed her eyes in appreciation. “Wow, it tastes great.”
“And I love being around a woman who actually enjoys what she’s eating.” He lifted an egg roll onto his plate and passed the container. “Rush’s wife is always on a diet. Always. I don’t think I’ve ever seen real food pass her lips, and you can’t sit down to a meal without hearing about what she’s not eating this month.” He glanced up, realizing how that must sound and added, “Don’t get me wrong. I think the world of her, but…well, you know. It gets old.”
“I’d probably be the same way if I didn’t exercise every day.” Lucy added a generous serving of shrimp to her plate and grinned up at him. “The treadmill is a glutton’s best friend.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to make sure you always have access to a treadmill, won’t we?” Lucy’s smile slipped and too late he realized what he’d said. He laughed uncomfortably. “Big talk for a guy without much of a future, huh?”
“Everyone has a future,” Lucy said, her voice suddenly quiet. “Even you.”
“I know. It’s not that I don’t see a future in front of me, just that I know what that future has to be, at least for the next few years. The ranch is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. I can’t just walk away and leave Wiley there to go down by himself—especially since it’s my fault he’s in this mess.”
Lucy stopped eating and stared at him. “Your fault? Why do you say that?”
He chewed slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Holden showed up one day about six years ago. He was wrung out, used up and dead broke. He swore up and down that he was ready to change his life, that he’d learned his lesson and wanted to get on his feet again. Wiley knew better, but I still had some kind of hero complex. Thought I could save my baby brother from the cruel world or something.”
“That’s not unusual.”
“That doesn’t make it smart.” He concentrated on the spring roll for a minute before he could make himself go on. “Long story short, I talked Wiley into giving Holden a job. He did a good job for a while. Good enough to earn a little trust. Too much trust, it turned out. He wiped out our bank account one afternoon and disappeared. I’ve been trying to dig the ranch out of trouble ever since.”
“That doesn’t make you responsible. Holden’s the one who stole the money.”
“I’m the one who gave him access to it.”
Lucy’s brows drew together. “Okay, so it wasn’t a smart move, but that still doesn’t make you responsible for Holden’s actions.”
“Sure it does. I knew what Holden was. I just didn’t want to see it. I kept wanting to see what he used to be. Before—” Almost too late, he realized how close he’d come to telling her everything, but he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not while the ugliness still churned inside of him.
Lucy lowered her fork to the table and looked him square in the eye. “Before what?”
“It’s a long story.”
“And I have lots of time.”
He never talked about that time in his life. Never. He barely even let himself think about i
t. But for some reason, the gentle pull of Lucy’s eyes got the words moving before he could stop them. “My dad was an alcoholic. I’ve told you that. What I haven’t told you is that when he got drunk, he got violent. Didn’t matter who it was or what they did, if something didn’t go his way, he started swinging.”
“He hit you?”
“Me. Holden. My mom. Like I said, it didn’t matter. When we were little, he had this piece of wood that he used whenever he wanted to discipline us. Called it his chinga stick. If we didn’t make our beds right, haul out the trash fast enough or get him a beer when he thumped on the table, we got a chinga. If we talked back or tried to resist, he’d lash out even more. Sometimes he went so far, I thought he’d kill one of us.”
Now that he’d unlocked the door, memories poured out. Holden hanging on to the bathtub and begging their dad to stop. Jackson’s feeble attempts to protect his brother. And their mother’s vacant responses when they tried to tell her. Anger and hatred twisted in his chest, but sorrow clogged his throat and burned his eyes.
Holden. So little. So young. So frightened. And nobody had been able to help him.
“My mom…I guess she was just trying to survive. I don’t know. And Holden eventually snapped.” He met Lucy’s gaze again and laid his soul bare. “The thing is, Lucy, I have it, too. You saw me at the warehouse. I snapped. I lost it. And I hate that part of myself as much as I hated it in my old man.”
“Violence is never the answer, but you lost your temper with a grown man whom you believed had abducted your niece. You didn’t beat a child almost senseless. I think there’s a difference.”
“There’s no difference.”
Lucy pushed her plate away and locked her hands on the table in front of her. “Yes, there is. Do you think you and your family are the only people in the world to get angry? If you do, you’re way off the mark. Everyone gets angry. Everyone. Having a temper doesn’t make you some kind of twisted person. Being unable or unwilling to control it is the problem and, frankly, that’s not a problem you have.”
“You don’t understand.”
She cut him off with a harsh laugh. “I don’t understand? Me? I’m a cop, remember? I see this kind of thing every day. I spent a year on the streets, four years working the Domestic Violence Unit, and I’ve been in Missing Persons for a year. Believe me, I’ve seen all kinds of temper-and impulse-control issues, and you do not have a problem. If you’re locking yourself away at the ranch, hiding from the world, refusing yourself a life because you think you’ve inherited this thing from your dad, then you’re being unfair to yourself and everyone around you.”
Never in his life had he wanted to believe anything so much, but how could he? “What about Wayne Fitzgerald?”
“Did you hurt him?”
“I would have.”
“You had every chance to hurt him right there, right then. You didn’t have to let me stop you. You’re bigger and stronger than I am, and we both know it. Yeah, I’ve had training, but if you’d been determined to hurt Wayne I’d have had to use force to stop you.” She left her chair and came around the table to sit beside him. “Jackson, you’re being so unfair to yourself. Please don’t do that.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if I believe you? Get married. Have kids? What if I find out then that you’re wrong and I’m right?”
“Then you get help. You do whatever it takes to get yourself right.” A flush crept into her cheeks, but she kept going. “The difference between your father and you is that he didn’t want to become healthy. He gave in to his weaknesses and they became stronger. You won’t do that. It may be a choice you have to make every day of your life, but you’ll make it.”
“How do you know?”
She touched his face lightly, stroked his cheek with her fingers and smiled into his eyes. “Because you’re not him. You’re you.”
Torn in two, he gathered her into his arms and held her close. He needed so much for her to be right, but the beliefs of a lifetime were hard to ignore. For now, it was enough to believe he had a chance. That was more than he’d felt in a long, long time.
THEY SPENT THE NEXT FEW days alternating between spending time online and trying to rustle up a few more clues from Angel’s friends. It seemed for every step forward they took, someone pushed them back two. Every time he began to feel hopeful, everything ground to a halt and left him feeling frustrated all over again.
Their forays into teen chat rooms hadn’t produced any leads yet, and Jackson wondered if they were chasing another dead end. Driving home from a short trip to the grocery store, Jackson glanced at Lucy across the cab of the truck and realized she must be as frustrated as he was. But there was something more, besides. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Something she needed to talk about.
Their time together was starting to raise questions he wasn’t sure he could answer, but he knew he cared about Lucy, and he knew he didn’t want to see her hurting.
Acting on a whim, he pulled into the parking lot of a quiet restaurant and turned off the engine.
She arched a look at him across the truck’s cab. “What are we doing here?”
“You’re not hungry?”
Confused, she glanced over the seat at the traffic passing on the road behind them. “Well, yeah. A little, I guess.” She turned back with a scowl. “But I thought you wanted to get back online before the kids sign off for the night.”
“We need to eat, and I’ve been eyeing this place for days.”
The confusion in her eyes deepened, but that was easier to look at than the sadness that cast shadows every once in a while. She gave the small brick building a once-over. It wasn’t hard to tell that it had started life as a drive-through restaurant, and from the outside it hardly looked promising. “La Casa Familia? Have you ever eaten here before?”
“Nope. You?”
“Never. You must be in the mood for adventure.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. And there’s nothing wrong with a little adventure.”
With a halfhearted grin, Lucy got out of the truck. “That depends. If you need Pepto-Bismol to get through the adventure, maybe it’s not a good idea.”
Rounding the back of the truck, Jackson grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the shabby building. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” he said. “If it looks bad inside, we’ll move on. How’s that for a deal?”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Sighing in resignation, Lucy let him drag her toward the door. Inside, they found a pleasant surprise. Everything from the tables covered in white cloths to the colorful decorations on the walls seemed clean and well-cared-for, and the spicy aroma emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water.
“I guess it won’t hurt to stop for a few minutes,” Lucy said after they were seated. “It will give us a chance to regroup and decide if there’s a better way to go about this chat-room search.”
And Jackson wanted to get to that, absolutely. But there were other things that needed attention first. He poured water from the carafe their waitress had left on the table and slid a glass toward her. “How about telling me what’s on your mind first?”
Lucy’s dark eyes grew large.
“I know I said you could come to me when you’re ready, but I’m beginning to think you’ll never be ready. Besides, after the other night, I think it’s only fair. I shared my shame with you, now you tell me what’s on your mind. And don’t play coy.”
“Coy?” Her eyes narrowed and the smile that had been toying with her lips vaporized. “I don’t play coy, Jackson.”
“So what is it?”
“I don’t play coy,” she said again, “but this isn’t really a good time to discuss my personal life.”
“When will be the time?”
“I’m in the middle of a case.”
“Technically, you’re off duty. And besides, I care. Are you really going to shut me down? Do you
have any idea how hard it is to see that look in your eyes and not be able to do anything about it?”
Her eyes roamed his face and disbelief lightened some of the shadows. “You don’t have to say that just because we had a moment.”
“And you don’t have to play hard-ass just because you wear a badge.” He tightened his grip on her hand and drew it closer. “What’s up with you, Lucy? Why are you pushing me away?”
She laughed sharply and sent a pointed glance at their joined hands on the table. “I can’t push you away. You won’t let go.”
“So then tell me. It’s not going to kill you to open up to somebody, is it?”
Again, her eyes locked on his. “It’s my concern, not yours.”
“You and I have different definitions of friendship, then. In my book, being friends meaning you care about what’s bothering the other person. It means caring enough to listen—and it means caring enough to talk.”
A wounded look flashed across her face, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. Before he could find out what had caused it, a male server wearing tight black pants and a crisp white shirt came bearing a platter of corn chips and a bowl of salsa.
He fussed around for a minute, putting everything in its place, and stayed forever taking their order. Of necessity, Jackson had to release Lucy’s hand so she could look at her menu, and she tucked it carefully on her lap afterward—out of sight, and out of reach.
But Jackson had news for her. He’d grown to care too much to let her keep hiding from him.
Chapter Twelve
WHILE A SINGER BELTED OUT a mournful Spanish song on the jukebox, Jackson waited impatiently for the waiter to leave them alone again. “Look,” he said at last, “I’m not trying to offend you, and I’m not trying to butt in where I’m not wanted. But, dammit, you’re hurting and I need to do something.”
Lucy studied him for a long moment without speaking. So long, in fact, he began to regret opening his mouth at all. Maybe it had been a mistake to push her, but if they had any chance at a relationship, it couldn’t be one-sided, with all the confiding on Jackson’s part and all the fixing on Lucy’s. It wouldn’t last a year under those circumstances.