Prelude and Promises

by Barbara Baldwin

  She might have to spend the night in jail; indeed, she could very well lose her job over what had happened, but she would do it all again. All she could think about was Jake’s hand. She had seen blood on it after he had punched that bully, but she didn’t know if it was his or the other man’s. Regardless, his hands, his livelihood had been damaged.

  The fact that it was all her fault caused her stomach to clutch to the point she was sure she would throw up. She had never been in a fight, much less caused one. She knew that Jake had been trying to come to her rescue, and while normally she carried mace in her purse, she hadn’t tonight. Besides, who would have thought that in a quiet little seaside town, she would need to protect herself.

  One by one, the other women were released as their husbands or friends came to retrieve them, some of them after having been released themselves. Finally, she sat alone, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt, noticing the beer stain that ran along the left side, and generally feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t have anyone to call except Jake and she didn’t know if he would bail her out. He might not even be able to if he had been badly hurt.

  Oh, God, she thought, he might even be in the hospital.

  Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped at the moisture and the hair hanging in her face. She had lost her clip in the fray, and the sheriff had confiscated her purse so she didn’t even have a comb. When she heard voices down the hall, she smoothed her hair the best she could and straightened her suit jacket. It was about time the sheriff saw to letting her make a phone call.

  She stood, determined to make her displeasure known, but it wasn’t the sheriff who came to a stop in front of the cell.

  “Well, well, Miss Tucker. Is this any way for the executive assistant to Sebastian Donovan to spend her time?” Jake leaned a shoulder against the bars, one hand tucked in his front pocket. The other hand, swathed in white bandages, hung at his side. There was a bruise on his cheek and a small split on his lip. He looked wonderful to her eyes and yet she snapped at him for the ridiculous way he said her name.

  “Quit calling me Miss Tucker. It makes me sound like an old school teacher.”

  “Well, you dress like it in those suits.” He waved his hand at her.

  “I dress for my job. Your uncle insists on a certain look.”

  “My uncle insists on a lot of things, not always in the best interest of those concerned. If it were me, I would insist on shorts and tee shirts, although the heels are nice. They make your legs look great.”

  To cover her embarrassment, she replied caustically, “It’s a good thing I don’t answer to you.”

  “Technically you do,” he said as he stood aside when the sheriff came and unlocked her cell door. “Thanks, George.” The sheriff nodded and moved off.

  “What do you mean?” She hurried to the corridor, unreasonably worried that the sheriff would come back and make her stay.

  “My uncle has lived off me for years.”

  She threw him a doubtful look but knew it quickly turned to panic. If he held the reins to the money, he could…

  “Don’t worry,” he interrupted her thoughts. “I won’t fire you, although I may cut your clothing allowance unless you start wearing something less…severe.” He finished with a wave at her attire.

  “Can we just go, please?” She smelled like a brewery and the soles of her shoes were sticking to the floor. All she could think of was getting a bath and change of clothes, which were becoming scarce, given that two of her suits were now ruined.

  She signed for her belongings and exited the building, immediately blinded by the sunlight. “Good Lord, it’s morning?” She dug in her purse for her sunglasses, realizing she had left them back in her room.

  “Closer to noon,” said Jake. He turned in front of her and took off his own sunglasses and gently slid them on her. “Better?”

  “I’m not hung over,” she pouted as he put a hand to her back to guide her over to his car.

  “No,” he laughed, “you had time to sleep that off in jail.”

  She tried to scowl at him, but looking back, it had been an experience she wouldn’t soon forget. “Thank you,” she said, pushing the too large glasses up her nose. She looked around, not sure where she was. She had only ventured off Main Street when Lindsay took her out to Jake’s cottage, and she realized there was more to the small town than she had known. The street was lined with brick buildings, the painted signs on the windows proclaiming lawyers, a doctor and chiropractor, city hall, and a CPA firm to name a few.

  Jake tossed a paper in her lap when she got into the Jeep. “You made the papers,” he said and she heard laughter in his voice.

  She unfolded the paper to a large photo of the bar fight. Though slightly out of focus, she recognized herself holding a beer bottle aloft. She groaned as she scanned the photo.

  “Oh, God,” she exclaimed. “Jake, that’s you.” She pointed to the body on the floor.

  Jake shrugged. Shrugged!

  “You’ve been recognized. Now what will you do?”

  He grunted as he tried to shift gears with the bandage on his hand. She started to ask him about it, but he shrugged her off. “Read the caption.”

  She looked back at the paper. “JT Torro Parties Hard on Holiday.” She looked up. “Who is JT Torro?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “A very well-known hard rocker.”

  “He was at the bar?” she asked.

  That made him grin. “No, but the tabloids seem to think so.”

  She glanced back at the photo. To her, it looked just like Jake, but not Joseph Donovan. If people thought it was Torro, for the time being his identity was safe.

  * * *

  Jake’s hand hurt like a sonofabitch but he had refused the pain pills the island doctor had prescribed. He never took anything stronger than aspirin after seeing what happened to his mother. Doc had said there were no broken bones, and other than some swelling and stiffness, no damage had been done. Aside from the bumps and bruises, Jake felt mighty pleased with himself. Fighting had never been allowed, and while he wouldn’t make a habit of it, the whole thing had been cleansing in some way.

  All except for the part when he couldn’t find Cheyenne after he regained consciousness. Instant panic had set in, and he wouldn’t let Cam take him to the clinic until he had assured him Cheyenne was in the custody of the Sheriff and had not been accosted further by that man.

  Cam had filled him in on the details while they waited Jake’s turn at the clinic.

  The sheriff had honed in on Cheyenne and Jake the minute he arrived, and most of the patrons who had been fighting had taken advantage of his preoccupation to slip out the door. It was just as well, Cam had said with a laugh. The island jail only had two small cells. The instigator, Johnny Blaine, was a local fisherman and known not to hold his liquor well. Cam usually refused him more than a beer or two, but with the crowd at the Gold Pelican last night, his count had gotten away from him. He had gotten away, too, but Sheriff Franklin had assured Cam the man would get his due.

  Now, as Jake held the Inn door for Cheyenne, he really didn’t want to leave her alone. He had thought about taking her back to the cottage, but knew she would want a bath and change of clothes. And she needed sleep. He could do an all nighter when he was composing but knew she wasn’t used to the hours he normally kept.

  That wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to leave, he thought, as he climbed back into the Jeep. She had been spectacular last night. A warrior with a beer bottle, she had no qualms taking on a man three times her size. And she had done so in defense of him. Aside from his mother, there had never been anyone in his life who had stood up for him. His uncle, as his guardian, hadn’t cared as much for his welfare as he had for the money he could make. The household staff kept their tongues for fear of their jobs.

  But one slip of a woman had been willing to take on all comers, had spent the night in jail—all because of him. He had been the one out of cont
rol when he’d seen Blaine’s hands on her. Extreme emotion of the kind he had felt last night was something new and it amazed him.

  She had surprised him practically from her first day on the island, or perhaps from the day she had fallen into the bay. She tried so hard to be professional, to do the job assigned her, but he knew that beneath the stiff exterior of Miss Tucker lay a passionate woman. He longed to explore that passion but had a feeling she would be hesitant if he moved too fast. He knew time was running out although the exact number of days left in her timetable eluded him and he was afraid if she left the island without him, he would never see her again.

  Music hummed as he parked the Jeep at the cottage. It would seem that he could get neither Cheyenne Tucker nor the music she caused out of his head. He took some aspirin to ease the pain in his hand and sat down at the table where he had left his composition. He had completed the first two movements of the sonata. Revisiting last night’s brawl and Cheyenne’s monumental actions, he marked out several measures of his current work, changing the tempo. Before he totally lost himself in the music, he set his phone alarm then turned on his keyboard, letting the music flow through him.

  Chapter 7

  Cheyenne took a last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs when Jake texted that he was waiting. The floral sundress she had purchased fit snuggly across her breasts and flared from the waist to end just below her knees. Her heels didn’t seem quite appropriate so she settled on sandals. She would have worn her linen slacks and cashmere sweater but after his comment about her clothes, she had decided to dress casually. The bright red, blue and yellow flowers suited her, she thought, as she touched up her lipstick, this time a pale pink shade.

  She was glad for the sandals when he insisted they walk. She was happy to be casually dressed when he turned into Brenda Kay’s.

  “Again?” she asked as they slid into a booth near the back.

  “It’s rib night,” was all he said as Brenda came to the table.

  “Well if you don’t look a sight.” She set water glasses on the table. “Heard there was a ruckus at the Pelican. Damn it, the one night I didn’t get down there, but it was too busy for me to get away.”

  “You didn’t miss much,” Jake said and Cheyenne coughed.

  Brenda looked at her and back to Jake’s bandaged hand. “I can see that. How are you going to eat ribs with a broken hand?”

  “Carefully.” He smiled, then grimaced and touched his bruised cheek.

  Cheyenne was surprised by his good nature. Granted, he hadn’t spent the night in jail, but he had been injured and she didn’t know if he had gotten any more sleep than she had. He sported his wounds like a banner, almost as though he were proud of the fight he had been in.

  She could only shake her head and shrug when Brenda looked back at her.

  “Beer?” she asked.

  Cheyenne shook her head again. “Not for me. I’ll stick with water.”

  Jake laughed lightly and ordered a soda.

  While they waited for their meal, which Cheyenne assumed was ribs whether she had ordered them or not, she studied Jake more closely. The split in his lip looked better, but she could see the fingers on his right hand were slightly swollen. She reached over to lightly touch the scabbed knuckles.

  “Does it hurt badly?” She felt so guilty at having caused him injury.

  “Cheyenne?” He didn’t say any more until she raised her gaze to his. His brown eyes were intense, his smile gentle. “None of this,” he gestured with his other hand, “was your fault.”

  “But I—”

  “You were being accosted. Every other man in the bar would have done the same thing. I simply got there first.” Irrationally, she heard pride in his voice.

  “Your hands are your life, you idiot,” she said without thinking, but he only smiled wider.

  “You have no idea what I am capable of with only one hand,” he whispered across the table and she could feel a blush rising. Honestly, she had never blushed so much in her life until she encountered him.

  “Whatever are you thinking, Miss Tucker?” he teased. “I might have simply been implying I was ambidextrous.”

  She changed the topic instead of bothering to comment. “Tell me what happened after I was hauled off to the slammer.”

  Their ribs arrived, served up on brown paper as had the fish and chips. The waitress set down a pile of napkins, refilled her water and took Jake’s glass to get him another soda. Jake waited until she left before answering her.

  “The excitement was over by the time I came to.”

  She gasped. “You were knocked out completely? Damn it, I told the sheriff to let me see to you, but he hauled me off like a common criminal.”

  He grinned as he picked up a rib. “Well, actually…”

  “You know what I mean.” She looked at the pile of ribs, wished for silverware, then with a sigh, picked up the sauce-slathered meat and took a bite. A moan of pleasure escaped. They ate in silence for several minutes. When the waitress brought another serving of ribs, Cheyenne looked at her in surprise.

  “All you can eat,” she replied as she set that down along with Jake’s soda.

  “One serving is all I can eat,” she said.

  Once again, Jake was silent as he cleaned off rib after rib, licking his fingers in-between bites. By the time he was done, he had barbeque sauce smeared all over his bandage as well as his mouth.

  She bit her lower lip as his tongue snaked out to lick sauce off his lips. When he was finished, he sat back with a sigh.

  “How did you know where I was?” She picked up their conversation now that he was done.

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You weren’t at the Inn and you didn’t answer your cell phone. Cam said the sheriff had gotten to you so at least I knew you would be protected from Blaine.”

  “That was his name?”

  He nodded. “Johnny Blaine. I don’t know him personally but I hear it’s not the first time he’s been in trouble. Cam says he takes up jail space more often than not.”

  “Then he shouldn’t be allowed to drink,” she said, indignant. “If that had been the case, I wouldn’t now have a police record.”

  He laughed. Was it a good thing that he seemed to laugh quite a bit around her?

  “Until last night, I bet you’ve never done one thing that’s not strictly by the books,” he said.

  “I most certainly have,” she automatically replied, then snapped her mouth shut. He must think she broke the law on a regular basis.

  “What? Been late for work? I know, you actually called in sick to work but you weren’t.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” That didn’t mean she hadn’t committed other offenses. She thought about the time she stole a box of mac and cheese from the little grocery on the corner in order to feed herself and her sister. She had never visited that grocery again, afraid the owner would recognize her.

  She sipped her water in contemplation. Surely there was something in her life that would show him she wasn’t as straitlaced as he thought. She didn’t want to think about why that was so important to her.

  “There was an incident on my way down here,” she said. “I was in the drive-through at Starbucks.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Of course, a Starbucks. Not a McDonalds.”

  She huffed. “The place is hardly relevant. I was sitting in my car waiting to order and a girl, a woman, jumped out of the passenger side of the car in front of me, yelling. She raced to my car and tried to get in but of course it was locked. She looked behind her where the man driving the car had gotten out and was coming after her.”

  Cheyenne closed her eyes as she remembered the scene. “She was very frightened, yelling something I couldn’t understand as he stood by the rear of his car, yelling right back at her. When she realized she couldn’t get in my car, she took off and the man started after her.”

  Her heart pounded even now, thinking about it. “I lifted
my foot off the brake and my car rolled forward, just as the man stepped between his car and mine.”

  Jake’s eyes rounded. “You pinned a man between your cars?”

  “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. That girl was scared out of her wits and it was the only way she could get away.”

  He lifted his glass in salute. “Well, here’s to you.”

  When she didn’t say any more, his eyebrow rose in question. “That can’t be the end of the story because you are here, which means you eventually moved out of the Starbuck’s line.”

  She narrowed her gaze, only to have him grin.

  “It’s not at all funny. He pounded on the hood of my car. Someone in line must have called the police because the minute we heard sirens, he pushed against my car enough to get loose. Or maybe I released the pressure on the brakes, I’m not sure. Anyway, he got in his car and sped away.”

  “And you got your latte and drove happily away.”

  “I most certainly did not. The police made me pull off to the side and park so I could give them a statement. I was terribly behind schedule by the time they were done. I couldn’t take time to go through the whole line again.”

  “That might have taken what, a day off your schedule? By the way, how many days do you have left?”

  “Twenty, and I’m glad you think this is all fun and games, but I have a very real job to do and you are making it extremely difficult.”

  “Because I won’t give in to my uncle who has probably devised a three hundred day worldwide tour to keep me busy and out of trouble?” He scowled. “And to make him more money?”

  She had no idea if that were true; Sebastian hadn’t given her the particulars of his plans.