by Marin Thomas
* * *
TWO WEEKS HAD gone by. Two weeks of Jackson creeping up the back stairs with his lumber and his tools. And two weeks where Winnie had hardly seen him.
“How much longer until Jackson is finished with his renovations?” Eugenia Fox ran her dusting cloth over the counter of the Cinnamon Stick and showed the soiled result to Winnie.
Eugenia’s dark hair was in a bun, as usual. She was widowed, with a grown son who lived in Great Falls but wasn’t yet married. Besides working at the Cinnamon Stick, she also ran a part-time catering business.
“He’s sanding the drywall today. So this should be the end of it.” Winnie knew her staff and customers were ready for relief from the sound of the hammer and the drill and the constant migration of sawdust and plaster particles.
“I’ve been dusting two times a day since he started.” Eugenia tossed the dirty cloth into the laundry bag. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand.”
She winked, and Winnie gave her an impulsive hug. “The past two weeks have been a big pain. Thank you for putting up with all the construction.”
“What about me?” Vince made a rare appearance from the kitchen. As usual, the wizened old cowboy had a snow-white baker’s apron over his jeans and Western shirt. Winnie had never seen him with so much as a single stain on his apron. The man was meticulous.
“Are you fed up with the noise and mess, too?”
“Not really. But I could use a hug, all the same.”
For some reason Vince, who kept his distance from most people, even friends he’d known for all his life, had an affinity for Winnie. Maybe because she’d offered him the job that he claimed had saved his life. Since he’d started working at the Cinnamon Stick, he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol to drink.
“Any time, Vince. You know that.” Winnie gave the cowboy a grateful hug, then went back to slicing tomatoes for the luncheon sandwich special. Five minutes later the rush started, and she and Eugenia were in constant motion pouring coffees and serving sandwiches, soups and, of course, Vince’s famous cinnamon buns.
Around ten minutes to two, Cassidy came in with her new husband.
“You’re back!” Winnie slipped around the counter to give both Cassidy and Farley a hug. Farley was always dark skinned since he had some Native American blood, but Cassidy had acquired a golden tan on her honeymoon. “You look great.”
“We had a fabulous time in Maui.” Cassidy smiled up at her new husband.
Farley grinned. “It was the best. But we sure missed our regular coffee breaks. We’ll each take a coffee and a cinnamon bun to go.”
As Winnie prepared their order, they filled her in on all the snorkeling, hiking and sightseeing they’d done during their holiday.
“It’s good to be home, though,” Cassidy acknowledged. “Even though it’s snowy and cold.”
“Must make for quite a change from Maui.” Winnie checked the time. “Oh, wow, how the time flies. I have to go pick up Bobby from his babysitter’s.”
By the time she returned, Jackson would be gone. Ever since he’d started the job, he’d been real careful to arrive shortly after ten in the morning and leave just after two, when she was on her way to pick up Bobby.
Just as he’d promised.
Today, though, turned out to be different.
With Bobby in her arms, tired and practically asleep, Winnie returned from the babysitter’s to find Jackson vacuuming drywall dust from the floors.
Her spirits lifted at the pleasant surprise. She was so tired of coming home to an empty apartment all the time.
“Wow. I had no idea men looked so sexy when they vacuumed. I wonder why they don’t do it more often.”
Jackson’s eyes widened, and the word “sexy” hung in the air between them.
Why had she said that?
Maybe because it was true?
Jackson yanked the plug from the wall and the apartment was suddenly silent.
“I wasn’t vacuuming. It’s called construction cleanup.”
“I guess that does sound more manly.”
“Damn right it does.” He grinned. “But I can’t say I object to being called sexy.” His gaze dropped to Bobby. “Looks like you have a sleepy guy on your hands.”
She nodded, her heart suddenly working far too hard. Jackson didn’t smile often, but when he did, the effect was disarming. “Can you pull off his boots for me, please?”
“Sure.”
Jackson moved closer, tugging off the boots and then setting them carefully on the mat near the door.
Winnie carried her son to his crib where she laid him down, then unzipped his snowsuit and peeled it off his pliable limbs.
Jackson watched, looking fascinated. “Gosh, he’s really out, isn’t he?”
“Sleeping like a baby,” she agreed.
The corner of Jackson’s mouth curved upward, but only slightly. “Someone’s in a good mood today.”
She hadn’t been, particularly. Seeing him, though, had changed that. But it wasn’t Jackson in particular, she told herself. It was the relief of not coming home to an empty apartment for once. Bobby kept her busy almost every second he was awake, yet there were stretches of time when she felt profoundly lonely up here in their cozy apartment.
It was almost enough to make her regret moving out of her parents’ home. Almost.
Truth was, they’d all been getting on one another’s nerves the past few months. And it had been time for her to start living an independent life again.
“So how are things going up here? Looks like you’re almost finished.” Her voice didn’t come out sounding natural. She felt suddenly awkward now that Bobby was settled.
The look Jackson gave her was cryptic. Why was the man so darned hard for her to read?
“I am,” he agreed, as he moved around the apartment gathering up his equipment. He always left the apartment tidy and clean when he was finished for the day—a consideration that she very much appreciated.
He demonstrated the door that he’d just installed that day, then ran his hand along the new wall. “It’s dry and smooth, ready for painting. I can do that tomorrow if you pick out a paint color.”
He nodded at the array of paint-color swatches she’d brought home from the hardware store, which were now strewn over the coffee table.
“Oh, don’t worry about the painting. I can do that myself.”
“With a baby wandering around? Doesn’t seem like a good idea to me.” Jackson cocked his head to one side and Winnie’s heart lurched as she realized she was attracted to Jackson.
Seriously attracted.
She thought back to Cassidy and B.J.’s wedding, to the way she’d felt in Jackson’s arms as they were dancing. She’d felt it then, too.
Why had she never seen how sexy Jackson was? She’d known it, of course. Had even joked about it when she came into the apartment a minute ago.
But it was one thing to notice how good a man looked.
Quite another to feel the attraction zinging throughout her body, all the way to her fingers and toes.
He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans today, clothes that showed off every muscle in his cowboy-tough body. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and with his dark stubble and thick tousled hair he reminded her of Joe Manganiello, the actor from True Blood.
“Have I got drywall dust on my face or something?”
She’d been staring. Inwardly she cringed as she imagined what Jackson would say if he knew what she’d been thinking. He was already so uncomfortable around her. If she admitted that she really did find him sexy?
Oh, man, that would be so bad.
She quickly grabbed the paint samples. “No. Your face is fine.”
I’ll say...
“I was just thinking about a c
olor to paint Bobby’s room. Blue seems so...conventional. What do you think of this turquoise?” She showed him the tiny square and he squinted at it.
“Looks girly.”
She sighed. “Well. I guess I’ll pick something more neutral. When Bobby goes to bed at eight, I’ll get started. In a couple of nights I’ll have the painting done.”
Jackson looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t, thank goodness.
“How’s Maddie doing?” She followed him to the door, where he had his supplies stacked and ready to go.
“I’m taking her to the doctor tomorrow. She doesn’t complain, but I can tell she’s getting weaker.” He brushed a hand over his forehead. “Used to be she’d walk her dogs every morning. Lately all she manages to do is move from her bed to the reclining chair in the sitting room.”
Thinking of all the hours Jackson had put in on her project, Winnie felt guilty. “I shouldn’t have asked for your help. She needs you more.”
“You never asked. I offered.” Jackson opened the door and stepped out into the icy winter air.
She took a step after him, shivering as the wind cut through her sweater and slapped her cheeks, watching as he started down the stairs with his equipment. “Thank you for building Bobby his bedroom. It’s perfect.”
Jackson gave her a final nod. And then she shut the door against the freezing wind. Leaning her back against the door for support, she listened to the pounding of her heart and wondered what the hell was the matter with her.
Jackson was practically Brock’s brother.
And she had no business at all thinking about him this way.
* * *
WOMEN PUZZLED JACKSON sometimes. Like the clothes they wore when they expected to get dirty or stained. Such as the jeans and T-shirt that Winnie had on right now.
He supposed in Winnie’s mind they were old and expendable.
But they were pretty much the sexiest things he’d ever seen her wear.
He dipped the roller into the tray, waited for the excess paint to drain away then resumed painting.
He’d dropped by at eight-thirty that evening.
“Happened to be in the neighborhood. Want a hand?”
She’d pretended to be annoyed, but he could tell she wasn’t.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“No. But with two of us, the room will be finished tonight.”
She’d tied her dark curls back in a ponytail. Her jeans were so faded, they’d worn away at the knees, belt loops and back pockets.
It was those back pockets that were going to be his downfall. She filled them out so nicely...and damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be looking.
She was playing a Taylor Swift CD, volume low so the music wouldn’t disturb Bobby. He concentrated on the wall in front of him. She’d chosen a soft gray with blue undertones. He liked it.
“Jackson, what was your life like before you went to live with the Lamberts?”
He supposed she was making conversation, but her question reminded him that they really didn’t know much about each other. Probably because he’d always made a point of avoiding her.
“We moved a lot when I was a kid. I was born in Great Falls, but we also lived in Butte and Helena, and for a few months, Bozeman.”
“The big city life, huh?”
“The biggest Montana has to offer,” he agreed, going along with the joke because the most populated city in this state didn’t even come close to half a million people.
Which, in his opinion, was one of the many great things about Montana.
“What did your mom do for a living?”
“She worked nights as a cocktail waitress. We got by okay, until she met a cowboy who got her hooked on crack cocaine again.”
“Again?”
“She quit after she had me. Or so she said.” He sighed.
He’d skimmed over a lot of territory with that summary. Like the years he’d spent sleeping in the backseat of their car while his mother worked, because she couldn’t afford a sitter.
Or the nights she’d bring home some drunk cowboy, and he’d blast the radio in his room so he wouldn’t have to hear those embarrassing sounds.
“How did you end up being taken in by the Lamberts?”
“Good question. I never did figure out how that happened. I was thirteen at the time and my mother let herself get dragged into her boyfriend’s stupid robbery scheme. The money was going to be for drugs, of course.”
Winnie stopped painting for a second, her eyes soft with sympathy. “Where were you when this was happening?”
“At home. Mom hadn’t told me about the plan. I thought they’d gone out to party. Next thing I knew, a social worker and a cop were knocking at the door.” He shrugged. There’d been some confusing weeks after that, but then one day a big rancher with broad shoulders and kind blue eyes had shown up at the transitional housing center where he’d been placed.
“Did they take you to see your mother?”
“Eventually. She was so ashamed she wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I felt bad for her.” But even more he’d been angry. He’d been old enough then that he’d wanted to help look after his mother. He worked two part-time jobs after school and on weekends, making enough to buy his own clothes and contribute to their expenses.
Why hadn’t that been enough for her?
Why had she turned to that jerk boyfriend instead?
He’d been really pissed. For a long time.
“So how did you end up with the Lamberts?”
“The judge who put my mother in jail happened to be a friend of Bob Lambert’s. I’m not sure how it happened exactly. But he asked Bob and Olive if they would take me in. And they did.”
Jackson would never stop feeling grateful for the opportunity to be a part of a real family. True, Olive had never warmed up to him, but the relationship he’d had with Bob and the Lambert children had more than made up for that.
“And your mother?”
“She died a couple of years into her sentence. I didn’t even know she had AIDS until after the funeral.”
He had regrets there. Though he’d been allowed to visit his mother, he’d still been angry at that point and had barely concealed it during the short hours they’d spent together. He wished he’d been mature enough to forgive her while she was still alive. For all her faults, she’d been kind to him always. And he knew she’d never meant to hurt him.
“Gosh, Jackson. That’s so sad.”
“It was a long time ago. I’ve had a good life with the Lamberts.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked about his past. Usually he sidestepped personal questions. But tonight he hadn’t minded opening up to Winnie. Maybe it was the painting. It was easier to talk when you didn’t feel the other person watching you. Judging you.
He ran the roller in the tray of paint, up and down, until the excess had been shed, then returned the roller to the wall. It was satisfying seeing the dull drywall take on the new, fresh color. He let his gaze slide toward Winnie who was up on the second rung of the stepladder now, painting the line where the wall met the ceiling. Her expression was earnest as she concentrated on keeping a steady hand.
Suddenly she stopped and glanced at him. “Did I mess up?”
He realized he’d been staring again. Damn. He had to stop that. “Nope. You’re doing great. Have you done a lot of painting?”
“Sure. Brock and I did all the painting in the café after I bought the place. Before that, I used to help my mom paint on the farm. Not just the house, but the barn, too.”
“And what was home like for you?” He’d been doing too much of the talking. “You didn’t have any brothers or sisters, did you?” At least none had shown up for the wedding that he could remember.
No. She wasn’t. Spoiled children could be self-centered and full of entitlement. Winnie was none of those things. She did have a peaceful strength about her, though, that he thought must have come from a happy, trauma-free childhood.
“I hope I haven’t been boring you,” he said. “Can’t remember the last time I blabbed so much.”
“You should blab more often. I like hearing you talk.”
And maybe he’d like hearing her talk, too. “Fair is fair. It’s your turn.”
“But I don’t have much to say. You met my mother and father at the rehearsal dinner.”
The rehearsal for the wedding that never happened. “I did. Nice people.”
“Yes. I was lucky.” She climbed down the ladder so she could move it to a new position. When he saw what she was doing, he hastily put down his roller to help her.
While he repositioned the ladder, she stretched her neck and back, then surveyed the walls. In an hour, maybe less, they’d be done the first coat.
“It’s looking good, isn’t it?”
“It’s an improvement,” he conceded. But no amount of decorating would ever make this more than a nine-by-ten-foot room that Bobby would soon outgrow. “But not exactly your dream home, I bet.”
“The days of having a dream home are far in my future.” She thanked him for moving the ladder, then climbed back up to resume painting.
“If you had one...what would you want?”
“Oh, a walk-in closet. Not that I have such a big wardrobe. Still, it would be fun to have a closet with lots of space. A big tub for soaking—that would be a priority. And a bedroom and a playroom for Bobby. That’s just for starters,” she laughed.
He wished he could give her all that.
And more.
Damn, he was doing it again. Keep your eyes on the paint, he warned himself. And your thoughts on the job.
Chapter Six
A kid didn’t get into the state foster-care program because they had great parents. Winnie understood this. Still she was stunned at how difficult Jackson’s early years had been.