The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1)

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  You could just have great sex. You wouldn't have to allow yourself to fall for him. She nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully. He'd probably want to eventually settle again here in town, and she had no intention of staying in Birchwood Falls any longer than necessary. She had big plans.

  She'd had those plans ever since she could remember. Foster care had been her home for the first ten years of her life. Abandoned when she was a month old, Phoebe had then been raised by and had to interact with strangers most of her life. In early grade school, she hadn't had many friends. All the kids knew she lived in a foster home. She wasn't accepted because she didn't have real parents. Very shy and withdrawn, she'd kept to herself.

  Then, when she was ten, she was officially adopted by Roger and Maudie Barnes and legally given their last name.

  She was proud to belong to someone. Her new parents were fantastic. It took a while for her to believe she was safe in a family, but the Barneses' love and support finally settled in her brain and heart. They discovered she could sing and lavished her with singing and dancing lessons. She felt like a Cinderella who'd been granted everything she could ever wish for.

  But she never quite forgot the loneliness of her earlier years, never fully trusted kids her own age, always waited for them to drop her if they found out she wasn't quite as normal as they were.

  Moira and Davy had become friends when she first moved to B Falls. Moira was just a sweetheart you couldn't help but love. Davy was a young gay man in a very small town. He was a bit of a lost soul, and she and Moira had taken on befriending and protecting him.

  The three of them would do anything for one another.

  Phoebe really hoped Davy didn't develop a major crush on Marc Rahn since he was anything but gay. The most those two could be was friends, just as she intended to be with Marc.

  Wait a minute. Why even worry about this? She had no plans to get any closer to Marc. She didn't want Butch, and she didn't want Marc. What she wanted was a major singing career preferably in a big city like New York or Los Angeles. She intended to be famous and successful and have myriad admirers who would slavishly love her.

  Chapter Six

  Everywhere Marc went after his visit with Frank, he saw Wilcox Resort signs. They stoked his anger. He had to get that under control to think straight and figure this out. Killing people to gain their land? That was a motive as old as time, but it was too obvious. Was Harold Wilcox stupid or depraved enough to commit murder for land?

  He entered the police station and asked for Butch Wilcox. He was shown into a small room with a metal table and chairs and given the investigative file regarding the death of his parents.

  It didn't take him long to read everything. There wasn't much. Just the police report of the incident—no findings of foul play, no suspicion that another vehicle was involved. No forensics at all, no blood results, no testing of scratches on the car.

  Just cold, hard inconclusive facts.

  Butch joined him in the room. "Hey buddy, have you learned anything new?"

  "There's not much here. Where are blood tests? I know my dad would never have driven drunk. My mother wouldn't have let him."

  "This is all there is. I checked the computer. There's only one file, and that's it. Are you thinking it wasn't an accident?"

  Marc was not about to admit that. He suspected Butch's father and didn't know what to think about Butch himself. "I've been away for a long time. Now I need to understand what happened so I can put it to rest." He'd downplay his suspicions.

  "Well, Marc, you know even one drink can impair a person. It was late at night. Your dad might have been sleepy. Anything can happen."

  "Yeah, I understand." He'd like to see the blood alcohol level though. Contacting the coroner's office would be his next move, but he wasn't going to telegraph his intentions to Butch Wilcox.

  "So what'd you think of my girlfriend's singing?" asked Butch. He'd planted his butt on the table, swinging one leg back and forth.

  Girlfriend? He'd said that yesterday, but it sure hadn't seemed like that was Phoebe's feeling. Not after that kiss. "She was good. I enjoyed her singing, and she seems like a nice girl."

  "Oh, she's nice all right. Very nice, if you get my drift." Butch winked and almost looked like he was twirling an imaginary handlebar mustache, so obvious was his remark.

  Marc hid his reaction, his gut roiling with disgust. Butch had always been kind of an asshole as a kid, and it seemed he'd only gotten worse.

  "We've been going out for quite awhile."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah, and I hope you don't take her flirtations too seriously. She likes to flaunt herself, but I don't worry about her because she's committed to me."

  Marc shook his head. "I didn't notice any come-ons, so yeah, you're safe." Phoebe hadn't flirted one bit with him. He'd been the one who'd initiated the kisses. Even with the hot little nipple ring, she hadn't acted like a woman who slept around.

  God, I hope Butch is exaggerating. The thought of him touching her and enjoying that spectacular body and its sexy piercing made him sick. Butch's attempts to warn him off wouldn't work, but Butch didn't have to know Marc intended to do whatever he wanted.

  If seeing Phoebe Barnes was something he wanted to do, well by God, she'd be in his bed as soon as possible. But he hadn't come back to B Falls for sex. How many more times do you have to tell yourself that before you let thoughts of her go?

  Taking the copy of the police report made for him, he thanked Butch. "See ya' later."

  Pausing on the steps of the courthouse, his gaze traveled across the one-hundred-eighty-degree sight lines. Not for the first time he almost lost his breath at the difference between home and his deployments.

  Civilians took this for granted. What was normal for them was not the same where he'd been stationed. He loved these views and the sounds of birds, of people talking, of kids playing. Even the sounds of car engines roaring out from a stop sign, honking horns, slamming of doors all told him he was safe at home. There were no gunshots, no bombs, no screaming or moaning of injured people. This was such a small town that there weren't even any sirens.

  Someone brushed past him, awakening him to the fact he'd stopped stock-still right in the way of foot traffic. Before he reached the bottom of the steps his gaze landed across the street on Ollie's Bar & Grill and its prime location on the corner of First Street and Route 20.

  He and Mike Banning, the owners' son, had been close friends and teammates in high school. The Bannings had tried to help him after his parents died, tried to keep him fed, but he'd shut them out along with everyone else. All he'd wanted to do was graduate and leave what had become for him this Godforsaken town.

  He wondered if Mike was still around. As he loped across the street, the open door welcomed him into a dim interior. It hadn't changed in all these years. A horseshoe-shaped bar hunkered in the center, stools on three sides. Little white twinkle lights draped from the ceiling over the bar. Several tables and chairs sat on the original hardwood floor, and the spectacular vintage 1958 Seeburg jukebox filled the far corner, a song he recognized from the fifties playing. It was as if time stood still. "Wow."

  Pausing in the doorway, he gazed around letting the memories of all the hours spent there with Mike and the other guys from the football team wash over him. There was the yeasty smell of beer, the greasy scent of hamburgers and fries.

  He almost broke down weeping with yearning for the old days, the simpler times, for life before his world had been destroyed. The guys were never allowed to drink liquor, especially since Mike's mom and dad ruled the roost, but they could hang around as long as they wanted.

  "Can I help you?"

  He glanced toward the woman behind the bar. "Is Mike Banning still here?"

  She leaned both hands against the bar and said, "Sure. Well, at least not this minute. He's in school."

  "Oh, I mean an older guy—my age, twenty-five, twenty-six."

  "Yes that's Mike. He's a teacher." />
  "No kidding. At BFHS?"

  "Yeah. Do you know him?"

  Marc chuckled through a sudden thickness in his throat. "Mrs. Banning?" She resembled her former self but was a little thicker around the middle and a little more gray-haired now.

  "Yes. Who are you, young man? No wait, you do look familiar. Let me think." She started around the end of the bar.

  "It's been awhile, ma'am."

  "The Rams. You were on the Rams football team." Then her mouth dropped open. "You're taller and bulkier—I mean muscled, not fat, that's for certain." Grinning, she held out her arms. "Marc! You're a sight for sore eyes. Welcome home, honey. Mike'll be thrilled to see you again. I know I am!"

  "Yes ma'am." He smiled back. The years dropped away, and he couldn't stop her from putting her arms around his shoulders and giving him a good squeeze. He didn't want to stop her, choking back emotion, not wanting to blubber in front of her.

  "You still a Marine?" She let him go but hustled him to a nearby table and ordered him to sit.

  "Yeah."

  "What can I get you to eat? I bet you're hungry. Can't say that you look skinny, but I bet you can still eat."

  "I wouldn't mind something," he responded, glancing toward the kitchen in the back. "Are you working here alone? Where's Mr. Banning?"

  "Oliver's at a Rotary meeting. We don't usually serve anything to eat, as you should well remember, until about four o'clock. Mike's home by then and helps out. He'll be so happy to see you," she repeated.

  "Is he married yet? Any kids?"

  "Nope, darn it. You?"

  "No, thank goodness." He laughed.

  "Ha, the two of you better settle down soon. You're not getting any younger."

  Marc just shrugged. He wasn't ready for that. He ended up joining Mrs. Banning in the kitchen while she grilled him a burger which he ate with complete and utter joy. Good memories of B Falls were coming back to him, and he didn't feel so alone.

  Giving her another hug and peck on the cheek, he promised to come back later to see Mike and his dad.

  "You'd better, buster. Say, are you staying at your old house?"

  He shook his head. "I'm on Linden Lane for right now. I promise I'll be back later. Thanks so much for the burger. I really missed those."

  ***

  Where the hell had the day gone? Enjoying his full stomach, he walked down the highway—now it finally had a sidewalk on both sides—toward his house, reveling in the pleasure that came from small-town America. Full green trees shaded clean sidewalks. Church bells chimed the hour. It had been so long since he'd been back home, not able to bear the pain of memories of happier times.

  Running straight into enemy fire had been easier than remembering the tragedy of the night his parents were killed.

  Gazing up into the leafy boughs of a white birch tree bordering the church's parking lot, he pressed his palm against the horizontal bark lines. They were a part of his childhood, and he'd always loved these trees. They were a luxury he now appreciated after so many deployments in the Middle East. He'd hated everything about the town after his parents were killed. Struggling to finish high school, knowing it was his ticket into the Marines, he couldn't wait to graduate and leave.

  His gaze roamed over the highway he walked along. Anyone who'd driven through any number of American small towns passing from farmland to streets winding between tree-sheltered houses knew speed limits quickly dropped to thirty or twenty miles per hour. God, I've missed this.

  And striding toward him was something else he'd missed. Damned if it wasn't Phoebe Barnes looking like a hometown sprite instead of the sultry jazz singer of last night—slim denim skirt teasing him with a sweet view of her shapely thighs, a short-sleeved cotton blouse, a straw hat atop her dark hair with its bright-pink bangs. She was a sight for sore eyes. When she glanced up and spotted him he made no attempt to hide his smile of male approval.

  Painful memories left him and tension of a different sort gripped his belly. Phoebe was one tasty dish, and what he'd tasted had been tempting but too short-lived. He leaned a shoulder against a tree, crossed his arms over his chest and just gazed. He could see the warmth in her green eyes watching him right back. Her fair cheeks flushed, and her lips opened. To say something? The movement made him want to claim those lips, press his own against them, explore her mouth, play with her tongue.

  It had been so long. His cock hardened. A bed. Fresh sheets. Willing woman. Soft flesh. Hers. Their limbs entwined. He wanted his bigger, harder body molded to hers. He wanted more of those kisses. Wanted to slide his aching cock into her sweet body. Ram it in hard and long. Sweet and sensual.

  Her eyes flashed with knowing. She was reading his expression. And not hating it. Okay. He meandered toward her. "Hey, heading home?" They were only a block from their respective houses. She licked her lips, the sight of that tongue torturing him all the more.

  "Yes. Are you?"

  He fell into step next to her but couldn't get a glimpse of her face because of the floppy hat. Crap. "What have you been doing today?"

  "I work part-time at Clarke's. It's a resale shop just down there." She pointed to the cinderblock building just past the church's parking lot. "What did you do today?"

  "I hunted up some old friends."

  "How long is your leave?"

  "Six weeks."

  "Are you deployed overseas?" She lifted her head to give him a serious gaze.

  God. He wanted more than anything to kiss those rosy lips. "Yep."

  "How often do you get leave?"

  "Not often. This is my first long-term leave in a few years and my first trip back to B Falls."

  "I bet it's a strange adjustment. All I know is what I see on the news though."

  "Yeah, it's different, that's for sure." They turned the corner onto their street. He glanced again at her upturned face. He should be happy that a beautiful woman seemed sensitive to his job. He wasn't used to talking about it with anyone.

  "Are you happy to be home or does the contrast between here and there make it too hard?"

  Sensitive and perceptive. "Interesting question, Phoebe. No one's ever asked that."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

  He lost sight of her face again when she turned and hid behind the hat brim. "It's not that. Most civilians just don't know what to say to us."

  "I guess we're glad you're home safe and don't want to remind you that you have to go back."

  "Exactly!" They'd reached her house, but she seemed to dawdle as if not wanting to go inside. He sure didn't want to leave her.

  "What's your rank?" She tipped her lips up in a smile.

  "Gunny. Gunnery Sergeant, to be precise."

  She saluted him, her expression serious but her eyes sparkling in amusement. "Yes sir."

  "You don't have to salute me, and don't call me sir," he said in his sternest voice. "I'm not an officer."

  "Got it!" She again lifted her hand to her brow, then laughed. "Oops."

  Her adorable giggle went right to his nuts, and he choked out, "That's okay. You'll learn."

  "So what do gunnys do?"

  The last thing he should do was palm his aching cock in front of her. Control yourself, Marine. He cleared his throat. "Simply put, we're experts in anything to do with guns and ammunition, hence the gunnery part." He couldn't say he didn't like her rapt attention, but he didn't want to talk about war, not with the beauteous Phoebe. He was home with a sexy woman, and he wanted more of her. "But I want to forget about all that for a while. Okay?"

  She nodded, the hat brim bobbing with her movements.

  He followed her as she headed up the front walk of her house. They stepped up on her porch, she paused at the mailbox, pulled out a sheaf of envelopes, and leafed through them. Scratching the back of his neck, he asked, "Would you like to go out to dinner? We can make it quick if you're singing tonight."

  She lifted her head. "I'm sorry. I can't."

  That wasn't what the look on her face was
saying. She wanted to but something held her back. He held up his hands in a surrender pose. "It's just dinner. No strings."

  She tapped the edges of the envelopes against her palm and gave him a regretful look. "I already have plans tonight."

  Crap. Butch. He'd acted all possessive last night. On the other hand, she'd kissed him pretty hungrily.

  He heard a growl come from his throat. Between his suspicions of Wilcox Sr. and a little bit of his own possessiveness, unreasonable though it was, he didn't consider Butch good enough for her. Turning the growl into a cough, he asked, "Rain check?"

  "Sure. I'd like that." She gave him an expectant smile and didn't hurry inside. Her face tilted up, her leafy-green eyes sparkling, eyes the color that reminded him of the countryside and bounteous expanses of grass and home.

  It was looking like she wanted a kiss. Suddenly the tension between them tightened. Her lips parted in a hiss.

  He plucked the straw hat off her head. "This is really cute, Phoebe, but in the way." He tossed it onto a chair. Before she could respond he folded her in his arms, angled his head, and gave her the kiss he'd been wanting—pretty sure she wanted it too.

  Well aware they were outside in broad daylight and the neighbors could be watching, he kept the kiss soft. It was a struggle because his body was telling him to take her, seduce her, make love, fuck her. He'd been in a long dry spell, and it was torture for him to control himself.

  Blood pumped through his veins, filling his cock to a throbbing, aching thickness. He could feel her hard nipples pressing into his chest through the thin cotton of her blouse. His knees weakened at the promise of that little ring at the tip. If he could just get his tongue in the golden circle and tug, he'd make them both moan.

  He groaned. Wouldn't it be hot if her clit were pierced? Too much to hope for but his hips rotated subtly against her belly at the fantasy. He lifted his lips just long enough to say, "Inside." Then he recaptured her lips, indulgently caressing their soft surface. Just as he nudged her toward the door wanting to continue this in private, she balked.