by Susan Fox
No way would she ever fantasize over Jesse Blue again.
All afternoon, the knowledge of Jesse’s crime was a dark cloud hanging over her. When she made a tomato bocconcini salad for dinner—using her own basil—it seemed flavorless and she shoved it away unfinished. Even her wine didn’t taste the same as usual, and she took no more than a couple of sips.
This was ridiculous. She was in charge, not Louise. If she was going to ban Jesse from Cherry Lane, then she should just do it! She could leave a voice mail for Barry Adamson and never have to see Jesse again.
The idea of not seeing Jesse again made her stomach feel hollow. No, that must just be hunger. She’d barely eaten a thing all day. Yet she had no appetite.
Gather all the information and weigh it carefully, and never act on impulse. Right. That advice had always served her well.
The facts set out in Jesse’s file were horrendous, but the judge hadn’t locked him up. Louise and Barry believed it would be all right for him to work at Cherry Lane. Louise had contemplated that he would interact with the residents. How could an almost-killer be trusted to interact with fragile seniors and learn life lessons from them? And what was the unusual fact pattern the lawyer had referred to?
Tomorrow morning, she’d phone Barry again and try to catch him before he went into court.
She paced around her apartment, straightening things she’d already straightened. “Aagh! I have to see Jesse.”
She had to know now, from him not from Barry Adamson—to ask him to his face, and this time not let him get away with an evasive answer. And she was pretty sure where he was tonight. Chris at the garden center had told her.
It took only a few seconds to find the address of Delancey Secondary.
The school was in a part of town she didn’t know, so she let her Smart Car’s GPS guide her there. She pulled into the parking lot next to a basketball court where a bunch of teenage boys, young men, and two or three girls were running around. Pulling down the sun visor, she hid behind her sun glasses, feeling like a spy.
Jesse was the biggest, the most mature, by a long stretch. And he looked quite breathtaking in another of those holey tank tops and a pair of baggy shorts. He had fabulous legs, strong and well-shaped, sprinkled with dark hair. The kids were a mixed bag, from skeletally thin to chubs, shaven heads to long dreadlocks. Black, white, Hispanic, Native American, Asian.
She didn’t know anything about the game of basketball except that the objective was to get the ball through the hoop, but she didn’t care. What caught her interest was the conversation that carried through her open car windows, and the group dynamics. Some of the kids were confident and others not; some were buddies and some were loners.
The tension that had gripped her all day eased a little as she watched and listened.
The kids were getting a workout, developing their skills and learning how to be part of a team. Learning how to respect each other rather than to grandstand. Jesse was a natural leader. He was as good with these young people as he was with her seniors.
He’d beaten Gord Pollan close to death, yet he used his spare time to coach troubled teens. His fists had shattered human bones, yet she remembered the gentle way he’d taken Virginia’s frail hand to help her out of the swing. Jesse Blue was an enigma, and she needed to know his secrets. For the sake of her seniors, of course.
Surely he couldn’t have done what he’d been charged with. There must have been some mistake. That’s why he hadn’t been sent to jail. She would wait until the game was finished and the kids had headed home, then she’d talk to him.
She watched him run around and leap up to make baskets. Every now and then he lifted the hem of his tank top to wipe his face, giving her a brief, tantalizing flash of brown torso. She wondered what he wore under those baggy shorts. A jock strap? She had only the vaguest notion what a jock strap looked like, but figured Jesse would be the perfect choice to model one.
Eventually one team was declared the winner, and a lot of hand-slapping occurred. The kids began to wander off, alone or in small groups. Maura opened her car door.
“Jesse! Hey there, hon.” It was a female voice, and Maura quickly eased the door closed again.
A curvy, Latin-looking woman—a woman who bore an amazing resemblance to Salma Hayek, though Maura wasn’t sure the actress would choose this woman’s tight pink skirt and top—bustled toward Jesse on stiletto heels. The owner of the cheap scent on Jesse’s leather jacket, Maura was sure of it. Surprisingly, the woman’s hand was linked with that of a boy, seven or eight years old.
The woman greeted Jesse with a big hug, and he was in no hurry to extract himself. When they broke apart, he picked up the boy, hoisted him high, and twirled around with him until the boy squealed with laughter, then put him down again. The three walked away with Jesse in the middle, one arm around the woman’s waist and one around the boy’s shoulders.
Maura sat, so stunned she could do nothing but gape. His wife and son? Why had it never occurred to her that Jesse might be married? That he might have a child?
He’d kissed Maura. He had a gorgeous wife and a sweet little boy, and he’d kissed Maura. The total bum! Loyalty was huge to her, and she couldn’t abide cheaters.
Did his wife know that he spent his days coming on to every random female who crossed his path?
Shaking her head in disgust, Maura started up her car. Tomorrow, she’d talk to Jesse. She’d give him a chance to state his case. But she couldn’t imagine anything he could possibly say that would make her keep him on at Cherry Lane.
When Jesse finished work at the construction site on Tuesday, he figured the sensible thing would be to grab a snack and head straight over to Cherry Lane. He wasn’t due there for an hour, but he could put in his three hours and finish up early. Wasn’t much point changing, since he was only going to be doing more hard labor. At least he assumed he was. He’d finished up the planting on Sunday, so Maura would likely get him started digging out the pond.
He knew what he wished she had in mind for him. He’d been fantasizing dozens of different scenarios since he’d last seen her. What he should be doing was thinking about taking Gracie out, but instead he couldn’t get Maura off his mind.
Instead of heading toward Cherry Lane, he realized he’d pointed the Harley in the direction of his apartment. Okay, he’d shower and change. It was what Barry would tell him to do. But, as he stood under the cascading water with another hard-on, he knew he was fooling himself. He wanted to look good, to impress the damned woman.
Like there was any fucking way. A guy who’d dropped out in grade ten? Yeah, maybe she gave him credit for knowing about gardens, but that was a long way from seeing him as the kind of guy she’d invite into her bed.
He really should ask Gracie out.
He didn’t get that chance, though, because when he entered the building, it was the sour-faced woman on the reception desk, not the bubbly redhead. That shower and change of clothes had made him late enough that Gracie’d left for the day.
“Ms. Mahoney in?” he asked the scowling receptionist.
“You’re Jesse Blue.” She said it in the same tone she might’ve said, “You’re a cockroach.” He’d heard that tone a lot when he was a kid, and it always riled him.
He nodded.
“She left instructions with me.” The woman tapped a piece of paper on the desk in front of her.
Crap. Had Maura gone for the day and left him one of those lists she was so fond of? “Yeah?” He’d have been able to sweet-talk Gracie into reading him the list, making a game of it. He was an expert at tricks like that, but this woman didn’t seem like the type to play along.
“She wants to see you in her office.”
“Oh.” His heart quickened with relief and anticipation. “Thanks.”
The woman’s eyes glittered unpleasantly, and she sounded almost gleeful when she said, “She didn’t sound happy.”
What? He’d thought they’d actually been getting along
on Sunday evening.
Chapter 12
As Jesse walked down the hall, he remembered countless walks to the principal’s office when he was in school. He’d learned not to care. Either he’d get lectured, punished, or expelled. Water off a duck’s back.
But now he was nervous. As he walked down the hall, he tucked his T-shirt—a relatively new one—into his clean jeans.
He paused in Maura’s doorway. Her head, with the fiery hair tamed as usual, was down as she concentrated on some papers in front of her. She had her glasses on.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked.
“Oh!” Her head came up. She was wearing a tailored white blouse today and looked tired and stressed, though a flush crept across her cheeks. “Nedda was supposed to buzz me when you arrived.”
He shrugged. Didn’t surprise him that she hadn’t. That Nedda woman struck him as the kind who loved to make trouble, then play innocent.
Maura yanked her glasses off. One day he’d figure out if she was sexier with them on, or off.
There was a new scent in the air, something barely there, but he had a great sense of smell. It was flowery, kind of exotic. He liked it.
“Close the door, come in, and sit down.” Her voice was controlled, but it was obvious she wasn’t pleased with him. What had he done now?
He obeyed her instructions, tossing his leather jacket on the spare chair, and waited, putting a name to the faint scent. Gardenia. Made him think of sultry nights in Hawaii, where he’d gone once on vacation.
A flowery lei around Maura’s neck, draped over creamy shoulders that were bare in the moonlight. Her face turned up to his, her eyes sizzling with desire—
She shoved a file folder across the desk toward him. Okay, Maura in a crisp shirt that bared only an intriguing triangle of throat. Maura, whose blue-green eyes were narrowed as she frowned at him.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’ve read it,” she said. When he didn’t reply or reach for the folder, she said impatiently, “Your file. I’ve read your file.”
“Oh.” The word dropped heavily. It hadn’t been enough for her, him saying he’d beaten someone up. She had to go read the file, learn the gory details. Now she figured he wasn’t good enough to be around her precious old folks. Around her. He had half a mind to just get up and leave, but he was damned well going to make her say it.
Instead, staring at him with that frown line creasing her forehead, she said, “Tell me about it, Jesse. Who was Gord Pollan, and why did you beat him so badly?”
Last time he’d told the story it was on the stand, so the judge could decide whether or not she’d approve the community service arrangement Barry had worked out with the prosecutor. The judge had read him the riot act, but she’d endorsed the deal. Maura Mahoney would be harder to impress.
But he found himself wanting to try. For some crazy reason, he wanted her to understand. Was there any hope of that?
“I’ve got this friend, Consuela,” he said slowly. “We’ve been pals since high school. I was new at school and she was nice to me.” And she’d stayed nice, even when she found out he wasn’t so bright, even when he dropped out before they could expel him.
Maura was still frowning.
He went on quickly. “She was dating this guy, Rico. He was an assh—A real jerk. He beat on her, just like her stepfather had. She got pregnant in grade twelve. They split before she had the baby, thank God. It was a boy, Juanito; he’s eight now.”
Maura’s face lit with something that looked like understanding. “Are you married?”
“Huh? You mean to Con? Or at all? No, neither. Con’s like a sister. But what does that have to do—”
“Nothing,” she broke in. “Sorry. Go on.”
Women. Why couldn’t they think in straight lines? “A while later she hooked up with this loser, Pollan. He was nice to her in the beginning, but then he started beating her up, too. She lied about it, didn’t want people to know. Kept hoping things would work out. I didn’t see her much those days, figured she was busy with her guy.”
Jesse had basically been screwing his brains out with a succession of hot girls, and he’d been stupid enough to believe that Consuela had found a good guy. “I should’ve known,” he said bitterly. “Should’ve checked on her.”
Maura’s expression showed no judgment; she just listened in silence.
Jesse took a deep breath, hating to remember this shit, then let it out. “One night she calls me from the hospital, needing me to come pick her up. Her face is black and blue, like he used her as a punching bag. I get her, we pick Juanito up from kindergarten, and I take them back to my place. Con finally tells me what’s been going on. She says she’s had enough and is leaving the guy.”
Maura gave one firm nod. “Good for her.”
“Didn’t work out that way,” he said bitterly. “Pollan apologized, pleaded, and she went back to him. Next time, he cracked a couple of her ribs. She left him again. This time she went to a shelter, quit her job and got a different one, tried to hide from him. But he found her. When he apologized and pleaded, she said she wasn’t going back. He beat her up again. She talked to social workers, a lawyer. Got a restraining order saying he couldn’t go near her.”
“But he did?”
“Broke her arm that time. Went to jail for it.”
Maura’s pale face had gone almost white, and those ocean eyes were huge. He felt sorry, a sheltered woman like her hearing a story like this, but she’d asked. Besides, that flicker of hope said she just might understand.
“When he got out, he found her new apartment and beat her up real bad. She had to have surgery. Could have died.” He wouldn’t tell her that Pollan had kicked Con so badly in the belly that she’d needed a hysterectomy. He wouldn’t violate his best friend’s privacy, even if it would make his case stronger.
Maura’s face looked frozen when she said, “So you . . .”
“Did the same to him.”
“But he would have been put back in jail.”
“And got out again. Found her again.”
“She could have . . .” Her voice started out strong, then drifted away. She was frowning again.
He let her think about it for a few minutes, wondering if she’d come up with a solution that he hadn’t thought of.
“She could have left town,” she said hesitantly.
“Why the hell should she have to? ’Sides, Pollan said that if she ran, he’d find her. Age of technology, right? People can’t just disappear.”
A deep groove carved Maura’s forehead in half. “Do you honestly think you solved the problem?”
He nodded firmly. “Told him if he so much as laid a finger on Con or Juanito, I’d kill him.”
Her mouth opened in a big circle. He’d been honest, but for her it was too much. Once she got her breath back, she’d kick him out. So much for that flicker of hope.
She leaned forward, across the desk. “You can’t take the law into your own hands.”
He snorted. “The hands it’s in sure didn’t help Con. I only made one mistake, and that was waiting so long to do what I did.”
She shook her head vigorously.
He wasn’t about to argue. He couldn’t win. She believed in society’s rules and he didn’t. Lucky her if those rules had protected her. They hadn’t done much for him or Con. He and Maura’d always be on different sides of the tracks, like he’d known all along.
He studied her squinted eyes and creased forehead. She was trying to analyze him. Shouldn’t be having such a tough time doing it. He was the simplest guy in the world.
“So do I go or stay?” he asked, pretty sure what the answer would be. Shit. Was he heading for jail?
“You . . .” She rubbed her forehead. All that frowning and analyzing must be giving her a headache. “Are you telling me the truth?”
He nodded. Lying was something he’d done as a kid, along with acting out and generally being a dick-head. “Yeah.”
�
�And will you tell me the truth if I ask you something?”
Insulted, he grated out the word, “Ask.”
“Can I trust you to never, ever, no matter what the circumstances, lift a finger against any of the residents here?”
He thought it over. Knew the answer she was looking for, but wouldn’t lie to her. “Nope.”
She gave one of those growly sounds of exasperation. “You would actually use violence against a senior citizen?”
“Yeah. Like, if one of the men hit one of the women, you bet I’d stop him.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. After a few seconds she said, “How would you stop him?”
He leaned forward and glared at her. “You mean, would I beat him within an inch of his life? Jesus, woman, what do you think I am?”
“You tell me.” Now there was fire in her voice and it warmed his heart. She hadn’t judged him yet; she wasn’t giving up on him. She tapped the folder on her desk.
“What I’ve got is a file that says you did beat a man within an inch of his life. Yet I’ve seen you with the residents and you’ve got a real empathy for them.”
Bracing her elbows on her desk, she leaned forward, too. “So tell me, Jesse, can I trust you?”
He’d go to jail if she kicked him out, but that was less important right now than convincing Maura Mahoney that he wasn’t a total asshole. “With the old folks? Yeah, you can trust me.”
She stared intently into his eyes, and he met her gaze.
A few long minutes passed.
Then she nodded. “All right then. Let’s talk about what work you should do next.”
“What?” Man, that’d caught him off guard. “I can stay?” She believed him. Trusted him. He wanted to laugh, jump up, and give her a big smacking kiss on the lips. He resisted that impulse but couldn’t hold back a giant grin.
“You can stay. I believe you, Jesse.” Slowly, she smiled, too, and it lit her eyes.