by Tessa Bowen
Jeb moved closer, trying to cheer her up. “I’m sure I’d bash my ship good and hard,” he said with a wink.
She looked at him with her otherworldly eyes. “Would you let me pull you down to the deepest of depths—that’s what she did you know.”
That damn shirt of his was clinging to her in all the right places. He knew they were talking nonsense, but it didn’t matter, only she mattered at that moment.
“I’d gladly lie in a watery grave just for one kiss from you.”
It may have been the stupidest thing he’d ever said, or the most passionate. He wasn’t sure of anything at that point, only that this girl stirred him.
“You would?”
“Uh, huh—I’d follow you to the bottom of the ocean like a slave.”
She sniffed and then a tear formed in one eye, trickling down her cheek. “That’s not the way love is meant to be. Maybe I’m cursed—and all men are doomed who admire me. I wish I hadn’t been given that name.”
She wept in earnest now and Jeb helped her off the rocks, so that he could pull her into his embrace. She shivered against him as he stroked her wet hair.
“It’s a lovely name—lovely Lorelai, that’s you. You’ve just been through a lot lately. You’re a little mixed up is all.”
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes dewy and luminous. “And so are you. Mixed up I mean—if you think I’m lovely. I’m a hot mess.”
“Hot mess or not, I do think you’re lovely,” Jeb told her, holding her smooth cheek in his palm.
“Will you kiss me now, Jeb?”
There she went again with that plain speech of hers. God, how he wanted to kiss her, taste her, but he didn’t dare. She’d surely enslave him.
Somehow, he found the strength to deny her, but not before his thumb brushed her lower lip. “Not today, missy. It’s not a good day to die. This farm boy has more lambs to birth.”
Her fine brows came together. “I wish you would kiss me,” she said rather snappishly. “I want you to—I want you to scorch away my husband’s kiss. I should have ended up with a kind man—a real man, like you. I’ll probably always end up attracting the wrong sort, especially with all my father’s money, so you see, I truly am cursed.”
She’d gone very tense in his arms. Jeb tried to sooth her by massaging her shoulders. “You’re not cursed. You just want something more—something real and that doesn’t mean you’re cursed. It means you’re a hopeless romantic.”
She tried to shrug him off, but he held her firm.
“It’s not good to be a hopeless romantic, dreaming of princes and happy endings when there is no such thing.”
“There is such a thing, don’t give up your dreams.”
“They are a girl’s dreams,” she said coldly.
“It’s all right to have girlish dreams, Lorelai—its sweet.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say for she pushed hard against him, until he released her.
“I’m not a girl and I’m not sweet!”
She stormed out of the stream, yanking on her coveralls with jerky movements. Her features were drawn, and she was issuing complaints under her breath. He supposed she was as bitter as she was sweet, which only added to her allure. She took great offense when he referred to her as a girl. Her inexperience as well as her honest way of communicating, combined with her turbulent nature made him see her as a girl, but a girl who was almost a woman, a combination he seemed uncontrollably attracted to.
“Lorelai,” he started, gearing up to reason with her.
“I’m not talking to you,” she hurled at him childishly as she stepped back into the ridiculous rubber boots. “I confess my deepest feelings and desires to you, and you call me a girl. I’m a woman!”
“And a humdinger,” Jeb muttered as he slowly slogged his way to the bank.
She stalked off toward the house. There would be no catching up with her now. He shook his head, watching her storm across his property in those silly coveralls.
A temptress in overalls.
He’d forgotten to let her in on an important detail. Perhaps their exchange would have gone better if he’d shared the following fact. He too was a hopeless romantic and he too dreamt of princesses, or mermaids in this case.
Chapter Four
Lorelai stuffed her belongings haphazardly into the suitcase, cursing herself for a fool. She was just like a girl indeed, with her emotional instability and tears. She certainly had a girl’s crush on Jeb Jackson, who had turned out to be the kindest man she’d ever met. She’d always suffered intemperate fits of emotion, or rather the people around her had suffered. Jeb Jackson had surely suffered and now she felt like an idiot, for so many reasons. It had been an act of desperation coming here, as well as an act of insanity—perhaps it was drug-induced insanity, but it was still insanity. She was ashamed she’d gone off the rails in such a dramatic fashion and that he’d seen her at her worst. She was as starry eyed for Jeb Jackson as she had been eight years ago. How could she not be? He was charming and genuine and all together wonderful. If only she’d ended up with a man like him, not that he’d ever have a “pain in the ass” like her—and rightfully so.
She pushed at her suitcase in agitation, struggling to get the thing closed. The thought of leaving this beautiful place made her heart hurt, as did the thought of never seeing Jeb Jackson again. She’d have to find the strength to walk out of here with some dignity. That would prove difficult in that sequin party dress she’d arrived in, but she had to go—and soon. She didn’t know which direction she was headed, but a new life was waiting for her somewhere and it was time to find that life and start living it.
There was a low knock at the door and Jeb entered just as she was leaning her entire weight on the lid of her overpacked suitcase. It wasn’t that she had so much in it, she was just a horrible packer.
He cocked a brow at her. “Going somewhere?”
Lorelai kicked the suitcase out of the way in a show of petulance.
“You know I have to go—you said I couldn’t stay. I mean how weird would that be. As soon as I get this thing shut, I’ll say goodbye.”
She was horrified when her voice broke over the word goodbye. She stared down at her bare feet. She was dressed in Jenny’s robe again.
“You can’t go until I give you your present.”
Her head snapped up. “A present?”
“I knew that would get your attention.”
She saw that he held something in his fist.
“Come on over here and I’ll give it to you.”
He was placating her like she was a child, trying to calm her with gifts. As curious as she was to know what he held, she felt a little bashful too.
“Why don’t you come to me?” she sniffed, feigning disinterest.
“I like watchin’ you move.”
“You…you shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” he challenged. “You shouldn’t say half the things you do. Just takin’ a page out of your book.”
He was flirting with her now that she had to leave. Damn Jeb Jackson and his playful crooked grin.
“All right,” she said warily, padding over to him. “Although, I hardly deserve a present.”
She reached out, but he withdrew. “You’re right about that. What you deserve is an attitude adjustment.”
Lorelai lunged for him. “Give it here!”
He laughed as she caught his hand in hers, prying his fingers open to reveal a perfect carving of a mermaid, made of greenish blue stone.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s beautiful!”
“It’s just a little trinket I whipped up.”
Her eyes widened on him. “You made this.”
“Yep, whittled it with my carving knife. Just a pastime of mine on long cold nights, keeps my hand flexible. I carve my little niece things. She has a whole collection in her nursery.”
Lorelai studied the detailed craftsmanship—the perfectly executed scales of the m
ermaid’s fish tail, the bare breasts which made her blush a bit. The facial features resembled her own. What impressed her most was the hair. He’d carved it as if floating in a long wave above her head. She had been given more lavish gifts, but none so exquisite as this one.
“But when did you do this…?”
“Those nights I sat up with you, when you were sick.”
“The scales and the hair—how did you do the hair? It’s amazing.”
“Your hair was spilling over the pillow…”
“Does my hair really look like that?”
“I bet it does underwater.”
“Underwater...” she breathed. “Like a mermaid…” She threw her arms around him, clutching the mermaid carving tightly. “Thank you, it’s very special. I know my time was short here, but I’ll never forget it.”
She backed away almost as quickly as she’d hurled herself at him, mortified at her display of emotion.
He sensed her unease and soothed her with an easy-going smile. “What do you say we send you off right. Stay until tonight. I’ll take you to dinner in Billings.”
Lorelai cocked her fair head. “You keep trying to get me to stay.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Is it so wrong that I want to be in your company a little while longer, Lorelai?”
When he said her name, it made her belly feel all tingly. “No…”
“You can pick any spot you want. There is the steakhouse, kind of famous in Montana, we could go there…”
He trailed off, his eyes dropping over her form. Lorelai fussed with the robe. She looked ridiculous in the thing. She’d like to burn it. And her hair was back in the high ponytail again. She suddenly felt their age difference—it was only five years, but he seemed so much steadier and composed, while she still had a good deal of growing up to do.
He appeared to read her mind for his lips twisted into a smirk. She braced herself for the smartass comment to come.
“Or the DQ might be more your speed. I could buy you your very own soft serve.”
“I happen to love soft serve.”
“It’s the delight of many girls—or women, beggin’ your pardon.”
She let out an exasperated huff. “You should stop making fun of me.” She jerked on the belt of the teenager’s robe. “I know I look preposterous, but I only have one other outfit to wear besides that horrible sequin dress.”
“Well, why don’t you put it on in a little while and I’ll take you out.”
“OK,” she agreed.
He gave her a casual wink and made his way to the door. And just like that, Lorelai had a date with Jeb Jackson. She held fast to her beloved mermaid carving. The cool stone had gone very hot in her hand.
HE STOOD NEXT TO THE TRUCK, holding the door open for her. Lorelai noted his obvious interest in her appearance. Her second outfit wasn’t nearly as gaudy as the first, but still quite sexy. She wore a black miniskirt and a slinky sweater with an iridescent golden thread running through it. These clothes weren’t really her. They were all part of her Dallas party girl look. Part of her wanted to burn them and slip back into those coveralls, but the way he was looking at her made her smug to be wearing such a suggestive outfit. Let all of Montana stare, just like Jeb Jackson was staring now. She knew she had fabulous legs. His eyes bored into them as she slipped on her jacket and smoothed her sweep of shimmering locks.
“You’re a little overdressed for the DQ, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have anything else to wear, besides the sequins. Unless you want me going to dinner in Jenny’s jammies.”
She stepped up into the truck, her skirt riding high over her thighs.
“And that skirt, Lorelai—I’ll have to beat the rednecks off with a stick.”
She noticed he looked quite smashing himself, in a button down, this one not plaid but chambray, dark jeans, boots and a blazer. He also smelled sublime.
Clean soapy male.
“You’re the star in this town, not me.”
“Not after tonight. I’m pretty sure that’s the shortest skirt in Montana.”
She smirked as she applied some lip gloss. “You need to move past the skirt so we can get going, I’m hungry.”
“Alrighty, buckle up, missy.”
Jeb pulled the truck down the driveway as Lorelai settled into the big comfortable seat.
“And I’m serious about wanting to go to the Dairy Queen.”
He gave her a sidelong glance, one brow cocked.
“I’ve had enough fancy steak dinners in my life. I want the DQ.”
Jeb shook his head and chuckled. “Then the DQ you shall have, princess.”
Lorelai not only had DQ, a burger, shake and fries to be exact—she polished off his fries and shake as well.
“My appetite has returned with a vengeance,” she told him, taking a big breath and leaning back in the plastic booth.
“That’s a good sign.”
“Sorry, I ate half of your food.”
“I’m not.”
Lorelai looked around the fast food restaurant. All eyes seemed to be glued on them. She supposed they did stand out. “I can’t decide who they are staring at more.”
“No contest there.”
“What do you mean?”
“A pretty lady always gets more attention than a man.”
“Even one who stuffs herself with milkshakes and fries?”
“Those ones get the most attention.”
“But you’re famous around here.”
Jeb shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…sort of…”
“I saw all the men tip their hats to you. And that little girl asked for your autograph.”
“Silly really, that was a long time ago.”
“But they still remember you. I still remember you—or the one night I saw you. It was thrilling.”
“Not as thrilling as that miniskirt,” he wisecracked. “That one will go down in history.”
She tossed a wadded up napkin at him. “You just can’t get past the miniskirt, can you? I have to dance off all this food, or I will literally burst my seams. Now that will be one for the books. I saw a bar down the street. Do they have live music?”
“You want to dance?”
“I love dancing.”
“I’m not sure we are safe in a bar…”
“Why because of the skirt or my previous bad habits regarding substances.”
“Both.”
“I’ll be good. I’ll just have two beers—that’s it.”
“One beer,” he corrected. “And how you plan on hitting the dance floor after what you’ve just consumed leaves me mystified. Not to mention the fact that you’re wearing a tube.”
Lorelai laughed and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. It will be fun.”
They got twice as many stares at the bar. Jeb even got cheers and claps when they entered. He held up his hand in a modest greeting, even blushing a bit.
She sauntered over to the bar, ordering them two Buds in bottles. She handed him one.
“I mean it, Lorelai. One beer, then we go. You’ve got a troublesome glint in your eye tonight.”
“Don’t be a party pooper, let’s boogie.”
She snatched for his elbow to drag him onto the dance floor, but he pulled away to say hello to a very attractive and very dark-haired woman who pressed herself against his side.
Lorelai watched their exchange, a wild jealousy brewed within her as she took big glugs of her beer. She remembered what he’d said, how he preferred dark-haired women. It made her blood boil. They were out together—it was almost a date, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t be talking to other women. She should be the only woman in the room for him—her and her tubular miniskirt. She seemed to be the only woman in the room for the rest of the men, who gaped at her from around the pool table. She could easily one-up him. Why not make him feel the jealously she felt now? She knocked down the rest of the beer and ordered a whisky neat.
Jeb turned just in time to see her tip it to her lips.
He gave her a disapproving look when she slammed the glass on the bar.
“Whisky wasn’t part of the deal, Lorelai.”
“Oops, too late. Already down the hatch.”
With that, she spun on her high-heel booties and made her way into the crowd. The alcohol had gone straight to her head. At first, she danced by herself, swaying her hips to the beat of the soulful ballad. She knew her skirt bunched higher as she moved. She snuck a peek at Jeb, who leaned on the bar, arms crossed, keeping a watchful eye on her, but damn it if he still didn’t have that brunette whispering in his ear.
Her eyes narrowed with a competitive zeal. She shimmied her way backwards, until her rear end met with one of her many admirers in the room. This one looked a bit dangerous, with a few days’ worth of scruff, but he was equally as attractive as the slut who now clung to Jeb. He’d do just fine.
“Want to dance with me?” she asked, batting her lashes.
Lorelai knew she was being a bad girl. She couldn’t seem to be a good girl for long. Not around Jeb Jackson at least, he brought out her baser nature. Her green-eyed monster had reared its head. Or perhaps she was just gone on him.
She knew Jeb watched—could feel his eyes on her. She shrugged her jacket off, tossing it over a chair just before the man’s arms came around her. She locked his hands low around her waist as they swung their hips in unison.
“You’re not from these parts, are you?” The man asked in a gravelly voice.
Lorelai tossed a look over her shoulder at Jeb. His eyes were narrowed slits as he observed the show. Now he too had a whisky in his hand, which he knocked back. He looked like one of the broncs he used to ride, muscles tensed, ready to bolt.
“How did you guess?”
“Because you’re way too hot for this town.”
The man jerked her close and his hands slid lower, cupping her bottom. Lorelai let out a little squeak and tensed, but there was no escaping now. She’d let things go too far and the man was too strong. She pushed at his shoulders, but they were like boulders.
In the next instant Jeb was there, breaking them apart by prying the man’s offending hands off Lorelai. At first, she thought he meant only to shove him away from her, but there was a fury in his face that shocked her. The man flew back when Jeb laid a roundhouse punch to his jaw. His friends had to catch him, or he would have landed in a heap on the floor. As it was, he was out cold.