Answers For Julie (Book Nine In the Bodyguards of L.A. County Series)

by Cate Beauman

  Taking another deep breath, he turned off the truck and got out, stepping into the merciless winds slapping at his exposed skin. “Damn it.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, cursing the balmy Middle Eastern temperatures for thinning his blood, and started up Nana’s slippery walkway, more than a little disconcerted by how dark and lonely 1015 Old Hickory Lane looked without any of the welcoming lights ablaze the way they always had been when he came for visits.

  Swallowing, he stopped with his hand on the frigid doorknob and stared at the cheerful turkey wreath wishing him a Happy Thanksgiving. He jammed the key in the door and yanked it out just as quickly. How the hell was he supposed do this? How was he supposed to go inside? Being here, knowing Nana was gone, seemed so wrong. He looked at the smiling turkey again and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready for this. He needed more time. “Sal’s,” he muttered, turning. A slice of Sal’s spicy Italian pizza was just what he needed—a gradual easing back into the life he left behind long ago.

  He paused by the truck, intending to drive over, but then walked on, needing to get used to the cold again. The sooner he sucked it up, the better. With his face tucked into his jacket, he kept his pace brisk as he moved past the old Keller place and turned right on Main Street. Hunching against the blast of wind, he swore for the second time and pulled his hat farther over his ears. Thank God he’d had enough sense to sink his feet into his old winter boots and grab his thickest coat before he headed to LAX. He glanced around, spotting the old drug store, Ms. Hollow’s bakery, the gift boutique, and Mr. and Mrs. Norwell’s fabric store. The town certainly hadn’t changed much. There were a few new shops occupying the old brick buildings along the way, but mostly, time stood still in Bakersfield.

  Another gust of wind slapped at his cheeks as he caught sight of Sal’s bright blue neon sign, and he walked faster. With every step closer, the scent of tangy sauce and yeasty bread teased his nose. Great food and a warm place to take a seat sounded really damn good right about now. He turned the corner, more than ready to walk inside and collided with someone. “Whoa.” The jolting impact automatically had him reaching out, grabbing the woman by the arms before she could fall. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching…” She looked up, flashing a smile that disappeared almost instantly. “Chase,” she said on a whisper.

  Time stopped as he lost his breath, the shock of her beauty nearly knocking him back. Julie had always been gorgeous, but now she was stunning. She wore a mauve hat pushed low over her long black hair, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and flawless olive skin. Her exotic hazel eyes—Arabian princess eyes—had somehow grown more hypnotizing. His gaze traveled over her small perky nose and the deep sexy dip in her top lip he’d kissed dozens of times, while his heart responded with a quickening beat.

  “Chase,” she said again.

  He wanted to look away. He wanted to turn around and ignore the smooth sound of her voice—a voice he knew as well as his own, but he couldn’t. Instead he continued to stare, cursing fate. Not even thirty minutes back in Bakersfield and Julie Keller was standing in front of him—the one person he’d hoped never to see again.

  “Jules,” he said, giving her a curt nod.

  Seconds passed in silence as their breath puffed out, mingling in white clouds. There was nothing more to say. Nothing else he wanted to say. He dropped his hands, realizing he still held her arms, and moved past her to step inside. The amazing scent of hot pepperoni and cheese mercifully erased the scent of Julie’s perfume from his nose.

  Unable to resist, he glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see she was gone. If he was lucky, their paths wouldn’t cross again.

  ~~~~

  Julie’s heart hammered as she clutched the roasted chicken sub in her unsteady hand. The nasty winter winds whipped against her skin, stinging her cheeks, yet she stood cemented to her spot on the sidewalk. He was here. Chase was back.

  Turning, she looked through the glass, staring at the back of his muscular frame, certain he’d somehow been a figment of her imagination. But he wasn’t. Chase Rider was standing right there. She swallowed disbelief, realizing she was shaking—partly out of shock but mostly because it was really darn cold—and hurried away from Sal’s. People called out greetings, and she absently smiled and waved. Ms. Franklin said something about seeing her at class tomorrow as the older woman bustled to her car; Mr. Harman mentioned his granddaughter’s lesson in the morning at eight as he headed into the pharmacy. Typically she loved the conversations and connections with her neighbors, but right now she needed the peace and quiet of her home.

  She quickened her steps, turning down Old Hickory Lane, and stopped, staring at the shiny red truck parked in Nana’s drive. Letting loose a trembling breath, she continued on, keeping her eyes locked on the pickup. This was really happening. That was Chase’s vehicle sitting behind Nana’s car. He wasn’t supposed to be in Bakersfield. She’d told herself long ago she would never see him again. She’d accepted that she would never have the opportunity to apologize.

  She tore her gaze from the GMC and walked around to the back entrance, letting herself in her kitchen with hands that weren’t yet steady. A pile of laundry sat in the basket by the washer. Bills lay on her desk waiting to be paid. She needed to prepare for tomorrow’s classes—Saturday was one of her busiest days—but she walked to the refrigerator instead, tossing the sandwich she no longer wanted on the top shelf, then went upstairs and closed herself in the tiny bathroom.

  She pressed her back to the wood, gripping the frame as she rested her head against the soft cotton of her robe and stood straight just as quickly, twisting on the bathtub faucet. Steam rose off the cascading water as she dumped in her own blend of bath salts. She piled her hair on top of her head and peeled off her clothes, stepping into the shocking heat, welcoming the warmth. The water pooled around her calves as she lit candles on the basin and turned on the stereo, selecting the serene sound of flutes she often played during her clients’ massages. Finally, she sat back, immersing herself in the calming scents of lavender and rosemary, and began to breathe deeply, desperate to center herself and let her problems fade away.

  Slowly her shoulders relaxed and her mind drifted to long-ago summer nights and pizza picnics by the lake, lazy rocks on the hammock and stargazing. He was still beautiful. His eyes were different—guarded and intense but a deep gray just the same. Physically he was perfect—bigger, bulkier with more muscle and maybe a couple inches taller. Now he wore a beard, not one of those long, shaggy things, but a short, boxed beard that looked more like a day’s worth of stubble on his strong square jaw. His nose was long and straight, his lips firm. How many times had he kissed her? How many times had he traced his tongue along her top lip while she played her fingers through his dark brown hair? Never had she loved someone the way she had Chase. But then everything went wrong. Everything changed.

  You’re really going to throw it all away? You’re really going to marry him? Good luck with that, Jules.

  Chase’s scathing words echoed in her head, and her eyes flew open as she sat up. She pressed her hands to her quaking chest, biting her bottom lip as tears threatened to fall. “God.”

  He’d left her. Ten years ago, he walked away, but it might as well have been yesterday. Suddenly the water seemed too cold; the scent of her salts no longer soothed. Standing, she grabbed a towel and wrapped herself up, staring into the dancing flames of a dozen pale blue candles.

  She’d messed it all up. She’d made so many mistakes. But she wasn’t eighteen and foolish anymore. Chase was here now—right next door. Who knew for how long? Maybe she would finally have a chance to say all of the things she needed to say.

  ~~~~

  Chase walked slowly back to Nana’s, realizing that the four slices of supreme pizza he’d wolfed down weren’t settling well. Sal still made a damn good pie, probably one of the best he’d ever tasted, but running into Julie was weighing heavier on his mind—and his stomach—than h
e cared to admit. Even now, after an hour of good conversation with a couple of his old buddies, he couldn’t get her out of his head. He glanced at the house where Julie had grown up as he passed Gram Keller’s place and quickened his pace, letting himself inside Nana’s house, no longer noticing the loneliness of the space with Julie preoccupying his thoughts.

  Immediately he moved to the thermostat, turning the ancient dial up past the miserly fifty degrees someone had left it set at to keep the pipes from freezing. He pressed his hands to his mouth, blowing them warm as he wandered about the small living room, switching on the familiar table lamps as he looked at the pictures on the walls. Most were older and ones he remembered: Nana and Pop, Mom and Dad, he and Julie hugging with red popsicle rings staining their mouths. How old had they been in that shot? Four, maybe five?

  His gaze wandered to the new additions: the three or four photos from the Christmases when he’d actually made it home to Seattle. Then he stopped, reaching for the frame on the sofa table. This one was fairly recent: Nana and Julie posing together at the ice cream stand with the Fourth of July parade passing by in the background. He picked up the next and couldn’t help but smile as he studied his grandmother and Julie grinning with foolish red clown noses in place for Halloween—just a few weeks ago. The last one was of Julie setting a birthday cake in front of Nana with dozens of candles ablaze. He studied Julie’s stunning face and the cute way her nose crinkled along the sides, the way it did when she flashed one of her huge smiles.

  “Damn,” he murmured, helplessly captivated. Then he blinked with a jolt, setting the frame facedown when he realized his heart rate had kicked up again. “Not going there.”

  He turned his back and went to the kitchen, wincing as he glanced from the dripping sink with its mismatching faucet knobs to the ancient lighting fixtures that would need to be replaced. The place was definitely in need of a little TLC. Mom and Dad had flown in from Seattle when they could and tinkered with what Nana had allowed, but the bulk of the repairs were now on his shoulders.

  He walked to the fridge, noted more pictures, some of children he didn’t know, and stopped on the note in the pretty handwriting he recognized.

  Nana don’t forget:

  Mondays- Market 10:30

  Tuesdays- Hair at Tammy’s 10:30

  Wednesdays- Church (Leila will take you)

  Thursdays- Book club at the library 1:00

  Friday- Lunch with your favorite girl

  Chase clenched his jaw. Nana was his grandmother, but she’d always called Julie her favorite girl. He glanced at the calendar, noting doctors and dentist appointments written in the same handwriting. Clearly Jules had taken care of things around here.

  Flicking off the light, he headed upstairs and down the short hall to his old room—another space frozen in time. The Dave Matthews posters he’d hung on the wall a decade ago were still there. He smiled remembering how the themes had changed over the years: Star Wars, Ninja Turtles, wrestlers, then he’d moved on to musicians.

  He walked to the mirror, staring at the strip of pictures of him and Julie from the Washington State Fair photo booth. She’d worn her hair shorter then—chin length; her face and his had the fullness of youth; their eyes were carefree and fun. If he listened closely, their laughter echoed in the air, but he didn’t want to hear it or remember the way things used to be. He touched the corner of the photo paper, knowing that if he turned it over it would say Chase and Jules forever in the same handwriting he read downstairs.

  He turned as the light flicked on in the house next door and swallowed, surprised for the second time in one evening. Apparently Julie still lived there. Gone was the foolishness of a teenage girl’s room. The space was now pale yellow with blue flowers printed on the bedding.

  Their eyes met as she walked to the window in a simple white t-shirt that skimmed her upper thighs. Her shiny black hair sat on top of her head in a bun. He’d forgotten how tiny she was—five foot three and petite. She’d always had great muscle tone and could hold her own, but now there was an unmistakable grace and sophistication that added to her beauty.

  Her hand wandered to the lock on the window frame, hesitated, then moved away before she pulled the curtains closed. Countless times they had waved goodnight through those panes of glass while their grandmothers tucked them into their beds. Just as many nights, they’d sat on their window seats, curled under blankets, talking and whispering through the screens until the wee hours of morning. There was too much here. And he didn’t want it. He’d promised himself he would never want anything from Julie again.

  He walked over to his own window, pulled the dusty curtains closed, and headed back downstairs. Nothing here mattered anymore.

  Chapter Three

  Chase blinked in the dim morning light, staring at pale blue walls. Frowning, he blinked again, trying to figure out where he was, an issue he encountered fairly often in his line of work. “Nana’s,” he mumbled, remembering quickly enough. He turned, rolling to his back and winced as a sharp pain radiated up his neck. “Ow.”

  Groaning, he sat up slowly and rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’d slept like shit. The dozen or so springs poking through the lumpy mattress and the loud clanging coming from the old heating system made for a rough night. Knowing that Jules slept less than a hundred feet away hadn’t helped much either, but he’d survived. Now it was time to get up and deal with his first full day back in Bakersfield.

  He stretched, doing his best to loosen his stiff muscles, and stood, smacking his head on the angled ceiling. “Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing at the throbbing side of his skull. Out of patience, he yanked up the jeans he wore yesterday, shoved his legs in, and grabbed a fresh long-sleeve shirt from the duffle bag he lugged in late last night. Yawning, he turned his head from side to side, working out the worst of the kinks plaguing his tender neck. He sighed as he looked around at the small cracks in the ancient drywall and stained carpet long in need of replacing.

  There was a lot to do, problems to be solved, starting right here in this room. Unfortunately he was stuck with his mattress for the time being, but the heater was something he could fix this afternoon. And Julie being so close… Well, he was just going to have to get used to the idea of being her neighbor again for the next little while, which was a minor issue, really. Just because she lived next door didn’t mean they had to talk to or acknowledge each other in any way.

  He opened his curtain to the early morning sun, staring at the pale yellow fabric of Julie’s drapes, proving to himself that she was only as big of a deal as he chose to make her. And he didn’t plan to waste another thought on the hazel-eyed stunner, especially when he had more important things to worry about, like coffee.

  He slid his feet into clean wool socks and headed downstairs straight for the kitchen. As he walked through the living room, he half expected to smell Nana’s famous breakfast casserole, but the homey scent of hash browns, bacon, eggs, and cheese was glaringly absent. Instead, he caught the lingering scent of the elderly and walked to the counter, thrilled to see Nana’s ancient coffeepot. “Thank God.”

  He moved to the freezer, grabbing the store-brand coffee, and got down to business, scooping grounds into a filter. While he waited for the dark brew to finish its slow drizzle, he grabbed a legal pad and looked around with a fresh wave of dismay. The red laminate countertop had been new in the fifties and the white stove he remembered Pop surprising Nana with sometime in the early nineties. Scratching his jaw, he studied the hen wallpaper and octagon-patterned flooring that definitely needed to go and scribbled down notes, making a long punch list before he absently snagged a mug from the cupboard where he knew they would be. He poured his cup, waited for the jolt of caffeine to surge through his system, and continued, jotting down his ideas on how he might be able to expedite the process.

  His brow furrowed as muffled noises and laughter outside caught his attention. He turned toward the window, spotting Julie dressed
in her mauve hat, a bulky black sweatshirt and leggings as she skated around the large, shallow pond with half a dozen little girls following behind in a line. She maneuvered her skates in smooth in-and-out motions then turned, skating backwards as she said something to the kids.

  Without thinking, Chase skirted around Nana’s kitchen table for a better view, watching as a tiny brown-haired cutie wearing purple earmuffs took a spill. Without breaking her stride, Julie moved the child’s way, scooped down on the pass, and righted her student. She spoke again and bent her arm, looking at her watch. The music shut off and she stopped with a drag of her toe pick. Within seconds, her students did the same. Her mouth moved again and she skated away from her group, gliding to the other side of the pond, gaining speed. She did a series of small tricks, a split mid-air that she made look effortless, and then landed to break into a dizzying spin. The little girls clapped enthusiastically, and Julie ended her show, bowing with a grin.

  He chuckled when the same little girl fell on her butt and Jules once again glided over to the rescue. Once the girl was upright, Julie helped her students make it to the adults bundled up in coats, watching from the benches. She spoke to everyone in turns and kissed each of the children’s cheeks before they exchanged skates for boots, waved, and started toward the front of the house.