At Any Cost

by Lauren Nichols

  “Never?”

  “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  Auntie Em’s Diner was a shiny silver-and-chrome throwback to the fifties, but inside, it was what people expected. Laminated playbills hung in the windows, while Wizard of Oz character figures occupied every available surface that wasn’t needed for food preparation or dining. The ceiling was a glossy, hand-painted poppy field, the brilliant red repeated in the vinyl-covered booths. Behind the lunch counter hung a framed photo of an older woman holding a darling little toddler in a blue-and-white-checked pinafore.

  They were enjoying their hot rolls and cheddar-and-green onion-topped chili, when out of the blue, Beau said, “I wasn’t talking about the Haskells back there.”

  Jenna put down her spoon and spoke quietly. “I know.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Then without fanfare or explanation, he began. “I met Shelley when I was stationed at Fort Dix. I’m not sure if I cared about her because I wanted the family, marriage and kids thing that I’d never had, or if my feelings for her were legitimate.” He blew out a dry laugh. “Not that I was prepared for any of it. I was a little short on role models growing up.”

  “Were you afraid you wouldn’t be good at it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Obviously, Shelley and I didn’t work out. She was an officer’s daughter who liked the idea of moving around—seeing new places. I wanted stability.”

  He reached for the jar of crushed red pepper flakes beside the napkin dispenser and added a dash to his bowl. “Beth came along after I’d finished trade school and was apprenticing in New Jersey. Under normal circumstances we would’ve never met. We were poles apart. But she blew a tire one night on the Jersey Turnpike, and when she swerved to the side of the road and hit her emergency flashers, I pulled in behind her.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “Almost a year if you count continuous days. Less than three months of actual time. She worked for a pharmaceuticals corporation, so she was gone a lot. I’m not sure why it lasted as long as it did, except that she was beautiful and intelligent and when we were alone, it worked. But when her friends showed up or she entertained people in the medical community, the champagne flutes and designer wardrobe came out, and her vocabulary shot up six notches.” He stirred his chili. “Then one day she suggested—very kindly—that I needed to go back to school because I was capable of doing a lot more than swinging a hammer.”

  For a second, Jenna was utterly speechless. “She said that?”

  “Not exactly, but that was the gist of it. So I told her I already had a trade and called it quits. I knew what she meant. I didn’t fit in her world, and she didn’t want to live in mine.”

  Beau paused, met her eyes, then brought them full circle. He wasn’t sure why he’d spilled his guts like that. Maybe because he’d already opened a door by telling her about that china platter. Either that, or part of him wanted her to know that his love life hadn’t been a walk in the park, either. “Anyway, that’s what I meant about some things only pleasing people in the short term.”

  Her smile went straight to his heart. “Know what?”

  He shook his head.

  “For an intelligent woman, she wasn’t very smart.”

  He begged to differ. “Actually, she was. She realized long before I did that it wasn’t going to work. She gave me the honor of bailing out before she had to.”

  “Not the way I see it. Do you believe our lives are preordained? That God sets us on a course, and there’s no changing it?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. What do you believe?”

  “I believe that we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be at this moment. I think that the things we endure make us stronger, and when an opportunity for happiness presents itself, we should say yes. Beth made a mistake.” She held his gaze. “And I’m glad she did, for two very selfish reasons. If you were in New Jersey with her, I wouldn’t be enjoying this bowl of chili, and I wouldn’t have the best carpenter in the state working on my inn.”

  “Yeah?”

  Her smile softened. “Yeah.”

  Something meaningful passed between them, something that was more than empathy, more than admiration. Something that seemed to quiet the music on the jukebox and create an airy feeling in Beau’s chest. And from the suddenly self-conscious look on her face he knew Jenna had felt it, too.

  By the time they reached the Blackberry and he’d parked in the small lot, their snowy world was a Courier and Ives wonderland—and Beau was still trying to decide what to do about that moment at the diner. They’d continued to talk as though nothing had changed, but there was a nerve-tingling, underlying awareness between them that assured him that something had.

  Shrugging into his jacket, he got out, then rounded the truck to open Jenna’s door. She’d already stepped down. Light from the windows and landscaping spangled every snow-covered tree and shrub, glistened on the walkway.

  “Quite a change since we left this afternoon,” he said quietly as they followed the path to the security pad near the side door.

  Her voice sounded hollow in the night’s stillness. “Chances are, most of it will be gone tomorrow since daytime temperatures are supposed to stay in the forties all week.”

  Jenna tapped in the day’s security code, then turned around to meet his eyes. Her smile faltered. Snowflakes fell softly around them, and their warm breath fogged the air. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered that doing what he was thinking could be a mistake. But it was hard to hear over the thudding pulse in his ears. Beau touched her face, slid a hand under her silky blond hair to bring her close. Then before common sense could intervene, he bent to cover her lips with his own.

  NINE

  Jenna leaned into him as Beau’s lips moved softly over hers, then lingered for a few seconds of sweet exploration before he eased away. For a time, she simply floated on the moment. Then she slowly opened her eyes and watched big white snowflakes gather in his dark hair and coat the shoulders of his leather jacket.

  The door behind them flew open. “Inside! Both of you!” Aunt Molly said sharply. “Hurry.”

  Startled, they exchanged a quick, what’s-going-on look, then did as she asked and shut the door behind them. Molly stood clutching the front of her long pink chenille robe.

  “Aunt Molly, what’s wrong?”

  “More hang-up calls—three in a row. And this time I heard someone breathing on the line before he broke the connection.”

  “Okay,” Jenna said tensely. “Business or no business, we’re having the Blackberry’s number changed.”

  Beau spoke. “Did you call Fish?”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t on duty. Chief Baboon was.” They followed her into the kitchen where the table in the nook was set for the three of them. “He said he’d look into it.”

  Beau pulled out a chair, but apparently too wired to sit, Molly waved away the offer. “He checked our caller ID history, but the number was blocked. He said he’ll know more after he gets our phone company records.”

  “So he is going to check with the phone company. Good.”

  Molly nodded. “He also said that disposable phones are hard to trace, and if the person who called was smart, that phone’s already at the bottom of a river.”

  Jenna gave her great aunt a squeeze, then released her. She didn’t like seeing her like this. Without the high button shoes that gave her height, and the velveteen, knitted shawls and lace that gave her bulk, she felt like a bony baby bird. “I’m so sorry this happened. Why didn’t you call my cell?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your evening.” Despite her distress, she managed a smile. “And from what I saw outside, it went very well.”

  A pleasant shiver moved through her, but Jenna couldn’t think about that kiss right now.

  Molly’s feisty spirit came roaring back. “Just so you know, I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was afraid for the two of you. That’s why I called you inside. I didn’t want y
ou standing out there under the light in case some kook decided to—” Halting abruptly, she drew a breath and pulled herself up to her full four foot ten. “I’m not going to Hartford.”

  Jenna spoke firmly. “You have to go. Now more than ever. If there’s something nasty on the horizon, I’ll feel better knowing that you’re safe.”

  “And how am I going to feel if you need me, and I’m celebrating with Millie in New England?”

  Beau moved to her side. “Aunt Molly, there are two things that you need to remember. I hate to sound like Perris, but the first thing is, there’ve been no outward threats on Jenna’s life. If the hang-ups are connected to the vandalism and credit card fraud, it’s still basically harassment and destruction of property. The second thing is, while you’re away—with the exception of grabbing a shower at my place sometime during the day—I’ll be here. No one’s going to bother her. Now, please. Don’t change your plans.”

  When her aunt had finally capitulated and gone upstairs to bed, Jenna prowled the breakfast nook where Aunt Molly had set out a few fresh apple-crumb muffins and a carafe of decaf coffee. She couldn’t eat or drink a thing. Apparently, Beau couldn’t, either.

  “Think we should wrap the muffins up so they don’t dry out?” he asked, carrying them to the work island.

  Nodding, Jenna opened a drawer and without conscious direction, removed a roll of plastic wrap, then covered the platter. Ever since Aunt Molly had gone upstairs, she’d been reliving the conversation she’d had with Detective Caspian. She looked at Beau. “Do you watch much TV? Other than football and the news magazine show you called about last week?”

  “Some,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Have you ever seen a program on police profilers?”

  “Yes. Again, why?”

  “Because when I spoke to the detective on my case a few days ago, he asked if Courtland had been on my mind because the two-year anniversary of my attack was approaching. At the time, I thought that he might’ve had a point—that maybe the date had been drifting in my subconscious for a while and I’d been overreacting to the things that happened.”

  Beau waited through her pause.

  “The FBI agent I saw on TV mentioned something similar about a serial killer who’d been inactive for a long time, then suddenly began killing again. The agent—profiler—suspected that something had happened in the man’s life to make him kill again. He called it a ‘stressor.’” She swallowed. “The day I found out about the identity theft, Aunt Molly asked why Courtland would wait two years to torment me. Maybe the anniversary of my attack was his stressor.”

  “Jenna—”

  “I know,” she said wearily. “Analyzing isn’t doing me any good. It’s just that I don’t think Perris is taking this seriously enough.”

  “You could be right. But you also need to look at this from his perspective. In Pennsylvania, simple harassment is either a summary offense or a third-degree misdemeanor. On average, the punishment’s a fine and up to a year in jail, depending on the judge who rules. Perris will do what’s required—but probably not much more.”

  “You reeled off that information pretty quickly. It came from Fish, didn’t it?”

  “No, it came from the internet, and the rationale about Perris’s handling of the case is all mine. It’s just a hunch.” He sent her a grim look. “Then again, there’s a lot to be said for gut-level hunches like yours.”

  She felt some hope. “You believe Courtland’s behind this, too?”

  “I didn’t say that. But you believe it, and it’s scaring you. That’s why I’m bunking on your couch tonight. That is,” he added, “if it’s okay with you.”

  Jenna nodded. “It’s more than okay.” She wasn’t only worried about herself now, she was worried about Aunt Molly.

  “All right, then. In the morning, I’ll pick up the sander and whatever else I’ll need to refinish the floor, then head to my place to clean up, pack a few things and hitch up my camper. I meant what I told Aunt Molly. I’ll be here until you throw me out, or until you feel secure again.”

  Secure? She couldn’t recall the last time she felt secure. No…no, that wasn’t true. She was beginning to feel secure right now. “Thank you, but if you’re sleeping on the couch tonight, there’s no reason to bring your camper over tomorrow.”

  Beau shook his head. “There’s every reason. Aunt Molly’s here tonight. On Friday, she’ll be gone. We both know how gossip spreads in this town.”

  “I don’t care about gossip.”

  “But I do. I don’t want your neighbors to talk.”

  In the end, Beau’s height resulted in a change in sleeping arrangements. The sofas in the parlor were too short to accommodate him, so despite his insistence that he didn’t need to stretch out, Jenna did some pressuring of her own and sent him to one of the guest rooms.

  Now, with everyone settled in their rooms, she pulled her Bible from her nightstand and tried to read. It didn’t take long for her to realize she couldn’t concentrate on scripture until she asked God for help. “So what do I do about this, Lord?” she murmured. “I’m attracted to him, and if I read his reaction at Auntie Em’s tonight, he feels something for me. But what if getting close to me puts him at risk?” Court’s reaction to her hugging Malcolm had been so over-the-top, she’d often wondered if he would’ve hurt Mal, too, given the chance.

  She pressed a hand to her abdomen, visualizing the scars beneath her nightgown. “Aunt Molly will be safe in Connecticut, but Beau will be here, and he’s becoming more important to me every day. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him.” Because aside from the fear that had become her constant companion, the only thing she knew for sure was this: Whenever she relived that kiss, she felt a sweet, wonderful breathlessness. She wanted them both to live long enough to see what happened next.

  * * *

  She was lost in the crippling fog, running, running—hearing rapid footsteps behind her. He was coming for her again! She darted across the road to the next street, only to find that she was back where she started. And he was there again, the knife flashing under the glow of a streetlight that seemed to move with him. She cried out—kept running. But something was wrong. How could she see behind her when she was facing forward? Yet she could, and there was blood on the blade! But he hadn’t reached her yet, had he? She stopped—pressed her hands to her stomach—felt the soft, warm wetness there. And a scream tore from her throat.

  * * *

  “Jenny! Jenny, wake up!”

  Jenna vaulted to a seated position on the bed, her breaths coming in short gulps, her heart racing like a runaway train. She looked around, tried to focus. Tried to get her bearings.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe. You’re here with me. Tell me you know you’re okay.”

  Her voice shook so badly Jenna barely recognized it as her own. “Yes. Y-yes, I know.” There was no fog, no man with a knife. No blood. There was only soft lamplight, and Aunt Molly sitting on the side of her bed, looking incredibly worried. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her aunt’s smile made her feel even worse. “For what?”

  “For waking you. Dear God. Did you hear me all the way upstairs? Did he?”

  “I don’t think so, or he’d be standing in the doorway. I wouldn’t have heard you, either, if I hadn’t come down to the kitchen for a glass of milk.”

  “You couldn’t sleep?”

  Molly turned the clock on the nightstand so Jenna could see it. “It’s not even eleven yet. I wanted to catch the late news. Was it the same dream?”

  She nodded. “Promise me something?”

  “You don’t want Beau to know.”

  “Yes. Please don’t tell him.”

  “I won’t,” she said gently. “Can you sleep now? Or would you like to stay up and watch the news with me?” She summoned a smile. “I’ll even share my milk with you.”

  How blessed she was to have such a loving angel in her corner. How very blessed. Smiling, Jenna took the
TV’s remote from the nightstand, then shifted over so her skinny little protector could join her. She hit the power button and the small TV set on her dresser flickered to life. “You’re here now,” she said. “Why don’t you watch the news with me?”

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Beau unlocked the door to his house, flicked on the kitchen light, then dropped his keys and yesterday’s mail on the table. Crossing to the counter, he poured leftover coffee into a mug and stuck it in the microwave. Jenna and Aunt Molly had wanted him to stay for breakfast, but he’d begged off, saying he needed to get an early start staining the trim stacked in his truck. What he’d actually needed was some time alone.

  What a night. And he wasn’t only referring to Jenna’s fear of being stalked. He was afraid he’d started something he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—finish.

  It was only a kiss, he told himself. Not a lifetime commitment. So why did he keep reliving it?

  You know why, a disparaging voice said from the back of his mind. Kissing her meant something.

  Yes, it had. Absurd as it sounded, a radiating sense of rightness had spread through him when their lips touched and their warm breaths mingled. He’d never felt anything close to that with any other woman. And he’d liked it.

  The microwave beeped. Retrieving his coffee, he carried it to the table and sorted through his mail. At the diner she’d asked if he thought he wouldn’t be good at marriage and parenting because of his upbringing. Good question. He’d been abandoned by both parents, raised in squalor by a grandfather who’d never had a kind word for him, and he’d hung out with teenage hoods. Nothing about his life made him a suitable match for her. Not for Webb Harper’s pretty princess. He wondered if Harper had told Jenna about his years-ago conversation with Aunt Molly. Had he quoted statistics? Pointed out that children who’d been emotionally abused often became abusers? That was something Beau still couldn’t wrap his mind around. He’d never treat a child the way Jasper had treated him—not on the worst day of his life.

  And why was he even thinking about things that smacked of a future with Jenna? She was a friend and, at the moment, his employer. That’s all.