Bound to the Past (Starville Series Book 1)

by Lauryn Michaels

  “Here we are,” she said uncomfortably as they made it up the steps.

  “Wow. This is cool.”

  She smiled as he looked around the screened-in porch. “Thanks. It was more of a necessity if I wanted to use this porch. I hate bugs,” she admitted, pulling away.

  “What kind of bugs?”

  “Uh… All of them?”

  He grinned as she started to turn the key in the lock―but she felt so antsy she almost screamed again when Jack abruptly moved in front of her.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked, pushing her behind him.

  “What?”

  “Shhh. That scratching sound… That!” He pointed at the closed front door, all his defenses up.

  “Jack, wait!” Sara grabbed his arm and stopped him right before he turned the knob. He gave her a puzzled look. Biting her lip, she opened the door―and thatʼs when Jack came face to face with what had to be the ugliest creatures heʼd ever seen in his life.

  He took an instinctive step back, gaping at the tiny white mutt yapping at him and the two cats winding in and around his ankles. One of them had a squinty eye and no tail; the other was clearly limping and missing some fur. “Holy―”

  Saraʼs smile became uncertain. “I hope they wonʼt be a problem.”

  “No…of course not.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Damn, but theyʼre awful!”

  She almost blew out a sigh of relief. “Theyʼre all rescues. The cats are actually my friend Angieʼs; Iʼm just taking care of them while sheʼs living abroad. They already looked like this when she found them, so we donʼt know their story. The yapperʼs my baby, though,” she added fondly.

  Jack shifted his gaze from the cats to the tail-wagging dog. It looked so funny with those long ears sticking up. Kind of like a tiny, goofy coyote. “Whatʼs its name?”

  “Lance. Well, Sir Lancelot―but I just call him Lance.”

  Sara saw his brows knit, but at least he had the good grace not to comment. “Angie and I found him on the highway a couple of years ago. Heʼd been hit by a car, but nobody even bothered to stop and make sure he was all right. Thank God we drove by that day, or thereʼs no telling what would have happened to him.” She shuddered at the intolerable thought. “Heʼs fine now, though he still freaks out a little around cars.”

  Jack looked at Lance again as the dog perched his front paws on his good knee. “I guess the two of us have something in common then. Huh, buddy?” he said to him, stretching out a cautious hand to let him sniff it.

  Saraʼs heart swelled so much at the sight that she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “You can pet him if you want to. Or not,” she added, when Jack shot her an are-you-kidding-me kind of look. Okay. Maybe he didnʼt like pets after all?

  “Any other guests in the house?”

  “Only four gold fish: Tristan, Isolde, Abelard, and Eloise.”

  Suddenly Jackʼs laughter resounded in the room. A rich, deep sound that warmed her chest and made her feel all funny inside. Taken aback, Sara could do nothing but stare at him quietly. Oh my. While Jack always looked impossibly handsome, he was drop-dead gorgeous when he laughed.

  “Iʼm sorry,” he said in between chuckles, “but thatʼs just too much. Sir Lancelot was okay, but…Tristan and Isolde? Abelard and Eloise?”

  His amused voice jolted her back to reality, and Sara crushed her thoughts and raised her chin indignantly. “Theyʼre perfectly good names.”

  “Iʼm sorry,” Jack apologized again. Too bad his back still vibrated with laughter, ruining his efforts. “Please, just tell me the catsʼ names are not Romeo and Juliet.”

  She tried to look outraged despite the treacherous smile already twitching her lips. “For your information, theyʼre Thelma and Louise. And, as I said, theyʼre Angieʼs cats, not mine.”

  “I take it your friend doesnʼt share your romantic view of the world?”

  Her smile faded at his mocking tone. “As a matter of fact, no, she doesnʼt,” she bristled, a little stung. “Why, yes, Iʼm a romantic. So what?”

  Jack shrugged. “So nothing. Good for you.”

  Then why do I have a feeling youʼre making fun of me? She took a deep breath. “Anyhow, donʼt worry about the pets. Iʼll keep them in my room tonight, so they wonʼt bother you.”

  Sara never knew whether Jack heard her or not, because he didnʼt comment and stepped over the threshold past her, letting his bag slide off his shoulder at the entrance. It fell onto the ground with a low, muffled thump, yet her nerves were so on edge that she nearly jumped at the light sound.

  “The, uh, kitchen is straight ahead. Feel free to help yourself if you need anything. The bathroom is right up the hallway, and the door to its left is my den,” she continued in one breath, feeling more and more embarrassed as Jack looked around the living room. She didnʼt know how to gauge the blank expression on his face as he studied her house, so she glanced around the room, too, trying to see it through his eyes. Had the couch and armchair always looked so lame? And so bulky? They seemed to take up the whole space… Or was it just because the living room looked smaller with Jackʼs massive body moving around it?

  Sara cleared her throat, unable to take his quiet scrutiny any longer. “You can sleep on the couch, if you want, so you donʼt have to go up the stairs to reach the guestroom. It might be a little small, though—” She stopped with a squeal of surprise when Jack turned around so abruptly he almost bumped into her.

  “Itʼs perfect.”

  A rush of hot color flooded her face as she tilted her head up and met his gaze. His eyes were so intense now they looked like emeralds. She swallowed hard, but her breath caught in her throat as Jack slipped a hand up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. So much heat radiated off his body as he leaned slightly into her that her head started spinning, and, God, he smelled so good! Sara opened her mouth, trying desperately to say something—anything!—yet found herself unable to utter a sound. Which wasnʼt at all surprising, considering she couldnʼt even think with Jack touching her and looking at her like this…as if he were about to devour her in one swallow.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. For everything.”

  She barely heard his words over the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears, but her eyes automatically fluttered close as he leaned closer and lowered his head….

  What on earth are you doing? Heʼs a stranger! He could be a murderer!

  A wave of cold reality crashed down on her with a tsunami force. In a fraction of a second, panic seized her, and she fought to regain control. Her eyes snapped back open. Planting her hands on Jackʼs forearms, she pushed him back…apparently more vehemently than sheʼd intended, because she saw him stagger backward, trying to avoid putting his weight on the injured leg.

  He gave her a disoriented stare, his gaze so unfocused and darkened with desire that, for an irrational second or two, Sara wished heʼd just pull her back into his arms.

  “I―Iʼll get you some clean sheets,” she stuttered. Then she dashed out of the room, followed by Lance and the cats.

  Alone in the living room, Jack took a deep breath.

  He had almost kissed Sara.

  Heck, had she not stopped him, he would be kissing her right now!

  What the hell was he thinking? He must have lost his mind along with his memory. Bile rose in his throat as the image of her eyes, wide with dismay as sheʼd pushed him away, flashed into his mind. Sara was a nice girl who was trying to help him. She didnʼt deserve to be treated like that―especially not by a lowlife like him. And heʼd better remember that.

  Shaking his head, he turned and gave another curious look around. Saraʼs house looked exactly the way heʼd pictured it: very neat, except for the dozens of books piled up on the coffee table. It was tastefully decorated and full of bright colors everywhere, from the light yellow curtains on the windows to the fresh flowers on the dining table. A big, cream-colored couch faced a matching armchair on one side of the room, while a huge, red-brick fireplace took
up most of the wall on the other side, with several framed pictures lining its mantel. The whole room felt warm and cozy. It made him feel like snuggling on the couch and pretending his life wasnʼt the gigantic mess it was. It made him wish he were a normal man, with a normal life. It made him wish he didnʼt have to leave in the morning.

  Yeah, right.

  Pushing that thought back, Jack walked absently toward the pictures on the fireplace. Sara was in most of them, always smiling and never alone. Her pets were almost a constant, and he also recognized the two cops who had visited him at the hospital. He assumed the older woman she was hugging with affection was her mother but had no idea who the people in the other photographs were, especially the attractive man standing behind her with both arms wrapped around her waist and a big smile on his face.

  That image made him frown. Sara had said she wasnʼt married…but maybe she had a boyfriend? For some crazy reason, he found that thought so disturbing he shook his head hard to banish it. Grabbing his bag, he plodded toward the bathroom. A cold shower was definitely in order.

  ***

  Up in her room, Sara shut the door and slumped against it with a deep sigh.

  Jack had almost kissed her! Just thinking about it made her weak in the knees. The truth was, despite her common sense screaming that she should run away from him and from his dark past, she regretted pushing him away. Lord help her, she was dying to feel his big body pressed against her. She wondered if his mouth tasted as good as it looked. If having his strong arms around her would make her feel safe and protected.

  Protected from whom? a nagging voice inside her protested. Ha. How ironic was it that the only danger she needed protection from was Jack himself?

  With a huff, Sara walked to the linen closet to grab a set of clean sheets, then mumbled a curse when she inadvertently knocked everything off the shelf. She stared at the sheets and pillowcases piled in a mess on the floor, barely seeing them. When she finally found the strength to move, she realized her hands were shaking so much that it was surprising she was able to fold everything and place it back on the shelf without any more accidents.

  It took a few deep breaths before she could calm herself enough to go back downstairs. Much to her surprise, there was no trace of Jack in the living room. Sara frowned as she dropped the clean sheets and pillow onto the couch, then walked to the kitchen―but again, she was disappointed to find the room empty.

  What the heck? Maybe sheʼd taken so long upstairs that heʼd changed his mind about staying and decided to leave after all? Her stomach twisted at the thought. No way would Jack have left again without a good-bye. …Right?

  Heart racing, she dashed back to the living room—and crashed right into Jack, who was walking out of the bathroom. Bare-chested, his faded jeans unbuttoned at the waist, and only a white towel wrapped around his neck, he was far more than her already exhausted heart could stand, and…

  “Ow!”

  His groan broke the spell, jerking her back to reality. Her confused gaze followed his hand as he slipped it up and touched his chest. And thatʼs when her eyes widened in horror at the sudden realization that he was in pain.

  “Jack! Iʼm sorry, I didnʼt see you walk out of the bathroom! Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no, Iʼm fine.”

  “Iʼm so sorry.” She gave him another mortified look. “I, um, brought you some clean sheets,” she explained, pointing at the couch.

  “Thanks. Hope you donʼt mind that I took a shower. I felt like a complete wreck.”

  “ʼCourse not. Please, make yourself at home.” Sara regretted her poor choice of words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Thankfully, Jack didnʼt seem to pay any attention to them.

  As he turned around and limped to the couch, she couldn’t help noticing the dark tattoo on his right shoulder blade. While she wasnʼt a fan of body ink, she had to admit that this one was pretty cool-looking, although its design was abstract—a series of intricate swirls and circles. It was so fascinating she had to force her gaze off it. “Do you need anything?”

  Jack shook his head at her questions. “No, thank you. Iʼm so exhausted Iʼm sure Iʼll crash right away.” As if to confirm his words, a yawn slipped from his mouth as he lay down cautiously. After adjusting the pillow under his head, he closed his eyes with a weary sigh.

  Sara studied him quietly for a few moments, trying to swallow the lump that had lodged in her throat at the sight of the cuts and bluish bruises scattered all over his chest. Had someone really tried to kill him? she wondered with a shudder.

  Who could possibly hate him so much in Starville?

  ***

  Sara glanced at the clock on her nightstand and tossed the sheets off her body in frustration. It was past two in the morning, but despite her exhaustion, she just couldnʼt sleep.

  What if Jack was truly a murderer, and she’d offered to let him stay under her own roof? That thought chilled her bones despite the Texas summer heat, making her jump out of bed. Lance raised his head to give her a curious look, but Sara didnʼt even notice as she ran to the door and locked it twice. There. Now she was safe.

  Or was she?

  She started pacing the room. Who was she trying to kid? The possibility that Jack might or might not be a murderer was not the cause of her distress. What was driving her insane was knowing that right now he was lying semi-naked on her couch.

  Oh, forget it! Maybe sheʼd feel better if she went downstairs and made sure he was okay, she decided, ignoring Lanceʼs indignant look as she unlocked the door. “Stay here,” she ordered him, walking out and leaving the door cracked behind her.

  The living room was dark and quiet when she reached downstairs. Jack was sound asleep, still lying in the same position sheʼd left him, and even snoring lightly. Good for him. Apparently she was the only one in agony! And speaking of agony… Her heart started doing crazy jump kicks in her chest at the sight of his big body taking up the entire couch. The sheets sheʼd given him barely covered his long legs and lean hips, and Sara found herself standing there and ogling him, unable to take her eyes off his bare chest or his strong arm resting lazily across his stomach. Her mouth dried out.

  Shaking her head, she sank into the armchair in front of the couch, her gaze still glued to him. Before she knew it, she slid into a deep sleep, lulled by the comforting sound of Jackʼs slow, regular breathing.

  ***

  Jack cracked his eyes open and looked around, trying to figure out where on earth he was. His gaze roamed over the bright yellow curtains pulled over the windows, the vase of colorful fresh flowers placed on the dining table, the red-bricked fireplace, and finally, the armchair right in front of him, in which Sara was curled up, deeply asleep.

  Sara?

  Still a little disoriented, he let his mind go over the happenings of the day before, but his gaze remained fixed on her. She looked even younger and more innocent in her sleep. How old could she be, anyway? According to the ID in his wallet, he was thirty-five…though he felt at least ten years older. His life was a mess. He might not remember it, but he’d been accused of murder and spent years in jail, for Godʼs sake. He felt like a freakinʼ pervert, fantasizing about a sweet girl like Sara!

  Yet he couldnʼt ignore how painfully tight his jeans felt at the sight of her sleeping all curled up in that chair, her long legs barely covered by the light blanket sheʼd kicked off in her sleep, her soft thighs brushed by the hem of the enormous white T-shirt she was wearing.

  Shit.

  Jack tore his eyes from her, irritated with himself. Why was Sara sleeping down here, anyway? Did she not trust him? Did she think heʼd rob her or something? Not that he could blame her. In all truth, he was surprised that she hadnʼt locked herself up in her room. He didnʼt trust himself, either. Hell, he didnʼt even know who the hell he was!

  Most likely a murderer, he reminded himself as bits and pieces of his conversation with the sheriff suddenly echoed through his mind.

  Go back to wher
ever you came from, Turner. Nobody in Starville wants a murderer like you….

  Those words hit him like a punch in the gut, just as they had the first time heʼd heard them. Feeling more and more disgusted with himself, he rushed off the couch and barely managed to bite back a groan at the abrupt movement. Truth be told, last night Sara had crashed right into his cracked ribs, which now seemed to be wanting to shoot out of his chest. But heʼd break another limb before admitting it to her.

  Jack shot her a quick glance; after making sure that she was still asleep, he grabbed his bag and walked quietly to the bathroom. When the door closed behind him, he turned to the mirror and stared into his eyes, almost hoping they would reveal something.

  But they didnʼt.

  ***

  Sara came awake to bright sunlight and a scratching sound. Her arms, legs, and neck were awfully sore―a painful reminder that sheʼd spent the whole night curled up on the chair in the living room.

  Stretching, she turned cautiously toward the couch, but a cold knot formed in her stomach the instant her half-asleep mind registered that it was empty. The sheets Jack had used during the night were now a tangled pile at the end of the couch, as if heʼd pushed them away in a hurry, and there was no trace of his clothes or bag. No trace of him.

  Just like the night before, her heart grew heavy with a mixture of apprehension, disappointment, and anger at the thought that he might have left.

  Running a hand through her tousled hair, she stood and walked to the front, where Lance was scratching the door. “Did you see him leave, Lance? Why didnʼt you stop him?” she grunted, opening the door for him. All she got in response was an excited bark before the dog took off running outside.

  Sara walked back to the couch and picked up the sheets with a sigh. Never in her life had she felt so sorry for herself. Jack must have thought she was a silly little girl for spending the whole night in that uncomfortable chair just to be closer to him, and she couldnʼt blame him―not when sheʼd reacted to him more pathetically than a teenager with her first crush. He hadnʼt even kissed her and sheʼd turned to mush! Not to mention that sheʼd pushed him away as if terrified. No, even a schoolgirl would have reacted way more maturely than her. She was so inept when it came to men, no wonder Jack had made a dash for it.