Out of Eden

by Beth Ciotta

  Kylie had a petite, athletic build. She had dark, quirky features and a modest sense of style—usually. She ran a business and looked after her mom and grandma. She didn’t need a man, although he was surprised no man had snatched her up. Unless the men of Eden were scared off by her competence and stubborn streak. She’d proved herself a handful today. He couldn’t say what fired him up most—her contrary spirit, her shapely legs, the striped boxer shorts or that sassy mouth. Horny and pissed, he’d backed her against the wall.

  He’d wanted to shake her.

  He’d wanted to kiss her.

  Neither action seemed prudent.

  So he’d lectured. Home security. Motorcycle safety. He’d pissed her off. He didn’t feel bad about that. She’d pissed him off when she’d climbed that ladder. Something told him they’d knock heads again. Fine. If they kept pissing each other off, maybe the attraction would fizzle. The “kid” barrier was history. The face that intrigued him, the body that tempted him, belonged to a thirty-two-year-old woman.

  Except she’s still Spenser’s sister. She’s a nice girl and you’re a cynical bastard.

  Getting physical with Kylie would be disastrous. He could list a dozen reasons.

  Maybe he should list the reasons. Right now. Mentally. Like counting sheep.

  It was that or a cold shower.

  Christ.

  He rolled over and got a face full of fur. Thanks to the vet, at least Shy didn’t smell bad. “What are you doing up here?”

  The dog groaned and curled into a tighter ball. At least someone was getting a good night’s sleep.

  Jack thought about nudging Shy off his bed, but he didn’t have the heart. She’d probably spent the last month sleeping in the woods or in a random barn or shed. He’d walked her around town today. No one recognized her. He dropped her at the vet for an examination. Aside from being malnourished and flea-bitten, she was healthy. For her gas, Dr. Price had suggested a high-quality pet food. No dairy products or table scraps. Jack had purchased a small bag of the recommended dry food. Enough to last until he found her a home. To Shy’s dismay, she’d been shampooed, deloused and groomed. A flyer featuring her picture now hung on the animal hospital’s bulletin board: Free to a good home.

  Jack thought about his niece. He wondered if she liked dogs. Yeah, that would go over well with his prissy, snobby sister.

  Shy barked a split second before he heard the sharp knock on the front door. He glanced at his clock as he swung out of bed—3:25 a.m.

  He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He braced for something bad. People don’t drop by in the middle of the night with good news. He should know. He’d paid many a nocturnal visit while working Homicide.

  After motioning Shy to stay, he tucked his Glock in the back of his waistband and navigated the stairs in the dark. He peeked through the living room curtains. What the hell? His sister—the woman who’d been avoiding him for days—stood on the front stoop, balancing a little girl, his niece, on one hip and a bulging backpack on her shoulder.

  Alarmed, he switched on a light and opened the door.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Jessie snapped before he could ask what’s wrong?

  “No problem.” He quickly surmised she hadn’t been in a car accident or house fire. No blood, no bruises, no burns. Maddie looked okay, too. Oddly wide awake for the middle of the night, but fine. He focused back on his sister. She looked frazzled. Pale and fidgety. No makeup. Lopsided ponytail and ill-fitting clothes. This woman didn’t look anything like his confident, pageant queen, fashion-conscious sister. This woman had fled home in the middle of the night in a panic. Had the Cheating Bastard shown up? Called? Harassed her? Scared her? He didn’t want to ask in front of the kid.

  “We couldn’t sleep,” Jessie said.

  “Our house is sad,” Maddie said in a small voice.

  Chest tight, Jack relieved his sister of the weighty backpack. “Come in.”

  “Are you my uncle Jack?” Maddie asked as they moved into the sparsely furnished living room.

  “Sure am, sweet pea.” He hated that she had to ask. Hated that he’d allowed work and pride to interfere with family.

  “Where’s your badge?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Can I see it?”

  “Not now, Madeline.” Jessie set her daughter on the couch.

  Jack set the backpack on his recliner. He noted the little girl’s pink pajamas, her bunny slippers and the colorful bear clutched to her chest. He recognized that bear. He’d sent her that stuffed animal as a Christmas gift two years earlier. Jessie and Frank had made it clear he was unwelcome in their home, their lives. Naturally, he thought they’d deprived Maddie of the gifts he’d sent over the years. Jessie had intimated as such. It warmed him to learn otherwise.

  Throat thick, he smiled even though he knew something was wrong. “Can I get you ladies, anything? Milk and cookies?”

  Maddie glanced at her mom, at Jack. “We don’t eat cookies.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too fattening.”

  That was his sister talking. A woman—thanks to years on the pageant circuit—obsessed with body image. No five-year-old should be worrying about her weight unless she was obese, which Maddie wasn’t. She was a skinny little thing with long black hair and big brown eyes.

  “Well, I eat cookies,” Jack said, cursing himself for not being a better uncle, or for that matter, a better brother. “And I could use a late-night snack.”

  He wondered if Jessie ever snacked. Hell, he wondered if she ate, period. He’d have to refrain from force-feeding her an entire bag of Fig Newtons. She looked rail thin in her baggy jeans and shapeless shirt. She’d always been thin, but this was troubling.

  He smoothed a hand over Maddie’s silky hair. “I need your mom’s help in the kitchen. We won’t be long. Do you want to lie down?”

  “Can’t sleep.” Maddie hugged the bear tighter—a chubby teddy he’d stuffed himself at one of those Build-A-Bear stores. Patches looked worn and loved, and suddenly he didn’t feel like the worst uncle in the world, just a lame one.

  “Do you have a DVD player?” Jessie asked.

  He nodded.

  She unzipped the front pocket of the cartoon backpack they’d brought. “Here.” She passed him a DVD. A Disney flick.

  Jack put the disk in his player and fired up the movie without comment. He wanted Jessie in the kitchen. He wanted answers.

  “Who’s that?” asked Maddie.

  Jack turned and saw the pointy-eared mutt sitting at the bottom of the stairs. So much for following orders. “That’s Shy.”

  Mother and daughter spoke at the same time.

  “Does she bite?”

  “Is she yours?”

  “No and no. We’ll be right back,” he said to Maddie, while motioning Jessie to follow.

  Once inside the kitchen, he spoke frankly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing I can’t fix. But I can’t do it tonight.” She tucked her hands under her armpits and paced. “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I hate this.”

  So did Jack. Until he knew what was wrong, he couldn’t fix it. If he pressed too hard, too fast, she might bolt. Considering they’d been estranged for years, Jessie being here like this was a breakthrough. He didn’t want to screw it up. “How about some hot tea?”

  “How about something stronger?”

  Given his recent battle with booze, he hadn’t stocked the house with hard liquor. “All I’ve got is beer.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  As far as he knew, she never drank anything other than wine spritzers. Damn, he itched to press. What’s wrong? Instead he got her a beer and poured a glass of milk for his niece.

  Jessie paced and chugged. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice.”

  “That’s flattering,” he said while loading a plate with cookies.

  “Look. I know we’ve never been on great terms. As kids or adults,” she said in a tight, b
rittle voice. “But I…we…Madeline and me…need a place to spend the night.”

  He should have said okay. Plain and simple. But there was nothing simple about their relationship. And he’d be damned if he’d let her freeze him out in his own house. “Why? Did Frank show up? Does he want to move back in?”

  “No.”

  “Did he call? Threaten you?”

  “I haven’t talked to Frank in two weeks.”

  “He calls to speak with his daughter, right?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Jack looked over his shoulder. “You’re kidding.”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Frank never wanted…Madeline was…”

  An accident? Unexpected? So what? Just when he thought his opinion of his brother-in-law couldn’t sink any lower. “You can stay here as long as you like, Jessie.”

  “I don’t like it at all,” she said, still pacing, still drinking. “But I can’t impose on friends and I can’t afford the Orchard House.”

  Jack blew over the personal jab and focused on the financial. “Are you telling me that fu—” He glanced toward the sound of cartoon voices and cheery music. “That Frank’s not supporting you?”

  “I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything to do with him or anything that belonged to him—including the house. We’ll be fine. Madeline and me. I just want…I need to make my own way. And I will. Starting tomorrow. I mean, later today.”

  Jack worked his jaw. She’d shut him out of her life for years. Avoided him like the plague since he’d returned home. He couldn’t help himself. He had to push. “What happened between fuck-off and showing up on my doorstep, Jessie? It had to be damned bad for you to come to me, in the middle of the night, no less.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I…I can’t.”

  He noted the crack in her voice, the trembling of her hands. “Okay.”

  “Please don’t grill me.”

  “Fine.”

  “Or think you have to save me.”

  “You want to make it on your own.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “You don’t think I can?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “Just because I didn’t finish college or devote my life to some noble cause…” She trailed off and looked for a place to ditch the beer. She looked embarrassed, upset and exhausted.

  “Why don’t we revisit this discussion after some shuteye?” Jack relieved her of the empty bottle, then grabbed the milk and cookies. “You keep Maddie company while I change my sheets.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that. Nicknames are…I don’t know.”

  “Humanizing?”

  “Undignified.”

  “Jessie is undignified?”

  “My name is Jessica. Jessica Lynn.”

  “Sounds stuffy,” said Jack.

  “To you, maybe. But it’s my given name and I’m proud of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “So you’ll call me Jessica? And Madeline, Madeline?”

  “Probably not.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “Why do you have to be so headstrong?”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Runs in the family.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. After a thoughtful pause, she changed the subject. “Why do you have to change your sheets?”

  “No furniture in the other two bedrooms yet,” he explained. “You and Maddie take my bed. I’ll take the couch.” Before she could argue, he slipped into the living room. His niece was fast asleep. So was Shy. They were curled up side by side—one hand, one paw on the stuffed bear.

  Jessie groaned. “I hope she doesn’t get attached to that dog.”

  Jack hoped the exact opposite.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KYLIE WOKE UP EXHAUSTED. Three hours of sleep will do that to you. It wasn’t even three restful hours. Bleary-eyed, she schlepped to the shower. Her mind still churned on the things that had plagued her the night before.

  She fretted over her upcoming appointment with Eden’s Historic Preservation Society, otherwise known as the HPS. She hated that she hadn’t been able to get that over with yesterday. Nope. They’d insisted she wait until their scheduled weekly meeting. Thank goodness that was today. The suspense, the delay, was killing her. Although, it wasn’t like her renovation was on hold. Travis had made tremendous, no, amazing progress on the interior. He’d worked tirelessly. And, although he hadn’t been keen on her helping to paint the walls, he did coach her in redecorating the chairs she already owned instead of purchasing new ones. She appreciated the cost-saving suggestion and his creative tips. Who knew a hardware guy could be so artsy? She also admired his energy. She’d pooped out around 6:00 p.m., plus she wanted to get home before dark. Travis had stayed on. He’d said he was in a groove. She suspected he was avoiding his lonely house.

  Kylie scratched shampoo through her hair, feeling a little lonely herself. She blamed the chief of police. Celibacy was a lot easier when you weren’t battling desire. Once she’d finally drifted off last night, she’d dreamed about Jack pinning her against a wall. Jack undressing her with his eyes, his hands. Jack touching her, kissing her.

  In McGraw’s Shoe Store.

  Her family’s place of business.

  She’d been squirming with thigh-quaking lust, begging the hunky lawman to boink her senseless when suddenly she’d spotted her dad. Not for real. But in the dream. Unfortunately it had been a lucid dream. So in addition to experiencing erotic thrills compliments of Jack, she also sensed Dewy McGraw’s shock and dismay. Kylie had spent her entire life trying to win her dad’s approval. Now he was gone and she was still proving a disappointment.

  She rinsed the herbal-scented suds from her hair, pondering the relevance of that weird dream. It had to run deeper than her dad frowning on public displays of sex.

  At least he hadn’t materialized in her second dream. Her mortification would’ve been off the charts. She’d gotten down and dirty with Jack in a jail cell. Handcuffs were involved. Just thinking about the things he’d done to her made Kylie ache.

  “Crushing on Jack is stupid,” she told herself as she cranked the cold water. “He’s not attracted to you. If he was, he would have kissed you in the store. He didn’t even flirt.”

  She continued to talk herself out of the attraction as she soaped her body. Only, her mind kept flashing on the handcuffs, iron bars and lots of naked flesh. Suddenly she was touching herself everywhere Jack had touched her. Or at least everywhere her subconscious wanted him to touch her. The cold water pelting her body did little to cool the heat between her legs. Frustrated, she nabbed the handheld shower massage, turned the dial and directed the fast and hard pulsating stream to where she ached most. She exploded with a quaking orgasm in two seconds flat.

  Breathless, she wilted against the wall of the cramped stall. Seconds later, her heart settled in her chest, and instead of satisfied, she felt a twinge of guilt and regret.

  “Why can’t I make you come like that?” Bobby had once asked after he’d urged her to pleasure herself.

  She didn’t know, and it frustrated her that it bothered him so much. It’s not like she didn’t enjoy sex with him. In fact, she went out of her way to please him. It made her feel good when she drove him over the edge. Why couldn’t that be enough?

  She’d assured him that it wasn’t his fault. “I’ve only been with two other men and I didn’t have orgasms then, either.” That didn’t make him feel better. In fact, two weeks later he left on a travel assignment and never came back. She didn’t want to believe it was because she was wired wrong, so she convinced herself, and everyone else, he’d simply gotten cold feet.

  In a way, she wished she was promiscuous. Maybe she’d benefit from more experience.

  Unfortunately, Kylie had never been able to wrap her mind around sex without an emotional attachment. If she could, she would’ve indulged in casual affairs in search of a skilled lover with the magic touch. A lover who’d show her the orgasmic st
ars.

  In her dreams, Jack was that man. She hated that she couldn’t wipe those erotic sensations and images from her mind. She hated that she was contemplating risking her heart in order to fulfill a primitive yearning. Maybe she wasn’t wired wrong. Maybe she just hadn’t been with the right man. Maybe she could handle a fling with Jack because she was emotionally attached to him. Maybe if she knew going in that it wouldn’t be forever.

  “Wow,” she said as she toweled off. “Given the proper motivation, a girl can talk herself into anything.”

  Thoughtful, Kylie swiped her hand over the steamy mirror and frowned at her reflection. “When Jack looks at you, he sees Spenser’s kid sister.” She hated that, too. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t updated your look in, well, ever. Maybe it’s because he’s used to slick city chicks and you look like a frumpy bumpkin.”

  Inspiration struck. Or rather, an intense urge to shake things up.

  She stared into the mirror, tried to envision a new haircut and color. She couldn’t.

  “But Faye could.”

  They’d never gotten that private moment yesterday. Faye had blown back into the hardware store, saying she had things to do at Orchard House, then she’d blown back out. The tension had been worse than before. At a loss, Kylie had decided to give her friend space and time.

  That meant trusting her makeover to Petunia, the owner and primary stylist at the local beauty shop. Most of the woman’s clients walked out with a perm or last year’s hot celebrity cut. Seeing as Kylie wasn’t big on poodles or Posh, visiting a big-city stylist might be a safer bet. Except, she couldn’t afford the long drive. Couldn’t afford missing her meeting with the HPS. Plus, she probably couldn’t get an appointment for today, anyway, and she wanted a makeover now. She’d just have to be firm about what she didn’t want and hope for the best.