Angel Kisses and Riversong

by Lynnette Bonner

  Salem opened her mouth, but no words emerged. She snapped it shut again. Why, oh why hadn’t she insisted that he stay back at the B&B? This could only take her to a place of pain. Because she knew the month would come to an end and he would fly out of her life leaving her heart shattered in a thousand pieces while he just accepted the attentions of the next woman and moved on with his life. Walls, Salem. Big, thick, stone and mortar walls. And construct them quickly.

  Jett’s gray eyes crinkled at the corners. “Can I take your silence to mean you might be considering a ‘yes’?”

  She shook her head. “Jett, I—”

  “Salem, what in the world is going on here?”

  If a bucket of ice water had been dashed over her head it couldn’t have surprised her more than that voice. She jolted upright, pushing Jett back and spinning to take in the very irritated frown of the man looming near them. “Dale…nothing. We are just doing some shopping.”

  Dale propped his hands just below his duty belt and turned narrowed glittery dark eyes towards Jett. “Didn’t look like much shopping was going on.”

  Salem’s gaze flickered to the gun so near Dale’s hand, and she felt her mouth go dry.

  Jett folded his arms and settled into his heels, looking as relaxed as he might have if he’d just been caught feeding orphans in a foreign country.

  She stretched a trembling hand toward Jett. “This is my new guest, Jett Hudson. Jett, this is Officer Dale Schmidt.”

  Why she threw in the officer part, she wasn’t sure. Maybe as a reminder to Jett that he could get thrown in jail if he made a wrong move here. And from the jut of his jaw, the taut tendons in his neck, and the way he and Dale were giving each other the stare-down, she figured the reminder had probably been a good idea.

  She made to escape past Dale. “We were just finishing up. You have a good evening.”

  “Not so fast, darling.” Dale’s hand wrapped around her shoulder. “I just wanted to chat for a bit.” Dale released her, but leaned one stiff arm into the shelf before her, essentially trapping her in between him and Jett, who had started to follow her with the cart. “Looks like I should give your guest here a little warning about some of your conniving ways. You’ve already got him wrapped around your pudgy little finger, I see.”

  A familiar wave of humiliation swept over her. She took a step back, only to bump into Jett. Perhaps it should have made her feel even more hemmed in. But somehow the warmth of him behind her wrapped her in a comforting shield.

  She heard a low sound that could only be interpreted as a growl emit from Jett’s throat.

  Dale let loose a low whistle as his gaze settled on Jett. “It is you, isn’t it?” He stretched his hand forward and offered a cat-licking-cream smile. “Don’t want you to misunderstand. We really are a friendly town here. So, welcome. I’m a fan. You are one of the greats.”

  Jett curled his left hand gently over Salem’s shoulder and leaned around her to shake Dale’s hand. Though he didn’t say any words, the gesture was as claim-staking as any gesture could have been, and he somehow managed to tuck her closer to himself in the process. She ought to be upset with him, but she couldn’t feel anything but thankfulness for his support.

  Dale’s smile dimmed. “Listen,”—he tipped a nod toward Salem—“I would be neglecting my duty as a sworn officer of the law if I didn’t warn you that our little Salem here has never met a celebrity like you. And she’s recently come into quite a need for money, you know, what with not being able to get a job and taking care of her grandmother and all. So just…you know…keep that in mind when she’s batting those baby blues in your direction.” He laughed like he’d just shared the greatest joke.

  Salem felt sick. Dale was implying that she would only be interested in Jett for his money!

  Both Jett’s hands were resting on her shoulders now. His grip tightened, and Salem could feel a tremor zip through him. She clutched his hands, and held on tight, leaning back against him. “I’m sure Jett appreciates your warning, Dale. Please let us pass.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Jett felt a shiver vibrate through Salem’s slight body.

  Never in his life had he felt such a desire to punch a guy. Nor had he ever felt this much of a protective streak for someone he’d known for such a short time. No wonder she’d broken up with this creep. How many times had Dale demeaned her in just the few short moments he’d been standing here talking to them? He cleared his throat. Steadied his voice. “Actually, if the truth is told, Salem is the one resisting my attempts to get to know her better. I’m not a bit worried about her only being interested in my money, but thanks.”

  Dale made a clicking sound in his cheek. “Well, maybe my warning came in time to open your eyes, then.”

  Jett took a calming breath.

  If Officer Schmidt wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself on the wrong end of a tackle that would put him flat on his back in the pasta aisle with Jett’s forearm to his throat. He chose silence as the better part of valor.

  Dale folded his arms and still blocked their path. His gaze slipped from the top of Salem’s head to the toes of her shoes and back again. A smirk twisted his lips. “What have you been doing today?”

  The derision in his tone set Jett into motion before he could even think better of it. He pushed past Salem and stepped in front of her, pressing into the officer’s personal space. “We’ll just finish our shopping now and be on our way. Nice to meet you, Officer.” He reached back, grabbed Salem’s hand and barreled forward. It helped that he had several inches on the guy and probably a good seventy pounds.

  Dale plastered himself against the shelving unit on the other side, and Jett gave him a halfhearted gesture of thanks as they moved on by. It was that or slug the guy, and somehow he didn’t picture the jail cells in Riversong being very comfortable.

  He tugged Salem along behind him until they reached the end of the row and turned the corner, then he released her hand and turned to face her.

  She had latched onto the cart and dragged it behind them, but as soon as they stopped she loosed it and forked all her fingers into the mass of blonde hair piled atop her head. She was trembling like the last leaf clinging to a tree in an autumn storm. She didn’t meet his gaze, but instead stared down at the tiles of the floor.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and reassure her that she was none of the things Dale had intimated, but he didn’t want to cause her more angst. If that guy had been her last boyfriend, no wonder she wasn’t ready to step into another relationship. Jett settled for reaching out to lift her gaze to his. He allowed his thumb to stroke gently across her chin, and willed her to find strength in his scrutiny.

  There was so much pain in her blue eyes that he almost stalked back down the aisle to hunt for Officer Schmuck. But his years of self-discipline on the football field held him in good stead, and he remained where he stood.

  He tipped a nod to the cart. “You want to finish shopping? Or should we just go?”

  Her chin lifted, but whether out of determination not to let Schmuck cow her, or a desire to escape his own caress, he couldn’t tell. “We came to shop. We’ll finish.”

  He winked and tipped her an atta-girl nod. “Show no retreat.” His Tampa Bay coach had used that saying for years, but he figured it applied here too.

  Salem took a breath and straightened her shoulders, glancing back down at her list. “Right. No retreat. Let’s do this.”

  He snagged the cart from her when she went by. “You got this, Angel.”

  She stalled and glanced up at him, a question in her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Last night…in addition to the paperclip you had a loop of hair poking up like a halo. The name sort of just stuck.” He allowed his grin to break free. “It fits you in more ways than one.” Even now her messy bun, splayed at the back of her head and lit with the glow of the overhead lighting, brought to mind a slightly dented halo.

  “Jett, thanks for what you tried to do back there.
And I want to assure you that you are right. I’m not interested in you just for your money.” Her eyes widened. “I mean I’m not interested in you in any way.”

  He tried not to wince. She didn’t seem to notice that she’d just stabbed him in the heart. But foremost in his mind was making sure she was alright. “Are you alright? He shouldn’t have spoken to you the way he did. That was just…rude and wrong on so many levels. And you’re not any of those things he implied.”

  “Thank you. Yes. I’m fine. But please remember it’s not your job to protect me. I’ve been dealing with Dale my whole life. And I could have handled that back there just fine on my own.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to. And I wasn’t going to just stand by while he talked to you like that.”

  She pegged him with a look.

  He lifted his hands. “If I’m pushing too fast. I’m sorry. I’ll slow down.”

  “No, Jett.” Her fingers went to her forehead. “Not ‘slow down.’ Park. Reverse!” She shook her head. “I can’t—” Her finger swung back and forth between them.

  The knife twisted and thrust deeper.

  She started down the aisle and he slowly followed, feet dragging. Nothing like being kicked while you were down, and by a little bit of a five foot nothing woman, to boot.

  She’d only taken a few steps when she suddenly stopped and spun toward him. “Okay, I lied.” She didn’t meet his gaze, but focused on the bag of chips to her right, flipping the plastic edge with her fingernail. “I’m trying not to be interested in you in any way. Because I really can’t handle a broken heart right now on top of all I’m dealing with at the B&B and with Gran. So please, can you just…not break my heart?” She did look up then, her blue eyes large and plaintive.

  Jett suddenly felt like the whole weight of the world had just been dumped onto his shoulders. He tilted his head and fixed her with a look that he hoped conveyed all the sincerity he felt. “I promise not to break your heart.”

  “Good.” She blew out a breath and spun away from him. “I need to buy a gallon of chocolate ice cream.”

  Jett chuckled, straightened, and trundled after her. He’d have to take things very slowly. But that was okay. He’d always liked a challenge.

  And Salem Finn was nothing if not a challenge.

  Salem had just tossed the ice cream and french fries into the cart when she heard her name called from down the aisle. She glanced back to see Pastor Duncan heading her way, with his three-year-old daughter Genevieve skipping along in front of him.

  “Hi Pastor.” Salem squatted down and stretched her arms wide to Gen. The little girl darted forward, blond pigtails flapping. She launched herself into Salem’s arms with such force that Salem nearly lost her balance and went over backwards. “Whoa there, squirt! You about knocked me down!”

  Genevieve only grinned unrepentantly.

  “Sorry about that,” Pastor apologized. “She’s always so excited to see you.”

  “And I’m always so excited to see her!” Salem tickled Gen’s belly as she spoke and then tipped her backwards until she was dangling upside down from her arms.

  Gen giggled uproariously, and Salem knew she’d been anticipating this game they played each time they saw each other.

  Realizing Pastor Duncan had fallen quiet and that Jett hadn’t said anything for the past few moments, Salem hefted Gen back to an upright position and glanced between the men. “Pastor, this is”—she wasn’t sure if Jett wanted his name getting all over town, so settled for—“a guest who’s staying at my bed and breakfast.” To Jett she said, “This is my pastor, Brad Duncan.”

  Jett smiled and stretched out his hand. “Jett. Nice to meet you.”

  Pastor nodded. “Likewise.” His gaze turned back to Salem. “Well, I won’t keep you, but I wanted to know if you could help us out and watch Gen on Thursday evening? Molly has to work late, and I finally talked Phil into sitting down with me to talk about hiring a paid football coach for the high school this year.”

  At the mention of football, Salem’s focus flitted to Jett. With all his experience, he might be the perfect person to give some pointers on just what to look for in a coach. Might even have some connections.

  But a muscle jumped in his jaw, and she got the distinct impression he was bracing himself for her to volunteer him. The poor guy was on vacation. The last thing he probably wanted to do was talk football with the staff from Riversong—AKA Podunkville—High School. She realized Pastor was still talking, and she’d missed a good portion of his story.

  “Anyhow, I don’t want to have to reschedule because you know how stubborn he’s been about this in the past.”

  Salem did know. In fact it was something not unlike a miracle that Phil, the high school administrator, had agreed to talk to Pastor at all. Salem grinned and set the squirming three-year-old down on the ground. “Miracles still happen, huh?”

  Pastor chuckled. “Well, the bigger miracle will be if I can actually talk him into it.”

  “Of course I’d be happy to watch Gen. No problem. Will you need me to pick her up?”

  Pastor’s eyes lit and his shoulders seemed to relax all at the same time. “Thank you! And no. I’ll bring her right to your front door.”

  Gen jumped up and down. “We make sticky popcohn?”

  Salem laughed, recalling the massive amount of work it had taken to clean the kitchen after letting Gen help her make caramel corn the last time she’d watched her. Molly had told Salem later that it had taken two rounds of shampoo before she’d successfully extracted all the sugar from Gen’s hair. Salem squatted down to Gen’s level. “If we want your mom and dad to let us keep hanging out with each other we better try to make something less sticky this time?”

  Gen’s eyes rounded and she nodded. One pudgy finger came up to tap her rosebud lips. “Maybe we cud make…ice cweam? I be good and won’t get it in my haiw dis time, I pwomise.”

  Salem held out one hand for a fist bump. “Ice cream, it is.”

  When she glanced back up at Pastor Brad, he was shaking his head and swirling a gesture around his little finger to indicate that Gen had Salem wrapped around her pinky.

  She shrugged and gave him a “what can I do” look.

  He smiled and reached out to shake her hand. “Thanks again. I won’t keep you. See you Thursday. I’ll drop her off at six thirty?”

  Salem nodded. “See you then.”

  When she turned back to Jett, it was to find a serious, thoughtful frown on his face as he watched father and daughter walk away from them. His mood never improved for the rest of the evening. In fact, when they got back to the house he headed straight for his room after helping her bring in the groceries.

  CHAPTER 9

  For three full days Jett had kept his distance. He came out and ate breakfast in the morning, and then left for the day, not returning until late at night. The first morning he’d said he would be busy for a few days, but he hadn’t elaborated. He’d been polite and courteous each time she’d seen him, but given no hints to what he was doing.

  Last night she’d watched Gen for the Duncans—and even managed to keep the kitchen and the kid fairly unsticky. But when Jett had poked his head through the door partway into the process, his neutral expression had puckered into a frown when he’d seen Genevieve sitting on the counter swiping cream from the measuring cup and then licking it from her finger.

  He’d only grunted a hello, and then headed for his room.

  This morning he’d once again left as soon as he’d finished eating. It was nearly ten p.m. and he still hadn’t returned.

  And now as Salem sat doing paperwork at the front desk, she couldn’t help but puzzle over the situation a little. Something in Jett’s demeanor had changed since she’d had that conversation with Pastor Brad in the grocery store. And she couldn’t quite figure out what or why.

  Maybe it had nothing to do with her conversation with Pastor Brad?

  Right before that, she’d told Jett in no uncertain t
erms to back off. She’d even used the word “reverse.” So maybe she’d chased him off. Either that or after having some time to think over Dale’s assessment of her, he’d realized that he really wasn’t interested in her after all because Dale was right. Either way, she’d lost before she’d even begun. How come her heart felt like it had been broken when that was the very thing she’d been trying to avoid by telling Jett to back off?

  She rubbed her fingertips over her forehead and tried to focus on the accounting software. The cursor blinked at her from a blank line, and she looked back down at her pile of receipts. Concentrate. She typed in the next entry and slapped the receipt into the “entered” pile. Disgusted with her waffling emotions, she muttered, “I was doing fine on my own before Jett arrived, and I’ll be doing fine again when he leaves.”

  As if summoned by her words, the front door opened and the very man of her thoughts walked in. He smiled, snatched his skull cap from his head, and stuffed it in his back pocket as he sauntered toward the desk. Mr. Dismal-and-Broody seemed to have been replaced by the suave heartbreaker that she’d gotten to know that first day.

  “Good evening, Jett.” She tried not to look too relieved to see that maybe he’d snapped out of whatever mood had pulled him under. Tried not to feel too relieved to see him at all. He’d spent one afternoon helping her sort through junk and spoiled her mood for likely weeks to come. Her work had been twice as hard and four times as lonely for the past three days, and it was all his fault. Well…and hers for cracking the door open even a little bit to the thrill that was part and parcel of a blooming attraction.

  She examined the next receipt, but the words and numbers wouldn’t come into focus. She typed “just ignore him” in the entry field so it would look like she was actually doing something other than waiting up for him to head for his room so she could lock up.