by Amy Lillard
“Fine,” Jessie grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her and wishing all this was behind her.
But it wasn’t . . .
What did it matter anyway? Taking a baseball bat to Lucky Langston’s shiny red Ford could only be accomplished by a holy terror like Jessie McAllen. The entire town—Chase included—thought she was guilty. Therefore she was guilty by means of the majority, and no amount of the truth could change that.
Jessie tried to ignore the choked feeling in her chest. It was bad enough eight years ago when she had destroyed a fine vehicle out of jealousy. But this time she was innocent. Maybe this was just destiny coming back on her. The thought held no comfort. She had spent her entire life trying to live down her family name. The scandal with her grandfather, her mother’s lack of a wedding ring, her own impulsive nature.
“I’ll do it now,” she finally said.
He nodded—well, really it was more of a jerk of his head. Then he rummaged around in the desk drawer and pulled out an official-looking paper.
Beautiful.
“You know the drill.”
Great.
He pushed the form and a pen across the desk to her.
Fantastic.
Just how she wanted to end a perfectly horrible night, having to give a formal confession, black-and-white proof that she was wild, out of control, her mother’s daughter, etc., etc.
The worst part of it all was that Chase wasn’t going to want anything to do with her for a long, long time. If ever. She had seen his face as he shouted that he wanted to kill her. He didn’t really mean murder, but he was mad. And mad was a foreign state of affairs for happy-go-lucky, take-what-comes, life-by-the-seat-of-his-jeans Chase.
“Do I need to get an attorney?” She’d meant for the question to have the vicious bite of sarcasm, but in her exhausted state it was simply a question.
Seth shrugged, a quick rise and fall of one shoulder. “Justin’s gone fishing this week, and Harley’ll be real mad if you wake him up this time of night. I suppose if you want one, we could postpone this until morning.”
No sense dragging this out. She pulled the form toward her and started to write.
Half an hour later she signed her name with a flourish, dotting the i with a little more force than truly necessary. As she had written about seeing Chase with another woman and Manny’s baseball bat and how it felt to smash in the headlights of Chase’s truck, her fury mounted anew. She could feel her cheeks burning and her blood boiling as she pushed the paper across the desk toward Seth.
Then she just sat there, her breathing heavy as she watched him scan the page.
He looked up and pinned her with those knowing green eyes. “Are you sure this is how it happened?”
No, she wanted to yell. Chase had walked into the bar tonight with that bleached-blond bimbo hanging all over him, and Jessie had wanted to trash more than just his truck. But that was all it was—a fantasy. Some guy she had never seen before had beat the hell out of Chase’s F-150, and she had taken the fall. Now things between them would never be the same.
She pushed the thought away before her heart broke completely in two. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been in love with Chase Langston. How could she not love him? He was so confident and handsome. Even though he wasn’t ready to settle down, she couldn’t stop her feelings for him any more than she could stop a herd of stampeding buffalo.
She propped her hands on her hips, daring him to contradict her. “Yep. Homecoming ’08 all over again.”
Seth looked as though he was about to wad up the paper and toss it in the trash, but he read through her words again.
“Everything was going fine, ya know. Until Chase showed up at Manny’s with little Miss Big Boobs. Now, I’ve put up with a lot from him over the years, but tonight I’d just had enough.”
Seth scribbled notes on his own paper, not even bothering to look up as he spoke. He’d gone into that detached “cop” mode. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
Anything else? “Yeah, after that, I went out and kicked a few puppies—”
“Jessie.” His voice was low, half pleading, half warning.
“—and burned down the orphanage.”
“We don’t have an orphanage.”
“Not anymore, we don’t.”
Seconds ticked by, then turned into minutes. Long heartbeats, before Seth looked up from his work. It seemed as if he wanted to say something but was having a hard time forming the words.
“You’re sure this is how it happened?” It was more question than statement.
“Positive.”
Seth unfolded his length from the squeaky chair and made his way around the desk to stand in front of her.
Suddenly Jessie was aware of just how tall he was. Exactly how much taller he was than Chase.
“How ’bout this, Jessie James? You tell me the truth, or I’m going to lock you up for obstructing justice.”
“What makes you think I’m not telling the truth?”
“I don’t think, I know. Your neck’s red. It always does that when you’re lyin’.”
Her hand fluttered toward the collar of her shirt, but she managed to stop it before it betrayed her. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Seth crossed his arms and stared down that well-bred cowboy nose at her.
She stared back for a full minute.
“What’s it going to be, Jess?”
“I thought you already arrested me.”
“Don’t push me, girl. I’ve had a long night.”
“Then I’ll make it easy on you.” She marched over to the cell, paused just slightly at the threshold to the human cage, then stepped inside. She turned back to face Seth. “Lock me up, Sheriff. I’m bad to the bone.”
He simply looked at her for several long moments, then followed behind her to the big iron door. And locked it. Locked it!
She had to will her feet to stay put. She would not—would not—run to the bars, wrap her fingers around them, and beg Seth to hear her out. She’d be fine here. She would.
“Jessie?”
Eyes back to Seth.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Of course not.” She tried to rearrange her expression to hide the panic she knew was there. Sometimes she just didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.
“You sure about that?”
She lifted her chin, raised her gaze to his. “No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’m sure. I’m positive I have nothing—absolutely nothing—more to tell you.”
There was a moment when Jessie wished all this had played out differently. She hadn’t really thought about where they were going when they left her grandmother’s house.
And whatever it was she had been thinking, it sure as heck didn’t include spending the night in jail.
Time to accept her fate and move on. She was quite accomplished at that. Growing up as she did, it was a survival skill learned at a very young age. She might not have money. Or an education. Or a good job. Or . . . well, a lot of things. But no one could say that Jessica Elizabeth McAllen didn’t have pride.
She walked over—a pretty generous description for the three regular-sized steps she took—to the cot and shook out the fitted sheet.
Although her original plan had been a good night’s sleep in her own bed . . . well, she would have to take what she could get. After all, she had to work the breakfast shift at the Chuck Wagon tomorrow morning . . . if Seth let her out of jail. If not, then she would lose that job as well as the one at Manny’s. And she would definitely have to dip into her savings in order to pay for the damages that Chase’s truck had suffered.
She had been scrimping and scraping for years, trying to save enough money to make her escape. Then just when she was so close to getting out of town, something like this had to go a
nd happen.
It didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t have enough money to strike out on her own. Not yet. But one day . . .
With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the hard little cot and pulled off her boots. They hit the tile floor with twin thuds. Then she removed her hat and stretched her arms above her head. She needed to release the tension in her shoulders, but the motion only pointed out just how tense they really were. What a night.
She undid the buckle of her belt and slid the worn turquoise leather out of its loops, then ran her fingers across the embossed letters of her name. She loved the belt. It had been a birthday present from her mother the year she died. Careful not to scratch the decorative silver conchos, Jessie coiled it like a snake and stored it inside one boot.
She chanced a look at Seth. He sat at his desk, shuffling through papers as if his actions had no purpose, except maybe to expend built-up energy and make him look busy. His green eyes blazed. His square jaw was set. Even the dimple in his chin appeared deeper. He was upset. Most probably at her. And most probably because of the fallout that would surely arrive tomorrow.
And the next day and the next day and the next. Make one little mistake eight years ago—eight years—and no one ever forgot. No one in Cattle Creek, Texas, anyway.
That was why she had to leave. Even if it meant leaving Chase behind.
One day soon she would make her break and kiss Cattle Creek and Page County good-bye forever. One day soon she would head to . . . to . . .
Well, the “to” really didn’t matter as long as she wasn’t here.
She lay down on the cot and tucked the travel-sized pillow behind her head. She closed her eyes, crossed her ankles, and waited for the exhaustion of a long, long day to overtake her. But as much as her body was willing to fall into the abyss of sleep, her mind was spinning like an Oklahoma twister.
Mr. Jones turned over in his cot, his covers rustling as he made himself comfortable. Papers whispered against each other as Seth placed them back on his desk. His chair creaked as he stood. She heard his shoulders pop as he stretched.
Eyes still closed, she could tell when he turned out the overhead light, could hear the soft echo of his footsteps as he made his way across the room.
But instead of the door closing behind him, she heard the shuffle of pillows and the creak of worn springs. The scrape of metal against the worn tile flooring and the thud of Seth’s own boots as they landed on the floor.
She opened her eyes and turned on her side, easily making out his silhouette in the dim light.
He had pulled the worn Naugahyde couch out into a bed and was now sitting on its edge, hands braced upon his knees, boots on the floor beside his bare feet. He had removed his shirt and his belt, but his jeans were still molded to his lower half like a clingy jealous lover. And though his chest was a sight to behold, it was his dark expression that captured her attention. He looked like a man with a burden, and something Jessie identified as basic human compassion made her want to go to him and comfort him.
Okay. So, that was wrong on so many levels. She was his prisoner. She couldn’t leave her cell. She was in love with his brother and . . . well, that was enough, wasn’t it?
“You don’t have to stay here on account of me.”
His head jerked in her direction, surprise lighting his features. “I thought you were asleep.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said, then added, “Busy day.” Wasn’t that the truth?
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw one dark brow rise at a sardonic angle.
“Well, go to sleep,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse with . . . anger?
“I meant what I said. About you staying here.”
He lay down on the uneven bed, propped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “It’s my turn.”
Jessie flopped onto her back and stared up at the darkened ceiling, allowing dreams of leaving Cattle Creek to fill her head.
Sometimes her fantasies took her to New York, but she never really thought she would be happy in a big city like that. Houston maybe, but that was still in Texas. Maybe she would go to Tulsa, but Oklahoma didn’t seem far enough away. Cheyenne and she would face the risk of running into Chase every July. Vegas was too flashy. Detroit too northern. Phoenix too western. Seattle too wet.
“Tell me about San Diego.” Her mouth made the request before her mind had completely wrapped around the idea.
“San Diego?” he echoed as if he’d never heard of it.
“You know, West Coast. Big city.”
“What do you want to know?” His voice was soft. He sounded tired, and Jessie felt bad about keeping him from his sleep. She’d ask him for the particulars of the city later. Right now there was only one thing she really wanted to know.
“Why’d you come back?” When it came her chance to leave, she wasn’t ever setting foot in Cattle Creek again.
“Mama.” The rich timbre of his voice wrapped around the single word and held it in the air between them. So much went without saying, and that one word conveyed it all: if it hadn’t been for his mother’s illness, he would be there still.
But Evelyn Duvall Langston had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and Seth had come home to Texas.
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Was there someone special there?”
He waited so long she knew the answer. Tony Bennett might have left his heart in San Francisco, but Seth Langston’s was a little farther south.
“You don’t have to answer that,” she finally said. If coming up with a response was taking him that long, then he surely didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps that California filly had broken his heart.
“Go to sleep, Jessie James.”
She undid the top button of her jeans for comfort’s sake and pulled her knees up. “Fine,” she mumbled. “But how many times do I have to say it? Don’t call me that. . . .”
* * *
It seemed as if she had just drifted off when she felt the featherlight brush against her cheek. Probably a mosquito that had found its way onto the porch through the little hole in the screen. She was going to have to fix that.
She tried to muster up the energy to brush it away, but she was just so darn tired. And it was late. Or maybe it was early. And she slept like she was in a borrowed bed.
The light touch whispered across her skin once again, and she finally gained the strength to reach up and shoo the pesky little vampire away so she could go back to sleep.
But instead of a fragile little bloodsucker, her fingers encountered . . . skin. Human skin. Most likely male human skin.
Her eyes flew open, her mind taking a full two minutes of staring at the strong jean-clad thighs and uh-hum . . . other things in front of her before she finally remembered where she was and whose strong, jean-clad thighs and uh-hum . . . other things she had locked in her sights.
The night before came crashing back to her. Chase’s truck, jail, and . . .
“Seth.” Her voice was raspy with sleep. And fatigue. And lack of coffee.
She swung her legs over the side of the cot, belatedly remembering the top button of her jeans was undone. Even worse, the zipper had worked its way down during the night, and the bottom of her shirt had worked its way up, leaving part of her belly bare and showing the lacy edge of her yellow cotton panties. She pulled the tail of her shirt down to cover herself, then pushed her hair out of her face.
“Rise and shine, Jessie James.” Seth thrust a chipped mug full of black coffee into her hands and walked to the door of her cell as if he couldn’t get far enough away from her fast enough to suit him.
She didn’t even bother asking him to cut it out with the nickname and instead concentrated on the strong brew and the positive effects caffeine had on her at . . .
“What time is it?” She blew across the top of th
e mug before taking as big a swig as she dared. What she thought had been black coffee turned out to be coffee with about half a pound of sugar in it. Really bad coffee with half a pound of sugar in it.
“A little before six.”
Jeez, no wonder she was so tired.
“Chuck called and threatened to cut me off at lunch if I didn’t have you to work on time.”
“I hope you saved some of Darly Jo’s casserole,” she said, then took another restorative sip of coffee.
“Nope.”
Jessie raised her gaze to his. “You’re going to let me outta here?”
Seth nodded, his dark hair glistening under the lights of the office as though it was damp. He’d made coffee, obviously had a shower and shaved, and was way too awake for so early. Had the man even slept?
“I talked to Chase this morning. He said he’d drop the charges as long as you agree to pay to have his truck fixed.”
She had known all along it would come to this. Just for a moment she had forgotten about the “incident” at Manny’s, the state of Chase’s truck, her stint in jail, and the damages she’d need to pay for. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t forgotten, but it had slipped to the back of her mind, and now . . . well, now she was once again faced with a county full of people who always expected the worst from her, including the man she loved.
“Fine,” she said, then set her coffee mug down on the floor and retrieved her belt. She laid it on the cot next to her, then pulled on her boots. At least she wouldn’t lose both her jobs. Maybe Chuck would let her pick up a few more shifts until she could find something else. Then paying for Chase’s truck wouldn’t put such a dent in her savings. Or maybe Manny had cooled down and would regret firing her. If she was lucky—and she wasn’t usually—he’d let her have her job back this afternoon. Hey, it could happen. Page County was home to only a little over three thousand people. In such a small labor force, it wasn’t easy to find someone willing to take on the rowdy cowboy crowd that congregated at Manny’s.
She stood and pushed the tail of her shirt back into her jeans, barely taking the time to refasten them before threading her belt through its loops. Ignoring her sleep-trodden, half-braided hair, she shoved her hat back on her head and grabbed her half-empty coffee mug before facing Seth.