Man in Black

by Melissa Shirley

  Waking up in the strong arms of a man she hadn’t ‘enjoyed’ in the Biblical sense, never happened. At least, not in Ryhan’s life. Of course, she’d never been fired from a job, but yesterday, she’d lost four jobs in rather spectacular fashion. She picked up the blanket and peeked beneath. Both fully clothed. “Hmm. Must’ve been a dream.”

  “But it was a good one.” His groggy morning voice preceded a kiss to her forehead.

  His hand rested on her stomach, thumb drawing lazy circles on her nerve-heightened skin. The arm under her neck cradled her closer, and her skin tingled everywhere he touched—and in some places he didn’t. She closed her eyes, the sensations powering over her. Pressing her entire body into his, she brought her lips up to his.

  When she pulled back, she laid her head on his chest. “Jesse, thank you for last night.”

  “So what happened?”

  She dug her fingernails into her palm at the memory. “It’s kind of tragic in a Hamlet and everybody wants to die kind of way. That is, if everyone is me.” Her hand rested over his on her stomach, stilling his fingers so she could form her thoughts. “I got fired. Mrs. Malit went through her son’s phone, and he had a link to the video. So, she watched it. Then she called Helen, and Helen called everyone else.” She sniffled, and he cupped her cheek, smoothing his thumb across the side of her face. “Grover was first. Right after you left, he came storming into Kelly’s like I’d just told him his overalls didn’t match his shoes. I mean, who wears Italian loafers with blue on blue striped coveralls? I’m not a fashionista, but even I know some things don’t go together, but I never one time pointed it out to him. I totally would have if I would’ve known he was going to fire me, anyway.” Her dismissive hand sliced the air in front of them. “And Kelly, who is never at the restaurant, just had to be there to see that, and she’s sorry but she can’t keep me on because she heard all the horrible things he said. And if Grover said them, you know it’ll be all over town, and she can’t risk losing business over me. So, why not fire the only waitress they have? That makes sense, right?”

  He nodded slowly as she continued. “I was upset, you know, but I still had a job. I had to go walk Juju. So, I got my purse and left.” She paused and blew out a big breath. “I walked out the restaurant to go get the damn dog, but she already had her all bundled up. Then the dog started squawking and trying to get to me, and she just told me to go away.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. And when I got home, I had a message from Lucia on the machine telling me she wouldn’t need me anymore either. So I melted down”—she looked away, chuckled a little, then turned her gaze back to his and raised her eyebrows—“way down, and called you.” His eyes drew her in, gave her voice a breathy quality of a phone-sex operator. “And you came.”

  “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? I liked the video.”

  “Yeah. Well, thank you anyway, for coming here. I owe you one.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “You could reward me with some coffee.”

  Coffee? Snapping out of the lustful haze clouding her mind, she rolled away as a new wave of despair hit her. “I usually get it to go at Kelly’s.”

  “I’ll make you some.” He stood and stretched, his shirt riding up, his pants sinking by inches.

  Her mouth went dry, and she bit her tongue to keep from panting. Job? Who needed a job? If she could sit here all day and watch The Jesse Show, she would happily do it until she starved to death or her landlord put her out on the street. “Say it slow. And for the love of God, stretch like that again.”

  He chuckled and leaned over the bed to drop a kiss on her upturned mouth. “You have remarkable bounce back time.” In four easy steps, he stood in the kitchen.

  She shrugged, still hoping for another view of that little vee leading from his hip bones south, like an arrow pointing her way to pleasure. “Well, I can only afford to live here for a few more weeks unless I find a job, so I guess I have to get out there and find one. People don’t usually hire women with mascara streaks and puffy eyes. That makes bouncing back kind of important.”

  She raked her hands through her hair and found more knots than follicles. With a grumble, she tried again and again until she had a semblance of smooth to work with.

  He turned away from her, opening and closing cabinets in a hunt for something to put in a coffee filter. Finding only empty cupboards, he leaned back against the chipped Formica countertop, bracing a hand on each side. “You have no food or beverages.”

  “I know. It made the offer to make me coffee much more meaningful.”

  He grinned and pushed away from the kitchen, walked to the bed and held his hand out to her. She took his fingers in her own and traced the line of one vein.

  “I like you, Ryhan.”

  Her heart thumped, and she snapped her free hand under the blanket to hide its shaking. “I like you too.”

  “Spend the day with me.”

  “I have to find a job.” She shook her head. While being with him sounded way more fun than hunting for work, that wouldn’t be enough to pay her rent, she had to try. She couldn’t go to Lana for more money. Not now, when they’d taken on another foster son. “I have to find a job.” Repeating it, even slower, didn’t make it sound any more appealing.

  He slipped his hand under the blanket to retrieve hers and smiled before kissing her knuckles. “Come on. Let’s parade you around town like you don’t care about anything but me.”

  “And what will that accomplish besides stroking your ego?” As she spoke the words, he leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek, taking full possession of her ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth. “I can tell you with pretty big certainty that this is not the way to get me out of bed.”

  “Mmm.” His fingertips massaged the back of her scalp as his lips continued to travel down her jaw.

  She couldn’t control it. Her eyelids fluttered shut, but she found her voice. “And to parade me around town, I have to get out of bed.” Her words came out on a broken breath, and she wanted, more than anything, to forget about her lack of employment, the town that she’d so loved turning her to an outcast, her growing amount of debt, and the need to dig herself out of this mess.

  “Mmm.”

  She tilted her head, and his lips trailed down her neck, nipping her skin then soothing it with open-mouthed kisses. Her fingers trickled over his chest, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and yanked it toward her ceiling. His muscles rippled as he leaned over her.

  Her mind, though she wished for emptiness, tornadoed with thoughts she couldn’t control. She had nothing to offer him, nothing to make a relationship worthwhile and no enticement for him to stay in Rangers End. At this point, she wasn’t even sure she could stay in Rangers End, though the thought of leaving caused an ache in her stomach that spiraled to her chest.

  She pushed him backward and sat up in one motion. “Jesse, I can’t do this. I want to.” Her fingers reached out to touch him again, but she jerked them away before they made contact. “God, I really want to, but I can’t. Not right now. And it’s no reflection on you, or your muscles, or the way you use your mouth, because I really like all those things, and I plan to enjoy them very soon, but I have to find a job and a car. I have to get my head together.” She shuffled off the bed, putting as much distance between them as she could without climbing out the window. “And you here without your shirt is not helping me formulate a plan on how to handle my. . .” She would have said to handle her shit, but instead went with, “issues.” She purposely didn’t mention having removed the shirt herself and didn’t dwell on the lack of conviction in her voice.

  “Okay.”

  She tossed the T-shirt in his direction and covered her mouth as it landed over his head and across his face. “Sorry.” She turned, pretending to rummage through a drawer for something to wear. In truth she was hiding her trembling hands and knocking knees. Nothing more.

  He returned many a glare directed Ryhan’s way as they walked
down the sidewalk in search of coffee. He couldn’t help but admire her courage. Though her steps stuttered, she held her head high. He tightened his hold on her hand as he ached to take her pain away, to stand up for her, or at the very least, to kick the ass of that ridiculous little-dicked musician who’d started this whole ruin-Ryhan’s-life campaign. At one point, he’d tucked her under his arm and kissed her softly, hoping to distract her, to lessen his rising anger.

  “There’s a Starbucks in Crystal Springs. They have coffee.”

  “And no one will stare at you for walking around town with me there.” She stopped and pulled her hands away. Frustration lined her face, and she clenched her fist, though her voice retained its playful sass. “Is this all getting to be too much for you, pretty boy?”

  As Shirley Helslock passed, she squinted at Ryhan and murmured an insult he couldn’t believe had come from such a little old lady. Jesse stopped and tugged Ryhan closer, his hands on her hips. “No way. I like the attention.” He brushed his lips across hers, caressing the soft, plump skin she’d spent most of the walk biting.

  A woman with this kind of magnetic pull was dangerous, but he couldn’t drag himself away. Nothing about her made sense. She talked too much, worked odd jobs to support herself even though she had enough energy and enthusiasm to be anything in the world. He couldn’t believe it was a lack of ambition but maybe a lack of opportunity that kept her here.

  “Why don’t you move away?”

  “Where would I go? My family is here. These people took me in as their own when we moved here. I don’t just mean Mark and Lana. I mean the whole town.” Hurt sparkled in the tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe they’re treating me this way now. But it’ll pass, I think. I hope.”

  He had news for her. This was a town that didn’t forget. He was living proof of that. She’d be better off starting over somewhere else, away from the closed minds who ran this town. She’d be happier, for sure. And for some reason he chose not to examine, he cared about seeing her smile.

  He’d dated models and actresses, been on dates with women who mended their broken hearts with diamonds and other pretty baubles rather than making desperate phone calls to men they hardly knew. Never once had he been tempted to ask for much more than a second date. And he’d never stood in the middle of the street, pawing one of them until people stopped and gawked. Yet, this woman called, and he’d run out as though he wouldn’t be able to take another breath until he found her. Something about Ryhan had him rethinking everything about his life. The thought of leaving her behind when he went home to Boston made him his stomach clench.

  He pulled back only enough to let a hairline stream of light between them and shook his head. “You are a mystery to me.”

  She ducked her head and rested it against his chest before pointing her wary gaze back at him. “Have you thought about what you’re wearing to the bachelor auction?”

  “Diversion. Good play.” He grinned. “No. I have no idea what I’m wearing, but I bet you have a suggestion tucked in that pretty little head of yours.” His thumb smoothed her jaw, and when she closed her eyes, he dropped a quick kiss on her half-smiling lips.

  “Well, as a matter of fact. . .” She put a finger over his mouth as he opened it to speak, and he flicked his tongue against her skin. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I do happen to know a store where I can probably wrangle some coffee, and we can snag you a tuxedo that will have the ladies drooling in their roasted duck.”

  “Roasted duck?”

  She nodded. “And green beans that stand almost straight up.” At his humph, she continued. “Usually, it’s overcooked chicken breasts and lumpy taters, but this year, according to the email and photos I got yesterday, they’re going all out. Hell, they even raised ticket prices hoping for a big pay-off. But how big a pay-off can they expect when the majority of the bidders are using their fixed incomes to hedge their bets?” She spun out of his arms and tugged him along beside her as she began walking the opposite direction. “Anyway, in fairness, I think, Mr. July, that we should dress you up enough to make it worth their while.”

  “That was quite a mouthful.”

  “They usually are.”

  He quirked an eyebrow and considered her from the corner of his eyes. “You mean I don’t have to wear my Mr. July G-string?”

  She held up two fingers, then three. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Lead on.”

  The small store on the far side of Rangers End sold men’s clothes, women’s clothes and shoes, more than he’d ever seen before in his life. Ryhan burst inside in a mix of energy and warm hugs to a woman, three toddler-to-elementary-school-aged boys, and a man who wore a tape measure like a scarf and had a fourth child on his back. “I didn’t know you would all be here.”

  The woman, a dark-skinned, bright-eyed amazon, stepped forward, held out a hand. “I’m Lana. I’ve been Ryhan’s mom for the last decade or so.”

  He looked from Ryhan’s ghostly shoulder to the other woman.

  “Yes, it’s strange how two very black people have managed to create five of the fairest-skinned offspring ever sprung.” Lana shot a wink at her daughter.

  “I came to live with them when I was fifteen. Best foster parents ever.” She pointed a thumb at Jesse’s chest. “He needs a tux.”

  “Busy week with that bachelor auction.” The man stepped forward. “I’m Mark.”

  “Mark, this is Jesse. He’s the mayor’s son.”

  Mark looked Jesse up and down, his lips bent in a frown.

  “I’ve heard that name a time or two recently.” Lana looked at her daughter with wide eyes.

  Jesse turned a smug grin and a couple of raised eyebrows at Ryhan, not bothering to tamp down the happiness that she’d thought enough to discuss him with her family.

  With a wicked gleam and an indifferent tone, she said, “Lana is in insurance. Since you got to town, people have been bumping up their insurance policies.” He lowered his gaze, and she held up two raised hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m entertainment for the masses. You inspire fear in them.” She shrugged. “Didn’t you notice the long lines for replacement foliage as we walked past Larry’s Lawn Lovers?”

  “Leave the boy alone.” Mark shot Lana a knowing look then turned to wink at Ryhan. “Let’s get you a tux so they can sit out here and talk about you. It makes them happy.” He slapped a hand on Jesse’s back.

  Jesse shrugged and followed the man to the other side of the store.

  “You have to model for us, Jesse,” Ryhan called.

  Mark stopped and turned. “She’s not kidding. She’ll be back here picking out ties and shirts. You could end up looking like Peter Pan if she’s in one of her crazy little moods.” He walked three more steps, stopped again, and faced Jesse once more. “You like her?”

  Was this the father talk he’d avoided like a bad rash for the sum total of his life? “Yeah.”

  “And you know what that little prick did?” Mark’s hands clenched into fists, and fire blazed in his brown eyes. Jesse nodded, not sure where this talk was headed, not sure he wanted to know. “If she wouldn’t kill me, I would gather a posse and string that little bastard up, but I don’t get to do that.”

  “Me, either.” Jesse’s jaw ticked, as his mind’s eye played images of Rick’s face. He imagined the satisfaction he would feel at putting that son of a bitch on the ground.

  “My wife threatened divorce. Did Ryhan threaten you?”

  “It’s implied.”

  Mark flashed him a look. “With those two, it always is.” He pulled three suits off a rack and pushed them at Jesse. “Try these first. Do you want a black or white shirt?”

  Ryhan stepped into the room. “Black. Maybe a silver tie or burgundy.”

  “Told ya.” Mark patted him on the shoulder and went off in a direction away from them.

  Ryhan stepped around him. “I came back for coffee.” She held up a cup and a pot and poured as though it had become an Olympic sport. With a flouri
sh, she put the pot back in place and sipped, her gaze never leaving Jesse’s. “My mom thinks you’re cute.”

  “Yeah? Well, tell your mom I think you’re cute.”

  “Stop flirting with me and get dressed before my dad beats you up.”

  Something about this woman had him shucking his shirt before he had a chance to consider doing one other thing.

  9

  By dark, she’d had her fair share of coffee, burgers, and four-year-old brothers using her as a jungle gym. Her refrigerator had been stocked and wine poured into long-stemmed glasses.

  Shopping with Jesse—strolling up and down aisles of a superstore miles from the prying eyes of her neighbors—had been an adventure similar to taking her brothers into a toy store. He’d thrown things into the cart when she wasn’t looking—an I Love California T-shirt, a package of disposable razors, a DVD set of the first season of a sitcom, and so many types of cookies he’d probably need insulin injections by the time they were all gone. This man loved food, and as he walked up and down each aisle touching everything in his range of vision, he didn’t stop jabbering about the multitude of superstore wonders. He insisted on paying for the hundreds of dollars of food he’d pitched in the cart, and now he stood in her kitchen stirring something with a divine smell in a pot she didn’t even know she owned. “Jesse, you don’t have to cook.”

  He grinned at her over his shoulder. “I believe I do if I want to eat.”

  “There are restaurants where they don’t force you into servitude for ordering their wares.”

  He put down his stirring spoon and turned around. “Are you saying you would like to go out to dinner with me? In this town? Where the only restaurant’s owner fired you yesterday?” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “Then I wouldn’t be able to wow you with my mad culinary skills, watch the ecstasy on your face as you take that first bite of”—he picked up a box, studied the front—“cheeseburger macaroni Hamburger Helper. I couldn’t ply you with my witty conversation and this fabulous Wisconsin wine. This is better.” He shrugged. “I’d rather eat hidden away in this apartment with you than have steak and lobster alone in the fanciest restaurant in America.”