by Karen Foley
“Really, it’s nothing.”
But she didn’t protest when Holt helped her onto a nearby stool. He took her foot in his hand and peered at the bottom, where a tiny shard of glass had sliced the arch. Her foot was slender and her toenails had been painted a shiny red. He tried not to look at the long expanse of her bare legs, but he heard how her breathing hitched the instant he touched her.
“Let me grab the first aid kit.” Retrieving the kit from a cupboard, he removed the bit of glass, before applying a dab of antiseptic ointment and a Band-Aid. “There, all set. I think you’ll live.”
“Thank you, Doctor Holt.” She smiled at him as he closed the medical kit. He was still crouched in front of her when, seemingly on impulse, she reached out and smoothed her fingers over his hair.
Holt froze.
“Sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “It’s just that your hair is sticking up all over the place.” Seeing his expression, she clambered quickly down from the stool. “I think I’ll finish cleaning up the mess.”
As she turned away, Holt groaned inwardly and pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it. He watched as she deftly scooped the ice cream and broken glass up with the dishcloth, dumped the entire mess into the trash, and then made sure no glass shards remained.
“Here, let me help you.” Holt retrieved a mop and quickly washed the floor, rinsed the mop and then went over the floor again until the last vestiges of sticky ice cream were gone.
“Thank you,” she said when they had finished, surveying the floor with satisfaction. She glanced toward the door where Sam still sat obediently, his ears cocked, and gave Holt a meaningful look. “Someone has been very patient.”
“Okay, c’mon over, Sam, I know you’re dying to say hello.” Released from his command to stay, the dog bounded toward Jessica and tried to jump on her. “Whoa, boy, down.”
Holt blocked the dog from leaping on Jessica, but she bent forward and let Sam kiss her face. Holt watched as she scrunched her nose up and laughed.
“Such a good boy,” she crooned, and rubbed behind his ears. “Yes, you are the best boy ever, aren’t you?”
Holt told himself he wasn’t jealous of the dog, but Sam’s face was the picture of ecstasy. His eyes had closed to slits and his tongue lolled happily out of his mouth as Jessie stroked his head. She raised her head to look at Holt, still grinning, and he felt something catch in his chest.
This close, he could see her eyes weren’t black, as he’d always thought. They were a deep chocolate brown and surrounded by lush lashes. Her nose was small and pert above full, pink lips, and her skin was warm and glowing. Holt swallowed hard and turned away to stash the mop back in the closet.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she said behind him.
“Nah, don’t be. I wasn’t getting much sleep anyway.”
“Me, either,” she said. She pulled out a stool and sat down. “I remembered there was a container of butter pecan ice cream in the freezer and, after that, I couldn’t sleep because all I could think about was how much I wanted some. So, I am not going back to bed until I’ve had my bowl of ice cream.” She gave him an apologetic look. “I have an insatiable sweet tooth. Do you want to join me?”
Holt chuckled, surprised by her unexpected candor. “Sure. Butter pecan happens to be my favorite.”
“I know.”
Holt paused in front of the refrigerator and turned to look at her. “Really? How do you know that?”
Jessie bent down to pat Sam, who had come to sit at her feet. She looked embarrassed. “My abuela mentioned it. I went shopping with her once and asked why she bought so many gallons at a time. She said she had to, because it disappears so fast.”
Holt made a grunting noise as he opened the freezer. “We’re a houseful of men. Everything disappears fast.”
He withdrew a gallon of ice cream, pulled two bowls down from a cupboard, and began dishing out portions. When he finished, he put the container back in the freezer and slid one bowl across to Jessie. He didn’t sit down but instead leaned against the opposite side of the island as he dug into the sweet treat.
“So why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked between bites, not looking at her.
“Honestly?”
Glancing at her, Holt wasn’t certain he wanted to know because he sensed he might be the reason. “Sure.”
“I kept thinking about how you reacted at breakfast this morning, and how you so obviously don’t want me here.” She tipped her head as she considered him. “Why is that? Do you dislike me? Have I done something to offend you?”
Holt paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth, and stared at her. How would she react if he told her he didn’t dislike her? That, in fact, the opposite was true? That he found her a huge distraction, to the point where he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking about her? That he’d been unfocused and frustrated, knowing she was in his house? No, he couldn’t tell her any of that. She was forbidden fruit, no matter how tempting and sweet she might be. He set his bowl and spoon down and spread his hands on the island.
“I don’t dislike you,” he began. “Jessica—”
She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Give me a month, Holt. That’s all I’m asking. That will give my grandmother the time she needs to get better and it will give me time to—” She broke off.
“Time to . . . what?”
She retreated, focusing on her bowl. “Nothing.”
But she’d piqued his curiosity. Clearly, she didn’t want to tell him, which made him even more determined to pry it out of her.
“No, tell me. I’d like to know.”
Jessie glanced at him and Holt thought she looked embarrassed. She pushed her spoon through her softening ice cream. “I have a plan, but I need a month or so to see if it works.”
Holt took another bite of his late night dessert, intrigued. “Oh, yeah? What does this plan involve?”
Now there was no question she was uncomfortable. She was practically squirming on her seat. “You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”
“So, tell me anyway. Maybe I can help?”
“I’ve been saving for a food truck. I’ve been approved for a license and I almost have enough money set aside to purchase the truck.”
“A food truck,” Holt mused. “How much do those cost?”
“The one I want is just over fifty thousand dollars. I could take out a loan and own it tomorrow, but I really want to get started without any debt.”
“That doesn’t sound so ridiculous,” he said carefully. “You think you’ll have enough money after a month?”
“I hope so, but that’s not the only reason I came to Riverrun. My father disapproves of my plans and wants me to continue working at the cantina. The thing is, I’ve worked there since I was a teenager, and the cantina is his dream, not mine. He won’t even let me cook because he thinks I’m going to change his recipes and drive away his loyal customers.”
“You want your own business.”
She cast him a grateful look. “Exactly. I have so many great ideas and I’ve tried to implement them at the restaurant, but my father is such a traditionalist. He doesn’t want to take any chances, or do anything that might be risky. He refuses to put anything new or modern on the menu.”
“Well, the carne asada is pretty spectacular just the way it is,” Holt ventured. “Why mess with perfection?”
“Says the man who has ordered the same thing for the past five years.” Jessie smiled at him. “One or two new items wouldn’t hurt. Sometimes you just need to take a chance and try something different, even if it’s out of your comfort zone.”
Holt paused in the act of lifting his spoon. “Are we still talking about the restaurant?”
“What do you think we’re talking about?” she asked, rounding her eyes in innocence.
Holt felt a reluctant smile curve his mouth. “I can have an open mind and take chances.”
“Uh-huh.” Her tone clearly said she didn’t b
elieve him. “I’d like to see that.”
“Would you really?”
The air between them turned heavy, weighted with awareness and anticipation. Jessie’s gaze drifted downward, over his bare shoulders and arms, before lifting back to his face. She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
The simple word sent Holt’s heart careering. His very open-minded imagination took off with all the possibilities of how he could demonstrate his liberal leanings. Before he could respond, Jessie beat a fast retreat.
“Anyway,” she said brightly, focusing on her ice cream, “this is an opportunity for me to step back from the restaurant and get my own business up and running.”
With her attention no longer fixed on him, Holt found he could breathe normally again.
“Have you talked to your grandmother about your plans?”
Jessie looked at him. “Of course. She knows everything.”
“Does she know you need money?”
Jessie recoiled. “I would never ask her for a loan, Holt. Anything she has, she’ll need for her retirement. I can manage on my own.”
Holt suppressed a smile. “Okay, forget I mentioned it. Do you think there’s enough business in Last Stand to sustain a food truck?”
“I do think so. There’s the Peach Festival and the Bluebonnet Festival, Cinco de Mayo, the Fourth of July parade and rodeo, and the Christmas festival. And that’s just here in Last Stand. I could also attend festivals in surrounding areas—there’s always a celebration of some kind going on. When there is no festival, I could set up near the park and sell Mexican street food from the truck. People could also hire the truck—and me—for special events, like birthday parties or graduations.”
The words tumbled out of her, as if she was trying to convince herself rather than him that a food truck was a good idea.
“Mexican street food, hmm? My dad used to bring me to Mexico sometimes as a kid, when he would go to purchase cattle. I always loved getting street food.” Holt thought the idea had merit. There were two Mexican restaurants in town, including the cantina, but Last Stand was a tourist destination and there were always people looking to eat something fast, affordable, and delicious. And everything Jessica cooked was amazing. She’d have no shortage of customers. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“You do?”
“It’s never wrong if you’re following your passion.”
Jessie stared at him as if he’d said something outrageous.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Jessie said, shaking her head. “I guess I just thought—well, everyone except my grandmother is against the idea, so I just assumed you would be too.”
“I’m not quite as old-fashioned and decrepit as you think.”
Jessie laughed. “Trust me, I’ve never thought of you as decrepit.”
The space between them was suddenly taut. More than anything, Holt wanted to know what she did think of him, but he wouldn’t ask.
Jessie pushed her bowl away. “Well, that was delicious. I should probably get back to bed. Morning will be here before we know it. I’ll just clean up.”
“Let me,” Holt said, as she stood. “I’ll throw the dishes in the dishwasher and no one will be the wiser that we were even here.”
“Our secret, hmm?”
The conspiratorial smile she gave him was charming, making him suddenly wish they did have shared secrets. The unexpected longing hit him like a punch in the gut, because he’d vowed to never go down that road again. He wasn’t sure he could ever trust another woman with his secrets. He’d learned the hard way that secrets could come back and bite you right in the ass. He’d been single for this long; another fifty years or so wouldn’t kill him.
“Well, unless you want to take the blame for why we go through so much ice cream in this house,” he said, trying to lighten things up, “we don’t have to tell anyone about your midnight forays into the freezer.”
She pulled a face. “I told you I have a sweet tooth. I can’t promise it won’t happen again.” She paused. “You’re always welcome to join me, though.”
Holt was aware that most people thought of him as unimaginative. Boring. They’d undoubtedly be surprised if they knew how her words impacted him. His head was suddenly filled with erotic images of her indulging in a midnight snack that had nothing to do with food—although some whipped cream wouldn’t go wrong in this particular fantasy.
He needed to put some distance between them. No way would he tell her his inability to sleep had everything to do with her. That would fall into the category of giving her power. Nor was he sure he wanted to make a habit of meeting her for a midnight tryst. He’d end up sleep-deprived and even more sexually frustrated than he was already. He pushed the disturbing thoughts aside and gathered up the ice cream bowls.
“It’s probably better if I don’t make a habit out of this,” he said gruffly, turning away. “But if anyone asks, I’ll say I’m the one going through the ice cream, so feel free to indulge.”
“Oh. Okay, well, thank you for helping me clean up the evidence,” she said.
Holt stashed the dishes in the dishwasher and snapped out the light. “After you.”
He followed her down the dim hallway to the bottom of the stairs, where she paused. Rosa-Maria’s apartment was through the dining room, on the far side of the house.
“Good night, Holt,” she said softly. In the dim light that streamed in through the windows, she looked seductive. Mysterious. “Thank you again.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He was unprepared when she leaned up and pressed a swift, soft kiss against his mouth.
“Sleep tight,” she murmured, and she began to turn away.
“Jessica.”
“Yes?” She spun back toward him and her expression looked hopeful.
His hands went to her hips and tugged her closer, and his mouth sought hers again, brushing lightly over her lips. He told himself he’d back off if she gave any indication the kiss was unwelcome. Instead, she pressed in and wound her arms around his neck. Her fingers stroked his bare skin and Holt slanted his mouth over hers, seeking better access. She made a small noise and opened, and the touch of her tongue against his was electrifying. He gathered her closer, until he could feel the press of her soft breasts against his bare chest. He slid one hand to the back of her head, sifting his fingers through her long hair and cradling her scalp as he feasted on her mouth. How long they stood locked together in the scalding darkness was a mystery to Holt. It could have been mere minutes, but the erotic kiss seemed to go on forever.
When she finally pulled away, Holt found himself reluctant to release her. She held on to his hands and then leaned forward and pressed a single, searing kiss against the center of his chest, before she stepped back.
“Good night, Holt.”
Before he could respond, she vanished through the doorway that led to the apartment.
“Good night, Jessica.”
Holt climbed the stairs to his own bedroom, knowing he wouldn’t get any sleep that night.
Chapter Seven
Ignoring the nagging headache from a lack of sleep, Jessie managed to make her way to the kitchen the following morning in time to prepare breakfast for the Claiborne men. By the time they filed into the kitchen at eight o’clock, she had a heaping platter of breakfast quesadillas stuffed with fluffy eggs, bacon, cheese, and avocado and a skillet of crispy potatoes, accompanied by bowls of fresh pico de gallo and sour cream. Then, because Gus had a sweet tooth, she had also made sweet empanadas with a fruit filling, dusted with sugar.
“Ah, this all looks delicious,” Gus said, surveying the table. “Thank you, my dear.”
Despite his kind words, Jessie had the distinct sense that Gus was out of sorts and putting on a good face for her sake. There were shadows under his blue eyes that said something was troubling him.
“Is everything okay?” she asked quietly.
He pinioned her with a sharply assessing look and his smile grew wider
, but Jessie thought it was no less artificial. “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”
“No reason,” she said hastily, wondering if her grandmother’s absence had anything to do with his subdued manner. “But I think you should get more rest. I heard you in your office at five a.m.”
Gus chuckled and it seemed more natural. “That means you’ve been up since five a.m., as well.”
“Well, I had a reason to be up so early.” She smiled. “But if you don’t have to do chores, you should sleep in. You’ve earned it.”
“Sleep eludes me these days, my dear. Forgive me if I don’t eat at the table this morning. I have a lot of work to catch up on, so I’m going to have breakfast in my office.”
“I’ll put together a tray for you and bring it right in,” Jorie offered.
“That’s exactly what your grandmother would have done,” Gus said wistfully.
Gus vanished into his office once more as Holt and Evan entered through the terrace door. Jessie’s gaze slid to Holt as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He wore a Henley jersey with the sleeves pushed up over his strong forearms. The soft fabric emphasized the broad thrust of his shoulders and the planes of his chest, and Jessie recalled again how he had looked last night, when he’d worn no shirt at all. She could still feel the pressure of his body against her own, still taste him against her lips. As much as she’d tried, she’d been unable to find sleep after she’d left him.
Even now, the memory of that kiss caused her body to tingle all over. She couldn’t stop thinking about all that hard, warm muscle, or the cobbled terrain of his stomach. The guy was supremely fit. Last night, she’d seen a side of him that she’d never seen before; a warm and humorous side. A tender, sexy side. Combined with his good looks, Jessie couldn’t believe he was still single. He was the stuff fantasies were made of.
“Will you join us?” Evan interrupted her thoughts.
“No, not this morning,” Jessie said, retrieving Gus’s plate and heaping it with food. “I promised your father I would bring this in to him and then I have a few things to do.”
Holt turned from the counter and their eyes met. His expression gave nothing away, but Jessie thought his eyes held a secretive smile, as if he was also thinking about the previous night.