Midnight Exposure

by Melinda Leigh

  “Come on, Jayne.” Scott handed the gas can to his dad. “I could use breakfast too.”

  Jayne followed Scott. The prospects of food and a shower lightened her step. On the porch, she glanced over her shoulder. Reed was still standing in the same place, staring at the red fuel can in his hand as if he didn’t know what it was.

  It was a good thing her stay with the Kimballs would be short. Reed had saved her, but he obviously couldn’t deal with her presence. Something traumatic in his past had left its mark, stunted his ability to connect with other people.

  Reed was far more adept at hiding his feelings, but the man clearly had plenty of his own scars. Just because his were on the inside didn’t make him any less damaged.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Reed parked the fueled snowblower on the porch and faced the house. Through the window, he watched Jayne move around the kitchen. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the mass of curly hair hanging down her back. Scott’s sweats hung low on her hips. She handled the kitchen equipment deftly, with an efficiency that suggested she was no stranger to household chores.

  Jayne was definitely not a hothouse orchid. If she were a flower, she’d be a tiger lily, tall, resilient, and bright. The fact that he’d almost said those words made his palms clammy under his insulated work gloves.

  She’d been abducted and held prisoner, and still had the ability to smile, to give. She’d been about to comfort him for Christ’s sake. Had he ever met anyone so strong? So kind? So generous?

  No. No. And no.

  But along with jolting his sleeping soul back to life, Jayne had stirred up his carefully orchestrated life, a life in which he didn’t dare allow anyone to get close. Men with secrets couldn’t afford scrutiny or complete honesty. Tough to have a relationship without those and the trust that went along with them. So far, he hadn’t been tempted to try, but Jayne was different. He’d been alone for years, but he’d never felt lonely until she showed up. Honest, courageous, valiant. All the things he wasn’t.

  He’d contemplated backing out of his promise to Hugh just a few hours ago.

  What would she do if she knew everything? Would she feel as safe with him? Or would she sleep behind a locked door with one eye open? She deserved better, someone without all his baggage. Face it, he had a wagon full, far too heavy a load for a twiceassaulted woman to share.

  He stepped into the mudroom and shook the flakes from his parka before hanging it to dry. His gloves had their own pegs. Boots went on the rubber tray. Reed turned toward the kitchen and hesitated at the threshold.

  A redheaded tornado had blown through his kitchen. Food containers littered the counters. Frying pans sizzled on the stove. Jayne held a bowl in one Band-Aid-tipped hand and a whisk in the other. Her hair was a warm copper against a backdrop of sleek gray and black, a shock of color in his monochromatic kitchen. She gestured to Scott, who lounged at the center island. A yellow glob flew off the whisk and landed on the formerly pristine ebony granite. Through the doorway beyond, the bare Christmas tree stood crookedly in its stand. Boxes of decorations littered the floor.

  “Oh, hi.” Jayne whirled as he padded into the room in damp socks. “I started breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Um. No. That’s fine.”

  Scott beamed. “Jayne’s gonna help with the tree, too.”

  A tiny kernel of resentment lodged in Reed’s chest. The tree was the one Christmas tradition he shared with his son. Father-son bonding experiences were few and far between these days. Next year, Scott would be leaving for college.

  “It’s the least I can do.” Jayne slipped a piece of bread from a plate, dunked it into the beaten eggs, and slid it into a sizzling pan. She stopped to turn the bacon frying on the next burner before repeating the process with three more slices.

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Reed said.

  “It’s OK. I’d rather keep busy.” She shot him a brittle smile. Ridiculously, Reed was relieved that her sunny disposition was a brave front. The woman had been through hell. He felt like a total shit for resenting her participation in their Christmas ritual, even if it had only been for a split second. Jayne needed activity to keep her imagination off her abductor and where he might be right now, not to mention the horrors she’d already suffered. “Scott wanted French toast.”

  “Did he?” Reed pulled a paper towel off the roll and wiped the dots of egg off the floor.

  His son grinned and rested his chin on his fists. “Dad doesn’t cook much.”

  “I saw the pile of Hungry-Mans in the freezer.” Jayne traded the whisk for a spatula and slid food onto plates with the competence of a short-order cook. More bacon and French toast went on the stove. Grease splattered. “That’s a shame. You have restaurant-quality appliances here.”

  “That’s what the realtor said.” Reed took the stool seat next to his son and watched Jayne’s nervous bustle. He liked the kitchen clean and free of clutter, like his workshop—and his life.

  “We eat a lot of sandwiches,” Scott said.

  Jayne set loaded plates in front of them both.

  “I cook sometimes. I make eggs and bacon every weekend.” Reed cringed at the whiny edge in his voice as he cut off a corner of French toast and stuffed it into his mouth. More eating, less talking. There was no reason for him to get to know Jayne any better. She’d be gone tomorrow. Jayne was meant to live in the spotlight, while he was destined to live in the dark.

  “Fried eggs on Saturday. Pancakes on Sunday. The frozen kind. Precooked microwave bacon.” Scott shot Reed a smug look.

  “There’s nothing wrong with keeping to a schedule.” A routine kept life from disintegrating into chaos and kept Reed sane. “Nothing seems to stop you from eating vast quantities of everything.”

  Scott had too much food in his mouth to respond, but he gave Reed an eye roll that adequately communicated his opinion of their meal routine.

  Jayne reloaded Scott’s plate before he’d cleared it. Without lifting his head, Scott grunted his thanks.

  “Hey.” Reed lightly slapped his son’s shoulder, then turned to Jayne. “Please excuse his manners.”

  “It’s fine. Eating is serious business for teenage boys. I have brothers. Two older and one younger. They used to eat every meal like they were never gonna see another one. I learned how to stretch a stew early.”

  Scott swallowed. “Stew. Yum.”

  Jayne filled her own plate. Reed covered a wince with a cough as frying pans were dumped in the sink and topped with a few squirts of dish soap. Water followed with a hiss and corresponding billow of steam. Jayne left the pans to soak and took the seat next to Reed. Her silverware clattered and she pushed the food around on her plate. Very few forkfuls made it into her mouth. “Do you cook a lot?” Scott asked between shovelfuls of food.

  “Didn’t have much of a choice. My parents died when I was twelve. The four of us were on our own. My oldest brother, Pat, was twenty-two. He took over the bar. The rest of us were stuck with house duty until we were old enough to help him.” Pride and affection edged her chatter as she cut her French toast over and over into absurdly small pieces. “Pat did whatever he had to do to keep us all together. And to thank him, we gave him a lot of gray hair.”

  A sense of inadequacy slid over Reed. Jayne’s brother had barely been an adult when he raised his siblings and took over the family business. Jayne was keeping house at twelve. Reed struggled to raise one child, and he’d failed miserably as a husband. Since his wife’s death, he’d avoided personal relationships and all the vulnerability and complications that went with them. Caring about people twisted him up inside, like now, when he watched a beautiful woman bravely struggling to be normal after a terrible trauma. And look how his one semifriendship, with Hugh, had turned around to bite him on the ass. Friends expected to be able to ask for favors occasionally.

  Reed used his napkin to wipe an egg splatter from the sleek granite counter. “That’s young to take on three kids and
a business.”

  Jayne shrugged. “Well, Conor was twenty. He was pretty much raised. But Pat should still be sainted. Danny was only eleven, and the two of us were a huge pain in his butt.”

  Reed’s heart clenched. Scott had lost his mother at the same age as Jayne. The first couple of years had been rough. Both Scott and Jayne had learned to live again, though. Unlike Reed.

  Scott swallowed half a glass of orange juice and came up for air. “What’re your brothers like?”

  “Pat’s married. I live with him, his wife, and their three kids. He’s big and patient and he works all the time. Worries about the rest of us nonstop. He’s a great dad.” Jayne’s face was animated; her eyes went liquid and she seemed to calm as she talked about her brothers. “We all work the bar, but Pat’s definitely the boss. Conor’s the quiet one. He’s also the practical joker. Danny’s the rebel. He went into the army after high school. He was injured in Iraq and went through a severe bout of depression. But we got him the help he needed—and the rest of us are on his case enough that he’s snapping out of it.”

  “I wish I had brothers or sisters,” Scott said. “Mom couldn’t have any more kids.”

  Unpleasant memories turned the French toast in Reed’s mouth to paste. The truth was, Madeline had had enough trouble dealing with one child and a cop husband. She hadn’t wanted any more kids. Something Scott did not need to know.

  He cleared his throat. Time to put an end to this morning’s show-and-tell session. “So, the plan is for me and Scott to clear the drive today. The weather’s improving. I should be able to get you to town tomorrow. Either the phone or Internet should be up by then, too.”

  Jayne looked down. She pushed her plate away mostly full. “You guys go ahead. I’ll take care of the kitchen. Then I’ll use the shower if it’s OK.”

  “Of course it’s OK. There a Jacuzzi if you want to use it.” Reed stood. His arms ached with the need to comfort her. The desire to pull her close was as disconcerting as her turmoil. But after tomorrow, it would be Hugh’s job to ensure her safety. Reed would be off the hook. Better to keep his distance. Jayne’s presence threatened the invisible life he’d worked so hard to attain.

  Reed backed away. “Scott, please restock the wood on the porch and load the stove before you come out.”

  His son patted Jayne on the arm on his way to the mudroom. Jayne gave him a sad smile.

  “Don’t worry, Jayne. Dad’ll make sure you’re OK.”

  Scott’s promise hit Reed like an uppercut to the belly.

  Keeping Jayne safe was Hugh’s job. Reed hadn’t asked for the responsibility. If he turned her over to Hugh, Reed’s duty would be done. He could restore his life to its former order. No more complications. No more risk.

  Jayne would take her bright smile back to Philadelphia, and Reed would crawl back into the shadows.

  Jayne glanced out the window as she set the last plate in the dishwasher. Nothing was coming out of the sky. Tomorrow Reed would take her into town.

  Then what?

  She’d report the crime, collect her Jeep, and head back to Philadelphia as soon as the roads were clear? Now that her courage had petered out, the thought of driving eight hundred miles alone made her knees weak and her eyes swell with tears. She couldn’t do it. She’d call Pat. One of her brothers would fly up and drive her home.

  The only problem was that home didn’t feel safe either. Getting away from Philly hadn’t made a difference. Once she left Reed’s isolated house in the woods, she might never feel secure again. Of course, given what had happened, she wasn’t safe here either.

  Would she ever feel safe again?

  She reached under the sink for steel wool, tripping over the dog sleeping at her feet. After patting Sheba’s fluffy head, Jayne straightened and plunged her hand into the soapy water in search of the cast-iron pan.

  When it was clean and dried, she stared out the window, watching Scott cross the yard. He was headed for the tarp-covered woodpile next to the shed. He’d need someone to hold the porch door open for him. She stopped in the mudroom to borrow boots and a jacket, but a movement through the panes in the door pulled her to the threshold before she had a chance to don them. Sheba butted her knees. The dog’s hackles lifted.

  A feeling of unease passed over her as she pushed the storm door open and sidled through the opening, pushing Sheba firmly back into the house. “Stay.”

  Scott grabbed another piece of wood and added to the pile in his arms. Jayne scanned the area. The hair on her neck tickled. Something was out there. On the other side of the door, Sheba let out a furious bark. Jayne’s gaze swept the trees.

  And she saw it.

  A small wolf stood about thirty feet away from Scott, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Thin, scraggly gray fur stood up on the back of its neck. It stepped forward. A low growl emanated from its throat.

  Scott.

  Ice crawled down Jayne’s spine and liquefied in her belly. Driven by instinct, she stepped out into the yard. She barely felt the moisture soak through her socks. Her heart protested, banging furiously on the inside of her breastbone.

  Scott eased back. He dropped all but one of the logs, holding the remaining piece in front of him as a weapon.

  Jayne ran on numb feet, passing a fat tree stump, yanking free the ax buried in its scarred surface without stopping. It was heavier than she’d imagined. She tested the weight of the metal head. If the animal attacked, there’d be little time for a big, slow swing. Her best option was a straightforward thrust of the honed edge. She choked up on the handle and prayed it was sharp.

  Jayne drew even with Scott. “Get in the house!”

  Scott shook his head. He didn’t take his eyes off the wolf.

  “Now.” Jayne planted herself between Scott and the wolf. She waved the ax. Her legs shook from cold and terror. “Shoo.”

  The wolf snapped its jaws. Saliva dripped from its muzzle as it focused yellow eyes on Jayne.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The snowblower hitched in Reed’s hands as he rounded the house. He shut off the engine and bent to examine the blades for stick or rocks. He wasn’t even close to the fallen tree yet.

  “Scram. Get out of here!”

  The panic in Jayne’s voice cut through the brittle air. Reed whirled and sprinted toward the house. Her yell had come from around back. He raced around the corner and came to an awkward, sliding stop.

  Jayne stood in the center of the yard, brandishing an ax at a damned big coyote. Coyotes didn’t generally attack adults, but this one looked hungry. The coat was a dull, dirty gray; its ribs visible through the sparse fur.

  Scott reached out to touch Jayne’s shoulder. “It’s OK. It’s just a coyote.”

  Jayne held her position. She waved the ax at the coyote like a mother bear defending her cub.

  Reed ran forward. Inside the house, Sheba hurled her body at the closed door. Scratching and angry barking accompanied the rattling of the frame. With a nervous glance at Reed’s approach, the coyote turned and slunk into the woods.

  Jayne didn’t move. Reed kept jogging until he stood in front of her. Her eyes were wide open, her features frozen with shock. He pried the ax out of her trembling hands.

  “Thank you.”

  Scott stepped up. “It was just a coyote. He probably wouldn’t have hurt me, but thanks anyway.”

  But Jayne hadn’t known that. Reed would never forget the image of her wielding an ax to protect his son.

  Jayne didn’t respond for a few seconds, just stood staring out into the woods, shivering. “That was a coyote?” Her voice quivered.

  Reed’s eyes traveled the length of her. No hat. No coat. No boots. Pants wet to midthigh. Snowflakes in her hair. No thought to her own comfort or safety.

  “You’re going to get pneumonia.” He scooped her off her feet. “We’d better get you dried and thawed—again.”

  “I thought coyotes were small.” Her body shrank and curled into his. “I could’ve sworn that was a
wolf.”

  Reed tried not to like the way she felt in his arms—and failed. This was not the distance he’d sworn to keep. “No wolves in Maine, but the coyotes can be pretty darned big.”

  On the porch, Scott opened the door for them. Reed carried Jayne right through to the master bathroom. He set her on the tiled lip of the tub.

  “Shower or bath?”

  “Uhm. Bath.”

  Reed turned the water on in the Jacuzzi.

  “Can you manage?”

  She nodded but just sat there, trembling and staring at the tile. Lost. Overwhelmed by the surge and ebb of adrenaline no doubt. Reed stacked clean towels and prepared to make his escape.

  Eighteen hours. That’s how long he had to keep his distance. Deep in his soul he knew if he let Jayne into his heart, he’d never get her out again.

  At the door, Reed glanced back. Jayne hadn’t moved. Her face was as white as his fiberglass tub.

  Shit.

  He returned to the tub and adjusted the water temperature before approaching Jayne. Kneeling at her feet, he grasped her ankle and peeled off her sopping socks. A clump of slush fell to the tile floor. Jayne started as he wrapped both his palms around one slender foot and gently rubbed the ice-cold skin.

  He lifted his eyes to hers, an infinite turquoise, clear as the Caribbean. Drowning in their depths would be heaven. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her tongue slid out to moisten lips. Reed’s body leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his face, light as a whisper.

  Jayne blinked up at him. Her head tilted slightly. Her pupils widened, her eyes darkening from tropical sea to stormy ocean.

  “Dad?” Scott’s voice came from the hall.

  Reed jolted and sat back.

  Jayne didn’t move.

  “Tub’s almost ready.” He scrambled to his feet before bolting from the room. A glance back showed her face was flushed—with surprise and something else.

  Reed sincerely hoped he’d imagined the return desire in her eyes. Attraction not returned was far easier to resist than mutual passion.