The Pursuit of Jesse

by Helen Brenna

  Jesse’s mouth watered at the thought of his first home-cooked meal in almost four years.

  “Come on, Jess.” Garrett started toward the back of the house. “I’ll show you to your room before we eat.”

  Jesse picked up his bag and followed Garrett down a hallway off the kitchen. “Erica and I are upstairs with the kids,” he said. “You’re in the spare room down here. We’d been using it for storage, so it’s nothing special.”

  Jesse walked through the doorway and flicked on the light. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was sparse and plain. There was a bed, dresser and bedside table. The closet was still full of boxes, camping gear and luggage.

  “I know it’s basic, but—”

  “It’s clean,” Jesse said. “It has a bed.” He threw his bag onto the mattress. For years, he’d dreamed of this moment, he’d dreamed of being free, but now that he was out it all seemed terribly wrong. He didn’t belong here. This was all too perfect. Too nice. Too good for the likes of him.

  “And there aren’t any prison bars,” Garrett said softly.

  “Nope.” Jesse glanced out the window into the dusky early evening, saw the snow falling more gently now and felt sweat break out on his brow. Most of the men he’d gotten to know in prison would’ve been leaping for joy right about now. An open window. Open door. A couple of open bars down on Main Street. And from what Garrett had said a few ready-and-willing single women.

  Women like Sarah with her long, straight black hair, piercing blue eyes, made almost fierce with those thick arching eyebrows and dark lashes. And those lips with their dramatic fullness. It’d been almost four years since he’d touched a woman, four long years since he’d been touched with anything even remotely resembling tenderness.

  Abruptly, the look on Sarah’s face as she stared at him through her window just a short while ago flashed through his memory. He glanced back at his brother. “You told her about me, didn’t you?”

  Garrett held his gaze. “You mean Sarah?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “If you’re going to be working in her home, she deserved to know.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed. That’s fair.” Jesse was going to have to live with being a felon from here on out, so he might as well get used to it. “What exactly did you tell her?”

  “What we agreed on. Only that you’d gotten out of prison.”

  “She was okay with that?”

  “Not entirely, but Sarah’s one of our best friends. She trusts me.” He sighed. “Erica’s the only one who knows the whole truth. I haven’t told anyone else on this island anything about you. Now that Sarah knows you came straight from prison, that’s bound to get out. It’s up to you how much more you want to tell anyone else.”

  Jesse looked away for a moment. “What about Zach?”

  “He doesn’t even know the prison part. Kids ask a lot of questions, Jess. I thought it best you told him when you were ready, but I wouldn’t wait too long. He’s bound to hear rumors, and it’s probably better if he hears the truth from you.”

  “Look, if me being here is going to cause you too much trouble, I’ll go someplace else.” Already his feet were itching to hit the road. All he needed was an excuse. On second thought, maybe what he wanted was an excuse.

  “You don’t have any place else to go and you know it.”

  “I can find a job someplace else.” Someplace where no one knew him. Where no one knew what he’d done.

  “Don’t you dare start thinking about cutting and running,” Garrett said. “I stuck my neck out for you. Promised Sarah you’d finish her house.”

  Jesse hadn’t made any promises, so he sure as hell couldn’t break any. All he wanted—all he needed—was some traveling cash. Just enough to get him a long, long way from Wisconsin. Hell, before he’d gone to prison the longest he’d ever stayed in the same town had been three months. He gave Mirabelle two months, tops. As soon as spring hit he was history.

  “Jesse, I mean it. She needs that house finished before the end of May.”

  “Don’t worry about it, bro.”

  Garrett studied him for a moment. “I’m not going to lie to you. Mirabelle’s a small island. This whole place is going to be buzzing with the news about you coming. Why you’re here. Where you came from. This place is just like any other. Some will cut you some slack. Some will hate you on sight. But if there’s ever a place that’ll give you a chance to start over, start fresh, Mirabelle is it.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Erica called from the kitchen.

  His chest tightened. The last thing in the world Jesse could stand in that moment was sitting around a cozy table with Garrett in his perfect house with his perfect family. Maybe starting over, starting fresh wasn’t at all what Jesse deserved. Besides, four years of sucking it up while guards told him what to do and when was enough.

  “You know what?” Jesse said, smiling. “I think I might head downtown.” Just because he could. “I’m feeling a little antsy. Figure I’ll get the lay of the land. Check out Main Street.”

  Refusing to look at Garrett’s face, knowing all he’d find in the depths of his brother’s eyes was disappointment, Jesse put his head down and walked toward the front door. “I won’t be too late. Don’t bother waiting up for me.”

  He tugged on the coat Garrett had lent him, walked through the kitchen, keeping his gaze averted from Erica and the kids, and slipped out the front door. He was halfway down the hill before he felt as if his chest wasn’t going to cave in on him. Breathe, Jesse. Breathe.

  The rush of cold air recharged his senses and he went on his way. Having absolutely no idea where he was going, Jesse let his feet take him wherever they wanted to go. Before he knew it, he’d passed the pier, hit Main and headed down the middle of the deserted, snow-smattered cobblestone street.

  He walked a few blocks, passing stately black lampposts and the picturesque storefronts of Main Street Mirabelle businesses, a few even trimmed with understated but colorful winter lights. Everything was neat and tidy.

  Hell, even the snow seemed to understand it had better behave on Mirabelle. Every sidewalk had been shoveled clean, and just enough of the picturesque white stuff had accumulated on windowsills, signs and bare tree branches to give all of Main Street the appearance of a holiday greeting card. This place really had to be something in the summer. Too bad he wouldn’t be around to see it.

  He glanced up and saw Duffy’s Pub scrolled in large brass letters across the front of a brick building. That was Erica and Garrett’s place now that they’d bought it from the previous owners. Not what Jesse wanted tonight. What he needed was the peace of at least one night of anonymity.

  Pushing himself onward, he passed a bright red candy store, a gift shop that looked as fanciful as its name Whimsy implied and a flower shop. Weddings and Flowers by Sarah. Garrett had explained that Sarah needed to get into her house before her wedding season started. This had to be her store.

  With a display of the trappings of a wedding—photo albums, a towering cake, sample invitations, floral bouquets, even a pair of lacy bridal gloves and glittering sandals—it was clear Sarah had an eye for pretty innocent things. She’d taken one look at him and had known he didn’t fit in her world. She’d been right.

  He was about to call it a night and head back to Garrett’s when he glanced down a side street and noticed light emanating through frost-covered windows a couple blocks down. There just might be a bar or restaurant off the beaten path that better suited him and his mood.

  Making his way down the sidewalk, he read the sign out front swinging in the bitter wind. The Rusty Nail Tavern. Either the place had fallen on hard times, or the owner preferred a low-key, somewhat tacky appearance. In any case, Jesse had something in common after all with at least one establishment on this island fantasyland.

  He opened the door and hesitated. Immediately, his senses were assaulted by the sounds of rock music, laughter and conversation, the slight scent of stale beer and even more stale
cigarette smoke. He hadn’t been in a bar, let alone around people drinking, since…

  Go back to Garrett’s, idiot. You don’t need to do this. Things can be different. Better.

  Yeah? How? This is what you do. This is what you always do. I’m not going to drink, anyway. Even if I did there are no cars on this island, so what could possibly be the harm?

  He plastered a smile on his face, stepped inside and headed right for the bar. The first thing he noticed was a cute blonde sitting a few stools away and nursing a tall pink concoction. She honed in on him like a hunter with a twelve-point buck in his sights.

  “What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

  Even on a cold evening like this a beer sounded damned good. Then again, screwing things up the first night in Dodge probably wasn’t a good idea. There’d be plenty of time for that later. “Cola, please.”

  “You visiting Mirabelle?” he asked, filling a glass with ice.

  “Here for a couple months. Some construction work.”

  “Tom Bent,” he said, setting the soda in front of Jesse.

  “Pleased to meet you. Jesse.” Just Jesse tonight. Even whispering the name of Taylor was bound to put a damper on the evening.

  “Well, don’t be a stranger.” The owner wandered off.

  Predictably, the blonde slid off her bar stool and walked toward him. Garrett be damned, right along with his order for Jesse to steer clear of the single women on this island. As long as Jesse was stuck here on Mirabelle, he might as well have some fun. She wasn’t really his type, but there was no wedding ring in sight and she’d certainly help in passing the time.

  “Well, hello, stranger,” she said. “I may have just moved to Mirabelle last spring, but I’m sure I’ve never seen hide nor hair of you on this island before.”

  “Hello, yourself. I’m Jesse.”

  “Sherri Phillips.”

  “Did you say Sugar? Sugar Phillips? ’Cause you sure look sweet.”

  “Sherri, silly.” She laughed and moved a little closer. “I own a hair salon a couple doors down, and I can’t wait to get my hands on your…head.”

  “You can get your hands on any part of me anytime you want,” he said softly.

  “That’s what I like to hear.” She slid her hands along his arms. “Just so you know, though, strings don’t stay on this little package. Understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  This was more like it. Finally, after four long years, Jesse was back in his comfort zone.

  HER ELBOWS RESTING on the counter and her head in her hands, Sarah sat in her tiny apartment kitchen late that night with her laptop in front of her. She’d waited until Brian was sound asleep before logging on to the internet, and although she’d been at it for almost an hour searching for information, she’d had absolutely no luck.

  Naturally, she’d located several people with the name Jesse Taylor, including a teacher at a martial-arts studio, a couple of teenagers with social-networking pages, a doctor at a medical clinic in Cincinnati and the president of a seafood company in Alabama. None of the individuals listed were of the same approximate age as Garrett’s brother, and she could find no record of a Jesse Taylor ever having lived in the Chicago area. It was as if Garrett’s brother didn’t exist.

  On top of that, she couldn’t find a single mention of a legal issue or newspaper report involving a Jesse Taylor. Four years, though, was a fairly long prison term. Whatever he’d done, it’d been serious.

  She searched for the types of crimes leading to four-year terms and discovered any number of infractions he could’ve committed. He could’ve been convicted of a robbery or rape. Maybe he’d been dealing cocaine, or gotten busted for operating a meth lab. It was possible he’d embezzled tens of thousands of dollars from little old ladies. Some of the crimes were violent, others were not.

  She conjured the image of Jesse’s face in her mind. That smile. Those eyes. His hand had felt so warm, his touch so engaging. It was difficult to imagine that someone as fun-loving as he appeared could’ve done anything to deserve prison time, let alone something violent. Not knowing what crime Jesse Taylor had committed worried her. Finding herself even remotely attracted to him in spite of it worried her much, much more.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE SOUND of heavy rock music blaring from a radio in the kitchen, Jesse ignored the two boys standing in the corner of one of the bedrooms in Sarah’s house watching him work. Every day since he’d arrived on Mirabelle more than a week ago, they’d come here wanting to help and every day Jesse had done his best to ignore them. Today, although Zach was clearly interested in the ins and outs of ripping out old carpet, he rifled through the tools in the toolbox lying on the floor. Brian, on the other hand, watched Jesse’s every move.

  “Don’t you boys have anything better to do than stand there staring at me day in and day out?” The presence of an audience was a bit disconcerting as far as Jesse was concerned, but at least they were kids. He didn’t feel the need to make nice with a couple of nine-year-olds.

  Zach glanced hopefully at Brian. “We could go up to the community center and shoot some hoops.”

  This small island had a community center? Jesse might have to check that out.

  “I’m sick of basketball,” Brian muttered.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m so ready for baseball to start I can taste the hot dogs,” Brian said. “You ever play any ball, Jesse?”

  Hell, yes. There was a time the Taylor boys had dominated the game of baseball in their Chicago neighborhood. With Garrett pitching, Chris on first, Drew catching and Jesse at shortstop, it got to be no one within a couple-mile radius would play ball with the Taylors unless they split two and two between teams.

  He almost smiled as the memories flooded his senses. The hot sun on the back of his neck. The dusty, dirt fields. The smell and feel of an oiled leather glove. Back then the worst things he’d had to worry about were skinned knees and how bad of a mood their dad would be in when he got home from work.

  “Yeah, I played baseball when I was a kid,” Jesse blurted out before remembering he shouldn’t be engaging these boys. The last thing he needed was for the two of them to think he wanted them hanging around here.

  “Zach pitches and I play shortstop,” Brian said. “What position did you play?”

  “You boys need to move.” Jesse yanked up the last corner of the carpet and started rolling it. “You’re in the way. You don’t want to play b-ball, fine. Figure something else out. Anything not here is better than nothing.”

  “We wouldn’t be doing nothing if you let us help,” Brian said, raising his eyebrows.

  “And what if you get hurt? Or screw something up?”

  Zach’s shoulders slumped as if Jesse had hit a nerve, and a pang of guilt niggled at his conscience. That kid had had a tough enough start to life. Jesse sure didn’t need to make things worse.

  “We’re not stupid,” Brian said, undaunted. “We know how to do things.”

  “Yeah,” Zach added. “Even Garrett lets us help with stuff sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not Garrett.” Jesse crossed his arms. “So hit the roa—”

  “You lift weights, don’t you?” Brian asked, his attention instantly redirected to the bulk of Jesse’s chest.

  Jesse kept his mouth shut. The answer to that question would go over like a lead balloon. Other than work out what the hell else was there to do in prison? Except for read. In fact, he’d read so much he’d managed to get a two-year community-college degree through online courses. At least one good thing had come from his incarceration.

  He considered telling the boys about his stint in prison. Better they get the truth from him rather than rumors and lies from someone else, as Garrett had said. What explanation could he give that wouldn’t make the boys think less of him? The fact that he cared the slightest bit about what they thought of him was an entirely different matter.

  “We have free weights at
our house,” Zach added. “But Garrett won’t let me lift the heavy stuff yet. Says my bones aren’t ready.”

  As far as Jesse was concerned, weight rooms were things from his past. He’d quite happily get his workouts through physical labor from here on out. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of a gloved hand, he rolled up the rest of the dirty green shag and hoisted it up and over his left shoulder. His biceps screamed, his quads burned, he was dirty as a bum and he’d never felt better. He was a free man with a job and a place to stay. Life was about as good as it was going to get. At least until he got off this frozen rock of an island and moved as far south as he could.

  Moving south. That thought more than anything suddenly improved his mood. A nice balmy breeze, sand between his toes. Girls in bikinis, golden skin slathered in oil. Mmm, mmm, mmm. How long had it been since he’d kissed a woman? Smelled a woman’s hair? Felt soft, warm feminine skin under his fingertips? And he wasn’t talking about anything like what had happened last week in the bathroom of the Rusty Nail between him and Sherri. That had amounted to nothing more than soothing a physical need. No, what he had in mind was something softer, more tender. He flashed on the way Sarah’s hand had felt in his, and the heavy carpet wobbled, nearly toppling him over.

  Steady, man. Rebalancing the roll over his left shoulder, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

  “I’ll get the front door!” Brian said, running down the hall.

  The kid seemed so hungry for male attention, but for the first time since they’d shown up almost an hour ago, Jesse was glad they were around. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about the kid’s father. Garrett had said Sarah was single, but did her ex live on the island? If not, where was he?

  Jesse carefully angled the length of carpet through the front door and across the porch before flipping the roll into the Dumpster Garrett had delivered Jesse’s first morning on the island. When he turned, he noticed Brian’s mom, her shoulders squared and her head held high, walking across the snow-covered yard.