Clear Intent

by Diane Benefiel

  Thank goodness her hands were otherwise occupied, or she might have weakened and taken him up on the offer. “No, thank you,” she said primly. He was teasing her, she knew it, but still couldn’t help the flush coming up from her neck.

  “You’re a boost to my ego. Where’s Adrian?”

  “At camp until five. Here.” She shoved the bakery box against that solid wall of chest. “Eat the cupcakes, tell Maddy what you think. My job here is done.”

  He stepped back, not taking the box from her. “You brought me cupcakes?”

  “No, I did not bring you cupcakes. I mean, I did, but not voluntarily. Apparently Maddy cannot exist without your opinion. She made me bring them, so rest assured it wasn’t my idea.”

  “What kind are they?”

  “Does it matter? They’re cupcakes.” At his raised brow, she blew out an aggravated breath. “Okay, fine. It’s a new recipe Maddy is trying out, chocolate raspberry cream. Maddy baked a bunch to get people’s opinions. I assured her they’re awesome, but she wants dude opinions, including yours.”

  “Hmm.” He turned his back and walked into his house, and Dory swallowed convulsively to avoid a repeat of the whole choking thing.

  God damnit. She screwed shut her eyes to block the image, but the mental picture was already there. Giving up, she took another peek. Jack’s back was as gorgeous as his front. Smooth, tanned skin covered long lengths of muscle that dipped to the strong column of his spine. Twin dimples rode sexily above the waistband of his shorts. From the über-wide shoulders to the rock-solid waist, there wasn’t an ounce of flab anywhere on the man. And since she’d never been a fan of tattoos, finding all that glorious skin ink-free added another layer of sexiness.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder. He was trying to lure her into the house like the big, bad wolf. She could leave the cupcakes on his doorstep, but then she wouldn’t have Jack’s assessment to report to Maddy. With a sigh of frustration, she marched into the house.

  Jack Morgan didn’t scare her.

  Liar.

  Jack glanced behind him and must have had an idea of what she was thinking, because she caught the glint of a smile before he turned his back again.

  Feeling more than a little out of sorts, she glanced to the left where the space opened into an airy living room. At one end, a table made of what looked like a door resting on sawhorses held a can of wood putty, a belt sander, and several gallon containers labeled “Polyurethane.” A shop vacuum sat in the corner with its hose curled around it. A do-it-yourself project if she ever saw one. The floor showed evidence of the work Jack was doing. About half the wood floor had been sanded, the other half still covered in a scratched, dull finish.

  Dory turned down the hall and into a time warp. The kitchen looked straight out of the 1970s. The Brady Bunch would have been right at home with the avocado green appliances, dark cabinetry, and Formica countertops. Pulling a t-shirt over his head, Jack walked into the dining area to the left of the kitchen where there were wide sliding glass doors that opened to a covered patio. Dory uttered a little sigh when the shirt covered the last strip of muscled belly. On the patio, a punching bag hung from a beam and an A-frame rack of heavy discs stood next to a weight bench.

  “You’ve got quite the manly man workout equipment.”

  “Manly man?”

  She shook her head, not willing to go there. “Never mind.”

  The little mop of a dog followed Jack to the counter where Dory set the bakery box, then sat on the floor at Jack’s feet, little body quivering. Jack opened the box and took out a chocolate cupcake topped with a swirl of cream frosting, a fresh raspberry, and curl of shaved dark chocolate.

  He took an enormous bite and ended up with smears of frosting on his upper lip.

  “Mm, it’s got stuff inside. That’s a bonus.” Jack licked his lip free of frosting, making Dory groan. If he kept this up, she’d be climbing him like a tree and getting some of that frosting for herself. The image that brought to mind had her wishing she could take a quick dip in a frigid pool, because her internal temperature felt like it was redlining.

  The strong column of his throat worked as he swallowed. “Dude opinion is the recipe’s a winner.”

  “Right, got it.” She couldn’t very well fan herself without giving away how Jack affected her, so she knelt to let the little dog sniff her hand. At least she’d worn shorts and a loose blouse and wouldn’t get too overheated. “Who’s your friend here?”

  “Betty.”

  “You named your dog Betty? That’s not a dog name.”

  “It’s her name.”

  Betty looked at her hopefully, her tiny body shaking, so Dory scooped her up to cuddle against her chest. The little dog leaned into her like Dory had rescued her from doggie death row. “How did you end up with such a tiny dog? I would have thought you’d get something studly like a rottweiler or a German shepherd. Not a—” She paused. “What is she? A toy poodle?”

  Jack shook his head. “Maltese.”

  “Isn’t she on the small side for a Maltese?” Betty must have sensed they were talking about her because she raised her sweet little head and gazed adoringly at Jack.

  He shrugged, reaching out a long finger to rub between Betty’s ears, which brought him uncomfortably close. The dog closed her eyes and uttered a little sigh.

  “God, the dog worships you.”

  A shadow crossed his face. “She knows a good thing.”

  “So ’fess up, how come such a little dog?”

  He shrugged. “I’m taking care of her until her owner is able to.”

  “Who is her owner?”

  He studied Dory, then spoke in carefully even tones. “I took a domestic violence call a week ago. Those kill me every time. The woman is in the hospital being treated for a broken jaw and a concussion, among other injuries. Her daughter is staying with grandma. Kiana, the daughter, is fourteen. Betty is hers. Grandma can’t have a dog where she’s living and there isn’t anybody else, so I’m taking care of her until they can.”

  The memories his story brought back flashed to the surface. “What happened to the man?”

  “Took his ass to jail. So far, the mom is standing firm on pressing charges. Hopefully, she won’t change her mind on that.”

  The parallels to Dory’s story were right there between them, and the sheer compassion in Jack’s expression made tears rise in her throat and sting her eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I’m glad she’s leaving him. She’ll need to be strong.” Dory used her shoulder to wipe a tear, then the next thing she knew, Jack was pulling her to him, the little dog snuggled between them. His big hand rubbed up and down her back and Dory gave in to the temptation to rest her head on his chest.

  He kissed her forehead, then laid his cheek against her hair. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

  Her voice was muffled against his shirt as she said, “I get the feeling that’s not all you want to do.”

  “No, but it’s a start.”

  Breathing him in, she took a shaky breath, then another to strengthen her spine, and then stepped back from the comfort.

  She should go, but the compulsion to be with Jack without the sniping that seemed to be their normal go-to had her looking for an excuse to stay. Her gaze settled on a thick notebook with “KITCHEN” scrawled across the cover, resting on the dining table.

  She could tell herself she was interested because she loved watching home makeover shows, but she would be fooling herself. Sure, there was so much potential in the house, she wanted to see what he planned to do to make it into a home, but more, she wanted just a few minutes to see how she and Jack behaved together with no one else around to act as a buffer.

  Jack took a bag of dog treats from the cupboard. Betty began squirming and Dory set her on the floor. She motioned to the notebook. “Can I look?”

  She wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret Jack’s expr
ession. His amusement from a few minutes ago was gone and his face looked carefully set, like he didn’t want to give away what he was thinking. He shrugged and bent down to feed Betty tiny, bone-shaped treats. “Sure.”

  She opened the notebook. There were tabs labeled for flooring, cabinets, countertop, appliances, paint, and plumbing. She flipped through the pages, not sure why she was surprised to find the notebook thorough and organized. When she got to the section on appliances, she gave a deep sigh of appreciation. “You’re putting in a Wolf convection oven? I’m going to have kitchen envy.”

  Jack moved to stand beside her and looked at the page. “How about a Sub-Zero refrigerator, that do anything for you?”

  She actually moaned. “Oh, yeah, it does.” She continued turning pages, noting some of the other appliances he had earmarked. “You must cook.”

  “I do. I like cooking. How about you?” It seemed like he was keeping his voice carefully casual.

  “Absolutely. Once I became a single mom, I decided from that point on I was going to make healthy choices for Adrian and me. One of those choices is limiting processed foods. So I cook, and Adrian is learning how.”

  “That’s good you’re teaching him. Too many guys don’t cook.”

  “Not knowing how to cook is like having a disability. It limits you.”

  Jack tapped a finger on the counter. “This is going, along with the sink.”

  The sink showed stains where the surface had been scratched, and the grout between the hideous tile was missing in places.

  “I would hope so.”

  Jack flipped pages. “What do you think of this? It’s concrete that’s been stained and finished to a shine. It’s easy to put in, durable, and comparatively inexpensive.”

  Dory was already shaking her head. “Which would be perfect in a prison. It’s cold and heartless. Like this sink here.” She tapped the picture in his notebook of a sink he’d highlighted. “You can’t put in stainless steel, unless you’re going industrial. A white porcelain apron sink would be perfect with a stone countertop.”

  “I don’t like granite.”

  “It doesn’t have to be granite. There are a lot of stone options, especially if you’re willing to go with a composite material.”

  Jack leaned back against the counter, his Popeye arms folded across his chest. “Okay, I’ll make a deal. There is an engineered stone countertop I would consider, and if you find me the sink you think would work with it, I’ll think about it.”

  “Even though it’s not my house?”

  His expression sharpened. “Even then.”

  Not sure why her heartrate had kicked up a notch, Dory glanced at her phone. “Wow, it’s getting late. I’ve got to pick up Adrian.”

  Jack stood to walk with her out of the kitchen, Betty tucked in one enormous arm like a football.

  He opened the front door, and suddenly self-conscious, Dory said, “Umm, thanks for doing the taste test for Maddy. I’ll tell her you liked the cupcakes.”

  Jack nodded, and when Dory stepped through the door, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The desire to kiss her was there, in his eyes. But even as her heart thumped in anticipation, she pulled back. She didn’t consider herself a coward, but the need she was starting to feel for Jack scared her.

  She kept moving, and it took all the self-control she possessed not to run down the walkway to her car.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack steered the cruiser down the road that wound through a stand of aspens, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. He should never have allowed Dory to come into his house. He hadn’t been able to resist when she’d shown up at his door, but now whenever he walked into the kitchen, in his mind he saw her sitting at the table, eyes shining as they talked about countertop material. When he’d bought the house and started fixing it up, he’d purposefully tried to keep her out of his head. He couldn’t remodel for her and Adrian. Even though in his heart he wanted for them to be a family, it made him feel pathetic to fix up his house for a woman who might never have him.

  Now he was on his way to Dory’s house, and the news he was bringing brought up another well of unwanted emotions. There was frustration that he hadn’t been able to protect her from Rodrigo, much like the futility of trying to protect his sister when she’d been on a self-destructive course. Kacey had ended up dead and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to protect her.

  Then there was anger at Dory, anger he could never express. She’d chosen Rodrigo over him, and hell, that was life. But why hadn’t she walked away the first time he’d hit her? He’d made a point of reading up on the psychology of abuse victims, and it had helped to understand her…a little. But the fact remained that there had been so many opportunities when Dory could have left Rodrigo. Her parents, her friends, Jack, they’d all tried to help her, but in the end it had taken the asshole hitting their kid to make her leave.

  He turned into her driveway and mentally built up the wall that would let him function. Dory’s little cottage sat at the end of a long, narrow road. Flowers were neatly planted on either side of the front stoop and were in full bloom. Adrian sat on the front steps, his head down and shoulders hunched.

  Jack threw the car into park, wishing he wasn’t in uniform, and that his head wasn’t pounding with the headache he’d had all afternoon. Dory wasn’t going to like the information he was bringing her, and the uniform made it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

  Things had changed between them. He’d thought he’d blown it when he’d kissed her on the Fourth of July, but maybe he hadn’t. The dynamic had shifted, and he was fine with that. At his house, she’d seemed aware of him in a way she had never been before. He couldn’t say it bothered him any that she’d been obviously affected by the sight of him when she’d caught him mid-workout. He wanted to ask her out, to make it official that they were dating. But that would have to wait.

  Unhooking his cop belt and leaving it with his trooper hat in the cruiser, he shut the door, then crossed to the steps in front of the little house. He sat beside Adrian. While the kid had usually given him a wide berth, Jack thought they’d made progress after the ballgame. Maybe not as much as he’d hoped, so he was careful not to sit too close.

  “Hey there, Adrian.”

  Adrian mumbled something indecipherable while he steadily worked the end of a stick into the dirt.

  “How’s that camp you’re going to?”

  “Okay.”

  The kid dug the stick deeper.

  Jack leaned back, gaze scanning the sky. He hadn’t liked the forecast he’d heard earlier. Winds were expected to pick up over the next twenty-four hours, which was bad news for the efforts to contain the fire.

  “Something bugging you?”

  The boy offered a quick shake of his head.

  Adrian had yet to look directly at Jack. He continued to work the stick into the dirt, pushing harder. It flexed under the pressure, and suddenly sprang free, the stick flinging dirt across Jack’s pants and shoes. Adrian sucked in a shocked breath and his alarmed gaze clashed with Jack’s. Jack stamped his feet to dislodge the dirt.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get dirt on you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s just dirt. I’ll live.”

  Adrian seemed frozen in place as if he was waiting for something. Realization dawned, and Jack spoke carefully. “You think you’re going to get punished for getting a little dirt on me?”

  “Mom would make me say sorry.”

  “Which you did.” Jack narrowed his gaze. “What would your dad do?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Adrian’s tone seemed carefully blank.

  Jack wanted to rest his hand on his shoulder to let the kid know it was no big deal, but he thought it wasn’t the right time for physical contact.

  “Do you think I’m like your dad, Adrian?”

  “He’s not my dad. He’s the man.”

  Huh. Maybe disassociating from Rod made it easier for him to cope. />
  Adrian snatched up the stick, poking it back in the dirt, though this time careful to keep the dirt from flying. He gave Jack a sideways glance. “You’re big like the man. Bigger.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Big people hurt smaller people.”

  “Your dad hurt your mom.”

  Adrian nodded, chin tucked against his chest. Jack hoped to god he was handling this right. Where the hell was Dory? Figuring he had to see it through, he risked the question that seemed appropriate given the conversation. “Did he hurt you too, Adrian?”

  Adrian darted another glance at him and then returned his attention to his stick. He’d succeeded in digging out a deep furrow. “Sometimes. He told me he’d hurt me worse if I told Mom.”

  Christ. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “It was wrong for him to hurt you, Adrian. You know that, right?” The boy gave a jerky nod, and Jack asked him, “Have you ever seen me hurt anyone?”

  Dark brown eyes met his, then Adrian shook his head.

  “Some people hurt others, but it’s got nothing to do with their size.”

  “I’m big.”

  Jack eyed the kid. He looked pretty small to him. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I was the biggest kid in the third grade. I was bigger than most of the fourth graders, too.”

  Jack remembered standing out because of his size. He’d liked that he got picked first for sports teams, but it didn’t sound like Adrian considered his size a positive attribute.

  “What do you think about being the biggest?”

  Adrian hitched a shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt people.”

  “Of course, you’re not. That’s because wanting to hurt people comes from here.” He tapped Adrian on the side of his forehead. “It has to do with self-control, and not being able to handle being angry or frustrated. You ever see a little kid hitting a bigger kid?”

  Adrian considered the question, then nodded.

  “So it’s not the person’s size that makes them hurt others, right?”

  Jack had the impression that Adrian was analyzing his words for any weakness. “You don’t think I’ll hurt people because I’m big.”