Behind the Pines (The Gass County Series Book 3) (5 page)

Sunshine barely made it over the threshold before he slammed the door shut behind her with a loud clunk.

“Are you okay, really?” she asked.

At first he wasn’t sure he’d understood her until he followed the trace of her eyes to his crotch again and to his dismay noticed his hand inside his boxer shorts, scratching his junk. “Fuck,” he cursed and slowly pulled his hand back out. “I’m not dirty . . . you know, as in a dirty old man, even though I’m middle aged . . . like you said.” His hand made its way across his stomach until it grabbed his hardening cock once more outside his boxers, and he regretted his previous comment of being dirty. Having Sunshine in the house made him want to do all sorts of dirty things. In bed.

Her eyes went wide and she looked away for a second, staring at the rows of pictures hanging on the wall of the hallway.

“Um, no, sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Look, I took two Vicodin and I’m too drowsy and high to give a shit about what I’m doing. I was sleeping when you banged your fist through the door. I’m happy it’s still on its hinges.”

She turned and smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry about that. You want to sit down somewhere?”

Her voice, as smooth and golden as the honey with which Pooh was constantly obsessed, he followed her hand’s gesture toward the living room couch. His feet floated across the hardwood before he slumped his large body down on the fabric of the couch, not caring about the itch it created against his bare skin.

*              *              *

“Why are you here?” he asked, leaning back against the couch, his head resting heavily on the thick throw behind him. As quickly as he had started talking, he was asleep again, his head tipped back against the couch, arms folded. And what arms they were. Her lady parts purred as she stared. A black-and-white eagle tattoo sat where his hand pushed at his bice
p
—
101st Airborne Division. So, he had been in the air force. Probably why he hadn’t liked her mentioning political groups in the Second World War as a reason not to sign her papers. His brown hair was messy, old gel not helping its unruly state. She’d noticed it before, but really, holy smokes. Primrose Valley’s chief of police was hot. As in throbbing-between-your-legs hot. Her eyes took advantage of the poor man, ogling every visible part of skin. Brody Jensen had washboard abs. Holy smokes. Her fingers could play a tune should they ever touch them, and since she was already there she figured why not let her eyes go a little lower.

“As, I said earlier. Why are you here?”

Busted. “Yes, I should probably start with that, shouldn’t I.” Sunshine pulled her loose hair behind her ears and traced her eyes down his entire length of wonderful manliness that was one of Primrose Valley’s finest. Every part of skin as perfectly sculpted as the next. Across the bulge in his boxers down his bare legs and down to his feet. Although the drug had made him drowsy, it must have been impossible not to notice the change in color in her skin, cheeks burning, probably looking more like that of a red tulip than her pale neck. She noticed the sound of the ticking clock on the wall rock Brody to sleep and as another
tick-tock
fell, so did his eyelids.

Chapter Seven

The short hand on the clock had made a full circle and was pushing another half. The living room bathed solemnly in the light from the corner lamp she had left on, not being too familiar with the home’s surrounding. She curled her toes underneath the soft throw she’d found at the other end of the sofa and as she rested in the rocking chair adjacent the couch where Brody’s large frame had sunk deeper into the couch and now snored loudly, closely resembling her own four-footed friend and companion.

Before tucking the throw around him, covering his skin, she studied him. Again. His length, even now in complete relaxation, the nice shade to his skin, the pattern of dusted cinnamon freckles on his bare shoulders, and the light sprinkle of brown hair trailing between his nipples. Nipples decorating a most magnificent chest: wide, hard, skin looking soft as expensive silk. His legs were long and muscular, dusted in dark hair, and with oomph she had placed them both on the soft armrest of the suede couch and then tried to pull the blanket over him, unable to cover his shoulders and feet at the same time.

On tiptoes she walked back to the hallway to check the front door. It was locked and she let the porch light continue to gleam in the darkness of the evening before returning to the rocking chair and the man on the couch.

“What time is it?”

A voice woke her, and slowly she lifted her face away from the fabric of the rocking chair only to notice a small spot of drool on the beige fabric, feeling a pattern from the lines of corduroy going in waves on the side of her face. With tired eyes she peered at Brody, half sitting on the couch, blanket pooling at his taut waist.

“Um, one thirty,” she responded and didn’t make an effort to hide a yawn.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Um, yeah.” She sat up straighter in the chair, the motion rocking it gently.

“Why?” His voice was rusty from slumber.

“You fell asleep earlier and I didn’t want to just leave when you said you might be drowsy from medicine.”

“That should have been your first clue to leave.”

“What’s the second?” she asked, shaking her head at his nonsense.

“Um, we don’t even know each other. For all I know, you could be an axe murderer or a thief.”

“Thanks for the high regards, idiot,” she muttered and threw off the blanket that had hugged her in warmth.

“Hey, don’t get snippy with me.” Brody held up his hands in defense. “It’s the truth.”

“If I was an axe murderer, I doubt you would have even woken up. Instead your dissembled body would be scattered around this place.” Sunshine gestured around the room. “And, yeah, I might not be rich but surely you could see I’m no thief.”

She watched as Brody’s drowsiness started to wear off and he ran his hand through his short hair. “So, why are you here then? Taking advantage of someone under the influence? Very low if that is true.”

“Honestly, Brutus is at the vet for a surgery and won’t be back for a few days an
d
—
” She stopped and licked her lips.

“And?” he probed.

“And I felt too scared to be all by myself in my trailer, all right. There you have it. You know what it looks like out there: no light, thick forest, and a car that only starts when it wants to. Not the best place to be when the man you’re looking for hasn’t been found yet.”

“Yeah, not the best combo you got there.”

“I did some shopping at Harold’s and while I spoke to Truly about the problem, a man behind me in line told me to come and see you. I know we’ve had an awful start, and you probably hate me, but maybe you know of a place I could stay for a while? Being a sheriff and all, maybe you have some pointers on where to turn.”

“Who was the guy?”

“John, Joseph . . . something.”

“Jefferson?” He grinded his teeth and shook his head.

“Yes, that’s right. You know him?”

“Do I know him? As close as brothers.”

“I’m sorry, I just panicked, felt too scared to go home and took his advice. Surprising moment of weakness.”

“Great, fuck. It’s too late to find you a place right now. I have a spare bedroom.” Brody pointed down the hallway. “You can have that room for tonight. But only one night.”

He rose and stared down at his naked chest, pulling the blanket around his waist, covering his boxers. With a quick glare at Sunshine he noticed a smile at the corner of her mouth and silently cursed Jefferson for telling her to come over.

“This is it.” Brody flicked on the lamp at the nightstand in the guest bedroom and stood back, running a large hand through his hair. “Feel free to use the bathroom down the hall. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, I’m going to sink back onto the couch and get a few more hours of blissful sleep from these pills.”

As he walked out, leaving Sunshine standing in the middle of the room, he took a last glance before closing the door, perfectly timed to witness the pale, freckled skin of her naked back as her shirt came over her head and fell to the floor. Something inside his chest restricted his breathing, and he tried to strangle the feeling.

Chapter Eight

Brody’s large boots slammed against the floor of the hospital corridor. Not that his step was hard, but the bare green walls heightened every sound there was. If it wasn’t the soles of his shoes, it was his breathing. And every time he tried to control the sound of his exhale, it came out even worse. Each door had a number and he was happy he wasn’t walking the endless hallways of the university hospital where Wayne had received most of his treatment but in Primrose Valley. Here, door numbers never went beyond two digits and he rarely witnessed severely injured patience, unless there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d make it to a larger facility with more specialists on staff. “Thirty-two,” he mumbled and coughed nervously, before he pushed in the door to the hospital room. “Good morning, Wayne. How are you today?”

“Hey, morning, Brody. How’s it going?”

“Didn’t realize you got off daddy duty this early, Jefferson. It’s not even seven thirty.”

Jefferson leaned back in the chair next to the hospital bed, on which a large yellow blanket cradled Wayne’s long legs. “He just brought me coffee.” Wayne held up a cup sporting the logo of the local bakery that Brody visited daily. “Celebrating now that it’s my last day here at this nut house. No more therapy, no more antidepressant drugs. I’m a free man with a free mind and body. It feels freaking amazing. I’m ready to leave any minute you are, Brody.”

“Yeah, about that.” Brody swiped away moisture at the back on his neck and watched Jefferson and Wayne halt their cups of coffee, and stared at him. In silence.

“What?” Wayne broke the silence, looking at his friend, obviously troubled by something.

“Yeah, you can’t stay with me at the moment.” Brody chewed on the inside of his mouth, not daring to look Wayne in the face.

“But, we already decided this. If I can’t stay with you, I won’t be released. What the hell, man?”

Jefferson rose from his chair and finished the rest of his coffee, then placed the empty cup in the trash can by the wall. “He’s got a girl and he’d rather not replace her with you.”

“It’s actually his fault.” Brody pointed across the small room at Jefferson, who looked back at them both in disbelief.

“My fault,” he repeated and pointed at his own chest. “How can this be
my
fault?”

“You were the one who told that girl it was a good idea to stay at my place. Remember, you met her at Harold’s? Does any of this ring a bell?”

“Oh, yeah. She was cute and frankly terrified. I didn’t know what else to tell her. You’ve housed people before and she had nowhere to go.” Jefferson’s threw his hands up in defense. “Because you,” he pointed at Brody, “haven’t captured that guy who escaped from prison and she was scared. Everyone knows you have a large house, spare bedrooms, and you are, after all, the sheriff. How can it be wrong? I feel more like I saved her . . . and she was cute.”

Brody’s sucked in a deep breath and, to steady his rage, he slowly blew it out between his lips and watched as Wayne tossed off the blanket, whipped off his green hospital gown, and pulled on jeans and shirt. “You are taking me home, Brody. There is not another answer to this. That chick has to find another place to stay. You promised me first and I will go nuts if I have to stay here another night. Do you hear me? Not one more night.” A bear couldn’t have growled less.

“Fine.” Brody blew out steam and glared at Jefferson, who raised his shoulders in an apology.

*              *              *

Brody pulled on the string under the lampshade and let the room bathe in the darkness of the evening. “What a day,” he mumbled, raking his hands through his short hair, releasing sigh after sigh in the darkness. If this level of stress kept up, he would grow bald before he turned fifty. Downstairs he heard another flush from the bathroom and the door to the guest room closing. Wayne had made himself at home in the vacated spare room the second Sunshine had packed her meager belongings and hitched the large bag over her shoulder and headed out the door. Before Brody left, Wayne had nodded in approval of the young woman, which gave Brody the opportunity to punch him in the shoulder. He knew Sunshine was pretty. He also knew he had no dibs on her, and he didn’t even know why he’d thought of her at all. Yet, something inside him had burned that evening he’d seen her without a shirt on, even though it was just a bare back, a spine, and white delicious skin.

“Gah . . .” Brody turned and punched the pillow, not so much to smooth out the pillow but to release aggravation. Most definitely because something about Sunshine had stirred his insides and he wasn’t sure how the heck to deal with it. The darkness of the room made nothing easier—quite the opposite. There was nothing to look at to distract him from Sunshine’s image, and in an attempt to find diversion, he turned the light back on, only to find himself looking at the clock on the nightstand and wondering what Sunshine might be doing at this time of the evening. Maybe she was in bed and slept without clothes on?