Out of Eden (3 page)

He took off her glasses and placed them on the nightstand, noted a book on Zen and travel brochures on China and Japan. Spenser had never mentioned her obsession with the Orient. He wondered if he knew. He thought about what she’d said earlier.
“I have dreams, too.”
After one peek at her living quarters, any idiot could deduce her dreams involved Asia. He filed away the knowledge, slipped into the bathroom and nabbed a glass of water and two aspirin. He returned and nudged her awake. “Take these and drink this. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Bleary-eyed, she complied, then fell back on the pillow with a groan.

“Sleep tight, kid.”
I’m outta here
.

Warm toes skimmed up his T-shirt and across his lower back. “Jack?”

Wary, he turned back and nabbed Kylie’s adventurous foot. The wide pant leg slid toward her body, revealing a toned thigh and a glimpse of red panties.
Damn.

“I’m not getting any younger,” she said.

Hit the road, Jack.
“Meaning?”

“Meaning if I wait for what I want, I’ll never get it. At least that’s the way it’s worked so far.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes, then wagged a finger in his direction to emphasize another thought. “Although, I did grab the bull by the horns once, if you catch my drift, and I know you do, and I didn’t get what I wanted that time, either. I gotta tell ya, life has been one big-butt disappointment.”

She sounded pitiful and angry at the same time, and he cursed himself a pig for imagining the pleasure zone beneath those satin panties. He released her sexy foot and tugged her pant leg back past her knee. Against his better judgment, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Today in particular stunk.”

“Want to tell me what Spenser said or did to ruin your birthday?”

“It’s what he didn’t say or do.”

“You’re losing me.”

“It’s not about my birthday, but my life.”

“Definitely lost.”

“But it is what it is so I need to make the most of what I have, which isn’t much. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

He pressed a finger to his temple, rubbed.

“Creative visualization is a beautiful thing. I
will
have my adventure, just you wait and see.”

“Back to shaking up things in Eden, huh?”

“I was planning to start tomorrow, but you know what they say…” She quirked a brow, waited.

“No time like the present?”

Her full lips curved into another of those loopy grins. “For the past year, I’ve spent every night in this bed alone. It would certainly break my blah, boring routine if you—”

“No.”

“—kissed me.”

Shit.

“It’s the least you could do.”

“For?”

“Refusing to be my first.”

He scratched his forehead, reflecting on the episode he’d sworn to take to his grave. “You were fourteen.”

She scrunched her brow. “So? How old were you when you first—”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because you’re a guy? That’s a stupid argument,” she slurred, “but I’ll let it slide and point out that I am now thirty-two.”

“You’re also blitzed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What if I was sober?”

“You’d still be Spenser’s little sister.”

She heaved a dramatic sigh. Then she stretched like a languid cat, teasing him with thoughts of Gumby flexibility.

“I know,” he said, only half kidding. “My loss.”

“My stinky birthday.” She stuck out her lower lip in a contrived but alluring pout.

He knew when he was being played. His ex had been a master manipulator. Not that Kylie was in Amanda’s league. Kylie was drunk. He scrambled for a graceful exit without hurting her feelings.

She mistook his hesitation as an invitation. “A pleasurable distinction,” she whispered, then pressed those pouty lips to his.

Soft. Sweet.
Hot
.

Holy shit.

He froze.

She sighed. “Thanks for the birthday kiss, Jack.”

He grappled for a casual response.

“Too bad I didn’t feel anything.”

CHAPTER THREE

A
NOTHER DAY IN PARADISE.

Hell would have been preferable.

As was his routine for the past seven years, Travis Martin rose at 6:00 a.m. He showered—using bargain-brand soap, shampoo and shaving cream. He dressed in Lee Dungarees Carpenter Jeans, a plaid shirt and beige work boots. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, white toast and a cup of Folgers. He scanned the local newspaper while he ate. The only upset in this routine was the absence of his wife. She’d died three months earlier. Life had been difficult before. Now it was painful.

Still, Travis stayed the course.

At 7:00 a.m. he pinned on his name tag and tugged on a cap embroidered with his employer’s logo: Hank’s Hardware.

At 7:05 he was out the door of his run-down farmhouse and behind the wheel of his 1995 Chevy pickup. The truck, like his clothes, was nondescript. He blended with the male population of Eden. He was just another hardworking, blue collar stiff who occasionally attended church on Sunday mornings—not that he got anything out of the preacher’s sermons. Now and then he dropped by Kerri’s Confections where he indulged in doughnuts and coffee. What he really wanted was a cannoli and espresso, not that he ever asked. Once in a while, like most of the men in these parts, he made an appearance at Boone’s Bar and Grill, where he tossed back a couple of beers. Last night he’d been sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a bottle of Pabst and craving a glass of Chianti, when Kylie McGraw, who was typically as unassuming as himself, went a little
oobatz
. Unlike anyone else in Boone’s, Travis had empathized.

Like Kylie, he despised the tedium of this Midwestern mom-and-pop town.

Unlike Kylie, he had no intention of shaking things up. He’d flirted with danger a month earlier, a moment of weakness. A mistake he’d quickly rectified. Drawing attention to himself was not an option.

Or was it?

At 7:40, Travis parked his pickup in the alley behind the hardware store. He entered through the back door, traded greetings with his boss and two coworkers. He tidied his work station and skimmed new orders. He did everything exactly as he always did, only this morning, like that one unfortunate night, he couldn’t calm his inner self. His true self.

At 8:00 a.m., his boss opened for business and Travis struggled to maintain his composure, his wife’s last request ringing in his ears.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Unfortunately, as his loneliness and frustration escalated, the warning packed less punch.

CHAPTER FOUR

K
YLIE WOKE UP WITH
a blinding headache and a gross taste in her mouth. Her memory was splotchy, too, but it could have been worse. She could have woken up next to Ashe. Or she could have puked up her guts. Although, if she had slept with Ashe, she would have felt wretched and not because of a hangover. She didn’t care how good-looking he was, the man was a bed-hopping sleaze with a checkered past, and she had scruples.

She also had a stabbing pain behind her dust-dry eyeballs.

Who would have thought a trendy drink could be so lethal? Except she’d had three, four if you counted the third as a double, over a short period of time. She regretted taking a spill at Boone’s—not exactly a shining moment—and she sort of felt bad for lashing out at Max and gang. But she didn’t regret her vow to shake things up. She’d meant every word, well, the ones she remembered. At the very least, she could attack her own dull-as-dirt existence.
She
could be bold.
She
could take risks.

A moment blipped in her mind.

Her. Jack.

She smacked her forehead, winced.

“Stupid cosmos.”

She had a big-butt hangover and one mortifying memory. Her lame attempt at seducing Jack Reynolds. He’d resisted her flirting. He’d tolerated her kiss. She didn’t know what else to call it. He didn’t jerk back, but he didn’t reciprocate. But that wasn’t the shocker.

There’d been no spark!

Considering the Mount Fuji-size crush she’d had on the man for most of her freaking life, she’d expected to go up in flames the moment she’d sampled that sexy mouth. Instead, she’d felt nothing, nada,
numb
. Either the alcohol had obliterated her senses or she really was over him.
Completely
. She chose to believe the latter. Otherwise, living in the same town with him, again, would be torture.

She still couldn’t believe he’d moved back to Eden in the first place. He’d devoted his life to fighting the bad guy. Even as a kid, Jack had been the first to stand up to schoolyard bullies, usually in defense of others, because you’d have to be nuttier than a squirrel’s hoard to tangle with Jack Reynolds. He and Spenser were both motivated by macho protector instincts. Only Jack gravitated toward fighting crime in the big city, and Spenser had joined the fight against evil on foreign soil. Kylie had never been to New York City, but she knew it brimmed with art, music and literature, diverse cultures and interesting people. So much to do and see…unlike in Eden. Plenty of criminal butts to kick…unlike in Eden.

“The man will be bored to tears within a month,” she mumbled into the murky predawn. Good thing she was no longer crushing on him, because he wouldn’t be here for long. Unlike Kylie. The way things were going she’d be here until she was six feet under. Not that she wanted to leave Eden forever. Just for a while. Just long enough to experience the beauty and wonder of Asia. Although at this point, an adventure on any level would do.

“You can hide under the blankets feeling sorry for yourself or you can attack the day with gusto, McGraw.” Despite the nauseating pulse behind her dry, bleary eyeballs, she swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed. “Gusto it is.” She grimaced at the aftertaste of the nacho chips she’d wolfed down, compliments of the midnight munchies. “But first I’m brushing my teeth.”

“H
OW THE HELL DID YOU
get my toothbrush? Oh, shit. Wait.
Shit
.”

Note to self
, Jack thought as the stray mutt peed on his bathroom floor,
don’t yell at the dog
. Any time he exhibited frustration, Shy—he had to call her something—peed. Not a lot, just a nervous sprinkle. Still. “Damn.”

He grabbed a wad of tissue and soaked up the mess.

Shy cowered on the bath mat.

Two nights earlier, he’d found the midsize stray cowering under the old rocker on his back porch. She was scared of thunderstorms. She was scared, from what he’d witnessed so far, of everything. Starved, wet and frightened, the pitiful thing had allowed him to coax her inside. Next, he’d called animal control, but no one had reported a missing dog that looked like a miniature German shepherd. He’d told himself, and Shy, that he’d only keep her until he found her owner or a suitable home. The way things were going, that day couldn’t come too soon.

He adopted the casual manner he used to soothe victimized humans. “Easy, girl.” He flushed the soiled tissue, then washed his hands. Noting the dog’s stricken look, he ruffled her bowed head. Five seconds later, she trotted after him and into the kitchen, tail wagging.

He opened the fridge and nabbed the makings of a mushroom omelet.

Shy circled twice, then curled on the braided rug in front of the sink.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re coming with me today.” Yesterday, she’d destroyed one of his shoes, two books and a magazine. Either she’d been pissed because he’d left her alone, or bored. He wasn’t a doggy shrink, but this pup had issues. She was a complication he didn’t want or need. His goal was to simplify.

Jack beat three eggs, then poured them into a heated skillet, his mind veering to another complicated doe-eyed female. Kylie McGraw. Her goofy smile and fiery spirit. Her red panties and lush lips.

That freaking birthday kiss.

Too bad I didn’t feel anything
.

It’s not like he’d put any effort into it. Still. He’d felt something and she hadn’t. Then again, she’d passed out seconds later. Maybe she’d been too trashed to feel anything. His ego demanded a second shot. Logic said, let it go. The only thing worse than a mutual attraction would be acting on it. This was Kylie. Sweet and responsible.
Except when she’s trashed
. She was the marrying kind and he was the kind who wrecked marriages.

Shy barked.

“A recipe for disaster, huh?”

Another bark.

“Right.”

Jack fed the mutt a half a can of beef kibble, then loaded up his own plate with an omelet and toast. He ate standing up at the counter. Sipped coffee. Flipped through
Law and Order
magazine and contemplated his first official day as chief of police.

He wondered if Kylie would go through with her threat to shake things up or if she’d lose her nerve when she gained her sobriety. He had better things to do than reading her the riot act for disturbing the peace. Like organizing his new office and finding a home for Shy. There were also security issues pertaining to the upcoming Apple Festival.

One thing he wouldn’t be doing was investigating a gang shooting or a mafia hit. Those two factions didn’t exist in Eden. Hell, there hadn’t been a murder of any kind in this town for several decades. No atrocities. No risk that he’d experience that damned numbness that made him wonder what he’d become. No self-disgust binge drinking.

Who needed a shrink, he thought as he topped off his coffee. He had Eden.

A
SLICE OF DRY TOAST
, one banana, two cups of strong black tea and a hot shower later, Kylie felt rejuvenated enough to attempt gusto. Wanting to shake up her routine straight away, she raided her closet in search of anything bold. She passed over conservative ensembles and settled on a flared black skirt and a fitted black T-shirt featuring a sequined green-and-red dragon breathing sparkly gold fire. Bypassing a dozen pairs of sensible shoes, she snagged the flower-power combat boots she’d ordered and never worn. Whimsical and daring. “The new me.”

Feeding off nervous energy, she skipped morning meditation, although she did chant affirmations as she applied mascara and lip balm and tamed her thick hair into her signature ponytail. “I will act out of the ordinary in order to attract and promote change. Change is exciting. Change is good.”

She repeated that three times while staring at her reflection in the mirror, although her mind trailed off to the
un-
extraordinary. She considered her pale freckled cheeks, her juvenile ponytail, her poor vision. Maybe she should experiment with cosmetics and a stylish haircut. Investing in laser surgery seemed extreme, but she could definitely afford new glasses. Her body benefited from years of yoga, but typically she hid her toned form beneath loose clothing, choosing timeless classics over here-today-gone-tomorrow trends. She’d never fussed over style, choosing instead to focus on inner beauty. Thing was, men were visual creatures, stimulated by what they could see and touch.

She knew Jack’s type and she wasn’t it. That explained his lack of enthusiasm when she’d leaned in for a kiss. Plus, she’d been drunk and vulnerable, and wouldn’t that be so Jack—a gentlemen even when you ached to be ravished.

Been there. Lived through the embarrassment.
Twice now
.

She sighed and turned away from the mirror. There were other ways to shake up her life aside from burning up the sheets with Jack Reynolds. Not that she was tempted to do so. She was, thank goodness, over him. No, she was going to concentrate on her daring decision to renovate McGraw’s Shoe Store.

Sporting a devilish grin, she called Faye while tugging on a pair of thick green socks.

Her friend picked up after the second ring. Despising telemarketers, Faye always screened her calls. “You’re alive.”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned. What about Sting?”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned.”

Kylie frowned at Faye’s gruff tone. “What about Spice? Did she survive her first slumber party without getting her undies frozen?” Spice was Faye’s thirteen-year-old daughter. As quirky as her mom, but not as outgoing. Her first slumber party—the kid wasn’t exactly Miss Popular—had been a very big deal. Maybe it had been a disaster.

“She had a blast.”

Kylie waited for details. None came. She squirmed as the silence stretched. What the heck? “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Kylie pursed her lips and racked her fuzzy brain. “Because I made a spectacle of myself?”

Faye grunted. “Do you even remember last night?”

“Most of it. Okay. Parts of it.”

Another long stretch of silence.

Kylie bristled. So, she’d had too much to drink. So, she’d gotten a little loud, given away her shoes and taken a spill in Boone’s. It wasn’t like Faye to be so easily embarrassed. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Jack?” Kylie blurted, because normally that’s exactly what her friend would do. Faye knew all about Kylie’s longtime infatuation, although she didn’t know about the never-to-be-mentioned-
ever
episode. “He gave me a birthday kiss. Actually, I
stole
a kiss. He just sort of sat there. Disappointing.”

“You expected Jack to take advantage of you?”

“I expected fireworks.”

“You always expect fireworks,” Faye said. “And you’re always disappointed.”

“Yes, but this was
Jack
. It’s supposed to be different with him.”

“It’s supposed to be different with someone who sets your soul on fire. I thought you were over Jack.”

“I am.”

“Are you sure about that? For someone who’s having a hard time remembering parts of last night, you have a damn clear recollection of that kiss.”

“You
are
mad at me.” Kylie padded to her medicine cabinet and nabbed a bottle of aspirin. Between the hangover and Faye’s snippy mood, she felt queasy. To make matters worse, Stan shouted something in the background and Faye shouted back. Okay. So maybe she’d just caught her friend at a bad time. “Are you guys fighting about Sting and the ice cream fiasco?”

“Not exactly.” Faye blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Just do me a favor, Kylie. Don’t drink any more cosmopolitans.”

“Trust me, it’s not on the agenda.” Stomach rolling, Kylie popped an antacid along with the aspirin.

“So what instigated that birthday meltdown, anyway?”

A change of subject and a softer tone. Sort of. She’d take it. “Spenser.”

“Let me guess,” Faye said. “He extended his shooting tour. Which means you have to postpone your trip. Again.”

So far Kylie had missed out on two opportunities to travel the Orient. Both times due to a family crisis. The latter had wiped out her bank account. Now, after years of living frugally and saving (
again
), she finally (
almost
) had enough money to fund her dream trip. Problem was, Spenser’s change of plans put a glitch in her plans. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

Faye snorted. “Maybe you should
tell
Spenser why you need him to come home and to take responsibility for the business
he
inherited.”

“I don’t want to step on his dream.
Into the Wild
is a huge hit. He’s in his fifth season and the ratings are consistently high.”

“What about
your
dream?”

Kylie faltered. Her gut said she needed to attack the here and now. The real world.
Her
world. “If I went to Asia now,” she said sensibly, “I’d still have to deal with my dull existence when I got back.”

“Meaning?”

Kylie shoved on her glasses, glanced at the shoe-order confirmation and the paint samples she’d printed off the Internet. She smiled. “Meet me at the hardware store in two hours.”