The Lucky Charm (The Portland Pioneers) (13 page)

“Hello,” she improvised, with the biggest smile left in her arsenal.

He still said nothing, just kept looking at her with the most inscrutable look on his face. She couldn’t even read his eyes—they were like chips of blue ice, completely reflective and giving nothing away that he felt.

She had
really
hoped that he’d have taken her opening bait and said
anything
in return, because silence tended to make her babble.
This could be really bad.

“Your house matches your eyes,” she continued, even as she was mentally slapping herself. “Did you paint it that shade on purpose?”

Izzy was here. As in
here
, at his house. As in standing in his backyard, in the most ridiculously pink skirt and a blouse that put his mother’s rose garden to shame, babbling at him about his eyes and the paint on his house. Just when Jack thought he’d figured Izzy out, she managed to find a way to completely overturn every conclusion he’d come to.

“That was actually coincidence. Now, your presence in my backyard…”

She smiled wide again, and he’d seen enough of the weapons she deployed to know when one felt forced. She was nervous about something, and for a wild second, Jack thought maybe she’d come here to tell him she’d thought about their date and changed her mind already.

“I got an email,” she said, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice. Whatever it was, she wasn’t exactly eager to tell him—which meant she wasn’t here for him. He shouldn’t, but still he felt unfairly disappointed, as if something had been taken away, when in reality, it hadn’t been his to begin with.

“It was from Corey Rood,” she continued and Jack’s mouth grew dry with sudden panic. Corey Rood and their ongoing feud wasn’t exactly his most mature moment, but secretly, he enjoyed it way too much to quit, which was why he’d been about to fire up the party this afternoon. He’d needed the distraction to get Izzy out of his mind, and now there she was, standing right in front of him, about to tell him she knew about the entire escapade.

“I’ve heard the name,” he said. An understatement of the century. He’d seen Corey Rood’s name on so many letters and emails and messages and agendas and petitions that he could hardly ever forget it.

“You have, have you?” she asked, a real, true smile creeping across her features. “I thought you might have, considering the two of you are at war over a damn mower and some loud music.”

He shrugged. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He didn’t feel shame in exercising his rights to mow his own lawn, thank you very much, only that it had gone on so far and so long. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel bad about his mischievous behavior, but a single reproachful look from those gray eyes and he was
almost
sorry that he’d done everything he could to punch Corey Rood’s buttons.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he said, even though that was probably a huge lie. “It started innocently enough. The mower was actually a gift from my agent when I bought this place. He came out here the first time and said I’d need something better than some little push piece of crap. And I liked riding it, it relaxed me. As for the odd hours, well…you know what it’s like being on the road so much. Your body doesn’t know what time zone it’s in, and sometimes I couldn’t sleep.”

“And the music?”

She had him there, and he finally laughed. “You got me. First time he came over to tell me it had woken him up one Saturday morning, he was so
patronizing
. So unbelievably obnoxious and full of himself that I told myself that I’d make him regret waltzing over here in all his stately glory to inform me that I’d bothered
him
. So I mounted a portable stereo and stuck in an old Kenny Chesney CD. It made him wild, and God help me, that was so damn satisfying that I just kept going.”

She smiled again; this time Jack could see it dawn over her face like the way the sunlight touched the trees on a frosty morning, warming everything in its path. “So he emailed you?” he asked.

Izzy nodded. “He wanted me to use my influence to pressure you to stop, since he’d run into a roadblock on pretty much every other avenue.”

“And let me guess, Toby sent you out here to get the story.”

“Toby won’t run it,” Izzy said quickly, as if she knew what he was afraid of. She was wrong; what he was really afraid of was that during this whole mess she’d come to realize what an idiot he was and he was worth none of her time.

He wanted to open his mouth and tell her this; tell her that she’d almost never left his thoughts from the first moment they’d ever spoken; tell her that he would do anything in his not-inconsiderable influence around the Pioneers organization to make sure her association with him didn’t ruin her career.
And
, that little sly voice in his head echoed,
only part of that has to do with her being your lucky charm.

“Honestly, I don’t care,” he admitted. “I don’t care what they say about me. You know that.”

She seemed to be seriously considering this for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “You say that now,” she finally spoke, “but it could look pretty ugly for you.”

“Is that why you’re here? To warn me?” he asked the question almost instinctively, without thinking.

She opened her mouth in surprise then closed it again abruptly. “You’re not,” he continued, aware he could be stepping in piles of his own crap if he kept going, but he could feel the momentum on his side. Three weeks ago, he’d had to practically chase her down to get close enough to even touch her. Tonight, he felt like he would walk up and kiss her and she might melt right into him, but that could also be the feeling of invincibility he had whenever he took on Corey Rood and won.

He took another step forward, then another, until, if he reached out, he could brush her arm with his fingertips. “You’re not here to warn me. You’re here because Corey Rood was a good excuse to come see me.”

The hesitation was written all over her face. All she had to do was say no, but instead, she said nothing, and hope billowed inside of him.

“It’s okay, I can’t stay away from you either,” he continued, moving even nearer. His eyes never left her face. “But then you already knew that.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction the sudden flush on her cheekbones was, but Jack could tell he’d flustered her. “That’s rather presumptuous,” she finally murmured, her voice lower and huskier than he could ever remember it being. His entire life he’d been able to reach out and take what he wanted, but now he couldn’t risk it until she was sure. It was a risk for both of them; he’d decided it was a risk he was willing to take, but he knew it was different for her, and the last thing he wanted was to be a regret.

“But it is you, after all,” she added, a small smile playing over her lips. Never in his twenty-nine years had he ever wanted to kiss a woman so badly—not even Kimmy Johnson, in his sophomore year of high school when he’d snuck her under the bleachers. “I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

“You shouldn’t. I’ve made it perfectly clear that I like you.”

“You said you wanted to be friends,” she said in mock protest, but that playful smile was back, hopefully for good this time, and it was falling over him like a thousand rays of sunshine. “Maybe I came here to say,
okay
, let’s be friends.”

“Just friends?” he asked, spreading his arms out as if to show her that he was hiding nothing, holding nothing back. “Izzy, is it really fair to ask you to give me up when Toby treats you like a second-class citizen?”

“Imagine what he’d treat me like if he heard this conversation,” she said lightly.
Too
lightly. “I know you think Toby’s feelings shouldn’t matter to me,” she continued, and even the slight regret in her face didn’t extinguish his frustration, “but this is my job,
my career.
I’ve worked so hard just for a chance like this one. I can’t take the risk that someone finds out, and decides I’m compromising my journalistic integrity by dating you.”

“I see,” he said, and he couldn’t help the pang of disappointment.

“You don’t, actually,” she retorted. “I
do
want to be your friend. I want to hang out. I want you to teach me about baseball.”

“Does that mean we can have dinner together?” he asked, pasting on a wide smile.

“Together?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not a date,” he added. “Just as friends.”

“You’re a fairly persistent guy,” she observed.

“You shouldn’t be surprised. When I see something I want, I just gotta have it.” He smiled at her then, and she laughed.

He wanted to tell her she was crazy. He wanted to tell her if she ever gave him the opportunity, he’d show her just how platonic he
didn’t
feel, but right now, she’d given in a little bit and being her friend was better than standing out in the dark, feeling nothing.

“I know this great place for dinner,” he began, and she tilted her head, considering him.

“You’re serious,” she said, as if this was all some sort of surprise. “You seem strangely determined to feed me.”

“Just…trust me,” he said, and after the words left his mouth, he realized he wasn’t just talking about restaurants, and he wanted her to understand.

“I do. If I didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t even be talking like this.”

“Good, because there’s this place I want to show you.” He glanced down at her stilettos and the skirt she was wearing. “But I’m not sure about what you’re wearing…”

“Jeans in the car. I’m all yours.” She paused a moment, then blushed. “Metaphorically, of course.”

CHAPTER NINE

“S
hould I feel bad that I’m depriving Corey Rood of his daily dose of your DJ prowess?” Izzy asked with a laugh as she approached his porch, carrying a large tote bag.

“Uh,” Jack hesitated. “No. And I like that Guetta guy. He’s cool.”

“I doubt very much that Corey Rood would agree with you,” Izzy said as she followed him into his house.

The screen door led almost directly into a lived-in-looking family room, complete with comfortable, over-stuffed couches and chairs upholstered in a textured navy fabric. The walls were a cream mixed with a hint of yellow, and though there were pictures of him in various baseball poses on the walls, they were interspersed with other shots of what was probably his family. Izzy paused and looked around. “I’m actually impressed, Bennett. I half expected to find stripper poles and walls covered in giant TV screens.”

He shrugged. “The stripper poles are more Foxy’s domain, and well, I’ll confess to the giant TV, but it’s actually in the media room.”

“Seriously, I like your house,” she said, with a hell of a lot more honesty than she’d felt while complimenting Corey Rood. Yes, his house might be technically more impressive, but it wasn’t the sort of place she wanted to spend any kind of time.

“Thanks, but I’m not sure I had much to do with this. I just told the decorator simple and basic. Nothing fancy.” She thought she might have seen the beginnings of a blush on his cheekbones, and she
really
liked the idea that he cared so much about what she thought, but she cut herself off short. She’d
just
told him they could only be friends. “Oh, and the bathroom’s down that hallway. I’m going to put in an order for pizza. Pepperoni?”

“Extra cheese?” she asked hopefully.

“You’ve got it, Dalton.”

The bathroom was a tiny powder room off the main living room, and when Izzy glanced in the plain mirror above the pedestal sink, she almost groaned when she saw how flushed
she
was. She could lie all day long, but deep down, she knew the reason why. He made her nervous and excited and a lot of other things she refused to label.

Turning away from her betraying expression, she shucked the skirt and heels off and pulled the spare jeans out of her bag. Unbuttoning the blouse, she traded it for a simple gray T-shirt. Slipping her feet into a pair of slip-on sneakers, she gave a half-hearted brush to her hair and called it done. Normally, she might have actually primped, but this wasn’t a date. Besides, Jack knew what she looked like, and he’d still…well, she had the distinct impression that if she hadn’t shut him down, he would have kissed her earlier. He’d looked like he wanted to, and she definitely wouldn’t have pushed him away—at least she had until she’d come to her senses and realized that if Toby ever found out, her career would be something beyond dead.

Her feelings weren’t going to change, but she’d just have to funnel them into more professional avenues. No more thinking about how blue Jack’s eyes were, or how his muscles were so clearly outlined in the worn T-shirt he was wearing. Or his crinkled crow’s feet when he smiled. All off limits. She shoved the clothes she’d been wearing back into her travel bag, and looked herself in the eye.

Isabel Dalton, behave yourself.

Taking a deep breath, Izzy opened the bathroom door and wandered through the living room into the adjoining dining room. A simple table in a beautifully finished wood with matching chairs were its only contents. Another doorway led into a big kitchen, warm with touches of cherry red in the tile backsplashes and a ceramic basket on the island.

Jack was standing with his back to her, his cell phone held to ear, ordering the pizza.

“And I’ll give you an extra fifty if you can have it out here in twenty minutes,” he barked into the phone. “No, I’m not kidding. And no, I’m not trying to throw my weight around. I’m just hungry.” He paused. “Okay, hungrier than normal. Fine. See you in twenty.”

She should feel bad that he was trying so hard, even after she’d shut him down, but his persistence was more than a little adorable.

“Throwing your weight around again?” she smirked as he ended the call.

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if what he’d done was no big deal. “They owe me a few favors down at the pizza place.”

“Sure they do.” Izzy rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter.

“You know, a lot of people take me serious. Dead serious.”