The Pursuit of Jesse (9 page)

“W
HAT’LL IT BE
, J
ESSE
?” Tom Bent swiped down the bar with a white towel on his way toward Jesse.

“Ginger ale, please,” Jesse said over the rock music blaring from the jukebox and hearty laughter erupting from the group of men playing pool in the far corner of the bar.

“Running a special on a new microbrewery—”

“Thanks, Tom, but the soda’s good.” He hadn’t been to the Nail since the basketball game at the community center more than a week ago, and it was becoming obvious he shouldn’t have come here tonight, either. He wasn’t in the mood. For some reason laughter, music and the loud conversation and heavy drinking of a group of snowmobiling tourists by the pool table held no appeal these days.

“Hey there, stranger.”

Jesse felt a hand smooth across his back a moment before Sherri slid onto the bar stool beside him. “Sherri.”

“Haven’t seen you around much lately.” The smell of hard liquor on her breath wafted toward him.

“Been working some long hours,” he said.

“Well, it’s just not fair. Sarah monopolizing so much of your time,” she said, a syllable or two running together.

“Sarah’s house. Not Sarah.” That’d be the day his boss would want to personally monopolize his time.

“Well, all I know,” she purred, “is that she’s one lucky woman.”

Tom set the ginger ale in front of Jesse.

Suddenly Sherri hung her arm around Jesse’s neck. “Ever had a body shot?”

“Not sure that I have.” He chuckled and gently pulled away. “But I’m sure I don’t ever want one.”

She nodded at Tom, and the bartender set a shot glass in front of her, filled it with tequila, and then set down several wedges of lime and a saltshaker. Sherri proceeded to rub the lime across her chest and sprinkle salt on her skin, very close to her ample cleavage.

“Now,” she whispered in his ear. “Shot, lick, lime.”

Jesse forced out a smile. “Appreciate the offer, but I don’t drink.”

“I do.” She grabbed a lime and reached toward his neck.

“Whoa, Nelly!” He jumped up and backed away. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Do I?”

“Mmm-hmm.” When she came toward him, he held her back. “Look. We had fun that first night. But remember? No strings? No ties? Just a good time. I’m not looking for a relationship with you, Sherri.”

“Don’t get so serious.” She laughed. “I just want to have some fun.”

“Yeah, well, our fun’s over. I’m sorry if I led you on.”

“It’s Sarah, isn’t it? Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Miss High and Mighty.” Sherri downed the shot and took a bite of lime. “Good luck with that.” She spun away and took off toward the men at the pool table.

Jesse tossed a five spot on the bar and glanced at Tom. “You better cut her off.”

“Don’t need to. No vehicles here on Mirabelle.”

“Will you at least make sure she gets home safely?” He shrugged on his coat.

“That I can do. Will probably end up walking her home myself after closing.”

Jesse left the bar, flipped up the collar on his jacket and headed uphill, the occasional patch of ice slowing his progress. It was pitch-black outside. Hell, it was always dark out by the time he’d been leaving Sarah’s house, let alone the Nail. It was also chilly, but he didn’t mind. The island was quiet and peaceful at night, and the outside air, when there was no wind, felt more crisp than cold. A nearly full moon lit the partly cloudy sky, and warm, golden light spilled from kitchen windows and front porches as he walked down the street. He stopped when he got to the top of the hill and glanced back downtown.

Only the restaurants and bars were open this late at night, and he’d been finding them surprisingly busy since he’d arrived on the island. Even now, a few couples walked the sidewalks. A group of snowmobilers, very likely guests of the Mirabelle Island Inn, zipped into town from Island Drive.

He glanced back down at Main Street and located Sarah’s flower shop, now closed and dark. Dim light peeked through the edges of the blinds in her second-floor apartment, but there was no movement. No shadows passing by the windows. Was she home or out? And Brian?

What difference did it make? He caught himself before he went too far down that line of thought. He wasn’t a part of her picture-perfect world. Never would be.

Tucking his cold nose into the high collar of his jacket, he continued to Garrett’s house. When he turned the last corner he bumped smack-dab into someone rushing down the hill. “Whoa!”
Sarah.
Instinctively, he grabbed her coat as her feet slipped out from under her. “Sorry. Should’ve been watching where I was going.” He held her steady, making sure she wouldn’t fall.

When she glanced up into his eyes, he realized how close they were, closer than he’d been to a woman in years. A few inches and the breath puffing out of her beautiful red lips in a light cloud of crystals were all that was between them. Even their coats were touching.

Then her boots slipped again on the ice and she fell into him, her gloved hands landing on his chest, her face pressing against his neck.

“I got you.” Tightly, he held her for a moment. He had to admit, he liked the soft feel of her. “You okay?”

Something intense flashed across her face. Quickly, she looked away, gathering herself, and stepped back. “Sorry. These boots are warm, but they don’t have much in the way of tread.”

Boots? Who cared? He was more interested in figuring out what he’d seen in her eyes. Surprise, for sure. But there’d been something else. Something raw and wild. Something not unlike…desire. That was it. He may have been in prison for almost four years, but a man never forgot what want looked like on a woman’s face. No doubt about it. Sarah was attracted to him.

I’ll be damned.
He wasn’t the only one feeling whatever the hell this was passing between them. “On your way home?”

She nodded. “I just walked Brian up to Garrett and Erica’s.”

“Then I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

“Not necessary,” Sarah said. “Mirabelle’s completely safe.”

He glanced behind him, caught sight of those snowmobilers gathering outside Duffy’s and said, “I’m sure it is. But it’s awfully dark out.”

“I’ll be fine. I walk home from Garrett and Erica’s all the time at night.” She started down the hill and slipped again.

Jesse grabbed her arm. “Mirabelle might be safe, but her sidewalks aren’t. You want to break a leg, fine, but if I have to start doing your painting up at the house just ’cause you’re laid up, it’s going to cost you extra.”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed and then said quietly, “And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They walked side by side in complete silence for several long moments while they made their way down the hill. Sarah ended up grabbing Jesse’s coat once or twice, but quickly released him once she’d regained her balance.

“Have you lived on Mirabelle all your life?” he asked, trying to break the awkwardness.

“No. Only for the last few years. I’m originally from Indiana.”

“Didn’t end up very far from home, huh?”

“I lived in Miami for a while. Turns out the big city’s not my thing.”

“Makes two of us.”

They hit Main and headed toward her flower shop. As they neared the group of snowmobilers standing outside of Duffy’s, laughing and talking loudly as they recounted their escapades on the trails, he felt more so than noticed Sarah tensing. A few men glanced their way as they walked by, but no one paid much attention to them.

On passing the group, they headed behind the building and she stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the second floor. “Well, here I am.” She went up several steps and then turned. “Good night, Jesse, and thank you.”

“No problem.” He waited while she entered her apartment. The lights flicked on, the lock sounded on the door, and he turned back the way they’d come.

Surprising himself, he passed the snowmobilers without a word, but then he hadn’t wanted to hang at the Nail, either. Talking to Sarah, on the other hand, had somehow felt right. All the way to Garrett’s, he fought the urge to head back to her building, knock on her door and ask her to, if nothing else, just talk, connect. What the hell was the matter with him? Must be all the solitary work at Sarah’s house was finally getting to him.

Jesse reached Garrett’s yard, quietly let himself into the house and then snuck into the mudroom to remove his boots and coat. The TV was on, but based on the sounds coming from the family room no one was paying any attention to the show.

“Now you’re all going to get it!” Garrett said, his voice carrying a mock-stern tone.

David squealed.

Dammit. They were all still awake. What was that all about?

“That’s what you said last time,” Zach said, taunting Garrett.

“Just try and catch me!” That last was Brian’s voice.

Jesse peeked out of the mudroom. Garrett was wrestling with the boys in the family room. A kid Jesse had seen at Zach and Brian’s basketball practice up at the community center was here, too.

“Garrett, if a lamp gets broken,” Erica said from where she was folding clothes in the kitchen, “it’s going to be your fault.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” Garrett said. “I won’t break anything. Except little boy
bones
.”

That met with more squeals. Even Zach and Brian yelled and ran as Garrett lunged toward him.

Jesse couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across his face and he watched his brother. Their father hadn’t played one minute with them as they’d been growing up, but they’d wrestled with each other. Jesse, as the youngest, had always gotten more bumps and bruises than the older three boys, but he’d still had fun. It warmed his heart to see Garrett doing everything their father should’ve done.

Jesse walked into the kitchen. “Hello, Erica,” he said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t disturb the activity in the family room.

“Hi.” Erica glanced up at him. “You’re home early tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m bushed.”

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“There’s some leftover chicken, sweet potatoes and broccoli in the refrigerator there.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” he said, opening the door.

“I made extra for you. Just in case.”

“What’s with Brian being here this late?” Jesse loaded up a plate and stuck it in the microwave.

“They have a sleepover almost every Friday night.”

“It’s Friday?”

“Yeah.” Erica chuckled. “But then, how can you keep track when you work seven days a week?”

“Who’s the other boy?”

“Alex Andersen, Carl and Carol’s boy. He’s older, but they still hang out together.”

“Hey, Jesse,” Garrett said, glancing into the kitchen. “Come and join us.”

“That’s okay. I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll call it a night.” The microwave dinged and he took out his plate of hot food. “I’ll just take this back to my room.”

Erica studied him, as if she were debating what to say. “You know, Jesse, you’ve been here almost a month,” she whispered. “And you haven’t once sat down for dinner with our family.”

“Sorry ’bout that. I’ve been working a lot.”

“Right.”

She didn’t buy it. Not for one second, but, apparently, she wasn’t going to call him on it, not directly, anyway.

“I want you to know,” Jesse said, “I appreciate you letting me stay here, but I’ve noticed there are several places I could rent. I don’t need to be bothering your family—”

“You’re not bothering us. We—I—want you stay here. It’s not good for a person to be alone as long as you have.”

“You’re never alone in prison.”

“Yes. You are.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ll give you a little more time to get settled, but if you don’t show up at our table for dinner soon,” she added, snapping out a T-shirt before folding it, “dinner’s going to come to you whether you want it to or not.”

Garrett had married a very smart and loving woman. And she didn’t pull any punches, either.

She cocked her head at him and smiled softly. “Understand?”

Reconnect on your own, or we’ll reconnect for you. “Yeah. I get it.” Even so, he took his plate down the
hall to his bedroom. Before he could close the door, Garrett appeared in the hall. “You okay?”

“Sure. I’m good.” He smiled. “I’m always good.”

The boys came up behind Garrett. David grabbed his dad’s legs and peered up at Jesse with a smile on his face. “Hi, Unc Jess.”

“Hey, David.”

“Jesse, you want to play some video games?” Zach asked.

“Or some other game?” Brian added.

“Another night, maybe.”

“Okay.” Brian and Zach went back down the hall with David toddling after them.

Garrett held back, studying Jesse. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Really, Garrett, I’m fine. A little tired tonight.”

A look of frustration passed over his brother’s features. “All right, then.” He turned and went back into the family room.

Jesse sat back on his bed, propped up his feet and took a bite of chicken and sweet potatoes, savoring the homemade flavors. A moment later the ruckus resumed out in the family room, the voices carrying down the hall as clear as bells. Jesse had inadvertently left his bedroom door ajar.

He moved to close the door and then stopped, falling back against the pillow. The sounds, innocent and homey, comforted him in some small way. He might not be a part of their lives, but there was no harm in listening.

“R
EADY TO PAINT THIS WALL
?” Sarah asked Brian as she finished trimming out a large section of the main bathroom.

It was Sunday, her favorite day of the week. Normally, she would take off work from both her flower-shop and wedding-planning businesses and spend the entire day with Brian watching movies, playing video games—which was getting harder and harder for her to do as he got more and more proficient—or messing around up at the community center shooting hoops, swimming or using the climbing wall. For the next couple of months, though, she’d be spending her Sundays working at the house, hopefully with Brian. Already, she could feel the place taking shape.

“Do I have to keep painting?” Brian moaned.

So maybe Brian wouldn’t be spending as much time here as she’d hoped. “It’s your bathroom, dude, and you picked out the color. I thought you’d be excited.”

“It’s paint, Mom. How excited can I get?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who’ll be using the main bathroom most often.” She’d have her own—her own lovely bathroom—off the master bedroom. The idea of luxuriating in a bubble bath without the worry of young boys pounding on the door with urgent bathroom needs sounded nothing short of heavenly.

“I’d rather play with Zach.”

“You two are practically glued at the hip, seeing each other every day after school. Sleepovers practically every weekend.”

“I spend less time with Zach than you spend working. Besides, he’s my best friend.”

She let the comment about her work slide. As the kid of one of the only single parents on Mirabelle, Brian had no other frame of reference. “I’m glad you’ve got Zach, but can’t you spare a few hours for your mom?”

“I suppose so. Sure,” he said, sounding as if she was punishing him.

“I’ll make a deal with you. Spend an hour helping me paint this bathroom and then you can hang with Zach.”

“Deal.”

She showed him how to use the paint roller and watched him do a small section. Her plan was to trim the room and let Brian roll the paint out on the larger, easier sections.

“Good job,” she said. “Soak up some more paint on that roller and do another section.”

She went back to trimming another area, taking her time, making sure she didn’t get any paint on the ceiling. At first, she hadn’t been sure about Brian’s choice of paint color, Brownie Parfait, but now she realized the deep chocolate would contrast nicely with the white enameled woodwork and hide the fingerprints that would invariably make their way onto the walls.

Although she’d been resistant to the idea of replacing Garrett with his brother Jesse, she had to give credit where credit was due. This bathroom with its decorative ceramic tile, new light fixtures, not to mention a new tub, toilet and sink, didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to the old room with its peeling gold linoleum
floor, chipped and stained counter and moldy shower stall. He was already working on the master bathroom, making amazing progress, and was several days ahead of Garrett’s plan.

She hadn’t seen Jesse since that night when he’d walked her home. Oddly enough, during all that time, she kept expecting to bump into him. Maybe expectant hadn’t been exactly the way she’d been feeling. Hopeful, maybe.

She wanted to bump into him again, talk to him, at least catch a glimpse of him. And it had a lot to do with him walking her home. At first, she really hadn’t wanted him to bother. She had, in fact, been surprised he’d offered after the way she’d spoken to him about staying away from Brian. But the moment she’d seen those snowmobilers gathered outside Duffy’s, she had been thankful he was there.

She should’ve been afraid of Jesse. He was such an unknown. Instead, his presence had been surprisingly comforting. What it meant, she hadn’t a clue.

As she and Brian worked together trimming and painting, they talked about, among other things, school and the upcoming baseball season. A couple times she hazarded a glance at his painting. The dark color wasn’t covering the light undersurface very well. She was definitely going to have to redo every section, but at least they were together and talking.

“A little excited to move into this place?”

Sarah spun around at the sound of the man’s voice. Jesse was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded over his chest, his feet crossed. He looked awfully comfortable. How long had he been standing there watching them?

Not expecting him to be here today, she’d dressed in
old jeans and a faded T-shirt. She also hadn’t bothered with makeup and had quickly braided her hair in two pigtails. Suddenly, she felt exposed, almost vulnerable without at least the veneer of professionalism that work clothes and lipstick provided.

“Hi, Jesse.” Brian waved his roller, dribbling brown paint that looked an awful lot like milk-chocolate syrup onto the drop cloth.

“Hey, Brian.” Jesse tipped his head toward Brian and then glanced at Sarah. “I know you want to keep this ball rolling, but you’re jumping ahead of yourself.”

“You said you were finished with the main bathroom.”

“Yes, boss, I did, but those walls you’re working on now should’ve been primed before you started in painting.”

She hated the way he called her boss, drawing the word out long and slow with a touch of sarcasm, but she was not going to stoop to his level. What was he doing here on a Sunday, anyway? She’d been hoping to work here without him butting in. “What does that mean, priming?”

“You’ve never worked on new drywall before, have you?”

“No.”

He glanced around the bathroom. “Well, it’s too late now. Don’t worry about it.” He turned and went down the hall.

“Wait a minute.” She jumped down from the step stool and, brush in hand, followed him. “If I’m doing something wrong, I need to know. I want the walls to look perfect.”

He raised his eyebrows and a slight smile tugged
at the corner of his mouth. “There is no such thing as perfect in the construction business.”

“Tell me what I should’ve done.”

“Prime first.” He brushed past her and into the living area and pointed to a large five-gallon pail. “Primer soaks into the drywall, leaves a more even surface and it’s cheaper than regular paint. Without primer and as dark as that color is, you’ll have to do two to three coats.”

“Oh.”

“So your wall can still look
perfect
. It’ll just cost a little more to get it there and it won’t be particularly…
efficient
.”

The man was insufferable. But sexy. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a plaid, flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms and a mass of dark hair. She couldn’t really blame him for being slightly antagonistic toward her. When it came down to it, he had every reason to be outright angry with her. She hadn’t exactly put out a welcome mat for him.

“I’ll keep your tips in mind for the next room,” she said, spinning around and heading back into the bathroom. Good thing efficient wasn’t her objective as she glanced at Brian tracking paint all over the drop cloth when he walked to another section of bare wall.

“Did we do something wrong?” he asked.

“We’re doing fine, Bri.”

“Jesse knows more about this than you do, Mom. You should listen to him.”

Listen to him, indeed. She went back to trimming. About the time she completed outlining the room Brian finished rolling the last big section.

“Has it been an hour yet?” he asked hopefully.

Only about fifty minutes had passed, but she’d call it good. “You’re done. Thanks for your help.”

“I’m going over to Zach’s.” He dropped the roller in the paint pan.

“Be home by five-thirty for dinner. It’s movie night tonight, remember?”

“Bye, Mom!” He zipped through the door. “Bye, Jesse!”

“Bye,” Jesse called, his voice muffled by the walls.

The front door had no sooner closed than rock music blared from the back of the house. Jesse must’ve turned on the radio. Although she wasn’t crazy about his choice of stations, she was glad for the distraction as she picked up Brian’s paint roller and went to work finishing up the bathroom.

In no time, she’d finished the first coat. Jesse had been right on. The walls were going to need at least one more coat of brown, possibly two, but first the initial layer needed to dry. Her right arm, shoulder and hand were already aching. She was going to be hurting by the time this room was finished.

“Son of a bitch!” Jesse’s epithet sounded through the wall followed by sawing, pounding and grunting. Whatever he was doing was not going smoothly.

Curiosity got the better of her. She walked quietly—possible only because the new flooring Jesse had installed didn’t squeak—down the hall and through her bedroom. Peeking into the bathroom, she found him bent over attempting to lift away the old toilet. It didn’t seem to be budging.

He tapped something down low with a rubber mallet, and then seemed to be getting ready for another try. A moment later, his quads tensed and the muscles in his
back and on his arms bulged with the effort. He was a lot stronger than he looked in relaxed mode.

He’d taken off his flannel shirt, leaving on a gray cotton undershirt. The short sleeves had ridden high up on his arms, revealing the edges of his tattoo, and she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the design. Did it mean something? Were those letters? Did the tat cover his shoulder? His entire chest? What she would’ve given in that moment for him to take off his shirt so she could see the whole thing. Would he look as good as she imagined? Would he feel as—

“Need something,
boss?
”

“What?” She started, feeling her skin flush with embarrassment. “Stop calling me that,” she said, recovering quickly.

“Why?” He was watching her, his gaze intense as he clearly tried to figure out what was going through her mind. “You are my boss, aren’t you?”

“Well…yes, technically, but…” She crossed her arms. “Do you need some help there?”

He stared at her for a moment as if he were deciding whether or not to let her off the hook. Then, almost as if she wasn’t worth the effort, he turned back to his task. “The bolts are badly rusted. I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but it looks like another hand might make that process more…
efficient
.”

“Whatever you say.” He glanced up at her. “After all, you are the boss.”

She narrowed her gaze.

“All right, come here,” he ordered. “When I say
go,
whale on the bottom of the toilet with that mallet. Hit that sucker as hard as you can to dislodge some of that rust.” He glanced at her. “Ready.”

She picked up the mallet and nodded.

“Set.” His muscles tensed again. “Go.”

She hit the porcelain.

“Harder!”

Winding up, she smacked it as hard as she could, breaking things free. Jesse jerked the unit up and off the floor, spilling some clean water out of the tank and onto his chest, but all she seemed to be able to focus on were his bulging biceps.

“Open the front door for me, would you?” he grunted.

She took off ahead of him as he carried the toilet outside and threw it in the Dumpster. He came back inside and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled off his wet shirt.

On some level, Sarah knew she was gawking, but he was truly beautiful. His muscles were defined, but not overwhelming, and there was just enough black hair curling between his pecs and running down a set of six-packs to make him look real. And that tattoo. The look of it sent her over the edge. The black symbols swept up onto his shoulder and down onto part of his chest, swirling and looping in a design that was at once bold and fluid, artistic and wild.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted a man. Couldn’t remember what it felt like to need something this badly. But want and need were suddenly all she could think about. She wanted to reach out and touch. She needed to feel smooth skin, hard muscle. Man.

Oh, no. No, no. Snap out of it!

She glanced up and found him watching her.

His eyes smoldered as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You know…it’s interesting,” he said softly. “But one of the things I was worried about when
I walked out of prison was people judging me before knowing the facts. They’d take one look at me and all they’d see was a criminal. So far on Mirabelle the person who’s done that more than anyone else is you, Sarah.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“You think you’re justified, don’t you? You think you know me. You think you know who I am.”

“Oh, I know you, all right.”

“Oh, yeah? Then who am I?”

“A man who couldn’t make a commitment to save his soul. The life of the party. The ladies’ man. Just ask Sherri Phillips.”

“Sherri, huh?”

Sarah nodded.

“Jealous?”

“Not on your life. You can screw around with whoever you want whenever you want.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, Sherri and I had a onetime fling my first night here on Mirabelle. She was more than happy with a no-strings-attached arrangement. And she’s fun. Which is more than I can say about some of the inhabitants of this island.” He narrowed his gaze. “But then, it’s not really me you’re mad at, is it?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“No, Sarah. You’re mad at yourself. Because you can’t decide whether to tell me to hit the road or…strip me naked.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He smiled as he stepped toward her. “You’ve got a thing for bad boys, don’t you, boss lady?”

She held her ground, lifting her gaze to meet his. He was so close she could feel the heat of him on her
face. If he reached out to touch her she had a feeling she just might let him touch anywhere he wanted.

Instead, he leaned in, his hands still at his sides, but his face closing in, his lips only inches from her cheek. If he’d pressed her, if he’d shown an ounce of force, she’d have pulled away in an instant. Instead, his slow, smooth movements disarmed her. She couldn’t move. She could only breathe. His lips hovered over her mouth. She closed her eyes. Waiting. Waiting.

Kiss me. Kiss me, dammit!

As if reading her mind, he moved infinitesimally closer. The touch of his lips against hers was unexpectedly as soft as a feather, so light it was almost as if she imagined his touch. She wasn’t even sure she could technically call it a kiss. She tilted her head, hoping to feel the pressure of his lips, or—God help her—the heat of his tongue.