The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (6 page)

“Patsy’s Jesse,” Flynn confirmed.

“Why didn’t she tell us he was getting out?”

Why hadn’t she? “You know Patsy doesn’t like to talk about Jesse.”

“Still.” Belinda sniffed, her feelings clearly hurt. “You’d think she’d say something to her closest friends.”

“Wife,” Harvey hollered from the doorway. “It’s broiling out here in the Suburban and the twins are fighting, shake a leg.”

Flynn shook her head. “I’ll let you go, Harvey looks like he’s about to have a stroke.”

“Oh dear, his face is red. Harvey, did you forget to take your blood pressure medication?” Belinda scurried off to her husband.

Flynn placed the order for Jesse’s chicken fried steak and tried not to look out the patio doors every time she walked past. When she brought his meal he was still cocked back in the chair, face turned up, enjoying the sunlight.

She settled the platter in front of him. “Grub’s up.”

He opened his eyes, dropped his legs, settled his chair firmly on the floor, and then he kicked out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

“I gotta…” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“You aren’t going to make me eat by myself, are you? It’s been a long time since I had a meal with a pretty woman.”

Flynn felt her cheeks heat.

“Come on,” he wheedled. “Five minutes for an old friend?”

Don’t do it. Leave, go.

She sat. He’d always been able to coax her into anything.

He tucked into the chicken fried steak with gusto, eating hunched over with his elbows sticking out as if fending off predators.

“That good, huh?”

Jesse seemed to realize what he was doing and where he was. He settled his elbows to his sides, sat up straight, took a deep breath. “Sorry, I picked up a few bad habits in the can.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he said, his tone as sharp as the steak knife he held in his right hand. “No, you cannot.”

A chill chased through her at the dark look in his eyes. “You’re right. That was a very dumb thing to say.”

The moment was incredibly awkward. On the river below, a pontoon boat filled with laughing and joking partygoers motored past. Over the outdoor speakers, Shania was singing “Forever and
for Always.” Who the hell had put on that soundtrack?

“Froggy’s has changed,” Jesse said after a long moment. “No longer just the place you gas up your johnboat, grab a six-pack and a hot dog.”

“A lot of things have changed.” She wondered how to tell him about her engagement to Beau.

You don’t owe him anything. He returned your letters unopened. Never called. Never offered an explanation for what he’d done. It’s none of his business that you’re getting married.

“I can see that.” His gaze lingered on her bosom. “A lot of things got bigger.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, fought back the thrill his perusal brought.
Stop this nonsense
.

“You changed your hair.”

She put a hand to her sleek straight locks. “I straighten it now.”

“Why?”

“It looks more polished.”

“Ah, I see.”

“See what?”

“You want to look like furniture.”

“What?” She knew he was making a joke but she was suddenly struck by insecurity. She lifted a hand to her hair. “You don’t like it?”

He shrugged, “’S all right.”

“You disapprove.”

“I liked it wild and curly.”

“You were the only one.”

“Meaning?”

“I like it straight.”

“Just you?”

“And my family.”

“Just them?”

“And Beau,” she said, reluctantly speaking his name in front of Jesse. Tension spun out between them, taut as wire, thick as tapioca.

“Ah, the Golden Boy, I was wondering when we were going to get to the root of the problem. He’s the one who likes straight hair. Not you, not your family.”

“Listen, you gave up your right to weigh in on my hair when you decided to sell drugs.”

“I didn’t—” He stopped, clenched his jaw, fisted his hands against his thighs. “I just don’t see any reason why you have to be something you’re not. Be natural, be yourself.”

“You’re saying I’m not polished?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t fight who you are.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the sage advice.” She scooted back her chair and tried to ignore her rapidly pumping heart. “Seeing as how following your natural outlaw tendencies worked so well for you.”

“Hey, now.” He rested his hand on her forearm. A jagged scar zigzagged across four of his knuckles. A scar that hadn’t been there ten years ago. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

She sucked in a breath filled with concern, sadness, longing, sarcasm, and fear. She twisted her arm out from under his hand. “I did just fine without your advice for ten years.”

“You did.” He nodded.

“Now you’re just placating me.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Why are you here, Jesse? Why did you come back to Twilight?”

He leaned forward, placed his arms on the table, pushed his tea glass back and forth between his hands. A nervous gesture? The ice in the glass tinkled; his watch band made a rough noise against the smooth table. For a split second, she prayed he would say,
You
. But he didn’t. He just shrugged. “Gotta be somewhere.”

“What are you planning on doing here?”

“Opening up a place to sell and repair motorcycles.”

“You were always good with your hands,” she said, recalling the way his calloused palms had felt running over her soft skin.

“It comes to me naturally,” he said. “But I also took courses in prison on small engine repair.”

“You can take courses in prison?”

“Sure. Rehabilitation and all that.”

“So you’re really set on staying.”

“I am.”

She didn’t know how she felt about that. It was unsettling, thinking of Jesse being in town again for good. “We’ll be seeing each other around.”

“We will.”

They stared at each other. Desire flamed in his eyes. He fisted his hands, clenched his jaw. She watched him fight back what he was feeling, but it was a struggle. Did
her
face reveal her own battle?

Fear clobbered the other emotions swirling inside her, pulling ahead like an odds-on favorite at the Kentucky Derby. She jerked her gaze from him, stared down at her hands, and that’s when she saw that her ring finger was bare.

“Omigod,” she exclaimed. Flynn felt her skin
blanch white, and she bit down so hard on her bottom lip she was amazed she didn’t taste blood.

Instantly Jesse was on his feet, on alert, fists knotted, eyes sharp, muscles tensed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My ring. I lost my ring. I’ve got to find it.”

“It’s all right, calm down. I’ll help you find it.”

“You don’t understand…it’s really valuable. Oh, oh, I knew something like this was going to happen.” She jumped back, eyes to the ground, searching. Beau was going to have a fit. She hadn’t had the damn thing twenty-four hours and she’d already lost it. And in less than four hours she was supposed to be at his mama’s annual Memorial Day weekend bash, flashing it around for all her uppity friends to ooh and aah over. Proving in his mother’s eyes, once and for all, that she wasn’t good enough for the likes of her son.

“Let’s retrace your steps. When was the last time you remembered having it on?”

“Just before you came into the restaurant.”

“You dropped the tray.”

Flynn groaned. “I lost it in the food. Or on the floor. Someone probably already found it, kept it.”

“Don’t freak.” Jesse laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

That same old electricity shot through her. She tensed beneath his touch and he immediately dropped his hand. Shania was back to “You’re Still the One.”
Would someone please put a new playlist on?
Several diners at nearby tables peered over at them.

“This is terrible,” she moaned, meaning more than just the loss of Beau’s engagement ring.

“Worst thing since Vietnam.” Jesse nodded solemnly, but his eyes danced with mischief.

Flynn’s heart clutched. Part of her wanted to smile, another part of her wanted to throw up. Once upon a time, whenever she was overreacting to some turn of events, Jesse would tease her with the crack about Vietnam, letting her know she was making a mountain out of a molehill. But the message had double meaning. The very last thing he’d said to her as Sheriff Clinton Trainer had stuffed him handcuffed into his squad car was: “Cheer up, Dimples, it’s not the worst thing since Vietnam.”

But it had been. Jesse’s arrest and subsequent conviction had been her teenage version of a devastating war with far-reaching consequences. Not wanting him to know how much their past still affected her—after all, she’d gone on to live a normal life, while he’d endured things she could not begin to imagine—she bantered back, “Horrible, the world will never be the same.”

“Scorched earth.”

“Devastation.”

“Widespread famine.”

“Orphans with rickets.”

“There’ll be monsoons.”

“Tidal waves.”

“Earthquakes.”

“Apocalypse, Mad Max style.”

“Sand and rusted tanks.”

“And really bad clothing options.”

“Damn,” he said. “The fate of the entire world hangs in the balance. We have to find that ring.”

A giddy warmth filled her and she couldn’t stop
herself from smiling, which she was sure had been Jesse’s intent.

“There you go,” he said. “Showing me those dimples.”

The giddiness disappeared, replace by embarrassment and confusion. What was the matter with her? Beau’s engagement ring had gone missing and she was flirting with Jesse.

I’m not flirting with him, I’m…I’m….
What was she doing?
Having a good time
.

Inappropriate. These thoughts were totally inappropriate.

They retraced her steps, searching along the way, and ended up on the loading dock, squatting on the cement ramp, going through the trash. After half an hour, she rocked back on her heels. Despair sagged her shoulders. “I give up. It’s gone.”

Jesse kept shifting through the guck like he was panning for gold. His head was down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Her stomached tightened. She still couldn’t believe it. Jesse was back and she was engaged to Beau.

Jesse grunted.

“What is it?” She rocked forward again.

“I think I found it.”

Relief and hope pulsed through her. “Really?”

Between his fingers, he held something covered in mashed potatoes. He wiped it off on newspaper they’d spread on the cement floor. Suddenly the triumphant smile vanished, replaced with a steely expression.

“An engagement ring?” he said. “You didn’t tell me we were looking for an engagement ring.”

Her heart stuttered. “Didn’t I?”

He shook his head, stared at her coolly. “Beau?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Who else but good ol’ Beau.” Something dark and unsettling flickered in his eyes. “When did you guys make if official?”

“We haven’t,” she admitted. “He asked me last night, I said yes. We’re announcing it officially tonight at his mother’s annual Memorial Day weekend party.”
Now why had she gone and told him that?
“May I please have it back?” Flynn held out her hand for the ring, but instead of putting it in her palm, he slipped it on her ring finger, mashed potatoes and all.

“Congratulations on the upcoming nuptials, Dimples. I hope you and Dudley Do-Right will be very happy together.”

Before she could say or do anything, he dipped his muddy blond head and closed his mouth over hers in a hard, unremitting kiss.

The kiss was spontaneous and bold, but it was not a kiss of passion. Rather, it was an instrument of his anger. Rude. Demanding. Orchestrated to shame.

Flynn’s body reacted instantly, softening, dampening, hungering. And in that second her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, kissing him back, gobbling up the taste of him like a starving woman. She felt her lips slip apart, felt his tongue slide sweetly into the space she’d made for him. She was bombarded by sensation. Some old, some new, all of them mind-blowing.

And along with the sensations tumbled a million emotions. She felt speechless, overwhelmed,
lusty, bewildered, ravenous, spellbound, ecstatic, ashamed, exhilarated, sheepish, aroused, annoyed.

Too much, it was all too much. It was wrong and it was way more than she could handle. Terrified, Flynn jerked her mouth away and slapped him hard across the face.

Jesse reached up, ran his hand along his jaw imprinted bright red from the impact of her palm. He didn’t say a word, just got to his feet and sauntered away.

Leaving Flynn crouched on the loading dock surrounded by garbage, hand stinging, heart thumping, a lump of sorrow and regret lodged solidly in her throat.

Jesse sped away from Froggy’s on his Harley determined not to feel a damn thing. But it was a hopeless endeavor. Flynn had always possessed the power to twist him inside out. Tangle him up. The scent of her lingered—spice, honeysuckle, sass.

And her taste!

His tongue tingled with her womanly flavor. His stinging cheek told him he shouldn’t have kissed her, but when he’d seen that ring, his cool had slipped away, leaving him with nothing but a desperate, primal need to brand her and claim her as his own.

He’d acted like a caveman.

Why had he kissed her like that? So savagely, so unrelentingly? Had he subconsciously wanted to punish her? He hated to think that was the case, but he couldn’t deny she brought out complicated feelings in him.

When he’d seen her again, standing in the artificial light of Froggy’s, wearing that apron and her I’m-in-charge expression, he’d been overtaken with longing. Dreaming about her in prison was one thing, seeing her in person was a whole other story. All his best intentions faded away in the face of reality. He was putty in her hands.

She’d grown even prettier since he’d seen her. More self-confident in her movements, more polished in her personal style. Her hazel eyes were the same. Feisty and smart. And those dimples. God, how he loved those dimples. The sight of them beat an antidepressant any day of the week. She was a little thinner than she’d been before, but she filled out her T-shirt quite nicely. Remembering, he felt himself getting aroused.