Treasure on Lilac Lane: A Jewell Cove Novel (7 page)

“Okay. I just know that a lot of guys come home from deployment and have trouble making sense of stuff. They don’t always handle it the right way.”

“This is about my drinking,” Rick guessed, gritting his teeth.

“Hey, you said you’ve been doing better. That’s great. I just want you to get help if you need it, brother. Give me a call if that happens. I can help.” Bryce put his hand on Rick’s arm. On his prosthetic arm.

Sharp words sat on Rick’s tongue, but he remembered feeling badly about snapping at Jess and knew, deep down, that his friend was just trying to help. “I’m dealing with it, don’t worry,” he assured Bryce with a smile. It felt slightly forced. “But thanks for the concern.”

Bryce finished his coffee and took out a ten, tucked it under his plate. “You bet. I gotta go, but I’m just a phone call away. Got that?”

“I appreciate it.”

Bryce laid a hand on his shoulder. “You hang tough. It’ll get better.” He gave Rick’s shoulder a reassuring thump and then left the café.

It’ll get better. Maybe, if people would stop reminding him how bad it was. He took a bite of pie and wished he wasn’t longing for a stiff shot of rum.

*   *   *

Rick put his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. He’d finally given in to Tom—and his shrinking bank account—and agreed to work on Jess’s shelves. But now he was an hour and a half late showing up, feeling rough around the edges and not prepared to face Jess right now.

The choice was taken out of his hands when the door to the shop swung open. “Are you going to stand out here all day?”

Nice beginning. Not even a chance to figure out what he was going to say to her to smooth any ruffled feathers. Perfect.

“Morning,” he offered gruffly, sliding past her into the store. He halted, unprepared for the kaleidoscope of color that made up her shop. There were racks of quilts, fabric, a rainbow of yarn shoved in cubbies, racks with sparkly jewelry, candles of every color and size, and shelves of jams and jellies. She’d built quite an enterprise here, and Rick found himself incredibly proud of all she’d accomplished. Particularly since she’d done it on her own. Not that he felt compelled to point that out right at this moment. She was hardly in a receptive frame of mind. One look at the hard line of her eyebrows and the thin slash of her lips and he’d felt like the tardy kid in Ms. Robertson’s second-grade class.

When Jess shut the door firmly behind him, he knew he’d better keep moving and made his way to her workroom in the back. It was huge. The perimeter was comprised of floor-to-waist cupboards and countertops. There were boxes and plastic storage containers with supplies lined up along the counters, vying for space with the stove, fridge, several bar stools, and a line of hot plates. In one corner was a quilting frame, the material stretched taut across it.

“What’s all this for?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the room. The lighting was fantastic, considering there were fewer windows here than in the showroom. She’d been smart with her choices.

“My classes. The hot plates are for candles. We work at the counters a lot, but some of the classes need different seating. Like when I do a beading class. I have folding tables and chairs in the closet over there. I find it easier to show everyone something at once and put the beads in organizers along the middle of the tables. Knitting is like that, too. If the group’s small enough, sometimes we take the knitting up to the loft. It’s cozier.”

“And the fridge and stove?”

“I use the stove for my candles. The fridge has supplies, and we often have snacks after classes. It’s social, too.”

He thought that perhaps the questions had soothed those ruffled feathers until she added, “Did you come to chat all day or are you going to get to work?”

“Sorry I’m late.”

She walked up to him, surprising him by cupping his chin in her fingers and staring him in the eyes. Disapproval showed on every feature. “I’m sure you are,” she replied, letting go and turning away.

“Jess, I overslept. That’s all. I didn’t hear the alarm.”

She laughed, but it was a hard, dry laugh. “Sure, Rick. Whatever. I’ve got work to do. Tom left you the supplies on the back landing and said to call if you needed anything else for tools.”

Frustration burned inside him. She was making assumptions again. It was as plain as the nose on his face. “Don’t dismiss me like that, like you’re all high and mighty. Don’t you dare, Jessica Collins.”

She spun back. “What am I supposed to do when you show up nearly two hours late, with bloodshot eyes and looking like you were dragged out of bed? Well, if nothing else, Rick, you’re consistent.”

Rick was tired. He’d had a rough night last night. He couldn’t sleep—scenes with Kyle kept revolving in his head, making his mind whirr and his body tense. He’d kept thinking about what he might have done differently. If it would have changed the outcome. Naturally, he’d felt the urge to drink and drink a lot, just to make the whole cycle stop. It was ironic, wasn’t it? That the thing Jess was accusing him of was the one thing he’d worked hardest to avoid?

“You automatically think I was drinking,” he ground out. His temper was short today, he realized. He needed something physical, an activity to take up some of this energy pounding through him. He clenched his fingers into a fist and released them again.

“Weren’t you?” One eyebrow went up this time. He had the unholy urge to kiss the condemning expression off her face. Plant one big one on her and wipe that smug, disdainful look clean away. That would fix her wagon …

Who was he kidding? Kissing Jess would be about like puckering up to a viper, the mood she was in.

“If I said I wasn’t drinking, would you even believe me?” She opened her mouth but he held up a hand. “Enough, Jess. I’m late, I’m sorry you’re angry, let’s both just get to work and stay out of each other’s way.”

She stood there, hands on hips, glaring at him.

“Look,” he challenged again, fed up with her passing judgment all the time. “Do you want these shelves or not? If you don’t, I’ll take off right now, and you can call Tom and explain why you need someone from his crew to fit you into their schedule.”

Ah. She looked slightly uncomfortable at that notion. And he supposed he could tell her the truth—that he’d stayed up late working on a project to keep himself from breaking a promise. But he shouldn’t have to. Especially when his painting was something he guarded carefully. It was his and his alone.

Besides, Jess might laugh at him. And he’d rather take her anger and judgment than mockery.

“Well?” he asked, none too kindly.

She flounced her hair over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll be in the front working on consignment statements.”

Jess was gone in a cloud of scent that reminded him both of his mother’s garden and sugar cookies. He sighed and wiped his hand over his face. Thank God Tom had sent over the dimensions for the shelves a couple of days ago. Otherwise Rick might have needed to ask Jess for input and he’d rather deal with an angry badger than tangle with her at the moment.

He spent the next hour lugging in the materials, taking longer than normal since he could have used two arms at 100 percent. Still, he managed, including a large tote that held all the tools he’d need for the job as well as a spare battery and charger for the cordless drill.

It helped that the shelves were pre-cut and only needed to be installed. Once Rick made sense of the lengths and where they’d go, he sorted through the hardware and organized brackets and screws into neat piles. He measured, then marked everything with the level, and it was all going smoothly until he went to screw the first bracket into place. He was holding the metal piece with his prosthetic, and the screw clung to the magnetic tip of the drill bit, but he didn’t get it set quite right and the moment he pulled the trigger, it spun off the tip and went careening away, tap-tapping on the floor as it fell.

Rick sighed.

“Do you need help?”

Jess’s voice was soft, coming from the doorway. He looked up, irritated. Her expression had softened and she’d lost that condemning look she’d had when he’d first arrived. Just looking at her made his body react in ways he wished it wouldn’t. It made things damned uncomfortable. How could he possibly be attracted to someone who made him so angry?

“I’m fine.” He retrieved the screw from the floor, then marked the spot, gave it a tap to set the tip, put the bracket back in place, and pressed the drill bit firmly against the top of the screw. To his relief it went perfectly into place.

“Rick, I’m sorry I was so angry.”

For some reason her apology made him nearly as mad as the accusation. Maybe he should do the gracious thing and accept it. He didn’t feel like it. Maybe Jess needed to learn to think before she spoke … and that words were more than just words.

“Okay,” he answered. He picked up another screw. This one was easier now that the first screw held the bracket in place. The drill whined through the silence.

“You’re mad at me,” she said, and he looked up. Sure enough, her eyes were asking for forgiveness. He should give it. He knew that. But because Jess made him feel weak, he held back.

“I’m busy here, Jess. You want your job done or not?”

She turned on her heel and disappeared again.

When she was gone Rick dropped his head and let out a breath. This wasn’t good. His feelings for Jess weren’t exactly friendly. They were more, much more, and she was convinced that he was nothing more than a disappointment.

The old Rick would have shaken that off, put on the charm, and proved her wrong. The problem was, he wasn’t convinced she was wrong. And until he was, he had no business messing around with the likes of Jess Collins.

C
HAPTER
5

Jess had just rolled the quilt and was now immersed in making tiny, even stitches. She loved the feel of the needle and thimble, the slight popping sound as the needle poked through the taut fabric, the bubbled texture of the previously quilted spots under her fingertips. Summer Arnold, one of the regulars from Jess’s craft classes, sat beside her looking like the last person to be spending an afternoon with a needle and thread.

Summer’s hair had a pink streak down one side, a silver nose ring looped through one nostril, and her jeans had tears at the knees and thighs. Her youthful face had a healthy glow, though, and she seemed to blend an edgy rebel look with a natural, earthy vibe.

It was a relief for Jess to spend time with Summer, one of the few friends she had who was unmarried. It seemed lately that every time she turned around she was faced with her family and friends and their perfect husbands, perfect families, perfect lives. Sometimes it put Jess’s life in stark relief. It seemed like everyone was married or in love these days. And Jess was alone.

Which was her choice. She’d rather be alone than settle just because she was lonely, but sometimes—not that she’d admit it to another soul—that choice sucked.

She focused on the pieced blocks that made up waves and a sailboat. Summer tied off her thread and grabbed the spool for more. “Hey Jess, I heard you and Rick took some donations to the shelter. How’s he doing?”

Jess started at the mention of Rick’s name. The last few days she’d had to endure his presence in her workroom, and he barely said two words to her. He was still angry at her accusations that first morning. But she’d taken one look at his bloodshot eyes and tousled hair and had known. She wished she had better control over her reactions. It didn’t seem to matter what she knew intellectually—certain things still triggered an automatic response, like a muscle memory to a threat. One of those things was the way a man looked after a binge. In her experience they were irritable at best, and a hair trigger at worst.

Once she’d had time to process things, she’d calmed down. And felt a little foolish for being so snappish.

“Oh, you know,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “Okay, considering.”

“I saw him the other night. He was with Bryce.”

Great. Rick plus the police chief. “What trouble did he get himself into this time?”

“Trouble?” Summer’s brows pulled together in confusion. “No trouble. He was having some dinner at Breezes and I was on shift that night. He’s moved back into his mom’s house, you know.”

Jess hadn’t known. She’d tried to keep her nose firmly out of Rick’s business. It was too complicated and all they usually ended up doing was arguing anyway. “That’s good,” she said, concentrating on a line of stitches. “It’s got to be better than where he was.”

“Sure, but I bet it’s hard, too. Bryce said Rick really seems to be making an effort to get his act together. Shame he’s laid off. It would probably be easier if he were working.”

Keeping busy was always a good idea, Jess knew firsthand. It was a rare thing for her to sit idle. It gave her too much time to think. Like think about how Rick’s mouth had quirked up when he was teasing her in the car, or how the muscles had rippled his shirt when he lifted boxes. Now she felt smaller than ever, because Rick had really needed this job and she hadn’t made it easy for him.

“Anything else new?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

Summer shrugged. “Remember Karen Greer? I heard she and her husband just moved back to Jewell Cove. Apparently, she has cancer and isn’t doing so well, so Brian moved them back to town. Says she wants to be by the ocean.” Summer paused to shake her head sadly. “Word is, Brian called the kids and asked them to come home. I guess they don’t want to wait until Christmas. It might be too late by then.” Her words were quiet, in deference to the sad subject.

Jess’s body went suddenly cold and her hand stopped midstitch.

“Didn’t I hear that you went out with Mike Greer back in the day?” Summer’s voice perked up as she knotted a new thread. “I think Bryce mentioned that.”

Summer had continued on as if the mentioning of Mike Greer’s name was simple gossipy conversation. Her stitches were smooth and even; she was utterly unaware of how Jess had frozen in her chair.

Mike Greer. Just the name was enough to make her tremble. Josh had made him promise to never come back to Jewell Cove and to her knowledge he never had. Of course, Josh had also promised Mike that if he did return, he’d never walk again. And he’d meant it. The quilt in Jess’s hands faded as she struggled to breathe, trapped in her memories. Josh had been the one to tend her cuts and bruises. He’d been staying at their mom’s place, home on leave, when he’d stopped by the little house she and Mike had rented from his parents. She had been so young back then, so determined to have her own way by moving out, unwilling to admit that her boyfriend would never change. But when she saw Josh’s reaction to her injuries, she’d known enough was enough.