Calamity Jena (Invertary Book 4) (6 page)

“Over the last year we were together, Frank changed. He became arrogant. Entitled. Kept talking about his reputation. Had whispered conversations with guys with no necks, if you know what I mean.”

Claire nodded. “Bodybuilders.”

Matt looked at the ceiling and bit his tongue to stop from laughing. Jena stared at his sister for a beat.

“No, honey, mob enforcers. Goons. Hard men. Criminals.”

“Oh.” Claire turned pink, and Matt wanted to ruffle her hair. He was glad his sisters didn’t know about men like that. Damn glad.

“What happened?” Megan said. “What made you leave?” She lowered her voice. “Did he turn into a hard man too?”

“Worse,” Jena said. “He started auditioning the women in his club.”

The girls shared a confused look.

“On their backs,” Jena clarified. “He was having sex with the strippers. I caught him with one of them. And that was it. I sold our gear to make up for the years I’d poured money into him, and his schemes, and I bought this place.” She grinned. “Bad story over. New beginning in Scotland.”

“Is he here to get his money back?” Claire said.

“I don’t know why he’s here.” Jena looked at Matt. “If he’s looking for money, there’s none to get.”

“Do you think he’s come to rub you out?” Claire said. “That’s the right way to put it, isn’t it?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Okay, enough of this. Thanks for bringing the food over. Time for you two to go home.”

They made the same disgruntled whines they’d made as kids when he was left babysitting them and had to put them to bed. It made him grin.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Megan promised Jena.

Matt herded the women out of the house.

“Leave Jena alone,” he told them when they were outside the door. “She’s got enough on her plate.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be any trouble at all.” Megan batted her eyelashes at him in an attempt to look innocent. Yeah, like that would work.

“If I believe that, then I also believe in Santa.”

“You mean he’s not real?” Claire held her cheeks in shock.

“Get out of here.” Matt shooed them away. “And don’t forget to visit Dad this week. Mum says he’s having some better days.”

A sad look passed over them. “We’re going tomorrow,” Claire said.

“Good.”

They turned to face their car. “Love you, Mattie,” they both sang at the same time.

He found himself grinning when he went back into Jena’s house.

5

Jena was washing dishes when Matt came back into the kitchen. She knew he was there because the air tingled, sending shivers up her spine. She glanced at him, wondering for the millionth time what she’d gotten herself into.

His black shirt was pulled tight over muscle. His jeans sat low on his hips and clung to thick thighs. Black hair, usually short and neat, looked like he’d ran his fingers through it. He had one of those square jaws you usually only found chiselled on marble sculptures—or on underwear models. Deep-set blue eyes made him appear continuously broody. Even if the guy had been a total airhead, the eyes would have made it look like he was thinking hard.

“Where am I sleeping?” That deep brogue of his made her mouth water.

“I’ll show you.” She dried her hands on a purple dishtowel.

She manoeuvred past him and into the hall, aware that he was close behind her. She pushed open the heavy wooden door to the living room. She’d stripped about twenty layers of paint off it by hand—and felt every single minute of the work. It’d cost her a manicure, but it was worth it every time she ran her hand over the warm surface.

“The couch pulls out into a bed. It’s not very big, but you’ll be fine for the night.”

Abby had given her the couch. It had originally been grey, but Jena had made a cover for it from a vibrant blue chunky cord material she’d found on sale at Kirsty’s mum’s shop. There was also an oversized beanbag made from a paisley patterned material in pinks, blues and purples. Apart from that, the only other furniture in the room was a tiny end table she’d found in a skip and sanded to perfection, before painting it the same shade of pink that was in the beanbag. There was a silver standing lamp beside the couch and a small silver TV fixed to the wall above the fireplace. Jena had like the simple lines of the fireplace, but had painted it white to freshen it up. The part that would house a fire had long since been boarded up, so she’d placed a vase of flowers in the space. Pink and purple ones Abby had let her pick from her garden. She’d made the floor-length curtains out of the same material as the beanbag and painted the walls a lovely shade of lavender, and the trim white. Overall the feeling was one of warmth and comfort.

When she turned towards Matt, his eyes were wide with shock. “Who did this?” He motioned to the room.

It took Jena a few seconds to realise he meant the décor. “I did.”

He slowly walked around the room, his steps echoing over her polished wooden floors. He ran a hand over the stripped and stained window ledge, before examining the lavender-coloured walls.

“You did a good job, Jena.”

She couldn’t help it—she felt her heart swell at the praise. “You sound surprised.”

He grinned at her. It was panty melting. “Yeah, I am. You don’t strike me as the DIY type.”

“I can learn. I had to.” She shrugged. Why did people always look at her and see a bimbo who was incapable of reading a book? “Besides, this room wasn’t too difficult. I just stripped everything in it. And years of making dance costumes means I’m a dab hand with a sewing machine.”

He frowned at her. “Don’t put yourself down. This is a lot of work. You didn’t
just
strip everything. You gave it a new lease of life. And you did a great job.”

Jena felt her cheeks burn. It was hard to look him in the eye. “Glad you appreciate it. This room happened before I ran out of money. You won’t see this again, so soak it up while you can.” She gave him a wide grin as he stared at her, as though assessing. “I’ll get the bedding.”

She turned, heading for the stairs and the only other room in the house that was finished—her bedroom. When she returned, Matt stood in front of the wide bay windows texting someone. A muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched, piquing Jena’s curiosity.

“Trouble?” she asked.

There was a pause, as though he was unsure whether to answer or not. “My dad. He’s having a few good days. I need to make time to go see him.”

“Good days?”

His gaze turned to the darkened windows. “Alzheimer’s. Late stage.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything else. Eventually Jena felt uncomfortable waiting for him. “I’m going to head to bed. I need to get up early tomorrow. First day of work.” She flashed a nervous smile at his back, aware he could see her reflection in the window.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten a job.”

“It isn’t a proper job or anything. It’s at the hardware store, Gordon says I can work for supplies.”

“Sounds like a proper job to me.”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “I’m the in-house entertainment. He thinks my ignorance is funny.”

“That’s small-town living—you take your fun where you find it.”

For a minute Jena’s libido sabotaged her brain and she imagined having all sorts of fun with the sexy cop. She took a step back.

“Okay, I’m off to bed. Bathroom’s at the top of the stairs.” She gave him an apologetic look. “There’s no hot water. If you fancy a cold shower then be my guest. I’m saving for a new boiler.” She chewed her lip. “Or I would be saving for a new boiler if I had any money.”

His gaze zoomed in on her, reminding her that he wasn’t only a houseguest, he was a cop.

“If you’re working in exchange for building materials, what are you doing for money to live?”

Jena forced a smile. “Don’t worry, officer. I’m not doing anything illegal.”

Before he could ask any more questions, Jena ran for the stairs and headed to the sanctuary of her bedroom. The truth was that she wasn’t doing anything to earn money. She was living off what little savings she had left and selling the few bits and pieces of jewellery she’d brought with her. By her estimation she was about two weeks away from living without electricity and eating raw mushrooms from Abby’s farm three times a day. She hadn’t had any time to look for work, and her marketable skills were seriously limited. As far as she was aware, Invertary wasn’t in the market for a go-go girl.

For a second the stress of her life stole her breath. She lay on her bed and stared at the pristine white ceiling. Problems were stacking up and she had to fight not to drown in them. Her money was running out. Her house was falling down around her ears. Her ex was in town looking for payback. And there was a cop sleeping on her couch.

A very sexy cop.

She pulled the pillow over her face and screamed into it.

“If you’re going to kill yourself there are easier ways to do it,” came the droll voice from her doorway.

Jena shot up straight to find Matt grinning—she’d forgotten to shut her door. With a wink, he headed into the bathroom. As soon as she heard the door click behind him, Jena tiptoed over to her bedroom door and shut it quietly.

As she climbed back into bed, she wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment.

“Night, Jena,” Matt called as he passed. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep. Every little noise in this house echoes. Wouldn’t want to overhear any X-rated dreams you might have.”

Yep, Jena decided—you
could
die of embarrassment.

6

The twins were still laughing when they climbed into the ancient lime-green Mini Cooper they shared.

“I don't know who to feel sorry for more.” Megan angled the car out into the dark country road. “Matt for having to suffer Jena's pit of a house, or Jena for having to suffer Matt.”

“Jena, definitely.”

Megan took her eyes off the road long enough to turn to her sister and share a grin. When they turned back to the road, it was just in time to spot the horrified look on the face of a man running towards them. Megan yanked the wheel. The guy made a dive for the bushes. They felt, rather than heard, a loud thud. The two women screamed. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road.

“Did we hit him?” Megan's voice was barely audible.

“I don’t think so.” Claire's hands shook as she opened the car door. The front corner of the car was wedged against a tree stump. She let out a shaky breath. “We hit a tree.”

“I can’t see the guy,” Megan called.

“There!” Claire ran towards the black-clad body, which was lying on the grass verge against the hedge.

The twins fell to their knees beside the man. “Who is it?” Megan demanded. “What happened? I didn’t hit him. Why isn’t he moving?”

“I don't recognise him.” Claire reached over and put a trembling hand on his wide chest. Relief made her giddy. “He's breathing. I think he hit his head when he dove out of the way.”

That news jerked Megan out of her daze. “Good. That’s good. Not good he hit his head. Good we didn’t hit him and he’s still breathing. What do we do?”

“I don't know.”

He made a little groaning sound. Claire patted his chest, hoping her gentle touch would reassure him. Hard, corded muscles met her fingertips, making her suddenly aware that she was petting a very large, strange man.

“Can you hear me?” she said. “You've been in an accident.”

With a gentle groan, his head turned towards Claire, and the air was sucked out of her. Masculine. He was the definition of the word. His dark hair was cropped military short, and an old scar ran from his hairline over his temple to the curve of his cheek. His nose had been broken at some point and had healed slightly crooked. For a second Claire had the urge to trace the bump on the ridge. Full lips were the only soft feature in a harsh face. She stared at them and wondered briefly if they were as soft as they looked.

“What’s your name?” Megan’s voice snapped Claire’s attention away from her inappropriate thoughts.

His eyes didn’t open, but he mumbled a word: “Grunt.”

“No, honey, she asked your name.” Claire patted his chest. “Tell us your name.”