Deconstructing Lila (Entangled Select) (16 page)

She breezed toward Lila, her perfect, rounded, pert, non-jiggly breasts standing at attention beneath the thin silk of her black camisole. They didn’t move, which told Lila a lot. The hips, however, were swinging like an old barn door.

“Hi there.” Her white teeth shone like a freshly painted white picket fence. Lila looked away, down toward a narrow waist evident by the form fit of the camisole.

Lila hated her immediately. She was perfect. Medically perfect.

“Hello.”

Miss Perfect Breasts didn’t seem to notice her stony expression.

“Is Jacob here?”

Oh, Jacob, was it? How very upscale. Probably the wife of an oil executive out to oversee the construction. She gave the woman’s left hand a cursory scan.

No rock.

A chill raced down her spine. Lila wanted to know her business with Jacob, but refrained from asking. She didn’t come out here prepared to do battle. Hell, she wore a ponytail and not a trace of makeup. How could she compete with the queen of pert?

Maybe it was better she didn’t know. She picked an imaginary piece of lint off her cropped linen pants and caught a glimpse of Pert’s lacquered silver toenails framed by toe rings.
Ugh!

“He’s around the corner.” She pointed to the other side of the trailer.

“Thanks, hon.” Pert clattered off in the direction she indicated, unaffected by the visual daggers she threw at her sculpted back.

Lila had to look. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop her eyes from dropping to the chiffon-clad rear walking toward Jake.

Slapping a hand over her eyes, she peeked again. Yep, firm, round, and…pert.

Lila’s feet moved on their own; she simply obliged and let the rest of her body follow. She wouldn’t spy exactly, just…um…make sure Jake hadn’t disappeared.

Skirting the other side of the trailer closest to the tree line, Jake came into view, leaning over his paperwork.

“Jacob! Hard at work I see.”
She
came into view, too, standing back from Jake so he could have a nice long look if he wanted.

Lila’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when Jake turned, giving the woman the once-over. He was a married man, for Pete’s sake. Married to her!

Backtracking to her car, Lila slid into the driver’s seat. The burning leather on her bottom barely registered as she considered Jake and Ms. Fake Boobs. More there than a professional relationship? Could this be Jenna, the woman Margie had told Granny about?

Putting the car in reverse, she hit the gas pedal and grunted as the seat belt locked her into the seat.

What the hell…? The SUV! She’d backed into the woman’s SUV.

Holy hell!
Would nothing go her way?

Lesson Number Eighteen —

Angry women do not make good wives. They make lonely women. Take it from me, a person who has asked many, many men why they visit my rooms rather than stay at home with their families. Letting anger, resentment, frustration, and unhappiness build inside you only drives your man away. Communicating with him cannot be worse than having him here with me, can it?

Chapter Twenty

I
visited the jailhouse today. The place is horrible. It is so tiny and crowded, reeking of old alcohol and tired, sweaty men. I should be used to the smell by now, but I demand my customers come to me after they have had their bath; whether it be their weekly, monthly, or yearly matters little to me, as long as they have had it.

A young man, barely more than a boy, met me at the jailhouse door, his hair neatly combed and oiled in the front. When he turned to escort me to the cells, I noticed the back of his head was snarled from bed.

It is strange how the mind works. When I am in an unpleasant place like the jail, my mind wanders, searching for distractions, something to keep me from thinking about what I am doing. Hence, the young man today. Like a mother, I wanted to smooth his tangled hair and demand he wash his hands, freshen his clothes.

But when I stepped through the door leading to the cells, I focused my attention on the girls inside.

“Ladies.” Most knew the routine. They had been here before, as had I.

They lined up as close to the bars as they could get, a weary lot of women in various states of dress.

There were eight in all, three of whom I did not know.

I looked over my shoulder to the fidgeting youth in the entry. “Charges?” I asked.

He scampered back through to the office, which really only consisted of a rickety table with a kerosene lamp and an accompanying chair.

“Miss Prudence, we knew you’d come, ma’am.” I looked at the girl on my left, her hands waving at me through the bars. Determining age is difficult among this class of prostitutes, but I placed her younger than twenty.

I have learned to read the eyes in this regard. They are the best indicator of a woman’s age. The hope in her brown eyes told me life had not beaten her down. Yet.

“I told these others help would come, soon enough.”

I nodded and walked down the line, examining the girls, judging what could be done, if anything.

“Two disorderly conducts, three public drunkenness, one theft, and two aggravated assaults.” Mr. Tangled and Dirty stood close behind me, the corridor along the cell crowding us together.

He had a kind smile, an innocent smile. I wondered if he knew who I was and what I did to earn a living. But then he was too young to be tainted by the vice from my end of town. “Thank you, Mr…?” I did not know his name, but he had the look of the old sheriff. A son or nephew, perhaps?

“Billy Smith, ma’am.” As I suspected. Well, he would learn soon enough.

“Well, Mr. Smith, I believe forty dollars will set these women free. Do you agree?” I gave him an encouraging, reassuring smile intended to set any fears he might have aside, so I might depart the jailhouse immediately.

My reticule was open and I was ready to hand over the fines when he realized I meant to pay.

“Ah, I’m not in charge here, ma’am. I’ll need to check with the new sheriff before I release these ladies to your charge. If you can—”

The door at the front of the jailhouse flew open, jarring the entire structure. “Prudence!”

Luke. Hell.

“Where are you, woman?”

He raged into the corridor outside the holding cell with all the energy of a caged animal, his eyes wild and searching. When his gaze fell upon me standing outside the cell next to Mr. Smith, who, poor boy, was cowering behind me, Luke stopped short, confused.

He towered over the two of us, sucking the air out of the very room. For an instant, I viewed him as the other people in Hannington must view him. The big, scary man with the long hair who refused to carry a sidearm. A man of his size only needed fists to make his point.

“Mr. Pierce, there is no need for all the excitement.” I did not want him to place us together in an intimate relationship. It would lead to talk. And more talk was not what Luke Pierce needed.

The man was considered something of an eccentric as it was.

“But the washerwoman at the Two Nellies told me you were in jail!”

Oh dear. “I am sure she did. But what she meant to say was I am visiting the jail. Not being held.”

Luke looked from me, to Mr. Smith, to the women behind the dingy cell bars. Bless the man, I saw his face flush when he comprehended the situation.

He tried to cover his actions with a good degree of bluster. He cleared his throat and stuffed his fists into his trouser pockets, speaking for the benefit of the nine other sets of ears in the room. “Of course.”

Several seconds passed before Mr. Smith found his tongue. “Ma’am.” He fell back a step, closer to the cell, but farther from Luke’s reach. “You and the gentleman better come back when the sheriff is in to discuss your business. I can’t let the prisoners go without his consent. He’s got different rules, this new sheriff. ”

Lord save me from weak men. “And when, Mr. Smith, will the sheriff return?”

“How much?” Luke rode over the boy’s answer, once again in control.

I could smell the uncertainty rolling off the young man. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

I peeked at the ladies who up until this time had been minding their behavior. They, too, had obviously caught the odor of fear in the room, for a few had stepped back from the bars with pinched mouths.

“How much, boy? What are the fines?”

Leave it to Luke to cut to the bottom dollar. But this was a delicate situation, and I did not want Luke to anger the new sheriff, drawing attention to the deal I had always had with the old sheriff. Whenever single women of questionable reputation were picked up and charged, we had an understanding that I would pay the fines and take the girls home.

If I could convince them to truly return to their homes, or pursue another line of work, all the better. If not, well, they went back to their dance hall, or saloon, or crib, and would end up back in jail soon enough.

So the pattern went. Until Luke appeared.

“Mr. Pierce, how kind of you to inquire on these girls’ behalf. I assure you the sheriff has assessed reasonable fines and they will be released soon enough.” Not that I believed a word of this, but I wanted the sheriff to know I was not willing to compromise our deal.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I will return shortly to discuss the matter with the sheriff.”

I nodded at Luke, who stood with his fists clenched at his sides, clearly unhappy with my refusal to let him handle the matter.

“Mr. Pierce, good day.” I squared my shoulders and attempted as much dignity as I could muster, marching out the door without even a glance for the girls in the cell. They knew the routine.

“Ms. MacIntosh.” The words were barely discernable as they ground out from between his teeth, his head tipping in acknowledgment.

The sun shone impossibly high in the midday sky as I stepped outside and headed south, down to the Acre. I had not gotten very far when Luke caught up with me, his strides eating up the soft pine planks of the boardwalk.

“Prudence! What the hell was that all about? Why were you acting like you didn’t know me?”

I would still act like I did not know him. We were in the middle of town, people coming and going all around us. The boy back inside may have been too young to know about me, but certainly everyone on the street identified me clear enough.

The audacity of my natural hair color, red, and the fairness of my Northern Irish complexion set me apart from the rest of the community as surely as if I had run naked down the middle of street.

I talked as I walked, refusing to stop. “Mr. Pierce. I think it would be better for your sake if we kept our correspondence restricted to—”

My feet nearly left the ground as I was whipped around so fast, my feathered hat slipped to one side. “Prudence, I don’t give a tinker’s damn what these people think of me!”

Luke was angry and justifiably so. It was hell being penned in by the dictates of society. I did not make the rules and I sure the hell did not like them, but I was forced to abide by them just the same. “I care!” I whispered fiercely. “My job is hard enough as it is. I don’t want to bring more misery than is already due.” His whiskey eyes bore into me, the hurt evident on his expressive face.

“But what about you, Pru? Who’s going to take care of you? See to your needs? Comfort you when you need it?”

This sweet, blessed man. His words tore through my heart, bringing me joy at the same moment it brought me exquisite pain.

Who indeed would comfort me when I needed it most? Up until this moment of my life, there had been no one.

J
ake tensed at the sound of Jenna’s sugary voice.
What did she want now?
It had only been a matter of days since she’d picked a fight with Casler. Did she come back now to irritate the hell out of Jake?

Looking up from the worktable, he took her in all at once. Christ, the woman dressed like she was on the runway for Victoria’s Secret. Like any other man, he could appreciate beauty, but his tastes ran to the more naturally acquired kind…the kind bestowed by God and good breeding, not the scalpel.

Jenna left him vaguely uncomfortable, like he’d sneaked into a peep show.

“Come out to check on the skylights?” He forced himself to be pleasant. She’d paid him to do a job, after all.

“Oh. Sure.” She seemed surprise by the suggestion. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week, Jacob. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

True. He avoided all women at the moment, his wife in particular.

“Houses don’t get built by dreaming about ’em, Jenna. I’ve been here most of the week.”
Hiding out
.

She gazed at him through the lashes of her giant doe eyes, her lined lips pursing into a pretty pout. “I was hoping to ask you for an escort to the Cattleman’s Ball in Fort Worth next month, if it doesn’t conflict with your doctor’s appointment. If you want to go, I need time to pick a dress.”

Jake barely heard her. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Lila peeking out from behind the construction trailer.

What the hell was she doing…?

And then it hit him. Lila was spying on him with Jenna. She was jealous.

He leaned in closer to Jenna, cutting her off in mid-sentence, something about a custom dress from Los Angeles. He got a nose full of her overpowering perfume and it recoiled the skin along certain delicate areas of his anatomy.

“When did you say it was?”

“Next month, the seventeenth—”

A swaying branch near the trailer recaptured his attention. Lila had gone.

“Sorry. Can’t make it. Conflict.”

Either he’d done his work well and warded off two women, or he’d just signed his own death warrant. Lila had never taken well to jealousy when they were married.

“Are you sure? I think we’d have fun.” Jenna closed the eight inches separating their bodies, planting a wet kiss on his lips.

He experienced the exciting tingle of awareness the opposite sex evoked, but compared to his desire for Lila, it paled. No, it withered.

Fortunately, it ended as quickly as it began.

“Sorry. I can’t get out of it.”

“Well. Your loss then, because my dress will be stunning!” She turned, picking her way across the site back to her truck.

Shaking his head, Jake returned his attention to his blueprints. Maybe now with all the women gone, he could get some work done.

The image of Lila standing proudly before him in her damp tank top drifted through his mind. Compared to Jenna, she was hotter than a Texas summer.

A feminine scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He threw down his pencil and raced in the direction of the hollering and sputtering. As he rounded the corner, he skidded to a halt.

The rear end of Lila’s Lexus hung off the black iron ramming plate of Jenna’s Suburban. Obviously, the two vehicles were stuck together tight, because Lila grabbed a crowbar out of her trunk and went to work on the Suburban.

She didn’t look up once, not even as Jenna continued to scream, holding her hands to her head.

“Are you crazy? What’re you doing to my baby?”

“Your baby tried to eat my car.”

Jenna made a grab for the crowbar, but Lila shouldered her back, knocking her against the hood.

He didn’t know what to do first: help Lila get her car unhooked, or protect Jenna from Lila.

“Jake, do something! This woman’s crazy. She’s tearing up my car.”

A loud wrenching of metal on metal filled the air. The grill on the SUV gave way at one end, setting Jenna off into another round of hysterical squeals.

“Stop it! Stop it! I’m calling the cops! Do you hear me? I’m calling the police.” Jenna teetered on her high heels around to the driver’s side and retrieved her cell phone.

Her long manicured nails prevented her from dialing 9-1-1 the first two attempts, but on the third she gave a shout of triumph and placed the phone to her ear.

Jake didn’t bother interfering. Her call wouldn’t make it off the site. With all the flint and limestone hills around, cell phones didn’t have much success unless you went to higher ground. One of the reasons he liked it out here. No phones.

He moseyed over to Lila, checking her progress. Her bumper rested on the towing reels of the Suburban. With only one corner of the grill free, she still had a lot of work ahead of her.

“What happened?”

Her back arched with tension. His ploy with Jenna had hit home. Looking up from her bumper, Lila glared at him, red-faced with exertion.
Or was it pain?

“That ridiculous woman wedged me in. I couldn’t get out.”

As if that were all the explanation she needed for tearing up another vehicle.

From behind the Suburban, a squeal rang out and Jake saw Jenna race up the drive in search of a more cell phone–friendly locale.

“Can I help?”

She straightened, the crowbar between them. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths. Perspiration darkened the cotton of her tank, outlining her hardened nipples.

Jesus. He needed help.
He wanted to drive his wife away, and here he was, harder than a log within two minutes.

Her blue eyes glowed with anger, but she stayed strangely calm. Way too calm.