Jamie (4 page)

No, he knew what she wanted. And God help him, he wanted to give in.

Tossing a quick look over his shoulder, he said to himself as much as her, “You're drunk.”

Her lips curled in a teasing smile. “You got me drunk.”

For a reason. He should remember that. “Tell me about your daughter.”

She dropped back on her behind. “My . . . ?”

His gaze fell to the junction of her thighs, and belatedly she pulled the shirt closed to cover herself.

Sweat dampened Jamie's skin.
Damn.
“You have a daughter.”

Saying it made her think of the little girl, and more images danced in front of him, so clear and crisp he could almost feel the springy texture of the girl's wildly curling hair, the puny strength in her skinny arms as she gave a tight hug.

He saw her as a tiny infant, making mewling sounds, clutching at the woman's finger. A toddler taking first steps. Crying with illness, laughing at a bird.

Held safe and secure.

Hiding.

And finally, a young child staring at the world with an acute perception few ever possessed and others never believed.

Horror-struck, Jamie grabbed the woman's shoulders, inadvertently squeezing. “Your daughter is psychic?”
Christ.
Had her daughter sent her here?

She pressed back, her fear palpable. “Jamie?” she whispered. “You sound angry.”

Enraged was more like it, but not for the reasons she assumed. Thanks to his
gift,
his life had been a never-ending hell. To wish that on a kid . . .

He shoved himself away from the woman and rose to his feet, pacing several steps, then storming back. But words didn't come to him. Even through the mind-muddling moonshine, he felt her need, a mother's need for her daughter, and he accepted in that moment that he couldn't send her away, not until he knew it all.

Not until he helped.

He caught her arm above the elbow and hauled her to her feet, then had to hang on to her to keep her from falling on her face. She'd gotten too drunk too quick.

To rid her of her fear, Jamie regulated his voice into a bland drone. “Sit on the couch. The floor is cold, and you're already sick.”

“I want you to sit with me. I don't want to be alone.”

Was she a torture device meant to break him down? “I will. In a few minutes.”

“You promise?”

Because he couldn't make promises, Jamie led her to the couch and forcibly seated her. He tucked the quilt around her. “Stay here.”

Mulish obstinacy had her bottom lip sticking out and her eyes sparking. “You can be so grumpy. I wasn't expecting that. Mysterious, yeah. Private, sure. But not grumpy.”

Jamie tuned her out and instead focused on the townsfolk. It'd rain throughout the night, and tomorrow the hillside would be slick and impenetrable, layered in fog, ripe with mosquitoes and other nasty bugs that enjoyed the humidity. That meant he'd have at least until the day after before they came calling.

He resolved to have things figured out by then.

Feeling better now that he had a bare-bones plan, he put the wood in the grate and struck a match. As bluish flames licked upward, Jamie became aware of the trouble brewing in town. He concentrated, and almost groaned aloud as a few details became clear to him.

Trouble with a capital T.

But this time, maybe he'd stay uninvolved. He didn't sense any dire physical threat, at least not right off. And emotionally . . . well, these weren't weak people. In fact, he thought strength might be the biggest problem. Visitation, North Carolina, now had its fair share of macho men and determined women, and the result was sometimes the same as penning too many bulls together.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the resulting confusion would serve as an impetus to set things right, to resolve issues so that one and all could be happy.

“Jamie?”

He rose from the hearth and glanced at the woman. Okay, so he wouldn't be happy. But then, he never expected to be. Not anymore. “What?”

Smiling like a sap, she sat cross-legged on the couch, the quilt again pushed aside but the tails of the flannel shirt tucked into her lap. A high-priced hooker couldn't be more provocative. Eve herself couldn't have tempted Adam more than Jamie now felt tempted just looking at her.

Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders and back, half hiding her plain face. The flannel opened in a V over her cleavage, and her nipples, still hard, pressed against the soft material.

She gave a shrug that almost toppled her from the couch. “You looked lost in thought. You okay?”

He wished she'd quit asking him that. “I'll get you something to eat.”

To his consternation, she left the couch and tottered toward him. “I'll help.”

Jamie backed up a step before he caught himself. “I told you to sit on the couch.”

She flapped a hand. “But you're not my boss. You're just Jamie Creed, psychic extraordinaire, rebel with a lot of causes, hermit in hiding.” And that made her giggle.

Jamie gave up and used the excuse of rummaging through his small refrigerator to put distance between them. “I have cheese and bologna and not much else that I can get ready in a hurry.”

“Sounds delish. I'm a simple woman with simple needs. Feed me and I'm yours.”

Please make her shut up.
Never again would Jamie give her alcohol.... What was he saying? He wouldn't know her long enough to worry about her drinking habits or lack thereof.

While he assembled a sandwich and put it on a plate, she hovered close, right at his elbow. Used to being alone, Jamie repeatedly bumped into her until he glared her back a few steps.

Brazen to the core, she went to his fridge and peered inside. “Could I have some mayo with that?”

Jamie stepped around her and retrieved the mayonnaise. “Anything else?”

“Something to drink? My throat is scratchy.”

Probably more from yakking her head off than from illness.
“I've got water, tea, or moonshine.”

She opened her mouth, and Jamie said, “You'll have tea.”

“But I'm sorta starting to like the—”

“No. No more moonshine for you.” Ever.

She laughed. “Okay. Tea it is. I actually like tea anyway. Especially raspberry tea with lemon in it. But I don't suppose you have that. Oh God. You do have coffee, don't you? I mean, I can't function in the morning without coffee. I'll be half-asleep all day. Even Cory knows I need my coffee.”

His senses prickled. Very slowly, he faced her. “Cory?”

“My daughter. You saw her already, remember?”

Something about the child reached out to him. Jamie doubted he'd ever forget her. Patiently he explained, “I saw a girl. You didn't tell me her name.”

“Cory.”

In an aberrant show of frustration, Jamie rolled his eyes. “Thank you.”

“She's beautiful, isn't she? And smart. And sweet. And I love her more than anything else in the whole world.”

Christ. Not only gabby, but a drama queen, too.
“Come on. ” Jamie caught her arm and led her a few steps to the single chair at his table. He put the plate of food in front of her and fetched a glass of tea.

“So do you?”

“Do I what?” Jamie leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. The novelty of company put him off balance. Even before moving to Visitation, he couldn't recall entertaining anyone.

He sure as hell didn't remember anyone talking to him so much.

“Have coffee? Please say you do. Otherwise I'm going to have to go back out, and that mountain is a real bitch, especially in this rain. But I'd brave it for coffee—”

“You don't have any clothes.”

That stymied her, but only for a moment. She snapped her fingers—or at least she tried to. “I guess that means
you'd
have to go, huh? But for coffee—”

“I have coffee.”

“Shew.” She relaxed. “Of course you do. Everyone has coffee.” After biting into her sandwich, she closed her eyes in bliss, then popped them open again. Mouth full, she asked, “What about sugar? I can't choke down black coffee without sugar. I'm not a trucker, you know.”

“I have sugar and powdered creamer.”

“Great. Crisis averted.” She grinned and took another hefty bite.

Jamie watched her eat, awestruck by her hearty appetite. She wasn't indelicate, but she ate like a starving man instead of one medium-sized female. Then again, her body wasn't exactly on the slim side. Not that she carried extra weight. He'd describe her as ... robust.

A substantial woman with soft curves and sleek muscles.

“Where is your daughter?”

“Safe.”

“Meaning? ”

She waved a hand. “I have her with people I trust.” And with a sly, exaggerated tip of her head, she said, “That's all I'm saying.”

Or so she thought. But Jamie didn't say so aloud.

In record time, all the while chatting about nothing and everything, she finished off the food and drank all the tea.

Sheepish, she glanced at him and confessed, “I gotta go.”

Startled from his perusal of her physical features, Jamie asked, “Go where?”

She crossed her legs and jiggled. “You know.
Go.”

Oh.
Another novelty for him. He picked up her empty plate and glass, then gestured with a tilt of his head. “Bathroom's right there.”

“Wanna shower with me?”

He damn near dropped her plate, but quickly recovered. Face as deadpan as he could make it, Jamie said, “You should sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep. It's so funny because I was really exhausted before.” She held her arms out to her sides—which hiked up the damn shirt. “But now I'm wide awake.”

Great. She would have to be that kind of drunk.
“I'm not showering with you.”

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself and turned a wobbly circle. “Cory loves showers, which is strange because most little girls love baths. Bubble baths to be exact. But not Cory. She said there's something about the shower that helps to define her thoughts.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “Just how old is this child?”

“She's almost eight.” Then, a little startled, she asked, “You didn't already know that?”

“I saw her around that age, but—”

“But she has a vocabulary that'll blow your mind.” Laughing, she nodded. “Believe me, I know. Most people think she's older than she is. With the way she talks and accesses everything, and being tall for her age, Cory gives the illusion of being older.”

Seeing that she couldn't hold her liquor worth a damn, Jamie tuned out her chatter and tried springing a question on her. “What's your name?”

“Faith.” Her hand slapped over her mouth and her eyes went round.

“Faith, huh?” Should he take her on faith? Trust her sudden appearance in his life?
Hell, no.

“Oops. Slip of the tongue there.”

“Tell me your last name.”

“I shouldn't.”

“What does it matter if I know your name?”

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. “I'm not sure.”

Because she was drunk. “So tell me.”

She chewed her lips, then shrugged. “Owen. Faith Owen.”

The name meant nothing to him, and Jamie wondered why she'd been reticent in the first place.

“There.” Clear disgruntlement marred her brow. “I answered your questions. Now come shower with me.”

She'd be the death of him, yet. Gently, Jamie said, “No.”

“But we're supposed to ... you know.” Faith bobbed her eyebrows.

Everything masculine in Jamie came to attention. He slowly straightened. “What?”

“You know, get friendly.” She sighed dramatically. “I know that's probably not the kind of friendly I'm supposed to be after. But still, showering together sounds fun, doncha think?”

Jamie had to get her on a different track before he self-combusted. He took two long strides toward her, meaning to urge her into the bathroom, but when he reached her, she flung her arms around him and didn't want to let go.

“Faith . . .”

“I like hearing you say my name.” She rubbed her nose into his chest and made little needy sounds of pleasure. “God, you smell
so
good, but I smell like mud. Maybe sweat too, but that's too gross to even consider. I have to shower.”

He realized that instead of prying her loose, his hands were smoothing her back, stroking. Savoring the feel of her. Teeth locked, Jamie caught her shoulders and edged her away. “I thought you had to use the bathroom.”

She winced. “Oh, I do. Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem.”

Smiling, she said, “I knew you were different.”

“Yeah. Different.” And now rigid with arousal. “Shower while you're in there. Then you can get some sleep.” He led her into his minuscule bathroom and left her standing behind him while he adjusted the water temperature. Unfortunately, when he turned back around, he found her too close again. She kept creeping up on him, crowding him.

He should set her straight about that right now.

Her smile turned dreamy. “Cory's different too. She's always been homeschooled because it was too risky to send her to a public school. I didn't want anyone to figure out what she can do.”

Lust retreated behind somber reality. “Because someone might want to hurt her.”