Loving Jessie (7 page)

“It’s really nice of you to drive me home,” Jessie said, breaking the silence for the first time since Matt had lifted her into the Jeep, reached around her to secure the seat belt and shut the door.

“No problem.”

“I didn’t really drink all that much, you know. Just a couple or three glasses of wine.” She frowned out at the quiet street. “It’s just that I don’t have much tolerance for alclu—” Her tongue stumbled, and she frowned for a moment before tackling the word again, pronouncing it slowly and carefully. “Alcohol. I have a low tolerance for it. It’s probably a genetic thing.” Stretching out one hand in front of her, she contemplated her fingers. “Like having curly hair or small feet.” She sighed and let her hand fall. “We’re all victims of our DNA, I guess. Probably even the fact that you’re driving me home is because you have a nice bump in your DNA somewhere.” She yawned. “I could have spent the night at Reilly’s. He wouldn’t have minded. He’s got a nice bump, too.”

Matt’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he loosened them with a conscious effort. He wasn’t feeling particularly nice. He was feeling… something. Frustration. Irritation. And an odd and illogical sense of betrayal. Totally ridiculous, all of it. Just how the hell long had she been in love with Reilly? Looking back, he knew there had been a time when she’d had a crush on him. He wasn’t sure Reilly had ever recognized it. Being observant wasn’t one of Reilly’s strong suits. But he’d seen the way Jessie looked at Reilly, her heart in those big brown eyes, all her emotions laid bare at a glance. He hadn’t thought about it in years—hadn’t, in fact, thought about it much at the time. She was young. Reilly was blond, good-looking, athletic and carelessly kind. It was hardly surprising if she fancied herself in love with him.

Had she loved him all these years?

The thought was infuriating. She was his friend, and he hated the idea that she might have spent years yearning for something that could never happen. It was the waste
that bothered him. Whatever was going on in Reilly’s marriage—and there was no question that
something
was going on—it was obvious that he didn’t feel anything but friendship for Jessie. If there had been something more there, he wouldn’t have danced with her the way he had. He wouldn’t have put his damned hands all over her while he laughed and smiled like a damned baboon.

It took a conscious effort to loosen his grip on the steering wheel again. He remembered reading that people suffering from post-traumatic stress were prone to exaggerated emotional responses. Maybe that was what was happening now. Maybe that was what had been happening every time he saw Jessie. Would that explain why he kept noticing those damned legs of hers? And why he couldn’t stop wondering what she did—or didn’t—have on under that little slip of a dress? And while he was at it, maybe he could blame it on the fact that he’d nicked himself shaving this morning. And the generally rotten state of world politics.

Jessie was humming again as he turned down the street where her grandfather’s house sat. He parked the Jeep in front of the tidy little two-story home and shut the engine off.

“We’re here,” Jessie said, sounding as if their arrival was a delightful surprise. She turned her head to look at him, and he caught the sweet curve of her smile in the dim light. “Thank you for bringing me home, Matt. It was very—”

“Nice,” he interrupted. “I’m just a victim of my DNA.”

She was fumbling with the seat belt, and he reached over to unlatch it for her before he pushed open his door and slid out from under the wheel. He walked around the front of the Jeep, aware of the stillness around him. It
was a different kind of quiet than there was at Gabe’s. Neat houses lined each side of the street. There were no lights to suggest that any of the inhabitants were awake, but there was a sense of their presence. The drone of an air conditioner, the subtle hum of appliances, the inaudible rhythm of a place where people lived and breathed.

Pulling open Jessie’s door, he didn’t bother to wait for her to find her way down from the high seat but reached in to lift her out. She teetered for a moment on her high heels, bracing herself by clutching his arm beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. When she was steady, she looked up at him and gave him another of those sweet, not-quite-sober smiles.

“Thanks for…”

“I know. Bringing you home.” He pushed the car door shut and guided her slightly rambling footsteps across the sidewalk. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Will you?” She sounded as if it was a delightful surprise, and Matt found himself smiling despite his irritation. Or frustration. Or whatever the hell he was feeling.

“It’s that nice bump in my DNA,” he told her, taking hold of her elbow to ease her up the steps onto the porch. “I just can’t help doing good deeds.”

“You’re making fun of me,” she said, but she didn’t seem to mind. She’d left the front-porch light on, and the glow caught in her hair. Roses sprawled in an untidy tangle up a trellis at one end of the porch, and the scent lay sweetly heavy on the warm night air. “I’m glad you came back, Matt.” She was digging in her tiny evening purse, looking for the key. “There’s no place like home, you know.”

“Thank you, Dorothy and Toto.” He took the key from her and unlocked the door, pushing it open a few inches before dropping the key back in her purse.

Jessie smiled up at him, her eyes not quite focused. “Thank you. You’re really ni—”

His mouth came down on hers, cutting her off in midword. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. If he’d thought about it, he would have talked himself out of it, would have reminded himself of all the good, solid reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her, but there she was, her mouth all soft and warm and inviting.

It was just a kiss, he thought dimly. He’d kissed Jessie before, a quick peck on the cheek on her birthday, a kiss on the forehead to reward her bravery when he and Reilly carried her down the mountain with a twisted ankle. And once on the mouth, he remembered suddenly. She’d just gotten her first driver’s license and had flown into his arms, eyes sparkling with triumph, and kissed him full on the mouth. A sweet, innocent kiss that had ended almost as soon as it began. Funny how that suddenly came rushing back to him now.

She still tasted of innocence, her mouth soft and startled under his for an instant and then softening, inviting. His tongue teased the fullness of her lower lip, coaxing her to open to him, sweeping inside when she did. She tasted of wine and breath mint, a ridiculous combination that suddenly seemed almost wildly erotic. He felt her hands come up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned into the kiss, her tongue fencing with his, a slow, delicious thrust and slide that had his pulse hammering in his veins.

Ignoring the muffled voice that suggested this might not be a good idea, he angled his head to deepen the kiss. Other than his mouth on hers, he didn’t touch her. Some remnant of reason told him that if he put his hands on her, he wasn’t going to be able to resist the urge to find
out just what she was—or wasn’t—wearing under that little black nothing of a dress.

It was the very strength of his desire to do just that, to slide his hand under the deep neckline of her dress and curve his fingers around the sweet weight of her breast, that made Matt draw back. This was Jessie, he reminded himself. Sweet little Jessie, with the caramel-colored hair and long legs. No, best not to think about her legs, because that made him think about how they might feel wrapped around his waist. Maybe it was best not to think anything at all. Just end the kiss and run like hell.

She sighed as his mouth left hers, a soft, regretful sound that nudged at his already tenuous control. He reached up and gently peeled her fingers away from his shirt. Her lashes lifted slowly, and she stared up at him with eyes that seemed a little blind. She’d had too much to drink, he reminded himself. If she looked dazed, it was probably the wine. He thought maybe he should say something. Make some light comment to put everything back on a comfortable footing. Except “comfortable” didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling.

In the end, he didn’t say anything. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her and gently nudged her through the front door, shifting her to the side so that he could lean in and pull it shut behind her.

With Jessie tucked safely out of sight, he stood on the front porch for a moment, surrounded by the heady scent of late-summer roses, aware of a throbbing ache in places he had no business aching around Jessie Sinclair. Especially now, when the problem wasn’t just the memories of watching her grow up but the fact that she was apparently in love with his best friend.

Suddenly very tired, Matt ran his fingers through his dark hair. Hellfire and damnation. Maybe you couldn’t go home again after all.

T
o say that Gabe’s kitchen was a work-in-progress was to be guilty of gross exaggeration. There were cabinets, but only half of them had doors, and most of the countertops had been ripped off, leaving space only for a new microwave and a toaster that looked like a prop from a fifties sitcom. That left enough room for a coffee mug and a spoon, if you were careful about where you set them.

The stove had been state-of-the-art when Eisenhower was in office. The pilot light had ceased working during the Johnson administration, and two of the burners had expired around the time Jimmy Carter entered the White House. The two remaining burners functioned reasonably well, as long as you liked to cook over a very high heat. On the same wall as the stove and inconveniently located in a corner next to the back door was a state-of-the-art side-by-side refrigerator with all the bells and whistles.

The single sink was deep enough to bathe a medium-size child or a large dog, the white porcelain so chipped and crazed with age that it looked like a relief map of
the Sierras. The floor was a mosaic of subfloor and the tattered remnants of yellowing linoleum.

It was a mix of old and new, functional and barely tolerable. The best thing that could be said about it was that it had potential. For the past week and a half, Matt hadn’t had any complaints about it, but the morning after the party at Reilly’s, he would have traded every bit of that potential for an automatic coffeemaker, preferably one that could be programmed to have the coffee ready when he stumbled into the kitchen after a nearly sleepless night.

As he set water on to boil and pulled the drip apparatus out of one of the partially disassembled cabinets, he decided that, before the sun rose again, he was going to have a decent coffeemaker. And some decent coffee beans, he added, as he measured coffee into the filter perched on top of the glass carafe. Eight years of living in Seattle had left its mark, ruining him forever for commercial coffee.

“Is that coffee?” Gabe asked as he wandered into the kitchen, a tattered pair of gray sweatpants riding low on his hips.

“Only in the most loosely defined sense of the word,” Matt said sourly. “In more civilized parts of the world, this would be called swill.”

Coffee mug in hand, Gabe turned to look at his younger brother, his dark brows raised in faint surprise. Matt had never been what anyone would call a morning person, but he wasn’t usually this surly, either.

“Missing your Starbucks?”

Matt muttered an agreement and glared at the coffee trickling slowly through the filter and into the carafe. Gabe waited until the coffee was poured into mugs before speaking again.

“Have a good time last night?”

“Fine.”

“It was great seeing Jessie and Reilly again.”

“Yeah.”

Gabe added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee and stirred slowly. “I saw them dancing. They looked good.”

“Terrific.” Matt’s fingers tightened around the sturdy mug.

Gabe leaned his hips against the counter, crossing his long legs at the ankles as he studied his brother. “You know, if it was anyone but you, I’d think you had a hangover.”

Matt hunched his shoulders and stared down into his coffee without answering. Gabe knew as well as he did that his foul mood had nothing to do with overindulging the night before. If there was one lesson their childhood had driven home for both of them, it was to treat anything alcoholic with extreme caution. Gabe didn’t drink at all, and Matt usually limited himself to an occasional beer. No, he couldn’t blame his filthy mood on a hangover.

“Rough night?” Gabe asked.

The concern in his voice made it clear what he was asking. Matt hadn’t told him about the nightmares, but his brother knew something was eating at him. It wasn’t the nightmares that had kept him awake until nearly dawn, though. When he closed his eyes, he saw Jessie looking at Reilly with her heart in her eyes. Or he saw her staring up at him, those same eyes wide with shock, her mouth softly swollen from his kiss. Either way, it hadn’t made for a restful night, but that wasn’t Gabe’s fault. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair and forced a half smile.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess. Sorry.”

Gabe nodded, accepting the explanation at face value, though Matt knew he didn’t believe for a minute that that was all there was to it. But Gabe wouldn’t push, which was one of the reasons he’d come here.

Matt poured himself another cup of coffee before leaning one hip against the stove. “What are you planning to do with the old Chevy that’s out in the shed?”

“You mean the garage?”

Matt snorted. “Only if you have delusions of grandeur. Looks like an old chicken coop.”

“Probably was,” Gabe said without offense. He lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “The car was here when I bought the house. It’s mostly parts, and I don’t know if they’re all there. I don’t even know what it is. Or was.”

“It’s a ’56 Chevy Bel Air two-door hardtop with a 225-horse V–8 and a three-speed stick. It’s got—” He cut short his description when Gabe’s eyes glazed over. His brother’s interest in cars began and ended with whether or not they could get him from point A to point B. Matt’s smile was a little sheepish as he shrugged. “I thought I might see what it would take to put it back together.”

“Be my guest.” Gabe pushed away from the counter and headed out of the kitchen. “Just promise you won’t try and tell me about it.”

“I’m thinking purple, except for maybe one stripe right down the middle, where I’ll go for lime green or maybe pink. What do you think?”

“About what?” Jessie rubbed her finger over an invisible smudge on the speckled counter. It was midafternoon on a Monday, and the only customers at Ernie’s were a young couple huddled together on one side of a booth, their food growing cold in front of them as they
talked and laughed together. Jessie had heard them tell their waitress that they were on their honeymoon, staying at the Willow Inn. Not that they’d really needed to tell anyone that, she thought, looking at them. They were so obviously in love, so obviously starry-eyed about their future together. Just looking at them made her feel old and very alone.

“What do you think about me dying my hair purple with lime-green accents?” Lurene asked, and, this time, the very blandness of her tone caught Jessie’s wandering attention. She blinked and lifted her head to look at the other woman, who was leaning against the counter across from her.

“What?”

“Of course, with hair like that, I’d have to accessorize a bit more carefully,” Lurene said thoughtfully. “I’m thinking a nose ring or two, maybe have my teeth filed into points.”

Jessie stared at her in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

Lurene’s carefully plucked brows arched in surprise, her dark eyes full of laughter. “Just wanted to see if anyone was home in there. You seem a little distracted.”

“Sorry.” Jessie straightened on her stool and made an effort to focus on the here and now. “What were you saying before you began teetering on the edge of fashion disaster?”

“You don’t think I’d look good in purple?” Lurene asked, fluffing her pale blond hair.

Jessie narrowed her eyes consideringly. “I think you’re more a teal-blue kind of girl, maybe with a white streak right down the middle like Cruella De Vil. But I’d skip the nose ring. They’re so common.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be common,” Lurene said. “Maybe I’ll get a tattoo instead.”

“Much more upscale,” Jessie said, and they grinned at each other.

“The party seemed to go well,” Lurene said, reaching for her Diet Coke. “I got nibbles on a couple of other catering gigs. A wedding and a birthday party.”

“I heard a lot of people raving about the food,” Jessie said.

“Your desserts were a big hit. There was one woman who practically offered me her firstborn child if I’d give her the recipe for that apple crumb thing of yours.” She shook her head. “Of course, maybe she was just looking for a way to get rid of the kid.”

“Could be.”

“I heard you and your friend put on quite a show on the dance floor.”

Jessie flushed and shook her head. “Definitely amateur hour. We never were Fred and Ginger, and after so many years, it’s a miracle neither of us ended up crippling the other.”

“I heard you looked pretty good. Of course, it would be hard not to look good with Reilly McKinnon,” Lurene said with a mildly lustful sigh. “He’s definitely a hunk.”

Jessie murmured a vague agreement, feeling ridiculously guilty about agreeing.

“The other one’s even better, though.”

“Other one?” Jessie asked blankly.

“Your other friend, the one with the dark hair and the to-die-for body and those incredible blue eyes that look like they hold all kinds of interesting secrets. And that mouth.”

“Matt,” Jessie murmured, dropping her eyes to the counter again, afraid of what they might reveal. She
didn’t want to think about Matt’s eyes or his body, and she especially didn’t want to think about his mouth. Because thinking about his mouth made her remember how it had felt against hers, and that set up a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach that she didn’t like at all.

She’d spent a great deal of time and put a lot of effort into not thinking about Matt since Saturday night, which meant he was practically all she thought about. Him and The Kiss, which had advanced to capitalized status in her mind. She’d gone over it a hundred times in her mind, but she still couldn’t figure out why he’d kissed her or what it might mean. Of course, it could mean nothing at all. People kissed all the time without it meaning anything. But Matt didn’t kiss her all the time. Or ever. Except now he had, and all kinds of crazy thoughts had been floating around in her head ever since.

“Do you ever regret not having children?” The question popped out without thought, and she saw Lurene’s brows go up in surprise. But she didn’t look offended. She appeared to give the question some thought as she sipped her Coke.

“Not really,” she said after a moment. “I thought about it a time or two, might even have gone for it if either of my marriages had worked out. But husband number one wasn’t ready to grow up himself. I don’t think he’d have enjoyed having a real baby in the house. And husband number two was so busy totting up our financial situation—and boffing his secretary—that he didn’t have time to be a father. And then, when I divorced him, I was past thirty and wanted to have something all my own. After I bought this place, who had time for kids?” She shrugged. “I guess my biological clock was just missing a few springs. You starting to have thoughts in that direction?”

Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know. I think about it from time to time.”

“Most women do.” Lurene’s eyes were shrewd as she looked at the younger woman. “There’s lots of options for a woman these days.”

“Yeah.” Jessie sighed. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about those options lately. “Do you know Pammie Sue Jenkins?”

“Pammie Sue.” Lurene narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Irritating little blonde with eyes like a Pekinese and a real annoying giggle?”

Jessie laughed at the description. “That’s the one. I ran into her in the supermarket a couple of weeks ago. She’s pregnant again. Her third.”

“Well, I hope this one isn’t as irritating as the two she’s already got. Last time they came here for lunch, it was like having a pair of wildebeest turned loose in the place.” She gave Jessie a disbelieving look. “You’re not going to tell me that seeing those little monsters made you want kids of your own.”

“No. Yes. Well, not exactly that.” Jessie waved her hand as if to erase her initial response. “It wasn’t Pammie Sue, exactly. It was just seeing her with her kids.”

“Yeah, but her husband never speaks above a whisper, and I swear he uses olive oil to slick back his hair. Every time I see him, I want to throw a little vinegar on him and dip him in the nearest salad bowl.”

Laughing, Jessie shook her head. “I don’t think that would be good for business.”

“You never know. This is California. I just might start a new fad.” Lurene’s grin faded, and she reached out to touch Jessie’s hand where it lay on the counter. “Just because I don’t regret not having kids, that doesn’t mean you’ll feel the same ten years from now. And, if you’ll
forgive me for sounding like a fortune cookie, it’s usually the things we don’t do that we regret most. If you want a baby, Jessie, you should go for it.”

Go for it. Jessie turned the advice over in her mind and felt a tiny twinge of something that might have been excitement. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way.

Matt contemplated the array of parts spread out on the rickety workbench and wondered if he’d lost his mind. One of Tchaikovsky’s piano concertos flowed through the speakers of the boom box he’d set on one end of the bench. What was he doing here? Why on earth would he want to restore a nearly half-century-old car? He liked cars, had even been known to attend a car show now and then, but he wasn’t a car freak. Hell, he hadn’t even changed his own oil for at least five years. But here he was, up to his elbows in greasy parts, trying to figure out what was here and what was missing, what was usable and what wasn’t.

Well, it provided a break from working on the house and a distraction from thinking about other things. Things like Jessie and why she’d invited him to dinner tonight. She’d sounded…nervous. Which pretty much described how he felt about seeing her again. He’d put considerable effort over the last few days into not thinking about Jessie. And he’d been successful. He hadn’t thought about the way she’d looked at Reilly with her heart in her eyes. He hadn’t thought about those ridiculously long legs. And he’d spent a great deal of time not thinking about the way her mouth had felt under his, the way she’d tasted. He’d done a great job of not thinking about her.

Why the hell had she invited him to dinner tonight?

“Still listening to that egghead music?”

Matt turned his head toward the front of the shed, squinting a little against the bright flare of sunlight.

“Some of us have taste.”

“Yeah, all of it bad.” Reilly wandered into the shed. “You going to rebuild this thing?” he asked, eyeing the car doubtfully.