Читать книгу Out of Eden - Beth Ciotta - Страница 12

KYLIE WOKE UP WITH a blinding headache and a gross taste in her mouth. Her memory was splotchy, too, but it could have been worse. She could have woken up next to Ashe. Or she could have puked up her guts. Although, if she had slept with Ashe, she would have felt wretched and not because of a hangover. She didn’t care how good-looking he was, the man was a bed-hopping sleaze with a checkered past, and she had scruples.

She also had a stabbing pain behind her dust-dry eyeballs.

Who would have thought a trendy drink could be so lethal? Except she’d had three, four if you counted the third as a double, over a short period of time. She regretted taking a spill at Boone’s—not exactly a shining moment—and she sort of felt bad for lashing out at Max and gang. But she didn’t regret her vow to shake things up. She’d meant every word, well, the ones she remembered. At the very least, she could attack her own dull-as-dirt existence. She could be bold. She could take risks.

A moment blipped in her mind.

Her. Jack.

She smacked her forehead, winced.

“Stupid cosmos.”

She had a big-butt hangover and one mortifying memory. Her lame attempt at seducing Jack Reynolds. He’d resisted her flirting. He’d tolerated her kiss. She didn’t know what else to call it. He didn’t jerk back, but he didn’t reciprocate. But that wasn’t the shocker.

There’d been no spark!

Considering the Mount Fuji-size crush she’d had on the man for most of her freaking life, she’d expected to go up in flames the moment she’d sampled that sexy mouth. Instead, she’d felt nothing, nada, numb. Either the alcohol had obliterated her senses or she really was over him. Completely. She chose to believe the latter. Otherwise, living in the same town with him, again, would be torture.

She still couldn’t believe he’d moved back to Eden in the first place. He’d devoted his life to fighting the bad guy. Even as a kid, Jack had been the first to stand up to schoolyard bullies, usually in defense of others, because you’d have to be nuttier than a squirrel’s hoard to tangle with Jack Reynolds. He and Spenser were both motivated by macho protector instincts. Only Jack gravitated toward fighting crime in the big city, and Spenser had joined the fight against evil on foreign soil. Kylie had never been to New York City, but she knew it brimmed with art, music and literature, diverse cultures and interesting people. So much to do and see…unlike in Eden. Plenty of criminal butts to kick…unlike in Eden.

“The man will be bored to tears within a month,” she mumbled into the murky predawn. Good thing she was no longer crushing on him, because he wouldn’t be here for long. Unlike Kylie. The way things were going she’d be here until she was six feet under. Not that she wanted to leave Eden forever. Just for a while. Just long enough to experience the beauty and wonder of Asia. Although at this point, an adventure on any level would do.

“You can hide under the blankets feeling sorry for yourself or you can attack the day with gusto, McGraw.” Despite the nauseating pulse behind her dry, bleary eyeballs, she swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed. “Gusto it is.” She grimaced at the aftertaste of the nacho chips she’d wolfed down, compliments of the midnight munchies. “But first I’m brushing my teeth.”

“HOW THE HELL DID YOU get my toothbrush? Oh, shit. Wait. Shit.”

Note to self, Jack thought as the stray mutt peed on his bathroom floor, don’t yell at the dog. Any time he exhibited frustration, Shy—he had to call her something—peed. Not a lot, just a nervous sprinkle. Still. “Damn.”

He grabbed a wad of tissue and soaked up the mess.

Shy cowered on the bath mat.

Two nights earlier, he’d found the midsize stray cowering under the old rocker on his back porch. She was scared of thunderstorms. She was scared, from what he’d witnessed so far, of everything. Starved, wet and frightened, the pitiful thing had allowed him to coax her inside. Next, he’d called animal control, but no one had reported a missing dog that looked like a miniature German shepherd. He’d told himself, and Shy, that he’d only keep her until he found her owner or a suitable home. The way things were going, that day couldn’t come too soon.

He adopted the casual manner he used to soothe victimized humans. “Easy, girl.” He flushed the soiled tissue, then washed his hands. Noting the dog’s stricken look, he ruffled her bowed head. Five seconds later, she trotted after him and into the kitchen, tail wagging.

He opened the fridge and nabbed the makings of a mushroom omelet.

Shy circled twice, then curled on the braided rug in front of the sink.

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re coming with me today.” Yesterday, she’d destroyed one of his shoes, two books and a magazine. Either she’d been pissed because he’d left her alone, or bored. He wasn’t a doggy shrink, but this pup had issues. She was a complication he didn’t want or need. His goal was to simplify.

Jack beat three eggs, then poured them into a heated skillet, his mind veering to another complicated doe-eyed female. Kylie McGraw. Her goofy smile and fiery spirit. Her red panties and lush lips.

That freaking birthday kiss.

Too bad I didn’t feel anything.

It’s not like he’d put any effort into it. Still. He’d felt something and she hadn’t. Then again, she’d passed out seconds later. Maybe she’d been too trashed to feel anything. His ego demanded a second shot. Logic said, let it go. The only thing worse than a mutual attraction would be acting on it. This was Kylie. Sweet and responsible. Except when she’s trashed. She was the marrying kind and he was the kind who wrecked marriages.

Shy barked.

“A recipe for disaster, huh?”

Another bark.

“Right.”

Jack fed the mutt a half a can of beef kibble, then loaded up his own plate with an omelet and toast. He ate standing up at the counter. Sipped coffee. Flipped through Law and Order magazine and contemplated his first official day as chief of police.

He wondered if Kylie would go through with her threat to shake things up or if she’d lose her nerve when she gained her sobriety. He had better things to do than reading her the riot act for disturbing the peace. Like organizing his new office and finding a home for Shy. There were also security issues pertaining to the upcoming Apple Festival.

One thing he wouldn’t be doing was investigating a gang shooting or a mafia hit. Those two factions didn’t exist in Eden. Hell, there hadn’t been a murder of any kind in this town for several decades. No atrocities. No risk that he’d experience that damned numbness that made him wonder what he’d become. No self-disgust binge drinking.

Who needed a shrink, he thought as he topped off his coffee. He had Eden.

A SLICE OF DRY TOAST, one banana, two cups of strong black tea and a hot shower later, Kylie felt rejuvenated enough to attempt gusto. Wanting to shake up her routine straight away, she raided her closet in search of anything bold. She passed over conservative ensembles and settled on a flared black skirt and a fitted black T-shirt featuring a sequined green-and-red dragon breathing sparkly gold fire. Bypassing a dozen pairs of sensible shoes, she snagged the flower-power combat boots she’d ordered and never worn. Whimsical and daring. “The new me.”

Feeding off nervous energy, she skipped morning meditation, although she did chant affirmations as she applied mascara and lip balm and tamed her thick hair into her signature ponytail. “I will act out of the ordinary in order to attract and promote change. Change is exciting. Change is good.”

She repeated that three times while staring at her reflection in the mirror, although her mind trailed off to the un-extraordinary. She considered her pale freckled cheeks, her juvenile ponytail, her poor vision. Maybe she should experiment with cosmetics and a stylish haircut. Investing in laser surgery seemed extreme, but she could definitely afford new glasses. Her body benefited from years of yoga, but typically she hid her toned form beneath loose clothing, choosing timeless classics over here-today-gone-tomorrow trends. She’d never fussed over style, choosing instead to focus on inner beauty. Thing was, men were visual creatures, stimulated by what they could see and touch.

She knew Jack’s type and she wasn’t it. That explained his lack of enthusiasm when she’d leaned in for a kiss. Plus, she’d been drunk and vulnerable, and wouldn’t that be so Jack—a gentlemen even when you ached to be ravished.

Been there. Lived through the embarrassment. Twice now.

She sighed and turned away from the mirror. There were other ways to shake up her life aside from burning up the sheets with Jack Reynolds. Not that she was tempted to do so. She was, thank goodness, over him. No, she was going to concentrate on her daring decision to renovate McGraw’s Shoe Store.

Sporting a devilish grin, she called Faye while tugging on a pair of thick green socks.

Her friend picked up after the second ring. Despising telemarketers, Faye always screened her calls. “You’re alive.”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned. What about Sting?”

“Rough around the edges, but a lesson learned.”

Kylie frowned at Faye’s gruff tone. “What about Spice? Did she survive her first slumber party without getting her undies frozen?” Spice was Faye’s thirteen-year-old daughter. As quirky as her mom, but not as outgoing. Her first slumber party—the kid wasn’t exactly Miss Popular—had been a very big deal. Maybe it had been a disaster.

“She had a blast.”

Kylie waited for details. None came. She squirmed as the silence stretched. What the heck? “Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Kylie pursed her lips and racked her fuzzy brain. “Because I made a spectacle of myself?”

Faye grunted. “Do you even remember last night?”

“Most of it. Okay. Parts of it.”

Another long stretch of silence.

Kylie bristled. So, she’d had too much to drink. So, she’d gotten a little loud, given away her shoes and taken a spill in Boone’s. It wasn’t like Faye to be so easily embarrassed. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Jack?” Kylie blurted, because normally that’s exactly what her friend would do. Faye knew all about Kylie’s longtime infatuation, although she didn’t know about the never-to-be-mentioned-ever episode. “He gave me a birthday kiss. Actually, I stole a kiss. He just sort of sat there. Disappointing.”

“You expected Jack to take advantage of you?”

“I expected fireworks.”

“You always expect fireworks,” Faye said. “And you’re always disappointed.”

“Yes, but this was Jack. It’s supposed to be different with him.”

“It’s supposed to be different with someone who sets your soul on fire. I thought you were over Jack.”

“I am.”

“Are you sure about that? For someone who’s having a hard time remembering parts of last night, you have a damn clear recollection of that kiss.”

“You are mad at me.” Kylie padded to her medicine cabinet and nabbed a bottle of aspirin. Between the hangover and Faye’s snippy mood, she felt queasy. To make matters worse, Stan shouted something in the background and Faye shouted back. Okay. So maybe she’d just caught her friend at a bad time. “Are you guys fighting about Sting and the ice cream fiasco?”

“Not exactly.” Faye blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Just do me a favor, Kylie. Don’t drink any more cosmopolitans.”

“Trust me, it’s not on the agenda.” Stomach rolling, Kylie popped an antacid along with the aspirin.

“So what instigated that birthday meltdown, anyway?”

A change of subject and a softer tone. Sort of. She’d take it. “Spenser.”

“Let me guess,” Faye said. “He extended his shooting tour. Which means you have to postpone your trip. Again.”

So far Kylie had missed out on two opportunities to travel the Orient. Both times due to a family crisis. The latter had wiped out her bank account. Now, after years of living frugally and saving (again), she finally (almost) had enough money to fund her dream trip. Problem was, Spenser’s change of plans put a glitch in her plans. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

Faye snorted. “Maybe you should tell Spenser why you need him to come home and to take responsibility for the business he inherited.”

“I don’t want to step on his dream. Into the Wild is a huge hit. He’s in his fifth season and the ratings are consistently high.”

“What about your dream?”

Kylie faltered. Her gut said she needed to attack the here and now. The real world. Her world. “If I went to Asia now,” she said sensibly, “I’d still have to deal with my dull existence when I got back.”

“Meaning?”

Kylie shoved on her glasses, glanced at the shoe-order confirmation and the paint samples she’d printed off the Internet. She smiled. “Meet me at the hardware store in two hours.”