Читать книгу Tease Me - Dawn Atkins - Страница 7

MY NEW LIFE STARTS NOW, Heidi Fields thought, pulling up to the darling sky-blue town house with white gingerbread trim, her heart so happy it almost hurt. She braked her new Outback with such force her beautician’s kit slid forward and bumped the back of her head.

She’d filled the SUV her brothers had given her floor-boards to moon roof, trunk to dash, with everything she owned, which made her exodus from Copper Corners, Arizona, all the more dramatic.

Leaving her old life completely behind, she’d bid farewell to her overprotective brothers, her station at Celia’s Cut ’n’ Curl, where she served as amateur therapist, and headed off for a future she chose, not one she just fell into.

She wanted to counsel people face-to-face, from a sofa or chair, not looking into a mirror, wielding a ceramic curling iron, blinking against the flash off the foil squares of a weave or shouting over the dryer roar.

She’d helped many a hair client through child-rearing hell, marital strife and personal crisis, and more than one came in for unnecessary touch-ups just to get Heidi’s take on a new development, but she wanted a degree—proof that she knew the science behind her art.

She’d had to leave, before she got stuck in a limited life. She wasn’t going to end up like Celia, who’d sold herself short in a tiny salon in a tiny town instead of becoming a Hollywood stylist, as she’d dreamed when she was Heidi’s age. Sure, college would be hard and it was tough to make a living as a psychologist these days, but Heidi was giving it all she had.

She was on her way at last. Sweaty and stiff from the three-hour drive up from Copper Corners to Phoenix—fried-egg-on-a-sidewalk hot at the end of July—but happy because right outside the factory-tinted window of her brand-new car was her brand-new home.

Which she could no longer afford. She flinched at the thought. Her friend Tina had the lease on the place and Heidi had intended to rent the second bedroom and small bath. Except Tina got a great job offer in L.A. she just had, had, had to take—Tina was so dramatic. She’d left to do just that three weeks ago.

Heidi had decided to take over the lease. She’d get a roommate or work more hours at the new salon where she’d snagged a part-time slot. She had no spare cash at the moment. She had a cashier’s check in her wallet from emptying out her savings account on the way out of town that she would sign over to Arizona State University for tuition in three weeks.

If she had to find a cheaper place, she’d do it. She wasn’t waiting a day longer to start her new life. She was too afraid she’d lose her nerve altogether. She hadn’t told her brothers about Tina’s exodus because they liked and trusted Tina and that made them feel better about Heidi being in the city. She was twenty-four, but they treated her as though she were twelve.

Their parents had died when Heidi was just six, her brothers thirteen and sixteen. Though they’d grown up with their aunt and uncle, Michael and Mark had clucked over Heidi like parental stand-ins, and they saw no point in her leaving the safety and comfort of Copper Corners. She had her associate’s degree from the nearby community college. What more did she need? Small-town boys inside out, neither brother had attended a four-year university.

Mike, Copper Corners’ mayor, had offered to hire her as his secretary, and Mark, a real estate broker, wanted to train her as an agent. Mainly, they wanted her close to home.

And she wanted to get away. She wanted her own place and a private life. A sex life, frankly. No more hurry-up-before-your-brothers-get-home sex with guys intimidated by her brothers’ physical size and political importance.

She’d convinced them she’d worked out the details and they’d accepted her plan. No way was she backing out now. She would solve the rent money problem on her own.

There was a slight slope to the street, so she yanked her steering wheel sharply to the right so the tires bumped the curb. Wouldn’t that be awful? Letting her car slide downhill into traffic or a mesquite tree or a house? Talk about one mistake ruining everything….

She loved the car—a going-away gift from her brothers. High safety ratings and terrific value, they’d told her somberly. If they could have dressed her in combat gear and a flak jacket and trailed her all the way here, they would have. She’d wanted to refuse the gift, but they were so anxious to do something for her that she’d given in.

She smiled, thinking of her brothers’ smothering love, feeling fond of them and a little homesick already, but relieved to be free at last.

She looked out at her new home, gleaming in the bleaching sun. Tina had e-mailed digital snaps, but they hadn’t given the whole fabulous effect. The paint was grayed with age—maybe more of a slate blue than a sky-blue—and the white trim needed touching up. Hell, it had flaked so much it looked like a failed antiquing job. But who cared? It was her place. She already loved it.

The houses on either side looked as bad. Weeds clumped in the patchy grass of both yards, which were filled with weather-beaten kid toys—a swing set on the right, a faded vinyl play pool covered with grass clippings to the left. Both porches were loaded with stuff—bikes, a stack of newspapers, abandoned coffee mugs, beer cans and lots of plants. People spent time there, it seemed.

Not that different from Copper Corners, where everyone gathered on porches in the evenings to gossip and throw back Buds or Country Time. People were people, big city or tiny town.

Take the kids playing basketball in the street behind her. Just like in Copper Corners, she’d had to drive slowly to give them time to get out of her way.

She pushed her bangs off her sweaty forehead and grabbed the sack of goodies from Cactus Confections she would give the leasing agent, Deirdre Davis, for agreeing to meet her on a Saturday. Cactus Confections, Copper Corners’ claim to fame, made jelly, syrup and candy from prickly pear cactus fruit.

Deirdre should be inside, but just in case she hadn’t picked up her voicemail with Heidi’s arrival time, Heidi grabbed her cell phone from the outside pocket of her purse.

The purse was stuffed too tightly under the seat to remove, so she left it, opting instead to free the ficus she’d nestled onto the passenger seat, its top branches bent against the ceiling. She would get the garage open so she could pull in and unload her belongings more efficiently.

She tucked the candy under one arm, braced the heavy pot against a hip and made her way up the sidewalk, her muscles protesting the strain. On the porch, she set down the ficus and examined it. A few top branches had snapped, but the greener twigs had sprung back just fine. She and her tree had survived the drive—a little ragged and bent, but recovering nicely and ready to settle into their new home. Sheesh. She was getting sentimental about a house-plant.

She tugged down the top Celia had embroidered as a going-away present. It showed too much midriff and was too little-girl for Heidi’s taste, with eyelet trim and ivy stitched in a pattern Celia had designed herself. Heidi had had to wear it out of town because Celia had insisted on waving her goodbye as she hit the road. The top symbolized the sweet innocence Heidi wanted to leave in the desert dust, but it had love in every stitch, so she wore it cheerfully.

Ready, she pushed the buzzer and waited for the door to her future to open, a big smile on her face, a bag of candy in her hand.

Nothing happened.

Maybe Deirdre hadn’t arrived yet. She glanced behind her, but no car approached. Two young men stood across the street staring. They tore their gazes away fast, probably embarrassed to be ogling the new neighbor. Something else that didn’t change from village to metropolis.

She gave a little wave, then turned back to buzz again. This time she leaned on it for a long, noisy blast.

She was rewarded by the thud of heavy footsteps heading her way. Whew. She stepped back and smiled, candy sack at the ready.

“Just hold your water,” someone mumbled. Someone male.

The door opened and there stood a big guy who’d obviously been grumpy when he grabbed the knob, but softened when he saw her. Well, well. What have we here? She got a little thrill at the blatant male interest. That was something she wanted—to date a man whose social security number, work history and drinking habits her brothers didn’t know.

This guy’s handsome face was soft with sleep, his longish black hair stood out in all directions, and there were pillow creases on his broad, square cheeks. His coffee-colored eyes were foggy. He looked like a bear dragged early from hibernation. He wore a holey black tank top and gray jersey shorts over muscular thighs, the waistband sagging so low her breath caught.

A tingle of attraction interfered with her alarm. Why was this guy—this hot guy—sleeping in her town house at eleven in the morning?

“Yeah?” he said.

“I’m Heidi Fields. For Deirdre Davis. To get the key?”

“The key?” He scratched himself embarrassingly low.

Heidi averted her gaze. “The key to this place—3210 East Alexander? Right?” She feigned a confidence that was trickling away like water in a cupped hand. “I’m renting it?”

He blinked and ran broad fingers across his bristled jaw. “I live here.”

“You what?”

“This is my place. I’m Jackson McCall.”

McCall. Ah. The owner of the building, she knew. Tina had said he was a nice guy—reduced her rent for letting him keep some tools in the garage and he’d sent someone to evaluate the AC and furnace just for her peace of mind.

“I guess there’s been a mistake.” Heidi held her tone steady, fighting panic. “Tina Thomas holds the lease, but when she left, Deirdre promised I could take over.”

“There’s your mistake. Believing Deirdre. Mine, too, since she walked off with three months of your friend’s rent. I hope you didn’t give her any deposits.”

“Security and cleaning,” she said miserably. “And first and last months’ rent.” She hadn’t signed an agreement. Deirdre had been so nice. So informal. Just like people in Copper Corners.

“Bummer.” The guy seemed to feel sorry for her.

Deirdre had taken her money? And now the town house owner had moved in? Ice water raced along her nerves, making her go cold even in the pounding heat.

“Don’t feel too stupid,” Jackson said. “I’m the one who hired her. She’d had some bad breaks in Vegas and needed money, so I took her word and gave her the job.” He shrugged. “Come in.” He backed up and motioned for her to enter.

What was she going to do now? Absently, she stepped over the threshold into the living room, where she was assailed by the scent of pizza-drenched cardboard, stale beer, dust and man. Jackson McCall had been here a while, evidently.

A visual sweep took in male debris—clothes, shoes, newspapers and fast-food remnants, a tangle of video game controllers, a huge TV and three shiny car engines on TV trays against one wall.

Weird, but not as weird as the rest of the place, where the motif seemed to be breasts and the nearly naked women they belonged to. The walls held a velvet rendering of a Marilyn Monroe Playboy shot and posters of women in bikinis. A standing lamp featured a plaster nude and the cocktail table was a piece of glass balanced on the bright pink nipples of a woman’s chest.

Calm down, Heidi, she told herself. You’ve seen boobs before. But these weren’t mere boobs. These were jugs, hooters, melons, racks. And the man who owned them was living in what was supposed to be her town house.

“Nice to meet you.”

She started, then realized he was holding out his hand. She shoved the candy sack under her arm and extended her hand. “Yes. Sure. Nice to meet you.” She was so shaken up that she didn’t notice how warm and solid his grip was until he’d let go. “So, if you’re not staying, can I rent from you?” she said in a flash of wild hope.

“Oh, I’m staying.” His tone and the emotion in his dark eyes suggested that was a defeat. He shot her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry.”

“But all that money I gave Deirdre…What am I going to do?” In the background, she heard a car roar to life, then squeal off. Someone was in a noisy hurry. She’d hoped for a quiet neighborhood.

But this was no longer her neighborhood, unless she got Jackson McCall to move out. And she had no money to rent another place. The job at Shear Ecstasy was part-time because of school and meant only to cover living expenses.

Meanwhile, everything she owned was parked at the curb of the place inhabited by a man with a breast fetish and a pile of old nachos molding on the arm of his sofa. She turned to glance out the door. Shouldn’t she be able to see her car? Maybe she’d parked farther down….

“Deirdre and your money are long gone. If you want to call Apartment Hunters or something, help yourself.” He gestured further inside. “I’ll make some coffee.”

“No, thank you. I’ll just…I have to…figure out…this.” She backed toward the door, not wanting Jackson to see her freak. Her joy had snapped like a dry ficus stem and her brain seemed about to explode. She still held Deirdre’s candy. Deirdre, that duplicitous…The word bitch formed in her mind, but that was too vicious. That dishonest person.

On the porch, she grabbed her tree and staggered down the porch stairs.

“Sure you don’t want coffee?” Jackson called to her from the doorway. “Hell, you deserve a beer. Apartment hunting is thirsty work.”

She turned to him, considering the possibility of at least taking some coffee. Then she saw his face, soft with sympathy. He felt sorry for her. She seemed pitiful. That would never do. She was on her own, for better or worse, for richer, poorer and, it seemed, homelessness. She’d made it this far. She was not about to fold at the first crisis.

“Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel, shifted the tree to her hip and turned on her earth-shoe heel, desperate to get inside her new car where she could panic for a few moments before she figured out what to do.

Except…where was her car? The street was bare of her shiny new Outback. In fact, the block that had been busy with ballplayers was now as eerily quiet as Home Depot on Super Bowl Sunday.

Heidi’s stomach dropped like the first plunge on a roller coaster and her heart flew into her throat. She spun to check both directions. No glory of chrome and steel anywhere. It was gone. Into thin air.

“Oh, my God!”

“What’s wrong?” Jackson took the stairs to the sidewalk, headed her way.

“My car’s gone.” Could it have possibly rolled downhill as she’d feared? She set down the heavy plant, dropped the candy sack and ran a few yards down the sidewalk, peering as hard as she could toward the far intersection, desperate for a glimpse of her vehicle.

Then she remembered something awful. She’d left the keys in the ignition. A common habit in tiny Copper Corners, where people often left even their houses unlocked. She’d planned to zip into the garage as soon as Deirdre let her in to unload.

If only Heidi could take back those two short minutes. Get a do-over. Grab her keys like the sensible person she was.

“What kind of car?” Jackson asked, dragging her back to the terrible present.

“Subaru Outback. Silver. New. With the keys inside,” she added wretchedly. “How could a car get stolen in broad daylight in two minutes?”

“No place in the city is safe enough to dangle your keys in people’s faces.”

“I was going to pull right into the garage.” With a jolt, she realized what else she’d left in the car. Her purse. Not only did the thieves have her new car and everything she owned, they also had her driver’s license, her only credit card and, worst of all, the cashier’s check for every cent she owned. Yeah, it was a big check, but she was careful. Cashier’s checks were stolen everyday. The clerk had warned her….

Fresh icebergs broke off into her bloodstream.

She struggled against the numbing chill. She had to figure this out and fix it. Fast. “There were guys here…playing basketball.” Her gaze shot to the hoop a half block down. “They must have seen what happened.” She started across the street.

“Hang on.” Jackson caught her arm. “I don’t know those guys, but they have a lot of late-night visitors—in and out and I don’t think they’re selling baseball cards. We’ll call the police.”

“But I’m sure they saw. They watched me arrive. I waved at them even.”

“They were probably casing your car. Come on. We’ll call the police.” He reminded her of her brothers, jumping in to take care of things for her.

She had to act for herself, so she took her phone from her pocket and pressed 9-1-1—her first-ever emergency call and due to her own stupidity.

Standing on the sidewalk in the pounding sun, under Jackson McCall’s watchful eye, Heidi explained to the dispatcher what had happened, fighting the wobble in her voice. When she revealed that the car held her purse and her money, Jackson grimaced. He thought she was an idiot.

She was an idiot.

The dispatcher told her to wait where she was for the detectives to arrive. She clicked off the phone and slid it in her pocket, her chest tight and her brain racing. “I’m used to a small town,” she explained to mitigate Jackson’s impression of her. “I expected Deirdre to let me into the garage. It would have worked fine, except that Deirdre wasn’t…and you were…and I was—never mind. I’m an idiot.”

“Forget it. Come inside. You have calls to make.”

She did. She had to cancel her credit card and find out if she could void that cashier’s check. There was no point calling about car insurance. She’d bought only the required liability policy, fibbing to her brothers that she’d paid for comprehensive because she didn’t want them paying her way. She planned to increase her policy when she could afford it.

That had been shortsighted, she saw now. But maybe she’d get back the car. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.

She felt numb, stripped of everything, even her purpose in being here. She forced herself to move, but stumbled on her first step.

Jackson caught her, supporting her with a hand against her back. His fingers pressed into the bare skin exposed by Celia’s top. She should stand on her own two feet, she knew, but she was freaked and her legs weren’t working so well, so she let Jackson guide her with his big hand.

He picked up the sweets sack and extended it.

“For you,” she said, trying to smile. “My thank-you gift. Prickly pear candy—my town’s famous for it.”

“Prickly pear and beer. Sounds like lunch. Come on and I’ll serve it up.” He seemed to be trying to cheer her.

She wanted to respond, but reentering the boob-adorned hovel that was supposed to have been her glorious new home made her heart sink like a stone into the neighbor’s grass-flecked kiddie pool.

Jackson hefted her plant effortlessly and guided her inside, pulling out a kitchen chair for her. He stuck the tree in a corner and tossed the candy on the table.

Heidi sat, noticing the clock on the wall was part of a bar ad for a German beer. “If you’ve got the time,” was written beneath a barmaid with, of course, huge boobs. Heidi had the time, all right. It was only eleven and she’d lost everything.

She noticed a lump under her butt and extracted a pair of plaid boxer briefs.

Jackson nonchalantly tossed them into the hall. Toward the hamper? She could only hope. The man must have stripped in the kitchen. Did he cook in the buff? Obviously he didn’t clean—dressed or naked. The sink and counters were heaped with dirty dishes. Empty cans of ravioli and Hungry-Man soup, lids bent jauntily, kept company with empty TV dinner containers on every surface. If this was his diet, she hoped Jackson took a daily vitamin.

“Beer, soda or coffee?” He opened the fridge door. The pleasant smell of ripe fruit—peaches?—was quickly swamped by rotting greens. “Whew. Something died in here.” He squatted, then lifted out a plastic sack of mossy lettuce. “Looks like a Chia Pet.” He carried it by finger and thumb to the overflowing under-sink trash. Beer cans and paper plates slid to the floor. He swore and shoved the cupboard door shut on the mess.

“I’ve disrupted your morning,” she said. “Please do what you’d normally do. I’ll make the calls and wait.”

“Normally, I’d be sleeping, but I’m up now. I’ll make us both coffee. Just make yourself at home—” He stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d said.

She’d lost her home, too, along with her car, her clothes, her computer, hundreds of dollars in beauty supplies and equipment, and all her savings.

She swallowed hard and blinked back tears, tilting her head so they’d drain inward, but it was no use. They spilled over her lids. She swiped them off her cheeks and sucked in a breath that turned into a choked noise way too close to a sob. She jumped out of her chair, thinking to head to the living room to keep Jackson from seeing her dissolve completely.

But he caught her upper arms. “You get to cry, Heidi. You got the rug yanked out from under you. It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms for a hug—the kind given to a sorrowing friend.

For just a heartbeat, she let herself enjoy the sensation of his broad chest under her cheek, his bay rum and warm man smell, his fingers splayed across her shoulder blades.

But that only delayed the inevitable. She backed away fast. “It is a shock, that’s for sure. But I’ll figure out what to do and where to go…and everything.” Her voice faded as the enormity of her problem sank in.

“You can stay here,” he said with a shrug. “Until you figure it out.”

She froze. Stay here? Her first reaction was relief. That had been the plan, right? This was supposed to be her place. But she couldn’t impose on Jackson, no matter how sincere his offer. “Thanks, but I’ll get a hotel or something.”

“With what?” He looked at her doubtfully.

Good point. She had no money and no credit cards.

“Do you know anyone in Phoenix?”

“My new boss. I’m working at a hair salon. Just part-time, since I’m a student really. Going to ASU…” With no tuition money. And she didn’t exactly want her first words to Blythe to be, “Can I sleep in one of your salon chairs?”

She could call her brothers. On her first day? Three hours after her escape? She didn’t even have bus fare to get home, if she were willing to give up. Which she was not. She swallowed across a dry throat.

If she stayed with Jackson, did that make her weak or merely practical? She needed to know before she said yes.

The doorbell rang. “That’s the police,” she said, delaying her decision. “Maybe they found my car.” She didn’t need the doubt in Jackson’s dark eyes to tell her she was dreaming. She needed something to cling to. Her new life had just taken off down the road without her.