Читать книгу A Different Kind of Man - Suzanne Cox - Страница 9

“WHAT’S THIS I HEAR about you and some guy’s motorcycle?”

Emalea chewed on a beignet without looking at her uncle. The sweet white sugar melted against her tongue as she breathed in the rich coffee-scented air. With her elbows propped on the counter, she twisted on the small stool. News sure traveled fast and to the most unwanted places. She’d only exacted her revenge late yesterday evening. But she did live in a small town. Cypress Landing was an hour and a half away from New Orleans and a stop off for tourists or anyone needing a ride across the river on the car ferry. She had heard the town called quaint, historical, even an arts-and-antiques mecca, whatever that meant.

Overhearing the question, her aunt Alice stopped to lean across the counter, ignoring the bustling workers behind her as they hurried to get orders for the diner’s early morning customers. John and Alice Berteau had raised Emalea since she was twelve. Truthfully, she’d spent a big part of her first twelve years with them, too. They weren’t going to like this.

“I won a bet, that’s all.” She met her aunt’s gaze for a second and caught a flash that could have been a smile but it never reached her lips.

“Emalea, you got no business doin’ any bettin’. What kind of lady does that?” Alice stepped away from the counter, putting her hands on her hips. Her Cajun accent always thickened when she was upset. “This is your fault, John. You got her on those motorcycles and such. She’s goin’ to bars with all those biker people. You better be settin’ her straight, now.” She stood in front of Emalea and her husband for a second longer, then wiped her hands on her white apron and disappeared into the kitchen. The idea that a thirty-year-old woman would be “set straight” by her aging aunt and uncle would have been laughable to some. Not Emalea. Aunt Alice and Uncle John were two of the most important people in her life; if they thought she needed to change something, she would give them her utmost consideration. They deserved that from her. Besides, she respected their opinions and they were usually right.

Emalea stared past her uncle to the window at the front of the diner, known simply as Main Street Coffee Shop. Naturally, the place sat at the end of Cypress Landing’s Main Street, next door to her uncle’s equally successful garage. He was a gifted mechanic, working on cars as well as motorcycles. Together, her mother’s brother and his wife did very well and that’s exactly how they did everything. Together. As a team. Unlike Emalea’s own parents, Aunt Alice and Uncle John kept life running smoothly by pouring on plenty of love. They were the lucky ones.

“See now, Emmy, you gone and got me in trouble with your aunt Alice. I didn’t build that bike for you to run around racing.”

She turned her attention back to her uncle while trying to figure how she could squirm her way out of this. “What makes you think I was racing?”

John scratched his head. “Em, how long you been livin’ here? You know good and well what happened yesterday was gonna be prime gossip this morning.”

The edges of her napkin fluttered in the breeze from the air-conditioning and she smoothed it unconsciously. “I guess I was hoping at least a day or two would pass before that story made it here.”

When she finally got the nerve to face her uncle, he was frowning at her. “So, what you doin’ with this fella’s bike?”

“Teaching him a lesson.” She lifted her coffee cup then put it back on the counter without taking a sip.

“You got no business teachin’ anybody in a bar a lesson. What do you know about this man? He could do anything to you. Maybe he decides to come take his bike back and teach you a lesson while he’s there.”

Emalea’s gut instinctively tightened at the thought.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but you take the bike back to Mick and see that he gets it to this fella. You don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“You’re right. I’ll take the bike back after our search-and-rescue team meeting.”

Gulping her now lukewarm coffee, Emalea brushed the napkin across her mouth to clean off the last bits of sugar.

“I’ve got to go. The school’s hired me to counsel students and their families. I have a couple of appointments this morning.” Sliding off the stool, she kissed her uncle on the cheek.

He patted her on the shoulder. “All right, girl. Oh, that fella who likes you came by here yesterday.”

Emalea paused. “You mean Paul Jones?”

“That’s the one. He said he was through this way on business and stopped by for breakfast, but he was askin’ for you. I don’t know why you want to be seein’ that guy.”

Paul Jones was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company and traveled to various doctors’ offices and pharmacies in the area. She had been avoiding him lately. She wasn’t sure why, because he was a nice man. “What’s wrong with Paul, Uncle John? I thought you liked him that day I met him here for breakfast.”

“I like him fine, but he’s not for you, Emalea. I don’t know why you keep dating these men that are nothing like you.”

That stopped her in her tracks. Her uncle seldom commented on the men she dated, probably because they were few and far between. “What does that mean?”

Her uncle sighed, catching her hand between both of his.

“Ever since you had all that trouble with Jean Pierre, you’ve been seeing this kind of guy. Mr. Jones, he’s…” Uncle John let go of her hand and grabbed the half-eaten beignet from his plate. “Like the beignet before you cook it, just so much dough in the bowl. But you, you’re the finished one, light, airy, coated with sweet sugar. Quite a treat, eh? When are you going to date a man to appreciate that?”

“I think you might be the only one to see it that way, Uncle John.”

He thumped his hand on the counter. “No, one day you’ll find the man who sees it that way, too. Then you better not be runnin’ him off.”

She laughed. “I’ll try to remember.”

He patted her cheek. “You take care of this little situation with the motorcycle, you hear.”

“I hear,” she replied, halfway to the door. Why her uncle had to mention Jean Pierre was beyond her. Most days she chose to forget that part of her life. She’d misjudged a man, just as her mother had. Only she’d had sense enough to get away before it was too late.

She smiled at her uncle’s comparison. Maybe that was why she wasn’t that interested in Paul. The description had been almost too exact. He could definitely be considered bland, but he was safe. He certainly would never raise a hand to hurt her.

Squinting against the sun, she stood on the sidewalk. Her uncle made sense. She needed to get the motorcycle back. But for some reason, every time she tried to clear her mind, the image of broad shoulders towering above her surfaced. Except this time he was flashing a smile at her, similar to the one he’d worn when she’d first caught him watching her in the bar. She doubted if he’d smile at her that way now. She tried to ignore what felt a lot like disappointment.

JACKSON GROANED, letting the shovel he’d been using drop to the ground. He recognized the driver of the red truck immediately. This was just what he didn’t need. His new boss must have heard about the episode at the bar yesterday.

Jackson had to admit he’d gone a bit too far. Matt Wright might be a fair man and a good sheriff, but he wouldn’t expect to find his newly hired investigator racing motorcycles and betting. The truck stopped at the end of the driveway.

Sweat ran down the side of his cheek, and Jackson dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, taking a deep breath as the sheriff of Cypress Landing strolled across the yard, coming to a stop in front of him.

“I can explain,” Jackson began, then paused. Could he? Maybe that wasn’t the best way to start this conversation.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt responded quickly.

Almost too quickly. “Really? You’re not going to bust my butt?”

Matt laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I should have done it myself a long time ago. But I just don’t have the knack.”

Jackson pushed the shovel with the toe of his boot. Something wasn’t right. “I guess I don’t, either.”

Matt motioned toward the strip around the house where Jackson had been planting shrubbery. “Seems like you’re doing a good job to me. I told you to do anything you wanted to the house. Keep the receipts and I’ll take it off the rent.”

He didn’t know. Jackson wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sick. Maybe Matt would never find out. Jackson glanced at the Indian hawthorn he’d just put in the ground. He’d turned yard work into his way of dealing with the weight of the memories that sometimes threatened to bury him.

Matt was waiting for him to continue the conversation. He’d give it another day and if Matt hadn’t heard by then, he’d tell him.

“I… Yeah, I’ll let you know how much it cost. I worked with a landscaping company when I was in college, just something I learned how to do.”

Matt crossed his arms across his chest. “It sure helps the old place. Anyway, I came by to remind you we’ve got that volunteer search-and-rescue meeting today. I know you don’t officially start work until next week, but I’d like you to come by and meet everyone tonight.”

Jackson picked up the shovel. “I’ve got it written on my calendar.”

“It’s not the whole group, just the leader of each team. It’ll be a good chance for you to get into town and maybe start meeting the feminine side of Cypress Landing. We’ve got quiet a few head turners here.”

Jackson tried not to cringe. The last thing he needed was Matt matchmaking. He’d already had one bad experience with the “feminine” side of Cypress Landing. He wondered what would constitute a head turner in this town, other than the one he’d already met, then decided he probably didn’t want to know.

“I’m not interested in dating right now, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Matt kicked a clump of dirt and Jackson tried to give a name to the expression on his face. Uncomfortable. That was it.

“How’s everything else going? I mean…you haven’t had any other problems here, have you?”

Jackson wanted to look away but made himself stay focused on Matt. It was a fair question. “If you’re trying to ask if I’ve been in any fights since I’ve been here, the answer is no.”

“I’m not trying to make this an issue. I just know that a big change like you’ve had, leaving the bureau and moving here, can be tough.”

Sweat beaded above his eyebrows and Jackson wiped at the moisture. “I’ve gotten control of the problem I had in Chicago. And I didn’t just leave the bureau, we both know that.”

“They made you an offer. You chose not to take it.”

Jackson’s mouth twisted. “That wasn’t an offer. It was a sentence.”

Matt shrugged. “Okay, then.” He began to walk toward his truck. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He should have told Matt what had happened at Sal’s. Keeping secrets from his boss wasn’t a good way to get started. Besides, he respected Matt. Cypress Landing’s sheriff’s department might be a far cry from the FBI, but the sheriff could have held his own with any agent Jackson knew. Matt had taken a chance giving him this job after what had happened with the bureau. They’d met five years ago, when he’d been here as an FBI agent on a case involving missing children. He and Matt had become friends and stayed in touch over the years. Matt had been supportive during some of his hardest times. When he’d needed to make a change in his life, the small-town sheriff had been there with an offer. Maybe it was the streets lined with live oaks, their branches dripping Spanish moss or the antebellum homes scattered throughout the area that sometimes made him feel like he’d stepped into a different time. It was fate that Cypress Landing needed a new investigator just when he wanted a new job. Chicago had become an ugly reminder of everything he’d lost. For two years he’d tried to keep going on with his life.

But he’d been living a lie. Gripping the handle, he jammed the shovel into the ground, his teeth jarring as he hit a rock. Lifting the blade, he knocked away a clump of dirt. The sun flashed on the metal, reminding him of a pair of flashing green eyes he was doing his best to forget.

Why was she constantly in his head? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she now owned his most prized possession. Sliding his hand along the shovel, he could almost feel the skin of her hand beneath his fingers. The shovel thudded against the ground when he dropped it again. This kind of fantasizing would get him in a world of trouble. With the pieces of his life only recently jammed back together, he didn’t need that woman scattering them all around again.

“WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON, Kent?”

The thin, gangly boy shrugged his shoulders and shoved an unruly clump of black hair from his forehead. Emalea wondered when he’d last washed his hair. A good kid at heart, he just needed a little guidance. Too bad he wouldn’t be getting any on the home front. His mother shunned Emalea’s attempts at family counseling but had finally agreed to let Kent have sessions with her. The boy’s father didn’t know. The man didn’t seem the type to allow any weakness in his family.

Biting back a sigh, she regrouped. “How’s your art class?”

“It’s great.” He brightened considerably and Emalea made a mental note.

“So what’s happening in there?”

“Mrs. Wright is really cool. She’s letting me and Megan Johnson help her paint a mural at the first and second grade building.”

“That’s quite an honor. I told you when I first saw some of your drawings that you had talent.”

Kent played with the hem of his shirt. “I guess my stuff’s okay, but Megan, she’s gonna be a big artist one day. She even works in Mrs. Wright’s shop part-time.”

“Is that the blond girl I saw you talking to last weekend?”

He nodded, staring at the wall just past her shoulder.

“She’s very pretty.”

His bony shoulders rubbed the back of the chair. “She’s Gary Johnson’s cousin.”

Emalea tried not to frown. “Gary still giving you problems?”

“Not so much anymore. He found another kid to stuff in the garbage can.”

“Just remember, guys like Gary have a lot of issues to deal with, too. That tough-guy act won’t get him very far in life.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s an act.” He glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to go now. It’s time for me to be home. I’ll see you next week.”

She held out her hand to the boy who grasped it, giving a quick shake, before sliding from the chair and disappearing through the door.

The school had scheduled Kent for tutoring in the afternoon, but he actually met with her. A tenth-grader didn’t need the school bully to hear he was seeing a head doctor, as Kent often referred to her.

Kids could be so mean to each other. She knew only too well the whispers, the looks, the cruel remarks. Some you tried to ignore. Others cut you to the bone and sent you off to lick your wounds. Maybe Kent would make it through intact. She had, if you could call her life intact.

For some reason, the idea of her life being intact brought to mind the incident at Sal’s. So maybe the guy wasn’t an ex-con, but she wasn’t interested in his type. Pure animal power had oozed from every pore. The very type of man she’d learned to avoid. She wouldn’t be repeating any mistakes, not her own and definitely not her mother’s, no matter how much the guy kept intruding on her thoughts.

With a snap, she closed her notebook, dropped it into her briefcase and studied her calendar. A psychologist in a town that had one main street and three stoplights wasn’t going to get rich. But making money wasn’t the reason she lived here. Over the past few years she’d established herself with a few businesses in the area that used her as part of their employee assistance program and the paper mill usually sent a number of clients her way. The state prison had also hired her to counsel inmates and conduct psychological evaluations.

She stretched her legs in front of her and leaned her head back against the chair. Sometimes the idea of working at the prison was like a joke, but she’d never actually found the punch line. It was ironic that in all the years her father had been alive she’d never gone to the prison. Now, fifteen years after his death, she went there several times a week. Could she have taken the job if he’d still been living? It was a question she was glad she didn’t have to answer.

One counselor had told her the only way to make a full emotional recovery was to forgive her father. It had been her last visit with that particular therapist. Maybe she could come to terms with what her father had done, but the word forgive stuck in her throat.

She pushed to her feet, smoothed her khaki pants and straightened her black cotton blouse. Too much rehashing of the past wouldn’t do her any good. She had just enough time to get to the search-and-rescue meeting. Briefcase in hand, she locked the counselor’s office behind her.

IN THE SCHOOL HALLWAY Kent paused, breathing heavily, then hurried for the exit and home. Not that he really wanted to go home but some things you just had to do. Talking to this lady would be a big waste of time. She asked questions. He answered. She didn’t need to know anything about his life. He double-checked his watch to make sure he wouldn’t be late. The walk would be a long one. The counselor had said she would wait and take him home after he talked to the head doctor, but he’d lied and told her he had a way home. He didn’t need her at his house, didn’t want her even to pull into the yard. If his dad knew about this, there’d be heck to pay. This whole counseling thing would lead to nothing but trouble and he knew it. He left the streets behind and struck out at a brisk walk along the side of the highway out of town.

“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE the new guy. I mean, Em, he’s beyond description. I wouldn’t have thought the bald look was so hot.”

Emalea rested her hip on the corner of the younger girl’s desk. Dana had been working at the sheriff’s office since she’d left high school and, even though that had been five years ago, the girl remained as boy crazy as a teenager.

“Have you asked him for a date yet?”

Dana rolled her eyes. “He’s a little too old for me. I’m thinking you can go after him.”

Emalea grimaced. “Gee, thanks. Leave all the old geezers for me.”

“He’s not that old.”

“But you said he was bald.”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “I know what I said. I meant that he’s shaved bald, like by choice, in that male-model kind of way. And he’s got this goatee.” Dana smacked her lips. “Delicious.”

She had to laugh then. Dana was obviously smitten. “Well, lucky me, I get to work with him, don’t I?”

“You sure do. Since you guys are doing that training course for new SAR members.”

Standing, Emalea made exaggerated moves at smoothing her long brown hair. “I guess I better go and meet this wonderful male specimen.”

“They’re all in the conference room.” Dana rubbed her hands together. “I’ll go with you just in case you faint when you see him. I can catch you.”

They both giggled while Dana followed Emalea to the conference room. At the door she stopped to glance around the table. She could feel Dana at her shoulder, pressing her forward. Her muscles froze and her stomach flipped completely then maintained a steady quiver. It wasn’t possible. She’d pulled one crazy stunt and the stupid thing kept coming back to bite her in the rear. The warm brown gaze that locked on her registered shock. Her shaking middle knotted with sheer dread. What was he doing here? He didn’t belong here. He was… He was… Good grief, he was gorgeous.

The sheriff motioned to an empty chair directly across from the man she’d robbed of his motorcycle. “Come on in, Emalea. We’re ready to get started.” When she still didn’t move, he just kept talking. “Emalea LeBlanc, this is Jackson Cooper, he’s our new investigator. He’ll also be working directly with the SAR team.”

Obviously, neither Matt nor Dana had heard the story. But she could tell by the half grins and smothered coughs that they were the only ones in the room who hadn’t. Gritting her teeth, Emalea marched to the chair and fell into it. She peered at the man across the table, her heart pounding, from the shock, of course, not because she was actually seeing him again. Even without the bandanna tied around his head, he was quite an eyeful.

The silence finally penetrated her thoughts, and she realized the whole table was waiting for her to say something. Had they asked her a question? If so, she hadn’t heard it. Her gaze centered on Jackson Cooper and she couldn’t break away.

“You… You don’t have any hair.”

No one even tried to hide their amusement. Probably, this wasn’t her best moment. Even Jackson Cooper grinned. He rubbed his hand over what appeared to be the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow…on his head.

Matt took his seat, watching the two of them.

“Ms. Leblanc and I met already. I’ll tell you about it later,” Jackson said to Matt.

Someone in the room coughed a little too loudly while Emalea tried not to bang her head against the table. She’d taken the motorcycle of a former FBI agent. Could it get any worse? He should have given her a hint as to who he was. Matt continued his introduction of Jackson Cooper, who would be the SAR team’s official contact at the sheriff’s office, but Emalea barely heard because she was starting to seethe. This only proved her point. Jackson Cooper was not a man to be trusted. But then what men could you trust? In her mind’s eye, the man in front of her morphed into some of her most horrific memories. He could snap her in half if he wanted. Her fist gripped the wooden arms of the chair, while her throat constricted. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.

Stop! Loosening her grip on the chair, oxygen filtered into her lungs as she took a slow calming breath, forcing the panic to subside, while the others carried on a meeting oblivious to her emotional state. This man, a stranger, wasn’t her father or Jean Pierre. There was no relationship to bind her to him and she certainly didn’t have to depend on him for anything. He was just another employee of the sheriff’s office. She only had to work with him occasionally. As soon as she returned the motorcycle, she’d never have to see him again, except officially and around town. A groan rose in her throat but she squelched it.

FIVE, FOUR, THREE STEPS then she’d be at her truck. Almost there, almost ready to reach for the door handle. Then fingers wrapped around her arm and she couldn’t ignore the shouted “Hey, Emalea,” anymore.

She spun around, twisting the offending fingers loose. “What? If it’s about your bike, I’m on my way to take it to Mick right now. I only did it as a joke.”

Jackson Cooper paused for a moment with his mouth half-open. “I was actually going to say that I hoped we could work together without too many hard feelings. I know we’ve had a rough start, but life will be a lot easier if we aren’t at each other’s throats all the time.”

“I’m not the kind of person to be at anyone’s throat.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Really?”

“Really,” she replied, trying to unclench her teeth.

He was quiet for a moment and Emalea was more than a little afraid of what he might be thinking. His fingers moved to stroke the goatee around his mouth, and muscles in his forearm undulated. Standing this close, Jackson Cooper was discomfiting. Her own fingers itched to grab the door handle of her truck and escape.

“If you’re really planning on giving my bike back, I’m sure we can work something out so neither one of us has to go to the bar.”

Emalea’s head bobbed slightly but she was only half listening. How did his T-shirt fit him like a second skin without being completely indecent? That gave him such an unfair advantage over women. He could do or say anything and a woman might never really hear it because she’d be so fascinated by his body. Some women, but not her; she wasn’t into that.

“So, what do you think? Will that work for you?”

The sun caught the gold flecks in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. “Mmm… Yeah, that’s fine.”

He seemed to relax and she thought he might smile.

“Do you need directions?”

The last rays of the evening light began to feel a little warm on the back of her head. Wait, what had she agreed to?

“Directions for what?”

He frowned.

“Directions to the house I’m renting from Matt. If you really don’t mind bringing the bike there, I’ll be glad to drive you back home.”

The keys in her pocket bit into her hand as she clamped her fingers around them. Is that what she had agreed to do? She chewed at her bottom lip. Time alone with Jackson Cooper, not exactly what she’d been planning for the evening. But taking the bike to his house would be much easier since the only house Matt had to rent wasn’t that far from hers. She could handle it, didn’t want to, but she could.

“I know the way.” She opened the door of the truck and slid behind the wheel. As she tried to pull the door closed, she felt resistance. Jackson held the door, peering in at her as if she had grown a second head.

“What?”

“Tell me this isn’t your truck.”

Typical stupid male reaction. Just because it wasn’t a girlie ride, except for the glossy pearl-white paint job. “Of course it’s mine.”

He stepped back, pulling the door open wider. “A 1968 Ford step side in mint condition. That’s unbelievable.”

“It’s a sixty-six.”

He stared at her in amazement. “How do you get all this specialty stuff? I mean, the custom motorcycle, this truck. Are you a collector, or just really rich?”

She had to laugh then. “I’m really spoiled.”

Jackson tilted his head to one side, giving her a questioning look.

“My uncle John is a master mechanic. He rebuilt my motorcycle when I bought it secondhand. This truck—” she skimmed her fingers around the smooth steering wheel “—he found rusting in a field. He and I worked on it for a few years before we got it to this point.”

“I’d like to meet your uncle.”

Her heart skipped a beat as panic hit her. All she needed was for Jackson Cooper to talk to Uncle John. How long would the conversation go before he uncovered her story? What would he think? With her past, he’d wonder how she was allowed to counsel anyone. His first trip would likely be to the sheriff’s office to dig up the old files and there he’d find her whole ignoble past. But why should she care what this guy thought?

“I’ll see you in an hour.” Yanking the door out of his hand, she slammed it shut. She could have made it home and back to his house in less time, but what was the sense in rushing? When she got to his house, she could mention an early appointment that she didn’t actually have, then he’d have to bring her right home. Of course, she was sure he’d be more than happy to get rid of her just as quickly.