Authors: Susan Fox
Body Heat (14 page)
She was supposed to offer a cold drink to a thug named Beater to thank him for bringing stolen property to Cherry Lane.
And then she thought of Virginia Canfield and Hilda Jenssen, swinging under the cherry tree. Jesse was walking past her. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm. “Wait.”
His skin was hot and damp, his arm firm and vital. Ripples of shock and pleasure surged through her. She snatched her hand back. “I need to know where it came from.”
He scowled. “We didn’t steal it.”
“I . . .”
His eyes met hers, challenging her to trust him.
“All right,” she muttered. “Go ahead and bring it in.” She wasn’t happy about the way Jesse had arranged this, but he must realize his every move was under scrutiny. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to do something illegal right under her nose. As for Beater, she wasn’t so sure.
She followed Jesse back out, determined to keep a close watch, and was in time to see a navy-blue BMW pull up.
Her mother got out and Maura walked toward her. “Agnes? What are you doing here?” She could count on one hand the number of times either of her parents had come to Cherry Lane, and have fingers left over.
Her mother opened the passenger door, took out a capacious canvas tote-bag, and pulled Maura’s black pashmina shawl from it. “You left this at the restaurant last night.”
“Oh, thanks.” She’d taken it in case there was chilly air-conditioning, then forgotten it in her haste to get home and watch
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. “You didn’t have to come by to drop it off.”
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. “You didn’t have to come by to drop it off.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I was driving in this direction for a meeting. It was no trouble.” Then she frowned at the blue truck. “What on earth is going on?”
Jesse and Beater had wrestled the huge box so that it stuck three-quarters of the way out of the open truck bed.
“Need a fucking dolly,” Beater said.
“Don’t have one,” Jesse said.
“Fuck, man, this thing’s heavy.”
“Should’ve brought a fucking dolly then,” Jesse returned.
Despite the proliferation of F-bombs, the two men sounded relaxed and easy together.
Jesse studied the giant box. “Could unpack it, take it in pieces.”
“Shit, it’s not that heavy.”
And they proceeded to strong-arm it off the truck and onto their shoulders. With Jesse in the lead, they lurched toward the front steps.
“Maura? What’s that all about? Who are those men?”
Not about to tell Agnes that one was some kind of petty criminal doing community service, and she didn’t have a clue who the other was, she said, “They’re delivering a hanging swing set, which we’ll put up in the courtyard for the seniors.”
Agnes frowned. “I don’t think much of the company you bought from, if they use delivery men like that.”
And she wouldn’t think much of her adoptive daughter if she knew that, only an hour ago, Maura had been kissing one of those men. “I should go in and supervise.”
“You certainly should. You don’t want men like that roaming around this place.”
That was exactly how Maura felt about Beater, and it was clear that Agnes viewed the two men identically. “One of those men works here,” she found herself saying.
“The tall one, with no tattoos. And he’s proven to be efficient and responsible, and very good with the seniors.”
“Really?” Agnes’s tone dripped disbelief.
Silly to have defended Jesse—it’s not as if he and her mother would ever meet. Maura felt one of those twinges of acid in her stomach, the kind she always felt when she disagreed with her parents. Still, she said, “Yes, really.”
“Hmm. His appearance certainly leaves something to be desired.”
Maura refrained from saying that was a matter of opinion.
“I should go and let you get on with your work.” Agnes walked around the car and opened the driver’s door. “If I don’t talk to you before, I’ll see you at the reunion.”
“What? Do you mean the Academy reunion?”
“Of course. Timothy’s still on the Board.”
“But you don’t usually go to those events, do you?”
“No, but this time it’s your class’s reunion. We wouldn’t miss it.” Her mother gazed at her across the roof of the car. “Who are you going with?”
“I, uh, haven’t decided yet.” Her cheeks heated at the thought of that crazy fantasy about riding in with Jesse on his motorcycle. Her parents would disown her. And, even if the other women found Jesse attractive, he wouldn’t fit in. Wilton Academy was an elite school; its graduates and their significant others would have multiple university degrees.
“I’m sure Edward Mortimer would be happy to accompany you.”
Aagh
. Maura must be slow on the uptake today. Of course that was why Agnes had made this rare visit. “Mmm.”
. Maura must be slow on the uptake today. Of course that was why Agnes had made this rare visit. “Mmm.”
“Maura, the two of you are very compatible. He’s an excellent match for you.”
Or for Agnes and Timothy. “I’ll think about it.” She should call him back anyhow, to apologize for being abrupt. Perhaps he was more interesting than she’d given him credit for last night.
“You do that,” Agnes said, climbing into her car.
Maura hurried into the building and out to the courtyard, where Jesse and Beater had set the big carton down on the lawn. “Well, thank you for this,” she said, a little dubiously, to Beater.
“No sweat.”
Remembering Jesse’s suggestion, she said, “That’s hot work. Would you like a cold drink?”
“Sure.” Beater grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “Got a beer?”
“Uh, no, sorry.” In fact, they did have a liquor license, but served alcohol only to the residents.
“I’ll pass then.”
“I’ll take a Sprite,” Jesse said, “if you’re offering.”
Oh, great, now she was supposed to play waitress for him? Still, he had managed, by whatever means, to get a swing set for the seniors. “I’ll just walk Mr., uh, your friend to the door.”
The two men slapped each other on the back, exchanged a few more F-laden remarks, then Maura escorted Beater, in mutual silence, to the door. She thanked him, watched him walk toward his truck, then went to drop her pashmina in her office and get the soda for Jesse.
When she returned to the courtyard, he was extracting various components from the carton and laying them out on the grass. He took the cold can she handed him. “Thanks. Got a screwdriver?”
“Yes, I’ll get it.”
She found it, and this time when she came back, he was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his worn jeans taut across his thighs and crotch.
He pulled open the plastic top of the screwdriver, selected one of the gizmos inside, and screwed it in place. Next, he began to pick up the various pieces of wood, holding them this way and that, obviously trying to decide how they fit together.
She noticed a book of instructions lying on the lawn and leaned down to pick it up. “Wouldn’t it be easier to use this?”
He glanced up, said, “Nope,” and went back to work.
She flipped open the booklet and looked at the first page. Maybe Jesse was right. The author certainly had a limited command of the English language. She tossed it down again. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He’d gotten her thinking, though. When she went inside, she headed to the reception desk and said to Ming-mei, “The home center in the mall must sell garden furniture. We’ll need a couple of tables and eight or ten chairs. Not too expensive, but durable enough to stay outside.”
Ming-mei frowned at her. “You want me to . . .”
“Go over, choose something appropriate, and arrange for delivery.”
“But . . .”
“I’ll authorize two hundred dollars. Take it from petty cash. If you need more, check with me.”
A smile tugged the corners of Ming-mei’s mouth. “You trust me to choose?”
Maura smiled back. Maybe all the young woman needed was a little responsibility. “Just bear in mind the age and health of our residents.”
Her delicate forehead creased in a frown as she considered that, then she said firmly, “Padded seats.”
“Yes, exactly. You’ve got the idea.”
Back at her desk, Maura glanced out the window and saw that the swing set was a magnet. Half a dozen elderly men had congregated in the courtyard. They stood in a circle around Jesse, pointing and talking with great animation, obviously all offering advice—differing advice, from the gestures they made—on how to construct the swing.
Jesse listened, nodded, and kept on with what he was doing.
She chuckled softly, less and less concerned about having him interact with the residents. So far, he’d always been polite with them, and considerate.
He got along better with them than he did with her. To him, she was . . . what? An annoying supervisor? A plain woman who had enough pride to not fall for a player’s attempt at seduction?
And yet, she remembered the moments before that kiss. The compliments he’d given her about her job. It was as if he really understood the pleasure she took in her work—something her parents had never grasped. She had felt seen, understood, even appreciated.
By a man she supervised, who came from a completely different world, who would never in a million years fit into hers.
Thanks to his “assistants,” it took Jesse way too long to get the swing assembled, but he didn’t mind. Seemed they were having fun, and that made it fun for him, too. Finally, the half dozen old boys gave him a thumbs-up, patted each other on the back, and headed in for lunch.
All except Fred Dykstra, who said, “You haven’t forgotten, have you, Jesse?”
Jesse stretched. “Nope. You still wanna do this?”
“I’ve been looking forward to it. You brought another helmet?”
“Sure did. Let’s go.”
Yesterday, the old biker had asked for a ride. Jesse’d figured, what could it hurt? He’d go slow and make sure Mr. Dykstra hung on tight. The man might walk with a cane, but he wasn’t exactly doddery.
As they walked down the corridor to the entrance, Jesse asked, “How did you like the movie last night?”
Fred shook his head. “Hoo boy, that young woman sure was mixed up, but I guess she found what she was looking for in the end. I’m glad my daughter’s happily married and not traipsing all over the world by herself.”
“Does your daughter live here?”
“Yes, she and her family live in town. She’s a teacher; her husband’s a vet. They have twins, a boy and girl, heading into their teens now. Good kids. My son-in-law will be picking me up later. I always go over for Sunday dinner.”
“Sounds nice.” A nice, normal family. He could only imagine it.
As they passed the front desk, Fred handed his cane to Ming-mei, the very polite young Asian woman who’d greeted Jesse when he arrived. “Hold on to this for me, Ming-mei.”
“Certainly, Mr. Dykstra, but . . .”
“I won’t be needing it for a while.”
Jesse held out an arm, but Fred waved it away. “I’m feeling young today, Jesse.” They walked together to the entrance, and he said, “I was thinking, I might ask my daughter to invite Lizzie for next week.”
Jesse winked at him. “You and Lizzie hittin’ it off, are you?”
Fred winked back. “A man doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” A truth that, unfortunately, made him think about Maura.
So she wanted to pretend that kiss had never happened. How the hell could he forget her honeyed mouth now that he’d tasted it?
Why had he kissed her? It wasn’t just those sexy lips, it was that she’d loosened up, stopped being so snotty, seemed approachable. Seemed to almost be inviting a kiss. And yeah, she’d been into it, until she came to her senses and realized just who she was kissing. The guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Crap, she didn’t know the half of it. He could just imagine her expression if she found out he’d never graduated from high school and couldn’t even read the instructions for putting together that swing set. He gave a snort of disgust.
“Jesse? Something wrong?”
He shook his head as they approached the Harley and forced Maura out of his brain. “Nah, I’m good.” He handed over one of the helmets. “You’ve ridden before. Not much has changed. Lean into the curves, right?”
“I remember.”
“And hold on tight. No macho no-hands stuff, okay?”
He showed Fred how the helmet fastened, then climbed onto the bike and waited for the old man to mount up behind him. He started the Harley, revved the engine a few times, and they were off.
He cut through a residential area, then steered onto a country road with little traffic. Fred was doing fine, keeping his balance like a pro. Jesse opened her up just a little and heard a whoop in his ear. He laughed and let out a whoop of his own. The speed was pretty wimpy, but the old guy’s enthusiasm was contagious.
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