CHAPTER NINE
SLEEPING PROVED IMPOSSIBLE for Brook Lynn. She tossed and turned in bed, thinking of nothing but her almost-kiss with Jase.
Why had he stopped?
Did it really matter?
Sometime between falling onto her mattress and rising to take a shower, she’d made a decision: she would overcome her attraction to him, and that would be that.
There were too many problems stacked against them, anyway. Jessie Kay. Brook Lynn’s employment. His attitude. Oh, his attitude! Smoldering one moment, ice-cold the next. Always annoying.
Besides, she still wasn’t interested in a fling. Give me long-term or give me nothing.
Right?
“Jessie Kay,” she called, banging on the girl’s bedroom door. “What do you want for breakfast?”
Silence greeted her.
She peeked inside—no one was in the bed draped with sheets covered with silly pandas or anywhere else. Peachy. Had her sister even come home last night? Brook Lynn tromped to the kitchen...where she found a note. And a glass jar with a giant spider trapped inside.
Dude! Do you see what was waiting in the kitchen for me? The devil! I managed to catch it—you’re welcome. Now you get to kill it. All I ask is that you check for a pulse afterward to make sure he’s really, really, really dead. Love, JK
PS: I would have killed it myself, because I’m tough like that, but I was in a hurry to go out and make us some dough. You’re welcome x 2.
“You are deathly afraid of spiders, and you know it,” Brook Lynn muttered to her absent sister. And Jessie Kay, out making money? I’ll believe it when I see it.
After freeing the spider outside, Brook Lynn decided to forgo breakfast and made her way to the Rhinestone Cowgirl. Strawberry Valley was just beginning to rouse. Shop owners were outside, dusting off sidewalks while Closed signs flipped over behind them.
She waved to Mr. Rodriguez. Virgil hadn’t yet arrived to begin their next checkers game. There was Wanda Potts, taking pictures of her storefront to post on Twitter and Facebook. She sold “designer” clothing—meaning, she’d designed them. Next door, Donut à la Mode was being unlocked. It was nice, seeing the same people, the same sights, every morning. Comforting.
When Brook Lynn stepped inside the RC, she was ten minutes early and more fatigued than usual. Her eyes burned, and her feet dragged. And her ears! The itching had only gotten worse. If this kept up, she’d have to call her doctor and pay for a checkup she couldn’t afford.
Maybe she could get an advance from Jase...
No! No way. She wasn’t going to treat him like a piggy bank. He was her boss, and he was a person. A distant person, sure. Gruff, but a natural-born protector. Look how quickly he’d stepped in front of his friend simply to stop the guy from yelling at her.
And she was still insanely curious about his past. How bad would it be to look him up online?
Oh, who cared? She plugged his name in a search engine. Jase Hollister.
Not much popped up. He had no Facebook page that she could find, no Twitter account. But she was asked if she’d meant Jessie Hollister, Jake Hollister, Jason Hollister or Jane Hollister.
Jason seemed the most obvious choice, so she clicked on it...and oh, wow, there seemed to be thousands of them. She narrowed the search to Jason Hollister in Oklahoma. The first thing to pull up was Hollister Co. at Penn Square Mall, followed by a few links to people on Facebook and LinkedIn. But none of the pictures matched the Jase she knew. There was an article about some kind of fight to the death between teenagers, but again, the picture next to it looked nothing like her Jase. The boy was far too scrawny.
The bell above the door tinkled, signaling the arrival of the first customer of the day, and she glanced up to see a young man she’d never before met standing in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Tourist? Just passing through?
He had sandy-colored hair and wore a wrinkled white button-down and black slacks. He scratched his arms as he glanced behind him nervously before retreating outside, the door closing.
O-kay.
Brook Lynn closed the search window just as the bell tinkled again.
“Got your dating-911 text,” Kenna said as she glided to the counter, her red hair bouncing over her shoulders. “What’s up?”
Oh, yeah. In her delirium last night, Brook Lynn had contacted her friend. But in the bright light of the morning, discussing Jase seemed like the worst idea ever.
“Dating-911?” she asked, playing coy. “That doesn’t sound like me, does it?”
“Gonna play the dumb-blonde card, are you?”
“Why not?” she said with a shrug. She scratched her ears. “I’ve got a full deck.”
Kenna chuckled. “You typed, and I quote, do you know what’s worse than zombies eating your brains? Liking a man who’s slept with your sister.”
“Someone needs to invent an app to stop people from making foolish admissions in texts,” she grumbled.
“I bet West could do it. But even if he manages it, it’s too late for you. So...are we talking about Jase or Beck?”
Why not admit it, just put it out there? “Jase.”
“Oh,” Kenna said, and she sounded disappointed.
“What? You don’t like him?”
“I like him just fine, but of the two guys he just seems less attainable.”
She gaped at her friend. “Less attainable, when Beck is a certified man-whore?”
“Well, yeah,” Kenna said. “Jase is like a wall of ice. Dirty, dirty ice,” she added with an appreciative, dreamy sigh. “But ice all the same.”
“Ice can be melted, you know.” And with Jase, it had. At least for a little while. Once he’d even laughed with her.
I want to see him laugh again.
Kenna patted her arm, saying, “It can also refreeze.”
“True.” Hadn’t it already?
Did she want him to melt for good?
No, no. No fixer-uppers, remember? She’d decided to go after Brad. The safer choice. The smarter choice. Being with him wouldn’t get her canned or hurt her sister. Which was the reason she’d also texted him last night, asking him to stop by the shop whenever he was free.
“I won’t go after Jase,” she said on a sigh.
“Oh, Brook Lynn,” Kenna said. “I’m so sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’ve never seen you look so dejected.”
She scratched her ears yet again. “I’m not dejected.” I’m disappointed.
“I never should have discouraged you. If anyone can melt Jase once and for all, it’s you. Besides, the past might have created who he is, but we shouldn’t let it define who he can become.”
“What do you know of his past?”
“Not much. Dane mentioned something about foster care.”
The child of a broken home. Stomach twisting, she changed the subject before she raced out of here to hunt the guy down and throw herself in his arms to offer all the hugs he probably never received growing up. “How are wedding plans coming?”
Immediately snared by the topic, Kenna regaled her with stories of white lace dresses, snobby caterers and shy ice sculptors, all revolving around her crazy soon-to-be in-laws.
One day, I’ll have such awesome problems, Brook Lynn thought.
The bell chimed, and Norrie, Kenna’s six-year-old daughter, came racing inside. Dane Michaelson entered soon after, his gaze heating when it landed on his fiancée, practically steaming the air.
That. I want that.
“Hi, Aunt Brook Lynn,” Norrie said, skipping over to embrace her. “Guess what? Dane told Uncle West he’s got to get Momma alone soon or he’s gonna die of blue baseballs. I didn’t know baseballs could be blue, did you?”
Kenna almost swallowed her tongue.
Brook Lynn laughed out loud, but quieted as the itching in her ears grew worse.
Dane closed his eyes for a moment. “That was supposed to be our secret, squirt.”
Norrie had a major problem with verbal diarrhea. Every word to enter her ears exited her mouth.
“We better make sure they get some time alone, huh?” Brook Lynn said. “That way his baseballs can return to their original color. So how about you come over this evening and spend the night with me?” When Kenna and Norrie had moved out, Brook Lynn had left their rooms alone, part of her hoping they’d come back.
Maybe I’m more like Beck than I realized.
“Yes!” Norrie squealed with happiness. “Can I, Momma? Please! Please!”
Kenna cast Brook Lynn a grateful smile. “I think that would be wonderful.”
“Sweet!” the girl said, jumping up and down.
The bell chimed a third time, and in stepped Charlene Burns.
She set her sunglasses on top of her head, saying, “I could use a moment alone with Brook Lynn, y’all.”
Kenna waited for Brook Lynn’s nod of approval. Which she gave. Reluctantly.
“Well, okay, then. I guess this is where we say goodbye.” Kenna shot Brook Lynn a sympathetic look before departing with her family.
“So,” Charlene said, resting her elbows on the counter.
“So. How can I help you?”
“I just wanted to make sure Beck got those muffins I baked him.”
I think you mean bought him. “He sure did. He even said something about all these strawberries making the girls here taste just as sweet. Doesn’t that make you think strawberries are his favorite fruit?” Brook Lynn added, tracing her fingertips over a strawberry pendant. She desperately needed to make a sale today.
Charlene brightened. “I have a collection of Edna’s finest at home. I’ll wear—”
Brook Lynn tried to look as horrified as possible. “You’re thinking about wearing last year’s fashion? Are you sure— No, no, I’m, uh, sure that’ll be fine. The other girls who came over with treats for Beck will probably wear last year’s fashion, too.”
“Other girls brought him treats? Who? You tell me right this second.”
“I’m not going to name names and start a catfight when I don’t even know which of you Beck wants. But if you stick around the store long enough, some of them might just arrive to buy jewelry, hoping to impress him.” Not a lie. They might.
Feminine calculation gleamed in Charlene’s hazel eyes. She bought every item with a strawberry. She would never wear them all, but this way, no other woman would be wearing them, either.
Brook Lynn floated on clouds of happiness the rest of her shift—or would have, if not for her ears—creating new pieces for the display cases. When the bell over the door rang again, she glanced up, expecting Brad—and almost snapped off a finger instead of a wire. Jase had just entered the store.
Reeling.
As usual, he looked good. Dangerous and good, as if he’d just stepped from a boxing ring... No, scratch that. As if he’d just come from an illegal street brawl, his dark hair mussed, his emerald eyes bright and gleaming from the high levels of testosterone pumping through his system. A man on the prowl, searching for a willing woman to satisfy.
She set the needle-nose pliers aside. “What are you doing here?”
He waved a piece of paper at her, his biceps flexing. “I have your new list.”
Her heart rate picked up speed as she read over what appeared to be a shopping list. Or rather, tried to read over it. Her eyes would not move past number two, her cheeks heating. “Beer. Condoms,” she said, peering at him through the thick shield of her lashes.
“Ex-large,” he said with a nod. “Maybe ribbed for her pleasure. I’ll let you decide.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Is there a specific her in mind?”
“Just consider that a collective her.”
“I see.” She tried to contain her blush as she ticked off another item on the list—and failed. “Hemorrhoid cream? Seriously?”
“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, honey, but sometimes you can be a major pain in the ass.”
Well played, Mr. Hollister. Well played. Clearly he was having fun.
Fun. Again. And at her expense. Well, not anymore.
It’s my turn, she thought, mentally adding an item to her own list. She’d turn the tables on him. Starting now.
“Personal lubricant?” she said, eyeing him up and down without shivering. Surely I deserve some type of reward. “Yes, I can see how you might need that. Or is it for a friend?” She used air quotes, letting him know she wouldn’t believe him if he tried to take that path.
He set his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to her. “Some women need an extra boost. None of mine ever have, but there’s a first time for everything.”
The blush redoubled. “Why lice shampoo?”
He shrugged. “There could be an outbreak.”
“What about the yeast-infection ointment? The feminine cleansing pads? The vajazzle tattoos?” Never even heard of that. “The peekaboo mirror for personal inspection?” She gazed at him and rested a hand over her heart. “Wait. Do you have a hoo-ha fetish?” She batted her lashes at him, hoping he heard the unspoken bless your heart.
“Doesn’t every man?”
“Well, you can still count on me. I’ll take care of everything. You and your hemorrhoids will be feeling better in no time. One day soon you’ll even be able to sit in a chair without a cushion.”
He rocked back on his heels. “You are not handling this the way I expected.”
“Tears? Refusal? Please. I’d buy laxatives, suppositories for constipation, pills to stop diarrhea, an entire box of pregnancy tests and a tube of antifungal cream without a single moment of humiliation.”
“Great. Add those to the list. And don’t forget you promised to make sandwiches tonight.”
The bell tinkled, signaling the arrival of another customer, saving her from having to reply.
Though Brook Lynn stood on her tiptoes, she couldn’t see over the wide expanse of Jase’s shoulders. When she motioned for him to move, he simply crossed his arms over his massive chest, stubborn to his core.
Fine. She stepped to the side and peeked around him, her gaze locking on Brad. As he removed his sunglasses, she waited for tingles and heat, wanted to experience them, but...nothing.
Peachy. She smoothed her clothes in place and forced a smile. “You came.”
“Of course,” Brad said, returning her smile with one of his own. “You texted.”
Jase tensed, as if the store had just been invaded by zombies.
“Jase,” Brook Lynn said, “this is Brad Lintz. He owns Lintz Automotive, and he’s a true master of his craft. He’s kept Rusty, my car, running for years. Brad, this is Jase. My boss. My other boss, I mean.”
Brad held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Jase bristled like a porcupine before he pressed his palm against Brad’s—and he must have squeezed too hard, because Brad flinched. Jase released him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, as if he didn’t trust them, and returned his gaze to her. His pupils had expanded, black completely overshadowing green. A sign of heightened emotion; one she’d seen every time she’d caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror after a fight with Jessie Kay.
He was...angry?
His body language answered the question, shouting yes! He grew stiffer by the second and even braced his legs apart, as if he meant to pounce.
“I should go,” he said. “Don’t forget the list.”
As if she would be thinking of anything else.
He stalked out of the shop before she had time to form a reply, acting as if his feet were on fire.
“Interesting guy,” Brad said.
“Yes.” But he wasn’t dating material. Brad, on the other hand...
He was a handsome man, with well-defined features, tidy dark hair and navy eyes. A combination she hadn’t seen often. He stood just over six feet—though at six-four, Jase towered over him. He was lean and when not wearing his work overalls, always well dressed.
“What kind of list?” Brad asked.
“Oh, uh, something for work.” She tucked Jase’s note into her pocket. And now it was time to nut up or shut up and ask Brad out.
What if he says no?
She’d survive. Maybe cry. Big deal.
“Brad,” she began. Sweat slicked her palms as sickness churned in her stomach. How should she do this?
Do you know what my shirt is made of? Girlfriend material.
I’d rather die.
I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?
I’d rather die twice.
“Well,” she said, rubbing at her ears. With Jase here, she’d forgotten how badly they’d been bothering her.
“In your text,” he said, “you mentioned you had something important to ask me.”
“That’s true. I do.” Open your mouth. Create words. “Brad, would you like to go out with me?”
* * *
JASE PACED JUST outside the Rhinestone Cowgirl. He should go home. He had a crap-ton of work to do. He felt as if he was being watched, his neck practically burning with an increase of tingles, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Brook Lynn was currently in an enclosed space with another guy. Alone. Jase didn’t like that—even though he had no right to dislike it—and things just got worse.
He was boss; she was employee. He’d made sure she understood that.
He still didn’t like it.
The girl was chipping away at his armor, and she had no idea she was doing it. No idea that every smile, every joke, every touch between them destroyed a very necessary layer of his protection.
Hell. The armor was already close to disintegrating, wasn’t it?
And now this other man wanted her. That much was obvious. The adoration in his eyes had been sickening. And, if Jase had to guess, the feeling was definitely mutual. Brook Lynn had brightened when she’d spied him.
His hands fisted, the bones aching. He wanted to stomp back inside that store and kick Brad out on his ass. But of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It would be considered assault. Worse, Brook Lynn might not appreciate his helpfulness.
Nothing but disaster awaited him here.
He picked up the faint sound of footsteps, coming in behind him, approaching fast. Tensing at the possibility of a threat, Jase spun.
An older man dressed in overalls paused to give Jase the stink eye. “What are you doin’ loitering outside Ms. Edna’s shop, boy?”
Jase breathed, his heart rate slowing. “I’m...thinking.”
“Do yourself a favor. Go inside and buy your girl a fine piece of jewelry.”
Not what he’d expected the guy to say. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Guy?”
“No.”
“Single, then.” The old man looked at the shop door then back at Jase. He shuffled closer and held out his hand. “I’m Virgil Porter of Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, cockroaches, bees, ants, mice and rats. You must be one of them city boys who moved here with Lincoln. And I know. Everyone calls him West, but that’s his last name, gosh dern it, and I ain’t calling no one I’ve shaken hands with by his last name. It’s rude is what it is.”
“I’m Jase. And I assure you, that’s my first name.” Unlike with Brad, he didn’t contemplate breaking every bone in Virgil’s hand.
“You pinin’ for our Brook Lynn, then?”
Yes. No. Damn it. He didn’t know what was going on inside him.
Last night he’d wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted to live free. Something about her called to him. Her delicacy, maybe. All he wanted to do was protect her. Or her stubbornness, perhaps. She did what she thought was right, refusing to back down. Or her wit, even. She’d taken his list and turned it against him.
He smiled despite The Great Hemorrhoid debacle.
“Yes, sir,” Virgil said with a nod. He patted Jase on the shoulder. “You ain’t the first, son, that’s for sure.”
How many others were there? Yes, a man would be a fool not to recognize Brook Lynn’s appeal, but Jase didn’t like the thought of other men desiring what belonged to—
Not me. Never me.
Maybe Brad.
“Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not comfortable discussing my love life with a stranger,” Jase said. He was barely handling a discussion with himself.
Virgil waved his words away as unimportant. “Miss Brook Lynn is a special girl, and she deserves a special man. You special, Jase?”
“No, sir,” he said, opting for honesty. “I’m not.” The people of Strawberry Valley would be horrified to know just how un-special he really was.
“Well, that’s too bad.”
A feminine scream suddenly pierced the air—and it had come from inside the jewelry store.
Jase didn’t hesitate. He bounded forward, practically shattering glass as he pushed his way inside. He took in the scene in an instant. Brook Lynn was sprawled on the floor. There was some kind of small mechanical device splattered with blood resting beside her. Blood leaked from underneath her hair, down her chin, dripping on the floor.
Brad was crouched in front of her, begging to know what he should do. He was trying to help her, but Jase didn’t care. She was sobbing. He shoved the male aside and acted as her shield. She grabbed hold of his wrists, holding on to him for dear life, her eyes wide and overflowing with tears.
“What’s wrong, angel?” he asked.
A whimper of pain escaped her. She opened and closed her mouth, but words never formed. Finally, she released him to clutch at her ears.
Her ears. “How can—”
She cringed, even moaned.
“I think she needs—” Brad began, and Brook Lynn whimpered.
Jase rounded on the guy, glaring, and slapped a hand over his mouth. For whatever reason, noise hurt her right now, so there would be no more noise. It was as simple as that.
When he was certain Brad understood another word would get him hurt bad, Jase gathered Brook Lynn in his arms. She burrowed against his chest and cried quietly, her entire body heaving. He pulled the cell phone from her pocket, turned it to silent and thumbed through her address book to find her sister’s number.
Texting with such an old phone proved difficult, but he did it. One minute dragged into another, and he had to fight wave after wave of helplessness to keep from drowning. Not knowing what else to do, he carried Brook Lynn to the back of the shop, away from Brad and Virgil, who’d followed him inside the shop. When he opened the office door, the groan of hinges sent her into another fit of sobbing. He laid her on the couch, waited until she’d calmed, and tiptoed out to call the only doctor in her address book. He told the receptionist what was going on and was told he’d get a call back. He barely managed to keep his crap together while he waited.
Five minutes.
Five minutes of utter hell.
Finally, though, a nurse phoned him and he learned that he was to give Brook Lynn the sedative that would be waiting at the local pharmacy and then take her to Baptist Hospital in the city. Jase rang Beck and quietly told him to pick up the medication and bring it to the shop. Then all he could do was wait some more.