Chapter Nine
JB opened his eyes to a symphony of aches and pains, plus a dingy white ceiling that needed a fresh coat of paint. Foggy from the restless night, he was still all-too aware of the softness snuggled against his side. He smiled. Marcy had stayed. No, the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her walking out of the bedroom. So how come she was here now?
The medicine. The nightmare. Now, he remembered. The promise.
He stroked her arm, then let his palm slide down her side. Would be so easy to move his fingers to all the places that were sure to bring her even closer. His body ached, throbbing with memories of other times, other mornings. He took a chance and circled his fingers on her hip.
“Ummmmm.” She sleepily eased his hand aside, keeping her fingers between his and her body. “No…you said…”
Even though she pushed him away, her lips still tickled against his skin as she drifted back to sleep. Damn that promise he made not to try anything. Never mind the one he made himself before he came to Crayton.
He’d played out the scenario of what would happen if they happened to see each other and she wanted to get back together. There’d be a serious talk. Lots of listening on both sides. Even then, he doubted they’d ever be back together. Nonetheless, if any of that talking and listening ever transpired, it needed to be accomplished with their clothes on.
All the soft mewy sounds she made in her sleep, coupled with her jasmine-scented hair, were more than he could take at the moment. He slid his arm from beneath her and rolled out of bed. They had to stop acting on emotion, because sooner or later, they wouldn’t stop.
He damn sure needed to stop making promises. And not just to her. Now he’d agreed to hang around Crayton until the sheriff got back in town. Of course, he’d planned to do that anyhow seeing that two coincidences involving Marcy were too much for him to turn and walk away.
She moved only enough to wiggle into the vacated warmth of his spot and burrow into the covers. The sheet slipped a little, and the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath worked to his core, pushed his resistance to the edge.
Hell, they’d both feel better if they got this out of the way. Might even stop jabbing at each other so much, if they could part as lovers. If she nudged him away again, no problem, he’d head for the shower. He reached for the covers to slide back in beside her, then stopped.
No.
They were divorced. Plain and simple. There’d be no sex. No pretends. No for-old-times-sake hook-up. A good, cold shower, that’s what he needed. Of course, his body would feel better with heat. Maybe he’d flip from hot to cold and back again until his brain centered in his head.
Stepping into the shower stall brought back memories of him and Marcy up against those same beige, ceramic and glass tiles. More memories than he needed right now.
He turned and braced his hands against the shower wall. As the water beat a rhythm on his back, his muscles loosened, and he did his damnedest to concentrate on the past days’ events. He wasn’t sure the two cases were tied together, but he planned to find out.
His mind walked through the evidence. Leon likely hadn’t targeted Marcy when he’d decided to rob the bank. The man probably hadn’t even realized the seriousness of his actions. He’d gotten juiced, needed money, and had gone to the bank to make a withdrawal…sort of. Of course, the gun jumped the incident to a felony. Conclusion…Marcy and the robbery were purely accidental in JB’s way of thinking.
The shooting was another story. Why hadn’t the shooter finished the job as Leon lay exposed on the ground three feet away from her? Instead, the bullets had veered closer to her with each shot, the last one grazing JB to get to her. Out-of-line rifle scope or expert marksmanship?
After toweling off, he glanced at her sleeping form in the bed as he headed to what had been his side of the closet for a shirt and jeans. Her long leg looped around the edge of the sheet. A tiny bit of hot pink panty peeked from beneath her sleep shirt. His groin sprung to life, and his towel tented. The cold shower effects hadn’t lasted long.
He grabbed his boots from beside the bed, then focused straight ahead until he got out of the room. He needed a distraction, along with some cool, morning air.
Thirty minutes later, he walked back into the bedroom. “You gonna sleep all day or what?”
Smiling, she lazily stretched like a woman waking up to tease the man beside her. A woman ready for some morning love. A woman who’d forgotten whose bed she’d slept in.
Her eyes popped open, hands pulling the sheet to her neckline. She pushed herself upright and inched back in the bed. Her hand slid beneath the covers and, from what he could tell from its movement beneath the sheet, she checked to see what she still had on.
“A promise is a promise, sugar. Everything’s just the way it was when you went to sleep. Shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me last night, but I was feeling none too good at the moment.” He sat the drink carrier on the nightstand, along with a bag of donuts fresh from Art’s Bakery via the local convenience mart. “Large coffee, three creams, three sugars. Right?”
“Right.” She peeked into the sack.
“One chocolate Bavarian cream and one chocolate iced vanilla cake donut. Right?”
Already biting into the gooey icing, she let the sheet slide as she swung her legs over the side. “Right.”
He headed to the door. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about me being hungry.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a mouthful of donut, holding out the sack. “I figured you already ate yours on the way back like you always did.”
“Only three.” He chuckled. “Think you know me pretty well, don’t you?”
Her expression shied as she sipped her coffee, eyes darting any place but at him. His gut clenched a warning to bide his time. In the window’s reflection, he watched her pad across the carpet with her bag and cup of coffee. She paused, looked over her shoulder, and he glanced over his.
Clearing his throat, he went to the window. “I forgot how beautiful the leaves around here can be in the fall. By the way, there’s a nip in the air, so you may want to dress warm.”
“Thanks for the donuts and coffee.” She walked out the door.
Instinctively, he followed her into the kitchen. “If you’ve got time once you get dressed, I’d like to talk.”
She turned to face him, her expression unsure. “Maybe later. Betsy and I are going shopping about noon.”
“Where?”
“The Outlet Mall.”
“Who’s driving?”
“Me.”
He needed her in sight until he figured out what was going on. “Maybe I’ll tag along.”
She rounded, laughing. “You, me, and Betsy? Are you crazy?”
Evidently. But he’d contend with her sister if it meant keeping Marcy safe.
“Why all the sudden concern?” She finished off the last donut, then concentrated on her cup of coffee. “I’ve been taking care of myself for three years. What makes you think I can’t now?”
“Well, for one thing, ever since I got to town, you’ve been on the verge of extinction.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall.
“Never had a problem until you showed up. Maybe you should leave town again.” She lifted her eyes to look into his. “Seems like danger always follows you.”
That hurt. “What do you mean?”
She ignored his question and turned away. “Forget I said anything. I’m going to get dressed.”
Bumping her elbow on the doorframe to her bedroom, coffee sloshed out the hole in the lid. She bent to wipe up the mess with the napkins from the donut bag. Her top inched up her thigh, her hip, and her backside.
Unable to control the heat in his core, he walked away while he could still manage to move. At the kitchen counter, he stared out the window over the sink. The yard looked the same except she’d replaced their old, wooden swing with a wicker-look one complete with brightly striped cushions. He wondered what else she might have replaced.
Him? Had he been replaced by someone new and bright and shiny? Just because he hadn’t seen any sign of another man didn’t mean one didn’t exist. Maybe she’d picked a businessman like Truman. Could be the guy was simply away on a trip. Except, Truman’s “work-related trips” were undercover for the U.S. government.
JB knew that for a fact, so did Sadie. He doubted more than a few others in town knew the man’s secret, though. Doubted Marcy ever realized her mother had married another man just like their father, remarried the FBI. Only this one led two lives, public and private.
Years ago, once JB had started investigating how to become an agent with the FBI, Truman had revealed that he’d been a Special Agent with the Bureau at one time. Said since his retirement, he only “consulted,” as he’d called it, when the undercover assignment would be short term. Most people thought he was just away at a real estate workshop or partnering on a new development in other parts of the world. The arrangement worked good for him, Sadie, and the girls. Kept his family safe and out of sight in this sleepy town, but allowed him to still feel useful in protecting the country.
In fact, the straw that broke JB and Marcy’s marriage had happened the week before she’d shoved him out the door. He’d gone with Truman on an assignment as part of a police-FBI joint operation, just to see if he really might be cut out for the Bureau. The agreement had been JB would stay out of the way. An ambush had negated that agreement.
When he’d walked in the front door the next day, Marcy had been livid. Had looked like hell from crying as she’d worked herself into a frenzy imaging a million things that had happened to him. Sure, he hadn’t told her exactly what he was doing, just that he’d be helping out in another town department for a few days. He damn sure hadn’t mentioned the FBI because of the way she’d reacted to his talk of becoming an agent one other time. Wouldn’t have mattered if he had.
She’d demanded he never leave Crayton again. Yelled about him being in law enforcement. Berated him that he was hurt…again. It had been only a scratch, not even really a wound. And she’d called him a few names he hadn’t even known she knew.
She’d been a wreck.
He’d followed his career choice on a test basis, and she’d fallen apart. From what he saw, she’d never be able to handle it. Something changed between them that day. That was the first night he’d slept on the couch of his own accord. She’d kicked him out a couple days later.
After downing the dregs of his coffee, JB crushed the paper cup and tossed it in the trash. He should have known coming back to Crayton would only be a rehash of old conversations. Maybe deep inside he’d started to hope she had missed him as much as he missed her. That being apart had been enough for her to face her fear of danger. Of death. Of anything to do with being a lawman.
Evidently not. He was a fool to have imagined different.
She walked into the kitchen dressed in jeans, a sweater, and her back-off attitude. Leaning against the counter, she challenged him with her stare. The woman who’d snuggled against his side last night and kissed the scar on his chest was nowhere in sight. Evidently, she’d run from her feelings again. Hidden herself behind her stronger-than-strong female attitude once more. She’d quickly forgotten how she ran her fingers over his body last night when she thought he was asleep. Pretended she was sleeping, too.
Okay. There’d be no more time spent in the same bed. But he’d be damned if he let her blame everything that happened in the past few days on him. If she wanted a challenge, she’d get one. “So, you think the bank robbery, the shooting, and the explosion all followed me to Crayton?”
“I’m saying there was nothing going on in this little town until you arrived. Ergo, common sense says to look at what’s different.” She tilted her head to the side the way she always did when analyzing something. “You. You came back to town, and all hell broke loose.”
He stepped in front her, a couple feet away. If this was going to be the talk, then they’d hold it eye-to-eye. He hooked his thumbs in his side, jean pockets. “You’ve got all your psychology and analyzing to feed your thoughts. How about using a little common sense for my world?”
“Such as?”
“You want to know why I never came back after you kicked me out?”
She didn’t look away, just slid her palms into her back pockets. “Okay. Why?”
“No man likes to have his wife tell him he’s not good enough for her.”
“I never said that.”
“Might not have been those exact words, but you let me know every time I ended up hurt on the job that you couldn’t stand to be around a man who couldn’t protect himself.” He reined himself in, walked to the door. No need to bring up how she’d told him he didn’t love her, that he’d never put her through all that pain if he did. He’d been ready to give up the law just to prove his love. She’d made that unnecessary with the suitcase on the front porch.
His strength, stamina, and will to live had never been a doubt in his mind. But from the moment his dad had taken custody of him, picking him up at the bus station and telling him he wasn’t worth the price of the ticket, he’d doubted his worth. He’d been twelve years old. Twelve years old, and no one wanted him. Too damn bad. He’d decided then and there no one was ever gonna keep him down. But the doubts dug in for the long haul.
The next six years had been hell on earth what with trying to stay out of the way of his old man’s punches, work enough to keep food on the table, and go to school. Sports, school, and thoughts of the future were what kept him on the straight-and-narrow. That plus Sheriff Davis, who’d become like a dad to him. Of course, once his old man had found out about his mentor, he’d pounded JB even more.
The day he’d finally stood up to his dad and gave him punch for punch back hadn’t squashed the doubt. That was the last time either one of them had laid a hand on the other. Even as his old man had lain on the floor and spit the blood from his mouth at JB’s feet, he’d mumbled that JB still wasn’t worth the price of a ticket. Then, he’d told him to bring home a pint of whiskey after school.
That was then, and this was now.
“You were always coming home injured. How do you think that made me feel?” She’d folded her arms across her chest. To her, she’d made her point, and the conversation was over.
Not this time. This time he would stand up for himself…even to Marcy.
“So you’re saying because I was hurt, you were in pain. Well, let me tell you about pain.” He grabbed his coat from the hook and stepped onto the porch, glancing back over his shoulder. “Pain is being shot and your wife going to the other room to sleep.”
“You needed your rest.”
“When you finally came back to our bed, you turned away every time I reached for you. Was that also because I needed my rest?”
She bit the side of her lip. Tightened her crossed arms.
“Your games aren’t going to work with me, Marcy. Not then. Not now.” He held his tone even, calm. “I got a Criminal Justice degree to be a lawman. I plan to be one the rest of my life. Being punched, kicked, spit on, or even shot are hazards of the job. If you can’t handle that, then you’re right, I need to leave. Is that what you really want? Because I won’t come back again.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
“Okay. Once these cases are settled, I promise I’ll go.” He closed the door behind him and stepped off the porch.
The door opened, and she padded softly across the porch planks. “Where are you going?”
“Now or later?”
“Now.”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“JB?”
He stopped.
The top step squeaked as she stepped on it. “You only know one way. Fast and protective. It’s just the way you are. You’re always the leader. First in the door. Last to leave the job. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But every time you came home hurt was like being stabbed in my heart.”
He couldn’t argue. Nothing could change how he approached life. He also understood not every woman was cut out to be married to a lawman.
“All I wanted was for you to change jobs so you wouldn’t get killed. I thought kicking you out might make you change.” Another creak. Another step. She sighed. “From the looks of the scars on your chest, that didn’t happen.”
“Not hardly.” This conversation needed to end before the what-happened questions began. He glanced back over his shoulder. “At least my mother left a fifty and a one-way ticket to Crayton when she threw my gym bag on the porch, locked me out of the house, and shipped me to my father. I was only twelve years old. Guess I wasn’t good enough then, either.”
“I never said you weren’t good enough.” The whisper of her voice echoed across the yard. “Never.”
“That’s what I heard. Loud and clear.”
…
Marcy stood at the kitchen window, watching JB run the perimeter of the cleared area of their property. She’d never known what happened to bring him to live with his dad in Crayton. He’d always been vague on that point, no matter how hard she’d pressed him. Vague about his mother, too. All that had ever been said was that his mother couldn’t take care of him. Marcy and everyone else in town assumed she must have been ill. No one was surprised when two years later, word came of her passing.
Of course, everyone knew what a bastard his dad had been. The sheriff even tried to get JB to file charges for the beatings, but he always said he’d tough it out. That every day he made it through was one day closer to being out of that house for good. All he needed was a football scholarship. He’d worked hard. Studied hard. Got a scholarship. And earned every hard-fought scrap of his degree.
She’d never been so proud in her life as the day he tossed his mortar board in the air and yelled he loved her. Her world had been complete knowing she’d share whatever he’d give of his life.
Now…now, she wanted to know more. Needed to know more. She’d counseled a lot of people who’d been hurt in some way during childhood. Surely she could help him make peace with those memories.
Clenching his arm tight against his side, he stepped inside and grabbed a glass of water.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just leaned wrong and got that bruise to hurting.” He headed to the living room. “I’m gonna catch a little of the game ‘til you and Betsy leave for the mall.”
“Mind if I join you?”
He clicked on the television, motioned her to come on in. Fifteen minutes later, he had his feet up on the ottoman, and she was curled into the corner on the opposite end of the sofa. Neither had said a word.
She reached over and muted the set, then turned to face him, back straight, hands in her lap, like a skilled listener. “If you ever want to talk about your mom or anything else, I’d be happy to listen.”
His feet hit the floor before she could blink. “Is that all you got out of what I said?”
“I just thought I might be able to help. After all, I do have some background in this sort of thing.” What was he so angry about? “You know, people pay good money for my advice.”
“I’m your ex-husband. Not your client.” He clicked the TV off and headed to the hallway.
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you even know what that means?” He braced his hands against the doorframe. “And, just for the record, I’ve faced my past and moved on. Maybe you should do the same. Stop being a counselor with straight A’s from college, and just be a woman. That doesn’t mean you’re giving up your independence. It’s about being a person who loves life and lives it one step at a time.”
“I’ve tried.” She traced her hand across the horticulture book on the table. For the past few months, she’d tried to learn how to grow things. Maybe that would help her not always analyze everything to the nth-degree. “But I can’t seem to figure out how.”
He headed down the hallway, then came back to the living room doorway. “You knew when you married me that I’d be involved in the law.”
Her mind was racing. She’d hurt him before and wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again. “I hoped you’d decide to be a lawyer or a teacher.”
“Can you really see me standing in front of a classroom of kids who’ve been up half the night before playing video games? Who’d rather be any place in the world but in that chair listening to me?”
Soft and real, she laughed. “I guess that does stretch the imagination.”
He walked over and engulfed her in a gentle hug. “Sugar, you can’t change my career choice any more than I can stop you from trying to help people live a better life. Understand?”
She did understand, and that was part of the problem. Loving someone when you couldn’t accept who they were cut out to be meant making both of you unhappy. As a counselor, she should be able to figure out a solution. Three years ago, she’d done just that with two outcomes to consider—end their relationship or accept the dangerous what-ifs. She chose the one she could live with—she’d kicked him out.
Now that he was back in town, the question was whether she’d be able to make a different choice this time. Because the last few years had been hell without him next to her.
He stepped back. “I know you’ve got me and the law and your dad’s death all whipping around in that pretty, little head of yours. Always has been. You think I’m gonna end up like him, and you’ll end up a widow like your mother. Right?”
She nodded. Truth was the truth.
“Damn it, Marcy. I could walk outside and get hit by a falling tree and be just as dead as being hit by a bullet.”
“That would be different.”
“How? I’d still be dead.”
She shook her head, the answer only a thought away. “Because a tree would be an accident. Being shot would be from the danger of the job. Don’t you understand? Danger walks with you every time you put on a badge. And I don’t want to live with that always on my mind.”
He headed toward the living room, the cords in his neck taut against his skin. “Then why the hell did you even marry me in the first place?”