Midnight Exposure (16 page)

While she watched, Reed wheeled a snowblower into the open. They weren’t coming in anytime soon.

Jayne headed for the nearest interior door. A mudroom opened onto a small side porch. A freshly cut evergreen leaned into the corner, its stem submerged in a bucket of water. Next to the door, coats and hats hung on wooden pegs over a long rubber tray of boots. She helped herself to a parka and boots.

Jayne stepped outside. On the porch, she pulled the zipper to her chin and sniffed. Pine and wood smoke. The wind, though cold, felt fresh on her cheeks after she’d been held prisoner in that dank basement.

At that thought, Jayne cast a worried glance around the perimeter of the yard. The storm had slowed. Reed and Scott would dig out today.

So would her captor. The fresh air turned bitter as it blasted her face.

A bark drifted across the woods, and Jayne caught a glimpse of gray fur tearing through the trees toward Reed. Sheba. He whistled and winged a snowball at her. The dog leaped, snatched it from the air, and pranced away. Reed grinned. The rare smile on his handsome face pulled Jayne toward him.

She raised a hand to smooth her tangled hair. Her fingertip brushed across the recessed scar before she yanked it back down. This attack had brought all her buried insecurities to the surface.

A narrow path cut through the thigh-high accumulation. Not having any desire to be wet again, she stuck to it. The oversized boots flopped on her feet. A fierce wind slapped against Jayne’s back, and a shiver coursed through her bones. After her experience the previous day, she wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes out here. The boots swished though the layer of powder that had blown and fallen on the path since they’d shoveled it.

Scott disappeared into the shed.

Reed must’ve heard her approach because he whirled and squinted hard at her. “You should’ve stayed inside. It’s too cold out here for you.”

Not much of a greeting. “Good morning.”

He pulled off his knit cap, stepped closer, and tugged it over Jayne’s head. His short hair stood up in damp tufts, and his big body was close enough to shelter her from the wind. He scanned the yard before allowing his gaze to meet hers again for a heartbeat. Regret crossed his face, and his eyes softened. “I’m sorry,
but hypothermia’s serious. You need to keep warm. How do you feel?”

She raised her eyes to his lean and chiseled face. Emotions warred in his expression for a few seconds. Then his poker face slid back into place, rock-solid, as he stepped back to put a few feet of snow between them. Something was up with him. Jayne remembered their initial meeting, when he’d barely spoken to her and purposefully kept her off his property. Did he feel like she was intruding on his privacy? He’d acted friendlier when they’d talked at the bookstore, although he hadn’t been forthcoming with any personal tidbits then either. Once again she thought maybe Reed had something to hide.

Jayne swallowed hard as she tried to mimic his self-control. Not likely, but she could fake it. “I’m OK. I’m no hothouse orchid.”

He glanced at her. Surprise flared in his eyes, then a quick flash of humor. “No. That you aren’t.” His mouth opened again, but instead of speaking he clamped it shut. His eyes looked wounded for a second before his features smoothed out into his usual blank mask.

“Is everything all right?” Jayne asked, taking a step toward him unconsciously.

Reed backed away, turning to the machine he’d been setting up when she’d interrupted him. He opened the snowblower’s fuel tank. “The storm hasn’t lived up to its expectations. So far, the heaviest precipitation stayed south and east of us. The coast is getting hammered all the way down to DC.”

Jayne lowered the hand that had reached for his forearm to comfort him, sticking it in the pocket of the borrowed parka. “I wish I could call my brothers and check on them. If Washington’s being hit hard, Philly probably is too.”

Scott emerged from the shed, gas can in hand. He flashed Jayne a wide smile. “Hey. Good to see you up.”

Reed cast a glance at the steel-gray sky. “This is clearing out fast. We have satellite Internet. You should be able to able to contact your family tomorrow.”

“OK. Good.” Wind swirled powder around Jayne’s feet and she shivered.

“You’d better get inside.” Reed straightened and brushed snow from his gloves. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

Jayne’s stomach rumbled audibly at the cue. “I’m starving. But I really came out here to ask if I could use the shower.”

Reed paused and his shoulders tensed. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought of that.”

“No biggie. I don’t expect you to think of everything, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“That you are.” Reed nodded, his posture relaxed, and his eyes settled solidly on hers. Heat flared in their green depths as he frowned. There was the same attraction she’d seen in the bookstore, but now he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Why? Did he resent her presence in his home? Was there some reason he didn’t want her here?

Jayne hugged her arms, the warmth and security she’d felt at seeing him a few minutes earlier abandoning her. Maybe she was just being overly sensitive. He hadn’t mentioned Scott’s mother once. Maybe a bad divorce had thrown him off women.

“Come on, Jayne.” Scott handed the gas can to his dad. “I could use breakfast too.”

Jayne followed Scott. The prospects of food and a shower lightened her step. On the porch, she glanced over her shoulder. Reed was still standing in the same place, staring at the red fuel can in his hand as if he didn’t know what it was.

It was a good thing her stay with the Kimballs would be short. Reed had saved her, but he obviously couldn’t deal with her presence. Something traumatic in his past had left its mark, stunted his ability to connect with other people.

Reed was far more adept at hiding his feelings, but the man clearly had plenty of his own scars. Just because his were on the inside didn’t make him any less damaged.

Reed parked the fueled snowblower on the porch and faced the house. Through the window, he watched Jayne move around the kitchen. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the mass of curly hair hanging down her back. Scott’s sweats hung low on her hips. She handled the kitchen equipment deftly, with an efficiency that suggested she was no stranger to household chores.

Jayne was definitely not a hothouse orchid. If she were a flower, she’d be a tiger lily, tall, resilient, and bright. The fact that he’d almost said those words made his palms clammy under his insulated work gloves.

She’d been abducted and held prisoner, and still had the ability to smile, to give.
She’d
been about to comfort
him
for Christ’s sake. Had he ever met anyone so strong? So kind? So generous?

No. No. And
no
.

But along with jolting his sleeping soul back to life, Jayne had stirred up his carefully orchestrated life, a life in which he didn’t dare allow anyone to get close. Men with secrets couldn’t afford scrutiny or complete honesty. Tough to have a relationship without those and the trust that went along with them. So far, he hadn’t been tempted to try, but Jayne was different. He’d been alone for years, but he’d never felt lonely until she showed up. Honest, courageous, valiant. All the things he wasn’t.

He’d contemplated backing out of his promise to Hugh just a few hours ago.

What would she do if she knew everything? Would she feel as safe with him? Or would she sleep behind a locked door with one eye open? She deserved better, someone without all his baggage. Face it, he had a wagon full, far too heavy a load for a twiceassaulted woman to share.

He stepped into the mudroom and shook the flakes from his parka before hanging it to dry. His gloves had their own pegs. Boots went on the rubber tray. Reed turned toward the kitchen and hesitated at the threshold.

A redheaded tornado had blown through his kitchen. Food containers littered the counters. Frying pans sizzled on the stove. Jayne held a bowl in one Band-Aid-tipped hand and a whisk in the other. Her hair was a warm copper against a backdrop of sleek gray and black, a shock of color in his monochromatic kitchen. She gestured to Scott, who lounged at the center island. A yellow glob flew off the whisk and landed on the formerly pristine ebony granite. Through the doorway beyond, the bare Christmas tree stood crookedly in its stand. Boxes of decorations littered the floor.

“Oh, hi.” Jayne whirled as he padded into the room in damp socks. “I started breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Um. No. That’s fine.”

Scott beamed. “Jayne’s gonna help with the tree, too.”

A tiny kernel of resentment lodged in Reed’s chest. The tree was the one Christmas tradition he shared with his son. Father-son bonding experiences were few and far between these days. Next year, Scott would be leaving for college.

“It’s the least I can do.” Jayne slipped a piece of bread from a plate, dunked it into the beaten eggs, and slid it into a sizzling
pan. She stopped to turn the bacon frying on the next burner before repeating the process with three more slices.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Reed said.

“It’s OK. I’d rather keep busy.” She shot him a brittle smile. Ridiculously, Reed was relieved that her sunny disposition was a brave front. The woman had been through hell. He felt like a total shit for resenting her participation in their Christmas ritual, even if it had only been for a split second. Jayne needed activity to keep her imagination off her abductor and where he might be right now, not to mention the horrors she’d already suffered. “Scott wanted French toast.”

“Did he?” Reed pulled a paper towel off the roll and wiped the dots of egg off the floor.

His son grinned and rested his chin on his fists. “Dad doesn’t cook much.”

“I saw the pile of Hungry-Mans in the freezer.” Jayne traded the whisk for a spatula and slid food onto plates with the competence of a short-order cook. More bacon and French toast went on the stove. Grease splattered. “That’s a shame. You have restaurant-quality appliances here.”

“That’s what the realtor said.” Reed took the stool seat next to his son and watched Jayne’s nervous bustle. He liked the kitchen clean and free of clutter, like his workshop—and his life.

“We eat a lot of sandwiches,” Scott said.

Jayne set loaded plates in front of them both.

“I cook sometimes. I make eggs and bacon every weekend.” Reed cringed at the whiny edge in his voice as he cut off a corner of French toast and stuffed it into his mouth. More eating, less talking. There was no reason for him to get to know Jayne any better. She’d be gone tomorrow. Jayne was meant to live in the spotlight, while he was destined to live in the dark.

“Fried eggs on Saturday. Pancakes on Sunday. The frozen kind. Precooked microwave bacon.” Scott shot Reed a smug look.

“There’s nothing wrong with keeping to a schedule.” A routine kept life from disintegrating into chaos and kept Reed sane. “Nothing seems to stop you from eating vast quantities of everything.”

Scott had too much food in his mouth to respond, but he gave Reed an eye roll that adequately communicated his opinion of their meal routine.

Jayne reloaded Scott’s plate before he’d cleared it. Without lifting his head, Scott grunted his thanks.

“Hey.” Reed lightly slapped his son’s shoulder, then turned to Jayne. “Please excuse his manners.”

“It’s fine. Eating is serious business for teenage boys. I have brothers. Two older and one younger. They used to eat every meal like they were never gonna see another one. I learned how to stretch a stew early.”

Scott swallowed. “Stew. Yum.”

Jayne filled her own plate. Reed covered a wince with a cough as frying pans were dumped in the sink and topped with a few squirts of dish soap. Water followed with a hiss and corresponding billow of steam. Jayne left the pans to soak and took the seat next to Reed. Her silverware clattered and she pushed the food around on her plate. Very few forkfuls made it into her mouth. “Do you cook a lot?” Scott asked between shovelfuls of food.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. My parents died when I was twelve. The four of us were on our own. My oldest brother, Pat, was twenty-two. He took over the bar. The rest of us were stuck with house duty until we were old enough to help him.” Pride and affection edged her chatter as she cut her French toast over and over into absurdly small pieces. “Pat did whatever he had to do to
keep us all together. And to thank him, we gave him a lot of gray hair.”

A sense of inadequacy slid over Reed. Jayne’s brother had barely been an adult when he raised his siblings and took over the family business. Jayne was keeping house at twelve. Reed struggled to raise one child, and he’d failed miserably as a husband. Since his wife’s death, he’d avoided personal relationships and all the vulnerability and complications that went with them. Caring about people twisted him up inside, like now, when he watched a beautiful woman bravely struggling to be normal after a terrible trauma. And look how his one semifriendship, with Hugh, had turned around to bite him on the ass. Friends expected to be able to ask for favors occasionally.

Reed used his napkin to wipe an egg splatter from the sleek granite counter. “That’s young to take on three kids and a business.”

Jayne shrugged. “Well, Conor was twenty. He was pretty much raised. But Pat should still be sainted. Danny was only eleven, and the two of us were a huge pain in his butt.”

Reed’s heart clenched. Scott had lost his mother at the same age as Jayne. The first couple of years had been rough. Both Scott and Jayne had learned to live again, though. Unlike Reed.

Scott swallowed half a glass of orange juice and came up for air. “What’re your brothers like?”

“Pat’s married. I live with him, his wife, and their three kids. He’s big and patient and he works all the time. Worries about the rest of us nonstop. He’s a great dad.” Jayne’s face was animated; her eyes went liquid and she seemed to calm as she talked about her brothers. “We all work the bar, but Pat’s definitely the boss. Conor’s the quiet one. He’s also the practical joker. Danny’s the rebel. He went into the army after high school. He was injured
in Iraq and went through a severe bout of depression. But we got him the help he needed—and the rest of us are on his case enough that he’s snapping out of it.”