Someone Like You (2 page)

“I need to go clean up,” she said, and put down the half-eaten cookie. “I didn't shower before I left San Francisco this morning.”

As she spoke, she reached behind her head to grab her mass of curly, frizzy hair. While she'd showered the previous morning, she hadn't bothered with her usual blow-dry, flatiron, forty-seven-hair-care-product regimen required to tame her impossible hair. As a result,
she was left with a mass resembling Frankenstein's bride after the woman stuck her finger in an electrical socket. On the attractive scale, she knew she approached absolute zero.

Jill pushed herself to her feet. Between not sleeping much in the past two days and the brandy, the roses on the wallpaper in the kitchen began to swirl.

“That can't be good,” she murmured.

“You'll feel better after a shower,” her aunt said. “You remember where everything is, don't you?”

“Uh-huh. Top of the stairs.” Although right now the thought of climbing stairs made her dizzy.

A timer dinged at the same instant that someone knocked on the front door. Her aunt rose from the round table by the window and motioned for Jill to head for the front of the house.

“See who it is. I don't trust you to remove hot cookie sheets in your present condition.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jill walked down the hall, only plowing into the wall once. She got a vision of herself as a bumper car, which made her giggle. She was still caught up in the humor when she pulled open the front door.

There were only a handful of things that could have made her present situation worse: The death or injury of someone she loved, the belief that she would never escape from Los Lobos to work in a big-city law practice again, and seeing Mackenzie Kendrick while she looked like cat gack.

So it was a one-out-of-three chance, she thought, as
she stared at the man standing on her aunt's doorstep. Couldn't she have just been struck by lightning?

Apparently not, she thought as she looked into dark blue eyes and studied the familiar, painfully handsome and strong features that made up his face. He looked older, but who didn't? He could still make her toes curl and her heart convulse like the bouncing ball on a karaoke monitor. Or maybe that was the brandy acting out.

Last she'd
heard,
Mac Kendrick had moved to Los Angeles where he'd been zipping up the ranks of the Los Angeles Police Department. Last she'd
seen
of Mac, she'd been eighteen and he'd been home on leave from the army. She'd shown up in his bedroom, dropped her dress to the floor, offering her very naked self to him, and he'd promptly thrown up.

Memories like that put the end of her marriage in perspective.

“Mac,” she said, going for pleasant and cheerful and hoping she didn't end up sounding manic.

He frowned. The movement made his brows surge together and his eyes get all crinkly. Jill had to work hard not to sigh at how delicious he looked. She remembered the stains on the huge shirt she wore just as his expression cleared.

“Jill?”

She offered a little waggle of her fingers. “Uh-huh. Hi. I'm uh…”
Visiting
wasn't the truth and she knew she was too drunk to lie. Maybe better to avoid the issue of why she was in town. “So what are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

She blinked. “In town? Here? In Los Lobos?”

“I'm the new sheriff.”

“Why?”

He smiled. The curve of his mouth made her stomach somersault.

“I like it here,” he said.

“I guess everyone gets an opinion.”

He stared at her for a long time, then touched the edge of his upper lip. “You have some crumbs….”

“What? Oh. The cookies.” She swiped with her hand, then reached for the edge of the shirt and wiped it across her mouth. A quick glance told her there had been chocolate in those crumbs. Great.

“Mac? Is that you?” Bev joined them. “I'm sure you want to confirm everything. Come on in. Jill, step back and let Mac inside.”

Jill did as ordered. Somewhere between the first and third brandy, she'd kicked off her shoes, which meant she was barefoot on the gleaming hardwood floor. The sensation reminded her too much of the last time she'd seen Mac and she hurried to lead the way into the living room where at least there was carpeting against her toes.

She heard the thud of his footsteps as he followed, along with her aunt's pleasant conversation as she chatted about the warm afternoon and how pretty the sunrise had been. Bev was big on watching the sunrise. Something about the first light of morning cleansing her psychic energy.

Jill crossed to the rocking chair and sank down. The
chair swayed forward and back, causing the corners of the room to fold in just enough to make her want to giggle. Maybe this was good, she thought, as she curled up on the thick cushion. She'd always wondered what would happen if she ever saw Mac again. After that disastrous last meeting, she'd been afraid of what she would say or he would say. Or how he would look at her. But being drunk seemed to take the edge off. If he pitied her, well, wasn't that just how her life was going?

“So, you're the sheriff,” she said when he'd settled on the long sofa opposite the window and Bev had disappeared for refreshments. Jill had a feeling Mac wasn't going to be offered brandy.

“Just. I started work two weeks ago.”

“Why?”

“That's the date we agreed on.”

She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and froze when her fingers encountered the Brillo mop. Oh…my…God. She'd
completely
forgotten about her appearance. Now what?

She winced silently and realized there was nothing she could do but tough it out and hope he hadn't noticed.

“I meant, why did you take the job of sheriff?”

His dark blue eyes settled on her face. Even as she felt her insides begin to melt, she reminded herself that he was probably trying to figure out why she had chocolate stains on her cheeks. She rubbed her skin and let the alcohol make her not really care.

“I wanted a change,” he said. “Plus it's a great place for Emily to spend the summer.”

Emily? What were the odds of that name belonging to his aging but adored Saint Bernard? Zero, she decided, as her string of bad luck continued.

“Your wife?” she said with a smile and what she hoped was an expression of polite interest.

“His daughter.”

Bev spoke as she walked into the living room. She set down the tray of cookies along with three glasses of milk.

“Mac's little girl is eight.”

Jill tried to get her mind around the concept. Over the years she'd imagined him with an assortment of women who were nothing like her, but she'd never thought of him as a father.

“I have her for the summer,” he said, and took a cookie from the plate. “Bev has agreed to help out with day care.”

Jill turned her attention to her aunt, at the same time swinging her head. Instantly the entire room tilted on end before settling back to a normal axis. Two thoughts filled her brain—the first, that Mac wasn't married. At least, not to his daughter's mother. The second thought was more troubling.

“You don't like children,” she reminded her aunt. “That's why you gave up teaching.”

Bev handed her a glass of milk. “I don't like them in groups,” she corrected. “Maybe I read
Lord of the Flies
too many times—I've always felt children could turn rabid at any moment. But individually they're fine.” She smiled at Mac. “I'm sure Emily's an angel.”

Mac looked startled by Bev's theory on children and
their potential. “What?” He shook his head. “No, she's just a regular kid.”

There was something in his voice, Jill thought, as she grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Something…wistful. Or was that her liquor-laced brain doing the talking?

She sipped her milk, swallowed and nearly gagged. “I can't,” she said, thrusting the glass at her aunt. “After the brandy, my stomach won't like this at all.”

“Of course it will. Just pretend you're having a Brandy Alexander. In two courses.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mac looked at her. “You've been drinking?”

Faint disapproval sharpened his gaze and tightened his mouth. A quick glance at the clock told her it was a little past three in the afternoon.

“It's after five in New York and I've had a bad day.”

Make that a bad week, possibly a bad life.

“Don't worry. Jill's not a wild woman,” Bev said with a comforting smile. “She's just a little out of sorts. When does Emily arrive?”

“Around five. I'll bring her by in the morning. I didn't want to work on her first day, but I have to appear in court.”

“Don't think a thing about it,” Bev told him. “I'm ex cited at the thought of the two of us spending the summer together. We'll have fun.”

Jill thought about warning Mac about her aunt's “gift” and how she sometimes passed from normal to just plain odd. But what was the point in worrying
him? Besides, Bev had a way of making a person feel special and loved and maybe that was something every eight-year-old little girl needed.

Mac rose and murmured something about heading home. Jill wanted to rouse herself enough to ask where exactly that was. His house. Not that she planned any more midnight intrusions. One humiliating moment like that was enough for anyone's life. Nope, she would avoid Mac as much as she could while trapped in the hell that was Los Lobos. She would practice whatever form of law they expected here, handling their petty problems while sending out her buffed-up résumé to large law firms all over the state.

And in her free time, she would plot revenge. Mean, hard-hearted, satisfying revenge that would reduce her rat-bastard ex-husband to a quivering mass. She smiled at the thought and felt something cold and wet drip onto her leg.

“Oh dear.”

Her aunt sounded concerned, which made Jill want to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn't seem to open her eyes or speak. Something was taken from her hand.

“How much brandy did she have?” a man asked.

Mac, Jill thought hazily. Yummy, sexy Mac. She'd had a crush on him since she was thirteen years old. But he'd never noticed her. Not really. He'd been nice and friendly, but in a distant, big-brother kind of way.

It was because she hadn't gotten breasts. Not real ones like her best friend Gracie. Nope, Jill had what Gracie's mom had referred to as “discreet curves.” Jill
didn't want discreet. She wanted blatant, sexy, in-your-face boobs.

She felt herself slipping down in the chair, then suddenly she was high up in the air. It was like floating or flying or both.

“On the sofa?”

“Yes. I'll get a blanket. I'm sure she just needs to rest.”

“Or drink less,” a man said with a chuckle. “She's going to feel like crap in a few hours.”

That won't be anything new, Jill thought as she burrowed into the pillow that found its way under her head. She'd been feeling like crap for two days. Only this was better. It was warm and cozy and she felt safe again. She let herself drift off and vowed that when she woke up, everything would be different.

 

M
AC GAVE UP
the pretense of not watching the clock somewhere around four forty-five. He had the thought that the waiting would be a whole lot easier with a beer in his hand, but he wasn't going there. Not with Emily on the line. Not with it all being his fault.

He wanted to blame someone else, to point the finger and say he wasn't responsible, but he couldn't. Not when he'd taken every step himself. He couldn't even blame Carly. His ex-wife had been more understanding and forgiving than he deserved.

Because she was organized and didn't see the value in making him sweat, she arrived five minutes early. He watched the Volvo pull up into his driveway and was
outside before either of the occupants had a chance to open their doors.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as Emily stepped out.

His daughter was slight and blond, with big blue eyes and a smile that could light up the heavens. Only she wasn't smiling now. Instead her mouth quivered at the corners and she wouldn't look him in the eye. She clutched Elvis, her tattered, stuffed rhino, to her chest and stared at the ground.

He hadn't seen her in nearly two months and it was all he could do not to grab her and hug her forever. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that she'd grown and got ten more beautiful, that he'd thought about her every day. Instead he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and wished he could go back in time and make things different.

“Hello, Mac.”

He turned his attention to Carly. Petite, well dressed, with her gold-blond hair cut to her jawline, she walked around the car and moved toward him.

“You look good,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek.

She squeezed his upper arm. “You, too. Cute little town. So this is where you grew up?”

“This is it.”

“How does it feel to be back?”

He'd spent the past two weeks torn between hope and impending disaster. Too much was on the line.

“Good,” he said with a casual confidence he didn't feel. “Let's get the luggage and go inside.” He turned
to Emily. “Your bedroom is upstairs, kiddo. Want to go check it out?”

She glanced at her mom as if asking for permission. When Carly nodded, Emily darted inside.

“She hates me,” he said flatly.

“She loves you, but she's scared. She hasn't seen you in weeks, Mac. You didn't show up the two week ends like you promised. You broke her heart.”

He nodded and swallowed the rising guilt. “I know. I'm sorry.”

He crossed to the trunk and waited for her to unlock it.

“Apologies don't work on an eight-year-old,” Carly told him. “You disappeared from her life without a word and now you're going to have to prove yourself to her.”