That Thing Called Love (12 page)

Even as Jenny watched, he turned and planted a knee on the underwater seat, then leaned over the back of the hot tub. She swallowed drily as his shorts plastered against his butt as if vacuum-packed. They clung with equal faithfulness to the muscular backs of his thighs.

Tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, she could only stare.

Then he yelled, “Shit. Shit-shit-shit!” and it broke her reverie.

She surged to her feet.
For God’s sake, girl,
she silently chastised herself. Gawking at his fine bum was
not
helping her put his kisses out of her head. Jerking the two sides of her blanket together, she anchored it in one fist between her breasts, then slid her free hand through the separation below to gather up her still half-full wineglass.

She didn’t know what his drama was, but he looked pretty damn fit to her. So, unless there was blood involved—and she’d seen no evidence of that—he was on his own. Letting herself into the house, she left the living room lights off and made her way to the kitchen by the dim illumination from the microwave light over the stove.

She’d lost her taste for the Riesling and was rinsing her goblet when there was a knock on the door. She froze, then simply stood there, barely breathing, thinking in the subterranean depths of her mind that if she stayed very still, perhaps Jake—as she didn’t have a doubt in the world who stood on the other side—would go away.

Instead, she heard the door open. “Jenny? You’re here, right? I saw your car in the lot.”

Crap.
“Close the door, Bradshaw—and be sure that you’re on the other side. I’m not in the mood for company tonight.”

“Neither am I,” he snapped. “I’ve got a shitload of work to get done. But I have need of your managerial skills.”

Damn! She blew out an aggrieved breath. “Fine. Give me a second.” She took a few calming breaths, smoothed her hands over her hair and concentrated on not leading with her chin when she walked into the living room. “What can I do for you?”

“You can lend me a flashlight and the use of your dainty little hands.”

She gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s either that or call maintenance for me. I knocked my keys behind the hot tub, and my arms are too big for the space between it and the wall. My room card is on the ring, so I’m locked out. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s on the chilly side here.” His lips crooked up on one side. “At least when you’re wet.”

She had to give herself a stern, silent talking-to in order not to check out all that wetness more than she already had. She was just grateful that he’d at least wrapped a towel around his hips. “Tell me you didn’t have them sitting on the rim of the tub,” she demanded as she went back into the kitchen for her flashlight.

“Well, I could do that,” he agreed from the living room. “If you don’t have a problem with lying.”

She exhaled a disgusted breath. “Doesn’t anybody read the signs? It’s not like we don’t have them posted all over the place.” Then she shook off her pique and slapped on her professional face as she reentered the living room with her flashlight in hand. “Let’s go see what I can do.”

When they reached the hot tub, she crouched down at one of the corners nearest the wall of the pool house. She freely admitted this spa was an odd design. Of poured concrete and beachy blue-and-green tiles, it was half sunk into the ground, but not entirely so—a foot and a half of it stood above the patio. It also should have been situated either flush against the inn wall or a decent space away from it.

“You’re not the first person to have this problem,” she allowed as she trained the beam of her flashlight into the gap. “I’m just not the one who’s usually called in to deal with it. Okay, there’s the key ring. Oh, crap. I don’t think you could have put it more squarely in the middle if you’d tried. I shouldn’t have a problem getting my arm in there, but it’s not going to be long enough to reach the thing from either side. Let me see if there’s something in the pool house I can use.”

“There’s not,” Jake said. “I already looked.”

“Shit.” She shot him a guilty look. “I’m sorry, that’s not very professional—”

He made a rude noise. “And yet it fits the situation.”

Since she’d heard him say it several times since his keys had taken a dive, she nodded acknowledgment and turned back to study the tub.

And sighed. “Turn around.”

He turned his head to look at her. “What?”

“Turn around. If we want to get this taken care of sometime tonight, I’m going to have to get in the tub. I’m not getting my jeans wet and I’m not stripping in front of you, so turn around.”

He did, presenting her with his wide bare shoulders and long bare back, and Jenny kicked off her shoes and socks and stripped out of her jeans. She climbed into the tub, shivering as luxuriously hot water lapped above her knees when she descended to the second step. Having no desire to turn her nicely opaque hipster boy shorts translucent with water, she swung around the hand railing that followed the steps into the spa and made her way along the seats until she reached the midpoint at the back of the tub. She flashed her light down into the gap and bent over to slide her arm into it.

It was an awkward stance. The position left her butt jutting out. It also left her with her head turned to one side, and she could only see in bits and pieces.

But at last her fingers brushed the metal ring. It took her two additional tries but she finally hooked it with a couple of fingers. “Gotcha!”

“Great,” Jake said. “Like I told you, I’ve got to get back to work, so I really— Whoa,
mama.
”

She whipped around, the sheer appreciation in his voice sending scalding heat into all four cheeks. She watched him watch her, and even as embarrassment crawled through her veins, she had the oddest urge to thrust her pitifully small breasts out, to...God, preen. And realizing it was all she could do to keep her own gaze on his face, she snapped, “I didn’t tell you to turn around!”

“Sorry. I thought you were done. But damn, Jenny. Purple. Those are seriously hot panties.”

“You’re supposed to look away when you see I’m still in my undies!”

“Yeah, that’s gonna happen.” Amusement laced his tone. “Hey, I turned around just like you asked. But I’m a guy and you’ve got a great ass. It’s like a rule of the brotherhood or something—given the opportunity, even if accidental, we’re honor bound to take full advantage.”

“Honor bound. Now, there’s an interesting choice of words, considering.” She tossed his key ring at him, hoping to take a little divot out of that hard hide.

He snatched them out of the air before they could do any damage, then had the temerity to grin at her when she growled. Reaching out, he half assisted, half hauled her out of the tub.

Whipping off his towel, he extended it to her. “Here. It’s damp but it’s better than nothing.”

She accepted the offering with an insincerely muttered thanks. He seemed to be watching her every move, so after a quick swipe that sopped up the worst of the wetness, she stepped into her jeans and pulled them up her legs.

And felt better at being covered.

He gave her a knowing look and said, “Thanks for your help, Jenny.” He jerked his chin at the tub. “You really should get a little shelf installed to fill in that space.” Then without another word, he turned and headed for his cabin, six feet of mostly bare man cockily whistling in apparent satisfaction at having the last word.

As she watched him stride into the night, she decided she’d talk to maintenance tomorrow and see that they installed a shelf, exactly as he suggested.

If only to avoid another night like this one.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

L
ATE
THAT
NIGHT
J
AKE
PUSHED
through the doors of the Anchor Bar and Grill. Spotting Max lounging on his tailbone in the same booth Jake had seen him in the last time he was here, he made a beeline across the room, weaving between tightly packed tables. He dropped down onto the wooden seating across from his half brother moments later. “So, what’s the deal?” he said. “This your personal booth or something?”

“Yes. Go away.”

“I can’t. I need guy time.”

“Try Greg over there at the first table this side of the dart-throwing space. I’m sure he’d appreciate your kisses.”

“Yeah, kissing a guy—that’s what I need. Because I’m not traumatized enough as it is.”

“What’s the matter, little Bradshaw? Couldn’t get in for a manicure?”

“Don’t be an ass. Oh, wait. That’s pretty much your full-time job description. I don’t know why I thought tonight would be any different.” He started to push out of the booth.

“Oh, sit down.” Max shook his head. “Jesus, you’re a drama queen.”

“Says the guy who picked on a nine-year-old on a daily basis to make his own problems seem more manageable.”

Even in the dim light, he could see the rush of blood beneath Max’s skin. But Jake had to hand it to the guy, he didn’t detonate the way he used to.

Instead, he shrugged. “Maybe so. You gonna tell me why you’re traumatized or not? The kid giving you grief?”

“That’s actually improved a fraction. No, I saw Jenny’s panties tonight. Purple panties, Max. With Jenny in them. And the fucking image is seared into my retinas—I can’t get it out of my head.”

Max came half out of his seat. “I told you to stay the hell away from her.”

“I wasn’t making a move on her.”
Not
then,
anyway.
Letting his breath out with a sigh, he explained the situation.

Max’s heavy brows remained gathered over his nose. “You told her you’d turn around.”

“And I
did!
But then she said ‘gotcha!’ and I thought she was all done.” He frowned. “According to her, once I saw she was still in the tub in her underwear, I should’ve turned back around and pretended I didn’t see.”

His half brother snorted. “Like that’s gonna happen. I’m pretty sure there’s a code or something. We can’t break the code.” He shook his head as if amazed anyone would even suggest such a thing.

With a quick slap of his palms, Jake jerked one hand back and pointed the other at Max. “Exactly! That’s what
I
said. But she all but told me I was full of shit.”

“And she’d be right. But she was wrong about expecting any red-blooded man to turn his back again once he’d clapped eyes on the panties. So, purple, huh?”

“Deep purple. Those stretchy little boy kind that hug the ass like a lover. And you can take this to the bank—her ass is
fine.
”

“Don’t want to hear that part. Still, purple panties. And you said she climbed in the tub? Tell me they were wet.”

He shook his head regretfully. “I wish. She managed to keep them dry. The girl’s damn tricky.”

“Yeah, she’s a smart one.” Max knocked back his beer, rubbed foam from his lips with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Women like that are a serious disadvantage for our gender.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered.

Max set down his beer and appeared to dedicate an inordinate amount of attention to his own big-knuckled hand as the tip of his blunt forefinger circled the mug’s rim. Then, blowing out a breath, he sat back in the booth, crossed his brawny arms across his brawnier chest and eyed Jake.

Who had gone on alert even before his half brother cleared his throat.

“So,” Max said. “I’ve got me four tickets to a Mariners game Friday. I was supposed to go with friends, but you know how it goes—plans have a way of falling through. If you’re interested, you, the kid and maybe a friend of the kid’s can join me instead.” He gave Jake a hard-edged stare that warned him not
even
to get any ideas. Then, underestimating Jake’s ability to read signals, he added, “I can think of a helluva lot better things to do than spend several hours in your company. But I wouldn’t mind getting to know my nephew a little.”

Yeah?
Jake wondered. Because if the expression flashing across the big man’s face was anything to go by, just acknowledging his relationship with Austin had Max unnerved.

Which tickled the hell out of Jake. God knew he could relate. And having developed a definite fondness for messing with his half brother, he said, “C’mon, admit it.” He shot Max a lopsided smile. “Austin’s just an excuse. You love me. Ya wanna spend time with me.”

Max’s response was a rude, anatomically impossible suggestion.

Jake answered in kind even as he acknowledged, if only to himself, the kernel of warmth unfurling in his own chest from the invitation. So he added, in dead earnestness, “I’d like that. Thanks.”

Max looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, I thought it might give you a hand up with the kid.”

“Austin.”

“Yeah.” One big shoulder twitched and that unsettled look came and went again. “Austin.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re probably right. Tickets to the Mariners should earn me some points with him. And asking his friend Nolan is brilliant. Austin’ll dig scoring a few points of his own.” He planted his elbow on the scarred wooden table and his chin in his palm and gazed across the table. “Man. Who knew you’d turn out to be so smart?”

Max flashed an unexpected grin, and as Jake took note of his brother’s white, white teeth, it hit him that smiling was something the guy didn’t do nearly enough.

And wasn’t that all kinds of ironic? Here Jake had thought
he
had control issues. But compared to Max he was effing Little Lord Fauntleroy.

Humor lingered in the other man’s dark eyes even after his smile had slowly faded. “Yeah,” he agreed with a wry twist of his lips as he picked up his beer again. “Who the hell knew?”

* * *

A
USTIN
PLAYED
IT
COOL
when Jake dropped by the cottage and invited him and Nolan to the Mariners game. But moments after his father left to return to the Sand Dollar, he grabbed his bike and pedaled like the wind to Nolan’s house.

Reaching the Damoths’ front yard, he jumped from his ride and was halfway up their steps before he even heard the bike clatter to the lawn. He gave his friend’s door an impatient
rat-a-tat-tat
with his knuckles.

Mrs. D opened the door, but when he went to step over the threshold, she unexpectedly blocked him. “I’m sorry, hon,” she said. “You can’t come in. Nolan has chicken pox.”

“Huh?” He blinked at her as he assimilated the information. “Chicken—? Didn’t that used to be a baby disease?”

“Not necessarily. It did mostly strike the young, but back before vaccinations, it wasn’t unheard of to get it later in life. And now we’ve got ourselves a mini-breakout, because old Dr. Howser apparently stored the vaccination improperly, which made it ineffective.” She gave him a significant look. “You went to Dr. Howser. And chicken pox is highly contagious.”

“Aw, man!” He stepped back. “I was gonna invite Nolan to a Mariners game my dad and uncle are taking me to Friday night.” It seemed weird to call the men that, seeing how he didn’t know either of them worth spit. But still. That’s who they were, if only in a legal way.

He gave his best bud’s mom a hopeful look. “Friday’s almost a whole week away. Maybe Nolan’ll be better by then.”
He has to be. I don’t wanna be all by myself with those guys!

She shook her head. “I really am sorry, Austin, because I know he’d love to go and is going to be even more disappointed than you that he can’t. But he only just broke out in a half dozen bumps, and Dr. Janus tells me that means he’ll have more tomorrow and likely even more the day after that, since the farther away from babyhood you get, the nastier the disease tends to be. Once he’s finished breaking out, it’ll take about a week before they quit being contagious. Until then, he’s in quarantine.”

He kicked his toe into the floor of the porch. “Crap.”

“Yeah, I know. It stinks.” Then her face brightened. “You could take Bailey, though. She was vaccinated by a different doctor.”

A voice in Austin’s head chanted,
Yes Yes Yes!
and his heartbeat broke into an energetic B-boy routine. He essayed a shrug of his shoulders, however, and managed to sound bored when he said, “I suppose that’d be okay. If she wantsta, that is.”

“Well, let’s ask.” Turning into the foyer, she called, “Bailey! Come here a second, will you, hon?”

Almost in concert with the question, Bailey materialized in the living room end of the entrance hall, looking pretty and fresh in blue jeans and a multicolored T-shirt, her dark hair spilling in a shiny curtain below her shoulders.

Mrs. D smiled at her. “How would you like to go with Austin to a Mariners game next Friday?”

Bailey gave him an uncertain look, then turned her attention back on her aunt. “Could I talk to Austin alone for a minute?”

The older woman blinked, but then gave a nod. “Sure. Why don’t you two go sit out on the stoop. When you make up your mind, hon, come let me know.” Mrs. D gave Bailey a fond smile and headed toward the living room.

Bailey gave her aunt a quick kiss as they passed each other, then came out onto the small porch and pulled the door closed behind her.

For a moment he and the pretty thirteen-year-old simply looked at each other, then in unspoken agreement they took their seats on the top step just as
Mrs. D had suggested. Gripping her knees, Bailey turned to him. “Tell me the truth. Did Aunt Rebecca guilt you into inviting me?”

“What? No!” For a second he struggled with an ingrained need to keep the crazy feelings roaring through his veins to himself. Especially any that could be construed as even the faintest bit girly.

Yet in the end, he wanted her to accept the invitation more than he worried he might come across as less manly than, oh, say, his father or uncle would in the same situation.

“She suggested you,” he admitted, “but I jumped all over it. Jake said Deputy Bradshaw—that is, my...uncle—invited him, me and a friend of my choice to CenturyLink stadium this coming Friday. And I barely know either one of them, ya know? So as much as I’m all over seeing the Mariners play live, what the eff am I supposed to talk to them about for—man—what could be four, six, even
eight
hours?”

The delicate wings of her eyebrows drew together. “It’ll go that long?”

“It takes an hour and a half, minimum, to get to Seattle from here—and that’s if the boats are on time or the traffic isn’t all bollixed up if they decide to drive around instead of taking the ferry. So, multiply that by two and add it to the game itself, which can go middling fast or really slow.”
Annnnd,
crap.
Way to go, ass-cap.
Now she
really
wouldn’t want to go.

But she only murmured dreamily, “I love the ferries.”

Okay, maybe things weren’t in the crapper yet. He sat straighter. “I’ll ask if we can go that way. Either way, though, Bailey, it would sure be easier if I had someone my own age there. Mrs. D says Nolan can’t leave the house. I’d like it if you’d say yes.”

He didn’t add that, even if it hadn’t occurred to him to ask her until Mrs. D had suggested it, if Nolan
had
been available it would’ve been a tough choice between taking him or her. Because Nolan had been his best friend forever.

But
she
...well, she was just so...he didn’t even know what.

No, untrue. He sure as hell knew she was pretty.

And he knew that if he should ever work up the nerve to touch her, she would be...

Just.

So.

Effing.

Soft.

The fact that she was also one dope baseball player was just the sprinkles on his cupcake.

She swiveled toward him. “If they’re your dad and uncle, how come you don’t know them? And why do you call them Jake and Deputy Bradshaw?”

He shrugged. “Jake went off to college when I was like a newborn and didn’t bother coming back until a few weeks ago. Deputy Bradshaw—
Max
—is his half brother. He’s been in town practically my whole life, but he and Jake were like enemies and shit all through school, so he never acknowledged me as a relative. I got no idea why they think now is a good time to try to fix their relationship, let alone drag me into it. Maybe they think they can make up for all the times they weren’t there when I might’ve actually liked them to be.” Gazing out at the currently deserted road, he shook his head. “They can’t.”

She looked at him for a moment, then slowly said, “My mom has cancer. She sent me here so I could—” crooking her index and forefingers, she sketched quotation marks in the air “‘—live a normal life’ while she concentrates on getting well.” Her hands dropped to her lap and, staring down at them, she said in a low voice, “The truth is, though, I don’t know if she will. Get well, that is.” Tears welled in her eyes.

Oh shit, oh shit!
Crying girls scared the bejesus out of him, because he never knew what to do to make things better. But he reached for her nearest hand anyway and gave it a squeeze. “Are you that convinced she won’t?”

She went very still, her only movement that of her sweetly curved boobies as she drew in a shuddery breath. “No,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Look,” he said to the curtain of hair that spilled between them, masking her face, “my grandma and grandpa died this year, so I know what it’s like to lose family. I can’t promise you that everything will turn out fine, ’cause the truth is it doesn’t always. But Jenny says that it’s just as easy to keep a positive outlook as a negative one—and that sometimes doing so sends positive energy out into the universe and generates positive results in return.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s too woo-woo for you, but I found when things turned to shit, thinking that way kind of helped.”