That Runaway Summer, Page 2

  “You want construction humor, I’ve got a true story for you.” Dan had a deep, velvety voice that would have been perfect for the radio, making him a pleasure to listen to. “A couple back in Ohio live in a one-room log cabin with a quarter horse. They even set a place for him at the table.”

  “That sure doesn’t sound sanitary.” Jill made a face. “I mean, what happens when nature calls?”

  “They claim the horse is housebroken. Even lets himself out when he gets the urge.”

  Everybody laughed, then tried to top each other with increasingly outrageous stories. Before long, Jill let down her guard and started to enjoy herself.

  “So, Dan,” Penelope said during a rare lull in conversation when they were nearly through with dinner, “I’m sure Jill would love to hear how you became a vet.”

  Johnny sent his wife a pointed look. “We all would.”

  “Sure you don’t want to hear more about the housebroken horse?” Dan took a handful of purple grapes from the bowl on the table and popped a few into his mouth. “He’s really quite amazing. When it gets hot, he turns on the ceiling fan.”

  “You’re just as interesting,” Penelope said.

  “Not by a long shot.” Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s see. I grew up in Ohio in a family of Irishmen. Make that Irishwomen. My dad was a salesman who wasn’t around much and I’ve got three older sisters. Even our dog was female.”

  “And?” Penelope prompted when he stopped talking.

  “And we lived near a farm that had a couple boys my age,” he continued. “I loved it there. At first just hanging around the boys, then for the animals, and my interest grew.”

  “Stanley and Dan don’t only treat house pets,” Penelope announced.

  “We’re equal opportunity.” Dan smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and inviting. “Horses, cattle, sheep. We’ve got them covered.”

  “Why did you leave Ohio?” Jill asked.

  He hesitated. “It was a good career opportunity.”

  He took another bite of his burger. He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself—that much was clear. He especially didn’t want to discuss why he’d moved to Indigo Springs. Jill could relate.

  “Does your family still live in Ohio?” Penelope had either failed to pick up on his evasiveness or was having none of it, probably the latter.

  “Yes,” he said after a pause. “My parents live in the same house where I grew up. My sisters and their families aren’t far away.”

  “You’re the only one who isn’t married?” Penelope asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Dan shifted on the picnic-table bench. Jill fought not to squirm, too. Who knew what Penelope would ask next? The other woman leaned forward, as though about to pounce with a particularly juicy question.

  “Dan’s true mission on earth leaves him no time for a relationship,” Jill announced.

  “Excuse me?” Penelope spoke up, but three pairs of eyes regarded Jill curiously.

  “Dan seems like an average guy, a simple vet going about his business.” Jill lowered her voice. “Except that’s only a cover.”

  “Oh, really?” The corners of Dan’s mouth quirked.

  “Really.” Jill looked over her shoulder, then let her gaze roam over the yard. She returned her attention to her audience, quieting her voice even more. “Did you ever wonder why we don’t see much of him in town?”

  “I work a lot,” Dan said.

  “And not just at being a vet. It all stems, of course, from those five world-changing words spoken to you in high school by that stuffy British librarian.” She paused for effect, then called upon her most dramatic delivery. “‘You are the chosen one.’”

  Dan’s dark eyebrows lifted.

  “This is getting good.” Johnny put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Chosen for what?”

  “To stand alone against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness,” Jill finished, and drained the rest of her beer, setting the bottle down with a plop.

  “Hey, that sounds familiar,” Penelope said slowly, then brightened. “I know where I’ve heard it before. On TV at the beginning of Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. Buffy’s the one girl in all the world who can do that stuff.”

  “What’s to say Buffy doesn’t have a male coworker?” Jill asked flippantly. “You’ve got to admit it explains that tall, dark and enigmatic thing Dan has going on.”

  “Enigmatic?” A dimple appeared in Dan’s left cheek. “No one’s ever called me that before.”

  “That’s what you get for not chatting up the bartender at the Blue Haven.” She put up a hand so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Not that I’m complaining. Most people talk my ear off.”

  “That’s how Jill and I became friends,” Penelope said. “A girlfriend stood me up when Johnny was out of town. I sat at the bar all night talking to Jill. She’s an excellent conversationalist. You should ask her to tell you about herself, Dan.”

  “No need,” Dan said as Jill was trying to mentally unearth one of her practiced scripts. “I already know her secret.”

  Jill heard blood pounding in her ears but forced herself to smile. Dan couldn’t possibly know anything about her. He was simply having fun by following her lead.

  “Ever wonder why she tones down that Southern accent of hers?” Dan asked. “It’s because she doesn’t want anyone to know exactly where she’s from.”

  Jill hid her shock that he’d hit the mark even as Penelope said, “Jill’s from South Carolina.”

  “That’s what she wants you to believe. The truth is that Jill—” he gestured toward her with his index finger, making his captive audience wait “…is hiding out here in Indigo Springs.”

  The blood rushed from her head. She clutched at the lip of the picnic table, feeling as though she might pass out. How had Dan figured out her secret? Did he know about Chris, too?

  “What’s she hiding from?” Penelope asked in an amused, playful voice.

  Jill’s lungs squeezed, making it impossible to draw in air. She fought not to react under Dan’s scrutiny as she waited for his reply.

  “Some serious bad guys,” he finally answered. “She went to the cops after she witnessed Michael Corleone off two guys in a restaurant. With the mob and the godfather after her, witness protection was the only way to go.”

  Penelope slapped the table and laughed. “That’s almost as good as Danny the Vampire Slayer.”

  “One preposterous turn deserves another.” Looking pleased with himself, Dan finished off his beer.

  Oxygen once again reached Jill’s lungs, yet the corners of her mouth still felt strained from holding up her fake smile. “Very funny.”

  Needing a moment longer to compose herself, she rose from the table, gathered her napkin and empty paper plate and dumped them in the trash bag hanging from the corner of the deck.

  The tail end of Dan’s story had taken a turn for the ridiculous, yet she was shaken at how close he’d come to the truth. Because she and Chris needed to be poised to run, she’d been very careful not to get involved with any man.

  It had probably been a fluke, but just in case Dan Maguire was particularly insightful, she had even more reason to avoid him.

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN on Indigo Springs, muting the vibrant green of the grass and the clear blue of the sky. The Poconos town came close to Dan’s idea of paradise, complete with a crime rate so low it was nearly nonexistent. Yet for some reason he’d insisted on walking Jill Jacobi home.

  On one hand, it made sense. She lived only a few blocks from the house his sisters called his hideaway, so they were heading in the same direction. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t enjoy her company.

  If he were ready to date again, he might even ask her out.

  “That sure was crazy.” Jill peered sideways at him as they walked. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot two or three, a marked contrast to Maggie, who was only a couple of inches shy of his six-one. “Did you get a
look at Penelope’s face when you offered to walk me home? I swear, she’s probably planning our wedding as we speak.”

  “Not a smart move, in retrospect,” he said.

  “Not smart at all,” she agreed cheerfully. “Now that Penelope’s hopes are up, she’ll be heartbroken if we don’t go out on a date.”

  Whoa. That sounded suspiciously as if she were warming to the idea. Had he given Jill the wrong impression? He’d been confident throughout the night she was no more romantically inclined toward him than vice versa. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “I don’t know how to say this,” he began.

  “Whatever it is, just spit it out,” she advised. “That’s usually the best way.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “First off, let me say I had a really good time tonight.”

  They’d reached a residential section of town on a hilly street lined with modest houses, some of which had to be more than one hundred years old. She stopped directly under a street lamp that gave off more light than the crescent moon.

  Her short, curly hair framed a face that was compelling rather than beautiful. Her nose turned up at the end, a smattering of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose and her eyes were big for her face. She had a style all her own, with jangling bracelets, oversize jewelry and a funky miniskirt that showed off slim, shapely legs.

  “I thought you were going to spit it out,” she reminded him.

  “I am.” He gazed into her eyes. They were either green or gray; he couldn’t tell even with the artificial light shining down on them. Hoping he wouldn’t hurt her feelings, he said, “I don’t want to date you.”

  She dragged a hand across her forehead and blew out a loud breath. “That’s a relief.”

  Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that one. “It is?”

  “Ye-ah.” She drew out the word so it sounded as though it had two syllables. “I thought there for a minute you were going to ask me out. I was trying to figure out how to let you down easy.”

  “Hold on.” This did not compute. “You weren’t angling for a date when you said that thing about Penelope’s heart breaking?”

  She let loose with a low-throated laugh, and he didn’t know how to feel. “Of course not. Penelope’s a sweetheart. But even though she’s in love with love, I don’t feel responsible for feeding her obsession. Don’t get me wrong—you’re as cute as can be. But I’m not interested in you.”

  Cute. He was cute?

  “Why not?” he heard himself ask.

  She stopped laughing, obviously taken aback by the question. And why shouldn’t she be? He was, too.

  “It’s not you,” she said slowly. “It’s me.”

  He cringed at her use of the classic breakup cliché when they’d never even been on a date.

  “It’s not the right time for me to get involved with anybody,” she said.

  She was in her mid to late twenties, the age many women viewed as the perfect time to settle down. She put up a slim, pretty hand and waved it back and forth, her bracelets softly clanging against each other.

  “I have a lot of things going on in my life,” she continued. “And let’s face it, it’s not like you find me attractive.”

  “I said I didn’t want to date you,” he corrected quickly. “Not that I wasn’t attracted to you.”

  Her mouth gaped. “You’re attracted to me?”

  She’d twirled a lock of her curly black hair around her index finger. Bracelets jingled from her arm. The light caught the freckles on her nose, making them look more pronounced.

  His mouth went dry.

  “You’re quite pretty,” he said.

  Her smile started slowly, then grew wider, revealing even, white teeth.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But the answer will still be no if you ask me out.”

  “You’re not curious how we’d be together?” he asked. Now, where had that come from?

  “Not particularly,” she said.

  “I thought you said I was…” Oh, Lord, he was actually going to repeat the word. “Cute. Who knows? We might have good chemistry.”

  She shook her head. “Probably not.”

  He reached out and touched her hair, which was as soft and springy as it looked. When she didn’t back away, he moved his hand to her cheek and gently ran his fingers over her smooth, tanned skin. His eyes drifted to her mouth.

  “There’s one way to find out.”

  Her lips parted. He waited for them to form a no, but all that came out of her mouth was warm, sweet-smelling breath.

  He slid his palm to the soft skin of her neck and gently cupped the base of her skull. She leaned into his touch, her chin tipping, her lips tilting upward.

  Such full, pretty lips.

  She was standing slightly uphill from him, which partially made up for their difference in height. He pressed his mouth gently against hers, breathing in her breath, feeling her lips cling to his. It would have been the sweetest of kisses if not for the instant hardening of his body, which he hoped like hell she didn’t notice.

  No pressure, he told himself as he fought not to deepen the kiss, contenting himself with tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. No demands, he thought as he worked his way from one edge of her mouth to the other with a series of soft kisses. Just a simple experiment in sexual chemistry. She’d braced her hand on his heart, which felt as if it might combust.

  She pulled back first.

  “That was nice,” she said, smiling at him pleasantly with her well-kissed lips, “but I still don’t want to go out with you.”

  He blinked a few times, trying to clear the sexual fog clogging his head, attempting to get his body under control.

  “I live over there.” She indicated a two-story Victorian house that seemed far too large for one person. She headed for it, picking up speed as she went.

  “Thanks for walking me home,” she called over her shoulder when she reached the top step of a wraparound porch. Baskets of hanging flowers that were probably a riot of color in the daylight hung from the porch in strategic locations.

  “You’re welcome.” His reply was automatic, although a different response rang in his head.

  Why the hell didn’t she want to date him?

  The thud of the door closing jarred him back to his senses. He moved away from the streetlight, into the relative darkness of the sidewalk where he could rationalize away what had just happened.

  He’d reacted strongly to Jill because she was the first woman he’d kissed since Maggie had done a number on his heart almost a year ago.

  In all that time, he hadn’t been tempted to date anyone.

  He still wasn’t.

  So why was he already looking forward to the next time he ran into Jill Jacobi?

  CHAPTER TWO

  JILL LEANED AGAINST the smooth plane of the closed door, marveling at the show of nonchalance she’d been able to pull off, aware she had only seconds to get her heart to stop pounding and blood to quit racing.

  “I’m in the living room, dear,” Felicia Feldman called. No surprise there. Jill had seen the fluttering of the curtain covering a front window as she approached the house.

  Felicia sat in her favorite armchair in front of the television, the remote control in hand, her gray hair in stark contrast to the floral pattern of the chair. The air smelled of freshly baked bread, one of Felicia’s specialties. Jill never took for granted how lucky she and Chris were to live in this house with this wonderful woman.

  “Who was that young man you were kissing, dear?” Felicia had already muted the sound of the program she was watching. On the screen, a lineup of nervous young women waited to see whether the hunk in the tuxedo would hand them a rose.

  If Dan Maguire were the rose giver and Jill one of the contestants, would she be angling for a flower? Jill pressed together her still-warm lips, preferring not to think about it.

  “Hey, Felicia.” Jill smiled at her. “The Bachelor a rerun tonight?”

&nbs
p; “Why, yes.” Felicia’s lips parted and she nodded. “How did you know that?”

  “You wouldn’t be looking out the window if it wasn’t.”

  Felicia’s laugh had a smoker’s raspy quality even though she’d said she quit years ago. “You’re right about that. I guess my mind was drifting. I wondered when you’d get home, I opened the curtain and there you were.”

  “Chris is okay, isn’t he?” Jill was relatively sure of the answer. Felicia had her cell phone number in case of emergency.

  “Oh, yes, yes. He went to bed a little while ago. Your brother is no trouble at all. Quiet as a mouse, that boy is.”

  “I appreciate you looking out for him more than you can know.”

  “Like I told you when you moved in,” Felicia said, “I’m glad to do it.”

  The older woman had also confided she’d decided to rent out rooms after a scare in which she’d nearly lost her home to foreclosure. Her great-nephew, who lived in town, kept trying to help with mortgage payments, but she was having none of that.

  Felicia had soon been treating Jill and Chris like family. A widow in her seventies with no children of her own, Felicia embraced the grandmotherly role, looking out for Chris while Jill wasn’t home and whipping up fabulous home-cooked meals for all three of them.

  “I’ll let you get back to your program, then,” Jill said, and turned. “I’m calling it a night.”

  “You can’t turn in yet,” Felicia protested. “You haven’t told me about your evening.”

  Jill sucked in a breath through her teeth and did a cheerful about-face. She reentered the room and perched on the arm of the sofa, which was covered in the same flowery fabric as the chair.

  “I had a very good time,” Jill said. “Johnny Pollock grilled burgers the size of your head.”

  Felicia’s hands flew north and traced the shape of her scalp. “Really?”

  Jill laughed. “Not exactly, but close. That man cooks a big burger. Penelope made these white-chocolate brownies for dessert that about melted in my mouth. I can get you the recipe if you like.”

  “Please do.” Felicia enjoyed few things in life more than baking, as evidenced by the delicious smells that regularly wafted through the house.