Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Roxanne
After the night I spent with Jackson, I didn’t hear from him for a few days. At first, I told myself that it was fine. That I’d never expected anything but sex between us anyway.
I was lying to myself through my teeth, though.
I missed him. I missed his arms — the heat of his skin and the tight hardness of his muscles. I missed the murmur of his deep, sexy voice, and the way it seemed to reach right inside my body, intimate as a touch, when he was inside me.
As hard as I’d tried, I hadn’t managed to stop myself from fantasizing about a future with him after that first night.
I told myself that I knew I wasn’t being realistic, and that I’d probably have a harder time getting over him after letting myself imagine things like that.
But I still thought that I’d at least see him again, that maybe he’d come over a night or two later and whisk me off to his house again on his bike.
But when one day passed, then another, then another, without so much as a peep, I started to realize with a sinking heart that even though I’d tried like hell not to hope for anything more with Jackson, my heart hadn’t obeyed my head.
I had been more or less prepared to deal with the knowledge that there was nothing romantic going on between us.
But when it became clear to me that I had only been a one night stand… well, that was a lot harder to take.
It hurt, knowing that he didn’t want me the same way I wanted him.
But, I told myself sternly, I had no one to blame but myself for getting hurt.
The night I had spent with Jackson Stone was the most unbelievably good sex I had ever had, by far.
And I was just going to have to come to terms with the fact that that was all it was, and appreciate it for what it had been.
One night. One amazing night. With nothing more to it.
Jackson Stone had never promised me anything. And I knew that. I had no reason to be upset with him. And I wasn’t, really. I was mainly upset with myself. But I hated knowing that this new ache in my heart with Jackson’s name on it wasn’t likely to go away anytime soon.
It made it even harder that Lupine was a small enough town that I would often see his motorcycle parked here and there.
Outside the Blue Angus, or in his driveway when I went to deliver things for Mrs. Watkins.
I was always in danger of running into him.
And I felt myself being constantly pulled between hoping I would run into him, and hoping like hell I could avoid him.
As much as I wanted to see him again, I didn’t want to face the humiliation of seeing in his eyes that he didn’t want me anymore.
When I did finally bump into him one day, I was coming out of St. Luke’s Hospital.
I had just finished running an errand for Rodney.
I had dropped off some medication the hospital had run out of, and was picking up a prescription for an elderly woman who was scheduled to be released that day, after undergoing a heart procedure the week before.
Jackson was walking toward the entrance just as I was leaving. He looked startled to see me, and little preoccupied.
“Rox,” he murmured, in the same deep, rich voice that haunted my head late at night. “How’ve you been?”
“I’m fine,” I replied a bit too quickly. My voice came out higher than I wanted it to, and tight. “You?”
“Okay,” he nodded. Then: “I’ve missed you.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but clamped it shut again when I realized anything that I could say in response would probably come out either sarcastic or pouty. In the end, all I managed was, “I’ve missed you, too.”
He moved toward me half a step. I froze, not sure if I wanted him to touch me or not. He seemed to sense my reticence, and stopped.
“Everything okay with you?” he said then, looking concerned.
“Um, yes. Why?” I cocked my head at him.
“Just… You’re coming out of the hospital.” He gestured toward the entrance. “Anything wrong?”
“Oh.” I laughed softly. “No. I’m just here on an errand for the pharmacy. What about you?”
Jackson’s face darkened. “I’m coming to visit Mikey Flynn.”
“Oh.” Of course I knew what had happened to Mike. Everyone in town knew what had happened. Lupine was small enough that there were very few stories that didn’t get around fairly quickly. And of course, the robbery at the bar had been in the local paper, as well. “How’s he doing?”
“He’ll make it, I guess,” Jackson growled. His face was a mask of barely-contained fury. “He’s gonna be out of commission for a while, though.”
I nodded. “I hear their church is going to be putting on a fundraiser. To raise money for the family’s medical bills.”
Jackson looked down. “That’s good,” he said. “They’ll need it, I think.”
We stood there awkwardly for a moment. I decided to put us out of our uncomfortable agony. “Well,” I began, “I guess I’d better…”
“Roxy,” he interrupted me. “I know I haven’t been around much. There’s been kind of a lot going on lately.”
Behind me, I heard the front doors to the hospital open, and then the murmur of voices approaching. I stepped aside to let pass an older man being pushed in a wheelchair by a young, attractive nurse.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Jackson,” I murmured as I watched them pass by. I glanced over at the parking lot then and started to turn toward it.
“I know I don’t. But I mean it. I’ve missed you.” He lifted his hand to my chin and brought my face up to his. “If you’re around later, maybe we could see each other.”
I inwardly squirmed, trying to avert his gaze.
I didn’t want to have this conversation with him.
Not like this. I felt like an afterthought — like someone he only thought of when I was right there in front of him.
Or maybe it was even worse: maybe he was just saying all this because it was what he thought I wanted to hear.
“Um, I don’t know,” I said vaguely. “Maybe.”
He looked at me intently for a moment. “Rox,” he said simply. Then he nodded. “I’ll call you when I can.”.
He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine.
Then, as I shivered a little at his touch, he walked through the glass doors into the hospital and was gone.
* * *
It was Thursday, the one night a week when the shops on Main Street in Lupine stayed open until eight o’clock.
I was the last employee still working, Rodney having gone home about an hour before.
He’d taken the bank bag with him, leaving with me with just enough money in the till to make change until it was time to lock the doors.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t preoccupied that evening.
I helped the last customers and watched impatiently as the clock hand inched forward toward eight p.m. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the kiss Jackson had given me outside the hospital.
It made a deep pang of longing throb down in my gut.
I wanted to believe he meant it when he said he’d call me.
I wanted to believe he wanted to call me.
I hated myself for being so weak and not just pushing Jackson “Rolling” Stone out of my head.
About ten minutes before the pharmacy officially closed, the only customer was a middle-aged woman with short dark hair, who was wandering the aisles clearly in search of something.
The furtive way she shook her head when I asked her if she needed help told me she was embarrassed by whatever it was she was looking for.
Working at a pharmacy, you saw all sorts of people come in, with all sorts of medical and other needs.
Sometimes, they’d say loud enough for the whole store to hear them that they were looking for an enema.
Other times, they’d be so embarrassed asking for the deodorant aisle that they had to whisper their question in your ear.
I had enough experience by now to know this woman wasn’t about to tell me what she was looking for — even though I’d find out soon enough, since I’d be the one to check her out.
At eight o’clock, the woman was still looking.
To give her the hint that we were about to close, I went toward the back and turned off one row of the fluorescent lights above.
That seemed to do the trick, and after a few moments, she came up to the register.
Looking everywhere but at me, she set down a small article on the counter between us.
It was a tube of KY Jelly. Or as we discreetly called it, “personal lubricant.”
I kept my face completely neutral as I quietly rung up the purchase, but in my head I was telling the woman she had no reason at all to be embarrassed.
Hell, I wanted to give her a high-five. I hoped the purchase meant that her sex life was alive and well.
I almost wanted to tell her that it looked like she was getting more action than I was.
But I refrained. Because I’m a professional.
I didn’t bother to ask her if she wanted a bag for her item, because I knew she did.
She took it from me quickly as I handed it to her, still not meeting my eyes, and scurried out the front door like she was being pursued.
Chuckling to myself, I followed behind her, then flipped the lock with a deep sigh.
It had been a long day, and I was looking forward to going home and forgetting myself in a good book.
The closing routine at the pharmacy was always the same: run the vacuum, take out the garbage, put the cash drawer in the safe, turn out the lights, and lock up.
I went through the motions mindlessly, having done them many times before.
The vacuum bag was full by the time I was done with the floor, so I took it out and stuffed it in with the rest of the trash.
Tying the bag in a firm knot, I pushed open the back door and dragged it out into the alley toward the dumpster.