Chapter Fifteen
J odi poured boiling water over her cranberry and pomegranate tea bag and tried to remember where she had stashed her emergency dark chocolate.
Ricky had dropped her home, speeding off with barely a word.
The fog of numbness which had allowed Jodi to make a dignified exit (at least she hoped it had been dignified) had lasted long enough to get home, shower, and change into her most comfortable pajamas before hitting the laptop. These fleece beauties (a joke birthday gift from Jaylee) were adorned by frolicking hippos, and were baggy around the backside, fraying at the cuffs, and in desperate need of new elastic at the waist.
“Where did I put that damn chocolate?” Jodi growled. She hitched up her pajama bottoms with one hand. “What’s the point of hiding something that you need in an emergency? It’s like hiding the bloody fire extinguisher!”
Two things happened simultaneously. The small tag snapped off the tea bag, and the doorbell rang.
“Shit!” Jodi said loudly. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tasted salt. She fished around with a teaspoon. Hot red tea dripped on the bench.
The knock on the door was soft, persistent. She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the automatic impulse to go sort whatever it was. To be the fixer, the family peacemaker.
“Sod off,” she muttered. “I gave at the office.”
The next sound was muffled, like a palm slapped against the smooth wood. Something seemed to crack inside Jodi’s chest. She swore again.
A pushover, that’s what she was.
She trudged to the door.
Ricky looked like a seedy mugger through the fisheye lens. His too-long hair was mussed, and a six o’clock shadow blurred his clean-cut features. His eyes looked like bruises in his pale face.
Jodi glanced in the hall mirror. Her damp hair hung lankly on her shoulders. Every trace of makeup was gone, and she had wiped off her nail polish so quickly that her cuticles were stained blue.
Fine, she thought grimly, opening the door.
Say hi to the real Jodi Ruskin .
Cold air swooped inside, racing up her bare ankles and under the baggy top and setting off an instant rash of goosebumps. Her skin tightened. Jodi’s heart, that unreliable and perfidious organ which had clearly not received the updated memo, raced with excitement.
Not happening. The only thrill tonight is herbal tea and maybe honey on buttered toast . Plus all the chocolate, if I ever find the damned stuff . And I don’t plan to share .
Ricky walked inside.
Jodi went back to the kitchen. Ricky slipped onto a stool while she silently laid out another mug and poured water on another tea bag. (Lavender and lemon, a foul combination which she had bought on a whim and immediately regretted.)
“I thought you might want to know about the twins.”
“Yep.” Jodi thought about moving to the matching stool but decided that keeping the barrier of the kitchen bench between them was a safer option.
She and Dougie had been working on the story for the last hour. Waiting for a final update from Sally Lett and some no-doubt carefully phrased comments from the Chief.
Looked like Jodi was about to get an in-person exclusive from the local hero.
Ricky’s gaze locked onto hers.
“Bottom line, the Chief is withdrawing the charges against Joshua and Judah. Any further investigations into the firebug will be handled by him directly, but he does not, quote unquote, ‘expect that the matter will proceed, given the dearth of solid evidence and the conflicting circumstantial accounts of what happened’.”
Jodi muttered a bad word under her breath. She reached for the laptop and tapped in a few more lines.
Ricky sipped his tea. He winced. “What’s that smell? And why is the tea purple?”
Jodi held up a hand. She flicked her eyes over the draft and made some lightning changes. Took a breath, and hit Send.
Done. And in fact, Acting Editor Jodi Ruskin was done with everything.
She exhaled, the long breath releasing some of the load she’d been carrying since whenever. Dear God, but it felt good, she thought. Scary. Lonely. But good.
Ricky’s gaze was unwavering. Jodi cleared her throat. Some endings were easier than others.
“It’s herbal,” she said crisply, turning to Ricky with an expression meant to convey that she was completely unmoved by his scruffy appearance. “Guaranteed to calm the mind and soothe the spirit. You ought to try it.”
His eyes narrowed. She continued remorselessly, “But I can have a look in the box, see if there is something for unlocking the truth.”
“Ouch.” His voice was mild. His eyes drifted over her face, down to where a stray drop of water was rolling towards her breasts. A flood of warmth spread through her body.
“Looks like I interrupted your...er...bath time.”
Something invisible, supercharged, arced between them. A sudden, painfully acute awareness of the other. Of skin, hair, muscle, hardness, and softness.
Jodi looked away, cheeks burning.
How had the conversation veered offtrack so fast?
“Thanks for the update officer. Nothing about the Brownings surprises me,” she said tightly. She sipped her now lukewarm, watery tea. “God,” she said in disgust. “When did people start drinking dried flowers and fruit?”
Those ridiculous, mortifying tears gathered again. She stepped back smartly as Ricky reached toward her.
Jodi shook her head. “No. Please. I’m okay. The twins are fine, and that’s the main thing.” She pushed back her hair, not caring that without the hairdryer and straightener it was drying in a frizzy halo around her face.
Like a Botticelli angel? No way. Jodi Ruskin was six feet plus of muscle, full of sass and vinegar, as Gramps would say.
“What about you, Ricky. You fine? Browning won’t dare fire you, though he will threaten you with enough legal firepower to sink a battleship. I’m expecting a frenzied message from The Monitor ’s legal advisors any minute now.”
His dark eyes were locked on hers. Jodi knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop.
“And of course, since your contract is almost up, you’ll be heading back to New York soon anyway.” Her voice began to wobble. “Without finding your little girl, which is too bad.”
The instant pain that flashed across his face was like a knife in her own heart. She swallowed, blinked away those damned tears.
“And I’m really sorry about that, Ricky,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine how...desperate and heartbreaking that is.”
He nodded. A muscle twitched in his rock-hard jaw.
“It’s both those things, and more,” he said in a low voice. “And you deserve an explanation. And an apology—”
“No,” Jodi cut in. “You don’t owe me anything Ricky. I’m simply the eagle-eyed reporter who helped break the case of the firebug. We made a great team. Lois Lane and Superman.”
He put down his mug and moved quickly around the bench, taking her into his arms before she had a chance to protest.
Jodi leaned into the comfort of his hard chest, laid her face against the warm, salty skin of his neck. Her throat was raw. Bristles tickled her forehead, and she bit back a hysterical giggle when she realized that her damp hair was dripping down his neck.
They stood for a moment, hearts so close that each could feel the reassuring thump of the other’s chest. Then she gradually eased away. His arms opened and he let her go.
“Toast?” she asked brightly, trying to ignore the chill air that replaced his body warmth.
He shook his head. His eyes followed her as she moved to the single armchair, still clutching the despised tea.
Hot chocolate, that’s what was needed, decided Jodi. Something hot and sweet and delicious and wicked. With toast and honey—and lashings of butter. As close to pleasure as a girl could get on a frozen night in Upstate New York State when the man of her dreams turns out to be on a private mission that doesn’t require her presence.
Ricky left the mug of tea on the counter and took the sofa. He unfolded his long legs and leaned back against the cushion with a grunt of relief.
“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you about...about the baby. Lioba, that’s her name.” He massaged his eye sockets with those scarred hands. “No, that’s not true,” he corrected. “I do know.”
Jodie felt frozen in place, desperate to leave but needing to stay. She tucked her knees under her chin and hugged tight.
Ricky’s brows drew together. It was clearly costing him an effort to speak.
“At first, I was filled with...rage more than anything. Blind fury that Chrissie had done this and not told me. Me . The father.” His voice broke but he mastered himself.
“But deep down I knew this was my fault. Sure, Chrissie made some bad, bad, choices like she always did. But I should have checked on her. This whole mess—well I figured it was my mess to clean up.”
Jodi tightened her grip around her knees. She couldn’t fix this with hot chocolate and toast and a sympathetic ear and a warm hug—especially a warm hug.
“My boss knew about Chrissie, of course, and I was booted into counseling and therapy and told to take a few months compassionate leave. All that’s on record. And Bonnie Browning was right, I did lose my nerve after that. Cold sweat, panic, the whole thing.”
His laugh was hollow. “So I came back home. My child was here, and I didn’t want to hear any legal bullshit about parental rights. I took the contract Browning offered and started quietly looking.”
He paused. His breath was ragged. “I’m not good at this...baring the soul. We hero types save that for a late-night drink with our buddies or a quiet chat with the chaplain. People who understand the job. But I couldn’t dump this on any of them. Or on the people I care about.”
He leaned forward, and this time there was no mistaking the message in his eyes. “People like you, Ms. Jodi Ruskin. But your bullshit meter is...um...impressive.”
A tremor ran through Jodi; alarm, joy, despair, yearning... She took a mouthful of lukewarm tea and nearly gagged.
“Can you forgive me?”
It was all too much. Jodi stood up, spilling cold tea on her pants. The reflection in the big window showed a tall wild-haired woman in baggy clothes with damp spots on her shoulders and a pale, blotchy face. Every man’s dreamboat she was not.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes widened. She corrected herself. “I mean...this is not really like you saying, sorry I messed up, Jodi. My bad. Like you forgot that I don’t like glace cherries in fruitcake.”
She tipped the tea dregs in the sink and began feverishly wiping down the already clean bench. Then she dabbed at the wet pink spot on her pants.
Full marks for the hostess with the mostest.
Ricky clambered to his feet. He watched in silence.
Jodi finally put down the cloth. She folded her arms, leaned back against the fridge, and looked straight at him.
“The thing is, Ricky, I’m not good with being treated like the proverbial mushroom. My mom dumped Jaylee and me with Gramps, but no one ever told us she and her new husband weren’t coming back. It was always ‘as soon as we get settled in a nice town with good schools’, ‘looking for the perfect house’. Never happened.”
She looked around at the small, elegant apartment. Her place.
“So I don’t know how I feel about your secret, I really don’t.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I do know that you are...important...to me. And I don’t know how I feel about that either.”
She knuckled her eyes, which were dry and scratchy, and tried for a smile.
Ricky stood for a second longer, his face unreadable. Then he stepped forward, cupped her face gently, and kissed her on the lips. He turned, gathered his keys, and left, closing the door behind him.
Jodi stood. She stared at the space where he had been, her fingers on the lips which still bore the imprint of his kiss. Her mind was churning, a kaleidoscope of images and emotions.
Lioba. Now there was an unusual name.
***
T he next week unfolded at a speed which left all the players breathless.
Chief Leroy Browning let it be known that he had reconsidered his run at the mayoral role on account of his dedication to keeping the citizens of Temple Mountain safe. Spending more time with his family was also mentioned, with his daughter Bonnie taking stress leave from Temple Mountain Retirement Village.
“And not a word about the firebug.”
Dougie Moon glared at the new press release that had arrived in his email, fresh from media relations. His front-page story reporting the discovery of the missing boys and the dismissal of the firebug charges had been a fine piece of journalism.
Getting follow-up information had been virtually impossible, though Jodi knew that Dougie had done his darndest.
“It’s not good enough. The Brownings can’t simply close down the media because they don’t like it. Haven’t they heard of freedom of the press?”
Jodi shrugged. They had been through this. The newspaper’s management board had huddled together with their legal team and decided to hold their fire. No speculation. Just the facts, ma’am.
“Jodi? Are you listening to me?” demanded Dougie. There were red patches on his normally pale cheeks. “We’re talking First Amendment here!”
She raised her head from the email she was reading.
“Give me a sec.”
The faint pulse in her forehead picked up pace and she was suddenly lightheaded. Excitement warred with dread and won the day. She tapped out a brief reply and then a text, and turned to Dougie.
Focus , she told herself sternly. One bombshell at a time .
“Now I’m all ears.”
She studied his face, smiling at the mix of righteous anger and journalistic glee at the scent of a big story. That had been her not so long ago, and there was nothing like that buzz of adrenaline, the thrill of the chase, the scent of glory.
“You’re right Dougie.” Jodi’s voice was firm. “We can’t allow the press to be silenced, but we have to go about it without getting sued or getting carried away with our own virtue. We’re journalists not activists.”
He thought about that for a minute and nodded. They spent the next half hour discussing how the story could be shaped without bringing down disaster. By the time they’d finished, Dougie’s face was alight with zeal.
“So, I’ll put together the outline of a strategy. Including a risk analysis.”
“Correct,” said Jodi with a smile. “Run it past the board. They don’t like this any more than we do, so make your best case.”
She began gathering up her things. The need to be outside, to feel the fresh air in her lungs and to be moving—somewhere, anywhere, was almost a compulsion.
“Umm...you’re coming back, Jodi, right? Only I’ll have it done this afternoon so you can have a look...”
Jodi picked up her bag. Calm washed through her as she looked around the familiar office. The scene of frantic deadlines, arguments, ideas that zinged off the walls, laughter, and a whole heap of red pens run dry.
“No Dougie. I’m not coming back.”
Exhilaration, or was it hysteria, bubbled up inside her. Throwing her natural caution to the wind was scary.
“The board has appointed a new editor. I’ve been invited to stay on as marketing and social media manager. I’ve decided to graciously decline. And I know you can keep the ship steady until the new editor arrives.”
Dougie closed his open mouth with an audible snap.
“But—” he started. “That is...I mean, who’s the new editor? I was kinda hoping that you would take the job.”
“The new person is perfect,” said Jodi reassuringly. “I never wanted to be editor.”
She watched a group of women exit the clothing store across the street, glance across at the newspaper office, and head into Bean & Co. The grapevine was already at work.
“It’s Frank Perrot, my sister’s ex, and May’s son. He’s turning his back on the Big Apple for smalltown America. And he has plenty of media experience. The only questionable thing Frank’s ever done was marry my sister. And he may live to regret coming back to Temple Mountain, but that, Dougie, is not our problem.”
Jodi smiled at the slightly censorious expression on Dougie’s face.
“Don’t worry, Frank will be a demon editor. Leroy Browning and the Town Council won’t know what hit them. And you’ll do fine, because you have the makings of a great journalist who cares about the truth.”
“Thanks,” said Dougie uncertainly. Jodi could see the dawning excitement in his eyes. “I guess that’s all good then.”
She pushed open the door.
“But wait, Jodi. What are you going to do?”
“Me?” Her eyes danced. “Well, I figure it’s my turn to leave town.”
***
T he former Acting Editor stepped outside into a stiff but mild breeze. She pulled out her hair tie and felt the long locks blow free around her face.
She pulled out her phone and saw that Hattie had already replied to her text.
Ricky’s in the baby room with Jaime. Silas has taken the twins for a long hike & I was desperate for a babysitter so I can finish the sermon. And Alma & her mom have started the next stage of family therapy. Usual chaos.
Jodi smiled. So far, the twins seemed to have settled back into the Beecham family, though she suspected that it would take a while for everyone in the family to heal.
She walked briskly down the main street and turned into the side street. The church and the rectory came into view.
The church doors were open, of course, and Jodi inhaled the familiar smell of furniture polish and damp coats and musty corners. Her feet echoed on the wooden floor as she passed through the sanctuary to the small space just off the vestry known fondly as the baby room.
And what are you expecting from this little heart-to-heart? You sent Ricky Sharp away, quite rightly too. Totally unreliable. He hid the truth.
Jodi shook off the snaky voice. This was a simple tidying up of loose ends, she told herself. A proper farewell between colleagues before Lieutenant Ricky Sharp headed back to his old unit in Far Rockaway—which, according to the local grapevine, was anytime soon.
The Fire Chief, it seemed, had decided that replacing the fire hoses in the town’s ageing fleet of fire trucks was a priority, given the recent spate of arson. The staff budget had been slashed accordingly.
Bubbles the boodle was about to have free rein.
Jodi reached the doorway. She stood there, suddenly unsure.
Since the night that the twins had been found, there had been no text or calls, simply silence. Sally Lett had handled all communications between the media and the town council.
“Stay there, Ricky! No get up!” Jaime’s small voice was emphatic.
Ricky was lying on his back on the none-too-clean carpet, pinned down by a growing pile of soft toys and wooden bricks. He nudged a pink bunny away from his chin.
“I’m stuck!” he gasped. “Help, Jaime!”
Jodi laughed. Startled, Ricky glanced towards the doorway. His eyes widened.
“Shit, sorry,” he muttered, trying to rise.
Jaime immediately sat down on his chest and tried to whack him with the bunny. “Shit,” she repeated loudly, adding another bang for good measure. “Ricky, shit.”
He laid back with a groan.
Jodi shook her head. “That’s what you get for cursing in front of children,” she said lightly.
Ricky carefully lifted the child off his chest and demonstrated his impressive six-pack by rising up in one smooth motion.
“I’ll never be asked to babysit again,” he said wryly.
Jodi nodded. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was afraid he would hear it.
“I wanted to...” Her composure threatened to desert her but she battled on. “I wanted to thank you for believing me, and for believing in the boys. They are a bit wild, but they’ve found the family they need in the Beechams. The county has ruled against their father’s application and given the go-ahead for the adoption.”
Ricky nodded. “That’s brilliant. Yeah. Thanks for telling me.” He looked down and swiftly removed a crayon from Jaime’s mouth. “Quit that, honey.”
He threw Jodi a tentative smile. “I’m heading off soon, got the go-ahead to rejoin my unit. But I guess you already knew that. Probably even before I did.”
Jodi gave a modest shrug. “Well. Can’t beat the local grapevine.” She looked him over. “You’ll need a haircut.”
He scraped a palm over his bristly chin. “I have let myself go a bit.”
Talk about sparkling repartee, thought Jodi despairingly. They were like strangers, polite strangers chatting at the bus stop. She closed her eyes.
“Ricky...”
She opened her eyes again and saw the same longing in his face. The space between them seemed to shrink, as though an invisible cord was tugging them closer.
This wouldn’t do, not at all, thought Jodi. She sat down abruptly on a tiny wooden chair. Jaime walked over and dumped an armful of toys in her lap.
“Thanks, baby,” Jodi said with a smile. She tapped the child’s smooth cheek with her finger, wondering at the exquisite perfection of downy skin, the curve of cheek, and the trust in the child’s dark eyes.
“You’ve found a family too, sweetheart,” she said gently. She looked up and saw something flash across Ricky’s face.
“What about you Jodi?”
His voice was quiet, but his eyes searched hers, and the intimacy of his gaze, of the question, was piercing. Jodi’s automatic response, a throwaway line about being a grown-up woman with more than enough family responsibilities, thank you very much, died in her throat.
This , her brain and her heart and her body cried out in unison, this was what it was to be truly seen by another human. It was beyond romance or desire or flirtation . It asked, no, it demanded, that she let this man inside the prickly, proud carapace around her heart. That she see his wounds, too .
Before she could speak, he was at her side, gently pulling her to her feet.
“I have a family.”
She tried to laugh it off, acutely aware of the gentle pressure of his hands on hers. His eyes were so dark that she could see herself mirrored in their ocean blue depths. Her voice wavered. “And they need me. That’s enough for me.”
Jodi let herself be pulled into his arms, giving in to the deep yearning which pounded through her veins and colored her cheeks. They stood, thigh to thigh, hips almost touching, the broad expanse of his chest hard against her soft breasts.
Her lips grazed across the warm exposed skin of his neck, and she felt the rumble of desire that reverberated through him. His grip tightened.
“Is it?” he asked gravely. He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. “And what if I need you, Jodi Ruskin? But don’t worry, I don’t.”
Her eyes widened. He leaned forward and kissed her outraged face, beginning with her nose, then both cheeks, her forehead, and ending with her lips. For a second Jodi was tempted to demand an explanation, but the kiss was so darn amazing that she lost track entirely.
He pulled back a little.
“Mmmm?” said Jodi, and he laughed at the dazed satisfaction on her face.
“Okay, I do need you, just a bit. But I love you. Every little bit of your beautiful body and the cute way you twist your hair when you’re nervous and the way your eyes flash when you get fired up. And that little gasp when I kiss you, like your stomach is doing flip flops.”
Jodi blinked. “Ummm.”
And who says that communications degree was wasted?
He kissed her again and pushed back a long blond curl which had gone rogue.
“And in case you’re thinking that I’m simply after your body, I love your mind, your crazy brilliant brain, and that stubborn determination to do the right thing, whatever it takes.”
“Okay.” Jodi knew this was a totally inadequate answer, but Ricky seemed satisfied for the moment.
Something niggled at the back of her mind. She had something to tell him.
Oh yeah .
She traced her fingers down the side of his face, vaguely aware that Jaime, tired of being ignored, was trying to climb Ricky like a tree.
“The board has appointed a new editor, and I’ve declined their offer to stay,” she said. “Just this morning. Ms. Dependable just became Ms. Impulsive. I’m...considering my options.”
Her thoughts flew to her carefully reworked resume and to the emails she would send that night to Manhattan. To the land of Italian coffee machines and firefighters who breakfasted at dawn in a tucked-away café in Far Rockaway.
She dragged her mind back on track back. There was more. Her stomach tightened. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure, not at all, about what she wanted to say.
“Good,” said Ricky. He reached down and hoisted Jaime up with one arm. He leaned over and kissed Jodi. “Better than good. Exceptional.”
Jodi laughed. Her big romantic moment and here was a two-year-old right in the middle. Which reminded her of the only other elephant in the room. Kind of a biggie.
“Your little girl...” she said tentatively. “You didn’t find her after all.”
Ricky delivered a smacking kiss on Jaime’s cheek. “No, I didn’t. But all that anger I had, all that rage, was about me, not about my child. I can’t believe that I wanted to rip her away from her family, just to make me happy.”
He nuzzled the child’s neck and inhaled a lungful of sweet baby.
“I’ll have to wait for Lioba. She’ll come looking one day, my daughter, and I’ll be there waiting.”
“That’s an unusual name. Lioba.” Jodi’s voice was soft. “I looked it up. You do know what it means?”
He shrugged.
“It means ‘beloved’.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Jodi stroked the small smooth arm as Jaime cuddled into Ricky’s shoulder.
“Shit, Ricky,” Jaime mumbled.
Jodi gave an unladylike snort. “Boy, are you going to be in trouble with mommy and daddy.” She swallowed. Her throat was raw. “Jaime,” she said softly. The little hand gripped her finger in response.
Jodi gazed at Ricky, who stiffened at the sudden tension in the air.
“Did you know that before Jaime came to the Beechams as a foster child, that her parents had both died, quite tragically?”
Jodi watched Ricky’s face as he nodded. He hefted the little girl onto his other shoulder, and patted her back until she snuggled in again. “I did,” he said briefly.
Jodi paused. Words trembled inside her, ready to pour out, yet they were dangerous, difficult words and she didn’t know if they were hers to say. Perhaps silence was best, at least in the short term.
A small voice in the back of her mind cut through the sudden dillydallying. For God’s sake, haven’t she learned anything about not keeping secrets? Did she think she was the Almighty, dispensing justice and truth?
Ricky’s gaze narrowed.
“Okay,” she began. “But you probably didn’t know that Jaime was adopted as a newborn. The couple who died were not her biological parents.”
Ricky stared. The blood drained from his face.
“Jaime,” he said softly, wonderingly.
Jodi smiled through the tears which hovered on her eyelashes, threatening to destroy the careful art of mascara and eyeliner. And the lipstick, a glorious pink for freedom, was also clearly under threat.
“Jaime,” she whispered. “It means beloved.”
***