Chapter 17
Chapter 17
J ones had a hard time falling asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured little Carol lying in her sister’s bed, the combined weight of grief and family exclusion bowing her little shoulders. Tender hearted as he was, he felt her pain, even though it had happened so many years ago. Reaching for the remote on his nightstand, he pushed a button, playing his go-to comfort music. His eyes finally drifted closed when he heard a muffled female voice float through the wall.
“David.”
His eyes flapped open. “Yes, Carol.”
“Are you listening to Celine Dion?”
He hit the button on his remote so he could be truthful when he answered, “Absolutely no.”
There was an echoing silence, and then the sound of muffled laughter, hearty and deep, with a snort thrown in for good measure.
“Carol,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, hiccupping to get her giggles under control.
“Shaddup.”
Her laughter started again, and this time when Jones fell asleep, he was smiling.
T he next morning he woke with the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead.
“I could have killed you four times by now. You’re slipping, Jonesie.”
“Geroff,” Jones mumbled, giving him a shove. “Why you?”
“Cause I’m the best,” Ribs said, tucking the gun back into his pack. On closer inspection it was not a gun, but rather a mini flashlight.
Jones made a disgusted little grunt. It wasn’t true Ribs was the best, mostly because they were all that good. And they all had their own specialties. Before he could respond further, Ribs took a leap, landing hard on the bed beside him. Jones eyed him with horror.
“Dude, no. What is happening? This isn’t a sleepover. Get out of my bed. So many levels of guy code broken at this moment.”
“Eh, twenty hour flight,” Ribs groaned, rubbing his eyes. Jones knew the feeling well, a combination of exhaustion and desiccation, as if the airline had found a way to secretly suck all moisture from your body as the flight progressed. “Give me the rundown here. What’s up?”
“What did Ridge tell you?” Jones asked.
“That you got in a spot of trouble and needed a hand.”
Jones let out a relieved breath.
“And that a woman is involved.” Ribs tossed him a grin. “Is she hot? I bet she’s hot. You got all befuddled and mangled it. Don’t worry, Jonesie, your wingman is here. Unless she’s uber hot, then dibs.”
Jones groaned and rubbed his own eyes. Next door, the shower started.
“Ah, man, I should have peeked in while she was sleeping,” Ribs lamented.
“She’s not hot,” Jones snapped. He realized that, as usual and like the rest of their team, Ribs was merely trying to get to him. Why it was working was a bigger mystery. By now Jones had become impervious to their teasing. Maybe it was being away from them for so long. Maybe he’d lost teasing immunity.
Ribs’s face pulled into a grimace. “She’s an uggo? Janky teeth? Stank breath? Lumpy bod?”
“Why are you talking like we’re in the middle of filming a rap video where they’re dubbing all the filthy words for outdated clean ones?” Jones asked.
Ribs snorted and nudged him with an elbow. “Come on, what’s up? I need fair warning if I have to try and control my reaction to her hideousness. How’s this?” He pressed his lips together and tipped his head, mimicking a grave reserve that could not be faker.
“She’s not ugly. She’s cute. But she’s…she’s so…” He broke off, trying to find a proper descriptor for Carol’s aggravating nature. “She’s the type of person who has to grow on you.”
“What’s that mean?” Ribs asked. “She crazy? Cause you know I like crazy.”
“She’s…she’s so… She’s so Carol ,” he finished, sighing.
“Carol? Like Christmas Carol?” Ribs said.
“As if she’s never heard that one before,” Jones said, jostling him. “Grow up.”
Next door the shower finished. They listened as the hair dryer began and then, a while later, the door wrenched open.
“She’s fast,” Ribs said.
“She’s low maintenance on the looks front,” Jones said. Carol was a no-nonsense person. Her hair was an easy style and if she wore makeup, he couldn’t tell. So far the most he’d seen her do was apply copious amounts of lip balm and sunscreen.
“Ugly,” Ribs said, nodding knowledgably.
“She’s not,” Jones said, with no idea why he suddenly felt so defensive on Carol’s behalf. A day ago he couldn’t stand her. Now he felt…protective. But maybe that was it; he’d brought this calamity upon her and it was now his job to see her through.
“Let’s go see,” Ribs said in a tone that meant he was up to no good. In other words, his usual tone. Jones wanted to caution him one more time to tread carefully, to give her space. But he wasn’t sure how he’d take it. Sometimes Ribs did the opposite of what he was told, “sometimes” meaning when he was awake.
They stepped into the kitchen together. Carol whirled to face them, eyebrows shooting high on first sight of Ribs. Jones couldn’t tell what Ribs’s face looked like and didn’t want to know. The odd protective feeling toward Carol had intensified. He didn’t want to have to be mad at his friend on her behalf.
“Carol, this is Ribs. He was sent to help us. Ribs, Carol.” Jones waved halfheartedly between them. He was certain his manners were lacking in the introduction, but he was also certain he didn’t care.
“Oh,” Carol said, eyes as bright and sharp as her tone. Jones cringed inwardly, waiting for her to put Ribs on blast in some way. Then about swallowed his tongue when she stepped forward and hugged him. Tightly. Ribs looked questioningly down at Jones over the top of her head. There was no question of returning her hug because she had his arms pinned to his sides. Jones shrugged, torn between befuddlement and resentment. Carol didn’t seem like the hugging type. Also, why did Ribs get hugs and he hadn’t?
“Thank you,” Carol said, giving him one more squeeze before letting go and stepping back. She beamed up at him. “You must have had a long, exhausting flight. Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” Ribs said, returning her grin.
“I’m hungry, too,” Jones inserted pitifully.
“Of course you are,” Carol said, waving her hand at him without turning to look. Her offhand, dismissive manner told him he mattered to her as much as an interfering gnat. “Are eggs okay?”
“Perfect,” Ribs answered because, once again, the conversation had been directed to him.
“Eggs are fine for me, too,” Jones added pointedly. Carol finally looked at him, cute little nose wrinkled. But it was Ribs who spoke.
“Simmer down, Jonesie. What’s got your hackles up?”
“He’s always like this,” Carol noted, as if Jones wasn’t standing right there between them like an interfering toddler.
“Jonesie? No way,” Ribs said. “He’s the sweetest guy I know.”
“David? No way,” Carol said, turning her speculative gaze on him. “Hmm, you couldn’t tell it by me.”
“Hadn’t you better get to work on breakfast, Sweetie ?” he said and waited for the snap back. Then Ribs would know what he’d been dealing with, exactly why he was so short-tempered and out of patience. The woman was a menace. But, like the menace she was, she smiled sweetly and agreed.
“And so I should. You two sit tight. This will only take a minute.” She whirled toward the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. Meanwhile Ribs thumped Jones in the chest. Hard.
What’s wrong with you? he mouthed.
Me? It’s not me. It’s her. She is making me crazy. You have no idea. She’s the human equivalent of having a toothpick jammed in your eyeball, Jones mouthed in return.
Ribs blinked at him. What?
So maybe he should have stuck with a shoulder shrug instead of a rant-laced, mouthed paragraph. He shrugged now and they sat.
“Anything we can do?” Ribs asked, as if he’d ever set foot in a kitchen before or had any idea of what to do in one. Ribs’s idea of gourmet was eating inside McDonald’s instead of getting takeout.
“No, I’m fine, thank you. I could do this in my sleep,” Carol said. The two men watched her pivot gracefully around the small kitchen, making whatever she was doing look as effortless and easy as breathing. Deftly, she cracked eggs into a bowl and added salt.
“Are you making omelets?” Jones asked, his mouth already watering.
“Yes, I am,” Carol said.
“I’m out of cheese,” he noted.
“Omelets don’t have cheese in them,” she said.
“Of course they do. I’ve never had an omelet without cheese,” he said.
“Then you’ve never had an omelet,” she countered.
Ribs snickered.
Jones pinched his nose. “Omelets have cheese, Carol. It’s sort of the universally accepted mode of omelet production that they have cheese.”
“No, it’s the American idea of omelets. French omelets do not have cheese.”
“You hate America,” Jones accused.
“I love America, but I also know there’s more to life than processed food,” Carol said.
“I don’t like omelets without cheese,” Jones said. Even to his own ears he sounded pouty and petulant.
“Then I guess you won’t be eating,” Carol said in the stern tone that set his teeth on edge. She resumed her task and Jones gave Ribs a pointed look. You see what I’m dealing with here.
Ribs shook his head at him. What is wrong with you?
A few minutes later he forgot his annoyance. Coincidentally it was the same moment Carol set a fluffy, buttery yellow, perfectly rolled omelet in front of him, with a side of perfectly cubed little squares of fruit.