Chapter 8
Jamie decided not to cash in the meal deal and paid the dinner check, leaving the server a decent tip. Maybe he”d save the coupon for another time. Maybe not. He liked this new place and would probably be back. There is no use starting off looking like a cheapskate.
Standing, he buttoned his suit coat and inspected the table, ensuring he hadn”t left anything. Feeling in a pocket for his keys and satisfied it was all good, he turned and surveyed the dining room.
The new restaurant was off to a great start. It was fully seated to capacity, and the busy wait staff zipping around the room hinted at a productive evening. Things looked promising for Moon Shadow, Dare Gulch”s newest foodie sensation.
While eying up the easiest route for departure, he thought, This wasn”t so bad—I”m glad I came out tonight, when a burst of laughter drew his attention.
His head turned automatically. A couple seated several tables away to his right were engaged in what appeared to be a lively conversation. The woman had her back to him, so he checked out her dinner companion—quickly assessing that he wasn”t someone Jamie knew. He concluded that he wasn”t Justice.
Prepared to dismiss someone he wasn”t socially obligated to interact with and move along, he was about to take a step when the woman”s laugh stopped him dead. She turned to the side momentarily, giving him a clear view of her profile.
Oh my fucking god. It”s Rebecca. Rebecca Tate.
He would have made a hasty retreat if he was a smart man.
Unfortunately, his feet did not cooperate.
Instead of getting the fuck out of there, Jamie took several steps sideway andfroma shadowed corner, homed in on her.
Her hair was down, and it was gorgeous. Rebecca”s workday usually involved hats, hairbands, and messy buns. Her hair was pulled back and secured even when she wasn”t working.
The first time he saw her hair down, she”d been glammed up and impeccably attired for one of Sophie”s pre-wedding parties. He remembered not being prepared for the walloping he got seeing her in a completely different way.
She had been softer, less cantankerous. Enthralled by her simple beauty, his eyes followed her the whole night.
There were more times after that, and each opportunity allowed Jamie to experience the lady”s allure.
Tonight, though, her allure was not for him. Her hair was down for another man.
Eyes narrowing, he studied Rebecca”s date. He wore a black shirt topped by a black vest. It irked him that she looked so damn beautiful, but the guy she was with couldn”t be bothered to suit up.
Sudden tension in his shoulders brought Jamie up short. A quick body diagnostic left him shaken. His shoulders were tight, his heart rate was up, and his gut roiled.
What the goddamn fuck.
Rebecca”s happy laugh got inside him—coiling around his nerves and squeezing until he forced fresh oxygen into his lungs.
Jamie understood desire. And he also understood envy. But he”d never experienced jealousy until now.
No, no, no, no, no. Not Rebecca Tate.
Eyes ablaze, he took another long look and instantly regretted it.
Letting her hair down was only the beginning. The dress she wore left her neck and shoulders exposed, and seeing her pale skin made him wet his lips.
When she shifted to one side, he was pretty sure from the way her breasts swayed that she was not wearing a bra.
That was it. Rebecca Tate”s personal life was none of his fucking business. He had to leave before embarrassing himself.
With the stealthy finesse of an escape artist, Jamie made his way from the main dining room through the lounge bar before finally reaching the exit doors. Keeping his eyes averted to discourage potential exchanges with anyone, he pushed on the double doors and stepped into the night. Inhaling deeply, his lungs filled with desert scents—sagebrush, juniper, and the distinct smell of the red, mineral-rich dirt synonymous with Sedona.
Ordinarily, it was calming to connect with nature.
Why wasn”t it working?
Handing his parking ticket to the valet, Jamie moved off to the side, out of the way, to wait for his truck. Though it only took a few minutes, he was ready to jump out of his skin when it pulled to the curb.
Tipping the parking attendant and mumbling a positive comment about his experience at the new eatery, he hurried to strap in and start driving.
At first, he drowned out his thoughts with the radio. It worked for a few minutes—long enough to leave the little village behind and turn toward Bendover.
When the road was his alone, he eased up a little bit. Then, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap came on. The ferocious rhythm got him. His head began to bob. Though tame by most standards, the aggressive song did nothing for his state of mind.
Stabbing the radio button, the sound system went silent. He didn”t need any more external stimulation while his careening emotions did such a thorough job of jacking his feelings up.
”Dude, get a grip,” he grumbled.
If only it were that simple.
Jamie knew he was overreacting. Everyone had a personal life—even Rebecca. It shouldn”t bother him—but it did.
With impeccable timing, his conscience snickered, ”Maybe if you”d been less of a dick to her, you wouldn”t be on the outside looking in.”
”Shut up.”
For the remainder of the drive, he told himself a bunch of lame half-truths about his over-the-top reaction to the comely, stable manager so effortlessly rattling his titanium cage.
Rolling down his window as he drew the truck to a slow stop at the Villa”s security gate, he went through the motions, chatting up the armed detail on duty.
Was it cool and ironic that he lived in an impressive security bubble?
Fuck yeah. Robbie and Nora found the arrangement hilarious—each expressed a desire to visit, if only for a chance to experience Justice World.
”Have a pleasant evening, sir,”the guard responsible for logging gate activity said as he waved Jamie on.
Did he like being addressed as sir? Another fuck yeah. A funny and intentionally ironic fuck yeah, but still.
Impatient for his home”s privacy, he nonetheless drove the speed limit and pulled down his driveway a few minutes later.
The second he was on the other side of the door and his keys in the basket bowl, Cat wound around his ankles, begging for attention.
Picking her up, he settled the purring kitten on his shoulder and fixed himself a stiff drink.
* * *
Pywakett jumpedinto Becca”s arms thirty seconds after she shut the door and dropped her keys in the bowl.
”Hey, what”s up?”
The black cat she and Kori shared with Domineau Rivera answered with a throaty purr. Ordinarily, the finicky feline with the reputation for shredding people she did not care for preferred a small handful of people—everyone else she merely tolerated. Grateful for the affectionate moment, she cuddled Py and walked into the living room, expecting to find her daughter on the sofa.
”Kori?”she called into the empty room.
”In here, Mom.”
”Where”s here?”
”The kitchen.”
”Kids,”she muttered to the cat, who suddenly wanted down.
Becca looked at the baking carnage, noted the round carton of oats, and made a quick assumption. ”Oatmeal cookies?”
Kori proudly handed over a round cookie with perfectly browned edges”Oatmeal walnut and gold raisins. Yum. Try one.”
”Mmm. Mmm. Chewy. Not too sweet.”
”Shh,”her daughter laughed. Don”t tell, but I substituted dates for half the sugar.”
Smiling, chewing, and nodding, Becca praised the worthy effort and asked, ”Is this a new recipe?”
”Yeah, yeah. Picked it up on social media.”
”Kori,”she instantly growled.”Social media? I thought we had an understanding about that whole thing.”
”Don”t spaz out, Mom. Mr. Finn and his brother supervised. They were at the Double M to fix something while I was working in the Kids’ Zone. I got a chance to talk to Finn and he asked my opinion about some dunkers he”s testing for the restaurant.”
”Dunkers? I”m not familiar.”
Kori chuckled. ”A dunker is like biscotti—something to enjoy with coffee or tea.”
”Oh, I get it.”
”We watched the cookie-baking video together. No swear words, gratuitous violence, or porn.”
”I”ll allow it because you used gratuitous correctly.”
In her head, Becca thought, ”And Finn O”Brien knows I”d throat punch him if he opened my budding teenager”s social media lockbox.”
Keeping the kids away from all that crap was a full-time worry. Letting an impressionable mind wheel freely online without direct adult supervision is the first step on the road to hell.
Yeah, that”s what I said.
Kindly fuck off if you don”t like my parenting.
”How was your dinner?”Kori asked as she bustled about pretending to clean up. ”Was the place nice?”
”It was very grown up. Not a place for jeans and a T-shirt. It was also expensive—but worth it,”she hastily added. ”Female chef!”
”Girls rock!”Kori beamed and threw her hand up for an enthusiastic high five.
”I had the seared scallops in brown butter and lemon sauce.”
”Were capers involved?”Kori asked satirically.
”Don”t you know it,”Becca confirmed with a laugh.
She considered pitching in to help Kori clean up but nixed the idea, pleading wardrobe considerations as her out. Her short, sexy dress with spaghetti straps was not designed for housework, and that”s all the excuse she needed.
Instead of helping, she filled the kettle and turned it on. It was too late for coffee, so her next best option was a nice cup of tea.
”Did Mrs. Marshall get dressed up too?”Kori asked from the sink where she rinsed bowls and kitchen tools.
”That was the idea,”Becca answered lightly. ”Her makeup was perfect. I can”t wear red lipstick, but enjoy it on someone else.”
”I”m glad you guys had a good time.”
Where was the privacy boundary? It took some ruminating before deciding whether to tell Kori about Pheebs.
”Holly had to leave early, so she missed dessert.”
”Why?”
”Phoebe”s dad called. It seems she got her period and needed her mom.”
”What?”Kori screeched. ”The red scourge? Did she freak out?”
Not wanting to divulge too much, she shrugged. ”Maybe a little. Her parents are on it, though.”
Becca heard the sadness in her daughter”s voice when she said, ”They”re a good team—the Marshalls. Pheebs loves them both so much. She says it”s nice that they get along and don”t hate each other.”
Hit me with a direct shot, why don”t you? she thought with a pang of guilt before the song reference reminded her of Jamie Hunter”s feline roommate.
Thinking about the testy doctor had an unexpected effect on her. Not unsurprisingly, her initial reaction was a strong desire to kick him in the butt. Hard. And then run away because she wasn”t stupid.
Her second reaction was similar.
And then a fire hose sent a showering torrent of unwanted thoughts straight to the core of her emotions.
What happened next?
Her nipples peaked—something her braless state and slinky dress made apparent.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she thought, Seriously?
Surely, these fantasies were an aberration. Right? They had to be because, ugh. Not Jamie Hunter.
Ooh, or maybe her salacious mindset could be attributed to hormones. Entirely possible, she thought grumpily. After all, it was that time in her cycle when anything could happen.
Taking her tea into the living room, she kicked off her shoes and reached for the remote. Kori had been streaming episodes of Dr. Who. Her interest in the adventures of the eccentric extraterrestrialwas entirely thanks to another doctor. Dr. James Hunter.
Fuck my life.