C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (9 page)

“I don’t know Jemma well, C. I don’t think anyone does. But that’s because she’s wanted it that way.” She studied her fingertips before continuing. “I guess in my mind, I always figured some man had done her wrong, so to speak. There was just an air of—of shame about her. Or maybe it was guilt. Something didn’t add up, but I was so young and involved in my own problems and it wasn’t long before I had no right to be pointing a finger at anyone else’s sexual misdeeds.”

She stole a glance in T’s direction and some silent affirmation passed between the two of them. C felt a pang of jealousy for the closeness they shared but quickly shoved it to the back of his heart.

“If you’re going to be pushing into her carefully defined world, you’d better be in it for the long haul. With the exception of BCA, I don’t recall hearing of anything you’ve ever done for longer than a month. You’d better examine your motives very clearly because she’s too nice a woman for the likes of you to go messing with.”

He leaned over the counter. “And don’t you think that’s what everyone here said about you and T?”

“That’s precisely what some of them said.”

“And you proved them wrong.”

“But I don’t think your motives are pure.”

“And his were?” He stuck a thumb in T’s direction.

“They got that way in a hurry.”

“Well, just watch mine!”

T leaned in beside C. “Don’t worry. We will.”

***

Jemma snapped the lock into place at Norm’s gate and stepped onto the running board of the SUV. She looked back at the wooded area and imagined the peaceful expanse of ponds and fields on the other side. An idea briefly surfaced in her mind, but she ignored it.

There was but one road in to Norm’s place and, unfortunately, she’d have to pass by the Quik-Lee in order to get back to town. What if C were sitting on the curb with his thumb stuck out? What would she do? Was he her responsibility to take to his car so he could rid the area of himself? What would she tell her Sunday school kids to do? Oh, she hated it when she put a question to herself that way!

She twisted her lips in thought and knew what must be done.

There were three cars parked in front and a pickup at the gas pump when she wheeled into the Quik-Lee. Shep was busy being the center of attention of Harrison and friends where the school bus had let them out near the corner. Surely, C wouldn’t still be here in the midst of all this.

Jemma parked on the side and rang back a “hello”
to the chorus of kids. Three of them she’d see at 9:30 Sunday morning, so her conscience was further pricked that she was doing what she should by stopping and going in. He was probably already back in town, courtesy of T.

But no. She heard him before she saw him. Or at least she heard the commotion.

The piccolo’s high pitch dominated the noise. Above the squeals and whispers of the teenage girls who crowded two to a stool at the counter, there were the chords of T’s guitar and the notes of C’s piccolo. They sat behind the counter on the barstools, facing each other, facing off with the music. The song would stop and start, end differently each time, only to begin over at some unnamed point and run to a different conclusion. They were doing it over and over and their audience wasn’t tiring of it.

Jemma spotted Lyla at the state lottery desk in the back. She was sorting out the forms, checking the pencils for points. Lyla lifted her head and Jemma joined her.

“Come to pick up your wayward charge, or merely making sure he’s not dead?”
“I guess a bit of both.” She shot a quick glance at the counter, then studied the tips of her shoes. “What—what did he say about why he walked back?”

“Just that he’d been rude and you’d pitched him out.”

Jemma shrugged. “That about sums it up.” She looked at Lyla, but her friend avoided her eyes, turning to straighten the shelves instead.

“Lyla, is there something else?”
“Not really.” She turned quickly to Jemma, as if she’d say it before she lost her nerve. “Okay, there is.” She took a deep breath, ignored T as he called her to come see if she
finally
liked the score. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Jemma, and it’s not that I don’t care, but there are some things that just have to take their course.” She touched Jemma’s hand. “Be careful, sweetie. Be very, very careful.”

“If I wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t have shown up on foot.”

“But you’re here to give him a ride back into town.”

“Lyla!”

“In a minute, Sam.” She turned back to Jemma and the brothers started an
a cappella
version of “For You, Love,” the song that T had fought with Lyla over and finally won. The teens heaved a collective sigh.

“I can take care of myself, Lyla.”

“I think I used that same terminology a year ago. And I couldn’t. At first it was emotional, then spiritual, then finally a physical assault I couldn’t ignore and, God help me, I didn’t want to.” She took Jemma’s hands and held them loosely. “I really don’t think you have anything to fear from him physically. He has too much pride for that. But emotionally, Jemma, he’ll take you for all you’re worth, and I don’t think there’s much return for your investment.”

Jemma looked to the front of the store. BCA’s charismatic lead singers were in their element, no matter how small the audience. Harrison and crew had joined them, squeezing in between the girls or standing at the end of the counter and gyrating in a pre-adolescent parody of what the girls would take seriously. The whole scene threatened to become a giggle-fest as C swiped at Harrison and lifted him to the countertop, only egging him on further.

“I’d better put a stop to this.” Lyla resumed the role of mother/store owner and marched to the front.

Jemma followed her slowly, not knowing whether to try and catch C’s eye or not. She needn’t have worried. He was involved in a new version of the pied piper, piccolo raised now, leading the entire contingent in a conga line out the back door.

“We’ll see he gets back to town.”

“Thanks, Lyla.”

For the life of her, she couldn’t explain her disappointment.

***

“So what are your plans?” T idled the sports car’s engine in the Lake Country parking lot. There were three other cars there beside C’s Porsche.

C tapped the piccolo on his knee and studied the vehicles. “I guess I’m flying out to LA tonight. Look up Abby. See if I can get back in her good graces and anywhere else she’ll have me.” He leered in T’s direction. “Then see you Monday at the studio to begin rehearsals for the awards show.” He turned to T, set his jaw. “But if you’re asking what are my immediate plans—am I going in to see Jemma…” He let his voice trail off. “Maybe I’d better take a spin around the block on that one first.”

“Maybe you just ought to drive on out of town because I don’t think you’ll be wanting to come back.”

“Not after Abby gets hold of the good thing she let get away, huh?”

“That and not after you think about what we said. Jemma’s not to be screwed with.”

“Could you put that a little more plainly?” He tripped the door latch and set one foot out on the gravel.

“Probably. Do I need to?”

“No. I think I have a clear understanding of the Lyla and T rules.” He lifted the piccolo in salute, laid it on the seat. “Believe this is yours.” He got out of the car. “Don’t worry about me, brother.”

“Trust me, it’s not you I’m worried about.”

C slapped the roof of the car as it drove off. He started to the Porsche, veered off and entered Lake Country.

There was a couple seated at Carolyn’s desk, and she was involved in a deep discussion of maps and school districts with them. The door to Jemma’s office was cracked. C ignored Carolyn’s feeble hand-halt and went on in.

Jemma was on the phone and her eyes widened as he entered. He quietly closed the door behind himself and took the chair across from her.

Her conversation seemed to center on one of three sets of property. Photos of houses and trees, a lake setting, a county map were spread out before her and she shuffled between them.

Her tone continued unchanged. When it came time for her to listen, she finally let her eyes wander to his face. It took considerable self-restraint not to blow her a kiss, but instead Eddie C acknowledged her with a slightly raised brow.

While she conducted her business, he studied the ceiling tiles and the paneling, his mind racing to form itself into the words he needed when she was off the phone. For a man as glib of tongue as he had always been, the problem came not in knowing what to say, but in knowing why. And the why had rarely bothered him before.

He finally leaned forward, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands. Her voice continued softly and lent a perfect background to his thoughts. Why was this his fourth trip to her office? Was it because she had proven so cold the first time? Was it merely the challenge—and to be honest, no sex for the past two weeks—that had his blood going? Would a kiss and a quick hard hot tumble with Abby finally end this wayward desire he seemed to be feeling for a one-woman icebox? What had there been in the first touch of his lips to hers, before she’d gone as limp as a rag doll, that was firing his ardor even now and making him want to find a spot of privacy for a bit of manual relief?

As if she read his mind, the phone clicked and he heard her shift in her desk chair. “Mr.—Charles?”

Well, at least that was a good sign. He supposed. She hadn’t immediately dialed 911. And she had shown up at the Quik-Lee. He lifted his face out of his hands.

“I, ah, I came to apologize.” Well, those were words he didn’t usually say and where had they come from anyway? He certainly hadn’t been consciously thinking them. Perhaps it was the sadness about her eyes that had prompted them.

“That’s unnecessary. I suppose I should apologize also.”

Hmm
. Perhaps a little cooling off time had helped both of them. Not that that meant he could go leaping across the desk, much as her lips seemed to be inviting him.

“The walk didn’t kill me.”

She didn’t answer that the kiss didn’t kill her, but he thought it would have been a perfect counterpoint. Instead, she smiled. “I still owe you a tour of Norm’s farm.”
He was tempted, he genuinely was. If he behaved himself, T need never know he’d stayed longer this afternoon. But, no. Being in her company wasn’t what he needed. He needed Abby and relief.

“Perhaps another time. I have to get back to the coast.” He clasped his hands in front of himself, studied them. “Jemma.”

He raised his eyes to hers. She sat perfectly still. The green flecks switched to gold and back again with each blink. She inclined her head as if to prompt him. He knew what he wanted to say, knew that the words he wanted to utter had the potential to open a rift between himself and T that would take more than a simple apology to fix. But then, T had hardly considered BCA when he’d begun his ill-fated, as far as C was concerned, pursuit of Lyla.

“I don’t plan on coming back.” What emotion was so quickly mirrored in her eyes? What passed there that he couldn’t catch between blinks? Relief that he’d be out of her world—or sadness? Did his ego know no bounds? Not many. “But I have—I have considerable—let’s just say that—I have considerable experience with women and there’s—there’s something between us.” Dear God, he sounded like a schoolboy or a bad romance novel. Still Jemma sat. He’d better make up his mind and set his course before she evicted him again.

“I don’t think there’s any sense of pretense here. We’ve been fairly straightforward with each other from the minute you wanted me out of here.” Now he took control of his emotions and thoughts. He sat up, leaned his hands on the edge of her desk.

“Let me tell you how it is because I thoroughly and completely believe this is the last time we’re seeing each other. I’m going back to LA and look up the girlfriend I should have been nicer to.” She quirked an eyebrow and a small smile tipped the corner of her mouth. “Okay, I should have been nicer to them all, including the one I was married to for a month ten years ago. But I’m going to look up the last one of the lot.”

Now her smile broadened, and deep in the recesses of what heart he had, C knew he didn’t want this to be the last time he saw her. But it had to be. “If she’ll have me back, I’m hers. Lock, stock, marriage, till death do us part, the whole bit.” He waited a second for Jemma’s verbal response, but there wasn’t one. “And I won’t see you again.”

“And if she won’t have you back? Are you going to keep backtracking down that considerable list?”

“I should. But I won’t.” He pinched his lips together. “I’ll be back.”

“I don’t—” she hesitated, “I don’t think that would be a good idea. For you to come back, that is. I don’t think there’s anything between us but an unfortunate incident over a kiss. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.” She stood and extended her hand over the desk.

He stared at it, then rose. Almost reluctantly, he took it in both of his, let his long fingers curl around hers, hid her hand between his palms. “She may not have me. God knows, she shouldn’t.” He rested the fingertips of his right hand over her wrist pulse point and didn’t think her heart usually beat so fast. He knew his didn’t. He had to let her hand go, he had to, before he pulled her to himself and tried to kiss her again. That would never do.

“I’ll give you fair warning, Miss Jemma Lovelace. When and if you see me again, I’m coming courtin’.” He slid his hands from hers, let the tips linger on her palm. “My grandmother would be proud I remembered the term.” He turned abruptly and walked to the door, let himself out.

Chapter Nine

C
settled into the first class seat and adjusted the headset. He eyed the flight attendant, first of all as potential bed partner, then as possible fan. He always got much better service if they knew who he was; usually it was damn solicitous. Of course, if he was going to propose marriage to Abby, he was going to have to cut out the potential bedmate stuff. But, hell, he thought as he admired the trim brunette’s even trimmer backside, he wasn’t engaged yet.