I"m not ashamed to say I took the opportunity to explore, opening the pristine ashtray and the nearly empty—except for a first-aid kit, a tire-pressure gauge, and a flashlight—glove box. I pulled down the sunshade just to see if it worked as smoothly as everything else, and a tiny piece of paper fluttered down.
I held it up to the miserably ineffective dome light and saw that it was cut from the flyer of some Jewish singles" group. I recognized the words from the Bible, the Song of Songs, “
Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where
thou makest thy flock to rest at noon; for why should I be as one that veileth herself
beside the flocks of thy companions
?”
Holding that paper, reading it, made me feel like I"d intruded on something unutterably private. That I"d violated JT in some real and thoughtless way. I carefully replaced it where I"d found it, and pushed the flap back out of the way.
Maybe there was more to JT than met the eye. Certainly the way he"d treated me when I was sick showed a great deal of empathy. Maybe behind a tough job and a cool truck there was a man who felt things deeply, who longed for something lasting and real like the love he believed his parents had had. I wondered if he longed for someone to share his life with and that"s why it was so easy for him to spot the loneliness that led to my own failed instinct for self-preservation.
I started the truck and adjusted the choke, giving it a little nudge with the gas pedal. I was able to figure out the gearshift, so we eased out of the parking space in reverse, and then I took a couple of trips around the parking lot to get used to how she handled. I rubbed my hands over the steering wheel and reveled in the feel of it beneath my fingers before I got on the road, but I drove directly—even though I wanted to keep going all night—to the motel. When I pulled into the parking space outside of my room, I half expected Carl to come out and ask me why I had JT"s truck. I didn"t suppose I had an answer for that.
Even I didn"t really know.
It was kind of an anticlimax when I closed the door behind me to face the silence of my motel room alone. I poured myself a drink of water and got ready for bed, but before I could even finish watching the news, someone was knocking at the door. When I opened it, JT was standing there, and I could see his EMS rig pulling away from the curb just past the office.
“Hi.” He stood there with his hands in his pockets.
“That was quick.”
36
Z. A. Maxfield
“It was a first-time mother with a barking kid. Croup. We didn"t need to transport.”
“No?”
“No. It"s always scary for people when they hear a croupy kid for the first time.
They panic because the kids are scared. The airway narrows, and the situation can become urgent fast. This time it wasn"t.”
I nodded.
He continued, “Moist air helps. Half the time the kids are fine when they get to the hospital, just because of the fog here on the coastline.” He waited patiently. “I guess I should go.”
“You"ll need your keys…” I left him standing at the door while I went to get them, but when I turned around, he"d entered and closed the door behind him.
“Did you enjoy driving my truck?”
“Yes.” I thought I ought to cover my face so he wouldn"t see the pure naked pleasure I had experienced, but instead I shrugged. “But I only drove it from the pier here. I promise.”
“You could have taken it farther than that.” When I handed over the keys, he took my hand with them. I looked up at him. He didn"t do anything else; he just held my hand and said, “I trust you.”
I wondered, briefly, if he was still talking about the truck. He licked his lips and leaned closer. It wasn"t really close enough that I believed he was coming in for a kiss, so I stayed rooted where I was.
JT shook his head and dropped my hand. “Can I tell you something that will sound weird?”
I nodded.
“My dad told me when he first saw St. Nacho"s, he was here because the truck broke down. It was raining hard that day, and as he walked to a coffee shop to wait while they fixed it, he saw a girl without an umbrella. He ran over and held his over her head and asked her where she was going. He said he didn"t think about it or anything. He just…”
I grinned. “Let me guess. That was your mom.”
“Yeah.” JT smiled and looked down at the keys in his hand. “I"ve heard the story a thousand times. He told me she looked up at him to thank him, and hers was the most „familiar face he"d never seen."”
“That"s cool,” I said. Nicer still to know their story had a happily-ever-after, at least as long as she"d lived.
“Dad said that in his whole life he never did anything more important than hold that umbrella over her head.”
I felt something tighten my throat. “That"s probably an exaggeration.” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
37
JT put his keys into his pocket and reached for me, gripping both my shoulders with strong, careful hands. “Maybe that"s how I feel about making sure that you"re all right, though.”
I held my breath.
“Maybe that"s why I want you to go to a support group.” I sighed. “I doubt that your dad was saying he only wanted to keep the rain off her.”
“I know,” he whispered and drew me close enough to kiss. Instead he pressed his cheek to mine and slipped his arms around me, hugging me close. I felt his breath ruffle my hair.
“Are you looking for someone without an umbrella?”
“I"m looking for…” Gently, he pushed away. “I don"t know what I"m looking for.”
My hands were shaking, so I clamped them under my arms where he couldn"t see them tremble. “I hope you find it.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “In the meantime I"d like to see to it that you don"t end up back in the ER. At least not because some guy—”
“I"m stuck here in St. Nacho's for a few days,” I told him. “I"ll use the time to think, all right?”
JT nodded. “What are you doing for breakfast? If you stop by the firehouse at around seven, we can eat together as long as there"s no call.” At last I was on safe ground again. “My friend, by that time I"ll have been working for nearly three hours.”
“You what?”
“It seems that my unplanned arrival in St. Nacho"s is good for something.
You"re looking at the newest employee of Miss Independence Pies.” JT snorted through his nose. “Ms. Jensen"s?”
“Yes, she followed me from the meeting, and we had coffee.”
“I see.”
“I told her why I didn"t want to go to the group. She was very nice. It turns out that she could use some help at the bakery, and I—”
“That will be good.” He laughed. “I"m sorry. I have to go back to work.”
“What"s so funny?”
“Nothing.” JT appeared to get a grip. “I guess nothing.”
“Look…” I opened the door to let him out. I felt like I needed to say something further but didn"t know exactly what. “Thanks. You"re a nice guy for trying to help.” Something flickered in his eyes. It looked like sadness, but it was gone in a second. “That"s me, Mr. Nice Guy.”
38
Z. A. Maxfield
Chapter Six
The moment I entered Miss Independence Pies at three a.m., I realized I"d been played. Not in the nyah-nyah-now-I-gotcha way or anything, but as sure as I was standing there, so were five damn women from the domestic-violence support group, everyone except Alice, and they all waited in silence as I walked through the door. They watched me with wary eyes, and I had the uncomfortable feeling it wasn"t me they were monitoring, but my Y chromosome—as if they thought at any moment it would cause me to leap at one of them and tug out her hair.
“I guess I should introduce myself to
the group
.” I folded my arms. “My name is Jacob Livingston, and I"m a pastry chef.”
A young woman, really no more than a girl, laughed from behind a wall formed by two taller women.
“Welcome,
Jacob
,” she said in a tone of voice that left no doubt she was teasing me. Shoulders parted as she pushed her way forward. She had black hair that hung in her lined eyes and several piercings, including two prominent ones on her lower lip and a nasal septum piercing. Ordinarily I didn"t find piercings attractive, but on her they looked perfect; they made her look like a marmoset with a spiked collar. I tried not to laugh.
“You"re the one who called us victims last night.” I cleared my throat. “Well, technically all I said was that I wasn"t—”
“
Muse
.” Miss Independence herself, Mary Catherine, walked toward me from where she"d been standing by the walk-in freezer. “I thought we talked about letting Yasha get a foot in the door before we alienate him.”
“What kind of a name is Yasha?” One woman frowned. “That"s not a name. It"s a cartoon show.”
I laughed. “I may have given the impression yesterday that I didn"t have a great deal of respect for the—”
“Damn right you did.” A tall blonde woman edged forward. “I, for one, found your insinuation very insulting. Unlike some of the people in that group—”
“Oh, here we go,” said the woman next to the girl called Muse. She had lovely dark hair, and she rippled with indignation. She stood poised with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side, an elegant, dark-eyed beauty with a great face and a body that, if I swung that way, would have made my dick hard.
The blonde woman turned on her. “What did you just say?” St. Nacho’s 3: Jacob’s Ladder
39
“
Candace
, I know we don"t gotta hear all about you being married to an above-it-all physician again, "cause I know for a fact that your nose was reengineered three times, first by your med-school boyfriend and twice by that worthless, wife-beating psycho plastic surgeon you married, and only once in the OR, so don"t tell me I gotta hear it when I"m working.”
“I"m volunteering my time here, Bianca, and if I want to tell Mr. Livingston that not everyone here is—”
“Is what? You"re not immune.” The dark-haired woman called Bianca raised her brows. “Two words, honey:
Nip/Tuck
. Good thing your husband can fix what he breaks.”
Candace narrowed her eyes. “He"s not my husband anymore. And of course I"m not immune. But neither do I have to take this Neanderthal"s inference that I"m some sort of—”
I tried. I tried so fucking hard, but the misuse of
infer
and
imply
is my biggest pet peeve besides…drunk driving or something. “Implication.” She glared at me. “What?”
I didn"t even mind that she had called me a Neanderthal. “The word is
implication
. People switch
imply
and
infer
all the time, but in that sentence you need to use
imply
. But I wasn"t, by the way.”
“Wasn"t what?”
“I wasn"t implying that you were victims or anything of the sort, and we got off on the wrong foot altogether.” I held out my hand for her to shake, and she took it.
“I admit it"s true that my lover beat the hell out of me. That looks really bad, but it isn"t like it happens all the time. I usually don"t let it get that far. I was sick. I couldn"t stop the fight once it escalated, and I think it was just as hard on him as it was on me.”
Even in my own head that sounded completely lame.
Bianca hissed out a breath. “Honey, did you hear yourself just now?”
“
Ladies
,” Mary Catherine quietly warned her off.
“I"m a veteran,” I told them. It was oh-dark-thirty in the morning, and I was gazing at five pairs of eyes that held nothing but sadness and pain.
On my behalf
. “I can take care of myself.”
Muse pushed her way forward. She only came up to my shoulder, and as prickly and spiky as she looked, I still wanted to get her a pretty little rhinestone leash and take her for a walk in the park.
“Dude.” She wrapped tattooed arms around my waist and held on. “It"s okay, man. I can take care of myself too. That doesn"t have anything to do with the power you give away to the people you love.”
Muse smelled exactly like a pumpkin muffin, and whether I liked it or not, in that very same moment she became one of the people I love most in the world. I let her give me a squeeze like a python.
40
Z. A. Maxfield
“Thanks, Muse. I do know that.”
Muse looked around in the small kitchen space and gave a couple of the ladies a hard stare. One of them, who hadn"t spoken at all, seemed to realize I was looking at her, and she dashed through the doors behind the worktables.
“
Play nice
,” Muse told them. I simply shook my head when her attitude subdued even my toughest critics.
* * *
It turned out that Mary Catherine had an eye on expanding her pie empire to include savory pies. While I was there, we drew up a plan based on what she"d need, and my training came in handy as I worked with the ladies for the better part of the morning baking pies.
In the early afternoon we loaded up the van for Mary Catherine to make deliveries. I found out she supplied all the local restaurants and on the weekends took two sets of deliveries out, some as far as Santa Barbara. Eventually she wanted to open a retail store, maybe even a tiny restaurant that would serve baked goods, soups, and sandwiches. It was a safe bet that I could streamline her operation and expand her horizons if I spent any time in St. Nacho"s. When I left by the back door amid a flurry of heartfelt well-wishes, it was also even money she"d expanded mine a little as well.
Because there seemed to be nothing more than the cold comfort of my empty motel room waiting for me back at the SeaView, I decided to explore St. Nacho"s.
Moist air came in off the sea, and I could smell it all around me. I discovered if I closed my eyes, I could hear familiar sounds. Not the surf necessarily, but the gulls and other seabirds and the song of the wind over sand.
I began walking until I knew I was heading in the right direction based on the beach parking signs and the way that the small-town businesses gave way to convenience stores advertising umbrellas, camp chairs, sunglasses, towels, and sunscreen. Each little
tienda
advertised beer and firewood in prominent letters on store windows as spring turned into summer.