Plain Jayne (2 page)

Nick’s wide eyes stared back at her. “Holy shit.”

“I’m …” She pressed her hand against the nearest box and exhaled slowly. “I-I … what the hell is all this?”

Nick lifted a box from the top of the nearest stack, shifted it to his left hip, and sliced open the tape with his pocketknife. Bundles of baby clothes; knitted booties, sleepers, undershirts, and a whole stack of cloth diapers folded in neat squares.

Nick glanced up at Jayne, his brow raised as he whistled softly. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“Very funny.” It was all she could do to shake her head. “Could it be someone else’s stuff?”

“Whose?”

“I don’t know, but why else would she have all of this, and how did she get it all in here?” Her fingers tightened around her phone as she narrowed her glare at Nick.
“And why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Don’t look at me.” He tucked the flaps together and foisted the box back where it came from. “Mom said your gran hadn’t let anyone in here since she closed the place.”

“Someone had to know!”

“Who?” he asked. “Who’d let her do this and not say anything?”

“I don’t know, Nick, but someone had to know something. No sane person has this much crap without it being noticed—especially in this town!”

“Yelling’s not going to help.” He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m tellin’ you, she was the exact same Tilly she always was. The clothes … the hair, the makeup …” His voice dropped. “The shopping bags.”

“Nick!”

“What? She always carried those bags with her, you know that.”

Okay, he had a point.

“Where was she living?”

Nick swallowed hard. “Here.”

“She couldn’t.”

“If she’d moved somewhere else, Mom would’ve told me.”

A tiny shred of hope flickered in her mind. “Then maybe the apartment isn’t like this. Maybe it’s okay.”

Nick didn’t even pretend to look convinced; he just exhaled slowly and squeezed his way through the too-narrow path between the stacks. Jayne moved behind him, keeping her hands
above her head in case something started to fall.

“God almighty.” She gagged into her elbow.
“What is that smell?”

They inched farther until they made it to the stairwell at the back of the store. To the left of the stairs was the tiny space that led to the back door. It was also the space Gran had always used to sort incoming books, but now it was crammed with more crap, and in addition to the deadbolt that had always been there, the back door was now secured with three separate padlocks.

“Don’t suppose you have keys for those?” he asked.

Jayne shook her head and eyed the stairs anxiously. By the looks of it, Gran had trampled herself a path to the top of the thirteen stairs, but to do so, she’d walked over more clothes, more bags, and God only knew what else.

“Oh my God. It’s a wonder she didn’t fall and break her neck.” At the top of those stairs was the tiny one-bedroom apartment Jayne had grown up in; the same one she was supposed to be moving into right this minute. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

Using his foot, Nick pushed everything on the bottom step to the far right, leaving just enough room for them to get their feet flat. He then repeated this twelve more times before they were able to open the door at the top.

“Oh my …” Flies dive-bombed open garbage bags, dirty clothes, papers, and food-encrusted dishes. Plastic Santas, cardboard boxes, tipped-over plants, kitty litter, wicker baskets, boxes of crackers, bread, empty soup cans, rotting vegetables, Elvis bobbleheads … there wasn’t an inch of clear space anywhere. They’d found the smell.

“Watch it.” Nick’s arm shot across her chest, pushing her back a step as a long gray rat darted past them and disappeared into what used to be the living room.

Jayne’s stomach heaved and her knees started to buckle. “I can’t … I … what …”

Nick whipped her around and marched her back down the stairs, making sure the door was closed tight behind him. He half lifted, half pulled her through the mess downstairs until they were outside with the front door locked behind them.

“Oh. My. God.” Jayne managed to make it to the curb before her legs gave out. “Tell me she wasn’t living there with rats.”

Nick shook his head in disbelief but didn’t answer. As he lowered himself to the curb next to her, he wrapped his arm around Jayne’s shoulder. Instead of pulling away like she
normally would have, she closed her eyes and inhaled a long, deep breath of comfort: Gillette Foamy, sunshine, and sawdust.

She’d given up everything to move back here; her apartment, her furniture.
Her job
. And now she had no place to live, no income except the money Gran had left, and everything she owned was crammed in the back of her six-year-old Ford Escape.

“I can’t even … I don’t … I have to go.” She tried to stand, but Nick held her down.

“Where’re you gonna go?” His voice was low, even, and stable. So Nick. “Just sit still for a second and try to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Jayne choked over a snort. “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

Nick rubbed his hand up and down her arm as though to warm her, but Jayne shrugged out from under his touch. Experience had taught her that sitting with him like that while she was stressed would only do one thing, and she was not about to cry out there on the curb.

She leaned over her knees and pressed her fists tight against her eyes as Nick pulled his arm back and sighed.

“Sorry, She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Touched, but you don’t have to hide from me, Jayne. Go ahead and cry—”

“I’m not crying!” She sat up and dropped her hands in case he didn’t believe her. Hell, she even forced a smile. Or maybe it was a grimace. “Nothing Gran did ever made me cry, Nick, it was always you.”

“I never
made
you cry,” he murmured. “I
let
you cry. There’s a difference.”

Ignoring her protests, he pulled her back against his side and held her tighter than before. “Cry or don’t cry. I don’t know what else to do right now, so I’m just going to sit here and hug you until we come up with a better idea.”

They sat in silence for a long while as people in orange vests set up barricades at the intersection in front of Gran’s store and redirected traffic to Second Avenue and Loggers Lane. It didn’t seem to matter that Jayne’s dream had just come to a screeching halt; it was the first weekend in August, and in the town of Newport Ridge, that meant Loggers Sports Weekend.

People came from all over the world to take part in the events—everything from chair carving to the springboard chop, from the chokerman’s race to log birling, a huge parade, and tonight’s opening event—the bed races.

In a couple hours, the sidewalks would be swarming with families jockeying for the best
place to watch as teams raced their decorated gurneys down Main Street.

Did any of them know what was behind the papered-up windows of the old second-hand bookstore? Did any of them care?

“Are you running a bed tonight?” Jayne forced each word past the tightness in her throat. It was a stupid question; of course Nick was running a bed, he always did, but how much longer could they sit there and not say anything?

“Jayne.” Nick breathed a sigh against the top of her head, completely ignoring her question. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How?” she choked. “How the hell is it going to be okay? That store was like … a refuge … and not just to me. It was the one place a person could go and not be judged. Fat or skinny, ugly or pretty, it never mattered. Geek, nerd, jock, princess … you could always find understanding in a good book. And if the only parent you ever had was a miserable old bat who’d been forced to raise you when her own daughter OD’d, those books were especially understanding, and now it’s … it’s …
shit
!”

“I know.” He squeezed her tighter yet, then helped her up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

What else could she do but nod? She didn’t even protest when Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and steered her down the street, away from her store, her car, and what was supposed to have been her new home. Now what the hell was she supposed to do?

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want.”

Typical Nick; she could ask for the moon right then and he’d find a way to wrangle it. But Jayne didn’t want the moon.

“I could use a drink.”

“Just one?” His laughter rumbled quietly as he squeezed her shoulder. “I think I could use six.”

Nick held the truck door for Jayne, then waited until she was settled before he walked around and climbed behind the wheel.

He hadn’t lied before; she did look great. Exhausted, sure, but still great. It was hard to tell with her ball cap on, but from the length of the ponytail hanging out the back, it looked like she’d let her hair grow longer. He’d once said her hair was the same color as warm honey oak, but she’d just rolled her eyes, called him an idiot, and said it was nothing more than plain old mousy brown. Her eyes, bluer than blue, could hide her emotions from everyone else pretty well, but she couldn’t hide her other tells, and this one had always been her most obvious.

Sitting shotgun in her ratty old blue jeans and plain white T-shirt, Jayne fidgeted with whatever she could reach: keys, the hem of her shirt, or the rip in the knee of her jeans. With any other girl, he’d have reached over and wrapped his own hand around hers, but this was Jayne, and this is what she needed to do to maintain control. Besides, he’d already pushed his luck with the number of times he’d hugged her.

Holy hell, he’d missed her. He’d missed the smirks, the eye rolls, the way she always smelled a little bit like strawberries. It was his own stupid fault she’d stayed away so long and there was no way in hell he was going to let anything—least of all the mess at the store—send her running off again. He still kicked himself for letting Abby’s insecurities drive a wedge between him and Jayne, but that was nothing compared to how hard he kicked himself for the way he treated her at Abby’s funeral.

From the second she’d come through the church door that day, she’d set her sights on him and didn’t stop moving until she had him wrapped in a hug so tight he thought he’d break.

And he almost did.

His wife, his beautiful Abby, had been ripped out of his life by an eighteen-year-old kid who was too busy texting his girlfriend to watch the road. From the second his friend Brett Hale
pulled up in his cruiser and told Nick to sit down, it felt as though someone had slashed his heart in half. It was a pain so sharp and so unexpected, Nick had no idea what to do with it, or himself, and then suddenly he didn’t have time to figure it out.

Someone had to deal with the coroner, the funeral director, Abby’s family, his family, the police, the florist, the pallbearers, the music, what she would wear in her coffin …

All his life, he’d been the one who fixed things, but he couldn’t fix the hole inside him, and no one else seemed to know how to help. But then Jayne had walked in, and for the first time Nick believed he might make it through the next two minutes. And maybe the two after that.

If it hadn’t been for her showing up when she did … Nick shook the thought away. The fact was, she
had
shown up, she’d given him the one thing he needed most, and instead of showing his gratitude, he’d run her out of town. Part of it was the shock of having her hug him like that in front of everyone, something she’d never done before, and part of it was because Abby’s mom took one look at Jayne and started screaming the walls down until Nick had no other choice. They were burying the woman’s only daughter, what else could he do but make it as easy as possible for her?

“So, what d’you think?” He fired up the truck, threw it in reverse, and grinned over at Jayne. “A couple dumpsters and a blowtorch … the place’ll be good as new in no time, right?”

“Right.” Her mouth curved into a reluctant smirk. “And since you’re Mr. Big Shot Contractor, you can get me a good deal on those, right?”

“ ’Course.” He reversed out of the parking spot, turned the truck down Logger’s Lane, and waggled his brow at her. “You know what they say: if you can’t be handsome, at least be handy.”

“It’s a good thing you’re handy then.” It was a pathetic excuse for a smile, but she forced it anyway. “Because as usual, you look like shit.”

They were almost to the end of town when Jayne’s head suddenly shot up. “Wait—can you swing by The Inn—I’m going to need to get a room.”

“I would,” Nick winced. “But it kinda burned down three years ago.”

Her mouth twitched. She hiccupped once, then burst out laughing, making the knot in Nick’s chest loosen a little. Hysterical laughter was better than nothing, right?

“It ‘kinda burned down’?” She sniffed over a laugh and sighed. “What about the Super 8? Has it ‘kinda’ sustained any type of catastrophic disaster I should know about?”

“No …”

“So what are you doing? Scoop a U-ey.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work, either.” He slowed the truck to a stop at the red light and nodded toward the other side of the highway.

A freshly washed and fully loaded logging truck had been positioned on the far side of the intersection to show off the giant Loggers Sports banner strapped to the logs. Anyone who’d ever been in town for Loggers Sports weekend knew they had a better chance of winning Lotto Max than they did of finding a hotel room.

“Crap.” Jayne let her head drop back against the headrest and groaned. “What about a campsite?”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted. “You in a tent? And no, they’ll all be taken until sometime Monday. Long weekend, remember.”

“Great.” She sighed, slow and quiet. “Forget the drink, then. You better just take me back to my car.”

“What for?”

“I’ll go grab a room in North Van.”

“And what?” he scoffed. The light turned and he headed north up the highway. “You gonna drive back and forth all weekend until you can get a room up here?”

“Well I’m sure as hell not staying in that apartment, Nick, so unless you’ve got a better idea …”