Roundabout Road (Saving the Sinners of Preacher's Bend Book 2) (3 page)

Jake’s long sleepless nights were already filled with
more than enough past ghosts scratching at his soul. He simply needed food in
his belly, another ten minutes to get his head screwed on a bit tighter, then?

If all goes in the direction it’s supposed to, he’ll
then head over to the ever-lovely Debra . . . and check in.

Check in?
Shit!
That was almost like saying Preacher’s
Bend’s police station was the closest thing to a legitimate motel. Yet, in many
respects to it, the place could be called that. Those who seemed to be in
permanent residence tended to stayed a bit longer than they really had to.

Debra Wesley was mean. She did not like crime no
matter the reason. And she sure as hell did not like it happening in Preacher’s
Bend. With a gun at her hip she could do just about anything she wanted and get
away with it. This included prolonged stay at the police station.

Locking a man up to keep him out of her hair for a day
or two somehow translated into Debra being able to breathe.

Now if his other half-sister, Sister Bets, was running
the local police station? Jake would be riding down the middle of easy street
for the rest of his life, and he’d sure as hell still seated on his
custom-built Harley Davidson motorcycle. He’d be having a lot more fun, that’s
for sure.

Sister Bets was pining away her life, stuck in a
convent for a God she’d not given much thought to, until
He
literally
smacked her over the head. She might have been good for her big brother, but
she was no longer here, and Jake, among many others, knew exactly what good ole`
Bets was capable of. She’d done a lot throughout her seemingly shorter-than-his
life. At least fifteen years of this life spent in the back seat of the old
Chevy their father had disposed of by parking it down in the bottom of the quarry.
She’d spread her legs apart for anyone who’d wanted them to be spread when
inside that car.

The next twelve years were on her skinned, bruised
knees repenting those many lustful sins.

Sister Bets was a real charmer. And Jake, at one time
in his life, did have quite the ego to feed.

He shook his head, groaning inwardly. Curt Giotti,
bless his satanic soul, had but one too many kids, with far too many woman that
were not his loving wife.

A person could say Jake was hard pressed to find one
single woman that wasn't half-related to him.

But when he had . . .

Boy! When he had . . .

No! Damnit! Not today
. Not until there was food in his stomach, and not
until he . . . c
hecked in
!

He dropped onto the booth’s bench, slid the salt and
peppershakers over as his ass slid over, and grabbed a couple of napkins out of
the metal dispenser. It was always best to be prepared when dealing with
Rachel.

“Hey there handsome. You want the usual this morning?”
She wiped the booth with a wet dish rag and knew exactly what he was going to
do with the dry napkins.

Very quickly, she brushed the crumbs into her hand,
smiling sweetly at his face.

Jake grinned back. He moved both shakers aside again for
Rachel as she swiped under the remaining condiments to clean up his space. He then
undid his tie and removed it, dropping the silk onto the worn seat, unbuttoning
the two top buttons at his throat, and exposing his neckline. He might be
wearing a suit this morning but the tie had to go.

“No. Not today. Just bring me burger and fries, Rach,
and a cup of coffee.”

“But, honey,” she whined. “It’s only nine o’clock in
the morning. Burger and fries already? You must have had a
really
good
night.” A hasty wink came his way from a woman who knew what a
good
night
meant.

Jake was more than aware Rachel would make whatever
she wanted out of the unusual food request. As well, do whatever he asked of
her. If a smile preceded the asking, that was. There came a time when a man’s
unending charm had its perks in Preacher’s Bend. But Rachel also had a thing
for him which certainly helped with getting what he wanted out of her in the
way of food.

“Do I look like a pancake sort of guy, Rach?” He shifted
in the booth to stretch out his long legs, drawing her in to his charm, almost like
moth to flame.

“Not on your life, tough guy,” she admitted, shoving
the rag into the front pocket of her already soaked apron and giving him
another sly wink.

‘
Pancakes and Jake
?’ Not on her watch.

“You do look ready for the good stuff,” she said.

For the moment, Jake didn’t dare himself to question
what she considered ‘good stuff’. Hopefully all of it was good.

Every Sunday morning he ordered eggs and bacon for
breakfast, a side of toast, and a strong cup of coffee to wash it all down. He
would leave her a hefty tip, to boot. For a man to go straight for the ‘good
stuff’ around here meant a bad night under the belt, and he knew he wasn’t
going to get away with pretending otherwise.

He watched the café owner dart off toward the kitchen
doors. Her shapely hips were sashaying to the come-hither tune in his head.
Yeah, she wanted him, bad enough to let him actually see this. Hell, bad enough
to let anyone with eyes see this futile quest. All the women in this town
wanted a piece of him at some time or another.

Rachel, who was just thirty-six-years old, was no
better than any of the rest. But he was a changed man. Changed, and considered
permanently damaged goods.

There’d been only one woman good enough for him.
And
damn her! She’d left town a little over ten years back.

Rachel rounded the long countertop, shoved open the
swinging doors, and hollered at the top of her lungs to the gamely high school
kid cooking the food in the back. She then went to pour cups of coffee for the three
men already seated at her counter; each one from not around these parts. Their
ten-gallon hats were a dead away.

Making a move for the water pitcher set out on the
table, Jake poured himself a glass and slugged it down without thinking or
breathing between the moments the moisture touched his lips to the second it
hit the bottom of his gut. His thirst unquenchable, the expected circumstances
of last night’s endeavors, water was the only thing near his reach.

As he turned his head toward the remainder of Rachel’s
early morning customers he suddenly caught a familiar gaze staring straight at
him. The glass nearly slipped out of his hand.

It took a bit to steady that hand.

Good God, Almighty!
Was his eyes deceiving him so early in the morning, on a Sunday no
less?

Or was that . . . is that? . . .
Liddy s
eated
four booths over from his?

Her face was as white as a ghost, drawing him in.

He blinked hard to get her image out of his eyes. He
even wiped those eyes with his fists. But, Nope! She was still in them, still
wreaking havoc in his head, still making a man regret most, if not all of an
incredibly
long
night. He very slowly set down his glass of water then
swallowed. Hard.

What was he supposed to do now? Get up and walk over
to her?
Say
‘Hi? How’s it been? Long time, no see?’

This was so not happening to him.
Not today!
Not now! He would rather run across the street and throw himself at the mercy
of Debra, climb back into the slammer all on his own, have the beefy witch with
too much authority toss the key in the trash, than have any need to speak to
Lidia today.

Or, ever talk to her again!

So why was it, from head to toe, he could feel the
devil creeping into his soul, reaching its clammy fingers around his innards,
and yanking hard?

Chapter Three

Liddy took the choice of Jake speaking to her
completely out of his hands. She slid over in her booth, stood up, and quickly
walked his way, as if the faster she got to him the less likely anyone would
have noticed her moving.

He could see her indecision if this action as wise
trapped in her gaze, and it pulled at the tightly wound strings dangling inside
him for far too long. Strings so entangled inside of Jake he could barely think
straight most days.

His own indecision to hide out under the table until
she left the diner sat at the forefront of his brain. He wasn’t chicken. He was,
however, a bit shell-shocked.

Did not a man have the right to catch his breath?
Locate an escape route? Hide from a woman he hadn’t seen in years, because he did
not want to ever to see her again?

Apparently not.

Liddy waltzed right up to his booth and all he did was
staring at her. Was his mouth hanging open? It sure as hell felt as though touching
the floor; the hard scrape of crumb splattered tiles difficult to miss.

My, she’d changed a lot over the last ten years. No
longer did she have stringy blonde hair or traces of those youthful brown
freckles on her face he would always tease her about. In fact, the more he looked
at her, the more she was somehow turning into one hot babe within his eyes.
Extremely
hot
!

Was there sweat rolling down his back? Fuck! There was.
He hadn’t had sweat roll down his back since . . . Hell, this hadn’t happened
to him since he’d first met Lidia Humphrey back in high school! And look how great
that turned out.

It simply had to be the suit making him feel as though
his body was engulfing itself in flames. He wouldn’t have kept the suit on, had
he the time to change out of it.

Liddy’s dishwater blonde hair was now tied up in a
ponytail. She was wearing a form fitting white tank top and faded blue jeans.
The jeans were torn at the right knee and the tank top a bit snug. Yet even
without any plastered-on makeup, she was—Hell, she
still is
a very
stunning woman.

Her breasts were much bigger than he remembered. In
fact, her breasts seemed huge in comparison to the rest of her body. Jessica in
the Roger Rabbit movie quickly darted into his head.

Jake pulled his sight from this particular direction
post haste then shifted in his seat to hide the evidence of the hurried
assessment of a woman he hadn’t seen in over ten years—before anyone caught
wind of his every thought and the huge bulge between his legs. Within seconds
he’d taken off her clothes; paid the price for doing so, tenfold.

“Jake.”

Her lone word turned into sweet, summer sunshine in
his ears.

Finding voice, he answered, “Liddy.”

However, his brain was having a very difficult time
with forming any actual words other than simply her name likely because it had
other, more substantial issues to deal with.

He shifted in the booth again, forcing his body to
retract the blood flowing to his cock. Nothing seemed to help.

“May I sit down?” She motioned toward the opposite
side of the booth, waiting for approval.

Hell! Sit down? For what?

And where in God’s name had he put his manners?
Probably in the same place he’d stuck his libido as of
late. Locked storage.

“Of course you can sit down. It’s a free country. I
can’t stop you from sitting down.” He straightened his spine so she could clear
his long legs on the other side, as she slid into the booth.

No,
his booth—
and more often than not, unshared
.

Jake tried breathing normally—a task failing him at
every turn—failing him quite miserably, in fact, as she stared at his face.

“You’re a hard man to find, Jake Giotti.” Liddy drifted
her eyes from his and directed her gaze to the other side of the diner, then,
back to his face—much slower than whence it left.

He clenched his jaw, pissed his body wasn’t
cooperating. Did she really have to say the word hard?

She was probably deciding if simply bolting from the
diner would be far easier to deal with than actually speaking to a guy she hadn’t
seen in ten years.

And why the hell did she have to show up in Preacher’s
Bend, today, of all the days!
When, so
far, this woman already ruined his life.

Making a move for the water glass, he caught sight of
his hand. Not once in the last ten years had he been so out of touch with his
movements.

Jake decided being incredibly thirsty was far better
than Liddy witnessing him shaking.

Damnit!
Why
was she here? Back in his life, upsetting his world, and while at it,
endangering all those around her. How the hell could she do this to him, after
all these years?

“Why are you here, Liddy?” he snapped out. His
unhidden thoughts had to be said quickly; and he surely not meaning for them to
come out at such a staggering pace. Yet something inside of him always snapped
whenever it came to dealing with Liddy Humphrey.

Technically, Liddy Giotti.

He was still trying hard to forget one slightly
insignificant detail of his life. But the woman staring at him was still his
wife. Her actually married to him was on paper only. It certainly wasn’t in any
physical sort of way. No siree! He hadn’t seen the whites of her eyes in ten
long years.
Ten years, folks!
In ten truly fucked up years this woman
had somehow forgotten how to pick up a telephone just to let him know where she’d
been living. Nor did she figure he might have wanted to know she was okay, and
not splattered on some highway somewhere.

Jake had spent the better part of ten years wondering;
and waiting. All this did for him was given him reoccurring migraine headaches.
Besides, it was always best just to get everything out in the open. A man
beating around the bush only made him look like a coward. Pussyfooting around
on pins and needles to save face was for sissies.

Jake wasn’t a coward or a sissy, and he had the
muscles to back up this claim. He would deal with whatever it was she here for—once
and for all. There should be no surprises blind-sighting him this time. Nothing
brought out in the open that could chop him off at the knees—like last time. He
might get a vice clamped to his nuts, but at least he’ll be able to stand on
his own two feet.

It was just him, her, and ten incredibly long years of
his life wasted while
wondering
.

Liddy bit down on her lower lip. Oh, Jesus! That was a
sure sign trouble was headed his way—hurricane-style fashion. Liddy always bit
down on her lower lip to keep from telling anyone exactly what it was she was thinking.
It was the woman’s very vain attempt at trying to be truthful.

She must have simply figured if the words could not
get out of her mouth they could not be said to get her into any more trouble
than she was already in.

He’d heard she became a lawyer, or something to do
with law.
Bully for her
! This particular occupational choice should
leave him off the hook. He was a damn beekeeper, for God’s sake: beekeeper, peach
tree tender, and all around
Mr. Nice Guy
. If she came back to town just
to get her hands on a ton of money and a huge bank account, she was about to be
sorely disappointed.

As a lawyer, she must have made far more than he ever
would have. And if he knew her well enough—Hell, knew her at all!—Liddy was not
here for the sake of old times.
Good God, no!
She’d made this fact very
clear the night she left town—and him—and never once looked back. She would’ve
chewed off her own arm, than admit to losing her pride.

If the woman had any thought something would stand in
her way . . .
and take that away from her
?

Liddy was very good at protecting herself. She was born
that way, so it was best to let her have at it.

Rachel quickly came to the booth with his slightly
changed order. To what? Save his neck? Interrupt a good thing? She must have thought
she could protect him, if ever the need there. But she brought a cup of coffee
for his significant other to drink, and she carried in her hand an extra plate.

Oh, hell no!

Did the café owner actually think he was going to
share any of his food with this woman? Because
if asked he’d be more
than happy to correct this mistake. He wasn’t sharing anything with Liddy
Humphrey-Giotti, at least not anymore.

Rachel hadn’t been living in Preacher’s Bend when he’d
so foolishly married this woman. She did not know Liddy from Eve. Although the
rest of the town must surely recognize her, the diner’s owner probably thought
Liddy as just some big-city chick hitting on him. A woman out to get her kicks
with a guy who looked to be dressed in his Sunday best; while she passing
through the place on a whim.

If his significant other even so much as thought to
try to hit on him . . . he’d haul off and smack her one. The act would probably
land him in jail—again. Nevertheless, it might be worth the chance.

Jake’s fists balled under the table as he openly
glared, centering this glare right between Liddy’s brows. His clenched hands were
itching to hit something hard as of late. And his walkabout wife’s rather
thickheaded attitude about certain things should certainly be hard enough.

She had yet to answer his initial question. She was stalling
and this meant trouble.

He not only hated her, he hated Liddy’s uncanny
ability to procrastinate far more.

“As I said, what are you here for?” Jake grabbed a hot
fry off his plate and shoved it into his mouth. He was hungry. No missing wife
for ten years was going to stop him from eating a very late supper. And so what
if the clock said it was now breakfast time? And, everyone inside Rachel’s was suddenly
staring at his booth, while Jake consuming his morning nourishment.

If his day was turning out to be this bad already, he would
be hard pressed to keep even a meager amount of food in his gut once he met up
with Debra. Deputy Wesley probably had every intention to sucker punch him in
this exact location for not checking in sooner than now. Debra was good at
sucker punching a man when said man down on his luck.

So, he’d drank far too many beers late last night than
to have anyone sucker punch him this morning. He’d been punched once or twice
already. Damnit! His gut was sore. His head hurt too; as did the rest of his
body. And his arm? Jesus!
He wasn’t going to put any thought on the arm.

He’d
driven
all night in Theo’s beat up `68 Oldsmobile just to make it back to Preacher’s
Bend before eight a.m. It was now nine-thirty. Perhaps Debra would let his
tardiness slide this time. Once he could explain the circumstances, she might even
understand. If not?

There was really nothing he could do about this now,
if not.

And still saying nothing to him, Liddy was doing one
damn fine job at pissing him off. All she had to do was look at him, and it
hurt, badly. The pain seemed to be getting worse by each passing second.

She swallowed, thrust out her chin, and with a tremble
in her voice, told him flat out, “You look good, Jake.”

His eyes widened.
His jaw clamped shut on the
one lone French fry he’d put in his mouth, as it decided to go down sideways
all of a sudden. Hell!
‘You look good’
surely was not what he’d wanted
to hear from her.

He looked good? Of course he did! Every woman in Preacher’s
Bend thought so. She hadn’t told him anything new.

He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the wretched
potato before it got the better of him, and reluctantly admitted to the hot
babe staring back at him, “You too,” while reaching for the glass of water on
the table. Trembling hands, or not, he needed to dislodge the French fry before
he passed out.

His estranged wife took a deep breath and upon quick release
dragged her sight from his. “Okay. I can see this is going to be extremely
painful for the both of us.”

Again, not what he expected to hear coming out of her
mouth.

But again, if Jake did not think this situation to be
extremely uncomfortable, he would’ve laughed at Liddy’s highly unusual play on
words. Of course, this was going to be extremely painful. Coming face to face
with a woman you’ve not seen in years . . .
was supposed to be painful!
It could certainly make a man squirm.

He reached for the tie that was no longer around his neck.

“So I might . . . I might as well get it all out in
the open. Then we can deal with this as mature adults. You can go do what it is
you do; get on with your life . . .
somehow
. And I can go and do what it
is I have to do. Get on with mine. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds practical enough,” he slipped off the tongue,
feeling the bitter aftertaste of these ill-spoken words. Why she thought he
didn’t have a life without her, was beyond useful thought.

“But then I’d have to know exactly what it is I am dealing
with to make any sort of judgment on this . . . or not,” he added.