Whisper Falls Page 3

  God. Was this . . . dangerous? Was it asking for trouble?

  She didn’t know, but in that strange, heavy moment, she almost didn’t care. All she knew was that she suddenly felt sexy and beautiful again. Out of nowhere. And she’d spent so much time in recent years feeling just the opposite. There were so many everyday joys she could no longer take part in, experience—but she could experience this, now. The simple act of being a sensual human being. The simple act of feeling alive, vibrant.

  And if she’d learned anything since coming home to Destiny, it was not to squander good moments or take them for granted. Whether it was laughter with her friends or devouring a good book or soaking up the sun, the good moments had to be grabbed, luxuriated in. And despite her better judgment, she had to grab this one, too.

  So, giving her lower lip a sensual little bite, she reached back with both hands, untying the top, then let the fabric drop casually to her sides. And somehow she felt all the more alive for having done it.

  I am no bird; and no net ensnares me;

  I am a free human being with an independent will.

  Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Two

  Lucky remembered her from high school—pretty, petite Tessa Sheridan. She’d hung with the popular girls, but she’d seemed more . . . mature than them or something. She hadn’t bothered with being a cheerleader—instead she’d been involved in clubs and other academic stuff.

  He wasn’t sure why he even remembered that—especially given that he’d spent a lot of time trying to forget those years. Hell, more than just those years. If he could, he’d blot out most of his life before he’d turned twenty-five. And it wasn’t that the last nine had been so great—only that they’d been better than the rest.

  He’d recognized her immediately yesterday—but having already seen the sign over her mailbox had helped. His first reaction: surprise, that someone like her was still in this two-bit town—she’d seemed cut out for bigger things.

  His second—that the slender girl with silky, long, light brown hair bordered somewhere between silly and witty, and that even though he didn’t usually mind making people nervous, for some reason, he hadn’t liked making her nervous.

  And his third observation? That her breasts were gorgeous. Smallish but firm and pert. And now he could see that the rest of her body was just as nice. He focused on her back at the moment. And the sides of her boobs, which she’d just put on display by untying her top.

  He should probably feel like a jerk for watching, but he didn’t. He’d been innocently taking a break on his new deck when the movement from below had caught his eye. The fact that it had come from a pretty girl in a skimpy bikini wasn’t his fault and he saw no reason not to enjoy it. Although he suddenly found himself wishing his deck sat a little closer to hers—he suffered a light yearning to see the sides of those breasts better, closer. He was a guy, after all.

  Of course, it was high time he got back to work. There was a disassembled Harley Wide Glide in his garage right now waiting for his attention—he’d put the second base coat on yesterday, following with some clear coat, and was now ready to start airbrushing some purple flames. He’d do the gas tank first—he always liked starting with the bigger job—then proceed to the fenders. Already, his buddy Duke had sent him a number of customers—he’d have to thank him with a free custom job on the old Harley Panhead Duke had just bought, once it was rebuilt.

  Well, that was at least one consolation about coming back to this area—Duke had relocated here years ago, over in Crestview, and it would be good to see his friend on a regular basis again. And the fact that Duke owned the only biker bar in the vicinity didn’t hurt—besides helping Lucky get to know other riders, it was a good way to spread the word about his business, and he knew it wouldn’t be difficult to rebuild it here. Taking into account the big motorcycle rally about an hour away in Chillicothe each Labor Day, the region had a healthy biker population. And he could do his work anywhere and was good enough at it that bikers wouldn’t mind driving out into the country for it.

  Taking another swig from the Bud Light can in his fist, he shifted slightly in his chair—a breeze had blown some sprouting branches into his line of vision and he found he wanted to see more of his sexy little neighbor’s ass in the hot pink bikini she wore. She remained on her stomach, top undone, and now read a book.

  It was still hard for Lucky to believe he was back here, but he had a good reason—about the only thing he could fathom that would bring him home.

  Destiny. He sighed. For him it was . . . a place of nightmares. The only thing that made it any better was perhaps the fact that he’d found even worse nightmares after leaving.

  Loathe to make his home here again, he’d actually looked for a house elsewhere in the area—in Crestview and beyond—but this had been the only one he’d found in the right price range with a garage big enough to accommodate his paint shop.

  It located him too close to his family, though, and . . . hell, that part of the Destiny equation was a problem. He had no intention of calling them up—he’d worked hard to get over the things that had made him leave home, but he still didn’t particularly figure they’d want to hear from him. Of course, they’d probably learn he was back eventually . . . and while he wasn’t sure what to expect from that, he didn’t look forward to finding out.

  He just planned to keep to himself here for as long as he could, painting bikes and getting the house fixed up the way it should be. After that, it was only a matter of waiting until Sharon decided he was dependable—and then he’d have one more big change in his life, the biggest of all, the reason he’d come back.

  He gave his head a quick shake and let out a breath. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that change, but he had to be. He’d never considered himself much of a stand-up guy, but for this, he had no choice—he had to stand up, he had to get ready.

  He could still remember the moment Duke had called and told him. Something inside him had transformed—in a split second, something had come to life that he hadn’t even realized was there. He’d known immediately that he would close his well-established Milwaukee paint shop and head home to Ohio. He’d shown up on Duke’s doorstep in Crestview around a month later, his Harley Deuce and painting supplies in tow.

  Draining his beer, he crushed the can in his fist and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the wood as he pushed it back from the rail. The noise made Tessa Sheridan flinch, raise slightly—then apparently remember her top wasn’t tied, so she hugged it against herself. She looked upward toward the sound, toward him. And even over the distance that separated them, their eyes met. And something low in Lucky’s gut caught fire.

  “How’s it goin’, hot stuff?” he called down through the trees. He didn’t smile, though—cute or not, he wasn’t planning on getting chummy with her.

  Then why the hell do you keep calling her “hot stuff”? He quickly decided it was an animal thing—he’d never been able to hold in flirtation with a woman he found attractive. But usually he was drawn to girls he had more in common with. And he knew what good, upstanding people like Tessa Sheridan thought of guys like him. Even if they didn’t know everything about him. Hell, maybe some of the shit in his past shone in his eyes or something.

  “Um . . . fine.” She sounded nervous again. And hell, could he really blame her? Once upon a time, he’d have been nervous having a neighbor like him, too. Or maybe it had to do with him seeing her in that untied bikini—maybe it made her even more uncomfortable. And he couldn’t deny that the bulge in his blue jeans was a little heftier than it had been twenty minutes ago.

  With that, he dropped the can in the garbage bin on his back porch, then headed back to the garage. While he could easily enjoy looking at his neighbor’s ass all afternoon, he had work to do, a business to rebuild.

  And still, as he walked away, he let out a sigh—one definitely tinged with arousal. Thanks for making the view from my deck a little nicer, babe.

&nb
sp; “I’ve been thinking about skydiving.” Tessa stood behind the counter at Under the Covers, watering the plants Amy kept on the windowsill.

  “Thinking what about it?” Amy asked from where she sat on the floor unpacking a carton of books.

  “About doing it,” Tessa said. “What do you think?”

  Amy just blinked up at her. “Um—that you’re out of your mind? You don’t even like climbing the ladders to reach the high shelves.”

  It was true—the bookstore possessed a few of the old-fashioned ladders reminiscent of antique libraries and though Tessa admired their aesthetics, she’d never been a fan of actually using them. But her sudden urge to throw her body out of an airplane wasn’t about anything like . . . practicality. “I just feel . . . like life is passing me by.”

  “Well, this is sudden,” Amy mused, clearly taken aback.

  “Kind of,” Tessa agreed. And she supposed it had started with Lucky Romo watching her sunbathe yesterday and making her feel so . . . aware. Of herself. Of possibilities. Then she’d seen someone skydiving on TV last night and she’d thought, Wow, that’s somebody who’s really living their life, grabbing it by the horns. “But not really. For the past few years, I’ve missed out on a lot, and I’ve . . . lost a lot.” The sense of defeat she’d suffered upon leaving her job and moving home still stung. Every day. She’d accepted it, but she’d not gotten over it. “And I’ve just realized that when I’m feeling good, I need to get out there and . . . just do something.” Even though she’d had less flare-ups the last year or so, the unpredictability remained daunting, and she wanted very badly to overcome that worry.

  “Skydiving is pretty extreme,” Amy said. “If you want to do something, how about feeding Brontë?”

  Tessa glanced at the black-and-white cat who’d just peeked cautiously around the corner of a bookshelf. They’d just gotten rid of one stray—Shakespeare, who Rachel and Mike had adopted—when another had shown up. Amy had started feeding it at the back door, and then winter had come and the cat had turned into a resident. After Amy had found the kitty draped over an old copy of Jane Eyre one day, she’d started calling her Brontë. “That’s a lot less excitement than I was going for,” Tessa informed Amy dryly.

  After putting some Meow Mix in the little bowl Amy kept behind the counter, Tessa moistened it with a splash from the bottled water she was currently drinking, then lowered it to the floor. “Come here, kitty,” she said softly, stooping down, but Brontë just stared at her with big, distrusting, blue marble eyes. The cat was lanky, thin—and pretty skittish. When Tessa reached gently toward her, Brontë pulled back nervously—but at least she didn’t run away, which was an improvement. “Time for lunch,” she said softly, jiggling the bowl. “Mmm, yummy.”

  As the cat stood frozen in place, crouched down as if hiding, Tessa murmured, “What have you been through, cat?” But then she shook her head. “Never mind—I probably don’t want to know.”

  “If you just leave it, she’ll eat it,” Amy said.

  “I know. I just . . . want to put her at ease, show her she can trust somebody.”

  Amy looked over, surprised. “Since when are you all touchy feely with cats?” It wasn’t that Tessa disliked cats, but she’d never felt strongly about them one way or the other. She’d been raised in more of a dog-loving family.

  Now she just shrugged. “I don’t like seeing anything be scared when it doesn’t have to be.”

  “Speaking of being scared,” Amy said, rising to her feet with an empty box in hand, “any more Lucky Romo sightings?”

  Tessa’s skin prickled as she stood back up, too, but she tried to act cool. “He was out on his deck yesterday.”

  “What was he doing?”

  Watching me sunbathe. “Nothing.” She fiddled with a small jar of ink pens on the counter.

  “Did he talk to you?”

  “Um, kind of. He sort of said hello.” I think he might have flirted with me again. But Amy didn’t need to know any of the stuff she wasn’t saying. Besides not wanting to worry her friend, Tessa couldn’t really explain or justify the fact that she liked him flirting with her. Or that she’d continued lying there scantily clad even knowing he was looking. She could scarcely explain that to herself at moments.

  And it wasn’t that she was any less wary of him or his past—it was, again, simply that he’d made her feel more attractive and alive than anything had in a long time. So, while it would have been a lot more handy if he were Johnny Depp or Colin Farrell, he wasn’t, and she had to play the cards she’d been dealt, right?

  Not that she planned to play with Lucky Romo at all. The very thought of getting any more up close and personal with him than she already had made her heart rise to her throat. He was an unknown quantity and what she did know about him was undoubtedly troublesome. But if he wanted to admire her from afar with his eyes—well, that thought, on the other hand, only made her feel good and kind of warm inside.

  Just then, the bell above the door jingled and Tessa’s mother entered the store wearing a casual skirt and blazer, her gray frosted hair looking stylish in its short cut. She must be on her lunch break—she did part-time administrative work for the City of Destiny, and the offices were located just across the square, behind the police department.

  “Mom—hi,” she said with a smile.

  Her mother flashed a grin. “Well, you must be feeling good.”

  Tessa blinked. “I must? I mean, actually, I am, but . . .”

  “I just don’t think I’ve seen you glowing so much, looking so vibrant, in a long time,” her mom replied, clearly enthused.

  Hmm, she glowed? And looked vibrant? Apparently her new neighbor possessed skills even greater than she’d realized. “Have you ever seen me seriously glowing, Mom?” she had to ask.

  Her mother laughed softly. “I just mean you have some color in your cheeks. You look healthy.”

  Tessa simply bit her lip. Was it possible Lucky Romo had actually restored some of her health through the mere acts of ogling her and flirting with her? It sounded silly, yet . . . like it or not, maybe a big, burly biker neighbor with darkly arresting eyes had been just what the doctor ordered.

  After getting off work at the bookstore late that afternoon, Tessa came home, turned on the radio, changed into jeans and a tank—with a bra this time!—and stepped out onto the deck. The sun was sinking fast, so despite the gorgeous weather, it would turn chilly soon, and she wanted to plant some seeds in a few terra-cotta pots before it did.

  She’d never been a big gardener until recently—but she supposed all the major changes in her life had altered her in smaller ways, too. Maybe she was trying to get in touch with nature or something. Or—heck—maybe it was just a nice distraction from less pleasant things.

  Which made her think of her brother. She’d not wanted to bring her mom down today at the bookshop, but she’d been curious. “Anything from Jeremy?” Tessa’s tough baby brother had just returned to Afghanistan after a six-week furlough, and he’d been particularly short in his e-mails since then. They suspected he was being put in danger and didn’t want to tell them.

  “Nothing noteworthy,” her mom had said, her expression changing to one Tessa had seen often the last few years: trying to act unaffected even though she was worried about one of her kids. That was one factor that had pushed Tessa to move home—with Jeremy away and Tessa ill, she knew her mother and father had needed to have her close, needed to take care of her.

  “Well, I’m sure he’s just busy,” Tessa had fibbed. She wasn’t really sure of anything where Jeremy was concerned. He was the strong, quiet type—always had been. And frankly, she was worried for him. Sometimes he was too strong, too quiet.

  But she shoved the worries from her mind—because she, frankly, had enough worries of her own and had learned to compartmentalize such concerns. So she refocused on burying her dwarf zinnia seeds in the potting mix, feeling a little more connected to the earth as she sank her fingertips into the dirt. She kn
ew it would be easier to buy flowers to plant from a greenhouse, but she’d wanted to see if she could grow them herself.

  Next, she would plant snapdragon seeds in pots—and the other day, she’d dug up some ground and sprinkled hundreds of daisy seeds in hopes of naturalizing them out by her mailbox and along the woods beyond the deck. She liked all flowers, but daisies were her favorite. Simple and friendly, they just made her happy when she looked at them. So she’d decided the more daisies she had around her house, the better. And she was going to plant tomatoes, too. Not so much because she loved them as because they looked so bright and robust when ripe.

  As she worked, she thought back on her conversation with Amy about skydiving. Okay, yeah, the idea had been pretty out of character for serene, sensible, predictable Tessa, who lived in a log cabin and dabbled in flowers and kept to herself a lot—the sole exception being the time she spent with her girlfriends, who had been a true blessing in her life since her return to Destiny. But just over the last couple of days, she’d felt something growing inside her unexpectedly—this need to break out of the ruts she’d fallen into, this need to be more bold, adventurous. She knew she had a disease, but feeling better lately made her all the more determined to fight it, to stop letting it define her life.

  Finishing with her seeds, she thought ahead to her evening. She planned to heat up some chicken noodle soup her mom had made, then watch some TV—maybe the Ellen DeGeneres show she’d recorded earlier today. She’d discovered Ellen’s show when she’d first grown ill—and no matter how grim things felt, Ellen’s upbeat attitude and infectious personality always made her smile. The show had even motivated her to get out of bed at times when she otherwise might have just stayed there all day.

  And yet, when she looked at the evening she’d just planned, she had to sigh. Yeah, you’re adventurous, all right. You really know how to live.

  She rolled her eyes and felt torn inside. The truth was, she wanted to be bold and grab all life had to offer, but she wasn’t sure she even knew how. Even when she’d lived in Cincinnati, working at an upscale interior design firm, no one would have ever described her as bold. Independent, maybe. Or capable. But not bold. No wonder sunbathing in front of Lucky Romo had gotten her so wound up—sadly, it was the most adventurous thing she’d done in ages.