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But men did that kind of thing every day, didn’t they? Look at what had happened to her in good old Pea-Ville ten days before. A man had taken what he wanted—admittedly giving her some pleasure, too—and walked away without a single word since. Hurting her. Though, damn it, she’d never admit that to anyone!
Her decision was easy. With a few shipments of goods, and some vacation time this summer, she could look out for Cassie, give a major screw-you to the old guard in Pleasantville…and seduce and break the heart of the son of the man who’d broken her mother’s. Throw in a humiliating moment for Darren and Angela, and she’d make all her teenage dreams come true.
“Cassie,” she finally said, knowing her cousin awaited her decision. “Do you think Flo would let me stay in her old place?”
5
JACK COULD HAVE CHOSEN the master bedroom when he moved into Edie Jones’s house. Since he’d be in town for at least a month settling his father’s tangled financial affairs, he probably should have made himself comfortable in the larger bed. He didn’t, for several reasons, but mostly because of the image of his own father—and Edie—in it. He shuddered at the thought.
He still couldn’t believe it. His father and Edie had been lovers for two decades. He hadn’t just taken Angela’s word; his mother had admitted it. That was when he’d decided he couldn’t stay in his parents’ house during his trip home this summer.
Most sons would probably have felt as much anger toward Edie as toward his father. Jack felt only pity and regret for the woman, who’d been the kindest part of his boyhood. His parents’ marriage had been as convoluted as his father’s finances, and Edie had been a victim more than anything else. Looking through his father’s records, it became obvious the pittance he’d left Edie in his will didn’t come near to covering her paychecks, some of which she hadn’t cashed over the years.
His family owed Edie something. Staying here, fixing up her house, doing repairs and maintenance so she could sell the place and make a new life for herself, was the least Jack could do.
“Sleep, Jack.” He glanced at the clock, which showed the hour had moved past one. Sleep proved elusive here, especially because Kate had told him how she’d spent her last afternoon in this house. Lying on her bed. Thinking of him. Touching herself. “Knock it off, moron,” he said. He couldn’t allow himself to think about Kate. Not until he’d figured out how to make up for the damage his parents had caused to her and her mother.
“God, I’m sorry,” he muttered. Sorry for Edie, who, he’d learned, had been ridden out of town like a scarlet woman by the old guard of Pleasantville. Sorry for Kate, who’d grown up in this tiny house, on Edie’s small income, made smaller by his parents’ selfishness. Sorry for himself, because what he wanted more than anything was to find Kate and to tell her how hard he’d fallen for her on the day they’d met, just over a month ago.
But he couldn’t. His family had done enough to hurt the Jones women. Until he could find some way to right the wrong, he couldn’t let himself see Kate again.
It had been impossible to stay away from her. He’d been drawn to her, easily locating her store on Michigan Avenue. Twice he’d watched her from outside, trying to figure out how to go in and face her. The second time he’d had his hand on the door handle, prepared to go inside. Then he’d seen her in the closed shop in the arms of a tall, dark-haired man. He’d driven away, never finding out whether the guy had been friend or lover. But the image of her with another man had given him some long, sleepless nights.
Like now.
He closed his eyes again, determined to sleep, then opened them as he heard a noise through the wall. A bang. A low curse. Both came from next door, inside what should have been the empty half of the duplex, which belonged to Edie’s sister.
“Son of a bitch.” Jumping up, he grabbed some sweatpants and ran downstairs, figuring the vandals had returned.
Whoever the vandals were, they weren’t very smart. The front door to the adjoining unit was wide open. He easily made out the beam of a flashlight moving around upstairs. Ready to transfer all his unexpended sexual energy into some violence against the intruders, Jack took the stairs two at a time. In the upstairs hall he turned toward the room directly beside the one in which he’d been lying next door. As he burst in, the beam of a flashlight, held by a dark-clothed person, swung toward him.
