Page 10 of Jasmine Street Blues

But she had to do something. Loran grabbed a drawing pad and pencil, leaned against the check-out counter, and doodled. Soon a young face, smiling but somehow sad, took shape. The eyes were dark, wide, and oddly content. The girl on the sketch pad didn’t look at all like a sad ghost.

Then again, the pirate wasn’t sad at all. He seemed delighted to pose for her.

Loran was so engrossed in the sketch she didn’t hear the door open. She did hear a man’s step.

Her head popped up. Shit! Mac was right. She needed a bell over that door. Sonny was just a couple of feet away when she realized he was there.

The handyman smiled at her. “Looks like I startled you.”

“You did.” She turned the drawing pad face down. “What are you doing out on this stormy day?”

“I had an electrical repair to take care of a few doors down, at the bakery, and I thought you might like a coffee and some cinnamon rolls.”

I don’t drink coffee. She almost said those words, but she’d rejected Sonny once and she was pretty sure he got it. Bringing her coffee could just be a friendly, neighborly gesture. A few sips wouldn’t kill her.

“Thanks.” She stepped around the counter and took the offered cup from him.

He gave her a charming grin. “I got it with cream and sugar, because if you’re going to eat sweets a little more won’t hurt.”

“An afternoon cinnamon roll will put me right to sleep,” she said with a smile. Loran took a small sip from the cup he’d handed her. She didn’t drink coffee because the caffeine spun her up, but this sweet concoction tasted pretty good. She sat in an old wooden chair she’d painted not long after she’d moved in. It was a bright teal, with red, orange, and yellow flowers on the back and arms. The hard chair was surprisingly comfortable, the perfect place for an occasional break.

She took another sip, while Sonny paced. He looked at a few of the paintings on the walls, glanced at a jewelry display, then placed the teal bakery box of cinnamon rolls on the checkout counter. Without warning, he grabbed the sketch pad and flipped it over.

Loran started to come out of her chair. “No,” she whispered. Then she added, “It’s not ready.”

Sonny glanced at the drawing, then returned the sketch pad to the counter, face down once more. “Sorry. I was being nosy.” He grinned, but it seemed forced, not his usual easy smile. “You save these cinnamon rolls for breakfast, if you don’t want them all now. Just pop ‘em in the microwave for a few seconds and you’ll think they’re fresh out of the oven.”

Loran sat again. Her knees shook hard; they were about to give out on her. “Thanks,” she said, her voice as wobbly as her knees.

The handyman said goodbye. He didn’t offer to show her around town, this time. Could be he was just a friendly guy, and goodness knows she wanted to stay on good terms with the town fixer.

When her knees felt steady again she stood, dumped what was left of the coffee, and hung a closed sign on the front door as she locked up. With umbrella, sketch pad, and cinnamon rolls in hand, she rushed out the back door to her van, cranked it up, and headed for home.

Home. She already thought of the rental on Jasmine Street as home. It had been a while since any residence had been more than a place to land for a while, a place to hang her hat, to sleep, to hide until it was time to move on. This felt different. Seawolf Beach was different.

The rain came down hard; she drove slowly down the street. She tried to focus on the narrow road ahead, but the town’s Police Chief crept into her thoughts. She didn’t have time for a man, it would be foolish beyond words to get involved with him in any way. And still… she was tempted.

Was it the town that made her think of a home, the cozy house? Or was it Mac?

4

Summer rains were a welcome break from the heat, but all too often those rains just made the air muggy, heavy and weary. The upside was, when it rained some of the usual suspects stayed in, so Mac didn’t have to deal with them. On a Saturday night, that was a bonus.

It was bad enough to have to deal with the local troublemakers. Doing it in the rain just pissed him off.

Mac headed to The Magnolia. If there was going to be trouble tonight, it would likely be in Tuck’s bar. Where else would the local miscreants hang out?

The Magnolia was packed. No surprise, on a Saturday night. At first glance it looked as if the crowd was behaving. Some customers talked too loud, in an attempt to be heard over the band. Tonight’s band wasn’t as good as others he’d heard here, but then they were into that old country, twang and all, which wasn’t his favorite. A handful of men played darts. A few couples had claimed tables at the far edge of the room, perhaps hoping for a touch of privacy. They had their heads together, whispering the way couples might, smiling, touching.

That sight shouldn’t make him think of Loran, but it did. What was she doing tonight? Not hanging out in a bar, that’s for sure. He pictured her in her living room, reading, maybe watching television. She’d be stretched out on the couch, book or remote in hand. She might doze off, after a hard day at work. Maybe she’d be in her kitchen cooking up something. Dinner for one. Cookies? A little weekend baking?

Shit, he liked her. She intrigued him. Loran Raine was a woman with secrets. The cop in him felt it, gut deep. He always listened to his gut.

The truth was, he could paint a mental picture all he wanted, but he didn’t have any idea what Loran liked to do in her spare time. He didn’t know her well at all; that and his gut instincts should be enough to stop him in his tracks.

People were all too often not who they seemed to be. Women, in particular, had a gift for hiding their true selves. He’d learned that the hard way. Did it make him an ass to put all women into the same category? Probably. Did he care? No. He’d been in self-protection mode for a very long time.

He snagged a place at the bar just as the band took a break. Thank goodness. The quiet was downright blissful for a few seconds, until someone got the jukebox going.