Page 9 of Jasmine Street Blues

They passed Tuck and Olive, who were all but dancing down the street, holding hands, taking their time as they strolled toward home. Did that sight make him jealous? Just a little.

“How do you like Seawolf Beach so far?” he asked. The silence was too heavy, too deep to remain unbroken.

Loran hesitated a beat or two before answering. “It’s a lovely town and most of the people I’ve met are very nice. Business is good, too. The weekend of the Fourth was insane!”

“Always is. Things will slow down in the winter, though to be honest we don’t have a lot of winter here.”

“Something else to like about south Mississippi.”

Friends and coworkers had tried to set him up before, but none of the women they’d chosen had been like Loran. He liked her, dammit. They’d both said they didn’t want to date, but he was beginning to question that hasty decision. The timing was bad. He had to find Carrie before he could have a life of his own, he needed to know where she was, that she was safe and happy.

He had to ask himself the hard question: What if he never found her?

“How do you like the house?” he asked as he turned into the drive and parked behind her vehicle, a black van. Maybe she needed all that space for hauling paintings to shows, or whatever.

“It’s fine.” She turned to look at him. “We blew it, I guess. Olive will probably want to double date again since we behaved ourselves. We need to stop her before this goes too far.”

He should agree with her, quickly and decisively. He did not. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind, so much.”

She smiled softly. “You’re a nice guy, but…”

“It’s ok,” he said sharply. That but stung a bit. “We can find a way to beg off. If we say no often enough, Olive will get the message.”

The happy couple that lived next door walked faster as they approached the front door to their home, the impressive house that made Loran’s rental seem even smaller than it was, by comparison. When they were on the porch, Tuck swept Olive into his arms. She laughed as he carried her into the house. He was pretty sure neither of them were aware they had an audience. No, they were entirely wrapped up in one another.

Loran had one hand on the door latch, ready to escape, but she hesitated. “It’s hard to watch everyone else in the world pair up and find happiness when for some of us it’s impossible.”

She was gorgeous, talented, pleasant, easy to talk to even for him. She must have men pursuing her all the time, so why did she push them away? She was pushing him away — gently — right now. “Why impossible?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said.

She might be surprised.

“Maybe some of us carry too much of the past with us, every day,” he said. “We won’t let go of it, or else it won’t let go of us.”

Loran looked him in the eye. He wanted to kiss her so bad, he wanted to know what it felt like to hold her, chest to chest. He wanted to push his fingers through her hair, touch her anywhere and everywhere. None of that would happen because she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested.

Neither was he. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. More than ever, he had to concentrate on finding out what had happened to Carrie. Maybe once that was done he could think about moving on, asking a pretty woman on a second date. Third, if he counted the ambush at Tuck’s house.

He couldn’t allow himself to enjoy life until he’d done his duty by Carrie, no matter how tempting Loran was.

* * *

Loran drove to her studio Saturday, but not because she minded the heat or the walk. She actually enjoyed both, most days. A storm was predicted to move in mid-day, and while she didn’t mind a little sweat, she didn’t want to get soaked in the rain or dodge lightning.

Even if it was prime tourist season, the weather put a serious damper on her business for the day.

A few customers stopped in early, but once it started to rain that was it. No one wanted to stroll around downtown in this weather, and she couldn’t blame them. She was her own boss. She could close early, put a sign on the door, run to her van that was parked out back, and retreat to her house.

Where she’d be compelled to paint the young, dark-haired girl who’d been haunting her for days. Haunting was an appropriate description. Her newest obsession made it hard to paint anything else, hard even to think of anything else. She was always there, in Loran’s mind, begging, demanding, to be displayed on canvas.

The only upside was that the young girl was a distraction that took Loran’s mind off the Seawolf Beach Police Chief. Mac. He was big, always in control, one of those alpha men who was accustomed to being in charge of everything and everyone. Mac. Did no one call him Joe or Maxwell? No, he was always Mac or Chief.

He never had told her why it was Mac instead of Max. That detail probably wasn’t important. It was too personal. Continuing to probe might indicate that she cared. She certainly wasn’t going to ask him again.

The pretty girl who demanded bright colors instead of the usual browns and grays was trying to work her way into Loran’s brain now, with the rain falling hard and the prospect for interrupting customers drying up. She saw the girl in her mind, as if that face was a memory, as if they’d been friends or maybe even family.

She didn’t dare go back to her public studio and start a new portrait of the girl. What if someone came in and saw? Rain or no rain, it was possible. Loran could get so lost in her painting that she heard nothing and no one. She’d be caught. No, it wasn’t safe to paint the girl here. The only way she managed to get by was by adhering to her own rules. No painting dead people at work was the big one, these days.