Michael looked like he didn’t want to get out of the SUV, like he didn’t want to break the connection they’d created. Jamie hadn’t wanted it to stop, but she needed a breather. This reckless, impulsive man was pulling her close and opening her up in a way she’d never experienced. She’d never discussed Chris with anyone outside of her parents and Chris’s psychiatrist. But she hadn’t been talking about Chris; she’d been talking about herself.
Michael’s emerald eyes had made her mouth keep moving and her breathing grow deeper. His face was all planes and angles, no softness. She’d felt the need to touch with her hand to add some softness to those hard surfaces. And the heat that’d erupted from his eyes at her touch had nearly unraveled her. She wasn’t the only one feeling something. In those brief seconds, she’d known every thought in his mind. And they weren’t about her brother.
She stepped up to the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office and watched Michael emerge from the SUV. He moved with confidence, like every muscle had a supreme purpose, exuding a tightly coiled energy. He was the kind of man who drew a woman’s eye, who made a woman wonder what it’d be like to be in ownership of that kind of male. But he was also the type of man who made a woman step back. He didn’t expel the commitment pheromone most women sought. His pheromones screamed temporary…but what a temporary ride it would be.
Jamie didn’t need temporary. Jamie didn’t need excitement. Long ago, she’d decided she needed a man who offered security, stability, and solidity. She didn’t see that in Michael.
But a tiny voice in her head kept telling her to consider the ride he was offering. And she was weakening. Once they’d figured out what was going on with Chris, she was going to take a hard look at the man Michael Brody was.
He stopped beside her on the sidewalk and tilted his head toward the door. She nodded and started to reach for the doorknob, only to see his hand grab it first and hold it open. She paused and then passed through, acutely aware of the warm hand he’d placed on the small of her back. The dim coolness of the office helped her relax.
“Can I help you?” A small, fluttery bird of a woman smiled brightly at them from behind a large desk. She was in civilian clothes, a floral shirt and faded blue jeans that Jamie immediately labeled as “mom jeans.” She wore way too much black mascara, but her smile was warm and open. Her name tag read “Sara.”
“We’re looking for Sheriff Spencer,” Michael answered.
Sara’s gaze took a quick measure of Michael, and Jamie could tell she liked what she saw. Too bad she was older than him by at least twenty-five years.
“He went down the street. He’s grabbing some dinner at the diner. Might be stopping at the grocery, too. We’re out of coffee.” Sara focused more intently and tilted her head in a rapid way that reminded Jamie of a bird again. “You the reporter from Portland?”
“Yep. You think he’d mind if we wandered down to find him? We need to check in at the hotel, too.”
Jamie stiffened. She hadn’t thought about the sleeping situation. Until now. Too many images peppered her brain. Some very hot.
Separate rooms. No exceptions.
Sara abruptly pinned her focus on Jamie, blinking rapidly, and Jamie knew she’d picked up every nuance of her body language.
“Not at all. He’d probably like to have someone to gab with over dinner. You eat yet?”
Jamie couldn’t remember eating at all.
“No,” answered Michael. “Food good?”
“The best,” Sara proclaimed proudly. “Try the enchiladas. And keep hitting the bell at the hotel desk if no one is right there. Chuck’s a little hard of hearing.”
Michael thanked her and steered Jamie out the door with his hand on her back again. She blinked at the sun that was starting to set.
“I’m freaking starved,” Michael muttered. “Let’s eat and find the sheriff, then find your brother.”
Jamie silently agreed, feeling her stomach rumble at the thought of enchiladas drowning in melted cheese. A sign a block away indicated it was the town diner. She locked her gaze on it and walked faster.
Michael moved his hand from her back to firmly hold her hand. She gave him a smile, but his gaze was focused ahead on three men lounging in front of the tiny grocery store. One man wore an apron with the grocery store logo, and the other two men each held a soda can—Coke and Diet Coke. Jamie’s mouth was instantly dry.
“Simon, your break is up.” A heavyset woman with black hair piled on top of her head stepped out of the grocery door. Spotting Jamie and Michael, she grinned and offered a greeting. Her name tag read “Janet.”
“You two look parched,” Janet said. “The air’s real dry here. Not too hot today, but it’ll still drain your fluids. Better pick up some waters.”
Obviously, this was a town where everyone knew everyone else. She and Michael probably stuck out like pigs in an opera.
“We’re headed to eat but probably should put some in the car,” said Michael. Janet followed them in the store. Behind her came Simon in his apron and the two men with sodas. They watched Michael select two bottled waters like they hadn’t seen outsiders in months.
“Sheriff Spencer been by?” Michael asked. He plopped the bottles on the counter, ignoring the scrutiny. Jamie lifted her chin. What was their problem?
Janet lifted a brow at Simon, who spoke as he scanned their bottles. “About twenty minutes ago. Bought coffee.”
“What you needing the sheriff for?” Janet asked. “Everything okay? You just got to town, right? Surely you haven’t run into a problem already.”
Jamie swallowed her laughter. Small towns.
“We’re just looking for someone,” Michael replied.
“Well, you’re standing in the right place.” Janet gestured at herself and the other men. “Between the four of us, we know everyone around here. Who’re you looking for?”
Questioningly, Michael met Jamie’s gaze. She shrugged. Why not?
“Chris Jacobs.”
The four stared at Michael and Jamie and then exchanged glances.
“What? What’s the deal?” Michael folded his arms over his chest. He studied each townie intently, almost hawk-like. Jamie swore she saw his nostrils flare like he was scenting prey.
Janet wrinkled her nose. “What do you want with him? I’ve never seen him even speak to another person. Well, he talks some to old Juan. But that’s it. That boy of his doesn’t seem to ever speak either. Doesn’t even go to school. Delores went out to his house, told him the boy needed to be in school. He said he was homeschooling the boy and meeting the state standards and told her to keep her nose to herself.” Janet let out a huff. “Boy should be in school. Needs socializing, otherwise he’s gonna be a hermit just like his father. There’s more to schooling than books.”
Jamie’s heart cracked. Her nephew. Janet was talking about her nephew. How on earth was Chris raising him?
“What happened to the boy’s mother?” Michael asked.
The question surprised Jamie. Michael had already read what’d happened, but as a reporter, she figured he always wanted to hear what others had to say.
The four townsfolk exchanged looks again.
“Car accident,” Diet Coke man stated.
Michael and Jamie waited in silence for someone to continue. Jamie saw Janet start to open her mouth and then close it.
“Sad business that,” Simon expanded. All four nodded.
Janet fidgeted with her apron, frowning. “She was driving. Alone. Went off the road into a tree. Not a mile from their house. Sheriff said she probably died instantly. Old car didn’t have an airbag.”
Michael’s hawk brows shot together. “What ran her off the road? An animal? She drunk?” The man wasn’t nearly satisfied with Janet’s story.
Janet shrugged. “Who knows? She wasn’t drunk. No alcohol at all in her.”
Jamie grabbed her water. “Let’s go. I’m starved.” She didn’t want to hear gossip. These people obviously weren’t fond of her brother. Any words out of their mouths would be biased. She had a hunch they were about to blame her brother for the car accident.
“Nice to meet you,” Michael said over his shoulder as they headed out the door.
“You too. Sheriff’s probably down at the diner. He usually eats dinner about this time,” Janet called after them.
Jamie power-walked down the sidewalk, and Michael grabbed at her hand. “Slow down,” he said, pulling back on her. “What’s wrong?”
Jamie shook her head. “Those people. They don’t know Chris, but they judge him anyway. That’s how it’s been his entire life. People just look at the outside.”
“Well, sounds like he’s not letting anyone see inside.”
“And that poor little boy. I don’t even know my nephew’s name! No mother. And it sounds like Chris is raising him to be as introverted as he is.”
“Well, at least his dad is spending time with him.”
Jamie stopped and turned to look at Michael. He had a shuttered look on his face. “That’s true. It’s important to have that connection. But the boy needs more in his life. I’m going to talk to Chris about moving back home. Janet has a point. The boy needs to be around other children.”
“Think he’ll be open to that?” Michael’s tone wasn’t optimistic.
“I hope so.” Jamie felt a heavy weight on her heart as they started walking toward the diner. It’d been so hard for Chris to adjust when he came home from the hospital. School became the enemy. No, the children and many of the adults in school had become the enemy. People in general were the enemy because they stared at him and talked about him like he wasn’t right in front of them, hearing every word.
She’d been confused as a child, unable to figure out her big brother’s thoughts. Her big brother was home…but he wasn’t. For two years, she’d prayed for God to send her brother home. He finally did, but Chris was seriously damaged inside and out, and Jamie didn’t understand.
She could see the outside damage. The marks on his face, the scars on his arms, the bony protrusions at all his joints, the lopsidedness to his jaw where it’d been broken and never healed right. She remembered the first time she’d seen him in the hospital. He’d been so still, his eyes closed and his face swathed in bandages. She’d gently held his fingers, the only part of him that looked like it didn’t hurt, and they’d softly squeezed back. Jamie had studied his hospital bed, so many tubes and machines.
Her mother hadn’t left his bedside since he’d been found. Her father had driven back and forth between the hospital and his job, seeing Jamie at dinnertime where he’d promise Chris would be coming home soon.
Looking at him in that hospital bed, Jamie knew it was going to be a long time before her brother truly came home.
Over those next few weeks, she lost count of the number of times she said, “Chris is doing good, and he’ll be home soon.” This was in reply to neighbors, teachers, and even strangers who somehow knew about her brother. That was probably from the TV. Chris’s story was frequently on the TV, even though the reporters never talked to him or her parents.
Her parents whispered to each other all the time. Outside his hospital room, in the car, in their bedroom. Sometimes it sounded like they were arguing in whispers. Jamie heard them mention brain damage and burns and therapy. Her mother cried a lot, not nearly as much as when Chris first went missing, but more than a mother should when her lost boy has finally come home. Jamie played silently with her Barbies, read books, watched TV, and waited for someone to tell her when her family would be back to normal.
Chris missed another year of school. Three years total. His parents had pushed for him to return when he could walk without needing to rest every ten feet, but Chris said he wasn’t ready. He was nearly fourteen and should have been starting high school with his friends. Instead, he’d avoided his friends, telling them he was too tired and telling his parents he didn’t like the way his friends stared at his scars. Eventually, they stopped coming around. When he could look at a book without getting headaches, he’d started studying. And studying. His parents had bought their first computer, and Chris took it over. After a lot of discussion, his mother had designed a path for him to get his GED. That decision seemed to alleviate some of his stress.
He’d helped Jamie with her homework, tugged on her black braids, and called her “Licorice,” like he had before he’d vanished. His own light-brown hair grew back uneven and patchy from where he’d had the surgery on his skull. He kept it buzzed short, making him look like he was from Auschwitz, not Oregon. He never gained enough weight to resemble the healthy, heavy athletic boy he’d been before. Until the day he moved out, he’d looked anorexic and pale.
Looking back, Jamie understood why her parents didn’t force Chris to go to school, but was it the wisest decision? Would he be the hermit that he is today if he’d been forced to socialize? Or would he simply have more internal scars?
She knew absolutely nothing about her brother.
Everyone had tiptoed around him. Were they simply enablers of his condition? Jamie had spent years learning about educating children and their behaviors, but suddenly it all went out the window when it came down to the emotions stirred up by her brother. Had they done right by Chris? First her parents and then her. Had she done the right thing by letting him dictate the limits of their relationship? Should she have pushed for him to give her more?
“Ouch!” Michael said, jerking them to a stop and dropping her hand.
“What?”
“You’re about to break my hand. You’ve got a grip like a nun who likes to whip with a ruler.” He cradled it like it was broken.
Jamie glanced at his hand. Sure enough, she’d caused the blood to blanch out of his palm.
“I was enjoying holding your hand, but you seemed to not be focusing on the romance of the moment.”
“Romance?”
“Yes. You and me in this quaint little town. Walking to dinner, holding hands.”
She tried not to roll her eyes. “I was thinking about Chris’s recovery and the situation with his son. Sorry, I wasn’t seeing the romance of the moment.”
Green eyes gazed deep into hers. “I liked holding your hand. I can hold your hand and still look for your brother, right?”
Jamie caught her breath and felt her heart do the tiniest flutter. That shade of green…
Who the heck was Michael Brody? Jedi knight and hand-holder?
“I like you, Jamie Jacobs. I like you a lot. And I have no problem letting you know.”
She blinked. He was so direct. It was…refreshing.
Michael was figuring out how to push her happy buttons in a fast way. Charmer or not, she was buying what he was selling. Something told her he was much deeper than the casual image he presented. She’d learned to look to the heart of people; it was part of her job. She could spot a bullshitter at ten yards. Michael was sending out true, clear signals of honesty.
“When you called me after your attack, I was ready to rip someone’s head off. The thought of you being hurt didn’t sit well with me. At all.” Sparks lit inside his eyes.
Oh my. Her heart did the flutter again. Bigger this time.
He leaned closer, running a warm hand up and down her arm. “Hungry?” His tone said nothing about food.
“Starved,” she said. “For dinner,” she clarified.
A slow smile stretched across Michael’s face, and he took a firm hold of her hand, leading her toward the diner.