Some kind of wonderful (11 page)

Tired, she thought. She was just too damn tired to be dealing with any of this. Carol swiped her hair back from her face and realized that she was also way too tired to be trusted with him. Phoebe's suggestions kept rattling around in her brain.

Sex.

With Jack.

Not a good idea.

Wasn't she teetering dangerously close to her breaking point already? Hadn't she allowed Liz into her heart, despite her best attempts at protecting herself? Did she really need to start caring about Jack? A man who had made it painfully obvious that he wasn't interested?

No. She didn't.

Best thing to do then, she decided, was to back out of this coffee thing and go home. Alone.

"You know," she started.

"I was thinking," he said, practically at the same moment.

"You first," she said.

"Not important. Go."

She blew out a breath, stepped around an overflowing trash can, then came back to walk beside him and Quinn again. "Okay, I was just going to say that maybe coffee isn't such a good idea."

He looked down at her briefly before shifting his gaze ahead again. "Yeah. Funny, so was I."

She stared at him for a long minute. Her steps slowed a bit, and he matched his stride to hers. The rest of the crowd surged past them until there were just a few stragglers on the beach behind them.

"Well, then," Carol said, trying to remind herself that this was a good thing.

"It's nothing personal," he said tightly and she looked up in time to see that jaw muscle twitch again.

"Sure," she said, "I can see that. It's not personal. It's not me you don't want to have coffee with. It's anybody. Or is it just the coffee you don't want?"

Anger warred with disappointment inside her and neither feeling made sense. Hadn't she already decided to not get involved? Hadn't she only a minute or two ago told herself that Jack was a bad thing for her equilibrium?

Yeah. But, it was one thing to back out of something because you felt it was the right thing to do. It was another thing entirely to have a guy jump back and away from you like a vampire dodging a well-aimed crucifix.

Phoebe was off with Cash Hunter again, enjoying every last minute of her day off. And Carol was going home to watch a Twilight Zone marathon and eat popcorn with Quinn. Sure, life was fair.

Jack stopped dead.

Carol walked past him, then stopped and looked back at him. "What now?" she demanded, just a little more hotly than she'd planned. "You want me to walk on a different beach?"

He scraped a hand across his face, turned his gaze on her, and studied her for a long minute or two. A cold, crisp wind danced in off the ocean and lifted her hair with icy fingers. Now that the people were gone, Carol heard the soft hush of waves sliding in to shore more clearly. The scent of gunpowder still clung to the air, but the only sparklers in the sky now were the glittering stars.

"You're not part of my plan," he muttered, pinning her with a gaze that was sharp enough to draw blood.

"Excuse me?"

"You. My plan. Never the twain shall meet."

One eyebrow lifted. She set her hands on her hips and stared at him, baffled.

"Don't give me those big brown eyes, either," he snapped.

She shook her head and tapped the heel of her hand against her temple. "Huh?"

"Oh, please." He snorted, scowled at her, then slid a glance around them, making sure they were alone. "You know what you're doing."

"Walking, you mean?" she asked. "Yeah, I do it often. Almost every day now for years."

"Cute."

"You sure spend an awful lot of time telling me how cute I am for a man who doesn't want to have coffee with me."

"You didn't want to have coffee, either."

"Not the point."

"Right. The point is, the plan."

"Ah, yes." She nodded sagely, having no idea at all what the hell he was talking about now. "The plari"

His tan uniform shirt was wrinkled and stained with God knew what after spending a long day dealing with a

town full of people. His black hair was ruffled by the same wind dancing around them, his blue eyes shone in the dim light, and his really terrific-looking mouth was twisted into its perpetual scowl.

Damn it.

He looked really good.

"I'm only in town for a few weeks," he snapped. "Then I'm outta here. I'm not getting involved with a woman who jingles when she walks and wears felt elves on her tank tops."

Carol glanced down at the front of her shirt. Winky the Elf was damn cute, she thought and she wouldn't let Jack ruin the fun she got out of wearing her Christmas-themed clothes.

"Well, who asked you to get involved?" she demanded, taking a step closer to him and jutting her chin up to a fighting tilt. "I don't remember saying anything at all like, 'Hello, big boy.'"

He frowned at her. "I'm just saying—"

"Oh, you've already said plenty, trust me."

"I'm trying to do you a favor, here."

"Gee, thanks."

"You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice hitting a low, deep note that scraped along her spine and settled somewhere south of the pit of her stomach.

She would not be affected. She would not give in to the simmering attraction bubbling between them. "I know your brother and sisters got all the charm in your family."

"I'm not trying to be charming."

"Well, congrats," she snapped. "You're doing a hell of a job."

"I'm just saying—" He broke off, glanced up at the blackness overhead, then shifted his gaze to her again.

"Me being here. It's temporary. That's all. I didn't want you to—"

"What? Plan a wedding? Book the church?" She took another step closer and poked him in the chest with her index finger. "You're amazing. You really are. I give you a cup of coffee and a piece of cake to thank you for helping me out last night and you're worried I'm looking for a wedding dress?"

"Nobody said anything about a wedding."

"You did."

His eyes widened. "You are nuts."

"No, I'm just standing in awe."

"Apparently not stunned into silence, though," he muttered.

"So what exactly is your plan, Mr. Wonderful?" She lifted a hand. "Not that I'm trying to find my way into it, just color me curious."

"My plan is to get out of here."

There was such deep longing in his voice, she almost ached for him.

"Why do you hate this place so much?" she asked, her voice softer now, more confused than angry.

"It's not hate," he said, looking out toward the edge of town where multicolored lights twinkled and shone in the darkness with tiny splotches of primary colors. "It was a good place to grow up—naturally every kid in town thinks it's corny as hell, but the people are good." His voice softened a little and Carol tried not to hear the sigh behind his words. "Couldn't hate this place even if I tried. But being surrounded by Christmas can make you a little crazy." He looked pointedly at her tank top.

"What?"

"Nothing," he muttered. "Hell, you fit right in here, don't you?"

"You mean, do I like it here? Yes."

"Yeah." He laughed shortly. "You didn't play on a high school football team that was known all over the county by its nickname: Santa's Little Helpers."

"Oh, yeah, there's a hardship. Growing up in Christmas."

He snorted. "Hey, when you're a teenager, you want to live in a cool place—not the Capital of Corny."

"Poor you."

He shot her a look from the corner of his eye.

Disgusted, Carol shook her head. "You grew up in a great little town with a family and friends. Hard to feel sorry for you."

His gaze narrowed. "I didn't ask for your sympathy."

He shifted his feet in the sand, spread his legs wide, and folded his arms across his chest. Heck, Carol thought, it was practically textbook body language. Closing himself off, shutting her out.

"Didn't you?"

His jaw went tight and his voice even tighter. It was as if each word were snapped off deep in his throat and chen hurled at her. "You don't know anything about me."

"Back atcha."

He inhaled sharply and nodded. "You're right. I don't."

"And don't want to."

"Right again."

"Fine. We'll leave it at that then, Reilly."

Something flashed across his eyes and she thought it might have been relief. Well, what the hell was she supposed to make of thaft

Last night, they'd had cake together, whispering in her kitchen, keeping their voices pitched low so they wouldn't wake up Liz. They'd talked about the baby and how much out of her depth Carol was. They'd been almost... friendly.

They'd shared chocolate, for God's sake. That meant something.

"You know," she snapped, giving in to the urge to say everything she was thinking. "Your attitude stinks."

"My attitude?" he echoed, giving another quick glance around at the emptying beach.

"I'm not the one who asked for a date and then canceled it in the next breath."

He drew his head back and stared down at her. "Who said anything about a date?"

"You did."

"I said coffee^

"That's a date," she argued.

"No it's not, it's coffee."

"Why do I scare you so much?" she blurted, watching his eyes in the darkness, trying to read the emotions behind the shutters he kept constantly in place. Her heartbeat raced and she knew she should leave it alone. But she just couldn't do it.

He sighed, reached out to her and tipped her chin up with the tips of his fingers.

Heat washed through her with that slight, almost tender touch. But the chill in his eyes dissipated the heat quickly enough.

When he let his hand fall to his side again, she could almost convince herself that heat had never been there. But the wild thump of her heart told her differently.

He shook his head. "You don't get it, Carol. / should scare you."

"You don't," she said, her voice a soft hush of sound that was swept away by the wind. How could he scare her? The pain inside him wasn't being directed outward—no, he was only hurting himself.

He narrowed his gaze and said tightly, "That's why we're not having coffee."

She blew out a breath. If she had any sense at all, she'd listen to his warning. But she couldn't make herself turn away from his eyes. From the steady ache in them. From the shutters locked so firmly over whatever he was feeling.

Whatever she might have said, though, was lost as his radio crackled. Scowling again, he pulled it free of his belt. "What is it?"

"Got a complaint from the Silent Night Motel." Ken Slater's voice punctuated the night with sharp clarity and even Carol heard the tinge of humor in the man's tone. "Seems the senior class is having the annual orgy."

"Oh, Christ." Jack wiped a hand across his mouth, shot Carol a look, then muttered, "I'm on my way."

The radio clicked into silence again and Carol looked up at him. "Annual orgy?"

Jack sighed, already moving. He'd hoped that they'd already had the big party. Or that maybe the senior class would wait until he was gone again to roll out the beer kegs. But he should have known better. "Every year," he grumbled, "the seniors have one last blowout. A huge party that always gets a little out of control."

And every year, the local cops were called on to break it up. Why this rite of passage hadn't died out years ago, he didn't know. All he knew for sure was that he really didn't want to have to deal with a bunch of drunk teenagers tonight. Especially since, he told himself with another sigh,

his little sister was no doubt right in the thick of things.

"Tonight's the night, huh?" She hurried her steps to keep up with his long-legged stride.

Moonlight splashed across the ground, outlining the discarded papers and soda cans that had been left behind by the crowd. But Jack hardly saw them. He was remembering his senior party. How the beer had flowed like a river. How couples had split off from the group. How Sheriff Thompson had been stuck dealing with weepy girls, not to mention their parents.

It was going to be a long night.

Jack stopped suddenly and looked at Carol. If he had a woman along with him, she could handle the girls. "Yeah. And no way do I want to have to deal with the girls in this crowd alone. Feel like being the female assistant?"

She only thought about it a minute. He saw moonlight dance off the surface of her dark eyes and watched in fascination as a small smile curved her lips.

"Do I get a badge?"

measles. The gravel drive and parking lot sprouted weeds every few feet and the drapes over most of the windows were threadbare, giving anyone who passed by a free peepshow.

"In a weird sort of way," Jack muttered, "finding out this place is still a dump is kind of comforting."

"Yeah," Carol whispered, leaning forward to take it all in. "As long as you don't have to actually sleep in one of those rooms."

"Not without an inoculation and a flea collar," Jack assured her.

His gaze swept the parking lot and landed on the area in front of the two end units. Cars were parked in a wicked jigsaw puzzle of varying sizes and shapes. Kids milled around outside, wrestling, making out, or dancing in the moonlight. Even with the car windows rolled up, Jack heard the party, rolling into high gear.

Music blared from the last two units of the single-story motel, and blasted through the open doors of a big black truck parked beneath one of the oaks. Lamplight spilled from the open doorways of the rooms and the undraped windows into the parking lot. Teenagers, a veritable sea of them, drifted from the rooms to outside and back again. Laughter rang out over the roar of the music, and in one corner of the lot, a fight was just starting as two boys, surrounded by their friends, prepared to beat the shit out of each other.

"Wow," Carol murmured from the seat beside him.

"That about says it all." He glanced at her, her face illuminated by the dashboard lights. "Fm guessing your senior-class party was different?"

She swiveled her head to look at him. "Didn't have one."

He frowned. "Everybody has a senior-class party."