He’d served. And paid a high price for that service. The knowledge hung between them, unspoken, as Rick parked, turned off the ignition, and got out of the truck.
She got out, too, and shut the door, suddenly feeling a little ashamed of herself. She’d never considered Rick’s service as anything but another example of him running away from responsibility, but he was right. The conversation was pretty heavy for an afternoon drive, so she tried to lighten the mood again. “Hey, if you’d hung around, maybe we would have … you know. I thought we were sort of heading that way.” She gave a light laugh.
There was a long moment where Rick stared at her, like he had words sitting on the tip of his tongue but wouldn’t speak them. Finally he shrugged. “Naw, I doubt it. We were kids. Anyway, by the time I had my first leave, you’d hooked up with Mike Greer. What ever happened to good old Mike, anyway?”
His words slashed open old wounds that lately never seemed to heal. Wasn’t it ironic that Rick, with his alcohol issues, was the first person to bring up Mike in years? Particularly since it was Rick’s actions that had made Jess think of Mike so often in the last few months.
“We broke up and he left town,” she said hoarsely. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either. There was just a whole lot more to the story he didn’t know. That he’d never know. Josh was the only one who knew the truth behind Mike’s rapid departure from Jewell Cove. As far as Jess knew her brother had never breathed a word of what had happened that last night to anyone, and Mike had known better than to press charges against Josh. There’d been proof of Mike’s crimes all over her body.
Rick seemed distracted as he moved to the back of the truck, struggling to untie the tarp covering the truck bed. His prosthetic hand kept slipping on the cord. Cursing under his breath, Rick tried to secure the line while untying the knot. “What? Did he not manage to measure up to Saint Jess’s standards?” he asked in a snarky tone, a direct contrast to the lighter mood they’d established.
Jess reeled back in confusion. She couldn’t keep up with his mercurial mood changes. What he’d said before in jest, now hit her like a punch in the gut. “For goodness’ sake, Rick,” she snapped. “What is with you? When you asked me to come along today, I thought we were past all this juvenile sniping at each other.” In fact, there’d been moments in the truck she’d actually felt closer to him than she’d been in years. And then he came out with something that cut her to the quick.
“Me, too.” He shook his head, abandoned the tarp, and stepped closer, close enough that her heart started banging against her ribs and her breath came in shorter gasps. “God, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I was out of line. I just … I shouldn’t have said that. I was annoyed and frustrated and hate this damn hand. And I guess sometimes being around you … it reminds me what a screwup I am.” He sighed, softly saying, “I’ve never been good enough for you, huh?”
Did he even want to be good enough for her? She didn’t dare ask the question; she didn’t want to know the answer. The opportunity passed, too, as the shelter coordinator came out the side door and Jess and Rick stepped apart. Jess had known Catherine Jenkins for years. She smiled at Jess now, and offered a hand to Rick. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Sullivan. We appreciate your donation.”
Jess concentrated on slowing her breathing, unsure if the rapid rise of her pulse was the result of her irritation or something very different. Something unexpected. She hid her face as she moved to untie the tarp Rick had abandoned.
“Where should I put the boxes?” Rick asked. Jess cursed him in her head for having the ability to sound so normal when her emotions were still swinging wildly.
“I’m going to open our garage, and you can stack them there. We’ll go through them later.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jess stepped forward, determined to act like nothing had happened. “I’ll help. Many hands make light work.”
Rick sent her a pointed stare … of course she’d said “hands,” plural. Funny how everyday sayings took on an extra meaning …
Catherine smiled. “Me, too. Why don’t I get in the back and move the boxes forward for you?”
With an agility unexpected of a woman of her age, Catherine climbed over the tailgate and dusted off her hands.
Rick let down the tailgate and reached for the first box. Jess grabbed one, too—she was used to hauling around supplies and inventory for the shop, so the weight was nothing at all. For a few minutes they worked, stacking the boxes in the spotless garage that housed Catherine’s car and the yard-care equipment. With a grinding sound of dust on cardboard, Catherine slid the last box over the bed of the truck into Rick’s waiting arms. He went off to the garage, leaving Catherine to hop down and Jess to wait.
“What’s his deal?” Catherine asked quietly.
“His mom just died.”
“And the hand?”
“You noticed,” Jess acknowledged quietly. “Courtesy of a firefight, from what I gather. Not that he talks about it.”
Catherine nodded. “He’s troubled, isn’t he?”
Jess’s heart clubbed. “Yeah, he is. And I should want to help him. Except he makes me angry and very, very defensive.”
“Oh, Jess.” Catherine smiled at her warmly. “You’ve been very cautious and smart since you were here.” She put her hand on Jess’s arm. “Maybe a little too careful? He can’t take his eyes off you.” Her gaze followed Rick as he put the box down on the concrete floor of the garage.
“Me? And Rick?” Jess laughed, though the idea of Rick not taking his eyes off her did funny, delicious things to her insides. “Not in a million years. He’s too unstable. We fight too much. I know that he’d never lay a hand on me.” She knew in her heart he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the problem. “But he’s got too many issues, Cath. I’d be crazy to take that on.” She didn’t mention the alcohol. Catherine sensed a troubled soul, but Jess refused to gossip.
“Well, you could be a good friend, then. He looks like he needs one.”
Rick came back, brushing his hand on his jeans. Jess knew she wasn’t being fair to him. As she’d told Catherine, intellectually she knew Rick was nothing at all like Mike, no matter how much he drank. But that didn’t matter, she couldn’t be around him. Not without worrying and wondering. Soon Rick would have more time on his hands when he was laid off for the winter. How was he going to fill his days?
“That about does it,” he said with a smile. The physical labor had seemed to help get rid of some of his frustration. His facial muscles were much more relaxed, and his voice had lost its hostile edge.
“Thanks so much,” Catherine said. “It’ll be like Christmas here later. Some of the women show up with only the clothes on their backs.”