Комбат. За свои слова ответишь. Андрей Воронин
age, was resistant to whatever it was that Jesse exuded.
Brittany wiped her hands on her apron. She hated the fact that his mere presence could make her palms damp. She also hated the frilly, pea-green apron her Aunt Mae insisted all the waitresses wear. This wasn’t how she’d fantasized being dressed when she saw Jesse again….
Stop it! she told herself. He’s just a man. A customer. Who’ll likely tip better than the rude girls. Besides, he probably doesn’t even recognize you.
Buoyed by that thought, she kept her smile firmly in place as she turned. “Hi. Welcome to Mae B’s. Table for one?”
“I’m supposed to meet someone here, but it looks like I’m early.”
Oh, great. How could she pretend to be professional when his voice was the same as she remembered, deep and rich and unhurried, as if there was nothing he would rather be doing than talking to her. She kept her gaze on his chest, which was easy to do since the top of her head scarcely reached his shoulders. If she thought that would minimize his effect on her, she was wrong. His battered leather motorcycle jacket hung open over a white T-shirt that clung to every muscular contour. She caught a whiff of fresh air, sunshine and designer cologne.
Designer cologne? On a trouble-making bad-boy like Jesse?
But people could change. Heaven knows she had. She lifted her gaze.
It should have been impossible for him to get better-looking, but he had. His jaw was squarer, his cheeks leaner. The dimples beside his mouth had elongated and deepened. His distinctive, ice-blue eyes were more enthralling than ever. And his hair, oh, that lovely, fine blond hair that he used to keep tied back in a dashingly romantic ponytail a decade ago was cut short, the perfect length to run her fingers through. Her hands tingled with the urge….
“Okay if I sit at the booth in the back?”
She caught herself before she could dry her palms again. “Sure. Go ahead and sit anywhere. Would you like something cool to drink while you’re waiting?”
“Thanks. Iced tea would be great.”
Iced tea? Jesse? “Uh, coming right up.”
Rather than moving away, he tilted his head to study her. “Don’t I know you?”
Don’t I know you?
At least a dozen responses sprang to Brittany’s mind. No, Jesse had never really known her. To him she would have been the chubby kid next door, his quiet and clumsy friend. At least, she hoped it was friendship he felt, though it could have been pity. He wouldn’t have a clue how fervently she had adored him, or how many lovesick glances she’d hidden behind the curtain of her hair.
She remembered well the day she’d cut her hair short. She’d been sixteen, and it had hung almost to her waist. She dared to think it was pretty, until one of the kids on the school bus called her Cousin Itt, the short, hairy creature from The Addams Family. The other names they called her, like stumpy or porko, didn’t hurt as much as being ridiculed for her beautiful hair. She’d lopped it off with her sewing shears that night.
Jesse had already disappeared by then. She hadn’t realized it would be for good. She assumed he would come back once the publicity stirred up by the trial ran its course, and the sightseers and treasure hunters stopped traipsing around the Koostra place. Jesse wasn’t shy or ugly or awkward like her. He was strong and fearless. He wouldn’t care what people said or thought. Besides, it was his father who had been convicted, not him.
But the family never returned. Sometimes at night, Brittany glimpsed a light at the house or moving around the yard or flickering through the trees, and her pulse would do the little dance it always did at the thought of seeing Jesse. Yet the property remained vacant, even during the years she’d been on the road herself.
Then how could he recognize her now? Her hair was short and streaked with purple. It couldn’t hide anything, including the metal studs on the rims of her ears. And her waist was so small, she had to make a double bow with the strings from Aunt Mae’s frilly apron so the ends wouldn’t hang past her knees. On the outside, she wasn’t the same person. She believed she’d changed on the inside, too.
Jesse smiled. “You’re Brittany Barton, aren’t you?”
Oh, great. Whatever progress she might have made just evaporated. His smile had the same effect it always did. It made her feel special, warm, cherished….
And idiotic. She dipped her chin once in what she hoped was a casual nod. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Jesse.” He thrust out his right hand. “Jesse Koostra. My family used to live down the road from yours. Don’t you remember me?”
The question was so absurd, it brought out an answering smile. She took his hand without thinking.
The hand that enclosed Brittany’s was warm and gentle. She thrilled at the contact. For an instant, the restaurant smells and sounds disappeared and she was once more an eight-year-old girl with skinned elbows and knees, sitting on the side of the road, staring through her tears at the mangled bicycle in the ditch.
Her parents had repeatedly cautioned her not to ride her bike on the hill to the north of the farm, because the road curved sharply, the gravel was loose and they worried she might fall. But they cautioned her about everything, so she did it anyway. With the sun warm on her face and the breeze ripe with the smell of freshly cut hay, she pedalled faster and faster, leaning low over the handlebars as the world blurred around her. The sensation of speed was intoxicating, her recklessness empowering.
Naturally, she crashed. The new bicycle she’d begged her parents to buy her was ruined. Her sweater was torn. Her scrapes stung like crazy. She had never felt more miserable, because she knew she would get in trouble, and that simply wasn’t like her. When she heard the rumble in the distance, she thought it was thunder, but it turned out to be Jesse’s Harley.
That was how they met. He was only fourteen, far too young to have a driver’s license, yet he was big for his age and capable of handling the large machine. It was an old, rebuilt bike of questionable ownership that he cruised around the back roads where the cops seldom patrolled.
Brittany didn’t care how many laws he was breaking. In her mind, he was the proverbial knight in shining armor, arriving on his flashy steed to rescue her.
His touch was gentle then, too. He didn’t make fun of her for falling off her bicycle or for crying like a baby. He didn’t comment on how she was too fat to ride it in the first place. Instead, he helped her onto the seat behind him and took her home on his Harley.
How could she help falling in love with him? He was the epitome of cool. Gorgeous, too. The six-year gap in their ages only made him more fascinating. Each time she saw him, she found more to love about him. He was kind. Funny. Smart. Sensitive. He wasn’t bad, like everyone in town said.
Or so she’d fantasized.
She’d been a fool. Her naive longing for an imaginary love was the reason she’d nearly ruined her life.
Cutlery clinked against a stoneware plate, snapping Brittany out of her trance. She dropped her hand to her side, finally breaking the contact with Jesse. “Yes, of course I remember you,” she said. “What brings you back to Port Hope?”
His smile faded. His features firmed into an expression every bit as tough as his reputation. “I’m looking for something.”
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