dirty dishes. Empty cans of ravioli and Hungry-Man soup, lids bent jauntily, kept company with empty TV dinner containers on every surface. If this was his diet, she hoped Jackson took a daily vitamin.
“Beer, soda or coffee?” He opened the fridge door. The pleasant smell of ripe fruit—peaches?—was quickly swamped by rotting greens. “Whew. Something died in here.” He squatted, then lifted out a plastic sack of mossy lettuce. “Looks like a Chia Pet.” He carried it by finger and thumb to the overflowing under-sink trash. Beer cans and paper plates slid to the floor. He swore and shoved the cupboard door shut on the mess.
“I’ve disrupted your morning,” she said. “Please do what you’d normally do. I’ll make the calls and wait.”
“Normally, I’d be sleeping, but I’m up now. I’ll make us both coffee. Just make yourself at home—” He stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d said.
She’d lost her home, too, along with her car, her clothes, her computer, hundreds of dollars in beauty supplies and equipment, and all her savings.
She swallowed hard and blinked back tears, tilting her head so they’d drain inward, but it was no use. They spilled over her lids. She swiped them off her cheeks and sucked in a breath that turned into a choked noise way too close to a sob. She jumped out of her chair, thinking to head to the living room to keep Jackson from seeing her dissolve completely.
But he caught her upper arms. “You get to cry, Heidi. You got the rug yanked out from under you. It’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms for a hug—the kind given to a sorrowing friend.
For just a heartbeat, she let herself enjoy the sensation of his broad chest under her cheek, his bay rum and warm man smell, his fingers splayed across her shoulder blades.
But that only delayed the inevitable. She backed away fast. “It is a shock, that’s for sure. But I’ll figure out what to do and where to go…and everything.” Her voice faded as the enormity of her problem sank in.
“You can stay here,” he said with a shrug. “Until you figure it out.”
She froze. Stay here? Her first reaction was relief. That had been the plan, right? This was supposed to be her place. But she couldn’t impose on Jackson, no matter how sincere his offer. “Thanks, but I’ll get a hotel or something.”
“With what?” He looked at her doubtfully.
Good point. She had no money and no credit cards.
“Do you know anyone in Phoenix?”
“My new boss. I’m working at a hair salon. Just part-time, since I’m a student really. Going to ASU…” With no tuition money. And she didn’t exactly want her first words to Blythe to be, “Can I sleep in one of your salon chairs?”
She could call her brothers. On her first day? Three hours after her escape? She didn’t even have bus fare to get home, if she were willing to give up. Which she was not. She swallowed across a dry throat.
If she stayed with Jackson, did that make her weak or merely practical? She needed to know before she said yes.
The doorbell rang. “That’s the police,” she said, delaying her decision. “Maybe they found my car.” She didn’t need the doubt in Jackson’s dark eyes to tell her she was dreaming. She needed something to cling to. Her new life had just taken off down the road without her.
2
JACKSON WATCHED HEIDI race toward the entry hall, around the corner from the living room, the tight bounce of her backside distracting him a bit. He heard the door open and her say, “Did you find my car?” with too much hope in her voice.
He didn’t catch the mumbled response, but her “oh” was so dejected he felt it in his bones. Hell, the car was chopped or halfway to Mexico by now.
She could stay with him for a few days easy. Probably she had family who would come fetch her, poor thing. Though she’d jutted that pixie chin and blinked back tears so fiercely, he figured she’d take some convincing to call them.
She led the cops to the living room where he stood and she cleared the couch for them as though she already lived here. “Were you making coffee, Jackson?” she said. She had a husky voice like that woman on Cheers. Kirstie Alley, wasn’t that her name? It sort of locked into him like invisible hooks on a cholla cactus spine.
“Right. Sure.” He’d have to talk her into staying—for her own good. He sometimes let the girls from Moons live with him when they had troubles with boyfriends or landlords. You always have to be the hero. That’s what his ex, Kelli, said about him. Everybody’s big brother, nobody’s one and only.
What was the point in fighting his nature? If someone needed help, he helped. Period.
These days, maybe, he was the last person who should offer though. His radio station—his dream—had gone belly-up after six months, taking everything he had, everything his parents had given him. He’d thrown it out as stupidly as Heidi leaving the keys in her car. Only he’d written Take Me in shoe polish on the windshield.
To cut his losses and keep expenses down, he’d sold his house in Scottsdale and moved into his rental town house—supposedly investment income. Yeah, right.
But he wouldn’t think about that now. Now he’d brew some java for the sprite in the living room who was about to hear the cops weren’t likely to recover a hubcap.
Leaning over the coffeemaker, he got a blast of scent from his shirt, where Heidi had pressed her face. Flowers and something tropical and it made him go soft inside. She’d sort of folded into him, then stiff-armed herself away—not offended by the hug. More as if she didn’t dare let herself feel better.
He pinched up some fabric and took a big sniff. Mmm. Made him think of down pillows and that lip gloss girls wore in middle school, when the first wave of testosterone had knocked him to the sand. Those middle-school girls. Batting their lashes, pursing their lips, jiggling those curves—not fully aware of their power over him and the other hapless boys under their spell.
Heidi was hot that way. With big eyes that shimmered blue—like the metallic paint on the Corvette he’d rebuilt. She had some stare on her—innocent and all-knowing both.
At least Kelli wasn’t around to give him grief about taking in another stray. She’d cut out right after the station folded and her departure hadn’t hurt as much as it should have. He’d been kind of distant. Still was, he guessed. Gigi had stayed here for ten days and he’d turned her down flat. That wasn’t like him.
But his neutrality would make Heidi feel safe, he hoped.
How could he get her to stick around? She’d hitchhike or sleep in the bus station before she’d take charity or money, he’d bet.
Listening to the coffee hiss into the pot, he watched a fly take a lazy header into a blob of ketchup on the counter. The place was a sty lately, true. Comfortable, but messy. The kind of messy women loved to straighten out….
So she could be, like, a housekeeper. He’d trade cleaning for rent. She’d go for that, he’d bet. She seemed to have a lot of energy. And a cute little jiggle. Mmm. He felt a strange zing. As if something in him was waking up.
She’s your guest, man. Or soon would be. Shut it down.
When the coffee was ready, he loaded the pot and some mugs onto a pizza box and carried it all out to Heidi and the cops.
Heidi stood to help, but when she caught sight of the mugs, she sucked in a breath, then swooped them up, hiding them against her chest.
“What the…?” he said.
Keeping her back to the cops, she raised one mug—a gimmee from the opening of the Toy Box sex boutique, it showed a topless girl—and frowned before she bustled off.
Like the cops would care.
He made small talk with them