Welcome to Last Chance (Last Chance #1)(24)
Author: Hope Ramsay

He ought to turn his back on her.

Only he couldn’t.

Clay headed across the street and took the stairs two at a time, knowing this was a true sign that he had fallen back into old, worn-out, bankrupt patterns of behavior.

Jane opened her door when he knocked.

She looked like hell, with a red, puffy nose and swollen eyelids. One look at her and his whole body reacted with lust and longing and relief and something much deeper that spread through his bloodstream like an intoxicating drug.

Christ almighty, he wanted to take care of this woman. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight and tell her it was okay to cry her eyes out.

But he was finished collecting needy people.

Wasn’t he?

Except, of course, Ricki was holed up at his place, and she had breezed into town on the bus needing a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on, and clearly, a bed to warm.

So Clay hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and started to wonder why the hell he hadn’t gone to the Kountry Kitchen for biscuits in the first place. He stood there staring at Jane feeling like a class-A jerk.

“Hey,” he said lamely.

Her lips twitched, and he had this feeling that she wasn’t finished crying. He squeezed his fists around his belt loops to keep from reaching out to comfort her.

She cleared her throat. “So,” she said in a forced tone that he figured was supposed to sound light and breezy. “I guess I owe you for the lawyer. I—”

“You don’t owe me squat,” he said. His voice didn’t sound good. It came out flat and angry, and she jumped a little bit.

A little piece of his heart broke away and a lump the size of a pecan lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to make her jumpy. He started again. “I mean, I only paid Eugene a dollar. Just to make it legal and official, you know. So he could keep your secrets because of attorney–client privilege.”

Secrets? God Almighty, he didn’t want her to keep any more secrets. He wanted a full confession right now so he could know the true extent of her culpability. Maybe then he could walk away and go make Ricki some breakfast.

“A dollar?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Eugene owes me a favor on account of the fact that my little brother and I fixed his roof last January after an ice storm.”

She nodded while her mouth trembled. “So I guess you want some answers, huh?” she said, looking like a little girl who needed a big hug.

Clay leaned harder against the door frame and pretended his feet were super-glued to the landing. Darn straight, I want answers. “Nope,” he said aloud, and knew himself for the ultimate fool.

She blinked. “No?”

“If you want to tell me about it, I’m happy to listen,” he managed to say between suddenly numb lips. “Otherwise it’s none of my business.” Which was true, but hadn’t he made it his business the minute he called Eugene?

Something changed in her face, and he got the feeling either he’d surprised her or he had screwed things up again. He hoped it was the former, but he had this awful feeling it was the latter.

Maybe she wanted to make a full confession.

Maybe she needed somebody to care.

Well, he could do that. He cared a lot.

“Do you want me to make it my business?” he asked.

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. It was a pretty weak denial. But he was a pretty weak man.

He pushed away from the door frame and unhooked his hands from his belt loops. The minute he cupped her jaw in his hand, he knew he’d burned all his bridges. There was no way back across this river.

The heat of sexual awareness flowed through him. He pulled her head into his chest, and she sagged against him as he held her up. His anger dissipated; his frustration disappeared; his doubt evaporated. He cupped the back of her head, the texture of her hair silky against his palm, as he drew in a deep breath, filling his head with her spicy scent. Every fiber of his being told him this was the right thing to do, although somewhere in his head he knew he was making the same mistake he always made.

Why had the Lord given him this talent? He’d been holding up women for a long, long time, and he was pretty good at it. But it wasn’t the same as love or commitment. A man couldn’t build a future on this.

In a minute, she would cry. And he’d let her get snot all over him. And, fool that he was, he would confuse her neediness for the real deal.

And in six months—a year tops—she’d meet some exciting guy with a Harley, and she’d leave. The women he had cared for over the years had all left him for guys on Harleys. And when he asked why, they all told Clay he was the best friend they’d ever had. They would say they needed more than a friend.

Just then, Jane pushed away from him. “I’m sorry, Clay,” she said in a hoarse little voice. “I guess I’m feeling pitifully grateful at the moment. Thank you for sending Eugene. And thank you for not pushing me for answers. And thank you for the CD player. And thank your mother for the food and the shelter when I needed it, even though I have a policy about not accepting charity.” She swallowed hard. “You’re a good man, Clay Rhodes, from a good family. But I think it might be best if we left it there, okay?”

He stared down at her, completely nonplussed. The woman was bypassing the crying jag and the six months of great sex and moving right to Gee, Clay, you are a great friend.

His heart was safe. She wasn’t going to break it.

So why the hell did it hurt to breathe?

“Uh, it’s okay. If you ever need someone to…” His voice faded out. If she ever needed someone to what? Tell her secrets to? Cry on? Love? Sleep with? Just exactly what?

Jane stepped back and sniffled. “It turns out I’m going to be staying in Last Chance for a while, until your brother is satisfied that I’m really Jane Coblentz. It apparently takes a little time for DNA testing. So I need to go downstairs and get to work. It’s almost nine, and a beauty shop gets kind of crazy on a Saturday. Your ma gave me this opportunity, and I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s been kind to me.”

“DNA testing?”

She shrugged. “I guess some of this is your business, since you sent Eugene. Your brother doesn’t think I’m Jane Coblentz.”

“Why would he doubt who you are?”

“Because I ran away from home when I was seventeen, and I haven’t been Jane Coblentz since the first time I saw my face on a milk carton and realized my folks wanted me back. Some yahoo cop in Kentucky thinks I was murdered. He doesn’t have a body, of course, since—to quote Mark Twain—reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. I understand the FBI is interested in making sure I’m myself, too, since I’m officially missing and that makes it all a federal offense.”

“Are you telling me my stupid brother arrested you for killing yourself, and the FBI wants to find you even though you don’t want to be found?”

Jane nodded and managed a little smile. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And the only reason you’re in this fix is because I discovered that you weren’t Mary Smith that day the hurricane blew into town?”

She nodded again. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh, God, Jane, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “Serves me right for rifling through your wallet that morning.” She folded her arms across her chest. The defensiveness settled stiffly on her shoulders.

“Oh, crap,” he said on a puff of air. What a jerk he’d been. That morning he’d pawed through her purse, he’d been feeling incredibly guilty and confused. She had the misfortune to be in the way when he’d lashed out.

“Look, Clay, you didn’t know,” Jane said quickly. “And God knows you’ve been trying to atone for Wednesday night and Thursday morning for days now. I forgive you. I don’t blame you. In fact, well…” She hesitated for a moment, controlling the wobble in her voice. He wondered if she might break down. She didn’t.

“I should have refused your offer that night,” she finally said. “I’m the one who acted like a slut.”

“You are not a slut,” he countered. The by-now-familiar guilt tugged at his insides.

“Let’s just put it behind us, okay? We made a mistake on Wednesday. We don’t need to compound it. I’m trying to get my life in order, and I’ve decided that for once I’m going to do it on my own. It’s a good thing, in a way, that you found that old ID. I’m okay with it. And, for the record, I don’t need to be rescued.”

He clamped his back teeth together. She was lying through her teeth. If ever there was a soul in need of rescue, she was it. She was the poster child for abandoned and down-on-your-luck waifs. But she was also smart enough to recognize the difference between passion and compassion, need and love.

When he didn’t respond, she added, “I have to go to work now, but I did want to tell you how much I appreciated the Dolly Parton and Lee Ann Womack CDs you lent me.”

He jammed his hands into his back pockets. She was sending him away. He was getting a first-class brushoff.

He ought to feel some sense of relief. He could go home and rekindle the flame with Ricki. And wasn’t that something he had fantasized about a million times? But instead of feeling excited about his future with his old flame, Clay felt this huge gaping hole in the middle of his chest where Jane had just blown him to kingdom come. He wasn’t used to getting turned down by females in need.

Clay didn’t want to leave, so he opened his mouth and said the first thing that came into his head. “You have a nice voice.”

That got him an inkling of a smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I learned all the words to ‘I Will Always Love You.’ You were right about that song.”

“Why don’t you come down to Dot’s Spot and sing it tonight?” he asked, trying to regroup and figure out if this was what the next move ought to be.

Jane’s smile widened and hit him upside the head and made him weak in the knees. “I’d like to come down to Dot’s and sing.”

That’s when he realized he had been fooling himself for the last twenty-four hours.

He wanted this woman, and not so he could take care of her, or be her friend. He wanted to lay her down in the grass somewhere and make hot, hard, sweet, endless love to her.

The sudden desire exploded inside him and blew away every possible objection his feeble mind could conjure up. Oh, yeah, she was too young for him, too smart for him, too unstable, and too New Age. She had baggage and secrets and demons, and she was probably engaged in something illegal. And to sum it all up, the woman had been so badly hurt she had run away from home at the age of seventeen and didn’t want to go back even though her parents were looking for her. She had major-league trust issues that would make a sane and stable relationship with her impossible. She didn’t even trust herself to have a crying jag on his shoulder.

The woman was hell-bent to rescue her own self. Without any help.

And that made her one of a kind.

Oh, yeah. And she was beautiful and built and Clay wanted to touch her all over. He wanted to feel her hands on his body. Jane Coblentz was seriously hot and seriously determined and seriously screwed up.