A Different Kind of Man

She pushed her feet solidly into the ground, using all her determination to keep from turning tail and running. The scent of him—leather, beer, man—filled her nose, causing a certain amount of dizziness. Her hand was already starting to burn. She wanted to blame that heat on the late evening sun, but she knew exactly where it was coming from. She was attracted to him. It was a mind-numbing realization.

She put the brakes on her runaway feelings. She wasn’t going to lose. Pinning him with a sweet smile, she said, “I’ll take that bet.”

They shook hands. He had a nice laugh and for a minute she felt a little guilty about what she was going to do. Just a little joke and she’d clear it up tomorrow, right?

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, when I win, I want your bike, to keep. As in, you give me the papers.”

The thug flinched. “Have you lost your mind?”

Emalea felt a bump at her side. Lana hovered next to her shoulder. “Please excuse her, sir. She seems to be having an attack of pure insanity.”

Lana tugged at her arm. “Stop it!” Emalea hissed. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I doubt that,” Lana said, but let go, retreating a half step.

“You better listen to your friend.”

She widened her eyes innocently. “You’re not afraid you’re going to lose, are you?”

Jackson frowned. The woman just didn’t know when to quit.

“We’ll run this strip like everyone else. The first one to pass the orange stripe at the end of the road will win.”

He gritted his teeth. “Is this something you do on a regular basis, challenging people to races for their bikes?”

The shorter woman moved forward. “No, she does not.” She glared at her friend. “She needs to reconsider what she’s doing.”

The woman—Doc—pushed her friend to the side. “I know what I’m doing.”

He glared at the two of them. So what? He’d race. When he won, he’d tell her to forget about the dinner. Part of him still wanted to go, but that wasn’t a part he needed to be thinking with. Good sense was beginning to tell him this might not be the type of woman he needed to spend time with or even let know where he lived. Images of mad stalkers and pet rabbits in cooking pots flashed in his mind.

He twisted the key, then thumbed the start switch. “Get on your bike, honey. Let’s do it.”

When he pulled onto the road she was right behind him. The asphalt stretched before him into the distance. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the races didn’t seem especially interested. Though, at the moment, they didn’t know what was at stake.

For a second, he considered backing out. What was he thinking? This was not the way he had imagined he’d start life in his new town. She raced ahead of him, and he gunned the engine to pull alongside her. She needed to learn a little lesson. Now was as good a time as any. With a wave of her arm, she began to slow, then came to a complete stop.

Beside them, Mick had come to be the official race starter, leaving someone else in charge of the bar. Jackson revved his engine. He was way too old for this. Doc rolled her motorcycle into position and he did the same. The dark shades she wore hid her eyes, leaving him wondering if a hint of worry might be lurking there. Probably not. She was a little too cocky for that. He adjusted his own sunglasses, then faced forward, twisting the gas, his engine roaring.

Mick raised a towel into the air as Jackson had seen him do several times already for other races. Before he could reconsider, Mick brought the cloth down with a flourish.

The race was on. Jackson’s lips twitched upward slightly as his front wheel inched past hers, then half his bike was ahead. He could just imagine her desperation, now that she was beginning to realize she would lose. A full bike length ahead, his mouth curved into a victorious smile.

A thundering noise exploded next to him and his hands nearly slipped off the rubber grips. A flash of blue streaked past him, a long braid blowing in the wind. His wrists flexed as he begged his machine for more speed. But it was completely spent. The wind whistled in his ears, and he felt a little sick.

JACKSON SLAMMED HIS FIST on the seat of his Harley. Or was it her Harley? “What kind of motorcycle is that you’re riding? You shouldn’t challenge someone to a race when you’re on a souped-up machine.”

The long-legged witch grinned at him as she stuffed the keys to her motorcycle in her pocket. With a deft move, she straddled his bike. Her friend ran up.

“Em, you’re not really going to take this guy’s bike, are you?”

“Of course I am. If he had won I’m sure he’d have collected on his bet.” She regarded him disdainfully. “You can just leave the papers at the bar. I’ll come for them later. I know you won’t try and shirk on this bet, not with all these witnesses.”

The other woman stepped back from the motorcycle, giving Jackson a brief but worried glance. “You need to admit yourself for therapy, Em. Enough is enough. Now end this little joke and give him the bike back.” She stomped over to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today. But she’ll give you your bike back, I’m sure.”

He could barely hear her, as Doc or Em or whoever she was revved his motorcycle. He wasn’t so sure he’d ever get it back. She gunned the engine one more time then roared onto the highway. A moment later she disappeared from sight. He stood there, stunned.

“I’m Lana.”

The woman standing next to him held out her hand. If he hadn’t been so angry he’d have laughed. He grasped her hand. It really wasn’t her fault, anyway. “Well, Lana, your friend should be locked in a padded room somewhere.”

“She’s really a nice person. She’s never done anything like this.”

“So what are you saying? She suddenly developed a split personality?”

Lana tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know.” She pulled on the arm of a man who had been at the table with them earlier. “This is my husband, Lance. Lance, tell him how Em is usually not like this.”

The man put an arm around Lana. “Em’s not usually this bad.”

Jackson fumed. “Yeah? Well, looks like she chose today to be off-the-chart bad.”

“How will you get home?”

He eyed Lana. Now there was the question of the hour. “I guess since your friend took the keys to her bike I won’t be riding it.”

A large, rough hand hit him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. I’ll give you a ride home in my truck. Somebody’ll cover for me in the bar.”

He squinted at Mick’s smiling face then nodded. Jackson followed the beefy man to a dilapidated blue truck. The passenger door squeaked in protest when he opened it. He tried to get comfortable in the worn seat while the truck rumbled down the road. Somehow his plan to explore his new neighborhood had gone seriously awry.

“Take a right, Mick. It’s only a few miles.”

Mick pulled at the steering wheel, following his directions.

“What do you know about the woman who took my bike?”

The big man gave him a sidelong glance. “You mean the woman you lost your bike to in a bet.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. But do you know her?”

“Known her all her life.”

Jackson’s elbow slipped off its resting place on the edge of the window. “And you didn’t see fit to warn me that she was crazy.”

“Doc’s not crazy,” he said with a grunt. “But I ain’t never seen her do nothin’ like this before.”

Resting his elbow back on the window, Jackson wanted to spit. “What do you call her Doc for? Is she a doctor? Turn here.”

Mick hit the brakes then pulled on the steering wheel. “Not no medical doctor, but she has papers that say she should be called a doc. She’s a head doctor. You know, talks to people about their problems and stuff.”

“A psychologist?”

“Yep, that’s it.”

Where had he moved to? A psychologist with a Ph.D. had raced him for his motorcycle. Worst of all, she had won.

“This is it.” He pointed to the driveway ahead of them.

“You’re on the old Wright place.”

“Yeah, I’m just renting for a while until I can find something for myself.”

The ragged truck veered into the gravel lane that led to his new home. He’d been here for a week. Talk about getting things off to a good start.

“Uh-oh.” Mick hit the brakes on the truck. “Looks like the law’s at your place.”

Jackson ignored the car with the emblem painted on its side and shifted in the seat with something akin to embarrassment.

“That would be my car, Mick. I’m the new investigator for the parish and the coordinator for Cypress Landing’s volunteer search-and-rescue unit.”

Mick stared at him for a moment then gave a deep belly laugh that continued until Jackson thought the man would start crying. He slammed the truck door behind him then leaned into the window. “Thanks for the ride, Mick. I really appreciate it.”

The big man wiped a hand over his beard. “Man, this just keeps gettin’ better and better.”

Jackson had to jump to keep the tires from crushing his feet as Mick gunned the old truck back down the driveway. Yeah, he guessed it probably didn’t look too good that the newest employee of Cypress Landing’s sheriff’s department had just lost his Harley on a bet with the local psychologist. Or maybe it just meant he was going to fit in really well.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT’S THIS I HEAR about you and some guy’s motorcycle?”

Emalea chewed on a beignet without looking at her uncle. The sweet white sugar melted against her tongue as she breathed in the rich coffee-scented air. With her elbows propped on the counter, she twisted on the small stool. News sure traveled fast and to the most unwanted places. She’d only exacted her revenge late yesterday evening. But she did live in a small town. Cypress Landing was an hour and a half away from New Orleans and a stop off for tourists or anyone needing a ride across the river on the car ferry. She had heard the town called quaint, historical, even an arts-and-antiques mecca, whatever that meant.

Overhearing the question, her aunt Alice stopped to lean across the counter, ignoring the bustling workers behind her as they hurried to get orders for the diner’s early morning customers. John and Alice Berteau had raised Emalea since she was twelve. Truthfully, she’d spent a big part of her first twelve years with them, too. They weren’t going to like this.

“I won a bet, that’s all.” She met her aunt’s gaze for a second and caught a flash that could have been a smile but it never reached her lips.

“Emalea, you got no business doin’ any bettin’. What kind of lady does that?” Alice stepped away from the counter, putting her hands on her hips. Her Cajun accent always thickened when she was upset. “This is your fault, John. You got her on those motorcycles and such. She’s goin’ to bars with all those biker people. You better be settin’ her straight, now.” She stood in front of Emalea and her husband for a second longer, then wiped her hands on her white apron and disappeared into the kitchen. The idea that a thirty-year-old woman would be “set straight” by her aging aunt and uncle would have been laughable to some. Not Emalea. Aunt Alice and Uncle John were two of the most important people in her life; if they thought she needed to change something, she would give them her utmost consideration. They deserved that from her. Besides, she respected their opinions and they were usually right.

Emalea stared past her uncle to the window at the front of the diner, known simply as Main Street Coffee Shop. Naturally, the place sat at the end of Cypress Landing’s Main Street, next door to her uncle’s equally successful garage. He was a gifted mechanic, working on cars as well as motorcycles. Together, her mother’s brother and his wife did very well and that’s exactly how they did everything. Together. As a team. Unlike Emalea’s own parents, Aunt Alice and Uncle John kept life running smoothly by pouring on plenty of love. They were the lucky ones.

“See now, Emmy, you gone and got me in trouble with your aunt Alice. I didn’t build that bike for you to run around racing.”

She turned her attention back to her uncle while trying to figure how she could squirm her way out of this. “What makes you think I was racing?”

John scratched his head. “Em, how long you been livin’ here? You know good and well what happened yesterday was gonna be prime gossip this morning.”

The edges of her napkin fluttered in the breeze from the air-conditioning and she smoothed it unconsciously. “I guess I was hoping at least a day or two would pass before that story made it here.”

When she finally got the nerve to face her uncle, he was frowning at her. “So, what you doin’ with this fella’s bike?”

“Teaching him a lesson.” She lifted her coffee cup then put it back on the counter without taking a sip.

“You got no business teachin’ anybody in a bar a lesson. What do you know about this man? He could do anything to you. Maybe he decides to come take his bike back and teach you a lesson while he’s there.”

Emalea’s gut instinctively tightened at the thought.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but you take the bike back to Mick and see that he gets it to this fella. You don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“You’re right. I’ll take the bike back after our search-and-rescue team meeting.”

Gulping her now lukewarm coffee, Emalea brushed the napkin across her mouth to clean off the last bits of sugar.

“I’ve got to go. The school’s hired me to counsel students and their families. I have a couple of appointments this morning.” Sliding off the stool, she kissed her uncle on the cheek.

He patted her on the shoulder. “All right, girl. Oh, that fella who likes you came by here yesterday.”

Emalea paused. “You mean Paul Jones?”

“That’s the one. He said he was through this way on business and stopped by for breakfast, but he was askin’ for you. I don’t know why you want to be seein’ that guy.”

Paul Jones was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company and traveled to various doctors’ offices and pharmacies in the area. She had been avoiding him lately. She wasn’t sure why, because he was a nice man. “What’s wrong with Paul, Uncle John? I thought you liked him that day I met him here for breakfast.”

“I like him fine, but he’s not for you, Emalea. I don’t know why you keep dating these men that are nothing like you.”

That stopped her in her tracks. Her uncle seldom commented on the men she dated, probably because they were few and far between. “What does that mean?”

Her uncle sighed, catching her hand between both of his.

“Ever since you had all that trouble with Jean Pierre, you’ve been seeing this kind of guy. Mr. Jones, he’s…” Uncle John let go of her hand and grabbed the half-eaten beignet from his plate. “Like the beignet before you cook it, just so much dough in the bowl. But you, you’re the finished one, light, airy, coated with sweet sugar. Quite a treat, eh? When are you going to date a man to appreciate that?”

“I think you might be the only one to see it that way, Uncle John.”

He thumped his hand on the counter. “No, one day you’ll find the man who sees it that way, too. Then you better not be runnin’ him off.”

She laughed. “I’ll try to remember.”

He patted her cheek. “You take care of this little situation with the motorcycle, you hear.”

“I hear,” she replied, halfway to the door. Why her uncle had to mention Jean Pierre was beyond her. Most days she chose to forget that part of her life. She’d misjudged a man, just as her mother had. Only she’d had sense enough to get away before it was too late.

She smiled at her uncle’s comparison. Maybe that was why she wasn’t that interested in Paul. The description had been almost too exact. He could definitely be considered bland, but he was safe. He certainly would never raise a hand to hurt her.

Squinting against the sun, she stood on the sidewalk. Her uncle made sense. She needed to get the motorcycle back. But for some reason, every time she tried to clear her mind, the image of broad shoulders towering above her surfaced. Except this time he was flashing a smile at her, similar to the one he’d worn when she’d first caught him watching her in the bar. She doubted if he’d smile at her that way now. She tried to ignore what felt a lot like disappointment.

JACKSON GROANED, letting the shovel he’d been using drop to the ground. He recognized the driver of the red truck immediately. This was just what he didn’t need. His new boss must have heard about the episode at the bar yesterday.

Jackson had to admit he’d gone a bit too far. Matt Wright might be a fair man and a good sheriff, but he wouldn’t expect to find his newly hired investigator racing motorcycles and betting. The truck stopped at the end of the driveway.

Sweat ran down the side of his cheek, and Jackson dragged the back of his hand across his forehead, taking a deep breath as the sheriff of Cypress Landing strolled across the yard, coming to a stop in front of him.

“I can explain,” Jackson began, then paused. Could he? Maybe that wasn’t the best way to start this conversation.

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt responded quickly.

Almost too quickly. “Really? You’re not going to bust my butt?”

Matt laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I should have done it myself a long time ago. But I just don’t have the knack.”

Jackson pushed the shovel with the toe of his boot. Something wasn’t right. “I guess I don’t, either.”

Matt motioned toward the strip around the house where Jackson had been planting shrubbery. “Seems like you’re doing a good job to me. I told you to do anything you wanted to the house. Keep the receipts and I’ll take it off the rent.”

He didn’t know. Jackson wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sick. Maybe Matt would never find out. Jackson glanced at the Indian hawthorn he’d just put in the ground. He’d turned yard work into his way of dealing with the weight of the memories that sometimes threatened to bury him.

Matt was waiting for him to continue the conversation. He’d give it another day and if Matt hadn’t heard by then, he’d tell him.

“I… Yeah, I’ll let you know how much it cost. I worked with a landscaping company when I was in college, just something I learned how to do.”

Matt crossed his arms across his chest. “It sure helps the old place. Anyway, I came by to remind you we’ve got that volunteer search-and-rescue meeting today. I know you don’t officially start work until next week, but I’d like you to come by and meet everyone tonight.”

Jackson picked up the shovel. “I’ve got it written on my calendar.”

“It’s not the whole group, just the leader of each team. It’ll be a good chance for you to get into town and maybe start meeting the feminine side of Cypress Landing. We’ve got quiet a few head turners here.”

Jackson tried not to cringe. The last thing he needed was Matt matchmaking. He’d already had one bad experience with the “feminine” side of Cypress Landing. He wondered what would constitute a head turner in this town, other than the one he’d already met, then decided he probably didn’t want to know.

“I’m not interested in dating right now, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Matt kicked a clump of dirt and Jackson tried to give a name to the expression on his face. Uncomfortable. That was it.

“How’s everything else going? I mean…you haven’t had any other problems here, have you?”

Jackson wanted to look away but made himself stay focused on Matt. It was a fair question. “If you’re trying to ask if I’ve been in any fights since I’ve been here, the answer is no.”

“I’m not trying to make this an issue. I just know that a big change like you’ve had, leaving the bureau and moving here, can be tough.”

Sweat beaded above his eyebrows and Jackson wiped at the moisture. “I’ve gotten control of the problem I had in Chicago. And I didn’t just leave the bureau, we both know that.”

“They made you an offer. You chose not to take it.”

Jackson’s mouth twisted. “That wasn’t an offer. It was a sentence.”

Matt shrugged. “Okay, then.” He began to walk toward his truck. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He should have told Matt what had happened at Sal’s. Keeping secrets from his boss wasn’t a good way to get started. Besides, he respected Matt. Cypress Landing’s sheriff’s department might be a far cry from the FBI, but the sheriff could have held his own with any agent Jackson knew. Matt had taken a chance giving him this job after what had happened with the bureau. They’d met five years ago, when he’d been here as an FBI agent on a case involving missing children. He and Matt had become friends and stayed in touch over the years. Matt had been supportive during some of his hardest times. When he’d needed to make a change in his life, the small-town sheriff had been there with an offer. Maybe it was the streets lined with live oaks, their branches dripping Spanish moss or the antebellum homes scattered throughout the area that sometimes made him feel like he’d stepped into a different time. It was fate that Cypress Landing needed a new investigator just when he wanted a new job. Chicago had become an ugly reminder of everything he’d lost. For two years he’d tried to keep going on with his life.

But he’d been living a lie. Gripping the handle, he jammed the shovel into the ground, his teeth jarring as he hit a rock. Lifting the blade, he knocked away a clump of dirt. The sun flashed on the metal, reminding him of a pair of flashing green eyes he was doing his best to forget.

Why was she constantly in his head? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she now owned his most prized possession. Sliding his hand along the shovel, he could almost feel the skin of her hand beneath his fingers. The shovel thudded against the ground when he dropped it again. This kind of fantasizing would get him in a world of trouble. With the pieces of his life only recently jammed back together, he didn’t need that woman scattering them all around again.

“WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON, Kent?”

The thin, gangly boy shrugged his shoulders and shoved an unruly clump of black hair from his forehead. Emalea wondered when he’d last washed his hair. A good kid at heart, he just needed a little guidance. Too bad he wouldn’t be getting any on the home front. His mother shunned Emalea’s attempts at family counseling but had finally agreed to let Kent have sessions with her. The boy’s father didn’t know. The man didn’t seem the type to allow any weakness in his family.

Biting back a sigh, she regrouped. “How’s your art class?”

“It’s great.” He brightened considerably and Emalea made a mental note.

“So what’s happening in there?”

“Mrs. Wright is really cool. She’s letting me and Megan Johnson help her paint a mural at the first and second grade building.”

“That’s quite an honor. I told you when I first saw some of your drawings that you had talent.”

Kent played with the hem of his shirt. “I guess my stuff’s okay, but Megan, she’s gonna be a big artist one day. She even works in Mrs. Wright’s shop part-time.”

“Is that the blond girl I saw you talking to last weekend?”

He nodded, staring at the wall just past her shoulder.

“She’s very pretty.”

His bony shoulders rubbed the back of the chair. “She’s Gary Johnson’s cousin.”

Emalea tried not to frown. “Gary still giving you problems?”

“Not so much anymore. He found another kid to stuff in the garbage can.”

“Just remember, guys like Gary have a lot of issues to deal with, too. That tough-guy act won’t get him very far in life.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s an act.” He glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to go now. It’s time for me to be home. I’ll see you next week.”

She held out her hand to the boy who grasped it, giving a quick shake, before sliding from the chair and disappearing through the door.

The school had scheduled Kent for tutoring in the afternoon, but he actually met with her. A tenth-grader didn’t need the school bully to hear he was seeing a head doctor, as Kent often referred to her.