Jameson's Salvation Page 4

  Thirty minutes later, we were walking out of the sheriff’s office after talking to Jonny Spenser. Of course, I knew him and he knew me. We’d gone to school together and with both of us never leaving Kent County, we’d had plenty of occasion to run into each other since graduation.

  He was a good guy in high school and he’d grown up to be a good man. I couldn’t understand how he was still single other than to say, he seemed to enjoy his throne as KC’s hottest bachelor. He’d probably nailed every good-looking woman in the county and he was still well-liked and you rarely heard a cross word spoken about him. Said a lot about a man, when he could still be friendly with his exes. Or maybe it said he was great in bed and they were all hoping for another go-around so they were still nice to him in the interim.

  “You hungry?” Jameson asked, and at the very mention of food my stomach growled.

  “A little.”

  “You want to stop for pizza?”

  Pizza sounded great, but I had food at home and I hated wasting it. I guess it could keep for one more day—

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, interrupting my internal struggle.

  “Nothing.”

  “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Lying to me. I can’t stand liars.”

  I jerked in my seat at the accusation.

  “I’m not a liar.”

  “I didn’t think you were, but twice you’ve lied to me. Both of them while we’ve been in my truck. You didn’t lie to me when we were at the barn. I asked you what was wrong and you laid it out for me, bold as brass, not caring you were talking to a stranger. Now? Now you’re lying.”

  I thought about what he said and I had lied to him, once. And the second time he was making reference to, wouldn’t have been the lie he’d thought it was if he’d allowed me to finish.

  “You cut me off before I could finish my last statement. Nothing’s wrong. But I was going to add I have a roast in my crockpot at home and I don’t like eating out when I have food at home because it’s a waste. But since you mentioned pizza that sounds better. But then I was thinking it’s a big roast and maybe you’d like to come to my house and have some. But then I remembered that the last time I invited you into my mom’s house as a thank you for running off Reggie, you turned me down. So I didn’t think my ego could take another hit like that, so I was going to tell you pizza sounded great.”

  “Your house for roast it is.”

  “Come again?”

  “We’re going to your house to eat the roast you’re cooking.”

  “Um.”

  “You’re right, no sense wasting good food. You a good cook?”

  “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  Jameson’s brows pulled together before he rested his features and said, “Great. I haven’t had a real meal since McKenna took pity on me and invited me over for supper.”

  He drove past the shopping center that the pizza place was in and I wondered if he knew where he was going.

  “You’re gonna have to give me directions.”

  Well, that answered that. I told him where to go and when I was done, he asked, “Why’d you lie to me? The first time when I was stopped at the light and you were staring off into space looking like someone kicked your cat.”

  I didn’t own any cats—yet. Though I was starting to get worried I would be buying a menagerie of pets in the not-so-distant future.

  “Because I was embarrassed to tell you what I was thinking, so instead I told you I had chores.”

  Jameson nodded. “I understand that. But in the future, if there’s something you don’t want to talk about, tell me to mind my own business, don’t bullshit me.”

  I was looking at Jameson, really looking at him, and for some reason this meant something to him. Something big. Even though his demand was abrasive and frankly kind of rude—not to mention, I had no plans for any sort of future where I got to know him better—I still wanted to give him this, so I did.

  “All right,” I agreed.

  “The second part to that is, I understand not wanting to share, but if you find yourself wanting to, you never have anything to be embarrassed about. I’m the last person to judge. I may be an asshole and I do my best to avoid human interaction, but I don’t judge the people I like.”

  “And I fall into the category of people you like?” I stupidly asked.

  Jameson was quiet for a while and I was starting to panic a little when he finally spoke, “Yes, strangely, you do.”

  I realized two things. The first was, Jameson didn’t just say things. He took the time to measure his answer and make sure what he was saying was what he meant to say. And I had a feeling, if his answer would’ve been the opposite, he still would’ve told me, even if it was impolite to do so. Jameson Grant did not do social grace.

  The second was, he was oddly confused about liking me. He sounded genuinely surprised.

  “Thanks for your help,” I told him.

  He shifted in his seat. “You already said that.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said I was sorry to put you out.”

  “Same thing. Your appreciation was implied.”

  “You don’t take others’ gratefulness well, do you?”

  The slightest smile. “No, I do. I just haven’t done anything to earn yours, yet.”

  I’d never met anyone like Jameson. He was forward to the point of being abrupt. One could even call him bad-mannered. But I felt oddly comfortable around him. I’d spent very little time with him, yet I knew exactly where I stood and I liked that. I knew he liked me enough to offer me his time. I knew he didn’t like to be lied to—which no one did—but he didn’t even like the smallest of omissions, he preferred straight out honesty. I knew he didn’t like most people. I knew he was loyal, probably to a fault, just like me. But mostly I knew he was a good man.

  To sum it up, Jameson was a strange bird. One I wanted to get to know. And that scared me to death. A man like him had the power to squish me like a bug under his boot. Not that I thought he’d do it intentionally. But I knew myself—no matter how many times I’d been hurt, I still wore my heart on my sleeve.

  I just hoped I was as resilient as my dad always said I was. I had a feeling I was going to need to be.

  5

  Jameson

  “No complaints, huh?” Jameson looked down at his now-empty plate and wondered if he had room for thirds.

  “What was that?” Kennedy asked.

  Her head tipped to the side and her hair fell over her shoulder. It was pulled up in a ponytail but the ends brushed her left breast, drawing Jameson’s attention to her chest, and once there he couldn’t help but take his fill. She had perfect-sized breasts for her small frame. Not too big, not too small.

  Jameson knew it was rude how he was checking her out, so he forced his gaze to her face and took a moment longer to enjoy how pretty she was. No makeup, no subterfuge, no charade. Kennedy was who she was, she didn’t try to hide the fact she worked hard and that work included manual labor. There was no girly polish on her short nails, and he’d bet she didn’t even own a bottle. Her hands were work-roughed, her clothes were worn for comfort, and her hair was messy.

  Jameson liked that, all of it.

  “You’re a damn good cook,” he finally answered.

  “Kinda hard to screw up a roast. I just threw it in the crockpot this morning.”

  “Right. And the stewed tomatoes? Did you make those?”

  “Of course I did.” Jameson smiled at her disgruntled response. “I picked them fresh from the garden this morning. The bell peppers and zucchini, too.”

  By the time they’d gotten to Kennedy’s house, the sun had set and Jameson couldn’t see much. Nixon had been right though; her house was secluded. She’d mentioned her property line ended at the county road but her house was not street side. Much like where Jameson lived, you had to drive down a dirt lane lined with trees to get back to the old farmhouse.

  His headlights had
provided enough illumination to see the barn behind the house, and beyond that her neatly planted garden. But he hadn’t been able to appreciate the extent of her crops.

  “Hard work taking care of all of this by yourself,” Jameson noted.

  Kennedy sat up straight and held herself tight. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just stating the obvious.”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything and Jameson knew he’d struck a nerve. And for some inexplicable reason he wanted to know more.

  “Someone tell you you couldn’t handle it?”

  Kennedy sighed and slumped back in her seat, and for a moment he thought she was going to lie to him. His jaw clenched in preparation. He hated liars. If he asked a question he expected honesty, even if that honesty was as simple as telling him it was none of his business.

  “Lots of people have told me I was stupid for wanting to keep my dad’s farm. After he died, some people pitched in to help me, but there’s only so long they can help before they have to get back to their lives. When my mom ended up having to sell off some land, I felt like a failure. Like I was what everyone was saying, a silly girl trying to do a man’s job farming.

  “It took me a long time to realize even though we couldn’t keep it, I didn’t fail. I tried my best with the tools I had. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of money farming, and tractors and other equipment are expensive. My dad didn’t believe in carrying debt, so everything we had was old. He knew how to fix just about anything. But when stuff started breaking down on me, I didn’t have the knowledge he had. We had no choice but to sell. It was that or go into debt, and that wasn’t right to put my mom into financial hardship just because I had a point to prove.”

  Jameson was damn impressed and more than a little pissed-off on her behalf. He’d never bought into the notion there was a distinction between a man’s job and a woman’s. Of course there were things that men were more prone to excel at than women, but that didn’t mean a woman couldn’t do it. It simply meant that the woman who took on the task would have to be determined.

  And by all accounts, Kennedy was determined.

  “Glad to hear you know you didn’t fail. Too many people think that when something doesn’t work it’s a failure, instead of realizing the experience was a lesson. The only failure is when you don’t do anything. When you sit on your ass and expect the world to hand you what you want. And I have a feeling you’ve never sat around a day in your life. You impress me.”

  Kennedy’s head tipped down and her cheeks pinked. Jameson’s fingers itched to reach out and touch her. Lift her chin and make her look at him. But he refrained. It was not his place to touch her anywhere, no matter how badly he wanted to.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t have time to sit and do nothing. There’s always something to do. I might not have all two hundred and fifty acres we once had but I still have fifty, my bees to tend to, and not to mention, this old house would fall down around me if I didn’t keep on top of it.”

  Jameson looked around the dining room and wondered if she’d restored the woodwork all by herself. There was crown molding at the ceiling, a bullnose chair rail that went around the room on three sides, and by the look of it someone had removed a wall, opening the dining room up to the kitchen.

  “Did you do the restoration in here?” Jameson asked.

  “Yeah. I wanted to open it up. The house was built in 1909. It was just the kitchen and this room downstairs and the two bedrooms upstairs. The original outhouse is still out back. Back then every room had a door so you could close it off to keep the heat where you needed it.” Jameson thought about the kitchen and had noticed there was a fireplace in there, as well as one in the dining room. “In the thirties, they put in a bathroom upstairs. It was crazy small. And in the forties, they built an addition that almost doubled the size of the house. But anyway, with everything closed off it was stuffy and dark. Thankfully the wall I wanted to remove wasn’t load-bearing, so it was a cinch to demo.”

  Just as Jameson had thought, Kennedy was remarkable.

  “You did a great job.”

  “Thanks.” Her gaze slid away again and Jameson couldn’t help but smile.

  “Seems you’re the one that has issues with praise,” he noted.

  “Maybe I’m just not used to it.”

  How in the hell was that possible? The woman was astonishingly capable and obviously talented.

  “What’s that mean?”

  There was another sigh and she looked over at him and shook her head. “That’s for another conversation.”

  “Is that your nice way of saying it’s none of my business?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Jameson chuckled and a strange feeling hit his chest. One he’d never felt, therefore couldn’t place, but it felt so damn good he didn’t try and stop it.

  “Would you like dessert, a tour of the house, or neither and you can take me back to get my truck from your house?”

  “Are your keys in your truck?”

  That was something Jameson had learned in the last few months he’d lived in Kent County. Everyone left their keys in their car and most didn’t lock their doors. It was beyond weird and something Jameson didn’t think he’d ever get used to.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll have the guys bring your truck over.”

  “Why would you bother them when you have to go home and I can drive myself back?”

  “It’s not a bother, and even if it was, you’re dead on your feet from workin’ all day. You don’t need to be going out again, not even to drive your truck home.”

  “I don’t like favors, Jameson.” She pinned him with a stare and it was cute how she’d narrowed her eyes and thought she could get him to back down.

  Jameson was contemplating how to explain himself without Kennedy thinking he was more of an asshole than he was sure he’d already made himself out to be. Which was something else new. He couldn’t remember a time he cared what someone else thought. He didn’t guard his words or his reactions, but he found he cared what she thought.

  And Jameson thought that just because a woman could do anything didn’t mean she should have to, or that while he was around, he’d allow her to.

  “It’s not a favor when it’s offered.”

  “Feels the same.”

  “It might, but it’s vastly different. You didn’t ask me to do anything. I offered. And I did so because I don’t want you out driving this late after you’ve worked your ass off all day.”

  “It’s barely nine o’clock.”

  “What time did you get up this mornin’?” he asked.

  “Five, same as always.”

  “That means it’s late and it will be later if you go pick up your truck after you give me a tour of your house. Holden and Weston can bring your car over. Their lazy asses didn’t get up until seven.”

  Kennedy’s lips twitched and Jameson reached in his pocket for his cell.

  “Seven’s hardly lazy.” She smiled.

  “It is when you’re up at five.”

  Jameson sent his text, and before he could put his phone back in his pocket, Holden had replied they’d bring her truck over now.

  “I still think it’s unnecessary, but I’m gonna pick my battles and just say thank you.”

  “Pick your battles?”

  “Yeah, I have a feeling there will come a time with you when I’ll need to fight for my corner. So I’m saving up all my ammunition for that battle. No sense in using it all up on something I really don’t care about, even if I think it’s silly to bother your friends. But in the grand scheme of life, it’s no skin off my nose if someone drives my truck.”

  Jameson liked that a helluva lot. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he couldn’t deny the feeling.

  Kennedy took Jameson upstairs to show him the work she’d done ripping out an old bathroom, and how she’d converted the old one and a small bedroom into a master closet and new en suite. The workmanship was
pristine—she’d spent a lot of time remodeling her home. It was updated but somehow she’d kept the house authentic.

  She was showing him her latest project in one of the bedrooms when two sets of headlights swung into her drive, signaling Holden and Weston were there.

  “Are you going to go down and talk to them?” she inquired.

  “Nope. They said they’d leave your keys in your truck. I’ll grab them and bring them in before I go.”

  “You can leave ‘em in the truck. I never bring them in.”

  Jameson clenched his teeth and badly wanted to school her on personal safety, especially with the asshole Reggie circling. But he didn’t. He, too, would pick his battles, and getting Kennedy to change a habit she’d had since she began to drive was unlikely.

  “If you need any help in here, let me know,” he said instead. “Hanging the molding will be easier with two people.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not that hard. I just have to cut it into manageable sections and butt the joints. By the time I putty them and paint them, you can’t see my breaks.”

  Jameson found it ridiculously attractive she not only knew what the term ‘butt the joints’ meant, but she’d been correct, Jameson couldn’t find where she’d scabbed the two pieces of wood together.

  “Offer stands, four hands make for easy work.”

  Kennedy muttered her thanks and Jameson hoped she understood he hadn’t offered his help because he’d thought she was incapable. He’d offered because, well, he didn’t know why he’d offered. The fuck of it was, he just wanted to be around her.

  She turned off the lights and they wandered back downstairs. She stopped in the living room and with much trepidation she asked, “Would you like a beer?”

  He hated that she was uneasy, and he knew it was because the first time she’d asked him in for iced tea, he declined. Not only that, but he’d tucked tail and bolted.