Ringer: A New Year's Romance: The Doyles, a Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 7

  I check on the cats and then head out to the barn.

  When I get there, I grab a couple of dogs and join Jack on the last round.

  We put them away, do a few last-minute chores, and then go to the cars.

  “I’ll drive,” Jack says, before adding quickly, “If you don’t mind.”

  I don’t, which surprises me.

  Usually, I like being in control.

  But this morning, I’m happy to cede to Jack.

  It’s a short ride into town.

  We’ve got about an hour before they’re expecting us at the police station, so I suggest Kitty’s. It’s a cross between a coffee shop and a diner, but it’s quiet and cheap. The breakfast food doesn’t get any better.

  Jack orders a double egg-white omelet and turkey bacon with a regretful “pre-fight diet” comment, and I get one of the oatmeal bowls. Of course it’s not the healthy kind. Nope. I opt for the one loaded with chocolate and bananas and whipped cream.

  Dessert for breakfast.

  We shovel the food down, and finally, I come up for air.

  Jack sips his coffee, watching me eat.

  I suck down a slice of banana, as he looks around the place.

  “So, MMA?” I say.

  He gives me a slight, shy smile.

  “Yeah, Owen enjoys it. Figured I’d be good at it. He’s right. It’s good.”

  “What do you enjoy about it? The fame and the fortune?”

  That earns me a snort.

  “It’s what I’m trained to do, at least in some ways. But at first, it was a good way to hang out with Owen and blow off some steam,” he admits.

  He looks embarrassed.

  “You had a lot going on, Jack. It’s good that you had an outlet for all that,” I say, not unkindly.

  One nod.

  “Right.”

  Relief crosses his face like he thought I’d judge him.

  “Filled up the time. After…” his voice trails off.

  All the free time that you had after your divorce, during which you didn’t even call to say hi, I think. And, in my mind, I just sound bitchy and judgmental, which is exactly where I don’t want to go.

  He’s reading me, eyes intent on my face, and then he takes a deep breath like he’s gearing up to say something hard.

  I just wanted this to stay light. But, a slew of questions hammers at me, like punches from a kickboxer.

  Why do you beat other guys up for fun, Jack?

  Wham.

  What actually makes you tick?

  Wham.

  Who the hell are you when you’re not doing everything for other people?

  Wham.

  I sigh.

  That went off the rails. It always seems to with us.

  Frustration laces his tone, and he puts the flats of his palms on the cheap linoleum table.

  “It helped me get my head on straight, is all, Alix. I wasn’t in a good headspace for a long time there,” he answers my unspoken barrage.

  His voice is very careful.

  “Divorce is hard,” I say, going for neutral.

  What the hell do I know? It’s a platitude, but I feel I have to say something.

  He shakes his head, a red flush creeping over his face.

  “No,” he says fast, deep voice low.

  “Yeah. But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t going well – the marriage - it never really had. It was JJ, my son,” he says, his voice serious.

  Every word is costing him something.

  Jack drags a hand across his jaw, quickly becoming a familiar gesture.

  “I didn’t want to let my son down.”

  I understand. For a man like Jack, growing up the way that he did, being a good father would be a top priority. He’s used to being in control.

  Divorce would have changed that.

  A hard thing to accept, especially if he took it all on himself.

  I’m just about to respond when a chill does down my spine.

  “Alexandra,” comes a familiar nasal voice behind me.

  My name as four distinct syllables in a way that I always hated.

  I freeze.

  One second, my whole focus is on Jack. The next, Chad’s voice grates at the edges of my awareness.

  Fucking Chad Walker.

  The biggest mistake of my dating life.

  The guy I’d do anything to erase from my history.

  Possibly the reason behind why my entire life is a disaster and my property’s at risk right now.

  He saunters up next to the table. He’s wearing head to toe khaki – cream sweater, pants, boat shoes – and gold-wire glasses. Longish curly blond hair flops around his face. An oversized Rolex knockoff glitters under the diner’s harsh lighting.

  Seriously, what had I been thinking?

  He’s not a bad looking guy, just the kind of guy that looks like he’d try to talk about the stock market over breakfast. Or care more about your pedigree than your personality.

  In fact, part of me had begun to wonder why he’d suddenly taken an interest in me after I’d inherited the land. Maybe that had been the point the entire time.

  “I’m surprised you could get away from that little pet shelter of yours. You’re mostly all alone out there this time of year, aren’t you?” he asks.

  He never was very subtle.

  Still, a chill of fear cuts through me at his words.

  “You know, whenever you decide to give up this whole thing? When things get a little too hot, so to speak, my friend’s still ready to buy,” he adds, looking over at Jack.

  His voice has the strangest inflection on the word hot.

  Hot.

  You know, like fire.

  Anger starts to coil in my gut.

  That fucker.

  I’m not selling shit to him.

  I’d never sell, but especially not to him or anyone he knows. And yet, under the anger, there’s fear too.

  Maybe it’s a careless turn of phrase, how he just casually uses that word. The story of the fire would be all over town by now and he’s certainly not above using it to freak me out.

  Or, maybe he’s just making a stupid pun.

  But what if there’s more there?

  He could hurt me.

  Worse still, he could hurt the animals I care for and destroy everything that I’ve worked for.

  Jack’s palms are no longer flat against the table. They’ve curled into fists.

  He’s intensely focused on Chad.

  Huge, muscled arms coil and flex, bare under nothing but a dark t-shirt. Tattoos are covering almost every visible inch of his arms. And, to top it off, there’s Jack’s broken nose, and the angry-looking bruises.

  Chad looks visibly uncomfortable as he takes Jack in, trying to be dismissive, but failing at it.

  “She’s not alone,” growls Jack.

  Before I can say a word, Jack stands.

  He towers over Chad, who is maybe five-ten. Chad is built like an accountant, not like, well, a brick wall.

  “I wasn’t speaking to you,” Chad says, his voice suddenly going high.

  Jack just stands there, watching.

  Not saying anything, his arms folded across his chest.

  “I was talking to Alix,” Chad says again, his voice more uneven.

  Jack’s eyes shift down to me, a question in them.

  Can I take him outside and remind him how to address a lady? they seem to ask.

  I start to stand up, but Jack gives me a little headshake.

  “Lt. Colonel Jack Mulvaney, United States Marine Corps,” Jack says, his voice a low threat. He doesn’t make any move to shake Chad’s hand, the way you would during an actual introduction.

  Not that Chad asked.

  “I’m staying out at Alexandra’s place now. We’re old friends,” he says, and gives a grim smile.

  There’s an emphasis on ‘old friends’ that makes that sound a lot more loaded – and a lot more exciting – than the actual situation.

  He’s lea
ning into Chad’s space, and I can see my ex starting to tremble.

  Jack’s voice drops even lower.

  “She’s been having some trouble. You know anything about that, Chad?”

  Chad takes a step back.

  “Trouble? Well, it doesn’t surprise me. That land shouldn’t be…” Chad begins. He’s such an idiot.

  Jack doesn’t give him a chance to finish.

  He just lays one heavy hand on Chad’s shoulder.

  “That land isn’t any of your damned business, Chad,” he says, making Chad sound like a new synonym word for dog shit.

  “I’m pretty sure Alix doesn’t want to hear – or see – you again,” he growls.

  Jack just starts walking forward toward the door, giving Chad no option but to march in front of him, straight out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  The whole thing would be gratifying, except that every eye in the place is on us.

  Other patrons.

  The staff and the owner.

  Even a stranger walking by stopped to gawk.

  Oh, God. I’m totally mortified.

  Reaching into my bag, I grab two twenty-dollar bills – far more than breakfast costs – and leave it in on the table, and then I quickly rise. I’m almost to the door when Jack steps back into the café.

  Pushing past him, I can hardly breathe until I step out on the sidewalk.

  In an instant, he’s beside me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  What’s wrong?

  I’d wanted Jack to give me advice on how to stay safe.

  Even to give a sternly-worded warning to this idiot. Maybe even talk to the police. They seem to respect him.

  But I don’t know for sure that the problem is Chad.

  What if he’s innocent?

  I suspect him – strongly – but what if I’m wrong?

  Jack’s going to go back to his career and his life. The life that he’s made pretty clear doesn’t have room for me.

  I run a pet shelter for this community. These people aren’t moving away, to go back to some military world, where there are orders and obedience.

  Making a scene isn’t going to buy me friends.

  It won’t help make the police take me seriously.

  It sure as hell won’t get me the donations and volunteer hours and partnerships that it takes to make this whole venture sustainable.

  And what if I can’t put a stop to the harassment?

  I feel as if I am having a panic attack, and take deep breaths, trying not to puke up my fancy dessert-breakfast.

  “Alexandra?”

  There’s such a deep note of concern in his voice that I force myself to look up at him.

  Looking around, I see the sidewalk’s deserted and Chad’s out of sight.

  “Tell me what to do,” he says.

  I take a deep breath and then another.

  “Jack, I live here,” I say, my voice tighter and harsher than I planned. “I appreciate your help, but I can’t afford to make a scene. Not without proof. I can’t afford to piss off the people around here, and Chad’s family has a lot of pull in this town.”

  Well, Walker is an old name around here, at least.

  It’s possible they do, anyway. If anything Chad had to say while we were dating was believable.

  And if I’m wrong? Even then, the thin line of donations and volunteers that keeps the shelter running could dry up.

  Jack’s face darkens.

  “He set fire to your barn,” his voice is ice cold. “Should’ve done a hell of a lot more than I did.”

  The threat in his voice makes something in my gut pull tight. It’s easy to forget how lethal Jack is.

  “We don’t know that, Jack. Not for sure,” I remind him. “Strongly suspect isn’t know for certain.”

  I think about it, and the police don’t seem convinced it was Chad.

  “Don’t we? Name one other plausible threat,” he counters.

  I can’t, and I fucking hate it.

  But this is why I don’t normally ask for help: things spiral out of control.

  The careful balance of my day-to-day life, which feels like it’s barely hanging on by a thread, becomes even more precarious.

  And when you add the feelings that Jack’s kicking up?

  The idea of trying to deal with those – and to deal with the sense of loss when he leaves – makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of some dangerous precipice.

  Frustrated, I close my eyes, and when I open them, Jack’s jaw is set in a hard line.

  “Let’s go talk to the cops,” he says.

  Inside the police station, it’s more of the same.

  The police chief has asked the town’s one detective to look into things, and he’s not even up on the facts of the case. He looks bored as he takes statements from Jack and me, but clearly states that unless there’s more evidence, Chad’s not even a serious suspect.

  He does confirm that the fire inspector will be out to look for evidence.

  At heavy prodding from Jack, he says he’ll be having a conversation with Chad.

  But that’s it.

  Jack stands.

  “Detective, I’d appreciate an update later today. I’ll call before COB,” he says.

  The man nods, but as he flips his notebook closed, he smirks at Jack.

  “Will do, General,” he says.

  We leave.

  It’s a silent walk back to the SUV, and when I’m in the front seat, Jack just stares straight ahead for a long minute.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, voice very quiet.

  I look at him, immediately filled with regret.

  “Jack, I overreacted.”

  “Look, I see a threat, and I react one way. Protect what’s important,” he says, flatly.

  Protect what’s important.

  The weight of those words takes my breath away for a second.

  He looks away again.

  “But I should stop and think. You live here. And, you’re right. Cops are working the case. No time for mistakes,” he concludes.

  I feel like I can breathe again.

  “I really do appreciate your help, Jack.”

  His eyes come back to mine.

  “It’s been a lot to handle,” I find myself saying. “The police have been looking into it but haven’t really helped. Honestly, I just don’t want to make it worse.”

  “If it’s Chad, you’re going to have to deal with him,” Jack answers, his voice tight.

  “I know. I just want to be able to prove who it is – and definitively – so that there’s absolutely no question.”

  He nods, making no move to start the engine.

  “Not what I expected,” he says.

  And here we are.

  How could you date such a creep, Alix?

  “Thought he’d be scarier and not quite so sniveling?”

  A hint of a smile that says, you said it, not me.

  “Not the type of guy I guessed you go for, is all. Not your type.”

  My type? There’s no judgment, but clearly, he’s wondering how I can go for him in one instant and a guy like Chad in the other.

  And that’s the horrible part.

  I never really “went” for Chad. It was just easy and didn’t interfere with the rest of my life. At least, that was the theory.

  There was nothing to lose with a guy like Chad because you didn’t get too involved.

  “A friend set us up,” I shrug. “I guess he started asking about me after we were at some event together. He was fine. Not great, but good enough, you know?”

  “For what?”

  It sounds even worse saying it out loud than it does in my head.

  “We dated pretty casually for a couple of months. He’s got a lot going on, working for his family business, and was around when I needed someone to go to functions. Occasionally for dinner,” I say, watching Jack’s face.

  It darkens a bit.

  There it is.

  I loo
k out the window.

  I shouldn’t need to explain myself.

  But I feel I need to, with Jack.

  I look back to the station.

  Sighing, I begin.

  “I work a lot, Jack. Sometimes you just want company, you know? But if they don’t ask a lot in return, it’s not the worst thing. Everyone’s on the same page. Don’t have to argue when work takes all the time, you know?” I say.

  He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, and finally, when I look at him, he nods and throws the car into gear.

  We ride back to the farm in silence. I stare out the window at the passing landscape, the snow and ice, and the pine trees.

  A few minutes later, Jack pulls the SUV into the parking spot next to my car.

  He doesn’t make a move to get out of the vehicle, and I wait, even when the silence stretches out a beat too long.

  For one fleeting moment, I imagine reaching across the console and pulling his mouth to mine again.

  “Cats.”

  My brain stutters, trying to catch up.

  “Why are the cats in your house?” asks Jack. “Not in one of the other buildings?”

  Right.

  I slump back against the seat, temporarily forgetting Chad and my fantasies of Jack and everything else for the operational realities of the shelter.

  “My budget didn’t stretch quite as far as planned,” I frown. “I got the prefab building, but then it needed more work to get the plumbing and heating attached than the original estimates. There’s not really a way for me to afford to do the finish work, get it insulated, and whatnot. I’ve been picking up extra shifts when I can and hoping that I’ll have enough cash saved by spring.”

  He opens the door, swings down from the SUV and then looks back at me expectantly.

  “Show me.”

  7

  Jack

  It’s a bad idea.

  That doesn’t stop me. I’m an idiot where this woman’s concerned.

  I know better.

  After she showed me the building, it’s clearly work I can do. Framing, insulation, and some basic finish work. There are a few things I need to pick up from a hardware store, but it’s just busy work, really.

  She’s got a full schedule for most of the day with the pet shelter.

  She needs labor and money.

  I don’t have a lot of the second, but I’m not afraid of hard work.