Fangs But No Fangs

CHAPTER 6

Jolee stretched, then groaned. Good Lord, she felt like she'd been hit by a Mack truck. She opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling. Then she turned her head, seeing tweed furniture. Furniture she didn't have. Wait, the Mack truck analogy wasn't far off, was it?

That's right. She was in her neighbor's trailer. Christian's trailer. Had he finally told her his name, or had she just dreamed that?

Bracing her good arm against the edge of the couch, she pushed herself up. She looked around, but the room was empty. She couldn't tell what time it was, because thick, insulated shades covered all the windows. The only light came from a bulb left on over the range in the kitchen.

Christian— she was pretty sure he had told her his name—was nowhere to be seen. She swung her legs off the couch and stood. Her whole body ached, so she moved in a stiff, awkward shuffle around the room, trying to find a clock. She checked the living room and then the kitchen. No clocks. She wandered over to the window and lifted a shade. The sky was bright, but from the placement of the sun in the sky it had to be afternoon. The trailer was stifling, the air overly warm and stagnant.

She was tempted to open a window, but it seemed like too much work. Not to mention he must like his place like this, given the heavy blinds. She dropped the shade back into place and moved to the kitchen. She needed a drink; her tongue felt like she'd been licking a bag of flour.

She opened a cabinet searching for a glass but instead she found an odd collection of items. The Eggstractor. A Pasta Plus pot, the items still in their boxes. Meatball Magic? She took down the box, scanning the back.

"No longer do you have to take valuable time making meatballs for dinner, now with the Meatball Magic, it's easy." She frowned at the box. Was making meatballs that difficult? She shrugged and put the box back.

She picked up a white object with a handle and a hole on the other side. "Salad Shooter," she read from the side of the contraption. She put it back, noting the only other doohickey open was the Eurosealer. No dishes. No glasses. Just infomercial gadgets. How odd.

She found a plastic cup that was actually the base of the Master Chopper. That would have to do. The first cup she guzzled down in one breath. Then she returned the cup to the faucet for a refill. Sipping this time, she further inspected his home. She knew she shouldn't be nosy, but after the compilation of items in the cupboards, she was intrigued. The rest of the cupboards were bare. The drawers were empty except for a large package of straws. She frowned. She could see Christian drinking from a martini glass or a champagne glass. Not with a straw. But then he didn't seem like the type to watch informercials either. Or live in a trailer park. The list seemed to be growing.

She went to the fridge, frowning at the typed list held by a magnet.

Being Human:

Step 1: Honesty

Step 2: Belief

Step 3: Surrender

Step 4: Soul Searching

Step 5: Integrity

Step 6: Acceptance

Step 7: Humility

Step 8: Willingness

Step 9: Forgiveness

Step 10: Maintenance

Step 11: Making Contact

Step 12: Service

This guy needed a list on how to be human? That was never a good sign. She read the list again, then shook her head. She opened the fridge and peered in. The only things in there were packets of… juice or something. Hence the straws, she guessed.

"Makes my fridge look like a regular grocery market." She glanced back at the cupboard with all the gadgets. "No wonder they all look new. He has no salad to shoot or eggs to eggstract. And forget about the easy meatballs."

This guy got stranger each time she met him. And she hadn't even met him today. God knew what he'd do now.

Aside from the hum of the computer on his kitchen table, the trailer was quiet. Where was he? She took her cup and went in search. The hallway was dark. She flipped on the bathroom light on the way by to see a little better. The door at the end of the hallway was closed, and she hesitated to knock. If he was in there, he was probably sound asleep. The door, just like the one in her trailer, slid on rollers into the wall. She moved her hand to the small round handle and eased the door open just enough to see in.

This room was also pitch-black, except for the light from the bathroom behind her. The strip of light created by the open door fell directly on him, where he lay on the bed.

He was sound asleep— and naked. Jolee almost closed the door immediately, but she couldn't get her brain to cooperate with her body. The lean sinew of his arms and chest held her captive, all hard curves and latent strength. One of his arms was flung up above his head, palm up. The other hand rested on his flat stomach. His hand was large, broad, with long, strong fingers. Jolee stared at those fingers, finding something oddly thrilling about his hand against his own skin. Spread over that flat, rigid stomach.

An image of his hand moving over his chest played through her mind. Traveling down his stomach, slowly, sensually.

She swallowed. What was she doing? But even as she reprimanded herself, her eyes wandered to the place where his fantasy hand had been heading. One of his legs was sprawled out straight, long and muscular, but the one closest to her was bent, offering him a little privacy.

Thank goodness, she told herself, even as a small wave of disappointment skimmed over her.

She stared at him for a second more, then with a shake of her head forced herself to slide the door shut.

"Pervert," she muttered to herself, then took a large swallow of her water, hoping the cool liquid would extinguish the heat in her skin. It didn't.

She might have been a pervert, but to be fair to herself, he was the most perfectly built man she'd ever seen. That alone was enough to explain why she hadn't been able to look away. Her fun was over, though; now she had to get out of here. The realization that her neighbor not only had a breathtaking face but the body to match didn't change the fact that he was not someone she wanted to associate with. In fact, that knowledge only solidified the fact that he was best avoided. She knew the ego that came with a face like that. She'd already seen his ego once. He might have been kind last night, but she doubted that kindness would last. His hero tendencies seemed to be short-lived.

She hurried back to the living room, looking for her tote and the white bag with her medication. She found both by the end of the couch. As well as she could with the limited movement of her arm, she folded the comforter. Then she saw his shirt wadded up in a ball and half wedged between the arm of the couch and the cushion.

She vaguely remembered he'd brought her a clean shirt to sleep in. She'd apparently balled up the expensive garment and used it as a pillow. She picked up the shirt, shaking it out. The white cotton was badly wrinkled and covered with dirt and bits of dried leaves. There was also a spot on the front that she feared might be drool. She spread the shirt on the back of the couch and tried to wipe off the debris and smooth the worst of the wrinkles. It didn't look much better for her effort.

She sighed, then picked up her bags. Well, he probably wouldn't be surprised. He already thought very little of her. He'd probably expect her to mistreat a custom-made shirt. She just hoped the drool dried before he woke.

She headed to the door, only glancing briefly toward the hallway that led to Christian and his perfect body. He might have a perfect body and face and clothes, but the man had problems, she was sure of that. Problems she couldn't begin to deal with, not when she had her own to sort out. The most immediate of which being how she was going to get through a night of work with this bum shoulder and still pounding head.

She stepped outside, the bright light doing nothing for the headache. Then she closed the door tightly behind her, hopefully leaving the memories of Christian still sleeping in his bedroom.

For the first time since Christian moved into the hell that was Shady Fork Mobile Estates, he didn't wake immediately irritated. Irritated with himself and with the events that brought him to this very low point. Or irritated with the hunger that had to be restrained by a strict diet. Or even irritated with the evil lawn ornaments next door.

His first thought was of Jolee. How was she? A still unfamiliar sense of concern filled him. But mingled with the concern was an even more foreign emotion. He searched for a name for the feeling. It was almost like… excitement.

He slipped out of the bed and looked for his pants. Before he even had them fastened, his newly recognized excitement faded. He paused, concentrating on the atmosphere of the trailer. He didn't feel her presence there. The fourteen by fifty-six foot space was empty as usual.

Hoping that his senses were just too weak to perceive her, he grabbed a shirt and strode to the living room. But by the time he reached the main room, he knew she was gone. The comforter was folded in the center of the sofa. Above it, his shirt was spread out against the back of the sofa, the arms stretched out wide. A lifeless welcome.

He ignored the disappointment that smothered the rest of his excitement. She must have gone back to her trailer. That was reasonable. She'd want to shower and to change into clean clothes. He tugged on the shirt he carried, then went to get his shoes.

Other than the outside light, her trailer was dark. She could be asleep, he decided as he bounded up her steps. He knocked, but heard nothing from inside. He concentrated, but he didn't feel her presence there either. He tried the doorknob. The whole knob encasement wiggled loosely in his hand. The door clicked open. She really needed to fix that.

He stepped into the dark trailer, still not able to pick up her presence. Spicy sweetness scented the whole place, but it was a lingering scent, not a fresh one. He considered searching through the rest of the trailer, but there was no point. She wasn't here.

He tried to lock the door, which didn't catch correctly, so he left it unlocked, as she had. Then he stood on the stoop unsure what to do next. Where was she? Worry and exasperation mingled inside him. She should be resting. What did she have against following the doctor's orders?

What if she'd gotten ill, and decided she needed to go back to the doctor? Certainly he would have been no help if that happened in the daylight. Had she gone to another neighbor for assistance? Maybe he'd go by the hospital, just to check. He started back across the road to get his keys, when cinnamon and warm honey overwhelmed his senses. The scent was there, a definite cloud of perfume, right in the middle of the road.

The fragrance was the same type as in her trailer, waning, but still strong enough for him to sense. Pleased, he walked a little farther down the road. Her scent grew just subtly stronger. He couldn't believe his dwindled abilities would allow him to find her. Apparently vampires were like dogs and scent was the last thing to go. He did sense her, and he intended to follow the faint trail left for him like an olfactory version of breadcrumbs.

She must have gone wherever she went the other nights he'd seen her walking. As hurt and sore as she was, she'd still gone to her nightly destination. Why? The path led him back up the main road, and he quickly realized that she'd been walking home from this place last night, when he'd nearly hit her. He passed the spot, rubber from his tires lining the road.

Her trail only went a few yards beyond that point, and for the first time, he noticed a building set back from the road. A painted wooden sign was affixed to the roof and lit with lights on the eaves: Leo's Brew Pub and Karaoke Saloon. How multi-ethnic.

Another sign, even bigger than the name, balanced above that, reading: Member of the National Karaoke Association. Christmas lights decorated both signs and the eaves of the roof. Neon signs advertising different alcohols hung in the windows.

How had he missed this place?

The gravel parking lot to the left of the building had several cars lined up. Music drifted out from the open windows, as did the sound of voices. Suddenly he sensed Jolee's presence; he could feel her in the warm air. Christian frowned. This was where she went every night?

He wandered closer. Peeking in a window, he saw a large open room with more Christmas lights lining the rafters. Several groups of people sat at nicked wooden tables, drinks in their hands. Two men played a game of pool in the far corner. Farther down in the opposite corner was an open space with a booth next to it. There was a monitor affixed to one of the ceiling beams and another large monitor behind that on the wall, facing out into the room. The monitor was dark, and the booth empty. A few more patrons sat on stools at a long bar at the very end of the room. And behind the bar was… Jolee.

"Jolee girl, you need to be home in bed," Jed commented, not for the first time tonight.

Earlier Jolee had just laughed off his advice; she'd been hurting but she could handle it. However, after a few long reaches for liquor bottles on the shelves behind her and lifting a couple heavy trays, she was really hurting now.

But she forced a smile and said, "This is the best night I've had. I can handle it."

Jed shook his head. "Well, let me help you."

He'd offered that already, too, and she'd turned him down. The poor old guy was stiff enough after mopping and taking out the trash at the end of the night. She hadn't wanted him overextending himself. But maybe just for tonight.

"No, I'll help her," a voice stated before she could relent.

Jolee turned to see Christian standing at the end of the bar. She walked over to him and whispered, "What are you doing here?"

"The better question is what are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."

"Well, some of us have jobs," she said pointedly.

He didn't seem to notice the jab. "Surely, your boss would understand that you need a couple nights off."

"I am the boss."

Christian stared at her for a moment, then cast a look around the bar. "You own this place?" Confusion was clear in his eyes.

"What? You don't think a woman can run a bar?"

"No, I just can't imagine why you'd want to." He cast another disparaging look around the place.

Anger rose in her chest, and made her pounding head feel like it was going to explode. "You know what, I really don't need your rude comments. Just because you're a pretentious jerk, doesn't mean you can come in here and criticize my place. So just—»

"That was rude. Forgive me."

She snapped her mouth closed and glared at him. "Thanks for stopping by. Now you can leave."

"Nope," he said as he unbuttoned the sleeves of another tailored shirt and rolled them up. This shirt was dark blue and made his pale blue eyes even more striking. The pushed-back sleeves revealed his leanly muscled forearms. She noticed the cut from Vance's knife was totally gone. It must have been even smaller than she'd thought. She also noticed how good his muscles looked. Damn it.

She forced her gaze back to his face and demanded, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help you." He braced his arms on the bar and swung himself over to her side with the agility of a gymnast.

"There's an entrance down there," she pointed out grumpily. Not that she hadn't done the same thing many times, of course certainly not with his grace. And with the way her shoulder felt at the moment, she wouldn't be doing it again anytime soon.

He offered her a small smile, nothing more than the quirk of one side of his lips, but it still made her breath catch.

"I'll remember that next time."

"Well, actually if you want to hop right back over the bar and leave, that's fine."

"No." His amazing eyes held hers. "Let me help you."

Her gaze roamed his face. He looked sincere and even a bit desperate.

She wanted help. She needed it. "For tonight."

He nodded.

"All right." But Jolee had the feeling that she'd just agreed to a whole lot more than just tonight.