Jay
Penelope sat in a chair across the desk from Nick while Jay paced behind her in the small office, definitely not thinking about the scent of gardenia emanating from her hair, about the way the sun streaming through the window made her hair glow like the fire she’d started, nor about the fire she stirred in his belly, especially when she flirted with him at the diner.
Jay’s neck corded. He was about to be fired because of some misogynist asshole. “He implied—”
“That’s what reporters do. They imply and infer, and we, employees of the state, take what they say and disregard it. Ignore it. We, sure as hell, do not go Muhammad Ali on them and try to take them down.” Nick tapped his pen against the desk at a fast pace. “The governor is going to be on my ass because instead of his photo op on the front page of the paper, it’s going to be you throwing down with a reporter to save Penelope’s reputation. You’re goddamned lucky I could smooth this over with the reporter and your ass isn’t sitting in jail.”
Nick turned his attention to Penelope. “And you! Hope you’re happy.”
Penelope threw both hands up in the air. “What did I do?”
“Leave her out of this. I hit the...guy.” His nostrils flared. Not the word he wanted to use, but considering Nick’s current state of anger, anything else would have only further incited his boss.
Nick threw the pen onto the desk. “Didn’t you tell her to stay home?”
“He actually told me to work with you today, which is why I came out there. One of the rangers in your office told me where you’d be.” She met Nick’s glower with one of her own, and Jay couldn’t help but be proud. A woman who wasn’t afraid to stand up to Nick. Kinda like Charlie.
“The point is, if you hadn’t burned down my building, the governor would never have come, the reporters would have found something more interesting to report, and I wouldn’t have to spend my afternoon writing up my chief of rangers and fielding phone calls from an angry governor.”
“That’s enough, Nick.” Boss or not, Jay needed to squash Nick’s tantrum before it got worse. After all, Jay’d experienced Nick at his worst, when stress got the best of him, and that would be too much to take out on Penelope. “I acted without her permission, knowledge, or any sign she wanted me to take a swing at the guy. Hell, I don’t even know if she’d heard what that jackass said. I’m the one who hit him. Not her.”
“Oh, I heard, and trust me when I say I held back from kicking him when he was down.” Her glower dropped, and she smiled at Nick. “And you’re right, everything since the fire has been my fault, but I’m here now, trying to make it right in the best ways that I can. And I take full responsibility for this latest fiasco, too.”
Jay walked until he was standing right next to Penelope. She wasn’t going to take full blame for everything that happened. He wouldn’t let her be a martyr. “Anyone who read the fire report would know it wasn’t entirely your fault. More like Murphy’s Law. If the building was up to date, if the grills were replaced, maybe this whole fiasco wouldn’t have happened.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “And no way in hell was anything that jerk said your fault.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Hey, Romeo, get Juliet out of my office before I fire you and call Carter and have her sent to jail.”
Without a word, Jay placed his hand on Penelope’s shoulder and led her out of the building to where she’d tied Havoc to the porch rail outside. Even being in the chilled air was a lot better than standing in the office a second longer. Besides, his damned hand still ached.
But he wasn’t ready to part ways. Not from someone who was strong, someone who stood by his side when Nick scolded him. “Still want to see my sculptures?”
Penelope’s eyes widened while her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, yet no words came out. Eventually, she just nodded and followed him to the parking lot. They climbed into his truck. She wanted to see the part of him no one else knew about, the part that had saved him from himself, and for some reason he wanted to show her.
He drove quietly, blowing out a breath every once in a while, trying to calm his racing heart, trying not to lean over and inhale the floral coconut scent emanating from her skin. He’d been hurt enough to last a lifetime, and giving Penelope the chance to judge him and his creations was a big step.
He pulled up at the farm and bypassed the house to park in front of the barn. It didn’t look like much from the outside, certainly not a place that had saved his life. The hayloft door had long ago been replaced with a plain, discolored grouping of boards that either looked too new or too old to match the rest. Jay could never decide. And the wooden doors had been weatherproofed to protect his work so the grinding noise as he slid them open always grated on his ears.
Today he didn’t notice them so much, and that alone said a lot.
Penelope was here because he’d asked her, and as much as he was having second thoughts and wanted to steer her back to the truck, he didn’t. He let her walk in before him, let her breathe in the smell of hay and freshly chipped wood, the scent of clay that had been fired in the oven. He flicked on the overhead lights and stood against the doorframe, not quite ready to bare his soul through his work. These sculptures were pieces of himself, parts he’d opened up and wrestled with in the work.
Penelope now stood where he’d spent so much time converting the barn into his studio. The big windows had been added so he could have adequate daylight, the high ceiling that allowed his creativity to soar, the kiln oven that transformed his work from blobs of clay into lasting pieces, and sculptures of wood, clay, and metal, some finished, but many in various stages of production.
She wandered from one piece of artwork to another, her small hand reaching out and touching his work. Jay thought it would be agony to have someone, anyone, in his studio, a place where he created light from his darkness, where he worked on exorcizing his demons. To his surprise, he enjoyed watching her weave her way through the room. Though, she hadn’t said anything about the quality of his workmanship, or if she understood his vision.
He found himself holding his breath, unsure if he truly wanted her to understand, to see his pain. Maybe it would change the way she viewed him. Maybe instead of someone strong enough to protect her, she’d see him as less than. The same way Karen did. As if there was a limit to what he could offer.
Finally, Penelope turned to him. “Have you ever thought of selling your work?”
Jay expelled his breath and cleared his throat. She thought his work had merit? It shouldn’t have meant as much as his heart was making it out to be. He tried to control his galloping pulse as he gazed at her. He had no clue whether she understood anything about sculpting, but hopefully she could tell how deeply he cared for the subjects of the clay statues—an old man, a beautiful German pointer, and a woman whom he’d fashioned after his grandmother. Was Penelope able to see the love that went into each piece? And the carved wooden pieces—the same German pointer, his beloved Zip in motion, a ship that could have belonged to a pirate or a Viking king, and a half-finished replica of the house they’d passed as he drove them in—could she tell he’d created them with care and a firm, but delicate touch? Suddenly, he was dying to know which she considered worthy of trying to sell.
He glanced around at the various pieces dotting the floor of the barn. It would be hard to let go of the things he’d created. They were all personal, created in times of despair as a way to remember those he’d lost. A physical representation of happier times, life, and joy he held in his heart. “Do you honestly think someone other than myself would appreciate my art?”
She ran her fingers over the wood carving of the German pointer. “I took an art appraisal class in college, and I know work like this could bring a substantial payday.”
The thought was so unexpected he didn’t know what to say. Again.
This was becoming a common occurrence around her.
He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt and chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to find a way to calm all the fluttering occurring in his chest.
“The world needs to see your talent, Jay. This work needs to be in people’s homes. I know a few galleries in town that we visited during my art class. I can help you with some introductions, if you’d like. I could take some pictures of your work, see if there’s any interest.” She shifted her gaze from the art to him. “That is, if you’re willing to let some of these go. I know artists can fall in love with their work and don’t want to relinquish it, regardless of the price tag someone’s willing to meet.”
She ran her hand along the carved wood dog’s coat, over the curve of its back. The wood had been sanded to a smooth, splinter-free shine. “How did you learn to do all this?”
Jay followed the sensual movement of her fingers, swallowing past the lump in his throat. The statue wasn’t the real Zip, but he used to pet his partner in the same way, with the same care. “Gramps taught me the wood-carving.”
Her smile warmed him to his core. “Did Gramps ever sell any of his work?”
He shrugged. “It was always just a hobby with him. He’d whittle little pieces while he was teaching me how to be a man, and I finally got him to stop giving me life lessons and instead give me wood-carving lessons.” His face heated even more with the admission. Something about Penelope flayed him open. Made him vulnerable.
He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.
“Every strand of hair has its own identity on the wooden dog. The sails on the boat are held by slivers of wood so thin and delicate it’s a wonder you didn’t break them while you were carving them. Gramps knows his stuff.” Penelope’s gaze shifted from the wood sculptures to the other mediums. “And the rest?”
“I learned to sculpt clay in high school. I took art as one of those easy classes, just to get the letter grade. I figured how hard could it be to draw some lines, make some ashtrays. But I ended up liking it.” He found working with clay soothing. And art class was a way to get out of chorus. No matter how hard he tried, Jay couldn’t hold a tune. “Now, I come out here when I can’t sleep, when my mind won’t quiet.” More self-disclosure. Jesus.
“You live in the house?”
“No, the house belongs to Gramps.” He jerked his head toward the road they’d come in on. “I live at the edge of the property. Gramps didn’t like having me under his feet and telling him what to do, so I’m close enough to watch out for him, but far enough away we both get some privacy.”
Penelope spun around to meet his gaze. “Is Gramps okay?”
Jay rubbed the back of his neck, his body growing cold as if someone shoved him into a meat locker. “He has Parkinson’s and sometimes...it’s rough. Sometimes he needs help.”
Penelope placed her gauzed-wrapped hand gently on his upper arm. “I understand. Since my mom died a couple of years ago, I’ve been having dinner with my father every other week. A way to check in and see how he is. Guess it’s our turn to start worrying about the people who raised us.”
His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her, warmth enveloping his body. The loss of a caretaker was personal, so personal, and Penelope had allowed herself to be vulnerable with him. He appreciated it more than he could even articulate to himself. When he brought his hand up to her cheek, her olive skin tinted pink. “I’m sorry for your loss, Penelope.”
They stared into one another’s eyes for a long moment, a quiet communication that knocked down another layer of his defenses. His pulse sped up, a light-headedness rising into the silence that alarmed him.
Easy does it.
Penelope was only here temporarily. She lived in New York City. Her life was there. Her job was there. And as she just mentioned, so was her father, whom she needed to check up on. Just like Gramps was here in Maple Falls for him to take care of.
Which was why there was no possible future for them as anything more than coworkers, because she would eventually leave him. Just like everyone else.
Jay’s heart hammered at his ribs like it wanted to tear right out of his chest. He grabbed the front of his shirt, stepping back to create distance between them. The warmth in Penelope’s eyes morphed into hurt and confusion, and that made it worse.
What the hell was he doing opening himself up to someone like this again? Especially when the writing was on the wall that it would never work. And not because she was some awful person.
He needed to get her home. Get her. Out. Of. Here. Even with a hot clay oven, wood-carving knives, and a torch for his metalwork, Penelope was the most dangerous thing in the room.
Because he didn’t have the first clue how to shut down all the unwanted emotions stirring in his heart for her.