Out of Eden. Beth Ciotta

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      Jack Reynolds. Kylie’s first major crush. Although crush was putting it mildly. Best high school bud of her infuriating brother, this man had made tofu of her teen hormones and ruined her for other men well into her twenties. He’d also broken her heart. Three times, to be exact. Not that he knew it, but that wasn’t the point.

      She adjusted her crooked glasses and blinked up at the obsession of her youth. Dark cropped hair. River-blue eyes. A buff body and a warrior’s heart. Hands on denim-clad hips, the most handsome man in the universe ever towered above her. Then again, she was flat out on the floor. She hadn’t seen him in years, and usually her stomach fluttered when she did. Either she was completely over him or the mass quantities of vodka had paralyzed her vital organs along with her limbs. “Heard you were back in town.”

      “No secrets in Eden.”

      No kidding. That’s why Kylie generally guarded her words. Jack’s sister, on the other hand, vented to anyone who would listen. Jessica Lynn shared Jack’s good looks, but none of his good sense. A self-centered former beauty queen, it was always: Enough about you, let’s talk about me. Hence, most everyone knew about the feud between the estranged siblings, plus some of the particulars. Kylie noted the particular of most interest to her. “So, did you accept the job as Eden’s chief of police?”

      “I did.”

      She quirked a hopeful grin. “You been in here long, Chief Reynolds?”

      “Long enough.”

      “Going to arrest me for drunk and disorderly behavior?”

      “No.”

      “Shoot,” she complained as he hauled her off the floor. That would have brought Spenser running.

      Dizzy, she rested her head against Jack’s shoulder, her face nuzzled against his neck.

      God, he smelled good.

      He tightened his hold and suddenly she was hyperaware of where she was.

      In Jack Reynolds’s arms!

      That’s when she felt it. Her traitorous stomach fluttered. Or maybe she’d overindulged in pepperoni pizza and cosmopolitans. Yeah, that was it. Crushing on Jack was hazardous to her heart. Better to battle an upset stomach than a doomed attraction. At least she could cure the former with Alka-Seltzer.

      CHAPTER TWO

      JACK REYNOLDS HAD BEEN in town for four days. Settling into his new home. Meeting with the mayor. Being courted by the town council and snubbed by his sister. Mostly he’d been reacclimating. Even though he’d grown up in Eden, he’d spent a lifetime in New York City, working for the NYPD. Big difference between the Big Apple and Eden. His friend’s little sister didn’t know how good she had it. Unless that was the alcohol talking. Either way, she’d just provided Eden with a week’s worth of gossip.

      Jack had never seen the squeaky-clean McGraw sauced. Then again, he’d been avoiding Eden for years. Ever since he’d clocked his sister’s husband on their wedding day. He’d refused to tell Jessie why—effectively severing their dysfunctional relationship. Instead of going to hell, as she’d demanded, he’d returned to NYC. Over the next ten years, he made homicide detective, got married, got divorced, and tempted the devil as he took accelerated risks on the streets.

      His wake-up call had come last month in the form of a young woman. A victim of a mob hit. He’d seen a lot of death. He knew how to manage his emotions. How to temper the revulsion and outrage. But how the fuck did you manage numb? Maybe he’d gone to hell after all. Jack Reynolds. Zombie cop. He’d sworn long ago that if he ever stopped feeling, he’d get out.

      Easier said than done.

      He’d resorted to drowning his misery and indecision in whiskey.

      His sister’s crisis had kicked his drunken ass into action. When he’d learned through the grapevine that Jessie’s bastard husband had deserted her and her daughter, he’d sworn off the hard stuff and given his notice. Time to look after his own. The job opening for chief of police had been coincidental. Or maybe it was fate. In the end it had been too convenient to pass up.

      Jack made eye contact with every man and woman in Boone’s as he carried Kylie out of the bar. These people, this town, would be his salvation. At least that was the plan. Reconnect with your roots, reconnect with your soul.

      As for Kylie…he couldn’t get over how much she’d changed. He’d seen her briefly at her dad’s funeral eleven years ago, but they’d both been preoccupied. Mostly, he remembered her as the gawky, skinny kid who’d shadowed her big brother. Spenser used to run her off with a smile and teasing words. Spense loved his sister, but he was a daredevil and she was an angel. Spunky, but sweet. Kitten, he called her.

      Jack tempered a smile, flashing on the episode that made it impossible for him to think of her as Kitten. An episode he’d sworn to a then fourteen-year-old Kylie he would never reveal to her brother. A promise he’d kept.

      He glanced down at the woman in his arms, recognizing the big chocolate eyes and thick wild hair and little else. He was keenly aware of her compact curves and her quirky, pretty features. No wonder Ashe was sniffing. Kylie was an interesting package.

      She pushed at his shoulder. “I can walk.”

      “Whatever you say, Tiger.” He set her on her stocking feet but kept his arm around her waist in case she faltered. She did.

      “I don’t get it,” she lamented as he escorted her outside and onto the sidewalk. “I can usually hold my liquor.”

      “You usually drink beer,” Faye said.

      “I wouldn’t reference the usual just now,” Jack told Kylie’s eccentric friend, though the harm was already done. He shook his head as the youngest McGraw launched into another gripe about routine.

      “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Faye told Jack. “Except the obvious, of course.” The bleached-blonde unlocked the passenger side of a cherry-red minivan.

      He’d never imagined the girl who dressed like a retro pop star would drive a minivan. He’d never imagined her as a mother, either, but the toys and books scattered in the backseat along with the Spider-Man sun shield confirmed what he’d heard. Faye Tyler, formally Powell, was married with children. Children she’d named after nineties musical icons.

      Jack helped Kylie, who continued to vent, into the van while Faye answered her ringing cell. “What do you mean Sting threw up? Does he have a fever? He what? Where were you when… Yes, I know you can’t stomach vomit, Stan. For crying out loud. Okay. Yes. Yes. Be right there.” She tossed her phone in her purse, looked at her friend, then Jack. “There’s a bit of a crisis at home.”

      “Is Sting okay?” Kylie asked, struggling to fasten her seat belt.

      “He got into the freezer—don’t ask how—and ate an entire tub of double-fudge ice cream. He’ll be fine, which is more than I can say for my husband when I get hold of him.”

      Jack remembered Stan Tyler. A short but solid man, former captain of the high school wrestling team. He didn’t figure Faye could take him, but it would be fun to watch her try, especially since he knew Stan would СКАЧАТЬ