“But our eyes…” Jackson pulled her into his strong, safe arms and looked into her eyes “…they’re—”
“Amber … like the desert sunset.” She’d lost count of how many times their mother had said those words—at least a million.
“I want to go back, even if I die. I just … I don’t want to be here.” The honesty ripped from her gut. They were conditioned as teenagers to show no emotion, to find strength in bravery. But no one could live that way forever. Everyone needed a safe harbor to release their rawest emotions. Jackson was hers.
“Jess,” he whispered her name as if it was the last time he’d ever say it. “Now. Right now. You need to channel that strength I know you have, and feed off it until it numbs the pain. You no longer have a choice. Okay? Fin de journée.”
Jillian averted her eyes, pulling away. Empty. Lost. Numb. “Fin de journée.”
End of Day
“We need a plan.” Jackson opened the garage door.
Weak moments had to be brushed away like pesky bugs. Jillian took a deep breath and exhaled all her emotion. Some days it felt like letting go of her humanity. Who lives that way?
“Vehicles, gut the place, then jobs.” She sighed.
“Jobs, gut the place, then vehicles,” Jackson countered.
They grinned at each other. “Alcohol.”
*
By the time they pulled Woody in the garage, the backseat filled with liquor and a few essential groceries, the neighbors were out in droves walking dogs, spit shining old cars, grilling, and watering potted plants.
“We moved to Jurassic Park.” Jackson gave Jillian a sidelong glance before opening his door.
Jillian shrugged. “I didn’t want to live in an apartment. You didn’t want to worry about running over neighbor kids. So our only option was the old fogey development.”
“Yoo hoo!” a voice singsonged before Jillian could tag the down button to the garage door. “Hello, hello, hello. You must be the new neighbors.”
“We are-are-are,” Jackson sang back.
Jillian stifled a snort as she unloaded the sacks and cartons from the backseat. Her brother had three talents: computers, hand-to-hand combat, and random sex. Acting out niceties with strangers that wouldn’t end up in his bed was not part of his arsenal of social assets. However, this Jackson guy poured it on thick and sweet. Jillian cocked her head sideways, intrigued by the Oscar-winning performance.
“I’m Jackson Knight and this is Jillian.”
“Oh, well hello there. I’m Greta Housby. I live right across the street. You two seem too pretty … I mean young … well, pretty young for our community. These ranch-style homes seem to attract the fifty and over group.”
“We were looking for a quiet community.” Jackson smiled.
Greta homed in on his arms. “Oh those tattoos are really something. I bet they don’t end there … not that it’s my business … but they don’t … do they?” She bit her lip, missing sexy by about thirty years. It was oddly endearing.
Jillian swallowed back her amusement as Greta stumbled over her words unable to keep her eyes on Jackson for more than a few seconds at a time before her face blushed to a cherry Dum Dum. Jackson shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts, looking the part of an innocent boy. He wet his lips as they pulled into his signature sexy grin that rendered women speechless and usually naked too.
“No they don’t.” He wiggled his brows.
“Oh … uh … good, I mean okay…” Greta took a second to catch her breath “… so, no kids I take it?”
“Nope, just us.” Jackson winked at her like a pro.
“Well, your timing is perfect. We’re having an association picnic this weekend. Everyone is just dying to meet you. Sarge should be home by then too.”
“Sarge?” Jillian questioned, a little uneasy at the word and the memories it conjured.
“Yes, he lives in the unit right next to yours. He works at Offutt … the air force base. We’re all just so proud of his accomplishments. Kind of a quiet guy. I think he’s seen some pretty horrific stuff during his career. He’s divorced and I’d love to see him find a nice girl. He always seems so sad.”
“A nice girl? How old is Sarge?” Jillian questioned as if it didn’t matter, even if it did.
Greta’s skin flushed a bit. “He’s young, maybe not as young as you two, but I think he’s in his early forties.”
Jillian nodded, deep in thought.
“And he’s so handsome.” Greta gave Jackson a timid glance as if she was worried he’d be jealous of a little competition. “He looks like a body builder with a half dozen abs and all that.”
Jillian grinned. “You mean a six pack.” She took an instant liking to Greta, admiring any woman who embraced her sexiness no matter her age. Jillian could see herself working the shameless flirt well into her nineties … if she lived that long.