The Midwife's Baby. Fiona McArthur
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tried to purse her lips—a painful move—and considered that thought. As thoughts went it had real merit, showed tremendous consideration by him for her welfare and boded well for her desire for a relationship with him.
And it had absolutely no Maddie in it.
Especially, no Maddie and Russ. As in together, paired up, in the same place, where there might be a bed.
Janina breathed out, an action of both decision and courage, and took the thought a step further. Actually, she took it several steps and a leap of faith further.
She might have a slightly sprained wrist and be on mild painkillers, but she was sober, she hadn’t been told not to drive and Tobi was asleep. Right?
Right.
So, darn it, she was going to see him. Russ, not Jonah.
Now.
Because clearly though he was the kind of guy who might want a girl—she hadn’t imagined the look he’d sent her tonight right before Buddy had tripped her—but he was also the kind of guy who was damn s-l-o-w about getting to what he wanted. So if the girl had mutual feelings for him, then she’d better do something about it herself.
Like go and attack him, or at least throw herself at him and tell him exactly what she wanted of him. And how often. And for how long. And maybe, while she was at it, say something about forever. With him.
Or something like that.
Oh, geez. Janina covered her face with her left hand—gingerly. Maybe she shouldn’t drive, she thought. She wasn’t making sense anymore, even to herself.
She checked on Tobi to be sure her roommate was sleeping then got dressed anyway, makeup and all, then found her keys and purse, and headed out to find Russ.
Two cars were parked outside of Russ’s trailer, one of which was Maddie’s—Janina swallowed jealousy—but neither of which was his.
Surprised, she pulled over to the side of the road and studied the darkened trailer. She was pretty sure she knew everyone Russ knew, knew their vehicles, or so she thought. If Maddie was inside, where was Russ?
Hope sang through her in a low thrum. Maddie was inside and Russ’s car wasn’t there. Somebody else’s was.
Janina’s mouth trembled. She almost smiled. Almost.
She wanted to. But she was afraid.
A Winslow police cruiser coasted up beside her car, startling her. Janina grabbed her heart, winced when her hands objected, then, recognizing Jonah, rolled down her window.
“You supposed to be out ’n about?” Russ’s not-so-babyish baby brother asked.
Janina looked at him. Lightning-quick onyx eyes set in a deceptively youthful native nutmeg face stared back. As usual, Jonah’s straight ebony hair stood on end because of his constant need to do something with his hands, attesting to the lack of stillness that was both his strength and nemesis. Though he was shorter and slighter than his brothers, his slim, wiry body made him quicker than any of them, had stood him in good stead as a wrestler in both high school and through the academy. Didn’t matter the size of the prisoner he put a hold on, if Jonah Levoie didn’t want to let someone go, they stayed held on to.
“Fine,” Jonah said. “Let me rephrase. You’re looking mighty dressed to kill for someone who maybe oughta be home in bed. You stalkin’ my head-case brother?”
Janina blinked. She’d handled Jonah before. He was merely an outspoken, sometimes arrogant, frequently youthful hothead. Silence on her part would trip him over his tongue sooner than byplay.
Jonah sighed. “I ask because if you were stalkin’ him and if he was here, I’d open the door for you because I think he could use a good dose of takin’ care of you right now, and vice versa. Get Maddie out of his system but good. But since he’s not here and I dunno why he asked me to run extra patrols past his place tonight, I can’t do that.”
“Where is he?” The question was out before Janina could stop it.
Jonah grinned. “Knew you were interested.”
Janina, the would-be grown-up of the two of them, stuck her tongue out at Russ’s baby brother.
Jonah laughed. “Can’t hide, Janie. You’ve been hot for him since before I knew you. The only reason you went out with me was to get closer to him.”
“Not true,” Janina protested far too vehemently and transparently. “But a girl can’t sit around all her life waiting for Russ Levoie to get it into his head to ask her for a date.”
The mild painkillers must have made her tongue looser and her head muzzier than she’d realized. “And if you tell anybody I said that…”
Jonah didn’t laugh. He smiled slightly and nodded, two months to twenty-five and grown-up for a change. “Mum,” he said. “Heard nothin’. But…”
Janina glared at him. He grinned slightly and shook his head.
“Nope, no strings. Just thought I’d mention I think I saw Russ’s car parked down at the Bloated Boar an hour ago. My guess, I’m gonna get a call to haul him out of there in about twenty minutes. He’ll be on his feet, but he won’t be drivin’ anymore tonight. And…” He hesitated, looked Janina over as though making a judgment call. Shrugged and gave it up. “He’ll need a place to stay because he said he won’t be stayin’ here.”
Janina’s breath flipped in her lungs, and her heart hit the back of her throat. Something in the early-morning air made her unaccountably dizzy. “He will?” she said.
Jonah nodded. “Yeah. And he took tomorrow off.”
“Oh.” Janina swallowed. Fear, anticipation, excitement, hope, nerves—readiness. “Thanks.” I think.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Jonah muttered almost too low for her to hear.
Hands tense on the steering wheel—she needed to hang on tight to something right now—she watched Jonah sketch her a two-finger salute and peel his cruiser into a tight U-turn, returning to his third-shift prowl. Then trying not to wonder what Jonah had meant by his last cryptic remark, Janina, too, pulled back onto the road and made tracks toward the Bloated Boar Saloon.
The Bloated Boar Saloon.
July 18, 3:17 a.m.
Nothing and everything about the Bloated Boar was unique.
Situated off a dirt track in the middle of nowhere and a goodly distance from anywhere else, the Bloated Boar boasted a badly taxidermied mascot protected behind a scarred, bulletproof Plexiglas shield below the carved sign that bore the saloon’s name. The shield was bulletproofed because of weekend revelers intent on trying their luck at taking out the mascot’s shiny glass eyes.
Contrary to the stories they put out, the owners did not hail from London or anyplace resembling it, but had once had a great-aunt who was an Anglophile and who’d willed them enough money to open the Bloated Boar if they called it the Bloated Boar, decorated it to her specifications and gave it the legend she wrote for it. Tall-tale-tellin’ Texans, the lot of ’em, they’d willingly complied with the great-aunt’s request, and the Bloated Boar was now in its third generation of fake Cockney-accented or East End-accented Texans.
At various hours of the day the saloon was peopled with busty serving wenches and unsavory-looking serving pirates. There was also a full-figured barmaid who often chose to dress the part and a six-foot-six-inch ruddy-cheeked swallow-tender barman who also acted as the saloon’s bouncer.
Any number of colorful “plants” among the customers added to the atmosphere when tourists—who found the out-of-the-way place in surprising numbers—were present. Janina knew the place well as it was a favorite haunt among the locals, too. The Boar opened at 7:00 a.m. for breakfast and closed only briefly twenty-one hours later. The food was good and plentiful, the drinks ran freely,