Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

17. Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

J esse

Instinct has me gripping her soft upper arms. She smells far too good, like vanilla and allspice and all sorts of things I should not be thinking of when I’m about to walk into her family’s house. In front of not only her sheriff brother but her mom. Eavesdropping has taught me a lot about Laura Marshall, like that she’s a member of a tightly knit matriarchal unit. Two moms who carved out their family’s place in this town, with sweat and charm. I’ve heard both a lot and very little about her famous brother. All people seem to say about him is “Oh, that Bobby Marshall. Such a good boy. He’s snowbirding it now.”

And yes, I did google what snowbirding meant.

I close my eyes, hoping like hell that my body would respond as I really, really wish it would and just pull itself together. I can not lust after this woman, especially not here on her family’s front stoop.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry,” Laura says, trying to back up. Unfortunately all it does is press her soft, lush breasts against my chest. How inconsiderate of her to wear this sundress that snugs all over her body. No one should look like sin on top of fluffy cupcakes, but Laura pulls it off.

I wince, forcing myself to think of anything that will not make my dick want to come out and play. “Excuse me. I, um, left something in the truck.”

Forcing her away from me—and no, I do not miss Rory’s arched eyebrow—I leap down the steps and back toward the truck where I have left exactly nothing but my dignity.

I listen from the truck as I pretend to peruse my pockets and the corners of my secondhand vehicle. Why is there a receipt from a place called the Mars Cheese Castle in the glovebox? What exactly is a Mars Cheese Castle? Maybe they can beam me up from here and rescue me from my own inanity.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” Rory calls. It’s impossible to miss the smirk in his voice.

I exhale and force a smile onto my face. “Yup!” I hold up my wallet, for which I have no immediate need but raise aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world. Now they probably think I’m some money-grubbing asshole. “Found it.” Ugh, I sound like a dick, but at least the shame is keeping my cock at bay.

“Oh good.” Her voice sounds shaky, but Laura smiles brightly, and it nearly does me in all over again. “You don’t want to miss taco night.”

This is a truth that is hard to swallow.

The Marshalls are the sort of family I’ve always secretly wanted but never voiced out loud, even to myself. They’re boisterous and big and caring. They play board games all through dinner, even getting the five-year-old in on the action. Davey is shockingly well-versed in Monopoly rules for a kindergartner, and way too good at Battleship strategy.

In short, I never want to leave them, and that’s exactly why my feet can’t stop itching to go. I have nothing to offer these wonderful people. I lust after their oldest daughter. I want their mom’s black bean recipe. I can’t even tell them my real name.

It hurts so much worse than I expected. This was not covered in Witness Protection orientation. How do you deal with the shame of lying all the time?

“So, Jesse,” Marie Marshall says, filling my glass with fresh lemonade. “Tell us about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell.” I focus on my lemonade like it’s the best damn lemonade in the entire world—which, incidentally, it is. “My life’s been pretty boring.”

“I doubt that.” Marie has long, dark brown hair threaded with gray. She perches on the arm of the couch, looking over Davey’s Battleship setup. “My wife always used to say everyone has a story. They just need someone to listen.”

No one is supposed to listen to my story. It wouldn’t be interesting. Man is lonely, falls for wrong woman. She sets him up with a job that gets him into toxic swamp level trouble. The usual.

“She sounds like she was a special lady.” Photos of Marie’s wife decorate the whole house. She has a beautiful smile and looks like she’s always one bad pun away from laughing. Just like Laura.

“She was.” Marie sniffs. “How about you? You can at least tell us where you’re from. I’d guess Georgia, but I confuse that accent with South Carolina sometimes.”

I flash back to the briefing Harbor and I ran through over and over and over on our drive from DC to St. Olaf. We kept a lot the same to minimize how often I’d have to lie. Mostly because I’m terrible at it. I improved slightly during training, but not by much. “Georgia, ma’am.”

She grins broadly, and there is a mama-pleaser deep inside of me that glows with her approval. “Georgia. And do you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, partner in crime?”

That’s one way to put it. “No, ma’am. I’m single.” I wonder if Laura is listening and then kick myself for wondering if Laura is listening.

“Really? What are you, thirty-eight?” She directs this question at her oldest daughter, but Laura is focused on beating Davey at Battleship. Check one for a competitive nature, although Laura has nothing on her sister Frannie for that.

“Forty-two.”

“Really?” She arches an eyebrow, completely unconcerned that she’s repeating herself. “Laura’s thirty-four. And you haven’t been married before?”

“Leave him alone, Mom,” Rory admonishes, walking into the room with two margaritas in hand. He gives one to Frannie and keeps one for himself. “You don’t have to give us your life’s story, Jesse. Just the Cliff Notes version.”

I never used Cliff Notes once in my life. Yet another wasted opportunity for Goody Two-Shoes Jesse.

“There really isn’t much to tell.” I could tell them about Esme in an oblique sort of way. That won’t violate any of the promises I made to the US Marshal Service. “I was engaged once. We were together for a long time, but it didn’t work out.”

“That’s a shame.” Marie rubs my back. “You deserve better, I’m sure.”

I am not sure. Ostensibly, prior to this, I made all the “right” choices in life. I went to school, graduated with honors, went to vet school, worked, met Esme, got my dream job.

But then everything went up in a massive inferno. Or, really, it had all come down to one little syringe hidden in a pocket and one phone call.

I brought it all down on myself.

I should have listened, to the same instinct that kept me from setting a wedding date with Esme for so long.

“I’m doing all right, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s so polite,” Frannie says, side-eyeing me. “It’s very suspicious.” She nudges Laura with her glass tumbler full of margarita. “Isn’t it suspicious, Laura? What do you think he’s hiding?”

“There are definitely bodies in that closet,” Laura replies drily, sipping her iced tea.

Little does she know. “I’d better get going.”

“Don’t go,” Davey says, not taking his eyes off his Battleship board. “I want to beat you after I beat Auntie Laura.”

“Another time. Promise.”

Davey looks at me, as though promises are a very, very important thing in his world. I get it. They used to matter in mine, too.

Marie follows me to the door. “I wish Rory could convince you to move out of that hovel while you get it repaired. It’s all right until we get hail, and then I don’t know if that roof will survive.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

“Absolutely.” Marie pulls me into an unexpected hug. That inner mama-pleaser sighs with happiness and tries to lean in, but I rein him back. Much as this house has exactly everything I’ve always wanted out of life, none of it is for Jesse Vanek. “Come back next Sunday,” she whispers into my ear. She smells like chilies and cinnamon. “Laura promised to make beef Wellington.”

My mouth waters, but the taste that fills my mouth is like acid.