Gnomeless Read online

  Gnomeless

  By Jennifer Zane

  Veronica Miller is a plumber on a mission—buy out her dad and the family business is finally hers. One big, handsome problem stands in her way. And it's not a clogged toilet.

  Jack Reid is the boy she mooned over in high school. He's back in town, but he's no longer a boy. Ten years ago he broke her heart, skipped town and never came back. Now he's a big shot lawyer in Florida whose uncle feigned a health crisis to trick Jack into coming back into town. Upon arrival Jack finds his uncle is gone, he's homeless, and forced to be roommates with the one woman he could never resist.

  Jack discovers his lust hasn't cooled for the sexy Veronica, but neither has her heart forgiven him. A sex-toy educational party, romance novel writing gone awry, Goldie's meddling, an escape artist snake, a strange stalker in a fluffy pink coat, a house fire, plumbing gone awry, bitter cold, and a smart-faced garden gnome all conspire to force Jack and Veronica to work through a decade of baggage, disappointment, wanting and unrequited lust while figuring out the mystery behind the stalker.

  Gnomeless

  by Jennifer Zane

  © 2012 by Jennifer Zane

  CHAPTER ONE

  When little girls play make-believe with their dolls, most pretend they're mommies or princesses or teachers. Have little tea parties with them, play dress-up. That's what my sister, Violet, did with hers. Me? I played plumber with mine. I dressed my little Betsy Wets-Alot up in a pair of gray coveralls stolen from a male test pilot action figure I'd found at the toy store. He'd been tossed, naked, into the back of my closet until my sister found him and used him for the groom in her pretend weddings.

  Not only did I dress my self-wetting doll in menswear, I ran a straw down the pants leg to divert the faux pee away from her anatomically-incorrect little body. No potty for her. I was five and knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I, Veronica Miller, wanted to be a plumber. Just like my father.

  Now, over twenty years later, I'd fulfilled my childhood dream. I was the plumber I'd longed to be, working with my dad. Soon to be working on my own. One last payment to my old man stood between his official retirement and my small business owner status.

  I smiled to myself about this almost-upon-me momentous occasion while lathering my hair in the shower. I squealed when the spray of water I was standing beneath went cold and quickly rinsed out the strawberry scented shampoo.

  “Stupid hot water heater,” I grumbled to myself as I yanked back the plastic shower curtain and stepped out into the steam filled room. I longed to get back to my own house as Violet's plumbing system needed some serious work. Even in the thick humidity, goose bumps popped out all over my body as I quickly toweled off and snuggled into my ratty, yet wonderfully comfortable flannel robe.

  While I leaned over and rubbed my wet hair with a bright pink towel, I heard it. The sound of a key in a lock, the front door opening. I froze in place upside-down, staring at my knees between the edges of the robe, towel tangled with my long hair. Since I was a plumber, not a law enforcement officer, I lacked the training to keep panic at bay. That hot, adrenaline-induced fear rose up inside me between one heartbeat and the next. I swear the little wet hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Help. I needed to get help, but my cell was in my purse, which I'd dropped by the front door, one room away. No house phone.

  I stood up, flipped my dark hair back over my shoulder, held my breath and listened. Rustling and a little mumbling was all I could make out. Who was in the house? Sure, they must have a key since I hadn't heard a window break, but the only other person who was supposed to have one was Violet, and she was in Utah.

  I tiptoed over to the door, bit my lip and winced as I turned the knob and hoped it didn't squeak. I slowly opened the door as I held my breath. Peeking into the bedroom, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Barely made bed, dirty clothes tossed haphazardly at the wicker hamper. Something heavy thumped onto the floor from the vicinity of the front door and I looked in that direction as if I had x-ray vision and could see through the wall to the person in the living room.

  I squeezed through the small gap I'd made in the bathroom doorway, afraid if I opened it anymore, the old hinges would give me away. Breathing as quietly as possible, which was pretty hard in panic mode, I bent down and grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on to use as a weapon. What I held didn't register. I knew it was solid wood like a baseball bat and as good as I was going to get for protection.

  Violet's house was small, with only one floor and a scary basement I rarely visited. Living room, kitchen, bedroom and bath. That's it. Which also meant there wasn't anywhere to hide.

  For breaking and entering, the guy wasn't Mr. Stealth. It was the middle of the afternoon, he'd come in the front door and he was awfully noisy for someone being where they weren't supposed to be. Even if he was the worst robber ever, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

  My palms were sweaty as I peeked around the door jamb into the living room. His back was to me and he appeared to be looking down at something he held in front of him, probably a cell phone. It appeared he was texting, or reading one. Tall, around six feet, maybe a little more, and solid. He wore jeans and dark leather shoes. His black jacket was a lighter weight than one would expect for the dead of winter in Montana in the throes of a bitter cold snap. A gray knit cap covered most of his dark hair.

  I didn't recognize him, but I wasn't in the mood to wait for him to turn around and see me. I decided to use the element of surprise. I tiptoed over to him and whacked him on the arm with my wooden weapon. Hard.

  Thwack!

  I'd aimed for his head, but nerves and slick palms messed me up and I hit his shoulder instead. The reverberations tingled in my fingertips.

  “What the fuck?” Mr. Intruder said, his voice deep, full of surprise, the cell phone dropped to the floor at his feet. He raised a hand to his upper arm. As he started to turn to face me, I hit him again, this time on the back of the head.

  Crack!

  It wasn't the sound of his skull breaking, but my weapon instead. The wood broke into two, one piece clattering to the floor.

  Intruder grunted, fell to his knees with a thunk, then fell face first onto the floral area rug in front of the fireplace, his face turned toward me.

  I stood there motionless, stunned, holding half of my broken weapon. Huh, varsity softball had paid off. It appeared I'd hit a home run. I looked down at the prostrate form on the floor. One leg moved a little, which, combined with some groaning, indicated I hadn't killed him. Even with his eyes closed, I instantly recognized him.

  “Oh, shit,” I whispered as I knelt down next to him. The thick wool of the carpet was scratchy against my knees. Why hadn't I known who it was before I knocked him unconscious? I should have been relieved an axe wielding mad man wasn't trying to kill me, but I was too surprised instead.

  It was Jack Reid. The guy I'd been in love with in high school who I hadn't seen in over ten years. Ten years where I'd often fantasize about him, about what could have been. I'd often dream about the moment he'd come back into my life, but this definitely wasn't it. Sure, when he'd gone out with Violet instead of me senior year I'd wanted to kill him, slowly and painfully for doing so, but I'd envisioned strangulation or a pummeling of some kind. Now that I'd possibly killed him, at least knocked him completely unconscious, with—I lifted my broken weapon—the Triple Smacker paddle from my box of sex toys for the toy party I was hosting tonight, I realized the anger and bitterness at his long-ago rejection hadn't gone away.

  How dare he barge into my life again, unannounced, when I wasn't the least bit ready for him! I wanted make-up, a killer dress, some fuck-me heels on, my hair done, with a hot guy in love with me on my arm when Jack saw me again. To make him see what he'd m
issed out on. Then I'd crush him beneath my stiletto heel before my lover shifted my attentions elsewhere.

  But a robe and tangled, wet hair? A sex toy paddle? Revenge and maybe a little payback would be nice, but a felony conviction for assault? Oh boy.

  Dropping the broken paddle onto the floor, I leaned over Jack and gently probed the back of his head. No brains gushing out, no blood seeping from beneath his hat. One huge goose egg of a bump though. I winced, thinking about the headache—maybe concussion—he might have.

  Man, he smelled good. Woodsy, clean, male mixed with the fruity scent of my shampoo from my hair tangled about my face. His scent was sexy in an unconscious sort of way.

  “Jack, Jack wake up,” I said, gently moving his shoulder. “Jack!” He had to wake up because I couldn't live with myself being known around town as the woman who killed Jack Reid with a Triple Smacker.

  After another groan and a few moans, he rolled onto his back, blinked his eyes a few times and stared at me. At first, unseeing, then with focus.

  Boy, even knocked practically unconscious, he sure looked amazing. Ten years had done the man a lot of good. His face was more rugged, jaw more pronounced. It could have been the five o'clock shadow at two in the afternoon that helped with that. He had a fabulous tan. The kind you get from living in Florida. Lips I'd dreamt about kissing when I was sixteen still looked appealing now. His dark hair that peeked out of his cap had a little curl. His blue eyes, even unfocused, were just as I remembered. Longing, once forgotten, flared back to life.

  He just stared at me, looking me over as if I was a space alien. I couldn't tell if he was confused or just addle pated. “Jack, say something.”

  He blinked. Smirked, but quickly winced.

  “Um.”

  Oh God, had I caused him amnesia?

  He cleared his throat. “Nice breast.”

  I glanced down at myself, one breast was definitely out there for Jack to see, my nipple hard. I yanked at the side of my robe that was glaringly open, my hand at my neck holding the lapels together.

  “Is this how you treat all your boyfriends?” His blue eyes had cleared, weren't quite so foggy as a minute ago. “A kiss hello would probably be better, although maybe that's not your way.” His gaze dropped to my chest.

  My mouth fell open as anger flared. “You're not my boyfriend. You lost your chance ten years ago,” I said tartly.

  Jack leered. The smile he gave me couldn't be described as anything else. “So you flash everyone who comes through the door, or just me?” He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his head, winced.

  I felt my cheeks burn hot at the thought of my epic wardrobe malfunction. It was completely and utterly mortifying, and on top of that, he was being a complete jerk about it. “Only ones I bash on the head first.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Twenty minutes later I pulled my van into the parking lot of the ER, Jack strapped into the passenger seat. It was the business van, full of tools and pipe. ‘Pete's Plumbing’ was scrawled across the outside in black cursive. I'd tossed on clothes—jeans, turtleneck and sweatshirt, heavy winter coat, boots and gloves. I'd tucked my snarled wet hair up under a thick wool hat so it wouldn't freeze.

  We hadn't said too much since the breast baring incident. I kept silent because I was too angry to say anything. I wanted to give him another whack for being so obnoxious. I was also embarrassed I'd had a wardrobe malfunction mid-attack, but halting an intruder had been my first priority. I'd thought about getting naked with Jack, many, many times, but that boob-flashing hadn't been what I had in mind. Now, I was modestly covered head to toe. Only the lower half of my face had actual skin showing.

  It was really too cold for more. It was January, it was Montana, and it was freezing. I was used to snow for months on end. I had the right clothes to prove it. I knew not to be stupid when it came to winter. Jack, on the other hand, looked like he just came from Florida. Which, he most likely had. His shoes couldn't keep out an inch of snow, his jacket was something you'd wear in May in Bozeman, not in temperatures that were stuck below zero. The hat on his head was the only smart thing he wore. Most likely he'd picked it up once he got to town. No hat like that was even sold in Miami.

  Jack wasn't talking either. He clenched his jaw tight enough to turn his teeth to diamonds as he stared out the windshield, one arm folded across his chest and under his armpit, the other holding a package of frozen peas to the back of his head. He looked angry—and freezing. He was being silent and moody because I'd knocked him out.

  I sighed as I pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine. “Okay. I'll take the high road here and talk first.”

  “High road?” he questioned. His voice was deeper than I remembered, but the Jack Reid of my memory was a gangly teenager.

  I took a deep breath. “I haven't seen you in over ten years and the first thing you say to me is 'nice breast.' So, yes, high road.” There was a little snark in my voice.

  He turned to gaze at me, eyes dropping briefly to my 'nice breasts'. My heart went pitter pat. Even angry, in pain and cold, he was so...Jack. I'd thought about him night after night in high school and relived the one—and only—kiss we'd shared ever since. I had to admit, the younger version of me had exceptional taste.

  I was reasonably attractive. The dates I'd gone out with in my life seemed to think so. I had stick-straight black hair that went past my shoulders, brown eyes. I wasn't short nor tall. 5' 6” made me right in the middle. My weight was proportionate to my height—my doctor's words. Jack seemed to find my breasts worthy of a second look. I had to be somewhat attractive to him as I looked identical to my twin sister—whom he'd slept with. There had to be some attraction there. Although, if we did end up in bed, it might actually be anticlimactic for him. Not a pleasant thought. No one wanted their first time with a guy to be 'been-there-done-that,' even though they hadn't really been there, nor done that. With me.

  “High road?” he repeated. “You hit me on the head like a woman possessed.” His voice sounded as if he were equally frustrated.

  I took another deep breath and started counting to ten. I made it to six. “Which I wouldn't have done if you hadn't waltzed on in. Explain to me why you were in the house.”

  “My uncle is renovating his kitchen, which he's been telling me about for weeks. But he called yesterday and told me he was sick,” Jack said, his voice bitter, “and needed my help finishing the project. Said he was too weak to supervise. I flew in from Miami this morning, took a taxi from the airport and when I got to his house, there was a note saying he's in Arizona for the winter. On top of that, the power and water are shut off because the back half of his house has been gutted.”

  Wow. His uncle really wanted Jack back in Bozeman for some reason. To lie like that was a pretty big deal. I'd be mad, too.

  “He left the address of where I could stay until that part of the renovation was complete. That's how I ended up at your place. After walking ten blocks,” he growled, shifting the frozen peas.

  There was a lot for me to think through in his brief recap. First off, he had been worried about his uncle. Worried enough to come back, almost two thousand miles, after ten years. That said something because he hadn't been back to town, not once, since graduation.

  Second, I was the one who was preventing him from staying at his uncle's. Being the plumber his uncle had hired for the job, I separated Jack from his running water. When he learned about that he would probably have a stroke. I had no doubt. No way would I tell him now. One medical problem at a time.

  My third thought, well, my third thought needed confirmation.

  The heat was gone inside the van and my breath came out in a white cloud. I turned in my seat, leaned one arm against the steering wheel and asked, “You don't know who I am, do you?”

  He turned his head and looked me in the eye. “Violet. Veronica.” He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head, slowly. “I never could.”

  Exactly. He never could tell my iden
tical twin and me apart. Jack and I had hung out together our senior year. A lot. Then he got up the nerve to ask me out on a real date, not just talking in the hall, being partners in Biology.

  Turns out, he hadn't wanted to date me. He'd wanted Violet. I set him straight back then, of course. Straight to Violet, who he slept with on the first date. Not that I was bitter or anything. Nope.

  “Well, I'm not going to tell you now,” I grumbled, sounding like a seventh grader. So much for the high road.

  No way was I going to make it easy for him. He could figure out which sister I was all on his own. But I did feel a little bad about knocking him out. Just a teensy tiny bit. Enough to drag his sorry ass to the ER. “Let's go, before we freeze to death.”

  Jack handed me the bag of peas. “I'm already freezing.” He picked up a scrap piece of PVC plastic pipe from the floor. “Maybe my brain did get whacked a little too hard because I swear we're in a plumbing van.” He tossed the piece back with a clunk. “No way in hell are you coming in with me, whoever you are. I'm going to have to explain why my body temperature is close to hypothermic. I'm also going to have to explain how I don't know who did this to me, and I'll end up with a CAT scan. They're never going to believe there are two of you. If that's not enough, I have to tell the doctor I got knocked out with this.” He picked up the pieces of the paddle. “What the hell are you, a dominatrix or something?”

  I glared at him. “Yeah, something.”

  He undid his seatbelt and opened the door. “Kinky. I like it.”

  My mouth dropped open, appalled. “You are such a—”

  “So, pickup? I guess you'll come and get me later?”

  I bit my lip, holding in what I really wanted to say to him, counted to ten. “I've got to run to Goldilocks and then I'll—”

  “Goldilocks?” He smiled broadly. “Like I said, kinky.”

  If steam could come out of my ears, it would've right then and there. I gripped the steering wheel to keep from hitting him again.