Ride With The Devil(27)
She nodded mutely. Jack was… talking. She had never heard him put that many words together in one sentence before.
"So, no bacon."
“No bacon.”
He loaded her plate with fruit and set it down in front of her.
"Eat."
She just stared at him.
"You- did all this?"
He gave her a mildly exasperated look and poured syrup onto her steaming stack of pancakes.
"Eat, Janet."
She did. She put the first bite of pancake into her mouth and moaned in ecstasy. She hadn't had real food in- oh god, almost a week. She shoveled in a few more bites, stealing glances at the man who sat across from her, calmly sipping his coffee.
Then she noticed something.
He had a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.
Jack, The Viking, had a Goddamn dishtowel thrown over his shoulder like a regular chef!
"How did you learn to cook?"
He stood up and grabbed the empty coffee cup, walking to the counter.
"Coffee?"
"Yes please."
He poured them each a cup from the ancient percolator. It smelled so good. He carried it back over to her and set it down. She grabbed it and inhaled deeply. She'd never wanted coffee so much in her life. She took a sip and moaned. She’d never tasted anything so good in her life, either.
She looked up at him, not sure what to say. Jack was standing there, looking at her. Really looking at her. Not scowling. Not running away.
She'd never seen anything so good in her life.
He looked so clean and good and strong. His long wet hair falling to his shoulders in waves. His tight jeans hugging that insanely beautiful body. His dark eyes watching her watch him.
That's when it hit her.
She was in love with him.
Oh dear God, she was in love with the Viking.
She would have run out of the room if she'd had the strength. This was not good. Not good at all. How could she fall in love with someone who wanted nothing to do with her?
She was an idiot, that's how.
She felt tears sting her eyes and bent forward, focusing on her food. She ate in silence for a few minutes, wishing the floor would open a large hole and swallow her up.
"Foster care."
She glanced up at him sharply.
"What?"
"You asked how I learned to cook. When I was six years old I got moved out of the orphanage into foster care."
Her mouth almost dropped open. Jack was talking to her. Jack was talking about himself.
"Mrs. McNealy. She was my first foster mother. I never understood why they called it that though. There was nothing nurturing about that woman. Unless she was nurturing a bottle.”
Her stupor vanished suddenly. She tried to imagine Jack as a boy but it was impossible. He was so strong and tough.
"She started training me on the first day. There were a couple other kids there. We each had a duty. The girl who'd done the cooking had just left for another foster home so Mrs. McNealy decided to teach me."
"She- made you cook for her?"
He nodded.
“I cooked for all of them. Well, whatever scraps she decided to feed her wards on any given day. She might have been a mean old drunk but she liked a clean house."
"Oh God, Jack... I didn't realize you were an orphan. How long were you with her?"
He shrugged.
"A couple of years. Until the next foster house. And the next one. In retrospect, Mrs. McNealy wasn't so bad."
She took a deep breath, realizing what he was saying.
They'd hurt him.
She wanted to kill them for that. She snuck a glance at him. He was looking out the window. She realized he was letting her in, telling her something no one knew.
"You got away though."
He nodded.
"When I was 14. I'd been tinkering with stuff for years. Garbage I'd find lying around. You have no idea how much junk poor people keep in their back yards. It's like they are afraid to throw anything away. I'd found an ancient broken down Indian bike and been slowly fixing it when Norm wasn't around to stop me.”
He looked at her and Janet’s breath caught at the raw pain in his eyes.
“He was a real cold bastard. He killed a kid once. In front of me. Made me lie to the social worker and say it was an accident."
"What would he do if you didn't?"
He rolled his shoulder and turned slightly, letting his shirt slide off enough so she could see part of his back.
She gasped.
He was covered in a blanket of scars. Huge welts. Thick ugly lines with a wide end that reminded her of something.
She felt her insides twist into a knot.
It was a belt buckle. Someone had beaten Jack with a belt buckle.
"As soon as that bike turned over the first time I left, and I never looked back. I couldn't help the other kids. I couldn't do anything but run. I went back later and beat the hell out of him, but that’s another story. Those kids though… I still don’t know what happened to them.”