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  “Mac, what?”

  “Stress relief,” he’d said.

  “What?” She figured out what when he picked her up and threw her over the back of the couch. “Hold still.”

  “What?” Did she even know any other words? Seemed like she didn’t.

  “Ow!” Okay she knew another word. “Mac! No! Ow! What is that? Dang, stop it!” What was he smacking her with? Whatever it was, it seemed much larger than the wooden spoon. “Mac! No!” She tried to scramble off the couch, over it, something, but he put a hand on her back and held her down. “Mac!”

  “Better let me finish this before Ryan gets back, unless you want him to see you with your ass in the air getting it blistered.” Why did he sound amused? What was funny about this?

  “Mac!” she screeched. “That hurts! Ow, no more!” She could hear the swish of the nasty whatever, paddle, before it struck her. “Stop!”

  He acted as if he’d suddenly gone deaf.

  “Mac! That hurts! Ow!”

  “That’s the point. It’s supposed to hurt. Get your attention and get rid of that attitude.”

  “What attitu-oof! Mac! Please!” Well, maybe she had a bit of an attitude this morning. Who wouldn’t? She was going to invest in heavy jeans and wear them all the time. “Ow!”

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Better!”

  “Oh, good!” The damn paddle smacked her four more times making her howl in pain.

  “I can’t, I can’t,” she whimpered.

  “Sure you can, your bottom is tougher than you think,” he said.

  “No, no! I’m sorry!” What was she sorry for? Anything he wanted her to be. “Please!”

  Four more fell in rapid succession and tears fell at the same time. “No, Mac, please please!”

  “Soon as I get the attitude paddled out of you, I’ll stop,” he said.

  He had to be enjoying this. Why else would he do it? Kicking her legs, she wiggled as hard as she could. Four more. Why the stupid number four? It was too much and she felt herself begin to panic. “Please! Okay, I’m better, enough enough!” Four more. Was he even listening?

  Sobbing, she gave one final jerk that surprisingly landed her on her feet. Knees shaking, she started to reach around to rub her throbbing bottom but he grabbed her hands and held them in front of her. She looked over and saw a long plastic paddle at his feet. She hated that paddle as much as she hated the wooden spoon. What gave him the right to spank her? Nothing did.

  Don’t Mess with Jess

  Hometown Love, Book One

  Megan McCoy

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2019

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Megan McCoy

  Don’t Mess with Jess

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-135-4

  v1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Megan McCoy

  Blushing Books

  Chapter 1

  “Well, it isn’t my fault you can’t keep a nanny,” Jessie Owens said, as she put her hands on her hips and glared at MacAllister Evans, the father of a three-month-old baby boy. “Maybe you should try to be a little less of, oh, say, a dirtbag scumball? Just a thought.”

  “Dirtbag scumball? I don’t even know what that is,” he said, giving her his usual exasperated look.

  “Seriously? Well, you have so many letters after your name, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Jessie glanced over at the baby monitor. Sam was still sleeping soundly in his crib in his bedroom. His cold, sterile bedroom. If she was staying, she’d be fixing that up for sure. No kid deserved to grow up in a gray room, no matter how trendy it was.

  “Maybe the smart thing would be if I didn’t try to figure it out,” he said slowly, running his fingers through his dark hair in a gesture that tugged at her heart. No, it didn’t. Sure, he was tired, but that meant nothing. Everyone got tired.

  “Maybe so,” she said. “Okay, I won’t leave tonight, but we are laying out some ground rules. I’m here to take care of Sam and run the house and interview nannies for you. I’m not here to take your verbal abuse.”

  “Verbal abuse? Jessie, I’m honestly bewildered here.” He yawned, and once again that stupid sympathy thing in her heart twanged.

  “Mac, come on. I made you a plate earlier when I thought you’d be here for dinner, and I did not deserve to be growled at because I mentioned it.”

  “I’m not used to having to check in with a jailer.” He grinned at her. Okay, that was different. The only time she’d seen him smile in the last twelve hours was when he was kissing Sam goodbye this morning. She liked it.

  “Well, get used to it, buddy. I left Macintyre for you and I’m here for the next couple months unless we find the perfect nanny before then. And unless you change your attitude, who knows how long she will last?” Jessie led the way into the kitchen, pulled the plate out of the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Mac sat down slowly at the kitchen island.

  “Need any help?” he asked, shrugging out of his suit jacket.

  “I think I can manage to warm up a plate,” she said.

  “Good to know. So how was Sam today?”

  Jessie put a plate of food in front of him and filled him a glass of water to go with it. “Thank you,” he said, and began eating hungrily.

  “Sam was perfection, he’s such a good baby. I’m sure he’s not the reason you went through three nannies in three weeks,” she said. “And that is not good for him.”

  “You’re right,” he said, between bites. “I know that, and Jessie, thanks for coming. I know you left a lot to be here.”

  “You know I’d do anything for Carlene, including taking Sam to raise,” she said, crossing her arms again. “I’m a teacher. My hours are better than yours. I could give him a lot more attention.”

  “Sam is my nephew, my blood, and I won’t abandon him,” he said, picking up a second roll.

  “You want more?” She moved the dish closer to him. “And Carly was my best friend, all our lives. She’s like my sister, too, you know, and letting me raise him would not be abandoning him.” Jessie sighed. She’d had this conversation with him before, and with her lawyer, though he didn’t know that. There was no way she could get custody of Sam over Carlene’s twin brother unless she proved abuse or neglect and apparently working a hundred hours a week was not either one of those.

  Technically, she was not related, and she knew Mac would fight her tooth and nail and his many dollars. So here she was, using her summer break to take care of Sam and try to convince Mac that Sam would be better off with her. Or be a little sneaky and maybe find out something she could use in court. Oh, who was she fooling? Mac always walked the straight and narrow and she bet he didn’t cheat once on any test to achieve his valedictorian status in his pricey Ivy League college. But she
was here, and she might as well try. For Sam and Carlene. It broke her heart to think of Carly’s baby being raised by nannies when she was perfectly willing and able.

  “It would feel like it,” he said. “No to more food, though it was good, I’m just worn out. I’m going to check on Sam, change and feed him, and go to bed. Thanks, Jess, I’m glad you’re here and I’ll try not to growl again.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, picking his plate up. “No, I don’t mind cleaning up after you,” Jessie said to the empty room. Well, she was here to be his maid, apparently, but she refused to be his personal verbal whipping boy. He could keep a civil tone in his head. If he could be kind to his clients all day, he could be nice to her. It would be good practice for him, for when Sam got older. Pretending to be nice to people could be faked. She taught school and while the kids did, of course, irritate her sometimes, it was the parents she often had to fake it with. Mac could learn. If he planned to keep a nanny, and really, he had to have one, no day care around here stayed open the weird hours he worked. Sometimes he left at five in the morning, and didn’t come home until after ten at night. Other times he kept what she called real people hours, working basically eight to five but he rarely knew when those days were or would be. That was what he’d told her anyway. She’d find out over the next few weeks and she’d document everything, in case she needed to try and go to court over the little love.

  She’d been in the room when he was born. Carly’s husband had been killed in Iraq six weeks before he arrived. She’d been there for her the entire time and fell in love with Sam at first sight, bloody and icky and the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. Carlene had passed away very unexpectedly less than a week after he was born from a stroke. Who knew that happened? She didn’t but she did now.

  Mac had the baby in his house before the funeral was over. That had been just over two months ago, then he’d gone through three nannies in the next month and he’d called her panicked. School was out now, and she stepped in to provide little Sam with the stability he needed and deserved. If she couldn’t have custody of Sam and raise him in Macintyre–where she, Carly, and Mac had grown up and where she now lived and worked–she was at least going to make sure he was safe and happy, and out of that sterile gray room. She’d find him an older nanny, who knew her stuff, didn’t mind living in, and who could keep up with Sam, someone who would watch him grow up, like she and Carlene would have if either of them had been allowed to do that. She shot a look to the ceiling. “I will take care of our boy, Carly, I promise.”

  She could almost hear her best friend saying, “I know. Don’t mess with Jess.”

  “Darn right, don’t mess with Jess,” she muttered to the dishwasher as she turned it on. Sam had too many losses already in his short little life and she was not going to be one of them. MacAllister just better realize that.

  Glancing over at the monitor, she sighed. There sat Mac in the wooden rocker, holding Sam and rocking him. Leaning over, she turned it up. Hey, she wasn’t above eavesdropping if the situation deemed it necessary.

  “Aunt Jess is going to take good care of you while I work. What are you going to call me, little man? You good with Daddy? It’s okay with me. Your other daddy was a good man, but he can’t be here. I’ll always be here. Yeah, you getting sleepy? Daddy is too. Night, little man.” Jessie watched him put the baby down and leave the room.

  Great. He needed to stop that heartstring tugging thing he was doing to her. Soon. Glancing at the clock, she yawned. Almost eleven, hopefully Sam would sleep at least four or five hours since he just had a bottle and dry pants. She needed to get some sleep too, because she had a long day ahead of her tomorrow. Including painting the baby’s room. Should she ask Mac? Nah, she’d just let him figure it out on his own. That would work out well. Despite Mac being a high and mighty financial lawyer something or other she didn’t quite understand, or care to, she’d grown up with him. She’d known him almost as well as she knew Carlene. Well, she knew young Mac, she didn’t really know the man Mac very well. But she would, oh yes, she would.

  Mac walked in the house the next afternoon, in a surprisingly good mood. It had been a short day for him, but not for most people. He regularly worked twelve to fourteen or more hours a day. Luckily his commute lasted less than ten minutes, which was why he’d bought this house to begin with. Four bedrooms, three and a half baths had seemed overkill at the time, but he’d liked it, could afford it and figured he’d just shut off the rooms he didn’t need. Good thing he had them, now that he was raising the boy who would be his son as soon as the paperwork went through, and would probably have a live-in nanny for years. His life had changed so much since Carlene died. Sniffing, he tried to figure out what that smell could be. Didn’t smell like supper. “Jess?” he called out. Probably in Sam’s room, or the kitchen, he figured. Looking into the monitor, he cocked his head. Something was off. Where was his son? The crib wasn’t there. Had she taken off with him. “Jessie!” he yelled, and took the stairs two at a time, to get to the baby’s room. The door stood open and that weird smell got stronger. Taking a deep breath he stepped in. Empty, there was nothing in there. However, the walls were painted. Three bright red and one some kind of pink. “Jess!”

  “Shh, the baby is sleeping.” She came up from behind him. “Do you love it?”

  “Where’s my boy and where’s all the stuff?” He couldn’t stop staring at the wall. What color was that?

  “He’s asleep in my room for the night. This room needs to air out then I’ll move him back in tomorrow.” She sounded very pleased with herself.

  “What did you do?”

  “Well,” she said as if it were the most practical thing in the world, “I couldn’t really let him sleep in a jail cell, now could I?”

  “A jail cell? How would you know what a jail cell… never mind. Why did you paint my son’s room pink?”

  “Dusty rose is Carlene’s favorite color,” she said as if that explained anything.

  “And so you painted my son’s room pink,” he said.

  “Dusty rose, and it’s just one wall, where the crib is going, so he will be reminded of his mom every time he opens his eyes,” she slipped under his arm, into the room. “The rest is raspberry red,” she said.

  “Raspberry red. I thought gray was the new white in house colors.”

  “Did you? Who told you that?” She seemed genuinely curious.

  “My realtor when I bought the house. And why are we doing this and did it cross your mind I might want to be involved or at least asked or told about it? Since it’s my house.”

  “We are doing this because his room was cold, boring and he deserved better. And no, I didn’t think to ask you. Why would I? If you wanted it done, you would have done it in the month you had him here. You didn’t, so I did.” Mac looked at her, wondering if she was just a little nuts. “Oh, and you owe me a thousand bucks.”

  “What?”

  “And I didn’t make supper so we can order pizza unless you want to go out.” She slipped under his arm again and headed down the hall back toward her room.

  What he needed was a drink. He stared at the walls once more, then walked over and opened the window to let it air out a little better. It was only paint, he reminded himself. He could get it painted over. Jess was trying to help. He needed to remember that.

  What he wanted to do though, was the same thing he’d wanted to do since she was a smart mouth teenager and that was turn her over his knee and blister her butt. She really needed an attitude adjustment. But she was here to help. Here to help, he reminded himself. Driving him nuts just happened to be a fun little perk for her. Well, he wouldn’t let her. He’d be cool and calm and… “A thousand bucks for a paint job?” That couldn’t be right.

  Walking down to her room, he knocked on the door. “Come in,” she called softly.

  There was his boy. He walked over and stared down at the sleeping baby, wanting to pick him up. He’d do anything for him. He’d ne
ver wanted kids. It had been all about him, until the first time he’d held Samuel MacAllister O’Brian soon to be Evans. Named after, Carlene had told him, his dad and her favorite brother.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” she announced, as if that meant anything.

  “Now,” he said, looking into her eyes that often changed from gray to green. Now they were almost green. Why? That usually only happened when she was excited about something, like gearing up to play a soccer game or play a prank on him and his friends. He didn’t trust her green eyes.

  “Whatever,” she said, her tone too docile to do anything to reassure him.

  “I’m going to change,” he said, deciding if there was going to be a confrontation, he might as well be comfortable.

  Coming down to the kitchen, in his jeans and sneakers, he looked at the island. There were receipts from a half a dozen stores. “Sam and I went shopping today before I painted,” she said. “But really, it would be a lot better if you’d just give me your Amazon password. Hauling a baby in and out of the car a dozen times is exhausting.”

  “What more could you possibly need?” He picked up the receipt for paint, brushes, tarps and a few other things. Picking up another one he looked at it and said, “You bought him a bed?”

  “He’s going to need a bed,” she informed him. “Do you still eat all meat on your pizza or has your palate changed? Because I ordered you all meat.”

  “All meat is fine. He’s not even three months old. He’ll be…” How old would he be when he needed a bed? Mac realized he had no clue. Well, it couldn’t be now, he couldn’t even sit up yet. Was that normal?