by Abby Gaines
The sun beat down on Cynthia’s temples, frying her brain. There was no other explanation for why the distance in Ethan’s voice should feel like a slap in the face. Like he was throwing her out of his life, the way her dad had thrown her out of Atlanta. She’d never been in his life, not beyond a brief, scorching kiss. And a conversation that had held more honesty, more meaning, than any other she could remember.
“I get it,” she said through tight lips.
With a tip of his hat, Ethan walked away.
CHAPTER NINE
BY WEDNESDAY MORNING, any vestige of hurt at Ethan’s behavior had been replaced by good, old-fashioned rage. Barely able to think straight, let alone deal out justice, Cynthia declared an early recess in court and called Ethan’s cell phone at eleven-thirty.
“You jerk,” she said. It felt great. “You double-dealing jerk.” Even better. Shame she couldn’t vent like this in Atlanta.
“Is this about a court case, Judge Merritt?” “You bet—my imminent trial for your murder.” “That sounds personal,” he said. “And now that I’ve set you up with the best job in town, you and I don’t do personal.”
“You set me up all right,” she retorted. “You need to un-set me. Your housekeeper told me you’re in town, can we meet?”
“No can do.” Fake regret. “I have a lunch engagement.” She was dodging bullets all over town, and he had a date? “That’s not good enough.”
“That’s all you’re going to get.” Silence. She was listening to dead air.
When she hung up, the phone rang immediately. She grabbed it. “Ethan?”
“Judge Merritt, this is Tania Leach from the Gazette. I have a couple more questions to follow up our interview.”
I bet you do. She shuddered. “Tania, I’m sorry, I’ll need to call you back.”
“When?” the woman asked.
“Uh…” Never. “Later.”
As soon as she’d got rid of the woman, Cynthia grabbed her dusky pink suit jacket from the back of her chair and headed out of her chambers. There weren’t that many places to meet someone for lunch in Stonewall Hollow. She would find Ethan and make him help her.
She hit pay dirt at Sally’s Diner, the second restaurant she visited. She marched up to the booth where Ethan sat, and plunked herself opposite him.
He didn’t seem surprised. Just lifted a finger to attract the attention of Evie, Sally’s daughter, and called out, “Another slice of the loganberry pie, for the judge, please, Evie.”
“Just a coffee, no pie for me,” Cynthia said through gritted teeth.
“How about a tiny piece?” Evie suggested with a wide smile, as Cynthia had known she would. “I know Mom would like you to try it.” She hurried toward the kitchen.
“I forgot to ask if you want ice cream with your pie,” Ethan said.
“You forgot to tell me that judging at the county fair would wreck my life.”
“I hear court’s going well this week.”
“Smoother than a leg wax,” she agreed. The mention of female beauty procedures didn’t jolt him out of his indifference. At least, not in the way she wanted. She detected a stifled laugh.
“That’s great,” he said. “I heard your public approval is off the scale.”
He was right, and she was taking shameless advantage of everyone being on their best behavior. She’d been able to report positively to her father, who was apparently dropping words in all the right ears about the judge job. His support warmed her, it felt almost like old, pre–broom closet times. But right now, that wasn’t the point.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people have dropped a cake or cookies around to my place this week—” she made quote marks with her fingers “—just to say welcome.” She sat back. “Or rather, you would believe it, I’m sure.”
“The locals can be friendly,” he agreed.
“Beth somebody brought me a pound cake. Mrs. Baker, the head of the local chapter of Daughters of the American Revolution, brought a pineapple upside-down cake. To name just two.”
“Sounds delicious. Though you might need to start watching your weight.” He conducted a blatant scrutiny of her face, her neck, the V of her pale gray silk wrap top, then leaned forward. “On second thought, I don’t think you need to worry.”
She leaned forward, too. “Didn’t you say you and I were past personal talk?”
“A momentary lapse. I apologize.”
“You know very well I’m going to taste all those items again in the contest,” she hissed. “Don’t tell me this—this revenge plan of yours isn’t personal.”
Evie returned with two coffees. She set a piece of loganberry pie in front of Cynthia. Then the same for Ethan, with ice cream.
“That’s the thing you don’t yet understand about small towns. Everything’s personal.” He spooned up half his ice cream and deposited it on her slice of pie. “When you see that distinctive pineapple upside-down cake, or that familiar pound cake frosting, you’ll remember the kind person who brought it to you….”
“Admit it, you did this deliberately.”
“You wanted to get to know the town—this is what we’re like.”
Cynthia bent her head over her pie. She’d realized he’d set her up, but not expected him to acknowledge it. Her eyes stung. So that’s where Sam got his honesty. Stalling for time before she’d have to look at Ethan, she dug her fork into the pie she hadn’t intended to eat and took a bite.
It was too hot—she fanned her mouth.
“Everyone is desperate to win the contests,” she said, when she was certain her voice would be steady.
“Yep.” He stared hard at her and she drew on her deepest reserves of calm. “People don’t take losing too well, either.”
He didn’t give a damn about her.
“My sister judged a giant pumpkin contest once,” Cynthia said. “Sabrina received a death threat.”
He recoiled, then said, “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.” She didn’t mention that the letter had come from an eighty-five-year-old woman suffering dementia.
“We don’t have a giant pumpkin contest,” he muttered.
“We have giant onions.”
“No one’s going to kill you over an onion.”
“Like you’d care if they did.” She pushed her plate away. “How have previous judges handled the problem of vengeful losers?”
He reached across and forked up some of her pie. “Usually, we get someone from out of town. They hightail it back where they came from the minute they’ve finished handing out the medals.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “That’s what this is about? Scaring me back to Atlanta?”
“You know you don’t fit in here.”
Pain stabbed behind her ribs. “Your little campaign won’t work.”
“Scaring you out of town would have been the icing on the cake, if you’ll pardon the pun,” he said. “But I already figured you have more guts than a prize heifer.”
“Stop comparing me to your stupid cows,” she ordered.
“Cows aren’t as dumb as they seem.” He took another bite of her pie. “And they have four stomachs. So they literally have a lot of guts.”
She couldn’t believe she was tempted to take his nonsense as a compliment. She scowled. “If you knew I wasn’t going to run away, why did you set me up?”
“I figure a lot of those unhappy people after the fair will want to talk to Tania about that article in the Gazette, which for some reason is a big deal to you,” he said. “Chances are, some of them might have been in court recently, or else their family members have. Their disappointment might even prompt them to lodge that complaint you conned me out of.”
“I didn’t con you—”
He tossed his fork into her plate; it clattered against the china. “Did you for one second seriously entertain the idea of having Sam work at the ranch?” he demanded.
“I…uh…” She fidgeted with the paper napkin in her lap.
“You made me tell you what I was thinking, what I was feeling, and all along it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference,” he accused her. “You conned me.”
“Okay, so I was almost sure before we started that Sam shouldn’t work with you. But you’ve had your revenge—I haven’t slept since Monday, and my blood pressure’s probably off the scale. We’re even. Help me get out of this judging without upsetting everyone.”
“Not a chance,” he said. “You can’t leave a whole town in the lurch and not have it come back to bite you. At least if you do the judging, the winners will be happy and might say something nice about you to Tania—they’ll counteract the losers. If you don’t judge, no one’s happy.”
Cynthia pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.
“Hey,” Ethan protested.
“My family knows the Gazette is running an article about me,” she said. “There’s no way they won’t see it.”
“They’re not going to believe some hick town newspaper.”
She lowered her hands to the table. “Reputation is very important to my father—his and mine.”
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “Just tell him you were set up.”
“He doesn’t like people with a victim mentality.”
Ethan snorted.
“My sisters are both incredibly successful,” she continued.
“So are you.”
“And they both just got married.” Oops, she hadn’t planned to say that.
“Uh…” Ethan’s glance around the café was slightly wild-eyed. “They’re probably too busy to read the paper?”
That uncertainty in his voice was guilt, Cynthia realized. She was a judge, she was very familiar with guilt. And punishment. “They’ll read it.” She injected deep gloom into the words.
“You’ll cope,” Ethan said. “You’re a fighter.”
She let her shoulders droop. “I’m sick of fighting. Do you realize, a woman I’d never met gave me a bunch of welcome-to-our-town flowers the other day, and for one second I was so happy. I actually thought she might like me, might appreciate that I’d volunteered to judge at the fair.”
“She probably did,” Ethan said uncomfortably. “There’s no flower arranging contest.”
Cynthia gave a hollow laugh. “Then she mentioned her adorable daughter who always draws a fairy in the bottom righthand corner of her paintings.”
Ethan picked up his fork in silence and used it to worry at her pie. “If you’re that concerned, you could leave town before the fair. An urgent recall to the city.”
“I can’t leave,” she said tightly. “Though right now I’d like nothing better.”
He chewed the last mouthful of her pie, lost in thought. Sally, the diner’s owner, approached their table.
“Could you smile at me, please?” Cynthia asked him.
“Huh?”
“Sally’s coming. Please act as if you like me.”
“Everything okay, folks?” Sally asked.
“The pie was delicious, wasn’t it, Ethan?” Cynthia beamed at him.
For a moment, she thought he would show Sally just how little he thought of her. Then his face relaxed. He smiled. “It was great, Cindy.”
She didn’t react to the contraction of her name.
“Thanks, Judge,” Sally said. “When I make it at home, I use more vanilla,” she added significantly.
Ethan’s eyes met Cynthia’s.
Sally cleared their plates. “Sheriff said Judge Piet has taken a turn for the worse, did you all hear that?”
The sheriff hadn’t bothered to tell Cynthia, but she murmured agreement.
“Maybe we’ll have you with us a little longer,” Sally said brightly. “That’d be nice.”
Ethan snorted.
“Pie’s on the house,” Sally declared.
She couldn’t have played into Cynthia’s hands better if she’d tried. “Thanks, but I’ll pay my way. Wouldn’t want people to think I can be influenced at the fair.”
Ethan winced; Sally’s face reddened.
“I’m sure that’s not what you’re doing,” Cynthia added. “But some petty-minded people might choose to misinterpret your generosity.”
“There are plenty of small minds around,” Sally agreed. “Watch out for Helen Trainer—she thinks her lattice tops are something else. Last year, she practically stalked the judge.”
It was all Cynthia could do not to dance a jig on the table at Sally’s confirmation of the danger Ethan had put her in.
“Stalked might be an exaggeration,” Ethan said.
The moment Sally left, Cynthia said, “I need your help. Please.”
He looked torn. Then he glanced past her. “Let’s talk later.”
Later might be too late. Ethan might have remembered his grudge against her by later. “The fair is only a couple of days away.”
His expression shuttered. “You need to go.” He stood.
What was that about? Cynthia twisted in her seat. And saw Linnet walking toward them. Ethan’s lunch date was his mom?
“I’ll pay the check,” he assured her.
She picked up her cold coffee and took a slow, disinterested sip.
ETHAN REALIZED HE WAS bracing himself for rejection, even though his mom had sounded pleased, if wary, when he’d called to suggest lunch. That bracing was something he unconsciously did every time he saw her. A learned behavior. He tried to dismiss the thought, which would surely lead to resentment.
It wasn’t so difficult, since he had more on his mind than his mom. Did Cynthia really believe her family would think less of her because of a disparaging newspaper article?
“I didn’t realize she was coming along.” Linnet nodded at Cynthia.
Don’t start, Mom. “Cynthia’s just leaving.”
“Actually, I just got here,” Cynthia said.
Linnet took in the remains of Cynthia’s pie, now on his side of the table. “You already ate.”
She was always trying to read something into everything he did. She said it was because he would never say what he was thinking, but they both knew she didn’t really want to hear his thoughts. “I’ve put in some hard work this morning,” he said. “The pie was a snack while I waited.”
At last she gave in and sat down. Next to Cynthia.
“Aren’t you due back in court?” he asked the judge.
“Not until one-thirty.” She smiled at him again, the “best buddies” smile she’d used with Sally. Did she really think his apparent goodwill would save her, come the fair on Saturday?
“I’m having the Reuben,” he said to his mom, to forestall her curiosity.
Linnet perused the menu, which she must have known by heart. “I haven’t tried the club sandwich in a while.”
“Club sandwich it is,” he said heartily.
“Green salad for me,” Cynthia said.
“Mom and I have some things to discuss. Privately.”
“Since,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “green salad is about the only food I don’t have to judge on Saturday.” She gave him another smile, this one dazzling. Disconcertingly, his body tightened. With his mother right there.
“The trouble with judging at the fair is it’s so easy to get it wrong if you’re not a people person,” Linnet said.
You could rely on her to dig like a miner on steroids. In his heart Ethan knew she couldn’t help those comments, they came out of a deep-rooted insecurity. Didn’t make them any less infuriating.
“Ethan thinks I’m a people person, don’t you?” Cynthia reached across the table and touched the back of his hand, just for a second.
“I said we’ll talk later,” he snapped. “Could you please go?”
Linnet’s eyes stayed on his hand after Cynthia pulled away.
“Are you two seeing each other?” she asked.
Cynthia shook her head as fast as Ethan did. “Your son is very good-looking, but I prefer a man who’s more…honest.”
Color fired Linnet
’s face. “Are you calling Ethan dishonest?”
Ethan shot his mother a warning look. They were on shaky ground, and she knew it.
“He’s very good-looking,” Cynthia placated her.
Linnet’s fingers flexed convulsively on the table.
“Mom, I asked you here to talk about Sam.” He was going to have to say it in front of Cynthia, dammit, because otherwise Linnet would lose the plot. He didn’t doubt Cynthia would leave if he gave in to her request for help with the county fair, but he wasn’t about to lose sight of the bigger goal, which was getting her out of the way.
“What about him? Is there another problem?” Linnet demanded.
They waited while Evie topped up their water glasses. Ethan ordered the food before he continued. He omitted Cynthia’s salad, but she chipped in her request, along with a request for the meal to be served promptly because she was due back in court.
Not soon enough, as far as Ethan was concerned.
“Mom, you and I don’t agree on much, but we’re both worried about Sam, right?”
Linnet nodded.
“You probably see nearly as much of him as I do.”
“I want him to have a safe place he can go when he’s not with you,” she said defensively. “I’m not trying to come between you, I wouldn’t do that.”
Ethan frowned. “I didn’t believe you would.” Cynthia was watching with interest. He rushed out what he had to say. “You and I need to pull together more with Sam when he gets up to his tricks. I want us to be allies.”
“You do?” Linnet’s hand fluttered to her throat. Ethan schooled himself not to make a sarcastic reply. Her excessive reactions to any overture probably weren’t designed to make him look mean, they just came out that way.
“That’s what I said on Sunday,” Cynthia interjected.
It had been too much to hope she wouldn’t remember. “What do you think?” Ethan asked his mom.
Linnet turned to Cynthia. “This was your idea?”
She kept her gaze narrowed on Ethan. “That’s right. But don’t let that deter you.”
“What do you think?” Ethan asked.