Ashley set her paint brush aside and joined me. “Why wouldn’t you, hon?” she drawled in her Kentucky accent.
I ran my hand over the woodgrain. “I don’t know. I just . . .”
“You’re attracted to him and are afraid of what might happen?” Her dark eyes gleamed.
“Maybe.” I took another drink of coffee and set it aside. “I don’t know.”
I’d never cheated on Cal, but I couldn’t deny that there was something I really liked about Hamlet. Or did I simply appreciate he’d never hidden his feelings for me? It was nice to have a guy tell me exactly how he felt. When I’d asked Cal if he loved me, he’d only been willing to admit he cared about me. I pushed away the memory. Whatever my reason for my hesitation, I wasn’t ready to dive into another relationship—not when I had unresolved feelings for Cal.
“Look, obviously Hamlet—and his mom—have no idea you and Cal broke up. I can’t fathom how they haven’t heard, but whatever. And since Hamlet said he was leaving because he didn’t want to come between you and Cal, you owe it to the poor guy to tell him what’s happening.”
“You’re right.” I’d known it before I’d come to see Ashley. I’d just hoped she’d steer me differently. I drew my knees to my chest.
“You might even decide you want to date him.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Why?” She grinned. “It doesn’t mean you have to marry him.”
Marry him. I chuckled. “Speaking of marriage. You’ve got to hear about the dream I had last night.” I told her about the mystery groom, the horrid dress, and the shooter popping out of the baptistry. “Do you think there’s a hidden meaning?”
“Definitely, hon. You’re afraid you’ll have to settle and marry some random guy to avoid dying alone.”
Life Lesson #11,897: Dying alone is preferable to getting hitched to a guy with a paper bag on his head. “Maybe subconsciously I’d rather be shot than marry the wrong man.”
“That’s another possibility.”
I traced the frayed hole in my jeans. “I hope it’s not a premonition.”
“Nah.” She waved a hand. “You’re still processing everything with Cal. Don’t read too much into the dream.”
Said the woman who’d just read meaning into my dream.
“How’d it go with the college students last night?” She rubbed a bit of yellow paint off her hand.
I groaned. “Not good.” I told her about Quincy stealing my car, disappearing, and Cal showing up at my doorstep. “Even though Quincy left a note, I’m concerned about her, and Makayla is too.”
“No kidding. That’s crazy.” She turned up her sleeves. “Was it weird talking to Cal?”
“A little strained, but I’d better get used to it since he’s going to be my neighbor.”
“No. Way.” Her jaw dropped. “You’ve had a year’s worth of drama in less than twenty-four hours.”
I explained that new development. “Anyway. Enough about my issues.” I stretched out my legs. “How are things with J.T.?”
She’d recently been on dates with my cousin after he’d had a crush on her for months, though she wasn’t ready to commit to a serious relationship after a broken engagement had left her skittish.
“We’re having fun hanging out. He’s been a big help with the studio.” She pointed across the room. “We’re going to tackle the restroom reno this weekend.”
“That’s great, but I thought you didn’t want to get into a relationship.”
Her cheeks turned a tad pink. “We’re taking things slow—and we’re on the same page.” She studied the wall and got up. “You can stay and talk, but I need to finish this mural.” She stood and picked up her paint brush.
I hauled myself off the floor. “I’m going to quit stalling and go talk to Hamlet.”
“Good luck with that, hon.” She winked.
It’d been a month since I’d seen the run-down ranch Hamlet had purchased in the country, and when I parked beside his truck in the driveway, it was clear he’d made progress on the renovation. Though the house’s yellowed siding remained, he’d removed the crooked shutters and torn out the box hedges that’d looked like they were devouring the house.
I stepped on the cracked cement porch and knocked on the front door. When he didn’t answer, I opened the door, peeked inside, and caught a whiff of joint compound on the newly completed drywall. He was carrying a package of tile across the living room while rocking out to “Layla” by Derek and the Dominoes. His lanky figure danced into the hallway.
I stifled a giggle and hesitated. The last thing I wanted to do was make him drop the tile. I waited a few seconds before going inside.
“Hamlet?” I shouted.
The music stopped, and he entered the living room. “Georgia Rae!” His chiseled face lit up. “This is a surprise.” Though he often wore sweater vests, today he had on a blue flannel work shirt, which I liked much better. He’d rolled up the sleeves, displaying the tattoo on his arm—a cross made of nails.
“I need to talk to you.” My stomach tightened.
He moved closer. “I apologize for my mother’s behavior.”
“You’ve heard?”
“Holden texted me. He enjoys spreading the word.”
He’d obviously inherited that trait from their mother. “Thank you for the apology.” I studied my silver sneakers. “But I didn’t come here because of your mom.” I met his blue-gray eyes. He was handsome, and I’d never noticed until he’d moved back to town last month—probably because he was my younger brother’s friend. “Are you still planning to leave after you sell this house?”
“Yes. I can make more money in a different market.”
“That makes sense, but I don’t want you to go because of me.”
He walked past me and gazed out the window. “I interfered in your relationship with Detective Perkins, and I’m sorry.”
“You already apologized.” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “That doesn’t mean you have to move.”
“We’ll inevitably run into each other.”
“Our chances are lower now that I’ve been banned from your mom’s shop.” I joined him at the window and stared out at the barren field across the road.
“The right thing is to bow out.” He smiled ruefully.
“That’s very noble, but Cal and I had other problems besides my friendship with you.”
He tilted his head. “Had?”
“I broke things off with Cal almost three weeks ago.”
His expression remained unchanged. “I see.”
Either Hamlet didn’t care, which I found hard to believe, or he was using his acting skills. “Please reconsider.” I motioned behind me. “You have more work to do on the house, so there’s time to make a decision. And there are plenty of houses in Richardville if you want a bigger market.”
Outside, stray snowflakes twirled in the wind.
“I’d like to know something, Georgia Rae.” He turned and reached for my hand. “Is this visit motivated by guilt, your love of coffee, or the growing attraction between us?” He held my gaze.
My stomach fluttered. Seriously? How did I go from dating a guy who barely talked about his feelings to a man who was willing to throw everything out there? Maybe I preferred the mystery of not knowing where things stood, because even though it was maddening, it was far less scary.
What in the world did that say about me?
“I can buy coffee elsewhere,” I said softly.
He moved closer. “Yes, you could.” He moved my hand up to his heart.
Sweet baby Moses in a basket.
He was going to kiss me. I did not come here to be kissed, but I couldn’t quite make myself move away. “I’ve always had an overactive conscience, so yes I suppose you could say that guilt motivates me, but I’d like to think we’re friends and that we can live our lives in the same town without making each other feel like we have to—”
Oh, forget it.
In the
interest of full disclosure, it should be known that I kissed Hamlet, but what was I supposed to do with him standing there looking at me like I was a long-lost treasure?
As soon as our lips met, I couldn’t think of anything else, and though I started the whole thing, he took the lead, deepening the kiss and drawing me closer. My entire head swirled, and I’d have dropped right down if I hadn’t been holding on.
He broke away and stepped back. “Georgia Rae, we shouldn’t do this.”
“Why not?” I caught my breath as I sagged against the wall.
“I care too much about you to be your rebound relationship.”
“I know.” I smoothed my hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t apologize. I’m simply asking that you give yourself time to heal from your breakup.”
“I agree. But will you please reconsider your decision to leave? At the very least, you should be near your family. They missed you.”
“Yes, I’ll certainly reconsider.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “You’re probably right about there being some excellent real estate possibilities in Richardville.”
I smiled. Mission accomplished—at least for now.
Chapter Five
I sped home from Hamlet’s house and gazed out at the brown fields on either side of the road. With spring officially here, we were gearing up for planting season, and I hoped the weather would cooperate so the soil would be warm and dry enough for us to get in the field by mid-April.
My Psych ringtone broke the silence, and Makayla’s name appeared on my truck’s navigation screen. Uh-oh. I tapped the phone button on my steering wheel.
“Georgia, I need you to come get me.” Makayla’s quivering voice reverberated through the cab.
“Why?” I squeezed the steering wheel. “Where are you?”
“I can’t go on a tour while my friend is missing—even if leaving was her own idea. It’s not right. I begged Dr. Jackson to let me off at a rest stop outside of Indianapolis, and he did.”
It was official. This had to be one of the weirdest days I’d experienced in years, and it wasn’t even noon yet. I eased up on the accelerator as I approached a stop sign. “Is anyone else with you?”
“No.” She sniffed. “Most people think Quincy’s being selfish, and even I thought so at first, but now I’m not sure. What if she’s in danger? I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened.”
“I understand. Text me your location. It’ll take me at least an hour to get there.”
“Okay.” Her voice wobbled.
I stopped at the intersection with fields on every corner, and since no other cars were around, I waited for her text. Sure enough, the stop was over an hour away, and I punched the address into my navigation system. Then, I selected Chanticleer from my playlist and let the beautiful music fill my cab as I drove to Indianapolis.
After I rescued Makayla at the rest stop, we were both starving, so she found a café that served breakfast and lunch on the city’s north side. The cheerful restaurant had Indiana-themed décor with historic pictures and memorabilia from the Colts and Pacers. The hostess seated us in a corner booth with a view of the entire joint.
“My treat.” I opened the menu.
“Thanks.” Makayla leaned forward. “Will you promise not to tell Dad about me leaving the tour? He’s never liked Quincy and thinks she’s a bad influence.”
I raised my eyebrows. I didn’t always agree with mild-mannered Dan, but in this case, he was spot on. “No. You need to tell him. Plus, you should stay with me for the rest of your break—even after the floors are done at Mom and Dan’s house.”
She fidgeted with the silver charm on her bracelet. “I’m not a kid.”
“I get that, but you insisted on leaving your tour because you think Quincy may be in danger and not just gallivanting off to Florida. Right?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with you going home alone. What if Quincy’s involved with something shady, and your association with her puts a target on your back?”
“But I don’t know anything.”
“That you’re aware of.”
“That’s kinda paranoid.” She took a sip from her water glass.
“No. It’s cautious, and I’m certain your dad would support me.” I flipped the menu’s pages and stopped at the burgers. “If you don’t want to stay with me, you could always stay with Preston or Austin.”
She nearly sprayed me with water before she pressed her hand to her mouth and swallowed. “Um. No. Growing up with them was enough.”
That’s what I thought. “Then it’s settled. You’re my sidekick for the week, and we’ll try to figure out why Quincy left—and if she’s in trouble.”
“Thank you. I’ll call Dad later. I’d rather not text about this.”
I had a feeling I’d need to make sure she followed through. “I’m getting a bacon cheeseburger with fries.” I returned the menu to its holder. “Have you decided?”
“No.” She studied the menu.
A few minutes later, a waitress wearing a Pacers T-shirt took our orders, and when she left, Makayla removed her phone from her strawberry-print crossbody and began texting.
“Quincy’s mom and dad want to talk to us when they come pick up her things,” she said.
“What time?”
“They’re in Richardville at the sheriff’s department, so later this afternoon. I told them to meet us at your house at 4:00. I hope that’s all right.”
“Sure.” I’d hauled Quincy’s suitcase to the church and had forgotten all about it until we’d loaded Makayla’s luggage in my truck cab.
She put her phone on the table. “I don’t know if I’ll be much help since I already told you and Cal everything I know.”
I rested my arms on the table. “Earlier you mentioned you were loyal to Quincy, and that’s great, but why?”
“Quincy’s difficult.” Makayla folded the edge of her placemat like an accordion. “It’s . . . it’s just that I’m not sure if Quincy’s a Christian. I mean, she knows about Jesus because she was raised to go to church, and her parents are Christians. But I don’t see evidence in her life that she understands what it means to follow Christ—not that I’m judging.” She looked up. “I feel like God wants me to be an example.”
“Do you pray for her?”
“All the time. But I wonder if it’s doing any good.”
“I understand—and I’ll pray for her too.”
She took a sip of water. “Thanks.”
We people-watched for a few minutes before my phone buzzed. Even though I didn’t recognize the number, I answered.
“Georgia, this is Bobbi Sue Miller.”
My mind jumped to the memory of kissing Hamlet. What’d gotten into me? I’d never been that aggressive with men in my entire life, which was probably why I was still single in my thirties.
“Hey!” My face grew warm. “What’s going on?”
“I apologize for how I acted this morning.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” But did I?
“Thank you. Anyway, my son informed me that you asked him to stay in town.”
“Yes.” I squirmed. What else had he told her? Would she have apologized if I hadn’t talked to Hamlet? Had they cranked up the heat in this restaurant? By now I had to look like a tomato, because my stepsister was staring at me with the same look her brothers gave me when they were about to blast off into Let’s-Torture-Georgia Mode. I avoided her gaze. “He should be near his family, and he can find some great houses to flip in Richardville.”
“I appreciate your efforts with Hammie, so your next drink’s on me.”
“Thank you, Bobbi Sue.” I did a mental happy dance that she’d lifted my ban.
“In fact, stop by this afternoon. I might have some info that’ll help you find that girl from Brenneman. You’re investigating, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, but we aren’t sure if she’s even—”
&
nbsp; “I heard she stole your car, so I knew you’d look into the case.”
“Why don’t you tell—”
“See you later this afternoon. Be careful out there.”
I disconnected, set my phone on the table, and flipped the edge of my placemat back and forth between my fingers.
“Who’s Bobbi Sue?” Makayla asked.
“One of my regular sources who has information to share about Quincy.”
She smirked. “Oh, there was way more to that conversation than just a tip about Quincy. Who’s Hammie, and why do you want him to stay in town?” She waggled her eyebrows.
It’d taken a while, but she’d finally demonstrated that she was truly her brothers’ sister. And why, oh why, did I not have the volume turned down on my phone? “Hamlet is a friend.”
“Interesting name. What kind of friend?”
“Dakota’s best buddy from high school.” I straightened my fork, knife, and spoon.
“Mmm-hmm. A younger man. Is he handsome?”
“Yes.”
“Smart?” She bent forward.
“Very.”
“Hard working?”
“Yes.”
“Would I be interested?”
I flinched. “No.”
She chuckled. “That was a quick answer, but no worries. I’m kidding.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Is he a good kisser?”
Why in the world would she ask me that? I reached for a menu. “Does this place have milkshakes? I could go for a chocolate one about now.” I flipped through the menu and stopped on the page with the desserts.
“He’s super good, isn’t he?”
I pointed to the menu. “They have lava cake.” That sounded even better than a milkshake since I could use a massive dose of chocolate therapy right about now. “I never said I kissed him.”
“You didn’t have to say a word.” She giggled. “Your face already spilled your secret.”
I narrowed my eyes. No dessert for you.
Though I’d attempted to coax Makayla into waiting for Quincy’s parents at my house in case they showed up early, she’d insisted on tagging along while I talked to Bobbi Sue.
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