Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  I couldn’t come up with a quippy remark. I was just too tired, too overwhelmed. “Thank you.” I walked him to the front door, my hand still in his.

  “Call me if you need anything.” Matt’s thumb caressed my cheek.

  My weary heartbeat doubled as his angled head descended slowly, his eyes making an intense study of my lips. His mouth dipped to mine.

  I closed my eyes, took a breath, parted my lips.

  Then turned my head.

  “I’m sorry.” Eyes squeezed, I felt my face flame with the heat of a thousand Ozark suns.

  Matt straightened then gave a small laugh. “This isn’t working for you, is it?”

  I hadn’t meant to deflect! It was like some rogue reflex had taken over my body. When a handsome man you liked wanted to kiss you, you leaned in—not away.

  But I couldn’t do this.

  “You have no idea how I wish I felt differently.” My gosh— nearly dying and breaking up with Matt. I’d surely reached the pinnacle of crap days.

  “But you don’t.” His lips curved in a sad smile. “Is it something I did? It was too pushy for a traumatic day, wasn’t it?”

  “No. You’re wonderful. Truly.” I was a moron for letting him go.

  Matt gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Is it the fact that I’m not an Army vet who drives a pickup truck and owns Fox Falls?”

  Did everyone in town know this? Was I that far gone?

  “I think that might have something to do with it,” I said. “But I don’t want it to be.” Matthew had it all—good looks, kind heart, gainfully employed, someone to bring home to certifiable grandmas, a head on his muscular shoulders.

  And yet I wasn’t attracted to him. It was a terrible predicament. Maybe if I gave it more time. Maybe if I somehow exorcised Beau from my brain. Maybe if I pulled this sweet man to me right now and planted a big sloppy kiss on his lips, the fire would finally ignite.

  But I couldn’t.

  “Does Hudson know how you feel?”

  “No.” I glanced out the window to the pink sunset on the horizon. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Have you told him?”

  “He’s got a lot going on, and it’s still a pretty jumbled mess in my head.”

  “Paisley?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I were him, that would be a conversation I’d want to have.”

  My heart knocked three times in agreement. “It’s complicated.”

  “Probably less so with me out of the way.”

  Did that change anything? Would Beau care if I stopped seeing Matthew? Would it make Haley Jo disappear? “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “How long have you been in love with Hudson?”

  “In love?” His words were shock paddles turned up to high voltage. “Whoa—I’m totally not there. Nope, not at all. I mean, attracted to him yes. Not that I wasn’t attracted to you. I am. I was. I mean, not that I’m attracted to many guys at once. At the same time. Like a love triangle, because nobody likes those. Because that’s a tiny bit fickle. And smutty. Which I’m not. Usually. No matter what Johnny Paxton said about me in eleventh grade.” Oh, good heavens. “I ramble when I get nervous. Have I mentioned that?”

  “I’m starting to get the idea.”

  The spot between my eyebrows began to throb, and I pressed my fingers there, trying to find the off-switch. “I want you to know I think you’re an incredible guy.”

  “It’s okay.” Matt gave me a brotherly peck on my forehead. “You don’t have to prop me up before you send me on my way.” He extended a hand. “Friends?”

  I shook hands as guilt and awkwardness tangoed all over me. “Friends.”

  “If it’s all right, I’m gonna keep an eye out for you—till all the bad guys are caught.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Goodbye, Paisley.” He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “I sure hope Beau Hudson knows what he’s missing.”

  I stood in the foyer, watching Matt’s Jeep reverse into the street and drive away.

  Hoping I hadn’t let go of Mr. Right.

  While pining for Mr. Wrong.

  And prayed whoever tried to kill me this afternoon—wouldn’t come back to finish the job.

  36

  What were the makeup contouring techniques for road rash? How much concealer was required to spackle over red, angry skin with dried blood and gravel imprints?

  By Thursday morning the face staring back at me in the mirror appeared better, but I still had a lot of skin that looked like it had met the business end of an orbital sander. I gripped my tank of coffee and opened the doors to Enchanted Events.

  “Alice called in again.”

  “Hello to you, too, Henry,” I said as I walked into our office.

  Taking a gusty breath to power through the rest of his rant, Henry suddenly stopped. “You still look terrible.”

  I sat down at my desk, letting my bones become one with the chair. “You’ve told me that every day. Can I use my five percent extra holding in the company and demote you? How do you feel about cleaning toilets?”

  His forehead deepened into furrows as he got a closer look. “But you have more of a comatose thing going today. Are you sleeping at all?”

  I rummaged through two desk drawers. Where was that pain reliever? “It’s on my to-do list. It follows: wrap up this last Friday of the Renaissance faire, finalize the remaining details of the dinner theater, handle my other appointments, wrangle Alice’s events, solve Trace’s murder, and stay out of the way of demon-possessed sports cars. But, hey, please do continue with your previous lecture.”

  Henry’s countenance softened as he perched on the corner of my desk. “I am worried about you, Paisley.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Like I’d pressed the magic button, the salty attitude returned. “I thought you said you talked to Alice.”

  I wondered if Bugle Boy Bagels delivered. “I did talk to Alice.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  I ran a hand over my face like I’d seen Beau do so many times before. It did not make me feel better, and in fact, smudged my mascara. “I’ll follow up.”

  “When I was in junior high and started skipping school, do you know what Mr. Feinstein, my English teacher did?”

  “Threw a party?”

  “Made home visits.”

  “I don’t have time to visit Alice today.”

  He leveled me with a look straight from the no-nonsense grandma who’d raised him. “Either you go find her and straighten this out, or I give her a pink slip by the end of the week. Are you tracking?”

  I was simply too tired to argue. “Yes. Pull the rug out from under Alice while she’s down. Got it.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page.” A stoic-faced Henry stood and headed toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  What I needed was an assistant to handle the yucky parts of this job. Like raving mad brides, clients who didn’t pay, and firing employees who didn’t show up to work.

  Ten minutes later, Layla peeked inside the office, where I still sat at my desk, working on an anniversary party for one of Alice’s clients.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Consulting my calendar, I frowned. “I don’t have an appointment till nine.”

  “I thought maybe you could pencil me in.” Haley Jo stepped inside, her overblown confidence like an elbow to Layla, pushing her aside. “Can we talk?”

  “Miss Sutton’s very busy today.” Layla looked to me for confirmation. “Maybe you could come back later.”

  Like I needed this? Not even eight-thirty, and the day had already swirled down the toilet. “It’s fine, Layla. I have a few minutes to spare for Haley Jo.”

  Beau’s Sorta-Ex-But-Maybe-Not-Girlfriend floated toward my desk with her ballerina grace, her wedge sandals making her even more statuesque. She wore a hot pink strapless sundress that
showed off arms that had a committed relationship with barbells, while her perfectly symmetrical messy bun sat like a crown of art on top of her head. If Prince Harry ever needed a replacement wife, she would make a fine contender—constant elegance, super model body, and some innate instinct for fashion that was always photo-ready. Meanwhile, I looked like a testimonial actor for Molan, Craddell, and Deutch, ambulance chaser attorneys-at-law.

  “Please, take a seat.” I watched her delicately descend, glancing about the room as if our vintage decor offended. “Can I help you with something?” If Haley Jo was here to plan a wedding, I would probably explode, my broken-hearted pieces scattering in the wind like volcanic ash.

  She smiled, revealing her bleached white teeth. “Beau told me about your accident.”

  Accident? Like I carelessly tripped in front of a moving automobile. “You mean when someone tried to kill me on the square?”

  Her faux concern wouldn’t earn her a spot as an extra in the Sugar Creek community theater. “He’s been very concerned.”

  “Was there something you needed, Haley Jo?”

  Her raspberry lips moved into a smile that failed to reach her eyes. “I’m not sure how to bring this up.”

  “I have another appointment soon, so maybe just jump right to it.”

  “Beau and I are going to be together.”

  Well.

  Haley Jo certainly did jump to it. More like pole-vaulted really. Possibly torpedoed.

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do.” Her twang was slight and grating. “I get the impression you might have a little crush on him.”

  My fingers curled around an ink pen as if it were a dagger. “I’m not sure where you’ve gotten that idea. Beau and I have been friends since we were kids and continue to be friends. And now we’re neighbors.”

  “It’s just that he’s been through a lot, you know?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “He’s building his business, working hard to make Fox Falls into a premiere outdoor adventure retreat.”

  “I don’t think I’m getting your point.”

  With a head tilt, my visitor gave me a sympathetic, indulgent smile. “You care for Beau.”

  “I—”

  “You’ve been in a few stressful and remarkable situations. That can trigger some hero worship, naturally leading to a strong attachment to that person.”

  “I’m having trouble following. Are you saying I’m attached or he is?”

  “You.” The pleasant demeanor slipped from her beautiful face. “Let me lay this out for you. You’re drama.”

  I sat back in my chair, my spine pressed into the leather as I tried to repel her repugnance.

  “Hear me out.” Haley Jo held up her hands as if I needed motions to understand her words. “Trouble tends to. . .follow you. You can’t deny that.”

  “If by trouble you mean—”

  “Crime. Dead people.”

  It wasn’t exactly what I wanted on my résumé either.

  “And you’re always at the center of it. Beau needs peace and stability. You’re a retired pop star who likes to throw parties and pretend to be Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Alrighty, thanks for stopping by, but I’m very busy this morning.” I stood, my feet fueled by unsafe levels of indignation. “Be sure and tell all your friends about Enchanted Events and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Have a fabulous day now.”

  “You should know Beau and I have discussed marriage.”

  I stopped halfway to the door. “I see.” Turning slowly, carefully, as not to dislodge my heart, I faced her. “Then I guess congratulations are in order.”

  I would not cry.

  “I see that’s new information to you.” Haley Jo’s airy laugh filled the room and threw kerosene on the growing flames of my temper. “Of course you didn’t know. Beau’s incredibly private. And he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt you.”

  “I think I mentioned we’re just friends. Is there something else I can assist you with before you go?” Like push you off the dam at Beaver Lake?

  “Look, I’m weeks away from having my PhD. I’m at a place in life where I’m ready to settle down and take care of a family, provide Beau with the calm, stable home he needs. And I think that’s going to happen sooner rather than later. My father is looking to invest heavily in Fox Falls, giving Beau resources to take his retreat to the next level. We’re talking Fox Falls adventure retreats in every major state. What a team Beau and I will make—we’re very excited, of course. What I’m saying is—my family and I have a lot to offer Beau. Things he needs—and wants. And I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself by. . .getting in the way.”

  Would it be getting in the way to drop-kick this woman into the street? Would her daddy want to invest in that? “Do you know what I think?” I walked to the door, my heels making stabby clicks on the floor. “I think you’re presuming a lot. But I wish you well—in all your endeavors. And if you ever need event planning for this supposed engagement, June Carson whips up a mean sheet cake and cookie platter. Her punch is a little watery, but she does a heck of a balloon centerpiece.” I held the door wide open. “Have a nice day.”

  Haley Jo sashayed toward me, pausing in the threshold. “Paisley, think of Beau. I believe we both know who the better woman is here.”

  It might not have been professional to slam my door, but it sure felt good when I heard it rattle on its hinges.

  The nerve of that woman!

  I grabbed my sunglasses and my wallet and walked to the square, my hip aching with each frustrating step.

  “Give me a cheeseburger basket with double fries.” I handed a twenty to Stan in the Battalion Burgers food trailer.

  “Miss Paisley, we’re still serving breakfast.” He got a good look at the rage on my shredded face. “Won’t take me no time to fire up that grill.”

  “Thank you, Stan. And please make those fries crispy.” I sniffed and blinked back tears. “I am not in the mood to tolerate limp fries.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fifteen minutes later my artery-clogging meal and I sat on the edge of the square’s new fountain. In the middle of the water, standing proud in her cement dress, was Annie Mae McGinnis, a Civil War nurse who’d doctored soldiers no matter the color of their uniform. She’d helped slaves escape, drawing them detailed maps of the Sugar Creek waterway that extended all the way into the wilds of Missouri. I saluted her with my cheeseburger, then took a therapeutic bite.

  “Scooch over.”

  I pulled my thoughts away from the peaceful fountain and sighed at the intrusion. “How did you know I was here, Sylvie?”

  My grandmother hip-bumped me as she sat, her hair and makeup flawless, as if she’d just left the salon. “Marva Lou was in Enchanted Events setting up her fiftieth birthday party, even though her birth certificate says she’s sixty-three. She saw that snooty Haley Jo sashay out, minutes later followed by you. Marva Lou told Carolyn Markey as she passed her on the sidewalk, who told Lillian Benson at Bugle Boy Bagels, who called Alvin Tacker at the hardware store, who mentioned it to Della Fitzwell over a purchase of paint and a plunger.”

  “I’ve only been here a quarter of an hour.”

  “Word travels fast when one of our own is hurting.”

  One of our own. Though the gossipy grapevine annoyed me to end, it also warmed my heart to be thought of as one of the Sugar Creek family once again. “Thanks. I guess.”

  “Talk to your dear grandmother. What did that dreadful skinny girl want?”

  I offered Sylvie a fry. “She says she and Beau are talking marriage.”

  She ate the whole thing before responding. “Hog wash.”

  “Is it?”

  “She’s just trying to get to you. “She sees you as a threat, and she’s trying to run you off. If she were getting anywhere with Beau, she wouldn’t have darkened your door. Don’t you think with all my contacts in town I’d have heard if there was a rekindled love connection betw
een those two?”

  “By contacts do you mean illegally planted cameras and bugs?”

  “Shug, I take Neighborhood Watch very seriously. Last week I caught someone stealing a portable toilet from the city park, and this town may thank me any time.”

  I watched a young couple lay out a quilt on the grass for their toddler to play. “Maybe I am too much drama for Beau.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  I filled my grandmother in on the entire conversation. “Haley Jo has a point,” I finally said. “He needs stability, someone who’s ready to offer him home-cooked dinners and babies. She’s about to earn her third college degree.” And I had none. “She probably knows how to fold a fitted sheet.”

  “This is a lot of whining for a girl who said she didn’t want to date Beau.”

  “I didn’t want to date him.”

  “But now you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, for the love of overthrown communism, of course you do! Ever since you moved back to Sugar Creek, you and Beau have been circling each other like you were about to break into power ballads. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And whenever he’s around, you’ve got hearts floating over your head like he’s Ryan Gosling with his shirt off.”

  That was a nice visual.

  Sylvie reached for the pickle I’d set aside and took a crunchy bite. “How do you feel about Matt Quincy?”

  “I think he’s very nice.”

  My grandmother laughed. “Shug, I’ve had warmer feelings for yoga pants.”

  “There’s just nothing there. No spark.”

  “No zip?”

  I shook my head.

  “No zing?”

  “I wish there was.” Matt liked me. He pursued me. He didn’t come with a clingy ex-girlfriend gunning for marriage. “I broke up with him last night.”

  “Oh, dear. How did he take it? Did he cry? There was a lot of snot, wasn’t there?”

  I smiled. “No, he took it pretty well.”

  “We Sutton women are heartbreakers—it’s just our curse.”

  Then why was my heart the one in need of chocolate and Scotch tape?

  Sylvie watched a toddler stick his hand in the fountain. “When Haley Jo told you they were discussing marriage, how did you feel?”