by CF Frizzell
“That’s not stupid at all,” Shay said, her voice dropping. “Now my turn. I’ve wanted to ask for this dance all night.”
“My turn. Every woman here expects to dance with the handsome Shay Maguire, but…I may not let them.”
Her heart pounding, Shay glanced away to take a subtle, very necessary breath. You are such a total wimp. She set her forehead on Mel’s and sighed, swaying them to the music. Mel followed smoothly.
“Truly, Mel, there are a lot of women here but only one lady.” Cautiously, she drew her closer still, lowered her cheek to Mel’s, and slid her arm farther around her back. When she squeezed, Mel moaned softly in her ear and Shay nearly forgot to breathe.
Mel’s lips were so close, they brushed Shay’s ear as she spoke. “Should I interpret that as a slick line or simply swoon?”
“I’m not some Casanova full of one-liners.” She set her face into Mel’s hair, drifted into the feathery sensation, the spring-rain scent. “Besides, I believe a lady deserves better.”
Mel’s nose trailed along her jaw. Shay fought back a shiver when hushed words stroked her neck.
“Then I must be swooning in your arms.”
Shay released their hands and wrapped both arms around her, bringing Mel to rest against the front of her. Shay feared her voice would tremble, but she dipped her head and whispered against Mel’s ear. “Is that what this light-headed feeling is?”
“Honestly,” Mel set her cheek to Shay’s, “I-I haven’t danced like this in a very long time.”
Neither had Shay. Not like this, anyway, not where her blood raced, her thought process shut down, and her senses screamed for more. She struggled to find the words, couldn’t voice the emotion adequately.
“That makes two of us. I’d like to do it more often. With you.” Thoughts of “one dance” rattled around in her brain, jostled the escalating rush created by Mel’s whispers, the very feel of her, and Shay overstepped her own boundary and ignored them. She leaned back, and her stomach muscles twitched as she hurried to allay Mel’s skepticism. “I’m being honest, too.”
“Shay, I…I don’t get out much. My time is—”
“Would you let me change that?” She searched Mel’s expression for the answer, but wasn’t sure what she saw. She knew it wasn’t the resolute confidence she’d seen at their table earlier. There was an anxiety there that didn’t belong. “Ms. Baker, might I entice you out some evening? To dance?”
Mel spent more time than Shay thought she could stand, just searching her eyes for something, possibly honesty. Shay shuffled them to the music and waited, helpless as her nerve endings wove into knots.
“Perhaps,” Mel said at last.
Shay tugged Mel closer, thrilled when Mel pressed herself into her and slid both arms around her neck. Can this night get any better? Hardly moving to the music anymore, Shay found it difficult to speak. This was how she wanted to spend the rest of their night. She wanted to stay lost in Mel’s embrace, hold her close for hours, kiss her, slowly, softly… Jesus, talk about ruining things.
“You, Shay Maguire, are a dashing charmer.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you have a secret list of them.”
Mel straightened slightly and shook her head. She tapped Shay’s chin with a fingertip. “I believe you’re quite special.”
“No, Mel. I’m nothing special. But you—I never thought I’d meet anyone like you in Tomson.”
The song faded, left them motionless on the floor, and Shay’s body reeled when Mel palmed her cheek.
“Shay. It’s been a long night and I really should go. Thank you for another evening I won’t soon forget.”
Shay set her cheek into the warm hand, and Mel’s fingertips grazed her ear, sent a rousing tingle to the base of Shay’s spine.
“Will we dance again, Mel?” She kissed her palm, yearning for an answer through Mel’s silence. She took Mel’s hands and leaned to her ear. “We could confess more stupid things to each other.”
Reacting with a sweet, light laugh, Mel tugged Shay down by her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“Good night, Ms. Maguire.”
Chapter Nine
“Chicago, I’ve decided to make you my go-between for the Fourth project, my coordinator.”
Shay stiffened in the wingback chair. She hadn’t known what to expect when summoned to Della’s office, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Sorry, Ms. Slattery, but what’s that mean, exactly?”
“Della, please.” She slid a folder toward Shay. “It means I need someone with a grip on every aspect of the festivities to keep me in the loop. You’ve developed a good working relationship with both my main crews and you have management experience. I honestly don’t know why it took me so long to set you up in this position, but now’s the time.”
Shay eyed the folder suspiciously.
“You mean, just let you know how things are going?”
“Basically, yes.” She pointed to the folder. “This is status for the Fourth. It’s still several weeks away, but I intend to provide Tomson the biggest celebration it’s ever seen. Slattery Enterprises will be on everyone’s lips, will provide a super celebration that townspeople won’t soon forget. So my foremen keep daily notes of what’s been done and what’s ahead.”
Shay simply tipped her head toward the folder, surprised to see such details weren’t computerized. “I’m sure they must love the paperwork as much as you do.”
“That’s a given. And to my point.” She flipped through the papers rapidly and looked up with a hint of frustration. “How are you at paperwork, Chicago?”
Shay raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I guess. I can read.”
“Jesus Christ.” Della sat back but quickly leaned forward again. “All this stuff needs to be input, granted, but, beyond that, I need someone who can run the middle ground for me. This July Fourth thing is critical PR for me in this town, and I sorely need it to go well. I run a tight ship, Chicago, and it’s a fast one. I have projects reaching full stride now that require all my attention. Actually, I could use a hand with them, too, but that’s secondary at the moment.”
“So you want me to do what, exactly? Coordinate your massive do-or-die PR splurge?” Shay crossed an ankle over a knee and shook her head. “I’ve only been in town since the middle of April, Della. I get along with the guys—and I think most of them like me—but damn. You don’t really know me from Adam.”
Della twirled the Montblanc on her blotter. “You’d be surprised what I know about you. The fact that your motorcycle business was wildly successful played a major role in my decision. As did your master’s in business from Boston University, and the fact that one of Boston’s largest developers once offered you a partnership to keep you. Yes, I’ve made inquiries.”
Shay sat dumbstruck. She’d always downplayed her background because her love was for motorcycles, not general construction or business. That Della had checked her out impressed her, and she kicked herself for being surprised. Jesus, what next?
“So,” Della continued, “I’d like you to consider my offer. It will pay well, but requires you to be available by cell twenty-four hours a day until we’re through. There’s a PC you can use in the conference room next door.” Her phone rang and she pushed the folder closer to Shay. “Please take a look at this and you’ll get an idea of what’s involved, where we stand.” She answered the phone and turned slightly away to speak, leaving Shay with the folder of workmen’s scribbles.
Shay read as quickly as she could, one sheet after another, trying to absorb their importance through a frazzled haze. Did she want this responsibility? For Della, of all people? She didn’t doubt her own ability, but her principles seized top billing. They call her the Dragon Lady for a reason. Being right here at her side means pimping Slattery Enterprises, and you’re wrestling with being an employee as it is. Nevertheless, the idea, the challenge was exciting, she had to admit. She’d never run an operation so big. And it would only be short-
term. Could put that cash down on a place and stop freeloading. Someplace manageable…like the von Miller farm…How big a job is this?
She forced herself to concentrate on the pages in the folder, knowing the Fourth promised major entertainment and took full advantage of the Monday holiday. Three full days of carnival and county fair were planned, to be kicked off Friday night by the carnival opening. The big events on the schedule included a bonfire on Saturday night, a concert by Prairie Fire, the country music industry’s newcomer of the year, on Sunday night, and a fireworks extravaganza Monday night. A lot of prep went into one night, let alone three, plus a full-blown county fair ran through the whole thing.
And the papers in her hand told that story. The carnival field was awaiting an electrical contractor. The main barn needed structural repairs on the second floor and front steps. The stage and vendors’ booths were short plywood and studs, and delivery was now four days behind schedule. The fields designated for parking needed fill and leveling, but the backhoe needed for that chore had just been brought in for repairs. The town health inspector was coming in two weeks to make sure accommodations for portable toilets would be up to code. And the Grange and the 4-H Club were amidst an escalating holy war for premium display space.
“So.” Della cocked an eyebrow. “Are things a mess or what?”
Shay blew out a breath and shook her head.
“Well, there’re some problems, yes.” She closed the folder and set it back on the desk. “There’s a lot to get a grip on.” Della simply nodded. “If I’m going to consider this, I suppose I should ask about salary.”
“How does a thousand a week sound?”
Shay swallowed hard and hid her pleasure. “Could I have a day or two to mull it over?”
“Absolutely.” Della stood and Shay followed suit. “This is Wednesday. How about no later than Monday morning?”
Shay offered a handshake. “That’s fine. I appreciate being considered, Della. Thank you.”
She left the meeting and rode back to the maintenance barn in a daze. Weren’t you just looking for jobs in the Tribune this morning? So much for seeing yourself as a hypocrite. Accept this offer and there’ll be no doubt. Opinions of Slattery Enterprises that she’d heard from so many people began playing in a constant loop in her head. With a jolt, Mel’s perceptive expression came to mind—and lingered.
*
Shay slid the little five-horse motor off a shelf in the garage bay and put it in a cardboard box for her first and only customer of the day. He beamed up at his father as payment exchanged hands.
“Grease and oil,” Shay reminded the boy, and returned their waves as they drove off.
She leaned against the building in the late-morning sun and downed half a bottle of water, enjoying the solitude and independence before tackling the next repair Sonny had left on her to-do list. Della’s offer is for a temporary thing compared to what I could do here. I could get used to running this place, Sonny. Maybe take it off your hands, even. Would you consider selling? Or are you going to hang on to your history here until it kills you? Maybe, by the time the Fourth is over, you’ll be ready for serious business talk.
She took a hard look around the lot, the cracked and patched asphalt, the long, rusted sign hanging above both bays, the building’s chipped paint, and marveled at how Sonny managed a living on basic, quality work. Of the vehicles waiting for repair, one was a classic, beat-up farm truck, while the others were new cars, which said plenty about the workmanship here and customers’ faith in it. She knew exactly what it would take to restore some vitality to the place and make it more than solvent for years to come.
Would feel a whole lot better than running round with a Slattery sign on my back.
Coby’s friend Doran had made that clear last evening, when they visited the little ranch Doran and Keary owned next to Maclin’s. Shay already knew Keary as the Exchange’s assistant manager, but meeting Doran had been…enlightening. A quiet, brooding horse trainer, Doran opposed everything Slattery represented, and hadn’t greeted Shay with open arms…
So, you going to accept her management offer? Nothing stops her when she wants something, and Della’s already got you where she wants you. You see that, right? Look, they’re all about greed and cutting corners and they’ve got a track record to prove it. Have you noticed how much of hurry they’re in? With Chandler over there, anything can happen if you don’t keep an eye out. Let me give you some down-home Tomson advice. Watch where you step.
Shay rubbed her eyes, hoping it would settle her thoughts. Even pouring water on her head didn’t help. When the office phone rang, she voiced her thanks for the distraction. The call proved to be just what she needed.
Once the towing company dispatcher said Mel’s Subaru was on its way, Shay cleared the rest of her schedule with renewed purpose. How to spend a Saturday afternoon, she thought. She has this effect on me? Shay didn’t trust her willpower, however. When it dealt with Mel, it had a habit of evaporating. In a way, she hoped Mel wouldn’t arrive with the car. In a small way.
Minutes later, Shay greeted the tow truck driver and signed his paperwork, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t Mel hurrying around the front of the truck. Nice try.
“Morning, Ms. Baker.”
“Morning to you, too.” Mel tipped her cap upward and her ponytail bobbed at the back of her neck.
Shay steadied her breathing. Mel had an uncanny way of seizing Shay’s every anatomical part, but in denim cutoffs and black tank top, she was deadly.
Shay gestured toward the Subaru, just released from its tow. “Big problem, huh?”
“Yeah. Damn it. As if I needed this on top of everything else, and when I can least afford it.”
“The tow driver thinks it’s a broken timing belt. Unfortunately, if that’s true, it could be expensive. They’re usually pretty labor-intensive.” She leaned close to whisper. “I’ll fix it in record time.”
Mel returned the whisper. “Why are mechanics such flirts?”
Shay reared back. “I’m deeply offended.”
“The hell you are.”
“Okay, lady. I’ll take my time and put you in the poorhouse.”
“That’s extortion.”
“You love it.”
Mel laughed and the sound warmed Shay’s insides.
“Would you like a ride home? This actually will take me a few hours, unless you’d rather sit on some grubby stool and marvel at my prowess with a wrench.”
Mel frowned, as if considering her options. “Well, there is the prospect of watching you bent over a fender.” Shay felt her face redden. “Oh, God,” Mel said. “I had no idea you were that easy.”
“Knock it off. I’m taking you home.” Shay went into the open garage bay and returned with keys. “Just for that, I’m taking you on the beast.” She stalked past her and mounted the Softail. She fumbled to find the ignition without looking, and scooted forward on the seat. Mel gripped her shoulder.
Shay sat perfectly still, the slight hand deliciously warm through her shirt, and Mel seated herself behind her. Small but firm fingers squeezed Shay’s ribs on both sides as they pulled out of the lot, and Shay savored the sensation, imagining those hands rubbing right across her abdomen until arms hugged her tightly.
“First house on Hitchcock, please. The farmhouse on the right,” Mel shouted at her ear.
Shay simply nodded. No more than ten minutes for this heavenly moment. Five minutes into town, several down Tremlett Road, and a couple down Hitchcock. Then their connection would end, Mel’s touch would be gone. She concentrated on driving, on enjoying the feel of Mel seated behind her, holding her, for as long as she could.
“Ah, Shay? I think…you should detour here, before town. We passed an accident getting here, and I think they were blocking off Main for a bit.”
Shay downshifted quickly and turned onto the less-traveled side street. She was more than pleased to do so. The route added five more minutes to their connection.
>
“You’re a good rider,” she called back over her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“You’ve spent time on a bike, haven’t you?”
“Many years ago. Another lifetime. I love it.”
“As a passenger?”
“Yes. Girlfriend’s Triumph. No pun intended.”
“Ah.” Shay scrambled for something neutral to add. “Nice bikes.”
“It was a rough ride.”
Shay twisted around to see her, as far as she dared, their eyes meeting for only a second, but it was enough to know there was more to that story. She wanted to press but took the considerate approach.
“My first was a Honda. Then I got my hands on a Norton and nearly killed myself.”
“Were you hurt?”
“Broke my arm, my jaw, a few ribs.”
“Ouch!”
She appreciated Mel’s genuine concern, rather amused that an eighteen-year-old’s agony could feel so good today. She curled onto Hitchcock Road and kept their pace slow.
“I like the way you drive,” Mel said at her ear. “I’ve been on too many scary rides. That’s my place up ahead.”
Shay wished Mel would say more, stay pressed against her back to be heard. She let the Softail crawl onto the Baker property and up to the front porch steps. She leaned forward as Mel dismounted.
“This is a beautiful place, Mel. Your grandmother lives here with you?”
“Yes. For ages. My grandfather built it himself, and I wouldn’t part with it for the world. We have four hundred acres that we lease out today, but originally, a few thousand, if you go back to eighteen eighty-one.”
There was pride in Mel’s soulful look and Shay observed intently, intrigued. She could tell it came from having a history with the land, ancestral ground, a sturdy home built with your own hands. These were things people stood for, fought for. The few things in the world, like love, that meant more than money and power. Shay fleetingly wondered if Slattery now owned the old Baker acreage, but decided not to light that powder keg. No, she thought, a genuine historic homestead was worth everything you could give to preserve it. And she could feel the strength and determination Mel took from that, just being in the front yard. Whether it would see Mel through her own self-determination was something else, however.