Addicted to Love

by Addicted to Love (lit)

  He didn’t have to ask twice. As fast as her legs could carry her, she was off the billboard and in the passenger seat of his car.

  “Besides breakfast,” he said, “I thought you might need a few other supplies.” He handed her a second, bigger sack containing sunscreen, bottled water, a battery-powered fan, a straw hat, and a collapsible umbrella.

  Something strange tugged inside her at his considerate gesture. “How did you know I needed all this?”

  “I drove by earlier,” he admitted. “I figured you’d forgotten how hot it can get in Valentine in late July.”

  He was right, she had forgotten.

  “Egg McMuffin,” he said, taking a breakfast sandwich wrapped in yellow paper from the other sack and passing it to her. “Hash browns and orange juice.”

  “Thanks so much.” She hadn’t known she was so ravenous until tempted with the aroma of food. She dug into the sandwich. They sat in the car, air conditioner running, eating in companionable silence.

  They were halfway through breakfast when Brody’s radio crackled.

  “Sheriff?” came the young female voice over the bandwidth. “We’ve got trouble.”

  Brody stuck his Egg McMuffin back in the sack, dusted his hands on a napkin, and then reached for the radio. “What’s up, Jamie?”

  “You better get over to the courthouse. Mayor Wentworth is raisin’ a ruckus.”

  Brody rolled his eyes and Rachael suppressed a giggle. “What’s he got his shorts in a bunch over this time?”

  “He’s pitchin’ such a bitch I’m not really sure, but he keeps saying something about parking meters.”

  “I’ll check it out, Jamie. Thanks.” Brody settled the radio back in place.

  “I better get out”—Rachael reached for the door handle—“and let you do your job.”

  “Stay put,” he said. “Finish your breakfast. This shouldn’t take too long.”

  He put the patrol car in gear and headed over to the courthouse. They arrived to find Kelvin pacing the courthouse lawn, face florid, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, letting loose with a string of colorful curse words.

  That’s when Rachael saw the parking meters. She sucked in her breath as a mix of emotions surged through her. Shock, disbelief, and an odd, heady sense of glee.

  She wasn’t the only one in town disgruntled by Valentine’s gaudy attachment to romantic symbolism. Someone else had taken a stand.

  Because every last one of the sixteen heart-shaped parking meters in front of the courthouse had been neatly beheaded.

  “CALM DOWN, KELVIN,” Brody soothed.

  “I will not calm down. Not only has this town been disrespected twice in one week, but you’re consorting with the perpetrator.” Kelvin glared at Rachael, who’d gotten out of the patrol car behind him. “She’s the cause of it all. I want her arrested again.”

  Brody cast a glance at the parking meter heads that had been arranged in the middle of the courthouse lawn to form the letters “F.U.” The poles stood impotently bare, no longer capable of extracting parking fees from courthouse patrons. The message was pretty succinct. Brody couldn’t help wondering if Kelvin was the target of this latest vandalism and they were using Rachael’s billboard scandal as a dodge. Or maybe it was just someone tired of paying to park.

  “Rachael didn’t cut the heads off the parking meters.”

  “How do you know?” Kelvin demanded.

  “For one thing, I asked her and Rachael doesn’t lie. For another thing, Rachael was in custody the night someone stole pipe cutters from Audie’s Hardware.”

  “Yeah, but where was she last night?”

  Brody looked at Rachael.

  “I was at home with my mother,” she said.

  “There you go.” Brody spread his palms.

  “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have an accomplice, and you’re assuming someone used pipe cutters and that they were the same ones stolen from Audie’s store. Hell, they could have used a Sawzall.”

  “Examined the tool marks.” Brody waved at the markings on the posts. “It’s a pipe cutter. Besides, a reciprocating saw would have made too much noise. Someone did this under cover of darkness and it took them most of the night.”

  “That’s what I mean. It’s someone with an anti-romance agenda like your girl there. It’s a plot.” Kelvin glowered.

  “A plot?” Brody couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice.

  “And she’s behind it.” Kelvin jerked a thumb in Rachael’s direction.

  “So we’re talking conspiracy theories here?” Brody pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “Do you know how paranoid that sounds, Kelvin?”

  “Someone’s trying to sabotage my business deal. I have investors coming in tomorrow and someone is trying to make Valentine look bad.”

  Brody paused to consider what Kelvin was saying. The mayor was overly dramatic, it was true. But if Kelvin did have investors coming to town, there might be something to his paranoia. “What kind of investors?”

  “I’m not prepared to discuss it with you.”

  “Then how am I supposed to explore your theory?”

  “Just do your job and catch whoever did this.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” Brody explained patiently.

  Kelvin chuffed out his breath and ran a hand over the top of his bald pate. “How am I going to explain this to my investors? It’s going to look bad.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  Kelvin eyed him. “What do you mean?”

  “You can say removing the parking meters was your idea. Wasn’t it your daddy that got them installed in the first place? Free parking in front of the courthouse is a gesture of goodwill toward the town. It couldn’t hurt you in the election.”

  Kelvin perked up. “That’s not a bad idea, Carlton. Now get that woman back to the billboard so she can clean up her mess.”

  Brody snorted, knowing it was the best he could expect from the mayor. “So you don’t want me to file a report. I mean, if you’re having the parking meters removed, that’s what you’d want appearing in the paper. Not that someone beheaded the parking meters in the middle of the night in the police blotter.”

  “Right, right.”

  Crisis averted.

  Brody headed back to the car satisfied that he’d solved Kelvin’s PR problem, but he couldn’t help thinking this act of vandalism was just the start of something that could easily get out of hand.

  And when he slid a glance over at Rachael, who was standing beside the patrol car looking so sweet and innocent, he couldn’t help thinking that she was going to get caught in the cross fire.

  “THIS IS A call to order for the first ever meeting of Romanceaholics Anonymous. My name is Rachael Henderson, founder of the group, and I’m a romanceaholic.”

  The small group assembled in the meeting room of the Valentine Public Library consisted of her mother, Deana Carlton, Rex Brownleigh, Audie Gaston, and two old-maiden sisters, Enid and Astrid Pope, who were notorious for attending any and every social event in town. They all just blinked at her.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Hello, Rachael,’ ” she schooled them from the podium. After spending two weeks boning up on twelve-step programs — in between serving some of her community service hours — she’d learned the basics. But tonight, their first time, they would be flying blind.

  “Hello, Rachael,” they greeted her in unison.

  She beamed at them. “Very good.”

  They beamed back.

  “Everything we say in here is confidential. It’s like Vegas. What happens in Romanceaholics Anonymous stays in Romanceaholics Anonymous. Does everyone agree?”

  Heads bobbed.

  “The first step,” she said, “is for us to admit we are powerless over romance and that our lives have become unmanageable because of our romantic ideations. I’ll go first and tell you what led me to start this group.”

  Even though Rachael was fairly certain everyone in the r
oom had already heard her story through the Valentine grapevine, she told it anyway. “After my ex-fiancé Trace Hoolihan appeared on Entertainment Tonight,” she said, leaving out the part that minutes later she’d been on the verge of kissing Brody Carlton, “I realized I had a problem and I couldn’t conquer my addiction alone. And being back in Valentine, with all its emphasis on romance, I realized other people might have the same problem. So who would like to go first? You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but the sooner you admit you have a problem, the quicker you’ll get on the road to clearheaded thinking.”

  Deana’s hand shot up.

  “Come on up, Deana,” Rachael said and took a seat while Brody’s sister claimed the podium.

  “My name is Deana Carlton, and I’m a romanceaholic,” she said.

  “Hello, Deana,” the group greeted her.

  “As many of you may know, romantic notions about happily ever after led me into an ill-fated marriage to a guy who turned out to be a con man. Because we had a daughter together, I stayed with him for seven years, pretending that everything was all right. My craving for the romantic gestures he dealt out when things were flush — lavish gifts, love notes pinned to my pillow, impromptu vacations — kept me hanging on. I never once questioned where he got the money for the extravagant gestures. I didn’t want to know. Until government agents showed up on our doorstep to haul everything away.”

  Deana’s voice cracked. She sniffled and a tear rolled down her cheek. Rachael hopped up to offer her a Kleenex. She was proud that she’d remembered to buy a brand-new box specifically for the meeting.

  A murmur of sympathy ran through the collective.

  “That’s not even the worst of it,” Deana said. “The bad part is that two days ago he called me and begged me to meet him in Costa Rica where he’d fled, but he said I’d have to leave Maisy behind.” Deana cringed. “I’m ashamed to admit I actually bought the ticket. But then I heard about Rachael’s meeting from the flyer she posted in the window at Higgy’s and I knew I couldn’t do this alone. I need help. To think I’d be willing to leave my child behind and go back to this guy because he made romantic promises I couldn’t resist.” She shuddered.

  “Do you have the airplane ticket with you?” Rachael asked.

  Deana nodded.

  Rachael looked her in the eye. “I know this is hard for you, but I want you to tear that ticket up, right now.”

  Nervously, Deana licked her lips.

  “You can do it,” Rex Brownleigh called out.

  Deana directed a shaky smile at the audience, reached in her purse, and took out the ticket. She tore it into little shreds.

  “It’s an e-ticket,” Selina pointed out. “What’s to keep her from going online and printing out another one?”

  “The desire to get better,” Rachael said. “Plus, Rex has his laptop with him. He can cancel Deana’s ticket right now.”

  Rex opened his laptop.

  “Do you want him to cancel the ticket, Deana?”

  Deana, looking pale and shaky, nodded.

  “Go sit beside Rex,” Rachael instructed. “And give him the information so he can cancel the ticket for you.”

  Deana did as she was asked.

  “What’s to keep her from ordering another one when she gets home?” Enid Pope asked.

  “We will.”

  “How’s that?” asked her sister, Astrid. “Steal her computer? Lock her in leg irons?”

  “We do it by offering her emotional support. Deana, whenever you feel tempted to fall back under the spell of your ex-husband, I want you to give any one of us a call. We’ll talk you through it.” She looked at Deana. “Okay?”

  Deana nodded.

  Rachael looked at her watch. “We’ve got time for one more declaration tonight. Anyone else want to admit that their life has become unmanageable because of romantic ideations?”

  Rex raised his hand and Rachael waved him to the podium. He declared he was a romanceaholic and he was powerless to keep off Internet dating sites.

  “I keep meeting women, falling in love with them, pouring my heart and soul into the relationship, and they walk all over me,” he said. “I’ve had my car stolen, my identity ripped off, and I contracted a nasty computer virus all because I can’t say no to women.” His deep voice boomed in the confines of the tiny room. “Growing up in Valentine a guy is taught to be chivalrous and help damsels in distress. It all sounds so romantic, but what happens is that when you’re sweet to a woman, she thinks you’re a wimp and walks all over you.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” Rachael said. She loved it when men were sweet to her. Problem was, she fell for sweet talkers who never really meant their declarations of love. “I think this is the hardest thing about being a romanceaholic, knowing the difference between mere romance and true love. That’s why we need each other. To help us sort it all out. Do we need a guest speaker on the topic?”

  “Yes!” the group said in unison.

  “Okay, then. For our next meeting I’ll see if I can find a psychologist willing to tell us how to recognize if it’s true love or if it’s just romance.”

  Her mother raised her hand.

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “By saying true love, aren’t you playing into the romantic myth that there is only one love out there for us?”

  “You’re right. Thanks for pointing that out. I need help just as much as everyone else. That’s why I started the group. Okay, we won’t use the terms ‘true love,’ ‘soul mates,’ or anything else that indicates fanciful, romantic thinking. Does anyone else have anything they’d like to contribute?”

  No one else offered to speak.

  “All right, then, the meeting is adjourned. Same time next week. Remember, if you have the urge to do or believe something romantic, give one of your fellow romanceaholics a call. I have handouts with the list of names and phone numbers. There’s coffee and cookies on the table in the back if anyone would like to stay and chat.”

  As Rachael headed for the coffeepot, feeling as if the first meeting had gone quite well, Rex Brownleigh sauntered over.

  “I gotta tell you, Rachael,” he said, “I’m really impressed by your initiative. It took guts not only to graffiti the Valentine billboard but to start this group. You’re being proactive, taking charge of your life.”

  “So are you, Rex.” She smiled. “By coming here.”

  “I was wondering . . . ” Rex paused, ducked his head, shuffled his feet.

  Omigosh, she thought, he’s going to ask me out. How was she going to handle it? She should have expected something like this to happen in a group of romanceaholics, but she wasn’t prepared.

  Gulping, she felt the smile leave her face. “Um . . . yes?”

  He raised her head, met her gaze. “If you’d be interested in getting even with Trace Hoolihan.”

  That took her by surprise.

  “He shouldn’t get away with treating you so badly,” Rex said.

  Revenge, Rachael knew, was never an honorable motive, but it was a very human one. Temptation took hold of her. It wasn’t the normal temptation of romance. It was a different kind of thrill. One she’d never experienced before.

  Well, she rationalized, if revenge could release her attachment to Trace, ultimately wouldn’t that be a good thing, even if her motives were less than pure? He certainly hadn’t been thinking pure thoughts when he’d said those unkind things about her on national television.

  Politely tell Rex no and walk away, said her principled side, but her all-too-human side won and instead she said, “What do you have in mind?”

  Rex grinned. “YouTube.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You know, the Web site on the Internet where people upload videos —”

  “I know what YouTube is,” she interrupted. “What I don’t get is how that’s going to help me get even with Trace.”

  “We show your side of the story.”

  Rachael shook her head. “I don’t real
ly see the point.”

  “Vindication.”

  She had to admit, she wanted it.

  “And,” he said, “it’d be a great forum for Romanceaholics Anonymous. The more people you reach with the message, the more people you help.”

  She wanted that even more. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  TWO WEEKS HAD passed since the parking meter incident and Amusement Corp’s visit to Valentine to see the town and review Kelvin’s proposal. Nervously, he waited for a call back. They’d promised to contact him by the end of the previous week. Now it was Wednesday and there was still no word. The time lapse made him realize exactly how much he wanted this deal to go through. Not just for himself, but for the good of his hometown.

  “Any messages?” he asked Rex when he returned from lunch, noticing a blob of Higgy’s chili pie on his tie.

  “Amusement Corp didn’t call,” Rex said.

  He was tired of playing cat and mouse. Tired of being in the “depend” role. He was going to take the bull by the horns. “Get Amusement Corp on the phone for me,” he said and stepped over to grab a paper napkin off Rex’s desk.

  In the process, he dislodged a trifold brochure that fluttered to the floor. Kelvin bent to pick it up, barely glancing at it as he laid it back on Rex’s desk. He was halfway to his office door before he did a double take, backpedaled, and snatched up the brochure.

  Has Romance Made Your Life Unmanageable? Take Charge of Your Future Today. Join Romanceaholics Anonymous.

  “What in the hell is this?” he asked Rex.

  Hand poised over the telephone, Rex shrugged as if he had no idea what Kelvin was talking about, but he looked sheepish.

  “Romanceaholics Anonymous.” Kelvin flipped the brochure over. “They meet at the public library every Tuesday night. Who ever heard of Romanceaholics Anonymous?”

  “It’s a new twelve-step program.”

  “I get that,” Kelvin snapped. “What I don’t get is what this brochure is doing on your desk.”

  “Um.” Rex shifted uncomfortably. “I went to the first meeting last night.”

  Kelvin narrowed his eyes. “Who’s behind this?” His first thought was Giada Vito.

  “Rachael Henderson.”