“It’s the new fifty,” she replied, and continued down the stairs. Grandpop’s not aging.
And he seemed perfectly himself to her, though irritated by the loss of the plumbing items as he topped off his coffee, though he told her he’d “misplaced” them.
Remembering again her mom had admonished her about bringing up the previous irregularities, she slipped into a chair and put an inquiring expression on her face as her grandmother placed a plate of toast in front of her. “That’s too bad, Grandpop,” she said, trying to think how to tease the information out of him. “Maybe you—”
“Now I’m going to have to go to town and get what I need,” he groused, shaking his head.
“We can do it together,” Harper offered. A little time with just the two of them might cause him to come clean about this incident and all the others. Then she could assess for herself the true seriousness of the situation.
“I’ve got that meeting with Mitch and Jorge this morning.” He rubbed his jaw. “Could you do it for me, Harper? Do you remember how to get to Ewing Irrigation Supply?”
“Sure, Grandpop.” She’d ask her phone for directions, but he didn’t need to know that. “But can I borrow the truck?”
His bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “Of course. Is there something wrong with your car, though?”
“I want to give it a break.” Because when the moment came, she’d need her escape vehicle ready and rested for the getaway.
In the meantime, she dressed in jeans and another of the Sunnybird Farm T-shirts she pilfered from her mother’s closet. Following the voice on her smartphone, she found Ewing’s, with its expansive parking lot that it shared with Paulson’s Feed Store. She found a spot between the two businesses and made her way into Ewing’s, a note written in Grandpop’s—not aging—handwriting clutched in her fist.
Inside, she paused, overcome by a sense of familiarity. On another occasion she must have accompanied Grandpop to the place, because the tinkling sounds of various water features was a sound she remembered…and one that made her smile.
“Harper Hill,” a voice said, and she looked over to see a middle-aged man approaching from a side aisle. It took a moment for a name to appear on her tongue. “Mr. Gill, hello.”
He beamed. “Have you moved back to Sawyer Beach?”
“No!” She tempered her voice. “I mean, no, I’m just visiting for…uh…today.”
“It’s still good to see you.”
“Right. Thanks.” She held out her list. “Grandpop needs a few things. He said we have an account?”
“Sure do.” He took it from her hand and started walking. “I’ll have to tell Mrs. Gill I saw you. She’ll be green with jealousy.”
“How is she?” His wife had been her English teacher three out of four years in high school. “She was my favorite.”
“The feeling was mutual.” He glanced over as he pulled something off a shelf. “She always hoped you’d come back to town someday and join her department. Teach in the next classroom.”
Maybe once she’d thought that too. Freshman year, before she caught a glimpse of Maddox Kelly and then she didn’t think of her future in quite the same way again. “I did get into teaching, though,” she said. “In South Korea and Costa Rica and Portugal.” Where she’d caught that terrible case of pneumonia.
And homesickness.
“Harper Hill!”
She whirled at the sound of her name, coming face-to-face with another person she recognized. Smiling, she moved in for a hug. “Dr. Winters,” she said, squeezing. The vet had cared for all her animals over the years. Two dogs, four cats, and one class goldfish she’d been kind enough to try and bring back to life when she’d visited Harper’s third grade on career day.
They caught up while Mr. Gill continued gathering her supplies and finally presented her with a box and an invoice.
When she left the store, she was smiling some more.
It was nice to be remembered. In Vegas, everyone was a stranger, the kind of stranger who wanted to forget your name not to mention their entire visit once they returned home. “What stays in Vegas” was all the people who worked there along with the memories of everyone else’s raucous good times. Those never seemed quite so good at the beginning of long work nights when another couple of lonely guys on a golf vacation or a pair of women pretending they were “celebrating” a divorce slid onto the stools on the other side of her bar.
She tried introducing the women to the men when she thought they were decent enough, but nobody was looking for romance in Vegas.
For sure she’d never found any there.
“Harper Hill!”
At the sound of her name once more, she looked up and around, ready to greet another friendly face. Who now?
A young woman was hailing her, one arm waving, white teeth in gleaming evidence, the sun brightening her already bright, strawberry-blonde hair.
“Harper! Harper Hill!”
Maybe if her name had only been called once, she could slip into the truck and screech out of the parking lot, but not when she’d been thrice named.
Upon being thrice named, you could not hide. It was a rule.
But she didn’t move her feet, just remained where she was, close to the truck and its magnet logo, the design based on a drawing she’d done herself at age four. A green line represented a hill and on top of it perched a yellow bird, its blue beak open in song. Sunnybird Farm.
Making sure her face was molded into a happy expression, she wiggled her fingers as the other woman came closer. “Well, hi there, Courtney.”
Courtney, Maddox Kelly’s wife.
“How are you?” she said, her voice filled with seventh-grade glee.
Harper stole a glance behind her, in case one of Courtney’s seventh-grade posse was there, ready to pants her. There was nothing to see but another pickup and an empty Big Grab chip bag, scooting along with the breeze. Breathing a little easier, she met Courtney’s brown eyes, big and dumb, like a cow’s.
Oh, she was so terrible.
“I’m fine, Courtney,” she said, like a grown-up. “How about yourself?”
“I heard you were in town,” the other woman went on, as if delighted by the idea.
“Really?” Really? Had Mad gone home Friday night, kissed his little wife on her rosebud lips and then said, Hey, darling, you’ll never guess who I ran into today.
A dull burn spread across the back of her neck, thinking of Mad talking about her with the little woman. And she looked…messy.
Courtney, of course, looked put together, in a vaguely nautical top and a pair of bright white cropped pants with matching white sneakers. Nobody’s supposed to wear white after Labor Day, was Harper’s catty thought, but of course that was some out-of-date fashion rule and one that especially didn’t apply in California.
“I heard you’ve been living in Nevada,” Courtney said now, head tilting this way and that, as if she was trying to figure out why anyone would want to live away from Sawyer Beach.
It was a thought that had never crossed Harper’s mind.
“That’s right,” she said, trying to keep her expression as lively as the other woman’s. “And before that I was in Asia, South America, and Europe.”
“A wanderer,” the strawberry blonde said, her hand over her heart. “It makes me feel like such a…such a…homebody.”
“Different strokes.” Harper shrugged, hoping she still had on her smile.
Then Courtney started talking again, never taking a breath, it seemed, which made Harper remember Elementary School Courtney, an annoying chatterbox, but who was preferable to Middle School Courtney who was a wanna-be mean girl.
To be honest, by high school Courtney was just a normal girl with a normal group of friends—though they were the kind who always volunteered for the Homecoming Committee. Once Harper heard from her mom that Courtney had become Mad’s fiancée, however, she’d taken on—in Harper’s mind—all the qualities of a nemesis.
It was undignified, unfair, and, unfortunately, true.
As she let Courtney’s chat wash over her, she found herself imagining what her life with her husband Mad might be like.
Then Harper found herself imagining Mad as a husband.
Coming in the door after a day at work.
The after-work kiss.
The pre-dinner drinks followed by the pre-dinner kiss.
The dinner, the kisses while doing dishes.
The kisses good night.
Before bed.
No, she couldn’t think of Mad in bed.
Then she was thinking of Mad in bed and that burn on the back of neck flushed down the rest of her body, followed by a sharp chaser of guilt because she was lusting after some other woman’s husband.
“And this is Stuart and Sela,” Courtney was saying, pushing forward two small figures that until now Harper had managed to totally ignore. “They’re three…and twins!”
Courtney and Mad’s children. Three-year-old twins.
Adorable twins.
With an awkward wave, she greeted their adorable perfection and then she was talking, making some excuse to jump into her truck and drive away. Putting distance between herself and Mad’s perky wife and perfect children. Harper could be on the road in no time.
Arrive in time for a late dinner in Vegas.
Yay.
Mad took a break from a morning of errand running to grab a coffee at Harry’s, the most popular spot for quick food and drink in downtown Sawyer Beach. Sophie Daggett was usually the on-duty barista, a job that allowed her to take online business classes as well as cater on the side. Today, the line to purchase a Sophie-creation snaked nearly to the door. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels, ready to wait with stoic acceptance.
A person two places in front of him glanced back, then turned. “Hey, Mad,” said Sam-the-Runner. If he had a last name, Mad had forgotten it, and everybody in town identified the lean man as “Sam-the-Runner,” a common sight on every local sidewalk and country road.
“Good to see you, Sam.” Mad nodded, noting the other man wore running shorts and a nylon shirt advertising a marathon from 2018.
“What did you think about Harper?” the other man asked.
“Uh, who?” Shit.
“Heard she’s back in town. You guys had a thing, right? High school and after?”
“She was eighteen when we got together.” He’d been twenty-one.
“And then there was an epic breakup after, what? Five years.”
“Three.” Note, he didn’t correct the “epic breakup” because he didn’t want to talk about it any more than necessary.
“Okay, but—”
“You need to move, Sam.” Mad waved his hand forward, indicating the line had shifted. And move on to another subject, Sam. Who would have guessed the guy was tuned into the rumor mill? But maybe he had to fill his head with something to obsess about during those ten-mile training runs.
A touch to his back had him looking over his shoulder. Then down. A teeny brunette with waves of black hair and a teeny purse in the crook of her elbow stood behind him. She was anywhere between sixteen and God-knows.
“You’ve got to be used to everybody talking about it,” she said to him. “You and Harper, I mean. Didn’t it come up during poker night?”
He stared. “How do you know about poker night?” How do you know me?
“Hello?” She touched her chest. “Alma’s daughter? My mom had me help make the tamales for you.”
“Oh. Right. They were great. Give her my compliments.”
Teeny leaned forward. “So what did the guys think about the Harper Homecoming?”
“It didn’t come up.”
She rolled her eyes with such extravagance that he thought her irises might get lost. When they finally returned to the forward position, she slapped his forearm. “Men are bigger gossips than women.”
Mad was a cop. Call him staid, a stick-in-the-mud, a rule-follower, but he considered his role made him a kind of role model. Lying didn’t come easy.
Except now, it was pretty damn easy.
“Like I said. It didn’t come up.”
In truth, his six oldest friends hadn’t been able to resist beating the subject of Harper Hill to death. There was the rehash of the romance, the dramatic recounting of the traumatic goodbye, his pathetic six months of moping after she’d gone.
They’d thought it was only six months of moping. Sweet.
Service speeded up after that and soon enough he had his large coffee in hand without further uncomfortable conversation. Sophie had been too busy to give him more than a cursory greeting. Luck, on his side.
He walked his beverage over to the counter to add a little half-and-half and grab a napkin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he whirled the wooden stirrer. Stealing a glance in the direction of the entrance, his gaze caught on the newcomer as she took a second step into Harry’s.
One look, and he was a horny young guy again, the girl in the ripped jeans and a faded tee barging into his world for the first time. The poker crew had been invited to Sophie’s high school graduation party, and even though every Daggett event guaranteed people at some point would be forced into dancing to the piña colada song, they’d attended for the free beer and food. Sophie’s other gal pals had attended in summery dresses and strappy sandals. But not Harper Hill.
Explaining she’d come straight from picking strawberries, Harper had breezed in, a sun-flush across her cheeks and nose and a pair of clean but ragged sneakers on her feet.
She’d taken time to change her shoes she’d explained to the crowd with a grin, but held out her berry-stained fingers. “Sorry!”
He hadn’t been sorry in the least. Right there and then he’d gone down for the count.
Now he jolted back to awareness. Lost in those old memories, he’d lost his opportunity to avoid her.
Already she had her own coffee in hand and then she turned about, seeking the sugar he assumed she still used to doctor her favorite beverage. When she spotted him, he couldn’t decipher the expression that crossed her face, but he couldn’t miss that her shoulders squared and she walked toward him without hesitation.
The only hitch was in Mad’s heartbeat.
“Wow,” she said, her gaze shifting to train on the sugar. “Am I glad I ran into you.”
“Oh?” He wished the sweep of her lashes didn’t fascinate him. And that the fascination didn’t bode trouble. God, how rude would it be to leave before finding what she was glad about?
And how fast would Mad’s sudden departure set the tongues of town wagging? Judging by the heads turned in their direction, he thought pretty fast.
“So,” Harper said now. “I’m heading back to Vegas. Pronto.”
Relief had a bittersweet taste. “Gotta live your life.”
“That’s right,” she said, and raised her eyes to his. “Gotta live my life. Like you’re living yours.”
His brows came together. “Okay.”
“Your tie. I still have it.” She sipped from her drink.
“Go ahead and keep it,” he offered.
Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t!” Then she cleared her throat. “It’s a nice tie. Very…conservative.”
“As you’ve called me more than once.” Right before he showed her the kinks in his imagination.
Her cheeks flushed. “Well.” Turning back to the counter, she added more sugar to her coffee, stirred vigorously. “I met your wife.”
He blinked at the stiff line of her back. “Uh…”
“Still so cute. She told me she’s redecorating the living room and that you hope to put a pool in the backyard this year if she can be convinced a fence around it will be kid-proof.”
“Uh…”
“I told her I’m sure you would always put safety first.”
In the old days, that would be a subtle dig, wielded in an attempt to prod his staid soul into doing something reckless
. Sneaking beers into the movies. Having sex in a public place.
“And the twins,” Harper was saying. “I knew you and Courtney would make beautiful children. They sure are something.”
“Ah. Okay. I don’t, I’m not—” Mad snapped his mouth shut. Had she… “You ran into Court?”
“Yep.” Harper turned to face him again. “I was at the irrigation supply store and she had an errand at the feed place. Bunny pellets, she said?”
Right. She thought he’d married Courtney Shields.
“I admit,” Harper went on, “that I never saw you as a bunny man.”
His brain hummed as he tried deciding what to do. “People grow. Change.”
“You tell her how you feel, then?” she muttered.
His gaze sharpened. “What?”
“I’m sure you have a very wonderful marriage,” Harper said. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Happy about what?” Sophie had abandoned her barista position to appear at his elbow, sunny and nosy and about ready to blow his subterfuge. Well, Harper’s subterfuge, since his marriage was his former girlfriend’s idea.
“What’s going on?” Sophie looked between the two of them.
“Harper’s saying her goodbyes,” he told Sophie.
At the same time that Harper said, “I ran into his wife and kids.”
Sophie’s blue eyes flared wide. “What? Mad’s not married!”
He made it to the parking lot and almost to his SUV, assuming that Harper remained in place, her mouth moving like a guppy’s. His hand wrapped the door handle when he heard the rush of footsteps and a voice, raised in mild outrage.
Moderate outrage.
“Maddox Kelly.”
He kept his back turned.
“Why did you do that?” The outrage turned hotter.
“Do what exactly?” He grimaced, because the question was a jerk move, and he knew it. On a swallowed sigh, he turned to face her, Harper Hill, her face flushed in anger.
So beautiful.
Don’t say it, he reminded himself. Don’t say, you’re beautiful when you’re angry.
But she was.
She goddamn was.
Her hands propped on her hips, she glared up at him. “Why did you think it was necessary to make me feel like a fool?”
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 4