At the end of the day, Rachel packed her briefcase, told Sherry she wished her a good weekend, and headed to her car parked behind the courthouse on the square. She’d just stepped outside and retrieved her keys from the depths of her purse when she looked up and saw Brady, standing and waiting for her near the edge of path to the parking area. Rachel spied a concrete bench off to the left near a bush, and realized he must have been sitting there, anticipating her arrival and hoping to intercept her. He was blocking the most direct route to her car.
Rachel neared him and spoke.
“What do you want?” she asked in the coldest voice she could fake.
Rachel saw his shoulders drop and he deflated in front of her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I assumed too much.”
“Figured that out, have you?” Rachel snapped, looking away.
“Do I dare ask if we can go out this weekend?”
“You can ask,” Rachel said, walking in a wide circle around him to get to her car, parked almost directly behind where he stood. Rachel threw her briefcase into the trunk, then marched to the driver’s side door and opened it. Brady moved closer to her until the car door was between them. She slid into the car and put her key in the ignition while keeping her left hand on the driver door’s interior handle. Once seated, she scowled up at him.
“Well?” he asked weakly.
“I don’t think you’ll care for my answer, Judge Craft.”
She slammed the car door shut, backed out of the space, and left Brady to watch her as she drove away from him.
Brady plodded the few blocks to his home, trying to figure out why he had been so mad, so unreasonable, and why he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion about Rachel. He was also plotting out various scenarios in which he might be able to make amends, at least enough to get Rachel to go out with him.
It slowly dawned on him what he had thrown away in his little hissy fit: a meaningful bond with Rachel, someone he’d known for years, enjoyed being around, and found extremely attractive. He couldn’t understand why he’d flown into such a rage. He wasn’t a hothead or the stereotypical angry guy.
So what was it?
It had to be because of the job.
The job he’d always dreamed about: being a judge. Brady had perceived a threat—a very real threat in the form of an electoral opponent—and had lashed out at Rachel even though someone else had actually delivered the bad news. He had been afraid, and needed someone to blame.
But now his fear was greater than losing his job.
Brady feared he’d lost any chance of being with Rachel.
Rachel was grateful that she had a lot to do on Saturday at home. A bunch of yard work wouldn’t necessarily keep her mind completely off Brady, but at least it would help.
She had purchased all the typical stuff she did at the start of a growing season: mulch, fertilizer, annuals, and a few perennials. She had dawdled on getting these items purchased; usually, she had all the work done a few weeks earlier, around the time it became warm enough to get back into her pool. But she’d had several late trials in the past few weeks and had gotten behind on a long list of home-related tasks, including seasonal plantings. Time to get busy.
Saturday was particularly hot for a late spring day, even early in the morning when Rachel got out of the house to get down to some hard, grubby yard work. Although not yet eight, the temperatures were reaching into the mid-eighties. She put her hair up in a high twist and along with a pair of gardening boots, wore her old cutoff jeans and a hot pink tank top bearing the maxim It’s Better With Bourbon (a birthday gift from Hannah a few years earlier). After she slathered herself with sunscreen, Rachel grabbed a grubby baseball cap from a shelf in the garage and got to it.
By lunchtime, Rachel had accomplished much. She’d planted the annuals either in pots or beds around her house, then fertilized, watered, and mulched the flowers and shrubs. The tasks that remained were the things that Rachel didn’t enjoy as much, such as trimming the bushes around the back of her house and moving debris into a mulch pile. But that could wait until after lunch. The sun was high in the sky and it was blazing hot. Time for a break.
On any other day, she would have been sitting out by her pool or diving in it to escape the stifling heat. She knew she’d get her chance that day to enjoy the water, but only later, and after she completed her very long to-do list. That meant not only finishing the outdoor work but finding the time to get to the grocery store. Her cupboard was nearly bare; other than some fruit salad, there wasn’t anything she could throw together for dinner that didn’t involve peanut butter and saltines.
She sat at the kitchen table, drinking iced tea and looking out the windows at her pool while jotting down a grocery list, when she heard the unmistakable cacophony of a crash in her front yard.
It had happened again. Someone had wiped out in front of her house and likely had taken out her mailbox.
It was probably another teenager who’d already left the scene, leaving her to clean up the mess. Drivers rarely stayed after wreaking havoc. Rachel had lost count of the number of times someone had wrecked at that curve in the road, and had stopped putting any flowers or other plants out by the mailbox since it was inevitable they would be destroyed. She repeatedly opted for getting the cheapest mailbox and post whenever she had to replace them, since she knew it was only a matter of time until the next careless driver came along.
Nonetheless, since it was the middle of the day (if she heard an accident in the night, she never got up to investigate, although she had decided an explosion would be enough to roust her from bed), Rachel figured she might as well go out and take a look at the damage. She took one last swig of her iced tea and headed back outside.
As she walked down her sloping driveway toward the road, Rachel was not surprised to see her mailbox had been knocked down and destroyed. The post was snapped like twig and the box was crumpled. Typical.
But what wasn’t typical was that the car was still there, several yards away from the point of impact, and resting in the front yard. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to confront the driver, but Rachel had her cell phone and figured that in case of any problems she could flash her phone as a deterrent against trouble, and she did have the sheriff on speed dial.
She descended slowly, keeping a keen eye on the vehicle. Rachel couldn’t see any passengers in the simple blue sedan, and wasn’t sure the driver was inside until she came level with the vehicle and stood only a few yards away. She picked up her pace when she feared the person might be injured, and scurried to the driver’s side door.
Sitting behind the closed car windows appeared to be a somewhat elderly lady, fumbling with a cell phone. Rachel tapped on the window, startling the woman and causing her to give a little cry. Then the woman seemed to understand Rachel was there to help; with effort, she managed to find the button to put the window down.
“Hello,” Rachel said with a small wave. “Are you OK?”
The woman looked Rachel up and down, and then turned to look out the passenger side of the vehicle.
“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “Is this your home? Did I run over your mailbox?”
“That would be yes on both, I’m afraid,” Rachel said. “But don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”
“It—it does?” the woman asked, blinking rapidly.
Rachel briefly explained how it was a very bad place in the road and that people often wrecked there.
“But you didn’t answer the question,” Rachel said. “Are you hurt? Need me to call someone?” Rachel looked at the phone in the woman’s hands.
“Not hurt, no, not hurt…” the lady stammered. “But I—I do need to make a call.”
“Why don’t we go in my house?” Rachel said. “You can call from there, and you can get out of this heat and get something to drink.”
The woman looked as though she was going to cry. “You’re so nice after what I did,” she whispered.
> “Come on,” Rachel coaxed. “Let’s get inside.”
Five minutes later the two of them were sitting in Rachel’s kitchen enjoying the last of the iced tea.
“I can make more tea if you like,” Rachel offered.
“You’ve done enough, dear,” the woman said. “And I don’t even know your name.”
“Rachel Richards,” she said. “And you?”
“Marie Carmichael,” the woman said. She was very petite, with short white hair. She was wearing a pink cotton t-shirt with matching shorts with a flowery print. Rachel figured she was at least in her eighties.
“Is there someone I can call for you? Do you need a tow truck?” Rachel asked her.
The woman shook her head and appeared flustered. “I just have no idea,” she said. “I haven’t had an accident for years. I’m so embarrassed.” Rachel tried again to comfort her with the fact that she had seen many accidents in that spot over the years. “I don’t know if the car is drivable,” Marie said, “but even if it is, I don’t think I should drive it. I’m a bundle of nerves.”
“Then you should call someone.”
Marie pulled her phone from her purse. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Who will be mad?” asked Rachel, mildly concerned.
“Oh, my nephew,” Marie said. “He watches after me. I’m widowed and his parents—well, they’re gone. So it’s just us.”
Rachel nodded as Marie tapped in a number and held the phone to her ear.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re there,” she said when someone picked up on the other end, and proceeded to explain her dilemma. “Oh, wait a minute,” Marie said into the phone and looked to Rachel. “What’s your address?”
“I’d better just give your nephew directions on how to get way out here,” she said. “Just giving him the address won’t be of much help.”
Rachel held out her hand and Marie spoke into the phone before handing it over.
“Hello,” Rachel said. “If you can tell me where you are, I can give you directions straight to my house.”
There was no sound on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” Rachel asked. “Anyone there?”
“Rachel?” Brady asked in a whisper.
“Brady? Why are you—”
“Marie is my great aunt,” he interrupted. “Is she all right?”
Rachel’s mind was spinning from hearing Brady’s voice and comprehending that he was the great nephew of the woman sitting at her kitchen table.
The great nephew who would be coming to her house.
“She’s fine, just rattled. And I think the car isn’t damaged, except for some cosmetic stuff on the front bumper.”
“Sorry for the trouble,” Brady said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Chapter 10
Brady hung up before she could say another word, and Rachel handed the phone back to Marie.
Marie tilted her head inquiringly. “Do you know Brady?” she asked.
“Yes,” Rachel said, occupying herself with clearing away the iced tea glasses.
“Oh? How?” Marie asked a little too eagerly.
Rachel put the glasses in the dishwasher and kept her back to Marie. “From work.”
And, she thought, from having him nearly ravage her on a couch in the courthouse basement.
“Oh, I see,” Marie said. “Wait a moment—Rachel Richards…Judge Richards!”
Rachel straightened up, closed the dishwasher door, and turned around. “That’s me.”
“Oh, yes,” Marie said with comprehension dawning in her eyes, “Brady’s spoken of you.”
“He has?”
Marie nodded. “He told me how much fun it is working with you again, how happy he is about that. Told me you two had clerked together for a judge years ago.”
Fun? Happy?
Rachel stared at Marie open-mouthed. After a few seconds, she realized she probably looked like an idiot standing there gaping, and offered Marie something to eat, apologizing that she only had fruit salad, but Marie politely refused and asked to use the restroom. Rachel directed her down the hall and when Marie had left, busied herself with making more iced tea. But she couldn’t completely distract herself with the menial task.
Brady was coming over.
She wanted to see him and yet she didn’t. His harsh accusations still rang in her ears and they still hurt. He had tried to apologize within hours for his outburst, but hadn’t that been his second apology to her? Brady had also apologized in the evidence vault for being a jerk for the past several years.
Nonetheless, Rachel still felt bad for how she’d been so brusque in her dismissal of him when he’d apologized for his allegations about Hannah’s candidacy. She regretted her meanness, but he’d hurt her, and she hadn’t been able tell whether he was being sincere.
Upon her return to the kitchen, Marie started peppering her hostess with questions about being a judge and eventually transitioned to more personal inquiries regarding her background. Rachel felt trapped; she couldn’t refuse to answer lest she appear impolite, but Marie’s questions were intrusive. Rachel wondered just how often Marie got out of the house and had contact with others, considering how talkative the woman was. Rachel started watching the clock, anxious for Brady’s arrival.
Twenty minutes passed before Rachel heard the welcome sound of the doorbell and, with a sense of relief, left Marie and went to greet her new guest. When she opened her front door, Brady stood before her in tan shorts and a plain white t-shirt, his sunglasses in his right hand. She noticed that his shirt was a smidgen tight across a well-toned chest, and that he was sporting a good tan for that early in the season.
Brady’s eyes raked over her body and Rachel saw his vain attempt to turn away; she then remembered her attire and it hit her just how very little she was wearing. Feeling a flush spread across her face and chest, she moved aside to admit him.
After Brady entered, she closed the door behind him and for a few seconds they stood awkwardly together in the foyer. Rachel sensed he was about to speak, but she beat him to it.
“This way,” she said, gesturing with her head in the direction of the kitchen.
Brady followed her down a short hall as Rachel tugged on the sides of her cutoffs, as if she knew that Brady was checking her out.
“Oh, Brady,” Marie exclaimed upon his appearing behind Rachel as the two of them entered the kitchen. “I knocked down this young lady’s mailbox and made a mess of her front yard.”
Brady took Marie’s hands and gave her a searching look. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? You must’ve had quite a scare.”
“Oh, yes, but I’m fine. And Rachel here has been so wonderful to me.”
Brady turned and gave Rachel a quick smile. “Of course. She’s a wonderful person.”
His caring for his aunt, now his nice words for her. Rachel hoped it wasn’t an act because the anger she harbored toward him was starting to recede.
“I have to get her a new mailbox right away—” Marie began.
Rachel held up a hand. “Please, don’t worry about it. People often crash in front of my house because it’s such a bad spot in the road. I probably should start buying replacement mailboxes in bulk,” she joked.
“No, dear, I insist,” Marie intoned. “I will gladly pay for your new mailbox and any other damage I caused your yard.”
“I’ll be glad to fix it,” volunteered Brady.
“Perfect,” Marie said. “You can get the materials. I’ll give you my credit card.”
Rachel began to object, but Marie kept insisting and Brady seemed more than willing to get the work done.
“But before we can do anything about the mailbox,” said Brady to his aunt, “I need to get you home. Are you sure you don’t want to drive?”
Marie shook her head. “I don’t feel up to it after what’s happened.”
“I understand,” Brady said, but looked pensive.
Rachel re
alized his dilemma. She understood that to help him, she was going to have to be around him for a little longer that day.
Somehow she didn’t have a problem with that.
“If you want to drive Marie’s car, I can follow in mine,” Rachel offered.
“But that will eat into your day,” Brady said. “You’ll have to drive me back here to get my car.”
“Is there an easier solution?” she asked.
“No,” Brady acknowledged after a few seconds. She saw a bit of the tension leave the muscles in his face. “Thank you.”
Rachel smiled. “I’ll get my keys.”
She headed to her bedroom to get her purse, thinking how soft and gentle Brady’s eyes had become as he expressed his gratitude. What was wrong with her? Wasn’t she supposed to be mad at that man?
Yet a few minutes later she was on the road following Brady as he drove Marie’s car back to town, and she was wishing she’d had the foresight to change into something less revealing. She was going to have to give Brady a ride back to her house wearing little more than a top she occasionally wore to bed and cutoffs that were not much lower than her underwear.
The drive went quickly and they soon arrived at Marie’s home, a small apartment in a tidy development not too far from downtown Bourbon Springs. Rachel stayed in her vehicle and kept the air conditioning running while Brady escorted his great aunt inside. After around ten minutes, Brady emerged from the apartment and got in Rachel’s car.
“OK, ready,” he said, fastening his seatbelt.
Rachel noticed he was looking straight ahead. He really was trying not to ogle her, and while she appreciated his effort to be a gentleman, she also found it amusing.
After riding in silence for several minutes, Brady brought up the issue of the mailbox, telling Rachel he planned to return to the local hardware store in his SUV to get a replacement.
“I really don’t expect you to fix it.”
“Marie would kill me if I didn’t,” Brady replied, “and I don’t mind.”
Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1) Page 9