by Lynn Marie
He groaned as her hands flattened against his chest. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
He leaned down his head. Eagerly, she met his lips with hers. As it always seemed to, that slight touch roared through her blood, clouding her mind with thoughts of him—memories of their nights together. Her arousal swept through her.
But whereas the heat in her core usually prompted him to tear at her clothes, rip away any barrier between them and find some way to get her on her back, he pulled away with a deep groan of regret. “We can’t be late.”
“Would they give your gavel to someone else?” she asked innocently, trailing her fingertips down his shirt.
He covered her hands with one of his and slipped his other under her chin so she’d look him in the eye. “Later,” he promised. “And if you’re so anxious to christen the truck after the meeting, I’m more than happy to oblige.”
Her smile was rueful as she backed away. As nervous as she was about this meeting, she did want to go. She had reason to be nervous, too—this was totally uncharted territory. The fact that Michael was going to be at her back helped a little, but she pictured her un-welcoming wagon and winced. Sure, Michael and Marge were regulars and the barber and doctor had come around, but the rest of them still refused to enter her store. She’d brought a fresh loaf of bread to Mrs. Wilson and she’d turned her nose up.
That was personal. Her bread kicked ass.
So on top of having something to prove—namely, that she was part of the town, whether they liked it or not—she wanted to see Michael in action. It wouldn’t do for him to show up 20 minutes late with her lipstick on his collar and smelling of sex. Nor would she want to face those unfriendly women with the remnants of what they’d done between her legs…
Out of nowhere, a jolt of electricity shot through her womb. God, that would be hot in a thoroughly wicked kind of way, wouldn’t it?
“Whatever you’re thinking about right now,” he interjected, his voice low and thickly erotic, “hold onto it. I’m going to want you to remember where you’re at the second we’re done tonight.”
She eyed him. That was another strange thing about him. Somehow, he always seemed to know when she was turned on.
A bundle of mysteries.
And, God, what was with her? Getting herself all hot and bothered by the thought of wearing Michael’s cum on her and conversing with those uptight women, like it’d be some sort of illicit badge, some mark she’d wear like his bites so that others would know…
What? That she was screwing him?
She shook her head at herself. Maybe she shouldn’t judge Michael for the way he acted sometimes—clearly he wasn’t the only one with animalistic tendencies.
“How long do these things usually last?”
“Depends on who shows up; some are more opinionated than others. Usually around an hour or so.”
She hoped it wouldn’t ruin the rest of their night. Michael didn’t seem psyched about it. She wanted to help ease his tensions, but she didn’t know what she was walking into. She’d seen some people in town give him a hard time, like slighting him by not waving back when stopped at the only traffic light in town. And if that was how they subtly undermined whatever authority he had when he wasn’t asserting any, how would they act at a meeting when he stood in front of them? Hopefully he wouldn’t be on a platform with a microphone.
She crossed her legs and looked out the window. The rich, green scenery flew by until the trees melted together. She rolled down the window and inhaled the clean, coolness of the late summer afternoon.
Michael parked his truck next to a beat up civic in the lot next to the Hall. It was almost full, but she estimated that there were more people inside than cars outside—lots of people lived in walking distance. She’d have walked if Michael hadn’t insisted on getting her on his way.
They went inside and Evelyn discovered that she was right. The largest room in the Hall didn’t comfortably house all the meeting attendees. Every fold-out chair was occupied and everyone else leaned against one of the walls or milled about near a small table in the back with coffee and a sad box of cookies. A silence fell on the crowd when they entered, but it didn’t last.
From someone nearby, Evelyn heard, “My daughter’s of age, and full-blooded, but he chooses her?” But when she glanced around to see who’d spoken, no one met her eye. She also heard grumblings of “outsider” and “isn’t right.” At least that she understood. But full-blooded? Were there Native Americans in this town she didn’t know about?
“Want me to get a seat for you?” Michael asked distractedly, scanning the crowd for vacancies. Finding none, he looked at her with resolve, like he’d kick someone out of their chair.
“No, I’m good standing here,” she said. She settled against the wall
He nodded and made his way up to the front of the room to stand behind a wooden box. She guessed it was the “podium,” though it looked more like something from which to get splinters than give speeches, based on the state of it. She had to try not to laugh as she watched him try to fit his bulk behind the box. He looked absurd, stooping over to arrange the notes he’d prepared.
She cleared her throat loudly and his head swung up. She motioned for him to get rid of the box. His nod was one of gratitude as he grabbed the thing and shoved it a few feet behind him. Now, he stood unimpeded in front of the room. He caught her eye and she gave him a reassuring smile and a wink.
“All right, everyone. If you’ll settle down we can start.”
No one stopped talking.
She pressed her lips together. This was going to be a long meeting. Glancing around, she caught the eyes of an enormous man on the opposite wall who’d been staring right at her. A chill crept up her skin as she locked onto a pair of eerie yellow eyes. It was the man who’d ruined her basket of muffins—Brock, she’d found out from Michael. She hadn’t seen him since, but she hadn’t forgotten about him.
Brock stared unashamedly, not bothering to disguise the emotions on his face. He clearly didn’t like her, but there was desire in his eyes, too. She looked away first, choosing to ignore him.
Through a combination of raising his voice and clapping, Michael eventually got everyone’s attention and they quieted for him. Maybe it was his nerves, but he got started right away without easing in.
“Um… uh, first order of business… I’ve been, er, asked to remind everyone that trashcans should be taken in after trash is collected Wednesday morning. They’re, uh… unseemly… excuse me, unsightly.”
Evelyn’s eyebrows rose as a few people coughed to cover a laugh. Wow. He was really bad at this. He was normally so charming and self-assured. It was startling to see how awkward public speaking clearly made him. It didn’t help that those probably weren’t his words, either. Her stomach lurched as he dropped one of his note cards.
Michael moved on, going through various suggestions and complaints. No one seconded his motion to remove a superfluous stop sign on a hardly-used road. No one volunteered to be on the board for the new community center he was building. Evelyn watched his frustration growing, knowing how hard he was trying to hide it.
She’d wanted to stand up, help him out more than once. She’d wanted to second his motion and volunteer, but she didn’t know whether it would hurt or help him. Still didn’t.
“All right… last order of business. There was a storm last week, just upstate of here and the water washed away some structural beams in the old bridge.”
Those in the audience who’d been restless—picking at their nails and teeth, straightening their skirts, checking their phones—straightened in their seats. “The bridge?” and old man croaked.
Michael’s nod was solemn. “The structure is compromised, so we need to make repairs before it falls.”
A murmur went through the crowd. “It’s been part of this town for over two hundred years.”
“That’s why I’m moving to fix it.”
�
�And I suppose you’ll be collecting tolls on it afterwards,” someone scoffed from the middle of the room.
To his credit, Michael took it on the chin. “I was thinking of fundraising for it, actually,” he said calmly. “Does anyone have suggestions for fund raising?”
“Everyone can contribute a little,” someone said.
Another person laughed. “Dunno about you, but I don’t have twenty bucks to spare right now, much less a hundred.”
“We could have all the local businesses—”
“When was the last time you were in my store, Earl—”
“Why do business owners have to carry—”
“I depend on my sales to feed my kid—”
Michael lifted his hand and, this time, everyone silenced right away. “Any contributions would be welcome, but I’m not asking for anything people can’t give.”
“I gave already! Why don’t we use the money we already raised for that community center?” someone shouted from the back.
There was some murmuring of general assent and Evelyn rubbed her forehead. Clearly Michael had kept back from suggesting it, though she knew he was prepared for the possibility. If only there were a way to fund both projects…
“How about a fund raiser?” Michael said, as if surprised by his own idea. “We could restore the bridge and keep the community center on track. With a little help from the town in labor—I know you’ve got an old hammer lying around, Ed—“ he smiled down at a man in the first row, amidst some widespread chuckling, “then all we’ll have to do is pay for materials.”
Evelyn smiled and looked around. More than a couple of people were nodding with approval. They started talking rapidly among themselves and Michael listened intently instead of trying to gain control back over his meeting.
“A carnival!” shouted a teen girl next to Evelyn.
“A carnival would cost more than it would make. We’ve tried that.”
“A show or something?”
“A beauty pageant,” a deep voice drawled. Across the room, Brock was smiling nastily and when he saw her looking, winked. “I nominate Michael for our Queen.”
What a dick. As some people laughed, others actually seemed to be taking Michael’s side. “No need to be nasty,” one woman chided.
An idea struck Evelyn and she debated speaking up for a moment. But when no one else came forward with another idea, she felt almost obligated. “How about a bake sale?”
There was some grumbling in the audience and Evelyn distinctly heard a grumpy woman behind her mutter, “What is this, high school?”
Her heart sped and she felt her cheeks flush and suddenly she realized what Michael was going through. Standing in front of all these people while they scrutinized her appearance and judged her ideas wasn’t just nerve-wracking, it was terrifying!
She had to clear her throat before starting again. “My sister lives in Kotestown, and they’ve got their summer fair coming up. It’s a big thing—lots of people go. We could ask them to let us have a couple stands. We could sell pies, or have a cookout, maybe.
“I have no idea how much materials for a bridge cost, but my guess is we could probably make a couple hundred bucks. Maybe that and some donations could pull us—the town—through.”
“Well she is the baker, of course she’d want a bake sale,” Mrs. Wilson said to Mrs. Morley.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Evelyn directed her next comment right at the peanut gallery. “I was only thinking that flour and fruit is much cheaper than meat. And I’d be happy to contribute a few things, but I’d be willing to bet that someone in here has a rhubarb recipe that would put mine to shame,” she said, purposefully baiting Mrs. Morley.
“My cherry pie is best in the county,” she said slowly.
“Sure is,” Michael returned without a pause to think.
In the silence that followed, Evelyn caught herself holding her breath. “Well…” Mrs. Morley declared slowly, “I’m in.”
There was an audible gasp somewhere on the other side of the room and Evelyn caught herself before the giggle slipped out. Maybe Mrs. Kennedy was feeling betrayed.
“Me too.”
As more and more ladies volunteered, Evelyn felt a rush of accomplishment. Michael was looking at her with such appreciation, she couldn’t help but feel great. She’d helped. And she’d wrapped it in an opportunity to help herself—a booth at a fair would be a perfect, low-key advertising opportunity.
“Evelyn, this was your idea. Would you like to coordinate?”
Not really. She had a business to run. “I’m not really sure how to…” she trailed off, but seeing the fierce hope in Michael’s eyes, she knew she couldn’t let him down. “Okay. Sure.”
It must have sounded half-hearted because Mrs. Wilson leaned her way and nodded. “Don’t worry dear, we’ll help.”
She had the sinking suspicion that help meant micromanage, but she pasted a smile on. If it helped Michael out and got some people in her store, she could deal with the frustrations of the zealously helpful. “Thank you.”
“All right, now that we’ve settled that, if there’s no further business, I’ll adjourn the meeting. Thanks for coming, everyone.”
Chapter 10
Evelyn was surprised as everyone started collecting their things and hustling out the door. She hadn’t realized Michael was quite so… in charge. As in, lead-the-whole-meeting in charge. He shook a couple of hands, received a few pats on the back and made his way towards her with an enormous grin.
“You were great,” he said.
She laughed. “That’s my line.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large man headed their way. At first she thought it was Brock and her stomach clenched, but unknotted quickly when she recognized the floppy blonde hair.
“Hey, man,” Trip greeted in a deep baritone.
“Hey.”
“Bake sale, huh?” he said, turning his attention to her. “I thought you were going to try to raise it yourself. You know, the whole concerned citizen thing we talked about earlier.”
He seemed put out that she hadn’t gone with his idea. She glanced at Michael, but shrugged. It was on the tip of her tongue to make another jab about his “doing two things at once” comment, but she thought better of it.
Pleasantries over with, Trip refocused on his best friend. “Are we heading over to—”
“We’re going back to Evelyn’s. I’ll see you later, though.”
Trip nodded, his eyes darting back to Evelyn then zeroing in on Michael’s arm around her waist. “Sleepover, huh?” he joked, nudging Michael with his elbow. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then.”
As he dissolved into the crowd, Evelyn chewed on her lip. Did he not like her? He was always civil, but now she got the impression it was an act. Some guys automatically didn’t like their best friend’s girlfriend because it meant less guy-time, and she and Michael had been attached at the genitals for the better part of a month. But evidently they were hanging out later, so she didn’t know what his problem was. Evelyn started to ask Michael about his plans for the rest of the night, but there was another interruption.
“Blackwood,” Brock’s low drawl cut in.
She turned just as Michael moved to stand half in front of her, like he was shielding her. She wanted to get around, to see, but was sort of grateful for his protective instinct. Something about Brock made her very uneasy.
Michael nodded stiffly. “Brock.”
He glared. “I thought you were going to bring up the road maintenance issue.”
“The roads will be fine for another winter, but the bridge is going to go if there’s another storm upstate. We can only take on one project at a time. I know you wanted to bring that business to your supervisor—”
“Screw you,” Brock snarled. “We’re going to settle this later—”
“That’s not a place for vendettas and you know it. If you want to be a challenger, fine, but don’t bring personal shit into it. Any
Elder would say the same.”
Evelyn felt lost. Were they trying to speak in code?
Brock’s eyes flashed and veins in his neck strained as his fists balled. But apparently he had no retort for Michael’s argument, because he trained his glare past him and settled right on Evelyn. “I can’t wait to see how your female’s pie tastes.”
It was more anger than desire, and he was radiating it. He hadn’t said it to scare her, but rile Michael. And it worked.
Michael took a step forward and suddenly, Evelyn realized he was about to go for the other man. She clamped both hands around his arm and pulled. It did nothing—he kept moving forward with that menacing expression.
“Hey,” she said. As if he’d just realized she was trying to stop him, he turned and eyed her hands on his arm. “He’s just goading you.”
Though she didn’t fully understand his relationship with the town, like why some people were so vehemently against him leading these meetings (which, on the whole, didn’t seem like such a big deal), she understood that he’d made progress tonight. And if the looks they were getting were any indication—anticipatory and disapproving—that progress would be lost if he got into a fight with someone right in front of everyone.
“You did good here tonight; don’t undo it. He’s not worth it.”
She watched his face as her words sunk in. His muscles loosened under her hands and he stroked her cheek gently. Then, he looked back around, clearly unable to quell all his fierce tendencies. “Stay away from her.”
Brock smirked, letting his gaze linger on her just long enough for Michael’s arms to tense back up, and turned on his heel.
Instinctively, she moved closer to him, pressing her body into his side and resting her cheek against his shoulder. Brock obviously riled his blood, and that was the last thing he needed after such a stressful night. He leaned into her gratefully.
“God, what a dick,” Evelyn muttered.