Private Affairs

by Tori Carrington

  She nearly laughed. Instead, she cleared her throat again. “No. Of course, not.”

  But he was, wasn’t he? The instant Palmer DeVoe had driven back into town her life had been in utter chaos. Because she’d known at some point that their paths would cross. And all those old emotions would surface.

  Only she’d had no idea they would burn so hot. So strong.

  “The usual?” she asked.

  Barnaby nodded. “Do you have any of those blueberry muffins your grandmother makes?”

  “Of course. One or two?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of taking some back to the station. So you’d better make it an even dozen.”

  Penelope filled the travel cup he produced with vanilla roast coffee and then constructed a carton. “You know, you don’t have to keep doing this, Barnaby.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Coming by here every morning in order to throw some business my way.”

  His grin was quick and bright.

  “I mean, I appreciate it, but I’m okay until things start turning around here.”

  “You think my morning visits are for charity purposes?”

  She squinted at him. “Aren’t they?”

  “And if I told you I come by to see you because my day goes better if I do?”

  She put the muffins inside the box. “Then you don’t have to pay anything for that.”

  He accepted his cup and the box. “And if I happen to like the coffee and the muffins?”

  She leaned against the counter. “Then I’d say I hope to see you back here tomorrow.”

  His chuckle was full and genuine. And she responded in kind.

  Barnaby Jones was a great guy. He’d been a couple of years ahead of her in school. She’d known him not only because he’d been the star basketball player, but because he’d been half of an infamous couple: Barnaby and Barbara. One didn’t say one name without saying the other.

  As was the case with most high school sweethearts, when they graduated, the two had married.

  As was not the case with most high school sweethearts, after ten childless years, they divorced…and Barbie entered into a lesbian relationship with the local librarian, both of them living in an apartment over the diner across the street.

  Of course, the town still buzzed with gossip every time one or the other of the former couple was spotted. “That poor Barnaby” was usually said about him. And “that Barbie woman” was usually said about her.

  Penelope knew them both. And understood that there was no bad blood between them. They even got together for dinner once a month at the pub or diner, acting like old friends. Which was probably what they had been, even before they got married.

  Penelope had asked Barbara once why she’d married Barnaby if she’d known she was gay. Her answer had been that there hadn’t been any other options. Until the librarian had moved to town, that is.

  Now, Penelope smoothed her hair back and smiled. “It’s going to be another hot one, isn’t it?”

  “You can say that again. The chief is already complaining about the fuel patrols are wasting by leaving the air conditioner in the cars running.” He looked toward the front door. “You want me to close that for you on the way out?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She took a deep breath. “It gets hot so seldom that I just want to enjoy it.”

  “It never gets this hot.”

  She smiled. “Exactly.”

  The radio handset hooked to his pocket gave off static. “Barnaby, you there?”

  “Sorry, official business calls,” he said, giving Penelope an apologetic look. He turned slightly away and pressed the button to talk. “Sheriff here. What is it?”

  “You coming back with those muffins anytime soon?”

  Penelope laughed. “Real important business.”

  After telling Dispatch that he’d return shortly, he turned back toward her. “Call you tonight at home?”

  She immediately averted her gaze. “Sure.”

  If he hesitated, he didn’t share the reason. He merely told her to have a nice day, and suggested she not leave the door open too long in case the old air conditioner she had was unable to cool the room, and then left.

  She sighed, watching as he got into his patrol car parked outside and pulled away, giving her a small wave.

  What in the hell was she going to do?

  PALMER STOOD WATCHING the construction foreman drive off in the same direction as the previous truck, holding his breath briefly to keep from inhaling the dust he left in his wake. He hadn’t known John Nelson well, but he was familiar with his family. Their fathers had worked at the mill together and sometimes the two families would have barbeques with other mill workers’ families. He’d been happy to award him the foreman contract when a line fifty men deep had appeared outside the trailer door that first day. And they’d both put their heads together to put the rest of the forty-nine to work by month’s end.

  So what in the hell had happened?

  He stared at an unfamiliar car that had been parked on the other side of Nelson’s truck, blocking it from view until now. An upscale, late model that few in the small, blue-collar town would be able to afford.

  Palmer turned toward the trailer and pulled open the door, not stopped until he stood staring at the man taking complete liberty behind his desk inside.

  None other than Manolis Philippidis himself.

  “No work here,” the older Greek said without looking up.

  Palmer grimaced and rubbed his chin. “That’s funny, because I thought I was the one hired to say that.”

  Manolis looked up. “Palmer!” He rose to his feet and edged around the desk to give him one of those half-handshake, half-hug deals that Palmer found annoyingly noncommittal. Go one way or the other, was his take.

  “What brings you to Earnest?” he asked, stepping back.

  Manolis waved a hand around. “Just wanted to see how things were going.”

  On the scale of Philippidis holdings, Palmer’s present initiative had to rate somewhere between the least and nonexistent. Certainly nothing to attract the hands-on participation of the man himself. Christ, he’d handled business deals a hundred times the value of this endeavor and not only had Manolis not participated, he’d barely acknowledged the final result.

  So what was he doing here now?

  More importantly, why was he firing his personnel?

  Palmer cleared his throat. “I just ran into John Nelson outside.”

  Manolis nodded, but didn’t offer anything.

  “He says you let him and the others go?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” Manolis stared into his face, as if trying to ferret out how he felt about the move. Palmer didn’t give off vibes one way or the other. His only intention was to find out why.

  “Are you shutting me down?” he asked.

  “No. No, I’m not shutting you down.” Manolis leaned to the side and picked up a sheath of papers. “I just brought you a list of people I’d like you to work with.”

  Palmer raised his brows as he accepted the list. “I wasn’t aware you had contacts in Earnest.”

  “I don’t.” Manolis grinned. “Outside of you, that is.”

  “And these men?”

  “They’ll be coming in from other sites.” Outsiders.

  Palmer tried to hide his grimace, but must have failed because Manolis asked, “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Problem? No. I don’t have a problem.” He put the papers back down on the desk. “But I thought part of the bargain that we struck is that I would have complete autonomy in getting this thing off the ground.”

  Manolis began to walk toward the door, putting his arm across Palmer’s shoulders so that he was forced to walk with him. “You do. You’re running things. Nothing changes that.”

  “Except when it comes to personnel.”

  Manolis shrugged. “I have other men who have been with my companies a long time who need work.”

&
nbsp; Somehow Palmer doubted that.

  He followed the wealthy Greek outside.

  “When can I expect to see them?” he asked.

  “Today. Tomorrow. The next day.”

  “And you? How long are you in town?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Oh, I’m not staying.”

  He’d just driven down from Seattle to fire Palmer’s employees.

  Nothing about the past five minutes sat well with Palmer. And he had the sinking sensation that nothing in the immediate future was going to sit well with him either.

  “Is there any place in town to have a good meal?” Manolis asked. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  Palmer told him of the diner, but curiously left out Penelope’s place, which he knew served muffins and coffee.

  “Good. I’ll be going then. Unless you’d like to join me?”

  Palmer grinned, the invitation clearly more rhetorical than genuine. “No, thank you. You go ahead.” He looked back at the trailer. “I’m going to have to make a few phone calls—you know, to let people know that they no longer have the jobs I gave them.”

  Manolis’s quiet chuckle as he walked toward his car set Palmer’s back teeth on edge.

  6

  OKAY, THIS WAS RIDICULOUS. Every car that passed, every time the door opened, Penelope found herself hoping it would be Palmer. She hadn’t felt this full of restless anticipation since…well, since the last time he’d played a role in her life.

  She sat at her computer in the back of the shop, emailing order confirmations and printing packing slips and labels, checking stock. While locally her sales had taken a sharp nosedive, her online business was flourishing. Seemed ironic, somehow. But at least she was able to keep the front doors open when so many others had to close.

  The sun reflected off a moving object. She leaned far back in her computer chair for a better glimpse of the street outside, and nearly fell over. She grabbed the edge of the desk with her hands and planted her feet to balance herself.

  This was getting farcical. She wasn’t a teenager given over to flights of fancy. And while things had gotten hot and heavy last night, there was no reason it had to progress any further than it already had. She’d been down that route with Palmer once already. And knew all too well the dead end that awaited her.

  You should have told him…

  The words echoed in her mind, rendering her still for a long moment.

  There had been little time for words last night. He’d shown up at her back gate, unfairly tempted her with memories in the gazebo. There had been no room for rational thought, much less conversation of any import. And now?

  Okay. So now that she both literally and figuratively had her feet back under her, she needed to think this thing out. She had to tell him. What remained was when and where.

  The when was easy. As soon as possible. The where…

  Her thighs grew damp. It would have to be somewhere neutral. Someplace where he couldn’t lean forward and crowd out her thoughts with emotion. A public place.

  She glanced out the front windows again, but this time for legitimate reasons. The diner…no, too many ears and well-tuned antenna. Her gaze settled on a good choice. The pub. At lunch the place would be only half full. She could get a booth away from the others, put money in the jukebox so music would drown out anything else…

  And she would tell him.

  Penelope rubbed her palms against the lap of her dress several times.

  Now, she had to implement her plan…

  PALMER PACED BACK AND FORTH in the narrow trailer, tightly holding his cell to his ear. Well over an hour had passed since Manolis Philippidis had driven off down the gravel road, leaving him wondering just what in the hell was going on.

  “Christ,” he said to his old friend and sometime business associate Caleb Payne. “I should have seen this coming. But, damn it, I didn’t.”

  Caleb chuckled in his ear. “If I’d known what you two were up to, I could have warned you.”

  But he hadn’t known. Because Manolis had asked Palmer not to tell him. Apparently for very good reason.

  “If I were you, I’d pull up stakes now and head back for the east coast,” Caleb told him. “Before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “Too late for you to get out from under Philippidis’s black thumb.”

  Palmer stopped pacing and ran his free hand through his hair several times. The option wasn’t one for him. It had taken him nearly fifteen years to come home. He wasn’t going to turn tail and run straight back out. Not knowing how his father was currently living—or barely living. Not after making promises it appeared he couldn’t keep.

  Not after having tasted Penelope’s sweet mouth again.

  “Palmer?” Caleb said. “You still there?”

  “Yeah. And I’m going to stay here.”

  Silence.

  A beep indicated he had another call coming in. He looked at the cell’s display screen, surprised to see “Penelope’s Possessions” there.

  “Thanks, Caleb. Can I call you back?”

  “Only if you plan on taking me up on my advice. Or for a pickup game of b-ball.”

  He gave a wry smile and said goodbye, in a rush to take the other call.

  “Penelope?”

  No response.

  Damn. She must have been switched over to voicemail.

  He began to take the phone from his ear to check it when he heard someone speak.

  “Penelope?” he said again.

  “Yes. Yes, it’s me. Sorry. I guess I’ll never get used to someone knowing it’s me before I’ve said hello.”

  Palmer edged around his desk and sat down in the chair, enjoying the sound of her voice in his ear.

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should probably allow the caller to identify themselves before calling them by name.”

  “But then it wouldn’t be efficient. And if it’s one thing you always were, it was efficient.”

  He didn’t know if that was an insult or a compliment. “In the scheme of things, I think I’d prefer to be called unforgettable.”

  “Oh, you’re very definitely unforgettable, Palmer.”

  Was that a wistful tone in her soft voice?

  She cleared her throat. “Look, I’m calling because I want to see you.”

  Palmer’s grin was full.

  “Wait. That didn’t come out right,” she said. “What I meant to say is that we need to talk.”

  “I think I preferred it the other way.”

  “Yes, well, that’s why I reworded it.”

  “Because you don’t want to see me.”

  She sighed in obvious exasperation. “Can you please be serious for just a moment?”

  Normally, he didn’t have a problem with that. He was usually all business all the time. But with her, he couldn’t help himself.

  “Serious,” he repeated. “Right. So, go ahead.”

  It took her a moment to respond as he leaned back in his chair, wondering how she had the power to make him forget everything that had gone on that morning with a mere word from her mouth.

  “Will you meet me at O’Brien’s Pub? At two-thirty?”

  “Late lunch?”

  “I work while others take theirs, you know, in case they want to squeeze in some shopping.”

  “Ah. So it is lunch, then.”

  “It’s a chance to talk.”

  “In public.”

  “Yes.”

  “Today?”

  “Would be nice.”

  “Fine. Two-thirty at O’Brien’s then.”

  “Good.”

  “Shall I bring anything?”

  “To a pub?”

  “You’re right.”

  “Goodbye, Palmer.”

  “Goodbye, Penelope.”

  “ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE.”

  Penelope looked up to see her grandmother come inside the shop, hol
ding a box.

  She forced her body to relax, surprised she was so tense following her conversation with Palmer. “Thanks, Gran.”

  Agatha put the box of muffins down on the counter. “I didn’t realize that it was such an emergency.”

  “What is?”

  “Muffins.”

  She took the box and began filling the glass case with them. “Not an emergency. But since this is one of the bestselling items, it’s good to have them on hand.”

  “What happened to the first batch?”

  Her movements slowed.

  “Sold out,” she said without further explanation.

  “Ah. That nice Sheriff Barnaby took them back to the office again, didn’t he?”

  Penelope let the empty box drop to her side. “Why did you bother asking again?”

  Agatha shrugged. “In case there existed one chance in five thousand that your answer would be different.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  Agatha sighed and leaned against the case. “Maybe never.”

  If only she knew.

  “What was that?”

  Penelope squinted at her. “What?”

  “I could have sworn you just said something.”

  Great, now she was speaking aloud her most repressed thoughts. Not a good idea. “I didn’t say anything. Maybe it was the CD.”

  She had New Age music piped in over the shop’s sound system.

  “Not likely,” her grandmother said. She eyed the fresh muffins and then shocked Penelope by cupping her breasts over her cotton top. “While I was watching those puppies rise back at the house, I was thinking that maybe it’s long past time I do a little rising of my own.”

  Penelope choked.

  “What do you think? Should I go up one or two cup sizes?”

  She gaped at Agatha. “You can’t possibly be serious?”

  “Why can’t I be?”

  She made a face as her grandmother continued her breast exam. “Gram, you’re seventy years old.”

  “And your point is?” She finally released her breasts, but still considered them. “Women my age are having plastic surgery all the time.”

  “Do you have any idea how much it costs to do that?”

  She shrugged. “So I’ll just have my sugar daddy pay for the surgery for me.”