Private Affairs

by Tori Carrington

  Please, please tell me this isn’t happening….

  Guilt and humiliation were two emotions she didn’t want to feel on the heels of exquisite passion. But there they were. Laying waste to everything that had happened only minute before.

  She drew in a deep breath and reached for the car door handle.

  Palmer rested a hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this now.”

  She stared at him in the dark. “Yes, I do.”

  She climbed out of the car, but couldn’t seem to bring her shaking legs to carry her around to the other side. “Barnaby, please…”

  He held his hand up, and then moved it to rub his eyes as if unable to bring himself to look at her directly. “The man’s right, Penelope. It’s not a good idea to do this now.” He nodded toward the road. “You just go on home now. I’ll…I’ll…”

  Talk to her later?

  She felt like she wanted to be sick.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry, Barnaby—”

  He held up his hand again.

  She got back into the car and Palmer started it, within moments putting the shaken sheriff out of sight.

  While he had disappeared from view, Penelope was afraid the reality of the situation would never leave her.

  LONG AFTER HE’D DROPPED Penelope off, Palmer sat in his car outside his father’s house. He knew he should return to the B and B. Go over the list of people Manolis Philippidis had compiled for him to work with. Analyze which of them he could rely on to finally get this venture off the ground.

  But all he could think about was the stricken expression on Penelope’s face when they’d been caught at Makeout Cove. Remember how quiet she’d been on the drive back into town. He’d apologized for having played a role in the uncomfortable drama and she’d blinked at him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there.

  He rubbed his hands over his face, still smelling her there. His immediate physical reaction was painful. And not just in the sexual sense. A strange, almost restless ball of energy had settled in his solar plexus. As if Penelope had opened a hole inside him and filled it with her essence. Making it impossible to think of anything else but her.

  And filling him with the overwhelming desire to seek out her company.

  Movement in the house caught his attention. He refocused his attention on the front window where he could see his father sitting at his TV tray in front of the television. He watched as Thomas moved the tray, pointed the remote at the set to shut it off, then turned off the light.

  Bedtime.

  Palmer let his head fall back against the seat rest and a long breath hissed from between his teeth. What a pair they’d become. He and his old man were trapped in some sort of bubble. Boxed in by the choices they’d made in their lives, their options limited, their courses set.

  Which made no sense at all to him. He’d returned to Earnest to forge a new path. Or maybe to find his way back to the old one and push ahead, using what he’d achieved while away to help not only himself, but the town.

  Now he felt as powerless as that man inside the dark house.

  He started the rental car and put it into gear, wishing it was as easy to do to his own life…

  PENELOPE DROVE THE CAR she shared with her grandmother and great-aunt no more than once, twice a week. There was little need for her to do so. The shop was within walking distance, as was most everything else. The only time she used it was to do the weekly grocery shopping in nearby Chauncy. And run other errands that lay outside her walking range.

  Like the errand she was on this morning.

  Her hands grew damp on the steering wheel.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  What had happened last night was nothing short of foolish to the nth degree. To run off to Makeout Cove with Palmer and act like she was a hormone-ridden teenager when she was a full-grown adult with adult responsibilities and considerations….

  One of those to the man she was dating and who referred to himself as her boyfriend, even if she didn’t.

  She pulled up to the old filling station on the outskirts of town that had been transformed into the sheriff’s office a decade or so ago. Three squad cars were parked in front bearing the sheriff’s logo. She recognized the one on the far right as Barnaby’s car. And considered turning around and heading straight back into town.

  Coward, she called herself.

  She parked and shut the old Pontiac off, wiping her palms against her simple cotton dress. This wasn’t going to be easy. The mere memory of Barnaby’s horror last night made her stomach churn.

  She climbed out of the car and reached for the box on the passenger’s seat, then stood staring at the front windows, although the slanting morning sunlight guaranteed she could see little than her own reflection. Her dark hair was frizzy from the humidity and her dress wilted against her body. Hot. It was still far too hot for Earnest, Washington. The local radio show had broadcast that there were storms heading their way that might break the heat wave, but then told residents not to hold their breath. After all, they hadn’t seen the heat coming, so who could say with any amount of certainty when it might leave?

  Penelope forced her feet toward to the door. She had little doubt that Barnaby knew she was there. Usually, he would have come out to meet her.

  But not today.

  Nor, she suspected, any other day.

  The door opened outward as she neared it and Sam, one of the deputies smiled at her and the box she held.

  “Morning, Penelope. Those aren’t what I think they are?”

  “If you’re thinking they’re blueberry muffins, then no, they’re not.”

  He grimaced. “Damn.”

  She held the box out to him. “They’re cranberry.”

  His grin returned as he accepted the baked goods and held them up so the other five employees on the other side of the low wall could see. “Breakfast!”

  Penelope smiled and quietly accepted thanks even as her gaze strayed to the glassed-in office to her right. Barnaby appeared to be on the phone, but rather than sitting at his desk where he would be facing her, he stood facing away.

  By design? She had little doubt.

  She cleared her throat. That was okay. She supposed she deserved to be kept waiting at the very least.

  At most…

  She looked down at her sandals and her neon-pink painted nails.

  “Penelope,” Barnaby said.

  She blinked up to find him standing in front of her without her realizing he had moved.

  The office went quiet. She supposed if they didn’t know what had happened last night, they had at least picked up on the change in temperature between the two of them. Barnaby’s face was so long his jaw nearly dragged on the floor.

  “Can I talk to you?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “Go ahead.”

  She looked around at the others in various stages of eating the muffins. “Outside?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. And she figured it would be his due to insist she speak her piece here, in front of God and everyone.

  Instead, he held his hand out toward the door. “After you.”

  Before the door closed after them, the conversation inside had returned to normal. Hopefully none of them would make things more difficult for Barnaby when he went back.

  “Barnaby, I…” she began when they’d walked around to the side of the building where his car was parked.

  When she didn’t continue, he nodded and said, “You…”

  “Last night…”

  He visibly winced.

  This wasn’t going at all as she’d hoped. Then again, what had she expected? What she’d done was unforgivable.

  Barnaby frowned. “I wouldn’t say unforgivable,” he said in response to the words she hadn’t realized she’d said out loud. “Unforgettable, yes. Unforgivable…”

  He seemed to mull over the situation.

  “It wasn’t right.” Penelope wante
d to reach out, touch his arm. He really was a good man. Tall, handsome, sweet. But the spark had somehow never materialized. She’d thought that was all right. It had been so long since she’d felt that passion that she really hadn’t missed it. Although she had known something wasn’t completely right between them. She viewed him as more brother material than lover.

  And, perhaps, if he were being honest, the same applied to him.

  She’d never tell him that, though. She figured that saying he was like a brother to her was akin to saying he was like a friend. And no man liked to hear that.

  So she didn’t make any explanation at all. She wasn’t entirely clear on why she’d slept with Palmer…twice. And indulged in one really hot petting session.

  Barnaby wouldn’t want to hear the details. She’d come here to apologize for her less than stellar behavior. Nothing more.

  The rest she’d have to work out on her own.

  He nodded when she apologized. “I figure I knew the minute DeVoe rolled back into town that we’d end up standing where we are.” He gave her a half grin. “I could have written the dialogue.”

  She dropped her gaze. “Well, then, you were way ahead of me. Because the last thing…”

  She trailed off, coming a little too close to TMI territory.

  She drew in a deep breath instead and smiled. “Well, then…”

  They stood like that for long moments in the shade, both of them absorbing the past few minutes.

  Then Penelope looked at her watch. “I’d better go open the shop.”

  “Were those muffins I spotted?” he asked.

  “Yes. Although if you want one, you’d probably better get in there.”

  She led the way back to the front of the building, blinking at the full sunlight.

  “Penelope?”

  She faced where he stood in front of the station door.

  “Be careful in that old jalopy. If I catch you speeding, I will ticket you.”

  She laughed, relieved at the return of the Barnaby of old.

  “Do that, Sheriff, and risk never getting a free muffin again.”

  His grin was full. “Understood.”

  As she returned his warm smile, she hoped that they’d be able to salvage friendship out of the debris of their almost relationship.

  “Goodbye, Barn,” she said quietly.

  “Goodbye, Penelope. And good luck.”

  She tucked her chin closer to her chest and nodded. Why did she have the feeling she was going to need it?

  She got into her car and started it, giving him a final wave before pointing the grill back toward town.

  14

  “MEET ME AT THE DINER for lunch.”

  Palmer would have preferred the invitation had come from Penelope, but his old pal Caleb Payne came in at a close second. And after the morning from hell spent dealing with resistant suppliers, obnoxious foremen and a general sensation that nothing was ever going to move forward with his project, he could use a little steam-letting. Even if a beer at the pub sounded like a better bet.

  He entered the Quality Diner for the first time since his return to town. He stopped just inside the door, feeling, for not the first time like he’d stepped fifteen years into the past. Very little had changed about the place. The walls were still painted a light violet. The tiles were still black and white. The white Formica tables were still paired with red leather booths. All that was missing was a soda jerk at the long counter at the back.

  Caleb waved to him from the middle booth in front of the window. He headed in that direction and shook his hand when he rose to his feet. They indulged in a man hug with their joined hands between them and then Palmer slid in the seat across from him.

  “You look like hell,” Caleb said.

  Palmer grimaced at him. “Yes, well, I feel like hell.”

  Caleb, on the other hand, looked as put together as always. Even when they played a little one-on-one at a basketball court, the man appeared as if he’d just stepped out of the shower instead of in dire need of one.

  He accepted a menu from a teenaged waitress. “So what brings you to town?”

  When his friend didn’t answer, he looked over the menu to find Caleb with his right brow cocked. “Are you still dating that Metaxas girl?”

  Saying the name made Palmer remember his “chance” meeting with Troy at the pub a couple of days ago.

  Caleb asked, “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?”

  He mentally made his choice and put the menu down. “The truth? She’s too good for you.”

  Caleb’s grimace was comical. The powerful businessman had rarely shown much emotion in all the time Palmer had known him. Steely gaze, threatening glare, even the occasional hearty chuckle, but never a facial expression more suited to their young waitress.

  “I know. I tell myself that every morning when I get up, and every night when I go to bed.”

  Palmer squinted at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  There. That was the Caleb with whom he was more familiar. “What happened to, ‘She knows the score. No one needs to get hurt so long as we stick to the ol’ Caleb formula for dating’?”

  He shifted on the booth, indicating a discomfort that was even more at odds than the grimace. “Yeah, well. Somehow no formula seems to fit when it comes to Miss Bryna Metaxas.”

  “So invent a new one.”

  “That’s what I’m doing. I drive down here at least twice a week.” He cursed under his breath. “I’m beginning to wonder if her cousins will ever accept me as her suitor, given my past connection to Philippidis.”

  “Past?”

  “Definitely past.” He picked up his coffee cup. “I want nothing to do with that old prick.”

  “That should help in the Metaxas department.”

  “You think?” He shook his head. “Then why do I still get the feeling that if I let my guard down, they’ll take me out back for a good, old-fashioned whooping?”

  “Because you’re screwing their younger cousin.”

  “I’ve never screwed anything in my life.”

  It was Palmer’s turn to cock a brow.

  “I’ve fucked.” Caleb waggled a finger. “But never screwed.”

  Palmer chuckled as he turned his coffee cup upright and accepted a fill from the passing waitress. “I’m not sure the many women in your past would agree with that.”

  “Yes, well, that’s their problem. Not mine.”

  The waitress put the coffeepot down on the table and turned the page on her order pad. “Today’s specials are homemade meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy, an open-faced roast beef sandwich and minestrone soup.”

  Caleb opted for the soup, Palmer the meat loaf.

  They talked about secondary issues until their food arrived. The weather, basketball, pre-season football and Caleb’s mother, who, much to his chagrin, seemed to be spending an awful lot of time in Seattle lately.

  Caleb sat back. “I mean, rare is when I see her more than twice in one year. I’ve seen her three times in the past month.”

  “I thought you two were close.”

  “We are. But not that close.” He shook his head. “And she still won’t tell me the name of the guy she’s seeing.”

  “Ah.”

  “What do you mean by, ‘ah’?”

  “You think this may have to do with her spending so much time with someone else?”

  Caleb stared at him. “Christ, Palmer, I’m thirty-three, not twelve.”

  He chuckled. “Since when does age have anything to do with anything?”

  “Since I graduated from middle school and passed puberty.” He sipped his black coffee. “I’m not used to a hands-on mother, that’s all. And since she’s here, she’s decided to take a more involved approach.”

  “That’s good. Isn’t it?”

  Caleb stared at him again.

  “Okay, then, maybe it’s not.”

  Their food arrived and they dug in. Caleb added salt
and pepper to his minestrone while Palmer spread the tomato sauce on top of the meat loaf around with his fork.

  “So,” Caleb said after a while. “Have you had it with Philippidis yet?”

  Palmer slowed his chewing, the great meat loaf suddenly a handful of dried breadcrumbs in his mouth.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Has the old man made you hate him yet?”

  “I’ve never had a problem with Manolis.”

  “Until…” Caleb led.

  “Until I went into direct business with him.” He sighed and tried the potatoes, which were also great.

  He added pepper. “I mean, I’ve partnered with him in the past, but my role was always limited.”

  “And now that you’re in full partnership…your role is still limited.”

  “To the point of revolt.”

  Caleb grinned. “It’s interesting that you don’t see any long-term employees around the Greek, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Think about it. Every man who’s been in business for a while has at least one or two dedicated, loyal men or women in their employ. Someone who’s been with him for years. Since the beginning.”

  “But not Philippidis.”

  “Right.”

  His friend had a point. Back in Boston, Palmer had three men he relied on and trusted implicitly, their friendship cemented at college, their working relationship solidified through the first tough couple of years. Each may have gone on to work on projects of their own, but they’d never completely dissolved the original partnership.

  Then there was him and Caleb. Even though their business relationships were of a temporary nature, they always remained friends.

  He couldn’t think of one person he could say the same for with Philippidis.

  “The guy talks a good game in the beginning,” Caleb continued. “Lures you in with his charm and vision.”

  Palmer listened intently.

  “Then shortly after you sign on the dotted line, he lowers the boom, his need to control and manipulate ruining whatever good foundation was originally created.”

  Palmer frowned. His meal was good, but he was increasingly losing his appetite.

  “So, I’ll repeat my question. Have you had it with Philippidis yet?” his friend asked.