Oh, hell yeah, Tori was going to love that idea.
A white sheriff’s unit topped the hill, slowed and angled in behind the unmarked car. Troy Lee emerged, tipped his campaign hat at the EMTs on scene and stopped at Mark’s side. “What’s up?”
Mark shrugged and gave him a brief rundown. “I cited him for failure to control.”
Troy Lee squinted at the skid marks, the area where the kid’s truck had left the roadway and the second set of rubber lines where he’d entered the intersection and slammed Kaydee Davis’s car.
“How fast did he say he was going?”
“Fifty, maybe fifty-five.”
Troy Lee snorted. “More like seventy. He’s lucky he didn’t roll the truck.”
Frowning, Tick studied the marks. “How do you figure that?”
“Geometry and trig. You know, high school math.”
“Troy Lee.” Warning hovered in Tick’s voice and his brows lowered in a scowl.
“I’m serious.” Troy Lee spread his hands. “It’s basic geometry and trigonometry. Simple angles and drag coefficient. He left the road at what looks like a thirty-degree angle, re-entered more on a forty-five. When you enter that and the drag coefficient for dry pavement into the formula, you get approximately seventy miles per hour.”
Tick stared at him. “You just did that in your head?”
“Well, yeah.” Troy Lee shrugged, but Mark didn’t miss the small flash of smug satisfaction in his eyes. The kid liked knowing something Tick didn’t. Mark could relate, and hell, Troy Lee probably needed that. The younger man cast another glance at the skid marks and shook his head. “Damn kid is going to kill somebody one day.”
***
Angel poured a couple of shots of whiskey for two regulars, shimmying her shoulders to the rhythm of Miranda Lambert’s “Kerosene” blaring from the jukebox. She’d fed dollar after dollar into the machine earlier, ensuring a steady stream of getting-even-with-the-man-who-done-you-wrong songs. The female patrons appreciated it, the small dance floor packed with girls hooting, hollering and hoofing it up.
Actually, programming a few more wouldn’t be a bad idea. Lord only knew that if Donna Martin got half a chance, there’d be nothing but Patsy Cline love songs, and that was the last thing Angel needed tonight. She tugged a five from her pocket and waved it at her full-time bartender. “Hey, Julie. Got five ones?”
“Only if you play at least one Blake Shelton number for me.”
Angel flashed the too-skinny brunette a big smile. “Just for you.”
Julie took the five and unfolded it. A square of yellow paper fell to the floor. Julie retrieved it and held it out, along with the ones. “Hey, you might need this.”
Oh, yeah. She needed that ticket like she needed a man in her life. With a sigh, she unfurled the paper, looking to see what the fine was this time. Sure enough, her name and information was filled in—Lord help her, she’d gotten enough tickets that he knew it by heart?—but he’d checked the warning box and across the bottom, he’d scrawled slow down. With a Kilroy-style smiley face wearing a campaign hat.
Her eyes prickled. What a sweetheart. And she’d been short with him. She’d have to make sure he had an extra Saturday slot on the band schedule to make up for that and maybe she’d toss in one of the house burgers he liked so much. Slipping the ticket into her pocket again, she headed for the jukebox.
Singing along with Miranda’s lyrics about giving up on fickle love, she slid another bill into the slot and surveyed the selection. Nothing slow, nothing romantic and definitely nothing that qualified as crying-in-your-beer music. Ten selections later, she wandered back to the bar.
Only to find herself face-to-face with Mark Cook.
Her stomach clenched, then fell, leaving a hollow space behind. He was out of uniform, dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt that made his eyes gleam more silver than gray. Damn it, what was he doing here?
“Hey, can I talk to you a minute?” Awkwardness tightened his features, drawing his mouth into a taut line.
She pointed at the door, glad to see her hand was steady. “Get out.”
“Angel—”
“I said get out. I don’t want to talk to you, Cookie. You had your chance to have a conversation with me. No, not one chance. That was five chances.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She jerked her chin toward the exit sign. “Go on. Go. Before I decide to get all Coyote Ugly on you and auction your ass off to the lowest, trashiest whore I can find. Oh, wait.” She tapped her forehead with two fingers. “I forgot. That would be me.”
He scowled. “Don’t say that. Hear me out, would you?”
“The only out you’re getting from me involves that door and you on the other side of it.”
“I’m sorry.” Genuine regret coated his words. “I was a bastard all the way around.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue with you there.” She folded her arms over her chest and tapped the toe of her boot on the scuffed wood floor. “So does your new girlfriend know you’re here?”
Brows raised, he grimaced. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” Needing something to do with her hands since he obviously wasn’t going to leave and strangling him would result in her having to wear a really ugly orange jumpsuit, she picked up a bar towel and began polishing a highball glass. “What do you want from me, Cookie? Absolution?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t leave things the way they were.”
“You left them that way for more than two weeks.”
His shoulders lifted and fell with a deep breath. “I don’t have an excuse for that, except I—”
“Except you were a bastard. We covered that.” She set the glass aside, picked up another. Darn it, he actually seemed sorry, more than Jim had been when he’d showed up to retrieve his ring. Shoot, she’d known this one was decent. “So do you love her? Are you happy with her?”
“Yes. And yes.” Even so, the tight set of his jaw spoke of his true remorse for the way he’d treated her.
Angel ran the towel around the inside rim of the glass. “Well, I hope she appreciates it. You know, that you love her.”
The first hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I think she does.”
With a less than ladylike snort, Angel swapped glasses. “Bet Tick doesn’t.”
“You have no idea.”
A remnant of feminine pique enjoyed that thought. Maybe that evened things out. She nodded. “So we’re good then—”
“Hey, Angel.” Troy Lee’s low tenor voice vibrated between them. He leaned on the bar next to Cookie and grinned at her. “Tell me I left my new pack of guitar strings here.”
My God, the boy had a great smile, all dimples and white teeth against tanned skin and a little touch of stubble. No wonder he set hearts aflutter everywhere he went, with that grin and those bright blues. She gestured toward her office. “You did. Didn’t your mama teach you to keep up with your stuff?”
He made an amused grunt in his throat. “Christine? You should see her studio. She can’t keep up with anything.”
Cookie rolled his eyes. “Hey, math genius. We were having a conversation.”
Math genius? She cast a speculative glance at Troy Lee then turned her best “whatever” look on Cookie. “Our conversation was over. You were a bastard, I’m grudgingly forgiving you, and now it’s time for you to go home to the girlfriend.” She bestowed a winning smile on Troy Lee. “Deputy Farr here and I have to schedule some band dates.”
“Right. Thanks, Angel. Good night.” Cookie saluted her with his index finger and disappeared into the smoky air and chattering crowd.
Angel pulled a Corona, popped the top and placed it before Troy Lee along with the small bowl of lime wedges. “You call your mother Christine?”
“Stepmother. Long story.” He flashed that grin again and jerked a thumb in the direction of Cookie’s retreat. “What was that all about?”
“We’ll have to trade later.” He stuffed a lime into the bottle. “Although your story is probably more interesting than mine.”
“Doubtful.” No way she was giving him that anecdote. Food, maybe. “Have you eaten?”
He squinted at the ceiling in simulated concentration before his teeth gleamed in a smile. “Not since lunch.”
“Burger or a Big Cheesy?”
“Burger.” Beer in hand, he came around the bar and followed her into the kitchen. He rested his hips on the prep table and lifted the bottle to his lips. My, he was a long drink of water, tall and toned with lean muscles rippling under that faded Dave Matthews T-shirt. Too bad she wasn’t ten years younger and totally off men for life. His gaze lingered on her like a palpable touch while she slapped a patty on the grill. He cleared his throat. “Bad day, huh?”
Did he really think it would be that easy? She laid out a bun and spread mayo and mustard on it, leaving off the ketchup because she knew he detested the stuff. “Math genius, huh?”
“Something like that.” He angled his bottle in her direction, a speculative light in his eyes. “Know what you need, Angel?”
“What’s that, Troy Lee?” She couldn’t keep the exasperated indulgence out of her voice.
“A guy who’ll show you a good time. I mean, someone to hang with, without all the sex and expectations.”
She stilled in the middle of layering pickles, lettuce and tomato on his burger. Lord, that sounded good. Of course she didn’t know any men interested in that scenario. No sex or expectations. Right. Ironic humor washed through her like a wave of acid. Shoot, Jim had brought his laundry by her house the Thursday before he left for Biloxi. His tighty-whities had been tumbling around in her dryer while he’d tumbled her. Before the week was up, he’d been back with a new wife. Obviously, too, Cookie had been looking for sex with no expectations of a follow-up.
Okay, enough of the self-pity. She stilled the shaky desire to bawl. Smile, flirt, pretend nothing was wrong. That was the way to go.
Cocking one hip to the side, she rested her hand on it and looked at him, dead in those baby blues. “Why, Troy Lee Farr, is that an offer?”
Chapter Three
“Maybe.” Troy Lee smiled around the mouth of the bottle. She was relaxing, the visible strain draining out of her body as she busied herself with assembling the hamburger. “Do you want it to be?”
She slanted a mock-flirtatious look at him from beneath thick lashes. “Maybe.”
He laughed. Yeah, she would be okay. Probably he should have left well enough alone earlier, but something about the sheer unhappiness on her face when she’d been talking to Cookie had drawn him closer as soon as he’d walked into the club, propelled him to interrupt. The weird impulse didn’t make sense. Rescuing distressed damsels had never been his thing, badge or not. Besides, Angel Henderson didn’t seem like anybody’s idea of a damsel in need of rescuing. This was one lady who could hold her own.
She slid the plate, hamburger cut in two, in his direction. One glance at the half-pound monstrosity dripping with fat red tomato and glistening green lettuce, and his taste buds sat up to beg in anticipation. The woman could make a serious burger.
He lifted half for a bite. “Hey, about band dates…”
Tomato juice, in cahoots with the mayonnaise, spurted at him and trickled down the side of his mouth. He glanced about for a napkin.
“You have atrocious manners.” Laughing, Angel swiped at the corner of his lips with her thumb just as he darted his tongue out to catch the spicy dribble. Instead he captured a taste of smooth female skin along the tender side of her palm. Heated reaction slammed into his lower belly.
Her lips—man, she had the most beautiful, kissable mouth he’d ever seen—parted on a gasp and she dropped her hand, stepping back so fast she caught a boot heel on the padded floor covering in front of the food-prep area and lost her balance.
Her hands flailed and panic sparked in her eyes. Tossing the burger toward the plate, he grabbed her waist to steady her.
Their combined momentum—his pulling and her leaning forward to overcompensate for the lost equilibrium—brought them torso to torso. The reality of her, soft breasts, flat stomach, lean thighs, combined with his too-long-to-think-about state of celibacy. Heated reaction speared lower than his belly this time around and provided his dick with a mind of its own.
Her big blue eyes widened and he jerked back, making sure she was secure on her feet before he released her. He yanked a hand through his hair, his neck blazed. “I’m sorry. I’m a guy, it’s been a while and licking you…”
If anything, her eyes went wider. His face burned Habanera-hot.
“Holy shit, I didn’t mean… Angel, I swear I wasn’t…” He fumbled for words. Damn, this was worse than screwing up with Calvert.
She laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the pretty sound. He closed his eyes. F-uck. This ranked right up there with committing a warrant error that almost let a serial murderer walk. Jesus, he was a goober.
“Why, Deputy Farr, I do believe I’m flattered.” Easy banter tinged her voice and he opened his eyes to find her leaning against the table, one turquoise boot crossed over the other. Friendly teasing sparkled in her eyes and amusement bowed that gorgeous bottom lip. All the tension was gone from her body and for that reason alone he dredged up a grin. For some things it was worth making an ass of himself.
She patted the center of his chest. “Eat your burger before I forget I’m too old for you and toss you on the prep table for a quickie.”
Holy shit. Images kicked off in his brain, of those slender hands with pink-polished nails dragging his T-shirt up and over his head, scraping down his abs and going for his belt while he ran his palms under the skirt of that flirty little brown dress she wore. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the parts of his anatomy, other than his face, now chili-pepper hot. God, he really had been celibate too long. No, make that he’d been waiting for her too long.
“You’re not too old for me.” Glad to hear his voice coming out in a properly scoffing tone rather than a strangled squeak, he took a more cautious mouthful of his hamburger.
“Sure, hon, whatever you say.” She made short work of clearing the vegetables from the worktable. She rinsed her knife, eyeing him. “How old are you again? Twenty-four?”
“Twenty-six.” Why did people always drop two or three years off his age?
“Ten years.” She slapped the knife against the magnetic strip on the wall. “Almost eleven. That’s definitely too old for you.”
He snorted. “Whatever. My dad was thirteen years older than Christine and they were married almost twenty years.”
“Were married.”
“He died.”
“Oh.” She smacked a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I assumed—”
“It’s okay.” He chuckled, watching her while he took another chomp out of the thick sandwich. “You got something against dating younger men?”
“Honey, right now, I have something against dating all men.” She bit her lip, considering. “Although, I’ve never dated anyone younger.”
“Maybe you should.” He wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter and tried to appear nonchalant. Hell, her reaction meant too much and that wasn’t good, but the feel of her still reverberated through him, bringing with it a sense of opportunity he didn’t want to let slip by. He’d already let one missed chance with her kick him in the teeth. “Someone who’d show you a good time—”
“I know, without all the sex and expectations.” She twirled a finger in the air. “And where, pray tell, am I supposed to find such a paragon of manly virtue, Troy Lee?”
He swallowed. “You asked if I was offering.”
She stared at him a moment, opened her mouth, closed it again and shook her head. “Troy Lee.”
“What?” He managed to get a lungful of air in and out. At least she hadn’t outright l
aughed. If she blew him off, well, he’d deal. Play it light and easy, like it didn’t matter that he’d screwed up something else, that she didn’t want him.
“Be serious.”
“I am. Give me one reason why not.” He lifted his hand as her lips parted. “Other than the age difference.”
“I…you…” She firmed her lips, tapping one toe on the floor.
He laughed, too-strong relief making his stomach jittery. “You can’t do it. You can’t find one reason why we shouldn’t go out.”
“It’s crazy.”
“So?” He shrugged. “Galileo’s theory that the sun was the center of the universe was pretty insane for his time and I’m sure somebody thought Einstein’s theory of relativity was crazy when he first proposed it.”
“That is hardly the same thing.”
“But you can’t give me a better reason why not.” He leaned forward and winked. “Come on. I’m a fun date.”
She rolled her eyes, then narrowed them as she studied him. “Just for a good time.”
“Exactly.”
“No sex.”
“Nope.” He looked down at his feet, pretending to consider a major point before lifting his gaze to hers. “Kissing has to be okay, though. I like kissing and supposedly I’m pretty good at it.”
“I like kissing too.” Wistfulness darted over her face but disappeared so fast he thought maybe he’d imagined it. Good, because he sure as hell wanted to kiss her. Now would be good, but moving that fast didn’t fit the equation.
He rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug. “So I’m off Saturday.”
She did that exasperated eyes-lifted-heavenward thing he’d witnessed at least a dozen times when some drunk was trying to get his keys back. “I have to open the bar Saturday, remember?”
“Not until five.” He spread his hands in an expansive gesture. “Saturday morning. Pick the time. We’ll go for breakfast or something.”
Hands at her hips, she looked away for a moment and puffed her bangs from her face. He thought he heard her mutter something about being crazy, but then she turned those crystal blue eyes on him and he didn’t care how damn crazy any of it was.
Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South Page 3