Nothing But Trouble

by Amy Andrews

  On another man, it might have all looked girly. But on this guy, it worked.

  “Hey, man.” Wade grinned back, extending his hand. “Still ugly as ever, I see.”

  The other guy laughed, his dimples perfectly symmetrical, his lips a wide, neat bow. Wade was certainly as handsome, but he had darker hair and more brooding features, his face looked more lived-in, like it’d been ground into the dirt a few dozen times. This guy looked like he could have sat for Botticelli.

  His gaze cut to CC, and even she felt a little dazzled by it. Man, that smile should have been illegal in all fifty states. He needed to be careful what he did with that thing, especially to a woman who was suffering from farmer porn/estrogen overload.

  “And who do we have here?”

  “This is my PA. Cecilia Morgan. CC, meet Tucker Daniels. We played on the school football team together, he was a freshman my junior year.”

  “Yeah,” Tucker said, putting out his hand. “So I know all his dirty little locker room secrets.”

  CC shook Tucker’s hand. “I know one or two as well. Maybe we should compare notes?”

  Tucker chuckled—even his laugh was spectacular—as he turned his gaze on Wade. “I like this one. You should keep her.”

  CC laughed at the outrageous statement—she wasn’t anyone’s to keep. But his eyes danced, and his smile dazzled, and she didn’t take it any other way than the tease he’d obviously intended.

  She was going to like Tucker, she could just tell.

  “He making you live in that god-awful mausoleum?”

  CC sighed. “He is.”

  “Hey.” Wade’s fingers drummed on the bar. “It’s a classic piece of antebellum architecture, dickwad.”

  “Whatever you say, Rhett.” Tucker grinned, and CC could totally see how it’d work on women. The man was an utter charmer. Smooth as cream. But apart from her initial dazzled reaction, it did nothing for her.

  Not now that she’d developed a hankering for farmers.

  “I think—” Tucker planted his elbow on the bar and leaned across a little, dropping his voice an octave. “Deep down, he’s one of those people who go around reenacting the Civil War.”

  CC laughed at the picture that created in her head. She didn’t know how bored Wade would have to get to consider lying around pretending to be dead on a field somewhere all day.

  “Can’t a man get a drink around here, or does he have to pour his own?”

  Tucker laughed. “The usual?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I get you something to drink, CC?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You want what he’s having?”

  CC’s mind wandered to a shirtless Wade with hay stuck to a very fine-looking pectoral—she wanted some of that—before she pulled it back. “As long as it’s tequila.”

  He glanced at Wade. “A keeper, I tell you.”

  “Tequila?” Wade cocked an eyebrow.

  Yep, tequila. Just because she didn’t drink very much didn’t mean she didn’t drink ever. Or didn’t know how to cut loose. And today she’d not only moved to small-town America, but had experienced a hot flash for her boss in the middle of a hog field.

  It was a tequila kinda night.

  Tucker was putting their drinks in front of them on the bar when somebody thumped Wade on the shoulder. “Who gave this dirtbag permission to enter Credence?”

  CC turned along with Wade, who was smiling. It wasn’t a dazzler like Tucker’s, but it still tickled between her ribs. “My name’s on the welcome sign, dude. That’s all the permission I need.”

  “Hey, man.” The newcomer shook Wade’s hand and yanked him forward into a manly hug with much back-smacking. “I hear you’re going to be in town for a few months.”

  “For the summer. Writing a book.”

  The other guy laughed and shook his head at Tucker. “Can you believe this horseshit? I didn’t even know he could read, did you?”

  Wade laughed. “You’re such an asshole. No wonder you’re a cop.”

  New guy laughed before turning his attention on CC. “Hey there. I’m Arlo Pike. You must be CC.”

  CC blinked as yet another Credence hottie addressed her. Tall, lean, his hair jet-black, a five o’clock shadow that made you want to reach out and touch. About the same age as Tucker, at a guess.

  What the hell was in their drinking water around here?

  She looked around the bar and realized she was the only apparently single woman in it. There were three other women, but they all appeared to be attached to someone and about twenty years older.

  It suddenly occurred to CC that she was in an awesome position—had she been interested in living in a small town with supernatural powers over estrogen cycles. For the rest of her life.

  Which she was not.

  The male/female ratio may have sucked for the men of Credence, but for the women? Hell, it was raining men. Good-looking men not wearing wedding bands.

  And Jack’s was like the Jell-O pit.

  “How in hell do you know who she is?” Wade demanded.

  Arlo shrugged like he was the fount of all Credence knowledge, gossip, and hearsay. “It’s my job to have my finger on the pulse.”

  “My mother told you, didn’t she?”

  That was the problem with having the police station next door to the municipal county building.

  Arlo smiled at CC. “He always this moody?”

  “Only at certain times of the month.”

  Arlo looked stunned for a second or two, like he hadn’t quite heard such a thing come from the mouth of a chick before, then he threw back his head and laughed out loud.

  He looked at Tucker and pointed at CC. “She is awesome.”

  Tucker nodded. “I know, right?”

  Wade sighed. “Can I get you a drink, Arlo?”

  He nodded. “The usual.” Then he noticed the shot glass in front of CC. “No. Wait. I’ll have what she’s having.”

  Tucker knocked on the bar. “One tequila coming right up.”

  Arlo took the barstool on the other side of CC and looked at Wade. “You coming to the meeting tomorrow night?”

  “What meeting?”

  “The special town meeting.”

  “There’s a special town meeting?”

  “Yes, there is,” CC said, quickly knocking back her shot, shutting her eyes as it burned all the way down. She opened her eyes and pushed her shot glass at Tucker. “Hit me again.”

  Wade blinked. “How do you know?”

  “Your mother told me.”

  “What in hell requires a special town meeting?” Wade asked Arlo. “They’re not trying to put another wind turbine in, are they?”

  “Nah.” Arlo knocked his shot back and shoved his toward Tucker for a refill, too. “It’s the women problem.”

  “We have a women problem?”

  “Yeah,” Tucker said in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “We don’t have any.”

  Wade shrugged. “Suits me.”

  “Says the man who gets laid more often than all of One Direction put together,” Arlo scoffed.

  CC laughed as Wade rolled his eyes. She could tell she was going to like Arlo, too.

  “What are they going to propose? You can’t force anyone to come and live here.”

  “Don’t know.” Arlo shrugged. “But I sure as hell want to find out.”

  “Yeah, well, have fun with that. I’d rather watch grass grow than listen to whatever harebrained scheme my mother and her cronies are cooking up.”

  “Oh, but…” CC frowned. “I told your mother you’d be there. That we’d both be there.”

  Wade shook his head. “Hell no.”

  “I promised her, Wade.” Ronnie had been excited that Wade would be around long enough to participate in the civic
life of Credence. And CC had figured it wasn’t going to kill him.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a town meeting. Are you part of this town or not?”

  “Yeah, Wade.” Tucker grinned at him. “You in or out, dude?”

  “It’s your mom,” CC pressed. “She’s doing her civic duty, the least we can do is go and support her.”

  For a moment, CC thought Wade was going to be recalcitrant, but he sighed and muttered “For fuck’s sake” under his breath as he pointed at the shot glass and said, “Give me one of those.”

  Chapter Six

  Wade had never been to a Credence town meeting before, and it was nothing like he expected. He’d thought maybe a couple dozen people on fold-out chairs in one of the elementary school classrooms. But no. It seemed like most of the town had gathered at the municipal offices, which were quite plush, considering the aging feel to the building.

  This was the first time Wade had seen the inside of the offices. His mom had been elected ten years ago, but he hadn’t been in town long enough to take the tour he’d kept promising her. There was bright green carpet on the floors and rows of padded seating. The town councilors sat at a long table on a slightly elevated stage-type area at the front of the room. And to one side there were tables groaning with food.

  It was a bake sale wet dream. Cookies, cupcakes, and a dozen of Annie’s pies all lined up in rows.

  He wouldn’t mind betting most of the town had actually turned out for those pies. The woman had been a baking ninja for forty years, and she wasn’t losing any of her skills with age. He’d headed straight for her legendary Key lime pie—not something often seen in rural Colorado—and was contemplating another piece.

  But Arlo was getting a little too friendly with CC for his liking, and it was really bothering him. The guy sure hadn’t let a missing leg dampen his flirting reflex. Of course, they were both entitled to flirt with whomever the hell they wanted, but they just weren’t…right for each other. Arlo would never leave Credence and, given the way she’d fought even moving here for three months, CC wouldn’t abandon her dreams of moving to California. And if she did, he wanted it to be for him, damn it.

  Plus, she was still his PA. For another three lousy months. He didn’t want her attention divided while Arlo played the wounded cop hero he already played to good effect whenever the opportunity arose. The thought didn’t sit well. He’d always guarded her place as his number one employee with fervor. But he didn’t think this sudden disquiet had much to do with their professional relationship.

  Thankfully, the meeting was coming to order, which gave him a much-needed distraction. His mother, in some kind of sweater set and pearls, looked impressively official in a genteel Southern lady way. She was sitting next to Don Randall, the mayor, who looked like an idiot, wearing his robes of office and the mayoral chains around his bullfrog neck.

  Don had been born officious.

  Wade snagged a second piece of Key lime. Annie’s pies made everything better—even Don. He made his way back to the chairs. His mom waved, and he waved back as he sat next to CC, his thigh muscles protesting slightly after his morning helping Wyatt around the farm.

  Arlo was on her other side, and Tucker and Wyatt were in the row behind. Drew Carmichael, the local funeral director, also sat beside Wyatt. Drew, who’d been on the football team with Arlo and Tucker and in the same freshman year as them, looked nothing like one imagined an undertaker to look. He was more Indiana Jones than Harry from My Girl.

  “Better watch your waistline, dude. Nothing sadder than a porky ex-jock,” Tucker said, leaning forward.

  His brother snickered. Possibly because of the hog reference, possibly because he enjoyed anyone giving Wade shit. Great. The peanut gallery.

  “You wish you had this body, pretty boy.”

  Tucker laughed, and they all started to laugh, but then Don stood and cleared his throat and asked everyone to come to order—and Wade bit into his pie and prayed for a sugar coma.

  “You think he hides a permanent hard-on beneath those robes and that’s why he wears them?” Arlo whispered.

  “I think the only time he can get a hard-on is when he’s wearing them,” Wade said, his voice low. “He probably wears them to bed with Mrs. Randall, that poor long-suffering woman.”

  “Oh God.” Drew winced. “Man, why’d you go put that picture in my head. You think I don’t have enough macabre shit going on in there already?”

  “I like to share.” Wade smiled as he licked whipped cream off his lips.

  “Shut up, all of you,” CC whispered with unconcealed annoyance. “Quit being rude.”

  The guys all suppressed smiles but, suitably chastised, turned their attention to the proceedings.

  Don went through an incredibly long preamble, outlining the problem of young women from Credence drifting to the cities to pursue college and careers, and the issues that arose for the town because of the low female population in the child-bearing age bracket.

  Everything from decreasing birth rates and business profits to school closures and declining community spirit. Wade was pretty sure he was working his way up to plagues of boils and locusts.

  “He hasn’t mentioned mass breakouts of blue balls yet,” Tucker whispered from behind, which led to another round of stifled schoolboy laughter and more eye rolling from CC.

  As if Don had heard Tucker’s point, he went on to cite the increased levels of male frustration resulting in higher-than-normal levels of public drunkenness and aggressive behavior.

  “Oh Jesus… Is this guy for real?” CC whispered out the side of her mouth.

  “Yup.”

  “So a bunch of horny men get drunk and then get angry and carry on like rutting bulls, and he wonders why women prefer college and careers?”

  Wade chuckled. That pretty much summed it up. “I don’t think Don quite sees it that way.”

  It was another few minutes before Don got to the point. Minutes during which Wade contemplated a third piece of pie.

  “So it is our proposal that Credence advertises nationally through our website and sites such as Facebook and YouTube for single women to come visit with a view to staying in Credence.”

  Wade blinked and sat up straighter in his chair. A low murmur buzzed through the assembled citizens as they all looked at one another and started to talk at once.

  “What the heck?” CC said.

  Arlo leaned forward in his chair. “Son of a—” He glanced at CC. “Biscuit.”

  “There is a precedent for this,” Don continued over the din. “A few other places have tried it in the past with good results.”

  Yeah. Those towns had been the butt of jokes all over the country. Not to mention being overrun by women more keen on hooking up than settling down. How many stayed once the novelty wore off?

  “We’re thinking two invitational events. The details are yet to be ironed out, and it will depend on interest, but we could bus them in from Denver to Credence on Friday and bus them back on Sunday. That’ll give us a couple of days to showcase the charms of the town.”

  Charms of the town? As far as Wade was concerned, lack of women was the charm of the town.

  Christ. Busloads of women. Coming to Credence? The national press rocking up if the whole thing went viral, which it probably would, because wacky shit always did. News vans staked out down the main street. And how long would it take for them to discover he was in town? There’d be reporters standing outside his house, trying to look through his windows. Going through his garbage.

  How was he supposed to write with all that going on? Wade shook his head. This could not be happening.

  “We’ll open up to comments now before we take a vote.”

  About two dozen people sprang to their feet.

  “Yes, Arlene, you first.”

  Arlene Cox was a middle-aged corn farm
er’s wife with three children. All daughters. All had left Credence for city life. “Where are these women going to work?” she asked. “I mean, I like the idea in principle. But what if some women choose to stay on and settle here? We don’t really have employment for them, do we? And unless they get hitched to someone real quick, they’re going to want to support themselves.”

  Wade almost stood up and cheered. Arlene was making good economic sense.

  Wade’s mom pulled her desk mic forward and said, “I can answer that.”

  “Yes… I’ll pass the discussion over to Ronnie for the details. I’m just the ideas man.” Don laughed at his own joke.

  Yeah, you old lech. Wade could see exactly where this harebrained scheme had evolved—Don Randall’s dick.

  Ronnie smiled at the audience. Beside her sat Chuck Rimes, his bald spot the only thing showing as he sat, head down, hunched over the table, madly scribbling down the minutes.

  “There’s the odd job around town,” Ronnie said. “We have an admin position here, and Brett’s always looking for staff at the old folks’ home. Annie hires from time to time, as does Tucker. Also Drew at the funeral parlor. And there’s the feed store and co-op and sometimes the school. But we’re actually really looking for women who’d be keen to start businesses. The state gives out grants to rural start-up businesses, and we think this would be a golden opportunity for any young woman and for the life of the town. We have plenty of empty buildings along the main drag begging to be occupied.”

  Another murmur went through the audience. New business. New people. New life. Community.

  “What kind of businesses are ya thinkin’?” a voice called from the back.

  “Well, I guess that’ll be up to the young woman, to an extent, and whether there’s a population base to support that particular type of business,” Ronnie said. “But I for one would love to see a place where I can get my hair and nails done without having to drive an hour. Somewhere local where I can drop my computer to be fixed, or see an accountant or a lawyer? Maybe some bright young thing will come up with an idea to attract tourists back to the town, like a shop that sells gourmet chocolate and free-range eggs and specialty produce from farms in the district? A coffee shop, maybe.”