Dances Under the Harvest Moon (Heartache, TN 3)

by Joanne Rock

  “I thought we were mad at her for not coming to the wedding.” Heather hadn’t been mad. But she knew Erin had been hurt.

  Her gaze flicked to a couple pushing a stroller, who walked in front of her car, their baby covered with a fuzzy blue blanket to keep out the autumn breeze. That could be Erin soon. Would Amy come home for a new baby in the family?

  “We are mad at her. We can be mad at one another and still love each other. It’s a sister thing.”

  Family first.

  Heather remembered how resentful she’d felt toward Tiffany McCord today when she’d used her dad’s slogan to try to make him sound like a crooked politician scheming to line Finley pockets. She’d censored details like that from Erin, knowing they’d only fire her up.

  And, of course, she wasn’t mentioning that the whole town now thought she had a relationship with Zach. Obviously, the “more than friends” vibe she’d gotten from him at the fishing tournament hadn’t been the product of an overactive imagination. The rest of Heartache had thought the same thing.

  “So, are you mad at me for delaying my trip?” She toyed with her necklace, a vintage Wedgwood cameo of two girls jumping rope, a gift from Erin long ago.

  “Possibly.” Erin didn’t sound mad.

  Heather smiled. Relieved.

  “But since you love me dearly, and you’re on your honeymoon with a supercute new husband, you can hardly let this ruin your trip, right?”

  “Right. In fact, I owe that cute new husband a dance, so...”

  “Go have fun.” Heather dropped her keys in her leather satchel. “Don’t worry about us.”

  Disconnecting the call, she grabbed her sweater from the backseat and stepped outside. The chill of the evening hit her, a brisk breeze that made her pause to pull on the heavy sweater over her old baseball jersey.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and jogged to the back of the infield behind the fence, dodging a few teens who were working on a car in the parking lot. When she arrived at the concession stand, she slipped in the back door.

  “Heather!” Startled, Trish dropped the paperback she’d been reading. “You surprised me.”

  She scooped her book off the floor and held down a few T-shirts on hangers to keep them from blowing in the breeze while the back door was open.

  “Sorry.” Heather closed them inside the negligible warmth of the building. With one window always open to the outdoors, the concession stand was never temperature controlled. “I just pulled into the parking lot and I thought it would be faster to come around the back way than to bypass friends in the stands.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just avoiding questions about the hunky mayor?” Trish shoved her book into a pink, leopard-print shopping tote and straightened to leave. “I heard a reporter called you out in the press conference today.”

  “News travels fast in this town. But he had no idea what he was talking about.” Heather lowered herself onto the stool that Trish vacated. “All conjecture.”

  “Is it? Because the day before, Daisy Spencer told us she saw you and Zach fishing together by the river and there were sparks flying all over the place.” Trish did a fair impression of Mrs. Spencer’s country drawl.

  “Trish, you know I adore Mrs. Spencer. We all do. But she’s a romantic with a capital R.”

  Trish grinned. “And that journalist from the local radio station? I suppose he’s a romantic, too?”

  “You’re determined to give me a hard time, aren’t you?” Heather rose as a throng of dirt-smudged preteen boys approached the stand.

  “Not at all.” The woman shuffled back a step to give Heather a one-armed hug. “But I work at the Strand, honey, so I like to think I’m better at sniffing out a good news story than any member of the media. And I’m telling you that—true or not—this town is going to eat up a story about our handsome mayor falling for the next superstar on American Voice.”

  “He’s not falling for me.” She remembered how much it had hurt when he’d pulled away after their kiss. “But I understand what you’re saying. If I don’t want rumors circulating, I shouldn’t be teaching eligible bachelors how to fish in my spare time.”

  Live and learn.

  Heather turned to take five orders at once as the boys chose drinks from a cooler and pawed over the candy bars. Trish had slipped out the back door during the hubbub, so that by the time the boys had spent their last nickel, Heather had nothing to do but watch the game in progress. The fire department led by three runs, but then teenage J. D. Covington came up to bat for the teachers. He was one of the best athletes in town. His mother taught social studies, but his father owned the quarry and was the wealthiest man in Heartache. Heather knew who J.D. was because Megan had dated him briefly last year.

  J.D. dug in at the plate, his long legs spiderlike as he crouched to assume his hitting stance.

  “Go, J.D.!” the small crowd cheered him on while the pitcher checked out the sign from his catcher.

  Behind Heather, the door to the concession stand opened, a cool breeze blowing the hanging T-shirts on the walls and chilling her legs. She thought Trish must have forgotten something until Zach Chance stepped into the small space and shut the door behind him.

  “Zach.” Her heart sped a little just seeing him, even though she was upset with him. “This isn’t a good idea—”

  “No one will see us.” He cut her off, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk.”

  She glanced through the front window again. No one was headed this way. Yet.

  “But what if someone wants a drink or something? My family doesn’t need any more fodder for the rumor mill, and I know you don’t want that, either.” She remembered something he said to her the night he’d rescued her from the side of the road—how much he hated secrets and agendas.

  “I’ll stand over here, and no one will see me.” He backed into the corner, half hidden between the popcorn popper and a broken refrigerator.

  It wasn’t a bad spot. It would keep his presence secret.

  Although, that left her alone in a very close space with a man who set butterflies off inside her.

  A bat cracked outside the concession stand, and the crowd roared. Heather turned to watch as J.D. rounded first base. Tiffany McCord and her daughter, Bailey, jumped up and down in the stands. Tiffany high-fived Jeremy Covington, who stood in the bleachers behind them.

  “Is that the Covington kid who hit that?” Zach asked, folding his arms over the same suit he’d worn to the press conference.

  Her heart ached for him. True, she blamed Zach for not telling her about the missing money, but she felt bad he’d been working all day without a break to go home and change. Faint lines surrounded his eyes. He looked exhausted. Appealing, yes. But tired, too.

  “Yes. He drove in two runs and made it to third base.” She tugged her sweater tighter around her, wondering if it was just her imagination or if Jeremy Covington and Tiffany McCord looked particularly friendly. “But I’m sure you didn’t sneak in the concession stand to discuss J.D.’s batting average.”

  Zach shook his head. “I want your family’s permission to review your dad’s home computer or laptop, if you still have it. If you’re concerned about conflict of interest, hire another digital forensics firm. But you should review his files.”

  Everything inside her stilled.

  “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “Your family lawyer will advise the same thing. I’m sure Sam will approach your family about giving the police access. But I wanted to talk to you first.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know, Heather. I thought I owed it to you to speak to you directly. To tell you I’m sorry I screwed up by not talking to you sooner. It might look like I didn’t have your family’s best interests at heart, but I only did what I thought was going to be best for everyon
e.”

  “And you want to run tests on his computer like you did on the town computers?” She recalled him saying that’s what he’d been doing the night before the fishing tournament—scanning documents for something that would show where the missing money had gone.

  “Yes. We could find information that would clear your dad and it will bring the investigation to a quick close.”

  Right. Or they could find something that would incriminate her father. She didn’t think her dad had done anything wrong. But what if he had secrets that he didn’t want made public? She wouldn’t want her recent computer searches documented for the world to see.

  “I should ask my brothers first. Or call a lawyer.” Voices approached the concession stand and pulled her attention back to the window. Outside, Bailey McCord and another girl that Heather didn’t recognize had their heads together, laughing and whispering over something on Bailey’s phone.

  Heather didn’t need reports of Zach in the concession stand getting back to Bailey’s mother. The news reporter in the press conference had made an excellent point about close association between the mayor and the Finley family. It didn’t look good for either of them.

  “Hi, girls.” Heather smiled, hoping Zach was flattening himself to one wall so he wouldn’t be seen. “What can I get you?”

  “Do you have any bandages?” Bailey asked. “My boyfriend took the skin off his elbow sliding into home.”

  The words elicited a fresh round of giggles from the girls.

  Heather checked the scoreboard and noticed the teachers’ team had one more run. The fire department was up now, so she must have missed an at-bat.

  “Sure.” She had stocked the first-aid kit herself at the start of the spring season. Digging it out now, she handed them bandages and disinfectant wipes. “Be careful using those wipes around the cut skin. They will sting if they touch an open wound, but you might want to clean around it.”

  “Thanks.” Bailey stuffed the paper packets in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Good luck with American Voice. My friend Megan says you’re supertalented.”

  “Thank you.” Heather would have said more, but she didn’t want anyone lingering around the stand with Zach inside. “I really appreciate that.”

  “I’m dying to get out of this town, too.” The girl smiled shyly before the two of them turned to leave.

  When they were out of hearing range, Heather finally turned back to Zach. He looked different today—rougher, tense, the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw a rarity.

  “So can I get back to you about handing over the computers after I consult my brothers? I’m not sure yet.”

  “Of course.” He gave a clipped nod as he leaned a shoulder into the popcorn machine. “I spoke to Megan Bryer today after the press conference.”

  “Really?” His words drew her in when she needed to keep boundaries in place. But she wanted to know what he’d found out. For Megan’s sake. “How did that go?”

  “She said all the right things. That she was doing the research for a project. That she found my app after researching the steps teens can take to protect themselves.” He shrugged. “I should feel reassured, maybe. But I don’t.”

  “She’s a very intelligent young woman,” Heather mused. “If she was hiding something, I have no doubt she’d be good at it.”

  A prickle of unease tripped down her spine as it occurred to Heather how much alike they were. They both loved music. They both used it as an escape. They both dreamed of leaving Heartache—Heather with American Voice, Megan with college.

  What if they were both hiding a secret?

  “You’re not telling me something.” Zach straightened, his focus intense as he looked at her. “What is it?”

  Caught off guard, Heather was relieved when the crowd roared again. She glanced up in time to see a ball fly over the fence.

  “Heather? What aren’t you telling me?” Zach persisted, taking a step closer.

  “Nothing.” She swallowed hard, unwilling to let him get too close for myriad reasons. “I was just going through recent conversations with her to try to remember anything significant.” She narrowed her gaze. “I’m not as fast with my data analysis as your computer programs.”

  “And? Anything come to mind?”

  “Her goals shifted over the summer from wanting desperately to buy a new guitar to putting every penny toward a college fund. Which I guess shouldn’t be a surprise for a forward-thinking high school senior, but I was surprised by how much she seemed to want to get out of town.”

  “Most kids feel that way at some point during high school.” Idly, he picked through a box of giveaway items with old peewee-team names and the logo for the Heartache baseball league. A flashlight. A key ring. Some toddler-size T-shirts. “When my father was indicted, I would have given anything to leave Tennessee. Hell, leave the whole country. Because that’s about how far I’d have to go to get out from under his shadow.”

  A chant for the pitcher began. No doubt the game neared the final outs.

  “I never would have guessed back in school.” She remembered well the image she’d always had of Zach in her mind “You seemed completely untouchable. Like nothing about the scandal could taint all the good works you did. All the ways the teachers liked you.”

  When she realized he was staring at her curiously, her face heated. Had she just revealed paying way too much attention to him? Not that it mattered. High school was a long time ago. Still...

  “I did all the good works because I couldn’t stand being around my father. And once he was in jail, I resented being around my mom since she stuck up for him like he’d been wrongly accused or something. So, yeah, I practically lived at the senior center, but it wasn’t because I was such an altruistic guy. It was just that life at home sucked.”

  The rawness of that admission hinted at a hurt that had never healed.

  She nodded. “A lot of teenage kids choose much less healthy outlets during tough times,” she offered quietly, sensing she should tread with caution. Her own niece had battled a problem with cutting herself last year, an issue that had terrified their whole family until the girl started seeing a therapist and got herself under control.

  Leaning over the candy counter, Heather reached for the handle to pull down the metal door that would lock up the concession stand for the night. The slide and clang of the metal ended with a soft thud as it fell into place, sealing them in total privacy.

  An intensified quiet.

  “You’re right about that.” Zach’s eyes revealed nothing, yet she sensed he spoke from experience. “It’s a good thing Megan has her music. I want to make sure we don’t miss the signs if she’s struggling with issues she’s not telling anyone about. I’m going to talk to her father.”

  Zach stepped closer now that they didn’t need to hide from any concession stand patrons. Heather heard fans’ excited chatter as they filed out of the bleachers and headed to their cars. Engines revved. A few tires squealed. The raucous bunch seemed hyped up on the fun of a good game.

  She tried to keep one ear on the sounds outside to prevent herself from focusing too much on Zach. His eyes on her warmed her from the inside out. Her own gaze flitted lower, noticing the shape of his mouth that she’d once kissed with total abandon...

  “Don’t do that,” she blurted, forcing her attention back to the conversation. Away from kissing a guy who had only approached her in the first place to convince her to take over his job.

  “Don’t do what?” His hand lowered.

  Had he been reaching toward her?

  She was mixed up inside, and it was because of him. She didn’t understand what he wanted, didn’t know why he’d sought her out again. Had it really just been about seizing her father’s old computers?

  “Don’t...” She struggled to hold a thought. “Don’t talk to
Meg’s father. At least not yet.”

  “What if she’s in danger?” The concern in his voice was obvious, making Heather wonder if part of his protective streak was rooted in his role as a big brother.

  He’d been a stable force in his sister’s life, anchoring her during tumultuous teen years.

  “Her father’s one of the most overprotective parents I’ve ever met.” Heather frowned. “He must have spent forty-five minutes on the phone with me once to discuss the blisters on Megan’s fingers from playing.” She tipped up her own hands to show him the calluses. “But everyone gets them. You can’t play without them.”

  He brushed a thumb along the tips of her fingers, testing the calluses and causing a shiver to trip through her.

  Heather swallowed. “A year ago, she wanted to play soccer in the rec league with some friends, and her dad wouldn’t sign off on the permission form after reading the concussion stats.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweater, unwilling to get caught in the spell of Zach Chance again.

  “Concussions and sports is a combination that makes plenty of parents nervous,” he reminded her.

  “This was after he let her come to the first practice with headgear. The kind a professional wrestler wears.” She outlined the shape of it with her hands, including the extra padding around the forehead. “She was mortified. She didn’t think anyone would see her when he dropped her off and she could ditch it afterward, but he stayed to watch for the first ten minutes.”

  “Really?”

  “It was a community team, so it wasn’t all high school kids, thank goodness. There were some good-natured guys from the sheriff’s department who tried to help her have fun with it, but I could tell she was...”

  “Miserable.” Zach seemed to understand at last.

  “Right.” Heather hated to be the kind of person who pointed fingers at a good parent, especially one who obviously loved his kid as much as Mr. Bryer seemed to. But there was such a thing as overdoing it. “Why don’t you let me talk to Megan first? See if I can get anything more out of her. I’ll ask some more pointed questions about the research she’s been doing and why the sudden interest in cyberbullying.”