by Beth Ciotta
“Cornish hens.”
“For the Cornish hens.… Mmm. Yes. I know. Well, she did study culinary arts.… Sure thing, sweet pea. See you then.” She snapped shut her phone and looked at Chloe. “Happy now?”
“That your granddaughter thinks I’m some sort of anal herb freak? Delirious.” She keyed the ignition and, after gripping air where the gearshift should have been, maneuvered the shift on the steering column and stepped on the gas. “Wish I wouldn’t have traded my flats for heels.”
“If they’re a hindrance, kick ’em off.”
“Drive barefoot? I think that’s against the law.”
“Law, schmaw.”
Chloe pushed on her sunglasses before rolling her eyes. “Where am I headed?” she asked as she pulled out of the garage.
“Same route we took out of town to get to the river. Only when we get to that fork in the road, veer right instead of left.” She donned her own sunglasses, the big black classic Jackie O shades. “I’ve been watching you the past couple of days.”
“Oh?”
“You’re wound tight, kitten.”
“Something I’ve never been accused of.” People typically referred to her as carefree. Reckless even. Depending on who you asked. Although, granted, she hadn’t been the same since Ryan’s betrayal. Maybe even before.
“I’m thinking you need a boyfriend.”
“I had a boyfriend.”
“Was he a rat?”
“A cheating rat.”
“Then you’re better off without him.” She patted Chloe’s arm with her gloved hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a new one.”
“I don’t want a new one.”
“What about Sam?”
“I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but—”
“He has eyes for Rachel.”
“Well, then—”
“And Luke.” Daisy sighed. “Luke has eyes for every woman over eighteen and under forty. I love that boy, but he’s a Casanova. He won’t do at all.”
“I’m really not interested—”
“Of course, Devlin—”
“No!” Chloe’s body burned with the memory of his four-alarm kiss. “I mean, no, thank you. I’m really not interested in dating right now.”
“Still pining for the rat?”
“No. Yes. I mean … It’s only been a week. I’m just … confused.”
“And frustrated.”
She squeezed the steering wheel, imagining Ryan’s neck. He’d landed her here. In this … moody funk. In this freaking antique car with the ill-placed gearshift and impossibly stiff brake pedal. She sweated bullets every time she had to slow or stop. “Definitely frustrated.”
“What about a sex toy?”
Chloe nearly clipped a mailbox as she turned onto Main Street. “What?”
“I had a vibrator once. Had two speeds. Oh, My and Oh, God. Big Al, I called it. Seemed more subtle than Big Dick.”
“For the love of—”
“If you don’t have one, I know a place—”
“Could we not talk about this?”
Daisy shot her a look over the rims of her big shades. “I thought you said you weren’t a prude.”
“I’m not. But you’re…” Someone’s grandma. “Jackie-freaking-Kennedy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that your way of saying I look antiquated or sophisticated?”
Chloe smiled. “Très Retro Chic.”
“Merci.” Daisy smiled back, then, after easing back in her seat, adjusted her pillbox hat. “I can’t imagine talking about sex toys with Jackie either.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all for a while.” She fumbled with the old-fashioned knob on the radio, trying to dial in a strong station. “Maybe we should crank up some music. Set a tone for our Sunday drive.” She stopped when she got to an easy-listening station. Barry Manilow? Oh, well. At least he was mellow. Mellow music for a mellow drive.
Daisy shook her head. “You’re worse off than I thought.”
Several minutes and five disgustingly sappy songs later, Daisy said, “Pull over.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
Chloe pulled onto the shoulder of the two-lane concrete highway. No potholes. No sharp curves. As far as she could see. Just open road yawning toward beautiful mountains and endless trees—their random colorful foliage bursting with the first hints of fall. She got out and, as agreed, traded places with Daisy, who, after popping a couple of latches, started retracting the convertible’s roof. Chloe lent a hand, following the other woman’s lead, since she had no clue as to how to “pop the top.” “Hope it doesn’t start raining.”
“Or hailing,” Daisy quipped in a tone that made Chloe feel like an uptight worrywart.
A few minutes later the roof was folded away and secured. Daisy kicked off her heels and threw them in the backseat. Sliding behind the wheel, she adjusted the pillow beneath her butt, buckled her seat belt, and dialed the radio to a rock station. She cranked the volume and yelled, “Fasten your seat belt!”
Oh no. Oh, God.
Daisy floored the Cadillac and Chloe held her breath. Please don’t let me die. No potholes. No hairpin turns. But the passing landscape blurred. Her loose hair whipped fast and furious about her face as they raced along the open highway. Buckled in, she couldn’t lean far enough over to see the speedometer, but they had to be going … seventy? With the top down.
“Feel the wind, the sun, the surge of adrenaline!” Daisy yelled.
She felt it. How could she not? Senses reeling, Chloe glanced over at the silver-haired hellion behind the wheel. “How in the world is your hat still on your head?”
“Hairpins!”
Naturally.
Chloe busted out laughing. She threw her head back and reveled in the perfect fall day and the rush of adrenaline.
“Just like Thelma and Louise!” Daisy shouted as she deftly steered the Caddy around a wide curve.
Chloe’s heart pounded. “Except for the driving off the cliff part, right?”
“Pa-leeze. I’ve got a lot of living to do!”
Something clicked inside Chloe’s heart and mind. Something that had once burned bright but had been snuffed and contained for several months.
The desire to live in the moment.
Inspired by Daisy and a burst of spontaneity, Chloe toed off her heels and unbuckled her seat belt. Pulse racing, she maneuvered herself to her knees and gripped the edges of the windshield with all her might, her face taking the full force of the wind. Fear and excitement pulsed through her veins, making her giddy. She felt like Rose in Titanic, dangerously perched at the tip of the ship, soaring, only without stretching her arms wide. The rock music blared and her injured heart sang. She closed her eyes and screamed, “Woo-hooooooo!”
Almost in tandem with the woot-woot of a police siren.
ELEVEN
Devlin had spent the past two days meeting with the store’s employees who planned to jump ship. He’d asked point-blank what it would take to keep them on board; then he’d listed those needs in a succinct report to his dad. Presently, they weren’t in a position to match the perks of a chain supercenter, but they could be. If the old man gave up his old ways, which entailed taking some financial leaps.
While waiting yet again to hear back on yet another report, Devlin tempered his frustrations by studying materials he’d checked out of the library the day before. Luke had been dead-on about the wealth of historical material stored in the archives, and Monica had pointed out the few books available for circulation.
Devlin had found the local research fascinating, taking special interest in the Monroes’ contribution to the town’s growth. His dad had always preached about the family’s role in developing Sugar Creek, but it had always come across as arrogant and exaggerated. The Burkes had also played a central role. The two families had been at odds for decades, and now Randall Burke, Devlin’s dad’s contemporary and longtime foe, was the town mayor. Devlin suspected the electio
n had nudged his dad into relocating to Florida for the better part of the year. It was that or suffer a heart attack. He got that worked up about Randall and his sudden seat of power.
Devlin on the other hand had always practiced discretion where Randall was concerned. Considering Devlin’s multiple business interests and his plans to expand J.T.’s, it wasn’t wise to alienate someone who could stonewall his efforts. Even before he’d been elected mayor, Randall, a former practicing attorney and member of the town council, had been a powerful force in Sugar Creek. So, unlike his dad, Devlin had taken a diplomatic approach whenever dealing with the man. Given Devlin’s new plans for the store and the fact that he’d have to get approval from the town council, he was glad to be on decent terms with the mayor. The less hassle the better, especially since Devlin still had to win over his dad.
Devlin had been consulting old photos and revising the floor plans when he’d gotten the call from Sheriff Stone. Gram and her, companion, Chloe Madison, had been hauled in for various traffic violations and, most troubling, assault.
What the hell?
Devlin blamed Chloe. Even though Gram was the one facing charges, Chloe was the one with the criminal history. Fuming, he dropped everything and raced over to the police station, an innocuous building flanked by the vintage firehouse and library. As he pushed though the station’s front doors he wasn’t sure what fueled his anger more: that Gram was in jail or that she’d assaulted a law officer. After five minutes with Stone, a man Devlin knew on friendly terms but didn’t consider a friend, he was still undecided.
“I realize Daisy’s getting up there in years, Dev, and I’m willing to overlook her eccentric behavior and a minor infraction here and there, but I can’t tolerate her striking an officer of the law.”
“Nor should you.” Devlin sat in the sheriff’s office, trying to make sense of his grandma’s latest debacle. He couldn’t. She wasn’t a violent person. Not even on her most irrational days. “She must have had a reason—”
“Thought she had a reason,” Stone interrupted. “That’s why I contacted you instead of granting Daisy’s demand to phone her attorney. I don’t want this to mushroom. I want it to go away.”
Devlin felt as though he was missing something. “Want what to go away?”
“Daisy’s misassumption that Deputy Burke got fresh with Miss Madison when in fact he was just doing his job.” He held up a hand, warding off questions. “Since I’m not acquainted with Miss Madison or her character, I’m not sure if she’s a prig who overreacted to a routine frisk or a player who decided to manipulate the situation to weasel herself out of trouble. One thing I do know: Billy Burke is a decent married man, an upstanding citizen, and a respected law official.”
He was also the number two son of the town mayor. Of all the police officers for Gram to bean with her purse. The son of the freaking mayor. The son of her son’s rival. Devlin knew Billy, and he knew Stone. Billy had a roving eye. Stone had his nose up the mayor’s ass. As for Chloe, she’d studied acting. She’d dodged a criminal record. Devlin still didn’t know the details, but a few scenarios played out in his mind. None of them good.
“Why was it necessary for Deputy Burke to frisk Miss Madison?”
“He had reason to believe she was intoxicated. When she got belligerent he took precautions. If anyone was out of line it was your grandma and Miss Madison. Speeding, seat belt violation, reckless endangerment, assault—”
“Were charges filed?” Devlin asked. “Do I need to post bail?”
“So far everything’s off-the-record. Can we keep it that way?”
Meaning could he count on Devlin to silence Gram’s so-called false accusation? “I’ll make things right.”
“Then the ladies are free to go.”
“I appreciate your flexibility and consideration.” Devlin stood, initiating the end of the discussion. The longer he sat here, the more he wanted Daisy and Chloe out of here. He wanted the women’s take on what had happened, but in private. His objective was to avoid pressing Stone’s buttons and risking a legal hassle for Gram. Accusing someone of sexual misconduct was a serious matter. Accusing a Burke complicated matters to the extreme. One thing Devlin knew for certain: If Billy had stepped over the line, Stone would cover his tracks. In which case Devlin would be forced to handle the offense privately. Off-the-record—mano a mano. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d knocked heads with Billy over a woman.
When Gram and Chloe were released into Devlin’s care, he greeted them with a disappointed glare. “Later.” Just as he’d hoped, he shamed them speechless, although on the way out Gram did shoot Stone a furious look.
Deputy Burke was conspicuously absent.
Seeing the women decked out in dresses and heels, Devlin had a hard time imagining them speeding along the highway on a reckless joyride. Although Chloe’s windblown hair proved they’d been driving with the top down.
His balls tightened as his mind took a prurient turn. Tousled and flushed, she looked like she’d just had sex. As if conscious of his thoughts, she twisted the long tangles into a loose bun. It didn’t help. She still looked sexy as hell. Maybe it was the dress. Just tight enough to hint at her compact curves. Just short enough to accentuate her toned legs. Or maybe it was stiletto heels. Just an inch shy of Fuck-Me Pumps. He could easily imagine Billy having sinful thoughts. Hell, he was rolling in them. But if the deputy had touched her inappropriately, he’d kick the man’s ass. Abusing his position to take advantage of any woman was reprehensible.
“What about my car?” Gram groused as Devlin ushered the women into his Escalade.
“I’ll send Luke for it.” He handed Gram up into the front passenger seat, then moved to help Chloe. The minute he grasped her arm, he relived their brief but torrid kiss in vivid detail. The feel of her lips, her tongue, her hands. Her taste. Her scent.
Christ.
He’d purposely avoided Chloe all weekend, furious with himself for losing control. Some warped part of him had thought if he kissed her, if he unleashed the lust he’d stored up since crashing into her at Oslow’s, he’d get her out of his system. Right. Instead of slapping him, she’d responded with equal passion. Instead of falling flat or satisfying his hunger, the red-hot union had only stoked his desire.
Given their abrupt parting that night, he expected Chloe to shrug off his touch as he helped her into the backseat. She didn’t. But she didn’t make eye contact either. He could hear her wheels turning but couldn’t guess her thoughts. It made him insane.
Evasive or embarrassed? Instigator or victim?
Once behind the wheel, he took back control of his renegade lust. “I have some questions.”
“You’re actually interested in our version?” Chloe asked from behind.
He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or if she was genuinely shocked. Either way, her reaction chafed. “I’m interested in the truth.”
“Sheriff Stone’s a brownnosing skunk,” Gram said. “As for Billy Burke—”
“What do you want to know?” Chloe asked.
Devlin pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Daisy’s house. He told himself to keep an open mind. To focus on the road and not the appealing reflection of Chloe in his rearview mirror. “Did you let Gram drive?”
“I did.”
“I tricked her into it,” Gram said.
“I’m not that gullible,” she said. “Next question?”
“Were you speeding, Gram?”
“Heck if I know.”
“Probably,” Chloe said.
He glanced over his shoulder. “‘Did you unfasten your seat belt and—”
“I did. I know it was dangerous, but it just happened. A spontaneous act of…”
“Derring-do,” Gram said. “That’s what Errol Flynn would call it.”
“What’s Errol Flynn got to do with this?” Devlin asked.
“He had a sense of adventure. Like Chloe and me.” She adjusted her pink hat and sniffed. “You only live
once.”
“I wish I could say I’m sorry,” Chloe said, “but I’m not.”
He let that one go and cut to the chase. “Was Deputy Burke out of line?”
Gram slapped a gloved hand to her thigh. “He accused Chloe of being under the influence! Why else would she pull such a crazy stunt, he said. He made her walk a straight line. Which she did. Twice! He just wanted to stare at her butt.”
“Daisy.”
“You know I’m right, kitten. Then when she had the gumption to refuse to jump through more hoops, Billy accused her of being contrary and ordered her to place both hands on the hood of the car. Said he didn’t know her, didn’t trust her, and that he’d have to frisk her. It was just an excuse to feel her up!”
“For the love of—” Chloe sighed. “It wasn’t that obscene.”
Devlin clenched his jaw. “Was his touch inappropriate?”
“I’ve never been frisked, but I don’t think his hands were supposed to brush up my thighs, under my skirt. I cursed and jerked away.”
“That’s when I belted him with my handbag,” Gram said, looking enormously proud.
Devlin glanced in the rearview mirror and locked gazes with the woman who’d either suffered injustice or feigned it. Asking her out-and-out if she’d manipulated the situation would only earn him a slap from Gram. God knew how Chloe would respond. Instead, he gave her the benefit of the doubt. “Could you have misjudged Burke’s intention?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m asking if it’s possible that you were rattled because you’d been pulled over and accused of being intoxicated. I’m asking if, under pressure, it’s possible you overreacted to the frisk?”
“Stop badgering her,” Gram said.
“Wanna go head-to-head with the Burkes?” he asked. “With the law? Better be damn clear on the facts.”
“It’s a fair question,” Chloe said, red faced. She looked out the window, then after a tense minute sighed. “I don’t think I misjudged, but … I can’t be sure. Between the thrill of the ride and the shock of being busted, I was unnerved.”