Henny peers up at me, eyes narrowing a bit. “Another night.” Her teeth clench again as she speaks. “I should really get going. We’ve been gone too long.” Turning for her cart, she puts her hands on the child’s shoulders and guides him between the cart and her body. Pressing him forward, she awkwardly steers him down the aisle tucked protectively in front of her body. He tries to take one last look around her hip, but Henny’s hand cups his face, forcing his eyes forward.
“Well, this was certainly—”
I hold up a hand to stop Scotia. “You need to trust me, darlin’.” Without losing sight of Henny, I follow her retreat, keeping a short distance between us. Only, the tap-tap of heels follows me.
“I think we need to talk,” Scotia says, keeping her voice low but loud enough that I hear her irritation. “Now.”
“Scotia,” I grit, trying to keep calm and my attention on Henny as I pick up the pace, hoping not to appear obvious. “Trust me.”
“If you want that brassy-haired hussy, I’m not going to stop you,” she says, chasing after me, her heels continuing to make a racket as she struggles with my longer stride. “But I can’t keep sleeping with you if you’re sleeping with someone else.”
Her voice rises enough that both the checkout counter clerk and Henny turn in our direction. I can’t have this kind of conversation with Scotia in the Piggly Wiggly, let alone when I’m in pursuit of a woman I don’t want to believe may have committed a crime, when everything inside me tells me she did.
Turning on Scotia, I pin her against to the shelves with my big body, lifting my arm above her head and covering her mouth with my hand.
“Would you shush?” I hiss. “You need to trust me, darlin’. Please.”
With widened eyes and raised brows, Scotia mutters something under my palm. We stare at one another for a long minute until I hear the swoosh of the store door open. Slowly, I release my hand.
“Don’t speak,” I snap, and for the first time probably ever, Scotia obeys.
Chapter 27
Cleanup in Aisle Five
[Scotia]
He did not just shush me!
That was my first thought, but the urgency in his plea warranted no argument from me. However, he almost pulls my arm out of the socket when he grabs my hand and drags me forward. I’m stumbling in my heels, click-clacking behind him, making a racket on the tile floor. As we near the end of the aisle, I see Henny has left the building, and Sarah Stokes, the nighttime cashier, stares at me. Her face is a mixture of concern and question.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I blurt, without thinking of any other explanation for a man tugging me out of the Piggly Wiggly. Chet snorts as we round the checkout station.
“You Winters Sisters have all the luck in here,” she mutters loud enough I hear her. I have no idea what she means. “Where’d you find him?” she questions as we pass the counter and near the front door. I twist in Chet’s hold, walking backward only a foot before I answer.
“In the meat department.”
Sara just shakes her head before turning her attention toward the back of the store.
“My car is over there,” I say to Chet, who still hasn’t spoken, but he ignores me, pulling us quickly to his truck. He opens the passenger door, grabs my hips, and lifts me into the seat.
“Well,” I huff with his haste.
“Buckle up,” he warns as he slams the door in my face. I do as he asks while he jogs around the front of the truck and hops in. He presses the ignition and jolts us into reverse.
“You have some explaining to do, mister,” I growl at him as his attention focuses on the taillights of a sporty car exiting the parking lot.
Chet speeds up and presses the wireless headset service on the truck.
“Officer Boone,” the deep tenor of a masculine voice fills the cab.
“Boone, Chet here. I’m in pursuit of that possible lead I told you about in Malik’s case. I just saw her at the Piggly Wiggly with a little boy, claiming he was her son. I already explained to you how he can’t be, though.”
My head swivels, and I stare at him as his focus remains out the front window.
“Chet, you’re not an officer of the law, and this isn’t the Dukes of Hazard. We can’t have you frightening a suspect by chasing her.”
What the heck?
“I’m heading east out of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. I didn’t think it would be sensible to grab the kid, but it’s definitely not her child.”
Not her child. The words echo in my head.
“It’s not sensible to be following her either,” the rough male voice iterates. “We haven’t gotten a location on her yet,”
“That’s why I’m following her.” Chet’s voice is full of frustration, and I’m slow to realize what we are doing. We—collectively—are chasing after Hennessy Miller. Does this mean . . . he believes me? Is he suspicious of that woman?
“I’m not letting her go,” Chet says into the phone as he returns his eyes to the road. “She’s turning onto Green Valley Road.”
“Don’t do this, Chet. I’m sending someone now.”
“I’ll keep you posted.” Chet ends the call before Boone can respond.
“Does this mean you believe me?” I finally get to ask my question.
“Her husband died. She had two children. Two boys.” His expression falls from edgy concentration to sympathy. “They both died with their dad in a car accident.”
“Oh, Chet.” My hand covers my mouth as I turn back to the road ahead as though I’ll see said accident before me. I don’t like the woman, but I don’t wish her enough ill-will that she’d lose her family in such a horrific manner.
“So the boy with her—” Chet begins.
“Isn’t hers,” I finish for him.
“But she told me he was her son, and she was just explaining to me how her other son was at the cabin she rented.” He pauses, allowing me to make my own conclusions, which clearly caused trouble a few minutes ago in the grocery store.
“And I interrupted your plan,” I quietly state. I misread the situation. Think before you react, Gideon once said to me. “Do you think she was going to tell you the truth?”
Chet’s face hardens, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel. “I don’t think the truth exists for Henny. I think she intended to keep up the ruse, but I intended to find out why she lied to me.”
My heart breaks a little for this man who can’t see the woman he once loved still is and always will be who she was—conniving, manipulative, a user of others.
Some people change. Some people don’t.
I do not want to be considered like her.
“And you were right. The boy looks exactly like Malik.”
“I know, right?” I say, a bit too enthusiastic over the comparison. Then I consider that Malik and his potential brother might be separated, and somehow, Hennessy has committed a crime against them.
“Go ahead. Gloat. Tell me I told you so,” Chet mocks.
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
Well. “No. No, I do not want to say that. I want us to find her and save that boy. I want him returned to his brother.” Poor Malik. My precious boy.
“Do you think she hurt him?” I whisper as horrible thoughts fill my head. I’m afraid to ask, but also afraid of Chet’s reaction. He doesn’t want to see the potential for malice in this woman although he’s speaking words of doubt and anger.
“Let’s not go there quite yet.” He swallows after he speaks, his mind going to a similar place.
“We cannot lose her, Chet,” I state, staring out the windshield at the taillights ahead of us. Chet is keeping a healthy distance. As the road curves and wraps, there’s a ditch on either side of us. Caution on these switchbacks is a must, which means there’s no place for Henny to escape us and hide.
“I’m not losing her.” The conviction with which he makes the statement turns my stomach a bit. I hope he means
we won’t lose her because she’s a criminal, not that he doesn’t want to lose her because of his heart.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I had a plan,” he says, and I recall our fight earlier in the day. He was handling it. Henny was not my concern.
“She’s turning,” he says, interrupting my thoughts, and we slow as she does. She’s pulling up to a gate, and Chet breezes past the drive. I twist in my seat, turning back to watch if she retreats or enters the community. There’s only one along this road with a series of houses, both privately owned and open for renters.
“She went in,” I say, and Chet hisses beside me. He brakes hard, and I hold my breath, hoping we don’t tumble into the ditches, as he does a skilled three-point turn. When he’s pointed back in the direction of the gate, he drives closer to it before cutting the lights. He keeps the engine running and hits the call button on his wireless phone again.
“Boone,” the officer growls into the phone.
“She pulled into a gated community off Green Valley Road.”
“I know where that is. We’re on it. Chet, stay put.”
“Not going anywhere,” he says.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Boone mutters and disconnects the call.
We sit in silence for a second. I don’t know what to say to him and keep my hands folded in my lap.
“So I’m your boyfriend, huh?” His voice teases while still tense.
“I didn’t know how else to explain a madman dragging me out of the Piggly Wiggly.”
Chet softly chuckles, rubbing his hand over his mouth and down his throat. The scratchy sound of his beard fills the cab while he stares out the windshield, not giving up sight on that gate.
“What were you doing in the Piggly Wiggly anyway?” He’d been at my home this morning and Harper House this afternoon. The man certainly travels around.
He shifts in his seat, dangling his wrist over the steering wheel and turning toward me.
“I was there buying steaks for you. For us.”
My brows pinch as I stare at him in the dark truck.
“I was hoping to come over and surprise you by making dinner. Thought we could talk.”
“You wanted to make me dinner?” My voice lowers. That’s so . . . sweet. “What did you want to talk about?” I swallow after the question as my mind races with all kinds of thoughts. Maybe he doesn’t want to be my boyfriend. I mean, he is a man. Then again, he said he wanted to make me dinner. That’s kind of like a date. So, it can’t be that he doesn’t want to see me again. I’m all over the place.
Chet sighs, and I turn my head, staring back out the front window. Now isn’t the time to talk, I surmise. We’re in hot pursuit of a kidnapper.
“This is not how I wanted to do this,” Chet mutters. “But here it is . . .”
I crane my neck back to him, holding my breath.
“I like you, Scotia. A lot. And I hate fighting with you. I’ve felt sick all day about how things went this morning. I just want one night and one morning that we get through without something coming between us.”
“Nothing’s between us,” I whisper.
“Earlier, you said the sex between us wasn’t good.”
“I did not say that!” I practically shriek. That is a bald-faced lie if there ever was one. “I said I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Here’s the thing, darlin’. You’re too good for me, and I’m racking my brain every day, wondering when you’re going to wise up and leave me. Why are you hanging out with me, having sex with me, chasing me over this mountain and spending nights in my bus with me?”
“Because I like you,” I state, startled by all the questions he has. “You’re good for me.”
“Earlier you said I wasn’t.”
“I was . . . reactive.” I swallow as I think back on what I said and how I didn’t mean it. “I can be like that.” I’m shocked he hasn’t left me considering how often he’s mentioned my shortcomings.
“How am I good for you, then?” he questions as if he’s truly puzzled by my interest.
“You listen to me. You let me speak. You call me out when I’ve been wrong but support me when I’m right.”
Chet stares at me, his mouth slightly agape.
“I’ve never had that,” I say, lowering my voice. “And I think sex with you is out-of-this-world amazing.”
His mouth snaps shut, and he huffs. His thick hand swipes down his face as he turns to glance out the windshield and then quickly looks back at me.
“Do you have any idea how much I want you naked and straddling me right now?”
It’s my turn for my mouth to fall open. “We’re in the midst of pursuing a kidnapper, and you want to have sex with me?” I choke.
“I always want to have sex with you, darlin’.”
“You do?” My voice squeaks.
“Like I said this morning, as long as we come back together after disagreeing, I’m here for you.” He pauses, staring at me. “Get over here, darlin’, and just kiss me for now.”
I unbuckle my seat belt so fast it clangs against the passenger door. I scoot over to where his arm is outstretched, ready to draw me in. My arms circle his neck, and our mouths crash together. His beard scratches my chin, and his mustache tickles, and I savor every second of kissing this man. We aren’t soft. This kiss is hard, full of frustration over fighting and fear over losing one another. It’s hunger for more of this, and more openness, and more time together.
But a siren is heard off in the distance, and blue and red lights flare in the night. I pull back from Chet but not without one long look into those soulful eyes—the same eyes that drew me to him on that first night. He saw me differently, just as I thought he might, and I see him for who he is.
A man with a gigantic heart.
Chapter 28
Pursuing is Hot
[Scotia]
“Hang on,” Chet says. Reaching over me, he hands me the middle seat belt buckle, keeping me next to him in the truck. Even though I’m quickly secure, his arm crosses over my chest as he guns the accelerator, and the truck practically hops on the road. Chet wastes no time following the two sheriff cars that have access to the gate.
“How will we know which one is hers?” I ask, but too soon, the cars before us slow. One pulls into a deeply sloped drive while the other blocks the end of it.
“This is it,” Chet says, putting the truck in park and shutting off the engine. “Stay here.”
He pops open the driver’s door, but I’m unbuckling my seat belt.
“Darlin’, please.” He pauses once he slips free of the driver’s side and turns back to me. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in there, and I don’t want you hurt.”
“I can take care of myself,” I tell him, toughening my voice.
“I know you can, darlin’. But do this for me? I can’t be worrying about you while I’m trying to save the kid.”
“Okay.” I easily acquiesce when he puts it like that. He’ll worry about me, and he needs to save the child. I give him a weak smile, promising to stay still as he leans in for a too-quick kiss and then closes the door. He clicks the locks as though he’ll be keeping me in, and I give him my best smile as he rounds the truck.
Because there’s no way I’m staying put.
I watch him head down the drive and speak to an officer. It looks like an argument, but I can’t hear the men from inside my gilded cage.
“Scotia Simmons will not be contained,” I mutter aloud, waiting out Chet’s actions. He follows an officer, and then I see the front door of the cabin open. It’s hard to make out the structure from here. There are only two lights on—one glowing through the front room, beaming out onto the covered porch, and a single light coming through a window near the back of the home.
I watch as a woman throws herself at Chet and he presses her into the home, holding her at his chest.
“Oh, no. Not on my watch,” I snap, scooting back to the passenger doo
r and fiddling with the lock. Since it’s automatic, it takes me a second to realize he locked me in from the driver’s side, and then I unlatch myself from that side of the truck. As quiet as I can, I close the door.
My shoes crunch on the gravel drive, and I worry about the damage the small pebbles are doing to my heels.
“These are my Jimmy Choo Lavish Pumps,” I grumble to myself, imagining the wear on the soft leather, but I continue to walk the drive. The November night is cold and crisp. The stars fill the sky, and it would be beautiful if my heart wasn’t racing with anxiety.
Where is the boy? I wonder as I walk.
The driveway runs the length of the cabin. I can’t see inside the living room where the windows face forward, but from the dining room window on the side, I see Chet’s head as he sits on a couch, and Henny presses into his side.
Red isn’t the color I see. It’s maroon and purple and black, and I want to scream, but a thumping noise to my side distracts me. I continue the length of the house to the soft glow coming from a back window. It’s a door, leading off a kitchen. Feet from this exit is a shed with its back to the drive.
More thumping ensues, echoing in the silent night.
The noise could be a raccoon, a skunk, or worse, a bear, but my gut tells me otherwise.
I pause, listening for the sound another second. The night falls quiet. The summer insects are long gone and sleeping. An owl hoots off in the distance, and I tip my head back to look up at the sky once more.
“Give me strength,” I say to the moon. If my sister’s goddess exists, I’ll need her guidance as well.
The aggressive rattling begins again.
I stare at the corner of the shed. A decorative path leads around the side, and without thought, I follow the large, flat stones. The door happens to be opposite the drive. It’s dark, spooky, and impossible to ignore the hammering against the wood and the muffled sound coming from within the shed.
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 26