Austin pulled the key from his pocket and showed it to her.
“Yep,” she said, “that’s the honeymoon suite. I don’t see a Marie registered in that room. What’s your name?”
“Austin Royce. But I didn’t register. We kind of,” he cleared his throat, “ran into each other.”
She looked at him guardedly. “Ah, I see. Well, my son must’ve mixed up the registration cards. He was the one who checked her in.” She picked up the phone. “I hope you’re not offended, but I think I’ll call up to the room and just double-check.”
Lady, please hurry! “Of course. Can’t have strangers running around.”
The woman held the phone to her ear. “Good evening, ma’am. This is Mrs. Kelly from the lobby. There seems to be a mix-up with the registration cards, and I just wanted to verify your name so I can straighten it out in our system.” The woman listened. “Oh, that’s odd. I have a gentleman down here saying your name is Marie.”
What is going on?
Mrs. Kelly nodded. “Makes perfect sense. I’ll send him right up.” She hung up the phone. “Miss Branton goes by her middle name, not Harper, which is why the card didn’t match.”
Austin blinked. Had he just heard that correctly? “Harper? Harper Branton?”
The woman nodded. “Yes. Why? Is something wrong?”
What the hell? Harper Branton? Harper Branton? I knew it. I knew she looked familiar. But the Harper he remembered had no front teeth, dirt on her face, frogs in her pockets, and was as flat as a board. This was not…that. She looked nothing like he remembered.
Holy hell. But why hadn’t she told him? In that moment, Austin’s blood began to boil. She lied to me. She’s been lying to me all night.
“Uh, no, nothing’s wrong.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I forgot something in my car. I’ll be right back.”
He left, resisting the urge to go back up to that room and give that lying, deceitful woman a piece of his mind, but…
Harper Branton. How can that be her?
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Harper rolled over onto her stomach and glanced at her phone. Saturday. Oh, thank goodness. Because she was absolutely certain that space aliens had been prodding her brain last night. She pressed her hands to her temples and groaned into the pillow. What in God’s name had happened?
She rolled onto her back again and stared at the ceiling, trying to piece it all together. First, there’d been her run-in with Austin (oh, the horror), and he’d insisted on them eating together. Second, lots of wine and hours of invigorating conversation (not horrible at all). Third, they’d made out on the sidewalk (move that needle over to slurp-slurp. Where have you been all my life?). Fourth, they’d made out in her room and were about to have what promised to be the best sex of her life. Then he left, I got sick, and he never came back.
She rolled her head back and forth. “What was I thinking, anyway?” She wasn’t the type to hop into bed with a guy just because he was hotter than hell during a heat wave. There were serious, incurable cooties out in the world, not to mention a girl’s reputation. Harper believed in casual sex in moderation in a safe and non-whorey kind of way.
Thank God he’d had the sense to walk away.
Wait. Why did he walk away? Why did he change his mind about wanting me? He wasn’t the kind of guy to get cold feet. Or, at least, he didn’t seem that way. And he certainly hadn’t been faking their connection. In fact, she was certain that last night’s act of “pinot-graphy” was partially brought on by their excitement over it. Talking to Austin felt so easy and wonderful, like being home again.
Only your home is a really kinky place that makes you want to do naughty, adult-type things, like using his hard man-branch to create a human chocolate fondue fork.
Harp…you can’t pierce strawberries with that and then dip it into melted chocolate. He would not enjoy that.
Or would he? Because she sure as hell would, and strangely, they still had everything in common, just like when they were kids. (No, no. There were no chocolate fondue fantasies at that time. That said…) They were like two halves of the same orange. He’d even maintained that stubborn, arrogant, “I’m the center of the universe” attitude that used to drive her nuts when she was nine. And just like she remembered, his smile was a silver bullet for her anger. One little flash, and her anger was wriggling on the floor, gasping for air. It was amazing how he’d changed so much—more on the outside than anything—but at the very same time, he hadn’t changed at all. He was still Austin—funny, confident, and fearless.
Just then a dark thought did its business right on her head. Crap! If they were so much alike, then that meant he’d also gone into last night scheming to get the story. Perhaps even drink you under the table?
The truth hit her hard. Oh no. I’m such an idiot! I can’t believe I fell for my own trick.
Harper hopped out of bed and went for a quick shower, mentally mumbling poisonous thoughts at herself: Well, good job, Harp! Now you know why he never came back. He got you trashed, left, and is over at the café right now getting his goddamned story!
She quickly towel-dried her hair and threw on a little headband to keep the short strands from getting into her eyes. She slipped into a purple tank, jeans, and sandals and then headed off to the café, ready to unleash a storm of ego-bruisers.
I’ll tell him that I was just doing my job last night, that I’m not into him at all! He just happened to beat me at my own game. Harper marched down the sidewalk, realizing how irrationally she was behaving. She stopped and blew out a long breath, shaking her head at herself. You’re twenty-eight years old, Harp. What’s gotten into you?
All right, truth be told, she was angry because, despite the wine, she’d really felt a connection last night, which is why his decision to not return sort of stung a bit. But you can’t let that get in the way. What really matters is your job. It’s what you love, what you do. And you’re not going to let Austin take that away.
Harper laughed at herself, lifted her chin, and headed for the café. When she passed under the floral arch and entered the patio, she immediately spotted Austin sitting at one of the tables, sipping a cappuccino and laughing with Ms. Luci.
Harper’s fists curled into tight little balls. She’d been right. Austin had been playing her last night, trying to get her to drink as much as possible so she’d sleep in. Perhaps, if not for the lack of prophylactics, he might’ve even slept with her just to ensure she’d be dead to the world in the morning.
SOB! He’d do anything to win.
She forced a smile onto her lips and approached the table. “Well, good morning.”
Austin looked up, and his happy expression turned into a cold-killer glare.
Ms. Luci immediately took note of the bitter tension. “Good morning, Marie. Nice to see you again.”
“According to the owner of the Muddy Duck, her name is Harper. Harper Branton.” Austin’s eyes drilled into Harper with sheer disdain as he spoke her name.
Harper felt the cement beneath her feet melt away. Oh, God. He knows I lied to him. With the hangover and everything else this morning, she had kind of forgotten about that little quagmire. Suddenly, she felt like the one who had some explaining to do.
I’m such a horrible person.
“Well, Harper.” Ms. Luci stood and smoothed down her white apron over the front of her yellow dress. “I think I’ll go inside and let you two talk.”
Harper flashed an awkward little smile and waited until Ms. Luci disappeared inside the café. “Austin, before you say anything, let me explain.”
Austin stared up at her with blatant irritation and then gestured for her to sit.
That’s a good sign; maybe he’s not so mad after all. She took the seat across from him, and he leaned back, crossing his thick arms. Today he wore those same faded jeans and a navy blue T-shirt that hugged his well-formed male model pecs and burly upper arms. He still hadn’t shaved, which made him look even ta
stier than the day before. It really wasn’t fair to walk around in broad daylight looking like that. Didn’t he know that women had work to do, cars to drive without crashing, and words to speak without drooling in between syllables?
Harper shifted her gaze to her hands in order to focus and carefully choose her words. If she told him the honest-to-God truth—that her lie was a silly knee-jerk reaction—he’d think she was an idiot. Hell, she thought she was an idiot for lying. But nobody is perfect. I’m not too proud to admit my weaknesses and faults.
“I, uh…” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I am sorry about lying to you, Austin. I just didn’t—”
“What?” he said calmly, but clearly annoyed. “Were too afraid to face me for what you did?”
Harper blinked. “I’m sorry, but did you just say that I did something? To you?”
He scratched his scruffy jaw and leaned in, harpooning her with his stunning gaze. “Not that I care about something that happened almost twenty years ago, but don’t pretend like you don’t remember.”
“Seriously, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
He shook his head. “Still a coward, I see.”
“Coward?” Her back straightened. “What exactly do you think I did?”
“Doesn’t matter. In fact, it’s long forgotten. Lying to me about your name, however, is not.”
Harper released a frustrated breath. “Austin, I’m not proud of my lie, but what you did was lower than a turkey’s tail feathers.”
He lifted a cocky brow. “What did I do?”
She tipped her head to one side. “Oh, come on.”
“No, really. Do tell.” Austin glanced at two young women in short skirts who passed by giggling and heading inside the café.
See. He’s a womanizer.
She leaned in. “You got me drunk so you could beat me here this morning. In fact, Mr. Oh-I’m-So-Perfect-And-You-Are-Not, I think you were willing to go all the way to make sure I didn’t get up early today.”
He laughed. “You really think I’d do that?”
She shrugged. “If the turkey tail feathers fit.”
He stood, towering over the table. “I’m not that kind of guy, Harper.” He said her name as if it was a poisonous plant to be avoided at all costs.
She stood, too. “You’re saying that last night wasn’t a sleazy little scheme. It was all you?”
Just then, a husky-looking policeman with cropped black hair walked by and gave them a harsh look before disappearing inside the café.
Harper wondered what the hell an officer of the law was doing going to a place like that. Was he looking for love?
Furious as hell, Austin leaned over the table and tightly gripped the edges. “I don’t fuck women who lie. Not even if I’m attracted to them.”
Fuck? Fuck! Was that what she would have been?
“It wasn’t a lie,” she growled, “it was a slight misrepresentation. Marie happens to be my middle name. And I didn’t tell you who I really was because I didn’t want you trying to leverage our past relationship to get what you want.” At least, I think that was the reason.
“How in the world would knowing you get me anything but a headache?”
Hmph! “That headache is your own damned fault, Mr. Wine-em-and-ditch-em.”
“I did not wine you and ditch you!” he protested, his face turning an angry shade of red.
“Then explain why you got me drunk last night and were magically here when I arrived, Mr. Bride Molester of the Stars!”
His face turned into a solidified mass of contempt. “Stop saying ‘Mr.,’ followed by an insulting name. It’s juvenile.”
“I’m perfectly aware of the lack of creativity and sophistication in my insults, but I attribute that to the fact that I haven’t fought with anyone since the third grade. Not my style.”
“Not even with your sister or brothers?”
Harper shook her head. “Nope. They were too afraid of me, and I advise you to be the same, considering your little trick last night. Asshole.” How was that for a name?
“I slept in my car last night,” he growled, “which is parked right around the corner where I left it yesterday. Ms. Luci found me and invited me in for a cup of coffee.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose that cup of coffee included another request for an interview?” she asked.
He threw out his hands. “Of course it did. I’d be a bad reporter if I didn’t at least try.”
Good point. However…“Yes, you seem to be really good at trying. Trying to get into my pants, trying to kill my career—are you really so insecure about your reporter skills that this is how you choose to win?” Harper actually felt a tiny bit of sorrow climb up her throat, but she swallowed it back. “I wasn’t honest about who I was, but I would never pretend to want you. It’s inhumane.”
Austin’s shoulders dropped an inch. “You’re saying that you really wanted me last night?”
Now he was taking the knife and twisting it, wasn’t he?
Harper threw her arms out to the side. “Of course I di—” Her hand collided with a hot object.
In slow-motion horror—seemed to be her fave—she swiveled her head toward said object. Oh. No!
The policeman’s cup of coffee, which he held mid-abs, launched like a tiny brown tidal wave toward his chest. He turned his face to escape the scalding, caffeinated splash emanating from his open paper cup, but could not escape the assault on his khaki-uniformed chest.
“Shit almighty,” was about all Harper could manage to say before being shoved down onto the cement and handcuffed.
~~
Austin was on the brink of committing a felony assault on an officer as he watched the sheriff—aka Harper’s coffee victim—peel a very irate Harper off the ground.
“Officer, it was just an accident,” Austin said. “You can’t arrest her.”
The sheriff glanced at Austin, fuming. “Are you trying to obstruct justice? Because I’ve got plenty of room in my jail.”
“Uhhh.” Austin snapped his mouth shut, and the sheriff turned away, dragging Harper off with him.
Austin followed, trying to speak to the officer, but the man—a very surly-looking gentleman in his forties—was livid. And he had a gun, mace, and a Taser. If one thing Austin had learned as a reporter, it was when to back the hell down and when to step the hell up.
At that moment, backing the hell down was in order.
“What is happening?” asked Ms. Luci with her sweet little accent, peering out from behind Austin while a crowd gathered to gawk at a red-faced Harper in the back of a cruiser.
“Harper hit a policeman—well, she hit his coffee,” Austin said, never taking his eyes off Harper. In fact, seeing her handcuffed provoked some weird, caveman like urge to jump on the policeman and save her. He’d felt just as protective when they were kids.
Ms. Luci chuckled. “Well, my Alberto loves his coffee. I’m sure he’ll just give her a lecture and let her go once he cools off.”
“Your Alberto?” Austin asked.
Ms. Luci bobbed her head. “He’s my hothead of a son.” She patted Austin’s arm. “Not to worry. She’ll be fine. He once arrested the UPS man for making a late delivery; his new TV was inside. He loves his TV, too.”
The squad car pulled away, and Austin just stood there, hoping that Harper would look at him—he needed to know she was all right—but she didn’t.
“You, on the other hand…” Luci shook her head. “I have a feeling that woman is going to make your life hell when she gets out.”
She was right. Harper was not going to be happy. Not that any of this was his fault, but she was an irrational woman. Sexy as hell, but completely irrational.
“I think she is going to hurt me,” Austin agreed.
“Perhaps it’s time to go home, then,” Ms. Luci said sweetly. “Well, back to work.”
Ms. Luci had one of those “everything works out as it should” sorts of attitudes that he wished he coul
d have.
“Are you absolutely sure he’s going to let her go?” He didn’t want to leave if Harper was going to need help, but if she really would get released, then there was no reason to stay.
Was there?
“Yes, I’ll see to it.” She turned and headed back under the floral arch toward her café, but then stopped. “Austin, honey, did you eat that cookie yesterday?”
Funny. How did she know he’d bought a cookie? There had been a young woman at the register and no one else. He remembered because he’d asked for the owner and was told that Ms. Luci had gone out to run an errand. Then, on the way out, he’d looked at all of the pictures on the wall, including a few framed articles from the local newspaper. One of them was about forty-five years old, with a tiny photo of Miss Luci Leon. The headline was The American Dream Alive and Well in St. Helena. The article mentioned that she had been an unmarried, twenty-five-year-old immigrant from Mexico who’d come to the United States with her parents, who’d both passed away since. To support herself, she’d run a small coffee shop and bakery that her mother had started before her death. That’s how Austin had figured out her age and full name. There were no public records on file regarding the café, which was very, very peculiar in this day and age. However, he had managed to dig up a marriage certificate for a Mr. Jeffrey Parker and Miss Luci Leon from the year the café was remodeled. A death certificate and obituary for the same man, referencing his three children and devoted wife, was on file five years later.
Tragic.
In all honesty, Austin took for granted growing up as a single child with two healthy parents who loved each other. He couldn’t imagine raising three children all alone. Or being a widowed, Hispanic woman in the 1960s, living in what was once a sleepy little town comprised of relatively unknown wineries. Of course, that was then and this was now. Now, people came from all over the world to explore the breathtaking views, sample the exquisite wines from the world-famous wineries—some edgy and boutique, some as old as the Mexican-American war—and enjoy a bit of tranquility. No doubt, the world was now a different place compared to back when Ms. Luci was enduring the worst of times, which indicated she was a hardy creature, probably stubborn as a mule and set in her ways.
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