Her Secret Protector

by Roxanne Snopek

  “This is exactly what I was trying to explain earlier,” she added, hoping she sounded more matter-of-factly reasonable than she felt. “You’re a good guy, Ethan. For some bizarre reason, testosterone poisoning most likely, you don’t let people see it.”

  “And you’ve got twenty-twenty vision, where I’m concerned?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I just…”

  Trust you? Do not say that.

  “… am immune to testosterone,” she finished.

  But she did. She trusted him. Then again, she had to, didn’t she? Not only was he installing a security system for her, but she’d given him access to her most sensitive information. Her deepest, darkest secret.

  Awareness quivered deep in her belly. He’d told her she trusted too easily, was oblivious to the dangers around her, and here she was, trusting this man who oozed danger from every pore.

  Or pretended to, at least.

  Wow, Carrie Logan. You think you had image problems before. Imagine if she hooked up with the most disreputable man in town.

  Imagine, indeed.

  But she was being ridiculous. Indulging in momentary, and completely unrealistic fantasies. Which was the whole point of fantasies, as she understood them.

  A shaft of sunshine landed on them as they walked toward the store, as if whatever romance gods she was trying to ignore were determined to send her a signal.

  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

  She hadn’t even heard them sneaking up on her.

  La-la-la-la, she told them. Can’t hear you. It’s a hardware store. This is as prosaic as it comes. No romance here, friends. Nothing to see.

  But romancy feelings were there, no matter how she pushed them away.

  She wanted to slap herself in the face.

  *

  Carrie strode ahead of him into the store, her head held high, her eyes sparkling. She said Hi to the greeter and No thanks to the kid handing out coupons, then pulled a shopping cart free from the stack.

  “It’s busy in here today,” she said over her shoulder. “That’s good. Lots of opportunity.”

  For a moment in the car, when they’d been gazing into each other’s eyes, Ethan had felt a dangerous heat surge between them. He’d seen the delicate flush on her neck, noticed her breasts rising and falling as her breath quickened.

  He was no stranger to seduction. He’d bedded clients before, mutually satisfying, one-time events, after which he disappeared back behind his walls, with no worry of future complications.

  But Carrie was different. Sure she had the proper, buttoned-up look of a career cat lady, but he suspected he could have her in a heartbeat, if he wished. She was transparent as glass. But despite the lush sensuality of the girl with the blue vase that surely still lived somewhere inside her, there was an innocence to Carrie that warned him off. Plus, Cherry Lake was her home. And if he wanted it to remain his, too, it would be best not to mess with the town patriarch’s granddaughter.

  No, whatever vibes he was getting from her needed to be shut down, and the sooner, the better.

  “Hey there, Carrie,” said a gruff voice. “Shouldn’t you be shopping for shoes or lipstick instead of hanging around this dusty mess? Or are you turning your hand to trades? Never a bad idea to have a fall-back plan, right?”

  Ethan heard a hearty, familiar laugh and the skin at the back of his neck crawled. Clinton Calloway.

  Carrie smiled back and held out her hand. If she was insulted, she hid it well.

  “Mayor Clinton, nice to see you. Mayor, this is Ethan Nash. He’s a security expert. He’s installing an alarm system for me.”

  Clinton’s eyebrows lifted and for a second his smile cracked. But he recovered himself admirably.

  “Mr. Nash,” he said, showing his teeth and giving him the typical two-handed politician greeting. “Good to see you again. How are you settling in?”

  Ethan returned the smile. “Well, Clinton, it’s been four years, so pretty good, I’d say.”

  “Glad to hear it, Ethan.” Calloway slapped him on the back. “But we never see you around. Our society not quite up to your standards?”

  “Now, Mayor,” said Ethan, “that’s no way to talk about your town.”

  Calloway shook his head and looked over at Carrie, frowning in mock horror. “Did you hear that? He twists words like a politician.” He slung a casual arm over Ethan’s shoulder. “Nature abhors a vacuum, my friend. Cherry Lake’s not for everyone, but the only way to know if it’s for you is to get involved in the community.”

  Did the mayor bully everyone like this? Or just him? Maybe the rest of the town took it, but Ethan was done.

  “I’m doing my best. Just last week, I met two nice young mothers at the park. You remember, you were there. And then there was that friendly visit from Melvin from Animal Control. Wait. You know about that too, don’t you? Since he was delivering a message from you.”

  Calloway’s smile twitched. “A word to the wise is never amiss. Better you heard it from me than someone less understanding.”

  “Animal Control?” asked Carrie. “What’s going on?”

  “The mayor has concerns about my dogs,” said Ethan.

  “Not me,” Calloway responded, his hands up. “I’m simply trying to avoid conflict. Big dogs and small children don’t mix and Amanda Frankel is like a mama bear with her cubs. You don’t want her for an enemy.”

  “I don’t want enemies, period.” Ethan felt his jaw click. “Like I’ve said before. This is home.”

  Clinton chuckled, clapped a meaty hand on Ethan’s shoulder and stepped back. “Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it. You have a good day, now.”

  He flashed Carrie a grin, patted her arm and went off, already waving at someone else.

  “Let me guess,” said Carrie. “He’s the reason you can’t take your dogs out.”

  Frustration burned in him. He might not want enemies, but Calloway clearly intended otherwise.

  “He’s not a fan,” he said.

  “Of the dogs? Or of you?” Carrie glared in the direction of the mayor. “What did you do to him, anyway?”

  Ethan huffed. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

  “Then let’s ignore him,” said Carrie, taking him by the elbow and drawing him into an aisle. “He’s an ass. Couldn’t make it in real politics so he’s stuck here. Thinks he runs this town.”

  “Unchallenged, I’m guessing. Who’s next? This is fun, growing my fan club.”

  Ethan put his hands on the cart handle and squeezed until his knuckles were white. A dull ache arced up to his temple and he forced himself to unclench his jaw.

  Carrie huffed. “I’d have expected a thicker skin from you.”

  He peeled his fingers off the cart handle, surprised at her words. Surprised and disturbed to find that she was right. This kind of reaction wasn’t like him.

  “Out of practice, I guess,” he muttered.

  “Well, here’s a few pointers.” She turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Make eye contact. Don’t stand like you’re waiting for a drill sergeant to rap your knuckles. And for God’s sake, smile.”

  “I smiled,” he protested.

  “Right. Like you had a mouthful of lemons, and you were talking to someone selling used watches.”

  Carrie had the sexy schoolmarm thing down pat. A guy could take a lot of righteous scolding from a girl like that.

  She tugged him to the side as another shopper made their way past them in the aisle and he found himself surrounded by the fragrance of fresh air and sunshine. Surely that couldn’t be shampoo or fabric softener he smelled. It was too natural-smelling. Too real. It had to be her.

  “Over there.” She looked up and the sternness disappeared, replaced by cheerful determination. “Follow my lead.”

  She wheeled the cart over to an affable-looking gentleman wearing an orange apron emblazoned with the store logo.

  “My favorite hardware store manager,” she called, her voice sweet and flirty. Ethan guessed the man t
o be on the north end of sixty, but his eyes lit up at her approach.

  “Carrie Logan, my favorite girl with a camera.”

  He walked out from behind the counter and took her hands in his, smiling down into her eyes. “Pansy told me you’d been having some business troubles. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  “No, no,” Carrie hastened to reassure him. “But it made me realize I need a burglar alarm. My friend, Ethan, here is installing a security system for me. Ethan Nash, this is Scott Norman, owner of this fine store and a family friend since before I was born.”

  “Good to meet you, son,” said the older man. His grip was firm and dry. “Any friend of Carrie’s is a friend of mine.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Norman.” No need to fake anything here. Unlike the mayor, this man exuded authenticity and kindness.

  “He says we have to shore up the entry points first,” said Carrie. “I need all new locks too, apparently. The joys of having an old house.”

  “But she’s such a beauty,” said Scott. “Houses like that should be kept up. Not all of them can be, of course. Like the old Lewis place that you bought, Ethan. I don’t blame you one bit for tearing it down. That one was beyond hope. Follow me.”

  That was odd, thought Ethan. Of course he’d had to tear down and rebuild. Had anyone thought otherwise?

  Scott led them to the appropriate area of the store and began discussing the various merits of different products. Ethan nodded, asking the right questions to sound like he knew what he was doing, without revealing his opinion that this wasn’t exactly rocket science.

  “I’m glad Carrie’s got someone looking out for her,” said Scott, as he accompanied them to the front of the store with the supplies they’d chosen. He chuckled and stepped behind the till. “You’re good people, Ethan Nash.”

  Ethan’s chest warmed. Even though the hardware store owner had zero basis for saying it, it felt good to hear it, especially after talking to Calloway.

  A good guy, Scott Norman. He took things at face value, and believed in a world of sunbeams and laughter, where bad things happened to other people and everything ended with happily ever after.

  If only such a world existed.

  “You see?” said Carrie, as they walked to his car. Though she was careful not to touch him as she walked, he could feel the warmth of her body shimmering next to him. He could also feel an I-told-you-so coming.

  “We’re one for two,” he said. “That’s not exactly a whirlwind success.”

  “Killjoy.” She punched his shoulder with a surprisingly firm fist. “Good job playing dummy, too. I saw you, pretending you needed his help.”

  “Lying. It’s my special gift.”

  “Or,” said Carrie, “we can call it tact. You have potential, Mr. Nash. I can work with that.”

  She bent over to put the packages in the trunk of his car, and sent a teasing grin over her shoulder as she did so. Her honey-gold hair fell to one side, revealing a length of creamy shoulder and neck, and something about that smile, that posture, hit him like a two-by-four.

  She was flirting with him.

  He groaned, inwardly.

  He would not, could not, take advantage of her, he reminded himself.

  But Carrie Logan was an easy mark, in every sense of the word.

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  “I changed my mind,” said Carrie. “Let’s go to the grocery store after all. The mayor left me with a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “I thought it was too domestic.”

  “I need milk.” She thought for a moment. “We’ll take separate carts though. No need to overdo it.”

  “If you like,” said Ethan, not quite ready to end their day, “I could get steaks. We’ll grill them up, you can make a salad.”

  “That’s way too domestic.”

  “It’s simply good client service. Nothing more.”

  She thought for a moment. “I am hungry.”

  “Steaks it is.” He headed over to the market and pulled into the parking lot, aware for the first time of how much his car stood out next to the other cars. Maybe he was a show-off.

  “Forget carts,” said Carrie. “One basket is plenty. But you can carry it.”

  They were rounding the produce aisle when he saw the blonde-haired woman from the park. She saw him at the same time, and pulled her son close to her side, casting a clear, if wordless, message in Ethan’s direction.

  “Mommy,” Ethan heard George say in his childish whisper-shout. “That’s the dog man.”

  Without acknowledging him, the woman pulled her kids and her cart into the next aisle.

  “What’s with Amanda?” asked Carrie. “That was a pretty chilly look.”

  “She’s one of the women I met in the park last week. The one Calloway says is so traumatized.” He sighed. “You don’t really need produce, do you?”

  “Yes, actually I do. You’re not going to let her scare you, are you?”

  But now that he was aware of Amanda’s presence in the store, he felt like he had a spotlight shining on him. And, if the sidelong glances he was getting were any indication, she’d told everyone else in the store about him and his bloodthirsty pack of Middle Age dire wolves. By now he was probably swinging a bullwhip, clad in animal skins.

  “Well, hello, you,” said a voice at his elbow.

  He jumped. Carrie was off in the salad section, choosing tomatoes.

  “Excuse me?”

  An elderly woman smiled up at him, her face lined from years in the sun and wind. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back into a thick braid.

  “You’re that new guy, out on Mission Range Road, right?”

  New guy.

  “I’ve been here over four years, so not so new anymore.”

  “But no one knows you yet, honey!” she responded with a laugh. “Until they do, you’ll be the new guy, no matter how long you’re here. Now, don’t worry about Amanda. Her husband was deployed three weeks ago. She’s worried to death about being a single mother and taking it out on everyone around her. Those dogs of yours just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, though I’ll say you weren’t really thinking, letting them out off leash like that. Smart fellow like you.”

  She tut-tutted, patting his arm.

  “You heard all about it, huh?”

  “Clinton Calloway was there, so everyone’s heard about it,” she responded. “Now, how’s that problem of Carrie’s going? You were going to fix it, I believe. I hope you haven’t disappointed her.”

  She crossed her arms. Ethan felt like a grade schooler just reprimanded by the librarian. And, for an even greater disadvantage, she spoke as if they were friends, when he had no idea who she was.

  “Have we… met?” he asked.

  “Oh, you’re just precious, aren’t you?” The woman laughed. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Everyone knows who you are. You’re Mr. Ethan Nash, the self-centered security guard guy who lives on the old horse farm up near Brett Jackson’s place, behind all the fences, who never comes into town, who drives the fast car with the tinted windows, who doesn’t talk to people. Now, you’re also the guy with the attack dogs who terrorize small children.”

  God help him. It was worse than he thought.

  “But-”

  The woman held up a hand. “The truth doesn’t matter. Only the perception of truth. You want them to think something else about you, it’ll take work. Change their minds. Or maybe you don’t care. Wouldn’t blame you for that, either. Lord knows, it’s a mighty burden, caring what others think. Still, it’s a good town. You might want to try joining in. Not everyone thinks the mayor has sunbeams shining out of his bum.”

  “Aunt Pansy?”

  Thank God. Carrie.

  “There you are,” he said, feeling a rush of gratitude for her presence. Gratitude. Not attraction.

  “Aunt Pansy, what are you up to?”

  “Up to? I’m simply passing the time of day with a handsome m
an,” said the older woman, blinking innocently. “Now Carrie, honey, have the decency to introduce us, would you?”

  Carrie lifted one eyebrow at her. It seemed to be a signature move.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said the woman, before Carrie could speak. “You’re Ethan Nash. I’m Pansy Oppenheimer. Everyone calls me Aunt Pansy. Or Pan. Like Peter. But with better clothes. Honestly. Every schoolchild knows as much. If you didn’t hide yourself away in your mountain cave all the livelong day, you wouldn’t be so ignorant. Now, I’m late for an appointment. Toodles, children!”

  “Bye, Pansy.”

  Carrie leaned toward him.

  “Okay. Attack dogs? I definitely overheard that. Wanna tell me what actually happened?”

  Ethan kept his voice low. “Carrie, it’s ridiculous. Last week, Gun chased after her kid’s ball, that’s it. But now she – or Calloway, according to your aunt – is spreading rumors that my dogs are running around scaring children.”

  She took his elbow and led him to the bulk goods section.

  “So no one got bitten?”

  “Not by my dogs.” He smiled at a passer-by. It was not returned. “There’s a stray dog bothering people apparently, but it’s not one of mine. And Animal Control should be out catching that one, instead of wasting time on me.”

  He put his hand to his forehead, rubbed hard. This was why he avoided town. Interactions always led to complications. It was easier to just stay on the sidelines. Safer. For everyone.

  He turned to the checkout. “Never mind. Let’s just pay and get out of here.”

  “I came for milk. I’m getting milk. You’re the one that promised steak.”

  The spots of color on her cheeks reminded him of the photo he couldn’t get out of his mind, the red of her toes and lips matching the rose petals.

  An older couple came around the corner.

  “Hey there,” said Carrie. “How are you doing?”

  The smiles they gave in return were slow and painfully fake.

  Carrie watched them go, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Huh,” she said. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”