Forever in Love

by Nadia Lee

  “Oh you know. Wouldn’t want you doing anything hasty.”

  “What? You mean like sue her? And Earl…and this entire town?”

  “Uh…” Irene looked surprised. “Well…”

  Shaking her head, Catherine put the fob in her pocket, which ruined the line of her slacks, and grabbed a handful of bills from the black bag. “I’m going out. You?”

  “I guess I am.” Irene cleared her throat and licked her lips. “Seeing as how you don’t have your car here. Drive you somewhere?”

  “To The Line if you don’t mind. My car’s there…unless some saintly thief took that too.”

  * * *

  “Whose car is that?” Dusty said, settling onto a stool at the bar. He made a show of looking at the brunch/lunch menu, but Blaine already knew what he was going to order: a ham sandwich with extra mayo, fries and a tall glass of Coca-Cola Classic.

  Blaine ran a rag around the rim of a mug. “Catherine’s.”

  “Looks nice. I never seen a car like that before.”

  “Neither have I. Well, in the movies, but not in real life.”

  Dusty scowled. “What movies?”

  “Bond movies.”

  “Bond? Like as in double-oh-seven? That can’t be right. Nobody has a Bond car.”

  “Some people do.” Blaine pointed outside with his chin. “That there’s an Aston Martin.”

  “Huh. Dumb name for a car.”

  “It is?”

  “Who the hell wants to drive something called an ass-ton? Sounds slow, like you’re hauling fertilizer or something.”

  “Aston, not ass-ton. It’s British.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m telling you, that’s a Bond car, man. Like what Sean Connery had.”

  “No shit. And Catherine drives it?” Dusty gazed out the window for a few moments. “That’s hot.”

  The woman was hot, car or no car, but Blaine pushed the thought aside. Catherine was not his type. She was one of those wealthy, entitled women who liked to stir shit up to gratify their egos and amuse themselves. Sort of like Zoe Simpson…and very much like Ceinlys, who’d never come back to Cooter’s Bluff after what he thought of as “The Fiasco”.

  “Good thing Rick’s busy with Janey. Less competition,” Dusty said. “Think I’m gonna ask her out.”

  Mimi, one of the waitresses, came over. “Who, Catherine? I wouldn’t if I were you,” she said in a low voice. Short and amply endowed, with a generous mouth that was never without a coat of bright red lipstick, she’d lived in Cooter’s Bluff all her life and was popular among the male customers. It didn’t hurt that she wore push-up bras and left a couple of buttons undone on her shirt.

  “Why not?” Dusty said.

  “Word is, she’s a drug dealer.”

  “What?” Blaine said. “Come on, Mimi.” She was a great waitress, and he liked her, but she was one of the biggest gossips in the town and had an overactive imagination to boot.

  “I ran into Irene on my way here, and lemme tell you, she was pretty shell-shocked.”

  “So?”

  “So I asked her what was the matter, and turns out she was on her way to deliver a bag of cash to Catherine.” Mimi leaned closer. “A bag of frickin’ cash. I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t. She had one of those big garbage bags.” She paused, waiting for someone to urge her to continue. It was a familiar routine.

  “Well, go on,” Dusty said.

  “Inside the bag was a lotta cash. Irene and I counted it in her car. Ten thousand dollars.”

  Dusty and Blaine looked at each other. Ten thousand in cash? Holy shit. “But why was Irene delivering the money? If Catherine’s a drug dealer, wouldn’t she have her own guys do it?” Blaine said.

  “The property management company ordered Irene to do it. I’m telling you, that company’s a front. Why else would they do that?”

  “Yeah, but…Irene? You know that woman can’t keep her mouth shut.”

  “No idea, but you mark my words. Catherine is a drug dealer. Or worse.”

  Dusty looked confused. “What could be worse?”

  “I dunno.” Mimi shrugged. “Mexican cartel? You know, the sort of people who chop off your head with a hatchet because you took something of theirs? I told Irene she better make sure Catherine got every scrap of paper in that bag or else get ready to kiss her own head goodbye.”

  “Jesus.” Blaine shook his head. “But there could be some other explanation. Not just drugs.”

  “Like what? And besides, it’s not just the money. I saw her yesterday over in Greensville,” Mimi continued. “She was buying a new phone.”

  “Lots of people buy phones, Mimi,” Dusty said.

  “Yeah, but why would she? She’s got this expensive car, nice clothes, all that jewelry, you think she doesn’t have her own phone? I betcha she uses those burner phones, like on TV. She can’t have a regular one for more than a day or two, ’cause then the Feds would track her down.”

  “Or maybe her old phone just died,” Blaine said.

  “You never know.” Mimi sniffed. “But there’s more. This morning, as Irene and I got close to the Blue House, we saw Catherine get a special courier delivery. We watched, and it was this big, heavy looking package. I’m guessing heroin or a gun. Probably unmarked. You know, like with the serial number filed off.”

  “Who the heck mails heroin?” Blaine asked.

  “Drug dealers, duh.” Mimi rolled her eyes. “You can’t lose it since you can track it, you know.”

  “You’ve been watching too much TV,” Blaine said. “Get back to work.”

  Catherine, with heroin and a gun? Highly doubtful. He knew her type. She was too soft and fine to dirty her hands with anything. In her world, that would be a man’s job.

  He didn’t think anything more of Mimi’s wild talk. She was entitled to imagine whatever she wanted. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about that money. Who’d sent it…and why? Most people would just wire money through Western Union or a bank.

  * * *

  Irene drove her to the bar and restaurant while Catherine concentrated on unclenching her jaw. Bunched muscles on the sides of one’s face were not attractive. Still, it annoyed her Irene would try to defend Willie Rae and Earl. It was extremely disloyal of her. Catherine rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. She missed Bee, her housekeeper in Texas. She was the sweetest thing, always discreet and eager to please, and would’ve never defended somebody who’d stolen from her employers.

  Catherine frowned when she saw lights on inside The Line. “Is it open this early?”

  “Yeah. They’re open for breakfast. Lunch too. Something Blaine started when he got the restaurant. Said it was good for business. Lots of folks go there for the coffee. It’s about the best around these parts.”

  And there was her Aston Martin, right where she’d left it. “Well, the day is starting to look up a bit.” Catherine got out of the car. “Thanks, Irene.”

  “You need me to clean the house or anything?”

  “No, thank you. You can take the rest of the day if you want.”

  “Okay.” Irene’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

  Catherine opened the door to The Line, the siren song of good coffee loud in her head. And stopped dead when the place grew quieter than the inside of a coffin.

  * * *

  Blaine heard the conversation around him die and turned to see Catherine standing just inside the door. Aw, shit. Probably every single person in the restaurant had heard Mimi’s story by now.

  Despite the silence settling around her, Catherine raised her chin and made her way to the counter. She took an empty stool and said, “Coffee, please. Black.”

  She had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing dark blue jeans, but she looked like a queen. Backlit from the door, her skin had almost seemed to glow in the morning sunlight and her eyebrows were plucked into a pair of imperial arches.

  Mimi blinked, then ran off to the kitchen. That stupid woman was going to hide in there,
Blaine thought, and go on and on about the scary drug dealer with a caffeine addiction. Blaine poured coffee for Catherine. “Here you go.”

  Something about the impeccable way she was put together made Blaine want to grab her and mess it all up with a long hot kiss. It’d put more color in those high cheeks, and her hair would come tumbling down like a chocolate river of silk…where he could grab a handful or two.

  His balls tightened, and he swallowed a curse. She wasn’t the kind of woman to fuck someone and then high-five the guy, say, “That was fun” and be cool about it afterward. She’d treat him like dirt on her spike heel, wash herself clean of his scent and go back to her ignorant husband.

  “Thanks,” she said. She wrapped her delicate hands around the mug and took a big swallow. “Mmm, so good.” Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Blaine watched her drink the rest of her coffee. There was something amazingly fine and soft about her, and that was what drew him. He always liked women classier than he could afford. But those women were terribly destructive. He’d seen how people like them operated when he was growing up. If he hadn’t faced off with Ceinlys once in private—and while she was buck naked—he might have chalked up their negative behavior to youthful immaturity. But he knew people didn’t change just because they grew older.

  “Do you have security cameras here?” Catherine asked suddenly.

  “Yeah,” Blaine said with a frown. “Why?”

  “Earl came by and told me he can’t do a thing about my stolen purse because he’s not sure if Willie Rae really took it.” She shook her head, setting the ponytail swinging. “This, despite the fact that she had my cell phone and car fob. So I was hoping you might have some footage showing the theft.”

  Blaine could feel the customers holding their breaths. “Just a sec.” He went over and turned up the radio, then returned to her. “Sorry,” he said in a low voice, “but the security cams only cover the register and backroom. Where we keep inventory.”

  “I see.” she murmured. Another customer came up to the bar; Blaine was about to leave to attend to him when Catherine put a hand on his sleeve. Even through the layer of cotton, the touch was warm…and somehow magnetic. It would have required effort to break contact with her fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why is everyone looking at me?”

  Chapter Six

  Blaine stared at her for so long Catherine thought he might not answer. Finally he heaved a sigh. “You really want to know? They think you’re a drug dealer for a Mexican cartel.”

  “A drug dealer? For a Mexican cartel? Did you really just say that?”

  “Yeah. Not that I belie—”

  She burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh.” She took a paper napkin from the bar and blotted the tears from her eyes. “Sorry, I can’t help it. Me? A drug dealer?” Were the town people crazy or high? “If I were a drug dealer for a Mexican cartel, I wouldn’t be dealing with the local sheriff. I would’ve taken the matter into my own hands, and you would’ve found Willie Rae cut up and tossed into that pretty river that runs along the bluff.”

  Blaine half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Yeah, well…”

  “Why on earth would anybody think I’m a drug dealer?”

  “Something about a bag full of cash.”

  Irene, Catherine thought. “This town’s worse than a high school locker room.” No wonder Irene had asked her to count the money. If the old bat thought she was inadvertently working for a drug dealer, she probably didn’t want to be accused of skimming. “Look, I’m not dealing drugs. The money’s from a friend.” Who was overly cavalier about sending emergency funds. But to give him some credit, he probably hadn’t thought he could deposit the money into Catherine’s bank account—she didn’t have her ATM card.

  “What kind of friend sends money like that?”

  “The kind who has too much of it,” she admitted. “But still…”

  The door opened and Janey walked in, looking upset. She zeroed in on Blaine. “Hey, just wanted to let you know. Rick can’t come in tonight and neither can I.”

  “What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

  “He’s down with the flu. He was a little out of it last night, and we thought it wasn’t a big deal, but now…” She sighed. “He’s running a fever and the doctor told him to take some meds and rest. It’s pretty bad, and I don’t want to leave him alone.”

  “Okay,” Blaine said.

  “I’m sorry. I know this gives you like zero warning—”

  “We’ll manage. You just tell Rick to get better soon. And take good care of him, you hear? Can’t have him puking all over those nice new earstuds.”

  Janie grinned. “You’re the best, Blaine. Thanks.”

  Catherine watched the other woman leave. Rick was the bar manager if she remembered correctly, and she rarely forgot details like that. According to the pool players the night before, he and Janey were dating pretty seriously. “That’s a shame about Rick. Are you going to have enough bartenders for the weekend?” she asked.

  “My other guy’s out of town on vacation, so it looks like it’s just gonna be me,” Blaine said. “But hey, comes with the territory. I can handle it.”

  Catherine asked for a refill. The Line was important to Blaine, no doubt about it. There was pride in the way he kept the old place in tiptop shape.

  When a woman wanted to get close to a man as quickly as possible, there were two methods she could use. The most obvious was sex. It was the quickest and easiest way provided the guy felt attracted to her. That option was off the table; Catherine refused to whore herself, not even to earn Salazar’s gratitude and stay out of jail. The next time she slept with a guy, it would be out of desire—hers. So that left the second: help the man out of a jam.

  “I could give you a hand if you like,” Catherine said.

  “Bartending?” Blaine tilted his head and regarded her. “The crowd can get a little rough in here, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.” His inflection made the word anything but an endearment. “And how do you know I can’t get rough back?”

  He looked at her with amusement. “Got a bartender’s license?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a legal requirement, you know.”

  “You mean like not stealing someone else’s property? Seems like you people don’t really worry too much about legality around here.”

  Blaine laughed. “You’ve got a point. Still…”

  “Look, I know almost every cocktail recipe there is.” She’d had to learn them during her marriage. Jacob liked complicated drinks with names like “Southern Apple Pie” and “The Slivopolitan”, and he usually preferred she make them. When they occasionally entertained a few close friends, she made most of the cocktails before dinner.

  “Ever held down a job?” Blaine asked.

  “A job? No.”

  “Bartending here on a Saturday night isn’t like making a couple drinks for you and a boy toy. It’s hard work. Appreciate the offer, but I can manage alone.”

  Sudden fury exploded inside her. How dare he presume to know her? How dare he act like she was some useless thing? Not just him, but everyone around this place. “You know what? You’re an idiot. People in this crappy little town believe I’m capable of running a cartel drug operation, but I’m not competent enough to bartend? Just because I’ve never held down a job before doesn’t mean I can’t help out.” Maybe she should’ve stayed with her mother in Charleston. At least her mother didn’t think she was a felon!

  “But why would you want to help? This has nothing to do wi—.”

  “I’m tired of people judging me on my looks, which won’t even last more than a few more years.” She threw a ten-dollar bill at Blaine. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck your small town Mayberry bullshit, your holier-than-thou attitude, and your thievery!”

  * * *

  Catherine stormed out. Blaine blinked a few times.

&nb
sp; A voice came from over on the left. “I guess a blowjob’s out of the question.” There was general laughter.

  “Shut up, Bob.” She hadn’t said those things to create some rich-girl drama. Blaine had been looking into those whiskey-colored eyes: everything she’d said had been from the heart.

  Everyone returned to their conversations and food. The show was officially over.

  Mimi reappeared beside him. “Wow. Pretty scary.”

  “You shut up, too, Mimi. What do you know?” Blaine said.

  “I know she can be scary. I’m worried about Willie Rae now.”

  “She shouldn’t have taken the damn purse in the first place.”

  “Well, yeah. But nobody ever does anything about it, so…” Mimi shrugged.

  Blaine swallowed a curse. As it happened, he’d brought the subject up once, but Willie Rae had tearfully told him that all her friends hung out at The Line and he hadn’t had the heart to ban her from the place. Seemed like a piss poor way to thank a patriotic woman whose son had made the ultimate sacrifice.

  “Well, she won’t be coming back,” Mimi said, looking at the door.

  “Guess not.” Blaine’s heart twinged with guilt. She probably wasn’t good at bartending, but he didn’t have to be a jackass when she’d offered to help.

  On the other hand… If she was good and actually did help him out, that would prove he was wrong about her.

  He stacked the morning’s receipts absentmindedly. He didn’t want to be wrong about her. Something told him she’d be trouble if he let her get to him.

  Shoving the thought of Catherine out of his head, he tried to focus on running his business. If Willie Rae didn’t return the purse by the end of the weekend, he’d go have a chat with her. That should be enough to make up for what had just happened…right?

  * * *

  Two hours later, he found himself standing in front of the Blue House. Blaine cursed under his breath, then hit the doorbell before he talked himself out of it. He wanted to apologize to her, that was all. Admit that he’d screwed up. It was the right thing to do.

  Then the door opened, and the imperial Catherine was looking down her nose at him, no easy feat given their difference in height. But the regal set of her expression made her seem taller and stately and absolutely stunning.