by Lacey Baker
“I’ll make sure he calls first,” Parker said, tossing the rope to the side. “In the meantime, I can run down to the pizza shop and pick us up some dinner.”
And she could go inside and shower and then they’d sit on her couch, watching television and eating pizza. Rufus would doze in the corner and eventually they’d head to bed for the night. And wake up beside each other in the morning. Just like a normal couple.
But they weren’t a normal couple. And they weren’t working their way toward that goal. He was Parker Cantrell, bad boy and womanizer extraordinaire, and she was just the flower shop owner who’d been irresponsible enough to get pregnant by him.
“No. I’ll pass on the pizza,” she replied quickly, standing and backing away from Parker and his mischievous, cute-as-a-button dog. “Besides, I have other plans for the evening. But thanks for the offer.”
He looked as if he didn’t believe her, but Drew didn’t care. The last few years of her life had been about self-preservation. She’d been careful to work hard at building the new and improved Drewcilla Sidney so that the townspeople wouldn’t have anything negative to say about her. She’d stayed away from men and relationships so the mistake she’d made in Stratford could never be repeated. And in one night she’d done something that could possibly unravel all her hard work. She wasn’t about to do anything else to sabotage herself, so fooling herself about Parker Cantrell was a definite no-no.
“I’m not going to bite you, Drew. I think we’ve already established the fact that we need to talk about things, about our futures,” he stated calmly, matter-of-factly, as though he were giving her a rundown of her rights.
“I don’t presume you’re going to do anything to me, Parker.” Other than what’s already been done, she neglected to say. “I’m just trying to keep us on even ground here. I’m pregnant and you’re the father. But there’s no reason for either of our lives to change. You can continue on with your career and the life you’ve built for yourself and I’ll continue on with mine.”
“And I’ll live in Baltimore and you and my child will live here in Sweetland. Tell me, do you even plan to let my sisters see the baby, or will the father of your child become Sweetland’s best-kept secret?”
He wasn’t happy. Well, that was fine. Keeping Parker happy wasn’t a job Drew had applied for.
“Secrets always find their way out,” she told him as succinctly as he’d just spoken to her. “And I wouldn’t dream of keeping this child away from its family, yours or mine. But what I’m trying to say is that there’s no reason for you and me to be any different than we were two weeks ago.”
He raised a brow. “You mean when you saw me in Godfrey’s and dropped your honeydew melon to head down the opposite aisle because I came over and spoke to you?”
Drew cleared her throat, talking as she walked back to her steps and picked up her phone and half-empty water bottle. “I mean that we can remain cordial and have a baby together. You don’t have to come over here telling me I’m working too hard or that I need to put my feet up. And you certainly don’t have to worry about whether or not I’m eating dinner or provide said dinner for me. I can take care of myself.”
“And I shouldn’t care one way or another if you fall out in the sun from heatstroke or forget to eat because you’re working too hard and my baby is born stressed out or permanently damaged because of it.”
“How dare you?” she asked, turning quickly to find that he was standing right beside her. Behind her she heard Rufus bark, as if he’d gone up on her steps and waited at the door. He apparently thought he should be let inside her house and her life as well. “You cannot come into town poking your chest out like some bronzed peacock expecting every female to fall at your feet. And you certainly cannot get me pregnant, then presume that means you have some type of control over my life or the way I live it. You, Parker Cantrell, are not the boss of me, and I don’t care how big and bad of a cop you are in Baltimore!”
She was gorgeous when she was mad. Color had infused her cheeks, her already pert lips had firmed, brown eyes going fierce as her voice had elevated. Parker had to resist the urge to grab her at the waist, pull her into his chest, and kiss her senseless. He’d had to clamp down on the instant arousal stirring as he’d listened to her words and watched her reaction to what he’d said. All of that was the reason he hadn’t been able to stop her from turning and going into the house before slamming the door in his face.
* * *
Drew was pissed at him, Rufus was asleep in the passenger seat of Michelle’s van, and an hour later, Parker was parked at the pier, looking out to the fishing boats coming in for the day.
Sweetland’s reputation rested on its fresh seafood and the unique cuisine prepared with it. In the time he’d been back, he’d witnessed the prosperous results of that reputation as tourists poured in all summer long, staying weeks at a time, crowding the pier to get into The Crab Pot. The Silver Spoon had also seen an increase in business, with most of their rooms consistently booked and Michelle cooking nonstop.
They’d settled into something of a routine, with everyone pitching in with everything from taking shifts serving at the restaurant to changing linens in the rooms. Preston and Heaven were comfortable in their little house, planning the details of their spring wedding. Quinn and Nikki were juggling their managing duties with marketing plans for the B&B and planning their Christmas wedding. As for Parker, it had taken him six weeks to heal from the motorcycle accident that had crushed his leg so badly, he’d been forced to take medical leave from work. And he still wasn’t sure how it had occurred.
At least that had been what he’d told his siblings. Nobody knew that he’d been suspended from the police force before he’d ever stepped foot in Sweetland again. And nobody was going to know if he could help it.
That ordeal had been a nightmare, one Parker feared he was still living as he reached for his cell phone. Scrolling through his emails, he saw the message that he’d been just about to open when he’d found out Rufus was missing. The sender’s name hadn’t been familiar. But the subject line was: Vezina.
Tyrone Vezina had been murdered in an alley in downtown Baltimore one rainy night in early April. He’d been walking down the street, a man about five feet eleven inches wearing blue jeans and a black jacket. His hands had been stuffed into his front jacket pockets, the collar pulled up high on his neck as he hunched over in an attempt to ward off the steady flow of raindrops. He walked fast, as if he was trying to get to his car or to wherever he was going before becoming completely drenched. In the next few steps, he’d hit the corner and was yanked into the alley.
Parker was keeping surveillance of the building a block down and on the opposite side of the street. But he’d noticed Vezina and felt a familiar sensation at the base of his neck. That had been Parker’s warning, and it had come only seconds before Vezina was pulled into the dark alley. Parker instantly went into action. He stepped out of his unmarked vehicle, pulling his weapon as he ran across the street. Back against the wall, Parker had peered around the corner just in time to see the flash of the floodlights on the side of the building being shot out. He’d cursed and reached into his pocket to get his cell phone so he could call for backup. That action took him all of fifteen seconds. Then he heard another shot and decided against waiting for the backup he’d just summoned. He turned into the alley, gun raised and aimed. It was dark, so for the most part all he saw were bodies, three of them, Vezina included. The man was standing with his back against the wall, his arms up in the air. Two other men had their backs to Parker. He approached, yelling, “Police! Drop your weapons and get your hands in the air!”
One guy did as he was told. The other lifted his gun higher and fired at Vezina. Parker fired simultaneously. Then both men turned and ran toward Parker. He yelled to them to stop again, then fired his weapon twice more before one of them crashed right into him. Parker fell back, dropping his weapon. Cursing, he grabbed hold of the assailant’s shirt and
they tussled over the wet ground.
From the end of the alley, the second assailant yelled, “I’m hit! I’m hit! Let’s go!”
Parker had rolled his guy onto his back, crashing his fist into his face three times before another shot rang out. Inches, the bullet was mere inches from his temple, and Parker went down to the ground, searching for cover. He was being fired at, and he couldn’t find his gun.
“Leave him! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
He heard their feet pounding the sidewalk and stood. Parker could hear sirens in the distance and knew that help was on the way. He turned away from the victim then, intending to follow the assailants, the ones that had run him down and shot at him, because at the moment apprehending those assholes was his first priority.
He took only two steps before the voice cried out.
“Help me! Help me!”
It was the victim, and Parker immediately turned back. The assailants were getting away, but this man was apparently alive for the moment.
“Help me!” he cried again.
“I’m here. I’m a cop,” Parker said, kneeling on the ground.
The man had been shot in the neck and shoulder. Blood poured from both wounds, but he was still trying to talk.
“Just relax, an ambo will be here in a few seconds,” he told him.
The man had lifted a hand then, grabbing Parker’s hand and stuffing something into it. “So am I,” he whispered about two seconds before his eyes went cold.
In the pouring rain, kneeling in an alley, Parker Cantrell stared down at the police badge in his hand and the dead man on the ground. He should have known then that from that moment on, his life would never be the same.
But he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t for one second thought that things would go downhill as fast as they had. Preston had been in the middle of a five-defendant murder trial, so he’d been too busy to hear about what had happened or to hear that it had involved Parker. The break-in to Parker’s apartment and his suspension had come only weeks later, and by that time Gramma had died. It wasn’t the time to dump his problems on his family.
And now that he’d gotten himself into another situation, Parker figured the decision to keep his mouth shut about what happened in Baltimore was even smarter.
His finger hovered over the button that would open the email, his sergeant’s words echoing in his mind.
“I told you to stay the hell off the Vezina case, Cantrell. It’s not yours to solve.”
“He died in my arms,” Parker had replied while standing in Sergeant Lawrence Mertz’s office.
“Then get a Kleenex and some counseling and move the hell on! But don’t let me find out you’re working this case or your ass will be out of a job!”
Mertz had never been one to bluff.
Technically, Parker still had a job, he just couldn’t go to it, not until the internal investigation was over. Then, there was no telling what his career future would hold.
Still, someone was obviously trying to tell him something about the murder, something Parker desperately wanted to know. A cop had been killed in his city, on his watch. He wanted to know why. And he wanted to find the bastard that had the balls to come into his house to leave him a personal message.
But there was more … much more. Parker was now going to be a father. There was another person he had to consider over his own wants and demands. There was a child, his child. Another person Parker needed to protect. He touched the screen of his phone without thought, reading the short message.
Welcome to Sweetland! How sweet will it be when they find out there’s a cop killer in town?
Parker gritted his teeth, tossing the phone across the front of the van. Rufus jumped up, barking at the device as it hit the passenger window and fell to the floor. In seconds he was on the floor retrieving it. Not that he planned to give it to Parker, he simply wanted to occupy himself with something else for the moment.
Driving back to the B&B, Parker thought of all the things he’d done in his life. He thought of all the trouble he’d gotten himself and his twin brother into and how many situations his grandmother and his father had gotten him out of. That had been when he was young and earning the Double Trouble Cantrell reputation had been fun. Walking on the wild side, being the bad boy of the town, had been liberating and an adrenaline rush that compared with none other.
Now Parker was an adult, and as an adult he’d be the first to admit that he’d continued to make mistakes. Living a perfectly neat and satisfying life had never been his plan. But things had changed. A lot of things had changed, and Parker knew he’d have to change with them. He’d have to stand up and fix his own problems this time, and he had to do it soon.
Chapter 8
“I remember when I wandered off from St. Louis. Had my bag on my shoulder and my cap on my head. Always wore a cap, since my daddy gave me the first one when I was just a wee little thing. He loved baseball, my dad did. Said it was a thinking man’s sport. Some say that’s golf, but me and my dad, we liked to move about even when we were thinking. Keeps the mind fresh, Dad used to say.”
Sylvester Bynum had begun talking the minute Parker stepped up onto the front porch of the B&B. Holding Rufus under one arm wasn’t an easy task, but he’d already told his trusty canine friend that he was on traveling restrictions for the next couple of days, so he planned to keep him close.
Parker hadn’t planned on having a conversation on the front porch, especially since it was almost midnight when he’d returned.
“No matter how old a man gets, he always keeps a part of his father, right in here,” Sylvester continued, slapping a hand over his heart.
Parker nodded. He, along with the rest of his siblings, were perfectly aware of Mr. Sylvester’s penchant for talking. He’d been their grandmother’s closest friend right up until her death, even keeping Mary Janet’s cancer diagnosis a secret from the family at her request. After the funeral, when the siblings thought Mr. Sylvester might pack his bags and head off, they were pleasantly fooled by the older man’s stubborn persistence to stay right where he was and help them see Mary Janet’s wishes through. He’d stayed when so many others might have left. Parker had great respect for the man for that reason alone.
“It’s getting late, Mr. Sylvester. You want to head on inside?” he asked the man as he stood next to the Adirondack chair Mr. Sylvester favored.
Parker had seen him sit on this porch for hours, just staring off down the street. One of his sisters would periodically bring him a glass of tea or lemonade, maybe a sandwich or some cookies. Mr. Sylvester favored Michelle’s chocolate-chip cookies fresh out of the oven.
“Someday soon I reckon I’ll get all the sleep I need. Right now I’d like to keep my eyes open. You should do that, too,” he said, turning his head to look directly at Parker for the first time since Parker had come up onto the porch. “You should keep your eyes open.”
Sometimes Mr. Sylvester talked in riddles. That was the assessment Parker and his brothers had made. His sisters had given it a more flowery explanation, saying he was a wise and sentimental man, which wasn’t a normal combination.
“Right, I will, sir,” Parker said obligingly.
Mr. Sylvester smiled. “No. You won’t,” he told Parker. The older man removed his baseball cap, sat it on his left knee, and clapped a hand over it. “Men can be stubborn creatures. We can walk around for years and years with our eyes open but not really seeing things until they whack us on the head but good. You got a hard head, Parker. Janet used to say she never saw anybody as stubborn as you. ’Course, she called it strong-willed because she loved you like only a grandmother can.” He chuckled after that.
Rufus picked that moment to wiggle and bark, more than ready to be put down despite Parker’s earlier warnings.
“That dog of yours has his eyes open. That’s why he walked off like he did. He had a path and he followed it. His owner should be smart enough to do the same,” Mr. Sylvester said.
Ridd
les, Parker thought once more. The man loved to talk in riddles.
“Yeah, Rufus walked off. But he won’t be doing that again. Since he’s growing up, I think I might have to tighten his rein a bit.”
“Hold too tight, you might choke him. Might need to let him go and see where he leads you. It’s not beneath a man to follow sometimes.”
Parker nodded. “Right. Let’s go on in, Mr. Sylvester.”
The older man paused a minute, just staring at Parker as if he wanted to say something else. Then he decided against it, heaved a heavy sigh, and stood. His thin legs wobbled a bit, and at one point he held on to the arm of the chair a little longer to steady himself. Parker knew better than to offer his help. Mr. Sylvester was a strong and proud man. Parker gave him the respect he deserved.
He opened the screened door, holding it while Mr. Sylvester made his way through. Once they were both inside, he closed the front door and was about to take another step. He turned back, looking at the gold door handle. If he were in his apartment, he would lock the doors, fasten the bolt he’d had installed years ago, and check his windows before going to bed. He’d remove his weapon, his personal Glock, from the side holster he always carried, placing it on the nightstand right beside his clock and his cell phone. And he’d sleep soundly, knowing he was protected.
Rufus barked again and Parker finally let the dog jump to the floor. He took off the moment he was free. Parker remembered that feeling, too. He’d remembered a lot tonight, possibly too much. Turning from the door, he headed toward his bedroom, not wanting to think another moment about locking doors or grabbing guns for protection. He was in Sweetland, the one place in the world where he’d always felt safe. He was home.
* * *
“It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded in here,” Heaven said with a chuckle as she entered Blossoms.