The man shrugged like what he had done was nothing. “Sure. She told me. I was trying to make my point.”
“That would be what?” Bret hissed.
Trevor studied Bret’s expression for a moment, a hint of fear crossing his face. “Never mind. You can have her. Probably wouldn’t have gotten lucky with her anyway.”
Bret stepped forward, holding Meg back with one arm. Menace erupted from him, barely controlled by his professional side. “You had best disappear. Now!”
The fool flicked a hand at Meg. “Whatever. See you around, Meg.”
Bret watched him until he went back in the community center. Moving again, he walked her the rest of the way to his truck, still fuming. “I have no idea what you saw in that guy,” he muttered under his breath.
She either didn’t hear him or chose not to answer.
He had to help her into the seat and fasten her seatbelt. He put his face next to hers to get her attention. “No throwing up in my truck, got it? If you need to, do it now.”
She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I’m fine. High school fantasy bites the dust.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you ever have that one girl in high school you knew would never know you were alive? Didn’t you wonder what it would be like to date her?”
Yeah, he knew. Allison Petrocelli. The butler’s daughter. Forbidden lust.
He stilled for a minute, measuring his breaths to further calm himself from the confrontation with Trevor. He closed the door. On the driver’s side, he got in and started the engine. She rubbed her stomach, and he handed her a peppermint. “Maybe that will help.”
Meg popped the hard candy in her mouth and watched him from under half-closed eyelids. His face was a blank mask, his jaw clamped tight, a slight tick at the side of his mouth, like he was biting his tongue.
She concentrated on sucking on the candy, not wanting to choke on it. In a few short minutes, it was gone and her stomach had settled. She must have dozed because the next thing she knew, the engine turned off.
She opened her eyes. Her porch light splashed only a pitiful amount of light across the white planks and the railing, but it was enough to make her want to shut her eyes again.
“I’ll help you inside.”
Her door clicked open. Meg’s head swam. How had he gotten around the truck so fast? His male scent enveloped her, a hint of perspiration and aftershave. A blanket of cold air shrunk her nipples to painfully tight buds. When his hand took hers to help her down from the truck, she willed her muscles to cooperate and stand only to have to stagger against him. He stumbled back and moved to prevent her from falling. Her mouth ended up inches from his.
“You could get lucky.” She hoped her voice sounded sultry.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Disappointment washed through her. He released her, forcing her to stand on her own. With one impersonal hand on her elbow, he walked her up the steps and to her front door.
Bret put out his hand. “Key?”
“Under the mat.” She leaned against the doorframe.
He lips flattened into a tight line. “You left your key under the mat? The most clichéd of places? Are you crazy?”
He bent for the key, opened the door, and turned on the entryway light.
She hiccupped. “Excuse me,” she muttered, covering her mouth. “It’s a small town. Nothing ever happens here.”
“I beg to differ.” He guided her inside and stopped her at the varnished maple bench by the door. Her favorite quilt, one her great-grandmother had made, hung over the back. The sight of it always eased the tension from her body, making her glad she was home. This time, however, the red, yellow, and white paisley windmill pattern made her dizzy. She collapsed onto the seat. To the right, a warm glow came from her kitchen where she’d left the light on over the stove.
“Wait. I’ll look around.”
She opened her mouth to give him the layout of the house. His hard, furious expression made her bite back what she planned to say. She listened while he walked through her home, flipping on lights as he went.
She wondered what he thought of the green candles in her bathroom, the lavender scent of her soaps, the many bottles of perfume and the black lingerie hanging from the rod. Of her sleigh bed, piled with pillows and covered with a pale yellow quilted coverlet. Or of the other outfit choices on her bed including the hot pink backless number. There was a stack of books in her study—the pile of mysteries, classics and romances falling around the floral patterned recliner and the reading light. Would he look them over? Would he see the chili pot that was still in the sink in the kitchen along with the baking sheets she’d used to make sugar cookies? Or the potted red tulips on the cooking island that she hadn’t been able to resist buying at the grocery store?
She wouldn’t find out this time. When he returned, his expression was closed, his cop face in place.
“Everything checks out. No more leaving the key under the mat.” His hands were fisted, his mouth turned down in a grim line. He carefully set the key on the table by the bench.
Annoyance swirled like her nausea. “I’m a big girl.”
He moved closer, his big body aiming to intimidate. But his words, not his body, finally did the trick. “I’ll tell your brothers.”
She groaned, her stomach rolling again—foretelling another bout with the toilet. The pounding behind her eyes increased exponentially. “All right! I didn’t want to carry a purse and I had nowhere to put my key and I certainly wasn’t going to give it to Trevor.” She watched him for a moment, his threat arousing her independence.
He stepped back two steps, closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. “Sorry. You know we’ve been having a rash of burglaries. It’s not smart to leave any access to your house outside. Leave your key with a neighbor or carry it.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again.” She carefully stood, her muscles and stomach protesting and her head fuzzy. “Thank you for bringing me home. You could go back to the dance.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. It must be almost over.”
Meg sighed. Some year she was actually going to be kissed after the Sweetheart Dance. But not this year. It would be another twelve long months before the opportunity came again.
Her frustration and longing returned in a rush and made her walk to Bret. She caught his face between her palms and pressed her lips to his. Short and sweet probably would have been for the best, but his lips were firm and warm and sent a zing to her heart.
She shuddered and ran her tongue along his lips, compelling him to participate. His hands settled on her hips, anchoring her, pulling her. His head tilted to give her better access. He opened to slide his tongue along hers in a slow, easy glide. He tasted of coffee and spice, of every erotic dream she’d had the nerve to imagine.
Lost in the moment, it might have lasted a second or a minute. He pushed her back. His breath escaped in quick gasps, his fingers flexed on her hips.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” she whispered, hypnotized by the heat in his gray eyes.
He swallowed once, then swore and was gone.
~~CHAPTER TWO~~
The morning light struck Meg in the face. The house was cold. Rolling over, she put a pillow over her head and pulled the covers more tightly around her. The Echo Falls High School Mustang Band marched through her skull, trumpets blaring, drums pounding. Too bad she couldn’t stay in bed. She had to use the bathroom and she was due for Sunday dinner at her grandmother’s. She had to bring her chili and cornbread and since she still had to make the cornbread, she’d best crack an eyelid to see what time it was.
She needed a shower. Anything to fix the damage from last night.
Bret would be at dinner.
Bret.
Memory propelled her upward in one horrified rush. Her pillow flew to the floor and she shoved aside the covers. Her body objected to the sudden movement, her stom
ach threatening to heave. Her head splintered and she whimpered.
She’d kissed him!
Told him that she wanted him in her bed. She put her head in her hands and shut her eyes. “Please tell me I didn’t!” Her wail bounced off the walls in the small bedroom and came back at her as an accusation, making her cringe.
She put her hands to either side of her head to keep her brains from sloshing. A raging headache threatened to pop her eyeballs onto the floor. After a few moments of stillness, her stomach settled back to merely upset.
Could she kill Trevor? God would surely forgive her. What else had she done? Stripped naked and offered herself on a platter?
She eased up from the bed and stepped carefully to the bathroom. She took care of her most pressing problem, then dumped three aspirin in her hand. Staring at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror, she groaned. She had to go to her grandmother’s today. Had to. If she didn’t show, they’d come hunt her down. Not only had she volunteered to bring food, she had to be her normal perky self or she’d be grilled.
How was she supposed to act normal when she’d humiliated herself in front of Bret?
She gazed at her pale face in the mirror, then bent carefully and splashed cold water on her skin. Finally, she soaked a washcloth and covered her eyes. She had carefully hidden how she felt about Bret for four blasted years. They all knew she didn’t drink, so if she went looking like this, she’d be in for the inquisition from hell. Would they get as upset with Trevor as she was? Would they wonder why Bret had taken her home? After that kiss, would she be able to keep her eyes off him? Would that make them suspicious?
“My life is so frigging complicated,” she muttered to the porcelain sink. The brightness of the cheery white and green room burned behind her eyelids. She wanted to puke again. She dropped the washcloth in the sink and stared at her puffy eyes. “He has never shown any interest in you, Megan. Never. But the way he kissed you last night, is it possible he’s been hiding his feelings, too?”
She wiped her face on a towel and froze. Maybe he kissed every woman who threw herself at him like that. How would she know?
A pang expanded near her heart. She filled a cup with water and swallowed the pills. They landed in her stomach with all the ease of rocks into a churning concrete truck. She kept both hands on either side of her head and walked to the kitchen. Slowly, with easy movements, she put a piece of bread in the toaster and opened the refrigerator. Choosing the container of tomato juice, she poured a glass and sipped until her toast was finished. She buttered the golden piece and chewed deliberately, desperate for relief.
Her cell phone rang. She hunched her shoulders, cringing. Checking the caller ID, she groaned.
“Hello,” she mumbled, her mouth full of toast. “Megan Applegate, where did you disappear to last night?” Alessia Waters asked. “We were supposed to go to my house for breakfast after the dance was over, remember? You, me, Trevor, and Hanson.”
She winced. She was supposed to provide a buffer for her best friend against Hanson Gower’s pressure to get serious about their relationship. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Trevor disappeared, too.”
Meg grimaced. I wonder why.
“Ok, girl. What’s the excuse, and it better be good because Hanson was an absolute pain last night. Can you believe he actually asked me to marry him?”
Meg choked. “He did? What did you say?”
“What do you think I said? For crying out loud, Meg. He wants six kids and a stay-at-home wife. That’s so not me.”
Meg chewed thoughtfully and didn’t answer. Alessia was the assistant bank manager of the Texas Bank branch in Echo Falls, hoping to be promoted to manager when Milt Harlow retired next year. Lately she’d also been talking about going back to school and becoming a financial advisor.
“I’m sorry, Aless. Trevor spiked my drinks last night and made me sick. I slipped out the back and went home early.” She flinched, hoping against all hopes that Ales wouldn’t prod for details—like who took her home.
“Why, that son of a bitch!” Alessia’s volume forced Meg to pull the phone away from her ear. “I told you he was nothing but trouble. I heard from Sandy, who heard from her brother-in-law, who lives next door to Trevor’s parents, that he’s been hanging out down in the canyon.”
She gingerly sat on one of the stools at the counter and frowned. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore because we’re through.”
“You should move with me to Houston.”
She shook her head, and regretted it. “No, and that’s not a very good response to Hanson’s proposal. Echo Falls is our home. You forget I went to college and came back because I missed it here. I like my job. I like my house. I don’t want to leave.”
“I just thought I’d check. It wouldn’t be in response to Hanson’s proposal, because I’ve already refused that. I’m ready for something different.”
“More power to you.”
Everything I want is here.
She blushed, glad Aless couldn’t see her face. “I gotta go. I still have to make cornbread. I’m going to be cutting it close as it is.”
“Are we on for dinner Monday?”
“Sure. Clem’s Restaurant? Or your house or mine?” She shifted on the stool, her headache finally dimming.
“Let’s splurge on Clem’s. I need to be seen. Don’t want Hanson to think I’m pining over him”
“Right. See you then.” She hung up the phone and, moving in measured steps, mixed the cornbread and put it in the oven.
Leaving it to bake, she went to the bathroom. In the shower, she closed her eyes and let the hot water beat on her face. Considering how much alcohol she must have consumed in five Fruity Blasts, it was amazing she remembered with stunning clarity every second with Bret. He kissed like a dream, like every fantasy expectation she’d ever had. Imagine how much better it would be sober.
Meg shivered and poured some shampoo into her hand. This was exactly the kind of thoughts she couldn’t have. She had to act blasé and gauge his reaction. If he was warm and friendly, she might step it up a notch. But if he was cold and aloof, she might have blown any chance of snagging the man of her dreams. That thought depressed her and had her dragging her feet, waiting until the last second to leave for dinner.
Bret stopped at the curb in front of Olivia Applegate’s and turned off the engine. He studied her white, two-story house for a moment. The residence sat in the middle of a large corner lot, leaving a spacious yard in the front of the home. Last summer, he had helped Tom paint the shutters a deep pine green. Tom’s brother Chad had painted the trim. Before Thanksgiving, they’d cleaned the windows until they sparkled. In one of the matriarch’s daily rituals, the wrap-around porch was always swept clean. Tom’s father, Bill, regularly mowed and raked the lawn. This family took care of their own, a concept that was as foreign to him as walking on the moon. His family hired people to do those manual labor tasks.
He got out of his truck and zipped his leather jacket. The morning had started out gray and chilly and hadn’t improved as the day progressed. A front had moved through last night, dropping the temperatures from a balmy sixty-five last evening during the dance to the upper thirties. A stiff wind beat at the trees, and the chill nipped at his ears and nose. Sleet threatened. The beckoning lights shone through the windows. Still he hovered near the curb.
Today was the first time he approached the house with dread.
She shouldn’t have kissed him.
Last night when she’d uttered her words about wanting only him in her bed, he’d had to clamp down on a need so intense, it shocked him. Then she’d kissed him at the midnight hour, the damn minx. Hell and blazes, he wanted to take that frustrating woman to bed and get her out of his system.
The front door opened and Tom Applegate came out on the front porch. Bret tramped up the sidewalk, not in any hurry to confront Meg.
“Thought you were going to stand out here forever,” Tom commented, shaking Bret’s hand.
<
br /> He grimaced, still feeling more than a tad uncomfortable. “Preoccupied.”
“Work?” A puzzled frown crossed Tom’s face. “Another robbery?”
He shook his head, biting back his irritation that Meg’s actions had left him this self-conscious. He couldn’t be upfront with his best friend. “It’s nothing like that.”
Tom looked at him for a moment, and Bret felt slightly guilty for not confessing his dilemma. But Tom, being who he was, didn’t push. Instead, he turned back into the house and Bret had no choice but to follow.
Tom shut the door behind them. “Food’s in prep status. No one’s here yet.”
Bret stifled a sigh and followed him through the house to the kitchen. Thank God! He could settle in, find a niche, and shake off whatever the hell this was eating at him. When Meg got there, he’d be prepared, nonchalant.
After a long night of discarding his options—from confronting her about the kiss to pretending it didn’t happen—he’d finally come to the conclusion that it was best to pretend. Otherwise they could start in motion a whole scenario he didn’t want to play out.
He’d made the commitment long ago to stay away from serious relationships. No one was changing that. Having watched his parents battle it out day after day, he wasn’t prepared to put himself in any kind of romantic situation where there was a snowball’s chance in a furnace of love happening. Megan was a bundle of pure forever-loving sex appeal.
“Bret, glad you could come. We’ve missed you for the last few Sundays.” Olivia Applegate pulled him into a hug. He awkwardly patted her on the back. He would never get used to her impromptu demonstrations of affection, but he’d be damned if he’d hurt her feelings because he was uneasy. He respected who she was and what she had built in Echo Falls, even if he didn’t relate to it or want it for himself.
Olivia released him from the hug and he straightened. She was a short woman with silver hair and deep blue eyes. When she smiled, her delicately wrinkled face made him immediately relax. She smelled of Ivory soap and pumpkin pie spice, two of the most soothing scents known to modern society. She was a grease-monkey extraordinaire when it came to car repairs. Her gold sweatshirt embossed with Echo Falls Mustang Basketball only gave a hint of how big a fan she was. He always had a hard time refusing her anything, so he’d have to be especially on his guard.
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