“I think you need a second opinion,” he said.
“Okay, but you have to give me your honest opinion.”
He crossed his heart. “Promise.”
She sat him down at the table, then cut him a good-size piece and put it in front of him. It was definitely juicy. And whoa, a little tart. He tried not to make a face. “Not bad.”
“You’re lying,” she said with a laugh.
“Okay, good effort,” he amended.
“This should help,” she said, and shoved a yellow sugar bowl in his direction.
While he sprinkled sugar on his pie she fetched her laptop from the couch and set it up opposite him at the table. “Are you sure you don’t mind talking about this? It must’ve been scary.”
“It was when I was worried about...people I know.” He’d almost said “you” but that would’ve been misleading.
She spent the next twenty minutes asking him about what he’d experienced. Then they strayed from the fire to his life in general and why he’d become a firefighter. And after that, they moved from the subject of saving lives to life in general, and starting over.
“I think starting over is a good thing,” she said, “but it’s really important to start over with the right person.”
The way she was looking at him made him edgy. “Uh, yeah, it is,” he said, and checked the time on his cell phone. “You know, I should—”
“Get going,” she finished for him.
He nodded. “I have to—”
“Be somewhere,” she said with an irritated smirk. “But that’s okay. I have to be somewhere, too.”
Who with?
The words were on the tip of his tongue when she stood and said, “Thanks for the interview.”
He got up, too, and trailed her to the front door. “Thanks for the pie.”
“The next one will be better.”
But he’d make sure he wasn’t around to eat it. He wasn’t having any more of these cozy chats with his tenant. And when the lease was up, he was still selling this dump.
How many times had he said that or something like it? Well, never mind. This time he meant it. He got in the truck and returned to his house.
But once there he felt restless.
He should call Tilda, see if she wanted to do something. The danger was over, people were back in town. He knew she’d be around. He should have heard from her by now. Hell, even Ashley had checked in. What was with Tilda?
Maybe she was waiting for him to call her. Or maybe she was in no mood to talk to him after she’d caught him hugging Jen at the ranger station. But that hadn’t meant anything. He’d just been glad she was safe.
Okay, that was bullshit. He knew it and Tilda probably knew it. How had he gotten into this mess, anyway? What was the matter with him? He didn’t want any more chaos in his life. He wanted to be with a woman who would help smooth out the rough spots, not create more.
Well, then, he’d better prove it, both to Tilda and himself.
“Yeah?” she answered when he called her.
“Hey, you want to hang out tonight?”
“Why?”
“Don’t be pissy. Come on over and let’s order a pizza and watch a movie.”
“That sounds like a thrill a minute.”
He’d had enough thrills to last him for a long, long time. All he wanted was a nice, quiet evening. And maybe a chance to get lucky. “Come on, Til.”
There was a moment’s silence. “Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Good, he thought as he tossed the phone on the kitchen counter. Tonight he was taking his relationship with Tilda to the next level. He was going to get serious, and they were going to settle down and have a nice, calm life. And he felt good about that. Yeah, he did.
And every time a seed of doubt tried to plant itself in his mind, he reminded himself of that.
Tilda arrived promptly at six. She wore her black leather jacket and under it she had on a tight black top. And she was wearing a skirt. He had no idea she even owned one. He let his gaze travel down her legs and that was when he saw she was wearing a pair of red high heels. Heels? Tilda never wore heels. She looked like an Amazon. Or a dominatrix. An Amazon dom. Yeah, he’d made the right choice.
“You look good,” he said.
“You’re finally noticing?” She held up the bottle of champagne she’d been carrying. “Wanna celebrate?”
“Celebrate?” Was this some sort of dating anniversary?
“You know, the fact that we’re still alive.”
Oh, that. “Great idea.”
She set the bottle on his coffee table. “And you know what people often do when they’ve faced death.”
“Pray?” he guessed.
“Yeah, that, too. But I was thinking of something else.” She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her pocket. “I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”
He stood rooted to the living room floor. “Uh.” This is it, the elevator to the next level. Come on, get moving.
She dangled the handcuffs. “Am I gonna have to search the place without a warrant?”
“Don’t you want some pizza?” What kind of inane thing was that to say?
“I need to work up an appetite,” she said, and started down the hall.
He followed after. This is a bad idea, whispered a little voice at the back of his mind.
Are you nuts? argued his hormones. Speed it up. What are you dragging your feet for?
It was more a case of who he was dragging his feet for. He knew. He had to break it off with Tilda. Tonight. No matter what he’d told himself, this wasn’t going to work. And it wasn’t fair to her. Why try to turn friendship into something more when there was really only one woman he wanted?
He walked into the bedroom.
“I’m glad you have the right kind of bed,” she said. “I should’ve known you’d have an old-fashioned one. You’re a romantic at heart, aren’t you?”
“It was my grandma’s.” Ashley had gotten the other bed. This girlie one wasn’t to his liking at all. “I’m gonna replace it.”
“Too bad,” she said. “Guess you’d better enjoy it while you can.”
He had to say something now, before this got completely out of hand.
“No more playing hard to get,” she teased.
Was that what he’d been doing? He thought he’d been taking it slow. “Til,” he said, walking up to her.
She smiled wickedly and snapped the cuff on his wrist.
“I can’t do this.”
“I know, you bastard,” she said sweetly.
“What do you mean?”
She gave his arm a yank and cuffed him to the bed. Then she started for the door.
“Hey,” he protested. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer.
“Tilda! Where the hell are you going?”
She turned at the doorway. “How stupid do you think I am?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she walked down the hall, her high heels clacking on the hardwood floor.
What the hell? “Tilda!” he hollered. “Tilda!”
A moment later he heard a car drive off.
She was leaving him here, chained to his bed?
He gave the handcuffs a vicious tug, succeeding only in trashing his wrist. Roaring in frustration, he kicked the nightstand, tipping the lamp off it and sending it to the floor with a crash. “Tilda!”
Damn it all. Was every woman in Icicle Falls a whack job?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
How wonderful life is when you have your priorities straight!
—Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity
Everyone was back in town and ready to celebrate. A
nd that included the Icicle Falls book club. The women were meeting at Zelda’s for dinner, and Jen could hardly wait to tell them about her book. Maybe Cecily’s mom would be willing to look at it, maybe even advise her on what to do next.
The restaurant was packed when she walked in at seven and she’d bet that every other eatery in town was equally full. Charley greeted her with a hug. “I saved us a table at the back, and I’ll join you when I can.”
“Join them now,” said her husband, who’d come in right behind Jen. “I can handle seating people.”
Charley looked at him dubiously.
“Don’t worry. I’ve managed to figure out how to read a seating chart,” he told her. “Go on, celebrate.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks. If you need help, you know where I am.” She linked her arm through Jen’s. “We are so glad you made it back to us in one piece.”
Cecily was already at their table, nursing a drink. She raised the martini glass in salute. “Hey there, fellow survivor.”
“Is that a wild huckleberry martini you’re drinking?” Jen asked.
“Yep. And for dessert I’m having a Chocolate Kiss and to heck with the calories.”
“Amen to that.” Jen slid into her seat. “Life is too short.”
“And yours was almost really short,” Charley said, sitting next to her. “We were so worried about you guys.”
“Well, we dodged the bullet,” Cecily said. “Except it looks like somebody’s in trouble,” she added, nodding at the entrance.
Jen turned to see Tilda in her cop uniform, walking toward them, frowning.
“Uh-oh,” Charley muttered. “What did you guys do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Cecily said.
“Me, neither,” insisted Jen. Unless it was a crime to want another woman’s man.
Tilda stopped beside Jen’s chair. “Jen Heath, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
Too shocked to speak, Jen merely blinked.
“What did she do?” Charley demanded.
Tilda held up a hand. “This is none of your business.”
“It sure is. She’s my friend.”
“Come with me, please,” Tilda said in her no-nonsense cop voice.
Jen obediently got up.
“You can’t just haul her off without telling her why,” Charley protested. “You’ve got to read Jen her rights.”
Tilda grabbed Jen by the arm. “You have the right to remain silent.” She pointed a finger at Charley. “You, too, Albach.”
“It’s Masters now,” Charley snapped. “And don’t be expecting a drink on the house next time you come in.”
Tilda ignored her and marched Jen through the crowd. People were gawking, and Jen’s face flamed.
“I don’t know what I’ve done,” she wailed as they walked out the door.
“Nothing, you bitch. Now shut up.”
“What?”
Tight-lipped, Tilda marched her to the patrol car. “I’ve been looking all over town for you,” she growled. “Watch your head.” She put her hand on Jen’s head and shoved her into the backseat. Then off they went. At least she hadn’t turned on the siren, Jen thought miserably.
Five minutes later, they were parked on a quiet side street in front of a run-down old Craftsman-style home. What on earth was going on here?
Tilda opened the car door. “Get out.”
“I don’t understand!”
“I don’t, either.” Tilda shook her head. “We were going strong. I was perfect for him.”
Garrett. Jen’s heart plummeted to her toes. Had Tilda snapped? Was she about to march Jen into that house and hack her to pieces? Was she going to pull out her gun and use Jen’s head for target practice?
“But then you came along.”
“Tilda, please,” Jen begged. Surely she couldn’t have survived a forest fire only to get whacked by a jealous woman.
“I knew he was in love with you practically from the first time he saw you, the fool.”
“I...” Jen stopped. She had no idea what to say to this woman.
“I know,” Tilda said. “Shit happens. So does love. He’s waiting for you.” She reached into her shirt pocket and took out a key. “And I want my damned handcuffs back when you’re done,” she said, forcing the key into Jen’s hand. Then she returned to her patrol car and drove off.
Handcuffs? Jen smiled and went into the house.
* * *
Garrett was pissed. No, he was more than pissed. He was in a rage. He’d kicked the fallen lamp across the room, given the bed an angry shove (hurting his wrist again) and sworn a blue streak. Now he was sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking of what he was going to do to Tilda once he got his hands on her.
He felt as if he’d been here forever. When the hell was she going to send someone to get him out of these things?
He heard the sound of a car door shutting outside and frowned. He’d heard several cars go by since he’d been stuck in here. And dogs barking. Even heard some kids laughing. Probably the kids down the street, riding by on their bikes. He’d called for help, hollered until he was hoarse, but no one had heard him. This was worse than prison. At least in prison you got water and something to eat. And had a place to piss.
He heard the front door open. Help was here at last. “In here!” he called. Which of her cop buddies had she sent to set him free? Jimmy Durango? Jamal Lincoln? Oh, they were all going to have a good laugh about this. And, of course, they’d trot on over to the fire station and tell his buddies. Paul would never let him live it down. He ground his teeth.
“Hello?” called a soft voice.
Wait a minute. He recognized that voice.
Once again, he heard the sound of high heels on hardwood. A few seconds later, Jen Heath stood in the doorway. She was wearing a tight little pink dress and pink heels with flowers on them. She was gorgeous and he wanted her. Not just now but for a lifetime. He was probably going to spend the rest of his life like Ricky Ricardo, bouncing from one crazy domestic adventure to another, but he didn’t care.
“You look amazing,” he told her.
“You look...” She faltered. “Good.”
He frowned. “Tilda did this to me.”
“I know,” she said. “She brought me here.” She came and sat next to him on the bed. “Would you like to get loose? I’ve got the key.”
Suddenly he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave. He slipped an arm around her waist. “You’ve got the key to something else, too.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“But then you knew that all along, didn’t you?”
“What have I got the key to?” she purred. “Come on, say it.”
“My heart, damn it.” He pulled her to him and kissed her.
“But I’m a flake,” she reminded him.
“You’re the sweetest flake I ever met. Aw, Jen, I’ve been a fool.”
She smiled. “Yes, you have.”
“Give me another chance?”
She took a moment to consider. “Well...”
He didn’t wait for the rest of the answer. He kissed her again, this time more thoroughly. She smelled delicious and her lips were so soft. But...
“I sure could use my other hand,” he said.
She grinned, showing off dimples, and took the key out of her bra. “Promise?”
* * *
“Sorry I’m late,” Juliet said, slipping into her seat. She glanced around at the others. “Where’s Jen?”
Cecily picked up her martini glass and regarded it with a sly grin. “I have a feeling she’s busy.”
* * *
Summer ended and the days fell away like autumn leaves. And Jen was busy...but not with a long list of activities. She�
�d scaled back and dedicated herself to finishing her book. There was one activity she didn’t cut, though. Book club.
In September the women read The Apple Orchard by Susan Wiggs. The apple streusel Jen made and brought to the meeting was a big hit.
The women picked a Stephen King novel for October. Jen brought her sister, Toni, who’d come up with her family for Oktoberfest and to check out condos. They decided to wait before they bought but Jen was convinced that before the year was over, her sister and brother-in-law would buy something. Everyone came in costume, and Jen was the first to guess the significance of Charley’s vintage maternity top.
Sure enough, Charley and Dan were expecting, and her big announcement prompted a flood of hugs and congratulations. Jen had come dressed as the lost bride of Icicle Falls. She wasn’t positive but she thought she’d seen the famous ghost when she and Garrett hiked Lost Bride Trail in September. If she had, everyone knew what that meant.
In November the women read Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress and shared things for which they were thankful. Stacy was not only thankful that her shop was doing well but that her son’s college grades were improving.
When it was Jen’s turn to share, she looked around the room with tears in her eyes and said, “I’m thankful I got to move to my little cottage on Juniper Ridge and meet all of you.”
“Not to mention a certain fireman,” Charley added with a wink.
“That, too.”
I can’t believe it’s December already. I’ve been in my new home for almost a year and I love it. Let me tell you, losing my stressful, go-nowhere life was the smartest move I ever made. So if you’re not happy with your life, don’t wait any longer to change it. The best thing you can do for yourself is to figure out what’s important and then let everything else fall away. I did it and so can you!
Jen reread what she’d just written for her blog. Yep, that about said it all. Now it was time to get over to Stacy’s house for this month’s book club meeting.
* * *
Stacy’s house was decked out for the holidays, not quite as much as the year before, but tastefully, she decided, surveying her living room. A few pieces of her Victorian village graced the fireplace mantel, and the nativity set now occupied the buffet, which meant there was room for plates and cups on the coffee table.
The Cottage on Juniper Ridge Page 31