She stood there with her hands on her hips, glowering, then released a big sigh and smiled. “Let’s start this conversation over, shall we? I care too much about you and your parents—”
“No, you don’t. See you later.” He was about to drive off, but a sedan pulled into the space opposite him, its front bumper nearly touching his, and blocked his forward path.
Janelle stalked off in her high heels toward her car.
He put the truck into reverse. And that’s when he saw a glow of orange and embers floating skyward in the distance behind her.
She whirled back around to face him, her eyebrows high. “Oh, my God. What’s burning?”
“I have no idea.” His phone buzzed, and when he looked down, there was a message from Scotty: Library on fire.
His heart sank. Poor Cissie. So that was where she’d gone. As librarian and mayor, she’d rated first notice from Scotty.
“It’s the library.” Boone was reluctant to tell Janelle.
She stuck a hand on her hip. “The lease on the space at the shopping center has been taken by a dance studio,” she said with some satisfaction. “If Cissie needs an alternative space, I don’t know where she’s gonna find one.”
Boone wasn’t surprised by her smug reaction. “Let’s think positive, shall we? Maybe it’s under control already.”
But as he steered the truck out of the parking lot, the orange glow became a tongue of flame rising high into the night sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Cissie hadn’t wanted to leave the postgame celebration—as mayor, she needed to be there for the school and town. She’d especially craved being there for Boone. What he was saying was so damned important. But when Scotty had texted her, she’d had no choice but to go.
She couldn’t believe her beloved library was burning—
And it was all her fault.
“I was worried about the electrical system,” she babbled to her friends and family as they gathered as close as they could to the scene. Two fire trucks and a police car blocked their access. “The lights would flicker on and off. I should have done something sooner. Borrowed the money.”
Now all the Rogers family documents were up in flames, and Kettle Knob’s precious library, with its aging selection of reading materials—and its long, proud history—were no more.
She cried. Everyone cried. It was so sad.
The worst part was when Sally tried to explain to Hank Davis that all his favorite Where’s Waldo? books could be repurchased. He didn’t get it and was inconsolable.
“I hate you, fire!” Sally cried. “Look what you’ve done to our library. And to Hank Davis. But I’m not gonna throw myself on the ground.” She paced a few steps, then pointed at the inferno. “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction!”
She was wearing a new orange hat and coat. Her Asheville art patron had given her all kinds of art supplies and had already sold her first painting—by “outside artist Sally Morgan”—for fifteen hundred dollars.
“There’s nothing we can do about it but go home and collect ourselves,” Nana said firmly. “Why don’t we all gather at our house? Hank Davis, I have a Where’s Waldo? book there that I know you’ll love.”
Maxwell came over and linked his arm through Cissie’s. She’d known him a little over twenty-four hours, but he had an offbeat sense of humor she enjoyed. Laurie had, too. They’d talked a lot at the game, which Laurie had explained to him play-by-play. “It’s a crying shame,” he said now. “I’m so very sorry, Cissie.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. There were no droll English jokes to be had today.
Laurie hugged her. So did Mrs. Hattlebury. The colonel pulled out his flask and passed it around. Even Cissie’s mother had some, and she wasn’t a drinker.
Her father put his arm around Cissie’s waist. “It had a terrific run,” he said quietly. “And it won’t be the first long-standing building that has burned down. Why, it happened all the time in the old days. All those candles and open fires.”
“But it shouldn’t happen now, Daddy.”
“We simply have different hazards, honey. We have wires instead of lanterns. And people rebuild. Just like we did with our house, and it’s come back better than ever.”
“That’s true. But there’s no money to rebuild.”
Her mother came over and slipped her hand around Cissie’s waist from the other side. “It’s always about money, isn’t it?”
Cissie sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish we’d moved the library to the strip mall.”
“It’s too late for regrets,” Mother said.
Chief Scotty came over. “Mayor Rogers, a word?”
She nodded, her heart sore, and followed him down the sidewalk to his squad car.
Scotty’s jowly face was grim. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Thanks, Scotty.” They’d gotten to be good friends since she’d been elected. He’d forgiven her that wild behavior at The Log Cabin.
“It’s a huge loss for Kettle Knob,” he said. “But there’s something more to think about: We don’t know yet that it was a bad wire in the electrical system that started this.”
“But what else could it have been? The furnace wasn’t on.”
“We’re calling in someone to see if this was set intentionally.”
A jolt of shock made Cissie stand up straighter. “But we don’t have people like that in Kettle Knob.”
“We might,” he said. “We should know more by tomorrow.”
“I don’t believe it. No one here hates the library.”
“I’m wondering if someone hates you,” Scotty said. “You’ve been so gung ho about keeping it in town. Someone with a chip on his or her shoulder might want to take the wind out of your sails.”
“I still don’t believe it.” Not even Janelle, whom Cissie had seen at the football game that night, would do such a malicious thing. Campbell’s mayor had been dressed to the nines and had pretended not to see when Cissie, her fellow mayor, waved at her.
“Let’s wait for some preliminary findings before we start making guesses,” said Scotty. “And please keep this information to yourself. We don’t want anyone hampering our efforts.”
“Of course.” Cissie was dying to text Boone, but she was surrounded by so many people trying to make her feel better that she couldn’t break away. And no doubt he was still dealing with the reaction to his big revelation at the football field.
He’d find her eventually.
As she walked to her dad’s car, she thought how just a short while ago, she’d imagined that moving the library would be the worst thing that could ever happen to her.
But no. Nearly losing Boone had been far worse.
The library—tragic as its burning was—was replaceable.
People were not.
So this is love, she thought from the back seat, her hand wrapped around Nana’s. Life hadn’t become all unicorns and flowers. It was still unpredictable, scary, and hard sometimes. But she also knew more about what mattered.
But did Boone love her back? He hadn’t said. She hadn’t told him, either, for that matter, and yesterday, on the mountaintop, she wished she had.
She felt a rise of panic as her father drove them up the mountain—but tamped it down. Boone wasn’t going to leave town the way her parents always had. She’d get to him soon enough. In fact, she wouldn’t let another day go by.
But what about Janelle and all the other women who wanted him? Tonight on the football field, he’d never been more loveable.
He was a real catch, and Cissie couldn’t take it for granted that he loved her back. He might like her a whole lot—enough to find her so attractive that he’d bedded her on several occasions, much to her extreme delight—but was that love?
Mrs. Hattlebury’s and Mrs. Donovan’s admonitions came back: Don’t give it away, Cissie.
She’d done just that.
“Too late,” she murmured as they approached the house.
<
br /> “What was that, dear?” asked Nana.
Cissie leaned close. “Do you believe in the old adage ‘Don’t give away the milk for free’?”
Nana chuckled. “No. When you have a hunk like Boone hovering, who’d want to resist him? You stand tall, darling. He’s a lucky man, and I’m sure he knows it.”
Cissie decided that he did know it. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her when she’d passed him that trophy. She was going to let go of all her insecurities and trust that he’d come through.
“He’s my real-life hero, Nana,” she whispered again, a hitch in her voice. “He’s brave, and kind. He’s smart and sexy, and wonderful, better than any hero on paper—”
“Yes, he is.” Nana stuck her arm through hers and squeezed. “You’ve made a grand choice, my dear.”
At the house, the mood was somber, but the good company couldn’t help but lift everyone’s spirits eventually. Mrs. Hattlebury brought over a couple frozen homemade lasagnas and started heating them. Sally read Hank Davis the Where’s Waldo? book. Several town council members, some theater people, and various townsfolk, including Starla, came over and commiserated with them.
By suppertime, there were not only two lasagnas but three buckets of chicken, two trays of macaroni and cheese, three pies, and a pineapple upside-down cake. Bad news traveled around Kettle Knob fast.
So did good news.
“It was a great game, and Boone’s speech was awesome,” could be heard over and over among the crowd still gathering in the den, the kitchen, and at the fire pit outside.
Cissie walked into a group of theater people right as the star of the current play said, “So Ella wasn’t his lover, after all. Just his reading tutor.”
“That’s definitely what he was telling us tonight,” a secondary actor said.
“In so many words.” A backstage person giggled.
And then everyone seemed to remember Cissie’s relationship to the story.
Starla, who wasn’t in the play at all, tossed Cissie an apologetic smile. “You’re not seeing him anymore, right, hon? I mean, if you ever were. It was just a kiss on the side of a pickup truck. Every Southern woman I know has had one of those.”
Cissie reddened. “Right.”
“So?” asked the star of the play, not giving up. “What’s your status with him?”
It was no one’s business. But they were all leaning close to hear, and everyone had been so supportive about the fire. These people were her friends. And she’d decided to trust Boone’s intentions.
“I really like him,” Cissie said quietly, then folded her arms over her chest. “I mean … I love him.”
There was a collective gasp.
“I haven’t told him yet, but I plan to. Tonight.” She smiled and shrugged. “If you’ll excuse me? I need to check on a few things in the kitchen.”
“Um, sure,” Starla said. “You do what you have to do.”
There were a few other awkward remarks as the circle broke open. Cissie forced herself to walk off slowly, her shoulders back.
“Damn,” she heard one of the actors say, “Cissie and Boone sure know how to work a moment.”
She smiled to herself. If Boone wasn’t going to hide, then she wasn’t going to, either.
* * *
Boone arrived at the library too late to see Cissie. But he had a brief talk with Scotty from his truck.
“Kettle Knob is too nice a town for anyone here to commit arson,” Boone said. “You’ve been watching too many cop shows.”
“Maybe,” Scotty said. “Maybe not. Where you headed?”
“Cissie’s.”
“You sure you should?”
“Why not?”
“Lots of people up there right now. They’ll be talking about the fire but about you, too.”
“I can handle it.” Boone’s parents had already called. But he hadn’t picked up. He wanted to feel good about his decision to speak to the crowd after the football game, and he suspected that they’d bring him down.
The chief shook his head. “I missed your speech, but I heard about it.”
“And?”
“I’m pissed you never told me about the reading thing. I thought I was your friend. A good friend.”
Boone looked him square in the eye. “Sorry. I thought telling you or anyone else would change things.”
“That was stupid.” Scotty punched Boone’s arm.
“I guess so.” Boone punched him back.
And that easily, all was right in Man World again.
“So what’s going on with you and Cissie?” Scotty asked.
“A lot. And it’s all good.”
Scotty grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while. Linda and I are rooting for you. Can I confess something?”
“Go ahead.”
“I was hoping you two would use that jail cell to get close. You know? It was obvious to me you were meant to be.”
“You are one kinky son of a bitch.”
Scotty laughed, and they shared a lightning fast bro hug above his holster and gun.
Boone’s phone rang on the way up the steep mountain road to Cissie’s. It was his sister, Debbie’s, number in Raleigh. That meant only one thing. His parents had called her, and now she was calling him to tell him he messed up.
This call he picked up. “Hey, Debs.”
“I’m not calling to yell at you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. Mom and Dad called, and they’re worried what the fallout could be.”
“Well, the fallout on the field was pretty damned awesome. Didn’t they notice?”
“Who knows? They tend to care too much what their business cronies think. And they’re parents—I think they’ll always worry about us.”
“Whatever happens will be easier than hiding it anymore. I can handle it.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll tell Mom and Dad to step back.”
“Thanks.”
“And Boone?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I was never any help to you. Mom and Dad were so into downplaying it, I was reluctant to get involved.”
He felt a pain in his chest loosen just a little. “Thanks, Deb.”
“There’s another reason they may have had a hard time acknowledging what was going on.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m almost positive Mom’s dyslexic.”
Boone’s world just turned sideways. Good thing his headlights were picking out every curve in the road. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. Haven’t you ever noticed that Dad always orders for her at restaurants?”
“I thought that was them being old-fashioned.”
“Have you ever seen her reading a newspaper? Or a magazine? Or a book?”
“No. She’s always loved TV. Soap operas. And The Price Is Right.”
“See? Even our Christmas cards—they get the printed kind so they never have to sign their names. Daddy prints out address labels, too.”
“A lot of people do that,” he said.
“I know. But there are so many little instances where Mom finds a way to shy away from reading or writing.”
“Even if she is dyslexic, would she admit it?”
“I doubt it. Maybe she feels guilty she passed it on. It runs in families, you know.”
“I never thought of that. So all that regret I sensed from them…” He prepared himself to tell Debbie what was really in his heart. She was his sister. “Maybe,” he ventured, “they weren’t wishing I was Richard so much as they were just upset that Mom and I—”
It was hard for him to go on.
“Oh, Boone.” She sounded so sad for him. “They never wished you were Richard. Ever.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been easy to think that.”
“Believe me, I’m a parent now, and each one of our kids is his or her own special treasure.”
“That they are, those little rascals.” Boone grinned, thinking of his
two nephews and two nieces, all under age twelve.
“There’s never a thought given to swapping out or wanting do-overs, even when I’m exhausted or one of them is getting on my last nerve. I’m grateful, Boone, that we have them at all. Mom and Dad feel the same way about you.”
“Thanks. I wish I’d talked to you a long time ago.”
“Guess what—they’re headed to your house. Since you didn’t answer the phone.”
“Dang.”
Deb chuckled. “They really need to get a life of their own.”
“Tell me about it. I need to take back my keys. They act like it’s their house. And I’ve always given them leeway. I felt bad, you know, that Grandpa skipped over Dad and gave the house to me. Hell, maybe you wanted it, too.”
“Dad doesn’t need it—with all his properties? And I’m thrilled I didn’t get it. Because then I might not have had the gumption to leave Kettle Knob. Do you wish you had?”
“No,” he said, and meant it. “I love it here. I’m surprised I’m saying that, after all the regrets I’ve had. But this is where I belong.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. We should talk more often.”
“I agree.”
Before they hung up, they arranged to see each other in Charlotte for lunch the next week.
A minute later, Boone went straight past the red reflectors that marked the entrance to Cissie’s driveway. He’d go back. But he had something to do first. His mother and father were literally opening his front door as he pulled up.
He rolled down his window, fast. “Hey!” he called to them.
They turned around.
He turned off his headlights and jumped out of his truck. “Here I am. Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah,” said Frank, standing in a puddle of light cast from a sconce near the door, with his fists curled. “We need you to answer your phone.”
Becky Lee, meanwhile, in her upscale clothes and perfect makeup and hair, looked sleek and confident.
But was she really?
Boone walked up on the porch. Sat in a rocker. “I’m sometimes too busy to answer my phone, Dad. Hey, Mom. Why don’t you sit down?” He indicated a rocker.
Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) Page 30