Luck Be a Lady

by Cathie Linz

  Connor’s expression remained impassive as he slid his sunglasses back on. “You could have caused an accident. Could have hit someone in the parade,” he said.

  She remained silent. She was biting her lip, which strangely enough made him want to reach out and save her lush lower lip from such abuse.

  He definitely had not imagined the change in her attitude. Maybe she had a thing against cops? Then why had she acted all sweet and polite in the beginning? No, he was willing to bet it wasn’t all cops, it was something about him in particular that got her all riled up.

  Connor was used to riling up women. His brothers often kidded him that he was the womanizer in the family, which was bullshit because the truth was none of the Doyle men had trouble with the ladies. No trouble finding them, that is. Definitely some trouble keeping them. Connor’s older brother, Logan, and his dad were both divorced.

  Connor had lost track of how many times his dad had hopped on the marriage-go-round. Logan had recently remarried and hooked up with a librarian. Connor had been the best man at their Las Vegas wedding in December. That hadn’t changed his personal aversion to getting hitched, however.

  Connor eyed Ms. Johnson carefully before contacting dispatch to run a check on her plates and license. The response came back negative. Clean record. Not even a parking ticket.

  He returned her license to her. She made a point of avoiding touching him as if they were in first grade and he had cooties. What was her problem?

  “What are you doing to my daughter?” a woman demanded as she marched toward them. “You don’t think she has enough trouble, losing her job and her house and her husband? She could be having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” Marissa said.

  “Flo called to tell me you’d been arrested.”

  “I was just giving her a warning,” Connor said. “If she’s unstable, however, she shouldn’t be driving.”

  He knew it was the wrong thing to say the instant the words left his mouth.

  The librarian turned into an infuriated woman-warrior ready to do battle. “I am not unstable,” she growled at him. “And you have no right saying that I am.”

  She stood there, in her white shirt, jeans and sandals a good six inches shorter than his six-foot frame, and dared him to say something else.

  Of course it was a dare he accepted. “And you have no right crashing a parade,” he said.

  “I didn’t crash it. I was very careful not to hit anything. It was a mistake, that’s all.”

  Connor was starting to think it was a mistake not to ticket her for giving him a hard time.

  He had the feeling that things in Hopeful were about to get much more interesting with her arrival. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Marissa couldn’t believe it. Of all the cops in all of Ohio, she had to be pulled over by this one. Connor Doyle. The guy who’d taken her virginity back in high school.

  Okay, so he hadn’t “taken” it. She’d willingly given it to him. Practically thrown herself at him. She’d been a high school senior and he’d been a freshman at Midwest College. An out-of-towner from Chicago. A sexy bad boy with a romantic streak. He’d followed his high school sweetheart to college but they’d broken up halfway through the school year.

  Marissa had been working beside Connor at the popular Angelo’s Pizzeria for five months by then. She’d gone by the nickname of “Rissa” in those days and had dyed her short hair ink black. She’d had a humongous crush on him from day one.

  When she’d heard Connor was available, she’d been thrilled. Not that she was the only girl to try and catch his eye. But she had the advantage of having known him for months—knowing what made him laugh, knowing his favorite songs, the way he thought.

  So she’d screwed up her courage and “Rebel Rissa” had kissed him one night as they’d left the pizzeria. He’d pulled her closer and kissed her back.

  “You taste like tomato sauce,” he’d murmured against her mouth.

  “So do you,” she’d murmured back.

  They’d done a lot of murmuring in those days. A lot of kissing. He’d introduced her to the art of French kissing and she’d become hooked. They were a couple. Not that she went around bragging about it and not that she told her parents. What she and Connor had shared was too fiery and intimate to talk about. Their actions spoke louder than mere words.

  And their actions had escalated with every heated embrace or tongue-seducing kiss. She’d wanted him to make love to her and he had. She hadn’t told him she was a virgin because she didn’t want him to have second thoughts.

  Her first time had been awkward and a bit painful, but he’d been so tender and loving afterward that she’d fallen even deeper in love with him. Her second time was much better and her third time was awesome. So were the multiple times after that. She was on the pill and he used a condom, so they were being careful. But she hadn’t been careful with her heart.

  So she’d been totally blindsided when their three-month relationship ended at the end of the school year. He’d dumped her and gone back to Chicago. No explanation. Nothing.

  She was starting to see a pattern here. She’d been blindsided by her first love and blindsided by her last love, her husband, Brad. Men sucked.

  How dare Connor show up here in her hometown. This was supposed to be her safe haven. And, despite the badge he now wore, there was nothing safe about Connor Doyle. Not one solitary thing. He still had those hard-to-define blue-green-gray bedroom eyes, broad shoulders and lean build. Age hadn’t seemed to do anything but improve his looks.

  No, there was nothing safe about Connor. He was trouble she didn’t need.

  When in trouble, seek shelter. But how the heck was she supposed to do that when the trouble was right here in her own backyard?