“My name’s Cecily Brown,” she replied. “I’m glad we share the same taste in music.”
His fingers caressed the back of her hand. “Me, too,” he said. “I like your store. You’ve got some pretty things.”
“Thanks,” she said. He’d never got past the gourmet foods and coffee area, but she understood the need to say something, even if it sounded lame. “It’s the first day and you’re my first customer.”
“Then I need to buy something.”
“Only if you want something I’m selling.”
“Oh, I’ve seen several things I like.”
Please, let one of them be me. I like what I see and I want it more every second. If she’d met a man like Daniel ten years back, before Willard Bradford the Fourth, things could’ve been so different. An unspoken connection hummed in the air between them, powerful and intense. “Good,” Cecily said. “I’m glad.”
If the bell she installed over the front door hadn’t tinkled, she wasn’t sure what might’ve happened, but it did. Two older ladies, their hair tinted blue from multiple silver rinses at the beauty parlor, entered. Cecily ripped her gaze from Daniel and greeted them. He sauntered back and picked out two small scented votive candles from the nearest shelf.
“I’ll take both of these,” he said. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
She rang them up. “You’re not.”
“What time do you close up shop?”
“Eight o’clock. Why?”
“I wondered if you might like to grab some supper afterward.”
Although far from the most romantic invitation she’d received, his simple statement turned her insides gooey and fired prickles of anticipation down her spine. “I would,” Cecily said. “Thank you.”
“Then I’ll pick you up here, a few minutes after eight.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it, Daniel.”
His dark eyes met hers and seared her soul. “So am I.”
Cecily watched him walk through the door and climb into his car. He never glanced back, but she kept him in her vision until his car merged onto the strip and blended with the growing traffic.
“Miss, do you have this angel in blue by any chance?”
With effort, she turned her attention back to the customer. “Yes, I believe so. Let me check.”
By seven-thirty in the evening, her back ached and her feet hurt, but she’d sold more than she expected. Although she hadn’t planned to open Sundays, figuring there wouldn’t be enough business to warrant it in the Bible Belt, Cecily wondered if she should re-think her decision. She’d hate to miss the business if the Sabbath turned out to be business as usual for tourists and locals alike, but Cecily didn’t know if she would enjoy working seven days straight. I’d never have a day off, not one because I’m the staff, all of it. She decided she’d mull it over before making a decision.
Since many of the shows began at eight, her customers dwindled by seven forty-five. At five till, Cecily counted down the register and locked the day’s proceeds in the small safe she’d installed in her office. In the dinky bathroom, she touched up her lipstick and brushed a little bronze powder over her face. Her eye shadow had faded so she re-did it too, then spritzed a little more Eternity onto her pulse points. Ready as she could be for her date, Cecily did a walkthrough of the shop, straightened up anything in disarray, and began turning off lights.
Just as the cuckoo clock she’d bought and hung on a wall for its’ eclectic value announced the hour, Daniel Padilla strolled through the door with confidence. He still wore the black jeans and t-shirt, but she inhaled a hint of male cologne, caught the scent of soap and shampoo. I bet he’s got a whole damn wardrobe with black jeans, black shirts. I’d call it boring but damn, he’s anything but!
“Hi,” she said. In the social circles she moved within during her marriage people often greeted with a kiss, sometimes a peck on the cheek, often just an air version. Cecily doubted Daniel would expect one, but she wanted a kiss, just not the polite version. It’s way too soon to expect anything like that, so get a grip.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready to go?”
No compliment, no kiss, nothing but an abrupt greeting, but she didn’t give a shit. “All I have to do is lock the door and walk out.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”
On the way to his Taurus, Daniel placed one hand against her lower back as if to guide her. The simple gesture increased her pulse rate and where he touched, Cecily sensed the heat through her blouse. With old school manners of a gentleman, he opened the passenger door so she could climb into the car.
In the few seconds before he joined her, Cecily assessed her surroundings. New and kept immaculate, the Ford provided a comfortable seat. A faint hint of his masculine musk, a combination of his cologne and natural body scent, met her nose. Rhythmic music, more chant than song, issued from the speakers of his CD player and it took a few seconds before she realized what she heard—Native American music. The steady drum and the combined voices weren’t like anything Cecily had ever listened to but she found something soothing in the sound.
“I can turn it off if you don’t like it,” Daniel said.
“No, please, I’m intrigued,” she replied. “What is it?”
“The group’s called Southern Thunder and they did a lot of intertribal music. It’s pretty much what you’d hear at a pow-wow. I’m guessing you’ve never been to one?”
Pleased she’d guessed right about Native American music, Cecily laughed. “No, I never had much of a chance growing up in Chicago. The last few years, I wasn’t around anyone who’d have any interest either, but I always thought it would be awesome.”
His deep brown eyes gazed at her. “Yeah, it can be,” he said. “I’m part Comanche, Mexican from both sides of the family and some old-fashioned Southern redneck with a sprinkle of Irish in there somewhere. Hell of a mix, huh?”
She eyed him with the kind of appetite a kid develops in a donut shop. “Looks like it works, Daniel, besides, my family tree isn’t much less complicated. My mama always called it All-American mutt.”
For the first time since they met, he laughed with a deep bass sound reminding her of the drums. “That sounds about right,” he said. “So you’re from Chicago?”
“Born and raised,” she said. “I grew up in a poor ass neighborhood, then lived in a mansion, but now I’m doing things my way. First time in my life so I hope I don’t fail.”
“You won’t,” Daniel said as if he knew her well. She shot him a look to question his statement and he added, “You don’t seem like the kind of person who gives up easy.”
“True,” Cecily conceded after a moment. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Whatever you want,” Daniel said. “You tell me where.”
Chapter Four
Quiet by nature, taciturn even among his peers, Daniel Padilla found more to say to the woman he should be investigating, not dating, than he had to anyone in a long time. His partners bitched about how little he said and once a newly hired agent pegged him as a mute until the supervisor reamed her out about her false assumption. His widowed mother gave up trying to coax more than monosyllables and short sentences from him in their weekly calls, and none of his neighbors in his Raytown apartment complex knew his name. Daniel kept apart from the world, afraid if he entered it, he would get burned a second time. One reason he got the current assignment was the solo nature of the gig. Everyone knew Daniel savored solitude and preferred his own company. Or they thought they did. They failed to realize his silence covered his secret—loneliness so deep it lacked a bottom.
With Cecily riding shotgun beside him, Daniel’s senses shifted into overdrive. Her sweet fragrance invaded his nose, and she looked so pretty in her dark pink blouse he couldn’t help but sneak glances. He enjoyed the sound of her voice, rich and pleasant, and decided he’d draw her out in more conversation just to hear it. Daniel wondered if her skin would feel as satiny as it appe
ared and it took incredible self-control to resist stroking her arm. He ached to kiss her wide mouth and hold her shapely body in his arms.
“I don’t know,” she said in answer to his question. “I’m not picky and every place will be busy on Saturday night.”
Damn, he’d never realized but as his eyes focused on the brimming parking lots, the slow bumper to bumper traffic, he agreed. “So what do you suggest? You probably know more about Branson than I do.”
Cecily laughed, a sound infused with audible brown sugar and honey. “I doubt it. I just moved here a month ago. I figured you might be a native or something. What are you? Are you a tourist?”
For a woman suspected of murder, she’d been damned straight. She’d already mentioned she came from Chicago, had alluded to her humble background and to the wealthier life of recent years. Now she admitted to arriving in town a few weeks earlier. I’d think a guilty woman would try to hide her past, not blurt it out. Trained to trust his instincts, to know his gut, Daniel thought he believed her innocence. But he couldn’t deny his physical attraction or emotional pull, two things powerful enough to skew his perspective.
“Yeah I’m a tourist,” he said. “I’m here for some much needed down time, a couple weeks of vacation. I’ve been here before though, but it’s been a while back.”
Unexpected pain rippled through his belly. Don’t even think of Mollie. Forget the damn memories. Let the past stay where it belongs, in the rearview mirror. For one terrible split second Daniel swore he could see Mollie’s pale, freckled face, her light brown straight hair, her green eyes reflected in the windshield. Her lips pressed tight together, a frown not a smile.
“Well, we can explore the options together,” Cecily said. Her words banished the image and he sighed. “Do you want something fancy or simple? Steak or seafood? Burgers or barbecue?”
Damned if he knew. Food ceased to matter years ago. He ate when he grew hungry, drank more often because it dulled the inner pain and sometimes delivered sleep. But Dan wasn’t picky. He grabbed a bite where and when it was convenient and even on his rare forays to the supermarket, he tended to pick up the basics, things he recognized and were on display.
If I tell her I want her, she’ll freak out and whatever fragile little thing there is between us will die.
“Any of it sounds fine with me,” he said. “What’s your preference?”
“I like barbecue,” Cecily said. “The restaurant just ahead on the right is pretty good, but I see a line stretching from the door to the highway so I’ll pass. I don’t like waiting, much. My feet are tired today.”
He’d forgotten she got up early to open her shop, neglected to remember she probably hadn’t stopped for lunch or had time to go pee. She probably wanted to go home, kick off her shoes, settle down on the couch and vegetate or take a long bubble bath. So what’s she doing with me? His attraction to Cecily had blinded him to the fact it was mutual. Damn, she must like me. His revelation caught him short. Daniel, long out of practice with relationships, hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t dealt with his own emotions or sexual tension yet. If Cecily felt the same, it complicated things all the more but in a good way. Or so I hope.
“Would you rather grab something to go and head home?” he asked. “I’m sure you’re tired.”
Her face lit with a smile. “Yeah, I’m worn out, but I don’t really want to go home. I haven’t done much since I got here but work on getting my shop open. We can do whatever you want, though.”
No one could be more out of practice at dating than he was or as rusty at communicating, but Dan decided he’d give it a try. “Look, if you don’t mind the drive, we could pick up some fried chicken or something, then head over to Rockaway Beach. It’s a lot quieter over there than here and the lake is nice. There’s a swimming beach, a fishing pier, and an awesome view of Taneycomo.”
He half hoped she’d said ‘no’ and opt instead for fast food, but Cecily grinned. “Sounds nice, Daniel.”
“Then it’s a plan. Is chicken okay or would you rather have something else?”
“Fried chicken’s one of my favorites,” Cecily said. “I haven’t had any in a long time - my ex never wanted anything so working class. It sounds delicious.”
Her tone sounded regretful but not bitter. To Daniel’s trained ear, it didn’t sound like a woman who shot her husband to death at close range, then entered her former home to make off with a fortune in precious stones and jewelry. “Then let’s grab chicken and all the fixings,” he said.
Daniel hadn’t expected a rich man’s wife, ex or not, to crave fried chicken or consent to eating overlooking Lake Taneycomo. He figured she’d want lobster and caviar, served in a five star restaurant or at least someplace where they served meals on real china plates and offered cloth napkins. She’s not what I expected when I read her file, but then I didn’t plan to find her attractive, either.
Even most of the drive-through windows were full so he stopped instead at a local supermarket. Cecily joined him in a quick jaunt to the deli section where they bought a bag of fried chicken and some potato wedges. She picked out two cream horns from the bakery section and insisted they grab a package of paper napkins. At the checkouts, Dan grabbed a bottle of root beer and after a moment’s hesitation, Cecily chose a diet cola. He paid for it all and they plunged back onto the Strip. As they headed out of Branson, traffic lessened, and by the time he turned onto the narrow, winding two-lane road leading to Rockaway Beach, most of the vehicles they met headed toward the bright lights of the vacation city. The summer dusk yielded to night, but the oncoming headlights didn’t bother Daniel although he noticed Cecily flinched at the brightness.
“Do the lights bother you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “They do sometimes when I’m tired. It’s so much darker here than at home.”
“Guess so. Chicago’s pretty bright. So’s Kansas City and it’s a bummer because I like to see the stars and can’t. Branson’s not much better, but we should be able to glimpse a few above the lake.”
“I’d like that.” Her voice dropped low and she said little as he spun around the tight bends and roared over the hills. His Ford’s powerful engine ate up the road in a hurry and Daniel hugged the final curve as they descended into Rockaway Beach. “Have you ever heard much about this place?” he asked Cecily.
Even by the dim dash lights, he could see her smile. “Nothing,” she said. “I don’t think I even heard of it until now. Isn’t there one in New York or something, too?”
“I think so,” Daniel said. “This one was a hot party spot back in the Roaring Twenties. City folks came from KC, St. Louis, even your Chicago to dance, listen to jazz, and drink bootleg whiskey. I don’t know if it’s true, but a lot of stories swear Al Capone used to come here.”
“Really?” she asked.
“We won’t be able to see it tonight, but there’s a falling down shack across the lake some locals say was his summer hideaway,” he said.
“We’re here.” As he parked in the lot above the swimming beach, Daniel pointed out the old pavilion where dances were once held. “Some of these resorts and cottages date back to the Twenties, too,” he said. As far as he could see, the fishing pier loomed empty. All the locals must be holed up at the tiny town’s single bar or the single pizza place. The tourists who chose to stay in Rockaway must either be over in Branson or holed up for the night. “I’m hungry—let’s go eat.”
Before he could play the gentleman and open the car door, Cecily climbed out, her purse strap laid across her chest bandolier style. She carried the supermarket bags in both hands. Daniel took one of them. “Let me help.”
“Thanks.” She rewarded him with a sweet smile. “Which way are we going?”
“Out there.” Dan pointed toward the fishing pier, separated from the beach by a long, narrow dirt walkway reinforced with rock. “I forgot about it being covered, but we’ll have a great view of the water. After we eat, we can come back to the beach to gaze at the stars
.”
Cecily nodded and started across to the pier. He followed. Halfway across, she lost her footing for a moment and teetered. Although the water wasn’t deep, he didn’t want her to take a tumble so Daniel rushed forward and caught her with his arm around her waist. “Easy,” he said. “You don’t want to fall.”
Electricity ignited when he touched her, a vibrant current almost tangible enough to sting. He hadn’t intended to do anything but prevent a mishap, but he left his arm in place as they walked out to the pier in tandem, the slender space wide enough for two. Cecily leaned into him and Daniel thought if he didn’t kiss her soon, he’d explode into shattered bits. When they reached the structure, she put down the bags on the single picnic table and he followed her lead, removing his arm. Permanent benches flanked the table and shrunk the space. Cecily turned to him, her face in shadow and met his gaze.
God, he thought he’d drown in the depths of her deep, dark eyes. Somewhere he’d read eyes reflected the soul and if true, this lady had to be beautiful deep within, inside as much as out. He thought he could read old sorrow combined with hope and a healthy dose of desire. Neither spoke as a moment stretched out into two, then three. Cecily moved first. Her left hand rose with the slow motion of a sleepwalker to touch his cheek, her fingers separate. She stroked his face, lighter than a soft wind. Their eyes remained locked as she traced his lips with a single finger. She spoke his name aloud, her tone rich and resonant.
Her voice became a knife, sharp enough to cut away some of his emotional baggage in catharsis. With a vulnerable corner of his heart laid bare, Daniel didn’t think, he acted. He grasped Cecily in his arms and bent for a kiss. His lips burned fever hot as need rippled through his body like cold chills. The overall effect made him almost physically sick, but he sought healing and as their mouths merged into one, he thought Cecily offered the cure.
Dan snared her lips with his and used his mouth on hers, more caress than simple kiss. He’d forgotten the taste of lipstick on his tongue or how soft a woman’s skin could feel beneath his hands. As he inhaled her fragrance, a blend of perfume, cosmetics, peppermint, the potpourri from her shop, and a few elements Daniel couldn’t define, he thought he’d die happy smelling something so sweet.
Pink Neon Dreams Page 3