by Emily March
When Brick invited everyone to join in the dancing, Boone looked at Caitlin and asked, “Would you like to dance?”
She saw that Josh was dancing with one of the bridesmaids, so she gave Boone a bright smile. “Might as well make Daddy happy.”
They danced two dances before her brother cut in. Caitlin thanked Boone, then arched a brow at Chase. “If it isn’t my fifth-favorite groomsman.”
“Out of five. Gee, thanks.”
“Abandoning your wife already?”
“I figured I’d be a good egg and rescue you from Dad’s set-up.”
“You noticed too?”
“The birds in the trees noticed. The trout in the lake noticed. The worms in the dirt noticed. Josh Tarkington sure put a burr in Dad’s saddle, didn’t he? And speaking of Tarkington, what’s happening there? I haven’t heard a word of gossip about the two of you.”
“Have I mentioned how handsome you look in a tux, Chase?”
“You’re not talking, hmm?”
“Does it remind you of the bad old days when you were gambling in Monte Carlo and being fodder for the tabloids?”
“Okay, now bringing that up is just mean.”
“I love you Chase.”
“Love you too, Goober. Don’t let Dad get you down. I think he’s just going through a phase.”
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Or something. His retirement talk sure caught me by surprise tonight. Guess I thought he’d scale back at some point, but to stop practicing law completely? What’s he going to do?”
“Drive Mom nuts, I imagine.”
Caitlin sighed, then shook her head. “Oh well. Enough about that. I want to relax and have a little fun.”
Chase took the hint and gave her a twirl. And then another one. And another. Soon, Caitlin was laughing like the children playing hide-and-go-seek among the Callahan cabins. At the end of the dance, she hugged her brother then stepped toward the back of the crowd. Finally alone, she had a chance to check her phone.
Holy cow. And here she’d thought the dancing had made her hot.
She’d better never, ever lose her phone.
Slipping her cell back into her purse, she began to casually look around, hoping to spot Josh. The crowd was too thick and she was too short, but when she spied her father, she made an educated guess and turned in the opposite direction.
Josh was nowhere to be found.
He wouldn’t have left. He was a groomsman. Maybe he was overseeing the decorating of the jeep Brick would drive up to the river camp where the newlyweds intended to spend their wedding night before departing for a two-week honeymoon, the destination of which Brick had kept to himself.
So intent was she on searching the crowd that she failed to notice the waitress trying to get her attention until the college-aged girl tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Miss?”
The girl’s impatient tone told Caitlin that the waitress had spoken to her before. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes?”
“A guy asked me to give this to you.” She handed over a business card for Tarkington Automotive.
A smile flickered on Caitlin’s mouth. On the back, strong male handwriting had written 4:27—THE TREE HOUSE.
“Four twenty-seven?” she murmured. “Not four thirty? Or four twenty-five?”
However, the odd number was intriguing.
The tree house, however, was not. It was way too public a spot for them to steal even so much as a kiss. They certainly wouldn’t be disappearing up into it. Caitlin could climb a tree with the best of them, but not in a silk dress.
She had to admit that she was a little disappointed. For a man that inventive with text messages, she’d expected something a little more imaginative.
She checked her watch. 4:19. Eight minutes to kill. Knowing her luck, her dad would show up two minutes from now with some other guy in tow. She’d better make herself scarce until it was time to wander back to the tree house.
Caitlin decided that the best place to stay hidden was on the crowded dance floor, so she mingled with the dancers and killed another five minutes before slipping off toward the tree house, keeping her head down and moving fast. She arrived there to find … nothing. She was alone. She checked her watch. 4:27. She folded her arms and said a snippy, “Well.”
But then the sound of an engine caught her attention. It was one of the utility vehicles used by the caterers. The driver wore a white cook’s shirt and chef’s hat, and the dishtowel draped around his neck obscured his features.
The driver braked to a stop beside her. Gray eyes gleamed at her, and in an anxious tone, Josh said, “Quick, get in the back. Lie down and cover up. Move, darlin’. Go go go.”
The urgency in his voice had her moving instinctively. Tablecloths were piled high on the back seat. “Down. Get down.”
She got down and covered up and, as the vehicle sped off, she wondered what in the world he was doing. Where was he taking her? The vehicle bounced and jostled over uneven ground. Lying across the back of the seat unable to see anything, Caitlin felt like he drove eighty miles an hour, though he probably topped out at ten.
In less than five minutes, gravel crunched beneath the tires as he applied the brakes and the vehicle slid to a stop. The motion almost threw Caitlin off the seat and onto the floor. “We’re here.”
Josh reached for her arm and helped her from the utility vehicle. He placed his hand at her back—okay, on her butt—and propelled her up three steps into a … seriously?
“A food truck?” Caitlin exclaimed as he shut the door behind them, then locked it. “You brought me to a food truck?”
“Yeah. I did.” He turned to face her and waggled his brows. “I’m hungry.”
He stepped toward her and his big hands cupped her cheeks. Holding her like she was precious to him, he lifted her face toward his and gave her the longest, steamiest, sexiest kiss she’d ever received. By the time he lifted his head, her mind was as fuzzy as cotton candy.
“You look drop-dead gorgeous today, Ms. Timberlake.”
“You do too, Mr. Tarkington. Well, you did until you covered up your tux with a cook’s uniform.”
“I’d rather be naked. With you.” He skimmed his hand from her butt where it rested up along her spine.
Caitlin heard the rasp of her zipper and said, “Whoa. Wait a minute.”
“I’m not waiting a whole minute.” His practiced fingers made quick work of the catch on her bra. “We only have seventeen of them. We have to use them wisely.”
Then his hand was full of her breast and his mouth was back on hers. They kissed and kissed and kissed. At some point, her dress slid off her shoulders and fell to her waist. He kept one hand wrapped around her waist as the other played with her breasts, but he didn’t try to take things further.
When she managed to formulate a thought, she told herself she was glad. She didn’t think she was ready to have sex in a food truck. That was just wrong.
The notion made her giggle. Her giggle stilled first with his hand, and then his mouth. He lifted his face and stared down at her with an eyebrow arched above a twinkling eye.
She asked, “A food truck?”
“The catering vans were all locked.”
“The odd time?”
“Added an element of mystery, don’t you think?”
Her giggle intensified to a chuckle. “Why the cart at the tree house? Why didn’t you just ask me to meet you here?”
“I thought the getaway cart added a measure of excitement to the process. Besides, I saw that Texan chatting you up while you stood beneath the tree house. I don’t want you thinking about him when you see that tree house. I want you to think of me.”
They kissed for a few more long, luscious minutes. Josh Tarkington was good at it. He seemed to honestly enjoy kissing for kissing’s sake. She hadn’t made out like this since high school.
The thought of high school had her giggling again. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s silly. It’s ridiculous.”
/>
He kissed her again, slid his hand sensuously over her breasts, then said, “Absolutely.”
“It’s fun. You’re fun, Josh.”
He grinned down at her, then kissed the tip of her nose. “Thank you. That’s a compliment I treasure.”
He stepped away from her, reached behind her, and fastened her bra before helping Caitlin back into her dress. “Turn around. I’ll zip you.”
After he did so, Caitlin picked her bag up from the floor where she’d dropped it and pulled out a compact. Her hair was a bit of a mess, but that could just as easily have happened from dancing as hiding beneath tablecloths and making out among the … she glanced around. “What sort of food truck is this, anyway?”
He rolled his tongue around his mouth and dodged the question. “It’s owned by the same bunch out of Vail who catered the wedding. I don’t know why they brought it with them unless they needed backup ovens or something.”
He checked his watch, then began unbuttoning the chef’s shirt he wore over his tux. “I have three minutes before I must leave. I still have a few groomsman duties I need to do. Do you want to walk back with me or make our way separately?”
“Oh, let’s not blow this now. Separate is good. It’ll extend the afterglow. I’ll give you a five-minute … no, make that a seven-minute head start.”
Josh laughed softly, then turned and unlocked the door. He opened it cautiously, glanced around, then paused long enough to look at her and say, “Thanks for the canoodle, Caitlin.”
She laughed again. Now there’s a word she hadn’t thought of in a very long time. “Thank you. I enjoyed every minute of it.”
Josh exited the truck and pulled the door shut behind him. Caitlin leaned back against the work counter, her arms folded and a grin on her face as she relived the past seventeen minutes. To think that the words she most often heard when friends and acquaintances described Josh were “quiet” and “serious.” Did anyone know he had this kind of playfulness inside him? He’d certainly never shown this side of his nature to her before now.
She liked it.
She liked him.
She wondered what had gotten into him. She didn’t have a clue. I’m not going to figure it out tonight in a food truck.
She’d better get back to the reception before her father sent out the rescue dogs. Caitlin gave her reflection one more check in the mirror, decided not to refresh her lipstick so as not to draw more attention to her swollen lips, and after checking to make certain she wouldn’t be observed, stepped down out of the food truck.
As she made her way around to the front, one of her questions was answered. The truck’s name was painted across the side: THE WIENER WAGON.
She laughed all the way back to the reception.
Journal Entry
Genetics.
They tell me I look exactly like one of my great-something-grandfathers. They tell me my talent came to me through my grandmother’s line. I inherited one person’s eyes and another person’s mannerisms and someone else’s money. Can’t leave the money out of the equation.
Which of my ancestors was the first to beat his kids?
Was one of them a regular at an eighteenth-century opium den?
How many of the nuts on my family tree offed themselves?
Is it possible to ever overcome genetics?
Chapter Eleven
On a snowy morning the week before Thanksgiving Josh turned on his shop radio to the classic rock station, tossed a treat to Penny, then went to work. He had a tune-up to do on Maggie Romano’s SUV and an oil change for Colt Rafferty waiting for him. After that, he wanted to put in a few hours on the Lamborghini. He’d worked hard the past few weeks. He figured he’d earned the time for playing with that classic engine.
Speaking of play, he’d done plenty of that of late too. He and Caitlin spent at least two nights a week together, alternating between her rental home and his house. A third night usually found them in the same group at a social event of some sort. Because Eternity Springs had a shortage of citizens in the twenty-five to thirty-five age group, it was usually all hands on deck when any one of them threw a party or held a game night. Keeping to the secret spirit of their affair, Caitlin and Josh avoided being seen as a couple, treating one another no differently than they did their other friends.
Once or twice Caitlin had mentioned experiencing a twitch of guilt about it, especially where Lori and Chase were concerned. Just last week as Josh cuddled with Caitlin after a stolen hour in his bed, she’d twirled her finger in the hair on his chest and confessed, “Before I moved back, I told my brother I had a crush on you. I know he wonders why I appear to have changed my mind.”
Josh had asked, “Do you want to go public?”
“No. I’m enjoying this. As long as I don’t have to outright lie. I can’t abide liars, so I’m walking a fine line, personally.”
“Well, if you ever decide you need to spill the beans, it’s all right with me.”
And it was. In fact, a part of Josh wanted to go public with their affair just to get under Mac Timberlake’s skin. The man had a serious hard-on against Josh, and it was beginning to seriously annoy him.
When Springsteen’s “Born to Run” came on the radio, he turned his attention away from the Timberlakes and toward tuning up the engine of Maggie’s 2014 Ford. Once that was done, he tackled Rafferty’s oil change and was finishing up when he heard the sound of a motorcycle engine. A skipping engine.
Celeste drove into his shop on her Gold Wing, switched off the engine, kicked down the stand, then removed her sparkling gold helmet. “Hello, Joshua.”
“Good afternoon, Celeste. Something tells me you need me to look at your carburetor.”
“And my spark plugs,” she observed, beaming at him. “She’s been hard to start the last few times I’ve ridden her, and I’d hate to get stuck somewhere on a winter’s day.”
“We’re not exactly heading into motorcycle weather.”
“True. Tomorrow certainly won’t be a good day for riding. Our forecast for tonight calls for a mix of sleet and snow. But I want to be ready for the next clear, cold winter’s day because I find a ride under those circumstances to be especially invigorating. Don’t you agree?”
Josh considered the question as he grabbed the tools he anticipated needing from his toolbox. “It can be. It can also be a miserable experience.”
“How soon do you think you can get to her, Josh?”
“I’ve just finished what I needed to do today. I can look at it right now.”
“Excellent. Do you mind if I wait? I have a little time to kill before I meet Savannah Turner to plan our Thanksgiving feast.”
“You’re welcome to wait. This shouldn’t take long. I put some new magazines in the waiting room this morning.” He put a wrench to a nut and got to work.
“Oh, I’ll just stay here and chat with you. It seems like forever since we’ve had a chance to visit. Plus, I want to ask your impressions of our Fall Festival. It was your first time attending, was it not?”
“Yes.” He set about removing the carburetor from the motorcycle.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, very much. It’s not often a guy gets to compete in a game of horse with a former pro basketball player.”
“I heard you gave our Lucca Romano a run for his money.”
“It was fun. And the Cakewalk … I don’t have words to describe that. I never guessed a game like that could be a full-contact sport.”
“It’s become quite the tradition. I’m curious to know if you have any new ideas for us to try next year. The festival is our biggest school fundraiser, and I’m afraid our activities are growing stale. I’d be so pleased if you’d join our organizing committee for next year, Josh. May I count on you?”
Her carburetor definitely needed to be cleaned. “I’m not much of a committee person.”
“That’s why you’ll be so perfect. Our first meeting is December fourth at seven p.m. I’ll count on see
ing you there. Which reminds me, do you have Thanksgiving plans, Josh?”
A quick image of what the Timberlake family Thanksgiving table might look like flashed into his mind and was banished just as quickly. It would be a cold day in hell before he’d get that invitation. Josh dropped the carburetor into the pail of cleaner, then took the wrench he needed from his toolbox to tackle the spark plugs.
“No, I don’t.”
“So you’re not going home to California to see your mother?”
The wrench clattered to the garage’s cement floor. Josh shot Celeste a look that was half panic, half outrage.
“In that case, consider yourself invited to Angel’s Rest.” Then with kindness in her tone, her eyes filled with compassion, she added, “You need not worry, dear. I recognized you the first time we met. I haven’t told a soul who you are, nor do I intend to ever do so.”
Josh bent and retrieved his tool. He briefly considered trying to bluff his way through this, but when Celeste Blessing gazed at him with those clear blue eyes, he couldn’t lie. “I don’t understand. How did you recognize me? Nobody ever does. I haven’t made a movie in over twenty years. I don’t look anything like I did when I was J. B. Trammel.”
“True. But you are the spitting image of your namesake, your great-grandfather Benjamin.”
That took Josh aback. No one had said that to him since puberty. In fact, to this day on the rare occasions that he did see his mother, she always waxed on about how much he looked like the men in her family tree.
“I’m honestly surprised that no one else has noticed,” Celeste continued. “Cary Grant. Rock Hudson. Benjamin Trammel. Oh my. Heartthrobs of women across the world, back in the day. And I know that I’m not the only woman in town who watches the classic movie channel. You should prepare yourself to be outted, Joshua. Someday it will happen and it might not occur at the most opportune time.”
Oh hell. He’d never even thought of that. “I’ll grow a beard.”
“Then, you’ll look like your father.”