“Sure. Go on in and make yourself comfortable by the fire. I’m just going to put our potatoes in the oven and then I’ll join you. Would you like a beer?”
“That sounds great. Thanks.” I padded through the open living space to lay the shotgun on the floor within easy reach of the dining table before heading for the brown denim sofa in front of the fireplace. “I like that you don’t mind me bringing a gun to dinner,” I called in the direction of the kitchen. “Most city boys would faint at the sight of an outfit accessorized with a shotgun.”
His laughter carried me to the sofa, where I sank into the soft cushions and curled my feet under me. The tang of woodsmoke in the air made me smile.
“What’s the joke?” Tom appeared from the kitchen bearing two frosted beer mugs. He handed me one and sank into the opposite chair, stretching long denim-clad legs toward the fire.
“I was thinking that the smell of woodsmoke isn’t quite such a treat as it used to be. I just spent four months visiting my aunt and uncle on a commune where woodstoves were the only source of heat and the only way to cook.”
He shook his head and took a deep swallow of his beer. “I can’t believe people want to live like that. I grew up in a house with no central heat, and you can bet I love my gas furnace.”
I laughed and agreed, and the conversation flowed easily while he brought me up to date on the latest happenings in the small town of Silverside and I regaled him with tales of the commune that didn’t involve terrorists and secret agents.
Still talking, we moved to the table to devour melt-in-your-mouth beef ribs and loaded baked potatoes. When he brought out a caramel-chocolate cheesecake for dessert, I groaned.
“Oh, that looks so good! But I’m stuffed.”
Tom gave me his attractive crooked smile. “We can have it later if you like, but I won’t be hurt if you don’t want any. I’m a pretty plain cook. I don’t know how to bake, so I bought it.”
“Well, your ribs are amazing.” The unintentional double entendre popped out before I could stop it, and I couldn’t help glancing at his chest. Lean muscle under soft faded denim. Mmm…
I dragged my eyes up to his face again and ignored the warmth in my cheeks. Kane or Hellhound would never let me get away with a line like that, but I was pretty sure Tom was polite enough to let it pass.
He was. He nodded toward the living area, warm and welcoming in the mellow firelight. “Let’s go sit somewhere more comfortable. Maybe you’ll feel like dessert later.”
At least I thought that was politeness. Or maybe he’d just offered a double entendre of his own.
He rose and reached for my empty beer mug with a smile. “Can I get you another?”
I stood, too, and stretched before heading for the sofa. “Thanks, that’d be great. I’m not driving and it’s only a short stagger home.” And it might help calm my still-jangling nerves.
“I can drive you home later if you’d like,” Tom called from the kitchen over the clink of beer bottles.
Okay, that really sounded like a double entendre to me. But it was probably just my dirty mind.
“Or I can lend you a flashlight and walk you home,” he added as he returned with the fresh beers. “That path can be hard to find after dark.”
“Oh, I brought a headlamp, so I should be fine. Thanks, though.” I accepted the frosty mug along with a brief but rewarding glimpse of soft denim hugging his grope-worthy posterior as he turned to go back to his chair.
Down, girl.
I firmly ignored the small alcohol-fuelled voice that reminded me how safe and comfortable I could be here in Tom’s bed instead of startling awake at the slightest noise in my own.
I gulped a determined swallow of beer. Not an option. There was no way to hide or explain the Glock strapped to my ankle if I took off my clothes, and the longer I stayed the more dangerous it was for Tom. I probably shouldn’t even be here…
“Did you have a nice visit with your nephew?” Tom asked.
I dragged my attention back to the conversation. “It was short and sweet, but he didn’t ask me for money. It was just a social call.”
If a blast of buckshot could be considered social.
“Is there anybody else who might have been trying to visit you?” Tom asked. “I’ve seen a silver SUV around pretty often the last couple of months.”
My attention sharpened with a hard thump of my heart. “Uh, no, not that I can think of.”
“Well, it’s funny.” Tom stretched out his legs. “Nobody takes this road unless they’re visiting you or me. There’s nothing but the old Wright homestead north of us, and it’s been abandoned for years.” He swallowed some beer. “Sad to see the old house falling down like that. It’s a hazard, too. Kids go out there to drink and party, and someday there’ll be a fire…”
Spoken like the volunteer firefighter he was. I gently interrupted before the conversation diverged too far. “Um, about the SUV?”
“Oh, yeah.” He frowned. “I saw it driving past slowly several times. And once when I was coming home it was nosed into your driveway, but when I headed over to see if I could help it pulled out and left before I got there. I caught sight of it once while I was plowing your lane, too, but by the time I got back to the road it was gone again.”
My pulse accelerated. That’s how they’d gotten the combination to my gate. Tom would have left the lock hanging by its shackle while he plowed. It would only take a few moments for somebody to pop out of their car and note the combination.
Which meant they’d had my place under surveillance for a while. Long enough to know that Tom unlocked my gate and cleared off my lane whenever it snowed.
I drew a slow breath and kept my tone casual. “Did you notice the make or model? A couple of my friends from Calgary drive silver SUVs, so it might have been one of them. Could you see the driver? Or any passengers?”
“Only one driver, but I was too far away to see if it was a man or a woman. And I couldn’t tell you the make or model. It was one of those crossovers, not really a truck or a car. They all look the same from a distance.” Tom shrugged. “Useless things. If you need a truck, get a real truck. Otherwise, get a car.”
“Mm.” I frowned and sipped my beer.
Tom sat up a bit straighter, his brow furrowing. “I mean, I guess lots of people like them. I didn’t mean to be insulting…”
“Huh? Oh, that’s okay, you weren’t,” I assured him. “I was just trying to figure out who it might have been.”
“Oh. Good.” He sat back again, looking relieved. “So do you think it was anybody you know?”
I summoned a carefree shrug. “Oh, probably. They’ll catch up with me sooner or later.”
God, I hoped not.
I swallowed and changed the subject. “While I’m thinking about it, I need to write you a cheque for keeping my lane clear all winter. Oh, and I changed the combination on the lock.” I recited the new one, pleased to see that he memorized it instead of writing it down.
After repeating it back to me, he said, “Don’t worry about paying me. You weren’t even here for most of the winter.”
“No, we had a deal,” I insisted. “You plowed it anyway so I need to pay you for your gas and time.”
After some good-natured argument we settled on a price and I scribbled out a cheque. I was reluctantly considering leaving when Tom leaned forward, his expression grave.
“There’s something I need to warn you about,” he said.
A chill touched my backbone and I couldn’t prevent a fast glance around the room. “Um, what?”
“Beware… the spring thing!” he intoned ominously.
“The… what…?”
The laugh lines crinkled around his sky-blue eyes and my heart gave an involuntary thump of appreciation for the crooked smile that transformed him from handsome to irresistible.
“The spring thing,” he repeated, grinning. “You probably missed it last year because you’d just moved here, but as a business owner a
nd member of the Silverside and Area Chamber of Commerce… you are still a member, aren’t you?”
“Uh… yeah,” I admitted warily.
Tom laughed. “Then you’re doomed for sure. Brace yourself.”
I managed a sickly smile. “I’ve already got all the doom I can handle. Should I run for the hills?”
“It won’t help.” He assumed a gloomy monotone. “It’s already too late. No matter where you hide, they’ll find you. And when they do…”
A shudder shook me. “Stop it, already!” I protested with sincerity I hoped I’d hidden in a smile that felt too stiff for my lips. “You’re creeping me out! What the hell is this spring thing, and why should I worry about it? And who the hell are ‘they’?”
“It’s a long story, and you’ll need another beer,” Tom teased as he rose. “I’ll be right back.”
He vanished into the kitchen again, and I leaned down to touch the Glock at my ankle. My insides felt icy even though I knew he was only hamming it up. Jokes like that just didn’t seem too funny at the moment…
“Here you go.” Tom returned to hand me another frosty mug, and I sucked down a bracing swallow as he sank into his chair again. He took a drink of his own before saying, “The spring thing is a festival the Chamber sponsors every year on the Thursday before Good Friday. Usually it’s over by now, but Easter’s late this year. The schools and businesses all close so everybody can go to the parade at noon, and there’s a little fair with some rides for the kids. Then everybody gets together at the rec centre for a potluck supper.”
“Oh…” I took another drink and leaned back, surreptitiously easing the tension out of my muscles. “I guess I must have missed it last year because Easter was earlier and I was still getting settled after my move.”
I didn’t bother to mention that I had been a little occupied with eluding murderers last year around that time, too. Déjà vu.
“So what’s the festival called?” I added.
“The Spring Thing.”
I frowned at his mischievous expression. “That’s what it’s called? The Spring Thing?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “That’s what you get when you do things by committee. They called it the spring thing while they tried to figure out a proper name. They proposed all kinds of high-falutin’ handles, but they never could agree on one so it’s been called the Spring Thing for over thirty years. Every few years they argue over new names, but it hasn’t changed yet. I don’t suppose it ever will.”
I relaxed further and flashed him a smile before sucking back another swallow of beer. “Small-town politics are always good for a laugh.”
Tom gave me a wry look. “As long as you’re not involved in them. And you will be. All the Chamber members are expected to participate. You came home at the worst possible time. The Thing’s next weekend and everybody’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”
“Oh.” My smile dissolved. “So, um… what will they expect me to do? Surely all the planning is done by now.”
Tom grimaced. “It’s a committee. The planning is never done. I know they’re going to ask you to drive your Corvette in the parade. And if you don’t want to do that, they’re always looking for volunteers to help wrangle the kids into their costumes and get them rounded up for the Little Clowns Bicycle Rally…” He trailed off at the sight of my horrified expression.
“I don’t wrangle kids,” I said, perhaps a little more vehemently than necessary. “I especially don’t wrangle hyper-excited kids who are likely to run me over with their bikes. And I can’t drive the ‘Vette in the parade. The cam’s so lumpy and the timing’s so advanced it won’t idle low enough for parade speed. I’d burn out the clutch in the first two blocks.”
“Then you better run for the hills,” Tom said seriously.
“Oh, come on,” I pleaded. “There has to be something else I can do that doesn’t involve other people’s children. You joined the Chamber to advertise your custom baling services, didn’t you? What are you doing for the Spring Thing?”
“I always drive my team in the parade, pulling a hay wagon for the kids.” His face softened into a fond smile. “Cory and Charlene are bringing the grandkids up from Calgary. They’re just crazy about the horses and the parade, and I get such a kick out of having them here.”
No sympathy for my kid-allergy here.
I tried another tack. “What are the other business owners doing?”
Tom shook himself back from his pleasant reverie. “A lot of them make floats to drive in the parade, but you’re probably running out of time to do anything like that.” He eyed me with a grin. “Unless you can whip something up in a week.”
I squirmed and gulped another mouthful of beer. “Um, no. I’m a little busy with my home renovations.”
Thanks to Drake Mallard.
Dammit, I hoped Mallard was roasting slowly in hell. Asshole. I might excuse him for trying to kill me, but forcing me to deal with hordes of screaming children was unforgiveable.
Tom took pity on me. “You’re welcome to ride on the wagon with me,” he offered.
“Uh… There would be lots of kids on the hayride, right?”
“Oh. Right.” He looked disappointed for a moment before suggesting, “Maybe you could ride on a float with one of your clients. You do a lot of work for Sirius Dynamics, don’t you? They put a float in the parade every year. And Blue Eddy always does, too.”
“Oh, good thinking!” I let out a breath of relief. “I’ll do that. Maybe that’ll get me off the hook.”
“Maybe,” Tom agreed, but he didn’t sound convinced.
Chapter 4
Having absorbed more unsettling news than I wanted to deal with, I gulped the last of my beer and stood, pushing a smile onto my lips. “Well, thanks for dinner,” I said. “It was great, but I guess I’d better get home. I have to go to work tomorrow and it’ll be a shock to wake up to an alarm clock.”
“Oh…” Tom rose, too, his brow furrowing. “But tomorrow’s Friday. Couldn’t you take the day off and start fresh on Monday morning?”
I sighed. “That’d be nice, but I really need to go in tomorrow.”
“No rest for the wicked.” He gave me a smile and nodded at the wall clock. “But it’s only eight o’clock. Would you like some dessert before you go?”
“It looked great but I’m still stuffed, especially after all that beer.” I sidled around the end of the sofa. “And I know you have to get out to the barn and do your chores tonight.”
“That’s no problem, they can wait. Surely you’ve got time for one more beer.”
“Two’s usually my limit, and I’ve already had three.” I drifted toward the dining table and my shotgun. “So thanks anyway, but I’d better not.”
“Oh.”
He looked so disappointed my heart squeezed in spite of the knowledge that leaving was the smart thing to do. The beer spoke before my brain could catch up.
“Well, maybe just a sliver of cheesecake,” I said, and was rewarded with a smile like a sunrise.
“Why don’t you go back to the couch and we can have dessert by the fire,” he suggested as he headed for the kitchen.
Warning bells chimed in my brain, too late.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Pick up your shotgun and leave. Right fucking now. Get the hell out before…
Tom hurried back bearing plates, forks, and the cheesecake that looked as sweet as his smile.
Dammit, I had no business sharing cheesecake or anything else with sweet guys. Only a few hours ago I’d killed a man and taken pride in my shots. I didn’t deserve to spend time with a sweet normal guy, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve the dangers of spending time with me.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, his smile faded. “It’s okay if you really want to leave,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Oh, God.
Guilt twisted my guts and I forced a smile. “Are you kidding? That cheesecake has been c
alling to me all evening.”
“Well, it’s time to surrender.” He gave me that captivating crooked smile again. “Come and sit down.”
I eased out a silent sigh and plodded over to face my fate.
The last rich creamy morsel had just fallen to my fork when Tom spoke again, leaning back in his chair with elaborate nonchalance.
“So are you seeing anybody these days?”
I choked on my cheesecake.
Coughing and wiping away tears while Tom hovered worriedly, I silently debated the merits of feigning unconsciousness, or possibly death.
Probably not smart. Setting myself up for mouth-to-mouth from a firefighter with EMS training wasn’t going to lead anywhere I wanted to go tonight.
Hell, who was I kidding? It would lead exactly where I wanted to go tonight, and that was a bad, bad idea.
Wiping away the last of the tears, I straightened and accepted the glass of water Tom proffered. I sipped slowly, searching for the right words. ‘Yes, I was naked in bed with Kane and Hellhound last weekend’ probably wasn’t the best way to phrase it.
“Thanks,” I croaked instead. “Sorry. Cheesecake is a little hard on the airways.”
Oh Lord, did I just say ‘hard-on’?
Shut up. Just shut up and get out.
Tom sank back into his chair. “I’m glad you’re okay. A trip to the ER wasn’t how I’d planned to end the evening.” He grinned. “I’d never live it down if the guys found out I’d cooked you dinner and then had to rush you to Emergency.”
I forced a laugh and hauled myself to my feet. “Don’t worry, I’d tell them it was the bought cheesecake that got me.” Easing away in the direction of my shotgun, I added, “Well, thanks for the delicious dinner and the lethal cheesecake. I’d really better get going.”
“Okay.” Tom stood and followed me toward the door. “That was a tactful dodge. So I guess the answer is ‘yes, you’re seeing somebody’.”
Spy Away Home (The Never Say Spy Series Book 10) Page 3