by Ava Miles
“Pumpkin beer. Jemma and I love it.” Jill settled back on a rickety purple chair covered in bright lime green scarves.
“Gross. I only like pumpkin pie. Who’d put pumpkin in beer?”
“Someone who got drunk in a pumpkin patch and had an epiphany. Have you become a wine snob in New York?”
A wave of silliness hit her, and she threw a pillow at Jill. “So? You going to disown me, pumpkin girl?”
“No way. I’m too happy you’re back, even if it’s just for now. Mom’s over the moon about becoming a snowbird. You know how much she loves Sedona, and their trip will do them both a world of good. She’s got him signed up for all sorts of things—yoga, juice cleanses, you name it. He’s complaining, but deep down, I think he’s scared too.”
Meredith kicked her shoes off. “I could tell. It scares me. They looked…old.” Her ribcage tightened, pressing in on her like the pillows on the couch were suffocating her.
“Grandpa’s a spry old man. Tough as steel, that one. You better watch out. He’s got plans for you.”
“I know.”
Like him, she’d gone to New York to learn about the newspaper business. He’d intended to come back. She hadn’t. Yet, here she was—for a time, anyway.
“Do you have anything stronger?”
“Nope, only beer. So, you mentioned working on an article for Karen, but you were pretty vague. What’s up?”
“It’s an idea I had in the bookstore when I bought all the Nora Roberts and J.D. Robb books that have been released since my divorce.”
“Spill it.” Jill bounded over to the couch.
Moment of truth.
“I’m here for a story.” And she proceeded to tell her the whole thing.
Jill slapped her beer down on the coffee table and grabbed Meredith by both arms. “That’s awesome, Mere! That’s like the best idea ever. Nora Roberts Land. I love it!” She jumped up, and flicked on the stereo. “Dancing Queen” blasted out. Jill had always had a flair for the dramatic.
“I’m glad you like it,” she shouted. “You’re the only one I’m telling.”
“Awesome! And Nora.” Jill sashayed over to a cluttered bookcase and pulled out a paperback. “Well, she’s like the Oprah of the written word.” Jill launched herself back onto the couch with Homeport in her hand. “It’s the coolest idea ever!”
“Well, the will to do it is there. I’m through with letting Rick-the-Dick screw up my life. But the thought of dating guys again turns my stomach into buttermilk.” She set her beer aside, wanting an antacid instead.
“You’ll do great!” Jill pulled Meredith up from the couch, her eyes shining. “I’ll help you. I know most of the single guys in town. Running the coffee shop keeps me plugged in.” She hugged her. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re doing this. I’ve hated seeing you so sad. You deserve a wonderful guy, Mere. You deserve a hero from Nora Roberts Land.”
Meredith pressed her face into Jill’s hair. She still wasn’t sure a good guy was out there for her or that she was even ready, but by God, she was going to try. Karen had loved her idea, and she thought their female readership would go crazy for it.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she whispered, breathing in the smell of Jill’s sugar cookie lotion.
Her sister pulled back. “Duh. We don’t want to scare anyone away.” She let out a whoop. “Oh, Mere, I’m so glad you’re back. Plus, if you find Mr. Right here, you might decide to stay forever.”
“It may not work out that way, Jill,” Meredith said, her insides jittering like the music. She turned it down. “I like New York. I have a good job there.”
Jill froze in mid-twirl. “Bullshit. You’ve been miserable lately. Why go back to a place where you’re too embarrassed to hold up your head? And now Rick-the-Dick is probably going to run for the Senate, putting your divorce in the spotlight again. You know what that jerk did to you.”
“Better than you.”
She’d never told a soul about catching him with a prostitute. She’d told her family he was a cheater, but the whole hooker thing made it much more sordid. Her husband had paid another woman for sex. When she’d asked him why, he’d told her he’d wanted a professional, letting the unspoken accusation hover in the air like a stink bomb.
Jill flew across the room. “You changed for him because you wanted him to love you. Don’t you see? The more he liked the fake you, the less you liked yourself. And then what happened?”
She looked away. “He stopped liking the fake me because I did.”
Her sister framed her face with her hands. “He was too self-absorbed and too much of an asshole to ever truly like anything or anyone but himself. You know it.”
The song changed to “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme A Man After Midnight.”
“I know it here.” Meredith pointed to her head. “But I can’t feel it here yet,” she added, putting the finger to her heart.
Jill wrapped her arms around her. “You will, Mere. Believe it.”
Thank God for sisters. She blinked back tears. She had a story to do. This was no time for self pity.
“So, do you want to see my new underwear?”
Jill laughed and let her go. “Okay, but I think I’m going to need more beer first.” She sailed into the small kitchen.
Meredith had been too embarrassed to tell Jill about it before, but now seemed like a good time. “The underwear goes with my post-divorce alter ego,” she called out. “It’s a superhero.”
Jill popped her beer open. “Do you have a cape?”
Meredith put her finger to her lips and smiled. “Not yet.”
***
Jill caressed Meredith’s La Perla like it was fine china, a sudden feeling of envy shooting through her. She wanted to be the kind of woman who could pull off wearing sexy lingerie.
“I’m going to embroider DW on some of these for you,” she informed her now wild-side sis. “Give them a real superhero feel. Divorcée Woman. I love it!”
She still couldn’t believe her always-cotton sister had ditched comfort for pure sex appeal. If Meredith couldn’t get her confidence back in this stuff…
“The lucky guy—or guys—in this town are going to lose it when they see you in this.”
Her sister blushed, actually blushed, so she ragged some more. It’s what sisters did. “They’ll last about thirty seconds the first time, but hopefully it will get better after that.”
Since that was Jill’s limited experience with sex, she could only hope. Maybe when she found her true love, he’d be able to go all night, like Nora Roberts’ heroes.
“It’s not like I sleep with a lot of guys.”
“Right,” Jill murmured. “That guy in college, the one when you first moved to New York, and then Rick-the-Dick. We need to find you a real man, honey,” she drawled.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“That’s what Grandpa says.” She plopped against the headboard, settling in beside Meredith. “So, we need a plan.”
“We?”
“Well, I’m going to be your pimp, so to speak.”
Meredith jostled her. “Oh yuck. Never call yourself my pimp again.”
“You don’t think it’s funny?”
Meredith nailed her in the head again with a pillow. “Right, I’m a divorced superhero with a pimp sister. What’s not to laugh about?”
Jill jumped off the bed and rifled through Meredith’s larger suitcase, sorting through the paperbacks. “You’ve lost your funny bone. So tell me, Divorcée Woman, who’s your favorite Nora Roberts hero?”
Meredith crawled over to the edge of the bed. “Man, that’s like asking me about my favorite food.”
Jill held up a book. “Mine’s Roarke. Hands down. That guy is smokin’ hot. I could write an ode to his hotness.” She threw aside a J.D. Robb paperback. “But we’re not going to find a Roarke here.”
“Okay, but I’m still going to fantasize about finding him.” Meredith picked up Sea Swept. “Ah, my first Nora book. Hard to find someone h
otter than Cameron Quinn.”
“Oh yeah. Badass race car driver returns home when dad dies to take care of an orphan boy. That was a great series. His advertising executive brother, Phillip Quinn, was pretty hot in Inner Harbor, but a little urbane for my taste. The guy complained about getting blood out of a cotton blend, remember?”
“Yes, but he was a wine snob like me. We’d be a match made in heaven.”
“Haha. Okay, give me two more.” Jill leaned against the suitcase. After Meredith’s crazy attraction to Rick-the-Dick, she wasn’t sure what her sister went for in a man. “Then I’ll have something to work with. All of them need to be small-town guys.”
Meredith flopped onto her back. “How about Bradley Vane from Key of Valor? Owner of a home goods empire who looks hot in a suit, but isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”
“Oh, I love the Key series. It’s awesome how the heroines battle evil with their hunky heroes. Keep going.”
Pressing her finger to her lips, Meredith gave a secret smile. “It’s an oldie but a goodie. How about Alex Stanislaski in Convincing Alex? He likes redheads, and I’ve always loved a rugged detective even though I think having handcuffs in the bedroom would scare the bejesus out of me.”
Jill hooted. “Oh, Mere, you’re too much. I personally like his brother, Mikhail, better in Luring a Lady, but I’m more into the hot-tempered artistic types.”
“Your love affair would end when he discovered you painted your coffee table purple.”
“So we’d argue about my taste, and then we’d have great make-up sex. I’d paint everything purple for that.”
Meredith bashed her with a pillow. They grappled before pushing apart, panting.
Jill reached for another book. “What about the McGregors?”
“Who doesn’t love that series? But they’re hardly small-town people. They’re as rich as Croesus.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Now that I think about it, Grandpa kinda reminds me of The McGregor.”
Boy, Jill wasn’t far off there. He was the patriarch of the Hale family. “Let’s hope he doesn’t meddle more than usual. So what do you think? What is my hero type?”
Jill crossed her arms like she’d seen her old professors do when stating an academic opinion. “My conclusion is Meredith Hale likes a man who’s smart and a little urbane with a healthy streak of badass,” she concluded in a stuffy English accent. “Hot. Definitely hot.”
“Anyone come to mind?”
“The cop’s easy. We have a new deputy sheriff in town. Larry Barlow. Ripped and intense with a big dose of badass. As for the others, I’ll make a list. Then we can plot—haha—how you’ll meet them and draw them into your La Perla web.” She bopped Meredith on the head with a book, enjoying the childish playacting. “Of course, if you flashed them your undies, we wouldn’t have to do much to draw them in. Ever thought about streaking through the grocery store in your ittie bitties?”
Meredith rolled over and gave her the stink eye. “Like Mr. Jenkins did a few years ago after his wife died?”
“Well, it did get him more casseroles from our local widows. He’s happily married now.”
“Great, even streakers find happy endings.”
Jill sat on her heels. She didn’t like the despair in Meredith’s voice. Damn Rick-the-Dick to hell for messing with her sister.
“Wait here a minute. I have something I want to give you.”
She raced across the hall to her bedroom, stubbing her toe on a hardcover of Black Hills. “Shit, that hurt.” Sifting through the necklaces hanging from a nail on the closet door, she untangled the one she wanted and raced back.
“Here,” She thrust it out. “I want you to have this.”
Meredith rose up to a sitting position, and Jill plopped down next to her.
“It’s made of crystals. I bought it from a local artisan in Aspen when I went skiing last winter.”
Since Meredith didn’t believe in anything supernatural, Jill didn’t mention the crystal’s power to heal. La Perla was a good start, but Jill thought Meredith could use an extra boost.
Meredith raised it over her neck. “It’s beautiful, Jillie.”
“Then it’s perfect, since you are too.”
Her sister’s head drooped. “Believe it,” Jill said, stroking Mere’s hair.
“I know, I know.”
She let the less-than-believable litany go. Meredith would get her groove back—just like Stella. “Okay, I need to focus on my pimp duties. Let me do some thinking while you settle in.”
“Thanks, Jillie. With your help, I think this might just work. Gosh, I missed you.”
“I’m going to find you a wonderful, hot, kick-ass man, Mermaid. And then you’re going to owe me for the rest of your life.”
Her sister touched the crystals on the necklace with shaking fingers. “What if I don’t find anyone?”
Her hushed whisper wrung Jill’s heart out like a dish rag. She gave her a saucy wink. “With me as your pimp, how could you not?”
Meredith’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Okay, Sista Pimp, get going.”
“Don’t try and be a rapper, Mere. It’s so not your thing.”
When she left the room, Meredith was still laughing.
The weight of Jill’s assignment hung on her like that thing an ox carried. What was it? Oh yeah, a yoke. She needed to find her big sister the perfect man. And after what she’d heard today in the coffee shop about the new arrival coming to town, she already had someone in mind.
Chapter 5
Tanner surveyed his Denver hotel room and threw his keys on the bed. After years of living overseas and being driven around, he was the one at the wheel. Even though it was a rental, his forest green Nissan Xterra had the new car smell. Funny how that lifted his spirits.
He dialed up his sister on his new cell phone.
Peggy answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, there. It’s me. This is my new number.”
“Tanner! So you really are staying. I wasn’t sure.”
He walked over to the window and looked out. It wasn’t much of a view, but it was safe. A welcome change. “I can’t turn my back on David. Not when he’s finally getting his shit together.”
“So you’re sure this happened before he went to AA?”
“Yes. He told me the whole sordid story.”
The parallels between his brother and their father were painful. At least David hadn’t left his family. Tanner had to stick by him for that. He rested his head on the cold glass.
“It’s a fucking nightmare though.”
Peggy’s sigh was audible. “I don’t like what you have to do to this woman.”
His conscience was already having fits over Meredith Hale. He tried to block the phrase “innocent victim” from his mind. He rubbed his tired eyes. Wasn’t that why he hadn’t been sleeping?
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I’ll keep digging on Sommerville, Tanner. So far, everyone seems to think he’s a world-class asshole. He’s a big drinker, probably a functioning alcoholic, and a womanizer. But he’s spinning it pretty well. He says he found a higher purpose after his divorce. He’s been going to church, confessing his sins. It’s the standard redemption schtick these politicians pull.”
“It’s bullshit. Of course, with his money and the spin, he could win.”
“Yeah. Their divorce was pretty public. Meredith got herself a fat settlement.”
Tanner drew X-O game dashes in the fog that his breath left on the window. “Good for her.”
“She’s a fighter. Going to Sommerville’s rival paper was another nail in the proverbial divorce coffin. She won’t fall easily.”
He drew an X and snorted. “You questioning my charm?”
“What charm? You’re out of practice after all the hell holes you’ve been.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“I thought that was sex. Relationship
s are harder.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he drawled.
Which was why he didn’t do them. And he didn’t want to think about how long he’d been without sex. His sister was right. Where he’d been working…well, there weren’t too many available women. He didn’t sleep with people in the same business. Too much pillow talk could kill a good story. And he didn’t do prostitutes. Never had. Never would. Even though it obviously ran in the family.
“We need to find an angle, Tanner,” his sister reiterated, sounding like the cop she was.
“I’m working on it. Sommerville’s careful. He’d have expected the press to dig.” He rubbed the window clean and walked over to the mini-fridge to pull out a Dr. Pepper. Man, it was nice to have a constant supply.
“Use a bigger shovel,” his sister said.
The sugary syrup and carbonation made his nose twitch. “Plan to.”
“I’m so pissed at David.”
“I know.” And totally understandable. Peg’s ex had cheated on her. After kicking him to the curb, she’d decided to raise her seven-year-old son alone. “We’ll find something. I have a few journalist friends digging quietly too.”
“I need to run. I have to pick Keith up at a birthday party.”
Tanner clicked the TV on and settled onto the bed, channel surfing. “Tell him hi. Maybe you can come out and see me in Colorado in a few months. We could do Thanksgiving together.”
“That would be nice. We’ll get through this, Tanner.”
Her support made him squirm. It felt…weird when he was used to doing everything alone. “I know. Bye now,” he said, setting aside the phone.
After a moment, he opened the file folder and stared down at Meredith Hale’s picture. She’d followed in her family’s footsteps by attending Columbia University’s school of journalism. On a swimming scholarship no less. As Sommerville had said, it was something she and Tanner had in common. Since he was six years older, their paths hadn’t crossed. His research indicated she didn’t trade on her Hale name, which he liked. Sommerville clearly hadn’t been as scrupulous.
Her articles were strong. Human interest stuff. She had a good voice, a way of humanizing painful and difficult topics while maintaining her objectivity.