Take Me Back (Paradise, Idaho Book 4)

by Rosalind James

  “What kind of letters?” Dale asked, looking concerned.

  “You could call them threatening,” Hallie said. “About how I’m a left-wing nut job, and how I’m unwelcome in town, and how I’d better get out before I get hurt like my father did. Which the sheriff’s department thinks is very interesting, and so did Bob Jenkins when I told him, just in case I did have to leave town for my own safety. I know it sounds crazy, but I thought it was best to take precautions. But here’s what I don’t understand. It’s almost like the person is trying to point out that there was something fishy about my father’s death, which seems pretty stupid to me if something actually happened out there that night. But if that’s it—I guess they don’t realize that I inherited more than his house. Seems I’ve got his stubborn streak, too, because I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got his burglar alarm, and I’ve installed security cameras. It’s pretty much a fortress over there.”

  “Goodness,” Faye said. “That sounds like overkill to me. Haven’t you got the kids talking about all sorts of things over at the school? I’m sure that’s what it is. People can get so bent out of shape over politics.”

  “They can,” Hallie said. “Like you said—it can get almost personal.”

  SANGRIA

  It was when Hallie considered giving Cletus a bath that she faced facts.

  Here she was, the day after her dinner with her aunt and uncle, looking at another Saturday night alone at home. She’d done her grading already, had taken Cletus for a brisk, late-autumn romp among the cedars on Paradise Mountain, then had come home, had a leisurely bath with a loofah scrub, and given herself a manicure and pedicure. Now she had pink cheeks, smooth skin, pretty fingers and toes, and nobody to show any of it to.

  She should cook dinner, but she didn’t feel like it. Another meal at the kitchen counter with a book? Not happening. Instead, she went downstairs with Cletus padding after her, turned on some music, and played a game of pool on the new table that had been delivered a few days earlier.

  When she finished, she looked at Cletus, curled up in the corner of the room, and said, “You want a bath?”

  His ears pricked, his tail thumped against the new gray carpeting, and she sighed. “You know what?” she told him. “I’m bored, and I’m lonely.”

  Perk up, she told herself. You’re an independent, successful woman. You have a career. You have friends. You have a life.

  In Seattle.

  “You’re right,” she told Cletus. “That’s feeling sorry for myself. Staying was my choice, and I still have a career of sorts. I have students who need me. I have a house, too. I even have a friend. Besides you, I mean.”

  She followed her newfound resolution back upstairs with Cletus once again behind her, went in search of her phone and finally found it in the kitchen, and called Anthea.

  “Hey,” she said when Anthea picked up. “Want to go out for a drink with me, watch me troll for hot boys, and pretend to be jealous that you’re married when you’re actually grateful you’re not single? Which is a long way of saying I’m bored.”

  That sounded bright and breezy. And not desperate.

  “You’ve never trolled for boys in your life,” Anthea said. “And, shoot, I’m sorry, hon. I can’t. We’re about to do a family movie night. You want to come over?”

  The thought of being a fifth wheel in Anthea’s happy family wasn’t one bit appealing, no matter how many times Hallie had done it before. She normally didn’t feel so . . . alone, though.

  It was being back here. In Paradise, Saturday night and nothing to do, convinced that everybody else was out there dancing and kissing and being a wild, reckless teenager, and only pale, geeky, redheaded Hallie Cavanaugh was in her bedroom with a book.

  She wasn’t seventeen anymore, though, and she didn’t have to travel in a pack, even a pack of two. If she wanted company, she could go where people were. All right, maybe not a bar, but she could at least go out.

  “Hey,” Anthea prodded. “You still there? You coming over or what?”

  “No. Thanks,” Hallie said, adding hastily, “I’m sure it’ll be super fun.”

  “Yeah, right. So what are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to Sangria Station,” Hallie decided on the spur of the moment. “I’m going to eat something delicious that I didn’t cook myself, drink sweet Spanish wine, not look at college students and fifty-five-year-old guys, because why bother, and convince myself all the same that they think I’m hot and mysterious and that they want me. And before you say anything—you’re right, it’s not the big time. I’m not walking into a cowboy bar, but, hey—you always say I’m too cautious, so this is the new me. Baby steps.”

  “I’m sure they will want you,” Anthea said. “Wear a short skirt, and they’ll want you in a hot minute, because men are easy. I know you’ll stay safe.”

  Anthea knew her too well.

  “Right,” Hallie said. “I’m getting pretty. I’m adjusting my attitude. Watch my smoke.”

  Jim was pouring himself a beer when the phone rang.

  “Hey, Jimbo,” came his twin’s breezy voice. “Whatcha doing?”

  “You know what I’m doing. Kicking back, since I’m not on dad duty. And no, you don’t have to invite me over. I’m good.” Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. He wasn’t telling Miss Manager.

  “Oh,” she said. “Too bad. I thought you might be company for Hallie. She’s out there at Sangria Station by herself, and I don’t know.” Her sigh came right down the line. “I feel like she’s in a dangerous mood, you know? Like she might be going to do something stupid. I know she’s not supposed to get involved with you, but the will didn’t say anything about anybody else. She doesn’t have great judgment with guys, like I mentioned. Ben was thinking we should set her up with this new math professor. Maybe we could have a dinner party, or as close as we come. Would you be willing to babysit next Saturday?”

  “No,” Jim said. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Nice,” Anthea was saying, but Jim had already done it.

  When Anthea set the phone down, Ben, who was taking the popcorn out of the microwave and emptying it into a bowl, raised his eyebrows at her. “I thought that was the whole deal,” he said. “That they wouldn’t.”

  “Well . . .” Anthea pulled a couple beers out of the fridge and three chilled mugs out of the freezer. “I ask myself, what does Hallie need most, millions of dollars or a good man? And what does my twin need more, a good woman or another lonesome night on his couch watching ESPN? And I answer myself, too. Or maybe it’s just a night out for both of them. Keeping each other company for a while. Keeping the ghosts away.”

  “Maybe you should let them decide for themselves,” Ben said, “not open up a whole can of worms.”

  Cole, who was pouring his own Coke into one of the mugs, snorted, then said, “Or open a can of ‘Welcome to Tahiti’ for me, maybe. Way to invite her without asking me, too.”

  Anthea looked at him measuringly. “She’s your sister, exactly as much as I am. And you’re getting millions of dollars already. You start getting greedy, and having that money will turn out to be a bad thing, not a good one.”

  “Saying she’s my sister doesn’t make it true,” Cole said. “It’s DNA, that’s all. And how could that money ever be a bad thing? Being able to do whatever I want with my life? Not owe the man?”

  “First of all,” Anthea said, “you’ll be the man. There’s a concept to ponder. And if you turned out to love money half as much as Henry Cavanaugh did, that would be one very big way it could be a very bad thing.”

  Cole took a sip of his Coke and seemed to be thinking about it, at least. “That’s what Jim said. Like it would be the worst thing ever to be like him. He was rich, though. He was successful. He was—”

  “He was hated,” Anthea finished for him, concentrating on getting the perfect head on Ben’s beer. This was exactly what she’d feared. The money was screwing Cole up already, and he didn’t even have it in his han
ds yet. “He had two kids. One of them—that would be you—his mother wouldn’t even let him know his father, because she was afraid it’d warp him. The other one, a woman with the kindest heart in the world, spent the last five years of her father’s life not coming near him. She never even talked to him on the phone. Have you had to read A Christmas Carol in school yet?”

  “What?” Cole said. “No.”

  “Change of movie plans,” Anthea announced. “We’re watching it tonight. Because I just realized—that’s Henry Cavanaugh. He was Scrooge. Minus the turnaround and the turkey.”

  “I only came over because it was going to be The Incredibles,” Cole said. “I’m not watching some lame Christmas movie. It’s not even Halloween.”

  “You came over because Mom wouldn’t let you go to that party,” Anthea said, “and even though she’s at work and won’t know, you were afraid that I—or Jimbo, more like—would drive by the house and check to make sure you hadn’t gone, and a cop at a party is such a drag. And because you love your niece and nephew, and Ty thinks you’re Superman.”

  Right on cue, Tyson came through the entryway from the dining room on a burst of four-year-old energy and said, “Cole! Come on. I’ve been waiting and waiting. For twenty hours!”

  That got a smile out of Cole at last. “What do you want to play?” he asked.

  “Mario Kart!” Ty said. “Come on.”

  “Ten minutes,” Anthea said. “Then it’s movie time.”

  “Come on,” Tyson said, tugging at Cole’s hand.

  “Geez,” Cole said. “Hold your pants. I’m coming.” He grabbed the popcorn and his Coke and headed into the dining room.

  Anthea watched him go, then turned to Ben. He’d allowed her to do the talking, but he had the thoughtful look in his eyes that was one of the many reasons she’d married him. “We’d better make more popcorn,” she said. When he didn’t move, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “Same thing you are. That it’s too bad about him getting that money.”

  She finished pouring her own beer and sighed. “You think he’ll be OK?”

  “Yeah. Eventually. He’s got a good family, and he’s a good kid, underneath all that drama.” He looked at her, and she realized she was frowning into space. “Hey,” he said gently. “Come here.” She went over to him, and he pulled her into his arms, then held her and rubbed her back until she hummed, until she could feel her pulse rate actually slowing.

  “Your beer’s getting flat,” she finally said.

  “Don’t care. My wife’s getting relaxed. That’s the one that matters.”

  She stayed there a while longer, then said, “You ever think about us having another baby?”

  “Uh . . .” He leaned back so he could look at her, but his arms were still tight around her, and he was getting the light in his eyes that always got her motor running. “Can’t say I have so much. But I can’t say I wouldn’t be willing. I do love the babies you make me. I’m up for some practice, anyway, so if we decide to go for it, we’re ready.”

  “Think you can hold that thought through A Christmas Carol?”

  “Oh,” he said, “I think so.”

  Jim stuffed his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket against the late-October chill and hustled across the Sangria Station parking lot, pushed through two sets of glass doors into the warmth, then pulled off his jacket and hung it on the rack by the door.

  The place looked even better at night. Classier. It felt better, too, with the deep yellow walls glowing gold in the low lighting, some fairly hot music pumping just loud enough to give you ideas, and a sweet, spicy scent like cinnamon and cloves filling the air.

  The crowd didn’t quite match the atmosphere. Some guys at the bar, most of them still wearing their feed caps like nobody’d ever taught them manners, and couples and groups filling most of the tables and booths. Nobody too special, except one person. A lone woman sitting at a booth under the windows. A redheaded woman in a blue top that crossed over in front and showed her collarbones and some tantalizing extra, a matching skirt that revealed a few inches of thigh, and those killer gray cowboy boots with the blue roses. Her legs were crossed, showing even more thigh, one toe was circling to the insistent music, she was sipping something from a big pewter mug that he’d bet wasn’t coffee, and she was gazing around her with a little smile on her lips.

  She looked poised. She looked elegant. She looked confident. She looked like a woman ready to do something very un-Hallie-like. Something she shouldn’t be doing with anybody but him.

  What, that was wrong? Tough. It was true.

  “Hey, Jim.” A man turned from the bar, and Jim recognized Wes Allen, manager of the Safeway store in Paradise. His hair was still parted ruthlessly on the side, but he’d dressed up tonight in black jeans and a western shirt with snaps, looking like no kind of rodeo cowboy ever, and wearing enough aftershave to knock out that cowboy’s horse.

  “Hey,” Jim said back, but he was still watching Hallie. She didn’t seem to have noticed him coming in. Who had she been smiling at, then?

  “I’m about to head on over there,” Wes said, noticing the direction of Jim’s gaze. “So you can just back the hell off. She’s all by herself, and that’s not right. Plus, I saw her first.”

  “Nope,” Jim said. “You’re not. The ink’s not even dry on your separation papers, and I know Anthea told you to keep things on the down low until you get to court.”

  Wes wasn’t looking at Hallie now. He was looking at Jim, and he wasn’t looking friendly. “Anthea’s not supposed to talk about my case. She told me it was that attorney-client thing. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

  Jim had had a lot of practice staring other men down, and he did it now. It was working, too. It usually did. “That’s not insider information, and it’s not rocket science. It’s basic divorce lawyer. Plus, that’s one of Evan’s teachers you’re looking at. I saw your wife sitting in her classroom over at the middle school’s open house. You’d know that yourself if you’d gone. Could get awkward as hell.”

  Wes squinted at him. “Why’s it awkward for me and not you? If you were in her classroom, it’s because she’s Mac’s teacher, too.”

  “Because she’s an old friend. And because I’m single, and you’re not divorced.”

  “Aw, man,” Wes complained, like a man who knew when he was beaten, which he was. “Why do you have to rain on my parade like that? Here I am, all ready to start being a bachelor, and I can’t even get started.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that. It’s not everything it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Neither is marriage,” Wes said glumly.

  “Speak for yourself.”

  The bartender, a woman in her forties, worked her way over to Jim and said, “Help you?”

  “Yeah,” Jim said. “Whatever the redhead over there is drinking? Send a couple more of those to her table.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over a twenty.

  “Mulled wine,” the bartender said dubiously. Jim guessed he didn’t look much like the mulled-wine type, which was true, but who cared. “And she’s been turning down company so far. You could be drinking that alone.”

  “Trust me,” Jim said, “that won’t be anything new. I’ll take my chances.”

  “Nice,” Wes said. “Old friend, huh?”

  “Yeah. Old friend.”

  Fifteen miles away from Paradise wasn’t far enough. He knew it. And all the same, he was walking over to Hallie’s table and saying, “Well, hey.”

  She looked up with a frown that changed to a smile, and then went straight back to wary. She’d be a lousy poker player.

  “That’s right,” Jim said. “It’s not just another random guy hitting on you. Or it is, but it’s me. Wait,” he said when she uttered a startled laugh. “That didn’t come out right. Hang on. I’m trying again. You’re very beautiful. Mind if I join you?”

  By the time he’d finished, she was laughing harder, and looking so pretty, a
nd he had to smile some, too.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Out of practice.”

  “Sit down,” she said. “You don’t look so bad yourself, by the way. Are you out on the town? I didn’t know you did that.”

  His white button-down and good jeans had worked, he guessed. His hair was still wet from the shower, but the way she was looking at him, it didn’t matter. Or maybe she was remembering that other shower they’d taken. He knew he was.

  He finally processed what she’d said. “First time for everything, I guess. How good is it that it’s with you?”

  Her face softened, her color rose, and then her chin did. “Anthea,” she breathed. “I will kill her. She is the most interfering . . .”

  That was the moment when a waitress showed up with two more pewter mugs and took away Hallie’s empty one.

  Jim said, “Thanks,” lifted his mug, took a sip, and considered, then told Hallie, “This actually isn’t terrible. I mean, it’s not what you’d call alcohol, but it’s not too bad, in a Christmas Eve kind of way.”

  “It has more kick than you realize,” she said, abandoning the topic of Anthea, to Jim’s relief. “There’s brandy in it. I’m a little buzzed after one mug, to tell you the truth.”

  “Mm,” he said. She was taking her own sip, looking at him over the rim of her mug. Her eyes were dark again, too. He knew what that meant by now. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

  She set down her mug and almost visibly shook herself. “Wait a second. Where’s Mac?”

  “Spending the night with a friend. Girls do that a lot.”

  “Oh. But not at your house.” She sounded distracted when she said it. One hand had gone to a little blue pendant at her throat, was stroking it in a way that was distracting him, too.

  “No,” he said. “It’s never at my house.”

  “That’s lucky, I guess.” Her fingers were tracing her collarbone now, and he could swear he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that her nipples were hardening again.