Anything he had to say would not be private.
As he strolled up to her, beverages in hand, she glanced up. Her face had a becoming flush—as if she needed any further enhancement to her looks—that he suddenly realized might very well be residual beard burn.
The marks he’d left shouldn’t send a surge of satisfaction through him.
She smiled as she took her latte and indicated the couple sitting beside her. “You know George and Nan, right?”
Of course he knew George and Nan. He’d known them his entire life. The only question was, how did she know George and Nan? Angelica was quite familiar with the pair, that was clear, because she chattered to them about everything under the sun in between sips of her drink. They gazed on her with indulgent expressions and sent a couple of meaningful glances his way.
“You know,” Nan told Angelica when she paused for a breath. “We never thought Brett would settle down.”
“Umm.” Angelica slid him a sideways look.
“What a busy tyke he was. Never a wild boy, you know, but not one to keep still. Then he went into the army and received a medal on his very first day in Afghanistan—it was all over the local paper. We were so proud of him.”
Aware Angelica’s eyes were on him again, Brett signaled the server who came with their breakfast trays and pretended he didn’t hear Nan’s prattle. He’d return the fucking medal if it would allow him to expel the memory of that day from his brain.
“He’s always had a different girl on his arm, that’s for sure.” Nan sent him a look. “But still such a good man—and even playboys settle down, you know.”
That’s when he caught on. Straightening in his seat, he stared at the older woman. Mountain people were supposed to be suspicious of rich flatlanders like Angelica. The locals here weren’t impressed with big city wealth and big city baubles. Christ, the bodacious brunette sitting across from him still drove the ridiculous convertible that would be sure to strand her when winter arrived in a few short weeks.
But Nan was trying to sell Angelica on him!
“Then there was the hurricane relief effort...” Nan started.
Oh, no. He wasn’t going to sit still for this, Brett thought. He’d get up, walk back to his truck, get on with his day.
Without getting things straight with his night-before lover.
Shit!
Still, he was not going to listen to anyone making him out to be a hero while describing the time in his life that had proved him to be a total fool. He shoved up from the bench, preparing to vault to his feet.
At the same time, George leaned forward. Under the cover of his wife’s continuing natter he said, “There was another break-in last night.”
Brett froze. Then he brushed a hand over his hair. “Not again.”
“Yep. Don’t know any details, but heard about it at the gas station. What do you think is going on?”
Uneasy, Brett shifted in his seat. “I don’t know.”
“Someone told me they thought it could be Lewis.”
“Lewis our postman?” Brett frowned, glancing about the room. Any number of people could potentially be the culprit, actually. There was the president of the historical society having coffee with the principal of the high school. It could be either of them, right? “It’s not Lewis.”
“Yeah, I believe you, Brett.” George lowered his voice. “But what about that Harris boy? The one that was dealing drugs last spring.”
Brett rubbed his temple. “I don’t like all this doubting of our community members. That was just a rumor about Ian Harris.”
“In any case, we gotta do something about the situation,” George said. “See what you can find out, will you, Brett?” Then he glanced at his wife. “C’mon, Nan. You can talk to Angelica another time. The grandkids are expecting a ride to school.”
As the older couple headed for the exit, Brett framed his coffee with his elbows and scraped his face with his hands. He didn’t like trouble in his town, in his beloved mountains.
“What’s the matter?”
“What?” He glanced up, taking in the line of concern between Angelica’s brows. “Oh. Nothing.”
“Not nothing. Did I hear George say there was another robbery?”
“It’s true,” a male voice put in.
They both looked up to see Vaughn Elliott standing nearby, holding his own to-go cup.
“Separate from the incident at the historical society?” Angelica asked. “Did you know about that, Vaughn?”
“An email from the society president landed in my inbox. But nothing was stolen besides Piney.”
“Poor Piney,” Angelica said, sighing.
“He’ll probably be returned to the front doorstep once Homecoming weekend is over.” Brett glanced back to the other man. “What do you know, Vaughn?”
“You’re aware I’m a sheriff’s department volunteer—”
“Yes,” Brett and Angelica said together.
He huffed. “The consensus is that the heist of Piney is completely separate from the other goings-on. Just kids bent on a prank.”
Brett frowned. “They scared Angelica...so not that funny.”
“But you’re okay now, doll, right?” He propped one expensive boot on the bench beside Angelica.
He likely checked his reflection hourly in the buffed leather, Brett thought sourly. “She’s fine,” he said, his tone cool.
“She’s even still got her tongue,” Angelica added, with pseudobrightness.
He shot her a look. In response, she arched an eyebrow, and silent messages transferred between them.
Brett: He’s a jerk.
Angelica: I know that, but I can speak for myself.
Shrugging, he looked away, regretting the moment of personal communication. He was supposed to be cutting ties with her, not encouraging further intimacy. “Thanks for the intel, Vaughn,” he said to hurry the man on. Once rid of him, Brett would launch into his speech. It would be some blend of “It’s me, not you” and “I don’t do strings.”
Or maybe, simpler, cleaner, would be the truth.
Whatever the hell that was.
His head throbbed, and he glanced again at the sheriff’s volunteer who seemed to be lingering. “Is there something else?”
Vaughn leaned over his bent knee. “I think you should know the word that’s going around.”
Brett rubbed at his temple again. More fruit from the mountain grapevine. It was a flourishing, powerful thing, which was why he’d been so alarmed at Nan trying to talk him up to Angelica. Fifteen more minutes in her presence and there’d be rumors they were already Vegas-married with triplets on the way. “What word is that?”
Vaughn lowered his voice. “Maybe the person responsible is that guy,” he said, nodding toward a solo man sitting a few tables away. “The newcomer.”
Brett didn’t have a clue. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“He’s come into the hardware store a couple of times,” Angelica said, sliding a look his way. “Then he disappeared for a while and now he’s back again—fiercely pursuing Glory.”
The man was in work clothes that were well-worn and spattered with stains. “It’s not a crime to come and go,” Brett said. “Or to be a new arrival.”
Though, again, it wasn’t uncommon for the mountain people to mistrust the new guy. As a matter of fact, the only person who seemed to have been adopted into the region in a quick and easy fashion was Angelica, with her two local jobs, her local friends, and her place on the local historical committee.
Since the summer, even before her financial disaster, she’d been weaving herself into their fabric, he realized. An uncomfortable thought because it meant he might be dodging her beyond the first snow—though not unless she replaced that impractical vehicle of hers. Ultimately, however, he was convinced she’d go.
“There’s another theory floating around, as well,” Vaughn said.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Mac.”
Brett went cold, even as he saw Angelica bristle. Without thinking, he reached over and placed his hand over hers. “What about Mac?” he asked Vaughn, his voice careful.
“You know.” Vaughn shrugged. “Local girl, knows all the back routes and every shortcut. Aware of who’s in town and who isn’t. Nobody looks twice at a Maids by Mac car cruising around.”
“Cruising around?”
“Casing joints,” Vaughn clarified.
Brett glanced at Angelica. Did he say casing joints? her big brown eyes asked. Squeezing her fingers, he returned his attention to Vaughn.
“Well, I hope no one repeats that suspicion in front of me,” he said, his tone mild. But deadly.
Vaughn flinched. “I’m not repeating it, Brett.”
“You just did—” Angelica started.
Brett sent her a warning look. “Anything else, Vaughn?”
“Well...” The other man took his time taking a swallow of his coffee. Then he straightened, both feet square on the ground. His gaze held a challenge. “Same story...”
“But a different Walker,” Brett finished for him.
“Have a nice day, Brett,” Vaughn said with a thin smile. He saluted Angelica with his cup. “You, too, doll.”
The minute the door closed on his back, Angelica turned her gaze on him, outrage written all over her face. “I can’t believe—”
“There are suspicions about everyone,” he said, realizing their hands were still joined and her fingers clutched his. “Take it easy.”
“I can’t. Mac’s almost a friend—will be, when we get to know each other better, I’m sure. I’m incensed for her.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“And then to mention you—”
“I’ve been accused before. Remember, I do have a history. And memories are long here.”
Her jaw dropped. Then she closed her eyes, tight, and seemed to be concentrating on something. Was it a wish?
“What are you doing?”
She looked at him, eyes still narrowed. “My great-grandmother was reputedly a bruja—a witch. In case I have my own latent powers I just wished ill on that girl who lied about you. If I have my way, she now has a furry tongue, scaly skin and a car with a wonky starter motor.”
He stared at her, fascinated. “A car with a wonky starter motor?”
“I had one of those once, and it took forever to get it properly diagnosed. Think how many times she’ll be late to work or to meet a date.”
His lips twitched. “You’d do that for me?”
“We’re friends, right? At least I hope that our one-time event hasn’t changed the friendship we’ve established. So as my pal, that means...”
As she continued on in a furious whisper, he continued watching her mouth move and her eyes flash without taking in a single sentence. We’re friends. One-time event. Her words.
Relief should be rolling through him. She’d done it, without him initiating the conversation. She’d put them, and all that had happened the night before when their limbs were entangled and their skin was fused by sugar and sweat, into her very own box.
The buddy box.
Terrific. Great.
He couldn’t be happier.
* * *
GLORY STOOD BACK from the metal stand she and Angelica had just moved to the southwest corner of the store to examine the new placement. “No, not here,” she said.
Her friend’s brows rose. “We’ve moved it five times.”
“Yes, yes, but the pressed wood fire logs are big sellers and also impulse buys...so I need to have them in the exact right place.”
“Your dad will tell you they should be located near the fireplace tools—where they’ve always been,” Angelica warned.
“I know. But now the business is mine and I want to make it feel like my own.”
“How about a compromise? We put the log holder where regular customers will expect to find it. Then we put a smaller stack near the register for the impulse buyers to discover.”
Glory stared at her friend. “Brilliant!” She grabbed her end of the stand. “Let’s do it.”
Angelica didn’t complain as they returned the contraption to its original location. She’d been fabulous that way, not pointing out that Glory had been in a frenzy since Kyle Scott had made his return. Not pointing out that Glory had been moving things around all over the store as if that might cure her malaise.
She still held hope that it would.
“What do you think about that display of rodent eradication products?”
“I try not to think of rodent eradication at all, Glory.”
“Ha-ha.” The sound of the front door’s bells chiming made her start. “Go see who that is, would you? Just in case...”
Just in case Kyle had bribed yet another local. First, it had been a skateboarding preteen with a pumpkin under his arm. Carved into its skin was a message: “Go out with me. —Kyle.”
She’d tossed it into the Dumpster out back.
The next day, a toddler had arrived, one hand held by his mother, the other clutching a steaming blueberry muffin. A paper flag attached to a toothpick was stuck in the center. “Please go out with me. —Kyle.”
She’d pitched the toothpick into the trash. After a moment’s consideration, she’d eaten the muffin in two big bites.
As Angelica headed off to the front of the store now, Glory called after her. “Beware of strangers bearing gifts!”
But it was no stranger who accompanied the brunette on her return trip. Glory’s oldest friend, Jules, came down the aisle, pushing a stroller that contained a snoozing two-year-old Becca under a kitten-print quilt.
Still, Glory cast a suspicious look at them both. “Is there anything hiding under that blanket? Did a tall, dark and handsome man ask you to bring something inside?”
Jules appeared confused. “Huh?”
Angelica answered. “Glory has an admirer.”
“Stu?” Jules guessed.
“Not Stu.” Glory frowned. Why did everyone think of her and then think of Stu? It was the rut, she decided, the rut she’d always been in.
Angelica was admiring the sleeping little girl. “How adorable she is.”
“I know,” Jules said, beaming. “Sometimes I pinch myself in the morning. I could have missed all this.”
“Missed it how?” Angelica asked.
“Jules was a famous actress in Hollywood,” Glory explained.
“Please.” The famous actress snorted. “I was in commercials for a local flooring chain.”
“Don’t forget you played the girl in the diamond store in that movie.”
“None of us can remember the name of ‘that movie,’” Jules pointed out.
“Still...” Glory remembered fantasizing about her and Jules trading places. Glory as wife and mother, Jules as the head of the hardware store. Now she played another little game in her mind. Glory in Hollywood—or anywhere besides Blue Arrow Lake, really—following a different dream...
“You’re sorry about your adventure?” Angelica asked Jules now.
“Not at all.” The young mother bent down to adjust the blanket around her daughter. “If I hadn’t gone down the hill, it would have been built up in my mind as ‘that thing I didn’t do.’ So I went, experimented, found it wasn’t for me and returned, happy to move on with my life here.”
“I read that the average person will have something like eleven jobs over their lifetime,” Angelica said.
Glory stared at her. “Really?”
“Well, not you,” her friend said cheerfully. “You have your lifetime job right here, right now.”
Of course she did. Glory was telling herself to be grateful for that, when the sound of distant snare drums caught her attention. All three women looked at each other, and then headed to the front of the store.
“What the heck?” Outside the store, the high school marching band was arranging itself on the street. Thirty of them assembled in rows, not counting a five-member squad of whi
te-gloved, kicky-skirted girls at the front. When the band started playing “Call Me Maybe,” the young ladies in front danced under the mellow-yellow afternoon sun.
Glory stepped out the door and onto the sidewalk, one of the many spectators to gather and watch. Angelica spoke in her ear. “I wonder who had this idea?”
Telling herself not to do so, she glanced around the crowd to see if Kyle was among them. But there was no tall and rangy house painter in sight. Homecoming was approaching. Maybe the band was out for an impromptu practice. But the kids all seemed to be staring at her.
Prickles rose on the back of her neck. The people on the sidewalk were staring at her, too, as if they’d never seen her before. She glanced down. Was something wrong with her clothes? But she was in her same-old, same-old work uniform: khaki jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, her butcher-style apron. Self-conscious, she fluffed her short hair and bit at her lips to give them color. Had she worn lipstick today?
“You look great,” Angelica whispered in her ear.
Glory steeled her spine. She didn’t care how she looked. She didn’t care that other people were looking at her. To them, she’d always be Cutest Kewpie anyway.
The band was winding down. Soon, they’d be moving along, she supposed, continuing along the street or back to school. This unexpected, out-of-the-ordinary moment would be gone from her life...just like Kyle Scott.
Angelica had been pressuring her to give him another chance. Just because he’d done one disappearing act didn’t mean he couldn’t be trusted not to leave again, she’d said. But Glory couldn’t shake her unease, though perhaps that was due less to the man and more because of the strength of the attraction she felt for him.
It was unprecedented...so how could she trust it to last?
At the final crescendo, cymbals clashed and the dancing girls swept down in graceful arcs. Glory realized there were pieces of cardboard lying facedown at their feet, and they plucked them up, to hold them chest-high. Each was a letter, and spelled out Beautiful Glory, Go Out with Me.
Marching again to the single beat of a snare drum, the band split in two and fanned to each side, so that beyond the girls she could see the lone man seated on the bench across the street.
Kyle’s elbows were on his knees and he was studying her with that single-mindedness he’d warned her about. His dark eyes bored into hers.
Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever) Page 18