Lucky For You

by Jayne Denker

  “Impressive.”

  “Let’s move it. We’re burning daylight.”

  “Sheesh, Warren. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

  “Warren? Weak. I expected better.”

  Will stayed outside while she pulled on her hoodie and stepped into her sneakers. So. It looked like she was going for a walk. With Will. In public. This should be interesting. She bent down to adjust her ankle monitor, which was pinching her skin. Less than a week to go. She wasn’t sure she could wait another minute. The thing wasn’t in her way, exactly, and since she had nowhere to go, she didn’t feel limited or confined—Marsden did that all on its own, no electronic devices required—but its heaviness, its pressure against her ankle, its chafing against her Achilles heel, was a constant reminder of the sheer amount of ridiculousness she’d been up to in her life. And for what? She had to wonder sometimes.

  Now, however, on this beautiful autumn day, beside a guy who actually didn’t seem to mind her presence at least half the time, doing something as mundane as stapling “Found: Cat” flyers on telephone poles, she felt normal. Content, even. Which, on some level, was weirding her the hell out.

  She had to admit that walking around her grandmother’s familiar neighborhood wasn’t half bad, especially when all the houses were done up for Halloween. She must have been enjoying the carved pumpkins, artificial cobwebs, skeletons, and scarecrows a little too much, because as they rounded the corner and headed back to Holly’s house, empty handed after putting up all the flyers, Will made a small amused noise that made her look over at him.

  “What?”

  “I should have known you’d be into Halloween.”

  “It’s my favorite holiday. I mean, what’s not to love? Costumes, candy, and mischief. Three of my favorite things.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll bet you’re the one who stays home to man the door and hand out the treats, am I right?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  She shoved her hands in the pouch pocket of her hoodie and walked backward, studying him. “Okay, so maybe you do go to a party or two.”

  “On occasion, sure.”

  “I’ll bet you wear your police uniform as your costume. Right?”

  “Uniforms are not costumes.”

  She snickered. “Shows how much you know.”

  “Why Halloween?”

  “What?”

  “Why is it your favorite holiday? Besides the costumes and candy and mischief.”

  “You really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

  “There’s none of this sappy nonsense you get with the ‘big’ holidays.”

  “You mean Thanksgiving and Christmas? Everyone’s favorites?”

  “I’d even throw in New Year’s. They all give me the dry heaves.” She pretended to stick her finger down her throat for emphasis.

  “You are so sentimental. It’s touching.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “What have you got against sappy, sentimental holidays?”

  “Everything!” she exclaimed. “Being all mushy, with family. Oh—and family dinners. They’re the worst.” Or lack of them, when there should be some, she thought. She left out that part.

  When they got back to the house, Will stopped on the sidewalk instead of walking her up the driveway.

  “Well, thanks for your help with the flyers,” Jordan said. “If you hadn’t printed those out, I’d have had to go to Ray’s copy shop, and I think I’d rather have a root canal than spend five minutes with that guy.”

  “Still some bad blood from you blowing up his Ben Franklin performance?”

  She winced. “Damn. You remember that?”

  “This is Marsden. Everybody remembers everything. Hence your ostracism.”

  “ ‘Ostracism’? Sheesh. Cops aren’t supposed to have a big vocabulary. You’re supposed to be limited to stuff like ‘Get on the ground—now,’ and ‘License and registration, please.’”

  Will grinned broadly as he threw her own words back at her. “Shows how much you know.”

  Jordan backed up the driveway a few steps. “Anyway, thanks for the walk too. I don’t do that very often.”

  “No, I hear you prefer to ride.”

  “Shut up.”

  “It’s got to be boring, hanging around this house for days on end. I know you’d rather stay in, but there’s no law saying you can’t have visitors. How come nobody’s checked up on you since you’ve been here?”

  “You mean family? I don’t expect Gran to come here from the home. She calls, though. Other than her, there’s just Aunt Wendy and Uncle Alan, and you know them—masters at filling their own lives so they don’t have to get involved in anybody else’s.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “Don and Pammie? Not inclined to visit.”

  “Still in Connecticut, right?”

  She shrugged. He could believe what he liked.

  “Friends, then. Don’t tell me you don’t have any of those. After all, I’m pretty sure you didn’t get into trouble at Monticello all by yourself.”

  “This is true.”

  “So?”

  Another shrug. “I have friends. I wouldn’t ask them to come all the way to Marsden just to hang out with me while I do my time, though.”

  “Why not? Isn’t that what friends do?”

  He was right. And it made Jordan wonder why she never asked this of her so-called friends . . . and why they didn’t offer. When she didn’t answer, he tried again.

  “So . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you like Halloween so much, you should check out Bowen Farms. It’s not too far—just on the other side of the valley. Your ankle monitor won’t send out an alert or anything.”

  “Bowen, like Casey Bowen, Celia’s old boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. He took over his parents’ place, made it into a really nice pumpkin farm. It’s fun.”

  “Wait. We’re talking hay bales and corn mazes and shit?”

  “You got a problem with that? Or just getting out of the house in general?”

  “Maybe I like staying in,” she lied.

  “Not very healthy.”

  “It is if your goal is self-preservation. Which it is, in my case.”

  Will nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much.” A pause, then, “Would you go if you had a bodyguard?”

  “Who says I need one?”

  “Quite a few people in town, if you want to know the truth.”

  “They still want my head on a platter, don’t they?”

  “Let’s say you sure know how to impress Marsden residents.”

  “It’s a knack.”

  “Well, I think it’s time you changed your image, don’t you? Come on. My Jeep’s right here.” He held out a hand as though asking her for a dance.

  “What, now?”

  “Last weekend for it—Halloween’s next week. You in?”

  Jordan stayed where she was, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “What do you want, Wilmer?”

  “To change your image, I said.”

  “Oh God.”

  “You’re going to make nice, and I’m going to help you.”

  “Oh God.”

  “You’re so welcome.”

  Surrounded by hundreds of people at Bowen Farms, Jordan thought she knew what major anxiety felt like for the first time. While a lot of the visitors to the pumpkin farm were tourists on a festive day trip, enough Marsden residents populated the crowd that Jordan was afraid to round a corner in case she was jumped by Missy Preston or Walter from the market. So when Will suggested they try the cornfield maze, she turned him down in favor of the petting zoo, cider doughnuts . . . anything and everything that would harbor fewer surprise attacks by well-meaning neighbors.

  Of course, it was impossible to avoid those neighbors entirely. Will was stopped constantly as he made his way through the crowd. For every Marsden resident who gave her the side-eye, two
had to greet him, hug him, bend his ear about something—anything—including police issues, inquiries about his family (and there seemed to be about a hundred family members to ask about), and just general gossip. While he chatted politely, Jordan admired the view—of the valley from the farm’s perch high on a hillside overlooking the town, sure, but also the eye candy beside her.

  Will smiled brightly as yet another person, apparently a friend of his dad’s, nattered on, and Jordan felt herself jump, a tiny twitch. Handsome. The word popped into her head as suddenly as her body reacted. She’d known he was well put together—it was hard to miss, after all—but it was as though she’d gotten the full impact right then. Maybe it was the deep blue of his pullover fleece intensifying the blue of his eyes, the corners of the standup collar grazing his slightly stubbled cheeks. Maybe it was his even white teeth, or the slight dimple that appeared in his cheek when he truly smiled instead of grimacing, the way he usually did when he was around her. Maybe it was a combination of everything, even the sun-dappled day, all oranges and golds and bright blue sky dotted with puffs of pure white clouds, but she was feeling downright optimistic. And happy.

  She was also staring, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop. He was just so nice to look at. It occurred to her that she had to get a grip or he’d notice her drooling. Before she made an ass of herself, she plunged her hands into her hoodie pouch pocket and looked elsewhere.

  “You cold?”

  She jumped again. He had dismissed the family friend and was looking at her with concern. Wasn’t he just a Boy Scout? A brisk breeze ruffled her hair, but it wasn’t enough to chill her. She shook her head.

  “Let’s get some coffee.” He steered her toward a booth surrounded by quite a few people. Jordan caught glimpses of coffee urns, a pyramid of what seemed to be pumpkin or spice cupcakes under netting, and pastries in plastic cases. Well, she had to hand it to the police officer; he seemed to know how to put her at ease—fill her with caffeine and sugar.

  While she was still staring at the pastries and deeply inhaling the scent of fresh coffee, a large man leaned out over the folding table making up one side of the booth. “William. About time you showed up.”

  “Got any coffee left?”

  “I’d be dragged out of town, my ankle tied to the back of a pickup truck, if I didn’t. For two?” he added, with a significant look at Jordan.

  Will led her closer. “This is Gabe, my older, simple-minded brother. Gabe, you remember Jordan Leigh, don’t you?”

  Gabe brightened as he did his best to pretend he hadn’t been parked outside her house in the wee hours of the morning a couple of weeks ago. “Holly’s granddaughter, right? Sure, I remember you.”

  “Hey, firecracker,” a new voice said.

  Cameron Nash. Of course. He’d pushed his brother to one side—no mean feat, considering the eldest Nash brother outweighed his younger sibling by at least fifty pounds—and leaned over the makeshift counter, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

  “Jordan Leigh. Haven’t seen you in ages. Let me whip up something special for you.”

  “Cam, I told you—no serving,” Gabe said, derailing his brother’s moves. “Just take the people’s money like I told you.”

  “Eh, you don’t need me. I’m taking a break.” And without further ado, Cam ducked under the table and popped up on the outside of the booth. “You’re looking lovely today, Jordan. How have you been?”

  She took a step back as her eyes met Will’s. His face was a blank, but even so, it was obvious he wasn’t enjoying Cam’s invasion. Was Will jealous of his brother? Tell me you didn’t hook up with Cam, he’d said that night on the porch. What if he really was jealous? That would be delicious. It’d be nice to know Will was feeling a little possessive toward her. Still, he said nothing, just moved over to collect the cups of coffee from Gabe.

  “What brings you here?” Cam asked. “Besides my good-for-nothing brother, that is.”

  She gave him a stiff smile. “Hey, just hanging with the locals at the hottest ticket in town.”

  “Can I show you around? Perhaps a little punkin’ chunkin’ to round out your day?”

  “Not at the moment, no,” she said, even though she was dying to ask what punkin’ chunkin’ was. No need to encourage the boy. She caught a glimpse of Will, behind Cam, watching the two of them carefully. “Will was just about to take me pumpkin picking.”

  “There are piles of them right here,” Cam said, indicating the bins near the checkout booth, for visitors who were in more of a hurry.

  “Hey, it’s not pumpkin picking if you don’t get them out of the field.”

  “Well, then, I’ll come with—”

  “Cam! Customers!” Gabe barked, and Jordan felt a rush of gratitude for the perceptive eldest Nash brother. He caught her eye and winked.

  “All right, slave driver,” Cam growled, then turned back to Jordan. “Hey, are you going to be around for Halloween? I’m going to have a party at my place. You should come. It’ll be very . . . adult.”

  “Maybe,” she answered with a smirk. “Too bad about the adult part. I like candy.”

  “There’s candy, and then there’s candy.”

  “We’ll see, Cam.” She accepted the cup of coffee Will held out for her, then took his arm. “Lead the way to the pumpkin field.”

  Will’s arm was like granite, his face just as stony. Jordan hid her smile behind her coffee cup and just waited. Finally he said grimly, “He’s married.”

  “What’s that, now?”

  “Cam. He’s married.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  “Why should I?”

  “It’s not an issue for you?”

  “If you’re asking if I’m falling for his moves, the answer is no.”

  Will glanced over at her cautiously, softened a bit, but kept his guard up. “That wasn’t always the case, I hear.”

  With an enormous sigh, she said, “It was a long time ago, Wre-ston. And our brief time together was entirely forgettable. Trust. Just let it go, all right?”

  He hesitated a moment, considering this. “You sure?”

  “Beyond sure.”

  Another moment of silence. Then, “Reston doesn’t start with a W.”

  “It could. Look it up. What’s punkin’ chunkin’, anyway? It doesn’t involve vomit, does it?”

  That finally got a smile out of him. “No. You use big slingshots to fling little gourds at very large targets.”

  “That does sound more fun than vomiting.”

  “Want to try it?”

  “Pumpkins first, please.”

  They made their way down a wide dirt track, navigating through the meandering crowds, the people going in their direction relaxed and empty handed, the ones coming the other way laden down with large and small pumpkins, dusty from the field.

  As they reached the pumpkin patch, someone behind them coughed loudly. Jordan barely noticed, but it happened again. And again, far more insistently. Wasn’t that much dust in the air, Jordan thought.

  Then: “Is there a police officer who can help me?”

  The braying voice got Jordan and Will—and everyone else in the vicinity—to stop short. Jordan felt Will tense up beside her, going into cop mode. She followed his gaze toward the air-raid-siren sound, and the crowd parted so dramatically the effect looked as choreographed as a move in a Busby Berkeley production.

  “What the ever-lovin’ . . .” Jordan murmured, unsure whether she should be alarmed or amused.

  Right in front of them, at the end of two flanking lines of pumpkin pickers, stood the most ridiculous sight she’d ever seen. And she’d seen some whoppers in her day.

  A woman struck a pose. Light brown hair piled high. Giant, round, I’m-not-a-bug-I’m-a-celebrity sunglasses. Brilliant red lipstick. A camel-hair coat with an enormous faux-fur shawl collar (even though it was nearly sixty degrees and the sun was still strong). Black tights. Black over-the-knee stilet
to boots.

  “Is she lost?” Jordan whispered. “Or, like, you know, an escapee from somewhere . . . special?”

  Will didn’t answer her. Instead he called, “Can I help, Audra?”

  The woman shifted her hips and began to strut down the line of gawkers. At least, Jordan was pretty sure that was what she had intended; unfortunately, stiletto boots and farms didn’t quite mix, and from Audra’s first step, first one heel, then the other, sank deeply into the turned dirt, so she appeared to be tipping backward, righting herself, moving forward, then tipping backward again.

  Jordan was disappointed when Audra finally gave up and stayed still, waiting for Will to come to her. “Officer,” she stated carefully, as though reciting a line from a play, “I’ve lost my wallet.” Then she flipped one hand up, palm flat. Jordan winced. Audra should keep her day job, whatever it was. Acting was not her thing.

  Jordan glanced over at Will to see if he was as amused as she was, but he was taking Audra completely seriously. Of course he had to; he was a professional.

  As he approached her, Jordan hung back, watching the show. “I’m sorry to hear that. What does it look like? And when did you last have it?”

  “Well, aren’t you nice to help, Will.” Audra whipped off her okay-I’m-a-bug sunglasses. Jordan wondered if she was tearing up because she was touched at Will’s attentiveness or because she’d just poked herself in the eye with the stem. “You’re always so sweet.”

  Jordan did a double take. Had she just trotted out a Southern accent? She was pretty sure this fine specimen of womanhood was a Marsden native, so why was she suddenly sounding like Scarlett O’Hara?

  Will waited. Audra put a manicured finger to her lips and rolled her eyes, deep in thought. “I can’t really recall when I had it last. It was in my purse, and then it wasn’t . . .”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Like this?”

  A paunchy, older man walked up then, one hand patting down his thinning comb-over that had gotten ruffled by the breeze, the other clutching a wallet. Audra raised an eyebrow as she looked down at him—because even with her heels deep in the dirt, she was about a head taller—and snapped, “Not now, Ray.”

  “But—”

  “I said not now!”