Lucky For You

by Jayne Denker

  Jordan kept her eye out for the ginger tabby slinking around in the snow as she crossed the yard, but she didn’t see him. When she was in a distrustful mood—which was more often than she wanted to admit—she suspected Will had made Fred “disappear” while she was gone. Deep down, though, she knew he’d never do that. Will was a good guy, a good caretaker for her adopted cat. She could have just let him keep Fred and put out some fresh tuna to lure another feline into her home. But she’d learned her lesson last time: Most wandering cats belonged to someone in the neighborhood. And besides, she’d really wanted Fred to belong to her.

  “It’ll never work.”

  Yeah, she thought she’d smelled cigarette smoke, thought she’d seen a spark in the vicinity of the back patio as the person took a drag. “What, Cam?” she sighed, crossing her arms.

  “My big brother, lightening up. Never happen.”

  “You heard, huh?”

  “Couldn’t help it.”

  “You didn’t try to avoid it, you mean. Nosy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So is this the part where you tell me you’re the better bet?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no. Even though we did have a lot of fun back in school.”

  “How much of it do you remember?”

  “Enough.”

  “Doubtful. If I remember right, about thirty seconds after you groped me, you booted up six hot dogs and two sixes of beer.”

  “It was five hot dogs and eight beers.”

  “On my shoes.”

  “Yeah, those were the days, huh? Look,” he went on when she didn’t respond, “I think our boy’s got a pretty serious thing for you. Just so you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah. He doesn’t just hook up. I’ve heard all about it.”

  Cam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing casual, wants to do things ‘right.’ He was pretty clear on the subject.”

  “Are you talking about my big brother? Because the guy gets around. He hasn’t dated anybody seriously in . . . I can’t remember how long.”

  “What?”

  “You wouldn’t think he’s the type, right? Don’t let that responsible shtick fool you—he’s a lady-killer. But he acts different around you. What’s the word? Smitten.”

  Jordan was completely confounded now. What Cam was telling her was exactly the opposite of what she’d witnessed in Will. “So, what, are you saying I should stay away from him?”

  “God, no. Do whatever you want. I just think that, if he was going to get serious about anybody, I’d place my bets on you.”

  “And you know all about serious relationships.”

  “I do.”

  “That’s why you’re separated from your wife after, what, two years of marriage?”

  “Ah, you’ve been talking to my parents.”

  “Maybe, but it’s common knowledge around here anyway.”

  “Isn’t everything?”

  “So why don’t you focus on your own problems instead of messing with mine? Fix whatever you did and be a real husband before your marriage totally implodes and you circle each other for the rest of your lives, hating each other.”

  “Wow. That escalated quickly. What makes you think it’s my fault?”

  “Because I know you.”

  “You know the old me.”

  “Who’s alarmingly like the new you. Now . . . what did you do?”

  Cam sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, and flicked it into the brick barbecue. “I just . . . didn’t tell her something I should have before we got married. I was never going to say anything, but it slipped out. And here I am, back home.”

  “You cheated on her?”

  “No! Absolutely not. I swear.”

  “So what was it?”

  Shaking his head, he said with a smile, “That’s why it’s called a secret.”

  “You realize you and Summer aren’t supposed to have any secrets between you two, though, right?”

  “Yeah, I got that—thanks. I will admit I was stupid. I should have told her.”

  “So beg her forgiveness, make it up to her, and stop wasting time screwing around living at your parents’ house.” Cam snorted, and Jordan knew he was thinking about Will living in the backyard. “We’re talking about you now.”

  “Nah, we’re done with that topic. Much as I do love talking about myself, you understand. I think it’s time my brother also stopped living at our parents’ and letting Mom do his laundry—”

  “He does?” That didn’t sound like the Will she knew.

  “Well, she steals it when he’s at work and does it for him. He’s capable of being independent as long as Mom isn’t sabotaging him.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I think you’re his best bet for getting a life. So I’ll make you a deal: If I move forward with Summer—or without her, if that’s what she decides—you rescue my brother.”

  “I don’t think I’m prepared for that.”

  “Never know until you try. Now, let me give you some intel.”

  “Nope. Not interested.”

  “The Nail and Bail. In Whalen.”

  “Great name.” She couldn’t help taking in this information, even if she knew it was a bad idea. “What about it?”

  “It’s his favorite place to go drinking. Just saying.”

  Oh God, she wasn’t actually considering it, was she?

  She was.

  What? All of it. What Cam had said. What Will had said. What she’d said, even. All of it had been ricocheting around in her head for days, robbing her of several nights’ sleep. It invaded her thoughts when she was doing something mindless, like making toast or cleaning the bathroom or driving to work. It invaded her thoughts at the most inconvenient times as well, like when she was trying to take direction from Marisol on her last day at the school, or focus on the lists of tasks George was making . . . and then adding to, and then adding to some more. In her more rational moments, she thought giving Will a chance, actually dating him, was the most ridiculous idea she’d ever entertained. He was so normal. So serious. So average. She couldn’t possibly walk willingly into the trap of a regular relationship. It would smother her within a week.

  Then she realized that while Will was normal, and often serious, he was nowhere near average. Average men were boring and forgettable. He was neither. Average men were most definitely not lickable. He most certainly was. Not that he’d given her much of a chance to investigate, but from what she’d discovered so far . . . yeah.

  And she really, really wanted to be able to . . . investigate . . . further.

  She still hesitated. She told herself she was being practical and cautious, but it really was just good ol’ fear rearing its ugly head, thanks to plenty of anecdotal evidence about relationships she’d collected over the years. Just like she’d said to Will the other night—Mom and Dad. Cam and Summer. Jesse and Ronnie. She was surrounded by imploded relationships. And the ones that hadn’t imploded? Well, they just hadn’t imploded yet.

  And then Will inexorably tipped the scales in his favor . . . by showing up at her door with Fred cradled in his arms.

  “You found my cat.” Oh God, she had feels oozing out all over the place. She desperately hoped they weren’t leaking out into her voice and making her sound all mushy, but she suspected she’d lost that battle. Sensitive, hot man with a body to die for, in a police uniform. Looking at her with those blue eyes that could just squeeze her soul. And he was holding her cat, for God’s sake! None of this was fair.

  “I went hunting for your cat.”

  He handed over Fred, and Jordan accepted him gratefully, happily burying her nose in his fur while he flopped his front paws over her shoulder. Scratching him behind his ear, just the way he liked it, she asked, “Was he lost and hungry and shivering?”

  Will grinned. “No. He was curled up on a blanket in the back seat of my grandfather’s rusted-out Mercury in the barn. Most likely feasting on mice t
he entire time. Plus my mom said he’d been coming to the back door, so she’d been feeding him leftovers. I think he preferred the mice, though.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered into Fred’s fur.

  “You’re welcome. I’m sure he’s glad to be home.” A pause, then, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got the night shift.”

  “Okay. Um, one more thing. What you said about the wedding?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m . . . thinking about it.”

  “Better think fast. It’s in four days.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  Jordan took a deep breath and exhaled it in a huge cloud of mist, vaporizing the tiny sparkling crystals of snow filtering through the frigid air in front of her. She tugged on the cuffs of her mittens. Straightened her scarf. Squared her shoulders. Grabbed the door handle. Pushed. Got irritated at the twee tinkle of a bell alerting the shopkeeper to her presence. Let the door swing shut behind her. Then the warm, glowy atmosphere of Suzette’s was shattered by the vocal equivalent of shredding sheet metal.

  “No. No way. We’ve done this already. You just move your scrawny little booty along right now, honey.”

  Jordan ripped off her mittens and slammed them on the counter in front of Audra, whose huge eyes, made bigger by her thick false eyelashes, widened in shock.

  “Now look here, honey,” Jordan snapped. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. But we’re going to do this, you hear me? I don’t need a damned job. I. Need. A. Dress.”

  Audra looked her up and down with disdain. “And do we have money for this dress?”

  “Unbelievable.” Jordan shook her head, then looked around her. The boutique was filled, floor to ceiling and wall to wall, with the kind of clothes Jordan normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in. “Not sure I’d even bother to steal most of this stuff.”

  “Hey, this is quality merchandise.”

  “Right. You don’t normally see quality like this outside of a strip club in Atlantic City.”

  “You know, I don’t think I really need your business. So why don’t you—”

  “Seems kind of quiet around here. Get much traffic in the off season, McNally?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Just asking.”

  “I get enough,” Audra said bravely, with a one-shoulder shrug. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. Believe me. But it looks like this inventory is gathering dust, if you know what I mean. Sure would be nice to move some of it, don’t you think? Before June, I mean?”

  Another shrug from Audra, but at least this time she stayed silent. Jordan got the feeling that didn’t happen very often.

  “So let’s come to an . . . understanding, all right? You need to sell shit, I need to buy shit. Just deal with it. I’m not your worst nightmare, but I could be.”

  “Wow, you’re a real bitch, aren’t you?”

  “Takes one to know one?”

  Audra almost smiled at this. “You sure you’re related to Celia?”

  “We share some DNA, but that’s about it. Now I get to ask you something: Why are you on my ass all the time? Do you really have a thing for Officer Billy?”

  The other woman’s cheeks colored under her bronzer and blush, and she bustled out from behind the counter. “Size four, right? We’ve got some primo stuff over here . . .”

  “I’m a six, because I’m a big fan of breathing and moving around. Now, how about answering my question?”

  Audra wrenched a few garments off the upper rack on the wall and spun around. “These are very popular.”

  Jordan snorted. “No, they’re not. You’re just trying to get rid of them.”

  “Hey, I’ll have you know—”

  “Don’t even. There’s a giant parrot made out of sequins and tube beads on the side of that dress. Your argument is invalid.”

  “Hand beaded!”

  “Ugly as fuck. Try again.”

  Sighing noisily, Audra set the parrot dress aside and held up the next one. “Very colorful. Silk.”

  “Are those screenprints of The Simpsons?”

  That dress joined the other one, and Audra held up her last offering. “Pantsuit, ivory satin, wear it without anything under the blazer, of course. Very Hollywood.”

  “Last I checked, this was Marsden. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t want my boob making a surprise guest appearance at George and Casey’s wedding.”

  “Fine,” Audra bit out, moving to another rack.

  “Gonna answer my question?”

  Audra mumbled something as she rifled through her stock, looking for more wedding wear.

  “A little louder there, ma’am?”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. I’m as young as you. Almost,” she amended hastily, as Jordan started to contradict her. There was a ten-year age gap between them, and they both knew it. After another moment she burst out, “No, I’m not interested in Officer Billy, all right?”

  Jordan wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but she held back. “Then why all the hostility?”

  “I dunno. I guess . . . I guess I think Aunt Bedelia might be right—I don’t exactly make good choices when it comes to men. I figured maybe she had a good idea with Will, and I should give it a try. Now I can’t even do that, because you showed up.”

  “We’re not together, you know.”

  “You sure?”

  “If we are, nobody told me. But what about the guy I heard you were dating? Toby?”

  “We’re totally done,” she said with a dismissive flip of her manicured nails. “I want somebody more stable, you know?”

  “Is that you or your aunt talking?”

  “Me!” the other woman snapped, indignant. “. . . I think. Or maybe it was her. No. No, it was me. At least I agreed with her. Yeah. Final answer.”

  “So . . . more stable, like Officer Billy?”

  “Well, not exactly. I mean, he’s cute and all, but you guys seem kinda young to me. So maybe somebody a little more mature.”

  “Sensible.”

  “I hope so. It feels weird, you know?” Obviously uncomfortable talking about her feelings—with Jordan, of all people—Audra refocused on her stock. She shuffled through another rack, pulled another dress out, and examined it with a frown. “Nah . . .”

  “Oh.”

  It was stunning. Cocktail length, made of drapey, stretchy fabric that would allow Jordan to do that breathing thing she was so fond of, with an asymmetrical neckline to keep ’em guessing and a big, bright gold zipper running all the way from the dipped V in the back to the bottom hem. It was a brilliant red, but hey, it wasn’t just George and Casey’s wedding, it was also Christmas. She could get away with it.

  “Yeah, you probably don’t want something like this. You need something a little fancier. More sparkly.”

  She wanted. She definitely wanted. “No!” Jordan said quickly. “No. It’s . . . okay, actually.”

  It was perfect, actually, and she felt like she should hold her breath and not blink, in case she was hallucinating and it’d disappear any minute. Or Audra would move a bit of fabric to reveal a hidden panel that lit up with LED lights and shot off fireworks.

  “Really?” The look on Audra’s face effectively communicated, There’s no accounting for some people’s taste. “Well, you should try it on, anyway—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “But—”

  “Bitch, please. Take the money.”

  “Spanx to go with?”

  “I will cut you.”

  Chapter 22

  “Beer.”

  Will thought about ordering a dozen the minute he sat down. Even the words “keep ’em coming” wouldn’t do it. Not after the day he’d had. Thank God for the Nail and Bail, nasty little roadhouse that it was. And, correspondingly, thank God for Whalen. Chilling thought, but because the bar and the town existed, he could hunch his shoulders, rest his elbows on the varnished wood, and suck back his alcohol
in peace without worrying about any of his neighbors walking in.

  Here it was, Christmas Eve . . . eve, and it wasn’t enough that he had to deal with last-minute shoppers clogging the sidewalks and irate diners being shut out of Café Olé because the staff was busy making food for George and Casey’s wedding. No, it was Nate and Ray who had driven him completely around the bend. With time running out in the season, they’d both pulled out all the stops on their second-last day of the Christmas Wars. Zombie snowmen roamed the block outside Nate’s storefront. An elf followed Ray wherever he went, kicking him in the seat of the pants. Eventually the zombie snowmen plaguing Nate were replaced by a panhandling Santa. (Will suspected it was Burt Womack under the beard, because it was nowhere near as white as it should have been, but Heather came on duty, so he let her get to the bottom of it.) A sign appeared outside Ray’s, announcing a “ninety percent off sale” on every item and service he had to offer. Ray never had a sale, let alone ninety percent off. He must have had a similar idea, because an ad for Nate’s prefab home business appeared in the local newspaper: Purchase an actual home for a dollar. Will had to hand it to Nate—he’d kept his cool and offset the stampede by accepting dollar bills and, in return, handing out tiny plastic homes from a scale model of his subdivision. Will considered Nate the winner of the prank war for that gesture alone, but dispersing the crowd had been exhausting.

  How long had he been sitting here? Could he order another beer? Wait—yes, he could, because he wasn’t driving tonight. He lifted a hand to signal the bartender, who nodded and popped the top off a fresh bottle.

  He’d been so caught up in police business he hadn’t even had time to worry about Jordan. What was she up to, had Summer contacted her about helping with the teens, and did her recent silence mean she’d decided not to accept his invitation to the wedding after all? He checked his phone constantly. No word from her. Now he figured it was a lost cause, what with the wedding being tomorrow night and all.

  He checked his phone now. No voice mail, no texts. Damn, when Jordan disappeared, she really disappeared, even when she was still in town. He opened his contacts and hit Cam’s number. “Where the hell are you?”