by Linz, Cathie
“Well, that’s part of it, sure.”
“I’d prefer if you just left me alone.” It was all she could do not to grimace at how prissy and Marian the Librarian she sounded. She needed a Pop-Tart. Pronto.
She still had a hidden stash that her health-maniac mother and sister hadn’t found.
But no way she was stuffing her face in front of Luke.
“And I’d prefer not to leave you alone,” Luke replied, reaching to slip a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
Help. She was coming completely undone here.
And okay, so it wasn’t entirely Luke’s fault. Her family was playing a huge factor in her unravelling. But Luke wasn’t helping matters any by tempting her to do something she’d regret.
She could still feel the warmth of his thumb brushing her lower lip from the night before. Feel his fingertips grazing her jaw. Both were minor incidents that didn’t merit the attention she’d given them.
He didn’t seem the least bit affected by her presence. Not that her outfit—khaki pants and navy polo shirt—would impress anyone. But he appeared to get a kick out of pushing her buttons, out of making fun of her. Was she just some big joke to him? Was that it?
“I don’t care what you prefer,” she said, belatedly getting back to his previous comment.
He raised one eyebrow. “No?”
“No. I’m tired of being pushed around in my own house, in my own backyard. If I say I don’t want something, then that’s what I mean. And if I say I like Cool Whip, then that’s also what I mean.”
“I like Cool Whip, too.” His voice turned rough-and-tumble sexy. “Spread all over you, it would be especially sweet.”
She had no comeback for that comment.
Which was the only reason it was quiet when her sister popped her head in the back door and said, “I hate to interrupt you two, but the media has arrived.”
Julia blinked. “What media?”
Skye shrugged. “Looked like the local CBS affiliate, but I didn’t pay that much attention to what was written on the side of the TV van. The reporter is a Diane Sawyer wannabe right down to the haircut and black turtleneck. She’s chatting with Sue Ellen now. She’s already spoken with Angel.”
“No!” Julia raced outside.
The glare of the spotlight pinpointed the reporter’s location immediately. She was speaking into the microphone. “The holidays are fast approaching. And here in Serenity Falls, a miracle may be unfolding.”
“This is my daughter Julia,” Angel told the reporter. “She’s a librarian.”
“Really? In that case, how would you classify today’s events?”
“As fiction.”
“You aren’t a believer, then?” the reporter asked.
“I believe this is all a big mistake.”
“There you have it.” The reporter returned the mike to her perfectly lip-lined mouth. “Two sides of this llama legend. A miracle? Or a mistake? This is Sondra Delaine, reporting from the small town of Serenity Falls. Back to you in the studio.”
“How did you get out here so fast?” Julia demanded.
“I faxed them a press release this morning.” Sue Ellen proudly buffed her acrylic nails against her hot pink angora sweater.
Julia gave the Diane Sawyer wannabe an accusatory look.
The reporter just shrugged. “What can I say? It was a slow news day.”
Julia didn’t have to wait long for the reaction to the segment on the noon news to set in. The first call came within minutes from Fred, a reporter with the Serenity News, wanting an exclusive interview . . . with the llamas if possible.
The next call came from Walt, and he quickly made his opinion known. “Did you see that segment on the noon news?”
“No.”
“Well, I did. The story depicted us as wacky. The station called me, asking if I knew that Sue Ellen was referred to as ‘Our Lady of the Outlandish’ in town. I’m telling you Julia, we do not want the description outlandish attached in any way, shape, or form to Serenity Falls. The Best Small Towns in America judging committee isn’t looking for wacky or outlandish. There’s no place for that on their form. No place at all.”
Walt only paused long enough to draw in a breath before barreling on. “To have the llamas as possible prognosticators is one thing. I mean we already have the precedent of the groundhog over in Punxsutawney and even the woolly worms in Lewisburg. But to bring Jesus into this . . .” Walt almost wheezed in the middle of his hissy fit. His voice lowered to a semi-whisper. “People take religion very seriously. I know I do, and I certainly don’t want anyone thinking we’re committing blasphemy or anything like that. People are very touchy about these things.”
Julia sighed. “I realize that.”
“Then how could you allow this to get so out of hand?” His voice was booming once again.
“Me? I had no idea Sue Ellen was faxing out press releases to the media this morning. In fact, I didn’t even realize until this morning that she knew I had llamas in my backyard.”
“Oh, please. Everyone in town knows you have the llamas. They have to go.”
“I agree. Everyone in town needs to go home.”
“Not the townspeople. The llamas. They have to go.”
“Again I agree. There isn’t enough room in the backyard. My mother plans to move them within the next day or two.” Angel didn’t exactly work on a time schedule.
“No, I mean they have to go now. Before midnight. Before more media shows up.”
From where she was standing in the hallway, Julia could see out the front picture window that two television vans had just pulled up. “It may be too late for that.”
“I don’t want to hear that.”
“I’m not real thrilled with the news, either.”
“The news? More television crews? Oh, no. Hold on. I’ve got another call.”
Julia walked into the kitchen with the cordless phone and stood on her tiptoes. Pop-Tarts. She had to have Pop-Tarts. Now. She didn’t care who saw her scarfing them down at this point.
“Here.” Luke placed a balancing hand on the curve of her hip, his thumb brushing her bare skin at her waist where her polo shirt separated from her khaki pants. “Let me help. What do you need?”
What did she need? Him. Touching her. Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. Tongue to tongue. Tongue to skin. Mouth to skin.
The possible erotic combos made her go all warm and squishy inside. She suddenly yearned for the pleasure Luke promised her with every teasing touch and seriously hot look. She wanted him to tumble her to the kitchen floor—or better yet lift her to the kitchen counter—and have his wicked way with her. Maybe then this powerful need would stop burning deep within her.
She glanced over her shoulder, fearful that she might be conveying her thoughts to him like some kind of blinking neon sign glowing on her forehead.
Uptight librarian wants you. Take me now.
Almost afraid of what she would see in those eyes of his, Julia was surprised to find a similar passion there and a matching confusion.
What did he have to be confused about? The fact that she wanted him? Or that he wanted her?
And he did want her. He let her see that, but he kept so many other things secret in his increasingly complicated gaze.
Julia stared at him, at his mouth, at the tiny scar along his jaw, at his mouth again.
His fingers branded her bare skin with their warmth as he moved her closer to him. Was he going to kiss her? Have his wicked way with her?
The moment was shattered by Walt’s bellow over the phone she’d forgotten she still had pressed to her ear. “Disaster! Julia, are you there?”
“Yes.” Her voice was unsteady. So were her knees. But she managed to grab the foil packet of Pop-Tarts anyway and rip it open.
“That was the National Enquirer. They want an exclusive.”
“Too late. I already gave an exclusive to Fred.”
“Fred?”
“Over at the Seren
ity News.”
“You don’t understand. The National Enquirer is calling me. This is totally unacceptable! Do something!”
“Like what? What am I supposed to do?”
“You could always send Luke streaking across the front lawn.” Skye joined them with Toni in tow. Her suggestion was accompanied by a wide grin in his direction. “That might provide an interesting distraction.”
“Is Luke there?” Walt demanded. “I should have known he’d have a hand in this.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it,” Julia stated.
“I wouldn’t put it past him to put this entire idea into Sue Ellen’s head.”
“She was called Our Lady of the Outlandish long before Luke returned to town,” Julia pointed out.
Walt ignored her. “The important thing now is to do some spin control.”
“Fine. You send the Serenity Falls spin doctors right over.”
“As mayor, I’m also head of the publicity committee.”
“Then it looks like controlling the media is your job, not mine.”
“You’re on-site, so you’ll have to do it. It would take me too long to get over there. They’re your llamas. You deal with it.”
“There not my llamas.” But Walt had already hung up. Julia’s aggravation was building, had been building since the moment she’d looked up from “New Releases” in Publishers Weekly and looked out the library window. “Okay, fine. Everyone out of my way!”
“Uh-oh. She’s got that look in her eye. Better watch out,” Skye warned Luke. “She’s really pissed now.”
“Do not use language like that in front of your daughter,” Julia instantly reprimanded her.
“It’s just a word. I have no trouble with my daughter using whatever words she wants to express herself.”
“Well, I do, so stuff it.”
“My big sister has such a dirty mouth.” Skye ducked as a Pop-Tart sailed through the air at her. “And she throws like a girl.”
“First a riot out front and now a cat fight.” Luke rubbed his hands with anticipation. “Is this a great day or what?”
“Where’s the cat?” Toni demanded.
The little girl’s question returned some semblance of sanity to Julia. The red mist was lifting from her vision. No way she was wasting another Pop-Tart on her sister.
She was a librarian. An information professional. She could leap tall mountains of data in a single bound and answer reference questions on everything from algebra to zoology.
The bottom line was that she could kick butt as well as the next bibliophile. Probably even better.
Too bad she wasn’t wearing those Librarians Have Tighter Buns briefs Pam had given her last Christmas.
It didn’t matter. She’d go out there and set these idiots straight.
She just had to think of something brilliant to say.
Something both charming and decisive, powerful and persuasive.
Piece of cake.
Note to self: You rock!
Second note to self: Restock Pop-Tarts ASAP.
Taking the doorknob firmly in her hand, she pulled the back door open and stepped outside.
Several hours later, Julia was in the mini-mart, frantically filling her shopping basket with boxes of Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts.
Her intervention with the media had not gone well. Not at all.
Just thinking about it made her toss in a box of chocolate donuts and a package of Oreos.
Instead of calming the crowd down, she’d seemed to just get them riled up even more. Not that she could really get them or the reporters to listen to her in the first place. Her sound bites were “too boring” one had proclaimed before ordering, “Go back to the babe with the big hair.”
Okay, so maybe citing llama statistics and history hadn’t been the right tactic to use. No one seemed to care about the connection between William Randolph Hearst and llamas. They were completely indifferent to the fact that the animals were originally domesticated more than six thousand years ago.
Julia had returned to work for the remainder of the afternoon, hiding out in the stacks doing weeding, removing books from the collection that weren’t being circulated. She hated doing that. But she hated dealing with her own failure to handle the llama issue even more. Then she’d come here for food. Comfort food.
Julia paused in front of a display of Hostess Twinkies. How much was too much? Should she . . . ?
You bet.
Into the basket went three Twinkie packages.
“Julia, I’m so glad I found you.” Pam waved at her from the healthful section of the store, where the fresh vegetable and fruit items were stacked. “I just saw you on TV.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to binge eat and pig out.” Unfortunately, it appeared that the only place she could do that was in her car.
How had her life ended up here? With her in the mini-mart, hoarding junk food, and forced to retreat to her white Honda Accord for a little peace and quiet?
That’s why she’d come to Serenity Falls. For the peace and quiet.
Where had it gone? It seemed to have evaporated the moment her family arrived in town. Nothing had been the same since then.
Or maybe it had started even earlier, when Luke had rolled up on his Harley and eyed her the way a football fan would eye a big screen TV before Super Bowl Sunday. With lust in his heart.
Julia had to regain control somehow. And soon. Hopefully the sugar binge would help her cope and come up with a plan. She always felt better when she had a plan.
Two hours and half a dozen Pop-Tarts later, she was still struggling to work out a coherent course of action as she sat cross-legged on Pam’s comfy couch. No wacky relatives here at her friend’s house. Instead, there were cheerful floral slipcovers and warm oak antiques, lending the place its English cottage style and charm.
She and Pam had finished off a good portion of an excellent Pinot Noir over a heated discussion of the flaws of the male population and whether or not the plumber or the gardener was the hotter guy on Desperate Housewives. All very important issues.
“Okay, how about this one,” Pam said. “The future of the world depends on you having sex with the last man on Earth—Tommy Lee or Ozzy Osbourne?”
Julia frowned. “Where do you come up with these questions?
Pam wagged a finger at her. “You’re avoiding the topic.”
“The world can blow up for all I care. No way I’m getting down and dirty with either one of those two.”
“I’m talking worse-case scenario.”
“No kidding.” Julia waved half a Twinkie at her. “And no thanks, I’ve already got a worse-case scenario on my hands. I mean, where did Sue Ellen come up with this idea about the llamas?”
Pam took a sip of wine. “Who knows where she comes up with anything or why she does the things she does? She grew up in Rock Creek.”
“So?”
Pam shrugged. “So I’m just saying . . .”
“What is it about Rock Creek and Serenity Falls?”
“You’ve lived here several years. You know how things are. The two towns are very competitive and not at all alike.”
“What’s so bad about Rock Creek?”
“It’s just not Serenity Falls. But getting back to Sue Ellen, she’s someone who craves attention, and this has certainly given it to her.”
“Why couldn’t she have picked someone else’s animals to have a vision about?”
“I recently heard about a farmer who had pig with the number of his favorite NASCAR driver on it. He was just born that way. The pig, not the farmer.”
“Or how about Mrs. Selznick’s dog Terminator? Why not pick the Terminator? Why me?”
Pam grinned. “Just lucky I guess.”
Julia sipped her wine. “Did I tell you that I threw a Pop-Tart at my sister?”
“You did mention it, yes.”
“That’s not like me.”
“I know,” Pam
noted solemnly. “You value your Pop-Tarts.”
“And my self-control.”
“I hear you.” Pam gave her a reassuring hug. “Tomorrow will be a better day, you’ll see.”
What Julia saw the next morning was a Good Morning America truck outside.
Could things get any worse?
Apparently they could, because she found a nun outside her back door. A nun with an attitude. And a microphone in front of her.
What now? Had she been called in to bless the llamas? To condemn them all as blasphemers? What?
“It’s a shame that people with nothing better to do make up this kind of story,” the nun was saying. “Especially at this time of year.”
“You don’t think it’s a miracle then, Sister Mary?” the reporter asked.
The nun shook her head. “A miracle is a single mom who works two jobs to care for her kids and still help them with their homework at night. A miracle is a child donating all the money in their piggy bank to help victims of Hurricane Katrina. That’s where you’ll find the hand and the face of God. Not on the side of a llama.”
The gathered crowd broke out into spontaneous applause, with one or two wiping tears from their eyes. Or maybe it was the bitter cold getting to them.
“There you have it.” The reporter smiled into the camera. “Is that the final word from here in Serenity Falls? Only time will tell. This is Leslie Burbank reporting.”
Five minutes later a beaming Walt approached her. “Isn’t this great? Our town featured on Good Morning America.”
Julia frowned at him. “Last night you were appalled by all this attention.”
“That was before the Late Show With David Letterman called me. Can you believe it? David Letterman! I’ve been a fan for years. He wants the llamas.”
“Too bad,” Angel wrapped one of her scarves around her neck with agitated emphasis. “He can’t have them.”
“But this is a great chance . . .” Walt sputtered.
Angel stood her ground. “Forget about it.”
“Whose idea was it to call in Sister Mary?” Julia asked. “That was brilliant.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Walt preened. “She stopped things from getting too out of hand. As I said yesterday, we certainly don’t want to be known as outlandish. But standing out from the crowd, putting our name on the map, appearing on the Late Show—that’s not a bad thing.”