by Maddie James
The Heartbreaker
The Heartbreaker
by
Maddie James
Turquoise Morning Press
Turquoise Morning, LLC
www.turquoisemorningpress.com
Turquoise Morning, LLC
P.O. Box 43958
Louisville, KY 40253-0958
The Heartbreaker
Copyright © 2010, Maddie James
Cover Art Photo by Jimmy Thomas
www.romancenovelcovers.com
Cover Art Design by Kim Jacobs
eBook Format released 6/2010
Previously published in print by Kensington Books under the pen name, Kim Whalen.
Suggested Retail Price: $5.00
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
The Heartbreaker
By
Maddie James
Chapter One
“Do you want to do this standing up, or lying down?”
Lucki Stevenson shrugged. “I don't care. What works best for you?”
“Standing—and hurry up. Bend over the table.”
Turning away from Sam Kirk, Lucki did just that, placing her elbows square on the table to brace herself. She stared at the back wall of Sam's kitchen, focusing on the sunflower print his mother had hung there years ago, and waited for what seemed a small eternity. She was anything but embarrassed; she was furious.
“You’re going to feel a little pop, then a sting. No big deal.”
“Just do it!”
Grimacing, Lucki gritted her teeth and waited. Pop. Sting. She squirmed. Yeah, he was right. Not a big deal. A minute later, she was numb.
“All right. It's in there pretty deep, but I think I can take care of it by myself.”
For an undetermined amount of time, Lucki stared at the print while he probed. Okay, let's get this over with.
“Hold on. I'm going in with the tweezers now.”
Tweezers?
“I'm halfway in. Hold still. I've got to widen the point of entry just a…little…bit…more.”
Lucki gripped the edges of the table, then she felt the final tug.
“There!”
Sam emitted a satisfying sigh behind her, then she heard a definite ping. Thank God! “Was that it? Are you finished?”
“Not quite. Let me clean off the blood. Douse it with some antiseptic. I think you may need a stitch or two. And you probably should get a tetanus shot.”
“Stitches!” Lucki jerked and tried to look behind her.
“Dammit, Lucki! Hold still. Now you've got blood all over me, and I've got a date in twenty minutes.”
“Well, la-de-dah!” Lucki rose further on her elbows and turned to look Sam dead in the eye. “At least you don't have a BB imbedded in the cheek of your butt!”
He tossed her a sarcastic grin. “You don't either, smart ass, thanks to me. Now turn around and hold still while I finish up here.”
Turning, Lucki waited until she felt a couple of tugs on the wound. Stitches, she guessed. Maybe it was better she couldn't see.
“Thanks to your little brother and his equally bratty friend, I'm having to endure this humiliation.”
“Lay off J.J. and Spud, will you? I'll take care of them.”
“Oh, yeah? Like the last time when they put that mangy old cat in the cab of my truck all night? The animal peed all over my carpet and ate the last of my donuts. You didn't do a thing but make them apologize.” She glanced back again.
Sam soaked a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed it over Lucki's wound. She flinched.
“What did you want me to do? And why do you keep donuts in your truck cab anyway?”
“I keep them there so I can eat on my way to work. It's quicker that way.”
“Most people keep their donuts in the kitchen.”
“I'm not most people.”
“How well I've learned that over the years.”
Lucki stared again at the print. Sunflowers. Sam's mom had loved sunflowers. Lucki instantly felt a pang, she'd loved Sam's mother almost as much as she loved her own. Martha could make the best damned butterscotch-oatmeal cookies. Lucki grinned. She'd eaten a million of them with milk at this table. Now this is a twist. Bet Martha never expected anyone to endure minor surgery on her antique oak pedestal table. Damn those twelve-year-old, pre-adolescent, scoundrels. When she got hold of them, she would give them a tongue lashing they wouldn't soon forget.
“I think you ought to take the guns away from those boys.”
“I said I'll handle it, Lucki.”
Lucki snorted. All she was doing was minding her own business, washing her pick-up truck, and the demons had to shoot her in the butt with a BB gun, right as she'd bent over to pick up the sponge from the bucket.
She'd slung suds and water for fifteen feet chasing after them, but the sting of the BB got to her pretty quick, and then she realized that the damned thing had actually penetrated her cheek, just beneath the leg opening of her bathing suit bottom. Damned, skimpy, thigh-cut suits. If Sam hadn't been home, she didn't know what she would have done. Thank God she hadn't had to go to the emergency room.
He placed a bandage over the wound and then taped it in place.
“All done.”
Lucki stood up and grimaced at the pull of the bandage. She faced him.
“It's going to be sore for a few days. Keep it clean and let me see it tomorrow.”
Feeling a little saucy, Lucki sidled up to Sam, put one finger on his chest, and said, “Doctor, are you just trying to get me to drop my pants again?”
His eyes shooting rounder than buttermilk biscuits, Sam grabbed her hand and shoved it downward. “Stop it, Lucki. That’s enough.”
The mood had changed and even though she didn’t know what possessed her to do such a thing, she drew back and reassessed. Staring Sam directly in the eyes, she lifted two fingers to her forehead and thrust them out in mock salute. “Yessir! Dr. Kirk.”
“Cut it out, Lucki.”
Sam turned away and washed his hands. Lucki studied his back. She hadn't noticed before but Sam was dressed to go out: shirt, tie, his Sunday trousers. She glanced to the kitchen chair beside of her. His best sports coat.
“Who's your date?”
He turned slightly and dried his hands on a kitchen towel, then wet it and dabbed a little dishwashing detergent on it. He brushed at the blood stain on his pants, then tossed the towel in the sink. After a minute, he looked at her and rolled down his sleeves and buttoned his cuffs. “Missy Hawkins, why?”
Lucki shrugged, wondering if she should offer to clean his pants. “Just wondered. You've been seeing a lot of her lately.”
“Some.” His gaze caught hers, his expression difficult to read.
“Where are you going?”
“Dinner and a movie, probably.”
“Oh.”
He slipped the jacket off the chair and put it on. “I've got to run. I'm late already. You know the way out.”
Lucki nodded and smiled. “Okay. I'm leaving.” She started for the back door then turned around. Sam was watching her. “Tell Missy I said hi.”
“I will.”
“Thanks for, well, you know.”
He nodded and flashed her a wicked smile. “Yeah. See you at church in the m
orning.”
“Sure. In the morning. Have a good time.”
Then he was gone. Lucki lingered momentarily at Sam's back door. A frown settled over her face. Abruptly, she turned and left, the screen door slapping hard behind her.
* * * *
From her perch in the choir loft, Lucki had an excellent view of the parishioners of the First United Methodist Church of Freedom, Tennessee. Her parents, Jim and Elaine, sat in their usual pew, three rows back on the left side, two thirds down from the center aisle. Until she'd started singing in the choir when she was twelve years old, Lucki had sat there too, wedged between them like a book between bookends. She wasn't that great a singer, but once she'd realized what fun it was to watch the parishioners during the sermon, she'd volunteered her services to the choir ever since.
Emmit Ruckles made a habit of falling to sleep just after the offering and the singing of the Doxology. That's why he always claimed the very back seat in the last pew beneath the balcony. Everyone pretended not to hear the snores. If Lucki stared closely, she could see his jaws flap from the choir loft. Lamar Thompson hadn't moved a muscle the last sixteen years, to her knowledge, sitting stiff and stone faced as he listened to Reverend Halcomb. Lamar was row two, front and center. No one at the First United Methodist Church of Freedom, Tennessee ever sat in the first row. It was darned near sacrilege. Once, when Minnie Roberts cousin Sue Ellen visited from Memphis and she'd plopped down square in the middle of the first pew, the entire congregation had heaved in a collective gasp. Sue Ellen never came to church with her cousin Minnie again.
Sweeping the congregation with her gaze, Lucki shifted in her seat. The pillow she'd brought to sit on wasn't helping matters; her wound was sore and itchy. Then her gaze landed on Sam sitting in the pew directly behind her parents. He gave her a knowing wink and a sarcastic smile. She was tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but thought better of it. Eloise Hunter, the local piano teacher, Sunday School Superintendent, and the First United Methodist Church of Freedom, Tennessee pianist, had an eye on her. Dear Eloise always had an eye on someone.
Besides, since Sam had returned home a year or so ago, she'd felt like she was reverting to her childhood. He brought out the worst in her. Twenty-eight year old women with responsible careers weren't supposed to stick their tongues out at anyone, especially in church.
Sam had always sat in the same pew, especially when his parents were living; that is, before he'd gone off to college and medical school and started to open his own practice in Memphis. Martha and Kip Kirk were Jim and Elaine Stevensons' best friends. Living next door, they'd shared so many warm and funny times together over the years. Sam and Lucki had practically grown up as brother and sister. It was great, she'd had no siblings of her own. But Kip died when Sam was sixteen, and things started to change. Then last year, when Martha died unexpectedly, Sam returned home to raise his younger brother where he knew his parents would want J.J. raised—in Freedom.
The choir stood. Geez, her daydreaming was getting to her again. She rose carefully, the stitches in her rear beginning to pull, and turned to page 142 of the hymnal and began mouthing the words to Al Ye Sinners Come to Rest.
Her gaze shifted to Missy Hawkins then, jammed next to Sam. Lucki felt her eyes narrow. She wasn't sure about Missy. She'd graduated high school with Lucki, one year behind Sam, had been married and divorced twice in the past ten years, and clearly had designs on Dr. Samuel Kirk. Lucki tried to warn Sam about her, but he would hear none of it. She just guessed Sam had lived in the city so long that things like divorce and infidelity were of no concern to him. It obviously didn't matter that Missy Hawkins wasn't exactly the innocent bystander in the breakup of her marriages. She'd scratched her itches whenever and wherever she’d wanted to. Sam didn't seem to think it was an issue. Lucki thought it was.
Then again, maybe Sam really didn't think it was an issue. Maybe he was a lot more important to Missy Hawkins, than she was to him.
And she knew, that over the years, Sam had had a steady stream of girlfriends. He didn’t stick with one long. He’d paraded them past her when they were in high school. He’d brought them home with him from college. All passing fancies. All beautiful, exciting, and they never stuck around. Missy Hawkins wouldn’t stick around for long, either. Sam was just like that. He loved women. Wooed and cooed and dined them to the hilt. Then usually let them down easily before he moved on to another. It was a pattern Lucki had witnessed too many times over the years. No wonder all the girls around Freedom and deemed him The Heartbreaker by the time he was out of junior high. And Lucki, an innocent bystander for the most part, hadn’t escaped the heartbreak only Sam could bring, either. But it was just the once.
And she’d gotten over it fairly quickly.
However, she didn’t care to think about that fact for too long. She rather preferred to forget about it. But she and Sam had shared something else. Best friends, they’d always said. Best friends to the end. That’s why she wasn’t going to make too much of an issue with Sam over Missy Hawkins. She would be gone soon enough.
She hoped.
Eloise Hunter ended the hymn on an off-key note and the choir sat. Lucki squeaked out a late, Amen, and quickly sat too, then wished she hadn't plopped down so quickly.
Finally, the sermon began.
It wasn't five minutes into Reverend Halcomb's less-than-fire-and-brimstone monologue that Lucki put a bead on J.J. Kirk and Spud Jones in the balcony, perched over Missy Hawkins' head. Dropping paper wads, no doubt made from the church bulletin, onto Missy's bleached-blonde, over-teased, black-rooted hair. And obviously there was so much hair spray Missy couldn't feel the wads dropping or notice the extra weight on her head. Soon, she looked like one of those gaudy, tacky gold Christmas ornaments with fake snow dripping from them that Larson's Dairy always hung on their artificial tree in the window. But that was Missy for you. Gaudy. Tacky.
Lucki smirked inwardly. Really, Lucki, she told herself, you're in church. You shouldn't be so catty. You shouldn't be so critical. You shouldn't be so—
Abruptly, everyone stood again. Was Reverend Halcomb finished already? Lucki glanced at her watch. Eleven-fifty-eight. The thing about the Methodists of Freedom, Tennessee, was that they never held church service past twelve-noon. Which was a good thing because the Methodists always beat the Baptists to Buddy's Buffet. It was good Reverend Halcomb understood the rules of the First United Methodist Church of Freedom, Tennessee. Once they'd had a new minister who didn't know the rules. He'd preached past twelve-fifteen one Sunday and the Baptists got the good tables at Buddy's and had picked over the fried chicken by the time the Methodists had arrived. Lamar Thompson only had landing gear for dinner that day—legs and wings.
Reverend Halcomb arrived the next week.
The Gloria Patri was sung, the blessing given, and Lucki glanced into the sanctuary. Missy, who shook back her stiff hair while rising, sent paper wads flying like a December snowstorm. Lucki stifled a grin and watched J.J. and Spud exit the balcony in a flash. Lucki mingled a moment with the rest of the choir before she hung up her robe and headed toward the front of the church.
* * * *
“Why Reverend Halcomb, that was the most meaningful sermon I think I've ever heard.”
Lucki stepped out of the vestibule just in time to witness an eye-batting Missy laying it on thick to the good Reverend.
Reverend Halcomb took her hand. “Why, thank you, Melissa. It's one of my favorites.”
“Mine, too,” she gushed, the lashes batting again.
What a suck-up. Lucki rolled her eyes and whispered a brief prayer of forgiveness. She was on church ground. She shouldn't be thinking those thoughts.
Stepping up to the trio of Sam, Missy and the Reverend, Lucki interjected, “I especially enjoyed the part about casting the harlots out of Freedom, um. .I mean, Jerusalem, Reverend Halcomb.”
The Reverend's puzzled glance fell on Lucki. “I don't believe that was this sermon, Lucinda.”
&nb
sp; Lucki grimaced. He was the only body in Freedom who called her Lucinda. “Oh, then I must be remembering another one.” She cast her smiling gaze to Missy, then turned to Sam. Reaching out, she plucked a paper wad off his shoulder and flicked it away. Sam eyed her suspiciously. She shrugged.
“Well, we better get started to Buddy's before the Baptists beat us,” she said. “Coming Reverend Halcomb?”
“I believe I will, Lucinda.”
“Sam? Missy?”
Sam looked to Missy who stared back at him in adoration with eyes big as her Aunty Emma’s Sunday saucers. “Well,” Sam started, “Missy?”
J.J. and Spud suddenly arrived on the scene and parked themselves in the midst of the crowd. “Did I hear something about Buddy's, Sam?” He glanced quickly from adult to adult. “Spud and me sure are hungry.”
Sam glanced to Missy who had just turned up her nose at the sight of J.J. Lucki frowned. J.J. was a great kid. All legs and freckles, a mischievous streak that ran a mile wide, but the sweetest disposition of any kid around—most of the time. He was suffering from a bad case of pre-adolescence and a feeling of loss since his mother had died. She didn't like the way Missy reacted to him just then.
“You can ride with me, J.J., if Sam says it's all right,” Lucki told the boy. J.J.'s eyes widened. “Can I Sam?”
Sam glanced to Missy who gave him her nod of approval. Damn that woman, she just wanted J.J. out of the way. Lucki immediately bit her tongue. She was still on church property.
“Sure, J.J.”
“Spud, too?”
Lucki nodded. “He has to go ask his mother.”
Spud ran off. Poor kid, Lucki thought. With a name like Spud he'd never live down the fact that when he was born he had a head shaped like an Idaho white. Lucki had to think a minute what the child's real name was. Benjamin, yes, that was it.
“You should have seen Lucki yesterday, Reverend Halcomb.”