by Liz Talley
“This conversation is over. Our relationship is over. Don’t call me again.” Pain ripped across his chest at her words. They were the same words she’d battered him with every time they fought. She threw up her less than advantageous background. She threw up his wealthy family connections. And she threw up the baby who had never been born. The baby who had slipped away two weeks after they’d gotten married at the courthouse.
“You mean, until you’re ready to get busy,” she said, her tone low and mean.
“That was a mistake I won’t be making again. You’re a beautiful woman, Angi, but you were right from the beginning. We don’t belong together. We never did. Don’t call back.”
He pressed the end button before he said anything more. Anger, regret and guilt twisted in his gut, and his fist itched to connect with something. He stared at the silent office before shoving his chair from his desk and grabbing the hat he’d earlier tossed onto the table beside the battle-scarred door.
He felt twitchy and restless. Only one solution for that.
Strip down and go toe-to-toe with someone.
The image of Scarlet Rose with arched back and jutting breasts flashed across his mind. Not exactly what he had in mind.
He needed a fight. Not a woman.
He punched the numbers on his cell phone. The ones that would bring him needed release. Then he’d call Jared back to the station to cover. He needed to pound the frustrations from his body and then he could do another sweep of the town.
If he got lucky, he might find that damned pig.
CHAPTER FOUR
SCARLET STARED AT HER PLATE before sliding her gaze to where her eight-year-old nephew sat chomping happily on Pop-Tarts. “What’s the white stuff in the eggs?”
Henry shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Probably goat cheese. She likes to put that in everything.”
“Bluck.”
Her sister’s new husband glanced at her before redirecting his attention to the freshly squeezed orange juice sitting at his elbow. “Thought city slickers liked fancy eggs.”
“You thought wrong.” Scarlet couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice. She didn’t want to talk to Brent Hamilton. She edged one shoulder forward, effectively cutting him out of her world. She scooted closer to her nephew, who stuffed his frosted pastry in his mouth, though he eyed her a bit warily. Guess he thought she might go after his breakfast. She was tempted. “Are you supposed to be eating those? I thought your mom wouldn’t allow you to eat anything with chemical crap in it.”
Henry slid his gaze to Brent, who had, for the most part, ignored her after her venomous comeback. And she, too, had tried to pretend he wasn’t sitting kitty-corner from her, but that mission remained unsuccessful. For one thing, Brent was a good six-three and easily weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. For another, he was the type of guy who attracted attention as naturally as he breathed. With his dark wavy hair, icy-blue eyes and rugged good looks, he’d been popular with the ladies of Howard County for excellent reason.
She wished her parents had stayed at the inn instead of with a friend outside town. Nothing like Moon-beam—or whatever her mother was known as these days—to bring serenity to a table. Her mother preferred silent contemplation during meals.
“Pop-Tarts every now and then won’t hurt,” Brent said, meeting her gaze. He didn’t look afraid of her. More as if he didn’t want to bother with her.
“Oh, really?” Scarlet challenged, for no other reason than she was pissed she had to eat goat-cheese eggs with a man she knew was going to break her sister’s heart…if not give her VD.
He didn’t blink. “Yeah, really.”
“At it already, I see,” Rayne said as she breezed into the breakfast room. She looked gorgeous in a ruffled skirt and sleeveless lawn blouse with tiny roses embroidered along the neck. Her copper curls tumbled around her shoulders, framing her smiling face. Rayne looked…in love.
“Morning,” Rayne said, scooping an arm around her son and dropping a kiss on his head. She snagged a corner off the pastry and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, strawberry. My favorite.”
Scarlet gaped. Her sister never ate anything that wasn’t “of the earth.” Which certainly did not include anything that came in a box or contained frosting and dyes.
Rayne moved on to her husband, grazing his scruffy cheek with a light kiss. “Morning to you, too. Again.”
A devilish light appeared in Brent’s eyes. Scarlet wanted to barf.
“Morning, baby,” he said, tugging her toward him so he could cop a cheap feel. Okay. Maybe a pat on the bottom wasn’t a cheap feel. Maybe it was a sweet display of affection. And maybe Kim Kardashian would win an Oscar.
“You, too, Scarlet,” Rayne said with a little smug smile.
Did she think the little display of family bonding would suddenly change Scarlet’s opinion on the bone-head decision her sister had made in marrying Brent? Scarlet wasn’t that easy. Even if some people thought she was.
“Morning,” Scarlet said, pushing a piece of asparagus to the top of the plate in order to make a roof over the family of disgusting eggs. Who in the world ate asparagus for breakfast anyhow?
Rayne grabbed a floral-patterned plate off the buffet and loaded it with asparagus and one piece of toast. Guess that question was answered. Yuck. Rayne sat next to Brent and buttered her whole-grain toast with fresh-churned butter from the farmer’s market. She brushed her husband’s hand. “So have you decided what you are going to do about the library vote?”
Brent took a sip of coffee. “I’m going to publicly oppose it. Harvey Primm is a jackass.”
“Brent,” Rayne warned, glancing at her son. Henry laughed behind his pastry.
“What are you talking about?” Scarlet asked, shoving her plate away. “And why the devil are you mixing goat cheese in with perfectly good eggs?”
Rayne blinked. “Huh?”
“The eggs.” Scarlet waved a fork at her abandoned plate.
“They’re the signature breakfast dish. Organic brown eggs with goat cheese and sautéed baby spinach. Everyone loves them.”
Scarlet shrugged. “Okay. Whatever you say. Do I really need goat-cheese breath in the morning?”
Rayne glanced worriedly at Scarlet’s half-eaten plate. Scarlet shouldn’t have said anything. Her sister would be in the kitchen, trying out a new recipe.
“So what’s Harvey up to now?” Scarlet asked. “Didn’t he already get the liquor laws changed?”
Rayne nodded. “Yeah. Last year. Now we have to buy liquor outside the city limits. In fact, the inn had to obtain a special license to serve champagne and Bloody Marys on Sunday. This time it has to do with a children’s book at the county library.”
Scarlet’s internal radar received a bleep. “A children’s book?”
“Yeah, a children’s book,” Brent said. “He’s hoodwinked the library board into removing it from the shelves.”
“Why?” Scarlet asked.
“Because it deals with witchcraft. No different from Harry Potter or The Chronicles of Narnia, but he’s convinced the book will ‘rip the innocent veil from the children’s eyes.’ Ridiculous.” He snorted and set his fork on the empty plate before him.
“Have you read it?” Scarlet asked Rayne.
“I have,” Henry piped up. He had crumbs on his chin and looked suitably adorable. “The Magpie’s Jewel. It’s really good. There’s this ruby that has a curse trapped in the center of it. And this one wizard dude, well, he gets this, um, scroll thing and reads about the jewel. But then this magpie steals it from the most powerful witch in the world. So these kids have to find the jewel before this crazy dude does or he’ll rule the world.”
Henry paused for dramatic effect. Scarlet wasn’t exactly following the story plot, but he certainly seemed excited about it. “They find it, and find out this bird is really the spirit of their grandmother who was killed by the evil wizard. It’s a really good book. I wish they wouldn’t make them take it out of the l
ibrary.”
Brent smiled at Henry. It made Scarlet feel uncomfortable because she could see the love in the man’s eyes. Rayne’s words rang in her ears. He loves me…and Henry. Scarlet swallowed her doubt and redirected her attention to Primm and the book in question. “So what is the community saying?”
“They’re split,” Rayne said.
Brent nodded. “Very splintered, and with some throwing religion into the debate, it’s become very polarized with neither contingency giving the other a chance to change minds. It’s been frustrating as an author to see people decide the worth of a book without even bothering to read it.”
Scarlet had nearly forgotten Brent was an author. When Rayne had revealed Brent’s secret career as an author of middle-grade sports books, Scarlet had been as shocked as anyone else who’d met the hunky, all-American former football player. It wasn’t as if she didn’t think him capable. Okay, she hadn’t. So it was a-baseball-bat-against-the-head shocking. “What’s going to happen?”
Brent shrugged. “A few people have talked of staging a peaceful protest in front of the library. I belong to several writers’ loops online and there has been a lot of chatter about the censorship of the book, with some news networks covering it. Surprised me that a small county like ours would receive so much attention. But something about an award-winning children’s book being ripped from the shelves and unavailable to countless children has many people angry and ready to do battle over the issue. And not just in Oak Stand.”
Scarlet had loved a good protest ever since she’d watched Norma Rae on the rented VCR when she was twelve. Something about the spirit of fighting for one’s convictions, of banding together against wrong, made her blood sing. She’d participated in dozens over the past few years. The last one had been over the destruction of historic storefronts in order to build a parking garage. A picture of her, openmouthed, toting a protest sign had made the front page of the city section of the Times. John had obtained the original photo and had it framed for her. Pain struck swift and hard as it always did when she thought of John. She shoved her hurt away and focused on the task at hand.
“Has anyone tried a town-hall meeting? They’ve been pretty successful in many communities when there is serious contention on a subject.”
“I don’t think anyone has thought of it,” Rayne said.
“That’s actually a good idea, Scarlet. Not sure if we have time, though. They’re removing the book this Saturday. I’m sure Harvey will have something dramatic planned.” Brent studied Scarlet. She could sense his thoughts. Maybe this chick has a brain.
Yeah, cowboy, she did.
“I participated in one when they were going to tear down some buildings in the Bronx. Of course, it did little good. Seems parking was more important than Saturday-night bingo. We held a protest, too, but if you could arrange a town-hall meeting, it may help people in Oak Stand see another side of the issue.”
“Do you think we can make that happen? I don’t see a church wanting to get involved, and the library surely won’t encourage something like that.” Rayne shoved another piece of asparagus in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“A local business place might work if there is room for people to gather,” Scarlet said, turning to the tea at her elbow for morning sustenance. She’d have to scour the kitchen later for something normal to eat.
“I’ll talk to Nellie Darby. She worked at the library several years ago and has been pretty vocal in her opposition. She just had a baby, but I bet she’ll be willing to help. She’s definitely got pull with the mayor.” Brent picked up his plate, dropped a kiss atop his wife’s head and pushed open the breakfast-room door toward the kitchen. “I’ll drop by the Darby ranch later, but first I have work to do. Deadlines don’t care about weddings or town-hall meetings. They wait for no writer.”
“See you later, honey,” Rayne said. Henry managed a wave.
Scarlet said nothing, but she had good reason. She was caught in her thoughts.
“I think I’ll stick around for a while.” She pushed her chair back from the table.
“Cool,” Henry said, swatting at the milk moustache above his wide smile. Darn, he was charming…and growing up. How long had it been since she’d spent quality time with her nephew? Too long. “You can come to my football game. We’re playing the Horned Frogs this Saturday. Horned Frogs is a funny name, ain’t it?”
“Isn’t it,” Rayne corrected, before leveling her gaze at Scarlet. “And you’re not fooling me. You’re staying because of the potential protest. You love the drama.”
Scarlet ignored her sister’s barb and looked at Henry. “I’d love to see y’all whip up on the Horned Frogs this Saturday. And it is a funny name. Ain’t it?”
Rayne punched an asparagus-ladened fork toward her sister. “Watch it.”
Scarlet slid her gaze to her sister. “And for the record, I’m sticking around to visit with my family, who I haven’t seen in a while. I can stay away from trouble.”
“Yeah, right. I know you. You missed out on disrupting my wedding. You’re itching for a fight. And then you’ll be gone like the wind.”
Scarlet snorted. Rayne loved to play upon the name Scarlet had chosen as her stage name. So she liked drama. She was an actress. Besides, she knew her sister’s words were partially true. She did hate injustice and was quick to jump in where she felt she was needed. Case in point, she’d gotten a driver’s license, bought a car and drove over eight hundred miles to stop her sister from making a mistake. Hadn’t worked out, of course, but she would never admit to thinking with her heart above thinking with her head. Even if it were true.
The fact was she needed to spend some time with her family. Thanks to Rayne’s wedding, both her parents, along with Aunt Frances, Henry and assorted other relatives, were all staying for the next several days within a ten-mile radius. No time like the present for cramming in hot tea on the porch, sifting through old family photos and playing UNO into the wee hours of the morning. She had several weeks’ vacation and Aunt Frances had told her the inn was closed for the next few months while they filmed A Taste of Texas. Scarlet had a new car, a room in which to sleep and time on her hands.
The French Riviera would have to wait.
“Whatever,” Scarlet said, grabbing the plate and following the path Brent had just taken.
“Hey, Sum—Scarlet,” Rayne called.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re staying. I’ve missed you.”
Scarlet turned and glared. “Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Saying things that make me less pissed at you.”
Rayne’s soft laughter lingered in Scarlet’s ears as she entered the kitchen.
Brent stood at the sink, drinking from a coffee mug. Damn. She didn’t want to have to make nice with him. Not when she didn’t trust him. No matter how in love with her sister he looked, she remembered his advances three years ago. He’d been classically smooth, intimately knowledgeable about what it took to get a gal in the sack. His kiss had told her all she needed to know about him…and now he was married to her sister.
She glanced at him as she set her plate beside the farmhouse sink. “Waiting to show me what a woman like me wants?”
“Don’t do this, Scarlet.”
“What?” Scarlet spun on him and parked her fists on her hips. “Don’t remember your words to me that night? The sweet nothings you whispered into my ear while trying to get into my pants?”
“I was a different man.”
“Yeah, right.”
Brent set his mug on the tile counter. Loudly. She could feel his anger. “Look, I get it. I was an asshole. But I’m not that guy. I never was that guy. I’m no more a man-whore than you are a vampire-queen bitch. Just an act.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that my life was damned empty. I was a shell of a man, but I’m not anymore. I love Rayne. I always have. She and Henry, along with claiming my writing career, hav
e made me whole. Have filled me up. So don’t hold my past against me. It’s not fair.”
Oddly enough, she liked him better pissed than smarmy. “I’ll judge what’s fair. I don’t want you making her believe in love and then leaving her behind when new pastures call. I’ve seen it before.”
I’ve experienced it before.
Broken hearts were no stroll through a park. She’d be damned if poor Rayne had to endure what she had over the past year. Only now did she feel as though she could creep around and function, no matter what face she wore in public.
“There are no other pastures. I’ve found my sanctuary.” Brent shoved past her to the back door that would lead to the carriage house he leased from his parents. “I don’t have to convince you, Scarlet. Don’t make Rayne choose. You’ll lose, because I’m her family now.”
Ouch. His words filleted her heart. She lifted a hand and tugged on the slipper that pressed heavy against her chest as if it could stop the hemorrhaging. It didn’t help. She knew there was truth to his words, and that scared her. She couldn’t protect Rayne or Henry. Not from the hurt that would come when Brent Hamilton moved on. And she knew he would, no matter what he said. He was too much like John, chasing shiny new things when he tired of the familiar.
She pushed a hand through her hair, allowing the tresses to fall forward and give her a whiff of the coconut shampoo she’d used earlier. For some reason, the beachy smell soothed her.
“He’s right, you know.” A voice came from behind her, causing Scarlet to jump.
“Jeez, Aunt Fran, you could sneak up on a CIA operative,” Scarlet said, shoving her hands into her back pockets so she wouldn’t fiddle with the necklace she wore like a personal albatross.
“How did you find out I was in the CIA?” Aunt Frances grabbed a ceramic mug with a picture of a Boston terrier on it and filled it to the tip-top with coffee.