A Touch of Scarlet

by Liz Talley

  Scarlet held her smile. “Now, darling, you don’t want to get put in here with me. I bite.”

  “Oh, God,” Drake said, clasping his chest. “Don’t worry about paying, Hinton. I’m off to rob Oak Stand National.”

  Scarlet laughed. Adam didn’t. Instead he stood, pulled a twenty out of a shiny leather wallet and slapped it against Drake’s chest. “Keep the change.”

  Drake took the twenty. “Man, you never let me have any fun.”

  “That’s my job,” Adam said drily.

  Drake extended a hand toward her. “I’m Drake Marciano. I own Mamma Mia’s. That pie is my specialty. I hope he lets you have a piece.”

  Scarlet clasped his hand. It was a little sweaty. Or maybe yeasty would be the word. She would be willing to bet he was the type of guy who tossed the pizza dough in the air with acrobatic energy. “I think he owes me three pieces.”

  A smile twitched at Adam’s lips, but the rest of him remained stoic.

  “Enjoy.” With that Drake turned, popped Adam on the shoulder then disappeared through the door, whistling “That’s Amore.”

  Adam studied the pizza box, before finally looking at her. “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.”

  “Not to me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SCARLET WALKED OUT of the Oak Stand police department, wearing the exact same clothes she’d had on the day before when she’d been processed, booked and jailed. The only notable exception was she wasn’t wearing the tiny golden slipper pendant on a chain around her neck.

  And not because she’d put it away like some school-girl boxing up her corsage, love notes and the locks of hair of a former love.

  No.

  The damn police department had lost it.

  Or someone had taken it.

  She tapped a finger against her breastbone and gave a jaunty, not so heartfelt wave at the journalists clustered in the shade of a giant silver-leafed maple tree. They looked hot and not so alert. They jerked to attention, every cameraman hoisting a camera to his shoulder, every newsperson running a hand over her updo.

  “Scarlet!” they shouted.

  She double-timed it toward the beat-up construction truck idling at the end of the sidewalk, wrenched open the unlocked door and said, “Hit it.”

  The reporters and cameramen disappeared in a blur of color.

  “Your sister is still pissed at you,” Brent said as he whipped a U-turn and gave the media a wise-guy smile.

  “Duh,” Scarlet said, running her hands over her face. She hadn’t slept well. Not after kissing Chief Tight Ass and wolfing down three pieces of pizza. She’d had heartburn to go with the heartache she bore like a cross. What had she been thinking, asking for a kiss like some desperate geekazoid? How could she still love John and feel so turned-on by a virtual stranger?

  Brent didn’t say anything for the next minute or so.

  “Thank you,” she said, breaking the silence in a small voice she usually reserved for scenes requiring contriteness. “For coming to get me.”

  He didn’t look at her. Simply kept his eyes focused on the faded yellow line dividing the road. He turned off onto a neighborhood street.

  “You’re welcome. Couldn’t leave you there no matter what Rayne said. She talked Frances into leaving you there, too. But if someone hadn’t posted bail for you by noon, Adam would have had to take you to county lockup.” He turned his head to look at her. “You wouldn’t have wanted to go there.”

  She swallowed a lump of guilt and stared straight ahead. A shaggy dog stood at the base of a tree, presumably barking at a squirrel. Fred Harp shuffled toward his car, wearing his Sunday best and grasping a Bible. A mockingbird swooped at a cat hunkered in the faded lawn of Brent’s parents’ house. All things normal. A typical small-town Sunday morning. Even the bells in the Presbyterian-church bell tower pealed the all-familiar call to worship.

  “No, I wouldn’t have, so thank you.”

  He nodded and gave Fred a wave.

  Fred waved at Brent, but scowled when he saw Scarlet sitting beside his neighbor.

  “Is Rayne mad at you, too? I mean, am I gonna cause some problems between you two?” Scarlet asked as Brent pulled into the graveled drive of Serendipity Inn. A week ago she would have been pleased to be a thorn in her sister and Brent’s relationship, but now it felt self-indulgent. Maybe yet again, she’d rushed in where no one should have tread and fallen on her face. Maybe she’d been wrong about Brent.

  Brent shrugged. “I think she’s secretly pleased I took the initiative to get you out. She wants us to mend some fences.”

  He shut off the engine, but made no move to exit. “You know Rayne loves you, right?”

  Scarlet pushed her hair back. “She has to. I’m her sister.”

  “No, she doesn’t. Family is family, but you can choose not to love them.”

  Scarlet looked at him. He seemed earnest. Sincere. Not slimy at all. “I know she loves me, but sometimes she doesn’t like me. She doesn’t understand me.”

  “But that’s okay. She doesn’t understand me sometimes, either. That’s part of loving someone.”

  Scarlet lowered her head slightly. “I didn’t give you a chance. I took what I thought I knew and pinned it to you. I wasn’t very fair. To you. Or to Rayne.”

  “No, you weren’t. But that’s okay. I understand.”

  She licked lips that were suddenly too dry.

  “No, I do,” he continued. “You were trying to protect her and you screwed it up. I know exactly how you feel right now. Like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Been there.” He patted her thigh. Any other time she would have assumed he was hitting on her, but now she knew he wasn’t. “We all make mistakes.”

  “That’s a platitude. And it won’t work with Rayne. I’m sure she’s damned tired of the drama I bring.”

  “But it’s a platitude that’s true.”

  She sighed. “Okay, it’s true.”

  “And Rayne might get tired of your drama, but it’s who you are. You don’t really look before you leap, do you? That gets you in trouble, but it’s also a great strength in a person. Rayne’s the opposite. She measures three times, dips a toe in, sends off for test results, puts on her jumping shoes and double knots them before she even thinks about taking a leap of faith.”

  That was definitely Rayne. “Yeah, guess you got her pegged.”

  “That I do.”

  “You love her,” Scarlet said. The idea didn’t feel as bad as it had.

  “Don’t go into detective work anytime soon. You’ll starve.” He climbed out of the truck and headed around to her door. Like a gentleman. Like his mama had raised him.

  Scarlet shoved the door open before Brent could reach for the handle. She noted reporters driving up the street and parking. They were like cockroaches scurrying when a light switched on. “Don’t worry. I’m planning to stay as far away as I can from the police.”

  Yet as the words slipped from her mouth, she knew them to be false. There was one police officer she didn’t want to stay away from. In fact, she felt quite the opposite. He’d awakened a fire in her, and she wanted to feel its warmth again. To bask in the flames. Even as she resented the hell out of his meddling in her emotions. She wanted to keep her armor in place.

  She reached for the necklace that wasn’t there. Maybe losing the golden slipper was for the best. Maybe the weight of it against her heart allowed her to cling too hard. Perhaps it prevented her from healing, prevented her from getting on with her life. She should have taken it off months ago. She would try not to miss it pressed against her chest. Try to put it—and John—away. For good.

  As Brent turned and waited for her on the first step of the inn, the image of John appeared. There was something of her former lover in Brent. The confidence, the charisma, the curl of the mouth. John wore a sardonic smile like a weapon, and his salt-and-pepper hair was his trademark as an actor, along with dimples on his rough-hewn cheeks. Wicked brown eyes and wicked sense of humor. And a warm embra
ce. John Hammerstein had taken care of her the way no other man ever had. With John, Scarlet had been safe.

  And now she wasn’t any man’s concern.

  “Just a minute,” she said, shaking off the memory. “I need to address the press, or they will be on the lawn all day long—something I don’t think Rayne or the neighbors will appreciate.”

  Brent eyed the clamoring pack of media heading up the drive as if they were a pack of stampeding triceratops or hungry T. rexes. He looked fascinated and repulsed at the same time. “You sure?”

  Rayne appeared at the door. She looked at Scarlet, then at Brent. She didn’t say a word.

  “Scarlet!” one reporter shouted in a nasally voice, before shoving a microphone at her.

  “Give me a little space, and I’ll address all of you,” Scarlet said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and wishing like mad she had worn a bra. She knew she looked tired and worn out. Like someone who had spent a sleepless night on a narrow cot in a cell. The mirror in the bathroom of the police station had not lied.

  She climbed onto the porch and held up a hand.

  “Scarlet, how was your night in jail?” one reporter shouted. She looked familiar. Had someone from Star Access come all the way to Oak Stand?

  “Okay, here’s my statement. Yesterday, I stood up for a cause I believe in—giving Americans the right to choose what they read. Most of the time, censorship of books like The Magpie’s Jewel is a result of ignorance and fear. I don’t regret my decision to protest the removal of the book. I do, however, regret thinking with my heart and not my head. I never should have broken the law in my quest to make my opinion known. It was irresponsible. For that I’m sorry.”

  “Scarlet, what has the network said about this?”

  “Have you talked to any cast members?”

  The questions flew at her, left and right. She shook her head. “That’s all I have to say for now.”

  She whirled around, dodging the questions still being shouted, pushing away the microphones being shoved in her direction. Brent stepped in front of her and crossed his arms, a six-foot-three-inch barricade, while Scarlet slipped into the house beside her sister.

  Rayne wrapped an arm around her. “You okay?”

  Scarlet shrugged. “I’m surprised you care. Aren’t you the person who left me in jail so I could learn a lesson?”

  Rayne dropped her arm. “Okay, I was angry. Dealing with you is like dealing with Henry. You don’t think. You act—”

  “But I’m not your child. I’m your very grown-up sister. Your family.” Scarlet stepped into the parlor, where Aunt Frances sat, looking a bit shamefaced as she pretended to read a daily devotional book. “Thanks, Aunt Fran.”

  Aunt Frances looked up. “Maybe you needed to think about what you did. Rayne is right. You have to start thinking about other people and how your actions affect them. Your sister has a lot riding on this show. The whole town does, and the audience who will tune into A Taste of Texas is not the same audience who will overlook over-the-top antics.”

  Scarlet felt anger bubble inside her. “So it’s the inn and the TV show you’re worried about? Not me. Or the injustice that occurred yesterday. Just your reputation.”

  “No. Of course we care about you. You were safe. Likely safer than if you’d come back here. We’ve had reporters camped out on the curb all night long.”

  Rayne appeared at her elbow. “We shouldn’t have left you there. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me, but Aunt Frances is right. You were safe with Adam.”

  “You left me in jail! There is no excuse for that. Make up whatever you want, but that’s the fact. I wouldn’t have done that to you—” Scarlet pointed her finger at Aunt Frances before swinging it toward her sister “—or you.”

  With that, she turned and ran up the stairs, feeling a little childish but absolutely justified. Her sister and aunt were wrong. What she had done had not been that bad. She’d handcuffed herself to prove a point for a noble cause, not embarrass her family, not get attention. No, she hadn’t thought, but that didn’t make her a bad person. It didn’t make her someone who should have spent a single night in a jail. No matter how clean it was.

  She flew into the pristine guest room that had once been her uncle Travis’s trophy room for wild game. Once, it had been painted deep green with mounted deer head and boar snouts covering the walls. Now it was soft blue with antique china plates hanging by satin ribbons. The coverlet was chenille, draped with a soft, minky dot throw. The pillows were fluffy, the curtains were lace, and Scarlet Rose didn’t belong here any more than the baby gazelle once had.

  She pulled her suitcase from the closet. She was not staying. There was a cheap motel on the outskirts of town. She’d sleep there, even if there were bedbugs the size of Dallas. Then she’d show up for court, pay her lousy fine and get the hell out of Oak Stand.

  “Scarlet,” Rayne pleaded from the open doorway. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Leave? Why the hell would I stay?”

  Rayne entered the room. “I was wrong.”

  Scarlet wiped tears from her eyes. She reached for the gold slipper, which wasn’t there. Somehow her missing necklace made everything worse. “Not good enough.”

  “Please, Scarlet, everyone makes mistakes.”

  She wadded a T-shirt into a ball and tossed it haphazardly onto the growing pile of clothing. “Yes, we all do.”

  “Don’t leave. Please. I’ll make you a grilled-cheese sandwich.”

  Scarlet sat on the bed and wiped the dampness from her cheeks. The last time she’d cried real tears had been the afternoon John had told her they were through. She didn’t cry real tears easily, though she was pretty decent at the actor kind. “I don’t want a grilled cheese. I want a sister who supports me.”

  Rayne sank beside her. “I do support you. I said I was sorry. I let my anger get the best of me.”

  Scarlet didn’t respond. She was too tired and didn’t want to sleep on a lumpy hotel bed anyway. Especially if there were bedbugs. “You left me in jail.”

  “I know. I’m a crappy sister.”

  “Not always,” Scarlet said.

  Rayne bit her lip and looked as though she, too, might cry. “I’m really sorry. Don’t go. Okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll stay. I’m a big girl and I get it. We both allowed our passion to overcome logic.”

  Rayne opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. “Right. So what next? Do you have to pay a fine or something?”

  “I’ll have to see what the judge says tomorrow. Adam said they do arraignments on Mondays. The last time I got arrested for a protest, it was a misdemeanor and I paid a fine. I figure it’s the same here. After I’m through with it, I’ll head to New York. Maybe the coverage of the protest will be enough to pressure the library board into changing their stance about the book.”

  Rayne took her hand. “Sure you won’t stick around longer? Even though I’m filming the show, it would be good to have you here.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve done enough damage? Trying to stop your wedding and handcuffing myself to the flagpole is probably enough drama to last a lifetime.”

  “When you put it like that…” Rayne said in a teasing voice.

  Scarlet pushed into her sister with her shoulder. Rayne pushed back. It only took a moment for them both to start smiling. Then Rayne laughed. And Scarlet could do nothing else but join in, falling back onto the bed, knocking half the pile of wadded-up clothing onto the floor.

  Rayne shoved the suitcase to the foot of the bed and joined her. “The fan needs dusting.”

  “If you keep it turning, no one will notice.”

  “Only you would think like that.”

  Scarlet shrugged and yanked one of Rayne’s curls. “So I’m lazy.”

  “No, you’re not,” Rayne said, jerking her hair from her sister’s grasp. “But you could use a shower.”

  Scarlet lifted one arm and sniffed. “I don’t stink.”

  “But
you don’t smell good.”

  Scarlet couldn’t be insulted. After all, Rayne had taught her how to shave her legs and how to use tampons. Wasn’t much sisters didn’t share. She sat up and reached for her toiletry bag. “Okay, shower it is.”

  “Where’s your necklace?”

  “Huh?” Scarlet said, kicking off her flip-flops and pulling the top she’d been wearing for more than twenty-four hours over her head.

  “That necklace with the golden shoe. You’re not wearing it. What is that thing anyway? Some kind of jewelry for a cause?”

  Scarlet shook her head. “No cause. And it’s not important.”

  A small wrinkle appeared between Rayne’s cinnamon eyes. She opened her mouth, then shut it, something that seemed to be becoming a habit with her. She was a smart older sister. Always had been. “Okay, I’ll fix you lunch. I’m sure you didn’t get breakfast.”

  But she had. The officer on duty when she woke this morning had dug around in the break room for a good ten minutes before returning with an overripe banana and a package of cheese crackers. He’d paired it with a Tab soda. She didn’t know they still made Tab. “No goat cheese, right?”

  Her sister spun and grinned. Rayne was so feminine and pretty, not exactly the opposite of Scarlet, but a gentler version. Rayne’s face was softer, her frame slighter, her carriage ladylike. Scarlet was, well, supersize in a sexy way. This she knew, this she used to her ad vantage.

  Rayne saluted and left the room as Scarlet’s cell phone vibrated on the dresser where she’d left it the day before. She left it behind often, a bad habit for an actor.

  She glanced at the caller ID. It was her agent.

  “Hey, Bert. What’s up?”

  “Making quite the splash, aren’t we?” Bertie said, his British accent more pronounced than usual. A fake British accent. She’d learned from a tipsy, withered socialite at a charity function that Bert had been born and raised on the Jersey Shore, but he did a helluva good northern British accent.