Rose

by Elle Casey

  For the first time since she arrived, she looks like she’s lost a little bit of her confidence. She glances nervously down at the folder and then over at me. “No, that’s it. But when you left, you told me to keep an eye on this case and let you know what was going on.”

  “An email would’ve sufficed.”

  I stare at him, the transformation shocking. Not five minutes ago he was a funny, sexy, warm, incredibly tender man performing silly pose-downs and making love to me. Now he’s a hard-nosed, angry attorney, dressing down his employee.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was just doing my job,” she stammers.

  I narrow my eyes at her, taking in all the evidence before me. I don’t believe her act for a second. I don’t think she’s as innocent as she’s trying to pretend she is, and I don’t think she’s going to stop at this little roadblock either. But I feel sorry for her anyway, despite all these negative feelings her attitude is stirring in me. She came all the way out here to the farm to fight for Greg, obviously expecting a different result from what she’s getting. She took a risk, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to pay off. I took a risk with another man that didn’t pay off, and I still remember how it feels. Not good at all.

  My heart goes out to her. I totally understand how she feels about this man; he really is a good catch. And I don’t know if she’s slept with him yet, but if she has, no wonder she traveled hundreds of miles and made a surprise entrance. At this point, I’d probably follow him to the ends of the earth, if only to get more of that action I just got upstairs. He really knows what he’s doing in the bedroom, and he’s a kind man. A gentle man. A very capable man. In my experience, they are in short supply out here in central Maine. Maybe they are in Manhattan too.

  I walk over and pull the strawberry jam out of the bag and hold it up to her. “This is our most popular flavor. I know you really didn’t come here to buy anything, but I want you to try it anyway. Are you hungry? Have you had lunch yet?”

  She slowly reaches her hand out and takes the jam from me, looking sadly at the label. “I haven’t, actually.”

  I grin. “Perfect.” I take the jar back from her. “How about if I make you a slice of toast to start with? You can try the jam, and if you’re still hungry, we can make you a ham sandwich, too.”

  “That would be nice.” She looks at me a little confused, maybe doubting my motives.

  I turn to Greg. “You want to help me in the kitchen?”

  He nods. “Sure.”

  We leave together and whisper once we’re past the closed door.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Rose. I did not tell her to come out here. I hope you believe me.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” I put a piece of bread into the toaster and lean on the counter, facing Greg. “She’s trying to stake her claim. I get it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wants you in her bed. And she obviously knows you have something going on out here besides legal work, so she came out to pee on her territory. I get it.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” He looks doubtful.

  “I am. Listen, it’s a girl thing. You have to admire her determination, at least.”

  “I don’t think I have to admire it at all. I actually find it quite irritating. She’s gone way over the line here.”

  “She has. But you’re a good catch. I don’t blame her for taking a risk. I took one today myself. It’s just turning out better for me than it did for her. I feel bad for her.”

  I turn my back to him so I can monitor the bread. He comes up behind me and puts his arms around my waist, leaning over to kiss me on the neck. “You think I’m a great catch?”

  “I do.” I can’t stop smiling. I’m getting warm again and my nipples are going hard.

  He reaches up and cups my breast. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just trouble.”

  “Well, you’re definitely trouble. I’m not going to argue that point.” I turn and put my arms around his neck, staring into his beautiful gray eyes. “But I think you’re worth the risk. Veronica and I have that in common.”

  “It’s the only thing you have in common, believe me.”

  “She is awfully pretty.” For the first time in my life I feel a little insecure. Compared to her, I look like Oscar Mayer.

  He reaches down and grabs me in a hug so tight, my feet leave the floor. I almost lose my breath before he puts me down again. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know,” he says, leaning down to kiss me tenderly. He stops and frowns. “I think the toast is burning.”

  I squeak and quickly turn around to pop the button. A perfect piece of toast flies out of the toaster and lands on the plate. “It’s not burned, it’s perfect.” I frown at him over my shoulder, pretending to be mad.

  He spanks me lightly on the butt. “I’m going out there to tell her she has to go back to the office immediately.”

  I reach out and grab his hand as he begins to walk away. “Don’t. Don’t be mean.”

  “I’m not being mean. I’m going to be honest. She stepped over the line, and she’s here to cause trouble. I’m not going to put up with it. It’s unprofessional.”

  “Sometimes honesty is not the best policy,” I say. I let go of him and turn my back so I can spread jam on the toast.

  He says nothing. I turn around to see what he’s doing and find him staring at me with such intensity it’s almost scary.

  “What? What did I say?”

  He shakes his head, almost like he’s bringing himself back to reality. “Nothing. I’ll be out there. Don’t worry, I won’t be mean.”

  He leaves me standing in the kitchen with the toast half-finished. I go back to my task, thinking about what just happened. His mood swings are a little jarring. I write it off as us still getting to know one another and the pressure we’re under with trying to conduct a secret affair among the nosiest group of people who ever walked the earth. We may have slept together twice already today, but we’ve only known each other in any meaningful way for a grand total of a few days.

  I guess my sisters were right; we hippie chicks sure do fall fast and easy. I grin as I finish putting jam on the bread. I totally do not care. I’m not going to live my life through the eyes of other people, and I refuse to allow anyone’s judgment to affect my choices. I’m a grown woman, and I’m going to follow my heart. If it leads me into pain, so be it. At least I’ll enjoy the ride on the way there.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Greg sits down and looks at the legal file Veronica brought as she munches on her toast. I go into the kitchen to give them some privacy, but I’m only there for five minutes before several voices and a cacophony rise up from outside. It’s the sound of many footsteps running up the front porch stairs and several voices talking at once. I come out of the kitchen to see what’s going on.

  The door bursts open, and a group of people comes in. My mothers are first, followed by Sam and Emerald, and then the entire band. Greg and Veronica look up in surprise. Greg stands.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, when I see the stricken look on my mothers’ faces.

  “Some jackass defaced the clinic,” Carol blurts out. She’s clearly upset.

  “What?” I stare at her like she’s lost her mind. She’s making no sense. I was there not that long ago, and it was perfectly fine.

  “I’m so sorry,” Emerald says, rushing over and taking me by the hands. “I can’t believe we didn’t hear it happening. We must be deaf or something.”

  Sam joins her, stopping in front of me. “We’re seriously sorry.”

  I pull away from my sister and move so that I can see the group better. Almost everyone has taken a seat around the dining room table. Veronica looks from one person to the next. I think she’s as confused as I am.

  “Does somebody want to explain to me what the heck is going on here?” I’m quickly losing patience.

  Greg comes over to be next to me. I’m glad he isn’t touching me and blowing our cover, but I’
m also happy that he’s there lending moral support. It feels good to have a strong presence backing me up.

  “We were coming home from the market, and as we were driving past the clinic, we noticed something was wrong,” Barbara says.

  “Like I said, some jackass spray-painted the outside of the building,” Carol says.

  Mooch taps her on the shoulder and pulls her in for a hug. She starts to cry.

  I feel sad too, but I’m also angry. “Somebody actually spray-painted the clinic while you were inside it?” I look at Emerald and Sam for an explanation.

  Emerald nods as Sam answers. “I don’t know how we didn’t hear the hissing of the paint coming out of the can, and I swear to God it wasn’t on there when we went in.”

  “It’s pretty windy out there,” Veronica says. She looks to her left and right. “With all the trees around here, it kind of sounds like somebody spray-painting all the time, doesn’t it?”

  After a few seconds, almost everyone nods in agreement.

  “Maybe,” Sam agrees. He looks at me. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re real sorry. It was our responsibility to keep an eye on things, and we blew it. We’ll help clean it off.”

  “But why would someone do that?” Sally asks. She looks like she’s about to cry too.

  I shake my head. It’s got to be my crank caller, who has now elevated himself to being my stalker. It’s probably the person who stole my laptop, too. It’s not like I’m going to tell my family this theory, though. They’re already upset enough. “It doesn’t matter. It’s probably just kids from town who are bored and looking to cause trouble. I’ll take care of it.”

  “We’ll help,” Greg says.

  “We absolutely will,” Cash says. He stands. “We can go right now, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Why don’t we call the police first?” Red says, holding out his hand to slow his bandmate down. “We need to file a report, and they’ll want to see what it looks like before we clean it up.”

  “Don’t bother,” I say. “They’re totally useless.”

  “Why do you say that?” Barbara asks.

  “Because . . . they’ve done nothing about my stolen laptop.” Not to mention my crank caller. “You think they care about spray paint on a building way out here?” A building the town is trying to get rid of? I wish I could share everything I know. Heck, maybe it’s Betty Beland herself coming out here being a delinquent. Scorned women have been known to do some batpoo-crazy things.

  “They’re gonna care if I have anything to say about it,” Red says. His expression turns dark.

  Here he goes again, acting like the big man of the family. I look up at Greg, silently begging him to understand. He meets my eyes, and I swear I feel a connection between us that goes beyond simple understanding. He gets me.

  He looks up and surveys the group. “How about you guys let me handle this one?”

  Red shrugs as he looks at my mothers and me. “If you think that’s the best course of action.”

  “I do.” Greg nods for emphasis. He shifts his gaze over to me. “I do think we should contact the police. You want me to make the call?”

  I nod wordlessly. I trust him to do the right thing. And if I say no, my mothers are going to start asking a lot of questions I don’t want to answer, and it won’t be worth the trouble trying to fend them off.

  Greg goes off into the living room with his cell phone to make the call. I turn my attention back to my family. “I’m sorry you guys got mixed up in this garbage.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize,” Red says, coming over to stand next to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

  I glance up at him and then down at the floor. “Thanks.” I feel bad for thinking negative thoughts about him acting like the man of the family. He’s just one of those take-charge people. A natural-born leader. He reminds me so much of Amber. I look up at him again and focus on his eyes. His kind eyes. Are these the same ones that have been staring back at me for twenty-five years? Bossing me around almost every day of my life? It’s hard to say, but it sure seems that it could be possible. I break my gaze to look at everyone else around the table, the people I love so much. They’re worried about me. Even these men I really don’t know all that well feel a strong connection to me through my mothers. It annoyed me before, but now I’m starting to get used to the idea.

  Life is so strange. Sometimes I think I have it all figured out, and then the universe throws me a curveball and I realize I really don’t know a damn thing. All our lives, my mothers have been telling my sisters and me that there’s really only one reason for us to be here on this earth: to love one another and to love ourselves. Love is why they stayed with the band and enjoyed their time with them so much, and it’s also why they left. And then love welcomed these men back into their lives two and a half decades later. As long as I’ve known these women who raised me, they have always been happy. Maybe their simple philosophy about being on this planet simply to love one another isn’t such a bad idea after all.

  I look over my shoulder at the man nodding and hanging up his cell phone. Is he doing his lawyer thing and taking charge to please his clients, or is he calling the police for me because he cares about me and is worried about my welfare? I think it’s a little bit the former, but much more the latter. I’m feeling very lucky, even though there’s somebody out there in the world who is coming after me for a reason I don’t understand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Veronica is headed back to the airport, courtesy of Smitty’s personal taxi service, and the rest of us are hanging around waiting for the police to show up, when the doorbell rings. Banana barks once and trots over to the door, waiting for one of the humans to open it for him.

  I lean on the couch as Red goes to the door and opens it. He greets someone who sounds like a man. When he walks in, I recognize him as the officer who wrote up my last two police reports and who has a golden retriever with a sweet itch problem that I treated last time I saw him. I walk over to greet him.

  “Hello, Ms. Lancaster,” he says, shaking my hand.

  “Hello, Officer Brownlee. Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “Somebody made a very convincing case for a speedy response, telling my dispatcher that we’d better get out here before there’s more trouble,” he says, looking around the room. I think he’s trying to find the bossy attorney who put the fear of the law into him, the man who also may have pointed out that the officer’s last two responses to our address weren’t really in keeping with that whole ‘protect and serve’ motto they have written on the backs of their squad cars.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Carol asks.

  “Sure. And I wouldn’t mind one of those muffins either.” He grins at my mother. “My wife buys ’em every week at the farmers’ market.” He rubs his belly. “This spare tire is here thanks to you all.”

  Barbara and Sally both stand, pulling out a chair together.

  “Have a seat,” Barbara says, grinning.

  “We’re so happy you’re here,” Sally adds. They exchange glances that can only be described as competitive. “So . . . which is your favorite kind?” Sally asks.

  I roll my eyes because I know exactly where this is going.

  Officer Brownlee walks over to the proffered chair and puts his clipboard on the table. “That’s kind of hard to say, actually. They’re all so delicious.” He looks up at the women flanking him.

  “Is it the blueberry ones?” Sally asks.

  “Or is it the maple pecan?” Barbara prompts.

  Emerald comes from the kitchen with his cup of coffee and puts it down in front of him. There’s a plate with two different kinds of muffins on it. Aaaand the competition is on.

  “Before you answer their questions,” Cash says, “know that the two women who baked those muffins are sitting on either side of you, and they take a lot of pride in their recipes.”

  The cop stops reaching for a
muffin, his hand freezing halfway across the table. He looks to his left and then to his right, understanding dawning. His other hand slowly joins the first, and he reaches out to take both muffins at the same time.

  Everyone laughs, and Paul, the bassist, claps him on the shoulder. “Smart move.”

  Sally and Barbara wander off toward the living room, feigning disgust at the fact that everyone’s kidding around. “We’ll leave you to your work,” Carol says, joining them.

  The officer looks down sadly at the confections in his hands. “I really love these muffins.”

  I grab a knife from the sideboard and walk over to sit down across from him. I gesture for him to put the muffins back on the plate and then pull it toward me. I unwrap each of them and cut them into smaller bites, mixing them up with the knife before pushing the plate back over to him. “They’ll never know which one you tried first,” I say quietly so the moms won’t hear me.

  He glances over into the other room suspiciously and then grabs a piece of the blueberry muffin and pops it into his mouth. Two seconds later, he chooses one with the pecans and does the same thing.

  I wink at him. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all.

  He takes a sip of his coffee and opens up his clipboard. “So . . . talk to me about what’s going on here.” He looks up expectantly.

  I glance over at Em and Sam, silently asking for them to contribute. They come over to sit down, and Em speaks first. “Sam and I were in the clinic while my sister had lunch. We were there for about an hour. When we went in, there was nothing on the door, but when we came out, there was spray paint there.”

  “I noticed the paint. Does the message mean anything in particular?”

  “What message?” I ask. I scan the faces around me. Everyone looks guilty. “What does it say?”

  Greg comes over to stand behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “It says ‘bitch.’”

  I’m taken aback as hurt feelings assail me. “‘Bitch’? Do you think it means me? Am I the bitch?”