by Lucy Score
“I’m fine, thanks,” Summer said, taking a seat on the sun-faded sofa facing Ellery’s desk.
Within a few minutes, the paneled door behind her opened, and Beckett emerged, wincing at the raised voices behind him. The sleeves of his button down were rolled up, and his tie was loosened. He looked like he was sweating.
“Summer, I’ll be just a few minutes more,” he said, reaching for the glass of ice water that Ellery handed him.
“It’s no problem,” Summer assured him. “Take your time.”
He drank like a man in the desert, straightened his shoulders, and marched back into the room.
Within seconds, the shouting dropped to a low roar, and in less than five minutes, it stopped completely.
The door opened again, and this time a smiling couple in their fifties walked out. He was tall and lanky with eyes that crinkled when he smiled. She was a round little thing who modeled her wardrobe after Stevie Nicks.
“Thanks again, sweetie,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ll see you next week.”
Ellery waved them off and, the second they were gone, poured two fingers of scotch into a rocks glass. “Here,” she handed it to Summer. “He’s going to need this.”
Summer took the glass and knocked on the open door.
Beckett was seated at a long library table, head in his hands. “I’m not here,” he said without moving his hands.
Summer set the glass in front of him. “How about now?”
A gray eye peeked through fingers. “They don’t tell you about these things when you’re in law school.”
Summer took the seat opposite him. It was a good room. Shelves lined with bound books rose to the ceiling with its original chandelier. A bow window overlooking the backyard let in the midday light.
“Rough day?” she asked.
Beckett picked up the glass and sipped. “I’d tell you that it’s attorney-client privilege, but they aren’t clients. I’ve never actually done anything for them.”
“See, now you have to tell me,” Summer insisted.
“The Buchanans came to me once right after I started the practice to help with their divorce settlement. Apparently I mediated so well that they changed their minds and decided to stay married. Now they think I’m some kind of marriage counselor. Every time there’s an argument about the in-laws or the butter dish, they make an appointment. This time it was what cable package they should get.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“It sounds like you play an indispensable role in their marriage,” Summer said, trying not to laugh.
Beckett downed the contents of the glass. “Sorry for dumping all that on you. Please don’t—”
“Write about any of this?” she finished.
“Sorry. Again. It’s the lawyer in me.”
“Understood. Well, the writer in me is curious. Why a lawyer?”
Beckett shrugged, a spitting image of Carter’s habit. “You grow up with two brothers and Phoebe Pierce, and you learn to love arguing.”
“And you stayed close to home?”
“Carter was off to the Army as soon as he graduated high school, and when Jax lit out of town a few years later, it was just my parents and me. Dad needed help on the farm, and Blue Moon was always home. Later, when Dad got sick, Mom and I took on everything we could with the farm, and the town stepped up. For the six months leading up to Dad’s death, there were an extra half-dozen hands every single day. And they were all there because in some way, shape, or form John Pierce had done the same for them.”
“You were still in law school and running the farm?”
“It wasn’t pretty,” he grinned.
Summer shook her head. “I just can’t wrap my head around that kind of community. It’s amazing.”
“It really is. Even after his death, when Mom and I were having serious thoughts about selling, they were there for us. Sometimes from sun up to sun down. It was a smaller operation then. Carter has really scaled it up since he came home.”
“And now you’re mayor.”
Beckett nodded. “After everything this town did for me and my family, I owed them. Still do.”
Ellery came in with a tray of boxed lunches and waters. “I picked up lunch for you two from Over Caffeinated. Mind if I head out now?” she asked Beckett.
“Thanks, Ellery. Did you—”
“I left a message for Mr. Goodloe about coming in to sign the papers.
“Great, how about—”
“I re-drafted the settlement agreement for the Hadwens and put it on your desk.”
“And were you able to—”
“Yes. And they said no problem with rescheduling for next Thursday.”
“You’re the best.” Beckett said it with real affection. “Appreciate the help today.”
Ellery beamed. “Happy to! See you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Summer,” she called.
“Great to meet you, Ellery.”
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Beckett said shaking his head.
“Is she psychic like Willa?” Summer couldn’t help but ask.
Beckett laughed. “No. She’s just very good at her job and knows me better than I know myself. So,” he said, peeking into the boxes of food. “Do you want the Greek salad or the chicken pesto tortellini?”
“Excuse us for interrupting.” A man who looked like a grumpy Santa bustled into the conference room followed by a woman in heavy-duty khakis and a polo. “But we’ve got an important situation that needs your attention, Mr. Mayor.”
“Bruce. I’ve told you a thousand times, please call me Beckett.”
Bruce was already shaking his head. “Your office deserves respect, and that’s what you get from Bruce Oakleigh,” he said, drilling a finger into his own chest. “But not everyone has respect. No siree. What kind of a message does it send our youth if the town council allows Beverly here to add one of those flailing armed inflatable freaks in front of her building. Where is your respect for tradition, Beverly? Your father didn’t run that HVAC business with a blow-up doll in the parking lot.” He waved his arms in the air. He was wheezing slightly after his tirade.
Beverly rolled her eyes. She yanked an inhaler out of the pocket of Bruce’s cargo pants and handed it to him. “Beckett, can you please just tell Bruce it’s fine for me to display a ten-foot air dancer in the parking lot for our week-long maintenance package sale so I can get back to my job and you can get back to your lunch?”
“A week?” Bruce’s snowy eyebrows rose. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I thought you were making it a permanent, tawdry fixture. Mr. Mayor, please strike my comments from the record,” he said, offering Beckett a little bow.
“Consider them stricken,” Beckett said, his tone serious.
“Want to go grab a smoothie, Bruce?” Beverly offered.
“That would be lovely,” he said, letting her lead the way.
They were interrupted two more times before Carter returned to pick Summer up, but she felt like she had gotten a good, clear picture of the middle Pierce brother. Beckett was the picture of loyalty and stability. Family was his center, and that family extended to the residents of Blue Moon Bend.
Evidence of this was framed on the walls and shelves of his office. There were pictures of his brothers, his parents, and his townspeople. Babies, firemen, newspaper clippings from town meetings. Beckett’s heart belonged to Blue Moon.
“How did it go?” Carter asked as she climbed into the truck.
“I really like your brother,” she said, missing the frown that marred Carter’s face.
11
Over the fluid notes of Chris Botti’s trumpet and the punchy words of the latest spy novel, Carter heard Summer muttering from the kitchen island.
She had set up her laptop after dinner and gone to work like a general directing troops. She wanted to get a solid outline of the article done, she said. But her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since she sat down.
From the great room, he had heard every conve
rsation. First there was the model’s agent who wasn’t happy with the placement of an ad. Then came the higher-up who needed something proofed immediately because the post on moisturizers was life and death. Now she was on the phone with her friend she called the Wolf. And in between calls, he heard her furiously answering emails and muttering about blog trolls.
It was stressing him out.
“I don’t know why they didn’t give you a copy of the article either, Nikolai,” Carter heard her sigh. “Of course you need to know what you’re shooting.”
He gave up trying to read and headed into the kitchen. Summer was sitting with her hand on her forehead.
“Look, I’ll email you a draft of the article as soon as I send Katherine her moisturizer thing.”
She rolled her eyes while she listened.
“Mm hmm. Mm hmm. Yeah. Okay, bye.”
She hung up and covered her face with her hands. “I adore him, but when he goes all temperamental artist on me, I want to murder him.”
He could tell that she was beyond frustrated. “What’s going on?” he asked, sliding on to the stool next to her.
“It’s nothing. A lot of nothing. I’m just falling behind on work while I’m here and—” The ringtone of her phone cut her off again. “Hang on,” she said, answering the call.
“Miguel, thanks for getting back to me. Yeah, Carl somehow got his hands on a few extra pages of proofs and isn’t happy that his ad is so close to the piece on a minimalist wardrobe…”
She refreshed her email while she listened.
“He feels that we’re telling consumers not to consume his line… Well, we need to move it. His ad rep should have known better… I realize that. This can be avoided in the future if we can get the reps to pay more attention in the layout meetings… I know. It’s a losing battle.”
Summer rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. “Okay. Thanks, Miguel. I appreciate it.”
She put her phone on the counter and stretched her arms overhead.
“This must all seem so stupid to you,” she said, rolling her head on her shoulders. “You fought for your life and country, and here I am stressing out over ad placement and moisturizer.”
“It’s all relative,” Carter shrugged.
She shot him a disbelieving look. “No. It’s not. I know that none of this is life and death, but I can’t seem to not get sucked into the stress of a false sense of urgency.”
“When everything is important—”
“Nothing is important,” she finished for him.
“Exactly. Are you done with the moisturizers?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. I should take another pass at it to make sure it’s clean. But I haven’t even tackled the outline yet, and I need to get rid of the spam comments on my blog.”
Carter looked at his watch. “You have five minutes to do whatever absolutely has to get done and change.”
“Carter, I really don’t have time for games. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of.”
“And none of those things are remotely life and death. You’re missing out on what’s important. Five minutes.”
She looked good and pissed, which in Carter’s opinion was better than stressed and drowning. “What happens in five minutes?”
“We’re going out. You need jeans and your boots. And a sweatshirt if you have one.”
“I don’t have a sweatshirt. Are we doing more work?”
“Stop asking questions. You have five minutes.”
Her dramatic sigh ended in a growl. And when she began frantically typing, Carter knew he had her.
He left her to her panic and went upstairs to change. It was the perfect night for it, and damned if he was going to sit there and watch Summer stress herself out over things that didn’t matter.
He’d show her how he learned to slow down, get perspective.
He passed her on the stairs. “Two minutes,” he reminded her.
She grumbled and stomped into her room.
In the coat closet by the front door, he pulled out a plaid flannel jacket.
Summer hurried down the stairs, her boots clattering on the wood.
Her cheeks were flushed and she was frowning.
“Here,” he helped her into the coat. “Ready?”
“I don’t know! You won’t tell me what we’re doing!” Exasperation laced her tone.
Why was it so sexy and sweet when women wore men’s clothing? he wondered as he smoothed out the material on her shoulders.
Carter tugged the end of her ponytail. “We’re going for a ride.”
“I thought you meant in a vehicle,” Summer grumbled when they pulled into the stables.
“The best place to see a sunset is from the back of a horse.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s from a beach with a Cosmo in your hand.”
“You’ll see.” Carter took her by the hand and led her into the stables.
“Isn’t it going to be dark soon? What if we get lost? I’m not ready for this.”
He stopped in front of her and she ran into his back. Carter turned and took her by the shoulders. “Do you trust me?”
She looked up at him with those ocean deep eyes wide and scared.
“Summer,” he pulled her in a step closer. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?”
Inexplicably, tears welled in her eyes.
“There are some things you can’t be protected from,” she said quietly.
He pulled her in to his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I need you to trust me on this. I will keep you safe.” Damn if she didn’t fit perfectly in his arms.
He felt the hot breath of her sigh through his shirt and held her a little closer.
“I’m sorry, Carter. I’m not usually such a baby,” she said pulling back to look up at him. “I’m just overwhelmed.”
“Stop apologizing for being human. Besides, it’s probably just the juice talking.”
She gave a little laugh against his chest.
It was killing him, holding her like this. He just wanted a taste, wanted to know if she’d respond to him the way he imagined she would. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t a toy. She was a woman here to do a job. He settled for brushing his lips against her furrowed brow.
He heard the quiet intake of breath, watched her part her lips. Saw her eyes zero in on his mouth. An invitation. An anticipation.
But if he kissed her now, he wouldn’t stop. And that wasn’t what he brought her here to do.
“Wait here. I’ll saddle the horses.”
They were the sexiest words ever uttered to Summer in her twenty-six years of living. Wait here. I’ll saddle the horses. She had almost kissed him, twice now. She had wanted to, desperately. But he had backed off.
And now she was on the back of the dainty Charcoal, plodding into the dusky evening behind Carter on his big bay, Romeo.
She was an emotional disaster tonight. Trying to do too many things to the point where everything felt like an emergency. And Carter’s simple declaration. I’ll keep you safe.
He couldn’t. Not from what really threatened her. No one could. But somehow the words still loosened something in her chest.
Carter turned in the saddle to look at her. Without speaking, he pointed to the right where three deer strolled through the meadow. She shifted to get a better look. “They’re so small,” she whispered, not wanting to startle them. Charcoal’s ears twitched at her voice.
Carter nodded. “A mom with twins.”
In the dimming light she could just make out the spots. Fawns. She had never actually seen fawns in real life, just in cute email forwards.
She followed Carter past the white fence that divided pasture from crops and wound around a copse of trees. The leafy branches stretched and reached toward the full, orange moon hovering just beyond. The sky was layered with colors that had never touched the Manhattan skyline.
Crickets and fireflies sang and danced in the dusky light.
She followed C
arter over a low, rolling hill. He stopped, and Charcoal drew up next to Romeo. The creek bubbled below them, reflecting the colors of the sky as the sun began to set across the fields and woods.
“Wow,” Summer whispered.
Carter smiled. “Yeah.”
Charcoal shifted under her, and Summer realized she had actually ridden here. On a horse. Without falling off and getting trampled. She was sitting on a horse watching an incredible sunset with a man who gave her butterflies. In the city, she would have been working late most likely. Maybe heading out to a reception or a cocktail party. Or holed up in her apartment poring over blog stats.
This was better. This was perfect.
She reached over and touched Carter’s hand. He opened it, and she interlaced her fingers with his. And together they watched the sun sink as the moon rose.
12
Summer had collected eggs—and gotten flopped by a chicken—boxed 250 shares of spring vegetables, and ridden shotgun on the fertilizer run for the acres and acres of corn. Her manicure was shot, and she was in bed by ten every night. Except the other night when Carter had taken her out for ice cream.
He hadn’t even let her change. They went into town and stood in line for the ice cream truck. She had been startled to note that most of the other patrons were in various states of undress, too, giving the line waiting experience the festiveness of a slumber party.
And yet, somehow, there was something stirring inside her. A contentment, a sense of security, that made absolutely no sense to her. She was excited to wake up every morning. She couldn’t wait to get downstairs and see Carter. To walk the land with him, to watch him move through his world.
“I don’t know, Niko,” Summer sighed into the phone. “I feel like I’m missing the puzzle piece on this article. I can’t articulate the appeal of this place.”
“Maybe there is no appeal,” he yawned.