They passed through and stepped into the crowded bar. “That’s okay. I know you were working. And you’re doing good work. Melody’s over the moon about the plans for the cottage.”
“We aim to please… Hey Junior.”
Junior closed in on them, a couple of longnecks dangling between the fingers of his right hand and a glass of white wine in each fist. Voice like a bullhorn even in the crowded bar, he boomed, “Hey Ty, Ellie.” He passed Tyler a beer, gave Ellie a wine, and then turned to her. “Red, LouAnn told me you handed Tom Buchanan his ass in his hat today at the senior center.” He passed her the other wine and tapped his beer against the rim of her glass. “I salute you.”
Around them, other patrons turned their way, lifted glasses and cheered their agreement.
“Thanks Junior. Thank you, everyone. Remember to vote on Tuesday.”
The reminder garnered her a halfhearted respon
se, which told her apathy might be her real opponent, because Tom’s cronies would be the first ones in line at the voting booth come election day. But she didn’t intend to turn Melody and Josh’s engagement party into a political rally, so she let it go.
“Where’s LouAnn?”
“Aw, she’s around, just avoiding me,” Junior replied. “Double D’s pissed because I didn’t go with her to the debate this afternoon, even though she knows damn well we had a fuckload of antique barn wood coming in today at the Browning site.”
“The place is really coming along. I was out there yesterday evening and I could almost visualize the end result.”
“That so?” His eyebrows nearly disappeared under the rim of his backward-facing ball cap. “Who gave you the tour?”
Holy crap. Not a drink in her and already she’d put herself in a compromising position. She couldn’t stand in the middle of Rawley’s and respond, Shaun Buchanan. You almost caught us skinny dipping.
“No tour. I was out that way just…because.” Smooth. “I got a glimpse at some of the progress, from a distance. Oh, look, there’s LouAnn, standing by Melody and Josh. I’m going to pop over and say hi to them.”
“Tell LouAnn to let me out of the dang doghouse. If she knows you’re not holding a grudge against me for missing the debate, maybe she won’t either.”
“Don’t worry.” She patted Junior’s burly forearm. “I’ll smooth things over for you.” With that assurance, she winked to the rest of the group and made what she considered a very narrow escape from the trap her big mouth had nearly landed her in. What the hell was wrong with her?
You’re not used to keeping secrets. You’ve always been free to talk about whatever’s top of mind. And Shaun occupied the top slot more often than not these days. Not because he should have been off-limits, or because being with him put one of her most important goals in serious jeopardy, or even because he completely owned her body with barely a touch. Shaun occupied her thoughts so pervasively because he was…Shaun. A cocky, controlled, tortured, sweet, complicated, aggravating man—and if she didn’t watch herself…
Right. Something to keep in mind while trying not to accidentally out herself to the entire bar as one half of the most scandalous couple since members of the flock caught Pastor “Fire and Brimstone” Johnson giving his own personal brand of communion in the rectory with a Russian mail-order bride.
Three hours later, as she said her good-byes and walked to her car, she gave herself a mental high-five for succeeding—at least in part. She’d nursed her single glass of wine all night, congratulated the happy couple, spoken to almost everyone at the pub, and managed to keep her lips zipped about her personal life. But despite the triumph, the evening planted a seed of something restless inside her—or maybe the seed had always been there, dormant, waiting for optimal conditions to take root and grow. Conditions like watching Josh and Melody cuddling, whispering and glowing with happiness all night, noticing how the hand he rested casually around her waist slipped down to squeeze her butt when they thought nobody was looking. Layered on that? Tyler and Ellie. They weren’t joined at the hip tonight, but his silent, obvious radar tracked Ellie no matter where she circulated, and her brown eyes always slid back to him as if she felt his gaze as palpably as a touch.
Roger Reynolds, Bluelick’s golden boy—not to mention Melody’s high school sweetheart and ex-fiancé—had come with Doug, a friend from law school. As she’d talked and joked with them, the real reason Roger and Melody had never worked out slowly dawned on her. Gosh, what a waste, she thought, looking at the two gorgeous men, but when she noticed how Doug’s gray eyes zeroed in on Roger’s mouth when he spoke, and how Roger’s hand constantly found Doug’s shoulder or arm, she realized not a damn thing was going to waste.
Hell, even LouAnn and Junior threw off sparks. He circled around her, trying to charm his way back into her good graces, not to mention her skimpy halter dress. She pretended to make him work for it, even though they definitely won tonight’s unofficial vote for couple most likely to be all over each other as soon as they stepped into the parking lot.
Everyone she knew seemed to be pairing up, falling in love, and riding off into the proverbial sunset. And she was thrilled for them, really, but witnessing all the coupledom made her wish for the same.
She climbed into her car and faced facts. Love simply wasn’t in the cards for her right now. There were too many other things in the way. She started the car, steered out of the parking lot, and herded her wandering thoughts into a strict line. Why couldn’t she enjoy amazing, illicit sex with a man she genuinely liked, and leave well enough alone?
Because you’re falling in love with him.
Oh, God. She was. Totally and hopelessly. Her heart lurched into her stomach. What the hell was she going to do?
You’re going to turn this car around right now, because the road you’re on leads straight to heartache.
A self-preserving or chicken-shit instinct kicked in. She glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t surprise anybody, and then whipped a U-turn in the middle of the empty street.
Red and blue lights immediately flooded her car and, behind her, a siren blared. Goddamnit. She drove a few more feet to where the shoulder widened enough to allow her to pull completely off the road, stopped her car, and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. First time she’d been pulled over in her entire life, and it had to happen now. Maybe the deputy—hopefully Trent—would let her off with a warning? The slam of the cruiser door had her lifting her head and reaching into her glove compartment for her registration. With her free hand, she hit the button to lower her driver’s side window. The crunch of footsteps on gravel stopped by her door.
“My registration is in here somewhere,” she said, without looking up. “Just give me one second.”
“You’ve got one second to put your hands on the wheel where I can see them.”
What? Her annoyance congealed into dread. She straightened, put her hands on the steering wheel, and came face-to-face with Deputy Crocker. Did he remember her?