If and when he called, she would just have to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore. She’d have to find the willpower to just say no.
In the end, she didn’t talk to him at all. When the telephone rang, she didn’t pick up. She didn’t trust herself. Since the moment Dylan had kissed her the night of the Buckhorn incident, her willpower had gone into hiding. She didn’t trust that it would make an appearance now. Not after the memory of his kiss, and not after the night they’d spent together painting each other with frosting. Not when all she had to do was close her eyes and feel his mouth on her body. Not when she could recall with perfect clarity the seductive timbre of his voice when he’d lowered his face between her legs and said, “Relax, honey, I’m just going to eat this little peach right here.”
No, her willpower was less than zero.
She would have to avoid him for as long as possible, but complete avoidance would be impossible in such a small town.
The next time she saw him, she’d just act natural. Cool, as if she’d had lots of affairs in the past.
At around midnight, she went to bed and jumped at every sound, wondered if he’d show up at her house, or if it was even Dylan who’d called earlier. It could have been Shelly. Or Walter. Or a telemarketer. It probably hadn’t even been him. The jerk.
At a little before ten the next morning, Shelly knocked on Hope’s front door. Hope had just gotten dressed and her hair was still wet from her shower.
“Dylan just phoned me,” Shelly said as she followed Hope into the kitchen. “He wanted me to come over and see if you were okay. He said he tried to call you last night, but you weren’t home.”
“I wasn’t answering the phone.” Hope reached for the coffeepot and poured two cups. “I was busy working.”
“He said he called this morning, too.”
Hope raised her mug and blew into it to keep from smiling. She hadn’t heard the phone, but maybe she’d been in the shower when he’d called.
“Is something going on between the two of you?”
“Not a thing. Do you want milk and sugar?”
“No.” Shelly raised her own coffee and blew into it. Both women stared at each other through the steam. “Did you know that an informant inside the sheriff’s department gave the FBI information about Hiram Donnelly?”
“I’d figured that out.”
“But have you figured out who is it?”
“Hazel?”
“No.”
“Dylan?”
“Wrong again.”
“Do you know?”
“Yes,” Shelly answered through a smile. “But I’m not going to tell you. And do you know why?” She didn’t wait for Hope to answer. “Because I can keep a confidence. No one knows but me and the FBI. If someone tells me to keep something a secret, I can. I’m a good friend.” She looked pointedly at Hope as if to say Hope was not.
“Okay.” Hope relented and it all came out in a rush. “Okay, I spent the Fourth of July night at Dylan’s house.”
“I knew it! When Paul told me that Dylan was giving you a ride home, I knew he was going to try his old cheap moves on you.”
Hope was too embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t tried very hard. “You can’t talk about this to anyone. I don’t know how I feel about what happened, and Dylan doesn’t want this to turn into town gossip.”
“Oh, that Dylan,” Shelly scoffed and waved her bad hand. “He thinks his business is sacred or something. Somehow more off-limits than everyone else’s. He thinks everyone is just dying to know what’s up with him.” She shrugged. “Which, of course, we are, but I swear I won’t breathe a word.”
Hope blew into her own coffee and took a drink. When she looked up, Shelly was staring a hole into her. “What? Do you want details?”
“Not if you don’t want to give them.”
“I’ll just say that I stayed with him all night, and I had a really good time.” She took another sip and added, “Really good.”
Over their coffee mugs, they smiled at each other. Two completely opposite women who recognized a true friend in the other.