Critters of Mossy Creek Page 7

  “Well, it’s a good story and I’m sticking with it.”

  She trotted down the steps. “Easter Bunny, here!” Matt implored.

  Jayne shushed him. “He’ll be back soon, honey. Play with some of that hair he left on your sweater. Isn’t that nice? You’ve got Easter Bunny hair all over you.” Matt gaped at his sweater front, where poofs of white fur mingled with a cupcake embroidered with the words, Grandma’s Boy. Ingrid had given it to him.

  “Easter Bunny,” Matt said, awed. He began plucking the white fur off his sweater, studying it as if it might turn into a Cadbury egg or marshmallow Peep.

  I dropped two quarters in Jayne’s hand and sipped the coffee. “I need this.”

  “I heard what happened this morning down in Bigelow.”

  I looked at her grimly over my swig of imported joe. Pretty, curvy, pleasant, smart, likable, young Jayne. The sunshine glossed her long, brunette hair. “Everyone’s heard?”

  “Can’t grind a bean in this town without everyone sniffing the aroma.”

  Which was town lingo for: Of course everyone’s heard. This is Mossy Creek. Unofficial town motto? If you want to keep a secret, go live somewhere else.

  “Everything? The whole sordid story?”

  She nodded. “From the moment you coughed the word ‘Bull’ until the rabbit sucker-punched your sister in the parking lot.”

  I sighed. So she and all the other Creekites knew about Ardaleen’s Amos remarks. “No wonder so many people in these bleachers craned their heads when I showed up. I was hoping they were all just scared of my killer rabbit.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I expect Amos hasn’t heard about it yet. He’s been pre-occupied all morning.”

  “Oh?”

  She and Amos are friends. I knew that. Amos is friends with lots of women, older, younger, in-between. Women adore him. He’s the town’s most eligible bachelor.

  And Jayne would be perfect for him.

  I like Jayne, I approve of Jayne, I want Jayne to be happy and find a new man. Her husband died while she was pregnant with Matt, and she was a fractured soul when she moved here to open the Bean. Jayne deserves a great new man. Amos would be that for her. Great.

  But at the moment I pictured myself happily smearing carrot juice on Jayne and locking her in a room with Wampa. I’m soooo not a good person. I have my sister’s dark side.

  “Preoccupied? How?” I asked, invisible hackles rising.

  She didn’t notice. “Getting ready for the game.”

  “What? This game?” It was a widely known fact that Rob and Amos had some edgy issues. My son has never been subtle about disapproving of Amos’s interest in me. So Amos, who dearly wanted to play soccer, had kept his distance from Rob and the team.

  Jayne grinned. “Rob finally invited Amos to join. He’s playing in today’s game.”

  I stared at her. Was this a sign? Was my son trying to give us his blessing? Jayne cut her eyes toward the field. “Take a look,” she said with a hint of I-dare-you. “See you later. I see Ingrid’s got our table set up. I need to go relieve her. Come on, Matt.”

  “Bunny,” Matt repeated. As Jayne rolled him away she reached down just in time to stop him from eating a tuft of Wampa’s fur.

  I swung my gaze to the field. I immediately spotted Rob, my tall, handsome but humorless son, who at the tender age of thirty was only seven years younger than Amos. Rob was bent over Little Ida and Wampa, frowning.

  And next to Rob, looking down at the bunny with his trademark, irresistible, just slightly sardonic smile, was Amos.

  Amos Royden, Mossy Creek’s chief of police.

  Who had kissed me when he was sixteen and I was a grieving young widow. Who had come back to Mossy Creek a few years ago, giving up a big-city police force career to fill the over-sized law enforcement shoes left by his father, Mossy Creek’s legendary Battle Royden.

  So.

  Amos Royden, the skinny, earnest, gentle teenager, had now grown into a broad-shoulder man with George Clooney eyes, Hugh Jackman lips and . . .

  Legs.

  He had legs.

  Great legs.

  Of course I’ve always known Amos has legs. I’d watched him stride around town on them. Like all women in the vicinity, I love to watch him walk. But I’d never seen his legs in shorts before.

  And not just any shorts. Soccer shorts. Silky. Thin. Clinging. Ruffling in the sudden breeze.

  Ingrid showed up beside me. She’d left Bob and his sling at home. She took one long look at what I was looking at and let out a low whistle. “I think Chief Royden just answered the ‘boxers or briefs’ question. And several other questions women like to ask. Wow.”

  An understatement. Amos waved. I didn’t wave back. Our eyes met and locked. His smile faded into an expression so focused and intense I began to tingle from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. His gaze roamed down my body. The surge of energy traveled along my spine as if he were a long-haul trucker racing to deliver precious cargo. Amos stopped for coffee and a donut at a few particular spots on the route, revving his engines, heating my pavement.

  Ingrid jabbed me with her elbow. “Every person in these bleachers is now staring at you staring at him and him staring at you. Don’t just stand here, do something.”

  “Where’s Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak when I need it?” My voice was a low growl. I felt breathless.

  Thank goodness, Rob broke the tension. He straightened from Little Ida and Wampa, frowning harder, and glared at me.

  Mother, he mouthed reproachfully. I always got the blame for his child’s adventures.

  “Go, go,” Ingrid urged, pushing me. “Rob needs to talk to you. That gives you an excuse to walk out on the field. I’m headed to the ladies, then back to help Jayne. We’re booster-ing today.”

  I gave up and headed down the steps, straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin, aware of the stares, the whispers. I turned into Scarlett O’Hara shimmying defiantly into Melanie’s party after being caught snuggling Ashley at the lumber mill.

  Yes, I’m a cougar. Watch me prowl.

  Unfortunately, about the time I set foot onto the grassy playing field Rob tossed up both hands and walked away, with Little Ida following him.

  Thanks, guys. Now I was just walking toward Amos, alone.

  He met me halfway.

  “Nice slogan,” he said, the sardonic smile returning beneath his very serious eyes, which went from my face to my breasts and back to my face.

  “Don’t start.”

  “Start what?”

  My electric tingle turned into a security fence. “Please. You and I both know that if I give you any opening at all, you’ll manage to take the old peace anthem about making love, not war and turn it into something intimate about us.”

  “If the slogan fits . . .”

  “And you wonder why I avoid you.”

  Right after the last word left my mouth I realized I’d confessed something. From the satisfied look on Amos’s face, he knew it, too. He angled his head close to mine. I shut my eyes against the effect he had. He whispered, “Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”

  His voice was soft, deep, and his breath brushed my cheek. I opened my eyes with a helpless sensation whirling through me. He studied my hypnotized expression. Damn. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide. He reached out one brawny hand and curled a loose lock of my upswept red hair behind my ear. I leaned closer to him and tilted my face up.

  He had me. He’d won. I was going to kiss Chief Royden in front of God, country, my town, its soccer team and a homicidal rabbit.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Here!”

  Matt’s voice. Amos’s expression darkened. He pulled back and his gaze shot past me, to the bleachers.

  Dazed, I pivoted slowly.

  Matt stood up in his stroller. “Daddy!” he yelled again. His arms reached out.

  Toward Amos.

  I backed away from Amos quickly, froze my face in a mayoral expression of neutra
lity, but cut my eyes at him fiercely. Wampa had nothing on me. I could go all red-eyed and threatening at the drop of a carrot.

  Amos chewed his lower lip, one of the things he does when he’s totally exasperated. “He calls everyone Daddy. He picked it up at Mother’s Day out. It’s a phase. He sees me every day when I go by Jayne’s shop for coffee. Don’t make it anything more. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s just a phase.”

  I lied to keep my dignity. “You don’t think I know that? I’ve had a child. You’re the one who hasn’t.”

  Yet, I implied. I kept reminding him that a future with me was a future with no kids of his own.

  “I don’t remember wanting one,” he tossed back. “You don’t get to decide things for me, Ida, unless you’re in my life. Unless you care about me. Are you? Do you?”

  I started to yell it at him: I was about to kiss you in front of everyone in this town. There’s not another man on this Earth who could provoke me to stand in the middle of a soccer field and almost kiss him.

  “Non-players off the field!” a ref yelled. The Mossy Creek men trotted past and now the Bigelow players were on the field too. All were trying hard not to gawk or be too obvious about trying to overhear our conversation.

  Win Allen, stretching his handsome neck to catch our drift, got hit in the head by a soccer ball.

  I looked up at Amos sadly. “I’ve got no business in your life. But someone like Jayne does. Wake up and smell the coffee shop, Amos.”

  Win chose that moment to wobble over, rubbing his head. He stumbled against Amos then stepped between us. “You look pissed,” Win said. “I guess Amos is filling you in, but you should know that it wasn’t my fault. Rob says it is but I don’t think so. Someone had to do it.”

  I looked from him to Amos, wondering what Win was talking about. Amos deepened the mystery by shifting his gaze away from my scrutiny. He was guilty of something. He cleared his throat suspiciously and said, “Dwight isn’t thinking clearly if he’s trying to cheap-out on the football coach, but telling him he’s a cheapskate and should be voted out of office wasn’t the way to get him to reconsider the salary budget.”

  “Uh?” Win said.

  “Daddy!” Matt squealed again.

  Win gave Amos a push. “Amos, go get Matt before he has a cow.”

  I arched a brow at Amos. The whole town realized that he belonged with Jayne, that Matt wanted him as a father.

  Amos, however, was glaring at Win now. I had a feeling that Win had just stepped in a big pile of trouble.

  Hadn’t we all?

  Amos and the Soccer Mom

  Part Two

  My favorite part of soccer (besides catching Ida looking at me and my legs way too often for the interest to be accidental) is the late afternoon toast at O’Day’s Pub. We won the game. Handily. Even better, I scored the winning goal.

  Seemed like the entire city of Mossy Creek was in attendance, screaming their lungs out.

  About halfway through the game, my calves had started screaming right along with the crowd. Getting old sucked. Not that I gave a damn how sore I’d be tomorrow. I’d play again in a heartbeat if they asked. I’m sure my expression was smug, because it looked like when they asked, not if. Win was about to stir up some trouble that was sure to keep Dwight off the team for some time. Maybe forever.

  “You’re serious?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the cheering dart throwers.

  “As a heart attack. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’m a local business owner. I’m as interested in our town as Dwight is.”

  “What do you know about politics?”

  Rob leaned forward. “Win doesn’t have to know anything. If he beats Dwight for the city council seat he’ll be the personal protégé of Mayor Walker.”

  I flicked my thumb nail against the label edge on the beer I’d been nursing. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

  “Better him than me.” Rob raised his glass in a toast. Lots of here-here’s echoed around the table. I raised and tipped my bottle in Rob’s general direction.

  Wrapping my brain around Win challenging Dwight for his council seat in the next election was going to take some time. “People don’t like change.”

  “Well, they like revenue, and I’ve already got some ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like charging a library fee as part of the building permits for all those fancy new homes they’re trying to build in the mountains. If they’re going to increase our population and tax our resources then we have to gear up. That library is important, especially now that the high school will be here.”

  That got another round of here-here’s. And another round of beers—except for me. I switched to club soda with lime. Pretty soon most of the guys grew tired of Win’s new crusade and were driven home by our designated driver—Rob—or they’d drifted off to throw darts. Just Win and I were left at the table. He waved at the waitress and mimed signing his tab.

  Time to spring the trap. “If I were you, I’d start spreading your money around. You’d better find a reason to drop into every business in town.”

  “How so?”

  “Because you’re not from here. Sure, you feel at home, but you didn’t grow up here. People like to vote for the hometown boy. Or failing that, they like to vote for their close personal friend and customer.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Not bad advice. Not bad at all. I can do that.”

  I smiled and attempted to look like a thought had just occurred to me. “Of course, you don’t need to drop by The Naked Bean.”

  “Right. Don’t worry. I’m not planning to poach on your fall-back woman.”

  I choked on my soda. “Excuse me?”

  He laughed. “Jayne is your reserve. In case Ida doesn’t work out. You can trust me. We all know she’s off limits.”

  The waitress showed up. I couldn’t ask him who “we all” was. So, he signed his tab and I fished a twenty out of my wallet and tried not to smile when a thought really did occur to me. You don’t move a woman to the “off limits” category unless you’ve considered her. Win Allen had noticed Jayne Reynolds. That was going to make lying to him so much easier. Poor stupid fool would believe every word I said because he wanted to believe me.

  “You need to get your radar checked, Win.”

  “How so?” He stood up. I walked out with him.

  “Jayne is about ready to start dating again, but she wasn’t at today’s game to watch me.”

  “Then who?”

  I held the door. “You. For whatever reason, Jayne’s having a little trouble taking her eyes off you, and we all know what that means.”

  When he just stood there staring at me, I had to wave him through the door. “If I were you, I’d do something about it before the election. Voters love a man dating a single mom.”

  “Jayne has a little crush on me? You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack. If I were you, I’d think about getting or borrowing a dog. Matt is over the moon about dogs. And I know Jayne takes him to the park most days around 2 p.m. when she closes the Bean for her lunch.”

  I stopped at my Jeep. He walked on and said, “I’m gonna have to think about this.”

  “You do that,” was what I said. But what I thought was—shooting fish in a barrel.

  ooo

  Later that night, when I saw that the light was on in the mayor’s office, another cliché came to mind. Two birds, one stone. In addition to giving me more time with Ida alone, enlisting her in my mission to help Win get elected to the Mossy Creek city council made good sense. I parked next to her car, but before I could enter the building her light went out. I waited, leaning against the Jeep.

  Ida was juggling her purse, keys and empty burp-n-seal food containers. She’d taken to eating at her desk in the last few weeks. All the better to avoid a repeat of the day I’d found her sitting alone at a table in Mama’s Cafe. She knew better than to eat at Win’s restaurant or at the Bean. So, that j
ust left her desk unless she wanted to risk lunch with me. I had spies. I would know when and where Ida ate lunch.

  We both knew all she had to do was tell me to leave her alone, but she never did that. She spent a great deal of time telling me why I was wrong, but she’d never once said, “Go away and stay away.”

  I made sure she locked the door before I said anything. Locking a door sends a pretty strong message that you’re done for the night. “Working hard? Or hardly working?”

  She jumped, and—judging from the juggling she did to hang on to her containers—Ida could have hit the road with the circus last month and been guaranteed a job. Once she had everything under control, she said, “Do you creep up on all our citizens or just me?”

  “I’m not creeping. I’m standing here big-as-life.” I stood up straight and opened up my arms. I will admit that my pose looked a little bit like an invitation for her inspection. And I will admit that after the way she had scoped me out today, I knew she’d do it again.

  She did, but instead of the embarrassment I expected, she finally said, “Fine. You want me to admit it? I will. I looked. So what? I cruise the Godiva counter when I’m in Atlanta, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking the raspberry truffles home with me.”

  “Ouch. I think I’ve just been insulted. Although you also implied I am Godiva-yummy, so I think it’s a wash.” I walked over and offered to take the containers. She handed them to me and put on her mayor face. “Is there a reason you’re here, Chief?”

  “Yes, there is. I need your help.”

  “Real or manufactured?”

  “Real.”

  With a click she unlocked the driver’s door of her classic Corvette and then opened it. “Real?”

  “Scout’s honor. I need you to talk Violet Martin out of her gun.”

  Ida whipped around to face me. “Where in God’s name did Violet get another gun?”

  With an absolutely straight face, I said, “Judging by her age . . . I’d say from Samuel Colt.”

  My new favorite thing is Ida Walker laughing, with her guard down, leaning slightly against me as her knees buckled the tiniest bit. She sobered up and wiped her eyes. “I feel bad. That’s awful of me to laugh, but the woman was older than dirt when I was young.”