Silver Mayor: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “He asked you to marry him.” Was there a question in that statement? Here it comes. He’s going to slap me with some suit of defamation or adultery against him. Always about him.

  “You going to marry him?” I’ve known every expression of this man over the past decade. The grit. The anger. The lies. But the look in his eyes as he peers up at me, I cannot dissect. Regret perhaps? Impossible.

  “What do you want, Richard?” My arm crosses my body like a shield, reaching for my bag strap and curling my fingers around the leather. Richard’s eyes flick to my fingers. Slowly, he smiles, and he’s back to the man I hate.

  “He didn’t buy you a ring?”

  “I’m not discussing Charlie with you.” I make to move, hoping the step forward will encourage him to get out of my way, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he reaches for my right hand, holds my fingers between his thick ones and rubs over them like piano keys.

  “Broke my heart the day you gave back my rings,” he says, his voice melancholy. Dumbass, he’s looking at the wrong hand.

  “Have you been drinking?” Richard stripped me of everything. Every possession. Every gift. I’d settled on all of it because I only wanted Vega.

  His eyes remain focused on my fingers. “Should have been better.” The comment comes out so low I’m certain I don’t hear him correctly. I tug at my fingers, but he holds firm, lifting my knuckles for his forehead.

  “I don’t know why I did it,” he whispers, and I don’t even know what he’s referencing.

  “Then get help, Richard.” My voice is harsh, but I have no pity for him. Whatever he’s feeling is too late. Five blondes, two redheads, and one busty brunette going down on him before our daughter too late.

  “Come back to me.” His voice cracks. “Don’t marry him.”

  I tug at my hand again, desperate to free my fingers from his thick, clammy ones. However, Richard is stronger than me. He holds just as tightly as I fight against his touch.

  “You’re breaching our contract,” he states, looking up at me, and I realize I’m seeing something I never thought I’d see. He’s desperate and panicked, and it reminds me of Charlie’s proposal.

  “So are you. You aren’t allowed to be within ten miles of Vega, yet you keep appearing.”

  “I need you,” he begs, and I break.

  “Need me? You never needed me, Richard. I don’t even know why you married me other than to save yourself. And what about me? What about what I need? When I needed you, and you were never home?”

  “I was playing ball.”

  “You were playing the field all right, but not the kind you’re paid to play.” His fingers continue to hold my hand as he stares up at me like I’ve told him something he doesn’t know.

  “I didn’t want you to go,” he says.

  “You didn’t want me to stay either. I was there to cover for you.”

  “Why are you being so selfish?” His voice cracks like he truly believes this is on me.

  “Selfish?” I snap. “Me? This is all about you,” I state as I wave my free fingers at him, circling the air around him. “You need something from me, and it’s the only reason you’re here. You don’t care about your daughter or me. You don’t love us. So, I’m asking again, what do you want?” Because there’s an ulterior motive here, I just don’t know his angle. “And let go of my hand.”

  I’m almost screaming as I struggle against his hold. With his quick release, I stumble backward, catching myself before I fall on my backside. It hits me that this is Richard. I falter, but he doesn’t help me. He’s waiting, watching for my downfall. He thinks I’m in that position, and I’ll want him to rescue me. I’ll ask him to take me back.

  “I’m not coming back to you, and you have—”

  “Until the count of ten to get off her porch before I call the sheriff.” Charlie’s rugged voice interrupts us, and I spin to face him. He stands a foot behind me, calm and collected as he glares at my ex-husband. Suit versus sweats as Charlie’s still dressed from court, and Richard wears his typical track pants and T-shirt.

  “Ten. Nine.” Charlie begins, and I almost laugh. Is he really counting down?

  “What the fuck?” Richard snarls, looking from Charlie to me. Charlie casually pulls his phone from his suit jacket and looks at the screen.

  “Eight. Seven.”

  “Is he serious?” Richard looks up at me, still seated on the stoop like he can’t believe this is happening.

  I laugh for some reason, finding this entire scene unreal. “When he starts counting, look out,” I warn and then glance back at Charlie. His eyes meet mine, the brown sparking in the early evening light.

  “Five. Four.” He presses something on his phone and then lifts it for his ear. “Hello, 911. I have a situation here.”

  Richard immediately stands, swiping his hands down his pants. He towers over me, but I don’t cower. His eyes hit mine, and all the melancholy and sorrow is gone if it even ever was present. I misread him as I had most of our marriage, and now I want to close the book.

  “Three,” Charlie calls out, tipping his phone and then returning to the call. “Intruder at my coach house. Male. Six-six name of—”

  “I’m going,” Richard calls out, holding up both hands, palms out to stop Charlie.

  “But you’re still standing here,” Charlie retorts. “Two and—”

  “I loved you,” Richard mutters. “In the beginning, I really did.” He says nothing of Vega before crossing the small lawn and entering a rental car. The door slams, and the vehicle rolls backward, kicking up gravel as Richard reverses. Charlie still holds his phone to his ear, watching Richard’s retreat, and my eyes drift from one man to another.

  What just happened here?

  32

  A Knight in Dented Armor

  [Charlie]

  I heard their voices as I approached the coach house and saw them despite the thickness of the hedge. He held her hand, pressing it to his forehead. Their voices had turned low, and I prepared to round the shrubbery when he spoke.

  Come back to me. Don’t marry him. The desperation in another man’s voice. The desire to regain his former wife. It was too much for me. I couldn’t fight this, and when she didn’t respond, I thought I’d lost her again to her ex. I turned away from the bushes just before I made an ass of myself, revealing my presence and defending her honor. My steps were quick while I tried to disguise the tap of my hard-soled shoes on the concrete walk

  Then I heard her voice. Let go of my hand. Her cry turned me back around, and I rounded those hedges like I was stealing second base.

  It took a moment for the comedy of my demand to catch up to her. He had until the count of ten to leave, and thankfully, her eyes were on me, not him. She teased that I was serious with my countdowns, and I almost lost the charade, Giant swearing in my ear as I called him. I couldn’t make a 911 call unless I knew we were in a real emergency.

  To my surprise, Richard left, and I was confused.

  His bowed head. His quiet voice. He confessed he loved her.

  I had once loved Angela, but I recognized love could end. Somewhere along their path, Richard lost the emotion for his wife, either by choice or effort or who knows what, but it didn’t last. The moment he looked at another woman and then acted on that glance, he broke everything they could have had together. For the blink of an eye, I feel sorry for the man. He lost a good woman and a beautiful child, but I don’t condone idiocy. My concern is for Janessa who stares after Richard’s car, tearing up the lane as he leaves.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up to her.

  “That’s the same question he asked me.” Slowly, she turns to me, eyes soft, face puzzled. “I don’t know what he was doing here.”

  “Giving it his last-ditch effort. Game’s almost over. Down two to one, and he was hoping for a big hit.”

  The baseball euphemism isn’t lost on her.

  “He struck out,” she whispers.

  “Seems like it hasn�
��t been his game.” I smile as she plays along.

  “It hasn’t been his year,” she states.

  Standing before her, hands tucked in my pockets so I don’t reach for her, I focus on her beautiful green eyes. “And what about me? Have I struck out?”

  “Seems the home team has last at bat,” she says, looking at me. “Last up. Full count. Three balls. Two strikes. But if you swing and miss again, you’re out, and the game is over.”

  My head tilts. “I want to be clear. You’re giving me another chance.” No more baseball puns.

  Her lips twist. “You’re taking me to dinner. The Patio on Friday.”

  I stare at her, brows lifting. “You’re kind of assertive,” I tease.

  “I heard you love ambitious women.”

  Stepping up to her, I can’t fight back the desire anymore. I reach for her loose hair and curl it over her ear. “There’s only one ambitious woman I love.” My voice drops, and I want to lower my head for hers. I want her to read my thoughts and feel my heart and know that I mean it. I love her.

  “Friday,” she whispers.

  “Friday,” I repeat, lowering to press a kiss just off her lips and then step back before I reach for more. I can handle a strike, but you only get three at bat, and I’m not risking a strikeout.

  + + +

  “Okay, food, check. Clothes, check.” I rub my hands down my outfit. Casual pants and dress shirt. Not jeans, so not understated. Not a suit, so not overboard.

  “Flowers?” Lucy questions, sitting on an island stool and watching me pace my kitchen frantically.

  “Fuck, I forgot to get flowers.”

  “We should get a swear jar. I’d make a fortune.” I stop walking and glare down at my daughter.

  “I’m not that bad,” I state.

  Lucy shakes her head. “But you forgot flowers.”

  Right. And I don’t have time to get to Hetty’s Florist. I’m minutes away from picking up Janessa and surprising her with a dinner I hope won’t disappoint although it isn’t exactly what she asked for.

  The back door opens, and I’m hoping it’s her mother who is helping me orchestrate tonight. Instead, it’s Vega.

  “Mr. Harrington,” she addresses me.

  “Please, I told you, you can call me Charlie.”

  “My mother says I have to call you Mr. Harrington.”

  I shake my head. “Okay, is she almost ready?” Both girls know about tonight but have been sworn to secrecy. After all that happened, I had to have a talk with my daughter and be honest without being too open. Her mother had pictures of me that were not appropriate to share, although taken at a time when I thought we were a couple, and there were things couples did when they were much older.

  Pint had glared at me. “I know about the birds and the bees, Dad.”

  “Oh, how?”

  “Sadie.” My brother Billy’s sixteen-year-old daughter. I was going to need to give her a talking-to although with her father’s promiscuous background, maybe he needs the lecture.

  I’d then gone on to explain how I had feelings for Vega’s mother and wanted her to marry me.

  “Yeah, Mom’s ready,” Vega says, sheepishly looking up at me. I don’t know how much she knows about what’s already happened, but both girls know I proposed and failed. Vega told Lucy who told me, that she’d heard about the proposal. Rumors flew around summer art camp, and the girls wondered if they were going to be sisters or not. At the moment, they were in the not category, but I wasn’t willing to give up.

  “She likes yellow roses,” Vega adds, and Lucy rolls her eyes and then tips her head to her best friend.

  “He forgot the flowers,” Pint says, her voice droning.

  Vega shakes her head in disappointment. These girls are tough critics, and I feel like I’m staring at the future Elaina Harrington and Gretchen O’Leary. Southern belles. Gossip queens.

  “Got a ring this time?” Vega asks, and I’m assuming she never saw the first one I gave her mother.

  “I do,” I say, hoping her mother will one day say those words to me.

  “Mom’s big on apologies, so I think if you mean what you say when you ask for forgiveness, she’ll say yes.”

  “I’ve already told your mother I was sorry.”

  “Yeah, but was it about you or her?” I stare down at this ten-year-old, wondering about her wisdom, but then again, I know how Lucy earned hers, and I realize once again the connection between these two has to do with public-eye parents and their public sins.

  I reflect on what Vega said. “It was about her. I hurt her.”

  Vega slowly smiles and then gives me a thumbs-up. Lucy gives her own thumbs-up, and I wish it were so easy to get that kind of review from Janessa.

  “Okay, you two, off to Gran’s.” My mother awaits them for another pizza-movie night, and I head out to the garage.

  Arriving at the coach house for Janessa, I feel like a teenage boy picking up his first date. I want tonight to be special as she’s giving me a second chance to prove myself.

  “You make me breathless,” I say as she steps out on the stoop. Her dress is a deep green color that accentuates her eyes. When she slowly smiles, I shiver. I want to press her up against the house and take her with everything I have, tell her I love her, and let her know again I’ll be good to her. Instead, I take a deep breath, hold out my arm, and escort her to the car.

  We drive no more than a few yards and pull into my drive.

  “Charlie, this isn’t The Patio.”

  I turn my head from her to my yard and back. “It’s not.” My head tilts, and then I smile. Ignoring the scowl on her face, I exit the driver’s side and walk around to her, helping her out of the car. Her fingers curl into mine, and I don’t let them go as I escort her to the side gate to my backyard. Stepping to the side, I lead Janessa forward, and then she stops.

  “Oh, my God,” she mutters.

  “I thought we’d have more privacy on this patio.”

  33

  Last at Bat

  [Janessa]

  He isn’t wrong. His patio is private and absolutely stunning. The lights in the pool are on, and the patio is covered in a crisscross of outdoor bulbs. A small firepit has been placed near the dining table, and a tall bucket with a bottle of wine rests in ice. It’s beautiful and romantic.

  “When did you do all this?” I ask, wondering if he really did do it himself.

  “This afternoon. I had some help, though.”

  I don’t ask. I don’t like to be reminded that my mother and soon, my brother work for Charlie.

  “Come,” Charlie directs, still holding my hand and leading me to the table. He opens the chilled wine and pours each of us a glass.

  “Do you like seabass?”

  “I love it,” I say, a little surprised at the question, and he smiles.

  “Good.”

  He’s up to something, and I should question him, but I don’t. I just take in the atmosphere he’s created. He holds up his wineglass. “To you,” he toasts and then sips the wine.

  His phone buzzes, and he reaches for it in his pocket. “Just give me a minute.” It seems rude, and I scowl, but then he places the phone on the table, upside down, and excuses himself. I expect him to enter the house, but he stops near a grill just outside his back door. Opening the lid, I watch him pull something from it and then plate the items. He returns to me and nods to the table.

  “Should we sit?”

  “Did you cook for me?”

  “I told you I know my way around the kitchen,” he teases.

  “You know your way around a pizza box and how to get one delivered.”

  He laughs, and I stare at him. He seems nervous, and I don’t want him to be. I want my Charlie. The easygoing, sexy-confident one who wants me with a passion I can’t deny.

  “Charlie,” I say, laying my hand on his once we sit. “Relax.”

  His shoulders fall. “I am.” But he’s not. I ignore the edge to him as we eat a delicious grille
d fish with wild rice and mixed summer veggies.

  “When did you learn to cook this?” I hum as I set another bite on my tongue.

  “Earlier today,” he answers honestly, and I realize what he’s done.

  “Did my mother make this?” Mami knows this is my favorite dish.

  Charlie adamantly shakes his head. “She only gave me pointers.” Sheepishly, he reaches for his wine. It’s kind of sweet to think he asked my mother for my favorite dish and then tried to cook it for us, but these are things he’d learn if we dated, not rushed into marriage.

  “Charlie, you know marriage doesn’t save anything. It doesn’t replace something.”

  He sets his glass down at he looks at me. “Going right to the jugular,” he teases, but his tone tells me it hurt to jump to the topic still hanging over our head.

  “I’ve already been in that position. I know these things.”

  “I’ve been there, too,” he reminds me.

  “Marrying me would not be good for you, Charlie.”

  “I want to be bad,” he states with such sincerity and seriousness that I laugh. “I mean it. If the town can’t handle what’s between us, then I’ll quit. I’ll run for Congress after all, or better yet, return to being just a lawyer.”

  “I’d never ask you to give anything up for me.”

  “You aren’t.” His hand lands softly on the table, but it still rattles the dishes. “The only thing I don’t want to give up is you.”

  “Charlie.”

  “I want to marry you. Not for pretend, for real.”

  I sigh, sorry I’ve taken us to the heaviest subject first. I shake my head and lower my eyes for my dinner.

  “Tell me about the walkway,” he suggests, and I glance up to see him begging me with his eyes for something normal. So I begin with the plans Cora and I have created, and tell him everything, hoping he won’t block us on anything. To my surprise, he makes a few recommendations of his own and offers a few avenues if we get roadblocked on construction. For the most part, he just listens, smiling back at me and my enthusiasm.