I looked over my shoulder at him and gasped at his closeness. “We still have the judges.”
“Oh, hot photo!” Janey flashed a grin and I groaned, taking a step back from Jackson. “Too late, I already got it.”
That was pretty much how the rest of the day went. Drop-ins from Tulip residents to harass us while strangers came for the food and went about their merry way. The only constant was Jackson, who made it impossible to ignore him. To avoid him.
There, I said it. Maybe I was trying to avoid him all this time.
Maybe.
“What’s with the frown? Is second place that terrible?” Jackson bumped his shoulder against mine, sort of, wearing that charming smile that had the power to pull you right into him. He held two boxes, which only highlighted the line of his triceps.
I licked my lips. “Second place is fine, I was just trying to figure out what I did wrong to lose out on first.”
“Maybe the winner just used more sugar, or a prime cut of meat the judges really liked. I tasted it and it wasn’t all that great. Yours was better. Way better.”
I appreciated the effort. “Thanks.” And it was always nice to hear a compliment from a handsome man. Even if it was Jackson.
“Plus, your sauce got an honorable mention. That’s great!”
It was. “I’m very happy about that. Hopefully it’s a sign of things to come.”
“What do you win, other than money?”
“Exposure.” I picked up the final two boxes; thankfully, they were small enough I could easily carry them to the parking lot in one go. “You get all kinds of write-ups in magazines and websites dedicated to barbecue culture, chili culture, and all things Texas.”
“You think those people will come to Tulip for your barbecue?” I looked over my shoulder at him and his brows shot up. “I mean, I would, but that doesn’t seem like a solid business plan.”
I laughed at his attempt to call me an idiot in the nicest way possible. “It’s not just that. I’m thinking of… expanding.” I didn’t want to share this with him. Or anyone, really. Aunt Bette was the only one who knew and odds were good she didn’t remember.
“The sauces.” His hazel eyes went round with surprise and something that could have been pride, but I was probably mistaken. “You want to become the queen of barbecue sauces.”
“When you say it like that, who doesn’t?” I smiled at him and when Jackson tripped over his own feet, I might have felt a rush of feminine pride.
“Good point,” he growled and stepped in front of me as two people approached.
“Move over, you big lug, it’s my cousin. Hey, Roy! Kori!” I waved at their hesitant approach, even though we were family. In the most technical sense of the word, anyway.
“Reese, my goodness, I couldn’t believe it! Your chili was truly a heavenly experience, girl!” How the bubbly Kori had ended up with Roy, who was a good guy but had been a middle-aged man since he was thirteen, I’d never know. But they were great together.
“Thanks, Kori. I’m glad to hear you liked it.”
“No, I didn’t just like it. I loved it. The spice was deep and intense, but not overwhelming.” Kori leaned in—her curly blond hair never stopped moving, just like the rest of her—and whispered, “I even ate half of Roy’s.”
“With praise like that, I have to offer you more.” I reached into the box in Jackson’s arms and plucked out one of the tall plastic containers. “Enjoy it. Please.”
“Bless you!” She wrapped me in a tight hug and stepped back with a giddy smile and an almost vibrating body. “Oh, and thanks so much for the updates on Bette. I wish we could get down more often, but we stopped by this morning and she was completely out of it.”
My heart sank at that news and my gaze found Roy’s. I saw the pain there, identified with it. “Her good days are harder to come by,” I told them honestly. “But when I was there earlier this week, she yelled at me for not ratting you out when you flattened her tulips sneaking out of the house.”
Roy’s eyes flashed briefly with happiness and mischief, before he remembered, as I always did, that our best days with Aunt Bette were behind us. “She made me take care of them every year after that until I left for college.”
“And it’s why I always have gorgeous tulips in my house,” Kori shot back with a smile. “It was great to see you, Reese. Maybe we’ll get to catch up with your boyfriend another time, but now we have to get back before the babysitter revolts.” She hugged me again, kissed me, and vanished like a gust of wind on a dusty Texas road.
We started toward the car once again before Jackson spoke. “I didn’t know you had any family.”
Because he hadn’t stuck around to learn anything about me. “Aunt Bette has five kids and Roy is the closest in age to me, which means he was in high school when I came to live with them.” I shrugged off the sympathy in his eyes. “Roy is the only one who lives in Texas, and I’m not close with any of them. It’s been just me and Bette for a long time now.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” he said sincerely and I didn’t know how to take it so I didn’t say anything. I put my boxes in the van, then secured them and repeated the process with the boxes in Jackson’s arms.
“I’m the lucky one. She had five kids, but still agreed to take me in after my folks were killed.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.” He was close. Too close. And his voice was soft and soothing, not harsh and gruff.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.” I barely remembered them, other than flashes of smiling and laughing faces.
“Still.” His fingertips brushed against my hair and my shoulders, still too close. His masculine scent invaded my senses and his nearness made my skin overheat, but when Jackson pressed his big body against mine, pinning me between him and the van, my body remembered the last time we were like this.
I instinctively leaned against him.
He smiled and lowered his head, giving me plenty of time to think about what a bad idea kissing him would be, but then his lips were on mine. Hot and soft and firm. Insistent, as his tongue swept the length of my mouth before it slid between my lips and teased my tongue. It was short and sweet and hot. It was really hot.
And too damn short.
But as Jackson pulled back with a smile, a flash of movement caught my eye over his shoulder. “You have an admirer,” I told him.
He grinned and leaned in close. “I do?” The question was flirtatious, because he thought this was still a thing.
I took in the pretty brunette in skin-tight jeans and a sexy floral top that showed off tanned shoulders who was trying hard to discreetly get his attention. “Yep. You do.” I smiled and took a sideways step away from him. Distance was key right now. “Right over there.” I pointed.
He froze and turned to the pretty brunette, and when his hazel eyes returned to mine there was regret and apology swimming in them.
I held a up hand because I didn’t want or need to hear whatever excuse—and definitely not an apology—he planned to issue. “I take it this means you can find your own way home?”
Getting angry and making a scene wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change who he was and it wouldn’t change me.
He clearly wanted to say something, to try and explain who she was or the nature of their relationship, but he finally thought better of it and his shoulders fell in defeat. “Yeah, I can.”
“Great. Good night. And Jackson?”
He looked up, hope in his eyes. “Thanks for your help today.”
“Sure,” he said, that one word coming out sad and resigned. “No problem.”
Jackson
I didn’t want to leave things the way they were with Reese, not after we’d had such a good day together. The woman she assumed was a past or future conquest was neither. I watched the van drive off, my gaze fixed until her brake lights faded from view.
Then, I turned to the woman who had inadvertently ruined what little progress I managed to make with th
e finicky chef.
“Agent Witherspoon, what brings you to Tulip?”
She let out a soft, feminine sigh, but her stance was all U.S. Marshals Service, erect and stiff and alert. “You, actually. Well, our mutual friend Jarrod Lyons. He’s been spotted in Wisconsin. Allegedly,” she added, because there had been no less than a dozen false reports.
“You still think he’s behind some of the sightings?”
She nodded and produced a phone from her back pocket. “I do, and that’s why I’m here. Facial recognition puts this at a fifty-fifty match, but Lyons grew up around here. People know him.”
She held the screen up and I nodded. “The resemblance is close enough, but I wouldn’t stake a big op on it.”
“Exactly. Me either. But someone around here would see through the beard and the hair dye. They’ll notice a scar on his eyebrow or something else we won’t.”
My night was already shot so I figured I might as well put in some work on tracking down Jarrod. “Fine. Send me the photo and I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I don’t think so. No offense, but I need to hear and see these accounts. First hand.” Just to be sure, Witherspoon yanked the phone back, this time shoving it into the purse that hung from her shoulder. “We going?”
“Yeah. You have a car?”
“How else do you think I got to this place that’s ten thousand hours away from the nearest airport?”
I barked out a laugh at her frustrated question. “You sound like me when I first moved here.”
“Except you chose to move here. I’m only here to catch a perp.” She came to a stop beside a shiny blue SUV and pressed the key fob to open the doors. “Where to first?”
Early evening on a Saturday? There was just one place. “The Black Thumb.”
Witherspoon snorted a laugh. “What’s with this town and its flower obsession?”
“Seriously?”
She deftly navigated her way through town. “It’s kind of creepy.”
“Remember, you asked for this.” She frowned, but I wasn’t deterred as I launched into the story of Tulip Worthington. “As the locals tell it, she left home to avoid marrying some old rich dude, she stopped here in Tulip to regroup and figure out her next move. While here she fell in love with a farmer, using his knowledge of the land and her gardening expertise to create a flower empire.”
Her blue eyes went wide. “No shit?”
“True story. The town is doing a fundraiser calendar to help get her statue fixed, if you want to chip in.”
“Are you hitting on me when I just saw you with your tongue down another woman’s throat?” Her brows drew up in sharp arches, her expression angry.
“No, I’m being a good member of the community by hawking these calendars to everyone I know, which includes you.”
“Good answer.” She shifted into park and killed the engine in the Black Thumb parking lot. “How should we play this?”
“Ginger is well-liked, so just tell the truth. Ask if the photo looks familiar, if Jarrod has any identifying features. They’ll be more than happy to help. You and your love life.”
“What was that?” She frowned as she walked past me and entered the bar.
“Nothing. Let’s do this.” Inside, the music was loud, the conversation and laughter was even louder, and it looked like everyone had started drinking early.
“Lively bunch.”
“You have no idea. Don’t answer too many personal questions,” I told her and she shot me a look over her shoulder.
“I can handle myself, Detective.”
“Fine.” I pointed to a small cluster of people. “Over there.”
“Hey ladies, do you mind if we interrupt your fun for a minute?” The chatter stopped as four sets of eyes turned to me. And then landed on Agent Witherspoon.
“Who’s your friend?” Nina asked the question, and I wasn’t surprised at all.
“I’m Agent Witherspoon, but you can call me Andrea.” She shook each woman’s hand, disarming Nina, Mikki and Hope instantly. Ginger was more circumspect.
“What kind of agent, Agent?”
“U.S. Marshal’s. I’m sure some of you are familiar with Jarrod Lyons before his recent notoriety?”
“Yeah we know ’em. Know he’s always been no good, and now he’s the worst kind of crook to boot. Just look what he put poor Ginger through!” Hope folded her arms and shook her head, clearly disgusted. “What do you need?”
“Can any of you say whether or not Lyons has any identifying features?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” Mikki said and looked away.
Hope shook her head. “All I can say is he’s good looking in that sleazy sort of way.”
Agent Witherspoon said nothing, but her body language spoke volumes about her frustration. “He’s got some kind of skin discoloration,” Nina said with a shrug. “I don’t have an official diagnosis or anything, but he hit on me once and I told him I didn’t date dudes who wore makeup.”
Preston chose that moment to interrupt and wrap an arm around his wife. “You never told me that.”
Nina cocked a brow at him. “You want me to tell you about every man who hit on me before you came along?”
“No,” he growled and turned to us. “Where’s Reese?”
Nina smacked his stomach. “He’s here on official police business about Jarrod. Agent Witherspoon is a U.S. Marshal.”
“Now that everyone is all caught up,” Andrea’s frustration was clearly mounting. “Does this man look familiar.” She held her phone up and Bo took it first, examining it carefully, zooming in and in before zooming out and handing the phone to Preston.
“That’s him,” Bo said, her words sure and confident.
“How can you be sure?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Remember when he tried to get Molly Sanders’ attention and dressed up like a lumberjack?”
Preston laughed and Hope joined in. “That green beanie and red flannel. He looked like the guy from the paper towel ads.” Preston took a closer look at the photo. “She’s right, Agent. That’s him, that’s Jarrod.”
Ginger took the phone and carefully perused the photo. “Yes, that’s him alright. I spent some time interviewing him…and being held hostage. I’ll never forget his stupid face.” Andrea seemed a surprised at this bit of information.
“Great, thank you guys for the assist.” I flashed a smile that I hoped would soothe any ruffled feathers, but Ginger’s stare said it wouldn’t work.
“Detective Slater. Some news to share with the Gazette readers?” Her arched brows and the mischief that swam in her eyes put me on alert, not to mention the fact that she was friends with Reese, as much as Reese allowed herself to have friends.
“Just doing some good old fashioned police work Ginger. Got any tips for us?”
“I’m afraid you’re on your own today. I’m on cook-off duty.”
Witherspoon turned to me with a frown, a question in her expression. “That’s Ginger Scanlan. From the case file.”
“Right. Good call.” Her gaze bounced around the bar and I knew what the rest of my night would look like, chatting up the whole town while listening to stories of how they all knew that Lyons boy was up to no good.
Reese
I felt like an idiot. The worse kind of idiot, a delusional one who’d been blown away. Over a kiss. A kiss that was hot enough to singe my skin and dry out my throat, hot enough to make me shudder and shiver. Hot enough to make my body beg for more. But less than a minute after that, Jackson had walked away with a gorgeous woman who did crazy things to a pair of jeans.
And that had made me angry—not at Jackson, though. He was free to do what and who he pleased without any input from me, I knew that. Still, I felt that anger down to my bones, and that just pissed me off. In the end, after spending a night downing mid-range wine while I binge-watched horror movies, I realized that I was I mad at myself. Mad for allowing myself to forget, even for a second, how
this would go.
Again.
I woke up the next morning feeling better. Still angry at myself, but a lot better than last night when I was angry and hurt and ready to set the world on fire. Like a good small business owner, I decided to channel those emotions into my work. I came in early to make a few batches of Reese’s Famous Biscuits. They weren’t famous outside of Tulip, but every talked them up enough that tourists always bought some for the road.
Might as well help out my bank account if I couldn’t do anything about that empty spot in my bed. Not that I wanted to do anything about it. I didn’t. At least, I was pretty sure I didn’t.
The back door smacked open and even though the sound startled me, I wasn’t all that worried about an intruder. I was more worried about who it actually was. “What’s up, Ginger?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said in a sing-song voice that matched the mile-wide grin she wore. “What’s up with you?”
“Just making biscuits.” I didn’t bother looking up from kneading the dough, because I could hear the mischief in her voice and just how giddy she was to share whatever gossip was brewing since last night.
“I was at Black Thumb last night after the cook-off. Blowing off some steam and having a few drinks, you know?”
“That’s typically what bars are for,” I deadpanned and reached for the medium and the plus-sized biscuits cutters, doing my best to appear casual though something told me I might find this particular morsel of gossip a little interesting.
“Anyway, guess who else was there?” I didn’t guess, and Ginger groaned. “Fun killer. Jackson was there. With Andrea.”
That was her name. Of course, it was. She probably went by something sexy yet cutesy, like Andy, and wore backwards baseball caps with ease. “Good to know?”
“You’re really determined to suck all the fun out of me trying to get a rise out of you, aren’t you?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I followed that.”
“Whatever. She’s a U.S. Marshal, and she came down here to get Jackson to rope the locals into taking a look a photo that is almost certainly Jarrod.” Why she bothered to whisper when it was just the two of us, I didn’t bother to ask. “Software that costs millions of dollars to recognize faces and she had to fly all the way down here to get the town’s help.” She shook her head, hair spilling over her shoulders.
To Catch A Player (Second Chance) Page 6
