by Lori Wilde
“What’s she doing back in town?” Flynn mused. “I thought she was engaged to some East Coast real estate big shot.”
“Oh, you know how Mr. Ivey likes to exaggerate how good his kids are doing. But she does look really great. Jesse seems to think so too.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.” Flynn felt the stinging slap of jealousy. Jesse was moving on without her.
“Don’t mention it,” Carrie said.
“Anybody?” Moe asked. “You guys just gonna let Beau walk away with the girl?”
A lot of people were peering over at Jesse, but he never glanced over at the gazebo. Flynn’s face heated.
“No? Okay.” Moe smacked his gavel. “Flynn MacGregor’s basket sold to the sheriff for a hundred bucks.”
Beau stepped over to pay the fee at a nearby card table set up with a bookkeeper to accept donations.
Vanna aka Britney picked up a motorcycle helmet. She held it over her head and pranced around the gazebo with it.
“Now this is our first basket from a man,” Moe said. “Except you can all see it’s not a basket, but a motorcycle helmet. Hang on a minute, while I see what’s inside.”
“What’s this?” Flynn muttered, getting a very bad feeling about the helmet posing as a basket. “Who said men could enter?”
“Who said they couldn’t?” Carrie cocked her head. “Don’t be sexist.”
Britney obediently trotted the helmet over to Moe. He reached in, pulled out an envelope, opened it, and read the contents out loud. “Ladies, are you ready to take a walk on the wild side? This basket contains a catered meal from Pasta Pappa’s followed by a motorcycle ride on Jesse Calloway’s Harley.”
The women in the crowd went nuts, bidding so madly that Moe could barely keep up. “Twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five. Do I see forty, forty yes, forty-five, fifty.”
Flynn stood up, raised a hand.
“Fifty-five…wait a minute Flynn, you can’t bid on Jesse’s basket. You’re having lunch with Beau.”
“I’m not bidding on Jesse’s basket. It’s not even a basket, for crying out loud.” She gestured at the helmet in Britney’s arms. “I just wanted to say something.”
“In the middle of the auction?”
“It’s important. His basket should be disqualified.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a catered dinner. The basket is supposed to contain the dinner. The idea is to make the dinner yourself.”
“Just like you fried the chicken in your basket?” Moe asked.
“Sit down and shut up, MacGregor,” a woman called out. “You’re just jealous.”
“She’s a man hog is what she is,” muttered someone else. “She wants her Beau and Jesse too.”
Flynn’s cheeks flushed. Carrie grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the lawn.
Moe turned his attention back to the crowd. “Fifty-five, sixty. I see sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five…”
“One hundred and fifty dollars,” Missy Ivey hollered.
That put a damper on the feeding frenzy.
“Anybody want to fight it out with Missy?” Moe asked. “No? Okay. Missy, you just scratched and clawed your way to lunch and a motorcycle ride. Next!”
Determined not to look in Jesse’s direction again—if he wanted to have lunch with Missy Ivey, so be it—Flynn lifted her chin and smiled at Beau as he came up with her basket draped over his arm.
“Hey,” he said, suddenly looking as bashful as a schoolboy on the playground.
“Hey.”
He reached down to take her hand. What was she going to do? Not take it? He’d paid a hundred bucks for a chicken dinner that would have cost him ten-fifty if he’d gone straight to Froggy’s for lunch.
Don’t look over at Jesse to see if he’s watching you take Beau’s hand. Don’t do it, don’t do it.
She looked.
Jesse was staring at her.
Zap!
An electrical current that would have jolted the socks off a kite-flying, thunderstorm-loving Benjamin Franklin zipped through her. Holy shit. This attraction should be powering down, not up. It didn’t appease her to see that, for a split second, Jesse looked as unnerved as she.
Missy Ivey was hanging all over Jesse. She had his helmet strapped to her head as a waiter from Pasta Pappa’s fluffed out a red linen tablecloth over a picnic table with a flourish and a bow.
Jesse cocked an arrogant grin, raised a suggestive eyebrow.
Showoff.
Quickly, before Beau caught her ogling, Flynn jerked her gaze away. Oh, this was so fifth grade.
Beau’s hand was at her elbow in that possessive way of his. Why was he always taking hold of her? Did he think she was too feeble to make her own way across the lawn to the picnic tables? She would have yanked it away except they were passing close by Jesse’s table, now laden with a platter of chicken Marsala, a tray of lasagna, bruschetta, and a Greek salad.
Flynn’s nose twitched at the delicious aromas.
“How’s this?” Beau asked, picking the table closest to the water so they could watch the ducks and the tourists in paddleboats.
“Great, fine.” She could feel heat on the back of her neck. Was it the noonday sun pouring through the branches of the old pecan tree or was it Jesse staring at her?
She untied the ribbon from the basket, opened it up, took out the red and white gingham tablecloth. Behind her, Missy Ivey giggled. Flynn’s stomach clenched.
Beau helped her set up the picnic spread and then sat down with his back to Jesse and Missy. He patted the seat beside him, but Flynn went around the table, pretending not to notice as she smoothed down the edge of the tablecloth and sat across from him. From this vantage point, she could see Jesse and Jesse could see her.
“You look pretty today.” Beau doffed his Stetson and settled it on the table away from the food.
Stupidly, she’d worn a pink blouse, thinking, hoping…what the hell had she been hoping? That Jesse would bid on her basket? He’d made it clear things were over between them. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
Beau reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I miss you, Flynnie.”
“You see me in town almost every day, Beau.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I know what you’re talking about.” She eased her hand from his and started doling out the food on paper plates.
“I’d like you to give us another chance.”
“Beau,” she said softly.
“Are you still seeing him?” He said the last word harshly.
“If I was seeing him, I’d be sitting with him.”
“You’re sitting with me and you’re not seeing me.”
Touché. “We’re not seeing each other.”
Hope sparked in his eyes. “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”
“Beau…” She poked at her potato salad with a red plastic fork. “I think maybe it’s time for me to be without a man in my life. I’ve depended on you too long, and let’s be honest, neither one of us has ever had a long-term relationship with anyone else.”
“I don’t want a relationship with anyone but you.”
“How do you know? If you’ve never experienced it.”
“I know,” he said, hardening his chin.
She sighed. “We can’t be together out of habit or fear of the unknown. That’s not good.”
“That’s not why I want to be with you.”
She raised her palms. “I need breathing room.”
“I can give you that.”
“Buying my picnic basket in a preemptive strike does not qualify as giving me breathing room.”
“Flynnie, I’m just afraid if I give you too much breathing room you’ll decide to fly away.”
“You can’t just force me to feel the way you want me to feel,” she said.
“I’m handling this badly.” Beau took a breath so deep his chest shuddered with the effort.
Empathy
pumped through her until she peered over his shoulder and saw Jesse watching her.
Instantly goose bumps dotted her forearms, and she stopped listening to a word Beau was saying. Her hands quivered and she clasped them in her lap to keep Beau from noticing. Jesse sat eight feet away, but she could feel the caress of his gaze as surely as if he was sitting beside her. Her breath came in short little gasps as if her lungs couldn’t properly inflate.
Jesse brought a piece of bruschetta up and then slowly wrapped his mouth around it, all the while staring her down.
Thrown off balance, Flynn dropped her gaze and reached for a piece of chicken, nibbled on a thigh. But try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself from peering over at Jesse again.
He looked like the baddest of bad boys. That insouciant slouch. That slow, mischievous grin. That insolent cock to his brow. The expression in his highwayman eyes that said, Come on, I know you want me to do wicked things to you. He was the sexy amalgamation of every rogue who’d ever graced the silver screen—James Dean, Marlon Brando, George Clooney, Russell Crowe, Colin Farrell.
His gaze slammed into hers, and she felt the impact hit the very center of her body. Click, snap, lock. He claimed her, chained her with his eyes.
“Flynn.” Beau breathed.
“Hmm?” She wrenched her gaze from Jesse’s.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, yes, sure.” She forced herself to focus on Beau.
“I’m not giving up on us. We’ve been through rough patches before. I know you have this fascination with Calloway. I get the whole bad-boy thing. I don’t like it, but I get it. Except you’re not a teenager anymore. You have responsibilities.”
“Excuse me,” Flynn snapped, “when have I not lived up to my responsibilities? I put my own life on hold because of my responsibilities. When do I get my own life, Beau?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice rippled over the ridges of his mistake. “You’re right. It’s just that I don’t want you to mistake falling in lust for the real thing. You can’t let your libido rule your head. I’m willing to forgive you for dating him and…” Beau cleared his throat, hurt simmering in his eyes. “Um…and anything else you did with him. We were on a break after all, but—”
“This will probably come as a total shock to you, Beau, but I don’t want or need your forgiveness.”
Simultaneously he clenched his jaw, clenched his fist. “He’s toying with you, Flynn. Listen to him over there laughing with Missy Ivey. You’re nothing more than a game, a notch on his belt. I’ll give you time, I’ll give you space, but I won’t lose you. Especially not to some low-life scumbag like Jesse Calloway.”
“This isn’t about me at all, is it, Beau? This is about the competition you’ve had with Jesse since high school when Coach Tinsley made him first-string quarterback and demoted you. You always have to be Twilight’s top dog and Jesse threatens that. Because of your family’s money and status, he’s the only one who’s ever threatened your place in the world, and you can’t stand it because Jesse doesn’t even care about being top dog. He usurped your position without even trying.”
Beau’s mouth flopped open, but then he slammed it closed. She’d pegged him and he knew it.
Flynn threw down the half-eaten chicken thigh, wadded a paper napkin in her palm, and got to her feet. “That’s why you want me. So Jesse can’t have me. I’m not a possession to be wrangled over.”
He clamped a hand on her shoulder to stop her from walking away. “I’m trying to keep you from making a huge mistake.”
“No, you’re trying to cling on to a relationship that wasn’t working. If you really love me as you say, Beau, you’ll let me go.”
Angst etched his familiar face. She’d kissed this man. Made love to him. He was the only one she’d ever gone all the way with, and yet all she felt was an empty sadness. She might never be with Jesse, but she could no longer pretend she could settle for Beau. They both deserved better.
“Flynnie, I…”
“Beau,” she said, “please take your hand off me now.”
“I’m not shutting the door on us.” His stubborn chin hardened. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”
They had been through a lot together. Supported and comforted each other during family sorrows and times of trouble. She felt compassion for Beau and she had respected him, but he was chipping away at all those good feelings. It was like finding hard, bitter slivers of pecan shell baked into your Thanksgiving pie.
“No?”
He wagged his head. “No.”
“Not even if I am?”
“You don’t mean that, you’re just hung up on Calloway. But that’s okay, because I’m going to prove to you what kind of man he really is.”
Something about the way he said it, the look in his eyes, raised the hairs on her arms. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, no matter what I have to do to protect you.” Then with that, Beau picked up his Stetson, settled it on his head, and walked away.
Leaving Flynn feeling as if she’d just been threatened.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Flynn, in the words of Neil Young, you are like a hurricane.
—Jesse Calloway, handwritten note passed in government class, 1999
The remainder of the summer passed in a miserable swelter of dry August heat. The tabby took up permanent residence in the Yarn Barn. Flynn’s life had always been too busy for a pet, and until Miss Tabitha she hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing. She loved watching the little cat bat balls of yarn about the shop, and the customers spoiled her outrageously, slipping her treats or bringing her squeaky mouse toys. When the Sweethearts assembled in their knitting circle, Tabitha would curl up in Flynn’s lap to have her ears scratched, giving Flynn the perfect excuse to drop her needlework. The cat was a lot of company. Who needed a man when she had Tabitha?
She managed to stay busy and, for the most part, to avoid both Beau and Jesse. Because of the side entrance she could sometimes go a whole day or two without ever seeing Jesse, but if she listened closely enough, she could always hear him moving around or talking to customers in the shop below.
And as for Beau, he would tip his Stetson if he saw her in the street, but otherwise he kept his distance. For that, she was eternally grateful.
Unfortunately, Beau’s mother wasn’t so forgiving. She not only snubbed Flynn, but influenced her friends to snub Flynn as well. It bothered Flynn more than she wanted to admit. She was a people person, after all, but she couldn’t live her life to please Kathryn Trainer. If the woman’s friends wanted to be snippy, let ’em snip.
Her father attacked his renewed sobriety with dedicated vigor and insisted on taking over full management of Froggy’s. Carrie got her cast off and she was back to knitting Flynn’s projects. With extra time on her hands, Flynn spearheaded more projects to raise the rest of the money needed to rebuild the Twilight Bridge. The town council was in the process of taking bids from contractors. With any luck, they’d have a new bridge in time for the annual Twilight Christmas festival.
On the last Saturday in August, a group of home economics high school students threw a back-to-school knitting party at the Yarn Barn. They were having such fun gossiping about boys, knitting scarves, and playing with Tabitha, Flynn didn’t have the heart to throw them out at nine when the shop normally closed. It was after ten when the last girl had gone home and Flynn finished straightening up for the night.
The air smelled of rain. Harsh wind whipped through the oak trees lining the square. She hunched her shoulders, locked up, and wished she had on long sleeves. Then she remembered the pink leather Harley jacket Jesse had given her, hanging in the supply closet waiting for cooler weather. She went back inside and slipped into it. The leather was soft against her skin. She hurried back outside, turned a nervous eye toward the sky, and headed down the side entrance ramp to her pickup.
She climbed into her Ford Ranger, started
the engine, turned on the radio, and punched buttons looking for a local weather report. The announcer’s voice spilled into the cab of her pickup, predicting heavy rains, high winds, and possible hail for all of North Central Texas.
Flynn sucked in her breath. She hated storms. Living on the river necessitated the worry of flooding. Plus Carrie and her father were gone for the weekend to pick up her twin brothers from basketball camp in Iowa. She’d be all alone in the house during a thunderstorm. Not an appealing prospect.
Just get home, go to bed, sleep through it.
The streets lay empty. Everyone else had already shut down, locked up tight. She drove past the park, headed for Highway 51, which would lead her home.
Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Flynn squealed. She wasn’t a wimp, but storms unnerved her. Fat raindrops spattered the windshield. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, arms taut as guy wires. Seconds later, she was caught in a deluge.
Water pounded the hood with angry fists. Her windshield wipers swiped uselessly at the onslaught. The wind shoved against the Ranger. Her pulse quickened, her breathing grew shallow.
Without warning, the truck slowed, sputtered, lurched.
Flynn pushed down harder on the accelerator. But nothing happened. She stomped the foot pedal all the way to the floorboard. The truck coasted down a small incline.
Crap, crap, no!
Wrenching the steering wheel to the left, she pulled over onto the side of the road just as the pickup belched and stopped cold.
Okay, don’t panic. She took a deep breath, twisted the key in the ignition. The truck coughed once, and then fell silent. No amount of additional coaxing could bring the damn thing back to life.
The sky opened up like a chute, funneling an avalanche of water. Flynn could see nothing beyond the windshield except rainy darkness. Dejected, she pulled her cell phone from her purse, held it in her hand, stared at it. Whom could she call?
Instinctively her fingers started to punch in Beau’s number, but she stopped herself before hitting send. No, she didn’t want to get into that. She pushed the end button. Then she thought of Jesse, but realized she couldn’t remember his phone number, and she felt odd about calling him anyway.
