Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Now that Trace has passed, you don’t have to worry about anyone buying you out,” Melly said. “Right?”

  Her sister grew painfully quiet. “I don’t think so.” She reached for Melly’s hand. “Surely not.” She turned from the kitchen and walked away. “I don’t feel well, Melly, and I need to see Nathan. Please take me home.”

  Sylvie stood with me on the porch as we watched their SUV leave. “If that don’t beat all,” she said. “In such a hurry, Melly ran right over Sassy Philpott’s prized hydrangeas. Oh, I’ll be hearing about that come time for the morning water.”

  “If Rebecca’s reaction is to be believed, she knew nothing about Trace accepting the buyout,” I said.

  “Maybe she’s lying,” Sylvie said. “But what about Nathan?”

  And then a new thought occurred to me. “Or what if they’re in it together?”

  39

  I adjusted the rearview mirror for the tenth time as I drove home from Sexy Book Club, gratified to find no one tailing me or ready to grab me from the backseat, while lightning cracked as if on cue.

  When murder crept into your town, you began to live moments looking over your shoulder, futilely chasing sleep, and seeing frightful apparitions lurking in the shadows. It made me long for the simplicity of my pop band days, when a stressful night was a wardrobe malfunction and diffusing the diva antics of Jaz.

  The dark sky released its tether on the rain, and soon I could barely see to navigate the curvy streets. Mother Nature powered up the wind machine, and I narrowly dodged a rogue trashcan lid bouncing by like a tumbleweed. It was hard to concentrate on the water-covered roads while thoughts of Rebecca and Nathan spun in a cyclone in my head. What if Nathan had felt double-crossed by a franchise-seeking Trace? Or maybe Rebecca wanted to make sure Trace didn’t sell the faire—and that she got every bit of their assets. Nathan and Rebecca both had motive to kill, possibly more than we even knew. But that still didn’t eliminate Cam and Angela.

  My windshield wipers swiped angrily, and I released a relieved breath when my house finally came into view, the porch light aglow.

  Climbing out of the car, I left the trusty umbrella behind and made a run for it. My heels spiked the concrete, and just as I raised my key to the lock, Beau’s door opened and he stepped outside. I was definitely not in the mood, though his presence did give me a brief shot of safety and protection. Not that I needed it from him.

  “Hey.” I pushed a wet curl from my face, certain I resembled a sewer rat.

  “Hi.” Beau carried a flashlight big enough to illuminate Sugar Creek—or at least prove useful on a hunting trip. “Saw you pull in the driveway and thought I’d walk you over to your side. The power’s off in half the town.”

  “Oh.” My heart fluttered a bit at that. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m okay.” Shouldn’t he go check on Haley Jo, his future fiancée?

  “No arguing.” He took the keys from my hand and opened my door. “After you.”

  I slipped past him, and my wet arm brushed against his shirt. Our eyes met. Held. “You want to come in for a bit?”

  Beau hesitated, a pause so full of unspoken words, I wanted to reach out and pop it so the thoughts would all fall out, and we’d have to pick them up and speak each one. I wondered if any of his would match mine. And I feared the number of them that probably wouldn’t.

  “Is Matthew going to mind if we visit?” His voice was rough as the thunder in the distance.

  “Probably about as much as Haley Jo would.” I held open the screen door, trying not to let in moths and hope.

  Beau padded in behind me on bare feet, his jeans dragging the hardwood. He shined his spotlight, lighting up my house like the moon had followed us inside.

  He stopped in the middle of the living room and peered down at me, his height feeling like an extra distance tonight. “You’re dripping on the floor. Why don’t you take the flashlight and go change? I’ll make you some tea.”

  What was this? Was he going to break it to me about Haley Jo? “Do you know how to make tea?”

  Beau handed me the light. “I’ve seen you do it a few times. Pretty sure I can handle it.”

  It seemed intimate—his making my tea, as well as the fact that he’d paid enough attention to know his way around my kitchen. “Haley Jo stopped by to talk to me today.”

  He shrugged that away. “Go change, then we’ll talk. If you get pneumonia, I’m not feeding you broth and wiping your brow.”

  “More of that Hudson charm,” I said. “I’m nearly drunk on it.” But I plodded my way upstairs.

  Taking advantage of Beau’s show of kindness, I took a five-minute shower before slipping into yoga pants, a pink Electric Femmes t-shirt, and some socks on the wrong side of sexy. My hair still turbaned in the fluffy gray towel, I walked back downstairs, uncertainty lodged in my chest like a vitamin that couldn’t squeeze its way down.

  I entered the kitchen and set the spotlight on the granite counter. Shadows crisscrossed around us, casting wild images on the walls. Rain pebbled against the windows, and a chill in the air had me rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.

  With his phone poised on the counter for light, Beau stood next to my stainless steel gas stove as a small pan of water boiled. A tea bag string hung over the edge of the pan, and even though it wasn’t how I would’ve fixed it, it was undeniably enchanting—and I didn’t know what to do with it. Was he gearing up to share wedding details?

  “I used that fancy stuff in your pantry.” He leaned against the counter, his eyes traveling from the top of my head to my feet. “Nice shirt.”

  “Thank you. It’s one of the last ones I have.” The fabric was pillow-soft from years of wear.

  “And when they’re all gone?”

  I’d stick the scraps in the drawer and have a good cry. “It’ll be fine.”

  The flashlight illuminated the room enough that I could see the expression on his face. The one that said he wasn’t buying what I was trying to sell. “How’s the boyfriend?”

  “Can we just call a truce on our disagreements tonight?”

  Thunder rattled the walls around us. “Fair enough.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, grateful I wasn’t the only one who suffered lapses in tact. “He’s not my boyfriend, by the way.”

  “Does he know that?” His words echoed a question I’d asked him weeks ago—about Haley Jo.

  “He definitely does.” Pulling out an upholstered bar stool, I sat down. “Want to know what I learned today?”

  “Is it about Boy Wonder?”

  “No.”

  “Talk away.”

  If there was one thing Beau did exceptionally well, it was send mixed signals. “I found out Trace might’ve been planning to sell the Sugar Creek faire to a franchise operation.”

  Beau grabbed a potholder from a nearby drawer, reached overhead to select my favorite mug, then poured the tea inside, handing it over.

  My fingers tangled with his, and if he heard my intake of breath, he didn’t let on.

  “Did you hear me?” I blew on the cup. “Tonight I talked to Rebecca and—”

  “Enough.” He closed the drawer with a slam while the rain pelted the windows. “What do you think you’re doing, Paisley?”

  “Drinking tea?”

  “You’re still digging into Trace’s death.” The flashing lightning only made his face all the more angry. “You’re done, got it? Done. If I have to get Noah to order a full-time police escort for you, I will.”

  “I’m not letting an innocent person go to prison.”

  “Who says they are?”

  “The police have gotten nowhere with this.”

  His voice rose above the storm. “For the love of God, that car almost killed you.”

  “But it didn’t. I talked to Rebecca tonight, and she said—”

  “I don’t even want to know.” He wrenched open the refrigerator and searched the dark contents as if looking for something stronger than tea. He shut the fri
dge door and stalked toward me. “If Matt were any kind of boyfriend he wouldn’t let you out of his sight after that runaway car fiasco. He’d be keeping watch from your front porch every night and dogging your every move.”

  “That’s just creepy. And he’s not my boyfriend.” I didn’t bother telling Beau I was no longer seeing Matt. It was hard to think when Beau stood this close, his body looming over mine. “Sarge from the pawn shop actually left his property and came to see us at Sylvie’s Monday night. Told us about this franchise situation. Do you think Rebecca knew? I mean, she said she didn’t, but how could she not? And what about Nathan? They were partners. What if he killed Trace to stop him from selling?”

  “You trust Sarge McShane for facts? It sounds like he’s feeding you one of his conspiracy theories.”

  “A man from Heartland Amusements visited his shop. It’s not like Sarge said the guy had a tail and left in a space ship.” Which basically authenticated it. “Rebecca said this Goldberg even offered Trace a job.” I had a lot to catch him up on. “Rebecca contacted a realtor about a major house purchase the morning of Trace’s death. What if she killed him? What if she knew she would soon get all their joined assets and would be able to buy this fancy house? Or—”

  “Or what if this is none of your business anymore?”

  “You’re my business, Beau Hudson.”

  He glanced down, and I realized I held his hand clutched in mine.

  I released my grip and the breath I was struggling to keep steady. “Nathan might’ve had time to kill Trace while Rebecca was in the bathroom. Or maybe Rebecca slipped out while Nate was waiting for her. It was dark. It could happen.”

  “That’s pushing it,” he said.

  “Nobody’s alibi is solid.”

  “I don’t have an alibi at all,” Beau said quietly. “No one who can verify my whereabouts.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  He gripped the back of my stool and heat radiated from his body as he angled toward me. “I’ve noticed I’ve never been on your suspect list.”

  My ability for forming complete sentences was rapidly diminishing. There was something about a storm raging outside and the two of us huddled closely in the safety of a darkened room that created an intimate cocoon, a small space knit around the two of us that made me want to detach from all logic and reason.

  “Paisley?” His voice slid along my skin.

  “I never considered you anything but innocent.”

  “Not even for a second?”

  “Never.”

  Something shifted in Beau, an energy that lightened. Expanded.

  I whispered the wonder. “Did you need to hear those words?”

  “I guess I did.” He reached out and slowly loosened the towel from my head, letting it fall to the floor. With a light touch, Beau ran his fingers through the long strands, a slow caress to my senses. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  My scalp tingled. My skin warmed. “I figured I owed you one.”

  With his other hand, Beau held my face, using his thumb to trace the outline of my bottom lip. “I was thinking about kissing you, Paisley Sutton.”

  “Because I believe in your innocence?”

  “No.” Beau stood and closed the scant distance, drawing me to him. “Because I want to feel your lips against mine.”

  He wasted no time doing just that.

  I was suddenly back at the summer gala where we’d first kissed—an unexpected, potent starburst that had caught us both by surprise. It had lit something that forever hovered between us, a fierce gravitational force that pulled us together—no matter how hard we both resisted. This kiss felt like a continuation of that moment—with more fire, more heat. And even more uncertainty.

  His mouth feathered a trail from my lips to my cheek, meandering to my neck and back again. His lips recaptured mine, and I tasted every bit of the pent-up desire that so closely matched my own. My hand rested over a heart that beat true and wild, and I ached with a rush of unspoken words when Beau changed the angle of the kiss and let his hands wander.

  Breath, heat, longing.

  My fingers brushed against his scratchy cheek, laced into his soft hair, and I pressed closer, wanting the world to disappear until it was just him. Just me.

  Beau lifted his head, his gaze a fire on mine. His finger etched a map to my jaw, my neck, and across my collarbone. His voice was a reverent hush. “You are so beautiful.”

  The elements raged outside, but all I knew was safety. All I knew was this force of a man. This wasn’t love, but oh, how it danced around the edges, daring us to let go, follow, and see if that’s where it led.

  I leaned up on tiptoes, pulling his face to mine.

  Just as the lights flickered and surged.

  And the room glowed bright as morning.

  I blinked rapidly against the intrusion of harsh lights—against the return of real life. Beau kept me in his embrace, but that thin space between us went cold.

  He rested his forehead to mine, then pressed a light kiss to my skin. “You’re dating that cop.” He eased back a step, retreating in every way. “We can’t do this.”

  My breath came out in rapid bursts, and I clenched my fingers into fists. “Don’t you dare put this on me, Beau Hudson.” There. I said it. “I can’t do this anymore —this push and pull from you.”

  “From me?”

  “Yes. You kiss me like you mean it—”

  “I meant every bit of that.”

  “Then why are you marrying Haley Jo?”

  “What?”

  “She stopped by my office. Told me you two had talked marriage. Have you?” Beau’s pause was like a fist to my belly. “Go home.” I pointed toward the door. “Just get out and—”

  “I would never marry her.”

  “But you’ve talked about it?”

  “I’ve told you she and I are not in a relationship. You can believe me when I say I didn’t kill someone, but with this, I’m lying?”

  “Why is she at Fox Falls? Why are you being secretive about what she is to you?”

  “I’ve been straight with you.”

  Straight as a roller coaster track. “Not once have you told me what exactly your arrangement is.”

  Beau took another step away. The shadows couldn’t hide the anger in his eyes.

  “See—right there,” I said. “You’re shutting down. This is where I should hear some honesty, but instead you blow it off, and then you have the nerve to act as if that should suffice, as if I’m the person in the wrong.”

  “What if I asked you to trust me?” He barely gave me time to respond. “But you can’t, can you?”

  The nerve of this man. “She told me to stay away from you. That you two were planning a future and her father had talked to you about investments.”

  “I am not going into business with her dad.” Beau’s eyes narrowed and he simply shook his head. “You’re the one in a relationship.”

  “Like you care!”

  His hands bracketed my shoulders. “I do care. And that’s the part you can’t seem to get in your head.”

  “You can’t have us both.”

  “I don’t want Haley Jo. I haven’t made one romantic move toward her since you rolled into town and totally jacked up my life.”

  “I jacked up your life?” This roller coaster had just derailed, headed for the edge of a cliff.

  “I had a good thing going here till you came back home.” His volume raised over the driving rain. “I went to work, I minded my own business, and I lived in this house without worrying about who was on the other side of those thin walls. I used to lead fishing trips and have nothing on my mind but trout and hiking trails. And now? Now it takes me three tries to cast my line because I’m thinking of a red-headed woman who’s dating a man who doesn’t deserve her and worried she’s stumbled on another dead body. Or that she’ll be the next dead body.”

  My head told my heart to ignore those dangerous words. “Matt and I are no long
er—”

  “Do you have any idea how many nights I lie awake, haunted by visions of you going off like a lone wolf after this killer and getting hurt?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of handling—”

  “I listen for the click of your doors locking before you go to bed, the sound of your shower running so I know you’re calling it a day. If I hear a strange noise from your house in the middle of the night, I’m afraid you’ve gotten some hot tip and you’re headed out to make a citizen’s arrest with nothing more than pepper spray and a hunch.”

  I wanted to believe he could care that much about me. That Beau was the staying kind. “I don’t even own pepper spray.”

  Beau cursed, a punch of words that fired like musket shots. “Do you hear what I’m saying? You’ve turned me into this eavesdropping, paranoid weirdo who’s consumed by the idea of keeping you safe. Who relives the sight of a blue car coming at you full speed—and I could do nothing to stop it.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me, Beau.”

  “You were almost killed, Paisley. Do you even get that?”

  “I was there.”

  “I’m quite serious about your shutting down any more attempts at solving Trace’s murder. It’s over. You’re done.”

  “And you’re serious about refusing to answer my question about what’s between you and Haley Jo.”

  “There’s nothing there.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “An old friendship. And her stay at the cabin is almost up. I’m sorry if she implied otherwise. This is territory we’ve already covered.”

  I shook my head, wondering how Beau could hold my heart one minute—then throw it back at me the next. “Then tell me why she’s at Fox Falls.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and I hoped there was a giant ache there that would bother him all night. “To work on her dissertation. She needs a quiet place.”

  “Has she ever heard of a library?”

  “Paisley—”

  “Why won’t you give me an honest answer?”

  “Because I can’t.”

  I wondered if Beau could hear my pulse thudding, my ragged breaths. “Then I think I understand.” He wasn’t going to pick me. Of course he wasn’t. I’d been such a fool to even entertain the idea. “Good night, Beau.” I walked out of the kitchen, the floor cold against my bare feet.