Keeping Up Appearances (A Gass County Novel Book 4)

by Isabell Lawless

  “It was just bad timing that she called,” Valerie attempted to smooth over the white elephant in the room, although the ringing from phone made it difficult to hide. Bryce didn’t say a sound as the phone, once again, started ringing. Instead he opened up the first aid kit he’d found under the bathroom sink and opened up Valerie’s injured hand.

  “Better,” she said looking from her hand to his face. He wasn’t looking anywhere else but at her hand and the tub of antiseptic he held in his grip. Her palm was filled with the cold gel, which she’d so often used on animals under her care, but yet on herself. It was fascinating, watching Bryce, a paramedic in his field, doing what he did best. Patching up people, not animals. He covered the area with a large adhesive bandage, closed the first aid kit, and as he was about to finish putting things away the sound of the phone went yet to another message. It so wasn’t her day today.

  “Hi, so Val, I’m still here in town and was wondering if you’d like to meet up for dinner? Even drive somewhere, you know, fancier should you want? I do remember you enjoying to dress up, am I saying that right? This is Ford, should that not have been clear. Anyway, I’m single, you’re single, let’s have some fun, ok? Call me.”

  Bryce stood tall and broody by the sink, bag of scraps from the patching her up in his hand. Staring at the counter he looked like he could break in it half.

  “We’re not seeing each other, Bryce!” Valerie answered in response to the message on the machine. “Ford and I are not a thing, a couple, anything.”

  He stayed silent and pushed the bag of scraps under the sink and turned to walk out the bathroom door when she slid down from the counter and grabbed him by the arm before he made it out to the hallway.

  “My confession to you was simply a shout into the void.”

  He pulled his arm free and left the house. She stood frozen watching the front door that had closed. Not with a bang, but quietly, which was even worse. He’d done all he could, he’d showed her what he wanted, and she’d let him leave in defeat.

  ~ Chapter Nineteen ~

  Sunrise in Primrose, on a cold, early winter morning made sunrise shoot a streak of gold across the rolling hills until it bathed the treetops in its glory. It had been a couple of years since he’d been up this early, remembering his father’s beat-up truck bed as the venue for such history. Not arriving home until this time of the morning. Yet here he was, desperate for something to do on a day off.

  It all happened in a matter of seconds yet every one of those seconds felt like a year. Bryce had been cruising along on his way to Rick’s bar and been cut off by something shiny, expensive, and misplaced vehicle in this part of the country. If you didn’t have a truck, or a four-drive you wouldn’t survive the winter. This, in front of him, was neither. God luck, ass-hat, Bryce mumbled and instead of closing in on the driver, who had no problem taking turns like his life depended on it, he backed off and rolled into the parking lot of the Rick’s bar.

  “Fuck me twice,” Bryce said, eyeing the person stepping out of the little sporty thing a few feet away in the same lot. The man looked too tall to ever have been inside the car, too polished and well-dressed for the area he was now in. A wave could be seen from inside the bar: Wayne’s hand waiving then picking up his phone pointing at Bryce from inside.

  Bryce’s phone did the obvious, buzzed and rang in his pocket. He dug up the cell and held eye-contact with Wayne through the window.

  “Yes,” he muttered. “I know who this is.”

  “Cut the crap, Bryce. Do you see who just stepped out of that car?” Wayne yelled into the phone and with his large hand pointed to the tall man pushing sunglasses made of what seemed like gold on top of his head and who aimed his stance for the door to the bar.

  “Who doesn’t?” Bryce sighed into the phone and hung up on his friend. There was nothing else to do than to enter the same door the visitor had just passed through and approach the gossip he knew was waiting inside.

  He pushed the door open and inside at the bar, chatting with the public sat . . . ah, shit. Ford Landers. He was dressed a class above the rest, that was for sure. But he looked pretty damn good doing so. Fuck him.

  “And here is—,” Brody swallowed his soda and the rest of the sentence when Bryce tried to make him evaporate in a fierce fire by staring at him. Brody got the cue and put his hat back on his head, and on his way out of the bar to his police cruiser parked outside Bryce watched Valerie’s too good-looking ex stop Brody short before he left his seat.

  “Excuse me officer—“

  “Chief of Police,” Brody corrected him and took the man’s hand off of his shoulder.

  “Any chance of a little snowplowing around here?” Ford laughed lightly at Brody’s hand shove. “My car is taking a serious hit in these conditions.”

  Brody looked outside at the beginning of a dusty snowfall then looked over at the yellow Lamborghini taking up one parking spot too many. He turned and straightened the shirt sleeve Ford once again nudged at the mention of his car and grunted low.

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “Ford Landers is Viagra for women.”

  Bryce grunted and bit off the conversation Wayne started.

  “Yeah, I know. Thanks!”

  “Tall, good-looking with his wavy hair pushed back easily by his hand, designer clothes, and enormous wealth.”

  Rick stopped the polishing of the glass in his hand behind the bar and stared across the bar counter at Wayne. “Sounds like he’s nothing but Viagra to you too, man.”

  Bryce nodded in agreement and swallowed the last of his weak beer. Can’t drink too hard and think Brody would give you a free ticket. No sireee. If he could ticket his own mother he would. Should she be alive, bless her soul. He placed a $10 bill on the counter and waved his hand a Rick when he tried to hold him up for his change.

  He didn’t have time for this, or Ford Landers. Couldn’t the dude just get with Valerie’s rejection and leave the place already. Earth, that is.

  He hopped into his truck, which was neither new nor polished. In fact, he’d purchased it after a year of saving odds and ends of his paycheck and currently its bottom was covered in dirt and possibly some manure having visited Jefferson’s farm not too many days ago. It bothered him that he was bothered by the thought that he compared himself to someone else.

  Someone else named, “Fuck-face Landers,” he mumbled and didn’t pay enough attention and rolled through one of the three stop signs on the slow Main Street of town. His foot hit the brake too late and in the corner of his eyes he noticed something black and white parked, window rolled down.

  “Fuck Brody, I didn’t even see it. Honestly.”

  Brody’s face didn’t move a single muscle. If it wasn’t for the fact that his face held some human color one could have taken him for a statue.

  “I’ll let you go this time only, just because Ford Landers in an ass-fucker,” Brody replied and held up a recently written parking ticket in Lander’s name. “Blocked the entrance to the bakery.”

  “Thanks for the favor.”

  “It will never happen again, remember that.” Brody put a gum in his mouth and started up his cruiser, which meant the conversation was over. Bryce got the message loud and clear and continued rolling down the street heading to the store before he could face the possibility of Lander’s damn car being parked across the street at Valerie’s place when he got home.

  He wandered the aisle in the grocery store hoping as few people as possible were out and about at this time of the morning. It seemed empty and he treasured it. A quiet saunter down the aisle, in peace. Thinking.

  He’d spent years working, rescuing others. Where was his rescuing now? He’d spent too many years with other women, too long time doing things for instant gratification. At the time, he’d enjoyed it, very much. I’m ready for whatever, his mind whispered and he hoped he could handle whatever that was. He’d done nothing but cooling his heels since he’d come back from Brazil, had tried hard to
forget what had happened, but treasured it just as much.

  He’d come back to his job, then found out about the new arrival in town, and for Valerie he hadn’t been ready. He’d been shocked and now the ripples of his feelings abroad had extended to large rings on the water and were hard to stop.

  Where the hell is your happy? his mind asked. He knew the answer to that and he hoped to God Ford Landers were not claiming any ground there.

  “God damn it!” Bryce cursed as his truck rounded the curve on the street before his house came into view on the right.

  The very same sports car he’d followed on the road earlier. “I will never love motorsport again,” he muttered as he watched Ford Lander’s car parked in Valerie’s driveway. The only glimmer of hope was that hers wasn’t there and looking through his rearview mirror as he parked he watched Landers knock on her front door in vain.

  Bryce exited his car and slammed the door shut to get Landers attention across the street. Why, he wasn’t really sure? Was he going to say something? He just wasn’t sure what that something would be. Landers got the message and returned to his car, but before he got in he pushed a tanned hand through his golden locks of hair, placed his sunglasses on his nose, and with two fingers pointed from his eyes across the road to Bryce.

  Bryce shook his head in response, hiding behind his glasses as well. “Fucking tanned jackass,” he muttered and strode inside his house with his bags of groceries and dialed the first number on his contact list of favorites.

  “Chief of Police, Brody Jensen. How can I help?”

  “If I file a complaint of disturbance or attempted trespassing, can I get Landers behind bars?”

  “Bryce, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything to get rid of him.”

  “I may be your longest running friend but for fuck sake you don’t tell the Chief of Police you want to get rid of someone,” Brody whispered in his ear.

  “Look, I’m not going to kill him or anything,” he began and walked the length of his kitchen as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Just scare him or ruffle him up a little.”

  “Shut up, Bryce, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Get it together. Jealousy doesn’t fit you.”

  “But you stalking Sunshine when she was single, driving extensive and highly unnecessary routes outside the city limits are normal things for an officer?” Bryce had him there and Brody was silent.

  “Bryce, I have nothing on this Landers guy. I can’t just arrest him if he hasn’t done anything. You know that.”

  “Fine,” Bryce bit out and hung up. “So, much for a friend in the arms of the law.”

  His phone beeped and a text came in. “I’m on a break, over in five.”

  Bryce snickered and felt a happy feeling spread through his body killing of any jealousy he’d felt bubbling up to explode inside him.

  “Chief of police worried I’d break the law on his watch.”

  He pulled two beers out of the fridge and unlocked the door the moment he heard Brody’s police cruiser pull into the driveway. He held the door open and handed Brody a beer as soon as he came inside.

  “Quick over here, officer. Worried?”

  Brody sighed and slumped down on the couch in the living room.

  “Checking you’re not going mental. Also, I snuck out of the house,” he said low. “Sunshine’s engrossed in an Outlander marathon on Netflix and a large tub of popcorn. It’ll be a while before she surfaces and realizes I’m not in our bedroom. Left a note. Promised to lick off her buttered fingers when I’m back.”

  Bryce snorted a laugh. “Look at you, going all soft. You used to kill-by-sight should anyone ever mention anything like that.”

  “Meeting the right person makes you better. Makes it . . . it doesn’t matter what people think of you, you still have someone who wants you to come home and who greets you with a hug. Snug, warm.”

  “All right, enough. This new Brody,” Bryce gestured with his hands, “I’m not yet quite familiar with.”

  ~ Chapter Twenty ~

  The county fire department played weekly baseball games against the police departments and paramedics, and Valerie knew they’d been playing last night. Between reading text messages from her mother about having Ford over for dinner to reconnect, because the guy was truly the best thing that had ever happened to anyone and gave a good reputation, Valerie had overheard Melissa at the front desk talking to two other women who’d come in with their animals for annual check-ups and dental hygiene about the game and their opponents.

  Maybe Bryce had played too hard. Using all that muscle mass had to make some kind of dent to your energy levels. Maybe he’d had a hot date after? Given how women seemed to throw themselves at him just to get face time it was highly possible. It had questioned her how this man could still be single, and why on earth he was interested in her. Why, when women and girls too young to ever capture him as a partner would push each other out of the way to get to him all looked like taken straight out of Swimsuit Illustrated? Yet, he’d told her, showed her, he was interested in her. Strange indeed.

  Her thighs fit into pants somewhere between a size 10 or 12, on a good week. One guy had once named her thighs volcanoes and craters. She’d tried to stay off baked goods for a month after that comment. It stung. It hurt. Bad. The sweet treat ban had only lasted 8 excruciating days until she decided baked treats were better than men. She outweighed most women who threw themselves at Bryce and she’d like to keep those craters hidden as much as possible. She’d only slipped once, been brazen. Brazil. It was something about the heat and the way everyone’s skin seemed to gleam in the moist air.

  She hadn’t been able to keep her hands, or mouth, off of Bryce and it seemed like he had had the same experience.

  There was something undeniable between them, something more than what had happened between them bed-wise.

  She sighed at the memory and answered another message from her mother. Agreeing to meet up for dinner, just once, to get her off her back. Not that she would ever tell her mother that, even if she sometimes wished she could.

  It was time to finish of the last round of papers waiting for her in the inbox at the top of her desk. Insurance policy update . . . it couldn’t get any worse. Cleaning up animal feces inside the clinic was a close tie.

  Melissa was standing behind the counter as Valerie closed the office door behind her. Only the lights down the hallway to her office and the restroom were lit up, the rest of the clinic laid in peaceful silence.

  “Animals are tended to,” Melissa said and brushed her strawberry blonde hair into a high bun on top of her head. “I’m heading out to the pub after this to celebrate the police department’s victory in tonight’s game. You coming?”

  Melissa’s bag hung on her shoulder and with the help of her pocket mirror she applied a thick layer of pink gloss to her lips.

  “There might be tons of men there, should you be interested that is. And, Valerie, you really should go out. Come on!”

  Valerie went behind the counter to go through each patients file from the file cabinet and with laughter shook her head.

  “Not tonight, too tired, and still too many things to finish off here.”

  “You need to relax and come have a drink. Look for someone who can give you a good time, that if anything will help you relax.”

  Valerie kept her fingers busy in the file cabinet, pulling up patients’ files as she went, and shook her head again. Melissa gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and left her to stand on her own. The cool air circulated through the facility and she found herself smiling, possibly changing her mind.

  “If you hold on for a few minutes I’ll join you!” She slammed the last cabinet door back in place and looked down the hallway to where Melissa had vanished, but Melissa was gone and Valerie found herself talking to herself. Perfect. Turning back up the hallway to the space behind the counter she walked directly into a brick wall that happened to be Bryce’s ches
t, and climbing him was her first and most urgent response to his body. Holy hell.

  Bryce’s hands went to her hips, clad in blue scrubs with paw prints and all, to steady her.

  She dropped her forehead to his chest, sighing deeply. He was strong, warm, and so amazing.

  “Know what I think?” Bryce asked.

  “I have no idea, and when I think I do somehow you prove me wrong.”

  He smiled and kept his hands steadily on her hips. He was leaning against the doorway of the front desk area and pulled her closer, all six-feet-three inches of man. Deliciously dressed in fitted baseball gear.

  “I make you nervous.”

  “That is so not true,” she answered but knew deep down he might be right on the spot. Damn him for noticing. She tried to take a deep breath but it did very little to the sensation he was creating circling his thumbs against the fabric of her scrubs. She squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed his wrists and trying to remove his hands.

  “I’ve got work clothes on,” she wheezed in panic. “Unflattering ones.”

  “And . . . this is a problem, why?”

  She shook her head and in the corner of her eye watched as he bit down on his bottom lip and smiled, the devil.

  “You’ve got girls waiting in much more attractive things, much less clothing at this very moment. They want to celebrate your big win today.”

  “Overrated,” he laughed and slid his fingers at her waist under the fabric of her scrubs. She panicked. “I cleaned up dog feces today in these clothes.” She grabbed at his wrists again.

  “I know what you are doing,” he said and kept playing at her warm skin with his fingers.

  “What?” she asked with curiosity.

  “You’re trying to turn me off, so I can’t scare you. Get rid of those scary feelings, Val. Realize I want you.”

  “But . . .” she stuttered.

  Suddenly, he moved her through the front desk area and into the first exam room.