by Jill Shalvis
At least the return address was Los Angeles, far from Pleasantville, Ohio.
True to form when faced with something that scared her, she refused to think about any of it. She spent the day at Bare Essentials, arranging and rearranging stock on the new shelves and walls, getting more stock delivered by a grinning Daisy, who admitted to wearing crotchless panties—courtesy of Bare Essentials—beneath her uniform. Maybe Daisy wasn't quite as sweet as she appeared to be.
While Cassie and Kate worked, they laughed and talked, and laughed some more, reveling in spending so much time together for the first time since high school. Their laborious efforts seeming a lot more like fun than revenge.
The fun took a downturn when Kate threw her a knowing glance and brought up the subject of Tag.
"You do remember the sheriff, right?" Kate asked, tongue in cheek. She was hanging silk robes according to size on a wooden rack. "The man who's given you three tickets. The man more gorgeous than sin itself. The man who whenever I bring him up you go slightly bipolar?"
"He has that effect on people."
"No, he has that effect on you. And I think you have that effect on him, as well. You going to do something about it?"
"Such as?"
"Such as … I don't know…" Kate opened another box and pulled out more padded hangers. "At least burn up a box of condoms together."
Cassie, who'd just taken an unfortunate sip of soda, choked.
Kate spun around, then laughed. "You liked that one?"
Cassie wiped her chin. "You never used to say such things. What's come over you?"
"We're talking about you. And the sheriff. I guess, judging by your reaction, I should have said second box of condoms, huh?"
"Kate. Please." She sniffed, acting insulted because she didn't want to get into this, not when last night was stamped so indelibly in her mind. "We all know I never go back for seconds."
"Yes, but we both know he's different. You're different."
"It's not like that." Scowling, Cassie stared down at the shipment of thigh-high stockings she'd been folding. "I have no idea why we're even wasting our breath talking about it."
Kate put down the hangers and came to Cassie. Took her hands, looked deep into her eyes, which Cassie hated because Kate seemed to see all when it came to her. "We're talking about it because I'm worried about you. I think Pete is a loose cannon, and I like knowing there's someone here who cares about you after I leave. I like knowing you care about him back."
"I don't care about men."
"I know." Kate squeezed her shoulders. "And for the most part, I agree with you. They're scum. But Tag is not, and I think you know it. I think you're scared of that very fact."
"Look, you won't even admit you have a thing for that sexy Jack. You know, the guy who helped you with Flo's furniture. The one you got caught parking with while I was in New York. The two of you are sniffing around each other like crazy. So you tell me who's running scared here."
Kate tightened her lips and went back to hanging silk robes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Uh-huh."
Kate placed three more robes in the display, moving very carefully, very purposely, as she always did when she was annoyed. She shot a look at Cassie.
Cassie just lifted a daring brow.
Kate twisted her lips, holding back a smile.
Cassie didn't bother holding hers back, and suddenly they were both laughing. "We're pathetic," Kate said when she could.
"Yeah. But at least we know it."
They left out the deeply personal stuff after that.
And later, when Cassie went home—where she showered and decided to hell with getting dressed again, to hell with anything remotely related to beauty—she tried to relax.
Which is how she ended up on her couch with a half gallon of double-fudge chocolate ice cream and a spoon, wearing a large, shapeless T-shirt over equally large and baggy sweat bottoms, looking like a fashion don't.
Comfort clothes and comfort food were heaven on earth, she thought, shoving in another mouthful as she sat on the couch with the remote, changing channels at the flick of her attention span.
"Meow."
She turned her head when Miss Priss leapt up to the back of the couch and balefully studied the ice-cream container. "I don't share."
"Meow."
Ah, hell. She held out the spoon and watched the cat curl up at her shoulder and very delicately lap at the offering.
A loud rumbling made her jump until she realized it was coming from the cat. For a moment she seriously went still, thinking Miss Priss must be dying from some stomach ailment, but then she realized the cat was … purring.
Apparently Miss Priss liked comfort food, too. "Well, what do you know, common ground."
The cat's eyes were closed in ecstasy as she lapped at the spoon, and Cassie actually felt a melting low in her belly at how cute she looked. She dipped the spoon back into the container for more. "Maybe we can coexist after all, huh?"
At the knock on the front door, cat and woman looked at each other. "You expecting company?" Cassie asked. "Because I'm sure the hell not." Reluctantly she set down the ice cream and padded into the foyer. She eyeballed the umbrella stand and one of the long-handled umbrellas in it, thinking that if Pete had somehow found her she could crack him over the head with one. Action plan in place, she looked through the peephole.
Stacie stood there, smiling and waving at her.
Cassie nearly groaned. She was so not feeling social. She looked like death warmed over … but then again, Stacie was holding an aluminum-foil-covered plate that looked loaded with incredible calories from heaven itself.
Opening the door, Cassie's gaze locked on that plate, so she didn't anticipate the bone-crunching hug.
"Oh, Cassie." Squeeze, squeeze. "You're here!" Stacie pulled back and offered the plate. "I don't know if you realized but we do a cookie exchange every month—me and Diane and Annie and some others—and everyone is still talking about Bare Essentials. About the party you and Kate gave for all of us. We're just so thrilled with what we purchased, we wanted you to have these goodies as a thank-you."
Cassie, in the act of lifting the foil and eyeballing a meringue cookie, went still. "This is from … everyone?"
"Everyone."
"To me. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery."
Stacie laughed. "The one and only. We sent Kate a plate, as well." Her smile faded a little. "That's okay, isn't it? Because actually, they wanted me to invite you to join our cookie exchange, but we thought you might think it was … well, you know, too small-town. Sort of stupid."
"I … don't think it's stupid." In fact, she could hardly talk. She felt overwhelmed by their openness and generosity. "And if I wasn't leaving at the end of the summer, I'd join your cookie exchange. If, um, I could cook."
Stacie grinned and hugged her again. "If you were staying, I'd show you myself. It's fun."
"But I'm not staying."
"I know."
"I'm leaving soon as fall hits. I have some jobs lined up."
"You lead such an exciting life," she said on a sigh. "Well … enjoy. Do you have any plans for the night? Maybe a hot date or something to go with that exciting life?"
Cassie looked down at herself and laughed. "Yeah, hot date. Look at me."
"I am. You're beautiful."
"Stacie, I am dressed like a potato sack. I haven't combed my hair or put on any makeup."
"Really?"
Cassie started to laugh then realized Stacie wasn't. "Maybe you need glasses."
Stacie shook her head, looking suddenly sad. "I mean, I can see you're not dressed for a photo shoot, as you usually are, but my God, most women would kill to like you do right now on their very best day."
From inside, Cassie's phone rang. Stacie smiled again. "I'll let you go. Maybe tomorrow we can catch lunch together or something."
"I…" She stared into Stacie's hopeful face and let out a breath. "I'd like that," she sa
id, shocked to mean it.
She thought about that as she went running for the portable phone, which she kept meaning to put back on its base after she used it but hadn't managed yet. By the time she found the thing, under Miss Priss and her big butt, she was breathless. "Hello?"
Dial tone.
Well, damn she hated that. She set it down and told herself she'd just taken too long to get to the phone and whoever had been calling had gotten tired of waiting.
Only no one ever called her but Kate, who would have called her on her cell phone, not Flo's phone. She shook her head to clear it. She was not going to get paranoid.
"Meow."
Cassie sank back to the couch, reached for the ice cream and found it nearly gone. Shocked she craned her head and stared at the cat, who had a fudge mustache. "You are a pig."
Miss Priss started the rumble thing again and shifted closer. Then closer still, until she was in Cassie's lap. Only then did she close her eyes and drift off.
Cassie stared down at the big, fat, lazy cat. "You're shedding," she said. "Ugh. Luckily I don't care about these clothes." Leaving the cat in her lap, she reached for the plate Stacie had just brought, feeling a stab of something that felt uncomfortably like a conscience.
Stacie thought they were friends, and Cassie had never said otherwise.
But what kind of a friend took, took, took and didn't give anything in return? Couldn't give anything in return?
"I'm leaving in a month," she told Miss Priss. "Stacie knows that. You know that."
Miss Priss opened her slitted green eyes and stared at her.
"I am," Cassie said firmly, but her fingers sank into the cat's fur. "And you're going to have to find another person to mooch off of."
The doorbell rang again, and Cassie dislodged the fat cat. Grabbing a fistful of white-chocolate macadamia cookies to die for, she walked back into the foyer, figuring Stacie had forgotten something. Maybe she had another high-calorie offering.
She just wished she didn't feel so … vulnerable. Inexplicably, she felt open in a way she didn't usually allow, and for some reason, couldn't seem to close herself off. A little shaky, needing to be alone to regroup, she stuffed a cookie into her mouth and reluctantly opened the door.
Not Stacie.
"Tag," she said around a mouthful.
"Me," he agreed. He was holding up the doorjamb with his long, rangy body. His legs were casually crossed, his weight on his arm and shoulder, with his sunglasses hanging out the side of his mouth by an earpiece. Then he straightened to his full height, removed the sunglasses from his mouth and used it for his lethal weapon.
A smile.
Only this smile was different than any other one he'd ever given her. This smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and now that she was staring at him so closely, she could see the strain around his mouth, the tension in every muscle so unfairly and perfectly delineated in his damn sheriff's uniform.
And there she stood, holding a fistful of cookies, crumbs down the front of her— Oh, God. Forget the crumbs. Forget that her heart had stopped at just the sight of him. Forget that she could tell something was wrong. She was standing there in baggy, ugly clothes, with her hair piled on top of her head in a ponytail of all things, and not an ounce of makeup on her face.
She felt naked. "This isn't a good time," she said, and started to shut the door on his face.
He simply slapped his hand to the wood and held it open.
"Go away." God, her voice sounded small. She cleared her throat and lifted her chi. "I'm not in the mood for you." She tried to push the door shut but he was still in her way. Refusing to humiliate herself in a battle of the muscles that she couldn't possibly win, she glared at him. "Is there something wrong with your hearing?"
"Not at all." His gaze ran over her face and she wished to God she'd at least put on makeup. Without eyeliner and lipstick at the bare minimum, she knew she looked like death warmed over. And how pathetic was it she still had a grip on a handful of cookies, not to mention the fudge ice cream stain on one breast.
"Cassie, I don't want to force my way in."
"Good. Then go."
"Please. Please let me in."
That low, gravely voice had never failed to knock her knees together and now was no exception. It really ticked her off. "Do I have a choice?"
"You always have a choice, damn it."
She closed her eyes and put her forehead to the wood.
So light she was certain she imagined it, he ran his hand down her hair. "If it's because you're not dressed," he said quietly. "I've seen you like this before."
"Don't remind me." When he reached out and tugged lightly on a wayward strand of hair, she rolled her eyes. "No one sees me without makeup."
"I like you without it. You seem different. Softer. Let me in, Cassie."
"Why?"
"Because we need to talk."
"About last night? I already said I was sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you, but I don't feel like paying you back right now—"
"Maybe another time," he said very softly, and if she wasn't mistaken, he sounded frustrated, as well, "we'll talk about the fact that you will never, ever owe me for letting me touch you. But right now I want to talk about my father."
Everything within her went still and she slowly lifted her head, thinking she couldn't have heard him correctly. "Who?"
"You know who. My father."
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
"You might have told me you knew him personally," Tag said to Cassie. "Especially since I asked you."
She lifted a shoulder. He'd thrown her off, just as both Stacie and Miss Priss had. He stood there gazing at her from eyes filled with hurt and pain and anger.
And it made her … ache. Damn it, she didn't want to think about this. She cared about him, she did. But it was just the bottom-line basic kind of care. The way she cared about her dentist. Her personal trainer.
Her gynecologist.
Which didn't explain why she felt the inexplicable need to make him understand her.
"Hey." He stepped closer. "You okay?"
"Of course."
"Cassie." His eyes held so much. "Why didn't you tell me my father was the one to hurt you that night?"
He was putting her on the spot. No one put her on the spot. And suddenly she couldn't remember why she'd wanted to spare his feelings. Why it mattered what he thought.
She really needed a moment, to think, to regroup. To build defenses against all these damn strings on her heart. "So I knew him. So I've always known him. So what."
"So, you might have told me. Did you think I wouldn't care? That I wouldn't believe you? That I wouldn't want to kill him?"
This was definitely the last thing Cassie wanted to talk about tonight. She didn't want to hear how he'd found out. She didn't want to know how it affected him. She didn't want to do anything but polish off the last of her ice cream.
Alone.
But Tag was looking at her with an expression of sober fury bordering on fear, and she realized it was all for her. Whether she liked it or not, her past had come back to haunt not only her, but him. "He didn't hurt me, Tag."
"Not physically, but you trusted him."
"I don't trust anyone."
"Because of him."
"That would be flattering him."
"Cassie…" A disparaging sound escaped him. "My father and I aren't close. We tolerate each other at best. You wouldn't be hurting me to admit he should have paid for what happened that night."
"I've forgotten all about it."
"Really? Is that why you're gripping the wood so hard your knuckles are white?"
Thrown off, when she was never thrown off by a mere man, she turned her back and stalked through the house. Naturally he followed her, because he was a jerk, because he was an a—
"Cassie." He was right behind her, matching her stride for angry stride. "Stop. We have to talk about this."
She wh
irled on him at that, right there in the hallway. 'Talk? About how your father thought I was as wild and fun and man-hungry as my mother? No."
"Cassie—"
"Don't you get it? He knew how I was. Let's face it, Tag, everyone knew, so why should he have been any different? I came to terms with that a long time ago about this place."
"Then why did you come back?"
"Well, there was that little matter of living on Lilac Hill," she said sarcastically. "And let's not forget, I couldn't wait to drive my fancy car downtown just to show everyone."
"You've never mentioned that last thing on your list," he said very quietly.
"It wasn't important."
"On the contrary, I think it's the most important one." He stepped closer, then closer still, so they were breathing each other's air, their bodies just brushing. His hand came up, cupped her face, and his thumb traced her jaw in an aching tenderness that made her eyes burn.
"You wanted to become someone," he said. "You even made a note that it should have been number one on your list. What were you thinking when you wrote that, Cassie? That you didn't matter? You did. That you weren't important? You were. You are."
"Stop it." She slapped his hand away. "We both know I wrote that list ten years ago. It doesn't mean anything now."
"It does if you don't believe it, that you are someone."
"Oh, yeah, look at me." She lifted her hands and turned full circle, giving him a good look at the au naturel Cassie Tremaine Montgomery. "I'm someone all right."
He shook his head. "My God, you have no idea, do you? How beautiful you are on the inside, or," he said, holding her arms when she would have fled, "on the outside. Cassie, you're just one big fraud."
She struggled, but he held firm. "Don't be ridiculous."
"No, I mean it." He bent a little, to look right into her eyes. "You honestly believe it's the makeup and the body that sets you apart. You know what else? You honestly think the only thing between us is physical."
"It is."
"I don't mind you wearing me out trying to prove that fact, but one of these days you'll have to face the truth. There's more to us than sex." He let go of her arms, holding her with his gaze.
