Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  That did it. Tomorrow he was going to have a heart-to-heart with Mims & Company. Drew took a few steps closer, gauging the distance between them. For the public’s safety and his own, he had to disarm Lola, and to do so, he had to keep her talking. “What’s Randy saying?”

  “Nothing. He’s taken his secrets to the grave.” Lola shifted her stance and drew a breath, as if preparing to shoot.

  Drew wrested her gun away but in the process knocked her down. They tumbled together, rolling several feet downhill until Drew’s back slammed into a headstone with a breath-stealing, bruise-making thud.

  For several seconds, he didn’t move, letting the pain in his back radiate outward. He was aware of the damp earth beneath him, the smell of gardenias and cut grass, and the warm body in his arms.

  “Ow.” Lola lifted her head to stare at him with blue eyes that were clear and disapproving. “Was that necessary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” She propped herself up on her elbow. Her soft brown hair caressed his neck.

  He resisted releasing a gun and grabbing a handful. “Because you wouldn’t drop your gun. Because you built a bonfire today.” Because she was just as unpredictable and emotional as his sisters. It was official. She’d made it onto his Watch-Over list.

  He vowed then and there to call Wendy tomorrow. He needed a sane, conventional woman in Becky’s life, one who wasn’t a candidate for his Watch-Over list. Watching over could come later.

  Lola stood, tugging down her dress.

  Suddenly, his arms felt empty, which was as crazy as his entire evening.

  Lola marched uphill in the fog. “I’m going to take my gun and my fake husband and go home.”

  “I’m going to take you in.” After the stunts she’d pulled today, who knew what she’d do in the wee hours of the night. Time in a jail cell would do wonders for her perspective and allow him to sleep tonight.

  “You’re arresting me? On what charge?” Lola put her hands on her hips and stared him down with a haughty glance that pinged something inside Drew’s chest.

  Drew was too well-trained to be distracted by mere pings. “Drunk and disorderly.” He holstered his weapon and checked the chamber in hers.

  No bullets. Of course.

  “I’m angry, Sheriff. Not drunk. Jeez, a twenty-four-hour grace period should apply to discovering your husband was a slimeball.” She kicked the grass, sending her skirt fluttering to tantalizing levels.

  “Disorderly still applies.” Drew moved closer to inspect her victim. She’d dressed Randy the way he deserved, Drew supposed. In his skivvies. “Do you have a permit for this weapon?”

  “I’m sure Randy did.” She grabbed the doll and tucked it under her arm like a surfboard. “You can’t arrest a widow for visiting her husband’s grave.”

  “I can.” Blood pounded in his veins the way it did when his sisters did something stupid. Except Lola wasn’t one of his sisters. The fact that he kept sneaking looks at her legs proved that point. “Do you want me to add resisting arrest?”

  “Seriously?” Lola didn’t seem upset. She wasn’t violent. She sighed, which was completely unexpected given the doll and the gun and the midnight visit to the cemetery. “Okay, but I’ll need to lock up the cemetery and return the key.”

  “Fair enough.” And worthy of his respect. “Where did you leave your car?”

  “In the circle by the crypts. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  It was the most ridiculous arrest of Drew’s career.

  But he wasn’t laughing.

  * * *

  “He had it coming.” Lola crooned a line from Chicago to Stand-In Randy, who was propped in the cinder-block corner of her jail cell with a satisfied look on his plastic face, the creep.

  Lola’s mother had taken her father’s leaving hard but she’d never been thrown in the Big House. She’d been caught outside Lola’s dad’s lover’s apartment with binoculars. She’d called Lola’s dad’s office at night just to listen to his voice on the answering machine. She’d lost more weight than was healthy, bought a push-up bra, and had her nose done. But an arrest record? Nope. Her mom hadn’t crossed that line.

  Lola lay on a bench, feet doing choreography on the back wall. A black rooster huddled nearby, sleeping.

  A door opened. Footsteps scuffled across the linoleum in the hall from the sheriff’s office proper.

  She repeated the line from Chicago, tilting her head backward to see who approached.

  It was Drew and Paul Gregory, who was shirtless (not a good look on him) and listing from side to side like an ocean buoy.

  “You’re in luck, Lola.” Drew worked the key in the lock. “Paul needs the jail cell to sober up.”

  “I don’t.” Paul bumped his face into the bars and then looked startled to have done so.

  “He had it coming,” Lola sang half under her breath. She rolled to her feet, slipped into her rain boots, and linked arms with Randy, walking him to the cell door as Drew unlocked it.

  Paul squinted and pointed at Randy, who was still in his boxers and wifebeater. “And you hauled me in for indecent exposure?”

  “Drunk and disorderly,” Drew deadpanned, stepping back for Lola to exit before escorting Paul to the bench. “Don’t disturb Marvin, or he’ll crow.” It was the same advice he’d given Lola.

  “I like a firm mattress,” Paul muttered happily, stretching out on the bench. “And fresh eggs for breakfast.”

  “That’s a rooster.” Drew sounded as weary as Lola felt.

  Lola hurried down the hall to the door separating the cells from the office proper, only to find it locked.

  Drew ambled behind her. “Why is everyone always in a hurry to get out of here?”

  Was that humor? The sheriff had lines of fatigue around his brown eyes, lines she was sure matched her own. But there was a hint of a smile on his face, one that contradicted the flat-lipped expression he’d had when he’d brought her in.

  “I can’t speak for Paul or Marvin, but I want out because the acoustics are better in my shower.” Lola followed Drew through the security door and into the main office, eyeing the door a few short steps away and anticipating the air of freedom.

  He opened the door to the small station. Two wooden desks and two visitor’s chairs. Drew’s office was smaller still, about the size of Lola’s walk-in closet. There was a faded picture of a man in uniform on one wall and a framed motto on the other: If dispatch doesn’t know where you are, only God can help you.

  Drew hung the cell keys on a hook on the wall. “Maybe the acoustics were bad because you were singing pop, not country.” Deadpan sarcasm. No mistaking it this time.

  Lola gasped dramatically. “You don’t recognize the lyrics from Chicago?” At his blank look, she added, “Famous Broadway musical? Made into a movie?”

  “I’m not much for musicals of any kind.”

  “I’ve gotta get out of here.” Meaning out of town. For good. Someplace where they appreciated the theater.

  Drew opened the front door and gestured for her to precede him out, as if they were going somewhere together.

  Randy’s plastic toes dragged Lola to a halt.

  She looked about the office. “Don’t I need to sign out and get a court date or something?” She wasn’t looking forward to court.

  Judge Harper meted out the worst punishments. Just last week, he’d given Harlen Martinez, up for drunk and disorderly, a choice—spend thirty days in jail or sit in the town square on a Saturday, holding a sign that read, DRUNKEN TROUBLE. Harlen had opted out of jail and had sat with two cowboys holding their own signs: DRUNKEN STUPID and DRUNKEN FOOLISH.

  Lola didn’t want to think about what punishment Judge Harper would create for her.

  “I didn’t book you.” Drew rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t want to fill out any paperwork. I just wanted you to have a chance to cool down.”

  “I didn’t need to cool down.” Lola clutched Randy tighter to her side to prevent her from swinging
him like a bat at Drew’s head. “I needed time alone with my husband.”

  “And I gave it to you.” There was that almost grin again. “Come on—I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Marvin crowed, followed by a girlie shriek from Paul.

  “We don’t need a ride.” Lola lifted her chin and clumped past Drew in her boots. Like everything in downtown Sunshine, her home was only a few blocks away. “You should check on your prisoner before he murders Marvin.”

  “Point taken.” Drew leaned against the doorway, chuckling softly as she made her way down the walk. “I won’t worry about you. After all, you’ve got an escort.”

  That chuckle. It telegraphed another howdy-do, replaying in Lola’s head all the way home.

  Chapter Seven

  When Lola woke up late the next morning, she felt more like herself and less like a woman racing down the rapids without a paddle.

  Oh, there was an edge of woman-wronged vulnerability in her veins, like a still-fresh memory of a jolt from a live wire. She was her mother’s daughter, after all. And the thought of Randy’s betrayal made her angry and turned her stomach, although possibly her gastric upset was due to consuming too much alcohol. But purging Randy from the house had helped.

  Gone were the pictures of her husband on her nightstand. Gone were the wedding portraits on the wall. The deer head. The beer signs. The burl-wood clock that didn’t work. All gone and stacked in piles in her driveway. And she’d put her wedding ring in her jewelry box.

  She may not have gotten answers from visiting Randy’s grave, but she felt one step closer to…something. And more determined than ever to uncover the truth, even if it made her the butt of jokes at Shaw’s.

  It was Sunday, her day off, and a scrunchie kind of day. Lola put her hair in a messy ponytail, applied light makeup, and tugged on a red T-shirt and sky-blue patterned leggings. Her footsteps echoed as she came downstairs.

  Two figures were embracing at her front window.

  Lola stumbled on the last few steps and clutched the banister. It took her a moment to register the couple as Randy and Candy.

  She crossed the living room, shaking her head. Dragging Plastic Randy to the graveyard with a gun. What had she been thinking?

  The sheriff should’ve arrested me.

  An image of Drew’s half smile came to mind, along with the sound of his deep-throated chuckle. She didn’t like the things she was discovering about Sunshine’s lawman. Mostly, she didn’t like the he-man/she-woman vibe she felt when he was near. How could she suddenly be attracted to a man she’d known for two years?

  She adjusted the plastic sinners and opened the curtains wider. The next time she saw the sheriff, she needed to treat him like a stranger on a dark night in New York City. Cross the street, look the other way, move along.

  Coffee was the next priority. Then she needed to get her car from the cemetery.

  While her cup was brewing, she texted Avery, asking for a ride. And then she stared out the dining room window. Mrs. Everly and Darla Bastion were standing on the sidewalk across the street, ogling Lola’s window display as if it were Christmas and she’d set up a blasphemous tree.

  By the time Lola finished her coffee, Avery was pulling up in front of the house. She wore a pair of black pants and a maroon polo shirt with the movie theater logo. Her hair hung down her back in a sheet of sleek black. A true friend, Avery glared at the neighbors until they dispersed.

  Lola opened the door before Avery could knock.

  “Are you still mowing that witch’s lawn?” Avery charged in, dark eyes blazing.

  “Yes.” Randy had mowed Mrs. Everly’s lawn for free whenever he’d mowed their lawn. It hadn’t seemed right to stop after his death. To avoid an argument with Avery, Lola asked, “How was your date last night?”

  “Horrible. My life is ruined.” Avery’s voice cracked, and she looked as if she couldn’t decide if she was going to cry or pick a fight with Mrs. Everly. “The guy who bought me at auction? Frank? He’s trying to buy the entire block downtown, including my family’s movie theater.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her temples and muttered, “Not that my family said a word to me about it.” She blew out a breath and dropped her hands to her sides. “If the town council approves, he’s going to tear it all down, and I’m going to be out of a job.”

  “Oh no.” Lola rubbed Avery’s back. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Avery shook her head, staring at Randy and Candy. “Why are Randy’s dolls on display?”

  “It’s modern art.” Lola adjusted Randy’s hand on Candy’s waist. She’d had to deflate him a little to get more bend. It gave him a laid-back swagger.

  Avery raised her finely shaped eyebrows. “That kind of creative expression will get you thrown in the pokey in this town.”

  “Been there, done that.” Lola tried for nonchalance, but she was afraid she might have sounded a little cocky. “The sheriff locked me up last night.” Not many women in Sunshine could say that.

  Avery perked up. “Did Drew handcuff you first? He seems like the quiet but possibly kinky type.” She slid a red strap off Candy’s shoulder.

  “The sheriff is too starched to have a kink.” Lola tamped down memories of half smiles and low chuckles and slid into a pair of black Keds. “After we get my car, do you want to go to Greeley for some shopping therapy?”

  “Can’t.” Avery looked down at her work clothes, her features returning to the doom-and-gloom expression she’d had when she’d arrived. “A Disney movie opened this weekend, and every family in town is coming to the first two matinees. Stacey Wexley called in sick already, which means there was a party hosted by the Bodine twins last night, so she won’t be the only teenage no-show.” Avery huffed on her way to the door, and no matter how hard Lola tried to lighten the mood, she continued huffing until she dropped Lola off at her car.

  When Lola got back home, she sat at the kitchen table, contemplating how to spend the day. By now, the entire town would’ve heard about her making a spectacle of herself at the bachelorette auction. Mrs. Everly would be telling people about her window display. And Lola could look forward to Drew showing up with her rent check, possibly including a lecture about small-town decorum, because that was the way the sheriff rolled.

  Randy and Candy fell to the carpet in a passionate heap.

  “Typical.” Lola righted the pair and propped them up with dining room chairs on either side. “Why couldn’t my husband cheat where Mrs. Everly could see?”

  Oh, snap. Where did Randy do the deed?

  She had no idea. She’d accused Drew of being party to the debauchery, but that didn’t hold up to the light of day, not when Drew had a little girl.

  Lola washed out her coffee cup, realized it was from a restaurant she’d never been to in Greeley, and threw it away. A few minutes later, the kitchen was eradicated of shot glasses, mugs, and plastic cups from all the places Randy had frequented.

  How much more cleansing of Randy’s stuff was she going to have to do? There were a few tools in their garage. And, come to think of it, she’d never gone to the farmhouse. Randy had told her once that he stored things there, both in the garage and in the apartment above it. She’d never been inside.

  “Aha!” Lola turned and pointed a finger at Randy and Candy.

  The garage at the farmhouse she rented to Drew was located on the back of the property and was accessible by a dirt road along the river.

  Lola ran upstairs, snatched the spare keys to the farmhouse buildings, and then ran out the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, she parked in front of the two-car, two-story garage. Her sweaty hands shook. The farmhouse was a hundred feet away. Drew’s police cruiser sat close to the house. This was why Drew knew Randy had been unfaithful. He’d had a front-row seat.

  There were cobwebs crossing the corners of the big garage doors. But whatever was inside the auto bays wasn’t of interest to Lola. She gripped the steering wheel and lifted her gaze to the second-story
apartment. She didn’t move. Fear of what she’d find kept her glued to her seat.

  If her beloved Nana were here, she’d check her teeth for lipstick in the rearview mirror, tug her dress over her knees, and say something like What’s gotta be done has gotta be done.

  Lola gritted her teeth because Randy had done this to her. Cheated. Lied. Made her doubt. Made it necessary to ferret out the truth. She got out of the car and climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, a small wounded noise, like the beginning of a breakdown sob, escaped her lips. She wanted to turn around and drive away. She wanted to erase the past two years.

  But turning back time only happened in fairy tales. And if she’d learned anything from Randy’s infidelity, it was that fairy tales didn’t exist. There was no white knight on a fiery steed, no Prince Charming to wake her with a kiss, no wand-waving fairy godmother to make everything all right. Moving forward, there was, and only would be, Lola.

  She inserted the key in the lock and opened the door.

  It was dark inside. All the blinds were down. Lola yanked them up, revealing a studio apartment with a small kitchenette and a tiny bathroom. Dust motes floated in the air, as scattered and directionless as Lola.

  There was no furniture beyond a brass bed and a woman’s black lacquered bureau with a matching mirror on top. It would have all been very boring except the bed was draped in a blue comforter with cream-colored ribbon trim and plump blue satin-covered pillows.

  Satin pillowcases. Perfect for avoiding bedhead.

  A thick strand of pale hair lay across one of the pillowcases, not as long as Lola’s brown hair but too long to have been Randy’s.

  Here was proof. Randy had a lover. And she was a blonde.

  Stomach churning, Lola rushed into the bathroom and vomited. But no amount of heaving could rid her of the taint of failure. She’d vowed not to have a marriage like her mother’s, not to be cast aside like last year’s fashion. She was the last person this should’ve happened to. She’d known the signs. How had she been duped?

  “Damn you, Randy.” She sank to the pink ceramic floor tiles, trembling with defeat.