Take a Chance

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Now don’t you worry about that, sweetie, as long as no one got hurt, that’s all that matters,” Connie said.

  Trip turned when red fake fingernails trailed down her arm, then a warm hand touched her cheek.

  “Trip, sugah, are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow at the smock covered with dancing piglets and pink bows that Shayla was wearing.

  “All the same, maybe you should come to my place later and let me check you over thoroughly.”

  She could have Shayla’s kind of fun anytime, but she wasn’t one to burn bridges so she offered what she hoped was a genuinely grateful smile. “I appreciate that, but I’m fine.” She gestured to the trailer. “The horses are fine. She didn’t even touch the trailer.”

  “Thank goodness for small miracles.” Shayla leaned her head against Trip’s shoulder. “My offer still stands, though, if you aren’t busy tonight.”

  Before Trip could answer, the blast of a siren pierced the air.

  Grace whipped the black-and-white Ford Crown Victoria up next to the curb and left the blue lights flashing as she climbed out. Trip wanted to smile as Grace predictably adjusted her utility belt and holster before striding over with a large clipboard under one arm. The department had recently repainted their fleet a retro design as part of the city council’s brainstorm to rebrand the downtown as a quaint step back in time, and Trip would have teased her with a Sheriff Andy comment if they hadn’t been in the presence of such an attractive stranger. Grace could take teasing, but only between close friends—meaning her and Clay. Trip knew that underneath her tough cop exterior and razor wit was a sensitive sweetheart. Grace was the Glitter Girl. A shapely five foot six, her wavy shoulder-length auburn hair and high cheekbones were eye-catching. Grace, however, didn’t want to catch anyone’s eye. She wanted to capture someone’s heart and the kind of love that lasts a lifetime. Right now, she was just a cop about to write up the wayward driver who’d tried to park a Mercedes in the foundation of the Clip ’n Curl.

  Grace surveyed the crowd. “Is anyone hurt?”

  Trip couldn’t resist. “Two fatalities. I’m afraid there was nothing I could do for them.” She hung her head and gestured solemnly at the family of fake deer. Pieces of the doe and fawn were scattered across the lawn. She struggled to hold her serious expression as she pointed to the buck that was upended and missing an antler. “But I’m optimistic the injured will fully recover with a little glue and a bit of paint.”

  Grace smiled as she shook her head at Trip’s typical playfulness. Then she glanced at River and shot Trip a questioning look.

  Trip grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “She’s the mad motorist who mowed down the unsuspecting deer.”

  Grace turned to River. “I’m Sergeant Grace Booker. You okay, ma’am?”

  River nodded, her stare fixed on the destroyed deer.

  “Had a bit of an accident I see.”

  River focused on Grace. “Yes. I’m River Hemsworth, and I’m afraid it was my fault.”

  “Well, I assumed the shop didn’t pull out in front of you.” Grace’s all-business cop tone warmed like the melt-in-your-mouth fudge that Jeanie sold down at the Sweet Tooth, and the corner of her mouth hinted at a smile.

  Was Grace flirting with River? Wait. Trip had first dibs on the new woman. She was suddenly hyperaware of Shayla’s head resting against her shoulder and Shayla’s arm entwined around hers. Damn. She was stomping all over Trip’s mojo. Trip was contemplating how to extract herself from Shayla the Octopus without damaging any future opportunities, when Connie rescued her.

  “Shayla, run fetch Miss Hemsworth a glass of tea. There’s a pitcher in the icebox.” Connie shooed Shayla in the direction of the front door of her shop. Shayla frowned but sauntered back into the shop with a seductive sway of her hips.

  River ran a shaky hand over her perspiring brow. The mention of something cool seemed to deflate her. Now that she was rid of Shayla, Trip cupped River’s elbow and guided her to a huge maple. River sagged against it. Trip stretched out an arm to casually prop against the same tree. “It’s a scorcher today.”

  “I see you’ve got things in hand as usual, Trip.” Grace shook her head again, but her eyes were full of affection. Message received. Picking up strangers was Trip’s style anyway, not Grace’s. “I’ll call one of my deputies to come fill out an accident report while we wait for Clay.” Grace stepped away from the crowd and spoke into the radio mic attached to her shoulder.

  “Who’s Clay?” River frowned.

  “Clay Cahill drives the tow truck.” Trip didn’t like the look of the red knot on River’s forehead. It didn’t look too serious, but would probably produce a headache bad enough to spoil her initial intent of asking this luscious stranger out to dinner tonight. Ah. The concerned doctor plan would work. Find out where she’s staying, urge her to go home, take aspirin and nap, then pay an I-needed-to-check-on-you visit tonight with takeout dinner in hand. Worked every time. Just needed to lay the groundwork. “Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance, Ms. Hemsworth? That goose egg on your forehead could lead to complications.”

  * * *

  “Ten-four. Ten-fifty at the Clip ’n Curl, 518 Oak Street. Unit three is ten-seventeen.” Jamie shook the ballpoint pen that suddenly refused to write. Whatever. She drove past that salon yesterday, so she had a good idea where it was. She checked her rearview mirror and made a wide U-turn, then glanced down at her speedometer. The dispatch was the first semi-interesting thing that’d happened to her this week, but she wasn’t going in all Barney Fife-like with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Sergeant Booker was on the scene, and this was Jamie’s first chance to impress her new boss.

  “Damn it.” That last turn that Jamie thought was a shortcut had landed her in an unfamiliar neighborhood. She paused at a stop sign to collect herself. Okay. Streets with flower names ran east to west. Streets with tree names ran north to south. She was proud of herself for figuring that out before Grace explained it. Still, it wasn’t like a city where streets were numbered so that you could easily figure out if you were headed in the wrong direction.

  The sign on the corner read Gardenia Lane. Were gardenias a tree or a flower? Hell, she didn’t know. She was trying to find Elm Street. Or was it Maple Street. No. Oak Street. Maybe. She was about to ask her phone for directions to the Clip ’n Curl when a tow truck sped past. Since there was only one garage in town with an actual tow truck rather than a pickup with a winch, it had to be headed for her ten-fifty. “Hold on, P.” She whipped a right turn to give the tow truck a police escort…from the rear. She laughed at her justification, and Petunia yipped happily with her.

  * * *

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Trip was about to begin her let-me-check-your-vitals routine on River when Clay’s big truck roared up, then slowed to ease carefully over the curb to pull up behind the Mercedes.

  Clay hopped down from the truck, her faded classic Levi’s hanging low on her narrow hips. With scuffed work boots and a white T-shirt that fit snug across her broad shoulders, Clay was a dark contrast to Trip’s light. Her tall, lean frame, short, unkempt raven hair, and smoldering brown eyes gave off a definite James Dean vibe.

  River appeared riveted as Clay approached. Damn. The playing field sure was crowded today. Then again, Trip didn’t mind flaunting her new find in front of her best running buddy. They didn’t really compete for women. Trip was bold while Clay had a slower, sensitive approach, and they both observed unspoken “no poaching” rules. You never went after a woman your buddy was dating, without your buddy’s consent. Shayla was a prime example. They’d both enjoyed her talents on occasion, but were careful to upend the tiny decorative urn on Shayla’s front porch as a signal to the other to try back later. Only Trip hadn’t found the urn turned over since Clay returned from New York, moody and more brooding than usual.

  Lucky for Trip, Shayla returned with the tea, breaking the spell for a moment. River took th
e offered drink and gulped down a big swallow, then coughed.

  “Now doesn’t that taste refreshing?” Connie asked.

  “Mmm.” River’s smile was weak, but she took a few more sips.

  Yep. Trip had seen that look before. Sweet tea was an adjustment for any Yankee, and Connie’s tea was more like sugar water.

  “Thank you, Connie,” Grace said. “You’ve been real helpful. I’ll have my deputy come inside when she’s done here and get your statement and insurance information. You can get back to your customers in the meantime.” She motioned for the other bystanders to move away. “Nothing else to see here, folks.”

  “Connie believes in having a little tea with her sugar,” Trip said, leaning close to whisper as Connie hurried back into her shop. She had to move fast now that she had broken the spell of Clay’s entrance onto the scene. She grabbed the only surviving member of the fake deer family, righted the buck next to River, and then patted it on the back. “Have a seat. You look a little pale.”

  River eyed the plastic statue skeptically, then carefully sat at an awkward angle to avoid poking her eye with its remaining antler.

  “Clay, this is River Hemsworth. She’s having a bit of car trouble.” Grace looked up from her paperwork and pointed toward the crumpled Mercedes. “River, this is Clay. She’ll take care of you as soon as we get all your information.” She checked her watch. “Where the heck is my deputy?”

  “Clay can take care of her car,” Trip said, squatting in front of River. She made a show of looking at her watch as she wrapped her fingers around River’s wrist to check her pulse. She was a big dog and could hunt in a crowd. “I’ll be happy to transport River to her destination—just in case she has a delayed reaction to this terrible accident and needs medical attention.” She grasped River’s chin. “Look into my eyes for a moment so I can check your pupils.” Trip smiled warmly when River obediently turned sapphire eyes her way. “Your heart rate is a bit elevated,” she said, keeping her voice soft.

  The line had never failed her before, but River was obviously big-city. Her accent, her clothes, the way she carried herself, screamed it. She’d probably heard that line and much better, because she withdrew her wrist from Trip’s grip. “I’m fine. Really. But I appreciate your help, Dr. Beaumont.”

  Clay snorted, and Grace barked a laugh.

  “Trip here might have played doctor with more than a few women around town,” Clay said. “But she’s actually our local veterinarian.”

  River choked on her next sip of tea.

  Great. So much for her concerned doctor routine. Trip narrowed her eyes at Grace, who was supposed to have her back. She knew who had first dibs. Grace just lifted a hand and shook her head. She’d never take sides between them.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Trip,” River said, her eyes glued to Clay again. “But I should go with Clay to make the necessary arrangements to have my car repaired.”

  Trip started to move on to plan C—insist on checking on her later that evening—then hesitated. She looked at River, then Clay. It was almost as if they were the only two people around. What the heck? Trip turned to Grace, but Grace shrugged in a silent “don’t ask me” gesture. So, she wasn’t imagining the—hell, she didn’t even know what to call it—between Clay and River. Grace had noticed it, too.

  “Were you trying to make a quick getaway when the Clip ’n Curl cut you off?” Clay drawled out her words, low and melodious, like someone who just woke from a deep sleep. Trip grimaced. She bagged enough women with her cocky charm, but when Clay started talking, women swarmed to her like bees to honey.

  “Excuse me?” River seemed confused rather than amused by the question. Maybe Trip did still have a chance.

  Clay tipped her head in the direction of the car. “That’s Ellen Gardner’s car.”

  Trip really looked at the car for the first time. Leave it to Clay to recognize the vintage Mercedes. She was all about cars.

  “Ellen was my aunt,” River said.

  “My condolences.” Clay’s face reddened and her expression was contrite.

  Trip cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She felt like an ass. She should have recognized the car, too, but she was too intent on hitting on River. “Ellen was a fine woman.”

  “The best,” Grace added.

  “Thank you.” River looked from Clay to Trip and back to Clay.

  Trip was relieved when Grace saved them from the awkward silence.

  “Hey, Trip, can I talk to you a second before you leave?” She inclined her head toward her patrol car.

  * * *

  Jamie slowed the cruiser to a crawl when the tow truck veered right to bump over the curb and onto the lawn where a crowd gathered around an old Mercedes. But she wasn’t looking at the accident scene. She was staring at the truck and horse trailer she’d ticketed less than thirty minutes ago. Trip was here. Jamie had known they’d come face-to-face eventually. She thought she’d be ready, but the churning in her stomach indicated otherwise. Would Trip even remember that they’d parted on bad terms? Jamie narrowed her eyes. Queen Beaumont hadn’t even pulled over to the curb. Her truck and horse trailer sat squarely in the middle of the right lane, and you couldn’t see around it without straddling the centerline and possibly causing another accident. Jamie pulled over to the curb and rummaged in the glove box for a fresh pen, then climbed out of the cruiser.

  Petunia was on her hind legs, her tail wagging as she watched the crowd of people across the lawn. She ran to the driver’s side of the back seat when Jamie got out of the car. “Stay, P.”

  The little dog whined, then released another explosion of flatulence when she ran back to resume watching the crowd through the opposite window. Jamie would have laughed at the you-always-make-me-stay glare from her canine partner, but she had a serious situation here. She might have to finally face Trip, but she wasn’t going to chew the old bone between them in front of her boss and a crowd of town gossips.

  Jaime scribbled the ticket. At this rate, she would need a new ticket book by the end of the week. She should get a commendation for filling the town coffers with all these traffic fines, not to mention the federal forfeiture funds they’d received as a result of Petunia’s first few drug finds. The wiper slapped against the windshield when she released it to hold the ticket where Trip would clearly see it. She stuffed her ticket book into her back pocket and took a deep breath as she rounded the front of the truck. Show time.

  * * *

  “That wasn’t subtle or anything,” Trip said as she followed Grace. She was a little miffed that Grace seemed to be aiding and abetting Clay’s campaign in the River competition. “What’s up?”

  “Karla left Dirty Harry at my house yesterday when she vamoosed with a redhead. I think he’s having a meltdown. Any chance you could take a look at him for me?”

  “Karla’s obnoxious, profanity-spewing parrot? Grace, look me in the eyes and tell me that you are not thinking about keeping him.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Good. Dirty Harry hates you.”

  “I just need to make sure he’s physically okay before I decide anything.”

  Trip wanted to roll her eyes. “So, you are thinking of keeping him. Grace, when are you going to stop taking care of everybody and everything and look after yourself? Karla mooched off you for three months. I say good riddance to that one. And the bird, too.”

  “Don’t blame Karla. We mutually used each other.”

  “I’m just saying you deserve better. You’re the Glitter Girl. Go find someone who will give you the love you deserve.” Trip didn’t understand why Grace was still single. She was the best of the three of them.

  “Yeah, like they grow on trees around here.” Grace pulled at her utility belt, her tell that she wasn’t happy with Trip’s advice. “I’m talking about Harry right now. He’d make a nice addition to your waiting room. He’s very entertaining.”

  Trip backed away, her hands up. “No way. He’s lou
d and has a filthy vocabulary. He’ll scare my patients to death, unless one of them eats him the first day.”

  “I have to do something before he wrecks the rest of my place. Please?”

  “No can do, my friend, but I’ll check him over. Bring him by the clinic sometime. Right now, I’m on a rescue mission.” She wiggled her eyebrows and strode back to Clay and River. She had to rescue River from Clay.

  “River, if Clay can’t sort everything out for you, I’m always—”

  Clay elbowed Trip. “Didn’t your afternoon office hours start ten minutes ago?”

  Trip checked her watch. “Crap.” She hadn’t realized how long she’d dawdled in the yard of the Clip ’n Curl. “Yes, and I need to get these horses home and out of that hot trailer.” Clay had clearly jumped Trip’s claim while she’d been tending to Grace’s problem, so she might as well leave River in her capable hands. There’d be other hot-looking tourists Trip could pursue. “River, have a nice stay in Pine Cone.” Trip gave Clay a good-natured shove before offering a little salute to Grace, then heading for her truck.

  “Catch you later, pal.” Clay gave a casual wave, her eyes never leaving River.

  * * *

  Trip went directly to the rear of the horse trailer to peer inside. The two mares were still munching hay, but their hides were dark with sweat, and the mare on the left shifted impatiently, causing the trailer to sway slightly. She needed to get them unloaded at the clinic soon. She hopped into the truck and fired up the diesel engine when a flutter of paper caught her eye.

  “What the hell?” She hit the window control and, as the glass slid down, reached around to snatch the new parking ticket from under the wiper blade. “Son of a bitch.” She gritted her teeth and scanned the area, then checked her side mirrors. A second squad car was parked behind Grace’s. Trip crawled over the truck’s console, swearing when she banged her knee on the emergency brake lever. The cop was talking to Grace, facing away from Trip. With the Stetson hat that was part of the uniform pulled low, she wasn’t sure whether the new deputy was male or female. But it didn’t matter. Trip was ready to chew a hole in either gender. She was about to barrel over to where Grace and her ticket writer stood, but the trailer rocked again as the horses shifted restlessly. Damn. They’d been in that hot trailer too long already. Her dice had been rolling snake eyes all day anyway. She’d take care of the rogue rookie tomorrow.