“Your swoony compliments aren’t going to distract me from the topic at hand, Beauregard.”
“You’re not going to take my advice to go back to sleep, are you?”
“I can’t. I’ve been awake for most of the night anyway.”
“Me too.”
I figured that was probably nothing unusual for him. “So you were going to tell me about this dream. It seemed like a bad one.”
“It was horrible. It was about a nosy pop star who wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“I bet she has a good heart.”
At that he smiled, his eyes holding mine. “Turns out she does.”
Oh, gosh. He was devilishly handsome in the dark of morning. “Okay, well.” I took two steps in retreat. “I’ll mosey back down the hall. My bedroom is very comfy, by the way. For a lumberjacky, outdoorsy dude, you sure do have luxurious sheets.”
“Sutton?”
I had just made it to the door and turned around. “Yes?”
Beau sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist, and the lamp throwing beams on his sculpted abs like a shrine. “Would you like to forget all about your troubles and do something . . . crazy?”
“What . . .” I licked my suddenly parched lips. “What did you have in mind?”
He crooked a finger and beckoned me to come near.
I obeyed, as if in a trance of trampiness.
“Yes?” I sat on the edge of the bed, his sheets cool against my bare legs.
Beau balanced on an arm, leaning close. “Want to do something fun?” He stroked a finger from my wrist to the hem of my sleeve. “Something to take our minds off all our troubles?” That early morning rasp unfurled a curious heat in my stomach. “Something kind of . . .” His finger slipped back down my arm. “Hot?”
I could barely form sentences right now. “What did you have mind?”
Beau let his gaze slide over me nice and slow. His hand covered mine before his full lips drew toward my cheek, pausing at my ear. “Let’s go fishing.”
* * *
Fishing.
Not my first choice. Ever. But if you’ve been raised in the Ozarks, you most likely spent some time fishing as a child. Even though I didn’t especially want to be out with pole in hand at this unholy hour today, I had fond memories of my grandfather, Sylvie’s husband, giving me my own army green pole and a tackle box filled with some of his favorite lures.
“See?” Beau bumped me with his shoulder. “You’re smiling already.”
“When you said hot, this wasn’t what I had in mind.” The heat and humidity rarely slept in an Arkansas summer.
“Fishing’s the answer to most of a man’s problems.”
I stood beside him, ankle deep in Sugar Creek, a five-minute ride from Fox Falls. “I believe we both got baptized in this creek during our church youth group days.”
“Yeah, God’s out here.” He nodded toward the landscape. “In the trees. In the sound of the babbling creek. Some days I think it’s the only place I can sense Him.”
“I’m sure you’ve questioned a lot of things since you got back from Libya.”
Beau pointed toward the water. “Cast your line. Aim for the center of the creek.”
I reared back my pole, let my thumb off the button, and did my Southern girl best. The lure plopped three feet in front of me, making a small tremor in the shallow water.
“Have you forgotten how to fish, city girl?”
“No. It’s just hard to see. Maybe if we didn’t do this during vampire hours—” I closed my lips on a yelp as Beau stepped directly behind, his arms slipping around me.
“The things LA did to you.” His words were a breeze against my cheek. “Your form is a disgrace.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear.”
His laugh was low and quiet. “Swing it back and forth a few times.” One of his hands rested on my hip while the other covered mine on the grip of the pole. “Press that thumb bar down onto the spool. Easy, easy. Control your line.”
Who knew fishing terminology could be so hot?
“Bring it forward, and now.” His voice reminded me of a dark whiskey, the kind you steal a sip of when no one’s looking. “Lift your thumb. Gently. Don’t force it.”
My lure hit the water at the end of a beautiful arc, bobbing there proudly in the deepest part of the creek. The blush sky dimmed in surrender, and the crickets and frogs chirped their approval.
And Beau still had his arms around me.
My heart beat a wild staccato, and I knew it was more than the sticky humidity making it difficult to draw a full breath.
I slowly turned to face him, letting him take hold of the fishing pole. “Beau?”
He looked down, his warrior’s gaze searing into mine. “This is probably not a good idea.”
I placed one hand on his chest. “You and I never were.”
“I can’t give you what you want, Paisley.”
“And what is that?”
“Permanence.”
It was a lemon-doused slice to the heart, but it shouldn’t have been. I tried to shove that feeling aside. Did I not inspire a yearning for commitment with any man on this planet? What was it about me that said “just keep on walking”?
“I guess you’re right.” I took back my fishing pole, the hook and bobber dangling. “I obviously couldn’t give you permanence either.” I said this as if he’d requested it. “My time in Sugar Creek has been nothing but drama and chaos, and it’s probably dulled my common sense.” With some satisfaction, I watched his brows slam together. “Probably turned me into someone who’s a little bit too needy.”
“You haven’t been needy. Far from it.” He secured my hook to my pole. “Except maybe for your fishing prowess. You could use some lessons.”
“I’m sure it will come back to me.” For some reason, even that wounded. “Not that I need it to.”
“Right. Because you’re leaving soon.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, while you’re still here, you need to hook Sylvie’s security system back up. Get the police to patrol Enchanted Events, as well as the house more often.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need any home alarm designed by my Inspector Gadget of a grandmother.”
“What if you’d been home when the burglar had broken in? You’re totally unarmed.”
“I have you next door.”
“I wasn’t home. I’m rarely home. Get serious.” He walked to the shore and laid his fishing pole on the rocks. “You need to learn some self-defense.”
“Oh, and who’s going to teach me?”
He planted his fists at his hips. “I think I’m more than qualified. The question is, can you handle it?”
I quickly calculated the total mass of his muscles, multiplied by how often this would involve him touching me, then divided by the square root of my weakening resistance. “Maybe we should head back home.”
“Either you learn a few moves, or I’m telling Sylvie you’re ready to move in with her.”
She’d love that. “Let’s make it quick.”
In the high beams of Beau’s four-wheeler, we spent the next twenty minutes doing a very aggressive watoosie, with moves I’d probably never remember in a real assault.
“Try it again,” Beau said. “You forgot to knee me in the face.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, we’ve done this move three times.”
But Beau started the process all over again. “If I grab your shoulder, what do you do?”
I slapped my hand over his, grabbing his thumb. “I bend your wrist back toward you, then twist your arm toward the ground.”
“And if you see I’m bent down in pain, utilize that knee. Right in the nose. Hard.”
I simulated the movement, then let him go. “Got it.”
“And use those elbows when you strike. It’s all about throwing your body weight into it. Where do you hit?”
Running on fumes and exhaustion, my brain grasped for answers. “Um, the throat, the
temple, and . . .”
“The chin. Let’s go over it all again.”
“Enough. I’m tired. You’re tired. You need to get to Fox Falls.” And I needed to visit Raven Arnett.
“I just think you should try—”
“Beau, look.” I pointed toward the east. “Look at that beautiful sky.” The sun peeked out from a hill, a radiant beam of yellow just warming up for the day, the clouds gathering around it in little worshipping puffs. “My word, isn’t that view incredible?”
He closed the distance between us, his side pressed to mine. We stood there for a long moment, taking it in.
When Beau finally spoke, his voice was hushed as the river. “I promised myself if I made it out alive, I wouldn’t take anything for granted. Things like this—a sunrise, a sunset, the serenade of crickets, the feel of the creek on my skin. Things the guys we lost would never get the chance to experience again. But I let go of that. Got busy with life and the business . . . and just forgot.”
I gave the words a moment to linger between us before responding. “But I know you didn’t forget those men for a second. They’re with you all the time. Even when you’re asleep.” I rubbed my hand across his strong back. “You’re a good man, Beau Hudson.”
“I wasn’t good enough.”
“How can you say that? You saved lives and—”
“Drop it.” The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he swiftly walked back to the ATV.
“Beau.”
But he climbed onto the four-wheeler and revved up the engine ’til it roared, drowning out anything else I had to say.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The golden sunset that followed us home Saturday morning was no match for the dark cloud hovering in the cab of Beau’s truck. Conversation was cold as a forgotten coffee, the radio played terrible songs, and we nearly ran over Mrs. Ruckle’s aging poodle, Mr. Curly Pants.
When I saw two familiar senior citizens sitting on our front porch, I knew my morning sprinkle of awkward was about to turn into a full-on shower.
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” I said as we got out of his Ford. “They’re likely packing heat.”
Beau opened his car door as if grateful for the escape.
Sylvie stood up from the mint green glider. “Your house gets burgled, and I gotta hear about it from Maria Jiménez’s daughter’s loser husband Barney, who always shorts me on the bacon on my breakfast burrito at the diner?”
Frannie fanned herself. “If a man shorted me bacon, I’d introduce him to my four friends: righty, lefty, Smith, and Wesson.”
“It was late.” I stepped onto the porch. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You didn’t have to,” Sylvie said. “Bacon Stealing Barney did it for you.” She slid those sly eyes between Beau and me. “Where’ve you two been?”
“The creek.” Beau settled himself into a metal chair, a grin back on his face as he enjoyed the show. “A little early morning fishing.”
Sylvie’s eyes narrowed like a viper primed to strike. “Where’d you sleep last night, Paisley?”
“With me.” Beau slipped on his Ray-Bans.
“That’s not true.” I gave his shoulder a smack. “But I did sleep at his house.”
“You rake!” Sylvie leapt to her feet. “You’ve compromised my granddaughter.”
“You’ve sullied her reputation!” Frannie threw her hands wide. “She’ll be cut off from all society and forever left on the shelf.”
I bit back a giggle.
“She was a diamond of the first water!” Sylvie cried. “I insist you marry her!”
“Or pistols at dawn!” Frannie said. “Name your seconds!”
From behind those sunglasses, Beau’s eyes met mine. And we both laughed.
The earlier tension evaporated like the light morning fog. “Don’t mind these two,” I said. “They’ve read way too much historical romance lately.” I wrapped my arms around my grandmother and leaned my tired head on her shoulder. “And Sylvie, unless you’re willing to pony up for a really big dowry to give us, we’re not getting married.”
She sighed dramatically. “It was worth a shot. Was there at least some hanky-panky?”
“None,” I said.
Frannie shook her head in disgust. “Sometimes it’s like we’re not even related.”
“Did The Sheik’s Pregnant Secretary teach you nothing?” Sylvie asked.
“Beau never once asked me to join his harem.”
“Young people today.” Sylvie shot Beau a withering look. “You bore me.”
“So, a break-in, huh?” Thankfully, Frannie was ready to get back to business.
“The place is pretty trashed.” I pulled my house key out of my purse and opened the door, the others following.
“Holy detonator buttons.” Sylvie turned a full circle in my living room. “This is almost as bad as that time Frannie and I accidentally detonated that tiny explsoive in a Topeka KMart.”
“Right in the ladies’ undergarment section.” Frannie stepped over a ripped couch cushion. “There were bras and frillies all the way to the garden center.”
“Bloomers as far as the eye could see.” My grandmother made her way to the kitchen and stopped when she saw the dishes in the floor. “My mother’s china.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Sylvie sighed. “They’re just things. What matters is that you and Mr. Morality are okay.” She then regarded Beau. “Thank you for looking out for my granddaughter.”
Beau smiled. “Anytime.”
“I still think you should marry her within the hour.”
“I’m giving a fish-gutting workshop at Fox Falls.”
“Maybe another time.” She inspected the drawers on the floor, careful not to touch anything with her hands. “I’ll have some friends stop by to see if they get any prints.”
“I think the police have already done that,” Beau said.
Sylvie’s look clearly said bless your simple little heart. “What was taken?”
“As far as I can tell, nothing,” I said. “It’s going to take some time to know for sure, but my diamond earrings are still sitting on the bathroom counter, the TV’s still here, though in pieces, and even the ring Mom and Dad gave me for my first Grammy is right where I left it. I did a quick inventory of my shoe collection, and not so much as one heel is missing.”
Beau rubbed his chin. “So the robber has taste . . .”
Funny. “The bad news is Sasha’s iPad is now a useless heap of trash—and I never got to fully check it out.”
“That could’ve been your perp’s target,” Frannie said. “We’ll still have to inspect everything to see if this was a ploy to install bugs or cameras, but what if your intruder wanted to toss the place to make it look like simple vandalism?”
Beau let his weary eyes rest on me. “Or what if they just wanted to scare Paisley off the case?”
“A very viable option.” Sylvie pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket as if carrying them was as normal as having a tissue or Chapstick. “Where’s the iPad?”
“My bedroom floor.”
We followed my grandmother down the hall. “This poor bedroom surely got the worst of it.”
“Actually this is pretty much what it always looks like.” I popped a sagging drawer back into place with my hip. “Just the iPad and a mirror got smashed.”
Frannie gloved up and retrieved the white tablet from a pile of laundry. “Not much left of it. That hard drive looks like it went through the woodchipper.”
“So it’s hopeless?” I asked. “I’d barely looked at it.”
Frannie picked up a few more pieces. “I’d categorize it as impossible.”
“Which happens to be her specialty.” Sylvie winked. “Now don’t you worry about a thing, shug. By the time you get home tonight, my friends will have analyzed this crime scene, put a new security system in place, and set everything back to rights. If there’s any evidence here, they’ll find it.”
&n
bsp; “Who are these people?” I asked.
Sylvie and Frannie ignored my question and escorted us out of the bedroom.
“Thank you again for taking care of my granddaughter last night, Beau,” Sylvie said as we returned to the front porch.
“He was great.” I smiled at Beau, who leaned against the porch rail, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. “He even taught me some self-defense moves.”
“How to use a water bottle as a silencer?” Frannie asked.
Beau arched a brow. “No.”
Sylvie’s eyes lit. “How to make a lead pipe out of wrenches and an umbrella?”
“The old jab-a-pen-in-the-throat trick?” Frannie suggested.
Sylvie shooed a fly. “Did he at least teach you to build a Molotov cocktail with fuel and a tampon?”
“Fresh out of feminine products,” Beau said.
“And you call yourself a soldier.” Sylvie stepped off the porch. “Come on, Frannie, we have work to do.”
Her friend followed behind her. “Crime is so invigorating.”
We watched them drive away in Frannie’s minivan, windows rolled down, vintage Jay Z bumping from the speakers.
“They’re kind of frightening,” Beau said.
“They are.” I thought of the jigsaw puzzle that was the iPad. “Let’s just hope they’re effective.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
At ten a.m. I mashed my finger on Raven Arnett’s doorbell, uncertain as to what was waiting for me on the other side.
Raven opened the door, her face pale and devoid of expression. “Hey, Paisley. Thanks for stopping by, but I’m afraid I’ve come down with something and don’t feel so well. Is it okay if we talk another time?”
“Oh.” Seriously? “Um, okay. Sure.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you later and—”
“Let her in, Raven.” Phoebe Chen butted her way into the entrance, looking nothing like the apprehensive young woman I’d met before. “If you don’t tell her, I will.”
Tell me what?
Raven’s posture deflated. “Come on in.” Her tone carried a root-canal level of enthusiasm. “Can I get you something to drink? Some snacks? Chips? A peek at my new People magazine, which mentions you finding a dead body on page 97?”
Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 22
