SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  With a long finger, he hooked his own sunglasses, propped on top of his short dark hair, and brought them down over his eyes. The mirrored lenses reflected her image back to her, and she wanted to groan at the askew hat, the messy long braid hanging down one shoulder, the bit of ratty ribbed sleeveless top she wore beneath the equally ratty overalls she’d had forever.

  Harper cleared her throat. “Gotta go.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mad said.

  Now he was telling her not to leave? Six years too late?

  He glanced along his right shoulder—wide right shoulder, obviously he hadn’t slacked off on workouts—and aimed his dark glasses toward the rear of her car. “You’ve got a flat.”

  “What?” Without thinking, she turned off the engine and swung open her door to hop out of her car. He didn’t back off like he should have, so for a second she was standing way too close to him and she remembered that the top of her head came to his chin and that the notch of his throat was a convenient place on his person for her to kiss.

  Shoving that thought away, she cheered when he took a step back so she could stomp over for a better look at her tire.

  Flat.

  “You didn’t notice?” he asked.

  Truth to tell, she’d been rubbernecking as she drove, absorbed by the changes to downtown Sawyer Beach. The traffic made going slow a necessity, so she’d felt free to focus on the new stores and the old, familiar shops she remembered, aware that both types looked prosperous and well-patronized if the crowded sidewalks were any indication.

  “I had my mind on something else,” she said. “I must have run over a nail.”

  He was already rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, pristine and crisp. At this time of day. In this heat.

  She’d teased him about his attention to sartorial detail. In another life, she’d told him, he’d be a valet like on Downton Abbey.

  His only reply was to give her a look, one eyebrow raised, that sent a shiver down her spine. Like the lord of the manor was displeased with her and the stable girl would have to soften him up somehow to get back into his good graces.

  She’d known how to soften him up.

  “Do you have a jack?” he asked now.

  Shaking herself free of memories, she reached in for her wallet, stuffed into the center console. “I have the auto club,” she said, already rifling through her plastic cards. “I don’t need to take up any more of your time.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  But he had a wife. Probably children. Her mom had only told her of his engagement years ago, but never shared if the union produced progeny. Likely, right? A sturdy boy with his dark eyes, or a little girl with strawberry-blonde ringlets like her mother.

  At the thought, her fingers fumbled. Like a Vegas dealer with a case of the clumsies, the cards scattered to the blacktop. She bent and so did he, only barely escaping a bump of foreheads. When they both straightened, she had her driver’s license, the brow-shaping salon frequent client card, her sole credit card, and a bunch of school photos of former students.

  Glancing at Mad, she saw he’d located her proof of auto club membership.

  He held it up between two long fingers. “Expired.”

  Defeat made her shoulders want to sag. When she’d fantasized about running into her first love again—which she’d allowed herself only as a rare indulgence—it was never while appearing bedraggled and broken-down.

  Damn this moment. And damn him for looking so calm and collected.

  Handsome.

  Okay, sexy.

  No.

  Suppressing a scream of frustration, she squared her shoulders and forced her thoughts to the pressing matter at hand.

  Getting away from him as soon as possible. And also no, those were not tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

  “Never mind about the auto club,” she said, aiming for sounding practical. “In auto shop I learned how to change a tire, too.”

  He pulled down his sunglasses, assessing her bare-eyed. She felt his gaze on her arms and then the rest of her. Don’t react. Her nerve endings refused to obey, however. Even as she didn’t move a muscle, they twitched and danced beneath her skin.

  “You’ll never get the lug nuts off,” he said after a minute.

  She spun in a circle, just resisting stamping her foot. “Look. There’s got to be a garage nearby—”

  “Hold this.”

  Before she could object, he shoved a tie in her hand. A tasteful mix of olive and gold stripes, it was warm and sleek and somehow smelled like him, a hint of spice and a touch of spray starch.

  Yeah, that was familiar too.

  Struggling not to strangle the length of fabric—or use it to strangle him—she stood by as he got into her trunk and located the jack and the spare. He made some disparaging noise as he examined the replacement tire, but then made quick work of removing the flat. As cars coming upon them slowed, she waved them on, grateful to have something else to do besides admiring the muscles at play beneath the shirt on his back, the flex of his heavy forearms, the nimble moves of his long fingers.

  She used to play with his hands, tracing the lines of his palms, stroking the blue veins on the tops, lacing their fingers together because…

  Because he was hers.

  Now, though he was married, she didn’t see a ring. But many men didn’t wear them and she had to wonder if police detectives were prohibited from jewelry on the job? He had a smartwatch strapped around his wrist—of course he did—but there were no other embellishments available to her eye.

  The Maddox Kelly she’d known would never have approved of a tattoo for himself and she suspected that remained true. What else about him hadn’t—

  “I assume you won’t be here for long,” he said, his back turned away from her.

  “Not even going to unpack my bags,” she declared, a promise she’d made to herself when she decided on this visit. Her mother’s explanation of the odd goings-on at farms in the area had sounded an alarm, and when she considered the age of her grandfather and his distrust of authority, she’d realized her concern wouldn’t quiet without a quick trip to assess things for herself.

  “I’ll bet you’ll find things very different after six years.”

  “I’ve been here before,” she said, and immediately wished the words back.

  He straightened, then released the jack to bring the car back in complete contact with the road. When he still didn’t react to her comment, she crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her hands in the crooks of her elbows. Of course there was no reason to believe he’d care she’d made those stealth visits—twice.

  Though it made her feel stupid for working so hard to avoid Mad and anyone who might report that she’d spent a few nights with her mother and grandparents.

  At the loud clang of her trunk closing, she jumped.

  Mad wiped his hands on a handkerchief, then folded it to hide the soiled side and slid it into his back pocket. “So this is probably a goodbye as well as a hello,” he said, his voice without inflection.

  “Right.”

  “Nevada plates,” he said next.

  “Right again.” Not for a million dollars would she tell him she’d been living in Vegas for the past eighteen months, sharing rent with another fellow teacher she’d met in Seoul, who’d also got her a job bartending at an off-strip joint.

  It paid okay and allowed her mom to visit fairly often.

  Which was how she’d figured out something was going on at the farm her grandfather had owned and worked since 1968. When she’d invited her mother for a long weekend, Rebecca Hill had confessed to being uncomfortable leaving Grandpop and Grandmom alone even for that short of time. Harper had gone into worry overdrive, thinking the older couple might be having health issues, but her mom had admitted that while they were as hearty as ever, Harper’s grandfather had been grumbling about petty thievery.

  Of course, his old hippie self still distrusted authority, so he’d eschew
ed contacting law enforcement. Harper’s mom wasn’t even sure whether the stuff that had gone missing wasn’t actually mislaid or possibly just the usual case of some farm implements walking away with seasonal workers. It wasn’t unexpected or really worth pursuing.

  Harper had decided to check the situation out for herself, though, the whole while keeping her head down.

  Her bags packed.

  Her car gassed up.

  With a stilted thank you for Mad, she jumped back into the driver’s seat. She adjusted the rearview mirror and caught sight of the man climbing into his own vehicle, tall, lean, handsome. Why had he matured so well, she thought on a sigh.

  And why hadn’t she matured enough to forget about him?

  Blinking away another round of annoying tears, she reminded herself this would be over soon. No lasting harm would be done, especially if she kept her head down, her bags packed, her car gassed up.

  She turned the key. The engine made a whiny kind of protest, then caught. Pushing on the accelerator, the decrepit sedan seemed to stumble forward. Her hand slipped on the wheel, and the horn bleated like a stubborn goat kicked in the ass.

  With her attention now grimly on the road ahead, Harper had to wonder.

  If her vehicle would make it to her grandparents’ house.

  And if she could depend upon it to make her near-future escape from Sawyer Beach.

  Chapter Two

  The ocean at her back, Harper drove east, into the foothills rising above the town of Sawyer Beach. Her grandfather, Eugene Hill, had dropped out of college—UC Berkeley—in the 1960s and taken his trust fund south along with a bevy of like-minded friends and acquaintances and others they’d picked up on their trip down the coast.

  They’d stopped in Sawyer Beach, at that time nothing more than a gas station and some houses. There were smalls farms nestled in the hills and the valleys between and Grandpop had used his family money to buy a generous parcel for his small group.

  A commune? Harper remembered asking her mom, kind of awed at the idea that her gray-haired grandfather had been a member of the counterculture.

  Her mother had explained that after a few years most of the hangers-on had drifted to other places, where you didn’t have to plant and water and pick for your supper. Even then, Grandpop had seen what he could do with the fertile ground. Even then, he’d been a hard worker and he’d learned by mistake and from the other small farmers in the surrounding area.

  A young woman had showed up one day, she had a green thumb and an interest in growing herbs. Grandpop had taken her on as temporary help and ultimately married her. They’d had one child, Rebecca, and Rebecca had given birth to one daughter as well—Harper. Eugene and Mary continued to run the farm with their daughter’s help and a handful of others. Seasonal workers were hired a few times a year, but it was still very much a family operation. The microclimate created by the topography of the property made growing the herbs, spinach, lettuces, avocados, and lemons a year-round endeavor.

  Organically grown since day one, harvest from Sunnybird Farm now was sold to local restaurants and independent specialty markets.

  As she turned off the paved road onto the wide gravel lane that led to the house, Harper found herself holding her breath. Around a turn, the house came into sight and she released it on a long sigh.

  It looked the same.

  A two-story Craftsman-style home, it had the low-pitched triangular roof that extended past the exterior walls on both the first and second stories, creating a deep porch on the ground level and a balcony on the second. Natural stone faced the foundation work and was used as footings for the exterior columns. The wood siding was painted a muted sage color and the trim around the windows was the same color as the goldenrod plant that thrived in the uncultivated portions of the surrounding hills. A brown-stained picket fence surrounded the house, and after parking in the wide turnout by the standalone garage, she let herself through the gate and crunched along the pea-gravel path to the front door, neat grass and flower beds on either side.

  Before she could pull open the screen door, her grandfather exited, his silver hair in a ponytail and a leather cord with an amulet hanging around his neck. He took her up in his sinewy arms, and she released another sigh as she pressed her cheek to the well-washed shirt he wore, which smelled of laundry soap and sunshine.

  “It’s been so long, Grandpop,” she said, clinging back, then leaning away to take him in. His tanned face was lined from long years of living under the sun, but his eyes were the same as hers, green and still clear. If he seemed more slightly stooped than before, that was a small thing. He was in his seventies, after all.

  “Too long,” he said, slipping her duffel bag off her shoulder.

  She started to protest. “I can—”

  “Go in and see your mom and Grandmom.” He pushed her gently toward the open front door. “I’m right behind you.”

  As always, he had her back. Though not one of her relatives had ever questioned her choices. They’d say they missed her, that they loved her, but they never wondered aloud whether she should leave the country to teach English overseas. Or spend months in Las Vegas pouring drinks for people looking for nirvana in a crazy town in the middle of the desert.

  Okay, once Grandpop had called it hell on earth, but it had been too hot to be outdoors—Grandpop lived for outdoors—and the concert she’d enticed him to see, by a band from his youth, had left him dismayed.

  “They’re too damn old to be working,” he’d pronounced, even as he still started his day with the dawn.

  “Harper?” Her mom’s voice floated through the front door and she hurried in its direction.

  Delicious smells beckoned her into the kitchen, where she found her mother slicing herb-laced bread and her grandmother at the stove, stirring a big pot of her famous minestrone soup.

  “Oh, boy,” Harper said, breathing deep and putting her arms around Mary Hill, with her cap of silver hair as short as a boy’s. “You made my favorite.”

  Her grandmother turned her head to kiss Harper’s cheek with enthusiasm. “I thought you might be visiting because you need a dose of my special elixir.”

  Harper glanced over at her mother, who shot her a warning look. So Rebecca’s advice had not changed. She’d cautioned Harper against flat-out questioning Grandpop or Grandmom about the alleged irregularities at the farm. They wouldn’t want her to know and she shouldn’t want them to know she’d been motivated to visit out of worry.

  “I feel my immune system growing stronger just taking in its mouthwatering scent.” When she’d come back to the States, run-down and barely over a bout of pneumonia, her mother had driven to Las Vegas with quarts of the stuff. It had saved Harper’s life, she’d thought then.

  She didn’t doubt it now.

  Crossing to hug her mother, she looked around the kitchen. The farm table was set for dinner. “What can I do?”

  “For now, tell us about your trip,” Rebecca said, hugging back. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “None at all,” Harper said, moving to the refrigerator to grab a pitcher of iced tea. Not for anything would she tell them about running into Mad. They had liked him all those years ago, even Grandpop, who maintained a healthy suspicion of the police to this day. Maybe they had even suspected that Harper loved him.

  But she had never told them, never would tell them, why she’d left him.

  Which didn’t matter anyway—the man had that wife and probably those kids…another thing she wouldn’t discuss with her family.

  “I know a way to wipe that frown off your face,” her mother said now. “Come out to the kitchen garden and we’ll pick some fresh basil to garnish the soup.”

  Linking arms, she drew Harper through the kitchen door. “I’m not frowning,” she said, surreptitiously rubbing at the line between her brows with her free hand.

  “They must have been some heavy thoughts then,” Rebecca replied, leading her down steps into the small plot of land conven
ient for their personal use.

  Struck by the sight, Harper paused. “Sunflowers.” She gestured toward the stately plants, the yellow petals spiky, the centers full with seeds. “They look so happy.”

  Glancing around at the neat rows of herbs, the lettuces, the last of the beans growing skyward, she let herself feel happy too. Who couldn’t enjoy the moment as the final rays of the day’s sun warmed the air and bees buzzed in that lazy way they had? On the path to the full basil bush, her leg brushed some rosemary and its sharp, piney scent seemed to cleanse her mind. Only goodness grew here, she decided, smiling.

  “It’s so good to have you home,” her mother said, almost echoing Harper’s thoughts.

  And goodness continued through the evening meal, the four of them gathered around the table and digging into the fresh food made from their own harvest. Mary had devised the recipe years ago from a meal she and Grandpop had been served on the shores of Lake Como in Italy, and they reminisced about their travels, something they’d done semi-regularly in their younger years when they researched new items and varieties of produce.

  “You should plan another trip, Grandmom,” Harper suggested. “Go to Italy again. Spain, the south of France. Now that summer is over, the planes and airports are less crowded.”

  “Now is not a good time,” Grandpop answered.

  “Oh?” Maybe he would share with her his concerns and she wouldn’t have to pussy foot around the subject like her mother suggested.

  “We have Pumpkin Day coming up,” Grandmom said.

  “Right.” How could Harper have forgotten? In September they picked their crop and before delivering them to market, they invited a local school to enjoy a day at the farm. It was a long-standing tradition. “But you definitely should think about packing your suitcases and seeing more sights.”

  “Speaking of suitcases,” her mom said, standing to stack the empty bowls and plates. “Let’s get the dishes done and then get you settled into your room.”

  Before long, the two of them climbed the stairs to Harper’s little haven in the attic. Within the confines of the small space, the wallpaper sprigged with old-fashioned posies, she took a good look at her mother. In her mid-forties, the older woman was fit from her days working the farm and from the early morning yoga stretches she did with an app on her phone. Her dark hair brushed her shoulders and she had the distinctive Hill green eyes as well.