SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4)

by Christie Ridgway

  “Good questions.”

  “I don’t like not knowing the answers.” Mad narrowed his eyes as they climbed into the car.

  Shane started his van. “Let’s see where they go.”

  “What?” He looked at his friend. “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  Mad shook his head. “From Beach Boy to Hardy Boy in the blink of an eye.” But he was more than curious himself. He gestured with his hand. “Onward.”

  For an amateur, Shane did a fine job of tailing the pair, and they followed them through the drive-thru—enough tacos and drinks for a group, the server said when Mad flashed his badge at the window—and then into the foothills. Shane had to pull back to avoid detection on the narrow roads, but there were few turnoffs so they kept on going at a slow but steady pace.

  “There,” Mad said, as they passed a dilapidated dwelling with a sagging roof and boarded-up windows. He’d almost missed it, because they’d driven their compact across dried weeds to stash the car behind the house. “They must be in there.”

  Shane traveled a little farther then made a U-turn and pulled over, parking fifty yards away. “Do we have a plan, Detective?” he asked as they climbed from his van and quietly shut their doors.

  “I don’t know, Frank, do we?”

  “I’m Joe Hardy,” Shane said. “The cute blond brother.”

  They approached the front door, and Mad noted a padlock broken off and hanging from a metal loop. Through the plywood covering the windows, music pulsed.

  “Guess we didn’t need to tiptoe through the tulips,” Shane said.

  Mad shot him a look. “Stay behind me.”

  “Right.”

  They were shoulder-to-shoulder when Mad turned the knob then nudged open the door with the toe of his shoe. If the hinges squealed, the sound was lost in the bass that seemed to drum against his breastbone.

  On the floor of what he supposed was the “living room,” was scattered fast-food wrappers, the surfboards and wetsuits, a handful of beach chairs, and a portable sound system. Four young people with absolutely no idea their teenage paradise had been invaded, gathered around a table with three-and-a-half legs, the group pawing through the new fast-food bags. Mad took one step toward them, then his gaze caught on a stash of metal in one corner and stacked bins and open burlap bags in another. Avocados, oranges, and tomatoes. Herbs.

  “The catalytic converter caper, part two,” he murmured. And the culprits of the recent agriculture crimes seem to have been found as well.

  “Wait, what?” One of the teens started, then stared at the newcomers, clutching a taco wrapped in greasy paper to his chest. “What are you doing here, dudes?”

  “Dudes are calling the cops,” Mad said, withdrawing his phone from his pocket.

  The cops came, observed, and then took the teenagers away. Mad had Shane drive him home where he debated for forty seconds before climbing into his car and heading for the house at Sunnybird Farm.

  Upon arrival, gravel crunched under his tires, warning the occupants of a visitor, and making his second thoughts too late to save him. He squared his shoulders, then headed for the front entrance. As he reached toward the bell, Eugene Hill opened the door.

  “Maddox,” he said, coming onto the porch. “Too bad, you just missed lunch.”

  “Hey, Eugene.” They shook hands. “I didn’t come for a meal. There’s news.”

  “Global, national, or local?”

  “Local.” Mad gestured to the nearby chairs. “Can we sit?”

  When they were comfortable, he told the older man about the amateur crime syndicate they’d broken up that morning. “Looks like they’re responsible for what we knew was happening or suspected was happening around here. Upon their second arrest, the boys spilled that they have a relationship with a shady recycler outside of town for the metal they’ve been taking. There’s a pair of girls who hawk the stolen produce and such at farmers markets in the area.”

  “But you’ve stopped them.”

  “I believe we have,” Mad said. “You shouldn’t have any more problems.”

  “Glad to hear it. Harper will be too.” He stood. “I suppose now she’ll go back to the desert.”

  “Right.” Mad ignored the blow to his chest and got to his feet too. He’d known it was coming so it shouldn’t hurt so damn bad. “I—”

  “Want to tell her the news yourself, I’m sure,” Eugene said. “Otherwise you would have called.”

  Oh. Yeah. He could have communicated the information with a device that did not require being face-to-face with Harper. But that would have been the coward’s way out and while he avoided baring his feelings, he wasn’t a complete candy ass.

  “She’s in the kitchen garden,” Eugene said now. “Around the side of the house.”

  Mad resolutely followed direction, even as he held out the small hope that he’d find himself lost, thus putting off the delivering of information that would likely prove to be today’s equivalent of the birthday globe. But Eugene’s instructions were sound and there was a garden where expected and inside it a person in cut-off overalls, standing among sunflowers nearly six feet tall. She was bent over a leaf, her hair covered by a bandanna, and her feet bare.

  Farm girl.

  Temporarily, he reminded himself. When he told her about stopping the criminal ring, she’d be back in her car so fast, nose pointed toward Las Vegas, that like an elastic bandage being ripped off skin, he wouldn’t have time to feel the sting.

  Still, he reconsidered leaving without speaking, but then she straightened, her head turned his way. “Mad?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He couldn’t see her clearly among the forest of large yellow flowers, but he didn’t move.

  “You’re here.”

  “Right.” Tell her, he urged himself, then be prepared for her exodus.

  Tell her fast, like ripping off that elastic bandage. You won’t feel the sting.

  “I had pneumonia,” she suddenly said. “When I was living in Portugal.”

  Okay. “You mentioned that before.”

  “I put off going to the doctor. I dosed myself with whatever the pharmacist handed me over the counter but I wasn’t getting any better.”

  “Harp—”

  “And then I was so sick that I had to be hospitalized.”

  His throat went dry. “Harp.”

  “And I didn’t want to call my mom and tell her…until the night I thought I was going to die.”

  “Harp.”

  “She flew to Portugal, nursed me back to health, and after that I made the decision to come back to the States.”

  “Bless your mom.”

  “I do,” Harp said. “Every day. But it seems I didn’t learn my lesson. Turning to another person, asking for help…it’s still hard for me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a cop. I have a tendency to think I should always be in charge.”

  “You want to take care of people, that’s not bad.”

  I want to take care of you…for as long as you’ll let me.

  She stepped out of the sunflowers and he froze, taking in that beautiful, battered face. Scabs, not blood, and she bore a blue bruise under one eye. This is what a heart attack feels like, he thought, his chest constricting, oxygen caught in his lungs.

  Still, he couldn’t help but move toward her. She met him halfway, and they went into each other’s arms. Their mouths met.

  She was going to leave, his good sense reminded him.

  But not yet, the rest of him said. Not quite yet.

  Let it ride.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harper’s flushed, naked body twisted under Mad’s big hands, and she moaned as he caressed her everywhere. His mouth traced the line of her jaw then trailed down her neck, causing her to shiver and quake. “Harper,” he murmured. “You smell so good.” His teeth took a small nip and she jerked, pleasure flashing over her. “You taste even better.”

  Her fingers slid into his smooth hair as he latched onto one
of her nipples. His tongue laved the crest, causing it to bud into a tight, needy point. She dug her nails into his scalp. “More,” she moaned. “Harder.”

  The edge of his teeth made her hips lift high and one of his hands pressed her back to the mattress, his palm a delicious, heavy weight on her mons. She gasped as his middle finger slid between the layers of flesh there, then gently teased from her clit to the entrance that ached for him. Her hips lifted again, and he made an appreciative sound low in his throat.

  “Mad,” she whispered. “Never stop this.”

  He lifted his head. “I won’t.” His gaze on her face, his lips lowered to kiss the hard tip of her nipple.

  So good. She shivered again as he moved to the other breast, kissing and sucking there too.

  “Mad,” she moaned. “Never let me go.”

  Behind her, a horn honked.

  Harper started, coming aware of her surroundings. Behind the wheel of her car. At the one stop light before the downtown blocks of Sawyer Beach. It had gone green now, and the truck behind her was encouraging her to press the gas pedal instead of the brake.

  She did so, then pulled into the drugstore parking lot. Her errand took mere minutes, then she was heading back to her vehicle. Her gaze caught on the coffee place. Harry’s.

  Sophie.

  Harper decided to make a quick stop for a chat with the barista.

  The breakfast rush appeared to be over and the lunch rush not yet begun, so she only had to wait for one customer before she could greet the barista and order a coffee.

  “Hey, there.” Sophie smiled. “You look a little fuzzy around the edges, girlfriend. And you have a love bite.”

  Harper’s hand flew up to her neck. She hadn’t noticed. “Didn’t we used to call them hickeys?”

  “When we didn’t know how love hurts,” the other woman said, turning to make the drink. “What are you up to this fine day?”

  “Did you hear about the crime ring that Mad broke up?” He’d told her in the garden, while she was still in his arms, still tingling from his kiss.

  Sophie passed the to-go cup over. “Of course. No one gets out of here without leaving behind some local tittle-tattle.”

  Harper smiled at that. “Well, that piece of tittle-tattle means that I’m wrapping up a few things and then heading back to Las Vegas.”

  “Oh.” Sophie made a face. “It’s been so fun being friends again.”

  “It has. Which means you must come visit me in Sin City.”

  The barista brightened. “I’d like—” Her gaze shifted over Harper’s shoulder and a big smile overtook her face. She used her whole arm to wave.

  Harper glance around and saw Hart Sawyer striding along the sidewalk, delivering a much more subdued wave at Sophie in return.

  “Nice fake,” Harper told the other woman. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “About Hart?”

  She nodded.

  “In more of that tittle-tattle that gets dropped here, it was Hart’s cousin we saw with him at the food hall.”

  “Oh…good?”

  “Right. And he’s still miserable.” She lifted both arms, winning boxer-style. “Yay!”

  Miserable was the barista’s expression. “That’s it,” Harper said. “We’re getting you to my place ASAP. Nothing can improve your mood like a magic show. We’ll take you to the one where it’s a guy that’s cut in half.”

  That roused a laugh out of the other woman and they made tentative plans. When a couple more customers came in, Harper was on her way again. Back at the house, she marched upstairs and made quick work of packing her bags. Time to go. No time to think.

  No time to regret there wouldn’t be another passion-filled night.

  Though last night…

  Harper’s flushed, naked body twisted under Mad’s big hands, and she moaned as he caressed her everywhere.

  “Ah!” She put her hands to either side of her head and then threw out her arms, attempting to dislodge the memories. “Moving on.”

  Which meant making herself a quick lunch and then tracking down her mother. After her sandwich, Harper snatched up the item she’d bought at the pharmacy, stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans, and trotted out of the house.

  One of the lower fields had been mowed and her mother was standing beside a large pile of pumpkins, her hands on her hips. “What do you think?” she asked, looking over at Harper. “Are some of these too big for Pumpkin Day?”

  “Pumpkin Day,” Harper echoed. She’d forgotten it was two days off, when she’d be back in Las Vegas making watered-down Manhattans and Long Island iced teas if her boss wanted her to return to work early. For some reason the golf bachelors and divorce-moon women always ordered drinks named after East Coast hot spots. “I’m going to miss Pumpkin Day.”

  Funny, how sad that made her feel.

  “You can help set up, though,” her mom offered. “I’d appreciate an extra set of hands.”

  Rather than having children traipse through the hilly and uneven pumpkin patch, they set out orange squashes of the right size for little hands on an easy-to-navigate space. For years, the school that both Rebecca and Harper had attended, a popular K-3 named Sunshine & Unicorns and known for its alternative-style of education, visited in September as their lead-in to the fall season.

  At least I’ll have this, Harper thought, and began moving the pumpkins.

  “I like your company,” her mom said a while later as they stood shoulder to shoulder, debating whether they should reorganize the display. Rebecca customarily ordered them by size, but wondered if this year it should be by shape instead. “I’m going to have to lure you back here sooner than later.”

  Harper’s hand went to her back pocket. “Speaking of that…” She whipped out the mascara and presented it with a flourish.

  Rebecca stared at the narrow tube, then shifted her gaze to Harper. “What does that have to do with luring you back here sooner or later?”

  “Well, nothing.” But she’d needed a way to start this conversation. And it had to be checked off her to-do list before she could leave for Las Vegas. “I just think it would be nice if you started wearing mascara.”

  “Oh?” Her mother took the proffered makeup and held it like it was a foreign tool.

  “I also think it would be nice to agree to that fix up Mad’s mom is suggesting. You know, go out on a date.”

  “You’ve heard about that?” Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Mom, you’ve been wallowing in heartache for far too long.”

  Her mother looked away. “I’m not interested in romance.”

  “No,” Harper said. “You’re interested in romance, but only the one with my father which ended twenty-seven years ago.”

  “Harper…”

  She hauled in a breath and then let the admission rush out. “Mom, I have a confession. I read your diaries. Journals. Whatever you call them.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I invaded your privacy. It was years ago and it started out innocently enough…” She put up a hand. “No, it wasn’t really that innocent. I saw mention of my father and I, well, couldn’t resist.”

  Her mother made a face. “I suppose that curiosity is understandable, Harper, though I wish you hadn’t.”

  “I’ve felt guilty about it for years. But it gave me an insight I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

  “That being…”

  “Mom, you’ve got to get out of this unrequited love-rut.”

  Rebecca shifted uneasily. “I don’t want to talk about this, Harper.”

  “Mom—”

  “Harper, I love you, but it’s none of your business.”

  “Ah.” Frustrated, she threw up her hands. “How I wish he’d come back to town.”

  Her mother’s expression softened. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry for that big hole that was left in your life.”

  Harper shook her head. “For you, Mom, so you’d see how he isn’t the fantasy
man in your head. I wouldn’t wish him back for me.”

  “What?”

  “I have no hole, Mom, honest. Between you and Grandpop and Grandmom I am all filled up. But I wish he’d come back so you wouldn’t be able to idealize that long-ago so-called ‘relationship’ any longer.”

  Harper had done that. She’d spent years idealizing what she’d had with Mad before she’d left to teach overseas. Thoughts of him and the two of them together had traveled with her all over the world. Thank God she’d returned to Sawyer Beach and…and…

  Learned that he remained as hot and sexy—and still a little bit starchy, it had to be admitted, though endearingly so—as she remembered.

  “Can I be of any help, ladies?” a deep voice asked.

  She swung around to see the man she’d never been able to forget approaching, wearing jeans, boots, and a shirt freshly ironed—yes, endearingly starchy. “Oh!”

  “Did you forget you invited me to dinner?”

  It’s possible she’d been OD’d on orgasms at the time. But yes, she recalled now that he was coming, though she had hoped to take a shower and put on a dress before he made an appearance. “It’s only four o’clock,” she pointed out.

  “Shall I go home and come back?” He leaned close to kiss her cheek. “You said it was going to be a goodbye meal, right?”

  “Right.”

  His hand caught hers. “I need a lot of time to say goodbye.”

  I need a lot of time to say goodbye. Her belly clenched at the idea of it. Tonight they were saying a final farewell. Accept it, Harper. Deal with it. Ignoring an inconvenient sting of tears, she directed him to distribute the remaining pumpkins around the field.

  Then she directed him to wait downstairs while she took that shower and made the wardrobe change. When she came back down the steps lugging her bags, he hurried to take them from her hands and offered to stow them in her car himself.

  “A truly imminent departure, I see,” he said on his way to the door.

  Her heart squeezed so painfully, she couldn’t speak. Maybe that imminent departure was already too late, she thought as he strode outside. Yes, she was in love with him, but she’d held out hope that the damage wouldn’t go deeper than the skin. Just minor scrapes like those on her face, she’d consoled herself. Sure to heal in less than a week.