by Kait Nolan
“Why don’t you go get her, dearie? Your legs are a little more spry than ours,” Miss Betty said.
“Yes ma’am.” Inwardly, Autumn cringed, but she headed into the back room of the center, where a fairly epic battle was laid out on the ping pong table.
A cluster of elderly men were hunched over the table. At the side, Mark was gesturing in broad strokes, his face alight with passion for his subject.
“You can see here, if the other Confederate generals had listened to Stonewall Jackson and marched on Washington when he suggested it, it would have cut off—” He broke off as he caught sight of Autumn, his cheeks coloring.
She gave a little wave and wished he didn’t feel awkward around her now.
“I was just coming to retrieve Miss Delia for Book Club.”
The older woman stepped out from behind the knot of men, preening in her blue velour track suit. “You should come join our book club, Cecil. You might learn something.” Miss Delia punctuated the statement with an unmistakable eyebrow waggle as she leaned in.
The elderly man jolted.
Oh my God. She totally pinched his butt.
Message delivered, Miss Delia sailed by Autumn into the meeting room—insofar as one could sail in sensible sneakers.
“Not going to ask,” Autumn muttered.
She gave one last look at Mark, who studiously avoided her gaze and seemed to be finding the Battle of—whatever he was teaching—to be the most interesting thing ever. She sighed and turned back toward the meeting room. Navigating the small town dating pool was as complicated and convoluted as one of his battles.
Maybe I can think of someone to fix him up with. I wonder if Mary Alice would dig the studious type?
Probably Judd’s ex wouldn’t appreciate any further interference on Autumn’s part. She’d have to keep thinking on it.
A few more people had trickled in. Clint had positioned himself in a corner—ass to the wall, she noted—and looked like he wanted to bolt, but there was a quartet of grannies flanking him on all sides. Time to give the poor guy a rescue.
Autumn clapped her hands for attention. “Okay y’all, let’s get started. I see several new faces since our last meeting. Welcome. Y’all probably already know each other, but let’s do a quick round of introductions for me.”
They went through the round robin intros and Autumn picked up the thread of conversation again. “Okay, so I understand y’all already had your discussion on Dinah McClure’s Catch My Breath?”
“Yes, we picked a new book last meeting,” Miss Betty said.
“Okay then. Since I wasn’t part of that, perhaps one of you would like to lead the discussion?”
“Actually, we’d love if you’ve do a reading for us,” Miss Maudie Bell said. “You do such lovely readings.”
Used to the request, Autumn shrugged. “Sure. Does someone have a copy of whatever it is to loan me?”
“Oh, yes, we have the passage marked already.” Delia handed over her ereader, a terrifying gleam in her eye.
With some trepidation, Autumn swiped the screen awake and began to skim. The blood drained from her cheeks. Forged In Blood. Worse, it was one of the love scenes. Coincidence? She knew at least a few locals had been reading the books because she’d overheard patrons talking at the library. It didn’t have to mean she’d been exposed.
Struggling to control her reaction, she arched her brows. “I’m not entirely sure this is appropriate.”
“Oh come now, we’re all adults,” Miss Betty argued.
“Yes, but we might scar poor Officer Yarbrough for life,” Autumn argued, praying they’d take pity on him.
“Strapping young man like that could stand to be educated,” Miss Delia insisted.
“Or he could plug his ears!” Miss Maudie Bell suggested. “Please read for us.”
Autumn swallowed. She was far from prudish, but reading her work aloud in front of a crowd—especially one of the scenes she’d now experienced in a very intimate way… She could refuse, but what other excuse did she have? So she did the only thing she could. She read.
“Darcy shook. She didn’t know how much was from being soaked to the skin and how much was from shock starting to sink in.
“Cooper came back with a towel, wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘You’re freezing.’ He rubbed his big hands up and down her arms and she had to resist the urge to lean into him.
“‘It’s my fault she’s dead.’ Darcy’s teeth chattered as she said it. ‘It’s always my fault for asking the questions, breaking the rules. Someone else always pays the price. Just like you did.’
“Cooper shook her—not hard, just enough to make a point. ‘No. Nothing about this is your fault. Nothing about what happened with your father was your fault.’
“The look of concern on his face was the first glimmer she’d seen of her Cooper—of the boy she’d so desperately loved. The sight of it broke her heart all over again. ‘I don’t blame you for leaving. Why would anybody stay after that hell? I’m sure being shot pretty thoroughly destroyed any delusions of love.’
“‘My leaving had nothing to do with not loving you. I don’t blame you for what happened. And I’ve thought of you every day since I walked away.’ He tucked a chunk of her wet hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek, and she turned into the touch, needing the warmth, the connection. ‘I’ve thought about what would have happened if your father hadn’t come home that day.’
“So had Darcy.
“‘I wanted you,’ Cooper admitted, skimming his thumb across her lower lip. ‘I’ve always wanted you.’
“The touch lit little fires in her belly, along her skin, burning through the lingering cold of wet and shock. And looking up at him, into the deep blue pools of his eyes, she knew she didn’t want to walk away from this, didn’t want to walk away from him, even if they had no future. So she leaned forward, sliding a hand around his nape to pull him close enough that his lips were a whisper away from hers. ‘Then take me.’
“His breath shuddered out, the warmth of it fanning across her mouth. Darcy closed the distance.
“Cooper didn’t move. His body, pressed so close to hers, hummed with leashed tension.
“‘Please, Cooper. I need you to touch me.’ She needed this. Needed him. But that was something neither of them was ready to hear.
“Please don’t make me beg, she thought.
“His hands came up, tunneled into her hair as he pulled back to look into her eyes. ‘Darcy.’ That was all he said. Part question. Part apology. Part something else. And then his mouth was on hers, and she stopped asking the questions, stopped thinking entirely because she could only feel.”
They were a rapt and attentive audience, something Autumn usually enjoyed. Not even the faint, omnipresent click clacking of knitting needles interrupted her reading. She did her utmost to divorce herself from the fact that these were her words, immersing herself in the story. There was no stopping the blush that crept up her neck and cheeks, and Autumn cursed her red-head’s complexion. But her voice didn’t waver. Not even when her body flushed with remembered heat as she reached Darcy and Cooper’s climax.
“His fingers laced with hers, an anchor as that magnificent body stroked into hers with endless, exquisite patience. He drove her up, a long, slow climb that destroyed her sense of anything but the glorious pleasure building between them. Desperation grew as he kept them there, on that narrow edge, for what felt like hours, maybe days. Darcy shut her eyes, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips, trying to pull him deeper.
“‘Stay with me,’ Cooper rasped.
“But she was too lost to sensation, reaching too hard for that final peak to respond.”
“‘Darcy, I need you with me.’ There was a vulnerability beneath the strain in his voice, and that pulled her back. ‘With me,’ he ordered. ‘Come with me.’
“Opening her eyes, she stared into his. And it was Cooper—her Cooper—looking back at last. The only man she’d ever fully trusted. So she le
t go, crying out as waves of rippling pleasure pulled him over with her.”
Around the room, women were fanning themselves with their ereaders or paperbacks.
“Lord have mercy! Now that is a love scene,” Miss Delia declared.
Echoes of agreement peppered the room.
“So much more meaning in the context of the story,” Miss Maudie Bell said. “But still just lovely on its own.”
So far so good. Out of context, that love scene could’ve come from any number of smexy romance novels. The senior ladies took over discussion, freeing Autumn to get her own reaction under control. The room was two shades under a hundred degrees on the best of days, and today she felt like it was a bikram book club. She didn’t dare chance a look at Clint, not wanting to see either his embarrassment or smirk if he’d gleaned what she’d actually been reading.
“What I want to know, Autumn dear, is whether Judd’s as good in bed as he is on paper.”
Autumn snapped her head toward Miss Betty. “Excuse me?” Surely she’d misheard that.
“I mean, obviously you based Cooper on him—with a few licenses taken here and there. Was that one of them?” Miss Betty blinked at her in absolute innocence, as if she wasn’t asking an obscenely personal question.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Betty. The book was published before they got together,” Miss Maudie Bell chided.
“So she has an exceptional imagination. But I’m with Betty. I’d love to know if reality lives up to the fantasy,” Miss Delia argued.
Autumn didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. Not only did these women know she was Rumor Fairchild, they’d figured out that the main characters were based on her and Judd and were sitting here discussing their actual sex life as if it were just another plot point! Her hands gripped the ereader like a vise, as if it would somehow shield her from their judgment. Heart pounding, mouth dry, she glanced at the exit, estimating distance and time to bolt. A shadow moved in the doorway. She realized Mark was skulking back. Several senior men impeded his retreat, and their eyes met, a clash of mutual mortification. If possible, her face burned even hotter. Had they all been eavesdropping?
“I’m not discussing anything about my relationship with Judd.” There. Her voice was admirably calm, considering she wanted to scream.
“Can’t blame you for that, honey,” Miss Maudie Bell said. “I’m sure after all this time, you want to keep him to yourself.”
Autumn wasn’t about to dignify that with a response. She hadn’t actually confirmed or denied her identity as the author. Was there a chance in hell that she could convince them it wasn’t her?
“I, for one, think you did an amazing job building up the relationship between Darcy and Cooper and tearing them apart again. Utterly heart wrenching. But completely understandable in light of what they went through. Was that why it took you and Judd so long to get together?” someone asked.
As they continued to lob questions from all directions, Autumn closed her eyes and wished she could sink through the floor. One thing was absolutely certain—the cat was out of the bag.
~*~
Clint’s cruiser was in the drive when Judd got home. It’d been a bitch of a day. Between taking calls and running more searches on the custom bolt wrap from the crime scene, Judd had all but drowned in the backlog of paperwork. By the time he waded through, it was after five and his searches had come up nil. Unless the state crime lab found something—and who the hell knew when they’d get to it—the bolt was likely a dead end. He needed a new angle. More than that, right now he needed food and time to decompress with Autumn. He hefted the big ass bag of Chinese takeout from Lucky Palace and headed for the door.
If she was working, chances were she hadn’t given any thought to dinner. It both amazed and slightly alarmed him how she could totally zone out when writing. With everything going on, that lack of awareness of her environment opened the door to a myriad of potential threats.
The door opened before Judd got to it and Clint stepped out. “Chief. I swear to God, it wasn’t me.”
Judd felt the headache behind his eyes ratchet up a few notches. “What wasn’t you, Yarbrough?”
“Who spilled the beans. They just laid into her. It was a damned ambush, and we never saw it coming.”
Judd fought back the instinctive surge of alarm. If Autumn had suffered bodily harm, he’d already have heard about it. “What the hell are you talking about?” He pushed past Clint and put the food down.
Autumn gave a tired wave from one of the barstools in the kitchen, Boudreaux stretched out at her feet. Her other hand was wrapped around the stem of a very full wine glass. The bottle at her elbow was already half down.
“Clint, why don’t you head out?” she suggested. “I’ll fill him in.”
His officer looked relieved and took a step toward the door.
“Hold it. Who ambushed you?”
“The Casserole Patrol. Well, the entire seniors book club, really, but they were the ringleaders.” Autumn took another hefty swig of wine. “When you put Clint on guard duty, I’m sure he had no idea he’d be called on to rescue me from a mob of nosy blue hairs.”
“Can somebody please start making sense?”
“They know about her pen name,” Clint clarified.
Now his protestations of innocence made sense.
“Seriously, let him go home Judd. He’s endured enough embarrassment today. I’ll tell you all of it, and if you think you need to ask him something, you can call him later.”
“Fine.” Judd shifted his gaze to Clint. “Thanks for watching her today.”
“No problem. But for the record, they don’t make a vest that stands up against those old women.” With an eloquent shudder, he walked out.
Autumn took another sip of wine. “So we got blindsided.”
Judd unpacked the food as he listened to her recounting of the afternoon, his mood going grimmer with every word. “I’ll find out who leaked the information.”
“And do what? It’s not illegal to gossip.”
“It is if you’re under a gag order, which the department was.” He filled a plate with pork fried rice, Mongolian beef, and the cheese wontons she loved and set it in front of her.
Autumn popped a wonton into her mouth, making appreciative noises. “There’s no way to trace this back to your department. There were locals reading the books before the investigation even started. You’ve read them. There’s enough of reality in there that someone who remembers could recognize it. It was only a matter of time. I disguised a lot, but when I put it out there, I never dreamed the books would find this kind of audience. I honestly never thought anyone from Wishful would ever stumble onto them.” She heaved a sigh. “In truth, I brought this on myself.”
Judd agreed. Not that he was foolish enough to say so aloud. The consequences were already hitting her like a ton of bricks and likely they’d get worse as word spread. No matter how he felt about what she’d done—and he was still plenty pissed about what she’d written—he was frustrated and angry that he couldn’t protect her from this.
He took his own plate and sat beside her at the counter. “Why did you write it? I know you said you wrote about me to try to get me out of your system. But why the rest of it? Why did you write about what happened to us? Why not just take who we are and plunk us down into some other story?”
She looked at him over a forkful of beef and onions. “Do you really think we’d be who we are without going through that hell?”
He considered the question. Without that defining horror, what would their lives have looked like?
“If Jebediah hadn’t shown up that day, you’d have kissed me. Everything would’ve changed between us. And I would’ve followed you anywhere, the moment we turned eighteen. My heart condition would’ve gone undiagnosed for some unknown amount of time. You probably wouldn’t be a cop. We’d have been together, probably blissfully happy, but it wouldn’t have made for a good story.”
“It sounds pretty great t
o me.”
“To live, maybe. And I won’t lie and say there’s a part of me that doesn’t regret all the years we lost. But in terms of the book, it was a no go. Story is all about conflict.” She broke apart a pair of the disposable chopsticks and dug into her fried rice. She’d been doing that since high school claiming it made her slow down and savor her favorite part.
“But why that conflict? It had to be brutal on you to write. God knows, reading it took me back.” And it’d been worse, re-experiencing everything from her perspective. He thought he’d known what it’d been like for her. They’d talked about it often enough in the dark hours of the night. But she’d minimized all of it.
“I wrote it out a long time before there was ever a book. My therapist in college suggested it. The night terrors were really bad. I wasn’t sleeping for longer than a couple of hours at a time. She had the theory that if I could write it all down, really capture the detail, that I could exorcise it.”
“Did it work?”
“Not really. Mostly I just had to get used to sleeping without you. It was a rough year.” She shrugged, as if that was no big deal. “As to the book…I was trying to work through stuff about you. The day you were shot was the root of all of it.” A shadow passed over her face, and she set the chopsticks aside. “I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be. It’s your story, too, and I put it out there for public consumption.”
“I’m not angry.”
She just looked at him with her Really? face.
“Okay, I’m a little angry,” Judd admitted. “It’s just that…well, like you said, there’s just enough reality that people who were here and remember will recognize it. But they don’t know which parts are true and which are fiction. So there will be people who take the whole thing as largely fact.”
“We can’t control what people say or think about us. You know that.”
“I’d just as soon they not be postulating about the quality of our sex life.”
The corner of Autumn’s mouth kicked up. “I’m pretty sure whether fact or fiction, they’d be jealous either way.”
“But what if my mother reads it? Doesn’t that bother you?” It was bad enough the whole family knew they were sleeping together.
