by Cora Seton
Liam squared his shoulders and nodded, but Jed’s expression remained stormy. “Still nothing but talk in the end. We ought to do more.”
“I think Liam’s doing plenty,” Noah said. He had to keep them both on the straight and narrow path.
“I disagree,” Jed said. “I think we should take action.”
“Maybe you should collect testimonials, too,” Noah suggested. “Like you always say, the Turners were more respected back in your day.” Liam opened his mouth to protest, and Noah shot him a significant look, praying he’d understand. “There’s got to be plenty of folks around who remember those times and still have a lot of respect for you. I bet you could get better testimonials out of them than Liam or I could hope for.”
Jed chewed on that for a moment. “I suppose I do have a lot of pull in this town. Might as well put it to use.”
Christie came to bring them their orders and talk turned to the ranch and the work that needed to be done there. Noah let out a sigh of relief when they left him alone at his table to run some errands around town. He sat back and nursed his coffee. When had it become his role in life to blow smoke up everyone’s asses?
“Why the long face?”
A lean man with a dark goatee and a matching dark Stetson sat across from Noah, putting an end to his moment of peace and quiet.
“Mahoney,” Noah greeted the young deputy. “How you been?” He’d worked with Patrick Mahoney awhile now. Noah could count on him to have his back, and he appreciated that.
“I asked first.” Mahoney reclined in his seat.
Noah rested his head in his hands. “Wish I could say things were good, but they aren’t.” He wouldn’t mention his family’s troubles. “It’s my parolee. Keeps flirting with the waitress over there.” He nodded at Christie. “Pretty clear she’s in it for the thrills of dating a bad boy, but I’m worried she’ll get in over her head. Don’t want her to end up on the wrong path. ’Course when I brought that up, Brandon snapped and stormed out.”
Mahoney shrugged. “Can’t say I blame the guy.” He leaned forward and studied Noah intently. “You ain’t never fallen for the wrong gal?”
Noah started to deny it, then paused. On the surface Mahoney played the part of the devil-may-care, doesn’t-play-by-the-rules deputy, but Noah knew it was an act. Underneath, he was studious, disciplined and a genuinely good guy.
“I guess I have,” he admitted.
Mahoney’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? Who?”
Noah took a deep breath. “You’d better keep this under your hat.”
“Sorry if we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Ella said when Olivia finally got another chance to stop by Crescent Hall. “It’s your party, after all. We should have waited for more input from you before putting down so many ideas.”
“Are you kidding?” Olivia leafed through the binder Ella had put in front of her. “I’m the one who should apologize—you didn’t have to do all this. This must have taken ages.”
Regan waved a hand. “With all these little ones around, there’s a lot of time for chatting and brainstorming while we keep an eye on the kids. It was nice to have a project to talk about.”
Olivia chuckled when she reached a page headlined Regency Theme, with several question marks after it. “Aunt Virginia should love this one; it’d be like reliving her youth.”
The other women laughed, except Storm, who leaned in seriously. “We first put the idea down as a joke.” She ran her hand down the early entries in the list of notes, written in a variety of hands and colors. It included entries such as “quadrille dance battle” and “How to Marry an Earl trivia game.” Farther down, however, the entries grew serious, including a detailed Regency menu and cost estimates for what it would take to fit each guest with appropriate clothing. “The more we talked about it, the more we fell in love with the idea,” Storm explained.
“The girls over at Westfield run a Regency bed-and-breakfast,” Heather added. “I’m sure they’d be honored to help us put it on.”
“And get this,” Ella began.
“Miss Hollywood Starlet, always working the networking angle,” Regan teased.
Ella held up her diamond-clad ring finger. “That’s Mrs. Hollywood Starlet to you,” she said archly, then turned to Olivia. “What I was trying to say is, this party is mostly for Martin Fulsom’s benefit, right?”
“More or less.”
“He’s the one behind that crazy reality show at Westfield. If we can pitch it to him as promotion for both his Chance Creek projects, tied together by the Regency theme, I’m sure he’ll be all over it.”
Well hell, that was something.
“Not to mention the teachers,” Regan said. “They’re a bunch of big old nerds at heart, so they’ll eat it right up.”
“Plus, Regan’s biased,” Heather added with a grin.
Regan nodded. “Jane Austen’s writing played a role in bringing me here and changing the course of my life, so she holds a special place in my heart. And besides, teachers really do love to play dress-up.”
They all waited for Olivia’s reaction. When she didn’t reply right away, Storm bit her lip. “Whoops. We didn’t mean to give you such a hard sell, I swear. It’s only one idea—and it’s your party, after all.”
In response, Olivia picked up a pen and drew a thick dark line through the question marks in the title, transforming them all into a single exclamation point. “I’m in!”
Driving home again, she spotted Carl heading into Fila’s Familia, a popular local restaurant that his wife owned with Fila Matheson. An idea popped into her head, and she pulled over, parked and hurried after him.
“Hi, Carl. Mind if I join you?” She caught up just as he was sliding into a booth. She saw Camila disappearing back into the kitchen. The newlyweds must have already greeted each other. Olivia thought it was sweet Carl came here for dinner.
“Oh hey, Olivia. Go ahead.” He gestured to the bench seat across the table, but the yummy smells that swirled through the air of the Afghan-Mexican fusion restaurant were making Olivia hungry.
“Be back in a sec.” She went to the counter to order.
Juana Valentin, Camila’s cousin who had recently moved to town from Mexico, greeted her at the register and recommended their latest addition to the menu: gorditas de flor de calabaza. Olivia didn’t know what that was, and she’d been skeptical when Juana and Camila started adding “authentic” Mexican dishes to Fila’s menu, but she’d quickly learned Juana knew what she was doing. When Olivia returned to Carl’s booth, she carried a plate laden with pastry shells stuffed with squash flowers.
“Surprisingly good, right?” Carl said when she’d polished off her first gordita. “I’ve never eaten a flower before.”
Olivia nodded, then remembered why she was there. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
One of the corners of Carl’s mouth quirked up. “I’m not stealing any clocks—even if they do fetch a good price on the black market.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Carl had been her unwitting getaway driver one of the times she’d tried to take her family’s grandmother clock back from the Turners. “This isn’t about the clock. You’re doing really good work with the school,” she went on as Carl’s gaze fell on the folder in front of him, which was stuffed with paperwork no doubt connected to the project. “But it isn’t the only place in town that could use some help. I was wondering if you might be able to help me raise money for the library.”
“You don’t think the school’s enough to win the prize?”
“This isn’t about the prize. I’ve known the librarian since I was a kid. She’s having trouble keeping the lights on. I know you’re busy, but it was so easy for you to get sponsorship for the school. If you could just reach out to some of your contacts—”
Carl finally looked up. “Easy?” He put his pen down. “You know I’m trying to be a rancher now—not a businessman? I’m busy.”
“You said the same thing before you started
on the school.”
“That was a special case—” He broke off. “Look, ‘busy’ doesn’t begin to cover what I am these days. Not only am I starting a ranch right when Chance Creek is heading into a drought, but I’m also trying to run it like Camila’s family’s ranch back home in Mexico. I’m trying to figure out how to grow the ingredients she can’t get here, which means designing a whole new system of greenhouses.”
“Never mind. I’ll figure out another way.”
“Try me in a few months, when I’ve managed to check a few things off my to-do list.”
Olivia nodded and made small talk for the rest of the meal. If Carl couldn’t help her, she didn’t know who could, but she couldn’t blame the man for being overwhelmed right now. Embarrassed she’d even asked, she hurried to finish and said goodbye. On her way out, she almost bumped into Caroline, who was walking in.
“Hey,” she said, glad to see her friend. “Are you here to eat dinner? I’ll sit with you if you are.” She could use a good chat.
“Just getting takeout,” Caroline said apologetically. “I’ve got to hurry. We’re still on for Sunday, though, right?”
“You bet.” Olivia was disappointed, but no doubt Devon was waiting for Caroline at home. He was always impatient when she wasn’t there with him. “How’s work?” Olivia asked to prolong the conversation.
“Busy. I—hang on, let me get this.” Caroline drew her phone out of her purse, frowned and answered it. “Hi. Yes, I’m at the restaurant. Devon, I just got here. Yes. Yes, I know. I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay? What?” Her shoulders slumped. “Sure. I’ll stop and get them.” She hung up, her lips pinched in a thin line. Olivia didn’t like the pain in her friend’s eyes, and she almost reached out to touch Caroline’s arm. Devon was so damn overbearing sometimes.
Before she could, Caroline straightened. “Lottery tickets, can you believe that? Like we’ve got the money to spare. Devon calls it our retirement plan, but it’s stupid, if you ask me. And somehow he’s never the one to buy them; it comes out of my earnings.” She swallowed and looked around swiftly, as if someone might have overheard her.
Olivia smiled sympathetically, but inside her thoughts were churning. Things didn’t seem to be going well in her friend’s relationship. She wished she knew how to help. “I’ll walk you to the gas station.” She was pretty sure that’s where Caroline would buy them.
“Great. Let me pick up my food first.”
Several minutes later they reached the head of the line at the station, and Caroline picked out several lottery cards of different kinds.
“Sorry I was so cranky before,” she said when she’d paid for them. “It’s just… when they announce the winners, Devon will get so disappointed, he’ll be a bear to be around for half the day. I wish he’d stop buying them.”
“You’re the one buying them,” Olivia pointed out. “You could stop. At least it wouldn’t be your money down the drain.”
“We live together. It’s pretty much our money,” Caroline said.
“You aren’t married.”
“We’re cohabitating. That’s like a common-law marriage. That’s what Devon says.”
Olivia bit back an unkind remark. Devon didn’t deserve Caroline. Never had. “What do you say?” she asked.
“I think marriage takes a ring and a ceremony.” Caroline bit her lip, then quickly lifted the bag of food from Fila’s. “I need to go. Don’t want dinner getting cold.”
“Of course. See you Sunday?” The last thing Olivia wanted was to push things and end up ruining their friendship.
“Yeah. Sunday,” Caroline echoed, but she didn’t look back.
Olivia watched her go. She wished she knew how to convince Caroline to leave Devon and strike out on her own. The man seemed determined to suck the life out of her friend. Checking the time, Olivia decided to run back to the library. Maybe she could find a book on the subject. She ended up spending an hour in the psychology section reading about controlling men and accommodating women. She still wasn’t sure how best to help Caroline, but she was doubly determined to do so now that she’d read how common it was for guys like Devon to escalate to becoming abusive.
Her dark thoughts made her restless, and she found herself driving over the speed limit several times on her way home. Catching herself again, and slowing down, she decided she needed a distraction.
And she knew just the ticket.
Olivia parked far up the lane to the Flying W and sprinted the rest of the way, slowing when she came in view of the house.
No one seemed to be around, although several trucks were parked out front. She had no doubt Noah and his family were finishing up chores for the day. When she tested it, the front door was, once again, unlocked. The Turners never learned. She crept inside, into the living room and across to the fireplace. She had just placed her hands on the clock when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist.
“You’re not taking that.” Noah’s voice tickled her ear.
She wriggled a bit, realized she wasn’t getting away and sighed. “You could hand it over to make up for the umbrella.”
“Not going to happen.” Noah tightened his grip, and suddenly Olivia was far too aware of the powerful arms beneath her breasts and the hard frame pressed against her back.
A moment later she became aware of something else, too.
“Feels like you’re in the mood for something,” she said acidly.
“I’m serious, Olivia. You’re lucky Liam’s not here. He’s ready to call the sheriff on you—and make sure your photo’s in the paper, too.”
That got her attention; the last thing she wanted was to end up in jail—or in the paper. “I guess it’s a good thing you were the one who caught me,” she said softly.
“Yeah.” His arms tightened around her, and he kissed the top of her head. “Really, though. You need to get out of here.”
Much to her chagrin, he let her go and led the way to the front door. Outside, she paused at the top of the steps. “Virginia hasn’t bought a new one, you know.”
“New what?”
“Umbrella. After that spat at the doctor’s, I tried to find someone to fix it, but I couldn’t, and she won’t buy a new one. Big waste of my time, really.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Which means not only do you owe me a clock, but also you owe me time. A lot of it.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“How about we settle up tonight, at the Ridley place?” She could still use a distraction. Besides, with Devon’s example fresh in her mind, she would remember that men weren’t worthy of trust—or love. She’d get Noah out of her system for good and move on with her life.
He smiled, and Olivia’s insides tangled into a tight knot. Moving on wouldn’t be that easy. “I guess it’s only right to make amends,” Noah said, “but you’re not getting that clock.”
“Then I’ll need to charge you more time.”
“A man has to pay his debts.” Noah looked around, then leaned forward and snatched a quick kiss. “Now get out of here,” he said with a smile.
Olivia found herself grinning, too, despite all ups and downs of the day. But as she walked down the driveway to where she’d parked her truck, her smiled died on her lips when a sheriff’s cruiser drove by.
She recognized Deputy Patrick Mahoney and realized he must be going to see Noah. Had Noah called him when he spotted her trying to steal the clock? Had the rest of it been a way to delay her until they got here?
Heart in her mouth, she waited for the sheriff’s cruiser to slow down and signal her to stop, but it passed right on by.
So he wasn’t after her. Was Noah the one in trouble?
Olivia laughed bitterly as she picked up her pace.
Noah Turner in trouble?
That’d be the day.
“Aren’t you going to offer me some tea or lemonade?” Mahoney drawled. He stood in the doorway, scanning the front hall with a trained eye. “Where are your manners, Turner?”
/> Truth be told, Noah had forgotten them. The deputy didn’t seem to be here on any official business, but his showing up right after Olivia left had shaken Noah. Had Mahoney seen her?
“I bet you offered Olivia tea,” the deputy added slyly.
Yep, he’d seen her.
Noah sighed and led Mahoney to the kitchen, then fetched them both glasses of lemonade. “What brings you all the way out here?”
The man laid a file on the table and flipped it open. His expression grew serious. “I pulled some records on your Juliet, man. You need to hear this.”
“Records?” Noah’s eyes narrowed. “I never asked you to do that.”
“It’s a thankless job being your friend, Turner. Come take a look. You’re going to want to see these.”
Noah knew he shouldn’t, but Olivia and her family were so secretive, and he ached to understand her better. He handed a lemonade to Mahoney and took the files he held.
“You ever wonder why the Coopers skipped town in the first place years back?” Mahoney asked.
“I know why. Dale went to jail. Enid was pissed and divorced him. She took the kids to live with her sister in Idaho.” His stomach tightened in anticipation of what Mahoney would say. Was the deputy about to tell him Olivia had been complicit in the crime—when she was eleven years old?
Mahoney tapped one of the papers, moving it a little. Noah moved it back so its edges lined up with the rest of the stack. “They were under investigation for poaching,” the deputy began.
Noah frowned. “Poaching? That carries a fine, not jail time.”
“Yeah. Thing is, the sheriff—Cab Johnson’s father—caught Dale in his hunting cabin, and he found a lot more than bear traps there, if you catch my drift.”
“No, I don’t,” Noah said. “If you’re here to warn me about something, tell it to me straight.”
