by Rita Herron
The El Camino sat beside his SUV, a beacon of silver in the dim light—and a little too conspicuous for him to drive for surveillance. Hoping for a break in the case, he bypassed the convertible, climbed in his Cherokee and headed toward Wacky Wiley’s.
HANNAH DUSTED a cloud of white from her face, sank her fists into the stiff white dough and began to knead, counting the movements for accuracy and wondering what had gone wrong with the first four batches of dough. Her hands ached from pounding and rolling, and her hair had turned a ghostly shade of white. She’d never felt more like a failure in her life, and she hated to fail at anything. She measured some more flour, determined to master this baking thing.
Her cat Oreo sauntered over, sniffed at the crisp black rolls in the trash and wrinkled his nose.
“They’re not that bad, are they?” Hannah asked.
Oreo darted under the table as if he suspected she might poison him. “Okay, I admit it, they’re pathetic. Horrid. But I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. I’ve watched Mimi bake pastries in her coffee shop a dozen times. She makes it look so easy.”
A knock sounded at the back and she pushed her hair from her face with a flour-covered arm, then opened the door.
“Hey, sis?” Alison’s gaze traveled over Hannah briefly before she burst into laughter. “What have you been doing, having a flour fight with the cat?”
“Making rolls,” Hannah said, well aware of the exasperation in her voice.
“But you don’t cook,” Alison said in an incredulous voice. “At least nothing that doesn’t come out of a can.”
“I know.” Hannah sighed, defeat weakening her voice. “For some crazy reason, Dad told Jake I always made homemade rolls that would melt in your mouth so…”
Mischief sparkled in Alison’s green eyes. “So you’re trying to impress this guy, huh?”
“No,” Hannah said hastily. “It’s just…well…” Why exactly was she killing herself to make fresh homemade rolls?
Alison gave her a knowing look, popped open a bottle of water and plopped onto one of the bar stools at the counter. With another giggle, she pointed to the trash. “Those look like asteroids.”
Hannah rolled her eyes and began to knead the dough again. “Thanks. Between you and Oreo, I’m all confidence here.”
“Don’t sweat it, Hannah. You can’t do everything. I mean, my God, you’re a doctor, you graduated with honors from med school, you don’t have to cook, too.”
“You’d think if I could stitch injured people in the ER, I could at least follow a recipe and bake bread.”
Alison’s eyes twinkled as she rested her hand on her chin and studied her. “He is a hunk, sis. I can see why you’re interested.”
“I’m not interested.” Hannah pinched the dough into balls. “I treated him when he came into the hospital. I simply agreed to follow up on his care for Dad. Dad seems to feel he owes Jake for getting shot.”
“Uh-huh. So it’s Jake now.”
“That’s the man’s name, Alison.”
“Well, whatever it’s worth, I approve, Hannah. And I say go for it.”
Hannah’s gaze swung to Alison’s. “I told you I’m not interested in the man.”
Alison arched a dark brow. “Sure you’re not.”
“I’m not! He’s not even my type. He’s a drifter for heaven’s sake. And he sells used cars.”
“He certainly is sexy.”
“So what? The man roams from one place to another with no plan in his life. I want to establish a family practice here in Sugar Hill, win people’s respect.”
“He has a great body, too.”
“Yeah, but we have nothing in common. I bet he doesn’t even like to read.”
“You don’t count the sport pages?”
“Hardly!”
“He’s probably dynamite in bed.”
“Well, his kiss is pretty hot, but there’s more to life than sex.”
“So have you kissed him since that hot one at the car lot?”
Hannah winced. “No. Forget about how sexy he is, Alison. What about love and trust and companionship and hobbies and having things in common to talk about on rainy days?”
“I can’t think of anything cozier than cuddling in bed with a sexy man on a rainy day.”
“You sound like Mimi. Are you behaving yourself at school, Alison?”
“We’re not talking about me,” Alison pointed out. “We’re talking about you and Jake. I saw the way he was looking at you. He wants you, Hannah. And you had fun with him tonight. Don’t be afraid to let go and enjoy yourself.”
“I’m not afraid. And it doesn’t matter if Jake does want me. I…we aren’t right for each other. I can’t believe Dad even invited him over.” Hannah stared at the odd-shaped clumps of dough, disgusted. “This is hopeless.”
“I doubt if Jake cares if you can bake rolls.”
Hannah’s gaze took in the four batches she’d attempted to make and the dough spread before her, and didn’t even bother to reply. Ever since she’d received that hope chest, her life had been turned upside down. With the entire Thanksgiving day looming before her, she doubted the end to the madness was anywhere in sight. She gathered the clumpy dough and tossed it in the trash. Alison’s comment about being afraid reverberated through her head, reminding her of Dr. McCoy’s comments—nonsense. She wasn’t afraid to let go and have fun. Was she?
No. She’d simply go by and pick up some rolls on the way to dinner—she didn’t have to impress anyone, especially not Jake Tippins.
Chapter Eleven
Jake drove toward Wiley’s the next day rubbing his hand over gritty tired eyes. He hadn’t slept much last night. He’d stayed outside the car lot well into the darkest hours of the evening, keeping the place under surveillance in case DeLito showed, but if the salesman had conducted business, he’d met his contacts elsewhere. Of course, DeLito could have gotten wind of Jake’s undercover gig and moved the operation to another site. So far, Wiley had seven spin-off used-car lots located in seven different cities. Although police were investigating each of them, they’d all believed the main thrust of the thefts had originated right here in the outskirts of Atlanta—at Wiley’s home base.
But the job wasn’t the only thing that had kept Jake awake. When they’d been decorating, he’d seen Wiley pull Hannah into his office before she’d left. Through the glass window, he’d watched them speak in hushed voices. Wiley had slipped Hannah a folder which she had tucked under her arm and taken home. What had been in the folder? Records for her to doctor to hide Wiley’s illegal deals?
When he’d left the lot, he’d found himself driving by Hannah’s house to see if she’d gone home. Worse, he’d contemplated stopping by her place, trusting her with the truth about his job at Wiley’s, actually asking her about the files. Trust and truth—two terms missing from his vocabulary.
Of course, he’d reined in his insanity, knowing he couldn’t blow his cover, and sternly reminded himself that he and Hannah were way too different to ever have anything together—except steamy kisses. And great sex.
A relationship—never.
Later, when he’d finally succumbed to fatigue and climbed into bed, sleep had overcome him, scattering all thoughts of the case into oblivion. Fantasies of Hannah had taken over and wreaked havoc with his subconscious. He couldn’t allow himself to care about anyone, not with his job, not with his moving around, not with his own family history….
She needed someone respectable, settled, someone who’d know how to socialize with her doctor friends, someone who’d fit in.
All the things he could never be or do.
Damn, the woman was messing up his head. His thoughts had been bouncing back and forth like a boomerang.
Refusing to fool himself into believing any differently, he didn’t understand why he still found himself driving by her house on the way to Wiley’s Thanksgiving dinner. Hoping to find another man there so he could stop fantasizing about how perfect and innocent s
he was? Hoping that she might be at home wishing he were there in her bed and arms, loving her and imprinting his own stamp of ownership on her body?
Furious at his wandering thoughts, he slowed the El Camino as he neared her street, scanning the drive for vehicles. Hannah’s dependable Volvo sat parked in her drive, the only car in sight. So…Hannah was home.
Working on the files? Or making those damned homemade rolls her father had been bragging about?
He shut out the little voice nagging at him and pulled into traffic, deciding he’d drive slowly so he wouldn’t arrive at Wiley’s too early. After all, it would be a long day and he needed to plan his strategy. Today he’d have all three Hartwell sisters together—the golden opportunity to glean as much information as he could about their father. Maybe today Hannah would reveal something concrete that would point to her innocence. Or to her guilt.
HANNAH RACED through the Piggly Wiggly, disgusted with herself for being late and roll-less. Regardless of last night’s decision to buy rolls, she’d tried again this morning to bake some and failed miserably. When the thirteenth batch had flopped, she’d decided that although she wasn’t superstitious and still didn’t believe in the lore associated with the pearl ring, she did not have time to try to bake another pan of bread, so she’d dressed for the day, stopped by the bakery and would try to pawn off some of the grocery-store rolls as her own.
Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea.
There wasn’t a single package of rolls left at any of the stores in town. She’d considered calling Mimi, but her sister had her hands full with desserts. The Piggly Wiggly, her last stop, had a loaf of wheat bread and two cans of bake-at-home biscuit dough. She grabbed the cans and headed toward Wiley’s, chastising herself for acting so irrationally. She certainly didn’t want to pretend to be something she wasn’t—Hannah hated phonies—and she had baked homemade rolls, they simply had turned out to be black craters or lumpy clumps of inedible dough.
Still, she hated admitting failure, so she was opting for a half truth.
Slowly pulling into her father’s drive, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the sexy used-car salesman/patient/drifter her dad had invited, and heard Alison’s words echoing in her head. Don’t be afraid to have fun.
No, she wasn’t. She simply refused to waste time with a man so obviously ill-suited for her. The rock Grammy Rose had put in her hope chest and the note—don’t let the man you marry weigh you down—confirmed her decision. Wouldn’t a man like Jake eventually hurt her?
Extricating herself from the car, she stuffed the paper bag beneath her arm, adjusted the pale blue blouse she’d tucked inside slinky black pants and strolled up the sidewalk. Seconds later, Mimi ushered her inside with a hug. The warm scents of chocolate cake, turkey, dressing and sweet potatoes filled the small house. Alison danced through the doorway, wearing a Braves jersey and juggling a tray of iced tea. The TV blared from the den, the Thanksgiving Day parade filling the screen.
“Grammy Rose!” Hannah exclaimed when she saw her dear grandmother sitting on the sofa. “What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Hey, honey, come on in! Alison picked me up.” Grammy was sitting next to Jake, her small frame dwarfed by his huge size. Jake’s long legs were stretched out on a gray ottoman, his thick black hair spiked haphazardly as if he’d just run his fingers through it.
The room suddenly shrank in size.
Hannah hurried to hug her grandmother. “Don’t get up, Grammy.” She bent to give her a kiss. “I’m so glad you made it. Are you feeling better? No signs of pneumonia?”
“No, I’m fine, honey.” Grammy patted Jake’s knee. “This young man has been keeping me entertained.”
Jake turned, awkwardly lifting himself to stand.
“You don’t have to get up,” Hannah said, knowing his injury still made him stiff.
He stood anyway. “Hello, Hannah.”
“Hey, sis.” Alison sailed into the room with the tray of drinks.
“I have to check on the sweet potato soufflé,” Mimi chirped. She winked at Alison and disappeared into the kitchen. Alison handed Jake and Grammy Rose glasses of tea, flipped her hand up and waved. “I have to help Mimi.”
“Let me help, too,” Hannah said, panicking at the matchmaking twinkle in Grammy Rose’s eyes.
“Oh, no, Hannah.” Alison pointed a finger at the sofa. “It’s way too crowded in there. Sit down and entertain Jake and talk to Grammy. Tell her all about the pearl ring.”
“I’ve already talked to Grammy about the ring.” Hannah shot her sister a murderous look and indicated the package in her hands. “And I need to heat these.”
Alison snatched the bag. “I’ll take care of them.” With a mischievous giggle, she flitted away before Hannah could argue.
Grammy Rose chortled at the lively animated characters performing in the Thanksgiving Day parade on the TV screen, as she moved to the rocking chair. “Here, Hannah, you sit by your young man now.”
Hannah stifled a gasp. “Grammy, he’s not my—”
“Come on, sit down, doc,” Jake said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Did you bring those homemade rolls that melt in your mouth?”
Hannah smiled weakly, tapping her fingers up and down her arm. “Actually, they’re not. I…I’ve been at the hospital on an emergency all morning and didn’t have time to bake. I had to pick up some store-bought ones. I hope you don’t mind.”
His jaw seemed to tighten, his eyes darken. “You had to go in this morning?”
Hannah nodded, her pulse racing. She was a terrible liar. Why didn’t she just confess the truth about her poor culinary skills?
“I hope it wasn’t anything serious,” Jake said in a gruff voice.
“No, I mean, there was a small…child…” Hannah struggled for something believable, aware the lies were growing. The very reason she hated them—once you told one lie, you triggered a domino effect and soon things spiraled out of control.
JAKE WATCHED Hannah squirm and tap those fingers up and down in that nervous gesture he’d come to recognize. He knew she’d been home all morning because he’d driven by there twice, then actually waited at the end of the street until he’d seen her pull away from her house—why was she lying? And why did he feel so disappointed when he’d begun to trust her.
“He…uh, was choking on a chicken leg,” Hannah said.
“Mercy me,” her grandmother exclaimed.
Jake jerked himself back to her lies. “The kid’s okay?”
“Oh, yes,” Hannah said, averting her gaze away from his questioning one. “But once I arrived, three other emergencies came in so I stayed. I barely had time to run home and change.”
Jake nodded, deciding Hannah Hartwell was one of the worst liars he’d ever met. Put her in an interrogation room and the woman would fall apart.
Put her in his arms and…
Wiley suddenly bounced into the room wearing a bright orange shirt and a handpainted tie with turkeys on the front. “While we’re waiting on dinner, I thought we’d watch some videos.”
Hannah groaned. “Not those old videos of us when we were kids, Dad?”
“Oh, let’s!” Grammy Rose squealed, winking at Jake. “These girls were such precious little things when they were little. Why, Hannah used to read fairy tales and play dress up—”
“Grammy, I’m sure Jake’s not interested—”
“Of course I am,” Jake said, grinning at her grandmother. “Your grandmother’s a fascinating storyteller. She’s already been regaling me with tales about your mischievous toddler escapades. Something about mustard handprints on the walls.”
Hannah rolled her eyes, and Jake wondered if she was simply embarrassed or trying to hide family secrets.
Ignoring Hannah’s protests, her father popped in a tape. “I still say I should have sent some of these movies to that ‘Funniest Home Videos’ show.”
“But Dad—”
“It�
�s okay, Hannah,” Jake said, his mouth twitching. “I don’t mind.”
Hannah folded her arms across her middle, obviously bracing herself for the mortifying recounting of her childhood. Mimi and Alison bustled in and sat cross-legged on the floor, eager and enthusiastic.
“Where’s Joey?” Hannah asked.
Mimi shrugged, looking disappointed. “I don’t know. He said he’d be here.”
“Shh.” Wiley pointed to the TV where a two-year-old Hannah raced across the yard to the kiddy swimming pool, buck naked.
“That was you, Hannah. My, you were a pretty baby,” Grammy said. “You never did like to wear clothes.”
Hannah sank lower into the sofa, and Jake couldn’t fight a chuckle.
“Turn it to the Christmas ones, Dad, or we’ll never get to eat,” Hannah pleaded.
Wiley fast-forwarded to the Christmas when Hannah was five, Mimi three and Alison a baby. Decorations filled the tiny house, holiday music blared in the background and her father sauntered in dressed as Santa, a huge burlap sack slung over his shoulder. Hannah sat on the floor in the midst of freshly opened packages, toys surrounding her.
“Hannah collects dolls,” Alison explained.
“That was a long time ago,” Hannah said, her shoulders stiff as she watched.
“You used to line them up and tell them stories,” Grammy said. “You told me you’d always want a doll for Christmas, no matter how old you got.”
“Well, I grew up, and I don’t ask for dolls anymore,” Hannah said in a low tone.
“Don’t you ever get too old to dream, child,” Grammy chided in a loving voice. “Oh, look, there’s Cousin Elroy.” She clucked her tongue. “You know that was right before he had to go to prison. Best thing that ever happened to the man. He’s been honest ever since the state released him. Learned how to bake in the pen. Now he’s a fancy chef at one of them swanky places downtown.”
