by Macy Beckett
Bobbi glanced down at her skirt, seeing Derek’s tear-streaked face instead of zebra-striped cotton. “Not officially, but he felt awful. He took off for a sabbatical in—”
“Jesus, Bo, you’re doing it again.” Trey scooted his chair closer and used his thumb to gently raise her chin. His eyes softened. “This guy was no idiot. He knew what he was doing, and he doesn’t deserve your loyalty.” Cupping her face, he used that same rough thumb to stroke her cheek, and Bobbi couldn’t bring herself to push him away this time. “What’s his name?”
She hesitated. Despite what’d happened, she’d promised him anonymity. Bobbi wanted to hold onto what little journalistic credibility she had left. “I can’t tell you.”
“Then how am I supposed to track him down and beat his ass?” A teasing smile flitted across his mouth. “C’mon, he’s a criminal.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She leaned half a fraction into his palm, much more than she should’ve done. Funny how the touch she’d once considered brutish now seemed so strong and comforting. She shouldn’t crave it, but she did all the same. “A confidential source is—”
“Horseshit, that’s what it is.” With an eye roll, he released her cheek and took her hand in the barest grasp, just skin brushing skin. “Go on and keep his secrets if you like playing the martyr, but I wanna hear you say he’s a dick.”
She scrunched her forehead, not quite sure where this was going. “He’s a dick?”
“Yeah, but say it with feeling.”
She glanced over her shoulders to make sure no kids or nuns were within earshot. “He’s a dick.”
“Weak.” He discarded her hand with a critical wave. “You sound like his doormat, but hey, maybe you’re into that.”
“I’m not a doormat.”
“Then stop standing up for the asshole who tanked your career and buried you in debt.”
“Fine.” Bobbi’s pulse rushed. It’d been a long time since she’d allowed herself to dwell on what’d happened, because the damage was done. Nothing could be gained from playing the woulda-coulda-shoulda game. But she couldn’t believe how good it felt to say, “His first name’s Derek, and he used me, and he’s a total dick.”
“Nice.” Nodding in approval, Trey folded his arms. “I’ll just have to knock the bejeezus out of every man named Derek till you tell me his last name.”
A giggle worked its way free from her throat. “No dice. I shouldn’t have told you his gender, let alone his first name. What is it about you that sucks all the professionalism right out of me?”
“I dunno.” Heat flickered behind his eyes like a match striking flint. “Want me to suck you somewhere else?”
“Absolutely not,” she lied, then closed the subject. “Okay, your turn. Why’s it so important to clear your record? Looks like you’re doing fine to me.”
He shrugged one broad shoulder. “An OTH isn’t as serious as a dishonorable discharge. You get one of those, and you’ll spend the rest of your life asking folks if they want fries with that. But it’s still a mark on my record, and it’s something employers look at. Then they start asking questions, and I have to explain why I decked an officer. Sometimes they believe me, but most of the time they don’t.”
“Why’d you hit him?”
“Because he was screwing my best friend’s wife.”
“Oh.” She’d heard about Luke’s first wife, but not much. Only enough to know it was a short and miserable marriage. “But you have a stable job, right?”
“Sure, but I want more than just a stable job. I want a career, maybe my own business. Then there’s my family.” Trey wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul. “That’s a whole separate disaster. How much you wanna hear?”
“Hey, I showed you mine, so…” She tipped her head to drive the point home.
“All right. This won’t be pretty.”
And it wasn’t. The more Trey revealed about his family, the less “pretty” it sounded. On the surface, Trey’d had the kind of upbringing she’d ordinarily envy—the only child of an upper class family, with a well-respected father and an old-school domestic goddess for a mom. But there was no soft marshmallow center when it came to the Lewises. If Trey’s parents were a candy bar, they’d be filled with sterling—shiny on the outside, but hard enough to break a tooth on the inside.
She was still shaking her head when Carlo strode to the table with a cardboard cup holder in one hand and a Chernobyl-sized chocolate chip muffin in the other. She took the drinks from him while he plopped into the empty chair.
“So,” she asked Trey, pausing to take a sip of sweet iced coffee, “your dad’s talking to you now? You think you can salvage that relationship?”
Trey laughed—darkly at first, then in deep chuckles that shook his chest. “No. Not after what he did to my mom.” She’d just opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate when Trey cut her off with an impish wink. “You’ll have to strip down and bare something new if you wanna hear that story.”
“Hey,” Carlo objected around a mouthful of muffin. “I thought you said she wasn’t your girl.”
Trey paused, fingers clenched around a plastic Coke bottle while his cheeks flushed. “She’s not.”
“Looks like it.” Carlo threw an accusing glance at his boss. “You said ladies were trouble.”
“That’s right, I did.” Trey lifted his bottle toward Bobbi in an abrupt farewell. “Which is why we’re gonna leave Miss Gallagher alone and get back to work.”
The weight of disappointment tugged at Bobbi’s stomach, but Trey was right. Heck, Carlo was right too. The fact that she didn’t want them to go meant she’d wandered into dangerous territory, land mines and booby traps and all. Whatever she and Trey had—label it chemistry, infatuation, or friendship—was bad news.
“I should get to work too.” Bobbi stood and gathered her shopping bags, then bent low to bring herself eye level with Carlo. “I’m so glad I ran into you, though.”
The boy wasn’t listening. It appeared he’d chosen to gaze down the front of her blouse instead. His brown eyes widened, brows disappearing beneath shaggy hair, while his lips parted in awe.
“Whoa,” he breathed.
Oh, brother. Like mentor, like pupil. And they had the nerve to call her trouble.
Chapter 9
Believe it or not, Bobbi had never set foot inside a traditional church. Sure, she’d tagged along with a friend once or twice to a hippy-dippy, new age service in an elementary school cafeteria, but that didn’t count. It was nothing like the Holy Baptism by Hellfire Church, a gleaming, white clapboard building with arched stained glass windows and a majestic steeple stretching toward the heavens.
Bobbi’s mama hadn’t exposed her to religion, unless you counted repeatedly screaming God, yes! from the bedroom, and her dads had always described themselves as “spiritual, but not religious,” whatever that meant. Growing up, they’d spent Sunday mornings sleeping in and enjoying Papa’s banana-walnut pancakes with no prayers of thanks to God, Allah, Buddha, or the like. And because her friends—well, the people she used to consider friends—were so young, none of them had married yet, not that anyone in her circle would opt for a wedding officiated on hallowed ground. A sunset ceremony on the beach was more their style.
Beneath a mammoth, white tent on the vacant lot behind the church, at least a hundred God-fearing teetotalers swilled Kool-Aid instead of beer, while beef barbeque broiled on an industrial-sized grill near the parking lot. Clearly, the action was out here—including half of Sultry Springs, her star bachelors, the crew, and two freelance cinematographers she’d hired for the occasion—but Bobbi couldn’t stop darting glances at the vacant building to her left. For reasons she couldn’t understand, she wanted to wander inside and explore the halls, touch the glossy wooden furniture, see what she’d missed all those years…if anything.
Maybe she could slip in
side for a few minutes. Surely no one would mind. She stood on tiptoe and spotted Judge Bea and Pru chatting with a portly, bald man who’d introduced himself earlier as “Pastor Mac.” Based on the judge’s relaxed posture, he wasn’t ready to pop the question any time soon. Even if Bobbi missed it, she’d given the crew detailed instructions on what to do—focus one camera on the happy couple, the others on Colt and Trey’s reactions. A tiny needle of doubt pricked at the back of her mind. Bong and Weezus followed directions without fail, but she didn’t know much about the freelancers, beyond their hourly rates. Best to follow up with them one last time before making her escape, then keep it brief—in and out.
She skirted around the crowd and found Colton leaning against a cedar tree about ten yards from the festivities. Instead of sweet-talking some young Baptist out of her panties, he stared at the clipped grass, arms folded, body tensed in a way that told everyone to leave him the hell alone, including Ron, the hired cameraman hanging by idly.
“Hey,” she said, glancing between them and gesturing toward the tent. “The party’s over there.”
Ron raised one shoulder in a defensive shrug. “I tried getting him to mingle, but—”
“Not happening.” Colton lifted his chin and stared blankly into the congregation. Though barely audible, his voice was harder and colder than a glacier. “You’re lucky I’m even here.”
Whoa. What’d happened to her carefree skirt-chaser? Bobbi didn’t know what was eating him, but her instincts told her not to nag. “Okay, no pressure. Just do what feels right.” She turned to Ron and gave him a pointed look. “Remember what I said before?”
“Yep.”
“Keep the camera rolling. I’d rather cut an hour of footage than miss the big moment.”
Ron nodded with the signature tight-lipped grin of a man unaccustomed to taking commands from a woman. She didn’t give a damn if Ron silently cursed her as long as he captured Colt’s expression when his grandpa proposed to Pru. She had a feeling Colt wouldn’t jump for joy at the news, and she planned to follow up with a quick, casual interview to tie in his pessimistic views on commitment.
She left them and went in search of bachelor number two, which didn’t take long. All she had to do was follow the sound of obnoxious female giggling. Bobbi grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with cherry Kool-Aid while observing Trey, who sat atop a wooden picnic table with his booted feet resting on the bench. He’d dressed for the occasion in khakis and a turquoise button-down shirt the exact shade of his smiling eyes. At least six young women—including Bobbi’s second freelancer, a busty blonde nearly as tall as Trey—hovered close by, each taking turns laughing at his jokes and vying for his attention. This should have made her happy, so why did she have the sudden urge to break something…like half a dozen pretty faces?
The camerawoman, whose name suddenly eluded Bobbi, tipped her head back in laughter, bringing one hand to her breast and resting the other on Trey’s forearm, where she slipped her fuchsia nails beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeve. Bobbi’s ribs tightened and her cheeks flushed red hot. Oh, hell no. She did not shell out hundreds of bucks for the idiot to hang all over Trey like this. Sticky liquid sloshed against her fingers as she slammed the cup beside the punch bowl. Shaking her dripping hand into the grass, she stalked toward her subject and his fan club.
Trey’s eyes lifted and locked with Bobbi’s, and his face illuminated so dramatically you’d think she’d flipped a light switch inside his head. His smile widened, gaze brightened, dimples deepened, and for a long, foggy second, she forgot why she’d charged over here in the first place. She stood entranced, struck dumb by the heat muddling her brain. Fortunately, the blonde at her side cleared her throat and broke the spell.
Bobbi whirled toward her, hands clenching into fists. “Taking a smoke break?”
“I don’t smoke.” Charlotte—yes, that was her name—smirked and quirked one pencil-darkened brow.
Channeling all her frustration into a laser beam glare, Bobbi stepped close enough to pick out the freckles half-concealed beneath Charlotte’s makeup. Her voice dripped icicles when she said, “Then the break’s over, isn’t it?”
That wiped the smug grin off Charlotte’s lips. She backed away and retrieved her camera from behind Trey’s ass.
“I’m going inside for a minute,” Bobbi said. “I want that camera rolling and on his face,” she pointed in Trey’s direction without risking a glance at him, “the whole time. Capisce?”
Charlotte gave a tight nod, much like that of her misogynistic counterpart, and Bobbi turned on her heel and marched away before she said something she’d regret later. She strode toward the back door, acknowledging June and Luke with a waggle of her fingers as she passed them and kept going. The inside of her chest felt like an overwound clock, propelling her limbs faster and faster until she grasped the door handle and threw it open, charging inside.
She paced around the dim lobby for a few minutes, burning off anxiety like diesel fuel. When her pulse began to slow, she stilled her feet and took in her surroundings. Rolling her shoulders, she pulled in a deep, cleansing breath, noting the pleasing scent of Lemon Pledge. She tipped her head, listening for voices or movement, but heard nothing aside from the distant hum of a fan and forced air through the vents. The lobby held little of interest, just a bulletin board adorned with handmade flyers, a table displaying pamphlets, and several folding chairs, so she crept toward the heart of the building to the sanctuary doors.
With her fingertips pressed lightly against the cool oak, Bobbi hesitated, unsure of what to expect beyond this threshold. Would she sense a holy presence? Find comfort here? Experience a life-changing epiphany? She wasn’t even sure if she believed in all that. For no discernible reason, her heartbeat quickened and she nearly turned and walked away. Just as she took a step back, someone pushed open the main door, and she spun around to find Trey squinting at her in the darkness.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” she whispered back. “What’re you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. I’m checking on you…but why are we whispering?”
She let out a nervous laugh as he clunked over to her in his Timberlands. After glancing up and down the vacant hall, he asked, “You lookin’ to confess your sins, or commit some more? ’Cause I can help you with the second one.”
“Neither.”
“Then what?”
She bit her bottom lip and dropped her gaze to the hem of his khakis. “You’ll think it’s weird.”
“Hey.” Using one finger, he lifted her chin, then promptly pulled away and observed the no touching rule. “You are weird, but that’s what I like about you. What’s up?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
Raising one hand, he mimicked the oath she’d made yesterday. “Scout’s honor.”
“I’ve never been inside a church before, and I wanted to see what it’s like.”
“Never?” His voice rose an octave. “Didn’t they have a funeral for your mom?”
She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “No. There was no one around to organize it. Her next of kin told the state to cremate her body. They asked if I wanted the ashes, but…” Shaking her head, she trailed off with a shiver.
“Well, I’m sorry it played out like that. You probably could’ve used some closure.”
“Oh, I got it. In spades. The courts made me go to therapy, paint pictures, write good-bye letters, stupid stuff like that. I guess it helped, but I didn’t like it at the time. I wasn’t very cooperative.”
Trey flashed a sarcastic smile. “You don’t say.”
“Don’t look at me like that.” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “I’m not hard to get along with.”
“Tell that to what’s-her-name, the camera lady pouting outside. She turned ten shades of red after you tore her a new o
-ring.”
“Yeah, well, she deserved it. I didn’t hire her to feel you up.”
That elicited a mock gasp. “Jealous, Bo Peep?”
“You wish.” Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Bobbi expected a certain level of professionalism from her crew, and Charlotte hadn’t delivered. That was it, nothing more.
With raised brows, he inclined his head as if to say Yep, I do wish. He reached for the small of her back, but thought better of it. “Oops, almost touched you.” Withdrawing his hand, he pushed open the door to the sanctuary, gesturing for her to step inside. “Ladies first.”
“They won’t get mad?”
“If they do, I’ll take the blame. Those sweet little church ladies love me.”
Bobbi didn’t doubt it. So far, she couldn’t think of anyone in Sultry Springs who didn’t love Trey’s easy smile and his deceptively innocent, dimpled cheeks. They had no idea how devilishly he behaved in the dark or how wickedly he could use his hands to turn a no into a yes! in under ten seconds. Come to think of it, maybe sneaking in here with him wasn’t the best plan.
“Go on.” With a gentle shove, he made the decision for her, then followed inside and let the door whisper shut behind him. “There’s a light switch somewhere around here…” He groped the wall until he found what he was looking for and flipped on one dim row of bulbs above the pulpit. “This is it.” Hands on his hips, Trey scanned the sanctuary along with her.
The room was smaller than she’d expected, and it didn’t look anything like the lavish churches she’d seen portrayed on TV, with their two-story ceilings, linen-draped altars adorned with golden goblets, and faces of saints carved into the stone walls. Instead, this space felt simple, but in a good way, like a lone wildflower hand-picked by a child compared to a regal orchid in a florist’s shop. The soft glow emanating from above the pulpit revealed three rows of glossy pews, and Bobbi could almost feel the polished wood against her bottom. She imagined how the fabric of her jeans would slip and slide over the seat, and a sudden urge to experience the sensation urged her forward.
