“I’m here. Right here. Not going anywhere.” It was a pretty lie.
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The bedroom was lit with a small bedside table lamp, the bed turned back in waiting. The details didn’t slip Tom’s notice. She’d prepared, wanting him. The open drapes let in the darkened night, and if he moved just right, he could see scant view of the stars, but his eyes were on Summer, on the conflict in her eyes.
The rosy glow of the lamp spread a lulling ambience through the room deepening the intimacy. She leaned up to him, making Tom’s heart swell with such longing he rubbed his chest. He pressed his lips to hers and let the kiss build to sensual adoration and sighs. Pulling back was gut-shattering hard. He sat on the bed and twisted to lift his knee and support his guitar.
“What do you want to hear?” He strummed and fiddled with the pegs to tune it.
She reached for her wine. “You choose.”
A vibe pulsed between them, and he wasn’t sure whether a ballad would soothe things or whether he should go opposite.
He hummed the first few strains of Michael Buble’s “Everything” and softly started the lyrics. By the time he got to the end of the song, Summer’s eyes were filled with tears. The pulsing intensified, and he desperately wanted to kiss her again, yet he continued singing to the last note and made himself wait.
Without thinking, he started a song he’d been practicing for a few weeks—Brad Paisley’s “Find Yourself.” By the time he was finished, Summer’s lower lip was trembling, and he was afraid he’d killed the moment.
He stood, and her eyes followed him. He leaned his guitar against the dresser and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. His patience at an end, he more rapidly divested himself of the rest of his clothes. She watched with round, liquid eyes, and when he approached the bed, she patted the spot next to her. He couldn’t hide how bad he wanted her, and he didn’t try.
She came into his arms like a dream and sealed her mouth to his, touching off a firestorm, and yet soothing the need at the same time.
“Sing more for me later,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Absolutely.” He would have pulled her under him then, but she surprised him and pushed him to his back, straddling his hips, centering him right where he intended to be in a bit. She loosened the belt on her robe and brought her naked body against his, her mouth against his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest, the apex of her legs rubbing against his hardness.
Her mouth skimmed up his jaw line and around his ear. He held himself to a tight tether and let her have her way, but he damn near lost it whenshestarted singing “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me.” She crooned decidedly out of key. Did he care? Nope. It was the damn sexiest thing he’d ever heard.
She never got to the “I love you” line before she shed her robe, tossed it over the side of the bed, and rose up to let him slide deep inside her.
The firestorm he’d kept in check overwhelmed him, and Tom wrapped his arms around her, kissing her the way he’d been dying to. And while his mouth was seared to hers, tasting and moaning, she started to move in a subtle rhythm that made his breath stumble in his lungs.
He wanted to chant to herlove you, love you, love you, and yet, he wouldn’t tell her that for the first time while making love, not while their argument sat between them.
She increased the pace, and he forgot any words. Could only moan at the hot, wet feel of her, at the thrill of her taking them both over the edge, entwined in completion.
Hold me, thrill me, kiss me indeed.
Tom awoke several times in the night with Summer sleeping soundly against him. Soul-deep rightness settled inside, creeping through his darkest corners, spreading hope that tethered like ivy vines to a pillar.
When the sun rose, Summer’s legs were entwined with his, her arm around his waist and her breasts pressed against his back. He’d expected the fanciful peaceful notions of the night to die in daylight practicality, but they still rested against his heart and refused to be dislodged.
He rose to check his cell phone for the time and eased out of her arms. He didn’t want to leave her, wanted nothing more than to kiss her awake and take charge of starting their day, continuing the bubble they’d built around themselves and the truth of their situation. But he had the usual Tuesday morning staff meeting at the police department, and the chief accepted no excuses, including one as flimsy as a woman.
He quietly put his guitar back in the case and closed it, deciding to leave it here until later. He picked up his clothes from the chair where he’d tossed them and went down the hall to the bathroom. Dressed and as presentable as he could be without going home for a shower and a change, he went into Summer’s painting room to leave her a note, realizing he hadn’t told her he was going to be gone when she woke. Her cell phone lay on the bed next to a file folder.
A sudden inspiration made him reach for her phone. After several minutes, he accomplished a little change on her phone settings so her phone would ring to Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me. He looked around the room for a piece of paper, stopping to admire the sketch of the town’s Independence Day parade before tearing off a blank sheet. He wrote her a note in charcoal pencil and propped it against the canvas on the easel.
He put her cell phone back on top of the file and noted Jonathan’s handwriting on the tab—Proctor Contract. Curious, Tom lifted the flap, all the while knowing this was none of his business. He had to read the whole page through twice before he realized what it meant.
He’d expected this, especially after their fight, but the reality was a punch. His hopeful bubble popped, the vines jerked from livelihood by the roots.
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Tom sorted the memos from his mailbox while he waited for Robin to fetch Chad to the phone. Never let it be said that he thought these staff meetings were a waste of time, but this morning he had no patience with the review of procedures and a discussion of the town problem areas.
“You’re interrupting the sixteenth viewing of Cinderella this week,” Chad said by way of greeting.
“I’ll be glad to let you get back to it, just wanted to tell you I talked to Dad.”
Chad snorted at the first part of his sentence then segued into stillness. Tom waited for the questions.
“You talked to him? Tell me. I’ve been holding Meg off, barely.”
Tom took in a slow breath and then launched the news. “He’s throwing Mom a surprise wedding.” Tom smiled into the stunned silence, thankful Chad’s reaction was much the same as his.
“A surprise wedding? How does that work exactly?”
Tom tossed several memos in the wastebasket. “He has some kind of reunion scheduled in Mom’s appointment book, but in reality he’s made all the arrangements for them to be married again, this coming Saturday, in the gazebo at the park, catered champagne brunch to follow.”
Chad swore. “This Saturday? Holy mother!”
“Exactly,” Tom agreed, chucking the rest of his paperwork back in the mailbox.
“Hold please while I tell my pretty wife we can’t go to Dallas for the weekend.”
Tom waited through a muffled conversation, then noted Dana hovering in the doorway to the day room.
“What?” he mouthed at her.
“Mr. Snidely waiting in the lobby.”
“Bring him back.”
He listened to his brother’s comments for a few more seconds. “Chad, I have to go.”
“Not without more details, you don’t.”
“Dad was going to call Meg and enlist her help. Get the rest of the details from her. That’s pretty much all I know, except he doesn’t want Mom to know, so keep it quiet.”
Chad laughed. “You’re kidding, right? We can’t be the only ones that have seen him around town, and you know how the gossip is.”
“Well, there are only a few more days before the whole thing will be out in the open. I promised him we’d do what we could to help.” Tom looked up at Mr. Snidely and pulled out a chair.
“I have to go.”
“Later then,” Chad acknowledged and hung up. Tom disconnected the call and shook Howard’s hand. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, Tom. Thanks.” He opened the file folder he’d brought with him and handed Tom a list. “Not a lot of people on there, Tom. Course I’ve had a few talented people over the years, but none of Summer’s quality and not sure any of them could copy her work with enough precision to fool anyone.”
Tom took the sheet and looked over the names. “John Slade?” The man owned Slade’s Antiques and had refinished the scrollwork on one of Tom’s antiques.
“Man draws a mean cartoon on top of being a top-notch businessman and master furniture builder.”
Tom had lived in this town his whole life and hadn’t known that. Just went to show that everyone had dreams and secrets.
“Judy Pieroni?” She and her husband owned the pizza place.
“Yes, she was Judy Jensen when I had her. She’s very good, but she doesn’t paint much anymore. Had a stroke a year ago and hasn’t had good use of her writing hand since. Very sad. She used to do a great portrait. In fact, she did my three grandkids as a wedding anniversary present.”
Another name jumped at him from the list and he swore under his breath. “Miranda Watson?”
“Oh yes. She never actually took any art classes from me, but I saw her work once. Might be she could be the one, but I’m not sure. Seems like a stretch considering she isn’t mentally there most of the time. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know.” Tom quickly scanned the rest of the list. “This helps.”
“I might think of somebody else, but I was pretty systematic about reviewing who I had in my classes.”
Tom stood and shook his hand. “This answers my question, Howard. Thanks.”
He walked the teacher to the exit, and as soon as he’d driven off, Tom went back to the day room and called Summer.
She didn’t answer, which made him glance at his watch. Nine a.m. She was either still asleep or painting.
Bret joined him as he hung up. “Ready for the meeting?”
Tom handed Howard’s list to Bret. His eyes bulged when he saw the name. “You’re kidding me! She paints?”
Tom grimaced. “Tell me I’m not jumping to conclusions.”
“Believe in coincidence much?” Bret handed the paper back.
“No, I don’t.”
“Me either. Want help?”
The chief walked into the room. “Meeting time. Let’s get this done.”
Tom groaned, tempted beyond reason to use the new information as reason to skip the meeting. But being in a sergeant’s position, even temporarily, meant he had to set an example. He paused, stunned by the thought that he’d even want to shirk the usual responsibility. He didn’t let his personal life affect his professional life unless it involved family.
Unless she mattered in a forever way.
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Summer added some gold to the Echo Falls Mustang float and decided the band members behind it needed a few more details. She chewed on the tip of her paintbrush, simultaneously debating what to add and the more serious issue of whether she could stay here in Echo Falls with Tom and still be who she needed to be.
Maybe the truth of the matter wasn’t her grandfather’s disapproval, but that she was scared. Lovedid require a compromise.
There. She’d admitted it. At the end of the day, when she was all alone, she was scared. She used up all her guts leaving this town the first time. She’d fought hard to get where she was. She knew how to be Summer LeFey, artist. She didn’t know how to be Summer, woman.
She sighed and took a step back from the painting to get a different perspective. The doorbell rang, once, twice, repeating and repeating, as if someone was standing there punching it. She didn’t want to stop painting. Whoever it was could go away.
When the ding-dong didn’t stop after several minutes, she dashed her paintbrush into the turpentine, covered her paint with a damp cloth and clattered down the stairs, ready to blast whoever dared. She hated being interrupted when she was painting.
She didn’t ask who was there, just threw open the door.
Miranda Watson leaned on the bell again, her face red and mottled. Summer drew back, a rush of fear making her hands tremble.
She moved to slam the door, but Miranda shoved against it and pushed her back inside. “You ain’t anything special. I paint. I paint good,” she spit at her.
Summer stepped back, alarmed at the wild and unfocused look in her eyes.
“Since when?” From her past, she knew Miranda had no talent, only carried around a sketchbook to mimic Summer.
Miranda shut the door behind her and twisted the lock. “Since always.”
Summer swallowed hard against the fear and reached down deep for her resolve. She wasn’t the young girl who’d gotten beat up in the alley anymore.
She tried for the door.
Miranda shoved her hard.
Summer slammed back into the newel post and swung around, grabbing hold of it to steady herself. She straightened and fisted her hands. “What do you want?”
“Hate you. Hate you. Hate you.” Miranda rattled the words, seemingly fascinated by the rhythm, wringing her hands and swaying side-to-side.
“Feeling was mutual.” Summer bit her tongue.
Where the hell was her cell phone? Upstairs.
Shoot.
It only took two seconds to assess her options.
She definitely wasn’t running up the stairs with a crazy woman chasing her. She’d get trapped. She wasn’t going into the living room either. There was no way out in there.
And she certainly wasn’t taking a beating from this woman ever again.
Through the dining room into the kitchen and out the back door, that was the route. Yet Miranda stood in front of the dining room door. How to get her to move?
“You’re wasting my time. What did you want?” Summer put on her diva painter voice, one she’d perfected for men who annoyed her, hoping Miranda wouldn’t hear the tremor there.
Miranda snapped back into the moment, took a menacing step toward her and screamed. “You’ve taken my paintings down!”
Summer flinched. Miranda’s aggression challenged her paper-thin bravado.
Miranda screamed again, her eyes filled with fury and a complex madness. “They’re gone from everywhere! Where are they?”
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The meeting lasted one hour and eleven minutes.
Tom didn’t participate in the afterward coffee talk, but took Bret and drove to the nursing home. In the foyer, where the Main Street painting had been, was now a mounted, sunset-drenched, autumn view of the neighborhood around the Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church. Tom had no idea where Summer had been to get that perspective. She must have been up higher, because it included the gold and red trees, Clem’s Restaurant, the middle school, and the newspaper. The spires of the old church were what drew the eye. The canvas was the largest one from her painting room, but he hadn’t realized she’d donated it.
A warm, fuzzy feeling washed over him. He was in way over what was going to be possible to recover from when this whole relationship tanked. He couldn’t afford to get sentimental about her paintings. And yet, here he stood in total awe of her talent. Again.
“Well, I hope you’re here to arrest her.”
Tom turned to see Adelina James limping toward him, her cane clicking on the floor. He bent to kiss her cheek. “Arrest who?”
“That Miranda Watson. She stole the painting Walter gave me!”
He shared a look with Bret. “Tell me about it?”
“Caught her red-handed after she’d cleaned my room. I’d gone down the hall to talk to Josie. Came back in the room, and she was lifting it out of the china cupboard. Darn near knocked me over getting out of the room. I don’t know what Carter and Mimi plan to do about it, but you should talk to them. I want her prosecuted.”
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�I’ll talk to them, Adelina. When did Walter give you this painting?”
“On my birthday nine months ago. Miranda brought it to me for Walter. Knew she was eyeing the thing.” Adelina’s face was turning redder by the minute.
“Calm down. Let me take care of this.” Tom patted her arm.
“Thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you.”
She made her way back down the hall, cane thumping in rhythm with her mumbling. When she was out of hearing distance, Tom started for the office to talk with Carter and Mimi Banks. “The miniature was a fake. Summer doesn’t paint ones that small.”
Bret swore, keeping in step with him.
Carter and Mimi looked tired and harassed.
“Tom. Bret. Adelina called you?” Carter asked from behind the desk.
Tom shook his head. “Came to talk to Miranda about something else. What’s going on exactly?”
“Not sure,” Mimi said. “Adelina caught her red- handed with the painting Walter gave her.” Carter ran a hand through thinning hair. “I don’t know what got into her. She’s been erratic lately.”
“Is she here?” Bret asked.
“No. We told her we’d have to investigate and then make a decision about her job.” Carter sighed. “I tried to confiscated the painting, but she shoved me and ran.”
“How’d Miranda seem?”
“Agitated. Mumbling one minute. Yelling the next. Didn’t make much sense. I was about to call you, when she left.” Mimi rubbed the bridge of her nose. “She’s worked here three years, and we’ve never had any problems with her until lately.”
“I’ll find her. Call me if she shows up.” Tom handed Carter a business card with his cell phone on the back.
“Thanks, Tom.”
Tom and Bret exited the building and made their way back to the police car.
Tom eyed the parking lot for the car he’d last seen Miranda driving. Not there. “Let’s start with her house.”
“Agreed,” Bret said.
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Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 63
