by Linda Lovely
Not going back to sleep. Might as well get up.
I grabbed my ratty robe, slipped my bare feet into a pair of Crocs, and tiptoed from the room. I noticed blankets balled in a nest on the empty couch. Who’d been sleeping there? Paint. Must be his turn on guard duty.
I snuck into the kitchen nook, took a glass down from the cupboard, and shuffled to the sink to run tap water. One sip and I put the glass down. I had yet to get used to the well water taste, a mineral tang that never quite quenched my thirst.
I looked out the window. My breath caught when I spotted a man. A tall one toting a gun. As he walked closer, I recognized shadow man’s lean build and casual grace. Paint. Should I keep him company? Help him stay awake? Least I could do since I wasn’t allowed to join the armed guard.
Was that my only reason? Nope. Don’t go there.
I ventured outside and took a deep breath of the crisp pine-scented air. A perfect antidote to mental cobwebs. The complicated shadows cast by the bright moon lost all menace now that I knew who shouldered the gun.
Paint turned the minute he heard the porch stairs creak. He walked over and slid an arm around my shoulders. An arm that casually—accidentally?—grazed my right boob and brought my nipples to prompt attention beneath my ratty robe.
“Good thing I heard you coming,” he whispered. “Don’t ever sneak up on a man with a gun. Especially at three in the morning.”
I shivered. Maybe it was the contrast between Paint’s warm arm and the cool breeze. Somehow the bluish moonlight made me think of icebergs floating in a cold sea. Lonely icebergs?
Paint hugged me tighter. His body heat surged right through his Clemson sweatshirt. “Feels like someone needs warming up.”
My brain suggested I pull free. My body vetoed the idea. “Is it really three o’clock?”
“It is. I’m pretty sure the Nelson boys won’t be back tonight. I took over for Andy at two. He headed home when I came on. Said he needed to check on his own animals and that sorry pit bull he rescued from the Watson place. He also mentioned he had an early surgery.”
“I love watching Andy with the animals,” I said. “He’s so gentle, so kind.”
“Yep, he’s my best friend,” Paint said. “But I’m not about to spout his virtues when one of our shared interests is in my arms. Come on. Let’s go inside the barn and out of the wind. The dogs will let me know if I need to pick up my rifle again.”
We walked through the open barn door. Rita huffed. Still uneasy about nighttime visitors after her set-to with the arsonists? Soon as she heard a familiar voice, she settled. I walked to a stack of hay bales, sat down, and pulled my robe closed. If left unattended, the gap would leave my boobs within easy reach if not plain view.
Paint parked his rifle against the wall and joined me on our hay couch. Ready to make hay?
“Now where were we?” Before I knew it, he’d pulled me onto his lap. I might have yelped in surprise but my mouth was occupied. Paint’s lips made sure of it. His kisses had definite staying power. His left arm circled my waist holding me tight against his muscled thighs. His right arm wrapped around my upper body. I could feel his heartbeat. His rapidly increasing heartbeat.
I knew he’d release me if I asked. And I planned to. Soon. Very soon. Moonbeams found their way through the barn’s high window. Paint looked just as good with a three o’clock shadow as he did at high noon.
“Remember when you told me how you liked to prove you were a good kisser on the first date?” Paint said. “Big mistake. You hooked me. Every time I see you, I want to kiss you.”
His tongue slid against my lips. My tongue, that no-good saboteur of my good intentions, proved all too willing to play. It had been too long. Kissing was one of my favorite occupations, right after playing chef.
Paint’s tongue went exploring and found my ear. I squirmed with pleasure. That’s when I discovered my bottom had made solid contact with another part of Paint’s anatomy, one just as hard as his thighs.
Uh-oh. Kisses were bringing us to what the cook in me thought of as the hard-boil stage. You know that moment when you’re making candy? The bubbles start to rise and suddenly you risk the pot boiling over if you don’t take it off the heat.
Yep, we were there. Any minute now my robe and flimsy nightie would be on the barn floor. My brain insisted I take the pot off the stove. What if my aunt or Billy walked in? Thankfully, I didn’t have to imagine Andy interrupting. Still thinking of Andy made me feel like a fickle Jezebel.
Time to call a recess. I gently wiggled free.
“I just came out to make sure you weren’t falling asleep,” I said. “My duty’s done. Time to head back to bed.”
Paint loosened his embrace, allowing me to stand. “You’re breaking my heart, Brie. But, I can assure you, there’s no way in hell I’ll fall asleep now.” He laughed. “But just to be sure, maybe you ought to come back in an hour.”
I bent down and kissed Paint’s forehead. “You’re a great kisser. I can’t begin to thank you for helping Aunt Eva and me. I promise I won’t tell anyone your secret—that the heart of a true gentleman beats under that ever-so-attractive chest.”
“Speaking of attractive chests.”
I stepped back as his hand made a feint toward the sash on my robe.
“See you in the morning, Paint. Good night.”
Good night? How would I ever sleep? Every fiber of my body hummed. Five more minutes and I’d have stripped off Paint’s sweatshirt, kicked Rita out of her stall, thrown the bad boy moonshiner on the ground, and played Got you! Like a revenuer.
Take a deep breath.
How many other women had succumbed to the same wicked grin and talented tongue? Paint was basically a good guy. But he was a lover, not a keeper. Making love with Paint would be a leap into a five-alarm fire.
Too bad Paint’s sizzle was just as seductive as bacon had been when I first turned vegan. Somehow celibacy was proving even tougher than vegan discipline. Especially with constant temptations like Paint and Andy.
I opened my bedroom door and sighed. Mollye hadn’t moved. No prayer of prying my share of the covers free. Guess I’d just keep my robe on. Too bad I could still smell Paint’s spicy scent on the terrycloth. Or was it my imagination? I inhaled.
Knock it off. Go to sleep.
THIRTY-SIX
I woke with a start. The room was a depressing fog gray, the color I now associated with that unfortunate hour between night and dawn. Time to get up and do chores. Would I ever get used to living on a goat farm? My alarm hadn’t sounded. So why was I awake? I’d been dreaming about a train. Probably prompted by Mollye’s raucous snores.
I dressed as quietly as I could. Just because I needed to rise and pretend to shine didn’t mean Mollye had to stumble out of bed. I heard muffled voices in the main room. Probably Eva and Billy keeping conversation to a whisper.
Was Paint out there, too? I wasn’t exactly proud of the kissing my sex-addled brain had encouraged the night before. Paint must think I’m a horrible tease, coming willingly to the plate and then calling the game in the first inning.
I tucked my cell phone in my pocket. What time was it in Tokyo? I hoped Kathy would call as soon as she got home from work. I slipped out and gently closed the bedroom door. Eva and Billy sat at the kitchen table. The smell of coffee made me downright giddy. I poured myself a mug before I joined them.
Eva looked me over and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, sleepyhead. What were you and Paint up to last night? You look as bleary-eyed as he did when he left a couple minutes ago.”
Guilt swept over me. Aunt Eva and Billy had a darned good notion what we’d been doing last night. No. Maybe not. Eva was teasing because we both looked like the walking dead. Had she really suspected hanky-panky she’d never have said so in front of Billy, right?
“Paint and I probably shared the same nightmare, imagin
ing the Nelson boys driving their big honking pickup right through your cabin. What do you need me to do this morning?”
Eva let me off easy. Gather eggs, feed chickens and Tammy the Pig, and make breakfast for our dwindling household, now down to four.
I was filling Tammy’s feed trough when I felt the vibration in my pants pocket. Not many people would be calling at this hour. I hoped it was Kathy. Yes!
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s the word?”
As I listened to Kathy’s report, my mind raced ahead trying to figure out how we could leverage the news that Tisnomi was opting out. Would the bailout cause Victor to panic? How about Sheriff Jones and Deputy West? And did it really matter? Maybe the fate of Sunrise Ridge had nothing to do with Jed’s murder or why the Watsons were killed.
“Thanks so much for playing spy, Kathy. You’re one heck of a detective. I promise we’ll get together soon. In the U.S. or Japan. Or maybe we’ll meet in the middle. Always wanted to vacation in Hawaii. I miss you.”
No point trying to track down Eva to give my report. It was her first morning out of jail, back on the farm. She’d want to commune with her animals. Have a little normalcy. Besides, I wasn’t sure she shared my obsession with Sunrise Ridge and its future. How could it prove her innocence?
I finished my chores and headed to the cabin to start breakfast. Still no sign of Mollye. Lucky girl. I started a new pot of coffee and whipped up a batch of vegan pancake batter. I’d sprinkle in plenty of nuts and chocolates to take my non-paying customers’ minds off a missing side of meat.
The smell of fresh coffee proved the right incentive to get Mollye out of bed. In fact, she’d already dressed in her full gypsy regalia. Not that she had a choice. She hadn’t planned to spend the night at the Udderly B&B.
“Morning, Mollye. How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you. Woke up once and you were among the missing. Should I ask what you were doing?”
“Just went for a walk,” I answered. “No biggie.”
She gave me a squint-eyed once-over but let it pass. She’d just poured herself a cup of coffee when the screen door banged, and Eva and Billy returned. I served breakfast and my news simultaneously.
“Kathy talked with a Mr. Isaak, the gentleman overseeing Tisnomi North American operations. Told him she’d love to be considered for a position on a transition team if they made a new acquisition. Kathy’s in IT—Information Technology—so she often works on meshing systems after a takeover. Mr. Isaak told her Tisnomi would announce an acquisition soon—in Georgia. Said they’d been considering two properties but decided the Georgia deal was sweeter than the Carolina option. The announcement is set for this Friday.”
Mollye’s glee was evident in the way she bounced up and down. Her enthusiasm had me a little worried about the old oak chair and its fragile cane seat.
“Ooh, yes. The banker and our local lawmen will mess their britches. Not to mention that other joker Burks-what’s-his-name. How do we get the ball rolling? Let them know their greasy gooses are roasted.”
“I think we do exactly as planned and plant a bug in that officious little banker’s office. A little while later, I’ll drop by and casually mention that Tisnomi is a no-go. If I can’t wrangle an invitation into Victor’s office, I’ll make sure my voice carries when I’m talking to his hawk-faced assistant.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mollye agreed. “Thanks for breakfast. Got to say if I were vegan I’d want you doing the cooking. Never thought of chocolate chips and pecans in my pancakes. I got to head back to my apartment, take a shower, and change clothes. I’m hoping those a-holes didn’t trash my place. Think they were too trashed themselves to do any damage. I do need to open my store this morning. I’m expecting shipments.”
“Okay by me,” I said. “Afternoon’s a fine time for espionage.”
Eva stood and gave Mollye a hug. “Behave yourself, and watch out for my Brie. If she’s teetering on a high-dive and you think the water’s too deep or too shallow, pull the plug. Things don’t turn out fine just because you will it. In this old world, plenty of monsters wear suits. Doesn’t make them any less scary.”
Mollye returned my aunt’s hug. “Not to worry. I’ll bring Brie back safe and sound.”
I walked my friend and fellow conspirator to the door.
“Let’s meet in the Bi-Lo parking lot,” she suggested. “Say quarter to three. That’ll give us plenty of time to find a good spot on the square before Mr. Banker goes for his mid-afternoon pastry fix.”
“It’s a deal,” I answered. “If Eva will trust me to drive her truck that far. I’m still without wheels and a klutz with a clutch.”
Mollye skipped down the porch stairs. When she reached the bottom, she turned back. “Oh, Brie. Look for a nondescript tan Camry. Figure my van might be a poor choice for a stakeout. I’ll drive Mom’s boring car.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Slumped in the front seat of the Camry, we barely blinked, keeping our attention glued on the bank’s front door. I considered readjusting my seat but figured it might be set for one of Mollye’s tall relatives. The last occupant either had very long legs or was using it as a recliner. I scooted to the edge of the seat to peer through the window.
The Camry sat catty-corner, half a block away from the bank. Nonetheless, we had an unobstructed view. Maybe I’d missed my calling. Snooping and catering. We’ll catch your cheating hubby and cater your alimony party.
Mollye squirmed. “Stupid to drink that latte while I was waiting for you at Bi-Lo. If Caldwell doesn’t go for his sweet tooth fix soon, I’m gonna have to pee in Mom’s AARP trash bag.”
“Shh. There he is. Waddling toward Abby’s. How long do we have?” I tightened my grip on the door handle. Didn’t want a sudden movement to catch the banker’s eye before he entered the diner.
“He gets a pot of tea to sip with his pastry. Finds some customer in a booth and wrangles an invitation to sit down. Likes to hear himself pontificate. Imagine we have a solid half-hour.”
“Let’s be on the safe side. In and out of the bank in ten minutes. Give me two to three minutes after I’m inside. Then you’re on.”
I power-walked to the bank. I’d dressed in my invisibility suit—the long-sleeve white shirt and tailored black slacks I wore when catering swanky Asheville parties. Just left off the tie that’s de rigor for wait staff.
Entering the bank, I casually glanced around to check out the cameras. My friend’s recall seemed accurate. Three focused on the teller stations. The remaining two covered the vault area and front door. Caldwell’s office appeared to occupy a blind spot.
I marched directly to the desk of the bank president’s frumpy assistant. She’d dressed in uniform, too. If it wasn’t the same boxy getup she wore when Eva and I visited, today’s beige suit was its out-of-date twin.
Her eyes widened. She emitted a wheezy gasp once she realized who cast a shadow over her spotless desk. Yep, she recognized me as one of those loud and dangerous Hookers. Her gaze darted left and right, probably sizing up who she might call to escort me off the premises.
“May I help you?” Those were her words. Frump’s tone carried a different message: “What d’you want, bitch?”
My answer? “I’m here to put a bug up your boss’s butt.” Not that I planned to say that out loud.
I pasted on a demure smile and hoped that didn’t seem even more suspicious. “I need to find out if a check has cleared. Number 4053 on the Udderly Kidding Dairy checking account.”
She dutifully jotted down the number and hustled over to a terminal one desk away. I checked out the witch’s nameplate and almost giggled. Ms. Clod? I’d rather be a Hooker. Whatever her surname, the woman definitely wanted me to breathe air in someone else’s personal space.
I caught Mollye’s entrance out of the corner of my eye. While I’d pressed the mute button on my attire, she’d dia
led up the rainbow volume—if that was possible given her wardrobe. She looked like a living Christmas tree with plenty of tinsel. Santa Claus red top, emerald harem pants, and a sparkly silver belt wide enough to proclaim she’d won a wrestling championship. The dangling silver earrings and clanking bracelets added glitter and sound effects.
Mollye was a walking distraction before she uttered a single syllable. And everyone in the bank seemed to understand that keeping her mouth shut wasn’t part of her plan.
Ms. Clod hurried back from a round of furious tapping on her terminal to advise me the check had cleared.
“Thank you.” I pivoted one-eighty without another word and sauntered to the stand-up counter a few feet away. I picked up a deposit slip and pretended to write. Ms. Clod’s glee at seeing my backside wouldn’t last long. Not if Mollye performed as expected.
My friend strode directly to Sour Puss’s desk. Her hands-on-hips stance advertised she spoiled for a fight. Mollye flung down her bank statement like a gauntlet. “This is highway robbery.” Her near bellow turned every head in the bank. That is every head not already inclined in her direction.
“How can you get away with charging my business thirty-five dollars for a returned check? I know you’re making the poor sap who wrote that check pay some ridiculous amount for making a tiny mistake. He told me he miscalculated his balance by a penny!”
I tuned out the rest of the exchange and sidled toward Caldwell’s open office. Fortunately, the banker saw no reason to lock his door or even close it for an afternoon donut break. Heck, the safe was down the hall. No money inside.
Of course, I wanted to make deposits not withdrawals. I quickly attached one bug to the underside of his desk. Where to put the second one? I spotted his briefcase. Yes! The soft leather folder had a metal clasp. I fingered the underside of the clasp and pushed the bug in place. Done. Less than a minute. I mentally patted myself on the back.
