How would her life have been different if she had never met him, if she had not been burned? All those ifs he’d talked about. Any time that night, she could have made a better decision. She laughed to herself. She might have spent the last twelve years with Ryan instead of hacking away at her self esteem.
The driver had been charged with driving under the influence. She wouldn’t have escaped the eyes of law enforcement for being underage. With a drinking charge, she would have never gotten her cheerleading position. Their criminal records had to be squeaky clean. They wouldn’t have overlooked her indiscretion.
Ryan wasn’t to blame for all the ways her life hadn’t turned out as she envisioned. She had made those choices. Ryan deserved a thank you for looking out for her, but first she’d have to apologize for punching him in the face.
She went around the office preparing for the day ahead, arranging coffee supplies, extracting the client files needed and stacking the fraudulent returns into a separate pile. Hopefully, they would be able to prove Chuck was behind those or the IRS would be coming after her.
The phone rang. Tara picked up the receiver and pressed it to her ear.
“Hey, Tara, this is Mark. Leslie and I are heading back to the hospital. Her contractions started again.”
Tara gave the usual concerns for Leslie’s health and safety and hung up the phone. While she tried to remain calm for Mark, inside she was kicking herself with football cleats. Why hadn’t she waited to tell Leslie about Chuck? She should have kept it to herself until Chuck was behind bars. Her hand shook and the ear piece clattered against the desk. Every contraction was her fault. If something happened to the baby, Tara would never forgive herself. All she could do was save the accounting firm.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bells. As he floated through the last curve of the course. Blurry crowds cheered and shook cowbells. He was running as fast as he could, but the soles of his shoes were covered with chewed gum. He couldn’t move his feet forward, and he could feel the pack huffing behind him. Their feet skimming the pavement as they whipped by him. More bells. Then he could hear individual voices. Tara. She’d come to his race? But why was she cheering about deductions and Schedule-C’s?
The dream faded, replaced by pain and achiness. His neck was cricked and his left foot numb. He tried to shift his leg to the floor and sit up. Pain burst through his leg like a lightning strike. He bit his tongue to stifle the howl and flopped back on his bed. How long had he slept? The curtains darkened his room to twilight, so he didn’t have the sun as an indicator. As sore as he was, it could have been days.
He closed his eyes, working his toes in the exercises he had learned in physical therapy. Slowly the muscles became malleable. He braced, properly this time, and swiveled his legs off the bed. After planting his feet on the floor, he searched for his cane. It had slipped halfway under the bed when he dropped it last night. He gripped the handle and forced himself to his feet. With all the pops and cracks his body made someone overhearing would think he was eighty instead of thirty.
He hiked across the room and found his watch on his desk. Mid-morning. He wagged his head from side to side, surprised by the soreness from hunching over the server the night before.
Tara. He winced as he rubbed his aching neck. Just when things were starting to go right there, he’d screwed them up. Actually, he’d screwed them up before he’d even started. His attempting to help had caused her burns. He failed miserably at protecting her and all he wanted to do was love her. What did he do now? He leaned on the dresser and stared at the yellow and green bruise blossoming around the road rash on his chin. Waltz up to her desk, fall on his knees — well, sit gingerly in the chair next to her — and declare his undying love?
“Ryan, are you up?” his mother called from downstairs.
Depended on her definition of the word. He’d fallen into bed fully-clothed, so he was presentable enough for his mother. “Yeah.”
His mother clomped up the stairs and eased his door open. She swung the plastic-covered hanger over her shoulder and dangled a tuxedo in front of him. “Your tuxedo for the library charity event tonight.” She hung it on the hook on the back of the door. “I had them let out the leg, so you’ll have more room for your brace. You may want to bring a change of clothes or your swim trunks.”
Ryan limped over to the penguin suit, barely able to hide his disgust. Thick, itchy, heavy fabric. The only suit he should be wearing was a track suit. “Why do I need swim trunks?”
“I signed you up for the dunk tank from ten to ten-fifteen.” She waved her hand and breezed out of the room, leaving Ryan to stare after her with his jaw hanging open.
How was he supposed to help Tara catch Chuck if he was dressed like a penguin and trapped in a dunk tank? He headed for the bathroom, then stopped. That is, if she wanted his help. His track record wasn’t stellar in that department. But years of training taught him it wasn’t time to throw in the towel.
If he brought a peace offering of food, maybe she’d let him through the door. He pick up some lunch. He swung by Bart’s and resorted to a variety of things from the menu. He knew Tara liked the cheeseburgers and fries, but they weren’t good for her extended health and he found he was quite concerned about how long she lived, provided he was somewhere in the picture, of course.
He entered the office while she was engaged with a client. He waved the bags of food, then slipped back to the break room. His jacket still hung from the back of the chair where he’d left it the previous night. A quick glance at the server told him it was running optimally. At least he’d done one thing right.
He returned to the office as Tara was finishing with the last customers before closing. She ushered them out a few minutes later and sank onto the futon. “What a morning. I’ve got two huge returns and they’re new customers, too, so I can’t crib off last year’s returns.” She pressed her palms against her forehead. “And the whole time I’m talking to them, I’m thinking how I will prove I didn’t cheat the IRS.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ryan said as he unloaded the bags of food on the small table and handed Tara the paper-wrapped cheeseburger. She shucked the paper and bit into the sandwich.
Cradling the burger, she closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “I’m sorry for punching you. You were trying to help me make a better choice. Thank you for caring. Last night—“
Ryan stopped unwrapping his chicken sandwich when her fingertips grazed his hand. “Last night was intense.”
“So much came to the surface and I could hardly process it all. I can’t blame you for my decisions. I can’t believe you came back.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “And thank you for this.”
“I couldn’t stay away if I tried. So we’re good then?” The rest of his life might be riding on her answer. Broken pieces were fitting together to form a picture he’d never imagined.
“Yeah.” She laughed. “I think we are.”
Ryan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Tara was his constant lately — he couldn’t lose her.
“Did you find anything last night?” She demolished the sandwich in a couple bites, so Ryan nudged the salad toward her.
“It’s not much. As far as I can tell, he didn’t do any of those returns under the login created for him.”
“He couldn’t, because he wouldn’t have access to those files.”
“Right. The problem is he did them under Leslie’s login or yours and while there are time stamps for everything, you were also in the office at those times.”
“Unless I was running errands…”
“But do you have proof of any of those?”
Tara scratched her head. “I might be able to scrounge up a receipt or two, but most of the time he asked for them back. Smart thinking on his part. The IRS could still pin the rest on me or think we were working together.”She shuddered at the thought.
“I know. There’s got to be a way around it.”
Tara unsnapped
the lid for the salad and wrinkled her nose. She grabbed the packet of dressing and squeezed it on.
“Do you know how much fat is in that?” Ryan asked as she squished every drip out.
“If I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison, does it matter?”
“It’s a white collar crime. I don’t think you’d get more than five years. Martha Stewart is already out.”
“Five years. I could be saggy and gray by then.”
Ryan couldn’t imagine anything about Tara being saggy. But he also knew he’d like to see her in five years. And every day in between.
“I don’t see any way out of this unless Chuck confesses and there’s about as much chance of that happening as me not eating the chocolate shake you’re hiding over there.”
Ryan inched the condensation-covered cup forward on the table. It left a streak of water behind it. “Maybe you should hire a lawyer.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“You’ll probably need one before this is all said and done.”
Tara sighed. “You’re right. Unless I can convince Chuck to confess.”
“Chances of which are somewhere between slim and none.”
“You’re so encouraging.” Tara picked up the shake and took a long pull from the straw. "How do you feel about enhanced interrogation techniques?”
“You aren’t planning to water-board him, are you?”
“Tempting, but no. There’s a mechanical bull and a dunk tank at the library charity event tonight. We get him on one of them and not let him off until he spills the beans.”
“He’s going to spill something all right,” Ryan said. “We’d have to get him drunk first, because I can’t see Chuck hopping on a mechanical bull without some liquid courage.”
“We can’t get him too drunk or his confession won’t be admissible in court.” Tara rose from her seat on the futon and started pacing around the break room. “We bring witnesses. I’m sure Minnie and her friends will help us out.”
“Wait! I’ve been working on this mobile app for recording. We could give it a try. I was thinking it would appeal to college students trying to record their lectures, but we could get Chuck’s confession on it. It’s supposed to filter out background noise. It might work.” Ryan leaned back in his seat. “I’m still skeptical about getting Chuck on the mechanical bull though.”
A smile eased on Tara’s lips and her eyes darkened. A little sparkle glimmered in their corners. Her fingertips slid across the v-neck of her blouse and Ryan was sure the temperature in the room jumped ten degrees. She sauntered toward him, her hips swaying enticingly. “There are ways to convince him.” She placed her hands on the arms of his chair and leaned forward. It was all Ryan could do to keep his eyes on her face. She looked into his eyes and wiggled her eyebrows, and sweat broke out on Ryan’s forehead. He put his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to his.
She wouldn’t do that walk for anyone else.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A rush of heat greeted Tara as she stepped through the doorway to the reception hall. The charity fundraiser for the library was in full swing. The Ladies Night Out had done it again.
The reception hall was decorated as a summer carnival. Side show booths surrounded the hall while games and food booths filled the center. Here and there, chairs, tables, and benches provided resting places between the entertainments. One booth encased in red velvet curtains was completely closed up, and Tara wondered if one of the sponsors had fallen through at the last minute.
At least half the town mingled under the multi-colored lights and covered banners. Tara barely had a moment to wonder what they covered, when Chuck’s hand at her back slipped a couple inches too low again. She jumped forward, but she could still feel his cooties creeping on her skin.
She swung her coat off her shoulders and handed it to the waiting attendant, revealing her full length, silver-sequined gown. It had a deep v-neck that mesmerized Chuck and a slit in the side that rose higher than most of her cheerleading skirts fell.
Chuck whistled appreciatively. “You are wasting yourself in an office.”
Tara took another step away and scanned the crowd for Ryan. It took her a moment to find him because his back was to her. Then she had to make sure she kept her mouth from gaping open. Since she’d only ever seen him in workout clothes, the transformation was astonishing. The black tuxedo accentuated his tall frame and lean body. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t standing at her side because she would have melted into a pool of jelly.
A whiff of Chuck’s presence stiffened her spine. “Where’s the bar?” he asked as he fussed with his cuff-links again. She wanted to yell that yes, she’d seen the diamond studs, but then she’d add she’d also seen the rainbow reflections proving they were fake.
“I believe it’s over on the left.” She gestured to the back corner of the hall, her eyes resting on the mechanical bull. It had been trucked in from the seediest bar in the county at Bubba’s request and was affectionately known as Sweet Georgia. Bubba was sponsoring it and pledged to donate a dollar for every second a rider stayed on its back. Sweet Georgia’s location next to the alcohol guaranteed Bubba’s pockets would be lighter by the end of the evening. Minnie knew her stuff with these shindigs.
Chuck slipped into the crowd and wove his way to the end of the line at the bar. It was a relief to not have him breathing down her neck for a few moments. She took a minute to breathe air not clogged with his cologne. In order to get him to confess, she was going to have to stick to him like unpasteurized cream cheese to a gluten-free bagel. Not exactly how she wanted to unwind on a Saturday night, but it’d save her evenings for the next five to ten years.
Minnie swanned up to her and looped her arm through Tara’s. She was gowned in an iridescent blue, one-shouldered number with a floor-length skirt that swirled when she walked. If Tara was in half as good of shape as Minnie was at seventy, she’d have done something right in her life. Minnie had the body of a fifty-year-old and moved like perfume on a breeze. “You look lovely, dear. You’ll have every eye on you tonight.”
There was only one set of eyes she wanted on her tonight and she hadn’t connected with him yet. Minnie read her mind. “Yvonne’s been dragging him around all evening.” Her voice dropped to the whisper. “Is everything all set?”
Tara shook the patent leather clutch she had tucked under her arm. “Ryan loaded the eavesdropping app on my phone. I have to get Chuck bragging.”
Minnie nodded to Chuck as he threaded his way back toward them, a flute of champagne in each hand. “He’s making the heavy lifting a bit easier.” Minnie disappeared as Chuck handed a glass to Tara.
She thanked him and took a tiny sip. Champagne went to her head way too easily, and she needed a tight rein on whatever wits she had.
Chuck poured half the glass down his throat.
“See anything to tickle your fancy?” Tara asked.
His eyes slid over her as smoothly as if they were oiled with the gel in his hair. They stalled on the bottom of the V. He licked his lips.
I walked into that one, didn’t I? She inched her way into the throng of people, nodding to customers and friends as she worked her way over to Sweet Georgia. If she couldn’t get Chuck on the bull, she’d still have the dunk tank as a backup. She cast a look over her shoulder, trying to locate the tank. It was across the reception hall from the mechanical bull. The mayor had donned flowered swim trunks and was taking his turn in the tank. Somehow he’d gotten out of wearing his tux in the tank. The councilmen were lined up, waiting to throw and tossing friendly jibes at him. A woman in a teal ball gown heaved the baseball toward the target. It crashed into the bulls-eye and a bell clanged. The ‘hunk’ in the tank splashed into the water and came up sputtering.
Chuck stopped at a high table a few feet from Sweet Georgia. “How long do you have to stay at this shindig?”
“Since Knotts Accounting is a sponsor, I have to be here for the duration.” It h
ad better not take the whole night to weasel his nefarious deeds out of him.
Tara pointed to Sweet Georgia, idling in its pen. “Care to take a ride? You could probably break the record.”
“There’s not enough alcohol in this place to get me on there.”
If he found out Leslie was sponsoring the drinks, he might change his mind.
We shall soon find out. Tara waved to a waitress who slalomed through the tables and parked right in front of theirs. After snapping her gum and giving Chuck a thorough going over, which ended with a raised eyebrow, she lifted Chuck’s empty glass onto her tray. “Can I get you another?”
Chuck requested another champagne and the waitress left, swooping around a man stumbling toward Sweet Georgia.
When Tara recognized who the drunk was, she was sure of one of two things: either everything would work out perfectly and Chuck would leave the benefit in the back of a police vehicle, or she’d be chasing him down and hauling him back to the Bower. Chuck had been terrified of Hank and Bubba last night; their presence could entice Chuck to say anything to escape.
Hank shucked his tuxedo jacket and climbed on the bull. He adjusted his leather vest and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Once in the seat, he nodded to the operator. Hank wrapped his hand around the handle. The rear of the bull kicked up and Hank slipped forward, almost sliding face first over the front of the ox. He regained his balance as it jerked back only to lose his grip and tumble off the side onto the floor.
Chuck laughed and Tara could tell it wasn’t out of enjoyment. He was ridiculing the country yokels and their entertainments. “Looks like they slowed it down to keep the rednecks on longer.”
“They are trying to raise money for the library.”
Climbing Heartbreak Hill Page 14
